#just. in every possible way. no matter the au or circumstances that man is Devoted

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

man. theres just something abt cult leader geto huh

[ymiwritesstuff]

My Dear Pet

OK SO.. Uhmm.. how should I explain this.. This is a ROLE REVERSAL AU and well.. just read. Maybe it’ll become clear.

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: Phantom Blood

Dio Brando x Fem!Reader

Summary: Upon arriving to the Joestar mansion with the intention of becoming a part of the family, your eyes immediately notice a certain blonde noble who catches your attention.

Notes: Role reversal AU, Spoilers for part 1, VERY suggestive themes and language

The carriage you are seated in comes to a stop when you finally reach your destination. Looking through the small window you can see the Joestar manor in all it’s glory. This “glorious” sight makes you scoff and you swing the door open, throwing your suitcase on the ground, which catches the attention of the two males in front of you. Under their curious gazes you gracefully jump out of the cramped wagon and land on the ground like an agile cat. Just a small action to prove your superiority.

When your sharp eyes fall on the blue haired boy -which you assume to be Jonathan Joestar-, he looks confused but quickly an expression of realization dawns on his face. “You’re (Name) (Surname), right?” A smug, self-assured grin appears across your lips. At least this noble brat has some manners. Even if he didn’t he’d soon know your name very well. “And you must be Jonathan Joestar,” you say, voice coated with a layer of false kindness. The sight of this pampered boy makes you disgusted. He has no idea how real life works.

“Everyone calls me Jojo. Nice to meet you,” Jonathan turns to the blond boy next to him, who wears an admittedly charming smile on his face. “This is Dio Brando, he’s a member of the Brando household.” The introduction awakened a certain curiosity in you. You had heard of the Brando family more than you had of the Joestars but knew how close the families were. Dio politely took one of your hands in his and gently kissed the back of it, an action which amused you greatly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Ms. (Surname). I hope you enjoy your time here.” The way his strangely sharp eyes looked at you twisted something inside you and made you even more curious about the boy in front of you. “I do believe the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Brando.” You flashed him a smirk which he immediately caught with his amber orbs. That smirk only grew when you noticed a faint wash of pink on his cheeks.

Jonathan’s highly obnoxious remarks of his dog you barely even looked at went unheard as your gaze remained on Dio. There was something.. Alluring about him. He didn’t radiate that same agitating noble boy’s energy as Jojo did, instead, he looked free in a way. The refreshing aura of freedom surrounded him and despite his sharp, cunning eyes the gaze within them was gentle and kind. It was as if he wasn’t meant to be a noble.

Your (E/C) eyes suddenly catch Jonathan’s dog running at you. A vicious snarl creeps on your face and with one swift movement, you mercilessly collide your knee with the snout of the animal. How dare Jonathan let his disgusting mutt get close to you? Danny lets out a whimper and falls to the ground, shaking from the pain. Serves him right. Both of the males gasp in shock and Jonathan is quick to defend his companion.

“What was that for?!” You respond to his pathetic attempt to defy you by glaring at him with eyes that are burning with increasing toxicity. So this was the heir to the Joestars? He was merely a pampered brat, undeserving of the fortune awaiting him. Your goals were absolute and you would not let this fool get in the way of your plans. You would succeed and your hunger for power would not be quenched and you would do anything to ensure your position as the true heir of the Joestars. No matter what.

~

Just as you expected, defeating Jonathan wasn’t going to be easy. However with the help of a few fake rumors and other lies you were able to destroy his chances with Erina and completely obliterate his friendship with Dio. Just a tiny bit of intimidation to make the girl keep her mouth shut and just a small false rumor about Dio stealing her first kiss was all it took. Jojo had no friends anymore and you were more than happy to serve as Dio’s source of comfort, all the while your true nature was hidden behind a facade. Of course Erina told Jonathan the truth but it was too late for the male to repair his friendship with Dio and was devastated to see him call you his beloved.

For all these years you had maintained your innocent sister’s act and you were finally approaching the end. Soon, your father would die due to a sudden illness that was actually caused by your scheme and the family fortune would finally be yours. However you were a fool to think that it would all go smoothly as your dear brother who had caught glimpses of your mischievous eyes and the feigning tone of your voice, found out about your plan to assassinate your father. And upon confronting you about it, his suspicions were proven correct and he set out to find the antidote for the poison.

Damn that Jonathan. You were so close. You had thought that the thugs on that merciless Ogre Street would’ve finally put an end to the nuisance known as Jojo, but just like a bothersome cockroach, he came back unscathed and with your true intentions revealed, was ready to send you behind bars. But luck was on your side and the moment the spikes of the stone mask pierced your skull, you  transcended humanity and obtained that inhuman power you didn’t even know you were longing for.

~

Your lips curl into a smirk that reveals the tiniest portion of your newly acquired fangs as your brainless servants bring yet another human to your lair. This time however, the mortal brought into your impressive throne room of the dark castle was someone you knew far too well. With a single wave of your clawed hand, you dismiss your servants, leaving you alone with the golden haired man.

“Dio.. What a surprise..” Your low, honeyed voice reaches his ears and he lifts his gaze to look at you, wearing an expression that is a mixture of confusion and -quite surprisingly-, fear. Judging by the condition he’s in; filled with bruises and cuts, bringing him here wasn’t an easy task and the thought of him being a feisty little pet amused you.

“(Name).. W-what is going on?” He looks around him, the unknown surroundings coating him in a layer of nervousness and uneasiness. You let out a playful yet highly sinister chuckle that makes every hair in Dio’s body stand up, his amber eyes locked on your new form. Your slow footsteps echo around the open room, your smirk never fading and your (E/C) feasting on the sight of your lover on his knees. He looked like a lost puppy that was begging for assistance.

“Why do you look so frightened, my dear? Does my new appearance intimidate you?” Once you’re in front of him, you lower yourself to his level and gently caress his face with your claws. Dio notices the sharp fangs in your mouth and immediately remembers the events that occurred moments before his capture.

Jonathan had come to him, frantically trying to warn him about you as he found out that you had managed to survive the fire and he didn’t listen. He couldn’t possibly believe such foul talk about his lover, but now understands exactly what his friend was referring to as the (E/C) eyed monster stared at him.

“He.. He tried to tell me.. Jojo-” His monologue is cut short by your hands grabbing a fistful of his hair and tilting his head back. The sight of his exposed neck excites you, however you must resist the urge to taste his delicious blood for just a bit longer.

“Do not mention that name whilst in my presence..” Jonathan had interfered with your plans far too many times and the mere mention of his name was enough to make you want to rip apart the person who dared to let that name slip. However with Dio, it was different. He had shown undying love and devotion to you and it would be a shame if you lost that devotion. However this didn’t mean that your pet’s miscalculation would go unpunished.

“My dear, Dio..” You gently run your hand across his cheek, the other still keeping a firm grip on his soft locks. “You still love me, don’t you? After everything I’ve done for you..” You say, referring to the time when you comforted him about losing his friend which you caused, trying to manipulate him. It didn’t matter what he thought, though. He wasn’t going to escape. You had grown far too attached to the attractive golden haired man and you wouldn’t let him go.

You press your lips against him and notice him kissing you back, which makes you somewhat delighted. However you weren’t stupid and as soon as Dio tries to push you to the ground in an attempt to overpower you and possibly increase his chances of escape, you deny his attempt and he is the one who ends up on the ground, your form hovering above his. Your pet was misbehaving. Adorable.

“Let me make something very clear, my darling..” Your lips find their way dangerously close to his ear as you hold him in place. Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t have been possible but thanks to your new abilities, you were able to physically overpower even someone like Dio. Your hand runs along his chest, gently tracing the flesh under his shirt.

“You belong to me now.. There’s nothing you can do..” Your light touches make Dio’s heart pound faster and something that to you sounds like a moan escapes his lips. You take this as an early sign of submission and look at him with an intense gaze. “Now be a good boy and do as I say and I might heal your wounds..” Your cold hand caresses his face again, however you’re still unsatisfied with the gaze he gives you, as it lacks the submission you were looking for.

Your claws move to his neck and you break the skin, causing the man below you to groan in pain an discomfort. “Who do you belong to, Dio?” You inquire, refusing to stop until those words leave his mouth. He pants and gasps, realizing that there’s no stopping you unless he bends to your will.

“Y-you.. I.. I b-belong.. To you..” He finally says and you retreat your hand from his neck, licking the tiny drops of blood left in your digits. With an amused hum you lower your face to his and kiss him again, savoring the delicious taste of his blood. Dio feels his wounds healing, but knows that any attempt to escape or resist you would only result in more of them. He hates how much he’s enjoying what you’re doing to him.

And you know exactly how much he enjoys your touch and presence when he whimpers and melts under your dangerous touch. You were going to have so much fun with your pet.

[asgardianthot]

A funeral chuckle (Sambucky AU) – Part 1

one  /  two  /  three

Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam Wilson returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.

A/N: We keep tagging 'Sam Wilson is a good bro' but do we ever stop and wonder if Sam Wilson NEEDS a good bro? Wonder no more. Also, important note at the end.

Words: 3621

Warnings: grief, angst, closeted gay characters

Sam awaited for good news. Anything. There is something very cliché about sitting on your childhood bed, which every film director ever has had their take on; it is a place to reflect on your life, to question every decision you have made since you moved out, to long for lost memories of a simpler time, to feel small. That was certainly the case. Sam felt small. He used to believe the house wasn't big enough for both his and his father's ego, which was why the latter always occupied the bigger presence, but today, with his father gone, Sam stepped in as old and as successful as that room had ever seen him and still he felt smaller than ever.

Sitting on the bed, he fixed the hems of his jacket while waiting for good news. The tiniest information would do the trick. Even going online and finding out a dog had been rescued and adopted would be enough. Yet when he unlocked his phone, all that he found was grief and lament.

Messages including the phrases "my condolences", "your father was a great man", and "I am sorry for your loss" plagued his direct messages on every social media app. He couldn't get himself to reply to all of them. Most were just formalities, not truly heartfelt, so why should he dignify each and every single one of them with a response? Still, Sam Wilson was too polite not to, at least, stress about it.

Suddenly, a knock on his door made him stand up, and made the echo of distant voices hearable again.

"It's Steve." The man said from the other end of the door, "Can I come in?"

Sam opened the door instead, and welcomed his childhood friend with a tired expression.

"Hey." He made an effort to withstand a grateful grin.

"Hey, bud." The blonde dragged the words for as long as he hugged Sam, "How you holding up?"

"Good." He nodded, "Good."

Of course, they both knew there was an 'all things considered' hidden at the end of that. Steve gave him one last pat on the shoulder before they both stepped inside.

"Listen, take your time." Steve tried to appease him, "I just came to let you know everything’s ready. I think the entire town’s here already.”

Sam nodded again. Steve had showed up like an angel from heaven the second Paul Wilson died. He was Sam's closest friend and the only friend he kept from his hometown. Even though Steve had built a life just a few blocks away from the Wilson's, while Sam moved to Washington DC as soon as he graduated high school, they met as much as their distant living situations allowed them, and remained in touch on, at least, a monthly basis. He was like a son to Sam’s mother, and so naturally, he stepped into the grieving period and saved the day.

"Where's mom?" Sam asked.

"Downstairs. Bossing the caterers." Rogers replied as if they both were expecting that sort of behavior.

Disappointed but not surprised was a perfect way of describing Sam. He exhaled a tired scoff, thinking ‘that sounds like her’, for Darlene Wilson could be more than bossy; especially when it came to the art of culinary. But most importantly, she wanted to take care of things, even when she needed to. She would have cooked everything herself if Steve had allowed it. The latter had done ninety-nine percent of the work while Sam traveled from DC to his hometown, which meant handling the entire funeral, including the service, the catering, and all the energy-draining tasks.

"Thank you. For taking care of everything.” Sam said with honesty, and sounding as if he feared he could never repay his best friend, “I don't think I've thanked you properly."

However, the blonde shook his head, humbly.

"Don't worry about it, pal. That's why you got me.” He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “All you gotta do is grieve and say hi to everyone. Leave the rest to me."

"Thanks." Sam took a deep breath, "I'm ready. Let's go."

As soon as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs, they noticed the amount of guests, all there to lament the death and celebrate the life of Minister Wilson. By how populated the house was, and how small the actual population of the town, one would think Steve was right when joking about the entire town attending. Hopefully, it didn’t take long to find the woman among the sea of tuxes and black dresses.

"Hi, mama." Sam approached her with a warm hug.

Darlene reciprocated tightly, then stepped back to hold her son’s face on her hands.

"Oh, my sweet boy.” She frowned with pity. “How'd you sleep?”

Unfortunately, she didn’t allow Sam to answer the question, for she was instantly distracted by a waiter carrying a tray of appetizers. Her loving expression quickly turned into one of extreme disapproval, probably judging every choice made by the people Steve had hired.

“No, that can't be right." The woman began.

"Mom." Sam glared, trying to stop her from going frantic.

"It's fine." Rogers backed Sam, using a tone that would hopefully tranquilize Mrs. Wilson.

Yet her eyes followed the waiter with concern, "No, they-"

"How 'bout we let them do their job?” Sam insisted, less lovingly now and more annoyed, “You know, cater? It's what we paid them to do."

"People are gonna think my food is that bad!" she protested.

Sam rolled his eyes, "You're a widow, no one cares about your food."

Steve stepped in as quickly as possible, in an attempt to cover-up his friend’s rudeness. If it hadn’t been for him, Darlene would have probably showed herself offended.

"He meant everyone knows your cooking is amazing.” He tilted his head to the side with a kind smile, “No one judges you for not doing the work yourself."

Eventually, the woman had to agree and stop worrying. She was merely freaking out as her way of grieving in such circumstances, after all, considering how many people expected things from the Minister’s widow. Allowing herself to leave the work to her boys, she placed a hand on her chest and nodded.

"Family's waiting to see you, Samuel." She said before moving to another group of people who wished to talk to her, although her expression remained rather distressed.

Sam did as told, in order to not upset his mother any further. He barely ever went back home. Usually, his parents flew to DC whenever they wanted to meet up, and so, the man would avoid every single person he grew up with –except for Steve and his close family– for a large amount of years, successfully.

He forced himself to receive a few family members’ condolences, plus engaging in small talk about his job, his life in the city and his lack of wife or girlfriend. When the townspeople began approaching him with their devoted speeches about Paul’s work at the local church and their religious beliefs on the dead man’s soul, Samuel had to escape.

He found his friend rather desperately, and placed a hand on his back to get his attention.

"What can I do?" he asked Steve when the latter turned to him.

"I have everything covered, don't worry." The blonde thought he had to calm Sam down.

Yet Sam knew for a fact that Steve had placed at least one person to do each task, almost professionally so. He had made sure to pay for the flowers’ people, gotten one of his friends to supervise them, sent his mom Sarah to check up on Darlene Wilson every ten minutes, etcetera. The service at the Wilson’s house was going according to plan like clockwork, and Sam was very much sure of it.

He just wanted to be busy. He wanted to escape the pitiful looks and the condescending words and the shoulder pats. He needed to get away, have something to focus on.

"No, I know, but what can I do?" he insisted.

Fortunately, Steve got the message. He nodded and thought for a second.

"Maybe help out in the kitchen?"

“Thanks.” Sam mumbled before heading for the kitchen.

Once in there, he saw the place practically deserted. A waiter walked out as soon as Sam stepped a foot inside, carrying a big tray of poured drinks, and left the room for one other person; he had his back to Sam, focused on the running water as he did the dishes, and wore tux pants along with a white dress shirt.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered to the man who was clearly a guest and not a part of the catering service, assuming by his clothing.

When the appellee turned around, it seemed like his chest heaved a painful breath that he didn’t allow himself to take. Sam, on his part, felt like all blood left his head. His heart skipped a beat as he processed the fact that the man in front of him was no other than his childhood crush, James Buchanan Barnes. No matter how obvious it had seemed to Samuel that he would be seeing old classmates and neighbors, he had absolutely blocked the existence of Bucky.

Perhaps because it reminded him too much of a time when he concealed his true identity from everyone; being a boy who’s attracted to boys in a small, conservative and mostly religious town was already hard, but being the minister’s son on top of that had always forced Sam to remain in the closet. That meant keeping all of his feelings for Bucky locked inside, especially around the crush himself. Unfortunately, both being Steve Rogers’ best friend never made it easy.

"Hey.” Bucky smiled minimally as he placed a dripping dish on the drying station, “Steve put me on dishes duty."

Sam nodded and approached him, still preferring to offer his help and stay in the kitchen with him than going back outside to the sea of chaos. So he grabbed a cloth from the top counter and began drying the wet dishes with it in order to make space for more plates and cups.

"James." He greeted the brunette, choosing to ignore the nickname Bucky, for it probably was just something left behind in his childhood, “Haven't seen you since High School."

"Yeah, I guess.” Bucky smiled, still focusing on his task, “So how've you been? I mean... I'm sorry. Sorry for your loss."

The immediate regret and embarrassment coming from Bucky after messing up his condolences and their reunion so royally made Sam smile.

"Thank you." He said in a tone that eased Bucky’s guilt and told him not to worry about it.

Still, he let out an awkward laugh, "I never know what to say in these things." He admitted.

The last sentence made a lot of sense to Samuel, not only because he himself didn’t know what to say about his father’s death –not even what to tell his own self–, but because he remembered that James’ father had died when he was only four years old. In fact, when Sam first met Bucky, the latter acted like he had never even had a dad. So it was only expected that Bucky felt weird about that kind of loss.

"I feel you.” Sam sighed, “All these people that haven't talked to me in years are... offering their help, their phone numbers, a shoulder to cry on. I don't know them, why would they ask me to stay in their house?"

Bucky cracked a chuckle, which was too joyful for the occasion, even coming from him.

“Small town brand.” He mocked the alleged grieving neighbors, “Everyone wants to cook you their best casserole."

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement before engaging in a proper conversation, "You still live here?"

Although he felt the question sounded mean, like he was judging Bucky, he couldn’t really take it back or it would sound condescending (“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s fine if you still live in this shitty town.”) and that would be even worse.

"Yep. Well, I was in New York, but I came back last year. Moved into an apartment downtown... temporary roommate situation, and now I can't seem to move out.” James replied easily, as if he had prepared his ‘seeing your old crush after a decade’ speech with anticipation, “Where you at, these days?"

"DC. I work at Veteran's Affairs."

Barnes was about to ask more about that, having heard of Sam’s double tours in Afghanistan and desperately wanting to hear about his heroic job there, but was interrupted by Steve’s loud presence.

"I called it.” The blonde said as he approached his two best friends, “This place is turning into a high school reunion."

Both turned to face him, and suddenly their gut instinct of when they had to pretend not to be attracted to each other came back. They both checked to see if they were standing too close, or gazing into each other’s eyes, and put on an uninterested face for Rogers. Apparently, the body doesn’t forget.

"Who else came?" Sam asked out of impulse, for he didn’t truly care.

"Half of our senior class." Steve replied with a tone of disbelief and disappointment.

Bucky frowned, "What do they think this is, a casual gathering?"

Steve shook his head, the disgust towards insensitive townsfolk hitting too close to home, for the Wilsons had always been his family, and he despised whoever took the opportunity of Paul’s death to make an appearance. Samuel, however, wasn’t surprised, and had prepared himself for something like that; that didn’t mean he didn’t deeply appreciate Bucky standing up for the Wilson family. In fact, it brought a familiar flutter to Sam’s stomach.

"Anyway, Wanda's looking for you, Bucky." Steve informed the man.

As he heard the nickname, Sam felt bad for having called him James. It probably came off as distant, when he just wanted to be respectful and mature.

The man in question turned off the faucet and dried his hands on his black tux pants, before giving Sam a smile on his way out. The name Wanda echoed inside Sam’s brain; he wondered if she was his girlfriend, or maybe even his wife. As far as he could remember, Bucky never showed any romantic nor sexual interest towards women at all, but he also took in consideration that too many years had passed. He couldn’t pretend to actually know the man just because of what they shared during their teenage years. He could be an entirely different person for that matter.

As Bucky made his way to the front door, he saw Wanda standing outside through the side window. He opened up, making her smile exaggeratedly.

"I'm sorry, I locked myself out again." She cringed, hoping not to upset Bucky.

"You really need to stop losing your keys.” He said without much amusement.

"I know, I’m the worst roommate ever, I’m lucky you’re too lazy to move out.” The young woman recited the words she knew by heart, since Bucky enjoyed repeating them over and over again, “The keys?”

He sighed, reached for his back pocket, and handed the item to her, reluctantly.

“What time are you coming home?” Wanda asked while she safe-kept them inside her purse.

Bucky turned back to glance at the sea of guests.

“I don’t know, just leave them under the doormat.” He faced her again.

Wanda felt a little sad for his roommate, because he was helping out at some funeral, and that couldn’t be the most fun activity, but it also meant he probably wasn’t a stranger there. so, she switched to a kinder tone.

“Well, I’m ordering Chinese for two, you can reheat it whenever you get back. “ She offered with a small grin, earning a grateful nod from the man, “Can I ask who died?”

"Sam's dad.” He replied, only to raise the question ‘who’s Sam’ in Wanda’s face,  “Just a high school classmate. Steve's best friend."

"I thought you were Steve's best friend.” She narrowed her eyes, but quickly opened them wide when she came to an impactful realization, “Oh my God, is it Sam, the guy you made out with?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Yeah, a billion years ago, just drop it."

"Okay.” She obliged with an amused frown, “Just don’t hit on a grieving man.”

“Bye, Wanda.” He shut the door on her face.

-

At the church, the attending townsfolk filled up every space inside. A large amount of black dresses and tuxes could be seen at the back of the venue, standing because they ran out of seats. As the priest recited his planned words on the wonderful man Paul Wilson had been, people nodded in agreement, with respect and enthusiasm. Some held worn tissues to their faces, drying practically unnoticeable tears in an attempt to never be seen not crying. Darlene Wilson allowed herself to tear up every other minute, but mostly remained calm and satisfied with the service.

But the pain in Sam’s chest was unbearable. He knew his mother wanted him to weep. She wanted him to be a good, sensitive man like his father taught him. But Sam always felt like he had to toughen up in front of Paul, as a way of overcompensating for his romantic attraction. It was a maneuver that made absolutely no sense, but it was wired onto his brain, therefore, he was having a hard time opening up his heart.

“Paul was, first and foremost, a father.” The priest continued with his praising words, “He was a loving parent to Samuel, and he was a father to us all.”

