#does his sudden gain of power change that he is human and he's raised human and his experiences prior were human?

[covertblizzard]

Okay, so in the first issue of JLA, it starts with some alien coming to earth as “heroes” and creating vast changes in the name of helping people and in the end they turn out to be villains but that’s not really important or interesting (to me).

What IS interesting to me is that Superman, much like he later will in Kyle’s first Ion arc, clearly does not like these changes. Although in this case, he doesn’t really bring up playing God or worship directly, his underlying reason is pretty similar. His belief is that superheroes should be symbols and to rescue, not to actively decide for humanity. “Is humankind really willing to become the pampered lapdog of superhuman beings and squander its own potential?” It makes sense I suppose, for him to put such heavy consideration into this since he IS an alien to this planet and all that.

Unsurprisingly, Kyle is the one that voices “I can’t help thinking, ‘What if they’re right?’ What if we haven’t done enough?” considering he goes on and become Ions and pulls very similar acts of heroism (except to a less extent and that is not an illusion because these ones are illusions iirc).

Later on, Diana also has the same considerations. “Are we doing too much or too little? When does intervention become domination?” And I think they’re all very interesting questions!

Unfortunately, DC is boring so they just conclude with Superman’s belief that their role as superheroes is to “catch them if they fall”.

In general, it just feels like there is a bit of a “active” VS “passive” superhero, but obviously it’s not always just clear cut. From vibes though (and what I’ve read so far), Superman falls under passive, I think Batman does too, Flash is kind of hard to tell (depends on the story?) but I also think passive, I think Green Lantern (Hal) leans passive while Green Arrow (Ollie) lean more towards active, I think Starfire and Green Lantern (Kyle) also lean active, Birds of Prey as well (this is purely vibes), Red Hood also seems to lean more towards active.

[rivendellsstuff]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 | ❝There is a house made of wood in the countryside where a former soldier lives with his small family. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind found peace. This is the place where Levi Ackerman feels whole in many years.❞

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1319;

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: Manga spoilers for season 4 part 2 and mentions of canon-typical violence. Inspired by Samwise Gamgee's speech in “The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers“ and the song “To Build a Home“ by The Cinematic Orchestra;

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! This is the first time I have ventured into writing a story in English - my first language is Portuguese. I hope, with all my heart, that I am managing to evolve and that the text is understandable. If you spot a misspelled word or anything else, feel free to let me know.

────── ▎The petals of the trees fell as the wind blew across the field; it tore them from their branches and swept them far enough away to lose sight of them. Each flower that sprang from the small garden — yellow daisies, hydrangeas, and jasmine — filled the air with the most pleasurable fragrance. Outside, the light was intense; in the stillness you could hear the beating wings of startled birds and the clear water lapping hard between the stones of the stream.

There is a house made of wood in the countryside. This is the place where a soldier feels at home. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind does not feel alone. This is the place where Levi Ackerman rests after the war.

His refuge, with walls covered with tiled and carpeted floors, with polished chairs and tables. In the house, there is a small hallway that describes two rooms, one next to the other. No stairs — the kitchen, the bedrooms, the small living room and the only bathroom —everything was on the same floor. There is no sign of dust, smoke from the fireplace or clutter. This is Levi Ackerman's home.

Sitting under a bamboo chair, he watches the sunset and the approaching dusk. There is a book on his legs, the pages of which rustle with promise. Pages that, over the years, have contained the emptiness latent in Levi. An emptiness that grew and devoured, whispered and growled; big and fierce, red and bloodthirsty. Many stories now lived in the mind of the still young-looking former captain. He still remembers a simple part of each comrade, each friend, each mission and each people; the scars will always be there to remind him.

How had the world managed to go back to the way it was when so many bad things had happened? How could the end be peace? Levi thinks that there is a greater similarity between real life and stories in books than ordinary eyes can see. Stories full of darkness and danger, but whose shadow and sadness always pass. A new day always comes, the sun shines again and shines stronger on the survivors.

Then, little by little, Levi is healed. The stars carry his sadness away. The flowers in his small garden fill his heart with beauty. Hortensia replace the smell of burning copper. Books replace sharp blades. The whistle of the kettle replaces the shouts and screams of the battlefield.

"It's not bad to celebrate a simple life."

Suddenly, a babble coming from the next room gains his attention. Levi places the book on the pillows and uses the arms of the chair to stand up. After three years, Levi is still recovering. His joints pop and he stands motionless for a fleeting minute, getting his muscles used to the sudden change in position.

The sound is repeated and the pair of blue eyes, like two agates, shine brighter than any city ever could. Then he moves; his slippers drag on the floor and a cozy breeze rustles through the white curtains, spreading the scent of tea berries.

Now there is a shadow of a smile on his face. There he was, the one few had seen, but who looked so much like Levi in his features that anyone would guess they were close relatives. The blue eyes — his eyes — examined his father with amusement, a toothless smile on his delicate features, groping the air with his pudgy hands as one who wanted to say "hi, dad."

But where along the way did mankind's strongest soldier become a father? His years of precise and strenuous training could not prepare him for this test. For the tenderness of fatherhood. It was a surreal love. He never imagined he could love something so much.

He remembers his mother in times long gone by; the woman who gave him great advice and was always encouraging and protective even under such cruel conditions of life. A woman who sacrificed body and soul for her son. He remembers Kenny and his twisted way of upbringing and how that boy, small and thin, sought in him the long-lost father figure. Everything he knows about family is based on these two experiences. Black and white.

Levi is guided by instinct. By love deeper than the oceans. That tiny creature had already wrapped him around its little finger, but he never felt more at peace or happy in his entire life.

— Hey, little one.

Levi held him in his lap. Such a light weight was unfamiliar to his armed arms, but the movement felt natural nonetheless.

— D-daddy.

Levi smiled.

— Yes, dad is here. — he said.

Dad will always be here.

With his son in his battle-scarred arms, Levi Ackerman started walking again.

Outside, in the garden where he planted the daisy seeds, there is a slate bench. He sat with the little one on his lap and closed his eyes to enjoy the light breeze of wind.

— Tch.

Levi clicked his tongue when his son tried to bite his finger. His reaction seemed enough to make him laugh. The kind of baby laughter that gets everyone going - light and innocent.

— Brat. — he mutters, but there is no malice or irony in his voice. Just a father talking to his son; a person who has lost and won everything.

Suddenly, he starts to shake his little legs. Shaking his head, Levi helps him stand on the light grass. The father tenderly holds his son's hand as he tries to walk. He still can't balance, but Levi is there to hold and guide.

In a moment, his son raises his head to look at him and Levi realizes that there are thin strands of dark hair covering his eyes, unaware that a man who had faced monstrosities beyond human comprehension had wept at the mere sight of him twelve months ago.

Since the beginning of his wife's pregnancy, all Levi had wanted for himself was something better. A safe home and a family — everything he never had.

When the power of the titans disappeared, as well as the Ackerman's special abilities, that reflection of himself with the woman he loves had taught the former soldier so many things. Levi was still learning, of course; like learning about strengths he didn't even know he had...and learning to deal with fears he didn't even know existed.

Perhaps in his younger years, when he was still desperate for some kind of parental love or when he was still fighting day after day, Levi could look on with indifference at moments like that — too exhausted to think about a post-war life. With his refusal to see that he didn't want any of it, with his inability to change, with his distance from people. He doesn't blame himself, of course. Because, like many who live in dark periods, Levi couldn't shake off that half-existence.

Now, Levi Ackerman is a man with deep, abysmal scars.

Now, Levi Ackerman is a happy man with his small family in a house in the country.

— Come on, brave boy. Let's go into the house.

(...)

So, there is a house made of wood in the country. This is the place where a soldier feels at home. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind does not feel alone. This is the place where Levi Ackerman rests after the war.

There is a house made of wood in the countryside where a former soldier lives with his small family. This is the place where the strongest soldier of mankind found peace. This is the place where Levi Ackerman feels whole in many years.

[starshipsofstarlord]

All This Hassle, and What For?

Pairing | Loki Laufeyson x reader

Summary | getting taken hostage, along with Loki, is far more amusing than ever intended to be, despite it leaving your captors anything but impressed.

Warnings | kidnapping, mentions of depression, swearing, implied smut, innuendos

Based off this tiktok. All original rights to the plot go back to the creator.

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your aching eyes, you found yourself to be in a large room, there were plenty of feet stood at your eye level, and such a sight made you frown. You certainly didn’t remember being knocked out, but who would, the exposure to unconsciousness was most likely sudden.

But nevertheless, you raised your head, glaring up at those whom had captured you. As your eyes scoured the room, your eyes landed promptly on the god of mischief, who had his hands bound and shackled in chains, and by Odin, did he look good.

However, your attraction the man who once reigned terror down upon New York wasn’t the focus now, and so you licked your lips, and kicked the nearest guard in the leg. He stumbled, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of all others, and you were pleased to stifle a laugh. Loki frowned at your behaviour, knowing that this was not the way that you were trained to be an avenger, but it was clear that you were no longer on earth, so human pleasantries did not apply here.

“And by the gods, who in the galactic council’s name do you think you are?” The closest asked, wrapping his large hand through your hair, and tugging your face up to stare up at him, wanting you to be treated as the lesser being he thought you as.

“Actually, he’s the god.” Tilting your head, you diverted it towards Loki, who squinted feebly at your answer. “But I think you already knew that, since you have him rattled in metal. Just a word of advice, rumour has it that he likes to be restrained in such ways; really, you’re doing him a favour, and you may just earn yourself a big tip.”

You sent a wink up at the commander, watching with inward joy as he grimaced at your development within your speech. “Quite a nice sight, to see him so vulnerable and at someone’s mercy, so thank you general.”

Sending him a smile, he huffed, whilst Loki tried his darnedest to contain an amused grin. It wouldn’t be the first occasion that you had made suggestions regarding the new troop of the avengers; even when he was around causing mischief, (which he still tended to do), there were always words said that gained the god’s intrigue.

Tony at the time, and to this day, despite him being a part of the heroic team, which Thor was ‘inclined’ to drag him into, thought nothing more than disgust at your meaningful jokes. In his words, ‘you two may as well screw so we don’t have to listen to anymore of this dirty banter, you in regards to reindeer games’.

How you wished right now, preached silently even, that Tony could bare to listen again, so that he could send in the team whom could deal with these aliens that were keeping your imprisoned. But all communications were cut, and that just left you and Loki.

By no means did you doubt if Loki got the chance to escape, he would leave you. It was in his nature to do so, but if you could pose a lack of threat, they may loosen up on their efficiency in guarding you. After all, Loki was the one they wanted, not you. And then, both of you could get away from this galactic nonsense.

“Humans.” The general huffed, causing you to grimace as the stench of his breath wafted through the air, and hit your nose. “You all think that you are so special, but when it comes down to it, those who are not from your planet do not care. Loki here, this god, does not care about you little one. And he never will.”

“That’s okay with me, because I don’t care about him either. It’d called self preservation.” You informed your captor, noticing Loki staring across at you with an icy gaze. Who were you kidding? Of course you cared about the god, but right now, you would do anything to get out of this predicament.

“Aw would you look at that.” The feet moved back towards the main reward of their capture, staring down at the green eyed trickster with mocking eyes. “This woman has attitude just like yours, if either of you cared, I’d call it a match made in Asgard.” A laugh bellowed from the wide chest of the being, finding his own comedy quite humorous.

“Excuse me, I’m way out of his league!” You pretended to be offended, bringing your hands that were free of restraint to your chest. They thought not to tie you down as they did to him, after all, you were nothing but a midguardian. That was their mistake. “What’d you want with old horse shagger over there anyways? Don’t be alarmed, but he actually does some kind of good now, even if it be out of his own self interest.”

A heavy sigh fell on deaf ears, as the protector of space glanced unsurely between the pair of you. “He has the tesseract, and I wish to take it from his slippery hands, he cannot be trusted with such a powerful source of energy.” His words bellowed a laugh of absolute surprise from your mouth, earning a frown from those keeping you hear, and a cock of the head from the god of mischief.

It was clear that not only was he confused by your supple, yet somewhat pleasant burst of amusement, but he was also in the dark about what in the Hela this predominant being was speaking of. Yes, he had had the tesseract at one point , however, no longer was it in his untrustworthy grasp.

Thanos had taken ownership over it, after killing many of the people that he had saved from the events of Ragnarok. It was not just some energy source, it had been an infinity stone all along, tricking the eyes of elders and the young to believe that it was nothing more than a harbouring of power. But it had indeed been the space stone, and it was taken from him, in exchange for saving Thor’s life.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had found the pair of them upon the aftermath of the wreckage, taking them in, amongst plans of taking Thanos down. It had been a failure, up until the avengers went back in time, going to their past that would not affect their future, so that they could reverse the affects the Titan had brought upon earth and everywhere else.

During that time, Loki had nurtured his brother, watching as he fell apart with the responsibility of their people, and collapsed into a spiral of depression. You had also been there for Thor, doing your best to take the drink away from the bulky god, but to no avail did you manage to succeed. And so, during those tormenting five years, you and Loki would sit side by side, both basking silently in your failures.

“I thought you guys’d know everything, but I guess that you and your highness are stuck in one time line; all of them. But for us humans and every lesser being, there are multiple, and that Loki that stole the tesseract, yet I say again, is one much different. And we are on the search for him, to stop his disruption and crossing over of the times!” An exonerated, and audible exhale of air left you after your little speech.

Loki smirked, at the premise of you protecting him with the admission of the truth. But he couldn’t help but feel a feeling of warmth flutter within his immortal insides, it was rather a nice feeling he realised. “He is quite difficult to catch, we have been tracking him since the time heist went sideways.”

“That’s because he’s you!” You pointedly exclaimed, unable to pin some of the blame upon the god himself. Sure, in recent times he had changed, and was much different from back when he wanted all mortals to kneel before him (which you’d willingly do if it ever came to that, though you’d never tell him under which circumstances that would be), but at the end of the day, that had been him once!

The tricks and the lies still remained, but he had found a reason to thrive, and a long and enduring career that he was well at tackling. Often, he made out being an avenger, despite the government’s rouse of concern, to be a bore, and that he had far better things to do. But he stayed, with a light in his eyes, and continued following along with the heroic traditions, breaking a few rules here and there.

“Dear, why do you always have to put the blame upon me? I was not the one who decided to put that green dye within your shampoo, but I’ll have to admit, did you look so enrapturing.” He was running a ploy, dragging out the time that you spent bantering in hopes of something happening.

Unlike Heimdall, he did not have foresight, but it was a requirement whilst the pair of you were on your expediting mission, that you check in with the base, via the comms that had cracked under brutal feet. And so, he spoke, with the promise that you’d return the conversation and leave all others in the room confused with your meaningless discussion.

“I did, didn’t I?” You asked, to which he hummed in reply, lightly nodding his head, as his feline eyes ran up your body, paying ample attention to how your limbs were free, unlike his own. “But I’d say fine sir, that the blame is down to Clint, and if I’m correct, may we kick his ass as soon as we get back home?”

“Of course we can my beloved-“ you froze at his choice of words, and it appears that he did too, suddenly realising his mistake. Gulping for a second he went to speak again, but the commander felt much inclined to but in, and stop the headache that was bubbling in his large head.

“Shut up; the pair of you!” His scolding made you feel as though you were in school over again, it was impossible not to drop your head down and try to contain your laughter. Loki too found such enjoyment in this predicament, sporting a cheshire grin to emit his emotions.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Maybe a just a tad louder?” You pinched your thumb and forefinger together to show how much, and it was clear that you were pissing this primal being off. He began towards you, and you were prepared to fight him, you were never one to back down, which was one feature upon the various reasons that Fury had initially recruited you.

Awaiting the first strike, you stood despite the others around you, your eyes wide open as you bravely stared up at your opponent. But before the fight could begin, a distant crash assumed preference in your ears, causing you to turn your head in the direction it had came from. And then, all of a sudden, a ship crashed through the dock, guns blazing from its side.

“What are you waiting for?” The distinct voice of Rocket asked, and obediently you ran through the terror, finding Loki already upon the ship, but then, he appeared behind you also. “Quill, get ready to go!”

Taking glances, you stared between the two practically identical copies, a light frown on your face. Both were restrained, yet the one that was seated beside Groot, whom was playing a game on some nineties device, was glaring up at the pair of you.

“An avenger, really?” The seated one laughed, mocking his once future self, as you felt the ship steer clear away from the scene. Your Loki quirked his brow, smirking at his self that had avoided the wars that he had chosen to fight upon earth.

“Yes, an avenger.” He responded, causing his other to languidly scoff. An ‘I am groot’ came from the tree, and it was uncertain in your spoken languages of what he had said, but either way, you were more intrigued by the conversation that was happening between the Loki’s. “And I’ll have you know, that she is infinitely more brave than you, you cower-some fool.”

“Oh, so we’re going there?” You asked, causing the pair to snap out of their mutual rivalry, and stare haphazardly at you. “No, don’t mind me, feel free to continue.”

“We’re not going to be unable to unbind your until we reach earth.” Gamora cut in, speaking to the Loki that you knew to be the original.

“That’s fine.” He nodded humbly, before casting his attention back at his alternate reflection. “And this woman, is not only an avenger. She was there for your brother when you were not.”

“Aw.” The other Loki smirked, almost cruelly. “So she’s your beloved?” He remarked rudely, and it seemed to break something within Loki, him wishing not to listen to the other version of himself. He decided he did not like him, and understand how you must have felt upon your initial meeting.

“Yes.” You went to speak, but instead, Loki stood before you, powerlessly pulling your face to his own, and colliding his lips upon yours. On impulse, you ravenously replied with much affection, clasping his jaw and allowing him entrance into your mouth. It earned a disgusted groan out of the Loki that had caused all this hassle.

“I hate to interrupt...” Rocket returned, after putting his gun down and having gone to the front of the ship with Quill, so that he could contact Stark. “But these may get those off.” He held a pair of golden pliers, that were far larger than his body. At the sight , you pulled away from Loki’s face for a moment, raising a brow.

“It’s fine, I think I want to keep them on.” You smirked, earning another sound of disapproval from Loki’s identical rival, pulling him back to your face. Wildly, he hummed into the cavern of your mouth, as the pair of you stumbled around on the spaceship.

“Bedrooms are down the hall to the right.” Nebula informed you, her voice monotone, and in turn, you dragged the god towards said direction, finally releasing all the tension that had been pent up through the years.

Tags

@nickkie1129

[fandomwriterstuff]

Rewind

Rick Flag x you

Rated T

~6.5k words (I could not turn it into chapters, it didn't work out right)

Warnings: canon typical violence

I highly recommend listening to this song because it is very epic and I listened to it while I wrote the dramatic end scene.

You were a petty thief, a modern Robin Hood; you stole from the one percent to gave to the needy. And you know what? More often than not, the one percenters never even noticed. And every time you got caught you used your powers to get out of the situation. However, you knew a day was coming when you wouldn’t be able to get out of a nasty situation. A feeling of dread was filling up your nightmares and seeping into your waking life. You were filled with anxiety that your next job would be your last. Of course, it was never an issue with your powers. That is, until it became an issue.

You were doing a job in Gotham, a shitty city if you did say so yourself. Nothing like the country home you grew up in. You knew the ins and outs of the city bank. You knew the guard schedules, you knew the camera angles, you knew the passcodes, you knew which day your target would be inside. Bruce Wayne. Local billionaire who wasted his time and money hosting galas for the rich and famous. You loathed the idea of him. He wouldn’t notice a couple million getting lost in the shuffle. You knew everything that Gotham City Bank had to offer. But what you didn’t know would get you caught and sent to a metahuman prison. What you didn’t know was why you’d been feeling the dread of this job creep up on you for weeks. You had a bad feeling about it, more than the rest. So when you walked in, in disguise, you thought nothing of the exhaustion and weakness that filled your body.

You’d barely slept the night before, so it was normal. And this wasn’t a cash job, it was all wire transfers. But Wayne had to be there for the biometrics to work. Unfortunately, he knew all about your little job. He knew and he had you caught. You were confused, at first, when all you saw when you walked in was an empty bank. It was just the tellers looking at you nervously, but there was a swish behind you and you whipped around, military training coming back to you from your brief time in the army as you took a fighting stance to see… the Batman?

“The Masked Marauder,” he mocked you in his autotuned voice. You scoffed, two could play at that game. You were posing as a man today, trying to throw the trail off of yourself. You turned on your voice modulator and laughed haughtily at him.

“The Batman. Fancy seeing you here,” you were unsure as to how Batman was involved with Wayne Enterprises, but you had no doubt he was there for you.

“Feeling a little weak yet? I can see you straining,” you were on guard as he approached you, coming close enough that you could see the stubble on his chin. If you could turn him around so you were closer to the doors you could use your powers to get out of there and make a quick escape. It was easier to change your own position with your powers and not an entire scene, but you could do it if need be.

But he was onto something. You did feel weak. You were tired, your limbs heavy.

“What did you do to me?” You asked, shifting on your feet but trying to keep the charade up. You were masked and cloaked, but he had a nerve-wracking effect on you.

“It’s new technology. Power blockers at every entrance. You’re powerless inside this place,” at his words you backed up, falling weakly towards the ground as your powers were seeping out of you. You tried to use them to get out of this situation, breath shaking and palms sweaty as the seriousness of the situation dawned on you. You were well and truly screwed.

It was only moments before the GCPD came and fixed you with a power-blocking collar, chaining you up in an armored vehicle and sending you on a long trip to Louisiana. You had no next of kin to notify, no friends to take care of your apartment. You were alone.

Belle Reve was a hell of a place. You were brought in under the cover of nightfall and were only given a brief explanation of the situation. You were in a metahuman prison. You had less rights than normal humans. You were being tried for multiple robberies and the associated injuries that people had gained when fighting back against you. You’d never killed anyone, not since the army, but it didn’t matter. The crimes had stacked up. You were looking at forty years in this place.

When they threw you into the cell you were going to stay in, you were relieved to see there was only one bed and it wasn’t occupied. Solitude, at least, was your friend. You could think. You’d have thought it would be less time in prison since you hadn’t killed anybody, but it didn’t seem like it mattered. You shrugged to yourself. It’s not that you had issues killing people, you were in a special metahuman unit in the army before you became the Masked Marauder. You had a different codename then, but working with them had made you a little crazy. You had to see your close friends and colleagues treated with less respect than dirt because of their metahuman status, and you had to see most of them killed in action. You barely made it out, and you came out with a raging hard on for disrespecting authority figures.

You were only in Belle Reve for six days before you met Harley Quinn.

“Live fast, die hard, baby. You gotta do what you gotta do,” was something you heard a lot out of her smirking mouth. If you were in another life, you’d have been instantly attracted to the beautiful blonde, but you had enough crazy in you to not want any more on your plate. Despite the lack of romance between the two of you, you still got close. “As thick as thieves,” Harley would say with a wry twist to her mouth. She loved puns.

“Chronos?” You whipped your head around at the sound of your military nickname. “What the fuck are you doing here you little slut?” Your eyes widened as you recognized one of your previous teammates. Another bad egg, turned away from the army and towards a life of crime.

“Who’s Chronos?” Harley frowned next to you at the lunch table you were at, she hated not knowing things.

“That’s what they used to call me,” you whispered, standing and facing the other woman. You were small in stature, and the Amazon-like woman towered over you.

“Annie,” you knew she hated being called by her real name. She was one of the cocky ones, thinking metahumans were better than regular old humans.

“You’re wrong,” another voice called. “Chronos is a dude,” that came from Blackguard, a weirdo that you were avoiding. You avoided most people, really.

“Chronos is not a dude,” Annie growled, suddenly looking at the smaller man. “You calling me a liar?”

“I think it’s time for us to get out of here,” Harley dug her fingers into your bicep and pulled you towards the rec yard.

“What’s up with you? You normally love people watching the fights,” you wondered, concerned when Harley passed her favorite guard without saying hi. (It was Colonel Flag, the fucking hottest guard at Belle Reve who you’d definitely formed a crush on. You couldn’t help it, he was compassionate and he didn’t spit on you or throw you around or humiliate you like the other guards.)

“You didn’t tell me you had a super secret past with a cool nickname,” she whisper-shouted when you got to a bench and she could slap you on the arm.

“It didn’t come up,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“What does Chronos even mean?” She asked and you were going to explain, but Colonel Flag sat down at the bench across from you with a warm smile.

“Harley, Y/N, just the two people I wanted to talk to,” he then raised an eyebrow at the bruising grip Harley had on your arm. She let go and he frowned at the angry half moon marks her nails had left there.

“Not now, Ricky,” Harley pouted. “Y/N’s been holding out on me! She has a cool secret life and never told me about it!”

“I doubt you ever asked,” he followed up in a deadpan way and you stifled a chuckle. It was true. She could be forgetful and also unobservant. She didn’t exactly ask you about your life a lot. You thought it might be an act, she did have a PhD, after all.

“She even has a cool nickname. What does Chronos even mean?” She asked again, but side-eyed Colonel Flag when he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Chronos? I thought they called you the Masked Marauder. You’re in here for theft.”

“They must not tell you all the deets,” you raised your eyebrows at the man. “Before I was a criminal I was a part of an elite army group of metahumans. But that went to shit and I’m considered a war criminal in several countries. Never got the pardon for working as a part of the US military because they wanted to keep my unit under wraps,” you frowned. You couldn’t ever leave the country because of it.

“Well you’re not going to like the proposal I have for you, then,” he looked like he was regretting coming over to you and you threw a smile on your face.

“What do you need, Colonel?” You asked, tilting your head, but Harley was bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Oh! Task Force X? Is it a new mission?” She looked so excited you nearly didn’t listen to her words. But you did.

“Task Force X?” You asked him, narrowing his eyes. Maybe that’s why he was so nice to you all this time. He was buttering you up. “I don’t think so. I’m not dying today.”

“You get ten years off of your sentence for every mission you do-” You cut him off.

“You had me at ‘ten years off of your sentence.’ Say no more. I’m in,” you grinned, shark-like, at him. He had the wherewithal to not look confused at your sudden change of heart.

“It’s always fun, like weeding out the weak!” Harley exclaimed as you were ushered out of the briefing with Amanda Waller, a woman who terrified you and chilled you to your core. You felt okay though because Rick was going to be your commanding officer. It had been three weeks since your conversation with him outside in the rec area. Three weeks and your relationship had shifted just enough to make you feel safe in his capable hands. If it wasn’t the genuine human respect he gave you, or the dirty looks and reprimands he gave the guards who manhandled and mistreated you, it was the lingering fingers brushing against your back when he led you places and the warm smile he had just for you.

“Flag,” you smiled softly as you passed him on the plane.

