#it when she does?? the walls of this stoic woman completely crumbling when there’s no other choice

[trollbreak]

Man I gotta get like. Any of my plots going so I can rant abt the details of it.

[sup-hoes-its-me]

Amnesia (Levi x Reader)

A/N: so my boyfriend and i just watched attack on titan again in prep for season 4 in a few months. We both fell in love with levi all over again so i had to write a little story for our little captain. Definitely angst, and probably ooc bc levi is not the romantic type. enjoy.

word count: 5530

Although he appeared stoic, fearless and unattached in almost all ways, Levi Ackerman had a heart burdened with layers of  scalding emotion constantly burning painful holes in his heart. The loss of a childhood to violence, found-family killed in front of his eyes, comrades falling victim to this unfair world over and over again. He was a hardened man drowning in regret. 

Yet, he could never find himself regretting Y/N. She was a woman of talent and skill, grace flowing through her every movement, despite being a skilled soldier. Her voice, when he first heard it, the words she summoned from deep in mind; he found himself hanging on her every word, watching her every step. He often found himself wondering if she would make a mistake and let down some sort of facade, yet she never broke character. 

To some, she could be seen as ignorant, perhaps too trusting or even a bit self-righteous. She was far from perfect, but to him, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a flaw in what he saw. It seemed that he would do anything for her, even when no one knew why. 

And as he lay in his cold bed alone at night, rewinds of old memories played time and time again, each and every night. They ruined his life just a little more each time, driving him near mad.

This night was no different.

_________________________________________

  “Y/N-san, oh my god. Wake up, shit,” Reiner begged the woman who he held in his arms. One second his squad leader was flying through the trees, slicing the neck of a 13 meter, the next she was tossed into a tree, rolling through the branches to the hard ground with a thud, blood seeping into the grass from her head. 

Sasha noticed Reiner hunched over a body on the ground, not having seen her leader fall victim to a titan. Her eyes widened at the blood and quickly went to his side. She nearly passed out at the sight of the woman she grew to know as a family. Reiner was frantic, pressing against the back of her head with her cloak, trying to stop the bleeding.

Tears gathered in Sasha’s eyes, despite having seen death before. “She has to be okay.” The young girl whispered, choking back sobs in her throat. She said it mostly to comfort herself, witnessing deaths time and time before just like this one. Hope just seemed so useless nowadays, just mourning.

He held his hand over her nose and felt soft breaths of air. Relief  flooded through him for just a moment as he gathered her close to him. Her crumbling body was limp, and he felt her arm move in an awkward way, definitely broken. He made sure to support that arm, placing it across her stomach.

“She’s dying, we have to get her to the medics, fuck,” Reiner cried, lifting her delicate body carefully in his strong arms. He hugged her head to his chest, and as he did so, it seemed like pints of blood seeped into his clothes and stuck to his skin. He shot off into the air, but Sasha couldn’t move from where she knelt, body almost limp. 

What if she died? What would they do then? Sasha was pretty sure Y/N was the only reason Levi maintained his temper at times. She was the person Hanji ran to tell about her experiments and the commander's only surviving childhood friend in the corps. Sure, Sasha would be hurt losing a leader she grew to trust, but what about the veteran soldiers. It had been years and years since they met, and they got attached. That’s what happens when everyone else dies and it seems like you just have one another to latch onto.

Dread filled her heart as they returned to the carts and gave Y/N over to one of the medics, who pressed something to her head and popped in one of her dislocated limbs. He was so casual, she thought. Anyone would turn that way working with dozens of injured soldiers every mission. The casualty of it all made it all the more depressing, even disturbing. 

“Will-will she be okay?”

“Hell if I know,” the boy confessed. “But we all better hope so.” Even though he failed to explain, both the cadets knew why.

Soldiers began pouring out of the forest on their gear or horses. Some carried the dead, while some carried pride for what they had done. No one paid mind to that particular medic cart. The medic opened her eyes and observed her condition, but that only made Sasha’s heart sink further. She was unresponsive to touch, just a limp body, nearly dead.

Heads turned at the distinct sound of blades falling to the ground. Levi landed beside the cart after seeing the mop of h/c hair lying in the cart. His eyes flashed to Reiner and Sasha for a moment, seeing the blood soaked clothes and tear-stained cheeks. 

For the first time in years, Levi felt his blood run cold in his veins and his heart to stop beating in his chest. Pain stabbed him in the stomach, feelings of throwing up his breakfast arose. He opened his mouth to say something, but his words got caught in his throat. He gasped for air before muttering hopelessly, maybe to himself or the cadets or even the woman herself lying half dead in the carriage.

“Y-Y/N?”

“Captain-”

His voice was weak, full of pain and fear. “Shut up.” No malintent, just a desperate need for silence among the horses trotting along and soldiers rejoicing the fact they made it out alive. He walked over to the cart and climbed in, his normally firm and strong hands shakily hovering over the woman’s cheeks, gently wiping the blood  from her lips and eyes.

For the first time, the cadets witnessed complete and utter fear and helplessness overtake their captain, the emotions of a broken man leaking past his wall of bravery. 

In that moment, Sasha realized that Y/N wasn’t hers to grieve. 

“Y/N, please…” he whimpered, running his fingers down her wet, bloody hair. ‘“M-my princess, please. I need you, please.” 

“Captain, she’s not dead. We just need to get her back to the wall and-”

“Will she live?”

“I’d stake my life on it, Captain Levi. Don’t you worry,” the medic, one who had only really heard of Levi by mouth, lied through his teeth. He was just a trainee. He had no idea what would happen to this woman, but one thing he did know was that in times of need people need comfort, and sometimes white lies can ease the pain.

_________________________________________

Levi and Erwin stood outside the doctor’s office as Y/N sat inside being tended to by a nurse. The doctor shut the door quietly, and joined the two men in the hall. His eyes were solemn and regretful, not wanting to look up at the two incredibly powerful military forces before him. 

“Why was she acting like that? I thought you said she would be healed by now,” Levi grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“The blow to her head severely damaged her limbic system. I’m truly sorry to tell you, but she’s suffering from retrograde amnesia.”

Levi bit back an indecent curse, as Erwin spoke. “So, she can’t remember anything?”

“She still can function normally, but her memories are gone.”

“Everything?” Levi asked shortly, trying to stay calm. He hadn’t expected this after they’d heard of her waking from her coma. He thought that one month without her was long enough, but now it seemed the situation was much, much worse than any of them anticipated. 

“Unfortunately. She does remember a vague sense of the titans and the walls though.”

“What about people? Friends? Family?” Levi anxiously questioned, almost pleading with the doctor to say that she remembered him. Erwin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and sighed.  The doctor shook his head, and it only buried Levi deeper in his misery. How could she forget everything? 

How was it right that she could forget the years they spent together but he had to live with the memories, all the emotions unreciprocated? It was cruel for fate to do this to him.

Erwin asked finally, “Is there any chance of her regaining her memories?”

“Perhaps. Amnesia, anything involving the brain really, is a tricky matter. My guess is not likely, but there is always a chance.” He sighed and pushed up his glasses. “Would either of you like to sit and talk with her? Being around familiar things can boost memory in patients.”

They walked into the room calmly, and the woman peered up at them, a small smile gracing her lips. Levi felt his heart jump to his throat, and he had to swallow down his feelings. She was rightfully so the most beautiful human being to ever walk within the walls. Her smile, seeing it for the first time in so long, it made him so happy. If only this was a happy scene, though.

"Ah! Finally some visitors. All I've seen is nurses and doctors for the past what? Five hours?"

“”Hello, miss Y/N. I am Erwin Smith, the commander of the Survey Corps as well as your long time friend.”

“Really? How did I manage to be friends with someone so distinguished?” she laughed, but in all seriousness, she didn’t know. “They told me I was a great soldier, is that true? If anyone would know, it’d be you.”

“Great soldier, but might I say, greater friend.”

Her cheeks turned just the slightest bit of pink at the compliment. She smiled at her blankets. “Thanks. Hopefully I get to meet more of my old friends soon. Seems to me like I was quite popular.” Erwin nodded, moving to sit down in the chair beside her bed, revealing Levi behind him. The man was quiet, his eyes dancing around the room without meeting her gaze. “I’m guessing you’re a friend too-”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“Levi-” Erwin started, but Y/n cut him off.

“They told me about you, Levi! Humanity’s strongest soldier, even better than me,” she laughed, sending him a playful wink. He winced at the sight of her smiling at him, her cheeks just a bit red from happiness. When she winked, he thought he might drop dead right there. Her beautiful eyes, the sparkle that they always held; he wanted them to be his again. “The nurse said you would visit me every morning and night while I was in the coma.”

“Yeah. Do...do you remember anything else about me?”

“Not right now, but the doc says I can get them back at any time.” Always so positive. If only he could think like that too.

The shorter man took a seat at the edge of her bed, staring down at the ring around his finger, twisting it back and forth. The gold was dull by now, he hadn’t polished it in a few months. Her eyes caught sight of the ring and she held back her questions about it.

“So, your name is Levi…”

“Ackerman.”

“Hmm, I see. And we were good friends?”

“Partners.”

She raised a brow, turning her head to Erwin, who nodded to assure she was assuming the right thing. He was certainly a handsome man, but she couldn’t see how someone so bubbly as her could be with someone so serious and quiet. He didn’t even want to make eye contact with her.

Y/N leaned over the edge of the bed to grab a small drawstring bag. “The doctor put all my belongings in this bag. Let me just..” Her swift fingers rummaged around for a few seconds before they enclosed a small, smooth piece of metal. “I’m guessing this is from you, huh?” she asked, pulling the sparkly ring from the bag. 

They had her look through her bag earlier to see if it would spark any memories, to no avail. Yet, she remained curious about the ring. 

“It’s very beautiful, thank you for giving it to me. Do you want it back while I’m-”

“No. Please,” he paused, taking a deep breath. He found himself pleading a lot more than usual these days. It was just sad. “Can you just wear it?”

She slipped the ring on her finger without hesitation. “Of course. I’m sure I loved you very much before the accident, Levi.”

Loved. That’s right. She didn’t love him anymore. She didn’t even know him. 

“Were we married?”

“Practically, but there’s no time for a wedding with our work schedules.”

“I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you again. Hopefully we can become close again soon.”

He frowned, nodding towards the ground. How could fate be this cruel to him? He stood up from the bed and left the room before anyone could stop him. This whole thing, seeing her, it was too much for him. He didn’t want to see her the way she was, and it broke his heart.

That day marked the single worst moment for Levi, above all else. Losing the love of his life.

___________________________________________

Five months later, and a lot of shit happened. But of course, Y/N still couldn't remember anything. He couldn’t do a thing but sit around bitterly, knowing that his lover was lost to him. Others tried to tell him to build their relationship again, but what was the point in that? Their love was built on circumstance: on the wall breaking, on the missions they protected each other, on the nights they spent talking about everything and nothing by the stables.They could never get that back, the same love she once had for him was gone.

He spoke to her, but he didn’t go out of his way to find her, to speak to her. He would rather keep to himself, and if that made him come across as harsh and cruel, then so be it.

He still felt the urge to protect her, the need to maintain what they once had, how he felt for her. He still protected her as if his life depended on it, and he would walk to the ends of the Earth before he saw her die. Yet, he couldn’t be sociable and comfortable like before.

That morning he woke up as usual, got dressed, went about his day, headed to the dining hall for dinner, and ate in silence if not for curses under his breath as he watched the love of his life talk it up with Erwin and Hanji, laughing and smiling as if he wasn’t right there. He knew Hanji could sense his eyes trailing to them with every sip of his tea, and she sent him a sympathetic look. 

The woman felt for her friend and comrade. For 6 years, she witnessed the pair fall in love despite trauma and differences they had. She was there countless times to see Levi lay his life on the line for her, and Y/N do the same for him. There was a change in Levi from the moment those two became friends to the very last day they had together. It made her sad. Love didn’t feel real without these two being there for each other.

Erwin wasn’t as adept, but he saw the pain in humanity’s greatest soldier. He loved Y/N, having known her since they attended training together. He was amazed she lived this long as well, having lost so many soldiers and friends along the way. She was different now. Lost in her own mind half the time, and unreliable on missions. 

But they had to keep waiting. Doctors, the best the walls had to offer, told them the chance of her memories coming back to her were close to zero, but not quite. If there was even a chance their friend would remember them some day, it wasn’t worth abandoning hope.

“Y/N, I totally forgot to tell you. You and Levi need to go check the horses. I think I left the stable door open, I’m not sure, haha,” Hanji rushed to say, wiggling her brows at Levi. She pushed Y/N out of her seat and stacked her plates for her to take to the dishwashers. “Sorry, but it’s just got to be checked.”

“Why does Levi have to-”

“Because you shouldn’t go out at night alone, obviously,” she explained, but stupidly. A soldier couldn’t go out on their own base alone. Y/N nodded obediently, but she really didn’t want to go, especially with him. She twisted the ring on her finger absentmindedly as her friend rushed her to exit the dining hall. Levi followed, but not without sending a twisted glare at the squad leader.

Y/N kept ahead of him, walking briskly as to get the job done quickly. Levi already knew she wasn’t happy going with him and that she generally disliked him. 

It wasn’t until they got to the stables and saw that the gates were in fact closed, locked up, and all the horses were as they should be. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me? She sent us out here for what? Her own amusement?” Y/N said, her voice raising just a bit. She was angry, just enough to put a lump in Levi’s stomach. Before the accident, she never got angry with him, or anyone else. She was just happy to contribute to the cause and help anyone she could, even if the task was as trivial as checking the stables. Y/N would have been happy to take a walk outside at night with Levi. 

In fact, they stood in the same spot they would hang out at night under the stars time and time again. He stared at her now, and wished to god that he could go back in time to when she would cuddle and kiss him under the moon and the stars here. He wanted her to tell him silly stories about her day, and then lean over and pepper kisses to his neck and his cheeks and his nose and call him her baby.

But instead, she hated him for everything he was worth.

“Y/N, Hanji didn’t-”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” she rolled her eyes over to him, her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re literally my only problem right now, You, my supposed lover. Everyone tells me stories about how you loved me, how we fell in love even, yet you treat me like absolute horse shit.”

“Would you just-”

“Would I just what? Continue to pretend you’re not an absolute asshole? You ignore me, you avoid me, you tell people that you miss me, yet you won’t even bother to make an effort? How can someone who loved me so much act this way?” the woman yelled furiously, glaring at him. The sparkle in her eyes vanished the longer she spoke, the longer she was with him.

He grit his teeth for a second trying to keep himself under control, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. “You are the one that’s ruined my life, don’t even try to act like your life is so hard.”

“How dare-”

“In case you didn’t know, you are the only thing I have left. I’ve lost my family, seen hundreds of people die around me. I found you, my sweet and kind princess, the woman I would kill and be killed over. I opened myself up to you, to the idea of loving you, despite what little time we all have left, despite the risks that come with caring about someone.”

“I’m still the same person-”

“No, you’re not. You just fell in love with me, I didn't need to try this hard. It was natural that we come together after everything we had been through. When I thought about the day I would lose you, I expected you to die and for us to bury your body and for it all to be over. I could move on knowing I did everything I could to protect you and love you,” he gasped for air, so angry he forgot to breathe. His eyes burned into hers which were slowly widening, lips just agape. He took a deep breath and continued, “Do you know how much it hurts to see you walking around, talking to people, knowing that you are right there for me to touch and love, yet you will never love me again, not the way it was? Do you really, Y/N?”

“Levi...I’m sorry.”

He rubbed his face with his hand, covering his eyes in shame. He didn’t mean to be so emotional, to make a pathetic attempt at forcing the blame on her. “Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything for it to be this way. You’re just living like anyone else, I’m the one wallowing in my own misery. I’m the one that should be sorry.”

“I know. I-I want more than anything to remember everything. I want to remember you and how much you loved me like everyone says, like you say. I just...I don’t know how. Levi, I’m so sorry.”

He let his arms fall to his sides limply, not having anything else left to say really. “Even though you’re right in front of me, I miss you,” he whispered. “I just miss you.”

Y/N stepped forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him into a gentle hug. He tensed for a moment before falling into the hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulder and neck, pulling her form as close to him as possible. He missed her touch, her warm hugs by the stables. He would never say he missed the little intimacies, that was too much for him. Yet, these moments fueled him to wait for her, as long as she needed.

“Maybe it will never be the same. I’m sorry for that, Levi. I want to be friends with you. I long to know what the old me saw in you for so long. I wish I remembered what happened to spark something between us. I know it’s all still there somewhere, whether we have that history or not.” Silence from him, just faint breaths against her shoulder. “But it will be okay.”

It’ll be okay.

________________________________________________

Six months after she lost her memory, six months of feeling like a burden to the corps, Y/N stood outside the castle with a few of the cadets and Hanji, watching as she tried more experiments on Eren. She leaned back against a tree and shut her eyes, taking in a breath of the fresh air. So much had happened over the past months that she nearly forgot she lost her memories all those months ago. Wall Rose was sealed, the titan shifters had left for the time being. It seemed like everything was at peace, or that time was just standing still.

In the middle of the peace, the sunlight shining down on her and her friends through leaves in the trees, through the warmth of the summer sun. her mind seemed to piece itself together, if only parts. Her world shifted together once again.

Flashbacks played over in her mind, one after the other, hundreds of memories flooding in so quickly. She stumbled forward a few steps, pressing a hand to her lips to hold back her gasp. Hanji hadn’t noticed as she was too focused on Eren, but Jean gave her a particularly strange look after noticing her.

“Y/N-san, you good?” the boy called to her.

Thankfully, no one noticed except him, and she just waved him off. “It’s nothing. Just have to go to the bathroom.” As she walked away, more and more memories flooded into her head, not everything. She felt millions of tiny pieces of her story were missing here and there, but she could remember enough.

Memories of her mother and her father in her childhood house. Memories of school, cadet training. Erwin, Eren, Hanji, her squad, the titans, the expeditions, her favorite foods and stories and books. 

But most of all, she remembered Levi.

_______________________________

The night was soldiering on, yet Y/N could not sleep. Her stomach churned every few moments and she felt a headache coming up at the same time. Something had been bothering her for the past week, actually, make that the past few months. She was a seasoned soldier, yet she was letting emotions cloud her mind. Her exercises were coming up short and clumsy, and she had a hard time focusing on paperwork or the commander’s orders. 

The only thing on her mind was a man, particularly short with a sharp tongue and the abilities of a godly warrior. It had been two years since she met him, two long years of fighting and struggling to live amongst the chaos ensuing. He was her only source of hope and light in this cruel world.

Slowly, she rolled out of her bed and wrapped herself in her blanket, leaving the room and shutting the door silently. She didn’t want to wake anyone else for them to ask what she was up to long after midnight. She stepped down the hall carefully, keeping her head hung just a bit. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been scared at all. She knew just as well as he did what they were meant to be. It was obvious to everyone. 

Yet there were always variables. Death was inevitable, no one lived to die of old age anymore. They were busy beyond belief, always rushing around to get things done, fight titans, protect the people of the walls. It was high stress, which didn’t leave much thought for anything else. She had the mind to think about everything but her priorities, unfortunately.

She walked across the yard in the cold night to the men’s barracks, definitely not where she was supposed to be. She could probably be in a bit of trouble with Erwin if someone snitched on her, but her consequences wouldn’t be dire.

And as she approached the room, her body tensed. It was so quiet in the night that she could almost hear the sound of her heart beating ferociously in her chest. Softly, with the tips of her fingers, she knocked on his door. When he didn’t answer, she could only laugh to herself, of course he couldn’t hear her weak knocks. 

She was just so scared. Maybe if he didn’t answer the door, then she could forget all about this and never confess what she was thinking. 

Gathering some of that Survey Corps courage, she knocked a little harder on the door. Rustling sound from in the room, and the woman cringed, shutting her eyes and taking a few quick breaths. It would be fine, she assured herself. It’s not that big of a deal.

When the door opened and Levi looked into her eyes, rightfully confused, she lost all her thoughts. The hours she had spent rehearsing what she wanted to say were thrown out the window.

“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered, his eyes sliding to check down the hall left and right for anyone watching. 

Her mouth opened, lips opening and closing like fish. He took her wrist and yanked her into his room, shutting the door behind them. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, still holding her wrist in his iron tight grip. Y/N shook her head and sighed, turning to look at the wall instead of him. “Don’t tell me you had a nightmare or something-”

“Levi, I love you. I-I don’t know how else to tell you, and Hanji said outright was the best way and...well, I don’t know.”

“Love?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay with me tonight?”

Her face turned to stare at him incredulously, her cheeks turning an all-telling pink. “What?”

“I anticipated this, to be honest. You’re very emotional.” He crossed his arms, trying his best not to lose his cool composure like she had. He’d gone to the same evil scientist for love advice about Y/N a month before. His heart felt like it would explode, and his cheeks were threatening to turn red and his palms to sweat. But he would remain cool. Y/N was always the one to be open with her more embarrassing emotions. Coolly, he replied, “Hanji told me you would do this, and then she told me to tell you to stay the night with me.”

“Hanji...that double-crossing bastard.”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, feelings of drowsiness still running through his head after just waking up. “Listen, I just want to hold you and fall asleep so stay with me.”

It only took a second to think it over before Y/N nodded. He walked over to his bed, scooting over to the side against the wall so she would have room. They had tiny beds, almost cots, but thankfully being a captain warranted a slightly bigger one. She sunk down into his bed and rolled over to face him. His sheets and pillows smelt so clean and new, just like his clothes did every day. It was comforting, and she felt the smell lulling her to sleep.

“So, the feelings are mutual?” she finally asked, although her answer was already quite clear.

Levi just sighed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close to his chest. “Always so stupid.”

__________________________________________

“Levi?” Y/N asked as she entered the man’s office without even knocking. She was practically bouncing with each step, energy bound up inside.

He didn’t bother peeking up from his desk, just checking more things off his paperwork. “Yes, Y/N?”

She didn’t really know what to say, truthfully. She could only stand there for moment, and think herself so stupid for not remembering him. Looking back on how she acted while she was recovering, how she acted like a stranger to him for so long, and now that seemed ridiculous. They had history. Thousands of moments that she forgot. 

Without thinking much else, she bluntly said the only thing on her mind, “Stay the night with me.”

He lifted his eyes from his paperwork, narrowing his brows. “Excuse me?” 

“You said that the first time I told you I loved you. You-You were too nervous to actually tell me you loved me so you said that instead,” Y/N rushed to say. “I remembered.”

As Levi looked up at the woman he loved, the one he never stopped loving this whole time, he noticed the sparkle in her eyes had returned. Her cheeks were dusted pink and she looked out of breath from excitement. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t expected this, and honestly he never thought he would hear her recall those times again.

“I remember you. Not everything yet, but I remember being in love with you. I remember how you loved me.”

He stood from his desk to walk over to the woman who was overflowing with so many words and thoughts and emotions that he thought she might burst. He rested his hands on her cheeks, bringing her eyes up to meet his. He could see, for the first time in forever, the way her eyes shone with love and affection for only him. She brought her hands up to rest on his, heat rising up to turn her ears red. 

Even though they were practically married before, she felt anxious and embarrassed being so close to him and touching him again. It was like she had just fallen in love again, a giddy young woman with so much ahead of her. Levi touching her, it made her feel something again. His warmth radiating onto her chilled skin; it was all she needed to go crazy.

God, did she miss having these feelings. The feeling of being in love is one of the most pleasant mankind has ever felt.

“Levi, I’m back.”

“God, I missed you. I really fucking missed you.”

And as she wrapped her arms around him once again, feeling his heart beating against her ear, she remembered what it felt like to be Y/N. A woman who was loved and important, someone with a history of good deeds and hard work. It was worth waiting six months, just to feel this bliss once again.

They would be together as long as they had left, and every minute would be cherished. War would come. Deaths would surface. But at least they had the present.

[effymaybe]

Might buy, might bite

Lisa is having a terrible night. She makes some poor decisions, unaware of a certain creature awaiting in the dark. - 

Vampire!Jennie because it is not Halloween but vampires are always cool.

Pairing: Jennie/Lisa

Warnings: Mature content but the sexy kind / Vampires are not known by establishing ideally healthy relationships on the first try / I haven’t written in months and you CAN notice 

The night is unusually dark.

The few stars above palpitate almost painfully, and the darkish clouds invisible against the black mattress of the sky become only evident as they engulf the full moon in a loose hug. The contrast creates a faint, somber light that coats the quiet neighborhood as in a silent spell, and the yellowish glow of the few artificial lanterns surrounding the street only contribute to the mysterious vibe of the otherwise familiar landscape.

The absolutely rational portion of Lisa’s brain knows very well that a woman should never walk alone at night. She also knows, stored along other probably-live-saving hacks, that in case of finding herself indeed walking alone at night, she should never ever choose a lonely, poorly illuminated shortcut to reach her destination.

Now, although Lisa’s rationale works quite well, her emotional side couldn’t give less a fuck about surviving.

And that’s how she finds herself walking-running-crying throughout the most dangerous way home.

Her overly-expensive makeup is intact, thankfully, but the tight white dress she chose to impersonate an angel at that damn Halloween party is crumbled everywhere. Her long, black hair is quite messy, but at least her bangs are still in place. She’s running in her heels, much at the sake of her feet, and the ridiculous white wings she was so proud about just three hours ago hit softly against her back as she rushes to burry herself under a billion mattresses.

It’s pitiable, really, how he manages to break her heart in more and more pieces every time she decides to put it back into his hands.

It’s pitiable, too, how every single person she knows manages to betray her at least once.

Lisa stops in her tracks, feeling her long legs weakening suddenly. A ragged sob escapes from her plump lips as she brings her hands up to contain the tears spilling mercilessly from her eyes.

It was supposed to be a fun, happy party to celebrate that the big group of whatever they mean with “friends” could finally gather together after a long time of isolation. She prepared herself along with the girls, her own doe eyes shining in poorly-hidden excitement. She laughed genuinely at the questionably-mannered comments about her costume, drank a bit of rosé even before they got to the gathering. Once there, her boyfriend dedicated her a crooked, cocky smile and grasped her roughly by the waist in what Lisa considered a sign of appreciation. They danced and they drank alcohol. At some point, the brunette thought that her partner was going to kiss her, but he merely hugged her stiffly every time Lisa stared into his eyes.  

Then, time passed and he disappeared. Lisa’s so-called friends spread throughout the place to dance without her. Her feet started to hurt and the party got uncomfortably warm. She looked for him with her doe eyes lost under the flashing lights until she decided he wasn’t on the gigantic living room.

Then, she looked upstairs.

And she heard the moans even before she actually saw something.

Lisa didn’t want it to be her boyfriend. Her hands shook as she merely pushed the half-closed door completely open. She stared with her heart already weeping as the man that had promised her never to hurt her again twice engaged quite passionately in a much intimate activity with a girl who, amidst the dirty blonde hair covering her face, looked quite familiar.

It only took Lisa two seconds.

Her boyfriend was fucking her best friend.

Lisa ran downstairs, crying, ignoring her now ex-boyfriend’s weak protests and her ex-best-friend’s voice basically begging him to forget her and come back to bed. When she found to her group, or what she could gather of it, with her eyes already filled with tears, the simply told her that of course they knew and that she was kinda stupid not to notice, really.

Lisa bolted out of the party with her usually sunny spirit completely shattered.

Which brings her to her current situation, still sobbing desperately as the alley she is walking through gets gloomier and gloomier.

Fuck him. Fuck them, too. I deserve better. I deserve-

She catches a weak, airy sound with her left ear.

Lisa turns around suddenly sober and suddenly very much aware of the fact that she got herself in quite a disadvantageous situation.

The night got warmer, somehow. The moonlight has given up under the insisting obscure clouds.

Lisa feels the cold shiver of pure fear shooting through her spine and relaxes only slightly when she cannot spot anybody around the place.

She swallows thickly as she starts to walk faster, her footwear clicking on the pavement almost as if giving her in.

The brunette feels wired in, hyperaware. The fain sound of the wind makes her shoulders tense. She catches a quick shadow with the corner of her eye and only gets more nervous when she can still see nothing.

The narrow space crooks at some point, and Lisa inhales deeply.

She can do it.

She will walk straight home and gather plenty of strength and call her stupid ex-boyfriend to tell him-

But she cannot keep walking.

As her slender body submerges more profoundly into the darkness of the night, a strong grip pushes her against the rough, cold wall of the alley. She fights back, absolutely terrified. Her heart hammers painfully against her choked chest, and she feels the tingles of pure adrenaline strengthening her arms.

And yet, the grip remains solid.

Lisa thinks about shouting, crying, breaking down in a loud wail hoping to be rescued. Just then, with her voice already reaching her throat, she realizes that the figure keeping her in place is slightly shorter than her.

Feminine, surprisingly delicate.

Lisa can’t scream.

Her eyes search widely the ones of her captor, absolutely dumbfounded, and it is at that moment when the moon can finally push the disturbing darkness away from its light.