That was when Sam’s bottled up feelings came to a halt. His breathing became more hectic and his chest burned hotter.

“He loved each and every single one of us, and cared for our problems more than he cared for himself. Whether it be religious guidance, life advice or a supportive shoulder to cry on, we could always count on Paul. He didn’t judge, he didn’t punish, but instead he was a listener.”

Perhaps it was plain paranoia, but Samuel swore he could feel all hundreds of eyes burning a hole on the back of his head. He had ceased to even stare at the priest, and resigned to look at a random spot on the floor, fidgeting with his fingers and working on his breathing.

“He always made sure we knew he loved us unconditionally, and I believe he left us a very important legacy. Paul might be gone, but we must honor his life and what he stood for: we must do the best we can, each day, to be more caring. More supportive, more empathic, and maybe the hardest thing to do, we must be honest with out loved ones. That is what Paul Wilson believed in… compassion and honesty can heal a heart. And a healed heart can heal the world.”

Sam couldn’t hold himself in place. His body was running at four hundred percent. He stood up from his seat at the front and walked out, trying not to do a scene. He opened up the gates minimally, escaped through the creak and as soon as he shut them back, leaving the funeral behind, he allowed himself to freak out.

He had become overwhelmed, more than he prepared for, and didn’t feel like he could go back inside. He didn’t want to be at his father’s funeral, he realized. He wasn’t ready to accept his grief. As he paced around in circles, he took big breaths and slowly came down from his hectic state.

“Are you okay?” he heard.

Sam hadn’t even noticed that Bucky had walked outside as well. He took a deep breath and sat at the bottom of the stairs. He let his head rest on his palms and nodded into them to not worry Bucky.

“You don’t look okay.” Bucky said with a hint of pity, before sitting down next to the dead man’s son, “But… that’s how you’re supposed to look, I guess. Not okay.”

Sam raised his gaze and directed it to Bucky’s dressing shoes.

“I’m supposed to look like I’m mourning, then why does it feel like I’m not?”

After a long second of silence, Bucky shrugged, “Maybe you’re not ready to mourn yet.”

The statement settled extremely well on Sam’s head. It made sense. He didn’t want to let go just yet. He took another profound and painful breath before relaxing his muscles.

“I just want to get the hell away from this shit-show.” Sam spoke with very aggressive words, but his voice was soft and small.

“Don’t you have to get back?” Bucky asked, anticipating the sadness he would feel for Sam as soon as he walked back inside.

Wilson shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face.

“No one expects me to be there, that’s just something my mama tells me to make me feel special.”

Bucky felt a sparkle of hope and joy at the sound of that, for even the smallest hint of a joke, or self-deprecating humor, meant so much when it peaked through pain.

He couldn’t help but smile big, “In that case, mama’s boy, you wanna get away from this?”

For the first time during that entire interaction, Samuel locked eyes with the brunette. He wanted to scream ‘yes’ immediately, but he felt like, as the deceased person’s son, he shouldn’t show himself too excited to run away.

“I guess I could eat.” He nodded with a half-smile.

“I know just the right place.” Bucky gloated as he stood up and offered Sam a hand, “Hope you like hot coco.”

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

Important: This is an AU. In no way, shape or form would I want to erase the original background story given to Sam Wilson in the comics; he grew up in a Harlem neighborhood that was filled with poverty and violence. His father (Minister Paul Wilson) was killed while trying to stop a gang fight in order to defend young boys. I feel like it is an incredibly important aspect of the character, especially considering the narrative given to the Falcon and in ‘All New Captain America’. However, this fanfic doesn’t follow the comics’ chronology nor the superhero aspects of Marvel, and instead retrieves part of the character’s stories and personalities. It is simply a romantic AU, and I set it in a small town that is rather suburban because it fit the plot better. Always respect Sam Wilson’s story xx

[transrevolutions]

Chances (Bean/Petra Modern AU)

"I never stood a chance, did I?" The dark-haired boy looks over at the young woman behind the counter, both their faces shadowed with sadness.

"That's the sad part- you did once."

Her words hit home. The boy doesn't know why this stranger's words impact him so much. They shouldn't. They really shouldn't.

From the time he was young, the boy, who was affectionately called Bean, had posessed an extraordinary talent for mathematics. And with that came sciences, technology, and all sorts of gifts. He had been pushed... no, he had been pushed to push himself so far. He was destined for the stars one day. Or so they said. He was at the top of his class, skipping grades, skipping classes, skipping lessons. He had devoted his entire life to being intelligent, objective, and observant. Even if that meant forfeiting friendship, beauty, and emotions.

Now, here he is, a high school senior who has just been rejected by the top college in the world. A disgrace. And his family had let him know it.

"No," he says, fumbling with his phone. "I'm better than ever, now. If I didn't make it now, I wouldn't have made it ever."

"That's not what I'm talking about," she says, focusing on the glass she is cleaning.

Bean has a rare explosion of anger. He rarely has emotional swells, but it's been a long time coming and counter girl just happens to be in the way.

"How dare you talk to me about anything! You don't know me! You don't even know who I am!" He sighs, placing his head in his hands, to hide the tears that spill threateningly under his eyelashes.

"Oh, I know you," she says, seemingly oblivious to his meltdown. "You're Julian Delphiki. The one they all call Bean."

Bean is taken aback by that statement. How does she know? He's not a regular at the place. As far as he knows, they've never met.

"How do you know my name?" What a stupid question, he thinks. Who cares about why? There is nothing concrete, nothing solid, and that scares him.

"Oh, I've heard of you. I've heard of you lots of times. Most do, champion of every academic competition ever held, that Julian Delphiki. The one who was in high school calculus by age twelve?" The way she says it is twisted, just a little, with something like disdain. Or scorn. As if she knows anything about either.

"Let me tell you a story," she says, every word edged like a dagger, tensed like a bomb priming to explode. "Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She loved to learn, and got so good at it. She loved computers, and planes, and solving equations. The lot. She wanted to go to school, and learn more. All those teachers and papers and books! She wanted all of it. And she was so excited, until, one day, in eighth grade, she got home to find that her parents," she says, spitting the word out with venom, "her parents, decided that eight years was enough education for a girl. That she should be looking for a man. Already. At age fourteen. And they told her that nobody ever gets far on books, that she was pretty, and attractive, and all those stupid things, and that she should be building up a life to have a big house, and kids, and cook dinners and breakfasts and feed the dog while some buisinessman goes out and does something with his life!" She stops, panting for breath.

"But guess what?" she asks. "She'd had enough of it. So that night she packed her bags, walked out the door, and started a life for herself. She went from place to place, old basement to empty flat, until she ended up right here, washing dirty dishes while listening to frat party boys drinking their minds out and telling dirty jokes!"

Bean can't think of anything to say. He had realized, by now, that the girl in the story is the girl in front of him. She doesn't look older than eighteen or nineteen, her hair is short and the ruddy color somewhere between red and brown, not quite either of them. Her eyes are a peculiar shade of hazel-brown, and her mouth is-

Bean cuts himself off, hoping he isn't blushing. He cannot have attachment to this woman, no, even after hearing this darkly personal account of her life. He always supposed that matters of romance and dating and crushes on girls while at bars late at night happened only to other people, not to him. He really hadn't noticed that aspect of life. He was too engrossed in his studies.

"I'm... sorry?" he says, feeling like some kind of hypocrite. He isn't good with feelings. Is what he feels really pity? Or is it anger at a system that treated her so unfairly? Or guilt at the thought that she had dreamed of a life like his? Or something else entirely? He may never know.

"I don't want your sorry," she says, another knife-sharp sentance. "I want to tell you that what you stood a chance for isn't some stupid scholarship or fancy letter or dealbreaking endorsement. You stood a chance to do something with your life! A chance me and so many other people would kill for! And you drown yourself in books and awards and contests instead of looking at the world that needs you!"

Bean, for the first time in as long as he can remember, is at a total loss. What she is saying is so true that it surprises him that he hasn't noticed it before. But if he hasn't noticed it before, it can't be true, but it was, and then... what?

Is it possible that he is missing a piece to the equation? That all the time he was asking what the world could give him, and not what he could give the world? Is it possible that his mindless walk through success was given to him, through luck and circumstance, not mental superiority?

Call me self-indulged, he thinks, but that has never occured to me. Not once. He feels like the man in the movie he watched once, where he could take two pills, one that would send him back to the life he knew, and one that would let him see the reality. Except for the reality was one where machines ruled the world and his life was a computer program meant to keep humanity docile and under control. Not exactly realistic, for him.

But pills are hard to swallow, and especially the ones who want you to wake up, and see that the world isn't what you think it is. Bean mulls over his mental pill, about whether or not he should forget the girl and the conversation, or whether he should reinvent his idea of how the world works. It scares him a little, how well the girl knows him, how she has managed to get inside the darkest part of his mind. The truth is, he needs someone's help, for the first time in his life, because he doesn't know where to go.

"What's your name?" he asks. Probably the simplest but most complicated question humanity could ever invent.

That makes her smile, just a little bit. "Petra Arkanian," she says, scribbling a phone number on his arm. "Ever wanna talk quadratic equations or the deep impact of humanity's mental state or something, just call me up."

Bean walks out of the bar. His head is spinning and he is confused and tired and a little bit scared, but he feels like a puzzle piece has been put into position, one he didn't know was there in the first place.

He makes sure to record Petra's number in his phone. He's positive that that won't be the last time they speak.

(Note: I do not endorse the sexist and homophobic comments made by the original author of Ender’s Game, and they have no bearing on how I interpret the books)

[amandaoftherosemire]

Lightning Strikes Part Five

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire​

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,280

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language.

Summary: You spend time with Loki.

A/N: The first couple parts of this was written a while ago for @buckysforeverprincess 500 Follower Writing Prompt Challenge. Not consistent with Marvel canon. I have willfully and deliberately ignored the events of Infinity War. The Statesman made it to Earth after a largely uneventful journey and everyone is FINE. The only thing I’ve taken from Infinity War is Stormbreaker because it’s cool as hell.

I want to thank everyone who sticks with my fics since I’m terrible at updating regularly. I also want to thank everyone who leaves feedback or sends me messages about them. It really does encourage me to write. I might not have stuck with this if someone hadn’t dropped me an ask about it. This seems to be only true for me, but I have no problem with being asked when I’m going to update as long as you’re not a dick about it. 😄 

This one took me some time until I stopped trying to make Loki do anything. It sounds weird but after a while I started thinking the real thing was fucking with me for daring to think I was in charge.

Part Four: Idolatry here

Antithesis

Several weeks later you sat at your desk in your office at the compound and tried with all your might to focus on one of the worst parts of your job. Full of legalese that proved to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that half the lawyers in the world only existed because the other half did, you were knee-deep in some bullshit. Reading documents like this was literally your least favorite part of the job description.

And it certainly didn't help that the author of the document was a member of the legal department with whom you were unfortunately familiar. You'd made it a point to not drink that heavily at office events since. The man may have been hot, but he was also an arrogant, pretentious fuckrag.

You couldn't help but be preoccupied. The Odinson brothers were driving you to distraction, though for very different reasons. You were running on fumes at this point, but you didn't know how to stop. Between the two, you were only getting a few hours of sleep a night even if it was only in making up missed work. Neither man was very good with the concept of deadlines or limited amounts of time, though Loki was the far worse of the two. You imagined you could thank Thor's time living on Earth, not to mention his sweet nature, for his greater consideration.

Thor. When he was there, he was quite possibly perfect. Funny and good natured, he was a joy to be around the vast majority of the time. Most of the time you spent together he seemed determined to wring everything he could get out of every minute with you. It was delightfully intense, because it wasn't just sex. Honestly, you'd have preferred it if it was, because he was sweet, and charming, and scarily intelligent, and you were terrified you were falling head over heels in love with him.

When he was there, he was the perfect companion, attentive without being overbearing, energetic without being exhausting, sweet without being cloying. He was also one of the most interesting men you'd ever met, a veritable fount of knowledge with an easy willingness to impart it. He had great stories, and a somewhat dramatic way of telling them. On top of that, he was a great listener, eager to learn everything you'd tell him about yourself, your life, your world. You'd yet to spend a boring minute in his presence.

When he was there, he made you feel like no one ever had before, like you were glowing from the inside out. He didn't just make you feel special, he seemed to think you were remarkable, as though he'd never even imagined someone like you. Aside from his myriad attractions, the outrageous body, the dreamy smile, the sweet and generous nature, that wonder at the reality of you would have been irresistible on its own. He sometimes had a look in his eye like he couldn't believe you were real. The idea that someone as extraordinary as Thor, considering where he'd come from and all that he'd seen, could find you not only astonishing, but delightfully so, was captivating.

When he was there, he couldn't seem to keep his hands off you, as though he thought you the sexiest woman on the planet. Not only was he ready, willing, and eager to go to bed whenever and wherever, he'd happily spend all day at it if you'd let him. To your amused chagrin, you'd now had sex in any number of rooms in the compound that you'd never even set foot in before. He was an utter hedonist, deeply sensual, basely sexual, and without an ounce of shame in his entire gorgeous body. Being his lover was both exhilarating and exhausting.

When he was there, you forgot all the reasons you should not fall in love with Thor Odinson. When he was there, you couldn't think about anything but the fact that you were happier with him than you'd ever been before. When he was there, you let tomorrow worry about itself and lived in the moment.

As he made every moment a shimmering jewel, as every moment dazzled you, seduced you, destroyed you, it was dangerously easy to lose yourself in him. When he was there.

That was the thing, though. He most often was NOT there.

Which you got. And not in that bullshit way where you say you get it, but you're only saying it because you know you're supposed to. You actually got it. You knew Thor had more than you could imagine on his plate; busy didn't begin to describe it. That he took the time he did to spend with you wasn't just flattering, it had the romantic corner of your heart sighing dreamily.

Unfortunately, when Thor wasn't there, which was most of the time, you were entirely too aware of how doomed your relationship with him truly was. Whether you looked at the differences in your circumstances, the distance between your homes, or the insanity of your lives, there was no way this could possibly work long term; you were sure of it. When you added in the fact that he was a king, a god, a hero, it was just getting ridiculous.

Lastly, there was the terrible thought you'd had once in the middle of the night that you never let yourself think again but that sat in the back of your brain like a goblin, snickering and waiting for its chance to start gnawing on your mind. You'd first thought of it when you were once again alone; Thor had left the afternoon before and your bed was suddenly depressingly cold and lonely. After hours of sleepless worry about all the other things bound to go wrong, you'd had a thought so awful, of an obstacle so insurmountable, you'd immediately wrapped it in layers of oh hell no and stuffed in the darkest corner in the smallest, darkest closet of your mind. If you didn't think of it, you could allow yourself to enjoy this glorious fantasy until something else destroyed the dream.

You'd had the thought because of Loki, actually. Not because of something he'd deliberately pointed out, but an offhand comment regarding something that happened when he and Thor had been children. The story had been funny, and Loki had a way of drawing you in, but a tiny detail had stuck inside your mind like a bur. That detail chafed, keeping your brain scratching at it until you came to the realization that ruined your hopes and broke your heart. Like an oyster with a grain of sand, you'd started covering that thought in layers until your mind could glide over it easily without any scraping or stumbling.

Loki, on the other hand, was always there, both when you wanted him and not. He acted as though he had decided you were the only person in the compound he could stand for more than a few minutes. You suspected he liked plenty of people way more than he let on, but he seemed devoted to his persona of smug superiority. Unfortunately, this meant when Loki got bored, he came looking for you. Being forced to behave himself and stay in the compound did not amuse or entertain him so he came looking for you a lot. As a matter of fact, he came looking for you all. the damn. time.

You adored Loki, truly. It wasn't that you objected to spending time with him. It was that you could not make him care about the fact that you had other things to do. He had no qualms about interrupting your workday, no matter how many times you asked him not to, leading to plenty of afterhours catch-up. He thought most of what you did was stupid, so he didn't give two shits about getting in the way of it. It was strangely admirable, his dedication to not giving a fuck.

The problem was that Loki didn't cause as much trouble when you were catering to his whims and dancing attendance upon him. To be fair, Loki didn't really cause trouble; it was more that he subtly arranged circumstances in favor of the most dramatic or disastrous outcome. He loved to sit back and watch fireworks he'd personally arranged. When you'd confided your difficulties in Pepper, she had assured you that time spent placating Loki would be considered work time if for no other reason than that it gave everyone else a break. At her direction, you had been spending most of your time at the compound to make it easier for you to tend to him and make the team members' lives a little easier while Loki was in residence.

Which is how you knew, when he strode into your office with an air of impatience, you'd be giving in to his whims after a sham refusal you'd enact purely for form.

"I’m bored." Loki burst into the room the way he did everything, with an arrogance that bordered on contempt. Perhaps it was a sign of something wrong with you, but Loki's attitude, rather than offending you, perfectly tickled the perverse part of your sense of humor.

You didn't even look up from your paperwork. You were entirely too familiar with this tune to do more than absently bob your head along with the beat. You scoffed. "I care."

Loki stared holes in the top of your head, not that it ever seemed to bother you. But then you often reacted in unexpected ways. Is that why he kept scratching at you? If he could understand you, predict your behavior, would you finally bore him as much as most humans? "Why, exactly, do you do this?" he asked, as he settled into one of the chairs in front of your desk.

"No, it’s fine." You rolled your eyes but kept your eyes off Loki. You knew from experience that once you looked at him, he would consider the acknowledgement as validation and you'd spend the rest of the day answering his questions. "I’m not trying to parse legalese right now or anything."

Loki stayed silent. He refused to repeat himself. Also, he'd noticed that his silence seemed to exasperate you faster than anything else. He examined his cuticles while he waited for the quiet to do its work.

For a while, the only sound in the room was the brush of fabric as either of you shifted position and the whisper of each turn of the page. You often printed legalese like this out so that you could mark on it without the risk of sending something like 'who the fuck does this asshole think he is?' to the asshole in question. You vowed to keep doing it, if for no other reason than that it was so much more dramatic than rolling a scroll button on a mouse.

You could tell by the quality of the hush that settled over the room that Loki was in one of his more difficult moods, meaning that he would only get more and more petulant the longer you put him off. Though you hated to do it as a matter of principle, you knew giving in would cost you far less time and annoyance than pretending to allow him to irritate you into paying attention to him. The pragmatist in you would not allow you to stand on principle when there was no benefit to you other than self-righteousness.

You gave an exaggerated sigh as marked your place in the document with a quickly scrawled LNA, your code for Loki Needs Attention and the current time. Pepper had asked you to keep track of how much time you were spending dancing attention on the Asgardian prince, though you didn’t include the time you gave on your off-hours.

You placed the document into a file folder, closing it carefully and placing your interlaced fingers on top as you made it clear you were focusing on Loki under protest and with utmost exasperation.  "Why do I do what?"

Loki smiled inwardly even as his face moved into a sneer. "This!" He swept his arm out to take in the room they sat in. "Labor for these people?"

"Okay." You infused as much doubt as you could into the word. You looked around at your very nice office and decided not to ask what exactly he found so distasteful. "Two reasons. First, I love the things money can buy, like food and shelter and liquor. Second, because I’m fucking awesome at it. We done?" You lifted your eyebrows at him in the kind of bored disdain you knew he'd find most challenging, and thus most entertaining.

Loki matched your tone as he stood to wander the room and examine the furnishings. He did this every time. "I’d ask what you do in here, but frankly I don’t care."

You shot him a toothy grin and a beam of sarcastic cheer. "Great. Bye."

Loki didn't deign to answer this time. He knew he had you now. He could almost hear your mind rationalizing the decision to simply give in and give him what he wanted. In his experience, it was always best to let people manipulate themselves. He meandered over to the bookshelves, as he often did, where you had books and photographs taking up most of one long wall. Some of the books were work related, but plenty were from your personal collection.

Every time he came into this room, he liked to take a different book down from the shelf and skim through it. Your preferred reading material told him a great deal about you. Loki needed to understand you if he was to accurately assess the situation. He also liked to examine a different photo in the hopes of deciphering why you smiled like a lunatic in every picture you were in. He suspected it was something to hide behind, similar to his own superior smirk.

Loki eyes slid over the titles, looking for anything somewhat interesting that he hadn't already tried. He found human society largely boring if not aggravating, but he couldn't help but enjoy the art. He considered it mostly primitive, but with a raw energy that made it compelling. The depth and breadth of human art was the most impressive thing about the species, he thought. Not that that was saying much.

You were already bored watching him amble around your office. "Oh my god! You win; I don’t want to fight." Loki turned away from the bookcase with a smug smile. You laughed as soon as you saw it and rolled your eyes indulgently. "I’ll make you a deal. Give me an hour to take care of the most pressing matters, and at the end of that hour, I will set everything else aside to cater to your whims and find something to entertain you." You leveled a wryly amused look his way; you were both convinced you were outwitting the other but if you were honest the two of you just liked the drama of it.

Loki's face spread in a wickedly pleased smile and you couldn't help the little twinge of attraction that shimmered through you. Hell, you were faithful, not dead. Fairly gloating, Loki turned to leave. "I’ll be back in an hour."

"Outstanding,” you replied with a thin smile.

As Loki opened the door, Bucky was raising his fist to knock on it. The two men glared at one another for a moment before Bucky rolled his eyes and stepped back, sweeping his arm out in a mockery of gallantry. Loki sneered but walked by without comment.

"Hey, doll." Once Loki was out of the way, Bucky poked his head through the door. "You got a minute?"

You replied with a flirty smile and batted eyelashes. "For you? Always." Bucky smiled sweetly as he came in and shut the door. He looked a little uncomfortable as he took the seat Loki had recently vacated. "Uh-oh," you said with widened eyes and raised brows. "Is everything okay?"

"I don't know. Is it?" Bucky was still looking a little uncomfortable, but his eyes shone with concern. You were baffled.

You looked around, your expression serious but a touch confused. "Is this a riddle?"

Bucky's face softened into a smile. "I don't see you anymore; I miss you." He leaned forward and placed his hand palm up on your desk. "If Thor isn't here, Loki is monopolizing your time."

"You have no idea," you replied with a laugh as you leaned forward to place your hand in his. You squeezed gently and would have let go if he hadn’t held on. You frowned and tilted your head. “What?”

Bucky didn’t smile, and you realized that whatever this was, he was serious. “I'm worried,” he confessed, and you could tell he was concerned that he was crossing a line. This was new territory in your friendship and such things always caused Bucky a ton of anxiety.

