#had to write this up cause i saw someone insisting fire and blood showed “naming heirs” was the succession law when that's patently untrue

[synchodai]

I get this impression that House of the Dragon doesn't get that "named" heirs aren't really the norm in Westeros. If it were that easy for someone to just give everything to their favorite child, Randall Tarly wouldn't have needed to force Sam to go to the Wall and Tywin could have simply chosen Cersei over Tyrion as heir of Casterly Rock.

If we look at the history Westeros borrows from, the concept of "naming" heirs wasn't really a thing in medieval England. Landed gentry didn't have direct say over the order of succession until the Statute of Wills in 1540. Before then, land and subsequent titles could only be inherited through agnatic primogeniture.

Agnatic primogeniture prioritized the living, eldest, trueborn son. Claims can only be passed on patrilineally. This means that a grandaughter can inherit a claim of her grandfather's titles through her father, but a grandson cannot be given the same through his mother. However, if his mother finally does have land and titles under her own name (not under her father's), only then does her son and other children enter the line of succession.

The reason it was like this was because it kept land and titles under one family. Daughters are less preferred because when they are married, they become part of their husband's family — meaning that any titles they receive will be inherited through a new line. This wouldn't be an ideal situation because it gives two families claims to the titles. The more claimants there are, the more unstable the hold the owner has.

In other words, agnatic primogeniture was practiced for stability. Because back in the day, titles weren't just property or land. They came with governorship over a people, so a stable and predictable transfer of titles was necessary to avoid civil conflicts and questions of legitimacy.

A landed lord or lady wasn't given the right to designate heirs for a few reasons:

Most of them were vassals who oversaw the land in the name of someone higher up. It technically isn't even theirs to give away (see: feudal land tenure).

The wishes of a human being are less predictable than having a determined line of succession based on birth order. What if he becomes incapable of declaring an heir either through illness or disability? What if he's captured and a bad actor forces him to name this person heir under threat of violence?

People died unexpectedly all time. This was before germ theory and modern medicine — child mortality was extremely high. With no refrigeration technology, a single poor harvest could mean dying from starvation. Bandits, cutthroats, and raiders were a constant threat. They could not afford to rely on a person choosing a different heir every time the old heir drops dead, because the landed lord/lady could die just as suddenly.

Even 21st century families stab each other in the back over who gets grandma's house — so imagine having an uncertain line of succession in the middle ages over a life-defining lordship and without a modern-day court system to mediate.

Going back to HotD, whenever Targaryens did go against the established line of succession, they could only have done it by consolidating the support of their vassals. Only royalty seemed to have the power to bend agnatic primogeniture, but even then they were beholden to it.

When Jaehaerys I ascended the throne over Aerea, it was mainly because there were those who saw Maegor the Cruel's act of disinheriting Jaehaerys as null and void. This restored Jaehaerys place in the line of succession above Aerea.

And when Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon, Jaehaerys had to convene his lords and offer compelling reasons as to why — her young age, her lack of an heir, her Velaryon last name, etc. It wasn't a given that just because she was a woman that she was ineligible. If he was doing it purely out of misogyny, he still had to legally justify his misogyny in order to strip away her rights.

Even after consolidating support, the book mentions Jaehaerys I and Viserys I's respective hold on the crown was still weakened. Even though their claims were backed by reasons cosigned by a powerful majority, they still had to ensure the security of their rule through other means. There were people who doubted their right to rule, and those people had to be placated with gifts (by Viserys) or intimidated into submission (by Jaehaerys).

So we come to Viserys I who never gave his vassals a reason why Rhaenyra should supercede his three sons other than, "I said so." Had he convened with his lords and maybe made the argument that a first marriage takes precendence over a second one, then maybe he could have set a new precedent and gathered support.

But no, he didn't. He relied on the power of his own words and the lords' personal oaths — oaths that he didn't exactly plan how he would enforce posthumously.

And the Realm did not choose to adopt a different succession law after Jaehaerys's designation of Baelon in 92 AC or the Council of Harrenhal choosing Viserys on 101 AC. If those two events did change anything, it was that now women were exempt from the line of succession for the crown and only the crown. It did not set the precedence that monarchs could freely choose heirs. It did not upend the whole system; it only made a tweak, as most lawful policy-changes do, by carving out at an exception. It was a committee, not a revolution.

Before and after the Dance, no other monarch, lord, or lady "declared" an heir that went against agnatic primogeniture, save for Dornish who have cognatic (equal-gender) primogeniture instead. Ramsay had to get rid of Roose Bolton's living trueborn son AND be legitimized by the crown in order to be recognized as heir (only a crowned monarch can legitimize baseborn children which is another world-building pillar a lot of people miss). Randall basically had to force Sam to abdicate because he wanted his younger brother to inherit instead. And of course, Tywin despite his intense hatred of Tyrion is forced to acknowledge him as his heir.

The rigidity of the line of succession is a major and constant source of conflict in the series, so it baffles me that people really thought that characters could just freely choose their heirs. That's why we have a civil war. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It's the expected consequences of someone carelessly going against a foundational tenent of the society they inhabit.

[clareguilty]

Gabriel Reyes/reader, a/b/o and The Works™

this is the third kinktober prompt for this year!!!

Gabriel Reyes/fem!reader | a/b/o, marking, biting, praise, all that jazz Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~3000

Jack Morrison was getting another medal.

It was everyone’s favorite joke at high command. It seemed like no one wanted to implement any serious policy or sign an actual resolution in favor of giving the golden boy of the Omnic Crisis another fancy award.

So Jack had been stressing himself out all week trying to write an acceptance speech that wasn’t passive aggressive, and you spent too long picking out a formal gown, and Gabe had sat on Reinhardt’s desk laughing and stuffing his face with carbs and fruit because his rut was due next week.

Jack took the teasing in stride and managed to come up with a speech that wouldn’t outright offend the Prime Minster of Russia. Everyone piled into the jet to Moscow with a garment bag and a carryon and a strong cup of coffee at four am the day before the banquet.

This was normal for you. In a world after the omnic crisis, head of Overwatch’s reparations department and mated to the commander of Blackwatch. You found yourself flown across the world dozens of times a year for negotiations and assemblies and ceremonies.

You and Gabe strapped in next to each other on the jet. “I haven’t seen the dress you picked out,” he nodded his head to the garment bag.

“I guess it will just be a surprise,” you purred.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss you.

“It’s too early for this,” Ana groaned from across the aisle. Gabe shot her a toothy smile and made sure to nip at the shell of your ear. You smacked his leg and shoved him back into his own seat.

The hotel was a beautiful historic waterfront building just across the bridge from the Kremlin in the heart of the city. The five of you piled out of the black SUV that had escorted you from the airstrip and made your way inside.

The hotel manager greeted you as well as an official from the Kremlin. Jack was the main recipient of ass kissing and pleasantries, so you simply smiled and nodded and shook hands wherever necessary.

The suite was entirely too big and fancy for a two night’s stay. You and Gabe poked around for a bit, but there were no fun secrets. You took the sitting room, and Gabe set up at the desk in the bedroom as you both buckled down on your work for the day. Gabe had operatives in Bolivia he needed to check in with, and you had a meeting with representatives in London.

He found you a few hours later slumped in the armchair with your head in your hands.

“They still being stubborn?” he asked.

“They won’t budge on anything,” you groaned.

“Change into something casual. Let’s go out for a little bit.” He was already in a hoodie and dark jeans, beanie sticking out of the back pocket.

You nodded and went to find a sweater.

Gabe’s impromptu date night in Moscow turned out to be a lot of fun. Ana and Reinhardt came to meet you at a bar for a little bit, and the two of you wandered around the city until sundown.

The next day was more meetings and frustration until you had to get ready for the banquet. You and Gabe slipped past each other in and out of the bathroom as you showered and shaved and styled your hair and perfumed and moisturized.

You shimmied into the dress half an hour before the car was due to pick you up. It was slim and black, sleeveless with one band that crossed over your collarbone and shoulder. You frowned when you realized it covered your matebite, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Gabe grinned salaciously as he zipped you up, unable to resist leaning down and nuzzling into your neck. “Cool it.” You shoved him off with a giggle. “I have to make it through a whole ceremony and dinner.”

He pulled on his jacket and the two of you made your way downstairs to wait for the car.

For some reason, the event coordinators split you into three cars. Jack rode by himself, you and Gabe in one car, and Ana and Reinhardt in the last. They looked intimidating in their dress uniforms, and you felt kind of ditzy in your sexy cocktail dress next to three enormous well decorated Overwatch officers.

The ceremony was only slightly dull, and you clapped at all the right spots and pinched Gabe when he looked like he was zoning out too much.

Dinner was much more enjoyable. You had been seated with people you knew from other events and assemblies, so conversation flowed well. A string ensemble played and a few people got up to dance or mingle once they cleared their plates. You caught sight of a British Parliament member speaking with a small group of tuxedoed men, and Gabe saw the determination in your eyes. 

“Go get him, sweetheart,” he kissed your cheek and pushed you towards the Lord. You excused yourself quickly and approached the older gentleman ready to push for your negotiations to take center stage in the Palace of Westminster.

The poor Lord was not expecting to be accosted by you at a banquet, but graciously listened as you explained your struggles in negotiating reparations in London.

“You’ve got some real fire in you,” one of the tuxedoes remarked as you shook the Lord’s hand and he scampered away sufficiently cowed. He had an American accent and shiny hair. He reeked of confidence and you knew it was a combination of his nationality and his status as an Alpha.

You cocked your head nonchalantly. “Takes a lot of persistence to get anything done in Parliament.” You knew he was probably referencing the fact that you, a tiny omega, had just approached a government official and demanded that he push for your cause, but you brushed it off. Most of the time people were respectful, but you still ran into pushback every now and then because of your status.

The American laughed, tossing his head back. “And wit to match!” A waiter came by with champagne and he snatched a glass to press into your hands. “What’s your name?” he asked, placing a hand on your back and guiding you back into the crowd of tuxes.

You tensed under his touch. This wasn’t your Alpha. It was extraordinarily rude to touch anyone without permission, especially an omega. But still, you had to be polite, so you introduced yourself.

“If you ever need any help getting through to politicians, you should give me a call. I’m on the UN Peace Council, you know? I was appointed during the crisis.” That information was probably supposed to impress you. It probably would have if you were anyone else.

You nodded politely, taking a tiny sip of champagne and glancing over your shoulder to look for Gabe. You had your own gripes with the UN peace council. Jack and Gabe butted heads with them nearly every other week.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smiled, attempting to turn and address the other men.

“Here,” the American pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number. Maybe we could meet up for drinks before we both leave Moscow?”

“Oh,” you found your escape. “I left my phone back at my table.” You turned to make your way back to Gabe and Ana, but the UN asshole grabbed your arm. You knew exactly what this was. This guy probably didn’t run into many omegas in professional settings, and he thought you would just go along with everything he said because he was some big shot Alpha.

Laughable. You were a high ranking member of Overwatch. A diplomat. The mate of Gabriel Fucking Reyes.

“Just put your number in and I’ll text you,” he insisted. You struggled out of his grasp and shot him the sternest look you could manage.

He laughed again. “I love how feisty you are!”

Clearly, everyone in the vicinity was also uncomfortable with the exchange. This was not the time nor the place to be asserting dominance over an omega.

Your blood boiled. You didn’t want to make a scene at Jack’s reception -- though he probably would have loved it -- but you were seriously about to deck this guy.

“Cariña,” a familiar voice washed over you and the effect was immediate. You leaned back into Gabe’s chest, taking a deep breath to slow your heart rate. “Jack was looking for you. He wanted to introduce you to someone.”

The American Alpha puffed his chest out, clearly ready to challenge until he took one look at Gabe.

“Commander Reyes,” he greeted. All of the bravado and pushiness was gone in an instant.

“Hello.” Gabe was stiff, clearly trying to hold his tongue. His arms snaked around your waist and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“Would you hate me if we left right now?”

“Absolutely not,” you spun in his embrace so you could look up at him. His expression was stoic as always, but you could see the tension and the anger in his eyes.

You didn’t even look back as Gabe walked you to the table to collect your things. It was a little rude to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, and you weren’t sure if Jack had actually wanted to introduce you to someone, but Gabe looked ready to tear someone’s head off.

He stopped caring about decency the moment the car door closed.

There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver considering how enormous your mate was in the tiny sedan backseat, but he pinned you to the leather seats and kissed you like his life depended on it. You wound your fingers into his curls, gasping as his hands slid under your skirt and up your thighs. The driver coughed, and you giggled at the slow whir of the partition motor giving the two of you some privacy.

“I can’t believe he touched you,” Gabe snarled.

You shivered both at the possessive edge in his voice and the disgusting memory of the other Alpha’s hand on your arm.

“Make me forget about him,” you whispered, hooking your leg around his hips.

He rose to the challenge. Super soldier strength shredded your lace underwear, dress hiked up around your hips. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up your thigh at a torturously slow pace. He had barely sucked a mark into the skin when the car stopped. A glance out the tinted window showed that you were back at the hotel.

“Thank you!” you called to the driver in your terrible russian accent as you yanked your dress back down and teetered on your heels on the pavement. Gabe half carried you with an arm around your waist as you breezed through the lobby to the elevator.

The elevator was another brief attempt to continue. You managed to get Gabe’s jacket and shirt open before the door slid open and you were staggering down the hall.

He dragged you into the bedroom, pinning you to the bed on your stomach so he could yank down the zipper on your dress. He couldn’t keep his lips away from your neck. The moment your matebite was uncovered he dragged his teeth over the mark. A shiver ran all the way down your spine.

“You’re never covering this up again,” he growled, rutting against your hips clumsily. “I want everyone to see that you belong to me.”

The words made your stomach flip. You wriggled your way around onto your back, pushing your dress over your hips and to the floor. “You’re going to hit your rut early.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll just fuck you until we have to leave for the flight.”

You figured Ana, Jack, and Reinhardt wouldn’t appreciate Gabe in the throes of his rut on the flight back to base tomorrow, but they had probably experienced it before. You could only imagine how bad he was back during the crisis. The thought only made you wetter.

He must have sense the spike in arousal, because he settled more of his weight on top of you. “What are you thinking about?” he demanded.

“You. During the crisis. Alpha Commander Gabriel Reyes.” You trailed a finger down his chest. “Were your ruts worse than they are now?”

He smirked. “They’ve gotten worse again since meeting you.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, mustering the last of your coordination to get Gabe undressed. He made sure you were laid out comfortably on the bed -- grabbing a few pillows to place under your hips and head -- before sinking all the way inside you to the swell of his knot.

Gabe always fit inside you so well. The perfect stretch. And he filled you so deep when he knotted you. You knew that his ruts could get intense, and you would probably be exhausted and sore by the end of it. Still, you had been mated for a few years now, so you had figured out how to manage.

“You feel so good.” You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the situation.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to knot you so good.” He rocked forward, teasing you with the stretch.

“Please,” you begged, nails scratching at the shaved hair at the back of his head.

He shuddered and set an impossible pace as he began to fuck you. Sometimes you forgot that you weren’t just mated to an Alpha, but to a super soldier. No one else could fuck you like he did.

“You want my knot? Want me to breed you full? Want me to remind you who you belong to?” His words were low against you skin as he kissed along your neck. One of his hands was rubbing your clit, the other holding your thighs open so he could reach deep inside you with every thrust.

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His teeth found the unmarked skin of your neck, just above your collarbone -- opposite the side of where your matebite was. The skin was practically electrified, especially when Gabe was fucking you like this. He didn’t bite down, but the sensation alone was enough to have you coming on his cock.

“Fuck,” he growled. “That was so good for me, baby. You’re so perfect.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Bite me. Please.” It was a little unorthodox. Normally couples only exchanged one bite. A bite on both sides was usually the sign of a triad or a pack. But you had just been touched by another alpha and Gabe was fucking you so good and you wanted him in every way possible.

He blinked, trying to think through the haze of his rut. “You want that?” He didn’t even wait for you to respond. The thought alone had him spilling inside of you, and he pulled you onto his knot. His teeth found that same patch of sensitive, unmarked skin, and he bit down just as he locked inside of you.

Nothing felt better than coming to the sensation of being claimed. It was the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced.

“Fuck you’re perfect. My perfect little omega. You wear my marks so well. Everyone is going to know exactly who you belong too.”

You couldn’t respond. Too busy marking Gabe’s chest with hickeys and lovebites. He was too massive for you to reach his neck, but you would make do. You were still coming down off the intense rush of endorphins, and everything was a little fuzzy and felt just a little too good too much too fast. You had come twice in less than the span of a minute, and Gabe was only just getting started.

He soothed the aching bite, holding you close as you were locked together. His knot probably wouldn’t go down for a while, but he was less riled up than before now that he had satisfied himself somewhat.

“I love you,” he kissed the top of your head, rolling so you could lay on his chest.

“I-” You cut yourself off, blushed, and buried your face in his pecs. You would happily die there.

“Yes?” He was curious now. You weren’t usually shy with him.

“I’ve been working on something. It’s super embarrassing.” You didn’t look up.

He lifted your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What’s embarrassing? I just dragged you out of a dinner party at the Kremlin so I could fuck you. I think I’m the more embarrassing of the two fo us.”

You laughed and kissed his chest right above his heart. Mustering all of your courage, you found your voice:

“Te amo. Me encanta pertenecer a ti. Tú eres mi mayor alegría.”

Your accent was decent, but you had no clue if your grammar was correct. The words were unfamiliar and clumsy, even though you had practiced them a hundred times. Spanish was not a language you were familiar with, but you knew that Gabe had grown up hearing it. You wanted to try and learn for him.

He understood immediately what you were tying to say, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath you.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you whined, smacking him lightly on the side.

“I’m sorry,” he grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “It was very sweet. I love you too.”

“I need a lot more practice,” you pouted.

He petted your hair, staring at you with a dopey, lovestruck expression. “I can’t believe you let me bite you again.”

You shrugged, feeling the pull and ache of the new mark in the motion. “We can let one of them fade.”

He smirked. “What if I like you like this?”

You bared your own teeth. “Can I return the favor?”

You weren’t expecting to rile him up, but the words were enough to make his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You good to go again?”

You nodded, pushing up to a seat so you could ride him. He grabbed your hips, holding tightly as you slowly rocked against him. You knew the pace was probably no where near what he needed, but you wanted to take your time.

He didn’t give you the opportunity, rolling to pin you beneath him again and dragging your hips up to his. “You wanna bite me? You better earn it.”

[duchessnibenhu-ofpyromania]

Puppy Adoption

Warnings: Slight blood mention, a few swear words. I don’t think there is anything else, but feel free to tell me if there is.

This is an OC, but can be read as a reader fic as Puppy is just a nickname. Not beta read. I haven’t seen series 7 of Agents of Shield yet so forgive any errors. I hope this ok, this is my first fanfic in a long time and of all time for writing for the Marvel universe.

Inspired by this post. Thanks to @gerardpitts for the inspo on the allergy and lactose intolrance, I hope you don’t mind me using the ideas.

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

Peter paced the corridors of the hospital, everytime a doctor or nurse walked by he would look up, hoping they had some news to give them. Bucky and Sam were sitting nearby, watching him a little warily.

It had been about a month or two until the Hex incident and Peter had been coming to terms with the fact that he was in another reality. Jimmy Woo and Monica Rambeau  had both helped him to get back on his feet, though at first he had felt a little bounced around.

Monica had handed him over to Jimmy, who had then handed him over to some sort of organisation known as S.H.I.E.L.D. Peter had guessed by the name, that it was a partner of sorts to Monica’s S.W.O.R.D and he had been right.

The person he had been introduced to was someone they had referred to as Puppy. He had raised an eyebrow at that, and wasn’t quite sure what to make of her before he met her, but when he did. Puppy had grinned at him, ok first she had practically jumped Jimmy when she saw him, giving him a big hug and saying how good it was to see him again. Peter had given a little snort at the look on Jimmy’s face when this happened, causing Puppy and Jimmy to turn towards him.

“Is this he?” Puppy had asked, with a friendly smile and looking Peter up and down, who did the same to her, taking in her ginger hair that was dyed red at the tips and hung in a ponytail. Nothing about her suggested she might be some sort of werewolf, which Peter had assumed the reason why she had that nickname. At her hip she seemed to have some sort of short staff dangling off a belt, and a long black coat, which Peter had to admit looked pretty cool.

“It is,” Jimmy answered, handing her over a tablet, Puppy took it and looked at it, bouncing on the balls of her feet a little. Peter watched on, a little nervous.

“Okies.” She turned to the agent behind her who had been watching the whole scene unfold with a slight smile on her lips. “You should probably send that to Mack while I talk with our new friend here.” The agent, an asian woman who looked like she took no shit from anyone, nodded and took the tablet.

Puppy went closer to Peter, looking him over. “So, Jimmy told me you’re from an alternate reality” She started, tilting her head a little, the smile never seeming to leave her lips.

“Uh, yeah.” Peter said warily.

“He also told me you have super speed?” PEter nodded and went to say something and was slightly surprised when Puppy cut in, Peter being interrupted so quickly was a rare occurrence. “You should meet our own super speedy,” Peter’s eyes went a little wide at that. “We call her Yo-Yo” Puppy explained further, her smile going fond and giving a little chuckle, which Peter couldn’t help but repeat.

“Yo-Yo? Cool.” He chuckled.

“What do they call you?” Puppy asked. “Like, what’s your codename, I guess you could call it?”

“Quicksilver.” Peter answered.

Puppy grinned. “That’s a great name, I love it. What do you think, May?”  She turned to look over at the other agent that had come with her, who was handing Jimmy back his tablet. She didn’t look very amused, her face not giving anything away on whether she liked it or not. Peter started to feel a bit nervous.

“Sounds good.” May answered, crossing her arms and turning to look at them both, her voice also not giving anything away about her thoughts. Peter swallowed slightly, feeling like she was already judging him.

Puppy turned back to Peter. “May is sometimes called the Cavalry, but she doesn’t really like that name so we don’t use it often. Ok, we’re going to need to know if you have any dietary requirements, if you’re allergic to something, if there’s foods you don’t like, if you need anything at all just ask and we’ll see what we can do, the worse is we can say no.”

Peter nodded, letting the woman talk, vaguely starting to wonder if she had super speed with the speed she was talking.

“So?” Puppy tilted her head again. “Is there anything you're allergic to? I know we’ll probably need to order in more food, because of your’s and Yo-yo’s heightened metabolisms, so if you crave something I would speak up now, or soon.” Puppy made a small gesture, shrugging her shoulders lightly.

Peter gave a small shrug himself. “Um, only allergic to tomatoes, do like my twinkies though. They still do those, right?” Peter also had a lactose intolerance, but he had a feeling if he mentioned that, then he probably wouldn’t get his twinkies. Besides, it hadn’t really done him any real harm before, and he was able to get it out of his system pretty quickly.

“Well,” Puppy drew out, “They did stop doing them a while ago, but started doing them again.” Puppy quickly added when she saw Peter slump a little. “So, long story short, yes there are still twinkies, we can make a quick stop to get you some if you like.”

“No we can’t.” May spoke up from behind Puppy.

“No we can’t, sorry.” Puppy repeated. Peter wondered if he would get in trouble for going to get some now, but decided against it, he was pretty sure it would piss May off, even if he was super quick about it.

“And you could have just said yes.” May pointed out. Puppy did a little shrug. “We should really get going, you can talk to him more on the jet.”

Puppy nodded and turned to go. “Come on, Pete.” She said gesturing for him to follow, only for Jimmy to stop them, a grin starting to cross his features, like he was a little excited about something.

“Wait, have you bonded yet.” Jimmy asked, pointing between Puppy and Peter, the latter of which scrunched up his face a little in disgust.

“What?”

“No, not yet,” Puppy said, causing the smile to fall from Jimmy’s face in disappointment. “But that’s alright, I don’t think he trusts me yet.” she turned back to Peter. “I make bonds with people, they are invisible, but can be extremely useful at times.”

“So, you’re a mutant too?” Peter cut in quickly.

