#i think (knock on wood) that the worst of the withdrawals are done with

[silkanide]

>drawing some bnnuys with Christmas themed scented candles burning

>it's late at night, everyone's asleep, the kitty is sleeping on my legs and the doggy is snoring loudly next to us

>feels good man

This piece is a traditional medium remake of this by Illufinch

[joz-yyh]

Rust - Ch. 7 (Preview)

SUMMARY: A “how they got together” and “where they are now” fic in which I detail how Damian and Tardif meet and consequently fall in love. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T (for preview only / descriptions of gore/injury)

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant

WORD COUNT: 2,135

A/N: Damian needs to enlist the aid of a fellow hero if he’s going to overcome the nature behind Tardif’s surreptitious injuries. Everything has it’s price, even life itself.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Damian stalks his fingers along the severed object embedded in Tardif’s abdomen, the shape of it round like a tusk. He doubts the foreign gouge can be removed conventionally, needing a razor's edge to cut the gear off of him if he wants to see how deep it runs.

The sheer size of it is worrisome. If this was truly some relic of a creature's tooth or claw, it must've come from something massive and the flagellant cannot place it's origin to any of the foes he knew, wonders what kind of mess Tardif had gotten mixed up in order to end up like this.

“Perhaps you’d be more agreeable to the infirmary," the flagellant presses, anger lines forming on his face, this better to accept than the sadness gripping hold of him.

Even if he assembles some crude means of transport to drag Tardif through the woods, the man had lost too much blood and would not likely survive the trek back to the sanitarium.

“Not … gunna be … poked and prod at," the bounty hunter protests, grumbling weakly, "ye can't anyway. It's ... it's... holdin' everythin' in."

“Holding everything in …,” Damian echoes, his overwrought mind steady piecing the euphemism together.

He can’t remove it, not when it’s the only thing keeping his partner's insides from falling out.

The flagellant no longer cares about being thorough. He gets to work healing what flesh he can, only getting so far before he's repelled, an unseen barrier protecting the object and the eviscerated organs surrounding it. Perplexed, but no less persistent, the morbid priest tries again and again to mend tissue, cauterize veins, and each time he is met with the same unfortunate result.

No ordinary opponent could have done this. A force of darkness so strong that even an oversized piece of shrapnel could command such power spoke of something incredibly evil.

"Tardif, what was your enemy,” Damian insists through a grit of teeth, “Describe it to me.”

"Don't know," the brute churns out, panting with the effort it takes to speak.

"Now is not the time to–” Damian starts, an exhorted cry, but the bounty hunter’s garbled bark interjects him.

"Couldn't see the damn thing," the brute growls, running himself ragged.

The flagellant shakes his head, eyes widening under the shroud of his hood, stumbling upon a realization that devastates him.

“I can’t heal this,” he admits, feeling useless and hating every part of himself that brought them to this point, “There's dark magic here. We need Alhzared."

"Great," Tardif offers sarcastically, fatigue weighing him down, sinking further into his partner's grip, “why didn’t I think of that.”

"I will be quick," the flagellant promises, withdrawing himself from around the bounty hunter, laying him down as considerably as he can.

"Survived this long. What's another 30 minutes," the brute jokes, understandably more irritable than usual as he shifts to lie on his side, bereft of his partner's scaffold of limbs and the comfort it brought.

"Try not to move," comes Damian's propelled instruction, fearing that the stubborn ox would make his condition worse if he lurched around too much.

"Then, don't take too long," the bounty hunter retorts, holding a hand over the hole in his stomach, plugged as it was with the worst kind of cork.

“I won’t,” the pale man pledges, already out the door, his steps beating like swift wings as they carry him into town.

—---

Damian clambers into the barracks, his sprint jostling some of the other heroes from their slumber, knocking into a bed frame, jumping over another's mattress so not to slow himself down.

He's met with resounding groans of annoyance, the squeaks of box springs and the rustling of sheets, but the hasty messenger pays them no mind, finding that the occultist resides the farthest away, against the back wall.

Candles provide a beacon to the pitch blackness, a projection of rotating lights, constellations of stars hung upon tapestries and persian rugs.

The flagellant skids to a halt once he enters Al's niche, the mystic sitting amidst a collective of pillows, absorbed in meditation.

"Tardif in danger," the priest heaves, having no time for proper sentences being out of breath as he was, "please, help."

The mystic inhales deeply, regarding his visitor with sage patience, "The stars spoke of darkness on the horizon. Now I see what form it takes.”

The flagellant cares not for cosmic mythos, not now, not at this moment. He needed action. Every second was another wasted.

"Please, I will do whatever you ask," the flagellant begs, frantic to get moving, "There is no time. He is dying."

"Yes, cursed with a very slow and painful death, I imagine," the mediterranean man nods, opening an enlightening eye, "I warned him not to underestimate the other side. See what suffering it brings."

Damian doesn't appreciate that remark, lets it show on his face, not that the other man is bothered by his offenses.

"Will you help us or not," the flagellant insists, unable to quell his anger despite needing this man's eldritch expertise.

“I am not a monster," Al declares, rising from the floor, taking up his effigy from the wooden dias in the center, “I will aid you, but at great cost.”

“I will pay it," Damian vows without hesitation.

“Oh, I have ways that will ensure you do,” the occultist warns, holding the old skull towards the holy man with careful instruction. "Place your hand in the flame."

Damian looks down at the haunting relic, sees that it's wick is yet unlit.

"What fl–," the flagellant asks, cut off by a supernatural gust of wind that circles the room, snuffing out what traces of light there was.

"That flame," the mystic explains, a knowing smirk curling beneath his mustache as his spectral phantasm burns brightly, it's vacant eye sockets seeming to flare eerily along with it.

Damian scowls with uncertainty, the doubt only lasting a moment when he considers what he must do, whose life is at stake.

As soon as his digits are within reach, the flame blazes, his hand consumed within an explosion of pyromancy as if the ghastly fire is alive, sensing his intent.

The flagellant pulls back, the fire making him feel deathly cold as it trails up his arm, turning his skin blue, illuminating the tissue and bone within, but there comes no pain.

“The contract has been made,” Al tells him, the candles returning to their normal steady glow, the skull talisman as well appears as nothing more than harmless decoration.

Al chuckles, a cocky triumphant grin, "I didn't expect a warrior of Light to be so quick to offer their soul to my great benefactor, but we thank you for your sacrifice."

Had he really done as the mystic said? Damian looks down at his hand, turning it over. There was no evidence of a pact, no burns, no marks that he could see. One could easily say the seance never happened.

"Come, we must fetch Paracelsus as well," the occultist instructs, calling his attention, “Follow me.”

"Y'LW'NAFH N'GHFT," he chants, gesturing with his hand as a conflagration of sigils appear, manifesting a swirling vortex of time and space.

–

"No use hangin' out by the door," the bounty hunter grumbles, a mild invitation cloaked in sheer practicality.

Looming just out of sight, ripe with hesitation, Damian gasps lightly. Even with the wall dividing them, Tardif still knew he was there, waiting on the other side.

The priest keeps his head bowed as he plods into the bedroom, the cowl seeming to eclipse his whole face, fearful of what emotion his presence would have on the bounty hunter.

"H-how are you fairing," parses the flagellant, hovering outside the bed, keeping his distance as they exchange platitudes.

He's nervous. Tardif can see it in his every move.

"I've had worse days," the brute shrugs, a lame smirk tugging at his lips with no humor to accompany it.

"Paralecus said you should stay in bed," Damian reminds him, trying to play along with the levity, force a smile, but it doesn't keep. "I meant to take care of you, change your bandages."

This time, Tardif is the one who bows his head, his gaze fixated on the sheets pooling in his lap, the clench of his own fists that rest there.

"Guess ye have the gift of prophecy," the bounty hunter scoffs, now staring at the wall ahead with a moderate degree of contempt.

Damian frowns, inclining his neck, clearly befuddled by the insinuation.

"Ye don't remember," Tardif asks, surprised, angling his focus towards the absent-minded priest. "In the weald," the mercenary continues, the occasion forever branded into his memory, "when ye held a knife to me, tottin' leeches and bedrest?"

Ah, that. A scarred mouth opens to speak, then closes again. He can't seem to stop his shameful eyes from drifting toward the floor, jagged fingernails digging into the muscle of his right arm, clutched in punishment.

"I did not mean--" Damian finally starts, but the bounty hunter is quick to correct him.

"Heh, I know," he chuckles weakly, "Bad joke."

The flagellant isn't laughing. If anything the somber daze surrounding him grows deeper, more profound.

Damian risks treading closer, the brute turning to meet him, receptive and curious of his intentions.

A bloody hand reaches out as the holy man leans over the mattress, thumbing across the faint sheen of sweat collecting on the crest of dark brows.

Tardif is on the tail end of a fever, the priest can feel traces of it as he threads each tousled strand back into the damp plume of raven-colored hair.

Mismatched eyes close amidst the gentle pandering, the brigand becoming a meek disciple under these ministrations, letting his partner bless him with whatever tender ritual he wished.

Damian swallows, the action audible in the heavy silence. These informal gestures of trust fill him with such unabashed longing he can barely contain it.

"Let me get you something to drink," the blonde says, giving himself an excuse to pull away, mask his own desire for closeness just as another hair falls out of place.

A callous hand grasps at his wrist, warm and grounding as it tacitly holds him there.

"Just a little longer," Tardif asks, ruining the flagellant with those words, that beautiful aching smile.

This alone was enough to say what went unsaid, that Tardif still desired him, wanted him near.

The dam breaks, Damian's composure along with it as he falls to his knees, Tardif's hand is now in both of his, pressing them to his head like a crucifix in prayer.

"Where did you go," Damian sobs, a desperate slew of questions borne from his troubled mind, "Why did you leave?"

Tardif feels shame claim him as he considers the answer, letting precious seconds tick by, unable to voice what his partner wants to know because he's not ready to admit it, not even to himself.

"I feared the worst," the blonde continues when the other will not, his repressed feelings stripped free if their mortal coil, "I-I prayed for you I–"

"It's not important," the mercenary deflects, a curt grind of teeth. His insides squirm with a self-loathing sickness, knowing Damian weeps because of him.

"Of course it is," Damian insists, finally looking up from his lament, "I–I …!"

He's too afraid of what comes next, his throat closing too tightly around the words, leaving them there to trickle down and die.

"Later …," Tardif mumbles, growing weary thanks to the plague doctor's potent syringe, "… too tired now."

Damian goes quiet, blinking one last band of tears, nodding in obedience.

"Lay beside me," the bounty hunter tells him, slouching with disoriented cognition, shifting to make room on the bed.

Damian hesitates, weary of upsetting his partner's wounds even as Tardif tugs on his hand to join him.

"But your–"

"It'll help me sleep," the bounty hunter explains, distantly, his eyelids already getting heavy with the abetting cocktail of drugs in his system.

As awkward as it is, the flagellant doesn't let go of his lover's hand as he climbs into bed, mindful that none of his other body parts touch Tardif's, his scarred back curled towards the edge of the mattress.

As Damian lies there, he listens, waiting for heavy breaths to even out, squeezing at the thick fingers clasped in his, proof that this man was still here with him: real and alive.

Perhaps, it is out of mere reflex, a lucid dream that his gesture is returned, but flagellant doesn't care, he smiles all the same as he presses a surly hand to his lips, kissing the backs of tattooed knuckles.

He swears he catches Tardif smiling too, the sight filling him with a weightless salvation, a sense of belonging, knowing that this angel of death and carnage had come back to him.

The priest's eyes fall shut, meaning just to rest them, but before he knows it, he's already fast asleep.

{End Preview}

[heliads]

Time Can Heal (But This Won’t) Chapter Three: Bloodstains

You’ve been a lone demigoddess, daughter of Hecate, ever since your home of Hellas sank beneath the waves centuries ago. You loved the Darkling until he crossed you and you fled the Little Palace. Now you’re disguised as a mere cartographer. Can you face him again, knowing what he’s done?

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There was no way around it, no way to avoid it. Like it or not, you would be returning to the only place you’ve ever truly called home since you left behind the sinking shores of Hellas, past a people who would never rise again. You had seen Os Alta built, walked the newly constructed halls of the Grand and Little Palaces with the Darkling before you knew enough to run from him. This is where you’ll be going- not to a new future, but a chance to drown in all the memories you’ve tried so hard to forget.

However, you’ll have to survive the journey to Os Alta first. You’re not here as an esteemed guest or prisoner, you’re here as a double, a lure. Someone who can be killed so that Alina Starkov walks out alive. You know this as well as your ice-eyed Darkling who rides next to you, who thinks nothing of you but that you share a name with a woman he thought he could manipulate. That is all.

So you force your gaze away from the Darkling and back towards your hands, which grip the reins of your offered steed. You mentally catalogue the scant few weapons you had on you before you were dragged along after Alina- two knives, a medium length dagger, and the small pistol all First Army soldiers were forced to have on them. You’ve never particularly cared for guns, though- they’re dirty, loud things, nothing compared to the damage you could wreak with a syllable from your tongue. Then again, if it came down to it, you’d rather have a pistol in your palm then risk using your magic in front of the Darkling. In the end, you’re here to stay hidden, not reveal yourself in the most dramatic way possible.

That being said, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. You’ve learned long ago to listen to the voices that whisper past your ear, speaking of dangers lurking in the woods and ill-intentioned beings who wait for women who walk alone. Some are remnants of past protection spells, and others are shades from the Underworld who’d managed to conjure up some corporeal strength and warn you of an attack. You are the last living Hellenid to walk the earth, and so they feel duty-bound to protect you. Through you, your people live on, and so even the dead watch your back.

So when the voices come, you listen. Your eyes flicker shut for just a second as you listen, past the thump of your heart and the pattern of horse hooves on the dusty ground. The carriage rolls noisily some distance in front of you, and then you hear it stop. Around the bend, you hear the disgruntled mutterings of the guards even though they’re too far for a human ear to pick up. A tree has fallen down, blocking the path. You know it’s a trap even before the shots ring out.

You hear the choked screams of men falling with arrows through their throats and eyes and begin to panic. They’ve come for Alina Starkov, the Sun Summoner who could damn the Fjerdans to a lifetime under Ravka’s watchful eye. They’ve come to kill her. You sense the Darkling rearing his horse beside you, and his stallion picks up into a canter. You don’t have to say a word, just listen to his commands to his men. There are more men attempting to circle behind you and pick you off, you can distract them and the remaining attackers trying to get into the carriage.

A Heartrender turns to you, gesturing for his fellow Grisha to follow you. “Come, Alina! We have to get you to safety!” This command is far too loud for any self-respecting Second Army soldier to ever utter, but to the Fjerdans, it is nothing out of the ordinary. Ravka already swears by its legions of witches, why shouldn’t the ice-haired drüskelle believe themselves above the pathetically obvious Grisha? They follow you without a second thought.

You wait a minute, listening to the sound of boots crashing through the forest floor after you, then jump down from your horse in one swift motion. Your knives appear in your hands and you sprint towards your attackers, knocking them down again and again. You slam the hilt of one knife into a Fjerdan’s nose, and you can hear the bone shatter as if it was your own. Light flashes off of the Grisha steel blades as you slash and stab, drawing blood without taking a break. 

A small part of your mind gleefully notices the way the Fjerdans are running towards you now, drawn towards the sunlight reflected by your knives. They think you the Sun Summoner now, all because of metal polished to a shine. And why shouldn’t they? You have enough power to tear this continent in half, to let the sun pierce the planet’s very core. Why shouldn’t you be feared? Why shouldn’t you be the Sun Summoner yourself?

The man in front of you cries out, and you come back to your senses. Your eyes follow your knife, twisting in his windpipe, and you withdraw it hastily. You wipe the scarlet blood on the grass before turning to fight another Fjerdan attacker, but none come forward. You realize that they’re all dead, either by your hand or by the Heartrenders. Although, you notice with a sickening twist, most are killed by you. You’re supposed to be a shy First Army soldier, and you’re not exactly playing your part quite right.

Across a clearing, you see the Darkling helping Alina to her feet. She looks stunned, most likely due to the body of a Fjerdan lying at her toes. It’s been sliced perfectly in half- so he’s used the Cut. No wonder she looks as if the world has just been exposed for being woven from nightmares. She glances over at you and blanches even further. Shame twists in your gut as you realize your hands are covered in blood, none of it yours. You were borne of a race of warriors, fighting has been in your history for as long as Hellas has stood. To Alina Starkov, however, this is a massacre like she’s never seen before. You carefully sheath your knives again once you’re sure there’s no blood left on them.

You stare at the bodies, forcing your eyes to remember every last detail. May your gods or their Saints watch over them, wherever they may go. You don’t have enough coins to place under their tongues as per the Hellan tradition, although even if you did you couldn’t risk drawing the Darkling’s attention with such a specific ritual. Instead, you burn their faces into your mind. Memories and legacies were how your people retained their power, and being forgotten was a large part of how they crumbled away. At last you can remember these men.

A voice sounds from in front of you, and you look up hastily. “Do not pity them. They attacked the Sun Summoner, your friend.” The Darkling stands before you, something strange in his eyes. You’ve seen this look before, a few centuries ago. You had been careful to hide the true extent of your magic from him, perhaps knowing even then that he would want nothing more from you then the power you could give him.

In that long ago instant, you had let go, allowing your spells to run wild as stallions through the air. You were attacked, yes, but you had used it as an excuse for true bloodshed. It had been so long since you had truly tested your limits, always making sure to hide what you truly were, even from the other Grisha. You wanted to see what you could do, just this once. Even then, you were just scratching the surface, but the wash of inky emerald over the scene threatened to drown out the world. Bodies dropped, trees were stripped of bark, entire buildings crumbled despite the strongest of foundations. 

The few other Grisha present looked at you with true horror, but not the Darkling. No, he looked at you as he does now, with a sort of hunger that could consume entire countries and never be filled. He saw no girl or lover, he saw a weapon. He saw you standing before him, pulling a blade from your chest and offering him the hilt. He’d take it, not caring (or even relishing) your blood still dripping from the blade. The things he could do with you were unimaginable even in your worst nightmares, and it would never be enough. The worst part is that you thought you might go along with it, that you’d be willing to watch the end of the world with him.

This is how the Darkling looks at you now, a weapon ready for the taking. You remember hastily that he’s likely expecting something of you, so you duck your chin and do your best to summon up the modesty expected by the likes of Y/N Stassov, mapmaker and nothing more. “It’s just, well, a lot of death.” The Darkling inclines his head. “Maybe. Where did you learn to fight like that?” You don’t like this line of questioning, where it could lead. “The First Army. Sir.”

The Darkling’s lips quirk at the last minute honorific. “I’ve seen no First Army mapmaker who could take out a dozen Fjerdans with a pair of knives. Maybe I should send some of my soldiers to learn from your generals.” You panic, sure he’s testing you, then realize that he’s joking. Ridiculous. You force a smile. “I think they’re probably fine with their heartrending and all that.” The two of you have begun walking back to the horses now. The Darkling mounts his steed, then looks back at you. “Maybe so.” When he takes off, you’re not sure which scares you most- him figuring out who you are, or the idea that he would not look for you at all.

The Darkling calls for the party to take a respite that night, waiting until the moon shines low in the sky for everyone to tie up their horses and rest in a long-abandoned barn. Alina runs over to you as soon as she gets off of her mount, flinging her arms around you in gratitude. You can tell from the hammering of her heart whenever she looks at the Darkling that she hasn’t forgotten his use of the Cut, and probably won’t for a while.

“Saints, Y/N, I’m so glad you’re here. I couldn’t do this alone.” You can sense the eyes of the Darkling and the other Grisha on your back, and you know what’s expected of you. To them, you are no more than an otkazat’sya mapmaker, someone utterly unworthy of their Sun Summoner’s company. They’ll leave you to make your way back to Kribirsk when Alina is safe at the Little Palace, and they no doubt expect you to make her path easier.

So, you smile, smoothing back an errant piece of her hair into place. “That’s a lie, and we both know that. If you can punch an irritating officer or survive the Fold, you can ride a horse to Os Alta. Promise.” Alina rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that.” You raise an eyebrow. “It totally is. Believe me. Now come on, chasing after you all day is exhausting. I intend to go to sleep right now.” Alina grins. “That sounds good to me.”

Despite your weary eyes, you can’t seem to fall asleep at all. Alina sleeps next to you, the few Grisha lookouts stand unmoving at their posts. Eventually, you get sick of tossing and turning and staring up through the rotting beams through the barn roof. You stand, making your way quietly out of the barn. If the sentries see you, they do not stop you. Evidently, they trust you enough to let you walk around, or they view you as useless enough to not stop you from trying to run. Either works for you.

You don’t go far, just outside of the doors lying at odd angles on their hinges. You take a seat on a rusting metal bench, leaning back against the faded paint of the barn walls. You stare up at the sky, eyes tracing the constellations. Somewhere up in the night, there were once heroes and monsters, prideful queens and stubborn kings whose stories were famous enough to warrant them a place amongst the stars. You’ve been looking for them for a while, though, and know that the skies are empty of all souls who were once cast up there. It’s just another reminder that you are well and truly alone. The last remainder of a long dead culture.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” You startle, turning to see the Darkling walking out of the barn beside you. You manage to cover up your surprise with an apology. “Sorry, I didn’t think I’d woken anybody.” The Darkling shrugs. “You didn’t. I was already awake.” This feels somewhat surreal- here you sit, a false face and a fake history as a farmer turned soldier. Here stands the Darkling, looking just the same as always. It makes no sense, though- why would he keep seeking you out? Why would the general of the Second Army keep looking for an otkazat’sya soldier? He must know you, somehow. There’s no other explanation for it.

The Darkling clears his throat. “Thank you for speaking to Alina. I appreciate your words.” You dismiss the gratitude with a lift of your shoulder. “She’s my friend. I couldn’t exactly make her feel worse, could I?” The Darkling turns to look at you now, familiar quartz eyes seeming to tear you in two. “You could. You could have refused to play along with the role of double, you could have refused to fight by her side, you could have done your best to turn her away from us. You did none of that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I could have resisted a team of the most skilled Grisha in all of Ravka? I intend to keep my life.” Something almost like a smile appears on the Darkling’s lips. You’ve seen this look before, in sunset afternoons and deepest nights. It’s so familiar that it seems to cut at you like a knife. You almost want to call out to him now- know me, please. Remember me. If you look close enough, you will see the woman you pretended to love. We could pretend again, if we wanted to.

You silent the murmurings, and he speaks again. “All the same, it was appreciated.” You turn back towards the sky, partly to take in the sight of the night sky again and partially to hide the smile giddily appearing on your own face. How is that after all this time, all these hurts, he still has this effect on you? “Well, I want her to have some good memories after this. I’ll be shipped back to Kribirsk, I don’t really want to leave on bad terms.”

The Darkling remains silent for so long that you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, opened up too much. A simple mapmaker would never confide in a centuries-old Shadow Summoner, he must suspect something. Surely, hopefully, he does. But instead, he turns to you, a softness present in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It rounds the edges of his quartz gaze, making it easier to fall hard and fast. “You aren’t going to leave for Kribirsk. You’re staying in Os Alta.”

