#cause he should have been in such rough shape after getting beaten up

[random-fandom-whump]

Stargate Atlantis S01E12 ↳ RFW's Favorite Stargate Whump Moments

[not-your-damsel]

Craving You

Word Count :: 4,994

A/N :: Go easy on me, my sweeties. This is my first full fic in the hottest of minutes.

This is just some soft, tender, Husband! Hitoshi Shinsou x Pregnant Fem! Reader missing each other dearly. We’re sticking with Keiid’s adult version of Toshi because that version of him has me absolutely fuckin’ weak 🥴

CW :: Minors DNI, NSFW, 🔞, Smut, Tender Loving Hours, Slight Choking. Pretty much it, I wanna say.

You will 100% be blocked if you’re a minor liking/re-blogging this work, or if your age isn��t in your bio and you’re liking/re-blogging this work. Simple as that!

You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his side of the bed not only empty, but cold. You sighed and attempted to sit up, holding your rounded stomach, feeling as your body ached. “Toshi?” You called out, silence answering back before sniffing for any hint of coffee in the air that he so loved to brew, strong enough to wake the dead. Nothing. Had he even been home at all last night? Being pregnant had done some weird things to not only your body, but your senses and sleeping habits. You noticed you’d sleep deeper than usual, something you hated. You wanted to be able to know when Hitoshi got home, when he hit the bed, anything. You wanted to be able to help should he need it. Take the other night for example. On his way home from being out on patrol he stumbled on a man who was robbing the local convenience store and though he caught the robber, he hadn’t escaped the ordeal without the guy putting up a surprisingly good fight. Toshi came home that night beaten to hell and you’d spent the better part of the evening with him on the toilet while you cleaned and patched him up. He didn’t want the help, wanted you to rest with your swollen ankles raised but you wouldn’t hear of it. When you were done, you carded your fingers through his short wild indigo locks, kissing his forehead while he caressed your stomach before wrapping his arms around you. You slipped your black cat slippers on, waddling from the loft down to the kitchen to grab a cup of black tea. Once you finished there, you made your way to the bathroom, turning shower on to your desired temperature. Your back was hurting and you wanted nothing more than to have hot water splashing against the painful spot as hot as you could bear. Carrying a whole other human inside you was hard work. You couldn’t wait to get back to work, kicking ass alongside your husband, the Shinsou’s back at it being a top hero power couple. You felt so out of shape and bloated and your breasts hurt when they were too full of milk, back and ankles on fire and swollen... you just seemed to be in perpetual pain these last 2 months. Not only that, you and Hitoshi’s sexual activities had to be put on hold and that was getting to you both and you knew it. You didn’t have to ask Toshi to know how much he was aching for you to the point of it making him at least a little crazy. As reserved as he was, gentle in his demeanor with you, and calm as a still lake, he was a human and he had needs. He’d never tell you, but he had to keep himself on more than one occasion from ripping your clothing off and bending you over the nearest surface to fuck you silly. Your dom and sub roles in the bedroom had to also be put on hold because Hitoshi could be a particularly rough man when it came to that, never truly knowing the full extent of his strength. He’d been absolutely terrified out of his wits of being rough once you started to show.

Great. Now you were sorely in pain and horny. “Stupid, stupid woman.” You seethed at yourself. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed the door to the shower open. It wasn’t until you felt the cool air hit your back that you felt a large set of hands slide from your hips to cradle around your stomach, your body tensing ever so briefly before relaxing. “Hitoshi, you scared the shit out of me.” You breathed, your shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry, kitten. Are you ok?” He asked, hearing his voice was more gruff than usual had you turning to look at him. The normal bags under his eyes now looked like a set of luggage. He’d taken on more hours over the past several weeks to help build up some parental leave for when his daughter was due, he was busy doing so much and you felt bad. You cupped his cheeks before stepping forward on the balls of your feet with your lips poised for a kiss. He lent the rest of the way down to meet you, the water hitting his short wild tresses in the process, wetting it. “Toshi, thank you. You’re doing a lot and it shows. I wish you could rest already, we appreciate it and you so much.” You held the back of his neck, your thumbs rubbing lovingly along the sides behind his ears. He gave a tired, crooked grin, pecking your forehead then your nose before pulling away and looking at you with love, “It’s all for you guys, I love you with everything I am and I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He joked with a chuckle.

Before you had a chance to protest, moving to swat him at his choice of words, he grabbed your wrist and held it to his chest, dipping again to kiss you passionately, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip for permission, but you were already opening for him to invade your wet cavern with his muscle. Hitoshi’s kiss was hungry, conveying all the pent up want and need he had for you, his wife. His large hands roamed down your back, thick fingers skimming the curve of your spine before they landed at your hips giving them a loving squeeze only to then rest on each cheek of your behind where he pulled you against him, allowing you feel how hard he was for you. Gasping in his mouth before continuing the kiss, you threaded your fingers through his hair again, tugging and earning you a groan of pleasure from deep within his chest. With your hand still held against his chest, you dragged your nails across the neat indigo chest hairs that lay there before sliding over to graze over his nipple, hardening it. Toshi was breathing harder through his nose now, his hips rolling of their own accord before pulling away. You whined, eyes lidded and drunk off his searing kiss. He grinned before looking around your spacious rainfall shower to the built in bench. “Do you trust me, kitten?” Hitoshi asked. You shook your head in confusion. “What kind of... you know I do, with my life.”

Hitoshi guided you to the bench to sit for a moment before he stepped out of the shower to grab a couple of things. “I-I’ll be right back,” he said with his hands held up, nonverbally telling you to stay put, where you smiled and nodded as he stepped out of the bathroom. You’d heard him faintly talking to himself before a loud bang sounded out followed by him swearing under his breath loudly. “Toshi? Are you alright?” You called, tilting your head from where you sat with a hand on your stomach rubbing it. “I’m ok, my love!” He called before turning up at the door a moment later with a couple things in hand, namely a towel and his hero weapon, the capture cloth. You were puzzled to say the least. “What are you doing, sweetie?” You asked him with your brow cocked and lips parted in wonder. “Well, I know we haven’t been able to get as intimate as we’d normally like due to me being so busy at work and you being... being... so pregnant,” ‘Nice choice of words, Hitoshi.’ He mentally slapped himself, “So I had an idea while I was on my way home. Care to try?” He asked you, purple tried eyes looking at you so hopeful it ached you to see. You’d nodded and began the monumental task of trying to stand until he stopped you. “No, no, let me set it up, ok?” Toshi nodded as he helped you to sit back down again.

You guys�� shower was rigged in a such a way that there were bare decorative pipes that were hanging from the ceiling with holes drilled in them that assisted in providing the rainfall effect. Toshi rigged his capture cloth expertly through those pipes and used the towel, folded, against a portion of it. Before you knew it, you were looking at a rigged swing made out of the two items. The towel was placed as a little padding for a seat of sorts and Hitoshi stood back to survey his handy work. He nodded, happy with the look of it before looking back at you with a lopsided grin. “What do you think, kitten?” He asked, reaching his hands out to help you up from the bench. “I think it’s really smart... and I think you’ve been thinking about this for much longer than on your way home.” You poked at his side with your nails, causing him to jump a little before he grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing it. “Ok, ok. I’ve been thinking of what to do for a couple of weeks now, you got me.” Hitoshi admitted, pulling you close into his side. “I just... I just really, really miss you.” He said lowly. You looked into his beautiful, tired eyes, noting that they were lust blown. His purple orbs almost drowned out by dark, black pupils resembling voids. Drinking you in, full of want and need, his hand roamed your back, squeezing in a massaging manner that had your own eyes slipping shut. He felt how tight and knotted various places of your back were, frowning to himself. “I miss you so much, kitten. So fucking much.” Hitoshi was now pressed against the side of your face, gruff voice in one ear as he kneaded the skin of your sore back. “Toshi, I miss you so much too, I wish I can know about your safety the way I used to.” You were now pressed against his body, your arms around his neck while on your tippy toes to reach him better.

Hitoshi’s hands abandoned your back to glide down your hips, further below to start squeezing the backs of plush thighs as he lent down to kiss you passionately, his tongue in your mouth again, exploring every inch of it trying to memorize it even after all these years together. “I missed the way you feel against me. I absolutely crave the way you taste to the point that it’s all I think about, getting in the way of my work, do you know that, little kitten?” Toshi said against your neck before he bit down on your pulse point. Moaning, your fingers dipping into his hair where your nails grazed his scalp. “Tosh- ah!” You squeaked, Hitoshi lifting you off the shower floor as your legs and arms immediately wrapped around your hulking husband for support, swollen, large belly pressed against his chiseled abs suddenly had you feeling some type of way as you stared down at where you both pressed together. “I love you.” You said, looking up to him to find that he was already staring down at you, watching as you took in the roundness of your stomach, holding his and your baby inside you. Your eyes brimmed with tears as he walked both of you to his little set up. “I love you, too. Baby? Baby what’s wrong?” Hitoshi asked, unsure if this was something that had to do with pregnancy hormones or something he possibly did. You hugged him, warm tears falling onto his shoulder. He held his capture cloth in place as he set you down, perching you on a few bands he’d lined up to make a makeshift seat that was plush from the towel he set there. He backed up cautiously in case you’d tip in any single direction and he needed to grab at you. You went to wipe your eyes but Hitoshi was already doing it. His large hands cupping either side of your face, large enough to eclipse your delicate face easily. It would’ve looked comical in any other circumstance, but he loved the way you fit perfectly in his hands.

“Talk to me, baby girl.” He said, squatting down to be able to look at you better. His hands now at your thighs, rubbing soothingly up and down them while occasionally rubbing your belly. “I’m happy is all. I just... as a pain in the ass as it can be sometimes, I couldn’t be happier carrying our baby.” you said, another round of fat tears spilling from your face. “I’m sorry, I’m all over the place and I missed you, I’m so stupid an-“ “Hey.” Hitoshi’s tone was stern, shivers instantly running down your arms and legs so strongly that even he felt the goosebumps break out across the skin of your soft thighs. “I don’t want my kitty cat talking about herself that way,” his hands now skimmed over the tops of your thighs, slipping in between them and parting them. “I take offense when my wife is talked about in any sort of negative capacity,” he leaned in closer, you were so enraptured by what he was saying, having not been spoken to like that for what felt like forever that you weren’t even paying attention to his actions. “Even if it’s from my wife.” He licked a fat stripe up your core, able to cover more ground with his tongue flattened, a hiss of a gasp being drawn in as your feet swung from the sensation. “Toshi!” You threaded your fingers through his hair and balled your hand into a fist, pulling his hair, spurring him on as he licked more forcefully, tongue delving into your hole as he nudged himself deeper into your wetness. His hands closed around your hips and pulled you closer, the stubble of his beard rubbing against your skin deliciously as he worked like a man starved.

Toshi was giving all he had then, moaning into you, as he slurped and sucked, tasting what he longed for for weeks. His hand closed around your thigh, propping it up over his shoulder to delve deeper. Even with the shower running you could see the pre leaking from Hitoshi’s tip. Wiggling a little and masking it as movements to his actions, you take your free foot and gently rub it against his length causing him to pull away with a hiss before looking up at you through purple lashes. His eyes became lidded, grabbing that same leg and throwing it over his other shoulder before diving back in and licking with fervor. “Ah, fuck!!” You yelped, feeling as though you’d fall backwards but Hitoshi’s hands wrapped around your back and pulled you closer, anchoring you in place, assuring your safety. It was then that he started to tongue fuck you, his wet muscle delving in and out while intermittently swiping up to pay attention to your clit when his nose wasn’t bumping into it. Your moans got louder, soft thighs shaking around his head as you felt your first orgasm approaching fast.

Hitoshi wrapped one arm around your back as sturdily as he could so he could bring a free hand into the mix. Two thick fingers slid into your core, replacing his tongue as he began pumping at a brutal pace, crooking them just right. “Oh, oh God...” Your voice shook, one hand in his wet hair and the other latched onto his shoulder, nails leaving crescent moon indents into his flesh now that your legs were free. Toshi’s breathing was ragged, his mind on one goal and one only, the one thing he’d been envisioning his fingers do for the last 4 nights at the agency while he filed reports into the early morning hours. Your walls began to flutter, his lidded purple orbs flitting to yours as he came up for air, watching his wife get overtaken with pleasure. “I love you... I love you...!” Toshi panted into your pussy before you threw yourself back from the force of your orgasm, liquid gushing forward and coating his arm and then his face as he dove in to lap up what he could, instantly wrapping his arms around you again for stability so you wouldn’t fall backwards. He went from vigorous licks to kitten licks which melted into soft kisses. Kisses leading from your drenched core to your thighs and then your stomach as he rubbed loving circles into it with his thumbs, getting up from his position on the floor of the large shower, kissing the top of your head when he reached his full height. “You did so good for me, my beautiful kitten, you always do. I love you, sweetheart.” He cooed. “I love you, too.” You panted out.

He tipped your worn out, blushing face upwards to look at him, still catching your breath but not caring as you leaned forward to reach for Hitoshi’s cock before he grabbed your hands softly. “Baby, no need... w-wait till we’re done here, I’ll be raring to go again.” He smirked. In your post orgasmic haze, you didn’t even realize that from the sheer visuals and moans alone that you’d provided was enough to make him come, the water having washed away his mess. Toshi gathered both of your wash items, placing them closer on the bench in the shower before helping you down off the makeshift swing to stand before himself. He deposited some shampoo in his palm before massaging it in your scalp, washing your hair before running his hands through it to rinse it. He did the same with the conditioner, only leaving it in your hair as he washed your body lovingly. Admiring every curve and dip, no sexual drive behind his actions, just pure love before rinsing you off. When he was done, you gently guided him down on the bench so you could reach his head properly. Hitoshi stood at a whopping 6’ 1”. He was always on the taller side out of the many students at UA, coming in at 5’ 9” when you two met but as the years went on, he just kept sprouting. You were smaller compared to him, standing shorter in stature, you just reached above his shoulder when you and him stood side by side and you loved it. You loved climbing him like he was a mountain, latching onto him, your smaller frame melting and melding into his larger one, and it was one of your most favorite things in the world when he was spooning you.

A large palm came to rest against your stomach as you worked the lather in his hair, pulling you from your thoughts. “What are you thinking about, kitten?” Hitoshi asked, feeling as his unborn baby would push against wherever he’d touch. “You.” You hummed to yourself as you rinsed his hair free of the conditioner, bending to pour some body wash on his washcloth. No loofahs for Hitoshi Shinsou in your house, ‘Too damned girly’ was how he’d put it and you giggled at the thought. “What’s so funny, hm?” He grinned lopsidedly, bending to kiss your stomach with his eyes closed, lips brushing across your skin. It was moments like this that you wanted to snapshot and put away forever for you to cherish, observing the endless beauty he never seemed to know he has. At least until the silent admiration was interrupted by him pulling away and holding his chin exaggeratedly. You laughed, as you rubbed the cloth over his neck muscles to loosen him up. “She’s gonna pack a wallop, huh?” He joked, rubbing his jaw as you nodded with a smile. Hitoshi sighed as you kept working the washcloth over his upper body, his back, pressing as hard as you could which earned you some relieved of grunts. “Up, sweetie.” You stepped back a bit as Toshi stood, willing the jelly feeling you’d imparted on him out of his body. Bringing the washcloth to his abs, you rubbed, the scent of his body wash filling your senses as you got drunk off it. Your husband always smelled so nice, so warm and comforting. Like a cozy cabin tucked away in the woods on a cold winter night, it brought you comfort and safety. He watched you work, noting how you’d pause every now and again to deeply inhale his scent and with every open of your eyes, the more they lidded. When you got to his member, it was semi erect. You looked up at him and he smiled with a wink, “I told you. Gimme that, I think we’re done here.” He said as he finished up the rest of his body in record time, you giggling at his quickness as you put the items away before he tossed the washcloth back in its spot, and swooped you into his arms.

You squealed out with a laugh, Toshi minding where your stomach landed, his broad shoulders between your breasts and stomach, pushing the door open and draping a large towel over your body before bringing the both of you to your bedroom where he gently plopped you onto your large bed. He hovered over your laughing frame, watching as water dripped down from his hair onto the bed above your own head. Your laughing slowed as you noticed his silence, smiling at him and bringing a hand to his scruffy cheek to thumb gently at a scar he had over the left side of his lips leading into his chin. He turned his head and kissed inside your palm, his hand wrapped around your delicate wrist as he held it against his lips. “Turn around, kitten.” He gruffed. Hitoshi was helping you maneuver, perching onto the bed himself as he molded the front of himself to your back, his fully hardened cock prodding at your ass cheek leaving a smear of pre along your skin. Kissing along your neck and shoulders, Toshi ran a large hand from your stomach to your thigh, grabbing and propping it against his own leg which he used to open you up. Your breathing was already uneven, knowing what was coming yet not getting to you fast enough, your hips already rocking back into him for stimulation only he could provide. Hitoshi chuckled against your ear, “Does my kitty want it that bad?” He teased, reaching his hand between the two of you to pump his cock in his fist, teasing your already wet entrance. “God, you’re already soaked, baby, fuck.” He gritted out. “Toshi, stop acting like you’re not dying too and make love to me already,” you whined. “You’re always so coc- HAH!!” Your hand flung upward to latch onto the back of Hitoshi’s head which was buried in the crook of your neck and shoulder, biting into the soft skin that lay there as he jutted his hips forward and sheathed into you in one fluid movement. He gave you time to adjust, running his hand up your body, softly squeezing your breasts and lovingly rubbing your belly as he pressed more kisses into your shoulder and neck, sucking hard enough at your pulse point to leave an immediate blooming bruise.

“To- Toshi please. Please, please I need you...” You begged him as he pressed more kisses into your damp hair, his hips starting to move to create that hot friction you both craved. It seemed he was panting like a dog within seconds, thick fingers pinching your nipples as gently as he could, breast milk dribbling down the tips as he rolled them between his tips. “Fuck, kitten!” Toshi was now snapping his hips faster into you, the bed creaking with each brutal thrust. The second the headboard hit the wall for the first time, it acted as fuel for Hitoshi to go even faster. Hips rutting into you from behind so hard it hurt in the best way. He could already feel your gummy walls twitch and clamp down on him, knowing that you were getting closer with each thrust. “Fuck, baby, the way you’re taking me so -shit!- so greedily, so fuckin’ well, you really missed my cock, huh? Answer me!” He almost barked out, feeling you clamp down on him particularly hard when he did. “Fuck your cock, I missed y-you, Hitoshi!” You moaned, your nails digging into his neck. He groaned lowly, breathily whispering out, “Oh my fucking God!” before his hand came down on the swell of your ass, the sharp sting causing you to clamp down on him again a little harder. The slap didn’t pack the usual punch it did with Hitoshi’s heavy hands, but it was enough and you both noticed.

You rolled your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with your own as that wonderful feeling of a taut invisible string began to fray inside your stomach. “So good, so -y-yeah!- s-so fucking good, Toshi I- I, Godfuckinghell!! Ugh, missed you, I missed you, I-“ a broken moan tore from your throat at the feel of Hitoshi rubbing circles against your clit, his thrusts reaching inside you deeper, the prominent vein that ran along his cock sliding against your walls. His breath was coming out in puffs against your neck and cheek, groans and moans sounding out from him just the way you loved. “Mmm, kitty cat, fuck, you’re gonna cum! C’mon now, c’mon, I wanna feel you cream all over this cock, your cock, this cock belongs to you, all yours...” he reached his other hand around, gripping your throat, getting lost in the pleasure as he railed into you, watching your face for any changes in discomfort, keeping mind of the baby. Once your eyebrows slightly furrowed, he loosened his hold, allowing you to catch your breath for a few beats before starting the process again. “Cum, cum because I fucking can’t hold on much longer you’re sucking me in so goddamn good!” Toshi growled in your ear, his hand abandoning your clit for a moment to spit on his fingers just to go back to rubbing it faster than before. As your smaller hand gripped his forearm for dear life, you came undone. “Toshi, fuck!!” Hitoshi felt his thrusting cock get wetter, slipperier, as he slowed his rubbing fingers through your orgasm having released your throat long ago.

Now he began driving into you with reckless abandon, seeking his own release which wasn’t far behind in the first place. The hand that was at your throat now wrapped around your shoulder, while the one that left your clit reached up to grab at your free hand, threading his large fingers through your own. “O-oh my God, oh my God I’m gonna cum, kitten, fuck, I’m gonna cum...” sloppy hips faltered even more before he gave one last strong thrust, stilling inside you spilling his warmth in thick spurts, giving 2 more soft slow thrusts before coming to a stop. The both of you were breathing heavily, Toshi’s head dropped onto your own before he bent down a bit to kiss your shoulder, his stubble scratching at the softness of your cheek. His hair was now dry, being short, it drooped down onto his forehead. There was a fresh sheen of sweat over both of your bodies, especially on his chest and your back. “I love you.” You said, your breaths coming out fast but not as harsh as before. Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you, pressing you into his almost too warm body, nuzzling in your semi damp hair inhaling deeply, “I love you, too. So fucking much, don’t ever forget it. I’m sorry I’ve been away so much, I just...” You shook your head, opening your eyes halfway. “No. I know why you do it. I can’t ever convey how much it means to me that you’re working your ass off for proper time with me and little Anzu once she gets here. Do I miss you? Of course I miss you, I miss you terribly. I also miss working with you. I never realized how spoiled I truly am until it came time for me to stay home from work. Getting to see you every single day, work alongside you, be out in the public eye with you... I never realized that I spend every moment with you. And now that I can’t, it has me a bit out of sorts I guess you could say.” You confessed, your eyes heavily lidded with sleepiness, voice soft and gentle.

The bed suddenly shifted, Hitoshi launching himself over your body and plopping next to you to face you causing you to squeak out in shock. He cupped your cheeks and brought you in for a slow, passionate kiss. Your smaller hands planted against his chest, fingers rubbing lovingly before scooting closer to him where he wrapped his arms around you instinctively. “I’m almost done, sweetheart. Just one more week, maybe even sooner if Anzu comes before then. And hey, if you want, I can help you train up again my agile, telekinetic kitten. Would you like that?” He asked into your hair at the top of your head. You hummed softly and he looked down having felt your hand slip off his chest and go limp, joining your other arm pressed against him and the bed. You were fast asleep, your breathing slow and deep as Toshi took a moment to look at you, large hand caressing from your head to your shoulder, only to glide down your back where he grabbed the blanket and draped it over the both of you, snuggling your body closer to his. “And I thought I was the one who got into people’s minds. I don’t deserve you, baby girl.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the side of your mouth before perching his head atop yours and falling asleep just as quick. You woke with a start, small hand darting out to feel for your husband only to feel his hand grasp yours and pull it to his lips, “I’m here, baby. I’m still here.” Hitoshi said as he cradled it in his own, pressed against his chest, a small smile gracing your lips before slipping back into the warmth of his embrace.

[jilonie]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙎𝙀𝘾𝙍𝙀𝙏 𝙒𝙀𝘼𝙋𝙊𝙉

Jungkook X Y/N

•Future Smut / chapters / love /mafia au /heartless jungkook /love&hate/ romance

𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙜𝙪𝙮𝙨:) 𝙞𝙢 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙞’𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙥𝙖𝙙. 𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙡𝙞𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜💘

sneak peak:

“𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱; 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘠/𝘕 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸- 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘯.” 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳. “𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

CHAPTER 1

You were walking. Fast; Really fast. All you could see was black. A darker black than the cloth that covered your eyes. hands. Harsh hands; 6 hands locked on your arms and on your shoulders that you knew would’ve created purple-greenish spots that would hurt like hell. You realized you were in a tunnel speeding through the unknown. Echoes of their keys dangling with one another combined with the never ending tapping of their footsteps irritated your ears. As soon as you lightly shook your head and sighed in exhaustion, you felt a hand against your head violently grabbing a pile of your hair and forcing your head to face forward. “we’re almost there please stay with me” he said. You didn’t know who it was. He sounded soft yet hungry; it was a husky voice that filled your ears and hit every nerve. He sounded rather trustworthy. Rather maybe safe.

Eyesight was still forbidden. Hot air hit your skin at an instant, sending vibrations of satisfaction down your spine as you entered a room and finally stopped.

“I wanna see.” a delicate sound escaped your lips and they knew you weren’t like the others. You weren’t scared of anything; in fact, it amused you.

“Fuck, how is she like this?” one of the men whispered to the other.

“Boss told us she’s a power house. He needs her.” he answered failing to make sure you couldn’t hear. Your red lips turned into a smirk as soon as they placed you on a chair; dead silence filled the room as you waited for the Boss. Strands of hair caressed your cheeks as you waited.

Suddenly rays of light became one with your eyes and he became visible to you. It was the mafia boss. The king of darkness. He was unbeatable; nobody dared to speak of him, steal nor go against. He was quite formally dressed; a serious looking man yet dangerous scars covered the left side of his face creating maps of pathways into the depths of his fearless soul. He scanned your face in surprise of how beautiful you looked. He kneeled in-front of you placing his tattooed hands on the arms of your chair.

