#i imagine when she died the crystal on her forehead powered down.

[puckeruppetra]

ELLEGAARD MCSM x ORIGINS

OKAYYYY I might maybe just might have a new favourite Heroforge. So for reference I AM going off the Origins in the Aberrant SMP (my number one brain rot smp I'm in) and I landed on Forged for Ellegaard. Now for those who don't know (most of you except 1) Forged is a robot Origin based in fire. I thought to flavor that and make her a redstone robot.

Her design has got to be my favorite (can you tell I LOVE women), powered entirely by redstone rather than fire. Able to shoot a laser out of her head crystal. How I imagine this origin affected her, unlike Gabriel being instant, she would've been the last of the Order to have gotten her Origin. When she returned home she became more in tune with the redstone, feeling it around her almost pulsing and desperate to be used. As she kept crafting her redstone contraptions, it slowly began to stick to her skin, followed by metal. She couldn't distance herself from the one thing she loved and became consumed by it.

sooo thats Ellegaard! I plan on doing Magnus next and then once he's out get a post together of all the Order of the Stone's mutations/origins!

[awindylife-writes]

Voyage of the Damned Part 3

Relationships: the Doctor x reader, Astrid x reader (platonic), Astrid x Doctor (platonic)

Summary: Voyage of the Damned rewrite. The Doctor and you find yourselves on the Titanic, space edition. You meet Astrid and get ready for a wonderful day, but then a meteor shower hits the ship and it starts falling towards Earth.

Author's notes: There was a number of things l didn't like about this Christmas special so again, l rewrote it.

Warnings: a ship crashes, multiple mentions of dearth bc a lot of people die, Astrid dies

"It's for the Doctor!" Astrid yelled at Midshipman Frame over the comms. She needed to teleport NOW. "Y/n and him are down on deck thirty-one, alone, against all the Host and Gods know what else and they're doing it for us!" Silence on the other end. "It's time we did something for them," she ended her speech with a finallity.

A moment passed and she feared she'd failed.

But then, "Giving you power," came through the comms.

~

"Only one person could have the power and the money to hide themselves on board like that. And l should know, 'cause..." the Doctor trailed off. You stared at the strange compartment you had found on deck thirty-one.

"My name is Max," a voice finished for him. A strange machine with a head in it came through the smoke.

"Who the hell are you?" it demaned.

"I'm y/n, and this is the Doctor," you pointed at your friend with false cheerfulness, "Hello!" you wiggled your fingers in greeting.

~

"You wreck the ship and the board find their shares halved in value." The Doctor was spelling out Capricorn's plan.

"But that's not enough," you interjected. From what you've learned about them, mad billionares who were losing all their money didn't do things half-way.

"Oh yes,"  the Doctor went on. "'Cause if a Max Capricorn ship hits the Earth, it destroys an entire planet. Outrage back home!" he growled. "Scandal! The buisness is wiped out!"

The billionare's head nodded. "And? The whole board is thrown in jail, for mass murder!" His eyes shone with revenge.

"While you sit here, safe in the- what's it called?" you turned to the Doctor.

"Impact camber," he filled in.

"I have men," Capricorn gloated now, "waiting to retreave me from the ruins. And enough off-world accounts to retire me to the beaches of Enhaxico Two where the ladies, so l'm told, are very fond of... metal."

You were going to puke.

"So that's the plan," the Doctor growled in rage. "A retirement plan. Two thousand people on this ship, six billion underneath us, all of them slaughtered and why? Because Max Capricorn is a loser."

"I never lose," the billionare's head scowled in threat and your voice immediately rang out, mocking, "You can't even sink the Titanic!"

"Oh but l can, pretty girl!" he laughed. "I can cancel the engines, from here!" Red lights and alarms were suddenly flaring everywhere before you could spit in his face.

The Doctor yelled behind you, "You can't do this!"

"Host, hold them!" Caprocorn ordered in turn and began the Gloat 2.0. "Not so clever now, are you? Shame we couldn't work together, you two are rather good. All that banter and yet not a word wasted." The head sighed. "Time for me to... retire."

Ugh, you thought as you furiously tried to get free. That pun alone would be enough to kill a buisness.

"The Titanic is falling, the sky will burn, let the Christmas inferno commence!" Capricorn yelled in victory and called his minions. "Kill them!"

The robots brought up their halos and went for the Doctor's neck.

"NO!" You fought with everything you had but you were late, you'd be too late!

"MISTER CAPRICORN!" a voice you knew cut through your fear.

And it ignited terror. It was Astrid, sitting in a forklift. "I resign," she told the head and drove forward, ful throttle.

"NO!" the Doctor and you screamed, "ASTRID STOP!" "ASTRID DON'T!"

She didn't listen and rammed into the life support system, but its engine was too strong. They were equal and couldn't move each other.

You bit, kicked and screamed, anything to get free.

But then she caught your eyes with hers and everything stopped. There was an eternity in her face. She looked at the Doctor too but you still stared at her.

Then she turned away and stepped on it. The life support lifted and she drove on.

There was no sound. The world was mute as you watched Astrid go over.

You were suddenly at the edge, looking at her disappear into the fire. Someone was screaming. Someone was screaming and you wanted to calm them, help them.

Then you realized it was your own voice.

The world came back into focus. The ship was falling apart and the Doctor was silent at your side. He was staring at the spot where Astrid had disappeared. His face was pale and his eyes blank. You laid your tears aside and took his hand.

"We need to go," you told him, your voice wet with tears. He didn't move.

"Doctor, we need to go,"  you told him again calmly. You thought that was why he looked at you suddenly, and then stood up.

He rewired a Host with lightning speed. It took you each under one arm and off you went.

When you broke through the ceiling of the bridge, you were still in one piece. Arms you had used to shield your head were a bit bloody and you were sure there were at least two splinters in them. You don't look the gift horse in the mouth, even though you would prefer a different Christmas miracle.

"What's your first name?" the Doctor asked the injured Midshipman Frame.

He answered in confusion, "Alonzo."

"You're kidding," the Doctor breathed as a shocked smile spread on his face. You didn't know. You just didn't know anymore. You were drowing in the emptiness inside you but his name was Alonzo.

"Allons-y, Alonzo!" the Doctor yelled and you held on tight. You didn't scream. You didn't even open your mouth. There was nothing anymore.

The Doctor whoohooed when he managed to right the course of the ship and you were just there. Were you there? Astrid wasn't. And that was what mattered in the end.

~

"TELEPORT!" the Doctor yelled and it didn't matter. "Y/N, SHE WAS WEARING A TELEPORT BRACELET!!!"

That woke you up. You ran faster than ever before, to the main deck where the teleport was.

"Brixton, sonic," the Doctor demanded from the billionare and caught it as it was thrown. "Mister Copper, the teleports, have they got an emergency setting??"

"I don't know, they should have?"

"She fell, Mister Copper, she fell!" the Doctor told him while pulling apart the machine like a madman. "What's the emergency code?"

The billionare interjected, "What the hell are you doing?"

"We can bring her back!" you yelled with everything in you.

The historian explained, "If a passenger has an accident on shore leave, their molecules are automatically suspended so they're in stasis, so if you just trigger the shift..."

"THERE!!!" the Doctor screamed and flicked the switch.

And there was your Astrid.

"Falling..." You could hear her voice!

"Only halfway there, come on!" The Doctor wasn't finished with the teleporter.

"I keep falling!" She was scared. Your friend was scared and you wanted nothing but to calm her. You carefully walked up to her and took hold of her hand. It felt like holding warm smoke.

There were tears on your cheeks already, again.

"If l can find the molecule grid, boost the restoration matrix and-" The computer snapped and threw sparks. "NO-NO-NO-NO-NO!!" the Doctor screamed in desparation, "need more phase containment-"

You sobbed, but you knew what was coming. You just looked at your Astrid Pith, into her crystal blue eyes and sushed her. "Hey, hey Astrid, it's alright. It's me, it's y/n, remember? You're alright. l've got you," you promised with a voice as soft as sunlight.

She didn't look as scared as before. Then, so slowly you thought you were imagining it, she looked at you.

"Let her go," you could hear the historian and you sobbed again.

But then Astrid's voice cut through. "Stop me falling?" she asked and you nodded. You found her gaze with yours and promised her, "Anything."

"She's just atoms," you heard Mister Copper from behind you. "An echo with a ghost of consciousness."

"She's stardust," you concluded as your voice broke. "You hear that Astrid?" you asked, still looking into her blue eyes."You're stardust."

She didn't seem to hear, so you did the only thing you could think of.

"There's an old tradition," you told her and softly kissed her cheek. Then you kissed the other, and then her forehead.

"You dreamt of traveling," the Doctor came to stand beside you. You were still sobbing when you pulled away from her and you didn't try to stop. There was no one there you needed to save face for.

"Now you can travel forever," you told her. You knew what the Doctor would do, and your eyes didn't leave hers for a moment.

You heard him soothe her, "You're not falling Astrid."

"You're flying," you both said in one voice.

You watched as she floated away, through the window into the universe.

Then you turned to the Doctor and buried your face in his chest as you both cried.

~

"I transferred all my shares to Max Capricorn's rivals. It's made me rich," the billionare Brixton admitted, disbelieving.

You were empty, and you were tired. That was the only reason why you didn't tear this man limb from limb. Astrid was dead.

"Mister Copper," the Doctor's voice woke you up. "I think, you deserve one of these."

You turned around and saw him holding a teleport bracelet out to the historian. Then, after the latter took it, he slipped one on your wrist. He took your hand and suddenly you were standing in the snow.

~

"But l can have a house, and a garden and-" You couldn't help but smile a little. At least Mister Copper would be alright.

The Doctor yelled after him, "Where are you going?"

"I have no idea!" the man replied in joy.

"Well, we don't either," your alien smiled gently at you and you tried to smile back, you really did. He looked at you, his brown eyes full of sorrow, and pulled you to him. You held onto him tightly as he hugged you.

"But! Y/N!" the historian yelled and you turned in his direction.

"I won't forget her," he promised you. You were tired, so so tired, so you just nodded. "Thank you," you told Mister Copper for her. "We won't either."

"We won't," the Doctor assured you softly, just to be sure.

Then he opened the TARDIS door and stepped into your home after you. You walked up the way and then stood in front of the controls, lost.

The Doctor walked up behind you and decided he would do anything, anything to keep away the blank look in your eyes. He turned to you and pulled you to him again. You let him, your movements sluggish and dazed.

"I've got you," he assured you. "I've got you, y/n. You aren't alone, and you aren't lost. You've got me." And that was enough. You sobbed into his chest, you didn't know for which time today.

But this was different. This was yours, and you clung to the Doctor as everything in you came to the surface.

His tears joined yours. He'd lost Astrid too, and he hated seeing you in pain. He slowly brought both of you down to kneel when you were too tired to stand.

And that was it. That was what you needed and that was what you had. You would be alright. In time, you would be alright.

[bumblesimagines]

Green Thumb

Part 4

Request: Yes or No

TW: Drug mention, needle mention, overdose mention

I'm still unsure on the twins ages in age of ultron since one source says 16 and the other says 26 lmao. Imma just say the twins are 17 or 18.

~

You stared down at the city below with a frown. You knew Clint wouldn't rest until Natasha was found. Everything had happened so quickly and even if you had tried to catch her with a root, you would've been pulled along. A sigh left you as you sat down at your desk. Your room in the tower felt like a cell. Gray walls, white bed, white desk. The only real color in the room came from the line of potted flowers on the desk. You felt your stomach grumble, standing up and leaving the room. You headed to the kitchen, getting a granola bar. You opened it, taking a bite from it. You almost choked, hearing crashing and arguing. You swallowed the bits of granola as you followed the noises to the laboratory. You headed up the stairs, dodging a flying Steve.

"What the fuck?" You turned your head, seeing the Maximoff twins. "What the fuck?" You repeated, watching them in bewilderment. Another one left you when Thor crashed through a window, raising his hammer and letting the electricity power the cradle. Nothing happened for a moment before the cradle burst open, causing Thor to fly back.

"I should've stayed with Laura." You whispered, staring at the red man that emerged from the cradle. He slowly stood, looking between everyone. His gaze settled on Thor, lunging for him but Thor grabbed him and threw him to the side, causing another crash.

"(Y/N), stay close." Clint called, eyeing the twins. You quickly walked over to him, hearing the crunching of glass beneth your shoes. While Thor and Steve took the dramatic way, you chose to use the door and head to the room Vision was in. Thor raised his hand, stopping Steve from attacked. The man stared out into the city, staying silent and motionless. Thor set down his hammer as the man landed on the door, apologizing to Thor and mimicking his cape.

"Thor, you helped create this?"

"I've had a vision. A whirlpool that sucks in all forms of life and at its center is that." Thor explained, pointing at the crystal in the mans forehead.

"What, the gem?" Bruce asked, watching Thor look at him.

"The mind stone." He corrected. "It's one of the six infinity stones. The greatest power in the universe with destructive abilities." Thor explained as he faced everyone.

"It looks like a citrine." You muttered, continuing to unwrap the rest of your granola bar, swiping away the crumbs that fell on the floor with your foot.

"A what?" Clint asked softly. You glanced at him.

"It's a type of gemstone. It's supposed to motivate you to take action." You shrugged lightly. Gemstones were pretty interesting to study, even more so when they had so called 'destructive abilities.'

"Stark's right."

"Oh, it's definitely the end." Bruce said quietly.

"Why does your vision sound like J.A.R.V.I.S?" Steve asked as he watched the man walk forward. Tony explained why, still in awe and surprise. The man looked at Steve.

"You think I'm a child of Ultron?" Though it sounded like a question, it was obvious it was a statement.

"You're not?"

"I'm not Ultron." The man replied softly, almost confused. "And.. I'm not J.A.R.V.I.S either."

"I looked in your head and saw annihilation." Wanda said, stepping forward as she glared at him. Clint scoffed softly, walking towards everyone. You followed, tossing the wrapper into the trashcan.

"Look again."

"Your approval seems jack to me." Clint said, gaze staying locked on the twins. Wanda's gaze went to Clint before going to you. You maintained brief eye contact. It wasn't everyday you met another meta.

"Her powers, the horrors in our heads, Ultrons powers.. They all came from the mind stone. Nothing compares to what it can unleash." Thor revealed. "And with it on our side-"

"Is it?" Steve interrupted, looking at the man again.

"Are you? On our side?"

"I don't think it's that simple." He replied softly.

"Sounds pretty simple. Death or life for humanity." You said, shrugging. He looked at you, giving a small nod before looking at the others.

"Then.. I'm on the side of life. Ultron isn't." He took small steps forward, not wanting to agitate anyone.

"What's he waiting for?"

"You." The man stared at Tony. You were already coming up with names for him. Tony Jr was the one sticking.

"Sokavia's our best bet." Tony said.

"Nat's there too." Clint told them, looking at Bruce when he approached the man.

"If we're wrong about you..." Bruce started softly. His threats were always amusing until he turned green. He stared at Tony Jr, letting it up to his imagination, if he had that.

"I don't want to kill Ultron." Tony Jr walked around Bruce, continuing past everyone.

"He's weak.. And in pain but that pain will roll over the Earth, so he must be destroyed. Every forms he's built, every sense of his presence on the net. We have to act now and not one of us can do it without the other." Tony Jr turned, facing them. He looked down at his hands.

"Maybe I am a monster. I don't know if I will become one.. I'm not what you are. I'm not what you intended. So there may be no way for you to trust me but we need to go." Tony Jr finished his speech, picking up Thors hammer and handing it to him. The room stayed silent as everyone took it in. Thor took his hammer, clearing his throat and nodding.

"Alright." He gave a small smile, walking away. You sighed, turning around and walking towards the bar.

"Don't even think about it." Clint called as he walked past you. You huffed, watching him go.

"Seriously?" You rolled your eyes, looking over your shoulder at the twins. They walked away in amusement, following Steve's directions to the lockers. You walked to your room, putting on the outfit Clint had designed for you. You looked at a picture of you and Clint, smiling softly. You left the room, walking down the hall. You noticed Thor and Tony Jr talking outside, arms crossing as you approached the glass. You stared at the two, gaze locking onto the reflection of the twins. You turned to face them, seeing Wanda pause and stay in her spot.

"Sorry about choking you." You spoke first, looking between them. Wanda gave a small nod, hand gently gripping her arm.

"Did you get experimented on like us?" Pietro asked, head tilting. Some white strands fell over his face. You shook your head, biting your bottom lip as you thought on how to explain it.

"From what Bruce told me, my mother had drugs in her system during labor. It was an unknown drug that they still haven't identified but Bruce says that it might've given me some freak cell mutation that gave me these powerd. It's weird. Clint said it took a long time to even find any information on my family. I don't know if it's true or something that they told me to make me feel better about being orphaned." The twins gaze softened, glancing at each other. Wanda licked her lips, glancing at the ground.

"When were you orphaned?" She asked softly.

"When I was a baby. My mom died in labor and my dad had been found dead with a needle in his arm a day later. I was put into an orphanage cause my parents were seen as a Jane Doe and John Doe. Again, it's weird." You told them, shrugging lightly. Pietro took in a soft breath, gaze becoming distant.

"We're orphans too. I'm sure you already know what happened by now but.. A bomb killed them." Pietro said softly. He took in a deeper breath, giving a small smile to lighten the mood.

"I suppose that's another thing we have in common." He pointed out with a small shrug. You nodded, smiling softly. It was nice to be around people your age who understood you. Even Wanda seemed relaxed and more comfortable.

"(Y/N), what'd I say?" You looked up upon hearing Clint's voice.

"You were the one who left me alone to change." You reminded him with a soft huff, going around the twins and approaching him. Clint shot you a pointed look, glancing at the twins. You understood why he was distrustful of them.

"Clint, they're like me." You said quietly as you walked with him to the aircraft.

"You're not like them."

"Yes, I am. They're metas and around my age. Weren't you the one who said I had to work on my people skills?" You cocked a brow as you stared at him. Clint stayed silent, giving you the answer.

"They were fighting for their country after it was attacked. They have all the right to be distrustful-"

"After one conversation, you can tell apart the difference between good guys and bad guys?"

"I don't know, Clint, you tell me. You were the one who chose to take in a kid who almost choked your best friend to death and attempted to impale Americas biggest playboy with a fucking branch." You hissed lowly, frowning and looking forward.

"You were, and still are, a kid." Clint said, voice becoming hard and stricter.

"Oh, well, fuck me, I didn't realize the twins were in their eighties."

"Quit giving me attitude, (Y/N). I want to protect you. You don't know if they're gonna stab us in the back when we least expect it. If we destroy Ultron and they stay on our side, you can play dolls with them." Clint said, approaching the aircraft.

"Whatever." You entered the aircraft, taking a seat. The others entered not long after. The twins sat down beside you as Clint headed to the front.

"We didn't get you in trouble, did we?" Wanda asked quietly, glancing over at Clint. You shook your head, toying with the roots in order to relax.

"No, just.. Strict dad drama." You muttered. Wanda tilted her head, making eye contact with Pietro before it clicked.

"Oh.. He adopted you? That's nice." Wanda gave a small smile. "Maybe the Avengers aren't so heartless."

"We aren't." You assured, looking between her and Pietro. "It'll take a while but.. We can all grow to trust each other."

"I hope so." Pietro breathed out, hands going to the belt as the aircraft lifted up. You chuckled at the nervous look on his face.

[moonlit-han]

a dress made of starlight ↠ bang chan

genre: fluff, period piece word count: 1.3k warnings: none request: yes (anon) a/n: I imagine that this piece takes place at a time in which balls were still regularly held—perhaps the early 1800s. or, it might be an entirely different world.

✧ masterlist in bio ✧

. ∗ ⋆ ∗ ̥ . ∗ ̥ .  ̥ . 

You’d stolen glimpses of your grandparents’ Midsummer Ball when you were twelve before your older sisters had caught you and immediately told your parents. But what you’d seen had stuck in your mind like toffee in your teeth for the past six years. Seemingly thousands of sparkling lights hung from the ceiling, garlands of greens and thousands of flowers twined around nearly everything, a long table laden with sumptuous food and drink ran along one side of the room. The most incredible sight of all was the people dancing to music so beautiful you were certain you’d just stumbled upon a faerie revel. All you could see of them was the sharp black and white of evening dress and flowing iridescence of gowns the colors of hummingbirds. It seemed like the most magical, grown-up event imaginable to you at the time. You were entranced.

Now, your heart raced with excitement as you held your skirts up and scampered down the hall to the grand staircase. You’d waited so long for this moment: to walk down those stairs and promenade into the ballroom for the Midsummer Ball. It was something only proper young ladies could do—that is, young ladies who had turned eighteen and could, therefore, be trusted to comport themselves in society past nine in the evening. You considered whether that applied to you. It probably did.

You fervently hoped nothing would happen to cause your grandmother to look down her beaky nose at you and give that disapproving sniff that, from her, was the equivalent of a thorough talking-to. As long as your cousins didn’t try to draw you into any of their hair-brained schemes, you would be fine.

The feeling of layers of gauze underskirts swirling around your ankles and the sound of satin swishing with every movement made was satisfying as a drink of cool water on a hot day. The dress, the deepest of teals with silver embroidery, complemented your skin perfectly and the little jeweled pins scattered throughout your hair matched it exactly. Wearing such finery made you giddy, and you hadn’t even had any of the celebration wine yet! You stopped at the top of the stairs to arrange your skirts and take hold of the banister, then looked down into the hall.

Gazing up at you from the foot of the stairs was Christopher—your best friend, your best love, your betrothed. He was magnificent in his glossy black evening coat, his hair swept back off his forehead in a way that suggested that he’d just come in from a walk on the moors. His cufflinks twinkled in the soft light shining from the chandelier. Your eyes met as you took your first step forward and, suddenly, you were at the bottom of the staircase, as if you’d been pulled by a magnet. You were sure your smile was radiant.

Christopher presented his arm for you to take, leaning close to whisper in your ear, “You look amazing tonight, my love,” before quickly kissing your temple. You blushed, despite having heard far more romantic things than that from Christopher many times before.

The two of you moved toward the heavy oak doors to the ballroom, which, according to tradition, Christopher opened for you. In the days before, you’d tried to convince him to let you open the doors for him, but he was having none of it and had gently refused. As you passed through the arches of flowers and beheld the sheer splendor of the ballroom, you would have surely fainted had you not been holding Christopher’s arm.

The older guests clapped politely as the two of you entered—Christopher nodding in recognition and you smiling sweetly—and took your place in the circle of other young people who had all promenaded into the ballroom just moments earlier. You were the only one among your friends to be formally presented at the ball that night. The musicians struck up a stately waltz, playing a brief introduction to allow the dancers time to ready themselves.

Christopher pulled you into his arms properly, one hand at your shoulder blades and the other outstretched for you to take. You beamed and obliged, holding yourself lightly and as if you could soar off in flight at any moment. His hands were warm and steady, holding you as if to never let you go. And, as you were betrothed, that was exactly what he would do.

The first time Christopher had held you properly, without reservation nor hesitation, was when he’d snuck into your room in the middle of the night to see you. A cousin, who had been like a sibling, had died that day—you were eternally thankful that you’d managed to get a message to Christopher that day. So when he climbed through your window, you’d simply broken down. Before you’d fully registered that you were truly crying, Christopher’s arms had enclosed you. He’d been warm and sure of his movements, simply wanting to comfort you in any way he could. You’d told him, “You make me feel safe,” and let yourself be pulled even further into his embrace. It was the best feeling in the world.

Perhaps the second best feeling was whirling around the dance floor with Christopher. It was fantastic as ever and made only better by the gorgeous dress you wore, which billowed about you like fog disturbed by the tread of fae feet. Christopher spun you round the dance floor, lifting you when needed and holding you close, too. You kept your eyes locked with him whenever you could, staring into the nut-brown pools that were his eyes. This also kept you from getting dizzy.