You stare at him, night sky forgotten. “What? But I’m no Sun Summoner.” The Darkling laughs quietly in the night. “No, but few of us are. I have a personal guard, the oprichniki. I would like you to begin training with them once we arrive.” The sentence is phrased so casually that it almost floats by you completely undetected. The monumental weight of the words, however, is enough to shake you whole. The oprichniki are not Grisha, so you would fit in, but they are the Darkling’s special guards. Only the toughest and bravest of fighters are selected, certainly not a mapmaker who’s best skill is pretending to be a Sun Summoner.

You tell him as much, so stunned by this that you forget to hold your tongue. When you remember who you are and who you’re doing your best to pretend you’re not, you wish you had remained silent. For some reason, however, the Darkling doesn’t seem taken aback by this momentary lapse. Instead, it just makes his lips twitch even more. He is most certainly hiding a smile. “I saw you fight, Miss Stassov. If you can do that without any of our training at all, I’d say you’re a good candidate.”

You lean back against the barn wall. “Oprichnik. Me.” You whistle quietly, letting the sound echo in the night air like the call of a dove. The Darkling inclines his head. “You are free to turn the offer down at any point-” his smile grows at your raised eyebrow- “Although it is not an offer I take lightly. You have potential. Besides, keeping you in Os Alta will be a support for Miss Starkov.”

You furrow your brow. “I thought you would want to separate her from her old life, not keep having ties to it.” It’s what the Darkling would do when you knew him. He would have cut out another mapmaker without a second thought. The Darkling considers this. “Perhaps. But if she feels too alone, she may draw in on herself and feel unwilling to use her power at all. You have your merits, Miss Stassov. Perhaps more than you see yourself.”

You barely hear him when he goes back inside the barn. He has always had this ability to disguise his footsteps, letting the shadows cloak him in sound as well as in sight. For once, it doesn’t trouble you. Instead, you’re troubled by the future ahead of you. If you were an oprichnik, a guard loyal only to him, there would be even more chance of the Darkling finding out that you were Hecari, the woman he’d loved and who had run from him, feigning death rather than stay by his side and fear his knife.

Being near him, though, it makes you think back to every moment you’d shared. Could it be possible that you had misheard? Would the man you know, the man drenched by moonlight who makes offers of joining the ranks of the oprichniki to mapmakers he’s barely met, truly want you dead? The answer is yes, you know that. But your heart whispers differently, telling you that you could be wrong on this. You’ve always trusted your whispers, the ghosts of the past. The only problem is that these aren’t Hellenid spirits now, they’re your own. Longings for what might have been, what you left behind. 

In the end, you retreat back inside the barn. When you sleep, you dream of a quartz-eyed boy, dark-haired and smiling before he thought to use you.

series tag list: fave @underc0vercryptid​, @hotleaf-juice​, @aleksanderwh0r3​, @kaqua​, @nemesis729​, @imma-too-many-fandoms​

[delirioushrimp]

Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s  amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced  before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces.  A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

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

As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting  him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You  push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me !  There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

���Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.  

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart.  How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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

You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and  hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could  make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

I hope you've been doing well recently, with the new job and all that! I hope you enjoy angst :)

Considering Murdoc's drug use, how many of the low points do you think Stu has seen? I'm talking about like... Extreme paranoia, the shaking, the vomiting... And how do you think that would change how Stu perceives Murdoc in his mind?

How do you think the relationship between them would change if in the earlier years, 2d found Murdoc overdosing?

Thank you so much for your well wishes and for thinking of me! It's been an adjustment, juggling multiple jobs and getting the hours I need, but it's not too bad! Thinking about the terrible twosome passes some time, haha. Cut for length!

This is interesting! As I've mentioned in other contexts, I tend to see Murdoc and Stu as much more alike than they realize-- the natural tendency in shipping, or in showing any characters as foils to one another, is to emphasize their differences, and quite often that intent trips right over itself into the insistence that they must be opposites. Stu and Murdoc absolutely have their contrasting desires or motives, taste in uppers vs downers, presentations vs paranoias, but all being footnotes in the end I do think they are more alike than they are different. Case in point: they are both addicts, and neither calls himself as much. The extent and effects of their addiction can differ though, and you're right that Murdoc absolutely seems closer to overdose in the early years. He is a glutton for punishment and a glutton for reward, and he has built what tolerance he has simply by managing to elude death before.

I think Stu and Murdoc have both seen each other at low points, and I think their first selfish and self-conscious (as fellow addicts) response is to make it go away. Fic much nicer than mine will say that Murdoc wants to stop Stu from taking so many pills, but I don't think that would be the case when they're young; not only is it hypocritical of him but it is uncomfortable, Murdoc doesn't have high enough ground to think denial of a fix is worth it. Stu, on the other hand, I think does feel some compounding of guilt and discomfort, some awareness that Murdoc does too much, is too much, cannot forever be that way-- but there's also some willful belief that he can, that Murdoc is never going to break from these things, and it is more alarming to see him "broken" without them. I do think Stuart has his mother's nervous gut and he does have those worried responses, but I don't think Stuart has the maturity or the caregiving instinct to actually stop Murdoc, and he'd sooner encourage an available fix than suffer withdrawals. On the flipside, when he's taken too much and has a bad reaction to something and there is nothing to be done but wait it out, I think it is a harrowing experience to Stuart. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I think that's the simple truth: there is nothing to be done but look away, or he'll internalize something about himself when he sees Murdoc. Stu, I think, is deeper in denial than Murdoc is about his status as an addict. I think Stu talks casually about the weed because the weed is casual, but he is silent about the pills because he recognizes there is shame around it. So to that point, I think the ugly breakdowns, the chills, the vomit, the accusations, the bargaining cruelty, the caged animalistic fear, all of it challenges his perception of Murdoc as gnarled but elastic, something too crooked and enduring to ever be broken; it challenges the inhumanity he assigns Murdoc, and unsettles the crude balance between them; worst, it makes Stuart see and hear the word "addiction" in his mind, see the shape of it and how it looks in a man spitting, in his sweat and the sound of his heaves, in the hollow of his own chest, which he'd never choose to see himself.

How would the relationship change if Stu found Murdoc overdosing? Part of me says, you have me stumped-- if the real threat of death were hanging there, you'd think it has to change something, right? But another part of me says it's likely happened at least once in Murdoc's life, and I go back and forth on how much Stuart knows about the correct procedures. I don't think Stuart surrounded himself with addicts the way Murdoc likely did, but I don't think Stuart is a babe in the woods by any means; I tend to write him with a tooth for inhalants on top of his tablets, and when his social circle changed from old St. Wilfred's schoolmates to Murdoc and groupies, touring bands or recording engineers or coked-out executives, he would most likely gain a seedy education or possibly be a bystander to a close call. I recognize that all of this is sort of getting away from the point, sorry! To be entirely frank with you, I'm just not sure how to answer this. Their relationship to drugs is absolutely a top-of-mind topic for me, but I haven't explored this scenario properly. I tend to write more about Stuart's hiding of his habits at the consequence of his functionality as a frontman. I will say that I don't think this would be the first time for Murdoc, and while it does shake him up more than he lets on, it certainly doesn't shake him up enough to stop, not for many, many years; similarly, I think it rattles Stu in a way he is utterly unprepared to reckon with let alone articulate to Murdoc or anyone else, and therefore he doesn't. Wrapping us back around to an earlier point: for all their differences, I think Stuart and Murdoc share a particular talent for compartmentalizing interruptions to their chosen reality. Sorry that this answer isn't quite what you were asking, it is the best I can offer at this time! I'm currently writing about Stuart and addiction, and if I do end up writing again after this, I have a few concepts knocking about-- but I haven't explored Murdoc's own relationship to substance much since Oysters, so I will see what I can do with that!

[kyber-kisses]

Don’t Come Looking (Part.3)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Labor, cursing, some good ol’ demons, Dean holding a baby (because that's a fucking warning)

Summary: After months of staying hidden and not seeing your family, You are finally reunited, but not in the way you exactly expected.

A/n: Im sorry it took me so long to get this out lovelies, writers block is no joke. I just hoped it lived up to all of your expectations. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! SPN taglist is open.

Lonely.

If you could use one word to describe the last few months, that was it.

They had been the longest few months of your life. Every minute you weren’t near Dean, it felt like time moved slower. It was lonely moving around by yourself, (then again, you weren’t really alone.) the first few days after the boys had taken off, you stayed with Donna. After that, you took off yourself, ping ponging back and forth across the states, staying low and under the radar, making sure no monsters or demons caught your scent. You never stayed more than a month in one place. The risk of something catching up to you was too high.

Meanwhile, Dean was moving at the speed of a bullet train. When he wasn’t actively cutting off monster heads, he was nose deep in research, looking for the next case. Sometimes he was looking for a new case before he had finished the one he was working on. In the beginning, Sam tried to tell him to slow down- but it was no use. Eventually the younger Winchester gave in and offered his help. Cas wasn’t far behind after that.

Dean had made a promise to you, and he was going to keep it. He was going to do everything he could to make the world a safer place for a child. For his child.

*. *. *. *. *.

With a sigh you leaned back on the porch swing you were currently residing on, feet grazing the stained wood of the porch. The sun had just disappeared beyond the line of trees as a warm breeze tickled your skin. You were glad you were some place warm. You didn’t tend to do well in the cold.

The place you were currently calling home was a place from your childhood. . . More like from a summer from your childhood. You had only been here once, during Fourth of July when you were around twelve. It was a big farm house, nestled in the countryside of southern Georgia, complete with a massive wrap around porch and garden. It used to be a vacation home for your family. . . But that was a long time ago, back when they were all alive.

You would like to think that maybe in another timeline, in another life, you could have lived here, really lived here. One where you could have lived a calm life, free of monsters and blood and every holiday was celebrated and backyard barbecues happened year round.

Before you could fall deeper into your fantasy land, you phone rang, the cracked screen lighting up with Deans name. A smile spread across your face as you swiped to answer, holding the device to your ear.

“Y/n?” Deans voice crackled out of the speaker, gentle and soft.

“Hey, you. Was waiting for your weekly call.”

“Yeah, sorry for being a little late. I fell asleep at the library table.” He admitted, and you could only picture him rubbing the sleep off his face.

“Again? Dean, there’s this thing called getting a good nights rest, you should try it sometime.” You sighed, rubbing your temple as you looked down at your growing belly.

“I’m fi—“ there was a pause as Dean yawned into the speaker, only making you roll your eyes.

“Sure you are. Do me a favor and go to bed. Really don’t feel like hearing you snore into the phone.”

“Seriously, I’m all good. Enough talk about me. How are you?” He asked, his tone laced with a hint of worry. He always asked that, and he always sounded worried.

You paused, trying to think of the best answer to give him that wouldn’t have him worrying more, “I’m fine, apart from the fact that this child I’m carrying keeps kicking the shit out of me every morning at four.” You sighed, hand coming to rest on your belly.

“Oh, that sound like a lot of fun.” Dean chuckled, the sound making you smile.

“You know it.”

Your smile didn’t last long as your mind went through the past months. You felt so lonely, and Dean? Dean was missing so much. The first time the baby kicked, a massive smile covered your face, until you realized Dean had missed it. It was the same with the ultrasound.

“Y/n, you still there?” Deans voice, pulling you back once more.

That’s when you felt the first tears forming in your eyelids, “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just zoned out for a second.” You admitted, rubbing your temple.

“Hey, don’t apologize. It’s fine.” He spoke quickly, trying to assure you.

There was another pause from your end as you battled with your mind, trying to find words, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

That’s when the dam broke, the words leaving your mouth in shallow sob, “I really miss you.” You choked, “And I’m really sorry for leaving. I’m such a fucking idiot.” feeling the tears finally escape your eyelids, you let out a sigh.

On the other end, Deans face fell, his eyes snapping shut as he hung his head in defeat, pressing the phone closer to his ear. “Hey, don’t say that, and like I said before; don’t apologize. You were doing what you believed to be right.” Hearing your shaky voice on the other end was breaking him. All he wanted was to be next to you, holding your hand.

“I should have just gone back to the bunker with you when you found me. If I had done that, you wouldn’t have missed out on all these little things.” You added, shifting in your seat so your elbows could rest in your knees. “But I think the real main reason why I didn’t go back was because I knew that if I stayed in the bunker, I would have wanted to still go on every hunt you and Sam could find. Hunting has been my life for as long as I can remember. Seeing you and your brother work cases would be the equivalent of taunting a dog with a piece of meat. Plus, nine months in the bunker would have driven me insane.” You admitted, waiting in silence for an answer from Dean.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

You let out another sigh, falling back into the porch swing, “To be honest, I didn’t really realize it until just now. I think I’m on Dean Winchester withdrawal.”

A small grin tugged on Deans lips as he rested his elbows on the table he was currently seated at, “oh, the the worst type of withdrawal. We should fix that.” He mused.

“Soon. I promise. And then your kind of stuck with me. . . and a baby.” You chuckled.

“Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

Your smile grew as you took in the last few moments you had talking with Dean, “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

*. *. *. *. *.

Three weeks later, you learned two things very quickly.

Very.

Quickly.

One, going into labor is not fun.

Two, it is especially not fun when you have to drive yourself to the nearest hospital while it’s happening.

The sun was beginning it’s decent as your car tore down the empty back roads, the nearest hospital plugged into your GPS. Of course you had to pick a place to lay low so far from a hospital while you were so close to your due date.

Terrible choice on your part.

The headlights from your car quickly illuminated the next sign, telling you that you were over halfway there.

Everything was fine. Everything was going to be just fine.

And then your phone rang, knocking your senses off even more. Quickly swiping, you brought it to your ear, unable to stop the deep breaths you were taking to get air into your lungs.

“Hey, what’s up?” You breathed, letting out a light yell as another contraction racked your body, your face tensing up in pain.

“Y/n? You alright?” Deans worried voice almost echoing through the vehicle as he quickly spit out the words.

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened as you tried to fight the pain, your foot pressing further down on the gas, “Yeah, so about that, funny story-“ you let out an airy chuckle, “I’m in labor.”

You could tell Dean was in the impala because you heard the squealing of tires as clear as day through the phones speaker, along with a muffled shout from Sam telling Dean to give him a warning next time.

“I’m sorry, your what?!” Deans voice cracking as he yelled.

You let out another strangled yell as another contraction hit, “in labor, yeah. Surprise.” You panted.

On the other end Dean was looking at his brother, the fear in his eyes becoming incredibly clear.

“Y/n, where are you?! And this time you better fucking tell me!”

“Uh, Fa-Fayetteville Georgia.” You stumbled, squinting at the next sign you passed. “I’m driving to the hospital now.”

“I’m sorry, you’re driving?!” Dean sputtered, eyes widening with each second, making Sam believe he was in the verge of a panic attack.

“Oh, I’m sorry, would you like me to pull over on the side of the road and deliver this baby myself?” You fired back, white knuckling the steering wheel as you did.

“Damn it, just get to the hospital. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” With that he ended the call, throwing his phone into Sam's lap.

Within seconds, Dean was yanking the wheel of the impala and making a sharp u-turn on the road they were on, making Sam's head collide with the window with a thunk. In another few seconds, Dean was climbing over the speed limit and shooting down the interstate.

The only thought in his mind was getting to you.

*. *. *. *. *.

After a lifetime of hunting, you had been thrown, punched, slapped, knocked out, stabbed, shot- the list could go on.

But labor made all those other things seem like a walk in the park.

Labor fucking sucked.

You couldn’t recall pulling up to the hospital, and you definitely didn’t remember the medics helping you inside.

One minute you were in your car, the next, you were propped up in a hospital bed, screaming bloody murder, which was mostly a long string of curse words. The contractions were awful, hitting you like a truck every few minutes, white hot pain taking hold of every limb in your body, coating you with a layer of sweat.

You knew no concept of time in those very long hours. The pain muting all other senses. You were almost surprised when the doctor began telling you to push.

Where was Dean?

Where was Dean?

Blinded and so preoccupied by the pain you completely failed to notice the flash of black eyes as one of the nurses passed by. . .

*. *. *. *. *.

With the speed the impala was going, Sam swore he could feel himself being pushed back into the leather of the seat. The car probably looked like a streak of lightning as Dean blasted through the south, hands white knuckling the steering wheel.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Dean whipped around to look at his brother, eyes glazed with fear and begging for reassurance.

“She gonna be fine, Dean. She’s the strongest person we know.” Sam nodded, giving him a small smile.

“okay, okay.” Dean mumbled to himself, nodding his head as he turned his attention back towards the road.

Long story short, Dean made what should have been a twenty three hour car ride into a clean twelve. He was surprised the wheels weren’t smoking as he gave one final tug to the steering wheel, the back end of the impala swinging as he pulled up to the front doors.

Sam barely had time to regain his bearings before Dean was yanking the keys out of the ignition and tossing them at Sam. Dean was oblivious to most of his surroundings as he threw open the drivers side door and vaulted out of the vehicle, slamming it shut behind him and rushing through the sliding glass doors, leaving Sam behind.

Jade eyes quickly locked on to the woman behind the front desk and Dean was running forward, placing his hands firmly on the counter.

“I’m looking- I’m looking for Y/n Y/l/n.”he panted, eyes desperate and still very much filled with fear.

The woman simply nodded, swiveling in her chair as her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up your name and room number.

As each second ticked by, Dean grew more impatient, pacing back and forth until he was leaning over the counter, “Okay, is there maybe any way you could do this faster?” He shrugged lightly, still out of breath.

The woman looked up at him through her glasses, staring daggers into him before turning back to the screen, resuming her search.

“Dean Winchester?”

The sudden voice sent Dean spinning on the spot, eyes settling on the nurse walking down the hallway towards him, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” He stepped forward, now ignoring the other woman behind the desk.

The nurse let out a light laugh, shaking her head as she tucked a clipboard under her arm, “No, but y/n was saying that a flannel clad man might burst through the doors.” She gave him a smile, motioning with her head to follow her back down the hall.

Deans eyes narrowed momentarily, not fully trusting the woman in front of him. He stayed close on her heels though, his mind taken up with thoughts of you.

It had been so long since he had last seen you. You and your big y/e/c eyes, and contagious smile. Every fiber in his being was itching to see you.

Pushing one of the buttons to the elevator, the nurse turned slightly to look at Dean, “you know, your wife is quite a badass.”

The hunter froze momentarily before stepping into the elevator, “Oh, uh- she’s not my-“

“Oh, well anyways, she’s quite the powerhouse. Never seen anyone like her.” She grinned.

For the first time in awhile, Dean smiled, even if it only was for a second, “Yeah, she’s one of a kind, easily the bravest person I have ever met.”

There was silence for a moment as the elevator shifted, And then the doors slid open, and Deans eyebrows knitted together in confusion, the uneasiness in his gut skyrocketing.

There was no way you were being held on this floor of the hospital. It looked like it was in the middle of a renovation, scaffolding and tools littering the area, the lights dull and flickering.

And the very strong scent of of sulfur.

As his hunter instincts kicked in, he whipped around, only for a solid figure to harshly slam into him, knocking him out of the elevator.

Dean stumbled, trying desperately to regain his balance on his feet as he patted himself down, hoping that Ruby’s knife was somewhere in his jacket. Thankfully his fingers wrapped around the blade and he was whirling around, weapon raised as the nurse advanced, eyes filling with an inky black.

“Come on, can I please just catch a break?” Dean sighed, flipping the knife as he stepped backwards, “kinda in a rush here.”

The demon smirked, swiping her leg out in front of her, knocking Him to the ground quickly, the knife sliding across the linoleum tiles and away from his hand.

He barely had time to move before she was straddling him, pinning him firmly to the floor, a wicked glint in her eyes.

“Okay, now this was too easy, I was hoping for a bit more of a fight.” She laughed, Dean struggling violently against her hold, making her grip tighten.

“Why are you here?” Dean hissed, his head lifting from the floor, eyes blazing as he stared up at his attacker.

“Why do you think? For your sweet baby girl of course.” She smiled, letting her nails dig into the flesh of Deans wrists as she felt him pause in his struggle, eyes ever so slightly glazing over in surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know? Oopsy. . . .”

“If you have touched either of them, I swear—“ Dean growled, only to be cut short by one of her hands slamming down over her mouth, rendering him silent.

“You’ll what? Kill me?” The demon raised an eyebrow, “because I don’t exactly see you getting out of this one, and once I’m done with you, I’m gonna take a trip down to y/ns room and do the same thing to her, and then I’ll take the little ankle biter.”

Dean felt his heartbeat thundering in his chest, his blood boiling as he clenched his jaw, still trying to fight desperately against the demons hold, “How did you even find her?”

“By pure accident actually.” She shrugged, “I was working a crossroad deal a town over a few weeks ago, when I caught a glimpse of your sweet little y/n. She was just going about her day, grocery shopping I think- “she smiled again, feeling Dean writhe under her, “been keeping an eye on her ever since, waiting for the right moment to strike-“she paused, eyes shifting to look at the clock on the wall, “Which should be soon, seeing as she’s been in labor for quite awhile now.”

That’s when the anger in Dean bubbled over quickly, and he was thrusting his head forward, slamming it into the demon chin and successfully sending her falling backwards, clutching at her face. The hunter rolled, hand fusing the blade once more before rushing forward and driving it into her chest.

“Think again, you black eyed bitch-“ Dean breathed, watching firmly as the demon sparked, only slumping to the floor when he yanked the blade back out.

At the same time, the elevator dinged, doors sliding open to reveal a very surprised and confused Sam. The younger Winchesters eyes falling from his brother to the corpse in front of him.

“What the hell happened?”

Wiping the blade over his jeans, Dean stepped over the body, handing the weapon over to his brother, “demon. How the hell did you find me?”

“Uh, I went to y/ns room briefly, saw that you weren’t there, thought something had happened,” Sam paused, eyes going back to the demon, “which clearly, it did-“

Upon hearing your name, Dean snapped back into focus, remembering why he was there in the first place, eyes widening as he drew in a breath, “Y/n, is she okay?”

“Yeah, from what I saw briefly-“ there was another pause as he read his brothers expression, shoulders relaxing, “Go. I’ll take care of this and meet you down there. The two of you have been apart for too long already. . . She’s on the third floor.”

Giving Sam one last look, along with the demon on the floor, Dean gave him a small nod, sucking in another breath before rushing into the elevator, and rapidly pressing against the proper button that would take him to you.

That elevator ride was the longest of his life, and he found himself pacing the interior until the doors rolled open once more, revealing a bustling hallway.

This time though, he kept his guard up, watching each set of eyes he passed until he found a nurse that he knew he could trust, quickly asking them where he could find you. They quickly pointed him down another hallway, and he was off again.

It felt like another lifetime had passed by the time his eyes fell on your room number, his breath catching in his throat as he froze in front of the threshold, the door already propped open.