As the alley gets brighter, Lisa is left absolutely breathless.

Just in front of her, with both hands immobilizing her body completely, stands the most beautiful girl Lisa has seen in her entire life.

Her face is soft, but cut sharply by prominent cheekbones. Her eyes, dark as the silent sky, are drawn in a cat-line shape that makes her gaze simply melting. Her nose is delicate, small, and her indented philtrum leads to luscious, curved lips. Her forehead is half-covered by open bangs, and her light-brownish hair falls in irresistible waves against her soft jaw. Her dress, tight, black, and visibly expensive, exposes prominent collarbones and a set of curves that should be illegal for a single woman to have.

Lisa only realizes that she’s staring when she hears a soft teasing chuckle.

“Well, hello, honey”.

The brunette presses her lips together in a nervous habit. The girl’s voice is sultry, tempting.

She finds herself struggling for a few seconds before answering.

“Huh- Who…? What…?”

The beauty in front of her licks her mouth almost as if gloating. Her grip remains stoic.

“Who are you, honey?”

Lisa feels somewhat offended. She tears her astonished gaze away from the girl’s face to focus on trying to escape.

“No, who are you? What is this? Let me go!”

She tries with all her will, but the light-brunette’s grip does not give in.

There is something… wrong with it. Cold. Too steady.

It feels like she’s struggling against iron.

Another chuckle heats up her cheeks.

“I’m Jennie”, she hears, and Lisa stops fighting for a moment, “There is no need to be so rude. I was just trying to put a name on my next meal”.

The tallest girl scoffs loudly but grows quiet at the girl’s determined expression.

Jennie doesn’t sound like she’s joking.

“You smell so good”, the shortest girl murmurs. Lisa can’t move. She’s suddenly scared again, as her brain tries desperately to put some of the pieces of all that nonsense together. “Let me….”. The light-brunette shifts, burring her face bluntly against her neck. Lisa is still terrified, really, but Jennie’s chilly breath against her skin rises pleased goosebumps here and there.

The shortest girl runs her nose up her prey’s throat, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, sweetie, you smell fantastic. Fuck”.

Lisa trembles as her skepticism falters.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. What the hell are you?”

She hears a delicate, throaty chuckle vibrating against her pulse point.

Lisa’s knees give in further, somehow.

She tries earnestly to remind herself that the serious possibility of getting murdered in the same night she found her boyfriend having sex with her best friend should not be sexy at all.

“You know the answer, already, cutie. Don’t you?”

Jennie pulls away to lock her gaze with Lisa’s again. There is a predatory glint, a paralyzing edge that makes her cat-like eyes seem as if they could pick on every piece of the tallest girl’s soul.

“I… yes. No, I mean…. You don’t exist. This can’t be”.

The shortest girl’s lets a perfect eyebrow curve in a teasing manner. Lisa can tell that she’s plenty enjoying whatever sick pre-murder game she’s playing. She’s beautiful, the dark-haired girl thinks helplessly. Stunning. Jennie’s luscious mouth spreads in an open, gummy smile that would look adorable if it wasn’t for the –absolutely threatening and not at all attractive- sight of her pointy fangs in display. Lisa manages to stop staring at the girl’s reddened lips to focus on her intense orbs once again, and she lets out a breathless gasp when she sees deep coffee turning into bloody red.

“I do very much exist, gorgeous. And this definitely can be. I wasn’t even going to hunt today, but…” Jennie brings mouth closer to Lisa’s jaw. “Your scent… I had to have you”.

Jennie is not exactly courting. She’s more like being a blood-thirsty, all-powerful, over-intense vampire. Yet, Lisa finds herself blushing like a damn idiot. She knows, at a relatively conscious level, that the smoking light-brunette is just speaking about the very much needed liquid that runs through her veins and not about her whole physique.

She’s about to be Jennie’s next meal. And as the vampire´s fingers indent more profoundly in her skin, she discovers that there is no way out.

So she stays, somewhat embracing her destiny. Her ex-friends are shit. Her ex-boyfriend is shit. Her father is shit. She doesn’t really know whether her mom is shit or not because she abandoned when she was a child so- well that probably makes her shit, too.

At least she’ll die at the hands of a gorgeous woman.

Meanwhile, Jennie’s stare has changed. Deep red has settled in her orbs, but now she’s staring at Lisa’s features with scrutinizing detail. Her head is tilted. The tallest girl can see the delicate mole sitting just above her left eye. Her aura is intense, and definitely hypnotizing, and the brunette finds out that she has stopped fighting against the vampire’s embrace long minutes ago.

“You are so beautiful, sweetheart”, Jennie murmurs suddenly, and lets the pad of her index finger run softly against Lisa’s forehead, then the bridge of her nose, her pouty lips, her strong jaw. The tallest girl trembles, finding it difficult to draw deep breaths. Jennie’s touch is icy against her overly-heated face and it feels so nice, so charming. “So beautiful, baby. Tell me your name”.

And Lisa doesn’t even put up a fight.

“Lisa…Manoban”.

“Mmh, we’ll see that”, Jennie answers, and licks her lips as she traces her blunt nails against her prey’s throat. “You are so enticing, darling”, then, as an afterthought, Jennie brings her gaze up to Lisa’s mouth, “I bet you have an owner already… well… that’s not my problem, really”.

A twisted smile crawls up Jennie’s smug expression, and the brunette scoffs loudly.

“I do not have-”, her voice falters as the vampire’s starts to trace messy patterns up and down her thigs, “An owner. I mean, nobody does. It is not-”, the shortest girl’s nose dips back into her neck, “It doesn’t work like that”.

She feels another cold chuckle pressing against her skin.

“Fine, then. A boyfriend? A girlfriend? A partner?”

Lisa opens her mouth to answer. She’s about to be dismissive, really. If the vampire is really about to suck her dry, there is no need for her to put her fingers inside such a hurtful open wound.

But she can’t speak. She feels her lungs aching for air as Jennie starts to drag her velvety lips against her racing pulse point.

“I asked you a question”, she hears up her jaw, “Do you have a partner, Lisa?”. Jennie’s left arm squeezes Lisa’s small waist firmly, demanding. The tallest girl feels hazy as the vampire leaves open-mouthed kisses along her exposed skin.

“I- no. No, he… he cheated on me”.

Lisa guesses that the mere thought of the past events in the night should make her feel profoundly depressed. It’s actually kind of hard to think properly with the vampire’s sweet scent engulfing her senses.

Jennie stops suddenly, and the tallest girl feels irrationally disappointed.

“Is that why you were crying?”, the shortest girl asks, her red eyes- now more threatening than ever- burning into Lisa’s doe stare.

“I… how long have you been-”

The light-brunette frowns as her mouth curls downwards.

Lisa realizes that the girl likes her answers straight.

Well, damn.

“Since you left that stupidly loud party. What a waste of time for a beauty like you”.

The brunette is left speechless. She stares at the shortest girl with slight surprise. She doesn’t really know what a cold-blooded vampire that clearly has her under her entire disposition could win by such a display of sensibility.

Then, something changes. The light-brunette smirks once again, as if empowered, her aura shifting towards something dangerous, irresistible. Her soft hands start to run up and down Lisa’s body slowly, grazing the underside of her breasts, and the tallest girl cannot even think about the fact that she could try to run away once again.

“Don’t you see, sweetie?” Jennie murmurs deceiving against the skin of her neck, “Don’t you see that I could treat you so well?”.

The vampire inhales deeply just pressing against her prey’s pulse point, as if trying to contain something extremely forceful. “I could make you feel so good, baby, so good”. When Jennie’s hands reach to palm her breasts gently, Lisa gives up. She closes her eyes, powerless, and her mouth falls open as the shortest girl licks along her jawline, now exploring her back. “I love this”, the brunette hears vibrating against her ear, and it takes her a moment to realize that Jennie is talking about the damn wings, “They look cute. It was so fun following you around”.

“Oh my god”, Lisa breathes, and the shortest girl smiles against her neck.

The moon shines brightly now. The shadows of the night highlight Jennie’s acute features almost dangerously. There is a faint scent, hers, all hers, that clouds Lisa’s thinking. When she feels a firm, naked leg parting her own thighs, the tallest girl can’t help but to throw her head back in a spur of delight. The firm pressure against her moisty heat sends her into a frenzy.

“You are so beautiful baby. All for me. You just have so say yes”.

Lisa’s dizzy judgment wonders why would a vampire need permission for something that she can take so easily.

When Jennie starts to suck reddish spots on her sensitive skin, the brunette can hardly gather another thought.

“Say yes, beautiful. Let me taste you”. The vampire nibbles at Lisa’s velvety throat with her front teeth, soft at first and more insistently due the lack of response. A needy groan goes past Jennie’s lips as the tallest girl’s flavor falls onto her tongue. “Fuck, sweetie. Come on. Say yes. Give in, Lisa”.

Jennie uses her strong hands to guide the tallest girl’s waist so she can ride her leg in a steady pace. The dirty mewl that breaks off Lisa’s throat should be enough, but she knows that the vampire wants straight answers and she would give her anything, anything she wants just to keep up with the pleasing friction.

“Yes”, she lets out in a moan, feeling her body pleasingly trapped between the vampire’s strong body and the rough wall. “Yes, yes, oh-”.

Jennie doesn’t want any longer. She doesn’t think she can actually. The smell of Lisa’s thick blood now combined with her raw wetness unveil an animalistic nature she tried to keep at bay. She drags her piercing fangs along the brunette’s neck once, just to tease her a bit further, before actually biting down in pure need.

The taste alone almost gets her off.

It’s delicious, succulent, rich, even more addictive than she expected.

Jennie has never stopped herself from drinking blood, whether fresh or packed, whenever she needed it. She has been in it for centuries, damn it, and yet Lisa’s tangy-sweet savor is something her now gleeful taste buds have never experienced.

The vampire smiles in an almost sick euphoria as she feels the thick liquid spilling here and there. She alternates between sucking earnestly and lapping in a happy delirium, and feels the girl against her getting desperate to speed up her delicious motions.

For Lisa, it was brief pain, the feeling of sharp needles piercing through her skin.

And then, pure, consuming bliss.

She didn’t even know it could feel like that. It probably can’t, in normal conditions, but she is not even able to consider it properly properly with her clothed core grinding wet against Jennie’s bare thigh.

“Fuck, baby. You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever tried”.

Lisa hears the vampire’s words coming in short gasps. It turns her on even further. Everything feels so nice, so damn right that she can’t bring herself to care anymore. When Jennie tongues the fresh wounds in her throat, she clenches hard.

“Such a good girl, Lisa. All mine”.

The brunette feels the vampire’s tongue deep inside her mouth before she realizes that she’s moving. A tang of copper combines with a cherry-like flavor that can only be Jennie’s. She mewls against the shortest girl’s mouth, her eyes shut closed as she takes in the relentless waves of pleasure that shoot through her body.

Lisa begins to thrust in abandon. She wants to thank Jennie for helping her find the perfect pace with her steady hands. She wants to thank her for making her feel so, so fucking good. She wants to be perfect for her at that moment and offer, just offer it all. A burning fire sets low, and it grows impossibly grand. She feels it tying and tying and she wants to cry out in desperation. She pleads right against the vampire’s demanding lips.

“Please, please… Please, Jennie”.

She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for, but the light-brunette does. With just a flicker of her wrists, Jennie changes the angle of Lisa’s thrusts. The shift hits perfectly, just there, all that the brunette needed, and she hears as the occasional moans she can’t help but to let out when Jennie releases her swollen lips get increasingly louder.

“It’s okay, sweetheart”, the vampire sucks in her tongue just for another moment, “Come for me. Show me, baby. I want to see it all”.

Lisa does not need any more convincing.

As if wired to Jennie’s firm orders, her body lets go in a powerful release that has her high for a few minutes. When she comes down, she feels Jennie’s lips catching a few tears of pure overstimulation falling from her eyes.

She is panting, damp, and incredibly exhausted, she gathers both because of the astonishing peak and the non-incidental loss of blood. Her head falls almost shyly on top of the shortest girl’s shoulder, but the vampire seems completely unbothered by the gesture.

She keeps holding her, waiting. Her hands run through her back almost soothingly, and then begin to fix her clothes in a surprising display of care. When Jennie’s knuckles graze against her underwear, Lisa jolts and whimpers a half-serious complaint.

The vampire smiles.

“You did so well, beautiful”, Lisa feels soft pecks pressed against the skin of her neck, “but I think you ruined your panties”.

The brunette allows herself to chuckle before inhaling deeply.

It’s clearly over.

A shiver of fear runs through her spine but there is not much else to do. She knows that there is no point in even trying to run away. She’s not even sure of being able to stand without Jennie’s anchoring arms.

“Are you… gonna kill me now?”

Lisa feels as the vampire detaches herself slowly from her body.

Her heart starts to beat furiously against her chest.

It’s truly over isn’t it?

She makes an effort to meet Jennie’s intense gaze with hers. When she finds pure confusion in a renewed coffee tone, she doubts her own words, too.

“Kill you, darling? What are you talking about?”

Lisa hesitates for a moment.

“Huh, since you are… a vampire and all”.

Brief recognition illuminates Jennie’s expression to then be replaced by an almost edged amusement.

“Oh, baby”, she murmurs, and uses her knuckles to caress the tallest girl’s features almost reverently, “You really thought I would kill you? And deprive myself from a gorgeous human like you? Absolutely not. I’ve been looking so long to find someone exactly like you. And now that I have…” her fingers grasp the brunette’s chin, forcing their stares to melt, “you are mine, Lisa. And I take care of what belongs to me”.

The tallest girl opens her mouth, stunned. She figures she should feel furious.

She’s mostly in disbelief.

“But…”

“You already said yes, cutie”, Jennie giggles. She looks so young, suddenly mischievous, happy with herself. “I have already marked you. There’s no way out”.

Again, Lisa figures she should feel furious.

She’s mostly… considering.

“I’m going to take you home now”, Jennie tells her, and eyes Lisa’s neck in a bust of pride. “I promised the girls that I was going to take a human someday. They’ll be ecstatic”.

“The girls?”, Lisa mumbles. She feels Jennie’s hand grasping hers, pulling her in, dragging her somewhere.

Her feet follow as if in a spell.

“Rosé and Jisoo. They are getting bored, I guess. It’s been only us three for centuries. They could use some new company”, there is a pause, “as long as I make their boundaries really clear”.

“Boundaries?”

Lisa is lost, but not completely. There is something growing in her chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling.

“I don’t share, Lisa”.

“Oh”.

They stay in silence for a few seconds. Jennie analyzes Lisa’s expression carefully. Her hold is firm and cold, yet somewhat tender. The tallest girl simply waits. There is no need to make a decision. She feels her own limbs going back to a relaxed, pleased position.

“Ready, darling?”

Jennie is testing her. In response, Lisa licks her lips. The faint taste of iron and strawberries makes her smile.

“Yes, I am ready”.

Jennie’s eyes light up in silent happiness only to turn deep brown again.

“Perfect. Let’s hurry up. I’m dying to taste the rest of you”.

Lisa wonders if she’ll get to sleep before that happens. Or if she’ll make it into some form of a shower.

As she delights herself with the gorgeous figure of her captor, she figures she doesn’t mind, really.

[fatefulfaerie]

Blades of the Yiga (Pt. 1/3)

Zelda kicked up sand with every tumultuous step, gasping for breath and feeling as if her lungs would tire.

She panted every breath. Even a short, forced swallow made no difference, her dry throat not soothed in the slightest before her breaths became heavy again.

She took no care to her lightly fisted hands, her impropriety as she ran as fast as she could, shadows of palm trees flitting past her.

Zelda continued to run as she took a look behind her she knew she couldn’t afford, the sight of red making her turn her head back and run even faster.

The outside of her right foot suddenly rolled in the sand, curling in such a wonky way that the oddity was only outweighed by the subsequent and sudden pain. Zelda closed and opened her eyes as it happened, reacting with a deflation of her shoulders, but she readily ignored it. She was determined to survive this, to get back to Gerudo town, to any one of those warriors who would offer her aid.

She kept running with a slight limp, but it was no use, two Yiga warriors sliding in front of her and readying their vicious sickles.

Zelda inhaled at the sight, her breath shaky as she staggered back. She turned quickly around at the mere hope that they were alone, but she only found another red-clad mask-covered Yiga.

She fell backwards onto her hands, softening how hard she hit the sand as her knees bent in front of her. Zelda looked desperately between the two sides, in her green eyes a plea for mercy she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

They approached her and she felt her hope wither away, a single tear dropping upon her cheek as one of the Yiga loomed before her, readying his sickle to strike.

Everything her father said about her being a failure, everything she felt about being alone, it was all true. This world that would grow to hate her for her lack of sealing power, that was endlessly disappointed by her, had left her alone for dead.

She bowed her head and clamped her eyes shut as the Yiga moved his arm to strike forward, preparing herself for pain, for a death and assasination she couldn’t escape.

She heard the cool, slithering, metal graze of a weapon, yet no harm came to her.

Zelda looked up to see why, the movement of her head slow and cautious until she saw not tight, red fabric, but brown leather boots. Her eyes widened and, in her shock, a soft and sharp gasp parted her lips.

It was him, that boy, that knight, that one who was given everything, who pulled the sword that seals the darkness with ease while she still cried before statues upon statues of the goddess Hylia. It was that swordsman who was assigned as her knight attendant and yet seemed undeserving of everything he was given. It was that knight who kept his silence, who she assumed hated her for her incompetence and couldn’t even bring himself to utter a word of anything more than hate.

It was the knight with whom she acted the most improperly, her anger childish and the resentment she felt towards herself lashed out towards him.

It was Link.

He was protecting her, the self she knew deserved protection the least, and by his hand even more so. Yet Link stood there nonetheless, with the light of the sunset shimmering on his sword, scowling at his enemies, all because Zelda was in danger. With one movement of his sword and a flaming threat in his blue eyes, the two remaining Yiga assailants backed away in fear.

Zelda couldn’t stop staring at his determined expression, his courageous battle stance, his beastly blue eyes, his whole being, his whole life devoted to her safety. She felt a jolt in her heart as she watched the gentle breeze run through his dirty-blonde hair and studied his stance that absolutely radiated courage. Nothing would move him, would budge him from how he protected her.

The assailants had fled to the horizon, Link watching them until they no longer could be seen, hidden in cowardice by rampant desert winds. Link turned to Zelda as he lowered his sword.

He looked at her and it looked as if he were choosing his words carefully, the slight furrow in his brow ensuring Zelda that she must prepare for words of hatred, berating her for her defenselessness, for her carelessness, for her powerlessness.

But with a single blink, Zelda saw his eyes change. She had known them as neutral, having adopted the practice of endlessly searching them for any emotion and becoming frustrated when she found none, none to relate to, none to confide in. He was just so perfect that next to her, the failure, she had no choice but to hate him for the comparison the kingdom made. But in one single blink, Link’s eyes changed from a neutrality that burned--that to her, read like hatred--to something just a bit softer.  

Zelda was completely flummoxed as she tried to read it, Link sheathing his sword and taking a slight pause before he knelt before her, meeting her eye-line.

“Are you okay?” Link asked, Zelda recognizing the emotion as concern. Link was concerned for her. These bright blue eyes weren’t filled with hate or contempt or anything of the sort. And yet, that is exactly what she had thrown towards him. Her guilt bubbled and rose.

Zelda nodded, figuring she needed to respond in some way, the first of many things to make up for her childishness.

“I’m so glad I was here in time,” Link said. He didn’t blame her at all.

Zelda took a deep breath. She could hardly believe she was actually talking to him, having a conversation with him.

“So am I,” Zelda said in reply, Link standing back up. He offered his hand.

Zelda’s hand was hesitant as she reached to take it. Their fingertips brushed and that jolt in her heart returned. Their palms met and his fingers, his secure clasp felt like the safest thing in the world.

Link obviously took not notice of her newfound revelations as he pulled her up to standing.

He was about to detach his hand when she crumbled at the weight upon her two feet, Link hurriedly catching her other arm to keep her up.

“Your Highness?” Link asked, searching the pain in her face before his gaze went down to her foot, floating around her other ankle.

“I think I hurt my foot,” she said. “When I was running.”

Her face winced again as she tried to put weight on it. Link felt the way she clamped his hand.

“Don’t try,” he insisted. “We’ll get back to Gerudo Town, don’t worry.”

Zelda nodded as Link looked at how far it was. The distance wasn’t too great, but it was nothing he would ever force her to walk in her condition.

“Your Highness,” he said, returning his gaze. “Is it alright if I carry you?”

Zelda gave quick nods in affirmation.

Link brought one arm around her upper back and another behind her knees. Before she knew it, Zelda felt Link sweep her off her feet and into his strong hold. She slid her arms loosely around his neck.

“I’ll leave you with the guards at the front entrance,” Link said as he walked holding her. “They’ll take care of you. It’s obvious you feel I’m not the right knight attendant for you. I’ll go ahead and inform the king. The Gerudo will protect you from the Yiga until the king finds someone better suited to your standards.”

“No,” Zelda said. Link looked at her with a very slight surprise. Zelda wondered if she was getting better at reading those calm waters of his or if he was getting better at expressing them. “I want you.”

Zelda watched his neutrality return as his glance shifted beyond her to Gerudo Town. She wondered if he heard her before he spoke again.

“There’s a way for me to get into Gerudo Town,” Link said. “Urbosa told me about it and it does work. If you would like me to stay with you--”

“I do,” Zelda interrupted.

Link said no more, but Zelda could feel him changing from walking a straight line to veering away, likely to avoid the main entrance.

She stayed in his arms in silence, eventually tipping her head against his chest and waiting until the rhythm of his steps subsided. Zelda’s head popped up as he placed her against the outside wall of Gerudo Town.

Zelda could tell they were at the very backside, Link bringing a single finger to his mouth. They may not be seen but they could very well be heard, the throne room very close. Urbosa may know of the secret way in, but her own attendants and warriors did not.

Zelda watched with her back against the stone wall as Link dug in the sand, unearthing delicate Gerudo vai attire, hued with blues and greens. Link brushed off lingering sand as Zelda figured it out, Zelda’s hand going to her mouth.

Link stood up with the folded clothes in his hand, seeing Zelda’s silent reaction, the way her green eyes danced with an encroaching laughter.

He slightly tipped his head to one side.

Link put down the clothes, pointing at her before placing his hands over his eyes, his hands returning to his sides once he felt his point was made.

Zelda bit her lip to stop herself from laughing as she covered her eyes with her hands and closed her eyes. She heard the rustling of fabric and surprised herself by wanting to sneak a peek.

Before long, she felt his foot tap hers, the non-injured one, of course, Zelda opening her eyes to see Link standing over her.

Only he was so separated from the stoic knight she saw just a few moments ago. He was dressed in light, Gerudo fabrics and in fact made quite the convincing vai to the naked eye. Zelda in particular found herself staring at the muscles exposed by the revealing garb, his arms, his abs…

She rid herself of that train of thought by remembering he was dressed in clothes meant for a woman. Zelda stifled a laugh as best she could.

Link shook his head as he picked her back up. Zelda inwardly questioned her composure as she felt her cheeks warm at how close she was against his skin, her arms draped around his bare and, admittedly strong, shoulders.

“It’s the only way in,” she heard Link whisper as they approached a smaller entrance, a Gerudo guard nodding as they entered the town.

“I get it,” she said back, now actively resisting leaning against his chest.

“Take me to Urbosa,” Zelda said. “She will know where we can stay, and fetch a doctor. Not to mention she is likely worried sick.”

Link paced the steps up to the throne room, Urbosa standing up immediately.

“What happened?” She insisted as she walked forward.

“Link saved me from a Yiga attack,” Zelda explained. “But I hurt my ankle beforehand trying to run.”

“Take her to my chambers upstairs,” Urbosa said, addressing Link. “I’ll fetch a doctor immediately.”

Link nodded.

[claymorecut]

Patrol

A/N: It's been ages since I Iast wrote a GinTsu fanfic. So, yeah. Here I am. Back with another gintsu fic I’ve been working on. I still am not very confident about my writing so...yeah. I'm sorry if the characters look too OOC. Hope you guys enjoy my somewhat average(?) writing ^_^!

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

Tsukuyo’s patrols were nothing new to Gintoki.

Whether it was before the war or after, looking after Yoshiwara and Hinowa’s safety was her first priority. Everytime he visited, for one reason or another, he would see her, talk to her, have his usual silly argument and by nighttime hear her say “I’m out for patrol” to Hinowa before leaving the teahouse.

Yeah, it was her routine. Work. Some peace of mind. And then again, work. Really, was that woman going to work herself to death!?

It was gonna be the same this evening as well when Gintoki decided to visit Yoshiwara, simply because he was getting bored in his house all alone when the kids were away and he had nothing to do, literally. Arriving, he found Seita and Hinowa alone in the teahouse doing their work.

No signs of the drunk terminator.

It had happened before, many times, when he would visit and she wouldn’t be present, running across the district to chase away criminals. After all, unlike him, she was a pretty busy woman. And yet, he couldn’t held onto his curiosity a little longer.

“So, where is she?” Gintoki asked, sipping tea from his cup.

“Who knows."Hinowa replied. "She went out during noon, telling me she had some business to attend. But hasn’t returned yet.”

Gintoki continued to eat his dango while staring at the crowded street. Even Hinowa didn’t know where she was, and even if she did he wasn’t going to dig any further. It wasn’t his place to pry, after all.

“I think she visited his grave today.”

Hinowa’s words caught his attention as he stared back at her with his usual dead eyes. “It’s been four years today you know.”

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

It was night by the time Gintoki finally decided to leave the tea house. Really, Hinowa perfectly knew how to bribe him with her oh-so-sweet smile and four strawberry parfaits. Smiles aside, he could never say no to parfaits! And so, he got stuck with Seita, helping him with his studies.

And the whole time, still no sign of Tsukuyo.

It was late already and Gintoki wasn’t really planning to stay the night there just for her sake. When Hinowa told him about her visit outside, he knew pretty well. No matter what happened that day, she still considered him her master. And forgave him for his sins as well. After all, he knew that feeling pretty well too.

Walking down the streets, he kept his gaze forward, glancing at the rooftops once in a while just to check whether she was there yet or not. Finally, he found someone standing on the rooftop of one of the high-top buildings, her figure glistening with moonlight as she took another puff from her kiseru. Without giving a second thought, he turned around that building to meet the infamous leader of Hyakka.

The least he could do was say hello.

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

A gust of cold breeze relieved the night sky as the chitter-chatter continued on the streets of the former City of Nights. Amongst the voices and laughs was the sound of a certain someone wheezing in pain as he climbed the final step of the building.

Even the great Shiroyasha was no match against one hundred and fifty stairs. Seriously, where are the elevators in this building!?

Finally reaching the rooftop while cursing and panting, Gintoki stood there with one of his hand on his right knee and other on the rooftop door as he tried to calm his racing heart. He really didn’t want to admit it but he was growing old after all. Catching up his breath, he looked at the woman standing in front of him. Her back facing him as she continued to stare at the starry night sky, with the crescent-shaped moon shining above, partially lightening their surrounding.

“Out for patrol?"Gintoki asked, after finally composing himself.

Tsukuyo turned around in surprise to find the silver-haired samurai looking at her way. "Watcha doin’ here”?

"I guess I was the first one to ask."he replied, walking towards her.

Tsukuyo glared back as he now stood beside her. "Just had some business ta take care of.” She replied anyway.

Gintoki hmmed at her response. “What ‘bout ya? What brought ya here tonight?” She asked.

Grinning, he turned around to look at her with his response prepared. “Oh, nothing. Just thought you ladies must be missing your Gin-san so here I am. Paying you ladies a visit.”

Tsukuyo just smirked at his cocky response. “Ya were alone and gettin’ bored, weren’t ya?”

Gintoki couldn’t help those red fumes warming up on his face with embarrassment as she completely saw through his childish lie. “Yeah, yeah. I was getting bored and so just came here to look for some company.” He pouted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Got a problem with that?”

Tsukuyo could just smiled at his child-like behaviour. “Not at all.”

Gintoki glanced at the smiling woman as a peaceful silence soon surrounded them.

“So, how are you doin’?” He finally decided to speak.

“Same as ever.” Tsukuyo replied. “Got a lotta work ta do."

"You’re gonna work yourself to death, woman.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Gintoki rolled his eyes at her response. “Yeah. After you end up in some hospital bed.”

Tsukuyo lightly chuckled at his concerned behaviour. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

"Fine." He exhaled in defeat. Silence soon felp over between them as both continued to gaze at the former City of Night.

It was always like this; she was always like this. Strong-willed and determined, always trying to hold up on her own while a wall surrounded her. No matter how much someone tried, she would always keep that stoic face of hers, not letting anybody to see her vulnerable side. Not even to that man who’d seen her at her most broken state. Four years and still hasn’t changed.