“Y/N,” he took a long pause as he tilted his head not breaking the eye contact with his eyes piercing into yours. A painful tint of exhilaration stormed inside you. “You’ll be training with my secret weapon. His name is Jungkook;” he continued, “You know why you’re here young Y/N. Don’t let me down.”

You grew up in the black money, drugs, fame and most of all risk. Your father was the original boss of the mafia. The man even god feared. Lee Keith known as ‘The Boss’, was his right hand man he always relied on. Your father knew you’ve always had this burning flame inside you since the days you smiled as you watched his men kill people; you showed no weakness. As you got older you were the seducer. You’d tend to make the other gangs you’re father was against, gain your trust and told you all their plans and secrets. You were a magical power with eyes darker than the demon but face so irresistible, so stunning; you were a stamp in their memory, difficult for them to forget you.

When your father was killed, your mother took you and ran away from everything and everyone for a good 5 years. You had to be somewhere safe since your protector was dead and all gangs in the dark world your father had beaten, knew you and would die to have you. Until your mafia found you again. You were home.

“Take me to Jungkook.” You spoke in pure confidence even though you knew nothing about him. You had never seen his face however during the fights you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He fought so elegantly yet dangerously; he’d kill numerous people in a matter of seconds and get out with one or two scratches. He’d always wear his mask, even inside the mafia. His face was a mystery; a mystery you wanted to solve.

They dressed you with a mask similar to Jungkooks, black sleeveless top that hugged your silhouette, baggy pants and boots, hair half up half down , purple hair tie paired with fighting gloves. You walked up to the disguised fighter. He was taller than you. Your eyes darted on his arms; his arms exposed of how much he worked out yet the outline of his scars scattered around them were concealed with his tight armor, but still popped out. You noticed a small “Jk” written on the left side of his clothing. He was masked. Your masks became a barrier between both of you. Your only source were your pair of eyes .

“So your the girl the boss has been bragging about?” he said. He sounded rough; a rough angelic voice you don’t hear everyday. You crossed your arms,

“So you’re the Jungkook secret weapon thing right?” You answered.

Jungkook raised an eyebrow and cracked his slender fingers looking at you in amusement. “Okay princess; cut the attitude.” he rustled. You stepped closer towards him and whispered as his eyes scanned your ones. You made him nervous.

“make me.” He liked that. You made the blood in his veins rush in adrenaline of pure euphoria. He saw you as a challenge. He wanted to make you just like him.

“ I wanna see you fight.” the tone of his voice darkened.

“I wanna see your face.” You answered back causing your mask to change shape as you smiled. He laughed shaking his head in irony as he stretched his arm exposing his sculpted biceps that led your mind to a whole new world of pleasuring thoughts about him. “Who made you think your that special love?” he answered.

You tapped his nose with your gloved finger, “Oh i am.”

You both trained like animals for a month, restless. You trained with other fighters but you both exchanged looks here and there. You could feel rays of energy blossom inside you whenever he watched you fight. It’s funny how much of an impact he had on you. The thing was, that it was two sided. He impressed you and he knew it; whenever you were around he’d do some flips kicks and tricks in hopes of catching your attention.

Your break had just started after a long session of fights and shooting. you panted so hard sweat was dripping down your pink cheeks. Your vision blurred and your head spun but you could see him coming. That was the first time in a whole week that he’d approach you; his silhouette started running towards you faster and faster as ur sight faded gradually.

“Jung-“ was the only word in your mind as you couldn’t feel your legs anymore.

“Y/N” Jungkook shouted as you felt his hands catching you; then, blank.

You woke up. Laying on a bed. All your eyes processed was the white ceiling. Your head felt like someone banged it on the ground about 100 times; It was logical considering the amount of times you got hit. But you were the best out of everyone except him. Your eyes adjusted to the world as you slowly picked yourself to a sitting position. You were alone. Theres was only a bed, a first aid kit and you.

You couldn’t stop thinking of him touching you as you collapsed even though you felt it for only a split second. His touch felt different from anything else that ever came in contact with your skin. You didn’t know why you felt that way and it killed you; he was the one who broke your stone wall of emotions. He was the weakness. As you sat there you could feel a breeze on your face. You panicked; the mask. Where was it and why isn’t it on you. You touched your bare face missing the feeling of not being trapped around a cloth for the whole day.

The door slammed opened as Jungkook rushed inside in agony looking to see if you were ok. But why did he care? He froze and studied ever corner every angle ever perfect imperfection of your beautiful face with wide eyes. He stood there just looking at you when you felt insecure and looked down breaking the intense contact. You felt your heart in your throat and fireworks blasting in your stomach from what you were experiencing and with who it was.

“Y/N,” he paused as he stood 5 feet away from you watching you sit there on the bed without your mask. He cleared his throat and shook his head trying his best to swallow every feeling, every letter of your name every aspect of you. He took a deep breath and continued as you watched in shock,

“you should continue practicing, you have 10 minutes to get your head straight.” He turned around ready to leave as he displayed his v shaped back to you sending questions in your mind of how would it look like without the cloth on top.

“Jungkook!” Your innocent voice found the courage to flow. He stopped still his back facing you; you didn’t know what to expect. He shook his head and you sat there observing in anxiousness.

“Fuck Y/N don’t say that” He said softly.

“Why? Why are you being like this. I fucking don’t know what it is about you i haven’t even seen your face and-“ You gave up. You felt weaker and weaker as you spoke; even embarrassed. He sighed loudly placing his hands behind his head as if he gave up on everything.

“I know i’m gonna regret this later but i can’t fucking help it.” he said as he walked towards you. He took his mask off and slammed his lips onto yours. A world of breathtaking feelings grew inside you in a matter of seconds as he guided his hands through your hair. Your hearts beating like wild animals trying to break out of your chests.

The world stopped and the barrier exploded in the most beautiful way none of you ever expected. He needed your kiss; he kept kissing you, and you kept letting him to. Finally the kiss broke and you looked at him. He was the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on. It was a wild beauty. His darkness was only in his eyes yet his face was delicate. His brown hair fell perfectly on his eyes caging the shimmer of his universe which consisted of all shades of black but all kinda of the brightest stars. His jaw a knife and his lips your drug. He still held on to your hair in elegance,

“Please, please don’t stop” You whispered as your voice broke.

“ From the moment i fucking saw you that first time i couldn’t stop thinking about you. You fucking mess me up Y/N and i don’t even know you.” he explained while caressing your cheek with his warm thumb. “Whenever your around you fuck me up; the only thing i think about is you Y/N and how- how you’d look in my arms every night without that stupid mask on.” he searched your eyes desperately trying to find an answer.

“Jungkook we cant be together.” Your eyes were tearing waterfalls as glistening dots of water ran in pain.

“I know.” he sighed his eyes not leaving your lips. You both knew it was forbidden to be together in the mafia. Rules were feelings not to exist what so ever for whatever reason. He kissed you again. The sensation drilled down your spine only by the feeling of his hands on you. Lips against yours. Anything that was Jungkook was your desire. He released your hair and stood up in defeat. His eyes drowned in the worst waters of his storm of emotions. You felt a knife piercing its way down your throat. He was still looking down at you as he spoke

“Practice starts in 10” His voice shaking as he forced these words out of him. He wore his mask and walked out of the room. Your stomach crumbled; Love turned into sorrow. The secret weapon broken.

CHAPTER 2

Your eyes pinned on the door that Jungkook exited from. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t move but your heart said otherwise. It spat strong bullets of blood into your veins and caused tears to fall so quickly you felt like you were drowning in your own pain. Was it because its him, or the fact that it ended just like that? Your mind was nothing but blank. It was either blank or his name.

You swore you couldn’t feel your feet dangling from the bed. It was as if he’d already taken a part of you with him from the moment he placed those soft lips on yours 3 minutes ago. That fire everyone admired about you, that fire that everyone envied about you, blew out because of this boy and the barrier he destroyed that nobody ever could even if they had the best weapons or the longest time in the world. You picked yourself up as your hands tried their best to wipe away the tears and conceal the pain.

You just stood there in silence. The only sound alive, was the sound of your delicate breath trembling as you inhaled and exhaled in hopes of calming yourself down. You started walking out the door, fighting anything in your mind that wanted to stop you from doing so. The scene where he took off his mask and revealed his incredibly handsome face was replayed in your mind on a big screen as if it was something everyone had to see, but in reality it was only for you. He wanted to do this only for you; he took it off only for you.

You felt your legs weaken which made you almost too certain that you wouldn’t make it until the practice room without bursting into tears. You finally spotted the door for the room in the distance and you stopped. You knew he was in there wearing his mask as a shield to hide his pain and not his face. The thought of this made a tint of lightning trail down your spine in the worst way possible.

Your eyes scanned fighters that went in and out the practice room. Each one stopped to look at you for more than a second which reminded you that your mask was missing. You lacked your shield of pain; you lacked the only thing you had left to cover up the mess. You rubbed your arm in nervousness as you found the courage to start heading for the room.

The door was slightly open and you could see fighters of all kind, being occupied with trainers everywhere. That was your chance to get in without anyone noticing and you took it. You trotted inside your eyes fixed on your trainer. You let your long brown hair down in hopes of covering your face that failed to do so.

“Y/N you’re extremely late..” The trainer hissed as his neck vain literally popped out. He was big and his muscles were like big unbreakable mountain rocks that looked even more fearsome with his missing eye.

“I- i’m so sorry, i was just um-“, you stuttered as you struggled to get rid of the idea that Jungkook was there.

“Where is your mask?” he interrupted you, eyeing you as if he’d never seen a beautiful face in a long time. You looked at him with wide eyes; The tension was at its max as you felt a burn trail down your throat.

“I don’t know” you answered while touching the space of your face where your mask was supposed to be. He shook his head in disappointment as he grabbed your hand. It was a grab identical to the one you felt when they held you that first time. You knew he was the one who admired you. He chose to train you.

“Fighters gather round and sit in a circle,” He roared so powerfully you could feel the floor almost vibrate. A sea of masked men covered in black, forming a big circle while having their eyes flaming in hunger was enough to make your fingers tingle in exhilaration. The atmosphere was intense and all 50 pairs of eyes were darted on you.

“You all know Y/N,” Your trainer announced leaving you in a maze of pure confusion. Your heart dropped as you raised your eyebrows looking at him in fright.

“Weapon, step forward.” He continued. Everyone gasped silently as they knew he’d put you up against the Weapon; You felt your lungs and heart igniting altogether as you processed his name. A patch of fighters slightly moved to the side to let him pass through as you darted your vision in that area. You could feel heat boiling up inside you as he stepped forward; he was a dot inside the circle, you were the one he’d have to fight.

You parted your lips in disbelief and looked at him right in the eyes, as you always did before you unraveled his face; It was you and him as everyone else sat around you. He traced you everywhere. His eyes sped in all directions of your body. His red double glazed glistening eyes full of pain were too exhausted to fight, yet the choice wasn’t his and definitely not yours.

“SET, FIGHT” The trainer shouted, his voice echoing ringing a bell in your mind as you took position immediately trying to make yourself think the one standing opposite you isn’t the boy you love. Jungkook took a deep breath and whispered just enough for nobody to hear,

“Come on love, show me that fire that i love about you.” You kicked, he grabbed; you spun, he avoided. You kept on fighting and fighting as if you were worst enemies. He couldn’t beat you easily as you fought just like him. Identical to him. Two flames intertwining causing a deadly fire; That was your connection. He grunted in surprise and growled in difficulty as you tried your best to fight him. Not because you wanted, but because he asked for it. All the fighters stared at your every move intensely, rather impressed of your power against Jungkook. You could hear nothing but the sound of needles digging through your ears yet you strongly felt Jungkooks hands grab every action you did.

You loved it. You loved the pain he opposed on you. It was a burning feeling of euphoria, too strange to explain. He grabbed your legs and pulled as you fell on your back, next thing you knew he sat on top of you pinning your arms on each side as his face was a thread away from yours. His wet hair acted as curtains in-front of his eyes. The heat from his body felt hot on your skin as you panted in need for air; or him. The thought that he was on top of you at that moment made your world flip and his mind freeze. His eyes not leaving your exposed lips.

“Fuck i can’t hide it,i want you,” he growled silently as he held your hands even tighter.

“i- i want you” you mouthed as he picked up each word that escaped your lips.

“Jungkook won this round” Your trainer said as Jungkook got up, shattering the contact between your bodies. He stood and looked at you as you were laying down below him. He couldn’t take the thought that je might’ve hurt you physically after the fight.

“God what did i do to deserve her.” he mumbled on the cloth trapping his lips as he slowly pushed back the hair in his face revealing his perfect eyebrows. He keeps touching you with those eyes but nothing else. He can’t do anything else. Suddenly he got dragged from your vision. The chemistry between you two was so vivid, your trainer grabbed Jungkook and took him further away to talk in private. You panted looking around the room as one of the other fighters approached you to help you get up.

He held his gloved hand out. You noticed a tint of his pale white skin being exposed between the end of his shirt and the beginning of the glove. You placed your hand on his and he pulled you on your feet elegantly. Rose petals fell from your cheeks and covered your body with something that feels like trust. His eyes took over yours as he gazed at your unmasked self. Naked exposed face all for himself. His eyes led to a mysterious ocean filled with whole new blacks and blues. A different beautiful from Jungkooks.

“I refuse to believe how good you are at this.” His voice so seductively soft, impossible to exist. He seemed to be an angel in disguise.

“Thanks” You answered. You flashed an innocent smile as you were about to leave, however he touched your arm and interrupted as you,

“Im Jimin by the way”. His grip felt warm, soft, heavenly.

“I’m Y/N” immediately escaped from your lips.

“i-i know” he sighed; he sounded rather hopeless as he walked away before you had the chance to say anything.

You stood in place rubbing the bruises Jungkook sprinkled all over your arms. A soft smile was formed on your face cause you knew the bruises were left on you as love bites from him. You felt it. Your tight armor was slightly ripped revealing your belly button. You did fight like lions.

Everyone was occupied practicing non stop as you sat against the wall, your legs exhausted and lips dry in need for some life. Faces of nurses dressed in green, on top of you checking you; mending you. You could feel them chatting quickly as they wrapped a wound on your leg in such speed yet smoothly since they do this nearly every 2 hours.

You rested your head on the wall and tilted it to the left as a nerve in your eye identify Jungkook right away. You couldnt resist the attraction even if you tried to swallow every piece of it. He was quite far away yet close. The trainer was talking to him yet his attention was on you. The doors to his soul were concentrated on to you as you could feel your trainer telling him something serious yet you couldnt make up what he was saying. You crossed your eyebrows in heavy concern as Jungkooks expression changed to the worse.

He glared at the ground in immense fright as your trainer started poking at his shoulder harshly. Your stomach dropped 5 stories down and your legs became numb. What was happening? What have they found out? You tried your best to focus on them as your vision became uncontrollably watery. Next thing you knew Jungkook stormed out and banged the door.

•••

2:32 am and you tossed on your bed. Your room. Number 97. It was the newest room made just for you yet rather small. Sleep was against you and the moon wasnt sinking in the ocean any time soon. The only source of light was the lamp next to you but nothing much. It was just enough to process where you were.

“Get out of my fucking mind” You whispered in desperation as you could feel your mind travel from each imperfection to every perfection of him. It was torture for you. You forced a tattoo of the letters ‘cant be together’ on each layer of your brain, but even that wasnt strong enough. Nothing was. Your face met with the palm of your hands and exhaled in exhaustion as you sank in your pillow waiting for the moon to enchant you to sleep.

Torture.

Your door handle twitching was what broke the silence. You shrugged in panic as your covers hugged your legs but he managed to get in. A tall figure was approaching you as your instinct made you throw a punch, yet your mind and eyes failed to process the fast encounter. He grabbed your hand and covered your mouth with his other hand. A familiar touch. You felt an army of sharp knifes break through your spine in a time span of 2 seconds as he held you in place.

“Hey hey princess it’s me, it’s Jungkook” Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and created his features in your mind as you had bare faced Jungkook a thread away from you. His soft voice stroked your ears as your heart lifted causing your body to fall into his arms. His hands shaking as he held your face finally having your lips onto his. The world stopped; you both found home. His hands explored you everywhere as you swathed your arms around his long neck, kissing as if that was it. As if forever wasnt an option. He broke the kiss as you leaned in for more, both lost in eachothers hearts as if everyone else in world disappeared.

“Y/N,” he muted his tone as he placed his forehead on to yours,

“ Your trainer know what’s going on but i dont fucking care. I really don’t, i only want you. Just thinking about your touch drives me insane i-“ he shook his head left and right as he spoke as if he just let out everything he ever felt, he knew it was a sin for the mafia. He sold his soul.

The weapon bloomed into a magnificent rose consisting of breathtaking reds and pinks yet filled with deadly thorns. You hunted in his eyes as you touched his cheek

“I dont know what to do Jungkook i really dont. How about we act like-like we dont know eachother or-“ you tried to come up with something as his eyes reflected hope, he wanted this; he yearned you.

“ Ill do anything literally anything, but fuck ill miss my fingers in your perfect fucking hair.” Before you could even answer you felt his lips mark sloppy kisses on your neck as you lolled your head back feeling every nerve of your body boil in pleasure.

“Jungkook i-“ You forgot how to speak as you held on to his shredded arms. Those sinewy arms of his, left you breathless only by the thought of them on you; You felt his muscles clench and unclench as he grabbed your waist tightly. You lost it. you wanted him.

“Y/N im not gonna leave you, ever, i promise on my fucking life.” he kissed you again and again

“Please dont leave me” You panted. Your heaven stopped as you felt the absence of his body from yours. The door was wide open and 4 people grabbed him dragging him out of your room. Panic.

“Y/N” he roared as his powerful outline fought for freedom. “OH MY GOD NO JUNGKOOK” You cried as you were held in place by 4 hands caging your every source of movement.

“Boss was right, inject her” a voice pierced your eardrum and destroyed every grain of hope.

“What are you doing to me? Where the fuck are you taking him?” You unstoppably struggled to break away from them as they held you even tighter. A voice from behind you awakened

“To you? Nothing. But Weapon, you’ll find out sooner or later.” You felt your heart split with the strongest most unbreakable sword not even God could control. Yet again, you went blank.

[bonktime]

Weather the Storm

Prologue: Lay of the Land

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Masterlist //  Chapter One: Taken Aback

Rated: Explicit (bit of a slow burn but we’ll get there)

Warnings: Language for now (smut will come later)

Summary: Ezra travelled with the tides, let the sea carry him where it willed and never stayed long. The lighthouse keeper was the opposite. Where he moved she stood firm, defying the waves and the tide as if carved from the cliff herself. They’re drawn together, but opposing forces so strong are always destined to cause a storm.

A note: I kinda apologise for historical inaccuracies but 1861 was a proper shite time to be a woman so we’re mostly glossing over that. Also the lighthouses mentioned hadn’t even been built yet. Another thank you to @danniburgh​ who I threw ideas at to see what stuck. As of right now this is shaping up to be 7 chapters and an epilogue of sea puns, yearning, angst and definitely smut. I intend to update weekly but that may vary depending on work! I’ve put glossary at the end so you know what I’m talking about. Written in the third person.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!

