#for snow but don’t get snow you’re the old ‘i would pick bald’ answer that’s valid atm

[freetoflythecrimsonsky]

While i knew people love to publicly comment on posts in a way that absolutely makes clear they could not or would not read the post, it’s strange to have it in my notes in a way that gets me an email about them misunderstanding lmao

[donutloverxo]

Smooth

Note - This is a birthday gift for my babie🥺🥺 Amber aka @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'm sorry Steve's as hairless as a seal😔 at least you have Ari Mike and Colin!

Summary - You're surprised to find just how smooth Steve is.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings - smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, name calling, captain kink, rip steves pubes lol.

Word count - 2.6k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t done it yet?!” You cringed pushing your palms on your ears to block out Ella’s screeching. Maybe it was a mistake to tell her that you still hadn’t hit that supersoilder-golden-boy-next-door.

“We’re just waiting for the right moment you know?” You murmured. You couldn’t tell her the real reason. That Steve had never been intimate with anyone. Even if she was your best friend that was Steve’s secret to tell, not yours.

“When will the right moment come” She shook her head “I’m disappointed in you. You get to date that hunk of a man, and how long has it been a year?”

“Six months!” You defended yourself.

“As if that makes a difference” She scoffed.

“We will do it soon when we’re both ready.” You said ironing out the wrinkles on your dress which you were showing her.

“Alright I just want you to be happy” She rolled her eyes finally giving in “but why're you dressed as a nun?” She looked you up and down confused.

“I’m not a nun! I’m supposed to be snow white. Steve will be my prince.” You couldn’t help the love-struck grin that appeared on your face. You really were living out your best fairy tale with him.

“Wouldn’t you rather wear something traditional” She suggested.

“Hm?” You asked looking at your reflection in your dressing table mirror. You were covered head to toe. Your hair done up like that of snow white with a red headband. “How is this not traditional?” You wondered. It seemed like an okay, albeit cheesy but you were a cheesy couple, costume for Halloween.

“I meant traditional for our generation.” She snickered. She would never say it in front of Steve, but she loved making fun of you for dating someone who was old enough to be your grandpa and how you liked older men. “like a slutty snow White” she continued.

“Nope” You said popping the p and going back into your closet to take off the uncomfortable and restricting dress. You had no idea how you will spend an entire night in that thing. “I don’t want to ruin Disney Princesses for him. He likes them a lot” you shouted so she could hear you. It was so cute how he liked to hum or even sing along with the musicals sometimes. He appreciated the art and the vibrant colors. The idealistic happy endings appealed to the romantic in him.

You came out of your closet taking in deep breathes of fresh air, your torso no longer restricted “That doesn’t mean you can’t still be slutty” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at you.

“What do you have in mind?” You were curious. You were excited to be Steve’s princess. But you would trade that if you what you truly wanted.

Steve groaned looking at himself all done up in his 'prince' costume. Yeah it was his idea to be Snow White and her prince but you were the one who suggested doing a costume together! He couldn’t say no when you looked at him so expectedly. When you gushed so much about this being your favorite holiday.

He looked... ridiculous. There was no other way to put it. From the neck up he was fine, his clean shaven face and golden yellow hair pushed back. He looked like his normal self. But then his pale blue shirt with the balloon sleeves, the dark vest over it and his huge black boots, all topped with a sword strapped to his hip. It reminded him of his army days, when he was nothing more than a monkey.

He contemplated all the teasing he would probably have to endure from his friends the whole night. It would be absolutely worth it to make you happy. With his mind made up he left his apartment and headed towards yours, just across the hallway, to pick you up for the party at the tower. He did lose the sword. That was just too over the top.

He knocked on your door, giddy with excitement to see you in your snow white dress. He made sure to treat you like a princess, how you deserve to be treated by everyone, but to actually see you dressed as one would be something else.

His jaw dropped on the floor as you opened the door and he got a good look at you. You were dressed in... lingerie? You were a white lacy bodysuit that hugged your curves in all the right places. Leaving your legs completely bare. If that wasn’t enough you were wearing a tiara attached to a veil.

He couldn’t stifle the damn near animalistic growl that escaped his throat. He averted his gaze from your pushed up titts to your face. Your make up all done up, from the neck up you almost looked like a bride. “What the hell are you wearing doll?” he grumbled.

“Oh you don’t like it?” you clucked your tongue and looked down at your sexy costume “What a shame. It only costs like 500 dollars” Yeah maybe you were an idiot to spend so much money on a costume but if it worked you’d be seeing stars tonight so it'd be worth it.

“What happened to being snow white? What are you even supposed to be?” You moved to the side so you could let him into your apartment. He ran his hand through his hair plopping down on your couch, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I’m a slutty bride” You twirled in front of him to give him a nice view of your, barley covered, ass.

“That’s lingerie doll. You can’t go out dressed like that” He raised his hand to touch your ass, maybe give it a little squeeze but you quickly turned around.

Your hands on your hips you asked “Why not?”

“Because” He paused pulling you into him by grabbing at your hips “only I get to see you like this” His hand reached at your backside and he groaned squeezing your ass before giving it a light swat. He chuckle as you yelped from the sudden slap.

“Well then what do you suggest I do with this?” You asked nonchalantly playing with your veil “Are you saying I don’t look pretty?” You gave him your best mock puppy eyes. You could clearly see just how much he liked that on you. But you needed him to say it and to do something about it.

“You know that’s not true” You yelped as he flipped you into the couch, trapping you under him.

“I don’t know Steve. You don’t seem to be a huge fan of it. I thought you’d like me being your slut.” You brought out the big guns, jutting your bottom lip out. You knew he’d melt on the spot.

“Fine. You can be my slut.” He couldn’t believe he actually said that word. His mother raised him in a certain way. To respect women and to never ever use those words to address a woman. And he did respect all women and you. But she also taught him to be passionate and give his all to everything he did. So it would only be fair that he fucked you, respectfully, with everything he has got and gave you everything you asked for.

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back. Biting and sucking on your neck and then trailing down your clavicle. Making sure to leave bruises so everyone could see who you belonged to. He kissed your throat and revelled in the vibrations caused by your moans. Your hands in clutching onto his head and completely messing up his well done hair. He finally let up and admired his work. The white and red marks that would soon turn a dark shade of violet.

He hauled you over his shoulder walking towards your bedroom. As you squirmed and then laughed in his hold.

He had to struggle a lot to off his clothes. They were so intricate, with the buttons and buckles, reminded him of his stealth suit. He pulled off his boots and crawled onto the bed, kneeling between your legs only in his tight black boxer briefs.

He looked at your face and frowned at the puzzled expression it held as you stared at his nude body. He suddenly felt self conscious. All the insecurities, from back when he was the little guy came back to him. He thought women liked him now. Even you were so entranced and attracted to his bulky figure. Which he couldn’t help but be proud of.

But right now, for some reason you didn’t look impressed. He sanked back to sit on his calves. He had completely given himself to you. What if you rejected him? He had no idea how he would deal with that blow.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you noticed Steve’s defeated state. In your ogling and processing you didn’t realise that you might’ve hurt his feelings. “Stevie?” You knelt before him caressing his cheek. “I’m just taken aback a bit okay?” you tried to reassure him.

“Why?” He finally met your gaze looking into your guys.

“I mean...” You trailed off running your hand down the smooth and vast expanse of his chest. “You’re so smooth? You don’t have any hair.” You struggled to get the sentence out. Suddenly realises just how ridiculous it sounded.

“I – yeah that’s how I’ve always been. I thought that’s what women wanted” He murmured cutely tilting his head “You don’t like it?” His voice wavering with nervousness.

“Steve. What kinda question is that?” And you cringed as he reminded you that you did the same thing just moments ago. “I was kidding! Steve there is nothing about you that’s not to like. Yeah I do like a bit of fuzz but I’d love you just as much even if you were bald.” You said and he looked as if he was processing your words. “You are my dream guy. My prince.” You beamed trailing kisses down his flushed torso. “How about I show you?” You didn’t wait for his answer, taking off your veil and your tiara with it. You rolled his briefs down his hips and he helped you take them off. You looked in shock at his beautiful rosy cock, which was almost hard, and his lack of hair....

You quickly whipped your head up knowing he would assume the worst “Steve! It’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen” You said stroking his length and licking the tip, which was oozing with precum, to prove it. “It’s just unexpected. That’s all.” You took him in your mouth. Just as you anticipated, he was too big, you could barely fit his tip in your mouth.

“Well you know the...” He bunched your hair in his fist, struggling to keep from pushing you down further.

“What?” You asked as he slipped out of you.

“I thought that’s what people did nowadays” He was turning redder every second “I didn’t... In the pornography...and I thought tonight you and me..”

You snorted and out a hand on your mouth to keep from laughing. “Steve! Porn isn’t real. You can do whatever you want with your body. But you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“What do you mean?” he asked trying his best to ignore his aching cock and your wet swollen lips.

“Just wait till it grows back” You grimaced “it’s gonna itch like crazy. That’s why I uh... never you know do it. Just warning you” You chuckled nervously.

“Enough talking” He groaned at the thought of your wet pussy and how much he had been fantasizing about it for the last several months. He pushed you on your back and quickly worked on removing your bodysuit. When you laid completely bare in front of him. He swore you were the more beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

He trailed down your body settling his broad shoulders between your legs. He groaned at the sight in front of him. You weren’t lying and he indeed preferred this. He dove right in licking and sucking to see what you like best. He had never ate a woman out before but he had been doing his research. Porn was too gratuitous and was clearly only made for the male gaze, reading women’s magazines and some more ‘sex for dummies' books he bought as discreetly as he could.

Which is where he got the stupid idea that everyone liked shaved dicks now. Which was only backed up by his friends and the locker room talk about ‘manscaping'. Tony and Clint were classic over sharers. He wouldn’t be surprised if they purposely misled him. He didn’t have much hair on his balls to begin with, but he expected to give himself to you tonight, so he carefully put the razor on his balls and shaved it all off. The things he would do for you and the lengths he would go for you.

From your moans and the way you were pushing his head harder into your core, he could tell that he was doing a good job. You thrashed and squirmed as he held you down by pushing down on your stomach. You came gushing all over his face and he made sure to drink it all up, not wasting a single drop.

He loomed over you, his cock nudging at your entrance. You both moaned in unison as he sinked into you, groaning into the crook of your neck as he bottomed out.

His hands greedily squeezed your hips, your breasts, your ass, whatever they could get a hold of as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. He knew if he went any faster he would blow his load right then and there.

“I’m gonna cum Steve.” You wailed and if he didn’t know any better he would think that you were in pain.

“You gonna cum? Go ahead” He harshly shaved his cock into you “Be a good slut. Cum all over your captains cock.” He felt his own release not far behind, not with your tight wet cunt milking him for all he’s got. He gasped when you raked your nails into his shoulders, crying loudly in his ear. He lost his rhythm. Lifting your hips up to fuck him like the animal you’ve turned him into. His hips stuttered as he came deep inside you.

He stayed inside you and on top of you for a minute. Catching his breathe he finally pulled out of you and laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m on the pill.” You mumbled into his chest. Not wanting him to worry about that. You smiled against his chest laying a kiss over his soft nipple. There were plenty of benefits to being so smooth and hairless. You could trace those hard abs of his with your tongue for hours. You changed your mind. You liked them smooth and silky now. Or maybe because he was so hairless. You didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

“I think I like seeing you as a bride.” He said his fingers idly playing with your hair, curling a strand of it.

You only muttered something as a response. Probably too far gone into slumber. He traced your smooth skin for a while before joining you in it. Completely forgetting about the party you were both supposed to be at.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask!

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account. Reblogs are most welcome though.

[lunnybunny12]

Sandor Clegane X Reader (Reason 3)

Part 1 (Reason 1)

part 2 (Reason 2)

Part 3 

Part 4 (Reason 4)

Word count: 1874

Warnings: swearing, dead bodies and hunting animals

A/N: Thank you to @golden-healer​ and @starjane312​ for asking for a part 3 

The brotherhood made it to The Riverlands, and it was just your luck that a blizzard would come along and take whatever warmth there was left in the air.

"I couldn't do what you did. Be trained for years to kill whoever or whatever got in my bosses' way. Walk around in a heavy suit of metal and stew in my own juices for days on end. You have to be a certain kind of crazy to do that willingly." You chuckled to yourself and pulled the hem of your cloak closer to your neck.

"Like you're any better," Sandor said from his horse.

"You willingly trained for years to kill people for money, were the same kind of crazy."

"I can't argue with that." You shivered.

The cold was getting to you more than you'd care to admit. Despite the extra layers of clothing and furs, the frost was sinking its claws into your skin and eating whatever heat you gave off. You buried your hands deeper into your leather gloves and let out a heavy, yet shaky breath to calm your nerves.

"What's wrong, sparrow?" Berec asked, trotting up beside you.

"I hate this cold. If we don't find somewhere to camp soon, I'm going to cut open this horse and climb inside it for warmth." You answered without taking your eyes off of the road in front of you.

"Ay it's a bad night to be outdoors," Thoros said.

"You've got REAL powerful magic to figure that out. Did the lord of light whisper that in your ear? It's snowing, Thoros. It's windy. It's gonna be a cold night." Sandor mocked as he rode beside Thoros.

Within the little time you were in The North, the winds had picked up and the snow had begun to swirl itself right into your faces making the lot of you look like you had been smacked in the face by a frying pan.

Thoros chuckled to himself and said " You're a grouchy old bear aren't you Clegane? as he pulled a bottle, wrapped in leather, out of his bag.

"Want some Rum?"

"I don't like that shit. It's too sweet."

"I'll have some tho" You chirped taking the skin-bound bottle and taking a large swig. If you were going to live in that blizzard for gods know how long you weren't gonna do it sober.

"Why are you always in such a foul mood, Clegane?"

"Experience" Sandor bluntly answered.

Before you could say anything to add to the conversation the troop came to a stop in the middle of the frozen road.

In the distance, there was a little house with a thin layer of snow on its roof. It looked so lonely out there, so lifeless. There was no smoke looming from its chimney and not even a hint of any animal in or around its fields.

"This seems like a good place to spend the night," Berec said.

"These people don't want us here," Sandor said. The look on his face looked like guilt or as close to guilt as the guard could muster.

"Seems deserted to me. No livestock and no smoke coming from the chimney."

"Anythings better than spending another second out here," You said and walked your horse towards the building and the rest followed suit.

You could see the gears turn in Sandor's head for a second before he said "I don't like the look of it"

"For a big, hard man you scare easy." Thoros mocked.

"I'll tell ya what doesn't scare me. Bald, cock suckers like you. You think you're fooling anyone with that top-knot? Bald cunt."

Both you and Thoros were smiling at the man. It was all sticks and stones to Thoros but to you, to you, it was just how Sandor was.

As Thoros dismounted his horse and went to light a fire, you walked up to the man and said "Come on, maybe they've got some ail hidden away somewhere. That usually helps your mood."

Sandor just shot you an un-amused look and answered " They don't."

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

The scene you were met with upon your entry into the cottage was bleak. Everything from the rafters to the crockery on the almost empty shelves was shrouded in a thick layer of grey dust that lingered in the air. The windows had been broken a long time ago by gods know who and small fragments still littered the windowsill next to a mattress. Your eyes widened at what you saw sitting on the mattress.

2 skeletons lay upon the bed. One was larger and had the other, much smaller, skeleton swaddled in its arms.

At the corner of your eye, you saw Sandor looking at them too. He was stood as still as a statue just...staring at the pair in silence.

"How do you think it ended for them?" you asked

"With death" He sullenly answered.

"Girl died in her father's arms. Both of them covered in blood and a knife at their feet. I'd say they were starving and rather than let his little girl suffer, he ended it for the both of them... can't say I blame him, I would have done the same."

"Doesn't matter now," Sandor said as he walked to sit at the table near the fire.

"I know... Doesn't matter now," you repeated, following Sandor to the table.

Berec joined the 2 of you shortly after and tore his gloves off of his card hands.

"Didn't you two know each other before the brotherhood?" you asked

"ay. I think the first time we met was at that tournament-"

"And I always thought you were dull as dirt," Sandor said to Berec as he chewed on some dried meat.  "You're not bad. I don't hate you. Don't like you but you're not bad."

"Thank you Clegane, that warms the heart."

"And there's nothing special about you... so why does the lord of light keep bringing you back? I've met better men than you and they've been hanged from cross beames or beheaded or just shat themselves to death in a field somewhere. None of them came back... so why you?" Sandor asked.

Well, that didn't last long.

"You think I don't ask myself that? Every hour of every day... why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What does the lord see in me? And... I don't know. I don't understand our lord."

"Your lord," Sandor said.

"I don't know what he wants from me. I only know that he wants me alive."

" If he's so all-powerful then why don't he just tell ya what the fuck he wants? "

Throughout the conversation Thoros had been looking in the flames, listening to the convocation until he needed to intervene.

"Clegane," The priest said gazing into the flames. "Come over here. Don't worry the fire won't bite"

Sandor looked between you all before turning back to Berec.  

"It's my fucking luck I end up with a bunch of fire worshipers."

"Ay," Berec said with a smile. "Almost seems like divine justice"

That was the point where you spoke up. As many times as both Thoros and Berec had tried to convince you that their lord was real, you didn't believe. You never prayed to any god. Not the old, not the new, not to the lord of light or the one with many faces.

"There is no divine justice, If there was you'd be dead... and that girl would be alive," you said sadly.

Sandor had stood from his seat to stand across from Thoros.

Berec leaned over the table and whispered to you.

"After everything you've seen and done you still don't believe?"

"It's because of what I've seen and done that I don't believe. If there was someone looking over us, I wouldn't have had to see or do those things," you whispered back to him before taking a swig of Rum and handed it to him.

"The lord taught me nothing, people did, and despite my choice of lifestyle... I believe in people. No one tests me more than people do, and you guys are the toughest so far," you smirked getting one in return from the one-eyed man in front of you.

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

In the middle of the night, you awoke to a noise coming from outside the house.  A rhythmic, muffled noise that you hadn't heard before.

Just as you were about to investigate you saw that a large cloak was draped over you. It wasn't there when you went to sleep. Regardless you wrapped it around your shoulders as you held your blade at the ready, to attack anyone you didn't recognise.

When you exited the house the noise became less muffled and seeing it was Sandor you let out a heavy breath.

He was digging. Digging a large hole in the little bit of unfrozen ground there was in front of the house.

Beside the pit, there were 2 lumps of fabric, one larger than the other.

"What are you doing Sandor? Wheres your cloak you'll catch your death."

When he heard you, he stopped digging and moved to the lumps.

"I'm burying the dead... and you have my cloak"

That's when it clicked for you. The guilt you saw when he first arrived and the remorseful look he gave when he saw them.

"You knew these people," you said.

"Not really" He replied in a hushed tone as he placed them both into the grave and begun to fill it back up with clods of dirt.

After a second you started to help fill in the pit in silence and it was soon full.

When the pair of you were finished, Sandor started to... prey?

"We ask the Father to judge us with mercy, we ask the Mother... to... fuck it I don't remember the rest."

He shuffled on his feet a little, unable to think of the rest of the prayer.

"I'm sorry you're dead... you deserved better, both of you." He said before dropping his shovel and walked back to the house.

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

When dawn broke the next morning, you were awake before any of the men. You had lit the fire and had got some rabbits for breakfast and by the time you got back to the little house Sandor had woken up. He was stoking the flames with tired eyes, he hadn't been awake long.

"Morning," you said as you flopped the rabbits onto the table, kicking up dust in the presses.

"Morning" He grumbled following you outside again.

You turned to him to see he was towering over you.

"I'm capable of getting knives by myself, Ser Clegane," you joked earning you an eye roll.

"I saw you shivering the whole ride here and it's only going to get worse," He said draping a large black cloak over your shoulders... HIS cloak. "Keep the cloak."

After a second you pulled the hem of the cloak up to your neck and buried your face in the fur colour leaving your eyes uncovered. The cloak practically swallowed you in its fabric. it hung heavy around on your shoulders in a way that made you feel calm.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman"

"Shut up"

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 32

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Broken from the time-loop, you and Bucky discuss next steps.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Mild anxiety attacks and dissociation 

AO3

“You…”

If you were sweating like a marathon runner, then Bucky was panting like a winded horse that had been galloping too long for too fast.

“What… did you see?” He was perched on the edge of the bed, tail thumping against the covers in agitation.

You sat further upright, trying to catch your breath. You confirmed that, yes, you were back in your own room, in your own body. It was nighttime, cold, and the house was quiet because everyone else had gone to bed. The solid softness under your hands grounded you, confirmed that this was real and you were back where you were supposed to be.

You could barely process his question.

“I… I don’t know—“

Bucky gripped you by the shoulders and leaned over you, expression a mixture of fear and panic.

“What did you see? Tell me!”

“Everything!”

You winced and lowered your voice, not wanting to wake anyone, trembling violently in his hands.

“I saw everything.”

Bucky deflated, releasing you with horrific guilt written all over his face as he backed away from the bed.

“And…” You looked up at him, dazed, gripping the bedspread like a lifeline. “And I… didn’t just see. I was… with you…”

“No…”

“…in that place. The demon realm—“

“No, no, no, no.” Bucky stumbled back, his tail whipping around as he gripped the sides of his head. “That wasn’t you. That wasn’t you. It can’t be.”

“Bucky, please, look at me,” you quietly begged. But he wouldn’t. He shook his head, paced your room like a caged animal, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“It’s my fault. My fault. This wasn’t supposed to happen, something went wrong. Oh, God, what did I do? What did I do to you?”

He was spiraling and there was nothing you could do to stop it. As soon as you stood from the bed, Bucky flinched away, staring at you in naked terror.

“I can’t…”

He choked out the words, turned to your windowsill, and flung it open. The same windowsill he’d fled from twenty years ago. Wings ripped from his shoulder blades, shredding the back of his shirt, and he leapt through, disappearing into the darkness with a rush of air washing over you.

You stared at the open window for a long time. Long enough that the room had gotten cold enough to see your breath. And still you stood there, frozen, your mind a blank space as your body felt strange and far away.

Something warm and alive rubbed against your leg, a concerned meow bringing you back to the present. You shook off your daze and quickly shut the window, drawing the curtains back over the dark glass.

Picking up Monster, you returned to the bed and crawled under the covers, holding him tight as you shivered violently.

You waited for Bucky to return, watching the digital read-out of the old clock as it crept past midnight. The exhaustion of parsing through all the memories, of feeling as if you’d lived several lives over the span of just a few minutes, and then for Bucky to just take off… You were torn between fatigue and depression that felt more akin to grief.

As the clock ticked past two in the morning, you wondered if Bucky would be coming back. Maybe this was the thing that broke him. You couldn’t even blame him.

Burying your face in Monster’s fur, which may have grown damp against your cheeks, you let the exhaustion overtake you, pulling you into merciful darkness.

Except it wasn’t merciful. Confusing images swirled past you. Freezing bunkers, a red, dead world, a pretty rooftop garden with a kind, bald woman. She reached out to you, and you tried to grab her hand but you slipped backwards, out of reach.

Down, down you fell, through the freezing air, until you crashed into the snow, left broken and bleeding red against the white.

You awoke with a start, heart leaping in your throat. The room was cold again, and your back ached from the aftereffects of the horrifically realistic dream.

The noise that woke you repeated itself: Monster was hissing into the dark.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” a low voice responded. “Don’t have to tell me. Move over.”

Monster spit his annoyance, but he wiggled out of your arms and jumped off the bed, vanishing out of sight in that way he had of doing.

“Bucky?” Your whisper had barely any strength to it.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m… I’m here. Can I… come to bed with you?”

You pulled back the covers without hesitation, shifting back to give him room. The room was dark but you could still see him slip under the blankets as the mattress jostled from the additional weight.

Your fingers brushed against his arm and you almost drew back.

“You’re freezing.”

Bucky released a snort, settling down into the bed as he rested his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’ll live. My own damn fault, anyway. I shouldn’t have left.” He found your hands under the covers and squeezed them gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Despite how cold he was all over, you pressed right up to him, tucking your head under his chin as you hugged his arms against your chest, seeking comfort while simultaneously trying to warm him up. That was something you couldn’t forget from the memories. Bucky hated the cold.

“I forgive you.” You rested your chin on your favorite spot, his collarbone. “So long as you forgive me for what happened tonight. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“What? Why would you even say that? Of course it was my fault!”

Your shoulders hunched inward. How much could you tell him? You didn’t want Bucky to take the blame, but you weren’t sure if what the Ancient One had told you had been just for you and Strange.

Plus, Bucky had a complicated relationship with the sorcerers, and he already got weirded out by magic… Perhaps it would be better to wait to tell him the full truth when you actually knew what that was.

“Well…” You scooted a little closer. Even now you were craving contact, wanting to touch him even if it was selfish. After not having a body for so long, it was nearly a physical need. “Weird stuff keeps happening to me, right? The portal. The demons coming after me. Having a hobgoblin for a pet. That’s… that’s probably got something to do with me, at the very least.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. You waited, barely breathing, having no idea which way he would go. Continue to blame himself for everything, or allow someone else to shoulder the burden for once?

“I think we should talk to Strange,” he finally said.

You nearly melted with relief. This was good. Maybe you could talk to Strange and not involve Bucky at all with the weird time-loop, memory, magic stuff. At least Bucky could stop blaming himself for things he wasn’t responsible for.

Maybe Strange had been wrong about you being the magic equivalent of a dead battery. As much as you tried not to think about it, you knew something wasn’t normal if you were attracting demons left and right. What happened tonight just confirmed that something more was going on.

You just wished the Ancient One had been more clear about what she meant by training, not to mention that ominous bit of advice at the end. You were supposed to make a choice that would affect both of your lives? What the fuck? You were really beginning to understand Bucky’s frustration the wizards.

Hopefully, you could go to Strange for help without him finding out about the bond. It was a complicated balancing act you would somehow have to manage.

“I agree,” you said. “Your wizards are equipped to deal with this stuff, aren’t they?”

Bucky chuckled. He’d only been gone a few hours and you’d already missed that sound.

“They’re not my wizards, but yes.”

He made a low, comforting sound, almost like a purr, as he pulled you against his chest and petted your hair. Your eyelids drifted shut of their own accord, and you would have purred yourself if you could.

“Either way, I won’t run away again. I promise.”

Listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady against your ear pressed to his chest, you prayed it was a promise Bucky could keep. After the confusing but undeniable lifetime you’d spent together, you couldn’t imagine a life without him. You wanted to talk to him about everything you’d experienced in that place, but you were too tired, and Bucky’s breathing had already slowed to a steady rhythm. Tonight had taken a lot out of him, out of you both. The least you could do was get some rest.

But rest didn’t find you so easily. No matter how much you tried to push it out, the image of the dried-up corpse plagued your thoughts, and you eventually drifted into a restless sleep, dreaming it had your face. Long dead with a pentagram stretched across your shoulder.

Next Chapter

[glenncoco4]

You Can Count On Me

A/N: Finally…Ch. 12

••••

Mammoth - Christmas 1997

“You were totally flirting with preppy at the cafeteria.” Marty laughs as they walk back to the cabin, snowboards in hand. 

The brunette’s jaw drops in shock, shoving him, trying to not give him any more ammo. “Shut up, no I wasn’t.”

“Oh please. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done that run, it’s very impressive.’” He was jealous. Actually jealous isn’t even the right word. As he watched his best friend bat her eyelashes at the tall athletic brunette who rode down the hill next to them, catching major air at that, he felt himself turn green with envy. The way he saw it, mocking her was the only way to avoid the unfamiliar feelings it brought him. 

Having no retort to his high pitched impression of her, she does the only thing that usually gets her out of situations like these. Carefully laying her board on the snow, she charges her unsuspecting best friend from behind, tackling him to the ground. 

It takes a few seconds before he finally realizes what’s happening and honestly he should’ve expected as much. The ice is freezing against his face, sending a shiver through his body, well honestly the shiver is caused by something entirely different…rather someone. 

He quickly gathers himself trying to get the upper hand, but all he does is make matters worse when they’re left in the same position as before only this time he’s face up, her thighs now straddling his waist. Oh this is bad, so very very bad. But luckily for him Mama J steps out just in time. 

“Kids, dinner.” 

Don shakes his head, walking up the driveway as he watches the blonde continue to squirm under his daughter’s body.“Kensi, you’re gonna give the poor boy frost bite.”

“Plus I can totally see down your top.” Marty grins, hoping his words will get her to move and avoid any embarrassment that is due to happen if she continues her attack any longer. 

Sending him a glare, Kensi reluctantly gets up from her position but not before washing his face with a handful of snow one last time so he doesn’t she the heat rise to her cheeks. If he only knew why she was flirting with preppy…

••••

Walking into the bullpen on an early December morning, the best friends catch the tail end of the senior partners talking about their holiday plans. As they head towards their respective desk, the ex-SEAL looks to the junior agent, wondering if her Christmas plans are any better than his partner’s and considering her and her partner’s friendship he expects they have a few traditions of their own. “What about you, Kensi? Any plans for Christmas?”

“I have family in Seattle.” Her answer is short. 

Sam looks to his desk mate, knowing that of the two he’s more giving when it comes to sharing his plans. “What about you, Deeks?”

The detective sits down, looking to the bald man before huffing a laugh as he looks to his best friend. “Yeah, I’m not allowed at Aunt Bea’s after the fire in ‘94, so I’ll be staying home.”

••••

She feels a sense of familiarity as they make their way down Sunset Blvd, the golden rays of the setting sun illuminate the sky. Today was not what she was expecting, to be immersed in another situation in which PTSD was at the fore front brought so many old emotions back. She couldn’t help herself when it came to Talbot and his condition. As soon as they talked in the interrogation room she couldn’t help but picture Jack and the similarities that he and Talbot shared when the marine came back from the war. 

It kind of surprised her that her fiancé hadn’t spoken up the entire day. She could feel his eyes on her every now and then, but he stood back watching her, being there for her if she needed it. She welcomed it during the case but now…now she needs him to say something, to do something. “Go ahead, just say it. Say I told you so.”

He shakes his head, eyes staying focused on the road as he makes a turn into the parking lot. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know one of the things I love most about you?”

“My boobs.”

“Obviously, but it’s not that’s not what I’m talking about right now.”

Her features soften when she realizes that the scolding she was expecting to get from him only lived in her head. She loves this man so much, and even though he didn’t like Jack all that much towards the end, he still respects the fact that the former marine was a big part of her life at one point. No matter how long ago it was, part of his abandonment still haunts her. Marty knows that and has never made her feel bad about it. 

Pulling to a stop, he turns off the ignition, maneuvering his body so that he’s fully facing her. He reaches out, taking hold of her hands, love, honesty and understanding, shining bright in his eyes. “I love how loyal you are to someone. How you try and see the good in everybody. I know what you must have been feeling when we met Talbot. You saw a chance to finally help someone where you thought you failed before, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you didn’t fail Jack, baby. You were everything he needed you to be but he didn’t see that...he didn’t want to see that. You have such a beautiful heart and I know all you wanted to do was help Talbot today, he took advantage of that and...and I just wish you would see you through my eyes because I don’t see you as some gullible woman like you think most people did today. I see you as that 8 year old girl I fell in love with, the girl that grew into the beautiful and amazing woman, who gives everything she has to the people she loves. So no, I’m not going to tell you I told you so, because you, Kensi Marie Blye, are the most authentically loving person I’ve ever met.”

“Well geez.”

“What?”

“Now I feel kinda bad about my wise men joke.”

A spark lights in his eyes, as they go from her mismatched chocolate orbs to her breast and back to her eyes again. “It’s okay, you can make it up to me later. And can I just say how hot it was for you to slip back into consciousness and make that crack?”

“You liked that, huh?”

“Almost as much as I like that weird cackle of yours.”

She scrunches her nose, looking out of the window, finally noticing they’re not at their usual place. “We’re not going to the homeless shelter?”

“Later. Right now there’s someone that wants to meet you.”

As the couple makes their way down the sidewalk, the sound of children’s laughter fills their ears. A few feet away, families and couples dance across the ice, their smiling faces fill the partners with a sense on warmth and happiness that only this time of year can magically bring out. 

It catches the brunette off guard when her fiancé waves at a woman standing at the edge of the rink, both exchanging a smile as he leads them towards said woman. 

Once they reach the older black woman, her partner steps into her opened arms for a hug. “Marty, it’s so good to see you again.”

The brunette smiles, clearly she’s missing something. She shares a look with the older woman, something in her eyes giving the agent a sense of warmth and kindness that she’s never experienced with a stranger before. 

“Kens, this is Marg.”

She looks to her fiancée with questioning eyes and then towards Marg woman. It all makes sense now, that feeling… “Wait, Marg as in-“

The woman nods her head, her eyes immediately going to the ring that was once on her finger just like it is the brunette’s now. Watching them walk up a few minutes ago, wrapped in each other’s embrace with love struck smiles on their faces, Marg knew she made the right decision. “It look beautiful on you.”

Without thought, Kensi moves towards the older woman, wrapping her arms around her in a loving embrace. “Thank you so much. I promise we’ll honor the memory.”

Pulling back, their eyes lock, both seeing in the other’s eyes what only they know how to describe. Marg watches as the couple share a loving glance, the young man’s arm immediately going around his fiancée’s shoulders as she curls into his side. “I have no doubt you will.”

••••

The next morning the couple found themselves up at the crack of dawn, heading down highway two towards Mammoth, but not before stopping for some bean juice and doughnuts. 

Around noon they finally arrive to the family cabin, smoke emanating from the fire place, signaling that the Blye’s were inside and not out on the slopes like Marty had secretly hoped. He loves his pseudo parents but for the past few years (okay maybe since high school) he’s imagined his best friend and him left all alone in the warm cabin, doing things that would frighten bears. 

As Kensi turns to open the door, he quickly grabs hold of her hand, pulling her back in and leaning forward, begrudgingly placing one last kiss to her lips for the time being. 

She smiles into the kiss before quickly pulling back, a mixture of love and contentment swirling in her mismatched chocolate orbs. “Don’t worry. We’ll tell them as soon as your mom and Umberto get here.”

“But that’s so far away.” He whines.

She shakes her head, the sudden image of a little brunette with shaggy hair doing the same in a few years pulling at her heart. “Their flight lands at 3, babe. They’ll be here by 5.”

“Yeah, but-“

“If you don’t stop complaining, you’re not gonna get your Christmas present from me.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need a present if I already have you. You’re all I need, Kens.” His cerulean blues soften as he gently rubs his thumb back and forth across her soft skin. 

“Oh, well then I guess I’ll just have to return that red lace number then.”

His mouth suddenly goes dry as the image of the contrasting red against her olive toned skin sends a surge of desire through his body. “Red...lace.”

A thrill runs through her body as she taunts him and his eyes go wide, leaving him at a loss for words. She playfully bites her lip, sending him a wink before hoping out of the truck. “Mmmhmm.”

••••

An hour later, Julia takes off to the airport to pick up her best friend and her fiancé, somehow talking her daughter into going with her, leaving Marty and Don to prep for dinner. 

