#exactly right he’s been so afraid to ever truly cling on ever since the black rose

[jrwiyuri]

YEAHHHHH….!!!!!!! .

@lesbianchipbastard Hi… here is my rant

[duskholland]

One Million | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’re not one to shy away from competition, so when your co-star Tom approaches you with an opportunity to secure the ultimate bragging rights, you aren’t afraid to play a little dirty... ↠ famous!y/n x tom.

word count ↠ 4.3k

warnings ↠ mxf protected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, fluffy feels.

a/n ↠ this took a very soft turn, but I’m not mad about it tbh. it’s definitely inspired by that thirst trap photo that Tom posted the other day. does that man ever chill??? for frame of reference, Tom currently has 35.4 million followers on Instagram, which is...insane lmao. I guess this is kind of similar to my last Tom fic, but I’m really digging famous!y/n, so I wrote it anyway and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoyyyy :)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

“Y’know, Y/N, I think my fans love me more than yours love you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the bold statement. With a grin rising on your face, you glance up and across the sofa, your gaze drawn immediately to Tom. Your co-star has a cocky smirk fixed to his lips, and he raises an eyebrow defiantly as he meets your eyes.

“As if,” you scoff. You sit up straighter and stretch out your back, glaring slightly at him. “My fans love me. That’s why I’ve got more followers than you on Instagram.”

“Low blow.” Tom isn’t looking so cocky now, as he draws his arms across his chest and pouts at you. You try not to stare at the way his tight black t-shirt clings to the bulge of his arms, but it’s quite difficult: Tom is incredibly attractive. “Plus, that’s barely even true. What are you at? Like, 37 million?”

You delight as you tilt your phone screen towards him, his brown eyes widening in shock as you exclaim, triumphantly, “40!”

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tom reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, his touch keeping your phone in place as he brings his index finger up and begins to scroll through your feed, greedy eyes skimming over the numbers. You stay still, trying not to think about how nice it feels to have him gripping at your skin so tightly. 

“Well, I get more likes than you,” he finally resolves, his words significantly weaker than they’d been previously. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I do!” 

“No, you don’t.” Disliking the way he seems cocky now, you shuffle up the sofa. The cushions are firm and slightly uncomfortable, but that’s what you get when you’re crammed inside a trailer on a film set. You’re just glad Tom had suggested you spend your lunch break together in his trailer rather than yours -- his, at least, has a working lock on the door and a functioning mini-fridge. “Give me that.” 

He passes you his phone, and you fall to a stop when you’re sitting right beside him, your thighs now pressing together. Your teeth catch at your lower lip as you begin to scroll through Tom’s profile, your irritation slowly rising as you realise that he’s right: he does tend to gather more likes on his posts than you do. 

“Shit,” you mutter defeatedly. You pass him back his phone and lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you groan softly. You can feel him, looking at you with those warm, brown eyes, his stare taking in the curves of your chest and the way you know your nipples strain against the fabric of your white t-shirt, so you make a poised effort to jut your front out just a little further than is truly necessary. When you bring your arms back down to your sides, his eyes find yours, and the way his pupils are blown a little wider brings a smirk to your face. You’d be lying if you said you viewed Tom only as a co-star, or even as just a friend: really, there’s been this palpable, will-they-won’t-they air surrounding the two of you ever since that first day on set. The timing’s never quite been right, but as your gaze shifts between his handsome, seductive grin and his phone, you have a feeling that things may change sooner than you’d imagined.

“How about we settle this, once and for all,” Tom suggests, his words slow as he thinks. His eyebrows pull together as he picks his phone up and presses the small plus button at the bottom of the app, creating a new post. “We have a little competition, right here, right now. Whoever wins gets supreme bragging rights.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” 

Tom’s tongue slips across his lower lip, wettening it torturously slowly and his firm gaze settles on your mouth for a quick moment, his lips pulling into a slow smirk as he takes in the way you fluster beneath his gaze. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“We both post something, together, at the same time. Whoever gets to a million likes first, wins,” he explains.

“And I can post anything?” 

“Anything you’d like, love.”

Your eyes narrow as the cogs begin the twirl in your mind. “And when I win..?”

“If you win, darling, I’ll let you rub it in my face as much as you’d like.” 

You hum slowly, letting one of your hands fall to Tom’s covered thigh. You feel his muscles flex beneath your touch, and it makes your thoughts darken. “Let’s raise the stakes,” you suggest, “If you really believe in your popularity, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

A semblance of hesitation twitches out across his face, but Tom nods nonetheless. “What do you want?”

You let your hand go for a little wander, the tips of your fingers circling up to his knee. You tap a small rhythm over his jeans as you string your words together, doing your best to sound as innocent as possible as you say, “Winner takes all.” 

“Winner...takes all?” 

“If you win, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.” 

Tom’s quiet for a moment, and the silence that envelopes you is charged with the past few weeks of lingering touches, suggestive stares, and building sexual tension. When you drag your eyes from Tom’s knee to his face, you find his cheeks tinted a light rosy red and his forehead pulled tight. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then one of his arms moves and wraps around your back, and he’s bringing you in closer. You lean into the touch and find yourself swinging a leg over his thighs, your body shifting in closer as you straddle him. He’s hot and firm beneath you, and you find yourself sinking into his thighs easily. 

“And if you win?” Tom continues, both of his hands now resting on the curve of your waist. His fingers are light, teasing, and you try not to think about them as he drags his touch down to toy with the hem of your shirt.

You let your lips brush up against the shell of his ear as you move closer, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His cologne is strong and distracting and a sense of lust pushes aside all other logical emotions. “If I win,” you say, whispering into his ear, “I get to do whatever I want to you.” You brush your mouth, feather-light, across the column of his neck, barely leaving a kiss to his skin. 

When you move back, Tom’s face is flushed significantly darker. He tilts his head to the side, his loose curls flopping over his forehead, and he looks so fucking attractive that it’s hard to keep your mind focused when all you can think about is how lovely his head would look, buried between your thighs, or how nice it would sound to hear his deep grunts as he fucks you. 

“You’re on.”

You sit back in his lap as you force your attention back to your phone, ignoring the way your body is slowly rising in temperature. You know exactly what you need to post in order to win, and luckily, you already have the shots edited and saved as a draft; you’d been prepared to post them last night but something had told you to hold back, and now that’s going to play to your advantage. 

“I’m gonna win,” you tell him confidently. “There’s no way you’ll be able to beat me. May as well just throw in the towel now, Holland.”

Tom just hums in response, his eyes fixed firmly to his screen. “We’ll see about that,” he counters. “Are you ready?”

“Not gonna let me see?” You ask, taking stock of the way he’s purposefully angling his phone so you can’t get a sneaky peek. 

“Nope.” His tone is infuriating and the way his eyes twinkle mischievously makes you doubt, for the first time, your ability to win this bet. “Don’t want you getting any big ideas and beating me.”

“Fine,” you grumble. You move your thumb to hover over the post button, eyeing him sceptically. “3.”

“2.”

“1.”

In sync, you press post, watching as Tom does the same. You watch as it takes a moment to load, and then it pops up into the top of your feed. You grin as you refresh, and you see Tom’s post slip up. You can’t help but sigh wistfully as your eyes take in his photo.

It’s so obviously a thirst trap, but fucking hell, you don’t care. He looks glorious. You forget for a moment that you’re straddling the man as you pinch your fingers together and zoom in on the photo, your eager eyes taking in the lines of Tom's sweaty, post-workout body. He’s posing in a mirror, the lighting all dark and mysterious, but the lines of his hard, exercised abs are clear, and his face looks so goddamn sexy pulled into an intense smirk that it makes your panties wet.

“Holy shit,” Tom says. You shake yourself out of your blissed-out thoughts and look up to him, finding him staring at his phone, looking at your post. Your lips quirk into a small smirk as you watch him swallow deeply, his lower lip pulling into his mouth as his eyes examine your photo unabashedly. “When did you become a Calvin Klein model?”

You shrug lightly. “Had a shoot a few weeks back,” you say. “I think the photos turned out quite well, don’t you?” 

You know the photos are bomb. The air on set had been electric, the photographer had been a creative visionary, and you’d felt unbelievably alive the entire time you’d been posing. The branded underwear and bralette clung to your body in just the right way, and for the first time in a long time, you'd felt radiant. The photos capture that completely, and you know that you've probably played dirty - because who can resist a thirst trap? - but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty because Tom's done the same thing. 

He doesn’t give you an answer verbally. Rather, Tom takes one final look at the screen, curses beneath his breath, then tosses his phone aside and pulls you closer. Your centre settles over his crotch and you find yourself raising an eyebrow as you feel his hard cock straining up against his jeans. His hand finds your face, fingers grasping at your chin, and you let him tilt your head towards him, eyes dark and heady. His mouth is close now, his breath warm and smelling of peppermint and lavender, and the temptation to dive right into kissing him is almost overwhelming, but instead, you decide to tease him a little bit.

With a slight smirk on your face, you move in, allowing yourself to grind against his covered crotch as you let your lips kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tom groans softly, the noise rattling straight through your chest and sending excitement rushing between your legs, but you reach up and curl your fingers through his hair, and delight as you continue to kiss around his face, your pecks light, always avoiding where you know he aches to feel you. He lasts a few minutes, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows you to tease him, but as you drop your mouth to his jaw and start to nibble at the sensitive skin there, Tom pushes you away.

“Such a fucking tease, love,” he murmurs, voice dark. One of his hands slips up beneath your t-shirt, skating over the curve of your back. “No bra?”

You give him a slight shrug. “No need,” you say. “You know, you’ve probably just made a million people horny, just from that one picture.” You pause as Tom’s hand skims around to the front of your body, gently, delicately shifting up to cup one of your boobs. A soft hiss passes through your lips as he drags his thumb across your nipple, his touch firm. “You’re quite the specimen, Holland.”

“Could say the same about you, love,” he returns, bringing his second hand beneath your top. He explores your front, and your body responds naturally as you push nearer to him, craving more of his touch. “Better check the likes.”

“Don’t move,” you ask him, ignoring the way his smirk drips with confidence at the words as he continues to play with your breasts. You reach down and pluck up your phone, opening up Instagram and moving to your profile. A loose chuckle falls past your lips. “I’m at 1.2 million,” you brag. 

Tom growls. “What about mine?”

Your smirk is quickly wiped from your face as you find your way to Tom’s profile. “It also has 1.2 million.” You keep refreshing each post, but the numbers are moving too quickly for an outright winner to emerge. “I think we’ve tied,” you’re forced to admit.

Tom’s mouth finds your neck, and he delights in dragging his lips up and over your sensitive skin, kissing softly, deeply, tenderly, letting his teeth occasionally drag over you as you whimper. He makes his way up to your ear, his tongue swirling around your ear lobe, and you have to stifle a moan as he whispers, “guess that means we’re both winners,” in that delicious, husky voice. “C’mere.”

He finally catches your lips in his, his mouth moving fiercely against yours as you return your fingers to his hair. He groans as you pull on his strands, bringing him nearer, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your mind lingers on that image he’d posted, of himself all hot and defined and sweaty, and it brings the heat between your legs to the forefront of your mind as you start to imagine what it’ll be like to see the thing in real life.

His kisses are needy and messy - a collision of teeth and tongue, but you part your lips and you let him push his tongue into your mouth, his hands clinging to your front. As his thumbs skim around your nipples, you grind down against him, every part of you on fire as you let Tom consume you. 

“Is the door locked?” You ask between hot kisses. 

“Fuck,” he says as he breaks away, angling his head back to look at the rickety trailer door. “No.” 

With a reluctant sigh, you catch his lips in a long, hard kiss, and then break away. You’re a little unsteady on your feet as you stagger up, your chest feeling a chill as Tom’s large hands fall away from your skin. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you quickly go to the door and turn the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief as you realise that’s it: no more distractions, only Tom, and you, and hopefully, a fuck so good it rocks your world.

When you turn around, you see that Tom’s moved. He’s ditched the squeaky old sofa in exchange for the small double bed that’s hidden in the corner of the trailer, and he’s laying across it, waggling his eyebrows seductively. You giggle as you approach him, your eyes skating over his bare chest, and you appreciate that he’s taken the time to pull off his top and jeans, and you scramble to do the same.

“If it’s a tie,” Tom mumbles, as he wraps you in his arms and presses you down into the mattress. His arms go either side of your head, his eyes skating across your naked chest. “I think it’s only fair we each get something that we want.”

You let your hand wander down his body, your fingers curving over his abs before grasping at his length over his boxers. The groan that rumbles up his throat makes you catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Seems fair,” you concede, a smirk lilting at your lips as he grinds down against your hand, pushing his aching member further into your touch.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you. 

You kiss him a few times as you ponder his question. There are about a thousand things you’d like Tom to do to you. 

“Might be nice if you ate me out,” you say finally. The man raises a ruffled eyebrow as he slides down your body, grinning. His fingers push into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spreads them apart, face level with your hot core. A shy smile on his face, he maintains eye contact with you as he presses a gentle, dry kiss to your covered clit. “Fuck, Tom.” 

He’s a tease. For a while, he seems to enjoy kissing everywhere but your centre, always lingering just over or beside your silk panties. By the time he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs them down your legs, you’re throbbing and wet, and you’re so sensitive that you’re thrusting down to meet him the second you feel his tongue dragging through your slit. 

“Taste so good,” he coos, voice muffled by your heat. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you in place as the wide, flat expanse of his tongue leaves bold stripes up your centre, exploring and poking at your slick folds. He’s attentive — keeps an eye on you and notes the way you respond as he does certain things, and within no time at all, he’s got you moaning and squirming. The sensation of his tongue as it firms and slips into your aching hole, or as it sucks and flicks around your clit is sensational, and the fact that it’s Tom makes it a thousand times better. 

“Shit, Tom, you- fuck, you feel so good.” Your hands twist around his curls, finding relief as you tug at his strands whenever his tongue caresses you particularly strongly. “You’re gonna make me cum.” 

Your words seem to spur him on, and as you make brief eye contact with him and see your juices soaking his chin, you realise that’s exactly what he wants. Tom slips two fingers into your flushed entrance and coaxes up against your back wall, fucking you roughly as his tongue continues to twist around your clit. 

“Cum for me, love,” he urges, speaking against your slit. “Want to watch you fall apart for me, gorgeous girl.” 

You’re seeing stars before you know it, your legs tensing and your mouth falling open as you cry out, Tom’s fingers and tongue working you through it. He makes out with your heat like there’s no tomorrow, the obscene sounds mixing with the way his fingers twist and thrust, and it’s got to be one of the best orgasms of your life because you’re still shaking from the aftershocks even as he’s pulled his fingers from your cunt and pushed them into his mouth. His eye contact is unwavering as he licks his fingers clean, a dirty twinkle dancing in his eye. 

“Fuck,” is all you can muster, your chest still heaving. Tom falls to rest beside you, and you’re quick to turn and move up to straddle him, enjoying the view of his flushed body as you grind your soaked centre over his boxers. “I guess it’s time that I return the favour, Tom. What would you like me to do?” 

You run your fingers over the grooves of Tom’s muscular abdomen, admiring the lines of his abs as his hands wander your sides, drawing up to find your boobs again. You raise an eyebrow and draw a lovely, rattling chuckle from his mouth. 

“Sorry, love, can't help myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers teasingly, smirking as you whimper. “There are so many things I’d like you to do…” One hand moves and he cups the back of your head to pull you in. Your lips connect in a deep kiss and you shift against him, his muffled moan sinking into your mouth as he bucks up against you. “I think I’d like you to ride me.” 

“You think?” 

Tom moves his hands to the curve of your bare ass and he squeezes softly over your skin, nudging the line of his strong cock further into your slit. “Y/N,” he says, eyes flooding with heat as you teasingly rock down against him, “I need to feel you. Been waiting- fuck, been thinking about you on top of me for months.” 

You reach down and pull his boxers down his legs, returning to settle in his lap with a smirk on your face. “Who am I to deny that?” You ask, voice sultry. “Condom?” 

Tom reaches out and rummages through a nearby drawer, procuring a silver packet with a grin. 

“You fuck a lot of people in this bed, Tom?” 

He splutters, and you feel bad for a moment, until he says boldly, “Not been with anyone since I met you.” 

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way it makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest to hear those words. “Me neither,” you admit. Then you take the condom wrapper from his hand and rip it open, and the mood shifts as you wrap your hand around his length and give him a few pumps, Tom groaning deliciously in response. Once he’s full and hard, you pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down his length, settling yourself over him a moment later. You grind down for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard tip rubbing over your clit. 

“Please, love.” 

You see the desperation on Tom’s face and quell it with a long kiss. Your hand guides his length between your legs and you sit back on him slowly, moaning into his mouth as he fills you up completely. Your lips separate, and for an aching moment, your foreheads are pressed together, and there’s an air of unspoken silence hanging between you as you get a little lost in his deep brown eyes. You swallow deeply, the emotions stirring in your heart making you nervous, so you quickly kiss him again, and then his hands are on your waist and he’s guiding you along. 

It’s electric. As your bodies connect and you gradually begin to move faster together, you find yourself getting lost in it. You drag your lips over Tom’s necks and collarbones, kissing him and sucking lightly, and enjoying the quiet whimpers that fall from his pink lips. His hands explore you, grabbing at your ass, or your boobs, before one of them settles permanently between your legs and toys with your clit. His fingers work magic as his hips jut up to meet yours, the combination of your movements allowing his cock to hit nice and deep inside you. 

You wonder why it’s taken you so long to do this with him. Tom’s eyes watch you intently, notes of adoration mixing with his obvious arousal. At some point, his free hand stretches out and tangles with yours, and then your intertwined fingers fall to the mattress and you find his lips with yours as you begin to build towards your high. His grip on your hand keeps you anchored, even as you begin to get lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, his body twitching slightly as your walls start to squeeze him. 

“G’nna cum,” you manage, voice thick. Your clit pulses beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Tom, you feel so good in me. Love your cock.” 

He kisses you harshly, but it fades to a softer kiss as you hold your mouth against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges, “‘m close too. Want to feel you, darling.” 

It’s the way he grinds down to meet your bounce as his fingers rub your slick clit that has your breath hitching and your orgasm rippling across you. You don’t even try to stay quiet as you rock against him, his length brushing over your walls perfectly, and his face screws into a picture of orgasmic bliss as he cums with a splutter, his grip on your hand tightening as a string of curses fall past his lips. 

A deep breath escapes you when you collapse beside Tom, your body blissed out and tingling warmly. A smile springs across your face as he brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles softly. It’s so gentle and loving that you find yourself looking at Tom a little differently, his lips now appearing alluring and inviting, and the shaggy curls resting across his forehead endearing. You inch closer to him subconsciously, and one of his arms wraps around your shoulders to keep you against him. 

“So,” he says, voice a little uncertain, lacking that normal charismatic charm. “That was…”

“Life-changing,” you suggest, punctuating it with a light laugh. 

Tom nods, large hand shifting over your bare back. “You could say that.” His eyes focus on your lips for a moment, before he moves in and lets his mouth press across your forehead. “Would you want to… go on a date with me, sometime?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you nod bashfully, finally allowing yourself to feel the butterflies that twinkle in your heart every time you see him. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit. You press a kiss to the top of his shoulder before snuggling down, wrapping your arms around his warm chest as he holds you near. “I’d say this was a pretty good outcome to our bet, wouldn’t you?” 

Tom chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d say we’re both winners.” 

He kisses your temple, lips soft, and you know that he’s right: you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be held in his arms like this, to have felt him so intimately, to have his heart held in your hands, even if you don’t quite know it yet. 

“Definitely,” you agree. “I couldn’t think of a better prize.” 

And he kisses you then, mouth meeting yours in a slow burn of new love, and you know that he agrees with you wholeheartedly. 

[writing-red]

The Emerald Manor | 5

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: It’s their sixth year, Draco and the reader are placed in an arranged marriage by their pureblood families, expected to follow through they navigate their feelings for each other amongst the many other social pressures at Hogwarts.

Warnings: major themes of physical and verbal abuse, maternal body shaming, nasty parents, mommy issues, daddy issues, jokes about suicide, I may even be missing some things

Word Count: 11k

A/N: self care is important if these warnings may trigger you please consider that chapter carries heavy themes, take care of your brain <3 also this is the longest thing I’ve ever written, she’s a beast

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

‘You and Draco shall be traveling from Hogwarts directly to Malfoy Manor. Since you will be meeting his parents before you see your father and I, I demand that you look presentable and remember the manners I’ve taught you. Your father and I will meet you at Malfoy Manor the night you return from school for dinner. As you will be staying with the Malfoy’s for the entirety of the Holiday, I will pack and send the clothing I find suitable for you to wear throughout this visit.’

The words from your mother’s letter rang in your head as the train pulled into London. As much as you hated everything she was putting you through for the sake of blood purity and her social status, you did not wish to incur her wrath. 

As you stepped off of the Hogwarts express and onto platform 9 3/4 on Draco Malfoy’s arm, you looked the part of the picture-perfect pureblood pairing. You were both matching in all black, your Gryffindor tie, and Gryffindor friends nowhere to be seen. If your mother were to see you, you could swear she would shed a tear. You were finally the young lady she had been grooming you to be since birth.

Draco led you out of King Cross Station to where a large black driverless carriage awaited both of you. Everything about the situation made you want to vomit off of the sidewalk and onto the street, but you took Draco’s arm as he helped you up the step and into the carriage. As hard as it was to admit it, you knew that Draco would be the safest person in your world for the next couple of weeks, and you would have to cling to that as hard as possible. You sat right next to him in the carriage, refusing to let go of his arm. You held his hand tightly in yours, reaching for any sense of security you could scavenge.

Draco knew you were afraid and that you would rather die than admit that to him, so instead of teasing or chiding you for it, he didn’t bother when you chose to sit next to him or when you refused to let go of him. He took the opportunity to make you feel safe. It’s all he’s really wanted to do anyway.

You had been to Malfoy Manor before, but it had been a while, every family takes turns hosting society events, and you were only ten the last time you attended one at the Malfoy’s. That had been the first year your mother had forced you into a corset, and that was about all you could remember about their estate. But when you rolled up to the gate, you wondered exactly how you could forget the lavish mansion. It was cold, looming, and dark, as was yours, the sharp wrought iron gates refusing entrance to anyone who didn’t make the cut. The stark white peacocks that stalked along the border of the estate offered more of a threat than any romantic reminder of nature, their cold eyes bored into as if to remind you that you would never fit in here.

Draco could feel anxiety rolling off of you as the carriage approached the manor, and he wanted with everything in him to cure it.

“Y/n,” he said in a whisper tone even though you were out of earshot from anyone who could be listening. “I know I haven’t been the best in the last month, but please know that I do care about you.” He could sense your disbelief. “I know you don’t believe me, I know that I haven’t given you a reason to, and I know that this doesn’t feel like the time. I’m sorry I don’t know how to say this. But, I am here for you through this. Please let me be.”

You knew that now wasn’t the time for an argument, that it wasn’t the time to ask why he hadn’t said this before you were walking in the doors of his house and not that morning in the courtyard when you had bared your heart to him, and he had ignored you, but as you were thinking, he interrupted you.

“Just nod, please, just show me that you understand,” he said, his tone desperate for some reason you couldn’t identify.

You nodded, maybe to placate him, or maybe, perhaps because this time you had heard him, even if it was just a little, it was enough to plant the prospect of trust.

“Alright,” he said and exited the dark, ornate carriage, offering his hand to you when he had landed on the ground.

You took his hand, more for emotional stability than physical. “Thank you, Draco,” you whispered into his ear, for his hand or his words from just moments ago, neither of you was sure.

Narcissa had been waiting for you outside of the entrance to the manor. She was clearly eager to see you and to see her son home from school.

“Mother!” Draco greeted, what seemed to be a genuine smile graced his face for just a moment. Narcissa took him in his arms and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. It was the briefest of interactions, but you could tell that she cared deeply for her son. “I know you have met her before, but this is Y/n, Y/l/n.”

“Yes,” her voice was kind and utterly elegant. “Darling, I haven’t seen you in years, you have grown into such a stunning young woman. Welcome back to our home.” Narcissa opened up her arms, and you welcomed the embrace, not remembering the last time you had received one from your own mother. You reveled in the short interaction even after she released you. “I am truly delighted to have you. And your mother sent your things yesterday, they are in your room.”

“Thank you for having me, Lady Malfoy. It is an honor to be invited into your home,” you said, speaking the words your mother had instructed you to say before.

“Please, call me Narcissa, there is no need for titles between us. And we are happy to have you,” she said, her features softening for a moment. “Now, come inside. I can’t risk you and Draco getting sick before the Holiday has even begun.” 

You followed Draco and Narcissa inside through the grand doors. The room was filled by cold light flowing in through the grand windows framed by black curtains, most of the stone floor was covered by an ornate rug, and there were two black stairways curving to the same location of the second floor, which from its spot far above you provided its own dark mystery. The manor was anything besides inviting, even the silver and green Christmas decorations were distressing in their coldness.

“We will be meeting down here for drinks at 7 tonight,” Narcissa informed you and Draco. “Y/n, that’s when your parents will be arriving. So Draco dear, why don’t you show Y/n up to the room across from yours, and you two can clean up before dinner.”

