#like. his eyes are crystals. he barely has any sense of sight and relies on (i assume) primarily scent and sound and/or vibrations

[luvsavos]

the smoke bomb thing against fatalis will forever be fucking hilarious to me. who would win, God or smoke bomb

[darkpoisonouslove]

Prey on the Heart

Summary: Valtor is on the hunt when his hound makes an unexpected discovery - Griffin is on the premises and defenseless against his rage over her betrayal. Valtor has to decide what catch he’s after - her head or their love. AU.

CW: Blood, dog bites, injury neglect, non-graphic violence and sex

This has been an outlined idea for almost 11 months. It was supposed to be an entry for Whumptober last year but I managed to turn it back into romance instead of torture somehow. I never got around to writing it unti today the universe conspired to bring it into existence and I am so happy to have finally finished it!

Love Again by Dua Lipa is giving me feels for this AU so give it a listen if you want.

The tufts of yellowed grass barely rustled under his feet as he followed the hound south. A little further and they'd leave the borders of the Coven's estate for the uninhabitable wasteland his mothers hadn't bothered to purchase even at the low cost of Obsidian land.

The rainless summer had left the otherwise infertile ground dry and cracked, no prints marring it's hardened surface. The hound was relying purely on her animal instincts and despite the boost from his magic, his senses couldn't catch up. He was barely keeping up with Violet herself glancing around for a trace on the foliage of what she'd sniffed.

He caught a strangled scream without the need to strain his ears. It was loud and clear despite the attempt to muffle it. He'd thought it was an animal the hound had shot after but that scream... It was a human voice. A familiar voice.

He followed the sound, steps hurried and heavy on the ground to chase away any game in the vicinity but he'd have his prize regardless. Unless he was dreaming or under one of mother Lysslis' illusion spells.

He called the dog back to lead him to where she'd left her victim. He'd seen Violet do her thing under Lysslis' training. Whenever she got her teeth into something, it wasn't getting away before she let go. And it wasn't getting away after that either.

Violet's teeth had a wet red tint to them, muzzle damp with blood and saliva as her nostrils expanded voraciously with every breath from the heavy copper smell. She circled him frantically and dashed forward only to run back to him in an attempt to prompt him to catch up with her speed. At least she was happy with her find.

An unusual circle of trees formed a perfectly lined up clearing in the forest. Stepping inside it left him face to face with a lone tree in the middle that was keeled over and charred. It must have been stricken by a lightning but its sturdy, forked roots had grounded it deep in the soil to make it the only thing standing in the clearing.

Leaning on the other side of it, partially concealed by its thick trunk, was none other than Griffin. Her hands trembled as she tightened the knot on the bandage she'd wrapped around her bleeding calf. She hissed when the dirty rag she'd torn from the hemline of her tattered and muddied dress constricted the tender wound Violet had left in her wake. And to think Griffin had been the one who'd gifted him the hound when she'd still been a pup that had fit in the palm of his hand. Valtor had even named her after Griffin, the striking shade of her hair coloring everything from his sketches to the very dreams his subconscious concocted. If she hadn't left so soon after presenting him with the puppy, Violet may have remembered her scent. Not that that would have given her a chance against Lysslis' conditioning of all hunting dogs, including Valtor's personal hound.

Griffin's eyes pinned the hound where it was pacing from one side to another behind Valtor's legs with her tail wagging and her labored breaths filling the silence of his own lungs. The sight of him had Griffin's whole body tensing as her hands hit the tree bark behind her back and she scrambled to her feet.

Her movements were lagging from the pain and panic dripping from her hunched form. Her hair fell down her back matted with red where she'd brushed it back with bloodied hands. Large chunks of unrefined obsidian crystals were strapped to her wrists with clumsy threads of silver into bracelets that ran up her arms under her sleeves.

She'd made those herself–in a hurry–her magic pulling the crystals and metal straight from the core of the planet. They would have impeded any other witch considering his own mothers' magic was notably subdued by the large deposits of obsidian under the planet's surface but not her. Crystals were one of her areas of expertise–and the reason why she'd walked into his life–yet even her knowledge had failed her along with her luck. She'd made it to the very edge of the territory controlled and owned by the Coven under the protection of the black crystals she'd adorned herself with to ward off dark magic but still not far enough.

It had been fear cutting off her magic to prevent her from fashioning herself a bandage the way she'd crafted her protection charms. Her golden eyes were wide like pits of inextinguishable fire and her chest wasn't moving to push the ample cleavage her dress left exposed into the forefront of his mind. She'd had an easier time drawing breath with the weight of his head nestled over her ribcage, over her heart beating steadily with the promise of her presence.

Valtor's step forward echoed like a gunshot in her body. Her back pressed into the tree, muscles pulled taut with compressed energy readying her to pounce.

"Run." His first word to her. He could have lost a bet that it would be a vile curse in a lost language only she could understand. "I dare you." She'd turned her back and left unprompted. If she still abode by that logic, then she'd have to stay.

Griffin swallowed. "You're going to hunt me down like an animal?" Her teeth gritted as she strained against her eyes slipping from his form.

His fingers clenched to white around the cold metal of his shotgun. Her jaw would have been dust in his grip where he wanted it to tip her head back and pin her gaze with his. She'd forced him to endure far greater pain being the one left behind. She hadn't earned the right to writhe and scream in agony.

"Violet here is an animal," he extended his hand and the hound pressed her head into his open palm. She always obeyed his calls, never running off where she wouldn't hear him and come back. "She is loyal and dependable which is more than I can say about you." He may have named the dog after Griffin but he'd raised Violet to never follow in her footsteps.

"So I am less than an animal to you, too?" Her gaze darted to the dog and back – to the piece of herself she hadn't stolen from him.

Valtor frowned, hand stilling between Violet's ears to make her rub it in his fingers insistently. He ignored her.

"What do you mean to me too?" Once again Griffin took precedence. Over his hunt, over his dog, over his own heart. Only his stomach sank from the prediction of what he'd hear from her mouth.

"You think I came here on a picnic with only the dress on my back?" Griffin stood steady on her feet, her tenacious nature breathing life into a smirk he had to bite back.

He hadn't given thought to the circumstances of their meeting. Her aching form in front of his eyes was everything. One blink and she'd melt away, swept up into another one of the portals the locations of which she was best at estimating. Indeed her presence on top of her disheveled state posed multiple questions he hadn't paid mind to. He was making it too easy for her to deceive him again.

"Your mothers chased me down and electrocuted me to the point of nearly frying my organs," her arms crossed over her belly to raise alarms in his head. If anything gave him the strength to best mother Tharma, it would be the rage over touching what was his. Griffin was a central part of that even if revenge was all that was left between them. That and the truth she spoke. "They kept me locked up for weeks in a tiny shoe box where I couldn't even stand up straight and only let me out last night. Right as darkness fell for me to read on the star-filled sky that it was the first day of hunting season."

There was disdain in her voice instead of the fear everyone else held for the way his mothers took beauty and strength and twisted it into despair. They had taken her love of astronomy and turned it into the herald of her death sentence. Just like they'd repopulated the area around their estate with hunting game only to have their fill of murdering unsuspecting animals.

Griffin's eyes burned so fiercely he half expected the tree behind her to catch fire. "They let me out to be your prey." And she'd dashed for the quickest route out of there. She hadn't come back for him.

"You betrayed me."

Violet sat down on her hind legs, body taut like a string and tail beating harshly into the dust. She would leap at the smallest shift in him.

Griffin was like a rock in front of him. His fire wouldn't touch her and his bullets would bounce back at him. "They are enslaving people and I didn't know I was helping them."

He hadn't told her. All he could have given her had been the illusion of a choice. She never would've picked him if he'd let his mothers force her to lay the world at their feet. It had been the only chance the two of them had had to be together.

"I had to put an end to it."

"You betrayed me!" Valtor raised the shotgun, his hands shaking too violently to aim it more precisely than just in Griffin's general direction as he stalked closer. Violet was growling on his left to keep his flank safe. "I gave you my everything. You were all I had and you left!"

All the riches flowing into Obsidian under his mothers' direction and Griffin's accurate calculations of opening portals to other planets were resources for the Coven's needs, not for his personal use. He wasn't even allowed in certain rooms of the mansion. The magic in his very veins had been embedded there by his mothers' efforts and lessons. Griffin had been the one building a little home with him in the room they'd come to share, she'd been the one putting a heartbeat in his palms only to leave him clutching empty sheets with a cold blade sticking out of his chest.

"Bursting your heart into atoms is exactly what you deserve." He stalked closer, the cool barrel of his shotgun and Violet's razor-sharp teeth were his only defense. The obsidian on Griffin's wrists weakened his magic and the shine of her eyes had obliterated his resolve to chase her down even from his memories.

Griffin's eyes hardened, hands balling into fists. "If you're going to shoot me, do it!" she grabbed the shotgun and pressed it into her bare skin.

The force threw him off balance and he stumbled forward, pushing the stiff metal into her sternum while her breath invaded his mouth with their faces inches apart. "Do not. Tempt me," he growled, his fingers twitching from her audacity to wrap around her throat and force more breath from her.

"Do it!" Griffin was still gripping the shotgun close to her heaving chest unafraid of the fire that could burst from the contact. "I knew this–seeing you again–would be the end of me. But if taking the shot is what will take your pain away, then I'm ready to go. As long as it will let you live." Her eyes lost focus and her head lulled, a small smile tugging at her lips and his heartstrings as her gaze dropped to Violet.

The dog was pacing behind him to no reason or direction. Her nose was lowered into the dirt in defeat.

Valtor forced Griffin's head back with the barrel of his shotgun until their eyes were locked together. "Do you think I'm that dumb? That I'll believe you after all your lies?" He had to watch out for the hands. One wrong move and they'd be in his chest again. Or his would be in her hair under the clink of his forgotten shotgun to draw a moan out of her that would melt him in a puddle at her feet.

"It doesn't matter what you believe, what either one of us believes." Vulnerability was sealed in her eyes like they were amber preserving history. Bullets wouldn't work on them. Shattering them would only spill the truth of his own wrongdoings. "It will not change the fact that I love you." A gasp came – from him or from her. "You can cut me open and reach inside me to feel it if you need to. It will still be there once my heart has stopped. Not even the planet can absorb it."

His hands shook as the shotgun trailed back between her breasts. The dry ground would soak up her blood instead of water and the forest would claim her body but the energy pouring from her wouldn't disappear in the well in the planet's core. Obsidian absorbed negativity from all over the universe to cleanse it and Griffin had thought it fair to trade protection for resources borrowed from other planets when it had little to no of its own. But she was offering her life to him for nothing in return. She was offering the purity of her love and that wasn't something the planet could protect from or swallow.

Valtor licked his lips. His mouth watered in her proximity for her to plant her deception into it. Yet his tongue hardly moved with his words in the breeze her breath was on his taste buds. "You're playing mind games. This is nothing more than manipulation." She could be an inch from his face and hop into a portal to the other end of the universe in the blink of an eye. And he hadn't been able to follow despite the pull in his heart.

"Nothing's stopping you from pulling the trigger. Or taking your hunting knife and carving out my heart." The blade weighed on his chest from its secret pocket as her voice reverberated through him. "Go ahead! Eat it like I always knew you would. And once its in your system, so will be my love." Her hand slid down the barrel of the shotgun, her fingers bathing his in their heat. "It will be a part of you, flowing through your veins and making you mine forever. Death by your hand does not scare me. I'll never die inside you."

The metal burned in his hand. Or that was the love for her that had never gone out. Not even at the look of the vast blackness of the sky where she could have disappeared forever. "You know I won't-"

"I know you want to." Griffin's hand slipped on top of his, colder than the blade of his knife over his heart. "But you won't. You pull that trigger and you lose me forever. You're not going to cause yourself that pain. Not even after I ran away." Her skin was like stone grinding against his to chip away his resistance. She knew him to his selfish core. Having her love forever inside him where he wouldn't be able to touch it wouldn't be enough even if she wouldn't be able to leave again.

"How could you bring my heart back after you fled with it?" It was right there clasped between her teeth. A kiss would free it and tugging at it with all his might would rip it to shreds. It was a miracle Griffin hadn't chewed it to bits when Violet's teeth had sunk into her flesh.

"Because we belong to each other. With each other." Her heart trembled in her pulse point for him to see. "No portal between worlds can change that. Not the one that took me away and not the one that brought me back."

How could he kill her when simply hating her would pull her out of his arms? Taking a step back would make him crumble under his self-loathing. He couldn't be the one to take her away from himself. Not when she was right there like a vision. One only she could make come true.

"Would you have ever come back if my mothers hadn't dragged you here?"

"Does it matter?" her voice was like a gunshot in his ears, like the weapon in his hand had gone off pressed into his own chest rather than hers.

The metal clanked as it hit the ground where he threw it and a shot echoed through the forest on accident that had Violet barking frantically. It could have been Griffin's magic wringing the bullet from his shotgun to drop him dead – he didn't care. His fingers had the freedom to tangle in her purple tresses again and a moan greeted him on her lips when he pulled her to his mouth.

No. It didn't matter. It didn't matter what could have happened when she was in his arms, chest pressing into his with her ragged breaths. She returned his kisses, teeth sliding over his lips to mark her territory like her life depended on it although she could pick up his shotgun and leave a hole in his chest. All she had to do to get away with murder was part with several hairs and blink back the tears from having them torn away in his death grip. Yet, all she was grasping at were the lapels of his coat to hold him in the reach of her kisses. She was still giving him everything she had with the threat to her life gone. It was all the proof he could want.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he hoisted her against the tree. The bandage on her calf was wet with blood under his fingers but she was pulling him closer like she'd lost her mind to love and couldn't understand it was impossible to push herself into him more. Her magic would be no use for healing in her state and his would be no use at all.

Her skin was still soft despite the odd chilliness that had fallen over it and broke under his teeth on her collar bone to let him have her blood. Her wet flesh welcomed him as he entered her once he'd pulled all the fabric of her dress and underwear out of his way. His fingers dipped under her neckline to find her breast but brushed over dried mud instead. The rough surface of confusion threw him back into a questioning stare aimed at her.

"My chest was pierced by the Obsidian belladonna your mothers pushed me on." Obsidian threads from the land ran through the plant to claim each part of it and give it a crown of crystal-edged petals. The black crust was like a blade that cut through the flesh to release the poison of the belladonna directly into the bloodstream. Only Griffin's magic had saved her life from the toxins rushing from the roots to the petals of the plant. "The blood from the wound would draw the dog to me for sure in case my deep frozen state interfered with my scent." She didn't have to tell him it had been mother Belladonna's idea and magic to do all of that to her.

Valtor ran his hands over every inch of her in his reach. Her skin had remained cold after a full night of running. He had refrained form startling her with his magic but the heat of it passed from him into her to leave her body all his to claim with Belladonna's frost retreating from it. Griffin was burning now, hot moans dropping from her mouth with every thrust as she reached a hand under her dress to stroke them both further into the heights of pleasure. His open-mouthed kisses to her neck let him feel every breath and his tongue leaving a warm, wet trail over the column of her throat had her gasping. He'd cover her all in himself to erase the horror they'd been subjected to.

"We have to get you out of here." His mothers would finish the hunt themselves if he came back to the mansion without a trophy for their walls.

"Get the dog out of here." Griffin's voice wavered as she moved her palm under his shirt to brace herself on his abs. She let out a shuddering sigh, eyelids falling over the suns of his world. "We don't need public. She already saw enough." Griffin licked her lips, head falling back to thud against the tree trunk lightly with every push of his hips into her. Her back would be bruised with reminders of the movements they'd shared like they were one.

Valtor's whistle had Violet's attention and he sent her to keep the perimeter clear. His mothers wouldn't dirty their hands right away and she could hold her own against any other Coven member to buy him and Griffin time to talk.

He'd spend eternity watching Griffin's face scrunched up in concentration as she grabbed at her pleasure, hips matching his motions, but they had no more than a couple hours. "We need a plan."

Griffin knit her eyebrows at his interruption. "I had one right before they dragged me out of my life. I found a small island of pure amethyst orbiting an uninhabited planet." Energy currents turned all kinds of crystal structures into mini heavenly bodies. Someone with her talents had no trouble finding all the curiosities of space. "I was going to go there. Live on the planet and meditate on the island to clear my thoughts and overcome my grief." Amethyst was good for that. Just the shade of her hair cleansed his mind from agony to leave him clutching harder at the purple strands to keep them from slipping through his fingers.

"I wasn't dead." Abandoned but not dead. Not yet. He'd retreated into the dreams of a sky set ablaze in violet by a rising sun. They'd become his poison and his cure until she'd come back to put his heart back together.

Griffin's eyes snapped open, tears gleaming all over their gold. "I was dead to you."

"Not dead. Never dead." His fingers slid over the top of her breast to the wound she'd closed with mud to make her the one shivering. Her cold, lifeless body stuffed in his mind would force him apart at the seams.

"I was hoping there I would come up with a strategy for future action," Griffin continued to distract him. She rolled her hips into him and gave him a moan to ensure her success.

"Good." He leaned in to pant against her ear. "You continue according to plan then." His mothers would never look for her there. The only resource they'd ever pursued was human lives. His job had been to keep her distracted so she'd do the groundwork unknowingly.

"What about you?" He could hear her frowning over the pain of her nails digging into his abs.

He grabbed her wrist and pressed it harder into him so she'd be branded over his body. "I can't come. They'd put everything into finding us. It'd be more dangerous."

Griffin pushed her body flush against him, all of her weight falling on his muscles with her back barely brushing the tree. Her teeth were gliding over his neck but she pierced him with her voice instead. "You can't go back without my corpse."

He kissed her forcefully, tongue stuffing her mouth to trap the words there. They'd suffocate with no oxygen and Griffin yielded to him for a moment, pulling him closer until they were out of breath.

They fell back on the tree and a whimper was forced from her lips. Their mouths were just an inch away, breath mingling between them in perfect harmony. He had to be the one to speak first and keep the magic alive.

"You left once because there were people who needed help." Because he'd lied to her that that wasn't the case to keep her to himself. Her heart was bigger than his and he'd tried to cut it down in fear of the difference between them.

"Valtor-"

"I'm not losing you again." Because her heart was so big, he had a home. And she could give the same to others, too. "Once you have a plan, we end this once and for all and you'll never leave my side again." He had to let go of her hand to slip his fingers between her legs and drive her wild with his love for her.

Griffin was the one grabbing his wrist now. "I don't want to leave you with them again." Her fingers clasped his in a firm grip despite the trembling of her body. "They'll pay you back for not bringing their plan for us to fruition."

"They can't. Without you they need someone else to open portals for them." He'd picked up enough from the time they'd spent together to do that job without giving her perfect results. No one else could fill that role for his mothers' plan and the punishment for letting Griffin escape hadn't been nearly severe enough thanks to his usefulness. "You already gave me a weapon against them." He stroked his fingers over her arousal. It was only his place to be the source of her shaking. She deserved all the pleasure she could stand.

"I've made you a weapon for them," Griffin arched into his touch to escape the guilt she was trying to pile on herself.

Valtor thrust into her with all the vigor she'd given him to make her eyes roll in the back of her head and her thighs quiver around him. "They won't get to use me long but you're the only one who can find out how to stop them. You have to be protected." If his mothers wanted her dead instead of brainwashed and turning Obsidian into their empire of slavery, then she was dangerous enough to bring them down. "I'll come for you. Now come for me."

"Valtor."

It was not a scream of passion. It was an uttered love confession that made him weak in the knees. Supporting her was the only thing keeping him upright through his weakness. She was still bleeding – not just from her calf, but from her chest, too. If having his heart hadn't mended the wound he'd left on hers with his lies, he had to give her more. He had to send her away to heal so that the world could become a home for them again.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER I

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: mild swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.6k+

AN: Say hello to Yeonjun! :)

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for three years and four months and nineteen days, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

Beomgyu laughed loudly and boisterously, spilling some of the silver wine over his royal blue suit. The two courtiers looked proud of themselves at having made the King laugh so much. Taehyun refrained from rolling his eyes, choosing to not tell them that Beomgyu had been giving over-the-top reactions for everyone who had come up to him.

“You’re absolutely hilarious!” Beomgyu laughed, throwing both of his legs over the throne’s armrest. “Begone, before you kill me with my own laughter!”

The courtiers stepped down from the King’s Corner, looking rather smug. As soon as they were out of sight, the exaggerated grin dropped from Beomgyu’s face and he tilted back his head with a groan.

“Aren’t you trying to play this part a little too vigorously? I mean, it’s been more than two months and yet you still hold these parties. Our palace can’t run like this forever, you know.”

Beomgyu dropped his head further on the armrest so that he was looking at Taehyun upside down. He narrowed his eyes at his vizier, who was standing ramrod straight next to the throne. “You know,” he said, “I like you better when there are other people around. You’re far too annoying when you talk.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t like you at all. You’re annoying whatever you do.”

Beomgyu sat up properly, pouting and looking at Taehyun with wide eyes. “You don’t mean that, do you?” he asked, pout turned up to the max.

Taehyun scoffed. “Don’t do that, you look stupid.” Beomgyu glared at him.

Footsteps approached the King's Corner, and Taehyun stood up straight again, face morphing into a stoic expression. A footsman let out a polite cough, standing just in front of the thin curtain. “There is someone else here to see you, King Beomgyu.”

The lace veil which separated the King’s Corner from the rest of the courtroom twitched, and a foreign lord peered inside. Pushing his half-empty goblet of wine towards Taehyun, Beomgyu beckoned them in. Taehyun could do nothing but frown ever so slightly, before tossing the goblet off the balcony onto the ballroom below. He heard a few shocked shrieks and the sound of shattering crystal, and smirked slightly.

“What matter have you brought to me?” Beomgyu asked the lord. “State your name, and the Kingdom you come from.”

The man bowed. “My name is Lord Choi Yeonjun, Your Greatness. I come from the Aruyeo Kingdom.”

Beomgyu raised his eyebrow. “Aruyeo Kingdom? I assume you and the rest of your court were here for the Coronation revels?”

Choi Yeonjun bowed again. “Yes, sir.”

“Then, state your business with the King.” Beomgyu waved a hand in a careless way, though he was studying the elder male’s face closely.

Yeonju bowed yet again. Honestly, this man seemed to do a lot of bowing. “For many years, our Kingdom has been Gojongja’s most loyal supporter. Not once, in over five hundred years, has Aruyeo made any attempt to go against Gojongja. We have remained firm by your Kingdom’s side, never rebelling, never fighting, staying almost as if we had an alliance with you. The previous King refused this, but, with a new clan on the throne, I have come to ask you.”

“Then by all means, ask away.”

Yeonjun glanced at Taehyun. “I see you have made the former King’s son your vizier.”

“Yes, indeed I have.”

“Is it necessary for him to listen to a conversation he has most likely heard already?”

“Whatever you say to the King will be fit to tell his advisor, regardless of my clan and how many times I may have heard your offer,” Taehyun said smoothly. “You will say it infront of us both, or neither of us at all.”

Yeonjun straightened, adjusting his belt. It was then that Taehyun caught sight of the leather whip curled at his side.

“Very well. As I have stated, my Kingdom has been a fervent ally of yours for generations. Therefore, I hoped to finally have our two kingdoms unite fully, so that we can become true allies. Share war tactics, resources, even people.”

Taehyun frowned. Now he knew why Yeonjun did not want him there. He remembered other Aruyeonan ambassadors had come and claimed similar things. King Seohu had always turned them away, however, claiming that Gojongja was stronger by itself than with an ally. Yeonjun was worried that Taehyun would influence Beomgyu's decision, thereby denying Aruyeo an alliance for yet another year.

“Why has your monarch not come to discuss this herself?” Taehyun asked, hand unconsciously coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Why send a representative?”

Yeonjun turned to Taehyun fully, and Taehyun realised why this man sent a chill down his spine. His eyes were amber-brown, and distinctively fox-like. He radiated a suspicious aura, and was someone Taehyun immediately distrusted. Taehyun was sure he hadn’t ever met Choi Yeonjun before (he would have remembered such fox-like eyes), and distrusted him immediately.

Yeonjun let out a slight chuckle, turning to Beomgyu. “Will you always permit your vizier to speak for you?” he asked.

Beomgyu eyed Taehyun distastefully, but calmly answered the Aruyeonan. “It gives him pleasure to believe he has control over me. But, he is correct. Why has Queen Erajin not come to me herself? It would have been best to talk it out, monarch to monarch.”

“Her Royal Supremeness has always preferred to act through ambassadors,” Yeonjun replied. “Her ways are mysterious, and it is not our job to question them, but to follow them without complaint.”

Beomgyu frowned thoughtfully at that. Taehyun desperately wished that he could somehow pull Beomgyu aside and command him to not accept the offer, but he couldn’t do so without it seeming suspicious. Taehyun wasn’t sure why he wanted Beomgyu to reject an alliance with the Aruyeo, but after seeing King Seohu turn them away many times, he was sure that it would be a bad thing to do.

Beomgyu tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I see no harm in an alliance with the Aruyeo,” he said. “But there is no use discussing such politics when I am drunk. Perhaps my vizier could schedule a meeting, and we can discuss formally then?”

Taehyun gritted his teeth. This was Beomgyu forcing him to make the decisions. He knew full well that the King would coincidentally forget about the meeting, meaning Taehyun would have to make the decisions by himself. However, perhaps this time it would be useful, since Taehyun would be able to reject the alliance…

“-and I assure you our discussion will be about all the things Aruyeo will have to offer in our alliance.”

… or not.

Yeonjun bowed, and straightened again. Though his face showed no emotion, Taehyun could sense the triumph radiating from him. “Thank you, Your Greatness.”

Once he had left, Taehyun turned to Beomgyu. “Why did you accept?” he hissed. Beomgyu looked confused, and a little hurt.

“Hey, why are you mad at me? I thought you’d be glad that I’d managed to make an important move by myself.”

“Why would I be glad?” Taehyun scoffed. “You’re drunk, and you’re going around agreeing to alliances you don’t even know the consequences of!”

“Why are you so worked up about it, hm?” Beomgyu said, growing annoyed. “Listen, an alliance with the Aruyeo Kingdom would come in handy. Have you seen the size of their military? Combined with ours, we easily overpower the other two kingdoms 50 men to one.”

“How do you know that-”

“And their resources? Aruyeo is famous for its blacksmiths. They create epic weapons out of metals that other Kingdoms don’t even have. Everyone wants to trade with the merchants of Aruyeo because of their exotic goods and the sheer wealth that they bring.”

Taehyun scowled. “Yes, but-”

“Also, their history of war-winning? It’s better to have them by our side than oppose us. As the prince, you studied past wars, didn't you? That Lord was right. Aruyeo hasn’t fought us for over half a millennium. And you can see, also, if you dig into Aruyeo’s battles, that they have barely ever lost a war. And the impact they had on the defeated is incredible. They know so many war tactics, Taehyun. War tactics, medicinal knowledge, philosophy, the sciences… they know so much.” Beomgyu counted on his fingers. “Their Royal war forces, their economy, their intelligence… Aruyeo, out of any of the other Kingdoms, is probably the best Kingdom to form an alliance with. Why are you so against it?”

Taehyun opened his mouth, and then closed it again. All the points Beomgyu had made were scarily good. He didn’t even know why he opposed the alliance so fiercely. Taehyun sighed. “King Seohu would always have me with him whenever he had meetings with foreign officials. Every couple of years or so, an Aruyeonan ambassador would come to him, stating something along the lines of what that Yeonjun guy just said. And every time, he’d turn them down. Said an alliance would only make us weak.”

Beomgyu frowned, then his face cleared. “The Jinju Kang clan were fiercely independent. They valued individual power and glory. They hated alliances, or friends, or having to rely on others. That’s why.” Beomgyu kicked his legs back onto the armrest, draping himself carelessly on the silver frame. “My clan are known for their loyalty and need for allies. They work better as team leaders, instead of just solitary wolves. For me, for my kingdom, this is what I’m going to do.”

“I’m the one supposed to be running this kingdom, aren’t I?” Taehyun reminded him. Beomgyu rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. But there has to be some sort of Gyeongju Choi element to this rule, otherwise people will doubt I’m truly King.”

Taehyun had to grudgingly admit that Beomgyu made some good points. They stayed there in silence for a few moments, Beomgyu trailing his fingers along the intricate gold designs on the floor. Taehyun stared straight ahead at the lace curtain. His mind was plagued by the same thoughts they’d always had been for the past three weeks, ever since Beomgyu became King. He needed to keep Beomgyu on the throne for as long as possible. But not for too long, otherwise the Jinju Kang clan could never come back to the throne. It would be difficult for Taehyun to negotiate with Beomgyu to convince him to extend their contract, but even more difficult if Beomgyu acquired a taste for ruling and refused to give up the throne. It was all one huge dilemma which Taehyun wasn’t sure he knew how to get out of.

“How did you know so much?” Taehyun suddenly asked. "About Aruyeo, I mean."

Beomgyu didn’t look at Taehyun, but stopped tracing the carpet.

“When you pushed me away… I went to stay in Aruyeo.”

“You what?”

“Yeah. Aruyeo have always been welcoming of Gojongja nobles. It wasn’t that hard to get in. So I stayed there, for a year or so. Learned about Aruyeonan history. They’re an epic Kingdom, by the way.”

Taehyun made a noise to confirm he’d been listening. “Also, why did you suddenly become so smart?”

Beomgyu glared, offended. “Contrary to what you believe, I actually did pay attention in my lessons. Heck, I could write down everything written in ‘the Magical Everchanging Book of Clans and their Population’, with all clans that ever existed, in alphabetical order, with citations as to how many people were in the clans when I was just seventeen.”

“Has it been that long since you opened the book?”

“No, it’s been that long since my tutors decided I had no need to open the book since I’d memorised every word, including the numbers of people which changed every single day,” Beomgyu replied curtly.

Taehyun didn’t say anything, just stared down at the patterned floor.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“What clan are you actually from then?”

“Hm?” Taehyun turned to Beomgyu, who was looking at him through dark, slitted eyes. “Oh… I come from the Jeo clan.”

“The what?” Beomgyu sat up, and laughed. “What, do you not have any surname branches?”

Taehyun glared at Beomgyu. “I don’t know, okay? When King Seohu told me three years ago, he never said anything about surname branches. He just told me I was adopted and what my ability was," Taehyun spat.

"What's your ability?"

"Why do you want to know?" Taehyun snapped back. Beomgyu glared.

"You're my subject. I have the right to know what your ability is. God, why are you so defensive over it?" Beomgyu fiddled with a button on his suit, thinking. "Is it something to do with your crazy ability to make magical contracts? Or was that just enchanted parchment?"

"That was just enchanted parchment," Taehyun said. "Apparently, their ability is foreign exchange, whatever that could mean. I haven’t figured out how to tap into this ability yet.” Taehyun leaned against one of the pillars. “Also, I for some reason possess the Jinju Kang clan’s ability of nature manipulation, though I’m not related to their line." He frowned. "Why am I telling you this?"

"I don't know," Beomgyu shrugged. " Did you seriously not know you were illegitimate for years?"

"My whole life. I just assumed I was a Kang."

"Jeo Taehyun…" Beomgyu mused. "Eh. Kang Taehyun sounds better."

Taehyun rolled his eyes. "That's because that's what you're used to." He walked away from beside the throne to look down the balcony at the ballroom floor. "Also, I think we should stop the coronation revels. This is stupid. You're just wasting money and food and our suites by attending to these dumb courtiers who only really care about how close they can get to the throne."

Beomgyu hummed. He'd taken off the silver circlet and was twirling it carelessly around his fingers.

"You shouldn't do that you know," Taehyun berated. "This crown is a precious part of Gojongja history and we don't want you breaking it by playing with it."

Beomgyu grumbled, placing the circlet sulkily back onto his head. "It's enchanted. I'm pretty sure it won't break that easily."

"Well you still shouldn't do it," Taehyun said. "It's disrespectful."

Beomgyu sighed insolently, staring up at the ceiling.

"Also, are you ever going to attend the board meetings? You haven't turned up to a single one since you became King. Do you know how awkward it is to have to explain to the rest of the generals that the King couldn't be bothered to come?"

