#im equal parts intrigued and terrified

[jackandclairearesiblings]

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

developing the biggest soft spot for wkx from the novel as i slowly unravel his show equivalent

[sophswritingthings]

OK AS A HISTORY NERD NOW IM INTRIGUED ON MORE OF YOUR THOUGHTS FOR MIZU X !PERFORMER READER

pairing: mizu x fem!street performer!reader

warning(s): none

a/n: allowing me to indulge in my history fixation while writing gay fanfic? oh babe LET ME TELL YOU—

summary: after meeting the mysterious street performer, mizu follows you back to the theater. which, has a library. you spend your time together, what little you have of it, taking and learning about one another’s culture.

word count: 577 words / 3,227 characters

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

you lead mizu back to a nearby theater, greeting other secret performers as you walk in. they eye you a bit suspiciously, seeing who is following you. but no words are exchanged.

you take mizu back to a library; walls cascading with books up and down.

she’d never seen anything like it.. such a large library filled with colorful books of english, and, supposedly—american history. and there had to be something on japan, too, because you seemed to know things about her culture well.

“so, why have you traveled from japan, exactly?” you pose the question, grabbing a candle and beginning to riffle through piles of literature. 

she wasn’t telling you she was here to assassinante a man. you’d think her terrifying. heartless. ruthless. cold.

to which, to some extent, she was.

“I’m.. here, visiting family,” she whispered. wasn’t exactly wrong.

you chuckled, “the white man you mentioned? your father?” you whip around to look at her for a moment.

“yes,” she responds rather quickly. “I haven’t met him, before.”

you nod, “japan closed its borders—deported all the white men and women there,” you respond. “it makes sense you’ve never met him. are you.. judged, in some way?”

she scoffed, “I’m sure you have no idea,” she folded her arms. “I am what they call an onryō. a demon.”

your eyes widen, gazing at her as you walked over with a stack of books you looked to be struggling to carry.

“demon?” you murmur, watching as she takes some of the books from your arms. “just for being born of a white man?”

she nods, “yes.” she narrowed her eyes, “it’s not exactly fun.”

you scoff, “I didn’t think it would be—constantly having a bounty of your back for your dead body,” you settle down at a desk, smiling and patting the seat beside you.

she sits down beside you, gazing at the many books.

“well—here in england, those eyes are considered beautiful,” you smiled softly at her. “I think they’re beautiful.”

she’d never heard such kind words before. especially about a part of herself she hated so very much.

“thank you,” she whispered, her voice barley audible.

you chuckled, your cheeks tinted rosy red, “though I suppose I am one for all things weird.”

she laughed along with you, “how so?”

“as I told you—a woman such as myself is not allowed to do much. I am expected to marry at sixteen, settle down with many kids, and never leave my house. I cannot work, I cannot do anything here,” your eyes narrowed, gazing at the book below you, “I just want to perform. to act—it’s my passion. It’s something I love.”

she nodded slowly, “I see,” she muttered. “It’s much different in japan. women can work.. though it’s not like they have many options. and.. performing. It’s one of the many things women do in japan.”

“I know!” you hissed, “performing should not be something that is restricted to men. nothing should be restricted to me; we should all be… equal.”

mizu couldn’t help but agree with you. she felt the same way; seeing as she was here, masking as a man her whole life to be able to do what she wanted.

you talked for hours on end. hours on hours of talking about your culture, about your lives, about what you’d been through. 

you were so similar; yet from completely different parts of this world.

she found that amazing.

she found you amazing.

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

a/n: I’m presenting said project tomorrow and my anxiety said no

[trohpi]

following this microfic i couldnt stop thinking about regulus and his relationship with the evans family so heres my little ramble

so primrose and ciarán evans are very much your middle-of-the-road white suburban irish parents. primrose is a short blonde slightly nosy pta mom and ciarán is a six foot six redheaded giant that wears kiss the cook aprons. theyre supremely embarrassing about their childrens accomplishments which, as you can imagine, is extremely baffling to regulus as a concept

(also side-note, but lily is the definition of a daddys girl and on the flip side, petunia is 100% a mommys girl. its important to me that you know this)

he first meets them the summer after first year. he befriended lily & snape at hogwarts and convinces his parents to let him visit spinners end (they only let him go bc snape is part of the prince family, and he conveniently left out the fact that lily would be there too)

quite frankly, regulus is terrified of both her parents when he first meets them, but particularly her father. ciarán is big and loud and passionate, all traits that usually mean danger for regulus. primrose unnerves him bc she is very much like his mother, but shes also her complete opposite. she has all of walburgas best traits and none of her worst (well, besides her anger issues, but unlike walburga she doesnt take it out on her children). regulus doesnt like talking to her because it feels like seeing what his mother could have been had she been more… well, motherly

the thing that brings him and ciarán together is astronomy. ciarán loves the stars, he has a borderline obsessive knowledge about astronomy and has a very expensive telescope set up on the balcony. regulus is intrigued by the muggle perspective of the field and eventually they end up having hours long conversations about the topic regularly, leaving lily and her mother to commiserate about their partners being robbed from them

with primrose and regulus, im not sure they ever reach quite the same comfortability that regulus has with her husband (likely bc both reg & ciarán are probably autistic which was an accident that i now stand by). i think he and lilys mom would be brought together by cooking, by which i mean their horrible cooking skills. sometimes they try cooking dinner together and given their strong propensity to burn water plus their equally strong perfectionism, the results are bad

when hes disowned, the only place he can think to go is lilys. as much as he loves sirius, he would rather die than live with james potter (sorry james, love u mate 😔❤️). he shows up in the middle of the night on the knight bus and is immediately welcomed with open arms. by this point, petunia has moved out and lives with vernon so he takes her old bedroom even though 90% of the time he ends up in lilys bed. her parents turn a blind eye to it knowing that he has nightmares and she brings him comfort

on an unrelated note, when effie & monty and primrose & ciarán meet they become bffs. sirius is ecstatic, regulus is tired knowing that hell now have to see three of the four marauders at every family function going forward

and the end <3

[play-now-my-lord]

You are incomprehensible. I cannot understand you. You are an alien something not of this dimension or species. Not if this world and not of this time. You terrify and intrigue me in equal measure. You understand the inaudible whispers of the dark parts of my brain, yet you refuse to translate them. Why? Do all of the low mutterings of other beings pass through you? Are they drawn to you? A radio tower broadcasting the frequency of the unknown elements deep into the hours of the am? Im unsure.

i often attribute the more oracular and absurd things that come out of my mouth/posts to demons. i half-believe they are, but not in the kinda silly christian sense where they're evil entities working for an anti-god, more in the old greek sense of daimones - that there are living capabilities/faculties that are both inside of us and present in the world without us, which can come and go from us as they please.

possession is as good an answer as any, right? And honestly given how much I talk to ghosts on a day-to-day basis it makes sense, I suppose

[chatterbox010]

Drama-filled first meetings are my jam.

@elysianfiction

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with Audrey Roget

Audrey Roget has 10 fics at Gossamer, with some different ones at AO3, fanfiction.net, and her website. You might know her from her very good fics or as part of Musea, a collective that all wrote fic and posted X-Files fic recs. I’ve recced some of my favorites of her stories here before, including Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas and The Shirt. Big thanks to Audrey for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)? A little, yes. Not so much by folks who were around in those days. I sometimes go hunting for beloved stories from the early years, both those I read and loved, and those I never got around to. I am always delighted to hear that later generations of fans have stumbled across my stuff, especially since I haven’t posted anything new in a number of years. It’s fantastic that both years-long fans and new ones are out there continuing to rec fic from all eras, and to maintain archives for fans yet-to-be born. What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it? What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general? It may sound corny, but the main thing I think of, and the thing that has ultimately been most valuable and lasting, has been the friendships. The feeling of having found a tribe – not just of TXF fans, but of other people who could be as enthusiastically engaged as I was (if not more so) with fictional stories and characters – was mind-blowing. Since I was a kid, I had often mulled over the books/movies/TV I loved and speculated internally about what happened off the page or off-screen, or created new stories for characters in my head. But, except for an elementary school phase where I and my two BFFs regularly played Charlie’s Angels, I hadn’t engaged in that kind of gleeful immersion in a fictional world with others until TXF fandom. My involvement in fandom followed pretty quickly from getting hooked on the show, so for me, it’s all one big ball of experiences. Even as my interest in/involvement in fandom has waxed and waned over the years, I’ve been lucky to remain friends with wonderful people who I originally connected with as fellow fans.

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)? What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

My initial entrée to the fandom was through fanfiction. I didn’t get interested in the show until mid-season 5. Around the same time, I read an article in a zine called Might (co-founded by Dave Eggers) about this thing called fanfiction that people would write and publish online. At first I thought it was satire or a joke – the fic cited involved Wilma Flintstone and a polished sabre tooth, as I recall – but then realized this was an actual thing. So I figured that a show then at the peak of pop culture must have fanfiction, and I went looking. Early on, I scrolled atxc on a daily basis and downloaded stories. But I didn’t engage in discussions about the show on Usenet, since I only knew how to access it with my Earthlink email client, and I didn’t want to post using my real name.

Later, I set up a pseud address with Yahoo and subscribed to a couple of email fanfic/discussion lists, and stayed subscribed to those for years. There was also a period in there somewhere – of maybe only a year or so, when I think about it – when I’d often nerd out into the wee hours with other fans via IM chat groups. That was around the time the small writers’ collective Musea was founded, and we were active for several years after the show’s initial run. In the early aughts, I followed many authors to LiveJournal and eventually set up my own account and stayed involved in fandom that way, until it mostly dispersed as well. What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show? In a word: Chemistry. I had casually watched a couple of episodes during the first four seasons, but I’m not a huge sci-fi/horror fan at heart, and the story lines didn’t immediately grab me. But I happened to tune into The Red and the Black in 1998, and BOOM. For the first time, the intense layers of emotion and attraction between Mulder and Scully really struck me – and then of course, upon further viewing, I realized it was unmissable, an essential element in the fabric of the show. As a wise woman once said, a switch had been flicked. Mulder and Scully’s magnetism was like nothing I’d ever seen, and though I eventually came to appreciate the storytelling, humor, production values, and other components that made the series so successful, watching those characters interact has always been what kept me coming back. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files? I was part of a list-serv discussion group for The West Wing for a while, which was a fun melding of character and plot analysis with political discussion. Later, I got into the House, MD fandom, again mostly as a fanfic reader/writer. I was finding that other fandoms, unlike TXF, were more dispersed, the networks of people structured more loosely, if at all. There were fanfic and discussion communities on LiveJournal, and fanfiction.net was the other main hub for posting and reading, but if there was anything centralized like Gossamer, Ephemeral, or the Haven, I never found it. Within all those fan communities, as in TXF, there were partisans for various characters and pairings, and flame wars erupted over plot developments that outraged this faction or that. One main difference was that those other shows had larger, ensemble casts and more varied subplots. So on one hand, there was more opportunity to explore back stories and multiple perspectives. In House MD in particular, there were several entrenched rival shipper camps, which were about equally grounded in canon, rather than TXF’s central ship. I was less into TWW fic, but my impression was that readers were less militant about their pairing preferences than TXF or House fans. Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

I was deeply fascinated by Greg House for several years. (And the love-hate chemistry between him and Lisa Cuddy was a strong draw for me.) House MD came early in a wave of TV shows centered on anti-heroes, and Hugh Laurie brought amazing complexity and thoughtfulness to the character.

Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (The Americans) are a lethal pair of antiheroes. The inherent moral conflict of a sympathetic narrative from their POVs, and the global political conflict they embody was TV catnip for me. The internal struggles at the hearts of those characters were so exquisitely written and performed, they completely fascinate me.

The West Wing felt so much like a show created specifically for me. I’m especially fond of story arcs and scenes that centered on CJ Cregg, Charlie Young, and Josh Lyman. Though I loved Martin Sheen’s human portrayal of Jed Bartlet, the fact that he was the President always made him a little untouchable in my mind. But CJ, Charlie, and Josh were basically hard-working functionaries who were ambitious and idealistic and funny and flawed, and they spoke to me. What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I do continue to think about Mulder and Scully and watch episodes somewhat often. I’ll sometimes run a favorite episode as background when I want something comforting on. I read TXF fic pretty regularly, which can inspire me to go back and watch a particular episode or story arc I haven’t thought about in years. Just recently, I started listening to The X-Files Diaries podcast (@XFDPodcast, @admiralty-xfd), and that’s a fun dive into the characters, and how other fans react to and interpret episodes.

Every once in a while, a TV show or movie – and more particularly, the characters – will grab my attention and make me curious about how fanfic writers have interpreted the original material. Random example, I saw Singin’ in the Rain for the first time in a theatre a couple of years ago, and the chemistry of the three leads sent me to AO3 as soon as I got home. I also loved the first season of Mercy Street and found some well-done stories in that fandom. I usually peruse the Yuletide gifts every year and have been amazed by the sheer variety, creativity and cheekiness of the output. There are a bunch of other shows I’ve followed faithfully, and sought out fanfic – Broadchurch, The Killing, Agents of SHIELD, Elementary, The Good Wife. Although I’ve found some well-written stuff in those fandoms, I’ve rarely gotten the same charge from them as reading TXF fic. Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

syntax6 (@syntax6) – Universal Invariants/Laws of Motion. I’d also shout out to syn’s Hunter fics, too – well worth reading even for those who have never seen or particularly loved the show itself.

JET – I re-read Small Lives Awake every year around Thanksgiving time. Other annual holiday re-reads: Revely’s The Dreaming Sea and Jordan’s Through the Fire (both set at Halloween).

Amal Nahurriyeh’s Casey universe – the rare post-col fic that felt hopeful, made extra intriguing by a kick-ass original character. [Lilydale note: the series starts with Machines of Freedom and has lots of additional fics and snippets.]

Prufrock’s Love – Finding Rokovoko was genuinely terrifying and tender.

melforbes (@melforbes) – Seaglass Blue is a recent favorite, lyrical and bittersweet.

These are just a few (apologies to those that didn’t come to mind immediately). Fortunately for readers, there’s an astonishing number of authors who have written in TXF fandom whom you can depend on for a good yarn, insightful character study, and/or ingenious “fixes” where 1013 went awry.

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Probably the two set in my own (former) backyard of Southern California: Enivrez-vous and Ravenous. I’d first read the Baudelaire poem that was the source of the former’s title back in university days, so I was tickled to be able to use a few lines as an epigraph. Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online? It’s not out of the realm possibility. I’d meant for “Three Times Dana Scully Didn’t Go to San Diego for Christmas” to be followed up with “And One Time She Did.” In fact, the idea for that never-finished story was what inspired “Three Times” in the first place. I have a couple of scenes sketched out and – unusually for me – even know exactly how to end it. Every year, November rolls around, and I think I should finish and post it…maybe in 2021?

Where do you get ideas for stories? Sometimes it’s from my environment. “Enivrez-vous” and “Ravenous” describe places that I’m fond of, that made me want to place Mulder and Scully there. “What Not to Wear” has that element too – I set it in Memphis as a tribute to a great trip there with a sister Musean. But WNTW was also inspired by a kink challenge in a years-ago LiveJournal thread, so sometimes ideas come from fandom discussions or even other fanfics. In the House MD fandom, a fic by another writer made me want to continue the story, and the author kindly allowed an authorized sequel. What's the story behind your pen name? I wanted my pseudonym to sound like it could be a real person’s name – or at least, maybe like a romance writer’s pen name – rather than an online handle. I also wanted to use a slightly obscure fictional character, to amuse anyone in the know. I had long had a bit of an obsession with Whit Stillman’s 1990s film trilogy, which started with Metropolitan; the 3rd installment, Last Days of Disco, came out the same year I started down the TXF rabbit hole: 1998. The central heroine of Metropolitan – who is mentioned in or makes a cameo in the other two – is Audrey Rouget, a lover of Austen and, eventually, a book editor. I altered the spelling of the last name as a nod to every writer’s companion, Roget’s Thesaurus. Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions? I have a few close friends – from outside TXF fandom – who know that I’ve written fanfic. I don’t know if they know my pseud; if they do, or if they’ve ready any of the fic, they haven’t said so to me. They are fannish sorts themselves, but not really TXF fans. A smattering of other friends and family members know or could intuit that I’ve been a fangrl on some level for years. My boss, whom I’ve known for about 3 years, recently mentioned off-handedly that she was really obsessed with TXF “back in the day,” and I am DYING to know if she got involved in fandom, but don’t think I’ll ever work up the courage to ask.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now? Most of the X-Files stuff continues to be generously and steadfastly archived by Forte at The Basement Office. The House MD stories and some TXF things are at fanfiction.net; same for AO3. If ever post anything new, it will probably go to TBO and AO3. I really ought to get it all together in one place, one of these days…

(Posted by Lilydale on April 6, 2021)

[comphersjost]

All for You | 2 ➸ Brady Tkachuk and Matthew Tkachuk

hi, its 3 am, and i couldnt stop until i finished this. ik i promised yall another part on thursday so im sorry this is later then i was hoping. i hope you enjoy it :) i took a different approach to brady here than ive normally seen, let me know how you guys like it!!

It’s been 4 and a half months since that day in the basement. With Christmas just days away and Matty on a flight back home, you and Brady take a risk, leaving Matt to wonder where he went wrong.

word count: 4.6k

warnings: this is really angsty yall, like actually, smut, sir kink, brady is Mean, uh moral ambiguity sorta (thinking abt someone else during sex), d/s undertones sorta, unprotected sex (be safe), oral (m on f), some choking, alcohol (wine), sex under the influence, pls ignore any typos fkakldfa

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

masterlist

Even with how utterly fucked the situation was that Matt had found himself in, there was one thing he couldn't stop thinking about. It was the way his logo and his last name and his number rested against your back that drove him insane.

It was burned into his retinas.

Even now, on a plane back home to St. Louis it was all he could think about. Every time he closed his eyes it was you you you.

It had been months since he had seen you. Nearly 5 months had passed since that night in the basement. And it killed him.

He was in a slump. Everyone knew it. He knew it, his teammates knew it, the damn front office knew it. And it was because of you.

His teammates had quickly put together your absence at any sort of gathering and Matty’s sulking. 4 and a half months later he resembles a shell of the man he used to be.

He had called, of course he had. Over and over, hoping, pleading, praying to any deity that existed out there to hear from you again.

Matthew’s prayer was answered one day, when he had come out of practice to find a text from you. His heart rate accelerated, time felt like molasses as his phone camera ID’d his face. As the facial recognition unlocks his phone, the message is revealed.

Please stop calling me. And tell the boys to stop too.

The text tears his heart to shreds. It was the last straw. Before he had been mopey, but now - now he was spiraling. His play was abysmal - a shit show on the ice really. He drank until he blacked out every time, not even looking at another girl.

He had contemplated going to your work, but decided a player in the middle of a slump having a restraining order filed against him would not go over well with the Flames management. Every time he went out for the most mundane task, groceries, dry cleaning, he couldn’t help the hope that he would run into you. Even if you didn’t give him the time of day it would be enough for him to just see you.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Not for lack of trying, though. Matthew had been to all the spots you used to frequent—the grocery store you love, the clubs you two used to go to, even the 7/11 you had both been to after the both of you got so drunk that you could barely walk. You weren’t on the flight you had booked back together. In fact, he had no idea about anything that’s been going on in your life, his mom just told him that you’re okay and that was all he got.

Now it was 3 days before Christmas and the idea of seeing you again both filled him with dread and also made him feel more alive than he had in months. He was equally utterly terrified and buzzing with excitement. His hands itched to hold you again, though he knew there was a bigger chance of you slapping him than letting him kiss you the way he wanted.

As Matt stares out the window at the clouds, he lets his mind wander. He wonders how you're doing; are you okay? After everything that happened did you pick up right where you left off? He wondered if you missed him, if he was on your mind as much as you were on his.

He still wondered if you loved him back.

-

“Mom, I really just, I really want to stay home and do nothing tonight okay? I'm tired.”

Your mom rolls her eyes at your attempt at getting out of going over to Tkachuk’s house tonight. You’d been trying since 9 am.

“Honey, I know you said you and Matthew don’t hang out anymore, but he won't be there!” she tried reassuring you, “Brady and Taryn will be there to hang out with you until Taryn goes to spend the night with the Johnson’s.” That made you groan even louder - you had to be alone with Brady. Great, now you had to steel yourself for a night of utter humiliation.

Brady isn't even downstairs yet when you enter the Tkachuk’s threshold, Chantal’s call for her kids brings Taryn down in an instant, ever excited to see you.

“Y/N!” she squeals, running down the stairs, “You're here, you're here!”

“Y/N?” you hear faintly, and then the slam of Brady’s door and rapid footsteps. He nearly slides down the stairs, freezing at the bottom when he spots you. Taryn lets you out of her embrace, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at Brady. Unsure how to navigate your way out of this situation, you keep staring at Brady as your parents and Taryn follow Chantal to the kitchen.

“Hi, B,” you say meekly, unsure of how he’ll receive you after so long.

“Hi, buttercup,” he responds, a bright smile pulling at his lips. It’s all he needs to take a few quick steps in your direction and draw you into his arms.

“I missed you so much, buttercup,” he whispers against your hairline, “More than you know.”