“Hinowa was worried, ya know.” This caught Tsukuyo’s attention. “You skipped work today and haven’t been home since morning. It’s not like you.”

Tsukuyo heard the concern in his voice as guilt rushed over her. “Yeah…I just had somethin’ to do.” She replied, looking the other way.

Gintoki could easily detect the reluctance in her voice. Of course, she would do that. Feel guilty about it. The last thing she wanted to do was make anybody worry. Especially when she was being the center of their worry. He finally turned around to look at the woman standing beside him. “You’re killing yourself, you know that?”

It was Tsukuyo’s turn to look at him. And their eyes finally met.

“You can talk about things if you want.”

She always failed, always, when she found herself looking at those ruby irises as Tsukuyo could feel all her worry escape her mind, her walls slowly crumble, as she laid exposed in front of him again. But before it got too late, she caught up again, breaking herself free from that unnamed trance. Crossing her arms, she spoke in her usual monotonous voice. "Says the man who does exactly the same.”

Really. Now she was just getting on his nerves. “You’re being way too stubborn.”

“And you’re bein’ overly concerned.”

“Well, shouldn’t I be?”

For a second, Gintoki saw her flat, cold eyes dilate, a sense of guilt and..grief clouding her vision. But soon she turned away, no more facing him. Same. Always the same.

She really didn’t want to face him now of all people. “What do ya want, Gintoki?”.

“Nothin’.” Gintoki shrugged. “Just checking on a friend, that’s all. Unless…..you wanna go on a different route.”

“Just shut up.” Tsukuyo rolled her eyes at his very suggestive joke but the little smile that curled up on her lips was hard to resist. Afterall, he was always like this; would appear out of nowhere, crack lame jokes and make her smile at times where all she could think of was running away. Four years of being in love with this lazy-ass samurai, and she always ended up thinking this must be the craziest thing she had ever done in her entire life.

“So, where were you the whole day?” Gintoki asked, facing her yet again.

Just like always, straight to the point. “I visited Shishou’s grave today.”

“Oh.”

“It’s been four years today.” Although her voice reminded cold, her eyes spoke something else.

She still blamed herself for everything. Like always.

He remembered everything. Her bruised face, the fight with Jiraiya and the promise that he once made to her.

She killed her master to protect him. Back when Jiraiya stood behind him with his kunai ready in that abandoned temple, ready to stab him anytime. He knew he was a coward, just like that man. Running away from his cursed fate, running away from that pain. Running away from that one beautiful thing that he always wanted to protect. He remembered hearing a kunai stabbing, piercing the skin while the scent of fresh blood covered the entire room. Gintoki knew it was not him bleeding; and it was not Jiraiya who threw that kunai.

He remembered that look on her face. He remembered looking at her, as if he was looking at himself. Broken. And empty.

“That wasn’t your fault.” Gintoki didn’t know what he was saying but he just wanted to say something. He knew how heavy the burden was and now that she was here, he just didn’t want her to carry that all alone. "Please don't blame yourself, Tsukuyo."

It's not like Gintoki never called her by her name but it was still so rare. Their usual banters always made him call her a "hag" or "bitch" (and she'd stick to "perm head" or "bastard") and even when they're having a miraculous normal conversation like this, he preferred calling her "Tsukki", the beloved pet name that Kagura gave her, only to rile her up even more.

He preferred calling her Tsukuyo only when he was actually being serious.

"Thanks, Gintoki." Tsukuyo replied, a sorrowful smile forming on her lips.

From the corner of his eyes, Gintoki saw the stoic woman, her gaze still fixated on the city but a glint of regret and sorrow filling her eyes. She was a lady of few words; he knew she was never going to open up in front of anyone, let alone him. She might show the world that she was holding herself together but he knew too well how much she was hurting right now.

And right now, more than anything, he wanted to see her smile. Why, he had no idea, but his mind itched to look at her smiling face. It was rare but everytime she did smile in front of him, he couldn't help but just pray to whatever Gods that existed to let her smile like this more often. He didn't know what kind of magic her smile held but for some reason, he always found himself looking forward to that one smile. And deep down, before he even knew it, he found himself wanting to make her smile.

"I envied you."

Those words slipped his lips before he could even register it properly in his brain.

At his unusual confession, Tsukuyo found herself turning towards that man.

Gintoki couldn't understand why he decided to say this now out of all times. "Back then," he continued "I envied you. For how you strong really are."

Tsukuyo couldn't help the confounded look on her face as she heared him say those words.

"If it's the teacher's duty to carry the burden of their student then what's the student's duty? To grow strong enough to help carry the teacher's burden." Gintoki quoted her words; remembering her figure as she carried her master on her shoulder for the last time. "I always pushed people away, just like that man. I didn't want to bear that burden of losing anyone anymore. There was a time when I lost everything while protecting everything. And so I blamed myself. And the world. And even at times, the people I once cherished the most. Even when I met the kids and everyone else, I still felt like running away. I was still scared. And not strong enough to carry that burden. But that night," he took a deep breath, composing himself "you taught me something. Something which I was never able to understand. Or should I say, I didn't want to understand."

He glanced towards the woman standing beside him, her eyes bewildered and questioning as a small smile curled up on his lips. "I envied you because I realised I could never become like you. And that how kind and strong you really are and how much you've taught me. Those words, they were something that I guess I always wanted to hear. And this time, I was able to understand. So, thank you. For teaching me that."

Tsukuyo didn't know what to say.

She continued to look at the man with wide eyes as her heart soon was swelled with a number of overwhelming emotions. The amount of gratitude and respect that he expressed for her and how his kind words left her speachless; she wanted to thank him too. She wanted to thank him for all that he had done for them. For her. She wanted to scream, cry, smile and even jump in his arms because she knew how much it pained him to talk about his past. But still he remained there, trying to cheer her up. He always did. And she loved him for that.

"...I see." She replied, her eyes now looking down because she wasn't able to look at that man. "It's good ta hear that."

Gintoki's words must have boosted her spirits up but it wasn't always when he'd just come out of nowhere and start showing his gratitude towards her. And she still wasn't used to getting compliments from anyone, let alone him. And now, if she did look at him now, she knew she'd turn red or maybe even start crying because suddenly, her heart and mind was a mess. She was completely exposed, completely vulnerable under his gaze. However, it was her pride which helped her gain a little composure.

"So, ya were able ta carry the burden, huh?" She asked, calming herself a little.

"Yeah." He smiled, thinking of all the events that happened. He remembered his father, his friends, the kids, all the other people who stayed by him. And then there was her, standing right beside him. "Yeah, I was."

"Good ta hear that." She smiled, taking a puff from her kiseru and exhaling lightly as she tried to regain her composure. But before she could even let the heat escape her cheeks, she found herself pulled towards a warm chest as strong, wide arms held her close.

"Ginto-" she stammered, but was cut soon after.

"Shut it."

Tsukuyo heard the man whisper softly in her ears as her hand dangled awkwardly on her sides. His strong arms were wrapped around her torso as he pulled her closer. She was too surprised to give any kind of reaction at this point.

He didn't know what came to his mind. Maybe it was the stoic face which hid hundreds of wounds behind it. Or maybe it was her ice-cold eyes which had a look of surprise when he thanked her for all she had taught him. Or maybe the fact that how she'd take another smoke from her pipe just to relax herself a little. The little changes that he found himself looking at every single time he met her; how even after all those years, she never let herself see anyone. Even when they were burying Jiraiya's body next to his sister's at the cliff, her face and eyes remained unchanged. Even when she was betrayed, even when she suffered so much, she always remained strong and kind; she carried so much weight on her shoulders all alone and yet she never let herself fall apart. Neither did she decide to run away from her responsibilities. She was a role model, the Courtesan of Death everyone respected and feared. And she never let anyone look through the wall.

However, for some reason, he found himself wanting to break those walls.

It wasn't always when Sakata Gintoki just casually goes out sprinkling compliments on everyone, let alone pull someone right for a hug. But here he was, doing something completely out of charcacter. Physical affection wasn't really her thing but here she was, wrapped around the arms of the man she had fallen for. Of course she knew that he was worried about her and was trying to cheer her up but this...was highly unexpected.

"Stop carrying the burden all alone." He whispered in her ears.

And she flinched at his honest words."I told ya, ya have no right ta say that. Stop messin' with me."

It was once again when he saw right through her. When his arms pulled her closer, she felt so vulnerable, so naked, she wanted to go and hide somewhere. Yet, her mind and heart didn't tell her to stop. As if this place was a sanctuary and she had nothing else to fear. Before she could think any further, Tsukuyo found her arms wrapping around his neck as she buried her face in his chest. "Idiot. Why're ya always here."

It was more of a statement than a question. "Told you the reason already."

She chuckled at his usual, nonchalant voice. "Yeah, getting bored at home. I know."

He didn't know when he got this comfortable with her in his arms but to his suprise as well, he found himself burying his face in her neck as his nose lightly brushed her skin. "Yup. Something like that."

At that moment, they couldn't exactly pinpoint what were they feeling. But somehow, the sense of want and intimacy through this little gesture never felt so familiar.

"Thanks. Fer everythin'." Her voice was low as she clutched his kimono tightly. "Fer always bein' there and fer always coming back."

He smiled, now gently putting his chin on her head. "Thanks for waiting." He could feel her smile through his fabric.

Tsukuyo didn't know why she was crying; whether the tears now escaping her eyes were of joy or sorrow. But even so, crying in his arms did not feel forgein for some reason. As if she had cried a thousand times in his arms.

"Now don't rub your snot on my kimono. I washed it yesterday." He teased gently as he now felt small droplets of tear drench his kimono a little.

A chuckle escaped her lips as she gently nudged him on the arm, her ears listening to his almost steady heartbeat. "But weren't ya the one who told me that I could cry with a runny nose."

Ah. She remembered. "Well, aren't you a whiny one. Fine. But only for tonight. Don't get too comfy, you drunk terminator. "

"Oh I won't, ya asshole."

"Too bad you're hugging an asshole right now, Tsu-ki."

"Oh? Well, who was it who pulled me first, I wonder?"

"Just shut it, you hag."

"Back at ya, perm."

They didn't know whether it was the night, the breeze or just their warmth that kept them holding onto each other for so long. Maybe it was the mutual feelings shared between those two. Or was it really was night and the stars that made them share their secrets, they didn't know. It might be too cliche to say that time stopped for those two but even in that little moment, they were able to found years of serendipity in each other's arms. As if that was only thing that reminded buried deep within until then.

This moment couldn't be anymore poetic.

Maybe, joining her on her patrols wasn't half-bad. After all, even fierce individuals like them sometimes need a shoulder to lean on.

-------×××--------

[carbonitekisses]

I love you, I promise.

Summary: 

"We are the last Targaryens." She takes his face into her hands. "Stand by my side. And we will purge the world of all the evil, corruption, and pain that infests it. We will break the wheel. Together."

The air is thick with ash. Thick with death. Thick with hurt.

She bring her lips to his in a binding kiss.

In another world Jon Snow would have ended the kiss with steel and blood.

In this world he ends the kiss with an oath. It has become routine. Repetition makes it easier to believe. Easier to hide. "You are my queen now and always."

His lips burn in protest. 

They remember a promise he made to a woman kissed by fire...

"I'll protect you, I promise."

//

Tyrion is interrupted before he can convince Jon to kill Daenerys. What happens then? Sansa is summoned to King's Landing under threat of dragon fire for treason against the new queen of the seven kingdoms. Will Jon remember who he is and who he loves before it’s too late?

Also on AO3

(thanks to @tragedyofromance​ for looking it over!) This fits in @jonsa-week​ prompt for King’s Landing!

Valar morghulis...

The thin edge of Valyrian steel cuts through the charred flesh with ease. Bloody and gargled relief seeps down from the gash across the woman's throat. 

...but not like this. 

Arya dutifully closes the woman's murky eyes. Everlasting darkness is a solace compared to the hell that surrounds them. She digs her heels into the ground, pushes herself upright, and swipes the catspaw on her sleeve. It is of little use. The sleeve is more blood than fabric, now; a trail of mercy and corpses lengthens behind her with each step she takes towards the Red Keep.

Arya had detested Kings Landing from the moment she first passed its gates with her father and Sansa. The only joy she had found here had been with the brave Syrio Forel, water-dancing and chasing cats, exploring dungeons and little nooks and crannies. Yes, she despised the foul-smelling capital but she finds no joy in the destruction and bloodshed that has fallen upon the city and its people.

It is quiet. It is unnatural. Occasionally the silence is broken by cries or whimpers, human voices begging for help. She knows she cannot help everyone in her path. 

Help... Is that what I am doing? Arya grimaces when she sees the young man whose wheezing caught her ear. He is pinned, almost completely covered by a collapsed balcony. His head, the only exposed body part, is partially caved in. There is no hope for him. Arya unsheathes the dagger once more. Surely there must be some mercy in death. There must. 

By the time the Red Keep and Daenerys' forces come into view Arya's right sleeve weighs heavy with blood. She seethes when she hears how the Dothraki cheer, and sees how stoic and unrepentant the Unsullied stand under the overcast sky. I shut one hundred and twenty two eyes today. Her dagger only met skin when there was no chance of survival—and yet.

Brown, blue, green. Some of them she found underneath rubble. Some she found with their intestines out in the open. But most, most of the lives she returns to the Many-Faced God come from bodies with burnt skin and boiling blood.

That could have been my fate.

An elderly man silently cradles the husk of a young boy. A Dothraki man with beautiful hazel eyes kicks the man. The man quiets evermore. The man does not cry. He simply stares. At nothing. There is nothing. 

It might still be my fate.

The beast that flew above the city and rained fire all around her now lies atop a pile of crumbling wall stones. It flaps its black wings and roars in unison with the dragon queen's armies as her speech approaches its end. From where Arya is standing she sees Jon. His head of dark brown stands behind the head of silver. 

He's alive. Arya's left hand shakes and she grips the catspaw pommel even tighter. Jon survived. She sprints to her right with a new goal in mind. The long corridors that run alongside the sides provide sufficient cover. Not that it would matter overmuch; the men are in a frenzy, their faces never straying from their violet-eyed god. She has to squeeze between a collapsed portion of the ceiling and the wall. A particularly pointy slab of stone manages to rip through both fabric and flesh. Arya grunts and pulls her leg free. Just another scar to add to her collection.

She continues onward, only stopping to witness through a window how Tyrion Lannister yanks something—His Hand pin!—from his chest and throws it down the steps before being promptly taken away. A sense of foreboding urges her to move faster, to be by her brother's side. If Tyrion has abandoned Daenerys she cannot think that Jon will stay by his aunt's side for much longer; he will need protecting from the dragon queen. Arya's lungs burn from exertion. The air gains texture and color. She struggles to not cough and purge her lungs of the ash that continues to fall and thickens the closer she gets to Jon. 

The corridor ends and opens to a set of stairs commonly used by servants and those of lesser blood. Arya remembers they lead to a side entrance close to the landing where Jon and the silver queen stand right now. Arya lays a hand on the wall to steady herself. She's tired. So tired. Her tongue darts out to moisten her cracked lips. She laughs. I have no water left in me. The fire rid me of it. I am a dry river.

By the time she reaches the top of the stairs the laceration on her leg is pulsing and her throat is scratchy from the wracking coughs she was no longer able to hold in. The darkness of the corridor and side stairs lightens, and she steps into hues of gray and blue.

The ash covered floor muffles her feet well enough as she walks forward. She comes to rest at his side and examines him.

He shows signs of battle though nothing of great concern. A few splatters of blood here and there but no wounds of his own. She is glad of it. Life has taught her to be grateful for small blessings. Arya is standing mere inches away from him and they both watch as Daenerys Targaryen strides into the skeleton of what once was the Red Keep. Jon doesn't seem to notice Arya is there at his side. Unawares, he continues to glumly watch his aunt walk away. Arya hates it. 

"You're lucky." Jon twists around at the sound of her voice. He gasps her name but Arya does not stop speaking. It is time Jon listen for once. "You live. You breathe. No body can say the same of the thousands that died today."

A little bean of a thought sprouts in her mind: perhaps even the House of White and Black would see what happened here as overindulgence. 

Her brother stares at her as if he cannot believe she is there. He grabs her by the shoulders and his eyes search her body for sign of injury just as she did with him. His eyes grow darker with each cut, gash, and blow he sees. His hand slides downward and he retracts it in fear when it comes away bloody. "Your arm—"

"The blood isn't mine." It's the blood of the lives I returned to the Stranger. A small mercy—it is mercy. it is. is it? it is it is it is it is—for the people who your aunt could not do the justice of killing properly. 

He doesn't look any happier by her assurance. "What are you doing here, Arya?" A girl hears the reproach. A sister tries to smother the hurt. 

"The queen was on my list. I came to kill her. Daenerys got to her first."

"You shouldn't have come. What were you thinking?" His hands had returned to her shoulders and he shakes her. Memories tumble round and over and under her skull. Shake me some more, a girl pleas and in the fuzziness she thinks of an older man with eyes of the same grey... No, not the same grey. These are duller. Unknown to the known of the girl whose body I own. Arya Stark emerges once more, He's not father. He doesn't have his eyes. "You could have died. I could have lost you in the fire and not even known it."

He is desperate in his condemnation of me and my actions, Arya dully thinks of how even the imp seemingly denounced the dragon queen, But I am yet to hear him condemn the silver queen. Not even now, after everything. He still stands behind her, an accomplice to this massacre.

"I heard the bells. The city had surrendered. She didn't care; she burned them all." Arya Underfoot whispers, loudly, "She nearly burned me, too. The falling buildings nearly crushed me. It was such a close thing, brother." Pieces, fragments of shameful regret on Jon Snow's face. 

Jon says nothing. His hands, however, speak. A clenching and unclenching of dirty and bloodied fingers. A nervous tick. It began when they were children. Arya remembers how the bastard of Winterfell would push his feelings to the tips of his fingers since his tongue had been tempered to a bastard's silence. Scratch scratch. She can hear his blunt nails dig in hard enough to scratch the dirt off his palm. Scratch scratch scratch. It is a mocking and damning sound.

I should have done it sooner. Arya Stark's stupid dreams and memories of a bastard brother have clawed my eyes out. I was blind. blind. blind.

"You knew," she realizes. "You knew what she was and still you said, and continue to say, nothing against her. I know we haven't seen each other in years but this...I do not recognize this part of you. Sansa," here, his pupils contract, "thought you were playing the game of thrones. That you were afraid, trapped by the reveal of your parentage."

I thought the same. I believed you to be caught in a spiderweb of your own making.

"Because the only other option was that you-you..." had betrayed us. "Seems Sansa had too much faith in you—and so did I."

He doesn’t defend himself.

Arya’s heart shivers and her right arm feels sticky under the congealing blood. The garment is ruined. Sansa will have a fit. No, no she won’t. She’ll cry. Her sister never liked death. Even for Littlefinger Sansa Stark shed tears, venomous tears. I can’t let her see me like this. “You knew and you still tried to make us believe we were wrong in mistrusting her. Tried to make us believe we were paranoid.” The words that follow are quiet and bleeding, “You knew.”

You knew and, still, you cast us and the world into the fire. Just so your lover could satisfy her hunger for power. 

Finally he speaks but the words that follow... "Dany did—she—she freed the city from Cersei. She's the queen of the seven kingdoms now. And the North is part of those seven kingdoms." ...show Arya just how much her brother has changed. 

This is not the brother she knew. This is not her Jon. His hands feel foreign atop her shoulders. Arya pulls his hands off her and puts much needed distance between them. It wasn't Sansa who would end up betraying the family. The prejudice of childhood had blinded her not just to the virtues of a sister but also to the flaws of a brother. I should have played the game of faces with him instead.

"Try telling that to Sansa."

He avoids the obvious implication, instead he orders her to wait for him outside the city gates. Has he forgotten there are no gates to herald her departure? They, too, have fallen. Her stomach churns with worry. She grabs him by the elbow before he can leave. Jon might be acting the lone wolf but he is still her brother, he is still part of the pack. 

"Jon. She knows who you are. As long as you live you will be a threat to her."

"She is my queen," he says again. "I believe in her. Please, just do as I say and wait for me outsi—"

Arya interrupts him with a hug. Physical contact takes many forms. She has tried to learn them, the old (embraces like this) and the new (passion entangled limbs).

That old man was also hugging someone he loved. 

She cannot listen to him any longer. Her arms wind around him painfully, and it is her that is hurting. "I won't wait for you. I can't." She lets him go. "I need to warn Sansa. She needs to know what happened here. I need to be with her. With Bran. Goodbye, Jon."

Jon's mouth tightens slightly at the corners but he makes no move to join her. Arya now understands. He has made his choice. Her brother is a man grown. She cannot force him to leave. Her time is wasted here. There are others she can warn and protect, others who will listen. 

"Take care, Arya."

His whispered goodbye nips at her heels and chases her well after she mounts a white horse and leaves Kings Landing behind.

It is two days of hard riding before she finds a rookery inside a small and modest keep somewhere north of the capital. It is obvious the Dothraki passed through. Hundreds of horse tracks stamp the surrounding fields. Bodies and debris lay strewn under the sun. Inside, everything of value is gone and only lifeless vessels are there to greet her. She picks the keenest raven, and looks it straight in its coal eyes, "Bran, I do not know what you have seen, if you have mastered your powers and already know what happened. I don't even know if you're here. I could just be talking to a stupid bird. If you're here, please, guide this raven's wings and make it fly true."  

It is only luck, Arya thinks as she releases the raven, that they didn't burn the keep down. She watches the bird fly away, a little scrap of white tied to its feet. She waits until she can no longer see it in the darkening sky before she slumps against the stone wall.

It is only now that she allows her tear ducts to wash away the horrors she saw in Kings Landing.

It doesn't work.

She had forgotten she was dry.

Walking corpses, burning flesh, tearless cries, burning blood. 

She relives it all. 

She shuts her eyes, eyelids covering the light.

It makes no difference. The memories have burned themselves into her head.

They won't come out. I have to get them out before they drive me mad. Stinging pain pinpricks her scalp. A reminder, cruel, that she is not invincible. Arya Stark is weak. Exhaustion and hurt have seduced the strength of her muscles and mind. She hadn't noticed she'd been clawing at her head. Out. Out. Out. Out. OUT. OUT.

A sob claws its way out her chest and into the night. The cry is a bitter child, scared and angry at a world it is afraid of because it is so big and the child is so small.  

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Daenerys Targaryen.

Crack. Crack. Arya Stark. The head hurts. The wall does not. A widowed fisherman. Red. This body's blood. This flesh is weak. Lord Frey. The teeth tear easily into it. Faces. Masks. How many? An orphan girl, nameless to the world. Maybe if the mouth bites hard enough, makes the wound wide enough, this body can crawl inside. Devour itself. Seek out an answer inside. There must be an answer. No one. Who am I? What the fuck am I? Kill me. Kill me. Oh, gods. Oh, nothing. Father. Mother. Robb. Help. Help. 

Please.

There is a face she hasn't taken. A corporal being she has not tested her craft on. No One wouldn't wear the face. No One only wants to hide the face. Take its power and stifle it until the world is cleansed. 

I was trying to be good. I was. I was. I swear it. I was, wasn't I? Yes. Yes. No. Never. The world won't let me. 

A tongue, loose and thirsty, licks the blood on the hand.

  Daenerys Targaryen.

 Is it a list if it is only one name?

 // 

"A raven comes, Lady Stark."

"What have you seen? Bran—"

"There are moments I feel like Bran. They are precious, that I know." Eyes turn white. Silence. Eyes of her brother. "And there are moments I wish I didn't remember. 'Tis wicked, that they should come like a plague now when it would hurt most."

"I'm tired, Bran. Just tell me. I don't care. Not knowing how Arya and Jon fare... if you know, spare me nothing."

He speaks. 

She wishes he hadn't.

//

At this point in his life Tyrion thinks it is as good time as any to admit that perhaps he overestimated his cleverness. Here, in a store room of little importance, perhaps he can be honest with himself before he meets the dragon's fire. 

I wanted power. I saw the power in Daenerys and loved her for it, thinking she could make me powerful, too, if only I was at her side as she conquered the world. 

Tywin Lannister's ghost laughs at him from wherever it is souls like his go to rest. "You proved me right, Tyrion. I called you an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low-cunning." Tyrion fists his hair in shame. "But even I am surprised; you exceeded my expectations. With you the great house of Lannister will vanish. Everything I worked for destroyed."

There is no wine or mead in the room. Nothing to dull and drown the voices of those he has killed or pushed into the path of the Stranger. His father is the first but more are to follow. Joanna, his mother. Shae, his lover. Varys, his friend. Cersei and Jaime. Sooner or later, he fears, they, too, will come to remind him of his failures. And none, none, have been as costly as what happened in Kings Landing. 

I wonder if all the people that died today will come and visit me as well? His not so clever mind will have a trouble being host to so many guests. How many died because I thought I could control her worst impulses?

"You were right, Varys," Tyrion says through a cluttered throat. He imagines Varys laughing at his cheap expression of remorse. "But it's a hollow victory, isn't it?"

Time passes. He has spent less than a couple hours in his makeshift cell when he hears the echo of heavy footsteps. They are getting louder and he knows they are coming for him. He tries to settle himself into a position of calm while fighting the instinct to cry and vomit. I am dying today. I am dying. Dying. Dying. Oh! Be calm. Death. Death. Be calm. Be proud. But there is no escape. Be calm. Death. Death.

The door opens and in walks Jon Snow. It isn't death, not yet, and Tyrion swallows his relief. His pride rears its head once more, foolish little man that he is. An Unsullied guard closes the door and leaves them be. Tyrion's eyes flick to Jon's swordless hip. 

"How gracious of you to visit me. I don't suppose you have any wine on you?" Tyrion stands and picks up a chair he had thrown during a particularly useless fit of desperation. He offers it, almost mockingly, a touch bitterly, to his guest. "Sit, Jon Snow. Tell me, has your queen told you when I am to share Varys' fate?"

Jon Snow cautiously steps further into the room but refuses the chair. Everything, from his grinding teeth to the curled toes in his heeled boots, tells Tyrion that the queen's lover does not want to be here. He is a man of contradictions, this Targaryen prince who looks more wolf than dragon. Tyrion is a man starving for—something. He wants to dig and see who this man-of-many-names is underneath it all. A final puzzle to solve, to prove his cunning, before he leaves the land of the living. Aegon Targaryen? Jon Snow? Neither? Both? 

His guest says nothing of his execution, preferring to frown at Tyrion's marked detachment from Daenerys. "She was your queen, too, not so long ago." With very little feeling he says, "I'm sorry it all had to end this way."

"You're 'sorry it all had to end this way'?" If Tyrion Lannister were a taller man there would be nothing stopping him from slapping away the vapid, mournful look that dresses Jon Snow's face. Instead, Tyrion can only stare at the fool standing before him. Bitterness that has been simmering now threatens to boil over and burn all within its reach. Perhaps not burn. There has been enough burning in this city. But he's had enough of the cold, too. What bad luck to not like any of the options laid out before you. This fool—this blind, northern fool—why does he live while Tyrion must die? "Such a delicate, and empty, turn of phrase. I should know, I've used them many a time. You can't even let yourself say out loud what Daenerys did."

"I won't try to defend Daenerys but—"

"A good man, a smart man, once told me that everything before the word 'but' is horse shit. Did you not hear her mention the North as part of her righteous liberation crusade?" Not even I can defend what she is, what she's done. So why are you? Although. Perhaps I'll prove myself wrong, maybe I'll grovel for my life when the time comes. I am no virtuous man.

"—she saw her best friend murdered by Cersei." He speaks over Tyrion, willfully deaf. "She has lost so much ever since she stepped foot on Westeros. Her dragons, her allies. What happened today won't happen again. She'll recover from this. I know she will."

"She destroyed a city after it had surrendered. Tell me: how will the people of Kings Landing recover?" Tyrion doesn't wait for an answer. He lowers his voice and icily says, "They can't because they're dead. How can you—" He clamps his mouth shut in frustration and stands, tilting his head in disbelief. "You were there. You saw it happen."

"Daenerys saved Westeros at great cost to herself. If it weren't for her and her armies we wouldn't be here right now, alive and breathing. The least we can do is stand by her side and help her through this. It's easy to be judge and executioner. Who hasn't done something they regret?"

"Everyone has lost people they cared about. Me. You. The countless and nameless commoners that die by no fault of their own in wars they did not wage. Loss does not absolve cruelty. If it did there would be no crime, only some bastardized imitation of justice."

Grey eyes widen in manic fury. There is little sense in his reaction. Sense was not invited to this tête-à-tête. 

"I thought better of you, Lannister." His family name is spit and anger. "I don't even know why I came here. I didn't want to."

"I noticed."

"You're a hypocrite. Who are you to judge her, to judge me?" Tyrion feels small under the darkness that is the man before him. "You helped her on her quest for the throne. You pushed me towards her. Beckoned me to Dragonstone with false intentions. And yet," Jon leans down. Down some more. Lower. Until he is of a level with Tyrion. The beast has found a wound. It bites. "Jealousy does not become you."