As he’s chopping the onions, the blonde can feel the older man’s eyes moving back and forth between him and the marinating ingredients. It’s a few minutes and Don’s attention has been focused on the task at hand when the unsuspecting words leave his mouth, Marty’s left stupefied. 

“So, when were you gonna tell me that you two are getting married?” The former marine continues to add the ingredients to the bowl, his eye never straying away from what he’s doing. 

The detective feels the blood drain from his face, his mind spinning a million miles a minute. “Pssssh. Wha-what are you talking about?”

The brunette huffs a laugh, hearing the squeak in his pseudo son’s voice. He finally turns his attention to the blonde, eyes catching cerulean blues that are swimming with uncertainty, with a nervousness that’s always present when he catches Marty in a lie or withholding information as he so eloquently described it when he was a teenager. 

All it takes is one look from the man whom he considered the best man that he knows before he’s spilling everything. It’s weird that his fiancée’s dad has the same affect on him as his daughter. “We wanted to wait until everyone was together. How did you know?”

“The day you brought her by after the case. There was something different. You were looking at her differently.”

“But how did you know about the engagement?”

A smile spreads to the older man’s face thinking to when the pair arrived and he caught a glimpse of the sparkling diamond on her ring finger, before slipping it off. “It seems as though our girl is so used to the weight of that rock on her finger she forgot to slip it off before she came in.”

“Does Mama J know?”

“No.”

He nervously bites his lip, trying to read any sign of disapproval on the older man’s face. “So, what do you think?”

“You know...before you came along I was the only man in Kensi’s life. She didn’t have many friends so we hung out a lot when I was on leave. Then you came along, she barely noticed me when you were around.”

“I’m sorry.”

He steps away from the counter, shaking his head, a smile on his face. “Don’t be sorry, son. You taught my little girl not to take everything so seriously and as I watched the two of you grow up, you had this fierce protectiveness when it came to her. I was so relieved because I knew that if anything ever happened to me and her mom...you’d be there for her. She wouldn't’ be alone and she would be loved. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for her, and to know that you two are in love, it just makes me…” He takes a deep breath as he feels tears start to pool in his eyes. “It makes me so glad that your dad was an asshole. I know that’s horrible to say, but it’s true, Marty.”

He huffs a laugh unable to keep his own tears from falling. “Me too. And this sounds a little disturbing since I’m marrying your daughter and all but I’ve always thought of you as my dad. I just wanted you to know that.”

Donald’s hand finds the younger man’s shoulder, pulling him in and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. One of those dad hugs that radiates with pride and acceptance…one that’s full of love. 

“What’s going on here?”

The two men pull back from their embrace at the sound of Kensi’s questioning voice. They turn, only to be met with the younger brunette, Julia, Roberta and Umberto standing behind her, all with knowing smiles on their faces. 

Marty looks to his fiancée and then to her dad, his fingers nervously sweeping his golden locks to the side as he tries to come up with an answer. “Uh-uh, we just found out that we get the game on tv.”

Kensi brow furrows, catching eyes with her fiancé once again. Yeah, something’s definitely up. 

••••

As Roberta and Umberto settle in, Julia and Don begin to start dinner, giving the childhood best friends the opportune time to go outside and have a little fun. Making their way outside into the fresh mountain air, the pair head to the trees beyond the cabin. 

Once away from prying eyes, Marty’s arm finds its way around his fiancée’s shoulders, pulling her into his side. His lips find the crown of her head as her arms snake around his waist, both letting out a contented sigh. “This is the life, huh? Christmas, snowfall, my girl in my arms.”

“Technically you’re in my arms, babe.”

“Semantics.”

As they walk along the trail like they have many of times, the trees eventually clear and the picture that’s indescribable comes into view. The flakes continue to blanket the frozen lake that’s surrounded by a vast mountain range and it suddenly hits the brunette all at once. “Never did I imagine something could be so perfect. I mean this place has always been like a fairytale to me but now…being here with you, engaged…” She tilts her head back, unable to keep the sheen of tears from pooling in her eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. “I just never let myself believe that I could be this content.”

 His lips find hers, relishing in this moment, a moment that just like her, he never let himself believe, could really happen. Pulling back once the lack of oxygen starts to take affect, a smirk pulls at his lips as he glances around and then back at his love, his hand finding its way further down her chest towards her breast. “You know, there’s no one around. We could really make this an even more content moment.”

She scrunches her nose, pulling back from their embrace before using her weight against him, tackling him to the ground. “Damn, Kens, lay off the spinach.”

A smile plays on his face as he looks up from where he lays and sees the challenging look on his best friend’s face. His eyes go wide when he catches the white object balled up in her hand and watches it sail towards him, landing right in his face. 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes his snow covered face, hearing her cackle and feeling her body shake with laughter against his own. “God I’ve imagined this situation for so long.”

Before she can say anything the sound of their mothers’ voices carry and its right then that the brunette sees her chance for a little shock and awe. Not giving it any more thought, her hands find the underside of his jaw, cradling his head as she leans down, laying on top of him, her lips finding his in a sweet passionate kiss.

“Holy shit!” The distinct gravelly voice of one Roberta Deeks echos. 

“Bertie, language!”

The partners can’t help but smile into their kiss as they hear the two older women’s back and forth. Neither deterred from their current actions. 

“Look!”

“Holy shit!” The older brunette reiterates her best friend’s words.

At the sound of the more reserved woman’s exclamation, Kensi pulls back from their embrace, turning her head to meet the women who are stood frozen in shock a few feet away.

Before anything else can be said, Marty turns his head, feigning shock. “Mama J, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Oh, no, we’re not taking about that.” Roberta steps closer, still shocked that neither of the kids have moved from their positions. “What just happened?”

“Kensi tackled me in the snow, I don’t know why you’re so surprised. She could take The Rock out if she wanted to.” The blonde says, turning back to his fiancée, flashing her a smile. 

“Aw, thanks, babe.” She’s having too much fun with this. Leaning down, she connects their lips one more time, twice for good measure.

Julia grabs her best friend’s arm, a bright smile crossing her face. “Bertie, it’s happening?!”

“Oh, I think it’s already happened.” She gives the pair a knowing glance, something telling her that this development isn’t so new. 

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 7: Nightwraiths and Impulsive Decisions

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 6,260

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡

“Two rooms please,” The man working behind the bar moves his gaze to Visenya, an oily grin snaking its way onto his face. He’s a short, chubby man with beady brown eyes that focus on her too intently, lingering on her chest area.. His mousy brown hair is greasy and slicked back, an unsuccessful attempt to hide his bald patches, it would seem. The longer he looks at her, his grin creeps wider and wider until Visenya can see his teeth, the ones still in his mouth at least. Majority are blackened while the whitest of them are yellow and the stench of something rotting hits her nose.

He pulls out a heavy book from behind the counter, slamming it on the bar, faintly humming as he thumbs through the pages. With each page turn, he makes a show of licking his fingers, eye raking up and down Visenya as he does before moving his eyes down to the page.

“Looks like we only got one,” he says. His eyes peer up at Visenya, a grin sleazier than the last, if possible. “However, I’m sure I could arrange for somewhere else...like my room perhaps. Free of charge of course,” Visenya’s jaw tightens as she rolls her eyes, slamming a few pieces of gold on the counter with more force than necessary. The rat of a man jumps a bit in surprise, sliding the coins towards him with shaky hands.

Men are the same no matter where you go.

“I’ll just take the room, along with some drinks for me and my friend,” Visenya says, nodding her head towards Jaskier, who’s sitting at a table nervously fumbling with his lute. The man grumbles under his breath while putting away the room ledger, replacing it with an old rusty key. She grabs it and moves towards Jaskier, taking a seat across from him.

“Oh, there you are! Any luck?” Jaskier says upon noticing her. In response she throws the rusty key on the table, untrapping the sheath of her blade and resting it beside her. “Just one?”

“It was all they had,” she says. A barmaid approaches their table, two drinks in hand. She sets them on the table and quickly scurries away before either of them could so much as glance at her. As soon as the drinks touch the table, Visenya grabs one of the cups and takes a large gulp, the ale leaving behind a slight numbing sensation as it flows down her throat. It’s not the smoothest ale she’s had, but also not piss poor swill.  

“Well, I’m sure we can make it work,” Jaskier says.

Visenya just grunts in response, throwing her ale back and finishing it off. She holds a hand up to gain the attention of a barmaid that is currently bustling around the tavern like a rat. A moment later she swings back to their table, wiping her hands onto her dingy and stained apron.

“Another ale for me,” Visenya says. The woman nods and rushes off, yelling Visenya’s order at the man behind the bar, returning a moment later with a full mug of ale. She places it in front of Visenya and turns to leave, however before she can, Visenya slips a gold coin in one of her deep pockets. 

“Ah, I knew you had a heart somewhere in there, Jane,” Jaskier says. His tone is light and teasing as he places his lute in the chair beside him. He takes a drink from his ale and promptly begins to sputter and cough, putting it down as quickly as he picked it up.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She hides her smirk behind her mug as she slowly sips her drink. Amusement dances in her amber eyes as Jaskier continues to cough for the next few seconds. 

“Don-- don’t think, I didn’t see you slip that coin into her pocket,” Jaskier says, smacking his hand against his chest a few times before his breathing returned to normal. He sighs in relief and pulls out his water skin, taking a large gulp from it.

“So? It wasn’t like it was mine,” she says, raising a single eyebrow at Jaskier. His brows furrow and he purses his lips, before suddenly his eyes widen and he frantically begins to pat his pockets. 

“You took my coin pouch!” he yells, pointing his finger accusingly at her. “I can’t believe you would do that to me, what if we were to get separated and I needed to get food so I don’t starve to death? What would you do then, Jane? Hmm. Bet you didn’t think about that!”

Visenya turns her attention away from Jaskier’s ranting, scanning the current occupants in the bar. There’s the usual hunters and rangers, people traveling from one place to another, and then the workers. Her attention is captured however, when someone new enters the inn. Long snow-white hair, a bulky stature that could intimidate a giant, and two swords strapped to his back. 

Geralt.

He approaches the bar, giving his order to the rat behind the counter, and she imagines him using a harsh tone, his words clipped and cold. He sits down on a bar stool, folding on himself as he lowers his elbows onto the counter. His position is the perfect spot, allowing everyone in the room to be visible to him, while staying hidden in the shadows himself. 

Visenya's eyes lock onto him and as his eyes move through the room, their gazes meet. The bartender timidly places Geralt’s drink in front of him before scurrying off to the other end. She offers him a sly smirk, raising a single eyebrow at him, daring him to come over. 

And he does not disappoint. 

With an ale in one hand, he stands from the bar and starts to walk towards Visenya and Jaskier's table. The crowds part for him, granting the intimidating Witcher a wide berth. And for a second, the thought of traveling with Geralt and never having to deal with people’s bullshit crosses Visenya’s mind. But then her eyes rest on Jaskier - who is still ranting about his coin pouch - and in that moment she knows she couldn't leave him. This idiot wouldn’t last a day without her.

“Geralt!” Visenya says. Jaskier stops mid rant, moving his gaze to the approaching Witcher. 

“Oh yes! This is perfect, brilliant even.” Jaskier says, his tone bursting with excitement. “Whatever grand quest Geralt is about to complete is going to make a fantastic song!”

 “Jaskier, do me a favor.” Visenya says, eyes not moving an inch from Geralt.

“Of course, anything My Lady.”

“Shut up,” Visenya says just in time for Geralt to reach their table. “If I didn’t know any better, Geralt of Rivia, I’d think you were following me,” she says, granting him a sly smile, a stark contrast to the frosty glare she wore moments ago. Geralt grunts in response, a hint of a smile hidden under his stony facade, and pulls out the chair beside Visenya.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, nodding his head towards the bard. Something glinting in the light gains Visenya’s attention, her eyes drawn to one of Geralt’s swords. Resting on the hilt of it is a familiar broach, with a sword cutting through the middle of it, surrounded in gems. 

Renfri’s broach. 

Her smile dims a touch, the mischievous expression turning bleak and hollow. She hasn’t thought of Renfri since Blaviken, unwilling to think about any of it. Visenya managed to tuck thoughts of Renfri in the same box she kept all of her memories of Westeros, locked deep enough away to continue on with her life. But seeing the broach that belonged to her - something so intricately tied with Renfri and her history - is like the box being thrown open and it’s contents spilling to the ground. 

“You kept it,” Visenya says, voice barely above a whisper. Geralt looks at the broach then back at Visenya. Neither of them say anything, not that Visenya trusts herself to form a coherent sentence.

“The broach? Should I know about this broach, it seems like a big deal. Jane I didn’t know you liked jewelry?” Jaskier interrupts, pulling Visenya from her reverie, firing off his questions like a hyperactive rabbit.

And just like that the box is locked again, it’s contents neatly folded inside.

“It’s nothing.” Visenya quickly answers with a stiff tone, turning back to her drink and taking an even larger swig than before. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem like nothing.” Jaskier rebuttals and Visenya glowers at him, not ready to deal with anything that involves Blaviken.

 “Leave it, Jaskier.” Geralt says, leveling a firm glare at him, eyes demanding for him to drop it. 

“Fine, Fine I know a touchy subject when I see it. But how did you two meet anyway? Back during the whole Filavandrel situation you two seemed well acquainted.” Jaskier asks, taking a small drink of his ale, and it brings a twinge of amusement to Visenya to see him struggling to swallow it.

 “You’d think by now this one -” he points over at Visenya, “would tell me but no, I’m not worthy of her tales. Haven’t even gotten her last name.” 

“Blaviken,” Visenya answers, managing to make her voice even and strong, laced with her usual ice. “And I do have a last name, you’re just not privy to that information,”

“Truly, Blaviken? Wasn’t half the town burnt to a crisp? Were you present when it happened? Do you know what caused the explosion? How could you leave the details of this riveting tragedy from me!?” He exclaims, enthralled by the story he already weaved in his mind.

“No, I wasn’t there,”

Her eyes glaze over, grip tightening on the mug in her hand. Images of people burning in a building flash before her eyes, their screams echoing in her head. The smell of burning flesh - the stench still lingering in the depths of her mind - causes her stomach to turn. And she swears that her mug starts to heat up, the ale coming to a vicious boil the longer and longer her mind wanders. Physically she is there, but mentally she’s miles away, until Geralt snaps her back to her body.

“I see you took your own advice about hair oils.” Geralt says, noticing the tight grip on her cup and the haunted look in her eyes. He knows it well, he’s seen it painted on other people’s faces many times. His eyes are locked on Visenya’s hair, braided in an intricate fashion, securely out of her face. It’s still that same disgusting brown, but not nearly as much of a state as before, the ends much more manageable. A playful smile appears on Visenya’s face, the ghosts of Blaviken disappearing from her mind, and she lightly smacks him on his broad shoulder, not worried about actually hurting the giant of a man.

“Shut up and drink your ale,” she says, gesturing towards the drink the barmaid slipped him earlier. “Why are you here anyway?” she asks as he drinks his ale. 

“A Nightwraith,” he answers, “There’s been one lurking nearby.” 

“Well, I doubt it’s in this inn, so why are you here?” Visenya asks. 

“Nightwraiths only come out at night, so I’m getting a drink.” Geralt says, gesturing to his mug.

“And that you might’ve possibly heard we were here,” Jaskier said, forcing himself into the conversation. “A few men in the town were getting too comfortable and Jane set them straight,” Visenya levels a glare at Jaskier, not liking the implications in his eyes, the accusing words dripping from his smiling lips. He instantly flushes, beginning to nervously play with his sleeves, the confidence there only moments ago nowhere to be seen. 

“What are you implying, Jaskier,” Visenya asks, a thinly veiled threat laced in her words, promises of reintroducing him to her fist if he isn’t careful.

“I’m just saying, this is what… the third time you’ve run into each other and the two of you seem very familiar with each other” he mutters. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt says, utilizing the same tone as Visenya. And she doesn’t doubt that Geralt’s probably already hit the bard too. 

“I didn’t say a word,” His expression is similar to a cat that got the cream, smug with a satisfied glint in his eyes. His eyes slowly move from Geralt to Visenya, back to Geralt then Visenya, before landing on his lute. He picks up the instrument and begins mindlessly strumming it, humming different lyrics quietly as he does.

Geralt rolls his eyes, while Visenya fidgets with one of her daggers.

Stupid bard.

They idly sit there for a few more minutes and once Geralt finishes his drink, he stands up to leave. 

“Wait Geralt,” Visenya said, grabbing onto his arm, causing him to look down at her. “Let me help you fight the wraith.”

“No,” he said, his tone flat, not even allowing a second to consider the offer.

“Why not?” Visenya presses, refusing to accept no without a reason, her pride rearing its ugly head. Does he think she’s incapable of holding her own in battle, like she’s some damsel in distress?

“It’s too dangerous,” he simply says, pulling his arm free from her grasp and leaving the inn. Visenya huffs in frustration, reaching across the table and swiping Jaskier’s full mug of ale.

When was the last time she got to hit something that could give her a real fight?

“Hey! That’s mine,” Jaskier exclaims, but makes no move to try and take it back. 

“Well I need a drink and I got tired of you sipping on it like it’s some high class wine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. Jaskier huffs, but says nothing else. He leans back in his chair and Visenya finishes off his mug. There’s silence surrounding them for a moment, blocking out the intruding tavern ambience

“You really are something else, Jane,” Jaskier says, bringing Visenya’s attention back to him. His eyes are intently watching her, lacking the lightheartedness he usually possesses. Her smile slowly vanishes, meeting Jaskier’s gaze, and not for the first time, Jaskier proves himself more perceptive than most people give him credit for. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, averting her eyes to her hands, tracing the details of the small ring on her finger.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about what you said to Filavandrel,” he says. Visenya’s eyes snap towards Jaskier. She opens her mouth to reply, but Jaskier cuts her off. “But, I won’t push it. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” 

Visenya’s mouth opens and closes a few times as she tries to form a proper sentence. 

“ I- Thank you,” she finally says. Finishing off the rest of her ale, she grabs the key from the table and stands up, Jaskier mirroring her actions.

Silently, they move across the room towards the stairs to get to the second level. 

“So who’s getting the bed?” Jaskier asks, a hair too close.

“Me,”.

“Or we could share…?” Jaskier suggests.

“Or you can sleep outside in the cold.”

                                                  o0o0o0o

The soft grass gives out underneath the weight of Visenya’s footsteps, leaving behind a trail of her tracks as she quietly moves through the meadow. There’s no sun to guide her, the darkness only allowing for faint shadows and delusions of monsters at every corner. There’s a chill in the air, an ominous feeling creeping up her spine that nearly makes her heave up her dinner. She’s not sure what possessed her to do something this stupid; it could be pride or the need to prove a point. Either way, it’ll probably get her killed one day. 

The townsfolk were more than willing to tell her everything they knew about the wraith plaguing their home, even giving a general location. It’s a few hours past sundown and approximately ten minutes after she saw Geralt exit the town. Armed with a sword and donning her leather armor, the sinking feeling that she’s in over her head sets in, a pit forming in the depths of her stomach. 

But it’s too late to turn back now.  

It’s silent, so much so that Visenya can hear her breathing, the deep inhale and exhale seemingly as loud as a Dothraki screamer. The air is ice cold, so cold it could make Winterfell feel like Dorne. Each breath is clearly visible in the air, the condensation nearly freezing it into small icicles on sight. Her heart speeds up, the ominous feeling that previously felt more like a nagging sensation in the back of her mind is at full power. There’s a tickle in her left ear, the feeling of someone a breath away from her skin. She whirls to the left, and there’s nothing but empty air, and just as she turns away--.

A screech rings in the still air, so piercing Visneya has to cover her ears in fear of losing that ability to hear. She whips her head to the left, keen eyes trying to see through the inky darkness surrounding her, and then she sees it- a glint of silver in the distance, flashing so quickly, it could only be the dangerous dance of one person, Geralt.

Without allowing a moment of hesitation, Visenya draws her blade and charges. There’s a sliver of fear in the back of her mind that she forces away. She’s never fought a wraith - or any monster of any kind, but there’s no turning back now.

The closer she gets, the clearer the noises becomes. She hears the sound of metal clanging together, heavy breathing similar to a snarling wolf, and another scream - this one not as loud as the first one. About 20 feet away, a spectral figure comes into sight, wearing a torn up nightgown, the once pristine white fabric stained red and black. A blackened tongue oozing with dark ichor hangs from its mouth, nearly reaching its spectral feet. A shimmering purple barrier surrounds it as Geralt hacks away at it, moving as if he’s made to fight.

She grabs one of her silver daggers - the first weapon she bought here, still charging at full speed. It leaves her hand, cutting through the air, landing where its heart would be. A clean shot, just like Jon taught her all those years ago, hidden in the Godswood. 

Geralt’s head whips towards Visenya, the distraction allowing for the wraith to drag it’s razor sharp claws across his chest, the leather armor taking the brunt of the damage. He staggers backward, but tosses a vial at the wraith. It explodes on contact and leaves behind a luminous glow in the area. The creature screeches in pain as it flies towards Geralt. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Jane?” Geralt yells, anger evident in his tone as he dodges an incoming attack.

“Helping you!” she replies. She brings her blade up and slices into the creature. The sword passes through it, leaving the wraith unharmed.

“Your sword won’t do anything!” he yells, hitting the wraith with his sword, a line of flames following the swing. “It’s steel, only silver kills monsters.”

“Well fuck me then!” Visenya tosses the sword away, pulling out a second dagger, this one also forged from silver. It leaves her hand and lands in the center of the creature’s forehead, falling to the ground as the shimmering circle around them disappears. The wraith becomes incorporeal again and swipes one of its hands towards Visenya, scratching along her chest.

 A howl of pain echoes from her mouth, a burning sensation lights her body on fire, but not the type of fire she’s familiar with. This one is darker and twisted, making her toes curl inwards as it feels like her life essence is being drained. Visenya staggers backward and attempts to gain her footing. However, before she has a chance to recover, it swipes at her again with its other hand, scratching across her chest again, creating an X. With another cry of pain, Visenya falls backward. 

The wraith glides towards her, its scream making her ears bleed. She attempts to stand but doesn’t have the strength, it feels like her body weighs a ton. The closer the wraith gets to her, the faster her heart speeds up, the feeling of impending doom growing stronger. And as it draws closer, on instinct she throws her arm up, an attempt to shield her body from the creature. And as she screams, pain flaring in her body from the simple action, a flash of fire follows her movements. It smacks against the wraith, burning away the rags it wears and the black ichor dripping from it. The creature recoils and shrieks once again, however, before it continues its advance, a sword pierces it from behind. With a final scream, the wraith disappears, leaving a sticky substance behind in its place, that too dissipates after a moment, only leaving behind burning injuries in its wake. 

Silently, Geralt steps in front of Visenya with a hand outstretched towards her. She takes it, his hand is surprisingly cool to touch, a startling contrast to her burning skin. He slings her arm over his shoulder and the two of them begin the trek back to town. On their way past it, Geralt bends down to grab her sword from the ground. 

The walk back to the inn is completely silent, Geralt saying nothing and Visenya wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say. It isn’t until they’re in Geralt’s room, the door firmly shut behind them, that he says anything, or even looks at her.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Geralt says, his voice holding the usual coldness, keeping everyone at arm's length, but contained under his words is a burning anger. He grabs a medicine kit from his pack and walks over to Visenya, a poultice in one hand and bandages in the other. “Take off your shirt.” 

“But I did come,” she says as she took off her leather tunic, leaving on her breast band. Her vision is slightly fuzzy around the edges, but much clearer than it had been in the field. The burning sensation isn’t nearly as intense, but that doesn’t mean it’s healing, in fact the wound looks worse.  It’s like when you cut your finger on parchment, the pain doesn’t go away, instead it lingers in the back of your mind, until it finally leaves entirely.

“Yeah and you almost got killed!” he says, aggressively cleaning the deep claw marks that mar her skin, adding to the collection of scars covering her body. She hisses in pain at the contact but does nothing to stop him. She watches his eyes, a storm brewing in them. His mouth is pulled in a tight line with his jaw tightly clenched. His hands held the rag so tightly she could see his veins popping out on his arm. 

“Like that’s the worst thing that could happen! Not that it matters, because I didn’t die but the wraith did. End of story.” She shouldn’t have said that, and she knows it. The second the words fly from her mouth she regrets them, but it’s too late. Her pride is wounded, hurting as much as the claw marks on her chest. 

“Like hell that’s the end of the story. Do you not realize how stupid what you did was?” he snarls, throwing the rag in his hand to the ground, pure unbridled rage in his eyes.

“Who cares, I clearly don’t! Can’t you say thank you and move one,” Visenya exclaims, over this argument the moment it started, but unable to concede and admit fault. She’s too stubborn for that.

And he laughs.

Not a full belly laugh that makes your stomach twist into knots, or the type of laugh that is like the first spring air touching your skin after a year of winter. No, this one is cold and sarcastic and cruel. 

“You want me to thank you? Is that it?” he asks, his eyes wild and crazy, his mouth twisting into a mocking grin. 

“Would that be so bad?” She stands from the bed, pain immediately rearing its hateful head at her, but the anger coursing through her bones overpowers it, blocking out her senses and common sense. 

“Enlighten me then Jane. Why should I thank you, hmm? What did you do in that fight other than distract me,” he asks, raising his eyebrows at her, his eyes egging her on, demanding a response. 

“I helped you, you fucking idiot!” she replies, shoving him with all the strength she could muster. He staggers back just a hair, quickly gaining his footing back.

“And if you died? Would that be helping me? When they had to bury--” 

Smack.

She brings her hand up, cracking it across his face with a clean smack, the noise reverberating around them. And it’s silent, beyond their heavy breathing and the crackling fire. From the force of the blow, Geralt’s head turned left and stays that way for a moment, his left cheek bright red. The shock on his face disappears, like fire melting ice, while Visenya stares at him, unsure of what to do next. Her hand thrums with pain, his face harder than she’d anticipated. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters after a moment of silence. Flashes of Walder Frey and his soldiers, Robb falling dead to the ground, and Visenya’s knees meeting the dirt, only able to cry as bolts pierced her skin. 

They maintain eye contact for a moment, Visenya lost in her thoughts and Geralt trying to digest what she said. And then like the first snow of winter, the broken dam that lets the river flow freely, Geralt breaks the silence.

“Sit down, I still need to wrap your wound.”

In a daze, Visenya sits down as Geralt starts spreading a foul smelling poultice on her wounds, yet she can’t even bring herself to grimace at the smell, too lost in her head. Visenya stares at the wall ahead of her, lost in her own thoughts. A sigh escapes her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Visenya says nervously, biting her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have come, I don’t know anything about monsters and charged headfirst into a fight without a proper weapon.” A chuckle escapes her throat, the tone self-deprecating and sardonic. 

“I’ve noticed you don’t think too much before acting,” he said, his tone lighter than the anger in it only seconds ago, her apology calming his rage. Visenya snorts, remembering all the times she’d been scolded for her hot-headedness by the Starks - mainly Catelyn and on occasion Jon too. 

“So I’ve been told,” she says. Geralt begins applying the bandages over her wounds to protect them from getting infected. He doesn’t say anything else, but Visenya can hear the questions swirling in his mind. 

“Go on. Ask away all the questions I know you have.” Visenya says. Geralt pauses his actions but continues nonetheless.

“I do have questions, but I know if you wanted me to know the answers, you’d tell me.” Geralt replies. He finishes dressing her wounds and steps away from her. He begins gathering the remaining supplies and places them back into his pack.

“Do you miss her?” Visenya asks, watching Geralt intently. He doesn’t pause his actions, but he does throw her a quick glance. “I mean, you still have her broach. She must’ve meant something.” Visenya ponders aloud. Geralt throws his pack across the room onto a chair.  He quickly removes his leather jerkin, expertly undoing on the ties and clasps that keep it in place. He’s left wearing a simple tunic and his sturdy leather pants. He then sits beside Visenya on the bed. 

“I will admit, she had an impact on me.” Geralt says, handing her a water skin. She takes a large drink from it, the cool water refreshing against her dry throat, then Visenya passes the water back to him, wiping at her mouth. 

“I feel like every time I close my eyes to sleep, she’s there. A faint whisper in my dreams that never leaves.” Visenya says, her voice barely above a whisper. Geralt doesn’t reply but continues to watch her, his expression is unreadable. 

“I was gonna leave with her, did ya know?” Visenya says, softly laughing after, tracing the grain in the floorboards. “We were going to take the world by storm, no one safe from our chaos.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt mutters.

“Don’t be, she was determined to burn down the world. Nothing we could’ve done,” Visenya replies, trying to convince herself more than anything. Her need to destroy those who’ve wronged her led to her downfall, a moral point of no return. It reminds Visenya how fickle someone’s state of sanity is. One wrong move and everything snaps. 

That could’ve been Visenya if not for the Starks.

It could still be her.

And that thought terrifies her.

“How long did you know her?” Geralt asks. 

“Not much longer than you,” Visenya says, snorting obnoxiously. “It seems stupid, being so torn up about the death of someone you’ve only known for three days.” 

“People have done crazier.” Geralt replies. Apprehensively he puts a hand on Visenya’s shoulder as an attempt to comfort her. She accepts it and leans against his touch. Forming a small smile on her face, she looks up at him.

“Like charge into a fight against a wraith unprepared.” she quips.

“Some might say that,” he says. He moves his hand so his arm is wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his side. 

“Would it surprise you to know I’ve done far stupider?” Visenya asks, her eyes shifting to his wolf medallion, tracing and retracing it. 

“Would you be offended if I say I’m not.” Geralt says. She can feel his gaze on her, so intense it might burn a hole through her.

“I can’t be offended about anything after the stunt I just pulled,” Visenya says. She pulls a centimeter away from Geralt, sitting up to be eye level with him.

Easier said than done, considering how tall he is. 

She rests her hands on top of his shoulders, attempting to balance herself. His eyes follow her every move but he does nothing to stop her. Her eyes trace his face, taking the moment to memorize each curve and scar. His face is angular and sharp, faint white lines dancing across his face. His lips - soft and full, an intoxicating contrast to the sharpness on the rest of his face. From the moment she saw him, Visenya knew that Geralt was attractive. But being this close to him, with his eyes looking at her like they are, now she knows how attractive he is.

“Everyone always told me I was too impulsive,” Visenya says, leaning her weight against Geralt as she swings one of her legs around him, straddling his lap.

“Hmm. And where would they get that idea?” Geralt replies, moving his arms to coil around her waist like a snake tightening around its prey. 

“I have no idea,” Visenya says, moving her face closer to Geralt’s. He doesn’t move towards her, but he doesn’t move away either. His grip around her does tighten, however. She continues until their faces are barely a centimeter apart. They’re so close she can feel his breath fanning on her face as her eyelashes delicately tickle against his skin. The two of them continue to stare at each other, daring the other person to make a move. Her eyes search his - unsure of what she’s looking for, but searching nonetheless. 

There’s a little distance between them.

Until there isn’t.  

Geralt closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against her, like a starving beast that finally found a meal after days of searching. It’s all teeth and tongue, desperation clawing at both of them. His lips are slightly chapped from the biting wind outside, but still so soft. It’s like the first time Visenya wore a dress from silks, drowning in the soft fabric that felt like a million gentle caresses. 

Gods, his lips are softer than they have the right to be.

 Her hands move from his shoulders and weave themselves into his hair, lightly tugging as she does. He pulls her closer to his body, the heat radiating from Visenya hotter than any fire. The adrenaline from the fight with wraith returns tenfold, a roaring fire burning away the pain lingering in her chest until there’s nothing but a dull ache left. Visenya can feel herself getting addicted to the sensation of his lips, desperately craving more and chasing his mouth during those few seconds they pull away for air.

On pure instinct, she begins to grind against him in the same rhythm of her ragged breathing, desperate for some sort of friction. His hands that were previously around her waist slide down until he’s gripping both sides of her hips. He starts to guide her movements, clearly well practiced in this department. The sensation elicits soft moans from Visenya that Geralt swallows. 

Geralt breaks the kiss, moving his mouth to her neck, leaving marks wherever his teeth touch. Visenya gasps at the feeling, tugging on his hair harder than before. Geralt growls and continues his assault. A warm feeling inside her continues to grow the longer they stay like this until it’s nearly unbearable. One of her hands untangles itself from his hair, moving to grip his chin. 

She forces his head away from her neck to face her head-on. A predatory grin forms on Visenya's face, the control she holds over him in the moment exhilarating. Usually, Geralt maintains control of a situation, both in combat and in conversation, he’s holding the reins. But in this moment, with his eyes practically begging for her to do something - anything as he tightens his grip on her hips, he’s as helpless as the damsels in Sansa’s stories. His amber eyes appear nearly feral, wild and blown out. His hair is a tangled mess from where Visenya brushed her hands through it, his lips are bruised and swollen, evidence of what just happened between them. 

She continues to grind against him while maintaining her grip on his chin. A series of low grunts escapes his mouth, the sound spurring Visenya on. She quickens her pace and with her hand still in Geralt’s hair, she pulls harder and forces his head upwards to expose his neck. His jaw is clenched, veins in his neck popping out. She leans her face forward, burying her face in his pulse point, leaving trails of phantom kisses leading up to his jawline. She begins to nibble at his jaw, slowly moving towards his lips. She moves her hands onto the tops of his shoulders, leaning most of her weight against him. Geralt leans forward, attempting to connect their lips, but Visenya pulls back. Far enough that he doesn’t reach her, but still close enough that her breath tickles his lips. A low grunt of annoyance leaves his mouth, but he does nothing else.

“Nuh uh uh. Not yet,” she tells him, giving him a grin that shows all her teeth. “You’ve gotta earn it.” His grip on her hips is so tight, Visenya’s sure it’s gonna leave marks. His movements become jerkier and rougher as he guides her hips against his crotch. A pit grows in Visenya’s stomach as she grinds harder against him. A slew of curses leave Geralt’s mouth, but he maintains eye contact with Visenya like he’s entranced. 

“Fuck, Geralt. There you go, that’s right.” Visenya moans, closing her eyes and fully enjoying the sensations. “If it’s this good when you’ve got your clothes on, I can only imagine when you’re not.” she says, fluidly moving with the pace he set. 

“Why don’t you find out,” he grunts, his breathing unsteady. Visenya simply laughs at him, opening her eyes and leaning into him. 

“Not yet, this is only the third time we’ve met. A girl has to maintain some propriety,” She presses her lips against his, slipping her tongue in his mouth, but pulls away before he gets a chance to react. 

“You’re a fucking tease,” Geralt says, attempting to chase her mouth. 

“The door’s over there, I’m sure there’s a nearby brothel that could help you out.” Visenya says. However, before Geralt gets a chance to respond, she digs her fingers into his shoulders. She rubs against him with rigid backward and forward motions, chasing the high that she instinctively knows is so close. She clenches her legs tighter against him as a tingle fills her body, starting from her head down to her toes. Almost simultaneously, a throaty groan leaves Geralt's mouth and he presses his face into the crook of her neck. The two of them slow their movements until neither of them are moving. 