Despite his warm welcome, the night is tense. You still don't know what he thinks of that night, not wanting to ask him in front of your families - well, most of your families anyways. You didn't even let yourself think about what would happen when you saw Matthew at the next dinner party. You sat at the table and ate your food, barely speaking to Taryn and answering Keith and Chantal’s inquiries about your life in Calgary with a tight smile.

You’re so zoned out trying to make time go faster you barely register your parents telling you that they’re going out with Keith and Chantal.

“Mom, wait-”

“Y/N,” she warns, looking at you with that look, and you sigh in resignation. She smiles at you, a silent promise to make it up to you.

Taryn had left 30 minutes ago, announcing that she had somewhere to be before leaving as quickly as she could, uncomfortable with the palpable tension between you and Brady.

You watch your parents leave, wincing for a moment at what awaits you when you turn around. To your surprise, what greets you is a glass of wine hovering in front of your face.

You take the peace offering gingerly from Brady’s hand with a tiny smile. And it’s a really bad idea, the way you let him keep refilling your glass, and his own, let him draw you in during The Grinch on the couch, let him hold you tight under the blanket that was covering the both of you.

You can hear your common sense screaming in the back of your mind when you snuggle closer into Brady’s chest. It’s near 11 now, and your parents are still together, laughing and drinking in the living room of your house before Keith and Chantal are supposed to head to the airport. You're cuddled up to Brady, shifting every few minutes to try and get closer, even though nearly every inch of your body is practically glued to him.

He hums when you shift again, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. “Gotta go home,” you say, your voice muffled against him. It’s not like you haven't spent the night with him before; you just haven't since that night.

“Probably,” he mumbles, arms tightening around you. “But I don't want you to.” And like, you've had way too much wine and you should probably go before Matty gets here cause you really can't handle that conversation like this so you push off of Brady, standing up but stumbling, wine sloshing over the lip of the glass and splattering on your pants.

“Fuck,” you hiss, the red wine surely staining the gray leggings you wore. Brady takes the glass from you, placing it on the table and stabilizing you with his other hand.

“Go change upstairs,” he says softly, looking up at you with those eyes you're such a sucker for. “Stay.”

And - how can you say no to that? You can't, because it's Brady and you're so damn easy for him it didn't matter what he’d asked you to do, you would do it without a second thought.

That's how you find yourself stumbling to Brady’s bedroom, barely finding your way to his bathroom to change out of your stained leggings and wipe yourself down. You rummage through Brady’s dresser, searching for - there it was. A pair of Brady’s sweatpants from high school that he stopped wearing approximately 2 months after he got them [mostly because he couldn't find them (mostly mostly because they were either in your room or on your body)].

You place the worn sweats on top of Brady’s dresser, fumbling to close the drawer and find your balance. Someone clears their throat and your head snaps towards the doorway. Brady is leaning against the doorframe and through the fuzziness of the wine, you register the thought that he looks so good like this - in his comfort zone.

“Hey,” he says, pushing off the doorframe towards you.

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes too focused on Brady moving towards you.

“We should give it a shot,” Brady husks, hooded eyes trailing down your body and back up again. Suddenly the room feels too cold, the oversized sweater you had on stopped at the top of your thighs, barely covering the pale pink panties you were wearing. The sweater paws gave an air of innocence around you that Brady knew was fake.

“What are you talking about?” you whisper meekly, both concerned about what was going on in that head of his, and intrigued.

“You know how you feel about me,” Brady states - which isn't entirely true anymore, but you don’t interrupt. “I don’t know how I feel about you, and neither of us actually knows if this-” he motions between the two of you “-is it for us, so I say, we give it a shot and see how it feels. Let’s give it until we go back?”

When did he get so close to you? Brady’s taking more steps forward, and you’re taking as many steps back, until the back of your thighs hit the corner of the bed and you instinctively sit.

Which - in retrospect, was probably a mistake, because now Brady towers over you even more than before and now - you’re really intrigued. His fingers trail over your jaw, thumb swiping gently across your bottom lip.

You part your lips out of habit, eyes widen when you realize what you’ve done. Brady laughs darkly when he catches your slip up, stroking your face affectionately.

His thumb slips between your lips for a moment, and your eyes flutter shut as your cheeks hollow around him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, and you do, opening your eyes to stare up at him again; Brady, your best friend. He smiles proudly, murmuring a soft, “Good girl.”

The words are uttered at the same time he withdraws from your warm mouth, wrapping his fingers gently around your throat. You can’t help the whine that escapes, mortified when Brady’s grin widens.

He leans down, mouth next to your ear to whisper, “Matty always did like it when they’re needy. Needy girls drive us crazy.”

Really, the thought of Matt shouldn’t be driving you crazy, but it is. And when you feel Brady’s nose nudge against yours, his mouth just millimeters from you - your biggest fantasy for nearly 20 years - you knew you were going to hell.

A needy moan escapes your throat before Brady’s hand tightens around your throat and you give in, looping your arms around his neck. You pull him down to meet your lips, nearly clawing at him in your desperation.

Faintly, you think that this is a bad idea, this would only hurt you more later on.

But the longer you kissed him, the less you cared about the consequences. You wanted - you needed Brady so fucking bad right now you were willing to deal with whatever the aftermath presented you with. Brady’s other hand finds the bottom of your sweater, slipping underneath the fabric to lay against your rib cage.

You needed more.

“Brady,” you whine as you break away from his lips, tugging at his hoodie. “Need you.” Brady chuckles darkly, tugging you by your throat to kiss him again.

“Ask nicely,” he husks against your mouth.

“Please,” you whimper again, pulling harder at the fabric to just get him closer. “Please, Brady, I need you so bad.”

“Try again.” Brady pushes you - nearly tosses you really - further up the bed with a snarl, ignoring the yelp you let out at the suddenness of his mood shift. You stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You're unsure of your next words.

“Please…Daddy?”

A cocky smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. “Not quite.”

You think for a moment, watching him bring his hand behind his back and pull his shirt over his head. The dark look he gives you makes you shrink, as if to say ‘Still?’.

Suddenly your eyes light up, and Brady can see it. He's already on the bed, crawling up your body as you attempt to control your breath. The words are barely out before he's kissing you again.

“Please sir?”

Brady groans into your mouth when he hears you say the words, slotting himself between your thighs to grind his hips against yours. You mewl into his mouth when his clothed cock catches against your clit, pushing your hips up against him for more. He growls as he pulls away again, swatting your thigh as a warning.

“Careful, princess,” Brady warns - voice low and dangerous - and his grip on your hip so tight you knew there would be bruises in the morning, “or I won't be.” His words are thick with intention, both a threat and a promise.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe shakily, letting yourself fall against the sheets to look up at him.

Brady’s eyes soften for a moment, reaching up to brush your hair out of your eyes. “Hi,” he whispers, leaning down to steal a kiss.

“Hi,” comes your response. He steals another kiss before pulling away again, and you can't help but think that he looks beautiful like this.

I love you. I'm in love with you.

You want to say it, the voice inside you is screaming it. It’s screaming for you to say it, and Brady is looking at you almost like he wants you to too.

The feeling of his hands pushing your sweater up distracts you from your plight. Brady’s movement is slow, and he’s looking at you intensely, giving you time to stop him. You only nod, and the softness is gone as soon as it had come. You lift your arms to help him bring the material over your head. He tosses the sweater to the side, catching your wrists when you reach for him. He guides them back over your head, smirking as you suppress a shudder when he leans in a whispers against your mouth. “Be a good girl and keep your hands there princess.”

You nod quickly, grasping the sheets in anticipation. Another slap to your thigh has you rethinking.

“I’m sorry!” you gasp. “Yes, sir.”

Brady hums in acknowledgment, kissing down your throat until he’s staring up at you from the valley between your breasts. You whine softly when he pulls a nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing the harden peak before soothing it with his tongue. His hand is pinching and pulling at your other nipple, making your noises significantly louder. He alternates, playing with your nipples until they're swollen and sensitive and sore.

He sits back on his heels to look at you, hands on your knees now, sliding up your thighs. His eyes roam your body unabashedly, while his fingers play with the waistband of your panties. There's a burning look in his eyes as he says, “You're gorgeous. You're so fucking beautiful.”

You don't know why hearing him say it makes you tear up. Brady had told you that you were pretty before, that you cleaned up nice, always telling you how hot you were when he'd see you dressed up before events. He was your own personal hype man but he'd never called you beautiful.

Not like this.

Not like Matty.

Not like Matty.

The thought makes your blood run cold.

“Please,” you mewl, starting to reach for Brady before remembering what he told you. Your hands fly back above your head, twisting in the sheets, whispering, “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Brady smiles softly, slipping his finger under the waistband of your panties, tugging on it before letting it snap back against your skin. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss softly at your stomach. “Trying so hard to be good for me.” He shuffles himself backwards as he kisses his way down your body, sliding your panties down your legs at the same time until they've fallen to the floor.

“Wait,” you say softly, causing Brady to pause, his expression quizzical. “Please, I need you.”

Brady grins wickedly. “Just a taste princess.”

It turns out, ‘a taste’ actually means Brady edging you with his tongue until you were nearly crying. He's brought you to the brink three times now, each time getting you closer and closer before pulling away. At this point he's holding your hips down and your hands are as tangled in the sheets as you could get them, not wanting the repercussions of disobeying.

Brady’s tongue is sliding through your folds again when you finally break.

“Please!” you sob, tears finally sliding down your cheeks as your back arches from the pleasure. “Please, Brady, please, sir, please please, I- I need - please just - fuck - please.”

Brady hums against your cunt, the vibrations tearing a scream from your throat. Suddenly the warmth of Brady’s mouth is gone, leaving you chasing him with a buck of your hips. He pins you back down again easily, his lips glistening as he smirks. You hate the way the sleazy look on his face does it for you.

It reminds you of Matt.

You whine again, wiggling your hips as much as you could in Brady’s grip. “Please just fuck me,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. You feel his lips press against your hip, smiling against your skin.

“Anything my girl wants, she gets,” he murmurs against your skin.

My girl. The words echo over and over again in your head. My girl my girl my girl.

Two words you've been waiting years to hear come out of his mouth, and the only thing you could think of was how you liked it better when Matty said it.

Your eyes stay shut as Brady kisses up your body, fingertips dancing over your skin. His mouth finds yours, emptying your brain of all other thoughts but him.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he asks you, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping your tears away. Your eyes flutter open, to look at him, nodding as you bite your lip. His thumb tugs your lip out from between your teeth as you feel the tip of his dick brush against your thigh. You didn't even realize that he had taken off the rest of his clothes, but you weren't complaining. Not with him so close like this.

“Please,” you whimper, and after stealing another kiss, Brady sinks into your heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans, gripping the back of your thigh to spread your legs even further. “You're so fucking tight, fuck you feel so good.” Once he’s bottomed out, Brady leans down to kiss you, swallowing your desperate noises.