You felt a pang of remorse that you’d forgotten about your other friends when the Odinson brothers had come into your life. Bucky was incredibly dear to you and you knew how difficult he sometimes found living at the compound. He'd once confessed that half the time the only thing keeping him there was Steve. You sometimes suspected he relied upon your company a great deal as well, not that he'd ever said anything. You couldn't help but feel guilty for being so distracted.

Bucky let go of your hand when you stood up and walked around the desk to sit in the chair next to his. You leaned back casually and crossed your legs, hoping to make it clear by your demeanor that you did not consider the subject off-limits or over the line. “About Thor?” you inquired with a sassy smirk. “Or Loki?”

“Truth be told, both,” Bucky replied with a wry laugh, “but Loki is the more immediate threat.”

"Well, love, I have good news and bad news." You leaned your elbow on the chair arm and placed your chin on your fist. "The bad news is that Loki would drive you all mad if I didn't keep him somewhat occupied. The good news is that he's not a threat, just a pain in my ass." You dropped your hand to Bucky's forearm and squeezed gently. "I know you don't understand this, but I like Loki.'

Bucky looked down at your hand, surprised to find that it didn't bother him that you were touching his metal arm. Perhaps it was because you hadn't seemed to notice. "Why?" he asked, his voice rich with a wealth of confusion, doubt, and amused disbelief.

You laughed and used the hand on his arm to push at him. "I like smartasses. Why do you think I'm madly in love with you?"

"Fine," Bucky smiled, but his eyes still looked worried. “Just promise me that you won't make the mistake of trusting him.”

“I'll thank you to not insult my intelligence,” you scoffed in reply. When Bucky didn’t answer, just continued to watch you carefully, you rolled your eyes and answered with a wry half-smile. “Oh my god, I promise.”

“Good.” Bucky relaxed into the chair with a wicked grin. “Now, you wanna tell me everything about Thor?”

Your expression turned sly as you shot a matching grin his way. “How much time you got?”

A few days later your office door flew inward with a slam as Loki’s voice rang out. “Y/N!”

You, once again, did not bother to look up from your work. “Sure. Come on in. I'm not quite obviously terribly awfully busy or anything.”

“I don't even know what odd human things you do in here, let alone why it matters.” Loki moved to the other side of the desk and looked down his nose at you from his towering height.

You shrugged and murmured absently, “Since you're asking—"

“I most certainly am not.” Loki cut you off with a sneer.

You finally looked up at Loki, blinking to bring yourself back to the present. “Did you come in here for an actual reason, or did you just need someone to pay attention to you?”

“How is that not an actual reason?” His lips twitched ever so slightly, something you'd learned was one of his tells. He was in one of his playful moods, which was surprising considering how put out he had been the day before when you'd opted to spend your evening with Steve and Bucky. Loki had hidden it well, but he'd been irritated under the disdain when he refused to join you.

The corner of your mouth curled up just a hair as you responded. "Loki, to your astonishment I’m sure, catering to your moods is not actually in my job description."

Loki, ever mercurial, turned away from you to walk to your bookshelves. "If you’re certain you don’t have any time for me; I suppose I can amuse myself."

"I know that’s meant to send a chill down my spine." Your voice was dry as dust, but the genuine amusement came through loud and clear. "And it does, but it is not the policy of this office to negotiate with terrorists.”

"Pet," Loki's voice had taken on a strange timbre when he said the word, and it sent a literal shiver down your spine, but whether it was fear or desire you weren't entirely sure. "I’d much rather annoy you than someone else. The others aren’t as much fun."

You opted to put the sensation out of your mind. If it was fear there was little good dwelling on it would do for you. If it was desire, dwelling on it would most definitely make things worse. You answered as though his voice hadn't taken on an almost seductive tone. "If you will behave yourself for the rest of the morning, I’ll take a long lunch and give you my undivided attention the whole time. Deal?"

Loki smiled.

After you'd eaten a quick lunch, you drug Loki outside to enjoy the sunshine. Once you'd flopped down onto the grass and braced yourself on your elbows to tilt your face to the sun, you slanted a raised eyebrow in his direction. "Okay, spill. What’s your deal?"

You had your eyes closed against the light, but you could hear the sneer on his face loud and clear. "I beg your pardon?"

"Loki," you began and there was a wealth of patience in your tone. You opened one eye to fix him with a gimlet stare. "I am neither naïve nor stupid. Why are you paying so much attention to me? Is it because I'm banging your brother?"

The sneer twisted from arrogance to disgust. "For reasons that currently escape me, I actually enjoy your company." You gasped dramatically and let your muscles go limp, dropping to the ground in a mock faint. Loki rolled his eyes even as his mouth twitched. "I know. I was shocked, too."

You opened your eyes and looked up at his amused scorn. Though most wouldn't understand why, you were deeply touched. This was probably the nicest he'd ever been to a human. You smiled at him, and for once it was utterly genuine and sincere, with no sarcasm or disdain to hide behind. "Loki, are we friends?"

Loki watched you out of the corner of his eye. He had long ago learned to hide his true feelings behind whatever mask suited his needs best at any given time. He had seen in you the same tendency for all you hid behind careless charm and a sense of humor. Until this moment, however, he hadn't suspected that you hid a tender heart.

He had thought you were one like him, cynical, cold, careless. To find in your open and unguarded smile something sweet and wholesome explained one conundrum even as it raised a whole host of other problems. He felt a tiny twinge of remorse, a rarity for him even these days. He sniffed. "No. You're my pet."

"Then I expect you to start bringing me presents and treats." You closed your eyes again and spoke archly. You could tell something bothered him and assumed it was his discomfort with anything resembling sincerity or sentiment. "If I'm going to be a pet, I insist on being a spoiled one."

Loki turned his head to look at you properly. He could tell immediately what you were doing and found it both disarmingly sweet and deeply disturbing. You were far too perceptive for you own good and he still had many, many secrets to protect. "You are wasted on my brother. You know that, right?"

You hated when he did this. You steadfastly refused to discuss with Loki whatever was happening between you and Thor. Though their relationship seemed easier than you’d expected, considering the stories you’d heard from others, there was still a tension between them you didn’t understand and neither man seemed interested in explaining.

The few times Loki had commented on your relationship with Thor, he’d made it clear he disapproved. You also steadfastly refused to ask what exactly he disapproved of. You allowed Loki to tell stories from their past, but you would not talk about your present. It felt… disloyal. To both of them.

“I do not. Your brother doesn't waste a bit of me.” You kept your eyes closed but let your lips curve into a satisfied feline smile. “He uses every part.”

The horrified silence that followed had you prying one eye open to glance up at Loki. You immediately burst into fits of wicked laughter at the look of disgust and loathing you found on his face. “Why would you say such a thing to me?” he asked, his tone rich with disbelief and a hint of hurt.

“You're being a dick,” you replied with a careless shrug and a challenging grin when you’d stopped laughing.

Loki expression hardly changed, but his face took on a sinister cast that had a chill running down your spine. For the first time since you’d met him, you truly believed him capable of the things you knew he’d done. “He'll never truly appreciate you,” he mocked, both sly and cruel, “because he'll never truly understand you.”

You yawned, deliberately, as his words and demeanor were making you sick to your stomach. “You make me sound so complicated and mysterious.” You closed your eyes again, a deliberate dismissal. “It’s dumb, but I dig it.”

Loki made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “You may be able to fool those like my brother too dull and blind to see what you really are, but don’t insult me.”

“And what am I?” Your voice was harsh as you asked the question, and you sat up to look Loki full in the face. You were holding onto your temper with both hands; only the knowledge that he would love to goad you into a tantrum restraining you. “Really?”

“A realist, like me.” Loki was well aware of what he was doing. He turned his head and looked out across the grass at the main building. He wondered what it would take to truly set you off and considered it necessary to find out. “You don't concern yourself with what's right, but what's expedient.”

You frowned. This wasn’t what you were expecting, and you weren’t sure how to proceed. He was being insulting, but in a way that made you question whether that was his intent. “I prefer to think of myself as a pragmatist,” you said slowly. Your somewhat warped sense of humor rushed to the fore and you laughed as you pushed at his shoulder, not that you moved him even a little. “And I do so worry about doing what's right. I just take what's expedient into account, too.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth lifted in a small smile. Your casual shrug as you said the last only proved his point as far as he was concerned. “You also have a talent for reframing things in your favor. Of shuffling words until you're in the right. I admire that.”

“So, you're saying I'm too good for your brother because I’m too much like you?”

“No,” he chuckled. “He's too good for the both of us. I'm saying he'll never comprehend your true worth because he's too good.”

“Okay.” You weren’t sure how he’d managed to drag you into this conversation. Now that you had been, however, you desperately wanted to know why. "For the sake of argument, let's assume that I accept your premise. What's your fucking point?"

Loki finally looked at you, one brow raising in mock surprise. "Do I need one?" You raised a matching eyebrow, but yours was skeptical. Loki narrowed his eyes, his expression turning menacing. "I’m somewhat fond of you. I don’t think I’d enjoy seeing you in pain."

Unable to help yourself, even knowing you'd end up paying for it, you snickered outright. "I have bad news for you, Loki. It sure seems like you’re my friend."

The look of disgust Loki shot your way had you erupting into gales of delighted laughter. Worth it.

You never did get a straight answer out of him, but that was only to be expected. Loki could give lessons on inscrutability. You opted to file away the conversation for further contemplation at a later date.

Even though you weren't entirely sure why Loki had given you what you assumed was a warning, you were sure that Loki never did anything without reason. The reason may seem batshit crazy to you, but it was there. If he felt the need to speak on the subject, he had a purpose. However, you also couldn't discount the possibility that he was simply fucking with you for his own entertainment.

Regardless, you put it away, knowing you’d end up obsessing on it in the middle of the night during some bout of insomnia when Thor wasn’t there to exhaust you into sleep.

The next day you burst into the common kitchen in a towering rage, holding something sparkling and pink. You flung the thing at Loki’s feet, your entire demeanor pure, unbridled fight me. Pushing your face into his as best you could considering his height, you pointed imperiously at the ridiculous thing he'd left in a beautifully wrapped gift box on your desk. You shouted, your voice practically booming through the room and turning all heads your way, "Did you gift wrap a fucking leash?!"

Loki was as close to speechless as he ever got. The sight of you in a full-blown temper was something truly magnificent. Your narrowed eyes sparkled with rage and your lips parted to let furious huffs of breath through. He found it interesting that passion, whether from anger or desire, made you beautiful.

Rather than say that, however, Loki’s lips curved in an amused smile as he replied, “I thought you want to be spoiled, pet.” His expression shifted into a mockery of innocence. “Is this not what you meant?”

Loki braced for the explosion, certain he’d pushed you into losing your temper completely. Instead, the humor of the moment struck you with such force that you couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up inside you. He’d somehow acquired a cat collar that spelled out your name in rhinestones, for fuck’s sake.

As your expression melted from furious insult to genuine merriment, Loki felt another of those annoying pangs of remorse. It really was too bad. As humans went, you’d just become one of his favorites.

Part Six: Crucible here

Taglist: (Tags are open) 

@lbouvet @rocknroll-is-thewaytogo @chook007 @quickies-with-quicksilver @deinopis @daylight-saver @rishlo @pebblesz892 @bibliophile1773 @bojabee @knightofreaders  @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @666nunslut666 @lilulo-12 @tabbytyler @sunigyrl @hellzzzbelle @suz-123 @cheekygeek05 @pancake-pages 

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[cinnbar-bun]

Mystic Messenger: Chess AU

So guys, here’s the AU I’ve been working on for a while! I had some sketches for it and wanted to write some stories with it, and I hope you guys are interested enough in it to want me to continue with it! 

And just real quick, if you are interested in this au and want to use it for inspiration for some of your works, could you please message me or give me credit on your work? I’d really like to see some of them!!

Warning: Contains spoilers regarding the characters!!!

“In this world, not everything is as black and white as it seems.” 

In a land of magic and secrets, two kingdoms struggle with the rift their own mistakes had caused. Brother turned against brother, and the divide has only worsened as time went on. The breaking point was the introduction of a new player, one who’s very identity could ruin or reform the kingdoms. 

The White Kingdom

The King- Jumin Han

A man of calculated and stoic appearance. His very presence sends those near him in awe, and his voice commands respect. Although seemingly cold and detached, he keeps his kingdom’s best interests at heart and does what he must to improve their lifestyle. Guided by the kindness of his queen, he has learned how being a leader and king takes much more than riches and power. So long as he is breathing, he will stop at nothing to reach his goals, all with his friends by his side. Contrary to the previous king, Jumin was difficult to marry off, and because of that, many rumors had circulated concerning his sexuality. Of course, he denied every single one and explained how he simply didn’t care about entering a relationship right now. It all changed once he had met the queen. 

The Queen- MC

A woman of many secrets and mysteries. No one knows how she wound up in the kingdom, how she met the king, and where she is from. Some claim to have never even seen her face, or heard her real name. Her identity is something few truly know, but despite her rather strange appearance, she had quickly gained the affection of her subjects. They might not be able to see her, but they can feel her. Her love and kindness can be felt throughout the land, and many will say that the day she arrived, the kingdom had never looked prettier. Her devout followers would call her an angel, but she merely giggles and claims she is just doing her best. 

The Bishop- 707

A man of many mysteries and a trivial past, he has become a devout follower of God to help those in need. His eccentricities might fool others to believing he doesn’t take his job seriously, but he ignores that in exchange for working in the shadows. He used to work for the Black Kingdom, but left to sort out his own feelings. Now, after having met the Queen, has been devoted to keeping her safe. He dreams of another life in which she could be his, but due to many unfortunate circumstances, he sticks with simply having her company. He isn’t above doing the ‘dirty work’ if it means his Queen is safe. He is the first to protect her, and is usually seen by her side telling her of anything that might be of concern. 

The Bishop- Jaehee Kang

A rather quiet and hardworking woman, who despite being a religious figure, has sometimes been known to help the King. The King, while seemingly uncaring for her, trusts her immensely to help, and she always gives her best effort. She does have plenty of admiration for one of the Knights, Zen, and when not working, usually stops by and watches him train or helps him with anything he may need. While at first suspicious of the Queen, she has since become great friends with her and the two hang out for tea and coffee whenever they can. She confides in her Queen whenever she can, and appreciates her for encouraging her to achieve her dreams. Doesn’t like conflict and is quick to end disputes. 

The Knight- Zen

A passionate and outgoing knight who takes pride in protecting his kingdom. He tends to joke about saving ‘damsels-in-distress’, and many females adore him for his looks. Although he can be considered narcissistic, he hates when people only see his face, not the hard work he contributes. Even though he gets on the ire of the King, both have some begrudging respect for one another. His love for the Queen is what fuels his desire to be better, and he takes his job as protecting her seriously. Zen occasionally forgets himself and gushes about how wonderful she is, and has tried to make songs to showcase his passion for her. Even though he has absolutely no chance with her, he still dreams of one day finding a lover who’ll appreciate him for him, and who he can spend the rest of his life with. He tends to be more brotherly with his fellow knight, Yoosung, and the two tend to spend time with one another, wallowing about how forever alone they’ll be. If he’s not working, he is most likely to be found get drunk at a pub or playing cards with some other knights. 

The Knight- Yoosung Kim

A fresh recruit to the order of knights, admittedly, many don’t know how he got in. Some say the King promised the young knight a chance, but whatever the reason is, many can’t see it. He is prone to get emotional and lonely, and while he appears sunny on the outside, holds a lot of trauma internally. Originally born into the Black Kingdom, he grew up with a loving family and his biggest motivator to become a knight was his cousin Rika. After she committed suicide when she was supposed to become Queen, he cursed the Black King and left to the White Kingdom, where he could start fresh. He may seem childish, but when matters turn dark, he is the first to sacrifice himself and help whoever. Animals seem to flock to him as well, and he says they’re a lot easier to understand than people. He is one the dirtiest knights to bunk with, but Zen manages to stand him. He has grown close to the White Queen and likes to chat with her about anything-leaving many of the servants to compare him to an excited puppy. He has much to learn, but with his kind heart, he is sure to become an excellent knight. 

The Black Kingdom

The King- V

A rather quiet man who grew up as childhood friends with the White King. He seemed to be promising, and many looked up to him to help them. The stress of being king didn’t deter him until he met Rika. The couple was to be engaged and married soon, but during that time many things changed about him. His sight had grown increasingly worse and his betrothed had become more unstable. Combined with the lack of trust between him and Jumin, a small rift formed. No longer was he the bright monarch his people could count on, but he submitted to the Black Queen and became a hallow shell of his former self. The sins he had committed will forever haunt him, as he tries to salvage whatever bit of humanity was left in himself and his queen. The supposed “suicide” of his queen only made him even more of a puppet to her schemes, and he prays for a day in which things could return to normal. 

The Queen-Rika

A once caring woman who became corrupted by the image she had to uphold. Hated from birth, she grew attached to V and wanted him to save her. She did her best to try and stay sane by helping others, but they had grown so dependent on her as they called her their ‘savior’. With no way to find an outlet, she began taking her pain out on V, the one thing that mattered in her life. She needed to be needed and devised a plan with V to stage her suicide. After her ‘death’ she grew a cult following behind the scenes to recruit more followers. She is the puppet-master, running both the cult and the kingdom with her iron fist. Her soft voice and words can lull anyone to her beck and call, as she tries to overtake the land to become the savior everyone wanted her to be. Her original goals and morals lost, she has abandoned rational thought in exchange for complete devotion to her and her ideals. There is absolutely NOTHING that will stop her from getting her way. 

The Pawn- Unknown

The Queen’s most prized player. Mistakenly thinking he was abandoned by his brother, he was quick to fall into Rika’s divisive hands. Abused and reduced to nothing more than her personal pawn, he forgot who he truly was. His emotions numbed by the elixirs, he cannot remember much of himself except the name, ‘Saeyoung’, and a constant feeling of misery and pain. He carries out all her duties and takes his aggression out on supposed traitors. Unknown has difficulty understanding his own self and the world around him, instead longing for a place called ‘paradise’. He has no clue of what it will look like, but he has a feeling that if he kidnaps the White Queen, she’ll be the answer to what he’s looking for. 

Unknown Pieces

Killer Queen

Her appearance is similar to that of the White Queen, although that’s where the similarities end. She is a conniving and selfish woman, who craves whatever her hearts desire is at the time. Nothing can stand in between her and her beloved, and she’ll make sure they feel absolute hell. She is an anomaly, a figure who had no previous background or history. As the White Queen becomes more brilliant, the Killer Queen becomes more repulsive and destructive. If the two halves were to meet...it is unknown what would happen, but the very fabric of the universe could possibly tear in two. 

[commanderatherfuck]

Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?

*sips hard liquor from a “World’s Best Fandom” coffee mug*

Yes, you got it right, this is happening. Get comfortable there, in today’s episode we’re going to bust one of the most popular myths among cullenmancers of all time:

“Cullen can't be a virgin in DAI because he's hot, confident and 30”.

First of all, I’d like to point out that I’m very reluctant to the notorious image of DAI Cullen as a "chantry boy", which basically means the face of DAI Cullen slapped on the DAO Alistair character. As ironic as it may seem the main accomplishment of forcing this image was a creation of strong belief within the fandom that the virgin!cullen headcanon is something utterly AU-ish, existing only in the minds of those who’re into virginity kink. I’m going to give you another perspective on this popular viewpoint.

The most common argument in defense of nonvirgin!cullen position sounds like:

“Cullen doesn’t act like a virgin in DAI”

I have two problems with this statement. First one is that this argument traditionally comes along with a comparison between DAI Cullen and DAO Alistair. The logical structure looks like: “Alistair was an awkward virgin in DAO. Cullen’s behavior in DAI is nothing alike. Therefore Cullen is not a virgin in DAI”. The mistake here is that Alistair’s behavior in DAO doesn’t define the behavior of every virgin in the world, not mentioning the fact that comparison between DAO Alistair and DAI Cullen is completely inappropriate. Don’t you think that it’s a little bit strange to expect the exact same behavior from a young and innocent boy and adult worn and torn guy just because both of them don’t have sexual experience?

The second problem I have is getting the “doesn’t act like a virgin” part. It sounds almost like there's some unified pattern of virgins' behavior when obviously there's none. The stereotype of a shy awkward virgin, incapable of saying two words without stuttering, is a powerful one but it is still a stereotype. Very blunt too, so it’s really surprising for me to see how many people are eager to fall for it. And just like any other stereotype, this one cannot be applied to everyone and certainly not to Cullen as a matter of fact. Cullen does act confident in DAI and the main reason for it is that he is mature first and foremost.

The lack of experience in sex alone doesn't nullify the general maturity.

I really don't know how to stress this enough. This is arguably the most bugging thing about the whole (non)virgin!cullen drama for me and the very reason why I decided to create this post. Cullen is confident because he's a mature, grown-ass man who's gone through ugly shit more than once and survived. He won't act like Alistair even if he is a virgin. It just doesn't work like this, okay? He's a mature adult, Alistair is a young innocent boy. And it has nothing to do with sexual experience. The concept of maturity is a little more complex than just the fact of having or not having sex in life. It's possible to be an irresponsible child with rich sexual life and a fully responsible adult without any sexual experience at all.

Lack of sexual experience is not equal innocence and Cullen is by no means innocent.

He's seen some shit, he's done some shit. Cullen has stable, fully developed personality, he mastered himself and earned his maturity hard way and that's exactly where his confidence comes from. Lack or existence of sex in his life is completely irrelevant for it.

Just to be perfectly clear: Cullen's confidence comes from his maturity, but his maturity doesn't come from lack or existence of sexual experience in his life.

________________________________________________________________

Now when we cleared this up let’s figure out why virgin!cullen headcanon is at least equal to nonvirgin!cullen and why you don’t have to be an adept of “virginity cult” to embrace it.

The main reason why Cullen can be a virgin in DAI lies in his tremendously traumatized background.

@aurianavaloria has a wonderful lore-friendly character research on the matter, so I strongly recommend to read it to be able to get the whole picture.

I have a serious problem with how lightly fandom treats serious topics such as PTSD and mental trauma in Cullen's biography. I've seen way too many people among both fans and haters who either ignore the Kinloch incident completely or perceive it like some small unfortunate event while it was actually a milestone in Cullen's personality formation. Just think about it - young innocent pup who'd never seen abominations or even death before had gone through horrific shit: loads of gruesome deaths of friends and people he was supposed to protect, severe mental and physical tortures and possibly even rape. And right after that instead of long and proper treatment, he got straight into hands of charismatic zealot who gave him some sort of crooked sympathy, nurturing his fears and hatred.