They stay like that for a while, neither of them saying a word. Visenya eventually manages to catch her breath and steady her heart. The adrenaline previously pumping through her diminishes as she gains control of her brain. 

“Stay.” Geralt asks - no demands. His eyes meet hers with the same intensity his gaze always holds, but something softer is mingled with it. 

“Jaskier will know if I don’t come back to the room.” Visenya reminds him. “And I really don’t want to deal with that.” 

“To hell with the bard.” Geralt argues, tightening his grip around Visenya and pulling her closer. 

“You said it, not me.” Visenya quips, leaning forward to meet Geralt's lips again. 

                                              o0o0o0o

Tags: If you’re name is crossed out, it means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you. 

 @sunlithours | @1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe​ | @historicallydysfunctional​ | @stuckupstucky​ | @aknerdchick​ |  @ayamenimthiriel​​ | 

[teacupfulofstarshine]

the crossroad of our destinies book two: fire

CW: mentions of fantasy ableism, character death of minor background OCs, cursing, mentions of war crimes, atla-canon-typical fantasy violence, mild angst, injury, brief blood mention, mentions of murder

word count: 9708

book one: earth // read it on ao3! 

“So you really can’t bend at all?” Roman asks. 

Virgil stiffens, rolling his shoulders back to try and relax the tension gathering there. He knew this question would come up sooner or later, and he has spent an inordinate amount of time preparing his response. “I don’t bend.” 

It’s not a lie. Virgil would lie outright, but Roman had tried that a couple of weeks ago only to have Logan immediately bust him. (As if he needed another reason to be the most terrifying twelve-year-old Virgil has ever met: his earth bending makes him a human lie detector.) Instead, Virgil answers with technical truths. They’re not the answers Roman is looking for, but they’re not going to earn a “Falsehood!” from Logan, either. 

“What’s it like?” Roman leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. “Not being able to bend? I know that every type of bending feels different, but I don’t know what it would feel like to not bend at all.” 

“It’s not so bad, not bending,” Virgil says. “I mean, bending might make my life easier, but it also might make my life more difficult.” 

“Have you ever seen it? Water bending, I mean?” 

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Yeah, I have.” 

“What does it look like?” 

“It’s . . .” Virgil searches for words that won’t betray his secret. “Have you ever seen dancers?” 

“I’m an ex-Fire Nation prince, Virgil. Of course I’ve seen dancers.” 

“But have you seen ribbon dancers? The way the silk arcs through the air, rippling and elegant, controlled and powerful . . . that’s what water bending looks like. To me, anyway. Snow and ice bending are different, and of course healing is different, but water bending . . .” Virgil’s throat chokes up. “It’s beautiful.” 

Roman is quiet, subdued. “I know my father. I know what he did to the water benders of the Southern Pole. I . . . I’m sorry.” 

“They killed my father,” Virgil says softly. “My mother died giving birth to me, and my father . . . he died protecting me. They killed him instead of me.” Roman gently places a hand on Virgil’s knee, all traces of joking gone, and Virgil whines softly.

“I am so sorry,” Roman murmurs, “that my father has destroyed your life.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Virgil says. Before starting this journey, he never could have pictured himself saying something like that to a fire bender, much less a former prince. But Roman isn’t just some prince, some foreign enemy. He’s Virgil’s friend. “You didn’t kill my father, and you didn’t give the orders to the general that did. It isn’t your fault, Roman. You’re not responsible for your dad and his tomfuckery.” 

Roman snorts a little at the swear. A whip of air smacks Virgil’s arm. “Virgil!” Patton says, scandalized. “Watch your language!” Virgil just laughs, and Roman laughs with him.

*~*~*~*~*

Virgil is hesitant to enter Fire Nation territory, even if it’s just the outlying colonies. Roman assures him that nothing will go wrong, that they’ll be safe, but he isn’t quite sure if he believes him. “My father rarely visits the outlying colonies,” he tells Virgil. “My people are suffering under such a harsh regime. They will not aid him.” 

They still force him to stay with Remy and Thomas in the woods when they venture into town for supplies. “I know the Fire Nation better than any of you!” Roman protests.

“And the Fire Nation knows you,” Logan tells him firmly. “Stay with my brother and Remy. If something goes wrong, you’ll have to protect them and get Thomas out of here.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Thomas says firmly, gripping Logan’s shoulders. Logan reaches up and covers his brother’s hand with his own. “Promise me, Logan.”

“That is not a promise I can realistically make, Thomas. I cannot control the actions of others,” Logan says. “But I can promise you that I will do my best to avoid unnecessary confrontations and keep a low profile.” 

“You duelled Roman into the ground, like, two and a half weeks after you met him,” Thomas laughs. “I don’t think subtlety is in your nature.” Logan scoffs at him, but he doesn’t push Thomas’s hand out of his hair when he ruffles it. 

Patton ties a strip of fabric around his forehead, obscuring his air bender arrow tattoo. When they first met him, he was bald, but now that he’s been on the run with them for so long, his hair has grown back in. It’s a tousled mess of coppery curls, and they match the bright copper freckles splattered across his nose. 

“Do you think you’re going to keep your hair or shave it off again?” Roman asks. Patton reaches up to touch his hair. 

“It’s strange to get used to,” he says. “I’m used to feeling the wind on the skin of my head. It’s so weird! But I kinda like the way it looks. Do you think it looks weird?” 

“I think it looks nice,” Roman says. 

“I think you look fantastic,” Logan says dryly. 

“Thank you, Lo!”

“Roman, however, looks like a drowned platypus-bear.”

“Hey!” Roman squawks. “Why does Patton get to look good?” 

“Roman,” Logan says, slow and patient like he’s talking to a toddler, “I can’t see either of you. I”m fucking blind.” Roman throws a fireball at him, which Logan easily dodges, laughing. Patton flicks a hand up to extinguish the fireball before Roman can set the forest ablaze. 

*~*~*~*~*

The Fire Nation is loud. 

It’s much louder than Virgil’s village ever was. The air is sharp and sweet, smelling like spices and sweet incense and wood ash. Virgil sticks close to Logan as Patton bounces happily in front of them. He reaches down and takes Logan’s hand in his. 

It’s so small.

“I do not need you to hold my hand,” Logan says testily. 

“This isn’t for you,” Virgil hisses, gripping Logan’s hand tightly. “This is for me.” Logan turns to him, face scrunched up in confusion and annoyance, before exhaling softly.

“You’re telling the truth.” He keeps holding Virgil’s hand as they follow Patton through the bazaar, and Virgil exhales in relief. 

*~*~*~*~*

Roman squeals in excitement when they bring back the little pastries he had requested. “I love them!” he squeals. “They’re my favorites, I -” His eyes go misty as he unwraps the parcel. “On our birthday, Remus would always get to pick out the cake. I was happy as long as the chef made a tower of these.” 

He takes a bite, and the tears spill down his cheeks. “They’re just like I remember.” Before any of them can offer any sort of consolation, Roman is wiping at his eyes and offering his pastries to them. 

“We can’t take them,” Patton says gently. “They’re your special piece of home.” 

Roman shakes his head and pushes the parcel towards them. “Please, I insist. I want to share with my friends.” Virgil is the one to break the strange, motionless silence, breaking off a corner. The pastry is layered with a thick, syrupy honey that leaves sticky residue on his fingers. When he pops it into his mouth, a sweet spice explodes across his tongue. There’s a slight, residual burn that tingles through his mouth as he swallows. 

“I know, right?” Roman says, reading something in Virgil’s facial expression. Virgil nods, licking the honey off his fingers. His obvious enjoyment is enough to encourage the rest of the group to start snacking on pieces of the treats.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman keeps every letter that Dragon brings him tucked against his chest. Under his shirt is a leather pouch that he attaches to his chest by tying it with strings, and inside he keeps the scrolls that he receives. “Remus and Dolos probably can’t keep my letters,” he tells Virgil. “They’ll have to burn them to make sure that no one else sees them.” 

“Why?”

“If the crew finds out that the exiled prince is sending messages to them, they’re in danger. Remus is already toeing the line by keeping Dolos aboard the ship. Discovering that they’re in contact with me endangers our lives and theirs.” 

Virgil wants to ask why Roman bothers putting so much care and effort into the crafting of his letters if he knows they’re going to get ruined. He spends so much time staring off into space, thinking of the perfect words, and then he sketches out elaborate doodles. Remus’s are always weird and kind of deranged, but Remus sends them back in kind. 

Dolos’s letters all have intricate, elaborate borders of twining flowers on them, and more than once Virgil has caught Roman doodling sparrow-snakes onto the letters for his love. “He loves them,” Roman tells him. “I promised him a pet sparrow-snake as a wedding present.” 

“Why would you do that?” Virgil asks, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and examining the blade’s edge for imperfections. 

“Because it would make Dolos happy,” Roman says, looking up with an uncharacteristically fond expression. “I love Dolos. I want him to be happy. But I also want him to be alive, so . . . so I have to sacrifice his happiness and mine to keep him that way.” 

Virgil sets his knife down and reaches out to touch Roman’s shoulder. “I know that you love him,” he says softly. “And I know that he means so much to you that you would kill to keep him safe. You’d do anything for him.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. 

“What, then? What wouldn’t you do?” 

“I wouldn’t sacrifice you,” Roman says, eyes burning and serious. “I wouldn’t sell you and the others out to my father, even if it meant he would take me back. I love Remus and Dolos, I do, but you guys are . . . you’re my friends.” The way he says that word, friends, has a heavy finality about it. It carries a gravity that Virgil didn’t expect. “I wouldn’t be worthy of Dolos if I sold my friend out. And anyway, I like you guys too much to let you die.” 

“How touching,” Virgil says dryly, smacking Roman’s head with the flat of his blade. The only part of Roman that’s damaged is his pride. 

That doesn’t stop him from squawking in rage and chasing Virgil all across their campsite. 

*~*~*~*~*

Dragon lands on Roman’s outstretched forearm with ease, even though Remy is still coasting through the air. Roman coos to the bird, stroking his back as he reaches up and nips at Roman’s hair and ear. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Thomas asks, eyeing the bird suspiciously. 

“Not that bad,” Roman says. “When he nibbles my hair, it only feels like a light tugging, and he never bites my ear hard enough to hurt or bleed. It’s like a pinching feeling. I’m fine with it. Besides, he’s a good little birdy! Isn’t that right, Dragon? You’re a good little messenger birdy!” 

Dragon wraps his massive talons around the reinforced sleeve of Roman’s jacket and coos. Roman unties the scroll from his leg and spreads it out on the back of the saddle. Virgil carefully drops little weights on the corners to keep it spread out without blowing away. “What’s the intel?”

The intel, as it turns out, is a map of the Fire Nation, with a few small islands marked in red and black. “These are all sacred fire bending sites,” Roman muses, slowly tracing his fingers over the map. “And this is the code Re and i used when we were children. We used to write secret messages to each other.”

“What does it say?”

“He’s marking which islands are safe.”

“None of them are safe, because they’re in the middle of the Fire Nation,” Virgil mutters. Roman glares at him. “What? It’s not a comment on you personally, Princey. I know you love the Fire nation, I know it’s home for you. But it’s currently under the thumb of your tyrannical father, who’s a notorious jackass that wants all of us dead.” 

Roman lets his fingers skim over the ocean. One of the islands, the only unmarked one, is surrounded by drawings of monsters. There is writing above the island drawing, the only neatly-printed script on the entire map. It looks like Dolos’s handwriting. Roman smiles. 

“What does it say?” 

“It says ‘Here there be Dragons.’ It’s an old Fire Nation children’s story - that island is, supposedly, where the last of the dragons was slain. The water is so rough and choppy that there’s not a single chance of a ship being pulled into that island.” 

“And we’re supposed to be able to get to it?” 

“By air, we could,” Roman says. “Remy could fly us in. There are pretty regular storms, but if we go on the heels of one we’ll make it before the next one hits. No Fire Nation battle cruiser is getting to that island - but we will. We can. It’s the safest place in the whole Fire Nation, probably. It would be a good base of operations, at least for a little while.” He splays his fingers over the island. 

“You miss home,” Logan says gently. “You want to be back on Fire Nation soil more than anything.”

“Not anything,” Roman says. “Not more than your safety. If I thought it wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t suggest it. But as far as I know, it is safe, and . . . and if we’re there, it’s mostly rock. There’s no chance of us setting fire to a forest and attracting unwanted attention.” 

“That sounds like it’ll work,” Patton calls, turning his head around just enough to glimpse them without taking his eyes off the sky. “I’m on board with it.” 

“I trust Roman,” Virgil says. “If he thinks that island is safe . . . I’m with him.” 

Thomas studies his face. Virgil maintains a calm expression, despite his nerves. “Alright, then. Fire Nation it is.” 

“Yip yip!” Patton calls. Remy swishes his tail irritably, but he turns anyway.

*~*~*~*~*

It gets hard to find water in the Fire Nation. 

It has to be there, obviously, because sustaining life without water is impossible. But when compared to the flowing rivers of the Earth Kingdom forests and the ever-present oceans and ice of the South Pole, the Fire Nation is practically a desert. 

Still, Virgil finds that their group is drawn to the water almost instinctively. Realistically, it’s because Remy needs to drink and to keep himself clean, and while they can all make do with a little waterskins, he needs a large body of water. Virgil still finds it like fate or destiny to be able to find so many little places to connect with his element, given where they are. 

The river nearby is smaller than any he’s seen before, full of large, mossy rocks that he can easily fall and hurt himself on. He carefully removes his shoes and steps into the water. It takes a minute to find a spot where he can achieve a normal bending stance, but once he does, he inhales. 

“Vee?”

Virgil nearly falls as he whirls around, seeing Logan standing in front of him. “Is - that is Vee, isn’t it?” 

“Y - yeah, Lo, it’s me,” he calls. “You weren’t sure?” 

“You’re standing in the river,” Logan says. “The water fucks with my earth bending, so it obscures my vision a little bit. I knew someone was there, but I didn’t know who it was . . .”

“It’s me,” Virgil says. 

“Why are you out here in the middle of the river?” 

“I miss home,” Virgil says. “We don’t have rivers like this, but we have water everywhere. We’re surrounded by ice and ocean and . . . and there’s just water, no matter where you look. And that’s why I’m here.” 

“I understand,” Logan says, sitting at the edge of the river. “There is earth all around me, but all earth feels different. This is nothing like the earth that I knew at home. It’s full of ash and volcanic overflow, which makes for rich soil that nourishes plant life well. But I miss the rocks of my home village.” His voice is quiet. “I do not think my home village exists anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

“They knew that the Avatar had been born into an earth bending family. They travelled through the Earth Kingdom, searching for the Avatar . . . Thomas and I ran in the middle of the night. I could not let him leave alone. As we ran, I smelled the smoke, but Thomas . . . he must have seen the village go up in flames.” 

Virgil hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. “Is he . . . okay?” 

“I assume so,” Logan says softly. “He never tells me otherwise. Then again, I doubt he would say anything to me if he was. He doesn’t like to worry me, which is stupid, because he’s my brother. I’m always worried about him. Especially when he goes and hides shit from me.” 

“You curse a lot for a twelve year old,” Virgil tells him. Logan throws a rock at him. 

*~*~*~*~*

The island is beautiful, Virgil thinks. It’s all tall, imposing mountains with scraggly trees clinging to the cliffs and shining black-sand beaches. As Remy descends, Virgil spies a glimpse of a gleaming golden building hidden in the mountains. “What’s that?” he asks Roman. 

“It’s a Fire Nation temple,” Roman tells him. His eyes are wide and shiny as he stares at the island, even as the waves crash down onto the beach. “Fire Sages would study there, calling on the spirits and seeking their advice. This temple’s been abandoned for who knows how long, since it’s virtually inaccessible these days.” 

“Is that where we’re going to study?” Thomas asks, leaning over the side of the saddle. 

“We can study anywhere on the island,” Roman responds, “but yeah, we probably will spend a fair amount of time there. It’s a traditional place to train in fire bending.” 

Remy touches down on the beach, and almost immediately a dark, choppy wave crashes down over his tail. The flying bison snorts loudly, irritated, and lurches forward off the beach. “Easy there, boy,” Patton soothes, reaching to pat at his head. 

“Where are we going to camp?” Logan asks. 

“We’re on the beach right now,” Thomas says, “but I don’t think we can stay here. The ocean is too unpredictable, not to mention ships could spot us. I think it’s best if we move inland, try to camp out somewhere in there.” 

“That sounds good,” Roman says. He jumps off of Remy’s back and sinks to his knees, digging his hands into the black sand. “Oh, I’ve missed this . . .”

“What is it?”

“Volcanic sand. It’s formed from lava, there’s no feeling like it!” Roman happily begins to roll around in the sand, laughing like a little kid. Virgil watches him indulgently for a couple minutes before he starts harassing him to lead them inland.

*~*~*~*~*

They set up camp at the base of one of the large mountains. Logan and Thomas earth bend some shelter structures out of the rock, and Logan hollows out a campfire pit. Roman goes and finds good firewood, easily bending a campfire to life. Virgil settles down next to Logan as Roman begins to talk about fire bending to Thomas. 

“You know how to do this,” he says. “Not consciously, of course, but you’re the Avatar. You were a fire bender in some of your previous lives. The memory of bending is somewhere inside you. We just have to unlock it.” 

“And how do we do that?” Thomas asks. 

“We start with the bending stances,” Roman says, “and we work our way up from there. A word of caution - I can only teach you some of fire bending.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I can’t bend lightning.” 

“Fire benders can bend lightning?!” Thomas gasps. 

“Not all of us,” Roman says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Remus and I had training in lightning bending, since we’re princes, but neither of us mastered it. To the best of my knowledge, anyway . . .” 

“That’s really cool, though,” Thomas says. 

“You know what’s really cool?” Roman says. “Redirecting lightning. If bending lightning is rare, redirecting lightning is crazy rare. It’s not really a fire bending technique, I don’t think, cause Uncle Emile’s the one who pioneered it. He told me he used water bending techniques to develop it.” 

That perks Virgil’s interest. “Water bending?” 

Roman nods, explaining the way his uncle had developed the redirection technique in between instructing Thomas and adjusting his bending stances. Virgil listens, quietly taking mental notes in case he can use any of these stances in his own bending practices. 

*~*~*~*~*

The ocean is so different to the one at the South Pole. 

Virgil creeps away at night, after they’re all asleep. Patton is snuggled up to Remy, tugging the flying bison’s tail over himself like a blanket. Logan and Thomas are pressed close together, Logan’s quiet breaths obscured by Thomas’s snores. Roman is sprawled out on his stomach like a starfish, face totally obscured by his growing mop of wild curls. It’s warm enough in the Fire Nation that no one feels the need to huddle up to him for warmth, letting him spread out the way he apparently normally does. 

As he makes his way to the ocean, Virgil hums to himself, an old lullaby that he remembers from his childhood. It’s an old tale about spirits and balance and the moon, and it comforts him. The Fire Nation island is dark, but the moon overhead is bright and full. Virgil can feel it pulling on him as he creeps ever closer to the ocean. He steps out from the shadow of the sparse forest lining the coast onto the black sand of the beach just as a massive wave breaks against the shore. The water is black as pitch, and the moon gleams overhead like a jewel, reflecting beautifully on the water. 

“Hello,” Virgil whispers. The black sand is unlike anything he’s ever felt; it glides smoothly over the skin of his bare feet, slipping between his toes as he digs them in for balance. He understands why Roman missed a beach like this. 

Virgil knows that he isn’t strong enough to bend the ocean. Water is one thing, but the ocean is under the control of the spirit La, and Virgil doesn’t want to mess with spirits. For once, he isn’t out here to practice his bending. 

“Tui, Spirit of the Moon,” he says softly, “you gave me the gift of water bending, and taught me to wield it for defense. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” Reaching into the small bag tied at his hip, he pulls out a piece of fruit he’d saved from their dinner, one of the two finest. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” A wave rolls in, and he carefully sets the fruit down on a large, broad leaf. It’s carried out to sea, like a tiny boat, and Virgil quickly loses sight of it. He doesn’t bother to try and keep track of it; he has another sacrifice to make. 

“La, Spirit of the Ocean, you gave me the gift of the water I bend, and taught me to wield it for healing. From your example, I take my lead. I thank and honor you.” He produces the second piece of fruit he’d saved. “I offer you this sacrifice in thanks and adoration.” Another wave rolls in, and Virgil watches another leaf-boat disappear into the ocean. 

He’s done this spirit sacrifice every full moon that he can remember. Even on this journey, he’s done it, setting the sacrifices of the nicest parts of dinner he can save into the nearest body of water. He hopes that the rivers will carry his sacrifices out to La.

Traditionally, the spirit prayers are meant to be said in the plural. Virgil’s father had told him stories of the past, when all the water benders of the tribe would gather and sacrifice and pray together, thanking Tui and La for their gifts. Once the Fire Nation raids had begun, they had stopped. 

Virgil makes a point to do it every single full moon. Bending is a precious gift, and deserves to be treated as such. He steps closer to the ocean, bending down to dip his fingers into the waves. The water is chilly, but it’s nothing compared to the burning cold of his home ocean. He lifts his hand to his mouth and gently licks his fingers, grinning. 

He’s missed the taste of salt water. 

*~*~*~*~*

It takes Thomas almost a week to be able to produce fire. 

At first, all he can produce are puffs of dark smoke and the occasional spark. Roman seems ecstatic with this progress. “It’s good!” 

“It’s not fire,” Thomas says dejectedly. “It’s not anything.” 

“Most firebenders start out with smoke,” Roman says. “At least it’s dark! That’s a good sign! Dark smoke is always better than pale smoke. Remus’s smoke was pale for the first two months that we practiced.” 

“So . . . I’m not a failure?” 

“Of course you are not a failure,” Logan says, smacking his brother’s shoulder. “Do not say stupid things. It is beneath you.” 

Virgil snorts, laying out his array of knives. They gleam in the strong Fire Nation sunlight, and the edges are freshly sharpened. “You’re the fuckin’ Avatar, Thomas. You’re not a failure.” 

“Yeah!” Roman says, trying to be helpful. “Hey, at least you can bend!” 

“Roman!” Patton hisses. Logan glares at him disapprovingly, and Thomas frowns. Virgil is confused for a second, until he sees Patton glance at him sympathetically. 

Oh. 

They think Roman was making a dig at him, because they think that he can’t bend. 

Roman looks at him in confusion, and then immediately claps his hands over his mouth. “Oh - shit - fuck, Virgil, I didn’t - I wasn’t trying to - I’m so sorry -”

“Don’t apologize,” Virgil says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s all good.”

“It’s not all good, though,” Roman says. “I never meant to imply that you’re not as important as us just because you can’t bend, I -”

“It’s all good, Ro, I mean that,” Virgil says. “I don’t bend, but that doesn’t mean I’m defenseless. I have all of these to keep me safe, and that’s not the only trick I have up my sleeve.” 

“What do you have up your sleeve?” Logan asks him. “Besides many, many knives, anyway.” 

“Water bending can be used for healing,” Virgil says. “There are plenty of scrolls about it in my home village. Different types of bending use different energy pathways, and if you know where those pathways flow, you can cut them off.” 

“You can take away someone’s bending?” Roman whispers. 

“Not permanently,” Virgil says, picking up one of his knives and fiddling with it so that he doesn’t have to look at anyone. “It’s only temporary. It leaves them weak and semi-paralyzed, and unable to bend, but they recover after half an hour or so. I try not to use it unless I have to, cause I know how much benders rely on their abilities.” 

“That’s a pretty powerful skill,” Thomas says quietly. 

“I guess. But you’re the Avatar, so you’d know all about power, wouldn’t you?” 

Thomas nods, but there’s still something strange in his eyes. 

Virgil goes for a walk by the ocean. When he comes back, the strangeness is gone. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Why am I the one who has to go get firewood?” Virgil complains. 

“Because I did it last time, and Patton did it the time before that, and Thomas and Roman are off doing fire bending practice somewhere,” Logan says. “It’s your turn.” 

“I can go,” Patton offers. “It’s not that big of a deal!” 

“No, Logan is right,” Virgil sighs, rolling to his feet. “It’s my turn to go get the firewood, so I’ll go get it. It’s not really that big of an imposition.” He pats his tunic, boots, sleeves down to make sure that he’s fully stocked with knives in case something happens. “I’ll meet you all back here, alright?” 

He tightens the straps of his boots and heads off inland in search of firewood. 

The island is very pretty, Virgil will give it that. The forest is almost non-existent this far inland, but there are plenty of small, woody plants and shrubs that he can gather wood from. He has an armful tucked against his side when he hears the noise. It’s a pained cry, and for a moment he thinks it’s Roman or Thomas. 

Quickly, he shakes his head to clear it and refocus. Thomas and Roman are training closer to the shoreline today, so they wouldn’t be this far inland. And the cry he’d heard . . . it wasn’t quite human. 

The cry echoes again, but there’s something different about it. Virgil ties the firewood together and throws it over his shoulder, scrambling off towards the cry. “I’m coming!” 

He realizes that this is kind of a stupid move. He realizes that he could be running straight into danger. What if it’s a trap? What if he gets himself killed? Despite his fear, there’s something in him pulling him forward. The cry sounds real, and it sounds pained. Who or whatever is making it needs help, and Virgil will not stand idly by and let someone suffer because of his fear. 

He makes his way to a cliff, and he can hear whoever’s crying on the other side. The cliff is tall, but not unscalable. Virgil’s used to climbing glaciers back home, and while ice is slippery and more perilous than rock, he can rely on his bending to keep himself steady. Here, he’s climbing with no support. 

Virgil pulls off his boots and knots the laces together, slinging them around his shoulders. Going barefoot will ensure that he has a better grip on the cliff as he climbs. The sun gleams sharply on the dark rocks, and Virgil goes slowly to make sure he doesn’t accidentally grab a sharp rock and slice his hands open. He hasn’t had to climb like this in quite a while, but he enjoys it, despite the reason for his climb. 

When he finally pushes himself up to the top of the cliff, he gasps. He’s found a small valley, hidden in the large, dark mountains, and tucked inside is a building. It’s built almost into the shadow of the mountain from dark brick, with a dark red tiled roof and gleaming golden accents. This must be the Fire Nation temple he’d spotted when they flew in, he realizes. 

The cry echoes again, and Virgil realizes that it’s coming from the temple. He quickly pulls his boots off from around his neck and tugs them on, knotting the laces securely. The cliff slopes much more smoothly on this side, like the curve of a bowl. Virgil backs up and then leaps over the side, pulling water out of the waterskin hanging at his side with his hand. He bends it and freezes it beneath him, creating a flat board that he can surf down the hill on. 

Virgil makes it to the bottom of the hill in record time, leaping off and bending his ice board back to regular water, which he quickly bends back into his waterskin. The temple hadn’t looked huge from the top of the cliff, but up close and in person it’s enormous. It’s clearly suffered from neglect; the door hangs ajar from the hinges, the gold is flaking off of the roof and the statues, some of which are missing arms and legs and noses and ears and even heads. Still, the temple is undeniably beautiful. 

A pitiful whimper sounds from the temple, and Virgil exhales softly. “I’m coming,” he says softly. “I’m coming.” 

The temple is dark inside, but Virgil can see rows of torches on the walls. He assumes they’re meant to be lit with fire bending, probably meant to be eternally burning, but he’ll have to make do. He carries flints with him in his shoulder bag, and he quickly pulls a torch off the wall and lights it. As he progresses slowly through the temple, he lights the other torches, and they cast a warm, ambient glow over the whole room. There are pictures decorating the entire length of the hallway, telling stories of the Fire Nation. They tell how the dragons taught the people of the Fire Nation to bend, to harness the warmth and strength of fire. 

Looking at these pictures, Virgil can’t fear fire bending. It looks peaceful; there’s strength and power there, but there’s also love and light and warmth. 

The hallway narrows and narrows and narrows, and then it widens abruptly into a large central chamber. This is the most intricately decorated room Virgil has ever seen - the walls, the roof, the floor, the pillars, everything is absolutely covered in decoration, but he can’t focus on any of it.

All he can focus on is the dragon in the middle of the room. 

It’s enormous , a long, serpentine body winding around the columns. It’s a brilliant red, scales flecked with gold, and a row of orange gold-tipped spines running down its back. Its wings are spread out over the floor, and its head has golden horns and spines and whiskers. The dragon lets out another pitiful cry, and as Virgil inches closer he sees it - a massive wound in the dragon’s side. 

It looks like an old wound, one that hasn’t healed properly. Even from afar, Virgil can tell that it might be infected, and the dragon’s breathing is heavy and labored. He creeps closer, and the dragon’s head snaps around to stare at him. Its eyes are a bright, unnatural blue, with slitted golden pupils, and when it stares at him it feels like it’s staring directly into his soul.

WHY HAVE YOU COME, CHILD? Virgil nearly drops the torch to cower and cover his ears. The voice is only in his head, and the dragon’s mouth does not move to speak, but he can feel it resonate against his sternum. HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME, FINALLY?

“N - no,” Virgil manages, voice catching in his throat. “I heard you crying out.”

I AM IN PAIN. I HAVE BEEN IN PAIN FOR QUITE SOME TIME. I FEAR I AM NOT LONG FOR THIS WORLD.

“I - I might be able to help you,” Virgil says. 

WILL YOU KILL ME, CHILD? PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY?

“No,” Virgil says. “I - no ! I will not kill you! I want to try and heal you.” 

YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO THIS, CHILD?

“I’ve never tried to heal a creature this big or a wound this serious,” Virgil admits honestly. “But I’m going to try. I won’t just let you suffer without trying.” 

THAT IS ADMIRABLE.

“Can I come a little closer?” Virgil asks. The dragon rests its large head on its forepaws.

YOU MAY.

Virgil slowly climbs over the coils of the dragon’s body, settling himself down cross-legged next to the massive wound on the dragon’s side. It looks like an old burn wound, and the dragon’s flank rises and falls shallowly as it breathes. He gently lays a hand next to the dragon’s wound. 

“Oh . . . what happened?” 

IT WAS DRAGONS WHO TAUGHT THE FIRE NATION TO BEND. WE GAVE THEM THE GIFT OF FIRE. THE FIRE LORD TURNED IT ON US. HE SLEW ALL THE DRAGONS THAT I KNEW. I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT. I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND. 

Virgil presses his free hand over his mouth. “That’s . . . that’s so horrible . . .”

I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS HAD THEIR LIFE DESTROYED, I SENSE.

Virgil winces. “My . . . my dad. They killed him because they thought he was the last water bender of our tribe. He died lying to protect me.” 

I AM SORRY, CHILD. THAT IS A FATE NO ONE SHOULD SUFFER.

Virgil exhales shakily. “No one should suffer your fate, either. I will do my best to heal you.” He pops the cap off of his waterskin and bends the water around his hands like a protective covering. The water begins to glow as he places his hands just above the dragon’s wound, letting his water bending give him information. What it tells him isn’t good; the wound is old, and it’s infected as he’d thought, and he suspects that the dragon has some form of blood poisoning. 

He’s never tried to heal something this big, or this serious. But he promised he would try, and try he will. He’s lucky that the full moon was the other night; that’s when water benders are at the height of their power. With luck, he’ll be strong enough for this task.

IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, CHILD, DO NOT PUSH YOURSELF. I HAVE SURVIVED THIS LONG. I WILL ENDURE.

“No,” Virgil says, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “I’m not giving up. I have to try.” He presses his hands against the wound, and the water begins to glow even brighter. He focuses on the flow of energy moving throughout the dragon’s massive body, pulling out the infection surrounding the wound and trying to push healing energy into the dragon in its place. 

The water quickly becomes murky and infected as he heals. Virgil takes breaks to dispose of the tainted water and fetch some more clean water from the stream outside. The more he works, the shakier he gets, and he’s worried that he won’t have the energy to finish healing the dragon. 

DO NOT HURT YOURSELF, LITTLE ONE, the dragon rumbles. ALREADY I FEEL MYSELF IMPROVING. YOUR KINDNESS HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR ME.

“I - I can keep goin’,” Virgil slurs. “Almost done . . . one more should do it . . .”

He presses his hands against the wound one last time. It’s shrunk down considerably, all the infection pulled out and purified and disposed of. He’s working on the final part of the healing now, re-growing the torn and burnt muscle and skin and making sure the dragon’s scales grow in properly. 

Finally, he pulls his hands away, and the wound on the dragon’s side is no more. It stands up, shaking itself out; all of the scales rattle as they realign, and the dragon roars. THANK YOU, LITTLE ONE. YOU HAVE HELPED ME IMMENSELY. The dragon begins to glow bright blue, and Virgil’s exhausted brain manages to connect the dots: the dragon is a spirit. He’s just healed a spirit. 

YOU HAVE EARNED MY GRATITUDE THIS DAY, the dragon spirit tells him. REST NOW, LITTLE ONE. KNOW THAT THE SPIRITS ARE WITH YOU, AND ONE DAY YOUR GOOD DEED WILL COME BACK TO YOU TENFOLD.

Virgil’s vision blacks out and blurs around the edges. The last thing he sees as he falls backwards is the dragon spirit’s head coming forward to catch his body.

*~*~*~*~*

“- isn’t he waking up?!”

“What if he’s dead?” 

“He is not dead, I can hear his heartbeat. It is strong and steady. He will survive.” 

“But what if he doesn’t wake up?!” 

“Geez, Roman,” Virgil groans, lifting a hand to his head. “I never knew you cared.”

“Virgil!” He winces at the shout. “Oh, shit, sorry -” A hand presses against his forehead, warm, and when Virgil opens his eyes (only halfway), Roman is leaning over him, eyes bright with worry. 

“What . . . happened?” 

“You were taking forever to come back from firewood, so we went looking for you! We thought you had been ambushed and captured!” Patton explains, twisting his hands with worry. “We found you at the foot of a cliff, there was a rock next to you! We think there was some kind of rock fall that caught you unaware, you must have hit your head! We don’t know how long you were unconscious!” 

“How long has it been?” 

“We found you a few hours ago,” Thomas says. “It’s evening now.” Virgil slowly sits up, wincing when his head pounds. Logan is sitting beside him, and he offers him a waterskin. Virgil takes it and quickly gulps down a few chilly swallows.

“I thought you were dead,” he says softly. “I could feel your heartbeat, I could hear you breathing, I knew you weren’t, but when we found you, I - I was terrified, and I . . . I thought you were - I -” 

Virgil gently touches Logan’s shoulder. It’s easy to forget that he’s only twelve and a half, with the mature aura he generally projects, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious that he’s just a child, thrust into a war against his will. Logan will lose what’s left of his childhood to this conflict, and Virgil will be damned if he forces Logan to grow up any faster than he already is. 

“I’m sorry, Logan,” he says. Logan turns his face towards Virgil, and his eyes are wet. He hasn’t let any tears fall, but his hand is shaking when he places it over Virgil’s. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I - I didn’t mean to make you think you’d lost someone else. I’m okay.” 