“Chronos,” he smiled back. You knew it was commonplace to call each other by their names (Bloodsport, Blackguard, Chronos, etc), but you felt a twinge of fear. This was your first time using that codename on a real life mission since you left the army. But, when Rick came up with a fancy electronic screwdriver and unhooked your power-dampening collar, you felt such a high. You were ecstatic, your limbs felt light, you felt like you could go a million rounds against Mayweather, you wanted to fuck-

“Am I missing something? Isn’t Chronos a dude?” Blackguard asked, again, and you scowled.

“Chronos is a myth, man. This is clearly just someone with the same name, right?” Boomer nodded towards you and you gave him a tight grin. But before you could respond, Rick did.

“She’s definitely Chronos, and you better hope her powers aren’t mythical,” you grinned at that. He had your back. However, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to save them all if it all went to shit. For several reasons.

You hadn’t used your powers since arriving at Belle Reve, so you didn’t know if you were at 100%

You only had certain amount of power over large situations, so you’d likely only be able to save yourself and a few others

You didn’t care enough about these fuckers and they didn’t care about you. Your priority was to get out alive with Rick and Harley

That’s when Harley made her first appearance to the team. She was apparently good friends with Boomer and you mentally added him to your list to keep alive.

After you set off, things happened quickly for you. You made eye contact with Rick (yes, you were mentally calling him Rick now, because you wanted to fucking date the shit out of him), and made small talk with Harley as Blackguard freaked out about Weasel. But when you dropped and made your way to shore, you stuck close to Rick. He had your back and you had his.

As it turned out, Blackguard had set you all up, giving your location to the enemy and getting his face blown off for his efforts. You watched as your elite team of killers was picked off one by one. Harley had run off and you were panicking that you didn’t have an eye on her. You needed her to get out of this alive.

“Follow me!” Rick shouted, nodding his head towards his intended destination - the forest.

“But Harley and Boomer are-” you shut your mouth as Mongal’s actions finally took their toll on Boomer. But maybe you could fix it, if you could use your powers-

“No, we have to get out of here, or we’re next,” Rick grasped at your arm and dragged you into a full out sprint towards the forest, gunshots echoing behind you. You slapped his hand away once you were deep in the forest, though the sky was darkening you cut your eyes to his.

“Harley is all I have,” you spat.

“She’s my friend too, you know,” he frowned. You’d never used that tone on him before. “She can handle herself,” as much as you were loath to admit it, he was right. She was crazy but she could get out of nearly any situation. You sighed and bent over, hands on your knees as you calmed your breathing.

“I’m sorry for snapping,” you muttered, but you gasped when a sudden pain shot through your right bicep.

“That was a warning shot,” you heard a voice call out in accented English.

“A warning shot?” Rick shouted as he crossed over to you, pulling you close to him and inspecting the wound. It went straight through, but it was bleeding badly. “Warning shots are supposed to be in the ground, not at people,” he spat, considering running but you were in too much pain and losing too much blood. “Don’t use your powers in front of them,” his lips brushed against your ear and you nodded imperceptibly. You wouldn’t want to show your hand.

“Take the colonel,” a woman’s voice called and you glanced at him, wide eyed as they dragged him off of you.

“Hey, hey!” He shouted, reaching out as you fell to your knees, putting pressure on your wound. If you could stifle the bleeding until they left you alone you could use your powers to fix it.

“Leave the girl,” the voice passed by you and you stared at Rick, panicking but unable to stop them as three men held him back and dragged him away. You couldn’t help but think this was the worst case scenario. The enemy was taking your leader but you had lost too much blood to put up a fight.

As the rest of the enemies passed you, you sat back on your heels, but one of them roughly bumped into you, making you lose your grip on your arm. The blood flow was back at full force and the world turned black around the edges. You were alone. You put your left hand face up in front of you, and your right hand an inch above it face down. Your hands were parallel to each other and you tried to gather your strength to use your powers, but you couldn’t. You hadn’t used them in so long and you had lost a lot of blood. The last thought you had before you lost consciousness was of Rick’s panicking face.

You awoke to gentle hands cleaning your wound with what you assumed was water and opened your eyes when you felt a tight bandage wrapping around your arm. It was a young girl, younger than you.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she smiled softly.

“She’s awake?” A gruff voice came from behind you and you craned your neck to see a team of people behind you.

“Let’s get going then” another man said. “You patched her up, she can go on her own from here.”

“Who are you?” You asked the girl.

“We’re the Suicide Squad,” the dark skinned man growled. “Here to collect our Colonel.”

“No,” you sat up, quietly thanking the girl for patching you up. “I’m a part of the Suicide Squad,” you squinted in the early morning darkness. Was that… DuBois?

“Bloodsport?” You asked cautiously. Were these all other prisoners from Belle Reve?

“Who are you?” The guy in red and white asked you… Was that Peacemaker?

“They call me Chronos, but you might know me as the Masked Marauder,” you spoke cautiously.

“The thief? Why would they have a thief on a mission like this?” Peacemaker asked and you shrugged.

“My powers are useful for other things.”

“Chronos is a myth though, right?” A smaller man walked over to you, in a suit you didn’t recognize.

You shook your head. But that wasn’t the point, you had picked up on something DuBois had said.

“You’re looking for the Colonel?” You stood and approached the group, which apparently included a shark man.

“Yup, Colonel Flag was taken by enemies and is alive at their camp. He is our first mission,” DuBois spoke and you nodded.

“I’m coming with you. Colonel Flag helped me get out of the bloodbath at the beach. The enemy camp people shot me and took him away,” you frowned at the thought and the girl - Ratcatcher 2, she had specified - gasped.

“Why didn’t they take you, too?” She asked.

“I think they knew I wasn’t important. They noticed immediately that Flag was a military officer and took him away.” Likely to be tortured, you thought to yourself but didn’t say aloud.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Peacemaker said brightly and the group of you made your way to the enemy camp. You were lost in your thoughts on the way there. You weren’t sure whether or not you would kill anybody. Maybe hurt them or knock them out. You hadn’t killed since your time with the military. But they’d taken Rick and left you for dead. So you had very little qualms hurting them.

Turns out, it didn’t matter. Bloodsport and Peacemaker made what was almost a competition out of who could kill the most people in the sneakiest ways, but it got bloodier and bloodier as the rest of you approached the glowing tent. You heard laughter and glanced in, borrowed gun pointed in as you parted the flaps of the tent. But you immediately put your gun down. Rick was shirtless and all patched up, laughing with a woman who you’d seen the dark of the night before. You couldn’t help the rising feeling of jealousy, you’d never have that with Rick. The easy jokes, the equal ground. You were a prisoner, and you would likely die as one. But you couldn’t help the breathy “Rick,” that came out of your mouth when you realized that he was okay, and he wasn’t being tortured by enemies. He snapped his head over to you and stood.

“You’re okay,” he made his way over to you in three long strides, as if he couldn’t wait to be near you, and your heart swelled at the thought.

“So are you,” you whispered, and took a moment to look him over and let your body sag a little. You’d been so worked up that you had barely felt the pain of your wound.

“I didn’t know you were important to each other, I wouldn’t have let them shoot you,” the woman sort of apologized with a half smile and stood. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

It was then that she noticed the very silent camp, commented on it, and that’s when you looked down at your feet. Whoops, you’d let Bloodsport and Peacemaker kill an entire camp of rebels. People who were technically on your side. Waller had given you bad information.

Rick brushed a hand down your good arm and gently held you, pressing his thumb into your elbow as if making sure you were okay, that your pulse was strong.

“I was so worried,” he muttered, and you were sure only you heard it.

“So was I,” you looked up into his eyes, and if there wasn’t an audience, you would have kissed him then and there. Alas, you had another mission. Well, two. The first was to get the Thinker. The second one was to get Harley, and that was a plan you were ready for. You were down to clown, as Harley might say. As long as you had Rick by your side, you could do anything you set your minds to.

The Thinker would be frequenting one of his favorite bars, and as you left the shark dude in the bus you felt yourself relaxing a little upon entry. You knew bars. You knew how to blend in. You glanced over your shoulder, you couldn’t say the same for your teammates. So, you slinked away and found your way to the bar. The leader of the rebel camp provided you with a pair of stretchy black skinny jeans and a MCR band t-shirt. You’d fought harder battles in more confined clothing, so this wasn’t too bad.

“Una cerveza, por favor,” you spoke fluently. You grew up in the country, but your family was affluent and taught you several languages so that you could travel safely and easily.

The bartender smiled and grabbed you a bottle, and you watched the team gather around a table. They stuck out horribly, and you shook your head. Maybe with a few drinks in them they would loosen up, you watched as Peacemaker ordered drinks and nursed your own. You used to like drinking with friends, but other than Rick (and the missing Harley) you didn’t consider these people your friends. You had a tentative relationship with the Ratcatcher 2, and you were beginning to begrudgingly like Bloodsport. But, Polka-Dot Man freaked you out, Nanaue had the English understanding of a kindergartener, and Peacemaker was a dick.

“You going to join the team?” You failed to notice Rick coming over to you, and rolled your eyes, taking a sip as you mulled over your answer.

“Only if they start looking more interesting. You look like a bunch of tourists. I’d like to gather intel,” you scrunched up your nose at Rick and sipped at your beer.

“Yeah, you really look like you’re gathering intel, darlin’,” it was Rick’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sitting here, sipping on a beer and staring at us.”

You scoffed. How dare he call you out. But it was true, you were busy judging the team to actually get any good information.

“Fine, I’ll join you,” you swigged the last of your beer and glanced at the bartender. “¡Uno más!” You exclaimed, and the man smiled at you before grabbing you another ice cold bottle.

“You speak Spanish?” Rick raised an eyebrow at you.

“I speak a lot of languages,” you shrugged and took a swig of the drink before making your way to the now empty table. It seemed like your compatriots decided to go dancing. That left you with Rick.

“Oh yeah, and how did you come to know so many?” He seemed genuinely interested, though you were hesitant to talk about your past.

“My parents were diplomats and wanted me to be able to travel with them, so they had me learn Spanish, French, German, and Russian by the best tutors money could offer,” you shrugged, sort of stilted, at his curious glance.

“And I thought you were a thief because you were poor,” he shook his head with a smile. “Waller has very little info on you so I wasn’t sure.”

“My parents were cruel, and utilized their money to help bad people get into power,” you looked down at your lap. “I resent the things they taught me. And I tried my best to right the wrongs that people like them did.”

Rick sobered up and placed a hand on your arm.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he frowned and brushed his thumb over your skin. “I knew a little bit about your thievery and who you robbed and why, but it makes sense now. You were trying to help. I get it,” he sighed and took a sip of his drink while you downed yours. You hated talking about your family. You wanted to move on to something else. Anything else.

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore,” you sighed, brushing your hair out of your face and looking up into those beautiful eyes.

“What would you like to talk about then?” he whispered, not willing to break the reverie you were in. You were close, closer than you should be.

“I want to talk about you, Colonel,” you smirked and placed a delicate hand on his thigh. He dragged his eyes from that hand slowly up to your face.

“What do you wanna know, beautiful?” He smirked and blinked those pretty eyes at you. You’d both had too much to drink. It was a little scary making the first move, but you found him incredibly attractive and you were 99% sure he returned your feelings.

“I want to know,” you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “What those lips would feel like against mine,” you wondered aloud, and his sharp inhale was all you had to go on before a gentle hand was turning your face to his. The kiss was gentle, tentative even, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted everything that Rick Flag could give you and you tightened your grip on his thigh, hoping to convey your thoughts, when everything went to shit. Peacemaker jerked Rick away from you and Cleo pulled you towards a darkened corner of the room.

“They’re asking for IDs,” she hissed, pulling you towards where you saw Abner had the Thinker.

“But what about-” she shushed you as you glanced back, making strained eye contact with Rick. Maybe you could use your powers to get out of this. But… You looked at the Thinker. This was the mission. You looked back at Rick. Would you get your brains blown out to save him?

You made your way to the exit, finding your way to the van and getting out of there. You were only vaguely paying attention while you were in pursuit of the truck holding your … friends? You panicked for a moment when it crashed, and when you pulled to a stop you sprinted out of the van and over to the fiery wreckage, thoughts racing about what could have happened to Rick when he, Bloodsport, and Peacemaker burst through the doors like some sort of boy band.

You couldn’t care less though as you threw yourself into his surprised arms and pressed your lips to his.

“That was stressful and I didn’t like it,” you muttered against his lips, barely noticing Bloodsport rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Rick smiled and pulled away to look down at you. “This is pretty nice.”

You scoffed and grabbed at his hand, not willing to let go just yet, and dragged him to your vehicle.

“Shut it,” you muttered as you all gathered. All he responded with was a light chuckle.

Your next mission was saving Harley, but as it turned out, she was no damsel. You were on your way into the place she was being held when she walked down the street towards you.

“Hey, guys! Whatcha doin?” She was smiling brightly and you rolled your eyes at the situation before hugging her.

“We’re here to save you, obviously,” you muttered and she looked from you over your shoulder to Rick.

“You came back for me?” She whispered and Rick came over to you, Bloodsport rolling his eyes in the background.

“Yeah, it was a really good plan, too,” Rick muttered, but still hugged back when Harley threw herself into his arms.

“Well I can go back in and let you save me,” she offered and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not necessary, Harley. Now that we have you we can get back to the mission,” you patted her on the back and nodded to the rest of your team.

Now, you could say that you acted heroically and saved the day, but you and your ragtag team… You were amateur heroes. It was a shitshow. You were setting up explosives with Nanaue when you had that bad feeling again. The one you had when you were going into that bank in Gotham. Maybe it was your intuition, but you knew some shit was about to go down.

“Keep at it!” You shouted at the King Shark and raced your way down the stairs to where Peacemaker and Rick were headed. If you remembered their part of the plan correctly, they were with the Thinker, but something went wrong when you were about halfway down.

“Fuck!” You shouted as you heard a great BOOM. They’d set off the explosives too early. Maybe you should have stayed… You looked up at the dust coming down from above. Your brain was telling you to get out before the building collapsed on you, but your gut was telling you to make it to Rick.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you chanted as you raced down the stairwell, crumbling concrete raining down as you danced around to avoid it. Your stomach cramped in warning, and you crouched into a ball as the floor beneath you gave out and you fell several floors. When your falling came to a halt you took stock. There was rubble above you, but not crushing you. Your breathing was heavy and your heart raced as you clawed your way towards the fluorescent lighting. You grunted and groaned as your fingernails cracked and your fingers bloodied, but you were not about to die here.

You crawled out into the open and peered through the dark, dusty hallway. You didn’t see anybody, but you heard a scuffle and made your way towards the grunting and smashing sounds. The alarm bells started going off in your brain again, and you started running. Your feet pounded against the jagged edges of concrete on the ground but you didn’t stop. You whipped your pistol out when you came to the source of the sounds, but you froze.

Your eyes took in the scene very quickly, and you knew there was a decision to be made. You saw Cleo’s figure in the dark corner, eyes shining in the dusty haze. The others hadn’t seen her yet. At first glance, Rick was atop Peacemaker, and your initial thought was that he was winning this fight. But his eyes, wide and shocked, locked onto yours for merely a moment before he collapsed forward, a dead weight, and all of your breath left your body.

You also saw Peacemaker’s eyes shoot to a computer chip that had scattered across the floor right before you came in. Right before they shot over to you.

But you knew this: Peacemaker didn’t know who you were. He had no clue what you were capable of. He roughly pushed Rick’s body off of himself, but you were faster.

You put your hands in front of you, parallel to each other, and green mist started swirling around between them. You hadn’t had to use your powers to alter a scene this big or intense before, usually just using them on your own body, but you could do this. For Rick.

Suddenly everything slowed down, Peacemaker was still lying on the ground, Rick was face-first in the rubble, and Cleo was crouched in the dark, hand reaching out to the chip.

But you were alive as your powers raced through you. You had seen yourself in a mirror once as you used your powers, and you could imagine how you looked to them. Glowing green veins covered your skin as you altered the fabric of the universe itself. A wind picked up in the room, swirling in tandem with the green mist in your hands. You only needed a few moments. You didn’t need to go back and stop the fight, you just had to stop Peacemaker. You contorted your fingers and molded the green mist to your liking before throwing your arms wide, the green mist expanding to encapsulate yourself and the two men. You didn’t need to include Cleo, she wasn’t involved. The wind whipped around, the green mist blinding everyone but you, and things started to go into motion.

It would all happen very quickly for everyone involved. Just a rewind. But for you, you had to painstakingly watch as Rick’s body rose above Peacemaker, and you had to watch as the ceramic in his heart was drawn out. You had handcrafted this reality and you were forced to watch as your handiwork took place. But you had gotten to the moment you needed. They were near the end of the fight, Peacemaker had slammed Rick into a wall, and with a wave of your hand, the mist disappeared and everything was clear.

“Wait, what?” Peacemaker shot his eyes over to you, but he was too slow in his understanding. You had already whipped your pistol out of its holster and shot him twice in the throat. He grasped at his, trying to stifle the bleeding and crumpling to the ground, but your eyes were focused on Rick. A very shocked, but very alive Rick.

“What did you do?” He asked, and you weren’t sure if that was disgust or wonder in his voice, so you turned, walked slowly over to Cleo (who had witnessed the whole thing through a haze of green), and picked up the chip.

“I believe you were looking for this?” You asked, holding it out in front of yourself to him. He gulped, walking over to you, but your strength was draining from with a display of your powers. When he pulled the chip out of your hand and tucked it into your utility belt, you wavered, edges of your vision darkening as you slowly knelt to the ground.

“What are you doing, we need to get out of here?” Cleo shouted at you, but you waved her off.

“I just need to sit for a moment,” but your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“No you don’t,” Rick hauled you up by your armpits and lifted you into his arms, princess-style. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered and followed Cleo out of the rubble and into the daylight. You squinted, the bright sun blinding you after being underground for so long.

“Shit,” you muttered, shoving your face into Rick’s neck to avoid the light.

“So,” he sounded very casual and you tensed up. “I really thought you weren’t going to use your rewind powers at all, what happened to make you use them?” You bit your lip, not sure what to say.

“Peacemaker killed you,” Cleo answered for you and Rick stopped walking. You winced and looked up at his face.

“I panicked,” you whispered, not sure how he was going to react. But when he turned his head to face you, it was as if he was looking at you for the first time.

“You saved my life?” He asked and it was your turn to gulp.

Okay, so maybe you had feelings for Rick. You knew that. He was a hot piece of ass, and he was kind, and he respected you. And you kissed at the bar and after the van chase. So he definitely knew you liked him. But did he know your feelings were deep enough to save his life and endanger your own in the process? Well… Now he did.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lose you to that prick,” you tried to shrug it off, but Rick gently let your legs fall and your feet touch the ground. You weren’t sure what was happening until he reached out and pulled you into the warmest, most all-encompassing hug you had ever experienced.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he whispered into your hair, and you let yourself sigh and sink into the hug.

“Yeah well now you owe me one,” you muttered jokingly, trying to slightly ease the seriousness of the situation. He squeezed you tightly once more before pulling away and smirking.

“Anything you want, you can have,” he smiled that sunlight-bright smile at you and you blinked at him once before returning his smile.

“You can take me on a date once I’m out of prison, how does that sound?” You asked and his smile widened.

“I can do that.”

“That might be a lot sooner than you think,” Bloodsport had walked over to you and (you assumed) Cleo had explained everything to him. You blinked.

What did he mean by that?

Apparently he meant he was going to threaten Waller and keep the information hostage. It wasn’t exactly what Rick wanted, but he got out with his life, and you didn’t have to go back to prison. You were thinking about it as you settled into your new apartment, only two weeks after fighting Starro and killing Peacemaker, your first kill in years.

You were sitting on your comfy couch watching reruns of Adventure Time when Rick called you.

“Hey,” you answered warmly, and smiled at his voice when he responded.

“Hey, yourself. What’s up?” You drew a blanket over your lap and muted the TV.

“Just relaxing. What’s up with you?”

“I was thinking, how about I take you on that date tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven?” If your instincts were correct, and they usually were, he was nervous about it. He was unsure you would actually want him, considering how sheltered and uneven your relationship had been before. You were quick to dispel that.

“That sounds lovely, Rick,” you couldn’t help but bite your lip in anticipation when he hung up a few minutes later. You also couldn’t help the excited squeal you let out and the little dance you did. Things were finally falling into place.

[thebadboyfanclub]

Protect The Queen Pt.1 (Geralt x Reader)

This is just becoming addictive at this point, I love writing about this cause there are so many different scenarios and possibilities you could write about. Also there might be a part two for this so please let me know if you would be interested in it. Enjoy!

She looked at herself in the mirror once more, it was almost time for her to take her future in her own hands, to rise to the occasion and take back her life. Her gaze fell to the ring she was wearing, it was passed on to her when she married the king of Orkney, she barely had taken a step into womanhood at the time her parents announced her marriage to her, such a shame that she spend such youthful years in a castle with a man that didn't even think about her, it was pure and also embarrassing for (y/n) to look back at her naive and selfless younger self.

“Oh, you are awake”

“I was waiting for you my dear”

She answered to her husband, her voice dripping honey for the first time in years. Their marriage was far from happy, (Y/n) had thought since she was to become his wife he would treat her with kindness, unfortunately that was not the case, he saw her just as a vessel for his children, when that seemed to not happen he fell to the arms of concubines and commoners, making her become this cold, distant wife he deserved. Sometimes she would wonder if maybe she had given him the heir he craved that maybe his behavior would change, that however was crushed by gratefulness she felt for her womb for not bring a child in this loveless household. She would have never forgiven herself if she raised a child that did not see their parents share at least one hug.

“What’s the cause of you lingering in our room (y/n)?”

“To celebrate, here my king”

She offered him the glass of wine she was holding on her left hand, it was filled with his favorite wine. Her husband took it and gave her a puzzled look, whenever he would sleep in the same room with her- which wasn’t often- he would find her asleep.

“What are we celebrating?”

“My birthday dear”

He was left confused at her smile and statement. It couldn’t be, they held a public celebration for her birthday every year, it was protocol for the queen to allow the public in the castle for her special day. The clink of the glasses echoed around the room, she brought the glass to her lips and took a light sip

“Come on dear, drink up. You were never one to shy away from a glass of wine”

She pushed the glass from the bottom up to his lips. He did not understand the cause of all this, yet whatever the case was she was right, the moment he tasted the delicious wine he took three gulps and the glass went from full to half empty.

“Excellent, I’m glad you enjoyed the wine my king, careful,.. the choking will probably start any minute now”

-

“My queen, we have been waiting for you to... rise for so long”

“Perfection takes time”

She answered to her most trusted confident,her coronation was something that would remain in history for centuries, she was adored by the public so when she inherited the crown after her last husband, everyone knew they were in safe hands. That does not mean the rumors did not arise to the situation, the late king was a healthy young man, it was very suspicious how he fell to darkness overnight.

She meant what she told him when she mentioned her birthday, that day she shed away her foolish acts and was reborn, a woman that stood strong in the field of womanhood, ready to take what’s hers whether people liked it or not.

She looked around the room, seeing her people enjoy their night and drink to her name felt so natural to her, she was meant to lead. 

“Excuse me just for a moment, I want to get closer to my people”

“As you wish my queen”

As she started going around at a slow pace she did her best to observe her people, they seemed to enjoy themselves, they acted like the king never existed, like the soil on top of him had been thrown decades ago, she smiled at herself while thinking that she acted in a way her people wanted, pleasing them and herself with just a few drops of that special liquid.

It was then that she noticed the back of a tall man, his long white hair and his armor stood out from the others, she also took note that he was accompanied by a much smaller and probably younger man that was holding a lute. It couldn’t be? The infamous white wolf and his barb at her coronation? 

“What are we doing here Jaskier?”

“Celebrating the queen officially getting the crown after her husbands oh so sudden death”

Jaskier was fascinated by her history, a princess known for her noble nature and beauty, he reminisced of the song he had heard about her, she was the master of horses, the late king had met her when she rode the most stubborn and difficult horse in the royal stable, married to the king at her prime and failing at giving him an heir.

He was surprised she got to kill him first before the late king did, not only that but she is now the one sitting on the thrown after the kings death under some suspicious circumstances.

“sudden death? hmm, I believe the king found out  that his destiny was a woman in a harsh way”

“Every mans destiny is a woman.... Witcher”

As he heard the voice from behind him he turned around to see to whom it belonged to. Jaskier’s mouth formed a big “O” when he was met with the queen, Geralt figured out who she was by the crown sitting on her head. The first thing she noticed was his yellow eyes, she found them so captivating, unique, she had never seen a witcher from up close, it was also just her luck that brought her the most handsome one. 

Geralt didn’t know what to say, he was at her celebration, talking badly about the queen herself, he knew the consequences he just didn’t know if the queen would choose torture or immediate death as the penalty

“Queen (y/n), my apologies, Geralt has had a bit too much to drink, please spare him”

Jaskier might be a bit overly giddy at the wrong time, however that did not mean that what Geralt ha implied could make the queen want his head right then and there. As Jaskier bowed at her, she only let a small smile appear on her lips, softening her features towards the men that both looked distressed, she had to admire that she felt a bit of pride of making the witcher eat his words, judging by his reputation that did not happen every day.

“It’s alright, I know what the people are saying about me, it’s understandable”

“Understandable? Shouldn’t the queen rush to protect her reputation?”

“That’s what kings do when they feel their ego getting bruised, look around you Geralt, what do you see? The same people that have spread those accusations are dancing and yelling “long live the queen”, if anything my new found reputation is more promising”

Geralt was immediately interested, it wasn’t often that a queen would be alright with rumors and of such kind being passed around, as well as taking it as an advantage and being pleased about it. 

“Elaborate please”

“The kings of other towns will hear those rumors, now who would dare come and threaten the woman that killed her own husband for power? Only a mad man would risk coming to my home”

She was smart, cunning. Geralt had met people of royalty and understood exactly what she meant when she talked about fragile egos. On the contrary, she stood tall and proud, took advantage of the people that gave her a new source of power without them even knowing it. The essence of her as a human being could only be described as being royal, a woman of luxury that men would probably kill for just a glimpse of her naked skin

It only made him question the late king, how could he have wronged such a woman? was maybe her standards that were two high? or was it an act of revenge? Geralt felt the need to puff out his chest as an act of bravery, she was a quite tall woman and if you match that with the way she carried herself, it was a death mix, the late king was already one of the victims of it

“You mean that you are going to become other kings destiny?”

