#causes her 'hi' to come out much quieter and softer than she intended....but of course it did; she's talking to a man she knows

[lisbonsteresa]

AND THE TOUCH OF A HAND LIT THE FUSE

[thepensmight]

Reflections- A Good Omens Fic

This is madness… In a certain bookshop in Soho, a certain angel sat across from a demon sipping wine.1 None of this was unusual. In fact, it had been going on for as many decades as the bookshop had been established. Decades had come and gone, automobiles clogged the once quieter streets, and bebop continued its attempt to permeate the windows of A.Z. Fell & Co. to no avail.2 And A.Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley or as they were more occultly and ethereally known, Aziraphale and Crowley, had spared a few hours for each others’ company. More often, in recent years, given their mutual investment in the boy, Warlock Dowling. Warlock, for his part, had had a rather unusual childhood of influences, including an imposing nanny, a gardener, and two tutors. 

Aziraphale reflected on those days as he stared at his wine, swirling it to slow his consumption. Back then, they had had to spend more time together. Even the Arrangement had been more cooperative from a distance. Though of course, they had always offered each other help when needed. Or rather, Crowley had. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t help with any sort of temptation that would require the aid of two metaphysical beings. He simply couldn’t. The Arrangement was simply a matter of convenience.

 They had grown familiar, so that by the time they had elected themselves for the upbringing of the Warlock, their time together felt almost natural. Certainly more natural than his time Above. He shivered slightly. It contrasted every written record, but Aziraphale found heaven cold, almost sterile in the never ceasing white walls and windows. And then there were his comrades-in-arms. Aziraphale’s gaze lowered further. He knew he wasn’t a proper angel. Not given his preferred company, the joy he took in human indulgences like food and books and wine. To him, the bookshop seemed a more enjoyable world than heaven had ever seemed. And now the clock was ticking. He had declared a side. Or rather refused what should have been his side. Aziraphale had been glancing above for some sign of Divine Wrath for the past twelve hours. If I’m already on Earth, where would I Fall? He had wondered where Crowley had Fallen. Had he simply landed on Earth? Or had Hell swallowed him once the sulphur had done its work. He glanced back woefully where he knew his wings lay hidden. I really do prefer white to black.  “It would work...” Crowley’s voice jolted him back to the present. It had a way of doing that. In fact, sometime between the Blitz and discovering the actual antichrist child, Crowley’s presence had started something he was pointedly ignoring. Or trying to. I’m an angel. He argued to himself, there is no difference in my feeling for him than any of Her other creatures. Aziraphale sighed, he’d never been good at lying to himself for very long. Centuries at most. “What Dear?” Crowley hissed softly by way of reproach, leaning closer, “Look, Above and Below will be looking for blood, a whole vat of it in my case, and that’s just a start.” Aziraphale had been more focused on the Fall 3, he hadn’t given much thought to an execution.”It’ll be Holy Water for me...” HIs oldest friend shrugged, “Oozing about in the Underworld for Eternity.” Crowley took an unceremonious gulp of wine, “Hellfire.” Aziraphale replied glumly, “That’sss my point!” Crowley always did hiss a little more when he was stressed or drunk… or drunk because he was stressed. Aziraphale found the tone slightly comforting. He then dismissed the thought. “They can throw me in a vat of the stuff, won’t do anything. I’m already burning.” “Yes but they wouldn’t do that to you.” Aziraphale said tartly, “You’ll get Holy Water,” Crowley leaned even closer, and it was all the angel could do to not look at his lips. Dear Lor- On second thought, probably best not to call the attention of the Divine. He failed miserably as Crowley pulled that sinful smirk of the Serpent thinking of something terribly clever, “My body will.” Crowley’s eyes roved his body and he felt his decided to beat pulse quicken. Aziraphale frowned, What was he- His eyes widened as he realized what Crowley intended, the precise way the snake was looking at him. Not as a meal, as an assessment. Like deciding on a suit. “You mean...” The color rose on angelic cheeks, he stood abruptly, “No.” Crowley stood to follow him, “You’ve possessed people before-” “That was an emergency and she willingly shared-” “So’s this. And it won’t even be body sharing. More like body swapping.” “No.” Oh the thought of what Crowley would could do, what he would see of himself, well his given body. “There must be another-” “Can you think of a better idea?” He couldn’t, “You don’t even know if it will work.” “But it might. Besides,” Again, that smirk crossed his lips and Aziraphale failed miserably at ignoring his lips, his gaze drifting lower to a long lean neck. “You must’ve wanted to take this for a drive,” Crowley was simply teasing,  but his thoughts were too flustered of late. “I-I-” “We’ll get to stay on earth...” There it was, that softer tone he’d always worked so hard to ignore. “We’ll get more time. More bookshops. More music. More everything.” Everything. It reminded him of when the demon had said they could go off together, and how much it had taken to say no. He’d never felt worse. He swallowed harshly. “I-I- suppose it’s worth a try...”

The first thing he noticed was the silence. Aziraphale was so used to the continuous drone of God’s Love and Divine Will, it was simply the background noise of his existence. The constant hum telling him what to do, what his purpose was at all times. It was still there, but Aziraphale realized for the second time in as many days, how much his body had become an echo chamber for the pressures of the Divine.4 With Madame Tracy, it was quieter. This was near silence. He had to focus to even register the drone. He sighed in relief, or rather he would have, had his clothes not constricted his breathing. Just how tight are these jans?5 Black nail polish coated the tips of slender, almost feminine hands. He touched them carefully, He has such lovely hands. A throat cleared, “Right, see you tomorrow,” Crowley was nodding him out of his own bookshop. The nerve! Though the wink tempered the gall of it quickly, “Tickety Boo,”