Logan is silent for a moment. “You’re not lying,” he whispers. “I’m still mad at you, though.” 

“That’s fine,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry that I made you mad.” 

“Smart answer,” Logan says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. He sniffles once, loudly, wiping at his eyes. “You saw nothing. I was not crying.” 

“Of course not,” Virgil teases, gently ruffling Logan’s hair. He squawks loudly, but he makes no attempt to dodge Virgil’s hands. Virgil assumes he’s been forgiven. 

*~*~*~*~*

The stars seem a little brighter that night. Virgil is on his back, hands beneath his head, staring up at the stars, when Roman flops down next to him. “What’cha doin’?” 

“Looking at the constellations,” Virgil tells him. “They’re nothing like the ones back home, so I’m making up my own.” 

“Do you wanna hear about ours?” Roman offers. He seems uncharacteristically shy, but Virgil just smiles at him. 

“Sure, Ro. I’d love to hear about Fire Nation constellations.” Suddenly, the stars alight in Roman’s eyes. He lays next to Virgil and starts to trace lines between the stars, telling stories about the pictures he’s creating. At some point, the rest of their group shows up and settles in around them. Thomas lays down next to Virgil, Logan slots up against his brother’s side, and Patton stretches out beside Roman. 

It’s good. It’s . . . peaceful.

*~*~*~*~*

The first time Thomas produces a flame on purpose, they all stop and stare. 

Roman has arranged the kindling around the firepit, but he’s refusing to light it. “You’re going to light the fire,” he tells Thomas. The Avatar shakes his head. 

“Ro, I’ve never made more than plumes of smoke and the occasional spark. I can’t light it.” 

“You’re going to have to,” Roman says, “because I won’t. We can’t cook dinner without the fire, so you’re gonna have to figure something out and fast. The sun’s setting.” Thomas huffs. 

“Roman, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“You’re the Avatar. The fire is in your veins the way it’s in mine. You just have to convince it to come out.” Roman crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow impassively at Thomas. Even though he’s only met the man in passing, Virgil is reminded of Roman’s Uncle Emile. 

Thomas drops into a fire bending stance and thrusts his hand forward. A puff of dark smoke appears, but no fire. He growls in frustration and throws his hand forward again, and again, then his foot, then another hand. He’s copying Roman’s bending stances, but no fire appears. 

“You have to try harder than that.” 

“I’m trying the hardest I can!” 

“If that was true, you would have lit the fire five minutes ago.” Roman’s eyes are hard as steel. “Do better.” 

“How?!” Thomas pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

“Just do it.” 

Thomas screams and thrusts his hand forward in frustration. A massive jet of fire roars forward, licking up the sides of the pit and engulfing all of the kindling. Within seconds, it’s reduced to ash. Before anyone else can react, Patton bends a vortex around the fire and siphons out all the air, extinguishing the fire. Thomas stares at the pit in shock, breathing heavily. 

“You did a good job,” Roman says, and his eyes are warm again. 

“What was that?!” 

“Fire benders often have to be pushed to a strong emotional extreme to create their first flame. Once you do it, though, it gets easier. We’ll work on being able to call your fire more reliably, and then we’ll work on tempering your control.” Roman touches Thomas’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m proud of you, Thomas.” 

Thomas smiles. Roman sweeps fresh kindling into the firepit. “Again.” 

Virgil backs up several feet. 

*~*~*~*~*

It takes about ten days for Thomas to be able to call his fire reliably. Roman needles him through the first few attempts, poking and prodding until Thomas screams in frustration and incinerates whatever’s closest to him. Eventually, however, he gains the ability to bend flames without fifteen minutes of Roman’s prompting. 

“You did well,” Roman tells him. “Now, we work on training that fire. Producing it is one thing, but controlling it is another. For that, we go inland.” 

“What? Why?” 

“There’s a Fire Nation temple on this island,” Roman says. “It’s not, like, strictly necessary to go there, but I always found that being connected to the tradition of fire benders before me helped sharpen my focus.” 

“Sounds cool,” Thomas says. Virgil thinks back to the temple where he’d found and healed the dragon. He’s glad they won’t be walking in on that fiasco. “Are we the only ones going?” 

“I want to go!” Patton says eagerly. “I’ve never seen a Fire Nation temple before!” 

“I would also like to visit an example of Fire Nation architecture,” Logan offers. “I am sure it will be fascinating.” 

They turn to face Virgil. “Vee? You coming?” Virgil’s already seen the Fire Nation temple, but he’s not too proud to admit that it was beautiful. He wonders if there are other secrets that the temple holds, secrets that will only reveal themselves in the presence of a fire bender. 

Plus, he’s not exactly keen on everyone else going off on an adventure without him. 

“Yeah, of course I am.” Roman grins. 

*~*~*~*~*

The cliff is much easier to scale the second time around. Before any of them can attempt to problem solve, Logan steps forward. Within a minute, he’s earth bended a set of stairs leading up the gleaming cliffside. “Will these suffice?” 

“Nicely done, Rocky!” Roman says, ruffling Logan’s hair. Logan hides his pleased smile, but Virgil catches a glimpse as he heads up the stairs. 

The temple is just as beautiful the second time around. Logan and Thomas bend a chute in the cliff, allowing them all to slide down to the entrance of the temple. “It’s beautiful,” Roman breathes. “It’s been neglected . . . forgotten about . . . but it’s still beautiful.” He reaches out towards the front door, carefully places his hand on the intricate wooden panelling. “There was one of these in the palace, but it wasn’t so intricately decorated. My father didn’t believe in taking care of temples like this, in honoring tradition. He only believes in power.” His voice is shaking. 

“We know not all fire benders are like that,” Virgil says softly. “We know you’re different.” 

Roman takes a deep breath. “Let’s go inside.” 

Once they step inside, Patton frowns. “It’s pitch black in here!” 

“Oh, no,” Logan deadpans. “How terrible, to not be able to see anything. How frightening.” Patton winces guiltily before Logan snorts and socks him in the arm. “Kidding. I do not take offense.” 

“Don’t worry about that,” Roman says. Virgil can barely see his silhouette in the dark, but then a flame arcs through the air, following the path of Roman’s foot as he bends. The flame dances along the rows of torches, illuminating the hallway. “Shall we?” 

Roman trails his fingertips over the murals carved into the walls as they walk. He’s vibrating like a little kid, but there’s something solemn and reverent in the way he touches things. “These murals tell the history of my people,” he whispers. He doesn’t need to, but Virgil feels the atmosphere of the temple the way he’s sure Roman does. It feels like a place for whispering. “They tell how the dragons taught us to fire bend. I wish I could see one . . .”

Virgil thinks of the last time he was here, and prays that they don’t see another dragon. 

When they enter the central chamber, it is empty and darkened. Roman steps into the center, humming softly to himself, before glancing upward. “I think I can open it . . .”

“Open what?” 

“All Fire Nation temples have a hatch in the ceiling that opens to let the sunlight in. That’s the source of our bending powers, is the spirit of the sun. There’s an intricate set of bending steps you have to do to open the hatch, it’s considered sacred. Fire Sages are usually the only ones who can do it, but they teach it to royalty as well.” Roman frowns. 

“What is it?” 

“Typically, you need two fire benders to open the hatch . . .” 

“I can help,” Thomas offers. 

“No, you’re not skilled enough outside of the Avatar state to do it. I can try and do it on my own, but I’m not super optimistic.” 

“You have to try!” Patton cheers. Someone snorts derisively from the darkness of the temple. Roman narrows his eyes, shifting to an attack stance. Virgil lets a knife drop into his hand; Patton and Logan shift into bending stances; Logan steps in front of Thomas, who settles into an earth bending stance of his own. 

Something crackles as white lines begin to trace in the dark. Roman’s face shifts from caution to shock. “Get down!” he shouts, moments before a lightning bolt sails over his head and slams into the wall. It fizzles out harmlessly against the stone, and Roman shifts back to a bending stance. “Show yourself!” Virgil’s blood runs cold. Another fire bender. They’ve been found.  

Another lightning bolt shoots out of the darkness, heading towards Roman. He doesn’t move, and Virgil is about to shove him out of the way when the lightning bolt strikes the stone right in front of Roman. Virgil frowns; Roman said lightning bending was rare, something only skilled fire benders could do. Whoever’s bending in the dark has missed them, not once but twice. Either they’re a terrible shot, or . . . 

They’re missing on purpose. 

Roman takes a step towards the darkness, and then another. “Show yourself,” he repeats, voice just a little softer. 

“Bad idea,” Virgil warns, voice low. Something shifts in the darkness, snarling, and then a dark blur throws itself onto Roman. It tackles him to the ground, knocking him flat on his back. Roman lets out a winded noise as he rolls with his attacker, trying to pin them down. Virgil slips a throwing knife into his hand, pinning it between his index and middle fingers, but he can’t get a clear shot on Roman’s attacker to throw it. 

Finally, they stop moving. Roman is on his back, his attacker perched proudly on his stomach. Virgil is ready to attack, but freezes when he sees that Roman isn’t staring up at his attacker with fear or anger or concern. His face is soft, and open, and looks almost . . . hopeful. Virgil’s eyes slide to Roman’s attacker, and he does a double take. 

Roman is being pinned to the ground by . . . himself?

A few more seconds clears his vision; the boy pinning Roman looks very similar to his friend, but there are differences. He has a white streak of hair in his bangs, the wispy beginnings of a mustache, a gap between his front teeth. There’s something slightly unhinged glinting in his eyes as he grins. 

“Remus?” Roman breathes. The name rings a bell. Remus. Roman’s twin brother. The one who told them about this island.  

“The one and only!” Remus crows. He hops up off of Roman, eyes settling on Virgil and the others. He bows exaggeratedly, crossing one foot behind the other, grinning up at them with something just shy of mania. Roman rolls to his feet and yanks Remus into a hug. 

“Rem!” Roman’s fist grips Remus’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, and Remus holds his brother just as tightly. “You’re okay! After I left, I was so worried Father would do something to you, are you - are you okay?!” 

“I’m okay,” Remus says softly. “I’m okay, Ro, and Deedee is too. He’s safe.” 

“Is he here too?!” Roman gasps hopefully. Remus shakes his head. 

“He’s not strong enough to leave the ship’s quarters. Father did a number on him. But he’s alive, and he misses you. A lot.”

“I miss him too,” Roman says, eyes watering. He pulls back from the hug just enough to study Remus’s face. “Your hair - what happened?” 

“Lightning mishap.” 

“You can bend lightning now?! You absolute fucker!” Roman laughs, dragging Remus back into his arms. “I can’t believe you figured it out first!” Remus grins, hugging his twin. “How did you get here? We flew in, but -”

“I took a rowboat.” 

“Are you crazy?! You came in by sea? You could have been killed!” 

“I know! It would have been so exciting!” Remus chirps, bouncing and flapping his hands. “But I knew you were gonna be here, and I missed you!” 

“That was a stupid risk!” 

“Saving the Avatar and his baby brother from Father’s wrath was a stupid risk, too. Must run in the family.” 

Roman punches his brother in the chest. Remus laughs, rolling with the blow and kicking Roman’s feet out from under him. Roman lands flat on his back, laughing breathlessly. Virgil lets his knife slide back into its sheath. Remus still sets him on edge, but Roman looks more at ease than Virgil’s ever seen him (with the possible exception of when his Uncle Emile tumbled out of those bushes). 

It’s nice to see him relax.

*~*~*~*~*

Later, after Remus and Roman have performed and intricate series of dance-like fire bending steps and opened the roof hatch, letting the sun come pouring in, they all sit together. Remus and Roman are pressed close together, literally joined at the hip. 

“I can’t stay much longer,” Remus says regretfully. “I’m going to have to head out today if I’m to make it back to the warship before the sea becomes unnavigable.” 

“Why risk it at all?” Roman asks. 

“We’re checking all the outlying Fire Nation islands for you. Your flying sky beast was spotted by some locals on the shore. I volunteered because I knew it was the most dangerous island to look for. The crew thinks it was a noble gesture, they don’t suspect me.” 

“But if they do,” Roman says, “what will they do to you?”

Remus grins, sharp and unhinged. “I can do worse back to them, tenfold. Trust me. And they won’t find anything out.” 

“Why come yourself?” Virgil asks. “Why not send your Uncle?” 

Remus’s grin fades. “I missed Ro. We’ve never been apart this long, it’s . . . I hate it. It’s like someone ripped my arm and leg out and then beat me over the head with it.” 

“I hate it too,” Roman says. He grips Remus’s hand tightly. “I’m so sorry that I left you.” 

“Hey, if Dee and I coulda escaped with you, we would have,” Remus shrugs. “You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” 

“Someone has to take care of him until you get back. And Dee’s cool, I don’t mind.” Remus turns to regard Thomas, tilting his head to the side. “So how good of an Avatar are you?” 

“I’ve mastered earth bending,” Thomas says. “Roman is teaching me to master fire. Air is next, then water.” Remus winces. “What?” 

“You might wanna hurry that time table up a little. There aren’t any water benders left at the South Pole.” 

“I know,” Virgil says coolly. “I’m from the South Pole.” 

“Father is planning something,” Remus says, gripping Roman’s hand back. “He keeps meeting with dignitaries from the Air Nomads, and I’m not sure why. He told me before I left that he was trying to broker peace, but -”

“But Father has never brokered a peace in his entire life,” Roman finishes. “That’s suspicious.” 

“There’s more. I think once he finishes with whatever he’s doing with the Air Nomads, he’s planning an assault on the Northern Water Tribe.” 

“How is he going to do that?” 

“With the Air Nomads’ help?” 

“My people would never aid in something like that,” Patton spits. Remus shrugs. 

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just saying, you don’t know what Father is capable of the way that Roman and I do. He’s capable of atrocities beyond your comprehension. He took Mother away from us. He took Roman away from me. He’s - he’s taking everyone I’ve ever loved.” 

“He won’t take me,” Roman promises. “We might not physically be with each other, but as soon as the war is over I’ll come home.” 

“You’ll have to kill Father for that to happen,” Remus says. “You’ll have to win the war.” 

“We will.” Roman’s eyes are blazing, and Remus stares into them for a moment before nodding. 

“I believe you.” 

“Good.” Remus stands up. “Don’t accompany me to the shoreline. The ship’s crew are watching through the onboard telescope, and if they see you they’ll storm the island. Wait until after sundown, we’ll be long gone by then. If plans change, I’ll send Dragon.”

“You better be taking care of him. And Dolos.” 

“Please, Roro. I’m not taking care of anyone. Uncle Emile is keeping us all alive.” Roman heaves an exaggerated sigh. 

“I don’t know why I expected better.” He stands up as well, gripping Remus’s shoulders. “Promise me that you’ll be careful?” 

“I’m never careful, brother,” Remus laughs. They pull into another tight hug before Remus is disappearing down the hallway like a shadow. Roman watches him go with a wistful, hungry expression on his face before turning around to stare at Thomas with renewed fire. 

“You heard my brother. We have a lot of work to do.” 

[nsheetee]

Déjà vu

Pairing: Ten x Reader Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers AU, College AU || Fluff Length: 2.3k Warning: Some swearing, that bad cliche where one character saves the other when a car passes by Summary: You accidentally reunite with your childhood friend Ten after several years of not seeing each other. 

☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆

Do you ever feel like there’s a memory stuck in your head? It’s somewhere in your subconscious, coming out through déjà vu or through dreams, but you can’t actually remember it until you see a particular picture you haven’t seen in a long time or reconcile with an old friend that you haven’t spoken to in a while.

That’s what it felt like when you see Ten again for the first time in 10 years.

He’s taller than you remember. His hair is still the same shade of black, but now it’s chopped shorter to only cover his forehead rather than his eyes. You used to tease him so much about his lankiness and his height and his hair but as you look at him now, you realize he’s grown. He has muscles that stick out of the short sleeves of his shirt and his tan skin glows even under the ugly lights of the classroom.

You sit down, unknowingly clutching the sides of the seat as you watch Ten. He doesn’t seem to have seen you walk in and continues to sketch in a notebook while a dark-haired guy sitting next to him, you assume Ten’s friend, talks to him. Only your luck would bring an old childhood friend back into your life, especially when you’re trying to start on a clean slate at your new university. You contemplate the pros and cons about dropping this class and taking it next semester, but the professor walks in before you can think on it any further.

The professor is a short and square-looking man with a growing bald spot on his head and a sweater vest over his chest. He introduces himself and starts taking attendance. You can almost feel your eyes roll into the back of your head by how monotonous his voice sounds.

“And next is… Chit...Chitta…” Your eyes glare over towards the dark-haired boy who starts snickering and pushing Ten’s arm. You see Ten covering his face with a hand as the professor attempts to say his full name.

“It’s Chittaphon.” You don’t even realize you spoke up until the words leave your mouth. Bodies turn to look at you, but you can only feel the surprised gaze of one pair. You feel like sliding down your seat as Ten’s mouth opens in realization, the corner of his lips coming up as he keep looking at you.

You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“Is that your name?” The professor asks, looking up from his attendance sheet.

“No, sir. That’s mine. You can call me Ten.” The professor looks between both of you with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know who they are.” Some people in the class laugh at Ten’s comment and you feel your body heat up with embarrassment.

You definitely should’ve kept your mouth shut.

When the first lecture ends, you’re out of your seat and through the door before the professor can wish the class a good day. You hear Ten’s voice shouting your name as you maneuver through the other students in the building to reach the doors. A hand on your forearm makes you stop in your spot and Ten comes to stand in front of you.

“Huh. It really is you.”

“I thought you didn’t know who I was.” You shake his hands off your forearms.

“Hey, I was just joking.” Ten laughs and you think you just transported 10 years into the past with his words. Memories of Ten playing pranks on you everytime he would come over for his English lessons with your mother dance through your head. You came to this university to begin a new chapter of your life, but seeing Ten makes you a bit homesick. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He finally finishes his thought.

“Me neither. I thought you weren’t smart enough to get into college.” You cross your arms over your chest and a sneaky smile covers Ten’s lips.

“If one of us is not smart enough to get into college, shouldn’t it be you? You ate crayons when we were 7.” He laughs wholeheartedly at the memory and your annoyance gets the better of you. You walk away from him, but Ten trails next to you.

“Do you remember when we played outside after my english lessons? I once dared you to eat a rollie-pollie and you cried.” Ten laughs again as you both walk out of the building, down the sidewalk, and to the bus stop.

“Oh, oh, do you remember the time we went swimming in the lake and--” Ten cuts off. You look at him when he becomes silent.

“Yeah, you stole my clothes and I had to walk home in my bathing suit. I got a cold from that, for your information.” You finish the story bitterly. That was what you remember the story to be but to Ten, that day was a bit more important for him.

It was the day he realized he likes you. Like-likes you.

That day when he picked you up from your house and walked alongside the road with you all the way to the lake, his heart beat a little faster and he tried to fix his hair even though he knew it was going to be ruined by the water soon. He kept pushing you into the street as you walked and you screamed at him to stop because of the cars passing by, Ten laughed, but he stopped for you. And when he came to his tutoring lessons the next few days, he felt genuine guilt when he could hear sniffling and coughing from your bedroom.

Even now, 10 years later, Ten still finds his heart beating uncomfortably fast and his eyes not able to wander from you. How could he stop looking at you when he hasn’t seen you for the past 10 years?

After a short bus ride, you both get off at the same stop and continue to awkwardly walk down the street side by side. No conversation; just a foot of space between both of you and your own earbuds in your ears.

“Why are you following me?” You ask, filling the uncomfortable silence.

“I’m not following you. My apartment is this way.” You scoff at the amount of coincidences that have been happening to you today, sending a quick message in your head to Fate to ask why she hates you. When Ten notices you step up the steps to a building, he stops and turns to face you.

“I live over there.” He points to a tall apartment building across the street. “It looks like you and I will be walking home together every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.” He smiles cheekily before turning around and continuing his walk to his own home.

When you make it into your apartment, you take off your shoes and lean against the wall, sliding down until your butt meets the wooden floor. You push a sigh out of your lungs, already tired from school and it was only the first day. You contemplate just how bad it is that Ten will be in one of your classes and living only a minute away from you. Despite all of his teasing and the amount of embarrassing memories he has of you, he’s still an old friend and you’ll treat him as such. You just hope the small crush you had on him as a child will stay in the past.

☆☆☆

“Stop moving.” Ten grumbles from beside you, his knee nudging your side as he folds himself between you and the window of the bus. He’s been attempting to draw you on the bus ride home today, but your moving has kept him from getting a good look at your face. You’re a bit scared to look at him, fearing your inability to look away if you get the chance to stare at him.

“Wait,” Ten says suddenly, causing you to stop your movement. “Don’t move. Not even an inch.” He mumbles, his pencil working quickly on his notepad. It’s perched awkwardly on his thigh, and his eyes filter from his paper to you multiple times in several minutes. When the bus stops at your destination, you both leave your seats and walk down the concrete sidewalk.

“Well,” You motion your head to the notepad that’s shoved between Ten’s arm and side. “Are you going to show me the drawing?”

“No.” Ten snorts and continues to walk down the sidewalk as you veer off to the right and climb the steps to your building. Before you can roll your eyes and curse him under your breath, he stops and turns to you.

“What’s your apartment number?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Just tell me. Or I’ll knock on every door on every floor until you answer.” You roll your eyes at his threat, but tell him your apartment number anyways. Ten is exactly the type of person who is extra enough to annoy your neighbors. Later that night, your doorbell rings an annoying number of times in a row. When you open the door, there’s no one there. Only a dish of food with a note attached to it sitting on your doorstep.

“You told me a few days ago you live alone. Here’s some pasta I made. Knowing you, you’re probably the worst cook ever. Don’t starve. - 10”

The hand holding the note drops to your side and you stare down at the glass dish on your doorstep, steam covering the inside of it. It’s fresh.

You curse to yourself, childishly stomping your foot down. That little drawing, cooking, conniving imbecile was squeezing his way back into the chambers of your heart. Little by little, you knew you’d fall for him if he kept doing things like this. You can’t help but accept the pasta, opening the lid to the dish and savouring the aroma as the steam hits you in the face.

Damn it. He’s a good cook, too.

☆☆☆

Towards the end of the semester, your and Ten’s schedules became busy. Riding the bus together for 3 days of the week turned into only 2 days, which then turned into 1 day. It was slightly embarrassing how quickly you got used to Ten being around you, and when he suddenly wasn’t there as much as he used to be, you were even more embarrassed to admit that you miss him. Ten quickly pointed out your happy expression when you saw him approach you at the bus station that day.

“Missed me?” He asks, a slight smirk on his lips that makes you roll your eyes.

“You wish.” You lied. Before another word can be spoken, the bus pulls up and you load into your usual seat with Ten at your side once again. The bus ride is surprisingly peaceful; Ten pulls out his headphones and give one to you, your knees brush together as the bus shakes on it’s bumpy ride down the road. It’s snowed in your area this season already but when you step out of the bus, the small snowflakes take you by surprise and you raise your hand to feel them melt in your palm.

“Hey, Y/N…” Ten trails off as you walk down the sidewalk; your shoulders brushing, your head facing upwards while his sheepishly looks down at his feet.

“Yeah?” You finally reply.

“I have something to confess…” He trails off again.

“What is-” You’re cut off by Ten pulling you into him by your elbow. A car honks loudly as it passes by at what is probably way over the speed limit. You and Ten both watch the car drive by, your bodies way closer than they have been in a long time.

“My confession is that you’re dumb. Why would you walk that close to the road?” Ten scolds you, but you know he’s not mad.

“Because I know you’ll pull me away from the road.”

A feeling of déjà vu takes over you and Ten; you both remembered that day that you went to the lake. The sweet memories of an earlier time when the only thing that mattered was what game you’ll play once you reach your favorite hangout spot at the lake. Ten used to push you into the street and pull you back when you yelled at him, but you always knew he wouldn’t put you into any real harm.

Why kid yourselves? Not much has changed.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” Ten states and your eyes widen at his unexpected words. The grip he has on your elbow pulls you closer, if even possible, and he leans in. You lean away, your mind nor your lips prepared for this new step of your relationship. Your other hand stops him from leaning and he looks confused for a moment.

“Sorry-”

“Just so we have our stories correct; you fell for me first and couldn’t stop yourself from kissing me. I’m just so undeniable.” Ten blinks at your words, surprised at your confidence and at your smirk.

“I hate you.” He mumbles.

“Really?” You hum in fake concentration. “Says the guy who’s about to kiss me.”

Ten’s lips find yours, anything to shut you up. You can’t help but smile; so many of your childhood dreams coming true with this one shared moment. You and Ten kiss for a little while longer until your fingertips are numb from the cold.

“Let’s go up to my apartment.” You suggest after leaning away.

“Oh? Already inviting me up to your place?” Ten teases, not letting you lean too far away.

“Very funny. I have to give you back your dish, and I guess we can kiss a little more.”

[the-awkward-outlaw]

A New Adventure

Warnings: None

Word count: ~2300

**Author’s note - This takes place in Utah (for my own reasons). This one shot is to set up my modern reader x Arthur Morgan head cannons. I am open to requests and ideas! If you like what you read, leave a comment!**

Masterlist

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You’re walking in the park by your home. It’s something you like to do every day with your dog, not only to give her exercise but so you can get some too. After all, working in an office at a desk doesn’t allow you to walk around much. 

The park is pretty and you’re lucky to be living just down the street from it. It sits at the foot of a mountain range in your home valley. Right now, there’s some snow on the ground from a big storm that came through a few days ago, but it’s already melting. Perks of living in the west. Sure, winters are cold and long and the snow sucks worse, but at least it only sticks around for a few days. You love living out here though. The mountains are beautiful, you wouldn’t trade them for hardly anything. 

You walk along the west side of the park right at the base of the mountain. There’s a small cave there, it only goes back about twenty feet and the local kids like to go play in there, and sometimes the older kids go in there to smoke or drink. Luckily because you live in a small neighborhood that isn’t close enough to the big city, kids smoking is about the worst that happens out here. You’ve been inside the cave once. There’s a weird drawing on the back wall, but several people have left their artists marks behind in it, so you’ve never thought anything of it.

As you begin approaching, Sage, your Bernese mountain dog, begins barking at it. Strange. She rarely barks and she’s been past this cave pretty much every day since you’ve had her. Maybe there’s a racoon or a skunk in there tonight. 

You tell Sage to shush and continue walking towards the cave. She settles down but still growls. You begin thinking of other things and forgetting about her behavior when a man steps out of the cave. You recognize him, not by his face, but his outfit. He’s dressed as Arthur Morgan from your favorite video game Red Dead Redemption 2. You smile at him. Cosplayers are a pretty big deal in your state, thanks to the rise of your local comic book convention. However, he’s dressed up for the wrong time for the con, it’s not until September. It’s only February. And why the hell would this cosplayer be in the cave dressed up? Weird. 

You keep walking. Sage wags her tail at him but continues on with you, no longer growling. She probably could smell him and not see him, explaining the barking. She’s an overly friendly dog so you’re not worried about her. 

The man looks around as though he’s no idea where he is. Maybe he’s on something. As you get closer, you think he’s an exceptional Arthur Morgan. He looks just like him. Not only are his clothes exactly like the character’s, even worn and dirty in the right spots, his face is exactly like him. Broad shoulders, tanned skin, light stubble on his jawline and unkempt hair under his iconic hat. You can even see the bald spot on his chin where Arthur has a scar. 

He continues looking around, confused, and then he spots you. You’re too close to just ignore him so you smile. 

“Nice cosplay!” you say. 

“Excuse me?” he says. Man, he even sounds like Arthur!

“I said, nice cosplay! You going to a costume party or something.” 

“A what? Lady, I ain’t got no clue what you’re saying.” 

You’ve stopped by this point to look at him, giving him a confused smile. “Man, you’re really in character too! I gotta admire that. I’m a cosplayer too but I can never stay in character. Kudos to you though!” 

You’re tempted to ask for a picture, but it seems perhaps a little inappropriate. He’s looking at you like you’re a freak, as if he wasn’t the one who just popped out of a cave. 

“Well, have a good night,” you say, walking on. 

“Uh, sure I guess. Hey, ma’am?” he jogs up to you and stops a few feet from you. He’s beginning to weird you out. Just because you live in a small neighborhood doesn’t mean you don’t know how dangerous people can be, particularly men. Besides, if he’s on something, he could be even more of a threat. You keep a tight leash on Sage. She’s not likely to attack him, but you don’t want him to know how much of a pushover pooch she is. 

“Sorry, ma’am, guess I’m just a little lost. Um, maybe ya can help me?” 

“Sure, I guess. What you wanna know?” 

“Well, where the hell am I, for starters.” 

You tell him the name of your town, keeping a hard eye on him. 

“Where is that exactly? Are we in New Hanover? Or West Elizabeth maybe?” 

“Oh boy, you really are selling this cosplay, ain’t you? Well, okay. I’ll play along. Mr. Morgan, you are in Utah.”

“Utah?” he says. He looks away and mouths the word. You know that Utah wasn’t a state until 1896, three years before Red Dead 2 takes place. Boy, this guy is really selling this. 

“Yeah. Come on, dude, quit playing. Your cosplay is on point, in fact everything about you is on point. But… come on, man what’s your name?” 

“Well, seems you already know my last name, miss. Name’s Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

“Still playing, huh?” you say with a sigh. “Fine, have it your way.” You wonder if he’s one of those people with an illness that makes him believe he’s someone else. Like Teddy from Arsenic and Old Lace, who firmly believed he was Theodore Rosevelt. “Well, come on,” you say, wondering if you need to call the police or have him checked into a hospital. 

“Ma’am, I promise you I ain’t crazy and I ain’t playin’ whatever you think I’m playin’. Tell me, is it still 1899?’”

“What? Dude, come on. It’s 2020.”

“2020!” he cuts you off. “What the hell?” He looks around again and towards the east side of the park where the rec center and playground is, and beyond that the main road, busy with cars heading home for the night. His look of confusion and even fear is so genuine that you wonder what’s really going on. 

“Look, mister. What was the last thing you were doing before coming here?” 

He looks at you for a moment before answering. “I was in Big Valley collectin’ orchids for some crazy feller. I walked into this cave and saw a dinosaur bone. Some lady, don’t remember what she called herself, said she’d pay me for locations of bones. I went over to mark it and I saw this weird symbol on the wall. I touched it and the mouth of the cave got wickedly bright, it got hot, and when the light went away, I stepped out here.” 

He looks around again. “You seen a horse anywhere?” 

You look at him sadly. This poor, deluded man. Truly believes he’s Arthur Morgan, picking flowers for that collector in Saint Denis and finding bones for the paleontologist lady. You wonder who this man identified with before Red Dead 2 came out in 2018. 

“Mister, only rich people own horses. There’s some about a mile north, but they don’t belong to you I don’t think.” 

He looks at you, confused again. 

“Come on, mister,” you say, beckoning him to follow. “Let me, um… I think you need to see someone.” 

You begin walking again but he calls to you.

“Still don’t believe me, do ya miss?” 

“Listen to yourself!” you say. “Arthur Morgan is from a video game. A video game! He’s not real, but you are. Please sir, I think you need help.” 

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell a video game is, but I can prove I am real and I am Arthur Morgan!” 

He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a slightly ruffled looking orchid. The kind you know from playing the game grows in Big Valley in West Elizabeth, in the forest where the pigs and cougars spawn. He then pulls out a newspaper and hands it to you. 

The newspaper’s called “Saint Denis Times” and it’s dated June 18, 1899. The top headline is reporting the bloody massacre of the Grey family in Rhodes. You’ve read the newspapers in the game once before and you remember the article. It’s exactly the same as the one from the game. He then pulls out his pocketwatch. It’s worn and dirty just like the one from the game. 

He continues pulling out more objects, even some dried meat. As he shows you more things, you inspect the guns in his holsters. They look real. In his holster on his right hip, you see the double-action revolver with its gold barrel and white handle. You see the engraving of a stag’s head on it. 

The more he shows you, the more you find it hard to believe he’s not the real Arthur Morgan. But how in the hell is this possible? It can’t be and yet here he is. He even pulls out his journal. He doesn’t open it, you’re not surprised. You’ve played the game enough to know he’d never show you what’s inside (even though you’ve already seen it). Everything he’s shown you seems so genuine, so real. Something inside you says he’s not making it up, but how in the hell can it be real? There’s no logic to it! 

You tell him to put his things away as you try to think how this could have happened. Arthur, or whatever his real name is, asks to show you the drawing he touched in the cave. You say okay, but keep a firm grip on the pepper spray in your pocket (you never go anywhere without it). The man leads you to the cave and you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight. 

“What is that?” he asks to the slim device in your hand, trying to stare into the light, flabbergasted by it. 

“It’s a phone,” you say, continuing on in the cave. Sage sniffs along the ground happily, but as you approach the back, she starts barking. The same way she was before the man came out of the cave. 

“That’s it,” he says, pointing to it. The drawing looks like some strange symbol. Although you’ve studied some anthropology and symbolism, you’ve never been able to place the culture or meaning of the symbol and just assumed some kid did it. However, getting closer to it, you see it’s been carved into the rock and looks like it’s been there for a long time. 

Arthur grabs your shoulder. “Don’t get closer to it, miss. I ain’t too sure what it is, but… well, it ain’t good I think. It’s what I touched and that’s how I ended up here.” 

You heed his warning and take a few steps back. You take a picture of it so you can do some research. You aren’t too sure what to do at this point. Something tells you that you can’t take this man to the hospital, and calling the cops wouldn’t do any good. However, the sun’s setting and you have to work in the morning. All your logic says he can’t stay with you, this isn’t a Disney movie after all. He might be playing an elaborate hoax or something. 

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” he asks. 

“How can I?” you demand. “I mean, listen to yourself! You can’t be Arthur Morgan! He’s from a video game!” 

The man sighs and walks over to the wall, placing his hand on the symbol. Sage begins barking like crazy and the opening of the cave becomes too bright to look at and the cave fills with hot air. After a few seconds, the light dims and it cools. 

You step outside the cave and find yourself standing in Big Valley. You’re in awe. Somehow, you’ve been transported to 1899 into the game of Red Dead. A pig somewhere nearby squeals and you see, maybe 50 feet away, a huge Ardennes warhorse. She snorts at Arthur. 

“You believe me now, miss?” he asks. 

You nod, still unable to speak. 

“Good. I… I have to admit, I wasn’t sure that’d work.” 

You finally look at him understandingly. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t think it was possible.” 

“I can understand why, miss. I wouldn’t believe it myself if it hadn’t happened to me.” He looks around and then begins to cough. 

“Shit, Arthur. You okay?” 

“Yeah,” he says, spitting into the grass and wiping his mouth. You see the small line of blood left away. 

“Arthur, you have TB, don’t you?”

He looks at you, shocked. “How… how do you know that? I only saw a doctor for it two days ago.” 

Where to begin with this, you wonder. “Um… it’ll take some explaining, but come on. Let’s see if we can go back and I can get you some medicine for it.” 