As the dance ended, Christopher led you out of the ballroom to the balcony on the opposite side of the room from the great oak doors. You felt your grandmother’s eyes on you the entire time, and thanked any god that would listen that Christopher’s family was sufficiently intimidating and powerful that your grandmother wouldn’t scold you in his presence. Not that you could think of anything she would scold you for . . . well, besides your betrothal.

As Christopher led you through onto the balcony, the cool night air met your scandalously exposed shoulders. He closed the doors behind himself and came to stand beside you at the balcony’s railing, staring down into the lavish gardens. He reached out a hand to trail his index finger it down your neck, making your skin tingle. You turned to face Christopher, who was looking at you like you were more glorious than all the universe.

You took a step forward and brushed your fingertips over your love’s cheek—he leaned into your touch. ��Dance with me, again, sweetheart,” you murmured, slipping a hand round Christopher’s waist.

He smiled gently and cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss. Even from the briefest kiss with Christopher, you felt intoxicated as if by faerie mead. He reluctantly broke the kiss and you simply stood clasped together, shifting from one foot to the other in an approximation of a dance.

“You know,” Christopher said after a while, his cheek resting against your hair, “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever felt—dancing with you tonight.”

You looked up at him, seeing the first stars of the evening reflected in his eyes. “Really?”

Christopher held your shoulders to gaze more directly into your eyes. “Of course, and you know what makes it even better? Your dress looks like it’s made of starlight and the jewels,” he lightly touched the crystals in your hair, “sparkle brighter than any of those stars. I feel like I’m holding the most precious part of the night sky.”

“Oh, Christopher,” you began, and had to pause and swallow as the swell of emotion you felt threatened to bring you to tears. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you really are. You’re my guiding star, the one I love and look to. And you’re always there. I’m so glad I have you, my love.”

“Guiding star, hmmm? Sooooo, I’m bright and hot?” Christopher giggled as he drew you back into his arms and looked up at the sky that was the same color as your dress.

You joined in with Christopher’s giggles—your “Maybe” was lost as you tucked your head under his chin—and continued to sway and dance under the midsummer sky. Together, you were your very own constellation.

[lady-of-the-lotus]

Xue Yang's ritual to resurrect Xiao Xingchen in Lan Xichen's body has failed.

Unfortunately for the wounded, guilt-wracked Lan Xichen, Xue Yang doesn't seem to realize this. All he knows is that he's finally got his daozhang back...

Stroking his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries. He doesn’t deserve this tenderness. Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen— Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Xue Yang/Lan Xichen & Xuexiao - E - Ch. 1 Ch. 2 on Tumblr - AO3

Chapter 3 - The Coffin

Xue Yang’s fever breaks the next morning.

Lan Xichen sits up from where he’s fallen asleep at the table pushed near the bed. A light doze, plagued by nightmares. “How do you feel?”

Xue Yang blinks in the pale gold light streaming through the uncovered windows, then snatches at the bed as if reaching for the sword he slept beside before returning to Yi City.

“Jiangzai is safe!” Lan Xichen says before Xue Yang can panic at the missing sword. They’ve been through this many times over the past few days. “I even cleaned it for you.”

Xue Yang relaxes slightly. “What happened?”

Lan Xichen crosses the room to fill a bowl with cold rice. “You went out in the cold rain to fix the roof.”

“You don’t get sick from cold,” scoffs Xue Yang. His voice is hoarse, but it’s back to its old teasing, flippant self, with the new note of fondness it’s acquired since coming to the Coffin House. “I’ve been cold and wet more times than I can count.”

Lan Xichen imagines a young Xue Yang huddled outside in the rain and feels a twinge of—not regret, as there had been nothing he could have done about it while it was happening, but something akin to it.

“Your infection didn’t help matters,” he says, closing Xue Yang’s fingers around the bowl.

“Infection?”

Lan Xichen pours him a cup of water. He’s been trying to get him to drink for days, with little cooperation. “You can’t let things go like that again.”

Xue Yang grins through a mouthful of rice. “ ‘Again’? You think I’m going to run around getting slashed up by qi-deviating clan leaders again, daozhang?”

Daozhang. So he’s Xiao Xingchen again….

“Is that what happened to you?”

Xue Yang’s smile vanishes. “He attacked me.”

“Were you two…friends?”

Xue Yang shovels rice into his mouth, avoiding looking at Lan Xichen. “He reminded me of you,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Much better manners, of course, having been raised by gentry.” He grins to himself, as if Xiao Xingchen’s unusual upbringing is an old joke between them, but it’s not much of a smile.

“You sound rather...displeased with the man.”

“He turned on me,” Xue Yang says shortly, “as I always knew he would…I tried to help him, and he tried to strangle me.” Almost unconsciously he touches a hand to the pallid skin of his throat, and memories of purple bruises mottling that same throat spring to Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen can’t imagine why he’d hurt Xue Yang. Why he’d do something like that to a smaller, weaker man—to anyone. The time before the Coffin House is increasingly hazy. A former life, a bad dream…

But despite not wanting to, he can remember that day at the Chang Manor, the bright blazing pain of that day like a beacon.

Lan Xichen had been distraught. Xue Yang had restored A-Yao to life, only for him to vanish in the morning. Temporarily, but Lan Xichen hadn’t known that, and he’d blamed Xue Yang...

But it wasn’t Xue Yang’s fault, A-Yao’s state of limbo. If anything, Xue Yang had done everything in his power to bring A-Yao back to him…

And A-Yao’s final decision to leave for good had not been Xue Yang’s fault. That had been A-Yao’s choice.

…No. He couldn’t blame A-Yao. A-Yao had simply done what he had to after Lan Xichen had destroyed everything about himself that A-Yao might have cared for.

And Xue Yang…

Lan Xichen has been avoiding these thoughts, but they break in on him now.

Xue Yang had tried sacrificing Lan Xichen to bring Xiao Xingchen back. Lan Xichen knows this.

But he, Lan Xichen had done far worse in his quest to bring back A-Yao, and unlike Xue Yang, Lan Xichen had a clan, a position, a life…

A family.

Who is Lan Xichen to judge someone such as Xue Yang?

He rises and refills Xue Yang’s bowl.

Xue Yang’s eyes follow him around the room.

“You’re wearing your old robes,” he says.

Lan Xichen glances down at his robes. They’re Xiao Xingchen’s white ones. “I thought you might like them.”

“No, no, of course not,” Xue Yang says teasingly. He’s…he’s blushing.

Lan Xichen bows, smiling despite himself. “I can take them off, if you’d like.”

Xue Yang laughs, wagging a finger. “Let’s wait until your stitches are out.”

"I..." Lan Xichen swallows and glances at A-Qing on the porch, hoping she hadn't overheard. He's been trying to avoid thinking of that terrible night together, of Xue Yang's hand inside his robes, of Xue Yang's tongue on his—on his—

Xue Yang laughs again, perhaps at the look on Lan Xichen’s face, and closes his eyes with his forehead slightly creased, as if he somehow doesn't want to see the white robes drifting around the Coffin House again. Though Lan Xichen thinks he must be imagining that part. Xue Yang is tired, that's all....

“Can you fix my hair later?” Xue Yang murmurs, long after Lan Xichen supposed he was asleep.

“Fix…”

“Braid it, like you used.” Xue Yang rolls over, pulling the covers up so only his eyes are visible. “I’ve been waiting for you to offer...”

Lan Xichen has never braided hair before, but he nods. “Once my wrist feels better,” he promises, though in truth it no longer pains him. He’ll have to practice on his own hair.

Xue Yang nods sleepily and drifts off.

It takes Xue Yang several days to recover his strength.

He spends most of them sleeping.

Lan Xichen cooks, changes his bandages and, while he sleeps, sketches, being sure to hide the drawings. There’s a large store of fresh paper and ink in the house, as if Xue Yang had prepared it for Xiao Xingchen somewhat recently.

On the third day Xue Yang gets out of bed. A-Qing sits in the doorway as usual, watching him with sightless eyes, while Lan Xichen sets the table.

Xue Yang kneels in front of the shelves in the corner, prying open a small casket Lan Xichen didn’t notice until now. Humming to himself, he messes around at the stove, pouring hot water into a small cup. He sets it down before Lan Xichen, eyes fixed closely on his face.

Lan Xichen sniffs at the fragrant steam curling up from the cup. “Is that…”

Every tooth in Xue Yang’s head is showing. “Jasmine tea. Your favorite.”

Jasmine has never been on Lan Xichen's list of teas he enjoys, but he blows on the steaming cup and takes a sip.

“It’s good,” he says, trying not to breathe through his nose. “Thank you.”

Xue Yang comes to stand behind him, slipping his arms around Lan Xichen, chin resting on his white-clothed shoulder.

“Wasn’t easy to find,” he says, nuzzling his ear, then pulls away.

Lan Xichen doesn’t eat much that night. He’s quite thin, but Xiao Xingchen’s robes are still a bit snug around his middle thanks to his larger bone structure. There isn’t much rice left, anyway. Tomorrow they won’t have anything to eat at all.

They sit at the table after dinner, Xue Yang with his brush poised over a sheet of paper, A-Qing motionless in the doorway, and Lan Xichen with a second cup of the vile tea. From the distance comes the haunting trill of a night bird, and the breeze from the open door is cool but not cold. A sprinkle of stars is visible in the crystal-clear sky, an enormous full moon casting long black shadows.

It’s…peaceful.

“The autumn wind enters through the window,

The gauze curtain starts to flutter and fly.

I raise my head and look at the bright moon,

And send my feelings a thousand miles in its light,” Lan Xichen recites.

“Winter wind.”

“…winter wind,” Lan Xichen corrects himself, though the poem, by an anonymous poet, is entitled “Midnight Song of the Seasons: Autumn Song.”

Xue Yang finishes the last stroke and lays the brush down. “I like this one.” He tugs at his hair, hard enough to hurt. Lan Xichen doesn’t think Xue Yang quite understands why poetry has an effect on him, or would be willing to admit it if he did. Or perhaps it’s all simply because it’s the daozhang’s poetry. He winks teasingly at Lan Xichen. “Better than all that stuff about flowers and birds and sunshine you used to write...”

He carries Xue Yang to bed that night after Xue Yang falls asleep at the table. He lays him out gently and pulls down the window's paper curtains so that they're not woken too early by the sunlight. He slides into bed beside Xue Yang but doesn't lie down. He's exhausted from days of tending to Xue Yang when his own strength is diminished, but he's afraid of falling asleep.

Sleep brings dreams.

There’s ink on Xue Yang’s face from where he fell asleep with his face on the table. Lan Xichen fights the urge to lick his finger and wipe the ink off.

Xue Yang’s face has lost much of its boyishness these past few weeks, the fever and wound taking their toll. He looks older, more worn, his once disarmingly innocent face finally matching how Lan Xichen views him.

Except…Xue Yang has been more like a besotted puppy these past few weeks than the hardened monster his reputation made him out to be.

Most of the rumors about A-Yao had been untrue…

Lan Xichen tries to shove the thought away, but another one springs up in its place like a corrupting weed: Xiao Xingchen couldn’t have fallen in love with the kind of man people made Xue Yang out to be.

Which must mean that…that…

Ridiculous. He knows it. And yet…

A-Qing rises and closes the door, shutting out the moonlight, and cocks her head at Lan Xichen.

He knows what that means. He wouldn’t have thought to look at her, but A-Qing, with no other entertainment, has developed quite a taste for poetry.

“Excerpt from ‘Last Night the Wind and Rain Together Blew’ by Li Yu,” he obligingly, keeping his voice low.

“Last night the wind and rain together blew,

The wall-curtains rustled in their autumn song.

The candle died, the water-clock was exhausted,

I rose and sat, but could not be at peace.

Man's affairs are like the flow of floodwater,

A life is just like floating in a dream…”

A mountain of white-robed corpses comes to him in his sleep that night, piled to the sky. Waterfalls of blood pour down the sides, gushing from beneath the once-stainless white robes, forming a crimson lake surrounding the towering island of dead cultivators.

He starts awake, heart hammering. Xue Yang murmurs something intelligible and draws him closer, arm around his chest, warm and solid and firm, but Lan Xichen can’t fall back asleep. He’s up early the next morning, still tired. To the accompaniment of the drumming of the rain that began overnight and the steady dripping of the leaky roof, he sifts through Xue Yang’s clothes until he finds a meticulously-maintained pale silk coin purse that seems out of place among Xue Yang’s belongings.

Lan Xichen wonders how Xue Yang survived before he came to the Cloud Recesses. Stealing? Certainly not begging. Perhaps he’d scrounged off the goodwill bought by his Xiao Xingchen mask?

“You stay here and watch over him,” he tells A-Qing. “Is there anything you would like me to buy you?”

He’s relieved when she gives a slight shake of her head. Xue Yang’s purse holds only a few coins, and he wouldn’t want to disappoint her.

He heads out into the rainwashed courtyard. A tapping sound stops him at the gate. A-Qing stands behind him, extending her stick to him.

“I couldn’t—”

She nods.

Lan Xichen bows. “Thank you, A-Qing. Now, why don’t you go inside out of the rain?”

The thin white material of his blindfold is already soaked, and he can see relatively clearly through the wet material and by peering out from underneath it, but he’s glad to have the stick as he ventures out of the courtyard for the first time.

He’s faced battle countless times without so much as a tremor, but his heart pounds as he taps his way past the abandoned houses surrounding the Coffin House courtyard and heads deeper into the city.

He isn’t sure what he’ll find. It’s been suspiciously quiet in the Coffin House’s corner of the city. But he finds shops in the center of town, and houses, though the city appears to be sparsely populated and run-down. The rain has emptied the streets, and he meets only the occasional pedestrian and a single donkey-drawn cart.

“This isn’t enough to pay for the vegetables or basket,” says the young man at one of the few stalls open despite the rain. He pokes at the coins set down on the table. “Just the rice.”

Lan Xichen swallows. He’d had no idea how much fresh food cost. Servants had always taken care of it, or Xue Yang. “I—I don’t have any more money.”

The young man starts to empty the basket. “Come back when you do, then.”

“A-Tong!” An old woman’s voice, shocked. “Are you being rude to the daozhang?”

He can’t see him clearly, but Lan Xichen imagines the young man making a face. An old woman-shaped shadow approaches him from the run-down house behind the stall.

“Is it really you?” The old woman bows low. “The daozhang, come back to us! My eyes are failing, but I would recognize you anywhere.”

Lan Xichen ducks his head, wondering just how bad her vision is. “Madam.”

“The daozhang, come back to us! I knew you would return. The good daozhang, returned to help us!” She bows again, and Lan Xichen averts his eyes.

It’s Xiao Xingchen she’s bowing at, not him. If she knew the things he had done—

“It’s been difficult since you left us, daozhang. Nobody cares enough to build a watchtower nearby, and there's talk of fierce corpses roaming the forest outside the city…” She bows yet again. “But now that you’re back, everything will be all right again. Here. Take this. Your money is no good here.” She fills the basket with vegetables. “You’ll have to come back when the rain stops for the rice. It’ll spoil in the rain.”

Lan Xichen returns her bows. He knows he shouldn’t be so affected by her kindness, that it’s merely another testament to the goodness and purity of the man whose name he’s soiling, but he is. “I am most grateful, madam. And if someone could help me find my way back to the Coffin House, I—”

“Anything for the good daozhang. A-Tong! Show the daozhang to the Coffin House!”

A-Tong glances curiously at Lan Xichen as they walk.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says. “And your friend in black. About how you used to protect the city and the village around here, and then you disappeared and left us on our own. Don’t know why my grandmother gave you all the free food. As if we can afford it! If it were up to me—”

He talks all the way to the Coffin House—not quite the Coffin House. He stops when they're just in sight of the courtyard.

“I’m not stepping foot within a hundred feet of that cursed place,” he says.

Lan Xichen wonders what happened here. Considers asking Xue Yang, decides against it. Doesn’t matter. It’s…

It’s home. For lack of a better word.

“Well, go on then,” says A-Tong. He turns and walks off, not soon enough for Lan Xichen, who had found himself wishing Xue Yang were there many times during the walk. Xue Yang would have had no compunctions about punching the young man in the face—

He winces. Since when are his thoughts so violent?

As if imagining a punch is any worse than what you’ve already done?

Xue Yang is pacing the porch when he returns.

“Where were you?” he demands, following Lan Xichen into the house. He tugs almost anxiously at the long thin wisps of hair framing his face. “I thought—”

Lan Xichen sets the basket down on the table. “We needed more food.”

“Yes, but…” Xue Yang grips the back of a chair. “You can’t just run off like that. You’re not fully recovered. You almost fainted the other day...”

Lan Xichen hands A-Qing her stick and lights the stove. “I didn’t expect you to be up so early.”

“I feel much better.” Xue Yang relaxes his grip on the chair, but he does it with a forced casualness. “Did anyone remember you…?”

“An old woman.”

“And she recognized you…? Did anyone else see you?”

“Her grandson.”

“What was her name?”

“I didn’t get a name, but she called her grandson A-Tong. A rather…unprepossessing young man.”

For the first time in weeks—months?—the thought of Gusu Lan’s rules flash through Lan Xichen’s mind.

Rule 900: Do not hold grudges

Rule 901: Love all beings

Rule 1,019: Speak not ill of others

Odd that memory of the rules should return over something so innocuous, of all things…

He tries blinking the thoughts away, but to his surprise, the words lie warmly in his mind, beckoning to him.

How much easier things were back then. How comforting it was to have a ready-made trellis upon which to wind his life. A proven morality, a sense of structure, a set path.

Too late for that now. Can’t go back. Can never go back.

Not now.

Not anymore….

But they’re coming for him. He’s certain of this. Any day now he expects to see the white of the Lan as they invade the grim gray peace of Yi City, any day he expects to be whisked away in spirit-binding ropes.

Back to the Cloud Recesses. To the one place he can never return to.

Even if he could go back…

He’s no longer Lan Xichen, Zewu-Jun, the Lan’s Clan Leader.

He’s…something else, now.

Someone else.

“A-Tong, and his grandmother the grocer. I know who that is…don’t run off like that again, daozhang.” Xue Yang bites his lip, drawing blood, then reaches for the collar of Lan Xichen’s soaking wet robes and tugs it aside slightly, revealing Lan Xichen’s collarbone.

Lan Xichen’s skin still crawls at his touch, but…Xue Yang’s hands are warm, and Lan Xichen’s skin is cold, and Lan Xichen welcomes the gentle heat.

Xue Yang brushes a thumb over his clammy wet skin, gazing at his exposed collarbone as if looking for a symbol he can’t find, perhaps one of the bruises he’s marked Lan Xichen with. His hands slide down to Lan Xichen’s waist, as if measuring it. Lan Xichen can just fit into Xiao Xingchen’s wide gray belt, but despite Lan Xichen’s thinness, it’s snug.

“You should change into dry clothes,” Xue Yang says, and he abruptly turns and heads out of the house.

Lan Xichen glances at A-Qing, glad that she couldn’t see Xue Yang’s hands on him. She shrugs as if she could see his glance and goes to sit on the porch.

After changing into dry clothes Lan Xichen busies himself with boiling water and slicing radishes, the extent of his culinary skills. After a few minutes he hears a scraping sound coming from outside and a rustling, thumping sound from the roof.

“Be careful!” he calls up through a window. "Wait till after the rain stops."

"Sure, sure. The roof is leaking."

He goes outside and peers up at Xue Yang, who’s perched on the roof. “I mean it, Chengmei.”

“Go nag A-Qing.” Back to his usual cheerful self, Xue Yang flashes a grin at him over the dripping edge of the roof and disappears again.

Shaking his head, Lan Xichen goes returns to the house.

“The grocer told me there are fierce corpses in the forest,” he tells Xue Yang as they eat the boiled eggplant and radishes, something Xue Yang gratifyingly declares to be as good as anything Xiao Xingchen cooked in the past.

Xue Yang looks up. His hair is still damp, and he gives off the impression of a wet black kitten. “Are they killing people? That’s good—I mean, it’s great that we’ll get to night hunt again.”

“Not until you’re stronger. You’ll get yourself killed in your condition."

“I was crawling around on the wet roof, no problem—”

“We’re waiting until you’re back to yourself,” says Lan Xichen firmly. “We can’t have you getting hurt.”

Xue Yang swallows hard. “Anything you want.”

Lan Xichen hesitates. “There is something else.”

“Anything!” And then, as if ashamed by his response, Xue Yang shrugs and repeats, “I mean, you know, if it’s not too hard.”

Lan Xichen lowers his voice. “A-Qing. What is she, exactly? She’s not a fierce corpse.”

Xue Yang glances at A-Qing sitting still and silent in the doorway. “I don’t actually know. Some form of ghost, I’ve always figured, or maybe a new breed of fierce corpse.”

“We need to set her at rest.”

Xue Yang frowns. “Kill her?”

“Of course not. We need to make sure she’s sent off properly.”

“Before she kills me.” Xue Yang grins teasingly. “Sometimes I think she’s haunting me.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t bother asking what Xue Yang might have done to deserve this. Couldn’t be anything worse than what Lan Xichen has done…

“She’s had plenty of chances to harm you since we got here, and hasn’t,” he points out instead.

Xue Yang turns towards where A-Qing is in her usual spot at the door. “You hear that, A-Qing? Oblige the daozhang and kill me quick!”

A-Qing raises several fingers in a vulgar gesture.

Xue Yang grins delightedly. “Takes her a while to come back to herself after her little naps, but seems like she's back to her old charming self," he says. “Isn’t that right, A-Qing?”

A second gesture, even more vulgar than the first. Lan Xichen winces, but Xue Yang thinks it's the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

“How much are you contr…” Lan Xichen tries thinking of a better way of wording it. “…how far is she under your influence?”

Xue Yang makes a face and begins to play with his hair. “Not much. I try to avoid using the Yin Iron as much as possible. Just to get her not to kill me in my sleep and stuff like that.”

“When you were laid out in the snow, she carried you inside when I couldn’t.”

“She did? She…well, I think she just doesn’t want me to die by anything other than her hand so she can be set at rest and all that.”

“But you could do it, with the Yin Iron. Set her at rest without her having to harm you.”

“Maybe, but she’s been with me here for years. She’s…” Xue Yang stops and glances down into his bowl of slimy eggplant, now cold. These past few weeks have revealed a myriad of surprising new emotions from Xue Yang, but this strain of bashful hesitancy is something entirely new.

“I wouldn’t want to—” Xue Yang stops. “I—”

Lan Xichen reaches out and rests a hand on Xue Yang’s gloved left hand, just as he’s certain Xiao Xingchen would have done to reassure the man he loved. His thumb touches the scarred skin showing through the palmless glove, sliding inside the glove, rubbing his bare skin. Caressing the disfigured part of Xue Yang, the part Xue Yang tries to hide from the daozhang.

He touches his blindfold with his other hand, quickly removing his hand at the slight bulge of his eyes beneath the material.

“You won’t be alone, Chengmei,” he says, very quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Xue Yang stares down at his hand for a long time in silence. Lan Xichen wonders if he shouldn’t have touched him, if he should have used his other hand, the hand without that odd little wrist wound he still can’t account for, if he misread things entirely.

“I won’t leave,” he tells Xue Yang, putting it into as simple words as he can.

Xue Yang pulls his hand away. “You did before,” he says, almost blurts.

The accusation is like a dart to the throat before Lan Xichen remembers it was Xiao Xingchen who had abandoned Xue Yang, not him.

But he cannot not blame Xiao Xingchen for leaving Xue Yang, just as he can’t blame A-Yao for leaving him.

Xiao Xingchen must have had a good reason, as he had for everything he did.

