#don’t get me started on it I will become un-bear-able

[rating-bears]

I'm from the great bear rainforest so I love this,,, may I hand you my dear friend the Kermode Bear? A rare subspecies of Black Bear from British Columbia Canada, also known as Spirit Bears!

i ADORE Kermode bears!!!! I love it when subspecies happen in All animals (cuz it’s so fun) but in bears especially!! I like thinking about what could have caused them to mutate and evolve….. it is like a puzzle to me….

ANYWHO!!!! Did you know that Spirit bears aren’t actually albino? Many people assume that they are, but they actually have a gene mutation instead that causes melanin to not be produced in their fur, but they still have pigmentation in their skin and eyes, meaning they don’t qualify as albino!!!

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5!!! A wonderful bear with a wonderful story!!

[chaoticloving]

Hello! hope youre doing good!! I was wondering if you could write something about how Harry and Y/n just had to leave each other for work and Harry has an interview the next day and he's a little grumpy?? love SOH so much!!

Management

harry styles x reader (soh masterlist)

summary: harry wants to get back at one of his managers for what he said about his relationship with y/n, which makes for an interesting interview.

warnings: heavy allusions to sex, slut-shaming, and just lhh being the best protective bf ever

a/n: may have taken a bit further than grumpy…love lhh <3

The hotel was perfect: isolated, glamorous, and private. That’s why it was every celebrity’s dream. But to Y/n and Harry, it was their relationship’s paradise.

Y/n had a series of interviews lined up in Montreal and Harry just so happened to be able to fake sick long enough for the Montreal radio interview to be pushed back to an incredible two days. Two days was a lot for them, normally they’d have a phone call, a couple of hours, or even a day if lucky. But two days ment that they could spend the night together, and because One direction flew in on the red eye flight, they could get two.

When Harry checked in with the rest of the band, he went straight to his room, changed to pajamas and a sweatshirt with a hood, and left to room 2089, her room.

Harry got a little queezy on the trip up; his fear of heights combined with his lack of sleep and flying sickness didn’t make for a great combo. He just really needed some sleep.

He sprinted through the halls, knocked on the door, than yanked into the room by the only person he would want to yank him like that.

Y/n pushed him up against the closed door and kissed him. It was definitely messy—it was pass midnight and they’ve both been working, so who could blame them—but perfect for them.

“Darling I love your lips so much but I’m so tired I’m gonna need you to carry be to the bed.” Harry begged. “Need y’a to lift me up bridal style.”

“Mm, think you’ll have to carry me—“ Harry dropped his head so it was on her shoulder, grunting slightly. “—Or we can awkwardly waddle to the bed.”

They collapsed onto the bed, held in each others arms with sleep encompassing the couple right away. Harry was bear-hugging Y/n, practically turning into a blanket with the only goal of supplying her warmth. Y/n was happily hugging and subconsciously combing his long, unruly hair while they slept.

~

The work day started at 9 am. They haven’t seen each other much, but took comfort in the fact they could at least get mindnight to 9 together. Harry was receiving his goodbye kiss soon enough, though. It wasn’t a total loss; Harry got more kisses in the shower and showed Y/n exactly how much he missed her.

Harry was adjusting his pajama shorts as he was reluctantly pushed out of her room and raced to the elevator, making sure he didn’t give a surprise show to any of the guests in the hotel. He was alone in the elevator and ran into no one as he unlocked the door to him room.

He closed the door behind him and sighed, that is until he got spooked by some familiar faces.

“You could’ve let us know you got a booty call before we decided to have a 8am meeting, Styles.” Lenard, one of the many One Direction managers, yelled.

Among him was his mates, Niall, Liam, and Louis. All had their head down and a sorry look at Harry.

“I was only gone for a night.” Harry defended. “Still in the hotel-“

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, boy.” The grouchy man replied. “As punishment, you are on backups for the radio performance-”

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Lenard boomed. He turned to the other singers. “Take this as a warning boys. You’re all excused.” The other boys gave a sorry look to Harry, patting his shoulder, giving a nod, but they all could see was how pissed off Harry had become.

When the door shut, and it was just the two of them, Lenard got back on his bullshit again. “If your main concern is meeting with some girl willing to put herself out-“

“That’s unfair! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Harry yelled back. “I am not just sleeping around, I just missed my girlfriend.”

“Oh right, your girlfriend Y/n, the one who sleeps to get roles” Lenard snickered.

“That is not true you asshole!”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Lenard spoke. Lenard knew fully well who Y/n is, she was the reason Harry wasn’t willing to go into PR relationships with other celebrities. Harry was the most marketable members of One Direction, and Lenard wanted to make sure he could do the most so he could get a raise in his salary.

“You’re more than welcome to fuck around with some other girls. That Jenner one—“

“I already said no, Lenard!” Harry seethed. “I’m sick of all your controlling nagging! I’m singing and dancing my ass off and putting all my work into this and all you can do is complain that I miss one of your surprise meetings!”

Lenard didn’t know what to say, or quite frankly, didn’t care, so he ignored Harry. “You’ll be on closer watch. I will make sure to tell security to never let you out of their sight.”

“That’s unfair-“

“Quiet or you’ll be on backups the rest of tour.” Lenard threatened.

“You can’t do that! I’m half the show!” Harry fought back. “You know the show won’t be any good if I’m on backups.”

“Just clean yourself up and wear what you are suppose to. Downstairs in thirty.”

Lenard walked out, slamming the door behind him. Not letting Harry get a word in.

~

During the whole interview, Harry had on a fake smile. He was glad Y/n taught him how to make a fake smile look more believable, because all he could see was red.

Ever since Zayn left, One direction management had tighten its claws onto the remaining members. Wanting to make the boys sign a new contract, locking in the boys practically permanently. Y/n, like always, came in a clutch when she prevented Harry from signing and got Harry to get a lawyer that wasn’t connect to 1D, providing her own. With this new lawyer, Harry was able to prevent permanent control, letting him drop when he needed; which only caused more chaos in the group.

As sad as he was for his friend for leaving the band, he understood were Zayn came from. Privacy, independence, freedom, that’s all he wanted.

“Harry you’ve been quiet here today, what’s on your mind.” The interviewer asked.

An idea came to Harry: subtly piss off management. His fake smile turned into a smirk.

“I’m thinking about a shag a recently had.” Harry replied.

“A shag?”

“A shag.” He said bluntly. “Now I got this song idea in my head.”

“How interesting.” The interviewing commented, trying to find an interesting yet pg way to spin this, yet all Harry could focus on was the middle aged men in suits on the other side of glass, all glaring at Harry, roaring up to end this.

“Anyone in particular?”

“According to public opinion, I can only ever write songs about one girl, so everyone can go figure who I’d sleep with.”

One of the managers banged on the window. Everyone looked up as he made a wrapping up sign with his hand. Harry smiled, proud of himself.

“Well, that’s One Direction for you folks���”

~

“That bloody fucker—“

“Hey, hey, hey.” One of the other managers, an older rich guy by the name of Vincent—the most tolerable out of the bunch, calmed Lenard down.

“He just ruined that interview! We’re going to have a weeks worth of bad press!”

“I already contacted them and they agreed to cuts Harry’s part…”

The voices trailed off as Harry snuck out of the group and into an elevator at the hotel, he made eye contact with one of the members of security but the man, Paul, had a soft spot for young love and simply looked away.

Harry pressed button twenty and the doors quickly shut, the elevator starting its climb to the high floor. He raced to Y/n’s room as the doors opened and rapidly knocked on her door.

“It’s me!” He yelled, knowing a crazy fan would knock the same way he was.

The door swung open and Y/n was met with a sad tall man, so genuinely looked like he needed a hug.

“Harry?” She ushered him inside, locking the door and pulling him in for a hug. “What happened?”

“Management.” Harry sighed. “I got yelled at for not being in my room because apparently there was an impromptu meeting this morning. Then I kinda implied we were together to stick it to him during the interview and said i was writing a song about us having sex and now he’s pissed and I’m so so sorry.”

Y/n broke apart from Harry’s tight hug, pulling back to get a look at the man, once boy, that was apologizing for standing up for himself. She couldn’t believe it. Against Lenard too, which makes Harry’s actions much more valid.

She stroked his cheek, looking into his green eyes that had a tinge of red from tears of anger forming in his eyes. “Hey if it’s to stick it to that Lenard then I’ll release our sex tape if it mean he’d quit and leave us alone.” Y/n joked, causing Harry to let out a much needed sigh of laughter.

“He’d probably drop me after that.”

“Yeah but he’d be jealous.” Harry smiled again, looking at the love of his life. He hand traced her jaw, and thumb traced her lip.

Harry nodded agreeing with the plan, until his face quickly went sour. “But my mum would kill me—god.” Y/n giggled as Harry look deeply annoyed.

“I think it’s time.” Harry’s decided, taking a deep breath before he continued. “I think I’ll bring it up with the others.”

“Really?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah. Lenard has already threatened to make me back up and he said some stuff about you-“ He took a deep breath. “I think I could do better on my own, with my own team. People who don’t care if I sleep with you, or sing about sex.” Harry chuckled, leaning into the fantasy.

“Oh yeah? And how would this sex song go?”

“Hmm.” Harry thought, before singing a jingle of a tune. “I just want to taste it.”

“Haha. You’re funny.” She chided. “Remember to never let your dick do the writing here.”

“Maybe writing about sex is a bit too much. Even for me.” Harry thought. “He would make it way to rude for public radio.”

“He?”

“Yeah my dick, Ed.” Harry teased. “You want to meet him again?”

“Wait Ed like Edward, your middle name?”

“Yeah and Ward is the name of my bonus nipple—“

“I think it’s time for bed.” Y/n interrupted. “You need sleep.”

Harry nodded and followed her lead, stripping himself until he was left in his boxers and she was in her bra and panties. Sex definitely was not on the menu tonight, but they both were a sucker to intimacy and body warmth.

“I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t remind me.” Harry groaned.

“I was thinking, you come with me.” Y/n asked.

“You mean I should skip interviews tomorrow?”

“You have sick days you’re entitled to.” Y/n reminded him, booping his nose. “They can’t sue you for catching a cold. And you definitely look sick in my expert opinion.”

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” Harry snuggled closer. “Where are we going then?”

“Plane goes to England. Maybe see your mum and then leave to Italy?”

“That sounds so perfect.” Harry sighed, knowing that honestly sounds amazing. “I love you.” He kissed her face, sprinkling them all over her face. “So much.”

“I already said I love you. Don’t make me regret that." Y/n said, sleep taking over her voice. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Night, love.”

[cyberkitty1]

Hi can I ask for a miles 42 x telekinesis reader

Like she and miles got in an argument about how he hasn't been around and not making time for her at least

Miles knows she has powers

She knows he's the prowler

She gets mad and the objects in the room start flying around

She doesn't notice and keeps ranting to him about how he's shit and she slowly lifts herself from the ground

Still not noticing BC she's angry

Make the ending fluffy and cute

I tried, I got lazy because ive been getting similar asks with the same character so im trying!!!

“ So where have you been?” You say leaning against the doorway looking at Miles who came home at 2 am in the morning. You closed mouth smiles at you “ I’ve been out ma, you know.”

You sigh resting your face in your hands “ Miles no I don’t know, where have you been? You keep leaving early in the day and coming home next day at like 3 am!” Raising your voice a little.

“ Chill out I’m home right?” he says shrugging you off. “ No I’m not going to “chill out” how am i supposed to when i never see you. Why are you always gone?”

In the moment you are able to see what he’s thinking “ It might be time for me to tell her, shes getting suspicious.” You tense looking at him in his eyes, feeling like you could see his soul.

“ Time to tell me what? What are you hiding from me Miles” He sighs looking at the ceiling muttering “shoot.” So you do it again, if he’s not going to tell you, you will figure out on your own.

“I am The Prowler”

Those words in bald pounded though your brain. “ Why? why would you keep something this big from me? I told you about my powers yet you cant tell me that you are a gauntlet, mask wearing vigilante? or what are you?” He opens his mouth to say something. “No stop! stop talking! You’re telling me you have been lying to me this while time? how long have you been this” making hand motions everywhere.

“ Miles I have always been there for you since day 1! ok?! Day one! and now your going out killing people?!” everything in the room starts to shake. Miles looks around realizing what happening “ Please calm down, mal explicar todo.” (ill explain everything)

“No you cant just explain and everything’s all better! Miles this is the biggest lie you have ever told me? Do you know how i feel?” The tears start to fill your eyes, vision becoming blurry. Everything around you was floating even your hair. Miles was freaking out.

“Please please calm down ill explain everything” when those words left his mouth you felt your body get lighter.

“Miles there is nothing you need to explain! I get it; you are the prowler! Someone who kills people robs people and does it with no remorse! How could you keep something that big from me?!”

You were about 1 foot above the ground when you finally realized, am I in the air? Everything around us is in the air. You see the fear in his eyes, maybe you do need to calm down.

Taking a deep breath you release everything including yourself, you take a deep breath eyes closed. “ Im going to give you 10 minutes to tell me”.

“ Desde que murió mi padre, mi madre ha estado trabajando turnos extra, llegando a casa cansada y sin energía. No podía soportar verla así. ella es mi mamá, me ama pase lo que pase!”

(Ever since my father died, my mother has been working extra shifts, coming home tired and drained. He couldn't bear to see her like this. she is my mom, she loves me no matter what!)

“El tío Aaron consiguió un trabajo en el que pudo dejarme participar para que pudiera obtener más dinero para ella.”

(Uncle Aaron got a job that he was able to let me participate in so he could get more money for her.)

“Hice algunos y obtuve mucho dinero, pero cuando traté de retirarme, no me dejaron. Si me iba, te matarían a ti y a todos los que amaba. No puedo perderte.”

(I made a few and got a lot of money, but when I tried to withdraw, they wouldn't let me. If I left, they would kill you and everyone I loved. I can not lose you.)

You just looked at him taking in everything, you overreacted most definitely. “ why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped you” “ No it was easier that you didn’t know i didn’t want you to worry mi vida.”

He continues to explain his troubles to you, telling you what he’s been thinking when he pauses.

“Sabes que te amaré siempre ¿verdad? Todo lo que quiero es que estés segura”

(You know that I will always love you, right? All I want is for you to be safe)

“ I know Miles and I thank you for everything you do for me”. You say kissing him on the forehead.

“ And I love you so much” you look at him with the most loving eyes you could muster.

—————————————

A/n: Guys I think i’m going to finish my last 1-3 requests about earth42! Miles Morales and not take anymore for a while because I feel they are getting repetitive and I don’t want you guys to get bored of what i’m writing so if you would like to request other characters i would love that so much!!!

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Bright Like The Moon: Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Something Tells Me You Know What I Mean

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Fandom: Night Hunter

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Black!OFC 

Word count: 5.5K

Summary: Kamaria Mansfield is hired at the Minnesota Police Department as an intern. Detective Walter Marshall is overworked and unsatisfied. Takes place post-film.

Chapter Summary: Walter and Kamaria have had a rocky road back uphill, will they get to even ground or will it crumble beneath their feet?

Chapter warnings: mentions of past trauma (abduction/SA from last chapter), police interrogation, yelling, Daddy kink, dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, fingering (anal - f receiving), creampie, double creampie

A/N: I’m not a detective or a lawyer, I don’t know the law, I just write fanfiction. So, don’t use my work as research material. Also, there is a special guest. Oh, wait there are two special guests! Un-beta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me, model for Cover Art credits

Cross-posted on AO3

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Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Kamaria’s POV

One Month Later

“I have to say you are making leaps and bounds these days, Kamaria. I’m proud of you,” Yada sits in her armchair, smiling at me and I can’t help but return it, “Are you proud of yourself?”

“I…am, yeah,” I rub my hands together while trying to get my words to flow, “I’ve been through a lot in the last month or so. My abduction and assault were a blow to my spirit. But, I’ve done the work to help with the anxiety.”

“You have definitely done some work with your anxiety. Just looking at you, your shoulders aren’t slumped and you look relaxed. How about sleeping and eating? I was worried for a while about nightmares keeping you up. It also crossed my mind that this incident might trigger a relapse in your eating disorder.” Yada’s face is one of support, but I can see her genuine concern for me.

“The nightmares have gotten better. When I’m woken up, I do my breathing exercises and I’m usually able to get right back to sleep. I eat three meals a day now. It’s nice to feel hungry again and not just be forcing myself to eat. I’ve identified my triggers in movies and tv so I can judge what’s ok for me to watch. I start back to work next week, which is awesome. Still having trouble with crowds though. I mean, I have Walter there so I feel like I have an anchor but I haven’t been alone in a crowd.” As I mention Walter, that little thought in the back of my mind crawls its way to the front of my consciousness.

Maybe she won’t ask me about it this time?

“So, speaking of Walter, how’s your intimacy?”

Damn it!

“We make out like teenagers behind bleachers. He’s still my cuddly grumpy bear,” I slowly shake my head as I look down, preparing myself to unleash my emotions, “I love Walter. I do. He started going to a therapist to deal with how this all affected him. I’m so proud of him for that, that man is not vocal. I mean, yeah, with me he won’t shut up. But with strangers, he keeps everything so close to the chest.”

“Have you not noticed any changes in his demeanor?”

“He’s become able to talk with me about what happened. I mean, before? He would walk on eggshells around me like I was this fragile porcelain doll. After some yelling from me, he agreed that he wasn’t dealing with what happened and he started therapy. But, I don’t know how to like, ask him for more.” 

“More?”

“I don’t know how to convince Walter that I’m ready to have sex. He seems like he wants to. But he always stops right before we would usually…‘go all the way’.” Getting frustrated, I end it there.

“You haven’t had sex of any kind?” Thanks for being blunt, Yada.

“Well, we have. Technically. He has gone down on me a few times. But when I ask to return the favor, he usually just says he’s fine or that I don’t have to. And, I’m just salivating these days because I can see that he’s aroused and he won’t let me touch him. I don’t want to force him to tell me what’s stopping him. But I’m worried that it’s something I’m doing that is holding him back. I’m five seconds away from just jumping on him while naked but I don’t want to scare him. And that’s not me putting down my body, I’m just saying coming at him like that might be a little…much.”

“This may seem intense but, have you considered asking him what troubles him?” When I open and close my mouth like a fish gasping for air, she continues, “Great. That’s your homework, then.” Yada takes out her notebook and writes something down before getting up to go around to her desktop computer.

My eyes are following her, my brow creasing, “So just…ask him about it?”

“Yup. Ask him what’s holding him back from allowing himself to be touched. Tell him you want to touch him. Tell him the truth, that you miss that part of your relationship. And ask him what you can do to help. Be comforting, be there for him like he’s been there for you, and be your genuine self.”

“Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool. Just inform him that I miss his dick and ask him what I can do to make touching it again a reality. Perfect, I got this.” I slap a fake smile on my face and give a thumbs-up to Yada.

“Fake smile or not, you can handle this. Remember to breathe and take your time. Any answer he may give you could be triggering, so pace yourself and remember your coping skills.”

I nod, not really feeling like talking anymore.

We finish up the session and say our goodbyes. As I leave her office, I steel my features and make it to the hallway where Walter sits and reads from his phone. 

Oh, did I not mention that he won’t let me go anywhere by myself? Yeah. He’s become my shadow.

“Hey baby, you ready?” I say, grabbing his hand as he reaches it out to me. I must have let a bit of emotion slip through because I can see the gears working behind his smile.

As we walk to the exit, Walter speaks, “You have homework concerning me, don’t you?” 

I stop walking and gulp nervously, shifting from foot to foot. 

“So, that’s a yes. Don’t worry, I can’t hear what happens in Yada’s office. You just have a tell when you have to talk to me about something, that’s all.”

My dumb ass actually waits for him to tell me what my giveaway is, we end up in the parking lot before I realize he’s not saying anything. “Gonna keep that to yourself, then?”

“Of course!” He chuckles, pulling me to him so he can plant a kiss on my temple.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” I pout, getting into the truck, “But, there better be ice cream in the near future.”

He smiles at me, tilting his head and saying nothing but closing the door. Putting on my seatbelt, I grumble to myself as he is getting into the truck. That little shit! 

“I’m sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.” I freeze and look up to see a stern Daddy's face.

“I’m sorry!” I scramble to recover, not wanting to say what I said under my breath.

“Hm. Sounded something like ‘See if I will get any ice cream after that outburst’? But, that can’t be right.” He adopts a confused expression, then looks at me with a hint of fire in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now, let’s go home for lunch and see if you can’t earn yourself a treat.” He reaches over and pats my thigh before giving it a squeeze in one large paw.

The noise I make is somewhere between a whimper and a moan. And judging by the look on Walter’s face as he starts the car, he enjoyed the sound. He spends the entire ride with his hand on my thigh, and it’s glorious feeling the heat emanating from his hand.

Walter’s POV

After a simple yet hearty lunch, we settle down on the couch. She hasn’t brought up her homework yet, which means it’s going to be a tough conversation. It’s not as if I’m looking forward to having this interaction, but the sooner it is over the sooner we can move forward. 

If I were a betting man, I would put money on it that she wants to talk about our sex life. Or rather, my inability to give myself to her as of late. She won’t like the reason why and I’ll have to take what she dishes out on that front.

I did something she asked me not to do and now I have to tell her.

I spoke to her attacker. Technically.

Walter’s POV

Three Weeks Ago

It’s been about a week since…the incident. Kam is taking this all in stride, from therapy appointments to meetings with the legal team. With the evidence collected, it’s pretty much an open-and-shut case to get both of these men in prison. 

Justin is being charged with drug possession and being an accomplice in the kidnapping. But her captor is being charged with criminal sexual conduct in the second degree, rape in the second degree, and kidnapping in the second degree.

I am off of the case, per the department and Kamaria herself. I’m too close to it. I know that. I understand that I have a stake in this. The love of my life was hurt by these men, and all I want is to see them come to justice.

Seeing her in that hospital bed broke me. Talking to that little shit who somehow thinks he and Kam are in love? While he might have lost the plot, he’s a delusional kid at best and a misguided psychopath at worst. He’s in custody and he’s cooperating with us which is all I care about right now. 

Well, not all I care about. The other one is on my mind nonstop. The mastermind who somehow got help from a kid to commit atrocious crimes. The tosser who I’m told is complex, charismatic, and calculating. I was specifically told by Kam to not get involved. I was officially told by Harper to stay out of it.

And I didn’t engage. Technically. 

It’s a particularly taxing day and I barely slept a wink the night before. Nightmares were keeping Kam awake and I stay up with her so she isn’t alone. The lack of sleep could have accounted for what happened, but let’s be honest I would have done the same damn thing on a full night’s sleep.

I was walking to the men’s room when there was a commotion down the hall. It sounded like it was coming from interrogation and I felt like being nosy. 

I wish I never walked down that hall.

I see Commissioner Harper exiting Interrogation Room 2 but he doesn’t see or hear me approaching. A uniformed officer stands at the door, his eyes flitting between Harper and myself. He clears his throat in a vain attempt to subtly announce my presence. 

Harper turns and notices me, coming to turn me back in the other direction. I make it to the window before he’s able to stop me from looking in. I recognize Rachel sitting with her back to the window, but the person she’s talking to looks unfamiliar. He looks like an arsehole, that mustache belongs in a bad 70s porno.

“Who’s the–” I begin, but Harper stops me.

“Detective, turn around right now. You don’t want to be here.” He points a finger in the other direction and I’m confused for a moment before clarity washes over me.

“Why don’t–,” It feels like slow motion as I look back to the window and it clicks into place, “Is that him?”

The way he looks down, pinching the bridge of his nose, means my suspicion is confirmed. 

Turning back to the window, I clench my jaw and stare ahead at the son-of-a-bitch. I can feel my hands start to tremble, and the adrenaline of rage courses through my veins. Only one thing can help release all of this pent-up energy. As if he could read my mind, I hear Harper speak up.

“Marshall, don’t even think about it.” He doesn’t sound very convincing, does he?

“I promise I won’t touch him, I won’t even say a word,” I plead with him to let me in, “I just need to look into his eyes.” My voice starts to crack at the end and I feel like I could scream.

“Don’t make me regret this,” He signals to the officer to step aside, “And I mean it, not a fucking word.” I nod and we walk in catching the end of a conversation.

“...and then that goddamn kid goes and falls for the girl. I wake up and they’re both gone! Police jammin’ me up over a fuckin’ skirt? Such bullshit! This wasn’t even on me. There’s no point for me to lie, I know you have Justin here somewhere. He’s told you plenty I’m sure.” As if he was so enthralled in his own story, he turns to look at us finally as Harper takes a seat next to Rachel and I remain standing and crossing my arms. His face peels into a shit-eating grin when he settles on me.

Rachel looks up at me and then to Harper who holds up a hand. I see her tense before moving on. “When you say “this wasn’t on you”, what does that mean?”

“I get an envelope delivered to my door with a picture of this girl and a fat stack of cash. I could’ve just run off with the money, but I was promised more when the job was done.” 

“What exactly was ‘the job’?”

I debated leaving at the point and well, hindsight is 20/20.

“Well, the job was to find Kamaria Mansfield. Find out if she was happy, and end that happiness. Seems like she’s a lot tougher than we thought, eh Walter?” He looks back up at me and winks, “Where are my manners? Lloyd Hansen, pleased to finally meet you face-to-face.” 

“How do you know–” Rachel starts, but Hansen interrupts.

“Like I said, sweetheart. The job was to find the girl, and anywhere that Mary went, her lamb was sure to go. And by lamb, I mean this big lug over here. They spend almost every waking hour together, it would be cute if I didn’t have a job to do. So, she’s definitely happy. But! She’s dating a fucking detective and working in a fucking police station, so my options are limited. I follow her for weeks until he drives her to meet with her friends at some stupid little club. Luckily, I knew I could overpower her, but it was best to make sure she wouldn’t fight me. And that’s where Justin comes in.” He stops to catch his breath, then starts again.

“Now, Justin…lives with me. Met him online, only knows me as Sir. That boy is a pretty little thing and he has his uses. Drugs and easy sex are about it, actually. I call him up and tell him to get an Uber to the club ‘cause we’re going to find me a girl. He had no clue about my job and he didn’t need to know. Sort of an unspoken ignorance is bliss type deal. Anyway, he gets to the club and I’ve been watching her all night. I wait until she’s dancing by herself. The other two chicks are at the bar being seduced by two lunkheads that look like they could benchpress a fucking cow. I make my way over to the girl and start grinding behind her. I figure she’s out on the town without the boyfriend, and dancing isn’t cheating so why not cut a rug? But she’s not into it and starts to try and get away, that little scamp. So I make sure I hold onto her tight while Justin gets in place to keep her distracted. He’s able to slip her the Molly. And it goes through her pretty quickly, probably due to the booze in her system. Pretty soon, she is all over Justin and he’s excited as hell until she starts to freak out, asking for Walter before she passes out. We get her to the van in the alley and we take her to where we stay.”

“And that’s the house near Twin Lakes Beach, off Route 69?” Rachel, ever the professional, tries to keep him talking.

“That’ll be the one. Had her for about a day and a half before I noticed her and Justin getting a little too chummy. I thought about killing her, but why murder when you can emotionally and physically scar someone? I made sure she’d never forget me, I made sure that what I did left a mark. She could never see it all as a bad dream, because she’ll have evidence that it all happened. From the pain in her pussy to the cuts from my butterfly knife on her hands and face, I’ll always be with her. And every time you look at her, Walter, you’ll be thinking of me, won’t you?” He was so pleased with himself. Perhaps he wanted to have this interaction with me all along, to rub it all in my face.

All I could see was red, my hands start to hurt from shaking so badly, and I knew I could pick him up and throw him just from the outrage in my veins. I keep my arms crossed because I knew if I lowered them, they would be reaching out for this arsehole. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself at that moment. I don’t know how I managed to hold myself together at all.

Before I say or do something I regret, Harper stands and walks out of the room and drags me along with him. For a few moments, I’m stunned speechless. But that’s over soon enough.

“He knew her name, he knew she worked here, he knew me, and he knew we were dating. This means it wasn’t random. Which means someone wanted to purposefully hurt her. But who would want to hurt her?” As the question is coming out of my mouth, I think of one name.

Christopher. 