“You mean… there’s a cure for it where you come from?” 

“Well, sort of. We don’t have a cure, per say, but we do have antibiotics. They’ll kick your ass just about as much as the bacteria, but at least you’re more likely to live.” 

He looks at you and you see a glimmer of hope. “Okay. I’ll go with you, miss.”

You head back into the cave and touch the symbol. It surprisingly works again and you’re taken back to your time and your park. You’ll take Arthur to a doctor, but you have to drop Sage off at your house and get a car. You have to smile to yourself as you tell Arthur to walk with you. What an adventure this is going to be.

[onwesterlywinds]

One Last Step

So still this broken melody And therewith shoulder thee One last step only leaving An empty hearth down by the sea

Content warning for suicide. | Contains spoilers through 5.0.

I.

In the weeks before the Calamity, Ahtynwyb Eynskyfwyn often dreamt of a tempest of mythological proportions. In those dreams, the storm would bring itself to bear against the mighty cliffs of Quarterstone, upon which perched her grandparents' cabin. The seas would rise in a deafening pulse with waves fit to level any lesser artifice, breaking against the wall of stone and sending their spray up into the blustering sky.

And she would stand alone at the top of those cliffs and know, even in her dreams, that naught would ever be the same again.

II.

The Cabinet of Curiosities held a trove of books. Throughout her travels, throughout her journeys through ruins long forgotten and civilizations engulfed in war, she had wondered every now and again what works she would preserve if forced to do so - if the only remaining testaments to a culture were the things that she and others like her could carry on their backs and in their minds.

She had seen Doma's answer; Ala Mhigo's, too, was becoming clearer by the day. But the Crystarium's had taken her by surprise for the sheer breadth of it: thousands upon thousands of tomes encompassing the last vestiges of mankind. Each book contained not only knowledge, but the dreams of those who had carried it to safety and given it up for the betterment of all. Each book had been entrusted to the community and its future, free for any to peruse.

And after no more than a morning of taking stock of the catalog, Ahtyn left the library to explore the Crystal Exarch's private collection.

She scanned the topmost shelf in his study, her heart pounding in her ears, until she laid eyes upon a tome she'd spotted from afar earlier in the week. Though slightly shabbier around the edges, its pages far more yellowed than she had remembered, she could not have mistaken it for the world. Her feet carried her across the room in a daze. Once she lifted the book from on high, she massaged the intact spine; as she flipped through the volume leaf by leaf, she found not a single page missing.

No book in the Cabinet of Curiosities could mean as much to her as this one, for none of the books beyond this room had come from the Source. None of them had traveled across time and worlds in the very subject they depicted - the Crystal Tower - and not a single one had been her favorite companion as a child.

Her eyes filled with tears as they rested upon the opening lines:

Once upon a time, four young Warriors of Light journeyed forth to right the wrongs of Allag.

III.

It had been bound to happen sooner or later. Looking back, she had ignored all signs from the beginning that her first-ever adventuring party had not been meant to last. One of their number had an ego; another prioritized too many commitments back home; another found fault with everything the others did. Ahtynwyb, for her part, had spent too much of her time smoothing over the fissures emerging in their group with each passing day. Regardless of how or why they had gone their separate ways, the excuses for why they would never have been a team worthy of legend brought her no comfort.

And on a more practical note, her lack of a party left her that much further from entering the Binding Coil of Bahamut.

Though if she were in the Binding Coil, she thought, she wouldn't be able to see the stars over Silvertear. She could stare at that dusk sky forever, with its gathered clouds still purple-hued over the lake and the Crystal Tower shattering the horizon.

She would be inside that tower soon enough. That had to count for something.

"Ahtyn!"

Cid made to throw her some sort of bread but then, noticing the book in her hands, jogged it over to her instead. It was a flaky pastry the size of her face, wrapped in paper and filled with spiced vegetables and cheese. "Fresh from the Toll. Figured you could do with a pick-me-up after running around the lake all day."

"Thanks, Cid."

Either Cid hadn't yet seen her teary eyes, or he had enough grace not to comment on them. "What's that you're reading? Something of the Scions'?"

She shook her head. "No, I've had this one for a while. It was my grandpa's." She closed the pages on her index finger, the better for him to see the cover emblazoned with the very tower before them without losing her page. "Just some old stories. They're a little childish, but they've always been kinda nostalgic, you know?"

Cid let out a long, low whistle, then thumped her on the back a little harder than she had been expecting. "G'raha!"

From where he sat at the center of Saint Coinach's Find, the young man's ears perked up in the middle of his swig of ale; he jumped to his feet in a single fluid motion. "Y-Yes?"

"You said the key to the tower was in legends, yes? Something that the ancients wouldn't have thought to preserve via tomestones?" Cid beckoned G'raha over with a wave of his arm. "You're going to want to see this."

IV.

"Find what you were looking for, then, hero?"

She gave so great a start that she very nearly dropped her book. Emet-Selch leaned against the closed study door, examining a nearby desk and all the clutter the Exarch had left lying atop it. Ahtyn opened her mouth to tell him he wasn't supposed to be in there, then, given the nature of her own trespass, thought better of it.

"I did," she replied, cautious of the venom with which he spoke the word "hero." "And now I'm going to stay in here and read. Alone."

Emet-Selch cast a conspicuous glance at the tome's cover and heaved another of his sighs. "Hmph. How very tedious."

She pointedly ignored him and turned a page.

V.

"And you say this book has been in your family for generations?" Rammbroes murmured. He rubbed the back of his bald head, a sure sign that he was deep in thought.

G'raha Tia turned the book over to reexamine the front cover, even holding it up to where the tower stood to their north. It was a perfect representation, down to the positioning of each crystalline turret. "Despite the fact that the Crystal Tower has not been seen in millennia," he said, echoing Ahtyn's thoughts perfectly. He returned the book to her, bequeathing it as gently as one would hand over a tool of one's trade. "Could your family be descended from survivors of the Allagan Empire, perhaps?"

She shrugged. "I guess there's that chance, but... we're farmers on one side, and pirates on the other."

"After thousands of years, one could never truly know where one's ancestors-"

"What I meant was," she interrupted, "I think if we were descended from Allagans, we'd have way more family stories to tell about how we single-handedly saved the world."

G'raha squinted at her, then at Rammbroes, who was chuckling somewhere over her shoulder. "She's described Roegadyn culture in a nutshell for you," Rammbroes specified.

VI.

"But how can you throw together two whole worlds without things getting smushed?" she had asked her grandfather once during the climax of one of his stories. "Wouldn’t that hurt a lot of people?"

"Sometimes," he replied. "But other times, it’s just what everyone needs. Ye know what the stories say happens when there’s nothin’ but light. Sooner or later, the darkness comes back, and then what’re ye left with? Ye’ve got to have some some darkness to balance out that light once in a while, aye. Because it’s not light that brings the heroes home at the end, Liveen - it’s balance."

VII.

"What is it that so captivates you about that book, then?" Emet-Selch asked some twenty-odd pages later. She had no idea if he'd ever left the study at all - but strangely, even after his constant pestering in the Rak'tika Greatwood, she found him something of a welcome presence. There was, after all, no danger of him revealing her.

"It reminds me of my grandpa. And of a lot of friends."

He let out a noise that might well have been a yawn. "How quaint."

"I thought you were supposed to be a big fan of stories like this one."

"This may surprise you, but omniscience is not among my many talents. I'm afraid I don't know the first thing about it."

"Sprawling epics, dramatic motivations, tragic flaws. I thought Solus ate that shit up." The mention of that name caused him to stop examining his gloves and start actually looking at her. "At least," she continued, with some smugness, "that was what I heard on the Prima Vista."

Emet-Selch's lips twitched into a brief smile as he let out a barely perceptible chuckle, leaning to rest against the nearest wall with folded arms. "So my grandson's suspicions were well-founded: you did meet with Jenomis after all."

"I have."

"He spoke truly. I never will say no to a well-constructed story - particularly not from a master of their medium, as Jenomis is. It's fitting that you were able to bear witness to one of his performances. I can only imagine his resultant works will be better served for your collaboration."

Her eyes were too busy tracing the next line of text-

For why would the hero have thought to look for the villain in her own shadow?

-to immediately register Emet-Selch's words. By the time she did, they took her somewhat aback. "...I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

VIII.

"Hey. Alphinaud."

The crunching footsteps to her right slowed but did not halt. The fulm-deep Coerthan snow made it difficult for them to traverse side by side, but despite lacking her long stride, weather-resistant armor from the Crystal Tower and overall affinity for the cold, Alphinaud had always preferred to keep an even pace with her on the road whenever possible.

"You okay?"

Alphinaud did not stop, even surpassing her on the wooded trail. He made some small noise to indicate he was paying attention but otherwise did not turn to look at her.

"Don't worry. It should start to warm up once we get closer to Mor Dhona, especially around the next hill."

He gave another noncommittal nod, though he shivered a bit through his tunic.

"I wanted to ask you something," she continued. She followed in his steps, mostly so as not to leave him behind - but also, if she had learned anything over the past few weeks, it was that eyes and ears truly were everywhere, and that a misplaced shout could be fatal. "While it's just the two of us." The understanding that Haurchefant would be too overbearing to take part in such a delicate conversation would have to go implied.

"G-Go on," said Alphinaud.

"What Ilberd said, back at the Observatorium, about the prisoners he'd taken into custody." She waited. "About how they would be thoroughly interrogated."

"Do you find fault with his methods? If so, allow me to raise your concerns with him. I imagine he would be amenable to finding an alternative method of..." He trailed off, presumably to search for an acceptable word.

"Gathering intelligence?"

"Precisely."

"You're well within your rights to ask him what his methods actually are, Alphinaud," she said. "And to tell him to stop, if he goes further than you'd like. But if he's one man operating alone, without your oversight-"

"Thank you, my friend," Alphinaud snapped, "but I would rather we speak of something else for the remainder of our journey."

They continued their trek back to Mor Dhona in utter silence.

IX.

The waves over Quarterstone had ebbed since the Calamity, but the ocean still reached a far greater height than she remembered from her youth. She would never get used to such a view, even less so now that her grandparents' house no longer stood: it had been drawn over the cliffs not even a year after their family had relocated to Moraby, its foundations too weathered to withstand the constant onslaught from a changed world.

Grehswys merely sipped at her wine, looking as much at the road on which they had traveled as she was at the horizon they'd memorized throughout their shared childhood. At length, she passed the bottle over to Ahtyn, and she took as long of a swig as she could get away with.

"There's one thing I've come to appreciate about adventurers," her sister said. "You've learned how to talk about shite like this. Most of you, at least."

"What do you mean?"

"You've met folk from all over the world, right?"

"Right."

"So you've had to describe this to them, if it ever came up. What it meant to you, that is, and what it meant to lose it."

Ahtyn racked her brain and was surprised to recall several such conversations: with the Leveilleur twins, with Mupal, with Sairsel, with a full bar at the Sandsea on at least a couple occasions. For something that she had thought of as some great weight, she had brought up the topic more than she'd thought. "I... I guess so. Yeah."

Grehswys shrugged. "That's what's so horrid about staying here. We all went through it, but... we just keep it bottled up. A story everyone knows but never tells."

X.

The void was wearing on her in subtle ways. Or perhaps it was that the creatures she'd fought here had been stronger than any others she'd encountered throughout her adventures thus far.

But the Cloud of Darkness was fading with each passing second. Devoid of its summoned monsters, devoid of immediate purpose, the air in the void was beginning to grow stale - heavy. All around and above her lay a roaring expanse of abyss. It was dizzying to be so entrenched in the dark, save for a ripple of aurora to mark a semblance of light at the end of the tunnel, or a silver lining, or some other grandiose metaphor she didn't have the energy to engage with.

"Right," said Aoife Mahsa beside her, waving a hand in front of her own face. "So... what now."

Ahtyn took as deep of a breath as she could, though the burgeoning void was constricting her lungs with a sickly sweet sort of taste. "Find a way back to Hydaelyn," she said, and ran further toward the aurora. "I'll find G'raha and Nero!"

"Yes!" Aoife replied, bounding in front of her before she could protest. "WE find a way back to Hydaelyn, with G'raha and Nero! You're really on the ball, aye!"

"But Aoife-"

"Don't you 'but Aoife' me!" the bard scolded. "I'm not leaving you alone in here! Besides - if you got lost in the void, Cid and Baithin will each give me at least one lecture!"

Her eyes suddenly stung, and this time, she didn't have any light to blame it on. "Okay," she said, and stepped straight into the oblivion stretching out before them both. "So uh... dibs left void?"

XI.

Ahtyn knelt in the black sand to gather up the last of her belongings from the camp, the better to hide a sudden spike in her anxiety - the first distress she'd felt since wandering along the coast of Valnain more than a moon ago. With Ultima defeated and the Orbonne Monastery cleared of its haunts, Hrjt would have no cause to leave her home for the foreseeable future.

And Ahtyn had yet to overcome an inability to remain in touch.

Her movements stilled over her pack as she considered her impending return to the life of a solo traveler; then a slender finger tapped her twice on the shoulder. Ahtyn turned to find Hrjt's outstretched hand, and Eternal Wind clasped in it.

"You forgot this in my robes," Hrjt said.

There was such earnestness on her companion's face, without a hint of mischief or irony, that Ahtyn couldn't bite back her chuckle. "Okay, sorry. This isn't my strong suit."

"What isn't?"

"I should've just been direct. Hrjt, it's a gift."

"But-" The ends of Hrjt's ears twitched as she frowned. "Oh, no. I couldn't. You said this book was your favorite."

"It is! Which is why I think you should have it."

Hrjt gestured outward with her other hand - the one holding her staff - toward the remaining visible stretch of black coast. Through the heavy fog, Ahtyn could barely make out the dark tides forming a powerful rip current stretching far out into the Valnard Sea - and for once, the sight did not make her wistful for La Noscea.

"Ahtyn," said Hrjt, firmly. "This is how I live. I won't be able to keep it safe or dry with me."

"That's fine," she replied, even as the wind cast a fine spray across her cheek.

"You wouldn't wish to leave it to someone? A future child, or a pupil? Besides, what if I never have the chance to read it?"

"That's shite and you know it; you'll get at least four hundred more years than me."

"And what should happen if I'm instead captured by a voidsent and become lost to the lightless abyss forever?"

Recognizing her deadpan jest for what it was, Ahtyn grinned. "That's just depressing."

"There is, as you would say, a non-zero chance."

"Okay." Ahtyn held up both palms in surrender. "If you really aren't sure, I'll take it back."

She waited, unsure if she had been too pushy from the first. As Hrjt hesitated, her eyes gleamed with a sort of shyness Ahtyn had yet to see from her. "If you're sure... I'll keep it as safe as I am able. I promise."

"I'll visit you again soon," Ahtyn said, and meant it.

XII.

She could not reconcile the sight before her with the weeks of intimacy she had come to take for granted. The aether tugged at her senses; it sparked in the air like diamond dust as Ysayle Dangoulain made her descent against the sickly green sky. She fell faster than gravity, faster than flight. And yet time itself slowed as Ahtyn watched her from the airship, with Cid's hands pulling her back at the arms and the sounds of her own screams deafened in her ears.

She had never, never been able to reconcile the vibrant woman she'd come to know with the dead-eyed primal she had once fought, so long ago, when she'd still been convinced that doing so would bring about Eorzea's salvation. For all of Shiva's conjured majesty, she could convey none of her ideals except to those already devoted. They had had countless conversations during their Dravanian journeys; they had spoken in Ishgardian and Common and tongues long since lost to other mortals, sharing in the wonder of their blessing and burden, partaking together in the joys of being understood as equals. Shiva's summoner was far more wondrous bereft of her power. Ahtyn doubted, even now, that the same could be said of herself.

It was none of it fair. Ysayle was not meant to be the one to fall-

The hull of the Agrius froze, then shattered, then exploded - and soon the flames from the dreadnought's engine melted every last trace of ice. Ysayle's aether, too, was beyond her reach forever.

XIII.

"There are so many things I don't understand," said the young Minfilia, staring out across the hillside at the ribbons of Light pouring over Lyhe Ghiah. "But most of all, I've been wondering... how you manage to do it all on your own."

It was a question she'd been asked time and time again - only this time, she didn't wave away the girl's concerns. She didn't deflect with humility, insisting that the Scions had been at her side all the while or some such. Someday Minfilia would have to tread this same path, as her namesake had before her. Honesty would be the kindest possible gift.

"Well," she began, and the word hung in the air for a little while. "It helps that I've always been the type to want to save the world. Even when I was your age. Mostly I wanted someone, anyone, somewhere down the line, to know that someone tried to make things just a little bit better." She didn't say that when she was Minfilia's age, that desire had usually manifested as an abstract, foolhardy vision of self-sacrifice. "And when it's something you've grown up feeling, when it's that innate to you-" Twelve, and she thought she'd had it bad with merely a preference for books; from what Urianger had divulged, Minfilia had spent her childhood locked in a tower with only a name and a responsibility. "-it's usually less about finding the will to go on and more about... not burning yourself out, or spreading yourself too thin. I'd say that's the hardest part."

Minfilia nodded in the direction of her knees. "It must be difficult," she murmured. "Thancred's told me only a little of what you've done, but I... I can't begin to imagine it."

"It helps when you can be yourself in the day-to-day," she admitted. "Though of course, that's much easier said than done." It was why she had never come around to feeling comfortable in Ishgard: the more Edmont and Aymeric and all the rest came to revere her, the more she wondered if any of them had ever truly known her. "Aside from that, I try to vouch for others as often as I can. It relieves some of the pressure, it helps make some real allies, and... and sometimes it gives people another hero to focus on for a bit. Much as people don't want to hear it, it's not healthy to rest all your hopes and dreams on one person."

From beside her, Minfilia took in a deep, shuddering breath.

"D-Don't get me wrong," Ahtyn stammered. "I'm not saying I think everyone has to be strong enough to look after themselves. That's not a charitable way to think about things, and it doesn't account for all the people who haven't had a choice - like people from occupied territories." She was rambling now. "And there are some real advantages to having a single hero, like being able to take decisive action when it matters most. But I've seen it go wrong: once people get it in their heads that one person, one being can fix all of their problems, they'll go to all sorts of lengths to make it true."

She breathed in deeply, staring hard at the Light. "And honestly, I thought it would be different here in the First, when I heard people resented their Warriors of Light. I thought it'd mean they'd rely less on heroes and more on each other. But I still see it with the Exarch, and with you, and-"

She took one look at Minfilia's wide eyes and finally had the sense to curb her thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to get so heavy, and none of this is your problem, and... and I don't know how much it makes sense. Long story short, it's just... it's something that gets me because it's..."

"...Because it's not fair," Minfilia finished.

XIV.

Ahtyn had come face to face with a siren before - the creatures that sang to sailors of their purported destinies. Once she had seen a captain walk into a siren's arms against the heeding of his crewmen, and the gory aftermath that had come of that scene had haunted her dreams for nearly a week. And as a song foretelling her own destiny rang out through the reaches of Azys Lla, she wished she could know its promises to be false.

The Goddess regarded her with heavy-lidded, dispassionate eyes.

It’s not light that brings the heroes home at the end, Liveen.

And then the scales tipped.

For a moment she was weightless. She fell through the golden air, watching Sophia grow ever further from her. When the others righted, she did not; with another lurch, with her own balance stymied, she tipped backward over the edge.

"AHTYN!"

A hand, small but strong, grabbed her at the wrist. It hoisted her, perhaps with the added strength of others, upwards and upwards until her feet regained their purchase on the platform and A'zaela Linh's worried face returned into view.

"Thanks!" she called. Sylvan Rain and Crimson Bull were holding off the primal in her momentary absence, pushing back against the Goddess' Daughter with their shoulders and no shortage of will to keep her from reaching Arae'sae and Nivelth. And still, for a moment, she merely stood. For the briefest of instants, the primal's call had granted her a vision clearer even than the Echo, though now it faded from her like water in her hands. She made to charge and then, in a terrifying second, realized she could not find her shield; only when A'zaela handed it back to her did she raise her sword to provoke the Goddess to face her again.

"How's that for judgment?!" she cried. "Now come and get me!"

XV.

No one spoke in the Ocular. Not even a plate of the Exarch's famous sandwiches could tempt them into conversation after their discoveries in the Qitana Ravel. For all their earlier bickering, Y'shtola and Thancred cast identical glowers of fatigue. Alisaie sat cleaning her rapier with single-minded dedication; Alphinaud paced from one end of the hall to the other. Urianger thumbed through a tome Ahtyn didn't recognize from the Exarch's private library. Minfilia pivoted her gaze from one Scion to the next, always folding and refolding her hands in her lap.

"Maybe this is hypocritical," Ahtyn said at length. "But I don't think this really changes anything."

They all turned to her.

It was wishful thinking, but if she had to continue to ponder in silence the possibility that she could be tempered, she would likely lose her mind.

"I agree," drawled Emet-Selch from out of nowhere behind her. "Listen to the hero. Continue your course." He took a bite of a sandwich and, presumably unsatisfied, set it back down onto the tray. Only Minfilia had the energy to glare at him.

"What I mean is," she continued aggressively, "if it's true that Hydaelyn is a primal, then anything we do to try to change or mitigate that fact could have serious consequences for the Source, if not other worlds."

Urianger nodded his agreement. "This matter requireth deliberations with our esteemed colleagues in the Source."

She opened her mouth to promise that she would raise the topic as soon as she could, but the Light suddenly heaved in her chest. The wave of nausea cut off any of the promises she might have made, any reassurances that the foundations of their worldview would remain intact.

XVI.

Even with the power surging around and through him, she held out a hand. She held out a hand as though doing so could undo all that he had schemed and dealt throughout the past half year, as though she could pull him from that precipice through her own sheer will.

Instead Ilberd Feare stared directly into her eyes, his eerie grin widening, as he stretched out the hands that held the eyes of Nidhogg and leaned further and further backward-

"COWARD!" Alphinaud screamed.

The Griffin gave one last tip of his head - a nod in her direction, it seemed - and she was seized with a horrific calm as he fell from Baelsar's Wall.

XVII.

The knock, quick and quiet, came upon her inn room door at nearly three in the morning. She staggered out of bed in a flash, halfway to grabbing her pauldrons. It could only be another Eulmoran attack, or some other initiative that required her urgent participation, and Captain Lyna would just have to get over her dishevelment. Then she threw open the door and found Alisaie in a robe and nightgown, carrying a pillow.

"May I borrow your floor?" Alisaie asked, conveying somewhat more consciousness than Ahtyn had expected, given the hour.

"Uh, yeah," she grumbled, albeit before she'd fully processed the question. "Of course."

Alisaie slipped inside, kicking off her slippers with enough force for them to land yalms apart. "It seems neither Alphinaud nor I can sleep. Only he insisted on making cocoa, and conversation-" Ahtyn could not determine from Alisaie's tone which of these she held in greater disdain. "-and I simply didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't remotely interested."

Despite the proposal she'd agreed to, Ahtyn shepherded Alisaie toward her bed and took the floor for herself. There was more than enough room for them to share the mattress; then again, she had experienced all too often Alisaie's sleep-kicking during their expeditions in Gyr Abania and the Far East, when she or Lyse would have to share accommodations with her. The sight of the smallest among them enjoying her own sleeping mat was one that had never failed to bring Gosetsu to fits of his boisterous laughter. One by one, the memories of their adventures flickered through her head, bringing with them the crushing realization of how much of Alisaie's life she had missed while they had been worlds apart.

With the both of them settled and the lights long extinguished, Ahtyn whispered, "How are you holding up, really?"

She had expected a groan of frustration, or a muttered curse. Instead, Alisaie rolled over and stared in the general direction of her voice. "As always, I'm worried for you. ...I suppose that's why I can't sleep."

XVIII.

Her first thought, exhausted as she was from the interdimensional battle with Shinryu and the mere sight of Zenos lying dead in a pool of his own blood, was that Lyse looked beautiful with her arm stretched aloft. Her second thought was that Lyse had an incredible singing voice, and so did Ashelia Riot, though the latter was leaning the entirety of her weight against her husband and trying to look inconspicuous while doing so.

And as she stared out from atop the ramparts of Cotter Tor, she had never been prouder to stand among a crowd. For once, for once, all was put to rights. She did not quite know how she had come to stand here, beside Arenvald and the pennant, with a throng of Ala Mhigans far below. Between her and those people - the people whom she had played her own part in protecting - there lay a drop of half a thousand fulms.

"Ahtyn!" Lyse clasped her from behind at the shoulders, giving her a little shake to pull her from her reverie. The others behind her had begun to disperse back into the royal palace. "We're regrouping back at Porta Praetoria. Unless you need a minute?"

She shook her head. Better to look into Lyse's eyes than to peer into that empty, dawn-hued sky; better to have Lyse's hands on her than to trust in her own feet not to take her over the edge.

XIX.

It was easiest to take hold of his hand, crystalline though it was. They both needed the fresh air, but there was little to be found, even on the tall cliffs of Kholusia: she could scarcely smell the sea over the tinny smog from the dwarven forges.

But the Exarch did not appear to mind. He recovered slowly but steadily from his moment of collapse, his breathing growing more and more regular the longer they shared their simple contact.

"Construction on the Talos is proceeding apace?" he asked.

She nodded. They lapsed then into an easy, comfortable silence, presiding together over the Light-strewn sky. Soon, if all went as planned, that Light would be gone - contained amongst the vast sea already rising within her.

"It still doesn't feel right to me," she said at last. "None of this does, without the wind."

The Exarch's face gave no movement that she could see, but she could sense the smile in his words. "Then if you have a moment yet to spare, I would ask you to indulge me with a tale from your people - Eternal Wind, wasn't it?" As he turned to her then, she could see his grin in full. "Perhaps it would put both our hearts at ease, given the impending juncture."

It did not matter that he could easily have known of her connection to that book through any of the Scions, or learned it from gazing through the rift to the Source.

She knew then who he was for certain.

Her grip on his hand had grown so tight that it had begun to ache against the crystal. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

And then she burst into tears.

"Oh, no no no," G'raha Tia murmured. His hood visibly shifted as his ears went flat. He reached out with his free hand, his hand of flesh, as if to touch her shoulder; instead, his hand lingered somewhere above her pauldron. "I'm so sorry, my friend; I-I never meant to-"

"I just-" She was sobbing now, as hard as she had cried alone at the banks of Silvertear Lake after she and the rest of NOAH had said their farewells to him. "Whatever happens next - no matter how it all ends - I want you to know h-how much it means to me. All hundred years of it! Everything you've done, everything you've been through... gods!"

He did not confirm her praise. As she rested her head upon his shoulder, still weeping for him alone to see, he laid his own head against her - his lips brushing mutely against her temple.

XX.

Tucked three-quarters of the way into Eternal Wind lay a strip of dyed Dalmascan paper, with words written lengthwise upon it in a hasty scrawl:

For the Ironworks.

May her light guide our journey home.

Hrjt Brotin

XXI.

"My dear, beloved sapling," Feo Ul crooned.

But she was beyond such praises now. All the different parts of her lay fractured. Here, atop the watchtower and brimming with sacrifice, she was neither savior nor warrior nor woman. She could not be anything, let alone the one thing she needed to be. She could scarcely maintain her consciousness without focus, let alone a process of thought, let alone the weight of her disparate memories. She was fit for nothing save destruction, save an Ascian's machinations.

"You are lost - confused - and have precious little time to gather your wits."

Time was not what she needed. Oh, to rule from Lyhe Ghiah forever would be a wondrous dream, a blissful reprieve - and yet it would be an ending, and one she was unworthy of at that.

"Stand very, very still," said the king. "Think not of where you need to go, but where you are right now at this moment. At this time, in this place..."

Ahtyn breathed in deeply. She let Feo Ul's words flow over her, like a steady breeze to greet the waves of Light breaking over the ramparts of her body. A single tear slipped down her cheek; Feo Ul swiped it away with the point of a single finger. The gesture, surprising in its intimacy, provoked an unexpected chuckle.

"I'm still here," she whispered. "And I still have you." And the twins, and Ryne, and all the other Scions. Her family, Hrjt, every friend whom she had ever known and loved. G'raha. "I know what comes next. But I'm... I'm so afraid, right now. And it feels silly to be so afraid." What would happen to the Light if she burst from all the fear and sadness and guilt?

Feo Ul shook their head. "It isn't silly at all at all, my sapling. But as you set off for who knows where, making even more of a mess of that aether of yours - remember that you have withstood this before, and you will surely do so again." They laid their hands upon her cheeks, flitting close enough to touch their tiny forehead against hers. "And know too that for all the miseries you have endured, you give back joy in equal measure."

XXII.

[Let us debate today the topic of our colleague's newest collection.]

The tide of Light had carried her to the deepest reaches of the Tempest, to a place where shades treated her as one might treat a misbehaving child. She sat staring at her own feet in the Hall of Rhetoric, a means of grounding herself against the aether's pull.

The masked, robed figure sitting opposite her gave a grandiose gesture with his arms. [It is an outrage, and a danger to young ones such as our guest.]

[The work is certainly unconventional,] his identical partner agreed. [Yet a danger? It inflicts no pain, and it neither incites nor promotes harmful behaviors.]

[It serves as a call to action and is therefore inflammatory by its very nature and purpose. Its themes are like to instill ideals of nonconformity within the most impressionable.]

[My friend,] the masked figure beside Ahtyn said, [it sounds to me as though you oppose the mere idea of this work. Have you yet read it?]

[Er... no. I have not. But I have heard enough from those I trust to know that it challenges the very fabric of the society we all labor so hard to uphold.]

[And yet these trusted friends and many other noble souls have read it, and are presumably no less patriotic for having done so. It seems to me, therefore, that this work is but a touchstone for a broader debate: that of censorship, and if some individual ideas deserve to be curbed in order to better provide for the needs of all.]

[What's this work about?] Ahtyn asked. She could not follow the conversation, even as she recognized each and every one of the arguments they made.

The figure across from her held a finger to his lips but otherwise ignored her. [You know I am all in favor of creation as self-expression,] he insisted. [But creation necessitates responsibility. We employ the Bureau of Architects to ensure that a patent is not accessible to those of insufficient skill and understanding. There is no such way to determine whether ideas could or should be similarly judged to ensure that those of weaker wills do not take it upon themselves to... to act upon ideas which they do not fully understand.]

[You raise a valuable point, my friend,] the specter beside her acquiesced. [Perhaps we shall discuss this matter with Emet-Selch. He is ever impartial with moral quandaries such as this.]

With their final debate settled, with their purpose served, the two figures faded into peaceful obscurity.

XXIII.

"You truly don't remember."

The more the Light surged within her, the more she wanted to, even as she feared what else that remembrance might bring. Her ramparts already threatened to crumble amidst the Ascian's private hell; were they to fall now, were the Light to overtake her, she would be lost.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, girl."

The words filled her with rage, as they always had, but neither could she tie them to any particular memory - and so she stared up, trying to summon anything more than a growl of pain in her throat.

"Well, retorts never were your forte." Emet-Selch knelt, the better to grasp her chin and tilt her face up toward his, forcing eye contact. Beads of sweat borne from pain obscured her eyes, nearly blotting out her vision. "And neither was irony, apparently. That you of all people should forget."

A new crop of Light rose in her gut, burning like bile as she spat it out onto Emet-Selch's Garlean boots. "Tell me." For words meant as an order, they rang pathetic from her lips. "Tell me who I was." Who I am.

He rolled his eyes and stood, dragging her up only part of the way before releasing her to crumple once again onto the crystal floor. "You were full of potential, most of it wasted. Just as you are now." He swept an arm wide, across where she lay half-broken upon the cold aetheric surface. "You could have been something, had you applied yourself - had you cared one whit beyond your own stupid dreams! You could have saved all of us. But no!"

"What did I do?" For whatever great sin she had committed, she had no doubt that it contributed in no small way to these people's destruction.

Emet-Selch's arms fell; his shoulders slumped. "What did you do?" he repeated, incredulous.

When he turned, he turned to face her without a hint of mischief in his eyes - only a mad grief.

"You created stories. Long, long ago, you wove a tale about a hero's journey - and from that tale sprang every other legend of heroes and journeys these sundered worlds have ever known."

The next breath she drew in was painless, steadying. Filling.

Emet-Selch drew himself up to his full height, coughing into his fist before adopting an orator's pose. "'A hero leaves her home, with the knowledge that naught will ever be the same again. She is tested, time and again - by monsters, by enemies, by allies, by the great and irrevocable struggles taking place in the world and in herself. She endures an ordeal graver than any other, something she has worked towards perhaps without ever knowing it, and in so doing sacrifices a part of herself. And when she returns home, if she returns home, she is changed - not in the way she hoped but in the way she needed.'" He sneered down at her, at the Light pouring out from her. "Is this the glorious homecoming you always imagined, my dear? Is this the necessary change you so envisioned for yourself, at long last... Sappho?"

Over the Light, over even the humiliation and fear and regret, that name triggered within her an ancient knowing. She staggered to her feet. Cold, unfeeling aether burst from her spine like wings, like a Passage of Arms given form.

The others could not save her now, for there could be no saving her. For all her insistences, she was the only one. There could only be this end - her end.

"You could have saved them!" Emet-Selch screamed, even as she transformed further into the broken creature he had sought for his own ends. "It was not enough for us to beg to you, oh, no. You decided you alone wanted no part in creating our savior, our god. And so we were left to summon Zodiark without your guidance."

He laughed so loudly and for so long that the sound doubled him over, even as she found the will to stand tall. By the time he composed himself once more, his voice was as soft as death.

"But you were correct on one point," he seethed. "My world will have no need for heroes."

XXIV.

At the end of days, the world needed a hero. Amaurot had chosen Zodiark.

Against her fears, against her protestations, the ritual would be performed on the morrow.

She stared down at the burning city, at the end of days. She wished she could evoke pity or grief for her people. She wished she could summon anything but her own worthless guilt.

A stillness emanated from the horizon, the first vestiges of Zodiark's lightless dawn. She tore off her mask to greet it.

They had used her own words to justify it. At the end of days, a savior comes. Would that she had never written at all.

With that thought etched into her mind, Sappho stepped from Amaurot's tallest cliff.

XXV.

"This world is not yours to end." Ahtynwyb Eynskyfwyn, the Queen Light, drew her sword against the Dark. "This is our future. Our story."

"Very well," said Hades. "Let us proceed to your final judgment. The victor shall write the tale, and the vanquished become its villain!"

???

And when she sat down upon her bed, aching and purposeful and devoid of every last obligation but one, she opened up a spare notebook to its first page and wrote:

Once upon a time, a young Warrior of Light journeyed forth into a realm reborn.

I tell you someone will remember us in the future.

-Sappho, Sapphic Fragment 2

[jedi-mabari]

@smithandrogers , Merry Christmas, happy holidays, I was your secret Santa for the @rdrsecretsanta and I really hope you like this!