"Oh, you bore me," Beomgyu said in annoyance. He suddenly stood up, navy velvet cloak swinging behind him. "I'm going to bed." With an air of insolence, Beomgyu swept out through the veil, before abruptly turning around. “If the revels annoy you that much, call them off yourself. And no, I don’t think I’ll be attending any of those board meetings any time soon. They bore me almost as much as you do.” He winked. “See you around, my dear vizier.” Blowing Taehyun a mocking kiss, he disappeared through the veil, mischievous laughter echoing in his wake.

Taehyun blinked, and then growled. He shook his head, gripping the hilt of his sword. "Choi fucking Beomgyu."

Beomgyu's head appeared through the lace suddenly, smirking at Taehyun. "It's 'His Royal Greatness Choi fucking Beomgyu' to you. Oh, and make sure that you air out the Discussion and Tactics Room, will you? When you talk to that Choi Yeonjun, we don't want it looking shabby, do we?"

Taehyun threw a handkerchief at Beomgyu's annoying face. The King only laughed and ducked away, leaving the cloth to flutter to the ground. Taehyun sighed and walked over to pick up the handkerchief. God, Beomgyu was so infuriating…

[artificialqueens]

The Goode Case, 6/14 - Juno

Chapter Summary: Forensics have some news, prompting Jaida, Brita and Jackie to visit the guest house in the daytime. What will they find in the light of day?

(A/N: I really appreciate all the supportive words that have come through for this, thank you!! Here is part six.)

Monday 30thOctober

9.46AM

Jaida gulped down her third cappuccino from the vending machine. They always came out lukewarm, while Jaida normally liked hers hot, to burn her throat and remind her she was awake. Especially today, when her mind was still foggy from the events of the weekend.

She put her cup in front of the vendor and poured a fourth, hoping that this would be the one where she started to feel the magic.

It was now four days since any confirmed sighting of Gigi Goode. Reality was starting to bite that the longer this went on, the less likely it was that Gigi would turn up alive. The anklet that the two students had turned up had been the only clue as to her whereabouts. It was unlikely that Gigi would still be there, but there may be more clues.

She took her coffee back to the chair, at her laptop, smoothing down her shirt. She had barely logged back into her account when Brita approached her.

“I don’t want to talk about it yet,” Jaida said, not looking directly at Brita.

Brita ignored her. “Forensics report that they found some DNA evidence for Gigi, fingerprints which match those on the clasp of the anklet, on the railings on the staircase and the walls downstairs. No other evidence though, no body fluids, no blood. Gigi was in the house, but it’s not clear for how long, or that she stayed there.”

“Alright then.” Jaida continued her typing.

“I know you’re pissed at us, sis,” Brita’s tone changed, softened, “but we do need to go back to the guest house. Chief wants us to look in more detail for more clues. The parents have confirmed that it’s definitely Gigi’s anklet, even though we already knew that from Crystal. So, we’re going back.”

Jaida nodded. “When?”

“Eleven. I’m driving. Daylight will make it less … weird. We’ll just be able to do our jobs.”

“I’ll be ready at eleven then,” Jaida said, pushing her braids behind her shoulders. “You and me? And Jackie too?”

“The three of us,” Brita confirmed. “Be ready for ten to eleven.”

Jaida just nodded at her, bringing her coffee cup to her lips and chugging it down as fast as she could. She might need another – it was shaping up to be a long day.

She was contemplating whether a fifth cup would make her too jittery, when Jackie came out of her training meeting and flopped into her chair.

“Lovely day,” she began, pointing at the dark grey clouds out of the window.

“Beautiful,” Jaida replied, without looking up. She focused on making her mind not think of anything but the report she was writing up, the progress report for Chief. That was more important, at this point, than talking to Jackie about whatever psychic thing she had on her mind this time.

Jackie didn’t seem to take the hint. “We didn’t get much yesterday evening, did we?”

“I think we got enough.” Jaida pointedly typed a little louder.

“Jai, how many times am I going to have to apologise for not telling you, before you at least look at me?”

Jaida rolled her eyes. “I’m not angry at you, or Brita. I’m just feeling a bit …”

“Disorganised?” Brita offered with a chuckle. She was coming back to her seat, mug of coffee in her hand. “We know you like things to be nice and organised. Come on sis, you even have different ringtones for me and Jackie.”

“Yeah,” Jaida mused. “I guess so.”

Brita had a point. Things has become a little disorganised the last couple of days. Her mediumship, which was now slipping into her work life. Brita and Jackie, who now felt closer as friends than ever. And Jan Mantione, who Jaida had found had entered her own dreams last night – much more pleasant ones than she’d had on Saturday night, anyway.

Like the tones on her phone, the portions of her life that she’d always so carefully separated, for fear, or embarrassment; or for a modicum of privacy and self-preservation; even for no reason at all – were all beginning to collide, the defined mental lines blurring, fizzling into nothing.

Jackie was watching her, Jaida met her dark brown eyes. As private and orderly as Jaida liked to be, Jackie was the total opposite; she couldn’t have hidden anything on her face, her earnest expression giving away everything she was feeling. Jaida didn’t need telepathy to know that.

“What?” Jackie smiled a little awkwardly at Jaida’s stare.

“I think I’m going to change your ringtone to match Brita’s.”

11.22AM

Even in the daytime, the guest house looked foreboding, even more so with the yellow hazard tape around the fences.

Brita immediately turned on her torch once they were inside, for even the light of day didn’t show everything, and led the way through the front door. Jackie pulled her glasses from her pocket and slid them over her nose, before switching on her own torch. Jaida, the notepad and pen in her left hand, trailed them without a torch, relying on Brita and Jackie’s lights to show the way.

“Where was the anklet found?” Jackie asked.

“At the foot of the staircase,” Brita replied.  

Jaida looked at the entrance to the kitchen, which was to their right, as they filed to the hallway, and saw the woman again. Her hair that remained was light brown, but her skin that was exposed was completely black, clothes charred, eyes white with dust.

She stood and stared at Jaida as they walked past. Part of Jaida wanted to know more about her, but she turned her face away hurriedly and moved half a step closer to Jackie in front of her. They had a job to do today.

“As the DNA evidence was found on what’s left of these railings, it indicates that maybe Gigi came up here.”

“I said that yesterday,” Jaida muttered. “I told you I saw her upstairs.”

“We going up?” Jackie whispered, pointing to the stairs. Brita nodded grimly.

“Let’s see what’s in the guest rooms.”

Brita and Jackie didn’t notice Jaida’s breath hitch as they climbed the staircase. At the top of them was a man, balanced on what remained of the railing, just at the top of the steps. It was the same man as last night, Jaida noticed and in the light, she could now see noose marks around his throat. Jaida swallowed, forcing herself to breathe normally, watching with rising nausea as first Brita and then Jackie walked straight past him, not seeing him.

When Jaida got near him, he watched her. His face was dark and grey, and his eyes were inconsolably sad. When she reached the top of the stairs, turning right, he dropped off the rail, gliding to settle in front of Jaida, stopping her from going any further. She could see Jackie and Brita vaguely through him, but he wouldn’t let her pass. When she tried to step forward, the man glided to block her.

Then Jackie’s words came into her head. “There would be no point in just seeing someone, they probably want to communicate something with you.”

“What – what do you need?” Jaida’s voice shook as she spoke, unsure what she was doing.

He was the same height as her, and she could look straight at his dulled eyes. His face was a little blurred, but Jaida could still sense the emotion – such sadness that she felt like she could cry for him. The whole experience felt very strange, and a little macabre.

She was vaguely aware of Jackie and Brita turning to watch her, Brita saying something that she couldn’t catch.

“Hello? What’s your name?” Jaida managed to say, her throat dry, almost unable to form words.

To her shock, he raised a hand towards her, to the hand where her notebook and pen were. She lifted hers too, dropping the notebook and pen to the ground; reaching to take his hand, the fear she was feeling starting to dissipate, replaced by curiosity –

It was Jackie who grabbed her hand before he could, and pulled her through this man, Jaida shuddering as she passed through his body.

“Was that a ghost?” Brita asked Jackie, not looking at Jaida.

“Yeah. Just one that Jaida could see I think. I couldn’t see it. Did you see anything?”

“No.” Brita shook her head. “Jaida, you’re going in between me and Jackie now. We’re not losing you to any ghosts.”

Jaida opened her mouth to protest – and didn’t Jackie want her to be more in tune with her ability anyway? – but Brita had already spun back round and was heading down the corridor. When Jaida turned to look behind Jackie, the man was no longer there.

“Jackie,” Brita said sharply, “stop it. I’ve asked you not to.”

“To what?”

“You know what,” Brita hissed. “Stop trying to get inside my mind.”

“I’m – not?” Jackie said confusedly.

Brita turned back to them both, her eyes wild, a look Jaida didn’t recognise in her friend, but she regained her composure and nodded, turning back to the corridor where the two guest rooms were.

The guest house was not big, and there were only the four guest rooms – two on either side of the staircase – plus one larger room at the end of the right hand side. The floor was still dirty from years of neglect, but there were tracks in it now, from forensics and from their own activity yesterday.

Brita crouched to look at the doorknob, on the guest room on the right, which was not as dirty as the rest of the brass on the door – as if a hand had held it recently.

“Jai, was this the one those two students were hiding in last night?”

“No, it was the other one,” Jaida pointed to the left.

Brita straightened up.

“I know we’re not on the best terms with this … telepathic stuff right now,” she muttered, “but Jackie, can you hear anything through that room? Anything that suggests there is a person inside?”

Jackie stood perfectly still, her face pensive, brow furrowed.

“No,” she said finally, shaking her head. “But that student, that Aiden – I mean, I couldn’t hear her either, so …” Jackie shrugged, her expression becoming troubled. “The silence doesn’t convince me, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, no time like the present,” Brita announced, reaching to the doorknob. As carefully as possible, she turned it, and the door creaked open slowly.

Inside, the room was empty, nothing at all to indicate any presence. There was no furniture, no carpet, and only a half-broken faux chandelier seemed to show it had been inhabited at all. The window was boarded up, the boards still in place, much darker even at midday than the rest of the house.

“There’s nothing here,” Brita muttered.

“And look,” Jackie said, pointing to the ground. “There aren’t any tracks. The floor hasn’t been disturbed.”

Brita sighed. “I hate to say it, but … have we been led on?”

“What?”

Jaida looked at Brita, whose expression was unreadable.

“I’m just saying, but there’s definitely no one in this house. Jackie can’t hear anything. Maybe Gigi was never here, or just here briefly.”

“You might be right,” Jackie nodded, “the DNA could just mean that she came up the stairs and then went back down them again when she couldn’t go anywhere.”

“I think that’s the most likely scenario,” Brita agreed, nodding eagerly. “The camera being repaired obviously means we didn’t see her go into this building – or come back out. She must have left again.”

“Guys, I saw her! In that damn room that we couldn’t open!” Jaida cried, pointing to her left to the old living area behind the double doors.

“That could just be coincidence, Jai,” Brita replied.

“It never has been before!”

“Alright,” Jackie held up her hands. “We’ll go and check it out again. Just stop snapping at each other, I still have a headache from yesterday.”

The three of them walked to the double doors, still shut fast from them slamming last night.

 “I still don’t hear anything, anything at all, from this room,” Jackie murmured, her ear to the wooden door.

“Any spirits Jaida?” Brita asked.

“No,” Jaida muttered, “just that guy behind us, and that woman downstairs.”

“What guy?” Brita jerked her head sharply to Jaida. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Jaida shrugged, taking half a step back. “Just some guy at the top of the stairs, and some woman in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen,” Brita repeated quietly.

“You know I just saw him here, that was why you wanted me to walk in the middle!”

Jaida watched Brita’s expression become pensive, and then twist in anger. “Jackie, I said stop it!”

“I’m not doing anything!” Jackie put her hands on her hips. “Why are you so jumpy today?”

“Let’s just get out of here,” Jaida said, shaking her head. The last thing they needed was Brita and Jackie at each others’ throats for any longer. She started to walk away from them.

“Jaida,” Brita called, “you’re still going in the middle.”

“What?”

“If you see any more ghosts, you’ll have someone behind you, that’s all.”  

As they all turned back to go down the staircase, the man from earlier had reappeared, and Jaida felt her steps slow down. He was still so sad, so very sad, his expression hopeless, the bruising on his neck a gruesome reminder that he was not quite as real as he appeared.

Jackie, ahead of Jaida, must have sensed her fear, as she turned back to her. “He can’t hurt you, Jaida.”

“Is there a ghost?” Brita asked.

Jaida nodded solemnly and walked forward, her legs shaking. She reached a hand behind her, wildly, and Brita took it, anchoring her.

“I got you, sis.”

Feeling a little more emboldened, Jaida walked forwards, and the man’s eyes followed her, but the closer she got, the more Jaida became curious, and not frightened. She slowed to a stop in front of him, frozen in place, while Brita pushed gently at her from behind.

“Come on, Jai, we need to leave.”

“What do you need?” Jaida’s voice was stronger this time as she addressed him, ignoring Brita’s voice. Jackie looked back at Jaida, and then in front to where this man was, but no one else could see him.

“Tell me what you need from me,” Jaida said firmly.

“Jaida!” That was Jackie, her voice frightened. “Come on!”

But Jaida’s gaze was fixed on the spirit before her, her own fear completely gone, replaced by empathy, and a desire to know more.

He raised his other hand this time, towards Jaida’s right, and Jaida felt herself raise her right hand towards his, until they touched –

And Jaida felt a tug at her back, lurching forwards, towards this man, whose hand in her right started to feel more and more solid; her mind spinning, and shutting her eyes tightly as she felt nausea rush through her with the movement.

After a few seconds, Jaida felt her stomach settle and her mind calm. She slowly opened her eyes to this man before her – now very much a live person, leaning on a complete railing.  

But Brita and Jackie had both vanished.

[7-wonders]

Twilight, Eat Your Heart Out

Summary: Pondering your own mortality is never a good long-term solution, especially when you have to compare it to the immortal vampire you’ve found yourself entangled in a relationship with.

Word Count: 4209

A/N: Vampire Michael is back! I hope you enjoy this; feedback is always appreciated and, if you feel so inclined, I would love if you liked, reblogged, or commented.

Jealousy, in any sense of the word, is not an emotion that you’re very familiar with. Of course, there were occasions throughout school where you felt wrongfully snubbed of an award or a grade, certain that you deserved a higher score. Never before have you been in a relationship where just the mere sight of your lover with another person fills you with self-doubt and envy. You’re better than that; your happiness and sense of fulfillment, you’ve always believed, does not rely on another person. At least, that seemed to be the case before you got yourself entangled with a suave, mysterious Antichrist who just so happens to also be a vampire.

Entering into a relationship (you wouldn’t dare to call him your boyfriend, or even use the word ‘dating’ to describe the odd situation that you’ve found yourself in) with arguably the most dangerous creature in the world was not something you had penciled into your five year plan. Lately, it seems like nothing is going according to the plan that you had meticulously crafted upon graduating college and landing your job at Kineros. You weren’t expecting to have your first bona fide lover, nor did you believe that you would suddenly learn about the warring forces that are essentially playing a game of chess and using humans as the pawns. You also never thought that you would be an accessory to murder.

Multiple murders, at that.

Blood bags don’t satiate Michael, who always complains that blood is so much better when it comes directly from the ‘source.’ In an attempt to quell Michael’s more...sadistic tendencies, you’ve offered to allow him to drink from you whenever he needs to. Shockingly enough, it turns out that even the cruelest of vampires, the one who is arguably the ruler of all others of his species, has a heart when it comes to certain humans. He had explained to you how taking blood from you multiple times a week, no matter how small the amount, would eventually kill you. So here you are, standing in some alleyway acting as the bait for Michael’s next meal.

This routine hasn’t seemed to get any easier since the first time Michael asked you on a hunt with him. Lure in an unsuspecting victim who has less-than-innocent intentions with you, guide them back far enough to where any wayward screams won’t be heard, and let Michael handle the rest. A fairly simple ploy, but one that never failed to have your stomach curdling with some sort of negative emotion. Before tonight, you had never been able to pinpoint what this foreign feeling was. 

It’s while you’re watching Michael pin tonight’s prey, a pretty brunette that had been planning on robbing you, against a wall that you start to realize what this might be. The low lighting that the street lamps cast into the alley glints off of his talon ring, which he uses to quickly and precisely slit open the woman’s throat. His hand tangles in her hair, yanking her head back and allowing him to drink deeply from the flowing wound. She moans weakly, pathetically, and you become aware of something else that’s nestled right beside the disgust that forces you to avert your eyes from the gory scene.

You’re jealous. Not only are you jealous, but you’re jealous of the woman that Michael’s currently draining dry. You understand why everything about this situation looks so intimate; Michael’s nature, of course, is seduction. His ethereal beauty and dangerous charm are integral in beguiling his victims, and he’s going to use these weapons to his advantage. Still, the intimacy of this situation has you nearly doubling over in disgust.

Michael, finally satisfied with his meal, carelessly discards the barely-breathing woman on the ground like she’s little more than an empty wrapper. He grins up at you, blood-stained teeth glinting in the light of the moon. Gracefully stepping over the body, he approaches you slowly and fluidly. It’s almost as if he’s a predator stalking his prey, although that isn’t too much of a stretch; you are, after all, human. There’s hardly any mess on his face, always the clean eater.

“You certainly do have a way of picking the most delicious meals for me, pet.” Michael darts his tongue out, licking a few stray drops of blood from his lips before capturing your lips in a kiss. The copper taste of his kisses, while familiar by now, are still something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. “Shall we be on our way? The night is, after all, still young.”

“Don’t you need to clean up this mess first?” Michael smirks, waving one of his bejeweled hands in the air nonchalantly.

“A simple phone call is all it takes, nothing to worry about.” He slings his arm around you, silver talon coming dangerously close to puncturing your shirt and your shoulder. 

As you leave with Michael, you can’t help but cast your glance to the glassy eyes of the corpse that lay sprawled on the ground. Although there’s no sign of life left in her body, you swear you can feel her stare follow you when you round the corner.

This trend continues for the next two weeks, with every feed that you help bring to Michael invoking that same fiery jealousy in the pit of your stomach. These people, you know, are nothing more than food to Michael. But the way that he looks at them right before he strikes, convincing them that they’re safe and to give themselves over to him, makes you realize that you’re not special. That tender look, which you thought was special only to you, is just another play in Michael’s book. Slowly, you start to become aware of the fact that maybe it’s not just jealousy that you feel whenever Michael must partake in a feed.

You’re scared, as well.

Every human that he kills, every possible victim that walks past you when you’re scouting for Michael, reminds you that there is a very thin line separating them from you. You could just as easily be Michael’s next kill, the vampire draining you and leaving your body on the wet pavement with little more than a glance that one might give a dead deer on the side of the road. Michael claims to be fond of you, says that he couldn’t imagine killing you, but you know just how volatile Michael’s kind are. One day he could be your lover, and the next day he could be your killer. It’s a fact that remains in the back of your mind, always making sure you’re alert for any changes in his emotions towards you. 

When you meet one of Michael’s oldest friends (both in age and amount of time that they’ve known each other), that fear morphs into dread. The Countess, as she’s known as, owns the Hotel Cortez and uses its’ guests as her food source, which Michael considers to be a genius move. She’s radiant, mysterious, and absolutely gorgeous; you start to wonder if every vampire becomes ethereally beautiful when they’re turned, or if attractiveness is a prerequisite to vampirism. She had appeared suddenly, visiting with Michael in his plush office when you arrived for a “late night of work.” You were stunned by this goddess sitting opposite your lover, the two clutching crystal glasses of blood. 

“Elizabeth, allow me to introduce you to (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” Michael said warmly, standing with his visitor on his arm. “(Y/N), this is the Countess, my closest confidante for the past hundred years or so.”

She held her hand out for you to take, a talon ring all-too-similar to Michael’s digging into the skin of your wrist when she pulled you towards her. “What a stunning creature you are, my dear.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” you said in a voice an octave higher than your usual, causing Michael and the Countess to have laughed.

“My, my, Michael, it has been quite some time since you’ve found yourself enamoured with a human in this way. Why, the last had to have been Oscar, back in the late eighteen hundreds?” The Countess smiled wistfully. “It always did amuse me, how he would rather come up with the fanatical idea that you had a portrait stashed away somewhere that grew old in your place instead of believing what he had seen to be true.”

You had been jarred out of your semi-stunned state upon the familiarity of this man’s idea. “Wait, are you telling me that Michael once had a relationship with Oscar Wilde?” The two smiled conspiratorially, choosing to remain coyly silent instead of telling you if your suspicion is true.

“My dear Countess, we have not had the chance to reconnect since the turn of the century. For all you know, I could have had a harem of human lovers in that time,” Michael cooed.

“I know you too well for that to be more than a fantasy. Say, has it really been that long since we’ve last seen one another?” The Countess spoke, leaving you mildly upset that the two were basically talking directly above your head.

“Unfortunately.”

The platinum vampire sighed. “Nothing like the rich blood of those who indulged themselves due to their belief that they would die when the calendar changed to the year two thousand. Of course,” she smiled patronizingly at you, “you were hardly more than a babe then, weren’t you?”

You tightly returned her smile as Michael chuckled at his friend’s joke, the two continuing with their reminiscing. Eventually that night, you had left early, feigning exhaustion from a long week in order to get out of the awkward situation. Awkward for you, at least. For the two immortal beings, you’re sure you were little more than a pest, a persistent fly that finally managed to find an exit through a window.

It’s not as if you’re angry that they made fun of your youth. You can’t place the blame on two creatures who have lived hundreds of years combined for picking on how you’ve only existed for a mere blip on their timelines. Instead, the two inadvertently opened your eyes to what lay underneath all of the jealousy. A lingering sadness wraps itself around you, reminding you it’s there from the moment you wake up, and whispering in your ear to lull you to sleep. You’re sure that Michael’s noticed the change in your mood by now, being so attuned to your thoughts and feelings even without the fledgling link that had been created through him consistently feeding from you. 

As a person who relies on logic and research, you love facts. With this situation, however, the facts of the matter are not too appealing to analyze. For starters, you like Michael Langdon, a lot more than you’re supposed to. What had started as a simple ‘enemies with benefits’ situation has evolved into something that you never saw coming: your life is now a bad vampire fanfiction. What kind of human falls in love a relationship with a vampire who feeds from them in exchange for immunity and confidential information? You can only pray to whatever’s out there that this affection you’ve developed isn’t sensed by Michael, lest he decide to prey on you even more than he already does.

Even if you didn’t care for Michael like you do, it’s impossible to deny just how introspective you’ve become since meeting the Countess. Maybe it’s because you had been so swept up in the enigma that is Michael, but after he pierced your neck with his fangs while having you pinned against your desk, you sort of forgot about the fact that Michael’s going to remain the same as he’s always been. More specifically, you forgot that you won’t remain the same. It was easy to imagine him as your equal, with you holding the leverage of your tantalizing blood over his head and using that to your advantage. You became an odd team, helping Michael to successfully hunt and kill people whose deaths wouldn’t arouse too much suspicion. 

When the Countess reminded you of that fact, of how you came into the picture in what’s essentially the opposite of dog years (does every vampire year equal 70 human years?), it forced that issue of immortality versus mortality to center stage. No matter how your attempt to change the phrase, the words mean the same thing: you are going to grow older and die, while Michael will be the same as he’s always been and continue to go on without you. It’s not as if this is new information for you, considering one of the first things Michael told you was how he’s been on the Earth for over 400 years. It is, however, something you’ve deliberately avoided thinking about while trying to navigate the schematics of suddenly taking up company with a vampire.

Michael could, of course, give you immortality to allow you to live for eternity with him, but who’s to say that he’ll even still continue to tolerate you beyond next month? Immortality is a gift to Michael and his kind, and it’s not a gift to be given out frivolously. All humans are, all you are, at the end of the day, to Michael, is a meal. Nothing more. He could easily decide that he’s bored of you, his new human toy, and drain you of every drop of your blood until you’re just as lifeless as the corpses you’ve watched him devour lately. Humans are expendable, a renewable resource that Michael is determined to cultivate when he brings about the apocalypse in order to fulfill his father’s wishes. 

Even if Michael weren’t to get bored of you, it seems like he just brings in a new human to capture his attention until they, too, die. It’s a constantly revolving door of human lovers, you realize, ones who do nothing but serve as distractions for the vampiric Antichrist until the time comes for his ‘mission.’ What makes you better than Oscar Wilde? The man based one of his greatest works on Michael and penned many an eloquent letter for his blond-haired lover, only for said lover to allow him to be exiled and dead from meningitis. If he didn’t want to take the most well-versed and passionate of his lovers to be his eternal companion, what would make him want to take you? You are, after all, a mere researcher at a robotics company whose greatest accomplishment will likely be nothing more than improving sex robots (at least that’s what you tell yourself). 

It’s a train of thought that makes you especially melancholic. Why even bother to continue associating with Michael if he’s just going to toss you out like trash when you’re one day old and withered? It’s never good on one’s psyche to ponder mortality for an extended amount of time, but it’s all you can think about whenever you see Michael. So, like any person who’s not good at confronting their emotions would do, you ignore the source of all of this inner turmoil. While that’s easier said than done, all you really have to do is get work done during the day and lock yourself in your house at night. Easy, right?

You’ve managed to exponentially increase your productivity at work during the daytime, eliminating your need to work into the evening hours in an effort to finish your projects. The hardest part is the evening, when you can hear Michael crooning through your apartment door in that honey-laced voice to just let him in, pulling out every pet name in the book in an attempt to persuade you. You almost gave in a couple of nights ago, hand on the doorknob before you stumbled back and hid under the covers in your bedroom. After that night, though, he finally seemed to get the hint and left you alone. You’re lonely, lonelier than you’ve been since you first met Michael, but it’s for the best.

Tonight, it seems as if your week of avoiding interaction with a certain mysterious blond is finally catching up with you. You get home late, the moon already hanging high in the sky by the time you finish getting drinks with a couple of friends. Unlocking your front door, you can immediately tell that something’s off. The window, which was closed before you left, is now open, the curtains billowing inwards. Your heart beats wildly for a few moments, until you catch Michael’s distinctive scent: expensive cologne and something woodsy, both masking the metallic smell of blood that always follows him. 

“I know you’re here, Dracula, you big fucking nerd,” you grumble, shutting the door behind you and tossing your keys on the counter.

“Why do you continue to insist on calling me that horrendous nickname?” You can’t see where he’s at, but you can hear his voice coming from somewhere in the kitchen. 

“Sorry, Mephistopholes, it won’t happen again.” You only jump slightly when, in a split second, Michael’s got his arms wrapped around you from behind and his chin resting on your shoulder.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” It’s not a question; he knows it just as well as you do.

“And what if I am?”

“Well, I certainly don’t enjoy it. I also don’t like thinking I’ve upset you in some way.” Michael grabs you by your shoulders, spinning you around and backing you against the kitchen counter so he can look at you. “So? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I’ve just been tired, haven’t really wanted to see anyone lately,” you shrug, staring at the shine on Michael’s shoes. Your eyes widen when his large hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up towards him.

“You know, I don’t tolerate liars, (Y/N). I could very well just read your thoughts to figure out what’s troubling you, but I won’t because you’ve told me how uncomfortable that makes you. So, you can either tell me know, or we can stand here like this until you decide you’re ready to talk like an adult instead of giving me your childish silent treatment,” Michael snaps. 

“What if it’s because of your attitude, hm?”

“It’s not,” Michael says with his eyes narrowed, daring you to try and come up with another excuse. “I’m giving you one more chance before my patience runs out, (Y/N).”

“You’re infuriating,” you scoff, pushing him off of you (surprisingly, he lets you) and stalking off towards your bedroom.

“Is it something to do with work? Did one of the victims that you caught for me actually touch you? Did the Countess scare you?” He knows he’s got you when your back stiffens at his last guess, breathing hitching before you walk faster. Unfortunately, due to his speed, Michael’s already sitting perched on your bed by the time you cross into the room. “So the Countess scared you?”

“Shut up about it, please.”

“I’m not going to. I care about you, and I don’t want to see you upset in any way.”

“You care about me?” Michael nods, not sensing the sarcasm in your voice. “Just like you cared about all of your other lovers, who you then cast out and let die when they grew boring to you?”

When you turn around to glare at him, Michael’s already staring at you with those wide blue eyes. Instead of getting angry, or firing back, things you expect him to do, he just reaches out a hand and grabs your own. He remains silent, probably to let you calm down while you continue to throw daggers at him with your eyes, and you allow him to pull you onto his lap. 

“Hearing about my previous human lovers frightened you?”

“Not in the sense of, ‘oh, I’m jealous that he’s been with others before me.’ It frightens me how insignificant a role in your eternal life I’ll play,” you confess.

“Why do you believe that?” Michael’s not asking this question to be condescending, you know, but to truly understand the thought process behind your feelings.

“I’m a mere blip on your timeline; I barely take up any space, considering how long you’ve lived and how long you will live. I’m like a fucking baby compared to you, and I truly don’t know anything about the world in the way that you do. Why am I to believe that I’m anything different compared to all of the other human partners you’ve taken? You haven’t turned any of them, and there’s no way that you’ll turn me. Even if you don’t grow tired of me within the next few months, I will grow old and die; it’s inevitable. I’ll die, and you’ll continue on with living.”

“But in the meantime--” you cut Michael off, too fired up to let him speak.

“In the meantime, I’m a meal. That’s all humans are to you and your kind. You can sugarcoat it all you want, say that I’m your ‘lover’ and that you ‘cherish’ me, but at the end of the day, I’m nothing more than a to-go meal for you. Your entire mission is to let Hell rule on Earth, and enslave the best, most tasty humans as your blood bags. Who’s to say that I won’t wake up to you draining me one day? I help you get your meals, but the only thing separating them from me is that I managed to make you laugh long enough to escape death.”

Michael knows that you have some valid points and a right to be upset by them. Tears brim your eyes, but you refuse to allow him to see you cry or show any more vulnerability than you’ve already been forced to. He kisses the back of your hand over and over again, calming you down before he speaks.

“Do you know why I have never turned any of my previous human partners?” You shake your head, shrugging. “It’s because, although I have loved each and every one of them very much, I knew that they were not compatible with eternity. None of them would be able to handle the burden that an immortal life comes with. Sometimes, they also choose to turn down my offer. I have only offered the gift to three people in my lifetime, and all three of them said no.”

“So the Countess…?”

“Is not one of my creations, no. In fact, I have yet to make a creation.”

“Why have they said no, then?”

“There was a man,” Michael says slowly, fondly, “who I was very much enamored with. It was over a hundred years ago, but I can still remember everything about him like it was yesterday. He’s the last mortal I’ve ever offered to turn, and he refused. Said that he didn’t want to live long enough to see what became of his works. He told me that his mortal life was painful enough, and that he rather wouldn’t extend it for an indeterminate amount of time. I was...heartbroken. I vowed that I would never allow myself to get close to a human again, and that I would never offer anyone the gift for as long as I lived.”

“Michael, I’m so sorry.” You reach for his face, gently tracing your fingers along his jawline.

“No need to be sorry, I’ve long since moved on.” He kisses your cheeks, letting his forehead fall against yours. “I didn’t tell you this to get pity from you. I told you this so that you would understand that I don’t treat all humans as my prey. I have a...talent, if you will, a sort of night vision for the soul. I can see exactly who each person truly is, no matter how they try to hide it.”

“So I passed that test, then?”

Michael chuckles, “you did, and so has every human I’ve ever been fond of. I can’t promise you much: eternity, that I’ll be the lover you need me to be, or even regular dates. But I can promise you that, no matter what happens, you will always hold a special place in my heart.”

“Right next to Oscar Wilde?” you prod with a cheeky smile on your face.

“Hypothetically, if I had been in a relationship with Oscar Wilde, then yes.” He’s deliberately careful with how he chooses his words, enjoying stringing you out on this mystery.

“Thank you,” you kiss him softly. “I’m sorry for being annoying lately.”

“You weren’t annoying, not in the slightest.” Michael shifts you on his lap, so you’re now straddling him. “Are you feeling better now?”

“I am.”

“Good, I can’t stand to see you upset.” His fangs are peeking over the top of his full bottom lip, and you grin before lightly touching the point.

“Are you hungry? It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve fed from me, we should be good.” You start to sweep your hair away from your neck, but Michael stops you.