Shaky breath, he’d tried to go to his private rooms quickly. Longer legs provided a faster stride as he reached the cold stark reality of his counterpart’s quarters. He froze as he passed a full length mirror. Something he avoided as a general rule. He liked his clothes, he made sure they were straight and rather ignored what was underneath. He claimed out of avoidance of vanity. That wasn’t entirely true. The echoes of a thousand ethereally voices sniping at the state of his form, rang in his ears. He’d rather thought there was no harm in making his appearance more comforting. Humans made such lovely food, and his rounder shape had made people more comfortable than the harsh angels that existed in most angels… and demons… and most of the occult and ethereal universe. Over time, the voices had been added to the echo chamber of his form, noise he chose to try to ignore. But today… hands that weren’t his own, ran over thighs that weren’t his own nervously.... Today his reflection would show his spirit. But above it was something more, something beautiful. Urgently stripping off demonically summoned garments. He drank in every inch of his not his own body. Long lithe muscle, a flat abdomen, and fiery hair. Aziraphale shakily ran a hand along not his lips. Touching the mirror pensively, “I love you,” His soul shivered at the voice that formed the words. Wiping tears as he realized he had caused Crowley’s form to cry. Mortified, “No no, this won’t do.” It was overwhelming, the amount of love he felt surging through his veins. Selfish love. Love without borders, love without end. Not a service to the Purpose or the Plan. A love that was his, alone.

Across town, in a bookshop more familiar than the Gardens of Eden, an occult filled body was currently in a state of shock. Love. Divine love. And Purpose. The ultimate torture of Falling was experiencing the hole left from God ripping Her Love from your soul. The fire and brimstone bit was nothing compared to the void. Most demons forgot it to cope. Unfortunately for Crowley, he’d orbited the only ethereal being on earth for millennia. Aziraphale simply oozed with Love, he reeked of it. The angel truly adored all God’s creatures, excepting, of course, for the Evils he had to thwart and occasionally keep as company, given their arrangement.  Angel had given the poor serpent such emotional whiplash over the centuries. A thousand nos, twice as many yeses. Each played in his mind like a broken record, each given with no regard or reason for the methods of the last answer. And yet, simply being near Aziraphale had forced his Falling to remain fresh. A wound constantly reopened by virtue of accompanying the virtuous. And now, a gambit that neither side would approve of. A plot that was both so Heavenly and Hellish it could only be described as Human. Crowley had anticipated some slight discomfort, missing his familiar body and so on, but what he hadn’t counted on was the residual traces of Love as he walked across a rug in the bookshop. It hit him like a ton of bricks and he dropped to the floor as though Falling again. It ate at his being 6, but for a moment, he felt it again. The Divine Purpose. The desire to create and give… the feeling of the stars at his fingertips. A portrait for all to see, but all in Service. All according to Divine Will and Power. Will... Free Will.  Crowley sat up, remembering precisely why his wings no longer glowed a pearlescent sheen as he stared in the mirror. “Bastards.” The word sounded less guttural in Aziraphale’s soft posh voice, but the tone reminded him of his purpose. None so Divine, but perhaps focused a bit on the ethereal. Or specifically, one part of it. He pushed himself off the floor. “I only ever asked why.” Dusting off Aziraphale’s coat, because he knew he’d want it so, he busied himself around the shop. Not moving so much as a page to a different position, because he knew he’d have Hell to pay from a certain angel.  1. Not so much sipping, as “drinking as fast as was angelically and demonically possible to do”. 2. Not for any practical reason. Aziraphale simply believed his bookshop should be quiet, unless he chose to play music. Therefore, it was. 3.And the things he’d prefer to do beforehand. 4.The first time had been with Madame Tracy, which had felt rather like the volume getting turned down to a tolerable level after constant shouting. 5. Or jeans as the rest of the universe would have told him. 6.What Crowley didn’t know was the feeling he was currently suffering through would have killed nearly any other demon.

[blayzez]

Welp. This got out of hand quickly.

Relationship: Klance

Word Count: 1,890

Rating: Teens & up

Keith is walking with Acxa; they're only going over plans to help the Blade with a mission -- Keith is too gay for the two of them to be anything more than friends.

Movement catches Keith's eye, and he looks over to see Lance laughing with Allura. Keith jerks his head back to Acxa, though he's not listening anymore, a ball of jealousy wringing his insides. He knew this would happen, knew Lance and Allura would end up together at some point, but knowing didn't make it less painful. He had tried and he had failed; either Lance didn't notice or didn't reciprocate. Either way, Keith was left out to dry and Lance was free to do whatever he wanted. He just wished the rejection didn't hurt so much.

It's too bad Keith turned away as quickly as he did, or he would have seen the look Lance gave him, similar feelings to Keith’s brewing in his own stomach.

He had wanted Allura for so long, so why wasn't he happy now that he has her?

----

Keith is leaving for the mission he and Acxa had planned. Earth is doing relatively well, so Team Voltron can do without Keith for a bit. This mission is looking to be dangerous, too; they're going to infiltrate the main Galra ship to gather intel and maybe weaken Honerva's crew. Keith has already come to terms with the fact that he may not return.

And that's why he does what he does, why he pulls Lance aside when everyone is seeing him off.

"What's wrong?" Lance asks, concern -- so much of it that it makes Keith's heart hurt -- coating his voice in its warmth.

"Nothing's wrong," Keith corrects, avoiding eye contact. Why is this so hard? Taking a deep breath, he begins, "Look, this is going to be a-- a pretty tough mission--"

"Yeah, but you're you, so you'll be fine," Lance's confidence is not strong, the waver in his voice giving away that he's seen the dark implication behind Keith's words.

"Let me finish," Keith huffs. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and locks them onto Lance's. "There's something you need to know."

Lance looks like he wants to stop Keith, but he stays quiet -- out of curiosity or something else, Keith isn't sure but is no less grateful.

"Lance, I--"

Lance breaks. "Keith, stop it. Whatever--" he sucks in a deep breath when his voice shakes and cracks, steeling himself up. "Whatever you have to say, just tell me when you get back."

"Lance--"

"Because you're going to come back, okay?"