  That hurt. The truth often does.

 "You cannot have her so you betray her. You will not convince me to do the same." Tyrion breathes again once he retreats. Jon says, "I love her. She is my queen, and I love her."

Love. An opening. 

"And what of the love you hold for your family? For the Starks?"

An opening that Lyanna Stark's only child cannot cover or stitch closed, surely.

"Even a northern fool, especially a northern fool, like yourself must know they will not bend." The fur of the northern cape that hugs the fool's shoulders bristle. "They will not kneel."

—:—

"Does she miss me, terribly?"

Frostiness. A lighthearted jape not well received.

"A sham marriage and unconsummated."

—:—

"My birds tell me of an altercation. Jon Snow did not offer a warm welcome to our esteemed ally, Theon Greyjoy. I believe the King in the North said, 'What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you.'"

"Not unusual." They are no Jamie and Cersei. " They are the only wolves left."

"Curious—the only thing that stayed his anger was Sansa Stark. Such a power she holds between two men with betrayal and a dead almost-brother king between them. She might as well be here for how often her name and presence is invoked."

—:—

"They will be loyal to the throne. They have no choice."

Jon Snow is present once more. He looks more man than beast. A chink in his armor. Suddenly, the darkness is not darkness. It constricts and melts and congeals into the purple half-crescents underneath worried eyes. That is the gaze of a man near the edge—and the edge is all around him. 

Yes, the demon monkey can still play the game. His life might not be forfeit, not yet. He can work with the tie between siblings cousins. On every person there are strings that one can pull. Tyrion just needs time to pull them taut enough for Jon to snap, to move where Tyrion wants him. 

To do what his lovesick heart will rage against. 

To save Tyrion. 

To kill Daenerys. 

If Tyrion Lannister were a noble man, a good man, the safety of the realm would be the only motivation needed. Alas, this insignificant little room has reminded how much he values his insignificant little body, ugly though it may be.

"Why do you think Sansa—"

An Unsullied opens the door.

He is interrupted.

The dragon queen's nephew and lover has spent too long with the prisoner.

Interrupted. 

A shadow of Jon Snow gratefully backs out of the room. Escapes.

Interrupted. 

The imp's honeyed words of family, loyalty, and kinslaying are left unheard. 

Interrupted.

The ghosts never left the room. Now that Jon Snow is gone they all clamor for a share of Tyrion's diminishing time. 

Tyrion was interrupted and he knows he is not long for this world. 

He wonders what could have been if he had only had a little bit more time. 

The ground is cold as stone ground is and always will be. He sits on it.  

Interrupted, thwarted, by a common Unsullied guard.

Tyrion Lannister, the demon monkey, the imp, the son of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, laughs.

And the ghosts laugh with him.

[blehbleehhhh]

I’m Sorry ft. Eremika <3

A lovely reader requested a smut piece based on what Eren said to Mikasa in chapter 112!This is my interpretation. I hope this is what you were looking for, lol. So challenging to write for me because it has to be the most detailed so far, but really fun to write as well. Cheers x

NOTE: DOES NOT TAKE PLACE IN CANON VERSE BUT IT IS INSPIRED BY THAT HEARTBREAKING CONVERSATION.

Thank you for your suggestion!

Gentle was the rain outside of Mikasa's window, yet she continued to struggle with her annoyingly persistent insomnia in spite of a sound she usually finds to be reassuring. Come to think of it, shit really started to hit the fan months ago when someone she holds in the highest regard started to shut her out of his life. It's not like she didn't see him, though, since they still have a couple of classes together, but not hearing his voice is driving her absolutely insane. Perhaps she could try texting him? Sighing deeply, she blindly reached for her phone, buried somewhere in her bed amongst the pillows and blankets.

Mikasa 2:45am: hey. i don't know if you're even awake. but i can't take this silence anymore.

Though her heart began to beat faster, she kept their conversation open and set her phone beside her, waiting anxiously for a response. To say that she didn't miss him would be a lie, just like saying that receiving a response from him, no matter how long it felt like it took, immediately brought tears of happiness to her eyes would be a gargantuan understatement. She sat up in bed and grinned as she used her fingers to push all of her silky, black hair to one side.

Eren 3:28am: I'll be over in 5 minutes.

“Shitshitshitshitshit!" Mikasa mumbled frantically under her breath and hurried out of bed for the main living area of her apartment, where she slowly paced in front of the door in trepidation; alternating between chewing on her nails and looking through the peephole out into the hallway. She leaned back against the door's cold surface in an attempt to slow her racing heart, because it feels as if she's running a marathon. What if he just talks down to her again, degrading any achievements she's made by implying they hadn't been earned honestly?

A sudden knock at the door made her jump, sending her stomach further into a pit of anxiety and despair as she promptly turned around to check the peephole. Taking in a deep breath, Mikasa's shaky hand undid the locks and cautiously opened the door to reveal a man who pulls off the 'disheveled' look so well that she felt a burn of need in her womb. Eren's hair had grown longer, and she figured that it would come to his shoulders if it weren't tied back in a low bun. God, does he look exhausted. Burnt out. He won't even look at her, instead gluing his eyes on her shoulder because, how could he look at her again after what has happened? After getting in a fight with Armin, who was doing nothing more than defending her when he'd clocked Eren in the jaw, not that he didn't deserve it. Though Eren was already slowly phasing out his friends, Mikasa and Armin were completely cut from his life without any sort of explanation, even though both of them had a feeling that he was doing such a thing for a reason. But that doesn't mean what he said to her didn't hurt, and cutting her from his life hurt her to her core. She's broken.

"Uh, hey. You actually-"

"What do you want?"

"W-well, I-I.." Mikasa stuttered and let out a surprised gasp when he pushed passed her to get into the apartment and closed the door behind him. It was clear from his body language that he was already a little more than irritated. "I-I just..."

"You just what?"

"I-I'm-"

"For fucks sake, Mikasa! Spit it out!" He snarled, finally letting his guard down enough to look into the eyes he's so desperately tried to avoid and saw exactly what he'd expected: heartache. Agonizing, traumatic, heartache that he is responsible for. As far as Eren has always been concerned, all he has ever done is cause her pain, when this is the exact opposite of his intentions. "Eh?!" In a fraction of a second, those expressive, charcoal pools that were blinking back tears were now filled with rage as she threw her arms over her head in exasperation.

"Why? Why did you lie to my face about never giving a damn about me?"

"I did that for your own good."

"My...?" she pointed at herself, letting out a rugged breath and a quiet chuckle. "My own good? Do you have-" her words were interrupted with an uncontrollable sharp inhale before her voice cracked. "Any idea how much you hurt me? Or do you just not care about me anymore?" Mikasa's heart sunk from her words and, little did she know, so did his. Watching her fight back tears, the sound of her voice going up an octave whenever she's so upset has always been more than he can handle.

Especially when it's his fault.

"I don't care." Eren growled under his breath, maintaining a stoic expression, watching her shoulders rise and fall like one's do when soothing themselves from bursting into tears. But the sight of her walking up to him admittedly sent his stomach into flips, at least until she slapped him across the face. Hard. "What the fuck!?" his brows knit together, maneuvering his jaw until there was a pop.

"You don't get it do you? I-I.."

"WHAT?! YOU WHAT?!"

"I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!" Charcoal grays were filled with tears of rage and frustration, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides before attempting to raise one for his gut. But he was already way ahead of her, quickly catching them in his hands mid punch before pushing her up against the wall and pinning her arms above her head, his eyes now filled with anger.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was being a jackass for a good reason? I'm trying to protect you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?! Protect me from what?!"

"Christ's sake! Me! From me! All I have ever done is hurt you and I'm sick..." he trailed off, squeezing her wrists tighter in each hand as he got so close to her face that he could feel the breaths from her parted lips. "...of you fucking babying me. I'm sick of snapping at you because I'm not strong enough to protect you, and I'm sick of hurting you."

"So your brilliant solution was to obliterate any shred of morale or hope I had left, Eren? Well, it worked. I've never been the same. And all of this agony is because-" she sucked in another sharp inhale involuntarily because her resolve is slowly starting to crumble. "-of you. How could you!?!"

"You don't think I know that already?! All I have ever done is hurt you, Mikasa!"

"That's bullshit, Eren!" Swallowing hard, she held her breath when his forehead gently bumped into hers.

"I've been such a fool."

"No.."

"No what?"

"Don't do this..." Her voice was soft, almost hoarse from fighting back tears. "Please don't pretend like you care and fuck with my heart even more."

"What makes you think I'm pretending to fucking care?!"

"YOU WERE JUST YELLING AT ME!" Mikasa cried, screaming into his face as tears finally poured from her tired, defeated eyes. Her body trembled from rage and fatigue as she allowed herself to come unglued. The raven's heart beat faster, because through her tears she's realized that his lips were slowly, so timidly closing in on hers, and she almost fainted from the overwhelming rush of conflicting emotions. No, please yes, no, finally, no...

"Mikasa..." he breathed to her lips. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I let my feelings cloud my judgement and consume me," his stomach twisted, allowing himself to sink deeper into a place he was certain he wouldn't return from. But Eren's so damn tired of running from the feelings he has for her. "I'm a fucking idiot."

"W-what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?!" Eren hissed under his breath, observing the way her bottom lip quivered before briefly pursing them together. How could he have treated this woman, the woman who has been with him through so much bullshit to count, with so much misplaced anger and frustration that he had willingly immersed himself in? It wasn't even worth all of the heartache he'd not only caused for her, but for himself as well. He’s ashamed.

Suddenly, he stunned her with a very, very gentle kiss she fought like hell not to melt from, because his lips are softer than she could've dreamed, and because she enjoyed the prickly nature of his stubble that briefly itched below her nose. But she couldn't shake the fear that his sudden affections are derived from nothing more than pity, especially when such affections stopped just as quickly. She took this opportunity to study his face, how tightly he's shut his eyes told her that he wasn't even planning this at all and is equally as surprised as she is. Eren knit his eyebrows together and opened his eyes to her teary eyed, inquisitive gaze, silently kicking himself for being so incredibly selfish. Because he's taken this long to act on his emotions. Because he knows this entire situation could have been avoided if he'd just been honest with her from the beginning. Emerald greens gazed deeply into glistening charcoal blues, searching for any sign of hesitation, only to find that there are none. Neither knew how long they stayed like this nor did they care, especially having noticed the others gaze had softened considerably. And as she watched his demeanor soften even more, her decision to give in to any long suppressed desires had already been made.

Perhaps that's why she so eagerly returned his kiss when he fiercely attacked her lips and sighed a soft moan into his mouth, frantically tugging down with her arms in attempt to release her wrists from their prisons. But he set her free, and immediately caught her in his strong arms when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist. This is it. This is exactly what she has always, always wanted. If the feeling of his hands squeezing her ass told her anything, it's that those feelings were most definitely mutual.

It didn't take long for Eren to find his way into the bedroom where he could, at long last, demonstrate how willing and prepared he is to help her heal from the pain that he's caused. Because Eren is aware how imperative it is to tell her he truly loves her and has for so many years, but he's not emotionally prepared to spill his guts at the moment, mostly because this isn't about him, it's about Mikasa. The girl he wasn't completely aware how intense those feelings of utter adoration were even for until 10 minutes ago when they shared their first kiss. The girl who has him completely drunk on her because he's finally let her in, laying on top of the body that he's gingerly laid on her bed. Mikasa slowly brought her hand to the back of his head and rested the other on his side, using her legs to press his increasingly rigid member to her clothed heat. He groaned into her mouth as he pulled away, his nose slowly gliding alongside hers. "I'm sorry." Gently setting one of his hands on her cheek, he wiped away any new tears that have fallen from her eyes. "I'll never do anything like that to you again..."

"I..." He cut her off with his lips, kicking himself even more when he tasted the saltiness of her tears with his tongue.

'StupidstupidstupidSTUPID'

"I'm so fucking sorry." His lips passionately went after hers once more, so much so that their teeth occasionally clashed into one another. More of her tears mixed in with their sloppy kisses as she rushed to pull his shirt over his head, breaking the bond between their lips, but not for a poor cause, no; much to her pleasure, he dove his lips into her neck and savored the taste of her skin. She gasped softly, slowly grinding against the hard bulge pressing into her.

Hands slowly hike a baggy, oversized night shirt up a body they've itched to caress on many occasions. Mikasa moaned in response as she arched her back to let him uncover something he's never seen before, at least on her, and my god was it a pleasure. He gently pulled her shirt over her head and looked into her eyes, now displaying nothing but pure lust. "You're so beautiful, Mikasa." he whispered, slowly gliding his hands up her warm, smooth skin, allowing his fingers to curve around her breasts. "Are you positive that you want to do this? Because I can't promise that I'll be gentle," she blushed at his words and offered a tiny smile. "Then I won't hold back anymore."

In that next instant, his face was buried between her breasts, nipping and kissing her skin. She let out a most intoxicating, pleasurable cry as his lips trailed down her body, arching her back to enable the removal of her shorts. The overwhelming warmth that's been building up since he pinned her to the wall came to a head when Eren's lips softly kissed her stomach and her inner thighs, licking the spot where her hips meet her thighs. "I should have guessed that you're a tease..." She felt a warm throb between her legs when his lips smirked against her skin, rubbing his fingers over the growing damp spot in her panties. Eren gently pushed the heel of his palm on her arousal and rubbed vigorously, sending Mikasa's hips up with trembling legs as she breathed a moan. He quickly pulled the soaked article of clothing down her legs and slipped his arms under her thighs to bring her closer.

Eren let out a low, animalistic, guttural groan as he used his fingers to gently pry her apart and went in for the kill, licking, nipping, and french kissing the dripping arousal before him. Whatever cold, dark feelings they had before this moment have now melted away with the sounds of her breathy, inconsistent moans, mumblings of his name and his lips colliding with her skin to create that addictive smack. When she started to squirm, her voice increased in pitch with every moan and when she raised her hips, he immediately slammed them down into the bed with his arms, lapping at the wetness between her legs. "Oh, yes!" Inside she was on fire, shuddering from the pleasure of his tongue tickling her insides. Though there wasn't a plan on either side when he agreed to see her, sex certainly didn't come to mind when he'd showed up at her door. In fact, this is the last thing they expected to occur. But there are no regrets, not tonight, not in this bed. Not with all of these years of pent-up sexual tension to release. "Erenn...mmm...I need you inside of me..." With his tongue pressed flat against her pussy, he shook his head back and forth, and she clenched her thighs around his head, because he's taken her over the edge and dropped her into a sea of intense, radiating pleasure. She released him and he kissed up her warm, sweaty skin.

"Do you now?" He breathed in her ear as she fumbled with his belt, letting out an impatient sigh and knitting her eyebrows together. "Was it so good that you've forgotten how to unbuckle a belt?" Then, the most beautiful thing happened, she grinned and giggled and it was intoxicating. Eren licked his lips to clean off whatever is left from her and was immediately rewarded with the softest lips he's ever kissed, and they followed him as he sat up on his knees to unbuckle his belt. Her fingers lightly traced the ridges and lines of his abs, sending a shiver down his spine that made him want to move faster. Her fingers hooked inside his trousers as he unfastened the button and fly, giving them a tug that left them at his knees for him to kick off his legs, letting them drop quietly on the carpeted floor. Mikasa slowly brought her hand down to his boxers and slid it underneath, gently caressing his cock with her fingers as the other worked to remove that pesky barrier. Eren groaned into her mouth and tore off his boxers, wrapping an arm around her waist as he pulled her onto his lap. "Hey," his heart fluttered when she wrapped her arms around his neck and her body pressed up against him. "I love you too, you know, like that." She sat up and reached underneath to adjust his cock, slowly sinking back down with a soft moan, never once breaking their mutually lustful gaze until he leaned in and kissed her. He tasted the saltiness of her tears on his tongue and held her tighter, because she's still too far away from him, and he from her. They kiss like they need each other to breathe as she begins to stir her hips and moaning softly into his mouth, sliding her hands up into his hair as their lips glided together. She let out a muffled chuckle into their kiss when he flipped her on her back and started thrusting into her. He slowly pulled away and buried his face in her neck, groaning and grunting because she just feels so good.

There are no worries or pain, just the two of them finally giving in to temptation after all these years of fighting them off, relishing in the sounds of their sweet lovemaking. Moaning with every thrust, she arched herself into him and clawed at his back. "Oh, Eren, don't stop!" Suddenly, he picked up his pace and suckled on her neck, desperately trying not to cum as the walls of her pussy contracted around him. She came with a cry and smiled when their lips met, sighing happily into his mouth as they slowed their thrusts. But then he took off again, this time so fast she tore her lips away and saw stars - perfect depth, perfect angle. "Eren! Eren! Eren!" She whimpered, trembling beneath him as they came together and looked up into his eyes. And suddenly, everything made sense to him. He planted a kiss on her lips just to confirm that this wasn’t a dream, and he won’t wake up in his bed drenched with sweat. From the way she nibbled on his bottom lip, to the way she kissed his neck, or the way she looks up into his eyes, it didn’t matter, because he was fucking hooked. “God, I love you.” he whispered without thinking twice this time, gently dusting any hairs stuck on her skin away from her face. Once more, those beautiful eyes filled up with tears, except this time he knows they aren’t due to anything that transpired in the living room, but because she’s happy. Really, truly happy.

“I love you too. Wow,” She smiled and chuckled softly. “I never thought I’d get to say that to your face and it feels amazing.” Eren pulling out made them both shudder as he dropped down beside her on his back.

“Why do you forgive me so easily?”

“Because all I ever needed was for you to apologize. I knew you meant it.”

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, beat the shit out of me or something? I feel like you’re letting me off to easy.”

“No,” Mikasa giggled. “What good would that do, Eren? It already happened. Besides,” rolling onto her other side, she curled up into his body and nuzzled his neck. “All I wanted was for you to come back to me.”

“Trust me, baby,” He smiled, lightly rubbing her hip with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[aromanticasterisms]

im thinking about edolas counterparts

when you think about it, they’re the same character as their earthland counterparts, just in a different world. they grew up differently. they reacted to that circumstance differently. that one crucial turning point in their lives never happened to them.

lucy ashley is similar to lucy heartfilia, in some ways. her father is overbearing and controlling. her future is in his hands, being laid out before her. she doesn’t have a say. there is no solace in that house; no friends in the shape of her late mother’s celestial spirits. she closes herself off, becomes cold, and lashes out. she dreams of the day she will finally leave; maybe taken in the night by a dark guild and finding an unexpected family. she dreams and she dreams until finally she can’t stand her father any longer. as she leaves her father’s manor, she chops off her hair, flips him the bird, and never looks back. if you really want to change something, take it into your own hands.

natsu dragion is terrified. there is no dragon, no burning flame inside of him providing him with boundless strength. there is no ever-present, powerful family around him, telling him that with each other, they can accomplish anything. what he does have is a small, desperate and scared family constantly on the run, with numbers dwindling with each escape. what he does have is a sister figure who beats him up to make him stronger (who loves him and who he loves, but he really wishes she would lay off the punishments once in a while like lucy please). what he does have is an enormous magic four-wheeler with wheels that catch on fire. which is pretty sick. he’d like to see the fairy hunter try and fight a vehicle coming at her at over a hundred miles per hour. behind the wheel, inside the walls of the four-wheeler, he is safe. he is powerful. and he is fast. the fastest, actually. he can outrun any monster, any royal squadron, any problem and any enemy. and that’s enough for him.

wendy doesn’t like humans. her adoptive mother doesn’t like them either. they’re too brash, they think fighting solves everything. they think if they want something badly enough, it’s free for them to take. the king of edolas continually steals from earthland, claiming it’s for the greater good, for the good of edolas, but even wendy, as young as she is, can see it’s to sate his own greed. his own lust for power. she doesn’t like humans. she especially hates the ones that pick on her new friends; the timid boy who won’t stop apologizing, the older boy who constantly challenges authority, and the black and white pair of her age that won’t stop bickering and also won’t leave each other’s side. seeing them get hurt sends her into action. she takes them all on--anyone and everyone who raises a hand against her friends. she hates humans, but some of them aren’t so bad. and those ones are worth fighting for.

cana loves her father. gildarts is a well-off nobleman, who raised cana on his own to be a proper lady. maybe not quite proper enough, she thinks as she steeps her tea in the middle of fairy tail’s guild hall. her father would surely chastise her for joining a dark guild, but she can’t help it. she loves her friends, her family, dearly. it breaks her heart each time the guild loses a member. she doesn’t understand why the king still wants to fight after all this time. all cana wants is to sit with her friends and have a nice cup of tea. all she wants is for everyone to be safe and happy. jet kicks over a table for the third time today and natsu stumbles by, crying as lucy sits on his shoulders and argues with levy across the room. not quite what she envisioned. even so, she smiles behind her cup, there’s nowhere else she would rather be.

mavis never casts law. she ages normally, staying with her newfound family and remaining fairy tail’s master for decades. when the king declares all magic guilds outlawed, she begins to strategize. she already lost one family. she will not lose this one--she will not lose zera this time, nor yuri, precht, or warrod. so she stands tall, stands proud, and defies the king. her strategies bring them victory after victory, and for a while, they win, they celebrate. but their victories are short lived; the king presses down harder on fairy tail. after one especially crushing defeat, where most of the guild barely escaped with their lives, and yuri was fatally wounded, mavis breaks down and cries. this is her fault, she thinks. she should have strategized better, she should have seen that coming, how could she not? how could she be wrong? how could she mess up? how could she let her family get so terribly hurt because of her? she can’t take it. she stands in front of her guild and she offers a heartfelt apology, and steps down. she stays long enough to see that her guild is stable without her, and she leaves. and one last time as the fairy tactician, she doesn’t see something coming. zera leaves with her. 

ivan is a traitor. after mavis steps down, he swoops in with a new strategy: run and hide. the guild has lost almost a third of their members, including their master and one of the other founders. other guilds are crumbling around them. they are heartbroken and terrified. the idea of running, hiding, and staying safe, sounds better than ever. for twenty years, they move their guild somewhere secluded, and run when they’re discovered. they keep to themselves and they are safe for a while. then she arrives. erza knightwalker, a ruthless and cruel captain of the royal army. she sets her sights on the elusive remaining guild and she hunts them relentlessly. they move sooner and sooner, losing more and more members. the guild argues as the time for the fairy hunter’s arrival draws near. ivan slips outside, into the forest the guild is hiding in. they will run like always, he knows this. and he knows where they will run to. he always knows. and through him, the king knows too. family is family, after all. he stands behind the guild and waits. knightwalker’s red hair soon becomes visible in the forest. she is twirling ten commandments in her hand. the guild’s path is predictable, she says by way of greeting. your information is no longer necessary. relieved, he sighs. i can finally return to the castle, then. her spear at his throat makes him think otherwise. he swallows hard. i have provided you with useful information! i have been valuable to you! her spear comes closer. that is no longer the case. as useful as you have been in the past, you are still a fairy. her grin makes his blood run cold. and i kill fairies.

lisanna was a kind soul. she and her siblings grow up in a guild on the run, always on the brink of extinction, and instead of becoming hard like the world around them, they become kind. they smile brightly at the rambunctious guild antics, and softly console grieving friends. their situation is far from desirable, and they know this. but they have nowhere to go. many of their guild members don’t either. so when the fairy hunter is always right on their heels, it’s understandable when the guild panics. some of them accept it, accept their fate, ready to lie down and die. others loudly protest, wanting to stand up and push back, and only go down if they go down fighting. a small amount suggest disbanding and scattering to the winds. we need to decide, someone--probably levy--yells, she’s going to be here any minute! the guild descends into madness, shouting and arguing. things are starting to get out of hand, and lisanna looks around, desperately hoping the master will step in. wait--where is he? i’ll go find the master, she announces, a hand on the door handle, he should be able to settle things. what she does not expect to find in the forest is the master bargaining with erza knightwalker. i have provided you with valuable information! she presses her hands to her mouth, feeling sick. knightwalker cuts him down and she can do nothing but stand in shock. the fairy hunter, with the master’s blood splattered across her armor, spots lisanna and grins.

laxus is lonely. ever since his father infiltrated a dark guild, laxus has been left alone in the royal castle. the king lives there, of course, along with lots of advisers, servants, royal guards, and knights. one of which has been assigned to watch over him after one too many midnight outings. bickslow is stoic, a buzzkill, and no matter what laxus does, he cannot get the man to laugh. even so, he appreciates the company. especially when a green haired thief snatches his wallet and he doesn’t even notice until bickslow runs after him. what laxus thinks he appreciates more, though, is how easy it is to convince him not to alert the authorities. laxus looks at the thief, who has backed himself up against the wall and is looking at the two of them apprehensively, and feels sympathetic. he kneels down and asks him his name. freed.  laxus gives freed some of the money from his wallet. you can just ask next time, though. freed shows up a week later at laxus’s window and asks if he wants to hang out. they become fast, unlikely friends after that, with bickslow as a begrudging chaperone. freed spins dramatic tales and laxus hangs on every word. bickslow is polite enough to wait until the end of a story before pointing out that they’re completely fabricated. laxus knows, but he still loves to listen. one particular tale freed tells sends the three of them to the cobalt forest, looking for a local cryptid, after bickslow says some reports line up with the story. laxus almost instantly gets separated from the other two, and finds himself stumbling into a clearing. sitting facing away from him is a young woman with long, unkempt brown hair. laxus’s blood runs cold. she matches the description almost perfectly. he panics, scrambles backwards, and falls into a bush. the woman whirls around, and after a long, terrifying silence, she laughs. after a while, laxus joins her. he apologizes for startling her, and she smiles. you are not like the others. he takes that as a compliment. he sheepishly explains that he’s kind of sort of totally lost, and she helps him find his way out. they find freed and bickslow at the edge of the forest, and laxus excitedly introduces the two of them to his new friend, evergreen. the four of them build strange, but close bonds even as the kingdom descends further into something none of them like. laxus can’t stand what his father is doing. bickslow can’t stand to see his fellow knights follow terrible orders. freed can’t stand watching people he knows go hungry on the streets. evergreen can’t stand to see the king stealing so much magic for himself. what if we all just left, laxus says one day. just ran away, got away from all this. we could go exploring! go on adventures and see the world! the three of them look between each other, and then back to him. if it’s with you, i don’t see why not.

lisanna strauss is not supposed to be in edolas. she doesn’t exactly know how she got here in the first place. she remembers that beast taking over her brother and sending her flying. she remembers feeling fuzzy and...floating? she thought she died. but here she is, alive and well, being crushed to death in a hug by her sister who is not her sister and her brother who is not her brother. mira isn’t even close, not by a long shot; she’s soft and gentle, not like her sister who is hard and rough to stop the world from hurting her, but who cares so so deeply about the ones she loves. elf reminds her of a younger version of the one she knows; he’s sensitive and timid, and while her brother might be shy, he is stronger than most give him credit for, as he endured the same hardships she and mira did. it’s not quite right, but they’re clinging to her, shaking and crying. we’re so glad you’re alright, we thought she killed you. lisanna looks up at the sky, which isn’t quite the right color, and with a hollow feeling in her chest, she knows she’s here to stay. so she hugs them back, holds them tightly, and mourns the home she will never see again. fairy tail in edolas is wrong. it’s wrong, so wrong, it’s off in so many ways, but she smiles at all the people who cry when they see her, who hug her just as tightly as mira and elf. she pretends she doesn’t remember much, and people fill her in with recent news and old history. it works for a while, but there are still parts missing, parts she doesn’t fully comprehend. it feels like trying to solve a puzzle with a handful of pieces you’ve stolen from someone else. mirajane shows her a picture of the three of them from a few years ago. lisanna looks like her, she thinks as she holds it, but not quite. her hair in the picture is shorter. she cuts it. lisanna wore longer dresses than she does. she changes clothes. she makes it work. this is her home now, this is her family now. this is where she belongs now. even if she feels like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot; bent at the edges, not quite fitting with the ones around her. even if the ground she walks on, the air she breathes, the very world around her feels wrong, as if screaming at her that she’s out of place. even if she’s not quite sure who she is anymore, somewhere between lisanna strauss and lisanna from edolas. even if she cries some nights, homesick, missing her family, her fairy tail, torn between wanting to go home and not wanting to make her siblings cry again. lisanna strauss is not supposed to be in edolas, but she’s staying anyway.

[bobasheebaby]

Charred Memories- Consequences of a Fling Chapter 3

Pairing: Liam x Veronica x Drake

Word count: 1,768

Warnings: angst

Summary: Veronica deals with the aftermath of telling both men.

A/N: I was talking to @imma-winchester-addict about TRR book 3 chapter 16 and the what could happen because of the fling and this was born. @mrsnazario1223 was my beta as always.

If you want to be tagged let me know.

Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters I’m just borrowing them from PB for a bit.