The ex-boyfriend from college. The one who abused her, the one she hit over the head with a sculpture. But does he have the means, the motive, or the opportunity to hire someone to rough up his ex? And would bringing him into this put Kam at risk of being brought up on charges of assault? With so many variables, I do the only thing I could think to do.

I keep my fucking mouth shut. I tell Harper this is too much for me and I make a hasty exit.

Once I am back in my office, I call to check in on Kam and just hearing her voice keeps me calm. I manage to keep my voice steady and if she hears my voice falter, she doesn’t mention it. And I thank my lucky stars.

As we end the call, I think back to Lloyd’s words: “Every time you look at her, Walter, you’ll be thinking of me”.

The stuff of nightmares…

Kamaria’s POV

The Present

“Walter?” I wave my hand in front of his face, getting his attention, “You were certainly deep in thought.”

“Sorry, love. Just wondering what your homework is, is all.” He takes a deep breath and nudges me to speak.

“Well, it’s…I just,” I take a beat, chewing on my lip, “Walter, I…fuck, this is suddenly really difficult to talk about.”

He puts a hand over my fidgeting fingers and instantly soothes me.

“Um, ok. I’ll just come out with it then. I miss being intimate with you. I miss touching you. And I want you to know that I love when you eat me out. Trust me, I absolutely go nuts for it. But, you don’t let me return the favor. And we haven’t had sex in about a month. I just, want to know what I can do to make you feel comfortable. I’m just hoping it isn’t something I’m doing to keep you away–”

“No, no, no. Kam, it’s not you. I’m so sorry that I even made you feel like it was something you did,” He turns and faces me while sitting on the couch, “I have to tell you something and you’re not going to like it. But it will explain why I’ve been the way I have been.”

I push down the immense fear that he’s leaving me, my abandonment issues rearing their ugly head yet again. I nod for him to continue to avoid the threat of my voice cracking when I speak.

“I know you told me not to get involved in your case. But something happened a few weeks ago and you deserve to know about it.” The grave look on his face has me worried.

“What happened?”

He proceeds to launch into a retelling of what my attacker said to him. From being given “the job” to following us and watching me in the club. It hurt to hear that Walter was given all this information. Just to hurt him. But, as mad as I am at Lloyd for what he did to me, I feel just as furious at Walter for keeping all of this a secret for almost a month. 

“So, let me get this straight. You’ve been hurting in silence and didn’t think, not even once, to share this with me? Just leaving me thinking it’s my fault that you don’t want to have sex with me? But it’s the words of a sociopath that you chose to cling to. What happened to ‘we’re in this together’?” 

“We are in this together. I just thought I could handle it.”

“Handle it?!” I untangle myself from him and get up from the couch to start pacing, my anger bubbling inside me, “How do you expect to handle something like that without actually fucking handling it with me or your therapist? Fucking anyone!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, releasing a heavy breath through his nostrils. “How could I have told you then? It had been less than a week since you got out of the hospital. If I brought this up, it would have seriously affected your progress and I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh, thank you for waiting to tell me until I had to practically reach inside you and pull out this information. You’re letting him get to you, don’t give him that power. I’m telling you that from a victim’s perspective. Yes, he hurt us, but if we dwell on that, we’re letting him win.”

“Just knowing what he looks like, having him tell me to my face what he did to you. It took everything out of me not to thrash him. I wanted to kill him. That anger…it’s never left me. I just push it down. I just…” An inhuman grunt escapes him and it goes straight to my core.

“Stop pushing it down.”

He wipes a hand down his face and looks up at me. “What do you mean?”

“Something tells me you know exactly what I mean…Daddy.”

“I’m too wound up for that, I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

“I’m not afraid that you’ll hurt me,” I kneel in front of where he sits on the couch, “I’m afraid that you won’t.”

A shuddering breath leaves Walter before he leans forward and grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back to expose my neck. “Does Princess need a little pain from Daddy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I let the emotion inside me escape as tears down my face, “Please hurt me.”

“Fuck you look beautiful when you cry for me, Princess,” He releases my hair and leans back to unbutton and unzip his jeans, his thick and hard dick springing out. He reaches a hand to my face to wipe my tears and with that same hand he starts to jerk his dick, “Come suck your tears off Daddy’s dick, Princess.”

I’ve never thrown myself on a dick so fast. I don’t take my time, I’ve missed it too much. I suck him down, my tongue massaging the underside of his dick. The sounds coming out of him were so rewarding and I could feel the wetness already gathering in my folds. I clench my legs together to keep focused but it only made me moan around his length.

Gathering all my hair in one hand, he holds me steady so he could fuck my face and I couldn’t be happier. The heavy weight of him on my tongue, the drool leaking from the sides of my mouth, my gagging sounds when he hits my uvula. 

It’s too much and I try and move a hand down into my panties but I’m stopped when Walter pulls my head off of him quickly. I sputter and cough, wiping at the drool on my lips. 

“Awwww does Princess need attention on her little pussy?” I nod, as he jerks himself in my face, “Panties off, come up here so you can suck Daddy’s dick and I can play with that pretty pussy.”

I pull my skirt up and pull down my panties, shucking them…somewhere behind me. I get down on all fours with my ass up, leaning down on my elbows. Walter lands some seriously mighty smacks to my ass and stifles my moans by shoving my head down on his length.

He snakes a hand to my clit and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. I groan into his dick and feel him twitch in my mouth. I sink down on him, letting him repeatedly into my throat for as long as he can handle it. Which ends up being long enough that my throat hurts. 

The man hasn’t fucked me in a month but has this kind of stamina, must be all the anger coursing through him.

“Fuck, Princess…need to have this pussy in my mouth before I fuck it,” He starts to get up and I go to move but he stops me, “You stay right where you are, baby,” He moves behind me on the couch, pushing my front all the way down so my pussy is exposed under my plump ass, “Fuck, so fucking wet for me already, Princess. Such a good girl for Daddy.”

He flattens his tongue and licks from my clit to my entrance, Stiffening his tongue, he fucks into me while his thumb rubs my clit. I push back on him, riding his tongue until I feel that familiar tension.

“Daddy, please may I cum?” 

“Be a good girl and cum on Daddy’s tongue, Princess.” That’s when he decides to push his tongue as far as it will get into my cunt. I can feel him licking my walls.

Oh, he’s really eating me out now.

“Fuck fuck fuuuuuuuck,” I feel the knot tighten then release as I cum over my tongue and lips. My legs shake as I come down and I don’t notice Walter getting into position behind me.

I’m so tight and hot after cumming that he has to push in a few times before my pussy lets him in all the way. But once he’s nestled inside, we both groan at the feeling. Me from the fullness, him from the snug fit.

Pulling most of the way out, he pushes in slowly. He picks up the pace as he goes, his big paws holding my cheeks apart so he can see the grip I have on him. 

“Fuck, I love fucking this pussy, Princess,” He slams into me so deep and fast that I wonder how the fuck he’s doing it, “But this little knot keeps winking at me. I think it wants some attention too.”

“You wanna play with my ass, Daddy?” We’ve never done that before and I’m so turned on and feeling fucked out enough already that I would let him do anything.

“That’s my good girl,” I hear him spit and feel it land on my ass. His thumb circles my knot before dipping in a few times, each time further in than the last until he’s to the knuckle. Holding his finger there, he starts to fuck me again. I feel his dick stretching my cunt and his thumb testing my asshole. “You’re doing so well, baby. We have to get you a plug for this tight ass, keep it ready for me all the time. Fuck I can’t wait to fuck your ass…fucking cum in it and plug you so you keep it all day long. You like that idea, Princess?”

“Yes, Daddy. Want your cum in all my holes.” At this point, my legs have begun to shake again telling me my next orgasm is close.

“Such a good little cumslut you are. You look so good, so full of me right now. Sweet little cunt is full of cock and tight little ass is stuffed. Is Princess gonna cum on Daddy’s cock?” His breathing is labored and his thrusts are getting sloppy.

“Cum with me Daddy. Fill me up!” I push back on his dick so he goes even deeper and I can feel him kissing my cervix with the tip of his dick. “Right there, right there, right there!” With one hand on my clit, I feel the rush of my orgasm as it floods over my fingers.

“That’s it, Princess. Fuck, it’s so…fucking hot…when you…squirt!” His words stutter as he chases his own release and fills me with a load so warm and plentiful that it leaks out past his dick and soaks the couch. Thank goodness this thing is so easy to clean. Between my pussy juices and his jizz, we have got a mess on our hands.

He pulls his finger out of my ass, then pulls his dick out and watches for a beat as his cum dribbles out. I know that’s his favorite part. He disappears into the kitchen and I hear the faucet turn on as he washes his hands. He comes back with one of his dish towels in his hand.

“You’re gonna get a boner every time you use that from now on.” I manage to squeak out before the warm towel touches my sensitive holes.

“Wouldn’t that be a shame?” He lays a quick smack on my ass before wiping the couch down as well. He lifts me off the couch and holds me bridal style, walking to the bedroom. “I don’t feel like showering right now, but you are more than welcome to.” He sets me down on my feet, kissing the top of my head.

We lay in bed for a while, not caring about his cum leaking out of me onto the sheets. We lazily kiss and hold each other and it’s nice. 

“So we had our first fight…and it actually ended in makeup sex.” I kiss the corner of his mouth as he smiles.

“Let’s not make that a habit, though, Princess.”

“Well, I mean, maybe if you didn’t keep a secret then I wouldn’t have had to–”

“Princess?”

“Yes?”

“Is Daddy forgiven?” His tongue snakes out over his bottom lip and I know he did that to seduce me.

“I forgive you, Daddy,” He kisses my forehead. “And I love you, Daddy,” He kisses my nose. “And Daddy loves me too.” He smiles as he kisses my lips, reserved at first until I feel his tongue begging for entrance. Opening my mouth, I let him take the lead as he massages my tongue with his. 

His hand glides from my cheek down my neck to my arm, finally landing under my knee to pull my leg up and open. As he slides in between my legs, I reach up and tangle my fingers in his messy and sweaty head of curls. 

I don’t even care that he is trying to shut me up by kissing me. He’s so fucking good at it! 

He reaches down to free his already half-hard dick and he teases it on my clit before using our combined juices as lube, entering me again hard and fast. When I break the kiss to try and catch my breath, he takes that as a sign.

Sitting up on his knees, he opens my legs wider than I’ve ever had them and proceeds to make me forget all about that silly fight. 

Wait…what fight?

“Such a good girl taking Daddy’s cock so well. Just need you to cum once for me, Princess. Then Daddy’s gonna fill you up.” The sounds my pussy makes while he pounds into me mixed with the visual of watching his dick slide in and out of me has me quaking in minutes. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” 

I feel his dick pulsating and twitching inside me and I catch him as he collapses on top of me. Any other time, I’m sure this weight would be uncomfortable. But, right now? All I can feel is a fucked out man who can’t get enough of me.

I wrap my arms and legs around him as he focuses on his breathing.

“Fuck, baby. I must be crushing you. Let me–”

“One more minute, please?”

“Hmmm.” He settles back in and starts to kiss up and down my neck.

“Okay, if you start doing that, we are gonna spend the whole damn weekend in this bed and we have plans, remember?” He keeps kissing and nipping at my spot and just like magic, I can feel myself forgetting all about…

…what was I saying?

Chapter 11

A/N1: The title of this chapter is taken from Vain by KIRBY. It is such a good song, give it a listen! 

A/N2: Did you like my special guest? Lloyd Hansen, everybody!! 

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[svartalfhild]

Dreaming in the Dark and Waking in the Light

Rating: T

Genre: Gothic Romance, Tragedy

Words: 4,680

Summary: After ten years of playing a dangerous balancing act as a double agent between the Kargat and the resistance, the other shoe finally drops for Vrae Zilivna.

Content Warning: it gets really dark and violent, lads

A/N: This is a small story that details an important moment in the life of my new DnD character, a drow bard who is from Ravenloft but escapes to the Prime Material Plane for our campaign.  This story takes place during her life in Ravenloft.

Previous Stories: The Oracle and the Officer, (Un)bearable, Shattered, The Mirror is in the Eye of the Muse, Cold, For the Dead We Revel, For the Living We Mourn

~ ~ ~

“We’ve secured them at the safehouse.  The Kargat won’t find them, and they’ll be put on a ship to Liffe as soon as we’ve made arrangements to get them to the docks safely,” Shaena explained, and Vrae breathed a sigh of relief.  She was glad that the information she’d copied and passed on from Caspar’s journal hadn’t arrived in the hands of the resistance too late to save the Kargat’s latest target: a servant from the house of the local baroness who was wanted for their involvement in an assassination plot.

“Thank the gods.  I was afraid I’d be too late.  It’s become harder to get ahold of intelligence these past few weeks.”

“Why?  Is Caspar having a harder time taking his eyes off you or something?  If so, maybe you’ve been too effective at the seducing and you should ease up a little.”  Vrae gave her friend a sideways look at this comment and pulled her dressing gown a bit tighter around herself.

“It’s not that.  I think this assassination business has him being more cautious about what he carries on his person.”

“In that case, you’ll have to be equally careful.  Don’t reach for anything you aren’t sure you can hold.”

“Shaena, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve been doing this for ten years; I can handle myself.”  As much as Vrae appreciated Shaena trying to look out for her all the time, sometimes it felt a little patronizing, and in this particular moment, it seemed that wasn’t the only vibe the stalwart halfling was throwing at her.

“It’s precisely because you’ve been doing this for ten years that I’m concerned.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  Vrae’s brow furrowed as she stared at Shaena, who gave a resigned sigh and took a moment to consider her words carefully before answering.

“You’ve been letting that man touch you for a long time now, longer than any of us thought even you’d be able to endure.  That’s been a bloody boon to the resistance, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t deny that it’s clearly changed you.  I don’t see the same fire in your eyes that I once did, and I can’t remember the last time you spoke a single word against Caspar.  You can see how that might make us worry that you’ve been compromised.”  Shaena wrung her fingers together as she spoke, obviously uncomfortable with crossing the line into being confrontational with Vrae.  For her part, Vrae felt panic begin to rise in her gut.  She’d been successfully lying about the nature of her relationship with Caspar for years, convincing everyone it was purely manipulative and transactional from her side, but if her friends were starting to ask questions, she was walking on very thin ice indeed.  Sure, Shaena had expressed concern before, but not like this, not speaking for the whole resistance cell.

“I’m not compromised.  I’m as dedicated to bringing down the Kargat as I ever was,” she replied carefully, knowing that the best way to lie was to tell a little truth first.  “I’ve simply made peace with my situation.  Yes, my mark is a decent lay and he’s generous with his money, but that just makes it easier to bear, nothing more.”

“So if Olvenriel told you to end the arrangement, you’d be able to do it, no hesitation?” Shaena asked pointedly, and it was like being slapped.  Vrae wasn’t prepared for this.  Her breath hitched in her throat as her mind reeled, trying to find something, anything to say that wouldn’t incriminate her.

“Is that what Olvenriel wants?”

“No, but would you be able to follow the order?”

“Yes.”  That was a complete and outright lie, and Vrae felt like she was choking on it, but she did her best to keep her voice calm and even.  Shaena eyed her for a long moment that felt like an eternity, scrutinizing her response for any hint of deception.  Her mouth fell open as her gaze dropped to Vrae’s collar.

“What is that?”  A jolt of terror shot through the young drow as she looked down to see that in the course of her gesturing while speaking, her dressing gown had slipped open enough for her silver locket to fall out.  Damn Shaena for showing up to her flat so early in the morning before she could properly dress to hide it.  She looked back up at her friend and visibly struggled to come up with a reply, but that in itself was enough.  Shaena reached out and opened the locket to see the engraved stars on one side and “for my beloved” in Elvish on the other.  Something like pity creased her expression, and Vrae felt ill.  “Shit, Vrae. What have you got yourself into?”

“He’s not what you think.”

“He’s Kargat!  They’re all liars and a murderers!  Surely you haven’t forgotten that!”  Shaena aggressively shut the locket and let it go.  In turn Vrae clutched it tightly over her own heart.

“I know what he is, but I know he can be more.  I’ve seen it.”

“Just because he loves you and treats you right don’t mean he’s a good man.”  Those words echoed the mantra Vrae had told herself for so long, trying to deny what she felt for Caspar, trying to convince herself of how wrong it was, but time and circumstance had shown how fruitless that had been.  Maybe it was still wrong, but at least she knew what she wanted now.

“No, but when he lies awake at night, wracked with guilt and wondering if he still serves justice, I know I’m looking at a good man led astray.  I have to help him find the right path.”

“You’re gambling with an awful lot of hope, luv, and that’s the weakest currency in the world,” Shaena advised, the anger in her small face giving way to sadness as she placed a gentle hand on Vrae’s arm.

“He’s worth it.”  The conviction in Vrae’s voice astonished Shaena, and she gaped up at her as if she’d just witnessed a carriage crash.

“By the gods, you really do love him,” she responded, aghast.  “When did this happen?”

“I…I don’t know,” Vrae answered after a short pause, tears welling up in her eyes as she started to realize the ramifications of her feelings and choices.  “Maybe it was the first time he laughed.  Maybe it was the first time he told me he loved me.  Maybe it was when he gave me this locket and promised himself to me.  Maybe it was a moment I don’t even remember.  I spent so long lying to myself that I’ll never be sure.”

“You know I have to tell Olvenriel.  You’ve been compromised, and that concerns us all.”

Vrae nodded solemnly.  As much as she would have liked to ask her friend to keep her secret, there was no point when the leader of their resistance cell possessed a ring that allowed her to see through lies.  Besides, Shaena was right, she had a moral duty to report this to the group.

When the halfling left, Vrae finally let her tears fall, but even alone in her flat, she bit back every sob that threatened to leave her.  She had had enough of her own weakness for one day, and the light of dawn had only just begun to peak through the curtains.  Spitefully, she drew the curtains further closed to shut out the light completely, even knowing that the light would help warm her flat.  She needed the comfort of total darkness right now.

~ ~ ~

In the next few days, Vrae heard nothing from Shaena or Olvenriel, and though she tried to put it out of her mind, it became the undercurrent of her waking hours.  She was often restless, and she caught her hands shaking when she was making tea for a customer one afternoon.  She was able to hide this from them, but when Caspar came to see her, he could tell that something was wrong.

 When they lay in bed together, bodies entwined under the comfort of her heaviest blanket, and Caspar was quietly telling her about a few things he wanted to draw, she found herself staring at him in a way that went beyond simple attentiveness.  Her gaze wandered over him, taking in every detail.  The green of his eyes.  The strong, angular shape of his thick eyebrows.  The sharp lines of his elven ears, his jaw, his cheeks, and his nose.  The way the stray mussed locks of his short black hair fell across his forehead.  The way the dark leather braid she’d made him hung around his neck.  The way his lips curved in a subtle smile as he spoke excitedly about his ideas.  He was beautiful and brilliant, and as she looked at him, she was screaming inside from the agony of wanting a life she could never have and knowing the world would take every chance to deny her even this simple comfort.  Tears welled up in her eyes, betraying her pain to him.  He caught it almost immediately and stopped mid-sentence, his smile fading into a look of concern.

“Vrae?”  He reached out and brushed her white hair back a little before resting a calming hand on her shoulder.  She said nothing and only continued to stare at him longingly while her tears began to spill from her eyes.  “Vrae, what troubles you?” he pressed and she curled up against him, burying her face in his chest and holding him tightly, as if he were a rock in a stormy sea.

“I love you so much,” she told him, her voice muffled against his sternum.  “I wish we could live a bonded life.”  At this, he relaxed and held her tightly in return.

“I feel the same,” he replied, kissing the top of her head and soothingly stroking her long hair.  She took several quiet moments to allow her tears to run their course before she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.

“I have this silly little fantasy my mind wanders to occasionally where we get married in secret and run away together, taking a boat across the sea to some beautiful forgotten land where no one knows or cares who we are,” Vrae confessed, admittedly nervous that he would see it as a frivolous thought, but her fear was assuaged when he gave her a curious look and indulged her instead.

“And what do we do when we get there?”

“We build a little house by the sea where we are left in peace.  You spend your days sketching the world around us, and I write songs under the stars.  We read books to each other and dance on the beach.  We scream our love to the wind and the waves, and they roar back in thunderous blessing for all that we share.”  A pause followed these words as Caspar took them in, and a wistful smile graced his lips.

“That’s a beautiful dream,” he responded, entwining his fingers with hers.  “I wish I could make it real, but I’ll settle for dreaming it with you.  Thank you for telling me.”  He kissed the back of her hand, and she couldn’t help but give him a watery smile in return.

“You always know just what to say.”  At this, he wiped the last of the moisture from her eyes and offered her a look of gentle amusement.

“I should hope so.  A man of my position can’t afford to blunder.”

“And which position would that be?  Your nobility as the Arden heir?  Your station as Chamberlain of Vradlock?  Your rank in the Kargat?  Or your place in bed with me?” she questioned, playing along.

“Take your pick,” he told her with a small shrug, and a wicked grin spread across her face.

“I have a clear bias for any position you take with me.”  She drew her knee up the side of his thigh, delighting in the subtle way his eyes widened as she did so.  He quickly committed to the playful direction they’d taken, however, and he rolled with her onto her back, looming over her with the glint of a challenge in his eyes.

“Would this be acceptable, then?”

“Yes.”  Vrae reached up and traced her fingers along the edge of Caspar’s ear, half teasing, half soft and sincere.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head into the contact until her hand drew away.  In return, he kissed her slowly and carefully, and she let him be her entire world for a little while, forgetting about her worries and losing herself in his touch.

Later, as they lay together in contentment once more, Vrae quietly sang a song she’d written a few years ago that only Caspar knew was for him.  It spoke of a woman who fell in love with the voice of the sea, who would emerge from the water as a shadow each new moon, bringing her a lantern lit with one of the stars from the edge of the horizon, and when the lantern’s light faded at the end of the night, he would return to the waves, leaving her to pine at the shore for the next new moon, his distant whispers and the lap of the water against her ankles her only comfort.  As Vrae sang, she carded her fingers through Caspar’s dark hair and watched him drift into rest.

On any other night he came to visit, she would have gotten up the moment he was out to search his things for Kargat intel, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it this time.  She was tired of being a spy.  She was tired of lying to and betraying the man she’d come to love so deeply.  It was destroying her.  But she knew she had no choice.  This was as good as it would get for her, and she’d be a fool to ask for anything more.

Feeling a sudden need for guidance, she reached to her nightstand for her tarokka deck and pulled three cards.  The Charlatan.  The Traitor.  The Broken One.  Each one felt like a twisting knife in her gut, as if the spirits were not guiding her, but accusing her.  She was hit with the sensation of a dozen insistent hands pulling at her and her skin crawled with fear.  She quickly tossed the cards back onto her nightstand and held Caspar more tightly, closing her eyes and suppressing a sob.

~ ~ ~

A few days later, Vrae finally received a reaction to the news of her ill-advised entanglement from Olvenriel in the form of a letter.  It had been wedged in the sill of the window near her bed during the night for her to find in the morning.  It read, in elegant script:

You have done a great deal of good for our cause, and for that we are grateful, but you have been compromised by the affections of your target, and we now must call into question your ability to do the work.  Understand that even if you have not strayed far enough to do harm, we must be certain that no harm can be done in the future.  The continuation of our cause and the safety of the group must come first above all things.  As such, we must ask you to kill Caspar Arden by poison or any other discreet means you can devise.  Do this and we will consider the problem resolved.  If you refuse, you will have lost our trust completely, and we must take appropriate security measures.  Do not fail us.

- O

Panic consumed Vrae as she took in these words.  She felt as though the life she had carefully built was slipping between her fingers like water.  She didn’t know what to do.  How could she save both Caspar and herself?  Logic told her a sacrifice had to be made, but her heart refused, leading her to dress and throw on her coat as quickly as possible to head to the bakery a few streets over.  There, she found Shaena already hard at work before dawn as usual, shoving loaves of bread into the large oven.  The halfling was not surprised to see her and gave her a fresh look of pity as she observed her haggard and desperate appearance.

Their conversation was short, consisting primarily of Vrae demanding that Shaena arrange for her to get an audience with Olvenriel as soon as possible and Shaena promising to try.  Olvenriel was a noble, and that made her difficult to safely contact and see, but Shaena at least had an in through the kitchens of her estate.  Knowing this was all that could be achieved for now, Vrae returned home and prepared to open her shop for the day, where she would have to pretend that everything was fine.

Four days passed at an agonizing crawl as Vrae waited for news.  Worse still was the fact that the spirits refused to answer questions about herself and her predicament with anything other than the Traitor card.  How was she supposed to respond to such judgement from the dead?  Was what she was doing truly so wrong?

Olvenriel finally came to her unannounced at the end of the week, well before dawn and disguised as a peasant.  Vrae could only be certain it was her because she’d met her twice before, and the moment she pulled back her rough woolen cowl and straightened her posture, her commanding presence was undeniable.

“The halfling tells me you wish to discuss the terms of my letter,” she began, not taking the seat Vrae offered.

“I do.  I understand the alarm you and the others feel at what’s happened, but you cannot ask this of me.”  Vrae held up the letter emphatically, and Olvenriel’s crimson eyes hardened.

“Are you choosing to forfeit yourself, then?”

“No.”

“Then what is left?  Would you have another carry out the task for you?”

“No!”  Vrae cursed herself as she failed to hide her panic, and Olvenriel gave an impatient sigh.

“How are we to protect ourselves, then?  How are we to trust you while that male still holds influence over your heart?”

“I have been working very hard to bring him to our side, ma’am, and I have made progress.  To throw all of that away now would be a terrible waste, especially when I’m so close to achieving my goal,” Vrae reasoned, and Olvenriel raised a single, perfectly sculpted white eyebrow.

“I must admit, that’s not what I expected from you, but I can see the value in it.”  The noblewoman’s tone was more measured now, and Vrae felt she had gained at least a little respect, enough to embolden her to speak further.

“Give me time, ma’am, and we can both get what we want.  You can add a powerful tool to your arsenal and secure our cause.  I can save the man I love.”

“Very well.  If you’re so far along and so certain of your impending success, I give you a fortnight.  Don’t make me regret it,” Olvenriel declared, and before Vrae could say anything more, she watched her imperious guest pull up her cowl, turn on her heel, and leave.

The moment she was gone, Vrae fell to her knees, clutching her chest as she tried to fight another wave of panic.  Olvenriel was as terrifying and uncompromising as one would expect a follower of Lolth to be, but Vrae had managed to talk herself into a better position, and she could at least hold onto that, small victory though it was.  A stay of execution, however short, would give her a chance to get through this, but it was difficult to celebrate knowing what would happen if she failed.

When she’d calmed down enough to stand back up, she snapped her fingers to light a candle and set the letter on fire before dropping it in the cold hearth to be lost in the ashes.  She then went about her day once again, trying to pretend to the world that she was fine and nothing was amiss, but all the while wracking her brain for what she could possible say to Caspar to convince him to turn his back on the Kargat.  Everything she wanted was within sight, she just had to reach for it quickly and carefully enough.

Caspar arrived at her shop that evening in good spirits, despite being covered in a heavy dusting of snow.  As Vrae helped him brush off, he told her of how he’d actually gotten to just sit in his office in the mayor’s estate all day and do nothing but check ledgers and send missives for once.  He hadn’t been able to relax in several weeks, save for the handful of nights he’d spent with her, so the slow work day had been incredibly welcome.

“Why don’t you go right upstairs and warm yourself while I close everything up down here, and when I’m done, we can curl up by the fire and demolish the fresh tin of ginger biscuits I got my hands on a few days ago,” Vrae suggested after getting on her tip toes to kiss Caspar’s chilled cheek.  His severe features cracked into that surprisingly sweet smile of his, and he gave a small laugh.

“How do you still manage to get ahold of those so often?”

“It’s harder than it used be now that the Shroud has closed off the borders, but I know a bloke who knows a Mistwalker who goes to Falkovnia on the regular,” Vrae answered smuggly.

“Seems like a lot of effort for some biscuits.”