"Lance, liste-"

"Keith, no, don't do this--"

"LANCE!"

Keith surges forward and grabs Lance's hands, pulling Lance close. They're so close that if Keith leaned towards the other boy just a little more, their lips would meet. Keith pushes that thought away.

"I'm in love with you," he says, voice considerably quieter.

Lance falls silent, his eyes as wide as they can go.

"I just... I needed you to know that before I left."

More silence. Keith takes that as the rejection he had expected. He removes his hands from Lance's and steps back, looking away.

"That-- That was it. I'll be going."

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, Lance staring after him in shock. Keith is already in the Galra cruiser by the time Lance manages, "Wait..."

----

That stupid mission that stupid Keith had planned with stupid Acxa had been a trap. Because of course it had. As a result, Team Voltron is now on a rescue mission led by Lance.

After they found out that Honerva had captured Keith, the Black Lion was insistent that Lance be its new temporary pilot. Allura ended up taking over Red in Lance's place and Shiro took over Blue in her place. It was a mess, but once they got Keith back, everything could go back to normal, Lance hoped.

So he led them straight to Honerva's ship, naming Pidge and Hunk as their MVPs since it was their intel on the ship and its surrounding fleet that allowed Team Voltron to infiltrate mostly unnoticed.

Once inside, Lance ordered they all split up; Pidge and Hunk in one direction, Allura and Shiro in two other directions, and Lance down a long hallway. The sooner they found and saved Keith, the better.

Lance was the one who found him, but the not the way he had expected.

"Keith!" he shouts, jubilant that Keith is alive and well and... not imprisoned, apparently?

Keith's back is to him, and when he looks over his shoulder at the Blue Paladin, Lance's stomach drops; Keith's eyes are a vicious, glaring yellow, and his grin is terrifying to look at, not at all suiting Keith's rugged face.

"Lance."

The voice is almost mechanical, corruption and malice dripping from Keith's mouth at the name. Lance has never been more afraid.

Keith turns around and steps forward, his Galra blade activated as he prowls towards Lance.

"... Keith?" Lance's voice is much softer than he intended, and it breaks halfway through Keith's name, but emotion is engulfing Lance like a wave and he can't control it right now.

Keith raises his blade, his grin becoming a smirk. "What's wrong, Lance?" he asks smoothly, and a chill runs up Lance's spine at the sound of it.

"Keith, don't do this," Lance pleads, begs really, pulling out his own sword to ready his defense.

Keith says nothing. They circle each other for a moment before Keith rushes forward and swings his blade expertly at his opponent; Lance lifts up his blade and blocks Keith's attack just in time.

"Keith!" Lance cries out, hoping against all odds that Keith will wake up, will return to him.

No such luck.

Quickly, the room is filled with the sound of clashing blades, of grunts and groans, of Lance's pleas and Keith's cruel taunts.

A loud klang sounds as the two blades meet harshly. With a burst of strength, Lance manages to push Keith's blade away, stunning Keith momentarily with the force of it. Lance sees his opening, and he takes it.

Grabbing Keith by his free hand, Lance pulls him close and presses his lips to Keith's, like Keith had desired before this all started.

But Keith isn't Keith right now and this isn't a sappy romance novel. This kiss is not enough; rather, Keith takes this as his chance and, while Lance is distracted, runs Lance through with his blade. Lance cuts off the kiss with a choked sound.

The sight of Lance severely injured and in pain stirs something inside Keith, and he shouts in anger, "Why don't you just give up?!"

When Lance's answer comes, it's soft but firm, "I'm not giving up on you," and a memory of another battle with a loved one, a loved one that said those exact words to him multiple times when Keith needed to hear them most, swims into Keith's mind. And he's jolted out of his trance at that, at the realization that he is on the other side of the battle this time, is the one hurting the loved one this time, and the pain of that knowledge hurts Keith so much he can't stand it, so much that he's suddenly awake and catching a slumping Lance in his arms.

"Lance!" he chokes out. Lance's wound is gaping on his abdomen and realizing that he's the one that did that causes grief to rip through him. He falls to his knees and cradles Lance to his chest.

Lance smiles feebly, which sends needles into Keith's heart. "Welcome back, Team Leader," he manages hoarsely. Keith presses his forehead to Lance's, eyes tight with pain.

"Stay with me, Lance," he begs in a whisper, voice cracking. "You're stronger than this, just stay alive until Allura gets here, okay?"

"Hey," Lance says softly, ignoring Keith's pleas. "I didn't get the chance to tell you before. I love you, too."

Keith has to work very hard to keep from crying. "Don't do this. Tell me later, when we're back on Earth."

Somehow, Lance chuckles. "Shoe's on the other foot now," he jokes weakly. "How's it feel?"

It takes Keith a moment to figure out that Lance is referencing the last time they spoke, when Keith was leaving on this mission. He gives Lance a small smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Honestly? It sucks."

Lance chuckles again, his laughter turning into coughs. Keith holds him closer. They quiet after that, Lance eventually slipping into unconsciousness.

"Lance?!" Keith exclaims, panicked. He presses his ear to Lance's chest, lays a hand on Lance's stomach, and breathes a sigh of relief when he hears the heartbeat and feels Lance's lungs filling and emptying. Keith can only pray Allura gets to them soon.

Luckily, she does. She stops moving the moment she sees the situation before her.

"Allura," Keith begs, voice breaking. "Please, he's dying." And suddenly, he can't keep the words from spilling out, "I did it, I didn't mean to, didn't want to, I was forced to fight him and I hurt him, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, I don't want to be the reason he dies, please, Allura--"

He cuts off when Allura places her hands on his cheeks and pulls him in for a small hug.

"I understand," she tells him quietly, soothingly, before pulling away and looking solemnly at Lance.

Reacting to the unspoken command, Keith lays Lance down onto the floor and backs up slightly, crouching on his knees. The rest of the time is watching from the room's entryway, but Keith pays them little mind.