“I don’t believe in destiny, what destiny is varies depending on the people you ask, for my parents my destiny was to become an obedient queen and give birth to the heir, a child that shared the same blood with my late husband”

She said mildly disgusted, as a widower she would probably have to grieve, linger in her room and cry behind close doors at the loss of her love. It seems like nobody even noticed how she did none of that, like it was normal for her to through a celebration a few weeks after his death in her name, not only that but the people seemed to love it. Geralt gave her a smirk at her smart and a bit intriguing answer.

“Then what do you think is your destiny”

“To be in charge of my and my peoples future, destiny and fate are nothing in front of the power of a woman”

The way she talked about destiny showed how she truly embodied confidence and stability, she feared nothing, not even her future self, she only relied on her power. As she talked to him he couldn’t help but let his eyes look mostly towards her lips, her painted lips that moved in such hypnotic way, he felt compelled by her.

Jaskier just stood there watching the two people talk like they are long lost friends. The queen so many people felt uneasy just by her presence was now having a casual conversation with the witcher. Geralt was slowly but surely gaining respect for her, she was a woman of power, a woman that used her brain and situations to her advantages and held herself accountable for her future, she was a true queen.

Geralt smiled at her genuinely, he had met her late husband in the past, he recalled him being stubborn and stuck up, raising his nose at others that he thought were less than him. If he was alive there was no way he would find him walking around commoners

“hmmm, Well queen (y/n), I am sure your people will be safe with you leading this land”

“I hope that in the future I can count on you for aid”

“About what?”

“Danger of course”

She took one step closer to him, still keeping eye contact with Geralt. As he took in a deep breath he could smell the scent of lavender off of her, her hair shined underneath the light of the flames and her eyes glistered with confidence and pride, she was the definition of strength, just her look brought Geralt into defense mode, waiting for her words and thinking how should he respond correctly to her before she even opened her mouth. 

The skill of demanding attention and respect so silently was one that the very few of people that did had it were considered blessed, even though he was aware of that skill, still he had yet to meet one... until he met her.

“Loneliness can be an awfully dangerous thing”

She whispered just loud enough for only him to hear, as the other villagers laughed and sang around them, not even noticing that their queen was standing a few inches away from them, as well as being promiscuous to a witcher.

“I would be honored to protect the queen”

“I’m glad you feel that way, I’m sure you could be a great ally for me, geralt of rivia”

-

PART 2 

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Request: A Child’s Imagination (Female!Reader x Aro Volturi)

WARNING: Character death mentions!

"What do you think? A boy or a girl?" You asked, trailing your fingers over the small bump that was your stomach, leaning back in your seat for better access. Aro leaned against the arm of the seat, smiling fondly at your stomach. "I can't say I know, Cara Mia." "Come on!" You pressed with a playful smile. "Pick one. You'll love them just as much either way." "I am inclined to say a son for reasons I was raised with that are significantly unnecessary and outdated as of this time. Although a daughter would be just as lovely." You smiled lovingly at Aro. "You'd spoil her rotten, you spoiled the twins after all." Aro smirked. "Isn't every child spoiled after several centuries of gifts?" You paused. "That's true. Although you know exactly what I'm talking about. I think that if our baby were to be a girl or a boy. You'd spoil them just as you did the twins." You said. "It's not always a bad thing." Aro smiled slightly. "And your answer, my dear?" You hummed. "A girl. I can only imagine all the battles i’d lose if it were you and our son against me. The men of our large family." You grinned and Aro chuckled. "We only do what's best." He responded before kissing the top of his head. "What would you name them?" You asked him, in sudden deep thought. "Aro, please don't tell me you're going to insist we name our baby some name that's older than dinosaurs." Your eyes widened in dread. "I need to be able to say the name!" Aro chuckled. "Well why don't you give me a name and we'll compare?" You paused. "Nate for a boy? Aiden?" "No, it looks like I'll be naming our son because those names are terrible. For a girl?" You hummed. "Charlotte? Evelyn? I'm trying to go a bit more classic for you." You giggled. "Those two are...decent." Aro said with no enthusiasm. "Meaning you aren't too fond of those either." You laughed. "Alright, what about you then? Girl and boy names." "Cleisthenes-" "I'm sorry, what?" Your tracing stopped as an incredulous look moved across your face. "I don't even know how to say what you just said never mind spell that." "It means Glory and Strength. See names in my era actually had meaning." Aro smiled slyly. "So does my era." You laughed. "We just care less about the meaning and more about if we can spell it and if we can say it. Pick again." You continued to giggle as Aro rolled his eyes. "Heliodoros." You said nothing but pressed him further. "Two girl names?" "Artemisia or... Eumelia." Aro responded. "...It appears we'll be having a lot of discussions for baby names." You giggled to yourself. 

Somehow the two of you made a deal. If a girl, you'd choose two baby names that the two of you would pick which was preferred. The same going if the baby was a boy. Then Aro would pick two names for you both to reach a decision on. When the birth arrived, the baby was a boy and Aro made the decision alone on the boys name. However it wasn't the two names he had first said. "Archelaus." Aro had told his brothers. "The people's ruler'." Caius responded with an eyebrow raised. He seemed almost impressed. "How fitting." Marcus drawled.

"Aro, it's time. You need to decide." Caius said as he hovered over you. Aro tore his eyes away from the baby, yet to be cleaned, but bundled in a towel. He looked at his son momentarily, a flash of doubt in his eyes. Yet he said nothing. Caius stared Aro down as Aro looked at you. You were seconds away from your heart stopping altogether. 

Finally Aro shook his head. Caius nodded and Aro left the room, with his newborn son in his arms. There was a sickening crack as Caius mumbled to a guard about ensuring you wouldn't suffer any longer. It was as of Caius considered that a gift. Your heart stopped and perhaps by coincidence, your son began to cry in Aro's arms. "Mio figlio." Aro cooed in a soft voice. "Everything is alright." 

Aro moved into the next room, Renata already waiting for Aro's next instruction, as always. She had always been the most rigid of the Volturi and in a constant state of internal stress whilst her face appeared void of emotion. Then again, that's what made her a good guard and one Aro trusted with his life. She was constantly on the look out for danger. "Might I ask you get him cleaned up, my dear?" Aro asked lightly and Renata nodded immediately moving forward to take the baby from Aro as gently as she could. 

When Renata moved into the closest bathroom, Aro left the room and returned to the room you had given birth in. "They didn't feel it." Caius assured Aro, who nodded in thanks. Caius stepped back, giving Aro some more room with you. Aro ran his fingers through your hair. "Thank you, my dear. Our son will be remarkable, I assure you. I have no doubt you would have been wonderful." Aro leaned in closer towards you, his head hovering over yours. "I'm sorry, my dear." Aro kissed your forehead and closed your eyes with his hand. This hadn't been the first time he had decided to sacrifice those he loved for his goals and no one really knew if it could have been the last. 

Your son didn't seem very affected by your passing. Aro figured it was that he really didn't know you when it came down to it. Although that thought was sad, you had loved your son in the end of the universe. 

Aro saw you curled up in a blanket, running your fingers along your stomach. You had always got little nudges in return. Your stomach softly nudging back at you. You had looked at your bump adoringly the whole time you were showing and when alone, always telling your unborn son how much you loved him. "I'll always love you." 

You did it more so when there was chances you wouldn't survive. So therefore it was no longer just bonding with your unborn child, it was telling him and loving him for every moment you had, in case any of those would be the last. You had hoped he'd remember you if the worst came to be- if you didn't survive the birth. 

There was a pang of sorrow in Aro’s chest. Sorrow for you and sorrow for his son. Aro had really loved you. He had no doubt and he loved his son too, appreciated the gift you had given him. The greatest gift he had ever received. Although he had planned that gift for himself. He had plans for himself, the Volturi and his son. Gaining more power, it was always the plan. Your son was a part of that plan. However you were not and in the end, whilst his love for you was strong, it wasn't enough to discard centuries of plans, reputation and centuries of work. So he let you die, but he made you were comfortable. He had Alec numb your senses, you wouldn't have known when you slipped away and you wouldn't have felt a thing. A peaceful end. Your legacy beginning as you departed from the world with Aro's love and gratitude. 

 Aro kneeled down to Klaus' level faced with answering his son just where his mother had gone. "Such matters are very difficult to tell children- to relay in words that they understand." Aro said softly as he held his son's hands in his own. "Your mother passed away and she's not coming back. She left this world with so much love for you, little one. The last thing she wanted was to say goodbye to you. However these things happen sometimes." Aro paused, searching his son's thoughts, trying to piece together if perhaps Klaus understood even a little bit. "Archelaus..." Aro said quieter, looking into his son's eyes. "Your mother isn't coming home." Aro let go of his son's hands. "She'll always be in here, with you." Aro patted his son's chest lightly, just where his heart sat beating a little faster than before. Klaus, barely looking two years old, looked away from Aro putting his thumb near his mouth as he looked around the room. Although Aro's heart would have shattered if it hadn't already stopped so very long ago. Tears ran down his son's face, his eyes moving back to his father. There was no sound, nothing. Aro couldn't bring himself to say anything, simply watching his son. He wasn't sure what exactly made his son think about you but he seemed to be growing aware of his surroundings, so much so that he is noticing people who are missing from what he remembered. Vampires couldn't cry. No tears could ever fall but to see tears run down his son's face reminded him that his son wasn't just half vampire. He was half human, half you. The human in him cried for the loss of his mother. Aro couldn't help but wonder if you'd have cried too, seeing your son try to understand why he couldn't hear his mother's voice anymore. The moment was brief and ended as quickly as it had began. He had never wondered about his mother before that day and he didn't after that day either. Almost as though Archelaus had forgotten and Aro figured that perhaps it would have been better that way. 

Aro was hoping that Archelaus would meet Renesmee Cullen and when the opportunity arose, he jumped on it. It worked well, checking in on Renesmee's progress, effort to rekindle his friendship with Carlisle and his son meets someone like him who's close to his age.  "Some friends of ours are coming for a brief visit since they're passing by." Aro said fixing Klaus' collar. "They have a little girl who is like you, half human and half vampire." Klaus looked up at his father before nodding. "Would you be willing to keep her company while she's here? I believe she'd be a wonderful friend." Aro asked. Klaus nodded. "Yes, father." 

The two children had ended up in Klaus' room. Klaus having his toy train in hand whilst Renesmee flicked a switch repeatedly to change the lanes. Whilst Klaus knew Renesmee's name, he had yet to introduce himself, giving off the impression he was a rather quiet boy who more than likely kept to himself. Then again, Aro couldn't help but consider perhaps it was due to being around someone who was close to his age. Renesmee was older but it wasn't noticeable in the childrens appearance. "When I get older, I want to travel on a train just like this one!" Renesmee said brightly. "Like the ones in Europe!" "Where would you go?" Klaus asked almost absentmindedly. "I don't know. I just like the thought of getting on a train to anywhere, going wherever I want at the time. So I promised myself that one day I would." "By yourself?" "Yeah!" She grinned. "Unless Jacob says he has to go too. He doesn't like the thought of me going anywhere alone." She looked almost disheartened and Klaus picked up on it. "I know the feeling. I overheard my father and uncles saying I may never get to leave here. At least not alone.” "Would you want to?" Renesmee tilted her head in curiosity. Klaus shrugged. "Maybe. I'd like to see what's out there, I think." Renesmee gasped. "You should come with me! When we're older! We should go together! Wherever we like!" Klaus was surprised. "Really?" "Yeah!" She grinned. "You should tell me your name if we're going to be friends!" "Friends?" Klaus repeated, surprised at how quickly the conversation had escalated. "Of course!" "My name is...a little strange." Klaus admitted. Even he knew his name was a mouthful bit then again, so was 'Renesmee'. "They like to give us strange names, don't they?" Renesmee cracked a smile. "My name was two names mashed together." She said almost bashfully. "Although, I'm mostly called Nessie." "Nessie? As in...?" Klaus tilted his head, trailing off and Renesmee nodded. "...like the monster. Although it wasn't intend as an insult." "My name is Archelaus. It means 'the people's ruler'...but in the human world and some call me Klaus for short." He responded. "What would you prefer I called you?" Renesmee asked. He lightly shrugged. "Klaus is fine." "Nice to meet you Klaus." "Likewise...Renesmee." "I don't mind if you call me Nessie." She smiled and Klaus' mouth twisted. "I'm sorry but I really can't call you that." Renesmee giggled. "That's okay."  "Can I ask you something?" Klaus asked. "Sure!" Renesmee smiled brightly. "Do your parents call you that? " She giggled at the thought. "No! My mum hates it, my dad doesn't like it but my uncle's think it's pretty funny." She paused momentarily. "Does your dad call you by your full name?" Klaus nodded. "Yes. As do my uncle's. Most of the guard call me Klaus though...unless my father and uncles are around." 

After another moment of silence, Klaus spoke up. "My father says you're gifted." Renesmee nodded. "Wanna see?" "How?" He asked. "Like this!" Renesmee cupped a hand to his cheek and he went rigid, startled by her sudden movement. 

Flashes of images rushed through his mind and he began to realise that this was Renesmee's story, showing others her abilities before himself. "Woah..." He said quietly. "Do you have a gift?" She asked. Klaus shrugged looking down. "Don't you ask your mum and dad?" "I think my father would have told me if I did but...my mother died when I was born. I can't ask her." "Oh...I'm sorry." Renesmee said sadly with a sympathetic expression. "It's okay. You know the feeling. I saw it. Your mother nearly died too." Renesmee nodded. "Yes. She was lucky. At least that's what my dad says." Klaus lightly shrugged but nodded. "Do you miss her?" Renesmee asked. "No...I mean, sometimes I do but I just think about how much I love her and that she loves me the same." 

Klaus looked up hearing the door open to be met with Jane. Klaus simply looked back down at his toy train absentmindedly. “Hello, I heard you talking about your mother.” Jane moved to stand in front of him.Klaus paused.  “Would you tell me about her?” Jane asked. "I think I see her sometimes." Klaus quietly and Jane joined him on the floor. Klaus continued to play with his toy train. "Not all the time, only when I miss her the most." Klaus added with a small smile. However Jane could see his sad eyes and understood it. Children like Klaus, children like herself and her brother, they should never have such sad eyes. Yet they did. "Would you tell me about it?" She asked. "Well, I think it's her. I look her at her and somehow I just know that it's my mother. She's always happy to see me. She has a pretty smile." Klaus added, quickly glancing at Jane who smiled slightly in response. "She does?" Klaus nodded. "I talk to her sometimes. She doesn't say much back but that's okay. I asked her once, if I could keep her." "Oh? Did she answer?" Jane asked softly. "She said I could. That she'd always be with me, even when I can't see her." Klaus was completely unaware of the sadness Jane had begun to feel. When Jane's mother died, she wasn't able to face it, being a newborn and learning to trust Aro. After a couple of years, Jane began to think about her mothers death. It reinforced how alone she was and how alone she had always been. Although now she had lost someone, making her life even more empty than it had ever been before. 

It had been Athenodora who comforted Jane and Alec as best as she could. Although all she could say was that their mother would have been relieved to know her children had survived and were safe. Klaus didn't get this same conversation, yet it seemed as though he didn't need it. He had found a way to cope on his own. Or at least, that's all Jane could hope. She couldn't help but wonder if Klaus didn't hear you say much was because he didn't really know you. It was clear ghosts didn't exist. Yet he had created someone in his head that he assumed was you and would respond in his interpretation of what you would have said rather than what you actually would have said. Perhaps that silence he received by his imaginary friend was Klaus not knowing what his mother would say and so no response would be given. "Does it make you sad sometimes?" She asked. "Not really." Klaus looked up at Jane again with a slight smile. "I know my mother loves me and that's all that matters really." 

When Caius entered the room, he entered a war zone. For once, Marcus was mentally and physically present in the room. He was angry. Not only that, angry and arguing with Aro. Both Marcus, and Aro had pitch black eyes and it didn't take long to recognise just what they were arguing about. "I don't need to sympathize to you!" Marcus snapped. "You chose this! You did this to yourself, you did it to her and you did it to your son! You decided she wouldn't be changed so I won't have any sympathy for you because I know I sure as hell did not choose my loss!" "Everything I have ever done, was for this coven!" Aro seethed through a clenched jaw. "(Y/N) would have been apart of that. Spare me your words Aro. You let her die because she didn't fit your goals. You never even consulted us, this decision, and rightly so, was on you. You knew for months where this was going and you made your choice!" Aro scoffed. "You make it sound so easy. Then again, when have you ever made a difficult decision in your life Marcus?" Aro responded icily. "I loved (Y/N) with everything I had and my decision to let her go was not easy. If you cared so much then you wouldn't have sat there for all those months knowing she'd die!" Marcus was immediately on his feet, standing feet away from Aro. "I watched that girl die. You should have been where I was standing. I told her she had a healthy son and my face was the last thing she saw and it should have been you! Furthermore, I was by her side as she gave birth because you weren't there!" Aro snarled before Caius intervened. "Enough!" Caius snapped, stepping in between the two men. "We all knew this would happen. What we didn't know was that Aro would grow attached. Now let me make myself quite clear." Caius began coldly. "(Y/N) died loved and appreciated by Aro and held many of the guards hearts. She was wonderful and she died. We all know that many women have died in childbirth in our time. She brought Archelaus into this world and passed away. Before she could suffer, I killed her. She felt nothing and wasn't alone! We cannot and will not destroy ourselves with the 'what ifs'. We all did what we did and now we live with it because that boy needs it. He is what matters now!" The situation de-escalated greatly after this but Caius continued. "Aro, I understand you are in pain and Marcus is the only one here that knows that pain. So why don't you be help one another with that pain and not use it to tear each other apart?" Marcus and Aro stared at each other before they both back down in unison. "Make me the mediator one more time and I kill you both." Caius growled. "Honestly...see the gift (Y/N) gave you both. Memories, a son and a nephew. Could you even fathom what she'd be thinking right now seeing you both like this!?" 

When night had fallen, Archelaus was taken to bed with his usual nightly routine. Renata was the one who took him to bed this particular night. The guard took turns and later Aro himself would check in on him. As usual Aro received a good report that Archelaus was in bed which left Aro a couple of free hours before he checked in. He spent those hours properly patching things up with Marcus, the two understanding each other by the time he was done. Thankfully the two were able and willing to overlook the incident. 

Aro couldn't help but frown slightly. It was in the middle of the night, the lights were off in many of the rooms down the wing where Klaus stayed. It was to help him sleep, even the lights for the hall were off. It helped the illusion that everyone was asleep at the same time he was. Even though it wasn't necessary, Aro figured it may appeal to his human side. 

However, instead of sleeping he wasn't even in that wing. Aro found his son on the floor below his room in one of the many rooms that had a TV in it. Aro figured his son was sneaking in some TV time or playing when regardless he should have been asleep in bed. However Aro stopped, before reaching the doorway, hiding in the shadows and out of sight. 

His son giggled again, arms stretched out at nothing and grinning up at something Aro couldn't see.  A excited squeal escaped his son and Aro blinked. Suddenly, his son was no longer alone. Someone lifted him into the air, spinning him before setting him down before spinning with him. That someone looking an awful lot like you. "I'll always love you." Aro heard your voice whisper with an echo. Aro blinked again and suddenly you were gone, his sons giggling dying down. It seemed he could no longer see you either, hands dropping to his sides. 

Aro moved closer unable to really pinpoint an emotion, many swirling and battling for the spotlight. His son turned to look at Aro and fully expected to get a scolding at the very least, however it never came. Aro slowly entered the room, barely making a sound and sparing a glance to the empty space you were previously in. Aro looked down at him with a soft expression. "Was that your mother?" He asked quietly. Klaus looked nervous, looking down at his hands. "It's alright Archelaus, I saw it too." Aro explained. "I miss her sometimes." Klaus finally spoke. "When I think of her, after a while, she comes to see me." "Oh?" Aro tilted his head. Klaus continued. "I mean, I know it's not really her. I like to pretend she's here and if I'm patient, she's comes to see me." "Can you show me?" Aro asked holding out his hand. 

Klaus slowly put his hand in Aro's. He was right, this wasn't the first time. He remembered what you looked like, his imagination doing the rest of the work. Whenever he found himself thinking of her, longing for her presence. She'd come to see her son. Of course it became very apparent this was simply his impression of her, Klaus' imagination building the pieces to replicate his mother as best as he could along with what he hoped she'd be like. 

"I'm sorry I got out of bed, father." Klaus said quietly. "That's alright little one." Aro said, unable to punish his son after discovering his son's gift. "We'll take you back to bed." Before leading his son away, he pulled his son into him, bending ever so slightly to hold his son closer. 

Aro had always wondered how his son dealt with topic of his mother although could never bring himself to venture into his son's thoughts for you. However, he held comfort in knowing that his son had found peace and comfort to cope with your passing. He had no doubt that his son would have questions about why you weren't saved when he grew up but he could live with that. He could live with the spare time, your son had unknowingly given him.

[lovingrosewho]

The Executioner’s Song (rewrite, sort of)

NOW, ONTO THE GOOD STUFF, and that means, the new stuff :-) I’ve been rewatching all Supernatural seasons and just had to write this. Disclaimer: English isn’t my first language, feel free to give any feedback/suggestions! <3 Ily all, thanks for reading <3

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader, sort of Castiel x Reader but in a friendly way

Rating: T. Angst, fluff

Word count: 3.1k+

Summary: the title pretty much explains it buuut, basically, Reader gets upset about Dean betraying Crowley

Warnings: SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED SEASON 10, signs of depression, dialogues taken from the series at the beginning, a few curse words I guess?

When Dean handles the First Blade over to Castiel instead of Crowley, your eyes open wide in shock.

“You lied to me” Crowley says, you can sense the hurt from the betrayal in his voice.

“It’s not the first time today” Dean makes a pause with the demon’s expectant eyes “Cain’s list? You weren’t on it” Dean says and with this, Crowley vanishes.

You begin to feel dizzy, nauseous even, a void made of uncertainty taunts your heart and your stomach, you try to hide it behind being worried about Dean, which is partly true and you let that show as you hug him, relieved he’s alive, in one piece and, mostly, or so it seems, sane. Castiel looks over at you and you just know, he knows.

 The four of you get to the bunker. Not a word from anyone. At the very arrival, you excuse yourself pretending a headache along the tiredness of the whole trip, so you practically run to your room.

The minute you close the door you dial Crowley’s cellphone, your hands shaking as you do so.

 Straight to voice mail. You dial again.

“Damn it Crowley, pick up the fucking phone” you pray lowly.

 Voice mail again. You’ve got to be kidding. You dial a third time.

“What is it that you want?” he finally answers, voice tone a bit raised, taking into account it’s you and he never raises his voice with you, either way, you can’t but let a breath out of relief at hearing him.

“Can you come over here? Please, I’m in my room” you’re not finished telling him and he hangs up.

“Damn it Crowley!” you exclaim again while you dial his number a fourth time, the second ring hasn’t sound when he appears standing in front of you.

“What?!” he almost screams, locking the door of your room with his demon powers. He’s not afraid about Sam and Dean coming in, all guns waving and pointing at him, no, he fears for you, aware that if the Winchesters hear you, not only will they scold you, but could also stop trusting you, hell, they could even lock you up thinking it was his doing the fact that you were friends with him.

“I didn’t know!” you confess instantly, body trembling and feeling like you’re going to puke any minute. You know how Crowley feels about treason, you know damn well and you just can’t let him think you had anything to do with it. He takes a few steps back and looks at you up and down.

“Why should I believe you, (Y/N)? And how? How am I supposed to believe you? Tell me” he raises his voice once again, he doesn’t like doing that with you but this time he just can’t help himself “If you four had only told me the truth I would have gladly agreed and helped you!”

“I know, I know!” you whimper, knowing that is a big-ass declaration from Crowley, and that he wouldn’t normally admit to it, he’s just doing it because it’s you, and he’s hurt. You try to maintain your posture and not let your voice crack weeping “I swear, I had nothing to do with it, if I had known I’d have tried to convince Dean to tell you the truth! I swear!”

Crowley is about to vanish, tired of listening to you, tired of the lies, of the doubts; first his minions being influenced by Abaddon, then his mother, next the Winchesters and now... he never thought he would doubt of his most beloved hunter. A single tear escapes your eyes and Crowley stops dry from disappearing, the temptation to remove that single tear being more powerful than him, the King of Hell.

You’ve known Crowley since he was a blood junkie, locked up in the Winchester’s dungeon. Your friendship started as a naïve excuse to pass the time, at first with just a couple of hostile phrases a day when you found him, and obviously discovered he was a demon, not just any demon but the King of Hell himself, and soon after it turned into something else. When you broke your arm in a fight and had to spend a couple of months skipping on hunts, the boredom increased your time in the dungeon with Crowley while the boys were gone, and you began to admit you liked the guy, perhaps a little too much. Months kept passing and the habit of sneaking into Crowley’s room while the boys were out, stayed, sometimes you would even take the cuffs and chains off of him and let him walk and stretch inside the devils trap, he would always behave and let you put the chains back on. When he managed to free himself from the brothers, he would visit you in your room when no one else in the bunker could hear you; you would talk about anything, his life, your life, Hell, current or past hunts, funny anecdotes... you were not ready to lose that. Not now, not ever. 

Crowley stares deep into your eyes as he holds your face in both his hands and wipes the tear off your cheek. 

“Look at me... and tell me if I’m lying” you say slowly. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, Pet. I can’t” and with this final sentence, he leaves the room, disappearing and leaving you alone.

You swallow hard, your steps conducting you backwards until you hit the end of the bed and are able to sit. At last, you break down in tears, sobs and whines flooding you from the inside out when you hear a knock at the door. 

“(Y/N)?” it’s Castiel “(Y/N) are you okay?”

You don’t respond, and Cas is forced to unlock the door and come in. He stares in shock at you but immediately locks the door back so Sam and Dean won’t come up asking questions. He sits next to you and doubtfully touches your shoulder for you to look at him, which you don’t do.

“He won’t talk to me ever again Castiel” you say in between sobs.

 “Who won’t?” he asks confused, but having a mild idea of who you might be referring to.

 “Crowley! He thinks I knew about Dean handing over the blade to you and not him...” you keep whimpering “He won’t believe me, whatever we had it’s over”.

 Cas nods understandingly and reaches out to hug you, your face covering his chest with tears.

 “(Y/N) maybe it’s for the best... Crowley is...” he begins but you interrupt him, separating from his grip.

 “No you don’t understand. He’s changed. I know it seems impossible but he has. And he truly believed he could be friends with us, I know it, I know him. Castiel I...” your voice breaks.

“(Y/N)” he intertwines his hand with yours “I know”.

He holds you again, and you cry and cry for hours in that same position with him until you fall asleep. Castiel lifts you up and leaves you laying across your bed, he takes your shoes off and puts a few blankets on top of you.