“It’s worth the pleasure of your smile.”  This earned her another laugh and a kiss.  “Alright, alright, go on.  Go get warm.  Some of us did have to work today.”  She shooed Caspar on up the stairs, leaving her with a few moments to lock up, count the day’s earnings, clean her tea set, and so on.  Just as she was about to put out the candles that lit her shop, however, she heard the door to the upstairs flat slam open, and she barely had time to look up and see Caspar’s tall, dark form racing towards her before she found herself pinned against the wall by his forearm.  The violet glow of an identifying spell faded from his intense glare as he held up a charred and shriveled fragment of paper with the words “kill Caspar” still legible on one side.  He knew everything.

Fear shot through her with such intensity that she wasn’t sure she would ever move again, and as she gaped up at him in abject terror, tears began to well up in his eyes and he slowly pressed on her harder and harder.

“Caspar, I would never.  I could never.  Surely you know that,” she tried to assure him, though the tremor in her voice was unmistakable.

“It seems I know nothing.  Ten years and I didn’t see it.  Ten years and all I was was the unwitting pawn of a dissident traitor,” Caspar seethed through his mounting tears.

“No!  I-It wasn’t like that!  I-”

“You’re a criminal in the service of those who would see Darkon destroyed.  I will not be made your fool again.”  He punctuated this statement by making the piece of paper burst into flame and fall as ashes from his fingers, all while he stared at Vrae, shaking with devastation and rage.  With his hand free, he threw her to the floor and drew his rapier to point it at her throat.  This finally spurred her to action, and she rolled out from under the blade to her feet, swiftly backing away.

“Caspar, please.  Don’t do this,” she begged, each word growing close to a sob.  “Caspar, I love you.”

“Liar!” he bellowed, his tears finally spilling down his cheeks as his heartbreak began to consume him.  He lunged at her, and she drew a dagger as if from thin air to parry the blow.

“If I am a liar, then what are you?  You lie and kill in the name of a king who cares nothing for his people and would keep us beneath his cruel heel.  If you think you serve justice, then you have made yourself the fool, not I,” Vrae told him, her sadness and bargaining giving way to bitterness and anger.  He lunged again and she spun to the side.  He swiped at her and she ducked.  He had trained her in swordplay, and she knew all of his moves, but still they danced, driven by every raw emotion ripping at their hearts.

Though Vrae knew Caspar’s tactics, he was faster, stronger, and more experienced, and she had only a dagger to defend herself.  It was easy for him to back her into a corner and push aside her blade to grab her by the throat.  Before he could choke her, however, she let out a haunting scream, layered with the voices of the dead, and a wave of rippling pale green energy blasted out from her, throwing Caspar backwards, along with every loose object in the shop.  Dozens of glass jars shattered on the floor, and the table and chairs splintered against the wall in a great cacophony of destruction.

Vrae’s boots crunched on broken glass as she leapt for Caspar’s fallen sword, but a spectral hand snatched it up before she could reach it and delivered it to him.  He rolled to his feet and muttered a few arcane words, sending three projectiles of energy from his hand to crash into her like the hardest punches she’d ever felt in her life.  She doubled over and looked back up at Caspar with barely restrained anguish in her eyes as she clutched her ribs.

“Stop!” she cried in a last ditch effort to save them both.  The word reverberated throughout the room as her eyes flashed green, and Caspar staggered, dropping his rapier.  He looked dazed for a moment, but then he gave a few hard blinks and wrath returned to his face, lips trembling with rage.  He charged at her and grabbed her by the neck again, pushing her once more into the wall.

“I loved you,” he said, his voice wavering between heartbreak and cold resentment.  There was nothing she could say in return as he closed his fingers around her throat.  She could only gape at him, fresh tears streaming down her face.  Realizing that he was truly lost to her, she pulled a knife from the shaft of her boot and plunged it into his side.  He cried out in pain, a sound and sight that pierced her soul with the knowledge that she was hurting the person she loved, but it was necessary.  He let go of her, stumbling back and growling in further agony as he pulled the blade out and tossed it to the floor.  She used the opportunity to summon the Illusionist card into her hand, and with a grand sweeping gesture, she went invisible.

When Caspar looked up, she was gone, and he stopped to listen for the crunch of glass under her feet.  She tried to tiptoe around the shards, but just as she neared the door, she caught the edge of one, and his gaze snapped towards her.  Knowing she was made, she dashed for the exit.  With his wound, he was too slow to grab her, and she managed to slip out into the night, dashing down the snowy street and ducking into an alley to drop her invisibility in favour of willing herself into the air, thus ending the trail of footprints she had left behind.

As she made her way through the quiet darkness, the cold biting into her bones, it slowly began to sink in that her life had finally come crashing down around her.  Everything she had built, everything she had loved, all gone in a matter of moments, leaving her with nothing but the clothes on her back and the weight of her sins in her heart.

[moss-likes-rocks]

Varigo ghost AU

Summary: Ghost AU where Hugo is a demon that Varian summoned at a point of loneliness while living in his lab with his encased father. Hugo's orignal plan was to use Varian to get a vessel, but something about the boy endears him, and he decides his plans can wait a little longer.

So Hugo is attached to this gem that Varian attached to a necklace because of the spell used to summon, and the gem is taken from Varian when they realize whoever has it Hugo can't hurt, (like a Genie from Aladan situation.) After Rapunzel destroys Varian's controled automaton, Hugo becomes very protective, and the moment Rapunzel has the necklace, he retreats into it and refuses to communicate at all. That is until Rapunzel is on the road, and gets a very intimidating message in her journal "You need to go back to Corona and free Varian or [redacted] -Signed, Hugo." And Rapunzel is like "Oooh, your name is Hugo? That's very neat!" And Hugo is like "FEAR ME. I AM A DEMON." And this goes back and forth with Rapunzel trying to befriend him and him being super upset she's not scared. Eventually Hugo gets tired of writing her like a pen pal, and tries to scare her with shape shifting (since he's a ghost he can change his form), like a really scary bear form, but she's all "Can you do a dolphin?"

Cass HATES that they have the gem, and has no idea Rapunzel has been befriending the demon attached. Hugo finally breaks and slowly begins to just start talking to Rapunzel. While he would love to have just taken her vesal from the start, Varian wouldn't like that very much. He slowly kind of befriends Rapunzel, but never fully trusts her.

So when Cass steals the moon stone, Rapunzel legit tries to confide in Hugo for a moment, but he's like. "Woah, listen princess. I don't care. She clearly was mad at you almost all the time, I don't even know why you're shocked." And Rapunzel is all "This is fine."

THEN THEY GO BACK TO CORONA AND- When Hugo sees Varian being all tall dark and mysterious he's like "Pretty boy had a growth spurt." So he tricks Rapunzel into throwing the gem at Varian, so he can "attack" him. Varian pockets the gem, now reunited with his only real friend.

Varian excitedly shows Hugo his project, and Hugo is slightly hesitant. Wait, no. This is the exact kind of thing Hugo would have done, right? It's fine. Varian is fine. Rapunzel will be fine.

When Rapunzel eventually gets caught trying to sneak into the castle, and Hugo listens to Varian's plan, Rapunzel adds in that Hugo has to know Varian is wrong, they were friends, right? Varian gets very angry at that. He insists that Hugo was HIS friend, and the only person who tried to help him.

When Hugo is hesitant to agree, Varian throws the gem into the cell in a panic. His only real friend had betrayed him. He exclaims that Rapunzel will forget all this ever happened, and that she'll never even know who Hugo was, because she didn't understand.

Andrew has to break the news that there would be no mind erasing, and Varian is even more alarmed. He makes the decision to betray the Saporians, only to be quickly and eagerly comforted by Hugo when it backfires.

Rapunzel is slightly shocked, Hugo had been so cold when Cass had betrayed her. Hugo really cared for Varian, huh?

After defeating the Saporians, Rapunzel has one last promise she needs to keep. Hugo asks to talk with Varian, and Rapunzel leaves the lab for a moment. Varian asks what's wrong, and Hugo has to explain that his reason for being summoned was freeing Quirin, and Hugo had no vesal, so after Quirin was freed, Hugo would have to go.

Since Hugo has no last name (which means his name isn't very a very easy identification) it'd be an extreme and long process to summon him again, and it probably wasn't worth it after this. Hugo let's Rapunzel back in, and Varian was now almost hesitant to free his father.

The amber started to melt, with it, Hugo began to fade. Varian had to stand still, he had to help Rapunzel after the incantation was over. As soon as the amber under Quirin's feet melted, Hugo was gone. Varian freed Rapunzel, and broke into tears. He had one loved one, but had lost another.

So Varian searches everywhere he can to get Hugo back, alongside having to now translate the scroll, he really hasn't left his room other than to get food in days. Eventually, Varian manages to find something that he thinks may work, but he'll have to put all his focus into it. But when he stops giving updates on the scroll, Rapunzel has to see why. He tells her about what he found, but everyone os hesitant. The spell requires the caster to sell their soul to the spirit, and they don't exactly trust Hugo to not take advantage of that.

They express their concerns to Varian, but he gets really defensive, and kicks them out. His dad is normally working un the field for the majority of the day, so he has almost no idea what's happening.

So he goes through with it-

He successfully summons Hugo again, this time summoning him as a companion, which means Hugo doesn't leave until Varian does. But something is off. Varian can't put his finger on it, but he's happy Hugo is back, everyone else is very iffy, they're not too happy about the spell Varian used. Rapunzel tries to give Hugo the benefit of the doubt, and he happily accepts her friendship again.

With Cass still on the loose everyone is still on edge, and when Be Very Afraid roles around, Hugo is very upset. He doesn't like that whatever this is, is giving his amazing living boyfriend nightmares. So he is happy to help when Rapunzel enlists his, and Varian's help. Hugo, is not affected by the rocks due to the fact that he's a ghost.

Hugo is very protective with Varian (not that he wasn't before), and kind of defensive around Rapunzel. Something about Varian studying the scroll. Hugo feels like Varian is putting himself at risk, since he had seen how dangerous the brotherhood was first hand.

Varian tries to assure Hugo that it's fine, but he's only more unnerved when Varian is gonna spend five weeks in solitude. Hugo is going with him, of course, but with minimal bothering.

When Cass breaks in, Hugo tries to protect Varian, but Cass THROWS THE NECKLACE INTO THE PIT. They can't find a way to get it back, so they leave Hugo there in favor of saving Varian.

Hugo is mildly understanding once they are able to get him out, but this only raises the newborn tension between Rapunzel and Hugo. Rapunzel has no idea why Hugo had been so defensive around her, and she wanted to discuss it with Varian, but there was no chance to do that without Hugo hearing.

Hugo is mildly angry angry at Varian for not being more careful, but he knows that it wasn't Varian's fault. For the most part, Hugo is focused on Cass. How dare she kidnap Varian, feed him truth serum, then trap him 1,000s of feet in the air and put his life at risk?

Hugo really wanted a word with her, but Varian didn't even want to talk about the interaction, much less talking about finding Cass and letting Hugo talk to her, which Varian knew that ISN'T what he wanted to do.

So Hugo finds out that he can kind of control Varian while he's asleep, but he doesn’t tell Varian, because he's nervous, and he knows that everyone else will just be even more on edge around him. But that does give him some ideas, if he really needs to protect Varian, this could really come in use.

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Take Care of Me

Pairing = Santiago x reader

Words = 5.5k

Summary = A discussion about sex toys turns into something more … concrete

Warnings = Swearing, talk/description of mild anxiety. SMUT (18+ only), use of handcuffs in a sexy way, oral, piv sex

A/N = Prompt no.8 requested by @itspdameronthings​ as part of my 300 follower celebration, thanks so much, hope you like it! Prompt was “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself” w/santi and bolded in text. Also 3 things; 1 = Tom doesn’t exist in this AU, 2 = this is basically pure smut im so sorry, and 3 = I did do head hopping in this, which I know you’re not like supposed to do but also fuck the rules y’know?

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

It’s always easy to be loose after one of Benny’s fights.

It’s a heady mix of adrenaline, beer and testosterone, swirling together into a mix that makes you forget your normal boundaries. You’re normally quite brazen about your sex life anyway, but there is a line. You respect your partners, and there’s no need for your teammates to know too much.  

You’re all packed into a half-moon booth, Benny straddling a chair that he pulled up to the table after he spent too long chatting up the bartender.

It’s a small comment from Benny (because of course it’s Benny), saying that you haven’t got laid in a while, and you’re honestly surprised he noticed. But then, that’s the only predictable thing about Benny, that he is unpredictable.

Your surprise means you take a little too long actually thinking about it, which confirms Benny’s statement. You lean back a little in your seat, desperately ignoring Santi, who’s sat to your left. It also means you bite back a little harder in defence.

“Well maybe if you guys didn’t look like you’re about to murder anyone who even dares ask for my number maybe I’d have better luck.” That’s a lie, but there’s no way you’re going to tell them the truth. No way you’re going to tell Santi-

Your thoughts are interrupted by Will, sat to your right. “So you’re asking for our help?”

You scoff, hitting him up the head. “No, thank you.” Will knows why. Because of course he does. One of your oldest friends, he’d been the one who convinced you to join the team in the first place. “Despite what you think, I am completely capable of taking care of myself.”

You send a wink down to the table to Benny, who’s the first to catch on, hollering, and you try not to react to Santi leaning forward, suddenly interested, as though you’re not already hyper-aware of every body movement of his.

You continue, deciding you’re quite enjoying the effect you’ve had. “What do I need some stranger for when I can give myself a better orgasm than he could ever dream of?” You take a sip of your drink to hide your grin, as both Benny and Will holler, gaining a few glares from the pub’s other patrons.

That sip means you’re unprepared for Santi to lean in closer to you, his lips so close to your ear that you can feel his breath. “Maybe ‘stranger’ is where you’re going wrong.”

You swallow, unprepared for the sudden flare of attraction shooting through you and turning your head, just as he says, “I could take care of you.”

You catch a glimpse of Santi’s fuck me eyes when Benny (the dickhead) interrupts. Crossing his arms on the sticky table in front of him, he asks, “Does that mean you have toys?”

Frankie’s hat somehow tips lower on his head, if that’s possible.

Will twitches towards his brother, like he wants to strangle Benny for being so uncouth, but you put your hand on his upper arm. “Of course.” The best course of action is to just act like this is normal, so add a bit of air to your voice. This was normal. “Who doesn’t?”

There’s a blush rising on Benny’s cheeks and you can’t help but stoke it, grinning at him, and attempting your best bedroom eyes. He’s still not too ashamed to ask though. “What kinds?”

Will decides he’s had enough, glancing at Santi behind you with a frown and hitting Benny over the head in an imitation of the way you’d hit him. You laugh, unexpectedly pleased at the reaction you’ve gotten. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Benny nods, eager, even as Will stands, grabbing a hold of him, and steering him towards the bar. “Yes! Yes I would!” He manages to throw back at you and you laugh again, twisting your body to face Santi and Frankie, bringing your left leg onto the bench.

***

Meanwhile Santiago is in hell. He’s been in multiple hellish situations before, most similar to this one, in that it was always the 5 of you, bullets flying around your heads, rifles in your arms, weighed down by heat and sweat and tac vests.

And yet somehow, he thinks this might be the worst. Your foot next to his thigh, your knee bent, pulling your jeans up your leg and exposing your ankle to him. Watching you flirt with Benny, talking about sex, and toys, and masturbation. When that's all he wants to do with you. He just has to get the courage to tell you.

With you, there was a before in Santi’s life, and an after.

Before he knew you; and after he knew you.

Before he loved you; and after he loved you.

Except Santi’s not quite sure when he fell in love with you.

It started when Will introduced you as the newest member of the team, one of his childhood friends. He didn’t mean for it to happen, he treated you like he treated anyone else, quickly discovering that you weren’t like anyone else.

He welcomed you into his life with open arms, starting off innocently - he wanted to spend time with you. You were Will’s friend, which meant that there must be something good about you. You made him laugh, made him feel safe (even when he wasn’t). He’d wanted to do the same for you and thought he did a pretty good job.

He became your friend, until one day the two of you were watching a film. He can’t remember what it was, just that you were at his house, drinking and laughing and talking, huddled in one of his blankets, and looking like you belonged there, forever.

Falling in love with you was so easy, Santi didn’t even realise he was doing it.

Santi’s still impressed with himself that he didn’t just blurt out the words then and there. I love you.

How long had he been in love with you for? He couldn’t pinpoint down a specific moment. He remembered the night when you’d become friends - the last two around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows, making that awkward small-talk that occurs between acquaintances.

You’d made him laugh, playing chubby-bunny and teasing him until he’d had a go. You’d talked and talked, and Santi can’t even remember what about. Nothing, probably. The basics. Boring stuff, but filled with details that he’d used to keep the conversation going the next day.

He knows when he became your friend. Recognised when you trusted him more than the others, with the exception of maybe Will.

But he didn’t know when he fell in love with you. Just the day that the love became so overwhelming in his chest that he realised it.

The real nail in his metaphorical coffin was the night afterwards. The 5 of you had gone to a bar, and a girl had started talking to him as he was buying drinks. She was pretty, but she wasn’t you. And like a flashbulb, all of Santi’s previous partners flew through his mind and he realised that nothing had ever come out of them because they weren’t you.

They didn’t know how he liked his coffee, or why he had joined the military. They didn’t know the story behind his callsign, or what his favourite song was.

You did. What you weren’t there for, you asked about. You remembered. You made him feel important, like he mattered. In ways that he didn’t even really know existed.

You were the one that started him on decaf without telling him. That had been a conversation and a half. Before morning briefings, you’d started bringing him coffees. He hadn’t noticed much of a taste difference, and shamefully, had come to expect them.

Until, a month later, you weren’t there. A small trip home to visit your family, everyone knew you’d be back in a couple of days. Regardless, Santi had ordered what he’d thought was his usual coffee.

And found his anxiety rearing up again. It was subtle, making him more jumpy, less able to sleep, but it was there. He wasn’t sure what the cause was, definitely hadn’t linked it to the coffee, instead assuming that maybe he just missed you. Maybe because his anxiety hadn’t disappeared all the way, even with decaf. Maybe it was because it was your presence that helped him too.

He hadn’t even really noticed when the caffeine was gone, hadn’t noticed the absence of something wrong, only seeing the contrast when it returned. Maybe because it was gradual, the weaning off the caffeinated coffee, whereas the return, with his request of additional shot, had been too sharp for him.

You hadn’t noticed at first, assuming that Santi’s bear hug when he’d first seen you had just been because he missed you. But after lunch you pulled him to one side.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes are slightly wider with worry, and you’re chewing slightly on your bottom lip.

He hates that he’s the one to do that to you, and he tries to brush it off. “I’m fine.” That was his first mistake. His second was trying to push past you.

“Santiago!” He’s pulled up short, and there’s that tension, pulling at his shoulders, his eyebrows. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Your tone of voice hasn’t changed, but this time it’s a command.

Exhausted, hating himself, Santi drags his hands across his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I don’t...I don’t know.” He takes a breath, and it shudders through him. “I don’t know.” He sounds defeated, and he hopes you can’t hear it. “I just...I feel…” How does he feel? “Jittery.” Is what he finally settles on, but the word still feels wrong somehow.

You frown, looking him up and down like you’ve never seen him before. In fact, you’re silent for so long, Santi starts to be worried that you’re going to tell him to stop being so fucking ridiculous.

You don’t, but you ask questions.

Has he been sleeping? “Not really.”

Does he have something big coming up? “Just the usual.”

Has his daily routine changed at all? “No, I don’t think so. I get myself a coffee in the morning and the-”

You interrupt him with a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” And now it’s wrong, because now you’re looking at him like it’s your fault, when it definitely isn’t. “Santi I’m sorry. It’s your coffee.”

Santi frowns. His coffee? And you sound so apologetic, and he doesn’t understand why. “I switched you to decaf.” You can’t meet his eyes any more, gaze skittering to his shoulder with nerves. And you’re not shutting up. “I’m sorry, I should have told you, or asked if I could, I just... I knew you were getting nightmares, and decaf helped me so I thought it might help y-”

Santi cuts you off with a hug.

And now, the three of you sat in the booth, he hates himself for agreeing with Benny. He would like to know. He has a sneaking suspicion, odd little comments you’ve made throughout the years that when pieced together, paint a picture. A very vivid picture that he sometimes uses to torture himself, late at night in bed, imagining what you’d look like with your hands between your legs and wrapping a hand around his-

Santi shakes his head. Now is not the time. There’s never really a good time to fantasise about one of your best friends, but in public when they’re sitting next to you, is definitely one of the worst.

And why did he have to offer to take care of you? Did he think he was in some kind of cheesy porno? What if you hated him-

In the end, it’s you who breaks him out of his thoughts. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed Pope.” You push out with your foot, lightly kicking his thigh, unable to read his stony face.

Throughout all of this, Frankie has kept quiet, and now the conversation seems like it’ll be returning to safer ground, he rubs a hand over his face, lifting his hat slightly. “No.” Santi protests, although he says it too fast for it to be sincere. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“Good,” you reply, and Santi can see the moment a thought pops into your head that you can’t resist, he can see it in the way your eyes light up with mischief. “Out of all the boys, I figured you’d be the most likely to use toys.”

Frankie quickly slides out from his seat, muttering something about going to the toilet, his cheeks aflame, as Santi chokes a little on his beer. “Or maybe Will,” you muse, and Santi coughs again. “Shit, are you alright?” You ask, rocking forward to lean on your knee so you can rub Santi’s back for a second.

He concentrates on getting himself back under control, on not focusing how warm your hand is against his back. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm his heart down, praying that the room is dark enough that you won’t see him blush.  

Santi nods, his eyes watering a little, and you laugh, but it’s not unkind, not even when one of your thumbs wipes at his lower lash line, brushing away his tears with the pad. It’s so unexpectedly soft, another sharp contrast to this sticky, seedy bar they’re all in, where the booth seats are cracked and the most complicated drink they make is a rum and coke.

“Good,” you say, voice quiet, scooting back on the bench, your foot closer to his thigh this time, and Santi hates himself for wanting to follow you.

Instead, he pretends everyone else is still here, even as he watches Will whisper something into Benny’s ear as they stand, drinking next to the bar, with no clear intention of returning. Suddenly Benny punches Will’s upper arm, and Santi’s eyebrows twitch slightly in confusion. Benny looks ecstatic, and for what?

“I’ve used handcuffs,” he says casually, half of his mind taken up with Benny and Will acting like lunatics at the bar behind you. He’s wrenched back to you when you raise an eyebrow, and he’s reminded what it feels like to be the centre of your world.

Fuck, you’re sexy though.

***

Your heart beat speeds up, suddenly sounding loud in your chest. Your mind is screaming Danger! at you - but how can it be? This is Santiago. You would trust him with your life. You have.

I could take care of you, flashes through your mind again. Maybe-

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to act calm when there’s a steady thrumming under your skin. “And are you the tied up person, or do you do the tying?”

Santi scoffs, like he thinks the answer is obvious. Maybe it is.

“I do the tying.”

You smirk, dragging an exaggerated eye up and down his body. “Sure about that?”

He looks relaxed, like he can take up more space now Frankie has gone. One of his hands is on your calf, gently trailing up and down, slowly setting you on fire, and you don’t even think he realises he’s doing it. There’s something in his eyes that you don’t recognise, darker, although it seems familiar. That’s been happening more and more lately, especially when it’s just the two of you. You like it.

“You want to test me babygirl?”

You feel breathless. “Maybe I’d like to try.”

You’ve never spoken with Santi like this before. You flirt with him more than the other boys, but this is new. This feels...real, somehow. More dangerous. And he’s closer now, shifting, so your foot is over his lap, his hand wrapped around your ankle, on your bare skin and you’ve forgotten how to breathe. You watch his hand move on your leg and you feel like you could evaporate.  

“That’s not what good girls do.” Fuck, his voice.

“Good girls don’t do a lot of things I do.”

And you’re not sure what gives you the sudden confidence, but you lean forwards, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It’s a horrible angle, your legs in the way, but you don’t care.

And then you’re retreating, opening your eyes again, suddenly unsure of what you’ve just done. Your mouth feels tingly, where you can still feel Santi against you. His grip has tightened on your leg, no longer moving.

And then his hand is tugging at you a little, and there’s a smile threatening to take over his face.

Come here.

You scoot up, so your left leg is fully over him, your right leg tangling with his under the table and you can smell him now, beer and - as weird as it sounds - like a man. It’s familiar. Nice. Breathless, you shoot him a little grin, suddenly unsure.

And then he’s kissing you again and it’s everything you ever dreamed of. His lips are soft, but firm, moving against your mouth, contrasting with the slight stubble growing on his face. His free hand moves to your waist and you let out a small sound.

You break apart after a second, both of you breathless. You’ve slung your arms around his neck, fingers idly playing with his chain, and you’re the first to speak.

“So do you use those handcuffs on anyone?”

Santi kisses you again, short and sweet, before he answers, his lips mumbling against yours. “Hmm, just on girls I really like.”

You kiss again, neither of you really wanting to stop. “Can I use them on you?” Santi asks, moving to kiss along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. You feel surrounded by him, he’s all you care about, all you can feel.

Your eyes snap open, desire pooling in your belly. Is this really happening? “Yes.”

“Good.” Santi’s voice is still low in your ear, before he moves down your neck, soft lips a stark contrast to his stubble catching on your skin. “How do you feel about a date, too?”

“Yeah?” You lean back slightly so you can see his face. He’s beautiful in this light, face half hidden in the shadows, eyes dark.

His lips are brushing yours again.

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up, take you somewhere nice, do it properly.”

“Good,” you mumble against him, “that sounds really good.” Your fingers are still playing with his chain, lightly brushing against the scar on his neck. “Shall we go?”

Before you know it, the two of you are sitting in a cab, having said a quick goodbye to the others, Will asking if it was safe for them to sit back in the booth. You’d responded with the finger, not bothering with a proper reply.

Santi leans over to you, whispering into your ear. “Can I really tie you up?”

You clench your thighs together, closing your eyes in an effort not to physically respond. The pause is enough for Santi to hesitate, hand shyly holding yours. “It’s ok, if you don’t want to, that’s fine, it was just a-”

You stop him with a kiss, moving your hand so you can squeeze him in reassurance. When you answer, it’s a mumble against his mouth so the driver doesn’t hear. “Break out the handcuffs, and we’ll see if you’re as tough as you act, big boy.”

Santi groans when you lean away from him.

Getting inside Santi’s flat is a feat in itself, and you’re honestly a little proud of the restraint both of you showed by not fucking in the stairwell, stopping every couple of meters to kiss each other senseless, hips clumsily knocking together as you rile each other up.

You’ve been inside his flat before, so when Santi kicks the door closed, walking you backwards into his bedroom, kissing you all the while, you don’t protest. It’s so nice to finally kiss Santi like you’ve wanted to for a while now, so nice to feel his hands on your waist, pushing you backwards while his hips press into yours, steady now, purposeful.

His fingers are playing with the waist of your trousers, and you help him, shimmying your jeans off, pushing them down your thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he surprises you, dropping to his knees in front of you, pulling your knickers down your legs.

Looking down, you feel dizzy from the rush of power this brings you. Santi looks like he’s about to worship you, his face close to your pussy. His hands are on your waist and he pushes at you, encouraging you to step back.

When you don’t he tips his head back, exposing his neck to you. “Step back.” His voice is dangerous and you can feel more wetness gathering between your legs. You grin down at him, still not moving.

In response Santi nips at your thigh, grinning when you gasp, hands flying to his hair. He pushes at you again, and this time you let him, stepping back until you hit his bed, sitting down.

Santi presses his hand against your stomach, and you allow yourself to be pushed back, falling back onto your elbows so you can watch him. He presses his nose to your mound and you squirm, impatient, as Santi spreads your knees so he can fit between your legs.

You watch him press his nose to your pussy, burying his nose in you, feeling yourself grow wetter. “You taste so good,” he groans, “Sweetest pussy I’ve tasted.” As he begins to explore you with his tongue, your hips lift off the bed with a groan and it takes you a second to recognise your own voice, broken with need. Santi’s arm reaches out, pressing you down as he explores your folds. Stubble is scratching your thighs, a pleasantly rough feeling compared to the soft wetness, the pliability of Santi’s tongue. Your clit is the first thing he concentrates on, his tongue practically lapping at you, and it all feels so good.