Allura's hands begin to glow as she places them on Lance's head. The color is a beautiful blue, a shade of blue that Keith has come to associate with Lance and only Lance, and Keith realizes belatedly that that's Lance's quintessence. Moments later, Allura is retracting her no-longer-glowing hands, and Lance is blinking his eyes open.

"Lance!" Keith bursts out, leaning over the blue paladin.

Lance's eyes find him immediately, and once their eyes lock, Lance smiles -- tired, but big. "Hey."

"Welcome back, Sharpshooter," Keith says fondly before enveloping Lance in a hug.

Lance wraps his arms around Keith's shoulders, tucking his face into Keith's neck. He can feel wetness against his own throat, where Keith's face is pressed into and where a few tears have spilled from Keith's eyes. He pulls back and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears from Keith's cheeks, smiling affectionately at Keith and getting a matching one in return.

Then, under some unspoken agreement, they move as one to close the distance between them, their lips pressing together gently but almost desperately.

Allura looks shocked at first, but her expression melts into something warm and happy; Lance deserves this happiness, and she wants him to have it.

Shiro watches the boys with a mixture of relief, pride, and happiness; Keith deserves this, and he's glad he won't have to hear Keith's constant stream of complaints over how annoyingly attractive and charming Lance is.

Hunk is bawling with happy tears, a teary-eyed Pidge hugging him in comfort.

After a moment, Lance and Keith break apart and look at their team, satisfaction and contentment softening their features.

They have their family, and finally, they have each other.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Imagine Alec kidnapping you (Insane!Alec x Reader)

You jumped as seeing the smaller man dressed in black in the kitchen, his back to you. "Oh! Hey Alec." You smiled at him.

"Hello..." He said quietly but didn't turn around.

"No one told me you were coming." You tried to start conversation.

"No, they wouldn't have." He still hasn't turned to face you which made you feel uneasy. "Are you okay?" That was as when he turned to you, his gaze piercing you. He moved closer to you, backing you against the counter behind you and trapping you. "Are you concerned something is wrong?"

"I'm worried something is bothering you." You said quieter."

"That's kind of you." His eyes grew softer but it was barely noticeable. "You're kind." He took your wrists that began to grow cold under his grip and soon numb. "Can...can you let go?" You stammered, your eyes flickering from his hands to him. He gave no response, it was as though he didn't hear you. The numb sensation travelled up your arms and down your legs, numbing your whole body. "What are you doing?" You began to worry. "What are y-" Panic began to rise as your body slumped forward. Alec caught you wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding your up. You couldn't speak and couldn't feel it move your mouth as everything started to go dark. A gutteral noise of fear escaped you but was muffled against Alec's cloak. He was being careful as he held you against him but not too tightly. He said nothing and didn't look at you as he waited for the mist to completely take over which, after a few seconds, it did. You were limp in his arms. He had slowly lowered you down to the floor as the mist ran its course. He held up your upper body as he crouched to the floor.

As soon as you woke up, you were panicking. This place was dark, illuminated by a few medieval looking torches and the area was sectioned off with thick bars. You felt like an animal in a cage and you were terrified. You're attention snapped to the squeaking cell door as you caught eyes with Alec Volturi himself, a witch twin. You couldn't help the cry of terror escape your throat as you tugged on your bounded wrists. Alec didn't seem to bothered by your reaction, clearly used to it.

You were surprised when he hushed you softly and your cries began to die down to stiffled sobs. "Shhhhh..." He continued as he moved towards you, crouching down to look up at you. "It's okay..." He said soothingly, brushing a cold finger down your cheek. "You're okay."

"Where am I? Where did you take me?" You sobbed and Alec looked at you for a moment. "You're in Volterra. I'm sorry but I couldn't let you go."

"Where are we? Where is this?" You pressed further. "You're in the dungeon, one floor below the throne room." You sobbed hysterically in response. "Oh I know, I know. I'm sorry. I know you don't like the dark but there is nowhere else to keep you, my sweet." He placed his hands on your knees. "I need to know I can trust you and then we can move you upstairs. Do you understand, sweet face?"

Your first instinct was to go with it, to appease Alec. "When?"

"I don't know."

"You're going to leave me down here? In the dark? No, please, no! Please. Alec, I'm begging you!" Alec shook his head closing the space in-between you just a little bit more. "Don't do that. Don't beg, I can't change this. This isn't forever. This is just until I know I can trust you on your own."

"You can! You can! Don't leave me here! You know that I cant do anything without you all knowing! Alec, please, I don't like the dark!" You sobbed.

"Listen to me." Alec took your hands tightly. "This isn't forever. I'm aware that we can't keep you here for long. It's too dark and believe it or not, it is not our intent to harm you in any way."

"Then why?" Tears flooded down your cheeks. "Why am I here?"

"Honestly?" Alec asked and you nodded. "because I want you and when you're with them, the Cullen's, I can't have you. There isn't even a slight chance. In due time, you'll want me too and it won't be from Stockholm syndrome or anything of the sorts. It'll be real. I can make you happy, (Y/N). All I need is a little trust." You said nothing and Alec wiped your tears away. "The door over there, will stay locked but I'm going to untie your wrists. You can move freely around this space. However, for your safety, we can't let you beyond these bars. There are bad people here. If any even breathe a word to you, you let me know and I'll deal with it." You swallowed, the situation had become all the more terrifying. "What kind of bad people?"

"Vampires that wouldn't obey the laws, vampires with no control." Alec moved around you to untie your bindings. "I don't want you to be afraid. They can't get near you. The bars are strong enough to hold them long enough for ourselves to know about it. There is a guard upstairs at the entrance at all times. I wouldn't put you here if I didnt think you were completely safe." You didn't argue, it was better to keep quiet. "I'll be back soon." Alec said ruffling your hair and leaving. He locked the cell door and left without a look back.