He couldn’t help that his eyes began to glaze over with tears as he stood there, it had been months since he had last seen you, seen your smile, your eyes. So much had happened, and in all those months, it had felt so empty without you.

The lights in your room were turned down low, your back facing him as you laid slightly on your side, the much smaller form almost completely hidden by your own.

Dean didn’t know why he was frozen, why he was afraid to enter, but here he was.

“Are you just gonna stand in the doorway, or are you gonna come in?” You spoke softly, already knowing full well who was behind you.

Hesitantly, Dean stepped into the room, taking slow steps towards your bed, even though all he wanted to do was rush forward and pull you into a bone crushing hug.

And then his eyes finally found her, and Dean Winchester was a goner. Wrapped in a bundle of blankets and tucked gently against your chest was the cutest baby he had ever laid eyes on. He hadn’t even held her yet, and she already had him wrapped around her finger.

Tearing your own eyes away from the small human nestled against you, you locked on to a very familiar set of jade eyes, ones you hadn’t seen in a very long time, which only made another round of tears pool up behind your lids.

“Dean?”

The hunter let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, giving you a relieved smile, “Hey, Sweetheart. You miss me?”

“You know I did.” You quickly nodded, letting tears trail over the bridge of your nose before turning your eyes back to the infant besides you, your index finger being grasped by the smallest hand you had ever seen. Shifting, you moved to cradle your daughter against your chest, “you wanna meet her?”

Dean found himself speechless again as he sidled you next to your bed, nodding. You gave him a soft smile as you once again shifted, allowing him to take the baby in his arms. In that moment, his heart instantly melted, shoulders relaxing as he let out a light chuckle, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She was so small, so fragile- and he never wanted to let her go.

“Nice work, baby mama.” He chuckled again, eyes moving to meet yours.

“Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit,” you grinned, propping yourself up more on the bed as Dean sunk down to sit besides you, “she’s got your eyes, you know.”

“Then let’s hope she has your smile. . . “ Dean slowly fell silent for the millionth time, completely in awe at the small bundle cradled against his chest, “does she- does she have a name yet?”

Resting your chin against Deans shoulder, you glanced down at the small child in his arms. “I really like the name June.” You hummed, allowing her to latch on to your finger again, “but if you don’t like it, we can keep brainstorming.”

“No, no! It’s great, she’s great.” Dean smiled, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple.

“Almost like that Beatles song you hum all the time, the one your mom loved? Hey Jude.” You added, watching as Dean gave you a starry eyed look.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You drew your eyebrows together, pulling back in slight confusion.

“I really missed you.”

Your face fell at his words- you couldn’t help it. It just reminded you of how lonely the last few months had been, and you felt so ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left. It was a mistake. I was selfish, and because of that, you missed out on things you should have been there for.” You admitted, allowing yourself to sink back against the bed.

“Woah, hey, stop apologizing. You are not selfish, and sure, even though I missed out on some things, I’m here now- I’m not gonna miss anything else. . . You’re stuck with me, y/n.” And then he was leaning forward, as much as his position would allow, and sealing his lips against your own.

He had missed you. God, he had missed you so much. . . And you had missed him- probably even more.

The moment he pulled away, his eyes were back on June, almost missing the sad look on your face as you gazed back down at her.

“Hey, you alright?”

You shook your head, tracing the pad of your thumb lightly over her small cheek, “you know, I don’t know it was possible to love something this much, and to be honest. . .” You took a deep breath, “a part of it feels awful. All I want to do is protect her from the world, keep her tucked away so she’ll never be hurt. . . But that’s not possible, and that just breaks my heart.”

Dean felt his face fall as he listened to you. He understood what you were saying, he felt it in his gut. “Well, we can do our best.” He nodded, resting his head against yours, both set of eyes glued to June.

“Yeah, we can.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get here earlier, but trust me when I say I flew fifty over the speed limit almost the entire way.”

You let out a yawn, eyes blinking slowly as your tiredness only settled in more, “I’m not surprised at that, and it’s alright. Sure, it was the most painful thing I have ever experienced, and my voice is practically gone due to the amount of screaming and yelling I did,” you shrugged, falling back against the pillow, “but hey, I survived.”

“Well, you are a survivor, you probably made this all look like a walk in the park.”

You couldn’t help the chuckle that left your lips, “I wouldn’t say that, but thank you.”

There was a knock on the door, making both of your heads spin around, conversation falling silent, replaced with small smiles.

“Hey, Sam.”

“Y/n.” The other Winchester stepped into the room, striding up next to your bed, “sorry I didn’t say hi earlier, had to go find this idiot for you.” He smirked, slapping a hand over his brothers shoulder.

You and Dean both watched as Sam's eyes lit up at the sight of June, drawing in a small breath.

“That’s alright, and you are welcome to hold her if you want. . . That is if Dean is willing to hand her over.” You raised an eyebrow at the man perched next to you.

His face fell momentarily before he caved in, “fine.” Getting up from his spot, he rounded the bed, passing the small new-born over to his brother, taking extreme care as he did.

“You drop her, I drop kick you out the door.”

“I’m not gonna drop her, Dean. God, trust your brother at least a little.” Sam sighed, adjusting his arms as he looked down at June. “She definitely won the gene pool.” He smiled.

You didn’t have time to get in any words before Dean spoke up, “I know right?!” He exclaimed, nodding, “We have the most beautiful baby ever!” Extending a hand, he allowed you to high five him, his grin wide and happy.

This man, you swore-

“Sam, how many panic attacks did he have on the way here?” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow as you tried to change the subject.

“Bold of you to assume he had multiple. It was more like one long ass panic attack. Pretty sure he broke the steering wheel with how hard he was gripping it.”

“Okay, that a bit of an exaggeration-“ Dean tried, “I was fine.”

Looking up from June, Sam raised both brows, “Dean, we both know that’s a lie.”

Dean pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, slowly nodding. He definitely had not been fine. He had been consumed with panic, and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt like throwing up a few times.

But he was here now, and that was all that mattered.

There was another wave of silence and then he was stepping forward again, motioning at his brother, “Okay, you’ve held her long enough. Give her back.”

You smiled, watching as Sam rolled his eyes, surrendering June back to Deans arms, his eyes lighting up the moment he was holding her again.

June already had Dean wrapped so tightly around her finger that it was almost hilarious. He deserved something good in this life, and this was it.

“Dean, you alright?” You slowly questioned, swearing you could see his eyes gloss over as he nodded, ever so slightly rocking June in his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, still just getting used to this and all.” He admitted, walking back over to you and finding his place once more on the bed.

You let out another yawn, trying desperately to rub the sleep from your eyes, catching Deans attention.

“You should get some sleep. You need it, and we arent going anywhere.” He promised, one of his hands reaching out to squeeze yours.

You wanted to fight him on it. You hadn’t seen him in months and the last thing you wanted right now was to close your eyes.

But you were so fucking tired.

You caved, nodding slowly, “I’m glad you came looking for me.” You mumbled, eyes slowly blinking shut.

“Always. I gotta protect my girls.” Deans smiled, eyes shifting between you and June, seeing you already asleep.

Never in a million years did Dean Winchester ever believe he would get anything like this. That he would be this lucky, yet here he was.

Dean rose from the bed once more, pressing his lips softly against June’s forehead, letting them linger for a moment as he lived in the moment. She was so small, and so breathtaking. He still couldn’t quite believe he had had a part in creating her. He was so used to destroying thing, that even the thought of creation alone left him speechless.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Dean almost jumped at the sound of his brother, momentarily forgetting that he was there.

Dean smiled again, feeling the infant grab onto his index finger. “Yeah. You still carrying that ring I told you to hold on to for me?” Eyes darting back to your sleeping form, heart swelling.

The End.

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[novamm66]

From Earth to Sky - Chapter 2

Arriving in Haven & Working to Close the Breach

--

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when they rode into the village of Haven. Cullen and his soldiers dismounted and immediately began setting up their tents outside the village walls. As Cassandra dismounted, the gates opened, and Sister Nightingale descended the steps to greet them.

“Welcome back, Cassandra,” Leliana said, “I hope your trip was successful.”

The two women clasped arms in greeting before Cassandra replied. “I couldn’t find Hawke, but I did find us a Commander, and hopefully, Divine Justinia can get answers where I failed.” Cassandra glared over her shoulder at Varric, who was watching the camp set up with interest. “Also, we were delayed by an ambush by soldiers from Tevinter,” she continued.

“On Ferelden roads? That’s unexpected.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed.

“I agree. The timing is too close to the Conclave not to be suspicious.” Cassandra shook her head. “How did the first day go?”

Leliana sighed. “Everyone is posturing like peacocks, trying not to show too much of their hand. You would have hated it.”

Cassandra snorted. “I guess I should be grateful then.” Her fingers traced the barely healed scar on her face.

Leliana laughed then gestured towards the path leading to the temple. “The Divine is waiting to speak with you and the Commander. Shall we…”

Cassandra gripped Leliana’s arm as every hair on her body stood on end. She recognized the feeling of magic being drawn together, but she had never felt anything on this scale before.

“What...?” Cassandra’s question was interrupted when the magic was released. A column of energy arched from earth to sky, followed by a cloud of fire. Then the shockwave hit. Glass shattered, horses and people screamed, and everyone was knocked to the ground. The sound that followed, of the very mountains moving, drowned out all the rest.

Cassandra clawed her way to her knees, a ringing silence in her head. Her eyes were blurry, unable to focus. When they cleared, she was barely able to process the world around her. As she climbed to her feet, her hearing returned. People were shouting, calling for help, but all Cassandra could see was the vortex of fade magic that had swallowed the sky.

The temple. The Divine.

Without another thought, she broke into a dead run up the valley.

—

Varric wasn’t even pretending to clean Bianca anymore. His crossbow sat armed and ready on his knee as he watched the restless crowd outside the Chantry. All they needed was a spark, and an angry mob would be born.

Things had gotten worse in the days since the Breach opened. Everyone who could stand and hold a weapon fought the tide of demons that kept appearing from the fade rifts. But the number of able-bodied fighters was dwindling, while there was no end of demons.

Fear permeated everything.

Varric’s presence was largely ignored. He spent his time fighting alongside whoever was going up the valley or helping with whatever he could in the village. The Seeker, Curly, and Nightingale were simply trying to keep peace in the town and to stem the tide of demons that threatened to wipe them out. If something didn’t change soon, they would fail.

The Chantry door opened, and Cassandra stepped out into the sun. Varric watched the crowd break up as her eyes swept the square. No one wanted to risk the wrath of the Seeker. Varric relaxed his hold on his crossbow when she crossed to the fire, where he sat and collapsed next to him. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in them with a groan.

Varric stood and filled his empty bowl from the pot over the fire, cleaned his spoon off in the snow and then sat back down next to her. “Here. You should eat something.” He said, holding the bowl out to her.

Cassandra raised her head and stared at the bowl a moment, her eyes hazy, before finally accepting it. Varric sat, watching the people milling about in the square as she ate. Neither spoke as she finished and handed the bowl and spoon back to Varric, who cleaned and stowed them away.

“Why are you still here?” Cassandra asked. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared into the fire, and while the question was blunt, her voice was soft, almost sad.

“Are you sick of me already?” Varric chuckled, retaking his seat.

“I am sorry, that wasn’t…” She sighed, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I simply mean that you are free to go if you wish.” her eyes drifted up to the hole in the sky. “It would be wiser to be as far from here as possible.”

Varric chuckled, “Wiser, yes, but I’ve never been known for my wisdom. And anyway, if I left now, someone else would get to tell this story, and I couldn’t live with that.”

His reply startled a laugh out of her, and Cassandra’s voice was light. “Yes, that would be tragic.”

Varric’s heart gave a sideways thump. He would have to be dead not to admire the strength and beauty of the woman next to him, and sarcasm was something he always found attractive. Before he could pursue that line of thought, the Chantry doors opened with a bang, attracting Cassandra’s attention. A messenger paused on the steps until his eyes found the Seeker, and he hurried across to where they sat.

The messenger saluted, then spoke. “Seeker Pentaghast, the prisoner is awake. Sister Nightingale is waiting for your return before speaking to her.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra rose quickly to her feet. “Master Tethras, would you inform Solas and accompany him to the first rift? I will bring the prisoner to meet you.”

The moment Varric nodded his response, Cassandra was turning away, but she paused and turned back. “Andraste, protect you, Varric.” She said. There was something in her eyes that Varric could not pin down, and it disappeared before he could get a handle on it.

Then she was gone.

—

Varric’s reputation as a storyteller made him immensely popular in the village of Redcliffe. The mages were preparing to move to Skyhold, but until then, Redcliffe was busting at the seams. Their party’s’ fireside was always filled with people hoping to hear news and stories from Varric himself, and they were rarely disappointed.

But tonight was different. Varric had disappeared after Kiaya had woken up. Kiaya was finally past the worst of the poison from the knife wound she had sustained. Once awake, she told them more details of the future she and Dorian had been thrown into against their will.

Cassandra had noticed that when they spoke of the spread of red lyrium, Varric had gotten quiet. Every time they came across the stuff, Varric would withdraw, and it was always a while before he would join in the fireside banter again. But tonight, he had simply disappeared. Now it was getting dark, and Cassandra was growing concerned.

Her feet carried her towards higher ground and eventually up towards the abandoned windmill that overlooked the village. As she got closer, she started to hear the thump and crack of someone chopping wood. Rounding the last bend, she saw exactly that.

Varric was wielding an axe expertly as he split logs. His shirt and coat were tossed over a stump, the sheen of sweat on Varric’s skin gleaming in the light. It was the expression on his face that gave Cassandra pause. Varric was furious, a deep scowl etched into his features. He swung the axe with more force than was necessary, burying it deep into the block with each stroke.

She didn’t interrupt him. Instead, she sat down. The tension in Varric’s back eased a little, but he didn’t say anything and continued his work as the light faded. When it was fully dark, Varric buried the axe head into the block with a loud curse. “I should have dropped that shit down a deep hole when we found it. For that matter, I should have spit in Bartrand’s eye when he told me the plan for the expedition. He might still be alive if I had.” Varric angrily snatched up his shirt and dried off while pacing across the clearing.

“All the pain and suffering that that shit caused in Kirkwall, I could have prevented it. It was just too easy to let things lie after Meredith got her hands on it. I thought that it ended with her. I was a fucking fool.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “However long it may take, I’m going to fix the damage I have done.”

Cassandra had never been good at offering comfort. She couldn’t disagree with anything he said, but her heart ached at the defeat in his voice. Cassandra missed the joy of life that he always seemed to have, and for the first time, Cass wondered what it cost him. Right now, she simply wanted to make him smile again.

Varric sighed and spoke, the rare uncertainty in his voice wringing at her heart. “You never did tell me why you dragged me to Haven, Seeker. I mean, what could I have told the Divine that you couldn't say yourself?”

“I thought she needed to see your chest hair for herself.”

Varric’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at her. Cassandra was starting to regret opening her mouth until his face split into a wide grin. He burst into laughter until tears formed in his eyes, and he was gasping for breath. “Maker. Think she would have been impressed?”

Cassandra answered his grin with one of her own, although it felt rusty. “Certainly. I also knew she would ask you to help us.”

“Me? Help the Inquisition?” Varric said, wiping his eyes.

“A crazy thought, I know, yet here you are. The Inquisition has done great things, and you have been a large part of them. Don’t forget that.”

Varric’s grin melted into something softer, warmer, and Cassandra got lost in the hazel of his eyes. Whatever was happening, Cassandra wasn’t ready, so she looked away, swallowing, her throat suddenly very dry.

“It is getting late. We should return to camp.” She said, her voice only shaking a little.

Varric’s usual expression had returned by the time she looked back at him, but something had changed, and Cassandra needed time to think.

“You’re right, Seeker. I am suddenly starving,” Varric said as he put on his jacket and picked up Bianca.

“You may regret saying that. Dorian is cooking, and he raided the Alexius’s foodstuffs. I expect it to be interesting.” Cassandra said as she stood and stretched.

“Oh, I hope it’s spicy.” Varric laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve burned out my stomach lining.”

--

Chapter 1

Thanks!

[kpopfanfictrash]

Blackjack: Drabble (II)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jungkook

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,032

Series Summary: Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out?

Drabble Summary: when you and Jungkook are back in the game (this takes place after the Epilogue)

[Master List]

“So,” you exhale, latching the door softly before you. Footsteps fade on the other side – you count while the person exits, waiting until you are truly alone. When it seems only the two of you remain, your breathing tangled with his, you manage to smile. “Now that you have me… whatever will you do to me, Mr. Kang?”

Slow, measured footsteps come from behind you. Shoes echo on marble, followed by the sound of cuff links coming undone. Kang Siwoon laughs, the sound slow and enticing. “Ah, Y/N,” he exhales, as large hands warp around your forearms. “I wish to do so many things to you tonight.”

When his lips brush your throat, you shudder, disguising it as a shiver. At your sides, your hands ball into fists. This is all according to plan, you remind yourself. When he turns you to face him in his grasp, you meet his gaze smoothly and slide your hands up his chest.

“Tell me,” you insist, inhaling deeply.

His gaze drops to your bosom, lust sparking within. For months, you have skimmed the surface of Kang Siwoon’s life. It all began with a party at his mansion, several weeks prior. You entered the venue late, slipping down the center of the staircase and ignoring his gaze. Two weeks later, you attended a high-stakes poker game on the arm of his rival. The entirety of the night, you sat across the table and allowed Siwoon to think you did not notice him staring.

Three days prior, you arrived at the silent auction he sponsors. Kang Siwoon found you while everyone else moved into the ballroom. Placing a hand on the small of your back, he leaned in close and whispered he hoped to see you again, alone. You merely nodded, a silent picture of coquettishness. He smiled.

It seemed this was exactly his type. Each of these events led to tonight, with you arriving to his hotel at half past eleven to take a seat at the bar. Barely a half-hour passed before an impeccably dressed man in a navy-blue suit approached you to hand over a card. He escorted you up, into an elevator and Kang Siwoon’s suite.

Tilting your head now, you offer Siwoon a smile.

He is not unattractive, when all is said and done. He has dark, unruly hair and a penetrating gaze. All things considered, he is quite beautiful but even now, you are aware his beauty is only skin-deep. As a tingle travels your spine, you meet his gaze and attempt not to flinch.

Shyly, you glance away.

Siwoon’s fingertips graze your chin, tilting your face upwards. “Are you nervous?” he murmurs, moving against you. He gives a quick, harried breath; as though he cannot wait for the night to begin. “You need not be.”

Heart thudding against the bone of your ribcage, you lift your face to his. “I am not afraid,” you whisper, lips curving into a smile. Sliding a hand behind your waist, you move as though to undo the strands of your laces. “I am not afraid at all.”

“Oh?” Siwoon’s lips tug upwards, as though he harbors a secret. “And why is that? Are you not worried of what I could do to you, darling?”

When he speaks this way, you very nearly hiss and ruin the entire thing. This is what Kang Siwoon must say to every woman who graces his bedroom; this is what he must say to lure them into his bed, pry apart their legs and – you inhale, disguising this as desire. Slowly, you curl a hand around the hilt of your knife.

“No,” you murmur, expression carefully cultivated. “I am not worried about that, darling.”

With a chuckle, Siwoon moves his hand to your jaw. “And why not?” he purrs, sliding his fingers to the base of your throat.

He is close to you, too close for comfort but then – you smile, as movement flashes in your peripheral. “Because I am not alone,” you respond to him simply.

For a moment, Siwoon stares at you in confusion. Uncertainty flickers over his face and he withdraws his hand, but it is not enough – the shattering of glass breaks the silence. Swearing loudly, Siwoon turns but is too slow – the window shatters inward, a dark figure in black somersaulting to a stop by the bed.

Head snapping upwards, Jungkook zeros in on your face. Once he has ascertained your safety, he smiles, the gesture savage. “Ah.” Pushing himself upwards to stand, Jungkook brushes dirt from his thighs. Subtly, he flicks a piece of glass to the side. “I see I am late to the party; my apologies.”

Swearing again, Siwoon moves to leave – only to stop cold, when he realizes your knife is held to the base of his throat. The blade presses against skin, coaxing a dark trickle of blood down the blade. You hope he recognizes the stance from the many women he has threatened this way. Caressing a hand up his side, you tighten your grip on the knife.

“Are you going to leave us so quickly, Mr. Kang?” you murmur, blinking innocently. “I thought we were just starting to get to know one another.”

“You fucking bitch,” Siwoon spits, lacing the carpet with warm flecks of saliva.

Jungkook strides across the room, gripping Siwoon by the shoulders to knee him hard in the groin. When the billionaire doubles over, groaning, Jungkook jabs him in the neck with a tranquilizer. As Siwoon droops forward, Jungkook catches him deftly and meets your gaze over his shoulder.

“Hey, baby,” he drawls, stroking the criminal’s hair. Siwoon groans, feebly attempting to fight but Jungkook has his arms locked firmly in place. “Did you miss me?”

Stepping forward, you lift on tip-toe to kiss Jungkook over Siwoon’s body. “Hi,” you exhale, leaning into him.

Softening, Jungkook forgets Siwoon a little to press his lips back to yours. His tongue prods, searching for more but in response to his eagerness, you chuckle and step quickly away. “Later,” you scold, resuming your scan of the room.

It was risky, what Jungkook did to break through the window. Obviously, that was not the original plan – the original plan was Jungkook entering undetected through the AC. This was thwarted upon your arrival, when you realized Siwoon’s air ducts were being renovated and cleansed. Jungkook insisted you continue with the plan, though; he assured you he would find a way to get things done.

Apparently, this is what he meant by that. With a roll of your eyes, you hold your knife steady to walk towards the doors. Behind you, Jungkook ties Siwoon up at gunpoint; you prefer not to use that weapon whenever possible.

Upon reaching the door, you close a hand over the knob. Siwoon dismissed his security earlier but still, one cannot be too careful. Pressing your ear to the wood, you listen into the other side. There is noise within and your heart leaps frantically, about to tell Jungkook to run when –

Knock-knock knock knock-knock.

Pulling back, you stare at the frame. A familiar chuckle greets your ears. “Y/N – let me in,” Taehyung whines. “It’s freezing in this room. I swear, why do all villains insist on their lairs being sub-zero degrees? Why can’t there ever be a tropical asshole? I’d love to be in on that bust.”

When you glance over your shoulder, Jungkook nods for Taehyung to enter. With a long sigh, you push open the door and survey Jungkook’s best friend. He has dyed his hair since the last time you last saw him; now it is a mint-green color, which oddly suits him.

Dragging your gaze up his body, you take in a waiter’s uniform and serving cart. “Oh, god,” you groan, turning around. “Are you serious? This is the plan? This is the lamest thing we’ve ever done.”

Ignoring this commentary, Jungkook busies himself with dragging Kang Siwoon’s body across the floor. Patent leather scuffs marble, making you wince at the tracks.

“No,” Taehyung groans, staring forlornly at the marks. “You’re ruining those beautiful shoes. The poor babies, gone too soon.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jungkook huffs, dragging Siwoon further. “Get over it.”