Puppy grinned and nodded. “In a way. You’ll learn more about  that later, for now, let’s get you to your temporary home.”

Peter couldn’t help but feel even more deflated at the words ‘temporary home’, but he followed Puppy and May to their jet.

On the way to S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters Puppy and Peter had talked a little more, Puppy had asked if Peter had any hobbies and when he had mentioned video games, Puppy had lit up and started telling him about the games they played back at the compound, telling her about the racing games, laughing as she told him about the crashes, which Peter found to be a bit infectious, and about co-oping in shoot ‘em ups and going against her friends. Puppy even showed him Among Us on her phone, which he found interesting.

This all helped Peter relax a little. And over the next few days he came to know more about Puppy and the other Shield agents, but of most all Puppy, and why she was actually nicknamed Puppy. It was because she kinda acted like one. The little head tilts, the excitement at seeing her friends, even if they had only been gone a day, actually she was generally excitable, and, which Peter found a little odd at first, she liked to be stroked. He would sometimes see some of the agents give her little pats on the head, or even absentmindedly stroke her hair. It was never anything sexually, but Peter found it rather odd.

One day Peter had been in the kitchen, grabbing something to eat, Puppy was in the kitchen, sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping her tea. Peter had also felt a strange sensation the past few days, but had brushed it off to his training regime that Mack had insisted he start if he wanted to become a Shield agent and help them out.

“Hey Pete.” Puppy had called out, not sure if she had said it in time as Peter was using his super speed. Peter came back in a split second and stared at Puppy.

“How did you know it was me?” Peter had asked in a rush.

Puppy grinned at him. “We bonded a couple of days ago, you might have felt it.”

Peter quirked an eyebrow. Then realisation came over him. “The strange tingling sensation I’ve been feeling, I thought it was because of training, I mean it doesn’t hurt, it’s just weird.”

Puppy gave a little chuckle. “You’ll get used to it, it’s a little different for everyone. But I know how each one feels to me, so I sensed you, rather than saw you.”

Peter grinned back at her. “Guess that means we’re friends, right?”

“Right!” Puppy’s eyes sparkled in delight and crinkled in the corners, as Peter chuckled, patted her on the head and then zoomed out of there.

A few days after that exchange and Peter had gone on his first assignment, some terrorist organisation had made themselves known and had threatened to blow up an Underground Train Station, Peter and Yo-Yo had managed to get the people out quickly while Puppy and Daisy had tried to find the bomb and disarm it.

A few weeks after that Peter and Puppy had gone on an assignment with Bucky and Sam who had been following leads about the same Organisation. This time they managed to get there before the bomb could be set. Or so they thought. That was why they were now in the hospital, with Peter pacing, blaming himself for not being quick enough.

“Will you relax, none of us knew that bomb was going to go off.” Bucky said, his voice a mixture of stern but also kind. He was holding onto Puppy’s staff, which Peter glanced at, he still wasn’t sure exactly how the thing worked, just that, Puppy could extend it and fight pretty good with it, and that she could also fire out some sort of energy field or beam with it, which knocked out those around her. She had dropped it in the explosion and Bucky had picked it up, while Peter and Falcon had raced to her side.

Peter had picked Puppy up, brought her to the hospital, he had felt the sensation of the bond lessen slightly and it worried him. What would happen if she died? Would everyone she was bonded to feel it? Peter’s thoughts momentarily went to Wanda, wherever she was right now, knowing she had a bond with Puppy too. Puppy had been so upset that she hadn’t been able to be there for Wanda and possibly help her. Would Wanda feel the bond break, realise she had lost yet another friend? Would Wanda blame him for it?

Peter sighed and ran hand through his hair looking down. That’s when he realised he was still in uniform and that uniform was stained with blood. Puppy’s blood. Peter let out a shaky breath. Walking backwards until he hit the wall, he slid down and covered his face with his hands. “What if she doesn’t make it?” He muttered, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

Bucky looked down at Peter, who looked up, tears in his eyes. Bucky sighed. “You know how the bond works. It helps her to heal, quicker than normal.” Bucky swallowed, it didn’t stop the uneasy feeling of the bond itself wavering.

Peter nodded, he knew that, like he knew it would also help him to heal quicker than was normal, which was already pretty quick for him. “But what if the bonds aren’t enough?” He whispered. A question no one wanted to ever find out the answer to. All of them had already lost too many friends.

A doctor approached them in the hall. Peter was slightly surprised to see it was Jemma Simmons. She smiled at Same, Bucky and Peter. “Puppy’s stable now, there was a lot of shrapnel in her body, and she lost quite a bit of blood, but we’ve managed to stabilise her.” All three of them let out a sigh of relief.

Bucky handed Peter Puppy’s staff, who took it with a quizzical look. “We’re headed back out there, we need to stop these people, do a bit of avenging.” Bucky answered the unasked question, with a small smirk. Peter nodded. “Good luck.”

Peter turned to Jemma. “Can I go in and see her?” Jemma nodded in response and indicated the way, giving Peter the signal to follow her. “Of course.”

[gagmebucky]

thank you to taylor @blessedbucky​, mia @theamericanfalcon, liz @marvelous-mr-stark, raechel, shayla, lauren, courtney, em and tina for allowing me to write this content as well as my beta reader kat @angel-fire​! love you all!

read the full synopsis and excerpt // read chapters snippets here.

o. in which you accidentally send your nudes to your brothers’ best friend. (includes reader’s pov, bucky’s pov, mentions of sexting.)

—

Initially, taking the photos—exposing yourself in such an intimate state to another—you were hesitant. It wasn’t the possible repercussions, i.e. revenge porn, that gave you pause but more-so an insecurity in your own body. Having never done something like this before, you briefly dithered between whether you should or not. 

Ultimately, however, you do. The guy had spent money on you, went through the trouble of finding something you’d like and shipped it discreetly. And when you slip the racy number on, your insecurities wash away and leave excitement in its wake. Everything about it you love, and it has you preening in a solo photo shoot you’re eager to show off. 

After a good time of selfie shutters bulking your phone’s storage—positions of you scantily-clad standing, sitting, a cross of both—you finally relent. There’s too many pictures to pick from, but you do. Three poses that optimize the best aspects of the outfit and that you think he’ll like the best have you buzzing in anticipation of his reaction. 

Giddy, you tap them directly on the album app and click the share button; you input the letter B in the ‘To:’ slot. Since there’s only two contact names under that letter, his name shows up immediately, the first with the nickname Bucky beneath it. You gloss over that and in quick succession, you quickly hit the contact and press send. 

For a split second, you’re proud: you’ve taken this e-relationship to the next level like he wanted, and he’ll be happy with you. Then it hits you like a brick through glass. A replay of your actions travel to your brain, and you belatedly realize what your eyes saw—your thumb smearing too low on the screen, so instead of Brock as the recipient, it’s Bucky. 

“No, no, no!” you whisper as your heart hurtles like a jackhammer stuck in your rib cage. 

A part of you insists it’s your paranoia playing tricks on you, and that’s a valid rationale because this whole thing does worry you about getting caught. Except, upon checking its legitimacy, you confirm what you accidentally did. There’s no mistaking it, now, because with your brightness turned up full, your partially nude figure stares you in the face underneath of a thread between you and your brothers’ best friend. 

James Bucky Barnes—the man who’s nicknamed you bambi because the numerous times he’s seen you face-plant over your own footing, the twenty-four year old who still ruffles your hair when he greets you, the soon-to-be business owner who dates certified models—has a trio of your attempts to be seductive; bottom lined with text you hope comes off likewise seductive.

Mortification swallows you. Your skin burns hotter and hotter by the second. Sure, you’ve embarrassed yourself before: you fall a lot, and you’re awkward conversationalist. But never something of this magnitude, not something that makes you seem so desperate and pathetic. 

You can imagine him opening the messages. He’d immediately assume, understandably, it’s a come-on; a girl trying to be a woman’s failed goal to enthrall a man like him, his best friend’s kid sister’s pitiful effort to be anything other than just that. As if you could ever measure up to the types of women he dates. 

And, yes, there’s been a time where you had a crush on him. But it’s not your fault when he looks like how he does, a rugged example of masculine sex appeal, and treating you the way he does, teasing but with a twist of kindness, and the fact that he’s the only non-blood related man allowed near you. 

But that time has passed. Even then, you knew the one-sided attraction was delusional to have. You were—still are—so sure about it that you never even dared to fantasize about him and the rumors that used to trek behind him about his sexual escapades. There’s no hidden desire to be with him, and that worsens it because it’s not like you’d feel any relief in knowing his reaction. You don’t care about his reaction in the first place!

Now, no matter how much you will insist it’s an accident, there will always be a dubiousness about it. With how close your families are, things are going to be tense. Because there’s no forgetting he’s viewed you like that, and there’s photo evidence of it. 

It hits you then. The extremity of your fuckup douses you in ice, and your muscles freeze because you register that since he knows about your family borderline patriarchal values concerning you, he has to tell them you’re taking nudes, and it will be over for you. 

It has taken you twenty years of your life to finally venture outside what your family has allowed, to sate your curiosity of what exactly your fathers and older siblings have kept so strictly from you: sex and all the goodness it entails. 

It has taken you an additional six months to explore in-depth and build the courage to start something tangible, to wander the depraved side of the internet where strangers did things to each other that made you want to do things with someone of your own: stirring foreign but oh-so amazing feelings in your nether regions. 

For twenty-six weeks you carefully treaded across in order to ensure your family had no clue what you’re doing, clearing your web history and using incognito mode, all your accounts anonymous, keeping your notifications on silent in case anyone becomes suspicious of who’s continuously contacting you. 

One hundred and eighty-two days later—in the middle of which you started your sex-based communication—of preparing to lose your virginity, your family will find out what you’ve been up to, and your life will be hell. 

Everything has been going so perfectly. You found a guy enough distance away he isn't affected by your family’s influence, middle-aged so he’s experience and doesn’t mind handling a virgin, and is willing to drive an hour to meet you at a specified hotel when the time comes.  

All that hard work down the drain. 

You toss your phone and jump to your feet. Panicked, your bare feet pad back and forth on your rug-covered wood floors. Your teeth gnaw at your thumbnail as different scenarios of how everything will transpire flit through your head. Each one is more terrible than the last, and your anxiety heightens. 

Somewhere in your disquietude, it occurs to you. Your brothers are downstairs and so is Bucky, but it’s ten o’clock at night, and that means they’re gaming. That particular activity coined a rule that all players have to stow their phones in the guest room. The specifics are blurry but it was something about Bucky interrupting the session due to excessive texts. 

It’s an opportunity. A chance that you can creep downstairs, swipe his phone and delete your mistake—hell, you’ll break his phone if you need to—before he’s any the wiser. 

“And—” Bucky Barnes drawls out the vowel as the rough-textured ball hurls through the air and swishes sharply into the hoop. “—nothin’ but net.” He relaxes from the perfected basketball follow-through stance, hands dropping to his sides, while he regards his old friend with a cocky smile. “Beat that, Rogers.” 

Steve snorts and catches the ball when it bounces onto the concrete. Palming it in one hand, he dribbles it twice and trades positions so instead of being stationed next to the hoop, he’s descended to the driveway curb where the established three-pointer line is. 

“You still got it, Barnes,” the blond admits, loosening his shoulders and spreading his footing to be a width apart. His right hand balances the ball from below, elbow tucked underneath, while the left splays against the side as his knees bend, and he springs up. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he releases the orange sphere at the top of his jump. It catapults in a flawless arc and drops through criss-crossed netting with a similar swish. His lips curve with satisfaction as he adds, “But, so do I.”

Bucky laughs and seizes the ball as it falls free. “Callum and Henry have no idea they’re going to get obliterated,” he says, coming to slap his palm in an affable embrace. “Fair warning, they’re still as sore losers as they were five years ago so be prepared for that.” 

Steve Rogers chuckles. The former fourth to their high school cliquè, he’s aware of just how bad sports they are. 

After graduation, he left out-of-state to pursue a degree in technological engineering, which he acquired last month in May, prompting his return back to New York. Between the four of them, Bucky and Steve are the level headed ones so he’s glad to have the support to handle the wild children his childhood best friends are. 

“Speaking of,” Steve starts, dirty blond eyebrows knitting as he glances around the neighborhood’s cul-de-sac. “Where are they? I thought Henry was supposed to be waking up Callum? If we aren’t starting yet, then can I get my phone back?” 

Bucky clicks his teeth. “Yeah. They’re probably stuffing their faces right now. Their sister went grocery shopping and got a cake so. . .” He waves his hand in gesture before continuing in vehement passion on the second point, “The whole phone thing is bullshit, though. I miss a few winning shots ‘cause I was busy with some pretty little thing texting me, and now there’s a ‘no technology rule’.” He scoffs and folds his arms. 

Now that he thinks about it, he could totally have his phone right now. And he’s more interested in having it than usual. There’s this girl he’s been seeing frequently at local parties—six feet tall with gorgeous brown skin, always done up in intricate eye makeup, silver tongued (he’s very interested in her tongue) when she speaks—and he’s finally gotten her number. She could be texting him, and he doesn’t even know it! 

“You know, yeah, we should get our phones back if those assholes want to take all day,” Bucky decides, agreeing with steps toward the closed storm door, but opened front door until he hears the inquiry:

“How is Y/N, anyway?” Steve’s voice is genuinely and harmlessly curious behind him, and he stops in his tracks because Bucky remembers the poorly hid crush he harbored for you. “I saw her instagram the other day, and she must be quite the heartbreaker.” 

Spinning around to face him, Bucky lifts a brow. “Huh?” Then he processes the implication that you’re out dating and such. The mere prospect has him surprising laughter. 

With their dad and his girlfriend on a tour of the world, the three of them are the only ones in the household. Given you’re the baby of your siblings, despite being an independent twenty-year-old, your older brothers have taken it upon themselves to ensure you focus solely on school work. Callum and Henry know exactly how to threaten their message across that you are not to be bothered, and anyone who tries will end up battered and bruised. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. She’s not with anyone, hasn’t been ever,” he tells him. “If you thought Callum and Henry were overprotective back then, you should see them now.” 

Gunmetal blue eyes blink surprised at him, and there’s a faint battle between delight and disappointment. “Really?” He shoves his hands in his sweats and falters somewhat. “It’s gotta be hard considering the way she has grown up,” he says but Bucky’s face scrunches in confusion. “You can’t tell me you don’t see how cute she is.” Before he can respond, Steve adds, “Obviously I wouldn’t ever see or be with her in that way—I wouldn’t betray Callum or Henry like that—but objectively, you can admit she’s gorgeous, right?” 

Bucky has to take a moment and genuinely consider it—consider you—because he hasn’t before. (Other than noticing the genetic similarities to Callum, who shares your eye and hair color but is a shade lighter than you, and Henry, who shares your complexion and eye color, but his hair is darker than yours.)

There’s no denying your looks are better than most: the structure of your face works beautifully, dazzling eyes framed by your lashes and occasionally accentuated by mascara, lips usually adorned in gloss or anything that keeps them hydrated which could be described as alluring, and your hair is almost always done, sometimes switched up in style. But there’s an inherent innocence there, a sweet and clumsy awkwardness, and maybe because he’s watched you grow up, four years your senior, but it just doesn’t do it for him. 

You’re his best friends’ baby sister, for God’s sake. He’d never at you like that in the first place. Especially not when he’s been aware, in the past, you harbored a schoolgirl crush on him. It was painfully obvious, to your chagrin, but he found it adorable—flattering but unsurprising considering girls flock to him like seagulls to boardwalk french fries. 

Currently, he’s sure you know he won’t ever pick you—under principle, under the lack of attraction. Other than pleasant smiles and occasional small talk mixed with teasing, you don’t gaze at him with starry eyes anymore, at least it’s waned significantly as you matured. 

Back to the question: “Uh, no, not really. Even if Callum and Henry didn’t care, I don’t think I’d be attracted to her,” he answers truthfully. Your purity doesn’t provoke his sexual attraction although it does invoke a duty of protectiveness. “She just isn’t my type.” 

Steve arches a brow, a surprised playfulness in his expression. “Oh? Then what is your type, then?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow. ‘Cause from what I remember you’re up for anyone and everyone.”

“That makes me sound like a whore,” he feigns offense but digresses into a fit of chuckles as he thinks back to all his various sex-capades and Steve flashes him a look that says aren’t you? “Yeah.” He nods with a prideful chortle. “But I’m into more frisky girls, y’know? Ones who’ve been everywhere and done everything. They’re brass and loud and just do whatever the fuck they want. I like to be one of those things.” 

Behind him, his best friend, Callum’s orotund voice rings out between the pressurized shh of the storm door, “Buck’s into slutty girls, Steve.”

He cringes at the diction. “Don’t call ‘em slutty. Sounds degrading when you guys say it like that.” Most of the time, he agrees with him—and his brother—but when it comes to women, there’s usually a dissent and a need for correction. “But yeah. I prefer girls with experience,” he declares strongly. “They don’t get attached like girls with... less experience do.”

Callum rolls his eyes, bounding down the porch stairs to the recently pressure-washed driveway, and he plucks the basketball out of his hands. “Here we go again. Bucky and his ‘I hate virgin’s’ campaign,” he mocks, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make any sense to me ‘cause everyone knows virgins are the tightest.”

This time, Bucky is the one to roll his eyes. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense considering tightness isn’t dependent upon whether it’s their first time ‘cause, y’know, vaginas stretch, you morons.” Sometimes he has no clue how Callum passed sex education (then he remembers that he bribed the health teacher). “Meaning a girl can have sex, then after a period of time, her virgin ‘tightness’ eventually returns. The only reason virgins may seem tighter is because they’re usually nervous.” 

The look on Callum’s face says that what he just said went right over his head. “Whatever.” He shrugs and starts dribbling the ball half-heartedly. “I just know the woman I end up with better be a virgin.” 

“Right!” Henry’s likewise orotund voice, a pitch higher, speaks after he pushes through the glass door. He presses to the court-slash-driveway, wiping icing off his mouth. “That’s marriage material. I’m not fucking around in a relationship with no woman that’s been fucked already, y’know?” 

Bucky’s eye twitches, jaw locking for a millisecond. “But you guys aren’t even virgins yourself,” he points out their hypocrisy. When they look at him to rebuttal, he automatically knows it’s going to run his blood pressure up and it’s not worth it. “You know, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You guys have fun with your conversation.” 

Swiftly, he whirls around and heads for inside. The last thing he hears is Steve’s ambivalent, “I get the appeal of virgins. But you know, I don’t think it really matters. I think it just matters if you’re into them, and if they’re into you. I wouldn’t care either way but. . .” 

The air conditioned air greets him coldly, and he revels in it. The June sun is killer, though perfect weather for playing a game outside, and the chill dries the sweat beaded on his forehead. He pads down the foyer, turns the corner to the bathroom and enters to take a much needed leak. 

Bucky has so much brotherly love for your brothers: neighbors since being in diapers, his mother the female figure in their life, and becoming and remaining best friends for over twenty years. There’s only one thing that grates his nerves when it comes to them and that’s their view of women is somewhat skewed. Sometimes—most of the time—went the topic comes up, he’s always one second away from throttling them. 

Hopefully after he pisses, they’ll be talking about something else, and finally they all can play basketball. It. 

Flushing the toilet, he goes onto wash his hands. He lathers up in orange antibacterial soap and rinses the suds off with hot water. There isn’t a towel, at least not a clean one, so instead he just lets the remaining droplets drip onto the floor. 

Emerging from the bathroom, James pauses and absentmindedly wipes his hands dry on his mesh-polyester shorts. His attention automatically draws to the guest room’s closed door adjacent to his position. A decision strikes him, and he steps forward and casts a curious glance down the corner. 

When boisterous and distracted laughter filters through the front door and down the empty corridor, it springs him into action. He figures there’s no harm in checking his phone while he’s here. He’d been especially resistant to giving it away because he’s engaged in a particularly stimulating conversation with a particularly titillating woman—popular in her own right, he can’t afford to miss his shot with her. 

His fingers turn the knob, and he shoulders through. The furniture is decorated and accented in yellow and white, condition otherwise pristine, save for the phones littered across the king-sized poster bed’s fluffy duvet. He strides across gleaming light oak floors and hones in on the only golden-colored, rubbed encased titanium. 

As he grips it, long digits curling around the back, pinkie supporting the bottom, thumb tapping the screen to life, he can hear the dwindling of high-spirited jesting through the en-suite’s rectangular horizontal slider window; a wondering of where he’s gone has him speeding up. 

Although he’d been gone for under an hour, his screen is bright with various notifications, social media accounts and text messages. He ignores the former and searches for the latter, specifically the contact, Val 😛💦. Scrolling quickly, he comes to a stop but not because of his original intent. 

His head cocks, and he knits his brows when he sees your name instead; formally nicknamed, bambi, due to your penchant for clumsiness and general fragility. You don’t text him—except for that one time you needed to be picked up from the library—and considering you know he’s just outside, his baffled curiosity is further spurred. 

With a sideways swipe of his thumb, your thread enlarges on the high-definition display. He isn’t sure what he expected, but this? Oh, this, definitely is not it. His eyes widen as the content loads, and reveals you, in all your half-naked glory. 

“Shit,” he breathes out raggedly, blinking multiple times because he has to be seeing things. But, nope, it’s still you—looking like that, wearing that. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your brothers are beginning to call his name, demanding his attendance, and he froze in shock, unable to tear his stare away from the girl who’s tripped over her own feet more times than he can count; the wallflower who spends all her time studying in her room; the forbidden fruit who’s innocent has always stirred a vigilant feeling inside him—now stirring something hard between his thighs because there you are. 

Like always, your hair is done prettily, wispy-lashed eyes big and inviting, a saucy pout to your glossed lips. Your flawless complexion seems to glow in the reflection of the mirror, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the warm lighting, or if it’s the confidence you exude in your faux-innocent expression from where something so sinfully sexy. 

Three photos, and every single one is like a punch in the gut; displaying your usually hoodie-hidden figure in its bare, exquisite form. The skimpy white two-piece caresses your breasts in a lace halter top, leaving a teasing amount of cleavage. Your navel exposed, he becomes aware of how soft your skin would be. Moving lower, your untouched flower is wrapped in a thin thong with a bow on the center of the waistband. 

A million things flit through his head; a million disgusting things he never thought he’d think about you. 

The main one is every sort of attraction these snapshots arouse. A laser slices down his center and sears him to the core. The multiple poses calls every hungry part of him to attention, the curve of your breasts, the contours of your hips and the jut of your ass. And he shoves to the darkest recess in his mind because that’s just an innate reaction to lingerie. (Right? Right.)

He combats your images with that of Val: knows-what-she’s-doing and equally promiscuous as him Val. The anthropology major who downs beers within seconds and tongue kisses the first person she sees afterwards. 

The next is the one he focuses on, that you would take these and send them to him—as if he’d betray your brothers like that. Second-hand embarrassment strikes him because he knows if you’ll send something as risky as this, he’ll have to formally reject you and break your unreciprocated pining heart. 

He grimaces at the thought. This is why he doesn’t do virgins and the less experienced in general. The inherent strings are a killer, and he resents the drama; and it’d be ten times worse with you because of the added complications of your siblings. 

In fact, he hears something beyond him, coming down the hallway, and it’s probably them, but he can’t stop rereading your text accompanying the photos, partially imagining how it’d sound in your delicate voice: 

bambi (4:21PM): is this as pretty as you imagined? did i do good? just tell me what you want, and ill do it. i want you. soon, please - and yes, ill beg. i promise itll sound even better in person. 

[read it in its entirety on my patreon - one time fee of $5 to access!]

[randomoranges]

the other day i lost the friendly wagerino and @allbeendonebefore was like hey i want 70s stuff but maybe also make it not shitty?

idk if i delivered. i had this idea after she herself made an art and showed it to me revolving around the 70s. i figured id use it. it has a point of hope at the end? maybe it’s the origin story we all needed lamao

also please enjoy the repeated pattern of ed and ét forever saving the other a seat/making room for the other. 

also the running gag is how vague can i keep things about the 70s when also writing a fic about the 70s lewl

vague references to many things being made here

Empire of Ash Somewhere between 1971 and 1975

 He doesn’t know why he bothers – doesn’t know why he’s here. There’s no longer a point to any of this anymore. He feels the shift – feels it in the way the others look at him – the way they don’t look at him and it makes his blood boil.