This was madness. You saw by the sweet words. Alec had kidnapped you and intends to keep you for eternity. Even more so, keep you and make sure the decision becomes willingly. He could fool himself but he couldn't fool you. He couldn't take you against your will and hope to cover it with the hopes you'll learn to love him and stay willingly. There is no decision in that. Every outcome of this was forced. You let yourself cry. It might be the only chance you had. You wouldn't get out of the castle, that you knew for sure but who knows if you'll ever get out of this cell, out of the dark.

You couldn't and didn't feel the need to stop crying as you were curled up into a ball. Time had passed and you heard more and more sounds that told you, you certainly weren't alone down here. "Do you ever stop crying? It's been three hours." An accented Romanian male voice groaned. You sat up, startled rubbing your eyes. "I-"

"Leave them be! They're human. They're mental states are much more fragile than ours."

"You listen here! I've been here for fifteen hundred years, if anyones mental state is fragile, it's mine!" The voice hissed. "Who are you?" You asked, wiping your face. "Me?" You could hear a grin in his voice. "My name is Vasile."

"Vasile..." You pondered the name. "Are you Romanian?"

"I am." You could hear a smugness in his voice.

"Vasile! Are you trying to get yourself killed!? Stop talking to the human!"

"No, I won't, Grégoire. It isn't as though we're going to get out of here alive anyway. You might aswell greet the little thing!"

"That's French." You said immediately.

"and here I'd have thought his accent would have given that away." Vasile's tone dripping in sarcasm.

"Cheeky~" an unknown English voice commented. It was much quieter as whoever it was, was much further away.

"So we hear you're in a little bit of an obstacle with one of those pesky witch twins?" Vasile asked who clearly found humour in it.

"Vasile!" Gregoire hissed. "This is not amusing! This is awful!

"Oh spare me your affections for humans!" Vasile shot back.

"I-I thought he was nice..." You trailed off.

Vasile let out a loud laugh. "You're as young as you look, aren't you? Only youthful minds fall for that! Now you have learned that maggot is nothing but a brat!"

"Vasile!"

"Oh what? Are you worried the boy will bring is spoiled sister to torture us? We all know that it certainly won't be the last! We're here for entertainment not justice." Vasile snapped.

"Were you apart of the Romanian coven, Vasile?" You asked.

"Indeed. I am the only prisoner they took."

"Two got away-"

"So I heard...who?"

"Vladimir and Stefan."

He made a noise, seemingly pleasantly surprised. "Vladimir and Stefan! They were good friends of mine back then."

"They're inseparable now. You remind me of them."

Vasile chuckled. "They weren't all that close back then. The fall of our castles must have brought them together."

"I don't think they know you're alive." You trailed off.

"Good. I'm as good as dead here. I'd rather be here than hunted by the Volturi for the rest of my existence." The thought made you shudder.

After three weeks Alec let you out for a few hours and you had begun to learn how to behave around him- to give him exactly what he wants. Eventually, you weren't watched 24/7, gaining Alec's trust when he could step away from your side and find you just as he'd left you. You couldn't help but seek his approval, it was the only real contact you'd had. Then you had begun to test the boundaries by moving around but not causing trouble. At first Alec was suspicious but allowed it assuming the best in you. Finally the day had come. You'd earned Alec's trust and figured out a way to contact the Cullen's. The chances were high that you'd be caught but you knew this was right, even if you felt guilty for doing such a thing to Alec. He left you in one of the many sitting rooms. You waited sometime, not wanting to just dart up and run to the phone despite your eagerness. You were running out of time, your change was being brought up by the Volturi leaders. It could happen at any time. After a couple of minutes you got up and left, heading towards the reception.

You came up with the first excuse you could for the receptionist to distract her. "They're wondering what dates and times the tours are next week." She nodded and had begun rifling through papers. "I'll call up to them the now to pass it on." You picked up the phone, quickly dialling. You thought you'd cry when you heard Carlisle's voice but no tears came. "It's (Y/N). The Volturi have me locked up here in Italy Carlisle, please help me." The receptionist looked up immediately, her face paling. She cried something in Italian, reaching out to snatch the phone. You moved it out of her reach and without remorse pushed her roughly making her fall back with a screech. "They're keeping me in the dungeon Carlisle. Alec wants to keep me-I" you froze when you locked eyes with Alec. He didn't look angry or even hurt, just completely stoic and it was terrifying. "-I'm running out of time." You were breathless in complete terror as to what Alec would do, watching him slowly approach you. He lightly took the phone from your ear and hung up. The receptionist quivered muttering all that you could assume was apologies. You hadn't torn your eyes from Alec, watching his every move. "Sta 'Zitto!" Alec suddenly snarled at the poor woman who couldn't stop her tears and shivers. You had realised what you had done then. You have just cost this receptionist her life. "I'm sorry..." You muttered to both the woman and Alec. "...so sorry."

"We'll continue this elsewhere."

"I wanted to trust you." Alec said from the fireplace, looking down at you. It had been half an hour since you called and you couldn't really feel much of anything. "I knew I shouldn't have left you alone but I wanted you to see you didn't have to be a prisoner here. You've proven to me that I can't trust you, (Y/N). That hurts me." He didn't sound very hurt.

"I'm sorry..."

"Why? Why did you do that?"

"because I'm being held in a cell, it's cold and it's dark. I miss my friends and I want to go home."

"You really hate it so badly being here...being with me?"

"I don't hate you Alec, nor do I hate being around you." You both knew there was so much more to be said but you didn't have the energy to say it. "I don't want to hurt you, I don't want to hurt anyone."

"I thought we were having a pleasant time together, that you were beginning to come around. Was that a lie?" He asked and you shook your head. "No, it was real. I never lied to you, Alec."

Despite everything, you weren't ready for when Carlisle arrived. Alec had been rather calm but distant with you which you soon found out was the calm before the storm.