With Taehyung’s help, Jungkook manages to get Siwoon into the cart, squishing him down into the middle compartment. Once this is complete, Taehyung takes a step back to close the lid with a huff. “You guys owe me,” he complains, wiping his brow and beginning to push. “This dude weighs, like, a billion pounds.”

“Quit being such a baby,” you scold, sliding your knife back into your dress. “What would Lena say?”

Taehyung’s response is mumbled, but you are no longer listening, too concentrated on the minutes which have gone by. Based on your research, Mr. Kang is allowed one hour alone with his conquests before his guards return to check on him. Sixty minutes for each sexual encounter; thirty minutes for intercourse, and thirty minutes for after.

You shudder, knowing what 'after’ means and realizing how close you came to being one of his victims. Jungkook slides both hands around your waist, brushing a kiss to your throat. The effect is nothing like Siwoon and, softening somewhat, you relax into his hold. After a long moment, you open your eyes.

“Let’s go,” you exhale, watching Taehyung crack open the door. “We don’t have much time.”

With a nod, Taehyung steps into the hall and lowers his head. He tugs the cart with him – to the cameras, which Yoongi will wipe once you leave, it will look as though the wait staff has dropped of food for Mr. Kang. Once Taehyung is gone, disappeared down the hall, you turn around to face Jungkook.

His brow is furrowed, hair tousled by the breeze through the window. Reaching a hand up, you smooth over his brow. Jungkook turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss to your palm. “How are we leaving,” he mumbles, against your skin.

“We could go through the hall,” you suggest. Lowering a hand, you lace your fingers in his. “There are thirty minutes until Kang’s security returns to check on him. Yoongi will wipe us from the monitors when we leave. Or…” Trailing off, you glance out the window.

Catching your look, a fierce grin breaks over Jungkook’s face. “You want to repel down,” he notes, sounding smug. “Don’t you?”

Giving him a small smile, you shrug. “Maybe.”

Laughing aloud, Jungkook tugs your hand sideways and pulls you into the bedroom. Careful not to look at the bed, you fight back the image of that man’s skin upon yours. It bleeds into other men, it blends into the touch of another Man and you shudder. At this, Jungkook looks over his shoulder in concern.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he suggests, pulling a cord free from his pack. “Let’s go on another honeymoon and reconnect, or whatever. Let me fuck my beautiful wife into oblivion, erase all memory of women-beating, money-laundering scum from her mind. Yeah?”

Snorting, you step closer for Jungkook to loop the cord over your dress. He ties this to you, while you slide both hands around his neck. “But who would stop all the bad guys?” you tease, stepping out on the ledge.

Moving beside you, Jungkook clips himself into the rope dangling down from above. Testing the give, he peers over the edge. “Eh,” he shrugs, looking back at you. “I’m sure the others could manage without us. At least, for a little while.”

When he speaks, you arch a brow. “Are you sure?”

Jungkook pauses, considering. “Maybe.”

With a laugh, you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Exactly. Although…” Trailing off, you glance into the darkness. The lights of the city fade at the horizon, blaring horns and sirens rising from the street. “Maybe you’re right.”

“What?” Jungkook teases, fake-shocked. His dark eyes spark, catching yours. “I’m what now?”

“You’re right,” you groan, pressing a kiss to his chin. “Let’s just deliver Siwoon to Namjoon and Jay. He’ll be in good hands there,” you mutter, suppressing a smile. “Then – we go on vacation. Happy?”

Smiling softly, Jungkook presses your body to his. “Deliriously,” he admits, before jumping.

[Master List]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2019. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[everlarkficexchange]

Always You

Written by: @sunsetsrmydreams

Prompt 46: Broken-hearted Katniss goes to see a psychic, hoping to get one last message to her departed loved one (Goodbye? I’m sorry? Where’s the key to the safety deposit box?). Peeta is earning his college tuition using his charm and empathy to tell fortunes. What happens when they encounter each other?

Thank You for the prompt Anonymous

Thank You to @everlarkficexchange 

Rating T Canon character death.

My name is Peeta Mellark, and I am a Psychic. 

Well, at least I’m pretending to be for the sake of my Fine Arts Degree. Mother, being the peach that she is, cut me off when I decided to major in Art instead of Business. Dad stood by and let it all happen as usual. He didn’t even say goodbye the night I left the house for good. 

It’s fine. I’ve been getting along great on my own. I’ve got scholarships and have managed to cobble together a few jobs that don’t interfere with my classes but still pay well enough to keep me afloat. I work at a catering company on weekends, an early morning bakery shift two times a week and this job, which happens to be the best paying of the three. Now graduation is so close I can taste it, just one more month and I’ll be done…free. 

Earning money using my charm and empathy to tell fortunes as a psychic may be pushing it, but these people all seem happier and more at peace after a reading and that’s how I’m able to stomach the deception. I’ve done readings for widows looking for safe deposit box keys, desperate souls wanting one last goodbye with their loved ones and people that just want a moment to say I’m sorry. 

Those are the worst. 

Sometimes it’s hard to live with, but name another job that you can pull a hundred dollars an hour? Truth is, this job just fell into my lap….and I’m good at it. 

I sigh and settle back into my chair and wait for my next appointment, who will be here any minute. Tidying up my table, I put away the tarot cards I used in the last reading and run a cloth over the crystal ball. It’s just for looks but my boss Haymitch swears it adds to the ambience and make us look more credible. 

A soft tapping on the door alerts me to her presence and when I look up, I see a young woman about my age. She’s not very big, nor is she particularly pretty. She’s followed closely by a smaller, blonder version of herself. 

They’ve lost someone. 

It’s clear by the pain on their faces. I want to tell them to leave, that I can’t help them, that none of this is real…but something stops me. I stand and offer them a seat before starting with the scripted spiel. 

“Welcome to Psychics of Panem. Are you ready for me to begin?” I ask, glancing between the raven-haired girl and her sister. The latter looks at me with a shrug but offers nothing helpful. 

Silver eyes meet mine and I’m struck. A strange warmth begins to crawl through my chest and I realize I was wrong, so wrong. Her delicate features are shadowed and darkened by pain and those twin moons shimmer with tears. She is…. unexpected. 

“I don’t know why I’m here.” She whispers. “I don’t believe in this stuff.” 

“That’s ok…Miss?” 

“Katniss.” 

I look to her sister and she trills. “Prim.” 

“Alright, why don’t we get started.” 

I relax, and let images and thoughts fill my mind as I try to string together some words that might make whatever these girls are going through, a little easier to bear. But I keep seeing her…just her. 

Katniss. 

It’s strange. She’s everywhere. I wonder if the guilt is getting to me, but I power through and state what I already know. 

“You’ve lost someone. Someone that you love very much.” 

“Yes.” She says, and her sister echoes her answer. 

I close my eyes again but there’s nothing. Just a picture of Katniss in my head. My eyes startle open when Prim starts to speak. 

“I had to convince her to come here, you know, it took me over a year.” Prim glances at Katniss’ hunched form. “She doesn’t think this stuff is real but she’s still spending the grocery money on you.” 

Prim must see the horror flash across my face because she’s instantly contrite. “She hasn’t been eating much anyway.” Katniss drops her face into her hands and I notice her shaking slightly. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t talk about her.” Katniss mumbles. She pushes back and springs up so quickly, the chair crashes to the ground. My eyes follow the violent swish of her dark braid as she dashes out the door. I realize I’m standing poised to follow, and I look to her sister…who is also upright. 

It takes at least ten seconds before I understand what I’m seeing. 

Prim did not move her chair, nor did she step away from the table. She just stood, the wood seemingly bisecting her legs from her torso. Looking at her face, I’m caught by her slight smirk before I fling myself away. 

Catching a foot on my box of tricks, I land flat on my face. A little yelp escapes before I start army crawling for my life, knocking aside scattered runes and tarot cards. A raspy chuckle trails me as I end up wedged in the corner of the room, drawing knees up close and ducking my face down, blocking everything out with my arms. 

I can feel her move closer and the bubbling terror threatening to come out as an embarrassingly high-pitched scream. 

“Peeta?” Prim asks softly, clearly afraid of pushing me into heart attack territory. “I thought…I thought you knew. I’m sorry for laughing.” 

“You’re a ghost?” I croak, finally peeling my eyes open and locking them on the girl currently sitting crisscross applesauce a few feet from me. She’s just a girl, just a normal girl, she’s right there, sitting and talking. 

“Did you think all the people who came to you were still alive?” 

Pictures flash through my head. I realize all the people that have come through the door speak only to me, never to each other. Always using me to relay information. Families, husband and wives….and now sisters. 

How could I not have known? 

I’m dizzy, my head spinning with a myriad of emotions. “But they…you…” 

“I guess it’s easy to see only what you want to see.” She says calmly. “But Peeta, you have a gift. You speak, and it brings peace to their souls, so the dead can rest.” Prim offers her hands and I cautiously reach out and guide mine right through them. 

“It’s real, Peeta.” 

“What happened to you?” I croak, my throat feels raw. 

“It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Katniss is alone, and she’s not supposed to be. She won’t survive on her own.” 

“Why come to me?” 

She thinks for a moment, looking through the air like it holds the answer to everything. 

“How did you feel when you looked at her?” 

“Not much at first.” I admit. “But then I saw her eyes.” Leaning back, I conjure her face again. “I felt warm…like she’s radiant as the sun.” 

Prim smiles wide. “Yes! You’ve met before…but it wasn’t time yet. And then you were late to class and missed her.” 

I instantly remember that day. The only time I was ever late to class and my fumbling entrance was covered by a dark-haired girl handing over a withdraw slip and picking up her paper. 

I was too late. 

“If you had seen her walk in, you would’ve asked if she was okay. Asked her if she wanted to talk over hot chocolate. You would’ve skipped that class, and you would’ve been there for her through the hardest period of her life.” 

There’s a burning in my chest and I feel a wave of despondence take me under. “My mother called that morning.” 

“I know. What she said isn’t true, Peeta. You’re worth so much, don’t let her take this away from you.” 

All I’ve ever wanted was to be truly valued by someone. To be needed by them, loved by them. Someone I could love in return, without the ever-present fear of being rejected. 

Could I have that with Katniss? 

“Is it too late Prim?” 

“No.” She stares, moving her gaze across a vast expanse I can’t see. “Time works differently here. For me, everything is happening at once, and at the centre of it all I can see you and Katniss. You are going to make my sister happy for the next sixty years. It was always going to be you, Peeta.” 

“Katniss can’t move on as long as I am still bound to her. And she holds me in this place, both finite, and unmoveable. But there is so much more for me to see, infinite plains to explore.” She sighs softly. “I don’t belong here anymore, but she won’t let me go.” 

“And I can help?” Suddenly, it’s what I want. To help Prim, to save Katniss. Every cell screaming out for me to find her. 

“You can, and you will. But just so you know, Katniss is kind of…prickly. You’ll need my assistance.” She rubs her hands together like she can’t wait to get started. 

I can’t help but smile at this girl that is gone too soon. It’s too fast, I know, but I believe everything she has said. A veil has lifted and my whole world is coming into focus. 

“How will I find her?” 

“It won’t be too hard…. she’s standing right outside. Katniss couldn’t really leave, not without the chance to call you a charlatan and yell at you for taking her money.” Prim grins. 

“People still say charlatan?” I ask doubtfully. 

“Katniss might, she’s an old soul. You’d better use that golden voice of yours to deliver my awesome message, so she’ll forgive you.” 

Somehow, I’m already at the door. Prim hangs back, casually leaning against the doorframe like she isn’t a teenage apparition. With a nod to the left, she points me in the right direction. 

I look down the street and there she is…Katniss. Leaning on a rock wall, her face buried in her hands. She looks small and sad and I want nothing more than to hold her but as I approach, gunmetal grey eyes flash with fury when they meet mine. 

I’m in trouble. 

“Are you done stomping around you- you fraud!” Katniss barks. 

A vision flashes through my mind. A tough, spritely five-year-old with two braids instead of one, sharp grey eyes and a red backpack that looked almost as big as she was. She walked right up and pushed Thom Baxter for making fun of me. After wiping my tears and runny nose with the back of a fist, I smiled at her and she smiled back. My chubby five-year-old heart burst with feelings for the tiny girl. A day later, I was pulled from class and moved to the private school across town. 

It was too soon. 

Shaking the memory away, I move just a little closer. Warned that this would not be easy but I’m undeterred. I glance at Prim and she’s watching us rapt, like we’re her favourite daytime soap opera. I can’t help but roll my eyes. 

“I want my money back!” Katniss states with the awesome might of a hissing kitten and I swing my attention back to her. She’s shaking and looks like she’d love nothing more than to tear me apart. “You charla-” 

“You can have it!” I rush out, interrupting what I know was going to be a scathing attack on my character. 

“What?” Her form deflates, seeming to collapse in on herself. 

“I’m not going to keep your money, but I still have a message for you.” 

She stays silent, untrusting and defiant even with the tear tracks on her face. 

“It’s from Prim.” 

Her voice is an indignant screech. “How do you know about my sister? Have you been cyber stalking me?” 

“No…I…no!” I defend myself frantically. 

“So, you’re saying you can read my mind then?” She scoffs. 

“Not exactly.” I take a deep breath in the hope that she will follow suit. “Though I suppose whatever is going on with me is similar.” 

“Get to the point.” 

“I know about your sister because she told me. I can see Prim.” Pointing over my shoulder towards the seemingly empty doorway. “She’s standing right over there.” 

“Is this funny to you? Do you enjoy being cruel?” 

“Get in there Peeta!” Prim cheers and I spin around. 

“Give me something useful then!” I shout in return. 

“Can’t! I’m simultaneously watching your children be born.” A laugh, “You fainted, fell right over like a rock!” 

My eyes grow wide and I realize too late that I must look certifiable to Katniss, who is now staring at me like I have two heads. 

“You’re crazy.” She states a little fearfully. 

“I am not!” I defend. 

There’s a chuckle behind me. “Quit laughing Prim, you’re not helping.” Throwing the words carelessly over my shoulder. 

“She’s- She’s laughing?” Katniss stutters. 

“Uh…yeah. She’s kinda cheering me on in a very unhelpful way.” I side-eye Prim and she smirks, giving me a thumbs up. 

Katniss just looks at my suspiciously. “She had a very strange sense of humour. What does her laugh sound like? Teenage giggles? Pealing Bells?” 

“Um…it’s more like a chuckle. She sorta sounds like an old man when she laughs.” 

“Hey!” Prim shouts, offended. 

Katniss’s face crumples and tears start to flow as she chokes on a laugh. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard it. Such a weird sound to come from teenage girl.” 

Drawn back into this moment, Prim looks subdued and steps closer. “I think she might listen to you now.” 

She stands almost directly in front of Katniss, focused on her older sister, hope radiating from her being. 

“Prim’s close to me, isn’t she?” At my nod she takes a breath. “I’ve felt her around since she left. She pushed me to find you. I would’ve never had an idea as hairbrained as this. I mean, come on, a psychic? This mess has Primrose Everdeen written all over it.” 

Panic wells in her eyes. “I’m not ready to let her go.” 

“That’s okay, Katniss.” I remind her as gently as I can. 

“What’s the message?” 

I meet Prim’s serene expression and repeat after her. 

“Fall in love, eat cheese buns and be happy.” 

Katniss scowls at Prim’s relayed message and all I can do is grin. 

“And what are you smiling about?” She asks, wiping the tears from her face. 

The grin on my face is quickly replaced with something a bit more sombre, and I clear my throat. 

“You’ve got this Peeta!” Prim says encouragingly, as she tries to muffle her laughter. 

“I…um…well, it just so happens I make the best cheese buns in town.” 

Epilogue 

It didn’t happen overnight. Taking almost half a year for us to grow together. 

It started with cheese buns and hot chocolate during my morning break at the bakery. Many late-night talks where I learned so much about Katniss and her life. And, finally feeling safe enough, I began to share my own past as well. Favourite foods, favourite colours, gave way to more serious discussions with Prim hovering at the edge of our periphery. 

Then Katniss surprised me at my graduation. 

I wasn’t expecting anyone to come, and the thought filled me with a sadness so profound I wondered if this was it…if I was always destined to feel like I was not good enough. But when I saw her in the crowd, those grey eyes caught mine and hope flared to life. I let my eyes fall to the sunset orange dress that hugged her slight curves before returning to her face, just in time to see her smile.

And that was it… I was a goner. 

Everything changed after that. Things felt more solid…more real. Katniss started inviting me to her place for dinner and eventually, inviting me to stay after. On those nights, Prim was conspicuously absent, but it wouldn’t have mattered, our kisses and touches were chaste to say the least. Over time, our relationship grew into something so much more than I could’ve ever hoped for. 

Then on one, seemingly normal day, I heard Katniss begin to sing. It was soft at first but so lovely, it drew me in like a moth to a flame. She was in the kitchen, chopping and preparing vegetables with Prim looking on and I felt something tense and snap, a glimmering current flowing through the room. 

Prim startled but kept her eyes on Katniss. “I’ve missed her singing.” She turned her head towards me with a glowing smile. 

“I just can’t believe it… she let me go.” Her excitement is clear as she crows, swaying in her untethered state. “All it took was a few months with you and your delicious buns!” 

I feel my cheeks warm and smile back as I watch the girl hovering to ‘hug’ her sister. I am strangely comforted by her humour, it’s something that will not be lost, something I can remember about Prim. 

“You guys are gonna do great! Tell Katniss I love her!” 

And with one final gesture, a three-fingered-salute… Prim was gone. 

Katniss turned, giving me a sad smile before walking into my open arms. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” 

“Yes, love.” And I pull her closer. 

I had expected more, I guess. Bright lights, tearful goodbyes, and knowing Prim, maybe books flying off the shelves or something dramatic like that. 

But I suppose the lack of fanfare suited the occasion. The tearful goodbyes had long ago been spoken. It was strange and ordinary, the gentle movement of someone special leaving the room. 

We could only move forward. I kissed the top of her head and promised Katniss that we would have each other, that someday life would be good again. 

And it was. 

I love her like crazy, and for some reason, Katniss loves me right back. As fond as I am of her scowl, I like her smiles even more, so I stopped asking why and just decided to believe her…to believe in us. 

We married on a warm spring day, in a meadow covered with wildflowers.

After, I tripped over a gopher hole and Katniss tumbled down with me. She rolled into my side and kissed me as we laughed, hands still entwined. Our simple wedding clothes streaked with green grass and flower petals, our slightly drunk officiant, Haymitch, looking on with mild disdain. 

It was a good day. 

When we were settled into our lives, I finally made use of my hard-won degree as Katniss worked to finish hers. And in the quiet times, she encouraged me to use my gift to help others, neither of us knowing where we might be had Prim not been able to deliver the message that brought us together. 

Working at Psychics of Panem can be difficult, it can also be rewarding and Haymitch is grateful for the company a few days a month. 

Years later, our daughter arrives. Katniss’s final push brought her wrinkled and squalling into the world. Either the sound of her scream or the baby’s wail proved to be too much, and Prim was right, I dropped like a stone. Ending that day with a beautiful baby in my arms, a tired wife at my side and an ice pack attached to my head. It was slightly easier when our son made his appearance, the fears that had plagued us the first time around had eased, leaving only room for joy. 

Prim is never far away. Cheerful primroses, lovingly planted by Katniss, line the window boxes of our home and the picture I painted featuring a blonde girl with a quirky smirk hangs proudly alongside the portraits of our children, our family.

What a crazy, wonderful, unexpected life… 

My name is Peeta Mellark, and I’m a Psychic.

[tarithenurse]

On my mind, in my soul - 4

Prompt: Blue, floor, Foreigner’s God by Hozier (passages in block quotes) Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing, angst, pain (mostly emotional), arguing, sadness, mention of trauma, LEMONS (with a hint of dom/sub?)...fluff? A/N: Link to previous chapters in Masterlist (check bio or tab). If you want a tag, then just ask (yay). Please reblog if you enjoyed...or comment! Comments are nice too. When that’s said...probably a shitload of typos etc bc i’ve not proofread ‘cause I’m in a shitty place mentally after a too social weekend (so worth it though). “Resume”: (Because this takes off right where we left last chapter)  The heavy sigh rattles you to your core. “I’m sorry for this, [Y/N].” Glancing briefly, you see how he runs a hand over his face, rubbing the tired eyes momentarily. “I can only imagine what you must think of me, truly…but I need you to hear me out, alright?”

It’s not like you have a choice, really, and this conversation has started nothing like you’d expected. “Then talk.”

Holding the Devil’s Hand

Waiting impatiently for the worst too happen, it surprised you when you realize he’s sitting down on the floor as far away from you as possible. There are other options for him to sit comfortably, still he’s chosen the least threatening option. It’s on purpose…trying to make me at ease. Drop my guard. Regardless the reasoning behind it, however, the silence still hangs heavy in the air, threatening to explode if neither of you say anything.

Her eyes look sharp and steady Into the empty parts of me

“I’m not good at these sort of things…apologies.” Stalling already with a sigh, Loki settles down more comfortably in the corner by the door. “I realize that…nothing I say can make it up to you…” You can feel his eyes on your back and it paralyses you, afraid what might set him off. “I…I’m prone to think very highly of myself and my skills as the God of Mischief and Chaos. Finding that I had been tricked and by a Midgardian girl no less?” He snorts in disbelief at his own words, releasing a hot prickle of anger in your chest. “I was intrigued. Amused more than offended…”

You grab the chance as he trails off. “So far you’ve said nothing that warrants fucking kidnapping me! Either get to it or let me go now!”

“Easy, tiger,” the god smirks, “my point is…your skills, personality…you…I see potential. The few testes I arranged proved that you’re exactly the partner in crime I need for a very delicate…challenge. I’ve been spending almost every waking hour since we parted to try to find you in the hopes of…convincing you to return so I could explain myself and extend an offer I think would be mutually beneficial,” Loki’s voice lowers to a purr, “because you can’t deny that we’re good together. Although…complementing each others’ baser instinct was a bonus which I thought you had no problem with until the…misunderstanding we –“

“Misunderstanding?” Spinning to face him, all the fear’s been flushed away by anger-fueled adrenaline and you can feel the nails dig into your palms to keep your hands from shaking. Anger at him. And anger at the heat in your core at the memories he awakens. “Misunderstanding!? Are you fuckin’ serious right now??!! You hit me so hard that I landed at the other side of the bloody room!”

He’s on his feet quicker than you can fathom and you jerk backwards until you collide with the bench by the window, sending you hard on your ass. The fearful retreat stops him short. Burning indignation reigned in in the same way he returns to the far side although he stays standing.

“What you accused me of being willing to do…” Loki’s voice’s shaking with anger although he tries to hold it back, “people may never think of me as good, but I have a code if you will. Some things that I’ll never lower myself to.”

“H-how should I…” The words are hardly getting across your lips as you stutter meekly along, so you try again. “Ho-ow should I know that?” It’s hardly a victory to finish a sentence, but this time it feels as though you’ve accomplished something grand, the little thrill enabling you to continue. “Prone, held at knifepoint by a guy who was accused of all sorts of shit. And not just here on earth.”