This kind of trauma is not something that can be overcome fast and easily and it certainly had a major impact on Cullen's personality development.

I’ve seen more than once the argument that:

“10 years is a long period of time, long enough to get over with PTSD. I can’t believe he didn’t have any action during that time, not necessarily something serious, but you know, just regular banging”.

Well, let me tell you one thing – one of the worst aspects of having PTSD is that side effects linger for a ridiculously long time, some never go away even if the person recovering in peace, surrounded by family and loved ones. Cullen didn’t have the luxury of recovering, he was forced to face his fears on the regular basis. The only thing that kept him sane was faith, in Maker and in the Order, represented by ‘”supportive” Knight-Commander. To think, his relationship with Meredith was a true deal with the devil. She showed him some kind of sympathy as she had the similar experience in her lifetime, and, what’s more important, showed him that there’s another path to prevent any further pain. The proper treatment he truly needed after events of the Broken Circle was replaced by the false purpose, based on fear and fanatical devotion to the duty and the Order. It did work but in a rather distorted way. Cullen’s recovery was like an improperly healed leg bone – painful, unstable, with lingering side effects, but at least he still could have been able to stand. And that’s exactly why I find it difficult to blame him for the notorious “magesarenotpeople” drama. It’s way too easy to brand him a villain in DAII, however, all I see there is a young broken person, clinging for the shards of sanity and trying to find the strength to go on after the severe trauma wherever he can, even in the blind zealotry. Was it a wrong way to go? Absolutely. Do I have a moral right to blame him for it? Not even close.  

So, long story short, 10 years totally may be not long enough to overcome PTSD, especially under the circumstances of constant stress and fear. The things are even more complicated if there was a sexual assault of any form during the Broken Circle. Sex and PTSD is a whole different topic for another day, let’s just say that impacts of a mental trauma can make sexual life really tricky. That makes the “regular banging” part quite dubious, not mentioning that casual sex is not for everyone to begin with. Some people do it lightly, some people don’t do it at all, either way is absolutely normal for any gender. Whether Cullen is the “regular banging” type or not and how badly PTSD affected his post-Fereldan sexual life is up to one’s headcanons. Personally, I’ve seen no evidence during the series that allow to affirm that Cullen divides concepts “sex” and “sex in the relationship”. The main problem for me is that one needs to treat casual sex lightly to perform it, and Cullen’s attitude towards pretty much everything is anything but light. Almost everyone who ever speaks of him during the game mentions at some point that he’s very serious, if not uptight. Hell, even Quis herself can tell him during the wedding cutscene “Always so serious”. This image doesn’t really get along well with the concept of casual fucking in my mind. But this is just my take on the character anyway.

Of course, all of this above doesn't prove that Cullen is necessarily a virgin in the Inquisition but it does prove that he has every reason to be one. According to WOT Cullen's attitude during Kirkwall period was cold towards both mages and templars, he didn't want to let anyone in and had a damn good reason for it.

There's a very high possibility that Cullen could have chosen to close himself from any kind of close social interactions (sexual ones like casual banging included) to prevent any further pain after traumatic events of the past and there's nothing strange or wrong about that.

________________________________________________________________

For the record, I do recognize the power of headcanons and totally respect them. I have zero problems with the fact that some people don’t see Cullen as a virgin in DAI. That’s how headcanons work and I’m more than cool with it. What gives me cringe however is the fact that some people claim that Cullen can’t be a virgin in DAI just because it’s not “normal” for a 30 yo handsome man to be one. This is arguably the most toxic argument in defense of nonvirgin!cullen position ever. I won’t torment you with off-topic *virginity is a social concept* rant, instead of that I’ll just say that the modern world's concept of a 'normal guy' may not work in Thedas. I strongly doubt that the social pattern of a "normal man" who should lose his virginity in between his early teens and mid-20s is fully acceptable for Thedas. The society with the ultimate power of the religious organization is very likely to be less reluctant to the idea of adult virginity than the modern one. Chantry is presumed to have its members, templars included, virtuous. It's not required, yes, templars can marry and sex is not totally tabooed for people who serve the Chantry but apparently, physical temperance is a thing for andrastian religion (remember Alistair's memories of his Templar days or Sebastian's celibacy) and not considered as a deviation. My general point here is that meeting an adult virgin man in Thedas is more frequent occurrence and more acceptable social concept than it is in the modern world.

Speaking of Cullen in particular, the man can be a virgin in DAI because of his traumatized background, PTSD, and following lifestyle choices. Considering all that, you can see that the virgin!cullen headcanon has a bit more solid backup than just “cult of virginity” or “first-time-big-deal kink” and that’s exactly what makes the whole thing totally plausible. And yes, it is plausible.

The writer deliberately left the virgin/nonvirgin thing ambiguous and did a pretty good job with that I dare say. Every romance related scene with Cullen can be read either way. There’s not a single scene in the game that can categorically prove that Cullen is/isn’t a virgin.

O RLY? :

“Cullen laughed at Bull's dick joke - HALF-LIFE 3 NONVIRGINITY CONFIRMED”

Um, no? The only thing confirmed in this scene is that Cullen finds the joke amusing and that he actually has a sense of humor hidden deep underneath his usual polite cold attitude. Let's just assume he is a virgin in this scene. So why wouldn't he laugh? Because he's not able to get sexual context without actual experience? I don't think it works that way, getting jokes is about intelligence and sense of humor, you don't need to have the exact same experience mentioned in the joke to find it funny. Besides, look at Cullen's attitude in this scene again, it's not all that confident "good one, bro". He definitely feels uncomfortable, even more uncomfortable than Josie a.k.a. Ultimate Disney Princess, so this scene definitely doesn't seem like a solid proof of Cullen's sexual experience existence.

Yeah, that’s all good, BUT :

“He said that there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun – it proves that he is experienced!”

Once again, Cullen is an adult in Inquisition. He is aware of sexual intercourse existence and won’t faint or something just because he witnessed its aftermath. If he is still a virgin it’s not because he’s a prude or reluctant to the very idea of sex, but because of deep personal problems, caused by traumatic past. “Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun” can be a simple display of “live and let live” principle. For example, an asexual person can tell you “doing hardcore sex is totally ok if you’re happy with it”. Same idea here.

Bitch, please:

"Two words: Desk. Sex. Alistair is inexperienced. Cullen’s got moves. Fight me" “It’s not something a virgin would do” ”This is not the action of a virgin” “DESK SCENE”

Ok, we finally made it to the juiciest part of this episode. What could I possibly say against the almighty Desk Scene, the bastion of Commander’s Sexual Experience? Well, wonder no more – the answer is “conversation before it”. The paradox is – if Cullen’s pre-sex conversation would have been identical to Alistair’s I’d agree with y’all – the man is by no means a virgin. The guy tells the woman he loves how much he cares and asks her to spend a night with him here and now. After she says “yes” the guy fucks her mindlessly on the table. Very hot and yep, there’s definitely some experience right there. But it’s not what happened at all. Just rewatch the scene once again.

*video captured by Geek Remix

You do see the difference, right? He’s not asking to spend a night with him, he’s asking to spend a life with him.

He’s really tensed and frustrated all along, hesitating to ask the woman he loves to share a future with him because it seems «too much to ask». It’s a real commitment for him – to open up to someone first time in a very long time. He feels extremely vulnerable at this point and probably makes one of the hardest personal choices ever. He’s not even sure how to formulate his question because he’s afraid that he’s asking too much of her. And then she simply turns him towards her with the gentle “Cullen, do you need to ask?” as if she’s already made the decision he found difficult even to express.

Do you see how important for him this scene is? It’s not just “I totally want you here and now” moment, it’s “I totally love you and want you here and now” moment. The scene is hands down hot, but there’s so much more in it than just a simple steamy moment between two lovers. In fact, the sex itself is secondary in this scene, it’s more about feelings, acceptance and trust. What’s happening here is the guy who doesn’t consider himself as a good person asking the woman he deeply cares about to accept him with all his shit he’s constantly kicking himself for and become the part of his life. And she does. Unconditionally. The significance of this conversation for Cullen is so much greater than just “we’ll bang, ok?”, it means the end of the whole phase of his life, it means that he actually managed to get over with bitterness and chosen solitude after Kinloch, it means that he finally got a chance to live for himself with the person he loves by his side.

Mention that he didn’t start to rip her clothes off right after this realization, he’s still somewhat hesitant, the fists are clenched,“I suppose not. I want­­­­-”. Notice this little concerned pause after Quis knocks the bottle off his desk and then this one big “Fuck it” moment happens. Like all the pieces are suddenly fit - he trusts her, he loves her, he wants her, so no more doubts. The following *sweeping shit off the desk and expressing overwhelming feelings on top of the closest available surface* episode is an act of pure passion, fueled by strong feelings, that kind of passion when nothing except the person you truly want at this very moment matters, neither place nor past sexual experiences. And that’s why it’s completely irrelevant whether Cullen was a virgin prior to this scene or not.

[branlovestowrite]

Enchantment Restored (5/15)

To celebrate my one-year anniversary of writing for Captain Swan I am posting the first multi-chapter I wrote for CS for the first time on Tumblr. I’ll post a new chapter each day for the next 15 (-ish) days.

This story can be found in its entirety over at AO3 and fanfiction.net.

Enchantment Restored

Princess Emma’s kingdom has been overthrown by King George and the Evil Queen, Regina. Now she must trust a pirate to help her rescue her family and save her land from tyranny. No Curse AU. Captain Duckling.

Rated: T

Chapter 5

Killian did his best to avoid Emma for most of the day, retreating to his cabin for some time to strategize for the mission in Camelot. The sun was just starting to set when Smee requested permission to enter the Captain's Quarters.

"What is it, Smee?"

"The lady, sir. She hasn't left her cabin all day. Some of the boys heard what sound like screams coming from her room."

Killian's head snapped up, worry for the Swan outweighing any reservations he held about getting closer to her. He immediately stood up and followed Smee to her quarters.

Standing outside of her door, he heard her crying out in what sounded like terror. "Smee," he said. "Go fetch some water and a clean rag."

"Aye Aye Cap'n," Smee said, retreating immediately.

Killian lightly knocked on the door, but no response came. After a moment, he knocked harder. "Swan?" he called out, unable to hide the anxiety in his voice. When she still did not answer, he pushed the door open.

She lay on the bed, sleeping, but thrashing about as if caught in the throes of a horrific dream. He caught her shoulder in his hand and shook her as gently as he could. To his relief, her eyes fluttered open.

"Captain?" she said, obviously confused by his presence in her room.

"Aye, love. My men heard you screaming in here and they fetched me to come check on you. Are you alright?"

Smee came back at that moment with the water and a cloth. He deposited each and then quickly left the cabin. Killian dampened the cloth and pressed it to Emma's forehead.

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then tears began to spill from her eyes and roll down her cheeks. Killian gently wiped them away with the rag.

"Talk to me, Swan."

She took a deep breath. "I had a dream about George. He was chasing me with a dagger, trying to take my baby. It was so real. I could feel his anger coming off of him in waves."

Killian sat on the bed next to her and put his hooked arm around her shoulders, holding her in a comforting embrace. She was trembling, and he wondered, "what did George do to you?"

He did not realize he had spoken aloud until he saw her face. She looked unsure, no doubt wondering if it was wise to share this information with a man she'd only known two days. Finally, it seemed that her need to confide in another outweighed her anxiety.

"He...forced...Neal and I to...to perform our marital duties...to lay together as man and wife, against our will. Nearly every day for three months, until his doctor confirmed I was with child."

Killian saw red at the thought of any man forcing himself on a woman. How could the boy he'd known as Bae have become a monster that would commit such an act as repeatedly bedding a woman against her will? Against all logic, he hoped there was a reasonable explanation, something that would acquit his old friend. Clearing his throat, he asked "how could one man compel another to commit such an act?"

Emma heaved a shaking sigh and stifled a sob. "Neal has been cursed. George has a dagger that can control the Dark One. He cast an ancient incantation that could only be performed on a blood relative of the Dark One. Neal is bound by the same dark magic that has consumed his father. He doesn't have the same abilities as Rumpelstiltskin, but the curse forces him to obey the commands of the person in possession of the dagger."

It did not escape Killian that he had just learned who possessed the dagger that could slay the Crocodile, but he tucked away that knowledge for another time. Right now comforting the Swan was his main priority. He pulled her closer to his side.

After a moment, she continued. "George said he wanted me have a son. That he had to have me...mate...with Neal to get the specific child he was after. I don't know what George wants with the child, but I have to keep my baby away from him. Above anything else, even reuniting with the rest of my family."

Killian's heart swelled, honored that she trusted him enough to share her tale. He was struck with a sudden need to protect her, but knew that she would bristle at any declarations of that nature. He could not leave the urge entirely unexpressed, however, and so he picked up her hand and placed it on his heart. "Swan, I swear to you that as long as I draw breath, no harm will come to your child, from George or anyone else."

Emma looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. Instead of responding, she tilted her head up and met his lips in a gentle kiss.

The soft intimacy of the kiss stunned Killian. It was different from what he'd wanted to share with her that morning. This kiss held the same passion, but also a promise of devotion and love beyond what he'd ever felt before. He tilted his head, taking her bottom lip between his and cupping her cheek with his hand. Emma reciprocated, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing her body deliciously against his. He felt the swell of her breast rub against his chest and moaned into her mouth. His body craved her. For longer than he could remember, the only intimate connections he'd had were meaningless encounters with tavern wenches. He felt instinctively that he and Emma could have much more, and he wanted to explore this, so very badly. But he also knew that she was a princess, and he still prided himself on being a gentleman. He had to stop. He had to do this the proper way. Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers.

"Swan," he said, trying to still his uneven breath, "that was..."

Emma moved to capture his lips with hers once more, but stopped just before contact. With their heads still touching and the same hitch in her breath, she replied, "it has to be a one-time thing. I'm married. I shouldn't be doing this." She sat up, pulling away from his embrace.

Killian softly touched his lips. "Only a tyrant would hold you to a marriage made under such circumstances. If we succeed in our quest, I am sure it could be annulled."

She sighed. "No. It happened. There were representatives from three kingdoms. It was blessed by a holy man. It's legal."

"But both you and Neal were forced into the union against your will. Those other things don't matter if either party is unwilling."

Tears sprang anew in Emma's eyes. "And how am I going to prove that, when I have a child with him?"

Killian grabbed her hand and began rubbing slow circles with his thumb. "I don't know all the particulars, love, but I am asking you not to give up hope. There may still be a chance to free you from this predicament."

She smiled through her tears then. "My mother used to always say that hope was the most powerful thing in all the realms."

"Smart woman."

Emma sniffed and wiped her eyes with the rag. "Thank you, Killian, for comforting me. I am sorry I let my emotions get the better of me."

Killian didn't know whether she was referring to her tears or the kiss, but he felt it was best to leave it be for now. "Swan," he said, giving her a warm smile, "I will always gladly comfort you when you are in need."

The remainder of the journey passed uneventfully. He and the Swan spent most days in comfortable companionship. He gave her sailing lessons. They dined together. And they conversed often, sometimes late into the night. There was no repeat of their kiss, but when they were alone in his quarters, they would often find themselves holding hands. Killian was content to let things move slow, just happy to have this time with her.

The Jolly docked in Camelot nearly a day ahead of schedule. Due to the late hour, the crew opted to bunk onboard for the night. Early the next morning, Killian sent Smee into town to obtain a shirt and some trousers for the Swan, along with a cap she could hide her hair under. Smee had a talent for procuring things and was back on the ship in no time. Killian took the bundle from him and headed to Emma's cabin.

"Swan?" He called out, knocking on her door.

She opened the door and gave him a radiant smile. "Good morning Killian. Have we arrived in Camelot?"

"Aye, love, we have. Mr. Smee has procured for you some menswear that you may use to disguise yourself," he said, handing her the bundle.

Though he did not think it possible, her smile grew even more brilliant. She took the bundle and excused herself to change. After a short while, Killian rapped on her door again.

"Swan? Let's have a look."

She opened the door and stood before him. The shirt was large, but still did not obscure the curve of her breasts. The pants fit well, but the leather material only served to accentuate her shapely body. It did not suggest a male visage. Killian excused himself and visited the bunk of his crew member, Lawrence. Lawrence was a younger man with a gangly body, but Killian felt he had some clothes that might better suit Emma.

Returning to her cabin, he said "Here, Swan, try these trousers instead. They are a different material and less form fitting. You'll need to roll up the hems. And use this cloth to bind your breasts. We need to hide them. You can wear this waistcoast as well, to further conceal yourself."

Emma closed the door again and emerged a moment later looking much more disguised. Her hair still tumbled down her back, however.

"There should be a cap with the original bundle which you can use to hide your hair."

"There was," she said, "but my hair is too long to be hidden under it. But I know what to do." She tied her hair back using some cord from the bundle. Grabbing her dagger, she positioned it under her long hair and sliced through quickly, severing most of her golden tresses. Killian couldn't help but mourn the loss of her lovely locks, but also admired her tenacity.

"The cut is uneven, Swan, but it should be serviceable. You should still wear the cap, and use it to obscure your face."

She picked up the cap and positioned it on her head so that the brim slid over her forehead. "Well?" She asked, standing for inspection.

"Your beauty is hard to conceal, Swan, but I believe this will do for anyone who doesn't look too closely. There is one other thing we can do to further disguise you."

"What's that?"

Killian did not respond, but instead retreated to the galley. A moment later, he returned with a bowl filled with ashes from the stove. Dipping his hands in the bowl, he smeared a small amount of ashes on her cheeks and forehead.

"Anyone of importance who could recognize you will likely not peer too close if you are dirty. You should dip your hands in here as well. I know it is not pleasant, but-"

"But," she said, her eyes lighting up, "if it will help me in my quest, I will gladly do it."

Satisfied with her appearance, Killian exited the ship with Emma. He instructed Smee to keep watch and restock their provisions.

He quickly obtained two horses and directions to King Arthur's palace, which was only a half day's ride away. They saddled their mounts and began on the journey.

Emma's horse was shorter than Killian's, which had been a deliberate move on his part. Killian could not, and truly did not, wish to disguise himself. They came up with a plausible story for the notorious Captain Hook. Emma was now Eddie, his Cabin Boy, accompanying the Captain as he travelled to the palace to sell some wares to King Arthur's steward.

Arriving at the palace, they left their mounts tied to a tree in the forest just beyond the entrance to the keep. They applied to the gate guard and were permitted to enter when Killian showed his satchel full of treasures. The bracelet of Misthaven gems was among them. They were led to the servants entrance and instructed to wait in the kitchen for the steward. As soon as they were alone, Emma grabbed Killian's hand.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," she said.

"Most royals publicly disparage pirates, Swan. But any good steward worth his salt can overlook that in the search for a bargain."

"But isn't it unusual for the Captain to be the one completing this task?"

"Not for Captain Hook. I don't trust any of my crew other than Smee to fetch a good price for anything. And even then, I prefer to do it myself when I have something as valuable as a bracelet with Misthaven gemstones in my possession."

She gave him a small smile and released his hand as a servant walked by. The steward seemed to be taking his time.

After a while, Emma's face changed. It seemed as if she was listening for something, but Killian heard nothing more than the usual sounds of a large kitchen.

"My parents," she said. "They're here. I can feel them. I need to go to them."

"Swan, no," he said. "We've only just arrived. How can you be sure they are here?"

"I should have shared this with you before, and I'm sorry I didn't. I have magic. Light magic. I can sense when two people in True Love are near. My parent's love has a very distinct signature, and I can sense it here. I can follow that to get to them."

Killian looked at her, afraid to separate after their week in close proximity. But he knew she could not be stopped. "Be careful, love. And please, come back."

"I will," she said. "Meet me in the forest where we tied the horses after nightfall, when the moon is high. I will make sure I return to you."

She darted a quick glance around and saw no observers. Rising up on her toes, she captured his lips for a quick kiss. Pressing her hand to his heart, she said "I will see you soon."

With that, she was gone, blending in with the other servants. Marveling at this incredible woman, Killian came to a realization. He loved her. He prayed to the gods that she would be successful in her mission. No matter what the outcome, Killian did not want to continue his life if he did not have Emma by his side.

[aether-staza]

Sheith Angst Idea

In a canon divergence AU, Shiro doesn’t return to the team with the events of season 3. Years go by, and everyone but Keith has given up on Shiro even being alive. But Keith knows Shiro is still out there, still guiding him every day. Sometimes when Keith is in Black, he can swear he hears Shiro’s voice, watching his back, supporting him…and whispering right to his heart how much he loves him. Keith never stops believing that somehow, they will find each other. 

▪☆▪☆▪☆▪

JOIN THE SHEITH ANGST PROMO!

Send me the most heart-wrenching Sheith headcanon/scenario/etc. you have~

In a canon divergence AU, Shiro doesn’t return to the team with the events of season 3. Years go by, and everyone but Keith has given up on Shiro even being alive. But Keith knows Shiro is still out there, still guiding him every day. Sometimes when Keith is in Black, he can swear he hears Shiro’s voice, watching his back, supporting him…and whispering right to his heart how much he loves him. Keith never stops believing that somehow, they will find each other. 

 In the battle with Zarkon, Shiro’s entire being was strained, and put to the test, a mighty war of wills to bond with the Black Lion, but Shiro throws in everything he’s got to banish Zarkon’s hold over Black, knowing that no matter what else happens, Black needs to be freed in order for Voltron to win the war. Shiro is utterly spent, on the verge of burning out forever, and Black desperately tries to save her paladin, using all her power to transport him somewhere safe, somewhere he can recover. The Castle is safe…everything was safe before Zarkon was corrupted…Zarkon…Zarkon tries one more time to wrestle control of Black back, right as she transports Shiro…The former paladin is nearly out of strength himself, but his desperation is just enough. It give him just enough power to shake Black up before their bond is severed forever. The path to safety the lion has created diverges, cracks, sends Shiro to the Castle…the Castle of Lions over 10,000 years in the past, before everything had gone so wrong, before Zarkon had gone so wrong. 

He is in Black, but a Black that belongs wholly to Zarkon…he can only just barely make out his bond with her before her roar alerts the Paladins that something is wrong. Shiro is rounded up and confronted by five very suspicious and confused paladins…but they aren’t without reason. 