 He used to run this show. Would walk in, grace the others with his presence, and they would fawn over him – trip themselves trying to be him. That or they would seethe behind their jealousy. They either wanted to be him or be with him and Étienne had always been willing to oblige. He understood their envy. Understood their want. He couldn’t really blame them. The proverbial world seemed to revolve around him and he’d reigned it with such ease and grace.

 It wasn’t always peaches and cream, naturally. He’d struggled – his people had struggled – they still struggled, but – overall, he’d been the example to follow – the one people wanted to emulate. Innovating. Exciting. The place to go – the one to be. An icon. He’d loved it. Loved the attention and the praise. The ease of it.

 It had only amplified when he’d been awarded the world exposition. It’d been a last minute decision, sure, but he’d thrived. He’d given them all a show they would never forget. Had put himself on the map for good. For years and decades to come, they would talk about Expo 67. This, would be a Moment never to forget. People would exchange anecdotes about what they had seen – what they had done. About how great and innovative it had been. How wonderful and spectacular. It was, after all, the type of work he loved – bettering his image and his city – thinking ahead. Planning. Putting on a show. Entertaining.

 He was very good at entertaining.

 He could entertain in so many different ways.

 Everyone had looked at him during Expo. Everyone had wanted him then. The stroke to his ego had been enormous. Had been satisfying. So satisfying. It had never been a dull moment. One giant party that had never ended for days and weeks and months. The afterglow had lasted – had pushed him through one winter and then the next. He’d drifted on his high – on his cloud, basking in it for days after, already a fond nostalgia settling in for the long run. The rose tinted glasses and such.

 And then it had skittered to a halt. Had come to an abrupt end. The proverbial rug had been pulled from under his feet without warning, leaving him with whiplash that had left a bitter taste in his mouth – that still lingered and rippled. Crept into his body and settled in; poisoned every last remaining good memory. Destroyed and shattered all his hard work.

 His empire had crumbled before his very eyes, leaving him with nothing but a pile of ash. Everything he had carefully built, everything he had worked for, gone, in a blink. Because, apparently, they could no longer trust him and there was now too much instability over some political variation of ideology. Because the people in a province that never felt like it cared for him wanted more. Because people dared to want to be recognised and had – taken – action.

 Years of loyal service discarded.

 It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t called the shots. He was a victim. A victim of the system. Yet, he bore the lasting consequences of them all.

 It was ironic, in a sense, that after years of feeling the oppression of religion, after fighting to break from it – after starting to find his true voice in this world, it was all being taken away and he was being pushed back – returning to a nobody.

 However, now he has a chance – another one, to prove to them that he’s still relevant – that they’re all wrong – have been wrong to cast him aside. This will be his redeeming arc. This has to be his redemption. He has no choice. No cards left to play, his deck long ago discarded.

 On a good day, he pours every ounce of energy and time into the plans for the Olympics. It’s touch and go; not as flawless and easy as Expo was. He tries to find that same magic, but it seems as though it’s one problem after the next. If it’s not some delay in construction, there’s a strike. If it’s not a strike, there’s a delay. As the calendar ticks on, his anxiety builds and his passion for the project dissipates.

 And then of course, everyone is kind enough to remind him that he’s nothing but a has-been – that there’s nothing left to him. His light has shined and now dulled, time be shelved and replaced.

  So he decides to stick to what he’s good at. Stick to what everyone wants. What everyone expects him to do. Put his moniker to good use. He knows how to play up his part, after all. He’s never even liked his obligatory job. Never saw the point to the meetings he’s obliged to attend. In his opinion, they run too long. He’s always found them boring, but at least, before, he was able to go and have a good time. Everyone had wanted his opinion. Everyone had wanted him. Because he was the best. He was somebody.

 Was.

 He is no one now.

 In any event. There’s no point to it anymore. He’s found better and more lucrative ways to spend his time. Better ways to chase the thrill of before – to feel alive where there is nothing but decay and rot. He’s found a way to feel wanted, even if for a little while. He knows where to put his skills to good use and make some cash while doing it as well. It’s more than could be said about these sorry meetings.

 The best part about his side hustle is that it makes his mayor mad. Makes the tiny bald man seethe and rage. But it makes Étienne grin. He loves that it enrages his mayor. Loves that he can keep finding ways to tarnish his plans of “cleaning up the city.” Étienne no longer is the wide-eyed-bushy-tailed naïve man who had blindly followed him. He’s grown since Expo. (It is a shame though; they’d mostly gotten along then – he’d enjoyed chatting up the man about his vision for the city. He misses the camaraderie, if anything. They may have not always gotten along, but – the man had vision – had helped him make a name of himself. This, however, he disagreed on.)

 With Expo, he’d – broadened his repertoire, so to say. Gotten a taste for the more delightful sinful pleasures of life – the full range and experience – had really let loose. It had been thrilling, what with everything else going on from the change in fashion to the freedoms the rest of his people were finally allowing themselves to experience without the fear of God breathing down their necks. His little personal discoveries had proven to be useful now that he needed an extra escapism and a different way to earn his living. The face his mayor had made had been worth it.

 Étienne wouldn’t have bothered showing his face to this meeting; would have flipped everyone off and returned to his new life, but his sister had insisted. Had reminded him that with the Olympics looming forward, he had to get his act together. Look presentable. Make an appearance. Remind everyone of what they were. It was all bullshit. He was tired of the hypocrites – the ones who’d died to have his opinion who’d now turned their backs on him. Tired of the fake airs everyone gave themselves at these meetings. The redundancy of them and the lack of anything ever getting done. He could be spending his time in so many other better ways.

 But. Élyse had begged and insisted. So he’d gone.

 Except now, he itches to get out of the place and get some air. The cigarettes he’s been smoking nearly nonstop since he’s gotten here have done nothing to calm his nerves and even though he knows he could go for something a little stronger to help, he also knows that with these stuck-ups they would have a conniption and keep passing their snide remarks. He tells himself he’s doing it for Élyse. She’s been through enough and – he doesn’t want to make it harder on her. Yet, he feels like he’s either vibrating out of his skin or that suddenly his body is too big, or too small for the ricochet of thoughts in his head. He needs air, a distraction, a hit of something, before he causes a scene, and luckily – miraculously – a break is called just as he’s about to bolt out.

 He lights up another cigarette as he looks for somewhere to wait out the break and scowls when all the benches are taken. There are spots left, but the last thing he’s in the mood for is polite small talk. It may have been his forte once, but the idea of it now makes him want to hurl. Étienne considers taking a walk and maybe finding something better to do for the afternoon, but the sight of a familiar sulking figure draws him close.

 He recognises Edward after a beat and only feels slightly relieved. Edward is his friend, sure, but they’ve sort of lost touch over the past few years. There’d been a frenzy of letter exchange after Expo and even before that, but – he can’t be bothered to remember whose turn it had been to write back. Then again, Étienne’s got a lot going on in his life at the moment and Edward feels as though he’s part of his old life.

 Still, he supposes that Edward hasn’t been unkind to him even if they haven’t sat down to have a heart to heart and at the moment, it’s better than the sneering and jeering. However, the idea of sitting down with someone he knows and having an actual conversation makes him want to set the world on fire. He considers getting out of here again, but just as he’s about to turn on his heels, Edward seems to notice him as well and moves his bag over so that Étienne can sit if he so desires.

 He’s ever so thankful when Edward leaves him to his moody thoughts and Étienne is able to breathe a little easier for the first time all day. It might almost seem like companionable silence, but he knows better and takes it for what it’s worth.

 Étienne smokes quietly as he lets his thoughts wander for a bit. He reflects on his strange friendship with Edward and how unlikely they came to be. He’d honestly never thought that his own ennui back home would have pushed him to set off exploring the Great West only to stumble upon another lost soul who would turn to be a friend – a confidant really.

 He’d – never expected Edward to take him up on it, back then – when he’d told him to keep in touch and write to him. He’d jotted down the address, given it to his friend and then had headed off, not thinking of the hassles Edward might have with finding an actual post office. Yet, eventually, when he’d nearly forgotten about it, a letter had appeared from Edward and Étienne had been more than surprised, even if he’d been delighted.

 He’d taken to writing to Edward frequently – or as frequently as was possible at the time. Sometimes, he would run back to the post office to add more to his already long letter, always having more to say to his friend and over the years and decades, he and Edward had built a steady if bizarre friendship through their writing.

 It’d been – easy to write to Edward. Easier than it’d ever been to say things out loud, anyways and he’d opened up about many aspects of his life he’d kept close to his heart with the years. In his opinion, Edward knew a lot more about him than Emma and even Élyse – not that he’d let them know. Yet, despite being able to write to his friend about everything that had ever bothered him, this time, he wants to keep his new secret to himself. He’s rather proud of this one anyways and he’s – not sure Edward would understand. Not entirely, anyways.

 He sighs and takes another drag of his cigarette. It’s a complicated mess and he’s lost so much already – doesn’t want to chance this at the moment. In case.

 It’s strange to think that even though he feels as though he’s found some sort of kinship with the new people he hangs around with, he feels even more alone than before. He’s – different from them. It comes with his status and the fact that despite his appearances, he is not like them – not really human in the full sense and there are certain hurdles he’s gone through that he cannot simply open up about to them.

 His musings are brought to a halt when he hears exasperated grumbling from his side. He’s about to scoff and tell Edward to quit it, but then turns to find the other man patting his pockets looking for something. Étienne overhears the words “cigarette” and “forgot” and figures out that Edward must have left his pack inside. He watches the little tantrum unfold for a moment, taking pleasure in seeing someone else frustrated for a while, before it gets on his nerves.

 He has enough to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need Edward’s complaining on top of it. With another sigh, Étienne fishes out his own pack and takes a cigarette out before he can reconsider and before Edward can get into a real fit.

 He wordlessly hands it over and waits for his friend to realise that there’s an offering being made.

 It takes Edward a moment and Étienne gets to the point where he’s afraid he’s going to have to jab the other man’s arm to get his attention, but before that has a chance to happen, Edward sees the cigarette and accepts it with a grumbled thanks. Étienne is about to take out his lighter, in case, but Edward already has it in his hand and lights up his cigarette without much trouble.

 It’s the extent of their conversation for the time being and for that, Étienne is grateful. He’s in no mood for talking and he appreciates that Edward keeps to himself. For the first time since the start of the day, Étienne feels slightly less alone and even though they don’t do much, he appreciated the presence of Edward. It’s – familiar, in a sense, even though they haven’t spent all that much time together.

 He can probably count on one or two hands the number of times they’ve legitimately hung out together – or even seen each other in the last century, but despite that, Étienne has considered Edward to be one of his closest friends for years now. Yet, somehow or other, even though the live miles apart, they’ve – clicked and bonded and somehow or other stuck around each other.

 He supposes, not for the first time, that it must count for something. Maybe.

 He’s not sure he wants it to, but as he finishes his own cigarette, Étienne finds himself with the same sense of ennui from before. The idea of sitting though another few hours of meetings still makes him want to hurl and the appeal of getting the hell out whispers soothingly in his ear.

 He spares Edward another glance and takes in his friend’s own sour look and discontented face. He figures that maybe – just maybe, Edward might not want to be here too and might want an excuse to get out.

 “Hey,” He says, finally breaking the silence between them. “Wanna get out of here? I think I saw a diner worth the detour on my way over.” It’s as good as an offers as he’s ready to make, but Edward, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully nods and stands up.

 They walk towards the street and fall into step together, as Étienne thinks that maybe there’s an analogy to be made about misery loving company, but he’d rather hope that instead, maybe he and Edward have more in common than he thought they originally did.

 FIN

[the-voltage-diaries]

I’ll Stay by Your Side, Every Night - Soryu Oh

For our very own, @joaxotome​; one of the sweetest, kindest, and most amazing humans I have had the honour to meet. I don’t think I write Soryu that well, because the last Soryu piece I wrote was over a year ago lmao, but I tried. I hope you like this, Joanne. Thank you for being such an amazing ball of energy who can cheer anyone up in a mere few seconds. Love you. <3

Also, since you said you love yourself some angst to love, I tried to make it come true. Cheers to me writing better Soryu fics, hahaha.

This one’s for the discord exchange, and I’d just like to take a moment to thank our very own @voltage-vixen​ for hosting this beautiful event <3!!

TW: Angst (with fluff... or so I hope.) This work is based around the ideas of abuse; mental, emotional, physical. If you are in any way uncomfortable with that, do not read this. 

“Are you going to cry now?” He smirks, his eyes glinting in a way that make the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

All I see is black as my eyelids force shut, not wanting to look at his face for a second longer, too scared to think about what will happen to me if I do.

“Hahaha,” he laughs and I sense him bending low, his face coming closer to mine. “Look at you, scared and shivering like the mess you are.” I shift uncomfortably, feeling his breath creating warm spots on my neck as his voice lowers, almost down to a whisper, “You asked for it, baby.”

“Ugh!” I jolt, my groan muffled against the cloth stuffing my mouth when I feel his fingers stroke the sides of my waist, teasing, testing the waters.

And then, before I know it, his palm comes to rest on my chin and in one swift motion his fingers pull out the dirty piece of fabric gagging me. My eyes burn with unshed tears at the pain in my mouth, caused by the sudden pull, and I take a deep breath, refusing to admit defeat in front of this bastard.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’ll survive. I know I will. At least I hope I will.

“Baby,” he purrs, almost as if coaxing me, “Open those beautiful eyes of yours for me, won’t you?”

My breathing shallows and goosebumps show up on my skin at the nickname, the way he calls out to me in that god forsaken voice.

His rugged fingertips graze the corners of my jaw, almost as if luring me back into him, back into that web of pain, lies and suffering. “Look at me,” he whispers, and I shiver at the tilt in his tone, reminding me of the days when things between us started to go awry. “Don’t worry Joanne, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Just as his fingers tighten around my jaw, I hear the sound of a mobile ringing. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, and my sigh of relief goes unnoticed. I hear his footsteps as they back off and walk in the direction of the device which refuses to stop ringing.

My guess is that he picks up the incoming call, because no sooner than his feet stop do I hear him let out a muted, “What is it?” Again, I hear his footsteps move away, and then a door opens, and then it shuts. And then? Complete silence.

My uneven breaths echo in the silence so eerie you would hear it if a snail moved.

As I try to calm myself down, my mind chooses the worst distraction it possibly could have; my past with this man.

When did we become like this? Why did we become like this? What went wrong?

We had started off on such good terms. Both of us were madly in love. He was the perfect boyfriend; he would take me out on dates, message me constantly, shower me with his love, call me nicknames, spend time with me... or so I thought.

About a year into our relationship I realised how badly had I fucked up. I realised how blind I was to the changes in his behaviour; the way I didn’t notice how him taking me out on dates turned into him forcing me out when I didn’t want to go, just to show me off as his trophy girlfriend, how his constant messaging turn into something obsessive, how him showering me with his love turned into showering me with his abuses, how calling me nicknames turned into calling me a whore or a slut whenever I so much as even looked at someone else, the gender didn’t matter, how him spending time with me turned into him gluing himself to my side, never once leaving me.

Always on the look-out for when I’d commit even the slightest of errors. Because then he would unleash all his names, curses, abuses at me; making me feel like I didn’t deserve to be loved.

Well, maybe I didn’t.

Over time, those curses and abuses turned physical as he turned more violent, slapping me or beating me up for even the most minor of mistakes. Those verbal slurs turned emotional, making me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive. Hah, what a cheeky little failure.

“Heh,” I scoff at myself, laughing at how naive I was to not realise when our love turned into something that would make most people sick to their core.

What makes me feel the most miserable about our past is that I allowed myself to be used and abused. Even when he didn’t reply to my texts, ignored me for days sometimes, and clearly had stopped even so much as glancing my way... I still hadn’t given up.

Not until that one fateful day when I saw him. In my bed. With not just one, but two bloody women.

Silly girl, one of his sex friends had said, smirking in all her naked glory, can’t you see the truth right in front of you? This is his little kingdom, and you’re not the queen anymore.

“Argh,” I groan, my thoughts coming back to the present when I feel my bound wrists numb with pain at a tear in the thin skin that covers them. Rolling my shoulders to forget about the pain for the time being, I pull at the rope tying my wrists behind my back, in futile hopes that it would come loose.

“Ah, I always loved the feisty side you hid underneath all that cute drama.”

I jump and my body freezes in its spot, my eyes widening at the proximity of his voice.

In my peripheral vision I see his face, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder with him standing right behind me.

When did he come back?

“While you were too busy reminiscing about the beautiful bubble you had created for yourself with me,” he chuckles, as if reading my mind. Looking at the way my eyes refuse to un-widen, he continues, “You were always easy to read. Now weren’t you, Joanne?”

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, my head bent, refusing to stay up any longer.

“Because, Joanne,” he starts, a lewd smirk lining his face when I let out a choked sob on the use of my name, “I want you to have your epiphany.”

“My what?” I ask, looking up at him, wondering if I heard him right.

“Your epiphany,” he repeats. I feel the throbbing in my wrists relax as the ropes slowly come undone, surprising me. He slowly walks around me, coming to a stop just in front of me. My heart only pounds faster when I catch the glint of the knife in his hands. “I want you to realise what a useless little bitch you are without me in your life. Nobody loves you, kitten. Nobody did, nobody would.”

“Stop...” I whisper, bowing my head in defeat, trying to mute out all his words in an attempt to stop them from having their effect on me.

“You, Joanne, are a pretty little good for nothing.” He smiles, his palm resting on my shoulders. “Your friends run away from you, your peers refuse to talk to you. Ever wondered why?”

No, Joanne. Don’t listen. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Every thing will be fine. Just breathe.

“Because, oh darling,” he murmurs, dragging the knife’s tip up my neck, slowly, “you are so very broken and no one cares to notice.”

“I trusted you,” I say, finding the courage to meet his eyes from god-knows-where. I meet his challenging gaze head on, trying to sound as angry and frustrated as I feel, “I trusted you so much.”

“Well then you can’t exactly blame me, can you? It was your mistake.”

“What the fuck do you want?!” I yell, immediately regretting it when I see how his smile turns from teasing to predatory.

“What do I want?” He mutters, bringing his face so close to mine I can feel his disgusting breath on my lips. He drags the tip of the knife lower... and lower... and lower, until it reaches my abdomen.

I can’t think.

“You want to know what I want, Joanne?”

I can’t breathe.

"I want so many things," he whispers. "I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time." 

His eyes hold me still, as if commanding me to stay where I am.

His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says, "I want this up." He tugs on the waist of my pants and says, "I want this down." He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and mutters, "I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it's racing because of me, because you want me. 

And then I hear the sound of something sharp piercing skin, and the sound of blood oozing out. My eyes slowly travel down to look at my waist where the knife rests, buried deep in my body.

Because you never, " he breathes and pulls me up to him, and looking up, in the depths of his eyes I see the formation of something that makes me lose my mind, "never want me to stop. I want every second. I want every inch of you. I want all of it." He smirks, pushing the knife deeper into me as his fingers come to rest on my chest, where I feel my heart pound, "I want your soul."

And I drop dead, all over the floor.

“Joanne?” I hear a voice call out my name. It’s almost distant. Almost.

All I see is pitch black as I feel my heart pound out of control and my body grow hot.

“Joanne, love,” The voice says, insistent, and it’s as if my body automatically relaxes a little at the familiarity of it. “Can you hear me? Wake up, baby.”

I feel the urge to reach out and grab at the voice, and so I do. I stretch out a hand into the darkness that surrounds me, in the hopes of grasping on to something, not knowing what it is.

“JOANNE, WAKE UP!” I sense someone’s fingers curl around mine, grabbing my outstretched hand, and pulling me towards a strong, warm chest, immediately jolting me awake.

“Wha-What?” I whisper, not quite catching up with what is going on. All I see in front of me is a navy blue hoodie, covering a broad, strong frame, and I look up to meet a familiar pair of eyes, as calming and deep as the ocean.

“Hi,” he says, giving me a relieved smile. But for some reason, while my body calms down, my mind delves right back into the state of panic as I feel my nightmare overlapping with my reality.

“Get away from me!” I yell, pushing him away, and jump away from the bed, running to the opposite end of the room.

“Joanne?” He calls out, his eyes widening in surprise, maybe not expecting me to run away. Oh no, maybe I angered him. Maybe he will beat me up now. Oh no.

“Don’t take my name!” I say, covering my ears. I can still hear his voice ringing in my head, letting my name out from his sickening lips.

He gets out from the bed, slowly, steadily, and looks at me with a warm, comforting gaze, “It’s me, Joanne. It’s Soryu.”

“S-Soryu?” I murmur, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. I try to calm my ragged breathing down as I gradually start registering what is going on. But the moment he takes a step towards me, I immediately jump back.

“Love,” he coaxes, “at least let me clean you up. You’re all sweaty.”

Wait. I am?

It’s when he says that do I notice the state I am in; my face wet with tears, my body sticky with sweat and my fingers trembling with fear.

‘... Joanne, I’m not going to hurt you.’

“Come here,” Soryu says, opening his arms for me.

“Why?”

“Just come here,” he mumbles, taking a step forward.

“No!” I shout, stopping him in his tracks as I flinch away. “You’re going to hit me.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Joanne.”

“I’ve heard those words before.”

He looks at me, his hair still a mess, and in that moment in the pale moonlight he looks more handsome and more human than I have ever seen him. “I guess I’m asking you to trust me,” he says, opening his arms wide, once again, for me to fall into. 

I stand there, shaking in fear for a moment, but when I see his deep, grey orbs look at me with so much longing and care, I finally start to take slow, deliberate steps towards him.

Within a few steps, I fall into his strong embrace, letting it consume me and make me forget about whatever I dreamed of.

When his fingers comfortingly start stroking my back with extreme patience and give me that sense of security I was so desperately searching for is when the dam breaks and all the tears I had been holding in rush out.

He stands there, silent as a graveyard, patting my back in a rhythmic pattern, not once judging.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask not being able to think of an answer myself.

“Doing what?” He murmurs, his voice muffled by my hair as he rests his mouth against my head, kissing the spot before staying there.

“Treating me like a person,” I whisper.

“I’m doing this because,” he starts, pulling away to look in my eyes. His fingers gently grab my chin, guiding my face towards his, to make sure our eyes are locked, “I love you, Joanne.”

My lips form a smile when I realise how much he means every one of his words. “I love you too, Soryu.”

He smiles, his fingertips stroking my cheek, patient. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer to him.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, my fingers reaching up to play with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“I’m thinking of how I want-” he stops when he sees my face go pale.

‘I want your soul.’

“Never mind what I want,” he whispers, effectively stopping me from going too far into my nightmares again. “What do you want?”

“You.”

I suck a breath, surprising myself at how I don’t even waste a second to say it to him.

Always you.

“Love,” he brings his face closer to mine, his voice low, “You already have all of me.”

I gasp at the amount of emotion in his voice, the ineffable level of care those eyes hold for me, and he bends lower, his lips almost touching mine.

“May I?” he asks...

... when he doesn’t need to. I smile, gently standing on my tip-toes and pressing our lips together.

[imaginaryelle]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 (Thanks, as ever, to @morphia-writes and @miyuki4s for betaing!)

*

The transportation array drops them in a small clearing with a flash of fire at their feet, a few lingering notes from Chenqing, and only slight disorientation. Lan Wangji has read that the use of the teleportation talisman is heavily taxing to the spirit and can often cause physical disruption in the user, but Wei Ying shows no sign of pain or confusion, and nor do Jin Rulan or Liu Weixin, who, if the array’s design can be trusted, also contributed spiritual power to the effort. Jin Rulan even manages to look somewhat bored by the process.