He gives you little time to adjust, and really - you don't need it considering the way he tortured you with his mouth and fingers. You're whining into his mouth as his hips move against you, the drag off his cock inside you so fucking good after being denied like you were.

You're close already, and Brady knows, delivering sharp thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars.

He finally breaks from your lips, breathing heavily as his hips slam into your cunt. “I'm so close,” you tell him, gripping the sheets above your head so hard you feel like you might rip them. “Please, please let me cum, sir, please.”

It seems like Brady finally thinks you've had enough torture, because he brings his hand from your thigh to your clit, rubbing quick tight circles. “You've been so good for me baby,” he grunts, his other hand holding him up so he can look down at you. “Come on baby, you can touch me now, come on princess, cum for me.”

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your hands come flying from above your head to grasp at Brady, his shoulders, his back, tangling in his hair, anything to just touch him. You cry out as your orgasm hits, your back arching under Brady as he relentlessly fucks you through it.

You faintly register Brady’s filthy encouragement in your ears, telling you how good you are for doing what he says, for not touching him this whole time, for cumming for him like this. You writhe against him as you feel him spill into you, grunting as he fucks into you, chasing his orgams with shallow, sloppy thrusts. It feels like you've been riding your high forever; your vision is blurry when you finally come down.

Brady’s breath is hot on your neck, his hands stroking your skin gently as the two of you catch your breath. He shushes you gently as you moan when he pulls out of you. Brady practically collapses next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you into his chest. He peppers kisses across your skin, nudging his nose against your cheek to grab your attention.

You can barely turn your head, suddenly so tired you feel like you'll pass out right that second. “Hi,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. You hum and bury your face in his neck.

“‘M sleepy,” you mumble against his skin, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“Then sleep,” he says, before smirking devilishly, “don't worry there's lots more where that came from, but in the morning.” You snort at his words, squeezing the back of his neck before burying your fingers in his curls.

“Night, B,” you mumble.

“Goodnight, buttercup.”

-

Matthew was going to kill his brother. He was going to straight up murder him. On top of not being there to pick him up from the airport, he also didn't answer any texts or calls from Matt.

So yeah, when Matthew got home, he was going to kill Brady. When the Uber finally pulls up in front of him, Matthew is nearly halfway done with his plan to get away with it.

He fiddles with his phone as the driver pulls away from the curb, scanning the random notifications that he had popped up when he got off the plane. It's when he opens up Instagram that he really pays attention, the 3 stories in a row at the top of his feed catching his eye.

Taryn’s, yours, and Brady’s. Against his better judgement, he taps Taryn’s magenta-rimmed profile picture. The story takes a moment to load, but when it does, he sees a picture of you in front of the Tkachuk’s Christmas tree. You had your arms out in a ‘ta-da’ fashion, the fingers barely poking out through the sleeves of your sweater. Taryn’s caption reads “didn’t need an angel for the tree cause we already got @y/n/y/l/n”. He can't help but smile fondly, so distracted by how cute you look that he just stares at you until the time is up - but not before pressing on the screen so he could screenshot the photo.

Your first story was a repost of Taryn’s, a simple white heart emoji in the bottom corner. The second was a shot of the TV in the Tkachuk’s living room displaying the Grinch’s title. The caption reads “heart grows two sizes bigger when i’m home :)”. The location is tagged as St. Louis, with Taryn and Brady tagged in the corner of the photo. The third post makes his blood run cold, it's a video of you and Brady, your back against his chest as you lay on the couch, the caption the cross-eyed emoji and Brady’s handle. Brady is facing away from the camera in the beginning of the video, your eyebrows raised as you wait for him to notice. When he does he laughs and reaches for your phone. The video cuts off there.

Matthew taps the left side of his screen to replay it, an unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut. He doesn't want to watch Brady’s story, but he taps the right side of his screen anyways. It's a photo of you on the couch, one knee pulled up to your chest with the other in Brady’s lap, and a glass of wine in your hand. Your hair is piled into a messy bun on top of your head as you wink at the camera and make a peace sign with your free hand, tongue peaking out of the corner of your mouth.

Matt screenshots the picture.

He’s angry; angry because his brother left him stranded at the airport. Angry because he said he hadn't spoken to you either, that you didn't answer any of his texts and calls since that night. He's angry because Brady managed to get you back, and Matt didn't.

Matty’s angry because he loves you, and he's pretty sure you still love Brady.

When the car finally pulls up to the house, he’s almost relieved. He notes that the lights are off downstairs as he lets himself in, pausing when he sees your shoes still by the door. The glow of the TV is visible in the living room, and as Matt pads towards it, the uneasy feeling grows.

There's two partially filled glasses of wine on the coffee table, as well as yours and Brady’s phones. He taps on Brady’s phone, revealing the unread texts and unanswered calls from Matt, as well as an unread text from Chantal, telling Brady that he would have to be the one to pick up Matty from the airport.

The pit in Matt’s stomach only deepens as he climbs the stairs, duffle bag in hand. He goes slowly, trying to prolong his inevitable heartbreak, but it doesn't change what he sees at the top.

Brady’s bedroom door is half open, the light from the hallway streaming in.

Matthew knows it's a bad idea when he takes one, two, three steps and he's in front of Brady’s door. He takes a deep breath and pokes his head inside the room. The sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You're tucked under Brady’s arm, your nose squished against his cheek and your hand curled around his neck.  He can see the bare skin of your back and stomach pressed against Brady’s bare torso. A blanket covers the both of you from the waist down. Brady’s hair is a mess, and so is yours, and suddenly Matt feels nauseous.

He feels like he would do anything - anything - to make the feeling in his chest go away. It feels like pressure, too much pressure, in his chest, and he nearly clutches his heart. The blood is rushing in his ears, he can't breathe, he feels dizzy.

Why does it hurt so much?

Before he can think it through he’s stumbling to his room. He kicks the door shut behind him, tossing the duffle back on the floor near his bed. His hands are reaching for the backpack on his shoulders and pulling out his laptop before it even hits the ground. He doesn't even sit, placing the laptop on his bed and bending down to type into the search bar.

He barely pays attention to the final amount when he hits “confirm” - he has more money than he knows what to do with anyways. The moment it’s done he sighs, watching the Gmail notification light up on his phone.

“Flight Confirmation, December 23rd, 2020 11:25 pm

St. Louis, Missouri to Calgary, Canada”

[x-nephophile-x]

3, 6, 10, 14, 22, and 27 since you wanted a bunch!! ALSO pick one that i didnt list for yourself!! <3333

how did you feel about Johnny that first night in the apartment, and how does it differ from what you feel now after everything? WAIT YOU ASKED ME ONE OF THE BEST QUESTIONS ON HERE OKAY-  Sorry, i love johnny if that wasn’t clear by my url asfkasfakf So, personally, I, the player, was terrified and honestly, so was Vera. Here’s this tough as nails streetkid, who’s best friend and frankly, only true family, just died, she’s been through through hell and back, and, like me, she is terrified to die. So now, she has this maniac inside her head?? I’m still working on Vera’s whole story in my head (lmao after nearly 2 playthroughs with her, its one reason I wanted to do this so bad, so I can get more of a grip on her for future fanfics) and she definitely has some symptoms of PTSD and anxiety and Emotionally Represses everything so she knows well how hard it can be to calm internal thoughts when they’re your own, let alone when its a whole ass other identity.  By the end though?? Vera went through a wild ride of horny for Silverhand, terrified of Silverhand, angry, humiliated, back to horny, back to terrified, and somehow landed at “oh shit im in love with this gonk, fuck me”. I’m pretty sure it happened CONSCIOUSLY by the Hotel Pistis Sophia scene but she was fallin’ even before that, and so was I.  6: what’s your preferred style? Vera dresses very punkrock, distressed jeans, leather pants, leather jackets, combat boots, but has a penchant for cozy sweaters. When she’s out working a gig, she prefers tight clothing that won’t drag or get caught or get grabbed, clothing she knows, boots she knows the weight of, knows where to put pressure to keep her footfalls silent. At home, she’s usually in sweats and an oversized t-shirt though. On rainy days, she likes to sit near the window in her flat in comfy sweaters with nibbles on her lap and a cup of tea though. I imagine Misty recommends different flavors to help with her anxiety, like jasmine or chamomile.  I imagine Misty sometimes joins her. I’m very similar and not at all injecting parts of me into Vera, what? 10: where would be your ideal place to live in NC? or would you prefer to follow the open road?   Me personally, I just love the Kabuki/Japantown areas in Watson. Something about the neon lights and the markets and the constant companionship of a busy city. Vera is similar but she also likes the seedier alleyways; there’s always trouble to be found when she needs to get a fight out of her system. 14: what quest/sidejob/gig made you happiest? (again, multiples allowed) Ahhhh okay. The ROLLERCOASTER. That quest is just *chefs kiss* because rollercoaster date is everything. But I also really enjoy I Fought the Law, and Dream On. The Peralez questline is so inherently interesting and so very intriguing. I also just love the Bartmoss quest, its such a fun little thing that amounts to jackshit and Johnny and V just get to laugh, Johnny gets to say I told you so but hes also just so so amused that neither of them have a chance to get prideful because its like, what, gonna get an attitude over some jerkoff playing signal bounce?  22: who’s your favorite fixer to work with? who’s your least favorite? Ugh, okay. I really actually like working with El Capitan, but his quests themselves always irritate me and Vera both because its meddling in Corpo affairs mostly, which Vera considers a waste of her time, and theres no real principles involved, because, well, she hates corps equally, what does she care if Militech or Arasaka comes out on top for this client or this contract? But El Capitan himself isn’t too bad a dude. I also like running jobs for Rogue, what few there are, since they’re usually concise and to the point. I’d say Dakota and Regina get on my nerves, mostly because they run a lot of areas and have a lot of quests and, frankly, they talk. Alot. Just tell me you’re sending me on a gig, send me the deets, I’m legit dying, quit wasting my time. 27: if you had to pick one song from any of the radio stations to be your theme song, what would it be? Ahhh. For me personally, I’d choose...Delicate Weapon by Lizzy Wizzy? Idk, makes me feel a certain way and not to get personal in a ‘get to know me’ game, but i kinda’ vibe with the whole destructive love. Vera’s would have to be Night City, simply because she gets it, the beauty, the danger, the allure, the repulsiveness, in equal measure that Night City gives off in its atmosphere, its lifestyle, its business ethics, its livelihood.  Ahhh this is already long, but you said to pick one for myself, so I’m gonna’ pick 1: Which Radio Station do I listen to the most?  My Vera and I have similar music tastes so its mostly Vexelstrom, though we switch to Morro Rock for some classics (+a chance to hear Samurai) however in my mind, V definitely understands/enjoys Spanish from growing up with her grandmother who was latina + Jackie and Mama Welles’ influence, so she also enjoys Principales because it makes her feel somewhat less homesick.  ahhh i hope these are okay <3 This helped me get such a vibe for Vera so thank you so so so much! <3

[buttsonthebeach]

A Secret Shared

@im-calling-the-lord did me the honor of letting me write Abby and Solas again! Thanks friend!