Given the opportunity to explain how he got into the Castle, let alone the Black Lion, Shiro explains that he is from the future, the current Black Paladin fighting to free the oppressed universe 10,000 years from now…but he knows he cannot accuse Zarkon of being the oppressor right in front of the man himself, so he carefully…edits the details of the future, about the evil that the universe faces in his own time. Reluctantly, the paladins of old are cautiously convinced of Shiro’s identity…after all, Black wouldn’t let just anyone in, and Zarkon admits that he feels a vague connection between himself and the stranger, leading back to Black. 

Shiro, now vetted and and somewhat trusted, explains that he has to find a way to get back, but Alfor is uncertain if they are going to be able to replicate the circumstances that sent Shiro here in the first place…after all, Shiro can’t be completely honest with them about what he knows…but maybe he can change the past…stop it all from happening in the first place. He can at least try; he has no idea how long he’ll be stuck here, and there is no reason to believe he can’t still try to make a difference even in the past, separated from his team…and from Keith by thousands of years. 

Its jarring for Shiro to meet Coran and Allura, pretend he knows nothing more about them than legends in his own time…this is going to be difficult, but he has to try. With Alfor and other scientists focusing efforts on trying to help get Shiro home, the Black Paladin finds himself being taken tentatively under his predecessor’s wing. Zarkon is not what Shiro expected; the man clearly has his flaws, but he is a devoted leader to his people, he loves his family and his friends dearly…Shiro doesn’t understand how it all went so wrong in the end. He isn’t opposed to spending so much time with the emperor, trying everything he can to guide him away from the dark fate that awaits…but time dragging them relentlessly towards their fate, and Shiro is losing hope of ever getting back to Keith and his team. All he can do is try and turn the tides now. 

With Zarkon’s interests inevitably comes the interests of Honerva…Shiro was brought into the past through the intervention of the Black Lion, and massive use of quintessence, and she is hungry to learn more. She has to know if more is possible, and Shiro holds so many answers, and she will have them no matter the costs. She will understand quintessence no matter what it takes. 

Shiro is getting nervous; he’s been with the paladins for a couple of years now, and he knows they are getting closer to the day that Zarkon tricks the team into entering the rift, Daibazaal getting destroyed, and a reign of terror spanning thousands of years begins. Watching the slow erosion of trust among the paladins is heartbreaking, and Shiro doesn’t know how he can stop this all from going to hell in a handbasket, but he is still doing his best to try…and his efforts are not going unnoticed. Honerva is suspicious of his motives, his intentions…before her inevitable collapse, she manages to get Shiro alone, eager to try out some of her research on this stranger from the future. 

Through a judicious use of druid magic, Honerva gleans enough information to know that Shiro is trying to stop her, trying to interfere with her husband, and she will not let anything stand in her way. She instead will make a loyal servant of Shiro, a mindless warrior to protect her, her husband, and her future child no matter the cost. Poisoning Shiro’s mind with quintessence is enough for now, and her team of devoted researchers take Shiro away for reconditioning…Shiro’s last thought was regret, knowing he had failed to make a difference, and never returned to Keith. 

In the chaos created by Honerva’s collapse, and Zarkon’s no one thinks to question where Shiro has gone, and too soon, history is made as the five paladins enter the rift, Daibazaal is destroyed and Zarkon and Honerva…Haggar…return from death to begin a war that will rage through the galaxy for years to come.

Shiro is gone, a running theme in his life, but a new servant has joined Zarkon, a dark armored figure that follows Zarkon like a shadow, fiercely loyal to the emperor and feared as his most ruthless commander…a commander that watches a Champion rise through the ranks in the slave pits with a rigid form, and though the shadow wears a mask constantly, Takashi Shirogane cannot help but feel like his soul is being peeled away every time that mask’s blank gaze falls upon him. 

But the pilot turned arena brawler has a savior, and the Blade gets the Champion back to Earth, back just in time to kick off a new era in the Legend of Voltron. Things are only slightly different this time…Allura and Coran squint when they see Shiro standing before them, four other humans in tow, getting the strangest feeling that they have met this calm, reassuring leader before…but 10,000 years of cryo-stasis have made details of their past a little hard to remember, like the fading images of a dream upon waking…what they do know is that they trust this man, even if the rest of these children don’t inspire much confidence…

Events play out as they should, time repeating itself in a strange way for Shiro…he lives through battles for a second first time, leading up to that fateful moment when he will face Zarkon for the last time, to break his hold over Black once and for all…

All Keith knows, is that Shiro is gone. His heart aches when he sees the proud Black Lion, collapsed in the hangar like a puppet with cut strings…he knows before he even enters the cockpit that Shiro isn’t going to be there, but he has to go. The ache becomes a crack that sends fractures through his heart, breaking the fragile organ into pieces that he isn’t so sure can ever be put back together.

Shiro is gone. He is gone again, and there is nothing he can do. 

He searches fruitlessly, avoiding picking up the torch that Shiro had placed beside him all those months ago, stranded together on a desolate planet…he could barely stand to look at Black, let alone try to pilot her…but the team was growing desperate. They need a Black Paladin, and the universe needs Voltron. 

When Black chooses Keith, his stomach bottoms out, and what is left of Keith’s fragile heart is crumbling to dust…he takes up the mantle, reluctant and unhappy…but after a few times of piloting Black, he starts to feel it…the ghost of a touch here, the whisper of encouragement there…it gives Keith a renewed hope that Shiro lives, that he is out there waiting. Keith is bonding with Black, and just like Zarkon could feel Shiro through Black, Keith is feeling that same pull. Shiro is alive. 

In the absence of Zarkon, Voltron is being kept busy by Lotor and his generals…as well as the master of a fleet that fights with more ferocity than Keith is prepared for the first few times. This shadowy commander has a scorched earth method that leaves destruction in his path every time Voltron clashes with his fleet, and it only gets worse when Zarkon returns and sets the empire against Lotor.

Through events fairly similar to current canon, Lotor and Voltron end up as allies, forced to work together or let Zarkon and his monster of a right-hand man salt and burn they’re way through the growing number or coalition planets in order to crush the rebellion. 

Every time Keith finds himself facing this mysterious commander, he cannot help but feel his heart ache a little, like something is wrong, and a few missteps have nearly cost them their lives. By the time Zarkon offers to exchange Sam Holt for betraying Lotor, Keith knows they have to do this with the utmost care, or they will lose everything. 

Keith and Lotor lay out the plan…Voltron will pretend to betray Lotor to get Sam back, but as soon as the exchange is made, Keith, Pidge and Matt will rush Zarkon, while Lotor will attack from behind enemy lines. The surprise of Lotor not actually being cuffed should give them enough of an edge to take down the emperor before the waiting fleets can move in and blast them all…once they’re in close quarters with the emperor, the fleet wont be able to risk an aerial attack. 

Planetside, Keith feels his heart go cold when he sees the shadow commander at Zarkon’s side, just in front of Lotor’s former generals…its too many for Lotor to fight on his own even for a moment, but it’s too late now, and they can’t leave Sam, not when Pidge and Matt are so close to having their father back against all odds. Keith feels like his eyes are glued to the commander in black the whole time it takes for Lotor to cross to distance between them, even though he knows he should be watching Zarkon, watching Sam, watching the Acxa and the others with the same level of care, but he can’t. This is his first time seeing the commander in the flesh, all their previous exchanges happening in the skies, in ships that kept them relatively shielded from one another’s scrutiny. 

Keith swallows, takes a minute to breath before the shit hits the fan; Zarkon’s inevitable double-cross comes, and Keith is not surprised. Keith darts forward immediately as soon as Lotor’s cuffs hit the ground and the prince pulls out his broadsword, going for his father with single-minded intensity while the others hurried to get Sam back inside the ship. He knows Pidge and Matt wont let that happen, so he zeroes in on the shadow commander. He cant let him interfere with Zarkon and Lotor’s fight; he knows that if the prince is killed their victory is going to be even more difficult. He glances to the right; Pidge and Matt are busting into the ship; they’ll get Sam…he shifts his gaze and sees Lotor get thrown back by his father just as the shadow commander’s right arm begins to glow with violet light…Keith’s stomach twists as he feels the pull and wonders…the commander is already running to stop Lotor, to kill him, and Keith doesn’t have time to question himself. 

He makes sure he is there to intercept, the glowing Galra-crafted hand coming down in a deadly arc only to be met by Keith’s gleaming black sword. The hit is powerful, and Keith feels the impact vibrate through his arms, but he clenches his teeth and he presses back, prepared to risk it all to make sure this mission is a success…the rest of the paladins are on their way, he knows…they can still win the day. 

Their battle is fierce, and this commander has Keith on the ropes, but the Black Paladin refuses to go down until everyone else is safe; he gasps and shudders when the impact comes. He looks down…the Galra arm is sunk into Keith’s side, and the Black Paladin can only think…oh. 

He drags his eyes away from his torso, finding his bayard sunk through the commander’s shoulder, and Keith smirks. He’s finally landed a hit that counts, and Keith knows he has to press the advantage; he slams the hilt of his Marmoran blade into the side of the commander’s helmet, hoping to stun the other; the sound of shattering glass fills his ears, and Keith pulls back to strike again…until he sees a shock of white hair, a scar and grey eyes that he would know anywhere. His heart stops, and he gasps…or he tries to…Keith feels like he can’t breath. 

Someone is calling his name, but he can’t move, can’t comprehend the sound beyond the vague buzzing of the words at the back of his skull. 

“Shi…Shiro?” he manages…he can’t believe it. Nothing makes sense, and the world feels like its falling away beneath his feet. Static is eating at his peripheral, and all he can focus on is cold, grey eyes, staring through him with no recognition, no warmth or love…Keith feels the tears welling up, and the ache in his heart threatening to tear him to pieces. He wants to say more, wants to plead with Shiro to remember…but he can’t force his mouth to make any sound as he realized that Shiro’s hand is now wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. The former Black Paladin yanks his Galra hand out of Keith’s side, a gush of blood seeping into the armor, following the lines of the plates to drip on the ground in a slow, steady stream. Keith’s hand slipped from the hilt of his bayard, and his Blade dropped to the ground with a clatter…Keith thinks he hears someone scream his name, but all he can do is find the strength to reach out, to touch Shiro’s cheek before the world goes dark. Shiro’s arm tensed, like he plans to throw Keith away from him. 

“Shiro…I love you…always will…” he chokes out. Shiro’s eyes widen, and Keith hopes…maybe he’s reached him…but everything is going fuzzy, going dark…he can’t feel anything, can’t think. The Black Paladin is dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks, the echo of gunfire still rippling across the empty plane of this dusty planet…Lotor stands over the body of Zarkon, Matt and Pidge are landing the shuttle, their father safe and secure, while Coran, Allura and Hunk finish off the last of the Galra fleet above…Lance runs forward, his sniper rifle still trained on the Galran commander in black, praying that Keith is still alive. He calls Coran for medical backup as he runs, not even watching as the Galra falls over where Lance had shot him, intent on reaching his fallen leader in time. He collapses in the dirt next to the Black Paladin, trying to staunch the bleeding for long enough to get Keith back to the castle…Keith groans, trying to move despite his broken state, and Lance shushes him, reaching out to hold him still. “Its alright, buddy…we’ll get you back to the castle, just stay with me.” Lance pleads. Keith moans, and reaches…though its more of a pitiful twitch of his hand than anything…towards the Galran… 

“Shiro…” Keith croaks before truly passing into complete unconsciousness, going limp under Lance’s hands, the Blue-turned Red Paladin panicking, his eyes following Keith’s gesture, towards the prone body he had shot down moments ago. He went cold…Shiro. Lance had shot down Shiro. 

“CORAN!” he shouted into his coms. He couldn’t lose two Black Paladins in one day. Not if he could help it. 

***

Okay, I am so sorry. This spiralled so far out of control, and I know its a little all over the place, but I hope this is the type of angst that you are looking for. 

Thank you for humoring me

[maddieson-san]

KogKag Week Prompt #3

Kogkag Week 2017

Prompt 3: Separation / Devotion

A/N: College!AU. I took a little spin on the separation. Obviously the whole Inu!Kag, but also, just Kouga and Kagome separating themselves from who they used to be now, and becoming new people due to their lives circumstances. 

“Morning sunshine.”

“Kouga - buy your book.”

It was the third time! Instead of sitting with his friends as he had done during the first class, he had instead opted to sit beside her - again. The reason for that had made itself clear quite rapidly; he had wanted to borrow her book. The first time, she had agreed, reluctantly. The second time, she had sighed. Now? She was putting her foot down.

“I will, I swear.”

“You said that last week and the week before,” she pointed out.

Honestly, he had no defence, especially since he was doing it on purpose. She had not been very receptive on the different signals he had thrown her way, and this was one of the ways he had found to close the distance between them. Although, apparently, it was not working as well as he had originally hoped for…

“Maybe if you came with me, you’d be sure that I’d get it.”

He had to be the least subtle guy she had ever met in her life. It did not matter to him that she never played into his little fucking games: it never stopped him from doing it. How did she end up kissing him out of all the guys at that party?

“I - hm, I have things to do.”

“Like what?” He knew that she was good at avoiding him, although he was not convinced that it was him per say that she was trying to avoid. It felt like she was not a fan of social interactions with strangers.

“Study.”

“Good, I need to study too.”

“We’re not friday.”

He laughed. Any other man might have walked away from her, knowing there were no hopes, but, he was not like them. Then again, maybe he at least needed to revisit his strategy. Cockyness was not working on her - although she had not chased him away yet either… Hmm.

“You know, we could see each other on other days than friday.”

“Hey Kouga.”

Both him and Kagome turned their heads to look at the newcomers; they were his friends. They did not even wait to be greeted back: instead they simply sat beside them in the empty seats. Great, now she did not only have Kouga, she also had his friends to deal with. She stole a quick glance at Kouga’s face and noticed that he was not very pleased with the sudden intrusion. His blue eyes were narrowed, his lips were pinched and she could see the pulsing of the vein in his neck.

“Guys.”

“Kouga, you abandon us for a girl?”

“We’re hurt.” The teasing in their voices was obvious and they could barely hold back their grins. Usually, when Kouga would hit on a girl, it would not be too long until they found out her indentity and within a week, they would see her at the fraternity. This was different. They had spotted that girlw ith Kouga more than once and yet they had not been introduced, which led them to the only possible conclusion; Kouga was losing his touch. And so, they were there to help their friend out of a difficult situation.

Obviously, he was not seeing it right now but later he would thank them.

“What do you two want?”

“Us?” Ginta inquired as he feigned indignation. His palm found his chest as he dramatically tilted his head backwards. “We were just wondering the identity of the lady who stole you away.”

Oh yeah, he was going to kill them. It was hard enough to convince her to tutor him… this was not going to help.

“You can have him back,” Kagome said with a smile. “Just a heads up, though - he’s probably going to steal your book.”

Ginta could hardly help it but look at her with a twinkle in his eyes: he liked that girl. “As if that was new.”

“I don’t think he owns a single book from any of his classes.”

Were they there to help him or bury him?

Kagome was helpless against the laughter that escaped her lips. At least she was not the only one who picked up on his bad habits.

“But really, you shouldn’t let that stop ya.”

“As his tutor, I’ll have to disagree.” This was a good way to clear up the situation without offending anyone.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

“You’re her.”

She was the mystery tutor. They had only managed to extract minimal information concerning his tutor and now it all made sense as to why he did not want to spill the beans. For a moment, Hakkaku almost wondered if it were true tutoring but considering the girl’s attitude - he had no doubts this was for real. It was actually nice to see Kouga’s charms fail for once. It might actually help tone down his display of cockiness. Then again, it was Kouga… he might need a lot more than that to break down that cocky attitude of his. But - maybe she could do it.

“So you’ve been stealing him every friday.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. It actually gives us a chance to say a word or two during parties now.” It was not really that Kouga did not et them talk, it was mostly that girls would automatically go to him. That was hardly his doing.

Kouga’s eyes narrowed; they were definitively not helping.

“Glad I can help.” They were slightly different than Kouga - less cocky - but they had the same kind of energy about them.

“You know, as a way to thank you, you should come to a party this friday.”

“It’ll be great.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll even keep Kouga away from you,” Ginta offered with a smile.

A low growled echoed through the room, but it did not scare Ginta and Hakkaku.

“It would be fun.”

After the terrible kiss-Inuyasha event, she had promised herself that she would not attend another party ever again. She could not risk putting herself in such a situation again. Her bottom lip trembled as it truly dawned on her why she had avoided all type of social interactions; he would always be there, lurking in the corner. Even if it was not there, the shadow of his presence would always be there and she would never be able to escape it.

It did not take a genius to sense the shift in her scent. It was the same scent she had anytime her ex was involved. Obviously after the incident that occurred lat time, there was no chance he would see her at a party again. She would be too terrified to ever come in contact with her ex again. But… that was something that he could offer her? He did not know her whole story or why an asshole like him threw away a girl like that. However, he did know that he could offer her peace of mind. It sort of fell under the umbrella of their deal did it not? He was in charge of the fraternity, and he made the decisions.

“Only our own frat will be there - no outsiders,” he began, the intensity of the gaze in his eyes forcing her to stare at him. “Except those we invite, but as you can see with these two idiots, it’s girls.”

Kagome felt a lump in her throat, he had seen right through her. It sent a shiver down her spine. Why was she such an open book? It rendered her absolutely defenseless.

“A party isn’t really my scene.” Inuyasha was not her only reason not to go wild at night.

“Are you sure?” It was not about the kiss. It was not about the party mood - it was about seeing her somewhere other than a library.

“Yes, but thank you.”

“Alright, students. Let’s begin.”

And for now, it was the end of that. He was not given a chance to push the issue further, he was not able to make an argument as to why it would be good for her. For now, he would let it go - but he did know two people who would need a good talking to after class.

~~~

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

“Now, now, we were just trying to help.”

“Let’s face it, with that girl, you don’t got it.”

“And belittling me and puttin’ me down helps me how exactly?”

“We were trying to make her feel the friendliness.”

“I ain’t friendly?”

“It’s not that you’re not friendly.” Oh boy, was there even a way to say this without getting himself in trouble?” They had really done it to help him out of a difficult situation. “It’s just that -“

“She’s not going for your flirting.”

“Like not at all.”

“We thought that -maybe you could go the friend route.”

“She doesn’t seem like the type of girl you one night - and she’s your tutor.”

“Ya barely know her - what if it doesn’t work out?”

“It’s better to know her first.”

Kouga had been friends with only one girl during the past few years, and it had not turned out too good for him. She had fallen in love with him and it had not turned out too good for him. She had fallen in love with him and he did not return their feelings which had effectively ended their friendship for good.

“Her friend?”

Kouga was a good guy, but sometimes he could be a little impatient, reckless and get ahead of himself. This was them trying to help him out.

“What would be the harm?”

He did not know what it was, he did not know how to explain it, but he did know there was something about her that fascinated him and had him coming back for more. But, they were not wrong. As much as he was having a blast teasing her about the whole tutor thing, it had made a difference. She might not have noticed it since she was busy focusing on tiny details like the fact that he did not have his books, to see that he was actually putting an effort into this. It was rather difficult for him because anything he took a step away from running he felt as though he was abandoning his dream, giving upon running and separating himself from who he used to be. It was not something he enjoyed dwelling upon.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“That’s it?”

“No arguing?”

“No rebuttal?”

“I said fine. Don’t you two idiots have practice?”

They gulped - they did not enjoy speaking about running or practices in front of him; they did not see the need of rubbing in the story of his injury.

“Yeah.”

“Then go.”

He did not wait for them to argue any further. Instead, he threw his bag over hi shoulder and began heading down the hall. This was going to be a long fucking semester.

~~~

“Tutoring?”

Kagome snapped her head up at the sound of Sango’s voice. She managed a weak nod before finishing to load up her bag. Kouga was not going to have his books meaning she had to make sure she had hers or this entire thing would be pointless.

Sango could not help her quirk of the eyebrow. Why was Kagome nervous? It was not her first tutoring session. There was no reason for her to be in a panic.

“You okay?”

“I’m great.”

It had been a quick moment. She had forgotten her book in class and after cursing herself for being such a distracted person, she hurried back to class to retrieve it and that had been her mistake. It had only taken one little moment off schedule to send her life unravelling into pieces. She saw him. Actually seeing him was not the right description of the events that took place; she ran smack dab into him. They collided which resulted in her falling unto the ground. And as if that was not enough, he also helped her up from the ground -which she only allowed because she had yet to realize it was him. But once his hand had grabbed hers, she had known. She even dared to look up at his golden eyes. After that, shame took a hold of her and she scampered off as best as she could - without her book. The fact that he had called her name out as she ran away had not helped the situation at all.

Now, she was shaken. She had managed to avoid him so well, and the last time she had been close to him was at the party but they had been far apart and it had not involved any kind of physical contact. Now, she was impregnated by his scent and she could still feel his lingering touch on her skin. The thought of it was enough to fill her eyes with tears.

“Kagome.” Sango had her hand on her arm, concern shining in her eyes as she tried to get her to open up.

“I’m gonna be late.”

She did not even give Sango a chance to reply as she dashed out of the room. She loudly closed the door behind herself, her back slamming against it as she did so. Kagome closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to slow down her heart down: she had to hide her emotions deep within or someone’s youkai nose would be able to detect them and she was not in the mood to avoid the same awkward conversation twice. Once she felt a little more in control, she began a slow walk to the library. After all, there was no rush; he was never early.

But after a long walk, Kagome learned that she was wrong this time. He was not only on time, but early.

By the time she reached the library he was head deep into… his book. He actually got the book this time - and not only that but he was reading on his own while he waited for her… She did not know who the man standing in front of her was but it was not Kouga. He was so engrossed in what he was reading that she had the time to reach the table before he even clued in on her presence.

“Hey,” he finally said as he tore his eyes away from his book so that he could flash her a grin.

“Hey,” she said as she walked around the table to sit beside him. “You have your book,” she added as though she did not believe it.

He smirked; this was definitively helping him score some points. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

She sat down, pulling her book out of her bag. “How much have you done?”

“I read half of this week’s chapter.”

“How much did you understand?”

“Almost all of it. Apparently it pays off to pay attention in class.” If he was better organized, he could probably sped the next few days reading it through and he would most likely get enough of the material to pass the class. But he did not want to do that.

She had to admit, she was impressed. Though she almost had to wonder what caused such a turn around for him. What happened to the disorganized, cocky guy that asked to borrow her book earlier this week? “Okay, so what do you need help with?”