When he comes down everything is quiet, the Winchesters have surely gone to sleep, or at least get some rest after the day they’ve had.

The following morning you don’t come out of your room, not for breakfast, dinner, research, anything.

“What’s up with (Y/N)?” Deans asks, looking towards your room.

“She...” Castiel tries to explain “Wasn’t feeling very well. I’ll go check on her”.

The brothers look at each other and nod at Castiel’s offer.

“Hey, could you please bring her something to eat?” Sam asks politely.

“Yes. Of course” Cas answers.

When he enters your room, he notices you haven’t changed your clothes, and you’re in the same position he left you last night.

“(Y/N)?” he says, leaving a tray of food on your desk “How are you feeling?”

“Not hungry” you say without facing him, smelling the hot breakfast he just left a couple of feet away from you.

“Well... you need to eat. You’re human” he reminds you.

“So? Not hungry” you repeat. He sits beside you and slightly caresses your hair.

“Okay then, we’ll be downstairs if you need us... or just, you know, pray for me” he tells you before getting up and prepare to leave your room until you jump all of a sudden. 

“Wait! Castiel!” you say, startling him.

“What? Whats is it?”

“Please... don’t tell Dean what this is about... he’ll just... he wouldn’t understand” you beg him. Cas nods his head in agreement. 

“Of course”.

When Cas comes down, both Winchesters are looking at him, raising his hands as asking what is going on.

“It’s... like I said, she’s not feeling very well” he tells them when he’s at the table with both.

“Well what does she have?” Deans asks demandingly.

 “I... she wouldn’t say” Cas lies, which gains him a weird look from Dean.

 “Ok that’s it, I’m going up” declares Dean and Cas gets up sharply.

 “Dean! No! She said she didn’t wanna be bothered” Castiel exclaims worried.

 The weird look on Dean remains until he rolls his eyes, says “fine” and heads for the kitchen instead.

 Sam has stayed silent the whole time until Dean leaves.

 “Cas” Sams calls him in a low voice “Is this about Crowley?”

 Castiel sighs and nods.

 “Guess she’ll just have to pull through with this one” Sam follows Castiel’s sigh.

 You don’t go out of your room for two days in a row, sadness consuming you. The third day you decide you’ve had enough and come downstairs to help the boys with research, no one says a word but Dean.

“Hiya there kiddo, had us worried sick but Cas said you didn’t wanna be bothered, everything okay?” Dean tells you, making you smile softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Just you know, some headaches, it felt like I was hungover the whole day, guess that tension from the last adventure really took a hit on me” you lie marvelously. 

“Yeah. But you’re back, we are back, and that’s what matters” Dean tells you and you smile nodding, containing your tears again, you know you are not fully back.

It’s been a couple of weeks and Crowley won’t answer any of your calls, hence you stop calling him.

You miss him, you miss his voice and spending time with him. The boys notice even if you’re back up enlisting on hunts and helping them, something’s definitely off with you. You don’t eat enough, you practically don’t sleep, you barely smile or laugh anymore, and you seem distracted half of the time. It hurts Castiel more than anyone seeing you like this, so he decides to break his vow and talk to Dean.

“You have to call Crowley” he tells Dean when he and Sam are alone in the bunker whilst you are in your room “You have to tell him it was your idea to give the blade to me, you can even mention Sam but not (Y/N)”.

“And why would I do that?” Dean asks confused and a bit angry.

“Look around you Dean” Sam tells him “Something’s off with (Y/N) since that day, it’s not even 9pm and she’s already locked in her room, she didn’t even eat when we got back”.

Dean looks at both of them and grunts.

“How are you so sure this is about Crowley?”

 “Because she told me” Castiel confesses “Now, call him”.

 Dean looks impassive at Cas and Sam but takes his phone out and dials Crowley’s number.

 First call goes to voice mail.

 “Well that’s it, I’m not calling that dickbag again” he declares and Cas catches his arm, grabbing and stopping him from putting away his cellphone.

 “Try again” Castiel threatens. Dean rolls his eyes but agrees.

 “Squirrel, long time no see” Crowley finally answers “How are you?”

 “Listen you son of a bitch” Dean begins “I don’t know what you did or told (Y/N) but...”

 “Oh I didn’t tell, much less do, anything to her”.

 It hasn’t been easier for Crowley. He’s got the advantage he doesn’t eat nor sleep, but distraction has definitely been present. Every time his mother or his minions call him he’s just thinking of you, about answering your calls, about calling back. He misses you, your voice, your laugh.

“Well she hasn’t been okay and the only thing I know is it has to do with you” Dean tells him “She hasn’t anything to do with the fact that I didn’t handle you the blade, that’s on me, Sam and perhaps Cas, but not her. She knew nothing, you hear me? Nothing. ‘Cause see here’s the thing, we didn’t tell her ‘cause I knew you two got along and if I had told her she would have put up a fight and claim it was unfair. Now she won’t sleep, nor eat enough, she’s distracted on hunts and that almost got her killed a couple of times already, so you either fix it or I’ll come down there looking to kill you Crowley I swear”.

With this last phrase he hangs up and throws his phone away, without expecting Crowley to answer, this is non-negotiable.

The King of Hell’s stomach suddenly fills with hope and excitement, it’s not the fact that Dean called him about what happened, no, it’s just that he did not know you cared that much for him, he’d figured after a while you would stop calling and move on.

You wake up in the middle of the night and... what time is it exactly? Phone says 3am. Great. You sit slowly, yawning, still sleepy, and turn on your bedside lamp.

Suddenly you see Crowley standing in front of you and you almost scream whilst reaching for your gun.

“Crowley! For the love of... what the actual hell are you doing in my room?!” you hiss at him, exasperated, tossing the gun aside.

“Well hello to you too, love” he exclaims sarcastically.

“Answer the question, what are you doing here?” you ask again, tired and afraid this is just some sick joke.

“I was bored. Thought I’d pay you a visit” he says walking, or more like snooping, around your room. 

“And you needed to do that at 3 in the morning? When I’m sleeping? And when you haven’t returned my calls in weeks?” you reclaim but he stays silent, still going through some of the stuff placed at your desk. 

You exhale sharply. 

“Whatever, I need to pee, do not touch anything, you understand me?”

 “Yes, yes. Understood, Pet. I’ll be right here”.

You get up from your bed and walk barefoot towards the restroom. When you’re sit in the toilet, your mind begins wondering what truly brings the King of Hell to your room. Perhaps he’s aware that you miss him. Perhaps he misses you too. Or maybe it’s a dream. Maybe he is telling the truth and was just bored of all the meetings.

 You get back to your room to find Crowley laying across your bed.

 “Everything alright, Pet? Was beginning to wonder what took you so long” he tells you. Deep, dark stare into your eyes.

 “Yeah” you say, approaching the edge of the bed, staring back at him “I do everything slower at this time. Now, scoot over”.

 He slides a few inches to the side of the bed, letting you lay down next to him. You turn a few degrees facing him, while Crowley keeps looking at the ceiling, but paying attention to every and each one of your moves, that is until you place your arm across his chest and your hand begins mindlessly caressing the thin fabric from his suite shirt, while you breathe in his scent, the sulphur, the ash, the expensive scotch and fresh cologne.

“(Y/N)?” he begins carefully, voice low “What are you doing?“

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Yes, beg your pardon, why are you doing it?” Crowley asks but cautiously places an arm around you and starts stroking your hair.

“I... I’ve missed you” you confess as you bury your face in his shoulder “Does... does this bother you?”

Your question puts a soft smile in his mouth while he turns to look at your half-hidden face. 

“Not in the slightest, kitten” his declaration is greeted with a relieved and dreamy sigh from you “I’ve missed you too, you know?”

 “You have?” you ask incredulously “I thought you didn’t care...”

 “Of course I care. But here I thought you were the one who didn’t care...” that’s when your engines start rotating and it hits you.

 “Did you speak to Castiel?” you interrogate him, fully facing him now.

 “Castiel? No. I spoke to Dean though” he says guessing what happened. Knowing you, you wouldn’t have let Dean figure out what you were so upset about, Cas must’ve told him “He wanted some intel on someone, don’t know, don’t care, and it slipped the fact that you weren’t feeling so well”.

“What else did he say?” you ask him, going back to your task of running your fingers across his chest. In this moment, you couldn’t care less how he found out, he’s here, with you.

He inhales deeply.

“That you had nothing to do with the idea of lying to me...” he feels your body tense underneath him “Which, by the way, I figured a couple of hours after our little discussion”.

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” anger beginning to creep on you, body still stiff.

“Because I thought you didn’t care that much” he admits “I thought it was for the best. To be honest, I was unsure about what to even tell you after the tantrum I threw that day”.

He places a hand under your chin for you to look him in the eyes.

 “I am sorry, (Y/N)” the King of Hell apologizes and you relax, hugging him a bit tighter.

 “I love you” he’s taken aback by your declaration but after a few seconds he smiles gently.

 “I love you too, Pet” with this sentence he brings your chin up and lowers his lips sweetly onto yours. He tastes like honey, citrus and scotch, and all you ever thought he’d taste like.

 The kiss is so tender and so slow that you’re able to wander your hand towards his hair and then his cheek. 

When the two of you break the kiss, you spend an exaggerated amount of time looking at each other, assimilating the reciprocated love. After a while you start talking about everything and nothing, just like old times, cuddling until you fall asleep, and Crowley, the King of Hell, has the honor to be the one to hold you in his arms.

MASTERLIST

[jubilantwriter]

Of Blood and Static

Chapter 5: I wish I knew if you were getting these.

(AO3)  (First)  (Previous)  (Next)

Word Count: 8103

////

The Lady is aware of the loops.  She's aware of the hopelessness that sticks to them like leeches, of the constant strike of deja vu, of how someone so strange shouldn't feel so familiar and warm to her, and of a yearning for something that claws at her from deep within.  

He's precious to her, she knows this by now.  Almost every puzzle piece is in place, every shard gathered to reflect her past and present and future- everything is almost complete, and for once, even as a child, she thinks she knows what to do.

Perhaps the last remaining mystery is why the Thin Man still chooses to kidnap and tear her into two.  Is this also out of habit?  Does he just continue the same events over and over again with the reassurance of knowing what will happen next?  Her Shadow rarely says or reveals anything, merely a quiet bystander that watches and remembers everything until they are reunited as one.

(She looks at the pile of dust in her memories, ground to a fine powder as if to never be viewed or remembered again.  Something... happened there.  Something terrible.  If only she could recall what, perhaps she could have the answer to all her questions.)

Whatever his intentions are, she'll have to uncover them another time as the Flesh Walls surround them once more.  The pair of them race off as their path predictably falls apart beneath them.  A whisper is harsh in her ear as her Shadow guides her through halls only it can remember.

Mono groans in pain behind her, but before she can hazard a glance over her shoulder, the ceiling very nearly comes down on top of them.  A strained, "Oi!" from her is the only thing she can manage to coax him to move faster.

She moves with the help of habit and repetition, the familiarity leading the way with ease as she makes the jump towards the exit.  But sometimes, sometimes things change.

Sometimes they change when she least expects it.  

The ending is supposed to always be the same.

She jumps, and then Mono jumps, depending on her to catch him.  Then she catches him, holds him tight in her grasp before letting him go.  That's how it always goes.  But this time.  This time she won't let him go.  Her Shadow whispers in her ear, "Make this the last time," and she finds her selfishness overrides her survival instinct as she turns to reach her arm out to him.

But something's wrong.  Her eyes widen as the gap between them widens.  He's slow.  Too slow.  He's holding onto his side and staggering forward - hurt, injured, handicapped.  The Walls are encroaching closer, too close- she screams for him, stealth be damned as she frantically waves him over to her.

The last thing she sees is the fear in his eyes as he reaches desperately towards her (like when the Thin Man takes her over and over again, how she'd reach for him knowing he couldn't reach back to her) and the Flesh Walls with their bulging eyes crash down upon him leaving only his hand grasping desperately at the air.  The rest of the platform breaks beneath him and she screams again as the Walls take him down with it.

She screams and screams and screams because she was going to catch him, she was going to catch him and pull him up-

Survival instinct overrides her selfishness.  She hugs herself and sobs, pushing herself up and heading towards the portal out.  Six can't mourn Mono - she doesn't have the time to as she's spat out by the television and the Hunger begins to roil inside her.  However, her Shadow whispers morosely for her, standing by the poster as it softly cries, "This was supposed to be the last time."

Things go as they always go.  It happens in a blur, her Shadow silent and watching as it always does.  As such, she finds herself approaching a familiar room while she curls over in pain, Hunger threatening to consume her and-

And a boy in blue stands there, turns around at her approach and sees her hunched figure.  He looks down and picks up a stray sausage on the floor and holds it out to her with a smile.  The Hunger wants flesh, and her eyes drift from the sausage to the boy whose smile is so kind, so eager to help- 

(So much like Mono, and her heart cries for him because this wasn't supposed to happen, not like this-)

Her body is ready for the lunge when her Shadow stops her.  Interferes in a way it never did before.  "Don't," it whispers, and instead guides her body to the sausage, leaving the boy unharmed.  A part of her howls in anger - it wants living flesh, a body that is still squirming with life - but her other half feels an oddly familiar wave of relief.

Sobs wrack her frame as she tears into the sausage.  She could have eaten the boy.  She wanted to eat the boy.  But her Shadow stopped her, as if it had a reason for its actions.  The boy kneels down to her level, hands hesitant before landing on her shoulders in comfort.

He reminds her of Mono, and her chest heaves with another heartbroken sob.  Although he tries to comfort her, he's still wary of her, hesitant in ways Mono never would have been.  The boy is like Mono, and also so completely not like him.  It's different.  A change.

(Welcomed?  Or not?  Her Shadow shuffles through the puzzle pieces as Six focuses on surviving.  The Shadow raises its head and comes to a realization.  It will share it with her soon enough.)  

The boy follows her around, as if unsure if he should leave her alone.  Nomes trail after them, more intent on following the boy than Six.  Not that it matters.  They reach the Lady's quarters and the boy immediately grows anxious.  He takes her hand without warning (his hands are rough and calloused, but not as much as Mono's) and tries to lead her out.  With a shake of her head, she pulls her hand free and continues on her path.  Despite whatever anxieties plague him, he continues to follow her in, only to dash away and hide when he hears the hum of the Lady.

She loses sight of him and is glad for it.  Less people in the way means less collateral damage.  Her feet move her to a familiar rhythm, the accompaniment of another set of footsteps failing to throw her off.  She still can't see him, but she knows he lingers as she unlocks a door and carries on.

Six kills the Lady, teeth bared and tearing into flesh as she eats from the warm body.  The boy follows her in, terrified by what he just witnessed, but still choosing to follow her around as the little nomes gathered around him.  A question arises in her mind, but the Guests surrounding them need to be dealt with first, so she lets him watch as she demonstrates her newly gained power.

She’s never had an audience before, one that lives and trembles but refuses to back down when she turns back to him, a newly created monster in front of him with blood painting her coat.

It's a change.

But not the one she wanted.

The boy stays by her side with a lack of something better to do and hugs a nome close to his chest.  Not once does he try to stop her (these were adults she was killing after all, not children, never children), but he never shakes that look of concern and trepidation off his face.  Still, he follows.

The boy is... odd.  He's not like the other children she's come across in the Maw.  The boy is a survivalist, just like Six, and it shows with how long he’s survived on the ship.  He sticks by her side knowing she’s powerful enough to fight against adults, but stays a healthy distance away until he’s sure she won’t hurt him.  And then he's too kind.  Too caring.  He stops to offer her help, trying to be there for her despite hardly knowing her.  Her Hunger strikes, and he dashes off to find her food.  When she rejects anything that isn’t meat, he huffs in frustration but continues to feed her.

The boy sticks to her side like glue from then on.  It should be annoying, having a sudden companion she doesn’t need.  But sharing space with someone again is… nice.  They share names, talk softly to each other, confide in each other.  When something is out of her reach, he hoists her up with ease.  Keys are shuffled between them to keep the other from tiring out too soon.  She finds out the best ways to annoy him endlessly.  He discovers how to tease her without losing a finger.

Sometimes, they laugh together in the safety of each other’s company.  More often than not, they hold each other’s hands, a comfort he’s learned is deeply ingrained in Six.  When she can’t sleep at night, he turns his flashlight on and tells her stories he’s read from books he’s found.  When he wakes from his nightmares, she takes her lighter out and hums a lullaby to the sway of the flame.  

(He always flinches away from her when he wakes.  Like he’s expecting her to hurt him.  It hurts, just a little, when he does.  Why?  What did she do to him in his nightmares?

Despite her questioning, he never tells her what his nightmares are.  Always tells her that it’ll only make her sad.  Still.  She wishes she knew the cause, if only to fight them away from his mind.)

Without meaning to, they grow closer and fonder with each passing day.  Footsteps follow her into her adulthood, and somehow, he's sharing the role the Janitor once solely held, but with a more human touch that the children can better appreciate.

The boy becomes a man.  The Caretaker.  His outfit is styled to look similar to Six's- no, the Lady's, with a looser fit for easier movement.  He's an odd one, the Caretaker.  Unlike the Janitor, he doesn't turn into a monster - no, he becomes an adult, but a completely human one.  He's the least monstrous on the ship, save for the children, and willingly gets in her way when she attempts to continue the tradition of serving children to the Guests.

(She's thankful for his meddling.  Her Shadow hums in her chest, now a part of her once more as the realization is shared.

The final puzzle piece lays in her hand and her Shadow entrusts her to finally complete it.  To make it the last time.)

His outfit is a dark blue, a shade deeper than his original blue sweater with a light gray hakima for contrast.  At first, he was hesitant to follow the theme of the Maw, with the Lady donning her signature dark brown kimono and mask.  But after some insistence, he agreed to wear the outfit so long as the Lady made a few adjustments that kept her separate from the previous Lady, as if it mattered.

A fairly extravagant hairpin now decorates her bun, gifted to her by the Caretaker.  The golden pin has small but simple flowers that dangle away from her hair when she pins up her bun.  

"Primroses," he says softly, because he always speaks softly with that gentle tone so fitting of his role, "is what I think they are."

"You think?"

"They look similar to the flowers in the books, and the books called those flowers primroses."  

The next thing he gifts her is a new obi - the fabric golden with a satin shine to it as he helps tie it around her waist, knotting it into a fanciful bow.  

“Oh really now.”  She ignores his laughter as he hands her the obijime to tie herself.  “I’m not a child anymore - I didn’t need you to tie it into a bow or tie the obi for me.”

“I miss helping you with your obi.  And besides, if I didn’t tie the obi, then you wouldn’t have let me tie it into a bow.  It looks cuter like this!”

“I’m not going for cute, I’m going for prim and elegant.”  Despite her protests, she doesn’t untie the obi to return it to its usual style.  

“Sure you are.”  

The last thing he gifts her is a shiny, bejeweled brooch.  Like the hairpin, the main shape of it is also a flower.  Golden leaves curl around the bud delicately as she holds it in her palm. Faint hints of lavender and pale green color the flower, colors blending into the golden build of the brooch.  

“Did your books tell you anything about this flower?” she asks, holding it out to him.

“Iris, probably.  It's hard to tell sometimes with these things.”  

“Your knowledge is ever so on point, as usual.”  She ignores his affronted whine and looks at the flower more closely.  Something used to be in the center of the bud.  She points it out to the Caretaker who merely shrugs.

“It was like that when I found it.”

“You found this?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

A suspicious squint has him shrugging again playfully.  Shaking her head, she turns it this way and that before turning back to the man.  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Uh, wear it?”

“Stupid- I know that.  But where?”  She gestures at her kimono.  “This outfit isn’t made for brooches.”

“That’s what you think.”  He points to the knot of her obijime and points back to the brooch.  “Just attach it there.”

“For what purpose?”

“It looks pretty.  I thought you like looking pretty?  Even though you wear boring kimonos and use a mask to cover your face.”  He coos at her, poking her mask’s cheek.

“I should hit you.”

“With what reach?”  He ducks when she swings her brush at his head.  “Missed!”

“I won’t next time,” she growls, fastening the brooch over the knot of her obijime.  With her outfit newly completed, she turns to the space where a mirror should be.  She gathers what visual information she can from the remaining shards in the shattered mirror’s frame.  

It probably looks bad.  The Caretaker hums and stands besides her.  “I think you look nice.”  Definitely bad.

“These all seem a bit much.  And why gold?”

“Isn’t yellow your favorite color?  Trust me, these weren’t easy finds.”

“Gold is quite the extravagant yellow- and where did you find these again?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’ve been going through the Guests’ luggage again, haven’t you?”  She turns to him with a tired glare.  Doesn’t he have other things to do besides ransacking the Guests’ things once again?  Granted, it’s not as though they will be needing their luggage once on the Maw, but still.

“I said don’t worry about it.”  He combs through his own locks, bangs getting long once again as it drapes over his eyes.  "It’s high time you had a wardrobe update.  This way, you won't look exactly like the past Lady."

Like the last Lady.  How would he react if he knew what she dragged him into?  Of the loops she's lived in, loops where she never met him, where he must have escaped the Maw instead of remaining willfully trapped here?  Since now, here he stands next to her, hands braced on her shoulders like a proud older brother.  They never really figured out who was the older, but the Caretaker liked to suggest that maybe it was him, since he was taller than her even with her bun up.

He is a change.  A welcomed one, she settles on.  Maybe the change they need.

But it's a change she doesn't know how to handle.  Nor how the Thin Man may know to handle.  Regardless of this confusing situation, the Caretaker has grown close to her - a confidant, her right-hand man in this ever changing loop.  He's something she's never quite experienced before.

(A breath of fresh air.)

So it only makes sense why she hesitates before the screen.  The Caretaker follows her into her quarters at her behest, lingering behind her awkwardly as she stands in front of the screen.  He knows well enough when she wants his input and when it's better to be quiet, so he remains quiet as she internally struggles with herself.

What if this was a mistake?  What if this loop was a pointless, meaningless venture that served nothing in furthering their goal?

...What even is their goal?  A part of her suggests survival, to continue the loops because they continue to live, and live, and live with a guarantee of never completely dying.  But another part of her suggests something else.

To truly live.  To sit by the Thin Man and have him laugh with her.  To feel his hand in hers once again, to smile and share her cooking with him.  To introduce him to the Caretaker in hopes of him liking the other as well.  She wants them to get along.  She wants them to live and experience life with a breath of fresh air.

Survival or selfishness?  Which side of her will win out?

Her palm touches the screen as it slowly bursts to life underneath it.  The poor thing has been serving her so well in all these loops, it's amazing it still manages to turn on to this day.  Static makes her hair stand on end as the screen tunes and tunes and tunes itself until-

There he is.

She can't help the soft smile hiding behind her mask as she sees him again.  He's still alive!  Of course the Tower wouldn't let him die that day.  A low hum is made in her throat as opposed to the sob she wants to let out in relief.

He's sitting up straight.  Tired, yes, but he's not hunched over in defeat.  He tilts his head in his curious way, always so curious, as his words greet her.

"Six?  Or shall I call you the Lady now?"

"Whichever you prefer."  It no longer matters, the distinction between the two.  The Caretaker shuffles closer, peering over her shoulder at the screen.  He doesn't say anything as he watches the captions appear at the bottom for him to read.

"And who is this?  I don't think I've ever met him before."  A pause.  "He's new.  How strange."

How nice, goes without being said.  She takes the Caretaker's hand and gently places it on the screen before returning hers next to his.  His shoulders hunch up in surprise as the static dances on his skin.

"This is the Caretaker."  This time it is she who pauses.  "My dear friend."

"A pleasure," the Thin Man greets.  "You may call me the Thin Man."

"The Thin Man," the Caretaker repeats.  "It's, ah, nice to meet you too."  His eyes meet hers under his bangs, looking between the screen to the Lady with a question in his eyes.  She shrugs and turns her attention back to the screen, much to the annoyance of the Caretaker.

"Thin Man," though she really wants to call him by his real name, "what happened that day?  The day you fell."  Why was he so injured?  How did they fail to break out of the loop when they were both ready to do so?  What did the Tower do to him?  What did the previous Thin Man do to him?

"It was something out of my control, as usual."  She watches as he rests his hand on his chest, recalling the moments that led to his capture and fall.  "Something had...  There was something wrong with the Man chasing me that day.  He was more brutal.  More empty.  More... like a doll."  

She tries to recall how the previous Thin Man had captured her.  He had looked at her with eyes not quite there, more closed than anything.  His features weren't lax, nor were they tense.  When she looked up at him, she could have sworn that he looked...

"Dead."  She breathes the word out with a horrified realization.  "Mono, something was wrong with him.  What- what happened to you?"

"He chased after me, but it felt... off.  Instead of simply chasing after me, he would grab things to pull towards himself, the objects colliding into me in the process.  Never would he try to reach for me.  It always seemed as if his goal was to hurt me.  Our final fight... felt wrong."  His head tilts down towards his hands as he stares down at them.  "He bent in all the wrong ways but kept getting back up.  It was like he was forced to keep going.  I...  When I finally ended him, it felt more of a mercy than a victory."  

"Was it... different from what you expected?"

"Yes."  The word rings with an unspoken acknowledgement as they both consider the difference this loop has taken.  "Because of that, I was far more injured than I think any of my past iterations have ever been."  He looks up towards her, and even though his hat hides his eyes with the shadows, she can still feel his gaze searching hers.  "You... were planning on catching me, weren't you?"

She swallows.  "Of course I was."

(A soundless voice echoes in her memories.  "I promised that one day, we would share a meal together."  Even though she struggled to recall it as a child, there was still a small part of her that remembered, a small part of her that clung to that promise.  "Make this the last one," her shadow had said.  Oh, how she wished they could make it the last.)

"I think the Tower knew."  He leans his head back to stare up at the ceiling, gaze away from her.  "I think that's why they took control of my prior iteration and turned him into more of a monster than he was ever meant to be.  Or perhaps, what he was always supposed to be, but could never fully realize.  And because of that, I was injured to the point where I was struggling to keep up."

"If I knew, I would have stopped to take your hand, or helped you along or-"

"I'm glad you didn't," he soothes.  "If you had stayed behind to help me, we both would have fallen to the whims of the Tower."

"Still, there could have been a chance-"  She could have saved him, she could have dragged him to safety, she wouldn't have had to leave him alone in that accursed Tower, she-

The Caretaker gently places his hand over hers and squeezes.  His eyes search for hers, offering a wordless comfort.  He doesn't know exactly the pains that consume her, but he knows her well enough to keep her from suffering on her own.  She nods to him and turns back to the screen where the Thin Man's words wait patiently for her.