I previously wrote about them in A Gilded Cage and @im-calling-the-lord wrote about them in Eternity.

Pairing: Abby Grace x Solas (non-Lavellan, non-Inquisitor OC x Solas)

Rating: Teen for references to childbirth and canon-typical violence

**************************************************

Abby had been a secret-keeper all her life.

There was the big secret, of course - mysterious origins, inexplicable powers - but it was all the little ones that made her really good at it. All the little mischiefs and adventures of childhood, like staying out too late or wandering too far or tempting fate with a magical experiment or stealing a bite of the pie her mother had insisted needed to wait until after dinner. The world was wide and she wanted to live in every corner of it, even the corners she needed to stay away from, and so she had to become good at keeping secrets.

Solas was always her partner in those secrets. It was what formed their friendship - their shared thirst for knowledge and experience without limitation. And now, so many years beyond childhood, beyond their reunion in Ghilan’nain’s great and terrifying hall, that had a new layer to it. They were bonded in truth, wed to one another - but in secret. It was fitting, giving their friendship, given their lives.

Solas was also a partner in Abby’s latest secret.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Abby turned that thought over in her mind as she paced the halls of the refuge where she lived with Solas - though most people called him Fen’Harel these days, whether in admiration or fear or loathing. She, the so-called Herald of Fen’Harel, had a secret from the great man himself.

She was pregnant.

She’d figured it out for certain in the stillness of morning, in her private chambers (because she had to have her own chambers, of course, since it was a secret that she had a bondmate at all). Her monthly bleeding had been missing of course, but it had taken a visit with a spirit of healing to confirm the other changes in her body, and what they meant.

A child. A child for her and for Solas, the man who had always been her partner.

The man who was now leading a rebellion, more or less.

So the timing wasn’t impeccable, any more than it had been impeccable for them to reunite at Ghilan’nain’s party under the threat of death and political intrigue - so maybe it was just par for the course for them.

They hadn’t even thought it was possible for her to get pregnant by Solas, considering that she wasn’t an elf - but then again everything about her seemed impossible, and sometimes her luck in having Solas as a partner seemed impossible too - so maybe this was all to be expected in some strange way.

Once she was able to wrap her mind around it, Abby decided that she could keep this secret all to herself - just for now. She wouldn’t be able to keep it forever. But there was still so much danger around them, and so much to do. She would hold onto this impossible thing on her own.

That meant she had to keep going with her usual routines, even when she was bone tired and more than a little nauseated. So she walked around the fortress every day as she always did, checking for supplies and chatting with guards and making sure new refugees were situated with somewhere to sleep and food to eat, medical attention if they needed it. She’d already gained a reputation of her own as the Herald of Fen’Harel, and people often recognized her from sheer height alone. So in that sense it wasn’t terribly surprising when a young woman approached her one day on her rounds, a small bundle in her arms.

“Herald? Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” Abby said, even if the title still filled her with equal parts unease and amusement. Unease because she’d been a secret-keeper her whole life and she’d never set out to be anyone of importance and amusement because - well, if she didn’t keep laughing at the situations she and Solas ended up in, she was going to go stark raving mad. “How can I help?”

“My name is Nuala,” she said, shifting the small bundle - and that was when Abby heard the little mewling sound it made, and realized abruptly that the woman was holding a well-swaddled baby.

That’s going to be me in a few months.

The thought didn’t help her queasiness.

Focus, Abby. She’s still talking.

“ - and we are just so grateful for the chance to start over somewhere new - to have a real life - and - ”

Nuala held out her infant.

Abby hesitated a moment and then extended her arms to hold the baby. She had no idea what the rest of Nuala’s speech had been but clearly this was what she wanted. She smiled and handed her child over at once, and Abby swallowed, looking down at the little person in her arms. How old were they? She realized abruptly that she didn’t know how to tell how old babies were - or what they needed - and that they were so much more squirmy than she expected, and heavier to boot. The baby she was holding had deep brown eyes and big soft cheeks, and dimples on either side of pursed pink lips.

“His name is Elaryl,” Nuala said, smiling and nervous.

“Hello Elaryl,” Abby said, instantly feeling a bit silly, because he probably couldn’t understand her anyway. 

He wriggled in her grasp again, as much as he could in his tight, thick swaddling, and his frown deepened. It had a hood on it that was lined with fur, something far too warm for their current climate. She found herself absently rocking him, and then untucking the swaddling just a little so he could wiggle more and feel a little cooler in the warm air of the fortress. His frown smoothed out and he cooed again, looking up at her.

“You’re so good with him,” Nuala said. “He’s been so fussy since we came here. It’s so much warmer than home but we left in such a rush to escape the fighting that I didn’t have anything cooler for him to wear. He’s calmed right down with you though - do you have children of your own, Herald?”

I do. Right now. In my belly. And I can hardly believe it and I don’t think I’ve said those words out loud yet, and thank whatever gods there are that I can keep this little one happy because I have no idea what I’m going to be doing with my own -

“Someday,” she said, hoping she sounded convincing, and not too terrified. It wasn’t even a lie. Someday was coincidentally coming in seven or eight months or so. She handled Elaryl back to Nuala.

“Thank you, Herald,” Nuala said, beaming, curtseying, and Abby knew she didn’t deserve such deference but she would be damned if she didn’t live up to it anyway.

So she did double the rounds that day, even though she was bone-tired, more tired than she had ever been. Everything seemed to matter a little more now, like someone had dialed up the colors in the world. She’d always been part of Solas’s rebellion because it was right - and of course because it mattered to him, and they were nothing if they were not partners - but now she found herself thinking of the kind of world she wanted for their child, and what she could do to make it happen.

She didn’t see Solas until late in the day, which was normal. He’d been away from the fortress for most of it, meeting with contacts in various places, wearing his different guises. Many of them did not even know that it was the Dread Wolf they met with. He did not look very Dread to Abby when he slipped into her chambers. He just looked tired.

For a moment her heart leapt and she wanted to tell him, to make him a partner in truth to her secret - but then he did not even speak to her, and simply collapsed into bed, snaking his arms around her and pillowing his head on her chest, and sighed the sigh of a man with the world on his shoulders. He was so far from the boy she’d known now, and her heart ached to see all the ways this war was stripping him bare.

Abby held him tight, kissed the top of his head, and decided to keep her secret a little longer.

*

A little longer turned out to be two more months - but who was counting.

She’d managed to hide the extent of her exhaustion and sickness from Solas in that time. She was just starting to feel better, which she learned from the texts she read was entirely normal, and likely meant that she had passed the three month mark of her pregnancy. She was out of the worst danger - of losing the baby, at least. She was starting to feel more and more like her old self. That meant it was time to tell Solas. There were more reasons to be joyful than there were to be afraid.

Other than, of course, all of the death and injustice around them.

Which was why Abby simply could not sit idle when she heard of a remote village that was the target of an attack by Falon’Din’s forces. Not when there was time to evacuate them before they were taken as slaves to a man who would bathe the whole world in blood to soothe his ego. Solas himself was away from the fortress fighting against Andruil when the report arrived, so it was up to her to make the decision and carry it out.

She called up a small unit of soldiers used to such strikes and headed out through the eluvians, and of course counterspies had heard they were on their way and mobilized Falon’Din’s forces sooner than expected (of course). So of course it was not the quick and quiet in and out mission she’d assured herself it would be.

Instead there was fire and death.

And Abby was abruptly aware of just how much she was risking by being there in person.

Because even if she and Solas had managed to keep their bonding a secret, everyone knew she meant something to him, even if only as his foremost lieutenant, his Herald. His childhood friend. His special weapon.

So the Evanuris had studied her, and they knew what she feared most, and it was the fire.

So while the soldiers she’d brought with her to that remote place, perched high in a mountain range that divided the continent, spent their time shepherding terrified villagers out of the way, Abby spent her time fighting Falon’Din’s soldiers, all of whom were wreathed in flame and smoke - slinging gouts and spurts and balls of fire towards her. She nullified as much as she could - broke open their minds so she could hear their thoughts and predict their next moves - filled their minds with shouts and thoughts of horror - but she was tiring rapidly. Her abilities exhausted her far more than using magic seemed to exhaust most people. Solas had tried to explain to her the concept of mana, but either her pool was much smaller than most, or it drained much more quickly, because she could never seem to sense her limits the way he could his.

And now she was not just fighting for herself, or even for the innocent people her soldiers were currently saving. She was fighting for the child nestled in her belly.

What have I done? She thought when the first arrow struck her in the left shoulder, piercing her leather armor, taking the wind from her lungs.

She sent a wave of force towards the soldier who’d fired it, knocking him off of the nearby cliff.

I am fighting for the kind of world I want my child to grow up in, she reminded herself when the second arrow struck her, again in the left shoulder, numbing her left arm. 

She was dizzy from diving in and out of the minds of her enemies and she staggered and that was all the opening the one closest to her needed to shoot flames straight at her, lighting up her right leg with pain. She screamed and the cold mountain air made her throat raw with it.

The woman who’d wounded her was closing in, magic sparking around her fingers again.

I am fighting for my child.

Abby summoned the last of her strength and choked the woman with the same invisible force she’d used to push one of her comrades off the cliff.

“Herald!” one of her own soldiers shouted. “The village is clear!”

Time to go.

Abby fled.

She barely remembered the journey back through the eluvians if she was perfectly honest. She just kept putting one foot in front of the other. The arrows were still in her left shoulder and she could smell her own charred flesh. Her stomach turned. But she looked ahead and saw all the people they’d saved and she knew she had to get them to the fortress. She’d brought them this far.

So she managed not to collapse entirely until every last one of them was inside.

But then she did collapse into a darkness so complete she wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t death.

*

There were snatches of memory after that. Hushed voices, cool hands, the tingling rush of healing magic. Soft linen sheets. Her whole body was too heavy with exhaustion to process much of it. Time didn’t have its usual meaning but she knew it was passing - a day, maybe two, maybe three. And then, finally, there was something familiar.

Solas - his face filled with a concern so fierce it frightened even her. He seemed to fill the world with it. There was nothing but him and his blue eyes and his brow furrowed with worry.

“Where - ” she began, her throat dry, her head and vision swimming.

“You’re pregnant?” he finished.

Well, shit.

“Yes,” she said, weakly.