You know from experience how good Loki’s at using his tongue, but words don’t come easy as he opens and closes the pretty mouth of his until eventually, he stops trying and withdraws into himself. Once more, the only sounds is the faint buzz from the lamps and a gurgle in the waterpipes hidden behind the rich wallpaper. Rubbing the back of your legs where you’d slammed them against the seat, you assure yourself that not even a bruise will hint at your clumsiness.

The sound of a lock makes you look up to see Loki opening the door and stepping well out of the way, granting a clear path out of his bedroom. He doesn’t look at you, so you doubt your ears when he tells you that you are free to go.

Hesitantly at first, you tread across the soft carpet, each step bringing you close to freedom yet also fanning a doubt in your mind. Five steps to the door, Loki’s standing still in front of the mirror by the dresser. Four steps, you ignore the frown and glistening trail on his cheek. Two steps, and your legs are slowing, body fighting against the logic that urges you to hurry out and down the stairs, whishing no one will stop you. One step, and a memory presents itself, uncalled for at an inopportune moment which causes even your logic to hesitate. In the doorway itself, you come to a halt.

She feels no control of her body She feels no safety in my arms

“What was it?” Don’t hear the quiver of my voice, please.

You can see the staircase from where you stand, the broad steps granting a glimpse to the hall below.

“What was what?” Loki answers flatly.

“What was the reason the charges were dropped? About your role in New York?”

Everyone had been stunned when the news leaked, and it had been the rage in the media and online where the most absurd conspiracy theories went unchecked because really, what arguments were there anymore now that it was a fact that aliens existed?

“It’s of no consequence.” Arms cross over his chest, defiant and protectively. “Just leave. Forget about this. I will not bother you anymore.”

Dimwitted, emo-loving freak, your logic begins a rant to get you from doing exactly what you end up with anyways. A few steps back, while cussing yourself to Antarctica and back, brings the reflection of the god’s face back in view. Pale and hard. A hand nimbly swipes a wet shimmer away before it reaches the sharp jaw. Don’t fucking do it. It’s a trap. He’s a trickster. A liar. The sharp sting from the teeth sinking into your lower lip shuts up the inner monologue for a moment, allowing you to breathe deeply and way the risks.

All that I've been taught And every word I've got Is foreign to me

“You’d never given me a reason to actually…fear you…despite your majorly creepy stunts of breaking in to my place and shit…” The exhale comes as a puff, that stirs the fine particles dancing in the air between the open door and you. “The rules of our…game...thing…they were never clear, but you…you…uhm…” Struggling to put the chaotic thoughts into words, you know that you’re trying to convince yourself more than him and you hate yourself for it. “You’d not done anything I didn’t want be-before I accused you of wanting to…y’know…and you hadn’t even hinted that that was something…”

Loki has gone completely still, barely even breathing as he listens to the mumbled mess, but you’re at a loss at what you actually want to accomplish. Comfort him? He’d hurt you physically. Scared you. But if anyone had said something similar to you, wouldn’t you have lost your temper? Difference is, of course, that you don’t have the strength to literally knock someone through a wall.

“Gimme one good reason to trust y’again.” The harshness you’d tried to summon is inaudible, reducing your order to a plea.

“Not that.”

Staying quiet, you absentmindedly try to rub some warmth into your arms as you wait for the man to quit being stubborn. It’s going to be a long wait, but now that the door’s open you aren’t in as bad a rush as before.

“There’s an item which I greatly desire, but it’s of dire importance tha–“

“You can take the item and shove it unless you don’t answer my question,” your voice cracks like a whip, silencing Loki quite efficiently and you notice how the god’s body tenses.

A rustle accompanies the stubborn, no, haughty answer. “I told those who need to know about…the background for New York.”

“Then there’s no more to talk about.”

You’re in the hallway, when he calls out for you, broken and beaten by his own demons. I should continue. Already, your feet are rooted on the polished wood. I should leave. Soft footsteps are drawing near, urging you to run rather than turn to face the man the way you actually do, watching his cautionary movements and the tremble of his hands, feeling the cold roll over you once more. This is a trick. Eyes meet and you have no doubt that the pain he’s exhibiting is real.

“Tell me what happened.” It’s a soft murmur, spoken into his raven hair as you awkwardly pat his back.

It takes a minute or two before he straightens up, freeing you shoulder from the weight of his chilly head but taking your hands instead to tug you gently with him back into the room.

The door closes softly behind you, no click of the lock this time at least, as Loki silently offers the bed as a seat for you. You accept hesitantly, afraid of how long or short a time is left before the trap’s sprung. A trap you’ve walked into freely this time. Thankfully, he leans against the wall by the bathroom door with his head hung low as you fidget with the hem of the purple silk, trying to find some way to soothe your nerves. Can I take the cover? The air’s freezing.

“If you ever tell anyone about this…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to, really, mostly because even in your world there are some things that are sacred. He’s not the only one with a code. And then he begins talking about event long passed, about wrongs he had done of his own free will where not even the despair he’d felt was an excuse and no promises from neither him nor his family could right the many wrongs that had been committed. It had let to his fall. Literally and figuratively.

Then the tale takes a turn for the worse. To a darkness where words fail along with the god’s human appearance. As Loki talks about torture and pain beyond any you’ve experienced, his real form breaks free as if trying to protect him from the memories. Red eyes blur and burn in stark contrast to the ice that form around him, creeping towards you. And still you inch closer to him, to hear the words that are whispered hoarsely and to tentatively extend a quivering hand, placing it on his dark-clawed fingers.  Squeezing as he whispers the name of a Titan.

Screaming the name Of a foreigner's God The purest expression of grief

“I don’t want your pity,” he growls, trying to shake off the hand.

I know. “Good. ‘Cause you’re not getting it.” You manage to contain the sigh. “You’re still a fucking lunatic, but at least I know why…I can work with this…”

“You can…?” Eyes like blood scorch your skin.

Yeah, it’s not smart of me, though. “Gonna clear up some things if it’s gonna work…and you’ve got a shitload of sucking up ‘fore I forgive you for bashing me ‘cross the room.”

The reaction’s immediate, perfect proof that you’ve chosen the wrong words. A low frequency makes the air hum, and the face folds into that of a predator that’s both hungry and amused because it knows where to find the next meal without putting any real effort into it. Catching your wrist before you can pull your hand back, so you tug hard, pulling Loki’s on his knees before you as you scuttle back along the wide bed. Raven hair partially obscuring the smirk curling his lips, falling away grant a view of the shoulder blades oscillating under the thin, white shirt that’s stretching tight over the wider-than-normal body.

“How convenient.” The lip that darts out have an effect on more than just Loki’s lips. “I’ll do more than just…suck…up.”

Pressed up against the headboard, your only escape would be off the other side of the bed, but of course you don’t go for it because you’re a fool with no backbone to resist the silver-tongued god even now. That’s why you let him grab your ankles and pull you slowly to the edge of the bed, kissing each inch of skin as it gets within reach all the while he bunches up the thin fabric of your dress until his lips ghost across the very top of your inner thigh. A cold nose brush the soft lace as he switches attention from one side to the other, almost distracting you from the fingers that are wandering past your hips and across the expanse of you belly, straining the fabric and setting off shivers that have nothing to do with the cold of the room.

There’s a warm shimmer, a sign that you know very well already, exposing more of your body and granting Loki a chance to slither the exploring hand further until it skims the valley between the breasts to trace the delicate lace that does absolutely nothing to hide the perking nipples. Teasing and pinching them through the bra ads a lovely contrast to the feathery kisses and licks below the waist until you’re breathing raggedly, chasing Loki’s mouth with your still covered cunt.

Wide strokes of blue palms towards your hips send new waves of anticipation rushing along, and you can feel how slick your core is becoming even though the god hasn’t even touched you there. The moment his fingers hook on the panties, you can’t help but hold your breath. Glancing down between your legs to see delight warming the features decorated with lines…lines that you know from experience are practically everywhere on his body. But the green eyes are trained on the reveal happening before him as, inch by inch, your pussy’s bared.

“So beautiful.”  The words are carried on cold breath but hold more warmth and adoration than anyone else has ever shown for your body. “Perfect…and eager.”

You know somehow that you moan the moment his mouth finds your folds and begins to tease, driving you to writhing and whimpering to the precipice of release all while Loki’s kneeling on the floor between your feet. Each moan from your lips makes him hum with pleasure, sending vibrations into your core in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Every gasp and panting breath from your lungs causes him to suck greedily at your clit.

Somewhere in the process, you realize as Loki spreads your legs further, he’s removed your panties completely, but a particular strong lick that curls his tip of his tongue inside you chases any coherent thoughts away. Then you feel his fingers pushing and wiggling against the fluttering walls of your pussy, finding the g-spot and running over it again and again in slow pumps matching the pace of his lips. Teeth nibbling and tugging in a masterful feat of balance between pleasure and pain.

“Let me hear you…then I’ll let you cum.” Even when talking, Loki doesn’t let up but applies a thumb deftly to your clit. “Say my name.”

In the foggy storm of you mind, the words annoy you. That wasn’t the deal. It’s a struggle to get as far as to rest on your elbows because each movement requires coordinated use of your muscles that are trembling due to Loki’s ministrations. Finally in place, you catch his hooded, red eyes.

“N-no-o.” Your answer makes him slow down, but not stop. “You’ve no…right…to demand anything.”

You’re gasping for breath and in no condition to assert any imagined power, but pure stubbornness fuels you even as the man arches an eyebrow at you in disbelief. Lazy circles around the nerve bundle keeps you on edge, fingers slide effortlessly through the tight wetness in a way that sweep your g-spot gently.

“My dear, I believe you’re right…I did give my word.”

The low growl should have been warning enough in it’s own, but you’re too tightly wrapped in the ecstasy his adept handling has you stewing in to notice how his arms wrap around your thighs. All you know is that the world seems to shift around you sending you off the edge of the bed and impaling you swiftly around the ridged cock. All air leaves you in a warbled moan as the sudden intrusion topples you over the edge, back arching so you shoulders rest on the mattress, holding you partially in place like a safety in case your grip on Loki’s shoulders should fail. Even then, he’s got your hips in a bruising grip, lifting and lowering you effortlessly at a reckless pace without any risk of you slipping away.

Your core is spasming, sending thundering waves of heat each time the icy shaft bottoms out, ridges passing the sensitive spot each time. Sharp keens spur the god to rut into you wilder, practically shoving you back onto the bed as he leans over you to taste your skin. Lavish kisses and love bites soak up the pearls of sweat and he sucks greedily at your neck, you breasts, your mouth. The two of you share breaths through the superficial pantings, causing you to slowly black out from the mix of restricted air and the continuous orgasm burning through your body.

A cold thumb presses against your clit, rubbing tiny circles simultaneously bringing you even higher than you thought possible as Loki succumbs to bliss, your name woven into the shameless moan fanning your throat an instant before his leaves your lips as a ragged, breathy scream.

Screaming the name Of a foreigner's God …

Wrapped in Loki’s (now pale) arms, your thought are barely coherent enough to wonder if it’s a good idea to linger. He’s taken care of you gently and sweeter than you thought possible from someone like him.

Who am I kidding…there’s no one like him!

Those are your last thoughts as sleep claims you.

[swanqueeneverafter]

After The Sunset, Pt.12

Enchanted Forest. Present. (Regina walks alone through the forest until she arrives at 'Emerald Acres Farm' where 'There's no place like home'. Placing a hand on the gate, Regina takes a look around to see several little pigs snuffling around in their pen. Suddenly an arrow lands right next to her hand, followed quickly by a second. Pulling her hand away, Regina turns to face her attacker.) Regina: (Chuckles:) "I'm impressed. You're getting good." Robin: (Dropping her hood and running to meet her:) “Oh, Aunt Regina, I'm so sorry. (They hug:) I thought you were an intruder.” Zelena: (Arriving at the gates:) “Well, luckily, she's got her father's aim. (Opening them:) Those were warning shots, weren't they?” Robin: “Yes, of course, Mother. Just warning shots.” Regina: (The sisters embrace:) “Zelena, it is so good to see you. And Robin? She sure has grown up fast.” Zelena: “Well, at a much more normal pace recently. Oh, that reminds me, (Reaching into her pocket and withdrawing something:) This was dropped off on my porch yesterday. (Regina looks at the coin:) Have you seen it before? (Regina shakes her head:) It's a symbol of the Coven of the Eight. When it comes to witches, they're the worst of the worst.” Regina: “Gothel’s coven? But how can that be?” Robin: “Mom, if Gothel’s back then I have to warn-” Zelena: “No, don't worry. Look, darling, as soon as I knew what this was I flew right over and checked. Gothel is still a tree. She’s not coming back, I promise. (To Regina:) She's got a case of young love.” Regina: (Nods:) “Your mother’s right, Robin. Gothel is gone for good. This is most likely some prank being pulled on the Wicked Witch.” Zelena: (Scoffs:) “You’re probably right. Everyone knows about the Black Fairy taking my magic, but less people have heard I’ve got it back. The local village boys sure found out soon enough though. That’ll teach ‘em to play knock, knock, ginger with me.” Regina: (Shaking her head:) “All that aside, I’ve come to ask for a favour.” Zelena: “Oh really? Go on then.” Regina: “Well, Emma and I have decided to go away on honeymoon and I need someone to handle things at the mayor’s office.” Zelena: (Touched:) “And you thought of me?” Regina: “Of course. Storybrooke needs someone with authority in charge. That, and I don’t want Snow White getting anywhere near my office again.” Zelena: (Removing her apron, smiling:) “You can count on me.”

Storybrooke. Goldilocks Gym. After The Black Fairy's Curse. (It is the morning before Regina and Emma's bachelorette party. As Maid of Honour, Zelena is in charge of all proceedings, including the spin class they now find themselves in.) Emma: (Groaning:) "A spin class. Seriously?" Zelena: "Absolutely, you'll both need your energy for what I have planned tonight." (They all enter the room and each choose a machine.) Emma: (Climbing on, to Regina:) "What kind of bachelorette party requires us to work our quads beforehand?" Regina: "Believe it or not, I've been to a few of these classes. (At Emma's look:) As Roni. Just play along and pretend you love every second of it." Zelena: "That's right. You're all about to sweat like your life depends on it. Care to make it interesting, sis?" Regina: "Oh no, I'll be happy if I just survive." Zelena: "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to my sis-to-be. (Looks to Emma:) How about it, Emma? Person with the most miles wins?" Emma: (Smirks:) "Yeah, all right, you're on. Gina?" Regina: (Scoffs, shaking her head:) "Play nice you two." Zelena: "Of course. (As the instructor starts the music and the class is about to begin:) All right, my cycling monkeys. Grab onto your bikes and fly!"

Wonderland. Past. (Drizella walks through the forest before being met by Gothel.) Gothel: “I see you've come to your senses.” Drizella: (Holding up the coin:) “I've come to join your little supernatural sewing circle.” (Places it in Gothel’s hand.) Gothel: “It's not that simple. You're not the only witch with interest. (They walk further into the forest, arriving at a circle of witches:) Now the last recruit has arrived we can begin. (Drizella takes her place around the circle:) Each of you shows promise. But only two of you will get the honor of joining The Coven of the Eight. I've hidden two golden flowers in the woods beyond the river. Whoever returns with these mystical plants will show themselves worthy. You'll each work alone. You'll have to be savvy and cutthroat.” Drizella: “Well, so much for sisterhood.” Gothel: (Turns to face her:) “Sisterhood is a prize not easily won. Happy hunting.” (Gothel disappears in a cloud of smoke and the witches split off in different directions.) Eilonwy: (Walking with Drizella:) “Gothel can be a bag of wind sometimes. I liked seeing you put her in her place.” Drizella: “Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the show.” Eilonwy: (Grabs Drizella’s arm:) “Hang on one second. (Drizella pushes her against a tree, holding a branch at her throat. Impressed:) I knew you were the strong one.” Drizella: “What's your point?” Eilonwy: “Alone out here, we're just gonna get lost. But together, we can find these things. We can both win this.” Drizella: (Considers for a moment, then drops the branch:) “I'm glad I didn't run you through with that stick.” (The two witches walk off together.)

Arendelle. Present. (Two women lay in bed together making out when a cell phone rings. Both women groan at this before one reaches out their hand and answers the phone.) Lily: (Sitting up:) "Hello?" Emma: "Hey, Lily, how's it going?" Lily: (As her companion kisses her neck:) "Oh, I've had worse mornings. What's up?" Emma: "Well, I'm gonna be headed out of town for a little while and I thought maybe you'd like to come help out at the station?" Lily: "The Sheriff's station?" Emma: "Yeah, I mean, your dad mentioned that you'd not been up to much lately and-" Lily: (Smiling down at her bed mate:) "Oh, I've been doing plenty." Emma: (Frowns as she hears the sounds of kissing over the phone:) "Are you- Are you with someone right now?" Lily: (Chuckles:) "Maybe. Listen, Emma, thanks for thinking of me, but I really don't think me being your father's deputy is something I could handle-" Emma: "No, no. You misunderstand. You'd be the Sheriff while I'm gone. I'd be leaving you in charge." Lily: "Really?" Emma: "Well, if you don't think you can handle it..." Lily: (Sighs:) "I'll be there in a little while." Emma: "Okay, great. Wait, Lily, where are you right now?" Lily: (Laughs:) "Don't worry about it. I'll see you soon. (Lily hangs up and turns to the woman beside her:) That was Emma. She wants me to take over as Sheriff for her while she's out of town." Elsa: "That sounds wonderful. D-do you have any experience with that sort of thing?" Lily: (Scoffs:) "No. (Kissing her:) But neither does Emma. She was a bail-bonds person before she became Sheriff and the guy before her was a huntsman. I think I can handle it." Elsa: (Watching Lily get dressed:) "Well it sounds like all you need to be sheriff is the ability to find people. And who's better at that than a dragon?" Lily: (Turns, buckling her jeans:) "Exactly." Elsa: "Will I see you later? Perhaps for dinner?" Lily: "Babe, we've talked about this. I'm just not ready to meet your family yet." Elsa: "But I know Anna would just love you." Lily: (Chuckles:) "That's not been my experience with families. (Leans down to kiss her once more:) I'll call you, okay?" Elsa: (Softly:) "Okay."

Enchanted Forest. Past. Underwater Cave. (Will Scarlett, Hook, Liam and Captain Nemo find themselves entering an  underwater cave.) Will: (Pulling his helmet off and looking around:) "Bloody hell." Nemo: “These are dangerous waters. Stay close. Don't step off the path.” Hook: “What exactly are we after?” Nemo: “You'll see soon enough. It's up ahead.” Liam: “You heard the Captain, stay close.” (They begin walking, Liam and Nemo leading the way.) Hook: (To Will:) “So you’re telling me you stole Maleficent’s looking glass and used it to send yourself here?” Will: “No, I stole it to give to my sister so she could escape the tower she’s currently trapped in.” Hook: “Well, either way, I no longer have means of contacting Maleficent. The woman doesn’t trust me at the best of times, lord knows what she’ll be thinking if she can’t keep tabs on me.” Will: “Sounds to me as if your wife keeps you on a tight leash.” Hook: “Hey. She’s not my wife, we just have a... mutually beneficial arrangement.” Will: “Well I’m not being funny, mate, but you’re a pirate. Can’t you get that sort of arrangement at any port side tavern?” Hook: “In case it slipped your notice, mate, Mal isn’t like other women. She’s special.” Will: “Oh, aye, a woman who breathes fire and has scales sounds mighty special to me.” Liam: “Quiet back there!” Will: “Listen, do you really believe everything the old man says?” Liam: “You should listen to him. You might learn something.” Hook: “Well I think the pressure's getting to all of you.” Liam: “I'd give my life for that man.” Hook: “Why? What's he ever done for you?” Liam: “When I was a child, my family was taken from me. I grew up next to the docks, fending for myself, desperate to make the people who took them pay.  (Sighs:) It was only a matter of time before I got myself killed.” Will: “And then what? Nemo kidnapped you?” Liam: “That man saved my life.” Hook: “Let me ask you one question. Your quest for vengeance... did you ever find those who wronged you?” Liam: “No, and I'm lucky I didn't.” Hook: “Then talk to me when vengeance is in your grasp. It won't be so easy to give up then.” Nemo: (Up ahead:) “There it is.” (Will, Hook and Liam hurry to catch up to the captain.) Hook: (Spotting a chest in the distance:) “Bloody hell. All this for hidden treasure?” Nemo: “Aye, but there's more than gold and jewels in that chest.” (Suddenly, Hook and Will are both grabbed by tentacles coming out of the water.) Hook: “Kraken!” Liam: (Rushing to save them:) “Hold on!” (Liam uses his knife to stab the tentacle holding Will’s leg, causing the creature to roar in pain before releasing him.) Hook: (Still in the Kraken’s grip:) “Nemo!” Nemo: (Picking up a harpoon:) “Hold on!” (Nemo hurls the harpoon at the Kraken’s eye, finally causing the creature to release Hook and return to the murky depths of the sea.) Liam: “We told you to stay close.” Will: “We could've been killed!” Nemo: (Chuckles:) “No, your destinies have yet to be fulfilled. Believe it or not, you're part of this family.”

Storybrooke. Goldilocks Gym. After The Black Fairy’s Curse. (The spin class has ended and people are leaving the room. Only Zelena, Regina and Emma remain.) Zelena: (Checking the clocks:) "So it seems that I win. And quite easily by the looks of it." Emma: (Gasping for air:) "H-how did you keep up that pace for so long?" Regina: (Laughs:) "Isn't it obvious? She used her magic." Zelena: "Aw, ‘fraid not, sis. Though it is nice of you to try and make your blushing bride feel better about her dismal performance." Emma: "Then how?" Zelena: (Chuckles:) "Well while you two are off enjoying your sordid sexcapades together, those of us who are still single have to channel our energies in different ways." Regina: (Checking each woman's machine for herself:) "So you're saying you whupped Emma's butt because you're hor-" Zelena: "Frustrated? Yes, it would seem so. (To Emma:) Remember, darling, my needs aren't being attended to regularly like yours are." Emma: (Climbing off the bike:) "I need to shower. (To Regina:) I think I pulled something." Zelena: "Just wait until tonight, they'll be plenty for you to pull." Regina: "Zelena!" Zelena: "Fine. More for me." A Short Time Later. (Freshly showered, the three women stand in the gym's reception area.) Zelena: "So, you remember the itinerary for tonight?" Emma: (Nods:) "We meet you and the others at Roni's for drinks." Regina: "And then you'll let us know the rest of your plans?" Zelena: (Smiling:) "All will be revealed, I promise. Now, off you go and make yourselves beautiful. It's gonna be a memorable night." Emma: (Shares a look with Regina before speaking:) "Hey, Zelena, I just wanted to thank you again for organising all this." Zelena: "Oh, please. It's the least I could do for my little sister and her bride-to-be." Emma: (As she and Zelena hug, quietly:) "You may have beaten me in spin class, but there's no way you'll beat me at shots." Zelena: (As they part, smiling:) "I look forward to the challenge." Regina: "Promise me you won't make us look foolish tonight." Zelena: "You can count on me. Besides, I've already checked and there's no karaoke where we're going." Regina: (Chuckles:) "You bitch." Zelena: (As they hug:) "It's not my fault you're tone deaf." Regina: "I am not!" Emma: "All right you two, lets break it up." Zelena: "See, Emma agrees with me." Emma: "I didn't-" Zelena: (Smirks:) "You two are too easy. So, drinks at Roni's, 7pm sharp. I'll be waiting." (With that, Zelena vanishes in a cloud of green smoke.) Emma: "Oh thank god." (Emma quickly leans on Regina for support.) Regina: (Wrapping her arm around Emma:) "I warned you before we came to go easy." Emma: "Yeah yeah, just help me to the car. I'll be fine after I lay down." Regina: (Laughs:) "Whatever you say, dear."