Word Count: 1662

Warnings: None, just happy Christmas stuff

Summary: You jump at the chance to take Molly to town to do some shopping, and decide to spend the night and celebrate the holiday.

Dutch stood in the middle of camp, crying that someone needed to ride into town with Molly. It was a request you jumped at eagerly. You loved spending time with Molly, the beautiful red hair, the charming accent. You could spend days with her and not get bored. You tacked up yours and Molly’s horses. 

“Are you ready Miss O’Shea,” you asked, grabbing the reins of her horse. 

“Whenever you are,” she said, climbing into the saddle with your help. You smiled as you climbed into your own saddle, turning your horse towards town. Molly followed close to you, riding quietly. You two had gotten close, over the last few months, and the further from camp, and Dutch, you got, the more relaxed she was, and she began chatting. 

“I can’t believe Dutch wouldn’t come with me to town,” she grumbled. She didn’t look cross, but she was wrapped under so many layers you couldn’t help but think about how cute she was. 

“He’s got a whole camp of people to look after,” you excused. You trusted Dutch, and after he saved your life, you owed him at least that much. “Besides, I don’t mind taking you into town.” Molly looked up at the grey sky and frowned. 

“You might be singing another tune if we get stuck in a blizzard.” You laughed and shook your head. 

“I wouldn’t mind in the least,” you teased. You looked up at the sky, and it did look like it was threatening snow. “But if you’re worried about it, we should hurry to town.” Molly laughed and you both picked up the pace. Everything was covered in snow, making the ride cold, but beautiful. Molly didn’t say anything else as you rode into the town, stopping outside the general good store. 

“I’ll take the horses over to the stables,” you said, helping her down.

“I’ll meet you inside,” she said, patting your hand, her fingers lingering over yours. She pulled away shyly and pulled the scarf off her head just as it started to snow. She smiled as she disappeared into the building. You were glad she had gone inside because your cheeks started to glow red with embarrassment. 

You lead the horses to the stable, dropping a few dollars into the stable boy’s hand to cover the horses as long as you’d be in town. The snow was coming down faster now, building up on top of all the old snow. You pulled your coat closer around you as you made your way back to the general store. You smiled at Molly bent over the candy counter, her mass of red curls falling around her freckled face.

“And these one taste like mint,” she asked, and the clerk nodded. He was a jolly looking man, with a bald head, a bushy mustache, and a round belly. 

“Yes, and these one taste like cinnamon,” he said, tapping the glass on a few inches from where her fingers were. “And they are both specialties this time of year.” Molly smiled and set folded her hands on the glass.

“I will take a few of those and a couple, and a couple of those canes,” she said, tapping the glass. Molly wandered back over to you as you looked over the shelves, grabbing tins of biscuits and canned food. 

“Did you get what you wanted,” you asked, and Molly nodded, gesturing over to the counter. 

“The clerk is holding the gloves until we pay.” You nod and hand her a small package of dried meat. 

“Well then let’s go pay,” you said, carrying the goods over to the clerk.

“Are you ready to check out,” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah, gotta get back on the road before the storm snows us in,” you chuckled, and the clerk looked out the window. 

“Well,” he said, turning back to the goods, putting them into a bag, “it might be too late for that.” You looked out and saw that he was right. The road was covered in snow, and there was no way they were getting out. "The saloon has rooms available," he started, but once he saw Molly's wrinkles nose and stammered to add, "there is also a hotel on the other side of town. It should be suitable for women of your, uh, sensibilities." You could feel Molly stiffen as he careful words and you smiled, dropping money into his hands. 

"Thank you, sir," you said, grabbing the bag and gesturing for Molly to join you. You stood in the cold, looking up and down the street. You were glad you paid for the whole night in the stables, because there was no way you were getting out of town with the slough of snow that had fallen. It was a relatively quick walk to the hotel, hastened by the chill. The hotel was warm, and the fire in the lobby started melting the snow immediately. 

“We would like a room for the night,” Molly said to the clerk as she folded her hands on the counter. You smiled as she became an entirely new person as she spoke to the clerk; like she wasn’t in a gang that was on the run from the law.

“For the both of you,” the man asked, his low southern drawl sure to put you at ease. Molly nodded and the man grabbed a key. “Would that just be for the night?” Molly smiled her so very charming smile, and nodded again. 

“Yes sir,” she said, reaching into her small purse. 

“That’ll be two dollars,” he said, trading the key for the money in Molly’s hand. “I hope you two have a wonderful stay,” the man called after you as Molly linked her arm with yours, pulling you after her.

"Thank you, sir," you said, grabbing the bag and gesturing for Molly to join you. You stood in the cold, looking up and down the street. You were glad you paid for the whole night in the stables, because there was no way you were getting out of town with the slough of snow that had fallen. It was a relatively quick walk to the hotel, hastened by the chill. The hotel was warm, and the fire in the lobby started melting the snow immediately. The clerk gave you a key, telling you the room at the top of the stairs was yours.  

“Should we call for room service,” Molly asked as you climbed the stairs, “or should we go over to the saloon and get a real meal?” You took the key from her and opened the door, giving the room a quick glance before letting her in and answering her. 

“I suspect the saloon may be able to make merry with the rest of the patrons.” Molly paused as she unwrapped herself, and turned to you with a bright smile. 

“Why,” she started, “that seems like a festive idea.” You smiled and dropped your own bag at the foot of the bed, removing your hat to run your fingers through your hair. 

“We’ll get changed and head down,” you suggested, and Molly seemed to agree, because she sat down at the vanity and began re-applying her makeup. You changed into a nice skirt and a warm shirt, pulling a shawl over yourself. You quickly braided your hair and Molly was more than happy to doll you up with some of her makeup. It really wasn’t long before you both were ready and heading to the saloon. 

The saloon wasn’t crowded, but the people who were there were celebrating. The pianist played Christmas songs, to which most people were singing along. You and Molly settled at a table near the wood stove, two mugs of hot buttered rum between you.

The warm light did nothing but accentuate Molly's warm features. Her soft brown eyes sparked with excitement, her cheeks blushed from the drink, and you couldn't think of a time you have ever seen her smile so widely before. It wasn't long before Molly was pulling you from your seat to join the rest of the crowd in dancing.

You wanted to dance with Molly forever, to feel her hand at your waist, pulling you along with the rhythm, to hear her jovial laugh ringing in your ears. But after hours of dancing and singing, your feet, and lungs, were begging to go to bed. It didn't take much persuading to get Molly to follow. A small tug on her hand, and she trailed after you, leaning into your side until you were willing to believe your side was made for her to lean into.

You both crossed the street back to hotel, still warm from the rum and the dancing. You both giggled as you climbed the stairs to your room, crawling into the bed together. It was warm, laying next to her, yours hands locked together to keep from drifting apart.

"Can I tell you a secret," Molly yawned. Through the darkness, you could see her smiling even though her eyes were closed. She scooted closer to you, the smell of her perfume flooding your nose.

"Sure you can," you said, fighting off sleep with every breath as you studied her beautiful features.

"I really like ya," she whispered, curling into you, letting go of your hand so she could wrap her arms around you. She looked up at you, her eyes opening slowly. But even in the darkness they sparkled like jewels. "And for Christmas," she said, her smile growing, "all I want is a kiss." You blushed deeply, but smiled.

"From me," you asked nervously, and she nodded. You reached up carefully, brushing red curls from her face. "Then merry Christmas," you said, leaning into her, pressing your lips against her, every nerve in you body was on fire. 

"Merry Christmas," Molly said when she pulled back. You both fell asleep with smiles on your faces, your arms wrapped around one another.

[pikapeppa]

Character Interview: Athera Lavellan

Tagged by @faerieavalon​​ @serial-chillr​​ @elveny​​ recently! I did this before for Rynne Hawke, so maybe I’ll try it with one of my lesser-known OCs?

Meet Athera Lavellan, Inquisitor and unfortunate romancer of Abelas. Art by @froschkuss​​!

[The interviewer is ushered into the rotunda at Skyhold, where the Inquisitor can be found sitting cross-legged on the couch and eating roasted peanuts while listening to two tall male elves discussing magic. One of the elves is bald and kind-looking; the other wears a hood and looks quite forbidding. As the interviewer approaches, the Inquisitor pops up from the couch and hastily puts the peanuts aside before holding out a hand to the interviewer.]

Thanks for coming! Well, actually, you asked me to talk to you, so maybe you should be thanking me.

[The bald elf coughs quietly, and the angry hooded one smirks. The Inquisitor grimaces at the interviewer.] 

Sorry. Sometimes I put my foot in it. They’re here to make sure I don’t make a complete idiot of myself.

name ➔ Athera Lavellan! It’s nice to meet you. Er, who are you?

are you single ➔ [her face turns bright red] Oh. Ha. Hahaha. Right into it, huh? 

[She glances at the hooded elf, who is watching her very intently. A moment later, she looks at the interviewer again, and her voice is confident.] 

No. I’m not single.  

are you happy ➔ Um, yes! I’m going to go with yes. 

are you angry ➔ No, of course not! This is just what I look like when I’m hungry.

[The hooded elf speaks: “Should I bring you some cake?”]

Would you? That would be amazing. Oh, you’re being sarcastic. [laughs] Can you bring me some cake anyway? Please? 

[He sighs, then bows his head and turns away. The Inquisitor reaches out and grabs his hand.]

Wait, I was kidding! I’m not some Orlesian noble, you don’t have to fetch me cake.

[The bald elf speaks: “I will go find some cake.” The Inquisitor laughs.]

Oh please, Solas, we all know that’s just an excuse for you to eat all the cake by yourself. 

are your parents still married ➔ yes, actually! And happily so. I... fenedhis, I should probably write to them. It’s been a whole week since the last letter.

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ I was born in a forest a small ways outside of Markham.

hair color ➔ It’s brown and full of spirits. 

[The hooded elf silently runs his hand over her hair, and she leans into his shoulder.]

eye color ➔ Grey!

birthday ➔ Haring 10. I’m a winter child. 

mood ➔ Hungry. 

[She smiles mischievously at Solas, who lifts his eyes to the ceiling before leaving the rotunda. The hooded elf snorts softly before speaking: “I am surprised he is taking your request seriously.”]

Well, I am the Inquisitor. He has to listen to me. [laughs] Gods, what a terrible thing to say. Don’t publish that. Oh, I guess I still have some peanuts here. Maybe he didn’t have to leave to get the cake... 

[She slowly sidles over to the couch and picks up the peanuts, then slowly and guiltily starts munching them. The hooded elf clears his throat.]

gender ➔ Female.

summer or winter ➔ Winter. I just love a layer of crisp cold snow like a blanket on everything. It’s like the whole world becomes new again. 

morning or afternoon ➔ Mornings! They’re a fresh new start.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ [Her face turns bright red again. She starts to laugh. The hooded elf watches her with a very serious look on his face.]

Gods, what is taking Solas so long with that cake?

do you believe in love at first sight ➔ Oh thank Mythal, an easy question. No. That’s always just your trousers talking. 

who ended your last relationship ➔ [sigh] He did. But it was for the best. I was too young to know what I was doing. [Looks at the hooded elf.] I know what I’m doing now. 

[He studies her in silence. His face remains very serious. He tucks a strand of hair over her ear.]

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ Me? Ha! No. I’ve been dumped on my ear every time. Varric should write a farce about me. 

are you afraid of commitments ➔ No. Commitments are what give our lives their meaning.

[The hooded elf bows his head slightly.]

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Of course! Here’s some proof. [She hugs the hooded elf around the waist, and after a moment’s hesitation, he hugs her in turn.]

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ Not that I know of. That’s why it’s called a secret, isn’t it?

have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ [She freezes for a split second, then laughs lightly.] Not yet. 

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ I’ve never had one without the other, so... love?

lemonade or iced tea ➔ Iced tea! No one ever makes the lemonade sweet enough for my liking.

cats or dogs ➔ Dogs. They’re very loyal and steadfast. And they make me think of the old stories of the Emerald Knights and their guardian wolves. 

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ [tilts head thoughtfully] A few good friends. A few who know you well are better than a bunch who know you only a little.

wild night out or romantic night in ➔ [smiles at the hooded elf] A night in, for sure.

day or night ➔ day! I’m a sunshine sort of girl. 

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ Mmm, I don’t think.... well, not unless you count -- um... [She looks at the hooded elf with a sheepish smile.] The kitchen? When, er, Solas, um...

[The hooded elf looks briefly discomfited. The Inquisitor turns to the interviewer with a sickly smile and reddened cheeks.]

Let’s move on, maybe?

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ Oh gods, yes. Especially in this tower. I’d probably be better off flinging myself from the rookery into the Solas’s office rather than taking the stairs.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ [The Inquisitor freezes. The hooded elf’s expression becomes intimidatingly blank. The Inquisitor looks up, and her smile is gone.]

Yes. 

wanted to disappear ➔ [She's quiet for a moment. The hooded elf frowns slightly.] 

It... I can’t disappear. I’m needed here.

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ [She looks up at the hooded elf and studies his face for a minute] Eyes. You smile with your eyes more than your mouth.

[The hooded elf smirks very faintly. The Inquisitor chuckles.]

If that’s your attempt to prove that you can smile with your mouth, you didn’t prove it very well. 

shorter or taller ➔ Taller!

intelligence or attraction ➔ Intelligence, for sure.

hook-up or relationship ➔ Relationship. I’ve always been a relationship sort of girl. Even when... well, never mind. [She shifts closer to the hooded elf and leans against his side.]

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ Yes! I really miss them, actually. 

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ Um... [She shoves a handful of peanuts into her mouth and mumbles something incomprehensible while shrugging.]

have you ever run away from home ➔ No. I wouldn’t have left my clan at all if they hadn’t wanted someone to come here and keep an eye on the Conclave. But honestly, now that I’ve been away, I think... I’m... I’m not glad, exactly, but I’m... it’s been an important experience. 

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ No.

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No, not at all! 

[The hooded elf speaks: “What about that shem who-”]

Abelas! [clears her throat] Friends and colleagues aren’t the same thing. You don’t have to like everyone you work with. [pokes Abelas with her elbow] You didn’t like me at first. 

[Abelas speaks again: “At first, no.” His tone has softened, and he runs a hand over her hair. She smiles and wraps an arm around his waist.]

Not the smoothest answer, but I’ll forgive it.

do you consider all of your friends to be good friends ➔ Yes!

who is your best friend ➔ Varric, for sure. Oh but wait, there’s Solas... 

[Solas calls out from the doorway: “Did you call for me?” He’s carrying a small platter of Orlesian petit fours, and the Inquisitor brightens up as she spots him.]

You actually brought cake! And you didn’t eat them all! Oh, you’re definitely my best friend, then.

who knows everything about you ➔ Does anyone really know everything about anyone? I don’t think it’s possible. So the answer to this one would have to be... no one. 

[Solas offers the platter of petit fours to her. She picks one and pops it in her mouth whole. Solas and Abelas each select a cake and take a small bite, and the Inquisitor grimaces.]

You two know that they make those cakes small on purpose so you can eat them all in one bite, right?

[Solas replies: “Unfortunately, that’s not the case. The diminutive size of these cakes is purely aesthetic.” Abelas chimes in: “They also taste better if you take the time to savour them.” The Inquisitor laughs and loops her hands companionably through their elbows.]

Oh, please. Nobody has time for that.

**************************

Athera and Abelas’s smutty and romantic but ultimately tragic adventures can be read here on AO3. 

[returnn-of-the-mac]

I love the way you write the companions! Especially X6! Companions react to Sole giving them nicknames based on pre-war movies?

Thank you! X6 is one of my favorite characters to write (along with Ada and Danse)! Sorry this took so long, there were a few characters I struggled with (looking @u gage & preston). Also, again, I usually write a silent Sole, but I couldn’t for this one, obviously. Please enjoy!😄

Fo4 Companions React: Sole Giving Them Pre-War Movie Nicknames

Strong:

Strong and Sole where walking around Sanctuary when the super mutant heard rustling in the bushes.

“COME OUT, PUNY RADROACH! STRONG SMASH YOU INTO THE GROUND!”

Sole smirked, “Easy there, Hulk. It’s just Dogmeat.”

Strong scratched his head, “Who Hulk? He a Radroach?”

Danse:

Sole was in Danse’s quarters as the Paladin was trying on some new patriotic power armor he had designed. He stepped out in his red, white, and blue mechanical suit and twisted around a bit to show Sole.

“What do you think,” He asked, “Is it too much?”

Sole giggled, “You kinda look like Optimus Prime.”

“You mean Liberty Prime?”

“Nope. I mean Optimus Prime. He’s a Cybertronian from a pre-war movie called Transformers.” Sole explained.

“Cybertron? Is that like a synth,” Danse scoffed, “Cuz I’d be damned if I looked like a synth.”

“Well, no. Cybertron is the planet they’re from. It’s complicated, but it’s basically a fictional species of robots that can transform from ordinary objects. Like cars.”

A confused Danse gave his companion an acknowledging nod, “Ah, okay. That actually sounds pretty interesting. Maybe the Brotherhood could start crafting armor based off of these ...uh...’Cybertronians.’ You’re going to have to show me sometime, soldier.”

Nick:

“Hmm...” Nick pondered, looking over his latest case, “This Marowski fellow seems to be up to no good, yet again. His chem lab is more secure this time too...I’m thinking we’re going to have to tinker around with some scrap and invent a device to break into there undetected.”

“And what do you suggest we create, Inspector Gadget?”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny. I happen to who that is, you know.”

MacCready:

MacCready and Sole where camping out at Outpost Zimonja for the night, lying under the stars, next to a campfire.

“You know what stinks,” Macready began, “Being an adult. So much is expected of you, and all the other adults are all just a buncha bullies.”

Sole gazed at their companion and he continued, “I swear, the kids at Little Lamplight were more mature than at least half the mungos in the Commonwealth. I wish I’d never had grown up...I wish I could’ve stayed a kid forever.”

“Okay, Peter Pan,” Sole laughed, “Growing up is a part of life. Everyone goes through it. Society wouldn’t thrive if people didn’t get older.”

MacCready was still caught up on the first part of Sole’s statement. “Peter...who? Who’s that?”

“Peter Pan. He was a mythical boy who never grew up, and he lead a group called The Lost Boys in Neverland. They’d go on adventures and stuff. It was a story that got adapted into a popular pre-war movie,” Sole explained.

MacCready was captivated by the description. “That seems...awesome, actually! Can you tell me more about it?”

Ada:

Sole and Ada were trekking through the wilderness just beyond the glowing sea when a RadStrorm hit. Adamant about making it to their destination, Sole continued to their journey, despite the wind, rain, and rads.

“[Sir/Ma’am],” Ada beckoned, “Being that I am non-organic, these rads don’t have an effect on me. You, however, might get sick if we continue.”

Sole ignored Ada and continued to press forward. Ada tried again.

“[Sir/Ma’am]? It is highly likely that you will not be able to successfully complete your mission if you were to fall ill.”

Sole, once again, ignored their companion and continued forward. Ada, ardent about keeping her companion healthy, tried a third time.

“[Sir/Ma’am]? I believe I saw an abandoned barn a few miles back. We could camp there for the night.”

Sole stopped and gave Ada a stern look. “C-3PO. Please. Be quiet for just a minute. I can’t even hear myself think.”

Ada beeped a few times. “I am unfamiliar who this model C-3-P-O is. My model number A-D-4.”

Piper:

“Okay, look. I think we’re really gonna get him this time, Blue,” Piper began, peeking through her binoculars at an unsuspecting Mayor McDonough, “Oh! Oh! Look! He put the toilet paper on the holder flap-side-up. Mm-hmm. Definitely a synth.”

Sole raised an eyebrow, “And what’s your master plan here? We gonna break in there and catch him in the act of changing his toilet paper, Lucy Stevens? Kinda not a good look.”

Piper cocked her head to the side, “Lucy...Stevens? Who’s that?”

Sole giggled, “She’s a reporter from one of my favorite pre-war movies.”

Piper smirked, “And what movie would that be?”

“Detective Pikachu.”

Gage:

Sole and Gage were building a raider base when suddenly Gage stopped hammering.

“Hey, got any more nails over there? Can’t see for shit with this eyepatch.”

Sole rolled their eyes and handed the raider the container of nails, “Why don’t you just take it off then? I know you have a fully-functional eyeball under there.”

“Yeah but it’s part of the image.”

“Alright, One-eyed Willie.”

“The fuck is that?” Gage asked, “You pickin on me, boss?”

Hancock:

Hancock and Sole were hanging out in Hancock’s quarters listening to the radio, taking hits of jet, and drinking whiskey.

“This is niice,” Hancock mused, taking a long hit of jet, “Sometimes ya need a break from running the city, yanno?”

Sole nodded.

Suddenly, the song changed and Hancock grunted. “I hate this one. It kills the vibe in here.”

As he got up to change the station, drink in hand, a random Goodneighbor resident barreled into the room, nearly knocking the mayor over.

“Woah, friend, I’ve got a beverage here.” It was then the ghoul noticed he had spilled his drink all over himself and the rug. “Ah, come on, brother. That was a new rug.”

“Easy there, Lebowski,” Sole consoled, standing up and putting a hand on their companion’s shoulder, “Whiskey shouldn’t be too difficult to clean off a rug.”

“Sorry Hancock,” the resident apologized, “But your friend here is right. I mean it is practically water.”

Cait:

Cait and Sole were crouched behind a stack of boxes, fully prepared to ambush a group of raiders who were holding an innocent settler hostage.

“Can’t wait to use this new machete ye gave me,” Cait gushed, excitedly studying the weapon, “Never have had the chance to use one of these before.”

Sole smiled.

“Ready darlin?”

“Ready.”

The pair sprung out from their hiding spot and began their onslaught. Sole took cover behind an old desk, shooting at the raiders with ease and Cait decapitated them with her machete.

“I’m just gettin warmed up, ye clowns!”

The redhead suddenly ran up a side wall and did a flip, slicing two raiders heads off at the same time. Sole lowered their weapon and watched in awe as their partner singlehandedly decimated the raiders with her melee weapon. When the last raider was taken out, Cait took a little bow.

“Damn, Uma Thurman! Leave some for me next time,” Sole joked.

“Couldn’t help it. This machete is way too much fun.”

Deacon:

Deacon and Sole were hiding in an air vent, preparing to take out some synths as asked by Drummer Boy, when Deacon started fumbling around.

“What are you doing?” Sole whispered harshly, annoyed by their partner’s commotion.

“I’m due for an image change,” Deacon answered matter-of-factly, taking his shirt off, “I’ve been in my Elvis Presley Wannabe disguise for two hours now.”

Sole clenched their teeth in frustration.

“What do you think I should go for? The intelligent Bald Doc or intimidating Street Punk?”

“How about the bumbling Austin Powers?”

Deacon chuckled, “Yeah bAbY! I’m flattered you would even suggest that. Such a cool character.”

Sole rolled their eyes as Deacon began to dress as the iconic British spy.

Curie:

Curie and Sole were walking along the coast of Salem when the synth suddenly stopped. Sole turned around, concerned.

“You okay, Curie?”

The synth looked at Sole and smiled. “Oui. I was just thinking...thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to exist in human form.”

“No problem! I’m just glad you’re happy.”

Curie nodded, “It’s not like I wasn’t happy being in my old body it’s just...I can do so much more now in this new body. Do field work, collaborate, share my findings and be taken seriously. That and...this body is very flattering. Much more attractive than metal and bolts.”

Sole laughed, “Hey, I thought your EVE form was adorable.”

“Eve? Who is that?”

“She was a character— a robot— from a pre-war movie called WALL-E.”

“I see...well, that is very interesting, [Madame/Monsieur]!”

Longfellow:

“Damn snow. I hate the North. Move me to the tropics,” Longfellow complained as he and Sole walked through a light snow flurry.

“It’s not even that bad,” Sole reassured, “Besides, what would Christmas be without snow?”

“I don’t care about Christmas. Got no family to celebrate it with anyway.”

“Oh come on, Scrooge,” Sole teased, “We can celebrate Christmas together if you want.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I am old Ebenezer. Bah humbug,” Longfellow grumpily muttered, taking a shot of whiskey.

X6-88:

X6 and Sole were on a mission tag a synth with a tracking beacon when Sole suddenly stopped.

“Is something wrong, [sir/ma’am]?” the synth asked, concerned.

“No it’s just...what would you look like without your glasses? I’ve never seen you take them off. Do you even have eyes under there?”

X6 nodded, “Of course I have eyes. The glasses make me look slick. More professional, if you will.”

“You look like Morpheus from The Matrix.”

“And he was an influential individual, was he not?”

Sole remained silent.

“Case in point, [sir/ma’am].”

Preston:

Sole had just returned to Sanctuary after a lengthy fight with some gunners with Preston beckoned to them.

“Another settlement needs our help,” he began, “The settlers at Nordhagen beach are complaining about a wobbly chair and—“

Sole raised their hand in the air, “Do it yourself, Fix-it-Felix,” they mumbled before retreating to their room for a nap.

Codsworth:

Sole and Codsworth were in their old house, assembling furniture and reminiscing about the past.

“This was such a happy home before the bombs dropped. I wish we could go back to it, [sir/mum].”

Sole nodded in agreement as they discovered old photographs in cracked frames. Codsworth hovered over to examine Sole’s finding.

“Ah! That photograph! That was the first day you adopted me,” the robot gushed, “I’m so glad you chose the name Codsworth and not any of the absurd names the [hubby/wife] was suggesting.”

Sole laughed, “But Codsworth was their idea! I was going to name you BB-8.”

“Seriously? Why? Just because I’m round and I’m a robot?”

“Exactly!”

Codsworth huffed in annoyance and floated away from an amused Sole.

[mageicalwishes]

A Smashing Summer - Chapter 2

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 2/?

Words: 4,269

Simon

“Who is it?” Baz calls, pulling the door ajar. 

“Uh …  Me?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “You told me to be here at eight sharp. So … here I am?”

“If I told you to be here at eight sharp, then you’re three minutes late. But, I highly doubt that I did - I don’t know anybody called 'Me', and I don’t invite strangers over.”

“Come on, Baz,” I whine. “Don’t be a prat! You  know  who it is. It’s me …  Simon!”

He stalls, and for a moment I think his shenanigans are over - But then, he’s pushing the door closed, the latch clicking into place loudly. “Nope, sorry,” he sings, pushing open the letterbox so I can hear him properly. “Doesn’t ring any bells,” 

Peeved, I hammer my fist against the door.

“Baz! Come on! It’s me!  Simon. Simon Snow!” 

I pause, awaiting another snide response. But, all I’m met with is silence. I’m pretty sure he’s still there, though. I don’t think that he’d actually leave me like that. I mean ... I know that I egged his house, but dragging me all the way out here,  just  to slam the door in my face, would be a bit harsh. Baz may be slightly prickly, but he’s not actually  mean   (Well … I don’t think so, anyway). 

“Seriously, Baz! You know me! It’s Simon Snow,” I continue. “You know … The egg guy?”

The door swings open suddenly, revealing him to me - Leaning against the door, a wicked grin spread across his face. 

“Oh, of course! You should have just said so! ... How  is my favourite juvenile delinquent doing?” 

“Twat,” I grumble, unimpressed. “I’m not a juvenile delinquent.”

He laughs, bright and effusive. 

“I know, I know. I’m just winding you up - Don’t worry,” he smiles, stepping aside to allow me in. “Come on in. Father is at work, so you don’t have to worry about him jumping you.”

If the outside of Baz’s house was intimidating, the inside is positively terrifying - All dark wood, and gilded, antique furniture. It’s a bit gaudy, to be honest - More of a show of wealth than a home. But, it’s still far nicer than anything I’ve ever had, so I can’t really criticise. 

“Stop gawping, Snow,” He scolds. “You look ridiculous.” 

“Sorry,” I drone, my voice heavy with sarcasm. “I'm just not used to creepy, Gothic mansions. You know …  Most people avoid the 'Dracula’s lair ' aesthetic. It’s terribly outdated.”

“Shut up, you dolt,” he snickers, the tip of his nose scrunching up slightly. “It’s not even Gothic. It’s Victorian.” 

“Whatever! Just … Is there a tap I can use? I should probably get on with it. I brought a bucket … And some soap. I just need some water.” 

He smirks, raising an elegant brow in question. 

He has nice eyebrows - Dark, and sharply arched. Not a hair out of place. He must wax them, or something - Because there’s no way they could be that perfect naturally. 

“You’re not very observant are you, Snow?” He asks, amused. 

“Huh? What are you on about?” 

“The door,” He drawls - Acting as though that clarifies his meaning perfectly (Which it definitely doesn't). “The one you knocked, like, five minutes ago?” 

Lost, I stare at him blankly, throwing my hands out in question - Helplessly confused. 

He sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

“Seriously? You didn’t notice the lack of Egg?” 

Oh.

“What?” I bark, outraged. “Who cleaned it off?” 

He shrugs, nonchalantly. “I did. Obviously.” 

“What?” I repeat, my voice absurdly small. “I told you I’d do it. Did you not believe me? I told you, you could trust me - I wouldn’t lie.” 

I don’t really know why I’m protesting. I mean, it’s not like I really wanted to spend my Saturday scrubbing away dried Egg. He’s done me a favour really - Although, it certainly doesn’t feel that way. 

“No, it’s not that. I knew you’d come back,” he reassures, his tone sincere. “But, Father wasn’t exactly chuffed about waiting until today - Apparently dried eggs are incredibly difficult to remove. So … I cleaned it up last night. There’s no need for you to have a meltdown, though. It wasn’t a problem.” 

“But … I was supposed to make it up to you,” I murmur, picking at the sleeve of my hoodie. 

“I know. It’s okay, though. Seriously. I’m really not that bothered.”

I tug a hand through my curls in frustration (I should probably stop doing that, to be honest. Penny says I’ll end up bald otherwise. But … Old habits are hard to break).

“When?” 

“When, what?” He asks, clearly confused. 

“When did you clean it up? Like - What time?” 

He huffs out a laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe … Nine-ish? Why does that matter?” 

“If you did it at nine - Why didn’t you just tell me when we were texting, then?” 

  ————————————————————————————

Baz

Oh. Shit. How the hell am I supposed to reasonably explain that? 

‘Oh, sorry. My life is just so irreparably dull that you’re the most exciting thing to happen to me all Summer. So, I just really wanted to see you again - Even without the valid excuse of making you clean up the mess you made‘  - Yeah, because that’s not at all creepy. 

I shrug, coolly - Building up a facade of indifference. “It must’ve slipped my mind.” 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “That makes sense.” 

“Yeah,” I breathe, unsure of what else to say. 

Could I invite him to stay? Or would that be too much? I mean, he didn’t come here to ‘hang out’ -  He came here under the pretence of scrubbing the bloody egg off of our front door. He'd probably just be freaked out if I did. 

Nervously, I trace the pad of my thumb against my ring (I hardly take it off, nowadays. It was my mother’s, once. A simple, silver band. Elegant - Just like she used to be). 

Luckily for me, before I have to face the humiliation of speaking, Snow is stammering out another sentence. 

“Well … We could, you know. I mean, hang out or something? I did say I’d make it up to you. So ... We could go to the cinema, or something? I have money in my bag.” 

“Sure. I suppose I don’t really have anything better to do.” I quip, suppressing a smile. 

“Wicked,” he says, beaming up at me, his blue eyes shining. 

“I have to get changed first though.”

“What? Why? What’s wrong with that?” He questions, gesturing towards my chest. 

“These are my tennis whites, Snow,” I deadpan. “I’m not going into town dressed like this. I’m not an animal.”

He guffaws loudly, clutching onto his stomach. “But … It’s just a polo and shorts! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There definitely is.”

“You’re so weird,” he laughs, poking my arm lightly. 

“Sure. I’m the weird one,” I mock. “Just follow me, okay? I’ll get changed in the en-suite. And, you can just wait in my room. It won’t take long.” 

————————————————————————————

Simon

Baz’s room is certainly striking.

It’s as gaudily overdone as the entrance hall - With the same dark walls, and unnecessarily ornate furniture (I mean, he’s got a proper, curtained four-poster bed, for Christ’s sakes!). But, his room has way more personality - Every flat surface littered with papers and well-worn books, and an assortment of silver photo frames lining the top of his dresser.

“Hey, Baz?” I call, sliding my hands over the silk of his bed sheets, absentmindedly. “Can you hear me?”

“Obviously,” He rumbles. “I’m only on the other side of a door.” 

“Oh right, yeah. Cool … Can I ask you something?” 

“I suppose so,” he sighs (Although, I’m pretty sure he’s not actually annoyed). “But, I reserve the right to refuse to answer, if it’s a stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid! I was only going to ask how old you are?” 

“Wow. You’re right - That’s not stupid ... However, it is exceedingly boring.” He jeers. 

“Don’t be a dick!” I growl. “Just answer the question”

“Seventeen. I’m in Lower Sixth."

“Oh nice, same.”

“Yes- I know. You said yesterday.”

“Oh yeah ... When’s your birthday?” 

“Seriously? Why? Are you going to buy me a present?” 

“Yes, seriously!” I cry, lobbing a pillow at the door.

He yelps, surprised. And, I can’t help the splutter of laughter that erupts out of me. 

“Jesus Christ! There's no need to throw a tantrum. It’s in February. The twenty-fourth, if you want to be exact about it.”

“Fair enough. You’re older than me, then. Mine’s the twenty-first of June.”

“Oh well,” he purrs. “I’ll be sure to send you a card next year.”

“Oh wow. That’s very generous of you,” I sneer, pulling my backpack open, and grabbing my packet of scones. “Imma put a scone on your bedside cabinet, okay? It’s for you to try later on." 

He doesn’t answer, so I just assume he’s alright with it.

“Baz!” I whine, flopping down against his bed. “I thought you said you were just getting changed. How long does it take to change your bloody top!”

He tuts loudly, clearly underwhelmed by my level of patience.

“Just wait, you Git. I’ll be out in a minute. You know what they say, Snow … You can’t rush perfection.” 

 He definitely takes longer than a minute, but soon enough the bathroom lock clicks, and he’s stepping back into the room.

I sit up quickly, desperately trying to scrape the scone crumbs off of his bedding. And then, I freeze - Utterly dumbfounded by the sight of him. Oh no. 

“What’s wrong with you? Never seen proper clothing before?” He taunts, the smirk audible in his voice. 

I stare at him, wordlessly - Slack-jawed and wide-eyed. I probably look slightly insane, but I’m powerless to stop myself. He looks ...  Otherworldly. 

His hair has been pulled back into a loose bun - A few strands left hanging free, expertly framing the sharp edges of his face. His polo has been swapped out for a boxy, white shirt - Adorned with embroidered bumblebees, and only partially buttoned. The deep V of the neckline, exposing the bronze expanse of his chest - Teasing me with a view of the alluring groove of his collarbone. The shorts, too, have been upgraded. White polyester having been replaced by tight, black denim. And, as if all of that wasn’t enough, his nails have been painted a deep shade of maroon.

He’s a vision. Tall, dark, and handsome - The perfect cliche. 