Solas dropped his face into both of his hands, scrubbing at his eyes before looking back at her, as if to assure himself that all of this was real. Abby felt herself come back more fully into her body. She ached but she wasn’t in any severe pain. She could feel lingering healing magic all around her and fought the urge to nullify it that her powers always gave her. She began to take in details of the room around them. It was Solas’s room. Not her own.

“Am I in your room?”

“I asked them to move you here when I returned home.”

“But - is that wise? Won’t people - ”

“The whole fortress was already filling with rumors when I arrived, considering that when the healers brought you to our very public hospital to remove the arrows and heal the burns on your leg, they discovered that your abdomen was unusually swollen and confirmed their suspicions aloud.”

Abby’s head wasn’t swimming anymore, but her heart was sinking.

“But - there’s nothing to say that it’s yours -”

“People drew their own conclusions the moment the news of your pregnancy began to spread. Perhaps we have not been as discreet as we thought, or perhaps it is inevitable that any closeness between a man and a woman is interpreted this way. In any case, the rumors spread like wildfire.”

“We can contain - ”

“Andruil herself told me, Abby. Threw it in my face on the battlefield.”

Abby sat up at once.

“What? How - ”

“We know there are spies in our midst, no matter what we do to root them out. Once the rumor spread through the castle, it was inevitable it would reach one of them and make its way back to our enemies. I am confident it was sent as an urgent dispatch, considering the leverage it would give any of the Evanuris to know that I have a bondmate and a child, to boot. It was likely only hours before Andruil knew, and I did not.”

“Shit.” 

Abby tried to run through all the implications and scenarios and how they could be manipulated, what they could do to mitigate this, but her mind and her heart kept returning to Solas, to the way he was sitting at her bedside, tense and afraid and angry. Her mind played through the image again - Solas and Andruil locked in combat, and Andruil’s beautiful, sneering face when she said it. How many insults had she added? How had she phrased it to best shake and mock and destabilize him? Abby had no doubt that she had taken something that was meant to be beautiful and twisted it to the fullest, turning its beauty inside out.

“That is not how I wanted you to find out, vhenan,” she said. She started to reach for him and then hesitated, letting her hand fall back to the comforter. Solas did not reach for it.

“How could you keep this from me?” Solas said, voice rising in anger now.

“I hardly believed it at first!” Abby said, her own anger rising in her. “You and I both agreed that it was nearly impossible considering that you’re an elf and I’m - whatever it is that I am! And it’s always risky early on and you already had so much on your plate so - I wanted to give you one less thing to worry about. I’d just crossed three months when I went on that mission. I was literally going to tell you when you returned from your mission against Andruil. I was just sidetracked by a couple of arrows to the shoulder.”

Solas sighed, looked away from her, shook his head. The window in his room was open. A breeze came through, making Abby’s skin prickle. She brought both of her hands to her belly. It was barely rounding out, but it was there now. Unmistakable.

“I cannot believe you risked yourself so, knowing what you knew,” Solas said finally, quietly. “I cannot - vhenan, if I had lost you both -”

Abby reached for him again. This time, Solas took her hand in both of his own and pressed it hard. The mask of his anger fell away entirely, and only fear and love were left in its wake. He leaned towards her, pressed his forehead to hers - let go of her hand with one of his and cupped the back of her head and held her there. Abby closed her eyes and lost herself in the closeness of him. They each breathed deep. The world didn’t seem so complicated in that moment. There was only them.

“You should go away from here,” Solas murmured. “To your parents. Until the baby is born. I fear I cannot protect you now.”

“No,” Abby said, barely letting him finish. “When you and I bonded, I swore to stay by your side regardless of the danger, and I stand by that.”

Solas let out a hollow laugh. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”

“I am terribly predictable.”

His laugh was more genuine that time. They drew back so they could see each other. Abby took in the face of the man she loved - her best friend - basking in how lucky she was to have him to share all her secrets with.

*

So it wasn’t exactly a secret that Abby was pregnant anymore - but they could deal with that. And they did. They spread conflicting information through their own spies in the ranks of the Evanuris - that it had been a lie, that she’d lost the baby, that it was someone else’s - until the water was muddied enough. That bought them time. In that time, they increased security at the fortress - more magic wards, more spirit guardians who reacted poorly to anyone who didn’t know the password, which was always shifting. They doubled the efforts to root out spies who did slip in.

Of course, in that time, Abby’s belly grew. She was a tall woman - almost absurdly so - which meant she had plenty of time before she was big enough to be truly noticeable, but she still got there. And, truth be told, it was hard for Solas to keep up the pretense that it wasn’t his. He wanted to be near her, to check on her, to touch and hold her, like some primal instinct had been awoken within him. It was both annoying and endearing. He was also even more zealous - something she would have thought impossible before all of this - about his need to take down the Evanuris and their empire of blood and death and lies. She had to remind him to sleep sometimes.

But in the midst of all of that, she found time - like when she was lying in bed and she could feel the little one rolling and wriggling and kicking within her - to feel incandescently lucky. She had a bondmate who loved her and a child she never thought possible on the way.

She found time - like when she spoke to her parents via sending crystal - to feel properly terrified. She had no memory of her own mother, and her parents reminded her that she’d been a very big baby for her age, and now she was convinced that she had killed her mother in the birthing bed.

She found time - like when she looked at the elves all around her - to worry that her own child would feel as alone and alien as she had all her life.

Eventually, as it often did, time started to get away from them. Abby got too big and too tired to continue attending to all of her duties. She and Solas both became abruptly aware that this was no theoretical child, but a child who would be here very, very soon.

Abby started getting the false contractions near that ninth month, so long after that day with Nuala and her son Elaryl. Elaryl was walking now, chattering too. Soon Abby would be the one with a baby in her arms. Each false contraction sent her into a tizzy of worry that that time was almost on her. Solas too. It went on for two weeks like that - the two of them tense and nervous, like an attack was imminent.

Of course, when labor itself did begin, it might as well have been an attack.

Abby wasn’t sure there were words for that kind of pain in any language. How endless it felt. How it yanked you out of your own body and mind and into some other world where pain was all you knew, all that existed.

It went on for hours, and hours, and hours.

The midwives were exhausted, perplexed, muttering about the size of the baby, about how dangerous it was for the birth to go on this long, about infection and strangling umbilical cords, and Solas was white as death, gripping her hand almost as hard as she gripped his.

“It is fine. Everything is fine,” he kept saying, over and over again, though to himself or to her she wasn’t sure. Either way Abby didn’t believe him, either way the pain just went on and on and on and on and on -

Until, suddenly, he was there.

Her son, huge and wailing and pressed against her chest.

And all the pain was gone, so fast it made her doubt it had ever existed. That anything had ever existed other than the new little person cuddled against her.

She heard Solas take a shuddering breath at her side.

Their son - the secret they’d shared - was here. Breath and bone and beautiful as dawn.

Abby’s sense of wonder only grew as the minutes passed - as he ate and then got cleaned up and returned to her, warm and swaddled and sleeping now.

To think - all those childhood adventures - the stupid shit they’d done - and then their adult lives - the way they’d found each other, the days and nights and battles and embraces they’d shared since then - it had all led to this. To him.

Fen’revas.

“I do not even know what to say,” Solas murmured when it was just the two of them, sitting together in their bed, holding Fen’revas, studying him.

“That may be a first,” Abby said. 

Solas chuckled, kissed her forehead. Fen’revas was soft and warm in Abby’s lap. She was soul-tired - it had been more than a day since her labor started, and Fen’revas was not small, as the midwives had predicted - but she couldn’t imagine sleeping. Not when he was here, and his little chest was rising and falling, and each breath was a miracle.

“I have to make this work,” Solas said finally, quietly. “This war - what we’re fighting for - I have to make everything right for my son.”

Abby leaned into Solas, hoping the wordless action would remind him that he did not carry that burden alone.

They did have to shift him to his bassinette eventually so they themselves could sleep. After she’d done so, Abby reached into the drawer of her nightstand and pulled out the crystal necklace she’d had as long as she could remember. Her parents had found it tucked into her swaddling clothes. It was the only connection she had to birth parents she’d never known - to a life she’d never known.

Now it was a connection between her and her son. The most precious secret she had ever shared with another person: you are not alone.

Abby slept, and dreamed of all the precious secrets that were to come.

[justatadmystic]

tfw @xnohrianxscumx decides to talk about possessed takumi and robin and I go off because im desperate for more and honestly possession is fun to write and I have no shame in writing this.

Have some possessed boys, flirty genocidal dragons, and honestly my lack of shame on full display.

[Posted as usual on AO3 as well for ease of comments and such. Thank you as well for all the lovely comments on the last fic !]

Darios stood proudly before them, even as the forts around them fell to their army, as his people were chopped down and captured. He seemed barely fazed by them coming for him, laughing as he launched attacks that didn't hit their marks, using his powers to push them back and keep them there if only for a moment. Arrows of wind and steel buzzed through the air charged by dark spells, blades cut through muscle and bone as if made of paper. Darios didn't seem to mind it at all as their party flooded his throne room, eyes set on the Shield of Flames that wait for them just beyond Darios.

The prince eyes them in amusement, keeping his sword drawn, almost lazily sauntering around. He had stalled for quite some time to prepare for the main event, and now it was finally upon him. The drumming in his head quieted, a signal for all he needed to do. The sounds of his 'friends' begging him to return, pleading to fight back, did nothing to him. Darios was long gone, the boy prince that those siblings knew. All that remained was the darkness and power of Velezark, and the husk of Darios.

"Your words fall on uninterested ears." he said plainly, grinning at them, "There's nothing here to bring back. You've all but failed now, and what an amusing sight it is to see. Crestfallen, devastated by this loss of yours. You just won't accept that what you knew was lies, that this peace you lived was nothing but wrong."

Darios' eyes turned then to a surprising pair in the small group. Takumi, and Marth. Heroes of two vastly different realms. He hadn't imagined such a thing could happen, and Velezark was equally amused and impressed. Marth was posturing himself alongside Takumi, almost ready to jump in front of him if an attack came for him. What an amusing sight, and what a delicious one! It would be perfect now. The other he looked at was Robin, and his ever precious prince Chrom at his side. They had been inseparable, never away from eachother's side. It was honestly a tad disgusting.

A low chuckle left his lips, and he watched in glee at the shudders that flowed through Takumi and Robin.

It was time at last.

Shadows clung to the walls of the throne room, crawling down like bugs through the light dimly lit around the room. Lianna noticed it first, launching an attack at the clustered shadows before they disappeared. Lucina strikes at one that launched off from the walls, slicing it in two and destroying it. Azura washed one of the walls crowded with shadows, slashing them as they fall into puddles at her feet. Darios dodges a slash from Rowan as he tries, oh so desperately, to break 'Darios' free. He pushes Rowan away, and launches an attack, Chrom coming to Rowan's defense.