"Maybe not in this loop," they read out, "but perhaps in the next."

"I don't want there to be a next loop."  Her shoulders sag as the memories of each loop blend and mix together in a terrible mash of mistakes and intentional actions.  It's time she's admitted that even she grows tired of the monotony of the loops.  "I'm tired of talking to you through a screen.  I'm tired of having to find reasons to justify letting you go when I struggle to do so already.  I'm tired, Mono."

"I know."  Even though he says so, it's barely enough to provide her with the comfort she craves.  "We'll find our ways out of this somehow.  Already, I can see that we've made some headway."  He nods towards the screen, acknowledging the Caretaker's presence before continuing.  "I'm sure the Eyes have figured that out by now.  I think they're getting worried, antsy even, going to such drastic measures to ensure we stay in our roles."  She watches as he folds his hands neatly on his lap, his posture suddenly exuding the confidence she lacks.  "They won't win this time.  Things are changing, Six.  They have been changing, and I refuse to let your hard work go to waste."

"My hard work...?"

"Your hard work."  He sweeps his arms out to gesture to the room he sits in, the room she stands in.  "All of this was done by you, Six.  Not me.  I hardly did anything besides sitting in this chair and talking to you.  You were the one who made the changes, not me."

She blinks slowly, hardly believing a word he says.  "I can hardly say it was hard work to begin with-"

"You're selling yourself short, dear friend."  He pulls out a small hat, a hat that she never recalls giving him, but knows was a gift she once graced him with.  Another memory that's fitted itself nicely into the picture she's forming.  "Little changes can create large ripples of meaning."  He fits the small sailor hat lovingly on one finger, and there's no doubt in her mind that he's smiling.  "You gave me hope again, Six.  Gave me something to cling to so that I could convince myself that there was a reason to continue these repeating cycles.  Showed me that things can change for the better, slowly but surely."  

"They're happening too slowly for my liking."  She huffs, earning a soft chuckle from the Caretaker.  Ah, yes, he's still here, watching their conversation and no doubt being confused by it all.  Still.  He takes it all in stride, a trait she admires him greatly for.  One day, she'll find the time to explain it all to him, once he's ready to understand the weight the knowledge will force him to bear.  At least he has nothing that will hold his memories for him.

Unlike the Lady and the Thin Man.  A curse they have to bear, but one that is proving to become useful the more they exist in this endless cycle of rinse and repeat.

"I will use my patience for the both of us, then."  He tilts his head, angling it more towards the Caretaker than the Lady.  "But that's enough about the loops for now.  Tell me - did you finally grow tired of having only me for company that you got yourself a new best friend?  Perhaps replaced me with someone better?"

"Don't talk like that."  Another childish huff escapes her, and she can see his shoulders shake with laughter from the other side.  "I could never replace you.  But I will never regret the Caretaker's friendship either."

"I'm glad," the words spell out, before he changes his primary focus to the Caretaker instead.  "So what's your real name?"

"What?"  The Caretaker speaks up in surprise, brow furrowed as he comes to grips with this newfound attention on him.

"Your real name."  The Thin Man gestures to himself.  "For instance, my real name is Mono, just as the Lady's real name is Six."

"I'm aware," the Caretaker says with a huff, mimicking the Lady's earlier childishness.  "My name is... RK."

"RK?"  The Thin Man tilts his head to the side.  "Just letters?"

"The Lady's name is a number, and I'm fairly sure your name can count as a number too."

"Touche."  Even with his face obscured, she is sure that the Thin Man is positively delighted with his new conversation partner.  It's nice to see that he never lost his touch of friendliness and curiosity, despite being left to rot at the bottom of the Tower.  "What is it that you do?  Aid Six in her duties?  Cook the food?  Is your cooking better than Six's?"

"You've had Six's cooking before?"  

"No.  I almost had the chance once, but we couldn't get the food past the screen."

"Good," the Caretaker says in a heartbeat.  "Her cooking is awful.  I wouldn't want you to taste it."

"Hey!"  The Lady slaps his shoulder as the Thin Man's shoulders shake merrily with laughter.  

"I guess I narrowly dodged that tragedy."

"You did," the Caretaker nods solemnly, similar to how he nods for the children when they tell him something dramatic.  "While her cooking can be better than the Cooks' dishes, I would rather cook my own food than eat hers."

"You're being obnoxious," the Lady finally says, pulling his hand off the screen.  "Off with you, go care for the children and nomes if you're going to be like this."

"Okay okay!"  He holds his hands up in a peaceful surrender, laughing as she bats him away.  "I'll be off to do my duties then."  He glances back at the screen and gives a little wave to the resident behind it.  "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mono."

The Thin Man straightens at the use of his name, the happiness radiating off of him in waves.  No doubt he already sees the Caretaker as a new friend.  Typical of him.  She can't help but smile fondly at his eagerness.  "Likewise, RK."

They both wave before the Caretaker finally departs from her quarters, leaving the two of them with each other.  Her hands press against the screen as she monopolizes all of the Thin Man's attention.

"My cooking really isn't that bad."

"I believe you, Six."

"He's just upset that I won't eat his meals."

"And why is that?"

She makes a disgusted face, forgetting for a moment about the mask that obscures her expressions.  "He cooks with vegetables and expects me to eat them."

"...You don't like vegetables?"

"I find them revolting."  Just the thought of biting down on a soggy, cooked through vegetable is enough to threaten her gag reflex.  "My diet can survive without the need for vegetables."

"I never took you to be a picky eater."  He pauses slightly, fingers drumming on his leg before he continues with his thoughts.  "So what exactly does he do?"

"He cares for the little creatures on the Maw, mainly the children."  The Caretaker knew the truth of the nomes far before she had the chance to discover what her powers could do to children.  Even though the trust between them is strong, he still goes out of his way to keep them out of the kitchen and away from the plates of the Guests.  She is, after all, the proprietor of the Maw - as much as he cares for her, he cannot guarantee that she will sneak off with a child as a luxury food item (though those days are behind her now.  Even though the memories trickle down like rain dripping through a small leak in the ceiling, it is enough that she can figure out the horrible things her past selves have done).

"A guardian of children."  She wonders what's going through his mind as he thinks out loud for her to read.  "How fitting."

"He's kind, caring.  Protective even."  She doesn't say how he reminds her of the Thin Man when he was younger.  "I think you would like him."

"I think I already do."  He leans forward in his seat as if to whisper a secret into the Lady's ear.  "In fact, I want to believe that he may be the key to finally breaking us out of these loops."

"How?"  The Caretaker doesn’t have any powers.  He’s powerless, normal, nothing more than a human adult.

She pauses in her thoughts.

Nothing more than a human adult.  Someone not tainted by the nightmares that plague their worlds, one not cursed to inherit world-bending and soul-sucking powers, one not completely bound to a role with no way out.

He's nothing short of normal and bland for a human.  But that's more than she can say for anyone else she's come across.  He's untouched.  Purely him.  An oddity among a sea of monsters.

Hope.

"He could be a safe haven.  Or at least, the start of one."  He pauses, almost hesitating before he speaks the next few words.  "But not for our current selves."

"No," she agrees, knowing full well what kind of monsters they've turned into. "Not for us."

"But maybe for our child selves."

"A chance for them to grow up together."

"Without the Tower, without the Maw."

"...Without the Hunger?"

"Hopefully, without the kidnapping."  He seems to curl into himself at the mention of that.  

"...Why did you always kidnap me, Mono?"  It's a question she's always wondered, given how he's always talked about breaking them out of the loop, and yet still perpetuated it with his own actions.

The Thin Man remains quiet as his shoulders hunch forward.  It's not something he's proud of, but it's also something that's plagued her thoughts as she's gone through more and more of the loops with him.

At one point, it was a topic of contention between the two of them.  She vaguely recalls vicious arguments with accusations thrown left and right before the television itself was thrown away to the depths of the Maw.  And then the cycles continued with a different feel to them - one of perpetuating anger and vengeance over the happiness of companionship.  But for whatever reason, an effort was made at reconciliation.  Loops upon loops of the Thin Man managing to find and reach out to her, of her chasing little nomes after they tampered with her things and stumbling upon televisions, and somehow, they managed to make up in their own convoluted way.

Whatever the truth may be, she won't let it break their carefully mended relationship.  She gently taps on the screen, humming a familiar tune that has the Thin Man perk up with guilt.  Still so sorry for destroying her music box, as usual.  She's long since forgiven him for doing so each loop just because she knows why he commits such acts of destruction.

She could forgive him too, for each kidnapping and tearing of herself in two, if he'd just tell her why.  So she practices what he's mastered so well.

She waits.

The Thin Man removes the hat from his head and clutches it tightly in his hands, fidgeting with it as he keeps his gaze away from hers.

She waits.

His shoulders sag with a silent sigh as he places it on his lap.  Another moment passes in collective silence before his words reappear on the screen.  His gaze is still focused on his lap, however, and the Lady chooses not to press that issue.

"I have to."  She remains quiet, not wanting to interrupt him as he finally gives her an answer.  "I found out once, what happens when I don't kidnap you.  Once, in a loop, I chose to leave you be.  I didn't grab you.  Nor did I give chase.  I simply let the two of us go."  

The screen flickers, and a memory plays out for the Lady to see.  Two children, escaping hand in hand from a figure who merely stands in place and lets them be.  They run away into a familiar room as the figure simply walks past them, only teleporting back to the television and stepping back in.  A farce to make them believe he'd gone in a different direction.  The two of them peek out of the room and run off, hand in hand.

They face off the Viewers together.

And they traverse the Pale City together.  

The Signal Tower looms in the distance, but the girl in the yellow raincoat keeps the paper bag clad boy away from it.  Dangerous.  No matter how much he wishes to investigate, she will never allow him to go near it.

The girl doesn't suffer from the Hunger.  Nor does she have a Shadow standing off in the distance, watching her every move.  They don't end up at the Maw - there's no reason to go to the Maw.  It's another place filled to the brim with adults.  The flyers go ignored and-

The girl dies.  She slips from a rooftop they traverse and dies from the fall.  The boy screams, holding his head as he sobs.

And then the footage cuts to a memory of two children running away from a room.  The figure is nowhere to be seen.  They avoid the Tower.  They avoid rooftops.  They still do not go to the Maw - the offer of food still stands, but there's no need to go to the Maw when there's still scraps to be found here and there.

The girl dies.  She takes a bite out of some food, only to find that it had long since been poisoned for rats when they were still considered a problem.  The boy cradles her in his arms and sobs, brokenhearted and alone.

And then the footage cuts to a memory of two children running away from a room.  The Tower is ignored.  The rooftops left forgotten.  The boy takes it upon himself to taste test every morsel before handing it to the girl.  It doesn't matter.  A Viewer finds them both and makes to grab them.  

The girl dies.  The boy follows her soon after, too defeated to fight back when the Viewer grabs him as well.

Two children running from a room.  They don't go to the Maw because there's no need to.  But they try to escape the city, again and again.  Each time ends in her death, and a boy is left behind as he wallows in despair. 

Two children.  Running away.  The boy takes them to the Signal Tower.  She can't stop him.  They enter and traverse it.  He finds and fights the Thin Man.  The girl survives.  There's hope, for a brief moment, there's hope.  They run as the Tower collapses around them.  They almost reach the exit when-

The girl dies.  Crushed under the debris of the Tower.  The boy falls to his knees and lets the Tower take him.

The narrative changes after that.  The Thin Man comes out and gives chase, but instead of taking the girl, he takes the boy.  His being isn't torn in half like hers, so she's left with no Shadow to guide her through the city.  She traverses it alone, making her way to the tower.  But she has no powers to fight the tower with.  She has no powers to fight the Thin Man with.  But the Thin Man lets her in, lets her try and find the boy.

She finds him, twisted up and monstrous but still her dear friend.  They escape and fight the Thin Man together.  The Man is killed, and her friend is turned back to normal.  They run towards the exit, thinking that this will be last until-

The boy trips.  She turns back too late, and debris falls between them.  The Tower laughs at her distress and shoves her out the exit.  She's left alone, her efforts futile as the Tower claims him for its own.  The girl screams and slams her fists against the television, but she doesn't go to the Maw.  There's no need to, not when her friend still needs her.  She tries and tries and tries but-

The girl dies.  Dies in her attempts to free him.  It’s the electricity this time, her tiny body unable to withstand the shocks as she steps into her own trap for a bumbling Viewer to stumble into.

The events repeat with little change.  The boy gets kidnapped.  She goes and finds him.  They escape up until a certain point, in which the Tower claims him again.  She gets cut loose and dies in her attempts in trying to get him back.

And then the loops return to normal with a twist.  The Thin Man kidnaps her, tears her in half.  She pauses as she dangles him over the abyss.  Considers and reconsiders.  She pulls him up after her slight pause, and the two of them take a moment to breathe when-

The ledge crumbles beneath him.  She lunges forward but is too late.  The girl screams, seconds too late, seconds wasted.  They could have escaped, they could have escaped.  Her failure crushes her, and she can't force herself to continue after letting down yet another friend. 

The end begins, and she catches the boy once more.  Instead of hesitating, she pulls him up immediately.  It doesn’t matter.  The Tower doesn’t let her win.  The ledge crumbles before he makes it a foot forward, and he falls into the abyss.  He lets go, and she’s left behind as she watches him fall.

Again and again, she’s foiled over and over as a reminder that she will never get her way.  Sometimes the Tower injures her, debris crashing into her shoulder to force her to let go.  Sometimes the Tower injures him and she screams as he slips from her grasp, unconscious after the debris collides with his head.  And sometimes… sometimes…

The screen distorts, unable to play the memories.  

The loops begin again.  The girl in yellow plays by the script given to her.  She drops the boy after he rescues her of her own "free" will and is spat out by the Tower.  The Hunger plants itself into her being and forces her to find food.  A poster is brought to her attention, and the scenes play out as scripted once again.

She has a reason to go to the Maw, where she grows up.  Survives.  Gains powers.  Like how the Tower is vital to the boy's story, the Maw is vital to hers.  The screen flickers as she stares blankly at it.

How could she not remember those memories?  Was it because she died all those countless times?  Was it because-

Her Shadow fidgets in her chest, and suddenly, she understands.

The pile of ground up shards.  Memories that were not to be viewed ever again.  Memories filled with failure, of being given every opportunity to break out of the loops only to end with her death or his capture, and of them never progressing any further than they were allowed.  Bitter, painful memories of them being torn apart over and over again in the worst ways possible.  Hopeless, despairing memories that would have convinced her to never continue ever again.  

Futile efforts leading to the same results.  

"You needed a reason to continue on.  A reason to go to the Maw.  A reason to move on without me."  The words reappear on the screen as she curls her fingers over the screen.  "But you wouldn't go without an incentive.  Your glitching remains were that incentive.  Your Hunger was your incentive.  That... need to feel whole again was the only reason you'd ever venture to the Maw out of sheer need.  If I didn't tear you in half, then you'd always feel whole.  There would be no need for the Maw, because you would try and survive in the City, or in another place without considering it as an option.  And we both saw how well that turned out."

She remains quiet, letting the newly found memories percolate in her mind.  So that was his reasoning for kidnapping her all those many times.  Kidnapping her when he really didn't want to.

(Much like how she kept dropping him, even when she didn't want to.  How she needed a reason to drop him.  How he always pressed for a reason.  Because she can't continue performing the same acts without a reason, right?  Was that why he kept asking?  And now she's finally run out of reasons to give him.)

How are they supposed to escape the loops when death awaits them if they fail to submit to their roles?

"I suddenly think that having the Caretaker around won't be the solution we think he may be."

"I oppose that notion."  The Thin Man straightens up, hat returning to his head as if he had not just been reliving the worst moments of his looping life.  "The difference between now and then is that back then we only had each other.  But now, there's someone else.  Someone who can help."

"But how?"

"Like I said- a safe haven.  He's the Caretaker.  He doesn't belong to any place or domain.  He's simply who he is.  Even if it means that he just sets up something elsewhere, away from the City or the Maw, somewhere out of reach of the Eyes, we'd all have a fighting chance at surviving outside of these nightmares."

"But how would he even accomplish that?"  Doubt buries itself in her mind after having seen all those forgotten memories.  "Am I to just dump him somewhere and hope for the best?"

"No."  She waits, knowing him better than that.  "...Yes?"

"How, Mono."  The more they discuss this, the more hopeless the idea seems.  "I don't want to abandon him and leave him to fend off some- some monster by himself!"

"He won't be alone.  Let him take a television with him.  I'll be there for him."  

She highly doubts that will work.

"I... don't know."

"It's all we have left to work with.  Trust him."  

"But how will he know where to go?  Who would-"  A memory strikes her.  A monster, a strange monster, who had taken her to the Maw.  A monster who the other children she'd once met would tell her about.

The Ferryman.

A monster who wasn't quite a monster.  He seemed to care for the children, strangely protecting them from the other forces in this nightmarish world and dropping them off in places he believed would suit them best, if the stories those children once told her were to be believed.  The Ferryman was the one who would drop her and every other child off each time at the Maw.  Perhaps... perhaps he could help.

Maybe.

"There... may be one other who could help."  Her words come out tentatively.  She's only ever seen him once per loop, but how else are children getting onto the Maw?  He must still be around somewhere, perhaps even existing outside of the loops.  And maybe... maybe the Caretaker has met him once or twice.  Or maybe has heard of him from the children.

Maybe it's not so terrible a plan after all.

"Mono," she begins, "have you heard of the Ferryman?"

They spend the rest of the conversation deep in thought, carefully figuring out each detail of their hastily made plan and counting for the fact that it may need to build over a few more loops.  One of the many details they need to figure is how the Caretaker fits into all of this.  There's no telling how the Caretaker may be affected by the loops - will he persist when they die?  Or is his fate to be smothered by the loops like they often are?  She hopes they can figure it out before it’s too late.

Unluckily enough, the nightmare they live in forces an answer into her hands.  Nothing seems to take to their resistance kindly, since after they explain and divulge and include the Caretaker into their plan, after he agrees to it with just as much eagerness and hope as she'd hoped he would, the Maw makes its own move.

One day, as she was making her usual rounds, the ship careens itself into a sea stack - the rock formation itself doesn't last against the hull, but the collision jolts and shakes the Maw enough that the Lady has herself clinging to the railing to keep herself upright.

And that's when she hears it.

A sharp scream that passes by her ears as a blue blur falls past where she stands.  

No.

Please, no.

Her feet rush her down to the bottom floor, gracefulness be damned as she searches for her dear, precious friend.  When she finds him, he lies broken in a puddle of his own blood, eyes wide and unseeing as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth.  She looks up to where railings lower to better match the hunched over forms of the Guests by the rooms, and it doesn't take much for her to put two-and-two together.

She takes his body and tears it apart in tears, forcing it all into a makeshift wooden box and burning it in the ship's engine room.  What remains of his body is grounded into a fine, ashy powder that she stores away in a decorative vase, hidden away in a secret room for her to mourn in peace.  But even then, fate doesn't give her a chance to mourn.

The loop ends in a bitter struggle and hopeless tears, forgotten blood left to stain wooden floors.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur

Y’all can thank @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher for encouraging me to do this, I defs would have just thought about it for a couple months then forgot 😂

Pairing: None for this part

Warning: talk of violence and murder, retelling of Theseus and The Minotaur myth, talk of human sacrifice, if theres more plz let me know!

Summary/Notes: Myth background in case you didn’t go past the PJO books with your mythology obsession like I did. In ancient Greek mythology they believed in ‘joint fatherhood’ so basically the kid would have attributes from both fathers (bc philosophy was the tits back then not necessarily biology) King Aegeus (Vessimir) couldn’t produce an heir with his wife so he went to the Oracle of Delphi and she told him to ‘open his wine sack’ (helpful right?) long story short he bangs a princess and then Athena (patron goddess of Athens) tells the princess to go down to the sea with an offering where she bangs Posiden (co-patron god of Athens) hence Theseus (Geralt) is not only a demigod but a bastard prince.  I think this is all the background yall are gonna need if you don’t already know the myth

__________

Geralt knew the story well. For as long as he could remember, his mother would comb his stark white hair before bed and he would ask, “Tell me about my fathers?” She would smile fondly and begin to braid his hair in a pattern much like her own. 

“My little hero, your fathers are powerful, fair, righteous men. You have not only the blessing and favor of Poseidon, but the right to the throne of Athens.”

When he was younger he would squirm and protest, “I know mumma, but who were they?”

Vissena would sigh and change the subject until he was older, at which point she began letting the crumbs fall from her words. Crumbs Geralt followed to the truth of his heritage, piecing together stories his grandfather had told him about a sword and sandals pinned beneath a stone. 

When he was twelve, his mother told him the truth.

“You are destined to free the city of Athens from a terrible fate. When you can lift the stone and retrieve your father’s sword you may travel to his palace and claim your place as prince…” Her voice came to a strangled end before she coughed and continued “But you mustn't think about that now. You’ve rope to braid and cattle to feed.”

When he finally told her he was ready to try, her eyes welled with tears. She merely nodded, continuing to run the comb through her baby’s hair like she always had. He understood as he grew older why she was so reluctant to let him go. What mother can willingly send her child away in only destiny’s hands, regardless of his exceptional strength?

At 16, he succeeded in his first task, retrieving his father’s things, and set off to Athens. He went by land, wanting to rely on himself, not his grandfather’s wealth and power. He fought Perophes, disarming the practiced warrior with surprising little effort, to complete his second task. Fighting Coercion sent chills down his spine, with the man’s reputation for killing every opponent he faced he was certainly formidable, but he bested him nonetheless. His third task was complete. However, his name only became synonymous with ‘hero’ after slaying the wild boar. 

His first kill was at 17, still on the road to Athens. He could have let Procrustes live, could have delivered him to the nearest king for imprisonment, but his gut had twisted at the thought of the consequences of his failure. He tied Procrustes to the same small table he tied all his victims before slicing clean through the giant man’s limbs that hung off the edge. Leaving him to bleed out like he’d done to the skeletons littering the floor. It only seemed fitting, though the memory still made him queasy on nights when he couldn't sleep.

Even upon arrival at his father’s home, there was danger staring back at him in those beautiful amethyst eyes. The prophetess Yennefer would stop at nothing to keep the life of luxury and power she’d gained. She whispered false prophecies in King Vessimir’s ear, convincing him this boy who claimed to be his son was nothing but an imposter. Geralt should have expected such a welcome. 

As he lifted a cup of poisoned wine to his lips, Vessimir glimpsed the sword at his side, recognizing it in time to knock the ceramic out of his hand. 

The vessel had yet to shatter on the floor before Vessimir had rounded on the violet eyed woman with fury in his eyes like none Geralt had ever seen. 

The whole of the dining hall was holding their breath, waiting for the explosion to come.

King Vessimir whispered but one word, “Disappear.”

The woman glared daggers at Geralt as she waved her hand, stepping through a portal into nothing. He stared after her for a long time, having never witnessed manipulated magic up close and if he were honest with himself, he was a bit dazed.

As his father explained and apologized Geralt simply tilted his head in confusion, slowly putting the pieces together in his shock.

“Your sword, it was mine. You must forgive me, I believed a lie. I beg you.”

Geralt nodded, “You have a state to protect.”

Vessimir grasped him by his shoulders, “No, I have to protect you.”

Geralt smiled, endeared by the old king’s sudden saccharine sentiments, “I’m no boy anymore, you shouldn’t worry.”

As the rest of the guests at the banquet began to resume conversation Vessimir guided Geralt to a window overlooking the beautiful city that he would now be calling home, “So I’ve heard.  I would have thought your mother would raise you to be more merciful.”

Geralt eyed the ground, “Mercy for one who has killed so many and would kill again isn’t really mercy.” His voice was smaller than he would like, but after all these years of imagining his father, well he hadn’t expected a criticism of his ethics. 

“Good.” Vessimir nodded, leaning against the edge of the window, “We can work on your tone, but that’s a good start.”

A tentative smile took over Geralt’s face, “Work on my tone?”

“If you’re going to rule Athens and defeat Crete, you’ll need to be more assertive. But none of that now,” Vessimir waved a hand and a servant brought two more goblets of wine, “Now, I want to get to know my son.”

-

The following months were filled with lessons, from Vessimir’s top generals in battle strategy and formal combat, from a matronly maid in etiquette and the cultural customs of the port city, and from Vessimir himself in diplomacy. Geralt was thrilled at first, ready to prove himself worthy, but the routine slowly lost its shine. Eskel and Lambert were no doubt excellent fighters and leaders, but there were only so many ways to disarm someone with every weapon in the royal arsenal, and they were running out of challenges for the boy. If that’s what you could call him anymore. With regular meals, unlike during his travels, and the way his trainers pushed him he was starting to look more worthy of his Olympian heritage and place at the throne. 

He stood by his father’s side and paid careful attention to all of his meetings, every last one. Even the ones at dawn after a night of drinking with Eskel and Lambert. 

He sat on a stool, a step down from the platform where his father’s throne was carved out of stone as he observed the nobles bringing their worries, reports, and complaints to the king from the outskirts of the territory. The large amphitheater was teeming with men ready to share their opinion. Geralt found that rarely did anyone bring something that really needed fixing, just listening was usually enough to soothe their egos. It was all rather mundane now, Geralt could mouth the words his father would say before they filled the air, until the last representative. 

"My king, the spring is approaching, will we allow Crete to take our children yet again?”

Geralt’s brows knit together, eyes darting between the man and his father as they spoke.

Vessimir wiped a hand over his face, looking ten years older in an instant, “We don't have a navy that could even begin to challenge Crete’s. We have no choice.”

The gathered crowd erupted in shouts of outrage, only silenced when Vessimir stood, “It is the life of fourteen, or the life of the nation. Which will you surrender?”

There was more yelling, this time between a select few delegates, but Geralt ignored it and leaned to his right, lowering his voice so only Eskel could hear him. 

“What does he mean ‘the life of fourteen’?”

Eskel frowned, “He hasn’t told you?”

Geralt glared at him, waiting for an explanation.

“King Minos’ son was killed at the games a good twenty or so years back, so as penance he takes fourteen virgins from us every nine years. Seven men, seven women, and feeds them to his bastard Minotaur.” Eskel glanced over Geralt’s shoulder at the king, a look of worry clear on his face. 

“I thought the Minotaur was just a story, a parable of Crete’s barbaric nature.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow, not impressed by Geralt's literary analysis, “It’s no tale. It's as real as the ground under your feet, and it plays with its food.”

Geralt whipped his head back around to his father in time to catch his words, “There is no voting on war because of the brashness of your grandfather Letus, tread lightly. Until we have a reasonable plan of action all we can do is submit!"