Draco nodded and gestured for you to take his arm again. As you did, you turned to thank Narcissa once more. “Thank you again, ma’am.”

She cut you off before you could finish, “Narcissa dear, please, I won’t have you calling me Lady, ma’am, or anything of the sort.”

You nodded and smiled, “thank you, Narcissa.”

Draco led you up the set of stairs to the right side of the entrance and down a dark hallway lit only by the occasional candelabra. It reminded you much of your own house, a dark museum dedicated entirely to your family’s great pureblood history. Draco showed you to a black door at the end of the hallway, across from another black door and near the only window in the corridor.

“Well, this is your room,” he said, gesturing to the door he had shown you to. “Apparently, you’re across from me,” he said, referencing the door not three feet away from you.

“I’m sure there’s some sort of underlying meaning there,” you said, trying to lighten the tension.

A smile graced Draco’s lips for just a moment before falling back into its usual stone near-scowl.

“I have to admit that I’m glad you’re close-by,” you said, so quiet he could barely hear you, quietly enough it was as if you weren’t even admitting it.

Draco hid the joy that bubbled in his heart when you muttered those words. “Well, I’ll leave you to get ready for dinner. We should head back downstairs at five-till.” He advised, and you nodded before he disappeared into his room, the door closing behind him.

The room was more comfortable than you had imagined it to be, even more, comfortable than the one you had at home. The walls were covered in green tapestries depicting nature, a black fireplace with a fire roaring inside rested against the wall across from the four-post bed that had what looked like the softest comforter in the world and a plush bench residing at its foot. On the floor beneath your feet was a perfectly soft grey carpet that laid over dark wooden floors. On the wall that housed the fireplace stood another black door that was open and led to an intricate bathroom, inside of which was a closet. But what took your breath away was the wall covered in bookshelves and a vast collection of stunning books. You could even spy a few muggle authors, which surprised you. 

If you could spend the entire Holiday in this room and not leave once, you would be content, although, as that sadly would not be your reality, you hauled yourself into the bathroom for a quick shower. You still felt sick to your stomach with nerves, and you were hoping that hot water would soothe you even just a bit. You didn’t spend long under the running water, nervous about the time, departing out of the shower, drying yourself, and stepping into the closet, you found a dark emerald green dress labeled ‘dinner, night one’ in your mother’s script, of course, she didn’t even trust you to pick out your own clothing. You drew the dress onto your body, holding your wand in your teeth as you willed magic to help you lace up the corset the way you knew your mother would expect it to look. You used the same guide for your hair and makeup, everything exactly as she would want, even though you were sure that you would find some way to fuck it up.

Just as you finished, you heard a soft knock land on your door. You opened the door to Draco, who was wearing a variation of the black suit you so often found him in, although you couldn’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he looked in it. And part of you didn’t want to stop staring at him. Part of you wanted to skip dinner and pull Draco into your room by his tie.

“Y/n, you look lovely,” he said kindly. “Emerald is a stunning color on you.”

“Thank you, Draco,” you said, a bit of blush rising to your cheeks. “You are quite handsome yourself.” 

“Are you ready?” He asked.

“Will I ever be?” You said.

He didn’t have to verbally respond for you to know that he understood. He just offered your hand, led you back down the long dark hallway and down the stairs, which seemed steeper now that you were wearing heels. But Draco’s steady hand assured that you were ascending the stairs gracefully. You let out the breath you weren’t aware you had been holding in when you realized you had beat your parents to the first part of the evening. You could only imagine the lecture on tardiness your mother would be ready to deliver had you arrived after her.

“Darling, you somehow look even more beautiful than you did earlier,” Narcissa said when she caught sight of you. “Draco, did you tell your fiancée how lovely she looks this evening?” Narcissa asked, glancing at her son.

“It was the first thing I heard once I stepped out of my room,” you assured her, your cheeks reddening even more at the sound of her compliment.

“Good,” she said and smiled.

Impeccable timing as always your mother and father appeared in the Malfoy’s grand fireplace, your Mother and Father had clearly not spent a second thinking of anything but these two weeks for some time, they were both dressed perfectly for the event at hand, their sour faces completing their outfits.

“Layah, William,” Narcissa greeted them as old friends, which of course they were, your mother had been friends with Narcissa and Bellatrix back in their Hogwarts days, and your father was on many of the same boards as Lucius.

“Narcissa, thank you so much for having us and for inviting our daughter into your home,” your mother said, false kindness wrapping around her voice like a snake. “I hope she’s remembered her manners,” she shot you a glare, causing anxiety to roar in your stomach.

“Merlin, Layah, you’ve raised the perfect daughter! She’s been nothing but kind and pleasant since she arrived,” Narcissa assured her friend, not catching the look Layah had sent you. “This is my son Draco,” she gestured to Draco who was next to you, just across from her.

“Lord Y/l/n, Lady Y/l/n, it’s an honor to meet you again,” he said as he politely bowed his head now.

 “Come now, let us start with drinks in the sitting room,” She said, showing the party into a somewhat smaller sitting room. The room was covered in silver, art, and luxurious furniture you were sure came from the 18th century, which was arranged perfectly for conversation. You found yourself sitting on a love seat with Draco on Narcissa's instruction, which didn’t surprise you much.

A house-elf came in and began handing out drinks as the conversation started, mostly between your mother and Narcissa, Draco, and your father. You didn’t mind being ignored. You simply held your glass tightly and tried to not be sick.

“So, Y/n, Draco tells me you’re a wonder at potions!” Narcissa said, startling you a bit as you weren't expecting to be drawn into the conversation.

“Well, Professor Snape has been a fantastic teacher, and I really spend most of my time at school studying anyways,” You could only think that if you were at the Burrow, Fred and George would be cackling at the lies you were boasting. You were more likely to spend time running around getting into trouble than study.

“She really just is modest, Mother,” Draco said. “She’s the reason I have such good marks in the class this term.”

You smiled sweetly, unsure otherwise of how to respond. It didn't help that you and Draco knew that Hermione was undoubtedly the best in your year, but that wasn't the point here.

“Darling, don’t sell yourself short. Coming from a family like yours, I am sure you are an incredible witch,” Narcissa said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” you said and gave her a respectful bow of your head, intent on displaying the manners you had been taught and that were expected of you.

“Now, Draco, I am curious what you wish to do once you leave Hogwarts,” Your father interjected. You could only presume that he was uncomfortable with the compliments being offered to you.

The conversation continued on, you remained mostly ignored, and as your drink refilled itself a second time, you found yourself feeling a bit more at ease. While you weren’t aiming to get drunk, you were trying to rid yourself of those pesky nerves eating at your stomach. As you calmed yourself, the house-elf returned to call the party to dinner. You silently reminded yourself to get her name when you could. You were sure she experienced nothing but cruelty here.

As you rose from the love seat, you were sure to remember all of the perfect ladylike manners your mother had been sure to instill in you. Taking Draco’s hand when he offered it and leaving your glass on its coaster, you would most likely be having wine with the meal, and it would be considered rude to bring along a dirty glass. You knew that you would never forget these stupid little societal rules no matter what happened with your life. You sat at the incredibly made-up dining table next to Draco, which you knew was intended to encourage you two to make conversation. After everyone was seated, conversation resumed, but it wasn’t until the second course arrived that your mother finally mentioned the wedding.

“Narcissa, I do believe you’ve landed on a date for this summer?” Layah asked.

“Yes, I thought that the 22nd of June would be lovely seeing that it’s the longest day of the year,” Narcissa said. “Y/n, what do you think?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed. Of course, nothing about this wedding was perfect, but you knew better than to oppose. “Summer is my favorite season, and the Summer Solstice has always been special to me.” What you were saying was true. You had always loved the heat, joy, and magic of the day.

“Lovely, we’ll work on getting out the necessary notifications this week,” Narcissa said, and you nodded.

“You two have made quite the match,” your father said to Layah and Narcissa. Of course, he would approve of Draco, he was everything William wished his son had been. “Y/n, I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

Underneath the table, you clenched your nails into your palm, breaking the skin on your hand as you tried to brush off your father's remark.

“I’m glad you approve, sir,” Draco said, dismissing his second statement.

Dinner continued on, snide remarks occasionally coming from your mother after you would speak, and constant praise to Draco from your father. However, Draco and Narcissa acted as a barrier of sorts from your parent's attacks, which made the whole thing just a little bit more bearable. When dinner ended, Draco and your father left to smoke, which was expected, and Narcissa invited you and your mother back to the sitting room for tea.

“Y/n, Layah, I was wondering what you were thinking for Y/n’s dress,” Narcissa asked as you sat back down on the loveseat.

“I did not have anything in mind,” your mother said.

“Well, my family has a very old tradition where the mother passes her dress down to her daughter,” Narcissa started.

“Oh, Narcissa, I’m sorry to say I don’t have my dress any longer.”

“See, the thing is I still have mine, which had, of course, belonged to my mother, her mother, and so on, and since I don’t have a daughter, I was wondering if you would like to wear it Y/n?” said Narcissa, sure to direct the question away from your mother and towards you.

“Narcissa, I would be honored!” You chirped, your face lighting just a bit with a genuine smile, the motherly love she had extended to you in the last seven hours was more than you had experienced in your life, and you would be happy to have a piece of her with you in the ceremony.

“Dear, I doubt it will fit,” your mother said to you, that evil faux smile on her lips.

“I’m sure it will!” Narcissa said, her excitement shining through her smile. “Anyways, isn’t that what magic is for, Layah?”

“Sure, Narcissa,” your mother drawled as she shot her friend one of those cold snake-like smiles. “Narcissa, would you mind if I stepped out with my daughter for a second?”

“No! Of course, I forgot you haven't seen her in so long, please stay here. I’ll go check in on the gentlemen,” she said and left swiftly. 

You wanted to beg her to stay. You wanted to scream and cry and demand that she not leave you alone with your mother, but that would only end you in more trouble than you could possibly be in now.

“Merlin, Y/n, you’ve put on weight. Are you not exercising at school? Just because you’re betrothed doesn’t mean you stop taking care of yourself, foolish girl,” she said the second Narcissa was out of earshot.

“Sorry, mother,” you cast your eyes to the floor.

Your mother rose from her seat, she’s a tall woman with harsh features, and she loomed over you when she made her way over to the love seat. 

“Stand,” she said, and you did so instantly and with grace. “I’ve been told that you’ve been acting decently for once in your pathetic life,” the witch said as she inspected you, from the way you tied your corset to the curls in your hair, you kept your eyes on the floor, staring at the tips of your shoes. Suddenly she grabbed your chin with as much force as you believe she possessed and drew your face up so that you would be forced to make and keep eye contact with her. “If you screw this up, I promise you will not live to see the Summer Solstice, do you understand me?”

You drew in a breath, which was a mistake, a sign of weakness. 

She released your chin, and with the opposite hand struck you across the face. “I asked you a question, now answer it.”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand,” you said, and you drew your hand up to cover the red mark that was forming on your cheek: your skin prickling and a headache seeping into your skull from the force of the strike.

“Good,” she said as she brushed her hands off on her skirt as if to rid herself of any filth she may have picked up from you. “Your father and are leaving for work for the next few days, although we plan on returning Wednesday for lunch, stay about your wits until then. Am I understood?”

You nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

With that, she swept out of the room, her expensive black dress accentuating her exit. As she left, Draco came in the way she had exited. Seeing you holding your cheek with your eyes cast to the ground, he hurried over to you in concern.

“Y/n, did anything happen?” he asked, his tone as rushed as his entrance.

You shook your head ‘no.’ 

“Darling-”

“Draco, I’m fine,” you hissed, dropping your hand and looking up at him. The mark from the strike remained, and he saw it clearly. You took a moment to calm yourself. But you couldn’t help but feel guilty for your harsh tone when you caught his eye, the same eyes you had agreed to trust, at least while you were here, “I'm sorry, I just wish to go to bed if you don’t mind.”

He shook his head to give you a silent, yes. He had only seen you act like this up close and personal once when he pissed you off just that past week, but even in that, you had a beautifully bold and courageous anger about you that seemed to spark cherry red. This was different. Of course, he had seen you at events when you were both young, but you hadn’t attended them in recent years, and you acted far differently at Hogwarts. Even around him and his friends, you were yourself, even when he sought ways to piss you off. He thought back to the playful banter you had with Blaise just this morning, which felt like ages ago, or the fire you spat at him when he invaded dinner at the Gryffindor table. Here, in the presence of your parents, you were in a state of survival and fear. He was finally starting to see why you had been so afraid of him and this whole marriage. To you, he embodied everything you were afraid of, everything that kept you from living your life in fear of it being taken away. Should you say the wrong thing, wear the wrong dress, or use the wrong fork, befriend the wrong person, it would cost you. You were someone else here. He recognized the look of fear you had when the silver letter landed between you two, that night of the party all the way back in September, and even that morning in the courtyard when he refused to hear out your fears, preferring to remain ignorant to his own petty feelings. 

“Can I walk you up to your room?” He simply asked, now wasn’t the time to pry. He would have to prove to you that you could trust him, and that would take time.

You merely nodded and took his arm as it was offered to you. Draco showed you out of the room where your parents were all saying their goodbyes.

“You two should be heading up to bed now, especially after such a long day of traveling,” Narcissa noted.

“Yes, mother,” he said and gave polite nods to your parents. “Sir William, Ma’am, it was a pleasure getting to know you tonight. Thank you for joining us, and thank you for allowing Y/n to stay for the Holiday.”

“Please, Draco,” your mother started. “William and I are so often out of the house for work that she would have been alone most the time, and we can’t have that, can we?” She elicited a grotesque little giggle, to which everyone politely responded with smiles despite the thinly veiled insult.

You watched as your father took your mother's hand, “well goodnight Draco, Narcissa,” He said to the two, then his eyes landed on you, his tone shifting from polite to the one you were so used to hearing him use, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Goodnight, father, mother,” you said as they disappeared into the grand fireplace.

“Well, I won’t keep you two. I’m sure you need to sleep after today,” Narcissa said. “Goodnight, both of you.”

“Goodnight,” you and Draco said together before you parted ways, and Draco led you back up the set of stairs to your rooms. You released his arm and disappeared into the darkness without a word, the effects of the day settling heavily on your shoulders.

Sunday passed with little activity. You mostly took the day to explore the manor with Draco as Narcissa was busy running errands throughout the whole day. You were excited to find the library in the manor filled to the brim with old books. They were, of course, all wizard-written, although most of them seemed to have not been opened in a couple of generations. The fireplace alongside the comfortable leather chairs and the grand windows made it the perfect space to read. It seemed to be the only other comfortable room you found in the space. It was the last room Draco showed you on the extensive tour, and you both spent the rest of your day in the library. You went between reading and writing out details of your break thus far in letter format to your friends. You were hopeful that you may find the opportunity to sneak them out some way, and you didn’t want to forget a detail when you did get a chance to recount the events of your holiday. Draco, who sat across from you in his own chair, had a spread of books and charts along with a notebook that was clearly well used. You didn’t bother him with questions about what he was doing as you enjoyed the opportunity to sit in peace. In fact, it was the first time the two of you were able to occupy a space together without finding your way to one another’s throats.

Monday morning, you awoke on your own despite the darkness of the room. You took your time getting ready, allowing yourself to remain in the peaceful space as long as you could. You found a casual dress your mother had packed for you. Of course, there wasn’t a single pair of pants in sight. God forbid you have an ounce of comfort over these next two weeks. After you got ready, you realized you weren’t entirely sure of what you were meant to be doing or where you were supposed to be. You decided to walk downstairs and find breakfast. You made your way downstairs and through the maze of the house, through the dining room and sitting room till you finally reached the kitchen. Already inside was a house-elf, different from the one who had served dinner last night, hard at work cooking, and beyond him, you could see Draco sitting in a breakfast nook, eating. You slowly made your way over to him and took a seat across from him.

“Good morning,” you said as you sat down next to him.

“Good morning,” he said and smiled at you. “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you. I just figured I’d let you sleep.”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologize. It was nice.”

“Are you hungry?” He asked, and you responded with a nod. Shortly a plate with toast, poached eggs, and fruit appeared right in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly as you began to eat.

The two of you sat in silence as you both ate your breakfast, you didn’t have anything to say, and Draco didn’t know what to say. This lasted about fifteen minutes and was only interrupted by Narcissa entering the kitchen.

“I’m so glad you two are here,” she said when she saw both of you.

“Good morning, mum,” Draco said, and you echoed him.

“We are going to Diagon Alley today, and we are going to get both of you fitted so that Madam Malkin can start adjusting your clothes for the wedding,” she explained. “Then, I thought the two of you could get lunch in London once we were done.”

You and Draco nodded, “Sounds lovely,” you said.

“Perfect, we’ll leave in an hour,” Narcissa said, then left the kitchen, likely to prepare for the trip.

You were excited to go to Diagon Alley. You hoped you would be able to sneak into the twins' store and, at the very least, see Fred and George, who you missed dearly now that you hadn��t seen them in nearly a year now. You also figured that you would be able to sneak them your Although, you limited your expectations, not wanting to get your hopes up if you couldn’t make it. The hour passed quickly, and at precisely 11:23 in the morning, the three of you utilized the grand fireplace to floo to Diagon Alley. The whole place was cold, so many shops had been boarded up, lights were out in many shops, although you found a slice of joy when you saw the lights up in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. You didn’t have much time to look as Narcissa quickly whisked both of you into Madam Malkin’s. It wasn’t until you were inside that you noticed the large black garment bag Narcissa had been carrying, something you could only assume to be the dress she was passing on to you.

“Draco, you go run your errand first while Y/n tries her dress on,” Narcissa said before you even went in and he nodded, clearly not wanting to argue with his mother on this one. While you wanted to see where this errand was taking him, Narcissa turned you around and gently pushed you inside of Madam Malkin’s shop.

“Ah, Lady Malfoy! I’ve cleared out my whole afternoon for you two. I take it we have a very special project at hand,” Malkin said as you entered. “Give her here,” she said regarding the dress, which she indicated by holding out her arms.

Narcissa softly handed over the wedding dress. Madam Malkin hung it up on a nearby garment rack, unzipping the black bag revealing a stunningly elegant white gown in impeccable condition. “Let’s get this on you, dear,” she said, ushering you over, and you complied quickly. 

It took both her and Narcissa to get the dress on you due to the sheer weight of the thing, but once it was on, it fit nearly perfectly. But Madam Malkin flitted around you, taking notes, making marks, poking you when you moved, and making suggestions to Narcissa about changes that would better accentuate your figure. You just stood there and let the two of them make the decisions. You didn’t feel that you had much of a stake in the wedding anyways. What more was the dress? Eventually, however, they separated you from the dress, Malkin placing it back in the garment bag and zipping it up so that when Draco returned, he wouldn’t see it, not that it mattered much. Your marriage had been doomed from the start.

“Dear,” she interrupted your thoughts. “I’ll schedule one more fitting with you when it’s done. Lady Malfoy was saying the wedding will be in late June?”

“Summer Solstice,” you said. “But Narcissa is doing most of the scheduling since I’m still in school, so it may be better to schedule the fitting with her.” You felt bad for deflecting, but you genuinely didn’t know much of anything going on with this event.

“Oh, of course, I’ll be sure to do that,” she said, and as you turned to leave, she stopped you. “I noticed you were quiet during the fitting, is there anything you’d like included in the dress? It is your wedding, isn’t it?”

“I love peonies,” you said, then turned to leave, not wanting to speak about the dress anymore, it playing to your anxieties for some reason. When you reached the front door of the shop, you were met by Draco and Narcissa, who had gone to retrieve him while you were changing. “I’m sure it’s just as bad for the bride to see the groom in his wedding ware,” you said to Narcissa. “Would you mind if I stepped out for a moment?”

“No, darling go right ahead,” she said, and as you exited, you caught Draco’s eyes. While you may have fooled his mother, you knew in that second you hadn’t fooled him. It was clear that he knew you pretty well, but you quickly made your way out of the shop and down the alley.

When you were sure they couldn’t see you, you slipped into a practically empty Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, devoid besides two quintessential red-heads.

“Y/n!” You heard Fred’s energetic and happy voice from the top of the shop.

“Come quickly, I haven’t long,” you urged, although instantly regretting your request as each of the twins apparated only a centimeter away from you on each side.

“What’re you doing here?” George asked.

“Getting Narcissa Malfoy’s old wedding dress fitted for my wedding,” you whispered as if you were worried that she could hear you.

“No,” the two whispered in unison, to which you nodded in confirmation.

“Draco is getting his robes fitted, and I used the whole bad omen thing as an excuse to sneak out. I just wanted to see you two,” you said. You had begun breathing easy again for the first time in twenty-four hours.

“We’re happy to see you, Y/n,” George said, all sense of humour aside.

You pulled four letters out of your pocket on the inside of your coat, “These are for you two, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione if you can get it to her.”

“Ron doesn’t get one?” Fred asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“I figured he and Harry would share I didn't have all that much time,” you answered. “I had ought to be going. Please send letters once I’m back at school I’ve missed both of you.”

“We’ll send you half the store-” George started

“-A care package,” Fred finished his thought, and you pulled the twins into a hug.

“Stay strong,” they said from either side of you.

“Stick to what you know is right,” Fred said.

“We know William would be proud of you,” George said. The twins had known your brother well since he had been a close friend of their older brother Bill's. William had been a Gryffindor as well, and he played quidditch alongside Bill. He had been the reason why doing something other than what your family had set out for you could even be perceived as an option. 

“Thank you,” you whispered before disappearing out of the door. It was relieving to see them even for just that moment, and you were comforted when you noticed that Draco and Narcissa hadn’t ventured out of Madam Malkin’s just yet. You took the time you had left to rush into Flourish and Blott’s, a place they would expect to find you in. Of course, not long after you hurried in, Draco sauntered in, finding you in the potions section near the front of the store.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, not mentioning the look you had shared earlier, and you nodded.

“Call me predictable, but I do love books,” you again found yourself lying through your teeth.

“Well, my mother has returned to the manor. She expects us to go get lunch if you’re up to it.”

“Absolutely,” you said, the hesitance on your voice obvious.

“But?” He asked.

“Would you mind if we went and picked up a couple of pants, my mum didn’t pack me any, and I just really hate how cold my legs get in these dresses,” you said, gesturing to the dress and tights you were currently wearing.

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said, and you perked up a bit. “I just don’t know where to go.”

“I’ve got somewhere you’ll love,” you said, and being that money is of no consequence to either of you, you showed Draco to Bond St. somewhere you only knew of because of a shopping-obsessed cousin of yours.

You found it surprisingly amusing shopping at muggle stores with Draco. You were both well respected in the shops you entered, which you assumed him to appreciate, along with the clothes' general quality and style. You enjoyed picking out clothing for him, finding a particular oversized black turtleneck and tight slack duo a bit enticing. 

Draco, while enjoying the fashion, also enjoyed seeing you loosen up. He was aware you had slipped into the Weasley’s shop, but it didn’t bother him as much now that he was able to see you relax just a little bit with him. Indeed he didn’t find it boring to watch you trying on incredibly beautiful clothing, and he loved sneaking money too whoever was helping you and surprising you with the purchase. At this point, he didn’t know how to express his love to you otherwise, and he wanted to do so; however, he possibly could.

This went on for longer than either of you anticipated, although it was more fun than tiring or boring. Eventually, once you had made it through your last store, you finally made it to the restaurant you had been meant to go to in the first place. It wasn’t long before you were seated, your many bags stowed in coat-check. 

“I have to admit today’s been more, well, fun than I assumed it would be,” you said as you opened the menu.

“I’m glad,” Draco said, an unmistakably kind smile on his face.

A waiter came to your table relatively quickly, “Good evening.” 

“Good evening,” you greeted kindly.

“I am afraid you will not be needing these menus as today you are being treated by the Chef,” the waiter informed as he collected the menus from you. “Any allergies we should be aware of?”

“None,” Draco said and smiled, “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll be back shortly with drinks.”

“This really is lovely, Draco,” you said as you settled into your seat.

“Anything for you,” he said and smiled at you.

You couldn’t help but question him again for just a moment, was this more of that image you had promised to maintain, but there was no one to prove your relationship to. Could it be genuine, could it be that he lied to you that morning in the courtyard?

The dinner continued on in the same pleasant fashion as your day had. You and Draco exchanging banter as you had earlier. You both took your time with each other and with the evening, allowing yourselves for once to truly enjoy the other's presence. It helped that the food was incredible and the atmosphere utterly romantic. The lights dim, and the sound of sensual jazz playing live, allowing your senses to fizz along with the music like the champagne in front of you. At the end of the night, Draco didn’t even consider letting you pay, although you promised to get him back, which he believed. Being that the coat-check was run by a very kind witch, you didn’t have to worry about your bags.

“I guess we have to go back now,” you said, clearly not too happy about that fact as you both exited the restaurant as you made your way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“Look, I know I haven’t been the best to you in the past, but I’m here for you. Alright? Whatever you need, I’ve got you,” Draco said, the sympathy in his voice still slightly jarring.

You reached out, took his hand, and smiled weakly. Not only were thoughts of your parents approaching lunch on your mind, but you were beginning to believe him. “Thank you, Draco.”