“What,” he asks again insistently, his voice weak with insecurity. “Seriously? Is - Is it too much, or something?”

He stomps over to the mirror, staring at his reflection blankly, and tugging at the bottom of his shirt. 

“No!,” I snap, perhaps a little too urgently. “No. It’s fine. I mean - It’s good. You look good. I was just - I was just admiring your shirt. It’s nice. Proper fancy, like.”

“Right,” he drawls, his eyebrows drawn in suspicion. “Well … You shouldn’t stare at people. It’s rude.” 

I scratch the back of my neck awkwardly, my face flooding with heat. 

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Sorry about that.” 

“Yes. Well … Come on then, Snow. Enough gawking! We haven’t got all day, you know”

 ————————————————————————————

Baz

The drive to the cinema is painfully awkward - The two of us sitting side-by-side in complete silence. I flick on the radio, attempting to alleviate the crushing weight of the quiet that hangs between us. It doesn’t really work, though. 

He’s definitely sulking. Although, I don’t know whether it’s because of all the weirdness in my bedroom, or because I refused to walk into town. I will admit that, he didn’t seem all that thrilled with my justification that you can’t risk breaking into a sweat when you’re wearing a six-hundred pound Gucci shirt - Just grumbling on about how I was a "High-maintenance, twat". 

He quickly cheers up when we reach the cinema’s kiosk, though - Dashing about scooping sweets into his Pick-And-Mix bag, and beaming over at me as he orders the largest carton of popcorn available. 

“Sweet tooth, Snow?” I tease. 

“Uh huh. Definitely … Do you want anything? I brought enough money for the both of us.”

“Maybe just some Revels,” I shrug. 

“Oh God! Yuck! You’re one of those people,” he complains, grimacing. “Gonna be honest with you Baz, I don't think we can be friends anymore.”

“Oh, piss off,” I scoff. “What’s wrong with Revels?”

“Everything but the Malteasers and Minstrels is what is wrong with bloody Revels! The rest of the flavours are just offensive. I mean, what kind of psychopath wants to eat Coffee and Orange Cream … And don’t even get me started on the fucking Raisins!”

“Uh, I believe I'm the kind of 'psychopath' you're referring to” I snap, swatting at him, jokingly. “They’re sublime! Your palette is clearly just too unrefined to appreciate them.” 

He coughs out a mirthless laugh.

“Whatever. Enjoy your shitty chocolates, Loser. Don’t say I didn’t try to save you from your own poor choices!” 

————————————————————————————

Simon

“Are you seeing this, Snow? How fucking inconsiderate is she?” he hisses, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “I mean, why come to the cinema, if all you want to do is sit on bloody Snapchat? Literally, what is the point?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, glancing over at him - His brow creased, and his lips pushed into a grumpy pout.

“It’s only the adverts, Baz. Chill. I’m sure she’ll turn it off when the movie starts.”

‘Well, that’s not really good enough. The adverts are a key part of the cinema experience! I really don’t see why they should be ruined, just because she wants to send some useless selfie.” 

“You stress too much,” I whisper, shrugging as I shovel a fistful of popcorn into my mouth. “It ain't so bad.” 

He snarls over at me, shoving a hand against my shoulder. “That is vile! Don't talk with your mouth full, Idiot. Seriously - Who raised you? Did they teach you nothing about manners?” 

I don’t answer. Choosing instead, to make a show of chewing with my mouth open, in retaliation - Earning myself an icy glare. 

“Barbarian,” he gruffs. 

 When the lights dim further, I beam over at him, excitedly.

To my surprise, he’s already looking over at me - His signature eyebrow raise in place, but a soft, shy smile dancing across his lips. Caught, he quickly averts his gaze, shuffling in his seat nervously. 

“It’s time!” I murmur, pushing my leg out slightly, and pressing our knees together. 

“I know. I have been to the cinema before.” 

“Whatever,” I snipe. “I just hope you don’t get too scared. Living in a haunted mansion, I imagine this may hit uncomfortably close to home, for you”

“Hmmm. Somehow, I think I’ll manage …  I’m a big boy, you know.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Tyrannus,” I tease, drawing out each letter of his name. 

He bashes his knee against mine, forcefully - Clearly unimpressed with my little joke. 

“Don’t worry though,” I continue. “If you do get too scared, you can always cuddle up to me. I’ll keep you safe.” 

‘Just shut it, Snow,” he sighs, rubbing a hand against his brow bone in frustration. “I will hurt you if need be.” 

I muffle a giggle with my hand, but I oblige - Biting my tongue, and turning my attention back to the movie screen. 

————————————————————————————

Squinting against the bright lights, we step outside the screen room - The disorienting feeling of being plunged back into reality, making my head whirl uncomfortably. 

“Did you like it?” I ask, chucking my rubbish into the bin as I talk. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, blinking his eyes stupidly. “Yeah. It was good. Thank you for the ticket - And the invite, of course. You’ll be glad to know that you can now consider your debt to me, repaid.” 

I chuckle halfheartedly, bitterly disappointed.

If I'm being honest, I don’t really want my debt to be repaid - It’s the only reason I was allowed to hang out with him, in the first place. I suppose I could just egg his house again - Although, I doubt he would be as lenient with me the second time around. 

Dissatisfied, I decide to try and drag the day out as much as possible (It’s only midday, so I have ages until I need to get back). 

“I’m starving!” I complain, clutching at my stomach dramatically. “Are you hungry?

“I could eat,” he shrugs, smirking amusedly. 

“Perfect! I know a great pizza place. It’s only like … Five minutes away.”

“Go on then, Snow. Lead the way.”

Grinning over at him, I grab his hand, weaving our fingers together unthinkingly. His are slimmer than mine, long and elegant where mine are short and stubby, but we fit together perfectly - The feel of his palm pressed against mine, causing my stomach to flip strangely.

When I realise what I’ve done, I pause - Loosening my grip on his hand, so that he can drop it if he wants. But, to my delight, he doesn’t - Instead opting to give it a light squeeze. 

“Carry on, then” he drawls, his voice flat with boredom (Although, his cheeks are dusted a light shade of red, so I think he’s just putting it on to be a prat). “There’s really no reason to stand here all day.”

And with that, I start to walk - Bounding off towards the diner, pulling him along behind me.

————————————————————————————

Baz

I scowl down at the plate, completely off-put.

“This looks foul, Snow. It’s practically soaked in oil! You don’t actually expect me to eat that, do you?” 

He swallows showily, gulping down his bite of pizza. 

“Come on, Baz,” he whines, tilting his head to the side pleadingly. “Don’t be a snob! I know it looks a little gross, but it's really delicious. Trust me. Just have a bite - It won’t kill you!”

Hesitantly, I raise a slice up to my lips, and take a minuscule bite. When the flavour hits me, I groan embarrassingly - Unable to control myself.

As much as I hate to admit it, he was right - It’s infuriatingly delicious. 

“Aha!” he yells, sticking out his hand, and jabbing a finger at my face. “I told you! Isn’t it so great?” 

“Alright, alright,” I chuckle. “There's no need to make a scene. I will admit that it’s fairly pleasant - As far as pizzas go, anyway”

“Nah. Piss off. It’s great, and you know it!”

I quirk my brow, swatting his hand away from my face. 

“Me and the boys come here after college sometimes,” he continues, biting into the pizza sloppily. “I know the owner, and everything. Sometimes he gives me free wedges … It’s a pretty sweet deal.”

“I see. And who are these boys, you speak of?” I laugh. 

“Josh and Nathan. We all go to Brockenhurst, but we live together too, so we’re pretty close. We’re practically brothers at this point!”

“Oh nice. Do you have your own flat or something?” I ask, confused. 

“Oh no. Not yet, anyway. We will do it soon. But, right now, we’re living in a kid’s home. Murdoch House? I don’t know if you know it.”

Shit. I’m such a twat.

“No. I don’t,” I sigh, twisting my hands together, ashamed. “I’m sorry, though. I didn’t realise. Some of the stuff I’ve said … If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have. I mean, if I touched a nerve or anything, I really am sincerely sorry. I’d never mean to actually hurt you - I just like taunting people. It’s my way.” 

“Baz,” he chortles, the sides of his eyes scrunching up sweetly. “There’s no need to get all serious, you Numpty. It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t. It’s chill, seriously. I've lived in homes my whole life, so I’m not really bothered. Not anymore, anyway. It’s just - People tend to go all awkward when I tell them, so I try not to bring it up”. 

I puff out a breath, relieved. 

“Okay. Well, good. Thank you for telling me, though. And, don’t worry, I won’t 'go all awkward' on you. That would be below me.”

He hums, smiling across at me, his cheeks stuffed with pizza. He looks like a hamster - And really, it should look ridiculous, but somehow, on him, it’s stupidly endearing. 

“Do you like it there, though?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t really know much about living in care - Only what I saw on Tracy Beaker as a kid. And, I’m not sure that’s exactly the most accurate account.”

“Not far off, to be honest,” he shrugs. “It’s mostly good. I mean, the kids are alright. And the staff at this place are nice - You can tell they like, properly care, you know? The rules are kind of strict, though - Which is annoying. And the food is abysmal … That’s probably the worst thing about it, to be honest . They’re pretty underfunded, so they have to just bulk buy the cheapest shit they can find … Leads to some interesting culinary creations.” 

I shake my head in disbelief. 

“Of course that’s what you care about, you absolute disaster!” 

“What?” He calls, outraged. “I’m a growing boy, Baz - I need sustenance! Delicious, well-seasoned sustenance.”

“You’ll have to come over to mine for dinner sometime, then,” I smile. “My step-mother is a pretty amazing cook - So, I’m sure she could make something you'd enjoy. We’ll have to wait until Father is away, though. I doubt he’d appreciate me inviting the hooligan that egged his house over for dinner.”

“Seriously?” He asks, his tone achingly hopeful. 

“Yeah. Why not?” I answer, schooling my voice into an indifferent drone. “My family are convinced that I have no friends besides my cousin and his mate, so it would be satisfying to prove them wrong.” 

“Oh well, cool,” he mumbles, his freckled cheeks flushing a light rose. “I’d like that.” 

 ————————————————————————————

We stayed, sat together in that grotty little diner for hours after that (Right up until Snow’s phone started blaring out an alarm - Signalling the approach of his of measly eight P.M curfew). We didn’t really talk about anything important - Mostly sticking to inane chatter about school and football. But, that hardly matters. It was still good. It was so, so good. 

I lean against the Jag’s bonnet, starting over at him silently. 

“Well,” He sighs, kicking his foot against the pavement childishly. “I suppose this is a good night then?”

“I suppose so,” I mumble, desperately trying to prevent the disappointment welling up within my chest from seeping into my voice. “It's probably best to avoid triggering a search party.” 

“Yeah - But … You’ll text me, yeah? I mean, I’ll text you, obviously. But you will answer won’t you?” 

“Of course.” I answer plainly. “You know where I live, remember? Ignoring you is meaningless - You could just stalk me into submission.” 

“Oh haha. Very funny, Dickhead,” He groans. “But seriously … I’ll hold you to that.” 

“I hope you do, Snow,” I say, simpering meekly. 

“Oh don’t you worry, Pitch. I will.”

With that, he flashes me a soft smile, waving me goodbye, before turning and trudging down the driveway. “Make sure your phone’s volume is up! I’d hate for you to miss my fantastic texts!” He calls, pulling the gate closed  behind him with an ear-aching screech. And then, he’s gone. 

————————————————————————————

SS (23:47): Tonight was fun :) We should hang out again soon

ME (23:47): Definitely. 

SS (23:48): Aha yes!

SS (23:48): You’re paying next time tho. 

ME (23:49): If you insist, Snow. 

SS (23:50): I defo do! 

SS (23:50): Oh, also ... Speaking of insisting 

SS (23:50): You should call me Simon. You don't have to keep referring to me by my surname, you know?

SS (23:50): I call you Baz. So, I reckon it's only fair! 

ME (23:52): I'll consider it, Snow. I make no promises, though!

SS (23:52): You're well mean! :(((((((

SS (23:52): Imma make you call me Simon one day! Whether you like it or not!

ME (23:53): I'd love to see you try. Pitches are not easily swayed! 

SS (23:54): Pftttt! Whatever! 

SS (23:54): Say what you like - I'm still gonna get you to call me it! 

SS (23:54): I've got a plan!

SS (23:55): And it's defo going to work!

SS (23:55): I gtg to bed now tho. My phone’s gonna get confiscated if I keep this up. 

SS (23: 55): So ... G’night Baz. I'll talk to you tomorrow :) 

SS (23:55): Don’t let the ghosties get you! 

ME (23:56): You’re ridiculous. 

ME (23:56): Goodnight, Snow. Talk to you then.  

————————————————————————————

ME (1:19): Good Morning, Snow. I know you're asleep right now, but I thought that you'd like to know that I ate the scone you left me. You were absolutely right ... It was delicious. So, thank you for leaving me one - With your insatiable appetite, I can only imagine how difficult that must've been for you. 

ME (1:20): You'll definitely need to bring me some more, at some point. I'll make more concrete plans with you at a more reasonable hour, though. I seriously need to sleep. 

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 34: Nightmares Are Real

So, last chapter was left on a cliffhanger. 

Fair warning: this chapter is heavy going. There’s mentions of abuse, physical, mental, and emotional. There is physical abuse in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but enough I feel it necessary to warn y’all about it. Please, as always, take care of yourself as you’re reading. Take a break. Practice grounding techniques. Breathe deep. If you feel yourself getting overwhelmed, step away. The chapter will be there when you’re good and ready. 

I’m grateful to every single one of you who has been with me through this fic so far. I also have utter solidarity for every single person who has ever dealt with someone like Rick. We’re not victims. We’re survivors. And no one can take that away from us. 

Also, I ask that you please read the notes at the end of the chapter.

- The chapter is available on AO3 as well, for those who prefer it. (Link to AO3 on my blog).

Cullen hurried through the Chantry phone in hand and dodging around the visitors who were trying to find a place to get a view of exhibition curator and to hear them speak. The number that flashed up as missed was one that Cullen did not recognise; that wasn’t particularly uncommon given how he offered his services. Calls from unknown numbers were expected. That there were six missed called worried him. Six was extreme. Six wasn’t someone calling him to ask about his services. Six missed calls were more like an emergency.

Once outside, Cullen took a deep breath of the freezing air as he tapped the screen to call back. He shoved he free hand in the pocket of his jacket and began to pace along the steps, not far from the doors.

It was two rings before someone picked up.

“Hello?”

Cullen was surprised to hear a male voice answer. A voice he knew. “Josef?”

“Cullen! Thank the Maker I got you!” Josef’s tone was audibly relieved.

Immediately Cullen’s focus went to Matilda, Dante and Rowan. “What’s up? Are the kids okay?” Before he and Nevena left Haven, Josef had said he was taking them to his mother’s in South Reach. Given the treacherous and ever-changing weather, his concern was if there had been an accident or they were stranded somewhere on the road.

“They’re fine. We reached my mother’s safe and sound earlier today. The roads are pretty terrible.” Josef answered quickly, all but brushing off Cullen’s concern. “Look, I know this is a weird call but is Nevena with you?”

“Uh,” Cullen ran his thumb over the scar on his lip. “Sort of. We’re in Kirkwall with some friends of mine. We’re at an exhibit right now.”

“So, you are in Kirkwall…” Josef said under his breath. “Shit.”

“Joe, what’s going on?” asked Cullen, his hackles rising due to the questions he had and the answers he didn’t.

“I was hoping…” Josef sighed. “Ineria knows Nevena is in Kirkwall. Nevena has been checking into various locations on her Facebook.”

“Okay…” Cullen said, uncertain why this was an issue. “I can’t imagine Ineria is on Nevena’s Facebook.”

“She isn’t but Matilda is. Matilda left her Facebook profile logged in on the home computer. We left in such a hurry, she didn’t even think about logging out or anything until we got to my mother’s and I called Ineria to let her know the kids were safe.”

Cullen’s body went cold all of a sudden, and not from the snow. “Ineria wouldn’t use Matilda’s social media to track Nev, would she? And even if she did, it’s not like she can reach Nevena here.”

“Rick lives in Kirkwall!”

Cullen almost dropped his phone. The world around him slowed down to a snail’s pace.

Rick lived in Kirkwall.

Rick, Nevena’s living nightmare, lived in Kirkwall. The city they had come to. The city he suggested they go to as a safe haven and for a change of scenery. And worse, Nevena’s social media was acting as a beacon.

“Is Ineria still in contact with Rick?” asked Cullen, his voice almost robotic as his brain struggled to catch up the time around him. “Do they still talk?”

Josef sighed down the other end of the phone. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I only… When I was speaking to her, something she said made me think she is, and has probably told him that Nevena is in the city.”

“What did she say?”

“Something about Kirkwall and it being a good place for Nevena to bump into old faces.”

“That sounds pretty clear cut, doesn’t it?” Cullen pushed his fingers into his eyes. “Would she, really?”

“This is Ineria we’re talking about, Cullen.” Josef sounded weary. “If it means she gets her claws into Nevena from a distance, she’ll do whatever she can.”

“I have to go.” Cullen said, beginning to climb the steps to the entry of the Chantry. “I’ve left her alone and if he’s looking for her I can’t leave her for long. I don’t want her to have to deal with him. She shouldn’t have to.”

“Agreed. Let me know everything is okay. Matilda feels terrible.”

“It’s not her fault, I know that, and Nevena would say the same. But I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks for calling me.”

“No problem.”

Josef hung up and Cullen slid his phone into his pocket. He marched into the Chantry and through the metal detectors bypassing the security guards with hardly a glance. His heart was in his throat, and he was acutely aware of everything and everyone.

He looked over the sea of people. It was as though each person had suddenly multiplied into five people. The crowd looked so much larger than it had when he was walking through to return the call. He cursed the dim lighting, it was impossible to make out faces of the people he walked by. He didn’t really know what Rick looked like, except from a quick glimpse of him in a photo taken years ago. For all Cullen knew, the young angry looking brunette in that picture could be bald, with mutton chops and a tattoo on his face now.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know what Rick looked like he scanned the faces of every person he went passed, searching for the face of a man looking for someone else in earnest. If he was here, if he had been informed of Nevena’s whereabouts by Ineria, then Cullen was determined to act as a wall between Rick and Nevena. She did not need to see him, not after everything he put her through. Not after the strides she had taken in the years past to get to where she was today.

The crowds grew thicker the further into the Chantry Cullen walked. A woman was talking on a small platform elevated about a foot above the onlookers, indicating with a wave of her hand to different exhibits on display. Cullen closed his ears and tried to patiently ease his way through the people trying to get to the alcove where he left Nevena, and hoping she was either still there, or at the very least nearby and alone.

From the corner of his eye he noticed the familiar style of Cassandra’s short hair as she stood taller than most of the other women gathered. Varric was with her, and Cullen breathed a momentary sigh of relief making his way over as fast as possible.

“Cass!” He nudged her and spoke in a low, frantic whisper.

“There you are Curly,” Varric chuckled, “we were wondering where you and Freckles got off to…” he glanced around for Nevena. “Speaking of which, where is she?”

“What’s the matter?” Cassandra asked, the voice almost aggressive. Cullen realised he must have looked stricken to her in some way, despite how much he was trying to keep his calm. Nothing got passed Cassandra. Nothing, and for once, Cullen was glad of that.

“I had a call from Nevena’s brother-in-law, Josef. She’s been checking her in to the places we’ve been visiting since leaving Haven on her Facebook.” As Cullen spoke he realised he was breathing fast and a sense of panic was starting to overtake him. His chest was tighter, and his extremities were cold. Cool sweat soaked the back of his neck and trickled down his spine. He drew in a deep breath and stood straighter – he couldn’t afford to panic now. “Ineria has informed Nev’s ex that she’s here. He lives in Kirkwall.”

“What?” Both Varric and Cassandra’s eyes widened.

“Shit.” Varric said. “Alright, I’ll go grab a security guard. Where’d you leave her?”

“Over there,” Cullen pointed in the direction. “There’s a sculpture of a parent and child.”

“Okay.” Varric went off, easing through the crowd with as much speed as was possible.

“Come on,” Cassandra said, moving at a brisk pace with Cullen through the throngs of people. People who seemed to just part for Cassandra with minimal effort. Cullen kept a step ahead of Cassandra’s gait leading her through the Chantry to where he left Nevena not five minutes ago.

He swallowed back his fear and worry, hoping she would be as he left her. Alone, and safe.

Nevena jerked up from the two-seater bench and stepped out of the reach of the hands that had tightened for a moment around her throat. She touched her neck, unable to shake cold clammy sensation under her hand and tainting her skin.

It was a trick. It had to be.

Some terrible, awful, cruel joke.

How was he here?

How did he find her?

Why was he here?

There was no sense to it. It was him though. In the flesh. Standing at the same six-foot height, the brown hair a little shorter, the blue eyes as small and cold as they ever were. He stood with his hands still outstretched, a look of surprise marring his features as though shocked Nevena had dared to get away from him.

Her throat tightened. Nevena wasn’t sure if she was about to scream, or cry, or vomit. Her stomach turned, while also somehow being in her feet and she was rooted to the floor. Heart hammering in her ears, she tried to find her breath, her voice. Tried to find herself and make herself do more than stare in abject horror and terror.

“It’s good to see you, Nene.” Rick’s mouth slid into a thin smile, “I was shocked when Ineria called me and told me you were in Kirkwall. Shocked, but… pleased. You know, I’d been thinking about you a lot… Christmas was when you broke my heart.”

Ineria?

Nevena’s mind turned that information over slowly like rusted cogs in a clock. Ineria told him she was in Kirkwall? Ineria was still in contact with Rick? How did Ineria even know she was in Kirkwall? Aside from Cullen and Roselyn, she hadn’t told anyone where she was going or what she was doing. So how did Ineria know? How had she found out? Why had she called Rick?

The last question was stupid. The reason Ineria called Rick was because she knew how much it would hurt and how much he would frighten her if he found her. Which he had.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he began to walk towards her, circling around the bench with arms open, palms up. He looked so… unthreatening. He gave the impression of someone who was so relaxed and calm, he always did. The well-practiced lie that hid the truth of the person he was underneath the facade. Nevena glanced over his shoulder, hoping someone might look over, catch her eye and see the terror she was trying to convey. No one did. She was alone. Alone with an animal who wore the mantle of a man. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

Nevena almost stumbled into the sculpture as she backed away from Rick with every step he took towards her. She caught herself before she hit the art piece staggering away and blindly fumbling to regain her balance. A hand grabbed her left arm in a vice-like grip. In a series of motions that left her feeling as though she was about to be sick, he twisted her arm up and behind her back holding it there in an awkward position that caused pain to shoot down from her wrist to her elbow and then up into her shoulder. Nevena’s eyes started to sting. Her chest constricted around her lungs pushing all the breath from her in a rush. “You could at least say something.” Rick hissed at her, mouth close to her ear. His breath wafting over her face made her feel nauseous. A feeling that only increased when she heard Rick inhale deeply, his nose pressing into her hair. “You look great.”

“Let go.” Nevena mumbled, trying to pull her arm free of Rick’s grip – which only resulted in more pain. His hand tightened around her wrist the more she struggled. Over the years, she had forgotten how much stronger than her she was. Now was an unwelcome reminder as he held her, trapped within his grasp. “Please.” She could see his steely eyes boring into her in her periphery but refused to look.

“Who was that you were with?” he asked conversationally. His grip on her never faltered, no matter how much she wriggled and her arm, wretched behind her, was starting to go numb. She remembered times like this from before. During arguments when he would grab and wouldn’t let go until he left a mark, or she was crying. “I didn’t like him.”

“Please, let go.” Nevena tried to tug her arm again – her shoulder burned in complaint. “Please don’t cause a scene.”

“A scene?” Rick smiled. “Why would I cause a scene? We’re just talking.”

“If we’re just talking, then please let go.” Begging. She was already begging. Hardly two minutes and she was back to the submissive, frightened person he turned her into. The nightmare of him just appearing if she so much as thought about him had come true. Here he was, in the flesh, ruining everything the way he always did.

“Who was he?” Rick’s voice became more of a snarl, and he loomed over her, his face inches from her. Nevena had no other option but to look at him. The shadows cast by the low light made him look as though he was possessed. She tried to summon her voice up to scream, but nothing came out.

“He…” Nevena swallowed hard, “he’s—“

“He was touching you.” Rick snatched her chin in his free hand and pressed his fingers and thumb into her skin. He squeezed her jawbone making her wince. “And kissing you.”

Nevena clenched her eyes shut. He was so uncomfortably close she could feel his breath on her face. She was certain he was about to try and kiss her. Try and lay claim to her. Make her do things she didn’t want to do the way he used to. She tightened her lips together, as if doing so might make kissing impossible. She hated the sensation of tears stinging her eyes. All the time she’d spent trying to put her life back together. All the time she’d spent thinking she was stronger, and she could move on and that Rick didn’t have a hold on her any more – all for nothing. She was still afraid of him. He could still force her and scare her and make her do things, just because he wanted to and because he knew he could exert that power over her. All the progress she thought she’d made had been nothing but an illusion… or perhaps a delusion would have been more accurate.

The fear and panic were taking hold, blood pounding through her veins, her vision blurring at the corners, her heart thundering at an alarming speed against her ribcage while she was yanked between fight or flight. Her chest tightened even further, her ribs feeling as though they were clawing into her lungs making it impossible to get even a gasp of air. Every breath she tried to take was shorter and sharper than the one before. She wanted to run and hide, and cower in a corner, never to come out again. She wanted to be home, safe behind her locked doors, her locked windows, and her drawn curtains.

“Am I scaring you, Nene?” Rick’s voice was closer, as though he was whispering directly into her ear. She sensed movement through her closed eyes and flinched away instinctively. “You’re shaking.” She realised she was, trembling from head to foot, a scared rabbit in a fox’s den. “Are you cold?”

“N-no.” Nevena jerked away from Rick’s hand gently gliding up the side of her face from her chin. His flesh was cool on hers, and his fingers curled back into her hair. She tried to bury her head and neck down into her shoulders, like a tortoise retreating into its shell. Rick’s hand tightened in her hair and he pulled. Nevena bit back a yelp of pain. “That hurts…” Nevena managed to say, reaching up and wrapping her free hand around his in her hair. She had nails, she could scratch him – but the pain in her shoulder from the hold he had her in was now spreading across the top of her back. And even if she did try to scratch him, it wouldn’t make any difference. He would just laugh in her face at her feeble attempt to free herself.

“Does it?” he tugged on her hair again and this time Nevena did let out a small noise of protest. She didn’t know if it was involuntary, or if some deep part of her hoped making any kind of noise would attract some attention. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“I-I am…”

“You’re not acting happy.” Hissed Rick. “After everything you put me through, after all the pain I experienced when you broke things off and humiliated me – I would have thought you’d at least apologize to me” Nevena’s throat constricted, further restricting the air she tried to breathe making even that feel as though it was choking her. “Why did you let your friend trick me? Why did you let her call the police when all I wanted to do was get you alone to talk to you?”

“I… I didn’t know sh—“

“Liar!” Rick pulled back on Nevena’s head. “Don’t lie to me! You must have known! Why else would you have allowed her to do it!“

“I didn’t know, I swear.” Nevena whimpered. Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes making her want to curse. Crying was what he wanted. What he liked. He liked it when she cried in the past. He enjoyed seeing her crumble into pieces. Enjoyed knowing how afraid of him she was. He enjoyed knowing that he could reduce her to nothing by doing so very little. “I didn’t know.”

“Why should I believe you?” Hissed Rick. He slid his hand out of her hair and down. Nevena shuddered. His skin was clammy and cold on hers, it almost felt leathery and she was sure she was melting, as if his touch was corroding her flesh away. His fingers closed around her throat and Nevena suddenly found herself stumbling over her feet as she struggled to keep up with Rick’s stride. His arm and then hers hit the hard stone wall, the impact almost winding her. Her head hit a moment later smacking into it with an almighty crack that ricocheted around the small vestibule.

Nevena’s head throbbed from the pain and her mind swam for a moment while she tried to focus herself. Dark spots flickered across her vision and for a terrible moment she thought she was going to be sick. Bile burned the back of the tongue before she forced it back down with a hard swallow. More tears spilled down her face, dripping on her clothes and Rick’s hand. When she sniffled and looked at him, Rick’s thin lips curled up at the corners. “What do you want?”

“What I’ve always wanted.” Rick shrugged when he answered, as if he was making a vague comment about nothing at all. His grip tightened on Nevena’s arm and she yelped when he forced one leg between hers, pressing his thigh against her. “I want what was promised to me by your useless shit of a father. I want what you promised me when I asked you to marry me. I want you. I want your family’s connections. I want your family’s money.” He pushed harder, his thigh working at pinning Nevena to the wall, all the while she could feel his blunt fingernails digging into the skin of her throat. “Most of all though, I just want you.”

“I don’t have any of that.” Nevena managed to choke out between gasps for air that were becoming more desperate with each one. “I don’t know anything about his finances or the business.”

“Do you think that matters to me?” Rick’s smile grew a little. “Someone has to take over when the old fucker dies. Why shouldn’t it be me?” Nevena’s eyes widened at that, and she stared at him, searching for any deception. Rick chuckled. “After all, that was part of what he agreed to when I asked him if he would allow me to marry you.”

“You’re lying.”

Rick snorted. “You can believe that if you want to. You’ll have to talk to daddy dearest. But, that’s beside the point right now. What I want is what I was promised. I asked you to marry me, and you said yes. That’s a verbal agreement. A binding contract. A contract that you, little bitch, broke.” His hand tightened around Nevena’s throat and she coughed against the pressure he applied.

“What I want is what any reasonable husband wants. I want to be able to fuck you as much as I want, when I want, and how I want,” with each phrase he rubbed the weight of himself against Nevena, and his lips – cold and cracked and wet – pressed to Nevena’s jaw, working along towards her mouth. “I want you to be a good girl and not fucking complain and bitch when I do. I want you to learn your place and do as you’re told, instead of always trying to fucking fight me. I’m not asking for much here, Nene. It’s not unreasonable to expect your obedience.”

Nevena’s mind was fuzzy. She wasn’t sure if it was the knock on the head, the lack of air, or the information that was being thrown at her, but she couldn’t concentrate and could barely hear. Blood thudded in her ears drowning out most sounds except Rick’s voice. Her flesh crawled under each kiss Rick applied, as if her own skin was trying to slough off and get rid of any essence of him. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to concentrate over the pain in the back of her head, and the fear welling up inside her. Once more, she bit her lips together doing so would act as a deterrent if he tried to kiss her.

“We’re going to be really happy, you and me, Nene.” Rick said, his voice losing its edge and sounding deceptively gentle. Somehow, that softness made everything so much worse. It was the voice he used to fool everyone. The one he used to charm his way through life, while hiding his true self behind it. Nevena swallowed down hard on the sickness threatening to rise up her gullet again. The tears started falling freely and she choked on a sob. “You’ll see.” His moist and sickly smelling breath wafted over her face. Nevena retreated back, eyes clenched closed, holding her breath and praying the wall might simply let her melt into it. “Now, kiss me like a good girl, and we’ll—“

“Nev--!”

Nevena opened her eyes at the sound of a third voice. One that filled her shaking body with relief.

“Cullen!” His name fell more like a bark from her mouth, caught somewhere between a sharp inhale and a sob.

He stood at the mouth of the alcove, hair slightly dishevelled, breathing hard and red faced as though he’d been running. His eyes were blazing, more fearful than angry and he might have been the most beautiful sight Nevena had ever seen.

She watched him taking in the scene in front of him. Eyes darting from her to Rick, to his hand on her throat, his leg pushed between hers. She saw him see the tears staining her face and then his eyes glanced just to the side of her. They widened a little, before returning and focusing full fury on Rick.

“Let go of her. Now.” Cullen advanced, an icy stillness to his voice. He was taller than Rick by a few inches, but at that moment he was more like a giant towering over a mouse. Nevena watched him, noticing a moment later that Cullen wasn’t alone, that both Varric and Cassandra were flanking him with one of the security guards from the entrance. Cullen’s eyes were fixed on Rick, gauging him and checking for everything from his breathing pattern to his expression, alert for any sudden movements.

Nevena realised in the haze of her muddled brain that this was Cullen the TEMPLAR in front of her. Someone with military training, looking for the safest way to deal with the situation with minimal injuries to any party involved. That was a world he had left behind… and now he was forced to drag up that training, and everything that went with it because of her.

Rick didn’t move. He didn’t speak, but Nevena heard him take a quick breath, clearly taking stock of the fact he was outnumbered and outmatched. Cullen lifted his hands, palms facing Rick.  A peaceful stance and non-threatening. Rick watched him with sharp hawk-like eyes as Cullen continued to approach until there was only a few feet between himself and Rick. Nevena wanted to fall into him, into the safety he provided, but with Rick’s strength and his full weight pressing her into the wall, she knew moving would cause more issues than it would solve. Cullen’s gaze flickered across to her and his face hardened slightly.

“You don’t want to make this worse than it already is.” Cullen said, voice even and slow. “I know Ineria must have put you up to this.”

“She told me Nene would be here.” Rick spat. He stepped back from Nevena and the pressure between her legs alleviated when he moved. His hand was still around her throat, though he relaxed his grip a little. Her legs wobbled. “She didn’t mention she’d have company.” The sneer was unmissable, but Cullen didn’t flinch or react beyond a small twitch in the muscle of his jaw.

“Just let her go—“

“No! She’s mine! I asked her to marry me, and she said yes! That’s an agreement! A contract! You can’t just—“

“She changed her mind.” Cullen interjected, coldly. “She is and was well within her rights to do so. She never belonged to you, even if she did say yes at first because you manipulated her.”

“I didn’t manipulate her!” Rick shouted so loud, spittle flew from his mouth. “It was a gesture in front of her family!” Nevena clenched her eyes closed and recoiled from the sound of his raised voice. “She always was a good liar! Tried to convince everyone I was stalking her, and that I hurt her! I never did! She just never listened, and I had to make her listen to me! It was for her own good! I know what’s best for her!” Rick’s hand on her arm tightened and he shook her with every statement he shouted at Cullen. Nevena cowered away from the noise. “Her family owes me for the humiliation I endured. She owes me for fucking my life up so much! I haven’t had a single day since she dumped me that I haven’t thought about her!” To Nevena’s surprise, there were tears welling up in Rick’s eyes and his voice had started shaking as he ranted. He looked at her, the anger in his face cracking for a moment to show a brokenness she had never seen before. “You owe me.”

For a moment, a split second, she felt a glimmer of sympathy for him. He was not well. Never had been, and for all the time away, it seemed like he never got the help he so desperately needed. His family probably didn’t want to admit there was something wrong with him. A chemical imbalance, and psychological issue… People like them, like her family, would rather ignore a problem, than face it and deal with any potential scandal. He was sick, and Ineria must have known and manipulated him in some way. Rick was a victim, in this at least.