Wonderland. Past. (Drizella and Eilonwy walk through the forest, lead by the latter’s magical bauble.) Drizella: “Are you sure we can trust this bouncing ball of yours?” Eilonwy: “It hasn’t let me down yet. You know, you remind me of a friend? He was moody too, but I won him round.” Drizella: “Well, if you guys are so tight, why isn't he out here with you?” Eilonwy: “We were very young when we first met each other. Where you start with people isn't always where you end up.” Drizella: “And where did you end up?” Eilonwy: “He and I met in the Horned King’s dungeon, where we were both being held. We didn’t like each other at first but after you experience something like that together, it bonds you.” Drizella: “Well whatever happened, it seems like you got out okay.” Eilonwy: “Not unscathed. And from that day on, I was determined never to be weak to that sort of power again.” Drizella: “And your friend?” Eilonwy: “Forever altered. Last I heard, he was traveling around under a different name. You might not get it, but losing someone so close to you eats a hole in you that's damn-near impossible to fill.” Drizella: “I get it more than you know. What was his name?” Eilonwy: “Taran. I'm Eilonwy.” Drizella: “Good to meet you, Eilonwy. I'm Drizella.” (Drizella walks forward and sets off a tripwire. Using her powers, she manages to stop a battering ram flying towards them. Turning, Eilonwy uses her own magic to explode the second battering ram.) Drizella: (As they share a relieved laugh:) “Well, I guess you did learn something in that dungeon after all.” Eilonwy: “And if your abilities weren't as sharp as your tongue, we'd be flat as pancakes right now.” Drizella: “Come on. Let's best these witches.”

[illuminateandrelate]

Things Unseen

http://illuminateandrelate.tumblr.com/post/175517559659/things-untold-a-mutsurie-oneshotMutsuki makes final amends. Finally looking at what he's done, seen.

***

Mutsuki sat down beside the door, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his chin on the crook between them. What was he even doing there, really? Looking for some kind of sick atonement? Kaneki wasn’t Saiko and Urie. Kaneki was- Kaneki was-

“Excuse me, who are you and why have you been sitting on my doorstep for the past forty minutes?”

(The third installment, after “Things Unheard.” Part one linked at bottom)

How do you see what you’ve been blind to?

Mutsuki flexed his trembling fingers. Curling them in, out, and in again. He shifted the eyepatch over his right eye, for the fourth time in the past five minutes and sighed. Checked his coat was buttoned and redid the highest one. Scratched an itch on his arm. Rolled to the tops of his toes and back down. Read the time. Inspected his peeling cuticles. Picked at the skin on his cuticles. Told himself to stop that. Did it anyways.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s best if I do it myself.”

“Stupid answer,” he cursed out loud, kicking a stray rock on Sensei- no Sasaki's- not right either- Kaneki’s porch off into the purple hyacinths growing in wild, unorganized bunches in the planter beds beneath the small windows of the even smaller house. He’d been standing outside the front door for at least a half an hour trying to work up the courage to knock, to apologize.

Now he couldn’t even do something as simple as that. Couldn’t even feel bad enough to atone for what he’d done. He really was the worst kind of person. If he could even be called one anymore. Every cell of his body rebelled against his brain. Knock. His left hand stayed cowering at his hip. Ring the doorbell. His right hand rebelled in his pocket.

Maybe he should just go. Maybe he should just leave them alone. Maybe he shouldn’t have to make them look at him. Maybe- They’d be better off without seeing my face ever, they all would.

Mutsuki sat down beside the door, tucking his knees to his chest and resting his chin on the crook between them. What was he even doing there, really? Looking for some kind of sick atonement? Kaneki wasn’t Saiko and Urie. Kaneki was- Kaneki was-

“Excuse me, who are you and why have you been sitting on my doorstep for the past forty minutes?”

Mutsuki froze from his spot on the ground, the porch now had a stream of golden light cast across it’s grayness from inside of the house. When had the door been opened? He stood up, faltering for a moment on what to do with his hands, deciding on shoving them in his pockets before turning around.

“Oh,” Touka’s eyes narrowed and she stepped back inside to the pale wood floors of the house. In that moment, Mutsuki’s mouth felt unbearably dry. Say something. He stood staring, gaping. Do something.

It was only when she moved to shut the door that Mutsuki cried “wait,” as if his body had been jump-started to movement by the possibility closing and he jerked forward to stop the heavy thing before it reached the jamb. He winced as it slammed his fingers to the frame and cursed, withdrawing the pinched and soon-to-be-bruised digits to his chest. The pain pulsed sharp and quick even as he felt them begin to heal and he forced himself to look back up at the woman in front of him all the while.

“Please, wait” He blurted again, taking a breath before continuing “I came to talk to Sasa- Kaneki,” Mutsuki felt his fingers tingle for a few more moments as they healed and massaged them. He shook his hand before placing it back in his pocket.

Touka sighed, “Kaneki is working later tonight, he should be home in about fifteen minutes.” She paused, an odd sort of sour expression overtaking her face, pursing her lips as she stared past Mutsuki into the outside. He darted his eyes to and from her face as a series of thoughts flickered through her brain, noticeable from the mild rise and fall of her brows. A few more moments of anxiety induced silence passed before she finally huffed and looked back to him. “Would you like to- wait?”

Mutsuki would’ve liked to run the other direction.

It turned out Kaneki’s house, though somewhat shabby and beaten on the outside, was rather nice once you were in it. Mutsuki ran his hand over the soft white suedelike material of the couch, watching the shades go slightly darker or lighter depending on what angle he brushed it at. The house's interior was an odd mix of traditional Japanese design with some more western elements sprinkled about such as the furniture and the rather large and squishy armchair to Mutsuki’s left. He scooted over to look closer at it, the Chateau though furnished and modern had stayed rather minimal and Saiko had constantly complained about the furniture not having enough “give”.

“A friend bought that for me,” Touka’s sudden voice came from his left and he quickly went back to his original position on the couch, his body becoming much more rigid than it had been a few minutes earlier. She continued walking forward carrying a tray with a teapot and a few small cups and set it on the coffee table before continuing on to the chair. Sighing as she settled into it, leaning back before continuing. “Ever since the pregnancy I have terrible back pain, and she insisted this would help.”

Mutsuki nodded, an immediate image of Yoriko jumped in Mutsuki’s mind even though she hadn’t specified who this female friend was. He remembered why he was there, why he had come. Despite the fear he forced himself to shift his focus from the couch to Touka, his eyes catching on her large belly pushed up against her shirt. Had he really attacked a pregnant woman? What if he’d killed her? What if he’d killed the- Would he ever be able to live with himself if he had? No. No, he wouldn’t.

The longer the silence rang out the more stiff and rigid the air became. Mutsuki shifted, looking back down to continue his cuticle massacre. He felt the ever pressing urge behind his lips to say something, to begin apologizing just as he had done with the others. Though, looking back he’d jumped into the situations then more recklessly. Perhaps it was because he knew them better, perhaps it was because unlike with Touka he hadn’t tried to kill them multiple times in a row. What was he thinking?

“I-” he started, pausing to collect his words. “I came for a reason,”

“I assumed,”

Mutsuki looked back to Touka as she blew the steaming top of her tea. Her face was relaxed, eyes calm and looking down, but something was off. Her posture strained, her left arm placed too perfectly over her abdomen to be natural. She looked ready to fight. Fight or run.

Mutsuki stomach twisted, hot nausea bubbling in his stomach at what could’ve been. What Touka still thought could be.

“Neko Doboro,” he whispered quietly. Touka set her tea down with a light clink on to the table. She shifted toward him, leaning forward over her stomach.

“What?”

“That’s what I said, back then. Neko Doboro.” Mutsuki gritted his teeth, forced himself to stay looking at her. He knew. Knew he wasn’t in love with Sasaki. Never was. He squeezed his eyes shut, “Fucking stupid.”

By god his face was flaming hell, burning in a fiery molten mix of shame, hate, embarrassment. Burning in his skin. Burning in his brain. His eyes burning with unshed tears and no he would not cry. Was so, so, tired of crying for himself. Over and over and over, and- The cycle of self-hate, self-pity, self-hate for pity would never end. Please just end.

That counted as self-pity too, didn’t it?

Touka’s eyes were wide, a mix of alarm and confusion almost as if she didn’t quite know how to react to him. She reached down and poured a cup of tea, still being wary of distance she pushed it across the table rather than hand it to him before withdrawing quickly. He took it, ignoring the blistering heat of the cup on his hand as closed his eyes for a moment, breathed.

“What I meant was, I’m sorry.” He adjusted his weight on the cushions once again, a vain attempt to compose himself as he shoved whatever feelings he had towards himself down. This wasn’t about him. He had to remember it wasn’t just a crusade of apologies to make himself feel better but to ease the minds of those around him. Those who’d been threatened, hurt, scarred, by him. He had to look those actions in the eye, to look and stare. Blindness would only lead him back down again.

He continued speaking in the ringing silence following his apology, trying desperately to fill it with noise. To prevent himself from thinking about what Touka could be thinking. “I really never was, ever, affiliated with Sas- Kaneki in that way.” Mutsuki shifted his gaze back to her, realizing he’d been talking to the rising steam more so than her. He gave a short laugh, “really never even felt that way. I guess I just don’t know quite what it is to feel that in the first place.”

Out of every reaction, Mutsuki could’ve assumed a smile wouldn’t have even made the list of possibilities. No. Wouldn’t even be a thought in the first place. It wasn’t strong, by all means, but it was there. A small turn of her mouths corner, her eyes kinder, lighter. He watched in awe as she bent over her large belly to pick up her teacup settled on the table. Lifting it to her lips, and taking a sip before resting it back in her other hand.

“I suppose it’s hard to explain,” she spoke, palming a strand of hair that had fallen in her face behind her ear, “but, it’s not the intense need to be with them. Near them. Though I do suppose that's part of it. However, in my experience, even if you want something so badly, whether it be them or their heart. If it hurts them, you would never dream of it. And that goes for both of the people as well. A bond. Almost a pact.”

Touka paused a moment, placing a hand gently atop her abdomen and sighing before taking another sip of tea. “I feel this way for Kaneki. I feel this way for whoever rests in my womb as we speak.” Mutsuki felt himself back into the cushions as her tone changed, lowered. More dangerous. Warning. “I will forgive you Mutsuki, I have seen so many people change in my lifetime it has lost the element of surprise.” She sat up rigid. “If you ever, hurt my family. I will make sure your entrails are strewn over each and every last inch of your room. Do you hear what I am saying?” Her eyes were narrow tunnels as she stared into his own.

His insides quivered.

“Tooru.”

“What?”

“I think you should- or I think it would benefit us both for you to call me by my first name. A sort of informal restart.” He bit his lip nervously as he set down his tea and outstretched a hand to her.

“Tooru.” She spoke, a gentle smile playing her features as she reached a free hand out to meet his.

The creak of an open door sounded and both Mutsuki and Touka swiveled their heads around to meet the sight of a familiar face. He walked over to where they sat, setting down a book on the table before going to greet Touka.

Kaneki.

Mutsuki felt the previously expelled tension seep its way back into the air, reaching its smoky tendrils, poisoning it. Anxiety leaked into his chest and he quickly set down his now cold tea, not trusting his trembling fingers to keep ahold of something so fragile. What does he think? Mutsuki hadn’t truly and personally interacted with him since- well since forever really. Even as Sasaki the man had always worn the mask of a smile to hide his inner storm, whether hate or fear he claimed to feel neither. It's what had made Urie hate him so much in the beginning. What had made all the others- Mutsuki included feel safe.

He had to speak. Had to speak now or he’d never have the courage.

“Kaneki-san I’m sorry to-”

“I hope you’ll forgive me for eavesdropping,” Kaneki spoke, picking up the third and empty cup from the tray Touka had bought earlier. Pouring the tea, setting his cup down, and only then looking back up. “I may have been outside the door for end-half of this conversation.”

Mutsuki looked to Kaneki, eyes wide, yet as much as he wanted to just assume Kaneki knew this part he had to see it. To say it. “I came to apologize to you and Kirishima-san,” Mutsuki said, not missing the way his voice still wavered. Even after all of this.

Kaneki’s face fell, “Mutsuki,” he paused a moment, seemingly trying to find exactly the right amount of words. “Though you were wrong in what you did- I think part of that was my fault. I abandoned you all, simply left.” He sighed. “I’m sorry too.”

Things could get better.

Ty for reading! Make sure to like, comment, and follow me or my anime side blog for more!

Link to part 1:

http://illuminateandrelate.tumblr.com/post/175517559659/things-untold-a-mutsurie-oneshot

Link to all of my fics:

 http://illuminateandrelate.tumblr.com/post/170728942774/fanfiction-list

[caveatzealot]

THREE

The sound of the shot woke Arlan fully out of his slumber and he bolted upright only to see Elyse collapsing to the floor, a hole the size of a fist in the back of her head and her blood scattered across the sheets of his bed. As she fell her attacker was revealed, a man with a smoking gun in one hand and a large knife in the other.

Frozen, Arlan stared for a moment in horror as the man took a single step into the room, and then time resumed as Yasho lunged with a terrifying snarl.

The man tried to jerk away, but he was little match for the size and strength of the Albion mastiff, whose powerful jaws clamped on the hand with the gun and held tight. There was a howl of pain from and man and he tried to jerk his hand free, and in the light from the hallway Arlan could see the knife’s blade flashing.

Before Arlan really knew what he was doing he was leaping out of his bed and rushing at the man, clad in absolutely nothing, and with no weapon. Somehow he managed to lash out with his foot and kicked the man in the forearm, making him drop the knife, and then he had no defence against Yasho. The dog let go and before the man could ready his gun he leaped again, this time his powerful paws hitting him in the chest and knocking him down, exposing his throat to the dog’s vicious teeth.

Arlan knelt down next to Elyse’s body, ignoring the sounds behind him, and tried to examine her. But her eyes were already flat, her face frozen in an expression of surprise, and she had been dead long before he could do anything to help. He sat there, staring for a long moment before he became aware of other sounds throughout the house: more screaming and curses. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Yasho was there then, whining at him pitifully and butting his arm, leaving streaks of blood behind that dripped from his jowls.

“Good boy,” Arlan said, petting him on the head. “You did good...Come on, we need to find out what’s going on.” He stood up., listening to Yasho bark in agreement, and went to dress himself. This time out of his wardrobe he pulled out his hunting clothes: a silk shirt with a leather jerkin over it, along with leather trousers and knee-height riding boots. At the very least he hoped to not immediately be stabbed if he stepped outside.

He and Yasho rushed into a hall and he immediately noticed smoke and screaming. Oh no, had the house caught fire? Looking to the end of the hall, he felt his heart leap into his chest to see his mother, clad in an overcoat over her nightgown, fighting off another intruder with a longsword in her hands. “Mother!” he yelled, racing for her to help.

However, he hardly needed to. Even as he closed the distance between them he saw her deftly knock aside the intruder’s slash with his knife, cut his hand, and then follow it up with an upward slice that opened up his neck. As the man stumbled back with blood pouring down his front, Eleanor stabbed him through the chest in one more harsh pierce before withdrawing it and letting him collapse to the floor.

Arlan stood there, shocked at what he had seen. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked. Not that he was entirely shocked that his mother knew some combat, but had never seen her pick up anything larger than a kitchen knife in his whole life.

Eleanor turned to him, her eyes wide and yet her face relieved. “Arlan!” she said, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug that nearly crushed the life from his lungs. “Thank goodness you are unharmed! It is chaos around here, have you seen what is going on?”

He held her back. “No, I just woke up. Did you?”

“No, I’m as confused as you are. We need to find your father.”

That made Arlan blink. “He isn’t in the master bedroom?” he asked, looking down at his mother.

She shook her head and stepped back. “No, he never came to bed.” Right away she noticed his lack of a weapon and pressed her sword into his hand. “Here, take this and use it as you see fit.” Before he could protest at the fact that she now no longer had a weapon, she turned and vanished inside the master bedroom, only to reappear some moments later with a bow in her hands and a quiver of arrows slung across her back.

“My Lady! Young Lord Arlan!” came voices at the end of the hall and two guards came from around the corner. “We heard commotion all over the manor and came here as fast as we could! Are either of you hurt?” one of the guards asked.

“We are fine,” Lady Eleanor said, “but it is good that you came. Stay with us, we are going to find the Lord Governor.”

They set off like that, one of the guards in front with Yasho and the other bringing up the rear, with Eleanor and Arlan protected in the middle. No matter where they went it always seemed like that there were screams going on somewhere nearby, but not close enough that they could be seen. The cause of the smoke in the halls became evident very quickly as they passed rooms that had been sent ablaze by the intruders after the occupants were killed, some of them even on fire themselves as their lifeless forms charred slowly under the ravenous flames.

The smell was indescribable. Arlan remembered Elyse, and looked at the bodies they were stepping around, and gripped his sword tighter.

Down another corridor they turned, right into two soldiers who were busy pawing through the jewellery that had been on a handmaiden. Before they could do more than look up in shock Yasho had lunged at the nearest one and the guard followed him, stabbing his blade through one of the attacker’s chests while he fumbled for his sword.

It was over quickly, and Arlan felt his anger rising inside of him. “How did these men all get in so easily? What happened to the outside guard?” he glared at the guards that were with them. Wasn’t it their job to protect the Peyton family and household?

Eleanor laid a hand on his arm, calming him. “Reylon will no doubt be able to tell us that,” she said, looking ahead. “Come, the stairs to the main floor are just ahead, with any luck they will be clear.”

They were not. The four of them came to the top of the stairs and saw a lone man making his way up, an axe in one hand and a gun in the other. While Arlan tried to think of what to do, when considering stepping back and then attacking when the man reach the top of the stairs, his mother had drawn back an arrow and fired.

Her shot hit true, striking the man through the chest, almost right in the middle, and the breath was driven out of him in a choking gasp. Then he collapsed and fell down the stairs all the way to the bottom where he laid in a heap. They continued down, then turned to try and find the kitchen or dining room, both according to Eleanor being the most easily defensible rooms in the castle.

The sounds of battle ahead alerted them to the defense part indeed being true, and they ran to the source. There in one of the corridors they could see a lone man fighting several intruders, using the narrowness of the halls to his advantage as only two men could attempt to fight him at a time. The man kept both assailants on his right side and had to parry and strike like a madman in order to avoid being hit, but he managed.

“Ser Walter!” Arlan cried out, recognizing the figure only after a few moments.

Walter stiffened and his concentration faltered, and one of the soldiers leaped for him, nearly decapitating him with a swing that Walter only just managed to block in time.

“BALLS!” the Warden Ambassador yelled in anger, a curse Arlan had never heard him say before and had him briefly stunned when hearing it.

An arrow whistled down the hall and sunk into the soldier’s shoulder. And then another immediately followed, hitting him upper chest. By that time Arlan and the guards had caught up with Walter; but Arlan had to sit back as only two men could fight side by side in the hall.

It was a tense, quick battle, but Walter’s vastly superior skills became quickly obvious as he used the distraction and chaos that had just been caused to disarm one of his attackers and then feint the other, allowing the guard at his side to strike him with a killing blow. Their blood poured across the polished wood and carpet of the floor, staining it a bright, angry red as they bled out at their feet.

“It is good to see you, Lady Eleanor, and young Lord Arlan,” Ser Walter said as the last of the soldiers dropped and they had a moment of silence to themselves. “I feared the worst.”

“Ser Walter, please, have you any idea where Reylon is?” Lady Eleanor pressed him, gripping her bow tight as she braved herself for the answer.

The Warden Ambassador looked at her, and Arlan’s gut went cold at the expression he saw upon his face.

“I do, Lady Eleanor. Follow me.”

*

He led them to the kitchens, the route which had been cleared out considering the bodies they found and the fact that no one else had interrupted their quick journey there. Arlan now saw many more of the house guards clustered in the tiny area, but very little in comparison to the amount he knew the mansion normally housed. Where had they all gone? He cursed himself for not paying more attention at dinner, his father had probably mentioned something of the sort and he had completely missed it by being so wrapped up in Elyse.

Lord Governor Reylon Peyton was in the pantry, half-sitting and half laying upon a sack of flour, while Jasper knelt above him and tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood from the laceration in his abdomen. It had nearly cleaved him in half, from the looks of it. His face was pale and unresponsive, but life flickered among his eyes when he heard their voices. “Eleanor?” he asked, trying to sit up.

“Reylon!” Eleanor gasped, immediately flying to his side and placing her hands on his face. “What have they done to you?”

Peyton coughed a little, but he gripped his wife’s hands tightly. “Glenroy,” he whispered. “It was...Glenroy’s men. It happened while I was turned around. Snuck up on me.”

Arlan stiffened from where he was standing in the doorway and Yasho let out a long, low whine. “Glenroy?!” he said, his fists tightening around his sword. “How? He’s your—our friend!”

Peyton’s eyes fixed upon him and a smile flitted across his bloodless lips. “Ah, Arlan, there you are. My heart rests easily seeing the both of you unharmed.” A slight paroxysm of pain crossed his features but was gone only a moment later. “I thought Glenroy was such a friend too, but it appears we were both wrong. These are the men he claimed earlier today were ‘late’ and would arrive only tomorrow morning.”

“How do you know this, Reylon?” Eleanor said, her hand gripping his tightly but the touch of her hand on his face infinitely gentle.

“My Lady, the Lord Governor must save his strength—“ Jasper protested weakly, but he was cut off by Peyton shaking his head.

“No Jasper, they must—“ he swallowed and took a deep breath. “Know. Everyone must. I know because I saw some of the men attacking wearing Glenroy’s own colors. They tried to hide it under their coats, but they did not do it well enough. They—“ his voice crackled and he had to swallow again. “They arrived just a quarter after midnight, with the proper docking protocol, so the dockworkers saw no reason of suspicion. Then they snuck up to the castle, and Glenroy’s men who were already inside opened the gates for them. That was how they slipped past the guards.”