“You two must have had an eventful day,” She said, referring to the bags that arrived before you along with your late arrival time.

“I thought I’d take my girlfriend out on a proper date,” Draco said, placing a kiss on your cheek, causing a soft blush to rise up.

“Well, I’m glad you two had a good day,” Narcissa said and smiled.

“Yes, thank you for the suggestion,” you nodded.

“So, tomorrow, a wedding planner will be here to meet with Y/n and I for the full day,” she said to you. “So Draco, you can work on those errands we had spoken about.”

There were those errands you had heard mention so many times, which you found never failed to make Draco tense up.

“Alright, well, I’ll be off to bed. I was just waiting up to see you home safely,” Narcissa rose, closing her book as she left the room, the tea following her up the stairs.

You were left in the foyer with Draco, and neither of you were sure what to say. 

“Well, it seems we both have another full day ahead of us,” he said after a moment of silence. “So, we should probably head upstairs.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” you nodded, still so close to him you were alarmed by the tension between you too.

“Today was nice,” he said. “I really enjoyed spending time with you.”

You nodded again. It felt like your brain was turning to mush as all you could smell was him, his musky cologne, and minty shampoo intoxicating. The darkness of the manor seemed to close around the two of you, lit only by the fire you were standing in front of. 

“Let me walk you up to your room,” Draco said, offering you his hand, which you kindly took, escorting you to your door, departing once you disappeared inside.

As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Here he was again, soft, kind, and caring, and so incredibly confusing. A part of you loved being around him, joking with him, throwing playful insults back and forth, and merlin you couldn’t get over his cologne or how badly you wanted to run a hand through his perfect platinum blonde hair. But another part of you couldn’t help but see the cruel bully who didn’t mind making your life as hellish as possible, who didn’t think twice before shouting your private life out for the entire school to hear, and you couldn’t help but question whether or not everything he said to you was a lie or was the truth. Not to mention those mysterious meetings and errands. Eventually, your busy mind found sleep, although you found yourself shooting awake every so often due to terrible nightmares. You couldn’t sort them out but images of your father standing over you while you sat in a pool of your own sharp red blood, a sea of well-dressed purebloods at your wedding with Voldemort looming over you and Draco. Every time you awoke, you were nervous that you had awoken Draco. Although you had no evidence, you had awoken the other girls in your dorm with your screams more than a few times in the past six years.

You awoke, absolutely exhausted from the sleepless night, but you dragged yourself out of bed, wanting not to be late for your appointments with Narcissa and the wedding planner, although, after yesterday, you were sure that the two of them would be making most of the decisions while you looked pretty and nodded in agreement on topics that made you feel sick. You donned a perfectly simple yet elegant black dress and headed downstairs in the hope of finding breakfast and, more importantly, tea. You found Draco sitting in the same spot you had found him in yesterday and the day before eating a green apple.

“Good morning,” you greeted as he swallowed the bite he had just taken.

“Good morning. Did you sleep, alright?” He asked, his voice laced in concern revealing to you that he may be aware of your restless night.

You resigned to nodding, unsure of how to answer, and not wanting to outright lie but also not wanting to reveal your nightmares in the middle of the kitchen. 

“I got this for you,” Draco said, sliding a book towards you. Your screams had awoken him a few times through the night, but he chose to ignore your dismissal of his question, trusting that you would come to him when you needed him.

“What is it?” You asked, picking up the old book and examining the cover.

“Open it,” said Draco softly.

You did as instructed, finding an envelope inside addressed to Draco from Theodore Nott. You were puzzled but opened it up to find parchment covered in Harry’s messy scrawl.

Dear Y/n

You peeked at the beginning of the letter, excitement raging in your stomach. “Draco, how-” you whispered, your tone shifting back to the one he was used to hearing from you.

“Read it later,” he said smartly, and you nodded, tucking the letter back into the book. “I’m sure there’ll be more, but that one came this morning.”

You caught his eyes and held eye contact with him, all sincerity falling over you, “Draco, thank you, I know this, that my friendship with them isn’t easy for you. You don’t know what this means to me, what you doing this for me means.”

Your words struck Draco, he knew you’d be happy, but he didn’t consider entirely what it would mean to you. He was so deep in his thoughts, he was deeply startled by the kiss you placed on his cheeks. Although momentary, he knew he’d never forget the feeling of your soft lips on his face. The moment absolute bliss, he simply craved another when you stood back up. He wished he would grab your hand, pull you down onto his lap and kiss you back properly, but he wanted to give you the time you deserved. This touch, unlike many you had exchanged, was genuine.

“Anything for you, Y/n,” said Draco. They were the only words that he could think to say.

“Oh no, am I interrupting a moment?” Narcissa asked, half-way through her entrance to the kitchen. 

You snapped the book shut, and straightened yourself up, the kiss you gave Draco affecting you more than you thought such a modest action could possibly affect you. 

“No! Don’t worry, Draco was just surprising me with a book I didn’t think I’d be able to get otherwise,” you said, your words thinly veiled to the boy sitting next to you.

Narcissa smiled, excited that you two were getting on so well. “Well, I am sorry to interrupt, but we have an appointment in the sitting room.”

“Of course,” you said before turning to Draco. “Thank you again, Draco, have a lovely day.”

“You as well, darling,” he said and smiled back at you, watching intently as you left the kitchen alongside his mother. 

He couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over him as he saw you redraw your walls as you walked away. This wasn’t the life you deserved, and he could only feel that he was locking you into it, but somehow at the same time, he was your last chance at survival, and as you had pointed out in September, it could’ve been several guys, but he was glad it had been him. He sat with his thoughts for a while longer before rising to get about the terror of a day he had ahead of him.

Your day wasn’t much better. The sea of colors, choices, flowers, linens, menu options, types of chairs, different styles of canopies, and the list only seemed to grow every time you thought you’d reached the end. At the very least, the planner was sensible and didn’t talk your ear off about how exciting it was for you to get married. It was as if she understood that you, as a sixteen-year-old, wasn’t exactly anticipating this nor expecting it to be the best day of your life. Nevertheless, there was a mountain of things to get done. Narcissa helped with it all, honestly, she was more excited about the whole thing than you were, but you didn’t mind. The woman had shown you nothing but kindness, and her happiness brought a bit of lightness to your dark world.

“And I have a list of Master Malfoy’s groomsmen, but not your bridesmaids, ma’am,” the planner, Alexandra, directed this statement to you, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hadn’t considered bridesmaids, and the thought of having anyone but Hermione, Ginny, and Luna with you made you want to burst out in tears. But it was evident that you couldn’t have them. “I guess, Pansy Parkinson, and Astoria Greengrass,” you paused, entirely unsure of anyone else you knew who wouldn’t be murdered for stepping foot at this event.

“Well, your fiancé only has three groomsmen, so you really only need one more,” she noted, and you looked to Narcissa for help. 

“My cousin’s daughter, Ismelda Rosier, is coming, and I’m sure she’d love to be a bridesmaid,” Narcissa said, smoothly saving you, and you released a silent breath of relief which admittedly didn’t last long as the thought of spending your wedding celebrating with two girls you hated and one you didn’t know settled in your mind.

You continued sorting through the many tasks till darkness fell, and you were interrupted by your knight in shining armor, Draco. 

“I think eggshell linens would be lovely,” he said as he entered the sitting room, approaching the table the three of you had gathered at. “Pardon my interruption, but dinner is ready. Will you be joining us, Miss-”

“Alexandra Frey,” she introduced herself. “No, but thank you for the invitation. I’ve got lots of work to do, Mrs. Malfoy. I’ll be back next week, the same day?” 

Narcissa nodded, “Thank you for your time Alexandra, we’ll see you next week.”

You stood and made your way to Draco, excited to get away from the headache you’d spent your day dealing with. “You are my knight in shining armor,” you whispered in his ear. “If I had to talk about napkins for one more second, I’m going to find a window.” 

Draco laughed quite loudly, causing Narcissa to sharply turn around, “What are you two giggling about?” She asked although a smile was on her face.

“Mother, I’m going to have to confiscate my fiancée from you. I’m afraid you’re going to kill her with talk of napkins.”

Narcissa shook her head, she hadn’t heard her son laugh like that in years, and it brought light to her heart to watch you bring it forth with such ease. “You know, after today, I’m quite tired. I think I’ll take dinner in my room if you don’t mind. You two go ahead and eat,” she said, and neither of you offered any debate.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” you said sweetly, and she nodded as you both headed off into the dining room. You chose the seat next to the head of the table as was social protocol, although Draco swept around you, electing to sit closer to you.

“It’s just us, I doubt anyone will care,” he said as he sat down.

“Mister Malfoy, how incredibly improper of you, whatever will I do with such a mannerless man?” You teased, your exhaustion accompanied by this morning's gesture emboldening you.

“I guess you’ll have to find peace with the fact that you’re to marry a beast who does not know his table manners, Miss Y/l/n,” he teased right back.

“I may just faint,” you said breathily, mockingly wobbling in your seat.

That laugh, that vivid, rolling laugh that reminded you kindly of waves meeting the sand, returned to your ears.

“So, how is our wedding turning out?” He asked as drinks, and your first course appeared on your plates.

“For one, I think it is preposterous that the only reason I am apart of planning and you aren’t is because I am a woman, and you are a man,” You said, as you lightly touched his nose to emphasize your point. “You are most likely way better at these things than I am. And second, my bridesmaids are Pansy, Astoria, and your cousin Ismelda, so that’s exciting.”

“Merlin, Pansy is going to hate that.”

“How was your day?”

“Certainly not as interesting as yours,” he masterfully dodged your question, which you let drop.

You continued talking, going back and forth just as you had Sunday night, but tonight was slightly different. You had started to trust him, brick by brick taking down a wall just for him, and he was beginning to understand you. Again you found the time you spent with him to be incredibly pleasant, pleasant enough for you to occasionally notice butterflies rattle around in your stomach.

When dinner ended, and it was time for you to both get to bed, you somehow both rose from your chairs on the same side. Luckily Draco had some of his whits about him and gracefully caught you by the shoulders, holding you just far enough away so that you wouldn’t bump into him but close enough so that it felt like your stomach was being shredded, his lips just centimeters away and the dim light suddenly feeling very romantic. But you just stepped back and allowed him to show you up to your room.

You awoke Wednesday morning, the monotony of your routine beginning to set in. You found your way back into the closet and picked out another perfect little black dress your mother had provided you along with a corset underneath to cinch your waist and a matching sweater. You styled your hair precisely as she would like it and followed with your makeup, applying it with an expert hand. 

It was around nine when you made your way downstairs and into the kitchen to find that you were the first to arrive.

“Good morning,” you greeted the house-elf, whose name you still didn’t know.

“Are you talking to Zilsey, Miss?” she asked you.

“Of course, and please, when it’s just us, call me, Y/n,” You requested kindly.

She nodded, “Did Zilsey do something wrong, Miss?”

“No! No, I just wanted to say hello and good morning,” you said, softening your tone as much as you could.

“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Can Zilsey get you anything, miss?”

“No, thank you Zilsey, is breakfast out on the table?” You asked.

“Yes, Miss, it is.”

“Thank you, Zilsey.”

You sat down at the breakfast table. You weren’t hungry, in fact, you were mostly nauseous with nerves at the thought of the day that was ahead of you. You poured yourself some tea and found an apple. You sat with yourself and your tea for a while until Draco appeared in similar black attire.

“Good morning,” he greeted, another book in hand, and you perked up a bit.

“Good morning,” you stood to greet him.

“This is for you,” he said, passing you the book, and you took it.

“Thank you, Draco,” you said with the same sincerity you had the day before.

“Anything for you,” he said, kindness softening his grey eyes.

“Do you mind if I read it?” You asked as you both sat down in your respective spots.

“No darling, go ahead,” said Draco as he started placing food on his plate.

You opened the letter from ‘Pansy Parkinson’ underneath the table as a layer of precaution. Excited to see Hermione’s neat scrawl and your name at the top.

Y/n,

I miss you so much I hope that you are staying safe and everything is going well. Harry told me that Draco came to him and Ron on the train and told them to write to you through him. Did he come up with this on his own? I think you should ask him about the morning in the courtyard again, I have the feeling that there is more to what’s going on than what he’s told you. 

Everything is going well on my side of things, I still haven’t been in touch at all with Ron, but I know that Harry and Ginny are doing well, but if they haven’t written you yet, I am sure they will soon. Harry has a whole conspiracy theory going around Draco, and I’m positive he is going to ask your thoughts, although he may wait until we return to school. He said that he’s worried Draco is reading these, but I doubt it. I’ve got a wonderful Christmas present for you, but I’ll wait to give it to you until we return.

Please know that I’m here for you no matter what and that I love you.

Stay safe and write me when you can,

Hermione.

“Thank you for these Draco, I really can’t say it enough,” you said once you finished the letter.

He nodded, “Anything for you.”

“Hermione says I should give you the benefit of the doubt,” you said as you folded the letter back into its envelope. You knew exactly what you were doing with those words.

Draco swallowed the pumpkin juice he had just picked up. “Does she?”

Elegantly, you nodded, “She does.”

You knew this was enough to tell him that your feelings for him existed and that you were considering something real, something better than this game of tennis you had been playing.

“Well, she is the smartest witch in our year.”

“I thought that was me,” you smirked.

Draco smiled, and playfully shook his head at you.

Breakfast continued, full of banter and flirting, and as you were waiting for the events of the day, you moved into the sitting room. Although eventually, your parents arrived, and the second they were announced, you hastily reconstructed your walls and straightened your back. Draco, picking up on every little change in habit you exhibited.

While it wasn’t raining outside, it was quite chilly, although Narcissa had utilized magic to put up a sort of weather-proof bubble around the outdoor dining set, allowing the lunch to take place out in the Malfoy’s beautiful garden. Even in winter, flowers, vines, trees, and hedges thrived green, white, silver, and blood red. Despite this, the gardens seemed cold, lifeless, and fake.

You and Draco made your way through the fog to the transparent bubble that sat in the center of a clearing out past the maze and under a series of trees and vines where your parents were waiting.

“There are the love birds,” Narcissa said gently.

“We were waiting for you all in the sitting room when the elf announced your presence,” Draco explained, catching your mother's judgmental gaze on you.

“Don’t worry, we haven’t been out here for more than a few minutes,” said Narcissa.

You assumed your seat next to Draco and across from your mother as sandwiches and teas appeared on the table before you. The lunch went as the dinner before it had, your parents focusing entirely on you and your mother shooting snide remarks about your appearance or your attitude whenever she could fit them in, although this time, your respite was a glass of champagne and holding onto Draco’s hand under the table.

“Layah, I’m sorry you aren’t able to make any of the appointments with the wedding planner. I’m sure you’d love to see how it's all getting along,” Narcissa said.

“Oh, I trust you completely with all that Narcissa, it really isn’t in my area of interest,” she said.

You were surprised that she wasn’t, in fact, more controlling over this whole process, although it was likely because she just wanted rid of you. Lunch continued on, and as it did, you noticed the stares you were receiving from your father, typically, he would just ignore you. In fact, the only time you received this much attention from his was when you screwed up.

As tiny desserts and espresso hit the table, your father rose from his seat. “If you don’t mind Y/n and I are going to go on a walk, I’d love the opportunity to talk to her, Father to Daughter,” he said to gritted teeth, taking your wrist tightly in his hand, and departing, dragging you along with him before anyone could say anything.

He took you inside and upstairs, shoving you into the first open guest room he could find and instantly cornering you. 

“Your mother and I have been made aware that you’ve found yourself in the arms of Harry Potter more than once and that now he is writing to you here. Now usually, I would have your mother deal with such slip-ups. However, we have also been made aware that you slipped away in Diagonal Alley the other day to see some Weasleys. I thought you would’ve learned from your brother's mistakes.”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say as the shock of him finding you out rose to your expression.

“Don’t think we don’t have eyes on you, girl. Now, what do you have to say for yourself, considering slip-ups of the same nature are what got your brother his early spot in the grave,” 

“Father, I’m sorry, I promise I’ll do better,” you recited the taught promise. You couldn’t think, the persistent reminder of William and the overbearing presence of your father overwhelming your mind. 

He glowered at you, “You know that promises are not enough. We really did expect more from you, Y/n.” 

“I know, sir, I apologize-” 

In order to shut you up, William raised his left hand and backhanded you, the sharp cold ring bearing your family crest cutting your from the bottom of your cheek to just under your eye.

“You will not be embarrassing your mother or me after we leave on the errand,” He said, spitting on the ground next to you as you pressed yourself into the wall as you clenched your eyes closed. “Look at me when I speak to you!” He roared as he pulled out his wand and held it to your neck.

“Yes, sir! Yes, I’m sorry,” you sobbed, but when you looked up at him, he silently cast a dark spell that began to open the scars that littered your back, one you had experienced twice just this past summer. 

As the curse started to take effect, you fell to your knees, and the man standing above, you stepped back in order witness to his work. When you were down, tears started streaming down your face from the pain, and you were focused on the screaming wounds on your back. He grabbed your hair in a fist and pulled your face up so that you’d have to look him in the eye as your blood seeped into the fabric on your back. 

“You’re just a stupid little girl unable to comprehend the world around her. You’re not to ruin the legacy our family has worked so painfully hard to craft, you’ll shut up and be a pretty little face. You’ll marry Draco, you’ll stand by as we win this war, and you’ll have pureblood babies. You’ll be the Malfoy’s problem, and you’ll bear their name, but I won’t allow you to blatantly write off everything this family stands for. Your opinion, your thoughts, that overactive brain of yours doesn’t matter. Am I understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” you croaked. 

“Ah, I’ve been looking for you sir,” Draco’s sudden presence caused your father to drop you and turn towards the entrance of the room where Draco was standing. He stood in front of you in an attempt to cover you considering your current state. “Would you mind if I stole Y/n for a moment? My mother wanted to speak with her. Although if you two-“

“No, no son, please go right ahead. I was just saying my goodbyes. Layah and I will actually be leaving now.”

Your father turned back to you, muttering the counter curse to the torture he had started, then giving you a terrifyingly venomous glare before striding out of the room. Not before giving Draco a kind nod. Once he was gone, you let out a sob you had desperately been trying to hold in.

“Y/n, are you okay?!” Draco rushed over to you, dropping to his knees.

"The corset,” you murmured. You didn’t have nearly enough breath to allow for speech to come freely.

Draco pulled out his wand to unzip your dress and quickly undo your corset, ridding you of it as soon as he possibly could. Once he saw all the open scars on your back and the blood that had soaked through all of the layers of your dress, he muttered a nearly silent, “vulnera sanentur” which painfully closed the now fresh wounds. Every one of them turning into angry red scabs and flesh, and the cut on your cheek closing into a raised red line across your face.

“Can you stand at all?” Draco asked you, and you nodded, despite being unsure. “Here,” he muttered, and he picked you up, avoiding touching your back as best he could. He carried you down the hall and into his room, softly sitting you down on his bed. Draco disappeared into his closet, quickly returning with a plain sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers. “Let me help you put these on,” he offered, and you accepted, enveloped in pain you weren’t thinking of much besides your throbbing back.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you want to lay down?” He asked, he was rushed and worried, entirely unsure of how exactly he could help you.

“He knows Draco, he knows about Harry, about the letters, he knows that I went to see Fred and George,” you cried. “I don’t know how he could know.”

Draco sat down in the middle of the bed with his back against the headboard, and he laid you down from your sitting position so that your head was resting on his lap, “Darling, I’m so sorry.”

“He said that they’ve been watching me. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid to think I could get away with anything,” you said as another sob racked your body.

“I promise you that I’ll never let something like this happen to you again,” he said in a soft and gentle whisper.

“Do you love me, Draco?” you asked, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure if he could hear you.

This caught him off guard, but after a minute, you heard him respond, “Of course I do, I have for years.”

“Then, why?” you were referring to the last term and the hell he had put you through.

He drew a breath in, he couldn’t very well lie to you now, “I- well there’s just a lot going on and I. Well, I’m involved in something that could get you seriously hurt, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being the cause of your death because I-” he looked up at the wall to collect his thoughts for a moment then looked back down at you. “I love you, and I didn’t want to tell you now, here, l really care about you, and I don’t know how to convey it because you- you’re perfect and I’m just an asshole, and I don’t know how to do anything but hurt you. You emerged from all of this, from the abuse and the lies about blood purity a better person, and I just let them turn me into one of their own, a pawn.”

It took you a while to think about what he said, the lack of blood, the exhaustion, and the adrenaline seeping out of your body, causing you to take longer than you might usually. You placed your hand over his, the one that was resting on his knee, your voice was lighter and lower than a whisper, “We can fight on the right side of this war, Draco, even in secret, but we’re all that we’ll have. You don’t have to be their pawn. I know your heart is in the right place. You just have to trust me.”

He folded down and stared into your eyes, inches away from your face. After a few moments, your lips met, exchanging a delicate and telling kiss. You loved him, you cared about him, you felt safe with him, and the two of you wouldn’t be your parents. You would make a better legacy for your families. You would change the tide.

-

Part 6 - The Onyx Ring

Tag list-

@whatawildone @herequeerandstressed @lordfxxker @pillowjj @pointlesscoconut @lovelylangdonx @fire-in-her-veinz​ @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @oi-itsemily @lukehemmingslut831 @peachybeannn @lovebynorth @bubblesam06 @voidnarnia @bethii1 @arthemis-o-negative @roseyrams @treestarrrrrrrr @streetfighterrichie @dreams-in-blxck

[stxvercgersslut]

Not so happy ending

A/n: I so apologise for the angst your about to be put through

Description: Not everyone gets their happy ending, Steve just happens to be one of the unlucky few.

Warnings: Death, lots of angst.

The war was over once and for all. Thanos was gone, Everyone was back, life could finally go back to normal or at least just to what normal used to be.

The fighting was over, yet Steves heart was still in pain. Why? Well, to save the lives of others one of his team had to risk their own life.

Who? That was the question that burned on his tongue as his eyes scanned the remains of the Avenger Compound. Only debri left in its place.

The sound of a broken sob had been more than enough to force steves head to turn 180 degrees and as his eyes were met with your burnt body the super soldiers heart dropped. All hope of happiness ripped away in an instant.

“Y.....y/n.....” he choked out as he found himself racing towards you. Within seconds you were scooped up in his arms. The second his arms were around you you had leaned into him, struggling to keep your friend body upright so of course you needed help.

“I........I......I’m sorry.......” you stuttered as you held on for dear life, struggling to keep yourself awake ask time went on.

Hearing you apologise had been enough to pull a sob from Steve, the sound of your once cheerful voice now messy from the pain you were feeling was what sent him over the edge.

“Baby.....why’s are you apologising?” He asked, attempting to keep the conversation going as long as possible.

“I let you down...” those words seemed to flow effortlessly from you mouth. Almost as if you had been waiting for the right moment to say them.

That had shocked Steve worse then he could have ever imagined. Why would you ever think that you had let him down? Surely you were just saying nonsense now right? You couldn’t have been serious.

Yet you were, you were deadly serious. In your eyes you’d let the love of your life down by making the sacrifice play.

“What? No! Y/n you have not......y-......y-ou have not let me down you hear me? I am not.....mad at you!.....in fact I’m so proud of you/.....you did what everyone else was too afraid to do....you sacrificed yourself for us.....” he assured as his arms tugged you closer to his chest, slowly lowering himself to the ground so that you wouldn’t be struggling to stand anymore.

At this point you had a whole audience, the entire team had gathered around for your last moments. Everyone pretty much knowing you weren’t going to make it. It was a hard pill to swallow but it was true. You were dying.

You looked terrible, the skin on the left side of your face was almost completely fried causing the nerve endings to spring in to life causing pain to serge through your body. But not only was your face singed, the skin on your left arm had practically fused itself to your completely black suit. It was clear from the look in your eyes that you were forcing back a sob from the excruciating pain and that in itself was enough to destroy Steve.

“I can’t take your pain away.....y/n I can’t take it....I wish I could....I—I wish.....I—wish I could just take y—“ the soldier sobbed as you cut him off, a few of his tears landing on your burnt face causing you to wince.

“It’s okay.....I......I’m not in pain.....” you struggled out, lying to his face as a way of comforting him. It wasn’t exactly the best thing to do but in this instance it was the only way forward. Lying was the only way to spare your boyfriends feelings. Although you weren’t sure it was doing anything since Steve just stared down at you with that same stern look on his face that he’d always given you when he knew you were lying. It hurt to know that that would be the last time that you ever saw his face.

With a choked sob Steve forced out a “please don’t leave me.....please...hold on...” before his entire brain failed him and he spiralled into a fit of sobs, his promise to protect you from every evil in the world had failed. Now he was forced to watch as you died from his idiotic mistake. How was that first?

“Hey.....” you forced out, attempting to grab his attention with your stronger hand grasping his cheek for a couple seconds before falling to your side again. “It’s okay.....it’s okay.......it’s fine.......it’s the perfect way to go.....” with every word it was getting harder to speak, your heart slowly beginning to beat less and less as you clung to life.