“I am hungry, but it’s a...different type of hunger,” he alludes, making your face heat up as he rapidly changes positions so you’re lying on your back. “Let me show you just how special you are to me, darling.”

//////////////////////

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[openyourmindtocloseit]

The Illusion of Need In My Life

What do you need? Do you desire to live a life oozing with passion, pleasure, and beauty? Would a bottle of Bordeaux enhance your sense of personal grandeur, with its elegant label harkening back to the 1920ies era of dancing, literary giants smoking in cafes, and midnight strolls down narrow European city streets with dewy, stone paved roads glistening in the moonlight? It would sit there on the table with some fresh fruits, a few stinky cheeses that cost a pretty penny, and some toasted nuts and chocolates to complete this romantic sight. It does create an ambiance. Real wood, candles, french music wisping through the house, the smell of bread being baked. We are human, and being such our senses tell us something about what is good and what’s bad. Those rotten eggs, yeah, they smell bad, you shouldn’t eat them. That lavender, it is lowering your stress and evoking feelings of peace and tranquility with each sniff, you should continue to wear that lotion and to smooth the wrinkles in your hand and allow the tension you have had in your face to relax, it was barely perceptible before that moment. How long had your brow been furrowed? I digress. We use our senses to tell us the difference between good and bad, sick and healthy, dangerous and safe. These are good things and it is wise for us to discern these things and not blindly walk, this expression in itself is based on a revoking of our senses, but what I am saying is we don’t walk blindly into situations that would endanger us. We use sense and sense comes from that wise use of senses. At this point I may have lost you, and I do apologize for belaboring these words and describing to you something so commonplace, does it really need to be discussed? Well I would argue that many things I perceive and see to be obvious points of fact in life and in the human experience, have in my lifetime become things many people around me seem to question, or are urged to question. Is it all an illusion? Are we really just mindless chemical factories that operate on some sort of cosmic battery pack and everything I hope, sense, will, and pray for is not only pointless, but it was pointless to believe it wasn’t pointless. Depressed yet? Yeah, me too. Let’s leave that behind and get to the meat here. 

What I have learned about my senses is that they are powerful and at times I find it hard to overcome them for the good of myself and those I love. It is evident to me, that I am constantly being marketed too, and yet, at times I forget that it is marketing and that it is not necessary for a full life to own more beautiful things, taste more delicious wines and foods, and have more cozy days in sweaters. I do love those things and do not intend to leave them out of my life, however, to acknowledge to oneself that the feeling of need is not the actuality of need is important. Today I was looking at these beautiful bottles of wine and I had some other work to do, but I thought, I really have to figure out how to get this for an affordable price because life is less rich without pleasures like this, and I love the taste of good wine and pair it with a good meal, well I am a darn connoisseur, and I can encourage others to live richly without the money or luxury, but simply with a bottle of wine… which both cost money and is a luxury. You may say, yeah I think this is just your disordered mind, but I know more than I have this experience when we see something that seems like it could really elevate our lives and believe that it is of utmost importance to find another area to pinch in order to bring that luxury into our lives. For now, I am thankful I saw my insanity before I purchased a box of wine way over what my budget would allow, which is approximately zero dollars spent on wine. It is so unromantic. I like to be the Parisienne in my mind, and believe that I would rather have wine than rice, and that my legs will carry me anywhere I absolutely need to go if my car breaks down. The truth is, however, I do not live in Paris. The city I live in is stretched across miles and miles, and many areas are dilapidated and industrial spaces that do not always keep the most savory characters on it’s corners and streets. I would be putting myself in more potentially dangerous situations due to traffic, pollution, people, and general exhaustion if I walked each place I needed to be. I would be wiser to save my wine dollars to get my car tuned up or save for an upgrade in cars entirely. I humbly divulge this information to tell you that this has to be conscious for me, it is not obvious. I am unreasonable, I am sensuous, and senseless… Which seem like contradictions, but we don’t rely solely on our senses and their pleasures, we rely on our consciousness, and that consciousness can also be disordered which would be mental illness, but more on that another time. 

Really, what would be most beneficial is not to buy more things, although many things help us to lead more productive, well ordered, loving, lives and I am not against all purchases by any means, even purchases of wine, I do hope someday to budget a few delectable wines into my life, but many purchases are wildly unnecessary and are at their root a sort of covetous discontentment. It is your fault, because it is your heart that reacts to these advertisements and we know from Jerimiah 17:9 that:

 The heart is deceitful above all things,

    and desperately sick;

    Who can understand it?

… and yet, we can help ourselves a bit. What does that look like for me? Oh, well, simple thankfulness, knowing what’s in my home already, and also unsubscribing from things that market to me endlessly. I often get off social media and have recently realized that being free from that constant stream of marketing is also helpful. I would encourage most people to say goodbye to social media for good, but I understand the right attraction to it. The benefits rarely outweigh its detriment to my life. However, I plan to write on that another time. For now, I leave you with a bit of wisdom from Saint Augustine, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” and this great piece of poetry from Job:

Job Continues: Where Is Wisdom?

28 “Surely there is a mine for silver,

and a place for gold that they refine.

2  Iron is taken out of the earth,

and copper is smelted from the ore.

3  Man puts an end to darkness

and searches out to the farthest limit

the ore in gloom and deep darkness.

4  He opens shafts in a valley away from where anyone lives;

they are forgotten by travelers;

they hang in the air, far away from mankind; they swing to and fro.

5  As for the earth, bout of it comes bread,

but underneath it is turned up as by fire.

6  It's stones are the place of sapphires,1

and it has dust of gold.

7  “That path no bird of prey knows,

and the falcon’s eye has not seen it.

8  dThe proud beasts have not trodden it;

the lion has not passed over it.

9  “Man puts his hand to the flinty rock

and overturns mountains by the roots.

10  He cuts out channels in the rocks,

and his eye sees every precious thing.

11  He dams up the streams so that they do not trickle,

and the thing that is hidden he brings out to light.

12  g“But where shall wisdom be found?

And where is the place of understanding?

13  Man does not know its worth,

and it is not found in the land of the living.

14  iThe deep says, ‘It is not in me,’

and the sea says, ‘It is not with me.’

15  Itl Cannot be bought for gold,

and silver cannot be weighed as its price.

16  It cannot be valued in the gold of Ophir,

in precious onyx or sapphire.

17  Gold and glass cannot equal it,

nor can it be exchanged for jewels of fine gold.

18  No mention shall be made of coral or of crystal;

The price of wisdom is above pearls.

19  qThe topaz of Ethiopia cannot equal it,

nor can it be valued in pure gold.

20  “From where, then, does wisdom come?

And where is the place of understanding?

21  It is hidden from the eyes of all living

and concealed from the birds of the air.

22  Abaddon and Death say,

‘We have heard a rumor of it with our ears.’

23  t“God understands the way to it,

and he knows its place.

24  For her looks to the ends of the earth

and sees everything under the heavens.

25  When he gave to the wind its weight

and apportioned the waters by measure,

26  when he made a decree for the rain

and wa way for the lightning of the thunder,

27  then he saw it and declared it;

he established it, and searched it out.

28  And he said to man,

‘Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom,

and to turn away from evil is understanding.’”

[hollandroos]

Run To Me; Part Five

You do not have to read this first book to read this one! - There are a lot of dad/mafia series, so if this seems similar to yours then message me for credit.

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun: Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9 Pt.10 Pt.11 Pt.12 Pt.13 Pt.14 Pt.15 Pt.16 Pt.17 Pt.18 Pt.19 Pt.20 + NSFW Alphabet with Mob!Tom

Run To Me: Prologue Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Words: 5k - Notes: I know this isn’t exactly what you guys wanted for this chapter but it was soo long so I had to split it in half!!!

Read on Wattpad! + Playlist!

-

Rain stained the glass windows, sliding down the clear screen slowly- much slower than the hasty mobster that rushed around his room to collect his things. He had to stop every few moments to straighten out his hair that he’d admit, was a little overgrown at this point. Strands hung over his face in locks that could no longer be called curls from the number of times he’d run a hand through it.

Tom couldn’t see the rain because even at twelve fifteen pm he had his curtains pulled shut tightly, relying on light from the crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling directly above his bed, red silk sheets practically glowing thanks to the white light.

Tom stared himself down in the body length mirror, wondering if even the simple pair of denim jeans and the white shirt he wore was too much- or was it too little? He wanted to make a good impression but not come off too strong.

It was dead silent in the room apart from the odd creek as he paced back in forth in the oversized bedroom and the gentle tap of the rain outside, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him not to go- it was loud and screeching and wouldn’t give out. He’d given in to that voice on many occasions and each time it had landed him in the dumps. Only once did it actually do something good for him.

It was his father's voice. Clear as day- and as assertive and condoning as ever.

The only time his father had ever done anything good for him was the day he sat down with your parents and signed away both of your rights to fall in love on your own terms. As awful as it sounded, the arranged marriage that simultaneously destroyed and opened new doors had taught Tom what it was to be loved and to be in love.

Then again, if that contract was never signed then Harrison wouldn’t be dead-  you wouldn’t be riddled with PTSD and the last six years would’ve never happened and Tom wouldn’t be wallowing in self-pity and the odd empty bottles behind closed doors. Yet again, he probably would still be wallowing in self-pity and you’d still be far away from the other.

Standing beside his bed, Tom’s hand hovered over the gun that rested on the cabinet before he curled his fingers around it. With the weapon heavy in his hand he stuffed it in the nearest drawer with slight hesitation beneath a layer of socks. It was unusual for Tom not to have one sitting at his waist, not even arm's length away to be without it felt like a part of him was missing. He felt only a little bit more vulnerable.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Do you need to take a weapon with you everywhere?” You give him a lopsided smile, watching Tom shove the weapon into the side of his jeans.

Tom grabs one of your hands and pulled you closer until you were merely chest to chest, the only thing separating the two of you was a thin layer of clothing. “It’s for protection, never know when someone’s going to attack.”

“And someone will attack you in the middle of the street? Tommy, there’ll be people everywhere.” You say, breath tickling his lips. Tom was able to smell the mint you’d taken from his drawer when he wasn’t looking.

A grey beanie sat on your head pushing strands of hair down flat against the side of your face, a pair of woolly gloves cover your fingers because no doubt they’d turn a sickly shade of blue the second you walked out of those doors.

“You never know, sweetheart. If something happens I need to be prepared.” He tries to convince you but knew it was failing drastically when you only shake your head, one hand snaking to his waist where your fingers wrap around the base of the gun.

Tom swore he’d never moved so quickly before, one of his hands reaching around and grasping yours that was prepared to pull the deadly weapon out of his jeans.

“Just this once- for today. We’ll leave it here.” You push, eyes widening- your eyes were one of his weakness, he swore the damn things went on for miles. “If someone attacks us then I’ll take them out myself- Haz has taught me a lot, you know!” You grip tightens around the gun, fluffy gloves beneath his hands making it almost impossible for him to take you seriously.

He slips his lips between his teeth, a deep sigh exiting his lips. “Sweetheart-”

You stop him, raising a brow. “Tom?”

The gentle hum of a song playing from the radio can be heard as you stare up, eyes filled with pure persistence boring right into his. “One time- We’ll leave it here just this once but if I die it’s on you.”

“Got it, sir.” You salute, black glove knocking the woolen beany and Tom removes his hand, allowing you to pull the gun out of the waistband on his jeans. It weighs you down only slightly. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Sir, now?” Tom smirks, chuckling lightly as you run a clothed finger over the two letters engraved into the item. T.H.

“Oh be quiet!” You mutter, escaping his arms with the fully loaded weapon still in one hand. It didn’t dawn on you what the weapon could do. For a moment you felt so content that you almost forgot about the black gun that stared you straight in the face on the day of your mother's death. “Let’s go!”

As Tom stood still, staring into the drawn that held the one thing he kept closest he was able to hear the gentle ‘pitter-patter’ of the rain hitting the wooden decking, making Tessa perk her head and pad over to the curtains that were still pulled shut. She nudged one with her nose, allowing only a smidge of light to poke through but considering the weather the only light was grey and muggy.

The rain wasn’t odd in London, in fact, that got it quite frequently but today it felt different. Maybe today Tom was hoping for a little sunshine- a little change.

Your cheeks were icy cold, the tip of your nose a different shade than the rest of you as you walked through the packed streets. Tom was tenser then usual, his grip on your hand not faltering once while he kept his back straight- eyes hard.

You notice everything and while you tried to ignore it at first, stopping to look at things in shops and on stands it began to get annoying when he barely gave you anything more than a little nod or a peck on the cheek.

But still, that didn't stop your lips from curling into a smile at the sight of a family of ducks including four ducklings wandering down the footpath, or a mum pushing her twin daughters in a pushchair, briefly muttering the words ‘Emily and Delilah.’ The girls wore matching winter coats that went up to their jaws, a string of saliva falling from one’s mouth as she mumbled something incoherent.

Tom would admit that it was one of the most beautiful sites he’d ever seen and yes, he’d seen a lot. But seeing you smile as much as you could despite the cold, small strands of hair blowing over your eyes every few moments and cheeks struck pink he couldn’t help but feel some of his nerves melt away like snow.

“Tom?” You say, a frown forming when your husband doesn’t seem interested in a street show you had chosen to watch.

“What?” He mutters- not harshly at all. It was the fact that his words held no emotion.

“Look at me,” You tempt him, halting your steps. People begin to walk around the two of you, dodging you like a bullet. Your covered hands go up to his cheeks, cupping them with your hands and Tom’s cheeks that were tinted pink bask in the sudden warmth. “Nothing's going to happen.”  

He felt almost naked without the weapon in his back pocket but seeing your soft eyes, gentle and calm he couldn’t help but want to enjoy this day. Still, Tom wasn’t going to completely lower his guard. “I know, I’m going to try.”  

Tom still couldn’t understand-  It wasn’t that he couldn’t accept the fact that he had a kid- a living, breathing human because he accepted it the moment he heard the name slip from Aiden's lips like a curse. A wave of protection washed over a heavy amount of confusion and shock.

It was a beautiful name, five letters long with three vowels and two syllables. It reminded him of flowers, roses to be specific and the fiery red one’s that were planted in his backyard.

He smothered out the shirt, knowing that the cleaners had done an immaculate job but Tom found himself fidgeting with the hem, soft cotton creating friction between his fingertips as he stared down at his feet- Tom didn’t think, not even allowing a thought about how his room was colder than need be or why was Tessa sniffling at a spot in the corner of the room.

It was a day that he should’ve been excited for, yet the mobster felt an overwhelming sense of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was nervous beyond disbelief, a feeling he only felt for a while after you left but now it was back- somehow having found its way back in his life like a pest. It ate away any and what little contentment he may have felt before.

Tom took one more glance at the Rolex, gold band indicating Twelve twenty-three and with bruised knuckles, he picked up his coat and slung it over a shoulder, keys smacking against his phone. He almost wished he hadn’t gone as hard as he had on the punching the night before and ended up damaging himself even more- his brothers always warned him that one day he’d break his knuckles on that bag. With an increasing amount of feelings he couldn’t quite decipher, he only gave himself a little bit more time before he ended up with an injury such as that.

Maybe it would scare her- the marks that stained his fists. Tom had never really thought about being a dad before and he didn’t think he was going to become one straight away- he had no idea what to do and how to act. At four years old he didn’t know if she still drunk from a sippy cup or if she could say more than five words without messing up.

But he was willing to try.

-

“I thought you wanted to get yourself dressed from now on?” You tease, seeing Rosie sitting at the bar stool still in her pyjamas. She struggles to get the metal spoon to her lips, chocolate flavoured milk drips down her chin.

“Don’t feel well.” The little girl mutters, hands moving across a piece of what was once pure, white paper a little sloppier than normal.

You move towards your daughter, cotton pyjama shirt sitting over a pair of ankle length pyjama pants. “Stomach ache?”

She shakes her head, hair that she’d obviously tried to put up herself bouncing around. “Throat hurts.”

Gently, you put a hand to her forehead feeling that yes, it was far too hot for your liking and her flushed cheeks and along with the fluffy blanket she had tightly wrapped around her shoulders all indicated towards a cold or the flu. Your heart aches for a moment but Rosie doesn’t look too bothered by the sickness and she continues her usual morning routine- consisting of a scribbly drawing and a bowl of her cereal of choice.

You flick the kettle, taking the piece of toast that you’d previously been eating and take another small bite from one of the corners. A dollop of raspberry jam sits on your tongue, much colder after being refrigerated then the toast that had only popped out of the toaster minutes ago.

It’s the perfect mix of sweet and sour.

“I can’t send you to daycare sick like this, Roo.” You speak up, noticing the little orange fish on her piece of paper.

“I’ll stay home.” She tells you. Rosie mindlessly brings the glass of orange juice to her lips and takes a mouthful before going back to her chocolate cereal.

“I have plans today, important ones.” You say, ignoring the way your heartbeat speed up slightly at the thought. “I can cancel…” You debate it for a moment. Maybe it was a sign, something telling you- no, pushing you to cancel the plans that were a bad idea in the first place.

For a moment your daughter's symptoms distracted you from the pit of nerves bubbling away in your stomach. It was never the plan for her to come along, the meeting meant to be between Tom and you- a simple meeting where you could discuss guidelines and learn to trust each other again but you could only imagine that the boy was itching to meet his daughter- if he was still the same Tom you knew.

A part of you wanted to take the girl sitting on the bar stool into your arms and never let her leave, to shower her rosy red cheeks in kisses and tickle her sides until spurts of laughter were falling from her lips. Maybe it was selfish but you didn’t want to share her just yet- merely wanting to grip every little moment with the four-year old that you could before she was fed up with you.

Physical affection was a scary thing and considering it came few and far between and while hugs and cuddles from Rosie were always welcomed with open arms- you craved another kind of touch, from someone with hands as soft yet calloused as Tom’s. Your heart ached for it.

“No!” Rosie blurts out, “I come.”

“You’re sick, Roo.” You try to tell her but she only shakes her head. “You can go to grandads?”

“No!” No seemed to be Rosie’s favourite word at the moment. She was using it whenever she could, maybe to the point where it was becoming too much. “Not grandads’. I’ll come with you.” She tells you, almost as if it were a demand. She shakes her head, sniffling lightly as she feels a small trail of snot begins to run down her nose. “Take me with you.” She looks up, “Please.”

Crossing your arms, you admit that you want to shake your head and say no to the girl but she only stares up with hopeful eyes, sippy cup in one hand. “Are you sure? It’s always warm at grandads and I can give him-”

“I wanna come with you, mum.” She admits, rubbing an eye with the back of her hand.

“You want to come sit at the cafe with me?”  You watch as your daughter replaces the red pencil for the blue one, beginning to color in what could either be a sky or a river. “Oh, now I see.” The corners of your lips turn upwards as you let out an exaggerated sigh. “Coffee today, is it?” You ask playfully, Rosie only screws her face up and sticks her tongue out.

“Gross,” She giggles. “Hot tocalet.”

You finish off the last of the toast,  jam somehow sticking to the tips of your fingers despite the fact that you’d been more than careful. “I don’t know if it’s the best Idea for you to come. I can just make you one when I get home!”

You look over, seeing that Rosie had dropped the pencil and was now staring into her bowl of soggy cocoa pops drenched in milk with a scowl, her lips pursed together tightly before a sneeze slips her lips- making her jump back suddenly. A few pencils fall to the floor, scattering around the tiles and Peter wooshes to the back of his tank to hide.

“If you do come, however.” You continue. “You be good, got it? No complaining that you want to go home- unless I ask you to start crying.”

Rosie takes a moment to process your words before her frown turns into a grin, pearly whites peeking through.

“Can Peter come to?” Rosie gets her hopes up for a moment, eyes boring into the circular fishbowl that sat on the kitchen table during the table and her bedroom at night.

You shake your head. “Peter needs to sleep. He’s still tired after Coral kept him up last night- plus he needs to settle into his new home.”

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you check for a message from Aiden. For some reason, you actually wanted one just to know if he was okay or at least alive. All ten messages and eleven missed calls to him went unseen- or they seemed to. There was only a message from a work friend asking you to take her shift next week and while your boyfriend's lack of response didn’t surprise you seeing as it was most likely Tom’s doing, you felt a tug in your chest. Something almost indescribable fairly lost between disappointment and frustration.

“True.” She mutters with a mouthful of cereal. You didn’t have the heart to tell the four-year-old not to talk with a mouth full of food as she sat with flushed red cheeks and a stuffy nose. “I’m finished.” She shows you the empty bowl, only a few cocoa pops stick to the side and you nod, taking the glass out of her hands before she can shatter it.

But it’s you that shatters it. The glass slips, tumbling to the floor and hits the tiles with a solid ‘smash.’ The loud noise echoes throughout the kitchen, bouncing off of the four walls and hitting you with an impact that would have knocked you off of your feet if you didn’t feel almost glued to the spot.

“Shhh, angel, I need you to keep quiet” Tom placed his hand back over your mouth, only tighter this time knowing that you were about to put up a fight but he had little time to explain. His other set of fingers wrapped tightly around his gun and the shock of the situation was still setting in.

He dragged you into the nearest stall and shut the door carefully, making sure not to flick the lock so it wouldn’t look occupied. One second you were washing your hands at the sinks, humming a soft tune and the next you were pressed up against the cold, tile wall.

Your eyes widened when you realized what was most likely happening, hands tightly gripping his wrist as you breathed in deeply through your nose, struggling to get the oxygen to your lungs. You couldn’t speak, but you did look up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You were sure you looked unkempt but Tom didn’t think so, too focused on what he’d seen outside of the bathroom.

Two figures wearing all black, hair thrown into dirty old caps despite the cold outside. He was sure they held weapons, more than the one small weapon that was currently in his hand.

“I need you to be quiet, okay? I think we’ve been compromised” His voice was barely louder than a harsh whisper and despite your small protests that sounded muffled underneath his hand, it was completely silent, Tom could practically hear your heartbeat and in fact-, if he slowed his breathing enough he could feel it.

Slowly, he removed his hand, keeping a firm grasp on his gun and placing a finger to his lips indicating for you to stay silent, which of course, you didn’t do.

“T-tom, what’s actually happening, are we okay?” your voice was shaky, only slightly louder then what he had been and you cursed this bathroom for being the first restaurant bathroom you’d ever used that hadn’t had music.

“We’ll be okay, but I need you to do what I say”.

You felt it again- the feeling of not being able to breathe. It was so sudden, everything washing over you so quickly and you swore you were back there because that event was only one of the many that were imprinted in your brain. Burned. You weren’t even able to focus on the shards that swarmed around your feet or your daughter that jumped at the impact and now stared with wide- glassy eyes.

It was a domino effect- one of the many events that led to the biggest one. Your mind swam with thoughts about what you could’ve done to prevent all of it, what Tom could have done instead of pulling the trigger so quickly and if there was any chance- any possible way you could go back in time and fix everything. They were insane thoughts that pestered you much like the birds at six am.

You remembered the side of the bathroom stall cold against your back, Tom’s hand somehow even colder over your mouth as you struggled to get air into your lungs. There was the feeling of being trapped and absolute panic and vulnerability as the door to the room was shoved open- what was up with Tom and others breaking into the ladies room?

“Mama?”

You look up suddenly, eyes no longer cast down at the kitchen bench and desperately needed a wipe.

“Yeah- shit, yeah I’m here.” You mutter, looking down. You’re almost lucky that none of the shards had pierced your skin and crouch down to pick it up.

Rosie tries to look over but fails, pouting slightly when she realizes that it was one of her favourite bowls besides the barbie one but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sneezes gently, strands of hair falling over her face. She’d much rather make a remark about the curse word but once again, doesn’t.

She jumps off of the stool, landing with a small ‘Omph’, groaning when the ground shock leaves her feet aching for a solid moment but doesn't complain- she’s tough, always has been. “I’m going to get myself dressed today!”

The words are muttered as she yells across the table, already on her next mission as she pads down the hallway to her room but you only nod, picking up glass shards with shaky hands.

What were you doing? Did you want this? What if he was more dangerous then before and got your daughter into trouble-

It was hard to explain exactly what you were feeling- surely there wasn’t any concoction of words that could describe it. The only word that came to mind was anxiety and even that didn’t explain the extent.

-

Rosie stuck her clothed thumb between her teeth and sucked gently, ignoring the small ache in the back of her throat that made her want to cry- as well as her nose that was sore and itchy from blowing it on tissue paper all morning. Also, she had to ignore the fact that the fluffy gloves she wore made it much more uncomfortable but her mom had demanded that she leave them on.

She shivers when a gust of wind brushes past her, despite the fact that her mommy had dressed her up in her warmest pair of pants, at least three layers of shirts including a thermal and woollen jumper that made her look like sheep and a pink beanie with a flower on the front. She hadn’t agreed to the woollen jumper and pants that were an ugly shade of blue but it was better then going to grandads.

The girl loved the cold weather for some reason, but not when she was sick. There was something so special about jumping in puddles and getting mud everywhere. She loved covering her purple and blue gumboots in mud and searching through the icky water for worms-  but her mommy didn’t think it was so fun- not when she was the one that had to clean the soggy clothing.

Rosie sticks a foot into one of the puddles, her little black bootie turning an even darker shade of black and she giggles, looking at her reflection in the puddle. Rosie didn’t like her curls very much so she liked that the beanie pushed them down, flattened out the frizz.

“Roo, what’re you doing?” You ask, sighing in relief when you find your daughter a little closer to the restaurant then you’d asked her to wander whilst collecting your things from the car.

“Puddle.” She cheers, reaching down to smack the water but you grab her hand before she can. The small girl squeals when she finds herself in your arms instead of ground level, seeing as she was only seconds away from touching the dirty rainwater.

“Not with the gloves on, missy!” You tell her. Rosie nods down at her clothed hands, grey gloves covering her bandaged hands.

“Next time,” She whispers under her breath, rosy red cheeks as she brings a gloved hand to her face and tries to rub her eyes but it merely fails. The girl rests her head on your shoulder, tired eyes fluttering shut as you cross the road.

You found that since having a child, mundane tasks like this become simply more stressful. Cars that only came from two ways were considered ten times more dangerous and you refused to cross until there was a gap that allowed a safe crossing- especially with her in your arms as she was.

You get to the other side and put the girl down, getting down to eye level to straighten out her coat and take off the beanie that sat on her head. Rosie reaches for it immediately and you pull it away

“It’s rude to wear hats inside,” You remind her, fixing her hair that stuck to the side of her face. “Right, remember what I told you.”

Rosie nods. “Be good. Make talk and be nice.” She seemed proud of herself and sends you a crooked smile. “He might be ner-scared.”

You were unsure how Tom was feeling right now but if you were him you’d be shaking, hands clammy and mouth dry. You were still stuck on whether or not this was the best thing to do, maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t. You were trapped in a familiar haze.

“Think you can do that?” You ask.

Rosie nods her head once more, seeming sure of herself.

Maybe the small talk with your daughter was a way of trying to calm your nerves and a  seemingly successful one at that, but as you get down on one knee and look at her eye to eye you find yourself feeling nauseous to the point where you swear for a single second that bile was resting in the back of your throat.

Sometimes something can happen that's so bad, so goddamn horrible that it feels like nothing good can come out of it and in no way can things get better, because they simply can’t, right? You want to lock yourself in a room and bury yourself under layers of blankets until you can’t be seen. That feeling in the pit of your stomach keeps growing until you’re stuck in a cycle of feeling bad, dwelling on events that are most definitely dwell worthy but things keep getting worse until bang- the girl in front of you struggling to stand straight and trying to keep the cheeky smile off of her face was the result of a selection of bad events. She was proof of pushing through. Literally? Figuratively?

Not all were bad. Meeting Tom and falling in love wasn’t bad until it was.

It was good when it was the two of you laying in bed on a week day, you trying to convince him to stay in for a little longer as he muttered something about meetings. It was good when he’d pull you into his lap after a tough day and run a hand through your hair, playing with strands and ranting on about his day. And it was good when he’d try his very best to make a meal himself. Despite the burnt potatoes and over seasoned vegetables the boy could actually cook.

And it was good when Rosie was placed in your arms after a seven-hour labor, little cries piercing yours and the nurse's ears but no one said anything as warm, salty tears slid down your cheeks. She had already been wrapped in a little, pink blanket, small head poking out the top but you already knew that she was precious- you came to that sudden conclusion the moment you saw the very first ultrasound picture.

But when it was bad, it was bad. It was gunshots and screams ringing through your eyes. It was broken hearts and tears for all the wrong reasons. The bad never came directly from Tom who despite his exterior, had a heart of gold that had beat for you day after day. The bad came from those that were hungry for vengeance and vengeance they got when they put a bullet through the skull of a good man.

For five years the topic of Rosie’s dad never came up. Not even as she lay in your arms as an infant- you didn’t bring him up. It was an awful case of being in denial about the entire situation.

“I love you.” You tell her without really having to think about it. One of your hands come up to take hers, the wooly glove warm against your own hand as you stand up from your crouched position.

“You told me that before.” She giggles, voice slightly stuffy thanks to the cold.

“Did I?” You look down once more, a cheeky smile masking the nerves threatening to spill as you grip the door, tugging it open and allowing your girl to walk in first, her hand still in yours. “Princess Roo.”

Remember that updates are partially dependant on your response (as well as my love for writing these) ♡

Pt.6

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[circle-of-six-mages]

Prologue: 1000 Years Ago

The carriage bumped along, carrying six happily chatting girls and one miserable driver. It was no wonder that his mood was like this; it had been raining for over an hour now; since about five minutes after the girls reboarded the carriage.

They had been on a mission delivered straight from the High King of Rashiviio, and he was their transportation. When they climbed in the carriage, as if by magic, it began pouring.

He sighed and decided to take a nap. The horses knew their way back to Ranseed Palace. He could only sleep for a few minutes, but he couldn't stay awake, either; his eyes were drooping down.

He woke to startled whinnying. He noticed with dismay that it was no longer raining. He must've slept longer than he wanted to.

One of the horses whinnied again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He wasn't worried; they spooked at everything. A rabbit had probably ran across their path. He opened his eyes, preparing to calm the horses down.

And immediately let out the scream of a five-year-old girl.

Standing in front of him was a 10 foot tall A-Class Scorpion Type Demon.

“Hello.” The Demon said as if it were trying to appear amiable. However, evil leaked through its voice, and its true intentions were crystal clear to the driver.

They were in a clearing in the woods. He recognized this part of the woods; it was about a mile away from the bridge over the Great Divide, which separated the town where the High King’s palace stood and the Kingdom of Earth, from which all Earth Mages hailed.

“Mr. Driver?” Came another voice. They had probably sensed the Demon’s presence, and were trying to make sure he was alright.

He finally found his voice. “HELP!” He screamed. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

The Demon pouted. At least, that's what it looked like to the driver. It was really just a giant black blob in the shape of a scorpion.

“Here I was gonna tell you why I didn't kill you while you slept. You still wanna know?” It asked.

Inside the carriage, there was rustling. Probably the girls grabbing their swords and usual fighting staffs.

The driver could only stare at the Demon with an almost comically scared face and skin paler than that of a ghost. It was all he could do not to pee his pants.

The Demon cocked his head. “If you don't answer, I'm gonna kill you.” He said impatiently.

Then came a series of knocks on the wood behind him. He recognized it as Hemres Code, a phonetic code invented thousands of years ago that most humans still knew and used. He realized they were relying on him being one of the many who did.

Keep him distracted. They said. We’ve got a plan.

How am I supposed to do that?!

He took a deep breath. If these girls can face death fearlessly almost every day, I can distract it, right? It can't be that hard. I mean, this one seems to like talking.

He looked up at the Demon, “Sure. Why didn't you kill me?”

The Demon seemed to smile. “Well, first of all, may I say that you look adorable when you’re sleeping?! And second of all-” here, the Demon’s smile became malicious- “I never make my kill while their eyes are closed. If I do that, I can't watch the light leave their eyes! And that’s the best part about killing.” He looked at the driver. “Speaking of which-” he poised his tail to kill the driver-

And a blue blur whizzed by the tail, taking the tail with it. A blue-haired girl appeared about five feet away from the Demon, crouching, her sword poised at her side from the follow-through of her swing. The Demon’s tail thumped in the grass next to her.

Two crimson daggers flew out of the woods to the driver’s left, bouncing off of the Demon’s tough armor.