He was trying to do as the boys had suggested; but it was not really worked. He did not see a difference in her attitude towards him - then again, it was the first time he had not greeted her with a charming line. But he needed to find something that could turn her behavior around. The invitation the boys had thrown her way still stood even though she had rejected it. It was tonight and perhaps there was enough time left for him to change her mind and turn it all around. He hated that he agreed with the guys - but his interest in her was the obvious proof that he wanted to know more about her. Her fierceness had sucked him in since the first gaze. And that kiss? It was hard to forget how nice she had felt all pressed up against him, melting against his body. He was definitively not against doing a repeat of that event.

And so, he began by letting her help him. He came up with questions, sitting perfectly still by her side, and time slowly ticked away. Usually, he threw a few of his lines in there, but today he made a point to keep his lips tightly shut. She appeared to be completely lost into it with her body being near his which allowed him to smell her hair every time she moved. It smelled like vanilla and it reminded him of that night. Although at that time, her skin had also been tainted with a scent of alcohol - but not this time.

“Kouga?”

“Huh?” Crap.

“Are you listening?”

At first, she had been slightly thrown off by his change in attitude. Usually, he would stop her once in a while but today he let her blabber away ad listened patiently. Originally, she believed it but now he looked more lost in thoughts than anything else.

“I am,” he defended.

“What did I say?”

“That you really want to come to the party tonight.”

“Kouga.”

“I’m kidding. You explained the theorem, and I got it.”

At least, he was paying a little bit of attention.

“But I still think you should come tonight.” It was getting close to the end of their little session and they were running out of time.

“I really don’t think so.”

“Because of me or because of him?”

Just the mention of him was enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth; why was he even bringing her ex up? If he thought that would convince her to attend - well he was wrong. “Maybe I just don’t wanna go.”

He sighed; he did not mean it like that. “I just think you should come.”

“Why,” she challenged. “Give me a valid reason and maybe I’ll think about it.”

Everyone said she should go out as to not miss out on all the college life had to offer. But what if she did not want that life? What if it had nothing to do with Inuyasha and everything to do with who she was as a person deep down? How come nobody had taken the time to consider that instead? Why did it always have to do with her separation? She was someone before she was with Inuyasha and she was someone after. Why could no one see the line that divided her from who she was? Although she had been quite down over the breakup, Inuyasha did not make up everything that she was. She was someone separate from him, she was her own person. She loved him but he did not get to dictate every aspect of her and her life. Maybe she never liked the party life? And maybe it had nothing to do with dissociating herself from Inuyasha.

“They are not what you think that they,” he began. Yes, a lot of the things she assumed took place, really did happen, but there was also so much more than that. “In class, you’re alone. In the hallway, you’re alone.” He did not mean to sound like a stalker but, he had spotted her more than once. “I’ve only ever seen you with your roommate.”

“You don’t know my whole life.”

“I don’t have to - I can tell you’re putting yourself in isolation, you’re separating yourself from everything. I don’t know what that asshole did to you. I know it was bad enough that you preferred kissing a stranger rather than seeing him. I also know that you’re social and you light and come alive around others. I don’t see why someone like you wouldn’t like having clean fun with friends. You’re letting what he did to you ruin you. And I think that’s a waste. A lot of people would gain a lot by getting to know you.

If he had not blown it before, he had now. A long sigh rumbled through his chest as he pulled himself away from the table. It was best for him to leave before he made the situation any worse - and yet there was a part of him that found all of this unfair. “If I could run - if I could be who I used to be, I would.”

Kouga had never addressed his accident. He did not talk to his friends about it, and he could not tell anyone. A few of the school’s newspapers had called him to get a line or even a comment and he had turned them all down. It was not a topic that he wanted to bring up and yet he was telling her. She had a chance to make a new life for herself, to devote herself to something new. It was impossible that everything she was - came down to that boy. But everything he was, was tied up to his running. There was no separating him and running. It was what he was, and it was taken from him. “Thanks for the session. See you in class.”

His words left a bittersweet taste in her mouth, what was she supposed to say to that? She had heard how broken his voice was, how the pain had been laced with his tone. She had only been able to locate minimal information about his injury and she was beginning to understand why that was. As much as she was not talking about Inuyasha, he was doing the same with his accident. She almost wondered if his display of cockiness was also tied into that. It did not matter. Now he was gone, and she was at the library by herself. This was how she preferred it - separated from the world. That way, she could not be bothered.