Before he knew what his legs were doing Geralt was standing and shouting, "I'll go! Send me father! I'll kill the beast and return!" 

Cheers erupted from the crowd but Geralt only cared about his father's reaction and Vessimir was still as stone. For a moment Geralt worried for his heart, then Vessimir gripped his arm and leaned in with a panicked look on his face, "You are my only son, I will not send you to your death." He growled. 

Geralt felt a fire rising in his chest, "Your people are forced to send their children unwillingly yet when yours volunteers you're exempt? Does that seem fair to you?"

Vessimir’s grip tightened, nails digging into Geralt's arm, "Doesn't matter. You are the only heir. I can't risk the stability of the government."

Geralt stepped closer, making sure to stand at his full height, "Then you do not believe in me? In the power and blessings of Posiden that courses through me?" 

Vessimir snarled but said nothing. Surely not used to being challenged, especially not so publicly, about his devotion to the gods. 

Geralt lowered his voice, "I will go. I will free Athens as is my destiny, and I will come back to you unharmed." Geralt gripped his father's arm, and nearly pleaded, "I cannot sit idly by, you know I can't." 

Vessimir's eyes softened ever so slightly as he released his grip, "I should have known your mother would raise a stubborn man." 

Geralt grinned, "She said I got that from you." 

The amphitheater had gone quiet, all eyes on the king and this strange new prince. 

"Geralt will go." Vessimir sighed, clapping a hand on his son's shoulder. The crowd cheered in earnest this time and Geralt soaked it all in, their hope and elation. Vessimir raised a hand for silence and continued, "Now tell me, scholars and strategists, how will we bring him back alive?"

__________

part 2 here!

[anonymouslyangsty]

What do you think Assassin!Taka would do if he figured out how much his grandfather was manipulating him? Also, what do you think of an alternative Assassin!Taka where his first kill was his grandfather?

Very good question and very good concept.

Minor derailment for a sec (i swear it's relevant), but let's talk about Takaaki and Toranosuke in this au.

(warning, it ended up not being 'a sec'. I bolded the part where I ACTUALLY start talking about your question)

I feel like Torano's downfall was a bit of a slippery slope. He needed to gain some momentum before he went to murder and child grooming, as ya do. And I think the major step towards extreme corruption came through Takaaki.

I feel like those two have a rather tense relationship early on in the au. Takaaki knows that some of his father's dealings are fishy. Perhaps not criminal at that point, but not exactly clean either.

But Takaaki is still human. He's got a wife and young son to care for. If his father's slimy actions got out, they'd ruin the Ishimaru name. Plus, he isn't hurting anyone, right? So Takaaki leaves it alone.

That kind of dismissal only lasts for so long however, especially when you're as honest as Takaaki. Eventually, he's not going to be able to turn a blind eye, even if acting puts himself and his family at risk.

Perhaps Torano does something that goes a bit too far, that actually hurts people and ruins lives. Takaaki wouldn't be able to stand for it and, even if he cares about his father, he isn't going to deny his duties as an officer because of it.

But I think that Takaaki would make the critical mistake of trusting the goodness in his father just a BIT too much. He thinks he can talk sense into Torano, get him to change his ways without ruining his whole career. All Takaaki does is give him ample warning.

Torano cares about his son. Takaaki is a decent man, hardworking and honest. But he'll be damned if he lets his soft heart get in his way and ruin his legacy. So when Takaaki threatens to release info on Torano's illegal activities, he knows he has to keep his son quiet.

Toranosuke is very careful with how he does it. He can't just kill the man. If Takaaki shared his suspicions with anyone, his sudden death would be damning.

So he does the next best thing. Torano gets Takaaki declared clinically insane and locked in an asylum. He weaves this detailed, damning story, bribing as many people as he needs to to create a false narrative. Takaaki attacked him in his office, spouting conseracy theories and accusing him of murder!

Toranosuke deeply cares for his son, so he obviously wouldn't send him away unless it was for his own good, right? And if Takaaki's wife suddenly finds herself overwhelmed with life under the camera's eye, well. What kind of grandfather would Toranosuke be if he didn't care for Taka while his mother was away visiting family? He's just looking out for his family after all.

So that's all to say that Takaaki is alive in this au, locked away from crimes he didn't commit. After so long of being told he's insane, he slowly begins to believe it. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, seeing crimes where there weren't any. Maybe he had overreacted. Did he attack his father? He didn't recall doing so, but there was video evidence, so it has to be true.

It takes years for Takaaki to be deemed sane. By that point, he's convinced himself that he really had made up all those accusations. Taka's already gone at this stage, off training for his grandfather's purposes. But Takaaki thinks he's just off at boarding school.

Now I'll get to the point of this 'little' tangent. I think Takaaki's the one who proves to Taka that he's being used. Takaaki's an officer, likely far higher in standing than in canon. So it's plausible that he'd be employed to investigate a string of strange deaths that's caught the eye of a few officials.

It would be quite interesting for Takaaki to realize that the 'string' of murders is actually far longer than they'd realized. It'd be even more interesting for him to realize that his son is the one behind the deaths.

Takaaki is a father first and an officer second. There's no way he'll allow his son to take the fall, especially not once it becomes clear that Torano placed him into the role. Takaaki would absolutely try to make his son see reason, which means making him see that he's being used.

Okay NOW I'll actually get to the point.

If Taka found out he was being used by his grandfather...Well it sure wouldn't be a pretty sight. We already know how Taka responds to his world being destroyed: denial, unresponsiveness, and manic behavior. That's how he responded upon learning that a guy he was friends with for 3 days was a killer.

Assassin!Taka doesn't see himself as a murderer. He sees himself as an executioner, dealing out capital justice to those who abuse their power. He kills those that are irredeemable, who harm others without any empathy.

But if that was all a life, if he was working for the corrupt rather than against...He'd be just as bad as the corruption he sought to destroy. He'd be a murderer.

Put that revelation onto the realization that the man who raised him since his parents left, the man he looked up to as the pinnacle of greatness, is himself corrupt. Has himself committed the same crimes Taka killed to stop. That Taka was nothing but a tool for that corruption.

Literally everything that Taka is in this au would be a lie. He's not killing for justice, his mindset isn't the correct path, his grandfather isn't fighting for justice.

I honestly think Taka would have an extreme, violent response to that revelation. He'd see both himself and his grandfather as irreparably tainted, absolutely dripping in the blood of the innocent. And Taka has known no means of removing such blots on human society but to personally wipe them out. So that's exactly what he go out to do.

Now I'm thinking about Taka and Takaaki hunting down Torano for some vigilante justice. All while Takaaki subtly tries to convince his son not to kill both Torano AND himself. It would be very hard for Takaaki to convince Taka that he was a victim of his grandfather, and not equally as guilty.

(this is also making me think of an au where Taka's hired by the FBI for his skills in a Black Widow situation)

Speaking of that, let's get to the "Taka's first kill is his grandfather" au.

The first and biggest question is: who the heck puts Taka up to it? It would not be easy. I'm thinking that, in the normal Assassin!Taka au, Torano spends YEARS grooming Taka into accepting killing. Nobody else would have that kind of extended access to Taka except his parents.

...

Except his parents. I'm literally having ideas as I type this. New idea! I'm going to make Taka's mom relevant (and evil)! Also I'm calling her Nori because I just need a name.

Perhaps Takaaki's marriage was arranged for political reasons more than love. He had to marry wealthy, and ended up marrying the daughter of a wealthy businessman.

And that's a very useful position, isn't it? Nori is in a perfect place to learn the intimate details of the Ishimaru family. She can learn what little squabbles the family has amongst one another, what weaknesses there are, anything she could need.

Her parents are well acquainted with several politicians, all of whom are more than willing to act in favor of her family's company. All of whom are itching to become Prime Minister.

So a plan is made to leave the position of PM vacant. Assassinate Takaaki, frame Torano, get someone who'll act in favor of the company in control. Maybe throw in some Yakuza connections for flavor.

Nori is nothing if not a good actor. So when a bullet comes through a window during a banquet, going straight through Takaaki's skull and spraying the table with blood, she acts just like you'd expect a loving wife to. The event falls into chaos instantly, guards swarming the area. And little Taka, who'd been so excited to wear his new suit to the event, has to be dragged away from his father.

Nori's job at this point is to act the part of the mournful wife, suddenly finding herself a single mother. She also is tasked with beginning the rumor mill, whispering of the animosity her poor late husband and his father had for one another. How she's afraid that Toranosuke is somehow involved and, if she isn't careful, will act against her and Taka.

Somehow Taka ends up hearing about it. And well, Taka isn't the type to hide his feelings as a teenager, and he certainly doesn't do it as a child. It's an unexpected complication to the plan. Taka isn't going to just let the rumor float about. He's ready to go straight to his grandfather and demand answers, which would ruin everything.

They could kill the child, it wouldn't be terribly hard. But perhaps Nori has some attachment to him, even if she knows he was only born as a prop for her role. The only other option is to make him part of the plan.

Why frame Toranosuke for murder when you can convince his grandchild that he's a horrible man? A man so powerful that even the law can't touch him? A man so powerful that only someone truly dedicated to justice can bring him down?

It isn't hard to convince Taka to poison his grandfather. The hardest part is training him to hide his anger long enough to get the job done.

So now Nori has made way for a business partner to become Prime Minister, and she's created a hitman for the company. Taka would be a much more loyal assassin than simple money could buy. He's got a vendetta against corruption and a tarnished faith in the justice system. And Nori is in the perfect position to direct his righteous anger towards those that 'deserve it'. And if her definition of who deserves death is different than Taka's? Well, he doesn't need to know that.

[satsuma-saturn]

Why Do I Love You? - Asmodeus x Reader

A/N: I’ve been writing this for way too fucking long lmao. I’ve never written smut before, so this isn’t the best, but I tried. It’s also been a hot min since I’ve posted a fic. Hope y’all enjoy. Requests are also still open, if anyone’s interested.

WC: 2215

Warning(s): nsfw content, oral sex (m), angst (ya gotta squint to see it lmao), slightly graphic details of violence (no actual violence), slight description of the feeling of drowning, but no actual drowning.

fic below the cut .3.

Love is a dangerous game, especially the kind of love where you feel as though your lungs are filling with water, your chest being crushed from pressure. Still, love can make you feel alive, reviving and bringing new life to you. Call it a gamble, a game of chance. Many avoid love, not wanting to play a game they’re gonna lose.

Asmodeus has been alive for so long that he doesn’t even remember how long he’s been in existence. Over the course of his long life, he has had many lovers, who have all come and gone at one point or another. Yet, with each and every one of those lovers, it wasn’t love, but lust. The demon is well versed and knowledgeable with the concept of lust, being the Avatar of Lust. It’s all he knows. Of course, he’s okay with it, as he doesn’t need to love anyone to be adored by all. In fact, it’s not something he often thinks about, since he is the Avatar of Lust, not the Avatar of Love. Everyone will love him no matter what he says or does. At least, that’s what he believed. Was it possible for anyone to not grovel at his feet, lusting after him? Often, he finds himself reassuring himself that, no, it was not possible for someone to not love him. He is perfect.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, of course he was intrigued. New blood, someone he could add to his body count, so to speak. It had been quite a while since he’d been in contact with a human, other than Solomon, the shady sorcerer. Frustration consumed him as he learned that the human isn’t susceptible to his Charm, which is known to charm even the strongest-willed witches and wizards. How can an ordinary human with no magic whatsoever remain unaffected by his Charm? Still, it’s never deterred him. He is known to be persistent, and won’t stop until he can get the human in his bed and gain their affection. The human is realistic, honest with him. Something he isn’t used to. Everyone has always been so quick to shower him with praise, complimenting his face, fashion, body, skills in bed, whatever. They don’t worship him, unlike his partners in the past. Despite that, he always finds himself wanting to hear the human’s thoughts and opinions on everything about him.

Butterflies fill his stomach at the thought of the human, something he isn’t sure he’s felt before. Why should he care about someone who doesn’t think he’s the best creature in existence? When the human disagrees with him, he finds himself getting frustrated, throwing makeup brushes and lotion bottles around his room. When he calms down, he reluctantly picks them up, wanting to keep his room immaculate, but not wanting to actually clean his own mess. Yet, he keeps going back to them, only for them to be swept away by one of his meddling brothers, Mammon in particular? He doesn’t understand why they would want to even be in the presence of that greedy scumbag. Too many times, he’s had to complain to Lucifer about some of his more expensive skin or hair care products going missing.

Placing his hand on the table next to the human, he leans toward them with a small grin on his face. Their eyebrows raise in a question, as if asking what do you want? He’s getting to that. Be patient, human. “So, I went shopping with Mammon the other day and I bought tons of new lotions and oils. I was wondering if you wanted to try them with me? Of course you do, what am I saying? Who wouldn’t want an excuse to hang out with me?” With a small sigh that he chooses to ignore, they stand up to follow him to his room. Excited, he practically skips to his room, the human in tow.

Upon reaching his room, he wraps his fingers around the doorknob and pulls it open, stepping inside to sit on his bed. The human follows, shutting the door behind them. “Oh?~ Naughty human,” he says, a glint of mischief in his eyes. They just sigh and settle on the bed, not too far, but not close enough. That’s okay, he’ll just close the distance. Scooting over, he reaches over to his nightstand, where he had set his lotions in preparation for the human arriving home from Hell’s Kitchen, where they’d gone with Beel.

“You’re annoying,” they say, rolling their eyes at him.

“Ah, but you love it~” He coos, snapping open the lid of one of the many lotions, squeezing a dollop of the cream into his hand. “C’mere.” The demon gestures to the human, rubbing the lotion onto their skin when they oblige. “This lotion will make your skin so soft~ And it makes you smell absolutely delicious~” His voice drips with seduction, tempting the human to let their guard down. To let him in.

“It does smell pretty good,” they admit, watching Asmodeus massage their hands with his slender fingers. A fanged smile appears on the demon’s face as he works, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on their palms. Once he’s finished, he lets go of their hands, reaching for the lotion bottle once more. Maybe it’s some Devildom magic, but the lotion seems to be working immediately, the human notes to themselves, feeling the soft flesh of their hands.

Humming, Asmodeus massages the lotion into his own hands, watching the human out of the corner of his eye. Just watching them, he feels the urge to pounce on them, ‘helping’ them give into their darkest desires. Unfortunately for him, his Charm doesn’t seem to have an effect on them, which is irritating, to say the least. What made them so powerful that they, an ordinary human being, could resist the temptation of the Avatar of Lust? He was curious, really. Curious to crack open their head and discover what’s inside. Amongst the blood and brain matter, he was sure to find something. The source of their power, maybe. Though he would never actually hurt the human, just the thought of the sickening crack of a skull got him excited, his pants becoming a little too tight. No, he could never hurt them. They mean too much to him. Hell, he can even go as far as saying that he loves them.

“Dude, what the fuck?” The human’s voice draws him from his reverie. Their eyes are a little too focused on his growing erection, he notices. “Are you getting hard from putting on lotion?’

“No. I just love you so much~,” he croons, his tone dark, sending a shiver down the human’s spine. Was the shiver from fear from his sudden mood change, or was it lust? His question is soon answered when the human slides off the bed, slipping in between his legs. They look so pretty on their knees, though it isn’t too often that he gets to see them in that position. The sight excites him.

Looking down at the human kneeling between his legs, he runs his fingers through their hair, as they rest their hands on his clothed thighs. His breath catches in his throat as he stares down at them, their eager eyes shining brightly back at him. Pink eyes follow the human’s hands as it inches closer to his crotch. He swallows thickly as their fingers latch onto the zipper of his pants, pulling it down, all while making eye contact with him. Their eyes are darkened with lust. For some reason, he feels a sudden pang of anxiety, but the routine is the same as it always is. The human notices and pauses, their eyes filling with concern.

“Are you okay, Asmo?” They ask, their voice soft, filling him with a new warmth.

Shaking his head, he swallows again and replies, “No, it’s okay. You can keep going.” As an afterthought, he adds another sentence to his reply, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I want to.” Their eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting...strange.”

His signature grin creeps onto his face. Is he okay? No. Is he going to pretend that he is? Yes. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re always so concerned about me,” he says, a giggle bubbling from his throat as his manicured fingers brush the human’s cheek. “And I’m not strange! You’re so cruel to me!” A fake pout spread across his lips as he teased the human seated between his legs.

He squeals as the human smacks his inner thigh. “I’m not cruel. You’re just sensitive.” They stick out their tongue at him and he goes to bite it, but they’re quick to reel it back in. “Don’t bite me, you toad.”

“C’mon,” he whines. “Just do what you came here to do and suck me off! I need you right now~” He palms himself through his pants, impatient.

“You’re so whiny,” they remark, smacking his hands away so that they can pull down his pants. He huffs, but doesn’t reply, just closing his eyes instead. Once his pants are down, he feels their hands on him, feeling him through his boxers. A small groan escapes his lips as he opens his eyes to look down at them. They're just a simple human. How could they have enraptured him in the manner that they did? The demon of Lust, pinned under the thumb of a weak, powerless human.

Grinning up at him, they shimmy his boxers down his legs, allowing his hardened cock to spring free from its confinements. A bead of precum oozes from the reddened tip. The human swipes their thumb along the demon’s slit, collecting the precum on the digit. They lick their thumb, looking him in the eyes the whole time. He shudders, the human’s actions exciting him.

Slowly, they lick along his length, starting from the base, slicking it in their saliva. They’ve barely done anything, but he’s putty in their hands, twitching and groaning softly. “You’re so sensitive,” they say, pausing their ministrations to blow on his tip, feeling a shudder wrack through his body. He bucks his hips lightly as they wrap their lips around his tip, giving it a soft suck. Annoyed, they pull away, sitting back on their heels.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be a good boy, I promise!” He whines, trying to slip his cock back between their lips.They’re stubborn, though, and seal their lips shut. “C’mon~ Please?” Seeing that they’re not going to give in so easily, he pulls back, starting to stroke himself, using the human’s drying saliva and his own precum as a lubricant. His hand slides up and down the length of his cock with ease and he can see the human in front of him, watching.

After watching him for a few seconds, they nudge his hand away, replacing it with their own. Asmodeus whimpers softly as their hand glides along his length. The whimpers turn to moans when they start teasing his slit with their tongue. Warmth encases his cock as the human takes him in their mouth, sucking as they slide more of him into their mouth. His hips buck again, and he can feel the human gagging and trying to keep his hips still. Their gagging just turns him on more, making him want to fuck their mouth until he cums. Yet doesn’t, allowing them to keep control of the situation. He’ll be the perfect pillow prince for them. Maybe they’ll even fuck him, if he’s a good boy.

His fingers comb through their hair as they suck him off, gently pulling them further down his cock, feeling their throat clench around the intrusion. They gag again, focusing on breathing through their nostrils. He isn’t going to last long, he can feel it. Their throat is just so warm and tight.

Not too long after, he reaches his breaking point, spilling down their throat without warning. They pull away, wiping saliva and cum off their face. He stares silently at them for a few seconds, before grabbing them and pulling them up towards his bed. His human is so beautiful and he wants to show them how much he loves them, but they pull away, shaking their head.

“No, this isn’t about me. I just wanted to help you out,” they explain, making their way to the door. “This lotion smells really nice, by the way.” The door opens and Asmodeus starts to speak, causing them to pause briefly in the doorway, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“I love you,” he says. His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said, but it’s too late to take it back.

“I love you too, Asmodeus,” they reply, shutting the door behind him. Their response stuns him into silence, though he wants to call them back in.

But why do I love you?, he wonders to himself. Why now? After centuries of only loving himself, why does he love someone else? Loving someone else adds unnecessary complications to his life. For his whole existence, he’s worn his heart on his cheek, not on his sleeve. The bitter taste of defeat lingers in his mouth as he stares at his door that the human had just left through.

[whyamiherewhosummonedme]

Tell me about Sam. The dude who is awesam. What's his deal

-Blocksandbloops

Say no more, Blocks. Say no more.

- He is very much not human. There are two design ideas I have, one being that he looks mostly human but with green hair and a gasmask (the anime design) and the other being that he is covered entirely in mottled green fur and has a mouth shaped somewhat like a cat's but filled with teeth like an anglerfish. Both designs are creeper centaurs, however, because that is simply Too Badass of a design to NOT use.

- Sam really only ever uses one weapon, and it's his trident. Firstly, it's useful for more than just fighting, as he can use it to move avross the server faster than anyone else wwho doesn't have a trident. Secondly, a trident can be both thrown for long-range and used for fighting close-range, meaning that he only ever has to carry one weapon instead of multiple. Third, given how freaking tall he is (dwarfing pretty much everyone else on the server given that most are human and not gigantic creeper hybrids), he needs a long weapon just to be able to reach that far down, which a trident is great for. Fourth and arguably most important, he IS a creeper, and holding a trident enchanted with Channeling 'charges' him, making him faster, stronger, and tougher by far. No need for a beacon when you're carrying a trident.

- Why he is more intelligent than the rest of his brethren, has arms, and can respawn is mostly dependent on what story fits best, but I like to think that he was a small creeper that a baby Dream accidentally made a player before he had any handle on his powers and was subsequently raised by very confused adoptive parents. Who are those parents? I dunno, make it up

- He can explode. Under normal circumstances his explosions are stronger than normal creepers (being around the same strength as TNT), and when he's charged via Channeling Trident, that explosion size/power doubles. He respawns after he explodes, of course, but he hates doing it for various reasons, including but not limited to it feeling too similar to sui/cide.

- Sam has pharyngeal jaws (basically a second set of extendable jaws that come from the throat). It is physically impossible for him to talk while eating, because he has to chew and swallow with his second set of jaws extended. It freaks most humans out, which is why he usually eats only with people he knows and trusts.

- Sam definitely feels most at home with the Badlands, as they're his oldest friends and none of them are completely human. However, he feels somewhat conflicted on some of their founding ideals. Gaining more power on the server was cool, yeah, but did people really need to die for it? Not to mention the whole issue with the Crimson and the entire rest of the Badlands essentially being consumed by it. He sticks with them, of course, but lately he's been spending more and more time with Dream and Punz and even Tubbo.

- Sam sucks at making potions. He's terrible at it. He knows the recipes, sure, that's not nearly as complicated as the redstone circuitry he does on a daily basis, but brewing stands are so small and fragile that he keeps accidentally breaking them. Not to mention that he's always covered in redstone dust no matter how much he swims through the ocean, meaning that it's not uncommon for some to get into the brewing stand before it's meant to and mess up the entire potion. Eventually, he just got other people to make potions for him.

- Sam's eyes (whether he's humanoid or full creeper) are completely black without a visible iris or sclera. However, if he's feeling extremely emotional (whether that be happy, angry, sad, etc), his eyes will start to glow red, starting from the middle and spreading outwards the more emotional he is. It makes for a terrifying sight when he's pissed off and hissing, but also an unnerving one when he's excited as hell. Sam hates that he scares people even when he's happy, but it's not anything he can change.

- Sam has a short little duck-like tail. It wags. Everyone agrees that it's cute.

- This creeper man really just hates fighting in general. It's too bloody and painful and cruel. So he tries to be kind to everyone on the server, no matter who they are or what they've done. This includes Dream and Punz, who he's begun to side with more and more after Dream explained that all he wanted was to end all wars on the server. It made sense. Besides, Dream was his close friend, and so was Punz, and while George and Sapnap and Tubbo and Tommy all argued that they were the bad guys, they were also less rational than Dream and Punz tended to be, he knew. Sam values relationality and doing the thing that will be best in the long run rather than be the most immediately gratifying, so siding with the two that he knows think the most like him only makes sense. Not to mention the mkney he's getting out of it.

- And oh, the money. While he doesn't openly flex his riches like Punz does, Sam does greatly value material goods. The dude walks around wearing nothing but golden armor and a crown made of pure gold and emeralds, gives people expensive tools for free, and mentions the sheer number of tridents he has pretty regularly. It may not be as obvious as Punz, but he does like to flex his wealth. Can't blame a guy for taking what he can get, y'know.

- He's a very touchy person. If you are someone rhat he cares about and have expressed that you're okay with it, you WILL be getting clung to whenever he's around. Friendly hair ruffles and shoulder pats, sudden hugs and soft cuddles... Yeah, it's pretty great. If you stay near Sam long enough, you WILL end up using him as a pillow, whether you intend to or not, and that's just the way he likes it to be.

- Some more tomorrow most likely if people like these enough, Sam is a great dude and we all love him, he deserves all the recognition

[sewnblade]

The Manslayer

A/N HI GUYS.... this is new for me. mainly just doing this to have an outlet for my self indulgent bullshit. <3  might do a few chapters of this but IDK??

TW: anything you’d see on peaky blinders is game. nothing graphic happens in this at all, but references to murder, parent death and abuse. 

 Humans- real ones- wouldn't conduct themselves this way.

Wouldn’t have had to be locked away, thrashing and cursing, in his office. Wouldn’t be passed out on the firm oak top of his desk, curled up with stocking feet, muddied on the bottom, torn, drooping over the side.

But here you are. Whiskey still acrid on your lips, the ghost of a cigarette stale on the back of your tongue. What does that make you?

Papers, ledgers and notes, a mess beneath you. He wouldn’t be happy. The drunken spectacle itself was frustrating, but not unheard of. Not remotely unheard of, for anyone in his life. But you know how he feels about the sanctity of his space, and how he’d deal with almost anybody else invading it like this.

Though- to be fair- it had been Polly that had turned the key.

There, unconscious and blessedly quiet, your mind passes through dim, malformed memories, watching them like a picture show someone has made of your past without having lived it. The villains laughable and overacting, the blood made of syrup and wine. In one of them, Tommy even shows up in time.

That’s out of place enough to wake you up.

Raising heavy eyelids, you can make out the flash of a lighter before you can piece together the man behind it. He’s sitting as he so often is- somehow at once slouching and as poised as a Greek statue, a sullen boy hewn in marble and timeless. Taking in the measure of you, of your state- and God, it is a state- he huffs through his nose and swirls his whiskey. “We’re going to have this conversation again, are we?” he drawls around his cigarette, a slight strain in his voice as he leans forward to pull a crumpled sheet of paper free from beneath your knee.

His tone is unreadable.

“Wh’time is it?” you dodge, making a show of propping yourself up on one arm, rubbing your eyes.

He doesn’t answer at first, taking a drag, but after a moment his half-lidded gaze finally turns to the side, towards the shop, and he motions similarly with his glass. “Well, late enough they’ve all fucked off, if that’s your worry.”

“It’s not,” you snipe back.