Steve could tell that you were going, his sensitive hearing torturing him as he was forced to listen to your hearts struggles beats every second. Taunting him. “Y/n.....it not okay......please.....please don’t leave me.....” your super soldier was begging, he never begged. But when it came to you he couldn’t help it.

“I......I love......y......you.....Steve....” you once again choked out as the light in your eyes began to fade at a quicker rate.

“I ....I love you too y/n....I love you too....just please hold on.....hold on. Please Don’t leave me” he repeated but it was too late. You were gone. The life in your eyes had evaporated and he was just left cradling your dead body. Yet he didn’t let go.

“Y/n?..” he sobbed “y/n?......please.....y/n don’t go! Don’t leave me hear alone.....we were going to have a life together.....we.....we had so much living left to do.....please come back to me” now the soldier was clinging to your dead body as Tony cautiously made his way to him, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and kneeling down next him.

“Steve...” the billionaire began “she’s gone.....” those words hadn’t sat well with Steve as he gave Tony a broken glare before he finally began to stand. You still in his arms. No way was he allowing you to lay on the ground even if you were dead. Someone had to carry you back to your home...to your final resting place.

The one and only question that everyone had been too scared to ask. Who would be the one to make that decision? Who would risk their happiness to save the lives of others? Not only would this prove who truly wasn’t selfish, but it would prove who was willing to sacrifice everything to allow the rest of humanity to live on.

One single death was better than half the universe right? Wrong, one death wouldn’t have been Steve’s first choice, but if it had meant that he could keep you then he would have sacrificed himself. His death would have been worth it. At least then he wouldn’t be swarmed by the overwhelming guilt of your death. Knowing it was his fault. He should have protected you.

But at the end of the day you died surrounded by your family.

Tag list: @harrysthiccthighss @chuckbass-love @et-lesailes @chrissquares @jtargaryen18 @star-spangled-steve @stargazingfangirl18 @navybrat817 @dwights-new-plague

[marauderssequels]

rough series overview

a month of polling later, here we are! these are the (very rough) summaries for what each book in the marauders series will look like. not so much plot outlines as general ideas of what we’ll be seeing, but work on the first book will be commencing soon!

Book One: James Potter and the ______ Officially, the First Wizarding War had begun the year previously. The pre-established notion that Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world as well as the assurances of Dumbledore gives parents the confidence to send their children there, even as Voldemort’s attacks grew and spread. First-years James Potter and Sirius Black meet on the Hogwarts Express, sharing a compartment with Lily Evans and Severus Snape. After the Sorting, Remus and Peter join James and Sirius as friends, with Remus hiding his condition as a werewolf.

Book Two: Lily Evans and the _______ Returning for their second year at Hogwarts, the Marauders begin to grow in popularity. James initially gains attention for joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Chaser. His constant sass towards older players and undeniable talent earn him a reputation, one that easily expands as Sirius enthusiastically overperforms Gryffindor spirit. Unfortunately, not everyone is a fan; Lily Evans, the one student whose intelligence might be a match for all four friends combined, would rather ignore the boisterous boys. She’s escaping a world where her sister calls her a freak and no one knows how much she’s really capable of. At Hogwarts, she’s not that weird or different from everyone else, even if her blood status sometimes leads to unwelcome comments on her abilities.

Book Three: Remus Lupin and the ________ After receiving a shocking message from someone within Hogwarts who seems to know exactly what he is, Remus Lupin heads with great trepidation into his third year. The older he gets, the stronger the beast within him becomes. It’s getting harder to hide this monstrous nature from his friends, as James, Sirius, and Peter aren’t as oblivious or dismissive as they used to be. Somehow, the impossibly bright friend he’s gained in Lily Evans is the only one not questioning his odd excuses or strange ticks around the full moon. Her easy acceptance can’t be entirely trusted though, as the events of last year have left Lily bitter towards his friends. If she’s the one who knows of his dark secret, perhaps he hasn’t truly gained another friend after all.

Book Four: Severus Snape and the __________ It’s 1974, and amid the terror of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, the highly-anticipated Quidditch World Cup takes place. That year at Hogwarts, the focus of the year is the Potions Championship.  Lily Evans, already an accomplished Potions student, is encouraged to compete by Professor Slughorn. Despite being underage for the competition, Dumbledore leverages her Muggleborn status to convince the international officials in charge of the Championship to allow her in. Throughout the year, she works closely with Professor Slughorn and other accomplished potioneers to train and expand her knowledge. Severus is eager to see her win, but their ideas of victory clash as Lily rejects his more questionable methods of helping her. Meanwhile, Severus grapples with the state of the Wizarding World and Voldemort’s war. His friendship with Lily and hatred for his life in the Muggle world are at odds, as students begin to take different sides of the War. During the Sorting, he is shocked to hear his mother’s maiden name. As he grows closer to the Princes and learns more of the life he could’ve had in a pureblood family, decisions fall into place that will shape his future forever. The deep dichotomy of Slytherin and Gryffindor views takes center stage throughout this book, as Severus cannot understand Lily’s perspective and time begins to run out for him to decide where his loyalties truly lie.

Book Five: Sirius Black and the __________ It’s been six years since Voldemort launched his terrifying agenda, and the Blacks have become ever more confident in their secure position of power in his new world. Fifteen-year-old Sirius can only wrestle so much freedom from their strict structure, but his path is beginning to narrow. The Blacks’ patience with their firstborn son’s “rebellious phase” is wearing thin, and a rigorous preparation for the future they have decided for him snaps into action when Sirius pushes his boundaries one step too far. As his relationship with Regulus and his own desires for his future are cast onto uncertain ground, Sirius finds that his life at Hogwarts, which once seemed a sanctuary from the Blacks, is not entirely immune to their influence. After his attempts to become an Animagus finally succeed, he begins to grow closer with a certain sweater-wearing Gryffindor. Now more than ever, he’s been drawing closer to his friends, but Remus’s attention takes on a new light. Darkness dogs them both these days, and despite brave words and Gryffindorian promises, it’s unknown if either could ever truly protect the other from their grim realities.

Book Six: Peter Pettigrew and the ________ There have never been more reasons to be afraid. As the sixth year at Hogwarts plays out amid a world divided by war, the “pranks” that the Slytherins play have turned darker. James’s retaliation is becoming even worse. Hogwarts might be the safest place in the world right now, untouched by the Death Eaters, but there are students prowling about that might well already be inducted into Voldemort’s ranks. Peter clings to the safety of the Marauders. They all cling to it really, Remus and Sirius and James. There’s a certain protection that has come with the little family they’ve formed; Peter isn’t the only one who sees it. Sirius has finally broken away from the Blacks, choosing to fight valiantly for his friends and the beliefs they hold. Remus’s “eccentricities” aren’t questioned with the Marauders around, playing it off as a joke or helping him to hide it. Even James, the lion leading the charge, leans on all of them when the eyes of the world have turned away.

Book Seven: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs Finally, the seventh-years will be coming-of-age. For the Marauders and Lily, that means finally becoming eligible to join the Order of the Phoenix. But becoming directly involved in the plans against Voldemort and his followers is not what anyone expected, and there are still N.E.W.T.s to sit and career choices to  finalize. Some questions are easy- what classes to take, who to protect. Others are harder- who to trust, who to fall for, who to hate. In a world where friends might be Imperioed and enemies might only be on the wrong side out of fear, the Marauders must decide if their lives are to be built for what they want or what would be best for the world they’re fighting for. The Order and the Death Eaters alike ask that their members live and die for their cause, but not everyone is prepared to make that sacrifice. The ideas of trust and selfishness vs. selflessness will be extremely prominent for this book. We all know how the story ends, who dies and who betrays, who understands and who will never know. But how Peter chose his destiny and what Sirius was truly loyal to, what life Remus thought he’d live and the ambitions James carried with him- finally, the foundations of the first six books are solidified. Finally, the adults Harry knew (and the ones he didn’t) have grown up. Finally, the Marauders and their friends have joined the War- and wizarding history will never be the same.

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard - Jaime x Brienne: Modern-day Pirates AU

When the crew of the Brightroar heads out for the next job Tyrion got them, Jaime and Bronn think that this will be a piece of cake: Wriggle the guns around in front of some suit and ties and construction workers on a base for water energy in the Narrow Sea. Their client wants them to deliver some documents of the rivaling company. So really, no big deal for this not exactly legal delivery company traveling the Narrow Sea for many years already.

That is until they find out that the documents are stored on a server and the only person who knows the password who happens to be on the base is some mannish assistant normally working at the HQ who was sent there to oversee the operations. And that woman has the audacity not to turn the passwords over, even when Jaime holds a gun to her head.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be messing with the man holding a gun to your head.”

“But I don’t know how bad your aim actually is if you have to hold it right to my head.”

“I am the best shooter across the Narrow Sea, bitch.”

“Didn’t you know? Some people just like to overpraise a name.”

The woman won’t budge, and Jaime is about to lose his temper with her. Not knowing what else to do, the two decide to take the woman hostage aboard the Brightroar to negotiate with the woman’s boss. Tyrion wants to trade the hostage for the codes to access the documents to give to their customer. But that solid plan won’t float either: When Tyrion calls the boss for the negotiations, the man basically tells him calmly and politely that this woman’s life is not worth the access codes.

And people say they are bad people for acting as modern-day pirates.

And so, they have documents they can’t access, a woman tied up under deck who is way too comfortable with someone threatening to kill her, and a client growing impatient. So no, this is definitely not a piece of cake.

If all of that wasn’t bad enough, Jaime soon finds himself playing watchdog for the mannish woman who is not nearly as afraid of him as she definitely should be. After all, he is a convicted murderer. Fine, it was Aerys Targaryen, but for all the people know, he murdered this poor guy in cold blood.

If only they knew how hot their blood would have been, had he not taken the shot.

But those days lie behind him. Military service lies behind him. The court hearing. The discharge. Keeping his mouth shut about what sleeps underneath the capital. Prison lies behind him. The Brave Companions fucking up his shooting hand to make him “One Hand” lie behind him. Everything is behind him. There is just living from one day to the next, doing the jobs they do. But at the very least, there is a blue sky above him and no prison bars to cling on to.

Then the unexpected happens: The woman manages to use a moment of distraction to break free, kick Jaime where it really hurts, and disarm him. Him! The infamous One Hand!

“What a bitch!”

The woman makes it back on deck, where she is cornered by Bronn and a very, very pissed Jaime, who definitely wants to throw her overboard, not only for kicking him but also for having the audacity to disarm him.

The woman demands to speak to the captain to make a deal, perfectly ignoring his threats. To Jaime’s surprise, his little brother agrees to speak to her alone almost promptly. After what feels like an eternity, the two return with an even more shocking announcement:

“Let’s welcome our newest crew member, guys! Give it up for your crew mate Brienne.”

Apparently, she made a deal with Tyrion, arguing that since she saw how little her life is worth to the boss she worked for for many years, she no longer wants to live that life. She wants their client to have the documents to screw up her boss’s business. Her one condition is that they make it seem like she was killed, so that she can start a new life.

Jaime makes sure to make her new life living hell, though. Every shitty errand job there is, he sends her to. Mopping the floors and getting the boring watching jobs on assignments. He wants her to leave, he wants her to see the shitty reality of their fucked-up lives and how that fucked-up life definitely has no space for people like her.

But she won’t quit. She is not quiet about her discontent either, but Brienne is no quitter, he will have to give the stubborn woman that much. Though that doesn’t mean he wants to be friendly with her. Because nothing about this woman makes sense. She is masterful at combat, which Brienne proves soon enough on their upcoming assignments, and yet, she acts high and mighty, talking about honor and all that shit. He just can’t make sense of her.

And Jaime long since learned his lesson not to trust anyone.

He finds out the truth soon enough on an assignment with just the two of them, though: The whole thing was a fake. Brienne was their client who ordered the documents, while a friend of the family called Goodwin acted the part of her calm and polite boss.

“Why would someone fuck up her life like that?”

“Because I have a purpose. And nothing will stop me from it. Even if I have to bring a little shit like you a beer while he is taking a piss off the railing.”

As it turns out, Tyrion figured as much once he found out that the company they were meant to destroy by turning over the documents is actually her late father’s business. She went with her mother’s maiden name to stay under the radar and primed herself as the hostage to be taken aboard Brightroar. Tyrion didn’t realize until she was onboard, though.

Apparently, Brienne made big news back in the day when she was charged for having murdered Renly Baratheon. While there was not enough evidence to prove that his former assistant killed him, Brienne since has to live with the stigma of being considered as the person who murdered him. And she won’t let that stand. She loved that man. She never could have killed him.

She tried to hire the crew as herself in an effort to find the man she thinks is responsible for Renly’s death: his own brother Stannis alongside his assistant Melisandre. But Tyrion refused to take her case the first time, so Brienne sought out more desperate measures to gain access to his resources. And so, she devised this plan to get herself right to the source, which is the Brightroar.

Brienne needs someone who has access to the underworld to dig up the man who disappeared into it shortly after Renly died. When she told Tyrion that during the hostage situation, the captain agreed to have her stay under the condition that she makes herself useful on the Brightroar for the duration of her stay. In exchange, he arranges for meetings and gathers information at her behest.

“And once I have the information I need, you can rejoice, because I will be out of here and go after Stannis. And you won’t ever see me again.”

Jaime is not at all pleased to hear that. He doesn’t like being lied to, obviously. And while, of course, he couldn’t care less for this woman, Jaime knows it is a dangerous path into the underworld. Not only because people don’t hesitate to shoot you in the face. It does something to you. It changes you. And someone who is so hellbent on justice, as that woman definitely is, will not thrive in the darkness. Jaime cautions her that she still has a chance to live a life in misery to return to, but Brienne remains steadfast.

“In contrast to some, I keep my promises.”

And so, the two agree to a truce, whereby Jaime won’t involve himself in her revenge and Brienne has his confidence as his partner in crime for as long as she happens to work on the Brightroar.

But that fragile truce continues to be shaken by revelations, growing feelings, a dangerous attraction, and the impending danger of the past coming to haunt the present as someone found out about what Jaime wanted to take with him to a grave in the deep blue sea…

————————————————

Note: This is vaguely inspired by Black Lagoon - but really just vaguely when it comes to the premise and the irresistible connection between Revy as Two Hands and Jaime as One Hand (c’mon, y’all know I had to do it). Though I am definitely turning it on its head. And if you want to treat yourself, read and watch Black Lagoon. It’s dark and great at portraying truly flawed characters.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Life May Linger

Urban Fantasy with a couple of witchy, poly boys, 3k.

Cw: swearing, non-pov injury and unconciousness, anxiety, animal skulls, blood, nail biting, imagery of death, necromancy-like magic

The incantations didn’t have to be said out loud for them to work, but it felt more natural to Noah than sitting and staring in silence. So he had been chanting his throat raw, only stopping to soothe the ache with one of his herbal teas whenever he felt he couldn’t go on. His client – for lack of a better word – had dutifully brought him whatever ingredients he’d asked for, but had refused to drink any of the tea himself. Privately Noah thought that a calming drink might have done the guy some good; with every hour that passed, the dread that Noah felt seeping out of Damiri had gotten more oppressive. In all fairness, Noah suspected that his own emotions probably weren’t having a particularly calming effect on Damiri either right now. Being an empath had to be hell at times. Maybe that was why he barely spoke. Noah was sure he wouldn’t even have told him his name if Noah had not insisted on it.

Noah felt his voice give way, cracking hoarsely in the middle of a sentence. It made Damiri start upright in his chair in the corner. He had been biting on the skin around his nails, slowly ruining them.

“Did something happen?” His voice sounded almost as raw as Noah’s.

“No,” Noah shook his head, taking a sip from the strangely dainty cup Damiri had brought him. “Nothing bad, just me.”

Damiri let out a shaky breath and glanced down at the still body on the makeshift bed. It looked very out of place in the strange basement room that Noah had been forced to make into his crafting space. He only knew the name of his patient because he overheard Damiri mutter it to him. Aiden. Noah had a vague notion it meant ‘fire’. But he was trying not to think about that, because the way Aiden was lying there, with Noah’s treasured skulls placed carefully around him like clusters of pale flowers, he looked like he had been laid out on a funeral pyre. He was like a fairy tale stuck in a tragedy, all pale skin and black hair draping down…

In his corner, Damiri had begun to bounce his leg. “It’s been ten hours.”

Noah made an effort to meet his eyes and tried not to see the despair glittering in the brown. “It often takes time.”

“Ten hours?” There was a sharp edge to Damiri’s voice and Noah looked away.

He still hadn’t been able to find out exactly how Damiri and Aiden were connected. He was pretty sure there was at least one other person present in the house, but he hadn’t seen them. Damiri was the one that came to fetch him, and to tell the truth, for anyone else he might not have come along willingly.

Because he didn’t appreciate people lying in wait for him at his home, and he hated to be called a necromancer, but the unrestrained fear in Damiri’s eyes had been enough to make him hesitate.

And then the love had changed his mind. He had met several empaths since the time he learned to pick up on other people’s magic, some of them extremely bad at shielding themselves, but he had never felt that much love pouring out of a single person. Nor that much terror.

So he had allowed Damiri to escort him to this unnerving basement and the two of them had been here since. It had to be nearing sunrise now.

“That means we still have the eleventh hour,” Noah said finally. He didn’t believe in giving false hope, but he didn’t believe in giving up either.

Damiri muttered something under his breath and brought his hand to his mouth again to bite at his nails. Then he winced, fingers cramping up, and let out a hissing swear.

“You alright?” Noah asked, hastily getting up and walking towards him.

“Fine,” he grunted, wiping his middle finger on his trousers. It was bleeding, the nail-bed bitten raw.

Noah sighed. “Will you let me help with that?”

Damiri stared blankly at him for a moment, but then he silently held out his hand.

Noah held it for a moment to assess the damage, his skin looked oddly pale against Damiri’s warmer shade of brown. Silently he reached into his pocket and took out a small, delicately built skull. A field mouse. He pressed his thumb into the sigil he carved on the top of it before placing it carefully on Damiri’s palm. He had barely finished murmuring the incantation before the sigil cracked, splitting the skull in two. Noah winced slightly – he always did, he couldn’t help it – but he smiled seeing the raw edges of skin on Damiri’s fingers mend and heal.

Damiri seemed afraid to move his hand, staring at it like he had just seen it burning. “What did you do?” he breathed, his eyes darting up to Noah’s face. “Is- Is that what you’re…?”

Noah nodded, taking the cracked skull out of his palm and slipping it into a different pocket of his coat. It was truly dead now, not a shred of life left clinging to it. He would give it a proper burial as soon as he could.

“But how-” Damiri studied his fingers incredulously. “How does it work?”

A faint smile overtook Noah’s face. Ten hours of healing rituals to pull his significant someone back from the brink of death and only now did Damiri ask.

“Death is a straightforward thing,” Noah replied, sitting down on a nearby crate, close enough so he could look at Damiri properly. “But life is not. When a living being dies, not all of it dies at once. Sometimes something of the lower life force lingers and the right magic can bind it to its vessel. That is what I do.”

Damiri looked at the clusters of skulls placed on the low bed. Those belonged to larger creatures, nothing smaller than a cat, and they all bore the same sigil. “Your skulls crack when the life in them is spent,” he concluded slowly.

“Yeah,” Noah hummed. He would never learn to like that part, but it was inevitable.

“Then…what is keeping it from working?” A low note of dread was slipping back into Damiri’s voice and Noah wished he knew a way to quiet it.

“I can only offer help,” he explained soberly. “I cannot force it. He was hurt by magic…” He glanced at Aiden’s motionless form. Apart from the hollowness of his eyes, he did not look hurt. He was barely breathing and his heartbeat was so faint that Noah couldn’t catch its rhythm to chant in time with it, no matter how hard he tried—but his body seemed unharmed. “Perhaps he does not know how to mend what is broken in him.”

“But you-”

“I do not mend anything,” Noah interrupted Damiri firmly. “What you just saw, was your own body healing itself because I gave it the opportunity to do so.”

Damiri looked from Aiden’s still face to Noah’s, and back again. “And you can’t— Can’t you help?”

Noah shook his head. He didn’t even know what happened to Aiden. He knew nothing about him apart from a muttered name and his importance to Damiri. He didn’t even know his magic. “I have found that healing blindly usually does more harm than good.”

Damiri let out a hollow laugh. “What more harm could you possibly do to him now?”

The chill Noah felt sliding down his back must have been evident to Damiri, because he met his eyes again. “You do not want me to answer that,” Noah replied solemnly.

A heavy silence fell between them. Noah didn’t feel up to breaking it, so he tried to continue with the incantation in his mind. Perhaps if he weaved Aiden’s name into the words, he would hear him. It was hard to speak to someone he’d never even looked in the eye.

“Damiri, what is Aiden’s magic like?”

He had been wanting to ask that question ever since he’d first laid eyes on his patient. Even now, weakened as he was, Noah could nearly feel Aiden’s power humming underneath his skin. It didn’t feel familiar though. It was unlike anything that Noah had ever felt.

Damiri hid his face, rubbing his forehead and temples with tense, nervous movements. The more his shoulders sagged, the younger he looked. “That is a question you don’t want answered,” he said darkly.

“You mean you don’t want to tell me,” Noah sighed. “Just like you didn’t want to tell me about your magic.”

Even without seeing Damiri’s facial expression, Noah knew it was resentful. He had been able to feel the familiar pattern of emotion manipulation as soon as Damiri had gotten close to him. Damiri hadn’t been pleased when he guessed his gift correctly. Not pleased at all.

Damiri gave no response and suddenly a thought slipped into Noah’s mind.

“Do you think I’ll no longer want to help him if I know?”

A moment before Damiri had been fidgeting in his chair, now he was sitting near-frozen.

Noah looked at him attentively. “Because it’s far too late for that, you know.”

At last the dark eyes lifted up again. “What?”

“I decided to help when you asked me,” Noah explained calmly. “I don’t change my mind.”

He wanted his magic to work. He wanted to see Aiden’s eyes open, wanted to see the handsome face come back to life. Even if he had not fully decided to help on the strength of Damiri’s plea, he would have lost any hesitation upon seeing Aiden. Because he agreed with Damiri, and with the words he had whispered to him on his doorstep, more than ten hours ago. “He can’t die.” Noah didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but agree. Aiden could not die. And perhaps that was a solely selfish wish, because when he looked at him, and felt that strange magic just out of reach, Noah couldn’t bear the thought of never actually meeting him.

“Would it help you heal him?” Damiri broke into his thoughts. “If you knew what his magic was, would that help?”

Noah shook his head regretfully. “It would help me if I could understand his magic, but I do not recognise it and there is no time to teach me.”

Damiri made a strange noise and Noah gave him a questioning look.

“If you really wanted to know, you could have lied,” he said.

Noah’s lips curled slightly in distaste. “I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Another nondescript sound at the back of his throat.

Noah was ready to turn away and give him his space again, but Damiri suddenly slumped forward, dropping his head into his hands and burying his fingers in his dark hair. “You have no idea,” he grunted. “How badly I want to force all this on you.”

Noah could feel the truth of it. At times he could sense Damiri’s anxiety almost snaking towards him. Damiri was desperate not to feel these things. Anyone would be. But unlike most people, Damiri actually had a way to get rid of it all.

“I appreciate the self-control.”

This time Damiri nearly laughed. But his head stayed in his hands, and Noah decided to leave him be. He got to his feet and quietly walked to the bed. With loving attention he rearranged the skulls into their repeating patterns of threes. He made sure not to touch Aiden, and he really tried not to stare at him.

Aiden… Aiden… There was nothing in the name that matched the humming he felt in the distance. And still his heartbeat was too weak, his breathing too shallow. What if he couldn’t hear him calling? What if he simply couldn’t find the gifts he brought…

“His name is Aidan.”

Noah nearly jumped. He had not heard Damiri move, but suddenly he was standing beside him. He was tall—even when he leaned forward Noah had to look up slightly to see into his face. The sadness that trickled out of him was getting so thick it was almost tangible.

“Aidan Yeoh.” Damiri tore his eyes away from the motionless face. “And his magic is thievery.”

“Thievery?” Noah repeated in confusion.

“The gentlest thievery you’ve ever encountered,” he muttered. “He doesn’t even need physical contact. And he can take almost anything. Memories, feelings, thoughts…”

Noah felt a tightness closing around his chest. There was a reason he didn’t like being called a necromancer. Necromancy was frowned upon. But magical theft… He made no reply and Damiri said nothing more. He stood over Aidan a moment longer, staring at him like he wanted to touch his face but wouldn’t for fear of crying, and then retreated back to his corner.

When Noah started chanting again, Damiri closed his eyes.

Noah waited until the rhythmic breathing of exhausted sleep filled the room before he started changing the words of the incantation. He circled the bed on silent feet and took back his cherished skulls. One by one he took them away from Aidan, weighing them in his hands for a moment before placing them gently on the ground. Not in threes this time, but in a circle. Circles in circles, all of them side by side, each one guarding the other. Until they were all gathered together and Noah sat down, placing himself between Aidan and his treasures. He had forgotten about his tea, but he was still chanting. Still calling out to Aidan. But this time it was a different chant. What was offered freely could be taken back.

An entire night he had been here. More than a night. This was the eleventh hour and the sun was rising. It was early in the year, the sun would be shy about it. But it would rise, and sunrise is powerful.