Just as A-Yao had.

Lan Xichen can’t think of what to say to Xue Yang, who sits staring off through the window. Instead of speaking, Lan Xichen pulls a paper-wrapped candy from his robe. The old grocer had sent it “for his friend in black.”

He sets the candy down on the table, a little offering of friendship.

Xue Yang shakes his head and steps out past A-Qing, disappearing through the courtyard gate.

But the candy is gone when Lan Xichen wakes the next morning.

Happy as he is to have the bed to himself, Lan Xichen again dreams of dead bodies that night.

Dead bodies bobbing in the darkness, illuminated by Shuoyue’s solemn silver-blue glow. By its light he can see the white uniforms of the Lan, the silver of the Nie, the skewered body of Wu Shen, the mutilated corpse of Chang Ping.

Floating amidst the corpses is a figure in white, its face blurred save for a white blindfold that stands out stark and clear.

It says nothing. Just stares reproachfully at Lan Xichen through the blindfold while a disembodied old woman’s voice whispers around him, over and over: The good daozhang, returned! The good daozhang—the good daozhang—

Lan Xichen wakes in a sweat.

The bed is cold and empty.

Xue Yang sets a bowl of rice down on the table at Lan Xichen’s seat. Half-filled, as usual. Lan Xichen looks up at the sound.

“Where were you last night?”

Xue Yang grins. “Miss me? I was night hunting. Killed two fierce corpses. Had to check it all out before I let you anywhere near it.”

“Where did we get the rice?”

Xue Yang taps the basket on the table. It’s overflowing with rice, fish, and dried meat. Near the door he sees three more, each with rice, fruit, and vegetables. “Someone left food at our door with an anonymous note addressed to you. Guess word’s out that you’re back.”

“A note?”

“It blew away in the wind. Welcoming back the good daozhang in white.”

Lan Xichen recognizes the color and weave of the baskets as ones on display at the old grocer’s stall. “Do you think it was the old woman from yesterday?”

Xue Yang eats a few mouthfuls of rice before responding. “I doubt it. They’re moving away today.”

Lan Xichen frowns. “Moving?”

Xue Yang shrugs. “That’s what I hear. Some relative died and left the old woman and her grandson a house or something in another town. They won’t be back.”

“Really? She made it sound like she would be around for a while yet…Perhaps I can catch her before she leaves, thank her for her kindness—”

Xue Yang looks up in something approaching alarm. He really doesn’t want Xiao Xingchen wandering around the city, Lan Xichen thinks. He had no idea Xue Yang could be so protective, not even of the people he cared about.

As soon as I go night-hunting with Chengmei, he’ll be forced to acknowledge that I've recovered enough to go out on my own again, he thinks, and is about to ask about the weather when Xue Yang speaks, as if eager to change the subject on his own.

“I have a better idea than running after the old grocer,” says Xue Yang. “What you said yesterday about A-Qing—” and all thoughts of the old woman or the weather are driven from Lan Xichen’s mind.

Lan Xichen, trained his whole life in diplomacy and the social graces, finds himself completely unable to find a way to address A-Qing.

Xue Yang explains things to her instead. “I’m going to set you at rest, or whatever it's called. How does that sound, Little Blind? Ah, you’re speechless.” He laughs as if this is a joke, stopping when Lan Xichen frowns at him.

“Can she speak?” he asks.

Xue Yang makes a face. “Well…she doesn’t breath, so she doesn’t have a voice, and I hated to see her try to talk, so…”

“Let her speak, Chengmei.”

Sighing, Xue Yang does something, though Lan Xichen’s not sure what, and A-Qing gets to her feet and eyes Xue Yang coldly.

“Well, A-Qing?” Xue Yang says. His tone is a bit too cheerful. “It’s been fun, no?”

A-Qing bows in Lan Xichen’s direction. “Thank…you….” she croaks, and Xue Yang was right, it’s an awful sound, all throat and no breath. “Can’t…leave…you…with…him…”

Xue Yang laughs. A bit too loudly, as if to cover anything else A-Qing might want to add. The pathetic sound of his old friend must affect him terribly, Lan Xichen thinks.

“You talk to her,” Xue Yang says, and he goes to stand on the porch, close enough to intervene if necessary. Lan Xichen would never do anything to distress A-Qing, but he appreciates Xue Yang's concern for her.

"Please let us help you, A-Qing," Lan Xichen says. "I can't bear to see you living like this."

"Not...leave....you...." she rasps out.

“I’ll be fine, A-Qing."

“….happy?”

“Yes,” says Lan Xichen. He’s surprised at how readily he responds, though he hasn’t given it any thought. Happiness had not been something he’d been raised to need or want. Duty and moral rectitude were. Two things he’d abandoned.

And yet—

“I’m as happy as I deserve to be,” he says, trying to untangle his thoughts, but when he remains just as confused as before, he moves on. “But don’t think of me, A-Qing. You’ve been through enough. You deserve to rest. You deserve peace.”

She cocks her head stubbornly. “Kill…him…”

Lan Xichen feels a pang of pity for both the girl and Xue Yang. “I know you feel some kind of…animosity towards him, but don’t you see that’s only keeping you trapped here? I’ve forgiven him for what he’s done. If you can’t let go of it and set yourself at rest, then allow him to repay you for what he's done by freeing you.”

A-Qing glances towards the silent Xue Yang. The makeshift Yin Iron is in his hand, and he’s staring just past her without so much as a trace of a smile on his face.

“…come….back…for…you…one…day…” she tells Xue Yang in a croaking rasp that’s truly awful to hear. Her clouded eyes glow like white-hot coals, and Xue Yang looks away.

Lan Xichen closes the door and goes to sit on the bed.

Xue Yang enters almost an hour later.

“It’s done,” he says shortly.

A bit shakily, Lan Xichen goes out into the courtyard. It's empty.

Xue Yang follows him out. “She’s over there,” he says. He jerks a finger at the large lacquered black coffin underneath the awning. Beside it is a smaller one in blue and gray.

Lan Xichen bows at the blue and gray coffin.

“The high tower is a hundred feet tall,

From here one's hand could pluck the stars.

I do not dare to speak in a loud voice,

I fear to disturb the people in heaven.

“Rest well, A-Qing.”

Xue Yang gives him the smallest of smiles. “If you think she got into heaven, I suppose there’s hope for any of us.”

Feeling slightly dizzy, Lan Xichen lays a hand on the black coffin to steady himself, and all expression drains from Xue Yang’s face.

Lan Xichen removes his hand.

He dreams that night of the lacquered black coffin.

He is both inside it and outside it, watching his hand creep over the coffin’s rim, watching himself watch himself as he rises, standing upright in the coffin.

His flowing white robes are stained with blood, the coffin filled with it. As he watches the coffin grows into an immense lake rimmed with lacquered black wood and bare white trees with clawed branches. Boiling blood laps at his waist as the coffin’s bottom sinks lower and lower, finally giving away altogether and plunging him into the crimson lake.

White and silver-clad arms reach up out of the roiling red surface to drag him down, covering his mouth so he can’t so much as scream as they rip him to shreds.

A-Yao is there too, grasping at his wrist, puncturing it, leaving a small red mark—

He wakes with a smothered gasp.

“What is it?” Xue Yang is sitting at the table, sifting through a stack of poems. He crawls back into bed with a handful of poems, pressing his forehead to Lan Xichen’s. “Another bad dream?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine—”

Smoothing his hair, Xue Yang kisses his forehead, so gently that Lan Xichen almost cries.

He doesn’t deserve this tenderness.

Lan Xichen doesn’t, rather. But Xiao Xingchen—

Xiao Xingchen deserves everything.

Lan Xichen raises his hand, touching the bandages on his wrist.

He remembers now. A-Yao, seconds before he disappeared for the last time. Gripping his wrist, leaving a soul mark:

“Goodbye, Xichen. Find me—”

And then he had vanished in a handful of golden sparks, dissipating into the gloom of the temple.

Lan Xichen shuts his eyes against the memory.

“I was going through your old poems,” says Xue Yang quietly. “Do you remember this one? Your only good one.” He kisses Lan Xichen again, so he knows he’s only joking, and reads aloud:

“I tip my cup to the bright moon

The moon, its shadow, and I make three

Fleeting friends we three, the moon, its shadow and I

Still, let us make merry ’til the end of Spring

The moon swaying as I sing...”

“The black coffin,” Lan Xichen whispers into Xue Yang’s throat—Chengmei’s throat. His shoulder is pressed against Chengmei’s chest, and he can feel Chengmei’s heart start to pound at his words. “I know what’s inside it.”

Chengmei doesn’t bother asking him how he knows the coffin is black. “And?” he says, a new sharpness entering his voice. He’d snaked one arm around Lan Xichen while kissing his forehead, and now his fingers dig into the thin material of Lan Xichen’s inner robe.

Lan Xichen raises himself up onto one elbow, looks down at Chengmei. Chengmei stares up at him, face deathly pale.

“I think it’s time,” he says.

Xue Yang swallows. His breath seems stuck in his throat. “Time?”

Lan Xichen struggles to remember. Where had he learned what he’s about to say? At the Coffin House? At Guanyin Temple? The past month is a hazy blur of corpses and coffins and fever and rain. “I remember, when we wer at the temple…”

“Remember?”

Lan Xichen winces at his own clumsiness. “Not…not remember. Heard. As I…” He stops.

There’s an odd look on Chengmei’s face. “Not remember,” he repeats. “Heard, as you were coming back.”

“Yes. Exactly. I heard. It wasn’t at the temple, it was while you were sick here in the Coffin House. You said that you wanted to…to…” He sits up all the way and glances out the window at the large black coffin, standing out darkly against the gray of the courtyard. He’s finding it difficult to put his thoughts into words. “That I was not meant to stay like this. That the body in the coffin was meant to…”

He makes as if to get out of bed, and Chengmei grips his elbow, guiding him back beside him.

“Are you sure?” he asks Lan Xichen. He’s gazing at Lan Xichen as if he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, something Lan Xichen knows is not the case. After all, he does not look like Xiao Xingchen…

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Chengmei continues, his voice barely audible. “I thought you might…” He trails off. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll do it in the morning. One final use of the Yin Iron.”

Chengmei nods, swallowing hard, and turns so his back is to Lan Xichen, drawing Lan Xichen’s arm around him and covering his hand with both his own.

His glove is off.

Lan Xichen melts into the other man’s warmth. Outside it has begun to rain, a heavy patter as the large cold drops fall on the trees, fill the courtyard, speckle the window. But the roof is repaired, the Coffin House snug, Chengmei warm beneath the covers beside him.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow, the mark on his wrist will be gone.

Tomorrow, everything will be as it should be.

A part of him knows it’s only a matter of time before the Lan find them. Only a matter of time before this interlude is over and the Coffin House collapses around them.

But for now...

Chengmei squeezes his hand.

Moonlight pours over the windowsill, casting long shadows on Lan Xichen’s face and filling the Coffin House with a soft silver glow.

He drifts into a dreamless sleep.

* * * *

Liked it? Spare a reblog? A kudos? A comment? It means a lot! : ) Without reblogs, nobody actually sees it.

[kristyana]

Untethered

Chapter 2/?

When he stepped into that throne room, Noctis had accepted his fate.

The ongoing war with Nilfheim, his father's slowly deteriorating life-force to power the force field protecting their city from daemons and magitek troops, their trip throughout Eos to collect the Royal Arms, the trials he endured from the Astrals to prove his worth for their cooperation when it was they who issued that condemning prophecy in the first place.

The sacrifices of all his loved ones.

It all led to that final moment in that throne room.

His death in exchange for the return of the dawn.

And when he had finally — finally — vanquished the Accursed along with the plague; battered body floating through the void as it slowly crumbled like shattered glass, he only hoped to see his father and sister one last time — to see his father's gentle smile and his sister's proud grin — before darkness embraced him.

So imagine his surprise to find himself waking up in a bed. Alive and well, as if a sword hadn't plunged itself right through his sternum.

He thought he had failed.

That all of their precious efforts were for naught and Ardyn was still alive.

That was when the door to his room opened revealing an exhausted Prompto who froze on the spot when his eyes landed on him.

They stared at each other for a full minute before Prompto broke down crying and launched himself at Noctis, clinging for dear life. They stayed like that for what seemed like forever.

Prompto was the first to pull away albeit reluctantly, saying he needed to tell the others and it didn't take long before they heard frantic footsteps outside getting louder. The door banged against the wall as Gladio practically shouldered his way into the room followed by a disheveled — and no longer blind! — Ignis.

"Ignis! Your eye—“ Noctis wasn't able to finish when he was engulfed in another hug by his advisor and Shield.

They tell him they'd won — after a second round of crying which he will forever deny ever happened — that the Starcourge was no more and that the sun was shining on Eos again for about a month now. People were making their way towards the city and that plans for restoration were being made as they speak.

"But why am I still alive?“ Noctis asked as he stared at his hand, noticing the Ring of Lucii wasn't there. "I'm pretty sure I died on the throne."

His friends winced at that.

"We're not sure of what happened either." Ignis replied, his arms crossed and face contorted in concentration. "All we could remember was fighting against those horde of daemons and then the princess showed up to help—"

Noctis cut him off. "Princess?“

"Your sister." Gladio inserted.

Nostic perked at that. "What?! She was there?! What happened to her? Is she—“

Prompto placed a calming hand on his chest. "Dude, take it easy. Like Iggy said, we don't know what happened. One moment we were fighting daemons with the Princess, next we woke up underneath this huge ass tree with you in it still in a coma."

Noctis couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief but also with hope. “But she survived, right?” If the four of them survived then she surely would have too.

Prompto's sad smile was answer enough.

The room was quiet after that except for the Prince's quiet sobbing.

-

The very next day, after a thorough examination from a hunter medic and several reassurances that he was fine, Noctis pleaded with his friends to show him where they'd found him. And they did, but the tree he had in mind wasn't the behemoth in front of him where the Citadel was supposed to be.

Calling the tree tall would have been the understatement of the century, it completely dwarfed all the city's skyscrapers. It's trunk was probably as wide as the Disc of Cauthess and it's canopy stretched far.

"How did this get here?“ He questioned, gaping at the giant.

“You guess is as good as ours." Gladio grunted as he and Ignis cleaved their way through the dense underbrush surrounding the roots of the colossal tree.

It took them a while before reaching a decently sized clearing, a large expanse of green grass forming a ring around the tree's ridiculously thick roots.

Looking around them, Noctis took notice of the details that indicated this was no ordinary tree; besides its unusually large stature Noctis can see white gold veins starting off thick along roots which then thinned and branched out as it goes up. Crystals of various shapes, sizes and color were embedded, faintly glowing in beat with the pulsating veins. And the leaves — Noctis picked up a fallen leaf — it was a luscious shade of emerald green with beautiful rainbow like iridescent when caught in the light.

"Noct!" Prompto called.

Looking up he saw them pointing to a large hole created by the tree's roots forming into some sort of doorway. Stepping inside, Noctis scanned the makeshift compartment. It could probably fit five people, plenty of flowers sprouted out of the somewhat undisturbed ground as if the tree purposely avoid this little patch of area.

Ignis and Gladio stood guard at the entrance while Prompto went to the very back of the area and sat down with a heavy sigh. He leaned against the tree and patted the space beside him. “Found you here, we woke up just outside... ”

Noctis paused for a moment, staring at the space beside his best friend before plopping down and leaning against the tree as well.

He could feel magic emanating from the tree, familiar but at the same time different. He sensed it reaching out towards him and unconsciously meet it halfway, it was then he felt it envelope him in a warm and comfortable cocoon, much like being swaddled in his amazingly soft bed for a nap. Unable to stop himself, he just closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Seeing their friend having fallen asleep, the other three followed suit, resting against the tree and be lulled by its comforting magic.

It was at that moment the four companions felt they could actually rest easy. No more fighting, no more daemons, no more duties (they'll get to that later), and no more prophecy. Just them and the sound of rustling leaves.

But with this sleep brought a dream to Noctis.

He was standing beside the very throne where his father would sit during council meetings, and right infront of him was his radiant older sister in her simple black dress standing in front of him with a smile. She reached out a hand and gently placed it against his cheek.

"You've done well, baby brother. Eos is saved and the Dawn shines upon the land once more. I'm sure you have a lot of questions but the answers will come to you in time."

Noctis clutched at the hand against his cheek as tears slowly trailed down his face. "Rosie, I—"

She shushed him with an exaggerated raised brow, as if daring him to interrupt her. The familiar action brought out a laugh from the siblings. Noctis quickly wrapped his arms around his sister and hugged her as tight as he could, praying to whoever gave him this boon that this moment be stretched on longer.

The siblings stayed like that for a while, basking in each others presence before he felt his sister speak. "I'm afraid I don't have much time, Noct. I came here to warn you."

Noctis paused at that. What? Warn him?

"You've fulfilled your task but the fight is far from over. Danger still lurks in the land and has masked its presence among the people. You need to find it before it'll overrun the whole continent.”

Noctis tensed as his mind went reeling at the message. He just killed Ardyn barely a month ago and now he's hearing there is still more?! It's as if his last quest wasn't bad enough!

A hand cupped the back of his head and Noctis felt some tension bleed out of him. ”I know. Gods, I know how unfair it is, Noct, but I wouldn't be here if it wasn't so urgent. Rest assured though that you'll have plenty of help this time around, they'll come to you soon."

His sister pulled away to look at him with teary eyes and a sad but proud smile. "I'm sorry for not being there for you as much in the end but know that I love you with all my heart, little brother. Now, be the King I always knew you were meant to be."

At those words Noctis' vision started blurring at the edges and he panicked.

No! It was too soon! He wanted her to stay! He'd be all alone if she disappeared!

As if reading his thoughts his sister gave him an incredulous look. "You'll have your friends with you, brother. They'll be with you every step of the way — and I'm not just referring to Gladio, Ignis and Prompto." Her expression softened back into a smile. "And remember what I always tell you, little brother. Physically, we may be apart,"

Noctis felt his chest tighten at the thought that this might very well be the last time they'll ever do this little ritual. "…but distance means nothing when it deals with the heart.” He whispers brokenly as he felt her place a kiss on his forehead.

Then everything fades to black.

But before he completely loses consciousness, he hears his sister and several other voices proclaim as one, "The Allmother has returned to Eos and has gifted the people the Guardian Tree, her conduit, through which to provide her protection and her bountiful blessings."

A furious beating of wings.

"King Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV, with the Allmother’s grace, lead your kingdom to a new era of peace and prosperity."

In a softer tone but no less crystal clear his sister whispers, "Walk tall, my brother."

[darkpoisonouslove]

The Decay of Secrets

Summary: Faragonda’s quest of uncovering secrets leads her to depths she never imagined she could be forced to face over a past that’s dead and buried. Pirate AU.

CW: body horror, gore, mentions of death and murder, graphic depictions of violence, vomiting

Written for @writersmonth Day 5 - word: secret/setting: pirate AU

If you’re wondering what’s going on here, my skin is shedding after the worst sunburn in my entire life so you get this. If there’s anything that’s incorrect, just know that I had to limit the research I did for this because I was trying to stay sane (aka avoid the really graphic stuff).

Soundtrack: Everybody’s Scared by Parah Dice, Holy Molly

The sword trembled in her hand as the amethyst and obsidian crystals dug deep into the soles of her boots. Some of them pierced right through to draw blood that mixed with the trail her target had left behind, walking barefoot like it was no feat crossing the carpet of jagged edges. It was hard to see in the illumination of the candles that grew out of the stone niches like stalagmites.

The dim light curled around a kneeling figure at the end of the cave near a small lake. The shadows clung to the purple hair, dragging across the floor, like an aura, like they were tangled in the woman’s soul. She had yet to see Faragonda, her head bowed, spine bent as if it were broken. There was barely a trace of the fierce pirate captain–and merciless murderer–that she was. Almost enough to fool Faragonda with the quiet stoicism of the place and make her turn on her heel to leave.

“What do you want?” The tension in Griffin's body peaked, the strain in her muscles visible in their murky surroundings. Her hands dug in the ground like she didn’t spend most of her life at sea, like she needed to anchor herself in her own body.

“You can’t escape justice, Griffin.” Her crew was too fast in their raids to be caught but Griffin was alone now. Faragonda couldn't let her get away with all the bodies she’d left behind. Not after the way Griffin had broken Daphne’s body and forced Marion and Oritel to use a forbidden spell to separate her spirit from it just to keep their daughter alive.

“I’m actually looking for justice,” Griffin's voice pulled her in like a siren’s song. There was something so fatal in it that called to her to end this now and find rest for both of them. “You’ve come just on time to help.”

Faragonda shuffled over the cave’s dangerous floor. Griffin may not have turned to acknowledge her as a threat but she was fast like lightning. And if she failed to strike her gravely, the fall on the sharp crystals would finish the job. The terrain advantage was Griffin's but she didn’t take the opportunity.

It was the headstone that hit Faragonda in the chest as it sat in the middle of the cave with the same motionlessness Griffin had adopted. She was standing on a small grave. The source of her crimes. Each letter burned in Faragonda’s mind like the brand of her failure to stop Griffin. How was she supposed to look at Marion and Oritel and tell them she had put Griffin's pain over theirs? How was she to explain the poison in her own veins with no dead tissue in her chest?

Faragonda sheathed her sword, the sound echoing around them like a herald of doom. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Griffin chuckled but the tears were audible in her voice. “You have too much heart for your own good. You know that, don’t you?”

“I believe it’s the right thing to do,” Faragonda made it to the dried up soil beyond the crystals. If Griffin moved, she could find her own grave in the small cave enforcing proximity on them.

“So you understand I can’t let go?” Griffin looked at her with calm eyes. The calm before the storm in the shining suns her irises were.

“You’ll go down eventually.” Marion–and the rest of the Company of Light–wouldn't settle for Griffin's disregard for the law or any human decency. They would put her in the ground if they couldn't put her on trial. Faragonda was becoming the perpetrator of Griffin's death by refusing to bring her in while it was still an option. But Griffin would much rather lie in the grave herself than be unable to come back to it for the rest of her life.

“Sooner than you think.”

The shot echoed in the cave, the bullet ricocheting off the walls after the clean in-and-out through her shoulder. Her sword was drawn in the blink of an eye in Griffin's hand and aimed at Griffin's own chest. The clamor in Faragonda’s ears blocked out any hope of summoning her magic to stop this madness or heal herself.

“Sorry about that but you’ll live. I had to make sure you wouldn’t interfere as I knew you’d try.” Griffin looked back to the tiny grave. “Such a pure heart you were given the choice to have.”

Faragonda’s blood froze at the smile curling Griffin's lips. There was no soul in it, no humanity left. Just cold bitterness.

Pain exploded in her knees from their collision with the rough ground, the scent of blood overpowering the salt carrying from the lake. She could taste the bits of Griffin's heart on her lips, on her skin, sticking to her body except for where her life was still oozing out of her wailing wound but she pushed herself to her feet, her lungs burning and her vision swimming.

Maybe it was her scream that came first but there was just a burst of light–fire–in her eyes. Griffin cried out before metal clunked against the cave floor. The sword had fallen from her hand, blasted out by a huge explosion that left her clutching the wounded limb to her chest. Smoke was rising from where her hair had been singed.

“You really are the cruelest monster of all,” a male voice and its echo boomed around them making Griffin crouch, her forehead pressed against the ground. “You took yourself from me once already and now you’re trying to avoid my revenge by taking your own life?” His steps crushed Faragonda’s heart over and over again as he hovered over the razor-sharp crystals, nothing slowing him down on his quest for Griffin's head. “That’s low even for you.”

Faragonda gritted her teeth to hold her magic between them. She had to find a quiet moment on a school break or a wild sleepover to revive her positive emotions and her powers.