One hand is desperately fisting the sheets to the side of you as you try to hold on to reality, the other knotted in Santi’s short curls, nails scraping ever so slightly along his scalp even as he lifts you higher and higher. Broken pleas of his name fall from your lips when he inserts two fingers into you, gently pumping in and out, with a strangely satisfying squelch under your cries.

Your orgasm creeps up on you, slow and unsuspecting. One second your chest is heaving, breaths short and shallow, the next you’ve tensed up as you fall apart under Santi.

He keeps kissing you, gently pressing his lips over your thighs, hips, stomach as you stare at his ceiling, willing rational thought to return to you. He’s murmuring praises into your skin, telling you how good you are for him, what a good job you’ve done, how pretty you look when you come, how he wants to make you do it again, and all the while you float somewhere above your body, hardly daring to believe this is real. Santi keeps kissing you, any skin he can get his mouth on, desperate to keep tasting you. Gradually he moves up your body, even as you lie there, panting, letting him push your top up, bunching under your arms and around your neck.

Your hands fly to his hair when he bites the soft skin of your breast peeking out from your bra, and you arch your back towards him slightly, letting out a small whine. You can feel his smirk against you, so you wrap your legs around his waist, canting your hips up, grinding against where you can feel him, hard and aching in his jeans.

Now it’s your turn to smirk, slow and lazy when Santi lets out a low growl in response. He tips his head up so he can look at you, his eyes soft as he smiles at you. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

And then his body weight is gone and he’s standing next to the bed, taking his top off and it’s not the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, of course it isn’t, but it’s the first time you’ve seen him and been allowed to look, and Santi’s all shadows and soft muscle, pale scars highlighted on his skin.

You sit up, and it takes you a second to fight your way out of your top, quickly sliding the straps of your bra off, and dropping your clothes to the side of the bed as you watch Santi cross his room, and fish out a pair of handcuffs from a box with a couple of other objects inside, as well as what you’re pretty sure looks like a strap-on. And maybe it’s because his ass is currently in your eye-line, maybe it’s the surprise, but the image of you wearing it, teasing Santi with your dick while he waits on all fours on his bed, begging for you to touch him, suddenly pops into your head, and you have to work to hold back a moan at the mental image. Oh my god.

When Santi turns back to you, he’s opened the cuffs. “Are you familiar with the traffic light system?”

You suddenly feel nervous, your mouth dry, and you don’t know why, this is Santi. He’s made it clear that you don’t have to do this, and anyway you want to. “Green is good, orange is slow down, red is stop,” you recite easily, and Santi nods in satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he says and his words hit deep in your stomach, unfurling something you hadn’t known existed. “You say something and I’ll untie you.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back on your hands, eyeing up the way Santi’s jeans are still on, now hanging low on his hips, exposing a small trail of hair down from his bellybutton. “What if I don’t want you to untie me?” You ask.

You can see how his eyes darken, but he doesn’t move. “Tell me you understand,” he says, voice stern and you shiver.

“I understand,” you parrot. Santi nods, pleased at you doing as he says, and steps out of his jeans, pulling his boxers off at the same time, releasing his cock. He’s hard, curving up towards his stomach and leaking pre-cum.

Almost on instinct, you lean forwards to lick it off, and Santi lets out a groan of satisfaction at the sensation of your mouth just wrapping around his head, your hands on his thighs. Before you can take him any further, he’s stepping back, shaking his head.

“Lie back,” he instructs, and you obey. Santi kneels next to you, tugging your wrists up, above your head, looping the handcuffs through his headboard and clicking them on around you. You give them an experimental tug, biting back a moan when they hold fast. “Colour?” Santi asks, and you grin up at him.

“Green.” Your voice already sounds broken. “Santi, please.”

Santi just kneels back, looking at you with those hungry eyes. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes out, hands running up and down your body, ignoring how you squirm as best you can under him.

“Oh yeah?” You ask. “Why don’t you come down here then, instead of just watching me?” Santi’s hands reach your breasts, squeezing and gently massaging and you arch your back towards him.

“You’re unhappy with my hands?” Santi returns, and stops touching you. You can’t help it, letting out a whine and straining to move your arms towards him, before remembering you can’t, your attempted movement jangling the chain a little.

“No, Santi,” you’re desperate for him to touch you again, especially now you can’t touch him,“Santi please, touch me again, touch me more.” Begging has never come so easily to you. And then Santi’s moving between your legs, gripping your hips and thrusting up, but not into you, just along your folds. You moan, shifting as best as you can while Santi coats himself with your slick, the head of his cock just pushing your clit, teasing you and riling you up further.

You suddenly really want to touch him, to rake your hands through his hair, to scratch your nails down his back, to be able to suck a purple hickey into his skin. You let your head fall back to the bed, pushing your hips towards him, desperate for more, desperate for him.

It’s only when you open your mouth in a desperate plea, a whine of his name, ��Santi, Santi please,” that he begins to push into you.

Your mouth falls open in silent pleasure, just as Santi begins to talk. “Fuck, baby.” The stretch of him is delicious. “I wanted this for so long.” Now fully seated in you, he rests on his forearms, kissing you softly, first on the forehead, then on your lips. “Colour?” he asks softly.

You nearly cry from how sweet it is, how sweet he is, before responding, a mumble against his lips. “Green.” You feel full, like this is how you’re supposed to feel all the time, this is your base state, and you’re going to spend the rest of your life trying to achieve this specific feeling.

“Good girl,” Santi murmurs and you keen at the praise, feeling insatiable, wanting more, clenching around him. He grins, registering your response. “You liked that? You like being told what a good job you’re doing, how good you feel around me..” he breaks off with a gasp, and your eyes close as Santi begins to move in time with his words, long, slow thrusts as he begins to put you together again, building you up, further and further, his thrusts speeding up gradually, the sound of his dick sliding into your wetness, and the slap of skin-on-skin loud in his room, mixing with your moans.

You lift your legs up, wrapping them around his waist, hooking one of your feet around Santi’s butt. They don’t stay there for long, one of Santi’s arms pushing one leg up your body, hand under your knee as he splits you open. The new angle hits something deeper in you, and you gasp, unable to move and at the mercy of Santiago.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, coming out of nowhere, your lower body suddenly clenching around Santi, arms straining against the handcuffs, as you try in vain to touch him. You tumble through it, muscles spasming as you fall under him. He keeps moving into you as you shudder below him, pulling you through with murmured praise and encouragement as another broken cry leaves your throat.

His thrusts start to get sloppier as he goes faster, losing his rhythm slightly and you can tell he’s near his end. As best you can, you start moving your own hips, grinding up to meet him, words of encouragement slipping past your lips. “Santi, you feel so good, are you gonna fill me up?” You coo, pouting a little, tugging your wrists a little for emphasis. “Please Santi, I want to feel you, come in me, please-”

You stop when Santi snaps his hips once more, with a groan of finality and you can feel his cum inside of you as he holds himself there, his cock pulsing within you. He presses a couple more gentle kisses to your neck before sliding out, and you hiss slightly at the pull on your sensitive folds of your pussy.

He leaves for a second, returning with a key and gently releasing your wrists. “Good girl,” he murmurs, massaging your skin. “You did so good for me.”

He helps you sit up, kissing your cheek before leaving again. This time when he returns, he has a wet rag, and a glass of water, which you take a sip from, not having realised how thirsty you were. He gently dabs the rag on the inside of your thighs first, and the two of you watch in slightly morbid fascination as Santi’s cum leaks out of you onto the rag.

“That’s kinda hot,” you comment idly, wondering if Santi fucked all sense of you.

He only laughs, wiping the mess away and cuddling up next to you. “Do you want me to do it again?” he asks as you lean into his arms, his hands wrapping around your wrists to rub circles into your skin.

“Yes,” you answer, probably too quickly but beyond caring.

“Good.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell Santi wants to ask you something, so you twist in his arms, kissing along his shoulder. The act feels small, and innocent somehow, despite your states of undress, as you try to reassure him.

“You were right,” you murmur near his ear, “Stranger was where I was going wrong.”

It takes him a second to piece your reference together, but then he grins, and it’s like he hung the sun in the sky. “Yeah? I took care of you?”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, biting back your own identical grin. “Yeah.”

***

Thanks for reading! Reblogs and comments mean the world to me 🥰🥰🥰

Tags: @fantasticcopeaglepasta​

[badnikbreaker]

thoughts on thorn and my forces arc for ames i promise these are related —

i joke a lot about amy’s forces arc that exists solely in my head, and it DOES exist solely in my head because in canon forces amy doesn’t do a damn thing, much like the rest of the cast that isn’t the rookie, sonic, or sonic.  but my amy did have an arc in forces, and it’s arguably a lot of negative character development!

once sonic was gone, amy, knuckles and silver end up running a resistance without the hero, and it’s impossible and it’s frightening and a lot of people are dying.  knuckles steps up to be the commander, and amy’s voted vice - commander and becomes the tactician in turn.  at first, amy tries to protect everyone, but that just leads to more deaths.  it’s not long before she has to start making genuinely horrific, terrifying choices — pull forces from this town of 1000 to save this city of 5000 and lose half the town.  send soldiers on a suicide mission knowing that’s the only way to stop something worse.  amy took on this role as another expression of her love; she made the impossible calls so that she’d bear the guilt and hatred so nobody else had to, so that nobody she loved had ot.  it’s another way to protect knuckles, silver, vector — all of them.

but part of what happened, for that sacrifice to be survivable, is that amy became much more utilitarian, much less outwardly emotional, much more steady and restrained.   it’s not that their old personality was gone, just that there wasn’t an opportunity to indulge it here; what was left was a much colder, quieter hedgehog capable of making really difficult, sometimes horrible calls without so much as flinching.  most of the others, knuckles and maybe silver aside, don’t notice the change; it takes months for it to solidify.  frogs in water.  but amy, at least outwardly, seems to grow so much colder.  to do anything else makes her less effective, costs lives, forces the others to suffer.  to do anything else is selfish.

it’s all an expression of amy’s desire to protect, of amy’s love for the world and the people in it, even if it makes her outwardly less visibly loving.  but there’s a lot of guilt that goes unmentioned and un-coped with because she just doesn’t have time.  and she grieves in a real, if deeply repressed way, the person she was before she’d had to do all those horrible things and cost all those lives, and grieves that she doesn’t know that she can ever go back to being who she was then.

amy can’t be guilty or selfish or weak, because as long as she isn’t, the others can be.

anyway i think i’m a genius, but i’ve had folks accuse me of writing them like an OC before.  which also, true.  but the POINT is that during thorn’s arc in prime, it reminded me a lot of my amy’s arc in forces.  obviously there’s not a 1:1 comparison here, but there is something to the idea that amy is willing to do horrible, miserable things — draw away from friends, hurt people she loves, turn her personality into something, someone, wildly different — if she thinks that’s ‘necessary’ to protect the greater good.  and once thorn realizes what she’s done, she outright says “i couldn’t sit back and let it happen, but [after what i did]...i could never get back to who i used to be” which i think is such a neat parallel to my forces stuff and amy’s guilt and grief about ‘losing’ who she was before she had to do those horrible things.  amy is someone who can be driven to do terrible things in the name of love / protection.

like i said, it’s not a 1:1 comparison.  forces amy doesn’t lose the plot quite as much, among other things.  but it does emphasize that amy’s endless love and care and desire to protect can, in the right situations, cause her to become something very different than the amy we know — either a cold commander or a monster.

much like thorn, with some help and time, my amy returns more to her natural self post - game — she’s always going to be able to drop into ‘soldier’ mode at the drop of a hat, and her bubbliness gets toned down a bit in some contexts.  she’s always going to be better at making those hard choices.  but she’s still a deeply loving, kind person, and the parts of her that are excitable and emotional and headstrong get to show through more regularly again and, eventually, take center stage.

[stray-kids-react]

SKZ reacting to edits of their new male member

Masterlist

...

Bang Chan

° It was a Chan's Room vlive, and fans were thrilled to ask him about you. Chan read through the thousands of comments about the new member, but one link caught his attention particularly.

° He copied the link quickly, whilst explaining his first impression of you when you joined the band. Gushing over how quiet and nervous you seemed, especially when you were around Chan himself.

° Once the video started, it had cute gifs and videos of you doing soft aegyo while the sweetie pie song played over it. Chan thought that'd be the whole video, but he was sadly mistaken once the song changed.

° A flustered giggle left Chan's mouth as his ears turned bright red, feeling as though he shouldn't be watching this. It was as if he just walked in on you changing, it just made him feel very embarrassed and flustered.

° Once the 1:34 second video ended, a long pause filled the live. He tried to gain composure after what he just witnessed, but his shy state of mind was still very clear amongst the fans who were watching.

"That was great editing... *giggle* I don't think I've seen y/n in that way before."

Lee Know

° It came up on his YouTube recommendations, as he was watching crack edits fans made of him and his members. Minho never saw an edit made to show the duality, except for ones of him.

° He honestly wasn't fazed at all by the edit, approving of your sexy side. He soon watched other edits of the members and gave them each a like. Minho was the one who sent you the video, with a smirk emoji.

° You knew it was either something to make you flustered or something very random. That made up most of your conversations with Minho through text, especially if he had the smirk emoji after the link.

° The next day, a sly smirk will be plastered all over his features. Mimicking the moves you made in the fan made edit, even going as far to make Han play the song in your edit as he mimicked you.

° Won't ever let that edit go, just because he loves how flustered you get by it. He'll giggle at you when you cover your face, feeling proud that his hot stage presence has rubbed off on you.

"I am sexy, you are sexy, let's be a sexy team together. What do you say?"

Changbin

° While working on their comeback with you, Changbin got a notification on his laptop. The thumbnail was you with devil horns and a halo. His curiosity got the beat of him, so he clicked on the fan made edit of you.

° Changbin could only smile nervously when the hot edits came into play, many involving hip thrusts and grinding. He felt very uncomfortable, mostly because he saw you as brother more than anything else.

° It made things 10× worse by you being in the room with him, watching the edit next to him. Both of you at loss of words, never thinking that either of you would be in this type of situation together.

° Changbin began to chuckle at how weird things felt, asking you to promise him that you'd both forget this ever happened. Even thought it will probably haunt both of you for the rest of your career together.

° He continued on working on different side tracks for the album, both of you chuckling randomly at the reminder of what you had just witnessed. But both of you promised to not tell the other members.

"Lets promise to try and forget we watched this and not tell the members about this."

Hyunjin

° Both of you were quite close and showed and each other everything, whenever a hot edit of either of you came across your phone's. Both of you would just laugh it off, amused to see either of you so serious.

° Both of you know that fans will find you hot, even if you don't see why in certain situations. Neither of feel uncomfortable with seeing edits of each other, knowing it is simply part of being an idol.

° That still won't stop either of you from laughing when you see clips of each other with sensual music over it. Hyunjin laughs especially hard if he knows the clips and what actually happened behind scenes.

° There was one clip of you drinking water and fans went nuts, even though they always seem to cut out the scene where you choke on the water because of Jeongin's very effective aegyo.

° Hyunjin can make a big out of it, usually laughing with a slightly disgusted face. But he means no harm when doing it, he just wants to play around with you and knows you would do the same with him.

"Y/n, why do change so drastically whenever you wear an opened shirt on stage?"

Han

° Tries to act like he isn't fazed by the fan made videos of you that Minho is showing him, but he is and it shows through his blushing cheeks. His way of dealing with this is to try and laugh off the awkward tension.

° He thought that bringing it up to you would make it more awkward, but he found out that seeing you clueless as you why he keeps looking at you with a surprised glaze over his eyes is much more nerve racking.

° The next day you'd confront him on being so award around you, asking what you may have done to make him uncomfortable. Instead of avoiding the topic, he just admitted to watching a fan video of you.

° You laughed uncontrollably at his confession, after so much worrying that you offended him or made him un easy. Instead, he was just flustered by how hot and sensual you were in the fan made video.

° He promised to not make you worry anymore, and will not trust anything the Minho sends him with a smirk emoji. You both look back at that whole scenario and still laugh at how silly it truly was.

"I promise not to make you worry again, or answer Minho when he is smirking."

Felix

° Everyone knows Felix is a king of duality, so he honestly isn't that fazed when he sees edits like this of you. He will however become giggly and a show off his sunshine smile, but that's only because it's you.

° It's strange for him to see you as a sensual sex appeal, when you were the same person who cuddled him when the power went out during a bad storm. And also cuddles him daily to his appreciation.

° Isn't fazed by fan edits, but can get uncomfortable when it comes to people Iver sexualizing you. Such as trying to see how big your dick is through leather pants or only calling you just a sexy visual.

° He won't bring up the edits to you unless you show them directly to him, he knows how it feels to be embarrassed by sexy edits. Mostly because of natural and human insecurities, and knowing it is made public.

° Felix won't tease you about your edits, even though he giggles when witnessing one its only because he sees you as a cuddly teddy bear. He won't hesitate to try and hide any overly sexual content of you from the public.

"Don't worry about it, me and jyp will find a way to delete that post. Stay calm."

Seungmin

° Will hype you up in a soft way, he'll cheer quietly when reacting to an edit and even clap when it ends. Seungmin is just proud to see how far your stage presence has come, and it happy that you were able to debut.

° Doesn't try to see these edits as sensual videos, rather than the fans appreciating your visuals and amazing presence. He will however get a bit bashful if the clips aren't from stage performances.

° Cheers you on cutely when you do a sexy dance for the fans during concerts, giggling afterwards when you become a bashful mess and hide behind someone... Usually Hyunjin because he's the tallest.

° Prefers you softer edits rather then your Spicy ones, mostly because there is a less chance of being flustered and becoming red with the softer edits. Even if sometimes they make him cringe on the inside.

° Seungmin is your shy hype man that is honestly just so proud of you, and isn't ashamed to tell you how proud he is of you. He loves how fans welcomed you to the group even if you debuted later than the others.

"Y/n worked so hard to get here, and I feel like a proud brother by just watching him."

Jeongin

°Jeongin is a the maknae and it truly shows during almost everything, from his natural aegyo to his charming stage presence. However it also shows when he playfully teases you for your fan edits.

° Jeongin won't take it too far, but just enough to make your ears turn red. He enjoys seeing you become so flustered over something you did. It makes him confused but also very satisfied.

° Jeongin doesn't like the sexy edits as much as the cuter themed ones, but will still use them against you nonetheless. But that's only ever yo get a reaction out of you and show you how much fans love you.

° He gets bashful from hsi edits, and will beg on his knees for you not to play them. He just can't stand watching himself being sexy or cute with everyone around it watch. It feels different on stage however.

° He'll feel bad if you get very shy from an edit, so he'll hug you as an apology and bribe you back to trust with some snacks. You adore Jeongin's behaviour, seeing him as an adorable brother to you.

[robininthelabyrinth]

i keep thinking about all the yiling patriarch!jiang cheng aus out there and it got me curious: what wild canon divergences would have to happen for it to be jiang yanli who becomes the yiling matriarch? (she doesn’t use a flute, she just asks politely probably) and what would be the eventual fallout of that?

It was Wei Wuxian’s idea, of course.

Jiang Yanli’s big didi was brilliant and talented beyond measure, as reckless and impertinent in his thoughts as he was in every other way, just as her little didi was earnest and soft-hearted and dutiful, the outlines of the serious man he’d become when he grew up just barely visible underneath the baby fat that still lingered in his cheeks.

It was Wei Wuxian’s idea, but it was Jiang Cheng that made Jiang Yanli decide to use it.

Both of her brothers got invitations to sit in on important sect meetings, as senior disciple and presumptive heir; Wei Wuxian apparently made good contributions during the meetings and forgot about them immediately afterwards, while Jiang Cheng listened intently and then worried for days.

“The Wen sect is becoming more and more of a threat,” Jiang Cheng told her late at night when she was making him something to settle his upset stomach – he was like a little bird, with anxiety enough to put him off his seed. “Mother and Father are fighting over how much they need to react, since technically they haven’t come into Yunmeng…”

“Technically?”

“We never signed agreements with those clans, but we’ve been all but responsible for them anyway.” He put his head down on the table, sighing. “What happens if they come here?”

“A-Xian says they won’t dare.”

“He’s just repeating what Father says. I don’t know. Maybe they don’t dare now, but – what if they do, one day?”

Jiang Yanli took after her father in most aspects, but she was still her mother’s daughter: while she comforted Jiang Cheng and told him not to worry, filled him up with warm soup and hugged him until he smiled again, the thought lingered. What if, indeed. Her brothers would need to fight, of course. Her two babies raising up swords against human beings instead of evil creatures; her mother would use Zidian, of course, and her father had his sword, and she –

Jiang Yanli was not un-self-aware. She was an indifferent cultivator, with below-average skills at the sword – good enough to pass basic muster, but not much more than that. Her talismans were about the same, decent but not inspiring, and she could only produce an average number before she exhausted her spiritual energy. She had a golden core, but it was weak, just like she was weak.

She wouldn’t be able to defend her home. To defend her brothers.

And there was nothing she could do about it –

That was when she remembered Wei Wuxian’s silly little idea, the one that had gotten him in so much trouble at the Cloud Recesses, that he’d told her all about in great detail when he’d returned home: to use resentful energy the way they used spiritual energy.

(“– and then poor Nie Huaisang said it would be helpful to someone like him, who formed his core later; he doesn’t have much spiritual energy, so he gets tired easily, but if it’s not his energy he’s using, he wouldn’t be held back by the limits of his own cultivation –”)

Jiang Yanli pursed her lips in thought.

Wei Wuxian had only sketched out the basic idea, without going forward to think of ways to implement the idea – after all, it was all well and good to say you could find a way to channel tremendous external energy into something usable, but another thing entirely to actually do it. It would be as tricky as catching lightning from the sky and using it as a whip.

In other words, it was time to ask her mother for help.

To say that Yu Ziyuan disapproved would be an understatement, but Jiang Yanli knew her mother well: she waited until the initial rant was completed and then pointed out, quietly, that she didn’t have any other means with which to defend herself – and that would leave her at the non-existent mercy of the Wen sect.

Her mother froze. “…I could give you Zidian,” she finally said, but from the expression on her face, even she knew that that wouldn’t work: Zidian required both a strong golden core and a certain knack, a talent that Jiang Cheng had and Jiang Yanli lacked; there had never been any question between the two of them as to who would inherit Zidian. “Or we could buy more talismans –”

“And when the talismans we buy run out? I can’t replenish them myself. But if we try my way, I won’t have to rely on A-Xian or A-Cheng – a-niang, just think about how I’d feel if they got hurt trying to save me! And all because I don’t have a knack for cultivating!”

Her mother sighed. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll help you figure out how it could work in practice, rather than in theory. But it’s only for emergencies, you understand? What you’re suggesting comes very close to demonic cultivation – if you use human-generated resentful energy, it is demonic cultivation – and using that too much damages the body, affects the temperament.”

“Just for emergencies,” Jiang Yanli promised.

“And don’t tell A-Cheng or Wei Wuxian about it,” her mother insisted. “Can you imagine the trouble those two would get into with something like this?”

Jiang Yanli covered her mouth to try to keep from giggling. “A-Xian would probably restyle himself to match the aesthetic – wearing Demon Cultivating Robes, under Demon Cultivating Hair, that he left in a pile on the Demon Cultivating Bed –”

“From which he rested on the Pillow of Evil, no doubt,” her mother agreed, looking amused despite herself. “And your brother would end up trying to keep a small legion of fierce corpses as pets because he felt too bad about sending them back into the earth after having used them.”

“He’d give them names,” Jiang Yanli said, giggling harder. “Princess, or Buttercup –”

“And he’d hide them very badly in a closet or something, too. Do you remember the nest of juvenile fisher hawks that he hid in the armory? They nearly fell on my head –”

“Of course I remember. You nearly stepped on poor little Cloudpuff.”

“Don’t remind me!”

They had two years to work on it, their own little mother-daughter bonding time – the boys ran away in mock fright at the mere suggestion of girly stuff – and Jiang Yanli felt that she and her mother had never been closer. They could even, for the first time, go on night-hunts together, Jiang Yanli summoning corpses with a crook of her finger and a gentle hum while her mother cut them down with her sword or with Zidian.

It was so much fun that Jiang Yanli almost forgot why they’d started it in the first place.

And then, very suddenly, it all became real.

Jiang Yanli was at Meishan, visiting her grandmother, when the Wen sect attacked, but word spread quickly – the Lotus Pier ravaged, the sect leader and his wife both dead, their children missing…

“We have to hide you at once,” her grandmother said after they’d passed through the first flush of grief, her face still wet with tears. “They’ll be coming here next –”

“You will tell them that I am not here,” Jiang Yanli said, and stood up, wiping her own eyes. “Because I won’t be. I’m going back to the Lotus Pier.”

“A-Li! If you do that, they’ll catch you – have you heard what the Wen sect does to female cultivators –”

“Mother and Father are dead at their hands,” Jiang Yanli said. “They must be avenged.”

“Your brother will do that! That boy, Wei Wuxian, he will –”

“I will not let them bear that burden alone,” Jiang Yanli said. “Keep everyone here safe for me, okay?”

She made it back just in time to see Jiang Cheng, her little A-Cheng, the baby she held in her tiny arms less than a shichen after he’d been born, the one she clothed and fed and cared for all these years, being dragged into the main hall by Wen sect cultivators, his face pale with fear.

Wen Chao was sitting in her father’s chair, playing with the sect’s discipline whip. “I’ve always wondered if this thing was as bad as they say. Let’s try it out on him,” he ordered, grinning lazily. “And then Wen Zhuliu can melt his golden core, and we can try it again – to see if there’s any difference in using it on a cultivator and on a regular person.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t plead for mercy, not even as they forced him down to kneel, even as his shoulders shook under their hands – Jiang Yanli turned her face away, nodded at the young Wen cultivator that had snuck her in this far (Wen Ning, she thought his name was), and raised her hands to do what she had to do.

The Wen sect had been lazy in the immediate aftermath of their victory: they hadn’t bothered to either bury or burn the corpses of her Jiang sect cultivators, her shidi and shimei, her martial aunts and uncles; they’d only tossed them outside into a giant pit to be dealt with later.

They were going to regret that.

“Jiejie!” Jiang Cheng cried out when he saw her rushing over to his side: he was bleeding, and badly, from the marks of the whip, but Wen Zhuliu hadn’t had a chance to destroy his core yet, having been distracted by the sight of the Violet Spider risen up from the dead in defiance of all soul-calming rituals.

(Jiang Yanli knew her mother well enough to know that she would forgive the use of her corpse if it resulted in her ripping out Wen Zhuliu’s core with her bare hands, using the elongated nails of a fierce corpse, a fearsome red-clad ghost dressed in purple. They would put her to rest later in the same coffin as her husband.)

“It’s okay, A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli said, petting his hair. “It’s okay – jiejie’s here. I’ll keep you safe.”

Wen Ning ended up being the little brother of Wen Qing, who he somehow managed to summon – the famous doctor lived up to her reputation and didn’t so much as blink at being escorted into the main room by fierce corpses in order to care for Jiang Cheng’s wounds. Jiang Yanli was pretty sure that she’d seen her deliberately stepping on Wen Chao’s corpse on her way in, too, so she wasn’t worried.

“No one can know that I was involved,” Wen Qing said, finishing up stitching together Jiang Cheng’s chest and resetting his collarbone. He was out cold, and there were medicines that would work as painkillers for when he woke up. “I have to keep my family safe, too.”

“You were never here, this never happened,” Jiang Yanli agreed. “If you ever decide that the Wen sect is a losing proposition, come to me and I’ll remember this favor.”

Wen Qing eyed some of the fierce corpses standing as guards. “I’ll remember that.”

There was some yelling outside, a familiar voice. Jiang Yanli tilted her head to the side and smiled. “That’ll be A-Xian. He can help sneak you out of our borders without anyone the wiser – no one knows the ins and out of the Lotus Pier better than he does.”

She went out and found Wen Ning trying to talk down a wild-eyed Wei Wuxian, who apparently was on familiar terms with him. Not really a surprise: Wei Wuxian was friendly with everybody.

“A-Xian!” she called.