"(Y/N), is put in a constant fear for their life in these conditions." Carlisle tried to reason before things really got out of hand. "They're scared they'll die-"

"That's what humans do!" Alec suddenly yelled out. He turned to you sharply. "I don't want you dead, if I ever wanted you dead, I would have killed you ages ago!" It sounded like more than an outburst. It sounded more like a child just got told they couldn't have another cookie. It was a tantrum and hearing it from a powerful vampire who was surely past the age of tantrums...it was much more unsettling.

"Please stop fighting, I don't want to do this anymore." You pleaded pressing your hands into your eyes, almost painfully. "I try to do the right thing, I do but I need to do what it takes to survive." A sob escaped you. "I'll stay."

"What?" Alec's voice rang out in disbelief.

"I'll do what I need to do to survive!" You yelled before another sob washed through you.

"Why do you keep saying such things? I'm not going to hurt you! I've said from the very beginning that I have no intention of hurting you!" Alec visibly got angry once again before it died down.

"You're forgetting one thing, Alec." Carlisle said solemnly. "Your actions say otherwise. You kidnapped them."

[iinkheart]

"Take a chance on me." [ jisele ]

The simplicity of humanity nettles hersometimes. As complex as the human mind is, there is something so basic andarchaic about the ties that soothe and comfort. It stands right there, at thebottom of the equation, surely the one star glowing in everyone’s sky, sheimagines: security. People like knowing who and what they are, tracingthe boundaries of the envelope they have received in life and testing how farthey can stretch them. They may not always want to test the limits or questionit, but knowing has undeniable power in the world.

It is the extent of knowledge thatthrows them. One can so easily think they know who they are, be completelyassured about their self-perception, and then they can surprise themselves. Shedoubts the idea of it being out of character is as real as it isevasive; it seems more like a convenient excuse to hide behind the sides ofoneself that are known and acknowledged instead of exploring the uncharted,with all the risk of the grey and unfamiliar.

She isn’t sure if that is exactlywhat is happening here, but she does know that the sudden swoop in her chest, asensation akin the compression of one’s lungs during the descent of anairplane, is not one that she has ever felt. At least, not in such a potent andprolonged state. And it happens every time he laughs, the sound rich and velvetyand shockingly bold in the darkness of night, perfect teeth flashing in thedarkness and the warm curl of satisfaction claiming residence in her pulse atreceiving the desired reaction.

                   It ought to feel like power.Like security in the fact that she was still in control and held the upper hand.Except that was not how events were unfolding, and she could be brave enough toadmit that. No, instead, it felt like a different kind of security.

There was knowing who she was, andthen there was knowing what she could be. And, in the moment, the latterfelt incalculably more important than the former, like exploring the edges ofher limits held all the answers to the universe. After all, she hadthought she knew exactly who she was, but this girl she was in thismoment could never have sat well in that definition. The girl she thought shewas would never have been here.

Because here was an abandoned rooftop– desolate and out of bounds – and in all sane universes, she should havelooked down on it with disdain, disgusting by the dusty barrenness of it. Acreature of elegance and opulence like her does not belong in a place likethis, and they both know it. Hers is a palace of crystal and iridescence,understated but undeniably aristocratic, and this rooftop is covered in finedust and debris that crunched underfoot as they crossed to the singular mammothbeaten armchair that sits in the middle of the deserted space. She shouldn’tbelong here.

                              It’s just that thisboy changes things.

He has not pulled her into the forestany more than she could lead him into a museum — not in the metaphorical senseof it, with the natural wilderness his domain, the preserved monument hers. Butthere is a pervasive sense of the calm that follows him, present since thefirst day she met him, lying in the grass with arms folded underneath and the mysteryof whether or not he had the sweet summer taste of ice cream lingering on hismouth pleasantly piquing her curiosity. And she wonders now.

The thoughts rise unbidden, unfoldingwhen she least expects them: if he really is as safe as she suspects, as dependableas he feels under her hands and in her life, his presence as reassuring as itis exciting. She wonders if this too could be a part of who she is, a side of Gisèlewho knows for certain that the hand tracing up and down her knee under theblanket, over and over and over again, does it with half idleness and halfaffection. If she could be this girl, in this moment, because it feels goodand safe and there is a reason she doesn’t mind the location whenshe’s with this boy. Because he burns bright enough that the where doesnot even matter. All that matters is the moonlight falling in sharp streaks ofliquid silver on his cheekbones and his dark dark eyes, teeth glinting andquips sharp and every single point of contact between them growing warm warmwarm.

The same moonlight dances on thecurves of her calves, bleaching identical rays of silver across alabaster skin andthe black fabric that interrupts it, and picking out the rows of neat knit woveninto the blanket swept around her and over her knees, thick and handmade andborrowed off the back of his desk chair as an afterthought. And she cannot lookaway — not from the curve of her legs curled over his and wedged against theside of the massive chair, not from the moving bump that is his hand caressingher thigh over the cotton of her leggings, and not from the sight of his facein profile, mere inches from her with his brow creased in thought. Or so shethinks, until he turns his head towards her, expression cast with puzzlementand the barest edge of concern. It is probably regarding the fact that she hasbeen looking at more than listening to him for the past few minutes, and shewould deduce that were she thinking straight, but the sight of his face thisclose to hers, all dark eyes and darker lashes and lovely mouth pursed in query,derails her thoughts a little. Just a little.

                              She feels abruptly,unbearably warm.

The sweater tugged over her head is unnecessaryall of a sudden, even though it had been the waft of cold air through thewindow that had led to her stealing it out of his laundry basket in the firstplace. It feels itchy now, as warm and heavy as its owner’s gaze upon her. Gisèleflushes.

“Go on, then, you were talking aboutthe myths of the stars,” she nudges. “The discourse was positively perspicacious,Professor Potter, please do go on.”