Takumi was struggling to act against the shadows, still firing arrows but coming back from a shot out of breath. He was more on the defense then the offense, bringing a more wicked smile to Darios' face. Robin was struggling all the same, Chrom keeping close to him now that Rowan was safe. There was a strain in Robin's neck, he could practically here the thoughts running through his head.

"The Outrealms are very useful, aren't they?" Darios teased, stepping back from the fight, his voice fading into the screams of fiends running in and the shadows coming for them, "My monsters may come forth whenever I can summon them."

"Bastard...!" Takumi shouted at him, aiming his drawn arrow at him. Darios chuckled and reached out to the archer.

"They are also useful for other things as well. For example, if I could bring out your world's worst enemies in my campaign to take over mine..."

Takumi froze, the enemies going for him dodging away and aiming at the others. Slowly, the archer seemed to react to what was happening to him, and Darios almost missed the beautiful moment as Takumi's expression warped from confusion to absolute terror. He cackled happily as from both ends of the room, his victims let out terrified shrieks of fear. The armies stood still as Takumi and Robin were wrapped in purple mist, kicking any who tried to interfere. As it parts, leaving them standing catatonic, the room goes stagnant. All that's left is Darios' crazed laughter before Lucina runs for Robin, and after a moment Azura runs for Takumi.

"ROBIN!"

"TAKUMI!"

They run pointlessly for their intended targets. Takumi turns frighteningly quick to Azura as eyes of amber turn to eyes of blood red, an unearthly scream leaving the archer's lips as purple magic collects at his swung hand. Grinning maniacally, he slaps Azura out of the way, sending her flying across the room. Robin looks up innocently at Lucina as she runs, purple tears falling down his cheeks to form shapes in its paths. Eyes open from the shapes formed, and a grin curls his lips, lifting a hand to flick Lucina away, getting her to scream out once again the true enemy now taking control.

"GRIMA!!!"

His grin grows at the sound of his name on Lucina's lips. Oh how long he had desired to see that look on the young princess' face.

"It has been a long time... but you have failed once again."

Grima taunted Lucina without remorse, laughing as he effortlessly blasted her away. In the process, the blowback rippled up through Robin's arm, tearing a cut through to the bone. His sleeve ripped away and allowed the wound to fester in the air. The possessed Robin didn't even flinch at such a wound, looking more annoyed that such force resulted in such wounds. Takumi turned from Azura as she collected herself, his siblings asking what was happening with Takumi. Without an answer, Ryoma charged forward with Raijinto crackling in lightning, swinging at him believing his brother now to be a puppet of the Chaos Dragon. Azura couldn't cry out to have him stop before Takumi charged forward to meet the hit, grabbing the blade and letting the lighting burn marks into Takumi's skin, the smell of burning flesh immediate.

"What?!"

Takumi chuckled, hiding his expression for a moment before lifting his head. His grip on the blade tightened, Takumi's hands beginning to bleed and burn worse.

"These weapons did not work on me before, and they will not now. Humans like you... always the same, and deserving of the same punishment."

His grip tightened harder, a soft cracking sound heard. Ryoma, snapped out of his disbelief, roared as he pulled the blade from Takumi's grip and slashed at him, only hitting the air where Takumi had been seconds ago. Moved just behind him, Takumi didn't hesitate to kick Ryoma back over to the others, reveling as Ryoma skidded against the ground, and the Raijinto went flying after him.

"How pathetic." Takumi drawled.

Azura glared 'Takumi' down, wanting to shout out the name on her tongue, but Darios beat her to it as he sauntered up to Takumi.

"Anankos... it's a pleasure to meet you-"

"Don't touch me."

Takumi growled as he stepped away from Darios, looking disgusted that the possessed prince attempted to touch him. Obviously, Anankos wasn't pleased or amused by Velezark thinking they were all buddy-buddy. Grima chuckled from behind them, approaching them as Chrom and the others tried to console Lucina. The monsters had returned, taking everyone's attention back as the possessed princes gathered around one another.

"To be called out like this... at least I will get my chance here and now to destroy Naga's blessed bloodline." Grima said aloud, looking with growing interest at Anankos, "And to think there was another that would be called... how interesting."

It was Anankos' turn to seemingly admire the possessed body Grima settled into, rounding it with interest as the purple aura surrounding Anankos' body flowed over him in waves. He reached out and grabbed the torn open arm of Grima's body, healing the wound without a second's thought, licking up some of the spilling blood as it healed away.

"Take better care of that body... but I must agree with in the intrigue, Grima."

Darios looked between the other two, annoyed that the summoned dragons were... fucking around in their new bodies, flirting even! This wasn't the plan, nor was it anything Velezark had planned on letting happen. He glanced at the throne room around them, and the toiling army. They were slowly being brought down into exhaustion, though the cracking over the ceiling of the room brought a cry of retreat even though none wished to leave their possessed loved ones behind.

"Takumi!!"

The archer turned suddenly at the voice breaking the chaos, Anankos snarling as Takumi nearly slipped out of his fingers with the shout from Marth. The blue lord struggled against Caeda and Lissa as he pleaded to try and get Takumi back. Even Azura was fighting to get Marth to run for now. Takumi gave a shuddering breath, grabbing his chest as pain surged through his entire being.

"TAKUMI! PLEASE!"

"Now is the time for our own retreat." Darios ordered, looking coldly at Grima before leveling his gaze to Takumi and Anankos. "Now."

Marth was slowly dragged out of the room, shouting for Takumi before painfully swallowing his heart and leaving with the others as the fort around them gave way slowly. Takumi fell to his knees as Anankos sought a stronger hold on the archer. Bones and muscles horrifyingly squirmed and moved under the skin of his shoulders, bones snapping momentarily. Grima watched him for a moment before hissing as his wings unfolded behind him, glancing at Darios before the prince disappeared through a summoned Outrealm portal. For a moment, Grima worried that Anankos had lost the archer prince, until ripped wings burst out from the knelt prince's back in an ugly display of ripping skin and splattering blood. Slowly, Takumi stood, eyes now a firmer red, tears cascading down his face until Anankos wiped them away. The wings disappeared into thin air, leaving the exit wounds form the wings, bleeding through the boy's shirt even as it healed.

"Don't ruin that body so soon, Anankos." Grima's voice was teasing as Anankos stood with a shaky gasp.

"It has been a while since I was in this body." Anankos admits, groaning as he stretches out, looking to Grima with a teasing smile, "You know what this means though, Grima."

The amused look on Grima's face disappeared, looking to the crumbling castle castle around them.

"I know. We'll sort it out later. Let's get out here."

"You're letting them go?!"

The news had been bewildering and honestly disgusting to Velezark, snarling at the two dragons as they rest on the ground of their current base, Anankos idly letting his eyes split out of Takumi's skin to survery the surrounding area. While quite odd seeing four more eyes on a human body, two more on his face in odd positions and one on each shoulder, it would aid them in ensuring they were hidden for now. It would give their enemy more time to prepare but he could only imagine the pain of losing not just Darios but Robin and Takumi as well. It was amusing to think of all the pain it caused. It would also give Velezark more time to summon his minions, split this world into pieces, and find a way to truly destroy them all.

However, learning that Grima and Anankos would allow their human toys free was infuriating.

"And what if they escape?"

Grima scoffs. "You must realize that we are embedded in them, we're practically now parts of their soul. We will always be here, but we will allow them to breathe."

"They already know now that they can't escape." Anankos notes, standing up, "Besides... unlike yourself, Velezark, we require sacrifice to keep ourselves moving, at least in this world of yours. You sacrificed hundreds of soldiers, of innocent lives, just to bring us out from our worlds and into yours to further your plans. It is these human's jobs now to feed us."

"And why can't I sacrifice more to keep you sustained?" Velezark asked, his annoyance growing, "It would be easier then letting these humans run amok."

"It would be more fun." Anankos said joyfully, spinning around as his additional eyes seal themselves and fade, "Torturing humans in such a way is so satisfying! Destroying themselves, ruining their bodies, crushing their bones and rotting them alive..."

"Doing so to the mind as well is as equally enjoyable," Grima added, "Knowing they'll have to all about wreck themselves is quite a toll on them mentally. Knowing there's no escape, and that at any moment they'll lose control of everything... bleeding them of their conscious will to live and fight, watching them drive themselves into insanity, its a reward unto itself."

Anankos cackled, pointing a finger and a sharp smile at Velezark. "And you call yourself a Chaos Dragon... what a pathetic joke! You may have control of the world in ways humans don't think of, but you have little motivation to do so. Is it jealousy perhaps?"

Velezark kept himself quiet as Anankos sneered, baiting and insulting him with painful reminders of the past. Grima picked up on his annoyance, grinning now as he faces Velezark.

"You grew jealous of the Divine Dragons, and wished to end the light you saw growing," Grima said plainly, holding not a drop of joy from his voice, "A fair goal, though you've just poorly executed yours. Compared to you, we've had more success even if our success were in different continuities of our own universes. Meanwhile you've never succeeded. You have come close, but never got what you wanted."

"Shut up."

Velezark was annoyed at the arrogance they exuded. Perhaps he had yet to achieve his goals, but he was so close now. He had the seal, he would soon have his destruction and chaos.

"Fate cannot change, and I believe your fate is to fail." Grima grinned, amused by the anger Velezark showed, "Though... bringing us may just stall it long enough for something new to happen."

"It would give me a better chance to have fun, after all," Anankos chuckled, briefly looking down at his hands and realizing that they were still burnt and bleeding from when he grabbed the Raijinto. "...ah, give me a moment. Forgot some wounds. Grima~ Come over here and help, I know you want to."

"I am your only help. Calm yourself."

Grima turns from the fuming Velezark, offering his hand and wrist to Anankos. Without hesitation, Anankos digs his canines into Grima's wrist, biting down twice to make sure he had a good grip before consuming the blood that flowed into his mouth. Grima hissed softly, mostly a reaction from the human he possessed, as Anankos greedily drank from him. For a moment, it felt like Anankos was going to drink his human gone, but he pulled away a minute later, licking at the puncture marks he left, the imprints of his teeth left behind.

He was gentle in handling Grima's wrist, his hands now smooth with fresh skin. Any mark left behind by the Raijinto had all but disappeared. Velezark was... surprisingly caught off guard by that little revelation.

"Thank you kindly, Grima." Anankos thumbed a line of blood off of Grima's arm, licking it off his thumb. It earned a satisfied smile from the fell dragon, "I'll pay you back a little later."

"Much appreciated."

"I have some things to attend to. I'll leave you two alone, but under no circumstances are you to leave."

Both dragons looked to Velezark as he left with his command, using an Outrealm portal to leave them. Anankos kept a grip on Grima's wrist, watching the last bits of the portal disappear before letting Grima go. Anankos sighed dramatically before letting himself fall into one of the cushier chairs in the room, draping himself over it.