Wordcount: 851

~~~~~~~~~~

Everything Ezra could see was grey. Heavy clouds loomed above, threatening rain but not ready to give it up, their reflections transforming the sea into mercury. Even the huts in the bay appeared drab, colour sucked out by the beating of the weather. He wondered if the people would be the same, colourless and cold like the land that surrounded them. He had often found that humans adapted to their environment so well they almost became a part of it, blending slowly together until inseparable and indistinguishable. In a way he was envious of them, to go where the work was had never allowed him to stay too long and get too comfortable. It made him stand out, always a newcomer, an outsider unable to make real acquaintances. He liked it though, the freedom, the adventure of it. He was certain that he always left an impression when he’d gone: a bruising kiss, a couple missing teeth, a scar. He marked the places he'd been, like carving his name into a tree.

The North Sea was an apt name, he decided. He’d read that it had once borne many others, Morimaru, Oceanum, Mare Germanicum, but only North had stuck. There appeared to be no other words that could correctly depict it. North as in north of everything, north as in cold, north as in nothing else is important except it's northernness. It seemed curious that it had managed to shuck the title the Dead Sea, where floating freshwater stilled the waves and becalmed boats, where hidden reefs wrecked ships making it one of the deadliest coasts in the country. He supposed with the new technology, those aboard had ample warning to avoid getting dashed upon the rocks, only needing to keep a weather eye and ear out.

Finding work had been easy, the fishing season was starting, and with his experience the trawler ‘Mistress’ was all too eager to have an extra set of hands, willing and able to pay the devil. It was dangerous work that paid adequately and offered some compensation, money to a family he didn’t have if he died, a stipend should he be crocked into retirement. Enough that, if he scrimped a bit, he should have no trouble travelling wherever he wanted to go next.

"Four days at sea, three on land. You're lucky, we used to run six and one but tired men make mistakes that cannot be afforded." Ezra nodded in response, dead sea indeed. The man in front of him was writing the ledger and had barely glanced at him the whole time, giving Ezra ample opportunity to stare. He was probably in his sixties and had clearly known the sea well before taking to the books when his bones could no longer bear it. His face showed every year of hard work, of the wind and the salt but as much as he appeared like the jagged cliffs of the bay, his ruddy cheeks surprised Ezra and there was a twinkle of good humour in his eye. Not all cold and salt after all.

"Do you know of any pleasant lodgings in the local area? I'll need somewhere to find respite when on land." At this the old fisherman sat up and for the first time properly looked at Ezra. Sharp eyes scanning his face, focusing on the scar on his cheek and then his eyes, so intensely he could feel the man making his judgement. There was a moment's hesitation.

"3 miles up the coast there's a lighthouse, the keeper rents out a room in the cottage. You'll have to get there quick though, else you won't beat the tides" he stood creakily and stuck his roughened hand out for Ezra to shake "See you Monday, 3 hours before dawn. If you're late, you get left behind." Ezra shook it and, with a nod, left him to begin his walk up the coast.

The wind bit his face as he looked up at the looming tower across the causeway, from here the island seemed lonely, a last stand against the beating of the waves. The lighthouse itself had once been painted white but Ocean spray had dirtied it, turning it the same grey as the sky. The Old Salt had been right about the tide, it had begun its approach. Slowly covering the rough path to the island where the lighthouse and its cottages sat, cutting it off. Crossing it wet his feet and numbed his toes but guaranteed a room for at least the night. He would be stuck there until the water receded. 

As if warding him away the water rose around him, appearing to speed its ascent and forcing him to lift him bag high as he waded, knee deep through the icy water. Reaching the island, a solitary figure appeared out on the rocks, it turned and headed towards him, sure footed despite the terrain. 

Ezra hadn't known what he was expecting from a lighthouse keeper. Probably an old man with a large beard, weather beaten and bad tempered.

Whatever he was expecting, she certainly hadn't been it.

⧫⧫⧫

Morimaru: Celtic for dead sea

Oceanum: latin, literally means ocean ,you probably got this one

Mare Germanicum: latin for germanic ocean

Becalmed: stuck without wind or currant

Trawler: sailing fishing boat invented in Brixham 19th century

Pay the devil: tarring a part of the ship called the devil, known as one of the worst jobs

Crocked: injured, I dunno how rare this one is but I’m never entirely sure if I’m using geordie words or not

Old Salt: means old sailor, endearing

If I missed anything let me know. If you read all this I hope you enjoyed my love of research and homesickness coming together!

[crimsonfluidessence]

Prompt 21: Feckless

Content Warning: Torture, Intense Psychological Warfare, Body Harm, Physical and Emotional Abuse It was just supposed to be getting his money back. That was all he wanted out of the woman. But oh, how quickly it had turned to seeing some of the purest forms of red Esredes was capable of seeing. Being pickpocketed in Ul'dah was to be expected to happen eventually- inconvenient that it occurred while he was trying to get supplies for his family, but just a detour to follow the woman into a more secluded space and request his money back. No big deal. He had his ability to cloak himself with an illusion, and so she didn't see him following her down past that door behind the Miner's guild and into an alley. He watched her begin to count his money with a smile on her face and a whisper of "Oh, yes." Just a common pickpocket. No need to escalate anything. "All right, little lady." He began, the illusion still disguising him, causing the woman to freeze and look around trying to locate his voice. Just to make it worse, he began pacing all around to make it more confusing as he spoke next. "Cute. Real cute little move you pulled back there, but I have places to be and so do you, no? Just give it back without trying anything and I'll leave. I'd rather not have anything unpleasant happen today now." "Who are you and what little move?" The woman hissed and tightened her hold on his gil pouch. "Don't play dumb with me, ma'am. Give me my gil back, please. Just toss it out in front of you." "This? Mine from the start," she retorted as she closed it up and put it away, then dashed past him and tried to run away. Esredes raised his hand up and fired a pink beam at the retreating woman's head without a second thought. The woman cursed sharply and she doubled back as her balance faltered, sliding a dagger out of her pocket to slash at the air. "What the hell are you?" With ease, Esredes moved behind her and rammed his sword handle into her upper back. She grunted and stumbled forward, then fell to the ground, the dagger clattering on the stone a good two feet away. She didn't get much time to struggle to get up before he knelt down and pinned her body under his legs, his sword arm securing her at the back as well. "For fuck's sake, Priya." The woman muttered under her breath as she found herself trapped. "Someone who wanted to mind his own fucking business and ask you nicely not to waste our time." Esredes finally answered her question as he retrieved the gil pouch from her pocket. The woman tried to fight back under his weight, but she was getting nowhere. She lashed a hand out to bat him away from her pocket, but Esredes lengthened his hand to form claws and slashed at it, and she tucked it back inside herself as he pushed down more with his sword. "You know, is it not a rule of thievery to fold it when you've bitten off more than you could chew? You'd do best to learn it." "As if you'd know," she spat out. "Leave me alone; it isn't like you'd need any of it!" "I was completely content to leave you alone before you pickpocketed me, thank you very much. And you don't know anything about me, little lady, so fuck off with that. You're not giving me any incentive to not report you right about now- what did you call yourself? Priya? Pretty name for a vicious little rat," Esredes remarked. "If you've eyes, this city doesn' do handouts." Esredes paused, her reply passing him over. Priya... why did the woman's name sound faintly familiar? Enough to bug him even through his tendency to forget names? It had to mean something, be from somewhere, but he didn't know a lot of people from Ul'dah... But someone he had interacted with a lot recently did, and... Esredes' eyes widened. Yes, it had been Elouan who mentioned that name to him during their most recent therapy session. The name of an ex of his who had beaten him for not making her enough money. Just a common pickpocket. Now she was also the woman who hurt his sunflower. "...Say, you must do this a lot, hm? Trying to get your way into money by any scummy means possible? Do you remember Elouan?" Priya froze at Elouan's name, but soon shifted into a smile that did not ease Esredes in the slightest. "Elouan? Dumber than a rock? What, isn't he dead?" "My gods," Esredes said. So it was true. This was the same woman and not a coincidence. The black heart in his chest pulsed hard, and dark, inky matter quickly spread through his insides. He moved his sword hand up and hit her on the side of the head with its handle. "I thought you were a simple thief, but no, you truly are a disgusting little parasite under there, aren't you? Shut the fuck up about handouts, I know what this city is, but you don't deserve them even if they existed. I show no sympathy towards an exploitative and manipulative abusive little monster like you. Oh, today is not going to be your day, little monster lady." He never did change his other hand back down- in its full display of rough and leathery skin she couldn't see, he wrapped it around her throat and pressed lightly. "Have you any idea how much you have to answer for?" Priya let out a soft noise and struggled much more aggressively now, clawing at the leathery hand with her own. "Hh--Answer? I'm answering to nothing. Call me what you want, I don't care. If you're calling me a monster, what're you?" With no eyes to find, she couldn't make eye contact, but she still shot quite the devilish look. "So he isn't dead, is he? Such a shame; I thought the 'yotes outside of Ul'Dah got him! It wasn't like he was worth much with the bets..." The inky matter only kept spreading. "He's worth far more than your pathetic, greedy little ass will ever be. But you wouldn't know anything about the worth of people because all they are to you is an ends for money, hmm?" He drew a line of blood across her throat. "I should fucking kill you. No one would be around to even notice your corpse or look for you, would they, hmm?" The woman laughed, even despite the pain. "You should? What's stopping--? No, who's stopping you? Elouan? That dumbass? Have you ever seen him come back from a loss down there? Do you know what it's like to not have any gil? Anything?" She spat at him and continued trying to fight, but his grip remained iron. "Shut the fuck up." Esredes ran his blade lightly across her forehead. She moved her hands to the ground and tried propelling herself up, but she couldn't even upset his balance. "To answer your question? Yes, I do. That's no fucking excuse to beat a man up who is willing to mutilate himself and risk his life for a woman who doesn't even consider him above maggots. He loved you because he didn't know better, didn't want to accept the evils of people, and you felt nothing." Her body tensed up and her eyes became even more hostile. "You don't have anything, no, a heart or any redeeming qualities included. You're a street rat who deserves to writhe in filth, because no part of you deserves even a single piece of gil! And to answer your other question?" He decided now was time to flicker back into existence before her eyes, his pupils compressed to slivers and sharp teeth grinning as he leaned in close to her face. "Well, if no one will find the body, I suppose nothing at all is stopping me, hm?" "He wasn't worth it. You're all talk and you still hesitate," she snickered at him. "You're still hesitating because of him, aren't you? Because you're just as weak. He wasn't fit to live long, y'know. Probably still isn't, too." "Oh, I'm not hesitating because I'm weak," Esredes smiled and pressed back hard against her struggle attempt with his sword and body, leaning even further in. "I'm hesitating because you're not getting off that easy after all you've done." He pressed harder on her throat and dug his thumb claw into it harder. "We're only getting started here. No one has made you answer for what you've done to him, and I am so glad we could meet for the occasion, unexpected as it is. Tell me, do you think you look good in red?" There was barely the shape of a creature below him by this point, just red. He ran his claws down her face, he ran his blade down both of her arms, he slapped her, all while taunting her about what a pathetic creature she was. "Get OFF," she soon shouted. "Oh, I'm sorry, you want me off?" His eyes widened for her. "Did you listen when Elouan asked you that, hmm?! Did you stop hitting him for things that were your fucking fault?!" She bit her lip and clenched her fists, shaking. "My fault? Who was the one that lost bets? Who was the one that just had to stop because it was 'too much'? Me? No; it was him!" There was venom in her words, and a lot of it. "One hit wasn't enough for him and you know that, don't you? You have to keep drilling it into his fuckin' head. He couldn't even find his way to the aetheryte even if he was fifteen fulms from the thing!" Esredes almost couldn't believe the things coming out of this rodent's mouth. "You're fucking disgusting. And wrong, on top of that." He hit her with his sword handle again. "No, your problem is that you're an impatient, selfish little aggressive piece of shit. If you actually had an ounce of patience and kindness that wasn't faked to all hell, you'd know the man can listen and learn quite fine if you explain it to him well enough. But you're not capable of that because you're not smart enough for such things and you don't actually bother to learn a thing about how people actually work. Maybe if you had the consideration outside of yourself for it, you wouldn't be stuck here pickpocketing people like a street rat, hm? People don't bend over for vicious worthless scheming selfish lowlives like yourself. You will never get anywhere in life. You cry so fucking much about how you have nothing, but in all your years of exploiting and robbing people, you still have absolutely nothing. I don't think you have anyone to blame but yourself at that point. You will die filthy, worthless, and alone, and no one is going to miss the dirt on the side of the street. Now, how many hits will it take for you to get it into your head, hm?" He punched her once. Twice. Three times. Four times. The last punch managed to make her wheeze, and she shut her eyes. "When is ever enough for you?!" "...enough," she said at last. "Enough!" His fist was raised for another blow, but he grinned at hearing the word out of her. "Ah. She did it. She is capable of having enough." He laughed for a solid few seconds. "For the first time in your life, something is enough. How does it feel, hm?" She wrinkled her nose, and tried to muster one last kick, but couldn't even. She said nothing, reaching up to try and pull his hand off her with trembling hands. Esredes took her hand and held it up by the wrist, staring at it. "Look at it. So weak, so small, so pathetic. If you'd held on to someone like Elouan and actually loved him, he'd protect you from something like this, you know. As is, you're not strong enough to protect or help yourself alone. And you never will be. You're a cold, vulnerable little lady in a harsh world, and your only response is to make it so your own existence has no justification for itself."

He wasn't done. He wasn't anywhere near done yet. He kept on going, tearing into her with more wounds. He even took his little pair of scissors he used to cut his emergency supply of gauze and cut away at her hair.  She kept helplessly trying to fight back, kept trying to scream at him to stop or go away. "I'm not going anywhere yet, little lady." He eventually said, grinning as he ran a clawed finger down her face. It was gentle enough not to draw blood, and she shivered under it. "Because I am your nightmare, I am the harbinger that comes for naughty little ladies who need to be a taught a lesson about the cruelty of their own heart." He then slapped her again, and continued cutting her hair. "You want to be a cruel and heartless beast to people who don't deserve it? Well, tell me, is it worth it? Is it worth it to sit here trapped in a reflection of your own cruelty and be content to bleed out in the darkness?" "Why should I talk about worth with you?" The venom and bite of her words had gone; she no longer had the energy for it, it seemed. It wasn’t long before she even started producing tears in her eyes. "Aww," Esredes said in a low, mocking voice. "Does the beast want to cry now? Cry like you made Elouan do countless times? It didn't mean a damn thing to you. Your tears are nothing to me." “I don’t care,” she said in a low and rough voice. "Don't care about you 'n what you say." "Then why are you crying?" "I'm not crying." Tears were treading down her cheeks. "Lady, look at your own goddamn face. You can't even hold it in. Is this too much for the poor little snake to handle, hmm? You're breaking this easily? And to think, Elouan survived multiple beatings from you, and you can't even handle this. Who's supposed to be the weak one again?" "Just shut up!" She croaked in a broken voice. "Shut up! This is pointless! Leave me alone. You've got what you wanted. You've gotten more than what you wanted already," even when she shut her eyes, the tears did not stop. "This is not enough." Venom dripped into his voice. "This is nothing to what you did to him. You can wish for it to stop all you want, but that never helped him, and it's not going to help you, either. Cry all you want, it only makes this all the sweeter. You get everything that you deserve." "He's just another pet of the sands, don't you see?“ The woman said through her shaky voice. "I thought I'd be better with more than what the trade offered. I couldn't start off without--without that." "And? And? That gives you free reign to crush his heart and body for not doing every little thing perfectly for you? When this man was willing to give you all of his love and torment himself far too much for you? You know, pickpocketing a man with a voice like mine? Fair enough, I know what city I walked into. But that? That as your excuse to be cruel in pursuit of money? No. No. Here, little lady. Answer me one little thing. Do you do all of this alone, in the true sense? Do you ever have a person to your name who isn't a tool you discard?" She finally opened her eyes again, staring at her hair on the ground. "Alone? Why'd I do it with anyone else? We're all just tools for anyone else to use--you either climb the ladder or get stuck in the lion's den. He was--he was too fuckin' much! His whining, his talking, his forgetfulness. All I wanted was gil for myself 'n business. Not the thing behind it." It wasn’t every day Esredes held true evil in his hands, trapped in his talons like a snake to an eagle. But hearing her twisted explanation only further caused his heart to rage in hatred. "Good. Fucking. Lord." He said. "People like you are the kind I despise the most. Your entire philosophy is so fucking stupid at its core, and all of you claim it's the most intelligent thing ever. I'll tell you a little story. I too have had absolutely nothing at multiple points in my life." On he went snipping her hair as he talked. "Do you know how you get away from having absolutely nothing? Yes, you have to have sharp skills of self reliance and the ability to climb out yourself, but you can only get so far on your own. You need, and I mean truly need, other people in order to truly build yourself up past a certain point. This is why types like you either never make it or end up dead eventually when someone else brings you down. You only make your own life harder by approaching people so selfishly without anything to add to it. People will see right through you, they'll tear you apart without sympathy or mercy, because you don't offer anything to last with people beyond the short term. If you don't blow everything in the short term with other people, and they aren't people like you, you get rewarded for being good to them. People are more willing to help you out of bad situations without you needing to do a thing because they remember when you were there for them, therefore becoming much more viable and sustainable than a one time deal you blow and suffer the consequences. You really think the world is going to bend to your greedy little will because you want money? No. It won't. It doesn't fucking care, and you know this. Lady, I don't know why I have to be the one telling you this with how smart you think you are, but here's a simple lesson on how people work. People talk. People complain. People forget things. People are not perfect little devices for you to drain gil out of, they are incomplete and flawed things trying their best. And people aren't very useful if you can't follow the basic law of economics and make a fair trade. You'd think growing up here, you'd understand this. Now, my point is, I was alone with nothing. And now? I have enough that you don't want to know the number of people who fear me, little lady. I didn't get this way by draining gil out of people like a vampire. I had to give something of myself, I had to sacrifice, I had to bleed for other people first, but people don't forget what you do for them, or to them. Each person you meet is a powerful weapon in their own right, a valuable resource beyond just money they make. And only a fool would discard such power. You're just a weak, stupid little thief who will never make it because you don't even understand what it takes to get out of your situation. You'll forever be in the den because you fall off the ladder every single time. There is a place to be vicious, there is a place to be kind. But you wouldn't know the difference if it held you down and punched you repeatedly in the face. I truly hope you never make it in life. The world doesn't need more people like you. Your kind can only drain the world of its resources and make it a worse place, all while declaring that the world is the evil one. Well have you ever fucking thought of being something that isn't so deserving of the world's evils? Because here you are now, bleeding out and crying, while Elouan is somewhere safe, having escaped, and is much happier because he's with people who appreciate his kindness for what it is. You have nothing for others to see. No one will ever lift you up off of here, because you'll never, ever deserve it." The woman laid there and absorbed his verbal blows, still too weak to fight back in any way. Tears still streamed down her face. "So what if I don't deserve it? I don't care. I don't care, I don't want to care, I just--" "You just what, lady? What is it? What is it you want to scream out right about now?" Priya gritted her teeth and out came a strangled cry. "--I don't want to be here. I don't want people around me or in m'life. I don't want anyone close to me! I don't want to be hurt like I've hurt them. I just want to be.  Be dead? Fuckin' fine, do it already!“ "Is that seriously all you want from life? To be alone with money?" "What else? Money can't hurt me like they could." "Wow." Esredes said. "Just wow. You know, popular sayings exist for a reason. People who are alone with money are some of the people most likely to drink themselves or take drugs into dying. I grew up in Ishgard. Everyone in the noble circle has money and guess what? We're all still fucking miserable and want to die, broken empty shells of people. People still treat you like trash and shit no matter how nice you look and how perfectly polite your tone is. You still die empty and unfulfilled and ultimately meaningless. ...But you know this in some capacity, don't you?" He leaned down close to her face again, and she shut her eyes. "Is it not just because you want this to stop that you keep trying to taunt me into ending you, hmm? Are you sick enough of festering in your own shallow existence that you want to just spare the world the burden of you?" “You already know the answer, don’t you? I’ve got nothin’ to my name or kin! Why keep me around if that’s all I have, aye?” "Exactly. There's no reason at all." He smiled. "If I gave you your dagger back, would you be able to do it, hmm?" Priya kept sniffling. She opened her eyes and they landed on her dagger, past the scraps of her hair. "It'd be the one good thing you ever do in your life." He continued on. "You'd finally give back to the world, as your corpse decays and the nutrients can be absorbed to go to things more deserving of them..." “Stop talking,” she mumbled yet again. But Esredes only grinned. "Just think about it. No more waking up in pursuit of your empty desires. No more pickpocketing and feeding on scraps. Just the sweet embrace of nothing washing over you, finally an end to all the suffering. You won't be weak anymore. You won't have to feed for more, and more, and more... you will finally have enough." “I said stop.” "You'll never make it. So why keep trying? You're not smart enough to make it, you're not clever enough. You don't have what it takes. All you'll ever do is prolong your own agony, stuck in the same cycle, over and over and over... is that really a worthwhile existence?" “Stop it! Stop talking! I’ve enough of this and, gods, just stop.” The woman managed to shout, but it so quickly became shaky, weak, and small once more. "You keep telling me to stop because you know I'm right. You just don't want to admit it." He took the final strands of her hair and positioned the scissors around them. "One moment, you're here, writhing in your own filth, and the next..." Snip. She hissed. "Release. Catharsis. Nothing." He held the hair out to her to look at. "See, you have a golden opportunity. No one cares about you. No one will notice if you die. You have no burdens tying you down to this earthy plane, you can release yourself like a balloon and fly. Wouldn't that be so wonderful, to see the sky...?" “I won’t see shite,” she retorted with certainty, stretching her arm to try and reach the dagger, only for Esredes to move it further away with a rock. "Alas," he said. "If you do it later, I won't stop you- but for right now, it's not time yet.” He threw the hair to scatter about the tunnel. “All this talk for not yet? Bullshite!” "You're not deserving of a quick death, dearest. No one with a heart as cold and empty as yours is." It would still be some time before he finally let her go. Tied up and unable to escape the tunnel with that pouch of opioids on her- a perfect trapped creature for the local authorities of Ul’dah to pick up. It was not enough. He couldn’t make it enough no matter how little he held back, and he knew it. Nothing would make up for what she did to his beloved Elouan. He would never completely understand the local parasites of the world that pretended to be human like her. Why were they all so content to live a destructive life focused only on themselves? Were they so wrapped up in themselves they couldn’t notice how boring they were, how little and shallow of an existence it was? They would go on, intimidating or charming those around them to feed their selfish empire- but at their core, they were weak nothings, and Esredes saw them for what they were. “Sorry, it was very crowded at the market today. I couldn’t get everything.” Esredes said to his parents later. “I’ll get it all in the morning before I leave. It should be much easier to navigate…” ——— @shieldbcund Priya, Elouan

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 47

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter

There are few things better suited to following a great summoning ritual than stalking a kindergartener and, quite literally, taking the candy out of his chubby little hand.

"Hey, that's mine!" the brat, Timmy, screamed, but had to watch Loki unwrap the popsicle and munch on it.

"Oh, Timmy," you sighed. "I thought a tough kid like you would handle this better."

"Who the hell even are you weirdos?" Timmy considered ending his question with a kick to the shins of one of you, but decided otherwise under the unnerving gaze of the strange man in a green suit. There was something off about him, that much was certain, but little Timmy couldn't wrap his mind around how otherworldly he actually felt.

He looked around, but none of his friends were around yet, and neither were any adults. 

You smiled your beautiful, wicked smile. "Don't fret, Timmy. We've heard all about your deeds, and boy, did we actually love them."

Timmy frowned. His chubby cheeks puffed up just in case it was time to scream. You didn't look like parents of whatever kid he might've recently offended. The pocket money he was getting ;ately from his schoolmates was nothing to worry about. A few bucks here and there weren't a reason for such a direct approach. Okay, those glitter pens he took from that girl last week might cause some bigger stirrup, but she certainly had a different set of parents last time he saw her.

"The hell are you talking about?" the boy settled on a safe approach.

Loki chuckled and leaned down to look him in the eyes. The features of his face started to blur. Timmy frowned, but blinking didn't clear it up. The harder he looked, the more they melted, and molded, and reformed-

"We know what you've been doing, child," the creature's horns grew and curled, just as more and more sets of eyes popped open. "We have our eyes on you."

The shadows deepened, and the world turned colder and eerily quiet. It was the absolute stillness of something deeply unnatural moving right past you.

But Timmy, despite what his teachers might say, was a smart kid. Being a bully and a petty little thief for years without facing actual repercussions of his actions could not be achieved if one didn't know when was the time to run. Timmy knew that time had come and didn't wait for things to unravel any further. His short legs took him surprisingly far in just a few seconds. Loki and you could only watch him go.