She watches James, watches the almostimperceptible shake of his head that she could have predicted, and tucks herhead against his shoulders, eyes drifting closed. Perhaps this too is pushingthe envelope of who she is: they had first disagreed with each other within anhour of meeting, and they have yet to stop arguing since. But there is adifference in the heated debate spat across a classroom and the teasing banterwhispered between meeting mouths and the amiable arguments swapped as their lighterswere on ambling walks in the dead of the night. Just like that, the quietexchange, more discussion than debate, unfolding between the two paradoxes isdifferent. She may be chaos concealed in the slight figure folded and tuckedagainst him, but James is the animated enigma holding her against him, the verypicture of calm and rationality.

There is a bang down the road,followed by the raucous chatter of multiple people before they walk into thebuilding and it fades, lost between walls and floors and ceilings. She doesn’topen her eyes and neither does he stop talking for too long, the rooftopremoved enough from street-level to be cause for concern. But it has woken herto the fact that something is happening and she doesn’t entirely knowhow to define it.

It makes her wonder what safetruly is, if having this little corner of calm and support is what she has beenmissing for so long. It leaves her questioning if she can even trust it, thisquiet nebulous glimmer that lies unfolded between them, beckoning her closerwith nothing but the sheer possibility it promises. And then it slips outbefore she entirely intends it to—

“Does this ever get any less fuckingterrifying?”

She hasn’t specified what she means,but she thinks James will understand. Her fingers have found residence betweenthe grooves of his knuckles, finding purchase between the bones that grant heraffection so easily. Smoothly, even. And of course, he doesn’tdisappoint.

“A little. Mostly you decide if it’sworth more than the fear and then it doesn’t matter as much. All it takes is alittle faith and trust.”

“—and a little pixie dust?”

“And a little pixie dust,” he agrees.

She wrinkles her nose as she laughsat that, the implication not lost on her. After all, it’s one of the two creaturesshe’s compared to most often: cats and pixies. Coming from James, even thosesound softer than they always intend to be. Idiot. No wonder hermouth feels dry, parched with anticipation for what might follow. And she knowsit will; knows deep in her bones that there are moments James Potter is notcapable of letting slip through his fingers because he is a good fuckingperson who reads between the lines just when it is needed. Because somehow,inexplicably, he knows exactly who she is, even without knowing the rootof the puzzle.

“That last one shouldn’t be a problemfor you, so come on. Take a chance on me.”

There it is: the golden nugget oftruth she knew would follow. It’s said lower than the rest, softer and quieter,but not surprising, of course. He set the precedent when he admitted to havingslipped in their rules first, confessed that he wasn’t as unattached as they’dplanned to stay and then removed himself from the equation. It had taken anequal admission from her to return from the rift caused by that revelation, butthis is something different, she knows. It’s more than the timbre of his tonemarking it as so.

This is her giving him what she knowshow to give, at least for now. It can’t be more than that small, insignificant,unworthy, puny word: like. But she is trying. Admitting the fearis the first step to facing it, she thinks, then looks up at him again.

“Well, we do have the pixie dust, sothe faith and trust can’t be too far behind,” she quips.And then, as an afterthought, “It’s not far at all, actually.”

[banjoker]