“I don’t understand why we all have to come look at whatever this is,” he says as soon as Wei Ying lowers his hands and the glow of the array at their feet fades. “Why can’t we just—” he cuts himself off and stares hard at Wen Sizhui, who wears an expression of distinct discomfort. “What?”

Wen Sizhui bites his lips and looks to Wei Ying, who has gone still.

“The buildings were burned down,” Zhou Xiuying reports quietly.

Lan Wangji follows her line of sight and strides quickly through the trees, but he can already smell the smoke in the air, lingering and acrid. He reaches the edge of the forest and sees only ash and rock in the large space where the compound once sat. There are no smoldering embers and no half-burnt husks to mark the structures; only lines of soot and the pattern of paving stones show any indication of the size or use of the space.

Wei Ying grabs his sleeve, and he realizes he’s walked right up to the edge of the ward’s inscription.

“Don’t touch it.” Wei Ying guides him back slightly. “How many people were here?” he asks.

“None.” The guards were dead when he left. Still, Wei Ying obviously has doubts. He raises Chenqing to his lips and plays a low and beguiling melody, coaxing and haunting by turns.

On the other side of the ward, ashes swirl in still air.

Rise.

Drift gently around ghostly faces—two, then three, the four, then more, until seven ghosts are drawing themselves together along the inside of the ward. They ripple as they cross over the etched lines, but seem to suffer no other effects; perhaps it is truly inert now, or deliberately broken.

Wei Ying cocks his head to the side and whistles, sharp and commanding. The ghosts rearrange themselves. There are men and women, some are old, others in the prime of life. Wei Ying turns and looks expectantly at Zhou Xiuying.

“What do you see?”

“They all died violently and without proper funerary rites,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, her sword gripped tight in her hand. “They can’t move on in peace.”

Wei Ying nods and shifts his attention to Liu Weixin, who presses his lips hard together and squints at the ghosts, as if that will improve his assessment. He sketches a talisman in front of his face and pushes it outward. Each spirit takes on a dull red glow, strongest at one end of the line and diminishing with each ghoul in succession.

“You’ve put them in order by the strength of their resentment,” Liu Weixin determines. Relief spreads over his face as Wei Ying nods again.

Jin Rulan scowls and stares off at the trees instead of meeting Wei Ying’s gaze.

“You wanted to go night hunting,” Wei Ying says, as if this is a familiar impasse.

“This isn’t night hunting,” Jin Rulan protests, waving his arm at the line of ghosts. “There’s no hunting involved.”

Wei Ying waits.

“That one suffered lingchi” Jin Rulan huffs, gesturing at a ghoul who bears innumerable cuts on his face and hands. It’s an unusual and harsh sentence, carried out for only the highest of crimes. Lan Wangji finds looking at the marks difficult; it is too easy to remember waking to the smell of blood and rot. Jin Rulan, he notes, also averts his eyes quickly. “And that one was drowned. Happy now?”

Wei Ying just grins at him and turns to Wen Sizhui.

“These ghosts were probably suppressed when the ward was active, and the fire was built into the design.” He points to three portions of the etched diagrams. “Whoever was here, burning the buildings was always part of their plan.”

“Mn. Make a copy of the ward; it might be useful later.” Wei Ying looks back along the line of ghosts. “Shall we try Inquiry?” he asks, and wheels on his heel to face Lan Wangji.

“I cannot,” Lan Wangji admits. Even if he carried a guqin, the spiritual power required is currently beyond his grasp.

Wei Ying’s face scrunches up. “I don’t suppose you know a transposition for dixi? Or perhaps Zewu-jun has one for xiao?”

There is no such transposition. “Inquiry requires seven strings.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Well, it was worth a try. They’re not too talkative. I think some of them had their tongues cut out.” Wei Ying turns back to Jin Ling. “How do you suggest finding out more about them?”

“Evocation requires a physical medium.” Jin Ling’s nose wrinkles. “Maybe Trace?”

“Could be helpful,” Wei Ying agrees. “Do you all have paper?”

Lan Wangji watches with interest as they produce paper and grind three grades of ink, from a watery gray wash to a thick, rich black.

“One of yours?” he asks, as Wei Ying steps back to watch his disciples work. But Wei Ying shakes his head.

“He Sect. They introduced it at a discussion conference a few years ago, for determining a spirit’s location of birth and death, along with their movements in the week before they died.”

It’s clever. Without a physical medium or sufficient knowledge of the guqin, determining more of a spirit’s history could lend valuable insight to pacification efforts. A spirit’s family or the site of a disturbed grave might be found much more quickly. Lan Wangji nods approval, and Wei Ying smiles lightly.

“Come watch,” he says as Zhou Xiuying and Wen Sizhui quickly settle cross-legged beside their prepared paper and ink. Jin Ling and Liu Weixin are only a few moments behind.

It is an interesting process. The ink blooms over the pages, gradations of definition outlining mountains and forests, roads and lakes and even crisp, dark characters—town names and Sect enclaves. A trail of footprints mark the last few days of a life.

The results are mixed. Only two of the ghouls seem to have died here, a few days’ journey caught between Moling and Gusu—a man bearing a cursemark that covers his neck and torso, and a woman who shows clear signs of death by qi deviation. The lingchi victim’s map shows a death in Yueyang. The drowned ghost met his end in Caiyi. The others record deaths in Tanzhou, and Yingchuan and Qishan.

Jin Ling glares at his papers. “This can’t be right,” he says. “Maybe it didn’t work.”

“It worked,” Zhou Xiuying insists. “Trace doesn’t allow spirits to lie. It’s a physical record of the soul, not a question.”

“Perhaps someone moved them for a night hunt?” Wen Sizhui sounds doubtful, even as he voices the thought.

“Perhaps,” Wei Ying agrees, but his eyes are on Lan Wangji. It is not difficult to follow his suspicions. Liang Feihong was desperate enough to risk two souls for vengeance. Something as simple and commonplace as a planned nighthunt is unlikely to prompt such an act.

“What do we do with them now?” Liu Weixin asks.

Wei Ying’s face twists as he examines the ghouls again. “A few might be pacified by offerings, but the rest are too bound to revenge.”

“So, banishment?” Jin Rulan asks, a talisman already held between two fingers.

Wei Ying considers for a moment. His eyes slide back to Lan Wangji.

“How many spirit bags do we have?” he asks his disciples.

Zhou Xiuying, Liu Weixing and Wen Sizhui between them produce four such bags.

“Build a shrine,” Wei Ying directs his nephew, “We can’t offer burial, but we can do that much. Perhaps some only want to know they’re remembered. We’ll see how many are left afterward.”

Jin Rulan’s shoulders slump, but he does as he’s been told and soon there is a small offering of their combined supply of travel food, a selection of loquats and a few handfuls of paper money to burn.

Wei Ying steps close and stands warm at Lan Wangji’s shoulder as Wen Sizhui starts the fire.

“Does burning paper money work?” he asks, soft enough that their companions won’t hear. “Did you get any?”

“It is not a Lan custom,” Lan Wangji tells him, because it isn’t. He doesn’t elaborate. He does not know how to put into words the vagueness of his thoughts on his own death, the lack of distinct memory combined with the iron-hard certainty that he did die.

“I burned some for you.” Wei Ying is watching the flames dance in the steel bowl Liu Weixin had produced for the purpose. “I—” his mouth snaps shut with a click and he steps away, careful space reinserted between them. Lan Wangji watches as he crosses his arms over his chest, clearly discomfited.

“Thank you.” It is … gratifying, in a way, to know that Wei Ying mourned him.

Wei Ying shrugs the thanks away. “Doesn’t matter much if you didn’t get it.” He coughs. “Looks like we’ll have to take care of a few of these the hard way after all,” he says, nodding at the spirits. Only one, the weakest, has responded to the offering. Lan Wangji lets the change of subject pass without remark.

“The ones who died here might be most useful,” he says instead. “They carry some of the strongest resentment, and likely saw their murderers. Xiongzhang could ask after the focus of their vengeance.”

“And Zewu-jun is too honest to hide their answers,” Wei Ying agrees, nodding. “Will you go to Gusu then?” he asks. “Or can I tempt you to Yiling first? I’ll give you the talismans I have made, of course, but in Yiling we could try other methods, and Wen Qing might know—” he talks faster with every word, like he thinks he has to be convincing.

“Yiling is fine,” Lan Wangji assures him. The curse’s implications eat at his thoughts, and he would like to have more evidence than a selection of angry souls to present to his brother. And of course, Yiling has the benefit of Wei Ying’s presence.

“Oh.” Wei Ying smiles, something tentative in the expression. “Good then.”

“Wei-zongzhu?” Liu Weixin approaches them. “Which spirits should we keep?” he asks, twirling his pair of bags around his fingers.

Collecting four ghouls does not take long—one for each bag, Wei Ying tells his disciples, as these spirits are more likely to tear into each other than not. Then he pairs them off and frees the remaining two ghouls from Chenqing’s control, for suppression and elimination. Jin Rulan in particular takes evident satisfaction in the act; Wen Sizhui, in contrast, is the most efficient in his movements, and Zhou Xiuying’s sword work betrays her He Sect training.

“It’s a shame we couldn’t get anything else,” Wei Ying says as Liu Weixin dispatches the last spirit, a grasping ghost with needle teeth and a hollow in its belly. “Though I suppose we should count ourselves lucky there was anything left at all. If these souls were gathered for a purpose, they should have been dealt with before the fire.” He holds out the collection of spirit bags with a curious quirk of his eyebrow, and Lan Wangji carefully adds them to his qiankun pouch.

“Lianfang-zun has such a clear memory,” Wei Ying sighs, “He hardly writes anything down if it’s not official business. If this really is his doing, it’ll be difficult to prove.”

Lan Wangji nods. Even in his own memories, on occasions when he knew for fact that Jin Guangyao exaggerated a recollection, or misspoke, it had been difficult to sway others’ belief in his words. The position of Chief Cultivator would seem to convey more respect on his shoulders, not less.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” Wei Ying says as he turns back to the forest, and the dim but still-glowing transportation array. “Today, we have other worries.”

*

They arrive not in the Mass Graves, as Lan Wangji expected, but in an open, airy courtyard framed on three sides by sturdy buildings and clean-swept boardwalks. The main gate, behind, is closely carved with talismans, and he can sense at least three layers of wards extending outward from his location for several li. To the west lies a lotus pond, and beyond it what looks to be an archery field. It is not Lotus Pier, in any sense, but it is clear that Wei Ying drew from his childhood home in the design of the compound, just as the dark woods and red embellishments recall the halls of Qishan Wen. The crows in flight, carved into latticed windows and screens and embroidered onto hanging curtains, seem unique to Yiling-Wei, and match the small embroidered details at Wei Ying’s collar.

Wen Qionglin is waiting for them, unchanged from the last time Lan Wangji met him but for his clothes, which are of finer fabric and much cleaner. He smiles at Wen Sizhui, and looks curiously between Wei Ying and Lan Wangji.

“Liang Feihong, patient for Wen Qing,” Wei Ying says, twirling Chenqing as he steps out of the array that, here, is etched into the stone and anchored to both the lotus pod and an encompassing iron rim. Zhou Xiuying has hardly stepped onto the boardwalk when a young woman in Wei sect colors comes running to meet her—her wife, Lan Wangji gathers, from the tone of their reunion.

“I’ll show you around in a moment,” Wei Ying tells him, “I just need to see Jin Ling off first.”

“I’m fine,” Jin Ling protests. Lan Wangji tries to focus on other things as what is evidently a long-familiar family argument erupts: Jin Rulan is adamant that he can travel alone, by sword, and that he has enough talismans, and that yes, obviously, he has his Jiang spirit bell and his Jin-embroidered protections and yes, even that charm you gave me, Dajiu, can I go now? Lan Wangji finds the looming menace of the Mass Graves as he examines the roofline, its position indicating that the Sect grounds likely sit just outside the town of Yiling itself, a guarding presence between the common people and a problem the entire cultivation world has been unable to solve for generations.

Wei Ying extracts a promise of a message by Jin butterfly as soon as his nephew reaches Lotus Pier, and then he rejoins Lan Wangji, walking with his hands clasped behind his back and looking pleased with himself.

“I think it’s the eldest sibling thing,” he says, as he draws close. “That, or he’s absorbed all the worst parts of Jiang Cheng and his father at once and there’s no room left for Shijie’s influence. A-Yuan has never been so intractable.”

Wen Yuan is inspecting a quiver of arrows and speaking quietly with Wen Qionglin on the other side of the courtyard. Lan Wangji does not comment on habits Jin Rulan might have learned from a cultivator whose general approach to rules at his age was to rather gleefully break them.

“What do you think?” Wei Ying asks, gesturing at the courtyard, the buildings, and the lotus pond. He grins, mischievous, and waves in the general direction of the Mass Graves. “You were expecting to be back there, weren’t you. In the Demon-Summoning Cave?”

Lying is forbidden, and the thought had, indeed, crossed his mind, even though the young Wei cultivators looked far too hardy to have spent so much of their daily lives among the restless dead.

“It’s still up there,” Wei Ying assures him, as if he might be disappointed if it weren’t. “I can show you later—some of my best experiments are there, still.”

Lan Wangji has no particular interest in revisiting what Wei Ying had termed his ‘blood pool,’ or any experiments of a similar nature.

“You mentioned Wen Qing,” he says.

“How’s that talisman feeling?” Wei Ying asks. “I could show you the library first—we’ve got a library, not as good as Gusu’s of course, but I think you’d like some of the collection—and, oh! We could get you a new horse-tail whisk, if you want one? Or a training sword? Or maybe you’d like to see the sword hall … ” his grin grows wider and wider as he speaks, until his eyes are nearly squeezed shut by his own mirth. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop,” he says. “You know, it’s really amazing. Your face is so different, but the expression is exactly the same.”

Something unfurls in Lan Wangji’s center like a sun-seeking flower. That Wei Ying can recognize him without the soul bond—that Wei Ying remembers him well enough, after so long a time, to make such an observation—soothes a prickle of unease in his thoughts. Small worries he hasn’t put a name to quiet as Wei Ying escorts him through the enclave’s sun-drenched pathways, pointing out lush gardens and chattering about his disciples as if he never sat in a dark, damp cave that smelled of mold and blood and called it his home.

Never wreathed himself in resentment.

Never gave up the sword.

on to part 8

[pathogenic]

Chapter 4: The Brigand Vvulf

Movin’ Right Along

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Necromancer

Chapter 2: The Prophet

Chapter 3: The Hag

Chapter 4: The Brigand Vvulf

Chapter 5: The Brigand’s Cannon

Chapter 6: The Drowned Crew

Chapter 7: The Siren

Chapter 8: The Swine God

Chapter 9: The Formless Flesh

Chapter 10: The Ancestor

Epilogue

With our successes, the Hamlet grew. What used to be ruined buildings had since been rebuilt. With the roads cleared of danger, trade returned to the Hamlet. For the first time ever, I could recall walking the streets and hearing laughter and music outside of the tavern. I could recall seeing smiles on the faces of those that lived in my dear Hamlet. My work was bearing fruit.

We were beginning to fall into a comfortable lull. My mornings were often spent with Barristan, Reynauld, or Baldwin to further my training. Once Baldwin heard of what I was trying to accomplish, he decided to add his knowledge into the mix as well. I cannot say I was expecting it. While he is a kind man, he is often aloof and rarely spoke with anyone for long, and yet here he was, spending hours with me trading blows and discussing what it meant to be a leader. Seeing as he was once in charge a region like I am, I valued his opinion.

The midday was spent combing through reports, both from the heroes of the Hamlet as well as from my people. They often would write to me about what supplies they needed in order to thrive, and I would pull on any string I could find to make it happen. It was tiring work as often there were more failures than successes at first, but with each request, I improved until I had a reliable network of merchants and messengers at my beck and call.

This network also secured us two new faces. One was a man by the name of Tardif. Though he is a bounty hunter by trade, he heard stories of my Hamlet and the strange occurrences that surrounded it and became curious. He came and offered his services both as a survivalist and as an experienced warrior. He also intended to join in case he saw someone worth money to turn in. His resume of men he had caught and killed was too impressive to say no. He found himself a comfortable place within our scouts before the week was out.

The other was a court jester who found himself out of work. He never showed his face and insisted upon the name “Jingles”. Jingles, despite being a suspicious figure, proved himself to be an excellent entertainer. I could watch the worries of the warriors melt around him as he started to play and joke with them. I hired him after a night at the tavern since this skill was invaluable. We needed anything that could calm everyone and make them forget about the horrors they faced, if only for a little while.

Evenings were often spent in the taverns. I found myself playing games with Barristan, Boudica, and Dismas often. Reynauld would occasionally join our games and I would often find myself losing money to the lot of them. I can’t say I minded, however. I was happy for the company. The stories from their lives were certainly entertaining and they often had a knack for telling me whatever I needed to hear after a long day.

Nights were spent within the Estate with Paracelsus and Alhazred. We found that the three of us worked best in the dead of the night. It was the strangest mix of arcane and scientific studies as we tried to understand the enemies that surrounded the Hamlet. We attempted to find any weaknesses we could exploit or any explanation as to how they came to be. Often we found nothing of interest, so we put out requests for other scholars who were interested in studying all that we found as our duties meant we could not devote as much time as we would have liked to unlocking the mysteries of these corpses.

We did get a response from that call, but it was not one we expected at all. It was not a scientist or another occultist that answered, but a man wrapped in chains and bearing the most curious scars. He said he knew something about the occult as he was a victim of someone experimenting with the occult. He offered his knowledge in exchange for sanctuary. I granted him this, despite how on edge Damian acted around this man. He seemed genuinely relieved and agreed to start his work with us that evening. Turns out his claims were the truth. Someone did indeed do something so awful to him that he was capable of turning into a strange demonic beast. I try not to ask too much about it as it seems to be a subject he didn’t wish to speak on. In fact, it tended to put him on edge, and I did not want to risk angering someone like him.

It his arrival that caused me to have a tense conversation with Damian. One night, after my study group had decided we worked long enough and tried to turn it in for the night, Damian approached me and asked why I granted “that abomination” safety within the Hamlet. I had to think for a second. True, I wanted his knowledge, but I knew there was more it to it than that.

However, I felt that I was not ready to tell him of what the Hag and the Prophet told me. Part of me feared what his response would be. Would he attempt to lecture me about the Light and how I simply needed to pray in order to keep myself on the right path? Or would he grow angry and attempt to turn me in? The Church would certainly intervene if I thought something beyond me was controlling my actions, wouldn’t they?

No, I couldn’t risk that. I wasn’t about to let them undo all the work I had done so far by tearing me away from the Hamlet. If I had started something by entering this place, I doubt me leaving would changing anything, plus I did not enjoy the idea of being interrogated about the Church about the possibility of possession, especially if I didn’t know if that was truly what was happening. It could still be that I was always in control of my actions and I was twisting into something awful.

So, I lied to Damian. I said that his knowledge was too valuable. How many folks went through the same things he did? How many folks know the occult so personally? Damian didn’t seem thrilled with this answer, but he didn’t press any further. He simply said he hoped the knowledge was worth it before turning it in for the night. It was not my proudest moment, but I felt I had done the right thing at the time, despite the heavy guilt I felt.

Despite my tense relationship with the man living in my estate, it seemed the Hamlet was recovering. As we become comfortable with our successes, I forgot to look outwards. Our success was plain to see from the tall, flourishing buildings and the caravans of merchants coming to and from my Hamlet. Success that others less fortunate could see, success that they wanted a part of. In my ignorance, I had not fully utilized our numbers to establish a more effective guard and for this mistake, my Hamlet burned.

They came in the dead of the night. The rumble of thunder and pouring rain obscured them from even Dismas’ sharp eyes and ears. They broke in and all he and Baldwin could do was fall back and warn the others as they began to ransack and set flame to house and business alike. Even then, I was not awake. No, I woke up to smoke as it stung my eyes.

I feared my own estate had caught fire. Had I not put out the fireplace properly? Did the logs in my own room roll out? No, there was no glow within my room and the smoke was coming in from outside. I looked out my window and could only scream in horror as I saw my Hamlet burning. I grabbed what clothes I could and headed for the stairs to rush to the aid of my people.

When I arrived at the landing, I noticed the door was already open. Someone had let themselves in, but I did not see them anywhere in the foyer. I saw no reason to worry about this when the lives of my people were on the line. My fortunes meant nothing if the Hamlet I was trying to save burned to the ground. I was unaware of the knife aimed for my back, but I was fortunate that Damian was.

I felt a rush behind me and I heard the sound of blood hitting the ground. As I turned around, I saw my savior with his arms outstretched, his chest was red, but he did not flinch. Instead, he gave a laugh. My assailant was taken aback by this display and attempted to take a step back, intending to run into a different room, but Damian was faster as he clasped his hand onto the man’s shoulder, holding him. In his hand was his cruel flail. He said that the man must know that what he done was a terrible sin that could only be answered with blood before he lashed the man with that flail.

I do not think I need to detail the scene, but after a few more lashes, the man collapsed upon the floor. Damian then turned to me and goaded me into action. The Hamlet was still burning and there more people like this Bandit likely tormenting the inhabitants of my Hamlet. He was, of course, right, and so the two of us dashed for the door and into the Hamlet proper to aid the heroes that were rousing from their barracks and were rushing to either put out the fires or to strike down the bandits.

We found Barristan and Tardif on the way. They joined our ranks as we pressed further into the madness. We followed the sounds to where the fighting appeared to be the heaviest and found a part of the Hamlet that had been absolutely ravaged. A man with a wolf’s head over his shoulder like a cape lobbed another grenade and delighted in the carnage as a building buckled with the following explosion. Tardif paused for a moment before he announced the man’s name. He said that the man was a famous brigand known as Vvulf and that he was a wanted man that would certainly bring Tardif enough money tor retire, if he so chose.

Vvulf turned to us, a wide grin on his face. It seemed Tardif’s bold statements humored the man. He confirmed that yes, that is indeed who he was, but the bounty hunter was fooling himself if he thought he had what it took to take an experienced warrior like him down. Well, I can confirm that he certainly was that difficult to kill. For each time we tried to advance, the bastard would use his barrel of bombs to push us back. By the time any of us were close enough to hit, we were a bleeding mess from the shrapnel that flew back with each blow. I never knew even mud could cut if it moved fast enough, and from those blasts, it certainly stung.

It was one of the longest battles of my life, but eventually we managed to push in and do damage to the Brigand. In the end, he fell bleeding from his wounds. The bandits nearby watched their leader fall, and, in their panic, they fled. We did our best to capture them, but we were too injured to do much. Those that were caught were put to death without my permission, but I hardly found the energy to care much in that moment.

Instead, I found myself walking the streets of my once again ruined Hamlet. Gold storages were broken into and depleted, buildings that took months of work and resources were now rubble once more. I felt nothing but despair and rage as I fell to my knees in the Town Square and I wept, wondering if anything I did mattered.

Eventually Baldwin approached and knelt before me. He offered me a hand that I took and helped me onto my feet once again. He said that he understood my grief and my frustration, but it was unlikely that those bandits would stay away. Now that the town was vulnerable, they would likely come back and take what was left as there was little to stand in their way. I needed to focus on that. He was right, I had an enemy that I needed to vanquish.

I would see those bandits hang for what they had done.

[boxed-n-bottled-arson]

Fanfic Game

This is a game the dorks played because they were bored. 

Here is how it works: We choose a prompt and write something in five minutes, but only say what the last sentence of what we wrote was. Then, this happens. 

Dork 2: This is extremely crack. We are both terrible. 

Janus goes to therapy

Warnings: Alcohol, depression, swearing 

D1 (Dork 1):

He watched helpless as the door closed behind her. Janus was pushed to put it simply. He decided to try therapy, yet it definitely was not what he expected. Now he sat in his therapists room after he had caused her to leave. This was fantastic. Sighing, he stood up from the somewhat comfortable couch, and walked out of the therapy office. He was glad he hadn't booked those extra appointments he thought about. He opened his car door and sat in the front seat. Taking a long sigh, he slammed his head into  the steering wheel, causing a large honk. He was the only person that would end up in this situation. He had ended arguing with his therapist. "Fuck my life" he murmured to himself. It was a solid four minutes before he ended up, actually starting his car. 