Seconds later, five mages jumped down in a circle around him, with the blue-haired girl completing it. Red, brown, purple, white, and black haired fluttered in the air as the girls landed and straightened.

The Demon seemed to smirk. “Nice try, for girls anyway. However, only Element Blades can pierce my armor. And you can only receive them from the Gods and Goddesses of your respective element.” He whirled around to face the girl with blue hair. “Which this one seems to have, meaning…

I have to kill you first.”

In response, the girls each drew a blade that matched their hair. The Demon stopped short. If he could have, he would've paled.

They all had Element Blades.

Element Blades were swords made purely from a Mage’s Element. One had to receive them from the patron God or Goddess of their Element. For example, a Fire Mage had to prove herself to the Fire Goddess, Meeria, in order to receive such a sword.

The girl with white hair smiled sunnily. “Yes, of course we do!” She frowned innocently. “You do know who we are, right?”

The Demon just about died of a heart attack. These were not just any Mages. These were not just a random group of six Mages. This was the group of six Mages. The Circle of Six Mages.

A quiet voice spoke behind him. “We have these, too.” It said. He whirled to ask what she meant and was met by a purple Element Dagger in his chest. He began to crumble and fade, turning into a pile of black rocks, at the top of which a glittering black stone rested, glittering in the setting sun.

The girl with black hair stepped forward and grabbed it. She smiled softly. “Another Onyx, almost as good as the one from that SSS class monstrosity.” She said, slipping it in her cloak pocket before drawing the hood.

The driver just sat, clutching the reins, appearing as though he were in a permanent state of shock. The horses had long since run off.

A very demonic screech sounded in the direction of the Divide. Then another, and another. Screeches came every few seconds.

The Circle looked at each other warily. It sounded like there were a lot of Demons.

The purple haired girl stepped up shyly. She waved her hand. “Here.” She said, and a ball of wind surrounded the carriage, picking up dust and leaves and other debris. “This'll take you home. You can use the reins to control it, just like the horses. Go ahead, we’ll be back at the palace soon, and stop by the stables to tell you we’re alright.”

Her voice was quiet, and very, very shy.

The driver merely nodded, and snapped the reins as if there really were horses in front of it. Soon he was riding away at top speed.

The girls gave each other a grim look, and took off through the woods. There couldn't be that many, or they would've been seen by people traveling by. It was a busy road, after all. Even if they'd hidden in the divide, they would've been seen by people crossing it barely a mile away.

The Mages raced through the woods, combing the area for any trace of demonic energy.

About ten minutes later, they came to the Divide. They looked around. Nothing.

We must've imagined it. Thought the blue-haired girl, tucking a shoulder length strand of hair behind her ear.

“There are no demons here, and it sounds like one is no more than fifty yards away.” The black-haired girl said, deep in thought.

As if to answer her, another screech sounded, this one even closer. And suddenly, at the bottom of the canyon, a cat type demon shimmered into sight. It looked straight at them and yowled again.

The blue-haired girl’s face contorted in confusion.”But how did it conceal itself from us? I've never seen this!”

“If you can shut up from your no-knowledge-breakdown, four eyes, she has an idea.” Said the redhead, pointing to the girl with white hair. She was chewing on her lip thoughtfully.

The girl with blue hair glared at the redhead, shoved her glasses up her nose, and nodded for the white- haired girl to continue.

“Well,” she began, smiling, “back in the Kingdom of Light, we would use a type of barrier to keep the smaller villages that were more prone to attack hidden. It was a Dome-Type that kept everything under it invisible. The only catch was it didn't have any sort of repulsion, so if you stumbled under the Dome, you could see everything.”

The blue-haired girl, still looking a little wary, scrunched her eyebrows again. “Well, how do we hear that cat like it’s almost within arm’s reach? This canyon is over one thousand miles deep!”

The white-haired girl nodded. “My many-times great grandmother enchanted it, back during the reign of the Second High King. Basically, she made it so that sound in this area is all on a flat plain. Meaning, even though the demons are technically over a thousand miles away from us, on the magic plain, they're not even five feet away. That's also why we can see them so clearly from so far away. The King requested it as an early-warning system.”

The redhead sighed impatiently. “Great, that's great, we know why shit happens. Amazing. I don't care. Let's go kill it.”

“No!” The white-haired girl said. “There’s probably a reason the barrier was erected. We should scout it out from up here first.”

The girl with blue hair nodded,rubbing invisible dirt off of her glasses. “I agree. If someone was smart enough to erect the barrier-” she paused, breathed hot air on her glasses, and continued wiping and speaking- “they were trying to hide something.” She put her glasses back on. “We should find out what it is.”

The redhead looked like she wanted to jump down and clash head-on with the Cat Demon (which was giving itself a cat bath), but the girl with glasses merely glared at her and said sternly, “from up here.”

The redhead growled frustratedly, but the blue haired girl just rolled her eyes. “We need a plan.”

The whited haired girl, deep in thought again, said,”what if we picked them off from up here? The canyon is very deep; not even a SSS Class Demon could jump it. They'd have to climb, and we can kill them before they reach us.”

As she had talked, a smile had grown across the strategist's face. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she asked,”Can you do the invisibility dome spell?”

A smile equivalent to the strategist’s grew on her face. “Yup.”

“Let's do this then.”

And suddenly, all the Mage's eyes lit up, as if there had been some form of invisible communication. All of their eyes gleamed with determination as they began to execute their silently communicated plan.

The Water Mage raised her arms and drew one back, as if knocking an invisible arrow on an invisible bow. And then one shimmered into existence, quite literally because it was made of aquamarines that could've passed as water. The arrow she was knocking was made of wickedly pointed tip. She aimed it at the Cat Demon.

The Light  Mage drew her arm back, mimicking poising a spear for throwing. She opened her palm ard a light appeared over it, extending until it became one, made of a white, almost transparent quartz.

The Dark Mage held her arms by her side, extended about a foot. In each hand, spheres materialized which appeared to devour the very air around it. From that darkness, a boomerang formed in each hand, its wickedly sharp blade glinting in the sun.

The Wind Mage held her arms in an X in front of her. She opened her hands, and winds began gathering around her, beginning to glow violet. The winds died down, leaving her holding two amethyst chakrams, one in each hand.

The Earth Mage held her hand out in front of her, her fingers spread yet flat, but her index finger curled. A glowing boulder almost a foot wide fell out of nowhere. It landed in her palm and shattered so profoundly that all was left was dust and a dark brown slingshot in her palm, the ring around her finger, already loaded.

The Fire Mage, not seeming very happy about not being in blade-to-blade combat, held her arm behind her in a similar fashion to the Light Mage. Flames roared and sparked, but instead of a spear, she was left with a ruby-red atlatl.

This happened in perfect unison. Immediately after summoning her weapon, the Light Mage began glowing. A dome began to spring from her, resisting like an elastic band. Finally, it practically exploded, shooting out as far as they could see. What was left was an invisibility dome about ten feet high and ten feet in diameter. They could see through it as if nothing was there.

This all happened in less than ten seconds, for the girls knew they had to act quickly. And act quickly they did. As soon as the dome was in place, they simultaneously began their attack.

The Water Mage released her arrow, piercing the Cat Demon right in the butt, as it was chasing its tail. It gave a pained yowl and crumbled into a pile of red rocks, a ruby perching at the top. The blue haired girl pulled back the arrow string again, another arrow springing into existence with a small pop. She did this again and again, sometimes releasing the string so early that the arrows came into existence flying through the air as if they'd been on the bow since the beginning.

The Light Mage threw her spear. It crashed through five demons before burying itself halfway up the shaft on the opposite canyon wall. She drew her left hand back and threw nothing, but a spear sparked into existence about two feet from her. She repeated this process over and over, each spear killing five or six demons.

The Dark Mage threw one of the boomerangs. It spun, arcing around as it spun. It sliced through several Demons before disappearing completely. She set up to spin another, releasing one after the other.

The Wind Mage threw one of the chakrams like a frisbee, and one replaced it in her hand immediately. It cut through quite a few Demons before slicing through a canyon wall and disappearing. She threw the chakram in the other hand and continued this alternating pattern.

The Earth Mage spun the slingshot a couple times and released the rock. About three feet from the sling, it grew into a boulder almost five feet in diameter. It landed with a huge thunk and crushed a few Demons, tossing still others to the side.

The Fire Mage swung the atlatl with one hand like a whip. However, instead of a powerful string coming around, a dart whizzed from the long shaft. She raised and swung again and again, darts automatically reloading themselves.

As the projectiles began to exit the shield, most of them teleported to different parts of the canyon, so they rained down equally and randomly. This way, no Demon could follow the volleys and figure out where the Six were.

Stones of red, orange yellow, green, blue, violet, black and even brown crumbled from fallen Demons, perched with stones that matched the color of the stones: rubies, topazes, citrines, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, onyxes, and pretty brown larkrakrovs. However, no white stones or gems appeared.

“You know, attacking from a place where no one can see you is rather rude. Shall we even go to the playing field a bit?”said an unfamiliar voice. Before the girls could even turn to see the speaker, they all had the sensation of being kicked in the stomach, but from behind, like something had gone through their spine to attack the lining of it. They all fell into the Divide.

The Wind Mage, thinking quickly, created an air bubble around the Six to slow their descent. Five minutes later, they landed softly and safely on the ground.

A huge black cloud appeared immediately in front of them, radiating huge amounts of demonic energy. The girls knew this amount of power could only mean one thing.

A SSSS Class Demon.

There had only been one other SSSS Class Demon in the Circle’s three hundred years. When it had appeared, it took the help of fourteen other Mages to defeat it. Even then, they'd lost six to the Demon.

The difference between a SSS Class and a SSSS Class Demon was incredible. SSS Class Demons had a blind spot and three Weak Points that could be targeted to kill it. This was always true, no matter what animal form it appeared in. As far as they knew, SSSS Class Demons had no blind spot and only one Weak Point. Its sense of smell was off the charts, and so was its magic sensitivity and resistance. It could conceal its magical and demonic presence in the snap of a finger.

And now one stood before them, ready to fight, appearing ominously in a swirling black cloud of smoke and dust.

They wondered what form it would take. Fox? Rabbit? Tiger? Maybe it would be able to shapeshift.

“I'm glad you didn't die of the fall.” Came the Demon’s voice. It chuckled. “That would be no fun.” It began laughing hysterically. “You may want to draw your weapons, ladies. I'll give you time.”

As much as they hated to listen to a Demon, they knew they had to draw their close-range weapons, and they would not get another chance later on.

The Water Mage held her hands by her left side, the left one clutching an invisible sheath and the right one wrapping around a nonexistent blade handle. Water came out of nowhere, swirling around her, then focusing on between her hands and forming a glowing blue dussack.  It stopped glowing and turned into a gleaming citrine blade. With a practiced hand, she drew it from its sheath so quickly her arm blurred. Water flew at a deadly speed in the direction her arm waved.

Simultaneously, the Fire Mage held her hands on her waist, her left hand on her right side and vice versa. Flames wrapped around her, turning into six flaming belts with handles. The flames cooled and died, leaving two triple bladed urumis. She expertly unwrapped the whip blades from her waist, leaving not even a single scratch despite their lethal sharpness. As they flew free from their belt disguise, flames swirled around the Mage.

Taking her cue from the Demon at the same time as the other two, the Earth Mage jumped, slamming her fists into the ground. It swallowed her hands up to her wrists. She lifted them from it ten seconds later, coated in a thick sort of glove made of glowing earth. The glow ceased and formed two cestuses made of gleaming amber. She punched them together, knuckle to knuckle, and stood ready to fight. As her knuckles connected, the earth around them rumbled and split in a few places.

Chewing her lip uncertainly but going along with it, the Wind Mage stood in an elegant pose, the kind one might see a Sky Dancer finish a dance in. In her hands the winds gathered, glowing violet and forming what looked like fans. The winds died and the glowing ceased, leaving her holding two tourmaline  tourmaline tessens. She flicked them and wind surged powerfully around her.

The Dark Mage raised her arms, reaching the peak at the same time as the Earth Mage began coming down from her jump. She clenched her fists and swiped them downward, taking all the light out of the path of invisible claw-like blades. When she stopped, she had tekko-kagi blades mounted on her hands.

The Light Mage, with a sunny smile, held her arms out straight and rigid, as if mimicking a gliding bird. Her hands closed in fists, and a bright light shone from inside them. The light grew and expanded, forming a sort of sword with thin rods coming up about halfway up her forearm. The light dimmed, leaving two diamond katars with gold handles and guards, finishing her summon after the Water Mage even though they'd started at the same time. Her smile grew impossibly wider as she slashed them while preparing her body to fight. The blades left a trail of blinding light, and it expanded until it reached the Demon’s bubble. It exploded violently.

To the Circle’s shock, a very human-looking man in a classy blue suit flew backwards out of the explosion.

The Demon was thrown back at least ten feet, but did a graceful backflip and landed in a crouch, his fingertips touching the ground. He was gone in a flash, leaving only a blurry black after-image. He laughed as he moved. “Shocked, girls? You should be.” He cackled like a malicious madman.

The Light Mage moved swiftly and gracefully, spinning and slashing her katar in her left hand and cutting his shoulder, before delivering a hard kick to his face. “It's not very nice to kick the very first Human Type Demon.”  He said poutily.

The Demon moved his body with the energy from the kick, attacking the Fire Mage next. “Yeah, well, it's not nice to throw people off cliffs, either.” She the Fire Mage responded, bracing herself for the attack.

However, before he could even close half the distance toward her, the ground rumbled. An enormous disc of earth fifty feet wide and only about three feet thick flew free from the ground so quickly that the Demon was thrown almost thirty feet into the air.

All of the Mages seemed to be prepared for this, however. Not only had they braced their bodies against the flying disc, but they all had earthen boots attaching them to it. As soon as the disc stopped flying, the boots disappeared.

The Earth Mage had created an arena suitable to their fighting range.

By now, the remaining Demons had noticed the fight and were gathering to watch.

The Demon the six were fighting had begun to fall from being thrown into the air. He twisted so he would fall in a more optimal position, but the Fire Mage sent a huge blast of flames toward him while the Water Mage sent a disc of ice flying at him to throw him off balance. At the same time, the Earth Mage had begun skating across the ground as if it were ice instead of stone. She leapt when she was under the Demon and used the Earth to give her leap a boost. In the air, she twisted, kicked him where the sun didn’t shine, punched his cheek, and smashed her feet into his stomach, slamming him into the ground.

He gritted his teeth and sent out a wave of demonic energy. It threw all of the Mages off balance. He rose to his feet, a little unsteadily. “You think you've won?” He chuckled darkly. “I haven't even drawn my weapon yet.”

His left arm clutched his bleeding left shoulder, the black stuff oozing from between his fingers. However, his right fingers extended, an elegant black rapier appearing about an inch away from his palm. It finished forming and began to fall. He clasped the handle quickly, and the previously missing blade guards appeared snugly on either side of his hand. He slashed it, and somehow this healed his wound. He grinned maniacally.

The Dark Mage glared at the Demon as she regained her senses. Stomping her foot to steady her balance, she sprang off the ground into a graceful flip. Her tekko-kagi claws raked the ground, a long, high pitched screech resounding because of it. Darkness and stone flew up from her slash, forming five black bubble-like objects. They hit the remaining disoriented Mages, and their eyes cleared and they regained their balance.

A flash went through all their eyes: an idea, a plan. The Fire Mage and the Wind Mage twisted and spun together, urumi and tessen swinging and flying in a graceful dance. Wind and fire erupted in their wake, the winds strengthening the blasts of flame and then surges slicing through them like they were nothing more than butter.

The Demon smirked and stood his ground, standing in a leisurely way, as if waiting on a street for a friend. With a single slash of his sword, the assault was gone.

And so were the girls.

He felt an unusual uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't even feel their presence, no magical trace despite their enormous mana capacity, nothing. Yet he somehow knew they were still there.

Suddenly, he couldn't move. His muscles froze in place, and no amount of struggling, magical or physical, could get him out of his predicament.

Suddenly, a huge column of fire erupted from the ground directly in front of him. Most of the mana was sucked out of the air, not quite that big a feat since there wasn't much mana in the Divide. He was surprised that hadn't happened earlier.

Then he remembered something. The Circle had trained to the point where they used almost no mana on every spell. Rumor had it that for the simplest of spells, they literally used none. So if they were using this much mana…

Terror struck him to his very core. They were using an extremely powerful spell.

And he could do nothing to stop or avoid it.

The Fire Mage stepped out of the flames, her hair flying wildly around her to the point where it looked like her whole head was on fire. She smirked as the mana in the air quickly recharged. “Not fun being the helpless one, is it, Demon?” As she spoke, the mana recharge finished, leaving more mana than had been there at first. The Fire Mage pointed the guard of her urumi at him. “Prepare to die.”

And then, without warning, a geyser came out of nowhere and shot skyward. It took about half of the mana with it. The Demon tried to figure out where it was coming from; the three-foot-thick stone was not big enough for that large a reservoir.

And then the Water Mage emerged, completely dry, yet meticulously wiping moisture off her glasses. “She has a point, for once.” She said, examining the lenses for any trace of fog or water. The Fire Mage shot her a dirty look. “We had a plan, and you fell for it.” The blue haired girl smirked and put her glasses back on, drawing her dussack. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

By now, the mana in the air had recharged, once again leaving more than was there before. The Demon continued struggling, trying to do something as slight as even twitching a finger.

A harsh wind ripped through the canyon, taking roughly a third of the mana with it. Even the Demon, glued to the ground, didn't know how he managed to remain on his feet.

The wind collected debris as it went to its place next to the water chute. At its base, it went up to the sky, sort of like a reverse funnel cloud. It then evened out so that the debris-laden wind column was perpendicular to the makeshift arena.  The three sky-high elemental columns formed a perfect half circle around the edge of the arena.

The Wind Mage stepped out of her wind funnel, looking like her hair had just been brushed and styled, not a single strand out of place. “What, no snarky remark?” She said quietly. Her confident face turned worried as she looked across the semi circle at the Water Mage. “Was that alright?” The blue-haired girl rolled her eyes and looked pointedly at the Demon.

The Demon’s frozen face must have looked confused and panicked, because the Wind Mage gave him a knowing smile. “It's a mana duplication spell. You'll understand why momentarily.” As she finished speaking, the mana finished regenerating, and true to her word, left more in the air once again.

And as soon as the mana finished generating, a wall of earth shot up from the arena, wiping out around a quarter of the mana. The Earth Mage stepped out as if she were walking through air instead of a solid stone wall. Her face revealed nothing, and she said nothing, but the Demon could hear her voice in his head all the same. He had a funny feeling he was communicating through the stone.

You will die, Demon. She said. And after that, so will every Demon in this godsforsaken canyon.

The eerie voice chilled him deeper than the fear running through his veins, and planted more fear there, if that was even possible. He frantically ran idea after idea through his head, trying to come up with a survival plan, but they all ended with him dying.

Plan A- burned to ashes by the Fire Mage. Nope.

Plan B- drowned by the Water Mage. Definitely not.

Plan C- cut to shreds by the Wind Mage’s air blades. He cringed internally. Ouch. No.

Plan D- suffocated at least 30 feet underground by the Earth Mage. He tried to move his hand to his throat. Again, no.

As he continued his frantic planning, a huge column of pure darkness shot to the sky. He couldn't even tell how much mana it used, or how much it brought back with it. The Demon was actually beginning to feel quite suffocated by the sheer amount of mana in the air. The girls, however, appeared unaffected.

The Dark Mage emerged from her void, her hair the only thing darker than the spell. She said nothing, though her dark and brooding eyes were the embodiment of the saying if looks could kill.

And finally, completing the circle, a ball of light floated up from the ground. It was no bigger than a foot in diameter, but it exploded so it was just as large as the others. It exploded like a bolt of lightning and travelled even faster. It sucked a little bit of the mana out of the air, just like the others, and once again brought back more. The Light Mage emerged, her smile somehow brighter than the mass of light behind her.

“Do you like it? It’s really pretty, right! It's our signature spell! The-” she was about to continue, but the Water Mage cut her off with a look. She pouted, and took a step back.

The Demon knew only what the others knew about the Circle- only rumors and hearsay. Unfortunately, that did not include their signature spell.

And suddenly, all the mana was sucked from the air, and all the Mages pointed their weapons at them. The sudden release of mana made him feel like he was floating.

The Mages released their spell suddenly and swiftly. The water wall fell and multiplied, and stayed on the arena as if it were a giant glass, filling it up a good ten feet. The other spells sliced through it as if it were merely air. The Water Mage took off her glasses, scowled at them, and used the surrounding water to wipe microscopic dirt off of them.

The fire wall broke up into thousands and thousands of fire sprites, targeting the Demon mercilessly. The water seemed to not affect them at all. As they did, the Fire Mage smiled almost sadistically.

The wind wall turned into countless blades of wind and sliced at the Demon, cutting through the Fire Sprites without harming them, then looping around to attack again. The Wind Mage stood with a worried look on her face.

Parts of the earthen wall crumbled away or fused to others to solidify them further. What was left was several hundred golems, stacked one on top of another. The leapt down onto the arena and made not even a splash in the water. They made their way to the Demon, and reached him surprisingly quickly. Along with the fire sprites, they began wailing on the Demon. The Earth Mage held her ground, her face telling nothing.

The dark wall overtook everything; there was so little light that even the Dark Mage had trouble seeing. She could only imagine how much trouble the Demon was having.

The light wall, literally a white block in the spell of darkness, began practically spitting out great balls of light like comets. Even in normal lighting, they were blinding. They were brighter than the Light Mage’s smile, brighter than the Fire Mage’s flames, even brighter than the third and brightest sun, Rhysha. It didn't help the Demon that they were in near total darkness, amplifying the comets’ light. The Light Mage stood in front of her wall, her comets whizzing by her on either side of her, causing a slight breeze that made her hair dance.

And then all at once, everything cleared. The water ran off the stone island in great torrents, drowning more than a few Demons. The golems collapsed into piles of rubble, which were absorbed into the ground. The fire sprites disappeared, as if they were mere fire that had run out of fuel. The wind blades slowed and dulled, becoming one with the light breeze. The comets stopped coming out of the light wall, and the wall exploded, sending light even further than the horizon.

Only the darkness remained, but all of the Mage's irises, which had previously matched their hair, had begun to absorb the little light around them, giving a black color. It looked quite eerie, but it allowed each of them to see in the black. Only the Dark Mage's eyes remained the same.

As the last of the dust and water cleared, they looked anxiously upon the spot where the Demon had stood, all wondering the same thing: had the spell worked?

They all had a horrible queasiness in the pit of their stomachs, the kind one gets when something bad is about to happen.

And when the area finally cleared, the girls nearly screamed in alarm.

Nothing was there.

No rocks, no gems, no nothing.

And then suddenly, a huge amount of mana disappeared from the air. It came back like mist, creeping and expanding. The stuff was black, though, and made of pure darkness. It expanded, filling the whole arena but nothing beyond.

As soon as it touched her, the Light Mage's knees buckled and she fell. The Dark Mage rushed over and put the former’s hand over her shoulder, standing so that the Dark Mage supported the Light Mage.

The Demon smirked. The Dark Mist was weakening her. And none of the Mages could see in it, only he could see perfectly well.

At their confused and frightened looks, he smirked, and that got a chuckle darker than the mist out of him when he thought of how they couldn't see it.

“Oh, my lost little lambs.” He began haughtily.

“We are no lambs, and you are no shepard, you mangy mutt.” The redhead snarled harshly.

After a glaring chuckle, he continued, walking at a leisurely pace toward the Light and Dark Mages. “You see, when you released that pitiful attempt to kill me, you used aaaaaaaaaaall the mana. That left nothing to bind me. And I escaped.

He was no more than three feet away from the pair when the Dark Mage released the Light Mage and made a mad dash for the Demon. The Light Mage swayed but remained standing.

The Demon, not expecting this, was caught off guard. She swiped at him once, twice, three times, but he managed to dodge all of them. Regaining his senses, he kicked her in the side and she flew through the air, landing in a crumpled heap.

The Demon felt something drip down his face. He put his hands to it and looked at them. Black blood gleamed in the light that the Light Mage always seemed to give off. He made a noise that sounded like a fifty foot wolf was growling. He decided to kill her first for marring his face.

However, before he could even whirl toward her, two feet landed squarely on his chest. He flailed his arms in surprise, accidentally tossing his sword. He landed with a thunk on the ground, and was very surprised to find the Light Mage straddling his rib cage, smiling in an almost crazed way that still managed to be sunny. She began a thrust with her katar at his face, going in for the kill.

Just in time, he reached out, and his sword slid to him as if both his hand and it were magnets. As soon as it touched his hand, he swung it, parrying the blow.

He shoved her off of him, and while she was off balance, made a swipe at her feet. However, she had already regained her footing. She dropped her katar and did a back handspring to avoid the low swipe. And, instead of just avoiding it, she grasped the Demon’s blade between her feet and used the momentum from her handspring to toss it out of the arena.

The Demons had remained watching even when the Dark Mist fell, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intense fight.

However, when the Light Mage tossed the Human Type’s sword, it sailed into the sea of onlookers and stabbed a Mouse Type in the eye. It gave a high pitched squeak and crumble into amber rocks, a topaz gleaming on top.

The other Demons looked at the pile, took a step away from it, and continued watching the mist.

Back inside the arena, the Demon and the Light Mage fought intensely. Punches, kicks, swipes, and even slaps were exchanged. Once or twice the Demon reached for the Light Mage’s katar, but a huge flash of light followed by a resounding ZAP!! kept him from grasping the hilt.

Now. He thought. He drew a new rapier from thin air, swinging it as he drew it.

The Light Mage's head flew clean off her neck.

As it did, a huge explosion of light ensued, ridding the arena of the dark mist.

The other Mages had been holding hands and chanting, preparing a new assault as the Light and Dark Mages bought them time. The Dark Mage had just been pulling herself up, preparing to join the Light Mage. But as they watched the fight out the corners of their eyes,  looks of horror came upon their faces. Several seconds passed as the Mages stared in shock and the Demon kicked her head away, purely to anger the girls.

“NOOOOO!” One screamed, and glancing in that direction he discovered it was the Dark Mage.

Crying silently, each only shed one tear. A huge explosion sounded, and a huge Phoenix appeared.

Its huge body was red, but black markings made strange symbols all along its feathers. Its violet beak was the size of  small house, its wide, intelligent eyes the color of the Summer Ocean.

The Mages had disappeared. No, not disappeared. Thought the Demon.  They are the bird. This is gonna be too easy. He smirked as he thought the last part.

He knew that spell. Great as the bird was, it wasn't very easy to move. And its weak spot was the eye. If he stabbed that eye, it was goodbye Mage number two.

The violet beak opened, and a huge blast of fire and wind came out. He dodged and threw his sword like a javelin. It turned into one halfway there, but the bird dodged and fired again. The Demon merely gave a dark chuckle and deflected it with a shield.

With a wave of his hand, a dozen replicas of himself appeared around the arena. The spun and avoided fiery blasts until the bird could no longer tell them apart.

They all abruptly halted and threw an invisible javelin, which manifested just as their hands left it. The bird tried to dodge. It couldn't dodge all of them, though. One slashed its side, and another cut its head. It gave a screech of pain and anger, blurring the replicas until they dissolved. Its wounds healed, and it shot a boiling geyser of water at the real Demon.

The Demon took the blast. He seemed to melt, and the enormous bird stopped short. Its eyes were not the best, so the Mages decided to release the spell and check the rocks.

The Demon had been waiting for this. It wouldn’t be able to move in the middle of deactivation. The arena rained with the black blood of Demons, turning into various weapons; swords, daggers, javelins, every weapon imaginable. It injured the great bird with slashes that bled like rivers, and one weapon lodged firmly in its eye. It screamed in pain, and then dissolved. Four girls stood, panting. The Water Mage lay dead, a javelin protruding from her chest. Water gushed from her body, filling the bottom of the arena in the slippery stuff. It seemed to affect the Demon, but not the Mages. He did his best to ignore it.

Wasting no time, the Demon drew another blade and sped for the Fire Mage.

“YOU WILL PAY!” She screamed, raising her leg and attempting to bring her foot down on his head. With most fighters, strong emotions would make fighting sloppy. However, to most Fire Wielders, their element represented passion, and passion made them stronger. Her anger oozed out of her, her grief making her cry as she rushed the Demon.

She leapt, reaching her foot up. The Demon tried to cut her leg off or dodge, whichever came first, but neither worked. He crumpled as her foot came down with so much force it would have cracked any human’s skull.

The Wind Mage rushed him, and the Fire Mage got out of the way. She slashed at his torso, his legs, his face, everywhere with her razor sharp fans, trying to find his weak spot. The Dark Mage used a complex spell, even for the Circle, which took his sight away. She couldn’t do much else besides meditate sweatily on the ground, trying to keep her spell up. The Water Mage guarded her, nearly crying. Normally, this was the Light Mage’s job.

The Fire and Wind Mages went to switch out so the former could take a turn trying to find its weak point. The Demon, having pinpointed the Wind Mage, made a stab at her stomach, nearly slipping in the water. However, the Fire Mage was in her place by now, and she received the sword through the stomach instead. She crumpled, splashing in the water. Flames exploded from her body, burning the Demon before becoming a hovering disc over the arena, taking over the role of light source from the setting suns.

Suddenly, the Light Mage's eyes began  glowing. The Wind, Earth, and Dark  Mages looked at her decapitated head in wonder.

She had a prophesy to deliver.

The distraction nearly cost the Wind Mage her life. Huge spikes of pure darkness erupted from under her, and she jumped, the air supporting her as if she were walking on solid ground. The Earth Mage, sensing something on her turf and being within arm’s reach of the Dark Mage, the former grabbed the latter and leapt.

The Dark Mage made them each a hovering disc. They circled the Demon on there, floating safely above the spikes.

The Earth Mage catapulted a rock the size of a horse at the Demon. He merely held out his hand against it, and it exploded when it touched his palm. The Wind Mage was ready, right behind him, swinging her razor- sharp tourmaline fans at him. Although she didn’t hit him, wind came off the fans, blowing him back a bit.

The Dark Mage ran forward, kicking him in the side, and he flew in the direction of the Earth Mage. The plan was to have her incapacitate him, and they could behead him to at least down him for a while, on the off but substantial chance he would recover from it.  

He moved with the momentum of the kick, but disguised it as an uncontrollable beeline to the Earth Mage. She prepared moved her stance to one more more optimal to strike him down. In midair he spun, and too late, the Earth Mage realized that he had a blade- like strip of darkness extending from his arm. He slashed it, and it sliced her in half at the waist.

The Wind Mage watched her crumple onto the watery spikes in horror. As she touched the ground, an earthquake shook the arena. It shook off the spikes, and threw the Demon off balance. She could do nothing but stand in shock.

The Dark Mage, however, took advantage of his lack of balance. She shot at him on her disc, slashing at him. He managed to parry her claws with his sword, slightly off balance.She tried to get around him. Something in the way he always defended his back… she knew that if she struck it just right, it would be over.

He pushed her back and tried to make it over to the shell-shocked violet haired girl. He barely made it a foot before the black haired girl kicked him in the back. He flew forward several feet, but was otherwise unharmed. Not there.  She thought. If that was his Weak Spot, it would have frozen him in pain.

With a growl, he whirled on her. She sped back enough that she wouldn’t be a threat anymore, and he would continue to the now thawed Wind Mage, who was in on her plan.

She hung back for a minute, and when the Demon got close to the Wind Mage and tried to strike, she flung herself forward as the Wind Mage blew him back. The Dark Mage sped at his back on her disc, tekko kagi claws at the ready. He merely turned at a leisurely pace. She tried to stop, but it was too late. He swung what looked like a giant club at her head. It connected with a sickening crack. She fell immediately, no breath escaping her lips.

“Damn.” The Demon said as the spikes retracted. “I was hoping candy would come out.”

The Wind Mage continued their plan through her tears. The next part of the plan didn’t involve her. She could do this. She came at the Demon from above, slashing at his back with her tessens.

He predicted it from a mile away. He sent out tendrils of darkness that wrapped around the air bubble which encapsulated her. It passed the wall of wind, wrapping around her lithe body instead. He squeezed tighter, tighter, until her body could no longer take the pressure. He didn’t even look at her; it would just be gross.