Her body protested as she stumbled, forcing it in the way of the threat with barely sparks of magic at her fingertips and a torturously slow improvement in her shoulder. Her shot arm was still hanging limply at her side and the other was free to press against the wound in the absence of a weapon to use in defense. “Stay back, Valtor.”

“You’re bleeding brains from that betrayal in your shoulder, Faragonda.” He raised his hand, the cold of the cave retreating from his magical flames. “Move if you’d like to keep the rest of yourself at least.”

Faragonda stared him down before stepping away to direct his gaze to the headstone.

The flames flickered out, his hand shaking as the vile grin crumbled from his face. “What is this?” he roared, his own body trembling harder than the walls that barely resisted a cave-in. “What lie have you strung together now, Griffin?”

Griffin was shaking, too, all the cold in the tense atmosphere piling up on her back to wrack her body with shivers. Her stifled sobs were louder than a waterfall and pulled Valtor’s trigger.

Faragonda halted his murderous march. “Does she look like someone who’d create such a deception?”

Valtor spun around, the grimace on his face shoving her back down on her knees in a heap of pain. His face was in hers, the heat from his skin burning her breath out of her lungs. The scorching air around him cauterized her wound to leave her grunting behind her bitten tongue. He could cremate her on the spot but he wasn’t after her. “You’re telling me,” he materialized next to Griffin and grabbed a fistful of her hair shoving her face into the stone, into the words “beloved daughter” and the date of birth and death, “this is the truth?” he yelled under the sound of Griffin's nose smashing into the cold headstone. His hand wrapped around her throat when he pulled her to her feet by the hair. “You did this! That’s why you used the spell for aging up. You wanted to get rid of my daughter as soon as possible instead of carry her in your womb.”

Faragonda gaped at them. There was a lot more powerful magic at play than what she’d thought Griffin's hidden treasure would turn out to be. They could do unspeakable things to the world after what they’d done to each other. She had to press a hand in her mouth to subdue the bile rising at her own weakness.

Griffin blinked back tears, blood running from her bruising nose and into her mouth when she spoke. “I was afraid your mothers would find her.”

Faragonda’s heart clenched inside her chest as if trying to curl up in the fetal position. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked into the cracked ground for the unfortunate baby that had been doomed from the very start. It was only recently that Griffin had surpassed the Ancestrals when it came to plundering and they still ruled the seas with terror.

“I wanted to hide her from them. But instead, they killed my mother and the baby died a couple hours after her birth,” she choked, on her own tongue.

Valtor let go of her and she slumped on the floor, a hiss of pain escaping her. “You should have told me! How could you not tell me, you fucking bitch?” His leg twitched as if he was straining against kicking her.

Griffin held his gaze despite the unequal ground they were standing on. “Is this genuine outrage or is it just your possessiveness?” she bared her teeth. “Was she yours to kill, too? Like I am?” Her eyes were full of venom, wafting through the air all the way to where Faragonda was sinking further into madness she hadn’t expected.

“She’s dead now, Griffin!” Valtor yelled, flinching the same as Griffin. “We all are.”

“I didn’t know...” Griffin coughed, snot blocking her nose. “I couldn't be sure how much I could trust you against them.”

Valtor collapsed next to her. “You should have told me,” he punched the ground and his magic fissured it. The cave shook again but refused to fall on them and bury the horror they were threatening the world with.

“Please,” Griffin whimpered, fingers digging in the soil again. Her nails cracked to let streams of blood color her fingertips and the black ground red before her hands sank deep in with help from her magic.

The sword Valtor pulled out of the sheath on his hip was what snapped them out of their joined trance. “How would you forgive that, Griffin?” His eyes were cast downward like the weapon in his hand. If Griffin couldn't get his attention, Faragonda didn’t stand a chance. But she had to try despite barely being able to crawl with all the dread stuffed down her throat and in her veins.

Griffin was faster. “Please... kill me.”

Valtor’s sword was slipping from his fingers, his eyes wide like suns as he looked at Griffin to wrap his mind around her. It was her who took his hand and pointed the blade at her chest. Faragonda didn’t even have enough strength to crash into them and break them apart before life could be lost.

“Kill me. I was hoping Faragonda would,” she looked at her, her clear eyes piercing through Faragonda like the shards of a broken message bottle. There was no clouded judgment in the gold, only a self-centered agenda. “But now that you’re here, I won’t have to do it myself, after all.” Griffin pressed the tip of the sword against her chest. “Right here in my heart. Slice it open,” she let go of Valtor’s hand that was steady, whether out of concern or the lack of it. “Trust me.”

A shadow swallowed Valtor’s face. “I should kill you just for asking that of me after everything.”

Faragonda geared up to pounce.

“Then do-”

He shoved the blade through Griffin's chest forcing a gasp out of both women.

Griffin keeled over, her weight falling on her arms with her palms still buried in the ground. “Possessive beast,” she gurgled, red painting the words as blood dripped from her mouth and the flood from the clean slice of her heart soaking her clothes.

Faragonda wasn’t fast enough to even cover her eyes before Griffin's fingers left the soil and pushed a small bundle of necrotic tissue into the cut. The baby’s heart. She’d put it inside her own body, inside her own heart after it had rotted slowly in the ground for years under a spell. Like an anti flower in the darkness of the cave. That was what had sucked the ground dry despite the nearby lake.

Faragonda bent over and vomited, her retching barely reaching her own ears over Griffin's screams as her body ruptured and shattered. Valtor barely missed Faragonda’s head when he tossed the sword to the side to catch Griffin.

Wiping away her mouth, Faragonda pushed her hand on the nearest crystal. The pain reverberated through her to remind her of her own strength. Whatever sin Griffin had turned into, she could face it. She had to to make sure no one else would.

Looking overcame her with a new wave of nausea. Griffin was no longer a woman but a living corpse. Large portions of her luscious hair had fallen out to reveal a scalp covered in bite marks and  blisters. At least in the places where her skin wasn’t stretched so thin that the skull was visible right underneath. Her fingertips had been bitten off and the rest of her skin was rotting right on the bones. There were holes in her body through which her organs could be seen floating inside like dead fish in an aquarium. Seaweeds and shells were lodged painfully under her skin and in her joints. There was nothing left in her body that was good for life, yet she was still moving as if her parts were controlled by someone else’s mind.

Faragonda’s voice was gone. If she ever spoke again, she would be the one bringing that horror into the outside world. Griffin's secret loot had turned out beyond her worst nightmares and she had only herself to blame. She’d refused to see the grand scheme connecting all the stolen spells and magic instructions and now she was witnessing it bearing fruit.

“I knew you were lying,” Valtor rasped, clutching Griffin desperately to his chest. His nails dug in her inhuman flesh but no blood spilled from the colorless mass of cells. “You fucking liar.” He’d break her if she bowed to the laws of physics.

“I am not dead.” Griffin's voice ripped tears out, both from Valtor and Faragonda. It was hoarse from the screams of her soul echoing in it and chilling everything to the bone.

Faragonda’s teeth chattered as she huddled in on herself. She was only alive thanks to Valtor’s body heat drifting through the cave.

“You’re not alive either.” He ran a finger over the parts of Griffin's lips that hadn’t been bitten off. It was so intimate it punched Faragonda in the gut. If they could still feel, what would it take for her to stop sympathizing with the abomination of nature and magic they’d become? “What are you?”

“You can’t tell?” The softest touch of her bony fingertip clawed a wound in his cheek like she’d forgotten how to be around life. It cried blood that Griffin pushed herself up to lick off, the crimson flashing through her gray hair for a moment before it ran out of steam and was lost in the graveyard of her body. “I am a goddess.” Red swirled in her eyes as she tore off her own shedding skin. “I can do anything I want.” She turned to the grave behind them, her body stiffening as if death finally caught up with it. “Except bring our daughter back.”

“You’ll never be yourself again either.” Valtor’s body moved of its own accord. It would just drop her and walk out but he regained control and pushed himself back down to the ground.

“I am not weak now.” Griffin reached inside her chest wound and pinched her sliced heart closed around the little heart inside it. She broke off her own fingers and stuck them in the tissue to hold it together like overly large needles since it wouldn't heal. It was dead. But she wasn’t.

Her bones regrew back, contrary to all logic, and her body twisted as if the new matter was squeezed out of it. She felt all the pain of the living decaying corpse she’d become but she hadn’t cried out once. She was a monster.

“You were the most human person I knew,” Valtor stroked her gray hair like he wasn’t afraid of it swallowing the rest of his life, too.

“Now I’m strong enough to defeat your mothers.” A tear fell from her eye – white like milk. “They killed my mother. They killed our daughter because I couldn't stop them. It’s all my fault.” Her voice died in her hollow throat.

“You should have told me,” Valtor crushed whatever was left of her stomach in his fist and Faragonda made a break for the lake. She would rather drown herself than be stuck with the two of them any longer. “But you kept your damn secret... like we always do.”

Griffin cupped his cheek, her flesh not eating through his to Faragonda’s and Valtor’s surprise. “No more secrets. The world will know its goddess and the treasure it lost.”

The ground shook, water erupting from the lake like a geyser and flooding everything. The salt stung Faragonda’s eyes but it was the smell of death that had poisoned it that made her lose her footing. A ship burst through the bed of the lake that was far too small for it. It was Griffin's Cloud Tower that she’d summoned magically.

Seaweeds and barnacles adorned the decaying wood as if it had spent the last century underwater. The distinct spiderweb-patterned sails were ripped and fatigued. The crew was on deck, wet to the bone and missing one body part or another that had been present the last time Faragonda had seen them. If she indulged the worst case scenario, they were affected by their captain’s condition but there was no need for hasty-

Her heartbeat hit her as a shockwave from outside. The mermaid figurehead swam into her spinning vision and Faragonda gasped for air. Its chest was pried open and inside was a charred heart that was beating with her pulse.

Griffin met her gaze head on like she’d been waiting for it. “Only my blood wouldn't work once I’d  completed my transformation.” The crystals. They’d poked through both their feet and their blood had mixed into the ground underneath them. Griffin must have enchanted it beforehand to make the magic flow straight from the cave floor into the ship. She’d planned it all beforehand. “I am no longer the girl you knew.”

But the frightening thing was that she was still the same girl that had broken all the rules and offered no respect to the limitations imposed on her from others and from her mortal form. And Faragonda would have to explain to Marion and Oritel why she’d put a long-lost childhood friend over the rest of the world, why she’d kept a secret as big as the one Griffin had buried in the cave. She’d have to explain why she and Griffin shared the same weakness that would bring down the whole world.

“You’ll leave me behind again,” Valtor’s voice trembled from the rage spilling in it and Griffin’s arm under his palm caught fire but neither of them moved, tangled in each other like they were life and death.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Griffin pushed her hand into the flames as well and covered his to snuff them out with no effort. “But without death, there is nothing to leave behind,” she grinned and Valtor pulled her closer with just as much fervor as she was holding him with as they kissed.

How could Faragonda rob them of something so desperate and deprived?

[katehuntington]

Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage​, @winchest09​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​, and @thinkwritexpress-official​​. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

     “So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

     They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events.      Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

     “Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?”      “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another.      “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.”      Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

     “Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!”      “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her.      But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

     “Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her.      Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

     “There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.”      “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

     “So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.”      “That’s about right,” Dean confirms.      Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive.      “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle.      When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day.      “And I died…”

     The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it.      “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass.      The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

     “That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.”      “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms.      Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her.      “Who killed me?”      “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice.      Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone.      “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell.      Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart.      “I did,” he confirms.      I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time.      “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?”      “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.”      “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?”      A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit.      “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

     Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin. 

     Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

     “We were together,” she says, ending the silence. 

     It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other. 

     Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again.      Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction.      “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

     Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

     Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes.      “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train.      “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...”      “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers. 

     Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob.      “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?”      “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

     She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her.      “Did he die alone?”      She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile.      “No, we were right there with him,” he assures.      “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

     Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself.      “What killed him, is it--”      “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees.      “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?”      Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years.      “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop.      Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished.      “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?”      “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.”      “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

     Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted.      “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention.      She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two.      Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink.      “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers.      Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen. 

     Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks.      She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12.      “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

     Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it.      “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests.      She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong.      “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

     A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames.      “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered.      “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--”      “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

     She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost.      “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago.      He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission.      There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

     Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting.      “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself.      She nods. “Thanks.”

     With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover.      Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels. 

     Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them.      “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers.      “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off.      “It’s no problem.”      His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again. 

     Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit.      Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

     After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

     When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face.      “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them.      “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.”      “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

     A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem?      “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

     The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet.      “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.”      He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is.      “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

     She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

     The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw.      “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives.      He huffs; she’s putting it mildly.      “You have no idea,” he breathes.

     Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

     She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago.      “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away.      She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.”      He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right.      “I’ll leave you to it.”      Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning.      “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?”      He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone.      “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

     Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

     She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though.      “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?”      She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice.      “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.”      “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

     Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

All I Want tags: @alexwinchester23​ @avengersgirllorianna​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @cpag7​ @deans-baby-momma​ @greenarrowhead​ @justkending​ @polina-93​  @the-is13​

Follow Forever tags: @1000roughdrafts​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @afangirlsbubble​ @akshi8278​ @angelsandwinchesters​ @atc74​ @bandobsession98​ @becs-bunker​ @caligraphee​ @canadianspnhunter​ @chumi-la-chula​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @deanwanddamons​ @cookie-dough-lova​ @dawnie1988​ @dolanfivsosxox​ @demonsofhunting​ @dillpicklesunflowerseed​ @emoryhemsworth​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​ @flamencodiva​ @foreverwayward​ @heartsaved​ @hennessy0274-blog​ @hobby27​ @hyperella​ @idksupernatural​ @idreamofhazel​ @indecisive20something​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​ @ivonstiel​ @just-another-busy-fangirl​ @kathaswings​ @like-a-bag-of-potatoes​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @mogaruke​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @myheartbeatsjustforyou​ @notnaturalanahi​ @pisces-cutie​ @rainqueen​ @risingphoenix761​ @sammyssupersmile​ @sheepdogs33456​ @soupornatural​ @spnbaby-67​ @spnimag​ @sunskittlex​ @supernatural-girl97​ @super-not-naturall​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @theyaremyveryownthoughts​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @tmiships4life​ @tranquility-or-chaos​ @trashforwinchesters​ @ultimatecin73​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @uzum4k1-uch1h4​ @vxxn128 @winchesterxtwo​

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 4

Previous

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

My sword is on its side, far from my reach, but I can’t feel my fingers. I don’t feel anything. Friend turned foe is lifting me by my collar. With how tightly he’s gripping it, the thread is starting to come loose. It won’t be too long until I drop back onto the floor and fall asleep for good, forever dreaming of my defeat. We have less than two minutes until that happens. My jaw is smashed. It’ll heal, but by the time it does, it’ll be too late. I still force out my sorrows even though it slurs out as indistinguishable sounds. 

S1Y transforms his other arm into a blaster. The outer metal on his arm slides back and floats around the internal hardware, pushing forward. He points it at me. My face heats up as it charges inches from my crooked nose. My hair flutters backward as it comes closer to finishing. Before I close my eyes and let my failure consume me, I note that even though the shadow from the vein above us masks his face, the goo’s glow lights up the bottom of his eyes. The purple sludge is slowly sliding down his face. Because of it, he looks to be crying. “Please, forgive me, my dear friend.” 

I tried to let out, “Forgive me, Ashley, for leaving you as I did.” It came out as a grumble. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, but S1Y’s blaster never goes off. Hesitantly opening my eyes, I see his wrists are being held above his head by my still lifeless Ashley. As he’s staring up at me in disbelief, he tries wiggling himself loose and begs for answers. She stays silent, not even piping up as he smashes the back of his head against her forehead, which has it bruised soon after.

I’m floating above them. I see that my hands, which I can now feel as I clench and unclench them, have a golden glow around them. No, my whole body is glowing. I’ve seen this sort of light before, but I don’t have the time to question it, and I especially don’t have the time to get hurt for what I’m about to do. 

Reaching my hand out, my sword becomes engulfed in the same glow around me. It spins in the air towards me, flying past the two, nearly cutting off one of S1Y’s hands, and I grab it with one hand before I float back down. S1Y makes another attempt at pulling himself free, but this time, he’s successful. He rips out one of Ashley’s arms from its socket. Eyes widening, I watch it fly past me, its blood sprays across the left side of my face, and it then twitches on a vein in the corner of my eye. Her only hand lets go of him and clutch the stump as she stumbles away from him and eventually goes on her knees with gritting teeth and tears falling down her cheeks. She doesn’t cry out, but I could only imagine the pain, and I think this is the angriest I’ve ever been. Whatever guilt I would’ve felt dies down along with my senses. My body moved on its own as the cause of my love’s pain shoots at me with two blasters. While those lights seemed to slow and blur, I didn’t even see my body moving. I didn’t even notice I’m in front of S1Y and preparing to decapitate him until I heard his voice in my head. “Thank you.”

He moves his arms to the sides, almost as if he’s giving the entire universe a hug, and closes his eyes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that smile that I thought was lost forever, but I don’t relent. 

I catch his head and his actual lifeless husk before both can hit the floor. I look down at his smile one last time before setting his halves gently down and moving to Ashely. What’s left of her right arm is leaking out too much blood. It’s all over her left hand and right leg. Through squinting eyes, she looks up at me. She smiles, and my heart skips a beat. I bury down all the things I’ve been waiting weeks to tell her, especially my sorrow for running away from her rather than talking it out because we’re running out of time. 

Two glowing hands leaned towards her armless half. Without hesitation, she removes her hand from the wound so that my hands can clasp it. I infuse some of my new power into it. She squirms as the armless sight heats up. Her blood has stopped pouring out of her as I have her right arm fly towards us. I catch it and press it against the now glowing site.

As bone and skin stitch back together before our eyes, she touches the side of my face and wipes away her blood from my cheek. I so desperately want to press my lips against hers. I’m about to as we lean towards each other. I can feel her body heat, which increased my hunger to taste that cherry chapstick. We’re about to kiss, but she stammers out, “Help Saamuki.” I step back and see her clutching the sides of her head, pulling at her hair. Her nails draw blood. “Knox is trying to regain control. Help me by helping her.”

No matter how much it dreads me, she’s right. We have a minute left. With teary eyes, I remind her, “Until death do us part.”

Her eyes widen, and before she can respond, I snap my fingers. She’s teleported out of the ship along with Mikrovos, Khavas, and the bodies of Shiitakee, Skeema, and S1Y. 

Across Saamuki’s no longer glowing body are Knox’s blades. She’s been lifted in the air and is locked in place. Before he can ask, I punch him in the face. The swords slide off of her body, and I catch her. Her body returns to its blue state, and she smiles at me with a weak expression as those bloody holes close. I set her down and order, “Get as far away from this planet as you can.”

Saamuki, who’s now revitalized, gets up, reaches out to me, and asks with wide eyes, “No, wait—” 

She’s teleported out of here before she could finish. Now it’s just me in this wretched state and the actual Devil himself. He spits out a tooth as he mocks me, “A little late to show off don’t you think?” He turns to the timer and smirks at me when he notices I’ve gripped my sword even tighter. “Don’t you get it? You’ve lost. How can you possibly stop what’s meant to be in under a minute?”

I swing my sword with one hand to the side to send a blinding golden beam of light at the crystal with the other hand. It’s beginning to crack and between the cracks is purple lightning firing across the room. One zaps between us, but neither of us flinches. “That. We have under a minute until we both die.” 

He shuts his eyes, and he shows his purpling gums. His teeth grind against each other as his body shakes with rage. His fists go above his head then thrust at his sides. Knox growls and whatever was left of his humanity leaves as long claws are pushed out of his fake fingertips and toes, as well as horns and three sets of wings. Where flesh was has been turned into an exoskeleton. His fur turns into quills, and fangs grow with the horns shoved out of his head’s sides, which touch his shoulders and curve. Two purple rings of light appear and spin around each other and his body. Opening his eyes, purple goo flows out of them. Still, I don’t flinch as he shows me what happens when you slice and dice your DNA. “Before I kill you I’d like to congratulate you for being the first one to witness my true form.” His voice has gotten a lot deeper, almost demonic, fitting. That symbol used for the Lords appears above his forehead, but there’s a line going straight through it. “Thirty eight seconds to entertain me. Make me see that you have gone even uglier, worth my while.” 

He smirks. More purple goo gushes out from his mouth, and it fizzes at the corners of his lips. One moment he’s staring down at me as he’s shooting quills, which I slice through all, and the next, he’s diving towards me. My sword connects with his claws, cutting through them. I was about to mock him, but his claws regrow, and I swerve away, but the claws I cut extend towards me. I’m able to fly up, escape all but one, which penetrates my neck. I pull it out, but once I do, I find Knox has joined me in the air and smashes his wings together. They propel me away and cause me to lose control. I try fighting against the wind current to the best of my abilities, but I end up smashing against the crystal, which electrocuted me. I drop both the quill and my sword. 

Knox comes at me, and I pull my sword from its fall, and it reconnects with my hand just in time. I swing it at him, but he teleports to the left, pulls me by my hair, spins me around, and then throws me into the floor. I fall through the floor, room after room, and when the smoke clears, I see I’m back in the storage room and sent in a panic because of it. 

The room is warmer but is darker than I remember. The crystal above only outlines a few crates, so my glow is my only source of light. It’s surprisingly quiet in here until I hear Knox’s laugh echoing. I wave my hand across the room and see nothing, so I’m met with surprise when I find Knox appear in front of me and ready to punch me. My sword was supposed to go through him, but his body crystalized. So, his fist collides with me, and I am sent flying once again. I land in a crate and am covered in something slimy. There is no sign of any of those things, but a massive shadow now looms over me. Knox is descending onto me with his feet first. I teleport away, and he smashes the rest of the crate. 

On a railing, I look down as he looks around the room for me. When his eyes spot the hole Saamuki cut, he realizes, “Ah, you’ve got to see my experiments. A shame their pitiful lives were wasted because now I can’t become what I was always destined to be because of you.” He spots me, and I dash towards him, breaking through the guardrail in the process. The rings around him send beams of purple light at me. I evade them all. “One second,” he added, 

The last thing I see before the explosion is my sword, which its blade has turned into pure light, going right through Knox’s chest and one of his horns going right through my chest. Then, boom. 

“Take my hand,” a familiar voice called out to me. Ojos?

People say when you die, you see the light. I did, but it’s not the type they always talk about. I don’t see dead loved ones, hear a harp playing or doves coo. Maybe being burned in the afterlife makes more sense for me, but I don’t think I did die even though I’m standing in a white room before seven almighty beings. The Lords of the universe are sitting in their thrones staring down at me. The Lord I talked with at their library has their head leaning into their propped hand at the very end of the left side. On the far right side is the one I met in my unconscious state, but now they have chains wrapped around the lower part of their face, covering their mouth. The center is a Lord who has their legs spread apart and left arm behind the headrest and the right across their right leg. There’s a cigarette pressed between their ring and middle finger. Somehow smoke blows out in front of their mask where their lips are supposed to be. 

Sword reforming in my hand, I’m about to lunge at them, but the center one snaps their fingers. My crown is teleported in their hand. I’m weaponless, yet I bravely inquire, “What am I doing here?”

To the right of the center one, a Lord that’s the bulkiest out of all of them grips their armrests, cracking it; the action causes their muscles to stretch their cloak even more, and they shout, “First, you dare to strike us. Now you’re commanding us?” This Lord’s voice is almost entirely masculine. 

Between them and the Librarian Lord is a Lord hunched forward. They look to be the tallest and longest. This Lord softly replies, “You’re a Lord. No need to waste your energy shouting, especially when it means hurting my ear.” They proceed to rub where their left ear should be. 