“Shijie?! What are you doing here? Are you okay – are you safe – did you see Jiang Cheng –”

“It’s okay,” she said. “All the bad Wens are dead; Wen Ning and his sister – and their subordinates – are helping us. A-Cheng is injured, but he’ll heal.”

Wei Wuxian sat down abruptly, all the tension in his body replaced by a mixture of relief and the remnants of his despair. “I only went away for a moment to get some food,” he said, and put his head in his hands. “I only looked away for a moment…��

Jiang Yanli sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him. “You did your best, A-Xian. That’s all that can be asked of you.”

“But – Madame Yu said –”

Jiang Yanli could guess what her mother had probably said.

“Of course you need to take care of A-Cheng,” she said, and let him bury his head in her shoulder. “He’s your didi, isn’t he? Just like he’s mine, and you’re mine, too; it’s our responsibility as older siblings to take care of the younger ones. He’s going to need our help a lot more now that he has to be sect leader.”

Wei Wuxian sniffled. “I told him I’d support him when he became sect leader – that we’d be the twin heroes of Yunmeng, just like the twin jades of the Lan sect. I just didn’t think…not so soon! And now there’s barely any Jiang sect left!”

“My little heroes,” Jiang Yanli said, and kissed his forehead. “It’ll be okay. The Wen sect may have attacked the Lotus Pier, but there are plenty of Jiang sect cultivators who weren’t here – we have them, and we can recruit more.”

He nodded, then paused. “Uh, shijie – a question.”

“Yes?”

“The fierce corpses everywhere…”

“We’ll need to lay them to rest after we’re done,” Jiang Yanli said firmly. Her mother had insisted on that: demonic cultivation encouraged bad tendencies, sloppiness, and the only way to deal with that degradation of spirit was with discipline and righteousness. If possible, she should prefer non-human spirits; human corpses could be used, but only to the degree necessary, and then they had to be laid to rest with honor, as they deserved – furthermore, if at all possible, they should only be summoned from those that would have willingly given up their bodies to help the endeavor in question, rather than using tormenting their spirits by using them against their friends and family.

Somehow, Jiang Yanli didn’t think there would be a problem finding victims of the Wen sect to help.

“But how did you do it?” Wei Wuxian wanted to know. “They listen to you –”

“I’m manipulating their resentful energy,” she explained. “Based on the idea you initially had at the Cloud Recesses – what? Don’t look at me like that, didi; I did tell you I thought it was a good idea.”

“But demonic cultivation is bad for you! It affects the temperament, the body, the heart…”

“Mother used to say that my temperament could probably stand to be a bit worse,” Jiang Yanli said, feeling her eyes go hot as tears threatened. She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Don’t worry, didi. We came up with a bunch of rules to try to make it easier and less harmful to use…I’m not a sword cultivator like you and A-Cheng; it’s not my strength. But I can do this, and I won’t be helpless against the Wen sect.”

Wei Wuxian hugged her, clearly terrified by the thought. “Never mind what I said. It’s a good idea.”

Jiang Yanli smiled. “I know. You’ll help me come up with more ways to use it, right? You and A-Cheng – you always did come up with the craziest things when you were together, even more than you alone.”

“Of course!” There was the Wei Wuxian she knew and loved: forgetting pain – or at least, putting it aside – as soon as he had something concrete to work on. “How do you do it? Music? I’d been thinking of using musical manipulation –”

“Sometimes I hum? Mostly it’s just willpower – sometimes gestures, like saluting. It works better if the resentful spirits feel appreciated.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at her. “Appreciated?”

“Everyone likes to feel appreciated, A-Xian.”

“I suppose so,” he said, then shook his head. “Whatever you say is right, shijie.”

“Of course she’s right,” Jiang Cheng croaked from inside the room – he’d stumbled over to the door, and both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli immediately rushed over to help him back to his bed. “Jiejie’s always right…jiejie, what do we do next?”

“Don’t look at me!” she objected. “You’re sect leader; you decide. I’m just here to support you.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. “We have to fight back against the Wen sect,” he said. His voice was raspy with pain and the remnants of screaming: Wei Wuxian lifted a cup of tea to his lips at once. “The way the Nie sect is…the Lan sect, too; I think Father mentioned that Lan Wangji was doing a lot of travelling. Wei Wuxian, you got close to him when you were at the Xuanwu cave. Can you go find him? Tell him we need his help, and the help of any other sects he can help us recruit.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “You sure you don’t need me here..?”

“There won’t be a ‘here’ if we don’t get people together, and fast – we killed one of Wen Ruohan’s sons. As soon as I’m better, I’m going to go find people for the Jiang sect, whether cultivators who weren’t here or new ones. And shijie…”

“What can I do?”

Jiang Cheng lifted his finger to point at the corpses, which he hadn’t even questioned. “We need more of those. A lot more of those. An army of them.”

Jiang Yanli frowned. “Where am I supposed to find an army worth of dead people? I was planning on picking up resentful souls of the Wen sect’s victims as we went, but that’ll be incremental, not an army…”

“Actually,” Wei Wuxian said. “I have an idea. Have you ever heard of the Burial Mounds in Yiling…?”

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 18

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

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Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 18

It was half a day’s journey from the port in Le Havre to the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. They stayed one night in a tavern before arranging a coach to take them to the abbey. Though the impulse to head straight for Paris to Jared’s home was strong, the abbey was another consideration they couldn’t rule out ‒ and the closest location upon arriving in France.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the abbey and the three of them stepped out into the bright sunshine. They approached the abbey with only the faintest flicker of hope. Months on this trail had left them anxious enough not to get their hopes up too soon.

The exterior and grounds of the abbey were lovely ‒ a 12th century Romanesque structure with a large garden that was carefully tended to. Claire’s gaze was inexorably drawn to it as they walked up the path leading to the abbey.

And then she glimpsed a flash of red-gold hair in the sunshine from up ahead in the gardens.

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet refused to move any further. Absently, she registered that Murtagh and Fergus had stilled beside her, puzzled.

Ahead of them, a small red-headed toddler registered the presence of three new visitors and boldly went out to greet them.

Claire’s vision burned with tears. She won’t remember, she reminded herself. And just the same, it didn’t matter. After all those months, Faith was right there in front of her, and she didn’t care if she had her work cut out for her still in winning her child’s heart back.

Her feet moved then of their own volition, unsteady at first and then picking up the pace to close the distance. Claire dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could in her condition and pulled Faith abruptly into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

“Oh, my baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out of her in a rush and then it was like a dam breaking open. She clung to Faith and wept.

Claire had her. At last. Faith was alive and real and heavy in Claire’s lap.

She felt the girl squirming in her grasp, her little hands pushing against Claire’s chest, and reluctantly, she let her go. Fergus was at her side, she realized, and he gripped her by the elbow to try and help her to her feet. They managed, a bit awkwardly.

It was only then that she noticed who Faith was with ‒ and who Murtagh was helping ease onto a stone bench after she looked about ready to faint.

“Y-y-y-you’re dead…”

Claire’s gaze flicked over to Murtagh briefly. In all their time searching, they hadn’t given much thought to how they would explain this to Mary ‒ or anyone else who wasn’t Jamie for that matter.

“Whoa, lass!”

The sight of Mary beginning to hyperventilate snapped Claire out of her thoughts. “Easy now. You’re alright.”

She was aware of Faith trying to burrow behind Mary’s skirts, but couldn’t give that her full attention just then. Murtagh stepped aside to let Claire in next to her. “Easy now. Cup your hands together over your mouth and nose and breathe into them. There you go. Try and breathe slowly.”

Faith moved to lean against Mary’s knees, watching anxiously. Claire stifled the impulse to reach for her. God, this was all going so poorly…

“I d-don’t… understand,” Mary said between labored breaths. But she was calming down and a little color was returning to her cheeks, Claire noted.

“I can imagine it’s quite a shock, and I’m sorry for that.” She rubbed Mary’s back lightly. It helped her own nervous state to be able to focus on helping someone else. “It’s a long story, but we’ll tell you it all later. Where’s Jamie? Is he inside?”

“Oh God,” Mary uttered suddenly and she looked as though she might be sick. “Oh I wish you had been here even a day earlier.”

She felt her stomach lurch at Mary’s words and wondered if she would be sick. “What do you mean? Where is Jamie?”

Mary began to tremble. “Th-th-there was an a-accident…”

They had started towards the abbey with Mary leading them, but in their panicked haste, Claire and Murtagh quickly overtook her. Mary shouted directions at them, but it didn’t matter. Once inside, it only took one frantic request to the first monk they ran into before they were brought to Jamie’s room.

Seeing her husband bruised and bandaged, unconscious, Claire didn’t realize at first that she was physically leaning on Murtagh for support, holding tightly to his arm. It was a different time, a different abbey, and yet her mind made the connection to just after Wentworth, when she almost lost him. She felt dizzy and weak.

“What‒” Her gaze took in the leg wrapped in splints and soaked through with dried blood. Whatever had happened, his leg seemed to bear the brunt of it, though the rest of him was covered in scrapes and bruises as well.

One of the brothers had followed them in and was explaining softly in French what had happened and how Jamie was faring. In all the commotion, they attracted a few more residents of the abbey, who filtered into the small room.

She caught enough to understand Jamie had developed an infection, most likely from his leg. Her stomach roiled and her hand came to press high on her pregnant belly out of habit, though it did nothing to help.

It was then her eyes fell to a cut on the inside of his forearm, too perfectly placed and neatly cut to be a coincidence. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea. No, they couldn’t have…

“You bled him!”

Stillness descended on the room following her outburst. She finally tore her gaze away from Jamie to look at the monks for explanation, to Mary who was trembling in the back.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?”

Just as quickly as the room had fallen silent, it roared back to life with voices raised and overlapping ‒ each person trying to explain or justify or placate. Above them all was Claire, unable to contain her horror. “--already weakened from the accident and trying to fight off an infection and you bled him!”

She was vaguely aware of Murtagh’s tug on her arm, but it wasn’t until he screamed for the rest of them to be quiet that she paid him any attention. Her gaze flew to him, but he wasn’t watching her. And that’s when she heard the hushed, gravely voice of her husband, straining to be heard above the noise.

She caught his fevered gaze and felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Sassenach?”

Murtagh quietly cleared the room, though in the moment, Claire hardly noticed this kind act.

Claire’s words clogged in her throat but she moved closer to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, taking Jamie’s hand carefully in her own. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Am I‒ I…” He struggled between labored breaths and his eyes fluttered shut but he seemed to muster the energy to force them open again and find her. “Am I dying then?”

The implication of his words hit her hard, and she shook her head vehemently, feeling silent tears spill down her cheeks. “This isn’t a hallucination. I’m real. I’m here.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes drifting shut again.

God, to find him after all this time and to find him like this…

Murtagh cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. “Ye can save him, Claire.”

It wasn’t a question, but she heard the need for reassurance.

“I’m damn well going to try,” she said as much for her own benefit as for Murtagh’s, but her voice wobbled even as she tried to sound confident. She squeezed Jamie’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I can make a poultice for his infection,” she said with a bit more authority. “And maybe a tea.”

She brushed the hair back from his forehead ‒ faded dark locks with his natural red coming in at the roots. They’d caught on that he had dyed his hair through some of the descriptions they’d heard of him along the way. He must’ve stopped worrying about it once they reached France. He looked ridiculous and she wanted to be able to tease him about it, to see the way his ears turned pink when she did and hear his laugh. Later, she told herself. Get him well.

She pushed herself to her feet and went to examine his leg. Whoever had tended to it had done well ‒ the gash across his thigh had been stitched by a steady hand, and though the wound had become infected, that might not have been avoided even under Claire’s care.

But the bloodletting…

Indignation still fizzled in her veins. He’d already lost some blood from the accident, from the looks of it. And of all the things they could’ve tried to help him once infection set in, this was the worst.

“Where are the children?” she asked suddenly.

“Mary has them.”

“Did Faith see me‒”

Scream like a lunatic at everyone within earshot?

“Nay,” Murtagh said quickly. “She wasna in the room.”

Claire nodded at that. She knew the ground she was on with Faith was shaky at best. And the last thing she wanted was to give Faith any reason to fear her.

“Madame?”

She followed the sound to its source ‒ a frail, kindly-looking monk in the doorway that Claire got the distinct impression was sent in as an intermediary. But behind him stood a stocky figure with black hair and familiar slanted eyes. Jamie’s uncle, Alexander Fraser. Though she’d heard about him, they’d never met even during her time in France two years ago.

“You must be Claire,” he said. His voice had a strange dialect that Claire knew at once to be the result of a born and bred Highlander living so many of his adult years in France. “I must admit it is a shock to meet you at last, given that Jamie told us you were dead.”

“A misunderstanding,” she supplied lamely.

“Un miracle,” said the quiet monk with a kind smile, and Claire decided that she liked him very much, even if he was sent in to placate her.

Abbot Alexander nodded to the man. “This is Brother Thomas. He can assist you with Jamie and bring you anything you need.” His eyes darkened as he added, “It was a terrible shock, what happened. We all want Jamie to be well again.”

She knew this was as close to an apology for the bloodletting as she would get. And that whoever’s call it had been would never be revealed to her. “Thank you, Abbot. I shall be very happy to have Brother Thomas’s assistance.”

  Jamie heard her voice again, and felt his whole body orient toward the sound. Softer this time. Hushed. Bleary-eyed, he looked about and found her right there within reach, though he dared not try to touch her in case doing so would somehow banish the vision of her. No matter ‒ he hardly felt strong enough to turn his head let alone lift his hand.

“Am I dying?” he asked again.

“Not if I have anything to say about that,” she shot back at him, eyes snapping up at his in challenge. He smirked at this, weakly. Even as he neared the end, this part of his soul that Claire occupied and materialized before him was just as fierce and unrelenting as the real woman.

“Do you hear me, James Fraser?” she spoke again, gripping him by the chin as he fought to stay awake. “You do not have my permission to die.”

“Aye, lass…” He couldn’t manage more than that before darkness crept in once more.

  Some time in the evening, Brother Thomas came around with supper for Claire and made her sit and eat. When he tried to encourage her to leave the room for a break and go see the others though, she resisted the idea.

After how she’d found Jamie, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him unattended.

But at the moment, he was resting and there was nothing immediate that she could do for him ‒ and Brother Thomas swore he wouldn’t leave Jamie until she came back.

With enough prodding and reassurance, Claire left Jamie’s bedside in search of the rest of her family.

She found them in a small library and stood in the doorway watching them. Mary was sitting with them, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She still looked pale and drawn with worry, the poor thing.

And Murtagh had Faith on his knee, bouncing her slightly and talking in a low voice to her. Claire felt her throat clog with emotion, watching the two of them. She knew what that moment meant for Murtagh, having been the one to bring Faith to Culloden three months ago, to hold her again and see Faith’s family restored to her.

Claire stayed frozen in the doorway, a voyeur to this moment, never fully part of it. She had a visceral desire to walk right over to Murtagh and pluck Faith from his lap, to hold her close in her own arms again ‒ oh god, even to look at her and know she was real ‒ and yet that desire was overpowered by one thought that kept Claire in check. That whisper of doubt in her ear telling her that she’d already screwed up. She’d startled Faith out in the gardens and now what did the girl think of her?

She felt the baby kick and her hand went automatically to the spot. Hadn’t been that long ago that Faith was just a little nudge felt from within and now they were nearly strangers to each other.

Fergus noticed her first and raced to her side. “How is Milord?” he asked in a whisper, and she realized her hesitation to join them had come off as being the bearer of bad news.

“He’s alright.” She pulled him to her side and gave him a squeeze. “He’s still fighting.”

“Can I see him?”

She drew in a steep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Well, he’s resting right now, darling. Maybe tomorrow, alright?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, but she knew she had crushed him. Of course he wanted to see Jamie, but if… if he saw him while he was fevered and weak, heard Jamie’s talk of dying… no, she didn’t want that for Fergus.

He slipped away from her and went to join the others. Claire watched as he bent down to talk to Faith and then as she jumped down from Murtagh’s knee to take Fergus’s hand. Claire’s hand came up to press just below her collarbone where it felt like her heart was splitting open at the seams. To see them together again and slipping easily back into a rapport with each other, as children often did without much difficulty… Her children ‒ Hers and Jamie’s ‒ together again.

The ache was still there for the time that was lost with Faith, the guilt over any unintended pain she’d caused her wee girl. But there was something tender and hopeful in knowing she’d returned Murtagh and Fergus to Faith’s life. They both loved her so, and Faith would know that soon enough. Claire held both things, the hurt and the hope, as she watched Fergus and Faith.

Murtagh saw her then, still standing in the doorway. “Come sit down,” he called out.

She pushed away from the doorway and went in.

  It was later in the night when Murtagh came to check on her and Jamie. With Brother Thomas’s help, she’d made a poultice for Jamie’s leg and also managed a few times to get Jamie to drink some tea for his fever and pain. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the fever hadn’t broken. Every time he spoke to her, it never felt like she was speaking to the real Jamie.

“Take another break,” Murtagh insisted gruffly. “I’m no’ sure all this pacing is good for the bairn.”

Her hand smoothed over the bump. She’d forgotten how everyone treated her as though she was made of glass as soon as the baby was visible. “Baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Murtagh pulled a face at that and grunted, which she ignored.

“Ye’ve hardly gone near the lass since we’ve been here.” He said this bluntly, and Claire blinked quickly against the burn of oncoming tears. She’d hoped no one had noticed. “She’s awake still, wi’ Mary. Go an’ put the lass tae bed, Claire. I’ll sit wi’ Jamie.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. With Jamie, she knew how to care for him ‒ a little too well, the damn fool. But Faith…

“And if anyone tries tae bleed him, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

She chuckled softly at this and her heart swelled with affection for the old grump that loved them all better than they deserved. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

He grunted and dropped into the chair at Jamie’s bedside.

“And where’s Fergus?”

“They gave him a room and he’s gone tae bed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, patting his shoulder as she moved past him, “for everything today. I didn’t expect… well, it’s been a shock, with Jamie. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Without looking at her, he reached up and squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Get some rest, a nighean.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Alright,” Murtagh said with a resigned sigh. “Go and see Faith then and dinna hurry back. I’ll find ye if anything happens.”

She slipped quietly out into the hall and turned a corner leading to more sleeping quarters. She knew where Mary’s room was, but she went first in search of Fergus. He was still awake when she found him.

“Your own room, hmm?” She sat on the other small bed across from his, looking about the room. “Haven’t had that luxury in a while.”

Fergus’s mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “If you’re scared, just say so and you can stay in here, Milady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She grabbed the pillow on the spare bed and flung it at his head, relishing the sound of his laugh as he ducked and covered his head. Cheeky little arse…

But when his head poked back up, the moment of teasing had passed. She stood and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. Have sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight, Milady.”

He caught her hand as she was turning away, and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I love you, my boy,” she murmured.

“I know. je t'aime aussi.”

Mary’s door was open and there they were by the fireplace, Mary sitting in one chair and Faith leaning against the other one. She had something small in her hand, some kind of toy, and alternated between moving it along the seat of the chair and turning to talk to Mary.

Faith glanced up and noticed her. Claire forced a smile and took that opportunity to enter the room.

“Claire! Oh, come sit. Here, Faith, let’s make room.”

Faith shuffled backwards until she bumped into Mary’s knees, staring curiously up at Claire as she took the other seat.

Mary asked about Jamie and she gave her the same update she’d given Murtagh and Fergus and any one of the monks who had poked their head into Jamie’s room to ask about him.

“I am sorry for startling you earlier,” Claire added. “I hope it wasn’t… well, I hope you’re feeling alright now.”

Mary exhaled a smile. “You’re actually the second person I’ve thought was dead to show up out of the blue, and both of those instances happened in the last few months…” Mary shook her head at that, and Claire realized with sinking dread that it had been Jack Randall she referred to. She’d all but forgotten… but no, she could see now that Mary didn’t want to discuss that. “Come to that, both times the message came from Jamie that you and‒ and‒”

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” she said quickly. Firmly. “Jamie had no idea I was… alive.” Still had no idea, really.

Claire took a deep breath, unsure what Jamie might’ve told Mary already. “We knew that we couldn’t win. We knew if we fought the Redcoats in our current state, there was no way the Jacobites would be victorious. So we had Murtagh bring Faith to us and we were going to run. But there was… some confusion on that day. It was chaotic and we were desperate to get out of there. But I got separated from Jamie and Faith. And I think Jamie thought I was taken by the Redcoats and killed. He didn’t lie to you intentionally. He just didn’t know the truth.”

Mary’s gaze drifted towards the fire, still shaking her head slightly, though Claire got the impression it was more to do with the improbability of all that had occurred than any sort of ill feelings. And Claire didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mary added shyly. “And that you’re here.” Her hand dropped gently to Faith’s head, stroking her soft red curls in a familiar way. Her gaze flew to Claire suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh I’m so stupid! You’re here for Faith! Of course you are. And here I am chattering away with you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Claire said swiftly. She had come here for Faith, but… “I did want the chance to speak with you, too. To explain.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief but she still smiled politely and moved to stand. “She’s slept in here since the accident. You’re welcome to stay in here as well. But I’ll‒ well, I’ll make myself scarce for a bit. Give you two some time together.”

She moved a bit slowly, her much smaller frame balancing a larger belly than Claire, but Mary extricated herself from the room as swiftly as possible, closing the door behind her.

And then it was only Claire and Faith.

With the sound of the door closing, Faith seemed to realize then that no one she knew was with her. Just Claire. Just this odd woman who had wept hysterically at the sight of her earlier today. Claire had already been preparing herself for this ‒ No more tears. Not from herself, at least. She wouldn’t scare Faith again.

Faith stood stock still by the chair Mary had vacated, no longer wide-eyed with curiosity. Instead, she seemed to search the room for something familiar. She made a beeline for the door, which she wasn’t tall enough to open.

“Lovey, it’s alright…” Claire moved to her feet, but hesitated to take a step further. But when she stood, she drew Faith’s gaze and felt something wrench in her chest. The panic in the tiny girl was palpable. “I know you’re frightened and you don’t remember me, but I’m‒”

Faith’s expression pinched with worry and she breathed in deep, and it made Claire pause.

“Want my da,” Faith croaked in her little voice, and then her face scrunched up and she began to howl.

Claire moved in an instant to scoop the girl up. She held Faith close while she cried, the small girl’s body resting above the swell of the baby.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly that she knew Faith couldn’t hear it over her own wailing. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” She slowly paced the small room and rubbed circles on Faith’s back, just as she used to when Faith was a baby.

Faith’s howling didn’t let up, that stubborn streak making itself known. But the longer it went on, Faith crying in her arms and allowing Claire to comfort her, the less her tiny girl felt like a stranger to Claire. How many nights in Faith’s life had been spent just like this?

And eventually, her cries became more of a whimper and then ceased altogether.

Her head popped up from Claire’s shoulder with a red face still streaked with tears and her brows still creased together. “Want da,” she tried again, her lips forming a pout.

Claire’s fingers caressed the sweet face, wiping at the tears. It broke her heart that she couldn’t just bring her to him. “He’s still here, but he’s sleeping. You’ll see him as soon as he’s better, I promise.”

“No,” Faith whined half-heartedly. Claire swayed in place with Faith and watched her yawn and then shiver slightly and burrow into Claire’s warmth.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Aye.” Faith murmured, succumbing to another yawn.

“Here,” Claire grabbed a woolen shawl and draped around them both, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Faith sat up straight once she was in Claire’s lap, glancing about again. Her gaze turned back to Claire.

“Wha’s yer name?” Faith asked in her sweet little voice. Her head cocked to the side in a familiar way and Claire felt the sting of tears but blinked them away swiftly.

“I’m your mama,” Claire said, feeling her heart clench at saying those words. She delicately traced the sweet face that she longed to smother with kisses, wiping at the last of Faith’s tears and brushing curls off her sweaty forehead. Faith’s brows furrowed together again and Claire wondered what she made of that, what she could understand of the word at the tender age of two.

“My mam?”

Claire made a slight sound, caught between a laugh and a cry. “Yes. Yours. I carried you inside me for several months while you grew. And when you were born, I held you close and I couldn’t believe that you were mine. My baby.”

“Baby.” Faith pointed to her rounded belly and Claire exhaled a soft, surprised laugh at this.

“Well, yes, there is one in there, but I meant you. You were a baby in my belly once, too.” She brushed Faith’s curls back out of her face again and cupped the back of her head to pull her forward, meeting no resistance from the girl. Faith’s head rested on her mother’s chest, a little awkwardly draped over the baby bump. Claire sighed. She was already running out of room in her lap and a desperate feeling gripped her, that she needed to rebuild her relationship with Faith before the next one arrived. “I would hold you here and let you hear my heartbeat as a newborn baby, the same sound you heard from within when I carried you. And you knew who I was from that sound.” Faith stayed quiet and relaxed under Claire’s hands as they cradled her head and slowly rubbed her back. “My baby.”

She wasn’t sure at what point Faith drifted off to sleep, but she stayed in that chair with her girl curled up on her chest much longer than she needed to. She felt Faith’s exhales of breath caressing her skin once more, no longer the quick little puffs from when she was first born, but deeper now. This was how they had started out, the two of them, and this was how they were finding their way back. Claire’s arms went about Faith’s still form, anchoring her there, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there to breathe her in and know she was real. The tears did come then, spilling fast down her face. She shook slightly with choked-back sobs but didn’t make a sound.

Barely three months ago, Claire had been in 1948 with Frank. It seemed like another lifetime ago ‒ and Culloden with Jamie and Faith, another lifetime before that. She’d searched for months and now that she had this girl back in her arms again, she’d never let her go.

“Faith Elizabeth Janet Beauchamp Fraser,” she addressed her sleeping child slowly, pronouncing each name distinctly as Jamie had done with his own name when he first told her. “I don’t know what your future holds, but I promise to do everything in my power to see you living a long and happy life. And I know you don’t know me anymore, but you will. You’ll always have me from this moment on. I traveled 200 years just to find you… I’m not likely to let anything else stand in the way. And you won’t ever lose me.” Her lower lip trembled and a few rogue tears spilled onto Faith’s head. “You and me, Faith,” Claire rasped, resting her cheek on top of Faith’s head. “We’ll be alright. I’m here. I love you.”

She didn’t want to move for fear of waking Faith ‒ and in doing so, of ruining the moment of being able to hold her baby to her chest ‒ but she couldn’t stay there all night. She needed to check in on Jamie.

So she stood slowly, carefully, and readjusted Faith to rest her head high up on Claire’s shoulder. The girl breathed in sharply during the move, but turned her head into Claire’s neck and let out a sleepy sigh, settling back in.

Faith’s bottom rested just above the swell of the baby, which was almost protruding far enough to sit Faith on top of it, but not quite. “I really will have my hands full in a few months, won’t I?”

Claire sauntered quietly down the hall with Faith and turned into Jamie’s room to find not only Murtagh where she had left him, but Fergus, who had joined him too.

He must’ve snuck in as soon as she went to see Faith, since he was already sound asleep in a chair near the foot of the bed. Murtagh caught her eye as she entered and merely shrugged. “Didna see any harm in letting him stay. Jamie’s been out since ye left.”

“It’s alright.”

She reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his forehead before shifting Faith’s weight higher in her arms. Despite wanting to keep the children from seeing Jamie in a distressing state, she felt strengthened by their presence and by Murtagh’s. They were whole, finally. And as long as Jamie stayed strong, they would remain so.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice called to him, and he whined. What punishment was this? He had fought so hard these last few months to give Faith the best life he could, to accept his future as just a father but no longer a husband. And while he was torn between fighting to stay for Faith or give in and be at peace... be with Claire… it felt as though the spirit of Claire was urging him to stay put. Stay with Faith.

“Jamie, don’t give up on me.” Her voice was pinched with worry. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”

But he didn’t know that he was strong enough to keep fighting.

Oh, lass, dinna be pained on my account, he wanted to say, i’ll be wi’ ye soon. But no words came out.

  The gardens provided an escape during the day as well as allowing for Fergus and Faith to run off some of their energy. Even though she’d been slow to walk at first for her age, Faith was quite steady on her feet now and Fergus made a game of chase with her, running at a slow pace to keep her after him. Every now and then, he’d slow down enough to let her catch him and flop dramatically onto the grass, which never failed to make Faith burst into laughter.