Noah didn’t notice Damiri waking. He was still chanting, tired words tumbling stubbornly from his lips and his body rocking in time with the rhythm.

“What have- What are you doing?”

Damiri was beside him in an instant, his hands reaching out for the skulls, stopping just short of touching them. He looked back towards Aidan, who still lay sleeping like the dead.

“What have you done to him?”

Noah shook his head, bowing down low enough to nearly double over, chanting possessive words that wanted to stick to the inside of his mouth.

Damiri backed away from him, footsteps unsteady on the tile floor. “If you—” His voice was only a breath away from breaking. “I swear—”

A nauseating crack rang out like a shot and the last syllable slid mercifully off Noah’s tongue.

Another crack. Another. Noah turned away from the breaking skulls so he did not have to see. They all split right through the middle, straight though the sigil, and in the sudden quiet that followed, Aidan drew a stuttering breath.

Damiri seemed to be by the bed with only a single step. “Aidan—”

Noah got to his feet just in time to see the fine lashes flutter up and the thin lips move. “…Dami?”

The sound that escaped from Damiri’s chest echoed inside Noah’s mind as loudly as the breaking of bone. Shuddering, Damiri sank to his knees and slumped forward, his fingers grasping at the fabric of Aidan’s shirt and his forehead pressing against his side.

Aidan reached for him with a movement that was so controlled it made relief come alive in Noah’s entire body. He had done well. Aidan’s body was undamaged.

“You bastard,” Aidan muttered weakly, his fingers digging into Damiri’s shoulder for a moment before combing through his hair. “That’s the last time I let you design the balancing charm.”

“Fuck off,” Damiri breathed and he raised his head, his voice choked and thick with emotion.

Noah felt himself sway on his feet. Damiri's relief, a mix of joy and wild affection, filled the room like thick smoke. It was almost hard to breathe. And it was impossible not to smile. He blinked, slowly looking from Damiri to Aidan, just in time for Aiden’s eyes to meet his. Noah had been prepared for them to be dark and attentive. He had not been expecting them to be this alive.

There wasn’t a single mark of hardship left in them.

For a moment Aidan just looked at him, but then his lips formed into something very like a smile. When he next spoke, his voice was noticeably smoother than it had been before. “Are you the one that chanted?”

“Yes,” Noah said, his hands trembling slightly and an involuntary smile playing around his own lips as well. “And you are the one that can’t see what is given freely, but will take what is guarded against him.”

The fascination on Aidan’s face was as genuine as Damiri’s exasperated exclamation of understanding. He got to his feet, rubbing violently at his face.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” he grunted, doing a bad job of hiding his tears.

“You might not have trusted me,” Noah replied, apologetic but not remorseful. “I told you I wouldn’t lie, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you the truth.” He wasn’t sorry. He felt almost giddy. He felt light. He had saved a life.

“Yeah, you know what, I don’t care.” Damiri let out a broken laugh, shaking with relief and gratitude. “I really don’t.” He swallowed. "Thank you."

“I—" Aidan interrupted, sitting up with the grace of a cat woken from nothing but a comfortable slumber, before Noah could even open his mouth for another reply. "—have two things to say.”

His eyes were fixed on Noah so intently that he felt his face heat up in spite of himself.

“The first—” he said smoothly, entwining his fingers with Damiri’s.”—is that you’re being incredibly rude not introducing me to the person you got to save me, Dami. And the second—” A grin graced his face as his eyes darted to Damiri before settling firmly on Noah again. “—is that you’re more than welcome to try and kill me again if you want. Clearly it was worth it.”

[fang-wolfsbane]

Transformers Animated: Morning Star: Chapter 02: The Alternative

Greenblade hadn’t been a fan of the whole idea of seeking refuge on a maintenance ship but considering their lack of funds and things to trade, the old yellow and red ship containing a batch of maintenance bots were really all they had to choose from. It was different than they were used to.

Convincing the captain of the ship, a Prime at that, had been difficult enough, especially with the medic bot, an old, white, and red bot seeming to wait for rust to set in, had been the first one against it. Apparently, according to the annoying yellow bot, they weren’t the first asteroid-hikers the maintenance bots had picked up on their route. As it turned out, the maintenance bots had been the reason why the black and cold bi-pedal bot had to rely on them for transportation due to an incident that resulted in his own ship being destroyed. She pitied him. She truly did. Whether he felt the same towards her, he didn’t let on. She didn’t pry either.

Blueflame on the other servo, had been all too happy to meet the acquaintance of the five mechs, enough so that Greenblade had learned their names off by spark. The leader, Optimus Prime, who didn’t seem all that keen on explaining why exactly a Prime was leading a spacebridge maintenance team. Ratchet, the old and grouchy medic. Prowl, the forced travel companion. Bulkhead, the bulbous oaf, and finally, the irritating chatterbox, Bumblebee. She found that her personal preferences led her to stay close to Prowl, whom, as it turned out, was a ninja bot.

Greenblade had received stellarcycles of sword, stealth and other sorts of training, all for the sake of her sister, so she found having a decent sparring partner made the trip a little more worthwhile. Optimus had told them that it would take a long while to get the sisters where they needed to go, but that it would eventually be on their route, so they didn’t mind all that much. With the way Bumblebee ogled her sister, Greenblade was certain that he definitely didn’t mind the thought of the journey being delayed. The thought alone was enough to tighten her servo around the hilt of her sword, the sight of him happily chirping away at Blueflame’s audio angering her to her core.

She couldn’t blame her sister for seeking some form of companionship, considering that the only other youngling she ever really had contact with, was her. Their parents had kept Blueflame separate for stellarcycles, and now that she finally had the opportunity to gain freedom from them and their memories, she was taking full advantage of it.

A part of her envied her sister’s easy adjustment to their current wanderers status. She wished that she too could simply toss all she knew aside and just relax for once, to simply sit down and chat with one of the five mechs like they were old friends. Cycles of being trained to do the opposite had her on constant edge, so much so that the medic had begun to notice. He had offered to give her something for her jumpiness, but she had denied him in that regard. He had simply shrugged and gone off to do something else instead.

From the haunted look in his optics and the scars sticking to his frame, especially the missing half of the chevron on his forehelm, indicated that he had possibly been involved in the old war against the Decepticons. He confirmed it earlier that cycle when he caught the Prime watching some old footage of the war, scolding him for wanting to know what war felt like.

As payment for their travel, the sisters had to help clear the debris from the spacebridges the ship was forced to maintain. Greenblade was no stranger to hard work, so she took the task easier than Blueflame, who, for once forbidden from using her ability, hacked at the asteroid like a sparkling trying to figure out why a toy wasn’t lighting up. She found it amusing, to see her oh-so-greatly-revered younger sister struggling with something for once in her life, but instead of giving up and pouting in a corner like she originally thought Blueflame would do, the inexperienced femme happily took on the challenge, grinning like a content youngling whenever Bumblebee or Bulkhead tossed praises her way.

She often found Prowl focusing more on his meditation than actually helping out but considering that he was the only one forced to travel alongside the maintenance bots, she left him to it. Blueflame, with the backing of her formerly mentioned cheer squadron, often tried encouraging him to help out. Surprisingly, it actually worked at times, and made the effort much less on the rest of them.

At one point Blueflame had asked Optimus why they couldn’t just use the spacebridge to go straight where they needed to. His excuse was that the spacebridges were to remain offline because of their sole purpose being for the benefit of the Autobot Elite Guard under the guise of security reasons. Personally Greenblade didn’t believe him, thinking that the actual reason lay in it possibly causing too much traffic throughout space, but she kept her opinion to herself.

Normally the seven of them worked without much interaction, yet today it seemed that the mechs were in some kind of competitive mood. Bumblebee tried showing off for Blueflame by using his stingers in the flashy way only he seemed to have perfected. Blueflame had secretly begged for permission to use her ability, but Greenblade had shut her down fast with the fact that they needed to keep what she could do a secret.

At times she had the inkling feeling that her sister might have shown what she was capable of to the show-off mech but considering how difficult it seemed for him to keep his motor shut, he had no idea. Good. She didn’t feel up to explaining the real possible reason why the two of hem had snuck away on a maintenance ship instead of waiting on a transporter instead. Primus knew there were enough of those going around ever since the war against the Decepticons ended all those deca-cycles ago.

Greenblade had been relying on an old axe Optimus had found lying around in storage. There was no way she was going to damage her sword with stubborn boulders clinging onto the only emergency transportation system the Autobots had. She was just about to swing the tool down, ignoring the rest of the mix-and-match team when Optimus broke open one of said boulders, causing a blast of light to nearly blind all of them upon its moment of freedom.

One of them questioned what it was, but from the horrified look on the medic’s faceplate, it was clear he knew just exactly what the large orange container was.

“Ratchet?” Optimus’ voice broke through her thoughts, snapping her out of the trance the container seemed to set her under. “What is it?”

“The Allspark…” Ratchet breathed, almost as if he himself couldn’t believe what was right in front of his very optics. Bumblebee and Bulkhead were the first to exchange questionable glances between each other.

“The Allspark? But that’s only a myth, isn’t it?” Blueflame asked, nearly causing Greenblade to flinch at her sister’s ignorance. It seemed her mother hadn’t taught her everything Greenblade had been forced to learn at the academy. A glance between all of them, save for Ratchet, left the mechs assuming that the Allspark being something from a legendary tale was simply the version she had been told. Greenblade wasn’t going to explain anything to them. They could figure that part out on their own.

“Get it on board. Get it on board right now!” Ratchet ordered, his pinchers sliding out from their protective casing in his wrist plating. The rest of them barely had a chance to react as Bumblebee and Bulkhead helped the medic to get the container inside, the rest of them following in shortly after.

The ship blasted away from the asteroid whilst Optimus contacted the head honcho himself, Ultra Magness, leader of the Autobots, and commander of the Primes. She would have felt intimidated, if it weren’t for the fact that a different bot answered the communication hail instead. Some bot named Sentinel Prime. From the sound of it, he and Optimus didn’t seem to be on the best terms.

Without thinking, Greenblade forced Blueflame behind her, hiding her out of sight from the second Prime. From the sound of it, the second Prime didn’t seem to be aware of who was allowed to be on the ship and who wasn’t.

Blueflame had tried protesting against all the shoving, but Greenblade had gotten her into the same room as the Allspark. Blueflame hadn’t been happy about it, but a silent glare from her older sister had her shutting up and dealing with it.

The crew was ordered to take the Allspark somewhere, and the first thing Greenblade did was pull out her sword and hold it to the Prime’s throat plating. The mechs around them stood in shock, only Ratchet and Prowl ready to try and fight against her if it came down to deciding whether the Prime’s life fuel would be spilled or not.

“Greenblade, what is this-” Optimus began, his servos raised beside him in surrender. She cut him off by ensuring the side of her blade pressed right against the silver of his neck.

“Listen Prime, you have your orders, and I respect that, truly I do, but me and my sister have someplace we need to be. It’s only because you and your crew have agreed to take us there that we didn’t cause any problems for you, but if you choose to deviate from the original course, I’m afraid you will have a mutiny on your servos.”

“Uh, wouldn’t she need to be, you know, part of the crew to do that?” Bumblebee questioned, making her wish she could cast a glare in his direction. The first rule of fighting kept her from doing so. Never take your eyes off your opponent. Besides the Prime, the ninja bot was probably the only one that stood a chance of fighting her. She preferred not going ped-to-ped with any of them at the moment, not while it could potentially put her ward at risk.

Optimus ignored the younger bot, casting his blue optics towards her. He was handsome, there was no denying that, but she was a femme with a mission, and if it meant snuffing out the spark of some bot getting in her way, then so be it.

“Greenblade, now really isn’t the time to-”

“I’m not fooling around Prime. After you drop the two of us off, you and your little crew can go along your merry way, but I am not letting anyone, Autobot, Prime or even fragging Ultra Magness himself get in my way.”

For a nano click it seemed like the Prime was about to consider her request – or demand at this point – when, out of nowhere, the ship tilted to the side, sending them all sprawling into the closest object to try and regain their balance. Her first and only thought was concern for her sister’s safety before the ship’s computer, Teletraan One, pulled up footage of their attacker, the reigning Dark Ruler of the Decepticons, Megatron himself.

[derelictlovefool]

One Man's Trash is Another Man's Treasure

Ship(s): Karl Heisenberg/Colvyr Covali

Summary: After three long months apart, Colvyr is back with Heisenberg in his factory and the Lord has a surprise in store for his favourite pet.

°°°

Colvyr was use to this, thrown over Heisenberg's shoulder like a sack of potatoes as the older man made his way back to his factory. The mutant's face was level with Heisenbergs back and his only show of defiance towards the situation was occasionally flicking Heisenberg in the face with his tail. Which was only met with playful nips and amused huffs.

It hadn't been a surprise when Heisenberg had made a surprise appearance in his chambers, he was ever punctual about his, 'playdates', as Lady Dimitrescu disdainfully called them. Play dates that happened to last three months at a time. They had an agreement, well, Mother Miranda had forced them, to share Colvyr's time. He had initially been brought in as an experimental addition to the family however it became apparent Alcina and Karl were considerably fond of him.

Ever an opportunist Mother Miranda took advantage of their affections, promises of one being able to keep the mutant as their own if they made her proud. Whatever making her proud entailed exactly was yet to be known. So, here the Lord was wandering into his beloved territory with his beloved pet in his hold. He'd spent three long months tending to Mother Miranda's beck and call much to his chagrin and he thought this time with Colvyr was well earnt.

"I've cleaned up our place lover boy, expanded it even since you were bitchin' about it last time. May not have gold trimmings like that tall bitches place but it should be up to your, oh so high standards," Heisenberg teased as he entered the factory, playfully readjusting Colvyr on his shoulder and making the mutant grab the back of his coat in fright. Colvyr flicked the man's face with his tail once more, huffing as his face flushed lightly; be it at the nickname or insinuation he was high maintenance he wouldn't say.

"The only reason I was 'bitchin' 'bout it last time was cuz of the rust everywhere, I couldn't put anythin' down without it gettin' all grimey," Colvyr pouted, not feeling his reasons for complaining were too outrageous to be made fun of. Heisenberg simply laughed, flicking his wrist to summon large pieces of debris and scrap to walk upon. The lack of solid ground made Colvyr cling to his lover, tail coiling around his torso and arms wrapping around his waist, much to Heisenberg's poorly hidden delight.

"Don't you worry there sweet pea, I ain't dropped you yet have I?" He grinned, walking with ease as he made his way higher up the factory toward their 'home'. Home being a glorified word for a room with a bed and small kitchenette, it suited Heisenberg just fine before but with Colvyr now living there it did feel a tad cramped. And despite the fact that Heisenberg had not in fact ever dropped Colvyr, unintentionally anyway, the mutant still shivered at the sight of the ground moving farther and farther away.

"Why couldn't we have used the stupid elevator?" Colvyr whined, burying his face into Heisenberg's lower back. He would always argue he wasn't afraid of heights, just falling from a great one, but no one ever believed him. Heisenberg especially didn't believe him as he felt every shiver and hitched breath from his stubborn pet. The smile on his face might have been considered cruel, but it wasn't truly from Colvyr's discomfort but more so the feeling of him clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

They could have taken the elevator, but Heisenberg preferred this way for that reason alone. After three months apart how could he be expected not to want to be touching Colvyr as much as possible? If it meant spooking him for all of three minutes surely that was justified.

"Alright buttercup, we're here," Heisenberg announced as he stepped onto a concrete platform. Ahead of him a bright red door stood, tucked away into thick concrete, surprisingly clean compared to its surroundings. Colvyr doesn't make any attempt to move, just waits patiently as Heisenberg unlocks the door and steps inside. As soon as the door is closed however Colvyr writhes and ungracefully climbs over Heisenberg's shoulder and lands on carpeted ground on all fours.

His feathers are bristled and his claws dig into the new carpet, sniffing the air to inspect the new scents invading his senses. Red eyes race around the room that looked much larger then before, with an entirely new hallway leading somewhere at the far left of the room. Heisenberg watched with a facade of amused apathy, however his tongue dragged along the back of his teeth anxiously as he waited for Colvyr's approval of the new look.

Colvyr, continuing on all fours, explores further into the room, noting the bed had been moved and replaced with a couch and small tv and the kitchenette had been sized up. The dining table remained the same, no need for a big fancy table for two people after all. Another addition was a bookshelf, filled with trinkets as well as books and Colvyr was delighted to see the music box Heisenberg had crafted for him sat atop his favourite book.

The constant sway of Colvyr's tail gave away his approval and a high delighted chittering broke out from his throat, bouncing through the room and towards the hallway.

"Hey now mister, wait for me, I got a surprise in the bedroom," At his mentioning of a bedroom Colvyr made a mix of a purr and squealing sound, a sound so very unique to him. Well, after Mother Miranda had her way with him that is. Heisenberg chuckled and walked ahead of the excited mutant, hearing him prance excitedly behind him as they walked down the short hallway.

Heisenberg held up a playful finger to Colvyr as he turned to the right, pushing open the dark wooden door agonisingly slow and stepping into the pitch black room. Colvyr immediately freezes and whimpers, pupils growing large as he tried to see into the darkness. He could make out Heisenberg's shape and what looked like a bed but the rest was a mystery.

"Karl you know I hate the dark," he whispers, sounding small and fragile as he cowered from the doorway. Gentle shushing came from the shadow of his lover, who could just picture the once swaying tail now tucked between two furry legs.

"Come on now darlin' you know I'd never let you get hurt, come here," His loving cooing is enough to get Colvyr nervously crawling into the room. Staying low to the ground and eyes wide trying to take everything in, even with his enhanced sight the darkness still proved hard to navigate. But luckily Heisenberg is waiting with open arms and Colvyr stands and falls into his chest eagerly, holding onto him tightly as if scared he would disappear  the moment he let go.

Heisenberg chuckled, not in a teasing or amused manner but in a genuinely loving way. His lover could tear apart any of the other mindless drones in the entire village and yet here he was afraid of the dark and a little fall. It was endearing to say the least and probably one of the things that made him love him so dearly.

Colvyr's eyes had squeezed shut upon contact, so when light flooded the room the only thing he saw was the red of his eyelids.

"C'mon now i've been waiting all this time to give you this thing don't make me wait any longer," Heisenberg playfully spoke, gloved hands patting Colvyr's shoulders comfortingly yet roughly. Tentatively Colvyr opened his eyes, first looking up at Heisenberg's expectant smile and then to the rest of the room. A small gasp escapes him at the sight of two large mechanical wings laying atop the new queen sized bed. The scars on Colvyr's back almost sting at the sight and he all but bounces in his spot and nearly snaps his neck with how quickly he looks back up at Heisenberg.

"You, made those? For me?" He asks in disbelief, it wasn't that Heisenberg wasn't thoughtful, in fact every gift he gave was handmade with a little bit of his heart and soul molded into it. But this was the largest gift he'd made so far, the cogs and gears and screws all intricately and meaningfully placed to make them as aesthetically pleasing as they were functional.

"Who else d'you think i'd make 'em for you numbskull," Heisenberg snorts, affectionately ruffling Colvyr's hair and ushering him towards the wings. Clawed fingers carefully pulled away the cloth binding the wings together and revealed a metal chest harness. Tears welled up in the mutants eyes and Heisenberg sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Karl..." God his name sounded angelic coming from him, "I love them, but... Mother Miranda, she–"

"She won't do a goddamned thing," Heisenberg snaps, cutting off Colvyr's worried mutter and stalking forward. Protective hands cup faded purple cheeks and brush away blackened tears, his eyes are hidden behind his glasses but Colvyr can feel the intensity of them.

"That bitch only cut off your wings when you tried to escape yeah? Well you got me now so there won't be any more prison breaks right? So there's no problem and if there is she can take it up with me," He huffs, confident enough in his reasoning that Colvyr felt his flames of doubt flicker away. Colvyr chose not to think too hard on how he left out Alcina, Heisenberg never liked to think about her relationship with him and made it very clear.

He trusted Heisenberg with every fibre of his being and if he said it was okay then who was he to argue. A smile slips onto Colvyr's face, a matching one appearing quickly after on Heisenbergs. Colvyr leans in after a beat, Heisenberg eagerly after and as soon as their lips brush and breath mingle all the tension of months apart boils over. It isn't a gentle kiss by any means, it's passionate and hungry in more ways than one, Colvyr's hands holding onto Heisenberg's wrists desperately as he tries to deepen the kiss as much as physically possible.

Hearts that shouldn't be able too, beat erratically against ribcages, butterflies swarm their stomachs and any thought of anything else vanishes from their minds. The only thing in the moment that matters is them, their lips and teeth clashing and starving skin meets starving skin as the two fall against each other on the bed. It wasn't a simple lust filled embrace as someone on the outside would assume from the groping hands and shuddered breaths, but one of simple and utter adoration and starvation for their very souls.

Three months was starting to feel like an agonizing eternity for Heisenberg, it was even worse knowing his 'sister' was putting her hands on Colvyr the entire time they were apart. The only solace was the face she would pull upon seeing the countless bitemarks and hickies covering Colvyr's skin and the fact he would return to him eventually. Even with that, as he laid with Colvyr curled against his chest and tail wrapped around his thigh he couldn't help but wish he could have him to himself forever.

Maybe soon that could be a reality, if his future plan fell into place. Then he could give Colvyr the life he deserved, away from all this misery and finally safe with him. He would do anything to make that happen, even if he had to wait another century or so. He'd waited this long after all.

[katsukikitten]

Can i get a scenario of a abused Survivor trying to work up the nerve to ask out Inas. Inas likes her very much but knew he frighten her with his height, strength & intimidating muscles. After months of her hiding from him or out right running away Inas started backing off. It took a while to figure out she's a afraid of him so slowly he start talking softer and backing off. Imagine the surprise of not only being asked out by his crush but her also sharing her past with him and her telling him.

Here you go! Thank you for being so patient! I hope you enjoy the little art I made for it too!

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare down what, for you, is your biggest paradox.

A broad shouldered man, hair just short of a buzz cut whose bellowing laugh is as nice as it is scary.

His voice booms with passion, firm body standing at attention while large palms seem gentle yet so very deadly.

You've seen his quirk, his power only adding to his already frightening stature.

His muscled body seems same and yet dangerous as your eyes follow his every move as your past begins to creep up on you. Your skin tingles from ghost actions of the past, a cold sweat dripping down your spine as he approaches you during lunch.

"Y/LN!" He shouts in his normal vigor and you flinch out of habit. His tone is friendly and yet his voice still has your heart racing even faster.

Hard enough that it's beginning to steal your breath. Especially so as he towers over you, standing closely, as he does with everyone. A gentle breeze wafts the smell of cool crisp air carrying a threat of rain, the kind that can only be found just before the stratosphere.

He doesn't know, he doesn't know. You repeat in your head over and over as fingers dig into tender flesh, losing sight on what he's saying to you.

Did he say something about the school festival? Oh please Kamisama say that he didn't. Did he need your help with something in it or did he expect you to go?

You couldn't do that, the hum of so many people would drive your already sensitive quirk mad. It was difficult not to ease drop on people's thoughts but the more flustered you were the louder all of the voices got.

As they are getting now, even in the mostly deserted courtyard of maybe ten people including yourself. All of their voices overlap, drowning out whatever the hell Inasa is saying. And honestly whatever he's thinking.

But one thing stands out and you are unsure if he said it aloud or if his thoughts somehow won out over the others.

"Please say yes."

You gulp, gasping for air as you squeeze your eyes shut. Hoping beyond hope that you'd disappear in the darkness behind your lids.

But the world doesn't work that way. Hammering heart in your chest that claws it's way up your throat has you choking out.

"E...excuse me s..senpai."

Cheeks burning as you flee from your trigger.

Inasa is handsome, kind, passionate he shares nothing in common from the man of your past.

Nothing but the same powerful stature and booming voice. But never the same tones or body language. A shiver tremors through you as *his* face services to the forefront of your mind.

Cami approaches a stunned and defeated looking Inasa. Her hand is gentle as it touches a thick bicep.

"Why does she keep running away from me? It's been like three months! Do I smell?" His brow furrows scrunching up his handsome features. Cami pops her gum before sighing, grabbing onto his muscular arm.

"Well she was..." Cami hesitates as the pair watch your retreating form, both sets of eyes lingering in your glistening scars. She thinks better of it, popping her gum once more before admitting the lesser evil of the truths.

"She must like you at the very least. I mean no one else gets that red around you unless they wanna kiss!" Cami returns to her dumbed down personality, pursing her lips into a delectable smooch. Inasa's heart pounds into his chest, tips of his ears turning a slight hue of pink.

"Sh..she doesn't like me. She can't." He hadn't felt this way before, really. Maybe once upon a time he allowed his heart to flutter in anticipated admiration until the hand of his most prized "hero" dashed his innocence to the ground. Paper crumpled and marker long since rolled away.

He grits his teeth, fists clenched and vows to make you a friend.

Meanwhile his stuttering heart demands you be made more.

But he pushes the odd feeling down as he sets out to find out what exactly is going on.

Whether it be by you or another means.

He tries to get it straight from the source first. Approaching you during lunch for the next few weeks. Causing you to freeze up or fleeing the second you see him.