“Clearly, this human isn’t as perceptive as you.”

On the center one’s left is a porky Lord. From what I can tell, this one is the shortest. They respond, “It’s been centuries since you complimented them. Correction, any of us.”

Right of the one that tried taking my soul, who’s the only one that has a gold, faceless mask coos before asking, “If Second wishes to compliment them, let it be, but if they do then they should give me the rest of the compliments.”

Fourth, the first Lord I met sighs, “One, can we just answer her question already? I am growing tiresome hearing you idiots bicker. No, I have been tired from having to deal with all of your constant blabbering for centuries.” 

Besides the silent Seven and One, the Lords were about to go off on Fourth until One silences them with their hand raised. The center Lord flicks their cigarette. It hits Two, which is met with a grumble from them and a snicker from Three. One gets up from their throne and stands straight with their arms behind their back before revealing, “Welcome home, my daughter.” 

[pilot-boi]

Blooming: Chapter Two

Some Assistance Required

Jaune needs help in this crisis, and since Ren is only being marginally helpful, it’s down to Weiss. She’s not thrilled.

AO3 LINK

“Well, get her flowers then.”

Weiss said that like it was the most obvious course of action and an easy solution to Jaune’s very serious problem. Jaune was absolutely baffled and honestly a little offended by how not seriously he was being taken. He glanced at Ren for support, but his teammate was just nodding his head in agreement. Thanks man.

“But… but they’re just flowers!”

Ren laughed again, and now Jaune was really starting to wonder if he was being made fun of. “And? Jaune, wouldn’t you be happy if someone bought you flowers?”

What did that have to do with anything?

“I mean, yeah I would,” he shrugged. No one had ever bought him flowers before. “But I’m a guy?”

“That’s not the point, you dolt,” Weiss rolled her eyes, but hey, at least they were getting somewhere. And the sooner they solved this problem for the idiot, the sooner she could get back to her work. “He’s saying that everyone would be happy to receive flowers, unless they really didn’t like flowers, I suppose.”

“But,” Ren interjected, as Jaune’s face began to fall, “I know for a fact that Pyrrha likes flowers.”

They watched with satisfaction as the new, very important bit of information hit Jaune and he lit up, a grin as bright as the sun splitting his face. He jumped up from the chair, the chair’s legs slamming against the floorboards before it fell over.

Jaune didn’t even care, already back to usual exuberant ways. “Holy crap, Ren! Weiss! You guys are freaking geniuses, thank you-” He stopped. “Wait.”

Weiss held back the urge to groan, but only barely. “What now?”

The knight looked about as lost as he did when Nora had decided to prank him by only speaking in code for a whole day. “Where do I get flowers?”

Okay, she had to admit, that was a very valid concern. Beacon Academy was large and sprawling, but most of it was covered by buildings and training areas and pavement. Even where there was greenery, it was just trees and well trimmed pristine lawn.

No flower beds, and definitely no place to go picking wildflowers. And honestly, even if there were any flower beds present, she couldn’t imagine Goodwitch being all too pleased about Jaune’s intentions of looting them.

But Weiss just smiled, and it was a particular kind of smile that Jaune would never have expected out of her back when they first met, but by now he was very familiar with it. It was a smile that looked innocent enough at first glance, but only until you noticed the conspiratory glint in her eyes.

It was a look forged from being the heiress to the most powerful company on the planet, but still spending most of your days wrangling your idiot teammates into line.

“I don’t know, and clearly Ren doesn’t either. But if you don’t tell me, I at least won’t be the one getting into trouble for it if you get caught.”

The message of that was actually crystal clear to Jaune, because he was not an idiot, thank you very much, especially when it came to reading people and especially especially not when it came to reading his friend’s treasured moments of mischief.

And the message was: Not on campus. However you get into Vale to get flowers is up to you now.

Jaune looked positively ecstatic as he stood for another moment, bouncing on his heels. “Okay, great, thank you! You’re the best!” he exclaimed in a rush, and the next moment he was already moving again, running towards the hallway before either Ren or Weiss could say anything.

But then he apparently changed his mind just as abruptly again. He grabbed onto the door frame as he sped past and almost flung himself into the wall with the redirected momentum. “Wait! Actually, do either of you know what her favourite flower is?”

Now that was an opportunity if Weiss had ever seen one. Ren started to open his mouth to give the answer, but Weiss cut him off. No way was she letting this slip past her. “What do we get in exchange if he tells you?”

Jaune’s face fell dramatically. He glared despondently at Ren.  “Oh come on! Please, Weiss!”

Less whining would be part of the deal, hopefully.

“I’m listening,” she said in a fake-innocent voice once Jaune’s loud, drawn whine of her name finally died out.

Jaune dropped his forehead against the doorframe dramatically, then banged his head against it once with an amusing sort of gentleness before speaking. “Okay, fine,” he finally looked at Weiss again.

Looking determined, which was honestly quite comical considering the circumstances, flower talk and dramatic assault of door frames and everything. “You drive a hard bargain, but I need the info.”

Ren chuckled at that. Betrayed, by those he trusted most. Thanks Ren.

“I’ll leave you guys alone when you’re studying for, uhh… a whole week,” Jaune offered. “Staring whenever I actually get the flowers, because I don’t need Pyrrha picking up on the surprise. Deal?”

It was more than Weiss could have hoped for. She nodded, properly grinning this time, and Jaune’s smile in response mimicked her own. “Deal,” and she didn’t even bother having Jaune shake on it. An Arc always keeps his promises.

Jaune turned expectantly to Ren. “It’s lilies. Red ones,” he said, smiling softly at his team leader.

Jaune’s face scrunched up in an exaggerated grimace, like he was dedicating an incredible amount of effort to committing that information to memory. Weiss rolled her eyes fondly at the display and was already reopening her books when Jaune said, “Got it.” 

And then he was back to yelling excitedly again, because he almost always was. “Okay! Thank you guys, so much! Bye!” And this time he really was out of the room before Ren could respond, already running down the corridor to gods knew where and from the sound of it, colliding with Blake halfway down the hallway.

Ren smiled to himself, silently wished Jaune good luck, and went back to his books.

[holdthosebees]

Memento Mori

A/N: Here we are again! Reposted w/out the horrifically embarrassing typo, which I’m sure y’all would have forgotten about if I hadn’t just mentioned it. Shoutout to @screechfoxes for reminding me! Anyway I’m still thinking about Mike Crew/Oliver Banks, and I will be until I die. Fic is rated M for mild, nonexplicit sexual content and canonical character death. 

It’s storming on the day that Oliver meets Michael Crew, which feels appropriate enough. Later, Oliver jokes that, if Mike were more of a drama queen, he’d think he’d done it on purpose: the lashing rain, the heavy wind, the crack and roll of thunder shivering through the air. A summer storm, out of season. It’s driven away most of Oliver’s usual customers, the alternative kids and the middle aged hippies; he’s rearranging a display of cat-themed tarot cards for the fifth time for want of something better to do when the bell above the door rings.

The vertigo is immediate. Oliver raises his eyebrows as his stomach lurches; it had been a while since something impacted him like this. Ever since point Nemo, physical sensation has been... not numb, but dulled, certainly. Even the anxiety, once a constant companion, doesn’t leave him nauseous the way it used to. Then he registers the smell of ozone, and he sighs.

The man in the doorway is short and narrow, with a friendly, square face and sandy brown hair dripping rainwater onto his forehead. He’s dressed down for the weather, no raincoat or umbrella, and above the collar of his plain blue button-down Oliver can see a branching white scar.

“Good afternoon,” Oliver says, to be polite. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, I’m just browsing,” the man says. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, as if to indicate how uninterested he is in touching anything. “I’ll try not to drip on your stuff.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” Oliver says. Then, because he feels a little silly, playing retail associate with a fellow monster, “Sorry--you’re Michael Crew, right?”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael says, with a quirk of a smile. “But please, call me Mike. Who was it that told you about me? Simon? Jude?” He looks at Oliver’s expression, and laughs. “Figures it would be Jude. She’s such a gossip, that one.”

“I suppose,” Oliver says. His conversation with Jude hadn’t been long, but it had left an impression. He’d felt rather like she was trying to recruit him into some sort of alliance, and when he hadn’t been receptive, her demeanor had been... unpleasant. She’d mentioned Michael--Mike--as something of a casual acquaintance, and so he’d expected him to be somewhat like her: so full of gleeful malice that it oozed out the edges.

“Anyway. I figured I’d drop by, see the man who hijacked Harriet’s plans for Point Nemo.” Mike punctuates this with by giving Oliver a slow once-over, up and down. Oliver smiles reflexively. It’s hard to tell whether he’s being threatened or checked out; neither option is as daunting as it might have been, once, but if Mike is planning on starting something he’d rather they not do it in his shop.

“Oh,” Oliver says, “sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly thinking much, at the time.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sea water under the bridge.” Mike says, and smiles, taking a hand out of his pocket to wave the matter away. He has a nice smile, Oliver thinks. Not too wide, not the tooth-baring threat that most of the avatars he’d met seemed fond of. Nice. “To be honest, I don’t have much to do with what the Fairchild’s are up to, these days. I don’t really bother with the macro. Yes, I know, ironic.”

“Seems very reasonable,” Oliver says.

“I thought you’d approve. Your lot doesn’t bother with that sort of thing, right?  Everyone dies, after all.” His smile quirks up at the corner; a shared joke between two dead men.

“Memento mori,” Oliver says. He’s beginning to suspect that he actually is being chatted up, a suspicion confirmed when Mike asks him out for a pint a few minutes later. He considers saying no, citing the shop: it’s too early in the day to close up, after all. But there aren’t any customers coming, and Mike’s cute enough, and it’s not like he has many options. And it’s been a very, very long time.

They talk shop a bit over drinks--”Most people just don’t understand how big eternity actually is,” Mike says, all quiet intensity, and Oliver finds himself nodding along--and then, tentative, like he’s actually nervous, Mike asks Oliver over to his flat.

Oliver hesitates. He hasn’t gotten mixed up in any of the inter-avatar politics; he’s had no need to, and an entanglement just seemed like a pointless bit of risk. Besides, he’s always found the delight in death and pain paradoxically distasteful. He loves it, worships it, recognizes it as the truth that underwrites the universe; that doesn’t mean he has to enjoy it.  

But Mike seems reasonable enough, and he’s handsome in an anemic sort of way. And there’s--something, in his eyes, the tilt of his jaw, an echo of defiant exhaustion, a coldness that Oliver recognizes. He is fairly cold himself, after all.

Going to bed with Michael Crew is--well, it would be overwhelming, if Oliver were capable of being overwhelmed. Touching his skin is vertigo, is free fall, the first crack of thunder when a storm breaks. Oliver licks the scar on his chest and tastes ozone. He can only imagine what Mike feels, touching him. They aren’t human, anymore; their bodies are vessels for something monstrous and huge, beautiful in their horror; but they can still sweat, and bite, and gasp so gently at the shock of sudden pleasure. Afterwards, Oliver lays his head on Mike’s chest and is relieved when he doesn’t feel a heartbeat.

It becomes almost a regular thing. They don’t date. They don’t have a relationship. The part of themselves that could be given to another person was already dedicated to something else; Mike will never look at anyone the way he looks up at the night sky, and Oliver will never feel as sadly tender about anything as he does when he sees the soon-to-be-dead walk past. The secret that Mike keeps is that the world is very big; the secret Oliver keeps is that your experience of it will be small. The space they make fits somewhere in-between.

The truce that they keep between them is simple. Mike comes by the store every few months or so. They make smalltalk, discuss the state of the powers, have sex sometimes. It’s nice. Mike, it turns out, is just as much of a homebody as Oliver; he lets the silences between them stretch on, doesn’t both texting ahead, doesn’t make demands of Oliver’s time. This is, of course, ideal. It is hard to care about investing in another person when you keep in the center of your heart and in your bones the knowledge that they, too, will die.

But still. It’s nice. One evening Mike swings by the store just before closing, and Oliver looks at his grey eyes and narrow shoulders and feels--something. It isn’t joy, and it isn’t exactly lust, and it’s certainly not love--Oliver does remember what it was like to be in love, although the memory feels like a reflection in water, murky and warped and far away. But something unclenches, somewhere in his chest, and he smiles without thinking when he says hello.

“Hey,” Mike says. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all kinds of windblown directions. It suits him. “I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Oliver says. Mike isn’t the gift-giving type; they aren’t exactly in a gift-giving business. Mike nods, rooting through the pockets of his faded grey trousers. What he pulls out looks at first like a lump of pale rock, but Oliver can feel the cold emanating from it, familiar and soft. He holds out his hand, and Mike presses the lump into it.

A chunk of bone, worn smooth, the pockmarks of its structure exposed all along one side. A piece from the spine of a sea creature long extinct. Oliver can feel the layers of dead things condensed on the ocean floor, the sediment of thousands of years of endings. It was, not the last of its species, but second to last. With it died the last chance they had.

When he closes his eyes, he sees the dark ocean stretching out forever.

“Thank you,” he says. He rolls the bone back and forth, savoring it. “It’s--very nice.”  

“You’re welcome,” Mike says. He sounds uneasy. He puts his hands back in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t seem self conscious, not exactly, but--this isn’t something that they do, and they both know it. Still, Oliver smiles as he tucks the bone into the pocket of his work slacks, and after a moment, Michael relaxes again.

“Drop by my place, yeah?” he says. “When you’re done closing?”

Oliver doesn’t ask why he doesn’t want to linger. When Mike opens the shop door the is a rush of wind strong enough to tug at the covers of the paperbacks on display. Then the door shuts and the bell rings, and Oliver is left in stillness.

He rings up his last customer, a middle-aged woman buying a crystal pyramid and a book on chakra manipulation. There is a black tendril wrapped around her middle, and Oliver allows himself a moment to feel the soft, cold whisper of his god. It feels good. He knows, intellectually, that he might have felt guilty about that, once.

He closes up, and goes to Mike’s flat. Mike has a cup of tea and some takeaway already waiting for him. While they eat Mike tells him, in dreamy snippets, about his trip to the ocean. The sea, he said, that was big, but the sky--the perfect black, stretching on forever, unmarred by light pollution, the incredible, indifferent distance of the stars--that was something else. He closes his eyes while he speaks, savoring the memory. Oliver doesn’t ask what happened to the sailors he was with. He doesn’t have to. All the avatars serve the End, in their own ways.

They go to bed. When Mike removes his shirt Oliver sees a new scar, a patch of raw red skin in the shape of a handprint on his shoulder. Mike’s mouth twists when he notices Oliver looking.

“Had a bit of a disagreement with Jude Perry,” he says, wry. Then he frames Oliver’s face in his hands and kisses him, all sudden intent, and Oliver feels the vertigo again, twisting with arousal in the pit of his stomach. He smiles.

Afterwards, they lie together, Mike’s head on Oliver’s chest, Oliver’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair. This is another thing they don’t usually do, the cuddling. Mike’s not a cuddly person, just like he’s not a clingy person, or a gift giving person, or--arguably--a person at all. Oliver finds himself remember the last time he did this. Years and years ago. In bed with Graham, who he didn’t let himself think about for so long that it became an unconscious habit to repress.

But his memories are hazy and confused, another life, full of feelings that no longer fit in his body. And there are details that he can’t line up: what color was Graham’s hair? His eyes? It’s all fading away, now, tangling and strange, like an old movie in a foreign language. Oliver gives up. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, listening to the quiet rush of Mike’s breathing.

He dreams. In his dreams he is in the middle of the ocean, water like black glass stretching out in all directions. Forever. And above it the sky, the black and endless sky, full of cold and distant stars.

The water rolls. A huge wave, a wall: the back of some great creature, larger than a ship, than a whale, its bulk enough to change the entire landscape without breaking the surface. Oliver sees miles of barnacle-ridden skin, a single sunken eye. And around it, familiar as breathing: the tendrils of death, black and fleshy, like the arms of a kraken drawing it down. The behemoth groans, and the world shakes.

Oliver wakes up. At first he thinks he is still sleeping: he smells salt, and can feel the press of one of the death-tendrils against his hand, fleshy and cold. But no. He is awake, in Mike Crew’s flat. The smell is Mike’s hair; he hasn’t been able to wash the sea off of him, yet. And the touch--

There is a tendril around Mike’s neck.

There is nothing else to do. Oliver presses his mouth to the top of Mike’s head, closes his eyes. Then he slides carefully out of bed and begins to dress. Mike won’t wonder why he left. He won’t notice anything amiss, not until tomorrow, maybe, or the day after that. However many days it takes. Oliver pulls on his trousers and feels the lump of bone press against his hip. He does up the buttons on his shirt, pulls on his coat. It is raining. A soft, light rain, streaking down the window in the grey dawn.

He stops at the doorway, looks back at Mike’s small frame curled up under the comforter. One hand grasping at the pillow.

“Rest well,” Oliver whispers. Then he turns, and closes the door behind him.

[kyberphilosopher]

Chapter Sixteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The lake being frozen saves me a lot of time. I cross it without worrying of it crumpling under my steps, putting more trust in it than anything else since the last time I’ve been here. The last time I was here… I almost died. I should’ve died. If not for the tundra-esque waters underneath me, I would’ve. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t drown anyways. Probably would’ve saved me a lot of trouble if I had.

When I look up, I can see the mountain I jumped from. From this angle, I can’t see my old cabin, but I’m certain it’s still up there. I’m excited in my own way to see it again, even though I find it impossible not to imagine a Clone with his gun trained on me waiting. Because, despite the bad memories, I will always love this place. I will always love the system I consider my home. It offered me sanctuary when nothing and no one else would, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful, even if it did try to kill me. I suppose this is what love is- I suppose this is what devotion means. Complete loyalty, no matter the distance or the experience. So, I guess, in my own way, I do love something. I love Ilum. I missed Ilum. I want to stay with Ilum.

There! The cabin! Not twenty feet from where I stand. Just as wooden and strong as ever! And there, not ten feet from me, is the spot where the trooper with the yellow striped helmet shot at me. One of his shots grazed my arm, leaving me with a scar, but I was okay. I can almost still see him there now, just as I do in some of my nightmares, but he isn’t there. Just my cabin, and the stillness of the wind.

I push the door forward, listening to the creak I used to hear so often. I can see the dust in the air, feel the still tension, and smell the silence. It doesn’t feel as warm as it once did, but that must be because of how long it’s been. Three years. Nothing has changed.

The table is still knocked over, my fruit and cheese is just as moldy as when I left it. My bed is just as ruffled up from when I threw the covers off. My old hunting jacket is still crumpled up in the corner, spearheads surrounding it collecting dust.

It feels warmer than I remember. I’m taller now. I could probably reach up and touch the ceiling if I really wanted. Tentatively, I put my left foot forward. It scuffs against the ground, causing me to almost trip. Immediately after, I know I shouldn’t be here.

I’m not welcome anymore. I’ve outgrown the cabin somehow. It may look the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. There is nothing more I can do for it, and nothing more it can do for me. Maker, the thought alone makes me want to shrivel up into a ball and cry.

How could this have happened? How can I feel so unwelcomed in my own home? This shouldn’t be possible. I should be relaxing on the bed right now, a content smile on my face as the air takes me back into its arms. But there is nothing. The air inside shoos me away with malice, begging me to stop stretching it. This was… not what I was expecting.

I turn to the left quickly, my breath falling anxiously from my lips.

On the floor in front of me is a short, wrinkled, green… thing. A male, with long ears protruding off his head and white tufts spurting from it. He dawns cream colored robes that bring out his old, but wise, green eyes. I’ve never encountered his race before. He reminds me very much of a shriveled bean, slowly dehydrating in light of the hottest suns.

Immediately, I take a step back. My heel rolls on the floor and my ankle gives a great twist. I don’t react to it at all. Instead, my left hand dives to my hips, reaching for my lightsabers. They aren’t there.

“Missing something, are you?” the green thing smiles.

I furrow my eyebrows, taking a quick and defensive step forward.

“Make a new one, should you?” then he chuckles. I take another step forward, ready to pick the thing up and crush it against the wall and demand to know what it’s done, but he’s disappeared. Almost as if he hadn’t even been here to begin with.

Make a new one? A new lightsaber?

Yes, my cabin says. Go on. We could use this time away.

It’s not like I have anything to lose from a new lightsaber. And I did say I missed my green and red blades.

I storm out of my cabin then with a hot face. There was nothing better for me to do.

I start my climb to the temple. I already passed the main entrance, but there’s another, lesser known, side entrance that uses the path by my hut. Years ago, I recall attempting to enter the temple through that entrance, but there was a giant ice door in my way. Luckily, there was an abandoned lightsaber I could snag, but I never did find the trick with the door. I never bothered to watch any of the youngling groups for fear of discovery. Now, it seems I have to. Even if I find another abandoned lightsaber, I won’t steal it this time.

I climb the mountain for a while with ease, my body remembering all those primal, survival instincts. Then I slip into a little tunnel to my right and hike upward, eventually making my way back outside and to the side of the mountain. It’s not dark yet, meaning I’ve been making good time.

I wonder what Adamus is doing right now. Probably defending needing me to his little… sausage council. Man, those guys really did not want me with them. I don’t blame them. Lucky for them, they won’t have to worry about it anymore. I have no intention of going back. I won’t see Adamus again, nor Aheka. Admittedly, I feel a little guilty about leaving Aheka. She was trying her best to be kind, and it felt sincere.

There’s a story I heard once on Coruscant, about a bog frog and a scorpion. The scorpion asked the frog for help crossing a river, and the frog accepted. Once it was finished, the scorpion stung and ate the frog. I guess that makes me a scorpion, and Aheka the innocent frog. Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to eat or kill her, but I can abandon her. I can abandon anyone. I don’t need them.

Then, I’m thinking about Adamus gripping my arm in the middle of his meeting and leering close enough for me to stare deep into his pale eyes, and I have deny needing them all over again.        

I find the entrance in the form of a giant hole in the side of the next mountain. I can see the giant ice door I need to get to below, and the large ice crystal above. I drop down to the level below with ease, cracking the snow under my feet. I can see my breath come out in puffs and feel the iciness of my fingers. It’s much colder down here- more stale. Everything feels old and sacred and on the verge of trapping me.

The question now is: what to do? Last time I was here, I couldn’t figure out the trick with the door. I suspect I have to melt it using the crystal above somehow, but it may just be faster to break it myself with the force or lightning.

No, no. Then the crystal would break and hurt me, and I’d have no other way to get into the temple. I shouldn’t disturb the atmosphere more than I have to.  

The hole I leaped through… there’s sunlight seeping through it.

Tentatively, I raise my left hand to the air and towards the crystal. The air around me becomes tighter, more connected to it. I can feel the weight of it, the sharpness of the ice. Slowly, then all of a sudden- it lurches in front of the light with a crack! and I watch beams of yellow and white race across the room and meet the ice door.

Then, the door is melting away. It turns to ice and rushes down steps, chilling my feet through my boots and soaking my ankles.

I can see the darkness waiting for me, the whispers calling me inside. I can feel my crystal begging me to step forward, to enter. It tugs me and manipulates me. It wants me. It’s just as tantalizing as the Dark Side. And so, for the first time in my life, I step forward into the Jedi temple, looking for a new lifeline.

The caves are colder than I would prefer. My breath comes out in puffs of white mist, and my reflection dances across the walls of ice. The whole inside of this temple is built like a maze or a cave, forcing me to rely on nothing but instincts. I have no light but my conscience, no sense of direction but the turning in my stomach. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, despite my arms crossing to keep myself warm. How many younglings have died in these caves, I wonder, searching for their own kyber crystal? If I find my own, is it because the force wishes me to live, even after all I have done? No, if future Sith found their crystal here and the force did not stop them, then everything about this universe is deeply flawed.