D2 (Dork 2):

The car started and he moved out of the mental asylum parking lot. The streets were empty and he could only hear his car on the road. He ended up seeing a liquor store and decided to get himself some nice fresh alcohol for the ride. His car, shitty as hell takes a few minutes for the car door to finally get open. Other people from the sidelines watch him like he is crazy trying to open his car door. He goes into the store and remembers he forgot his id and decides to just steal alcohol from the store. Glass bottles break and the cashier tries to stop him. Janus runs out of the store, getting back into the car. The car door flies away and Janus drives and drives. He doesn’t care anymore, and he can’t help but love being such a daredevil. He just wishes one day miss Crofter’s would love his sexy smile.

D1:

He just wishes one day Ms.Crofters would love his sexy smile. Maybe that would keep her from leaving his therapy appointment. Besides being extremely pissed, he was also sad. Sad that he, out of all people, caused his therapist, the person that was supposed to help him, leave. Maybe this proved that all his insecurities were correct, maybe putting on a facade was the right thing to do. Maybe acting stronger would be better than acting like he actually is under that shell. He wishes he could show the world that person. The person who just wants to make the world better and brighter for him and his friends. He laughed to himself, a small, hollow, sad laugh. It was ironic that he seemed to have two faces, just like his name. Wow he was pathetic, just like he thought. No one wants to be around him, not his friends, not his therapist, not himself.

D2:

He sits on the edge of the road, questioning his humanity. Was it really the right thing to do? Getting to please everyone around him isn’t helping him. He may be tough and strong, but it isn’t enough. He just wants someone to care for him but nothing ever works. He sips the last drop of his whisky and throws it to the road watching as glass shatters everywhere in the black night. He starts to wander around more, thinking about kites and kittens until he walks back up to miss crofters office. He doesn’t know why he is here, but he is. Janus sees her face again, and miss crofters can obviously tell he isn’t doing too good. Miss crofters can’t help but give him a hug to make the pain go away.

The server Virgil needs

Warnings: swearing, mentioned death, anxiety, food

D2:

It was just for one night. Virgil was not ready to go to this party, but Logan insisted since he needed his daily dose of socialization every once in a while, or all the time. He looks at the front door, preparing himself for what to come and opens the door. Music blasts in his ears, the floor literally vibrating. Virgil does his classic “put hood over head to avoid talking to people”. Then, he decided to go into the next room he saw, where there might not be too many people. The door creaks open to even more noise than before and to shock he actually sees people he knows. Roman, the big boy is hanging from the chandelier, acting like he is flying like a crazy person. He turns over to see Remus the crackhead, trying to shoot him like he is bird. What the fuck is going on???

D1:

Virgil just wanted to go to his friend's house, not have this. Staring at his friends house, Virgil felt his breathing hitch. Why was their loud music and speakers? Why the fuck were there decorations? And why the fuck did he honestly have to be here. Virgil thought about a few way to get out of this situation. He could leave, like honestly just walk back to his house, his mom would be confused but it would be a way out. He die, just curl right there in the grass and suffocate. He could stand in the road in wait for impeanding doom. Maybe find Patton and get hugged to death. Anything but go inside. Wasn't there a neighborhood lake, he could drown in. 

D2:

Wasn’t there a neighborhood lake he could drown in? He leans back in one of the folding chairs and looks up at the stars. Why did he have to be here right now? The smell of fire from the grill fills the outside, and Virgil really wants a taste but he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone else to get it. Logan appears before him and gives him a plate of an assortment of different barbecue type foods, burgers, hot dogs, etc. Virgil, forced to take the plate from Logan decides to start taking bites off his food. 

“I can’t let you sit here and starve Virgil,” Logan says, staring to eat off his own plate as well. Virgil thanks the heavens that Logan is able to be his server tonight. 

D1:

Virgil thanks the heavens Logan was able to be his server tonight. Logan sat next Virgil on the grass. The sun was just starting to set. The Ray's washing over both of them. Virgil really wasn't interested in the food. He was just enjoying the sunset, and his friends presence. It was a weird day, not normal really at all, but hey it ended alright. That's all that mattered, right? 

S’mores prank

Warnings: food, fire, briefly mentioned bugs, swearing

D1:

The fire was getting closer. Virgil hissed at the large orange flames in the fire pit, not enjoying how warm they made him while he was already wearing a hoodie. "Virge, that's not gonna make them go away," Patton said before shoving another marshmallow in his mouth. "Patton, we conquered those marshmallows for s'mores. If you eat all of them we won't be able to make s’mores." Logan said from his seat on a log next to Roman. "Come on Lo stop being a sorry sport, we can always conquer more!" Roman said, throwing a marshmallow into the flames. The sides had decided to go camping in the mind palace, well Roman decided he wanted to go camping and dragged them along. And Virgil was hating every second of it. He had to sleep on the ground, in a clostraphoic tent, and was surrounded by bugs. This was a shit situation for the emo side, and he was gonna make it hell for Roman.

D2:

Virgil started to work on his new deviant plan, ready to get at Roman. Roman has been pranking him for all these years and this time he is going to pay for it with good old sweet karma. He goes over and starts messing with the s’mores, putting his own ‘special’ ingredients to the mix. Some nice laxatives, and oh boy was this gonna be fun watching Roman suffer. Roman is laughing as the fire grew bigger, asking for a nice treat to have with the fire. Virgil couldn’t help but smile at what was about to happen next.

D1:

Virgil couldn't help but smile at what was about to happen next. Everything was about to fall in place, a perfect picture plan, Roman would never cross Virgil like this again. "Ahh, I'm gonna turn in for the night guys." Patton exclaimed with a yawn. "Padre, you're gonna go to sleep this early? Come on you should stay," Roman said. Logan stood up, "actually Patton is right, we can continue this 'bonding exercise' tomorrow, we should all go to sleep so Thomas can be in top conditions tomorrow." Logan and Patton then started walking to their tents. "Well Emo nightmare, we should go to sleep then, God knows you won't get it though," Roman said standing. "Wait!" Virgil yelled, the other sides turning to see why he just screamed. 

D2:

He didn’t want Patton or anyone else to get hurt, only Roman because Roman is a piece of shit. 

“Don’t eat those.” Virgil tells Logan and Patton. 

Patton looks gloomy, wanting a satisfying taste of s’mores. 

Patton looks back at Virgil, upset. “Why can’t we? Roman is shoving those into his face right now.” 

Virgil knows they won’t listen if he tells them what is really going on. 

“I may have... uh...” Virgil can’t help but feel guilty, but his plan has already worked. Roman is shoving the s’mores into his face right now. 

“I put laxatives into the s’mores...” 

Guns and sushi

Warnings: Guns, food, Remus, knives, dead bodies, people tied up, blood, fist fighting, theft

D2:

Under normal circumstances, he would speak his mind, but with a gun against his head. “Buttt whyyyy???? I just want to play with some of the dead bodies out in the back!!!” Remus says with a bratty tone. He seems really upset, and Patton can’t help but feel disgusted. How the heck did he get here, with Janus and Remus?! He tries to get his way through the ropes but nothing works. This is Janus’ and Remus’ specialty. He may know Janus a little bit more now, but this is really the only way to get Remus to stop acting like a lunatic. Remus breaks open from his own handcuffs after being at gunpoint from yours truly, Janus. Janus puts the gun down and turns over to look at Patton, and Remus can’t help but giggle from the sidelines.

D1:

"What are we gonna do now?" Patton sighed. "I honestly don't have a clue." Janus looked at Remus for a second before looking back at Patton, "we could leave him here and just leave, get some food, oh maybe Chinese?" Patton thought about it for a second, "fine, but make it Sushi. It could care less for Chinese right now." Janus nodded and the two walked out the door of the grimy warehouse. Just before they both got in the car though, Patton tugged open a window. "Come one we can't leave him locked in there!" Janus sighed, "fine, but get in, I'm hungry."

D2:

Remus slips a certain something from under his shoe and in such a way Janus would never notice. It was a pocket knife. Janus and Remus walk away from the large cage, leaving Patton alone, in complete darkness and he could barely see anything. Guess they weren’t going to stay after all. Patton gets the knife in his hands tied around his back and starts cutting. They are very thick ropes, but at this point he just wants to get home and see everyone again. He manages to cut and he is released. Patton is happy that Remus left the cage door open, but what are really his intentions? Remus doesn’t do these types of favors without any motive behind it. 

D1:

 Remus invaded the kitchen like a warrior on a battlefield. He was here to make sure Patton got the noodles he wanted, and Remus might treat himself as well. The chefs and servers were all confused, telling him to leave and get out of the kitchen. Remus smiled, Patton was gonna get his noodles. It's safe to say no one left that kitchen without a bloody nose. Remus had really taken a beating to everyone there. Once everyone was out cold though, Remus snooped around the kitchen before seeing it. On top of the stove, was a large pot of noodles, exactly what Patton wanted. Grabbing the pot, and something else Remus ran back to the main restaurant, and to the side of a disappointed Remus and Patton. "So you robbed the place of there noodles and ice cream?" Janus asked. "Yup!" Remus exclaimed, licking a popsicle. 

“Do you love me?”

Warnings: sexual intentions, kissing

D1:

The footsteps were moving away. Roman let out a heavy sigh. They couldn't be caught, not now. They had been doing this for weeks but still every sound made them pause, every foot step made them step away from each other, and every word that wasn't one of there’s ruined the mood. It was upsetting but the safest thing to do, if they were caught...it would never happen again. It was a strange idea, logic and creativity being together. Wanting each other. Not feeling complete without one another. But they did. So when the lights turned off, and the others went to sleep, Roman sneaked in,to Logan's room to feel complete. To have his other half. "We can't keep doing this," Logan said. Roman sighed, it was true. It was painful every time a kiss was broken by footsteps. "Than what do we do?" He asked. "Tell them," Logan said. "Lo, we can't, they won't" Logan brought up a hand to cup Roman's cheek. 

 D2:

“Ooh? Wow Logan I didn’t know you liked this type of thing.” Roman places his hands around Logan’s waist. 

“Well, passionate kissing can burn between 2 and 26 calories a minute, and also can reduce stress. This can be extremely beneficial to both of our health.” 

Roman looks at Logan almost like his face is trying to make a sigh but he can’t. 

“Ugh please don’t start Logan.” 

To get Logan to not talk anymore, he pushes him up against the wall, Roman presses his lips against Logan’s. Logan, wanting to talk more about health benefits finally decides to give in, letting the kisses get more passionate than before. Eventually, Roman decides to slip his hand between Logan’s thighs.

D1:

"Roman we can't-" "Logan you love me." Logan looked at Roman wide eyed. Logan wasn't good with emotions, but he knew love was strong. It wasn't a word you threw around, you had to be certain. And Logan didn't know how to Express what he had with Roman. It was strong, yet fragile. It made him feel confident. And he wanted more moments with Roman. Hell, he wanted every moment to be with Roman. Log a finally broke the silence, "do you love me?" Roman paused for the smallest of seconds, "yes." Logan pushed Roman away from him "Then tell them, about us. I can't handle keeping this a secret Roman, we need to tell them." 

D2:

Roman looks down at the ground, trying to find an excuse but can’t manage to make one. 

“Why do relationships need to be so hard???” Roman more upset than ever, holds Logan close. 

“All we need to do is tell them. I mean think about it, we all know Patton and Virgil are a thing.” Logan says. 

“Wait, what?! How couldn’t you tell me this info sooner?!” 

Logan, realizing his clothes are a lot more of a mess than before. 

“Roman, do you have some missing brain cells or are you just clueless?” Roman totally offended snaps back.

“I’m not oblivious! At least I’m not the one reciting lines from the last article you read about kissing! Don’t tell me that isn’t odd!” 

Logan can’t help but feel embarrassed. 

A soulmate AU?

Warnings: Food, condoms

D1:

He couldn't believe it. Was it really him? Roman stared across the small library at the man behind the counter. He was tall, with brown hair and glasses, along with wearing a tie and dress shirt. On his neck was a simple tattoo, taking the form of a dragon sitting atop a pile of books. The same tattoo that Roman had on his left hip. He couldn't believe, Roman was staring at his soulmate. All his life he had dreamed of meeting his soulmate. Someone who was perfect for him in every way, someone to love him every second. And now he was a few isles away from them. What was he supposed to do? Run up and randomly kiss them? No that would be weird. 

D2:

Logan walked over to one of the bookshelves and grabbed a book. Roman couldn’t get the courage to do it. On his way to one of the tables to get a close look at Logan, he sees something under the table. 

“What the...” Roman mumbles. 

A lady behind him notices as well, and screeches.

“IS THAT A USED CONDOM?!” The lady runs away and Roman looks at it in horror. Logan turns over and walks over to Roman, startled when he looks under the table like everyone else in the room. People start discussing what to do with it while Roman and Logan stare intensely at the used condom. 

“Disgusting... in a public library...” Logan says. 

D1:

 "That's… gross," Roman said, before his eyes trailed back to Logan. "Um, I actually came over here to ask you something." Logan looked at Roman curious, "and what would that be?" Roman took a second to try to form a response, just screaming out 'I'm your soulmate' would probably confuse him, and he honestly wanted this first meeting to go well. "Here, showing you would be better," with that Roman took his shirt off, turning so that Logan could see his left side. Logan, who at first was very confused, stared at the large dragon tattoo on Roman's side. Roman turned back around to look at Logan. "Seems we might be soulmates."

D2:

“Roman. Let’s go somewhere together.” Logan takes Romans’ hand and leaves the library. Roman can’t help but blush when Logan holds his hand like this. Then, Logan stops suddenly. They both look up to see the most beautiful thing in the world, the greatest ice cream shop that sells beans with ice cream and other things. Logan and Roman run towards the ice cream shop, skipping along the way there. 

“Let’s get some ice cream with beans,” Logan says, “they help oxygen flow through your body.” Logan keeps pulling Roman towards the ice cream shop and they enter. 

“You look like two happy donkays if I do say so myself,” the cashier says. “What would you donkays like to get today?” 

“Oooh oooh can I get some BEANS?!” Roman yells. 

“Sure thing donkay! All the donkays get bean ice cream today!” 

The donkays scream yay at getting the taste of some nice bean ice cream.

Patton’s secret

Warnings: Alcohol, implied sexual content, swearing, Remus, first fighting, injuries

D2:

He sat him down and held him close before telling him the horrible news.

“Patton, I—“ Virgil is shushed. 

“Shh, I’m enjoying this moment between us together.” Patton holds Virgil tighter.

“I feel like there is something I don’t know about...” Virgil stops looking at Patton, extremely angstily. “Patton, please tell me what is going on, I need to know.” 

“I don’t know if I should tell you, it is really bad...” Patton whispers. 

“It’s okay, I’ll help you in any way I can.” Virgil shows a smile, and the only smile he has given all night. 

“I—“ Patton stops himself from speaking, he can’t bring himself to say it. 

“Please, I love you so much Patton and I care about you.” 

Patton sighs. “I’m pregnant.”

“W-what?! How the heck are you pregnant?” Virgil yells. 

D1:

"Wha- what how the heck are you pregnant?" Virgil yells. Patton winced at the sound, no this isn't what he wanted he really didn't want Virgil angry. "I-I'm sorry Virge, I was drunk and not thinking, please I love you I promise!" Virgil was shocked how the fuck was he suppose to deal with this?! He was very aware Patton was trans, but they weren't at a comfortable point in their relationship to do anything. They had only been together for a month or two. "Pat, I-I…" Virgil didn't know what to say. Was he ready to be a father? We Patton ready to be a father? He could feel his breathing quicken, the world seemed to blur. "Virge? Virge, breathe for me please." "Y-you cheated on me and got pregnant?!" 

D2:

“How could you just have a one night stand with some random person?! Do you even care?!” Virgil stands his ground, flaming with rage. 

“I’m done and we are OVER. There is no excuse!” Virgil leaves the room to find a way to release the steam. Why did Patton do this to him? He runs outside and sits against the wall, and he can’t help but cry.

He hears footsteps expecting Patton, but it turns out to be a familiar face. 

“Remus...” 

Virgil gets up and backs slightly away. 

“Hey there Vergy! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Must say that was quite a show in there.” Remus giggles at the drama and entertainment. 

“You have something to do with this, don’t you Remus?” Virgil says.

D1:

"You have something to do with, don't you Remus." Virgil said. Remus looked offended "Virgil, drawing random conclusions-" "BULLSHIT!" Virgil yelled. "You can fucking stop the act, you fucked Patton, without protection and this kid is yours!" Remus smirked, sickly sweet, "you say it like he didn't consent." Virgil stared at him, pissed. "You fucking knew me and Patton were in a relationship you sick fuck!" With that the first punch was thrown. Remus looked startled, holding his now very bruised jaw. "It's not all my fucking fault!" Remus said hitting back. 

The fight didn't last long, though it ended with both of them majorly bruised. Remus had left, bruised and hurt, leaving a very confused Virgil standing alone on the sidewalk.

[jooheonspinky]

The Truth Untold

Image credit: Screenshot from Fake Love (BTS-Fake Love) BTS Comeback Show 180524

Characters: Jimin x Female Reader

Genre: Angst Synopses: Hiding behind a mask (literally and figuratively), a man keeps himself away in his home in the country. He spends his days tending a garden where in which blooms beautiful flowers that attract a new neighbor. Her presence forces him to face himself. Could he change for her and be the man she insists he is or will he continue to hide behind his mask?

                                         ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Part 1

 Word count: 1.5K

Full of loneliness

     This garden bloomed

          Full of thorns

               I bind myself in this sand castle

 The days ran the same for Park Jimin, just as they had for the past 10 years. Planting his feet on the floor, he hung his head and stared at the intricate patterns on the rug through the fringe of his hair. Though morning had come and it was the start of a new day, he was already thinking of curling back into his bed to continue to sleep.

Did he really have to get out of bed? There was no one here to tell him otherwise, so did he really have to?

Sighing heavily he heaved himself up, languidly making his way to the chamber pot. His eyes briefly met his own in the mirror above the water basin and he flinched, disgusted by what he saw. Eyes downcast, he removed the pitcher from the basin and poured the water in. He splashed the tepid water over his face and neck before he brushed his teeth. He relieved himself, then shaved the scruff on his face he’d caught a glimpse of before he’d looked away from his reflection.

Once done he was ready for his morning coffee. As he padded across the cool stone flooring, his sight fell upon the black hooded cloak at the end of the hall. He shivered in repulsion knowing his mask was amongst its folds.

He despised the thing. It was a constant reminder of the black hole that had become his life simply for being who he was. How he wished he could be liberated from it, but to do so would mean certain death for him.

Perhaps that would not be such a bad outcome after all, he thought bitterly before he reached the hearth in his vast kitchen. He was quick to start a fire, hanging a pot of water over the flames. There was no one here to assist him in these everyday duties. No kitchen maid or housekeeper. He was master here as well as servant.

Unhurriedly, he scooped a few spoon full of coffee grounds into a cheese cloth he had sown around a looped wire. Twirling it tightly he then set it gently into the now bubbling water, the uncovered metal of the hoop hanging outside of the pot. While the coffee was brewing, he buttered a chunk of bread, adding cheese, and then stepped outside to check if any correspondence had arrived.

There was only one person who wrote him. Only one person who knew of his true identity. The only other person who knew of his existence was dead to him.

Finding no letters at his front stoop, he returned, setting his breakfast and coffee on his thick wooden table. He sat then and ate. The quiet of the house, his only companion, surrounded him. Him sipping at the bitter hot liquid was the only sound. When he was through with his breakfast, he washed the few dishes he’d used, tossed the coffee grounds out, then peered out of the kitchen window to the flower garden he’d worked on for nearly four years now.

It was the only thing that kept him sane, though he felt as if he didn’t deserve it. When his fingers delved into the moist dark soil he felt alive again. When he tilled and prepped the earth, it was as if he was comforted, his horrid past washed away. For him, it was as if the growth of each flower that bloomed told him that not all was lost, not all was ugly… but the moment he stepped back into the house, a shadow crept in across his heart and all was back to how it was every day for him: desolate and dark.

                                         ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

 What is your name

     Do you have a place to go

          Oh could you tell me?

               I saw you hiding in this garden

 A movement at the far edge of his garden caught his attention and he froze, his heart instantly picking up speed. Had he been found? Would he have to leave now? His chest heaved as panic began to set in. This was the longest he’d been able to stay in one place. Being this far out in the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of the town, kept him pretty much isolated. Had someone discovered the identity of the young man that lived there, whom wore a mask to greet those that dared come to his door?

He leaned closer to the window, the kitchen counter biting into his abdomen as he stretched forward for a better look. The messenger boy had already come through at daybreak. He was not due to come again for another day. Who could be out there?

And then he saw her. A young woman sitting on his stone hedge gazing appreciatively at the vast array of colorful flowers. There were roses, peonies, and smeraldos to name a few. Her eyes then followed the butterflies that fluttered around, one alighting gently on the velvety petals of an open blood red rose to drink of the nectar. Her lips parted merrily and he imagined a very delicate giggle of delight that might come from her throat as she reveled in the magnificence of his garden.

He’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Who was she? Where did she come from? Jimin did not recall having seen her before, but then again rare was the time he actually took much notice of those around him in town as he was always in a rush to get back home. 

She looked up towards the kitchen window causing Jimin to instinctively jerk back, hiding himself in the shadows of his home. He watched her head tilt curiously as she squinted. Had she seen him? He didn’t believe so. The young woman hopped off of his fence, her loose hair bouncing behind her as she jogged towards a chestnut colored mare he hadn’t noticed before. His eyes followed her as she expertly mounted the animal, then urged it leisurely away from his home.

He relaxed when she became naught but a dark speck in the distance. He would give it a few days to see if any other strangers came by. He would certainly pack some essentials and keep them nearby in case he had to leave in a rush, he was no fool, but his instincts told him he was not in danger of her knowing who he was. Yet, there was a stirring in his chest, something akin to longing, and somehow that seemed just as dangerous.

                                         ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

And I know

     All of your warmth is real

         The blue flower your hand was picking

               I want to hold it but

The young woman returned twice more. Each time she was alone, save for her gentle mare who always waited for her patiently. The woman would sit on his hedge, her eyes flitting over his aromatic florals. The tightness in her face would soon relax as she sat there for an hour. It was as if his garden provided her the same peace he felt when he tended to it.

He’d watched as she’d hopped over the barrier and into his garden and walked amongst the blooms. Her fingertips brushed against the petals and she smiled as if she shared secrets with the very flowers that she passed. Finding much interest particularly on one of the blue ones, a smeraldo, she plucked it and he wondered what it would be like to hold the same hand that held the exquisite flower.

Tearing his gaze away from the window he knew he shouldn’t want such things. Someone as beautiful as she should be free to be out amongst nature without the fear of harm befalling her because of the very man standing at her side. Someone as free spirited as she should not be locked up in a house to wilt away.

No. He would do best to shake such foolish thoughts from his mind. Lying on the settee he closed his eyes, deciding to take a nap until he was certain she was gone.

A knock echoed throughout the bottom floor just as his head hit the cushion. He jolted back up to his feet, dashing to the foyer to snatch up his cloak. He flung it on quickly, mask held in his hand as he reached the front door in a few rushed strides.

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, the raven haired young man pressed his ear to the door and held his breath.

“Hello!” A most angelic voice penetrated through the door and entered straight into his soul. What spell was this woman weaving over him? “Hello? Is the mistress or master of this home available?”

He pressed his palm against the coolness of the wood willing her to stay and speak more. He already knew her voice would haunt his dreams for many nights to come.

But she didn’t stay. At no one answering her calls, the young woman returned back around the home, mounted her horse and left, blue flower clutched in her hand.

                                         ༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Thank you for reading. This has been a long time coming. This is one of my favorite songs and I immediately came up with this story when I first heard it. Unfortunately it took me almost two years to write this because I kept getting writers block. I’m so happy to have finally finished it after all this time. Let me know what you think.