"Do you think it'll be enough?" you asked, taking the lollipop from Loki. It was the strawberry flavor. "I certainly wouldn't want to fail our first commission."

"I guess we'll see," Loki shrugged off the spell. "But I'm pretty sure we gave him something to think about. I can send one of the shadows after him to make sure he doesn't pick on our 'client' at school tomorrow. It'll be awhile before they disperse after summoning, so we can make use of them."

"Will they still lead us to the stolen pin though?"

"Without any problem."

And that closed the case. It was a little satisfying, Loki had to admit. 

He was still unsure about the pin, though. There was something off about the type of magic he sensed in the box. Faint as it was, the tang of death and rot was still unmistakable and didn't fit in the mental image of SHIELD's safehouse it was supposed to be stored in. It made the chase after the truth more thrilling.

Loki fixed his suit. It was not the type of fashion he usually preferred, but the way you looked at him in it made it worth it. There was nothing as confidence-boosting as being aware that you’re the eye candy for anyone lucky enough to pass.

"Shall we?" Loki offered you his elbow as the shadows gathered and formed a rough doorway. Beyond it, only darkness swelled. 

Stepping through it was a fight against condensed mist, but at least it had none of the flesh-shredding quality of Bifrost. 

The shadows Loki had called followed the invisible trail of magic the pin left behind after it was stolen. There was little chance of them being wrong or simply misled, Loki had assured you earlier. As beings stuck in a state of half-existence, there was not in the physical realm so often that it could affect their judgement and cover the tracks. Still, even Loki had a moment of doubt when he took in the place the two of you had been led to.

"I think we should've used that chicken," you said, looking around what was unmistakably a forest. A thick, dark, and very old forest. Definitely the type of forest unwelcome to unannounced travelers. 

It did not mean you were scared. You were just aware of a certain, thick atmosphere hanging low in the cold, winter air. Somehow, it was darker than it should've been at that hour. The trees loomed over you, their branches twisted and hanging low enough to strangle. 

Loki kept on patting your arm while your terror grew, and despite ignoring him for a while, you finally decided to turn.

A thick wall of a hedge, painted in a rotting green and sprinkled with half-melted snow, stood tall and guarded whatever was behind it. The branches were woven too tightly together to take even a peek between them.

"Is that a house? In the middle of a forest?" You asked, but no answer came. There was no road leading to the house. The trees encircled the hedge, but didn't interrupt its space, as if that particular spot had been chopped out of the forest. As if the usual rules of logic and nature didn't apply there.

"Strange," Loki muttered to himself as he walked closer. The hedge ran far in both directions, and from the point you approached it, no gateway could be seen. High above your heads, thin swirls of smoke rose into the air. 

"We should walk around and see how to get in." You gestured to the left.

Loki looked up. The hedge loomed a few heads above him. Even if Loki jumped, he wouldn't see above it. He jumped anyway.

And was swallowed by the hedge.

You knew there was something wrong with that forest, and the strange house especially, even before the branches shot out and wrapped around Loki. He only managed a yelp of surprise before he was pulled in towards the impenetrable depth of the bushes. As much as it was reassuring to know that your senses and intuition were as sharp as ever, the time to brag would come later. Using the ace up your sleeve, or rather sword in your pocket, you made quick work of all the choppable branches. 

Loki dropped to the ground. 

"You could've cut off my hand!" He looked in horror at the cleanly cut piece of his sleeve. It had been a close call indeed.

"Couldn't you regrow it?"

Loki stopped shaking off the twigs for a moment. "I'd prefer not to find out, honestly."

The hedge, despite your trimming, was as impenetrable as before. The only thing that changed was the distance you kept away from it. After not a long discussion, you decided to look for a way in.

The little gate looked suspiciously ordinary. The metal rusted in a few spots, mercilessly beaten by years of rain and humidity. The path beyond it winded between neat rows of herbs and vegetables and occasionally flowers you couldn't name. The scent of fresh soil hung in the air as you walked through them. The house itself was neither big or new, but was most definitely haunted. There was no doubt about it. It was obvious in the way the windows watched you approach. In the way the smoke curled lazily through a draft you couldn't feel. In the doorknob in a shape of a hissing bat.

"Do we… knock?" you whispered. For reasons you couldn't explain, you had a feeling the house was listening to every word.

"That's usually how it goes," Loki's reply was equally quiet. He made no move to knock, though.

A hollow hooting was the only warning before a dark shape swooped by your heads and landed over the door. The owl was big, even once it settled and closed the wings. The feathers, in various shades of grey and muddy brown, hid it almost perfectly against the wooden planks of the house.

It was a nice owl, one might think without looking closely. Because under further scrutiny, one would notice the deep gash only partially hidden by the puffed up feathers, and the bones peeking out underneath them. 

You stared at the dead owl and it stared back.

It hooted.

"I know, I said I'm coming!" the voice from inside the house shouted. The footsteps neared. Loki and you braced against whatever you'd have to face.

The door creaked open. 

Many thoughts had passed through your mind, but one thing you didn't expect to see was a spotty-faced, alarmingly skinny young man in jeans and a cloud of smoke surrounding him. You got a facefull of an aroma that reminded you of college dorms. You wondered if Loki thought he’d met the wrong end of a skunk. 

"Listen," he said, gesticulating wildly. "I know that y'all always want shit, but my grandma is still on her vacation, and I'm currently busy. She'll surely contact you once she's done, but nothing has changed since last time, and I still don't know when she'll be back."

The owl descended majestically and sat on his still raised hand. The man blinked in mild confusion. 

"I fed you already, don't give me that look, Barbara."

Loki looked at you. You looked at Loki. The owl turned her head backward and noticed both.

"I might be wrong, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time we're meeting," Loki forced himself to say after your not-so-subtle nudge to his ribs. "Could we bother you for just a moment?"

"I'm busy, I've got a shift tomorrow and—"

Loki barged in anyway, not interested much in whatever the man had to say. 

The little house turned out to be more of a cottage. Even though some work had been done to restore it and make use of modern inventions, the very core of the cottage stayed the same as it possibly had been for decades, if not longer. 

The herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry filled the air with a pleasant, if a little heavy smell that clung to skin and clothes alike. The huge chimney was full of wooden planks and blasting enough heat from the other end of the large working space to make you regret wearing winter clothing. Whatever was boiling in the huge iron pot hanging over the blazing fire was unlikely to be edible judging by the consistency and color. Or at least you hoped it was not supposed to be edible.

The owl flew in and perched on a chair. 

"Listen, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave me alone," the man groaned, following you. 

He took another drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes red-rimmed. The owl hissed and moved over the chimney, where she sat with as close to an angry expression as a half-dead owl was capable of. 

To your left, a rather familiar and highly surprising uniform laid along with medical equipment. 

"We'll leave as soon as we get the answers we need," you promised. "And our first question is - who the hell are you, exactly?"

The man blinked. "Are you joking? I thought you were clients."

"What would you sell if we were?"

"I mean," he gestured around. "It's my grandma who deals with potions, but I suppose I could give you a medical check up if you need one? And don't worry if you're dying, that's even better, I've got that covered too. Just make sure to come to me before the decay starts, and I'll put you back on your feet in no time."

"Wait, I'm confused," Loki frowned. "Are you a doctor or a necromancer?"

"My dude, I have no idea where you've been the past few decades, but if you think med staff is capable of making a living from just one job, you honestly should get a reality check. Look around - I literally still live with my grandma and don't even get me started on how much debt I still have to pay off with those stupid side jobs."

"You mean, resurrecting pets?" You looked at the owl. Barbara was not blinking.

"Listen, I'm at the point of my life where I don't ask questions. I just need the money. I want to move out. Have you any idea what it is like to live with your 260 year old grandma who has a better social life than you?"

The silence was a little awkward. 

"Precisely."

Loki wanted to take a deep, steadying breath, but whatever the young man had been smoking didn't sit well with Loki's lungs.

"I must ask though, are you raising the dead because you're such a terrible doctor, or is—"

"Paperwork."

Loki blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Have you any idea how much paperwork follows every death? I'd rather bite off my hand than do any more extra unpaid time than I absolutely have to." The man sat at the table and produced a stash of pot from somewhere. With slow, precise movements he started to roll another blunt. You bent your knees to see under the table, but couldn't find any hidden drawers.

Loki nodded at the man’s comment, although he was nowhere near possessing that kind of knowledge. Deaths that he usually participated in involved little to no paperwork.

"Was this involved in one of your recent side-jobs?" Loki put the little wooden box on the table.

The man shook it before opening. Only after sniffing it did the look on his face change to recognition. "Yeah, I think it was. I was paid to get a pin from it. I don't know what happened to it afterward, though. The client just paid and disappeared."

"How did you get it?"

"Mice."

"What?" Loki asked. You looked around, just in case. 

"No one cares about mice, especially in huge warehouses. That makes them perfect for the job, especially if they're controlled properly."

The dead owl hooted in agreement. Loki had an idea how the mice had been initially caught.

"That complicates our case," he whispered to you.

"Who paid you?" you asked, hoping that the answer wouldn't be...

"I don't know," the young man shrugged. "Some guy in a trenchcoat and lots of shiny money. My favorite kind of a client."

The man suddenly had a few golden coins out and in his hand. You hadn’t even seen his hands go under the table that time. The coins were heavy and most definitely not fake, although you didn't recognize any of the symbols they bore.

Loki did. 

"Do you think that agent of yours will cover any extraterrestrial expenses?" he asked, watching the reflexes shine on the golden surface.

"Where are we going?"

"To the biggest black-market-turned-casino-turned-complete-mess of a planet in the universe."

"How lovely," you said.

Barbara agreed, hooting happily as she hopped off the chimney and landed on Loki's shoulder. 

"Take her." The young necromancer yawned sleepily. "She hates me anyway. Just remember not to give her any pickles. She's got terrible gas."

[lunaroceanic]

(Wanted to make this its own post because it’s the first piece of “writing” I’ve done in forever; originally written as a fix-it to this post addressing the fact that Sam is never shown to recognize the fact that he’s only been able to be selfish all his life because of Dean’s selflessness in raising him)

God. You know what they fucking should have done with Sam in the finale instead of putting him in ugly old man makeup and making him be sad about dean until he died? Have him be the one to spearhead the effort to bring Cas back from the empty.

Like, when all the dust has settled and they’ve beaten god, he and Dean and Jack (because Jack doesn’t become god in this version bc he’s fucking three years old) are kinda just sitting around the bunker, none of them wanting to be the first one to acknowledge the vast, Cas-shaped hole that was left in the fabric of their lives. And he looks at Dean, and the horrific injustice of it all hits him like a brick to the face. Sam got Eileen back, he got his freedom from God’s story, he has his brother and his sort-of son. He’s free to write his own happy ending. And sure, he and Jack both lost Cas, but for Dean...

It’s different. And it’s not fair. Dean, who when he was barely tall enough to use the stove gave Sam the larger portion of every meal, who was there to whisper reassurances to a scared Sam that he himself never got to hear from his own father, who can’t help but care with his whole heart even when it hurts him, deserves a happy ending too. But Cas is gone, and Sam may not know all the gory details, but he does know that for Dean, an ending without Cas is never going to be a good one.

For his whole life, Dean had given every part of himself to being exactly what Sam needed, whenever he needed it. And Sam realizes now just how little he’s given dean in return. It’s only because dean always pushed Sam so hard to keep fighting, to keep living for the cause of others, that Sam survived to become the person he is today. And who he is is somebody his college-age self never would have recognized. He no longer defines himself in relation and opposition to his father’s wishes. He’s no longer solely driven by the selfish, deep-seated urge to rebel against the hunting life for the sake of rebellion. He’s found who he is in hunting, in leading, in creating the hunter network like a safety net for those who find themselves thrown into the life by tragedy outside their control, so much like himself it makes his heart ache. But most importantly, in this scenario, he’s found himself in learning magic.

Most importantly because, while Dean wants Cas back so badly that his grief permeates the air he breathes, he can’t find it in himself to hope for Cas to return. Not without any higher entities pulling at anybody’s strings, not without the blood of a nephilim sired by the angel he wants to summon from the empty. He’s staring down the barrel of a bleak, loveless future.

But Sam? He knows the full extent of the capabilities of magic. Rowena had created from scratch the spell he used to bring the love of his life back. He can do the same for Dean. He can give this new part of himself over to Dean’s cause. It’s the least he owes him.

He reaches out to the hunter network for research and supply gathering. He’s unsurprised when Claire throws herself wholly into the efforts. He stays up late night after night, makes sure Dean is getting more rest than him by pretending to go to sleep at the same time Dean does before sneaking back into the library for a few more hours. He goes to Rowena herself, and becomes well-versed in ways to work around the rules written into the fabric of reality. Finding loopholes comes easily to him—he was pre-law, after all.

In the end, he designs a spell to nullify the claim the Empty has over a being’s consciousness. Like all of Rowena’s most potent spells, the ingredients are simple, but powerful; each party, the rescuer and the rescu-ee, must sacrifice a part of themselves to put to rest in the Empty in the angel’s (or demon’s, he supposes) stead.

And when Dean and Cas appear in a flash of light, kneeling on the bunker floor, Cas bleeding from a shallow cut at the base of his throat and Dean beaming and drinking in the sight of Cas more openly and shamelessly and selfishly than sam had ever seen dean allow himself to, Sam knows exactly what parts of themselves they had left behind in the empty.

He and Jack and Eileen and Jody and Donna and the girls—and everyone else who had come to support Dean before he had set off into the empty alone—erupt into cheers and dogpile onto the two of them. Sam finds himself in the center of the chaos with Cas, Jack and Dean. Dean lets go of Cas for a precious few moments to crush Sam into a hug. His voice is rough when he utters a shaky, “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam can do nothing but laugh and draw his family into his long-armed embrace.

[captain-yeet]

Heartbreaker (Felix Volturi x Fem!Reader One-Shot)

Request by Anon; Hi could you do an imagine with Felix just leaving people after he sleeps with them and not caring about hurting their feelings? (I can’t stop thinking about it)

Warnings: NSFW themes, abandonment, Fuckboy!Felix

Word Count: 1.78k

Author Notes: Oh god my heart. I’m like, a super emphatic person so when I say I felt this while writing it I FELT THE PAIN

You’d been warned of a vampire’s charm, but that sure didn’t stop you from finding yourself falling for one particular tall muscular vampire, did it?

Despite the warnings from those who knew of how seductive a vampire could be - and warnings from those who knew Felix - you still got wrapped around his finger. Quite happily so. It began with the two of you shooting flirty comebacks at each other, and then that lead to you two getting even more flirty with each other, which lead to hanging out in secret... and then to last night’s events.

You’d slept with him.

He had slept with you.

And it felt amazing. You enjoyed it a lot.

That would have been the most mind-boggling thing about your relationship with him and sure, you still questioned it, but as you stirred back to the land of the living you awoke to just you in the bed.

Alone.

No Felix, but certainly evidence all around you that he was here.

The bedroom looked like it’d been hit by a hurricane with blankets strewn haphazardly across the bed and the floor. Your clothes you’d worn the night before - you couldn’t even call them clothes anymore as they’d been torn. You moved your head and felt something soft shift in your hair. Reaching to pluck whatever it was, your fingers found the stuffing from your pillow had made it’s way to your hair.

 “Shit,” you sighed, closing your eyes and arching your back as you stretched. Your stretch was short lived as you cried out, a pain shooting up your spine from your hip.

You slowly came to a sitting position, breathing heavily as the pain throbbed away. Now more awake, you carefully slid off the bed and made your way to the mirror in the bathroom.

What you found honestly shocked you.

A deep, dark bruise shaped oddly like a hand print bloomed at your left hip, a matching one on the right. The right-sided bruise wasn’t as sore-looking as the one on the left. Guess he really gripped me hard last night, you concluded, frowning as you scanned the rest of your body. You wouldn’t have minded much if you could properly put weight down on your left leg. It felt like the nerves were being pinched.

As your eyes moved up your reflection, tears came. You did not look good. It was as if someone had beaten you to a pulp, with more bruises lining your forearms, your neck and even down at your thighs. Your lips were swollen too.

Breathing becoming erratic, you turned away from the mirror disgusted. “So much for being gentle by vampire standards,” you huffed, wiping away a tear.

You weren’t expecting to wake up looking like this. Sure, you’d heard about the possibility of getting a few bruises but you expected not to wake up to the aftermath alone. 

Where the hell was he? Was this his plan all along? Get close to the gullible human girl, fuck her and leave her? The thought made a little tiny sob bubble it’s way to the surface. Fueled by the panic of waking up sore, bruised and alone, you tried to get your thoughts together.

First step, find some clothes. Make them comfy.

Padding back into your room you rummaged through your drawers for some loose, comfortable clothing. As you shimmied into your sweatpants, more pain shot up your spine.

 “Fuck,” you hissed, letting your body rag doll onto the half-destroyed bed. “I need to call a doctor.”

But how would I explain this? Oh hi doc, yeah I might be injured after having filthy dirty sex with a vampire. That wasn’t going to fly.

At that moment, your phone started buzzing.

Gritting your teeth through the pain, you wriggled over to the end table while still on the mattress and picked up the call. “Hello?” you answered, part of you hoping it would be Felix.

 “Y/N?” came a light, almost sing-song voice.

Ah, Alice.

 “Hey Alice, what’s up?”

 “I had a vision -”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Do you know?”

She sighed. “Yes, I do. Are you okay?”

 “I... no, my body hurts like a bitch,” you confessed. “Like, ‘I need to see a doctor’ bad.”

 “I’ve already told Carlisle -”

 “Alice!” you whined, heat flooding your cheeks. “Why would you tell him?”

 “Because, little breakable Y/N,” she quipped at you with her signature sass, however it was laced with concern, “I saw you in pain and you falling over. You can’t really go to a normal doctor about this, so Carlisle is on his way.”

Curse the tiny psychic and her sound logic. Unable to give a counter-argument, you simply sighed and shook your head. You knew she was right. “Fine, you’ve got me. I’ll wait for Carlisle to show up.”

And so you did. About fifteen minutes after your call with Alice, you let the good doctor into your home. In a way, you felt a little grateful for Alice’s vision; the though of having to explain to Carlisle why you were so banged up embarrassed you. It’s not like you were close to the man - a heat flushed your cheeks at the made-up interaction in your mind. “Hey Carlisle! Oh how did this happen? Well you know how everyone warning me about getting close to Felix of the Volturi? Well I ignored all that and we had sex last night, and now he’s gone without a word and everything hurts and I just want to cry!”

It would have been humiliating.

Luckily for you, Carlisle wasn’t one to judge.

 As he examined your bruises, he met your gaze with concerned golden eyes. “How are you feeling, aside from the soreness Y/N?”

 “I’m feeling...” You struggled to find the correct word. “I guess, upset.”

 “That’s understandable,” Carlisle replied softly, nodding to himself as he averted his eyes back to the task at hand. “I have to ask as a doctor and as the grandfather of a hybrid - did you use protection?”

Blushing would be an understatement for how red your face grew. “Yes.”

 “And Felix? Are you expecting him back any time soon?”

Your heart ached. “No he uh,” you paused, eyes glued to the doctor’s hands, “I don’t know where he is. Pretty sure he just kinda left.”

A pause. “I see.”

An uneasy silence fell over the two of you as Carlisle checked over your injuries. You felt like garbage and that was really the only words you could use to describe your predicament; garbage. Complete and utter garbage. 

A soft hand on your shoulder brought you out of your miserable disassociation. You looked up at the doctor, a sad smile making it’s way to your sore swollen lips. “You all warned me, I’m reaping the consequences.”

The kindness to your surprise, left Carlisle eyes. A hard glare fixated onto your face, boring into your eyes and internally you shrunk under his now hardened gaze. “Do not blame yourself for the actions of an uncaring man, Y/N.”

That glare stuck in your mind for a long time, along with his words. You’d known the doctor to be so kind, a warm presence; never had you seen him look so intimidating. 

Months went by and you thought you’d never see the man you shared a night with again. Until one particularly rainy night.

You were nestled in bed watching a show when you heard the faint clink of your bedroom window opening and shutting, and a large shadow moving in the corner of your room. Fumbling for the remote to pause the show, you began to panic until the shadow stepped into the light.

Low and behold, there was Felix.

 “You know it’s politer to knock right?’ you said haughtily. Irritation of being ghosted for months built up and began to pour out into your words as you glared at the immortal who broke your heart (and nearly your body).

He fixed a collected stare on you, tensed up and angry. “I suspect you have questions, but I’m here on business.”

Swiveling into an upright sitting position, you barked out a bitter laugh. “Questions, he says,” you sneered. “you bet your ass I have some.”

Felix’s cool gaze turn cold, frustrated. “Oh please - don’t tell me you’re still upset over that night a while ago?”

 “Of course I am!” you felt your body move on it’s own accord, moving off the bed and towards the tall man in one swift movement. “I wake up bruised and feeling arguably the worst pain I’ve felt in multiple parts of my body, and where are you? Nowhere to be found.”

 “You knew the risks!” he quipped back, lowering his head down to match your glare. “Forgive me if I didn’t want to stick around for some human’s breakdown over a couple of bruises in bed.”

Once again, your heart shattered at his words. You leaned back, away from him, mouth open. Hot angry tears welled up in your eyes. “Then maybe, just maybe, Felix,” you growled his name as you tried to swallow back your emotions, “try keeping it in your pants if you’re just going to be a giant piece of shit.” All of this could have been avoided for you if you’d just not have toyed with me, asshole.

You didn’t realise you said that last part out loud until you saw his eyes widen angrily; you noted he looked shocked, even.

Felix closed his eyes, a low growl being suppressed in his throat. He turned away from you and began to walk toward the window. “Aro had been contacted by the leader of the Cullens... said I should come by here and mend things with you.”

He spoke in a low, barely controlled voice. You had to strain your hearing just to make out what he was saying. 

 “Some things can’t simply be mended that easily,” you replied sadly, wiping away the wetness on your cheek with the back of your hand. “And I don’t forgive easy. Vampire, human... you’re the last man I’ll let break my heart.”

He nodded to himself. As he reopened the window to climb back out, he half-turned his head to you. “I’m not a man to be tied down right now, Y/N. I haven’t met my mate yet so I’ll continue to fool around with whoever I wish. After all, why not? But for what it’s worth, I... I apologise for the physical pain I caused you with my roughness.”

Before you could even respond, he was gone the next time you blinked, leaving you with high emotions and the sadness of a few months ago rearing it’s head once more.

Tag list: @vamp-army​

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 7- Obedience

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3732

Warnings: Implied violence, of course, from Ivar.

AN: I’m only realizing now that this would be considered a slow burn. Sorry 😅

6- Trapped

...

"I didn't think Ivar was serious when he said you'd be in here."

Artemis cracks her eyes open at the offending light. Above her stood Hvitserk, a concerned look in his eye. She shifts under his gaze, feeling the discomfort in her aching bones.

"Good morning." He then chirps in greeting, holding his hands out as an invitation. Artemis hesitates for a moment before grasping them, immediately noticing the roughness of his hands as he hauls her up in one swift motion.

Hvitserk managed to lift her out like a small child, setting her down on her unstable feet. He looked at her tired eyes with a sad smile, and that alone was off putting.

"I like you, Artemis," He begins, "I can't deny there's something about you," He pauses. He runs a hand down the smooth expanse of his honey hair, set in a neat singular braid. He leans against the crate, giving her a pointed look, "But it doesn't mean you can be disobedient, nor neglect your duties." He sounded so much like Helga, reprimanding, yet somehow not so angry. At least, not yet.

There was something he was keeping quiet about. Something was brewing and it set a fear in her heart. In her nervousness Artemis attempts to smooth down her overused dress, the hem already developing fraying seams. With a sigh, Hvitserk moves closer to her, supplying a rough rope from his belt and tying her wrists together, just as he had the first time they met. She couldn't even process his actions properly, and before she knew it, her hands were bounded.

"I hate to do this," Hvisterk offers her the same sorrowful smile as before, "But Ivar believes an example needs to be made of you." She remains quiet, looking at her bounded wrists with dejected eyes.

"I will be beaten." She comes to a realization, her voice barely above a whisper.

"The faster it begins, the faster it will end," Hvisterk replies, taking the long end of the rope to pull her along with him. Her still aching limbs struggled to keep up with Hvitserk's pace, and she could feel the bile rise, burning it's way up enough to make her eyes water and the panic resurface.

Hvitserk sighs again, gently turning her around to rip open the laces holding her dress together before pushing her out the cabin door. It was a sunny day, one that hadn't been seen in so long. She would have laughed bitterly if she weren't afraid.

All the other slaves under the Ragnarson's household waited out front, some of them appearing disinterested. Edda stood there with arms crossed over her round belly, annoyed that her time was being wasted on a spectacle when she had more important matters to attend to.

Sigurd and Ubbe, and stood leaning off the side of the cabin, their faces lacking any real emotion. Sigurd takes a quick glance at her before looking away, and Ubbe's piercing eyes said it all. I told you so.

Hvitserk pulls her toward the nearest tree, tying the rope as tightly as he could around the trunk. He motions for her to face the trunk and lower herself to her knees. She ignores the uncomfortable feel of her knees sinking into the dirt, focusing her watery eyes on the jagged shapes of the tree bark.

"I'm sorry, little fighter." And with that, Hvitserk leaves to join the others.

It was eerily quiet after that. The birds were singing their morning songs in the trees, and the cold wind danced through the leaves, gently falling over her.

Artemis let's out a shuddering breath as soon as she hears his body dragging over the dying grass, and her own body immediately tensed, the exposed skin of her back forming goose flesh.