He turned to leave, masking his presence as he prepared to overtake the capital city, when a giant blue bird landed.

In her subconscious state, the Light Mage recognised only the safe presence of the bird, which was the King’s familiar. She did not sense the Demon and therefore felt it safe to relinquish the prophecy.

“Guard this prophecy, oh trusted one.” She said in an old, wise voice that was not her own. “It is out world’s last hope.”

The demon froze in his tracks to listen.

“Find the spirits of Yin and Yang,

For only then can you hear the creature's song.

Raised in a village of black and white,

Both with desire to do what's right.

Then find the spirit of flame and fire,

And take down its blood- red empire.

In city that is always aflame,

Gain their help by knowing their name.

Glittering blue is what you must find,

This spirit is the last of its once-great kind.

In a long lost city under the waves,

The way to the surface it must pave.

Find the spirit of wind in a city high above the ground,

Where terror and confusion run unbound.

In a city that cannot be found by a hunt,

This disorder you must help to confront.

This spirit communicates only through stone,

Paying no heed to to grave nor bone.

The hideaway miles below the earth,

Was the only thing that saw her birth.

Fear the storms

Fear the sky

A long dormant power now is nigh.

Not even I yet know its goal,

Nor what role

This power shall play.”

And with that, the Light Mage's eyes died. The bird flew away just as the Demon whirled around to kill it, hoping no one would know the prophecy. But as he watched it fly away, he decided to let it. He even smirked.

He'd already won. He'd won for Rhieashinn.

And the Circle of Six Mages would never come again.

Hello, all! Yeah, It’s been a while :T Sorry

Anyway, I revised this again, and I have quite a few chapters sitting in my docs, so I think I’m gonna try my hand at weekly Saturday updates! 

If you have questions about the story, the characters, or the world, please send them to my main blog, @fabnamessuggestedbytumbler !

First- Prologue- You are here!

Last 

Next- Chapter One- Aplla Village

[maxiespads]

August 15th, 1975

Miami, Florida

6:30PM at “El Perro Desgraciado” Bar

Currently positioned at “El Perro Desgraciado'' Bar in Little Havana. The air smells putrid, emanating from the pits of plump fat greasy men drinking cheap liquor in their sweat-drenched undershirts. They are committed to this hobby and only this hobby as on further inspection I can see clearly the crystalized salt on their temples and backs; a byproduct of only caring for another round of acidic liquor with the faintest smell of urine and sweeteners like “El Cuerno.” I on the other hand I am the epitome of elegance, dressed in a gorgeous blue Acapulco shirt drinking “Chivas Regal 18”, both courtesies of my good friend Doctor Hunter S. Thompson recommended “El Perro Desgraciado” Bar, for its seclusion and character. He’d recommended this bar after finding out I’d be in Miami for what I told him was a “vacation”. “It’s a dilapidated run-down jalopy of a hut run by Cuban mongrels,” he said, “serving rabid and soul-crushed dogs from all walks of life alike. What it lacks in modesty it makes it up by giving its drunkards primal liberty within its premises! A liberty now long-extinct, my friend. Only experienced in the time before civilization as well as in only the best Latin-American brothels!” he said through the phone. In hindsight, I would have chosen a much better bar than this rotting carcass but I will admit, it is secluded. But I digress, this environment lacks eye candy, the men are far too ugly and there are little to no women in sight! And those who are in sight, demand exponentially high prices for their “assistance”, prices only a drunkard would fall for! To which I respect, these women are calculated! Clearly knowing beforehand who will land flat on their belly for them, squabbling for just a taste of both of their “lips”. 

Still, here I am, drinking slowly, drinking lonely, wanting to taste and hold another’s flesh and soul… to be intertwined by tongue and bound by primal intentions… to sweat, smile and soothe… to loosen and eventually tighten… to send ripples through the body and eventually calm the waters after… to ravage the vessel, holding nothing back and taking everything in… oh what a dream! A rather… fiery dream but a dream that all who breathe have shared at least once. Mmmmm, I quake in excitement for that proposition to once again show itself or better yet lay itself in front of me once mor-

RRRRRING, RRRRRING, RRRRING, RRRING, RRRRRING

      ~

From a top-down point of view, with a single bulb illuminating him, we can see The Man in The Blue Alcapulco Shirt and the brown wooden round table that he has stationed himself in. To the right of him, on the table, there is the auburn colored Chivas Regal Whisky glass bottle: mighty, tall, and aged for eighteen-years. A stuffed ashtray with bent and crooked cigarette buds sticking out rests unbothered in the middle of the table and to the left of him, there is a glossy red GPO 746 Rotary Phone which he requested to be immediately placed on his table moments after seating himself because he was expecting a call. The phone now trembles violently as if it’s afraid of what it holds for the man, sendings its fear-ridden vibrations down the table, up the man’s legs, and directly into his heart. Within a moment, The Man in The Blue Alacapulco Shirt looks at the phone, anchors his face away from fear and into a solid grimace, picks up the phone, and answers with silence. 

“Heard your back in town! We can wait to see you! I hope you brought all the party favors I recommended…

The man looks below the table, towards his feet and confirms to himself that he has the light golden-brown duffle bag placed from him in the alley behind “El Perro Desgraciado” Bar as he requested before arriving in Miami.

“I promise you, once you bring it to them it's gunna knock em’ dead! The address is [REDACTED] and you should come exactly at midnight! We’ll be waiting.” [CALL ENDS]

The Man in The Blue Acapulco Shirt places the phone back into its base and contemplates. Moments ago he was eager, speaking within himself but now he reserves himself, relying on the strength of his nerves to keep him calm for the up-coming assignment. He puts away the bottle and begins to get up to leave but suddenly a figure appears next to him. He panics slightly as he cannot see the blurry figure clearly from his peripheral vision and jerks his head quickly in the direction of the figure. He faces the figure with the same reserved grimace he had on the phone but it quickly melts away as the now visible figure speaks. 

“I’m sorry…did I startle you?”

~

She speaks so lightly... a feature that is deeply contracted against her powerful cheekbones, smooth glowing caramel skin with her cat-like eyes. Just by glancing at her, she commands the entirety of my attention...she's gorgeously equipped with a shaven head, tiny flower-shaped diamond earrings, purple lipstick, deep dark eye-shadow, and sharp black acrylic nails… she bares on her back, what seems to be, a custom made loose summer dress with an intricate purple and black flower design and on her feet, she bares combat boots… OH MY GOODNESS SHE'S GORGEOUS! This has to be that “divine timing” mumbo-jumbo my sister was telling me about- I mean what else could it be?! Right as I finished this dreaded call and readied myself to take my leave she came right in with those piercing eyes...those gorgeous brown mesmerizing eyes…

~

“Helllooooooooooo? Anybody there?” she lets out with a light laugh as the man is dreadfully captivated by her appearance. 

Suddenly his steel-mysterious-persona shatters like glass as he embarrassedly fumbles to articulate himself. 

“I'M SO SORRY! Uuuuhhhhh...by all means, take a seat!” he says as he cleans up his table in a disorganized rush “IF YOU WANT TO, OF COURSE, I DON'T MEAN TO SOUND SO-”

“It’s okay,” she interrupts calmly with a smile, “there's no reason to trip over yourself.” to which he responds in silence, looking down, hiding his tomato-face. 

“And yes, I think I will take a seat. Thank you” she says smiling and humored at the man. She grabs a nearby wooden chair and places it gently across from The Man in The Blue Alcapulco Shirt who sits silently and gawking.

“Forgive me for being so...shy… you caught me with my guard down,” says the man in an awkward smile and laugh.

“I didn’t mean to, I just noticed you here. You stand out when compared to the ogreish looking men around here...unless you are also a drunken ogre,” she says charismatically with a certain spunk and sass in her voice.

“Oh no! I just came here cause it’s a rather secluded place and so far, as you can see, that seems to be its only redeeming factor…” he says disapprovingly, “up until now of course.” ending his statement charismatically with hints of flirtation.

“Of course, you say. How come?” she says as if she has no clue of what he’s on about but she eagerly awaits his answer. The signals are obvious but not obvious enough so the man proceeds with confidence but also with caution.

“Because we’re making conversation. I...I have been longing for a conversation for some time now. My line of work doesn’t really give me any breathing room...well it would if I didn’t want to be able to make ends meet but then I’d be penniless...plus I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t have at least some capital.” he says, smiling into her eyes

“What is so special about now then? What makes you so glad about being right here, right now?” she asks powerfully, sending increasingly flame-filled vibrations,  making the man’s heart race as well as making him think on his feet.

~

Good god, she’s really giving me a run for my money here… I f*#king love it… 

~

The man looks to the back of his head for a moment. He understands that his next choice of words will lead him towards heat or an ice-cold bed. After some moments of silence, he answers.

“I’ll be honest. I don't know what makes this moment ‘special’ or if it’s even special at all but I’m intrigued and that doesn't happen often… there’s something about you that has caught my eye and mind with, of course, my heart being reserved. You cannot be too careful in deciding who plays with the heart, especially now… well of me at least.” he pauses, looking at her.

She rests her face upon her fist, fully interested, and awaiting the statement’s conclusion. 

“Well??? Don't let me stop you. ‘By all means’ continue.” she says smiling devilishly and hungry.

~

F*#k it, it’s now or never. Either I jump in deep or I dont go swimming at all!

~

“I want to know you a lot more” he states, locking eyes with her, both fully giving in to the energies now fully developed, “I want to know you in both senses of that word. I’d elaborate much more, believe me, but this place is rather public even with its seclusion and mindless drunkards wondering about. Plus, what good would it do when I could just show you...if you want to of course.”

Silence engulfs the atmosphere and as the moment stretches The Man in The Blue Acalupco Shirt begins to worry but maintains a poker face. Finally, the woman breaks the silence with the screeching sound of the wooden chair against the wooden floorboards of the Bar as she stands up and walks away. The man watches her leave like a sad puppy, tucks his arms in, and looks down towards the scratches on the table. He lets out a deep sigh.

~

Well...at least I tried...even if I did fai-

~

His thoughts are interrupted when he sees the woman come to a halt. Standing strong with her long mighty legs, the neon-lights outside shine through the door of the Bar, drenching her in blue, pink, and white. She turns her head towards the right, showing off her razor-sharp jaw, and says: “Well? Aren’t you coming? We have a lot to talk about” she says eagerly and temping. 

The man looks up in amazement and surprise. Her statement has made him more than happy, much more than happy. “You don't have to ask me twice!” the man says as he jumps up, picks up his bag, and walks with the woman.

They walk out to the sidewalk to be greeted by her White 1971 Chevrolet Impala.

“You can put your bag in the back,” the woman tells the man as they near the vehicle

“It’s best if I keep it close but thank you nonetheless” responds the man, showing great reserve about the contents and importance of the bag. The woman thinks this to be strange but says nothing. 

They drive off down the strip, conversating fluently and deeply interested in each other. The white car slowly becomes smaller and smaller, swallowed by the lights, night-life, infrastructure, tropical trees, and never-ending star-riddled sky of Miami, Florida.

The time is 8:30 at night, three and a half hours before midnight.

Thank you very much for reading.

With love,

Maximiliano L. Rojas

[shookykookie]

Ruby Red

Pairing: You/Yoongi 

Genre: smut (gang!au) 

Word Count: 6,552

Warning: oral, fingering, aggressive use of the work fuck 

Summary: You’ve been involved with Bangtan gang for a short while now, and they need you to steal a massive ruby. Maybe your heart will get stolen along the way...

A/N: Hi  this is the first BTS drabble I’ve ever done, sorry if it sucks. My sister got me addicted and I’m suffering, so enjoy suffering with me. I was considering writing a Part II, if not a Part III as well. Let me know what you think! I’m always trying to improve. 

You slip into the tight dress with a sigh. You’d been waiting months to bust out this dress for something special, but seducing a mobster was not exactly what you'd had in mind.

When it had been explained to you, the whole thing had seemed normal; just another rival takedown for Bangtan. There were too many shady, slimy bastards crawling around the city, just waiting to take down the newly established empire. Sure, you helped Bangtan infiltrate drug rings, spy on pimps, and eliminate threats, but that’s just what you did. You were good in the field, and all seven of them knew it. That’s why when Namjoon had specifically said, ‘We all need to look our best’, quirking one of those coy eyebrows at you specifically, you knew you were in for it.

All eight of you had gathered around the table in their compound when he’d dropped the news on you.

“What,” you asked. “Exactly are we doing?”

“Not we, sweetheart,” Namjoon said, a devilish smile tugging up the corners of his lips. “You.”

Namjoon was the proud leader of the infamous Bangtan, and anytime he gave instructions, you buckled down and listened. He’d begun to grow softer around you, less intimidating, once you’d saved their asses enough times. He had begun to treat you more like he did the others: as a friend. Despite that, you were still smart enough to be mildly afraid of the power he wielded.

Next to him sat Seokjin, his right-hand man. When money passed through their hands, and whole hell lot of money did, Seokjin oversaw it. The education he’d gotten served him well, and his intelligence was almost as intimidating as his broad-shouldered form. His carefully watching eyes didn’t miss anything, and in that moment, they had been trained on you.

Beside Seokjin were Jimin and Taehyung. The two of them, master exporters, handled drugs and weapons respectively. They were an excellent team, both around the same age, and infamously didn’t take shit from anyone, except maybe you. They were also both horrendously charming. Shoulder to shoulder at the table, they had snickered conspiratorially when Namjoon spoke, a bad sign.

Further down the table was Jungkook. The newest addition to Bangtan, besides you, had been relatively quiet. In all likelihood, the two of you would be paired up, as you often were, but he hadn’t sidled up to sit next to you as he normally did. It made your breath hitch in your chest.

Hoseok had taken up next to Jungkook instead, twiddling his rings round his fingers as he contemplated you. He typically had a smile on his face, but his business smugness had come down over his bright features. It was the face he used when he was negotiating with other gangs, drug lords, and criminals.

Most frightening of all, Yoongi had taken the chair next to you. Just his presence beside you made your hands tremble slightly. You weren’t afraid of most convicted felons, but you were definitely afraid of Yoongi. His hard, flinty eyes were ones you had a hard time meeting and his languid figure next to you felt like a predator’s, just waiting to spring on you and sink in his claws. The heat radiating off of him was nearly palpable, and the slow rise and fall of his chest sent waves of it out to brush against your skin. It didn’t matter that you’d saved his life once, and that’s what had tangled you in their web… he still made you squirm in your seat.

“Well,” you said nervously. “What am I doing?”  

Hoseok leaned forward on his elbows, shirtsleeves rolled up. “Have you ever heard of Satan’s Heart?”

Your brows furrowed. “Can’t say I have...”

“It’s a jewel, a ruby to be exact,” Hoseok said.

Jimin smiled. “A really big one.”

“What about this… Satan’s Heart?” you said. Hoseok’s gaze shifted towards Seokjin.

“It’s worth an exceptional amount of money,” he said.

“How much?”

Seokjin didn’t blink. “About $500 million.”

You choked on your own spit. “For a ruby?”

Tae laughed. “Again, it’s a really big one.”

Yoongi drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and each plunk of his fingertip against the wood was sending goosebumps shooting up your spine. You took a deep breath and waited for someone to speak. When no one did, you had to take another steadying breath before asking, “So what am I supposed to do about this very expensive, very big ruby?”

Namjoon tilted his head. “We think we know who has it.”

“And…?”

“And we want to steal it.”

You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “What am I, specifically, expected to do about that?”

Yoongi shifted forward and you tried not to flinch back as he grew infinitesimally closer, his warm breath tickling in your ear. “You seemed like the best distraction.”

They had explained the rest of the details in a whirlwind of information. The man in possession of Satan’s Heart, Kwon Junseung, was said to be attending a party that Friday. He was a top-notch smuggler king, a pirate lord of this day and age. Jungkook had overheard that he always came by himself to events, but didn’t stay lonely long. That, unfortunately, was where you came in.

After the dress, you deck yourself out to the nines in gold jewelry: gold rings, gold earrings, gold bangles, and a gold body chain that looped around your neck. There was so much jewelry on you that when you walked, you jingled lightly. Facing yourself in the mirror, you take a deep breath and prepped for the mission ahead.

“You can do this,” you mutter. “For Bangtan.”

They eight of you had planned to meet at the gig, so you rode alone in the back of the Uber. You could feel the driver’s curious, hungry eyes on you, almost as if he were in the backseat with you, breathing down your neck. The outfit was certainly working, perhaps too well. When the sleek black car pulls up the drive, alongside much more expensive cars, your heart jumps in your throat. The mansion sprawls out before you like a labyrinth, columns jutting up like skyscrapers into the endless black sky. The thick hedges wall everything in, and you can’t even see into the sprawling grounds that are sure to lie behind the house, panning out like the expanse of Versailles. You fear getting lost in it, in the alluring draw of the night. The panic begins to prickle at the back of your neck. You got out of the car and paid quickly.

The piece hisses to life in your left ear. “Any sign of Junseung?” Namjoon asks. As casually as you can, you brush a finger across the small gadget and ensure it’s undetectable.

“Not at the poker tables,” Jungkook says.

“Pool is clear,” Hoseok seconds.

“Garden is clear too,” Jin says.

“Bathroom, clear,” Jimin chimes in, laughing to himself.

“The bar is a zoo, but I don't see him,” Yoongi grumbles.

“Tae, what's the status of his car?” Namjoon asks.

“It's en route,” Taehyung says. “Y/N, where are you at?”

You take a steadying breath. “Just got here. Walking up the stairs now.”

The long slit up the thigh of your dress makes it easy to traverse the stairs in heels, and god damn are you grateful. The last thing you need to do is to fall down the stairs and break an ankle. The mission relies on you, revolves around your success.

“Head towards the bar,” Namjoon instructs. “Junseung’s a drinker. He’ll show up.”

Yoongi growls. “He better…” The sound of it, right in your ear, makes you swallow thickly. You shove all thoughts aside and focus on taking the stairs one at a time.

The front doors are held open for you by two well-dressed men, revealing a mobsters’ wonderland. The illusion of elegance is laid on thick; everyone wears designer tuxes and gowns, the gambling tables are dealing in high figures, the liquor is expensive and vintage. Despite this, you know the people are all filthy criminals. You take it all in. From a passing waiter’s tray, you nix a glass of champagne and begin to sip it slowly, watching the circling partygoers over the crystal rim. You are going to need some liquid courage to get through this.

The piece hums in your ear.

“He’s here.”

With careful eyes, you watch as the door swings open, then down your glass of champagne, and it tingles all the way down. Your heart is hammering so hard in your chest, you fear someone might hear it over the orchestral music. The thud of it roars in your ears, but not loudly enough to drown out the earpiece.

“Converge around the bar. Be subtle,” Namjoon says.

Kwon Junseung, mobster extraordinaire, strides in wearing a crisp navy suit. The people part for him, but he strides past without noticing their averted gazes. When he passes by, you turn your back to give him an extraordinary view of the open back of your dress, and your perked-up ass. His eyes on you are as hot as coals, and you even catch a glance of him staring before his gaze flits away. Junseung isn’t embarrassed even a bit by being caught looking. He continues on towards the bar in the next room, where Yoongi sits waiting.

“Y/N, once everyone is in, make your move. ”

“Done and done.”

One by one, they file past you, trying their very hardest not to acknowledge each other.

“My, my doesn’t everyone look nice…” Jimin says humorously, walking by. Taehyung follows, snickers slightly when he catches sight of you. His gaze drags over you slowly, and you roll your eyes.

“Damn Y/N, where’d you find that dress?” Tae asks. He adjusts the lapels of his Gucci suit jacket with a flourish and continues on his way.

“How’d I know it’d be red?” Kookie follows up. He barely glances at you, but you can sense the sweet smile on his lips. You smile back.

“I look good in red,” you say.

“You most certainly do,” Jin echoes. Hoseok only raises a brow when he goes by. Namjoon is the last to enter, all seriousness.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” he murmurs. You take this as your cue, and once the doorway is empty, you square your shoulders and begin. With loosely swaying hips and long strides that accentuate your exposed thigh, you saunter in. The room is full of people, all of them dangerous, but you smirk as if you are the most dangerous of all. Your empty champagne glass dangles from your fingers, and you pretend to look around in boredom. Once you spot all seven members’ stakeouts, planted strategically around the large space, you make way for the bar. Junseung isn’t yet ordering a drink; he’d stopped to speak with a couple of other dark-suited men, and they have their heads bent together. Yoongi is comfortably situated at the center of the bar, and you stride in nearby. Heads turn as you do.

“Can I get a rum and coke please?” you ask sweetly. With one look at your neckline, the bartender hastens to obey. Once the drink is in your hand, you make pointed glances over your shoulder at Junseung, waiting for the prey to crawl into your lap.

With a big swallow of your drink, you finally speak. “You look nice,” you say to Yoongi.

“You too. The necklace was a nice touch,” he says. It’s odd, being close enough to hear him over the wire and beside you. You try not to shift on the barstool too much; you should be worried about Junseung, not Yoongi.

“I hope it’s enough,” you say quietly. He lays his hands flat on the bar, long fingers stretching towards you in a silent gesture, and you try not to look at them.

“Every man in this room wants to unwrap you from that tight little number. If this bastard doesn’t take the bait, he’s a fool.”

His fingers brush along the back of your hand. Your heart skips a beat, and for a second, you forget all about what you’re supposed to be doing. You and Yoongi are frozen in time, if only for a second. The tempting thought of reaching out and grabbing his hand crosses your mind. The even more tempting thought of bringing those long fingers to your open mouth-

Yoongi shakes his head. His hands move off the bar, away from you. He bottoms the gin and tonic and signals for the bartender to pour another.

“You alright there?” he asks, gaze flickering towards you. Yoongi makes a brief second of eye contact with you.

“Fine,” you say. “Just nervous.”

“Don’t get sloppy,” Namjoon orders over the mic. The sound of him back in your head makes you jump. You’d forgotten he could hear everything. “We need you. Both of you.”

“I wouldn’t leave Y/N on her own to deal with that creep,” Yoongi hisses. “I can handle a drink.”

“And I can handle Mr. Kwon,” you reply. Saying it aloud makes you more sure. Of course you can handle him. Yoongi huffs a sigh and sips at his drink. Then suddenly, he freezes, his glass suspended halfway to his mouth.

“He’s seen you,” Yoongi whispers.

“Of course he has,” you mutter, taking a pointed sip. “I wanted him to.”

You feel him approach more than you see him. His is a tangible presence, one that makes the air feel thick as you suck in a calming breath. He slides right up to the bar, as slippery as an eel, and takes the open spot next to you, just as you anticipated.

“Bourbon.”

The bartender averts his gaze from Junseung’s and pours fast. The amber liquid rolls in the glass as he swirls it, and then he takes an impressive gulp. He doesn’t flinch. For half a second, you think he isn’t going to acknowledge you.

Until, of course, he does. His gaze falls back on you as easily as the bourbon ran down his throat. His small smile feels like a knife at your neck.

“You know what I love about parties?” Junseung asks.

“The booze?” you suggest. He gives a small laugh, then shakes his head. His dark eyes are swallowing you whole.

“No,” he says. “The people.”

You lean over the bar a tiny bit further, and nudge your breasts up a bit higher. “It’s so funny you should say that. I’m here for the people too.”

Junseung appraises this with raised eyebrows. “What’s a girl like you doing here?” he asks. It feels cheap, like it’s out of a shitty action movie. He even props one elbow on the bar to give off an impression of casual disinterest. The situation is almost more than you can bear, even now. Yoongi on your other side, scoffs under his breath.

Teasingly, you smile at Junseung, flashing your teeth. “What kind of girl am I, hm?”

Junseung leans in. “I have a few guesses.”

With a sip of your drink and a gratuitous slide of your tongue across your lips, you pause. “Really? I’d like to hear them. I just love games.”

“Is that so?” he asks. “What kind of games?”

You smirk and twirl a finger in your hair, curling a strand around your finger. As salaciously as you can, you lean in, breasts puffed out on display. “All sorts of games.”

Junseung hums in approval. “Well I have a suggestion for you,” he says. “Let’s play a little game.”

You tilt your head. “I’m intrigued.”

“How about a little name game?” he says. “Since you undoubtedly know who I am, I’d like to know yours.”

You chuckle at his confidence. “And why are you so sure I know who you are?”

“Can you tell me you do not?” he asks. To avoid replying, you finish your drink.

“So you’re going to guess my name?”

Junseung nods. Already he has grown closer. His hand, when it lowers on the small of your back, is ice cold. “Let me buy you a drink. And then I’ll guess.”

The ear piece buzzes to life. “What a fucking prick.” It’s Yoongi. He’s gone rock solid on your other side and is clutching at his drink with white knuckles. Again, with those fingers...

“He runs the sex trafficking up north,” Namjoon says. “Of course he’s a prick.”

You clear your throat and try to silence all the conflicting voices. “What happens if you guess wrong?” you ask.

Junseung shakes his head. “I won’t guess wrong.”

“Well what happens if you guess right?”

Junseung taps a finger on his lip, then breaks into another grin, this one bordering on monstrous. “Then we play a different sort of game.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Yoongi snarls. You ignore.

He hands you another drink. You hold it, feel the cold condensation on your palm and try to use it to anchor yourself. You do not take a sip.

“Start guessing.”

He contemplates for a few seconds, sipping at his drink. “You have to give me a few tries…”

You shrug and accept this. “Fine. But not too many.”

“Of course,” he says. “It has to be a beautiful name… Beautiful, like you.”

Yoongi hisses into the earpiece and your shoulders tense at the sound, but you try not to give yourself away. Junseung continues.

“It also has to be alluring… mysterious perhaps?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, letting them cast shadows across your accentuated cheekbones. “These aren’t guesses…”

Junseung heaves a heavy sigh. “I suppose I’m just not sure… Won’t you tell me, sweetheart?”

His hand, still cold, slide across the bare skin of your back. Begrudgingly, you let him and try not to fidget under his touch. It feels like seaweed dragging across your skin: utterly gross.

“What will you give me if I tell you?” you say, quirking a brow. His hand pauses.

“Everything.”

You smirk. “Is that a promise?”

Junseung smiles back. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

With an air of utter confidence, he tosses back his drink, and your smile grows. “I think I’d like that.”

“Y/N, I don’t like this. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to,” Yoongi mutters.

“My name is Y/N,” you say. Yoongi slams his drink against the bar; Junseung spares him only the briefest of glances before his attention is back to me.

“Well, Y/N, my name is Junseung,” he replies.

“I know.”

“Forget it Y/N, we can get the jewel without this --”

“Are you alright?” you ask Junseung.

Junseung wipes at his forehead with his sleeve. He’s grown a bit sweaty, and a few beads of perspiration have gathered on his upper lip. “It’s grown a bit hot in here.”

“Hmm, I hadn’t noticed,” you say dismissively. He shakes his head and draws the charm back, gathers it around him like a coat.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Junseung suggest. “What do you say?”

“Y/N wait--”

As quick as a flash, you pull the piece from you ear. “I’d love to.” Junseung offers you his arm, and you take it, draping yours over his with a hum. When you pass by Yoongi, your hand flashes out and drops the earpiece right into his drink. Junseung doesn’t notice a thing. He’s too busy wiping away his sweat and pulling at his necktie to loosen it.

The shocked looks the Bangtan boys give you as you walk out are slightly invigorating, slightly terrifying. You’re all on your own. When Junseung takes you to his private car and shoves you in the backseat, you brace yourself. The hardest part has yet to come.

The minute your ass hits the backseat, his hand slides its way up your thigh. His hands are rough and cold, and for a second your eyes flash to the driver, but the partition has been pulled up; you are totally stranded with Junseung. When his bourbon-reeking mouth comes down to great yours, you squeeze your eyes tight fiercely, but kiss him back with as much fervor as you can muster. Then he places open-mouthed kisses on your neck, collarbones, and lips. His clutching hands seek out your waist and his slobbery tongue laves at the bare skin behind your ear. The affection he’s desperately trying to give to you is the exact opposite of what you want. He’s rough, but he’s also growing fumbling, slow. For all the world, you wish his hands, his mouth, his growing bulge, were someone else’s...  

Thankfully, the ride is short, and soon you are pulling up to Junseung’s estate. The gates slide open to let the car pass. It rolls up to the front door to let you both out, and by then, Junseung is trying to collect himself.

“W-what do you say we g-go in?” he hiccups. You wipe your hands down the front of your dress to straighten the growing wrinkles, and flip a curl over your shoulder.

“Well I wasn’t planning on staying in the car…”

Junseung stumbles a bit when he gets out of the vehicle, and though the driver goes to reach for him with wary eyes, you fling yourself at him and begin to walk inside. As fast as possible, you tail it out of the driver’s sight.

“C’mon big boy,” you sigh. “Let’s do this.”

When you get back to the Bangtan compound, it’s nearly 4 in the morning. You carry not only your purse, but also a heavy briefcase, and it weighs so much that you nearly have to carry it with both hands. It makes getting inside a real pain in the ass, especially when wearing heels. The shoes clack on the ground as an announcement of your return, but nobody calls out to you. With a sigh, you accept no one's home; they’re probably all out looking for you after you disappeared. You were in trouble. Big trouble.

You march straight to the table and dump the briefcase there. All the energy drains out of you, and once you kick off the heels, you just heave yourself onto the table and let your upper half rest against the cool tabletop. For a few seconds, you just lie there and bask in the silence.

“Y/N.”

You shoot upright. Right there behind you, lingering in the shadows, is Yoongi. He’s watching you with those dark eyes. How did you not see him?

“Y-yoongi! I didn’t know anyone was home!” you stammer. Your mouth goes as dry as bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud. His heavy footfalls echo in the empty space. The gap between you closes and he steps closer, closer, closer...

“Did you fuck him?”

Your mouth opens and closes several times, but you can’t seem to find words. At his sides, his hands curl into fists.

“Y/N,” he grinds out. “I asked you a question.”

Your thighs clench. His voice is dangerously low, and it comes out as more of a growl, one that reverberates in his chest. Those pale hands whip out. One takes hold of your chin, the other locks itself into your hair, and the veins in his arm bulge. Weakly, you let out a groan.

He raises your face to meet his, and you find yourself eye to eye. “Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

His hands are on you, his gorgeous hands with those long fingers--

“What if I did?” you say. Your voice sounds so soft, and you hate it. You aren’t soft, and he certainly isn’t either. You can feel every inch of his rigid body against you, especially the conspicuous hard length pressed into your hip.

“Do you realize what you did back there? Throwing your earpiece into my drink? What the fuck did you think you were doing?” he hisses. His grip on your hair grows tighter and he yanks slightly to expose your throat to him. It only takes you a few seconds to decide what you’re going to do.

“I… I’ve been bad, haven’t I?”

Yoongi freezes. Even his breath seems to halt in his heaving chest. When he steps away, dropping his hands from you, you’re certain you’ve made a mistake.

“I’m sorry, I--”

“Bend back over the table.”

You blink at Yoongi. “W-what?”

“Bend over the table. Right now.”

Meekly, you do as commanded and drop your upper half onto the table next to the unopened briefcase. Your nipples start to harden against the silkiness of your dress. Laying there on the table, you realize all of Junseung’s manipulative touches didn’t have you even half as wet as Yoongi’s hands did.

“Yoongi, I--”

“Don’t say a word. Bad girls don’t get to talk.”

A resounding slap fills the air. You gasp aloud as the pain comes to you.

“Did you just… spank me?”

Another slap comes down on the same spot and you squeal.

“I just told you to be quiet.”

Your teeth gnaw at your lower lip. The next slap comes, and then the next. You reach out for something to steady you, but your fingernails claw uselessly at the smooth table. Then his hands begin to smooth over the sore spots.

“Teasing me all night in this red dress,” he chastises. “You know I love red.”

“I didn’t mean--” He spanks you again, harder, and you can’t stop the groan that spills past your lips.

“When are you going to learn what quiet means? I know you’re not stupid,” he barks. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You nod. It takes you a second to admit it, but yes, you are enjoying it. You want more.

“You should’ve listened to me, Y/N. You didn’t have to fuck that creepy bastard, but you wanted him, didn’t you?” Yoongi continues.

“No, I didn’t want him,” you say quietly. When you don’t get admonished, you press on. “I don’t want him, I want you.”