Veronica had been surprised by the hope in Drake’s face and voice when she told him she might be carrying his child instead of the next heir to Cordonia. His question had taken her by surprise, ‘what does this mean for us?’, what really caught her off guard was her response ‘I don’t know.’ Was it really all that shocking? Hadn’t she been worried about telling him for that exact reason? Hadn’t she been questioning her feelings before she even went to him?

She worried how Liam would react when he found out that Drake held out hope that they could be something. Drake’s hope would only deepen the betrayal, cut Liam deeper. She hoped she could keep her conflicted feelings from her husband, but she knew she needed to finally start being completely honest with him, even if it meant driving the spike further into his heart. She needed to be truthful with him about her feelings, about everything—for once in her relationship with him. Her lies had hurt him enough, she needed to take a chance with the truth. But she knew that with their broken trust, the still crumbling walls that once held up their life, their love, would make him doubt anything she said.

Veronica feared she could never make things right again, get back to where they were. Did she even want to? How could she do something that could condemn their future with such little care or thought? Did she really think anyone would come out of this unscathed? Did she really think that Liam would never find out about Drake? Why did she have to lie? Why couldn’t she just be the committed suitor, mistress, and fiancé he deserved.

Mistress—that word still felt like a someone was slicing her abdomen with a broadsword and her guts were spilling to the floor. No other word ever cut her deeper than the one that labeled her as his whore. Maybe if she had been his in every aspect, the one draped on his arm, things would never had happened with Drake. That wasn’t fair—putting her infidelity on him, if she had loved him—truly loved him shouldn’t she have been able to happy with even just a piece of him? No! She needed him all, needed to be able to shout their love from the rooftops, start a family with him.

Veronica’s hand came to rest on her stomach, here she was supposed to be getting everything she, they, had ever wanted and she’d gone and ruined it. She wanted nothing more than to have a family with him, and now she made the love and joy slip away faster than a balloon shooting across the room as it released its air. She dashed his hopes and dreams in an instant, made him wander the halls of their broken dreams in the dark mourning what could have been.

She wanted nothing more than to be with Liam the way they had been before she blew up their life. Is he what I want? Doubts kept creeping in her mind, never leaving her alone for even a second. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of battered dreams. Would she ever be able to pull her head above the turbulent water? Could she ever get to a place where she was happy again? What would her future even look like? Would it be stuck in a palace with shattered remnants of a promised future littering the floor? Could their marriage, their love make it through? Did she want it to? How did she tell her husband that the demise of their relationship left his best friend feeling hopeful?

Living with Liam became walking along the walls to avoid the shards of broken glass of what could have been. Hurt looks and furtive stares had become normal. Their relationship was but a hollow shell and they were ghosts stuck wandering the world of what could have been.

A puffy red face streaked by tears had become her new normal. Liam became more stoic and threw himself into ruling his country, living parallel lives instead of one life together. Her words had left him battered and bruised, unrecognizable even to himself. She understood she had caused him the worst pain imaginable, but they couldn’t go on ignoring each other forever, they need to talk—to try to move on, either together or apart.

Veronica sat up in their bed, waiting for Liam to return. She knew he was still sleeping in their shared bed because his side would always be wrinkled in the morning when she’d get up. Even if he was avoiding seeing her she took a small comfort in the fact that they still shared a bed, even if it wasn’t like before—before she cut his heart out with a butter knife.

Liam walked in, loosening his tie, he looked generally surprised to see her still awake, he had hoped that he had wasted enough time that she would be asleep.

Liam, we need to talk.” She stated calmly, even though her body trembled with raw emotion and fear.

“What more could there possibly be to say?” Liam asked, he looked exhausted, dark circles under his now dull blue eyes.

“I spoke to Drake.” She replied, picking at invisible fibers on the sheet.

“Oh? I guess I should congratulate him on his possible impending fatherhood with MY wife.” Liam responded, his cold hard voice dripping with disdain.

“Liam—” she started.

“What Veronica? I don’t have a right to be upset? He took the only woman I’ve ever loved and tore her from my arms! He ruined my happiness! I’ve been trying to figure a way out of this mess the two of you created!” He shouted, his voice reverberating against the walls.

“A—a way out? How?” She asked her voice cracking from emotion. Her body stiffened as she waited to hear him say he was working on a way to annul their marriage—divorce her.

“I don’t even know.” He replied, his voice strained and tired and he rubbed his hand down his face. He slumped on the bed, his shoulders hunched forward, her husband was broken and she was the one who broke him.

Unshed tears stung at her eyes, unsure of what to say or do, terrified she’d only make it worse.

“Did you ever love me?” He asked, his voice breaking with emotion.

She felt her heart shatter into a million pieces, “Liam, of course I loved you, I still love you.” She replied tears streaming down her face.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” He asked, choking out the words as tears pooled in his once vibrant blue eyes.

She didn’t know how to answer, the truth was she didn’t know why she slept with Drake, why she let him into her heart, why she had to have one more passion filled fling with him. She had been happy with Liam, hadn’t she? So why wasn’t he enough? Why did she make such reckless choices that left her relationship in a pile of rubble next to a mountain of charred memories?

Her silence told him everything he needed to know, he pulled himself to his feet, walking towards the door with large strides and renewed purpose.

“Where are you going?” She asked, throwing back the covers, jumping out of bed chasing him.

He spun on his heel, a burning rage alight in his blue eyes, “where do you think?!” He shouted, the anger in his voice making Veronica jump in shock.

Her eyes wide with fear of what Liam might do once he found Drake, “Liam you can’t!” She exclaimed grabbing his arm, trying to keep him from leaving.

“Why the hell can’t I? He didn’t think about me and my feelings when he went after the woman I love!” Liam shouted, wrenching his arm away from her grasp.

He yanked open the door and started towards Drake’s room at a furious pace, Veronica had to run to keep up with his long strides.

Arriving at Drake’s room, Liam pounded on the door, the second Drake wrenched open the door, Liam drew his fist back, striking Drake hard in the jaw.

Drake stumbled back in surprise, hand coming up to rub his jaw, “what the hell Liam?” He roared.

“I could say the same to you.” Liam replied, his voice full of a furious rage as he shook out his hand.

Veronica stopped, having just showed up, she glanced between both men, Drake clutching his jaw, Liam shaking out his hand. She grabbed Liam’s hand, looking at it, “are you okay?” She asked looking up him, eyes full of love and concern as she met his gaze.

Liam’s eyes softened when he saw the love and concern on his wife’s face directed at him.

“Hey, what about me? I’m the one who got hit!” Drake asked.

“You deserved it!” Liam replied, not tearing his eyes off of his wife who was carefully inspecting his hand.

“We should get some ice on this.” Veronica said to Liam leading him back towards their suite.

Drake slammed the door shut at their retreating figures, his heart clenching in pain from her display of love and affection towards Liam. He’s her husband, of course he’s the one she’s worried about!

Back in their suite, Liam sat on the edge of the bed while Veronica made herself busy getting ice for his hand. She held his hand loosely, gently pressing the ice on the back of his hand, Liam hissed at the contact.

He watched as his wife tended to his hand with such a tender loving touch, “you were worried about me.” He said.

She looked up at him in surprise, “of course I was, I love you.” She replied, the truth behind her words easily read in her eyes.

She does still love me! But why-? “But then—” he started.

“I made a mistake Liam. A lot of them really, I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, I know I lost your trust, but I do know I have always loved you, and always will.” She said cutting him off.

Having seen Liam so upset, so worked up over her that he’d punched his own friend she finally saw things clearly, she made a mistake. She always knew that, but she knew for sure that no matter what she was going to fight for her husband, her marriage, and try her best to forget about Drake.

Consequences of a Fling Masterlist

Masterlist

Tags: @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @speedyoperarascalparty @hhiggs @imafictosexual @bella-ca @museofbooks @indiacater @hdcathcart @mrsdrakewalkerblog

[fanfic-from-a-67-impala]

Better With You

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean; Demon!OMC, OFC

Word Count: 5167 (It's worth it – I promise!)

Summary: You and Sam were an item until you left. When Dean calls you for help on a case years later, you agree. The hunt takes an unexpected turn, and you and Sam are forced to reevaluate what you mean to each other.

Warnings: Lots of angst; there's a fight scene, near-death scenario, mention of rape (no description, though)

A/N: This got away from me. *shrugs* The ending is great, in my completely unbiased opinion :)

Also, first oneshot! Let me know what you think!

The name appearing on your phone stops you in your tracks in the middle of the parking lot. You feel your blood running cold as your finger hovers between the answer and reject buttons, your mind racing with so many possibilities it makes your vision spin.

You regret pressing the button the moment your finger hits it.

"Dean?" you murmur into the receiver.

"(Y/N)?" the familiar voice says. Deeper than when you last heard it, but familiar.

You grip the side of your car, shock threatening to knock you over. "How the hell did you get this number?"

"I know people," he says, voice higher in defense and arrogance. He pauses a beat before admitting, "Garth."

"Right," you sigh. "Bye, Dean."

"Wait, wait – hold on a minute. Hear me out, please," he calls.

When you don't answer, nor does he hear the click of the call's end, he continues. "Are you still on the west coast?"

You hesitate. Telling him would make you easier to track, and you don't believe you have it in you to handle a surprise visit today. Though, if they wanted to hunt you down, they would have found a way in the last year. Or the last five.

"I might be," you resolve.

"Sam and I've been tracking a demon in the area, but we can't make heads or tails of any of it," he says. "Demons are in your wheelhouse, aren't they?"

Sam. Even his name brings you back to the days of passion and longing and yelling, leading up to a final night of passive aggression and a closing door. It brings you to all the reasons you should hang up now.

"I don't know, Dean. Is there really no other hunter in the area?" you try.

"No hunter in this country does what you do," he states.

Though you take other monster cases when you happened upon them, you have dedicated your life to hunting demons, learning their weaknesses and how to track them.

"C'mon, (Y/N). Even Sam's on board."

"He is?" You allow the stoic walls you have built in your voice to crumble in your surprise.

"Yeah, he's all for it – right, Sammy?" You think you hear a rustling on the other end of the line, but you suspect you have imagined it.

The thought of Sam wanting to see you, or at least not willfully opposing working a case together, sends nervous butterflies through your stomach. After so long, maybe the two of you could find a way to work together, if only for this case.

But what if you can't?

What if neither of you can push past past feelings? It took a lifetime to pry him from your mind, and this phone call from his brother proves a painful reminder that you haven't managed to forget him completely, despite your efforts.

"Where?" you sigh, climbing into your car. You haven't caught a case in over a week, have resorted to chasing thin leads that lead to nothing supernatural. Now, a case stares you in the face, with no rational reason to refuse.

"Eagle Point, Oregon. You coming?" he says.

You turn over the engine, knowing you never would have said no. "I'll be there by morning."

Few cars have parked outside the sports bar whose name Dean texted you when you got into town. The gleaming black Impala catches your eye. You force deep breaths into your lungs, pushing away the nerves of seeing Sam again, along with the wonderment of whether he feels the same nerves, and pull the glass door open.

Dean's face crosses into your vision the moment you walk in. He's lost the childish smile and the light in his eyes, which had already begun to fade before you left. He looks older, sadder and weathered, like he's been through things you couldn't imagine.

You suppose you look different, too, after all these years.

Across from him sits a man with brown hair, longer than you remember, back turned to you. The man whose face you still see everywhere, who you can't help but let cross your thoughts everyday, where your mind wanders when you run out of work to focus on.

With all the energy you have, you drag your feet in front of each other toward their table. Dean's eyes drift over you, and snap back to you, unblinking, lips parted in surprise. Maybe he thought you wouldn't come, or maybe you have changed more than you thought.

Seeing his brother's stare, the brown-haired man turns in your direction.

Like a deer stuck in headlights. That's what he looks like. Not like Sam, not like the Sam you knew. So different, you think he may not be someone else for a moment. Like his brother's, his smile has faded, the light in his eyes dimmed. His face has hardened, frown lines forming where they hadn't been before.

He turns back to Dean. "You called (Y/N)?"

You notice how much his voice has deepened, grown out of the childish twinge you hadn't realized you missed until now. A deep voice, shocked and enraged.

"He wasn't on board?" you demand, more harshly than you would have wanted your first exchange with Dean to be.

"I..." he starts, panic growing in his eyes as they dart between you and Sam. "Look, you two can stow your crap for a day, all right? Now, are we hunting this thing or not?"

You don't dare look back at Sam, who gives Dean a disapproving shake of his head in the corner of your eye, but remains silent. You have already driven into town, already prepared for a case, so you slide into the seat between them.

"What have we got?" you huff.

Dean shuffles a folder of papers around while Sam angles his computer toward you, pulling up a map and an array of crime scene photos.

"We've been tracking a series of kills along the northern part of the country," Sam says, finger tracing the lines connecting dots on the map.

You sneak a lingering glance at him while his eyes are occupied with the screen, noting he hasn't lost the spark in his tone while explaining a case. Some things, you think, could never change.

Dean continues, pulling your thoughts back. "He goes after women. He'll get a few in each town, then he'll move on. Rape, murder – the whole nine. Found sulfur at all the crime scenes."

"And you think it's one demon travelling?" you ask, flipping through the reports.

Sam points to a picture on the screen, the side of a woman's face. "He leaves the body in the middle of the road and always kills them the same way – carves her heart out with a knife..."

"And leaves it in her hand," you breathe, eyes darting over the pictures. "Holy hell."

"What, you've seen it before?" Sam asks.

You nod. "A long time ago, over a decade," you recall. "His name's Elliott. Tough son of a bitch. Tracked him down three times before I managed to exorcise him. 'Course, this was before the whole devil's gate-opening, Lucifer-escaping, apocalypse business."

"We tracked the kills up to a few months ago, but we think they go back further," Sam says, catching onto your thoughts.

"And the most recent?"

"Two high schoolers here in town. Last one was yesterday around nine pm," Dean says.

You lean in to get a better look at the report he points to on the screen, but you feel Sam tense beside you. Only when you look across to him do you realize how little room you have left between the two of you. A reflexive, absent-minded movement, one you wouldn't have thought twice about before.

But now, you jerk away. "Sorry," you mumble.

You see hurt in his eyes, you think, at your apology. Why did you apologize?

For the first time in years, you look at each other – really see each other. You see his hazel eyes, the ones you could spend ages staring into at one point. You see the crap he must have been through since you saw him last. And you see yourself through his eyes. The girl who left.

"We, uh – we don't have a lot of time," you say, pulling your eyes and thoughts away. "Why don't I head down to the morgue, and you two see what you can get from friends and family?"

"Great," Dean agrees.

You collapse onto the bed, exhausted. You spent the entire morning calming the panic of a serial killer on the loose flowing through the police station, and the better part of afternoon sorting through the scrambled medical examiner's office before finally getting a look at the body.

The knock at your door slits your eyes open in time to see Dean striding into the room, Sam following close behind, cutting short your moment of peace. "Long day?" Dean says.

You push yourself off the lumpy mattress and onto your feet again. "I'm ready to kill something."

"You and me both, sister," he mutters. "If I gotta listen to any more crying today, I'll start throwing punches."

"They're in mourning, Dean," Sam reminds him.

You shrug off your blazer and drape it over the bed, grateful you had the mind to go to the morgue. You hate talking to the families; Sam was always better with people, caring and sympathetic where you couldn't be. It made you a good team. It made you fall in love with him.

"What'd you guys get?" you ask.

"Her parents weren't much help. They found her room empty last night, thought she snuck out. Only she didn't come back in the morning, and we found sulfur at her window," Dean says.

"According to her friend, she'd met a guy a few days ago," Sam continues. "Apparently, she was spending a lot of time with him, and he used the name you gave us – Elliott. She sent a picture." He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to you.

The screen displays a picture of a young man in profile, a candid shot, outside with people walking in the background.

"You okay?" Sam asks, picking up on your frown before you realized your mouth had turned down.

You hand his phone back to him. "The guy he possessed last time had blond hair and blue eyes, just like this one."

"Lookalike meat suits? Do demons do that?" Dean questions.

"Occasionally," you shrug. "They can get sentimental. And this guy's strong enough to take his pick."

"Lucky us," he comments. "You get anything?"

"Nothing we didn't already know," you sigh. "Same deal – heart carved out, in her hand. Only they found mud on her, so they think she was killed near the creek that runs through here, but they don't know where."

"That's, what – two miles of land they're combing through?" Sam says. "The next girl could be dead by the time they find anything."

You pull out a piece of paper from your pocket and unfold it on the table, revealing a map. "So, I did some digging," you continue, pointing to red "X"s on the map. "These are all the churches in Eagle Point."

"They're all on the eastern side of town," Dean notes.

"And demons tend to set up camp as far away from consecrated ground as they can get, so I say we start looking –" you slide your finger to where the creek meets the far side of town "– here."

Dean nudges his brother's shoulder, smirking. "Told you we needed her."

You feel heat rising in your cheeks at the thought of them talking about you, Dean convincing his brother they couldn't solve the case without you. And the prick in Sam's heart strong enough to tell him no.

When you manage to lift your eyes to him, though, he gives you a small smile. You return it without a second thought, almost comfortable in the knowledge that this encounter with Sam won't be one of hatred and past grievances. He will trudge through polite small talk with a living, breathing reminder of what could have been, his good nature never allowing otherwise. If someone cracks the eggshells below your feet, both of you know, it will be you.

Paint fumes permeate the air, cutting through the rotten egg smell. After a half-mile walk along the stream, you and the boys stumbled upon an old boathouse outside of town, the moisture-swollen floorboards dotted with clumps of sulfur.

At the table toward the back of the room, in the dim light of the narrow windows letting in the early evening sunlight. Sam refills the shotgun shells with salt. You focus on the faint pattering of the granules tumbling into the metal casing, the clicking of the gun as he loads them, even the hissing of spray paint as you mark out the devil's trap on the ground.

You don't focus on the silence between the sounds, or on being alone with him for the first time in years.

The pentagram comes naturally to you by now, the symbols you could draw in your sleep. But, halfway through the circle, the line of paint from the nozzle becomes faint. You rattle the can, granting you a short stroke of color before it fades again. Rattle, spray, fade; faster with each cycle.

You want to slam your head into a wall. Your spare can is in your car, a ten-minute walk away, which would cut down on precious preparation time. The boys may have packed some, but that would mean breaking the already uncomfortable silence.

"Hey."

You dart your head up toward Sam and catch the spray paint can he throws in your direction.

"Thanks," you mumble, abashedly.

Dean walks through the sliding wooden doors as you finish the trap, illuminating the painted floor with grey light. "Brought the car around. Found this by the stream," he announces, holding up a hand. Mud coats his fingertips, lined with a brownish red residue.

"Blood?" Sam questions.

"Enough to drain a teenage girl," he says.

You bite your lip, thinking of the blood, such an obvious clue left by an expert killer.

"What is it?" Sam asks, catching your nervous habit.

"The meat suit, the name, the kills. And now, the blood." You ask the question you have been dreading. "Does it seem a little too easy?"

"You think it's a trap?" he says.

"I think everything's a trap," you answer.

A wave of unease passes through the room, the awareness of your vulnerability surfacing.

Dean shrugs. "So, even if it is..." he nods to you.

"We'll kick it in the ass," you finish, unable to hide the uncertainty in your tone.

"Damn straight. Then it's beers on me," he says. "And then what do you say we catch another case somewhere, get you out of the rain?"

"Dean," Sam warns.

"What?" Dean shoots back. "We'll get the band back together. It'll be great."

You can't help but think how great it was to hunt with them, to have backup, to not be lonely everyday. To not have to shoulder the weight alone.

Sam turns to you with pained, unreadable eyes, and you know it could never go back to the way it was, no matter how hard you both tried.

"One case at a time," you advise, pulling attention back to the demon more harshly than you intended.

As the sun sets outside, darkening the room, you help Dean pour holy water from a jug into flasks at the table while Sam places hex bags in the corners of the room to conceal your presence.

A chill runs down your spine, and you notice the smell of sulfur growing stronger. You know better than to chalk it up to your imagination.

"Guys," you say into the darkness. "It's here."

Sam glances up from where he stands at the far end of the room, near the door. His hands go to his sides, searching for a weapon.

"Hey," you call, tossing him his shotgun, loaded with salt.

He nods in thanks and aims it at the door. You check your own gun and slink around the table, watching Dean do the same. The three of you wait in silence for the doors to open, or for a shift in the air, maybe.

After moments of hearing only your own low breathing, the room begins to relax, weapons lowering and eyes darting to each other. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe it was just a breeze, or your paranoia.

You see Sam shoot up again before you hear it. A faint crying, a girl's voice, growing clearer by the second until you can make out words. "Help! Someone, please, help me!"

You glance around the room to form a plan with the boys, but Sam has already rushed out the door.

"Sammy! Damn it," Dean mutters, reaching for the demon blade before he strides across the room.

You grab a flask and follow him out the door into the cool air, through a grove to the side of the house. You reach an arm out to where Dean stands behind you, facing the opposite direction, making sure you don't lose him to the darkness.

Guns raised, you scan the trees for movement, ears tuned for a sound over the whisper of the stream water, until you hear a soft whimper and dash toward it.

Dean reaches her first – a young girl, maybe high school aged, curled up in the dirt, gagged, and bound at the wrists and ankles. Her eyes go wide in fear when she sees you approaching.

"We're here to help," Dean assures her in a hushed tone, undoing her gag. "Are you hurt?"

You stand above them, eyes on the surrounding trees, glimpsing down only once to tap Dean's shoulder with the flask of holy water.

He unscrews the cap and the liquid sloshes, but no screams or sizzling of demon skin.

Your feet skate around them, longing to move, to find Sam before Elliott does. "Which way did he go?" you say, as gently as you can manage.

She raises a shaking finger to the creek.

"You got her?" you mumble.

"Go." He waves you forward, but you have already taken off, willing your feet to move as fast as your heart races.

A shot rings through the air, then another. You follow the sound outside the grove and into a grassy area near the water. You see blond hair first, reflecting the moonlight, knelt over a darker figure. As you sprint toward them, the sight becomes clearer.

Elliott, in the same young man whose picture you saw earlier, holding Sam to the ground, hands around his neck.

You shoot a round into his side, knocking him over, warranting a strained gasp from Sam.

Drawing Elliott's attention away from him, you scramble toward the edge of the stream and raise the gun again. The demon pulls himself to his feet, laughing a low, throaty chuckle, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

"(Y/N)," he sneers. "Long time."

You strike him with the butt of your gun, but he only stumbles backward before lunging, knocking the wind out of you. In an instant, he has sent your gun flying to the side. Cursing yourself for not thinking to get the demon knife from Dean, you swing, the impact of his jaw under your fist sending a biting jolt through your arm.

He spits blood, treading close enough to tower over you, even as you rise to your feet. "You know, for all the hype," he drones, "you sure took your sweet time."

You swing again, but he catches your hand, contorting your wrist until it has bent around, bringing you to your knees again as a hiss of pain escapes your lips.

"I mean, you're supposed to be this top-notch demon slayer. Yikes – scary!" he exclaims with mock terror as he twists your arm. Your stomach hits the grass and pressure on your back forces your chest into the ground.

A wave of panic goes through you when you realize you can't hear Sam breathing anymore, but you can't raise your head enough to turn it toward him.

"You had to know I'd get out eventually, so imagine my disappointment when I couldn't get your attention," Elliott continues.

The image of blood comes to your mind again, coating the tips of Dean's fingers. Blond hair and blue eyes. Hearts carved out of girls and placed in their hands. It was a trap, and you stepped right into it. Worse yet, you let Sam and Dean step into it.

"And then, I remembered you were awfully cozy with these boys, particularly Winchester extra-large," he adds, a smirk in his voice.

"You son of a bitch," you breathe into the grass.

He bend your arm back further, extracting a groan from your throat. But behind it, you can hear another voice – Sam's voice – uttering a string of words. "Exorcizamus te, omnis imundus spiritus..."

The pressure on your back becomes heavier, but his grip loosens. You yank your wrist out of his grasp and push him off of you.

You feel like you can breathe again, maybe from the release of the weight of his foot pressing on your lungs, maybe from seeing Sam on his feet.

Elliott flinches, brows knitting in fury, but the corners of his mouth turn up in a smirk. Before you can make another move, he flings a hand to the side.

"Omnis legio, omnis congrega–" Sam flies to the stream, landing with a splash.

"Sam!" you shout. Though the water appears shallow and you know he can swim, his arms and legs continue to flail, the water sloshing around him, as if an invisible force holds him under.

You leap toward him, but you have barely brushed his hand when something pulls you away, throwing your back into a tree.

Elliott shoves his forearm into your windpipe, striking down any hopes of finishing the exorcism.

"Maybe I should kill your boyfriend here," he remarks. "I imagine that would hurt something awful. Almost as much as, you know, being sent to Hell."

The splashing sounds weaken; you can only hope because you are further away now. You push against his arm, if only in frustration, but it remains unyielding.

"What do you want?" you croak.

He holds up a small knife, no longer than his hand. "I want you to hold your own beating heart in your hand as I carve it out of your chest."

You listen for the water again. Silence.

"Let him go, and we'll talk," you reply, desperation creeping into your strained voice.

"Are you trying to bargain with me?" he scoffs. "You do realize I'm holding all the cards?"

You catch movement out of the corner of your eye, behind him, creeping closer and closer. "Maybe," you say, and thrust a knee into his stomach. He doubles over, turning back to you in a second, but you push at his shoulders while Dean drives the demon blade into the back of his chest.

Orange light emits from his mouth and eyes, both wide in shock, but you don't wait to watch his body drop before tearing through the stretch of grass and to Sam's still figure past the edge of the creek.

You pull him by his arm as close to the riverbank as you can, kneeling waist-deep in the water.

"Sam! Hey," you shout. When he doesn't move, you shake his shoulders, swat at his cheek. "Sam, please, look at me... open your eyes, please." You let your plea fade to a whisper, not sure if you are begging to him or some kind of god, some higher power.

No response. He remains still, silent. Almost peaceful, with his long hair pasted back with water, though a stray lock crosses his forehead. His skin glistens in the moonlight, but all you want to see are those hazel eyes.

You let two fingers hover above his neck, above where a pulse would be, and hesitate to let your fingers press down, because if you find nothing...

His chest shudders, so quickly you think you imagined it. But a jolt runs through him, and he leans to the side, drawing in shallow gasps at first and deepening them as he coughs up water back into the stream. He jumps when he sees you beside him.

"Easy, easy," you say, but your voice breaks, and you become aware of the tears spilling over your cheeks. Only then do you tear your eyes away from his, wanting to collapse with relief over seeing them again.

You told the boys you would drive the girl home. She didn't give you a name, only remained frozen in the passenger seat, speaking only to murmur for you to take the next left. She didn't say what he did, and you didn't ask.

Back in your room, showered and dressed again, you throw your waterlogged clothes into a plastic bag for the next time you come across a laundromat. You pack the bag into a duffel, along with the rest of your belongings – your suit and some soap.

Your fingers linger over the zipper as you consider telling the boys goodbye. Neither of them acted anything but kind to you, and you don't want to leave on bad terms. But you would have to give them a reason for leaving so soon, before a night's sleep. And you couldn't tell them you want to put as much distance between you and them as possible. Hunts like these are why you work alone. You can't risk anyone getting caught in the crossfire, especially not them. Not Sam.

The doorknob turning rips you from your thoughts, but before you can reach for your gun, Sam steps into the dim light of your room. His long hair is smoothed back and glossy, like he took a shower, and a grin plays on his lips, reminding you of the way he always seemed to have a smile behind even a frown. A smile you missed.

"Dean and I are gonna grab a bite. You coming with?" he asks.

You cast an awkward glance down at your bag and watch as the light flickers from his eyes, his smile fading.

"You're leaving?"

His voice falls, and you let the thought of staying cross your mind.

"You know I have to," you say, to both him and yourself.

He closes the door behind him. "Look, I know it's been weird between us," he begins, choosing his words carefully. "But the way we fought together today – the way we hunted..."

"We've both been doing just fine on our own," you say.

"Have we?" he argues. "Have you? Because I know I haven't been half as happy as I was when it was you and me."

You bite your lip, thrown off by the outburst more than his words, not what you expected from the gentle-natured boy you thought you knew.

He stands nearer now, halfway between you and the door. "Whatever it is, we can work it out. You don't have to go."

"I 'don't have to go'?" you scoff. "Sorry, have you forgotten that you almost died tonight?"

"You know what we do. This was just another night," he says.

"No, Sam," you insist. "You almost died."

You surprise yourself with your honesty, watching realization pass over his face, bringing with it a solemnity that renders him speechless.

"You almost died," you repeat, the words sinking in. "You could've... because of some demon I hunted years ago. Then, where the hell would we be? What would Dean have done, huh? What would I have done?"

When he says nothing, you finish zipping up your bag, but his hand brushes over yours, warranting a gasp from you as you glance up at him. His eyes hold yours, wide and deep and sincere, not darting down with nervousness or awkwardness. They hypnotize you, sending butterflies fluttering through your stomach to the tips of your toes.