Ivar drags himself to sit beside her, grunting when his back hits the trunk of the tree. He stares at her for a few moments, but she never turns her face to stare back at his. She bites her tongue as she gets the sudden urge to spit in his face.

He leans his head back, playing with something in his hands that she was sure was the object of punishment.

"You look scared," He comments lowly, the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. Still, Artemis remained silent.

"Look." He tells her gently, tapping a finger to her knee to grab her attention. When she turns, she sees him holding up a wooden stick with a slight curve in her line of vision. A switch.

"Mother would use this on my brothers whenever they misbehaved," Ivar smiles, recounting the countless memories of them being rambunctious boys, "I remember a time when Hvitserk went into mother's paint pot of khol. He used it all to rub it over our faces, even the thralls." He let's out a chuckle at the memory, a twinge of sadness from recalling images of his mother.

He sighs, poking her cheek with the stick, smiling when she flinches.

"Can you imagine Hvitserk being hit by our beautiful mother with this? She should have used a hammer." He continues his mindless chatter.

"And what about you?" Artemis croaks, her throat feeling dryer than the deserts of the east.

"What about me?"

"Were you ever hit with it when you misbehaved?" The question causes a bitter chuckle to erupt from him.

"Mother didn't want to hit a cripple," He shrugs, sweeping his eyes over her, "Not even when I killed a boy," To this, Artemis jerks away as if he'd burned her somehow, and he only laughs at her reaction.

"What? It was an accident." He says before dragging himself behind her shivering form, his bound legs touching the side of her thigh.

"It would be like being a child again," He says in a condescending tone, moving the tip of the switch in little sweeps over her shoulders and down her back. She wished he'd just do it already.

He leans in closer to whisper.

"Pray to the gods that today you will learn your real lesson."

...

It could have been worse, she tells herself.

It could have been his dagger, or a horse whip, carving or ripping at her tender flesh.

But it certainly did hurt.

Artemis takes in shaky breaths, her heart still pumping with the after effects of the adrenaline. Her back was marred with crisscross markings extending down to her lower back. She felt her bones would have shattered from the weight of the impact.

Ivar had said nothing by the end of it, tossing the switch aside and crawling away from the scene as if he were the one struck by it.

Artemis was left on her cot in an isolated area housed by the animals to deal with the consequences. There was a lingering stench of the goats and sheep, and she brings her sleeve up to shield her nose from the offending smells.

She sat with her knees cradled to her chest, her back making it impossible to lay down and rest properly. After a while her tears finally subsided, drying in thin streaks down her cheeks. She recites a simple prayer before fluttering her eyes closed once the drowsiness crept up. Her concentration was broken once she hears the familiar plucking of the lute. Squinting her eyes in the dimness of the candlelight, she barely makes out Sigurd's form, playing his lute gently.

Stunned, Artemis watches him appraoch her slowly until he sat directly in front of her, continuing to play the soft melody. She looked away from him quickly with a frown, overwhelmingly embarrassed.

"Artemis," She looks up reluctantly. His yellow hair was paler under the glow of the candles, and his eyes glitter like little blue jewels.

"Prince Sigurd."

"I...I have no words of comfort to give you. Just a song to lighten your spirits," He started to play again, experienced fingers plucking each string precisely. He hummed along with the melody, his eyes closed in concentration. The tune was nothing she's heard before, but it was beautiful. She let's the music soothe her, and she finally reveals the smallest hint of a smile, though it never reaches her eyes. Sigurd smiles back, feeling he had conquered the greatest achievement.

"Why do you show me kindness?" She questions him, hugging her knees tighter as if to hide. Although she appreciated Sigurd's attempt at calming her, she didn't know whether to trust his seemingly kind heart or if he were trying to misguide her.

"Everyone deserves kindness, even a slave," He replies, the smile never falling from his lips as his fingers continue playing.

"Even Ivar?" She asks, her eyes finally willing to bore into his. Sigurd abruptly stopped his plucking, setting the lute aside with a sigh.

"Ivar is crazy, but he is my brother. Although we do not see eye to eye, he is still my blood. I just wish he would realize that too," Sigurd spoke the last part softly with a another sigh. "I'm sorry I could not help you, but it was out of my control," Artemis shakes her head, not interested in such things. If God couldn't help her, than who could?

"I suppose a slave doesn't deserve to be saved." She rests her head on her knees, her hair spilling over like a dark waterfall. She was tired and didn't wish to take part in idle talk. Sigurd frowned, standing now with lute in hand. He takes a quick glance at her back, eyes lingering over the red swells that decorated her skin.

"Ivar has requested you be taken to the healer in the morning. It's the most kindness he will show you. Have a goodnight, Artemis," He left swiftly, finally leaving Artemis to the peace she had wanted. She muttered another silent prayer, making the sign of the cross before turning to her side and closing her eyes.

...

Sigurd had been correct, much to her relief.

She had been fetched to see the healer, upon Ivar's request, so that she may be tended to. The healer wasn't to concerned, simply applying a soothing salve that acted as a numbing agent. In time, the welts would disappear. Artemis should have been happy about it, but it didn't change the fact that the wounds were inflicted on her in the first place.

She was given a new dress as well, another request of Ivar's. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the fabric was of much finer quality than the last, of a warmer, softer wool. She didn't know why he even bothered to see that she was provided with what would be considered luxuries to some. His tendencies were confusing, and Artemis was beginning to grow weary of his judgements.

In the end, Ivar recieved exactly what he wanted: obedience.

Artemis no longer spoke out, and only spoke when being spoken to. She didn't look into anyone's eyes for much longer then a second. She remained quiet and passive, going about her duties that have doubled since the incident. She served the morning and evening meals to the Princes when asked to, helped Edda in the kitchen, and saw to every annoying need Ivar had.

His brothers took notice, watching her silently become just like every other thrall. Though Hvitserk still teased her at times, Ubbe was still kind, and Sigurd became more sympathetic towards her.

There was nothing in Kattegat that brought her simple pleasures. Every day became the same routine, with endless tasks and long nights to think of her home. She thought of her father, about the family business and who would inherit it. She missed the hot nights under the dark sky, the ancient ruins in her village, and she even missed the butcher boy who'd constantly seek her out.

The monks were dying one by one as the days passed, saddening her greatly. She stopped visiting Helga, as she was embarrassed of what the woman would say, but she couldn't go even if she wanted to. Facing Helga was one matter, but to face Floki was to seek further humiliation. Helga did warn her, as most did, but Artemis was stubborn and prideful, but like everything else, in time, she learned.

Snow began to cover every inch of Kattegat, and it was whiter than anything she'd ever seen before. It intrigued her, the way it fell silently in its path, only to land in her hand, melting away. It would be a harsh winter she'd hear the people say, with vegetation dying and rivers freezing over, and although she resented the cold nights, she had a new appreciation for the snow and its careful beauty.

Once the winter passes, the heathen army would make it's way across the seas to seek destruction. Artemis often found herself listening in to their plans, and watching as the brothers fought for control. Ivar was often angry, but that was to no surprise. He constantly argued with Bjorn, who would bark back his authority in return.

From her understanding, Ivar thought himself to be the leader, the one their father chose to lead their growing army. Ubbe, Hvistserk, and Sigurd never argued, but agreed that Bjorn should lead. Ivar was far too fickle, and his ever changing mood would cause more damage to themselves than to their enemies.

The bickering of siblings was nothing new to Artemis. She too had a brother, Apollo, who would often tease her relentlessly, but it was in brotherly affection, which is what the Ragnarsson lacked most of the time. It was as if it were disease tainting their veins, and the arguments between Ivar and Sigurd was nothing she had witness before. It was such hatred that passed through their eyes, clouding their vision of what was right and wrong.

Anyone could see the obvious distaste they had towards each other, and it was only recently in which Ivar would enter his chambers at night after another meeting, going on and on about how Sigurd infuriated him. Every night Artemis would listen while she readied his chambers for the night as he insulted his brother, repeatedly stabbing his desk with his favorite knife mercilessly in a way to calm his nerves.

In any other situation, Artemis wouldn't hesitate telling Ivar how stupid she thought he was, and how quickly his anger got the better of him. Ivar was young, and still had the mind of a child when it came to dealing with his anger. But she didn't care enough to even look in his direction most times. She grew a dislike for him, and his stupid legs.

...

Queen Lagertha organized a feast in honor of all the visiting nobles and warriors that came in the name of her ex-husband. She sat proudly on her throne, her red gown pooling around her feet like a river of blood. She was a sight to behold, with flaxen locks and attractive eyes that twinkled with many untold secrets.

Artemis watched her with doe eyes, admiring the Queen who emanated such strength and courage. The owl perched at her side and the warrior women beside her only helped her regal image. The girl was dazed, looking upon her as if she were a Greek goddess.

"Why do you look so impressed? She killed my mother." Ivar snorted beside her, sitting comfortably on a chair draped in comfortable furs. He sniffs at the ale given to him by one of Lagertha's thralls, before deciding it was safe to drink. He gulps it down in one go, tossing the cup behind him with little care. She grumbles to herself, bending to pick it up as he continued.

"She doesn't deserve the throne."

She turns to him with apathetic eyes. She had no interest in the Queen killing his mother. Perhaps she had good reason for doing so, but it didnt really matter to her.

"She is beautiful." Artemis remarks casually, watching Ivar's face twist in disgust, and it was almost enough to make her smile.

"She is a witch." He spat before shooing her away to speak with more honorable people worthy of his presence.

She looks around the hall, trying to find her way to the sidelines with the other slaves. The people here were massive, both the men and women, towering over her like great mountains. It was nothing she was not use to at this point, seeing pale skin covered with markings depicting their myths and culture.

Searching the crowd, she secretly hopes to find Helga, but she finds Aria instead, a slave taken from a kingdom called Ireland. She was a pretty girl with hair like fire and skin so pale, that she rivaled the white snow. She had a dust of freckles upon her face, and Artemis always found herself admiring her beauty.

"He's looking at you, you know," Aria snickered in her broken Norse, "He's been watching you all night. If he is not glaring at the Queen, then he is looking at you." Artemis snorted. She knew who she meant but she didn't want to acknowledge it. Ivar's eyes were always piercing, and so she dared not to look his way.

"Does he wish to take you?" Artemis turned her head quickly at the question, she almost feared her neck would snap from the force.

"What?"

The red head laughed, "He is doing more than merely looking at you, Artemis. He is eating you with his eyes"

"Don't be a fool, the prince hates me," Artemis snaps, grabbing a pitcher of ale from a passing thralls hands. She needed to keep herself occupied.

"You're much too modest. You're pretty, and there's nothing wrong with pleasing your master. That is how I stay in the Jarls good graces." Aria smirked, and behind that smirk lay many lustful secrets.

"You mean to be like Margrethe?" Both women glanced at the former slave, hanging off Ubbe's arm but batting her lashes at Hvitserk. Aria shrugged, glancing at her master who beckoned her over with a seductive smile.

"Perhaps." She says, bouncing away in a swirl of her skirts. Artemis huffed, rejecting the idea.

"Harald, look, the Mediterranean girl," She hadn't seen him in a while, but she remembered him well, the man with the ink on his face and the yellow hair over his eye. She knew his name to be Halfdan, protector of the stolen goods on Bjorn's last raid. The man named Harald tilts his head as he observes her. He then proceedes to chuckle, causing Artemis to frown.

"Quite the pretty little thing, brother," He turns to Halfdan smiling before bending down to be at eye level with her.

"And what is your name, hmm?" Artemis gulped, his face mere inches away from her own. His eyes held many stories of battle, and his skin riddled with scars was a testament to that. His hair was long and braided, falling over his shoulder as he bent. The ink on his skin only made him appear fiercer and he clearly was a man one should not anger.

"Artemis," She replies quietly, gripping the pitcher tight to her chest.

"He is a king. King Harald. You should address him as such," Halfdan says, quickly glancing at the pretty noble women that passed him.

"My apologies, King Harald, I was not aware," Artemis kept her eyes downcast, not wanting to meet either of their gazes. She wouldn't lie, she was quite intimidated, and having these men stand over her made her feel smaller than she already was.

"Worry not," Harald straightened up with a smile, "Your accent is odd. Where in the Mediterranean?"

"Crete."

Harald turns to look back at his brother for further information, but

Halfdan only shrugs, holding out his cup for Artemis to pour him ale. She complied immediately without hesitation.

"An island they say is part of the Byzantine Empire. We didn't stay long." Harald held his own cup out, and she poured him more ale obediently. The brothers clinked their cups together, yelling skol, before gulping the ale in one go. That seemed to be very common here.

"Well, little Artemis, we hope to see you again." She blinked after them, watching their fur covered backs disappear into the crowd of more furs and wool. What an odd pair they were

Before she could think of anything more, she was pinched roughly on the ankle, her yelp drowned out by the loud music and chatter. Turning round, she meets Ivar's angry eyes below her. He motions for her to lower herself.

"What did they want?" He hisses in her ear. What was she to say to that? She didn't even know what they had wanted. It was an odd introduction to an odd pair of brothers.

"They wanted more ale, Prince Ivar," He rolls his eyes, another action he seemed to do often.

"It's not your job to serve anyone tonight. You're no one else's thrall." Her brows knit in confusion. What was he going on about?

"Rememeber what I have told you. You serve no one but me," Ivar suddenly looked fatigued, his arms trembling slightly with the constant pressure of holding himself up. Not that Artemis cared, really. He could collapse in front of her and she wouldn't bat an eye. He suddenly snatched the pitcher from her, flagging down another thrall and thrusting it into their hands before sending them off.

"This feast bores me. Go on and ready my chambers, I wish to retire for the night," He shoos her off before going back to his brothers. He turns back to look at her disappear out of the hall, before going back to sit down beside Ubbe, who gave him a knowing smile.

"How fairs the slave?"

Lagertha suddenly cuts into his vision, a smirk gracing her pink lips as she bends to whisper in his ear. Ivar sneered, moving away from her, causing his other brothers to turn and look.

"She is a terrible slave, and quite umbecoming," He says harshly, his blue eyes icy. It took everything in him to not kill her where she stood. The Queen laughs, tossing her blonde hair behind her shoulder and sipping delicately from her golden cup.

"Your eyes say otherwise." Lagertha looked at him one last time with a knowing gaze, leaving him dumbfounded in the middle of the crowded hall.

...

@heavenly1927

[believerindaydreams]

Does it count as a slow burn if it's been less than 15000 words I dunno anyway here be the shagging chapter.

"Arcade Gannon, you're extremely drunk."

That he's saying it aloud seems to confirm the validity of the statement. Good.

Boone looks up briefly from his compulsive scribbling. It seems backwards somehow that he's sitting here with the drink while Boone is writing, but he can't entirely think of why. Tomorrow Arcade's problem.

Tomorrow along with the hangover and scavenging for survival and getting to one of the people they're meant to be rescuing. He giggles, tenderly adjusts the angle of his new glasses. They're utterly priceless, at least until he gets back to the Old Mormon Fort and can grab one of the three pairs he's put by for emergencies.

"What are you doing?"

There is a definite moment during which Boone has decided not to answer, but then he does. "Letter for my wife."

"Oh. Uhh, sorry about her...I can't, you know, take too many more emotional shocks before falling asleep. The-" he frowns abruptly, feels at his neck to see if the collar is still there. It is. "The thing thing. Enough for one day."

Compiling a list of the variables causing him to have hit this level of coherency would take long enough he'd be sober before finishing. Never mind.

"That thing," Boone says, sharply enough to break his pencil between words. He takes out a knife and starts whittling a fresh point. "Don't ask about the thing."

"Understood." He is absolutely dying to know what science involves making targets glow, but that's not Brotherhood or Legion business and it might not even be his. Much as he wants to find out. Man has a right to secrets.

He shuts up and just watches for a while. The scratch of pencil lead. The way Boone's frowning over the letters, a hint of pink tongue at the corner of his mouth, so profoundly earnest. The slight glisten on one side of his jumpsuit, catching the light-

oh. Oh! Fuck.

"I was crying on your shoulder earlier." The whole chain of memories pops up obediently, now he's looking for it.

"Don't worry about it."

"I-", Arcade starts, and promptly stops, because he was going to say he's sorry now but that might be misconstrued as rude, and why can't he offload some of this eighteen-caret vocabulary right now except making his mouth say it sounds difficult. "So you don't mind."

"In your position I'd have beaten my brains out against a Legion tentpost ages back. You're pretty coherent for a prisoner of war."

Now isn't that rich, being told he's coherent by...why is he thinking like this? That's Enclave talk, isn't it?

He firmly shoves that whole line of thought into a box and locks it away. "I should shut up and go to sleep now."

"Probably," Boone agrees. He folds the letter up, tucks it in a pocket. "I'll wake you when I can't stay awake any more."

"A watch? Do we really need one?"

"I'd rather not risk it."

It's either argue or go to sleep. He falls asleep trying to decide.

***

"Wake up before I pass out."

A return to the land of the living. Not as rough as it could have been, he's drunk so much water in ecstatic indifference to lurking radiation. Rads can be cured, dehydration can't.

He returns to the sink for more and turns around to find Boone already out, small and vulnerable the way people are when they sleep. Dragging the mattresses from the cells into this kitchen had been a good idea, there's a double layer to sleep on, another to sit on.

Compared to the life he was living, sustenance on sufferance and a guard every moment, this is the lap of luxury. Even the slave collar-

he feels the harsh metal against his throat again and shudders, returning sobriety hitting hard. This is not normal. This is not a state to get used to. He deserves better than this, as does Boone.

For a moment he considers crawling right back into a bottle, but they don't have an infinite supply and besides, Boone's trusting his life here. Best keep steady hands.

Old world poetry marching through his skull. Center cannot hold. If he has to get to terms with what's been happening to him, he will fall apart right here in this kitchen.

Focus, Gannon. Focus.

Boone turns over in his sleep, emits a soft snore, and it's silly to say that does it when it's the weight of death pressing down on them, attraction formed out of raw aching need, spending the most stressful hours of his life wrapped up in concern for the life before him; and something turns over and now he's in love. Or at least lust. His body, fed and watered and rested, is absolutely desperate for release.

A jumpsuit's not ideal for this sort of activity. Arcade removes it, adjusts his position to be able to see the entryway and Boone both, the other man's body gently rising and falling with each breath. The rhythm of it is steady, reassuring, makes for a fine counterpoint to his own meditative movements.

If an enemy comes in now, his senses are on high alert. Listening, seeing, it's an acceptable risk.

Boone isn't asking for this.

Boone doesn't need to know. They're keeping enough secrets from each other, he can have one more.

The crescent-shaped scar trailing down past the ear, normally covered by the beret. Rounded curve under the ribcage, a callus on the forefinger of indeterminate origin, every small detail whispering him on as he pulls and pulls and comes-

- the whoop of pleasure as he does so, clutching the butt of the holorifle for support, is tremendously unintentional.

Boone opens one eye, fixes his squarely.

"Huh. Nice to know you're human like the rest of us."

Sitting naked and covered in cum is so far past any reasonable course of denial or explanation, truth will have to serve. "I do find you very attractive, but we seemed to have enough to deal with without me dumping that on your head."

"...how about you give me a handjob, and we'll call it quits."

There are so many more extravagant ways to show a man a good time, but- this is Craig Boone. No surprise if he likes to keep it simple.

Arcade wipes himself off, ruining the lining of a poorly made fedora in the process, and crawls over to strip his lover.

(Can you say lover, etymologically, before actually committing the act? Never mind, it's bound to be a moot point shortly.)

He struggles to get the jumpsuit off- it's tight and Boone isn't helping much, limp with exhaustion- doesn't give him much to work with here. They might not get very far.

Nevertheless, it's incumbent on him to make the attempt.

Arcade teases the soft uninterested cock into a slightly more pliable form, careful application of fingertips that have touched more than their share of yielding flesh. Back and forth, back and forth, the hold is blessedly familiar after the holorifle grip and rightly so.

Still not getting very far. He lies down, tests a quick light lick along the shaft for a sounding before putting his mouth to work.

Boone twitches beneath him, shifts his weight, like the whole world turning over just for him. "Thought you'd just do it quick, not massage and swallowing thrown in."

Arcade doesn't hurry his investigation, the gentle play of tongue and lips, before withdrawing to reply. "Do you want me to argue or get you off?"

Boone does the thing he does best and shuts up.

He does quicken the pace after that, though- manipulation here, delicate squeezing there, minimizing the exploratory touches he would quite like to linger over- and it really is much too soon, when the warm rush hits his mouth.

Normally he would swallow, but the act ends in an anti-climatic puddle of spit and less attractive flavors, drooled out into a rusted tin can. "Tastes like cloud. No offense."

"None taken." Boone does, actually, sound relaxed now. He's unconscious in seconds.

Arcade clambers back into his jumpsuit and covers Boone best he can, before picking up the holorifle to keep a proper watch this time.

Everything that's stewing between them right now, he's not even sure this will change the dynamic between them. Death is the only thing more intimate than sex.

In the Sierra Madre hell, though, it's nice to have one thing to simply feel good over.

[cfserpents]

Since arriving at Camp Godspeed, things have been harrowing for the Son of Asclepius in some way, shape, or form. But there have also been moments of clarity, of peace, of enlightenment. Maybe it felt similar to his life before all of this, but maybe it has been better, too. Less darkness, more light. Except for what happened at the Trial of Deimos. After what felt like far too long in a nightmarish dimension, testing himself and his allies, Viorel is back where he belongs. Perhaps he considers this his home now, at Camp Godspeed. Sleep doesn't come easy like it sometimes would. There is too much on his mind. Fresh scars and emotional wounds from what they'd endured in the Trial of Deimos. Eventually, though, he finds himself drifting to sleep. 

He doesn't know how long he's been asleep, but when he wakes up, he's not where he remembers he fell asleep. Was he sleep walking? Was this a dream? He opens his eyes and he sees something, a familiar landscape. 

Please describe where Viorel is. Be as descriptive as you would like.

The trial of Deimos brought on more than he expected. The coffins didn't scare him, the shade didn't scare him, either. Rosemary nor their 'blast into the past' didn't scare him. What did scare the oft-stoic, aggressive man? Himself. His memories, scars, and the sources they came from. Viorel 'wakes' yet he doesn't. He looks around the dark forest of the Carpathian mountains, where owls hoot in the distance and the occasional crackling of branches and leaves echoes around. He takes a step forward, then another. And pauses. It's approaching fall with the wind taking a bitter, cold note while two pickup trucks rest fifty feet away and a trailer latched behind one. "Why is it always this place?"

The crisp, cold air licks against Viorel's face as the wind blows through the Carpathian mountains. The trees reach toward the sky and it seems to go on forever. They block out the light of the moon, of the stars, in most places but there does seem to be strands of stray moonlight that fall to the floor, illuminating it enough for him to see. The familiarity of it isn't lost on him. This place, in someway, is ingrained into his skin, his memories, his thoughts, and his ideals. 

The pickup trucks aren't running idly. No one seems to be around. Further ahead, he can hear something in the distance, beyond the trucks and trailer.

Vio looks around with a chill in his spine. Rather than storm through the logging grounds, he quietly walks through. There's caution and care in his steps, while his breath's held in his throat. A tent sits off to his left, red and worn and looking like it's seen better days. At the mere glance in its direction, his jaw ripples. But, there's a noise further ahead and that gets his attention. "Sorin," he calls, half-expecting it to be his companion. Viorel heads off in the sound's direction and tries to feel his pockets around for his blade.

Viorel's steps are as silent as the night itself. Even with the breeze roaming through the trees and the fallen leaves beneath his feet, Viorel is able to make his way passed the trucks, passed the red, worn tent, without notice. His voice is the only thing that breaks his quiet steps as he calls for his companion.

But Sorin doesn't come. It's still only him here. 

He checks himself for his blade and finds it there, tucked away like it always is. He continues pushing forward until he sees the the source of the noise. 

Four people are among the forest floor, two of them bound in ropes, two others holding guns pointed toward them.

Describe who the two people might be holding the guns and who the two people bound might be. Are they all people from his past? Are they his new found friends and family at camp?

When he nears, he comes across a scene he's all too familiar with. Viorel looks at the display, a pair of guns to a pair of hostages, and sticks close to one of the nearby trees for cover. He looks over them with a blank look on his face. He's not here. Sorin's elsewhere--dead? Missing? It spikes his heart but he stops thinking on it, focusing on the present: guns. Who he sees fills him with pride. Rafael and his mother. Rafael, the man in charge of the logging group whose trucks and trailer he's just passed, the same man that's taken Viorel throughout the years he was with them. Seeing him bound with his mother there, no less? He tightens his grip on his blade and waits to attack. What're they doing here?

     WHO ARE THE TWO PEOPLE HOLDING THE GUNS?

      oop--ENDER and WREN

It's strange that the tables have turned. He sees Ender and Wren holding the guns, sloppily, toward the two hostages. The man and woman of his past that carved out and hollowed him into a husk time and time again. He had survived them, but at what cost? 

He watches for a moment, waiting to see what might happened.

Then Ender pulls the trigger. Then Wren. 

What should have been an explosion of sound is silent. The gun's are empty. Rafael and his mother exchange looks—looks that you have seen before, looks that you know bring carnage and death in their wake. Rafael's hands break free of the ropes that bind him and he lunges toward Ender, wrapping the ropes around his throat as if to choke him to death.

What does Viorel do?

Viorel's upset that they shot his mother and Rafael. It's not for the act itself, claiming a life when neither had in cold-blood, but for the fact it should be him doing it. He snarls under his breath and watches Rafael launch at Ender. He feels rage engulf his chest, self, and knows what has to be done. The demigod lunges forward to use Rafael's distraction for his advantage. He brings his dagger up to stab into the rough, burly man's neck. You're mine.