It was a short-lived escape from their worry, and inevitably for Claire, something would happen between Fergus and Faith that made her wish Jamie were present to witness it. They’d already lost so much time…

“Want my da!” Faith declared as she sped ahead to Jamie’s room before anyone could stop her. Claire huffed and picked up her pace as best she could.

“See? Da’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.”

Faith stood beside the bed, and her tiny frame shook. She was close to tears, Claire could tell. Nothing about the situation made sense to Faith, and she didn’t need to verbalize her distress for everyone else to know it was deeply upsetting to not have Jamie awake and alert.

“How about some cuddles for Da? You have to be careful of his leg but you can go up here by his shoulder and cuddle with him, if you want.”

It was nearing Faith’s nap time anyway, from what Mary had said. Faith didn’t need further invitation and started to scramble up the side of the bed.

“Easy, love,” Claire laughed, jumping in to help situate Faith to the other side of the bed where there was more room. She moved Jamie’s arm away from his body, creating space for Faith to curl against his side. “There we go. Rest your eyes, sweet girl.”

Jamie muttered softly and shifted in his sleep. Claire reached over and felt his forehead. He was sweaty and didn’t feel too terribly warm, which was promising. Claire tried to keep her hope tempered.

“Fergus, do you know where they keep the herbs for making tea? Could you run and grab me some more?”

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not know, Milady,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sighed. Brother Thomas wasn’t around and neither was Mary, but she wanted to make Jamie a fresh cup of tea and see if he would drink some of it the next time he roused.

Faith was still knocked out against Jamie’s shoulder and it was only Claire and Fergus awake in the room. “Come with me. I’ll show you so you know for next time. It won’t take long.”

  Jamie opened his eyes and felt like he was waking for the first time after a very strange dream. Tired and still weak, but his head felt clear. No more chills or aches through his whole body. No, just a dull pain in his thigh when he twitched his leg. He felt too warm and tried to kick his uninjured leg free from the blankets.

The fever was gone and he let out a sigh that was only partly relief. If the fever had left him… then so had Claire.

He became slowly aware of a small, warm weight on his right shoulder and looked to see a head full of wispy, red curls that could only belong to Faith. His arm tightened around her as best as he could and he turned to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Deo gratias…” He whispered hoarsely into her hair, holding the only remaining testament that he had of his and Claire’s love. I’m sae sorry I almost left ye, a nighean...

She slumbered on, undisturbed by this even as Jamie’s hand came to rest on her head in supplication and he offered up a plea for this child’s safety and a humble request that if he should have to live the rest of his years on this earth without his wife, that he might still live to see this child of theirs grow up…

“Oh thank god!”

He stiffened at the sound of his wife’s voice, knowing it meant he was not as well as he thought, if he was still hearing her. But even as he wouldn’t turn his head to look towards her voice, he was aware that he and Faith were not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure filled the entryway and in his peripheral vision, his sight told him it was Claire. But his head knew better. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

Then she drew near and her hands framed his face. His eyelids slammed shut in disbelief, pushing tears down his cheeks. “Thank god!” she said again in a tight whisper.

“Claire?” His voice came out ragged. Her hands gently held his face and turned him towards her. His eyes fluttered open and there she was, smiling down at him through her own tears. He breathed in sharply and could only stare because she would always be the most beautiful sight to his eyes ‒ And a sight he thought he would never see again. “How‒”

She leaned down and kissed him, tentatively at first but feeling him respond, she let the kiss unfold, lingering for what seemed like a blissful eternity until she pulled away, leaving them both panting softly. He reached up and touched her, tracing the outline of her face.

She was trembling terribly, almost on the verge of crying, as her eyes slid shut at his touch, and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

His heart felt as though it were trying to march right through his ribcage, it was hammering so fiercely. “I thought… I thought you were a dream. I canna believe ye’re real.”

He shook his head then as the truth set in. “Ye came all the way to France?” He was aghast, still shaken by the very presence of her. She smiled through a fresh wave of tears.

“I came two hundred years and all the way to France,” her hand reached tentatively for Faith, hovering just above the girl’s head before gently making contact, “Just to find you two.”

There was a soft scuffle of feet and Claire glanced over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “And I didn’t come alone, Jamie.”

“Milord!”

He’d hardly processed her words before Fergus was there, flinging himself haphazardly at Jamie. Fergus’s head buried itself in Jamie’s chest, and Jamie clutched him close, feeling a sudden, sharp sob tear from his throat. Oh God, his son.

His vision clouded over, but not before he’d noticed his godfather standing in the doorway. One arm tightened around Faith while the other held Fergus to him, and his resolve not to openly weep like a baby finally crumbled.

He had believed for so long now that his family as he once knew it was lost for good… and to have them returned to him in one instant, he felt a brief flicker of doubt. That this was nothing more than a fevered dream, to have everything his heart desired.

But he could feel the weight still of Faith leaning on his shoulder, awake now and sitting up from the sudden bursts of noise around her. He could feel where Fergus held a fistful of his shirt in a clenched fist, refusing to let go, and where the boy's tears were soaking through the fabric to Jamie’s chest. And he could feel Claire’s delicate hand brushing his hair back from his face, the softest touch but unmistakably real, before she framed his face again and kissed him, first on his lips and then peppering soft kisses across his face like she needed to cover every inch of him with her love.

And it was everything and all too much.

His family was here. And they were real. Deo gratias.

[gins-potter]

everything will be alright (with you by my side)

@halzekrhodestead​ sent me these requests literally a million years ago and i’m just now getting around to filling them.  sorry about the wait and i hope you enjoy it! yes i know will didn’t do emergency medicine in nyc i just decided to retcon that

Will’s skin practically crawls at the sound of the elegant string music floating out of the ballroom at the top of the stairs.  The music is nice enough he supposes, but Will’s never been able to hear violins and not be reminded of the vibrant, boisterous music his mother had filled their home with when he was a child.  But maybe it’s not the music at all that sets his teeth on edge, but rather the people lining up to enter the gala, who shed their coats to reveal expensive tuxedos and glamorous dresses.  Maybe it’s the glasses of champagne they accept as they step inside, the liquid surely the rarest of vintages and served in undoubtedly crystal flutes.

Beside them, in the tux he’s had since med school, and the tie Connor gave him before they even started dating, Will feels more than a little lackluster.

But, he rationalises to himself, he never did understand the point of hosting a charity event if you were going to blow tens of thousands of dollars just throwing the damn thing.  But he knows the cause is important to his boyfriend, so in a surprisingly un-Will-like fashion, he resists the urge to make a comment about it, and instead pastes a pleasant smile on his face.  Because after all, he’s not here to make waves; he’s here to be a buffer with a pretty face and make the night as painless as possible.

At least that’s the way Will remembers Connor phrasing it.

Speaking of, beside him Connor takes a deep, shuddering breath as they reach the top of the stairs and the wide double door entrance looms ahead.  Pausing at the threshold, Connor slips his hand into Will’s and squeezes gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, tracing the back of Will’s hand with his thumb.  “Thanks for being here?”

Will feels his lips twitch up into a genuine smile despite his surroundings, and says, “Yeah well, you promised you’d do that thing with your tongue that I like if I came, so…”

The words surprise a laugh out of Connor, and he shoots Will a grateful look, before squaring his shoulders, as if emboldened by the exchange and leading his boyfriend inside.  Will sighs a little and accepts a glass of champagne, figuring he’s going to need it.

Into the lion’s den they go.

.

The night starts off well enough, all things considered.

Having been away from the whole scene for so long, Connor is almost immediately swarmed by artificially eager socialites who want all the details on what he’s been up to in recent years.  Will watches his boyfriend’s face and knows him well enough to know when he needs to step in and gently shift the subject matter, or when Connor genuinely likes the other person and he can sip his exorbitantly priced champagne and let the conversation wash over him.

His southside accent sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other guest's polished speech but Will plays it to his favour, working the ‘blue-collar boy who put himself through med school’ angle that they lap up like some of their expensive wine.  His father would spit if could see him, and Will hates himself a little bit for doing it, their condescending smiles stoking the embers of that anger.  But all it takes is to see the gratefulness in Connor’s eyes to know it’s worth it, and he stamps out those embers enough that they don’t become a raging inferno.  Besides, by the pressure of a hand on his lower back, Will can tell that Connor knows exactly what he’s doing and will make it well worth his time when they’re back in their apartment.

They even survive the, thankfully brief, exchange with Connor’s father, it being the first time they’ve met in the year that Will and Connor have been together.  It’s polite, and it’s pleasant, and they smile for the benefit of the other guests milling around, but Will doesn’t miss the disapproving glint that enters Cornelius Rhodes’s eyes when Connor introduces him as his boyfriend.  And it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either that Connor introduces him as ‘Will’, but Cornelius manages to call him ‘William’ - something even his own father never calls him - a grand total of six times in the space of their three minute conversation.  

It makes Will wonder which is a bigger affront to Cornelius: that his son is dating a man, or that he’s dating someone who doesn’t come with a trust fund.

But despite it all they manage to survive the few minutes that the encounter lasts for until Cornelius gets pulled away by another guest and they can escape to the other side of the ballroom.  It would have been ideal to avoid him completely, but as a main benefactor of the gala, Cornelius was well and truly in the spotlight, and people would surely talk if the two Rhodes men ignored each other all evening.  That was certainly the reason, Connor mutters to Will as they hightail it out of there, that Cornelius had sought them out; it simply would not do for the Rhodes’ to be talked about for anything other than their roaring financial success.

But all in all the evening is going well.  Connor works the crowd with Will at his side, charming smile firmly in place as he convinces many of the other guests to sign over large swathes of money to the National Alliance on Mental Illness.  Connor chats to friends of his late mother, runs into old classmates from high school, and even gets dragged onto the dance floor by his sister.  And despite his father’s looming presence, Will can tell his boyfriend is actually starting to enjoy himself.

Which is why he feels comfortable enough to leave Connor in the hands of his sister and escape into a hallway off the ballroom when he overhears a young socialite complain to her friend about the darling little yacht her father refuses to buy her.

What’s a mere three million dollars after all?

He just needs to take a breath away from the music and the lights and the people.  But he’s not there for more than a few minutes, when a figure appears at the other end of the hallway, striding towards him.

“Mr Rhodes,” Will says, once he recognises him in the dim lighting.  He straightens, and pushes off the wall, a bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“William Halstead,” Cornelius says slowly, a dangerous smile on his face.  Something about the way he says Will’s name has the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and his suspicions are confirmed when Cornelius doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.  “William Halstead.  Born to Pat and Shannon Halstead, a construction worker and kindergarten teacher from Canaryville.  One brother named Jay who was first an Army Ranger and is now a detective with the Chicago Police Department.  You went to college out of state, was involved in aid work in Sudan, before studying emergency medicine in New York.  You came back to Chicago on a whim to visit your brother, were briefly accused of murder before later being cleared, and decided to move back permanently when you were offered a position at the Gaffney Chicago Medical Center.”

The champagne flute in Will’s hand groans under his tightening grip, but he manages a guarded smile as he says, “I see you’ve looked me up.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than look you up,” Cornelius says ominously.  “Which is why I know that despite your best efforts you were unable to secure a scholarship, and the two jobs you worked through medical school barely dented your student loans.  So, let’s cut to the chase, William, how much will it take?”

Will blinks, and then laughs uncomfortably, unable, or perhaps unwilling to understand what Cornelius is trying to imply.  “I’m sorry, how much will what take?”

Cornelius exhales sharply, as if perturbed by having to explain himself.  “How much money will it take to get you to walk away from my son and never look back?”

The words cut like a blade through Will’s chest and his next breath comes out strangled and ragged.  “I don’t-”

Cornelius spreads his hands, cutting Will off with ease.  “Look, I’m a reasonable man.  And I can be very generous when I want to be.  Those loans of yours could be taken care of with a single phone call.”

Will seethes at the arrogance of the man before him, and at both the idea of someone being able to clear eight years worth of accumulated debts with half a thought, and at the implication that there was a sum of money large enough to get Will to walk away from Connor.

When he doesn’t answer, Cornelius continues.  “I know about you, William, I know your background, and I know that you and my son come from two very different worlds.  And I know that when I pass on and my son inherits the empire two generations of Rhodes’ men have built, he’ll do so with someone of the correct social standing by his side.  Someone,” he adds, eyeing Will with open disgust.  “Who is able to provide a natural continuation of the Rhodes’ line.”

“So,” Will says, realising that he being a man and a poor kid from Canaryville are equal sins in Cornelius’ eyes.  “It doesn’t matter to you that your son might be miserable as long as he marries someone you deem socially acceptable?”

Cornelius shrugs carelessly.  “I’m sure Connor will be upset for a while, he always was a…. sensitive child.”  His lips pull back, more a bearing of his teeth than a true smile.  “But I’m also sure that he’ll get over it eventually, and come to realise that I’m right.  Hell, he might even thank me for it one day.”

Will wants to tell him that there’s a better chance of hell freezing over than of that happening, but Cornelius has already continued talking.

“So, all that’s left to be settled is the price.  Name it and it’s yours.”

Here, Will has to laugh.  And not just an awkward or polite chuckle, but a real laugh, the first he’s uttered all night.  He laughs, and laughs harder, when Cornelius’s expression becomes pinched.

“Oh, you really thought that because I was still standing here and listening, you were actually going to be able to pay me off?”

Cornelius tries to smile again, but it’s lacking it’s earlier swagger.  “‘Pay off’ is such an ugly term, isn’t it?  I prefer to think of this as a business deal.  One that you would be very stupid to turn down.  So be reasonable, William.”

But Will shrugs, grinning effortlessly.  “No one has ever accused me of being all that smart.  And reasonable?  Me being reasonable is walking away from you right now instead of introducing you to the Canaryville version of a no.”

Will idly cracks the knuckles of his right hand, and feels a dark satisfaction when Cornelius’s gaze drops to the hand still hanging by his side.  But he doesn’t curl that hand into a fist, doesn’t let himself draw back his elbow and let the punch fly, no matter how good it might feel in the moment.  No, instead he just shoves both hands into his suit pockets, shoots Cornelius one more careless grin, and starts to stroll back down the hallway.

“You’re going to regret this, William.”

He almost turns back, but decides it’s not worth it.  Besides, he really doesn’t think he is.

.

Connor is blessedly alone when Will steps back into the ballroom.  He hands his glass, still half full, to a passing server with a nod of thanks and beelines for his boyfriend, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his temple when he gets there.

“Hey,” Connor says, leaning into him.  “Where did you go?”

“Just out for a breather.”  He pauses, then says, “Ran into your father, had an interesting conversation.”

Connor’s eyes darken and he starts to pull away.  “What did he say?”

Will huffs a breath of a laugh and tightens his grip, preventing him from leaving.  “Nothing.  Well, nothing important anyway,” he allows when Connor clearly doesn’t buy it.

He’ll tell him eventually, it’s not the kind of thing he can keep from Connor.  But later, when they’re in the privacy of their home, and there’s no chance of Connor ruining a charity gala named in his mother’s honour by punching his father in front of a couple hundred people.

“Will-”

He drops his head and nuzzles the side of Connor’s face for the briefest of moments.  “Later,” he murmurs, before pressing another feather light kiss to his skin and drawing away again.

Connor doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t try to pull away again, which is answer enough.  

Will grins, his teeth flashing.  “Dance with me?”

Connor seems surprised but nods and takes his hand, leading him out amongst the other swaying couples.  Will is sure Cornelius is out there somewhere, watching them and seething at the sight but in that moment he doesn’t care.  All that matters is Connor’s arm around his waist and his head on his shoulder, and the love they both feel for each other burning bright in their chests.

[codynaomiswireart]

Gauze in the Wound - Part 24

“‘In sterquiliniis invenitur’ – in filth it will be found. This is perhaps the prime ‘alchemical’ dictum. What you need most is always to be found where you least wish to look. … In rejecting our errors, we gain short-term security – but throw away our identity with the process that allows us to transcend our weaknesses and tolerate our painfully limited lives. …In participating in the process, the alchemists identified with the exploratory hero, and turned themselves unconsciously…into ‘that which redeems.’ This identification was complicated by the fact the the alchemist also considered himself as partaking of the state of matter – as belonging in the ‘state necessitating redemption.’ This basically meant that the alchemist viewed himself, at least in part, as occupying the same category as ‘matter’ (as well as being that which could become ‘gold,’ and which could aid in the transformation). … The alchemist was an unredeemed, suffering man, in search of an inexpressible ideal.”

~ Jordan Peterson, Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief

“‘But I am not your judge. We must go to your true judges now. I am to bring you there.’ ‘My judges?' ‘Why, yes, child. The gods have been accused by you. Now’s their turn.’ ‘I cannot hope for mercy.’ ‘Infinite hopes – and fears – may both be yours. Be sure that, whatever else you get, you will not get justice.’ ‘Are the gods not just?’ ‘Oh no, child. What would become of us if they were?’”

~ The Fox and Queen Oruel, Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis

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

“Cursed short arms!” the un-man grumbled, reaching to pull himself up the rocky slope. What had begun as such a delight in wearing the boy’s form was now becoming annoying as he climbed his way up the mountain. While Zhan Tiri did have some of his additional strength to assist him, even that couldn’t make up for the smaller stature he now donned. But it would be worth it soon. Soon he would be back in his original body, and then he could really get to work!

“And as for the boy,” he thought aloud as he pulled himself up. “He’ll still be useful until I can get the actual Moonstone for myself. If he behaves, I might even let him join me as a disciple! Now wouldn’t that be nice – the Heir of Demanitus as my servant! Ha ha! Come to think of it, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any competent servants.”

The un-man scowled now, thinking of his previous pawns. “Curse them,” he spat, gripping another rock. “Inept fools. And Gothel! That traitorous, vain, sniveling coward! Stuck around just long enough to get her hands on the incantation, and then what did she do? She went and hoarded the Sundrop for herself! Fah! I should’ve figured. She was always the worst of my followers. Tromus may still be of some use I suppose. And Sugracha…Well…” the demon grinned wickedly. “She had her chance…and I’ve made use of what was left.”

Zhan Tiri gave another grunt of exertion as he finally reached the top of the rocky gorge he’d been scaling. The land had changed a bit since he’d last been there. The trails leading up to Janus Point had become rough and overgrown now. He could remember the days when it was well-worn from those who traveled there to engage in dark rituals. Now it was all a deserted wasteland – nearly forgotten like a bad dream by those living in the kingdom below.

“But not for long,” he thought as he adjusted the mirror strapped to his shoulders, continuing his hike. “Soon, their nightmare will rise again!”

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

Varian blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what had just happened, like suddenly waking up from a dream. He felt like he couldn’t move. Part of him didn’t want to move. A part of him wanted all time to freeze here like this. He almost didn’t care if it might all be an illusion fed into his brain.

Xavier was here. Ruddiger was here. His friends were here. Xavier said it would be all right now.

But-

Varian nearly shoved Xavier away, as panic began to bubble up from the depths of his mind as his train of thought went from a standstill to rushing a million miles an hour.

“Wha-What are you doing here!?” Varian asked Xavier, looking up wide-eyed at the blacksmith, the boy’s fists clutching in desperation at the man’s shirt.

Xavier only smiled reassuringly at Varian. “It’s all right Varian. We figured it out. You’re going to be all right. We’ve come to get you out of here!”

Varian continued to stare at him, shaking his head in disbelief.

Noticing his apprentice’s demeanor, Xavier laid his hands on Varian’s shoulders, trying to steady him. “Easy Varian, easy. It’s all right. I’m here now. Really! You’re going to be ok.” Xavier then looked to study the vines that bound Varian’s wrists and ankles, holding one of them in his grasp as Ruddiger also gave them a sniff. The raccoon’s fur stood on end, and he hissed as he detected the dark magic pulsing within the glowing tendrils. Xavier’s brow furrowed, and he began reaching into one of his pockets.

“Wait, what’re you doing?” Varian asked.

“Don’t worry Varian,” Xavier said, pulling a small folding knife from his pocket. “I’ll cut you free, and then we can-” “NO!” Varian screamed, grabbing Xavier’s wrist to stop him before he could make the first incision. “No no! If-if you tamper with the vines, he might notice you’re here and-” Varian’s voice cut out, he swallowed hard, and Xavier could feel the boy clutch even tighter at the fabric of his shirt. “‘He?’” Xavier repeated, becoming still. “Who is ‘he’? Varian, what’s going on? Who did this to you?” But Varian’s expression began to take on a faraway look again, and Xavier could see Varian was struggling to breathe. “Z-…Zhan Tiri-” Varian just managed to choke out. And then, the boy began to hyperventilate, grabbing Xavier again, and shouting. “Wh-why are you here!? You need to stop him! You’re just wasting time with me! Why did you just let him-!? He could be…I-I can’t! Why did you come here!? No! No no no! He’s going to get away-!”

“Varian!”

Varian stopped shouting, but now only shook his head as he buried his face in his arms. “Varian!” Xavier tried again, trying to snap Varian out of whatever attack he was experiencing. But the boy only continued to quiver and breathe in quick, shallow breaths.

Just like that one day…

Xavier was unsure about what was going on, and Varian mentioning Zhan Tiri had not escaped him, but this much he knew – Varian needed help now, and he had to bring him back around before they could do anything else.

“Varian,” Xavier said again, this time in a much calmer tone, and giving Varian’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Varian, look at me, please.”

There was a long pause, and for a moment Xavier thought Varian wouldn’t comply. But soon enough, Varian managed to bring his face up to look Xavier in the eye, the boy’s expression utterly pained.

“It’s all right,” the blacksmith said. And again, like before, Varian opened his mouth to protest such a notion.

“N-no! No no, it’s not all right!” Varian cried, curling in on himself again. “Don’t lie to me! Can’t you see that we’re-!?” But Varian then felt himself being pulled into another hug, his mentor’s strong arms wrapped around him protectively. “Shh, it’s all right, Varian. It’s all right,” Xavier repeated again, as if the soul-crushing reality had no bearing on them in the present moment. Which of course was ridiculous, Varian thought. But in that moment, Xavier sounded so confident, that Varian almost believed him. “It’s all right.”

Xavier then pulled away again, steadying Varian’s shoulders. “I need you to breathe with me now, ok?” But Varian shook his head. “No! I can’t-! We- He’s going to-!” “Breathe in,” Xavier continued on, gently but insistently. When Varian didn’t respond at first, he tried again. “Breathe in…” Varian then also felt Ruddiger nuzzle into his side, and the little creature looked up at Varian with sad but encouraging eyes. “Please!” he seemed to be saying.

Finally, Varian felt his resistance start to give way, and though faltering at first, Varian managed to get in a slower inhale.

“Good,” Xavier said, a tone of relief entering his voice. “Now, breathe out…” And Varian did, though shakily. “Good. Again, breathe in… Hold… Breathe out…”

This went on for another few repetitions, and Varian did try to mirror what Xavier was telling him to do. But constantly Varian had thoughts flit in and out of his mind that caused his breath to hitch when they hit him. “We’re running out of time! I’m trapped here and I can’t get out! Why did Xavier come for me!? Zhan Tiri’s going to use me to come back, and it’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s-”

“It’s all my fault…” Before Varian could think to stop himself, his voice betrayed his thoughts, and he could feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes at his quivering words.

“No, it isn’t, Varian,” Xavier tried reassuringly. “C’mon, stay with me now. It’s going to be all right. I’m sure whatever’s going on, we can-”

But Varian shook his head. “No! It’s-it’s not going to be all right!” he cried, and through his sobs he began to tell Xavier everything; everything about Zhan Tiri slipping through the warp in time and space the other night, to meeting Zhan Tiri in the depths of his psyche, to how Zhan Tiri tricked him into believing he was really Lord Demanitus, and how – worst of all – Varian had believed him when he talked about them using the Moonstone’s power to go back in time and undo all of the bad things that had befallen Varian, and all the bad things that he himself had done.

Varian wanted to blame Zhan Tiri for all of this. He had been a liar, after all. Was it Varian’s fault that he had been deceived? Didn’t that make it better? Weren’t his motivations good in the end? That is, to go back and set things the way they should’ve been?

…But no. Varian knew the truth. Zhan Tiri wouldn’t have been able to entice Varian into his plans if Varian wasn’t already vulnerable to it. True, there were circumstances that were beyond his control. Perhaps it wasn’t all his fault. But some of it definitely was, and it also didn’t help that he had been so bitter towards everyone, driving away those who wanted to help him. If only he hadn’t been so desperate to run away from what had already been stamped into his history, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this even bigger mess now.

If he had only hung on instead of let go the other day when Rapunzel had appeared. Not that it was really her, probably. But if he didn’t give in to his anger…his hatred…

“…I’ve ruined everything…” was all Varian could say as he came to the end of his account, and he sat back with his shoulders drooped, and hands dropping from Xavier’s shirt into his own lap. Varian was so tired – physically and emotionally. He could feel the weight of all he had done pressing down on his already tired shoulders, and sling itself round his chest like lead-heavy snakes. And he was so useless now, too. Zhan Tiri had a hold of him. Even if he wanted to use his powers against Zhan Tiri now, the vines clinging to him would only channel it for Zhan Tiri’s own use. And in here, in this dark place, he had no access to alchemy or tools or anything else he might be able to fight back with.

“…You have to go.”

“What?” Xavier asked, clearly surprised by Varian’s words. Miserably, Varian looked up at Xavier through his bangs.

“You need to get out of here. Both of you.” Here Varian turned also to Ruddiger, who looked up at the boy with bewildered eyes. “Y-you’re just wasting time here. Zhan Tiri isn’t going to Old Corona. That was another lie to throw you off his plans. He’s going to Janus Point to-” Varian swallowed. “He’s…he’s going to try to use my magic to bring himself back – all the way back – where the veil is thin. You have to catch up to him before he can-”

“We’ve already tried, Varian.” “What?” Varian asked, looking at Xavier in astonishment.

Xavier frowned. “Varian, after Zhan Tiri made sure he got passed the guards, he used your magic to trap us here in Molson’s Grove with a great wall of black rocks. We can’t go anywhere.” “No…” Varian whispered, hugging himself. Yes, he had felt Zhan Tiri call upon his powers a couple of times earlier that evening, but he had no idea (and dreaded to think of) what the warlock had used them for. “That is,” Xavier said, once again setting his hands on Varian’s shoulders. “We can’t go anywhere without you. We need you to take down that wall, Varian.”

“B-but I can’t!” Varian shouted, grasping one of the vines in his hands and holding it up, as if Xavier needed a visual aid to get the situation through to him. “Look Xavier! I’m trapped here! And-and without my doppelgänger I won’t be able to get out!”

“That’s why Ruddiger is here,” Xavier explained, and Ruddiger immediately pricked up at the sound of his name. “The dark mirror has no affect on him, and he brought you back from the dream depths before. I have a hunch that he can also help to get you out of here, bypassing the need for a doppelgänger swap!”

Varian stared at Xavier, then at Ruddiger. Could Xavier be right? Could such a trick really work!?

“But first,” Xavier began again, reaching once more for his pocket knife.

“N-no!” Varian tried again to stop the blacksmith, grabbing at his wrist. “What if that makes him know you’re here!? What if he-?”

Varian then stopped, Xavier turning to look at him with an expression that Varian had never seen on the blacksmith before. Or, at least, not this intense. Varian had seen something similar to it when Xavier had been in battle before – a steeliness and determination that would make most anyone flinch if it were directed at them. But this time…

“We have to try, Varian. No matter what it takes, I won’t leave you here like this. I won’t let Zhan Tiri do this to you!”

Before Varian could say anything else to this, Xavier firmly but gently pried Varian’s hands from his wrist, and brought his hand down to lay the first strike on the eerie, glowing vines.

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

Zhan Tiri staggered, feeling as if a dart had just suddenly been lodged into his chest. Had he stumbled into something in the dark and not seen it? Was there a hunter or a bandit nearby that had taken a shot at him?

But as Zhan Tiri looked down to examine where the pain came from, he found no arrow or dart sticking out of his avatar. Although, he did see beneath his clothing the dim glow of green, indicating that some sort of injury had been done to him, even if only a small one. “How in the-? Aaah!” the warlock cried, feeling the incision hit deeper. What was going on!?