"These past few years – they've been more dangerous than anything we've seen before, and you've probably seen your fair share of it, too," he says, calmly. "It's a risk, getting close to people in this life, and if you don't want to, I'll drop it."

You blink back the tears you feel forming behind your eyes, but he doesn't let you lower your gaze.

"I don't know what you've been doing all this time. I know we've both hunted enough crap to wreak havoc on each other's lives," he continues. "But I also know that Dean and I are better with you. We always were."

He stands closer now – so close you have to tilt your head up to look at him – your bodies almost against each other, his hand still a gentle blanket over yours.

"I'm better with you. The rest, we can figure out," he promises.

You drop your eyes as you feel his hand grazing your hip, but you let it glide across your back and draw you nearer.

"Sam, I left." You say it like a question, like a flaw in a plan. Like a plea for forgiveness.

"And I pushed you away," he retorts.

"Because we didn't work."

The space between you dwindles, turning the beating of your heart into a vibration. He tilts your chin back up and catches your eyes again.

"We're not kids anymore, (Y/N). We deserve another chance."

His voice holds more passion than you thought possible. Not the innocent fervor it used to have, but now with conviction, a genuine maturity you find difficult to argue with.

He has grown up, and so have you, you realize.

And you believe him.

"Okay."

His eyes go wide in surprise, like he expected a different answer. "'Okay'?"

"Okay," you repeat, nodding. "You're right. And I've never been better than when I'm with you. If there's a chance in hell we can make this work," you lace your fingers through his, above the forgotten duffel bag, "I'll take it with you."

He stares at you, eyes still wide in wonder, and your stomach does a flip. He leans down and places his lips on yours, only for a moment. You freeze in his arms, anxiety and desire and sorrow pouring over you in quantities too great for you to comprehend.

When you don't respond, he pulls away, ducking his head. He stammers out the beginning of an apology, but you lift your heels off the ground, a hand going to the back of his damp hair, and bring your lips to his, cutting him off.

He pulls you closer, closing the gap between you two. You hold each other tight and start down the long road of making up for lost time.

Send me a request!

[smoakmonster]

B is for Better With You

Prompt: Comfort Anonymous Prompt: Olicity + "I sleep better when I'm next to you." A/N: I’m combining this week’s prompt with a hurt/comfort prompt that has been marinating in my inbox for ages. Apparently I am incapable of writing pure fluff, because this turned into a pretty angsty AU. This story was initially inspired by the Jacin and Winter relationship from The Lunar Chronicles. Word Count: 4.9k Tagging: @thebookjumper, @olicityhiatusficathon, @scu11y22 Also available on AO3. 

xxx

“Mr. Oliver?”

Raisa’s careful tone causes his stomach to fill with lead.

When he looks up from his desk, he doesn’t even have to ask her what she’s referring to. He can read the worry plain on her face, in her solemn, knowing look. It’s a quiet, secret language they’ve perfected over the years.  

“She’s worse,” Raisa whispers to him in Russian. And if the pitiful look she's giving him now is not enough to make panic flare up within his chest, the fact that she's using Russian--to prevent listening ears from overhearing--is more than enough.

He swallows, trying--and failing--to repress the sudden, ugly worry ravaging its way through his heart. Worse.  Such a vague and agonizing word, one that tells him exactly nothing and yet conveys everything regarding the woman he loves in the other room. Is she worse than she was a few minutes ago or a few months ago? Is she worse than even his deepest, most twisted fears? Is she worse than ever and beyond rescuing?

Then again, when was the last time either of them was actually better after sundown? Nighttime remains more unpredictable than the day, darkness more oppressive than the light.

And he hates this part--the plummeting, endless abyss before the crash, the sharp reminder that even on a quiet, stormless night, there can be no escape from the mind’s hellish surges. Purgatory is forever.

He spots the familiar prescription bottle sitting on top of his dresser, taunting him. Next to it, flickering against the light, lies a long, thin...cruel needle. A sedative.

“I do not wish to harm her, Mr. Oliver. But perhaps, if she harms herself...”

“No. No needles,” he reminds her sternly. He doesn’t mean to sound harsh. He’s not angry at Raisa. He’s not angry at anyone, really, other than the universe for allowing this to happen to the one he loves.

God, he hopes it doesn't come to that.

He made a promise to her once that he'd never inject her with anything, no matter what happens.

Carefully, he swipes the container up as he slowly makes his way towards the adjoining bedroom door--the open gate between their respective cages, their respective prisons.

This big place used to be sacred; now it’s become tainted. The mansion is where she used to stay as a regular guest during the summers when they were children. As kids, they would unlock the door and sneak in and out of each other’s rooms next door and have long chats filled with laughter and playful mischief. As teenagers, however, they soon discovered that co-ed sleepovers were not as innocent nor as possible as they had been during the golden days of youth. But they still made an effort to say goodnight to one another, while the rest of the house slept unaware. Even when she went to M.I.T., he personally never allowed anyone else to stay in her room, the room next to his own, the one corner of the universe that remained purely and completely theirs.

But that was many years ago...before they both became orphans. Before the nightmares. Before the pain. Before he became like the very monsters he’s trying to protect her from.

They grew up together sleeping a wall apart. Best case scenario, he expects that they’ll grow old together the same way.

It takes him an eternal second to cross the threshold. One second for his mind to fill with damaging scenarios. One second to worry if this is the night he loses her forever.

Oliver takes a deep breath, pausing despite himself. Invariably, the moment before he steps into her room, into her safe space, he feels severely unqualified to administer any sort of aid. He’s the last person in the world who can make the demons recede.

Her room is dimly lit, with warm yellow light coming from a lamp on a small end table, illuminating just enough of her bed for him to see her. There she stands, hunched over her computer, like always, utterly immersed within her vast, coded, digital world, a world he can never really follow her into. The world outside this room could be crumbling to pieces, and she'd never know. And maybe it's better this way, for her to retain some naivety about how unkind the real world can truly be, how it preys on the gentlest of souls.

She doesn't react, doesn't see or hear him come in. Her distinctive ponytail is falling loose and knotting, in a state of disarray. The harsh blue light of the computer illuminates her worn but concentrated face. Her eyebrows are drawn tight with determination, her cheeks thinner and paler today, probably because she still hasn't eaten anything, if the untouched plate on her coffee table is any indication.

Stuffing the bottle of pills into his pocket, he approaches her unsafe haven, softly, gently, like a panther aiming to befriend a deer, that’s when he hears her.

“I have to find it...skeleton key...I have to find it...” she mutters to herself, typing away, never ceasing, working herself back into paranoia and exhaustion.

She’s haunted by ghosts even he can’t kill.

And he hates seeing her like this, so close and so far beyond his reach.

Every time is like the first time. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to this dreadful urgency. He never wants to get used to this.

Like a match being struck, he can feel his own insatiable need to fix this sparking within him, a kind of throbbing violence that makes him tremble. On the outside he may be stoic, but it’s just a facade in effort to quell the craze inside him. He feels like he’s suffocating in his own skin, so utterly powerless.

But he only allows himself to be angry for three seconds. He doesn't want to make her more upset. He's here to heal her, which is as frustrating as it is painfully ironic. She's done more for him than he will ever be able to do for her.

Suddenly, she stops typing.

He feels the instant the room shifts, the instant her whole body stiffens as her walls go up, already on guard, already ready to run away from him.

She looks at him with closed-off and cautious eyes. “Are...are you my doctor?” she asks quietly.

He swallows the lump in his throat. “No, Felicity. I’m...” he hesitates, always unsure how to begin. “I’m your friend,” he settles.

It feels hollow. but at least it’s a start. It’s the truth. And even if she doesn't remember right now, he promised her he’d never lie to her again.

“My friend?” she asks, unconvinced.

He just nods, trying to ignore the flare of selfish pain that rips through him. It doesn’t matter how many times they go through this twisted ritual. This part still guts him every time--every time she doesn’t recognize him; every time she looks scared and lost and unsure, such a frail fragment of the woman he knows.

“We...we haven’t seen each other in awhile,” he finally says. And that’s true enough. It feels like it’s been years since he’s really seen the woman he loves.

Nervously, Oliver stuffs both his hands into his pockets, whether for her sake or his own, he’s not entirely sure. “Felicity, do you know where you are?”

She frowns deeply, adorably, eyes wandering around the large space with a slight pout in her lips. “My room?” she asks. Yet it’s the way she asks, in that wonderful Felicity way, that really gives him pause, gives him hope. She asks not because she’s truly uncertain, but more like she’s wondering why he’s even asking her in the first place. Which means she can’t be too far gone after all.

“And where is your room?” he continues, daring to hedge just a step closer. His heart lifts when she doesn’t back away from him.

“Upstairs to the left, down the second hallway. The left window doesn’t open,” she recites faithfully, glancing towards the window in question.

His lips twitch. He recalls with fondness one particular night they tried to sneak out through her window and discovered just how inoperable it was. Since inheriting the mansion, he’s never had the desire to have it replaced. After all, it seems the blueprints of her childhood never go away. Her feelings are less constant.

And Oliver doesn’t know what does it this time. He can never predict what triggers the change--perhaps, she’s remembering that same night of teenage mischief--but he sees the moment the light goes off behind her eyes, the moment she finally sees him. Like waking up, one second she’s looking through him, and then suddenly she’s looking at him...like she knows him, like she can stare straight into his soul. Just like when they were kids.

He can’t breathe.

She hasn’t looked at him with such deep recognition like this in weeks. The intensity leaves him awestruck. He hadn’t realized how much he’s been aching to see once more that soft, trusting, vulnerable gaze. But now that he has it, has her back again for just a moment, his brave, beautiful Felicity...he doesn’t want her to leave him again.

“Oliver?” The hesitation in her voice nearly chokes him.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

She makes some kind of sound he has no name for--something between sorrowful and relieved--and then she runs into his arms, slamming into his chest. He has no choice but to scoop her up into his arms, hauling her as close to him as she can get, cradling the back of her precious head, pressing her heartbeat up against his own where it belongs.

She clings to him as desperately as he clings to her, clawing her fists into his clothes, rubbing her nose against his neck, breathing him in.

And then she lets out another noise, this one smaller but just as fierce. It’s such a quiet whimper, he almost thinks he imagines it. But he knows it’s real. He can feel her quivering agony down to his bones. He’s grown so attuned to her every sound that he recognizes the acute cry for what it is.

And in that moment, he doesn't want anyone else to touch her. He’s the first person in the world who will do everything, anything to keep her safe. He may be the least worthy, but he needs to be the one who comforts her. (He still hasn’t determined where the line between selfish yearning and selfless desperation resides where she’s concerned, and yet he doesn’t really want to make up his mind about that either.)

“I missed you,” she mumbles against his throat.

“I missed you, too,” he manages to get out. You have no idea how much.

Reluctantly, Oliver lets her slide out of his grasp just enough to look up at him. She studies him intently, cataloging all of his face, searching for the secrets he keeps burying and uncovering and burying again.

Felicity reaches up to rest her palm against his cheek, and he starts, because now he’s starting to forget what this feels like.

“When did you get back?” She means the island. Her memories always seem to reset back to the day he first returned after five years in hell...only to find another five years of hell awaiting for him at his doorstep.

“Just now,” he answers honestly. He’s never really home until she comes back to him.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” He stills instantly at her grave tone. But then he sees--the sparkle, the teasing in her eyes.

“You have mopey face. Are you here to tell me that I'm crazy?” She tips her head at him playfully.

He tries not to smile, but there are some things that simply cannot be helped. That's his Felicity...always to the point, always making the world a brighter place even as her own world spins out of control.

He leans in close, like they’re sharing an old, secret antic. “That depends. Are you crazy?”

She sighs, averting her gaze, as she takes to fiddling with the wrinkles of his shirt. “I know when I’m being like Ophelia.”

His smile fades. While this isn’t the first time she’s used that joke--so he actually understands the reference--this is the first time she’s done so in such a despondent tone, as though she truly believes what she says. So he decides to tease her, to lighten the mood, to make her smile. Anything to make her smile, to feel as normal as she craves to be. What a messed up pair they make.

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t study Shakespeare, remember?”

It works a little. At least she’s looking him in the eye again.

“I promise I'm not as bad as the doctors think I am.”

His heart beats a little faster at that, filling with trouble that somehow she knows. Even so, he shakes his head, trying to assuage her. “Who said anything about--”

“You don't have to pretend. I saw the medical documents.”

He frowns, studying her right back in the silence, until it finally hits him. “You hacked into your medical records.”

The way her eyes grow just a touch wider, deceptively innocent, is conformation enough.

“Fe-li-ci-ty...” he prompts.

“Ugh. Hacking is such a dirty word.” She scrunches her nose, an act that he should not find as endearing as he does. “Oliver, I am a Grade A genius.”

“I don’t need to be told that. But do we need to have a conversation about computer privileges again?”

“Is that judgment I’m hearing?”

They share a look, as he attempts to admonish her, while she just silently challenges him to do something to stop her, when they both know he never will. He sighs with amusement mixed with pride. But the concern never goes away.

“I mean, technically, they are my confidential patient files that I’m...perusing. I have a right to know. According to the doctors, I should be moved to an institution.”

He starts. The way she just casually mentions it, as though sending her to a place like that, all alone and away from him didn’t absolutely disturb and terrify him on every possible level. In reality, though, he knows her life under constant care of trained professionals would not be that much different than her is now. And it’s not as though he and Raisa and John have never discussed this very topic. He’s discussed it while shaking to the core and blatantly refusing to allow anyone other than their family doctor near her, but he’s discussed it.

What if she has an episode when he’s not around to keep her from hurting herself? What if she hacks her way into the FBI again and the police come calling? What if by some chance that broken window betrays him and manages to crack itself open just enough for her to slip out and get lost?

But what if he sends her away and loses her forever anyway?

And why does he so badly need her here in their childhood home? Is it for her? Or is it for him?

He clears his throat. “We’ve already had this talk. Many times. And you’re staying here.”

“Promise me?” she asks in a soft, timid voice he hardly recognizes. He feels as though someone’s punched all the air out of him. But then she looks up at him with those big blue eyes, so lost, silently pleading with him, as though he holds all the answers. Oh, this is why he can never send her away. This familiar, steady, disarming look.

“I promise,” he vows. “And I promise not to reveal your...browsing history to the doctor.”

That puts a little spark back in her expression. “Well that’s good, since I keep your secret, too.” She winks at him.

Which one? he wonders.

But before he can even dare to tackle that subject, her computer starts beeping, and she’s darting away from him to resume her typing marathon.

Please don’t go. I just got you back.

“Felicity,” he warns, moving to stand beside her and watch her work.

“Just...one second.... It’s been running all day.”

Felicity types for another minute or so, and then like a tornado dissipating, she goes still, glancing back at him for approval. “So what do you think?” she asks, almost giddy.

He swallows when he sees it--a night time camera shot from a street corner in The Glades. It’s dark and grainy, but he can make out the shadow of a figure in the middle of the street. A hooded shadow.

He tries to keep his voice casual. “You...you’ve been tracking the vigilante?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiles, clearly pleased with her handiwork. “Took me awhile. This hood guy, as the internet is calling him, is pretty clever, I’ll give him that, trying to make it appear like there is no method to his madness--”

“Well, maybe there isn’t--”

“Oh, there is. Trust me. I am an expert at madness--” She winces. “Poor choice of words, sorry.” She shakes her head a bit, grabbing his arm to pull him closer still. “Take a look at these videos I found from the back alley of his secret lair.”

He pretends to focus intently on the blurry video, watching himself hop onto his motorcycle before taking off into the night. “His secret lair is an abandoned nightclub?”

She shrugs, ignoring his over-the-top skepticism, sticking her chin out proudly. “Well, I’ll admit, it’s not the most aesthetically pleasing location, but we can’t all be a Queen heir, can we?”

She’s defending him, he realizes. She’s defending the vigilante. To him.

All these months of trying to keep this part of his life as far away from her as possible, and in her classic, brilliant Felicity way, she’s somehow managed to plop herself directly into it.

He’s so stunned, reeling from this new information, that it takes him a moment to catch up to what she’s saying.

“--so with my new algorithm that compiles and predicts all the main routes the vigilante takes in and out of The Glades... Oliver, I think the vigilante could be a lot closer to home than we realize.”

She’s not wrong in this case, and that’s what scares him even more.

He must not disguise his reaction very well, because whatever she reads in his expression sends her babbling again. “Look, I know my brain is not always the most reliable source when it comes to these sorts of things, but cameras and news articles don’t lie. Well, cameras don’t lie at least. Unless someone hacked into the entire city’s traffic camera system, which is...technically not impossible but highly unlikely and would take at least--”

“I want you to stay out of this, okay?” He cuts off her rant. He can’t take this anymore. He can’t just stand here calmly and listen to her casually talk about the vigilante, as if she were talking about her favorite character in a book.

“Why?”

“Because this guy--whoever he is--he’s dangerous.”

“I don’t know. Seems to me he’s just trying to help. I’ll admit, his methods are slightly misguided but…”

He crosses his arms, waiting for her to finish. “But?” he prompts.

“Oliver, I just want to meet him.” Something in her voice...changes. Elevates. Fills with some timbre that’s never been there before. She’s acting like...like a fan.  Of the vigilante.

“You want to meet the vigilante?” he almost growls but manages to keep himself in check.

“Yes!” she answers brightly. “Don’t you?”

“Not particularly.”

“I just want to tell him how amazing he is. To say thank you. Everything he sacrifices to keep the people of this city safe, to keep me safe, to keep you safe. It kind of makes him a hero, doesn’t it?”

He sighs heavily.  Sometimes it’s easy to forget that this other side of her still exists, when there’s so much else happening on the surface that breaks his heart. Her brightness is enough to give him hope, even as every fibre of his being revolts against every word she says.

She’s always had a vivid imagination, but not like this. This is one thing that she is completely right about. But telling her means opening up a rusty can of worms and lies, and he’s not ready to let her see the worst parts of him yet. He does what he does so she can see what little humanity he keeps. He keeps for her. It’s wrong, he knows. And he’s only half a person, when he’s with her and when he’s without her. But he’ll gladly go insane if it means preserving her sanity. It’s more than he deserves, anyway. She’s more than he deserves.

“Let’s talk more about this in the morning. It’s time for bed.”

She pouts, “Noooo. But I’m not sleepy.”

“Yes, you are. Come on.”

Oliver practically drags her over to her large queen-sized bed, the same bed she’s had since she was seven and first came to live with his family. Carefully, he pulls the prescription bottle out of his pocket and holds it out to her expectantly.

She makes a face in disgust.  

“Please,” he whispers.

“Those gross pills never work. They don’t help me sleep.”

After another half-hearted attempt, he just sighs, stashing the pills back into his pocket. “Well then, what does?”

She tips her head, and to her credit, she at least pretends to contemplate his question for a few seconds before responding. “Hmm...hacking.”

He’s already shaking his head no.

“You.” She gently tugs on the front, unused belt loops in his jeans, pulling herself nearer to him. “You make everything better.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

“And I seriously disagree with you. Why can’t I stay in your room with you?”

His heart kicks into overdrive as she leans in even closer. Boundaries, Oliver.

“Felicity…” He breathes her name to caution her, but it comes out more desperate than deterring.

“Oliver…” She copies his tone.

He doesn’t know how to go on, until he does. And he knows he should stop her from leaning in this close, from rising up on her tiptoes, from brushing the tip of her warm, soft nose against his. But he just doesn’t have the strength to fight her anymore. Not tonight. He needs to feel loved and protected as much as she does.

So he lets her kiss him. And he kisses her back.

It’s not a harsh or passionate kiss like the ones they used to share in the early years; it’s not an inferno of hunger and need. No, this one is more tender and slow, more patient, more like the dying embers of a warm hearth, like the easy swell of a sunrise.

And when they eventually break away, her power over him feels even greater. Those eyes calling out to him, wanting him... It’s addictive to be needed this way. He craves her company as much as she seems to crave his.

Sometimes he feels ineptly qualified to cater to her every psychological need, no matter how much she asks of him. Sometimes he feels disturbingly overly qualified. He’s incapable of saying no to her.

“Fine,” he says at last. “I’ll stay with you till you’re sleeping.”

She smiles, clearly relishing her victory. He can’t even be sorry seeing her so happy.

“And rain will make the flowers grow,” she chimes, twisting out of his arms to begin removing a few of her twenty-something pillows.

“What?” he asks, helping her pull back the duvet.

“It’s from Les Mis, remember? We watched it last week.”

He stills. Last week?  She remembers that?

And now, he wonders, not for the first time, if her brain isn’t actually spiraling out of wack, but instead if it’s something more like what Barry’s heart was while he was in that coma. Moving too fast for the doctors to pick up. What if her brain is just moving too fast that the doctors have no other choice but to label her as something beyond reason?

And as though he’s the one who’s been struck by lightning, Oliver knows that this odd thing about Felicity Smoak...it’s not a curse. It’s a gift. Because everything about her is a gift.

“You sure you want me to stay?” He tries to mask the hope swelling inside him, bursting like honey.

“Come here,” she reaches for him, yanking him down onto the bed to plop beside her. “I always sleep better when I’m next to you anyway.”

xxx

She wakes in a cold sweat to an abrupt shifting on her mattress. Her bad vision barely has time to adjust to the pitch darkness before she’s startled by a painful groan. She scurries in the abyss to turn on the lamp--to chase the demons away with the light.

She squints against the brightness, putting on her glasses...and then she sees him.

“Oh, Oliver...” she breathes, her heart squeezing.

Her wonderful, darling friend--who’s always been far more than a friend--trembles and twists in the night, fighting against faceless enemies she can neither stop nor see, struggling mercilessly, endlessly. She knows exactly what that’s like.

She chases monsters in the day, while he chases monsters in the night. So maybe they can be each other’s cure.

And so Felicity does the only thing she knows how to do, the only thing within her power to do. She throws herself into the fire with him, wrapping her arms tight around his back, hauling herself against him, pressing her ear up against his back where she can feel his heartbeat, her favorite spot in the whole world. She loves the strength of his heart.

His whole body is tight, cramped and coiled in a near fetal position. “Please,” he mutters in his sleep. “Please, make it stop. Make it stop make it stop make it stop...”

I want to, honey. I want to so much.

He flinches against a memory of a swift blow, shaking them both, but she doesn’t let go. He whines in pain, lingering in a hole of agony she has no name for. God, she’s never really been a violent person, but sometimes she just wants to find whoever did this to him on that island and make their lives as living hell. See how they like spending their nights, afraid and ashamed and broken and...and still so beautiful.

Felicity holds onto him just a little bit tighter, squishing her face against the burning muscles of his body, as though to mold herself into his form permanently. She can feel the raised pattern of one of his scars. It’s from a knife wound apparently--one of many, at least that’s all he’s told her. Still, she knows it well. She’s charted the history written into his skin so many times. She even has secret names for some of his scars, like constellations, names like valiant and stubborn and winsome.

While he whimpers in his sleep, there comes a moment, so brief and yet it seems to last for hours in her mind, when she begins to wonder, Is this the one that never ends? Is this the night we both lose our minds?

But then...his breathing gentles; he stops shaking.

And miraculously, the horror does end.

And she feels her body relaxing along with his, muscles that she didn’t even realize were tight beginning to loosen. And just before letting go, she clings to him one last time, hoping that maybe this time, if she holds him tight enough, maybe she can hold together the broken shards of their minds.

When she feels him turning over, she scoots back to make room. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he blinks awake, frowning up at her, a little delirious, in the strange place in between sleep and reality. But when he grabs her hand, she doesn’t try to stop him; quite the contrary, she relishes his touch.

“Felicity?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Sorry I...I fell asleep,” he mumbles, his eyelids already falling.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m taking care of you for once.”

“M’kay. Don’t tell...Raisa...”

And then he’s gone, back to the land of dreams, hopefully good dreams this time.

Felicity smiles, like she does almost every night they go through this ritual, the ritual of pretending they’re not going to end up in the same bed together but somehow still ending up here anyway. “Don’t worry, Mister Vigilante. I can keep a secret.”

She decides to leave the lamp on this time, lying down to rest her chin on his shoulder, her preferred pillow of choice.

Whatever comes tomorrow, it doesn't matter. They have tonight. She has her sanity. She has him--her pillar of strength and book of secrets; her hero and her home. With a mind overflowing in brilliance like her own, yet as equally uncharted in its terrain, sometimes Felicity thinks he’s the one mystery she’s never going to be able to solve. And that’s okay. She’s happy to accept the challenge of spending a lifetime puzzling him out.

Even in the darkness, they’re inseparable, the boy he was before being lost at sea, and the girl she was before being smothered on land. Sometimes if feels like they both died the nights their parents died. They are both a little mad, but maybe together they can make one whole, rational person. Maybe together they can rebuild what was stolen from them.

As Felicity drifts off, she runs her hand over his heart in soothing strokes, in one last act of comfort before they start all over again tomorrow. She pleas as much as she promises him, “It’s okay. You’re safe...you’re safe. I’m here.”

[nurseperriestyles-blog]

Pointing Fingers

The Military Court was all polished wood and high windows. The judge’s bench was raised high above the room, and a mural of a bloody battle hovered over them all from the high ceiling. On one side of the room, members from each branch of the military sat straight and silent; the opposite side of the room was occupied by civilians shifting restlessly in their seats.

In the center of the room was a tall pole, to which Eren was bound, his hands behind his back. He was on his knees before the judge’s bench, glancing around with terrified eyes.

From their box seats above the crowd, Perrie noticed Erwin Smith and Levi. Their faces were stone and their eyes cold as they stared down at Eren, and Perrie felt ice fill her veins. She also noticed Mikasa and Armin. Armin wore a nervous expression, his eyes wide and his body shaking. Mikasa was just as serene and collected as ever, but Perrie could see a hint of anxiety behind her mask.

Perrie stood between Mike and Hange, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her lip was sore and she could taste blood, but she ignored it. She tried to hide her shaking hands behind her back.

“Well then, let us begin.”

The judge, Commander-in-Chief of all three branches of the military, Darius Zackly, rolled his sleeves up and adjusted his glasses. He was an older man who looked almost bored as he gazed down at Eren. He came across as the type of man that had no time for games or nonsense; he made Perrie uneasy, as if he would just condemn Eren to death to get this all over with.  

“Eren Yeager, yes? You’re a soldier, sworn to sacrifice your life for the public good?” Perrie bit back a scoff at his words. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Eren replied.

Zackly shifted in his seat a bit. “This is an exceptional situation. This tribunal will be held under military law, not civilian. The final decision rests entirely in my hands.” he looked directly into Eren’s eyes. “You fate will be determined here. Do you have any objections?”

Perrie gripped the wooden railing with sweat-slick hands, her heart hammering against her chest.

“No, sir.” Eren’s voice fell a bit flat.

“I will be direct. As anticipated, concealing your existence has proved impossible. We must make it public in some form, or a threat to society, other than Titans, may arise. What I decide today is which branch will gain custody of you: the Military Police or the Survey Corps. First, I ask the Military Police for their proposal.” Zackly’s voice was soft, but it seemed to boom throughout the courtroom; it almost gave Perrie a migraine.

“I, Commander of the Military Police, Nile Dawk, will present my proposal.” a man stepped forward, his back to Perrie. He held a few pieces of paper, and his voice was deep and laced with contempt as he spoke of Eren. “After a thorough investigation of Eren’s body, we believe that he should be eliminated immediately.”

His words caused Perrie’s brow to furrow and her mouth to move before she even knew what overcame her.

“Examined by whom?”

There was a moment of tense silence as everyone looked about, trying to find the source of the interruption. Hange seemed amused while Mike looked exasperated.

Nile couldn’t seem to figure out who spoke, so she rose her hand and continued.

“Did a medical professional perform this examination in an objective, professional manner? Or did one of your lackey--”

Mike’s elbow met her ribs and she glared up at him.

“How about I ask the questions, Miss.” Zackly said coolly, only looking up at her for a fraction of a second.

Perrie looked back down at Nile, his eyes were burning into her, but he simply turned his back on her and continued. As he spoke, Hange leaned down to whisper in Perrie’s ear.

“Levi is gonna give you hell for that.”

Perrie looked over to where the captain was standing, and she quickly averted her eyes when she met his cold stare.

“It was a valid point.” Perrie insisted, but Hange only shrugged.

“He is an invasive pest!” a shrill voice pulled Perrie’s attention back to the floor, where a Church of the Walls minister was pointing at Eren. “He has deceived the walls that embody God’s wisdom! He must be killed at once!”

The scowl that contorted Perrie’s face couldn’t be helped. She was not a religious woman by any means, though normally she’d never show such disdain for someone’s piety; however, watching a man call for the death of someone he didn’t even know triggered a powerful contempt to build inside of her.

Thankfully, Zackly cut the minister off and called for Erwin’s proposal.