Viorel charges forward, blade spinning in his hand before he lunges forward and sinks it into Rafael's neck. There's a wet, sickly sound as the blade sinks into him and blood begins to spill from it almost immediately. Rafael's cry fills the air and he twists his hands, attempting to break Ender's neck. The knife twists, too, and Ender drops to the ground. 

Only it's no longer Ender's face that Viorel sees on the body. It's his own, from back then. Younger, abused, rattled. Taken advantage of. A piece of him that died every day of that life that he used to live. 

Rafael forces the knife out of his neck and turns to face him. His mother breaks free of her confines and picks up a gun that was discarded to the side and aims it at Wren.

"MAKE YOUR CHOICE băiețel, THE BOY OR YOURSELF?"

“MAKE YOUR CHOICE, little one, THE BOY OR YOURSELF?”

He snarls into the man’s ear as blood spills, claiming Rafael’s life for his own. “You deserve worse,” he spits into his ear, watching him fall. But then Ender’s neck snaps, something he couldn’t stop. He watches the fellow healer crumple to the ground, dead. Two lives lost yet one didn’t deserve it. 

Viorel’s gut fills with a knowing dread and his mother’s voice is salt on an open wound. People close to me die—you’re no exception. 

Yet—Rafael’s face is no more. Instead? It’s his. He can’t even stomach to look at himself, that young boy broken, beaten, bruised, and taken advantage of time and time again. He can’t deal with the shame and feeling of powerlessness it entails, nor his own cries echoing in his ears. 

He looks back to his mother and Wren, sneering. “Oh? I get a choice now? My opinion matters now, after all these years? After all you’ve done?” He raises his voice and marches closer. 

“What happened, hm? What happened when you let them take me away? I was ten, you monster!” He doesn’t answer her, however. Why play into the choice when he can make his own? Viorel aims the knife at his mother and uses all of his strength to throw it at her eye. One less eye means one less thing she has to see, huh? She certainly looked away when I went into the truck.

The blade sings through the air as he releases it and embeds itself into her eye. She screams and her finger squeezes the trigger of the gun that she had pointed at Wren. The shot echoes through the darkness, causes the wind to almost howl as the bullet flies through the air and hits Wren in the chest. He's knocked off his feet, body slamming to the ground. 

His mother's face remains the same, but Wren's changes into Viorel's own visage, too. Him when he was ten. When he was given away. When his mother allowed it all to happen.

His mother's screams stop and a silent chill fills the air. She rips the blade from her eye and tosses it to the ground as she stares at Viorel with one eye. 

"Cine este monstrul? UITĂ CE-ȚI FACI."

“Who is the monster? Forgot what you’re doing?”

Viorel bares his teeth at her, blues lit with anger, anguish, and unforgettable rage for what’s been done. When Wren hits the ground, that chill in his gut spreads. It almost wins over the fight with his fiery anger, if it isn’t for Wren’s words echoing in his head.

 Maybe this is your second chance, too. 

He tears his eyes away from the boy on the ground. Not Wren, not the starry-eyed son of Asteria, who welcomed him and his flaws in spite of not knowing. It’s himself, ten year old Viorel, eldest son and the only one sold off that he knows of. 

“Nu sunt monstrul care vinde copilul ei!” “I’m not the monster that sold her child!”  He shouts back. “You sold me. You let them buy me. I was a boy!” Viorel spits out, stepping closer yet—falters, when it comes to nearing his younger self. Everyone that gets close dies. They always do, they always have.

“Dar accepți monstrul din tine sau te supărești?" “But, do you accept the monster in you or are you upset?” His mother's face looks at him, then the ten year old version of himself that died the day he was sold. He was no longer a boy that day, forced to become something else. 

Then, all three versions of himself rise to their feet. Viorel as a ten year old, Viorel as the tormented soul that Rafael abused, and himself, now.

"Vei pune odihna trecutului sau îl vei lăsa să te omoare pentru tot restul vieții?"

“Will you put the past to rest or will you let it kill you for the rest of your life?”

Viorel doesn’t think this as his mother, not anymore. It’s something else. Still does hatred engulf him like a second skin, a pair of welcoming arms that always comfort him at the end of the day. He wrinkles his nose, then laughs. 

It’s a sharp, cold note like metal striking metal, the hammering of a nail on an already closed coffin. “Accept? Am fost întotdeauna un monstru! Sunt ticălosul - fără mine nu există eroi!” “Accept? I’ve always been a monster! I’m a villain--there are no heroes without me!”

He doesn’t dare look at the boy nor the teen. Nor, for that matter, himself. He’s looked at himself far too many times in the river or the mirror, or the clean surface his knives and daggers off. Viorel doesn’t like what he sees. He never does.

Viorel's mother stares straight at him. Her eyes stare holes into him, almost as if she's looking behind the surface and into something deeper, something that goes into his soul. 

"Atunci de ce îi ajuți? De ce nu faci rău în loc să te vindeci?" “Then why do you help them? Why don’t you do harm instead of healing yourself?” She looks toward the other versions of Viorel. They flank him on either side. To his right, the young adult who's life was filled with violence. To his left, the ten year old who was given away without his mother's love. 

"Dacă ești cu adevărat un monstru, ucide-i. Omoara-i pe toti."

“If you’re really a monster, kill them. Kill them all.”

He keeps looking at her, at them. As they get closer, he bristles and pushes his arms out with a wave of pestilence curling off his form. Why? She asks why. Viorel remembers slitting Kite's throat, expecting him to die on the spot, only for magic to intervene. He remembers trying to kill Hudson in the trial, only for the others to intervene like a true band of heroes.

Vio looks at his younger selves and snarls, "Stai spate!" ”Stay back!” He doesn't want them close. He doesn't want anyone close, let alone his younger selves, both starting to grow into their pain. Searing blues shoot from the duo to his mother, the lady that started it all. Or--was she? 

"Oamenii mor o singură dată. De ce să-l reduc scurt când le pot prelungi durerea?" “People only die once. Why cut it short when I can prolong their pain?” He says back in a deep, almost guttural voice.

When Viorel tells his other selves to stay back, they listen. The pestilence whips through the air like claws and they step back. The younger version of Viorel looks terrified, just like he had, perhaps, when he was being taken away. The young adult knows what pain feels like, this would be nothing new to him. 

"Atunci de ce te vindeci? De ce să alegeți casa vindecătorilor dacă doriți să provocați durere și suferință?" “Then why do you heal? Why did you choose the healing house if you want to cause pain and suffering?” This time, the question comes from all three of them, all at once. He hears his mother's voice and his own at those respective ages.

"Nu am încredere în niciunul dintre ei cu viața mea," “I don’t trust any of them with my life,” he snaps, sharp and loud like lightning in the woods. Viorel feels somewhat relieved for his selves stepping back. It's not like anyone tries to listen to him of all people. Those that do are few and far in between. He tries to not see the boy's terrified face, bright blues wide and on the verge of tears. Viorel doesn't want to see what he looks like weak, fragile, and still bound in those chains of trauma. 

Vio keeps his gaze leveled with his mother, Nadia. The joining of his past selves' voices into hers is a harmony he never wants to hear again. "Ce ești tu?" “What are you?” he says, shooting the words at Nadia herself.

"Atunci cum pot avea încredere în tine cu viața lor?" “Then how can they trust you with their lives?” Both of his past selves disappear as if they were never there. His mother, Nadia, stares at him with her one eye. She shakes her head at him before he picks up the dagger he threw at her and tosses it at his feet. 

"Continua atunci. Omoara-mă. Este ceea ce ți-ai dorit întotdeauna."

“Go on then, kill me. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

"Au deja." 

“They already have.”

But, have they? All of them? 

Viorel holds back a breath as his other selves disappear, leaving it to Nadia and himself. His current, hurt self. The demigod doesn't even move when she tosses the dagger his way. He does, however, grab it and wipe the blade on his pant leg, ridding whatever blood's still on it. Of course he's waited for this day, fought for it, too. The day that Nadia'd attest for her action and what monster's grown from it. She's not the only one, however. Viorel looks over to where Rafel's body was, then to Nadia. 

Something isn't right. 

"Nu știi ce vreau,"  “You don’t know what I want,” he flips the blade at hand and comes over, circling her as if readying for an attack. "Știi ce vreau? Ce vreau cu adevărat?" “Do you know what I want? What I really want?” He starts off, eyes locking onto her.

"Nu pot să-ți spun ce vrei. Doar tu poți." “I can’t tell you what you want. Only you can.” Nadia says to him as she stands there. She stands still as a board, not following him as he circles her with his knife drawn. "Ai puterea acum. Poți lua ce vrei." “You have power now. You can take what you want.”

She closes her one good eye, the blood that falls from the eye that he stabbed dripping black ichor down her face. 

"Deci ia-o. Arată-mi ce vrei."

“So, take it. Show me what you want.”

"Ai puterea acum. Poți lua ce vrei." 

You have power now. You can take what you want. 

They both have that right. He flips the blade in his hand once more, but she's not moving. There doesn't seem to be fear for her situation, but rather acceptance, as she closes her good eye. The dark hazel hides from him, much like her face had all those years ago. Viorel gets closer and closer, working with precision he's developed and honed throughout the years. What does he do? Aims to stab her in the heart through the back of the ribs. 

Vreau dragoste.

I want love.

"Apoi demonstrează-ți că ești pregătit pentru dragoste." 

“Then prove to yourself that you’re ready for love.”

The blade sinks into her back, through the ribs and pierces her heart. But as soon as the blade makes contact with her, Viorel is no longer standing with dead bodies littered around him like trash. No, instead, he's back in the forest, far away from the trucks and the tent and the trailer that he was all too familiar with. The dagger is no longer in his hand, there's no blood stains on his clothes or his hands from the damage he'd caused his enemies. 

The darkness of the night seems to be slowly fading into early morning now. He can smell the remnants of a campfire that was burning over night. Then, from his peripheral vision, he sees a figure coming toward him. It gets closer and closer, unafraid of him and walking quickly.

What does Viorel see approaching him? Describe it in as much detail as you would like.

Viorel's done this countless of times yet killing has never felt so empty as it does with Nadia. It's almost uneventful as it sinks, passing the skin, muscle, and rest of her defenses to make his mark. He scowls when the bodies disappear and his scenery changes. What's happened? The man tries to search for his dagger, only to find its nowhere. Rafael, Nadia? Nowhere, neither. 

He's effectively alone in the growing dawn of the forest. Viorel takes in the faded smell of smoke permeating the otherwise cool, crisp air of the forest. It taints nature with signs of destruction, much like himself growing up. The figure walking over isn't a who but a what. The dark, umber hide of a brown bear greets the corner of his eyes. It's a sight he's known for years, but never, not once, has he seen it so close. Vio backs away at first, before he stops and braces for a fight.

The brown bear stalks forward. It doesn't look as if it's bracing for a fight itself, it looks as if it's just casually walking towards the Son of Asclepius. It stops a few feet away from Viorel, it's large body almost towering over the demigod. 

"It's time for you to believe in who you are, Viorel Lucaci. Monster or not. Are you ready to embrace it?" The brown bear speaks, voice reverberating through Viorel's mind. 

What does it sound like? Is the voice familiar? Describe what Viorel hears.

He doesn't let up as the bear nears, not even when he speaks. Viorel tightens his jaw at the words. Believe? The bear's voice isn't familiar in the sense of people he personally knows--it's not from any of the loggers nor the runners in Bucharest, the caporegimes, the various drug dealers, or informants he's dealt with. It's someone else's, deep and gravelly, with age wearing on the words like the healed over scars the brown bear possesses. 

"Eram gata când am părăsit pădurea," “I was ready when I left the forest,” he says and slowly eases his muscles. Viorel was ready the moment he lashed out and escaped Rafael, escaped the tent that was his home and cell alike. He folds his arms over his chest and looks the bear over once more. Another look, another pause, and he all but whispers into the air between human and beast. "Sunt gata." “I’m ready.”

The ancient, gruff voice of the bear rattles through Viorel as he steps even closer. The bear looks down, his face mere inches away from Viorel's. A large paw comes up and rests against Viorel's chest. For such a large animal, the weight of the creature's paw feels feather light. There's no pressure but Viorel can sense the power that ebbs and flows from the brown bear. 

"Bun. Amintește-ți trecutul, dar nu-l lăsa să te închidă. Nu mai ești legat de asta."

“Good. Remember your past, but don’t let it shut you down. You’re no longer connected to it.”

The brown bear pushes against Viorel's chest and Viorel feels like he's about to fall. 

Only, he wakes up in his room in House Voithos. Sorin is beside him, fast asleep. Sweat beads at his brow and his chest feels heavy. Something inside of him has changed, he can feel it. Power that was always there, but dampened, seems to course through him in waves. Something unlocked, something new, something ancient and old. 

But it feels good. It feels like him, like it's his. 

He finally falls back asleep when his heart rate stops beating so frantically. The dream, or whatever it was, almost felt too real. But when he falls back asleep, there's a weightlessness to his thoughts. He doesn't dream, he doesn't have a nightmare. But when Viorel Lucaci wakes in the morning, he feels the most rested he's felt since before he could remember. 

He is ready, or so he says, and only time will tell if he truly believes it.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

The true scent of Medieval times.

Pt 2. < Previous Sparkle: *She whimpered louder the more scared she became by the whole scenario and how she had gotten here, and how willing she had been to go THAT far to finally be with the man she had loved all her life. And her fear only intensified as she felt an unseen force grab onto her and drag her backwards into a darkness, where it felt as if she was sent falling down the tallest building. Well, that was only until she landed on the ground with a loud thud, all air being knocked out of her. She groaned loud, everything around her getting brighter although she had still to open her eyes. Fearing what she might face, she kept them shut tight, till a familiar voice reached her ears only few seconds later* 

Raven: You're alive and just fine, you can open your eyes now.

Spakle: *Although his voice was deeper, rough, she knew very well whom was speaking, so she slowly opened her eyes, blinking a few times, before her bright surroundings started taking shape. They appeared to be in some sort of forest, the air was chilled, but mild. Judging by the bright green fresh leaves it was late spring.*

Raven: *She spotted him next to her, sitting on a fallen tree, carving a piece of wood into a point. He wasn't looking at her. His clothes was dirty, and so was he, even his usually silky black hair was dirty and it looked as if he had rolled the forest floor one too many times.* I would have gotten you out of there earlier, but I had to find you some suitable clothes first. *He kicked a foot against a leather wrap on the ground just a half meter from where he was sitting.* Get dressed before you catch a cold.

Sparkle: *she quickly sat up, trying her best to cover herself with the blanket, looking around confused* Where are we?

Raven: *He sighed soft and kept carving the wood* Medieval London....

Sparkle: *Her eyes got wide with shock* I thought you guys always said time travel isn't possible!?! Are you joking?

Raven: *He sighed annoyed and stuck his knife into a leather pouch strapped to his ankle, then slipped the wood down next to it, before he closed the pouch and stood up slowly, now for the first time looking at her with a slightly raised eyebrow* Do I look like I am joking?!

Sparkle: *Speechless she sat there watching him, until a black horse she hadn't notice before, grunting from behind Raven, snapped her out of it and she quickly flew up from the ground* How the fuck can we be in Medieval London when you always said that

Raven: Look... Willow has a son she gave birth to in the 90's, so clearly it's possible to travel in time *he sighed deep* But must I remind you what happened when she thought time travel was a great idea? She got her pretty behind stuck and nearly ended up there for good. *He grunted irritated and kicked the leather wrap again* How about you get dressed and we can deal with your little freakout, when I can't look directly at your privates?

Sparkle: *She was just about to interrupt him as his last comment reached her ears and she blushed bright red, angrily but quickly grabbing the leather wrap and dragged some fabric out from inside it. A beautiful tan and white maiden dress she had always seen in Medieval movies... although this one had a bit of blood on the chest? She looked at Raven with squinty eyes*

Raven: Yes... it's worn, I didn't have much time or you would have gotten a -may I add- very painful and completely unnecessary sex change! But don't worry, the previous owner wont be missing the dress.   *He smirked lightly and sat back down on the tree trunk*

Sparkle: *She looked at the garment hesitating*

Raven: It's what we have.. for now... I will get you something better when the opportunity is there, but for now, I suggest you toughen up and put that clothes on you, if you want to survive. Cause whether you like it or not, I'm all you got right now, I'm your only chance at survival, and I am your only ticket out of here. So get dressed, and we can talk about everything over a beer.

Sparkle: *She frowned deep and gestured at the trees around them* A beer?!

Raven: I told you we are in London, didn't I?... well...slightly outside London, but close enough for a smaller horse ride. *He sighed deep* Clothes...

Sparkle: *She groaned irritated, but quickly started getting dressed, figuring it was probably best not to ask further about the stained dress*

Raven: There's shoes in the sack as well... and a cape to keep you warm. The blanket you are wearing must be destroyed so no one tracks us here *he nodded at the blanket she had dumped on the ground, waved a hand and it was gone in the blink of an eye* We ride as soon as you are done changing, and I prefer we don't talk till we are in a much noisier place, just in case we were already tracked.

Sparkle: But you already gave away our location....

Raven: Did I? *He smirked his usual smirk and stood back up, walking around the tree trunk, getting his horse ready for the upcoming ride*

*About 15 minutes later, they sat down, in a dimmed corner of a pub, with each their large beer*

Raven: So throw it at me.....

Sparkle: *She frowned soft* ...... how did you know I was there? You have been gone for quite a while now... like almost

Raven: Don't tell me! *He grunted soft and sipped his beer* I don't want to know how long time I have been gone, it makes it more difficult *he grunted with a soft sigh and wiped beer foam off his upper lip with the back of his dirty hand*

Sparkle: *She studied him for a moment, he looked tired in his eyes, beaten up, but not in a way as if someone had laid their hands on him, more in a way as if time had been unkind to him for quite a while. She sipped her beer before she spoke in a calmer voice* How did you know I was there and what was going on?

Raven: Luckily Bard never knew how to keep his mouth shut *he grunted soft*

Sparkle: But I thought no one was in contact with you?

Raven: None are. But just because I have broken contact with my family, doesn't mean they have broken contact with me. I still tune in from time to time, you're just lucky I tuned in at the right time and overheard Bards half drunk blabbering about this sweet young blonde girl, whom desperately had seeken his help in order to

Sparkle: *She cringed strongly* I didn't seek his help? How could I when I didn't even know about him? I mean, I barely know anything about your family, so how can I know about some random cousin’s powers?

Raven: ..... Oh I'm aware of that... Bard is very.... colorful, when he talks. *He sipped his beer again, but this time licked the foam off* I overheard him and decided to act fast, even if it could potentially risk my lovely hideout *he chuckled soft as he gestured at the surroundings, then a serious frown settled on his face* How did you come across him anyway?

Sparkle: ..... I was looking for you

Raven: But you knew I was gone, so why would you come looking for me?

Sparkle: *She shrugged lightly* A desperate attempt, I suppose? I needed someone to talk to

Raven: *He looked at her with a squint* Nah.... I'm probably the last one you would seek for a chat. You have to do better than that. How 'bout you tell me the truth, considering I just saved your ass *he pointed up and down her* and every other part of you for that matter.

Sparkle: *She sighed soft, tears gathering in her eyes as she took a sip of the beer* I'm not sure, honestly what happened... the past months has been a bit of a blur. I have felt so lonely with Penny, and I have been missing a man in my life more than ever.

Raven: THE man?

Sparkle: *She nodded soft and sniffled her nose* I know it's stupid, I don't need another lecture. I know I should just forget about him an move on with my life, not just for me, but for Penny as well. I'm a mother now, and it might not have been the way I always dreamed of, but I am a mother none the less. So I should try to just make the best out of it right? But I am tired of always having to make "the best out of it", my whole life has been like that! I just thought.... maybe after Penny was born, Andy and I would finally find each other, and private parts wouldn't matter any longer.... I mean... when you love someone enough right? If Evan can why can't Andy?

Raven:..... as much as I get what you mean, I also have to remind you sexuality isn't just something you switch on and off. Andy has tried to do the whole straight thing, for many years, and he was miserable. Besides, if he didn't fall in love with you back when he WAS straight.... how on earth could you still think it's all about body parts only? What was your brilliant idea here? Become a man and think he would fall in love with you just because you finally had a dick?

Sparkle: There were supposed to be a spell involved as well

Raven: *He shook his head lightly* Bard knows no spells... yes he has the power to alter someones exterior, but nothing more than that. He's a lower leveled demon, he's a scammer at best, who only cares about his own gain.

Sparkle: But I thought since he was a McKinney

Raven: McKinney or not, we are still just demons, not “God’s”, Sparkle *he grunted soft and sipped his beer* so why exactly did you seek me of all people, as far as I remember, you're not very fond of me?

Sparkle: *She sighed soft and nervously rubbed her sleeve* Ehm..... I needed a MAN.... and.... well.... you're the only MAN I know, who isn't a stranger.... who isn't someone I see as family, and who isn't gay....

Raven: Please hold back on the flattery, I can hardly stand it *he lifted an eyebrow teasingly as his sarcasm cut the thick air between the two of them* I'm not about to play happy family though, I have enough trouble already

Sparkle: ....... that's not what I meant. Being without a man in my life for so long, it's not just a need for everyday intimacy that I am missing out on.

Raven: *He lifted an eyebrow but chose not to comment* ...... so how did you end up butting heads with Bard?

Sparkle: There were some sort of family gathering when I showed up at your family's castle

Raven: Ah yes... and how did you even get there?

Sparkle:...... the portal at the clinic? *she smiled nervously and rather apologetic* Felix once blabbered about it over some drinks.

Raven: ..... not much of a surprise. *He grunted soft* Remind me to fix that when I return home at some point. That portal is to remain hidden for a reason. Otherwise fair maidens may just get themselves in all kinds of trouble *he smirked teasingly at Sparkle in her maiden dress*

Sparkle: Right *she cleared her throat rather awkward by the situation, and went on* I bumped into him while searching for you room. He offered me a drink and he just seemed so familiar and warm and friendly and.... did I mention I need a man so desperately I was seeking you? *She chuckled nervously* so before I knew it I was spilling out all my sorrows. He told me he could help me and well, he sounded very convincing. And.... it just all in a matter of minutes sounded like the fairy tale I always dreamed of. I guess I got carried away, and well, before I even got to think one clear thought I seemed to already be in the middle of it all.

Raven: Mh-hm...

Sparkle: *She sighed deep and lowered her head embarrassed* I can't believe how far I was willing to go for him. And you're right, there's no guarantee it would have even worked out. If he couldn't fall enough for me while he was straight, then it's most likely not about body parts, but rather about us simply not being compatible, no matter how much I wish we were. I think this finally opened my eyes.... I just hate that it had to come this far

Raven: Almost.... this far *he reached out and planted a hand on hers, squeezing it gently* Almost

Sparkle: Well, if it wasn't for you

Raven: No.... I'm sure you were already coming to your senses, I'm just not so sure Bard would have accepted a no. May I ask.... what you paid him anyway? I know Bard well enough to know nothing comes for free... so what did he want from you?

Sparkle: *She looked to the side, trying to avoid Raven's eyes* .......my next child..... he would take it as soon as I would conceive it, I wouldn't even know. I figured with all the abortions I have already been through, at least this would be less cruel, cause I wouldn't even know.

Raven: *He squinted his eyes* Sparkle.... this is

Sparkle: I know.

Raven: Did you sign something?

Sparkle: No.

Raven: Are you sure?

Sparkle: *She sighed deep and looked at him with teary eyes* I might be stupid enough to put myself through something like this for fucking Andy... but I didn't want to sign a thing till I had seen the result

Raven: But Bard can't reverse, and a job is a job...

Sparkle: Yes, but... I might not be as dumb as I look okay? I told him he would only get a child if I was satisfied. If I wasn't we would negotiate another price.

Raven: *He sighed soft and squeezed her hand again before he let go and sipped his beer*

Sparkle: So.... I guess I still owe him a

Raven: No. No papers were signed. And he didn't perform his procedure. He has nothing on you, and he might be a dick, but he knows very well there's nothing he can do without breaking several very strict rules, even he doesn't want to mess with. You're fine. Don't worry about him at all, let me deal with him once I get back.

Sparkle: And until then I do what?

Raven Do your best to forget all about him as fast as possible. And stay away from our castle. Well, that's when I get you back at least. For now, lets just keep you alive till I can set up a portal.

Sparkle: Does it have to be today? I mean, time works different here too, right?

Raven: Yes... it does. What do you have in mind?

Sparkle: How long can I stay here before my babysitter will wonder why I'm not coming home?

Raven: That's the tricky part. Time is fluent when magic in involved, I'm sure you have heard Andy speak of that before? *He sighed soft* I have been here literally for years. If you and I get separated I might even lose you for years. We can spend a day here and it might be a minute back home... we can spend a day here and it might be a month at home. There's no real way to calculate it. Not even between my home place and your time. Well it's easier, but calculating time from Medieval London and to Penny's next nap, is rather impossible. You are welcome to stay, for a couple days, maximum a week. Then I should try to get you back home safe. But while you're here, there's few rules...

Sparkle: *She nodded soft and understanding*

Raven: Stick to me at all time. It's absolutely the most important thing. As I told you, if I lose track of you, I might lose you for years... in our time *he poked his finger at the old wooden table between them* Blend in. This means you might see or hear things that can be hard to stomach, but this is another time, another place. Here you get a hand chopped off if you steal an apple. And try to keep in mind I am a demon *he pointed at the bloody chest on her dress* I'm.... different.... than I am back home. The longer I stay away.... the more it changes me. Lucky for you, I'm still tame..... mostly...... *he grunted soft and sipped his beer* but I have done things here that mostly belong to my past, however, nothing inhumane, cause rule number 3 is, do nothing that might change the future. You have probably heard this rule from lame sci-fi movies, but it's true. Change the past and you might as well change the future. It doesn't matter if you change it for the better, it may still create a ripple effect through time, and people or situations that belongs to the world that you know, might change completely. How would you like to return and find out everyone you ever loved never existed?

Sparkle: *She nodded slightly shocked and sipped a large portion of her beer*

Raven: That's the 3 rules... for now.... I may add more as we go along, but that's the basics and most important for now. I make most of it up as I go anyway *he shrugged lightly* I never was all too serious about stuff in life.... except the part of not changing the past. Even I wont be casual about this particular matter, which is why I stay away from any larger demon activity. I can't exactly end up in a history I am not supposed to be part of.... yet.