With haste, the demon pressed his fingers against his temples, and focused his concentration along the vines that extended out his back and into the mirror. There, he of course saw the alchemist – disheveled, weak and distressed, as he should be – but he also saw-

“Aah!” the un-man cried again, a third blow nearly causing his legs to buckle from underneath him, and breaking his concentration for a second. “No,” he hissed to himself harshly. “Why that meddling old-!”

Thinking quickly, the un-man again sent his consciousness down the string of vines, and conjuring a few more from his back in the process. It may take a lot out of him in his current form, but he was too close now! He could not afford to lose this chance!

“I’ll make you pay for this,” the demon growled as he launched his counter-attack.

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

Varian’s eyes widened in horror as Xavier delivered that first blow to the vine. As the steel of Xavier’s knife struck the glowing tendril, sparks spewed up from where he had managed to make an incision in the thick skin. However, Varian also noticed something else as Xavier braced himself for another blow. The knife had begun to glow green as well, and Varian managed to catch sight of what looked like steam rising from its handle. He could also see Xavier setting his teeth to keep himself from dropping the weapon as he began to feel the pain.

“NO!” Varian screamed, trying to catch Xavier’s wrist again to stop him. “Stop! Stop! It’s hurting you!”

But Xavier only responded with holding Varian back with his free arm, and bringing his hand down for another cut, grimacing as the knife glowed even brighter.

Varian remembered what Xavier had said – about when he had crushed Mila’s hand all those years ago. It was an injury that caused her to give up blacksmithing for good.

Was Xavier really about to-!?

“XAVIER, PLEASE! STOP!” Varian cried again, but Xavier brought the knife down for yet another strike, his hand itself now also starting to look green. If he kept this up for much longer, and if he tried to cut all of the vines this way…

In desperation, Varian tried to summon some of the magic inside of him. He had to try to do something to help Xavier before the man permanently crippled himself on his behalf. But as Varian felt the magic well up inside of him, he also felt it leave him, like water down a drain. Instead of the black rocks doing as Varian wanted, they sprang up to form a kind of cage around Xavier, with even more vines snaking their way between them to grab at the blacksmith, causing Xavier to drop his knife. Varian tried to make a lunge for the fallen blade, but was suddenly jerked back as the tendrils holding him dragged him away across the floor. Ruddiger then made his attempt for the knife, but flinched back as his snout got close to the heat rising from it. He then had to scurry and dodge as another vine tried a grab at him, and began chasing him around the chamber.

“You fools!” a voice boomed around the chamber, causing Varian to flinch at the sound of it, for Zhan Tiri of course would use his own voice. “Did you really think you could stop me now? I won’t go down so easily!”

Xavier looked frightened only for a moment as the situation sank in. But then, the man summoned again that steely determination from before, and resumed struggling against his bonds. This only caused Zhan Tiri to chuckle at the blacksmith’s futile efforts.

“Ah, so this is the best that Demanitus could leave behind for his vanguard, eh?” the demon’s voice said mockingly. “An old codger who barely understands the great mysteries he proports to love, and an impulsive child with a ruined life. If only you both weren’t so annoying, I could hardly have asked for better conditions!”

At these words, Xavier looked over at Varian, noticing that the boy had ceased struggling to get out of his own bonds, and now lay there limply on the floor again, like when Xavier first found him here.

“Varian!” Xavier shouted, but Varian didn’t appear to hear him. “Varian, don’t listen to him! Don’t give up!”

“Oh yes, that’s right old man,” Zhan Tiri interjected again, a smile in his voice. “Keep leading the boy on with false hopes, as usual.”

Xavier glared at the cursed mirror’s gateway.

“Honestly, do you really wish to tell the boy that he can come back from all this? From all he has done? Even if you were to get out of here, even if you were to defeat me, what would be left for him? He belongs to me now!”

“There’s still his father!” Xavier said. “We still have to free him!”

There was a long pause after this, only to be followed by another smiling tone from the demon as he said, “You really are cruel, aren’t you master blacksmith? Why can’t you just admit to the boy that his father must be dead now?”

Xavier couldn’t see Varian’s face from the way the boy was laying, but he did see Varian’s side seize up at these words, his breath stopping.

“You don’t know that!” Xavier retorted back.

“But if he were?” Zhan Tiri continued. “If he were dead, there would be no one left for the boy. He feels it himself – after all he’s done, no one else would be there for him. Nobody else would love him. It would be a shame to even associate with him on any level! Well, aside from his jailor of course. And if his father were somehow still alive, what would he say once he was free? He certainly wouldn’t be proud of the boy, now would he?”

At these words, Varian finally did move, but only to curl himself into a tight ball, the guilt of everything clearly crushing him into the ground. Ruddiger tried to get to him from where he had taken shelter in a basket in the corner, but the vine that had stalked him kept him at bay.

Xavier looked between the dark mirror and where Varian lay. Varian really was believing what the un-man was saying! Xavier knew that if Varian only thought about things for just a moment – really thought about them – all of this darkness would be dispelled. Of course Quirin really loved Varian! He had sacrificed himself for his son, after all! And as for the others? Varian may not realize it, but despite those out there who would write him off as hopeless and irredeemable, there were also those who were willing to give him another chance should he but ask for it and take it. But Xavier knew that doubts coupled with grief and guilt could be a terribly oppressive force. Life could not be expected to always be solved by purely rational means. Certainly not irrational, but sometimes merely thinking and rationalizing weren’t enough.

…Sometimes, you had to act.

“I would be there.”

Another pause followed Xavier’s words.

“What?” the demon asked, but Xavier ignored him.

“Varian,” Xavier called his name again, and Varian just managed to look up at him from his circle of torment.

“Varian, listen to me – you are still my apprentice. No matter what happens, you can always come home to me, all right? And-”

Now here Xavier said one of the last things that anyone in that room expected him to say, and if Varian had heard him say it months or even a few weeks ago, he would’ve been deeply offended by it. But as things were now…

“And I forgive you, Varian.”

Varian appeared to be thrown for a few full seconds, his brain also trying to catch up with what he just heard. “What?” the alchemist asked in a small voice.

“I forgive you, Varian,” Xavier repeated. “For any wrong you have done to me, it’s over now. It doesn’t need to cling to you anymore. You can let it go.”

Varian blinked at his mentor, then grimaced, shaking his head. “No! Y-you don’t mean that!”

“I do Varian.”

“No you don’t!” Varian almost screamed. “Stop lying to me! How could you just say things like that!?”

“Exactly!” Zhan Tiri chimed in. “He’s just saying whatever it takes to sway you into doing whatever he wants you to do! Especially with how he is now, how could anyone say that it’s over when he’s here like this?”

“Oh, you mean like this?” Xavier asked, his eyes scanning the vines and black rock cage around him as if they were somehow not that bad. “Oh Varian, I’ve been held by far worse chains and prisons than these.”

“…Wha-what are you talking about?” Varian asked hoarsely.

“Do you remember, Varian? When I told you about Mila? What I had done then, the guilt that I had felt – those were some of the worst things to have ever held me in bondage. Worse than the Saporians, and worse than even Zhan Tiri’s now. Granted,” Xavier said through gritted teeth as Zhan Tiri threateningly tightened his grip, “they are quite terrible. But while we may physically be held captive here, our hearts need not be, Varian. Mila set mine free, as well as her own, all those years ago. How could I not do the same for you?”

For a flickering moment, it looked like the light almost came back into Varian’s eyes. Could it be possible? Could he…could he really be forgiven for the things he’d done? Could he really, in another sense, “go back?”

But his thoughts were interrupted with another eery chuckle from the un-man. “Oh, my my my, what nonscensical fluff we are witnessing this evening.” The demon scoffed at Xavier. “Oh please, master blacksmith! Do you really mean to continue to insult the boy’s intelligence, or tempt him with pie-in-the-sky thinking? And even if it were true. If ‘your hearts could be free’ as you so pathetically claim, what good does that do, hmm? Hmm? Would the boy not still be in the same circumstances as he is now?”

A dreadful pause followed, and Varian lost all hope again. Of course Zhan Tiri was right. Even if in this moment Varian somehow believed Xavier’s words, he was still in the same situation as before. He was still imprisoned. He was still an outcast, a criminal, all but an orphan. Nothing would really change for him.

“So was Mila,” Xavier now continued, earning another surprised look up from Varian. “So was I. Granted, you could claim our circumstances were on a smaller scale, but the loss was still real. It affected both of our lives in a deep way. When Mila decided to forgive me, her outward circumstances did not change. She never-” Xavier swallowed the lump in his throat at the memory. “She never practiced her smithing craft again. But her willingness to forgive set her free from remaining trapped in that moment. She did something new instead. It wasn’t in her plans. Her loss wasn’t fair. But she made her choice. She chose for change on the inside, and that allowed for change on the outside. It changed her life, and it changed mine. She let go of her anger and bitterness, and was able to strive for good – to wish for another’s good, and for her own good, even in the given circumstances. She didn’t wait to feel good about me or about herself before she did that. And she- Gah! Mmph!”

Varian’s eyes widened in fright as Xavier’s mouth was suddenly gagged with more glowing green vines that sprouted up. “Ugh, that’s enough of that,” Zhan Tiri’s voice came again, trying to sound bored with the situation. …But Varian could tell by the urgency of Zhan Tiri’s action, that it was more than mere annoyance that prompted him just now. “You really do talk a lot for such an old man. I’m surprised you aren’t winded by now. But, no matter. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve wasted enough time with this nonsense, and the boy and I have important business to attend-”

“N-no.”

Varian could feel Xavier and Zhan Tiri’s attention turn to him as he weakly said the word.

“‘No?’” Zhan Tiri repeated mockingly. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Varian struggled to sit up, bracing himself up with his hands. “I…I said, ‘no.’ Y-you’re not going to use me for your plans. I refuse to- Aaah!” Varian crumpled, as he again felt the squeezing sensation around his heart, and his hair began to dimly glow.

“Have you forgotten, child?” the demon purred in his ear as Xavier watched on in horror. “I still have my foothold in your heart. You willingly gave it to me. You cannot refuse me now.”

“No!” Varian hissed through gritted teeth. “I-I can! I won’t let you!” “Won’t let me do what?” the un-man cried, now truly exasperated. “Won’t let me get revenge on those who wronged us both? Won’t let me make sure that the scales of justice are balanced in our favor? Would your father really want you to leave unpunished those whose acts led to his demise?”

…This was where the demon made his crucial mistake.

It was like when Varian faced the Seporian spy back in the forests of Equis; when he tried to use Varian’s father’s fate as a point of leverage.

“Dad…” Varian thought to himself, feeling his heart break all over again as he thought about him. He knew Quirin wouldn’t have wanted this. Whatever Varian may have thought of himself, his dad gave up everything to keep him alive. Even if Quirin himself were somehow still alive, he had no idea in the moment what was going to happen when he pushed Varian away from the explosion of amber. He didn’t know whether or not he would come through all right. And if the worst turned out to be true, would Varian let his father’s sacrifice for him be in vain? That is, would he lose sight of what was good and give up the real fight?

And what about Xavier? Whatever doubts Zhan Tiri had sown about the purity of the man’s intentions for Varian, the boy couldn’t deny that Xavier gave up a lot for him. Varian’s eyes landed briefly on the blacksmith’s burnt hand. That and hearing the emotion in the smithy’s voice at the idea of someone not being able to forge again, it was enough to let Varian know that Xavier was making all efforts short of giving up his own life as well to help him. Though, under the current circumstances, that opition may not be far off either.

…And Varian would not let that happen.

“No!” Varian cried again, and once more trying to summon his powers, the rocks around Xavier starting to glow in tandem with his hair. “I won’t be your puppet in your plans! I won’t listen to you any more! I won’t-”

Varian then gasped, feeling Zhan Tiri tighten his grip harder around him, and feeling his magic begin to siphon back out of him again while Xavier struggled to try to reach him. “No!” Varian though in desperation, and began to push back against the force pulling at him, the two now grappling together in his heart. “No! You won’t let you take me! I’ll fight you-!”

“You’re too late boy!” the voice now thundered in his mind, and repeated again, “Your father is dead! Your enemies have gotten away with it! And nobody is left to love you! You feel that anger, that bitterness, that grief in your heart! Let it out! Show them all! Embrace the power that you have been given!”

Varian could feel his heart being torn in two. He couldn’t keep this up. He was losing the fight. He couldn’t do this on his own!

“NO! PLEASE!” Varian found himself crying out, to anyone or anything that may be listening. “PLEASE! DAD! XAVIER! RUDDIGER! SOMEONE! HELP ME!”

At these words, Varian felt the tear in his heart rend all the way through. He gave a sharp cry, his eyes rolled to the back of head, and then he was enveloped in utter blackness.

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

…..

……….

……

“Varian…”

Varian gasped, his eyes snapping open at the sound of his name. He expected when he opened his eyes to see the dark mirror chamber around him, and to feel his body aching from the tight vines and the grip of Zhan Tiri’s binding spell. But, to his utter astonishment, Varian felt and saw none of these things. Instead, he felt only shallow, cool water around him, and saw above him a sky ablaze with stars, giant planets, and the dancing stream of the Aurora Borealis.

“Wait…I’m back here!?” Varian thought in utter surprise, quickly sitting up and looking around him. Once again, he found himself on the smooth waters of the celestial plain from his dreams. Immediately, Varian thought to look for the white stag, or Ruddiger. Perhaps one of them was somehow here with him. But though Varian turned to look all around him, and strained his eyes to see as far as they could toward the distant horizon, no other figure was in sight on that vast, flat land.

“What do I do now?” Varian wondered aloud, remembering how difficult it was for him to go anywhere the last time. What was he supposed to do this time? Should he try to wake up? He needed a guide back to the waking world last time, but perhaps he could manage it now?

In any case, Varian knew had to try something. He had to try to get back!

Tentatively, Varian moved to push himself up onto his feet. As he stood, Varian tried to decide on which direction he should go. As he was pondering this, Varian suddenly caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Varian’s head whipped round, fully expecting to see Ruddiger coming to his aid at last. But instead-

“Aaah!” Varian yelped, staggering backwards. What he saw was a face! A face floating a few yards away, looking at him. As Varian watched, the full figure of a person materialized in front of him, and other figures also came into view in the same manner, all glowing with silver light. Varian never gave much thought to ghosts, and for a moment he hoped that he was just seeing things. But when he dared to look away, then look again, blink, and rub his eyes, and the vision didn’t go away, he felt himself begin to panic. His courage failing him, Varian fled in the other direction away from the frightening apparitions. But to his horror, more figures began materializing there as well!

Varian then turned to his right, and began running, but he was soon blocked in again by more figures looming in out of thin air. All of them were facing towards him in a large circle, and soon Varian was completely hemmed in by the large crowd.

And what a large crowd it was indeed! There had to be dozens of them, perhaps hundreds! Men, women, and children. Who were they!? What was going on!?

One of them stepped forward to approach Varian, and out of reflex the boy held up his arms to shield himself. But alas, this only caused him further dread, for as Varian went through the motion, he saw a terrible phenomenon before him.

His arms were see-through! He was a ghost!

Varian stared in horror as his eyes followed his arms and he looked down at his body. Despite the ghost-like behavior of the figures only moments before, somehow the tables had turned. Or, perhaps, a readjusting of Varian’s senses had taken place. He now had the haunting idea that perhaps the figures were not the ghosts here, but he was. Did they materialize to his senses just now, or was it vice versa? Had they been in full existence there already, and he had been the one who materialized to their level of reality?

Before Varian could consider more this frightening prospect, he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as he felt the touch of the figure that had stepped towards him. He had been so caught up in his fear that he hadn’t noticed the figure draw so near to him! The touch of the man who approached was firm, but warm, and as Varian’s eyes snapped up to look the person in the face, he was startled to find that…he actually recognized him! Though he had never seen him in person, Varian had seen a small portrait of him in his father’s belongings.

The man…looked like his grandfather!

“Wait, what!? No!” Varian thought to himself, his voice failing him to say anything as he stared agape at the man. “No no! It’s-it’s not possible! He can’t be-! He’s not even-!”

Another realization then hit Varian like a thunderclap, and he looked again at the other faces around him. In some he could see the resemblance to either of his parents. Others were total strangers to him. But this much he somehow knew – these were his past relations! All of them! In one way or another, they were related to him. He was seeing his family tree extending back years into the past! Varian had never met any of his relatives outside of his parents, and he hadn’t really given much thought about them in recent years. But now…?

Being an alchemist, Varian had heard of those who believed that they could manufacture human life in a lab. Get the right ingredients, have the right conditions, and boom! You’ve created life. Varian never really found such experiments appealing. He was more for the practical, applicable sciences like mechanics and chemistry. Sure, he’d dabbled a bit in biology (as he did to know how to create Ruddiger’s transformation serum), but otherwise he didn’t really give much thought into what went into making a person, artificial or otherwise.

But now, in seeing the legions of past relatives around him, Varian saw brief but poignant glimpses of all the blood, sweat and tears that had gone into assuring his existence throughout the centuries prior. All of the sacrifices that were made so that he could get the chance to walk the earth. All of that went into making him.

“Oh no-,” Varian found himself whimpering aloud, his voice finally returning to him if only for a moment, and he quickly pulled himself away from the figure of his grandfather. Varian buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the feeling of transparency that he now felt (both figuratively and literally). Did they know? Did they all know? And was this how it was to end for him? Was he dead, and this was his final judgment?? Surely, they all must be ashamed of him, and must be wondering if it was worth all the struggle to produce him at the present end of the family line. What a disgrace he must be to them.

“G-go away!” Varian cried as he felt another hand try to touch his shoulder. “Get back! L-leave me alone!”

“But you need help, dearie,” a feminie voice replied from somewhere in the crowd, and Varian flinched at the sound, for it wasn’t so unlike the sound of all the singing he had heard the other night; when he had heard the stars after his powers had awoken inside of him.

“N-no, I don’t!” Varian lied in a cracked voice, wishing for once that the dark, deep ocean underneath him would swallow him up, if only to get away from the unbearable eyes all watching him. But those around him didn’t seem at all fazed.

“Easy Varian, easy,” came a deep, masculine voice, sounding not so unlike the comforting voice of Xavier, and Varian again felt a gentle hand laid on his shoulder. Quivering, Varian finally dared to look up again, meeting several faces this time as the spirits crowded round him. “Don’t be afraid. You’re welcome here!”

Varian blinked, looking about him again. He was so very confused. “Wh-where are we? I don’t understand! Am I-?” Varian swallowed hard. “Am I dead?”

“No, Varian. You’re not dead.”

At the sound of this next voice, the crowd around Varian parted a little, allowing one of the figures to pass through to the front. Though Varian was surprised, as the figure that came forward was not a solid silver like the others around them, but appeared to be a translucent ghost like himself. The figure was hooded, and also carried a small, sleeping monkey upon its shoulder.

“Oh no,” Varian thought as the figure came closer, and he caught sight of the little primate companion. “We’re not going THAT far back in the family line, are we?”

Fortunately, it was not the little creature who addressed Varian, but the hooded figure as he pulled his cowl back and revealed his face. “It’s good to finally meet you, Varian,” he said, kneeling down so he was eye-level with the boy. “I only wish it could be under better circumstances.”

Varian’s eyes studied the man’s face. There seemed to be something of a resemblance to his father in the man’s features. Or, at least, in the features Varian could still see, for nearly half of the man’s face was covered with metal plating.

“Who are you?” Varian asked.

“I am Lord Demanitus,” the man replied. “And this,” here he indicated the monkey. “Is Vigor, my familiar. Do not worry Varian. We are here to help you.”

[frostsinth]

Burdened by the Stars - Pt. 4

Part 1 | 2 | 3 - MasterList

Picking up a bit of motivation for this story again. Yay! And sorry, the boys can’t seem to get it into their heads that this one is not their story. I’ll try to keep their visitation to a minimum.

But regardless, here’s more of the sass and himbo duo! If you like my work, consider supporting me by buying me a coffee from the link in my MasterList above. I have lots of other inane ramblings there too if you are interested. DM me for commissions, shoot me asks with thoughts/comments!

All the best, and Enjoy!

After a brief assessment away from the dizzying presence of the half-orc, I realized there was very little chance of the Royal quarters actually having what I needed. Nikostratus was the tallest and broadest in the family, and even he did not come very close to matching Erramun in height. Besides, I couldn’t imagine my neat and tidy older brother wouldn’t notice his clothing going missing. But the laundering rooms were near the bottom level of the castle, closer to the city than the towers. There was no telling if once I arrived I would be able to find some appropriate clothing with any ease, considering that laundry from every part of the castle was often washed in mixed tubs. There was also no way for me to know whose clothes would be on rotation for wash today, nor in what state, batch, or bin they might be in if I did find them. Which made a visit to the laundering rooms, while more anonymous and definitely more diverse, absolutely impractical for my devices. However, the guards quarters were not quite so far; only a few levels down and adjacent to the training cliffs. There, I knew, I would be most likely to find the belongings of perhaps the one resident in the entire goblin castle that might have a few items close enough to Erramun’s size.

It was an easy enough trip, though I tried to make it as hastily as possible. No guarantees of what that fool would get up to if I left him to his own devices for too long. I also wasn’t entirely sure he had been completely honest when he had said he could manage the bath. Considering his wooziness since I had met him in the forest, I worried he might just pass out in the water and drown. Not that my being there would be much help, I reasoned. I certainly wasn’t strong enough to haul a half-drowned half orc from the water should he require it. I was also more than a little perturbed with the recollection of the taut green skin running over his shoulders and muscular back. My mind supplied ample fodder for what might be waiting a little further down than my eye had succeeded in wandering during our prior parting. And the thoughts brought a hot flush to my cheeks. I quickly forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

Thankfully, the barracks were also mostly quiet. The majority of the guard would be on their daily patrols, or perhaps in the dining commons catching a meal beforehand. Any left here would be from night shift, so would most likely be resting in their bunks. I had been here often enough, and knew the layout by heart (as I knew most of the castle). I headed towards the largest of the chambers, near the back, where the General kept his private quarters. Retired General, he would say, should you care to ask him. Though considering he still managed to keep busy enough maintaining the guards and patrols, perhaps that was not the optimal word. His title was more ceremonial now than necessity, as he had the guard running like a perfectly well oiled machine, and more often than not you could find him with a drink in hand, laughing alongside the nobles in the sitting rooms of the castle. Still, I was glad General Damjan had maintained some personal quarters in the castle rather than permanently retiring outside its walls. It meant I might actually have a chance of finding a set of clothes that would fit my behemoth charge. I was also fortunate that although Damjan kept his private quarters locked, I knew exactly where the old soldier kept his key. 

Damjan was, in a sense, like a grandfather to me. He had been a major part of Grier’s life after his father’s passing, and when Nikostratus had moved to the castle he had taken my brother under his wing as well. So it fell to reason that he had me spoiled rotten by the time I was 11; teaching me all the best goblinese curses, and a few fighting moves that were certainly not proper for a Princess to know. The old half-goblin was also a sound source for advice, and had an ample stock of wisdom to share with anyone willing to listen. Therefore, I had been to visit him in his office and chambers more than a few dozen times over the years. Which meant I knew his rooms nearly as well as mine and Niko’s. Allowing me to steal in and out with as simple a shirt and pair of trousers as I could find and relock his door all within a matter of minutes. I was assuaged of the little stab of guilt I felt by the fact that if Damjan had been around to ask, he certainly would have been more than indulgent of my request. I simply just didn’t have the time right now to look for the old General to tell him I had another half-orc stashed upstairs in my private chambers. I made a silent promise to the universe that I would make him a plate of his favorite pastries to make up for it.

It had barely been half an hour since I had left Erramun when I skittered down an upper hallway back towards the towers. Still, despite having managed to avoid the entirety of the current inhabitants of the castle and with prize in hand, I was anxious to be back. I was so distracted by the thought of what the half orc would be doing alone in my bed chambers that I moved automatically and inattentively. Causing me to almost run head first into a goblin as we both rounded the same corner from opposite directions.

“Ah, little bird!” He exclaimed delightedly as we recovered ourselves.

I nearly squeaked in surprise, quickly hiding the bundle of clothes behind my back as Grier fixed me with his classic toothy smile. The goblin King seemed un-bothered by our near collision, though I had to work quickly to throw a cover over my guilty expression. I saw his scarlet eyes flick over me curiously at my movement, and one slender brow cocked up. I knew I would have to work fast to evade suspicion and make my escape. My brother-in-law was perpetually curious, and keenly observant. Prolonging our interaction would only heighten the chances that I would have to build a lie I wasn’t prepared to forge.

“Sorry, Grier, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” I told him quickly, starting to slide around his side. Careful to face him as I did with my back and hands squarely out of his line of sight. “But I’m sure you’re very busy, so I won’t keep you!”

He spun slowly on heel to match my movement. “No trouble at all, little bird,” He replied, and I saw the suspicion already growing quickly on his face as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “Nikostratus has been looking for you, you know.”

“Oh, he’s always looking for me,” I tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, shrugging my shoulders, “Mostly because the majority of that time he spends lost in the halls. Or searching a place he already checked having turned himself around and gone back on his own feet.”

Grier laughed at that, placing his hands on his hips. “Yes, the man is completely hopeless I fear.” He followed me a step down the hall as I started to retreat backwards. “But none-the-less… you seem to be making a particular point of avoiding him this time around.”

“I am just busy,” I started to assure him, “I-”

“Morgana, you know you have been avoiding us both since you first got here nearly a week ago.” He interrupted, his voice becoming uncharacteristically serious. “I am not sure what we did… or what you’re hiding… but please keep in mind you have the same air of secrecy about you as when you rescued that bear cub from the forest when you were 15.” He shifted his hands to cross his arms over his chest. His thin lips twitching in amusement. “It was halfway through the kitchen pantry before you finally came clean… I do hope you’ve learned your lesson since then?”

I gave a nervous, forced laugh. “I haven’t smuggled in any wild animals, I promise.” Which was technically true.

He gave an unconvinced ‘hmmm’ at that. “But you do know you can talk to us, yes?” He asked quickly, even as I opened my mouth to continue, “About anything that may be bothering you.” His head tilted slightly to one side. “... Nikostratus is worried about you.”

I felt a little tongue of anger flare up in me at that. “I’m not a child anymore.” I scoffed, my brow furrowing slightly. “I don’t need nor want my brother hovering over me like some agitated mother hen!”

Grier considered that as well, and I started to take a few steps backwards down the hall. Eager to make my escape. Shaking my head in frustration and thinking that was the end of it. My brother-in-law was not usually the confrontational sort with me. He was good at gathering information, at poking holes in my defenses; but I tended to think he preferred to be my confidant rather than my guardian. We had developed a rather close relationship since he had married my brother, mostly revolving around how best to manage my tight lipped, straight backed sibling. It had been a rocky start for the two of them, and I had exclusive inside knowledge of how best to break through Niko’s stony exterior. In later years, he had more often than not come to my defense when my brothers had sought to disperse punishments, or withhold liberties. He understood my wild spirit better than either of them, and that it caused my siblings and I to butt heads frequently. Not to say he wasn’t carefully responsible around me. He had taken me as his ward as much as Niko had back our mother had passed when I was born. But he usually left any actual scolding to my brothers.

Which was why I nearly stumbled in surprise when he persisted in the face of my irritation. Rather than letting it pass as he usually would.

“Well, that may be the case, little bird,” He said, even as I continued to inch away from him, “But regardless, you know your brother will always worry about you. And-” He continued before I could interject “- Even if you are upset with him, that is no reason to avoid your commitments. Most prominent being the promise you made to your nieces and nephews.”

That made me falter, and my retreat stilled. “... I didn’t mean-”

“You promised you would go with them to the gardens.” He pressed, not allowing me breath for excuses. The goblin raised one bejeweled hand, silencing any protests I might have had. “I understand if you would like your space from myself and Nikostratus, and I will speak to him about allowing you some. However, I would ask that you do not allow your current disdain to rub off on the children, as they have done nothing to raise your ire, and do not deserve your neglect.”