Perrie felt her heart rate climb even higher as Erwin stepped forward.

“I, 13th Commander of the Survey Corps, Erwin Smith, will present my proposal. We would welcome Eren as an official member of our forces, and use his power to take back Wall Maria. That is all.”

Perrie folded her lips in and slowly turned her head towards Hange, her eyes all but popping out of her skull. Hange kept her eyes forward and Perrie looked to Mike, who ignored her as well.

“That’s all?” Zackly and Perrie both asked at the same time.

“With his power, we can take back Wall Maria. We believe that’s where the priority should be.” Erwin replied, his face completely serious.

“I see. And where would you begin this mission?” before Erwin could answer, Zackly turned his attention to Pyxis, who was standing near Erwin. “Pyxis, the Trost wall has been sealed, correct?”

“Yes. It can never be reopened again.” Pyxis said good-naturedly.

“We would like to set out from Karanes, in the east. From there, we would proceed to Shiganshina. We will figure out the route as we go.” Erwin explained.

Perrie felt a thousand needles pierce her nervous system and she lost focus on the rest of the conversation. She never thought the Survey Corps would actually consider going back to Shiganshina. Images raced through her brain: blood-spattered roses, a stinging pain across her thigh, blood soaked palms and a chorus of screaming children..

A disgruntled civilian began to yell and Perrie felt her brain throb. She tried to pay attention to his words, but when he began to argue with the Wallist, she found herself slipping back into her mind and anxiety. But then, the voice of Captain Levi reached through her brain like a helping hand and pulled her back.

“You talk a lot, pig.” Levi sounded bored, but his words were ice. “Where is your proof that the Titans will wait while we seal the gates? The “we” that you speak of are only those you wish to protect, the “friends” that line your pockets. The people who starve because there isn’t enough land to sow don’t even figure into the thoughts of you pigs.”

The merchant stood in a stunned silence before shooting back at Levi, but he was interrupted by the minister again. The two began bickering back and forth, and Perrie could see Eren squirm uncomfortably.

The sound of Zackly pounding on the desk echoed through the room. “Silence. You two can discuss your philosophical ideals on your own time. Yeager, I wish to confirm something with you: can you continue serving as a soldier, using your Titan powers to benefit humanity?”

The determination in Eren’s eyes flashed. “Yes, I can.”

Zackly considered his words before continuing. “The report from Trost says this: immediately after transforming into a titan, he swung his fist at Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren’s face crumbled into disbelief as he jerked his head towards Mikasa, who pulled her hair over her cut cheek.

He doesn't remember, does he? 

“Is Mikasa Ackerman present?” Zackly asked.

“Yes, that’s me.” Mikasa tried to keep her voice neutral, but Perrie knew her too well; she was agitated.

“Is it true that, as a Titan, Yeager attacked you?”

Mikasa hesitated and Perrie mentally urged her not to lie, even if it was to cover for Eren.

“Yes, it’s true.” she finally replied.

Perrie couldn’t see the look on Eren’s face, but by the way he winced, Perrie knew he was heartbroken.

“I knew it! He’s just another mindless Titan!” the merchant from before shouted.

“But,” Mikasa added. “On two separate occasions, Eren saved my life in Titan form. The first time, seconds before a Titan could devour me, Eren stood between us, protecting me. The second time, he save Armin and me from cannon fire. I would like these facts to be considered as well.”

Atta girl.

“I object!” Commander Nile stepped forward. “I believe these facts to be influenced by her personal feelings. At an early age, Mikasa Ackerman lost her parents and was adopted by the Yeager household.” Perrie’s blood began to boil as he spoke. “Our investigation has also revealed that at age nine, Eren Yeager and Mikasa Ackerman killed three robbers who tried to kidnap her. Even if it was in self-defense, I must question their fundamental humanity. Is it right to entrust humanity's fate and lives to him?”

Whispers buzzed throughout the crowd like a swarm of ignorant, mindless bees. Perrie felt her face flush with anger. She looked at Erwin and Levi, who stood stoic and emotionless.

“He’s just a Titan who has infiltrated us, disguised as a child. And so is she!” the merchant’s finger jabbed accusingly at Mikasa, and Perrie moved forward, the urge to jump from the balcony and punching the man almost consuming her.   

Eren’s voice flattened the crowd’s chatter. “No! I may be a monster, but she has nothing to do with it!” he shouted. His head fell and his voice softened suddenly. “I mean, you are wrong.” he said evenly. “But you’re simply coming up with theories that fit whatever it suits you to think. Besides, all of you people, you’ve never even seen a Titan.”

Ah, fuck, kid. Don’t give them a reason..

“What are you so afraid of? What’s the point if the people with the means and power do not fight?” he was yelling now, the fire in his eyes blazing. “If you’re afraid to fight for survival, then help me, you cowards.” gasps filled the air. “Just shut up and bet everything you have on me!”

Hange finally broke away from the floor to look at Perrie intently, almost desperately.

“Perrie, I need you to trust Erwin and Levi, alright?” she said, her voice low and stern. She stood in front of her with her hands on Perrie’s shoulders. Perrie was confused, but nodded. Not satisfied with a simple nod, Hange narrowed her eyes. “No matter what happens, Perrie, remember?”

“I remember.” Perrie confirmed warily. When she felt Mike’s hands grip both of her elbows, she squirmed frantically.

Then she heard guns cocking, and an order to ready the weapons.

The bitter taste of bile burned the back of Perrie’s throat and she seemed to have misplaced her voice.

But then, instead of guns firing, she heard a familiar, gut-wrenching thud, and she pushed Hange out of her way.

She watched as Levi relentlessly beat Eren; his fists, knees and feet meeting with the boy’s face and stomach over and over and over. Blood glittered the marble floor and Perrie felt something between nauseated and enraged.

Her mind went into overdrive as she watched Levi beat Eren. She could almost see his ribs cracking, his blood vessels bursting and pooling just under the surface of his skin, the cartilage in his nose shattering and his internal organs bruising and possibly rupturing or collapsing. She could see the tooth skid across the floor. Her hands twitched as she tried to keep up with Levi’s blows, memorizing every single place they landed. She noted them from worst to least and created a treatment plan on the spot.

Fueled by panic and rage, she kept up with Levi’s rapid fire assault, not missing a single blow.

It ended as suddenly as it started. With his boot against the back of Eren’s head, he held the boy down.

“This is a personal opinion,” Levi didn’t even sound winded. “But I believe pain to be the best way to train someone. What you need is to be trained like a dog, not a man.”

Everyone was stunned into silence; the only thing Perrie could hear was the rushing blood in her ears and the sound of Eren’s wheezy gasps. Levi began to stomp on Eren’s head, neck and back and Perrie let out a feral snarl. Mike’s grip on her tightened.

“W-wait..Levi..” Nile stuttered and Levi looked at him. “That’s dangerous..what if he turns into a Titan and--”

Levi kicked Eren again and grabbed him by the hair, turning his battered face towards Nile. Perrie fought the urge to scream.

“What are you saying? Don’t you want to dissect him?” Levi let Eren go, causing him to slump over limply. “When he turned into a Titan last time, he killed twenty other Titans before collapsing. If he is an enemy, his intelligence makes him a more formidable foe. Still no match for me, of course.” the nonchalance of his voice was almost more infuriating than his actions. “But what will you do? Those who seek to persecute him, do you really think you can kill him?”

Finally, Erwin’s hand rose and his voice, even and completely unaffected by the events that had transpired, rang out.

“Sir, I have a proposal. The details of Eren’s powers remain uncertain, making it dangerous. Thus, I propose to have Squad Leader Levi take responsibility for Eren’s control and embark on a mission outside of the walls.”

In that moment, Perrie realized this had been the plan all along. Her disgust at Levi morphed into exhaustion and frustration that Hange didn’t warn her; but then again, Hange was a military vet, and this was the kind of sick, brutal games they enjoyed.

Perrie shook her head in disgust and sneered. She didn’t listen as Erwin explained his plan to Zackly, and she didn’t listen to Levi assure him that he could kill him without a doubt. She kept her eyes trained on Eren, who was bleeding and shaking on the floor...just another pawn that Erwin Smith and his soldiers would use to their benefit.

She wasn’t even listening when Zackly gave Eren to the Survey Corps.

The moment she felt Mike release her, she was shoving people out of her way and exiting the courtroom, dashing towards the main doors where Eren would be exiting.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” she seethed, pushing Commander Nile, who was angrily stomping out of the chambers. Upon seeing her, he sneered and stumbled backwards, grumbling some insult that Perrie was too angry to hear.

She realized quickly that she was lost in the crowd of people, and Eren was nowhere to be seen. Panic gnawed at her until she felt a hand on the small of her back. Turning around, she met Levi’s grey eyes as he pushed her through the crowd. They rounded a corner and he led her down a hallway, away from all of the people and their noise.

He wasn’t being rough with her, nor was he being particularly courteous, but he kept his hand against her back as they walked.

“I know that was hard for you, but it was the only way.” he said as they approached a door at the end of the hallway. Perrie crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t give a shit.” she snapped. “He probably has severe internal bleeding. It will be a miracle if he can even walk again.”

Levi quirked a brow before opening the door and gesturing for Perrie to enter.

Perrie burst into the room, her eyes frantically searching for Eren. She went over his injuries in her head, sorting them out in the proper order in which to treat them. She expected him to be half dead by now, and she had to take deep breaths to keep from panicking.

Broken ribs, collapsed lungs, probably a brain bleed..

But when she saw him sitting up with nothing but a compress on his cheek and a frown on his lips, she froze in shock.

Hange was kneeling before him, asking him how he felt, and he was simply shrugging and wincing slightly. When he spotted Perrie over Hange’s shoulder, he smiled weakly.

“Hey, Pear.” he said, and Perrie slowly made her way towards him. Hange stood and stepped away, giving Perrie space.

She began to examine him, poking and prodding where Levi had punched and kicked him. Nothing remained but a few bruises and some dry blood on his shirt. She lifted his shirt and instead of massive bruises or swelling, there was faded, green and yellow clouds marring his skin. He was already practically healed.

“I’m sorry,” Erwin approached them, but Perrie couldn’t peel her wide eyes away from Eren’s face. “But thanks to that, we had you turned over to us.” Perrie rose and slowly backed away, a mixture of awe and fear flooding her when Eren smiled and she noticed his teeth..

“The pain you endured allowed me to play my cards at the right moment. You have my respect.” Erwin Smith knelt before Eren, his hand held out. “Eren, I look forward to working with you.”

Eren’s eyes glistened as he shook Erwin’s hand. “Yes, sir! Thank you!”

Levi then sat down on the bench beside Eren, all cool and collected. “Hey, Eren, do you resent me?” he asked.

“N-no, sir..” he replied, looking at his feet. “I understand why it was necessary.”

“That’s good.” Levi shut his eyes and sighed lightly.

“You took it too far, though.” Hange pointed out. “You knocked his tooth out.” She held out a handkerchief and showed them the tooth Eren lost. Levi scolded her for picking it up, and Hange argued it was an important sample, something to study.

At that moment, Perrie shook her head and stepped forward, pointing at Eren.

“No..it..it--” Hange looked from Perrie to Eren, and she bade Eren to open his mouth.

When he did, everyone’s eyes widened as they realized what Perrie was talking about.

His tooth had grown back.

[milesxdamon-blog]

Crucifixion//

Miles couldn’t even remember getting in the shower, but he’d been in there for what felt like days. The water was cold by now, pressing knives into his skin, but he could hardly even notice. He was so completely exhausted. He just wanted this entire night to be over. He’d thought maybe he could at least wash away past few hours first, though, but considering the way his spine still crawled, it was unsuccessful. He opened his eyes and turned off the water, leaned his head back against the wall before forcing himself out onto the linoleum floor. He dried himself off roughly, tossing the towel in the sink and pulling on some boxers and a paint-covered tee about two sizes too large. He wiped wet strands of hair out of his face, spending a long time looking in the mirror. What had just happened? What had he done? How could he have been so…there wasn’t even a word for it. The guilt was so strong and heavy he was convinced that it was physically weighing him down, that if he were to jump in water right then he might just sink directly to the bottom. In fact, maybe he should test his theory, see if he could really be that lucky. Suicidal thoughts could wait until after he was a bottle deep in whiskey. He sighed, pushing away from the counter and opening the door, but stopped in his tracks when he recognized a familiar figure in his room. “Mom?” Esther Damon was a small woman, in every sense of the word. Her figure, her voice, her personality. Her quiet attitude was probably the most striking difference between the two. Miles had inherited almost everything from her, blonde curls, nose, cheekbones. Everything except his green eyes, which contrasted her light blue, tied back to her. Maybe that was why their connection had always been so strong and unbreakable. And maybe that was why it had been so unbearable for both when it had broken. "Miles," was all she could say in reply, and she felt tears well in her eyes as she took him in. It was amazing how much someone could grow in three years. How much of someone's life you could miss. She'd thought maybe she could handle this, maybe the pain had really dulled the longer they were apart. Now she knew it'd just gotten worse. She felt her knees give out, but was wrapped in the safety of her son's arms before they could even brush the floor. "Where is he?" Miles asked. As much as he wished he could enjoy this, let the relief and joy wash over him, he couldn't. There was too much danger in the happiness, and he wasn't ready to let his guard down. Things like this didn't just happen to him. There was always a catch, a trick. He felt her head move against him, a slight shake, and he let some of his wall crumble. "Casey? Does he have her? Is she okay? Does she know where you are?" He felt her head shake again and heard her take a deep, shaky breath. "She's in the car. She doesn't know you're here," Essie's voice was high as she took several gasps of air, trying to slow her heart so she could hold herself together. She somehow pulled away and focused on straightening her dress, tucking a few strands behind her ear as she smoothed out her hair. Turns out she didn't even have to step back to leave his arms. At her words, he'd backed up immediately, hurrying to the door after his sister. God, she was fifteen now. How was that possible? He was suddenly imagining all the shit he'd gotten into when he was her age. Fuck, was there some talk he should give her? Had that already happened? Did she have a boyfriend? Had he not even had a chance to interrogate him? What if he was a complete asshole? What if she was hurt? What if she was addicted to heroin because this mysterious guy got her hooked on it? He had to find this guy who'd gotten his little sister addicted to hardcore drugs so he could beat the shit-- "Miles Isaiah Damon, you are not leaving this room. I drove ten hours to see you and I will not be disrespected because of your impatience." Her voice held a familiar sternness, and he stopped, dropping his hand from the door. "Okay." "Excuse me?" "Yes, ma'am," The back and forth only brought a smile, though, at the fact that he was even able to have it. Years ago she would've gotten a sigh or an eye roll or some other sass, but now, he would let her yell at him about breaking her favorite vase or sneaking out past curfew all week, as long as he could hear her voice. "You're skinnier," She commented, her voice as neutral as it always had been as she looked around the room. "And this place looks like a pig sty." That was when her eyes landed on an empty bottle, and she flipped back to her son, a mix of concern and anger. "Miles-" "It's not-" "Don't lie to me-" "It's fine-" "You know it's not." The silence was physically painful, an agony that coursed through both of them and the air between. To wait three years to see the other again, only to have to sit without words in a cavern of shame and disappointment? Miles almost wanted to curl up on the floor right there. "Oh, Miles..." The harsh bite had left her, and she stepped next to him, reaching up to hold his face in her hands. "You are the best son a woman like me could ask for. But your father was the best husband, until he took that sip, and God strike me down if I ever let that happen to you. You may be my angel, but, Lord, were you forged with a temper, and if you don't keep careful watch over it, you might not even see it sneaking up behind you. You can never let your guard down, sweetheart. You have so much pent up that once your dam breaks it'll flood the world. Understand?" Miles felt his lungs stutter with his next breath, and he realized that he was crying. He pulled back, turning away as he desperately tried to wipe away the tears. "You never did like crying." Essie said with a wet laugh, sniffling a bit as she rubbed his back. He was avoiding her eyes, but she didn't care. "I thought it may have been because you wanted to look tough or stoic, but you always said it was because you didn't like that once you started you couldn't stop." "I was ten, Mom. I said a lot of dumb things. That doesn't even make any sense. Of course I can stop." "No, I think you were right about that one. I remember one time, when you were twelve, I'd surprised everyone with passes to the zoo for a day, and you were so mad because I hadn't told you. You wanted to know the entire plan for the day, to the minute. You wanted to make sure we had enough snacks packed and that Serena had enough sunscreen and we brought the right snacks for Casey so she wouldn't have an allergic reaction. I tried to take the reigns and you panicked because you weren't the one in control. Even then, you didn't know how to give yourself a break. The scariest part to me was how you looked so calm the entire time, but I could tell you were constantly checking for something to go wrong. I've never seen someone so laid back and tense at the same time. You knew you were prepared for anything, but that didn't matter. The idea of actually resting was too much for you to comprehend. And it still is. Do you understand what that means? Miles, you've been checking over your shoulder since before you were twelve. The first time you snuck out, I was relieved, until you showed up the next morning and went around to each up the bedrooms ten time so you could make sure we were still okay. You thought I was asleep, but I'd been waiting all night trying to decide what to do when you got home. A normal mother would bite your head off, ground you for a month, but how could I punish you for trying to escape for one night, even if you didn't succeed?" There was a long silence, neither looking at the other, only taking comfort in their presence. "Where is he?" The words slipped out of his mouth with a snarl, and he almost apologized, before realizing he didn't care. He was pissed. He'd been through hell, his mother had been through hell, his sisters had been through hell, and it was all the fault of one person, and now was his chance to finally fix things. It wouldn't be hard. A bullet, a knife, anything deadly enough to make it quick and easy. No one would miss him. No one would even notice he was gone. It would all be okay. They would be safe, maybe even happy-- "In a hospital bed in Chicago. That's what I came to tell you," She moved so she was standing in front of him, blue eyes holding green. "He's dying, Miles. And he asked to see you before he does."

[ellipsesarefun]

But my heart longs for you

Otayuri Week 2017 Day 4: Reunion

A/N: Sorry if this is late.. I’m emotionally spent. UGH. Tried to look for something and I ended up reading angst, tried to get past the angst that I felt and came up with this. viola. This is the conclusion to “now i gotta wash my mouth out with soap”. I’ll put this up on Ao3.. Enjoy.

He was supposed to have an immense amount of positive feelings.. but he can’t bring himself to have them.

Because he’s up on the podium, a gold medal hooked on his neck. On the outside, people can expect that he’s elated. This was the metal that figure skaters fought for; of course he’s happy, of course he’s proud of himself. Truth be told, his thoughts are elsewhere. His eyes were straying from the crowd to a certain figure skater below him, the one who took second place. His mouth was taut straight yet his dark brooding eyes speak for themselves.

They barely had a proper conversation, mostly consumed with extra practice hours, discussions with their coaches (with disgusting PDA and outings on Yuri’s part) and laying next to each other in either hotel room. Nothing has changed, merely a few comments on his growth spurt and his long braided hair and new remixes from Otabek’s laptop.

However, there were also some additional adjustments from Beka’s part... The lingering gazes, the frequent light touches on the arms and shoulders (once on the face, when he tucked a strand of gold behind his ear; his fingers hovered for a moment before pulling away), and the sudden compliments were just part of the package.

And the smiles. Otabek was known for his stoic face and private personality, only displaying a glimpse of emotion to a certain amount of people who mattered. Yuri is a part of that group, and, he begrudgingly admits, even Mila as well. Months ago, they’d been engaged in playful flirting, possibly secret makeouts and dates. But that was then. To Yuri, however, there was something there (and how far his lexicon stretches, he’ll keep referring this ambiguity between them as something). It seemed that these body languages underlie an intent, an implied romantic intent. He supposes his deductions stemmed from his romantic feelings for his best friend... Because why else would he think there was this something in his actions?

But that wasn’t the reason his mind was wandering from his golden victory.

His performance spoke volumes of his wanton emotions that he was harboring these months. Similar to his music project, both his short program and his free skate were outlets of his unified theme: unyielding yearning. Initially he decided against it, with the excuse of the theme being too sappy and extra and so.. Viktor and Katsudon. However, he gave in, with the help of his annoying friend.

“It’s your feelings. It’s your own soul on the ice.” She reasoned, “What’s wrong with it?”

She turned to him, chocolate irises shining with wisdom, “The ice is your canvas. Paint however you want it to be.”

So he did. He poured every single drop of paint of every color on his canvas until the whole rink was filled with the brush strokes of his blades. Every second he was on that ice, from beginning to end, each step sequence and jump, were centered on his unbridled love; all from his first reunion with him in Barcelon to this Grand Prix Final, all those late night talks in the dark gloom at three in the morning, all his quirks and physique, all his mixtapes, all his flaws, everything else that branded as Otabek Altin was displayed on ice.

His friend wasn’t the only one who knew. Both Katsuki and Viktor caught on once they reviewed his choreography and music.

“Ehhh whose this for, Yurio?”

“A message for your beloved?”

Fucking extras.

People started speculating. Most of them were his fans. Initially, they drew hypotheses on the so-called unresolved sexual tension between him and a certain Canadian skater, JJ. While it did follow the hate-you-but-like-you trope, it was as false as his leopard prints and everyone is aware of his happy and successful marriage with Isabella Yang. It’s simply a fucking catastrophe to imply such lies when the wife can see it all over international media. Others had their speculations on Mila, but that simmered down when she recently had her eyes on one Sara Crispino (they were caught making out several times, reporters noted).

His friendship with the Kazakhstan Hero wasn’t out of the formula either. Through the years, his fans butchered into every detail of their social media affairs. Their “factual evidences” stemmed from tagged photos and posts (mostly Otabek’s latest remixes and recently, Yuri’s music project), always speculating that there was something brewing between them. His program theme and music choices made it worse. They now have an official fucking ship name (Otayuri, Yuribek or--ugh whatever). Never had they brought this up and they mostly ignored what others were whispering behind their backs whenever they saw each other during competitions. Not a word of opinion (negative or otherwise) could be heard from Otabek and Yuri did not wish to push anything further.

And thus, it was to be expected that the said best friend, whom he harbors romantic affections for and has now absolute acceptance of them, is completely and utterly oblivious to the message of his program theme. He never once mentioned his theme (out of cowardice and embarrassment) and Otabek never questioned it. It wasn’t entirely part of their conversation, most of their skating topics were about step sequences, jump dynamics and music performances, because he was his best friend and best friends are supposed to have some semblance of a psychic connection.

Somehow, that wasn’t the case for them. Even until now, Yuri has some difficulty deciphering his many stoic expressions and it seems that maybe he in turn was not blatant enough at times when he needed Otabek to know. He still isn’t completely certain on Otabek’s say on the matter, or if he does have an answer for him. Tine said to paint a canvas. But what was the whole point of presenting the whole canvas when the buyer doesn’t understand the intricate stories behind it, or doesn’t even want it anyway?

The thoughts continued to linger within the front of his mind until he realized that the exhibition gala has come to an end the after party is only hours away. He suddenly found himself being cajoled by none other than his “feelings assistant” and sole adviser.

“Yuri!!!” She crashed into his arms, crushing his lungs in the process. Now having had his growth spurt, he looked down at the crown of her black tresses and placed a hand on top. For a twenty year old woman, she was quite petite. 

“Hey.” His voice croaked a greeting, cracking from the lack of use. Immediately, the said girl looked up, crumpled eyebrows of her perceptive chocolate irises and blatant frown on her face. 

“Are you okay?” She asked, voice so small and fragile yet carried the weight of her words. He palmed her head repeatedly and gave a tired smile.

“Yeah. Not in the mood for a party I guess.” He said, to which she responded with a smile.

“Hey guys!!!!” a familiar voice hollered from the side. The two let go and turned their heads to see his rinkmate waving at them with a bright grin on her face. Beside her was Otabek, the usual soldier face as his expression. The second he saw them, his heart jumped, missing a beat. He knew they weren’t together anymore, but just the thought of them...

No.

He blinked and gave his head a little shake, hopefully warding off any assumptions that permit to linger in his mind. He managed a smile, noting the way Beka paused in his steps and the flicker in his eyes. He knows something.

“Hey guys.” He forced a cheerful greeting. Now is not the time for irrational jealousy to take place. However, it only grew worse now that her arm circled the entire span of his shoulders.

“Beka,” he momentarily flinched at her use of his nickname (his nickname for Beka; not that it was only his but still), “and I are gonna grab some food with Sara. Wanna come?”

“Sure!” Tine replied without any qualms of hesitation, as food is now at the center of her mind, “I’m hungry! Yuri’s coming, so there!” Great. There was no way for him to protest otherwise since her friend already decided his fate. The four made their way out of the stadium. Yuri was carefully pacing his steps, expecting Otabek to walk beside Mila and he with Tine. Instead, his red-haired friend grabbed his only saviour by the arm and dragged her a few feet away from them, already gushing which delectable desserts to eat. 

That, in turn, left him trailing after them right beside Otabek.

Great. Just what he needed.

He measured his breaths with his footsteps as he urged his friend with his stunning emerald eyes, hoping that she had some ounce of intuition that she’d turn around and bring him away from this rut he made. She caught on, chocolate to emerald, but merely stuck her tongue out before resuming to their conversation. 

Bitch.

Pushing down his growl into a small grumbled sigh, Yuri supposes this wasn’t such a bad idea. He can be cool. He can be chill. He can set aside his brewing emotions with unflappable poise. He’s done it before. But just as his walls start to build up, they only crumble at the brush of a group of fingers. Beka’s fingers. Somehow his callous fingers found their way in his. They pulled him forward, as he was too stunned to walk. He stumbled before retrieving his spot beside Otabek, the latter still linking his hand with his while avoiding his gaze.

“We should catch up.”

And just from that minuscule, casual gesture, Yuri is not convinced that Otabek is oblivious as he once believed.

***

He did not imagine he would have an opportunity with Otabek by losing the other two along the way.

It had only been just a second--maybe a couple of minutes, or an hour, maybe-- that he was window shopping around the area for leopard prints and cat merchandise (there was this sale going around and they have quite an abundance of good quality) when suddenly he couldn’t find Mila or Tine anywhere. He turned around, eyes scanning for a familiar mop of red or black hair but nothing except a crowd of strangers. He took out his phone from his pocket to check for any messages from the both of them.

Nothing.

He typed a message, sent it, and wait for a couple of minutes.

Nothing.

What the fuck? 

His eyes stray towards Otabek, who looked apathetic despite their situation. The latter felt his stare and turned to him, dark brown irises twinkling with a question.

“Aren’t you worried?” He asked, “They could be anywhere by now.”

He shook his head. “They’ll be fine. They probably decided to look for other stores that sell ice cream cakes.”

“Did they at least message you?” He shook his head again, not bothering to pick his phone up.

“Weird...” He muttered to himself, but before he could deduce the situation further, Otabek laced his hand with his once more and dragged him through the crowd of people.

“Come on,” he goaded, dark brown eyes burning bright under the night lights, “They’ll be fine. Let’s just.. enjoy ourselves.” That put the conversation to rest and the two found themselves walking the streets along the Passeig de Gracia. It was the Christmas season, so the brilliant display of lights and enthusiastic tourists come to life. 

The rest of their evening fared to be one of the best nights he’d ever been to in Barcelona. They aimlessly wandered off for awhile, whether in silence, long brooding conversations or just nonsensical topics. This was monumental bliss, Yuri mused. He’d never had Otabek like this before. Sure, they did go out after competitions, but this was new... with added bonuses. Aside from Beka’s wonderful smiles, hand holding is apparently now added to the list. 

But now there’s the flirting. Strangers flirt (in bars, or clubs, or wherever or however the usual romantic plot lines go). Friends flirt (which is pretty harmless and just playful banter here and there). Of course, everyone is aware that couples flirt. 

Exhibit A: Katsupiggy with bald old man PDAing anywhere and everywhere at anytime and all the time.

Exhibit B: Otabek and Mila. They had their... secret whatever. (Pure fucking torture to watch them)

He’s pretty sure Beka has his fair share of girlfriends and boyfriends. Because who could not? He’s fucking hot, with those chiseled jaw, manly stoic eyebrows and (may the fangirls add) “brooding eyes” with a those define abs. There was no way in hell he was single forever (and yes, they’ve talked about this in passing and yes, he’s had his fair share on... things). Yuri also has his affairs, some make outs here and there outside the watchful eyes of his territorial fangirls and some casual dates outside his life on ice. 

He could have anyone, he could fall for anyone, really. This is a human-infested planet, of different walks of life. Anyone can fall for anyone

But no, because there’s him. He’s Otabek Altin, who skates with fire and power of the god of victory, who rides motorbikes around the cities for the thrill of the wind, who has stacks of heavy reading that Yuri sometimes has difficulty in (he tried to finish a Jane Austen novel; weird English), who DJ’s for fun at clubs (and even gifts Yuri with unreleased track songs; original ones in fact) and who has manners of an English duke. 