The sympathy conflicted so much with the fear he evoked in her, it felt strange. Strange enough that Nevena reminded herself that Rick was in no way deserving of her compassion. No matter what he had endured, no matter how he might have been coerced or manipulated into this situation by a puppet master – he didn’t deserve anything from her. She had wasted time, and tears, and too many sleepless nights, lying awake out of fear to allow her soft heart to wash it all away. Rick wasn’t a monster, he was a man. Sick, and without people around him to help, but he had still put her through hell for years. Still tormented her dreams and her waking hours. Still cornered her, attacked her, tried to take advantage of her after three years of nothing. Nevena might have felt a flicker of sympathy for him, but it was extinguished in moments by the memory of everything he put her through.

“Let her go.” Cullen said again his voice still and steady. “She doesn’t owe you anything.”

Rick scoffed, “and who are you, then? What is Nene to you? Are you her new boyfriend?”

“None of that is any of your concern.” Cullen replied, “all you need to know, all you deserve to know is that she has told me everything you did to her, and what you put her through. That if you think I’ll allow you to inflict anything more on her you are sadly mistaken. I love her, and if you dare to hurt her, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

Through the panic flooding Nevena’s senses, Cullen’s steady words broke through enough to shatter it for a moment. Had he said what she thought he said? What she thought she heard? Was he being truthful? Being earnest? Or was he saying it to get Rick to react and drop his guard for a moment? His expression was so still it was hard to tell. Something inside her bloomed with warmth, until Rick’s fingers tightened on her throat again and the reality of her situation crashed down around her.

“She’s not capable of loving someone. I proposed to her and after she said yes, she changed her mind and gave me the ring back!” Rick laughed, a high-pitched maniacal laugh that send a cold shudder down Nevena’s back. “Who does that?!”

“Looks like she dodged a bullet from where I’m standing.” Varric muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

As Rick reeled around to turn his ire on another person, his fingers loosened around Nevena’s throat and her arm. Taking a chance, she gathered up what strength she could and pushed herself off the wall trying to wrench herself out of his grip. Cullen grabbed her around her upper arm, his own strength pooling into her momentum. He gathered her up in his arms, and all but dragged her out of Rick’s reach. In the seconds it took for Nevena to escape, the security guard had Rick spread eagle against the wall and was cuffing his hands.

Nevena started crying. Big, uncontrollable tears and sobs that shook her down to the core as she buried and all but hid herself against Cullen’s chest. Her shaking legs finally gave out underneath her and she sank to the floor, a dead weight. Cullen caught her before she completely slipped from his grasp and he eased her down to the ground. The guard marched Rick away and through the crowds who had now gathered to see what the commotion was. Nevena heard him yelling something but didn’t catch what.

Cullen knelt in front of her, his hands gently pushing her hair off her face. He spoke, though Nevena could only catch low rumbles of words over the pulsing thunder between her ears. He took one of her hands and placed it over his chest. His heart was beating as fast as hers, but he slowed his breathing on purpose. Nevena closed her eyes trying to concentrate on the rhythm of his inhales and exhales but she couldn’t. It was too hard, and her head hurt. She started to scratch at her hands. She wanted to rub her flesh raw, scratch it with sandpaper, dig her nails under her skin and claw Rick out. Anything to get the mere thought of him off and away from her. She remembered that he’d been kissing her jaw, and that reminder sent a wave of intense nausea washing over her.

“Breathe, Nevena…” Cullen’s voice sounded so far away and disjointed to her. Like she was underwater, and he was above. She coughed so hard she retched, doubling over and clutching her stomach. The back of her head hurt and felt unnaturally warm, but she didn’t dare touch her hair. She would sooner cut it all off than touch it again. Hands held her shoulders, steady, comforting. Nevena reached up with her left hand, and her fingers interlocked with those on her left shoulder. “Slowly, try and slow down…”

She was trying. Trying to breathe easier, trying to stop the crying, the panic, the shaking. She was trying so hard not to be… this. This trembling, fearful, shameful mess that Rick turned her into. She was trying to be better.

“S-s—“ she took a deep breath, her voice and words failing.

“Shh…” Cullen gently cradled her face in his hands, coaxing her to lift her head so she could meet his gaze. It was just them. The alcove had been cordoned off and it seemed that Cassandra and Varric had made themselves scarce for the time being. “It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe. He cannot get you, I swear. Take your time…”

They were on the floor, and Nevena didn’t remember how they got there. Her whole mind was confused and fuzzy, small details missing. She shook her head from side to side, hopelessly hoping it might provide some clarity. It didn’t – it just succeeded in giving her more of a headache than had already started to form behind her eyes. Cullen pulled her into his arms and she all but melted into the safety and security he provided.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” He murmured, stroking her back. “Had I known he was in Kirkwall I would never have suggest we come here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Nevena tried to find her voice, but the threat of sickness kept her from speaking. Instead she shook her head slowly into Cullen’s shoulder, burying her face into the curve of his neck.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head again.

“There’s blood on the wall…” Cullen gently ran his fingers back over her hair. “Sweetheart, you’re bleeding.” Nevena grimaced. “You need to see a first aider.”

The thought of being touched by someone else, by being poke and prodded, even if it was to help her, made her whole body go cold. She tightened her grip around Cullen and forced a hoarse: “no.”

“You might need stitches.”

Exhausted, Nevena shook her head. “No.”

Cullen breathed out very slowly, “we’ll go back to Varric’s when you’re ready, okay? Call a doctor out to where it’s more familiar if need be.”

Nevena nodded.

“Do you want to go back to Varric’s?”

She nodded again.

“Okay.” Cullen kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her flushed and sweaty skin. She opened her eyes for a moment to catch a glimpse of him. His face, stricken with worry, and his skin almost grey. Kirkwall had been just as bad as Haven, if not worse. She squeezed her arms around him, trying to convey in her gesture that she didn’t blame him. Forming words was too hard right now. Cullen squeezed her back. “Just breathe…”

Nevena wondered if he was telling her, or himself.

The journey back to Varric’s was a blur. All Cullen could focus on was Nevena, trembling beside him, as they walked through the streets towards the town house. Her head bowed, she shrank away from everything, light, sound, even Cassandra when she guided Nevena upstairs in the house to wait for the doctor Varric called on their way home.

It didn’t take long for the doctor to arrive, in his mid-thirties with sandy coloured hair pulled into a dishevelled ponytail, Varric gestured for him to go upstairs and then joined Cullen in the living room where he was pacing.

Pacing, back and forth, wearing a pattern in the carpet, his phone in hand and words of anger burning on his tongue. Never, in his entire life, had Cullen felt a rage like this. It was as though a bloodlust had taken over his better senses, and he had nothing physical to take it out on, except the carpet and his own footsteps. His hand clenched around his phone. He thought of Ineria, back at Haven. In that big manor house, probably beside herself with glee, thinking of what her callous and cruel actions might have brought about.

What could he say to her? What could he say that could thoroughly and completely express how much he despised her? How could he properly illustrate with words just what an evil woman Ineria was? How low her tactic of sending Rick after Nevena was? Would it matter? Would she even care? He doubted it, but he so desperately wanted to say something. To give her a piece of his mind, even if he could only do it over the phone.

“--Curly!”

Cullen stopped, only because Varric stood in his path and held a mug of steaming black coffee out towards him. “What?!” Cullen snapped, drawing in a deep breath afterwards. “Sorry, Varric.” He ran his hand down over his face. His heart rate was still up, the adrenaline still pumping through his system. His mind turned over the different things he wanted to say, listing them in concise bullet points. Cullen glanced around the living room for a pen and a pad of paper.

“Sit down.” Varric said, his voice taking on a tone of authority and making the suggestion sound more like an order. When Cullen didn’t move, Varric’s expression grew harsher. “Sit. And give me your phone.”

“Why?” Cullen took the coffee and sat, but held tight to his phone, even as Varric held his hand out for it, expectantly.

“Because I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know it’s a bad idea, whatever it is.”

Cullen squeezed his fingers tighter around it. “I could kill her.” He said in a low growl. “Ineria, I could fucking kill her.”

“That’s why you need to give me your phone.” Cullen offered no resistance when Varric slid the phone from out of his fist. “You need to calm down.”

“She sent him after her.” Cullen snarled, opening and closing his hands in his lap. “She sent him after her, knowing what he’d done. Knowing what he would probably try to do! How could she do that?!”

“I don’t know.” Varric sighed. He sat on a foot stool opposite Cullen so they were level with each other. “I don’t know Nevena’s family, or the ex-boyfriend, but I know you can’t see her like this. The poor thing’s scared to death, and if you go up there this angry and declaring you want to kill someone – even if you have the best intentions and Nevena’s safety at heart, you’re going to make things worse.”

He was right. Of course he was, Cullen knew that. He knew going and being with Nevena while he was as angry as he was, would not be a good idea. That anger would be palpable, it would make her more frightened than she already was. He didn’t want to be another Rick in her life, and he would not let that anger control him. It was the reason he wasn’t up there now with her, Cassandra and the doctor. Varric was smart enough to take him to one side, to separate him until he was calm and coherent. The last thing Cullen wanted to do was scare Nevena. He didn’t want her to ever be afraid of him. Never wanted to her to look at him the way he saw her look at Rick. The fear on her face, in her eyes, was something that would haunt him.  

“I know.” Cullen exhaled a long breath, concentrating on the sensation of his lungs emptying and the movement of his chest. “I just… I can’t understand how someone could be so cruel. Nevena isn’t to blame for anything that’s gone wrong in Ineria’s life. Any of the imagined slights… That she would do this is…”

“There’s nothing for you or her to do about it right now.” Varric explained with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I think the best thing right now is that you drink your coffee, and call the Josef guy, let him know everything is okay.”

“Yeah… yeah, I should do that.” Cullen nodded and Varric handed his phone back to him.

He didn’t drink the coffee, knowing it would only make him more wired than he already was. Instead, he went out into the garden, and skimmed through the numbers on his phone. For a moment, his thumb hovered over the number for Haven – he had entered it before leaving Denerim, in case he needed to call for directions. He considered tapping the call symbol and ignoring Varric’s advice. The thought of giving Ineria a piece of his mind was tempting, but who would that help in the long run? It might make him feel better for a moment, but the fallout from that would undoubtedly land squarely in Nevena’s lap, and he couldn’t do that to her. She’d been through enough at Ineria’s hands.

Skimming passed Haven’s number, he found Josef’s a little lower down the list now he had it entered properly and tapped the call symbol. After a couple of rings, Josef picked up.

“Hey Cullen.”

“Hey…”

“Everything okay?”

“Is now a good time?” He asked, slipping his free hand into his pocket and staring upwards towards the sky. There was thick cloud cover. It would snow tonight.

“Sure, kids are getting ready for bed.” Josef sounded tired, “did anything happen?”

Cullen sighed. He rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his chin, “Rick found her.”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, I should have called earlier. I tried calling Nevena’s phone before you, but I couldn’t reach her. Maybe I have her number down wrong.” Josef paused a moment or two. “How bad was it?”

“Honestly, nothing could have prepared me. Nevena’s told me what he put her through, how he treated her. But seeing it playing out in front of me… I feel sick just thinking about it. Knowing she had to endure years of…” Cullen clenched his jaw and swallowed, hard. “How could no one in the family have believed her?”

“I don’t know. I wish… I wish I’d stepped in more. I… It’s no excuse, but you’ve seen how the family is. How they close ranks. If you speak out of turn, you’re an enemy. With the kids at stake I couldn’t risk them.”

“I don’t blame you. I can’t imagine Ineria is an easy woman to get out from under the heel of.”

Josef snorted, “You’re not wrong. She—“ he sighed, and Cullen could imagine him ruffling his salt-and-pepper hair. “I should have left a long time ago. The kids aren’t safe with her. I was a coward.”

“At least you made the hard choice and left now.”

“Yeah. It’s a temporary solution. I have to think of something long term while the legal battles are being fought. I can only hope I get full custody of the kids and that whatever trauma they endure, or have endured at her hands, we can work through.” There was a silence of a few seconds and then Josef cleared his throat. “How’s Nevena?”

“Shaken up. Terrified of everything that moves. This last few weeks has been horrific for her.”

“At least she’s had you to turn to.”

“I don’t know if I’ve been much help.” Cullen thought back to his nightmares. “I can’t talk long, I just wanted to let you know Nevena was safe now. Maybe you could let Matilda know?”

“Yeah, I will do. She’ll be relieved to hear it.”

“Make sure she doesn’t blame herself, okay? This isn’t her fault.”

“I’ll tell her, but I don’t know if it’ll do much good. Thanks for calling, Cullen.”

“No problem. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Josef hung up, and Cullen slid his phone into his pocket. His breath turned to steam in the air, and he stood in the cold for a few minutes letting it penetrate his skin. The chill chased away whatever adrenaline was still racing around his system. He was calmer than when he first came back to the house and his main thought was to go upstairs and check on Nevena. He turned and went back into the house, wiping his feet on the mat inside the kitchen. Cassandra appeared in the doorway and stood with her arms crossed.

“Is the doctor still here?”

“No, he’s left.” Cassandra replied, her tone short and clipped as though she was angry. “She doesn’t need stitches, thank the Maker, but he’s given her some painkillers for her arm.”

Cullen rubbed his face, “at least he didn’t break her arm or something.”

“I left her to have a shower.” Cassandra said. She didn’t move from the doorway, even when Cullen approached. Those sharp eyes of hers narrowed, almost glaring into him and Cullen backed up a few steps.

“Can I see her?”

“In a moment.” She walked into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Cullen suddenly felt cornered. “Do you realise what you said? When you were confronting him?”

Cullen crossed his arms, defences rising. “What did I say?”

“You said you love her.” Cassandra’s unwavering gaze bored into him, and her expression was made more severe by the sharp angles of her cheekbones.

“I… I did?” Cullen swallowed to dampen his throat that was suddenly parched.  

“Yes.” Cassandra said with cold stillness. “You did.”

“I… I didn’t realise.” He cursed his hesitation on his words. Cassandra would never believe him if he stammered or if he hesitated. He could see her mind turning over everything he was saying, her eyes watching his every move, looking for tells. “I was just trying to get his focus on me and off her. Catch him off-guard.” He added, hoping the explanation would suffice.

Cassandra gauged him in silence. He could feel her weighing him up in her eyes. Considering his words and how they contrasted with his body language. He tried to keep her gaze, but in a battle of wills, she won. “You really didn’t realise?” She took several steps towards him.

Keeping his gaze down, Cullen unfolded his arms and slid one hand into his pocket. With the other he brushed his thumb over the scar on his lip.

“Cullen…”

“Please don’t lecture me.” Cullen met Cassandra’s gaze. To his surprise it softened and the tension in her body lessened. “Please. It wasn’t the best time, I know. I didn’t mean to say it. It just-- I wanted his attention on me. I wanted to get her to safety. I wanted--” He sighed and dragged his hands down his face. “Fuck.”

“I’m not going to lecture you.” Said Cassandra. “Sometimes we say things in the heat of the moment.”

“That wasn’t the heat of the moment though.” Cullen replied, “I wasn’t shouting. I wasn’t under attack or desperate. I was completely calm and trying to take control of the situation. It wasn’t planned, but it wasn’t exactly spontaneous, either.”

“Cullen,” Cassandra sighed, “whatever you said, in whatever way I only hope you’re sure, and certain in your conviction. I don’t think Nevena can take much more, and if you retract that statement now – if she heard it… I fear that she might just break.”

“I won’t retract it. I don’t want to. It’s the truth.”

She said nothing, simply regarded him in silence and stepped to one side giving him access to the door. Cullen went towards it and reached for the handle. “You may want to rethink plans of going to Ostwick. I’m sure Varric can explain to Dorian and Josephine. They’d understand.”

Cullen threw her a quick glance. “I’ll talk to Nevena about it.”

Climbing the stairs, Cullen quickly pushed his fingers through his hair and took several slow breaths. In the conversation with Cassandra his heart started racing. It hadn’t occurred to him that other people would have heard his declaration and given Cassandra’s warnings about slowing down earlier that day it made sense that she would be the first to broach the subject with him. Warning him of how his words might have consequences. He expected more of a telling off – the kind of reprimand his sister Mia occasionally gave him when he was being particularly obtuse. Cassandra’s softness with him was welcome, even though she likely disapproved of the rash word choice, he was glad she wasn’t fighting him on it.

Once upstairs Cullen saw steam escaping from the bathroom through a gap between the door and the lintel. He supposed Nevena left it open, in case she needed to shout down for something. Walking passed, he glanced inside through the crack left open. He expected to see a glimpse of skin and nothing else, instead he saw her huddled in the corner of the shower, still fully clothed. Something inside him cracked, sending a sharp pain pulsing through his chest.

“Oh, Nev…”

He entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After removing his shoes, and his phone from his pocket, he went to the shower and sat down beside Nevena. She flinched away when he tried to put an arm around her. He left his hands in his lap, one open, palm up and fingers open in case Nevena wanted to hold it.

The water was too hot for him, and he was soaked through in moments. Droplets clung to his eyelashes and drenched his hair. He didn’t move or talk. The spray was too loud as the sound bounced off the walls and there was so little he could say or do that he felt would be a comfort. He noticed there were raw scratches on the backs of Nevena’s hands where she was clutching her legs to her protectively. Tentatively, Cullen reached towards her and coaxed a hand into his. He ran his fingertips along the scratches.

“Shall I see if there’s any antiseptic in the cabinet?” He asked and waited for a reply. He got it in the form of a small, silent nod. “Can I turn the shower off?” Another nod.

The silence of the bathroom was strange after the constant stream of water and the way the sound echoed. Cullen got to his feet, dripping and his jeans squelching a little when he walked from the shower to the small cabinet above the sink. He dug through various tubes, bottles and cardboard boxes until he found what he was looking for. Antiseptic in hand, he went back to the shower pausing when he saw Nevena start to rise onto her feet. She used the wall to support herself, and Cullen was quick to step in, placing his hands on her waist and leading her away from the shower to sit on the toilet seat. He grabbed a towel off the rail and started to pat her dry.

“I threw up.” Nevena mumbled, “twice.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Cullen squatted in front of her, “that’s okay.” He put the towel to one side and grabbed the antiseptic from the sink. “Can I see your hands?”

She held her hands out in front of him, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The scratches went almost all the way up her forearms, but the worst ones were directly on the backs of her hands. Cullen uncapped the antiseptic and started to treat them with a small dab of cream. He noticed her hands were shaking. Now the shower wasn’t running the bathroom was cold, but he doubted her trembling was due to that.

“I used to do this before.” Nevena said, watching him gently rub the cream into her skin. “Sit in the shower. The sound would drown out my thoughts, and…” She clenched her fingers into fists, choking on a breath. “I just want to get him off me.” Her voice was a harsh, angry whisper and Cullen saw tears already falling when he looked at her face.

“Nev…” He put the tube back on the sink. “We should get you dry, before you catch cold.” It hurt to see her so broken, so afraid. Cullen’s chest ached and while he wanted to offer her comfort and soothing words, there was nothing he could say that would truly take away or make better what she just experienced. All he could do, all he knew how to do, was to be practical.

He guided her to her bedroom, left her with a towel and then went to his own to dry off and change. It took him all of two minutes to do, when he returned, Nevena was where he left her, still dripping and shivering. It was like Christmas Day all over again, only worse. Nevena was numb and so far out of her own head, it was like she couldn’t function.

There was little Cullen could do to help her mental state, so he fell back on what he knew, and helped her change. It was awkward, mostly due to the weight of the wet clothes but there was no sexual tension between them or arousal he felt on seeing her bare skin or when garments were removed. That wasn’t what this was. This was the only thing he could think of to do, to help. He put wet clothes in the bathroom when they were removed and left the bedroom when Nevena was mostly undressed and only her jeans and underwear needed to be removed and changed. He waited until she opened the door when she was ready.

She wore dry pyjamas and went and sat on the side of the bed. Unbidden, Cullen sat beside her. He took her hands in his and they were both silent except for their breathing. He ran his thumbs over his knuckles. Words were not his strong suit, but he could at least let her know he was there, that she was safe, and he wasn’t going anywhere with simply his own presence.

It might have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes before Nevena spoke.

“I’m never going to be rid of him, am I?” she asked. Cullen lifted his gaze to her. She was staring straight ahead at the opposing wall. “He’s always going to be there in some form or another.”

Cullen considered his words. He could offer placebos and platitudes. He could lie to her and make it sound like she would forget him one day. He could help her make believe that one day she would wake up and never remember anything about Rick, or the things he put her through. But that wouldn’t have been fair. He knew first hand that some things never left a person, no matter how much time passed. Lying would have been cruel.

“Probably.” He said, inclining his head towards Nevena. She automatically tilted her head to one side, allowing him to kiss her temple. “I wish I could tell you differently. I wish I could tell you that it’ll get easier. That one day you’ll wake up and have forgotten his face and his voice, and you’ll have forgotten everything he did to you.” His felt his throat closing as he spoke, raw emotion forcing him to swallow hard. “I wish I could erase that part of your life entirely – no one deserves what he put you through, least of all you.”

“You could tell me that.” Nevena looked at him, eyes bloodshot and tired. “You could lie to me.”

“I could,” Cullen agreed with a sombre nod of his head. “But do you really want me to? Would it help?”

Her expression grew thoughtful before it crumbled, and she pulled one hand away to stifle a sob. “Probably not.”

Cullen pulled gently on the hand he still held and guided Nevena into his arms. He wrapped her up within his embrace, resting his cheek on top of her hair as she buried herself against him. “I’ll help you through this, in whatever way I can.” He told her, stroking down her back.

“I’m getting your clothes wet with my hair.”

“It’s fine.” Cullen said, “I have lots of clothes.”

Nevena lifted her head, a small smile just ghosting over her lips. “Thank you. You really saved me today.” Cullen kissed her forehead. “Would you mind staying with me?”

“Of course not.” He spoke with his lips pressed to her forehead. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

This chapter... went through a lot of edits. A lot of drafts. A lot of changes.

My first, initial desire was to have Nevena stand up for herself. I desperately wanted her to stand up and tell Rick 'no'. I wanted to demonstrate that she was strong, and had overcome all the trauma he put her through. But that would have been a lie. That would have been a cop-out, and it wouldn't have been sincere.

Like love doesn't magically heal Cullen's PTSD, love doesn't magically cure Nevena's, either. What Rick put her through, the trauma he inflicted on her mentally, emotionally, and physically can't be healed and overcome so easily. Is Nevena a stronger person now than she was when she was with Rick? Oh, undoubtedly. But, she's also still a person who was traumatized for years by someone. She's a person who was beaten down to almost nothing by a person. She was used, and abused, and no matter how much stronger she might be now, she still fears her abuser.

To have her stand up for herself, and have this "strong woman" moment didn't feel honest. It felt forced, and untrue to her character, and also untrue to many survivors. As one myself, I know if this situation happened to me... I wouldn't be able to stand up to my abusers. I'd want to, and Nevena wants to and maybe one day she'll be able to, but she's not there yet.

This version of this chapter did feel honest. To have her fearful. To have her tearful, and reverting back to methods she hoped would placate him. It felt - for lack of a better word - right. I'm not a fan of the damsel in distress trope. I wanted to avoid it at all costs, but in this situation... there wasn't another way to go that was true to the situation and the characters. I felt the need to write this explanation because I'm genuinely worried for the reaction to this chapter. I feel like I'll be disappointing readers, because Nevena doesn't get to give RIck a piece of her mind. I'm afraid you'll all be disappointed that Cullen stepped in, and that Nevena didn't stand up for herself. But... as I've stated, it didn't feel genuine or sincere.

I hope, despite the heaviness of this chapter, you were able to enjoy it. I might have to take March off from uploads because I'm running out of buffer chapters, and need to get some writing done - but we'll see. Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter, and for sticking with this fic for so long. I'm grateful to every single one of you. Please do let me know your honest thoughts in reblogs/comments/tags, and I'll see you in the next chapter.

[crowkingwrites]

Run

Pairing: Jon Snow X Reader

Request: I absolutely adore your writing!! I was wondering if you could do a Ramsay xreader or a jonxreader imagine in which Winterfell gets attacked when you are with them and they get super protective over you? Also could you make it slightly angsty and fluffy? Thank youuuuu!!  Written for @look-at-all-them-chickens

Words; 2476 // [Ao3 Link]

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon asked you. He didn’t exactly corner you into a wall, but it certainly felt that way. You couldn’t look into his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t believe—I don’t think we could work, Jon,” you confessed. You watched his face fall. You sighed knowing you hurt him which was exactly what you didn’t want to happen. Jon lowered the roses he gathered for you.

“Do you wish for me to leave you alone? Have I become a nuisance to you?”

“No, no, no.” Your fingers wrapped around his wrist. “You are never a bother to me.”

“Then why? Have I done something wrong? Did I offend you, my lady?” Jon asked. He tugged at your heartstrings when he called you ‘my lady’. Your family had wealth. As the eldest girl in your family and Sansa’s lady in waiting, your only job was to marry higher than your own status. Jon was a bastard with nothing to his name.

“Jon, please don’t make this harder—

“Harder? Did I confuse your actions for affections? Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, but—

“But what?” Jon’s tone turned cold. You flinched. Jon backed away and exhaled, realizing his temper was too intense. His bit his bottom lip for a moment and spoke again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need to understand. Why don’t you want to be with me?”

“I can’t. My family expects me to marry someone better than me.”

“Not a bastard,” Jon said the harsher words. He smiled and chuckled. “I understand now. Everything is so clear.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you’re implying,” Jon’s tone turned to ice again. He started to walk away from you. Your fingers reached out for him, but they didn’t quite reach. You were going to lose him if you did nothing. If you did something, you knew your heart wouldn’t be able to stop. You needed to make the decision fast. Jon kept walking away from you without looking back. Your hand still reached out to him. Jon stopped in his tracks. You lowered your hand and put it back at your side. Almost ashamed that you left it in the air for that long. Jon’s head turned to the side. His breathing was quiet, but you could still see the clouds of it expel from his mouth. You did the same.

That’s when you heard them.

Men yelling and calling out for help. Swords clanging against each other. The disturbance grew louder each second. Enemies were inside Winterfell. It was close to the middle of the night. The realization of a horrid reality hit you hard. Winterfell was under attack while everyone was sleeping.

Jon turned quickly and headed straight to you. He grabbed your wrist and took off with you. You tripped over your own skirts, but caught yourself and started running with him. Both of you ran through an empty hallway where your footsteps echoed. Jon veered to his left, taking you with him. You almost fell, but he caught you.

His arms wrapped around your waist as he backed into the armory. Jon slowly closed the door and locked it from the inside. You exhaled, feeling safe. Jon didn’t let go of you too easily. Both of you stood close to the door waiting for any kind of sound or cry. Careful silence filled the air. The only thing that grew loud was your own heartbeat quickening from the panic you felt.

“Jon—

“Shh,” he calmed you. “I know. I know.”

“What do we do?” you whispered. Jon put his hand over your mouth and listened intently. Again, you heard nothing except for Jon’s breathing. Jon turned away from you and grabbed another sword. He secured it to his right side. He looked around the darkened room and grabbed something else. As he walked towards you, your eyes caught the shine of a dagger.

He placed the dagger’s handle in your palms. It felt heavy, but you could hurt someone with it if you needed to. You hoped you didn’t.

“For your safety,” he explained. Jon held your hands and looked into your eyes. His dark brown eyes seemed black in this room. “Do not stray from me. Stay close to me. Do you understand? Say yes if you do.”

“Yes,” you quickly answered.

“If something goes wrong, or I get hurt, you run. Do you hear me? Run as far as you can.”

“But you won’t.”

“If I do, run. Promise me that you will.”

“I promise,” you said firmly, looking closer into his pools of brown. They were the color of the soil after the snow melted. The color of the tree bark after it’s darkened from the rain. They held darkness inside of them. They were tainted by death, but cured by love.

Jon grabbed your hand again. Your fingers interlocked with each other. This time, you held onto him tight. You were ready. Both of you silenced once more, listening to every sound your ears could find. You ignored your own heartbeat. You ignored the air Jon expelled into the night. The armory door creaked open. Its hinges too old for it to be quiet.

In the distance, you could hear the faint cries of men fighting each other. They were coming closer. Your nails dug into Jon’s arm. Footsteps in the hallway increased.

Jon started to run with you. It started out as a quick jog, but as soon as you picked up your skirts, your pace grew desperate. Your heart pounded into your chest. Jon stopped you from running once you reached a fork in the hallways. Your skirts flew, but then back into place. Jon’s hand slid up your arm.

“If we go right, we would reach the kennels. If we go left, we get to the library tower,” Jon presented you with the options.

“If we wake the dogs, they’ll be loud. We’ll get caught,” you told him.

“I know,” Jon looked left again. “If I can guarantee your safety, would you trust me?”

“I already trust you,” you told Jon. “I trust you with my life.” Both of you took the left route towards the library tower. Books and pages had been left on tables. A slow burning candle still burned when you saw it. You grabbed the candle and took Jon’s hand again. He felt warm, and you felt safer with him. The climb up the tower proved to be easier then you thought. Then again, any climb is easy when enemies are close behind.

The top of the tower had nearly nothing, but an open window facing the bell tower where ore guards were. You placed the burning candle there as a cry for help. Both of you watched three guards eye the candle, but do nothing. Quickly thinking, Jon took the candle and threw it towards the North Gate.

Disarray and damage had been done to it. That’s where they came from. The first guard rung the bell loud and clear, taking the hint Jon provided. The second and third guards quickly made their way down and into the battlements of the castle. Their feet flew across the ice covered ground.

You threw your arms around Jon, holding him tight.

“You’re brilliant!” You told him, burying your face into his chest. His eyes followed the guards and then turned to you. He rested his head on yours.

“I can’t stay here,” he told you quietly. “I have to help my family. I have to go back down there.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Your hands rested on Jon’s chest. “Sansa is my lady. Your family is important to me.” Jon’s eyes went wide. He started to shake his head.

“I can’t let you. What if you get attacked?”

You took out the dagger. “You gave me this for a reason. I know how to use it. You taught me.” Jon sighed and almost rolled his eyes. He set himself up for this. He looked back down the stairs for a moment and turned to you.

“We do this together. Do not stray from me. If something happens—

“I run. I know. I promise,” you reassured him. Your fingers found his again, and both of you climbed down the stairs. The commotion and fighting had extended further inside Winterfell. Lord Stark and his best men had to be awake by now. You looked towards Sansa’s room.

“Jon, I’m sure Robb and Theon can handle themselves. We need to get to your sisters.” When you finished your sentence, you watched Theon collapse in front of you. He had no cuts or wounds, but he groaned.

“Jon! Y/N! You’re okay! Winterfell—

“Under attack we know!” Jon finished and helped Theon up.

“They got the guards distracted at the North Gate. Robb and I held some off at the Hunter’s Gate. They’re closing in quickly!”

“What of Sansa? Arya? The boys?” you asked Theon.

“Lady Cat gathered the boys. Sansa and Arya were with Rodrik. All of them headed into the sept for safety.” Jon shot a look at you.

“You have to go there. Now.”

“Jon—

“No, you have to go there. Run. Now.” All three of you heard enemies breaking through a barrier hastily made between the kitchen and the library tower. You watched an axe make easy work against the wood. One man broke through and saw the three of you standing there. More men were behind him.

Jon shook you. “Y/N! You need to go! Run. You need to run! Please!”

The first man with an axe started to charge at the three of you. You felt the moments slow down. You watched the bald man with markings on his face leap as if he were a lion about to devour its prey. His axe was risen above his head, ready to swing at anything in front of him. Theon drew his sword, gripping it tightly. He hid the secret smile on his face to contain his excitement. Jon snapped you out of your odd moment.

At first, you didn’t realize what happened. One moment, you were frozen in place from the fear that turned your body cold. The next you felt a warmth you’ve never felt before. His lips caressed yours so softly and aggressively that everything snapped back into place. Your eyes found Jon’s dark ones again.

“Run!” he shouted at you. Your skirts flew in the air as you sprinted towards the safest place in Winterfell: the Sept. Your hands kept a tight grip on your skirts and the dagger while your hair whipped behind you. Your fear carried you across the courtyard and into the next corridor.

You still hear men fighting all around you. A small fire had broken out in the courtyard. It spread on the trees and the exposed grass around it. You thought to stop the fire for a moment until you heard Jon’s voice again.

Run.

The Sept was closer now. You could see Rodrik and his men surround the Sept. They fought the same enemies that attacked Theon and Jon near the kitchens. The same markings were around their eyes and head. They looked hungry and they relished in every swing of their weapon against Stark’s bannermen.

You stopped once more in your tracks. How you would get into the Sept if enemies surrounded it? You knew you had to think fast. You couldn’t tell if enemies were behind you. You wouldn’t dare look away from the men in front of you.

One man took down one of the enemies with a final blow to his chest. His eye caught yours. He shouted for you, but before you could sprint again, a man with an axe caught you by your hair. You winced in pain. He pulled you back and forced you to the ground. He laughed as he dragged you along the dirty snow ground. You cried out in pain.

Suddenly, the man stopped laughing and his grip on you loosened. You watched his head drop to your side. His open eyes still stared at you. You felt a hand help you up and push you towards the Sept.

“Jon!” you cried his name out.

“Don’t. Just go! Please!” He begged.

“Over here, Y/N! Please hurry! More of them are coming!” Rodrik guided you inside the Sept where the rest of the Stark family hid. More members of the house found shelter there as well. You took place beside Sansa as she embraced you tightly, silently thanking the gods you were unharmed. Both of you prayed and prayed for this horrid night to end. You watched the sun peak through the colored windows of the Sept while everyone was escorted to their rooms again. Sansa and you shielded your eyes from the dead remains left in the courtyard. You shuddered to think how many men Jon had killed himself.

After you settled Sansa in and she finally fell asleep, you closed the door to her room slowly. The door clicked shut. You looked up to find an exhausted and wild Jon looking back at you. You ran into his arms again. Jon’s arms squeezed you into him as if he wanted you close to him as much as possible.

“Jon,” you said.

“I know,” he told you. “You don’t have to say anything.” You smelled the dirt and the cold on him. You buried your face into his chest and let out an exhausted sob. It had been a long night for both of you.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night.”

“Y/N, please don’t—

“Let me finish.” You pulled yourself away from him. Tears tugged at your eyes. You found a new calm before you spoke again. “No one has ever loved me like you have, and I don’t believe no one ever will. Just as no one has ever loved you like I will. Last night, I prayed for you. I begged the gods to spare you for me. I don’t think I could live without you.”

Jon kissed your face over and over again. He let himself go and fulfilled his selfish desire for you. You kissed him back with as much muster as you could for a sleepless night. Both of you were hungry for the other’s touch.

“I fought for you. I took down every single one of them just so they couldn’t get to you.” Jon’s thumb caressed your cheek. His forehead rested against yours. Your fingers found each other. This long night was over, and silence fell between you two again. You heard everyone go about and clean messes. You heard footsteps around you. None of it mattered. You belonged to Jon, and he belonged to you. You wouldn’t run from him again.

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