Unfazed, Tommy closes his eyes and raises his eyebrows for a moment in what is as close to a shrug as you’re likely to get. As much as you care about him- as much as you should feel comfortable around those eyes- every time they close there’s a flood of relief. A moment of shelter in a torrential wind that batters you, fights its way into the gaps in your coats and your stockings. Makes you turn your head away, squint your eyes so hard you can’t see where you’re going anymore. “You staying up there, then?” he asks, his demeanour not altogether unfriendly.

“Well,” you venture, finally sitting up, “every moment I’m up here is a moment you’ve got to talk to me.” A little grin, almost too small to notice, and you test the waters. “I’m sat on your numbers.”

He acknowledges you with a lazy ‘hmmh’ of agreement and leans back in his seat again. “You’ve cut all your hair off,” he observes, as though he hadn’t seen it the second he walked in. As though Arthur hadn’t barked the knowledge at him when he’d discovered you taking up as a working girl. The last time Tommy had seen your hair it was long and coveted, thick, softened with oils and pulled into a long, loose plait. Now, chopped blunt below your cheekbones, the curls hang in your eyes and do as they please.

“That's right,” you agree, trying not to sound defensive. “Men recognising me was bad for business. No one wants to fuck a—“ you catch yourself, and risk a quick look at him. Somehow, even perched on his desk with him sprawled in his chair beneath you, you’re still looking up at him. The incongruity leaves you a bit dizzy. “-well. Get a reputation as a manslayer,” you spit that word out like a mouthful of blood halfway through a boxing match, “and suddenly the men go shy.”

There is a flash of something old and scarred-over in his morning-mist eyes as they flick back to you, gaining his undivided and unpretentious attention for the first time that night. Christ, for the first time that month. He gestures at you, accusing, with his cigarette. “And I’m not paying you enough to let them stay shy? Is that it?”

You can feel the warm flush creeping up from beneath the collar of your dress, spilt wine leeching through a tablecloth. A beat, and you open your mouth to respond, but the thousand things you want to say to him are withering and retreating under his scrutiny. You’d fought for weeks for him to talk to you straight, and now that you had it, the words were quicksilver through your fingers. Instead, all you can manage is “can I have a drink please, Tom?” It's weak. Tentative.

In one motion, Tommy knocks back the rest of his whiskey, and clinks your glass together with his in pinched fingers to pull them toward the bottle. “From what I hear, it’s the drink that caused all this,” he replies. You’re not sure whether he means the mess you’ve made of his office, or the scene you made in the betting shop, or the state of your life- he’d be right in any instance, but he pours the drink regardless and sets it down again. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way,” he adds. “At the rates I’m giving you, you must be the only whore in Birmingham just doing it for the love of the job.”

You bristle. It was meant to hurt, and it did. “And what other job shall I get, Tom? Ay?” you finally fire back, hands gripping the edge of the table. “No one decent will hire me ‘cause of— ‘cause of what happened, and no one indecent will hire me ‘cause you’ve made it very fucking well known I’m tainted stock, by order of the Peaky fucking Blinders!”

His hand, still holding his cigarette, squeezes between his eyes. “You want for nothing, (Y/N),” he says, his voice tired and straining. You know that catch in his throat- he’s been shouting all day. Shouting, cigarettes, spirits, repeat. If he’s lucky, inhale some gunsmoke and furnace backdraft in between. He could be a baritone with that voice of his, could have sung for crowds. “I’ve seen to it, I’ve fucking seen to it—“ he’s raising his voice now, crescendoing, and you can feel the crowd swelling with him. Then, all of a sudden, he changes tack and the volume of his voice drops. “You don’t need a fucking job, you need to be looked after- and I’ve fucking well done that for the last three years,” he says, seething, and it's almost a complaint. He's trying to get the words out before you can object, and he can see your objection mounting.

Like clockwork, your indignation escapes you in a breathy laugh. “I need to be what?  That’s fucking rich coming from you, Thomas Shelby. The last time I needed to be looked after, you showed up just in time to miss everything. I did it all. All of it.” After it leaves your mouth, tumbling, flooding out, you regret it immediately. It tears at you on its way out, the regretful sting of a honeybee. And as infuriating as it is, you hear your voice wavering, feel your face tightening.

For a moment, Tommy looks at you- really looks at you. Not coolly, not strategising or trying to put you in your place. And you know he can see through you, down to the churning, violent, black void you choke down every day. The dark hollow, the bottomless-sea eyes of someone who has taken human life, someone who has been harmed permanently, someone who walks among humans but is no longer one of them. You know, because when he lets you see it, you can see it straining to escape from the pits of his pupils as well. War had happened to him, being a Blinder had happened to him. Your father had happened to you.

And in return, you had happened to your father.

“So, fine,” he relents, and with a blink he’s managed to obscure the dark portal again. There’s only the frozen, windswept wasteland of his gaze. “You don’t want the money, you don’t have to take it.”

“It’s not about the money, Tom,” you argue, and are loathe to hear it come out in a whine. “It’s about— it’s about trying to live as a ghost in this city. Just an open, needy mouth, a parasite. You're the only people who will talk to me, and even you don't want to talk to me. It’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on me. And I know you loved him, and I know I took him away from you—“

His expression shifts suddenly, and in an instant his hand is lashed around your wrist, the grip so tight and violent you think the bone might snap. “Is that what you think?” he demands, his voice dangerously low, his face close enough that you can taste the whiskey on his breath. “You think I resent you for what happened?”

“Don’t you?” it could very easily have come out sarcastically, and maybe that would have been preferable. Instead, it escapes you in a timid, weak breath that you despise instantly. “I’m the one that did it.”

And for one fleeting instant you catch it- you’re sure of it- pain flashes across his features. It’s gone as quickly as the flicker of a candle flame, but you know what you’ve seen. Those little frames of truth, the ones Polly could read as sure as tea leaves and bad intentions. You know she can, because she saw the dark spirit before anyone else. Warned everyone, warned Tommy. Only he hadn't listened well enough.

Tommy’s grip on your wrist stays, but softens. His thumb traces your pulse, making you very aware of the raucous thudding of your heart. His eyes, those February wind-storm eyes, fixate on you- and even though you can feel the intensity of what it means when Tommy Shelby gives you his attention, the power of it no longer buffets you and stings your eyes and lips.  “Listen to me, (Y/N). Killing in self defence is not a sin, and I am not St. fucking Peter.” And just like that, the edge is gone from his voice. Because he’s got the measure of you, now.

You'd wanted to be an animal, a beast, a frenetic and untameable creature- because Tommy had more time and more patience for beasts than for men. What you hadn't anticipated- and you fucking should have, you little fool- was that the reason Tommy preferred the company of animals was that they fell under his spell without messy complication. After all, wasn't that the reason he'd spent all those afternoons as a boy helping at the stables with your father? Couldn't those hands, capable of such brutality and such violence, settle calm as warm sunlight against the sides of a horse's muzzle? Didn't every horse, whether wounded or ornery or spooked find something other humans couldn't explain in that cut-marble face and those December storm eyes?

He is taking you by the muzzle and blowing short puffs. You're nothing more than a mare causing trouble at the far end of the stable. Rattling her stall doors. And he knows how to settle you.

And it's working.

Your other hand finds its way to his grip on you, tentatively settling over his own. “You've done so much for me, Tom,” you admit finally. “I don't want you to think it's ingratitude, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate you. I just- I want to feel like I- I dunno, I guess-”

As you fumble for words, you can feel his hand squeezing your wrist gently, reassuringly. “Like you're doing something to earn it,” he finishes, looking lazily across the room. He isn't really talking to you, you know- just thinking out loud, as he so often is.

“Like I'm of use to someone,” you correct him gently.

His head doesn't turn, expression doesn't budge even a tic, but his eyes come back to meet you. “And you want to be of use to me, ay?” he asks, still calm- but you can sense the whisper of a warning dancing beneath his words. “Have you even the faintest idea what can happen to people who agree to be of use to me?”

Scooting forward, you ease yourself off his desk, just leaning against it now, and find yourself occupying the position between his spread legs. Retrieving the bottle from where he'd set it a few minutes ago, you set it to his glass with a faint clink and refill it. He's silent, appraising again, but you can see that little glimmer of a laugh in his eyes. Where he kept it locked away, along with the other parts of himself that slowed him down.

Finally, you tilt your head like you'd been considering the answer. You hadn't- you knew it all along. “You let them?”

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 4)

Summary: Roman and the White Witch make their move. Then the Witch makes her move. Then Roman makes his.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Nothing serious, some descriptions of mild sick feelings

Word Count: 2614

Read on AO3: here

Aslan, the Great Lion, son of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea...the true and ultimate King of Narnia...loped westward across the ocean, the deep rose light of pre-dawn at his back, bounding over the swells as if they were grassy hills. The spray did not even dampen his mighty paws. He was very near his destination, occasionally leaping or dodging floating chunks of ice that had broken off from the freeze that gripped Narnia. They tended to melt as he passed—indeed, a careful observer would have noticed that a span of water around the Lion was tinted a pleasant blue-green, contrasting sharply with the dismal, wintry gray of the rest.

The time was near. Very soon, Narnia would be liberated from its oppressor.

Aslan was within sight of the shore, running over whitecaps. Another half-minute or so and he would be on the beach...but someone was approaching from the north, skimming over the water on an enchanted ice floe. He recognized his old enemy, Jadis the White Witch, the very one he was there to oust from the land...and she was accompanied...

...by a Son of Adam. The young man was richly dressed and held aloft a faceted stone the color of iron or tarnished lead. The Witch wielded her wand. When they were scarcely a stone's throw from Aslan, the human shouted “Now!” and the two of them began to chant:

“Dragon smoke and harpy’s shriek

What was mighty, now is weak

Pluck the mane and quell the roar

Let Narnia have her King no more!”

This they repeated thrice, circling Aslan on their makeshift watercraft. The Lion roared with dismay as a golden nimbus coalesced around him, pulsating and coruscating, and then was drawn off and toward the young man. Honey-colored light flowed into the strange gem, and Aslan appeared to shrink into himself. A wave crashed over him as the two enemies completed their spell.

Jadis and Roman rode the ice floe back to the shore. “How will we know if it worked?” said the White Witch.

“Take a look, Your Majesty,” said Roman, holding up the gem, which had lost its dullness and taken on the clarity and fire of a diamond. Nor was it any longer cold to the touch.

“I cannot touch it, you know,” she said. “Even so contained, that power would burn me alive. He is my opposite in every way. And you guarantee that he is now too weak to do us harm of himself?”

“Judge for yourself,” Roman said, pointing back toward the sea. Some small creature was feebly paddling through the cold gray waves, barely staying afloat amid the breakers. Just as the dawn broke, the tumbling waves deposited it on the sand, where it staggered to its feet, sneezed, shook off a coating of seafoam...and was a cat. A tawny long-haired tomcat, looking perfectly ridiculous as drenched as it was, mewling piteously. It didn't have the strength to run away when the pair approached.

“It would not have worked if he had made landfall first,” Roman said. “The soil of Narnia bolsters him.”

The White Witch raised her wand. “And now the stone of Narnia will be one with him.”

“Wait!” Roman barked. The Witch turned a furious glare upon him. “A slain enemy cannot feel the humiliation of its defeat,” Roman explained. He lunged, caught the cat by the scruff of its neck, and lifted it to his eye level. “We'll cage him back at the castle. And when we tire of him...I think a public petrifaction would send an irrefutable message to your subjects.”

The Witch's eyes widened ever so slightly and she almost smiled. “You have an admirable understanding of these matters, Prince Roman.”

Roman brought the cat right up to his face. “Is this villainous enough for you?” he muttered.

“Roman,” the cat said in the unmistakable deep, regal voice of Aslan, “what have you done?”

Roman recoiled as if bitten, and the cat twisted in his grasp, slashing at his hand with unsheathed claws. Roman lost his hold; the cat dropped awkwardly to the sand and took off like a shot, straight up the beach to the shelter of the scrubby shore plants. They lost sight of him within seconds...but not before Roman noticed that the frost in a very small circle around the animal vanished, only to return after he moved on. He carried a tiny sliver of spring with him.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon,” said the Witch in a clipped tone. She strode up to Roman and slapped his face, and her strength was such that he spun off his feet. “FOOL! You let him escape!”

Roman waited a moment for his ears to stop ringing before he even ventured to sit up. “Madam,” he panted, “will you treat me so discourteously?”

“I will treat you however I please. I am Queen. Do not delude yourself that this is a partnership of equals. Now get up. We have to intercept these 'friends' of yours.”

Roman felt a little flutter of fear for his fellow Sides. “Is that really necessary?” he said as he got his feet under him and checked that he still had the gem. He put it in his pocket for safekeeping. “We've won. Aslan can't crown them now. Once he fails to show up at the meeting place, they won't know what to do except go home.”

“Stripped of his power or no, I will take no chances as long as he is free. And our likelihood of capturing him again is miniscule.”

Roman opened his mouth to urge her not to harm them, but thought better of it—with the mood she was in, she would take it as a reason to be crueler. He simply lapsed into silence as the Witch's sleigh caught up with them and they climbed aboard.

“Is it done?” asked her Dwarf driver.

“More or less,” the Witch sighed irritably.

“Home, then, Your Majesty?”

“No—head inland. We must track down the other three Sons of Adam.”

“What does Your Majesty intend with them?” asked the Dwarf, flicking the reins.

“You know...I really have not decided yet. A great deal depends upon Roman's own comportment between now and when we find them.”

Roman closed his eyes as they traveled on, wondering fervently what to do next.

He had to assume the story knew what it was doing. Not because that was the most likely scenario, but because it was his best bet to stay hopeful.

*****************

The weary group crested a hill, looking toward the breaking dawn. From there, nearly the whole eastern basin of Narnia was visible. “There, see?” said Mr. Beaver. “The hill of the Stone Table. That's where we're going. And if you look a little further on, to the coast, you can just make out Cair Paravel, the palace of the true rulers of Narnia. One thing about all this snow—the castle walls stand out a lot better at a distance.”

“But Aslan will bring springtime, right?” Patton said, fluffing the hood of his coat.

“Of course he will, dearie,” said Mrs. Beaver. “We should start seeing the first signs soon enough; he must have arrived in Narnia by now.”

Yet nothing changed for at least two more hours as the party trudged on, through calf-deep snow and freezing gusts. From time to time, wolf howls sounded in the distance: the Witch's enforcers.

They were crossing a broad meadow, out in the open, exposed, when they heard a sudden shriek of triumph, followed by: “There! Three Sons of Adam with the Beavers! Faster!” and a sleigh burst from the edge of the forest off to the side. The White Witch had risen from her seat in her murderous excitement, bracing one hand against the back of the driver's seat while the other held her wand aloft. The reindeer accelerated steadily under the Dwarf's goad, fog streaming from their muzzles.

Beside the Witch, slumped over on the seat, was Roman.

“Run!” shouted Mr. Beaver.

“But...Roman!” said Patton. “We have to rescue him!”

“Nothing we can do right now, dearie!” said Mr. Beaver. “We've got to take cover!”

They fled, but it was utterly useless; the sleigh gained on them by leaps and bounds, whizzing over the snow that they struggled through. Ironically, what saved them in the moment was itself a minor misfortune—Virgil caught his foot on a large fallen branch hidden in the snow and went sprawling, but in the process it came loose and skittered directly into the reindeer's path, forcing them to veer off. Virgil scrambled back to his feet, adrenaline lending him both strength and grace, and though brief, the digression gave the party just enough time to reach the edge of the trees and lose themselves amid the underbrush.

“We have to go back,” Patton whispered frantically, tucked under the boughs of a bush. “For Roman, we have to—”

“Ssh!” Virgil interrupted, a hint of his Tempest Tongue coming through. Crunching footsteps were approaching.

“I will find you all, Sons of Adam,” came the silvery voice of the White Witch. “You cannot hide from me here in my own realm.” Mercifully, she moved away after a moment, and the party took her moment of inattention to scamper into a more distant bit of cover.

But there was no way to be quiet enough, and they soon heard her approaching again, more resolutely. She was going to find them, she was going to kill them (or petrify them, which amounted to the same thing)—

But she didn't. Something else happened instead, something that involved shouting and crackles of magical energy, and then virtual silence.

Five pairs of worried, bewildered eyes met each other in turn. No one dared to speak for a long moment. Then Logan carefully got to his feet and looks around. “It's clear,” he said. “She's gone.”

“Gone where?” asked Virgil with just a hint of Tempest.

“I...do not know. But I believe we can safely proceed toward our original destination.”

“Maybe now spring will come...” said Patton, getting up and dusting the snow and forest debris off his clothes. But he didn't sound very hopeful. “I just wish I knew if Roman was okay.”

“May I remind you, this is Roman's story,” said Logan. “He is fine. He is in control.”

Virgil made a derisive snort but said nothing.

“All right then,” said Mr. Beaver. “I've got our bearings again.”

They picked themselves up and continued.

***********

Mere moments earlier...

Roman squeezed his eyes shut all the harder as the sleigh swerved and skidded to a stop, sending up gouts of slush to either side. The seat rocked slightly as Jadis stepped down. “Remain here,” she said. “I will return shortly.” Roman heard her striding away.

Going after the other Sides. His family.

But what could he do about it? This was the role the story had chosen for him: the willing but ultimately outclassed ally of the White Witch. His cheek still burned where she had slapped him, more from the humiliation than the blow itself, which had long since faded. If he defied her openly, tried to stop her from attacking his fellow Sides, he would only share their fate.

Death? No. Story scenarios in the Imagination couldn't literally end their existence; that would make no sense at all. They would just be expelled back into the Mindscape proper, as if waking up from a bad dream. But it would mean he had failed.

I thought I was your hero...

Roman was suddenly furious. At the story for taking these turns, or at himself for setting things up so ineptly at the outset? Was there even a difference? It was his Imagination. Either way, he had trusted the story, and it was betraying him. He could deal with startling twists, downbeat second acts, even tragic endings, as long as the whole was satisfying. But this? Having the main bad guy just roll up and kill the heroes at what would normally be the midpoint? A travesty!

In a burst of inspiration, Roman opened his eyes, stood up, and vaulted lightly from the sleigh.

“Just where do you think you're going?” demanded the Dwarf, who had been adjusted the reindeer's tack. “You heard Her Majesty!”

Roman had been ready for it, and he whipped his sword out of its sheath and leveled it at the Dwarf's face. “Do not try to stop me.”

The Dwarf made a brief, tight nod, swallowed hard, and stood aside by a pace or two. Roman located the Witch's tracks, heading straight toward the nearby trees, and he followed them at a run.

The gem felt very heavy, and almost warm, in his pocket.

He spied the Witch some distance away among the trees, moving with purpose. He came just close enough to let her realize he was approaching, took the gem out, and began chanting.

“Dragon smoke and harpy's shriek

What was mighty, now is weak.”

She stopped short and turned to face him. “What are you doing?”

The second couplet leapt into his mind fully formed:

“Scoop the snow and scrape the frost

Her reign must end at any cost!”

The White Witch's eyes widened in alarm as the jewel began to suck her power away, just as it had Aslan's. Blue-white light ripped out of her in coils and flares, and her voice rose to a scream as she realized what was happening. For the gem was able to subtract enough of Aslan's power away to leave only a Talking Cat...but Jadis was nowhere near as puissant. The same amount of energy, taken from her, left...nothing.

A torrent of cold magic lanced toward Roman's gem, but it could not enter. The power of the White Witch—the power that was the White Witch—and the power of Aslan could not coexist in the same space. The bluish light shied away from the jewel and plunged, instead, directly into Roman himself.

Ice gripped his heart with a suddenness that made him gasp for breath. His head spun like a tilt-a-whirl. Roman managed to take two, three steps before the forest tipped up on edge and the snow-dusted ground slammed into his shoulder. The ice was spreading, spearing through his shoulders, encasing his lungs and stomach.

Roman made himself get up and staggered out of the trees back toward the sleigh. His head did not feel good.

“Where is the Queen?” asked the Dwarf.

Roman had no answer, but as he made eye contact, the Dwarf's mouth dropped open. He skipped back a step and then pressed his hands together in an almost prayerful pose and bowed so low that his head nearly brushed the ground. “Your Majesty,” he murmured. “Your Majesty.”

Roman climbed back into the sleigh. “Take me ho—take me back to the castle,” he panted. The ice continued to crawl outward from his core. He checked to make sure he hadn't dropped the gem along the way—he hadn't, but the flesh of his hand looked strange somehow.

Imagine if the others saw you now, said a voice not his own, from deep inside his head. He shuddered at the thought, and supposed that was why he had gone straight back to the sleigh instead of trying to find them himself. But the real horror, the one that had yet to sink in fully, the one he wasn't ready to let sink in just yet, was this:

He had no idea where the story was supposed to go from here.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

The Island

Fingel Von Frings took a deep drag of his cigar and exhaled smoke against the glass that allowed him to see into the cryo chamber while the people inside couldn’t see out.

Cassell medical personnel wrapped in thick cloth hazmat suits with protective helmets and visors worked quickly to secure Tom Allman for transport. His thick claws were wrapped in cut proof mittens. HIs arms were twisted tight in a straight jacket. On top of that, thick straps reinforced with kevlar tied his arms together. Finally, a helmet faced with a titanium alloy cage  was fitted over his head.

There was no point in wasting any more serum on this young man. He had passed the point of no return. 

As the Vice Chancellor, he’d only had the responsibility to sign off on his expulsion from Cassell. He didn’t have to be here. But he always made it a point to see off every student who left academy without an official ceremony.

A wheeled metal coffin was rolled in. On the count of three, the medics lifted his body and placed him inside, closing the lid. A pneumatic pump, sealed it with the push of the button and the glass that showed his sleeping face inside was frosted over as liquid nitrogen filled the tubing in the metal casket dropping the temperature inside. At this point, all of his body processes would cease functioning.

Fingel took a deep breath and let it out.

Footsteps approached him. Mr. Baldwin, the head of the executive department came up to him and held out a stack of papers. He stared at it. He was starting to hate those 8 x 10 white sheets as much as he hated doing his classwork.

But after a seconds hesitation, he took it from Baldwin’s hands and started to flip through it. “Runes, in Norton Hall?”

“First I’ve heard of it. Of course, it’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard. We scanned the entire place. No sign of any runes.”

“Have it tested for Longwei.” He pulled a pen from his pocket. It gleamed golden, a diamond at its head. He signed his name and handed the papers back to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“How is she?”

“Emotional.”

Fingel turned to him and stared coldly, his hands in his pockets. “What emotions.”

“Sadness, betrayal, distrust...”

“Has she talked to anyone?”

“She refuses all visitors. She believes Tom is dead. I’m fine with that. No one ever comes back from that island.”

“Does she want to leave?” Fingel began to walk out of the medical ward, still puffing on his cigar.

“She hasn’t said that. She hasn’t called her parents either.”

The chill wind from the rotors of a helicopter tossed Fingel’s golden hair about his face. The coffin was wheeled from the high security facility and into the open cargo bay of the helicopter.

“That’s strange. She talks to them every day...”

“Yes, her father has called the main office several times asking to speak with her. No word from her mother though.” Baldwin said this casually.

Of course, Fingel and Carli - otherwise known as Meixiu - talked frequently and Baldwin knew this. She had to be informed of new patients admitted to the island. “Do you want to know her opinion on the situation?”

“I do actually!” Though he was raising his voice to shout above the roar of the helicopter engine, Fingel could still hear the anger in his voice.

The machine lifted off and gained in altitude before swinging its nose to point towards the northwest and speed out of sight.

Once it was quiet enough to speak normally. “I want to know how long she plans to continue this cruel exercise. It would have been much easier to just expel him and put a bullet in his head. Which is what I suggested from the outset! And what I suggested after he went berserk and almost killed her the first time!” “Well, you went against your own orders the first time...” Fingel was quick to correct him.

“Which... I sincerely regret.”

Fingel turned to face him directly. “Why? What gave you hope the first time that has left you now?”

“There was a theory. I’d say it’s more of a myth than a theory. It stemmed from the report of Akira and Kogure Sakurai. Those two unstable Hybrids were part of the Devil Clan and had dangerous bloodlines. Both of them were held in the black jails run by Hydra until they escaped. Kogure, however, never harmed anyone, and Akira, after running on a spree of rape and murder, suddenly stopped.”

“The common denominator of the two was personal attachments. Kogure was attached to Chimei Gen. It was only after she felt that she had lost him that she finally gave in to her blood. And Akira had given in to his blood until he met a girl on the subway, which was actually an undercover agent for Hydra. He switched from killing every woman he met, to trying to protect her.”

“Ah... the power of love and friendship!” Fingel said without any mocking tone.

“Of course, this has been impossible to study. But when I saw how attached Ru’Yi was, I hoped she could act as a restraint for him. I knew this also posed a danger, so I put her under constant surveillance. But... this only served to put her in danger. The result was the same. She’s in the hospital, and he’s her mother’s guinea pig. The results were the same for Akira and Kogure as well.”

Fingel raised his hand and put it on Baldwin’s shoulder without looking at him. “Science has progressed and will progress. Even if he is a guinea pig, it may be one on the road to a solution.”

“We have a solution... Vice Chancellor.” He shrugged off his hand. “She just doesn’t want to accept it.”

Mr. Baldwin left Fingel to make the slow and long walk back to his office in the drifting snow.

The helicopter traversed the continental United States, briefly stopped for fuel in LA and lifted off again over the endless blue ocean of the Pacific. Eventually, the sun set and the pilot only had the instruments to go by. According to the official maps, there was no island on the coordinates. The helicopter was headed for a deadzone. The pilot turned the navigation to auto and stood up, walking back to the cargo bay.

The pilot removed the heavy flight helmet, revealing falling cascade of ebony hair which she shook out and ran her hands through.

Mai Sakatoku then reached into the onflight fridge for a can of beer which she opened and took a sip. “You make for quiet company.” 

She leaned over to see into the window of the coffin. The young man’s eyes were still closed, frozen in place by tears that couldn’t be shed. She lightly tapped the glass with a delicate fingernail. “You and Miss Chu’s daughter, hm?” 

She leaned against the coffin, her mind going back to the countless so called boyfriends of the past. “I suppose it’s fitting. Her father was also a berserker, before he fell head over heels for a certain dragon. And in the end, that was what saved his life.”

“She never got to tell you the story, because she doesn’t know it. In fact, I think it’s just me, my fellow Nanny and Mingfei Lu that know the end of that story.”

“Let’s hope yours ends a bit differently.”

There was no signal out here. So Mai had to content herself with whatever she had already downloaded on her phone, bingewatching her favorite movies and K-dramas. Meanwhile, she kept a close eye on the casket, making sure the temperature was kept cold enough to keep this guy from waking up.