Tell Me The Truth

The battle was dynamic, riveting even! Hero and his Villain bounding across the spring-laden dawn tundra, bursts of energy igniting between them as their tails and armour collided. Butterflies cascaded about from both Hero and the grasses. A wide smile crossed the Hero’s face but a grimace of anger and frustration stuck to the Villain’s. “Why can’t I! Just! Hit! Him!” Villain yelled to himself. Another swing from Villain’s tail, another expert dodge from Hero. A hidden crossbow fired from Villain’s mechanical foreleg; squealing from the strain. A quick plume of flame from Hero, midleap, reduced it to ash and a red hot arrowhead. “Ahh! F-” Villain began to cuss. Hero landed in the grass with some momentum, causing him to slide a meter through the grass, nearly toppling a small cairn. He caught the stone with his tail and fixed the structure. “Watch your language!” Hero calmly called between deep breaths which only elicited a frustrated grunt from his foe. When Hero repositioned his eyes on Villain from the small structure at his feet, he was not more than a neck’s length away; charging wrathfully. “Whoah there, wait!” Hero tried to explain. This was Villain’s chance. He had caught him offguard for once instead of the other way around. Villain, with a smile, tackled Hero, sending both of them tumbling back, crushing the monument, and sending its pieces into the surrounding grass. Villain got the upper hand, and pinned Hero with his armoured limb. “Hah!” He bragged in victory. Hero stared past him though. Villain turned quickly. A centaur, fair skinned with cascading orange hair and an alabaster coat, stood where the rocks had once been, looking down on them sadly. She trembled, but whether in despair or rage was up for debate as she turned her gaze to the two Skydancers fumbling on the ground, murderous rage in her eyes. Villain rolled away, loading his crossbow and aiming. Hero gasped, “Daymion!” The Centaur did not flinch or yield her paralyzing stare. Villain took a quick take over to Hero as if to ask what was happening. Hero had a much idea as he did. With a strong huff, the Centaur stepped forward, clenching her hands. Daymion swore he could hear thunder rolling with every step but he could not move. “I am Veritas, goddess of truth; and you,” she pointed at Hero and then to Villain, “have trampled upon my hallowed place!” The angered goddess put great emphasis on “Trampled.” Hero spoke first, “I am very sorry, Ma’am. We were just-” but he did not get to finish. Villain smiled slightly now that he didn’t think he was about to be smashed into a pulp and seeing Hero get chastised for once. “I know what you were doing, child,” Veritas sternly interrupted. She seemed to have calmed down some, perhaps from Hero’s invariable politeness. “There will be penance for your inconsideration.” Veritas added with ever so slight tone of contempt and a glance to Villain who now felt like he was the target. Villain jumped up now, “Hey now!” He jeered, “What did I do?” Ignoring Villain, Veritas spoke once more, “You both lie to yourselves. Your actions led to your punishment whether by malice or by misfortune,” She rose her hands and a faint glow emanated from her eyes in the colour of a soft rose. “May your tongues be free from falsehood!” She ordered, “If you do not speak, you will never again.” Veritas added. Then she was gone, the only sign of her being her hoof prints in the dirt. Hero exhaled slowly. That had never happened. H started to speak in an attempt to console Villain but his words betrayed him, “Nice going, Daymion.” He blinked in minor confusion. He brushed it off as one of those weird thoughts. Villain turned to Hero, “Hey! I didn’t know the rocks were there.” He blinked as well. He had been intending to blame Hero for the encounter. What was happening? Hero looked just as confused. “Lie to me.” He ordered lightly. Hero furrowed his brow and smiled, “Lie?” he asked, “Why?” What had gotten into Daymion? It was just an angry centaur that had snuck up on them while they were distracted. He was sure that there were whole herds out there. Villain himself had ripped off a few of them. Villain shook his head angrily, “Just do it!” He decried impatiently. Hero took a breath and sighed. “Fine,” he conceded, “I think your food is bland.” He coughed a little in surprise. Had he just said that? Villain shook his head again, “Crap!” he cursed. “What did that b-” He began to question furiously. Hero interrupted calmly, “Watch your language.” He smiled ever so lightly. Villain grunted angrily in response. Hero awaited some sort of continued series of profanities but nothing came from Villain who fumed non-verbally as he paced back and forth. Hero scratched behind his head as he thought. “Maybe if we fix the rocks?” Hero offered quizzically. He waited again for any input from Daymion. He squinted at his companion. At least they weren’t fighting anymore. “Do you have any ideas?” Hero asked as he began stepping through the grass, collecting the rocks. Villain continued pacing, huffing and stomping about. Hero stopped rolling rocks and turned to Daymion with an amused glow. “You can’t not talk.” Villain turned aggressively, “I can not!” he stated slightly quieter and with the opposite intent than he had planned. “Blast!” He exclaimed, also barely noticeably quieter. It was so slight that even Hero didn’t register it at first. With a shake, a puff, and a quick ruffling of feathers, Villain went back to silence. Hero sighed with ever so slight impatience. “Come one, you’re being a child!” He snapped with more anger than expected, “O-Oh my.” Hero stuttered in surprise. Villain, frustrated, halted his pacing and turned abruptly to Hero. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped before he could. He wouldn’t want to say anything he meant but didn’t want said. Perhaps he could lie by omission. “So what if I am?” He replied. Noticeably softer and without falsity, once again. He growled. He couldn’t even leave things out. What had that centaur said? Something about never speaking again? “Hero!” He yelled at low volume. Hero, surprised by the sudden change in Daymion, responded, “Why are you so quiet?” He was thinking about the curse or whatever it was. “Oh,” he added when he reached the end of the thought. Villain nodded. “Keep talking.” Hero ordered sternly. Villain growled once more. It was nearly dusk already. How had that happened? “What do you want to talk about?” Villain asked partially faint. Hero shook his head, “Anything.” That wasn’t a lie, of course. He sat down promptly in the grass next to the unfinished job or fixing the stones. Idle conversation followed promptly. Words of little substance and little lasting worth. The weather, grass, the Centaur and others. Night fell upon the two quickly as was common so far south. The sky above was star-laden, like a pond full of diamonds. As night drew in and the two lost sleep, the conversations grew ever closer to their hearts: favourite toy as a child, least favourite food, why the butterflies, and others. Their eyes often strayed to the vibrant gems above. Hero wondered if that Centaur was watching them right now, from somewhere up there. Villain was hungry. Villain lay in the dirt, exhausted, mentally and physically. It was hard to talk for so long. “How have you been?” He asked his companion, intrigued at this point. Hero shiften on his haunches as he thought. Villain wondered for a moment, Why do they fight? Why couldn’t they just sit like this and just… talk. Hero smiled wanly in the pale, silver moonlight. He began to speak slowly, as if sleep were catching up to him. “Good. I’ve been having a lot of fun.” His answer elicited a question in Villain. What was he having fun doing? Villain blinked slowly, the white light colouring him a lavender colour. “Fun?” He asked inquisitively. He scratched his side from the prickly grass beneath him. Hero took his eyes from the moons above and breathed. “You’ve been fun.” He responded calmly. Villain’s heart skipped ever so slightly. He had seen it coming, but it still hit him like a brick. They were silent for a moment, but it seemed to Villain to stretch on for hours. The stars were beginning to fade now. Where had the time gone? “Do you like me?” He asked as quickly as he could without stuttering. He knew he’d get an answer, but he wasn’t sure if he would like it. Hero nodded as he spoke, “Of course I do.” Villain stamped his feet in anticipation. Villain, unsatisfied, redoubled his efforts. “No! Do you-” He tried to think quickly, “like me?” He simultaneously hoped that Hero would fail to catch the meaning and that he would figure it out. He sat for what felt like forever waiting for his response. Hero’s smile softened as he replied, “Of course I do.” How very vague. Villain was unsure whether that was a good reply or not too which only made it worse. Hero was more cryptic than even he could manage. More time passed. The horizon began to take on the visage of a great fire, a menagerie of wispy clouds painted with great swaths of orange and violet; pink and red. Morning already? Villain’s legs ached from sitting for so long and his eyes felt like lead. Hero fared little better. His wings felt like they were chained to the ground. Just out of the two Skydancer’s view, a centaur stood resolute against the receding night sky, smiling. The time had come.. Hero spoke, breaking the morning silence, “Daymion,” Villain glanced up to catch his gaze, “Do you love me?” Villain sat silent for a time, unsure of how to respond. “Please, tell me the truth,” Hero whispered into the still air connecting them. A butterfly fluttered past him and Villain watched it. Now was as good a chance as any. Villain cleared his throat and responded warmly, “Of course I do, Alfie,” He laughed lightly and Hero laughed alongside him. After but a few more giggles and sighs, the two succumbed to their dreams, a smile on each of their faces. A pile of stones sat reconstructed between them. Hero mused of distant green fields alongside Daymion and Villain dreamt of little meals with his hero. They were content. The Truth really does set you free.