Yoongi leans over, and his hard on pushes against the back of your thigh. His voice is deadly calm in your ear. “Oh really? Then why’d you fuck him?”

You try to stand, but Yoongi doesn’t allow that. He keeps you shoved firmly up against the table with a hand on the back of your neck. His hands comes down on your ass once more.

“Please, I--”

“I can’t tell you how much I want to take you across this table. I’ve thought about it before, you know. All the time. Having you right as you are now. Bent over, all worked up and messy because of me.”

His words sent warmth shooting straight to your core, and you groan. One of those delicious hands slides down your back, on a path directly to your heat. You squirm to try and get him there faster, but he’s intent on going torturously slow.

“Junseung couldn’t fuck you like I could. He may have big jewels, but I bet I have something much bigger.”

“Yoongi…”

“That’s right, moan my name. Just wait. I’ll have you screaming my name before the night is over.”

With one knee, he nudges your legs apart. He lifts up your dress and it gathers at your hips, red material spilling around your waist on the table. Yoongi lets out a long groan at the sight of your underwear.

“Black lace? You’re trying to kill me, Y/N.”

His fingers stroke the fabric, and you perk your ass up just a bit, slowly beginning to grind back against him. You need more.

His fingers tug your panties to the side and expose you to the cool air, making you hiss. A single one of his fingers begins to swirl at your entrance, in slow deliberate circles. You can’t help the absolutely filthy noises that start to slip past your lips once he brushes your clit.

“You’re so wet,” he notes. “Is that all for me?”

You nod vigorously. You’d say or do anything to get some relief.

“So eager already… He must not have been that good,” Yoongi says. The hand that isn’t teasing your core begins to rub slow circles into the exposed skin of your lower back. His touch is so comforting, yet so electric after Junseung.

“Did he cum in you?”

“Huh?”

“I hope you were smart enough to use a condom. Who knows what kind of disgusting diseases he’s carrying,” Yoongi says. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Yoongi flicks his finger more insistently against your clit.

“I-I didn’t fuck him!” you cry out. Yoongi halts.

“What was that?”

“I said I didn’t fuck him.”

Yoongi gawked at you over your shoulder. “You… you didn’t?”

He releases you, hands falling away. With hesitation, you rise, and run one hand across your sore ass. “No, I’d never fuck that guy.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow together. “Then why were you gone so long?”

“I was robbing him blind while he was passed out.”

Yoongi gapes at you in disbelief. “You didn’t have sex with Junseung?”

You shake your head. “No. He passed out the minute I got him to his bedroom.”

“But… how?”

“He tried to slip something in my drink,” you say. “So I switched our drinks.”

Yoongi is staring, clearly in shock, but luckily that doesn’t last long. “You… you’re something else, Y/N.”

Color rises to your cheeks. “All part of the job.”

He leans in, almost hesitant. His breath fans across your face, smelling faintly of liquor but more strongly of desire. When his mouth meets yours, you part your lips to welcome him. The kisses begin slowly, but speed up before you know it, and then his tongue is probing your mouth. His hands have returned to your ass and are pressing you against him firmly, just as your arms have wrapped around his neck to drag him closer.

“Where were we?” Yoongi whispers against your lips. His fingers are slide down the front of your panties. Finally, you find yourself able to meet his gaze once he’s knuckle deep in your pussy.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sigh. “Yoongi, please more.”

He chuckles. “You want more?”

He adds another finger. You writhe against his hand as he pumps them slowly, thumb delicately brushing your bundle of nerves. He curls his fingers upwards and you gasp out his name again.

“Yoongi yes, don’t stop!” you beg. The slow, torturous assault continues. Your hips lift to meet his hand, urging him to go faster. He keeps his steady pace, smirk growing with each of your whining pants.

“So eager, are we?” he asks. You nod, chest heaving.

“I want you so bad. So fucking bad.”

He pumps his fingers faster, curves them just right and the knot in your stomach constricts.

“Look at you, ready to come around my fingers,” he says. “It’s even better than I imagined.” “It feels better than I imagined,” you pant. You’re grinding down against his thrusting fingers, and you can feel yourself slipping towards that familiar precipice.

“Show me how good it feels, baby,” Yoongi encourages. “Come all over my hand.”

Somehow, his fingers seem to pump faster, and he’s hitting just the right spot inside you. Within a minute, you’re clenching around his digits. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over. Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi…  He rides you through it, and doesn’t stop until you can hardly bear the sensitivity. Then slips his fingers out.

“That was fucking hot,” he mutters.

When you look up with hooded lids, you see he’s palming himself through his suit pants. Your legs are already weak, so you drop to your knees before him The look of pleasant surprise that crosses his face is a sight to behold.

“You don’t have to,” he starts, but you stop him with a hand on his belt.

“I want to,” you say. He lets you continue with appreciative eyes. You unbuckle it and unzip his pants, yanking them down to expose his dark boxers and the straining erection they conceal. With one hand, you reach out and give it a squeeze.

He throws his head back, and you lose sight of his face. You gently caresses it a few times before ridding him of the last layer. You want those dark eyes back on you, want them to see when you pull down his boxers and put the tip on your tongue.

“Take your shirt off,” you say. His gaze snaps back to you. Your tongue flicks out and gives the head a little kitten lick. He moans softly, but begins to tear open the buttons on the shirt. When he tosses the button up to the side, he’s completely naked before you.

“This seems a bit unfair,” he says. “You’re still dressed.”

You draw the head into your mouth and roll your tongue across the slit, then release it. “Mhm, but I’m about to suck your cock, aren’t I?”

“You’re such a brat.”

You look up at him with innocent eyes as you take all of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair to pull it out of your face, fingers lacing through your curls. The salty precum slides across your tongue and you swallow around his length. He doesn’t pull on your hair, at least not yet. His abs clench, as do his thighs.

Hollowing your cheeks, you begin to bob up and down. Each time the tip hits the back of your mouth, he grunts. Soon, his hips are thrusting forward to meet you.

“You look so good,” he muses, jaw clenched. “Those pretty lips sucking my dick.”

You beam at the appraisal, and take more of him, letting him fuck into your throat. Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let that stop you. If anything, it spurs you on. Looking up at him, blurry through your watering eyes, is indescribable.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck you.”

He thrusts deeper into your throat, and you gag. You try to relax as the thrusts keep coming.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

His hips begin to stutter and he hisses through his teeth. One of your hands slips up his thigh to cup his balls. You roll them around in your palm, and his hands tighten in your hair. He’s close, and you both know it.

He pulls away, and his length falls from your mouth with a pop. Blinking through your tears, you try and scoot forward, open mouthed.

“No,” he pushes you back.  “I don’t want to come in your mouth. At least not right now.”

“Why not?” you pout, puffing your lips out at him in protest. He takes hold of your chin once more, gripping it between forefinger and thumb. Your eyes are locked once more; you could get used to this.

“Because I want to come inside you.”

He pulls you up off your knees. Both of you fumble backwards towards the tabletop, eager to get at each other.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this,” you whisper. Yoongi yanks your panties down your legs, and they dangle limply around your ankles. You kick them off and scoot backwards onto the table. Your legs hook around his thin waist, drawing him in, and he staggers forward. He chuckles at your eagerness, but tugs one strap off your shoulder to expose your breasts to him.

“Me too.” He drops his mouth to your nipple. He rolls the bud between his teeth and you uselessly thrust your hips up into the air.

“Hurry up, Yoongi, we haven’t got all night--”

There’s a noise further down the hall and both of you still.

“Shit, is that--?”

“Yoongi? Y/N? You guys home?”

Panic wells in your chest. Jungkook.

Yoongi, without another word, scrambles to gather up his clothes. He snags his shirt, pants, and boxers and takes off down the hall, leaving you a rumpled mess on the table. With a disappointed mewl, you clamber down off the table. Just before Jungkook walks in, you straighten your dress to cover yourself.

Jungkook strides in. “Y/N, you’re alright! We were all so worried.”

“Oh hey! Uh, yeah I’m… doing great.” It’s hard to look him in the eyes. Is mascara running down your face? Is your lipstick everywhere? You probably definitely look like you just came.

He narrows his eyes at you. “Everything go okay?”

You nod. Hastily, you cross your arms over your chest to cover your pert nipples. “Yeah, yeah totally. Got this brief case right here, with the--”

Yoongi ambles back in, looking completely unaffected. His suit has returned to its normal state, if a little more wrinkled than before. Yoongi barely gives you a sideways glance. “Jungkook. You’re back.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow and he places his hands on his hips. “How long have you been home?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I knew she’d come back here. I told you she would.”

Jungkook stares him down for a few brief more seconds. “Y/N, did you just get here?”

You scratch at the back of your neck. “Yep. Yep, just got here.”

Jungkook’s attention flips back to Yoongi. That’s when, to your horror, you spot your black panties right near the table leg next to Jungkook’s shoe. He hasn’t seen them yet, but Yoongi definitely has. He smiles, all gums.

“So Y/N,” Jungkook says. “Did you find out if he has Satan’s Heart?”

Your gaze flicks away from Yoongi and back to Jungkook. With all your might, you will your underwear to dissipate into the floor. “What now?”

“Satan’s Heart. Did he have it?”

Jungkook is staring into your damn soul, and you hope he isn’t seeing the image of you on your knees in front of his friend.

“The jewel! Right, right,” you mutter. “In the briefcase.”

Jungkook turns away, and when he does, you reach out to pick up your fallen panties. Unfortunately, Yoongi beats you to it. He grips them in his pale fingers, and before slipping them into his coat pocket, he brings them to his nose and inhales deeply.

When Jungkook turns back to you, you’re gawking at Yoongi, jaw hanging agape “Well, are you going to open it?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, snapping your lips into a thin line. “Of course.”

When you put in the combination on the locked briefcase, your fingers shake, and it takes you a couple tries. Finally, the lid pops open.

Jungkook whistles. “Shit, Y/N.”

Yoongi strides forward, and when he does, refractions of red light dance across his smug face.

Inside the briefcase is Satan’s Heart, the massive ruby. Alongside it are several diamond encrusted Rolex watches and a couple thousands of dollars you helped yourself to from Junseung’s personal storage.

“You’re incredible,” Yoongi breathes. You watch with wide eyes as he lifts the hefty jewel in his left hand; his right hand slips into his coat pocket to toy with your underwear.

A blush has spread across your face, redder than the ruby.

“How’d you manage this, Y/N?” Jungkook shakes his head. Dark strands of his hair fall into his face. He quirks a brow. “You must have been pretty convincing…”

Yoongi laughs. “Oh trust me, she can be very convincing…”

His long fingers enclose Satan’s Heart, the ruby worth millions, but he has eyes only for you.

[differentjokes4differentfolks]

WTFIT Chap 12

A.N. AND FINALLY WE GET TO THE NIGHT IT’S BEEN LEADING UP TO!!! As always, you guys, enjoy!! ^-^

AO3

A tuxedo is hardly suitable armor for tonight, but it’s the most inconspicuous one when Bruce Wayne is to appear at the Gotham City Gala instead of Batman. Alfred plans on driving him and Tim to the observatory, Bruce knowing he needs to be ready for cameras, Tim able to just slip away in the distraction. It sounds easy. In theory.

When they arrive at the observatory they’re swarmed by cameras, Alfred opening the door to the car and Bruce blinking at the flash, still not used to the blinding lights even after years of this. Maybe I should wear sunglasses when I get out of the car next time. Tim doesn’t seem to care, flashing smiles this way and that, posing just slightly so that it looks casual. Bruce almost has to pull him along after himself.

“You think they got my good side?” he jokes, nudging Bruce.

“I think they got all your sides,” Bruce says dryly, glancing around. “We’re not here for photo ops.”

Tim pouts. “Fine.” He pulls out his phone, taking a selfie. Bruce can’t help but roll his eyes, Tim noticing. “It’s for my insta.”

“Does anyone even follow you?” Bruce asks, striding over to the center of the building and leaning over the railing. He knows he should be mingling, but his mind is too alert for mindless commentary. If someone comes over he’ll chat, but what he’s really waiting for is the okay from Dick that they’re in the building.

Tim follows him, clicking away at his phone screen. “A couple thousand. They like my hair, I think.” Bruce laughs. Tim looks affronted, but it doesn’t take long before he gives in and laughs along with him.

The scene around them is brightly lit, but still almost ethereal in the naturally dark observatory. People in all different color clothes decorate the room, suits and dresses galore. People flaunting what they have, conversing and swaying to the soft music in the background and holding crystal glasses in their hands, perfectly poised. There’s an auction later on tonight, where most of the money with be raised.

Tim slips away, ready to investigate while still looking like just another visitor, leaving Bruce alone to try to distract if he needs to. Bruce figures whenever Dent’s plan is supposed to be revealed, it’ll be around or during the auction. So he just needs to kill time. Shouldn’t be too hard.

He sees Gordon out the corner of his eye. None of the party-goers look too concerned, Bruce figures living in Gotham has desensitized them to danger, at least a little. An evacuation would lead to uproar, but he’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.

*

“Jason, could you drive this car any slower?” Dick feels like he’s part of his seat now, the speed pulling him back. Jason just smirks.

“Too fast for you, Grayson?” He pushes on the pedal a bit more, the car jolting faster. “I love this car, it doesn’t even roar if you stomp on the pedal. No wonder Bruce can sneak around everywhere. it’s so freaking quiet.” He swerves onto a side road, Dick grabbing onto the door handle.

“Jesus Christ, slow down!” He’s got nothing against going fast, but Jason is being absolutely criminal with his speeds. It’s a wonder he can even see anything that blurs past them. Cars beep as they see the Batmobile, whether in anger or appreciation he can’t tell. He can’t even see the expressions on people’s faces. Holy hell, if Jason doesn’t end up killing them both he’s going to strangle him.

At least Jason has the foresight not to park next to the observatory and instead hide it in a nearby grove. Dick’s legs wobble just the slightest bit as he exits the car, leaning on the vehicle. He waits for his heart-rate to return to normal, for his sight to slow down with the rest of the world. Jason jumps out laughing.

“Like a rollercoaster. If Bruce ever doesn’t want this baby, I’m taking it.” He taps the Batmobile, smoothing his hand over the shiny paint job. He glances over at Dick. “You okay?” His voice almost sounds concerned.

Dick holds his hand up to his mouth, keeping his nausea at bay. “‘M fine.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We should go.”

“You sure you can walk?” Jason asks with a snort. Dick shakes his head to clear it, standing up straight.

“Yeah.”

The observatory glows from here, a few hundred feet away. He’d love to take Barb to a ball sometime soon, she’d look great in a dress. Maybe when they don't have work to do.

Tonight is unusually warm, Dick barely feeling the cold winds through his suit. And Jason, well, he’s comfortable as can be in his leather coat. They run over to the building, Jason deciding to make a little conversation.

“How long has Tim been Robin?”

“I think he started a few months after you...left.” To be honest, the actual events that happened while Jason and Bruce were in the Middle East are hazy to Dick. First he’d heard that Jason had died, then that he was in the hospital, then that he was fine but wouldn’t be coming home. He still hasn’t figured out what the truth is.

“And he’s good?” Jason says, voice neutral.

Dick nods, an awkward move since he’s running. “Yeah. Bruce doesn’t really trust him for anything too big, ever since the incident. I guess he wants Tim to have more experience before tackling a big challenge.”

Jason slows a bit. “Makes sense, but how does Tim take it?”

“He doesn’t complain too much, but I know he’s itching for some adventures of his own. Why?”

Jason shrugs. “Just wondering. He seems nice. You know, from what I’ve seen.”

“You should hang around more,” Dick says. He hasn’t seen Jason in at least a year, no wonder he’s missed out on the new member of the Wayne family.

“Maybe,” Jason doesn’t sound all that convinced, upping his pace again so that he’s ahead of Dick. The conversation is apparently over, leaving Dick to realise the younger man has basically turned into Bruce. Broody, stubborn, and ‘independent’. To be fair, he has a better sense of humor, but the fact of the matter is he and Bruce are more alike than not. He should just come home.

The duo nears the back door to the observatory, opening it quietly to look at what waits for them inside. Jason slips in, Dick following and activating his comm.

“Batman? We’re in.”

*

There’s the go ahead.

“I need you to scope out the area,” Bruce utters quietly. His eyes flicker as he takes in the whole room, making sure no one is in hearing range. He can’t see Tim anymore, and he wants nothing more than to sneak off, don his batsuit and get into the action. This job might wear him out, but he’d rather do that than go to glittery balls. Apparently star themes mean deck out the decorations with sparkles. It’s a little blinding, actually. Too garish.

As it stands, for now he’ll be protecting the wealthy in his three-piece. He’s made a little conversation, friendly banter, rumours of what’s supposed to be at the auction, what the fundraising goal is. The better the items the more money raised, but nobody really knows what’s up for grabs. Strange.

“Bruce Wayne.” He turns to see Gordon nearing him. He inclines his head in greeting.

“How goes the surveillance, commissioner?”

Gordon gives a one-shoulder shrug, his body language tense. “Nothing’s happened so far.” He stands out from the rest of the crowd, dressed in his usual uniform. A hand rests on his hip, lighting on the gun he always wears. He’d be crazy not to, but the sight of it always rubs Bruce the wrong way. “How’s the party?”

“Nothing’s happened so far,” Bruce says with a smile. Gordon spares a one syllable laugh, likely the only time he’ll laugh tonight. “How’s Barbara?”

“Busy. Lots of schoolwork, you know.” Gordon cards his fingers through his hair. “It’s funny, she almost seems to work more than I do.”

Bruce laughs, though he wonders when, if ever, Barbara plans on telling her father just what she does. He has to be getting suspicious at this point. But he won’t be the one to say anything. It’d be one more thing on Gordon’s list of worries, his daughter helping fight some of Gotham’s deadliest criminals. And judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Bruce figures he should let Gordon focus on this tonight.

He says goodbye and moves on, picking up a glass of champagne as he goes. The moment he does he realises he probably shouldn’t drink anything that could slow him down, offering it to someone he passes. The more he glances at his watch the slower time seems to pass him by, so he decides to walk out onto the balcony for some fresh air.

The stars peek out from behind passing clouds, threatening rain or snow later tonight. The wind rushes past Bruce as he leans over the banister, a telescope to his right. A couple stands there, peering through the eyepiece, shivering in their formal attire. The woman’s wrap does nothing to keep her warm, a thin silk that threatens to blow away. It’s almost scenic.

He closes his eyes and just listens to the people around him, hoping time passes faster. He’d do anything to be with the others, actively doing something instead of just watching for danger on the sidelines, making sure nothing happens up on the main floor. He knows they’re capable, but he hates relying on others regardless.

“Bruce Wayne?” He purses his lips slightly before turning around, a fake smile on his face.

“Yes?” Oh. It’s a solicitor.

The man goes into his spiel of what he’s advertising, Bruce looking at him quizzically and tuning him out best he can while still maintaining an air of politeness. Dick updates him occasionally, Bruce humming and trying to look like he’s agreeing with the man in front of him. His hands clench just a little, a couple of times he’s tried interrupting, he even tries to cut him rudely off at times, but it’s futile. He’s trapped by a salesman on steroids.

His saviour comes in a crisp white suit, a purple flower on his lapel. Bruce flashes Joker a grateful smile, thinking he’ll steer the man away, provide a means of escaping with a clever joke.

No such luck.

Instead the clown decides to drape himself over Bruce, nipping at his ear. “Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice saccharine. The annoying solicitor steps back, eyes wide. Bruce has no choice but to hold Joker, no way he’s just going to drop him, even if he is being a nuisance at the moment. He’s going to cause a scene.

“Of course,” he says. “But I’m in the middle of something.” He gestures to the solicitor, who frowns.

“Who the hell are you?”

Joker steps forward, holding his hand out to shake. “John Doe.”

“Right. Isn’t that a name they give unidentified dead people?” The man says skeptically, arms crossed. Joker pulls back with a pout.

“It’s my name.” He looks back at Bruce as if to say Can you believe this guy? He narrows his eyes at the salesman. “Now unless you were selling ways to avoid annoying conversations, I’d leave. My boyfriend and I are busy.” He keeps his arms around Bruce, waiting. Bruce knows if they weren’t at a social gathering in normal clothes the solicitor would be on the floor. As it is, if looks could kill...

The solicitor hems and haws at the situation, Bruce not wanting to comfort him but knowing how intimidating Joker can be, even when he isn’t out terrorising the city. Finally he mumbles an excuse and walks away, shooting a glance at Joker. Bruce breathes out a sigh of relief. He also shoots Joker a look, a mix of curiosity and annoyance, verging more on the side of the former.

“Your boyfriend?” He asks the man, who relaxes his grip.

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” Joker says flippantly. “Don’t like it?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I just didn’t expect it. I like it.”

Joker smiles smugly. “I thought you would.”

“How did you get in?” Bruce asks. This Gala was basically by invitation only, as far as he knows.

Joker’s less than amused by the question. “You don’t honestly think I wouldn’t be able to sneak in, do you? It was easy-peasy.” Bruce focuses on him, his hand lifting up one of Joker’s lapels. “Like the suit?” He places his hand over Bruce’s and flattens it over his chest, where a steady heartbeat pulses under Bruce’s fingers.

Bruce nods appreciatively, noting how it hangs on the clown’s frame perfectly. He doesn’t bother asking where the suit’s from, he doesn’t want to know. “It’s nice. Suits you.”

Joker snickers, keeping his voice quiet so that it isn’t his trademark laugh. “Your puns are awful.” He leans back on the banister, breathing in the cool air. “So, tonight’s the night. You ready?”

“I have to be,” Bruce says, looking out at the crowd. “Anything could happen at this point.”

A half hour to the auction and it feels like the calm before the storm. He’s going to have to just wait at this point, Joker sitting on the narrow railing casually.

A glint catches his eye, a person flipping a coin next to him. He looks up to see the person already looking at him with a grin.

“Nice night, isn’t it? For fireworks?” He says. Any other person would have shrugged it off, maybe commented yes, or how they didn’t know there’d be fireworks tonight. Bruce shrugs, though he’s on immediately put on guard and wants to punch the man in the mouth. The coin gives it away, of course it does. It’s a sign of Harvey’s plans.

“I guess, but I didn’t know there’d be fireworks,” he says, voice air-light. Joker smirks. The man smiles.

“They’re supposed to be explosive, you know what I mean? The main event.”

Bruce maintains his calm demeanor, nodding. “I had a friend who used to do that,” he points out, gesturing to the flipping coin. “Harvey Dent. He’s in Arkham though, right?”

“Didn’t you hear the news? Crazy son-of-a-bitch got out. No one knows where he is.”  The man is terrible at lying, Bruce can hear the joke in his voice.

“I hope Gotham’s safe.”

Joker coughs, trying not to turn it into a laugh. “Batman’ll save us. Always does, right? From those evil, nasty villains.” Bruce elbows him slightly, hoping he’ll knock it off.

“Hm.” The man smiles cryptically. Bruce narrows his eyes slightly, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray. For appearances, again. He takes the tiniest sip, feigning indifference to the man but feeling every bit on edge.

“Anyways, I should get going, this party’s a drag.”

“Aw, what a shame,” Joker says, and Bruce knows he’s fighting not to roll his eyes. “Leaving before fireworks?”

“Never been a fan,” the man says as he walks away. Bruce decides not to follow him, Joker’s grip on his arm tightening.

“I’ve never liked that guy,” he murmurs, taking the glass from Bruce and swirling it. “Too cocky. Harv won’t let me take him out. You’re gonna let him go?”

“Of course not.” He comms Tim, who tells him he’ll make quick work of the man. He’s probably still in his suit, but so long as he isn’t seen he should be fine, Bruce is sure.

A crackling noise comes through the earpiece then, Bruce wincing at the sharpness of it.

“Oracle-”

“Hello, Bruce.”

A chill runs down Bruce’s back. “Harvey.” He edges further away from the crowd, making sure he’s out of earshot.

“Enjoying the gala?”

“Disappointed you’re not here,” Bruce deadpans. Harvey laughs. “How did you escape again?”

“Again? Sorry, Batman, I think you’re confused. Or maybe I pulled a fast one on you.” Bruce can almost see the smirk on the villain’s face, and has never wanted to reach through a phone and throttle someone more. “Anyways, how’s Alfred? A little lonely, I think.”

Bruce’s jaw clenches, his grip on the balcony tight. He doesn’t look at Joker, who he knows is listening intently to what Bruce is saying. “Leave him alone.”

“How about a race?” Dent asks smugly. “You getting here by the time I find the man. Shouldn’t be too hard for the Batman.” There’s a click, and his voice is gone, Oracle’s flooding through.

“He’s not at the manor yet. If you leave now you might be able to beat him there. I’ll warn Alfred.”

Bruce gnaws at his bottom lip anxiously.

“Can’t you let your kids deal with this?” Joker asks, noticing Bruce’s mood. His eyes are clouded over, the way they tend to get on long nights. He’s tense, ready to fight at moments notice. But Bruce shakes his head.

“I don’t want them to deal with everything happening here, not until the worst is over.”

Joker rolls his eyes, dragging Bruce further away from the crowd and into one of the darker halls, where they can’t see the main area. “Bats, they’re old enough to fix this, don’t you think? Let them take care of it.” Bruce listens, and the clown continues, “What about Robin?”

Bruce thinks about it. He could have Tim up on the main floor, nothing to worry about too much...

“Come on, you can’t always be the main hero. Go save your butler, he’s more important. Be selfish, just this once.” Joker’s eyes glimmer in the dark, reflecting like a cats. They focus on Bruce, who knows he’s right. He could trust Tim to do this, he’s been practicing for this for ages. But if something goes wrong… “You’re always taking care of the city, take care of yourself just this time.”

Bruce makes up his mind, albeit with more than a fair share of reluctance. “Alright, fine. Robin could handle this. Let me just check up on how everything else is going.”

*

Jason and Dick sneak past most of the thugs, rushing into the next room, where they find a whole machine rigged to the walls.

“Holy shit,” Jason breathes out. “They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted all of them dead. Bombs and...did we not get all of Crane’s toxin?”

A moderately large beaker of green liquid rests on top of a crate, a pump siphoning out the liquid into what Dick guesses leads to the emergency sprinklers.

“I guess not. It was probably just a diversion, when it comes down to it.” Dick kneels down next to the timer, glancing at the time. 00:45. “This gives us quite a bit of time, actually.” Right up until a few minutes into the auction, if the clock’s right.

“Don’t jinx us, Dick,” Jason warns. He stands near the door, making sure he doesn’t hear anyone stepping too close to where they are. “Here, I’ll disarm it, you stand watch.” He goes over and nudges Dick away from the timer, the latter standing and taking his place at the door. The walls are cold, the lights flickering. The perfect basement atmosphere, Dick thinks.

“I’ve never seen this kind of timer,” Jason mutters. “Sionis must’ve worked overtime to make it.” He pulls out his tablet, plugging it into the dangerous box. “It’s like the world’s deadliest relay. Everyone puts in their part and Dent finishes the race.”

“Not today he won’t,” Dick says. Steps come closer to the door, and he waves Jason away so that nothing seems out of the ordinary. He steps away from the door, and the thug walks in, the door shutting behind him.

“There’s no way I’m staying here while the bomb goes off. It’s a death sentence,” the thug mumbles. He carries his gun lazily, swinging it around like a baseball bat. Dick rolls his eyes, these people aren’t very loyal. But maybe that’s why they’re expendable in the long run. In any case, it’s time for the man to take a little nap. He steps out from behind, covering the thug’s face with his hand until he goes limp in his arms. Dragging him away so that he slumps against a wall, he returns to his spot at the door.

“Babs? I need you to turn off the mechanism for the emergency sprinklers.”

“Sure, but what about the explosives?”

“They’re on timer, Jason’s figuring it out, don’t worry.”

“I’ll send you what I have, Barb,” Jason says through his comm.

“Right. Is everything else alright?”

“So far so good, I’ll update you.” Dick hears a knock on the door.

“Hey buddy, you okay? You been in that room for a while.” Dick leans on the door, preparing his best thug impression.

He meets eyes with Jason, who watches him expectantly, ready to leap if need be. Lowering his voice, he answers. “Yeah, man, sorry. Just taking a break before the Bat shows up, making sure the bomb’s okay.”

There’s a pause. “You sound sick, you sure you’re okay?” Jason muffles a laugh, Dick faking a cough.

“I’m fine, honest. Just got a little cold, I’ll be right out.” He hears receding footsteps and breathes out a sigh of relief. Jason lets out his laugh, shaking his head.

“Nightwing the sick henchman. Amazing.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Dick retorts. “I’m an amazing voice actor.” A glance at his watch. Twenty-five minutes to the auction. So long as the bomb is disarmed in time they’ll be fine.

*

Tim looks back over his shoulder as he traverses the main room of the observatory, weaving around people and sneaking glances at the items behind the makeshift stage at the things being auctioned. A couple times he’s been looked at warningly, so he makes sure not to overstep. Or to overstep when he’s sure no one’s looking. Though he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for. Anything could happen at this point. It’s a pile of fancy vases, jewelry, diamonds... nothing he’s particularly interesting, and nothing he’d count as being out of place. And yet he has a sneaking suspicion.

He makes the mistake of getting caught snooping, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man says gruffly. He scowls at Tim, who shifts back so the hand falls.

“Sorry,” he tries. “I’m just super curious.” He laughs it off, quieting when the man doesn’t reciprocate. He sure doesn’t look like the usual upper-class type. His coat doesn’t fit him right, he’s not clean shaven, his hair is pushed back messily. Dick steps back away from the items, out of the man’s line of sight and away from anyone’s hearing.

“Bruce, some of these people aren’t the usual kind of millionaires. Just saying.” He states it casually, hand in his pocket as though he were just chatting to a friend though a bluetooth earpiece.

“Got it. No sign of Mr. Dent?” Bruce’s voice is just as relaxed, if Tim didn’t know him better he never would have noticed the slight tension in his tone.

“Not yet. Five more minutes and the auction starts, what do you want to do?”

“Well-”

“Haha! We finally disarmed it! Boy, imagine if it had gone off,” Jason pipes up. “Oh hell, I think they heard us. Dick, why didn’t you stop me?” He goes off his comm. Tim doesn’t know whether to laugh or worry about them now.

“Should I go help? I wore my suit under my clothes…”

Bruce sighs, and Tim can tell something isn’t right with him. “Yes. I’ll take care of things up here for now. But be careful, and hurry back. There’s something I need to take care of.” Tim enters the men’s bathroom, slipping off his coat. He doesn’t bother being too careful with his shirt, he can always get a new one later, but he makes sure to takes his mask out of his pocket. He exits the stall, and shoves his clothes into a bag he’d hidden in the small closet just in case. In hindsight, he hadn’t realised just how prepared he was.

Just as he prepares to sneak out someone walks through the door, blinking at him in astonishment.

“You’re Robin, right?” The man’s eyes are wide, not sure if he should move or stay and talk. Tim stops, fidgeting. He puts his hands on the man’s shoulders, switching places with him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, but I gotta go, you know, protect you guys, so I can’t really talk.” He rushes out, still grabbing onto his bag, feeling the man’s gaze still on him. Well that was awkward. Wonder if it’s ever happened to Bruce…

The basement is empty save the men crowding around the door, where he assumes Dick and Jason are defending themselves best they can. Tim purses his lips, they won’t get anything done with the barricade of thugs. He sneaks up to the distracted men, pulling one away easily and knocking him out quickly. It’s not the best move and he knows they’ll realise they aren’t alone anymore. But he figures after the second man he takes out he can hide and cause a distraction away from Jason and Dick. Which is basically what happens.

He slides behind a divider, shifting away silently to avoid getting caught. He does not want to get riddled with bullets tonight. Or any night, come to think of it. Footsteps thud past him, and he glances back to where the door is, seeing Jason slip into the room quietly, staying in the shadows. Tim assumes Dick is taking care of any thugs that might have gotten into the room.

There’s a solitary thug stepping a little too close to him, he decides to kick his feet out from under him, knocking his head back hard against the floor and choosing a different spot to hide. He sees Jason taking care of two, though he notices there are less than before. Maybe they were smart and ran before the bomb exploded. Self-preservation is a good quality in a person, it makes them reliable that way. It also leaves less people to waste energy on, at the moment. He meets eyes with Jason, who drops silently to knock a man to the floor. Dick’s finally left the room to take care of the last two men who’d been frantically waving around their guns, looking a little too trigger-happy for Tim’s liking.