1 | 2 

[helaintoloki]

Season of the Witch | Michael Langdon

chapter three: The Witch is Back

masterlist

pairing: Michael Langdon x witch!reader

warnings: language, angst, violence, graphic descriptions, adult content, deception, toxic relationships, abuse, death, witchcraft, satanism and all that other good ahs stuff

notes: lowkey got emotional writing this bc i wish cordelia was my mom and i’m stupid. and small shout out to @gx-nji & @ateliefloresdaprimavera for all of their love and support for this fic! <3

summary: what exactly is hell? and who are these strange women? and why is y/n not dead?

Hell was an odd place for y/n. Perhaps her father-in-law had taken mercy upon her poor soul as she couldn’t find one single thing wrong with it. No blistering winds and scorching fires, no little red man with horns, no screams of agony, and no suffering.

She wasn’t sure where she was. The only surroundings around her were pure white, so pure it made her eyes ache if she looked upon it for too long. But it was quiet, the air was cool, the only piece of furniture to be found was a comfy bed, and she felt at peace. Perhaps she wasn’t in hell at all... But if that was the case, then where the hell was she?

“Michael?” Y/N called out, her voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back to her. “Michael!”

“Y/N!”

“Michael?!”

“Help us!”

“Hello?! Who’s there?” Y/N called back, fear bubbling up within her stomach. She felt nauseous, the panic clawing its way through her heart as her fingers began to tingle and twitch in fear.

“Y/N!” The voice called, clearer now, ear shattering and in despair.

“W-Who are you?!” She cried. “Show yourself!”

“Save us! Save us, please,” the voices wailed.

“What do you want from me?!” She demanded, and she began to cry.

The walls drip red, hands smeared across the once clean white as multiple screams echo throughout the empty room and a chorus of bangs pound against the walls. They come in various directions, various voices, various suffering. The walls are closing in now, and she can’t breathe.

“Stop it!” She screeches, hands slamming over her ears and eyes closing shut. The screams grow louder, the pounding of the walls crescendoing until it‘s too much. Her heart was aching, lungs ready to explode. This was her hell. This was how she’d spend eternity.

When it seemed it couldn’t get any louder, the screams stopped, and the only sounds to fill the room were her quiet sobs.

“Please,” she whimpered, figure cowering against the red walls as she sunk to the ground and huddled against one of the corners.

“Y/N,” a voice, gentle and soothing, whispered. She could feel the cool air of someone’s breath against her ear, causing her to gasp. “Y/N. It’s time to wake up.”