I winced now, guiltily. “I forgot I…” I hesitated, and half expected Grier to fill the lull, as he often did. But the goblin merely raised his brow at me again, and I shuffled in my shame. “... Of course. I’m sorry. I will be sure to collect them from their lessons today…” I couldn’t help a guilty glance over my shoulder, as if I would be able to see the clothes scrunched up behind my back. “... I just need to drop something off in my rooms first, then I promise I’ll go straight to see them.”

“I appreciate that.” He replied, nodding slightly. “I know you likely didn’t intend for them to get swept up in… whatever this is.” He crossed his arms again. “Still, I hope you and your brother reconcile soon.” His toothy grin returned. “I miss our little bird.”

I laughed softly, dropping my gaze to the floor. “I don’t think we’re fighting, per say...” I hesitated briefly, “...but I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“And I’ll keep in mind that being stubborn and hot tempered runs in the family.” He mused, his voice still light-hearted. “And will try to muster what patience I can to wait this out.”

I almost laughed again, but settled for a respectful dip of my head. I longed to inch away, back down the hall in the direction of my rooms. But waited as long as I could stand under the goblin King’s scrutiny to avoid any more suspicion. Grier did consider me one last time, then sighed and gave his own little nod. Turning to head off himself. No sooner had he started than I spun and darted down the hall. Pulling my bundle of clothes around to shield them from his view as I did. I wondered only briefly what he would make of that, but didn’t bother to linger on it long.

I took the steps to the tower two at a time, my heart pounding in my ears by the time I reached the top. Thankfully, no one else was around at that moment, and I made it back to my rooms unmolested.

I leaned back against my closed door with a brief sigh of relief. I hoped Grier wouldn’t go looking for Niko yet. I knew he would be inclined to tell my brother about our interaction; the two shared just about everything with one another. Still I hoped he might wait until much later in the day. To give me a chance to properly wrap things up here before one of the pair came looking for me again. I didn’t linger long against the wood, my eyes already darting about the small sitting room. But it seemed my strange company was nowhere to be seen. I had been away for far too long for him to be bathing still, I reasoned. Unless perhaps he was a particularly lazy orc, or was enjoying the hot, fresh water a bit too much. Not that I could picture such a thing, though I reminded myself I didn’t know him all that well after all. I gathered up the salve and bandages from before in my bundle, listening for any sounds I might hear. I noticed the door to the bathing rooms appeared to be as I had left it, and hesitantly made my way over. I quickly chided myself, straightening up and squaring my shoulders. These were my rooms. I shouldn’t have to sneak about shyly.

I did however allow him the courtesy of rapping my knuckles lightly against the sliding door.

“Hey, you still alive in there?” I called lightly.

When there was no response, my heart leapt, and I attempted to force down the sudden anxiety trapping itself in my throat. I cracked my knuckles against the door again, then slowly slid it open. More than a little leery of seeming something I didn’t want to see. Or admitting to myself that maybe it was something I did. The memory of our last parting surfaced unbidden to my thoughts, and I stubbornly pushed it away.

The bathing room beyond was empty. The waters rippled and gently gurgled with the natural flow of the water, but otherwise it was still. I might have been able to convince myself that the entire day had been a figment of my overactive imagination had it not been for the pile of soiled towels by the edge of the pool. I groaned internally, bustling in and peeking into the corners as if the behemoth man could have somehow managed to hide behind the potted plants. At least there didn’t appear to be a trail of blood anywhere. I prayed to whomever was listening that the dolt hadn’t deigned to leave the chambers.

“Where are you, you idiot?” I grumbled, tucking my bundle under one arm and heading to the door at the opposite end.

“In here.” Came the reply, and I nearly shook with relief.

He must have keener hearing than I thought. Or he had been listening for my return. The door to my bedroom was slightly cracked, and I shouldered it the rest of the way open, then spun to close it behind me. Using the motion as an excuse to steady myself as the sound of his deep voice seemed to have rattled me strangely.

“I do hope you aren’t-” I started as I turned, then promptly squealed loudly in surprise, dumping the clothes, bandages, and salve unceremoniously to the floor as both hands shot up to cover my eyes.

“Eh?” I heard the shuffle of his feet across the bare stone floor as he must have continued his own turn to face me. “Is something the matter?”

“WHERE ARE YOUR CLOTHES??” I nearly shrieked.

Though I kept my palms firmly clasped over my eyes, the previous momentary glimpse of the half-orc’s assured nudity was currently seared deep into my mind’s eye. The fine toned abdomen. The taut green buttocks, with a dimple above the top of each cheek in the small of his back. He must have washed his hair, for the long mohawk of growth had spilled over his skin like polished ebony in soft looking tendrils. Leading my eyes over his broad green shoulders. And when he had started to turn… the soft ‘v’ shape at the top of his hips leading down to…

The sight (and now, memory of the sight) left my mouth decidedly dry and my lips refusing to work properly. I felt an unfamiliar twitch in my fingers as the urge to pull them apart and sneak another peek rushed through me. There was no way! No way any man should be that… I swallowed hard, shaking my head with my hands pressed so tightly to my face it almost hurt.

“You said they were filthy, and inappropriate.” He reminded me matter-of-factly, and I could almost hear the shrug of those big shoulders. Big, broad, muscular shoulders-

“That doesn’t mean you should walk around NAKED!” I snapped, finally starting to come to my senses. I shifted my hands so that one covered both eyes, and crouched down in an attempt to blindly find what I had discarded in my panic.

“What was I to wear?” He replied. “Your drying cloths are tiny. I needed three just to-”

“I don’t care!” I managed to find the clothes by groping about with my free hand, and stood. Tossing them towards the sound of his voice and hearing a disgruntled huff as they hit him. “Just put those on, quickly, before my breakfast makes a reappearance.”

Erramun gave an angry grumble, but I heard the shake and shuffle of cloth as he did. “I didn’t know human stomachs were so sensitive.” His voice became muffled briefly as I assumed he pulled the shift over his head. “I always thought my mother was being dramatic when she scolded me for forgetting to dress.”

“If your mother imparted any other wisdom to you regarding humans, I suggest now is the time you take it to heart.” I replied sourly. Careful to keep my palms firmly fastened over my eyes. Though the heat of my cheeks nearly burned me.

I was so focused on not looking, I didn’t hear the soft scrape of his bare feet again as he moved forward. I jumped about a foot in the air as his hands suddenly came around my wrists. Gently pulling them free from my face. Leaving me suddenly face to face with a soft silk and cotton shirt, its untied collar just hinting at the toned chest I had been privy to moments before. I tried to ignore that memory, and fought through a sudden haze at the realization that his fingers were almost as gentle and soft as they were strong. And how close he currently stood to me. My heart skipped and I felt my breath catch in my throat as my head craned back to look up at him. He gave me a lopsided grin that had my knees feeling a little weak, and I felt him gently turn my hands in his. Until the backs of my hands rested in his palms and he could run his thumbs over the pads of my fingers.

“I am sorry, Gana,” He told me gently, “I did not mean to startle you so.”

 For a second, I couldn’t find the air in my lungs to speak. I struggled for a moment, and saw those bright emerald green eyes of his flick about my face. Thoughtfully, perhaps… almost appreciatively. And the way he was studying my features suggested he had been meaning to do just that for some time now. Up close, with seemingly time to spare to linger on each inch. I felt the flames beneath each cheek rekindle, but was strangely frozen for another few staggered beats of my heart. Finally, I yanked my hands from his, quickly shaking my head again to dispel the moment. Stubbornly denying it had ever existed.

“Is the apology her wisdom or yours?” I quipped, pleased to find my sarcasm still had a sharp bite to it despite the swirling quality of my thoughts.

My heart nearly faltered again at his answering smile. “A little bit of both, I suppose.”

I scoffed, trying to clear my head as I waved my hand at him dismissively. “Then perhaps there is some hope for you after all…” I took a step back, eager to put some space between us and hopefully regain a little more of my senses. “What are you even doing back here?” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t suppose your mother ever told you it is incredibly rude to snoop around a lady’s chambers?”

“Hmm. She may have raised that point once or twice.” He grinned again, turning to follow my progression as I stalked around him angrily. I crouched down briefly to gather up the remainders of my bundle from the floor. “But you took longer than expected… And I was curious.” His head cocked to the side as he slowly followed me to the center of the room by the bed. “Are these the Princess’ rooms?”

I nearly dropped the jar and bandages again, spinning on him with the vial of healing salve in hand. “What makes you say that??”

He nodded to the corner. “The jewels and such.” I followed his gaze to my vanity table, where I had left some never used jewelry as thoughtlessly as one might discard soiled clothes on a chair. “I do not think even human servants tend to have such things.”

“I never said I was a servant.” I reminded him sourly, then jerked my chin. “Sit.”

“You haven’t said much of anything.” He shot back, but did as he was told and settled onto the chest at the foot of the bed.

“Eventually you may just conclude that that is entirely by design.” I said, opening the jar as he rolled his shirt up on one side. I pretended not to notice the tautness of his flesh or the shape of his abdomen as I slowly spread some of the salve on his wound. It seemed to have mostly stopped bleeding, which was good. “You may even come to remember that I am looking to get you out of here as quickly as I can. And the sooner that is the better.”

“Do I really disgust you so?” He asked, sounding bitter.

My eyes darted up to his face in surprise. And I got stuck in the quality of those emerald greens for a moment longer than I would ever admit. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth, forcing my eyes away from his finally and reaching for the pile of bandages I had brought.

“... You don’t disgust me.” I admitted quietly.

He snorted, wincing slightly as I began to carefully apply first a clean square bandage, then the longer ones wrapped about him to hold it in place. It brought me uncomfortably close to him. I couldn’t help but take in a breath next to his skin, and found the smell of him made my nostrils quiver. I was just surprised to find he didn’t stink anymore, I assured myself silently. That was all. I had come to expect him to smell like dirt and blood, not this strangely pleasant smell he currently had. It meant nothing that I noticed it.

“You don’t seem to like me all that much.” He replied. “I am not sure what else it would be.”

I straightened, having secured the end of the bandage in place, and crossed my arms over my chest. “Oh, obviously I must hate you then. That must be why, and it has nothing at all to do with the reason why you are even here in the first place.” I scoffed.

“Eh?”

My eyes rolled, and I was grateful for it as I didn’t have to watch him roll his shirt back down over his stomach again. The way his shoulders shifted and moved beneath the fabric wasn’t at all fair.

“You came here insistent that you would be marrying the Princess. Am I supposed to welcome you with open arms?” I placed my hands back on my hips and scowled at him. “Perhaps you assume that since you plan to marry her, that means you should be treated as a Prince?”

That warranted me a loud guffaw, and my eyes widened slightly in surprise. His crooked grin had my heart skipping, and I scoffed again in an attempt to dislodge it from my throat. The big orc stood, swaying for half a moment and forcing me back a step as he reached out to steady himself on the post beam of the bed. I eyed him warily, not too fond of the idea of being crushed by his bulk should he lose his balance and completely topple over. He managed to keep his feet however, and half staggered over to a full length mirror.

The clothes fit him surprisingly well, though it seemed that General Damjan was a bit narrower and lankier than he was. The sleeves of his cream colored shirt bunched up at his wrists, but you couldn’t tell since the collar of the shirt was filled with soft ruffles and the style was of a looser fit. It draped lazily over his shoulders, clinging to his upper arms and chest as he moved, with a straight cut that had him looking even taller than before. His trousers, a dark brown, disappeared beneath the long hanging tails of the shirt, but hugged his thighs snuggly. The outside seam of each leg had a dash of lighter thread, accenting the length of his limbs, as well as their shape. I had to take a moment to adjust my gaze from those firm, muscular thighs of his before his emerald eyes noticed me ogling him from behind.

“I look… foolish…” He grumbled.

I crossed my arms. “Good, you finally reflect your natural state then.” He snorted, turning this way and that and playing with the fabrics. I rolled my eyes again. “The shirt is supposed to be tucked into the pants. You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

He glanced at me in the mirror, then back at his shirt. “... How?? These pants are too tight. There is no space!”

That had me laughing, despite myself. Certainly the goblins had an interesting sense of fashion, preferring aesthetics over functionality and comfort. Though I supposed the same could be said for some of the human court styles. Neither had put much thought into moving around. And based upon his previous attire, pants were not something the young orc was used to. My laugh petered out when I saw his lopsided grin waiting for me in the mirror. His whole face seemed a little brighter for it. I shook my head, unable to hide a lingering smile, and moved over to the bed.

“Alright, enough of that. I have someplace to be. And you should get some rest.” I told him as I adjusted the thick blankets and pillows. Peeling back a corner for him.

“You’re leaving again?”

My eyes darted up to him, surprised to hear the tang of remorse in his words. I slapped the blankets a few times for good measure. Letting out an impatient sigh.

“Yes, it may come as a shock to you, but I actually do have regular responsibilities outside of cleaning up errant wandering idiots.” I teased, straightening and taking a step back to allow him access to the bed. “Plus I have to see to your mare still.”

“... So I can stay?”

I groaned, pushing my wild hair back out of my face. Trying to ignore the odd pitter patter of my heart at the question. I gave him a once over, as if chewing on the thought. Certainly it was not because I was making excuses to prolong his company. That of course I found the half-orc taxing. There shouldn’t be any question that I wanted him out of my life as soon as possible.

“I can’t very well send you off until I know you aren’t going to pass out in a ditch somewhere.” I told him. Making an effort to sound as though I was at least mildly chaffed with the idea. “So yes, you oaf. You can stay.” I bit my lip, shuffling. “... For now.”

Erramun slowly walked over, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His eyes looked over the room again. I shuffled my skirts and turned to gather up a few things to manage the clutter a bit better. Suddenly very aware of the fact that I had a strange man in my personal chambers. At best it was highly improper. At worst, it was downright dangerous. Afterall, I had only known Erramun a few days, and yet let myself be locked up in my bedroom alone with him. If Niko found out, he might just have a stroke on the spot. Though he might remain upright long enough to run my visitor through with his sword first.

“Won’t the Princess be cross that you are using her chambers to wash an orc?” He mused, tilting his head to one side.

“Half-orc, you mean?” I teased, glad my back was to him so he didn’t see my mouth twitch in amusement. “And I don’t think she’ll mind much.”

“She lets you use these rooms for yourself,” He reasoned, and I saw his nose twitch out the corner of my eye, “The bed smells like you.”

I nearly tripped over my own feet. Tossing an armful of my things into a chest and closing it. I glanced at him briefly as I grabbed a small empty basket and put the remainder of the dressings and the jar of salve in it.

“Stop smelling me. It’s rude.”

He grinned. “I will try to breathe through my mouth then. Or would that be rude too?”

“I’m not sure you’re capable of being anything else.” I returned airly, looking around and considering my handiwork for a moment. “Except perhaps a fool.”

Erramun chuckled, a sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest. I glance at him out the corner of my eye. “I hope the Princess will not think so.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You are close with her then?”

I groaned. Well, it had been nearly a few minutes since the last mention of the Princess that time. “Honestly, do you ever think of anything else?” I grumbled. “Must be dull, revolving your life around marrying a girl you’ve never met.”

“You say it like I have a choice.” He grumbled right back.

I turned to him once more, the morose tone of his voice giving me pause. It seemed in stark contrast to the teasing lightness from before. The half-orc had his head bowed, his over defined brow scrunched. The long tendrils of his damp hair trailed around his face. I considered this for only a brief moment, returning my hands to my hips.

“Don’t you?” He didn’t look up at me at my words. I felt a tick of irritation at that. “You are an orc, half or otherwise. You are not beholden to the whims of a court, or the expectations of your people. You do not have the same responsibility to put the welfare of others above your own freedom and happiness.” I glanced off to the side, my eyes drifting longingly to the window. “You can wander under the open skies, should you so choose. You can see far off lands, go on adventures, take risks-”

“If I want to be selfish, and ignore the suffering of my people.” He interrupted, his voice heated. “Perhaps everyone here is magically accepting, but at the border, being over six foot and having green skin is enough to get you harassed. If not worse.”

“And marrying a Princess will solve that?” I shot back, equally hot.

“It will ease tensions.” He argued. “It will prove that we are not savages. That we can make alliances-”

I threw up my hands exasperatedly. “Even if I had a year, I still wouldn’t have enough time to point out all the flaws in your reasoning. And right now, I have to go collect my nieces and nephews.” I moved over to swipe a clean cloak from one of the hooks by the armoire. “You stew in your own idiocy, or, preferably, sleep. So that perhaps I can have you out of my hair before it starts to turn grey.” I spun on him, leveling one stern finger at his face. “And don’t even think about leaving this room.”

Erramun raised one brow at me, his thick lips pursing together around his tusks. Then his head tilted to the side, and that lopsided grin returned. It made my determination falter briefly, almost so much that I nearly took a step back in light of it.

“You are quite fierce, Gana.” He mused. “If the Princess is anything like you, I will be lucky.”

That had a sound heat rising to my cheeks, but I shook my head. Scoffing loudly. “You are a fool and a half.” I grumbled, turning my back on him so he couldn’t see the strange crash of emotions that fought their way across my face. “Single minded and absolutely incorrigible.”

He snorted, sounding amused. “Something else then. If I sleep in your bed, where will you sleep?” 

His words had me freezing in the doorway to the foyer. I tried to ignore the rapid speed of my pulse, swallowing heavily and shaking my head. Based upon the tone of his voice, I knew that stupid lopsided smile was still on his face. I replaced the heat of embarrassment at his implication with that of anger.

“Preferably just about anywhere else.” I snapped, then stormed out to the hall. Being sure to lock the door behind me.

UPDATE: Part Five HERE

[emilia3546]

I Win - Nessian

Nesta and Cassian escape the Illyrian camps for a day, finding calm in each other's company, fluff and play fighting ensues.

*****

Nesta sighed, staring up at the sky, at the clouds racing overhead, she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the scents all around to ground her, to allow her to let go of everything. She shuffled to get more comfortable on the ground, smiling to herself as a soft grumble met her ears.

"Shush, you," she muttered, turning her attention back to Cassian, his wings flared out to the sides as he lay back, leaning against her, his head falling against her chest. She brushed a lock of hair away from his face, brushing a kiss across his brow and laughing at his little sigh of contentment. She twirled the curl around a finger, before running her hands through the rest of his hair, tugging gently. She crossed her legs over his, careful to avoid kicking his wings, and leaned back against a tree, the sounds of the nearby war-camp fading with each breath until the only sounds that remained were her breaths, and his, her heartbeat, and his, beating in tandem, as one.

She started absentmindedly playing with his hair, running her hands through it, twirling the curls around, and, almost of their own accord, her fingers began to twirl the strands together, forming little braids and plaits, and undoing them. She glanced down, watching him as she kept playing with his hair, his eyes closed, the picture of serenity, of happiness.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked, and she realized that she had indeed stopped,

"Oh, did you not want me to?"

"Of course not, that was nice." She chuckled, and started to braid his hair again, this time leaving the finished ones alone,

"You've got to leave them in when we go back." He snorted with laughter, finally opening his eyes to see her grinning down at him,

"Fine, witch, I suppose that's fair." He closed his eyes again, leaning back against her, her scent, her touch filling him with joy, the calm around them so at odds with their daily lives in the camps, especially Ironcrest, Cassian wasn't sure he could visit again without punching Kallon in the face, and starting a conflict with his father. He couldn't help it, the boy was insufferable, he was due to partake in this year's blood rite, and Cassian could hardly bear the thought of how arrogant he would be as a full warrior, how much more annoying he would be able to be. Nesta's fingers stilled in his hair, and he realized that his scent must have betrayed him,

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Cassian. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm thinking that you're perfect, that I never want to leave here, that I never want to go back to deal with arrogant assholes who think they know best for everyone else. I'm thinking that if I have to argue with Kallon again, I might break his nose." He opened his eyes, and she brushed a hand across his face, cupping his jaw,

"It'll be fine. You've made huge steps towards improving Illyria, the first steps are always the hardest. And, Kallon could do with a good punch, so I certainly won't complain." He chuckled, and raised a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down to kiss him. "Oi! Do you want me to finish this or not?" She laughed, pulling away, away, giggling at his disappointment, "Stop pouting, you're such a baby." She lightly slapped his shoulder, earning a gasp of feigned annoyance,

"Wounded! How could you? My own mate!" He pretended to die, flopping down onto Nesta, only moving when she gasped out that she couldn't breathe,

"Cass! Get off!" She narrowed her eyes at him and scrambled away, dropping into a fighting stance when he followed her, backing through the trees away from him, trying to find a spot where the trees were growing close together. She grinned as she ducked under a branch, the trees close around her, only just giving her space to move. Cassian groaned as he followed her, tucking his wings in tight, 

"Nesta! Come on, stop running away." He waited for a moment, before accepting his fate and followed her into the trees, letting out a very un-general-like yelp when she dropped onto his shoulders from above, trying to flip him over, but he kept his balance, pinning her onto his shoulders, and ignoring her warning tone,

"Cass," he grinned and spun in a tight circle, chuckling at her scream as she clung on to his head, "Cass! Stop." She screamed, "Don't you dare drop me!" He spun once more, and pulled her off his shoulders, flipping her over and pinning her to the ground,

"I win." She huffed and tried to dislodge him, but her held he wrists down, and she couldn't reach to kick him away, "Say I win."

"Never!" She hissed, still straining against him, and smiling as an idea came to her, "Cass," she dropped the false anger from her voice, allowing it to rise in pitch, becoming smooth and calm. "Cass," she repeated, wrapping her legs around his waist, and pulling him down onto her a little more, allowing her voice to pull him in, to sound needy, and wanting, "Cass." As he allowed her to pull him down, his grip on her wrists lessened, and he pressed a kiss against her jaw. She moaned, and he cupped the back of her head, holding her against him, and yelped when she surged upwards, flipping them over, and shuffled, complaining at his trapped wings. 

Nesta grinned triumphantly, holding her mate down, and grinning at his frustration,

"Poor baby," she crooned, and leaned over, pressing all her weight onto him, still not fazing him in the slightest, "Say I win." She said, mocking him earlier, and squealed when he in turn surged up, and swept her into his arms, holding her tight, 

"I win." She wriggled in his arms, but stilled when he kissed her, opening at the first brush of his tongue, his scent filled with arousal. 

"Cass," she whined, true need lacing her voice, but he pulled away, "Cass!" She repeated, as he held her still, unable to reach his lips, "No fair."

"Hmmmm," he hummed, "Maybe you should have thought about that before teasing me. My turn, sweetheart."

"No," she whined, "I want you." Nothing, "I need you." Still nothing, "Cass," She reached for him along their still-inactive bond, sending him the thought of exactly what she wanted, and the ghost of a smile found its way to his face, but he kept walking, carrying her back to the camp, she was running out of time before others would be able to see them. She tried to pull his face downwards, but her held strong against her best efforts. "General," she purred, "Please." He froze. He waited for a moment, his deep breaths the only sound as the female in his arms slowly shredded through his self control.

"Oh no, you don't, nice try sweetheart, but save your begging for tonight." He chuckled as her face reddened and continued through the forest. Cauldron, she was going to be the death of him. Nesta, even her name sounded perfect to him, she had stopped wriggling though, he noted with a sense of satisfaction. It seemed he did win, after all.

[officialleehadan]

United Opposition

“You’re not going to get anything from them, including cooperation, if you keep this up,” Sweetwater told Sandstorm, the current leader of the global coalition of Powers. Sandstorm was notoriously fair-minded, but dealing with the Elementals was no small ask. Worse, he was going to have to explain Elementals, which had been a relatively well-kept secret of the Powered community. “Sandstorm, I’m serious. You cross them, and you’re going to have a big problem.”

“We need them under control,” Sandstorm told her. He was a man who had been forced to work very hard lately, what with the disaster that was Absolute and the business of dealing with her. “The UN is already talking about what to do about them.”

“There’s nothing to be done about them,” Sweetwater told him honestly. They had been friends for a long time, and she knew he kept a bottle of the good stuff hidden away. She pulled it out and poured him a glass that was probably fuller than it should be on a workday. “Best case scenario, they just refuse completely. They don’t want to work with the coalition, and they aren’t interested in being villains either.”

“What’s the worst case?” Sandstorm asked dubiously, although he did sip at the liquor as Sweetwater sat on his desk and regarded him seriously. “You know them best. Between the two of us, how does this go wrong?”

“We, and I mean the global we here, try to kill them,” she said grimly. “There’s no such thing as a weapon that will kill all four of them instantly, so there will be at least one survivor. My money would be on Quasar or Neutron. Ice and Inferno are more physically vulnerable.”

“And?”

“And that survivor, or survivors plural go on a roaring rampage of revenge, and very possibly destroy the planet,” she spelled it out for him with clinical precision. She had thought about that, when Ice and Inferno first emerged, and thought about it again when Quasar and Neutron joined them. “If we’re very, very lucky, both sides of a pair survive, and are able to balance themselves when they’re done raining vengeance.”

“And if we’re not lucky? Sandstorm asked after another bracing sip of his drink. “What happens?”

“If there’s only one survivor, or one from each set, they’ll go critical immediately. After that, the Earth will have about five hours to live,” Sweetwater said. She had nightmares about that. About the Earth’s final hours as an Elemental spread their unstoppable Power as far as it would go. “We won, today, because they went critical, but they all had their Opposite to balance out with, and because all of them were fighting to live, not fighting to make everyone hurt as much as they do.”

Any other day, he might have said she was overreacting. Now, he knew what it looked like when an Elemental went truly, madly, critical. He felt the earthquakes from Absolute’s stomping feet. He felt the shockwave of Ice’s final attack as it froze the moisture out of the air, and started to freeze the air itself. He smelled the heat of Inferno as he turned into a star. He tasted metal as Quasar and Neutron turned into nuclear bombs.

Now he knew that she wasn’t exaggerating. Now he knew how close the world really came to be dying.

Now he knew that when she told him that killing all four Elementals in a single blow was impossible, he knew that she was speaking nothing but the rawest truth.

“What do we do about them?” he asked quietly. “How can we contain them?”

“We can’t.”

“We have to do something.”

“Like what?” Sweetwater demanded. “Kill them? We can’t. Contain them? Same problem, since that leaves all four on the field, and angry. Let some government, it doesn’t even matter which one, get ahold of them? Do I need to spell out why that would possibly be even worse? What can we do?”

He went stony and silent, and Sweetwater wondered if she had overstepped. It was a problem, but she was possibly the best person in the whole Powered community to speak with authority on what the Elementals would or wouldn’t do. They would work with her, but she was under no illusions that the respect went any further than that.

“What do you suggest?’ Sandstorm asked after he thought it over like the leader he was. He had seen Elementals before. Knew what they usually did about them, which was a high-caliber bullet before they got too powerful to shoot, and preferred that option to any of the ones he had now. “What can we do about them?”

“We can pay them to stay out of the way,” she relied with a heavy sigh. “We can give them a fully-equipped laboratory and plenty of funding to study what they’ve become. Who knows, it might even benefit us, since they may figure out why Elementals pop up. If we keep them busy and interested, they’ll be fine.”

“Ice and Inferno like to rob banks.”

“And they’re probably not going to stop,” Sweetwater admitted with a wince. “But I may be able to convert them to security-testers. Half of their heists haven’t even used their Powers. Who knows, they might even like the work.”

Sandstorm muttered something that was either profanity or a prayer, but he also finished his drink and looked up at her from his chair. “You realize you’re going to have to be their official contact moving forward.”

“I’d volunteer but we both know they won’t work with anyone else.”

“I do know. Okay. Get me your plan in writing, and I’ll push it through the Powered Coalition. I think if we’re fast, we might be able to head off the UN discussion before it gets past the initial committee.”

+++

Opposing Elements:

Elemental Powers are immense, and impossible to  control. Usually that impossible power kills whoever is unlucky enough  to bear it. Now the world has to figure out what happens when it doesn’t.

Cold Front

Elemental

Rising Power

Neutron Star

Colliding Galaxies

Four Sides of the Axis

Off Balance

In Motion

Kinetic Plan (Subscriber Only)

Critical (Subscriber Only!)

Touch of Winter (Subscriber Only!)

Heat Things Up (Subscriber Only!)

Five Energies in Conflict

Clash Critical ( Free on Patreon!)

Elemental Exhaustion (Free on Patreon!)

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More Stories!

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