When the coast is clear he walks out, Dick passing out high-fives. Jason complies with a weak hand, Tim returning it with more energy. Now all that’s left is Dent, who Bruce can probably take care of, but not in his fancy suit. He’s probably feeling super antsy just thinking about it.

Tim opens his mouth to talk, but he freezes when he hears a click.

“Don’t move, any of you.” Tim fights the urge to turn and face the thug, Dick watching him. Jason growls. “Put the gun down. Your hands are shaking, you probably can’t even use it.”

A round of bullets goes off, flying right past Tim’s ear, who at this point is barely even breathing.

“You think I can’t? Turn around slowly.”

Tim pivots to face the man, trying to stay expressionless.

“There’s three of us,” Dick states. “Think about it. Take down one of us and two more will pin you down.”

The man’s expression is steely, eyes on Dick. Tim nods just the slightest bit at Jason, who brings a hand up to his ear slowly.

“Imagine if we had a blackout right about now,” he says casually. The man turns to him angrily, but Jason just holds his hands up innocently. Barbara’s voice comes through all of their headsets, Tim smiling just the slightest bit.

“Heads up.”

And then the lights go out.

[fabnamessuggestedbytumbler]

Prologue: 1000 Years Ago

The carriage bumped along, carrying six happily chatting girls and one miserable driver. It was no wonder that his mood was like this; it had been raining for over an hour now. Since about five minutes after the girls reboarded the carriage.

They had been on a mission delivered straight from the High King of Rashiviio, and he was their transportation. When they climbed in the carriage, as if by magic, it began pouring.

He sighed and decided to take a nap. The horses knew their way back to Ranseed Palace. He could only sleep for five minutes, but he couldn't stay awake, either; his eyes were drooping down.

He woke to startled whinnying. He noticed with dismay that it was no longer raining. He must've slept longer than he wanted to.

One of the horses whinnied again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He wasn't worried. They spooked at everything. A rabbit had probably ran across their path. He opened his eyes, preparing to calm the horses down.

And immediately let out the scream of a five-year-old girl.

Standing in front of him was a 10ft tall A-Class Scorpion Type Demon.

“Mr. Driver? Are you alright?” Came a concerned voice from the carriage.

“Hello.” The Demon said as if it were trying to appear amiable. However, evil leaked through its voice, and its true intentions were crystal clear to the driver.

They were in a clearing in the woods. He recognized this part of the woods; it was about a mile away from the bridge over the Great Divide, which separated the town where the High King’s palace stood and the Kingdom of Earth, from which all Earth Mages hailed.

“Mr. Driver?” Came another voice. They had probably sensed the Demon’s presence, and were trying to make sure he was alright.

He finally found his voice. “HELP!” He screamed. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

The Demon pouted. At least, that's what it looked like to the driver. It was really just a giant black blob in the shape of a scorpion.

“Here I was gonna tell you why I didn't kill you while you slept. You still wanna know?” It asked.

Inside the carriage, there was rustling. Probably the girls grabbing their swords and usual fighting staffs.

The driver could only stare at the Demon with an almost comically scared face and skin paler than that of a ghost. It was all he could do not to pee his pants.

The Demon cocked his head. “If you don't answer, I'm gonna kill you.” He said impatiently.

Then came a series of knocks on the wood behind him. He recognized it as Hemres Code, a phonetic code invented thousands of years ago that most humans still knew and used. He realized they were relying on him being one of the many who did.

Keep him distracted. They said. We’ve got a plan.

The driver’s first thought was how am I supposed to do that?!

Then he kept thinking. These girls stare death in the face on an almost daily basis. If they can do that, I can distract it, right? It can't be that hard. I mean, this one seems to like talking.

He looked up at the Demon and said, “Sure. Why didn't you kill me?”

The Demon seemed to smile. “Well, first of all, may I say that you look adorable when you’re sleeping?! And second of all-” here, the Demon’s smile became malicious- “I never make my kill while their eyes are closed. If I do that, I can't watch the light leave their eyes! And that’s the best part about killing.” He looked at the driver. “Speaking of which-” he poised his tail to kill the driver-

And a blue blur whizzed by the tail, taking the tail with it. A blue-haired girl appeared about five feet away from the Demon, crouching, her sword poised at her side from the follow-through of her swing. The Demon’s tail thumped in the grass next to her.

Two crimson daggers flew out of the woods to the driver’s left, bouncing off of the Demon’s tough armor.

Seconds later, five mages jumped down in a circle around him, with the blue-haired girl completing it. Red, brown, purple, white, and black haired fluttered in the air as the girls landed and straightened.

The Demon seemed to smirk. “Nice try, for girls anyway. However, only Element Blades can pierce my armor. And you can only receive them from the Gods and Goddesses of your respective element.” He whirled around to face the girl with blue hair. “Which this one seems to have, meaning…

I have to kill you first.”

In response, the girls each drew a blade that matched their hair. The Demon stopped short. If he could have, he would've paled.

They all had Element Blades.

Element Blades were swords made purely from a Mage’s Element. One had to receive them from the patron God or Goddess of their Element. For example, a Fire Mage had to prove herself to the Fire Goddess, Meeria, in order to receive such a sword.

The girl with white hair smiled sunnily. “Yes, of course we do!” She frowned innocently. “You do know who we are, right?”

The Demon just about died of a heart attack. These were not just any Mages. These were not just a random group of six Mages. This was the group of six Mages. The Circle of Six Mages.

A quiet voice spoke behind him. “We have these, too.” It said. He whirled to ask what she meant and was met by a purple Element Dagger in his chest. He began to crumble and fade, turning into a pile of black rocks, at the top of which a glittering black stone rested, glittering in the setting sun.

The girl with black hair stepped forward and grabbed it. She smiled softly. “Another Onyx, almost as good as the one from that SSS class monstrosity.” She said, slipping it in her cloak pocket before drawing the hood.

The driver just sat, clutching the reins, appearing as though he were in a permanent state of shock. The horses had long since run off.

A very demonic screech sounded in the direction of the Divide. Then another, and another. Screeches came every few seconds.

The Circle looked at each other warily. It sounded like there were a lot of Demons.

The purple haired girl stepped up shyly. She waved her hand. “Here.” She said, and a ball of wind surrounded the carriage, picking up dust and leaves and other debris. “This'll take you home. You can use the reins to control it, just like the horses. Go ahead, we’ll be back at the palace soon, and stop by the stables to tell you we’re alright.”

Her voice was quiet, and very, very shy.

The driver merely nodded, and snapped the reins as if there really were horses in front of it. Soon he was riding away at top speed.

The girls gave each other a grim look, and took off through the woods. There couldn't be that many, or they would've been seen by people traveling by. It was a busy road, after all. Even if they'd hidden in the divide, they would've been seen by people crossing it barely a mile away.

The Mages raced through the woods, combing the area for any trace of demonic energy.

About ten minutes later, they came to the Divide. They looked around. Nothing.

We must've imagined it. Thought the blue-haired girl, tucking a shoulder length strand of hair behind her ear.

“There are no demons here, and it sounds like one is no more than fifty yards away.” The black-haired girl said, deep in thought.

As if to answer her, another screech sounded, this one even closer. And suddenly, at the bottom of the canyon, a cat type demon shimmered into sight. It looked straight at them and yowled again.

The blue-haired girl’s face contorted in confusion.”But how did it conceal itself from us? I've never seen this!”

“If you can shut up from your no-knowledge-breakdown, four eyes, she has an idea.” Said the redhead, pointing to the girl with white hair. She was chewing on her lip thoughtfully.

The girl with blue hair glared at the redhead, shoved her glasses up her nose, and nodded for the white- haired girl to continue.

“Well,” she began, smiling, “back in the Kingdom of Light, we would use a type of barrier to keep the smaller villages that were more prone to attack hidden. It was a Dome-Type that kept everything under it invisible. The only catch was it didn't have any sort of repulsion, so if you stumbled under the Dome, you could see everything.”

The blue-haired girl, still looking a little wary, scrunched her eyebrows again. “Well, how do we hear that cat like it’s almost within arm’s reach? This canyon is over one thousand miles deep!”

The white-haired girl nodded. “My many-times great grandmother enchanted it, back during the reign of the Second High King. Basically, she made it so that sound in this area is all on a flat plain. Meaning, even though the demons are technically over a thousand miles away from us, on the magic plain, they're not even five feet away. That's also why we can see them so clearly from so far away. The King requested it as an early-warning system.”

The redhead sighed impatiently. “Great, that's great, we know why shit happens. Amazing. I don't care. Let's go kill it.”

“No!” The white-haired girl said. “There’s probably a reason the barrier was erected. We should scout it out from up here first.”

The girl with blue hair nodded,rubbing invisible dirt off of her glasses. “I agree. If someone was smart enough to erect the barrier-” she paused, breathed hot air on her glasses, and continued wiping and speaking- “they were trying to hide something.” She put her glasses back on. “We should find out what it is.”

The redhead looked like she wanted to jump down and clash head-on with the Cat Demon (which was giving itself a cat bath), but the girl with glasses merely glared at her and said sternly, “from up here.”

The redhead growled frustratedly, but the blue haired girl just rolled her eyes. “We need a plan.”

The whited haired girl, deep in thought again, said,”what if we picked them off from up here? The canyon is very deep; not even a SSS Class Demon could jump it. They'd have to climb, and we can kill them before they reach us.”

As she had talked, a smile had grown across the strategist's face. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she asked,”Can you do the invisibility dome spell?”

A smile equivalent to the strategist’s grew on her face. “Yup.”

“Let's do this then.”

And suddenly, all the Mage's eyes lit up, as if there had been some form of invisible communication. All of their eyes gleamed with determination as they began to execute their silently communicated plan.

The Water Mage raised her arms and drew one back, as if knocking an invisible arrow on an invisible bow. And then one shimmered into existence, quite literally because it was made of aquamarines that could've passed as water. The arrow she was knocking was made of wickedly pointed tip. She aimed it at the Cat Demon.

The Light  Mage drew her arm back, mimicking poising a spear for throwing. She opened her palm ard a light appeared over it, extending until it became one, made of a white, almost transparent quartz.

The Dark Mage held her arms by her side, extended about a foot. She opened her palms, and to small spheres devoid of light appeared, forming and reshaping until they made an onyx dual kusarigama, the chain pooling on the ground in front of her. She gripped the handles tightly.

The Wind Mage held her arms in an X in front of her. She opened her hands, and winds began gathering around her, beginning to glow violet. The winds died down, leaving her holding two amethyst chakrams, one in each hand.

The Earth Mage held her hand out in front of her, her fingers spread yet flat, but her index finger curled. A glowing boulder almost a foot wide fell out of nowhere. It landed in her palm and shattered so profoundly that all was left was dust and a dark brown slingshot in her palm, the ring around her finger, already loaded.

The Fire Mage, not seeming very happy about not being in blade-to-blade combat, held her arm behind her in a similar fashion to the Light Mage. Flames roared and sparked, but instead of a spear, she was left with a ruby-red atlatl.

This happened in perfect unison. Immediately after summoning her weapon, the Light Mage began glowing. A dome began to spring from her, resisting like an elastic band. Finally, it practically exploded, shooting out as far as they could see. What was left was an invisibility dome about ten feet high and ten feet in diameter. They could see through it as if nothing was there.

This all happened in less than ten seconds, for the girls knew they had to act quickly. And act quickly they did. As soon as the dome was in place, they simultaneously began their attack.

The Water Mage released her arrow, piercing the Cat Demon right in the butt, as it was chasing its tail. It gave a pained yowl and crumbled into a pile of red rocks, a ruby perching at the top. The blue haired girl pulled back the arrow string again, another arrow springing into existence with a small pop. She did this again and again, sometimes releasing the string so early that the arrows came into existence flying through the air as if they'd been on the bow since the beginning.

The Light Mage threw her spear. It crashed through five demons before burying itself halfway up the shaft on the opposite canyon wall. She drew her left hand back and threw nothing, but a spear sparked into existence about two feet from her. She repeated this process over and over, each spear killing five or six demons.

The Dark Mage threw one of the kusarigamas. The chain, which originally was only about five feet long, grew and stretched and then flew in a wide arc, taking out a couple of confused Demons. When it came back around, the Dark Mage caught it and threw the other.

The Wind Mage threw one of the chakrams like a frisbee, and one replaced it in her hand immediately. It cut through quite a few Demons before slicing through a canyon wall and disappearing. She threw the chakram in the other hand and continued this alternating pattern.

The Earth Mage spun the slingshot a couple times and released the rock. About three feet from the sling, it grew into a boulder almost five feet in diameter. It landed with a huge thunk and crushed a few Demons, tossing still others to the side.

The Fire Mage swung the atlatl with one hand like a whip. However, instead of a powerful string coming around, a dart whizzed from the long shaft. She raised and swung again and again, darts automatically reloading themselves.

As the projectiles began to exit the shield, most of them teleported to different parts of the canyon, so they rained down equally and randomly. This way, no Demon could follow the volleys and figure out where the Six were.

Stones of red, orange yellow, green, blue, violet, black and even brown crumbled from fallen Demons, perched with stones that matched the color of the stones: rubies, topazes, citrines, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts, onyxes, and pretty brown larkrakrovs. However, no white stones or gems appeared.

“You know, attacking from a place where no one can see you is rather rude. Shall we even go to the playing field a bit?”said an unfamiliar voice. Before the girls could even turn to see the speaker, they all had the sensation of being kicked in the stomach, but from behind, like something had gone through their spine to attack the lining of it. They all fell into the Divide.

The Wind Mage, thinking quickly, created an air bubble around the Six to slow their descent. Five minutes later, they landed softly and safely on the ground.

[mostlymaddie]

Sorry I'm Allergic

A/N: Okay so warning this has smut also I started this at 4:30pm and now it's 4:24am like this looks like it was done in one second Harry always made sure everything in his life was how he preferred it. If he wanted something he got it, if he wanted certain things changed they were changed in a heartbeat. Now, Harry wasn't cocky about it this was just something he had grown accustom to, so getting what ever he wanted came like second nature. Although it wasn't just him getting "special treatment" he made sure his family always had what they needed in a matter of seconds. The only thing Harry actually wanted was someone to be with, share his thoughts with, and put his love into. Don't get me wrong, Harry put his life and soul into his music no questions asked but he just wanted someone  that could share their feelings with him and every thought they had ever come across. And that's where you came along, well in Harry's book. When Harry first saw you it was at a smoothie place near his house. You were ordering a Groovy Goji with a grilled chicken wrap. Harry didn't know what attracted him to you he didn't think it was your face seeing half of it were covered by Hangover styled Aviators. Maybe it was your voice, while it did sound beautiful it was the perfect mix of nasally, soft, and filled with confidence. The only words he heard there 'goji' 'also' 'chicken' since the strong wind was impairing most of his hearing. Goji and chicken sounded great to Harry but that wasn't it either. So Harry decided it was the way you carried yourself, you stood tall and determined not to mention the natural glow you had. Harry quickly ordered his food and sat at the table in front of you hoping to catch a glimpse of your face. A little after you both got settled you took off your sunglasses and he finally saw your full face. Harry was completely floored, it was obvious your beauty wasn't the reason you attracted him but it was just a little bonus to finally see your face. Harry sipped on his antioxidant smoothie and tried to get a your attention buy dropping things and and coughing very loudly but you never made an effort to look up. Harry grow frustrated very quickly, everyone in the damned store looked at him with the "Oh my gosh it's the Harry Styles" but the one girl he wanted wouldn't even glance at him. As said before Harry always got what he wanted, right now Harry wanted this girl to notice him and he got none of that. A hour passed of Harry ordering numerous drinks and still no contact from this girl. When he almost gave up the girl closed her laptop, shoved it in her bag and walked toward the door. "See you again Y/N" the barista called out behind her. So that was her name it most definitely fit her face. Now Harry had a name and a face but he still seeked more. It was obvious he could have came back tomorrow and seen you, the barista's words as evidence, but that just wasn't enough. So the only thing that made sense to Harry was to follow you yes full on stalker follow you. Harry made sure you were out of sight of the shop windows before towing after you. He pressed in his mind which direction you were going he all so made sure he was a good ten feet behind you at all times. While in this pursuit of you he's learned a lot if things, everyone and he means everyone knew who were he watched as you received "Hi Y/N!" "Hello love, how are ya?" You replied with smiles, waves, and answers to those question. This whole ordeal made Harry more curious as to who you are. As he pondered who you might be he didn't notice you stopped and turned to face him, causing Harry to crash into you. "Okay listen here mister, I let it slide when you stared at me back at the shop even when you followed me for two blocks. But now you're just being creepy so can you just please leave me alone?" Harry's heart dropped down to his stomach, blinded by the thought of this girl he completely forgot right and wrong. For god's sake he had followed this poor girl. " 'M so sorry. I didn't mean ta freak yeh out I just wanted to talk to yeh." Harry explained. "Mmm really? Ever tried 'Hey wanna talk'?" "I'm sorry. Can I please make it up to you? I just wanna talk to yeh a bit. Maybe over a goji berry smoothie?" Harry proposed, hoping for a positive response. "Nope sorry I'm allergic" with that she turned on her heel and kept walking down the street. Harry had properly blew it and he was more than frustrated. On his walk home he thought about what he could do to try and make the situation better. The last thing Harry wanted to do was leave a bad taste in your mouth, that's when he thought about the barista's words "See you again Y/N!" Harry woke up the next day with a plan already in his head, it wasn't that elaborate but it was a start. He woke up and put on his best outfit, with the help of his sister, and walked to the shop that got him in the mess in the first place. Harry ordered his antioxidant smoothie and a sandwich for himself with a groovy goji and a grilled chicken wrap for Y/N. Merely minutes later you walked in  "Hey! Over here." Harry called. You looked in the direction of the voice, once you saw who it was you tried to leave immediately, but Harry was too fast. "Please jus sit down with meh so we can talk." "No, I don't talk to people like you." Harry has never gotten that response before when he asked to talk to someone. This girl really put up a challenge but that just enticed him more. "Just because 'm famous doesn't mean 'm stuck up if tha's what yeh think" Y/N looked up at Harry with dulled slow blinking eyes. "Famous?" she chuckled " When I said people like you I meant creepy, if we're being honest here I have no idea who you are." Now that was a huge blow to Harry's ego, not only did she not know him, she called him creepy. "Yeh don't know who I am? 'M Harry Styles I'm from the band One Direction well I'm doing my own thing for the time being but." Y/N racked her brain for 'Harry Styles' or 'One Direction' but nothing came up. Of course Y/N didn't live under a rock she always knew the latest songs and Netflix TV shows but she had never heard of Harry and his band. Now she was being pursued by this hot shot since yesterday that she hasn't heard of mainly because their prime years were covered by her emo phase which left no room for boy bands. Since My Chemical Romance and One Direction didn't mesh well on a playlist she was left completely clueless "Yeah dude, I don't know who you are." Harry sighed but maybe this was a good thing, since Y/N didn't know him she may not associate him with the womanizer image that didn't represent him at all. "Okay well maybe we could chat about it ovar some food and such?" Y/N thought about it, if this guy really was a creep she could rely on the employees to save her since she's on a first name basis with all of them and even texts a few of the baristas from time to time. There was no doubt his name held weight because yesterday everyone flocked to him as soon as they walked in. At first she just thought he was a local like her self but some people asked for pictures and autographs, she thought that was odd but the letter she was writing to her brother overseas was way more important than some pretty boy local. After a long sigh Y/N says "I guess so." with a smile that made Harry's heart flutter. Harry lead you to the table where your food was set up " I got what I heard you order yesterday. That's not really helping the creep case but." Harry said while he sat her down and pushed her chair into the table. "Yeah no it's fine, really sweet actually." Harry and Y/N talked about a lot first was about his first band and his experience on the X Factor. Harry's talk lead more into One Direction and the great times he's had with all four guys and even giving Y/N insight on some of the worst. Then Harry let Y/N have the spotlight where she talked about her upbringing. She told Harry just about every embarrassing story in her life because that's what made him laugh the most. Y/N and Harry talked the whole entire day, in fact they didn't even notice until one of the employees told them the place was closing. They walked outside the shop to bid a goodbye to one another but they both didn't want the night to end so Harry had an idea "Come ovar my place for a bit? We could talk some more." Harry leaned his forehead on to hers and intertwined their fingers. "Yeah" Harry and Y/N walked back to his house, they talked some more about TV shows Harry spewed out his favorite in a heartbeat since he barely watched TV but he always had a few he tuned to immediately. Y/N however recommend every show on HGTV like Flip or Flop and Vintage Flip just to name a few. Harry never heard of these shows but seeing the excitement in her eyes made him want to watch them more so they agreed to watch it when they got to his place. They got to his place in a matter of minutes he ushered her in just incase any paps were waiting to catch a glimpse of him."So this is my place, it's not much but I call it home." This place looked beautiful to Y/N different art pieces decorated the white walls, different crystals sat on side tables each were different in shapes and sizes but were all connected by a common color of red. The living room and a color plan of yellow, black, and red it was weird but Harry made it work. The two walked to his couch and took a seat "Now show me this House Hunters you go on about." After about four episodes and Harry yelling at the wifes when they complained about the light fixtures our the shower head, the two found themselves cuddling on his couch. Y/N lifted her self from his chest to get to his face "H, calm down show's fake anyways she's just bitchin' for no reason." Harry looked up at her, her eyes were glazed over and her hair was a hot mess because Harry ran his fingers through her hair, getting it tangled, but she looked absolutely adorable. "It is? Tha's upsetting." Y/N chuckled and started to ramble about something but Harry was too focused on her lips, they were puffy and looked so soft Harry couldn't help himself. Harry reached up to capture her lips Y/N was caught off guard but it felt right and she quickly melted into the kiss. This wasn't the 'sparks are flying' 'fireworks in my stomach' type of kisses because those just didn't happen, but this was the best kiss Y/N has ever had in her life no doubt. Push came to shove and they're in his living room making out like horny teenagers.Y/N was the one to break the kiss "Can we, I don't know. Go to your room or something?" she said gasping for air Harry didn't hesitate before he lifted Y/N up and wrapped her thighs around him. He ran upstairs and dropped Y/N on the bed before crawling over her. "So beautiful love, jus' layin' here fo' meh." Harry kissed her cheek trailing down to her jawline then neck. Y/N started to moan when he sucked a sweet spot under her ear. "Oh babe that feels amazing!" she moaned and grabbed a hold of his hair. Her moans ignited something in Harry that caused him to rut his cock on her thigh. Harry made sure he had two beautifully colored marks on her neck and collar bone before continuing. He lifted the bottom of her shirt to under her breast. Harry kissed, sucked, and kitten licked her lower stomach. Different profanities including fuck and shit leaving her mouth her skirt created no barrier as Harry continued his assault while rubbing her panty clad clit. Y/N took her shirt off and massaged her breast through her bra "Fuck Harry do something please I need you!" Harry decided to give her what she wanted, he reached up to undo the clasps on her bra and slid it off her arms. "You're such a fooken sight to see petal. Your tits are so perfect, let me get us situated then I'll get back to those, okay beautiful?" Harry went down to her lower region he pulled down the zipper on her skirt and slid them down her legs. Then Harry leaned in to place a kiss her her clit he licked and sucked as much as he could seeing she still had underwear on. "Sweetheart, these little thongs yeh have on are so beautiful pet, bet they make ya ass look incredible. In fact turn around and let me see it babe." Y/N whined "Baby please I just want you in me please H I'll do anything!" "Love when I say do something, yeh do it. I don't wanna spank that pretty ass red. But I will." Y/N groaned but turned around on her stomach. "Christ sweetheart I was right." Y/N's ass was beautiful it was the perfect size for Harry her ass turned Harry's semi hard straight into a raging hard on. He dove into her ass, Harry licked and kissed under her left ass cheek while the right hand grabbed onto her other ass cheek. Y/N never thought someone paying this much attention to her ass would feel so good but now that it's happened she doesn't want to have sex again if it didn't include this part. Most of her moans were muffled by Harry's pillows but they both knew how aroused she was especially Harry since he could smell her dipping in between her legs. "Sweetheart, yeh smell absolutely wonderful take off those pretty panties fo' meh." While Y/N took care of that, Harry quickly stripped out of his clothes, leaving his cock angry red and throbbing. Harry laid down between her spread legs as she still laid. Harry spread her pussy lips apart and blew cold air on her opening. "Har baby that feels so good, you're doing me so good but please baby fuck me." "In a second love." Harry tongued her entrance. He took his time while he ate her out he'd smack her ass a few times just to watch it bounce luckily it turned her on so it was a win-win. After Harry ate her to the verge of tears "Harry baby I'm gonna cum I'm so close babe I'm right there jus- Harry!" "Yeh aren't cummin' 'till I'm deep inside you pet. But I got one more thing to do." Harry flipped her over to see her face, her face was flushed she she was sweating, not to mention the tears going down her face. Harry cooed and wiped her tears away "I'll let you cum in a second pet, just let me play with those pretty tits first." Harry leaned up to circle his tongue around her nipples, making them hard. He took her pointed nipples in between his teeth and tugged on them. Y/N wanted him to fuck her so bad but this felt almost as good almost. "Harry please fuck me!" "Okay love I gotcha. Hand meh a condom outta that drawer." after Harry got the condom on he rubbed the head of his cock on her slit. He got whines in return from Y/N so he finally thrusted in. "Fuck Harry! You're so big my gosh fuck me baby" The words coming from her mouth made him thrust faster, her cunt was heavenly around his cock since he had a condom on he couldn't feel everything he'd like but he still felt on top of the world inside of her. Harry held her legs at his hips then reached down to capture this girls lips. Harry got his deepest and thrusted his hardest into Y/N and he could cum at any second. "Harry please I'm almost there!" that's all he needed before reaching down to rub her clit. That's what pushed her over the edged, Y/N came on his cock "Tha's it baby cum all over Daddy's cock I got you pet I'm right here." Y/N's climax crashed down on her while Harry's followed shortly after. Harry laid down beside his lover. "Stay tha night, I'll make you breakfast in the morning and maybe we can have a round two." Y/N obviously didn't need to think twice about this offer. "Okay but next time I want to be in charge." "I think we can work sum out."

[aquarad-a]

I’m back with another long meta post about Garth! This time about Atlanteans in general actually, in terms of their biology. 

Like my last rant, it’s also going to be pretty much entirely canon with a few headcanon things thrown in (and I’ll make the distinction in text) based on all information given before New 52/Rebirth. Some of it might still apply to Rebirth, though there are some things that may be different. I tend to only care about Preboot biology because it has so much more information to draw from.

Probably the biggest aspect that makes Atlanteans unique is their ability to breathe underwater! Luckily, there is a canon explanation, so we don't have to sit around and try to figure it out ourselves. Gills? You won't find them on most Atlanteans. The exceptions might be Tritonians, maybe, because they mutated separately than the more human-looking Atlanteans. But this isn't confirmed. They may still breathe like the rest of Atlanteans. ( For those who might not be familiar with other underwater cities in DC canon, Tritonians look like mermaids. They still don't have visible gills, though, nor do a lot of mermaids in DC. That may be artistic choice. However, Atlanteans are confirmed to not have gills by several different comics and eras) 

 Atlanteans breathe through their pores. Yup. As water passes over their skin, it absorbs oxygen. It goes directly into their bloodstream. It's similar to gills, but they are all over their body and they're microscopic. There's no way to tell if somebody is Atlantean by their skin. 

 This is why any liquid splashed on an Atlantean will help if they're suffocating -- if you read Aquaman comics, you probably already know that even since the Silver Age they claim to only need to be in contact with water to survive. It’s incredibly consistent. Aquaman and Aqualad are seen using milk to rehydrate, or having water simply drip onto their faces ( the face is probably the best place for this, if they are in big trouble, as they need oxygen to get to their brain! ) They do get dehydrated easily, but just drinking water isn't going to help them breathe. If you're not familiar with Aquaman comics but have read TT:YO, you’re probably still familiar with the concept: Garth is having trouble breathing, but drinking water just makes him vomit it back up. It’s only after he sits in a pool of water that he recovers. 

But Atlanteans can and do drink liquids. Garth drinks soda in cans through a straw like a fucking loser, by the way. And Arthur and Garth have been shown to drink beer together, amoung other things. 

(side note: puking up water in TT:YO is more a reference to the fact that Garth canonically gets physically ill when he’s nervous or upset. No Atlantean has been shown to get sick after drinking water in any other comic, unless the water itself is poisoned. But I’ll get to that later!)

(additional side note: Human Anton Geist developed a serum that caused humans to grow gills, which is pretty darn convenient for when San Diego fell into the sea. These mutated humans are not Atlanteans. However, though “Sub Diego” does house many Atlantean refugees. Since I’m speaking about actual Atlantean biology, adapted human biology doesn’t really fit into things here.)

Now, let's talk about suffocating... Atlanteans all possess lungs that are able to filter air like humans can. So, why do Atlanteans need to rehydrate? Because their lungs aren't designed to breathe air long term. Why would they? Atlanteans adapted to living underwater completely. Their lungs are smaller and can only function continuously for a short period of time. Untrained and "under-developed" lungs can last about an hour before they either stop filtering carbon dioxide or stop working altogether. After about an hour, your typical Atlantean still start to go into respiratory failure. 

Exposure to air can extend an Atlantean's durability. Aquaman seems to have no real issue out of water in later comics, and Tempest is able to draw moisture from the air to breathe on land (but still needs to rehydrate at intervals). Similarly, the humidity of an area can affect how long any Atlantean can breathe out of water. After a period of recovery, Atlanteans are able to use their lungs again. Recovery time depends on each individual. 

 You'll notice that some Atlanteans, when injured on land, are put into a water tank. Others (Garth, notably) can just put on pure oxygen. Water tanks should be a preferred method, as long as the water is pure. Tula died because she was in poisoned water and absorbed poison along with oxygen directly into her blood. (Tempest later specifically learns how to draw poison out of somebody’s body through their pores and uses this ability to save Arthur's life later on)

Garth, during Sword of Atlantis, loses his ability to breathe underwater for a period of time (he also lost his memory, his powers, his family, and had some seizures so this was not a good time for him overall) but that was magically induced. 

 (Don't worry, he got better...and then he died.) 

Now let's move on to the magical world of the senses!! Atlantean senses are all connected, and they use different ones depending on if they are or land or sea. 

Eyesight:

 Atlantean eyesight is stronger than humans, and obviously they are much more suited to see underwater than on land. Their eyes refract light at the same angle as the water around them, giving them clear vision underwater. Atlanteans have incredible close range vision, but their ability to see well begins to diminish at about 100 feet. They are particularly adapted to see well in low light (there's no light underwater, don't you know) However, they cannot actually see in pitch black darkness (about 1000 feet below) That's when they rely on their other senses to get around. 

Garth is partially colorblind. He can see reds, oranges, and yellows. Blue, green, and black are nearly indistinguishable. 

 On land, Atlanteans have a film that covers their eyes, though it’s barely noticable. This filters light differently, giving them the ability to see on land as well. In fact, Garth is able to see father and focus more on land than in the water.

Eyesight isn't always important underwater, but it's incredibly important on land. And to understand why, we have to take a detour and talk about...  

Hearing

 Like their eyesight, Atlantean hearing is much more advanced than a human's. Underwater, they can hear somebody speaking in a soft tone from 1000 feet away if they were about 2 fathoms down. Atlanteans have two sets of three semi-circular canals in each ear that help with orientation and balance. They use them to detect direction and speed while swimming. 

On land, Atlanteans are particularly affected by the speed of sound. Sound travels almost 4 times faster underwater. Garth has trouble determining the source of sounds while on land, and has trouble determining which direction sounds are coming from (things sound like they are coming from all directions, all at once) 

This also causes problems in an Atlantean’s ability to process sounds. On land, it’s difficult for their brains to process and identify sounds, even if they have heard them before. On land, Atlanteans rely heavily on their sense of sights to help interpret audio signals. 

This does explain why Garth appears skittish and anxious ...don’t get me wrong, Garth also Has Anxiety and other mental health problems, but that’s a rant for another time. On land Garth tends to act slightly less confident in himself, even as Tempest. Essentially land is a terrifying place for Atlanteans, with every single sound being strange and overwhelming. Atlanteans would be constantly checking their surroundings as they try to figure out the world around them.