He’s Beka, his best friend, who saw through his brash facade and saw the vulnerable soldier raging his internal battles, who called him a Legolas when people visioned him a Tinkerbell, who stole his heart and added a rainbow after every storm that clouded his life (and past) so far. They’ve been through countless of trials together and here they are.

The tug on his hand silenced his thoughts. They had stopped somewhere.. He checked his surroundings and paused. The two stood at the edge, a beautiful landscape painted in front of them.They were at the top of Park Guell where the starless canvas loomed before the dazzling Christmas scenery of Barcelona.

“Otabek this is--” he paused, a memory playing in his head.

“Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.” Those were the famous words he once told him in this very spot, the day they became friends.

“Yuri. We need to talk.” He swore he heard quad flips in his stomach. Yuri took one glance and he knew what was coming. (stupid brooding eyes, stupid fucking jaw, stupid soldier) 

“What about?” He tried his best not to stutter his words. He clenched his fists to pace his breaths and his palpitating heart. 

“About that kiss..” Oh my fucking fuck fuck fuck, “Did you.. mean it...?” He swallowed, as if an attempt to push down any ideas of running away from the situation. He took three intakes of air before mustering his answer.

“Yea..” His voice came out small, but he couldn’t stop there, “It wasn’t supposed to be like that, but I wanted to.. Just...” His mind came to blank, as he tried to find the right words to say.

“Just...?” He urged him on.

“You don’t like me that way.. You were with Mila at that time, all flirting and going on lunch dates and it fucking sucked and it was the last day with you there and I just couldn’t fucking resist but.. fuck!” He threw his arms in exasperation before falling them to his sides, “Fuck it sucked because I love you and you’re with her and I just wanted.. to try something before you left.. but I don’t know, I didn’t think it meant anything to you, which is expected and that’s okay, because we were okay for the past months right?” He just broke the dam to let the river flow. There was nothing that can hold it in anymore.

“Yuri...”

“And Tine was just so fucking helpful with her fucking music project, saying we should go share our feelings and all that shit and why not put all your feelings in your programs. Because that’ll give him an answer, right?”

“Yuri..”

“But I don’t know, you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t say anything cause I’m a fucking coward, and that’s okay because still talking to each other but it’s also not okay because it’s killing me and I just-”

“Yuri!-”

“It fucking sucks.. I know got a fucking gold medal after all this shit, but it just fucking sucks because you don’t get it and I don’t know how to make you get it without.. without-”

“YURI.”

“WHAT?” He screamed. He looked down, realizing he was now in front of Otabek, with his hands held tightly on his shoulders. His eyebrows furrowed over his dark chocolate pools that melted with concern. His lips puckered down slightly (it’s fucking distracting) that Yuri had to avert his eyes away.

“..You’re crying.” His eyes widened with surprise and he lifted a finger to trail the wet trails on his face.

“Wha? No.” He know he was denying, but it was a habit already, “I’m not crying.” He wiped his face with his palms tiredly, “This is just salt.. from the air.. and it came to my eyes...”

“Yuri..” This time, Otabek took the liberty to wrap his hands around his cheeks, thumbs soothingly preening his still wet skin.

“I’m okay, Otabek. Really.” Lies. 

“No.. It’s not.. I hurt you..” He whispered and somehow Yuri wondered how the hell his face was an inch from his.

“Yea you did, asshole.” He laughed; a weary laugh, “It’s not your fault.. You didn’t know.. You were in a relationship..”

“That was only casual..” He reasoned but Yuri shook his head.

“Still..” These were the moments he wanted to run, to escape, to hide away but his body drooped from all the pent up exhaustion that prolonged the months of silence. He parted his lips again to say something, anything, because the awkwardness is just stabbing him but stopped because-

Fuck. His lips are on his lips. His lips are on his lips. His lips are on his fucking lips and he doesn’t know how to respond. This was out of his expectations. 

And then suddenly, his mouth was left hanging, and his face was shot with woodpecker kisses; they were too many to count.

“What?” He was still dazed, his conscience was still too foggy as if he were drunk by Beka’s affections, “What did you-” He was cut off by another kiss. He let go and curled his fingers around his face with firm intent.

“Yuri. I know. And I love you too.” He confessed, earning a skip of a beat in his own heartstrings and flush of pink filling cheeks. He pressed their foreheads together, dark brown to emerald full of adoration. They both shared loving smiles, both spent from the emotional confessions and-

Damn.

He felt loved, cherished and that was the best fucking feeling he’d ever felt all day, all year, because this was the moment he was waiting for, the moment that he never thought would come but it happened and it’s real and Beka’s real and their love is real..

And no gold medal can elate his heart like this.

[allyinthekeyofx]

Small Considerations Between Partners - 5 'There's no place like home'

Summary:

It’s Scully’s birthday but she isn’t celebrating.

Chapter Text

Season Five

‘No place like home’

When Scully had announced a few weeks ago that she intended taking a personal day in order to celebrate her Birthday I hadn’t questioned it.

A day spent with her Mom sounded like exactly what she needed right now, especially given the year she had just lived through. More recently with her loss of a daughter she knew for such a short time but before that was the Cancer, and the way she kept up a punishing work schedule even as she grew ever weaker and more vulnerable coupled with the stark realisation of her own mortality as the cancer finally metastasised, spreading insidiously through the delicate network of veins and arteries as it began to take her away from me. Quietly stripping the flesh from her bones and the light from her eyes as day by day she became weaker and ever more accepting of her fate; and I don’t think even she believed that our last desperate gamble would pay off; believing instead the tiny vial she held in her hands that day in front of her incredulous family could never be more than a last hope in the midst of so much failure.

And now, with the luxury of hindsight, I know she had agreed to have the chip re-inserted not because she believed it would reverse the cruel progression of the disease, but because I did. That to humour me was to have been her last gift to me; an attempt to ease the pain of her passing for me with the knowledge that I had at least tried even if I failed.

But I hadn’t failed – we hadn’t failed – and against all the odds she came back to me. Healthy and whole once again; or at least that’s what I told myself, and to be honest, initially the sheer relief I felt at not losing her overshadowed everything else. But the Scully who remained was not the same Scully she had been before the Cancer took up residence inside of her. Physically she was different of course – the weight she had lost during the many fruitless treatments she undertook had yet to be regained. Her appetite remains poor and more often than not when we eat together she opts for a salad or something similarly bland which she winds up pushing around her plate and offering me a half smile of apology when she catches me risking a concerned glance her way.

Food, she explained to me one day in a rare unguarded moment, holds little appeal to her now, associating it as she does with the frequent and terrible bouts of vomiting she had to endure over the past year or so when she forced herself to eat in the hope her body would at least garner something of nutritional value from the meal before her stomach began to cramp and whatever she had managed to eat was violently expelled in to the nearest toilet bowl or sink or on too many occasions, by the side of the road as we travelled to a new case, to a new city, to a new place of escape; moving – always moving – afraid to stand still for too long because somehow she knew that if she stopped she might never find the energy to continue on.

And so the cycle continued; she would force herself to eat, accepting that, a good percentage of the times, depending on what she had eaten, within anything from a few minutes to a few hours, her body would betray her once again, leaving her a sweating, shaking shadow of the woman I knew – at least in the short term. And if that wasn’t enough, a nose bleed would usually follow a bout of vomiting as the pressure of the act ruptured yet more of the swollen blood vessels inside her beautiful sculptured nose and bathed her pale alabaster skin in a scarlet flow that, over time, took longer and longer to stem. I lost count of the amount of handkerchiefs I saw her toss in to motel bins, the pristine white cotton soaked red in a way that no amount of washing would ever completely remove until she simply replaced cotton with paper. Small rectangular packs of Kleenex, then later wads of paper towels when the Kleenex ceased to be effective enough and I carried them too, always ensuring I had my own supply should she require them; an unspoken acknowledgement of a necessity that neither of us could find adequate words to voice.

I try not to think of those terrible days where I stood before her, stoic and supportive even as I slowly and completely crumbled inside; wanting nothing more than to take her in my arms and crush her against me in the hope that she might finally acknowledge that she couldn’t hope to do it alone; that the walls she had built around herself were not the protective force she believed them to be; that it was okay to cry, to scream, to rail at the injustice of it all but mostly to just understand that it was okay to need and accept the help of those around her who were suffocating in the face of her own apparent indifference of her own fate.

But Scully – my brave Scully- had remained closed off and unwilling to accept even a token shred of comfort until right at the very end when one afternoon I had stood before her as she lay pale, tired and used up in a hospital bed that seemed to consume her very essence and she had held out her hand to me, inviting me to go sit beside her, allowing me finally to hold her, to fold her frail body in to mine as though I could somehow transfer my own life force in to her; to defeat the cancer using nothing more than sheer power of will because at that moment, a moment that hit me with all the force of a runaway train, I knew this was her chance to say goodbye to me while she was still coherent enough to do so. To feel our heartbeats merging in to one, to say to each other all things that may otherwise have remained unsaid.

And on that late summer’s afternoon as the room became suffused with golden sunlight that filtered through the half-closed blinds at the windows, we finally re-connected and regained something I thought we had lost forever; finally understanding that Scully had pushed me away as much to protect me as she had herself. To keep me focused on the work where otherwise I would have simply fallen apart at the seams in the face of her continued suffering and I think I understood for the first time that all the assertions she had made over the preceding months insisting she was fine were actually made to ensure somehow, that I remained fine also.

But the knowledge of her sacrifice didn’t make it any easier to bear and I think I will forever remember the feeling of her disintegrating in my arms as she finally allowed herself to feel something, her tears soaking my shirt and imprinting on my skin just as surely as if she had taken a hot iron and branded me. And I fought with everything I had to not cry in front of her; forced myself to hold myself together enough to give her this time – a time to acknowledge all we had lost, struggled, fought for, lived for – even as her own life was draining away.

And through the tears we found laughter too, falling as always in to the playful verbal sparring that had sustained our complicated partnership through the darkest of days, deflecting as always when the pressure of the situation became too much for us to bear. An afternoon spent reminiscing, talking of things past and oh- so painfully of things that we knew could never be – that time had finally run out for us both and no more memories would be made; that our history together was about to come to an abrupt end. Because I already knew that at best she could expect a few more days of lucidity before her organs began to fail and at worst – the unthinkable worst – was that she may not even last out the night, weakened as she was there was every chance that her heart would simply stop beating in her sleep and she would quietly slip away.

She had given me a final gift before I left her that day, the small leather-bound notebook that I immediately recognised as her journal – the journal she had begun so many months before and which I hadn’t thought she had continued after our return from Allentown. But page upon page was filled with her slightly untidy looped handwriting as she catalogued with pen and ink all she had needed to say to me but had been unable to find voice for; a book filled with love and hope and which spoke, not of regret for things lost, but with her hopes that I might someday find the peace within myself she felt I deserved even if I didn’t believe it myself.

I had taken it from her and she had turned those incredible blue eyes on me that in the past had seemed so fathomless, so hard to read when she slammed her barriers in place and for the first time I think I finally caught a glimpse of the woman she really was. Because all I saw reflected back at me was love coupled with a deep abiding respect for me that I certainly don’t think I ever deserved from her and right then I knew that she loved me; that in some small way she had always loved me, just as I loved her too.

Somehow I managed to tear myself away from her, managing to get to the safety of my car before I finally broke down, engulfed with a grief so raw, so consuming that I didn’t know how I would ever recover from it; feeling myself falling from within as emotionally, I literally felt a part of me tear in two. Unable to breathe, unable to speak, unable to see through the strangulating realisation that somehow, I would have to face a life lived without her by my side, I had finally become aware of the journal I was clutching to my chest, holding on to it in my hands as though it were a lifeline in itself.

That night I sat alone in my apartment and read it from cover to cover; hearing my partner’s voice in her written words as surely as though she were seated beside me, smiling despite myself at some of the memories she had included in it; words meant just for me; of shared moments in our partnership, words designed I think to sustain me when things got tough.

And right at the very end she had expressed a certain sadness that while she may have never found her way over the rainbow during her time with me, what she had actually found was worth so much more and I had smiled again as I recalled a conversation we had shared once on one of the long, long drives to God knows where chasing God knows what, where I had expressed incredulous amazement that she had never watched ‘The Wizard of Oz’ the whole way through. That most American of classics and possibly the most easily identifiable movie in cinematic history, promising her with a smile that one day I would watch it with her just to see the look on her face that would surely mirror exactly that of the millions of people who had come before her; a promise which I acknowledged painfully, had become just one of many promises to her that would never now be fulfilled.

Two days later I had stood and proclaimed before a joint panel all I had discovered to be the truth, heedless of the ramifications such a declaration might bring upon me, I had finally pointed my finger at those responsible for Scully’s illness. Their belief in me, in the work, became secondary to my need to find at least a modicum of justice for my partner who had been nothing but a fucking lab rat to them. And the scepticism had been all too obvious; Spooky Mulder, brilliant crackpot who they effectively kept locked in a basement, allowing him out occasionally to howl his theories to a bright silver moon, having the audacity to name one of their own as being dirty. I didn’t expect them to act upon my information; and truthfully it didn’t matter anymore because all I wanted was to be with Scully, my letter of resignation neatly typed and signed ready to be handed over to Skinner when she breathed her last breath, when the journey ended for both of us.

And much later I learned the true extent of the chaos that had reigned in the aftermath of my revelations after I calmly rose to my feet and exited that conference room, ignoring the insistent assertions from the men gathered within that I should return immediately to explain myself.

Instead I had pulled my phone from my pocket where I had switched it to silent and my blood had literally ran cold at the amount of missed calls from Margaret Scully, expecting the worst, I probably racked up just about every traffic violation in existence as I drove at breakneck speed to the hospital, barely holding it together as I prayed like I have never prayed before that she would just hang on until I could get there. That I wouldn’t be denied the chance to hold her hand just one more time and feel the warmth of her satin soft skin beneath my fingertips, to be denied the chance to say goodbye.

On arrival though I had discovered her pale and fragile and weakened from the terrible toll the past few days had taken upon her ravaged body, but still very much alive and if the latest PET scan were to be believed , fully expected to remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Because the cancer was just gone.

Taken away just like that; as though it had never been.

But after the initial euphoria had subsided, when life had begun to return to some kind of normality for both of us it became more and more apparent that a part of Scully had been taken away also; and that the bond we had formed in the final weeks of her illness, when she finally permitted herself to drop the barriers she hid herself behind was, while not completely severed, were certainly tattered and frayed as she pushed me away again and again in a futile attempt to make some sort of sense of all that had been done to her.

Truthfully I just didn’t know how to reach her, how to find a way to help her find herself again; floundering helplessly as she effectively cut me out in the aftermath of Emily’s death, refusing my every effort to help her grieve in a way that might bring her some peace; listening but never reacting when I heard her awaken on the nights we spent in motels, the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to suppress the tears that always followed a nightmare where Emilys name was forced from her lips on the back of a scream.

And it took every bit of self control I had not to just go to her, willing myself to remain where I was; fists clenched tightly as I listened to the sound of her misery filtering through the thin walls that separated us. But I never allowed myself to get up from my bed; knowing that it had to be on her terms; that she would only accept my help when she was ready to do so.

It’s a pattern that has repeated more often than I care to remember.

But more recently, she has seemed lighter somehow, more like the Scully of old and I had been ridiculously heartened when she told me of her Birthday plans with her Mom. Brunch in town, then shopping and either a movie or a show in the afternoon - Nothing particularly special sure, but finally, evidence that she was coming back to us after so many months of her own self imposed exile from the world; a tiny chink of light to find a way through the bricks and mortar that surrounded her as she began to choose to live her life again in a way she deserved it to be lived.

Which would all be great – if any of it were actually true.

I had discovered her attempts at duplicity quite by accident because Scully, as I have realised over the years, is as adept at lying to cover up her own frailties as am I and let’s face it, it takes a liar to know a liar right?

Because this time she had me good; or maybe I was just desperate to believe that she was beginning to emotionally recover from everything she had been through and so to say I was shocked when Margaret Scully phoned me to extend an invitation to join her and the family for a surprise dinner this coming Sunday – held to make up for the fact (and this was news to me) that we would be out of town on the day of Scullys actual birthday – was a understatement so fucking huge that for a few seconds I was rendered incapable of speech.

Eventually though I had managed to string a few words together, thanking her for thinking of me and assuring her I would be there to celebrate her daughters birthday; a birthday I know none of us had ever dared hope she might somehow manage to reach, let alone that she might get there intact.

I had said nothing to Scully, not really knowing how to broach it with her and, if I’m honest, afraid that to do so would just send her fleeing from me in a way that has become painfully repetitive since she opened the lid of that tiny casket to find all evidence of her young daughter had been removed, that once again something had been taken from her that could never be regained.

So I have played along with her, feigning interest as she furnished me with the details of her plans, agreeing to try not to call her on her Birthday as she would probably have her cel switched off to enjoy the day; staying silent as I listened to her voice that was just a little too cheerful, a little too positive and which now I had been blessed with the luxury of hindsight, I recognised held just a slight undertone of desperation, that I didn’t question her too deeply; that I believed her implicitly.

And now it is the day of her Birthday and I have spent the morning tidying up a few loose ends at the office before finally exiting and making my way over to her apartment where I am pretty sure she will be. If I find she isn’t I will simply wait until she returns because while I am in no way annoyed or hurt that she chose to lie to me I refuse to let her keep hiding from herself like this. Because if she doesn’t open up soon she will simply curl in to herself and forget who she is; and I’m not prepared to let that happen. Not now she has been given a second chance at life.

I arrive at the beautiful building she calls home and make my way up the steps and in to the hallway, pausing for a moment before I lift my hand and rap gently on her door to alert her to my presence. She will know it’s me just by the sound of my knuckles against the smooth painted wood, just as i can identify her by her footsteps, by the cadence of her breathing, by the subtle scent of her when she enters a room; because I know her completely, just as she knows me and the first thing that registers when she finally opens the door is that she is hurting.

I see the pain in her eyes even as she drops them to hover at a point somewhere just below the knot of my tie that I had loosened the minute I had exited the office; just waiting for me to call her out on the fact that rather than being out enjoying the day with her Mom she is instead, standing before me dressed in a ratty sweatshirt I easily identify as belonging to me which falls almost to her bare knees and looking like she wants nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her.

Because she has been busted and there’s nothing that embarrasses my partner more than to be caught in the middle of a moment of weakness; a moment of human frailty that God knows, more than anyone else, she deserves to wallow in occasionally.

But not today; not like this.

I reach out to her and place my index finger beneath her chin, exerting soft pressure until she is forced to acknowledge me, removing in one small action her ability to hide from me and one which I have used in the past to similar effect. And now that I get a chance to observe her properly it is obvious by the puffiness that surrounds her beautiful eyes that she has recently been crying and that right now, she is in danger of falling once again. And while I know that crying for her is a necessary release that she only allows herself to succumb to occasionally, I don’t want to be the one that causes her more pain.

So I simply dip my head and place my lips against her cheek as I whisper against her warm skin.

“Happy Birthday Scully.”

And I know that she will be the one to choose whether to step away, to lightly brush off the concern for her which has brought me here or whether she will allow herself to take the comfort she knows I can offer her if she only she will take that leap of faith to reconnect with me and in turn to begin to heal herself.

But while she doesn’t step away she doesn’t step toward me either, dropping her head again as the silence stretches uncomfortably between us and the battle rages on inside her, so obvious is her fight with herself that she actually starts to tremble, clenching her fists tightly in what I can clearly see is in direct response to the tears that have filmed her eyes again and which she is desperately trying to keep in check.

It’s a fight she is losing though and when the first tear escapes it’s confines to splash on to her cheek I find I can stand it no longer; that to just stand here and do nothing is no longer an option; that even as I reach out for her she is stumbling forwards, clutching at my shirt as she anchors herself to me as though her life depends on it, sinking in to my embrace, her body shaking now with the force of her desperate grief – a grief I think has been a long time coming for her and which finally, inevitably has demanded release.

I don’t speak. Words at this point are not necessary because she knows just by the way I hold her against me, resting my chin on the crown of her head as I lightly tangle one hand in the silky strands of her hair while the other presses against her back, that I am here with her for as long as it takes. Both as her partner and as her friend.

And slowly, so painfully slowly, she begins to come back to me as the desperate cries begin to taper off in to hitching sobs, then occasional sniffs and finally I feel her take a deep, cleansing breath before she exhales slowly. I suspect it might be the first time she has allowed herself to really breathe for a very long time.

I don’t ask her if she’s okay because I know that she isn’t. But it’s a start and I will take what I can get if it means her finding herself again.

Instead, I allow her to disentangle herself from me, heartened that she finds my eyes with hers and doesn’t waver as she places her palm against my jaw, resting it there just briefly before sliding it down to follow the contours of my shoulder before dropping it to rest over my heart.

“Thank you.”

And despite the way the words catch slightly in her throat, for the first time in months she sounds like Scully again, the sudden realisation causing my own breath to pause momentarily before I feel a smile begin to tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Here..”

I reach in to my pocket and bring out the rectangular parcel that is already losing the rose gold paper I had clumsily wrapped around it. Gift wrapping has never been my forte it’s fair to say.

But Scully doesn’t seem to notice that the scotch tape is already beginning to curl as she carefully and delicately peels back the paper to reveal the gift below, her whole face suddenly lighting up with recognition; remembering a promise made many months ago as she stares at the VHS tape before lightly running her finger over the title.

And she smiles up at me, the first really genuine smile that has graced her beautiful face for longer than I care to remember and I know that somehow, she will be alright.

“So what do you say Scully? You want to watch The Wizard of Oz with Me?”

End

[crossedswordsrp]

The Pragmatist

❛ I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day. ❜

Full Name Ameline de Granada Venegas Alias Formerly Germain Trouvé Age 43 (b. 1598) Alliance The Red Guard Position Cornette (Standard Bearer) and Ensign Negative Traits Stoic, Harsh, Perfectionistic Positive Traits Reliable, Practical, Confident

With the Reconquista (The Reconquest) of Spain by Catholic monarchs through the 11th to the 15th centuries, the golden age of al-Andalus, or Islamic Spain was coming to an end. Spain’s Muslims faced becoming a marginalized group in the Iberian Peninsula. In 1492, when the last Islamic state of Iberia, Granada, fell, Spain’s Muslims faced increased persecution and even genocide. Forced conversions to Christianity and resulting rebellions lead Spain’s Muslim population to become underground, many pretending to be converted but secretly practicing their religion to avoid threat to their lives. Although the final, forced expulsion of the Muslim population of Spain did not occur until 1609, Ameline’s father, a Muslim, and her Catholic mother left the Kingdom of Castille and her father’s thriving blacksmithy to immigrate to France. They had seen the writing on the wall concerning the prejudice against them despite the integration of many, and wanted to raise their only daughter with a better chance to live a genuine life.

Born Ameline de Granada Venegas in Paris, the young girl grew up with two loving parents who did their best to raise her with the idea that she could be whoever she wanted to be. Her father spurred much of this on, as Miguel de Granada Venegas, descended from the Nasrid rulers of Granada but relegated to the life of a blacksmith, was largely discontent with his lot in life. Back in Spain and growing up on the coast of the Kingdom of Castille, he had longed to be a part of the Spanish Navy in order to bring it to a better form of glory. Instead, Miguel watched the Empire crumble from afar, but relegated the stories of battles and their once proud nation to his young daughter as well as taking the time to teach her to read and write.

Ameline grew up with a love for Spain in her heart despite being born on French soil – a complicated love for a country that she had been told had plunged into further chaos and prejudice. When she was eleven years old, the expulsion of Spain’s Muslim population began in full force, and she saw the suffering upon the faces of many of the refugees that settled into Paris. There was a part of her that wished that she could do something – anything – to have changed things. A smaller, but still insistent part of her whispered that if only she had been alive at the right time – if she had been born a boy, if she had been able to be a soldier like her father had dreamed of for himself, she might have been able to prevent the atrocities and the deportation of innocents.

It was too late for Spain at the current time – the broken, bleeding, and beloved country of her heart. She would have to accept that perhaps she could do little for it now – but she could still do something for the country in which she was born. Armed by a humoring father’s basic military knowledge from the swords that he wrought and a fierce discipline, she practiced swordplay every day of her childhood from eleven on – watching soldiers secretly every time that she could. No one saw her – as a young girl, she felt often invisible, and she used that to her advantage. Still, Ameline knew that there was no military unit in France that would allow her entry as a woman, and she had known no woman to succeed in penetrating those closed ranks. For years, she helped around her father’s smithy, stewing in thought and uncertain as to how to make her next move. Eventually, her restlessness and ambition finally forced her into action.

A last, Ameline left a message for her parents, cut off her long locks, and signed up for the French infantry in 1616, posing as a young man. She took the name Germain Trouvé from the name of one of her father’s close friends in Paris and a last name meaning ‘found’ in the hopes that she might find her purpose. While there, although she was never skilled at the heavier pieces of weaponry, she honed her skills at swordplay as well as gained some reputation as a decent shot with a pistol. Young Germain, although he was seen to be reserved, was determined and reliable. Ameline became steadily popular alongside her comrades over time, gaining officership, with none at first aware that the serious but charismatic young man was in actuality a serious and charismatic young woman.

She climbed the ranks of the infantry for nearly twelve years, gaining a high officership position. Although over time Germain’s identity as Ameline became widely known – albeit not openly spoken about – in 1627, a change in leadership and a crack down on the troops led to her dismissal. The highly skilled soldier had nowhere to turn, and few additional non-military abilities – and none of the other regiments seemed initially open to accepting a woman, no matter how seasoned a fighter. Although she campaigned to remain in the regiment – her understanding was clear. She would have to find another path for herself.

It was lucky for her, if not tragic for others, that the Court Massacre of 1627 had left the Red Guard with twenty men dead, and the reputation of the regiment reeling. Cardinal Rossignol was in need of good, dependable soldiers – and if they were dependent on his kindness with nowhere else to turn, so much the better to ensure their loyalty. That knowledge that Ameline would be beholden to him, as well as her noble blood, decided the Cardinal upon enlisting her. Ameline was enlisted in 1628 along with a large crop of other recruits, including later colleague Hasekura Valentin. Although she allowed to serve in the Red Guard as a woman, she was demoted from her previous infantry officer position to a mere corporal. Rankled, nevertheless, she did her best to serve faithfully, although many of the actions she had to complete in the Cardinal’s service troubled her over the years. Over time, she climbed the ranks to gain the position of Cornette (Standard Bearer) and Ensign in 1635. This was the lowest high officership position in the Red Guard (below Captain of the Guard and lieutenant), but one of distinction nevertheless.

It would be inaccurate to say that Ameline is particularly happy in her position in the Red Guard, but she is a career soldier and she hangs tough. Although she may privately distrust the Cardinal and disagree with much of his orders, she is still devoted to the men that serve as her comrades-in-arms and respects Captain Dubois. She remains in the regiment for her Red Guard comrades and for her older parents, whom she now supports financially. Although Ameline may not make all decisions – she is a soldier after all, and cannot explicitly disobey the Cardinal; she helps keep order in the ranks. If she can soften the blow of the actions that the Red Guard commits and serve as a voice of measured reason – so much the better.

Connections

Herbert Dubois – The Cardinal is the highest authority when it comes to orders, and Ameline is not often particularly fond of what those orders entail. However, she does not hold Herbert responsible for funneling those orders down through the ranks, and over the years they have served together in the Red Guard she has grown to respect her captain. Seeing him as an essentially good man, they commiserate secretly over their grumbles of discontent, and she has even taken to – with her military training – helping him become ever more proficient as a fighter. Although Hasekura Valentin had been appointed lieutenant in 1637 and is technically higher ranked than her, it is often the down-to-earth Ameline who more accurately fulfills the role of right hand to the Captain of the Guard.

Hasekura Valentin – The two officers are complete opposites in every way, and although Ameline is occasionally leery of the other’s cavalier approach to things that personally bother her, they work surprisingly well together. Valentin’s quirky penchant for innovation is balanced out with Ameline’s practical tactical bent and their military experience combined make them a formidable force on either side of their captain.

Renaud Marin – During the years of 1618-1620, Renaud and Ameline, under her alias Germain, served together in the French infantry. Throughout much of their time together, with Ameline being slightly senior to him, she served as a mentor to the young man, bonding with him over a shared Spanish heritage. After Renaud left the infantry to serve in the light cavalry, they met each other again only after both had respectively been enlisted in the Musketeers and the Red Guard. Renaud had been surprised to learn that she was a woman, and there is still friction between them due to her being in the Red Guard (and on account of Herbert, whom Renaud dislikes and Ameline is loyal to). Still, they remain on decently friendly terms with each other when she sees the now-envoy to Spain in court, separating the personal from professional.

This character is portrayed by GINA TORRES and is TAKEN

OOC Notes: Please see the information Life in the Military for more details on being a member of the Red Guard. Also, read about the Red Guard Garrison (see locations)!

She is Muslim. Ameline can speak, read, and write French, Spanish, and Arabic.