Ser Walter let out a heavy sigh. “There’s even more to it than that. Glenroy’s men killed many of the sentries so they could not alert the castle, but some of them survived their assault. One of them managed to make his way back here and he told me that some of the soldiers had gone off into Holdingstone itself to cause havoc in the city. I suspect their plan is to distract the police and other authority so they cannot help us here.”

Arlan’s heart was sinking more and more every second. This was far too organized of an effort. How long did Governor Glenroy plan this out? How did he sit at dinner earlier, cold-blooded as a lizard, and smile and laugh over glasses of dry sherry and dishes of oysters in lemon, talking about the good old days?

But then a memory stirred in him, of how alarmed Glenroy had looked when he first saw Ser Walter, one of the finest and most skilled knights in the entire kingdom. Arlan had just swallowed Glenroy’s (and apparently Peyton’s) explanation of him being too used to the formality of the Denewil court to really know how to react in an informal way, but now he wondered...

“Why would he do such a thing?” Arlan demanded, watching all the heads turn to him. “What does Glenroy have to gain from all of this?”

There was a heavy pause. “I don’t know,” Lord Governor Peyton admitted at last, then inhaled in a hiss of pain.

“Now you’ve done it, sir,” Jasper said, pressing his bandages harder against Peyton’s stomach, but they were already soaked through with blood. Even with his light tone, his forehead shone with sweat.

“Don’t we have more guards than this?” Eleanor said, looking around. “Are those fifty men you sent out truly so far beyond reach?”

Of course, how did he forget! Father had said that he sent fifty soldiers out to scout Canrock, good lord that was more than half of their guard! Why in the world did he send so many—

“Even if they were, I am not sure a messenger could sneak out of here without Glenroy’s men knowing and reach them in enough time.”

“But there is the kitchen entrance! They could get through that!”

“It’s only a matter of time before Glenroy discovers it, my dear. We need to send anyone absolutely necessary through it.”

Ser Walter cleared his throat and stepped forward. He did not wish in the slightest to interrupt, but circumstance and their situation had forced him to. “We have very little time as it is,” he said. “It is quiet for now, but soon Glenroy and his troops will regroup and begin their assault here. They know we barricaded ourselves in here and are trapped, they are simply running free reign of the manor before they start their final assault.”

Rage burned in Arlan’s heart hearing that, and a part of him wanted to scream and run out of the kitchen and start cutting down every one of Glenroy’s men he could find, but he knew even as he thought of it how foolish of an idea that was. It was only the fastest way to get him killed. As if sensing his anger, Yasho pushed his head against his master’s side and whined lowly.

“We need to get you all out through the servant’s entrance in the pantry,” Walter said.

“The one we use for food deliveries,” Jasper said, then added in a much more dry tone: “The one we’re all standing right on, sir.”

Arlan was too tired and angry to even smile, and he had no idea how Jasper could even be attempting to joke at the moment. But he couldn’t snap at him, it would require too much effort.

Lady Eleanor was glancing at Jasper’s bloodied hands holding the bandages, then her son, then Walter. “Perhaps two men could carry you...” she said slowly, her eyes bright with her racing thoughts. “Jasper and—“

“My lady,” Jasper interrupted her for the first time in his life, his voice soft and sad. “The lord’s wounds are fatal. I have only been keeping him comfortable and as free from pain as I can, to slow the process.”

The world swayed around Arlan and he had to grip the doorway to keep himself upright. He had known, with a deep instinctual knowledge that the rational brain shied away from and tried to make excuses for, the same knowledge that told him Elyse was dead yet he had knelt down to check anyway. His father was bleeding too much, the pile of soaked bandages next to Jasper told him that, as did the slowly growing puddle he could see underneath him. Perhaps if the best surgeon in town were in this very room with them then maybe...but Jasper did not even lift the bandages to show the damage underneath.

In all honesty, Arlan did not wish him to.

“I am a dead man anyway, and carrying me will needlessly slow your escape,” Rylon croaked out. “I will stay behind, with my men and my home.”

“Then I will too.”

Even the unflappable Walter jumped at that, glancing to Lady Eleanor with open shock upon his face. “My Lady, you—“

“Lady Eleanor—“

“Mother please—“

“Be quiet, all of you,” Eleanor ordered, her voice sharp even if it wavered, being upon the edge of tears. Her hand did not stop stroking Peyton’s cheek even as he turned to her in silent question. “I will not be dissuaded.”

Ser Walter stepped forward, his posture hesitant, but his eyes filled with doubt. “My Lady, there is still time for us to escape,” he explained to her. “But only little. We do not have enough men to hold off Glenroy’s forces for long, and when they discover this passageway we are doomed. I doubt they have penetrated far enough into the ground to find the exit, so we still have a chance at escaping them.”

And yet, Eleanor shook her head. “I made a vow upon my wedding day that I would stay by my husband’s side until the hour of his death and that is precisely what I intend to do.” Her eyes were bright, too bright with unshed tears, but the strength that she spoke her words made Arlan’s heart ache. She turned her head to glare at all of them, until finally resting upon her son. “And as the Lady of the house and Governess of Holdingstone I order you this: to leave immediately. Ser Walter, Jasper, protect my son. Arlan...Please, you must go. I cannot bear the thought of you perishing here as well.”

Finally his unresponsive legs came to life and Arlan stumbled forward, until he was kneeling clumsily next to his mother and gathering him into his arms. “Just as I cannot bear the thought of losing the both of you,” he whispered to her.

She held him, her arms strong around him, but she had to force her next words from her. “You are you and brave, so brave, my dear. The Peyton line does not deserve to end here, in such treachery and spilled blood.” She gave him a squeeze but then pushed him away to look him in the eye.

Hers were so strong and filled with steel and determination, and he felt his own rising to meet hers. His jaw clenched and his hands wrapped back around the hilt of his sword. “Live, Arlan,” Eleanor told him, stressing every word. “I do not even demand revenge, even though that snake Glenroy more than deserves it! But to live, to spite his efforts to kill us all, would make my spirit more than happy.”

“As it would mine,” Lord Peyton whispered, a tiny smile still remaining upon his lips.

Arlan seized his hand and kissed it, the flesh cold underneath his lips, and held it tightly as if the strength of his grip could keep his father there but a little longer. “But I will see Glenroy pay for this, I swear it,” he whispered fiercely.

“You are...a good son, Arlan. I have no doubt...that you will find a way to.”

There was a loud, groaning creak behind him and Arlan glanced over his shoulder to see Jasper lifting a trapdoor on the floor open, bits of straw sliding down as he did. Ser Walter’s hand came down upon his shoulder and squeezed, as if he could ground him to the earth and stop him from wallowing.

Yasho came forward slowly and licked the Governor’s face, once, and whimpered. Peyton turned to him with a smile. “Ah, good boy, I see you’ve bloodied yourself protecting my son.” His hand twitched as he tried to raise it, but it would barely lift a few inches from the floor. “Keep him out of danger as best as you can.”

The dog nodded once, in another testament to the legendary intelligence of the Albion mastiff.

“We have to go,” Walter urged. Somewhere in the distance, shouts were getting closer.

“I love you,” Arlan said, his voice harsh and cut through with tears, but he spoke them with all the strength of his heart.

“We love you too, son.”

[pinkipie100]

Lance and the 25 Days Chapter X: Snowball

I apologize once again for the absence and broken promises of updates, y’all. I’ve been absolutely slammed at school, and I’m exhausted overall to boot. Friday of this week is going to be completely booked all day with school, extracurriculars, and work, so I’ve been stressing about all of the other parts of my schedule since then. I’m just... wasted. The worst part is, I feel like I haven’t been able to take a moment to breathe and truly revel in the holiday season! That sucks! Anyway, I should be more on top of this event, but unfortunately, the next few days will probably see scattered updates; that’s just the reality of the situation, and I have to admit it. Heckie, I’m posting this after midnight! Well, anyway, I do hope you enjoy this fluffy chapter! ...Well, mostly fluff. [Oooh, bad Pinki!]

The paladins arrive on the planet Laccel to finally procure a Christmas tree, having some fun along the way, until the planet’s natives have other ideas about their holiday traditions.

Words: 1566

Category: Gen

Contains: aliens w/o gender [b/c let’s face it, gender works probably different in creatures that didn’t evolve on Earth], pink and purple snow, snowball war vet Coran, Shiro getting thoroughly rekt, Holt Family Feels, Gunderangst, brOTP Pidgay [Pidge x Shay, and if you read gay in Pidge’s name, I swear it’s just coincidence], basically alien Jainists/air nomads

Takes place the day after the paladins drive back a Galra attempt to take the Balmera back in Chapter IX.

Shiro followed Razel as they lead the other paladins off of the castle ship.

The planets they’d arrived at looked intriguing from space, a mostly-white sphere with subtle highlights of pastel cyan, pink, and violet. Protrusions of fluffy green giant conifers seemed to have bases on one end of the planet and planting their tips at another point on the planet’s surface.

Razel had explained how their people had their densest populations surrounding these massive tree trunks, with the pine branches forming into relatively sturdy lean-tos. It was almost perpetually winter, with only a few Spicolian movements a decafeeb being warm enough to melt even some of the snow.

Shiro understood this as soon as the team had exited the castle ship’s warmth, shivering intensely in just a few moments. Lance was not much better, clinging to Shiro’s arm while having what appeared to be an intense episode of seizing up.

Pidge seemed to be unfazed, however, and she was much more excited about the fact that this wintery planet didn’t seem to have normal snow; it was pink and purple. The young paladin ran to a snowbank and quickly formed a snowball. She made mischievous face while looking in the direction of the other paladins, but when she threw it at Lance, one of his vigorous shivers allowed him to dodge the projectile. The cold missile then hit the side of Coran’s face dead-on. The male Altean side-eyed a guilty-looking Pidge furiously.

The green paladin first thought that Coran was genuinely angry, but the Altean soon mocked, “Is that all you’ve got? I was having hotrock fights more intense than that with my peers when I was younger than you! Where’s your spunk, Number Five?”

Pidge accepted that challenge promptly, calling Hunk over onto her team whilst Coran enlisted Allura. The opponents enlisted their partners to make more snowballs as quickly as possible while the ‘team captains’ built up their snowbanks as cover. Shay and Lance chose the sides of the tech geniuses and the Alteans, respectively. While Razel informed Shiro that they would fetch an authority figure to negotiate trade with Team Voltron, the black paladin afterwards spectated the ongoing battle. He then settled in the snow and built up his own independent encampment. When he had rounded up a steady supply of ammunition, he made his move with an ambush from his snowbank, launching two snowballs directly into Allura and Hunk’s neck and shoulder. When the two looked over to see who had hit them out of nowhere, the others did the same. Shiro, initially feeling smart and playful, now realized, in retrospect, what a mistake he had made.

Shay and the rest of Team Voltron smiled evilly as Hunk chuckled, “Oh, it is on. MUTINY!” With that, both the pink and violet sides of the snowball war aligned against the lone oppressor, whom dashed away from the mob in terror. He took cover behind a tree, blindly flinging snowballs out from his cover. A certain sharpshooter was able to derail a few of the black paladin’s shots by hitting him hard right in the hand, knocking the ammo out of Shiro’s hand. Shiro chanced a glance around the tree, but when he did so, an oversized Allura swung around the other side of the tree, driving a larger-than-average snowball right into Shiro’s back. This knocked him into the cold, snowflake-coated ground into an inescapable tickle-tussle with the engorged Altean woman.

“Get him, Allura!” Lance chanted.

“Go Princess! FINISH HIM!” Pidge growled out jokingly atop Shay’s broad shoulders. The green paladin chortled along with the group, but she ceased after a moment of pinching nostalgia. Shay noticed the significant reduction in Pidge’s energy and gently prompted the little paladin to explain why. Pidge sighed out, “I was just thinking of Matt- my brother- and Mom. We used to have snowball fights like this all the time. My mom did the same thing to my dad, pinning him and tickling him, and… and I would sit on Matt’s shoulders… and then when Mom noticed us laughing, she would come for us, too. Then,” she guffawed slightly, “dad would make a really giant snowball and bury us in it, and it was… the best,” Pidge finished forlornly.

Shay listened to the little teen on top of her intently. When she was done speaking, the Balmeran consoled her, “I wish Rax and I could have done things like that. He was always very strict with me, and he did not want me to get too comfortable with any aspect of our lives. He believed that we should always take the path of least resistance because it ensured that our family would be safe.” Pidge mentioned that Matt was far off from that mentality, disappearing into space along with her dad, breaking her mom’s heart. “I think that you are right to be upset about such a thing! Although, would you rather your father and brother had not gone into space, instead remaining grounded on your world?” Pidge looked down into Shay’s yellow eyes. “Long have I held an insatiable desire to explore worlds unknown, beyond the comprehension of my limited mind! I am here now, and I would not have been had Hunk not been courageous enough to stay with Voltron. He has told me of his reservations in your dangerous duties, but he always remembers that he would not have saved my home and people if he had run away. Perhaps your father and your brother are free from Galra imprisonment and are doing good for others now. Wherever they are, they are thinking of and loving you; I am certain.”

Pidge smiled down at the kindhearted Balmeran, her heart thoroughly moved. The green paladin sniffled, hoping Shay would think that it was because of the cold, and muttered to her friend, “Thank you, Shay. I think you’re right. And… I’m glad you’re here with us.” Shay grinned cutely in response, and the two looked over to see that Razel had returned.

Allura helped Shiro up and aided him in brushing the snow out of his armor. They then faced Razel and the tribal leader accompanying them, sincerely trying to hold in giggles. Razel’s companion shook their head and just stated, “This comrade tells me that Voltron’s paladins have come to trade with our people. What is it that you desire from our people?”

Shiro shook out just a bit more snow, then declared, “We would like to take one of these small pine trees to fulfill a human tradition for a holiday. We’re willing to provide reasonable compensation, whatever you so suggest.”

Razel wondered what a holiday was, and meanwhile, the tribal leader asked, “What do you mean by ‘take?’” Shiro answered that they would cut down the tree and take it inside the Castle of Lions, and the two Laccel-ith flinched in overwhelming horror. “You wish to kill a living being which has done no harm unto you?” the leader inquired shakily. Razel backed their leader by explaining to Team Voltron that all life was regarded as sacred on Laccel and should never be harmed, let alone killed. The only reason to kill was if one person had intentionally taken another life undeserving of such a fate. “We must forbid this treatment of the creatures that shelter and feed us with berries. We cannot carry out this trade, Paladin.”

Lance stepped forward and offered, “I understand that you have your cultural traditions and beliefs, but consider our own! The tree would be well-taken care of, I assure you. Not to mention, we give the tree a makeover! We’ll make sure the tree is spiffy and given a proper send-off, too. To humans, the tree is central to our holiday tradition, and in a way, we’re paying tribute to the tree by placing gifts under it. It’s like we’re remembering the gifts that trees provide to us: wood for shelter, seeds or berries for food, even oxygen that we breathe! If you know that we respect the tree, will you let us take one? Just a small one, pretty please?”

The leader mumbled more confusion about ‘holidays’ to Razel, whom then reiterated to the paladins, “Even the smallest life is worthy of protection. You are the paladins of Voltron; if you do not believe in that, then how can we even consider having dealings with you, let alone joining the Voltron Coalition?” The two Laccel-iths turned away from Team Voltron and began to withdraw back to their massive tree some distance away.

Pidge looked to the red paladin, whom was visibly disappointed. Hunk tried to reassure Lance that they would try to persuade the Laccel-iths, but Lance just dismissed his friend. Lance declared that he didn’t want to jeopardize a future Coalition member for the sake of a stupid Christmas tree. All sympathetic eyes fell upon the dejected paladin.

Pidge then glanced up at Shiro, whom eventually met her eyes. The latter’s eyes suddenly widened in an ‘aha’ moment, drifting behind Pidge. The green paladin’s line of sight followed Shiro’s, falling upon the location of her lion hangar. When the two renewed eye contact, they understood one another and nodded. Shiro ran after the Laccel-iths. Pidge proclaimed to a despondent Lance that they had an idea.

“Don’t worry, Lance; the Christmas cryptid will still have a tree to put presents under, don’t you worry.”

[suckerfordeansfreckles]

Forget-me-not

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Word count: 3,224

Rating: General Audience

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9700733

Summary: Dean hasn't seen Cas in five weeks. He found himself more and more often wandering around the bunker and thinking about his best friend, missing him so much that it felt like physical pain. He couldn't continue living without his angel, so he gave in to his feelings and dicided to get Cas back.

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

Once again, Dean was wandering around the bunker without a real destination. His thoughts were clouded by images of Castiel, his best friend, his little angel. He started counting the days that have gone by without Cas, even though he had done that only a few minutes ago, because he couldn’t accept that he hadn’t seen his angel in over five weeks.

Five weeks since Cas has lost his grace and became human. Five weeks since Dean had to push away all his feelings towards his friend and tell him to leave the bunker. The hunter had to send Cas away, for the sake of his angels’ safety. Dean’s and his brother Sam’s life was too dangerous for the clumsy new human.

Dean was certain that he wouldn’t survive if anything or anyone would hurt Castiel, so he had to leave him. Even if that meant he would hurt the feelings of the only person he loved as much as his brother and he had to leave him in a world he didn’t understand and probably couldn’t really deal with. All alone.

A wave of guilt hit him hard like someone just punched him in the stomach. A punch he definitely deserved, considering all he had done to Cas. He stopped his pacing and found himself standing in the kitchen of the bunker. All he could think about was Cas, standing in front of the gas station he had left him at. His incredibly sad, dark blue eyes looking at Dean who was starting the engine of the Impala to drive away.

A sadness took over Dean’s whole body, well-known tears streaming down his face while silent sobs shook him. He had to get out of the bunker to get some fresh air, had to leave before Sam found him in his current emotional state. So he stumbled towards the door and left the bunker and his brother behind to stroll through the woods. With deep breaths he tried to calm his nerves while wiping his sleeve over his tearstained face.

He really tried his best, but he couldn’t stop his thoughts from trailing back to his best friend. His best friend, who he was missing so much. Not being able to see him, not knowing how he was doing, if he even was alive… Dean started crying again, his knees gave in and he fell to the ground. Sitting in the grass and brushing his hands through it, Dean remembered all the personal moments he and Cas had shared. Intimate looks to convey the other one, how they felt about their relationship.

Dean hated himself for being so damn scared of talking about his feelings, for he was completely certain that his feelings for the angel were far from being amicable. He was in love with the man and now he wasn’t even sure if he would be able to ever see him again. The hunter let his eyes wander across the small glade and a deep sigh escaped his lips.

That was when he spotted a small flower in the grass. A forget-me-not, all alone in the middle of the glade, exactly in the color of Cas’ eyes. He picked it carefully and held onto it as if it was his only remaining connection to Cas, when a wild determination overcame him.

He suddenly realized that he couldn’t continue his life like that, that he needed Cas and that he had to find him, wherever his friend was. He couldn’t continue leaving Cas alone in this world, alone like the small flower. Dean all but sprinted back to the bunker to grab his car keys and get to the Impala. He didn’t even take time to talk to Sam, he figured that he could call his brother whilst driving to explain his sudden take-off.

That’s what Dean did on his way to the Gas-N-Sip, where he last saw Cas. Luckily, Sammy didn’t question his intentions or his sudden conviction as he already knew that his big brother was heartbroken over the separation from Cas. Sam has always been clever and Dean figured that he presumably also knew about his feelings for Cas.

He knew that it probably was a dumb idea to just show up at the gas station and hope that his friend was still there, but it was his only idea on how to track him down. And he was lucky. He found Cas, who has apparently been working at precisely this Gas-N-Sip, mopping the floor and humming along to a song that Dean didn’t recognize. When he approached the former angel and cleared his throat to start talking, Cas turned around to face him. The hunter could see how confusion, disbelief and doubt washed over Castiel’s face. Dean started mumbling something about Sam and himself needing Castiel at the bunker. It was then that he also spotted relief in his angel’s gaze and for a very short moment he thought he even saw something like affection in those dark blue eyes he had been missing for all these weeks.

He couldn’t stop himself from pulling Cas into a tight embrace that felt so incredibly right to him. “I missed you, Cas.”, was all he said and those words were enough to convince the angel to come back to the bunker with him.

******************

Cas’ return to Dean’s life had been two week ago and the hunter still couldn’t really believe that his best friend was back, living with the two brothers as if he never did anything else. Sam was happy to see the former angel, he immediately talked to him about their last hunt, a nest of vampires, and asked him loads of questions about his time away from them, which Castiel tried to avoid answering.

Cas definitely was broken, still hurt from Dean’s dismissive behavior. The two man hardly talked and even Sammy sensed the unspoken tension between them. That’s why Deans little brother tried to cheer both of them up with jokes and non-stop talking, which didn’t really help.

Dean constantly tried to show Castiel how glad he was to have him back at the bunker by cooking for him, buying him new clothes, furnishing the bedroom next to his own for the man and doing all the daily tasks in the house like washing all their clothes. He tried to make Cas his first home, as comfortable as possible. But every single attempt to approach him failed miserably. If Castiel entered a room that Dean was currently in, he just turned around and left. He obviously avoided spending time with the other man and all they ever talked about was hunting. The only quite personal sentence that Cas said, not even looking into Dean’s eyes, was: “Thank you for giving me my own room. I like the small blue forget-me-not inside the frame over my bed.”

Dean still couldn’t bring up the courage to talk to Cas about his feelings, especially because the other man seemed to be withdrawing himself and his feelings from the hunter. He felt rejected and therefore kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that his friendship with Cas would someday miraculously get back to the way it was seven weeks ago.

Even though their relationship seemed to have hit rock-bottom, Dean found himself being slightly more relaxed. He simply felt at ease, knowing that his friend had enough to eat, was fit and- above all- close to him. Regardless of those feelings, the hunter missed spending time with Cas, feeling his presence and their rather rare physical contact.

That’s the reason why Dean started secretly taking some of Cas’ clothes to bed to cuddle up with them, being able to smell his best friend’s odor. It reminded him that the former angel really was back with him.

*********************

Cas woke up panting and shivering. He was soaked with sweat and his heart was racing, which wasn’t really new to him. After the former angel had lost his grace and became human, he started dreaming about all kinds of nice things, which he liked at the beginning. But ever since Dean had left him alone at that gas station for all those weeks, that have honestly felt like years, his dreams started to become more and more gloomy. His nightmares got worse with every day he spent alone, as the hope of Dean coming back to pick him up slowly but surely left. Every night he awoke at least twice, having to calm down his nerves and to force himself back to sleep.

But today’s dream has probably been the worst he ever had. He often dreamed about being left by Dean, having to fight against all sorts of things on his own- all alone. But today he dreamed about Dean defending him from some angry monster that somehow managed to hurt the hunter very badly. He had to watch Dean bleed, had to watch him taking his last breath and die. And then he was all alone again, but this time he had to deal with the fact that Dean was dead and he would never hear his voice, feel his touch or see his smile again. In his nightmare, his mind went blank and he didn’t feel anything as he clutched to Deans cold, lifeless body.