I come to a fork in front of me. The path ahead is divided into three new roads.

The one on the left is quiet, with only the faint whistling of wind escaping. It feels lonely, abandoned, desolate.

The one on the right is warm, tropical, and deceiving. It feels like a party made to cover up something sinister and overly hot.

The one in the middle is nothing. It’s boring, and gray and unable to give me anything good or bad.

I take the left path. I am left-handed, I enjoy the silence, and I often feel abandoned. It was made for me.

Every so often, I hear whispers from the past. They echo through the cave walls and into my head, bouncing around softly. They feel intense, sad, distant.

“I don’t believe in chance, Commander.”

"Feel, don’t think. Use your instincts.”

“Don’t let this be the end of the Jedi.”

The whispers become darker.

“Anakin!”

“You were my brother!”

“I know him. Your vision is flawed.”

“Anakin, please!”

“Don’t underestimate my power.”

There is silence after the last whisper. Menacing, it lingers in the air. It chills me to the bone, sending vibrations down my spine like I’ve never felt.

What… what really happened that day? I only saw Order Sixty-Six from my view, but what else was there? Why do I feel so much pain?

A pang hits me in my stomach as something glinting catches my eye. A… dead end? No… I felt my crystal here. I know I should’ve gone this way! I jog towards it, disappointment settling in as I realize that of course it’s not that easy. Sure enough, there’s a thick sheet of ice blocking me from going any further.

… I can see something shining on the other side of wall. I can hear it. I can… I can feel it. It’s my crystal.

I’m not in the cave anymore all of a sudden. I’m alone and in the dark- this time literally. The air feels humid and warm in contrast to the cool cave I was previously in. I can hear the echo of my breathing throughout the area, which appears to be unending. I feel my braid hit my back as I whirl around, searching for an exit in the abyss.      

“Keres?”

I twirl around, and there she is.

“You’re really out of it today, aren’t you?” Talik coos. Her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she blinks. The light hitting her face makes her full lips shine perfectly. At this, I realize I’m not in the black void anymore. I’m back on our ship, right in the leather seats by our game table.

 “I’m just tired,” says a familiar voice from behind me. I turn around again, but this time I see myself. I realize I’m watching the scene play out from a distance, and I step closer with furrowed eyebrows. I know better than to question what the Force brings to me at this point.

I am younger. My shirt is loose and longed sleeved, effectively covering my skinny arms. My braid looks neater than it does now. The makeup under my eyes is cleaner, but also smudged as if I’ve been crying. I am similar, but different to as I am now.

Talik leans forward in her seat with a smirk. She puts her elbows on the table and crosses her arms. “Could’ve sworn I heard you making noises last night. You sure nothing was keeping you up?” She bites her lip and wiggles her eyebrows. I watch my own face go blank with apathy, but I can see the wheels of my mind turn as I try to understand her meaning.

“Not like that,” I finally say. “Must’ve been Kip.”

“Ew. Or Mur.”

I roll my eyes and look away casually. “Please, stop talking.”

Talik throws her head back and lets out a musical laugh. “If you insist.”

The air is quiet for a moment. Old Keres looks down to her lap and fumbles with her fingers (all ten of them), picking at her nails as she thinks. Talik watches me with scrutinizing eyes. She’s analyzing me.

And then the memory all comes back at once. I couldn’t place it at first. Now I can. And my brain feels cloudy as I try not to collapse in on myself with cringe.

“I have something for you,” Talik finally says. I pick my head up with attention, and she digs into her belt pocket and puts a small pouch on the table. “Glitteryll,” she smiles. “Two pounds of it.”

I look at the small pouch with something like lust. I can see my own pupils dilating in and out. My mouth falls open slightly, revealing my top row of teeth about to bite into my lower lip.

“Where’d you get all that, anyway?” I ask.

The Twi’Lek rolls her eyes. “You know what your problem is, Vagor? You’re paranoid. Always. All the time! It never stops!”

A snuff of air leaves my nose with a quick smile in an attempt to relax myself. “I think you’re just jealous I ask better questions than you do.”

“Ha. You wish,” she says with narrow eyes. “But for real. Look at this.”

“It’s impressive,” I shrug, eyeing the pouch with desire again. “But do you really think Mur would appreciate it?”

Talik rolls her eyes. “Paranoia. Again with the paranoia.”

My old self watches her. My eyes flicker between Talik’s. I can’t remember what I was thinking exactly, but I remember thinking very hard. I can see it in my face from the little details no one but me would notice.

“I guess,” I finally mutter. “I think I’m gonna take it easy today. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

I go to exit the booth. In my real body, my hands ball into fists as I watch myself. I already know what happens next. I remember it. I didn’t like it.

Talik swipes the pouch back into her hands and under the table. “You’re always at that desk, Vagor. Will you be working?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably, I guess. I can get around to that holster you asked for.”

My hands tighten into smaller balls.

“Well then you’ll need your energy,” Talik smiles. “Here. Wait right here.”

She didn’t give me a chance to respond. Talik sweeps her curvy body out of the booth and into the space we use as a kitchen. My old self watches her go, easing myself back into my seat slowly. I should’ve just gotten up anyway. That’s what makes this whole future my fault.

Talik clicks a button on our caf machine. I could’ve sworn I’d told her I’m not all a fan of the stuff, but I’d just figured she’d forgotten. Instead, my present body keeps my eyes glued to her, as the old me twiddles my thumbs in waiting.

I watch the Twi’Lek remove the pouch from her hands, open it, and set it on the counter. She fills a tall cup with the caf and sits it on the counter. Her slender fingers reach into the bag and pull out a pinch of shimmering dust. She lets it fall into the cup and swirls it around. Then she takes another pinch of the stuff and repeats. Talik does it a third time for good measure. Finally she brings the cup over to the table, steaming and the color of chocolate, setting it down in front of me.

“For you,” Talik smiles sweetly.

I remember having a bad feeling. It’s my fault.

I already know what happens next. I don’t need to see it,  though I do anyway. Because what I see now isn’t up to me. Because I know that I can’t be in control of everything.

Still, once it is done, I am somewhat on the verge of tears. It is enough to make me wonder if I am weak. If I deserved what had happened after I accepted the drink. But mostly I think I cry of frustration towards myself. Because even now, after I watched it all, I still make myself believe that Talik didn’t mean any of it.  

“Not your fault, it was,” calls a familiar voice from behind me.

Lowering my gaze under the weight of my shame, I turn. I’m no longer looking at the ship, but instead at a large, circular room. The wall is made of windows, revealing an orange sky behind a detailed city. I can see the ship traffic outside, whizzing and whirring as if anyone had anything important to do. The room is lined with dark red chairs. Only one of them is filled.

“Known, how could you?” says the little green one. His eyes narrow and widen as he speaks, as if he were desperately trying to get his point across.

My lips quiver as I search around the room quickly. I can feel the tears welling up again, blurring my vision somewhat. It feels like there’s no more air in the world.

“I should have been smarter,” I finally break. My head falls again. I can’t stop myself from sniffling like a child, but I can obscure his vision from seeing it at least.

“No,” he responds firmly. “No, no, no! Never the fault of the victim, it is. Only that of the perpetrator.”

“So I’m a victim then,” I wipe my nose with the cuff of my sleeve. Being a victim is the very last thing I wanted to be. “Who are you?” I snap suddenly.

The little green things mouth curves into a thin line. A smile. And for some reason, the smile puts me at ease. The creature is old and wise. If he smiles at me, it’s because he is certain things will go alright. If he smiles at me, it’s because he’s certain that the Force will carry my body safely to the shore, no matter how high the waves climb. And who am I to question the thing I believe to bind everything together?

“Right,” I mutter as I roll my puffy eyes. “Jedi.”

“Something clever about you, I knew there was.”

“You don’t need to be force sensitive to see that,” I explain. I can feel my nose drain, and I want to wipe it again.

The Jedi creakily extends his hand to me. His three claws gesture out to me, then to a chair on his right. I eye them suspiciously. They are the thrones of my enemy. I wouldn’t touch them unless it was to ruin it.

Though, now that I see them, I see how plush they are. They remind me of velvet. I haven’t touched velvet many times in my life. True to my nature, the longer I see the furniture, the more curious I become. Finally, I edge myself closer to the thing before I settle into it slowly.

It’s soft. I was right about the velvet. Still, I don’t feel comfortable enough to sink into it all the way. I keep myself poised and upright, and ready to stand at a moments notice.

“Against the Jedi Order what have you?” the old thing croaks.

My index finger twitches reflexively at the question, like a spasm. I don’t think about it too much, but then I miss my ring finger. I can’t seem to forget about it.

I breathe out through my nose slowly. I haven’t told anyone about my reasoning behind my opinion on the Jedi for as long as I’ve been alive. For so long, these opinions have just been bouncing around inside my own head. Am I ready to speak them into the air?

“You’re just not as good as you say you are,” I swallow bitterly. In reality, I want to scream out ‘you left me to die!’, but that doesn’t fit my constant need to be cool as a cucumber. “This whole thing is just ridiculous you know. Why would you even wear robes for a job like this? That doesn’t make any sense. You’ll trip on your own feet. Is that what you want?”

A touch of humor to hide my emotions. A defense mechanism.

“What about your big, fancy temples, huh? Why do I have to walk up so many stairs to meditate? I can just meditate in my own house.”

“Your name, I did not catch.”

“And what’s with all your kriffing diversity? We get it! You’re tolerant. Except when someone has a different world view than you. Then they’re evil and under speculation, right?”

The green thing frowns slightly, but I keep going.

I stand, heated from my tangent. “That’s your whole point, isn’t it? To stand against evil? Have you ever considered that there wouldn’t even be evil without whatever you call good? Everything depends on perspective. Nothing fancy and made up like your moralistic code. Which, by the way, is completely backwards. You really think no one in your order would fall in love?” My hands are practically waving around in the air now as I speak to emphasize my version of enthusiasm.  “Waste of time and energy.”

The green one looks at me kindly, for some reason. He doesn’t seem angry. Nor appalled. He is comfortable.

“Master Plo Koon’s chair, you sit in,” he croaks.

I raise an eyebrow at this. The fingers of my left hand run against the velvet, feeling all the pieces of fiber. “Master? As in-”

“Jedi Master,” the thing nods with a small smile. “A good master for you, Master Plo would have been.”

For a split second, I see someone like Jarvers being crushed under the weight of flames in a cockpit. Then he is gone.

But I can’t accept this. The Jedi want me now? After abandoning me? After failing to give me a proper chance? I’ve already shown I can survive on my own. I don’t have anything more to prove to this group of laser sword monks. And I won’t let them control me more than they already have. No one gets to control me but myself. Not even Talik.

My head shakes side to side slightly. I look the Jedi straight in his bright, emerald orbs, and I tell him the truth: “I’d never let anyone be my master. I…” don’t say it, Keres. Don’t say it.

“I don’t want to be good,” I admit. “But I know I’m not evil. I tell myself I am a lot, but I’m not. It’s just perception- view. The truth is I’m in the middle. Whatever you wanna call it- centrism, ambiguity, I don’t care. But if nobody else is going to do it, then I’ll be balanced. Just me. I don’t mind being alone.”

The green thing leans forward in his chair. A hand with three claws reaches out to me. I can see his nails are like thorns that are easy to scratch yourself on. “Master Yoda, I am. Your name?”

I blink once.

The Jedi is not phased by my confession of moral grayness. He is calm and collected. His wise eyes do not deceive me, and I see that he is honest.

I lean forward in the Jedi’s seat as well. My right hand extends to meet the green. “Keres,” I mutter. “Keres Vagor.”

The moment my hand touches his, he’s gone. The room is gone. The planet is gone. Everything is gone. I am standing in the void again. Just when I think I’m alone, two voices whisper nightmares from over both left and right sides of my shoulders.

“You’re a good girl, Keres.”

"Good soldiers follow orders.”

My eyes snap open immediately. There are black and yellow spots dancing across my vision, but other than that, I’m back in the ice caves. The back of my neck is flat against the snowy ground.

Slowly, reality sinks in weight in my right hand. I lift it up and peel back my four fingers. Inside, a small, sharp, faintly glowing rock reveals itself. My crystal.

I leave the temple with a limp, clutching my stomach. The hand is holding the crystal so tight it might be breaking the skin. I’m too exhausted to register it. When I come back to the circular room I initially entered in, I can see the sunlight streaming through still. It must still be the same day, meaning it didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.

When I reach the cabin, I feel as if I’m going to throw up. I do- twice. Luckily, there’s a bucket of cheese I was never going to eat anyways that I empty the contents of my stomach into. Then I wipe my sweaty palms and get ready to forge a saber.  

The design I come up with for my lightsaber is one I like. Simple, sleek, not overly extravagant.

It is made of onyx. The body has a pattern of silver and black horizontal stripes, and the emitter is tall and slanted. The pommels, when detached from each other, has a small, silver loop for me to clip onto my belt.  

With a slow exhale, I place my thumbs over one of the switches. I hold the lightsaber directly in front of me, trying to slow my heartbeat. It’s not easy, and I fail.

I’m about to find out what color my lightsaber is.

I push the switch down. The blade extends to life, tall and searing. It comes out in a shade of golden yellow, matching the one that the Clone marked his helmet with that day. It is not blue, nor red. Nor green, or purple. It is yellow. Amber.

My lightsaber, is yellow.

[simplysparrow14]

Slowly but Surly making my way through some Dark Crystal Fanfic’s that i have been slowly writing. 

Here are some sneek peaks (Alone with synopisis)  to hold everyone down. 

@fandomsonmysleeve

@solieetlunami

@jenskira

@amethystgelfling

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Get Away From Her --> Dark Crystal

(Set within season 2. After being chased by the Skeksis Lords, Deet, Hup and Rian are cornard on the edge of a rock-cliff, a powerful thunderstorm raging over their heads. Deet can bairly keep herself together thanks to the ever-growing pull of the darkening. Rian is heavly injured. Hup is exasted, but determind to keep Both Rian and Deet safe. However, in a large display of force, the Skeksis knock the trio off the cliff, sending them tumbling down feet over heads.  Rian is knocked completly out, leaving only a badly hurt Deet and hup to defend themselves form the skeksis. ) 

Deet felt cold, icy cold. A kind of cold that settled deep down into your bones and never left. It was a constant feeling, thanks to the darkening coursing though her veins. She could feel that constant push and pull of power, the swell of dark thoughts: Of death, of pain, of sadness that wrapped around her like a cloak.

It had been a constant companion during those first two weeks after the Skeksis-Stonewood battle. It kept her company, guiding her away until she forgot where she was, and, eventually, herself.

But now, standing on the ledge above the ravine, her body soaked by the violent downpour, her cloak whipping violently around her, she felt that horrible surge of power better then ever.  Her vision was blurred, either by the Darkening or the rain dripping into her eyes, she couldn’t tell. She clutched her cloak closer to her, trying desperately to keep the power down.

In front of her, Rian struggled to keep upright. The Stonewood looked disheveled. His long sepia-and-myrtle hair was slack with rain, his long bangs laying flat to his forehead. His armor, once finely embellished, was in taters, its once well-worn leather now cut and blood-stained. A large purple bruise was swelling up against his right eyes, the horrible purple discoloration seeping into his tawny skin.

Next to him, Hup was just bairly standing. The Podling was drenched from head to toe in rain, the hair ringed by his hat plastered to his skin. His red and brown nebrie-tunic and pants were dark with water. Bruises peppered his skin, and his hand shook violently as he held his spoon out.

“Rian,” She mumbled, her voice horse and faint. She blinked a few times, trying despertly to keep her eyes clear of the darkening for as long as possible.

Standing near the basin of the cliff side before them, hunched and cryptic and macomb as ever, The Slave Master giggled with glee. The Skeksis looked just as waterlogged and heavy as they were, his fine silks clinging tightly to his skeletal form, showing off every sharp angle of his bones. The fuzz patch that sat atop his his head was stamped down by the rian, and as he waddled his way up the cliff, the heavy jewels clattered together, a horrid song within the thunderstorm. In his hands, a magnificent skeksis blade caught a flash of lightning that split the sky above them.

“Stupid! Stupid, Gelfling!” He roared, his voice grating to the ears, like a piece of stone against a blade. “Making me come all the way out here! Making me stand out here! Wasting time! Should just jump and end it! Make Skeksis lives easier! But no…Gelfling too smart to jump. Gellfing too foolish to hand over Grotton. So now Slave Master must take! must bring parasite back to castle, or else Slave Masters good graces with emperor go to waste.” He took a step forward.

“Savalum!” Hup roared. The Podling took a step forward, thrusting his spoon at the skeksis. “A nishi amoka ninya fam! No. Hurt. Deet!”

The Skeksis is silent for a moment as a dagger of lightning rips open across the sky, before throwing back his head in pure, blissful laughter. “How quaint!” He roared, taking a step forward. From her small perch on the cliff, Deet could just make out the cloud of bloodlust that somersaulted through the Skeksis’ horridly small eyes. “A podling protecting a gelfling. How louche! It be true that  I’ve seen strange relations with other creatures on Skeksas’ travels, but this one takes the prize.”

Anger boiled through Hups body, twisting and turning within his veins as he watched the Skeksis throw back his head in laughter. The Podling held his spoon tightly, small knuckles growing as white as snow, nails digging into the apeknot wood.  Hup did not dare show fear in front of the Skeksis Lord, though every nerve within his pudgy body told him to run and hide. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not when Deet was to be gauged and chained and dragged back to the tall spires of the castle, where the Skeksis could do what they pleasued with her.

Hup could almost imagine what awaited her within the halls of the castle. The Emporerscruel laughter echoing down the corridors, mixed in with the giddy cheers of the others and the snake-like whimper of The Chaimberlain as The Scientists preformed macobe and unsavory experiments on her body. “For the benefit of the Skeksis,” the scientists would hiss, as he tied Deet to the essence extraction chairs and unleashed the power of the crystal.

Hup could picture that. Fathom that. He had seen the podlings held captive within the castle, had heard the chains around their necks clatter against stone as they wandered aimlessly through the corridors as the Skeksis shouted command after command.  If the podlings were any indication of the Skeksis’ cruelty and hatred to life, who was to say they couldn’t do something more fowl and horrific to Deet?

The podling felt fire burn within his chest at the thought. He wouldn’t allow that. Not while he still had air in his lungs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Happy Ending --> Dark Crystal 

(Also set within Season 2. Rian and Brea wake to find their lives completely diffrent. Rian is the Captain of the Palace guard. Mira is alive. The Skeksis are nice and not-essence dependent. Brea is back in Ha’rar, now the curator of the Library. Seladon is All-Maudra, being helped in her duties by the now Maudra-once-was, Mayrin. Tavra is married to the Sifa Onica, and is now captain of the Ha’rar royal guard.  Everything is perfect, a perfect dream come true. A happy ending for all Or is it? ) 

At first, all Rian could hear was nothing. Nothing filled his ears. Nothing cried out. Nothing sang. It was as if the world had been cut down, silenced in the middle of its precious song.  Rian had heard it once, but now nothing said a word. He laid there for a moment, his mind blank.  The ground was cool against his back, cloaking his shoulders in a pleasant sensation that drew him further away.

Until the voice called his name.

It was light and airy, soft on the wind.

It called his name with love and adoration, rolling off the tounge with ease.

Rian’s ear twitched at the sound, and for some reason, he felt his heart relax.

But… soon the voice grew worried. Then sad. Then heartbroken. It grew louder and louder. Until finally, it enveloped his ears, drawing him out of the nothing.

Rian awoke violently.. Light stabbed his eyes like daggers, pain blossoming deep within his blue irises. The Stonewood Gelfling took a deep breath, his lung filling with the cool, earthy taste of Thra as he took in the sight around him. The cradle tree was healthy and whole, its bark free of purple veins. Its leaves were healthy; Not whether or brown with decay.

“Cradle tree…?” Rian whispered, confusion settling with him his chest. No, it couldn’t be. The tree Rian remembered was old and withered, barely a tree at all anymore. Its voice had died away long ago as The Darkening  ravaged its body to the point of nothing, its large hulking body forever scared by the blight.

But above him, The forest was thick with life, vines and roots and branches all around. Crawlies scudded in the dirt, while birds cawed above him.  Leaves swayed in the summer unam breeze, and for a moment, Rian swore he heard a whisper echo from the tree above.

“Rian…!” The voice called again.

Fluttering his ears, Rian lifted himself up from the dirt. His knees popped painfully as he stood to his full height. A wave of Dizziness swept over his mind, causing him to sway and stumble where he stood. Something clattered at his hip

Looking down, Rian saw that he was dressed in full armor. At his hip, a large scabbard, its silver blade shiny with polish, gleamed eagerly in the light. In the dirt, a helmet rested, its large spikes turned sideways into the dirt

Rian took a step back. The last time he had seen that kind of helmet, his father had worn it when he left for the tithing ceremony in Ha’rar.

The sound of hooves stamping the ground and the deep throated gurgle of a Lanstrider gained his attention from the helmet.  Rian placed a hand on his sword, his fingers curling around the hilt as he watched the landstrider gallop forward. Rian’s sapphire blue eyes caught sight of the gelfling perched on top of the lithe animal.

Rian felt the air leave his lungs. He felt his stomach drop to his feet as he watched as the gelfling slowed the landstrider to a halt, then proceeded to take off their helmet.

Perched on the landstrider, her silver hair tied elaborate in a long single plait, freckles ever present in the sun, Mira looked down on Rian. Her smile was bright and full of life, and her pale green eyes shine with a playfulness Rian had never thought to see again. Patting the landstrider, Mira blinks at Rian.

“Did the Captain have a good nap?” She asked.

Rian stared at her for a moment, struggling to connect her voice with her words. It had been unams since he’d heard her Vapran accent, the light and airy way her tounge rolled the R’s of certain words. It was a stark contrast to his tough and even Stonewood intonation. Rian had forgotten how well the two complemented each other.

“Rian,” Mira said again, leaning forward a little on the landstrider. “Are you okay?”

“Mira,” Rian gasped her name. He took a step forward, eagerness racing through his veins. Tears sprang up from his eyes as he croaked out the words caught within his throat. “You’re alive.”

Mira gave a laugh–sweet and intoxicating– as she kept her landstrider still. “Of course I am,” She said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“T-the skeksis killed you!” Rian studderd, his whole body shaking with excitement.  He watched as Mira’s ears folded back against her silver hair, confusion swimming across her face. “They drained you of your essence, and I watched as they ate you!”

“Rian, did you have a nightmare? The Skeksis would never do such a thing. They’re kind. Benevolent–.”

“Monsters,” Rian blurred out. The landstrider gurgled at his harsh words. Mira drew back against their finns, whispering soothing words. Rian felt his ears fall back against his head as he breathe in the cool, earthy air.

Mira was silent for a moment, her own ears falling back against her head as she looked everywhere but at Rian. The stonewood knew that  thoughts ran amuck in her mind. He had seen that look before. His heart swelled.  It had been ages since that look crossed his mind, and Rian felt lighter then ever at the sight.  Rian watched as the gentle summer breeze rustled her side-braids.

“You’re not well,” Mira said finally. Leaning over, she extended her hand, gloved in nebrie hide. “Come. Lets get back to the castle.”

“To the castle? To the Skeksis?” Rian said, stepping back a bit. His feet crunched against the earth as fear

“Please, Rian,” Mira pleaded, her voice slightly strained as she held out her hand.

Rian gazed at the Vapra. He felt his eyes start to sting. Her green eyes were shining like gems in the bright light, her pale gold-and silver streaked hair wind-tousled. There was love in her voice; love that, for so long, Rian had thought he’d never hear again. For so long, her voice was just a muffled whisper in his mind, a dream that fled like a frighted landstrider when he awoke. There were times where, when the wind howled just right, or if someone called his name in such a way, he turned around, hoping to find her standing and smiling at him. But, time after time, it had been a trick of his mind.