And yet - somehow, his words kept echoing in her head.

~~~

“Hey Kouga.”

Kouga snapped his head up with a quirked eyebrow.

“Some chick is asking for you.”

A girl asking for him? He was already picturing the worst. “Boys, I call a break.”

“You can’t call a break during beer pong.”

“I just did,” Kouga replied before throwing the white ping pong ball in one of his fraternity brother’s face. Whatever was waiting for him, he wanted to deal with it now. He tried to look ahead, through the cloud of people, but it was to no avail. To top it all of, there were too many scents for him to pick one up from the crowd. But when he finally managed to see who it was, he stopped in his tracks; it was Kagome. She was standing by the front door, her hands clasped behind her back as she awkwardly stared around at the party surrounding her. He could not believe it, she was actually here. After he had allowed himself to speak his mind, he never thought she would actually show up - even less ask for him.

“Hey.”

The sound of his deep voice brought her back to reality and she found herself turning her head so that she could look at him. “Hey.” She felt like a complete idiot. Guilt was what had gotten her to the front step of his fraternity house and she wondered if it were enough to keep her there. Actually - it was not guilt. She wanted to prove him wrong. He was the first person to walk away, after trying to give her a wake up call, and some part of her wanted to show that she was not what they thought she was.

She looked absolutely amazing in her tight jeans and simple white snug t-shirt. It was nothing fancy and yet he found his blood pumping. Perhaps it was the sight of her bared neck that was offered to him since her long dark locks were pulled in a high ponytail. “Wanna come in?” he teased as she had yet to detach herself from the doorway. There were many more teasing sentences that he could throw her way but he held himself back.

“Sure.”

A part of her was glad that he was not asking her the big why question. It was hardly her fault that his words had stuck with her. As he turned around, leading the ay for her to follow him, she could not help but notice that class Kouga and out of class Kouga were very similar; jeans and simple t-shirt. Then again, he was a simple guy. She shyly followed him into the crowd, her body rubbing on perfect strangers has she tried to make a way for herself. Kouga was much taller and intimidating than she was and he was not experimenting the same strugles as she was. Once she saw him come to a stop, she found relief washing over her.

“Wanna play?”

“Play what?”

“Beer pong,” he replied with a grin. She did not strike him as the type of girl who had a history of playing beerpong.

“I suck at aiming.” Lord knew she tried -her mother had even signed her up for archery class as a child, but nothing had done the trick.

“I’ll help ya.”

He heard her timid footsteps as she walked behind him. As he had expected they continued to play without him. It was good; it allowed him to start a fresh new game with Kagome.

“I call dibs.”

Ginta was ready to protest and proclaim that Kouga had been hogging the game for way too long when he stopped himself once he caught sight of Kagome. He was quick to elbow Hakkaku in the ribs so that he could also witness the scene.

“Sure go ahead.”

“Good to see you Kagome, what’s your poison?”

“My what?”

“What he means is, what alcohol do you want in your cups?”

Right it was a game that involved drinking alcohol. She had forgotten about that. She was not an avid drinker, meaning that she never had a chance to develop a taste for any kind of alcohol really.

Kouga was quick to notice the biting of her bottom lip and her fidgeting. “Give her a mix of vodka orange.” He turned his head to look at Kagome. “It tastes like juice. Plus I’m a pro. I’ll make sure you don’t have to drink too much.”

“Thanks.”

“Vodka orange for the lady, and you Kouga?”

“Whiskey.” Youkais often drank beers during social events but it did not have an effect on them. Hard liquor on the other hand was a completely different story.

As the guys set up the boards for them, he looked at Kagome. “Any ideas on how to play?”

“Get the ball in the cup?”

He laughed at out loud. “That’s the gist of it.”

“I’m not gonna be very good at it.” Why had she agreed so easily to do this?

“I am,” he said with a wink.

The game began slowly, Kouga making his shots and Kagome missing hers. That lead to her drinking two of her vodka oranges and him one of his shots of whiskey. Kouga was having fun but he could tell that Kagome was getting aggravated with herself about the shots she was missing.

“You’re placed all wrong.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Here, let me show you.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything, he closed the distance between their bodies. His hands found their way to her hips and as a bright blush faded into her cheeks, he used his grip to tilt her body at the right angle. “Here we go,” he commented before moving his hands upwards. His palms glided across her arms, strong fingers wrapping themselves around her small wrists. She held her breath as his head was suddenly resting against hers and at that point the only thing she could hear was the sound of her own heart beating as it echoed loudly in her ears. He was close. Last time he had been this close to her he had been trapping her against his body and the nearest wall. With his lips on her. But now was not the time to be thinking about that.

“K-Kouga.”

“It’s a flick of the wrist,” he said, ignoring the tremble in her voice. He was also holding back a growl as her small body felt warm against his. And that scent - it was enticing, inviting him, but he knew she was not aware of the signals she was throwing his way.

Kagome was trying to listen but her mouth felt like sandpaper as she tried to stare ahead instead of looking into that pair of baby blue eyes that pierced her soul. “Flick of the wrist,” she finally managed to repeat.

He nodded. “That’s it.”

Kagome took a deep breath while he held her body in place. She tried her best to focus on one of the three cups in front of her but, she had no expectations. She threw her pingpong ball which against all odds, made it into one of the cups. Her eyes grew wide in surprise and a feeling of shock overtook her body. “I did it!”

“You did it!”

“Oh my god, I actually did it.” It was not much. It was a silly pingpong ball and it should not represent much to her. But it did.

Before she could stop herself, she turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck out of excitement. He was too stunned for no more than a second before he returned the gesture, keeping her safe with the comfort of his arms. It did take Kagome more than a moment to realize what she had done but once she did, even her red cheeks could not spare her from her embarrassment. She gently pulled herself away from him and he let her. Shame was glueing to her scent like a second skin.

“Thanks,” she said as she turned to face away from him.

“Anytime.”

Afterwards, they finished the game -winning it- and Kagome did manage to get rid of some of her shame. The rest of the evening passed by as they played other games, and sometimes, he was taken away by a few friends, leaving her to cheat with Ginta and Hakkaku. As minutes turned into hours, she quickly realized that it was closing in on 11:30pm. She was supposed to get up very early to catch the train home to the shrine. She had promised her family a visit and she did not want to disappoint them. Plus, it was not like she ever invented on staying until early morning.

“Kouga,” she said, interrupting his conversation.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m actually going to cab home.” It was getting late and she was not familiar enough with the way to walk home.

“Already?”

“I have something - early tomorrow.”

“I can take you home.”

“It’s fine. Stay here. Have fun. It’s no big deal, I’ll get home just fine.”

“Kagome…”

“Kouga, I’m a big girl.”

He grinned. “I ain’t gonna argue with that.”

She joined into his laughter. “Then you agree I can get home by myself.”

“It goes against my gentleman code.”

“I think you can survive it.”

“How could I ever live separated from you?”

“You’ve managed so far, I think you could make it,” she said as she patted his shoulder.

“Drop me a line at least, so I know you made it.”

“Yes dad.”

He tilted his head to the side, unable to hide the grin forming on his lips. Dad?

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered as she waved a finger at him. It was like she did these things on purpose.

He held up his hands innocently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She shook her head, amused before waving goodbye at him. “Good night Kouga.”

“G’night Kagome.”

He watched her walk away with a smile on his face. He did not know why her idiotic ex could not see what a jewel she was but - Kouga would not make that mistake. He could see how amazing and precious she was. She did not deserve to have her heartbroken; she deserved devotion.

He would show her that he was worth a shot.

[lolibat]

How many parts to a whole? Chapter 3

By Lolibat, written for @imey-chan and @syphiria

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11877003/chapters/26844207

Summary: AU long fic: What if William found out about Solomon’s soul much sooner? The last words of a father he can barely remember translates into a very different life for young William Twining. Gen fic (hinted Solomon/Dantalion as per cannon), cannon compliant, spoilers up to most recent chapter (ch. 89).

"Kevin's been really cold to me lately," William confessed to Solomon, once again having tea at sunset in his dream world. He had been frequenting the world less and less, as the majority of his sleeping time was spent in Solomon's memories nowadays. The more he saw of that life, the more he understand how Solomon became the way he was. He was not envious of the man at all. He began living the man's life through his dreams, now picking up his habits more often than not. Seeing the child version of Solomon was nothing short of heart wrenching, he thought.

"What for?" Solomon asked, engrossed in the text that he must have read a dozen times over.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I thought we cleared up any misunderstandings, that day when Dantalion got summoned here for the first time. I told him I didn't care what he was or who he had been."

Seeing Solomon's confusion, William elaborated hesitantly. "He looks like the angel from your dreams."

The hand resting on the page paused. The man looked at his charge, searching for any deceit. He only saw unguarded confusion in the boy's eyes.

"William," he said seriously, grasping his charge's shoulder. "If they are the same person, then you must be careful of him no matter what." To think that the Kevin that William had often talked about was in fact the same cruel angel who once plagued his last days, Solomon thought darkly.

"Why?" William asked quietly, subdued. He looked a bit baffled yet also resigned.

Seeing the look on his face, Solomon sighed and let go. "His name is Uriel, the Seraph of Penance. He punishes sinners- or whoever turns down heaven's exaltation."

"A person like you?" William asked, having seen Solomon's torturous last days. The king put a hand over his heart, where Uriel's spear pierced it time and time again.

"Like me," Solomon admitted. "I was blessed- no, cursed- with the grace of God. I saw God and was granted wisdom. I regret asking for wisdom, and I thought that surely, heaven must be just. It isn't. I turned to demons instead, and when Uriel came to exalt me to heaven- to sanctify me and turn me into one of heaven's own angels- I refused. I kept refusing as he took away every person I ever loved and came to torment me every day. He was my demise, Uriel. In the end, I refused the exaltation to my dying breath."

William shuddered, one eyes wide. "That can't be the same person!" he refused to believe that his butler would do anything like that when all he has ever known of the man was his kindness. He remembered the warm hand that held him and tugged him up from the ground when he fell. It can't be the same hand that pierced Solomon's heart.

"Let me see then, who he is," Solomon said, holding onto his judgement. He closed the book gently and set it to the side, his attention now focused solely on William

"How do I do that?" William asked.

"Put your hands in mine and think of the Kevin as you know him. Picture him and every detail you can about him. Remember him and what he means to you," Solomon said, soothing William with his words.

Unwilling to concede defeat yet hesitant to face the truth, William did as he was told. He visualized warm summer days in the garden, of laughter in bright lavender eyes and windswept violet hair. He remembered the warmness in his laughter and the gentleness of his touch, the sturdiness of his shoulder as he cried the days after his parents' death, the mischief in his expression as they snuck tarts from the maids and ran away from the stewardess. He remembered how tall the man was and how they had climbed trees one time to reach for an apple- and how he ended up falling on top of the other man. He saw the Kevin who stayed with him despite the rest of his household being dismissed- who maintained his house and would not leave him alone- even to the point of chasing down his missing uncle. This cannot possibly be the same person.

Solomon closed his eyes and absorbed the memories. The transfer was easy, given that they held a closeness two souls rarely have. What he saw was surprising- he saw humanity and warmth in Uriel's cold eyes. Where they were once dead to the world, they now shone with love and affection. It wasn't hard to grow fond of his young charge, but to see even Uriel's cold heart melt... he never thought he would see the day. Perhaps William really was the cause for change.

"Undoubtedly, this person is Uriel." Solomon's words sunk what was left of William's hope.

"Then the real Kevin..." William began, troubled by Solomon's words.

"He is likely alive somewhere- if "Kevin Cecil" is really descended from a long line of reverends, then Uriel would not harm one of his own. Didn't you say he wanted to pursue his education in London?" Solomon analyzed. His ring rested on his hand- it caught the light.

"He did, but he changed his mind after my parents died," William confirmed.

"That's when he replaced the real Kevin," Solomon concluded. "Did it not strike you as odd, that a son of one aristocratic family would lower himself to become a mere steward of another family? Friends as you are, the devotion would not stretch that far."

William looked away.

"But the Uriel I saw in your memories is different from the Uriel you saw in mine," Solomon murmured.

"I noticed as well," William added. "He- what happened to him?" He was aghast.

"I think that should be my question," Solomon rested his head on his hands. "What I remember of him is what most people- demons or angels- remember of him. That is who he is. This now- this is new. All I know is that despite this being very not like him, the joy I see is not fake. All angels feel their emotions strongly- he would not hide such joy. Uriel gambling? I honestly did not think I would see the day."

"So then..." William asked, hope in his voice. Was he still the Kevin that he knew?

"I don't know," Solomon mused. "But whatever the case, you must exercise caution, William. If he's distancing himself from you, then there must be something else he is hiding."

"I hate having to keep secrets like this," William muttered, downcast.

"I know, Child." Solomon looked on with sad eyes. He didn't want to have to keep secrets from William either, but the world seldom asked him what he wanted.

He dreamed of Solomon as a child again tonight. He was very young this time, younger than him. The chains on his ankles were barbaric, William thought and recoiled. Nonetheless, the child sat atop a large tower of books, staring out at the window and longing for freedom.

"I was my father's sin," he whispered. "How much longer do I have to stay here?"

"Solomon, child of sin, don't you want to become king?" A form appeared from the shadows. Dantalion! William gasped silently. He looked the same age as now, only he was dressed differently. Was he really that old?

"King David made Jerusalem prosperous. The only sins he committed were stealing the wife of his loyal vassal, killing the man, and fathering an illegitimate child. You are that child." He leaned in close, one finger on the child Solomon's lips. His wide green eyes met his unflinchingly.

Then, he smiled. "I'm so glad you came. I was just feeling bored. Won't you talk to me? Eminent grand marquis Dantalion? I was really bored you know. So I've decided to start the beginning of the world's nightmare. Won't you join me?" The child asked innocently with a beautiful smile, as if he was not discussing the start of the world's end.

William woke up with a gasp, sweat drenching his body and soaking through the clothes. He clutched at his chest with tremoring fingers.

"A dream, he murmured. He drifted uneasily back to sleep, this time to his dream world.

"The beginning of the world's nightmare, huh?" William asked casually, leaning against the stone wall of the temple. The sunset was ever present in the world. He overlooked the busy Sunday market, with merchants on horses and elephants alike snaking their way through the streets. Beneath them, the city was lively.

Solomon drank his tea calmly not giving any indication that he acknowledged his protege words beyond a flicker of a gaze over to him.

William thought quietly to himself. When he was a child, he called Solomon his father. As he grew, he thought of him as a mentor- and still yet, a very wise one. Yet, the more he sees of Solomon's life, the more he thinks that the great king is just a man. A man sculpted by the circumstances of his life. An apathetic man, a tired man, a man weighted down with wisdom and mistakes.

"I saw one of your meetings with Lucifer. You were saying goodbye to him." William continued, seemingly talking to the air. "Was he fond of you?"

"They all were," he said emptily, apathy filling his gaze. "That's the problem."

"And I'm the solution?" William snapped. "The world's nightmare. Is this the end? Are you happy now, as the curtain draws in a grand finale? The cumulation of a thousand years of planning? The end of the world as we know it- heaven, humanity, hell? Why do you even do this to yourself?" To me, he added in his mind.

"I don't know," the king replied, his words which could refer to any of the questions he stated.

William scoffed, hurt by his mentor's words. The opposite of love is not hate; it's apathy.

"If it means anything, I am sorry that it was you that this happened to," he said, green eyes sad. He brushed back William's hair gently, tucking a flyaway strand behind his ear. He like it was when he was at the elder Swallow's party. His protege truly did look like him that day.

"Liar," William said tiredly. He was weary, bearing a burden passed down to him, a fate written for him before he was even born. Since when did his world get so complicated? He hated that he was helpless in this net- this game of chess that he could do nothing but play, to dance to someone else's tune. He hated his own weakness as he leaned into the touch nonetheless and fell into the embrace that was familiar to him after so many years.

"Will you tell me, at the end?" William asked frankly, a little more than exhausted.

"You'll know everything, at the end." Solomon answered honestly.

"... Stay with me, please?" William asked, a moment of vulnerability showing in the way he gripped Solomon's robes.

"For as long as I can, Child." Solomon replied. He knew that he would not have very much time left. As the memories unravel and their souls bleed into one, there can only be one consciousness ruling in the body, and he prayed dearly that it would not be him.

"Dantalion is right," Kevin said, leaning against one of the many windows in the church. He looked down at the school grounds, looking for any signs of a threat. "You have to be careful- you haven't chosen a king yet."

"But the head boy... he's very punctual to church and never misses a session," William argued. "What sort of demon is religious?"

"It is very unusual that a demon would read the Bible," Kevin wondered. Even Dantalion and Sytry turned their noses up at Sunday service, preferring to "visit their families" instead when they were able.

"For a moment, when I held his arm after the boat race, his hair turned pitch black... and he had dark eyes." William admitted. "Just for a blink of an eye, but I'm sure I saw it."

"No demon may appear in front of Solomon in disguise," Uriel quoted, well versed with the ways of the world. As one of the oldest Archangels, he knew far more than regular seraphs. "Not those of his pillars anyways."

"The underclassmen seem to think that Miss Mollins is a witch as well," he said despondently. His life was really just one roller coaster after another, with trouble coming up endlessly and crisis to be solved. He really did with that the newest batch of underclassmen could just behave themselves for once.

"It's not impossible," Kevin reasoned. Anyone had the potential to turn to religion or witchcraft, and they don't necessarily have to declare it to the world.

"They said they found chalk marks in her room, but that is not solid enough proof to charge someone of such a crime," William shook his head.

"Ever the wise ruler," the reverend half-joked.

"The future Prime Minster ought to be just, don't you think?" William laughed. Suddenly, in a rapidly destabilizing situation between heaven, hell, and humanity, the dream has never meant so little. To uphold his father's wishes... what wishes were they again? They were just words now, a rote reply to a mundane question. The dream has never seemed so far now, but he would strive for it nonetheless. In the back of his mind, he had a feeling that he would never see it come to fruition. In the context of their family's curse, perhaps he would do his family more of a service to end the cycle of rebirth.

Kevin smiled, sending his young master well on his way.

"Geez, these underclassmen!" William shook his head angrily after just having given them a stern lecture and assigned them a hundred lines of Latin each. "To think they would dig through a woman's belongings- let alone the dorm master's- this is a prank gone too far!"

"Young master! Perfect timing!" Kevin rushed up the staircase in a hurry, his robes billowing about him. "Actually, there's something that has been bothering me about Miss Mollins."

"Not you too, Kevin," William sighed.

"She asked me to perform her last rites," Kevin stated. Unusual indeed.

"She's dying?" William gasped. Now he really regretted assigning the little hellions only a hundred lines of Latin. That poor woman!

"William! What are you doing here? The door to the demon world just opened... and Miss Mollins was the one who opened it!" Sytry came down the stairs of the dorm in a rush at the same time.

"Her last rites and a demon summoning..." William murmured to himself. The pieces came together in a snap as the knowledge he gained from years of nighttime reading gave him the answer. "We must stop her!" He rushed down the stairs with Kevin and Sytry barely a step behind her.

"Stop! Ms. Mollins!" William shouted from the edge of the summoning circle. He was out of breath, one hand resting against the trunk of a tree and the other around his aching ribs.

"Can you send away the demon?" William asked Kevin, knowing well that the angel had more than enough power to do so.

"I'm not an excorcist," Kevin denied, keeping with his cover. Internally cursing, William prepared to summon his magic.

Before he could start on his first syllable, the horse demon's great fist came crashing down on his summoner. She flinched but did not move from her position. She extended her neck, ready to face her demise.

Is she mad?! William thought to himself, leaping over the bushes, hoping desperately that he'll get there in time to save her.

He didn't have to bother. A great bang echoed through the quiet woods, and the demon was disintegrated.

"Head boy?" He couldn't help but gasp. Floating in the air, holding Miss Mollins by the waist was head boy, Nathan Cackstone. "Camio?" the name escaped him before he could even process what he had said. Camio, one of Solomon's seventy two pillars and one of the candidates to Lucifer's throne.

The black haired demon spared a glance down at William, knowing since many years back that he was descended from Solomon and not caring in the least.

"You haven't changed at all. You're really strong considering you're only a half demon," Dantalion strode out of the woods with his tie undone and hair in its usual mess.

"Be quiet, you damn nephilim! You're just a demon abandoned by humanity!" Camio snarled, fangs bared. In his defense, Dantalion did not look taken back by the insult at all. He merely rubbed his neck and raised an eyebrow at the statement.

"A bit hypocritical of you, Camio, considering that you were the one who wanted to turn this woman into a nephilim." He flinched.

"Camio, the fifty-third pillar and commander of thirty armies..." William muttered, his voice sounding far away even to him. Dantalion glanced at him and noticed the look in his eyes was less William and more Solomon. Since when did William get to be so much like Solomon?

"He had history with Solomon too..." William noted. "Or rather, it's the other way around. He's uneasy."

Dantalion's gaze narrowed and looked away, well aware of Camio's infamous criminal record towards the last of Solomon's days. It was a grudge that he had yet to settle. While heaven was busy using Uriel to punish Solomon, hell used Camio to lure Solomon's loved ones into purgatory.

Now looking at the love in Camio's eyes, he couldn't imagine the demon being anything but human, William thought. The Camio Solomon remembered was always lonely and sad, a quiet shadow away from the other demons. Even in his crime- even though Solomon knew- he could never blame the demon. Perhaps humanity is frail- its people foolish and deluded and misguided- but humans bring forth great change by themselves. Their lifespans are limited, and in its limitation comes a rush for change and progression that immortals would not otherwise have thought of.

"I'm dying, Camio," Maria Mollins said tearfully. "You never came to me. I remember what you said- that if I came to hell and became a demon, I might be able to see you again."

"I couldn't have you involved in my world," he said, looking down.

"I know- that's why I returned to the school. I didn't know where to go or what to do- I don't belong in the human world anymore," she said, leaning into Camio's hold. The demon hugged her tightly, not letting go.

"If you became a demon and stayed by my side..." he started.

"No, don't become a nephilim," Dantalion interrupted the couple sharply. "She only has a few years left as a human. Let her die as a human, if you still have a human heart left, Camio." He was completely serious, and Camio knew it too.

"Is there not anyone else you can be with, Camio?" Maria asked.

"No, there hasn't been anyone else since I was born... not since Solomon," he held her tight, grief evident in the lines of his body.

For a moment, William saw into another of Solomon's memories. There, atop a pile of demon corpses at twilight, was Camio, holding a bloody blade in his hands. The desert wind whipped around them, blood soaked sands filling the air with the stench of death. Solomon barely blinked at the gory scene before him, striding up to the half demon with a gentile smile on his face. He paid his ivory robes no mind as they became streaked with rust red.

"Do you really hate demons so much? Even though you have demon blood running through your veins? Become mine. If you do, then no one will deny you- neither demons nor humans. Not even God..." Solomon whispered, tempting the demon into his embrace. Slowly as if luring a great beast, Camio laid down his blade and descended to the ground.

Solomon was truly a manipulator of the greatest degree, William thought. As a spectator, he saw that the demons loved and hated him in equal measures, bound by their contract yet attracted to the God-touched man like a moth to flame. The can't help doing so- the man saw through their weaknesses and used them to his greatest advantage. His power lie not in that he bound seventy two demons, but in that he earned the undying loyalty of each and every single one, whether they wanted to give it or not.

"There, atop a mountain of corpses... Do you really hate demons so much?" William intoned, his voice far away. Camio's head snapped up, his eyes wide. He didn't know that William held Solomon's memories already. Solomon? Perhaps he wasn't quite as dead as he thought.

"I may not be Solomon," William shook his head to clear the images, "but won't you stay here? Head Boy? Miss Mollins?"

"Maria..." Camio said uncertainly. She looked at him and laughed, the joy in her eyes making her seem younger than her age.

"You do have a lot of friends now, Camio," she said, smiling up at him.

"Yes, but please do take care of yourself, Miss Mollins- for his sake?" William asked gently, holding out his hand.

"You're right," she said and took his hand.

"Tomorrow is the night of Walpurgis, when the demon world's power is at its height," Solomon said, flipping a page on the book in his lap.

"It is," William sighed. "And I presume everyone will be wanting to find me?" He was only prime target, the elector to Lucifer's throne. In the back of his mind, he had a sinking feeling that what Lucifer planned was far different from what everyone else thought.

"You had best hide, Child," Solomon chuckled. It was unbecoming of the child to hide away from his troubles with him. He was far too grown for that now.

"It's your fault," William said accusingly. There was very little in his life that wasn't Solomon's fault, one way or the other.

"But of course," the man smiled back irritatingly. "But worry not- you still have all seventy two of my demons to call on, even if they are a world away attending their parties. They'll come if you call. You have their sigils."

"I know they will," William picked up a book from the pile and opened to a random page. It was a book written in Latin on the treatises between God and its people. A stiff necked people, as the Bible often described them. "But I won't use them."

"Won't you rely on their power?" He prodded gently. "They are at your disposal- all of them. You only have to ask."

William shook his head, not falling to the tempting words. "What good is relying on their power, if I can't prove that I am deserving of it? God helps those who helps themselves, and even if I have turned my back against him- the principles remain the same. I will not rely on another's power anymore than I absolutely have to."

"Wise words," Solomon agreed. "So hide you shall then, hm?"

"Hiding it is," he sighed. "One has to know when retreating is the wisest choice. There is no honor in a meaningless death."

"Just for now," he concurred. The plans he made will move forward, though it pains him to see that William be the incarnation to see it to the end, he can't help but think that it is a stroke of luck that the boy the most headstrong incarnation he has seen thus far and the most capable one. If it was William's father, he would have been consumed by Solomon's soul entirely. As it was, William might not follow the same fate.

"I sensed a demon in the play," William said to Solomon one day. The night of Walpurgis was a disaster, as Solomon predicted. He hid, but hiding didn't do him any good. The moment he stepped outside the dormitory, he was mobbed by a legion of demons entering the human world to hunt for him.  It was only thanks to his three demons that the dormitory was not leveled altogether.

"Ophelia and King Claudius?" Solomon said jokingly. From the world of dreams, William was able to reproduce the books he had read, as he remembered them. Thus, Solomon's world of knowledge grew wider to include the scopes and science and classic literature far beyond his time. It was fascinating, how humans evolved and constantly tested the boundaries of God- to uncover the secrets they had no rights to- the secrets that govern life and death.

"No, not them," William laughed, remembering how Sytry had messed up his lines on purpose. Solomon laughed with him- Sytry grew up to be a beautiful demon indeed, even though he knew that the fallen angel was no such thing. "It was someone in the audience- I sensed it. I couldn't pinpoint who, but it wasn't the Head Boy either. It's a demon I don't know. I barely caught it- when I turned to look, the presence was gone again."

The sensing game was one that Solomon had been training William in, as of late. He needed to sharpen his senses, to be alert and wary of demon presence around him. He was quite adept in the more advanced magics and practiced the spells diligently- both in the dream world and in reality. His life did depend quite heavily on it.

"They were masking their presence then?" Solomon asked, idly wondering which one of the demons it was this time.

"Most probably," William said. "How troublesome," he sighed.

"I never took you for the lazy type, Child," Solomon ruffled William's hair, and the teen didn't stop him.

"I'm not, but it really is troublesome, this whole situation."

Well, troublesome was one way to describe it, though it irked him to see four hundred years of planning summed up with "troublesome", Solomon thought. It was just like his incarnation to call it such.

"William! It's terrible! I'm going to fail!" Isaac wailed, clutching his interim report.

"I don't really care," the teenager looked through his own report with apathetic eyes. He got straight A's, as expected. "If you cared more about your grades, you should spend less time on the occult stuff. It's too late to be making a fuss about that now anyway since the results of your exams come from a daily habit of studying."

"That's what a successful person would say!" Isaac sniffled. "Be kind to those who aren't successful too!"

Used to being the top of his class, William couldn't care less. He would be kind when he stood on the top of the world. Until then, he'll step over anyone who gets in his way with ruthless determination.

"But you might not be the top student this time," Isaac pointed out.

"What?" William asked, his daydream of being prime minister momentarily disappearing. "Who's that?" He followed Isaac's gaze.

"You really don't pay attention to anyone else, do you?" he deadpanned.

"I don't make a habit of associating with people who bring no benefit to me," William declared haughtily, every inch the noble that he is.

Isaac sighed. "His name is Elliot Eden. He's from a middle class family, like me. He's always absent from school due to poor health, so I suppose you wouldn't know him."

"Huh," William said inarticulately.

"Do you really not remember his name? He came in just a couple places below you for the last Latin exam," Isaac pointed out.

"No, I don't recall." It bothered William far more than he thought; he had never heard of the name Elliot Eden in his life, let alone that of a top student. How did this person suddenly appear? And how did everyone but him know of this person?

"Would you happen to be William Twining?" The subject of their talk walked over to their end of the study room, a thick tome tucked under one arm.

"Don't you recognize your prefects?" William snapped, still uneasy at the sudden appearance of this stranger.

"I apologize- I'm not here very often, so I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with my classmates," he said with a gentle tilt of his head. Odd, considering how his classmates seemed to know him well enough.

"Is there something you want?" William hedged, eager to end the conversation.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm aiming for your spot in the next exams. Do study well- if you make excuses later on, it won't be fun, right?" The sickly teen grinned and walked off, uncaring of William's venomous glare following him out.

"Isaac," William said in a monotone. "You're going to help me study!"

"Eh?!" The poor boy eeped at the flames that seemingly appeared behind him. The flames of ambition burn brightly indeed.

"Do you remember a boy in our year named Elliot Eden?" William asked Dantalion casually. A full day of classes had come to an end, and he was once again winding down his day with one of Bapthomet's cakes.

"No," the demon frowned. He paused in his eating. Human food was truly atrocious- he didn't regret turning Amon and Mamon into delivery bats. "Why do you ask?"

As much as he hated to admit it, the demons had better memory than he did- purely on the basis that they are supernatural and ancient. "I've never seen or heard of this person in my life before, but Isaac swears that he came in a couple places below me for our last exams. Everyone I've talked to seem to know him even though he claims he's sickly and hardly visits the school."

That is very suspicious, Dantalion thought.

"And he challenged me for my valedictorian spot!" William exclaimed, angry that the other would even dare to test him.

"Ah, I see what the issue is now," Dantalion said, holding back a laugh. Pride was always a sore point with William. It is nice to see such liveliness every once in a while, even if the mortal's anger did nothing to faze him. It was amusing, pretending that his anger had any real bearing on the way things were run.

"He feels uneasy to me," William said with a sigh, sitting back down. "I can't explain it, but he feels... off. He's charming and sociable and smart, and his uncle is an ambassador in China. He wants to be a lawyer and the Prime Minister before forty. He has grand ambitions like me. I'm sure we would get along well if not for exams, but something just feels... off."

After the episode with Reverend Crossby, Dantalion learned not to dismiss William's odd feelings off the bat.

"And Solomon?" Dantalion asked, cutting himself another slice of cake.

William shook his head. "Nothing- he doesn't know this person."

So it isn't any of the pillars. "What does he look like then?" Perhaps he should do some digging, to see if this Eden is a demon... or perhaps...?

"He has shoulder length white hair and red eyes, around my age," William said succinctly.

"Did you say white hair?" Dantalion startled.

"Yes," William said, confused as to why white hair would alarm Dantalion. Sytry's hair was almost the same shade, and he had no problems with it. "Or a very pale blond."