Sparkle: Wait..... yet? You lived in Medieval time?

Raven: ..... *he sighed soft* Yes.... but not in London... for at least another decade, that's why I came here, now... I wouldn't want to run into that old version of myself.... *he frowned soft then sipped his beer quietly, obviously not comfortable getting into further details on the subject*

Sparkle: *She nodded soft, well enough remembering bits and pieces Andy had told her about Raven's past*

Raven: Don't change yourself so much for anyone that you are no longer you. It's alright to change parts here and there to be more compatible, most people change some sides of themselves to fit better into the world, or relationships. Lets say a gambler finds a lovely wife, but the gambling is ruining the marriage, well, there's two choices then, either you quit gambling and keep your wife, or you keep gambling and quit your wife. In the long run we all have behaviors that can be toxic to ourselves, and the people we love. It is up to us to fix them and have a better chance at life, or keep them and keep... well... poisoning our own path. That's why I stopped being the murderous maniac I was... doesn't mean I completely changed who I was, I am still very much that person, I just try to keep it at bay, do stuff that tickles the urge but doesn't let it run rampage and destroy everything good in my life. I'm still Raven. And you should still be Sparkle. Naturally, you -like all other people-, have some stuff you could work on, specially since you're still rather young at mind

Sparkle: *She frowned deep* Is that your way to call me childish?

Raven: *He snorted soft* ..... perhaps.

Sparkle: *She opened her mouth, but figured there were no point in getting into a fight with him just yet, she needed a timeout from everything around her, and suddenly finding herself in Medieval London, seemed to be the best opportunity for that. No crying babies, well at least not her own, no responsibilities, nothing trying to constantly get in her way, no curve balls, no hidden traps she had to constantly try to be aware of, and best of all, no Andy! It seemed like a much needed break, so she wasn't about to potentially ruin that, by starting a fight with the only reason she was even there.*

Raven: How about we take a round of beer to my room *he nodded at the surroundings* The sun is sinking, which means soon this pub will be filled to the roof with people. There's not much to do around here after dark, besides getting drunk or getting in trouble... most people choose both.... There isn't really any internet or flat screen tv's around here *he chuckled soft* there's no need for us to get involved in something the first evening you’re here.

Sparkle: *She looked at the already growing mass of half drunk people and nodded* Sounds like a plan.

Raven: Aye! *He stood up slowly and nodded at a waitress* Can you send a couple rounds up to room 14, please... and a Whiskey?

Waitress: *She nodded confirming and disappeared between people, most likely heading towards the bar*

Raven: *He forced a soft smile as he looked at Sparkle, but his eyes were tired, heavy, and had lost their usual spark* Follow me.

[tommyhardyx]

Mr Solomons - Part 9

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Pairing: Modern!Alfie Solomons x Reader Word Count: 2.8k Summary: After a panicked call from Hannah telling you Alfie is in the hospital, you head there to find out what happened. Warnings: swearing, sexual content A/N: I am SO sorry it’s taken me so long to get this next chapter up! I know I left you all on a cliffhanger, and I feel horrible about that but things have been crazy and my mental health hasn’t been great. But now it’s here! Thank you all so much for being so patient, I hope this makes up for making you wait! Please enjoy, and if you do consider leaving a comment! 

Sitting in the back seat of an Uber, the trip from home to the hospital seems to drag. Every second seems to stretch on for hours, the panic causing ridiculous scenarios to flood through your thoughts as you try not to work yourself into a hyperventilating mess

Your driver seems to notice your anxiety and doesn’t bother to try and make small talk with you, leaving you to your thoughts as you grip your phone waiting for Hannah to answer one of the dozens of texts you’d sent hoping to get a clear idea of what condition Alfie is in.

The first thing you notice, rushing to the doors of the hospital is Ollie standing off to the side, his face full of concern but he seems to soften when he spots you straightening up from where he had been resting against the side of the building.

“Ollie! Is Alfie okay? What happened? Hannah didn’t give me any details she just told me to get here,” you gush, gripping onto his arms when you get close enough. 

Ollie sighs, wrapping long arms around your body and pulling you in close. His warmth seems to settle you, and as you grip onto the back of his shirt.

“He’s okay, well he will be okay, he’s pretty beaten up but it’s not life-threatening,” he explains, his confirmation that the man you love isn’t on his deathbed working to calm you down.

“Oh, thank god,” you breathe into him. “Can we see him?” 

“Yeah, he’s asleep right now but I just wanted to tell you what happened before you head in,” he explains as you pull away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “He wanted to check something at work after you guys got back so he went in. The door was cracked open when he got there but he just figured it was just some kids breaking in on a dare and Alfie being Alfie he didn’t call the police just went in. Three guys, well he’s pretty sure it was three, were waiting for him, beat the crap out of him. He’s got a broken leg, a couple of cracked ribs and his face is all cut and bruised.”

Pressing your lips together, you try to keep the tears from your eyes through Ollie’s recount of events, the thought of anyone managing to hurt Alfie sounds so far-fetched to you, it’s hard to believe. But by the look on Ollie’s face, you know it’s all too real.

“He looks worse than he is, mostly he’s pissed because it happened. Alfie likes to think he’s tough, so he’s never been happy when anyone’s been able to beat him up. Come on, I’ll take you to see him.”

 You nod, following Ollie through the doors of the hospital and through the twisting hallways, keeping your eyes from the rooms full of sick and hurt people as you pass, the feeling of being in a hospital making you feel a little queasy. 

As you move towards Alfie’s room, Ollie catches your arm and you turn back to him.

“Just don’t treat him any different. He doesn’t want pity, that’ll just make him feel worse.”

Stepping into Alfie’s hospital room, you can’t help but gasp. Somehow you thought he was indestructible, even when his back puts him in enough pain to force him to use his cane, he still seems so strong, like nothing can hurt him.

“Alfie?” you mumble slipping your hand into his as he groans to turn as you sink ingot the chair by his bed. 

Hannah smiles at you from her spot on the other side of the room, her usual sunny demeanor dampened at the sight of her brother in such bad shape. 

“Hello love,” he mutters, his voice rough as it always is when he first wakes up but today it is accompanied by an edge of pain that makes you wince.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, not sure how else to talk to him when he’s like this.

“Fucking brilliant, don’t I look it?” he jokes, and you lift his hand to your lips pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“You look awful,” Ollie teases, earning a glare from Alfie.

“Oi, you just watch yourself mate,” Alfie mutters, though you can hear the humor in his voice as he says it.

Your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, and your face must betray how shocked you are to see Alfie like this because Ollie sighs and throws an arm around Hannah’s shoulders, who leans into him as he does so, and looks down at her with all the fondness of an older brother.

“How about we give them a minute?” he suggests, and Hannah nods, slipping her phone into her back pocket. “We’ll go get some coffee.”

You give them a smile as they leave, grateful for the chance to be alone with Alfie, at least for a little while.

Alfie turns to look at you, his beaten face making you wince as you squeeze his hand.

“Ollie tell you what happened?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Yeah, yeah Ollie told me. Who the hell would want to do something like this to you?” you ask.

“Sabini.”

The name sounds familiar, and it takes a few seconds for you to place it remembering the only thing you knew about Alfie before you went to interview him all those months ago. 

“The guy whose nose you broke a few months ago? How would you know that?”

“Didn’t want to tell Ollie, I only punched Sabini because he made a comment about Ollie’s wife so if he knew this happened because of that he’d feel bad, yeah, but they told me they were sent there by Sabini.”

“Shit Alfie! You need to call the police, this is serious.” 

Alfie just shakes his head, groaning as he tries to readjust and find a more comfortable position for his broken body. 

“Not talking to any fucking police. Look, the cunt got me back that’s the end of it alright? Just want to forget about it.”

You sigh, deciding against pushing him further as you hold his hand against your cheek looking over his bruised face, to the bandages wrapped around his body and finally to the cast encasing his right leg. 

“When do they expect you’ll be able to head home?” you ask. 

“Hopefully tomorrow, want to get out of this fucking place,” he grumbles. 

Unsure how to comfort him, you continue to brush your thumb over the back of his hand as Ollie and Hannah make their way back into the room, Hannah handing you a cup of coffee and resting a hand on your shoulder as she says something to Alfie that you’re not paying attention to. 

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

“Are you sure you’re okay there?”

Alfie’s frown deepens as you once again try to get him to move into a different position, worried that the current spot, like all the others, isn’t quite right for him.

“I’m fine, just fucking leave it alright?” he huffs.

His mood has been sour since you had helped him down onto the couch, part of him is glad to be home, to be on his couch with Cyril lying on the floor beside him his hand reaching down to pat the dog’s head.

You sigh, nodding as you move into the kitchen to find something for him to eat, Alfie groans and looks over his shoulder at you. 

“Love, come ‘ere, please,” he mutters, holding a hand out over the back of the couch.

Moving towards him, you slip your hand into his sighing as he rubs the back of it with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I’m being a prick,” he mutters, pulling you down so he can kiss you. “I don’t mean to snap at ya.”

“I know Alf, it’s okay,” you mutter, kissing his head. “Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head, hand moving to rest on your hip calloused fingers brushing at the hint of skin he finds where your t-shirt has ridden up.

“Just come sit with me yeah? Move the armchair over and sit in that,” he says, pointing blindly to one of the armchairs.

You pull the chair closer, sinking into it and tucking your feet up under you as you lean on the arm of the chair to watch him, smiling when he reaches out to brush his thumb against your arm. 

“I thought maybe I’d stay here with you for a while, at least until you’re up and moving around without as much help,” you offer and Alfie nods, glancing down at Cyril. 

“It’s a good idea, I won’t be able to do much with him, especially with me ribs,” he admits. “And it’d be nice to have you around all the time.”

You smile looking down at the dog who hasn’t left his dad’s side since he got home and reach out to rub your foot along his back. 

“We just need to make sure he doesn’t try to jump up on your chest,” you point out, and Alfie nods, his face turning serious. 

“Fuck, I didn’t think of that. Need to make sure he doesn’t get too excited around me,” he grumbles, the thought of having to be wary of his boy bringing the frown back to his face as he looks down at Cyril. 

“We’ll work it out Alf, don’t worry,” you tell him, standing up and pressing a kiss to his head. “If you don’t need anything else I’m going to head home and pack a couple of bags. Anything you want me to get while I’m out?” 

 He shakes his head, giving your hand a quick squeeze before it slips from his own. 

“If I think of anything I'll call you. Take my car yeah? Keys are by the door,” he says. 

Picking up the keys, you promise you won’t be too long and that you won’t crash his beloved car you head out.

At home, you find Nancy in the middle of cleaning, and the moment she spots you she wraps her arms around you, holding you tight.

“How are you doing?” 

It’s the first time since you found out what happened to Alfie that someone’s asked how you are, all night and all this morning you’ve answered phone calls and texts from his friends asking after him, but not a single person has asked how you’re doing with the news, not that you think they should ask after you, but it is nice to have someone to check in on you. 

“I’m alright, overwhelmed with everything but alright. Alfie’s okay, he’s in pain and in a bad mood but he’s alright,” you explain as you pull away, sighing as you sink into one of the stools at the kitchen counter. 

“So what happened?” she asks, as she moves into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. 

“Do you remember the man Alfie had punched back before I did that piece on him? Well apparently he sent three guys to wait for Alfie at the distillery and they beat the crap out of him. He’s got a broken leg, a few broken ribs and he’s covered in bruises,” you explain. 

“Shit! How’s he doing? Is he alright?” she asks, pouring you a cup of coffee and sliding it across the bench to you. 

“Thanks. And he’s okay, he just needs to rest which isn’t something he’s too keen on. I told him I’d stay with him at least until he’s able to move around on his own a bit easier so I won’t be here very much for a while.” 

Nancy nods, sipping her own coffee as she leans against the counter. 

“I thought you might do something like that, the broken leg might not be too difficult to deal with to look after himself but with that huge dog of his and broken ribs, he’s going to struggle. He’s lucky he’s got you,” she says with a smile. 

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

Three weeks of being stuck in plaster, unable to move without assistance, or breathe without feeling a dull ache in his broken ribs, and Alfie is in a foul mood.

You thought it would be nice to get a chance to spend so much time with Alfie, a new step in your relationship that would prove if the two of you are ready for something more. Unfortunately, things don’t seem to be going smoothly.

Ollie was right in that Alfie doesn’t like to feel weak, doesn’t like the feeling of anyone being able to overpower him, and in the wake of that happening, even when being ambushed by three people he can’t accept that this could happen to anyone, and not even he could stand his ground in a situation like that.

Alfie’s perpetual bad mood has, in turn, put you in a bad mood, and you find yourself hardly talking to the man you love, doing everything you can to get out of the flat and get away from him. 

Whenever Ollie or Hannah text you to tell you they’re coming over to see him you leave before they get there, telling Alfie he’ll be fine until they arrive and that they can help him with whatever he needs.  

The state of your relationship makes you miserable to think about, the man you once couldn’t spend enough time with turning into a completely different person who does nothing but complain and growl at anyone who attempts to talk to him. You find yourself diving into your work, spending nights up late on the couch to finish your articles, always itching for more to work on, more to busy your mind with. 

With Alfie in the cast and with his broken ribs still on the mend, it’s hard to do the one thing you know would alleviate some of his frustrations. Sex isn’t easy when one participant is in so much pain. 

One night, as you work on your latest in a long successive string of articles, Alfie sinks onto the couch beside you, apparently in a better mood than usual. 

“Whatcha working on?” he asks, his hand brushing your thigh gently. 

“Just an article on some artist who had a big opening at a gallery that I went to the other night,” you explain, the blunt tone more due to your focus than the fact that you’re annoyed with him. 

“Sounds interesting,” he mutters, though his old interest in your work no longer laces his voice. 

You sigh, closing your laptop and looking up at him, the look on his face making you want to hug him despite how annoying he’s been lately. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

His face, for once, isn’t squashed into a frown like it is most days lately. Tonight he just looks sad, a miserable glint in his eyes as he watches you. 

“Can’t fucking do anything, can I? Can’t even make my girl feel good to make up for being such a grump,” he grumbles and you can’t help but smile softly. 

“That’s okay Alf, I haven’t really been in the mood lately anyway.” 

That’s a lie. You certainly have been in the mood, but with Alfie always in such a mood and his ribs being as bad as they have been you’re stuck on trying to find ways for the both of you to get the pleasure you need. 

Sighing, you gently rub your hand over his crotch feeling him stiffen at your touch. 

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, his eyes watching your hand as it moves to the waistband of his pants. 

You might be in need of his touch, but Alfie seems to need you more. And besides, you’ve always got the vibrator in your bedside table you can go home and grab if you need it. 

“What’s it look like?” you ask, lips pressing against his cheek as your hand disappears beneath the waistband, pulling out his cock. 

“You don’t… you don’t need to do that love,” he mutters as you kiss the corner of his mouth. 

His arm encircles you, hand resting on your lower back and you almost moan at the innocent touch. Alfie’s breath becomes a little heavier, and you notice the way he winces and his free hand moves to touch the spot of his broken ribs. 

“Want me to stop?” you whisper against his lips, worried about hurting him. 

“Don’t fucking think about it, I’ll deal with the pain,” he mumbles, the hand on your back digging into your sink slightly. 

As you begin to move your hand, stroking up and down his shaft, you feel him become harder and you can’t keep yourself from kissing him properly any longer. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” 

Tags:  @eap1935 / @coolmaybelateruniverse / @sandyddt / @inkeducatednnerdy / @ravendor28 / @thisisjeany / @overitall2018 / @outofbluecomesgreen / @mollybegger-blog / @bilesxbilinskixlahey / @elemph / @pointlessblogger99 / @marvelfangirl-x / @madbrilliant84 / @lotusbreathe / @justanothershelby / @acciostilinski

[strangerontheotherside84]

Wild Child (Billy Hargrove x Reader) part 6

tagged-list: @speedmetalqueen @charmed-asylum

„So what’s life like as an outcast?“ Your best friend greeted you as he entered the small record store. You had been here almost all week since you were able to get some extra shifts and Steve had been so kind to visit you after school everyday.

„Well you know Steve…not going to school is tough. All this free time. God it’s awful.“ you joked dramatically.

The week had actually passed quicker than usual, fortunately without any further interactions with Billy Hargrove. It was already thursday and it seemed like he had been whiped of the face of the earth. Which to be honest was a very welcome change. But if he would have the audacity to let you down tomorrow night and dodge helping at the Snowball you would find that motherfucker and kill him.

„Ready for your big punishment tomorrow?“ Steve knew exactly that you didn’t quite like kids. But to be fair you also didn’t like most people your age.

„Nobody can be friends with as many children as you are….but yeah I guess. Still don’t know what I’m supposed to do there.“

„I’m not friends with them…It’s more like I-.“

„-adopted them?“ you finished his sentence.

„Oh shut up (y/n). If you’re lucky we’ll actually meet before and I’ll be able to give you some emotional support.“

„You’re also helping out there?“

„Nah I’m driving Dustin.“

You raised you’re eyebrows at him.

„Oh come on. He really looks up to me. I’m just being nice.“ „Yeah you’re a great mom Steve.“ you chuckled. But Steve didn’t even seem to notice that comment.

„What is Hargrove doing here?“ your best friend’s words caused you to turn your head. Yep there he was. Apparently he hadn’t just vanished, much to your dissapointment. He seemed to do a lot better than he did on tuesday night though. You could barely guess that he had been looking like absolute hell just a few days ago.

„I don’t care, propably just shopping records.“ you shrugged.

Now it was Steve who was raising his eyebrows, visibly very confused about the fact that the two of you were completely ignoring each other „Since when did you become insensible to Hargrove?“

„Oh I am not, trust me. But I’ve been having a pretty chill week and that guy is not worth risking that. You could say that I’m giving him some time off.“

Steve didn’t seem to be very convinced by this statement but decided not to ask any further questions.

„How long did you plan to stay here Steve? Cause I really need to sort and shelf these records before my shift ends. And somebody needs to have an eye on the register.“ „Yeah sure go ahead I’ll hold the fort.“ Steve smiled at you as he quickly busied himself with one of the magazines lying on the counter.

„Thanks dude.“ you grabbed the stack of vinyls next to you and walked towards the shelf which was used to display the newest releases.

„Ugh how many Kenny Loggins records can you order?“ you mubled to yourself while sitting on the ground, trying to cram the records into the designated shelf. If you had to hear „Footloose“ one more time you were going to drop dead at the scene.

„Not a big fan of Footloose either, huh?“

„Not a big fan of you either but here you are.“ you replied dry, getting back on your feet and facing Billy’s smirking face. You clearly hadn’t missed that pretentious smile.

To your surprise his face was almost as unblemished as usual, only a small cut above his left eyebrow marked the incident of tuesday night.

„Customer service at this place surely is rough.“ he replied mockingly, his blue eyes flickering at your sight.

„If you actually wanted to buy something we could talk about that. But I have the strong feeling that you’re here for something else.“ you responded with a skeptical look on your face.

Billy began to grin even cockier than before, „Damn (y/n) you seem to be in strikingly good shape today.“

„Just say what you want Hargrove.“ you groaned unnerved.

„Well we have to help at this fucking prom thing tomorrow yeah?“ he began.

„Yeah?!“. You weren’t sure where he was going with this. Propably not making sure that he wasn’t getting the date mixed up.

„Well and I had the feeling you kinda owe me. After everything that happened tuesday night, you know?“ Billy hummed with his husky voice.

What the fuck was he talking about?

„Tuesday night?“ „This is a private conversation Harrington!“ Billy groaned towards Steve’s direction not even bothering to look at him.

„So what do you say?“ Billy continued, his attention now fully back on you.

„Say to what? I don’t get it.“ you had absolutely no idea what he was trying to say.

The grin on Billy’s face intensified. He was visibly enjoying to see you this confused and at loss for words.

„We should make this an eye for an eye situation.“, he proceeded suggestively.

Did he loose his last few braincells while being beaten up by his dad or what?

Billy chuckled at your puzzled look, „Look (y/n) since you apparently can’t respect boundaries and don’t know when to leave somebody alone I will be very willing to teach you a lesson in appropriate behaviour.“

You still didn’t get it.

„Look Hargrove this might seem funny to you but I really gotta work now. So just say what you are dying to say and leave me alone.“ you snapped.

„Well you’re propably planning to get drunk tomorrow to be able to stand my presence.“

What a pretentious asshole.

„So I thought you might need a case of exemplary behaviour.“, Billy mocked while getting closer to your face, winking at you. You could feel his breath on your skin, the smell of cologne and cigarrettes soaring in your nose.

„Well you guessed that one correctly Hargrove, congratulations.“ you replied unimpressed, „But how exactly are you planning to display that oh so exemplary behaviour?“

„I’ll pick you up at six.“

„The hell you will!“, you tried to protest but Billy had already turned away from you.

Before leaving the store he turned around once more, „Make sure to wear something nice.“

[sebthesnipe]

Wounded

First // Previously // Next

My Dearest Procyon

Masterpost

MDP Discord Server

Chapter 34

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

“It isn’t working,” Logan huffed, feeling ridiculous.

“It will, just give it time!” Patton sighed. 

“Time is something we’re wasting!” Virgil grumbled from where he sat under a nearby tree. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he watched the other two. 

“We’ll be wasting more of it if you don’t stop whining,” Patton shot back with a glare before turning back to his partner. 

Logan sat, legs crossed, on the ashy ground, hands resting on his knees, eyes closed as he focused on his breathing. He could hear Patton shift closer, could feel their bond transfer the dragon’s confidence, so different from his own. 

“All you have to do is reach out, visualize,” Patton urged. 

“Patton,” Logan sighed softly, cracking an eye open to look at him, “Maybe we should try quiet?” Logan offered, causing the dragon to pause before giving an embarrassed chuckle.

“Right, sorry.” Patton nodded, falling silent as Logan tried to return to his meditative state. 

It had been a long while since he had had a vision, since he and Patton met in fact. That of course, was not a vision he wished to dwell on in their current situation. Still, he had to acknowledge the fact that the vision still hadn’t come to fruition, which did not bode well for any of them. 

“Ugh! This is hopeless!” Virgil spat, lifting the corner of the blanket to cover his mouth as he coughed.

“Virgil!” Patton grumbled in response. 

Logan could hear the other witch move to stand, causing Patton to do the same.

“Relax,” Virgil huffed, “I’m just going to scout around a bit while you do…. Whatever.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Patton urgered, stepping around his partner. 

Logan could feel the dragon’s worry without seeing it on his face. He was fairly certain that if allowed, Patton wouldn’t let the smaller witch out of his sight for more than an instant. Virgil was far too fragile in his current state. 

“Fine,” Virgil growled after a moment. “Whatever!”

A moment later, Logan felt the intensity of Patton’s emotions begin to fade as the dragon got further and further away. Finally, silence fell around him. 

Even with the others gone, Logan was still apprehensive. Before Patton, Logan had only been able to see up until he met the dragon and everything beyond that was static. Patton was just too powerful! He blocked out everything else. 

The dragon did have a point though. If he and Logan now shared the same power, then there was no reason Logan shouldn’t be able to have a vision. There was no power gap and therefore nothing to block him. Hypothetically, it could be accurate, but Logan wasn’t quite so convinced. 

The seer tensed as realization struck him. Then again, if his lack of visions were due to the involvement of the dragon, then perhaps he could look towards something the dragon is not a part of. 

Logan took another deep breath, pulling Patton’s magical energy through him. He took another inhale, centering himself before starting. 

Dark blues and blacks swirled around him, reminding him far too much of the night sky as Logan stepped forward. His gentle foot falls made no sound as he collided with the translucent floor beneath him. 

He knew this place…

Lights shifted around him. They appeared to be some sort of star system. Logan knew the patterns.The stars swirled around him, a small loving smile playing on his lips as he reached out for one, causing it to glow brightly.

“Hello, Procyon,” Logan whispered softly, unable to keep the smile from his lips. He lifted his other hand, caressing the star fondly before glancing about his sanctum. “Last time I was here, I had the privilege of sharing you with Patton,” he mumbled, glancing back at the star in his hands. “I believe he has grown quite fond of you. Though, he does seem quite generous in his affections to just about everything,” Logan laughed before pulling away. 

“Um… Logan?” Patton’s voice came, making the man give a small start as he turned on his heel.

“Patton?” Logan mumbled, brows furrowed in confusion as he eyed the man before him. 

Patton appeared saddened by something as he clung to the blanket in his arms. 

“What’s wrong?” Logan rushed, heart sinking. “Has something happened to Virgil?!”

The dragon hesitated. “Roman looks cold,” he commented. 

Logan’s confusion spiked for a moment before realization hit and he couldn’t help but get a small chuckle as Patton glanced away. 

“I just… don’t think it’d be a good idea if I did it,” the dragon replied to some unheard comment. 

Logan took a step closer, examining the smaller man’s form. He should have spotted the lack of pink in the man’s curls immediately, though he supposed he was far too surprised by his presence to really pay attention. 

“C-could you… Could you maybe…” the dragon continued making Logan soften a bit more.

The witch reached out to brush a loose curl behind the dragon’s ear before caressing his cheek. It was a memory. A fond one. Patton had been so worried that Roman hated him and Logan had somehow managed to comfort him.  

Patton moved as if to hold out the blanket he carried before he suddenly disappeared. 

Disappointment washed through the witch at the loss, but he didn’t bother dwelling on it. He needed to continue on. 

He moved further into the swirling blacks and blues,  searching for something that would signal his visions. Anything to give them a clue as to-

His boot landed on the soft blades of grass suddenly beneath his feet.