He still thought that now, standing before her, watching as she held out her hand to him, welcoming him up onto her landstrider.

But, her voice was so strong, so present in his ears. She sounded real–but was she real to the touch?

Hesitantly, he reached out. He let his fingers glide along hers. And it was this that made him crumble, made the tears free-fall against his cheeks. Made him grasp her hand and press it against his forehead, savoring her warmth.

“Mira,” Rian whispered, his voice strained with grief and relief and sadness and happiness all at once.

“Im here,” Mira said sweetly, almost worried-like. Her ears were turned forward a little, showing off her concern.

“You’re here,” Rian answers. She was real– real as the earth, the sky, the sun.  Moving closer, Rian let go of Mira to grasp the leg of the landstrider, careful not to hurt the creature as he swung a leg over its body. He scooted closer up to mira, until he could throw his arms around her waist and rest his head against her back. He took in her scent. She smelled of the armory; of the worn leather of the guards armor, the sweet, peach-berry polish used for the swords and spears. Rian couldn’t help but laugh as Mira’s heartbeat pulced against his cheek.  Mira said nothing. Instead, she moved a hand to rians, encasing his fingers with hers. Kicking her heels against the landstriders sides, she guided the beast over a hill and through the forest. Over her shoulder, Rian could make out the jagged and twisted silhouette of the Castle of the Crystal, with its cryptic spires and its thousand pavilions and windows.

Anger boiled in his gut at the sight. That bloody castle. It had been the main source of his pain for unams now. It had been the same palace mira had took her last breathe in; Gurjin had been locked within its cages as he held his ground to protect Rian. His father had sworn life and loyalty to its tall spires and horrid bird creatures that roamed its halls. Rian could have spewed curses for days on end. But, as the landstrider galloped on, his anger fell away to nothing.  tighten his grip around Mira’s waist as the two made their way to the guards chambers.

[catchlalune]

Tape 124: Jingshen

In part 1 of my series of wips I’ll never finish is the whole reason I made this blog! I started this fic as something that I wanted all my fics on this particular blog to encapsulate. I know this isn’t the style I work in now but I really wanted to go for a style that was really more fantasy. I thought there wouldn’t be a better day to release this than on my birthday so here we go! I also really want to thank @sichengforthewinwin for the fanart she made which was so sweet and amazing! Please keep in mind it is not finished, it was about 85% done and if you’d like to know how I was going to end it feel free to message me! 

Pairing: Reader x Luhan

Warnings: Angst, gore (poor kitty dies), supernatural themes\

Word count: 4k (4,042)

Luhan is it you watching this? If you’re watching this then you know that I am dead. At the time that I’m recording this I don’t know the reason why, but I know that I will die soon. You always told me that even though I was psychic and could see the future, I should live in the present. I’m trying to you know? Anyways, I wanted to record this because I’m not very good at saying that I love you and I want you to know that I love you very much - I just can’t say it. I want to; I want to so bad that it hurts, but every time I muster up the courage I get so tongue tied that I can’t let it out...but that’s not the point of this tape. I want to tell you about my feelings for you since the first day we met, is it too much? If it is you don’t need to watch it, but whether you do or don’t I figure someone should know. My therapist said this is a good way to organize my thoughts and feelings so I trust her. Right now as I start this it’s only Day 78, let’s try to make it to Day 365 okay?

Video 1:

I remember like it was yesterday because it was so cold and the thunder was raging on from the moment I woke up that morning. There was a flood warning on the TV channels and radio stations, and they advised everyone to stay in their houses. So you can imagine my surprise when I heard pounding on my door. It was so loud it startled Luna out of her sleep. You remember Luna, right? The all black cat with purple eyes. You never believed they were purple and we would always argue over the color. Anyway, when I opened the door you stood there with hair that was pink like cotton candy. I remember thinking how strange it was, why would someone want to dye their hair pink? And of all the pink colors why that pink? Then I realized that your hair was sticking to your forehead and dripping. Not just your hair but your clothing as well, a dark brown trench coat, light wash jeans with rips in them, and a white shirt underneath all drenched down to the matching brown boots you wore. I was so shocked I stepped back and you smiled sheepishly. I think you thought I wasn’t going to answer the door for you which I probably shouldn’t have. But there you were in front of me drenched but beautiful and your lips were moving before I had time to contemplate anything else.

“Are you the 精神的 ?” I remember you asking me in such a soft voice that I had to really think about it. But you continued on thinking I couldn’t understand you.

“Psychic? Are you psychic?” Your English startled me, I wasn’t used to anyone under thirty years old coming to speak to me and most of them didn’t know much English. I couldn’t do much but nod my head. 

“I want to ask you a question.” You spoke to me in earnest and I had forgotten that you were drenched from head to toe and still standing out in the downpour on my doorstep. 

“P-Please come in, I’ll get you a towel.” I remember stepping to the side so you could come in and I heard the squish of your socks in your boots. “I’ll bring you clothes too.” I said before walking down the hall, and all I heard in return was a quiet thank you.

After you were dried off and our bellies were full of oolong tea you decided to tell me why you had come. I had already suspected it was due to your career since there was no ring on your finger and if it was familial issues why come to a psychic who had no real backing but her word? That day you talked so long that the beat of the raindrops on my roof seemed to blend in with your soft words. Soft and gentle but not lacking in appeal, your voice is so silvery that when I first heard it and I mean really heard it I felt a warmth in my chest that sat there and bloomed as you went more in depth about your troubles. Honestly I don’t believe that you ever needed me, I think you just needed someone to talk to that would give you advice and I know you realized this halfway through our conversation when your eyes brightened but I am very glad that you came back to me. Do you remember what I said to you the first day we met? I remember the solemn expression when I said those words to you.

“In the future I see you losing someone you hold dear of unnatural causes. There will be no warning, they will simply be there and then gone like the wind.” 

If only I had known. 

Video 2: 

The second day we met was a week after our first encounter and you came to me with the clothes you borrowed washed but smelling so much like you they made my knees weak. You had also brought Gong Bao Chicken, the smell of the roasted peanuts and the sauce made my stomach growl and you laughed at my bashful expression. Our meal was full of soft stifled giggles, shy glances, and repressed smiles. I thought you would leave after we finished but to my surprise you stayed even after the table was cleared and the tea was long gone. You must have noticed my confusion because you looked at me and smiled so brightly my heart thrummed in my chest. 

“I left without thanking you the last time.” You stood so abruptly I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. But you bowed a perfect ninety degree angle and it made me smile. 

“There is no need to thank me. You came for a psychic and I did my job.” When straightening you had a slight frown on your face and I wondered what I had said that was so wrong to you. 

“You did more than what I asked of you. You listened to me even though that was not in your job description and that is what I want to thank you for.” Your voice wavered and there was a light pink dusted upon your cheeks that was almost the color of your hair. I remember thinking was that all?

“There’s no need to thank me. I like helping people, even if they are strange men that bang on my door at six in the morning while a flood warning is flashing on the tv screen and they scare my cat.” It seemed Luna was listening because the moment I mentioned her she brushed up against your legs and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh so hard. I wasn’t sure if it was what I said or the way Luna nuzzled into you or even the fact that the situation was a bit ridiculous. 

That day you asked me so many questions about my powers, how different psychic’s could help, when you could tell if they were fake or not, did I have any ties to spirits or witches or anything magical. I remember seeing the stars in your eyes as I answered every question, you listened so much more attentively than I remember anyone ever listening to me. In the middle of my explanation about crystal balls I raised my arm to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I saw the look in your eyes when you saw the tattooed sigil on my arm. You wanted to ask about it but I’m grateful that you decided to leave it up to me to decide if you were ready to hear the explanation or not.  

Luna curled up on your lap as soon as you sat down and she was fast asleep as the sun dwindled on the horizon, it was one of the most beautiful sunsets I got to watch with you in perfect comfortable silence. The only sounds being Luna’s soft purrs, the wind chimes hanging over my doorstep, and the train in the distance. I don’t know when I closed my eyes or when I laid my head on the table or when I drifted to sleep but I awoke with the blanket I kept on the couch draped around my shoulders and Luna licking my hand.

How long had you stayed that night? Did you watch over me?

Video 3:

The next time we met there was no intention from either of us. Of course I had a strong gut feeling that I would see you that day but it wasn’t my intention. I was content with the cute but timid cotton candy haired man that covered me in a blanket and told me his life story over tea that I got to meet. It had been nearly three months and I figured you’d forgotten who I was, but that gut feeling was spot on. You ran right into me and I almost didn’t recognize you because your hair was a pretty bleached blond color, you were so frazzled I don’t think you realized it was me that you ran into. The train whistled and that was the signal to get on before you had to wait an hour for the next one. I was on my way out of Beijing and I was sure that you had just gotten off the train into Beijing but then you quickly bowed and got on my train. I didn’t want it to seem like I was following so I went in a different car but again there you were not even three seats down from me with a pretty girl on your arm. She laughed at things you said that weren’t funny and I could tell that by the look in your eyes you weren’t comfortable with her. I had to hold my contempt for her back as you looked at me and smiled as if you’d found everything that was right in the universe. You quickly switched your seat to the one next to me and the feeling of relief that you felt washed over me too. 

For a while all we did was watch the trees pass by and enjoy the presence of one another, but then you dozed off on my shoulder. At first I was going to shake you awake but then I looked down at your bleached head bobbing and a warm feeling that started in my chest bloomed all over. So instead I tried to preoccupy myself with looking out the window again but as soon as I looked up I saw the woman that was flirting with you earlier staring intently at me with what I could only call envy, it felt good to know that this beautiful woman that was probably sought after by many men and women alike was looking at me like that. 

It was another thirty minutes before the train stopped at our destination and I gently shook you, you woke up instantly but you were groggy and blinked up at me with the most innocent expression. What kind of grown man makes that expression to a woman he barely knows unintentionally? Were you trying to make my heart explode? 

We got up and said our goodbyes on the train tracks with the pretty woman from before stuck to your side. You didn’t seem to notice her even when you turned and walked away dragging your briefcase with you. It probably wasn’t as funny as I thought it was giggling to myself and smiling so wide some people looked at me funny. 

Should I be ashamed of feeling that way? I always wanted to say it was because you didn’t really want to give her the time of day and she clearly didn’t care about what you wanted unless it was her. Maybe I’m being a bit much? It’s not like me to get so worked up but I hadn’t even formally met the woman and she already was proving to be a threat to me. Not because you liked her but because she liked you and she was entitled and always got what she wanted.

How do I know?

Because I’m a psychic.

Video 27: 

I'll remember this day for the rest of my life and even after. This was the day that Luna got lost, you remember that right? It was also the day my premonitions started.

 It was raining almost as hard as the day we first met-all our really important dates seem to be on rainy days, I wonder if we were ever to get married if it would also rain-and I was frantic. You almost hit me with your car, you got out to yell not even realizing it was me because this time I was drenched in nothing but my house clothes with no shoes or even a jacket over my shoulders. I was about two blocks away from my house on a quiet side street and if I had mind to I would've wondered why you drove your car down it. When you got out the car you looked at me through the pelting rain and instantly pulled me into a hug.. 

You were so warm and I felt so small in your arms. I remember you taking your trench coat off and putting it around me as if it could shelter me from the rain that was already seeping into my clothes and skin. You took me by surprise when you picked me up and sat me in the passenger seat of your car. You laid a warm kiss on my forehead and I was confused because you seemed so timid to me all other times I didn't think you really cared about my well being, or you did but just in a friendly sort of way. It was a short drive to my house not even three minutes long, you carried me inside sat me down in my bathroom and drew me a bath with ginger salts all without so much as a word. I don't remember when I started crying, if it was when I was out in the rain, when you embraced me, when you sat me in the car or even when you helped me into the bath. I was grateful for your gentleness and chastity as you turned when I started to shed my clothing.

 If it weren't for the strange but cute man with the pink hair which was bleach blond but now brown that shared his story with me whom I came to care deeply about I don't know where I would be or if I would even be alive right now. I wish I could thank you everyday for the bath and the heated towels and the warm tea that you made. Or for the company and compassion you showed as I cried on your shoulder with a hand clutched to my chest. You didn't show any pity or disgust but sympathy and I swear it was the tenderness with which you tucked me into my bed and promised me that you always be there for me that I swore I would love you until my last breath. I swore to myself that I would love you and hold you dear to my heart until my dying day. And I have not for a second had a thought of breaking this promise to myself. 

That night I had a dream that I was doing a math problem and when I finally finished the answer was a picture of Luna with x’s over her eyes and throat. When I awoke kicking and screaming and crying you didn’t seem the least bit surprised, you simply held me and again let me soak your shirt with tears. You started to sing to me some time after that and it was so beautiful. Your voice soothed my pain with every last intonation. I was in and out of consciousness the entire night and every single time I awoke you were there to offer solace and wipe at my tears with your thumbs. The next morning I awoke to the scent of ginger tea and bāozi. Padding into the kitchen I could tell by the way they looked that the steamed buns were stuffed with something sweet. I thanked you as you handed me a cup of hot tea and pulled a chair out for me to sit in just so you could push it in for me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about all the nightmares I had but I knew that you knew and I suppose I was okay with that. 

Video 38: 

The day that Luna returned to us was dark and gloomy as most days we met and the clouds were swollen with water that they were more than willing to shed. You’d spent every night with me since Luna got lost and I was just starting to get over the pain of losing my best friend. There was a strong wind and it made my wind chimes rattle against the door, it was so forceful that you thought someone was knocking adamantly so you went to answer it. I will never forget the look that was a mixture of fear, anguish, and confusion when you turned to look back at me with a box no larger than one made for shoes that was stained black and you had the black substance all over your hands and you quickly flung the box away from your body to slam the door shut so hard the walls shook and some of my talismans fell. 

I stood up to cross the room despite your many protests because you looked so much like a deer caught in headlights and I wanted so badly to understand and ease the pain. Little did I know that the black substance on you wasn’t really black but was a deep red, looking at you with your hands covered in it made my heart leap into my throat. I knew opening the door despite your protests would only bring me immense pain but I knew it was Luna and I knew I needed to face this. I was not ready for what I saw. 

The box was soaked in blood and Luna’s corpse was in a heap exposed from the force with which you flung it away. There was so much blood and I know I screamed and you tried to pull me back into my house, back into your arms for shelter but I felt the stickiness of her blood on your hands as you grabbed my arms and I panicked. Who would do such a thing? I remembered thinking over and over again as I hit the ground and foolishly crawled to her. I wanted to pick her up but there were maggots all over her and I choked at the smell. You again tried to pull me into your arms but I pushed at you so you sat next to me and let me sob on my porch in the middle of the day with the rain pouring down on us. It was so hard and thick it came down like a white sheet and I couldn’t see anything else in front of me except for Luna. It seemed this was my punishment for something I did in a past life because all I could do was stare at her as the maggots wormed their way through her once thick and shiny black fur that was now thin and greyish as well as the hole in her neck. Someone had intentionally stolen my cat and returned her to me dead and decaying. 

Video 52;

This was the day we had our first official date, do you remember? Well I suppose it wasn’t really official because when I got to the fancy restaurant there you stood with that pretty woman on your arm wearing a dazzling red dress that made me feel so boring in my blue one with matching suede shoes, she even curled her hair loosely and drew on pretty eyeliner to enhance her monolids and cherry red lip gloss- not lipstick- to bring out the paleness of her face; but it still made me feel giddy and my heart soared because I felt as if we became distant lately.

 In reality it seemed as though I was third wheeling as you and the woman whose name was Sunei pronounced as Sunny but spelt S-u-n-e-i she made this very clear to everyone especially our poor waitress. The two of you laughed and chatted while I sipped on my glass of water with shaking hands and smiled sheepishly. The countless times our waitress came to our table she always gave me a sympathetic look as if I were the one being wronged and I suppose in a way I was. I guess she could see from wherever she was that my feet and legs were constantly being kicked and stomped on by Sunei, the one time you got up to use the bathroom she looked like she was about to reach across the table and smack me. I’m sure the defiant look in my eyes was enough to make her do so but there the waitress was again, she stayed and spoke to me until you came back and then she flitted away. Thinking back on it I wish I kept in touch with her, she was so gracious to me that night.

I was surprised when you sat down and started asking me questions, I was okay with little to no attention but when you turned your eyes to me it felt like every single prying eye in the restaurant was on me and it made my palms a bit sweaty. 

“...I think it looks nice! Personally it's one of my favorite paintings a client of ours has ever submitted. What do you think? We aren't supposed to share these things until the gallery is open but I think you'll appreciate it.” You turned your phone to me and I swear my heart stopped beating when I first laid eyes on that magnificent painting. I was speechless at how someone could make something so elaborate yet abstract, so beautiful but so terribly sad. 

“Why would you show it to them Luhan ?! You'd risk your job and for wh-” 

“I think that's quite enough Ms. Xiu. And that's Mr. Xiao to you we're business partners yes, but not much more than that.” Sunei drew back and I almost felt bad for her.

The rest of dinner was quiet and rather stifling if you ask me but you graciously paid for all of us and you opened the car door for me asking me to wait, that it would only be a moment. 

*** 

“Do you love me?” you whispered it upon my lips on my doorstep after a very long night. Never before had I been uncomfortable under your gaze but there you were looking at me intently and I felt as though I was being stripped naked and pinned on a bulletin board for everyone to see. It was hot and my skin itched but not the kind that scratching would get rid of. My throat closed and I wanted to leave, I wanted to get up and flee. But where to? I had nowhere to go if it wasn't with you. And then you smiled at me , a real genuine smile and I felt the entire world crashing on my shoulders. 

 “It's okay, you don't need to answer.” 

It wasn't really ok though. 

That night I had a dream of you and I. We were on a vacation on some desolate island and we took a walk. We hadn’t exchanged any words but we walked along the path you leading the way and I followed quickly behind defeated like a dog with it’s tail tucked between its legs.

[camillemontespan]

a kingdom divided [part twenty four: fallen angels]

 Part Twenty Three  here if you want to catch up! 

I know I only posted the last chapter a few days ago but I had to start writing this one asap, I had so many ideas. Hope you like!

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @dcbbw @be-still-my-aching-heart @iplaydrake @carabeth @notoriouscs @ifyouseekheart

****************************************************************************************

Leo looked around the study with panic in his eyes. ‘Right. We need weapons,’ he said to his brother, who was gripping the edge of the table. 

‘I don’t have weapons,’ Liam said quietly. Leo turned to stare at him. ‘What? Why the fuck do you not have weapons in your study? You’re in here all the time!’

‘Because I never expected my palace to be under attack and hide in my study like a coward!’ Liam shouted. Leo took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s not fight. Let’s just think calmly and rationally. We have the door locked. We have no weapons. People will target this room because why wouldn’t they... right, do you have alcohol?’

‘That I do have.’

Leo nodded, his mind made up. ‘I think some scotch will calm the nerves.’

‘Whatever you say, Leo,’ Liam replied flatly.  He watched as Leo went into the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of scotch and two crystal glasses. He set them on the table and poured them each a generous measure. 

Liam took his glass and drank a deep gulp. The drink burned his throat but it did actually calm him down slightly. ‘There is the window,’ he said. ‘We can climb out.’

Leo grinned. ‘Now we’re talking.’

Liam held up his hand. ‘Wait.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just.. I want to apologise,’ Liam began. ‘I was out of order in the hospital. I didn’t mean to tell you to leave Cordonia. You’re here with me. I suppose I thought you would just leave me to deal with all of this but you’re in my study, we could die, but you’re here locked in with me. You are loyal; I was wrong to doubt you. It’s just ridiculous that I something like this has proven that to me.’

Leo ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. ‘You were right though. I shouldn’t have slept with Olivia.. she is your childhood friend. There are some people you just don’t go near.’

‘True, but Olivia isn’t my sister or my girlfriend. She is just my friend. She can date who she wants. I was too emotional; she was lying in the hospital bed and I thought I was going to lose her. It was a lot to deal with. I wasn’t expecting you to tell me that you.. slept with her. But I reacted badly. Please don’t go to Cuba.’

Leo chuckled. ‘I may not end up going at all if the nobles and servants have their way.’

Liam paled at his black humour. Leo bit his lip as he realised how that came across. ‘We’ll get out of here, Liam. I promise.’

‘Then let’s get that window open.’

*******************************************************************************************

Drake was running down the passageway, ducking into corners anytime he heard someone coming in his direction. As a result, getting out of the palace had taken him longer than he had hoped. The passageways were dark and the floors were slick with damp, so it was easy to lose his footing. He could still hear shooting from above and people screaming. He felt like he was in Hell, underneath a Heaven full of crusading fallen angels. 

He was making slow progress but he knew if he stayed the course and was careful, he would get out safely. Drake had discovered that his phone battery had died, which was fucking fantastic. He knew that the news would be covering this now and he knew Camille would be in pieces. The thought of her spurned him on to keep going. He vowed that as soon as he saw her again, he would take her in his arms and never let her go.

‘Stop!’

He hadn’t heard footsteps behind him. Shit. These people were good. 

Drake turned around slowly, his hands up. He looked through the dark and caught in the light the face of the commoner, James, who was part of the People’s Committee.  He was holding a gun.  Drake thought the People’s Committee were peaceful; clearly, they had switched sides and made turncoats of themselves.

‘James,’ Drake began, ‘please-’

‘Begging for your life, Walker?’ James sneered. ‘Glad I caught you.’

‘James, please don’t do this,’ Drake said, not caring that he was pleading. If it got him out alive, then good. 

James stared at him, his lip curled in contempt. ‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘You’re one of the worst ones. You used to be like me, common as muck, and then you became a noble for no reason. You didn’t work for it. You were gifted it. Do you know how much I would love to be given riches and status? But no, I will never become noble. I will keep working in the fields with the fucking apples. I will keep not having enough money to live.’

‘If you get caught, you will be tried for treason,’ Drake told him. ‘You won’t have a life.’

‘My life isn’t worth living as it is!’ 

Drake closed his eyes. ‘Please, James. I have a wife. I have a baby on the way. I need to live for them. I can’t die.’ 

‘Stop trying to make me feel sorry for you!’ James screamed, shaking his gun at Drake. ‘You are everything that is wrong with Cordonia! You think I give a fuck about your American whore? Your baby who the tax payers will be looking after for the next seventy years? Cry me a fucking river!’

His eyes were wild and the veins in his forehead were pulsing from his rage. ‘I used to like you,’ he continued. ‘I thought you were the only guy in the palace who was worth something! I read about you in newspapers about how you didn’t give a crap about titles or wealth. Your family are from Texas. You were normal! But you’re just like the king! Nobody forced you to accept the title of Duke but I bet that you imagined the houses you would own, the money you could spend, the power you would have. You are just like everyone else and it sickens me.’

‘I am not like that,’ Drake ground out. ‘I hate the title. I have never been comfortable with it. But I thought I could help make a difference! We hold Open Houses for our citizens. We want to help.’

‘You mean the Open House where a rock was thrown through your window? Ha!’

Drake flushed and cast his eyes to the ground. ‘At least Camille and I were trying.’

‘I appreciate that, I really do,’ James replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘how nice of the nobles to do one thing for their citizens. How long had it been since the last Open House? Oh yeah, two hundred years! The nobility don’t give a shit about us!’

‘But Camille and I do!’ Drake protested. ‘We were the first to bring back the Open House. It was the first thing on our to do list. I promise, if you let me go, I will speak for you. I know you’re not Valtorian but every Cordonian native is equal. You got a problem with something? Tell me and I will fix it. I promise. I will make a change. This doesn’t have to end in violence.’ 

He could see James wavering. Drake continued to speak, his voice soothing. ‘I am the closest thing to a commoner that the court has. I know how it is. I can change it from the inside, you just need to have faith in me.’