And everything went dark.

~~~

Cordelia watched with tears in her eyes as her daughter rose from the dead with a gasp and a chorus of violent coughs. Beside y/n awoke her fellow sisters, and Cordelia couldn’t help but feel the love for her coven and hope for a second chance at salvation swell in her heart.

“Surprise bitch,” Madison smirked as she kneeled before Mallory. “I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me.”

“My dearest y/n,” Cordelia quivered, a gentle hand resting on her cheek as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the young girl’s forehead. “It’s been so long. I thought he’d taken you away from me forever.”

“W-Who are you?” Y/N whimpered, flinching away from her touch as she glanced around frantically at the new faces before her. “Where’s Michael?”

“We couldn’t find your batshit crazy boyfriend,” Madison quipped. “You really need to learn to be picky about who you give your pussy to.”

“Michael isn’t my boyfriend, he’s my husband,” y/n corrected with a frown, and Cordelia felt sick to her stomach.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Myrtle cooed. “He really did do a number on you.”

“What are you talking about?!” Y/N insisted, rising from her spot on the ground and immediately growing nauseated. Cordelia held out her arms to hold the poor girl but y/n refused. She felt sick to her stomach, her head was spinning and her mind couldn’t wrap around anything that was presented to her.

“Being revived from the dead surely takes a toll on the mind and spirt, doesn’t it? I think the perfect antidote to stoke the blood and speed up the recovery process would be a spicy gazpacho andaluz,” Myrtle smiled.

“You think the kitchen here has a spice rack?” Madison retorted, and Cordelia shook her head.

“We put your sisters, Coco and Mallory, under an identity spell to keep them safe. But you... my sweet daughter,” Cordelia smiled sadly, reaching out and gently moving a stray strand of hair out of her face, “Michael took you away before I could protect you. I failed you, but I won’t let it happen again.”

“Sisters? N-No, I... I was an orphan. I am an orphan. I only ever had Michael.”

“Can somebody please just tell me what’s going on?!” Mallory questioned with frustration in her tone.

“You all are sisters, all part of the coven, all witches,” Myrtle stated.

“Witches?!” Y/N cried. “I-I don’t have any...”

And then it hit her. The dreams, the blurry memories, the incident with Mallory. They were all connected, they had to be. And when y/n looked at the woman in front of her again, gazed upon her face and took in her features, she realized.

“You’re the woman from my dreams,” y/n whispered, hesitantly reaching to touch the woman’s face in front of her in fear that she’d disappear just like the dreams. But when y/n rested her hands on her cheeks, tears immediately began to fall. “Cordelia.”

“I never stopped looking for you,” the woman whispered, her own tears shedding. “Never stopped thinking of you. You were my whole world, my sweet little witch.”

“I... I see your face every night,” y/n sniffled, a sad smile on her face. “I always felt like a part of me was missing and now I... I’ve found it.”

“Okay, this is sweet and all,” Madison interrupted, “but we have serious issues to discuss. Like how to defeat Michael, for instance.”

“Defeat him? I don’t want to defeat him,” Mallory stuttered.

“Leave me out of it,” Dinah butted, chiming in for the first time since being raised from the dead. “I haven’t promised anything, I haven’t signed any contracts, no disclaimers, nothing. I don’t owe you anything and I’m not here to defeat anyone.”

“Yeah right, as if you could ever defeat anyone with your backwards voodoo shit,” Madison scoffed.

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” A voice boomed, and all women turned to see Michael at the top of the stairs smiling smugly, accompanied by his right hand Miss Mead. His arrogant demeanor faltered slightly when he saw his bride standing beside the woman he loathed the most.

“Y/N,” Michael cooed gently. “My beloved, step away from that woman right now.”

“N-No,” y/n protested, nervously clinging to Cordelia’s arm for support.

“No?” Michael repeated, his patience already growing thin. He scoffed. “Little lamb, you know not to disobey me. Now come here right now.”

“Fuck you,” y/n spat, and it felt good. No longer did he have total control over her mind, body, and soul, no longer could he manipulate and degrade her, punish and use her. She didn’t feel like kissing the ground he walked anymore, didn’t feel like pleasing him, and she didn’t feel like submitting to him anymore. His spell had been broken. Michael Langdon no longer had control over y/n. “I’m staying right here with my sisters, the ones you took away from me.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, dearest y/n,” Michael spat, venom in his voice as he uttered her name, “but you don’t have a choice. Have you seen the state of the world? I’m the only one who can provide for you.”

“The state of the world is almost as bad as your dinner jacket,” Myrtle retaliated, “but at least the world can be saved.”

“By you?” Michael teased.

“By all of us,” Cordelia declared, hand reaching for y/n’s in solidarity.

“Hey, get the wax out of your ears, I’m here to watch,” Dinah reminded.

“Well I’m not,” Coco huffed, marching towards Michael but faltering slightly under his menacing gaze. “Just don’t let me die again okay? The first time really sucked.”

And y/n, still trying to keep up with her new surroundings and new findings, held her head high despite how hot Michael’s burning gaze felt against her skin. He’d taken everything away from her, hidden her true self and turned her into his little pet, taken advantage of everything she was.

Not anymore.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

tag list: @ticklish-leafy-plant @gx-nji @anacerta @bluebirdbts @heda-mikaelson @redlovett @fuck-yeah-bruno-buccerati @ateliefloresdaprimavera @quechulitaaa @theeonlyroman

[gluupor]

Okay, first off I have to say that you are one of my favorite fic authors EVER, and most definitely my absolute FAVORITE andreil/aftg author. Your writing and characterization is absolutely AMAZING!!! I also have what I think might be an amazing fic idea for you: an andriel Ladyhawke!au, starring former captain of the guard Andrew who is a wolf by night, and Young Lord Neil who is a hawk or fox by day. And they were cursed by Riko

I haven’t ever actually seen this movie but I have read a stucky ladyhawke au and I skimmed the imdb page, so I’m basically an expert.

Kevin waited until he couldn’t hear any movement in the trees before he stopped pretending to sleep. He had to sneak away while the blond brute—Andrew, he’d finally admitted he was called—wasn’t watching him. He was mildly grateful that Andrew had seen fit to break him out of jail, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the short yet intimidatingly muscular mercenary wanted with him.

He quickly surveyed the makeshift campsite for the awful raven that Andrew seemed to keep as a pet—a huge bird, as big as a cat, with a vicious-looking beak and unsettlingly intelligent eyes—but the bird had flown off into the surrounding forest at the same time that Andrew had left to patrol at sundown. Not that Kevin could see if the raven had returned in the dark; it could be watching him from the darkness for all he knew. It had spent most of the day perched on the pommel of Andrew’s saddle, sleeping with its head under its wing; it was probably wide awake and hunting.

Kevin had spent the first part of his day trapped in jail and awaiting the public flogging he’d been sentenced to—a sentence he’d received for little more than being a known associate of Prince Riko. He’d had no idea how much animosity the peasant folk in the outlying areas had toward the royal family. Kevin had come to the town looking for refuge, cradling his shattered hand (a parting gift from the livid prince) against his chest, on his way to Palmetto. He’d only found anger and hostility.

The second part of his day had begun with Andrew showing up outside of his jail cell, keys in hand and no sign of the jailer with him. He was dressed all in black and had a massive raven perched on his shoulder. His face was impassive but he held the bearing of a trained guard and Kevin had thought for a wild moment that Riko had sent someone to rescue him. His theory was quickly disabused as Andrew bound him with rope, dragged him out of the jail, and lashed him to a horse, before mounting his own horse and hurrying them out of town. For the rest of the day, Andrew only said three sentences to him.

The first time Kevin managed to get a reaction out of him was when the raven briefly woke and idly circled Kevin a couple times before landing on his shoulder. Kevin tried to shy away from its talons.

“Sit still,” Andrew commanded.

Kevin swallowed nervously and obeyed. The raven peered at him curiously but made no move to peck out his eyes. “You stole this bird,” declared Kevin. All trained ravens belonged to the crown. Andrew didn’t reply. “Otherwise, how is it so well behaved?” pressed Kevin.

At that, Andrew snorted derisively but he still didn’t answer.

“You’re taking a stupid risk,” Kevin warned. “You’ll be flogged for stealing from the crown. The raven must be theirs.”

“No,” said Andrew quietly, “he isn’t. They only think he is.”

At that the raven quorked and took to the air. He circled above them for several minutes before coming to a rest in front of Andrew again. Andrew stroked its feathers almost reverently.

The only other thing that Kevin heard from him was when they stopped in a clearing for the night. Then he finally learned Andrew’s name and Andrew told him to get some sleep and stay in the campsite.

He didn’t know why Andrew took him or what he was planning on doing with him, but he wasn’t sticking around to find out.

He tiptoed out of camp, making it about three steps into the surrounding trees when he was halted in place by a low, menacing growl. All the hair on his body stood up straight and he narrowly avoided soiling himself as a large, blonde wolf stepped from the shadows into the light from the camp’s crackling campfire. Kevin’s blood ran cold and he took a cautious step back, wondering how long he had before the beast was on him. It was large for a wolf, its hulking shape standing higher than his hip and made of corded muscle.

“I’m pretty sure Andrew warned you to stay here,” said a low, amused voice from behind him.

Kevin whirled, keeping the wolf in his sights, to find a man he’d never seen before had appeared from nowhere and was now sitting on a log next to the fire, poking at it with a stick.

“Wha—Who—How—” he couldn’t gather his wits enough to form a full sentence.

“If you’re not going to sleep, then come sit,” offered the strange man. When Kevin didn’t move at first, he spoke again, more sharply, “Sit, Kevin.”

Kevin dumbly stumbled forward and sunk onto the ground beside the man. The wolf loped after him, brushing by Kevin’s side and making him shiver. The wolf lay at the man’s feet, nudging at the man’s hands.

“Yes, you’re very fearsome,” said the man as he scratched behind the wolf’s ears.

“Who are you?” Kevin managed to stutter.

“I’m Neil,” said the man, his attention still on the wolf, “Andrew’s travelling companion.”

“I didn’t see you before,” protested Kevin, watching with wide eyes as the wolf settled with a huff, eyes falling closed in pleasure at Neil’s ministrations.

“I’m good at camouflaging myself,” said Neil, sounding amused again. “I saw you, though.”

“That’s less comforting than you think.”

“Maybe I wasn’t trying to be comforting.”

Kevin grimaced. “Is that wolf yours?” he asked, still watching it warily.

“He’s his own,” said Neil.

“But he obeys you?”

“Only if I ask nicely,” answered Neil enigmatically. “He won’t let any harm come to me—or you, as long as you cooperate.”

“Cooperate with what?” demanded Kevin, more than ready for some answers.

“You are Lord Kevin Day, formerly the head of Prince Riko’s personal guard, are you not?” asked Neil.

Kevin didn’t reply; his former title hadn’t granted him any favours recently.

Neil didn’t seem to need his confirmation. “You know the layout of Castle Evermore like the back of your hand. You know the way in, guard shifts, secret passages…”

“So what?” asked Kevin suspiciously, already seeing where this was going. Riko might have turned on him but he wasn’t about to betray the rest of the royal family.

“So we need to get in.”

“Why?”

Neil only smiled at him, a sharp, cruel smile that sparked recognition in Kevin’s hindbrain. He’d seen that exact smile before, on an older face that had always terrified him.

“Butcher,” he breathed out.

The wolf was on its feet immediately with a warning growl. Neil tensed before forcibly relaxing. “No,” he said, putting a calming hand on the wolf’s flank.

“But you are, aren’t you?” insisted Kevin. “The son of Lord Nathan Wesninski, the King’s Butcher?”

Neil paused, watching his fingers twine in the wolf’s coat. “I was,” he admitted reluctantly.

“But everyone knows you’re dead!” exclaimed Kevin.

Neil punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow,” muttered Kevin, rubbing it sullenly.

“Does it feel like I’m dead?” asked Neil. “No, I’m very much alive, but go ahead and tell me what ‘everybody knows’.”

“You were betrothed to Prince Riko,” started Kevin when it became clear that Neil was serious in his request, “but one of your guards fell in love with you. When you made it clear that you loved only Riko, he…didn’t take no for an answer.” The wolf, who had settled down after his aggression, started growling again. Neil shushed it and stroked its head. “He, uh,” Kevin cleared his throat awkwardly, “he killed you and then himself so that Riko could never have you.”

“And this is what everyone knows?” said Neil dryly. “Riko has more imagination than I suspected. It is true that my guard fell in love with me—but I fell in love with him right back.” The wolf hmphed contentedly and laid its giant head across Neil’s lap. “And I never felt anything but contempt for Riko; who could?”

Kevin felt almost compelled to argue, before he stretched out his wounded hand and kept silent. “So you ran away? You and your guard? Where is he?”

Neil gave him a look that made him feel two inches tall. “You remember Andrew, right? Blond guy, broke you out of jail today?”

“Oh,” said Kevin stupidly. He couldn’t imagine Andrew as the dashing hero that had caused Nathan Wesninski’s only son to run away in a fit of love.

Neil rolled his eyes. “And we didn’t quite get away unscathed. Riko had his revenge.”

“He does that,” said Kevin in a strangled voice.

“What do you know about curses?” asked Neil.

Kevin started at the seeming non-sequitur. “Not much.”

“Did you know that the easiest way to break a curse is to kill the caster?”

“I—” Kevin cut himself off, realization hitting him. “That’s why you want to break into Castle Evermore. That’s why you need me; I know how to get to Riko’s chambers. He put you under some kind of curse? Is that why I couldn’t see you before?”

“Yes.”

“I won’t do it,” declared Kevin. “I won’t go back there, ever. For any reason.”

Neil hummed thoughtfully. “Where were you going?” he asked.

“What?”

“When you were sneaking out of camp, where were you going? Or were you just going to wander aimlessly?”

“I…I was going to Palmetto,” admitted Kevin. “Lord Wymack will give me sanctuary.”

“Alright then,” said Neil, leaning forward. His eyes glittered in the light from the fire. “We have a deal for you. Get us into Castle Evermore and we’ll protect you. No one will hurt you ever again. And once we’re finished, we’ll deliver you safely to Palmetto.”

“…What if I say no?” asked Kevin.

The wolf lifted its head and gave Kevin what appeared to be a grin, showing all its pointy teeth.

“Wouldn’t you rather be on our side?” asked Neil lightly.

“Are you sure Andrew will agree? Where is he, anyway?”

Neil grinned and looked down at the wolf. “He’s around. He’s protecting the camp. And he’ll protect you, if you agree to our deal.”

“And the wolf? He won’t hurt me?”

“You’re safe from the wolf and the raven as well.” There was something in his voice that Kevin couldn’t identify. “As long as you help us.”

“Help you kill the prince,” Kevin pointed out.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

He would have, up until very recently. But Riko had become increasingly erratic ever since his betrothed had been killed (or run away, apparently) and was becoming a danger to all around him. Kevin’s own injury had occurred as he’d tried to curb the prince from murdering innocents. In his heart of hearts, Kevin knew he had to be stopped. He shook his head once. “I’ll help you,” he whispered.

“Good,” said Neil, looking pleased. “You should get some rest; I’ll keep watch.” His words seemed to be more aimed at the wolf than at Kevin, but that was absurd. Kevin was probably just imagining things after his hectic day.

“Okay,” he said, standing and brushing himself off. “Goodnight,” he said around a yawn.

“Sleep,” said Neil. “We have a long road ahead of us.”

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. I got these a while back and just had to write them at some point. James getting trapped in a cave with RC? Um, yes please. Here’s what I came up with! Enjoy, my lovelies! ;-)

Words: 2524 Warnings: smut

Hatred was a strong word. You hated hypocrisy and ignorance, intolerance too. But you probably hated nothing and no one more than James Conrad. You didn’t quite know what it was about him that you despised so much. Was it how honourable, righteous and brave he was, the fact he was just a little too perfect? Honestly—a former soldier, a handsome British decommissioned Captain… every woman would be envied if she shared a bed with him at night. But not you! Oh no… not you. You hated this man with a passion, if anything because you knew a man like him—so hunky and decent—would never date someone like you.

You had a past. A criminal past… multiple thefts had turned into assaults, illegal trading of stolen artefacts had resolved in getting involved with the Russian Mafia. The government had decided to give you another chance, in other words, send you on a pointless mission with James Conrad and a few other hopeless souls to do research for a couple of mad scientists instead of throwing you in prison. You were hardly a trustworthy and innocent young woman—something James made sure to remind you of whenever you spoke up and suggested different strategies.

Shock waves of pure electricity rippled through you whenever he impaled you with his stern blue gaze, an effect you hated he had on you. You knew you had screwed up, you knew you had done bad things. You knew you regularly imagined him bending you over his lap and spanking your backside until it was bright red whenever he looked at you like that… almost as if he was trying to read your thoughts. You sincerely hoped he couldn’t.

“If we hurry up, we can reach the top of the mountain by sunset,” he just explained, drawing a map into the sand with a dry branch. “We climb the front and set up camp near the forest. Someone will guard the fire, we don’t know what wild animals lurk in the shadows.”

You frowned at the dirt to your feet, a disgusted expression on your face. “How are we supposed to climb? Did you happen to have brought professional gear with you? All we have is a bit of rope.”

“One could have thought breaking into museums to steal paintings and jewellery gave you a bit of experience in that area.” James shot back, staring daggers at you. Swallowing thickly, you turned away again. Arsehole.

“Then let’s go. I’m hungry.” His name was Slivko. A very young man and a soldier—way too immature and childish for you but at least, he did not treat you like vermin.

James nodded, ignoring his unnecessary comment. Much more important than food was to reach the summit without falling to your deaths—and doing so before the sun would set. Standing up, he brushed the sand off his knees and shouldered his gun. You all followed suit, hoping for the best.

It took you a rough twenty minutes to reach said mountain. Twenty, silent minutes you spent attempting to kill James with but a single glare… if he noticed, he did not show.

“I say we split up. Slivko, take some of this rope and make sure you don’t slip.” James turned to you. “You stay with me.”

You smiled bitterly. “Aw… and there I was already building a raft to escape.”

Yet, he replied nothing when he approached you and tied the rope around your hips. You shivered involuntarily when his fingers brushed against your body ever so slightly. The other end, he tied around his own hips so you could both fall to your deaths. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

“Let’s go.”

Slivko and his team went first, spreading out across the vertical surface of the rocky mountain. There were a few roots and thinner tree stubs to hold onto but mostly, it was solid stone you were dealing with. You could already feel the blisters and bruises you would be treating tonight.

James was right. You did have experience with climbing. You had once climbed the Louvre and avoided the security guards, not harming a fly. Still, there was a massive difference between a modern building and a crumbling mountain.

Reluctantly, you began to heave yourself up next to James, watching his every move before making your own. Any step could be your last the higher you climbed—especially on a deserted island. You couldn’t exactly say you were afraid of heights but when you looked down to where you had started, you felt a little sick. Usually, you climbed with professional gear. Security measures that would prevent you from dying in case you slipped and fell. Now, there was nothing.

The rocks were getting wobblier with every single metre. Little bits and pieces rained down on you both, coming from where Slivko and the other soldiers were climbing. A crunchy sound echoed through the air, earning him a strict “Watch it!” from James. Perhaps it was too late for that—for when you looked up with a shocked expression, the heavy rock, about twice as big as you, was already shaking. You all halted, holding your breaths. Then, the rock fell, causing an ear-piercing rock fall.

“Hold on tight!” You heard James screaming. Hold on tight? How? Your right hand slipped, leaving you holding on to the stone wall with your left hand only as one of the rocks as big as your head dashed past you. You were about to steady yourself when it was James who let go. No… he didn’t let go. The rocks he had been holding on to crumbled from the impact, ripping him into the depth beneath you. The rope between you stretched, the force of his body weight pulling you down with him and you were falling.

Panicking, you closed your eyes. This was not how you had wanted to die. Would you feel the collision with the ground? You might not be a decent person but you still had things to live for! You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want to… all of a sudden, all air was knocked from your lungs, causing you to gasp loudly. The rope cut into your skin, burning horribly. When you finally dared to open your eyes again, you were dangling from a cliff. Conrad was above you, his face distorted from exhaustion. He must have landed on the ledge!

“Climb the rope, (Y/N)!” He bellowed, his voice dripping with pain. He did not need to tell you twice. Quickly, you pulled yourself up until James could wrap his arms around your shoulders. Your whole body was shaking when you curled up on the dirty ground, adrenaline still cursing through your veins. Never before had you faced the Grim Reaper eye to eye.

“The… others?” You managed to choke out. James was still panting. He peeked over the edge, his expression darkening. He didn’t need to tell you what he saw. There must have been corpses at the bottom of the mountain.

“I can’t see them all. They might have survived.”

“So contact them.” You insisted, looking around yourself. The ledge you were sitting on formed the entrance to a dark cave. It appeared uninhabited and might just pose as a shelter for the night.

But James was already fondling his radio. “My bloody radio is broken, (Y/N).”

“So what the hell do we do? We need to get out of here.”

James turned, his blue gaze deadly as it bore into yours. Enraged, he pointed at the sun. “Do you see this? It will be dark any moment now. Attempting to climb now would be suicide. We try again tomorrow and see if we can find the other survivors.” He paused, waiting for you to react. When you only nodded, he went on. “Stay here. I will explore the cave, see if it’s safe.”

“Absolutely not. If you get shredded to pieces by a wolf or a bear, I’ll be on my own! And I really don’t want to eat your body parts to survive.”

Conrad only shook his head, clearly repulsed by the idea. “Stay where you are, (Y/N).”

Surprising yourself though, you actually stayed put, waiting for him to return and spending the time checking your body for any injuries. There was a huge, wet blood stain on your stomach. When you lifted your shirt you found a cut right above your navel. Nothing too deep, you figured. It stung a little but with the disinfection spray in your backpack and a band aid you should be fine.

James returned to you just when the sun began to set. “It seems fine to me. There are no traces of animals living in here.” He paused. “You’re bleeding.” And for the first time since you had first met, he did not sound condescending. James seemed to be downright concerned for you, if anything because you were still trembling. In the end, you were a woman alone in the wilderness and even though you were hardly helpless, in this very moment you needed him.

“It’s nothing. I’ll patch myself up.”

“I can help you. Go inside and lie down.” You swallowed. There was no point in refusing now, was there? So you obliged, taking off your shirt to let it dry, leaving you in your sports bra only. Behind you, James hissed.

“Here. Take my jacket and lie down. And give me your backpack.”

Sighing, you did as you were told, watching him intensely as he tended to your wound to ignore the pain. But once he was done, you were shaking even more. For a brief moment you wished his fingers would linger on your naked skin just for a bit longer.

“Sleep a little. I’m gonna try and repair the radio.” James’ hand brushed against your arm so gently and reassuringly he left you behind completely astounded. Wow. Just for a second you could, almost, believe that you didn’t quite hate him after all—and that he didn’t hate you either. Only then was it he seemed to realise his “mistake”. He withdrew as if he had burned himself, hurrying away.

You awoke around an hour later, ripped from sleep cruelly by an animalistic moan. Your eyes narrowed. Thinking at first the cave might be inhabited by animals after all, you flinched and listened again closely. Oh no, it was speaking. Cursing, to be precise. You rolled your eyes as you got up to join James only a few metres away from where you had rested, stepping closer quietly. Apparently, he was still trying to repair that radio. But…

“Fuck… ah…” He was panting. Holding your breath, you inched even closer to him, watching the muscles on his back flex with every movement. It was only then you realised what he was doing. This man had the audacity to masturbate in this godforsaken situation! Your jaw dropped. You could not see him but it was obvious enough now what was happening.

Your curiosity you could understand, not however, that you desperately wished to join him. You hated James for your very own reasons but that did not mean you had to find him repulsive, right? Quite on the contrary… he was incredibly hot. What would he look like, you wondered? How… long and thick would he be and Gods, what would it look like when he spurted his cum into his own fist?

“Fuck…” You heard him again. You bit your lower lip. “(Y/N)…” Yes… wait, what?! Had he just said your name?! Was he masturbating… to you? Your eyes widened when you remembered his flustered reaction when you took off your shirt to let the blood dry, wearing no more than your sports bra and now his jacket too to keep warm.

You couldn’t watch him finish… not without your help. A malicious smirk spread on your lips when you approached him, placing one of your hands on his back while the other sneaked around his waist to grab his hard cock, simply pushing his own hand away.

James tensed. You could tell he was glaring down at your fist grasping his aroused rut, feeling his thick shaft pulsing beneath your touch. Suppressing a moan, you said nothing as you began to jerk him off, finding just the right pace to drive him crazy soon enough.

“You’re awake…” He choked out, his chest heaving.

“You called me. You could have just asked, you know.” You teased him, grinning mischievously behind his back. You could practically feel him rolling his eyes only to moan the fraction of a second later, causing you to giggle at him.

Losing all of his self-control, his composure fell off of him like a heavy coat as he began to groan wildly and thrust into your fist for more friction. And oh sweet Gods, witnessing and feeling him cum felt even more enticing than you could have possibly imagined. James’ cock twitched in your hand, shooting his seed all over your fingers and onto the rock wall in front of you both. The urge to draw away and lick your digits clean was strong, yet you helped him ride out his orgasm, listening to his animalistic growls until he had calmed enough to turn around slowly, his member beginning to soften again.

For usually, his blue gaze was judging and condescending, it was now lustful and demanding. Like a predator, James towered above you, ready to devour you like prey. You knew there was a difference between love and lust and you certainly didn’t expect anything to change between you now… well, nothing but hot and dirty sex, maybe—the true definition of a quick and good hate fuck.

You were already half naked and you were more than ready to rip those trousers off your body and have him take you so thoroughly you would be unable to walk tomorrow.

“We both know this is a bad idea.” He purred darkly then, inching so close you could feel his warm breath on your lips. He was right, of course. You were not on the pill and first aid kits usually didn’t come with a stash of condoms.

“You could just… return the favour, you know.” Your voice was shaking. For Fuck’s sake, why was your voice shaking? Your arousal was pooling between your legs, robbing you of your senses. James was about to reply, a cheeky smile forming on his lips when suddenly, the radio began to rustle.

“Captain Conrad, Captain Conrad, please respond, Captain Conrad!”

Just like that, the heated moment was gone. Pulling his trousers back up again, James’ eyes widened as he hurried over to the little device and yelled clear and stern orders into it—you would meet the rest of the team, what was left of it, tomorrow, near the summit of the mountain, to finish this suicidal expedition and finally go home. Yet when his blue eyes locked with yours again, there was a carnal longing and desire sparkling in them; a silent promise that he was not quite done with you yet.

A/N: Part II coming soon! ;-)

If you enjoyed this story, I’d be flattered if you supported me on KoFi! kofi.com/sserpente (or hit the “Support me” button on my blog) ♥

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

Gift Giving

A/N: This is the final part of the Learn To Be Prequel! It is from Jester’s perspective and is the end to her first attempt at rebellion. Poor Jester. 

Summery: The day after the attack of the section fifteen girls dormitory Jester goes to the breakfast table to give Jackson his card.

Word Count: 2383

TW: mentioned death, mentioned child abuse, mentioned violence

Jester was exhausted the next morning after the death in the dorm incident. Those who made it out of the dorm unharmed were led to sit in the commons and wait. It was early morning, about two hours before breakfast when they were allowed back into the dorm. Jester hadn’t slept at all in the commons, too many thoughts running through her mind. Why had those older students broke in and yelled at June? Why had it escalated? What would happen now?

All those questions wouldn’t leave Jester alone, and going back to the dormitory didn’t help the matter. There were new cracks in the wall. Half of the light bulbs were missing, stray pieces of broken glass were still stuck in the floor, and blood stained the blue carpet. Some of the younger students complained to the teacher leading them, Jester didn’t know the woman's name but her thick waist braided hair was hard to miss along with how tall she was. The teacher just told them to take it up with the principle and walked out. It was silent in the dorm, and slowly, starting with the older girls, they all began to leave towards their rooms. Jester went back to her room quickly realizing that this wasn’t the first serious fight to go down in the dorms, and she doubted it would be the last in her years there.

Jester ignored how empty her room felt and put on her makeup. The dark circles under her eyes were getting worse and required multiple layers of foundation. She had planned on looking extra nice today but instead of her usual purple and green look she put on a black dress. Whatever happened to June wouldn’t be good. Maybe June might not be the one who died but she was the one attacked and punished. For all Jester knew June was dead by now. Her eyes ached but she never let them stay closed long. It took an entire hour to put on all of her make up and get dressed. That left her an hour alone. She went through her bag and found some notebook paper. It was a good of time as any to prepare the beginning of a letter to Father explaining the events that had transpired. She’d still need to add a list of powers later, death wasn’t an excuse to not work.

Trying to make sure that everything about the letter was perfect in its wording, diction, grammar, and spelling took the last hour she had. It was mentally taxing writing to Father, and perhaps wasn’t the best thing to do early in the morning after getting no sleep. It was more straining than usual to keep a straight posture. Nevertheless she grabbed the card for Jackson and headed out to the breakfast hall. She could grab her bag afterwards before English. The walk to the main hall wasn’t as loud as it normally was. There was an invisible line between the section fifteen hall and the others now, and no one wanted to be seen on the fifteen side. The other girls leaving the fifteen side kept their heads down and sped walk, but Jester stayed in the middle, not particularly caring if people noticed her, it was good if they did. Her face should be known around the school. However once she crossed the line it was definitely more crowded in the hall but just as quiet. People weren’t playing around with their friends, but huddled around whispering. News traveled fast, and with many of the students having broken in escaping the section fifteen dormitory first, they probably spread their version of the events to the other sections. People stared, but it wasn’t with interest, it was with fear. The eyes were making her skin burn, but she wouldn’t hide.

Once she was finally in the large hall it was still quieter than normal, instead of making her ears feel like bleeding she could only imagine the hearing damage being caused. Jester made her way to Jesse’s table only to be met with an unhappy sight. Milly was crying into Jackson’s shoulder, who was rubbing her back. As Jester approached the table all of the boy's eyes turned to her. They didn’t say anything when she sat down, she didn’t say anything out loud but motioned her head towards Milly.

“The girl your roommate killed last night was her friend,” Jesse snapped, his glare felt like a slap to the face. Jester’s grip on Jackson’s card tightened. Ren scooted away from Jesse a bit, only to scoot back realizing it made him closer to Jester. Apparently Jester was scarier than an angry Jesse.

“Last night was hard indeed,” Jester provided, trying to keep things neutral. There was no reason to start an argument. Jesse breathed out quick and fast as if he were a fire breathing dragon.

“That’s all you have to say? Your friend killed someone last night! The least you could do is apologize,” Jesse ranted and Jester struggled to keep her face blank. There was nothing for her to apologize for, they weren’t there, they didn’t know. Even Jester didn’t know the full story, but she saw a lot of it first hand.

“I’m sorry Milly lost a friend,” Jester couldn’t make her voice sound soft, but at least she didn’t seem too angry. However, Jackson frowned at her for it.

“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” Jackson practically spat at her and pulled his sister closer. Jester felt her heart clench and her face fell for a moment, but only a moment.

“I did mean it, I’m sorry,” Jester tried again. She did feel bad for Milly, but it was hard for her to sound sympathetic while being attacked.

“Stop lying,” Jesse spat and Jester let her confusion show on her face. “People have been talking about it, you know, they say a purple haired girl was behind the murderer,” Jesse went on his face twisting into a grimace. Ren nodded next to him. Jackson’s head snapped over to her and the feel of eyes once again burned. It made her want to scratch her skin off.

“I didn’t know--” Jester began but Jesse’s scoff interrupted her. She didn’t understand when Jesse had become so hostile towards her.

“How could you not know what happened, but everyone one else did? Don’t pretend you’re stupid.” Jesse went on and Jester could feel anger beating through her skull, pushing her to react. In the back of her mind she wondered if the pressuring emotion was Jesse’s doing, and if it was on purpose or not.

“It was dark, I went towards my friend,” Jester gritted out, trying not to give away how much he was affecting her.

“Of course it was your friend that killed someone.” Jesse snapped back rolling his eyes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jester asked, blinking away the sting in her eyes. Ren had made himself as small as possible as he cowered between them. Milly wasn’t crying anymore, but she was whispering to Jackson.

“Of course the only friend you have on your own is a murderer, you’re a perfect fit!” Jesse went on, his fists clenched, shaking on the table. Jester’s heart ached and she wanted to run away, to escape every blow being dealt after such a terrible night. But Quinn’s don’t hide, and at least these wounds didn’t leave marks to cover with makeup. She took a deep breath and once again forced her face to relax. The tense silence was the loudest thing in the room to her but she ignored it.

“This isn’t about me, it has nothing to do with me.” She finally breathed out. They were all looking at her, they wouldn’t stop. This should be about Milly, comforting her loss. Yet their eyes burned into Jester.

“But it does, you were there. You’re still calling a murderer your friend, you didn’t do anything to stop her, or keep her from running away.” Milly spoke up, voice deeper from a sore throat. Jester sucked in a breath as quietly as she could trying to will away the sudden nausea that comment brought. It was becoming clear that everyone here really was blaming this on her, as if she had something to do with what happened. Jesse and Ren had made it clear they were uncomfortable with Jester sitting with them from the beginning, that’s why she only sat there for one meal. She had thought Milly was just shy towards her, or didn’t really have much of an opinion about her, but it was clear now that her opinion was negative. There was no way she was going to get to stay. She looked to Jackson to see if her only real friend here had any faith for her but his face was dark and his mouth drawn in a thin line. Jester looked down to the card in her lap.

“Please, understand, it was dark, people were pushing and shoving and it’s dangerous to be in a mob of people, so I looked for a way out, and I saw my- my roommate out in the open with strangers a bit away so I-” Jester tried to explain but they all seemed insistent on not letting her finish her sentences today.

“Strangers? They were some of the most well known students around, they helped all the younger students find their way around. Everyone knows them, and Tracy was the nicest of them all! She didn’t deserve to die because your roommate was jealous of this.” Milly argued, putting her palms on the table. Jester wanted to scream, she had no idea what story they had been fed but she had no idea how June was made the instigator when the others were the ones who broke into their dorm. But, she couldn’t argue, that would make them angrier, and she could lose Jackson.

“I’m sorry, but I had never met them. June was the one to show me around. I went behind her to ask what happened, she didn’t explain. She was holding her right arm so I asked what was wrong but she didn’t tell me. People were surrounding the body and once they moved girls began panicking and some people lost control of their powers. June refused to leave and told me to get out of the dorm, so I did.” Jester finished, trying to make Jackson understand she was telling the truth with her eyes. 

“So you ran like a coward.” Jackson stated and Jester felt herself tear the card. She looked down and was glad to see that she hadn’t destroyed it completely. Her face burned, her stomach burned, and her head pulsed in waves.

“What exactly was I supposed to do in that situation?” Her voice had gone cold but she was finding it easier to smile. She saw Ren scoot away again.

“You could have tried to get answers from June, or gone to help the person on the ground, you cou-” Jester took satisfaction in interrupting her brother.

“Oh yes Jesse, you’re right. When shadows are coming to life and slamming people into the walls and the floor is catching fire the first thing that you do is go closer to it! When you see someone lying on the floor, blood coming out of every orifice as older students run from them you go towards that body. The only reason that I got out of the dormitory unharmed was because I went towards June and left when she told me to!” Jester huffed out glaring at her brother.

“Well you could have used your powers! You could have summoned help!” Jesse argued back and Jester barked out a laugh.

“I can’t do that Jesse! I can’t just make helpful things- I bring fears to life. You really think summoning a bunch of random strangers' fears would have helped the situation?” Jester couldn’t believe she had to be explaining this to him. He had been the main subject to her powers, he knew what came out of them wasn’t nice.

“Well you could have tried! But just like the placement test you didn’t. You just caused problems.” Jesse went on his eyes hard as he looked away. It finally clicked that the placement test must have been what he was so upset about. She sighed loudly, not bothering to hide her frustration.

“I told you why I didn’t take it. My powers are dangerous, I was just trying to keep people safe,” it wasn’t a complete lie. She had wanted to keep people safe by not being her Father’s pawn. 

“Well you didn’t. Someone still died and you did nothing except ask about the health of the killer. Jesse has been telling me this entire time that you were using me, but I didn’t believe him. But now, you saw someone die but you’re barely affected. You’re just defending yourself from blame. If you were normal you would feel guilty. Ren was right about you, you’re a freak.” Jackson spoke quietly and his voice wavered as he spoke. He looked at Jester like she was the scum of the Earth. It felt like her heart was being pricked by a thousand needles at once and she felt the tears building. She crumpled the card in her hand and slammed it on the table. She gave a smile and felt her body still as she focused in on what she knew how to do, put the pain in a box and make the other side pleased.

“Well. I can tell when I’m not wanted. Just remember Jackson that the Quinn family will always be there for you,” she didn’t mind that her comment felt more like a threat than a reassurance. Their eyes burned her skin as she walked away, but the rest of her body was ice cold so it was nice. When people whispered around her through the hall she smiled wider and watched as they turned away. Father always talked about the power of fear, and Jester thought she was beginning to understand it. She would write on it later. Once she was back in her room she allowed the smile to fall and she silently sobbed in her lonely room.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CARA! You’ve been accepted for the role of HIPPOLYTA. Admin Julie: Cara, you’ve once again blown us away with your app. From your plots, to your para sample, to the reason why you were drawn towards Halcyon, everything about the woman we see here is incredibly human in a very gripping way -- and we know that’s not easy to pin down when it comes to Halcyon. It was a joy to read. The additional writing sample especially drew me in, and by the end of it, I was totally hooked. We’re thrilled to see you bring her to our dashboards once again, and we cannot wait for you to put what you have planned for Hal into play on the dashboard. Set her loose! Go wild -- we’re watching with anticipation. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Cara

Age | 34

Preferred Pronouns | She, Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences. - I’m able to get online everyday and do replies. Depending on how many and the length, I can write one to three replies perday. I do have a busy schedule during the weekend, so these would be my less active days.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp?  | I’ve been aware of it since it’s first run and was happy to see it back last year. I’ve been checking in often, waiting for the right moment to apply. And now, after being inactive, I’m back.

Current/Past RP Accounts |

https://ofhippclyta.tumblr.com/

https://laraxrutherford.tumblr.com

https://theninalowell.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Hippolyta, Halcyon Santos

What drew you to this character? | I’ve been eyeing Diverona since it opened and the character I always come back to is Hippolyta.

To say she’s resilient would be an understatement. There’s something amazing in her, in a woman who falls from grace like her, someone who had everything and still defied the odds and wanted her own path. Her label being the Phoenix is only proof of that. Halcyon is a woman who sacrificed a lot to the idea that others had of herself, who she was or should be. Being good of heart, like she once was, doesn’t make it less a sacrifice. Halcyon existed for others only for a long time, something that she didn’t challenge. Her purpose served others until her time came.

The strength she showed since Cosimo came after her is not something she showed before. Not in such a raw way. It was one of the most determining moments of her life, when she asked to be taken to him, and it was her first taste of another kind of power. She didn’t accept death because there’s something stronger inside of her, a  will to live on her own terms. She had nothing left to lose, she had been betrayed by everyone she ever loved and trusted. She saw an opportunity and took it, something that is very interesting to her. She has the ability to see steps ahead, of being able to size her opponents the minute she sees them. It’s something that most likely comes from all her years of sitting quiet, of observing the world around her without making a move.

Halcyon is a complex person, with two sides. She is kind, something that hasn’t changed in all those years, surprisingly. Her kindness is mostly shown through her work for the Church. Halcyon always had a want and a need to help those who were less fortunate than she and she’s still doing it. But that kindness has hardened over the years. Halcyon has been holding her breath for so long, that when her husband died and she knew the Capulet would come for her, in a way, she started to breathe again. His death was the final push she needed to let go of the life she lived and to forge a new one.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Rising higher. Halcyon is ambitious, there’s no denying. She is deeply loyal to Cosimo and Vivianne but what about the others? How far will her ambition take her? I would like to have her be confronted with the opportunity to do something, maybe double-cross one of her own, in order to rise higher. Or even be faced with the choice of choosing between Vivianne and herself. Because as much as Halcyon isn’t selfish, how far would she go, in terms of sacrificing herself? Her loyalty to Cosimo is strong but weaker than the one to herself. Breaking away from the Capulets wouldn’t be easy, if even doable, but if her life was at stake,, or if Cosimo betrayed something she strongly believed in, she  would try to keep her head high and rise from the ashes of that betrayal, one again.

The ties that bind. When it comes to Halcyon, blood doesn’t run deeper than water. At least not anymore. Her parents caused her too much pain. But could she go as far as hurting them? Halcyon cares deeply about Verona, but what if her parents stood in her way? She never fully let the darkness and ugliness stain her, but would going as far as to cast out her own blood be the thing to push her over the edge? Killing for others is easy, but killing for oneself is harder. In a moment of anger, Halcyon would be confronted with the ghosts of her past and seize that opportunity to completely severe her current life from her past life. Because there is a darkness inside of her, despite all her goodness, and having that balance tip when it comes to her parents specifically would be something that completely unleashed that darkness inside of her.

Greatness. I see Halcyon has still being adored, even if not as much as she used to be. Those who watched her fall and get up, more than once, might have even more faith in her. But I want that faith the people have in her, the symbol they made her be, to eventually fade, either because they turn their backs  on her or because she did. Though I imagine if they knew what she was really up to, they would be the ones to cast her out. It would also test her faith, and that’s something I’d like to have happen to her, to wonder who or what she is without God.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes. Death is needed for this kind of group and while I adore Halcyon with all my heart, killing her would be a good plot. I would just like her to have been developed and written a bit before, so that her death could be more meaningful and that she would have her moment to shine.

IN-DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

SAMPLE I

It had been a strange request, to dye a wedding dress in red, but the Santos name held too much for the tailor to turn it down and the hush money helped too. “Why do you need two dresses?” her future husband had asked, his tone bored. It was an arranged wedding for him as well, and he hoped to gain a dutiful bride. He had been assured that it would be the case.

Halcyon and Callum had gone on a few very public dates, the wedding being regarded as the event of the year. The Santos and Pardi, united as one. Halcyon Pardi, the woman hated the sound of that. Where Celia had insisted they both keep their maiden name, Halcyon was expected to shed hers as soon as the vows would be pronounced. Nonetheless, she smiled on these outings, nodded when he talked and voiced the right opinions only when prompted. She knew that her life would be just like that and she wanted to feel Celia one last time, to feel passion before losing it forever. And so, she had Celia’s wedding dress dyed crimson, a sign of the fire that burned her and the blood her heart had bled.

“Everyone except me to have one for the wedding and another for the ceremony. A woman has to be trusted on these things dearest.” The words sounded sweet, they all did when they came out of her. But they tasted bitter to Halcyon, bile rising into her throat. They ached, every single one of them. They cut through the very fabric of her soul. And she bore them, like the children she would never give him, refused to give him. She was thankful for the pills she could take, until she wasn’t fertile anymore, so that she would never give this man and her parents what they hoped; an heir. Her two biggest rebellions, she thought as her finger ran through the fabric of the dress, now tucked away in her closet, never to be worn again. Celia was gone and she was now someone’s wife.

A voice was heard and Halcyon rushed into the master’s bathroom, avoiding the man she kissed every night. His voice sounded angry and she knew he was talking about them again, the Capulets. Her husband was greedy, money wasn’t enough, he wanted power. And the Capulets had the one thing he really wanted, Verona. Halcyon ran the bath’s water, creating a diversion. She played the almost empty headed wife so well, he often forgot she even had thoughts that weren’t his. Callum felt safe around her, too safe. Pressing her ear against the shut door, she could hear everything he was saying. He had been trying to buy the police department lately, thinking that if he had them in his pockets, the rest would follow easily. But they were not easy to bribe and he was going at it all wrong. He was playing a dangerous game, pretending to help Cosimo while working against him. He wanted to be mayor and he needed more than the few businessmen that stood in his corner.

Halcyon could see all this unfolding before him and the man still thought he was on top of everything. Every little mistake he made, she predicted, finding some sick joy in it, in watching him be a fool. She kept quiet and maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t expect her to be nothing else than an accessory, would she have helped him see what was coming. But with every day that passed, he kept asking why she wasn’t pregnant when it was all she had to do. He kept treating her as if she was failing at the only thing she was supposed to be good at, bearing children. She pretended to cry and despair as he badgered her about it. But that was her secret, at least one of the many she was starting to collect.

As she stood there, holding her breath so that not even that would make her miss a word, she could see too well the choices she had in front of her. If she talked, if she said it all, surely he would understand his mistakes and be able to stay alive. And wasn’t that her duty, as a wife, to help her husband? Hadn’t she vowed, in the Cathedral, to stand by his side, for better or worse? It was a holy bond and Halcyon respected the Church. But she knew her words had been empty then, they meant nothing if they weren’t spoken to the woman she loved. It was there, in their bathroom, that she was conscious, for the very first time, that she would let this man walk into his death. From the outside, it would look as if she had been passive in all this, not involved. But the reality was different, every moment she chose to stay quiet was bringing her one step closer to her freedom and she knew that.

Maybe one day she would understand that he had been her first kill, her first taste of the darkness that was buried inside herself. And years later, when Vivianne would suggest she infiltrated the police department, she would smile, knowing that she would succeed where a man failed.

SAMPLE II

A delicate flower, that’s what they had built her to be. They gave her poise and grace, told her she was the best and deserved the world. And in return, she smiled, nodded and extended her hand to those who needed it. She had walked among them, an angel, her light inspiring others. Never did Halcyon let it alter her, her heart remaining pure. She had loved, believed in it. Like an innocent girl, not yet the woman she was today, she was bound to wed. The fire that consumed her gave her strength, made her better. Halcyon was naive, she believed that everyone was like her, good, or at least, that those who raised her were as good as she saw them. She had been wrong, fooled by her faith. When her fire ended in ashes, she had to get up. She rose above herself with a burnt mark that would always follow her, a scar forever etched on her heart. Had it been a mistake, to nurse her broken heart and not turn the city upside down looking for her missing  half?

No matter how deep the bullet lay, reality was ugly. The woman she loved could be bought. And by none other than her parents. It was with trembling hands, already feeling the blow in her heart, tears coming down, that she had taken the note that was left with the wedding dress. A soft finger ran  over it, even when she couldn’t see the words anymore obscured by her vision. That’s when the light had gone out. There was rage that first night, something that she was ashamed of. She had sought out her confidante the next morning, feeling herself calmer in the hot air of the Cathedral. She was told that God had a plan for her and she believed it.

Halcyon draped herself in her sadness, coming out of it even more beautiful than before. Her failed engagement wasn’t a secret, the Santos’ were well-known in the city. And it wasn’t long before talk of another wedding ran through the streets.

“I can’t,” she cried many times. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“You’re marrying him. We gave our word.”

“Mama, please,” she appealed to her mother, the one who had nursed her, taken care of her.

“Listen to your father. He knows what’s best.” And Halcyon knew, she had left her mother’s womb for good.

“Stop being a child, Halcyon,” her father snapped. His final words on the subject.

She smiled the day of her wedding, she was gracious to the guest, she played her part. And she played it well. There had been too many tears, too much pleading that had lead to this moment. Her parents had as good as killed her the day they gave her hand away, sealed her faith in a magnificent ceremony, a funeral where she was dressed in white. It wasn’t the fact that she didn’t love him. It was the fact that they extinguished her light, put her in a cell and threw away the key. Halcyon didn’t exist, the shadow that walked this world instead was not her. And they didn’t care, for they all had what they wanted. Her parents gained more money and her husband gained the most beautiful woman in the city. A trophy, polished regularly, something that people took pride in, a simple object. Never did she let others see  any of this. She was only his wife, but she was a good one, a dutiful one. Devoting herself to charities, the only thing she was allowed to do, and the halo on her head grew bigger. Little did they know, her hands would soon be bathed in crimson. When her husband was killed, the tears weren’t for him. They were for her, for finally being free from him and from her family.

Halcyon knew Cosimo’s men would come for her. Against everything, she hadn’t fled the city. Verona was her home and like a Queen, she would never leave it behind. Her blood would soil the city if needed, her pain and anguish visible for everyone. A martyr. She had left the door unlocked, knowing there was no need to try and protect herself. Cosimo was powerful and a locked door would not stop him or those who worked for him. Her back was to them when they came in as she looked at the city she called her own all her life. It would all be over soon. “Please,” she started. Make it quick. Her life flashed by, the faces of those she helped and of those who caused her pain. But what troubled her, even more, were the words she heard all her life. Fragile. Useless. Deviant. Wife. Martyr. Fiancée. Beautiful. Kind. Icon. Weak. One word was missing, one word had never been spoken to describe her. Determined. Never before had she felt such courage, or rather, had she been aware of it. “Take me to him.” The words were said as she turned to face them, an angel awaiting her death.

All her life, Halcyon had stood by, quiet, observing. The world unfolded in front of her and she watched it, in awe. Never before had she thought that all her observing would pay off for her, that being quiet would serve her. A presence quick to be forgotten, a pretty face deemed nothing more, the woman has listened. And learned. Until this moment, until her life hung in the balance, she never understood how precious that gift had been. It paid her in information. Her husband was dead, killed by the Capulets. And they thought, foolishly, that all of his secrets were buried with him. They had been wrong. Information was precious, the most powerful currency there was. Information would be her most powerful weapon. “There’s more he doesn’t know.” The words were a whisper as the woman slowly found her voice, the one that had been muffled all her life. She could be valuable, something she saw for the first time in her life. Every moment led her to this, right now, she could finally see it. They thought they had put her down for good, but she got up, stronger than ever. The shackles  on her hands were gone.

SAMPLE III

It hadn’t been long, or so it felt like, since Vivianne was in the hospital and now it was Halcyon’s turn to be freshly out, or almost. The days following her release had been spent trying to patch the hemorrhage, a word that could be taken to its most literal meaning. The Capulets were bleeding despite all their physical wounds being, at last, and yet things still felt too fragile. The capitana could be seen at all hours at the headquarters, working relentlessly to find a way to make the Montagues pay double for their actions. Halcyon herself had come close to losing too much, with Theo laying unconscious in a hospital bed for days, a player so precious to the woman, she had been on edge. A short breath of relief had been exhaled when she learned to other had woken up, something she felt on more than one level, some form of friendship forming with the informant.

It was late at night and when everything had started to blur she silently made her way to her dear friend and underboss’ office. On a night like this, exhausted like she was, it was the comfort of the friend she was seeking and not the advice of the leader she blindly followed. “Posso entrare?” May I come in? Tired words that followed a soft knock on Vivianne’s door. Something in Halcyon’s voice had the woman looking up from the reading she was doing and beckoned her to the more private area of her office.

There had been whispers of the state the underboss had been in when she learned that Halcyon and not come back from the mission, something she had seen, in parts, herself when she was finally alone with the older woman. Halcyon had seen changes, subtle ones, in her mentor since she got out of the hospital as if a confidence she once paraded so easily was no longer so strong. Maybe the capitana was reading too much into all this, a trick her own emotions were playing on her. It was, after all, so small what she thought she saw. If only she was not looking at the other so often, maybe they would not be here tonight.

The two women shared a bond, everyone knew it, but it was not something that was openly discussed between the two. Halcyon would die for Vivianne, in a heartbeat. But the moments when they talked about how much the friendship meant were rare. Tonight, the younger one needed that, for herself, but she sensed also for the underboss. As they sat down, closer than usual, an action that was deliberate on her part, a soft sigh escaped her. “Too much has been on your mind.” It wasn’t a question, a simple fact that was uttered as big brown eyes searched the blues she dreamed of losing herself into.

It was a rare occurrence, a hand brushing the other, waiting to see if part of the skin she felt like she craved at times would shy away. When it did not, Halcyon’s hand became heavier, a gesture that was meant to let Vivianne know she was there. But suddenly, it did not seem enough. Amidst the chaos, this simple hand, one that would follow the other woman anywhere, felt too little. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re keeping, you are stronger than it.” Without thinking, something she would never do usually, Halcyon let go of the woman’s hand. Light fingers followed by warm palms went to the underboss’ visage. For a woman who could be ruthless, there was genuine care for those she cared about, many of whom had been targeted lately.  “You won’t lose us. You won’t lose me.” They were so close and the touch felt like everything that could soothe Halcyon’s tired body and mind. But Halcyon did not dare allow herself to go further, to let the sudden flushing of her cheeks get what drove the blood there. She did not close the small, too small, space between their lips.

SAMPLE IV

Location: Halcyon’s house

Date: March 25th, 2019

Ever since the hospital, the Capulet forged a second layer around her, another armour that guarded her from the outside. The physical wounds were something she could take, another symbol of the war she was fighting. But the emotional ones were something she tried to shield herself from, marks that were carved too deeply into her soul. Wounds that followed her everywhere, even in her sleep. Days were long, the list of things that had to be done to contain the hemorrhage the Capulet had been cursed with in recent months and the woman always came home later than usual, long nights working at the Cathedral. Some nights she even prayed, the Faith that had been testing her for years never too far. The lights were not turned on as she walked into her penthouse, the dark soothing for the headache that had been building all day. Heels were carefully discarded, joining others that were in the entrance, forming a delicate line. Never would she dare say the words out loud, but there was loneliness lately in coming home to such an empty place, a longing for something more, something well beyond her reach. Her hand could extend, fingers grasping into thin air, and never would she reach what was missing.

The television was turned on, the channel already on Rai News24. It casted a glow in the living room and she went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, the background noise eased part of the storm inside of her. The Santos name was heard distantly just as the kettle started to boil, the whistle of it drowning the noise. Not that it mattered, her father’s business was often in the spotlight. The name barely registered, too preoccupied with the day she had, going over every little detail of everything that was said to her, trying to see if she had missed anything. Absent fingers were running along the edge of her tea cup as she walked back to the living, only then looking at the screen in front of her. Strangely enough, the news was still talking about her father. Breaking News were not words that were usually associated with any of his activities. The images did not make any sense, neither were the words. Was this really how Halcyon Santos was to learn of her father’s death? Not by her own mother but by the coldness of the television. The cup she was holding dropped to the floor, shattering in tiny fragments. Slowly walking closer to the object that was turning her world upside down, finger gently brushing a picture of her father that came with the segment. The woman crumbled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Halcyon didn’t know if she was crying because her cage was finally broken for good or if it was because the man she once held so high would never be redeemed in her eyes, breaking her heart forever.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

Headcanons

Training Halcyon was easy. Her years of ballet made her graceful and athletic. Hand- to- hand combat came easily to her, it was another form of dance. The woman surprised everyone by how easily and quickly it came to her and soon, she was able to  best more experienced fighters.

She started at the bottom and rose rather quickly because of how determined and dedicated she is. Halcyon directed all her energy and emotions into the tasks that were given to her, breathing and living solely for the Capulets. She was running and quick-thinking, able to see many outcomes unfolding before her. Her charm and apparent sweetness fooled more than one and it played at her advantage.

Halcyon is still nursing her broken heart. Celia was the great love of her life, up until this point. She was a burning fire and Halcyon gave herself completely to her lover., The woman always knew she was attracted to other women. And to men at times, something that was very confusing for her Catholic soul. Never before Celia had she been so open and free with another person . It was Halcyon, timid and fair compared to her passionate lover, who proposed. The ring was exquisite and when Celia said yes, Halcyon thought she could never be happier. In the days and weeks leading to Celia’s departure Halcyon could feel something had changed. She thought it was the wedding’s excitement, as the day was nearing. But when she came home to an empty house and saw the dress, she knew. Her heart hasn’t mended since].

The first tasks she had when she joined the Capulets were easy enough. Her first kill wasn’t. It was a conflicting moment, one where her soul fought the two sides of her, the light and the darkness. Never before did she thought she would or could kill another. But when the moment came, it felt…easy. There was half a confession to Hugo, Halcyon talking of a great sin without naming it. But she found that once you committed something that seemed hard, the next times were easier, until it came almost naturally. There was a war to fight and she was now part of it.

[picturetoburnnn]

Like To Be You - Gang AU (ch. 1) | Ashton Irwin x Reader

word count - 2.7k

warning - mentions of blood and death. slight swearing. gang AU

taglist -  @songforhema @asht0ns-world @lukesflaredpants @sunflowerxcal @star-gazing-calum@cxddlyash @emomack @merryblueberry02 @kinglyhood @caswinchester2000 @babe-babylon​ @irwinkitten @burn-crash-im-ash dm me to be added 

author note - this has been sitting in my drafts for about three months now and i finally got on a writing kick on friday and stayed up till two last night finishing this. hope y’all love it

It had been a long day. Y/N took two shifts at the hospital, covering for her friend when she needed a sick day. Then, after what was supposed to be a lovely evening to herself, her brother’s girlfriend broke up with him, and he required her support.

After everything was all said and done, Y/N didn’t get home until close to one that night. She dropped her bag at the door, flinging her shoes off her feet and sluggishly making her way upstairs. Not even bothering to change out of her work clothes, Y/N dropped onto her bed, legs hanging off the side. She was out before she even hit the mattress, ready for a long night’s sleep.

Or at least, it was supposed to be. She woke at three in the morning to a growling stomach. Y/N groaned, finally acknowledging her growing hunger.

“Fine,” she sighed heavily to herself, standing stiffly and stretching. “Food it is.”

What she didn’t expect as she walked down the stairs was to see a dark shape sitting on the floor in her kitchen. Beneath her, stair creaked as she froze. The figure froze, turning around to look at her.

He was dressed in all black, eating Nutella from the jar with a teaspoon. Y/N didn’t buy Nutella, but that was definitely her spoon. His eyes widened as he met hers, standing in a flash. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the dark trail of what might be blood on the side of his face when he snatched off his black beanie.

“I can explain,” the man rushed out, holding out both hands apprehensively, still clutching the Nutella.

Y/N raised a brow.

“...no I can’t.”

“Who are you?” Y/N rushed down the remaining stairs, rushing for her purse and the pepper spray it held.

“Hey, hey, it’s cool. Don’t freak out,” he pleaded.

“There’s a stranger in my house, in the ungodly hours of the morning, eating out of a jar that isn’t mine. I think I’m justified,” Y/N said as she pulled out the spray, clutching it in her hand.

“Look, I just need a place to crash, okay? I got nowhere to go, I’m unarmed, and would rather not sleep on the street.”

“Are you kidding me? Get the hell out! I don’t know you, and you just show up on my kitchen floor in the middle of the night? I think the fuck not!”

He sighed. “Listen.” He pulled his shirt collar down far enough to let Y/N see the snake tattoo adorning his chest. “I’m one of the Cobras. Let me stay here for one night, and I can guarantee you protection and compensation. Just one night.”

The Cobras were the most notorious gang in the city. They were known for being brutal to targets, but never involving or attacking innocents. Cobras traded laundered money, drugs, guns; anything and everything Y/N tried her best to avoid. But they made the big bucks, which meant whatever compensation he was offering had to be good. And that money certainly wouldn't hurt to be in her bank account.

She looked at him one final time, his red hair shining in the moonlight.

“One night only,” she muttered. “But you've gotta let me clean up your head. I don't care who you are, I will not have bloodstains on my sofa.”

“Deal.” The sigh that left his lips was full of relief. “I'm Ashton.” He held his hand out in a shake.

Y/N eyed it carefully, not making a move. “Cool.”

He smirked. “That's the part where you tell me your name.”

“No, this is the part where you get your ass in my bathroom so I can get the first aid for your head injury.”

His expression changed from one of amusement to shock in no time. “Yes ma'am,” he mumbled under his breath.

He passed her, carefully avoiding bumping into her shoulder. Her eyes followed him as he wandered down the hall, his mind reeling as he tried to decide which door led to the half-bath.

“Second one on the left,” she gave in. “First aid kit's under the sink. I'll be right there, don't try to take care of it yourself.”

He looked back at her with a sheepish smile before ducking through the doorway. Y/N's hands threaded through her hair, tugging harshly and she questioned her own judgement. Cobras were ruthless when they needed to be, and she was letting one sleep on her couch.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. Clean off the blood, then talk to him, she told herself. Walking into the bathroom, Y/N didn't spare a glance at the man sitting on the toilet lid as she opened the kit on the countertop.

"Are you bleeding anywhere other than your head?" she asked in a monotone voice.

"My side," he answered lamely. "Although I think it's clotted by now."

"Doesn't matter, I still need to clean it." She turned, finally facing him. "Take off your shirt."

He gave her a cocky smirk, but one look from her had him looking back to the ground. Silently, he removed the fabric, revealing a violent looking gash in his side. Y/N couldn't help but stare.

"You sure you can stitch me up?" His question sounded cocky, but she could hear the faintest hint of worry.

"I'm a nurse, this is not anything new to me," she answered shortly, turning back to the kit.

"Oh," he mumbled. "Gotcha."

The pair sat in silence as Y/N worked on cleaning the area. Ashton winced as she accidentally dragged the rag against the open wound. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"'S fine," he hissed.

“What caused a gash this deep?”

Ashton bristled, not saying a word.

“If you want me to treat this properly so it doesn’t get infected, I need you to tell me what it is.” She really didn’t need that information, but morbid curiosity always got the best of her. Besides, she was letting him stay in her house; she deserved to know at least a little something about him.

He stayed quiet. Y/N sighed, ready to resign herself to silence, when--

“A fireplace poker,” he mumbled.

Where the fuck in their city was there someone pretentious enough to have a fire iron?

“Then it needs to be severely sterilized and watched carefully,” Y/N said, as if that wasn’t already part of her plan.

The boy hissed as she cleaned the gash with antiseptics, but was silent as his side was stitched together.

Tying off the final stitch, Y/N cut the suture cord. “There. All good. Let me see your head.”

Twenty minutes later, Y/N left Ashton in the bathroom to go find spare sheets and a blanket for the couch.

“I’ll drive you back to your place in the morning.” Ashton looked at her, shocked.

“You don’t have to--”

“You aren’t from around here, the Cobra territory is across the city. With your side, you wouldn’t make it there before sundown, and it’d be a very bad idea to sleep on the streets. I’ll take you to the Cobra side of town, and from there you can find your way.”

She made a compelling argument, one that Ashton couldn’t really fight against.

He didn’t reply, and it wasn’t until Y/N was halfway up the stairs that she heard him mumble “Thank you. For not calling the cops, fixing me up, and giving me somewhere to sleep and all.”

She stopped, hand on the banister, before continuing up to her bedroom. “You’re welcome.”