“Of course,” Patton chuckled. Logan’s gaze shot to the small silhouette of the man stretched out beneath the stars.  “I’ve never met anyone with so much knowledge about what’s out there. I’ve always wondered about it. How could I not?” He turned to the small specks that littered the sky. “They’re the only things that stay the same no matter how old I get.”

Logan paused. Surely he could spare a moment, just a brief minute, to appreciate the scene before him. 

“I don’t remember,” Patton answered the unspoken question from, what felt like ages ago, never pulling his gaze from the stars. “I lost count a long time ago. Why try and figure it out now?”

Logan didn’t need to see Patton’s face to remember the pain he saw there. He still didn’t understand how someone so wonderful could have experienced so much pain without turning cynical. 

The image faded, Logan’s disappointment returning. 

They had been through quite a lot since they had met in that large cave. Logan had gone from not even realizing the dragon existed to being unable to picture his life without him. Patton was everything to him. He was his guiding light. His very own Procyon.

“So far, we’ve only found you and Patton,” Virgil’s voice came, pulling the seer from his thoughts. “Which means we need to keep going. If we can’t find this ‘source’, we’ll never be able to remain human or return home to face that bastard!” The words echoed around him, causing the witch to turn in a circle searching for the other witch. 

“You mean this Noname, guy?” Roman asked, appearing on the floor a few meters off. “He sounds pretty awful.”

“You have no idea,” Virgil replied, appearing next to him. 

This wasn’t Logan’s memory. That was good! It meant that he was getting closer to where he needed to be. He didn’t hesitate to move on, not wanting to invade Virgil’s privacy. 

 “Logan’s different,” Virgil’s voice came, “As a seer, Logan can see the truth; the future truth and the present truth…”

Logan picked up the pace.

“A half-dragon-half-witch that is also a queen?!” Roman suddenly appeared before the seer. Logan paid no mind, jogging through the image without hesitation. 

He kept moving. He needed to get to the end. 

“Virgil!” Roman’s voice cried out as the smaller witch appeared, eyes wide in shock as he stared down at the knife in his torso. 

Logan paused, heart sinking. 

The smaller witch collapsed, the prince suddenly at his side trying to save him. Roman’s first few words fell of deaf ears as Logan watched in horror, regret cementing his feet. 

He should have been there for his friend. He should have stayed with him instead of spending so much time with Patton. 

He watched Roman remove the knife, despite the fact that it would only worsen Virgil’s condition. 

Why hadn’t Logan gone with him! He could have protected him!

“Hey…” Virgil’s weak voice came, finally pulling Logan from his panic. “It’s okay… It’s all good. Ah!... Princey…. Gonna take more… more than…”

Logan wiped the tears from his eyes. He didn’t have time for this!

He forced himself onwards, refusing to look back. 

It was an old injury. He needed to focus on the injuries that were to come, not the ones from his past. If Logan didn’t find answers soon, then Virgil wouldn’t need to worry about any wounds at all. He’d be far beyond them.

The clash of metal on metal pulled Logan from his thoughts, causing him to glance up, gaze searching. 

“Damn it!” Roman’s rough voice came as he appeared before the witch. The usually well kept prince was a horrific mess. His sandy locks were plastered to his forehead with sweat and… was that blood?

Roman yanked his sword back from the soldier on the end of it, suddenly materializing and dropping to the floor. 

“Homuncli,” Logan breathed in relief. Roman was covered in Red clay. 

He watched the prince stumble back, leaning against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. His usually white shirt was caked in the same red dust as everything else. He looked beaten and worn with large bags under his swollen eyes, lip spit, body bruised. 

Roman ripped one of his torn sleeves further, managing to collect a large bit of cloth and pressing it against his opposite shoulder. The fabric quickly darkened with the actual blood Logan had missed, the color blending with the clay. 

Roman was in bad shape. He wouldn’t be able to keep fighting much longer. Still, Logan watched the man push from the wall and stumble onwards.

Concealment no longer mattered. They needed to get to Roman as quickly as possible. If they were lucky they’d be able to get in and get out fast enough that Noname wouldn’t have enough time to actually react. 

It appeared Logan had no choice but to agree to Virgil’s plan.

…………………………………….

Everything hurt. 

Despite it all, it was a welcomed feeling. If he was in pain, then it would be difficult for Roman to fall unconscious, which meant he could keep moving. If he was in pain then he was alive. If he was alive then he could still save Virgil… he hoped. 

The prince pushed onwards, stumbling down another hallway. No guards this time. Good. 

Remy had been right, the place was an absolute maze. He was lucky they were on his side for more reason than-

“Roman?” 

The prince tensed, forcing his sword up, ready to attack as he wheeled around.

“Holy dickcheese, Roman,” Remus breathed in surprise, stepping over another disposed soldier, mace resting on his shoulder. “You look like the dog’s fucktoy.”

“Don’t come any closer,” Roman warned, trying to look as threatening as possible despite his wounded state.

“Roman,” Remus sighed, taking another step.

“I’m serious!” Roman snapped, taking a step back. 

Remus didn’t seem to pay any mind as he continued forward, starting to close the distance between them. 

“What are you going to do, Ro? Kill me?” Remus mocked as he finally reached the other man. 

Roman swung, the motion forcing air from his lungs at the pain it caused. 

Remus didn’t hesitate to lift his own weapon, bringing the mace up to strike against the sword. The force of the blow reverberated down the blade, shaking Roman to the core and causing him to cry out, dropping it and throwing him off balance. 

His twin moved quickly, dropping low and twisting to wrap an arm around his brother’s waist, steading him with one hand, the mace still in the other. 

“What are you doing?!” Roman spat, trying to shove against the other man’s hold.

“What does it look like?” Remus growled in return, “I’m keeping your dumbass from collapsing.”

“I will die before I go back to the dungeons!” Roman yelled, still trying to wiggle out of his hold. “You’ll have to kill me!”

“Ugh!” Remus groaned, letting go and allowing the prince to collapse onto the floor in a very undignified manner. “You’re such a moron! I’m not taking you to the dungeon you dingus!”

Roman groaned, curling in on himself as everything screamed in protest at the impact of his body hitting the floor. 

“Y-you’re not?” he breathed after a moment, glancing up at the other man. 

“No, you idiot,” Remus scoffed. “I came to help, but if we’re going to get out of here, then you need to get that fatass up and keep that trap shut!”

“W-why?” Roman breathed, moving to use the wall to help him stand. 

“Because you talk way too fucking much and its really annoy-”

“No!” Roman snapped. “Why are you helping me?”

“Oh,” Remus blinked before giving a sly grin. “I told you. You’re my bro…. And you’re an idiot. Somebody has gotta look after you. You obviously can’t do it yourself. Besides, what’s an older brother for?” he asked, offering out a hand.

“There is no way you’re older!” Roman argued, hesitating a moment before accepting the offered support. “We’re supposed to be twins.”

Remus considered the words for a moment, moving to pull Roman’s arm over his shoulder and making the prince groan from the action. 

“You’re probably right,” Remus shrugged. “But I’m still older.”

“Whatever,” Roman grumbled, breath hitching as he tried to keep his breathing level. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

“So bossy,” Remus grumbled, but complied. He supported the weight of his larger twin as they headed down another corridor. 

To be continued….

Taglist: 

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

[realm-sweet-realm]

A Symphony of Nightmares, part 2.

I hope you guys enjoy this. I hope it’s not too similar to The Draw of The Pipes. Sorry it’s so long- I might split it in two for the AO3 version.

---

It was three weeks after downing the ink, and Sammy felt like hell. He supposed that it was just the ink doing whatever it had to for it’s cause, but right now, it seemed to want to give him stabbing pain in his head and tie his stomach in knots. It didn’t used to be this bad- he used to just feel like this, or least, almost this bad- after eating. Now- well, he’d have trouble keeping anything down. He would have gone for medical attention a week ago, and had run the idea by Joey, but Joey said that if he did that, they might be able to figure out their secrets. Sammy supposed he was right.

Sammy’s mind was swimming. Did this song he was writing even make sense? Sammy then realized that he was writing musical notes over the ordering form he had been filling out before he spaced out. If not medical attention, maybe he could use a day in the infirmary.

There was a knock at the door to his office. It was Norman. “Yes?” Sammy asked weakly.

Norman brushed hair from his eyes and allowed himself to take in Sammy’s appearance. He looked so tired and sick that it hurt to look at. “Sammy,” Norman said in a serious, genuine voice. “Can you meet me after work?”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to you seriously about something.”

“Why can’t we do it here?”

Norman peered over his shoulder, closed the door and whispered, “I suppose we could, if you think it’s safer. Will he be okay with it?”

Sammy glared at him with all the force he could muster. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but I can do whatever I want.”

“Okay. Promise me you’ll be there. Here’s my address.” He handed Sammy a sheet of paper. “Right after work, okay?”

“Fine,” Sammy sighed. He was too tired to make fight out of it. Norman turned to leave. “Wait,” Sammy said. “Do you see faint words on the walls here? Like ink that couldn’t quite be scrubbed off?”

“Yes.”

“Thank God.” At least now, Sammy could be sure that he wasn’t seeing things.

Shortly after Norman left, Sammy went down to the infirmary for the rest of the day.

—-

The bastard stole his keys! Sammy wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but Norman had taken the keys right out of his pocket. Well, Sammy might have skipped meeting Norman otherwise, but now he had no choice. So, he followed the address and ended up on Norman’s doorstep. Norman opened the door before Sammy got the chance to knock.

“Come in,” Norman said gravely.

“Give me back my keys,” Sammy growled.

“After. Come in.”

Sammy obeyed. Norman’s house was nice enough, he supposed, although the wall with dozens of photos of people taped to it was disconcerning. Sammy even saw a picture of himself on it. Without even looking at him, Norman pointed to an armchair. Sammy sat down in it, and Norman disappeared to the kitchen and came back a second later with two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Sammy.

“What are you doing?” Sammy asked.

“Making you comfortable,” Norman answered.

No, you’re not, Sammy wanted to say, but he settled for giving Norman a weird look.

“Sorry, I’m not good with new people. But anyhow, I wanted to talk to you because I know you’re in a relationship with Joey Drew, and I’ve seen that you’re not half yourself lately. How is he treating you?”

“Fine,” Sammy snapped.

Norman got up and pretended to swing at Sammy. His fist ended up almost a foot from where Sammy was, but Sammy ended up curled into a whimpering ball, his hands protecting his face and his coffee sprayed across the floor.

“I don’t think you’re fine.”

“You know what? You’re making a ton of assumptions, here. Joey is the best thing that ever happened to me! Maybe my dad beat me, and that’s why I cowered like that. Maybe I’m just jumpy in general. Maybe you’re just that freaky! Ever think of that? You can’t prove anything! And even if you could, why would you care?”

Norman sat back down. “Sorry. Can I tell you why I care?”

“Will you give me my keys back afterwards?”

Norman sighed. “So, the reason that I care is that I think I saw my best friend go through the same process. You’re familiar with the finance manager, now that you’re in his office, right?”

As a head-of-department, Sammy had had a few run-ins with the finance manager over the years, but hadn’t bothered to learn his name until they’d switched offices. “Toby?”

“No, the one before him. Grant Cohen.”

“Don’t know him.”

“Well, he was also in a relationship with Joey Drew. I remember how happy he was when Joey finally made it official. He thought all he was to him was a toy. After that, though... well, I could sense things were going wrong, but I never said anything. I watched Joey treat him like property, and I never said a word... Months later, he gives me a call at eight at night, asking to come over. He shows up with cracked glasses, a bloody nose, and a hand-shaped bruise across his face. I was with him when he made that phone call to break up with Joey and give his two weeks’ notice. Honestly, I thought giving him that much was too much, but Grant wanted the severance package. Well, he disappeared less than two weeks later, and I was left wishing that I’d said something before it escalated like that. And now I’m looking at this small, scared, worn-down version of Sammy Lawrence who’s also in a relationship with Joey Drew, and this time I don’t want to keep my mouth shut.”

Sammy was in silence for nearly a minute. “Joey never treated me like a toy,” Sammy mused. “From day one, he treated me like someone who he really respected and wanted in his life. And he would never hit me in the face. I wonder what Grant did to deserve that...” he was just thinking aloud, but now Sammy realized how insensitive it sounded. And yet, Norman, didn’t seem offended.

“I never said your relationship was exactly the same. And you have bruises, Sammy.”

“I- what?” That couldn’t be right. Joey hadn’t beaten him in over a week. And yet, Sammy looked down and saw that his arms were covered in dark splotches, like there was a black substance trapped under his skin. He started hyperventilating. “This isn’t from Joey.”

“Sammy...”

“No, it’s worse. It’s ink. Joey and I downed ink together.”

“Ink? How are you even alive?!”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s not deadly. Just... just a little toxic. I don’t know what it’s going to do to me, Norman. Joey and I are supposed to go through this together, but it’s making me so sick and I-I’m scared.”

Norman came over and hugged Sammy, hoping that he’d stop shaking. “Shh... it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

After they separated, Sammy said, “Listen, Joey isn’t going to kill me. But... maybe he is a little toxic. But he’s given me things that you can’t even understand. And I think I can take him. I think I can take,” Sammy looked down at his arms, “this.”

Norman wasn’t sure what to say. This was all so much weirder than he’d thought. “Well, I can’t make you leave him. But if the toxicity ever gets to be too much to handle, just know that I’m here, alright? Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you.”

“Here’s your keys.”

—-

Right after the run-in with Norman, Sammy had been annoyed- mostly at himself for being so weak and selling out his partner like that, but also at Norman for putting him in that situation in the first place. Over the next few days, though, he began to think he had the right idea. Those three days had been rough- Sammy was spending almost as much time resting in the infirmary as he did working. The inky “bruises” were growing. At home, Joey was good about handling things around the house while Sammy rested. He’d been sympathetic to Sammy, since, for some reason, downing the was barely affecting Joey at all.

“I guess the ink just has different plans for us,” he’d said, “I guess we’ll just have to trust the process. Trust that it knows what’s best.”

Sammy wanted to trust the process. Wanted there to be a point in this. But he was also scared. His last straw was when he first noticed the veins extending from his bruises turning black. The thought of those painful areas spreading all over his body...

The morning four days after Norman’s intervention, Sammy got up at four in the morning and slipped out to visit the emergency room, where he was taken in, stripped down, and observed by a flurry of doctors who had no idea what was wrong with him. One nurse carefully pierced one of his “bruises,” which looked more like ink-filled warts at this point, and took the substance in for analysis, as well as taking a blood sample.

“Well, there’s enough... ink, or at least a biological substance with the appearance and scent of ink, in your body to kill a dozen men through ink poisoning,” the doctor said. “We should really test this further.”

“No!” Please, just treat me.” Sammy pleaded. Joey would kill him if the public found out the truth.

“But you could have some underlying issue. And this... ailment... has never been seen before. What if it’s contagious? Researching it would be a matter of public health.”

Sammy wanted to cry. “I beg of you. Just treat me the best you can. You can’t use me as a test subject without permission, right? If you can’t treat me without tests, I’ll just have to leave.”

The doctor gave him the most sympathetic look. “I suppose if it’s between that and treating you the best we can, we’ll treat you, if you’ll sign a waiver. So, here’s what we can do. We can burst the skin deposits with a sterile needle to get the ink out, then flush the areas with strong antibiotics. We’ll also have you take some oral antibiotics. Then, we’re going to have to put you through blood transfusions. My guess is that it will take ten hours a day for three days to get your blood healthy again. There’s a whole lot of gunk in it.”

Sammy froze. Three days. How would he hide this from Joey? “Oh, okay. Let’s do it.” He’d figure that out later. He needed treatment.

Sammy was taken to another room, where nurses burst the inky tumours. It hurt. But having less ink in him was a relief- all that built-up pressure under his skin had been painful. After that procedure, it was late enough in the morning that Joey would be at work, and Sammy went out to make two phone calls. The first was to Joey Drew.

“Joey, it’s Sammy Lawrence,” he began cautiously.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOU’D BETTER HAVE AN EXPLANATION FOR THIS OR I SWEAR TO GOD THERE WON’T BE ANYTHING LEFT FOR THE DOCTORS TO SEW BACK TOGETHER.”

The response was about level with Sammy’s expectations. “I do have an explanation. My aunt is sick, and I went to the Michigan hospital to see her. I got the phone call about three and a half hours ago, and I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m sorry.”

“Oh. No, I’m sorry for assuming the worst, and about your aunt. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“Alright. I love you. Bye. And uh, it might be a few days before she recovers, or, you know...”

“Right. Take care.”

The second phone call was to Norman’s place.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered. Of course, Sammy realized. Norman would be at work.

“Hey. It’s Sammy. Did Norman tell you about me?”

“You’re the one who’s in an abusive relationship with Joey Drew?”

Sammy sighed. Norman really had no respect for privacy whatsoever, but he wasn’t in a position to reject his help over that. “It’s just a little toxic. But, yeah. And I need help. Could I have a place to sleep tonight?”

“Sure,” she said in the warmest voice.

“Thank you.”

It was about 8:30 when Sammy was through with the blood transfusions that day and had arrived at Norman’s home.

“Thank you so much,” Sammy said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t come here. I need to be gone from Joey for three days, and my old apartment is already on the housing market. I can call my brother about tomorrow night, but...”

“Woah, hold up,” Norman interjected. “You’re going back to him?”

“The problem isn’t our relationship. I’m just getting some medical attention that he wouldn’t approve of. That’s all. Here, here’s where they were doing blood transfusions on me.” Sammy showed them the pinprick on his arm.

Norman looked at Sammy with pity, a look that he was rapidly getting used to. “Okay. You can stay here tonight, and tomorrow night, too. Have you had dinner yet?”

“I’m good. Look, I’m really tired. Can I...?”

“Of course. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

Before Sammy went to bed, he took a good look in the bathroom mirror. No wonder people were giving him all those pitying looks- he looked like he belonged on the street. His hair looked bristly and was stained with ink. His skin was stained as well, and was covered in sores, a couple even on his face, from bursting the ink tumours this morning. He hadn’t eaten in over a week and hadn’t eaten normally for some time before that. Maybe that’s why his skin looked so sickly pale. Maybe he really should eat something for his health’s sake. The crazy thing was that he didn’t even feel hungry- whatever the ink had him destined for, it must have wanted him to be immune to starvation.

The ink... it wants something for me... why am I messing up its plan?

In bed, Sammy tortured himself with that question. Why was he going against Joey like this? They were supposed to handle this, and whatever the ink brought them, together. And how on earth was he going to explain the medical bills to Joey? And the burst tumours? The thought of Joey’s fists coming down on all those tender sores until they bled, Joey shoving his fingers into them as punishment... it made Sammy want to run away. Thankfully, Sammy was very tired, so it wasn’t long before he was asleep.

Two days later, it was time for Sammy to go home. He showed up at eleven pm. “Hey,” Joey said gently. “How was it? Did your aunt recover?”

Sammy was pretty scared, so he went with the option that would explain why he was upset. “No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It was nice for you to have us pay some of her hospital bills.”

Sammy’s eyes went wide. Did Joey actually think that’s what they were? “Yeah... ha ha.” Sammy walked past him. He was going to leave it there, but he couldn’t. He turned back to Joey. “Please don’t hurt me! I was desperate, alright? I love her!”

Joey looked genuinely surprised. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I mean, I wish you’d contacted me about it, but it was life or death!” Joey spread his arms, “Come here.”

Sammy returned the hug. Joey started stroking his hair. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it’s late, but do you want to get wasted? It’s Friday, so we can sleep in tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Could Sammy even drink anymore? It had been a while since he’d tried.

Sammy fetched a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. Cautiously, Sammy sipped from it. It went down fine- no sputtering on it, no disgust with the taste, no stomach ache. In that moment, Sammy realized that despite the recent blood transfusions, he felt healthier than he had since shortly after his infection. Maybe he really was all better.

“Someone’s happy,” Joey teased. Sammy then realized that he was wearing a big, dopey smile.

“Would you call me crazy if I said I feel better than I have in weeks? Come on, let’s make love, already!” One more thing he’d been too sick to do until now.

Sammy immediately regretted that as Joey began unbuttoning his shirt. The ink sores- he’d forgotten about the ink sores. “Wait. Stop. I changed my mind!”

It was too late, though. “Sex can wait,” Joey said darkly, his eyes focused on the sores on his chest, “but this shirt is coming off.” After undoing the last button, Joey threw the shirt to the side and circled around to look at his back. “Reach for your back. I want to see how far you can reach.”

Too scared to do anything else, Sammy obeyed. There was a long, horrible silence before Joey pushed Sammy onto the floor and held him down by his shoulders. “Explain the wounds.”

Sammy started sobbing.

“EXPLAIN THEM DAMNIT! DON’T MAKE ME MAKE YOU!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sammy exclaimed between sobs. “I was so sick! I just wanted-” Sammy was cut off by a punch to his genitals, followed by several more to his chest and stomach. Joey was sitting on his legs, so he all he could do was cover his face and hope Joey would wear himself out eventually.

When Joey was finally finished, he was panting from anger and exertion. “I can’t believe you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I messed with the ink’s plan for us. We were supposed to face it together, and I failed you. I’m so sorry.”

Joey laughed. “If that’s all it were, I’d be happy. I didn’t know that the ink was going to make you this miserable. I don’t like seeing you like that. No. What you did was jeopardize our secrets. Imagine what’s going going to happen now that some hospital knows about the supernatural ink!” Joey’s fists curled. “We could both go to jail! I oughta-”

“Joey, wait! The only problem is a hospital finding out? Well, that’s good, because I never got help from a hospital. My sister is the one who helped me cut them off, honest! So it’s okay. It’s all okay, right?!”

“Oh! Oh,” Joey got up off of him. “Yes, of course it’s okay. I’m sorry about all that. Do you need some ice?”

Sammy nodded. After Joey had fetched him the ice, they made love and then turned in for the night. It had hurt thanks to all the bruises and wounds, but Sammy felt like he owed it to Joey for all of the trouble and lies. And as much as it hurt, it was still better than being ink sick. At least that was over.

—-

But it wasn’t over. The ink might have been removed from Sammy’s skin and what was left of his circulatory system, but nearly all his internal organs were gone, eaten, disintegrated. That’s why he was able to drink without a problem- there was no esophagus to reject the wine, and no stomach to ache. The ink was still deep inside of him, growing.

—-

The middle of the next afternoon, Sammy was still in bed, and Joey decided to check on him. Maybe he was taking the death of his aunt harder than it had seemed, and if so, Joey figured he ought to be there for him.

“Hey, Sammy. You up?” he asked to a completely-covered Sammy. No response. He tried shaking him gently, but again, no response. With his hands on him now, Joey realized that Sammy wasn’t breathing. He tore off the blanket to reveal the absolute horror beneath.

It was Sammy, alright. Same blue eyes, dead still and with ink and blood coming out of the sockets, leaving trails over purple skin. It was as though there were only an inch of human left overtop of the ink. Less in some places, where those dark tumours had returned. He even smelled like ink. Though still in a trancelike-state, Sammy reached weakly for the blanket. It was at this moment that Joey realized that Sammy was as cold as a corpse.

“Oh my God. I’m so, so sorry that I did this to you.” And Joey was. He’d had the perfect partner- one who had loved him despite knowing everything about him. And he’d let his insecurity, his lust for control, ruin him. If he could have chosen between having Henry back at his side or taking back the moment when he’d had Sammy drink that ink, he wouldn’t have hesitated to save Sammy’s life.

Joey spent the rest of the day caring for Sammy the best he could- feeding him soup, giving him hot water bottles and blankets to keep him warm, cleaning him up when he coughed up ink, keeping him company. For a little while, Sammy seemed to perk up a bit, and even tried to speak, though his voice was incomprehensibly thick with ink. By nightfall, though, Joey was convinced that Sammy was gone.

Joey gathered Sammy up into a plastic garbage bag, drove him to the studio, and left him in a supply closet in the very basement where Joey was sure no one would find him.

—-

The next thing Sammy was aware of was how cold he was. He reached for the blankets, but his hand found plastic. “What?!” Sammy said aloud. “I can- I can speak.” Somehow that surprised him. He stood up from the untied garbage bag and immediately stumbled on his own feet.

Where am I? ...This looks like the ink machine. How did I get here?”

All Sammy could remember was a delirious haze of laying in bed and Joey doting on him. Suddenly he remembered the last thing Joey had said to him.

“It’s gonna be alright. Remember all those magical nights we had together, running around in the woods, trying things we shouldn’t, getting drunk, talking about our passions, acting them out? We had so much fun. I’m gonna give you some time to think about everything else you appreciated in life, alright? But I’ll be here until the very end. That’s a promise.”

Sammy quickly realized that that was how you spoke to a dying man. Was he dead? He didn’t feel dead. On extremely unsteady legs, Sammy dragged himself off to a reflective metal surface. His feet and lower calves were like unmoving stumps on the ends of his legs. Inky blackness dominated his torso and had spread up his limbs and neck. Trying to touch his nose, Sammy realized why he was so unsteady- he could no longer move the parts of him that weren’t ink yet. The only reason he could even speak was the ink he had spat up and infected his mouth and jaw with earlier.

There was nothing for Sammy to do but sit down and watch the last of his humanity fade away. Watch and bawl tears of ink until his eyes were gone. Watch as ink was excreted from his remaining pores like sweat, engulfing his flesh. Joey had promised to be there for the end of his life. Maybe he’d even meant it. Joey had meant all his promises, really. All those promises to stop abusing him. But in the end, Joey was just a little too toxic to follow through.

—-

The following evening, Joey came down to the giant ink machine. It would be hard going on with this without loyal partner, but duty called.

Then, as he was making his way to the inner chamber, Joey nearly tripped over something unexpected: a somewhat muscular humanoid made of ink, curled up in fetal position on the cold metal floor. All of his subjects were supposed to be locked up! How could this have happened?! Unless...

“Sammy...?”

Sammy turned his head to Joey and nodded, whimpering.

Joey picked Sammy up in his arms. “You’re alive. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you... but I’ll think of something. That’s a promise.”

A part of Sammy wanted to reach down Joey’s throat and poison him with the ink that made up his body. A bigger part of Sammy thought that anything was better than staying trapped in this cold, metal dungeon. After everything he’d gone through, he wanted comfort. He wanted warmth. No matter where it came from. Sammy wrapped his arms around Joey. This might be a little toxic, but it was all he had.