A sudden alarm shook her from her reverie. She stood and went to the cockpit. Another plane, flying low, almost out of radar range but nearly directly below her. “Ah... we have a curious jet?”

She tried to get a picture of it, but it appeared invisible against the dark waves of the ocean. “Cloaking technology?”

Her eyes narrowed. This was no normal inquiry from a nation-state. Few nations could approach this level of high tech on a plane. Hybrids were higher functioning physically. The technology they surrounded themselves with was likewise ahead of human technology. 

That made this jet fair game. She did not change trajectory. Instead, she reached for a large gun on the back of the the plane. She hoisted to her shoulder with a soft grunt and strapped it to herself. She then hooked herself to the interior of the helicopter and opened the door.

The ferocious wind was enough to tear her away from the helicopter and she grit her teeth and let go. She was like an out of control kite, fluttering precariously in the wind. It was like being on the worst carnival ride. Still her powerful muscles braced themselves and forced the sight to her eyes. It wouldn’t do to have any reports getting out about the island.

She aimed directly for the cockpit of the jet. A tiny target to be sure. She took her time fluttering back and forth. Eventually her mind caught the rhythm of the wind, the speed of the aircraft, and linked it to the knowledge of the speed of the missile. She aimed at a spot far ahead and after a few more seconds, she pulled the trigger.

There was a bright flash of light. She blinked and the target had disappeared. She imagined the pilot getting vaporized instantly, the instrumentation getting blown apart. She turned her head to look, there wasn’t so much as a ripple that could remain in the open ocean.

[houseofhurricane]

ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (15/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: Elain is really feeling herself in this chapter, even when she starts training and scheming in earnest. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

“You should call a meeting of the High Lords,” Elain says, for the third time in as many days, her wooden practice sword aimed at Tamlin’s neck.

He blocks her easily, his eyes remote, as bleak as she’s ever seen them.

“You should tell your family that you’re here,” he says after disarming her, the sword falling to the floor with a thud.

“Feyre knows I’m in this world.” Within hours of returning to Prythian, she’d heard her sister’s voice in her mind, answered only I’m safe, then went silent, her shields as thick as she could make them. She hadn’t mentioned anything to Tamlin. “She sounded relieved I was alive.”

“Then you have a perfect time to tell her you weren’t conspiring against the Night Court.”

“Or I could tell her at the High Lords’ meeting.” She crosses her arms over her chest and flashes a grin at him.

“Or you could allow someone from your court to fetch you.”

“I doubt they’ll let me return,” she says, trying to sound more casual about this than she feels as she crouches to pick up her sword. In the mornings, she visits the passageways and tracks Koschei as best she can, and in the afternoons, Tamlin has agreed to help her train for a few hours, teaching her the basic fighting movements and, at her insistence today, the fundamentals of swordplay, though she’s realizing he was right when he said she wasn’t yet ready. Still, the idea of herself, pretty little Elain Archeron, hefting a sword, was too compelling for reason, and she wore Tamlin down, going against all the ingrained lessons on gaining a husband. She never imagined she’d be bound to someone for eternity without having to beguile him first.

In the evenings, she visits Melis, gossips a little with the servants before dinner, and then at night, Elain listens to Tamlin’s breathing and tries to sleep. He has gone so far as to find himself a cot, but when she appeared in his room the first night, he was too upset by the revelation of the Autumn Court to insist on her leaving. She’d rubbed her hands down his back until she felt his muscles relax, the strain in him ease, and she’d slept the whole night curled against him, her mind alight with plans and possibilities, the kind of stratagems she wishes Vassa or Lucien could unpick. She did not allow herself to think about the way her heart galloped at Tamlin’s proximity, how every time he’d moved in his sleep, she’d curled closer toward him, how when she’d finally fallen asleep, she’d woken up practically on top of him, her cheek on his chest, his arm around her shoulders.

In other worlds, the situation is simple between them: they are simply two people drawn to each other by destiny or chance. But as soon as they returned to Prythian, the weight of the mating bond and Feyre’s experience, Tamlin’s history and all the court politics pull them apart, insist on being delved into and resolved, too important to ignore.

Now, for example, she does not reach for Tamlin, though ever fiber of her self is attuned to his movements. Instead, she rises, sword in hand, points it at him as if she is full of a bravado she’s never possessed.

“If I go to the Night Court, will you call a meeting of the High Lords?”

“You cannot imagine what it would be to announce my failure for all of them to hear. When they already think the worst of me.”

Though she feels his power rise in the room like a sudden thunderstorm, she keeps her sword aimed at his heart.

“I know exactly what it is to pretend you are nothing until everyone in the world believes it, too. If you let Beron seize the human lands, your territory will be next. And then what will you say to the High Lords?”

“That I never wanted to rule this court in the first place.” His palms are raised toward her. Even Elain, with her conspicuous lack of training, knows that he’s conceding defeat. “Beron has marched ten thousand men through my territory in the last three days. They’ve barely bothered to conceal themselves.”

“Perhaps he wants to provoke you.”

“He wants me to see how weak I’ve become.”

“Then go to the High Lords and raise an army. Lucien will help you. I will go to him and explain.”

Tamlin’s fists are clenched, his rage thick in the room. At this point, Elain has always done what her schoolmasters and governess and family required: spoken a few pleasant words to dissolve every hint of tension.

But now Elain can pull herself out of this world. The furious male is her mate. And it would be easier if he would rage at her, show her the High Lord of the Spring Court who watched her sister fall apart and only made her hurt worse. Let him show her that he hasn’t changed, so she can break the mating bond without regret.

So she tells him, forcing her voice level: “This defeat will be much more painful than a single meeting. You know the Night Court will ally with you.”

“I will not go on my knees before Rhysand.”

“You have wasted years on your self-pity and your people are endangered for it. The human realms of Prythian are in danger. Do you think Beron will show them mercy?” She has not mentioned the humans until now. She does not want to watch him scoff.

His eyes blaze like green fire, a knot in his jaw forming, and Elain can tell that he is barely holding himself under control. Still, she does not look away. She sets her chin against all the comforting words that unfurl inside her, all the things she would say to him if they were people in another world.

“Go to the Night Court,” he grinds out.

“Only if you will call a meeting of the High Lords.”

“And if I will not?”

She takes a step closer, steels herself against the heat that rises in her at his proximity, all the things she wants to do with her hands.

“Then I will stay here and argue with you until you see reason.”

He barks out a laugh, surprise in his eyes, and she starts making her plan.

&

&

&

Elain goes to Lucien first, to Helion’s private library. It’s the only part of the Day Court she recognizes, and though the room is empty when she arrives, Lucien and Helion enter within minutes, Lucien looking a little sheepish at the attire of the Day Court, loose pants cuffed at his ankles and a vest that reveals most of his chest and arms, the corded muscles and bronze skin.

“I was worried about you,” Lucien says, just as she is forming her own remark about how well this fashion suits him. He squeezes her hand tight in hers.

“And I said that you were an Archeron sister, who will bring this world to its knees with no help from any of us.” Helion flashes a smile and Elain offers her cheek to be kissed in greeting, grinning in spite of herself.

Though she wanted to tell them everything, Tamlin had asked her to speak only of what she’s learned about Koschei and the other worlds, the meeting of the High Lords, and request that Lucien visit the Spring Court.

She starts with what she’s learned about the passageways, how she’s learned to navigate by her desire. In addition to the world where Koschei originated, she’s found worlds he’s visited. Though she has not opened the doors to those worlds, she can tell from the carvings on their doors that they are quite unlike each other, that in that ancient time when Koschei punched his way through various universes, he did not seem to have access to these passageways.

“He could have been running from something. He might have encountered your passageways and lacked confidence that a nearby world would be a safe haven,” Helion muses, lifting his eyes from his notes.

“The creature we found in the world of his origin did seem much stronger,” Elain says, catches a flash in Lucien’s russet eye at the word we. It’s all she can do to keep from sticking her tongue out at him, though of course she’s here on official business. “Have you made progress on the tether?”

“You went into this world with someone, did you not?” Helion asks.

“There is another bond between us.” Elain does not quite meet his eyes. She’s not sure what he knows. “He was able to use it to follow me into the passageway the first time I went, without touching me. He wasn’t fully in his body but I could recognize certain attributes.”

“All while you were holding the bone, wasn’t it?” Lucien asks, smirking.

Helion tries to turn his laughter into a cough, and Elain rolls her eyes at both of them.

“You were going to tell me about your progress with the tethering spell?”

“And you were working very hard to conceal the identity of your mate from us,” Helion says, winking at her. “Though I’ll admit I’m glad you’ve spared us the rhapsodies the rest of your court loves to provide on the glories of the mating bond. At any rate, we’ve made progress on the tethering spell.”

“He’s still afraid to winnow with it,” Lucien says.

“I’d like to be sure of the magic before I fling myself into some abyss,” Helion shoots back, turning back to Elain. “And since Lucien is so sure of this spell, he’s free to try it with you any time you’d like.”

She sees the window of opportunity, grasps it like a flower in need of transplanting.

“Then will you come to the Spring Court tomorrow, Lucien, so we can try?”

Helion’s eyebrows raise for just a second. By the time Lucien agrees to visit in the morning, the High Lord’s face is the picture of courtly neutrality. Elain expected she would feel ashamed of this revelation but instead she feels a rush of power inside herself that comes from the strength of her observations, her certainty in the next move. Knowing he’s wondering whether she and the High Lord of Spring are mates, she says:

“Helion, as it happens I come with a message for you as well. Tamlin has called for a meeting of the High Lords.”

“How quickly?”

“Soon,” she says, trying to conceal her relief. Tamlin had been sure Helion would ask about the topic of the meeting, had not wanted her to provide a true answer. Now she’s sure he thinks it’s regarding the mating bond, romantic drama writ large as Prythian itself. “He prefers the meeting take place within the week.”

“The Day Court will be happy to host, of course.”

“Every High Lord will make the same offer,” Lucien says, shaking his head, his voice so much that of an exasperated child that Elain’s heart clenches in her chest. “Will you tell Elain which other sites you find acceptable?”

“The Summer Court. Dawn, if we must, though Thesan will begin to think that we rely on him for meetings of importance. Winter is also a possibility, though I have no idea how anyone is to survive that kind of cold. And the Night Court, but naturally Tamlin would object.”

She nods, trying to maintain the serenity of her features. He’s named every one of the neutral courts. Tamlin had been hoping for the Day Court, given Helion’s presumed allegiance to Lucien, though Elain worries about their ties to the Night Court. Then again, every court seems more tightly bound to Rhys and Feyre than to Tamlin, despite these last-minute machinations she’s making now, sitting in Helion’s library and offering him the barest slivers of intrigue.

“I’ll make sure your preferences are known,” she says, rising from her chair. “You should receive a formal invitation tomorrow. Would it be all right if I took a few moments to speak to Lucien alone?”

Helion exits with a graceful half-bow, and as soon as the door closes behind him, Lucien immediately quirks an eyebrow.

“You know he’s listening at the door,” he tells her. She can tell he’s trying to keep his face impassive, as if Helion can also survey him from any angle.

“I’m sure there’s a spell to keep him from having to press his ear to the wood. Cauldron forfend he strain himself” she shoots back, grins at his answering laugh. “I am planning to go to the Night Court next and I wanted to know if you’d spoken to anyone there.”

“Rhysand has definitely made his displeasure known, but the alliance with Helion is too important to risk over me. I don’t think I’ll be asked to provide a report anytime soon. But they were worried about you,” he adds, reading the shift in her expression, “your sisters especially. They thought you’d followed me here.”

“They didn’t think I’d use my own powers.”

“Their confidence in you is going to be limited, especially once they scent Tamlin on you.”

She blushes in spite of the fact that she’d anticipated this question, had taken her bath in the evening, before she’d curled up in Tamlin’s sheets, spent the night listening for the sound of his breath.

“I thought they’d be less likely to kill me on sight if they thought it would cause war between the courts.”

“You’ve picked a poor ally. Likely they’ll think he’s bewitched you.”

“Sometimes that feels accurate,” she says, the feeling of his lips on hers flashing her mind, as it has a thousand times since she’d kissed him in the passageway, fallen asleep in his arms. When she hadn’t thought about their histories or politics, just the barely contained wildness of him, the way he would allow her an extra few minutes to gain the knowledge she needed even if it killed him, that fact that he never seemed to think Vassa could be a tactical sacrifice. There are other moments, too: when he’d told her she could break the mating bond without ever telling her that it might harm him, when he’d followed her into the passageways and other worlds without a question, as if she were not little Elain Archeron, pleasant ballroom ornament, but the force that Vassa had helped her begin to imagine she could be. Over and over she’s wished for no mating bond, for another history, in which these moments could be cherished proof that she was chosen from the beginning, beloved by someone who saw her clearly and cherished that view. Over and over, Elain steels herself, retells Feyre’s stories as incantations, watches for any alarming sign from Tamlin, a reason to pull on the fabric of this world and disappear somewhere safer.

“I can tell you’re mostly careful, but--”

She holds up her hand to Lucien, the way she might to a brother, to one of her sisters if their circumstances had been less dire or if they themselves had been different, more inclined to banter or affectionate exasperation. “I’m trying, Lucien. But there are only so many places I can go in this world.”

“You could have come here.”

“I thought I would endanger you.”

“Then you could have taken me with you.” He’s trying to be arch, but Elain hears the plaintive note in his voice, the one he can’t quite smother. In all the stories she’s heard, all the tableaux she’s witnessed, it’s always Lucien who is left behind.

“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to a dozen different worlds before lunch. Tamlin’s only seen two.”

“I’m glad you’ve figured out how to take me to peaceful worlds, then. I’m not as handy with a sword as your mate.”

She rolls her eyes at him, the term grating in her ears, turning each sweet tentative moment with Tamlin into a proclamation of fate. Especially when she still has yet to face Feyre.

“He needs help with this meeting, Lucien,” she says, forcing herself to remain in the present moment, the task at hand. “Will you talk to him tomorrow?”

“Are either of you going to tell me what this meeting is about? I noticed you chose a very opportune moment to mention it to Helion.”

“Isn’t he listening at the door? If Tamlin doesn’t tell you tomorrow, I will.”

He gives her an appraising glance. “Is it being in all these strange new worlds that’s made you so defiant?”

“He can’t harm me, according to all the stories about mates.”

“There are destructions that don’t hurt one bit, Elain,” he says, and for just a second, Lucien’s russet eye looks haunted. She decides to change the subject, already knowing that he won’t tell her what experience he’s remembering.

“Tell me what to say at the Night Court.”

“Tell them the truth. Remind them that your power is your own. Appeal to Feyre, not Rhysand. She knew you before you were brought to the Night Court.”

“That was my plan,” she says, her shoulders relaxing with relief, that her own ideas are not so far off from this schemer’s.

“I noticed you flinch once, when Rhys called you his family.” Lucien’s voice is too careful, and maybe it is stupid to trust him, but this secret is too old to cause anyone much harm.

“Before -- with Azriel, he was the one who stopped it. Because of you, I think, and the politics involved. And Azriel just followed those orders. I’m family to him only when it suits.” There’s a darkness in him, she wants to say, Feyre believes he’s good but I’m not sure. She tries not to act on her observations unless she’s certain, and Elain has always been taught to trust in the men around her for her own good. So she swallows the words.

“That sounds like my family on a good day,” Lucien says, gentle, watching her like he knows there’s more that she’s not saying. “And Rhysand has been High Lord for centuries. Perhaps it’s easy to forget, what a family is without politicking.”

“You didn’t. You learned better.”

“I told the world you were my mate to stave off a war.”

She lets the quiet build for a moment, breathes in the old frustration, that he would entrap her as he did, turn her life into a ruin. But when she exhales, looks into those unmatched eyes that see so much, Elain knows that he saved her from this hard truth until she could bear it on her shoulders.

“I saw how you looked when everyone found out about Tamlin. You wanted to save us. Feyre, even me. And you’d never even met me.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes her hands between his fingers, old ink smearing onto her palm.

“If you talk to your old Inner Circle just like that, Elain, they’re going to accept you back with open arms.”

This isn’t her plan, exactly, but Elain just grins back at him, savors the moment.

&

&

&

In the Night Court, she is not blasted to bits when she appears. Instead, Nuala and Cerridwen lead Elain into the formal meeting of the Night Court, where Feyre and Rhys sit across the room. They’re not enthroned, exactly, on their velvet chairs, but they are regal, powerful, certain they hold her life in the balance.

But as soon as Elain sees the dark circles under Feyre’s eyes, she regrets disappearing, the three days she spent in this world with hardly a word. Then Rhysand begins to speak.

“I generally prefer if the members of this court are aligned in their aims,” he says, in that silky, dangerous voice, and she wants to snap at him to stop treating her like the enemy, before she realizes that she may, in point of fact, actually be the enemy to this court, at least in their eyes. His fingers are twined with Feyre’s, and her sister does not look alarmed at his tone. Instead, she studies Elain so intently that Elain checks and rechecks her mental shields, makes sure the shining gates are walled and barricaded, impossible to breach.

“I have been trying to save Vassa in the best way I know how.”

“We have offered you every resource, and you go sneaking off with Lucien. Telling other courts about your powers.”

Elain feels her eyes widening, the apology forming inside her. Because she can see the error in her actions, viewed from his perspective. If she’d pushed, he would have invited Helion to the Night Court, opened the library to the High Lord of the Day Court if the priestesses granted permission. But all of this would have taken time, involved deliberations and politicking and jockeying for power that are forgotten whenever she thinks of Vassa’s screams, the haunted look in Lucien’s eyes.

“I did not think that my powers were the property of the Night Court,” she says, balling her fingers into fists, her defiance rising. “Helion was the one who trained me. He listened to me and adapted his suggestions. With Amren, I was always pretending.”

The words detonate inside her mind: I was always pretending.

The truth of them, expanding far beyond this room. She healed in this court, and she will always be grateful for that time she was given, the care and attention, the gardens and soft words, but, like everywhere else Elain had ever been before, she was never expected to be anything more than lovely.

“Elain,” Feyre says, her voice gentle and her eyes still searching, and Elain braces herself, “you speak of Helion but you arrive with Tamlin’s scent on you.”

This had been her plan all along, but guilt thuds in her chest at the look in Feyre’s eyes, the confusion and concern. Her own hurt is hidden, because Feyre has always cared for her sisters as if she bore them herself.

“In that moment of panic, I reached out with my magic to a place where I would be safe,” Elain says. “I knew he couldn’t harm me.”

Feyre’s fingers are white against the arms of her chair, and Elain realizes she’s misspoken.

“I just meant,” she says, before she can be interrupted, “that I didn’t know what would happen here, and I thought the chances were low that Tamlin would run me through with a sword.”

“Even with everything I’ve told you? Everything he’s been?” She’s rarely heard this harsh tone in Feyre’s voice, even when they had nothing, could feel their bones rising up through their skin. What Elain really wants in this moment is to sweep her sister into a hug, beg forgiveness for her disappearance, and promise she will retire to her old room and only come out for meals until the world is saved. But she no longer believes the best thing is to stand by and let herself be saved. So instead she steels herself, continues with the words she’d planned out in the night, laid out like a star in the middle of Tamlin’s bed.

“I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t know if he’s changed. I don’t know if I will reject the mating bond between us.” Elain draws a breath deep in her lungs. “But I do know that he saved your life and Rhys’s, even as your enemy. I think there is hope for him, still. And I think he’s trying.”

“How do you know that?” Rhys asks, pulling Feyre’s hand to rest on his thigh.

“He canceled the Tithe. He goes to the villages of the Spring Court to speak with his citizens now, every day. And when we were in danger, he trusted me to save us, even when he could have been killed.”

“When were you in such danger?” Her sister’s eyes are wide and concerned, Tamlin already forgotten.

“I went to another world.”

“That’s why we couldn’t find you.”

“I found the place Koschei came from.” She had debated offering this information but she wants to believe that they will help her.

“How are you so certain?” Rhys asks.

“Why would I lie?”

“It seems to have become a habit with you,” he says, and she feels his power rumble in the room, a reminder that he isn’t just a person who calls her family.

“My power belongs to me,” she says, a claiming on her own self as much as a warning to them, even as she knows that her power was never meant for attacking, only knowing, seeing, that she could only harm them as much as they might be hurt by her disappearance.

Feyre raises a hand and the room stills, Rhys shooting his gaze her way. But the High Lady only looks at Elain.

“Your power is not our weapon. But I wonder what you want to accomplish with it, alone and wandering off wherever you like.”

“What I want is a world at peace and Vassa free.”

“I spoke with her, when you were gone,” Feyre says, and once again her voice is too gentle. “She says that Koschei is treating her too kindly.”

Elain can feel the blood draining out of her face. There are so many ways a woman can become an object, and most of them are not nearly as pleasant-seeming as her own experience, ballrooms and gowns and men who promised her a gilded future. Vassa is so strong, but she’s still a human, and Koschei’s magic is a force unto itself.

But she has found Koschei’s world, is beginning to understand the feel of his magic. The tether will be ready soon, and then Lucien and Helion will be able to break down the spell on Vassa, set her free. She will go to that lake herself, alone, if it will save her friend.

“I can guess what you are thinking,” Feyre says, her voice moving from gentle to too gentle, ready to offer something unwelcome like a gift, “but you cannot go to Koschei. If he captures you...”

“I’ll disappear.”

“You cannot know what magic he has at his disposal,” Rhys says, silencing the room with his icy stare. “If you become his weapon, he’ll fling the door to every world wide open.”

“And so I should stay here until the war is over?”

“Can Tamlin protect you?”

Elain wants to tell him that she would be welcomed at other courts, not just Spring, but this would be a disaster, especially when the most delicate part of the conversation has presented itself amidst all this turmoil, the magic that throbs in the room.

“He is calling a meeting of the High Lords to discuss this, as quickly as it can be arranged. Will you hear what he has to say?”

There is a pause, in which Rhys looks at Feyre and Elain thinks look at me, wishes she’d asked her sister to speak in private, so that she could tell her about Tamlin gently, the two of them crying and bewildered together for a few hours until they were ready for the other topics. And a part of her, the monstrous part, wishes she’d spoken to Feyre because she knows her sister would be easier to convince alone.

“You insist on this?” her sister asks, not in the concerned tones she’s used since Elain arrived, but in her High Lady voice, steeled and elegant and unmoving. It’s a dismissal that Elain is sure she deserves.

But she thinks of Tamlin, agreeing to share the fact that Beron’s army has crossed through his court, is on its way into the human lands. They began to discuss what he’d say at dinner last night. It was the first time she’d ever heard him stammer, swallow his words mid-phrase.

“I insist,” she says, and then, into the silence: “You will receive a formal invitation tomorrow, but if you would tell me your preferred location, that would help the meeting come sooner.”

Rhys drawls his answer, as if he’s already bored. “Day, Summer, and Winter.”

Elain only nods, prepares to leave the Night Court, tells herself to be grateful that Feyre and Rhys listened, did not blast her to bits. Later, she will try to see things through their eyes, if only to predict what they’ll do at the meeting. She extends her hand, prepares to part the fabric of this world until it takes her back to the Spring Court.

When light blooms behind she eyes, she assumes it’s a shifting in her powers. But instead she is near a lake, and Koschei’s voice is in her ears, booming behind her.

“I will leave you this world, my darling,” he is saying as Elain turns toward the voice, too slowly because she does not want to believe what is happening. If Koschei captures you… When Feyre had said this, Elain had been so sure the fear was an overreaction, Feyre’s habitual incredulity about her capabilities.

But Koschei is not speaking to her. His eyes are on Vassa, who is seated on a throne next to him, dressed in a gown adorned with the feathers of the firebird. One of her hands is held tight by Koschei’s fingers, the other resting on a swollen belly. Her eyes are vacant, nothing like the blue fire that has always burned in them.

“Thank you,” Vassa says, in a voice that is absent, hardly recognizable.

Elain balls her hands, wants to scream run!, to grab her friend’s hand and pull her into a different world, a better world, anything but this destruction, but her legs are fixed, her hands still at her side.

For a second, she’s sure Koschei sees her, meets her eye, but the depthless gaze slides over her, towards the horizon. And in that moment of relief, Elain realizes that she’s seen these thrones before. That a version of herself has sat on them, in some gloomy ruined possibility of the Spring Court, the Crown on her head and Tamlin bound as Vassa seems to be.

I will leave you this world, Koschei said. As if the world were a trifling thing. As if he had access to others.

It is foolish to close her eyes, make herself weak, but she cannot bear this sight, these revelations. She makes no sound but feels the tears on her cheeks, soaking the bodice of her dress as they fall, rage and fear and regret and sadness all knotted together.

Then she is falling, the ground hard beneath her. She doesn’t remember completing the initial tear that would allow her to go to the Spring Court, so she supposes these are the marble tiles of the river estate in the Night Court, that Feyre and Rhys have watched her in the throes of her vision, have allowed her to fall to the floor. She realizes that she does not want to see them, not when she’s this vulnerable, an old vague feeling crystallizing inside her with ferocity, the only fixed point in this whirling world, the sight of which is too great for her to bear.

When she feels hands on her, calloused fingertips, she flinches so hard that whoever she hits gives a little grunt of pain. Then she registers his voice, her own ability to move, the fragrance of the flowers she herself had planted, the lilac and gardenia and rose so heady and sweet that she hopes that it is real, no vision or fabrication.

“Where am I?” she asks, shielding her face, which is just as foolish as it was when she stood before Koschei, but her mind is still reeling, her vision itself overcome.

“The great hall of the Spring Court,” Tamlin says, his voice warm and concerned, his arm wending around her shoulders, holding her upright. “Are you all right?”

“I think… I hope I had a vision.” Every future has always felt the same to Elain, indistinguishable, as possible as anything that has happened in her past. Every future has been horrific, and still somehow this sight was the worst. The violation of her friend.

“What happened?”

“Ask me about your allies first. Ask me about Lucien.” She’s begging, near tears, and all the while the world spins around her, the world she knows and the world she hopes she never does, all the worlds which for now only she can access.

“You’re delirious. Are you in pain?” She feels his hand on her, gentle, looking for the source of hurt, and she wishes, just for a second, that he could wipe her mind of the vision.

“I saw Koschei with Vassa.”

“You didn’t--”

“I didn’t go to the lake. I had a vision. I hope I had a vision.” She presses the heels of her hands against her face, allows him to draw her toward him, the way they’d been in the passageways, her curled-up body against his chest, her head cradled by his shoulder. “What if we don’t win, Tamlin? What if we can’t rescue her?”

“We’ll try again until she’s free,” he tells her, and while the world settles into place, its furious whirling finally slowing, Elain tries to concentrate on the sound of his heartbeat, to believe him.