"I can't be certain, but you're probably better off asking Sytry about this. I'll do some investigating on my own, of course," Dantalion carded his hand through his hair, uneasy but unwilling to tell William of his suspicions before he had a chance to confirm them.

"What do you want to ask me?" Sytry said from beside William, his mouth stuffed with cake.

"Speak of the devil!" William nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise at Sytry's sudden appearance.

"I'm not him...yet. Unless you'd choose me?" Sytry asked slyly, leaning very close to William. He could feel the demon's breath, the iridescent eyes staring intently into his own.

"No, obviously he is going to choose me!" Dantalion bristled at their closeness as Sytry smiled.  William blinked and pushed his chair back.

"Elliot Eden!" William interrupted them before they could continue their age old argument.

"What...?" Sytry refrained from leaping at the other demon.

"There's a student named Elliot Eden here. He's in my year, with white hair and red eyes. I don't remember him, but everyone else does, and I don't know why," William said in a rush. "He's charismatic and smart, but something just seems odd about him. He's very interested in what I find important."

Sytry paled at the description, all jokes forgotten. There was only one sort of creature that would fit that particular description.

"Like your grades?" Dantalion teased fondly.

William flushed. "Not just that- he keeps giving me hypothetical scenarios like Noah's ark... And he keeps asking me to choose between what is right and what is important. It's all very strange- you wouldn't ask a random stranger those sort of questions."

"He's forcing you to answer?" Sytry murmured, lavender eyes narrow in thought.

William nodded. "I'm not sure why- I get along with him well enough when he talks to me, but the sense of oddness only comes back when he's away."

Dantalion and Sytry looked at each other. It looks like Heaven has finally made their move.

"Stay well away from this person, William," Sytry said seriously. Perhaps even we will not be a match, he thought, one hand touching his shoulder blades.

"Head Boy!" William gasped, seeing the man from behind the bars of his punishment room. "I thought I wasn't allowed visitors!"

"You're not," he said sternly. "Do you have any idea who did this?"

"Then you do believe me!" William exclaimed, feeling touched. Even if he knew that logically, the head boy was a demon, William Twining would always remember him as the head boy he looked up to.

"You didn't cheat, did you?" he shrugged. "Things like this happen from time to time even though they shouldn't."

There was one person who William immediately thought of even though the situation didn't make any sense. "The handwriting does look familiar, but I'm not sure where I have seen it... Head boy- there's something I need to ask you. You're the representative of the middle class, right?"

"Yes..." he said, not sure where William was going with this and why he was wasting time on a matter that wasn't related to his grades, at a time like this.

"Have you heard of a middle classed student named Elliot Eden in my year? He has shoulder length straight white hair and red eyes..." William said hesitantly.

When he looked up, he was sure that it wasn't Nathan Cackstone he was speaking to anymore- it was Camio.

"... Tell me more about this person, William," he said seriously.

And he did. Elliot's words rang in his mind. If he had to choose between heaven and hell, who which would he choose?

With a snap of his fingers, Isaac's locket's opened, and they were transported to an odd world of checkers.

"Isaac! Where are we? What did you do?!" William shot his friend by his collar, once again stuck in an alternative dimension with no means out.

"Ahhh! It's not like that! I only thought I'd call on the Angel Michael for some help!" His friend blabbered.

"Ah, it makes me so angry that you interrupted right then. I wanted to hear your true feelings," a familiar voice said.

"Elliot? You...!" William gasped as the being stalked closer to him. He knew something was odd about that boy! The floor rippled as he did so even though his feet never touched the ground.

"No, I wasn't the one who framed you," the boy shrugged, not in the least like his usual self. "I don't do things like that. But it's more interesting this way, right?"

"What are you talking about?" William said shakily, taking a couple of hesitant steps back. He was saved by Sytry, who appeared in a a bang and slashed Elliot across the torso.

"What an annoying interruption," the boy said darkly as white feathered wings burst from his back. He was clearly unhurt- his clothes weren't even torn in the least.

"As I thought, you're an angel," Sytry snarled, intimidated. He knew that he was no match for the archangel, but he had to buy time until Dantalion can get through the barrier.

A pool of golden light appeared in Elliot's palm, and a golden sword embedded with jewels stretched between his two hands.

"The golden Unsheathed Sword!" Isaac crowed. "Then he really is the Chief of Angels, Archangel Michael! The one who resembles God, the commander of the divine armies!"

William grew pale. "Of all angels you had to summon, you had to summon him, Isaac!" He shook his friend by the collar again. If I die, I'll curse you with my dying breath, William thought in a panic. In the back of his mind, he could hear his beloved mentor laughing at his misfortune.

When he turned his back, Michael seized him by the throat, lifting him high into the air. He could feel himself bob up and down in the air, held by a pair of white wings. "Humans really are shameless. God thought to give you his grace instead of us angels, and this is how you'll repay him? How ungrateful. Don't you remember what happened to the country you created, Solomon, son of David, King of Israel? No? Well then I'll take your soul to heaven myself! You ought to be honored- not many people have this chance!"

"Summon me to heaven?" William grew panicked. His air sickness was beginning to kick in, and his nausea grew. His magic would not come to him now, with his panic- not that it would do any good.

"I'm going to kill you of course," the angel grinned. "I wouldn't be doing this, but he grew rather fond of you, you see."

"But why would he be doing this?" Isaac asked Sytry from the sideline. He could do nothing but observe in fear. "Elliot has been at Stratford for a long time!"

"Michael has likely taken over his body. Even if they aren't in their true forms, seraphs like him hold enough power to destroy armies with a sweep of their hands," Sytry shook his head. "Even I can't help him- our ranks are too different."

"That can't be..." Isaac lamented his friend's imminent demise.

"Ah yes, perhaps I'll take you back too, Sytry," Michael said as an afterthought. "You want to meet her, don't you? You didn't fall this way out of your own choice. You're both good boys," he cooed. "Good that you're smart enough not to defy the representative of God delivering judgement in his name!"

The statement clearly struck a nerve with Sytry as he looked away, hands clenched tight, stress creases around his eyes deepening.

William closed his eyes tightly- is this how he will die? No! He refuses to go to heaven! Not if heaven is like this! Someone- anyone! Just as Michael's sword was about to come down on him, a strong pair of arms pulled him back. His vision faded, and he heard Solomon's voice in his mind. He felt a pair of soft hands over his face, the cool touch of a silver ring over his eye.

"... This is not my ideal solution, but I'll take over for a while, William. Rest well, Child."

"You took your time, Dantalion," Solomon said, his back turned to the demon. He was still in the demon's embrace, and he made no move to get away. He was quite comfortable where he was, thank you very much.

"Sorry, William. That was a damn complicated barrier that he put up." Dantalion said, his gaze focused on the archangel. "... William?" He asked he when he didn't get the acerbic reply he expected. The boy didn't struggle as usual either.

Instead, William got up, dusted himself off calmly and turned to face Dantalion. His gaze was vacant and apathetic.

"It's nice to see you again," he smiled gently. "Thanks for fulfilling my last wish."

"Solomon...!" Dantalion breathed, all thoughts forgotten. His past had caught up to him yet again. The man smiled his damnable smile again- the one that could mean a million things at once. The demon noticed that even the way he held himself in William's body was different, with an unearthly grace that the boy didn't have.

"So, you are Michael, Lucifer's elder brother. It's nice to finally meet you." Solomon slowly walked up calmly to the angel bearing a golden sword with empty hands.

"Solomon, hm? Sneaky William- to think that I thought you had no memories of your ancestor," the angel glared down at the one who dared to refuse God, fury burning his scarlet eyes.

"I'm afraid William isn't here at the moment. All this excitement has tired him out quite terribly. The poor child is resting." Solomon said placidly. "Won't you come down from here? Or would you prefer that I make you?" His green eyes grew sharp and focused. Despite his power, Michael shivered. Is this the power of God's grace? To think that a mortal would dare to make him feel such trepidation.

"Is that..." Sytry asked hesitantly, floating over to Dantalion. He had no wings of his own, yet flight was well within his powers.

"That's Solomon," Dantalion said grimly. He held a hand over Isaac's shocked face, and the boy fainted. "It's better if he doesn't remember any of this."

"How can this be...?" Sytry asked, disbelieving. Solomon was a thousand years dead! He too, had quite a bit of past with the magician in question.

"William let him take over," Dantalion replied dully, observing Michael and Solomon tensely.

"William let him?" Sytry echoed. Why would he do so?

"You never did give me a proper answer," Michael said, covering his nervousness with bravery after a moment of unease.

"William never did, did he?" Solomon tilted his head gently. "What do you think?" He smiled, hands at his side and appearing to be completely benevolent.

"I'm asking you, not him!" Michael snarled, a ball of energy forming in one hand, temper spent.

"If you're asking me, then shouldn't you already know the answer?" Solomon replied, his eyes piercing. The smile never left his face even as Dantalion leapt into action and blocked the attack. He never had to lift even a finger.

"Don't get in my way, Demon!" Michael yelled, forming more balls of fire. Never the one to back down from a challenge, Dantalion replied with plenty of power of his own. The two dueled in midair, far away from the magician who stood firmly on the ground.

"Such good children I have," Solomon chuckled and watch the angel fall from the air a particularly powerful energy blast from Dantalion.

"Solomon, you...!" Sytry confronted his summoner, an angry flush bright on his pale cheeks. "What have you done with William?" His bright blue eyes were panicked and worried.

"Nothing. My protege is sleeping right now. He'll remember this later, when I show it to him in his dreams," Solomon smiled and patted Sytry on the head patronizingly. "You've grown very beautiful, Sytry. Thanks for looking after William for me."

Sytry brushed away his hand, hating himself all the more.

"I heard what Michael said," the king said, instead putting a hand on Sytry's shoulder. "There's more to the story than what that angel knows. You should ask your uncle sometime before you draw any conclusion. He never did tell you what happened when he fell, did he?" Confused and disoriented, Sytry did nothing but to look away.

He said no more on the topic and turned to see Dantalion stepping none-so-gently on the seraph's pristine wings and dug in his heels.

"Noli me tangere! (Don't touch me!)" the angel gasped, kneeling on the floor in defeat.

"A person like you doesn't even deserve to go to purgatory," Dantalion said, staring down at the angel cruelly. This was the commander of armies that slaughtered dozens of his kin, back when he was still a god. There will be vengeance. He was about to finish the angel off when another appeared.

"You," he said flatly. He knew that William treasured his butler, and fighting two angels of presence at the same time would be troublesome no matter how weakened they both were. But mostly it was because William would be upset if his faithful Butler disappeared, no matter what he did to Solomon in the past. "Stand aside- I don't want to fight you."

"I can't do that," Uriel said, holding up a cross. Dantalion raised a silencing barrier with hand, forgetting that William was not quite himself at the moment.

"Oh?" Solomon said lightly, observing the newcomer. With languid strides, Solomon left Sytry and walked up to the barrier. He put one hand against it, and it melted under his fingers like wax. No barrier was going to keep him out- not that it would do Dantalion any good since William already knew.

"William?" Kevin asked hesitantly, knowing full well that the Young Master should not know enough magic to undo Dantalion's barrier.

"William's safe for the moment, Uriel," Solomon smiled, looking at the angel. "He's sleeping. However, it was awfully careless of you to leave him alone with Michael like that."

Uriel gasped. His heart sank. "Solomon!" The magician almost chuckled. It seems like no one was quite happy to see him at all.

"You look well, Uriel," the man said and looked coldly at the angel lying on the destroyed floor. "You've changed so much. William is good for you."

"How are you even alive?" Uriel asked, shocked. He put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the phantom ache of his missing wings. And where has his young master gone? Has he been devoured by Solomon's soul, like countless others before him?

"I've heard a lot about Kevin from William. He loves you a lot, you know," Solomon said, ignoring Uriel's question altogether. "Do you understand what I said now, Uriel?"

He waves a finger, and the floor under Michael began knitting itself together. The angel was pulled up slowly by Solomon's spells, supported by invisible strings in the air. Even with the support, he held a hand to his shoulder gingerly.

"Please return to heaven," Uriel pleaded with Michael, hesitant to question Solomon further with Michael there, listening and watching with keen eyes. "I'm sure you came here without telling Raphael."

Michael scoffed. "Raphael. He wouldn't even notice if I disappeared. I suppose I don't have much of a choice- this human body isn't going to last for much longer." He rose, the wings on his back lifting hm up into the air once more.

"That's right- I still haven't gotten my answer, William Twinning," Michael said from the air, staring past Solomon and to William. "I'll come back again."

"I look forward to your visit," Solomon said placidly and waved him off in clear dismissal.

The world dissolved with Michael's exit, and Solomon turned to Uriel.

"I'll wake William up now. Do take care of him in my place, Uriel," he said to the angel as he let his charge's body collapse into Uriel's waiting arms.

"I'm becoming more like you," William said in his dream world. He looked in the mirror every day, and with each passing day, he could see himself shifting, his features growing older, his eyes a bit paler, the smile on his face a bit less like his own. He saw his own old photographs, the difference was far more evident then.

"So you are." Solomon did wonder when the child genius would pick up on the difference.

"Is it because of what happened with Michael?" He got the memories from that day. While it hurt him to receive confirmation that his butler was not what he seemed, it was better to know the truth earlier.

"No, it's not that," Solomon replied after a while. It was inevitable, this process. With every memory they shared, their souls grew closer. Souls are not solid. They're not distinct object with boundaries. They meld together, like liquid running into each other.

William looked hard at Solomon. The man seemed younger, his gaze a bit darker, his hair a bit more golden.

"You're becoming me," he realized in horror and took a step back. No, he thought. This can't be!

"I am," Solomon smiled sadly. "I think you understand why I wouldn't want to be myself anymore."

"But that doesn't mean you can just be me instead!" William shouted, half hysterical at this point.

"Would you rather I fade away completely then? That is the alternative." Solomon asked calmly. It was almost eerie, seeing features of himself- features that his mother and father passed onto him- reflected back on another's face.

"No! Of course not!" Losing his mentor was not an option; William was horrified at the mere thought. It was like losing his parents all over again.

"Then why do you complain?" Solomon asked patiently in return.

"I..." William hesitated, not knowing what to feel anymore. He didn't know what to think. Everything- all this was incomprehensible to him. What theory of atoms can possibly explain this? In this world so far away from his own realm of science, is there even anything tha

"I don't want to lose myself," he decided. He wouldn't run away- not from this and not from anything else. Even if his life turns into a disaster, William Twining is not a person who runs away.

"With some luck, you won't have to," Solomon said. He rose and knelt down by his charge. He remembered the bright six year old whose laughter lit up the halls with joy. The same youth who would stick out his tongue when he was concentrating, who once singed the lion's tail with a spell gone wrong. He didn't want to lose that brilliance either. "You're doing very well already, William. Far better than most."

Most would have perished already, their entire being drowned and swallowed up in Solomon's soul, their identity shredded and forgotten.

[mademoiselleseraph]

Like Pluto and Persephone, chapter 1

Roméo et Juliette AU fic where it was Pâris that went to fight Roméo rather than Tybalt. Suicide mention, incest mention, and some sexual comments on arranged marriage, so if you're sensitive to such content, be warned, it might get squicky. (And if you wanna let me know how you felt about this, my inbox is always open) ~~~~ Tybalt knocked at Juliette's bedroom door, as he'd done for as long as she could answer it. All the times before, it had been to play, or because he had heard she was upset and wished to comfort her. It was for a different reason now. The man his cousin was betrothed to, Comte Pâris Lodrone, had been a damn fool the day before. He'd drunk more than his fill and went after the Montaigu heir, who was rumored to be Juliette's lover, only to die at his hands after killing the Prince's nephew. Mercutio, His Highness's own blood, could have spent his days traveling the world and drinking exotic wines and listening to the latest of musical compositions, but he chose to keep company with a lowly dead Baron's family and allies. Tybalt hated him for that, but it made no difference now. Mercutio and Pâris were dead and the Montaigu boy had been banished to the next city. And now Tybalt stood at Juliette's bedroom door, not to play or comfort, but to bring her news. La Muette, who dressed her every morning, answered. She couldn't have done so without Juliette's acknowledgement. The maid was deaf as a post and doors had no lips for her to read. She turned back to the room, signed to Juliette who the visitor was, and opened the door wider that he may be received. Juliette had only just been dressed. Her hair was curled, as it had been the day before and the night before that. That night he found her with her Nurse, wearing a heavy gown and trying to walk silently to her room. The sunlight poured in through her window and reflected the gold of her hair, giving her the ethereal air of an angel or nymph. How was it that every time he looked upon her she seemed more beautiful and delicate? "Oh, Tybalt," she addressed him, snapping him out of his trance, "it's only you. I'd feared it was my mother come to tell me that I am to marry Pâris' brother, or the Prince himself." She was sitting on her bed. The sheets were in a great mess as if they hadn't been straightened out yet. "I see you've been abed until only recently, even at this hour," he said. "I expected nothing else. Yesterday was rather... eventful." "It was," she agreed. "I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about it all. Mercutio didn't deserve to die, and Pâris.... I didn't care for him, but I never wished he'd be killed. And Roméo shouldn't have been banished for carrying out the Prince's justice." "The Prince gave no permission," Tybalt explained, "therefore it was murder in the eyes of the law." He wondered how she would react if she knew it had almost been he himself that went after the boy out of his burning jealousy. His mistress Carmina kept him from the wine and kept him in bed, otherwise, he would have and his cousin would be mourning his death. "But come now," she urged him. "You wish to tell me something. Don't deny it; your eyes hide so little from me. They always have." It was true, he had always been so open to her while being so closed off to others. And when no one could gentle the rage inside him, one look from her made him docile. He would melt in her hands like the wax of a candle nearest to the wick. He sat next to her on the bed and took her hands in his. He hesitated. He didn't want her to hear the news he was there to deliver, but if he didn't, her parents would. He, at the very least, would know how to comfort her. "Juliette," he started, "your parents have given me your hand in marriage." She wasn't sure how she ought to react at first and spent some time thinking it over before smiling at him and replying, "But you knew I could never marry you, so you told them no! Didn't you?" He wanted to smile and nod his head yes. He wanted to reassure her that he would never entertain the folly of marrying her against her will, for how could she ever bring herself to want to be his bride? He wanted to, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could only cast his eyes down in shame. "Didn't you?" she repeated. He could hear the smile slip from her face. He looked into her worried eyes. She was starting to tear up, no matter how much she tried to stop it. He could taste the reluctance in the back of his throat, and it was as bitter as those glassy tears. He stroked her hands apologetically with his thumbs. "Juliette," he heard himself say in a halfhearted and regretful tone, "please try to understand." She pulled herself from him with violent force and faced away from him in one swift motion. Perhaps she was shedding the tears she had been trying to suppress. In either case, it wasn't only sorrow and desperation radiating from her heart, but also a rage befitting the gods. And she turned to face him again, fury written all over her countenance. "They give me to you as they would a horse or a saber, and you meekly accept? Why? Is it that you wanted this?" He had remained sitting on the bed as she stood, straightened rigid and tall in indignation, and now felt terribly small. He cast his eyes down again in shame. "No," she demanded. "Look me in the eyes and answer me. Truthfully." His eyes met hers again and it took all his courage to answer honestly, "Not under these circumstances." The rage in her face gave way to panicked confusion. "Then under what circumstances?" she asked. He had dreamed of those circumstance so often; of her pinning him to the floor and looking into his eyes as if she was watching her first sunset. In those dreams, she would kiss him. It would be innocent enough to start with, but the kisses would become deeper and more passionate. Eventually, they'd be lying on the floor together, half dressed but not reaching for anything more intimate than the other's hands, hair, or face. Juliette would tell him that she wouldn't have any husband but him and Tybalt would swear to her that he would crawl to the Vatican on his knees and beg the Pope for a dispensation, that they may marry in spite of consanguinity. He couldn't tell her any of this, so he kept it concise. "I'd hoped that you would wish to marry me someday, that we could arrange it, and be happy. Under the current circumstances, you've been put into far too much discomfort and I never intended that." "Then why did you agree?" she insisted. There was less hate and worry in her voice. It had given way to a melancholy anguish. "I can't deny this family anything," he answered. His voice lost all its strength and his speech sounded little more than a breath. "I never could." He didn't have to say any more. Though she had always been spared the details of Tybalt's upbringing, she had seen the aftermath enough to understand. She saw the bruises, the occasional limp, and the way he flinched from everyone but her, even the Nurse. But the more his family ill-used him and allowed him to be ill-used, the more he longed for their approval and the more violently he defended them. "In either case," he continued, "a marriage between us means nothing as you're already married in the eyes of God." She eyed him with confusion. Surely he couldn't know. He couldn't possibly know. It had been the dead of night and she wore the same houppelande she wore for Carnevale over her wedding gown. As if reading her thoughts, Tybalt wore a knowing smile and replied, "Yes, you were pining yet giddy all day, and everyone knows the cause of that sweetest heartache. And in the middle of the night, I heard you come stealing to your room. You smelled of the incense they burn in the church. You wore that plainer gown over everything as a disguise, but I saw the silk of your dress slip between the seams beneath the closure." The silk of that dress was exquisite; gauzy as mist and a rosy pale gold in color. There was an inexplicably dreamy quality about it that suited not only Juliette's gentle complexion, but her personality as well. "It was the Montaigu boy, wasn't it?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Juliette looked at Tybalt as if expecting a severe scolding about devotion to family and not betraying blood for the enemy. The fear only worsened when he found a garter of Montaigu blue wool poking out from under the pillow. She had reason to fear its fate in his hands. He had been raised to hate that color with every fiber of his being. He wanted to slice the damn thing up and toss the pieces one by one into the kitchen fires. He wanted to find Montaigu and remove first his fingers, then his eyes, and then his tongue, with a dull butcher's knife. He wouldn't, as that would displease his cousin, but he wanted to. "You've... known him," he muttered. It wasn't even a question this time. "Well, I suppose it's only natural for a girl to know her husband." "Are you angry with me?" she asked. "No," he answered. "I could never be angry with you. I am angry with the boy. He took advantage of your heart and dragged you down to his lowly status. You deserve better than him." "Oh?" she questioned. "Did I deserve Pâris?" "You deserve a Prince at the very least," he specified. "Or perhaps the Pope's own son. But you don't want a prince or a Borgia. You only want him." He folded the Montagiu boy's garter and placed it in Juliette's hand, closing her fingers around it. "And you will have his company." She shot him a confused look and incredulously asked "But how?" "Your father gave us a little villa," he explained. "It's in the southwest, just half a day's ride from Mantua." Her eyes widened at this. "You'll take me to him?" "As often as I'm able to, comtesse," he answered. A smile stretched over her face and then faded as soon as it had appeared. "But you hate him." "I do," he admitted. "What about it?" "How am I to know you'll not slaughter my Roméo without my knowledge?" she demanded, eyeing him suspiciously. "I'd never do anything to cause you pain," he answered. He wondered how true it was, considering how close he came to marching out and demanding a duel with the boy. Juliette could sense this doubt in him and ordered him to swear on his life. When he tried to placate her by saying it wasn't necessary, she lunged to grab the dagger at his belt. He reached it just a quarter of a second before she would have and firmly kept it in its place. "Very well," he acquiesced. "I swear by my life, my eyes, and my hands. Should my actions make a liar of me, may the Devil drag me by my feet to the deepest pit of Hell." It was his customary vow. He'd used it often, and though he never went back on his word, it sounded especially sincere and solemn and true this time. There were times when he'd given her this promise and she'd look deeply into his face, searching for any tells that he was lying or being insincere. Those times he'd promise her that if he should prove false, he'd allow her to chop his tongue out. When she asked him what she could possibly do with his severed tongue, he explained that she may gild it and wear it around her neck, or perhaps keep it preserved in a silver box to show to her enemies. She would be disgusted, but satisfied with his promises. She hadn't searched for tells this time, no need to offer his tongue for collateral. "I only ever wanted your happiness," he continued. "If not with me, then with whoever you choose. Even a Montagiu." "How long?" Juliette asked. "For how long have you wanted to marry me?" "Do you remember the day after my fifteenth birthday?" Tybalt began. "How could I forget? My Nurse told me you almost died the night before." "Did she tell you it would have been by my own hand?" How disgusted he had been with himself that night. His father brought him to a brothel for the first time, and had one of the women with painted faces and upraised skirts take him to a little room with little more than a bed. All the while he was with that woman in the unbearably close room, he could only think of his little cousin and how much gentler her touch would be and how much more he'd enjoy it with her. How much wine had he been given to not wave those thoughts away the moment they appeared? How much did he drink afterward in a vain attempt to make them go away? She didn't need to know. "I drank more than I should have that night," he continued. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I meant to jump from your balcony and break my neck. You were celebrating with the others, I wrote you a note. I would have continued to the conclusion, had your Nurse not found me. She told me to come down from the railing and told me all my worries about being a curse were false. I said that no one would miss me, and she said you would, and that I knew you would or I wouldn't have written you a note. I was tired, so she had me lay in your bed." The revelation that such a thing came to pass without her ever knowing caused Juliette to tear up again, and look at her cousin with pity and compassion. He reached his hands out to hers in a gesture of comfort. She put her hands in his and sat again beside him on the bed. He looked at those hands, still as graceful and delicate as they were that memorable morning. "When I woke the next day," he recalled, "you were there crying. You gave me strict orders that I was not to die and you laid yourself next to me. You threw your arms around me and cried into my shoulder, all the while forbidding me from death. That moment I knew I never wanted to leave your side." There were many things he felt he ought to say to her. That he wasn't proud of these romantic affections toward her, that he kept the note he wrote her that night always close to his heart, that he truly did love her. When she looked him in the eye, he could see that she knew all of it, or that at least, she knew enough of it. She broke away from him to tell La Muette the plan. La Muette thought it best to give the two privacy, and for the entirety of their conversation she had her back turned to them, filling sachets with dried lavender and stitching them closed. Juliette's hands fluttered and darted with urgent precision, and she shaped them into the signs that La Muette communicated with. She moved to fast for Tybalt to catch everything, but he recognized "false marriage," "visit in secret," and "together." The two became very excited and held each other in an ecstatic embrace. The signing calmed and Tybalt could see Juliette affirm that she would need to send her Roméo a note, to which La Muette replied offering to write it in code and decode it for him when delivered. Juliette agreed. La Muette's entire being was a study in empathy. The joy or sorrow of those around her quickly became her own and often seemed amplified through her. So, seeing how happiness poured from Juliette's eyes and smile, she threw her arms about Tybalt's neck and kissed his cheek on her way to fetch the portable desk from the painted chest at the foot of the bed. It shocked him, but he said nothing. Juliette returned to his side as he got up from the bed and prepared to leave. She took his hands and said to him, "You wanted my happiness, and you shall have it. I will be with the husband I chose. He is banished, and I will be another man's wife in the eyes of men, but we will know the truth and we will be in each other's arms again before long. Thank you." And she embraced him. It always soothed him to feel her so close, to hold her there. Sometimes, he could feel her heart beat, like a delicate little drum gently played by a toy soldier. He kissed the top of her head, and excused himself from the room. Juliette began to dictate the note when there was another knock at the door. La Muette got up to answer but it opened without her and Lady Capulet let herself in. Juliette's mother had an airy nature to her and seemed to flit and glide rather than walk. One of Juliette's first memories, in fact, was asking her Nurse if her mother's feet ever touched the ground. "Juliette, ma cherrie," she greeted her daughter with a cordial kiss on the forehead. She always did so when something unpleasant must be done. It was a coaxing promise that the situation would improve, even if she wasn't sure when or how. "Hello, Mother," Juliette returned the greeting. She didn't know what her mother had to say about the circumstances, but she was sure it wouldn't make her feel any better. Lady Capulet gestured to the bed, suggesting they sit. "I'm sure Tybalt told you of our new arrangement," she began. "That I am to marry him?" Juliette asked, but she already knew the answer. Her mother petted her hair, as if it would make her any more comfortable. "Your father and I are only doing what's best; for you, for Tybalt, for the family as a whole. A good half of them truly do believe that Tybalt's father was chosen by God and mean to keep you from your inheritance. And with all that has recently happened, we may never find you another suitor." La Muette had again turned around and was organizing the desk. Juliette wished she was behind her, combing her hair or fixing her laces. Tybalt promised their marriage would mean nothing, but thinking of it still made her uncomfortable. "Well," her mother continued, "you're not a child any longer. Your Nurse and I have told you how children are conceived. We'll all be expecting at least two sons from the union. No need to worry about the actual begetting of the children. From what I understand, our Tybalt is quite skilled. I've heard it said that he learned from the brothels of France. In either case he's always been gentle with you before." Her discomfort was manifesting in squirming and fidgeting but her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and tilted her head up so that their eyes met. A gesture to listen carefully. It would come from the Lady Capulet or from the Nurse or from Tybalt, usually concerning etiquette or upholding reputation, but her mother's eyes looked far too serious for that. She tried to hide their worry with a smile, as she often did, but to no avail. It frightened Juliette. "Dearest daughter, allow me to impart to you some womanly wisdom. Should this wedding night arrive and the apprehension's not yet vanished, a bit of wine should help. One glass is not always enough. It usually took me three for your father." Juliette winced, shutting her eyes tightly, half hoping that it would all turn out to be a horrible dream when she opened them again. But instead she felt her mother's hand on her cheek prepared to wipe away tears. Had she comforted Tybalt's mother, her own sister, thus? "It's not all bad," the Lady gently cooed, her voice sounding more maternal than it had ever been. "All those uneasy nights with your father and three glasses of wine eventually brought you into this world. It may not be agreeable at first, or ever, but your cousin will sire you some children and you will adore them. Almost enough to forget all the pain and discomfort that brought them." "Then those stories," Juliette muttered, "the ones where the maiden and the hero fall in love and happily marry, are they all lies?" He mother gave her a wistful, knowing smile. "A lover and a husband can be found in the same man. You should have seen the way your father used to look at me after I stepped out of the bath. I may as well have been Venus in the waters of Cyprus. Our Tybalt adores you. It's clear in how he acts around you and talks about you when you're not around. He will be a good husband and, God willing, perchance a good father. You may be hopeful then. Romantic affections could easily follow." The thought of it turned her stomach. The romantic affections from Tybalt were already reality and she could never return them, or even pretend to. She answered this with acknowledging nodding. "Now, Juliette," she announced as she rose from the bed and flitted the door, "I must be off. I have family affairs of my own to attend to. We de Gondelauriers are a fickle group and are best not kept waiting." And with that she was gone. Juliette then went back to her maid, and furiously, desperately dictated the note in hand signs. All of this discomfort would not be for nothing. She would have her Roméo know of the meaningless wedding and the plan to meet with him as soon as she was able. She watched as La Muette wrote from the right of the page to the left in an elegant sweeping script. It was not a language or alphabet she recognized but the pen moved like birds and tongues of flame. It reassured her. When the note was finished, she took the pen from La Muette's offering hands and signed it. For added authenticity, she brushed a bit of her perfume on the edge. It smelled of lavender and roses, like her. She folded in and wrapped an old ribbon about it, dripping candle wax on it to seal it. She placed it back in La Muette's hand and signed to deliver it when night fell. La Muette nodded solemnly as she tucked the letter into her bodice. She embraced Juliette, a comforting gesture and a promise that the note would be delivered that night. And then she left to complete other chores. ~~~~