In reality, that was what Castiel was most afraid of- losing Dean. Now that he was human he couldn’t help or heal his friend, he was useless.

He felt himself tearing up, as his shivers continued. He couldn’t go back to sleep, didn’t want to deal with another nightmare of losing Dean forever. He thought about how Dean would maybe be able to help him fight his dark thoughts as the other man had seen so much evil in his life and still was able to sleep normally. He must have a technique to cope with all those bad things and he might show Cas how he did it.

Without thinking this through any further, Cas got up, still shaking, and wandered across the corridor towards Dean’s room. He knocked at the other’s door twice, before allowing himself to enter the room quietly. Even though the hunter’s room was pitch-dark, Cas didn’t have problems to orientate himself in the room. He followed Dean’s soft sounds of sleep until his knee hit the edge of the bed, where he simply stood and listened to the quiet breaths for a while.

For a short time he hesitated, not sure if Dean would even care about his problems. He wasn’t ready to talk to his friend about how hard he struggled all those weeks without him, how he only hoped for them to be reunited but how Dean’s rejection had actually hurt him.

He had thought that he could always count on Dean, but as soon as he became useless the other man threw him out and left him all alone. He felt as if he wasn’t wanted, wasn’t needed. He knew that the hunter tried his best to show him that he was welcome at the bunker- but for Cas, that wasn’t enough. He needed Dean to explain to him, why he hadn’t cared about him and how he felt about him now.

As Castiel felt a single tear streaming down his face and the fear of being separated from Dean hit him again, he reached down to the bed and let his cold, shivering hand wander around until it found the shoulder of the sleeping man. He carefully shook Dean to wake him up, which immediately worked as Dean all but jumped up into a sitting position.

Cas heard his friend breathing quickly as he turned and grabbed something from his nightstand. Knowing Dean, he was probably searching for a weapon, assuming that someone or something was trying to attack him. The former angel promptly took a step back to get out of Dean’s reach. “Dean, it’s me.”

“Cas? Man, what are you doin’ in my bedroom? It’s the middle of the frickin’ night!” Cas heard Dean loudly exhale as he put the object back onto his nightstand.

“I… I am very sorry. I assumed you could maybe help me. I really did not plan on disturbing you and especially not on scaring you. I am… It is silly, I am sorry. I will return to my own room and go back-“, he stopped talking as Dean suddenly switched on the small lamp next to his bed.

“Cas, if you wanna talk about anything, you know you can always come to me. So tell me, what’s bothering you?”, he looked Cas straight in the eyes and the former angel could see a lot of concern lightening up in Dean’s green eyes.

“I was… I had a bad dream.”, Castiel mumbled. “It really is not of importance. You should continue sleeping, I am sorry for waking you up.”

At that moment, Dean realized that Cas’ whole body was shivering and he had dark circles under his usually so beautiful eyes. The blue pair looked exhausted and somehow somber. “No. You haven’t been talking to me for two weeks but I can see you’re not okay. I’m not dumb. And I fucking care about you. Please, Cas… talk to me.”, Dean nearly begged for an honest answer.

Cas, who had dropped his gaze down to the floor, slowly raised his head to look at Dean. But his eyes didn’t even reach Dean’s face as he spotted something on the hunter’s pillow, that caught his attention. There was a bright blue t-shirt laying on the pillow.

“Dean, is that… is that the garment I wore yesterday? I do not understand. Why is it lying on your bed? Shouldn’t it be in the washing machine?”, he slightly tilted his head, regarding Dean with a confused frown.

Dean’s face adapted the color of a ripe tomato. Not really knowing what to say, he started to stutter: “Well,… Yeah. Yeah, that’s your shirt, Cas. You know… I…”

It was that moment, that the hunter finally decided to tell Cas about everything that has been on his mind for the last seven weeks. “It really hurt me that you avoided me after coming back to the bunker. All I wanted to do was being near you, living with you and Sammy and talking to you about all the shit that’s been bothering me. I planned on telling you so much… even about my feelings. You know how rare that is. But you didn’t even try to talk to me! I don’t know... I missed you. I needed to be close to you somehow, as you didn’t attempt to get in contact with me. So I’ve been… borrowing some of your clothes. They smell like you and I could pretend that…”, he couldn’t finish his sentence, ended it with an embarrassed chuckle, while not being able to look into Castiel’s eyes.

“They smell like me?”, Cas whispered, his eyes wide. “Did you pretend that I was lying next to you in your bed? You... really wanted to be close to me?”

“Damn it, Cas! I can’t even describe how much I wanted to. I just… Geez, I realized that I have feelings for you, okay? I really like you. I think I’m probably in love with you. You don’t have to say anything, I just think it’s time for me to finally tell you how I feel. I figured that way you might start to understand how I felt about you leaving. I tried to… I tried to keep you safe. Away from me and Sammy, away from the monsters. Where the chance of you being hurt isn’t as big…”, his words getting more and more quiet the longer he spoke. “Cas I did it to protect you. And I’d say it hurt me as bad as it hurt you… Not being with you was hard, man.” All his sadness, his regret and guilt were visible in his face as his gaze was fixed on his feet.

Cas closed the distance between himself and the other man, who was still sitting on the edge of his bed. He slowly put his hand to Deans chin and lifted his face until their eyes met. Dean felt as if he couldn’t breathe. In Cas eyes, he could see so much love and affection. He didn’t feel as if he even deserved to see the others gaze.

“Dean, I missed you too. Those weeks were far from being easy for me. I didn’t think that you felt the same way… I thought I was useless, so you just got rid of me.”

“I’d never do that. Cas, I… I love you. You are so damn important to me. Don’t you ever think about yourself like that again! I swear, I will beat your pretty ass if you ever feel useless or unwanted again.” He got up to his feet and pulled Cas into a tight hug, feeling Castiel’s shivering body pressing against his own. Dean let his hands trail over his angels back as he pulled him even closer to his chest.

When he finally released the former angel from his bone-crushing hug, Castiel brought his face towards Dean’s, his lips hovering only millimeters over the hunter’s. He felt Dean’s warm breath on his lips as he opened his mouth to talk. “I would like to kiss you, Dean. Would that be okay?”

Dean chuckled softly, not planning on answering his friends question as he crushed their lips together. He caught his angles’ lightly chapped lips between his own and let his long fingers skim through Castiel’s dark hair. How long had he dreamed about that simple act?

After the former angel overcame his first surprise, he started moving his lips along with the hunters. Dean was carefully biting down on Cas’ lower lip, provoking a content sigh from the other man. Their first kiss was better than Dean could have ever imagined- and with Cas’ pleased noises he was pretty sure that they felt the same way about it finally happening. Heat was pooling in his chest and a feeling of completeness swept through his whole body. A loving smile formed on his soft lips as he broke away from their kiss, only to peck Castiel’s lips again and again. He gently pushed the other man down onto his bed.

“So you wanna talk about the reason for your unexpected appearance in my bedroom? Not that I mind how it turned out…”, Dean grinned as he sat down on his bed too. “We could get more comfortable though.”, he mumbled and pulled Cas down, wrapping his precious angel in his blankets and turning around to face him.

“I have been having nightmares about you leaving me for weeks now. Would it be possible for me to stay in your bed tonight? I think that if I can just lie next to you, all these dreams won’t matter anymore.”, Cas simply said, gently putting his hand on Dean’s stubbly cheek.

Dean moved closer to the other man and buried his face in the crook of Cas’ neck, inhaling his lovers smell deeply. He brought his face up to Castiel’s again and placed his lips softly on the other’s, whispering against them: “Of course you can stay. Actually, you have to. Please don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t.”

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 54 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

New Arrivals

Skyhold was evolving.

With the worst of the winter storms gone, the snow was easier to handle these days, and work had renewed as the sunshine began to battle through the icy temperatures. There were still plenty of accidental injuries to be dealing with, as well as a brief bout of something that might have been 'flu, but thanks to the resources Kaaras had already gathered out there in the world, the infirmary was a solid reality within a week of the storm's passing. There, at least, Rory, Evy and their staff had a warm, safe place to treat their patients, most of whom were only walking wounded. The worst of the accidents seemed to have slowed up for the time being, something they were all deeply grateful for.

First Day came and went; where some might have expected an extravagant celebration, Josephine had insisted on making the day as family-feeling as possible. The hall had been bedecked in evergreens, lit with magical light that softened the atmosphere sweetly as the Inquisition gathered within its walls to share a hearty meal among friends and family, allowed to take their time over their food, to enjoy the opportunity of being social with little pressure to return to duty for this one day.

Of course, another feast was looming in their near future, bringing with it fits of nerves and the occasional storming temper. Cullen had sent Rylen to collect the outlying cells of mages hidden in southern Ferelden, just to keep the man busy and out of his hair. The Starkhaven captain did love Evy, and he did want to marry her, but he was also deeply afraid that her family would take one look at him and run away with his little lady in the dead of night. He'd shared this view so often that Cullen had eventually decided to give him something more productive to do, a long way from Skyhold. Evy had sulked for a couple of days, but even she had to admit that it was a good thing for everyone to be free from the swirling nerves that radiated from both bride and groom.

Thus, when a yell from the courtyard announced the arrival of some special guests, no one had to deal with Captain Rylen having a heart attack at the sight of his wife-to-be racing down the swept stone steps to throw herself into the arms of her mother and father. The Trevelyans had arrived. Now all they needed was the groom himself, and the Inquisitor - who was in Emprise du Lion, doing wonderfully vicious things to red templars - and the wedding could get underway.

That, however, was a few days away, giving Evy plenty of time to spend with her parents in the meantime. It became a familiar sight to see the young woman with one or both of her parents, jabbering excitedly at them as she showed them around Skyhold and Skysend, and one that made most people smile. For all their noble blood, Bann Galen Trevelyan and Lady Edith were gracious - far more so than their Orlesian peers, it had to be said - genuinely interested in the day-to-day running of the fortress, and in their youngest daughter's new-found career as a healer. It didn't surprise Rory in the least when Evy reported for her shift three days after her parents' arrival with her mother in tow.

"I won't trouble you," Lady Edith assured her in a warm tone. "I may even be able to help - I have a little experience with nursing."

"Mama makes a potion that puts you back on your feet, no matter how ill you are," Evy gushed enthusiastically from her desk.

Lady Edith's smile was a little rueful as she met Rory's eyes, lowering her voice. "It was just winterberry juice with a little elfroot," she murmured to the senior healer in amusement. "Childhood stomach troubles are a world away from what you've taught my daughter to deal with."

Rory bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. "I don't know if I've taught her much," she admitted with a shrug. "She's very intuitive. Most of the bandaging and poultices seem to come naturally to her. She's a born healer, my lady."

Edith seemed to swell with pride on hearing this, and it wasn't false praise. Evy really was that good. "I must confess, I never truly believed she would be suited for a life in the Chantry," the older woman said, a faintly guilty set to her expression. "Devout in her beliefs, of course, but she thrives on a certain amount of independence. Here, she has that."

"Well, she's certainly thriving," Rory agreed, nodding in agreement as she smiled. "Rylen's good for her. Her confidence has grown so much since they found each other."

"And he's a good man, this Starkhaven captain?" Edith asked, the barest hint of concern in her eyes. "I have heard he was a templar once. I did not know a man could leave the templars so young."

"With all the turmoil, my lady, I wouldn't be surprised if a great deal of men and women in our society were once templars," Rory told her gently. "Some will fall, undoubtedly, without the support from the Chantry. Those who have found a home in the Inquisition are well looked-after. Many are still dependent on lyrium, but we keep them supplied, and those who choose to stop taking it are also cared for."

"Rylen has ... not chosen to stop?" Edith asked. Rory got the impression she wasn't so much fishing for information as needing to be aware of as much as possible before she met the man who would be joining their family.

"No, he hasn't," Rory told her quietly. "But if he should, at some point in the future, Evy is aware of how the process of withdrawal goes. It's something that will take years, but the worst is the first year."

Edith tilted her head, eyeing the redhead curiously. "You speak as though you have some personal experience of this, mistress," she pointed out. "Yet you do not seem a warrior."

Rory chuckled, shaking her head. "I have never been a warrior," she admitted quite happily. "I never will be. But my husband was once a templar."

"Ah, yes, you were recently married yourself, weren't you?" Edith's expression cleared, curiosity replacing her concern. "You have my sincere congratulations. Knight-Captain Rutherford has always had the better of the reputations in the Free Marches, especially so after the fall of the Chantry in Kirkwall."

"His title is Commander, now," Rory corrected her in a gentle tone. "But thank you. Life goes on, even in the middle of war. A few weddings here and there will do more for morale than any number of inspiring speeches."

"The right speech at the right time can spur a man to do anything," Edith pointed out, but she was nodding in agreement. "Though what you say is true. A wedded man has more to fight for, perhaps, than one alone."

"Perhaps. I really couldn't say - I don't exactly see people at their best in here." Rory laughed softly at her own comment, glancing up as Evy came bustling from the back of the infirmary. "Everything under control?"

Evy flushed, smiling at having been asked such a thing in front of her mother. "Wilfrid's delirious again," she said, ever so slightly embarrassed. "I, um ... do you think it would be better to ask Luis to work with him until his fever breaks?"

Rory bit her lips to keep from snickering. Wilfrid was the loveliest old man you could ever wish to meet most of the time, but when he was feverish and delirious, he seemed to sprout eight arms and twelve hands, all of them aimed at breasts and buttocks. "That is probably a very good idea," she conceded, her smile audible even if it wasn't visible. "When Gustav comes back from the apothecaries' workshop, we can ask him to take over care for the time being."

Relief flickered over Evy's expression. She liked the work, but sometimes it was just a little too flustering for her peace of mind. "I can do that," she volunteered. "Master Tethras left a note for you this morning - I forgot to mention it. It's on your desk."

"Oh ... thank you!"

This time, Rory did laugh. She was terrible at remembering to look at her desk when she arrived in the infirmary, invariably missing some important note or other left for her. It was becoming common knowledge that if you wanted the senior healer to know about your issue, you had to catch her on her way past. Even the quickest conversation lodged somewhere in her mind; leaving a hopeful note somewhere she might see it could result in her not getting to your presentation for days.

"Lady Trevelyan, do excuse me," she apologized to Evy's mother. "I have a few things that need to be seen to. Evy is more than capable of taking you in hand if you ask her to."

Edith's smile was just a shade shy of mischievous as Evy stared at Rory in horror at the suggestion that she should tell her mother what to do. "I'm sure she is, Mistress Rutherford. Please, do not let me keep you from your work."

"Thank you."

Smiling, Rory winked at her young friend as she passed her by, side-stepping Andra to reach her own desk. Sure enough, there was a small collection of notes left there in various hands, from people who hadn't been able to guarantee catching her at some point today. She sat herself down, sorting through them.

Stitches was curious as to whether he could get hold of a stethoscope like hers; that was easily done. Dagna was toying with the idea of improving the design, but for now, they could get any of the workers who was good with wood to knock out a stethoscope in an afternoon. Apparently the orphanage was finally complete down in Skysend, and there was an invitation for her to go down see the little ones she'd helped to guide safely out of Haven at her earliest convenience. Roderick had left a request for an updated supply list; she grimaced to herself, but added her own note to that slip of parchment and impaled it on her spike for later. By the time she reached Varric's note, Evy had her mother watching closely as she changed the dressing on a visiting soldier's arm. No one noticed the surprised look of interest that crossed Rory's face as she read.

 Cupcake,    Three little birds in the tower right above you - one's a bit torn up. Drop by this evening if you can. Don't tell the Seeker.    - Varric

Well, now, wasn't that interesting? How had Varric managed to smuggle Hawke and his companions into Skyhold without anyone noticing? She studied the little note again. One's a bit torn up. That could mean anything from a few cuts to a broken limb to internal injuries or bleeding out. She thought she could safely disregard the latter two - Varric wouldn't just leave a note if his friends were in that much danger of worse injury or death. The timing wasn't great, though ... she was going to have to tell Cullen who was here, or he wouldn't let her go out after dinner. Mind you, he might attempt to come with her whether she told him who it was or not. His interactions with Hawke in Kirkwall probably hadn't left him with the most glowing of opinions when it came to the Champion.

Still, it wasn't such a big ask. She doubted Varric would be inviting her into close quarters with Hawke and friends unless he was sure she would be in no danger from them, and despite his sometimes impossible-to-read outward appearance, she had faith that the dwarf didn't mean her any harm. It wouldn't be difficult to pick up one of the emergency packs, now refilled and ready for anything, on her way past the infirmary this evening.

Another note caught her eye as she tucked Varric's message into her belt. It was a scrap of torn parchment, the words scrawled in messy charcoal. Healer, do you like griffons? -B. Rory frowned, lifting the little note up to consider it. Who was B? And why did they want to know if she liked ... Griffons. She sniffed the slip cautiously, grimacing at the faint scent of manure. Blackwall. So why did Blackwall want to know if she liked griffons? What was he up to?

A yell went up outside, multiple voices lost in the sudden deafening rumble of collapsing masonry. Rory didn't even glance at Evy as both women shot to their feet, snatching up the packs by the door to run out of the infirmary, leaving Lady Edith behind them. The billowing cloud of dust was emanating from the door that lead down into the prisons ... the carefully built passageway that encased the stairs had collapsed on top of a couple of workers.

"Is it secure?" Rory demanded of the mason who was checking the blocks overhead at the entrance to the passage.

He was silent for a moment, but finally nodded. "Safe as it can be," he told her.

"Right." She moved to duck in through the door, and a long arm pulled her back by the waist.

"Not a chance, little red," Iron Bull rumbled quietly as she protested. "Evy, you step back there, too."

"Bull, this is our job," Rory protested, trying and failing to free herself from the strong arm keeping her from going into the still dangerous situation.

"Stitches'll do the dangerous part," Bull informed her calmly. "One new wife, one bride ... neither one of you is going down there."

As he spoke, several of the Chargers were ducking down into the passageway to retrieve the trapped workers from the rubble. Stitches tipped the two other healers a grinning salute as he stepped smartly out of sight. Rory sighed heavily.

"Bull, if this has anything to do with me being pregnant, I am going to stab you," she informed the Ben-Hassrath agent calmly.

He laughed, patting her head gently. "Try not to hit anything important when you do."

Which was as good as telling her that it was because she was pregnant. She ground her teeth together, glowering at the open doorway. All right, yes, she was pregnant, but that didn't mean that she was suddenly more precious than anyone else here. Except ... it did. While there were women who were expecting babes down in the city, she was the only one here in the fortress who was; the only one known to the inner circle, to the advisors, to the Inquisitor himself. This is going to get really annoying.

"You know what," she muttered to Evy as they waited side by side for the Chargers to bring the injured out, "the sooner you get pregnant, the better."

The Marcher woman glanced at her, and burst into giggles, nudging her shoulder fondly. "At least I'm doing things in the right order," she teased, and despite herself, Rory felt a laughing grin cover her face.

"It's not like it was planned," she protested, rolling her eyes as she shook her head. "Besides, I'm married now. If anyone asks, this kid is premature."

"Oh, yes, of course," Evy agreed with sage mischief.

Tucking her hair back behind her ear, Rory glanced away with a smile. Her gaze caught on Lady Edith, standing in the doorway of the infirmary, staring at her with what seemed like a shocked expression on her face. The older woman's eyes flickered between Rory and Evy, as though studying them, comparing them. Bemused, Rory glanced at her friend, wondering what Edith was seeing to compare there. She only saw the shared smile, her own widening at the realization that Evy was still grinning at her.

"What?" she protested.

"Oh, nothing." Evy shrugged teasingly. "Just imagining what kind of mother you'll be."

"A terrifying one," Bull offered from behind them. He grunted obligingly as Rory elbowed him, despite the fact that they both knew she hadn't made any impact at all. "A terrified one?"

"That's more accurate," Rory agreed with a chuckle.

A call from the passageway wiped the smile from her face as Grim and Dalish appeared, supporting one of the workers who had been trapped. His leg was bleeding, a rough tourniquet tied about his thigh as he limped along between the pair.

"All right, bring him to the infirmary," Evy told them, shouldering her pack. "I'll see to him, you wait for the other one," she added to Rory.

Proud of her friend for taking charge of the situation, the redhead nodded with a reassuring smile. "Will do," she agreed. "Don't forget the cobwebs once you get the bleeding under control."

"Oh, I won't forget them this time," Evy promised, moving to follow the two mercenaries as they helped the man toward the infirmary, where her own mother was waiting. Edith was about to get an insight into just how far her baby girl's confidence had come in the last six months.

It was almost a shame Rory was going to miss that, in a way, but she had work of her own to do. Within minutes, Stitches came out of the passageway, the second of the trapped workers on a makeshift stretcher, the other end carried by Krem. Rory took one look, and winced - there was very little she could do for a crushed pelvis without a very specific type of help.

"Someone run and fetch one of the mage healers, please," she asked, gesturing for the Chargers to bring the young man into the infirmary.

It was a strange process, healing with a mage, but it was certainly an educational experience. All the mage really seemed to do was focus healing energies into an injury - it was up to the conventional healer to give pain relief, pull bones straight, and hope that the internal injuries were not too severe. The focus on conventional scientific medicine in the games now made much more sense to Rory, especially since she was living it. The rather elderly mage who came when summoned had worked with her since they'd left Haven, and between them, they somehow managed to straight and rebuild the man's pelvis, forcing him through the white-hot agony of having almost paralyzed limbs moved, and joints tested, finally able to say that he would recover. He would walk again.

It was when Rory was tidying up her desk, preparing to go to dinner, that it happened.

"Aurelia?"

"Hmm?" She looked up without thinking. It was only seeing the astonished, triumphant look on Edith's face that brought home to her that she had answered to a name she hadn't heard in over a decade. How the hell does she know my real name?

Edith's smile was warm. "I thought it might be you," she said gently. "You've been missed."

"I doubt it," Rory heard herself say. What the hell is going on here? her inner fangirl was shrieking. This isn't familiar! Who said this Thedas could fill in my backstory and not tell me about it? Who does she think I am?

Lady Trevelyan's expression grew a little sad as she considered the redhead before her. "May I at least tell your mother that you are well and safe?" she asked in a wounded tone.

Rory's expression grew hunted. I have a mother here. A living mother. Who apparently knows Edith Trevelyan. Hell, Edith Trevelyan knew me somehow. This is ... awful. "As long as you don't ... tell her who I am or where to find me," she conceded warily. "There's a reason I'm not a part of her life."

Edith frowned reluctantly, but she nodded. "I understand," she said softly. "But please ... know that your aunt remembers you, and knows you for who you are. And is deeply grateful for your guidance of your youngest cousin."

She stepped away, ducking out through the door of the infirmary, leaving Rory to stare into the middle distance in a confusion of horror and shock. Did she just hear that right? If Edith Trevelyan was her aunt, then ... Holy crap. Evy's my cousin. I have family here, real family, family that I didn't write. This world has made a place for me, and it's ... Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she realized what else it meant. Oh, my giddy aunt ... I'm a noble. How the hell did that happen?