"How boring. Does he really think having us sit here and do nothing will better his chances?"

Grima shook his head, looking around the room. "He's an incompetent fool. A child playing with toys smarter then him. It's no wonder he's had to resort to pulling us out to combat his foes."

"It gave us the chance to play with our own toys though!" Anankos argued, toying with a lock of his hair, "It's been so long since I got to have him, and it feels so good. Wouldn't you agree, Grima? How long has it been since you got your fun in that body?"

"Quite a while," Grima admits, looking over Anankos, curious as to how the dragon could be so nonchalant about it all. "You're rather relaxed about this, being stuck in this place."

"Hoping universes is nothing new to me."

"Care to explain?" Grima asks, his voice tightening.

Anankos doesn't miss it. He stands and casually walks to Grima before taking him by the waist and pulling him flush to his chest, leaning up to whisper in his ear. Grima didn't fight or struggle him, seeming to lean into him to hear him better, to feel him better. It brought a proud smile to his face.

"Your universe was quite beautiful, for the brief moment a part of myself was there to beg for help. I was saddened to know that I missed you destroying it. I would have killed to see it."

Grima can't help but shudder, smiling to himself as he leans to Anankos, who happily holds him close. He should have suspected such a thing, but it was amusing at least to hear it. He had no knowledge of people from his universe disappearing, though if they were that unnoticeable, then perhaps it was fun. They were in the hands of Anankos, after all. Though perhaps what was more fun was the fact that Anankos seemed greatly interested in him. Perhaps it was the appeal of another dragon, one with a similar call for disaster and genocide. Perhaps it was the body he took hold of, even though it seemed Takumi had attached himself to Marth, of all heroes.

"Are you coming onto me, Anankos?"

"And if I am?"

Grima grinned.

"Keep going then. I see no need to stop you now."

Being possessed by a demented dragon god with a sadistic streak was horrendous and horrific. Being electrocuted by Raijinto was painful. Beating up his own siblings was a blade to his heart.

Waking up in a puddle of blood wearing what looked to be cloths not his own in a room he had never seen next to a nearly naked Robin was an entirely different fucking feeling and it terrified him.

Trying not to scream his lungs out slipping in blood, hoping to god that Robin wasn't dead, left him in pieces, gasping to fill lungs that felt like they were burning. There was no sign of wounds that would have allowed him to bleed so much, and spare for bite marks along Robin's neck and shoulder, the mage was clear of wounds of well. The blood made no sense, the change of clothing made no sense. He panicked and shook Robin, hoping that the mage wasn't really hurt, and that he was just as fucked up and confused as he was.

"Robin... Robin, gods please wake up."

"Mmmhr..."

"Robin!"

The mage was slow to wake, confusingly mumbling as he opened his eyes. It was then that he realized that he was laying in blood as well, catapulting up and screaming for a moment before swiveling around to look at Takumi, realizing the same things he had done earlier. Without a word, however, Robin launched himself at Takumi, holding him tightly as his breath sped up. Takumi on instinct wrapped his arms around Robin to reciprocate, listening to Robin's rapid heartbeat and his gasping breaths. He could ever hear the quiver in each one as if near tears.

The quiet broken by Robin's breath continued on for who knows how long, unsure of how much time passed, and it was only broken by Robin asking him quietly if he was alright.

"...I'm not sure."

"Were you... did you know that you would be... possessed like that?" Robin asked, leaning back out of Takumi's embrace, but keeping close to him.

Takumi shook his head. "No... but it felt like I had known. We... I didn't even know that dragon existed until now. We had no idea... maybe this was who Azura and Corrin was talking about but..."

Robin gently patted his head, drawing Takumi's eyes in confusion as the mage gently moved his fingers through his bangs. He watched Robin's expression shift from worried to relaxed, then to something wholly tender and caring. Takumi hesitated to close his eyes, astonished by the emotion swarming in Robin's eyes as he moved Takumi's bangs, just gazing at his face as if it were a treasure.

"I'm glad you're alright, at least." Robin told him as his hand pulled away.

"Robin..."

"We're stuck here." Robin told him, looking to one of the windows in the room, his tender expression bleeding into something sober. "Let's just take stock of what's here, see what's around. And find some clothes."

"You are almost naked," Takumi commented, looking at the clothing he himself was wearing, "I don't even know where these came from."

Robin's cheeks colored a little, pointing to Takumi. "Those... are mine."

"S-Seriously?!"

Robin nodded, chuckling for a moment. Takumi was dumbstruck, unsure of what that meant for a moment. Robin was near naked, and he was wearing Robin's clothes, sans his coat. Now that he looked closer to the pants Robin was wearing...

"Those are... my pants you're wearing." Takumi said, growing red as puzzle pieces fit into place. Robin tugged at the pants he wore, coming to the same realization.

Just what happened while they were possessed by those dragons?! Considering the blood all over the floor, the swapped clothing, there only a few answers, and most of those small handful of answers pointed to their dragons using their bodies for purposes Takumi didn't want to think about. Robin was looking around, trying to figure out the same thing. The only conclusion they seemed to agree on silently was the most obvious seeing as one of them was nearly naked, both were curled up against one another on the floor covered in blood without a mark on them.

"...for now, we don't speak of what happened. F-for sanity's sake."

Robin nodded enthusiastically. "Agreed. Let's... let's get back into our own clothes and see what's here. Then maybe we can tackle this."

Neither moved from their spots sat on the floor just beside their blood puddle. Takumi swallowed nervously, looking to Robin as the silence stretched on between them. Robin looked to Takumi soon after, both of them glancing away before looking again.

"...let's get it out of the way so we can do something." Takumi said, breaking the silence. Robin heaved a heavy sigh.

"On three. One, two, three-"

Both inhaled, letting their breath out slowly.

"They used our bodies to have sex."

"They used our bodies to pleasure themselves."

Takumi stood up immediately after admitting it, tugging off the shirt he wore. Robin watched Takumi's face go red before he took another breath, groaning loudly before kicking at the air. His fingers slotted through his hair as he gave an annoyed groan. Robin stood up and took the shirt Takumi shrugged off. He wondered where Takumi's clothes were since he was only wearing Takumi's pants. Just what the hell had those dragons done to them?

"What the hell is going on anymore... why can't any of this be simple?"

"From the start, I don't think it would have been simple... but this makes it even more confusing."

Takumi let his shoulders sag, looking to Robin for a moment as the mage held his shirt. For a moment, Takumi wondered if their shirts were needed at this point. Robin thought the same, setting his shirt down for a moment on the floor before moving for one of the windows, looking out of it with wide and curious eyes. Takumi joined him a moment later, looking out to the castle courtyard covered in fresh snow. It stretched on for miles over the peaks of mountains around the castle they were in. He hadn't figured this world had such a climate, but it seemed possible now since he was locked up in one.

"...we should find your clothes, Takumi. All you have right now are your pants."

"Good idea. I hope that dragon didn't ruin it by ripping it or something just as awful."

[ao3gingerswag]

Wonderful update! I LOVe to see castiel interacting with Alastair & hope there's more of that to come.

You know, the thing about a villain like Alastair is I dont think he likes to fuck with passive people. At the end of the day, like the chapter said, his psycopathy is less about causing pain & more about watching people react to it. Less about the torture & more about the screams. The consumption of terror.

It's a game to him, right? It's no fun playing with a person who doesnt play back. Thats part of the reason the general characterization of Alastair is so obsessed with dean, i think, how reposponsive he is.

But castiel is a very different opponent than dean. In your fic ofcourse he's just a kid & is afraid of him unlike in canon, but it's still cas. His pattern of thinking & his response to Alastair's mindgames will still probably be so different from anything you'd expect (Alastair already seems intriguedby him in this chapter, & if I'm not mistake, almost, impressed? When he didnt run?). Castiel is the kind of guy that would surprise Alastair, keep him on his toes, keep him interested, excited even, to be playing against someone he cannot predict.

Like, he'd want to keep him around just that much longer, to want to throw things at just to see what he throws back. Castiel's only shot against Alastair is to play his games & play them well, to keep him entertained long enough to find a way to get the upper hand.

Alastair will only keep him around so long as he is an enigma to him, a puzzle that Alastair wishes to solve, unlike dean who's utility to him is indefinite, who he, in an extremely morbid sense of the word, understands. So its always very interesting to watch them engage.

Anyway, yeah great update, loving Alastair as a series villain, looking forward to seeing more of him.

ahhh thank you so much!!!!! im so glad u liked it :)

I so agree, i think that's what makes Alastair so scary- he likes to mess with people, he gets of on fear more than he does pain. The pain is just a means to induce fear. And yes it is a game and i think thats why he's so obsessed with Dean both in canon and in The Outside. like....Dean is so transparent about his feelings and so easy to manipulate/toy with emotionally. He TRIES to be repressed but tbh he fails, he's very obvious about his issues and he wears his heart on his sleeve. I always thought the scene in canon where Dean is supposed to torture Alastair is so interesting bc even tho Alastair is the one tied down and Dean is the one with the torture tools, Alastair still has the upper hand, and he knows it. He seems to be ENJOYING Dean torturing him, because he knows how much it is upsetting Dean, and Dean is so clearly terrified and busy hating himself. So Alastair just uses Dean "torturing" him as another opportunity to torture Dean. Bc the most powerful torture he inflicts on Dean isn't physical but psychological and emotional.

But yeah Cas IS very different and Alastair is very intrigued. In canon he's an angel so ofc he's not afraid of Alastair...tho I think he is kinda afraid of the power he has over Dean and what he's gonna do to him, which is exactly what happens in The Outside. Like the thing is, Cas is primarily scared of Alastair bc of what he's doing to Dean...and though he would also be scared of what Alastair could do to him...that is very straightforward fear, it isn't psychological torture. I think Alastair would be very intrigued by Cas bc at least mentally, he would have almost know power over him except what comes from his care for Dean. Without Dean, he can't REALLY scare or scar Cas, at least in the way that he wants to the most, which is psychological. Bc with just Alastair himself, Cas just isn't psychologically vulnerable to him. Because he sees Alastair exactly the way he is, as a man who CHOOSES to be a monster. There would be no way for Alastair to dig his way under Cas's skin and get into his brain, bc Cas just wouldn't be able to be manipulated into thinking what's happening is his fault.

Alastair would find Cas fascinating bc he's even more transparent than Dean is about how he feels and his psychological vulnerabilities...but besides the power Alastair could have by dangling Dean in front of him, those vulnerabilities just aren't things Alastair would be able to use against him. Without Dean, Alastair would be powerless in his quest to mentally torture Cas, and this would intrigue and infuriate him in equal amounts. Because, as you said, Alastair wouldn't be able to understand him.