He cannot take it any longer, even trying a softer approach but you have figured out his schedule and you are no longer beneath the thick oak tree.

He finds you by chance, a breeze wafting the smell of you his way. He would know that delicately sweet scent anywhere and when he spies you beneath the small tree he smiles and waves.

You look around you frantically before your cheeks turn into deep shades of red. Barely able to wave back before he divulges information from somewhere else.

Not too many people were even aware of your existence, which you were more than happy with, leaving Inasa with more questions than answers.

He stares out the window of the third floor as he watches you retreat nearly off campus to that new tree. He watches you swipe a hand over your forehead as if to remove sweat. He sends gentle cool breeze your way.

"You sure are causing a commotion over her." Seiji states as he peers over a broad shoulder, "You might want to stop."

Inasa grits his teeth, grip on his chair threatening to snap the wood as he glares up at his friend.

"Why is that?" A feral bite from the normally loud, dog like man. He is met with a sneer as Seiji stands with hands behind his back. When it doesn't click in that big head of Inasa's he sighs rolling dark eyes.

"Didn't you ever wonder why she keeps to herself?" He prompts, not entirely expecting an answer. Silence passes on a steady breeze as Sakura flutter to the ground.

"It's because she's never really been treated like a person before. A small ring of villains used her for her mind reading quirk for quite sometime. The man who stole her from her family is still at large." Its now that Seiji pulls out his phone, bringing up an article with a damning picture, "And you look just like him. "

His face goes slack before his jaw clenches. Teeth creaking from the pressure as black eyes narrow on his doppelganger.

A twin of sorts aside from the lotus tattoo that blooms across his Adam's apple. If Inasa didn't know any better he would wonder him kin.

He jumps from the third floor, passionately and irrationally rushing for you.

Your brows furrow when you see the thick figure land on two feet before the streamline for you. You swallow thickly, idly gathering your things together as he approaches with a dark look in his eye.

But the closer he gets the more you're paralyzed, like a cornered rabbit as a snarling wild eyed wolf stares down his meal. You jump to your feet, head screaming for you to move until his voice comes out sharp and demanding.

"Stay." It booms, having your knees collapse beneath you from fear itself. Quirk deadly silent as you're fearful to use it, to hear exactly how he is going to hurt you.

What bones he will break first to find out what you know of him.

But he bypasses you, close enough to be seen but far enough to be out of arm's reach. You hear the bark scrape at his shirt as he slides down the other side of the tree. Your heart pounds in your feet with the tingling need to run. But you pull your legs to you instead, slowly nestling your own back into the young tree.

A part of you screams, demands to flee, that this small tree, barely thick enough to fully separate the two of you, could fail you soon enough. He could rip it from the earth with clumping roots clinging to the last visage of home, whether he would use his bare hands or his powerful quirk you were unsure.

The only thing you were sure of was the deafening sound of rushing blood in your ears as you try so hard not to use your violating quirk.

Odd silence stretches between the two of you. Making it even more unsettling since you were so used to Inasa's normally thunderous voice causing you to think you've done something wrong. Especially so when it is barely heard when he speaks.

"I uh...I heard what happened..." He trails off, broad hand rubbing over his forehead and through what little hair, "I'm sorry."

You want to ask him what for but your voice seems stuck in your throat. As it always has been when it comes to him. You had been instantly attracted to himabs and yet your body repelled you. Evolution doing it's best to avoid being put in another damning and dreadful situation. It is quiet long enough you think him gone until a deep growl leaves his throat.

"I'm sorry someone ever did that to you. Most importantly I'm sorry I was insensitive to your situation. That I approached you so aggressively these past few months. It makes sense why you'd run away from me. But I'm here for you and I want to protect you. If...if you let me protect you I swear by Kamisama above I WILL keep you safe. You will never be harmed like that again." Conviction weighs heavy in his soft spoken voice, his hand suddenly coming into your peripheral vision. Palm up and waiting.

It weighs heavy in your heart, and truly you believe him.

That he would never hurt you.

Lock you away.

Fear you and use you until you were reduced to nothing more than a lie detector that collected dust in the darkest parts of the house. Forgotten until needed again.

He would never do that to you and here he was offering you his heart in the form of his outstretched hand in a gentle way.

Something you weren't sure he was capable of. And it was all for you.

You lace your fingers in his squeezing tightly in response.

Telling him through your kissed palms that you trust him, that you'll accept his offer.

A heavy wind blows bringing with it your most favorite scent.

Inasa, cool crisp air from the stratosphere, a threat of rain and a hint of the changing seasons.

The smell of hope for a better future. A future he will gladly help you build.

[yumeka36]

I just got home from the Frozen 2 advanced screening at Disney Studios (as pictured above, got more swag than I thought I would). Gonna give my immediate thoughts and comments, with a more coherent post at a later date. Obviously, if you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read below:

WARNING! MAJOR FROZEN 2 SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT!

-I’ve been listening to “Show Yourself” non stop since the soundtrack came out and it was gorgeous seeing the accompanying animation. The song starts as Elsa is riding Nokk towards Ahtohallan and continues as she makes her way through the cave. What was also unexpected for me is that she transforms into her “final form” at the end of the song, so she’s wearing that outfit throughout a good portion of the movie, not just the epilogue, so I hope that means there will be more merchandise for it!

-After that, she wanders through Ahtohallan which is made up of moving “sculptures” made of snow/ice that show memories: she sees some of herself and Anna when they were young playing with Olaf, various people in Arendelle, and of Iduna and Agnarr (I believe Iduna was saying something about being afraid to reveal what she really is, a Northuldra). Some funny parts, Elsa walks by a memory of herself at the end of “Let It Go” and makes a face like “yeah, I was silly back then” XD But the best part was when she walks by a scene of Anna and Hans about to dance at the coronation. She gives it a cold look and then breaks the Hans sculpture, lol.

-The important memory she finds is that King Runeard was using the dam against the Northuldra - something about cutting off their resources so they’d be forced to trade with Arendelle, or something like that, I don’t remember exactly. A poignant part was when Elsa first sees the memory of Runeard and he’s talking about how he hates and doesn’t trust anyone who uses magic, to which she says angrily that his fear is blinding him. And again, Elsa is wearing her final outfit during all this, so there was so much time to ogle it XD

-The “gone too far” part is when she follows the memory of Runeard as it fades down into a deep abyss. He was talking about something suspicious regarding the Northuldra, so she decided to jump down into the depths to find out even though she remembers the song’s warning. She sees that Runeard attacked (and likely killed) the Northuldra leader. She begins freezing as she’s down there and before she gets completely frozen, she sends a burst of magic up above, calling out to Anna (and the fact that Elsa “dies” here is proof that she’s not immortal even after becoming the fifth spirit). Her magic reaches Anna and Olaf in the cave and shows them what happened. They realize they have to destroy the dam but Olaf starts to “flurry” - pieces of snowflakes peel off him and drift away, and he tells Anna that Elsa isn’t okay. Anna pulls Olaf into her lap and holds him there as he fades away. He doesn’t melt exactly and we don’t see the full process: we see his flurries gently flow out of the cave and land in a pile somewhere else. Bruhni watches sadly from a ledge below.

-The saddest thing to me was that, after the aforementioned scene of Olaf’s “death,” the scene fades to black, then opens up again overlooking the same cave but it looks like a different time of day, then cuts to Anna crying inside - so she was literally crying alone in the cave for what could have been hours! I thought right after Olaf melts is when she’d start singing The Next Right Thing, but she spends who knows how long grieving. That is just too sad 8_8 Before she starts singing, she says “Olaf...Elsa...what do I do?” My heart shattered then. Another part that shattered it more was when Anna confronts Matthias and the soldiers as they try to prevent her from approaching the dam. When they ask her why it has to be destroyed, she tells them and says “My sister gave her life for the truth, we can’t lose anyone else.”

-Oh my gosh, the reunion at the end was my favorite part and so sweet~ After the mist around the forest fades, Anna and Kristoff approach the pillars with Anna looking like she’s ready to burst into tears...until some snow crystals flutter around her and then behind to where the shore is (not sure if it’s the shore of the Dark Sea since it’s daylight at this time, or it could just be a nearby beach). She sees Elsa riding Nokk - she starts running toward her but then stops because she’s still not sure it’s really Elsa. When Elsa says her name and holds out her arms, she runs to her and they share a beautiful hug (while Anna is sobbing). Honestly I can’t remember exactly what was said because I was an emotional wreck at that point, but Elsa tells Anna that she’s the fifth spirit, that Anna saved her, and that the bridge has two sides: herself here and Anna in Arendelle, and they’d fix the past wrongs together. And I also loved the fact that Kristoff comes over and is relieved that Elsa’s okay: he says “Elsa, you’re alright!” and gives her a hug, then (humorously) says “ you look different...did you cut your hair?” She also gives Sven a little pet. I’m so glad they included this part as it shows that Kristoff doesn’t just see Elsa as a cockblock to Anna, lol. Kristoff proposes to Anna here as well (Sven tears up a little seeing it XD)

-As for Olaf’s revival, Elsa tells Anna “I have a question for you” “What is it?” “Do you want to build a snowman?” She then concentrates and we see the pile of Olaf’s “flurries” come flying down from the cave to become Olaf again. Elsa says it’s a good thing water has memory, implying that he still remembers everything despite being “resurrected.” The epilogue just had so many cute moments - Anna and Elsa share another hug as they walk back to the stone pillars, Elsa wipes away a tear on Anna’s face, they put there foreheads together at one point when they’re talking, Elsa takes Anna’s hand and leads her to one of the now tamed earth giants and they both gently touch his giant nose, and Frohana share a warm hug. I cannot wait to get HD screenshots of it all!

-And for Anna’s coronation? To be honest, it didn’t seem like a coronation to me - it literally just had Kai announcing Anna as she walks outside (onto a stage I think? Don’t remember exactly) but right after that she’s out in the streets with Olaf, Kristoff, and Sven, who are dressed up. So it must have been some kind of event, but wouldn’t the coronation have a party in the castle and a ceremony, like Elsa had? We then see Matthias outside with another Arendelle citizen (he’s discovering the new technology of photograph, lol) - wouldn’t they be part of the ceremony if there was a coronation, and not just out in the streets doing whatever. It just didn’t seem like a major event was happening, I’ll have to see the movie again. Regardless, they reveal statues of young Iduna and Agnarr (they should have had statues of Anna and Elsa too!) and Anna notices Gale flying about and asks if he/she (does Gale have a gender?) to deliver a letter to Elsa. Gale carries it over to the forest and Elsa reads it. As we know, it’s a reminder about charades. Anna ends the letter saying “I love you” to which Elsa says “I love you too, sis” (that’s where this line that we heard in one of the teasers came from - pretty crazy they’d use a line from the very end of the movie, knowing we wouldn’t figure it out!)

-I mostly talked about the ending here but I’ll say a few things that stood out in the rest of the movie to me: Some Things Never Change was adorable. Anna and Elsa share a sweet hug at the end, during the “holding on tight to you” lines. And I absolutely cracked up during Kristoff’s verse when he’s doing Sven’s voice and telling him about getting down on one knee with the ring - some nearby townspeople see him and it looks like he’s proposing to Sven and they get the most awkward looks on their faces XD The scene in their parents’ ship was really emotional: Anna and Elsa clinging to each other with tears in their eyes as they see the memory of their parents take shape...my heart was breaking. The ensuing scene where Elsa’s overcome with guilt and runs outside with Anna telling her she’s not responsible for their actions, and she believes in her more than anything, etc., More was said between them here and I’m having trouble remembering it exactly but it was deep.

-Oh, and the post-credits scene was hilarious: it’s Olaf telling the events of the story to Marshmallow and the Snowgies (Frozen Fever is canon!) just like he does earlier when he describes the first Frozen to Matthias and the others (”it began with two sisters...”) The funniest part was his dramatizing lines of the latter part of the story - ”Elsa is dead,” “Olaf is dead,” “Anna’s crying alone” - it’s hard to describe, it’s funnier when you see it.

Later I’ll write a post with more coherent thoughts about the movie itself and not just a spoiler list - I might do that soon or wait until I see it again this weekend. But I will say that I loved it - having seen it for myself, I truly believe there’s no “tragic separation” that we’ve been fearing. There’s really nothing bittersweet about it, nothing like Anna saying “will I ever see you again?” because it’s a given that they can still be a family and nothing is keeping them from seeing each other whenever they want. At this point, it’s not that I dislike the ending as it is “I want to see what happens next!” It left me even hungrier for more Frozen, like a short reassuring us that they’re still a family by having another charades scene or something like that. Or another movie is always welcome! There was also some lore/plot-wise things I’m a little confused about, but that’ll be for another post. It’s 1am here and I need to decide if I can sleep or not, lol. If you have any questions, please send them via direct message. I’ll either answer them right away, or tomorrow if I do manage to sleep tonight.

The shock of finally seeing this movie after six years of pining hasn’t sunk in yet but it will soon.

[atsixesandcevans]

All Too Well

Summary: A collection of memories from your time with Steve, and the reality you now find yourself in.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, fluff

A/N: This was written for @yslbuckyx 1k celebration writing challenge, and my prompt was the song All Too Well by Taylor Swift. I had a lot of fun writing this, and although the song is quite angsty, I've tried to make the end of this slightly less so, as well as taking a few creative liberties to make the song work. It's technically also a modern-day au, but its not really mentioned, it just made it easier to make the song work. This also happens to be the first fic I've completed in 2 years, and my first fic for the mcu, so please be gentle, and I hope you enjoy! <3

Read on AO3

You cursed under your breath as you rifled through the storage boxes stashed under the bed, the ones filled with your winter wear, searching for your old scarf – worn and tattered but still your favourite – that you could’ve sworn you had put in there.

It was September, and the temperature had suddenly dropped, the world saying farewell to the long, hot summer, and you found yourself thrust into the chilled winds of autumn.

As you pulled out the last box, you heard a thud come from under the bed, and you ducked your head down to see what it was – a photo album. It sat, lost and forgotten, hidden from view, the memories too painful to look at, and too beautiful to get rid of. Distant sadness flooded through you as you realised what it was; the album you had filled with pictures of your time with Steve.

You reached under, grasping the solid cover, pulling it towards you. Your scarf forgotten, you perched on the end of your bed and started to flick through the pages, memories surging forward at the sight of every one.

The first picture was of you and Steve together, almost two years ago, right at the start of your relationship. You were huddled together, bundled up against the cold, snowflakes clinging to your eyelashes and the hair that wasn’t covered by your beanie. Wrapped around your neck was your old scarf, the one you had been looking for, the same one Steve had used to pull you closer to him so that he could press warm kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your nose. Your faces were bright, happy, the unbridled joy of the very first snow of winter.

In the picture, Steve had his arm around your shoulders, sharing the body heat he knew you needed, and he was looking down at you with the softest look on his face while you looked at the camera – though you couldn’t remember who was taking the photo.

Next to it was another, taken moments after the first, almost the same as the first, except in that one Steve had his lips pressed firmly against your cheek, the cold tip of his nose nudging the side of your eye.

Prospect Park had been beautiful that day, the light dusting of snow making the trees and grass look like something from a Christmas card. Families and couples had gathered all over the park, each with cold-brightened faces. Steve had taken you back to his apartment from the park, refusing to even entertain the idea of you walking all the way back to your place on the other side of town, even with him pressed tightly against your side.

It had been cold when you walked in, though Steve had immediately turned the heating on and gave you one of his sweaters to wear while he made cocoa. It was cold, sure, but you couldn’t help but think it felt so homely; pictures and trinkets placed on the empty surfaces, books lining the shelves, an easel set up in the corner by the window, some drawings and paintings pinned to the wall in an almost haphazard collage of both colour and monochrome.

You remembered, now, how you had left your scarf there that day. After spending the rest of the day cuddled with Steve, you had forgotten about plans you had made it the evening, and so left in a rush, your scarf forgotten on the coat rack by the door. You reasoned you’d take it home another time, but each time it remained forgotten until the warmer weather rolled in and you didn’t need it.

On the next page, there were three photos; one of the view from a hilltop, oranges and yellows and browns creating an autumnal sea as far as the eye could see, one of you in boots and a sweater, leg raised mid-kick through a pile of leaves, hair brushed back by the chill autumn wind, and finally one of Steve, crouched in front of a golden retriever, Charlie, face screwed up in a grin as his new companion gave him endless energetic kisses.

You’d come across Charlie on his walk during a trip you and Steve had taken upstate. On a rare day where you were both free, Steve decided the two of you would go on an adventure, so you took the car and lunch and just drove, not caring where you were going or if you got lost, only that you were together, full of that feeling that wasn’t quite love, but could be one day.

In a rare moment of distraction, Steve almost ran a red light because he couldn’t stop looking at you, the joy on your face as you sang along to whatever pop was on the radio. Steve didn’t care for the music, but it didn’t matter; the pure happiness on your face was all he cared about, and he found himself wanting to make sure you stayed that happy for the rest of your life.

And you were happy, then. Even now you could remember how right it all felt, how things were finally, finally falling into place.

The next page held just one photo – an old image, two young boys stood close together, wearing kid’s baseball uniforms, arms flung over shoulders and wide grins on their faces. One of the boys – Steve – was skinny, his uniform hanging off of his body. His dirty blond hair fell into his eyes, which were framed by black circular glasses. The tip of his nose was shiny and red, despite being in the height of summer, a sure sign of the hay fever he was no doubt suffering from at the time.

Bucky, in contrast, was taller, more filled out, and looked very much at home in the uniform, holding a baseball bat up against his shoulder.

It still baffled you how much Steve had changed physically since then. Obviously, he’d had one hell of a growth spurt, and now stood a little taller than Bucky, while he once only came up to his best friend’s shoulders. He was still the same at heart, though, from what Bucky had told you that day; soft, caring, but not afraid to fight for what was right. Always willing to stand up for the little guy, the one who couldn’t stand up for himself, just like Steve had been all those years ago.

Steve had taken you to Bucky’s apartment, a few months into your relationship, and the three of you had sat around the kitchen counter, box of photographs scattered across the surface, while Bucky told story after story from his and Steve’s childhood. Steve’s cheeks tinted pink as Bucky recalled the time he had thrown up after riding the Cyclone at Coney Island, and how the only real reason he got onto the Tee-ball team in the first place was out of sheer persistence as opposed to actual athletic talent. He really couldn’t play very well, but the coach had taken pity on him and let him on the team, placing him in a deep-fielding position so as to keep him as far from the action as possible (though it didn’t stop Steve from getting bruise after bruise from flying balls).

He told stories about how he had to come to rescue Steve on countless occasions when he got on the wrong side of one or other of the big kids that hung around the neighbourhood. How Steve’s mom would roll her eyes and fuss over him when he came home with yet another bruise or graze, yet how she never once told him to stop standing up for others, only to “be more careful,” quietly proud of her only son’s heart of gold.

It was the first time you had seen Steve truly embarrassed. While they had taught you about Steve’s past, you wondered, now, if they, like you, had thought that you were his future. Judging by Steve’s embarrassment, you had assumed he didn’t involve a whole lot of people in his past, and it broke your heart to think that he might think it was a mistake to let you in.

You’d stolen the picture. Or rather, it was given to you, by Bucky, while Steve was in the bathroom. He’d slid it across the counter with a wink, pressing one finger to his lips with a sly smirk which you had returned. You had never told Steve you had it, instead you’d tucked it away as soon as you had returned home, though you had been oh so tempted to frame it and hang it pride of place in your living room to serve as a reminder of the way your Steve had always been, kind-hearted and true.

That feeling was gone. Now, all the picture reminded you of was an easier time, and the promise of a future that couldn’t be.

A single tear hit the page and you took a deep breath, shutting the album abruptly. The memories were good, but you couldn’t help the way your heart ached just a little at what you had lost.

It had all changed so quickly between you and Steve, and you couldn’t place exactly what it was that had changed. Maybe the communication between you broke down, and Steve had become less open with his feelings, bottling things up like he had done when you had first met. Maybe the blame was yours; perhaps you had begun to ask too much of him, desperate for him to share his life with you. Or, maybe what you had was a masterpiece, a beautiful watercolour of bright oranges and pinks, until it was torn up by secrets and heartache.

Soon, it all became too much. Steve would cancel on plans with last-minute phone calls which almost always ended in an argument that was only ever partly resolved, neither of you wanting to be apart for long. During those arguments, you both became cruel, spouting hurtful things that neither of you really meant to say, but knew were at least partly true. You’d both attributed it to merely being honest with each other, but each time you both ended up feeling like crumpled pieces of paper, laying used and abandoned on the cold ground. Until it became too much, and you’d both finally waved white flags of surrender.

Time flew when you were together. There never seemed to be enough time, and you found yourselves spending as much time together as possible, neither wanting to say goodbye. Perhaps that’s where your relationship broke down; you both fell for each other so hard and so fast, perhaps neither of you stopped to think about whether you were even ready to commit fully to each other.

Now, though, time seemed to drag. You often felt paralysed by it, going through the motions each day with no real goal. You’d changed in the year since your relationship with Steve, you knew you had. The heartbreak had torn you apart, made you more closed off, submitting yourself to an altogether lonely existence.

You were still trying to find your old self again, the person you were – loving, open, optimistic to a fault, the very things that Steve claimed to have fallen in love with – before you dated Steve. Before the days he’d wear his plaid shirts because you’d told him they made him look like a sexy lumberjack, and mornings you’d wear nothing but that after a night full of nothing but love and passion and the promise of forever, forever, forever.

The finality of it all had hit you when you received a box of your belongings from Steve. You hated that you felt hurt by the fact that he didn’t even have the decency to give them to you in person. It had been shoved to the back of the closet as soon as you had opened it, the memories attached to the things inside too raw and painful for your aching heart. The rain poured that day, and where Steve once would have taken you home, insisting that he didn’t want you to catch a cold, you now trudged home alone, rain soaking your feet despite the umbrella clung tightly in your fist.

What you didn’t know was that Steve had kept your old scarf, had it stashed away in his drawer ever since that first week when you left it at his place. He takes it out sometimes, to remember a time when he was so full of light and hope, to remind him of your innocence and optimistic view of the world. It still somehow smelled like you, though the scent was fading, and he refused to wash it, clinging desperately to that last sliver of a better time, before he lost what he now realised what the only real thing he had ever known, the only time he had felt so truly, wholly in love.

Love like that was rare, magical, and although it had hurt when it ended, and still did sometimes, you were both grateful to have even experienced it at all.

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well.

[jawsandbones]

The Evening Red - Chapter Five

Rating: E

Summary: The blighted plague at your feet, and ghosts at your bedside. Those things that go bump in the night? They follow behind you. If only you had someone to protect you. A late-Victorian era re-imagining of Dragon Age Origins.

Pairing: Zevran x Female Warden

AO3 Link: Click Here

Chapter Five: Allegiance

He is a particular presence in this place. It is unlike with Alistair, or with her, where they can easily blend into their surroundings, into a crowd. Zevran does not need to be alone to stand out. He rests a hand on the back of a chair, looks around her flat as she places the revolver on the round table. There’s a scarf hanging around his neck, a white silk thing, and Zevran holds his hat in his other hand. The suit is pressed and clean, stitched to his perfection. King’s Row has made its mark however – his shiny black shoes now have flecks of mud and dirt upon them.

Noya has taken her robe from her bed, wrapped it around her. She pulls it closer now as she takes a seat, leans forward, and crosses her arm over the table. She watches as Zevran slowly turns, taking in all the wretched emptiness of her flat. Then, he pulls the chair out, and takes a seat. He rests his hat upon the table, drapes his scarf over it. As he removes his gloves, plucking fingers one by one, he says, “I had a strange thought today.” He laces his hands together, places them on the table and looks at her intently, without straying.

His hair is pulled back in a fairly loose bun, and wisps of wheat sway by his cheeks. Even the harsh cold lights do nothing to dim how warm he feels. Noya’s fingers play with a loose thread by her elbow. “In our every interaction, you have not shown any fear. It is easy to tell, you see, by the sound of one’s heart. A faster heartbeat gives away the game but yours, ah, yours is very calm. There is only one time it quickened. When you thought I might retaliate against your wolf – what was his name again?” He says, looking to her for the answer.

“Alistair.”

“Yes,” Zevran snaps his fingers together, points at her briefly, before joining his hands together once again. “You were not afraid for yourself, but you were afraid for him. That I might hurt him.”

“Couldn’t it also be that I was afraid he might hurt you?” Zevran’s eyes widen slightly, and he lets out a surprised laugh. As it quickly dies, he leans back, and crosses his legs. He lets a hand fall to rest over his knee. He rocks the chair back and forth, one foot firmly planted on the floor.

“Ah, now, I do not think you are this kind of woman.”

“What kind of woman?”

“Soft-hearted. We have only met briefly while I imagine you and this Alistair are good friends, yes? Your concern and your fear would not be for some stranger,” he says. It’s Noya’s turn to lean back and smile, cross her legs, rest a hand on her knee.

“I don’t think you know me at all,” she says. He chuckles at that, his eyes dropping from hers.

“That is quite true,” he says, fingers playing with the fringe of his scarf. “And you do not know me. Yet, here we are.” A twinge of a smile at the edge of Noya’s lips.