‘How can I trust you?’

‘Because as you said, you thought I was the only guy in the palace worth something. I’m not changing. I may have a title but I’m still the same person. I’m just a guy from Texas who got lucky, I know. But the titles and money doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me are two things: my wife and daughter.’

James was crying now. ‘You keep trying to make me feel sorry for you-’

‘I’m not. I’m being honest. If this is the last time I ever speak, then I am going to be brutally honest and tell you how much I fucking love my wife. I love my baby girl, even though she isn’t born yet, but I already love her so much. I would do anything to keep them safe but I won’t be able to do that if you shoot me down, James.’ Drake’s voice cracked and he could feel tears forming in his eyes now too. 

‘I need to be around to see my daughter grow up. I want to teach her how to ride a bike, how to swim, how to build a campfire. I make the best smores in the world and I want her to eat them and tell me that smores are the best thing she has ever had. I want to watch her in the school play and I want to be there when she starts dating so I can vet her boyfriends. I want to see her be embarrassed by me because that is inevitable. I want to see if she will be a daddy’s girl. I want to be there to protect her. But I can’t do any of that if you kill me with that gun of yours. Please. I am begging you, I don’t care how pathetic I sound, I am begging you.’

There was a silence. James still had the gun pointed and Drake could feel his heart hammering against his chest as he waited. He was waiting for the gunshot. He knew this was it. Drake clenched his fists and closed his eyes, preparing. He thought about Camille. He thought about the taste of her watermelon lip balm and the coconut scent of her hair. He thought about the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed and how she giggled like a two year old. He thought about how she held his hand and he thought about her wearing her favourite denim shorts and oversized sweater as she sat on their balcony with her long legs stretched out against the balcony wall, a glass of wine in her hand, the sunshine casting her skin in a golden glow.  I love you, Camille. 

‘Go.’

Drake opened his eyes. ‘What?’

James drew his gun away. ‘Go,’ he told him harshly. ‘Just go. Get out of here.’

Drake blinked, his mouth gaping open. ‘But you..’

‘Nobody is killing you today, Walker,’ James said. ‘Get out of here and get back to your wife.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Drake whispered, backing away. James looked down, his shoulders slumped, defeated. Drake turned and ran towards his freedom.

*******************************************************************************************

It was 9pm now. It was dark outside and Camille, Hana, Bertrand and Maxwell were frozen watching the TV. They hadn’t stopped watching the news since footage broke of the uprising at the palace. Camille had managed to calm down; Hana had offered her chamomile tea after Maxwell had thrust a bottle of tequila in Camille's face, forgetting she was pregnant. 

Olivia had called from the hospital. ‘How did you get a phone?’ Hana had asked. Olivia snorted. ‘I threatened a nurse.’

Hana had listened to Olivia, nodding, until she hung up. She turned to Camille. ‘Olivia is safe, the hospital hasn’t been targeted. She wanted to let you know that she is there for you and she promises to murder the sons of bitches once she’s discharged.’

Hana, Maxwell and Bertrand sporadically helped themselves to shots of tequila. They needed something strong and the way it burned in their stomachs gave them something to think about. ‘God god, this stuff is awful!’ Bertrand had said, a look of disgust on his face. Hana shrugged. ‘Drink more, you’ll get used to it.’

‘The king appears to still be in the palace,’ the newsreader said. ‘Meanwhile, we urge you to stay indoors as riots have broken out in the capital and in the surrounding areas.’

‘Oh God, you don’t think they will riot in Valtoria?’ Hana asked. Maxwell elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Shhh!’ he shot a look at Camille, warning Hana not to put any more awful ideas in her head. 

Camille didn’t hear them. Her eyes were fixed on the TV screen and she had kept trying to phone Drake. She had tried to phone him 20 times so far; he had never picked up. Terror was running rampant in Camille’s mind. She was trying to keep calm for the baby but it was proving difficult. 

Footage showed mobs in the Old Square of Cordonia rioting. Restaurant windows had been smashed, cars ruined with graffiti and people were fighting each other. One camera man had tried to film shots but someone spotted him and grabbed his camera, throwing it to the ground, smashing it.  Chants of ‘Republic!’ resounded throughout the square and beyond. 

Valtoria seemed quiet. They hadn’t left the manor but the group couldn’t hear anything outside. 

Camille wondered if Drake had gotten out. If he had, how was he going to get home? Valtoria was ten miles away from the palace. She pushed the thought of him being dead out of her mind; it was Drake. He had to be safe.

She still felt a pang of doubt and she held back tears. Drake had to come home.

******************************************************************************************

Liam and Leo had been interrupted while opening the window when the door had started to bang. They had abandoned the window to move the heavy chaise lounge and push it against the door. 

‘The king is in there!’ a voice shouted from behind the door. 

Fists hammered against the oak wood. ‘Fuck, Liam..’ Leo whispered. Liam tried to ignore the people on the other side. He turned to Leo.  ‘We need to get out the window. Now.’

The brothers rushed to the window and managed to get it open. Looking down, Leo swallowed.  They were on the third floor. ‘If we jump, we’ll break our ankles.’

‘I’d rather break my ankles than die here,’ Liam replied. The door banged again and suddenly, the sound of wood cracking sounded. ‘What the fuck..’ Leo murmured. 

‘Keep swinging!’ someone shouted. 

‘Oh god. Have they got an axe?’ Leo asked. ‘I’ve seen The Shining, man, that doesn’t end well.’ 

‘This is not going to be like the fucking Shining,’ Liam growled. Still, the two of them jumped back when an axe burst through a panel of wood. They saw a filter of light come through and the voices became clearer. 

‘Ha! So close!’

‘Right, we gotta jump,’ Leo decided. ‘Just trying to think of the best way to do this. We can’t be sloppy.’

‘Leo, I told you, I don’t give a fuck about our ankles.’

The axe smashed through the door again, the strikes coming more rapidly now. The people on the other side were determined. 

‘If we land badly, we won’t make it out of the grounds,’ Leo told him. ‘They will catch us.’ 

‘Leo, I swear to God, just jump, you’re the adventurer for God’s sake, you jump off cliffs all the time!’

‘Yeah, tied to a bungee cord!’

The axe kept striking against the wood. The brothers kept arguing. Time was running out.

‘Ha! Got it!’

The door was forced open, hitting against the chaise lounge. Liam watched in horror as the two servants- he could now see the attackers were servants-  proceeded to strike the chaise lounge with the axe, determined to get it out of the way. The servants pushed against the door further, heaving their entire body weight against it and there was a rumble and the chaise lounge was pushed aside. 

The two servants were inside the study now. They were both men and Liam thought they had served him wine before. One of them threw the axe down onto the ground and replaced it with a gun. His accomplice followed suit. 

‘Finally..’ the first servant said, a wolfish grin plastered on his face. 

Leo began to back away but Liam caught him by the arm. ‘There’s no use,’ he muttered, keeping his eyes on the servants. 

‘Liam...’ Leo’s voice carried a warning. Liam shook his head. 

The first servant pointed his gun at Liam; the other pointed his at Leo.

‘Heh, the king and his brother,’ the first servant sneered. ‘What a treat.’ 

They cocked their guns. Liam jumped when he felt Leo take his hand. ‘It’s okay, brother,’ Leo whispered. Slowly, Leo lifted his and Liam’s hands. Their fists clenched together, they drove their hands into the air.

‘For Cordonia!’ Leo shouted.

Liam held back tears as he held onto his brother’s hand and closed his eyes tightly.  ‘For Cordonia!’

The sound of two gunshots echoed around the room. 

*******************************************************************************************

Neville held his gun, his body shaking. On the ground before him were two servants. In front of him was the King and his brother. 

Leo stared at him. ‘Neville..’

Liam opened his eyes and turned white when he saw the servants lying on the floor, dead. His eyes looked up and he took in Neville, who was breathing heavily and looking like he was going to collapse. 

‘Neville.. you saved us,’ Leo whispered. He released Liam’s hand and came out from behind the desk. ‘You saved us.’

‘I was trying to get out of the palace but I saw them at your door,’ Neville said, his voice high pitched from nerves. ‘I couldn’t.. I couldn’t let them have you.’

Liam stared at him. ‘But you hate me.’

‘True,’ Neville admitted. ‘Doesn’t mean I want you to die. I don’t want our country overrun by those vermin.’

Leo let out a shocked laugh and he looked genuinely relieved. ‘Thank god!’

Liam moved from the desk, his eyes fixed on Neville’s. Neville shrank back. ‘Thank you,’ Liam said clearly. 

The three men stared at each other for a long moment before Leo cleared his throat. ‘Shall we get out of here?’

‘How?’ Liam asked.

Leo picked up the two guns and axe. ‘How do you think?’

****************************************************************************************

Drake had stolen an abandoned car left by the roadside. He had never stolen a car before but there was a first time for everything. All he knew was that he couldn’t get to Valtoria on foot; it was too long, too dangerous and he just wanted to get home and show that he was safe. 

The car roared through the backroads of Cordonia. Drake had made the mistake of driving near the city centre first but when he saw the rioting, he turned right back around. Going through the backroads would take an hour delay, but he was not risking driving through the chaos. 

It was pitch black outside now. Drake saw from the car’s clock that it was 11pm.  After his confrontation with James, he had ran through the gardens, ducking behind trees and making sure nobody saw him.  It had taken 15 minutes to get out of the gardens undetected and finding a car had been difficult. So, he was coming home far later than he wanted to be. 

He thought of Camille again. ‘I’m coming home, baby,’ he said aloud and he accelerated harder.

***************************************************************************************

It was midnight. Hana, Maxwell and Bertrand had stumbled to various guest rooms, swaying from the tequila. Camille was sat up in bed, her back straight up against the headboard. The news had warned that the riots were spreading. She had a kitchen knife on the bedside table.  Without Drake there, she needed all the protection she could get.

She placed her hands on her bump. 'How you doing, Baby Girl?' she asked quietly. She exhaled shakily. 'I'll be honest, I'm terrified. Your mom's a little pathetic right now. Just hoping your daddy gets back soon..'

Camille rubbed her bump gently. 'Your daddy is the bravest man in the world,' she continued. 'He has always kept me safe. He protected me when there was a siege at the palace, you were tiny then. He is so loyal and brave and selfless.. Your daddy is a hero.'

The baby kicked.

Camille gasped. Usually, it felt like fluttering but this was an actual kick. Her first kick. Tears welled up in Camille's eyes as she realised that Drake hadn't been there to witness it. The thought that he could be dead, that he may never see any milestones that his daughter hit, made Camille shake. 'I don't know if I can carry on without him,' she whispered, her voice cracking. 'We need him. He's the best damn thing that's ever happened to us.'

Camille jumped when she heard the front door slam. Grabbing the kitchen knife, she prepared herself. If it was Drake - and her hope that it was him was diminishing by the second - she didn't need the knife. But if it was an intruder, she wasn't taking any chances.

She ripped the duvet away from her and with the knife in her hand, she quietly left the bedroom and padded across the corridor towards the staircase where she could hear heavy footsteps down below. Her heart pounding, she clenched the knife and slowly began to descend down the staircase.  The lights weren’t on and she wished she had left one on, just so she could see. 

A figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Camille raised the knife. 

The light switch was flicked on and Camille saw Drake’s distraught face staring up at her. 

‘Oh god, oh god,’ she breathed. The knife fell to the ground and she clapped her hands to her mouth, muffling the sobs that came. Sinking down, she slumped down on the stair and her body shook as she wept with relief. She heard Drake rush up the stairs and his arms enveloped her, pulling her close to him. He smelled of rain. ‘I thought you were dead,’ she choked out and Drake pulled her in further, his hand cupping the back of her head. ‘I’m never leaving you,’ he ground out. 

She pulled away and kissed him hard, repeatedly. Their tears mixed together and Camille could taste the salt. ‘Thank god..’ she whispered. Drake stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. His fingers wiped away her tears and his smile wavered. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why are you sorry?’

‘You didn’t know if I was safe. My phone died, I had no way of contacting you.’

Camille gripped his hands. ‘I don’t care. You’re here now.’

‘I’m not being separated from you ever again.’

The baby kicked again and Camille’s eyes widened. ‘Drake, quickly, feel the baby.’ 

Drake frowned and placed his hands on the bump. Camille watched as his frown disappeared and his mouth slowly formed a wide smile. ‘She’s kicking properly..’ he murmured. 

‘She kicked before you got here then she went quiet. But she’s kicking again, I think she knows you’re home safe and she’s celebrating.’ 

Drake kept gazing at the bump, a look of wonder on his features. ‘I’m here, Baby Girl,’ he whispered. His eyes widened. ‘She kicks so hard!’ 

Camille giggled, happy tears replacing her sad ones. Drake’s eyes met hers and he kissed her softly. Gently, he picked her up and carried her up the stairs towards the bedroom and he settled her down on the bed. Camille watched as he joined her on the bed, his body suspended over hers and his arms on either side of her head. ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘All I could think of when I was escaping was you.’

Camille reached out and grazed her finger against his lower lip. He kissed her finger and Camille felt a stirring in her core. ‘I want us to be together,’ she murmured.

‘Me too.’ 

Camille’s hand pulled up his shirt and Drake discarded it onto the floor. Her hands ran down his arms, corded with muscle, and across his chest. She had been so scared that she would never see him again. But he was here. He was real. 

As Drake and Camille’s bodies tangled together, the riots in the capital continued long into the night. Glass smashed, bullets were shot and the streets were streaked with blood. 

In the palace, the fighting continued; servant versus servant, noble versus noble. The rebels versus the peacemakers. The palace security team had been fighting non-stop. As the king navigated his way through the dark passageways with his brother and Neville close behind, he couldn’t help but feel defeated. 

[fallenqueen2]

A Sleeping Gem [YGO-GX-Spiritshipping]

5 times Jaden watched Jesse sleep and one time he joined him.

I rewatched Season 3 and damn I forgot how much I love these two idiots together.

Usage of English dub names, spoilers for all of season 3

~~1~~

Jaden finally looked up from his deck, he and Jesse had met on the roof of Duel Academy to work on their deck’s together. Jaden noticed that the sun was setting below the horizon, creating nice shades of pinks and oranges over the skyline. Jaden opened his mouth to comment on the pretty sky but his words died in his mouth when he turned his attention to Jesse. The teal haired dualist had his arms crossed behind his head and one leg propped up, but his face was relaxed, his eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply and evenly in his slumber.

“Oh,” Jaden breathed out as he was suddenly hit with the realization that Jesse was extremely cute like this. Jaden felt his cheeks heat up and he quietly slapped them as he squeezed his eyes closed. This was a familiar feeling, but different somehow. With Jesse, everything was easy and familiar so Jaden had just accepted they were going to be best friends now, but these thoughts and the racing of his heart were not something that went hand in hand with one’s best friend.

Jaden looked at his PDA for the time before looking back at Jesse’s slumbering form. He huffed quietly and found himself laying back, staring up at few seagulls that were circling overhead and decided that they could stay on the roof like this for a while longer.

~~2~~

“Hey Jesse, check out this new combo I worked out…?” Jaden twisted his torso around from where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room. Sryus and Hasselberry were out someplace else and Jesse had stayed behind.

“Oh, again huh?” Jade murmured, a smile appearing on his lips as he noticed Jesse was totally passed out. Jesse was curled up on his side, an arm slung protectively around Ruby’s own curled form as the duel spirit slumbered peacefully next to his owner/friend.

“Do you ever get any sleep?” Jaden asked quietly as he picked up the discarded blanket and gently draped it over his best friend’s sleeping form. Jaden swallowed hard as his fingers brushed over Jesse’s soft cheek as he made sure the blanket was covering his shoulders. Jesse just looked so peaceful like this and somehow younger than he did awake. Jaden withdrew his hand to press it to his own chest, he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage and his cheeks again took on a familiar heat as he realized how soft Jesse’s skin was and how good he looked. Asleep on Jaden’s bunk, looking like he belonged there and something stirred in the back of Jaden’s mind.

“Oh man,” Jaden whispered as he sank down onto the ground, resting his back against the side of his bunk and brought his knees to his chest in order to rest his forehead against the tops of them.

The room fell silent save for the soft inhales and exhales from Jesse and the soft purring that came from Ruby. Jaden let himself bask in the peace for once, it wasn’t often he got a moment like this at Duel Academy and he couldn’t imagine a more peaceful moment than the one right now.

~~3~~

Jaden rubbed at his heavy eyes, fighting back a yawn as he scanned the hallway that he and Jesse were guarding for duel ghouls. It was empty and safe for the moment, but the tension was high as that could change at any moment. He was happy that Jesse had volunteered to stay with him for this shift; otherwise Jaden knew he would be asleep right now without question. Jesse’s presence at his side made all the difference.

Jaden jolted out of his thoughts when a warm, weight pressed against his side and hair brushed against his neck. Jaden’s eyes went wide as he slowly turned his head and looked down to his shoulder. Jesse was slumped against his side, one arm across his stomach and one resting against Jaden’s thigh. His eyes were closed and cheeks flushed as he breathed softly.

“Oh Jess,” Jaden couldn’t help the smile that spread over his lips. They may be stuck in this alternate dimension but seeing Jesse so relaxed and stress-free in his sleep made Jaden feel less stressed out. This seemed to be a common effect that Jesse had on Jaden nowadays. Jaden wiggled his arm free and slung it over Jesse’s shoulders, pulling the other duelist close and gave into temptation by resting his cheek atop of those soft, teal locks of hair.

Jaden let out a soft exhale as Jesse’s very presence soothed his very being, like a piece of him, had been restored and he found himself no longer worried about the duel ghouls that could be around every corner. With Jesse peacefully sleeping at his side, Jaden knew he could handle anything that thrown at him if it meant to keep Jesse’s sleep peaceful and uninterrupted.

~~4~~

Jaden looked up from where he was clutching the Crystal Beasts deck tightly to the main building on the island that lay below the cliff edge he had reappeared on.

“Do you think he is still here? That he hadn’t gone back to Dual Academy North yet?” Jaden asked, suddenly very concerned that he had taken too long, re-connecting with Yubel and had missed Jesse completely.

“No, he is still here. His soul is waiting to be reunited with his Beasts.” Yubel assured Jaden, appearing in her astral form behind the brown haired teen.

“Let’s not keep him waiting any longer then,” Jaden decided and the deck in his palm glowed as the Beasts within agreed with him.

Sneaking into the hospital wing without being seen was now a piece of cake thanks to his reawaken powers of Darkness. He wanted to reunite with his friends, but seeing Jesse and reuniting the Beasts with their owner/friend was his first priority.

It was the middle of the night when Jaden slipped into the hospital room. The lights were dim and in the first bed, tucked tightly into stark white bed sheets was a sleeping Jesse. His right arm was laying on top of the sheets as it had an IV inserted into the elbow; Jesse was painfully pale even against the white sheets. Jaden gently set the deck down onto the side table and smiled when Ruby instantly appeared and curled up against Jesse’s side, crooning happily that she was reunited with Jesse.  

“He will recover Jaden, it will not be easy but he will,” Yubel told Jaden from within his mind, guilt filling her voice at what she had done to Jaden’s chosen.

“He’ll be fine, he is stronger than anyone gives him credit for.” Jaden murmured, as he no longer resisted the urge to trace Jesse’s cheek and stroked Jesse’s soft hair. The familiar calming sensation spread through his whole being and he knew Yubel felt it as well as they were now one. Jaden stayed like that for a moment, unable to tear himself away from the slumbering teal teen, basking in the fact they both were alive and back home safely.

“Sleep well Jesse,” Jaden pressed a soft kiss to Jesse’s cheek before stepping back into the shadows of the room, disappearing from the room completely as the night nurse walked in to check in on Jesse. She found herself smiling when she spotted the smile that was lingering on Jesse’s face and a deck sitting on the side table.

~~5~~

“You should visit him during the day when he is awake if you want to see him so badly,” Yubel grumbled as she floated behind Jaden as the brunet stepped out of the shadows of Jesse’s room. It had been a couple years since everything that happened at Duel Academy and Jesse was an up and coming star on the pro circuit while Jaden and Yubel traveled the world, helping where they could and learning whatever they could get their hands on.

“It’s better this way,” Jaden whispered back before turning his attention to the teal haired man who was sprawled across his bed. His feet tangled the bed sheets and sweat coated his skin, his face that was usually so peaceful and calm was screwed up and Jesse was gasping like he was in pain as his eyes moved rapidly beneath his eyelids.

“A nightmare,” Yubel frowned as Jaden hurried to Jesse’s side and Ruby looked up at him giving a sad trill as her tail drooped.

“It’s okay Ruby, I’ll see if I can help.” Jaden petted Ruby’s head comfortingly before he took a steadying breath and cupped Jesse’s face between his palms. He let his eyes turn a smoldering gold and darkness seeped from his palms.

Jesse inhaled sharply in his sleep as slowly a dark outline covered his entire body as Jaden concentrated and slowly Jesse’s face became relaxed as the nightmare was chased away by the gentle darkness.

Jesse hummed and absently leaned into Jaden’s touch as his body slumped against the mattress, fully relaxed and no longer caught in the throes of a nightmare. Jaden let the darkness recede just enough but didn’t remove his palms from Jesse’s face. He just stared down at Jesse’s sleeping face before he jerked himself out of the trance-like state and stepped away from the bed.

“Jaden,” Yubel said softly and Jaden just shook his head and with one last look at Jesse’s sleeping form, he stepped back into the darkness and let it swallow him whole even though he wanted nothing but to lean down and see if Jesse’s lips were as soft as they looked.

~~+1~~

Jaden found himself stepping back into Jesse’s room not two weeks later. He had tried to keep his mind off of Jesse for that long, but he failed and he had to see the other even if it was just when the emerald eyed man was sleeping. Jaden felt all his stress fade from his body when his eyes landed on Jesse’s curled up form on his bed, face calm and peaceful in his nightmare free slumber.

Jaden’s feet carried him over to the side of Jesse’s bed and his hand reached down of its own accord to cup the teal-haired man’s cheek lovingly. Jaden softly rubbed his thumb over the arc of his cheek as he drank in the sight of Jesse, like a man who had been dying of thirst.

“Jaden,” Jesse breathed out, eyes still closed and Jaden froze. He must be dreaming, that had to be the only conclusion.

“Jaden… Stay this time,” Jesse breathed out again, this time his eyes were open and those gem-like eyes were staring up at him.

“Uh,” Jaden found himself lost for words and unable to move as Jesse reached up and placed his hand over Jaden’s hand on his cheek.

“Stay, I want to wake up and see you next to me,” Jesse said softly as he kept staring at Jaden.

“If you want me to…” Jaden found himself saying.

“I want you Jaden, always have.” Jesse murmured as he lifted Jaden’s hand off his cheek and pressed a light kiss to his palm.

“Me too,” Jaden choked out and quickly shed his shoes and jacket when Jesse released his hand and pulled back the sheets in an invitation.

“Much better,” Jesse sighed happily as Jaden slipped into bed and Jesse all but wrapped his arms around him like an octopus, head resting on Jaden’s chest.

“You said it,” Jaden felt like jelly now, Jesse’s comforting weight and heat against his body felt like heaven and he only wished he had known cuddling with Jesse would have felt this good sooner.

“Promise you will be here when I wake up this time?” Jesse asked softly as he propped himself up to look at Jaden sternly.

“I promise,” Jaden found himself agreeing and let out a small gasp when Jesse leaned up and sealed their lips together in the kiss that Jaden had been wanting for years.

“Good,” Jesse smiled brightly at Jaden before Jaden cupped his face between his hands again and kissed him soundly, not wanting to give up this for anything and if Yubel hummed pleased in the back of his mind then no one had to know.