~~~

The next morning was odd. Y/N woke around noon, quite exhausted. She didn’t think about the guy downstairs until she saw him sitting on her couch, reading a newspaper she didn’t know she had.

“Good morning,” she said as she came down the steps, clad in an old hoodie and sleep shorts.

Ashton jumped in his seat, setting down the paper.

Y/N smirked, snickering to herself. She made her way into the kitchen, starting up her coffee maker and grabbing a granola bar from the cabinet. “Let me get my coffee and then we can head out.”

Ashton swallowed thickly. “Thank you, again.”

Y/N smiled smally at him. “You were hurt.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re a lot nicer in the mornings.”

“I’m no longer hungry and sleep deprived.” She shrugged and he chuckled.

Y/N retreated back up the stairs to change into something a little more appropriate. When she returned, the coffee was done, and Ashton was back to the newspaper.

“Something interesting in that paper?” She asked with a laugh.

“I’m apparently dead,” he deadpanned, showing her the article.

                                           Cobra Member Presumed Dead

A young gang member was reportedly wounded during a break-in in the East Hill sector of town. Outside of the gang’s territory, the homeowner Alex Kei told reporter Eric Townes that a red-haired young man had been rifling through his possessions. Kei claims the gang member attacked him once he realized he was being watched. Kei grabbed the nearest thing to him, his fire iron, to defend himself. Mr. Kei reported the iron struck the attacker’s side, gouging deep. The attacker, holding his wound, fled the house.  If David Kei is correct about the severity of the wound, the attacker may well be deceased by now without medical attention. The attack occurred April 11th, just two days ago.

“That’s not what happened,” Ashton huffed when Y/N looked up with wide eyes. “Kei has always had it out for us. I was only--”

“You don’t have to explain to me,” Y/N soothed. “Let’s just get you home.”

~~~

The car ride was silent for the most part, save for the occasional “turn left here,” or “keep going straight to the next light” once they were downtown.

“You can drop me off here,” he muttered after they passed the train tracks that made the Cobra border.

Y/N looked at him incredulously. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around town with fresh stitches?”

He returned her wide-eyed look.

“Point me to your safe-house, and that’s where you can get out.”

The redhead hesitated. “Make a right at the next light.”

Ashton guided her to an old warehouse. “I still don’t know your name,” he tried to laugh through a wince as he unbuckled the seatbelt she insisted he wear.

“Y/N,” she said lowly as she got out of the car, walking over to the passenger side.

She helped him climb out, his voice quiet as he said, “Y/N. That’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” she joked as she knocked on the side door. “Got it for my birthday.”

The door opened, revealing a blonde-haired man even younger than Y/N was. “For the last time,” he sighed without looking at them. “This is not a sanctuary. Go find somewhere else to peddle for money.”

“Aw damn, even me?” Ashton’s smile was huge.

The boy’s head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. “Ash?” he breathed.

“In the flesh,” he beamed. “Didja miss me?”

But Ashton's name was the only thing Luke could say. The younger boy held his friends face in his hands, tears collecting in his eyes. "I thought we lost you."

"Harder than that to lose me," the redhead quipped before pulling him in for a tight hug.

The two held each other for several minutes, simply reveling in one another's company for the first time in several weeks. Y/N watched with a soft smile on her lips. It was sweet to see this boy who had been so tough around her appear so soft with his friend.

Ashton met Y/N's eyes, as if suddenly remembering she was there. He broke away, albeit reluctantly, and held his hand out between the stranger boy and Y/N.

"Luke, this is Y/N. She let me stay at her place recently and patched me up, made me all pretty again. Y/N, this is Luke. He's… well he's the head of this whole operation, I suppose."

Y/N smiled, holding her hand out for Luke to shake. "Hi."

Luke looked at her hand, then at her. He made no move to grab her hand, instead pulling her into a hug as well. "Thank you, for bringing him home," he whispered in her ear, voice thick with emotion.

As they broke apart, Ashton demanded Luke's attention. "I assume absolutely nothing has been done in the past two weeks, since you've all been grieving and are incapable of doing anything without me." He winked, and Y/N wasn't sure if it was directed at her or Luke.

"We've been making Kei's life a living hell, but other than that… we were a little busy trying to find you."

"Well." Ashton held out his arm to Y/N. "Let's say hello to everyone, shall we?"

They walked through the door as Luke held it open, and Y/N was surprised by what she saw. She didn't know what she expected from the headquarters of the city's biggest gang, but it certainly wasn't this.

In the center of the room was a pool table, surrounded by four men extremely focused on the game. In the corner was a small shelf of books with two small chairs-- a makeshift reading book. It looked like a home more than a base of operations, and Y/N loved it.

"I've been gone for two weeks, and there is a serious lack of crying in this room." Ashton's loud voice rang out over every quiet conversation. The room grew silent, and everyone stared at the redhead in front of Y/N.

"Ashton? Oh my God is that really you?" A bleached blond man shouldered his way to the front of the room, leather jacket heaving up and down with his rapid breathing. The tan man let out a shaky laugh before running to Ashton and enveloping him in a hug even tighter than Luke's. Before too long, everyone had crowded around the pair, all wanting to see their missing friend with their own eyes.

Y/N watched the scene unfold in front of her with a smile, until she felt someone tug at her elbow. Luke pulled her away to the side, far enough that they could have a private conversation but still see the group.

"How bad was he?"

"I put stitches in his side, so he needs to go easy. No running or stretching or anything that could tear that. I don't know how long he was hurt before he got to me, but by some miracle it didn't look infected."

Luke's following sigh sounded heavy with relief. "You may very well have saved his life. We owe you. I owe you. Anything you want, tell me."

"Oh, it was really nothing," Y/N stammered. "You don't owe me anything."

“Listen,” Luke huffed. “That boy you brought with you--” he pointed to where Ashton was, hugging all his friends like he hadn’t seen them in months “--he’s like my brother, and I haven’t seen him in over two weeks. We thought he died, but you took care of him, and didn’t let him end up on the street. You’ve done us a huge service, and we are indebted to you for him. Don’t diss us by refusing.”

Y/N swallowed thickly, nodding.

"Good. You saved his life. The Cobras will from now on be your personal backup. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you come to him, you come to me. Cool?"

Y/N nodded again.

"Y/N!" She heard Ashton's voice. He broke away from the group and jogged over to her.

"You're not leaving yet, are you?"

"I--"

"This isn't really her scene," Luke cut in. Y/N opened her mouth to protest, but he fixed her with a look that dared her to continue.

"Y-yeah," she breathed. "I'm not… this isn't my kind of place. I'm intruding now that my job is done."

"Oh." Ashton visibly deflated, obviously not enthused with the idea of her leaving. "Am I gonna see you again?"

“That depends. I mean, you know where I live.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking something more along the lines of getting your number.”

Y/N smirked.

PART 2 // MASTERLIST