“Here you are,” she says. 

He leaves the scarf alone with a twinge that mirrors hers. “I would like to know you, if you’d let me.” Noya leans forward, elbows on the table, linking her hands together as a bridge to rest her chin upon. “How long has it been since you’ve had a friend?”

“I have friends,” he says with a scoff, “you believe yourself insightful, but you are quite wrong in this.” Noya doesn’t let this deter her.

“Fine, not friends, specifically. People you trust.”

“Ah, now, here is the proper question. I have found that giving your trust to others is a rather foolish way to get yourself killed.” He tilts his chin upwards, suddenly proud of himself, “I have been hunted by many, and caught by none.” Zevran leans forward, fingers touching at the cold barrel of the revolver on the table. “Is this for me?”

“That sounds exhausting,” Noya says as she reaches for the gun, pulls it towards her, and holds it in her lap. “And no, it’s not. I thought you might have been someone else.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Expecting trouble?”

“Yes.” His eyes follow her as she stands, goes to the box on her bed. She places the revolver back inside, closes the lid, and puts the box by her pillow. It will not go far. “I, and a few others, were attacked by blighted.”

“I was wondering of the sick I smelled on you,” he says. As if to confirm it, he takes a deep inhale. She stands near him, one hand flirting at the edge of the table. She allows her other hand to play with the edges of her robe; dark and plain, lined with lace.

“I only had time to wipe off the gore,” she says.

“Strange days when the sick attack those who seek to cure them,” Zevran tells her.

“I can’t help but agree,” she says. Noya lets her hip rest against the edge of the table, and looks towards him. She studies him carefully, from the perfectly curved brows to the lack of stubble on his smooth olive skin. He reaches up, rubs a hand along the jaw.

“Do you see something you enjoy?” He asks as the smile begins to spread across his face.

“All the books I’ve read describe vampires as monstrous, and yet I see nothing monstrous about you.” The smile quickly fades, goes dim and into dark. A cloud hangs above his brows and he looks away from her as his hand falls back to his lap. In those silent seconds, he comes to a certain decision. He feels the fangs grow long in his mouth, press against his lips. Vision intensifies, ears grow to a point, and nails become sharp. He lets it all go, and the tattoos slowly appear on his face. He turns back to her, sclera dark and unnatural quality to the color of his eyes. Bright, almost sick.

To her credit, she does not flinch. Neither does he, when she reaches out. Her fingertips follow the dark lines at the side of his face. “When did you get these?”

“A lifetime ago,” he says.

“Do you have more?”

“Oh yes.” His smile makes a sly return. Her touch drifts, makes its way towards his mouth. She can feel them, just underneath. As she goes to raise his lips, he wraps a hand around her wrist. “As much as I enjoy your lack of fear of me, I less enjoy being examined as though I were some sort of strange animal.”

“You’re right. My apologies. No one deserves to be treated that way,” she says as he lets go of her wrist, and she draws her hand back. “Do they hurt?” He runs a thoughtful tongue over them, and shrugs.

“All of it is rather painless. Did you know that I am quite resistant to cold now? Ah, I remember when those terrible winter days used to bother me. But now?” He looks up at her and grins, “I could chart paths through the most terrible of places.”

“Is it true that vampires are sensitive to fire?”

“It is a most peculiar sensation, not unlike pins and needles. It does give some discomfort, and I would be quite upset if my hair burned off.” He pinches a strand of it, pulls at it, as if to confirm that it is still indeed atop his head.

“And the sun?” she asks.

“It weakens us, yes. Quite spectacularly. It will not kill, but it will wound. Consider vampires hardier humans. There are things which do not touch us, such as age, but enough bullets will be a danger. The myth that we can only be killed by stakes is amusing, but it is more our hearts being pierced which causes the killing. Some have tried the oddest things: knives blessed by the Chantry, water blessed by the Chantry, bullets blessed by the Chantry –” he says nonchalantly, as though he’s simply reciting from a list “– Odd how they always think the Chantry’s blessing will simply solve their problems. Hmm.”

“You’ve been hunted often?” Noya asks. Zevran sighs as he leans back in the chair, spreads out his hands.

“I admit to being a troublemaker in my youth,” he says.

“And now?”  

“Only slightly less so.” They both smile at each other. “What of you?”

“The others would say I’m a troublemaker, I suppose. Although I usually get them out of the trouble that I bring,” she says.

“You have a strange collection of friends. A Chantry sister, a werewolf, and two witches.”

“Strange yes – a strange coincidence. It’s not as though I’d sought them out. It simply… happened to be,” she says.

“Now you consort with a vampire,” Zevran says.

“The only question that remains is if you’ll stay. You could have your own strange collection of friends,” she says. He huffs a laugh at that.

“For now, I come to collect on our deal. More than that – what can I offer but more of my blood? I am not skilled in medicine, or knowledgeable of plague. I do not wish to test your cures, nor do I wish to be experimented upon.”

“Isn’t it enough not to be alone? Hunted? Haven’t you ever wanted to take a breath?”

“That usually ends in tragedy.”

“If you don’t see it through with us, then you won’t know. Perhaps our end is decidedly worthwhile,” Noya says with a smile as she leans back against the table even more, steps slightly closer to him. One shoulder of her robe threatens to fall, and it clings precariously to her.  “Even if it does end tragically, do you truly not remember how comforting it is to be surrounded by people you trust?”

“I remember. I also remember the tragedy which came from my complacency.”

“I see there’s no changing your mind,” she says. He can only smile, shrug. “The blighted also ransacked our research. You say you only have your blood to offer, but you don’t know exactly how valuable that is.” That only makes him frown.

“If this partnership is to continue, then you know what I will ask in return. If the blighted are attacking others, then it will only spread. I do not think it appetizing to drink from someone with a plague. It is also rare, to find a source that a vampire does not need to beguile, trick, or kill afterwards.” He fixes her with a level gaze.

“You know that I’ll agree.” She pulls all her loose, long locks over one shoulder, exposing the jugular of her neck. There isn’t any hesitation in the movement, and she returns his gaze just as evenly. Zevran rises to his feet with ease, and stands before her, the table now biting into the back of her thighs. She tilts her head, closes her eyes.

“You do not think I will hurt you?”

“Does it usually hurt?”

“I do not mean – I’ve been told it is like a pinch – but…” he trails off as she opens her eyes once again. A simple urging, to get on with it. He closes the distance between them, one hand settling on her hip. The other goes to her cheek, while his mouth goes to her neck. She closes her eyes, waits for the pinch, but instead, he plants the kiss lightly. Up and down, moving the neck of her nightgown out of the way. The robe begins to fall, and she catches it with her elbows.

“What are you doing?”

“It is easier,” he murmurs against her skin, “if your blood is pumping quickly.”

“I see.” She takes his hand from her cheek, presses his palm against her breast, over her nightgown. “Then should we have sex?”

“It is entirely up to you,” he says, pulling away from her neck, and they look at each other for a moment. Then, she presses her other hand against his trousers, over his cock.

“I don’t want to be kissed,” she says.

“Ah, but we have before.”

“That was acting.”

“I understand,” he nods. He pulls some of it back. The claws are never helpful, here. The fangs stay, the ears remain, but his eyes soften, sclera returning to white. He puts a hand against her thigh, begins to walk his fingers over her nightgown. Slowly it raises, bunches in his hand. When it’s high enough, he slips a hand underneath, finds that her skin is warm to the touch. He moves his hand from her thigh to her hip, as he rolls her breast in his hand.

Noya reaches for the buttons of his trousers, undoing them one by one. “What do you enjoy?” He asks her.

“Anything,” she says as her hand moves over the outline of his cock, trapped behind his undergarments, “everything.”

“Very specific,” he says as she moves her hands to his shoulder, plants him back down onto the chair. His hard work unraveled, she hikes up her skirts herself as she moves to straddle him. She balances herself on him, a foot on either side, pressing into the floor. She reaches between them, but before she can touch him, he puts a hand at the nape of her neck. “Noya. Wait.” Her fingers curl, and she pulls her hands back to herself. “You are certain this is what you want?”

“Yes,” she says. He nods, and his hands go to rest at her thighs. He moves upwards, in sync with both, wrapping around. His touch moves over the bumps of her spine, while she pulls his cock free of his trousers. Her nightgown against the back of his hand, he moves one around to cup her breast once again. It’s heavy in his hand, and he rolls her nipple between his fingers. He keeps his other hand at her lower back, flat and steady, as she wraps her hand around the base of his cock.

Her head falls against his shoulder, his against hers, the only sound between them being quickening breath. “Should we take precautions?” she asks in a low whisper.

“If you would like. There is no fear of pregnancy between a human and a vampire, if this is what you are concerned about,” he says.

“Mmmm.” Her thumb presses gently against his slit, smearing the wetness down the underside of his cock, and she turns her focus back to masturbating him. His hand moves from her breast, over her belly, to the soft patch of curls at her cunt. The first touch is electric. She sucks in air between her teeth as he begins to gently rub at her clit. One of her legs begin to tremble, after a while, and he eases his touch, moves his fingers through her wet folds. His middle takes a different path, pushes against her entrance. It’s here that she now pulls at his wrist, moves him aside.

“Are you certain? I can do more for you –”

“This is enough,” she says, taking his cock in her hand. She holds him steady as she shifts forward, rolls her cunt against him. She stands on her tip toes, her forehead pressed against his, and searches for her entrance with the head of him. Then, she slowly lowers herself, her hands moving to and clenching into his shoulder. She begins to move her hips, a quick up and down, the floor creaking underneath them.

He holds her hips steady, her nightgown slowly creeping up his arms. The robe is still only held by her elbows, completely gone from her back. It pools around his feet, over his knees. He reaches up, at the nape of her neck again, and pulls her down to him. His nose moves against her collarbone, up to the soft flesh in the crook of her neck. His mouth salivates. His tongue, against her skin. Salt, and something sweeter. Not as sweet as this. Teeth pierce flesh, plunge deep down. “Ah.” It is the only sound she makes. Something of surprise, of the pinch. Blood begins to pour into his mouth, and he grasps her hips tightly. She moves a hand through his hair, undoing the messy bun to do so.

When he stands, he takes her with him with ease. Setting her down onto the table, he never once takes his mouth from her, the taste of her iron filling his senses. She keeps one foot against the floor, the other leg wrapped around him as he takes over the thrusts – deep, heavy, quick in tempo, and without cessation. She holds tightly to him, her hands clenched in fists at the back of his jacket. His eyes are open, pupils wide. The black seeps into his sclera, unable to stop it. His jaw clenches down tighter, bites her harder.  

[beautifulterriblequeen]

so after the tomfuckery that's being going on in the fandom, think you can maaaybe spare some tinkaan goodness? even if just hc's or a small text, honestly i just need something to make this whole thing a bit more bearable :/

Tinkaan goodness is just what the doctor ordered.

_______

“Runaan?” Tinker’s hand automatically reached out in the darkness. But it fell on empty space, on sheets long since cold.

And the angle… Tinker turned his head in the dark. He was sitting up, propped on a stack of soft pillows. Pain began to blossom behind his eyes, and his ears were full of a strange ringing, as if he were sensing a crowd full of Moonshadows on repeat.

His hand tightened on the unfamiliar sheets. This wasn’t even his bed.

It wasn’t dark, either. Something was wrapped protectively around his eyes, letting no light in. He felt at it with his other hand and encountered soft bandages.

Tinker tensed, and the pain in his head skyrocketed. Something bad had happened, and he was going to feel pretty grumpy about it when he remembered what it was. He raised his voice. “Runaan?”

“I’m here.” Runaan’s hand gave Tinker’s foot a reassuring squeeze, and a gust of Runaan-scented air wafted past Tinker’s nose, indicating the assassin had hurried in from somewhere and come to a sudden stop by his feet.

With food. Something smelled delicious. But Tinker had other priorities.

“Two questions,” Tinker began, tilting his face up toward Runaan’s voice. “What happened, and where am I?”

A silent pause was interrupted by the soft clinks of two dishes being set on a wooden surface beside him. Tinker jumped as Runaan took his hand, and he flailed for his husband’s arm, seeking comfort as well as Runaan’s position.

Runaan sat on the edge of the bed, and he took Tinker’s other hand as well. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I guess you’d better keep your hands on me so you know where I am.”

“Or you could, you know, make noise for once,” Tinker sassed.

Runaan spoke through a loving smile. “Ha, you’re funny when you’re concussed.”

“Concussed?”

“Lightly. The healers are more worried about your eyes. That flash was incredibly bright, and the Fulminis spell didn’t do the rest of you any favors, either. You need absolute darkness and plenty of quiet to let your systems settle. I’m staying here at the healing house with you to make sure you get it.” Runaan squeezed Tinker’s hands gently.

“Rayla?”

Runaan’s voice softened, reassuring him. “She’s with friends. They’re taking good care of her. I just want to focus on you and what you need.”

Tinker nodded gingerly. “Did I… Did I hurt anyone?”

Runaan ghosted one hand up Tinker’s arm and cupped his cheek, staying in contact so he didn’t startle Tinker a second time. “This wasn’t your fault, and no one else was hurt. Everything is being taken care of. Including you, by me. Do you hear me?”

Reluctantly, Tinker relaxed, feeling tension draining out of his shoulders. He leaned into Runaan’s hand. “Yes, Runaan.”

Runaan’s hand dropped to Tinker’s shoulder and squeezed. “That’s what I like to hear. Now. I brought you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

“A little. My head really hurts.”

“I brought something for that, too. The healers gave me a potion for you, but I thought you might enjoy it better with a little honey and a strawberry than drinking it straight.”

Tinker hummed softly in interest. “That does sound better, yes.”

One of the dishes on the table next to Tinker’s bed slid off the edge as Runaan shifted toward it from the edge of the bed. “All right, then. Open up. And stick your tongue out in case I drop any of this honey.”

Tinker’s brows rose under the bandages. Runaan, drop something? The idea was nearly unthinkable. But he did as instructed and pushed his tongue out a little.

Runaan’s soft chuckle was all the warning he had before his husband’s warm tongue lapped across his own, ending in a warm, firm kiss that made Tinker gasp and hum delightedly. Runaan gently rested his forehead against Tinker’s temple and murmured in his ear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. You’re too precious. Here. The strawberry this time, I promise.”

As he pulled back, Tinker let out a soft mumble of dissatisfaction. “Fine, the strawberry. But I found that kiss very therapeutic, and I want that information recorded in my chart.” Then he opened his mouth again, trying not to grin too widely even though his head hurt something fierce.

A cool strawberry slathered in honey rested gently on his tongue, pooling its tangy sweetness, and he quickly closed his mouth around it, capturing one of Runaan’s fingertips before he could pull away. Tinker took hold of Runaan’s wrist and gave his fingertip a thorough lick. Runaan let out a soft whuff of amused interest and allowed Tinker to place a soft kiss against his fingertip before letting him go and eating his medicinal fruit like the good patient he was.

Runaan scooped up Tinker’s hands again and kissed them both. “I’m glad you’re still with me, Tink. When they told me what had happened, how they found you…”

Tinker felt the potent herbs begin to seep into his system, dulling the pain in his head. He squeezed Runaan’s hands tightly. “I’m so sorry, my shade. That must have been awful.”

Runaan slid his hands up along Tinker’s arms until he cupped both sides of his jaw. He pressed a light kiss to each of Tinker’s cheeks, then to his nose, and finally against his lips. “We both know which of us is supposed to die first. It’s against the rules for you to jump the line like that. I forbid it, now and forever.”

Swimming in a black sea of heady drugs and sweet kisses, Tinker could only cling to Runaan’s wrists and smile. “You’re too soft to let me go. That’s what you’re saying.”

Runaan pressed the softest of kisses against Tinker’s forehead, atop the bandages. “That is what I’m saying. I’m too soft to lose you, and I always will be.”

Tinker felt Runaan’s tension in the shivering breaths he puffed against Tinker’s cheek. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll be more careful.”

“Please. Please be careful. Your talents are beautiful and amazing, but… but I need you, Tinker. Please don’t leave me.”

Tinker heard the faintest tremble in Runaan’s voice and felt a cold shiver plummet down his spine. Runaan truly had been afraid for Tinker’s life. Tinker traced Runaan’s arms until he could hold his cheeks and bring his face close. “Never. Never ever. I promise.”

The long, sweet kiss that followed felt exactly like the one they’d shared the night of their vows.

And then Tinker’s tummy growled.

Runaan broke the kiss with a smile. “Oh. You are hungry. Good.”

Tinker grinned. “You just want to feed me what you brought. What is it? It smells good.”

“I call it autumn soup.”

“You actually put cinnamon in it? And…” Tinker sniffed appreciatively, “…cloves? Who are you, and what have you done with my spice-averse husband?”

Runaan chuckled, and the second bowl on the table slid free with a tiny porcelain noise. “Well, I wasn’t planning to eat any, so I made it exactly the way you like it. Plenty of flavor and spice. If this doesn’t cure you, nothing will.”

“Promises, promises. Let’s see what you made. Metaphorically speaking.” Tinker rested a hand against Runaan’s wrist, opened wide again, and murmured an expectant ahh.

Runaan sighed as if bracing for bad news, but he spooned up a bite of something warm, sweet, and spicy and let Tinker guide it into his mouth. The flavor hit Tinker like a series of little fireworks in the darkness: Part pumpkin, part apple, with high notes of cherry and lemon rind, as well as crunchy chopped pecans, this concoction of Runaan’s was fit for Winter’s Turn itself. Tinker’s hand tightened around Runaan’s wrist in pleased surprise. “You made this?”

“I… I did. Is it all right?”

Tinker tsked apologetically. “I’m afraid I’m going to need another sample to be certain.”

Runaan’s soft exhalation of relief told Tinker that he’d said exactly the right thing. “It’s not too much?” he asked as he scooped up another bite.

Tinker guided the spoon in the general direction of his own mouth. “Too much what?” he asked, just before opening wide.

“Cinnamon? Clove? Runaan?”

Tinker snorted around his soup, and a dribble escaped through his laughter and ran down his chin. Runaan didn’t miss a beat, though, capturing it with the spoon and tucking it back where it belonged. Tinker made quick work of it before he laughed it out onto his lap. “I should’ve known,” he said when he could speak again.

“Known what?” Runaan asked fondly.

“That any soup made by an assassin is danger soup.”

“Wh- Danger soup?” Runaan’s voice rose in mock outrage. “I ought to shoot you for that entirely uncalled-for comment.”

“Mmm. Promise? You know I can never have too much Runaan, right?” Tinker let go of Runaan’s wrist and reached further, finding his shirt near his waist and tugging. “C’mere.”

The bowl immediately slid back onto the wooden table. “I don’t want to hurt you. Is it a good idea for me to…?”

“Only one way to find out. Now, scoot.” Tinker pulled insistently, reaching for his favorite landmarks on Runaan’s person, settling the tall assassin astride his lap. Runaan eased down with infinite care, as if afraid of squishing Tinker though he’d sat in his lap like this a thousand times before. Tinker’s hands rested comfortably, at home on Runaan’s hips, and he grinned widely, blindly, toward Runaan’s face. “There we go. Right where you belong, Shadebaby,” he sassed his husband.

Tinker felt Runaan shake with silent laughter. The assassin’s weight shifted. “You’re still too far away, Tink.” Runaan’s hands gently pulled Tinker forward from his stack of pillows and cradled him against his chest, holding his head with a delicate hand and pressing his ear against Runaan’s heart.

Tinker slid his arms around Runaan’s waist and held on tightly. His chest tightened, and his heart overflowed, pricking the corners of his eyes with happy tears. They soaked right into his bandages, and he didn’t care at all.

Runaan pressed a soft kiss to Tinker’s horn. “I’m not leaving until you feel better, Tink. I’m never leaving you again.”

Tinker breathed in Runaan’s familiar, intoxicating scent and felt the secure embrace of his husband’s loving arms. “I’m already better.”

Runaan’s murmur was a velvet promise. “Well, now I’m definitely staying.”

[orionsangel86]

Season 14 – Desire and Happiness – Ongoing themes and Endgame flirtations

Right at the start of Season 14 we were presented with a question. “What do you want?” It was repeated, over and over again by Michael, as well as Sam in Andrew Dabb’s premier episode:

The themes of this season have been quite clear. They are about identity, desire, choice, and finding ones place in the world. What is it that these characters want out of their lives? How do they view themselves? What desires do they have and what makes them happy?

Over the course of the season so far, the question “what do you want” has developed into an exploration of happiness and what it means. Specifically, the impression of happiness vs actual happiness.

This started predominantly in 14x08, with Castiel agreeing to a deal with the Empty Entity that he would be taken right when he “finally gives himself permission to be happy”. This textualised something that has been present in subtext for several seasons for Castiel; that he never allows himself pleasure. Specifically it has been a recurring theme of Dabb era that Castiel is holding back. Remember Lucifer’s words in 12x07:

“I was inside you. I know what a weak, duty-bound, pleasureless dullard you are”.

It was also subtly hinted at in 14x01 in this conversation between the demon Kipling and Castiel:

KIPLING: Castiel, you sure I can’t get your anything hot and black?

CASTIEL: Coffee has no affect on me.

KIPLING: Hm. Me either. You know, not anymore, but it’s like saltwater taffy or infants -- you know, I just like the taste.

Kipling, like Castiel, isn’t affected by coffee. Unlike Castiel, Kipling drinks it anyway because he enjoys it. he derives pleasure from it. Wouldn’t Castiel also derive pleasure from coffee? Perhaps, but he won’t even allow himself the chance to try it.

The subtextual theme has been mainly shown through his refusal to ever accept offers of food or drink (it is worth noting that food and drink have been symbols of pleasure taking in the show since day 1, specifically the metaphor can be applied to Dean who uses pleasure as a distraction technique and Sam who also limits the pleasure he allows himself and only partakes in very controlled circumstances – see any Sam x food meta as it is fascinating).

For Castiel, happiness is something he can’t allow himself to have, so a HUGE question that the season has now given us is just what WOULD it take for Castiel to allow himself happiness?

This question goes hand in hand with the opening question of the season “What do you want?” What does Castiel want? Well, it does seem like there is at least one creature out there who knows the answer to that:

The happiness theme continued in 14x10, by presenting us with a Dean, trapped inside his own head, distracted by a vision of contentment by Michael in order to prevent him from fighting against possession. Dean reiterates over and over that Rocky’s Bar is all he’s ever wanted. That it’s his dream. But the truth is that this is an unhappy, lonely life. As an audience we are meant to contemplate just how miserable this empty bar in a storm must be, especially when it is made very clear that Dean has no one to share it with.

The conversation with Pamela touches on the theme of want again when she asks the following:

“How come you only want what you can’t have? Besides you don’t want me, you just like to flirt. I’m psychic so I kinda know.”

It’s in the negative space, but it’s still pretty clear. If Dean doesn’t want Pamela, what does he want instead? 

This dream bar of his doesn’t even come close to Dean’s true happiness. If it did, then that question “What do you want?” would have been answered. 

(Though on a deeper level it might be worth taking a listen to that song that kept playing on repeat)

Instead, we get closer to knowing Dean’s true feelings in 14x13, though also indirectly. Dean makes a wish on the pearl which was supposed to free him from Micheal, instead it brought back John Winchester and started changing the world around them. 

Dean desired to see his father again, but upon realising what it meant he would give up (Cas and Jack and his current family) he knew he had to reverse the spell. Dean reiterates his true feelings twice in the episode:

(x)

(x)

This makes it clear that at least the path to happiness lies in the present, and the potential future Dean can have with his current family. His happiness doesn’t lie in his past, nor in some hypothetical “apple pie life” his father dreamed up for him.

The theme of want and happiness for Dean is an interesting one, because his actual wants and desires are never addressed directly. Like with how Amara thought Mary was what he needed when what he really needed was to remove the weight he has carried since her death - that he was forced to grow up too quickly.

Like with Mary’s resurrection, what Dean desired from the pearl wasn’t John Winchesters return, but a chance to put to rest the shadow of his past, as he so aptly discussed earlier in 14x05 with Sasha (in another episode written by Meredith Glynn so you know it is meant to connect):

“Let it go. The past is... There's nothing you can do about it now, so it's just baggage. Let it go. You'll feel a lot lighter.” 

Dean’s desire was to let go of his own baggage, and by confronting John Winchester in 14x13 he was finally able to do that, as well as put his fathers ghost to rest. 

Whether or not the show will now continue to explore Dean’s true pursuit of happiness remains to be seen, but it does appear to be moving in that direction. 

14x15 once again explores this theme of the impression of happiness vs actual happiness. This time though its all for Sam. 

Sam comes to the pleasantville-esq town of Charming Acres and is practically immediately taken in by the picturesque apple pie life presented to him. He is manipulated by the Mayor of Charming Acres into forgetting who he is and instead plays a role of a happy husband to an idealistic 1950s style wife. He was forced into a fake happiness. In fact, fake happiness was exactly what this episode was all about:

MAYOR CHIP: The world  kept getting worse, and they called it modernisation and no matter what I did, people would turn to drink or drugs, they’d move away. They just weren’t happy.

...

MAYOR CHIP: I remade this town. I gave everybody new names, new lives. I made everybody happy.

Chip inflicted his own very limited view of happiness onto everyone around him, including Sam, who clings on to the fake happiness just as Dean initially clung onto to his “dream” bar: 

But Cas was able to snap Sam out of it by invoking his family, the people who love him and need him. Just as Cas pleaded with Dean and made those all important cracks in the fantasy in 14x10 before Sam finally pulled out the trigger word. Just like how in 14x13 the Winchester family reunion was nice for an evening, but it wasn’t truly real. Because Cas wasn’t there, Jack wasn’t there. Dean didn’t have his TRUE family with him, and because of that John had to go. 

In 14x15 Dean asks Sam about his happiness:

DEAN: Really happy huh?

SAM: I mean I guess I was happy, but, it wasn’t real. You know.

DEAN: Well, not a lot of happy going on around here.

SAM: I hate this place right now. I hate it. Everywhere I look I see them. I see Maggie. I guess its why I am so desperate to get out of here. why i kept running as ragged. But I gotta stop that, i can’t keep running. This is my home. This is our home. Dean I just think I need some time.

Sam clung to that fake happiness because he couldn’t see any real happiness in his real life, but he admits at the end that the bunker, and the people in it, are his home and he just needs time. Which is far healthier than running. 

The message presented in this particular theme appears to be that Sam and Dean are on a similar pursuit of happiness, where they have both now had a taste of a fake empty happiness that didn’t actually give them what either of them truly want. Neither of their “fake happy” experiences answered that all important first question. 

Just what do they want?

Castiel however, instead of being on a pursuit of happiness, is running in the opposite direction. Continuously denying himself any semblance of pleasure that could lead to his untimely demise. 

What does Castiel want? I think even Cas himself is afraid of the answer to that question.

Instead of answering these questions, the show continues to show us what the characters do not want. Which is why its important to pay attention. Sam appeared happy leading the AU!Hunters, and he is clearly devastated to have lost them, so perhaps Sam is the easiest to answer for. He already began the season in a pretty good place. After all, Mary textually states that leading is something Sam was born to do. (Is anyone else getting boy!king Sam flashbacks?) We know that Sam certainly doesn’t want that apple pie life because that was exactly what his fake happy place was. Sam seemed completely happy in the bunker playing Chief before everything went wrong. Sam’s issue going forward may be his struggle to rebuild that level of confidence among hunting parties beyond the AU!hunters that Sam came to view as his people. But this is just speculation.

The one thing that is extremely obvious when it comes to Dean’s happiness, is that his family is around him. Dean needs his family close by. His lonely bar in the middle of a storm with his family far away is certainly not his real dream life. After 14x13 ended so symbolically with Castiel returning home to an emotional Winchester family, it is clear that Castiel’s presence is a huge factor in Dean’s happiness. But then we only need to watch the first 6 episodes of season 13 to see just how true that is. 

In my episode review for 14x10 I wrote this about Dean’s wants:

“ Why doesn’t Dean want the beautiful Pamela? Why has he conjured her up as unavailable in the first place? What is it he wants instead? These are all questions now being posed to the audience and kept unanswered. Though perhaps a good place to start searching for an answer is in the song that plays on repeat over the entire dream sequence. “Searching for a Rainbow” by the Marshall Tucker Band is a song specifically about a weary traveller who keeps moving in the hopes of finding a mystery lover at the end of the rainbow. Not exactly subtle, though surprising seeing as Supernatural continues to pump out the company line that romance isn’t welcome here. I guess that doesn’t stop Dean from subconsciously dreaming about finding love – though not with a beautiful woman apparently. No he just likes to flirt with them.” 

Dean’s endgame arc has been subtly hinted at throughout the show since Carver era began. It involves romantic love. Perhaps it hasn’t been textually stated yet, but the subtext is still very much pushing it this direction. I expect that eventually when posed with the question “what do you want?” Dean may simply answer the same way that Jamil did in 14x01: “peace and love.” But Dean certainly won’t be lying.

This is why Castiel’s deal is also so significant. The only thing we know for certain about Castiel is that he has consistently shown that his dedication to the Winchesters and Jack come first no matter the cost. Like Dean, he is extremely loyal to his family and their well being. But is it enough? The evidence so far suggests not. Castiel just being with his family is not a big enough trigger for the entity to come and take him away, so whatever true happiness Castiel is denying himself, it is something greater than family. The Entity does appear to know the answer though. As in the gif example right at the start of this meta. The Entity brought up “love” showing that it was an important factor for Castiel. Could it be that love is what triggers the deal? 

Are both Dean and Castiel really in pursuit of love? 

My money is on yes. Obviously.

Though since these are endgame themes, they are unlikely to come to any conclusion within the next 5 episodes. I suspect that the exploration of want and happiness may come into play specifically in Jack’s upcoming arc, and his terrible choices which appear to reflect those of the Rit Zien class of angels. But as far as getting any of Dean, Sam or Cas to answer that all important question?

Well I’m pretty sure that’ll stay in the subtext for now. Though I would love to be wrong about that.

[atinytokki]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥

Chapter 2: Babylon 

The mainmast had a coat of chalky black on it, and Wooyoung traced his hands over it in shame. There hadn’t been a shred of evidence that his brother had been part of that naval blockade, and yet Wooyoung had frozen up over it. He hung his head.

What would it come to if he actually did see his brother in combat?

It was a question he had been avoiding ardently, filling himself up with every other distraction to save the worry for later. The crisis that he would go through if he had to choose one over another. Because he truly didn’t know. And he hated that, the fact that it was even a question.

He hurled arguments at himself, reminders of the kindness of his friends and his own promises to them... but shrunk back every time as the image of his brother’s face, betrayed but gentle in the wake of Wooyoung’s treachery appeared in his mind. Wooyoung could only pray it never came to that.

He was seated in the crow’s nest, taking over for Yunho while San gave him a final check to ensure his sudden seizure hadn’t caused any permanent damage. Crewmen ambled around like insects, tiny and insignificant but members of the machine that worked to run the vessel as a whole.

The charred patches on the mast had clearly been scrubbed at by Hongjoong to try and erase some of the scarring, but it was useless and they burned in Wooyoung’s mind as testaments to his failure. He couldn’t let it happen again.

Someone called his name from the main deck and he looked down to see Yunho standing there, gazing up. Wooyoung stood and slotted his foot into the netting but Yunho shook his head and climbed up to meet him.

“It’s alright, you can stay,” Yunho breathed, as if speaking his request would give him away. “I don’t mind. I’d like the company.”

So he admitted it.

Wooyoung could tell Yunho had been on edge ever since leaving the island. It sat in his stomach, a twinge of concern that the once unshakeable boy now looked over his shoulder at the shadows, afraid of losing control of himself again.

Wooyoung nodded wordlessly and re-situated himself in the crow’s nest, sharing the space with the older boy. Yunho’s bright blue locks rustled in the wind as he sighed and sat down. Wooyoung passed a hand lazily through his own newly bleached hair. He had won out against San in the end for the blonde colour, and it still surprised him every time a few ashen strands fell into his face.

He liked the way Yunho’s brow smoothed in the ocean breeze, a weight lifted off his shoulders. “You’re alright?”

“San said everything is normal.”

Wooyoung hummed quietly at the response. He hadn’t been asking about the physical evaluation. “There’s nothing that can get you out here,” his voice was lighthearted, but Yunho knew what he was getting at and blushed.

“You heard Seonghwa. Whatever dark magic came over me is still here, we’re likely bringing it with us...” Yunho trailed off with a pointed look at San, who remained on the main deck leaning over the railing and staring at nothing. It was uncharacteristic of the boy who usually threw himself into one task or another.

Wooyoung shivered, and not from the wind whipping through the sails. “He denies everything. And I’m not even sure exactly what to accuse him of.”

Yunho was shaking his head. “San did something. We can only pray the spirits leave us alone and don’t seek retribution for it.”

It was a perilous situation, and so difficult to get anything out of San once he’d made up his mind to avoid the question. Wooyoung grasped Yunho’s hand in his. “If he’ll listen to anyone, it’ll probably be one of us.” From the way Yunho was looking at him, it was clear. He would have to bring up the subject himself.

“I believe in you,” Yunho smiled reassuringly. “San will comply for your sake, he’d do anything for you.”

 ...

It turned out that Wooyoung didn’t need to ease into the discussion. He walked into the infirmary after supper and found San hunched over his desk, candles burning low, scanning a crinkled page with the magic glass from the Sunken City.

“So that’s what happened to the glass.” Wooyoung hadn’t meant to let the words slip out, but as soon as they did, San jumped a foot into the air and whipped around defensively.

“When did you get here?”

Wooyoung considered it best to leave that a secret and approached casually. “Doesn’t matter. What are you working on here?”

San still shook slightly, and didn’t have enough time to pocket the pages away before Wooyoung was leaning over his shoulder.

“Wooyoung...” he sighed, wringing a hand through his hair as the younger boy took the liberty of grabbing them and inspecting them for himself. “It’s nothing—”

“It’s spellbook pages!” Wooyoung realised. “The slave owner, these are his spellbook pages! You saved them from the fire when Yeosang went to destroy them, didn’t you?”

Wooyoung looked up, eyes cold and severe as he waited for a reaction. San fell limply back into the chair he had been occupying, surrender maybe, or perhaps just regret.

“Why are you keeping this a secret, San?” Wooyoung’s voice had lost its edge. Only soft concern remained, and it enticed San to meet his eyes.

 “It wasn’t supposed to go this far.”

Wooyoung found himself in a chair, waiting for San to divulge his deepest sins. San’s tongue loosened, he tried his best to explain. “I didn’t let him burn him because I believed they might be useful. And I was right, there is a wealth of information on these concerning magic and I thought magic applied to my healing would be...useful.”

Wooyoung nodded him on.

“I worked in secret because I saw how affected Yeosang was. He spent longer on the slave estate than we did, I’m sure it’s a dark memory for him and the way he reacted to seeing that sorcerer at the blockade... I knew no one could know I was doing this. So I took the magic glass no one else needed anyway and I tried to decipher it and cast the spells myself.”

It was well intended, but such things often have unforeseen side effects, and Wooyoung knew magic in particular was tricky business.

“It was difficult, but I got it working enough to heal topical wounds,” San whispered, guilt dripping from his words.

“But no one was injured between the blockade and the island, how did you...?” It hit Wooyoung all of a sudden.

“No. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

San was silent.

“San, you injured yourself? To see if this magic nonsense would work? Do you even realise what could have ha—”

“I know what I did. And it worked, so there’s no use being upset over it,” San gritted out, eyes wet and downcast again. He went on, “I tried more and more difficult things until I mastered those, and I didn’t think the dark spirits would take notice because I was only doing good spells but I-I think... I think there’s a dark presence following me around.” His words sped up as he began to spiral out of control, pulled back by Wooyoung’s gentle hands on his shoulders.

“It was a mistake, San. You shouldn’t have done it but we have to deal with the consequences now.” San seemed contrite, but part of him was clinging to the pull of dabbling in sorcery and Wooyoung didn’t like it. “I think we should speak with the other officers.”

San jerked out of his grasp. “Absolutely not. You know what Yeosang will say. And everyone will support him.” Wooyoung tried to argue but San cut him off. “I can figure this out myself. Whatever dark force I created, I can be rid of it. I have to. It killed all the animals on the island, and destroyed our sails, and briefly possessed Yunho—”

“—When he went to find you?”

“Yes... I had gone to try and destroy it because it was ruining everything, it was tainting our paradise and changing things into worse things...”

“...But then Yunho came...”

“...And it just jumped for him! I didn’t know what to do and I panicked— why must I always panic?” Again he sank into his chair with his head in his hands.

Wooyoung paced the room as the pieces came together. “San, maybe if you just stopped using magic entirely—”

“No! No, no, Wooyoung, don’t you see? That would only make it worse! I would have no defence against it.”

“But if your dabbling in magic is what attracted it...”

“Then magic is what I’ll fight it with. I will figure it out, Wooyoung. I just need you not to tell anyone. Please, don’t make me beg. I can do it, I just need time.”

He was staring straight at Wooyoung now. The younger chewed on his lip. San was asking so much of him, and it was probably too late for him to fix it himself, but Wooyoung knew were he in the same position, San would not let him down.

“Alright. But if anything worsens, I’ll have to go to Captain. Tell me what’s happening, San. We can’t let this thing hurt anyone else.”

 ...

Jongho watched the waves roll and let the scent of the sea fill his lungs. It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t remember about his past when he was on the ATEEZ. This was his home now.

“Ho there, shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He whipped around so quickly he almost lost his balance. It was Wooyoung, strolling up from where he had been in the infirmary with San.

 “Drunk, I see?”

“I’m not drunk,” Jongho snapped back quickly. “You just startled me.”

Wooyoung had a teasing smile on his face as he joined the Master-at-Arms at the starboard rail. “Don’t tell me you’re out of sorts, too.”

Jongho sighed and shook his head. Time to divert attention. “No, I’m better than ever. I just wish we didn’t have to leave that island so soon. It was wonderful while it lasted.”

Wooyoung sobered at this remark. Jongho was right, their brief time in paradise had been violently cut short, but showed just the same what the potential could be. “Do you think there was anything of note on the eastern face of the island?” He asked him.

Jongho tilted his head and considered it. It ultimately didn’t make a difference what they could have found. Every island had a secret, and rarely did the crew discover it, but this utopia had been special.

“Something magical, I think.” Jongho concluded. For some reason, Wooyoung was frowning. Jongho waited patiently for him to speak up, watching his eyes dart between the crests of the waves.

“How can we stop a magical force? Must it always be a sacrifice?”

Jongho’s eyebrows lifted at this. Not a question he had been expecting, but he gave it some thought and tried to answer. “I only have experience with one. And it was more a magical accident than any sort of devious sorcery.” He scrunched his eyes shut as all the frustration of memories slipping through his fingers like sand resurfaced. “The solution was never clear cut. I wasn’t even the person who found it, and then I was powerless to do anything. I wasn’t the one who sacrificed anything for my past to be returned. And now I can’t even see what’s coming. Anything could be on the horizon.”

Jongho didn’t like feeling powerless, Wooyoung could tell from the way his shoulders tensed as he said the word. “There hasn’t been any issue since the North, then? Everything is... back to normal?” Or as back to normal as it can be, Wooyoung thought to himself.

Jongho shrugged and turned to face him. “I still feel fine. And I could tell you that Mingi once snuck into my bed because he thought I was his mother back when it was just the four of us.”

Wooyoung let a soft smile play on his lips. That sounded like something Mingi would do. He wasn’t prepared when Jongho started questioning him right back, “What makes you ask about it? The side effects of magic?”

Wooyoung bit his tongue to stop it from stuttering an answer and replied smoothly, “It’s just everything that went on with that island. And the way we left so suddenly... surely everyone else is concerned about it as well?”

Jongho either accepted his answer or simply ceased questioning, turning back to the moonlight reflected on water and nodding distantly. Wooyoung thought he saw suspicion in his eyes and realised it probably made him look like he knew too much. He had promised San not to reveal anything, but now it seemed he was becoming the suspect for dabbling in sorcery. He decided to change the subject back to Jongho.

“Do you relive things, now that they’re back in your head?”

“I try not to,” Jongho answered softly, not turning to look at him. “Not all the memories I got back are happy ones, you know.” Wooyoung swallowed. Perhaps he had pried too far again. But his mouth ran away nonetheless...

“What about the bad ones?”

Jongho didn’t say anything for a long time. Wooyoung was about to tap him on the shoulder to check that he hadn’t fallen asleep standing up when a small voice, much weaker than he had ever heard from Jongho, wafted into the thick atmosphere.

“I ran away.”

Wooyoung blinked.

“I said I was going out to practice, but once I started running I just couldn’t stop.” The boy’s voice was broken, and his head was hanging low. Wooyoung shuffled closer to listen.

“I hated being home. Once Father started drinking everything was always my fault and he would always beat me for it and one day I just couldn’t take it anymore and I just... I just...”

“You had to go.”

Jongho nodded tearfully and let Wooyoung drape an arm around his shoulders. He had been carrying this memory all this time since the crystal was broken, and had told no one. Wooyoung tried not to be hurt by that fact and rubbed the tension out of the younger’s back.

“You had to go, Jongho,” he reassured him with every ounce of conviction. “Things have turned out much better for you here than they would have if you’d stayed.”

It took a moment but eventually Jongho nodded and pulled away. “Don’t tell the hyungs, please.” Wooyoung sighed and shook his head. “Does no one else know about this at all?”

Jongho nodded sheepishly, and Wooyoung couldn’t blame him. He clearly wasn’t the type to open up to anyone about anything, and Wooyoung understood the difficulty with comprehending his own home situation.

“I won’t say anything, then. But you should tell them when you’re ready. At least Mingi.”

Jongho nodded in agreement and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. Wooyoung tried to lighten the mood. “Well, I think we might as well break into the rum since we’re up anyway—”

 “—Hyung, look!”

Wooyoung squinted at the speck on the horizon that Jongho was pointing at. Once his eyes adjusted to the splash of moonlight on the waves, he spotted it. “A Navy ship?”

“You see it, too!” Jongho looked relieved but shot his gaze up to the crow’s nest in confusion. “Why hasn’t Yunho called ‘sail ho’? Is he asleep up there? Yunho!”

There was movement in the rigging for a few seconds before a sleepy voice called out, “Sail ho!”

Jongho was immediately his spunky self again, rolling his eyes at Yunho for sleeping on the job, spirits lifted at the prospect of action.

Wooyoung wasn’t quite so sure, watching from the sidelines as the ship grew in the distance. He realised Jongho had been right; something was on that horizon. And it was moving closer.

“I’m not clearing for action yet, it’s just one ship.” Hongjoong was already in the forecastle, swatting Mingi’s hands away from his spyglass.

“What do we do then?” Mingi pouted at him. Hongjoong thought for a second, twirling the glass in his hands.

“Let’s put up the black sails.”

Wooyoung shivered with delight. The ATEEZ was famous for their black sails, even on Si-Hyuk’s ship Wooyoung had heard tales of the small pirate vessel sneaking away in the dead of night from under the Navy’s noses. And now he got to help raise the black sails himself. The stark white was a dead giveaway, and the sooner the ATEEZ was camouflaged, the better.

Everyone lept into action, a much more alert Yunho joining Wooyoung in the rigging while the deck bound officers looked on anxiously.

“Are we clear for action if we can’t get them up in time?” Jongho tried to compromise. He had been anticipating knocking around some Navy heads.

“If and only if,” Hongjoong conceded. “And still I want you to wait for my signal.”

Wooyoung tried to ignore the thought that stealthily floating by the Navy was a much better alternative to fighting and potentially killing his own brother should they enter combat.

But he wasn’t on that ship, and if Wooyoung could just keep repeating it...

“It’s the ship from the blockade,” Yunho was looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sure of it.” The two of them finished with the sails and reported to Hongjoong.

“I’m altering course.”

The captain took the wheel in hand and curved south of the white speck on the edge of the sea. “If a blockade ship found us out here, the rest of the fleet may not be far behind.” The air was grim and quiet as the tiny threatening ship disappeared from view.

Hongjoong ordered for the black sails to be left up until dawn, and remained on deck for the rest of the night. “We take no chances,” he responded when Seonghwa tried to drag him away. “I promised to get you home and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Seonghwa suddenly withdrew and Hongjoong realised his mistake. The eldest clearly had yet to make up his mind about his plans once they arrived at the mainland, and Hongjoong had been trying not to influence his decision.

“Don’t forget to wake me for my watch. And if you catch them on our tail again I want to be the first to know,” the older said, defeated, before retreating to their cabin. Again Hongjoong could only pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

When it came to Seonghwa, he was always messing up.

 ...

It was two days later when they were spotted again. It was Hongjoong this time, staring out the back of the ship and waiting for the ship to appear.

Around noon, it did.

He called Seonghwa and pointed it out, and then let Seonghwa be the one to inform the crew. Black sails would be useless under the full revealing light of the sun and Hongjoong knew it, so he cleared the cannons for action and watched the men shuffle around like it was happy hour then simply watched and waited.

Suspicion grew in the back of his mind when the enemy drew close enough for Hongjoong to see the individual soldiers, and yet they hadn’t fired. One man stood in the forecastle and stared unwavering. It was the sorcerer from before. Hongjoong stood and went to the railing, staring back just as intently.

“What do you want with us?” He yelled across the gap when the ships drew close enough up to each other. “You have some spells that belong to me.” The man smiled and suddenly his entire appearance flickered.

It was like a candle that had been gently breathed on, a spark of something else— someone else— peeking through an exterior shell for a split second. Another face from the past. Hongjoong stepped back unconsciously.

It was Babylon.

“You can run,” the sorcerer returned, leaning forward ever so slightly. “But I’ll catch you.”

Hongjoong tore down the steps of the quarterdeck and ran to Wooyoung’s side. “Fire now.”

Wooyoung hesitated for a split second, completely unsure of what was happening. They had their broadsides, a clean hit would sink the Navy ship there and then. It was clear Hongjoong had no intention of boarding them. He nodded his agreement and cleared his head with a single breath, drawing up his flame to light the fuse.

“They’re gone!” Confusion broke out on deck and Wooyoung glanced up. The entire ship had suddenly disappeared before their eyes. “How did he do that?” The powder monkeys all whispered amongst themselves. “He’s a sorcerer,” Wooyoung groaned. “And now he’s following us.”

He turned to where Hongjoong had been standing, expecting him to answer, but the captain, too, had disappeared, back to the quarterdeck where he called all the officers to an emergency meeting in his quarters.

 ...

“This entire time, we’ve been leading him right to us.” Yeosang flopped back into his chair. The ‘we’ he spoke of was really a ‘you’ and it didn’t escape San’s notice.

He glowered at the navigator who went on, “I should’ve destroyed those pages when I had the chance.”

San’s glare intensified from the other side of the room. “There is useful information on them, and I’m close to figuring it out. If you can’t prove that it’s the spellbook putting us in danger, then you can’t make me destroy it.”

With that as his final word, he spun on his heel and exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Finally Seonghwa’s voice penetrated the thick air. “I’ll go talk to him—”

“No, I’ve got it,” Wooyoung cut him off. He felt partially responsible for all this, having been the one to put San in this situation. It was only right that he make up for it. “But we still have to do something about our tail,” Seonghwa’s response was firm.

“I say we take the fight to him,” Hongjoong finally spoke up from his desk, where he had been mulling over the facts quietly. “I’ve had enough of running away.”

Mingi coughed nervously. “Going up against a sorcerer? But none of us know the first thing about magic...”

“Which is why we won’t go alone.” Hongjoong smiled at him, and Mingi knew immediately what he was implying.

“Hyung, no.”

“What do you mean, no! If anyone can help us, it’s Eden!”

“Except we already tried to find him and he didn’t want to be found, remember?”

“That was then, things have changed. Why would he disappear when he’s clearly leading us back to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because he’s done it before? What makes you think this time is different?”

“Because this time,” Hongjoong was standing now, an anger brewing up through his eyes before suddenly softening. “This time, the threat on our lives is his own doing. And the Eden I know would never allow that.”

It was unnervingly silent after Hongjoong’s response faded. They hadn’t been privy to this information until now. Mingi needed to take a seat. He gave up after several attempts to ask through his dry throat how exactly the maniacal sorcerer hunting them down was Eden’s fault but he was honestly afraid to.

Wooyoung was more concerned about their present issue and broke in to ask, “Do we burn the pages?”

All the heads in the room turned to him. “It doesn’t matter,” Hongjoong finally decided. “The damage has already been done.”

 ...

“San?”

The sickbay wasn’t usually the most well lit of places below deck, but it was darker than usual as Wooyoung stared into it, black as pitch except for the dying embers that glowed from the fireplace.

Wooyoung lingered in the doorway. It didn’t make sense. He had checked San’s room, the storage decks, the galley, the food stores, even the crow’s nest, but San was nowhere to be found. There were only so many places to hide on a ship afloat in the middle of the ocean and Wooyoung had checked everywhere but here.

He decided to step in and try to find a light in the mess covering the examination tables but the door squeaked shut behind him and he was plunged in blackness. Hands outstretched in front of him, he groped for a matchbox, a lantern, anything, when a whisper brushed his ear. Hair shot up on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t turn fast enough.

A pair of arms latched around him, strong enough to be immobilising. As Wooyoung sucked in a breath to scream for help, a hand clamped over his mouth. His air grew stale in his mouth and panic seized his limbs. He couldn’t get out of this man’s grip and the edges of his vision were shrinking rapidly. One thought surfaced as he sunk into unconsciousness.

 Is this the end?

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @bustdownyunho @celestial-yunho @theinvisablessed

A/N: Wow look it’s WooSan can’t keep a secret part two!! So sorry that it’s quite dialogue heavy this time. It’s all necessary I promise, but soon we will be full speed ahead and... yeah you guys aren’t ready.  Please let me know what you thought and keep an eye out for more! Reminder that voting is open until 11/27 for the next spinoff and don’t worry I will update Mingi’s before we get there.  Also if this seems rushed it’s because I’m seeing SuperM tomorrow and can’t write until next week really so :_)) Don’t forget to reblog and comment!!

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