Smell

An Atlantean’s sense of smell is particularly strong. An average Atlantean can smell particular odors 1,000 feet away while underwater. On land that distance increases to 2,200 feet. Garth can actually identify people based soley on their scent, even if they’re standing 100 feet away and he has no other sensory cues to who they are.

My personal headcanon is that Garth can also determine if you’ve changed shampoos or even hand soap and as a kid/teen would call people out on it (i.e. saying “your new shampoo makes you smell worse” instead of greeting somebody...he soon learned that saying such things is rude af)

Taste

Again, it’s stronger than humans (have you noticed a theme here?) Atlanteans can sense sweet, sour, salty, and bitter foods. But they also detect fatty and amino acids. They can detect differences in recipies or brands or if food has been tampered with/spoiled.

If you read Rebirth Titans, they do confirm that Garth can detect poison in foods! So maybe the other senses will follow preboot canon too?

(I recall a comic where Arthur states he prefers Hydrox to Oreos so that is really the only proof you need that they have advanced taste buds....also I want to say that was a JL comic but if anybody can find the source I’ll love you forever) 

Temperature Regulation and Other Fun Stuff

So the ocean is, like, cold. Very cold. Luckily Atlanteans have amino acids in their blood stream that is similar to glycoprotien and it keep body fluids, well...fluid. The amino acids essentially keep everything in a liquid form and prevent ice crystals from forming and preventing cell damage. This happens automatically depending on the depth the Atlantean is swimming in. 

Atlanteans usually have a consistent body temperature (and they run warmer than humans do) However, swimming particularly deep will make moving slightly more difficult as the body focuses more on making sure its blood doesn’t freeze than it does maintaining that temperature. 

The ocean isn’t just cold, though. The deeper you go, the more pressure is put on your body. Atlantean body tissue is filled with liquids and dissolved gasses that are compressed in a way similar to sea water. They push out while the sea pushes in. Their bodies also have certain fluids that adjust buoyancy in water. Garth can apparently descend to 3,400 feet with no problem.

Atlanteans have particularly dense bodies, making them heavier than humans and less susceptible to injury. 

Garth, in particular, can swim 97.75 knots per hour (about 85 mph) with bursts of about 30 minutes at a time. He can also lift 8 tons on land. This is stated as canon, but also seems low considering Aquaman has lifted blue whales or ships while out of water which is like.......20,000 tons lmao.

Okay so! A lot of the stats came straight from the Tempest mini-series, and from various other Aquaman comics from around the same time (late 90s-2000s) if any wonderful Aquafans have anything to add or any questions, I’ll be happy to add/answer!!! 

also I probably forgot a lot and will add to this later!!!  I didn’t include “powers” here because not all Atlanteans have telepathy/magic/etc and honestly that stuff deserves its own post!!!

[theshannonlewis]

Petrichor (Iwaizumi/Oikawa)

Haikyuu!!, IwaizumixOikawa, NSFW, 13,700 words.

When Iwaizumi stumbles into a vampire den on the night of the full moon, it seems like his luck has gone from bad to worse. But Oikawa is more than the lurking predator he tries to be, and promises to upend Iwaizumi's lone wolf existence before the sun rises. Iwaizumi POV, companion to Ichor by @carriecmoney​ 

Also on Ao3. 

Iwaizumi was twenty miles west of Baton Rouge when he heard a muffled burst and his semi veered sharply to the right. A blowout. Perfect. Because he needed one more thing to go wrong tonight. He clenched his jaw and eased on the gas, working against the tug on his steering wheel to correct the truck’s course, then pulled onto the shoulder and parked. He was three and a half hours outside Houston and moonrise was in two hours and fifty three minutes. Fifty two. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the cab. Sweat started to prickle on his skin the second his feet touched the pavement, the heat and humidity in the air so heavy they were almost palpable. It made him hyper-aware of every hair and pore on his body, of the itch beneath his skin anxious to claw its way out. He did his best to ignore it.

This late, the two-lane highway was deserted, but he still checked both ways before dashing around the front of the truck. He knew exactly what had happened, but the sight of the ruined tire still made his stomach go cold. The shredded strips of rubber were letting out a hazy, burnt-smelling smoke. He stared at the mess for a long moment before shouting, “FUCK!” He kicked the tire and threaded his hands in his hair, pulling it in frustration. He wasn’t going to make it to Houston.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, and held it up, but he was in the middle of fucking nowhere, too far outside the city for more than one flickering bar. He paced back and forth, lifting the phone higher, angling it, praying for the bar to steady, not even daring to hope for a second one, but no. No reception. He flipped the phone shut and took a slow breath, forcing himself not to clench his fist down on the fragile plastic. He pulled open the passenger’s side of the truck and hauled himself into it, then started rummaging around in the glove compartment, looking for a map. He ran this route all the time, but made a point never to spend the night in Louisiana. He had people he could call at every stop from Durham to El Paso, but this stretch of I-10 was a dead zone - literally. The vampires played by different rules.

He unfolded the map on the dashboard, weighing one corner down with his phone and smoothing the other out with his palm. If there was one thing Louisiana had, it was overgrown places he could hide out in, and sure enough, a quick scan of the map revealed that he was barely a handful of miles outside a wildlife refuge. But there was no telling who else he might find there, and he couldn’t just leave a truck with the better part of a million dollars in merchandise abandoned on the highway overnight. They were expecting him before dawn, expecting to have enough time to get the cars on the lot before the dealership opened. He slammed his hand on the dashboard and swore again. It wasn’t even his fucking delivery to make – someone had called in at the last minute, and his boss had said: cover the route, or find a new job. And it wasn’t like he could just say, sorry boss, no can do, full moon tonight, you know how it is. Because his boss didn’t know, and Iwaizumi had gone to a lot of trouble to keep it that way.

What were even the chances of getting a tow at this hour? He wouldn’t be able to get the tire replaced until morning, but if he could get the truck off the road, he might have time to find somewhere safe to ride out his shift. He flipped open his phone and looked at the screen again. Still no bars. He wasn’t going anywhere if he couldn’t make the call. He jammed his phone in his pocket and started refolding the map. When it wouldn’t bend on the creases, he let out a seething breath and crammed the whole thing back in the glove box and slammed it shut, kicked the cab door open, and jumped back out of the truck onto the shoulder. According to the map, he was still miles away from the next rest stop, and he didn’t want to rely on the uncertain hope of finding a working payphone there. He thought he remembered seeing a truck stop off the side of the highway a few miles back, and heading back toward the city seemed like a safer bet either way. With any luck, he’d bump into an emergency call box before he got that far. He double checked the doors on his truck to make sure they were locked, then started walking back the way he came.  

Even after midnight he could still feel heat radiating off the pavement. The swampy night air was so thick with moisture it made his breathing sluggish and confused his sense of smell, intensifying his awareness of the faint, distant scents carried on the breeze – bloom and decay, stagnation and-

He stopped mid-stride and turned into the wind, closing his eyes and breathing deep. It was too faint to be more than paranoia – more than nerves – but the hairs on the back of his neck pricked at the musky hint of wolf he almost-smelled on the air, there and gone too fast to pin down. He started walking faster.

Two miles on, a postal freighter zoomed past him without slowing. He wasn’t holding out hope for catching a ride (and wasn’t in any shape to take one even if he got the offer), but if another driver saw his truck at the side of the road, there was some chance at least that someone would call 911 as a courtesy, and having even one car pass by was reward enough for resisting the urge to put the truck in neutral and drag the fucker to the next rest stop by himself.

He came to streetlights before he found a call box, and not long after that, he saw the truck stop he’d glimpsed in passing. Now that he was really looking, though, he realized the wide lot was empty and all the signs had been taken off the gas station. Sure enough, when he caught sight of the service sign leading up to the off ramp, the markers for gas and food had been taken down, leaving only an unfamiliar logo listed under lodging. But it was better than nothing.

With a quick glance in either direction, Iwaizumi dashed across all four empty lanes of the highway and the median in between, then jogged down the swampy grass incline that bordered the exit ramp and hopped the low chain fence that separated it from the abandoned truck stop. Up close, he could tell it had been out of use for a while: the windows on the small convenience store were boarded up, the paint was peeling off the overhang, and the dense trees had started to encroach on the edges of the lot. There was a payphone next to a metal cage that had probably once housed propane tanks, but when he picked up the receiver, there was no dial tone.

He sighed and looked back to the highway, letting his eyes follow the curve of the exit ramp. If the sign was right, there was a hotel nearby, and a hotel had an even better shot of being open and staffed at this hour than a gas station. He checked the coin return on the payphone for loose change out of habit, then started walking across the parking lot toward the road. He followed it for another half a mile before a narrow drive veered off into the trees. He almost missed the small sign with the hotel logo on it; like everything else, it was half-swallowed by the overgrowth.

At the end of the lane, he found a long, single-story motel with maybe a dozen rooms built in an oblong clearing. The building had probably been hip and new-looking sometime in the sixties, but now it was tired and faded, the paint washed out and the vintage sign short a few bulbs. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t stop for the night unless you really had to, but there was a light on in the front office, and that was all that mattered.

When Iwaizumi pulled open the front door, he was expecting avocado-green carpets and a pervasive, musty smell of age. He was less prepared for the reality – polished wood floors and wood paneling on the walls, expensive looking rugs, and a big candle-style chandelier illuminating it all. It was unbelievably tacky and unsettlingly out of place, like someone had tried to dress up the Bates Motel to look like the hotel from The Shining. The front desk was wide and grand – big enough for an actual hotel – but there was no one sitting behind it. Iwaizumi rang the bell and waited, but no one came. If there’d been a phone sitting on top of the desk, he might have risked grabbing it and making a call, but he didn't see one, and wasn't quite desperate enough to climb over the counter to look. There hadn’t been a payphone outside the building, either.

When minutes passed and still no one came, he started peering down the halls, looking for signs of life. To one side of the front desk was an enclave with a vending machine (broken), and to the other was a long hallway that led, presumably, to the rooms (deserted). Just beyond the desk, though, he found a beautifully carved wooden door with a small metal placard that read: Bar. He could hear muffled sound coming from the other side – music, maybe – and after a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bar was, if it was possible, even gaudier than the lobby – the walls draped with rich red fabric, a genuine mahogany bar running the length of one wall, and petite crystal chandeliers casting a dim light over the wide room. And, he realized, the music he’d heard was actually someone playing an honest-to-god grand piano at the far end of the bar. It was outrageously incongruous, not only with the exterior of the building and its location, but with the fact that there were only two other, poorly-dressed people there, both of them draped drunkenly over their tabletops. It was almost like-

-like the way you might decorate if you were a vampire making absolutely no attempt to pretend you weren’t a vampire.

He breathed in. The two people at the tables weren’t drunk, or sleeping. His eyes shifted back to the pianist, whose playing hadn’t faltered. Who hadn’t acknowledged his presence at all, in fact, but who was wearing a very small smile. He had elegant hands with long, graceful fingers, and played like he’d had a lot of practice. Just as Iwaizumi caught himself staring, the pianist’s gaze slid in his direction, a movement of eyes rather than a turn of head. It was just the barest sidelong glance, but there was hunger in it.

It was too late to leave. Iwaizumi knew, academically, that vampires were fast, but he didn’t have the practical experience to know if “fast” meant pinned to the door as soon as you turn around or chased out into the parking lot and gutted like an animal. Too fast, either way. He took a breath, walked past the bar, and followed the sign around the corner to the bathrooms. There was a payphone hung on the wall between the two bathroom doors, and he picked up the receiver and put it to his ear.

No dial tone.

He pressed down the hook, then let it up. Still nothing. He tried once more, but the line was dead. It was still a little less than two hours until moonrise, but even if he was able to force the shift early, he wouldn’t be able to do it fast enough for it to matter. If he was going to fight, it was going to have to be as a human. He breathed out and set the receiver back on the cradle, found a quarter in the coin return, put it in his pocket, and headed back into the bar.  

The pianist was now the bartender, graceful hands drying an old fashioned glass with a clean white towel. Iwaizumi sat down on the barstool across from him. “What’s your poison?” the vampire asked, his voice like honey with hooks in it.

“Actually,” Iwaizumi said, because if he was going to die anyway, there was no point in beating around the bush, “I was hoping I could use your phone.”

“Paying customers only,” he said, sounding so apologetic.

“I’ll pay you twenty bucks to let me use your phone.”

He tsked, soft and scolding, then drawled, “You ain’t from around here, are y’all?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know anyone that sounded that Southern that wasn’t trying too hard. “Alabama, actually,” he said dryly. “I’ll have a bourbon, neat. Can I use your phone?”

The vampire gave the glass a final wipe before setting it down in front of Iwaizumi and filling it. “In a hurry?”

“Just to make that phone call,” he said, swirling the liquid in the glass and trying to remember what hospitality rules vampires played by. He was pretty sure taking the drink wouldn’t protect him against his host, but he was less sure it wouldn’t oblige him to stay.

“What seems to be the trouble…” his eyes flicked down to the patch stitched onto the breast of Iwaizumi’s work shirt, “Hajime?” He said it the way no one but Iwaizumi’s mother ever did – smooth and fluid, the syllables familiar on his tongue, somewhere halfway between fond and teasingly reprimanding. Most people gave up after two tries and just called him “Jimmy.” It made Iwaizumi give him a second look, a quick glance at his eyes before he could check the impulse, then down to his lips, which wasn’t better. He leveled his gaze resolutely at the sharp line of the vampire’s cheekbone. The vampire’s mouth quirked, the hint of a smile, and he added with the little lilt of a question, “I.?”

“Iwaizumi,” he said, a second before thinking better of it.

“You wouldn’t think they’d need to use an initial,” he said, pouring himself some bourbon. He rolled the edge of the glass thoughtfully along his lower lip. “I don’t imagine there are too many Hajimes in Alabama.”

“I’m the only one I know,” he said.

The vampire hummed eloquently, amused and agreeing, and lifted his glass, “Oikawa Tooru. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

If this guy – Oikawa – had any Japanese in him, it was as far-flung and watered down as Iwaizumi’s, but even with the flippant, ironic tone, the language suited him better than his overwrought drawl. Iwaizumi breathed out a soft laugh, lifted his glass, and clinked it against Oikawa’s, “Yoroshiku.”

He was surprised when Oikawa drained his glass in one long swallow, emptying it and leaving no room to suspect that he’d faked a polite sip. And if he was going to drink… Fuck it. Iwaizumi tossed back his bourbon. It wasn’t top shelf, but it was pretty good. “Now that we’re drinking buddies,” Oikawa said, leaning casually up against the bar, “you gonna tell me why you’re darkening my doorway this lovely evening, puppy?”

Iwaizumi smirked. It was like Oikawa had flashed the cards in his hand and winked, to make sure they were playing the same game. And since the game didn’t seem to involve either of them tearing the other’s throat out just yet, he said, “Blew a tire on my truck maybe two and a half, three miles west on I-10.”

Oikawa made a sympathetic sound, refilling Iwaizumi’s glass. “Hoping to call a cab, then?”

“A tow truck, actually.”

“Mmm, you sure? If you left now, you might make it to Homochitto.”

Underneath the reminder that he was trespassing, it was a surprisingly apt suggestion. Homochitto National Forest was the closest sizeable stretch of woodlands outside Louisiana state lines, and probably the only one he had a prayer of a chance of reaching before he started to turn. Any other route out of the state, he’d shift before he hit the border. Oikawa knew it, and knew that he knew it, too. Iwaizumi took a moment to consider. The tourism in New Orleans was enough to sustain the highest vampire population in the south outside Orlando, but unlike Florida – which was mostly new blood and spread out enough for the vampires and shapeshifters to keep to themselves – Louisiana was run by vampires who were very old and very territorial. All the major packs in the state were blood-bound to one leech or another, and if you weren’t pack-allied, you weren’t welcome. There were probably a handful of smaller packs, maybe a few pockets of loners, but without knowing who ran where, just being within state lines on the night of a full moon was all but asking to get attacked.

It was impossible to guess Oikawa’s age, but if he was a vampire of any standing, he probably had control of at least one pack – and if he did, he could probably, maybe, give him permission to run in his territory for the night. But he wouldn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. In fact, it was entirely possible that he was stalling, cutting Iwaizumi’s options by running down the clock. If he was, there wasn’t anything Iwaizumi could do about it. If he tried to leave and Oikawa didn’t want him to, he wasn’t going to make it very far. Then again, if Oikawa wanted him out of the state, he wouldn’t keep trying to stall him.

“Can’t just leave my rig in the road,” he said finally. “If you’d let me use your phone, though, I’m sure I could get myself a lift. I know a few of the guys up by Homochitto that wouldn’t mind having me.” A handful of werebears that owned a bar in Jackson had the southern portion of the park on lockdown, but he’d managed to drink their big white-haired bouncer under the table enough times to earn himself an open invitation to run with them whenever he was in the area.

He could tell Oikawa hadn’t expected that, the subtle shift of his eyebrows revealing that he was maybe even just a tiny bit impressed. “I take it you were headed that way already?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Just came from there. I was on my way to Houston.”

“Houston?” Oikawa parroted back at him, and this time surprise flashed across his face, too plain to hide, before he was able to school his expression. “I was under the impression that Houston was predominantly feline-controlled.”

It was, and the pack that ran the east side of Texas was notoriously exclusive and aggressively territorial. But he and the packmaster were close; when he didn’t run with them, he usually rode out his shift in one of the pack’s heavily reinforced, soundproof storage units scattered throughout the state. Out loud, Iwaizumi said with a shrug, “I’m not picky about who I run with.”

It was a card well played, he could tell from the subtle curve of Oikawa’s lips. “And good at making friends.”

“I’m a friendly guy,” he said, letting something not so friendly show in his smile as he stood. He picked up his glass and swallowed down the last of his bourbon, then tossed some cash on the bartop. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“I can get your truck to Houston,” Oikawa said, plain and flat, no bullshit, smile dropping.

“And?” he said, looking at Oikawa expectantly.

He only realized he’d looked him in the eyes again when Oikawa said, “I can give you anything you want.” He felt the pull of it, more than words, like hot fingertips on his skin, like hazy lights and wisps of steam, sparks in the periphery of his awareness. He was momentarily drawn in by it, felt the pull of his breath leaving his body, his vision narrowing down to the sly promise in Oikawa’s heavy-lidded eyes. His feet were moving on their own, making him lean into the bar, bringing him closer to Oikawa, solidifying the ghosts of lips and hands, the phantoms of soft, short breaths dancing through his mind.

He could feel himself falling, but he could still see the trap. He slammed his hand down on the bar hard enough to make his palm sting, forcing himself to focus on the pain and tear his eyes away from Oikawa’s. He blindly grabbed Oikawa by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward, then growled, “I want to make a fucking phone call.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened minutely, and then he laughed, loud and genuine. The whispering, dreamy feeling sloughed away, but Iwaizumi’s skin was still prickling, like someone had breathed, softly, on every inch of his body at once.

“You’re going to break my heart, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, then stumbled a little when Iwaizumi let go of his shirt and shoved him backwards.

“Your mind games won’t work on me,” he said, only falling back a step before forcing himself to stand his ground.

Oikawa leaned forward on the bar, wearing a lazy smile and resting his cheek on one hand, “No, they won’t.” He looked smug and self-satisfied, a sated cat with a feather sticking out of its mouth. “An illusion’s no good when what you want is right in front of you.”

Iwaizumi grit his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. “I think I’ll take my chances with your pack.” Oikawa’s smile faltered, just a little. “That’s who I smelled on my way here, right? Up in the wildlife refuge?”

The smile came back, but it was a little less genuine-looking. “I don’t think even your diplomatic skills are a match for my bloodhounds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said again, and this time he put his back to Oikawa and started for the door.

“They’ll kill you, Hajime.” The way he said it made Iwaizumi stop in his tracks, because it didn’t sound like a gambit – he sounded tired and resigned. “The reason you smelled wolves is because the leader of the pack doesn’t turn back except for the week around the new moon. He’s completely rabid, and the others are too afraid go against him.” Iwaizumi’s shoulders stiffened. It was the politest-possible way of saying the packmaster was a flesh eater. He had to resist the urge to let his eyes wander over to the bodies still slumped on the tabletops. So it was true; the Louisiana vampires really did use wolves as their own personal garbage disposals.

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, “Are the others-”

“No,” Oikawa said flatly, “and for what it’s worth, he was… a gift.” The word had an edge to it that made it very clear the “gift” had been unwanted. Before Iwaizumi could ask why he didn’t put the beast out of his misery, Oikawa added, voice dripping with disdain, “From the Bishop.”

Iwaizumi sighed. He’d spent years trying to stay as far away from pack and pact politics as possible, but one blown out tire and he’d stepped right in it. “How big is your pack?”

“Seven wolves total.” If it was true, it was a big pack – too big for the patch of land they had to run in – and with a vampire-appointed rogue werewolf leading it, it stank of the worst kind of gamesmanship. Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose in distaste, but Oikawa didn’t seem to notice. “I could mark you as a pack member, but even if I did, without an introduction I think Mad-Dog-chan would tear you to shreds.”

“What’s your offer?” Iwaizumi asked. He was running out of options, but the fact that Oikawa had tried to mind control him meant there was something he wanted that he couldn’t take by force. Iwaizumi just had to figure out what it was.

“I’ll get your truck to Houston and no one will know it wasn’t you who drove it. And I’ll give you a room where you can ride out your shift, and safe passage until sunset.”

“What’s your price?”

“One pint.”

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to show his surprise. “A pint,” he repeated. “Of my blood?”

Oikawa gave a small nod. “From the vein, or no deal.”

He took a moment to survey Oikawa’s expression, careful not to look him directly in the eye. He knew there was a trap somewhere in the offer, but he needed time to find it. He needed to stall. “Show me the room.”

“Of course,” Oikawa said. He stood and walked around the bar, passing Iwaizumi at a casual distance, then gave a flick of his hand, motioning for him to follow.

Oikawa’s movements were smooth and graceful; he knew how to carry himself, and how to draw attention to his… assets. Iwaizumi forced himself to look up at the back of Oikawa’s head. He was a few inches taller than him, which Iwaizumi found inexplicably infuriating, broad through the shoulders and lean in the hips and, shit, he was staring at his ass again. Iwaizumi dropped his gaze to the ugly carpet and forced himself to think. If all Oikawa wanted was his blood, he could easily have taken it by force – and more than just a pint. Which meant he had something else to gain. Was it the bite itself? But no – as far as he understood it, establishing a blood bond was more involved than just a bite or a fluid exchange. It was possible Oikawa wanted to trap him in his safe room – which was why he’d asked to see it before agreeing – but again, if vampires were as strong and fast as he’d been told, Oikawa wouldn’t have even needed to negotiate; he should have been able to just take whatever he wanted.

But he hadn’t, and for the first time it occurred to Iwaizumi that, just maybe, it was because he couldn’t.

Oikawa had drained and killed two humans earlier that night, which was strange enough by itself; he’d shown genuine-seeming distaste for the idea of feeding corpses to his hounds, and his location paired with his mind control abilities should have guaranteed him a steady and discreet supply of blood, assuming he played catch and release with his customers. Instead, he had two fresh bodies on his hands and was, apparently, still hungry after drinking both of them dry. That was, what, close to three gallons of blood? He should have been glutted, but instead he had a starved look in his eyes. It didn’t add up.

Iwaizumi walked half a step faster, narrowing the distance between them, then took as deep a breath as he dared to without being conspicuous about it. He caught it on his third controlled inhale – the subtle, cloying stench of decay, almost imperceptible beneath a layer of tasteful, expensive cologne. Oikawa was hurt.

For a brief moment, he considered turning around and bolting. He wasn’t certain he could outrun Oikawa, but he was pretty sure, now, that he could outmuscle him, which made speed less important. Even if he could get away, though, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He still didn’t have a working phone, there was no safe place for him to hide, and he was running out of time to find a solution. The offer Oikawa had made him was the best one he could hope for; no other vampire would be so quick to cut a deal, and he doubted a blood-maddened werewolf would give him a fair shake, either. Oikawa’s offer was a fair one, and his injury – whatever it was – gave Iwaizumi all the bargaining power.

They reached the end of the hall and Oikawa unlocked the last door – room 13, because of course it was – and as soon as he opened it, Iwaizumi realized the motel’s resemblance to the Overlook Hotel was more than just coincidental, because Oikawa’s room looked exactly like the hotel room from Interview with the Vampire: walls papered in gold and red, opulent furniture and heavy curtains done in red silk and velvet and brocade, polished wood floors, brass chandeliers and unlit candelabras, a second, somewhat smaller piano, and a lace-covered wood coffin in the center of the room in place of a coffee table.

Iwaizumi snorted. Vampires didn’t even need to sleep in coffins. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a movie guy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oikawa said, throwing open a heavy set of curtains on the far side of the room to reveal, rather anticlimactically, a plain steel door. He wore the key on a chain around his neck, and he unfastened the clasp and slid the key free, tucking the chain in his pocket as he unlocked the door. “This key opens the lock from both sides,” he said, handing it to Iwaizumi as he pushed open the door, “and it’s the only one.” Oikawa gestured for Iwaizumi to lead the way inside. “Ladies first.”

“Age before beauty,” Iwaizumi countered.

Oikawa’s lips quirked, somewhere between irritated and amused, and he asked coyly, “Is that a question?” He didn’t wait for a response before heading through the door, and Iwaizumi followed after him. It was a squat room with concrete floors and cinderblock walls, both covered in claw marks, and there were heavy iron chains and manacles hanging from the wall that had obviously been used, frequently and recently. There was a drain in the center of the floor, and the concrete around it – and beneath the manacles – was stained. There were no windows, and only one caged light bulb in the center of the ceiling. Iwaizumi tested the key on the inside lock and tried to remember if there had been a time in his life when getting tours of people’s private dungeons would have seemed unusual or even unsettling. It had been a long time, and he’d seen a lot of private dungeons in the interim. This one wasn’t bad.

“How’s the door frame?” he asked, pressing his hand to it and putting his weight on it.

“I’ve had the door dent but never seen the frame give,” Oikawa said. “And the concrete is reinforced. You’d snap your neck on it before you broke through.” He smirked. “Of course, if you’re worried, I could always chain you up.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Too bad. You’d look good on my wall, Iwa-chan.”

“I take it you don’t have any qualms about mixing business and pleasure.”

“If there’s no pleasure in it, I want no business with it,” Oikawa said, a little too smoothly. It was a pretty good line, even if it sounded practiced.

“How do you want to do this?”

“Well, you should probably start by taking your clothes off,” Oikawa said. He didn’t sound like he was joking. When he caught Iwaizumi’s skeptical look, though, he clarified, “Unless you’re hiding a spare set of clothes somewhere, I assume you’d rather not turn in the ones you’re wearing.”

“I’ve got plenty of time before moonrise,” Iwaizumi said flatly. “I think I’ll make it.”

Oikawa let out a low, rolling chuckle. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

He didn’t know well enough what it was he didn’t know to be able to argue without showing his ignorance, so instead he said, “But you have. I take it you have a taste for werewolf blood?”

“It has its charms.”

“They say, for a vampire, it’s like dropping acid.”

“They say a lot of things,” Oikawa said, and it was only when he pushed the door shut with a heavy clang that Iwaizumi realized they’d been circling each other. Oikawa’s posture had shifted from feline to lupine, his shoulders squared and body angled in a display of dominance and challenge that Iwaizumi had responded to on instinct. Even without eye contact, the way Oikawa moved made Iwaizumi prickle with eagerness, the giddy desire to clash and find out who would come out on top.

“Why only one pint?” Iwaizumi asked.

“Because if I’d asked for more, you would have said no, but once we get started, you’re going to beg me not to stop.”

They moved forward in tandem, closing on each other but still not touching, and Iwaizumi found himself smiling. Oikawa was good. If he hadn’t known better, he could have easily mistaken him for a wolf, and the beast inside him did – he could feel it swelling beneath his skin, reaching out and expecting an answer, eager to test itself. “You must spend a lot of time around wolves.”

“I like to watch,” Oikawa said, his smile like a knife.

They lunged at each other, grappling, a brief locking of arms before they both turned and danced back and away. Oikawa was cool to the touch and more muscular than he looked. More importantly, he was strong, strong enough to send a little thrill up Iwaizumi’s spine. “Why not go to your pack for blood?” he asked, his voice gone rough and gravely as he and Oikawa moved in tight circles around each other, drawing ever closer together. There weren’t many shifters who dared to dance with him at all, and fewer that stood their ground even half as well as Oikawa did.

“I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear they're not very happy with me right now,” Oikawa said. He closed the last of the distance between them and pressed his hand flat against Iwaizumi’s chest, deftly undoing the top button on his shirt. This time, he didn’t dance away.

Iwaizumi let out a low, rumbling sound that was too contented to be a growl, and it vibrated through his voice, “But are they too stupid to have noticed, or are you hiding it because you’re afraid they’ll attack you?” He pressed his hand to Oikawa’s chest, mirroring his touch, but instead of bothering with his buttons, he dug his fingertips into the spot where Oikawa’s shirt didn’t sit quite right.

His aim was good. Oikawa hissed in pain as Iwaziumi’s fingers pressed into nothing where there should have been muscle. A second later Iwaizumi was on his back on the floor, Oikawa on top of him, pinning him down, fangs fully extended, the front of his shirt darkened and damp with ichor where Iwaizumi had touched him.

Iwaizumi didn’t fight, didn’t even attempt to defend himself. He just said, “They say werewolf blood has healing properties.”

“They should learn when to stop talking,” Oikawa said, sharp teeth turning his voice sibilant.

“I want a token of yours to grant me safe passage through the state,” he said, “and to meet with your pack on the next new moon.  For that you get my silence, and enough of my blood – one pint at a time, at my discretion – to heal yourself.”

Oikawa let out a hollow, humorless laugh. “Then you’re going to be in my service a long, long time, puppy.”

“Show me,” he said.

“I could kill you,” Oikawa said, cupping his hand around the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing his thumb down, gently, on his Adam’s apple.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a little prickling thrill racing through him. He had to fight the urge to put Oikawa on his back and pin him down.

Oikawa forced Iwaizumi’s face to one side, baring his neck, and Iwaizumi let him. “Let me drink and I’ll show you.” His voice was tight with restraint – with hunger.

“Show me and I’ll let you drink.”

Oikawa shifted his grip up so his thumb and forefinger dug into the soft spots beneath Iwaizumi’s jaw, forcing his head back, then leaned over him, pinning him to the floor. He smoothed his free hand blindly down his chest, keeping his eyes on Iwaizumi as he searched for the buttons on his shirt and plucked them open. Four buttons down, he pulled his shirt out of the way and showed him. He had a hole in his chest. It was maybe the size a pool cue would have left if it had been run right through him, but diamond-shaped and puckered instead of round, just barely off the mark from his heart. The wound was discolored around the edges and seeping a thick, dark liquid. “Another gift,” he said, “from the Bishop.”

“Silver?” Iwaizumi asked, reaching up to touch and framing the wound with his hand.

Oikawa gave a small, tight nod. “Barbed arrowhead, right next to my heart.” Iwaizumi recoiled. There wasn’t much that could leave a lasting wound on a vampire, but even a small piece of silver would burn up as much as blood as Oikawa could drink until his body ran dry. In such a sensitive place, it would be almost impossible to get out himself without running the risk of piercing his own heart. Someone else could probably remove it, but someone else could just as easily give it that last little nudge into his heart, too. “Turns out it’s a surprisingly practical and efficient way to put down a rival.”

“Fucking politics,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa hummed, both halfhearted agreement and dismissal, but it turned into something more contented when Iwaizumi turned his head to one side, good to his word, and offered up his neck. Oikawa leaned down over him, close enough to brush the tip of his nose along the prominent vein in Iwaizumi’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like rain,” Oikawa said, the movement of his lips the barest ghost of a kiss. Iwaizumi gasped and reached up to thread his fingers in Oikawa’s hair.

Oikawa groaned and parted his lips, and Iwaizumi could feel the points of his fangs gliding along his neck as he opened his mouth wide. Before he could bite down, though, Iwaizumi tightened his grip on Oikawa’s hair and pulled his head back. Oikawa made a curt, angry noise, but Iwaizumi held him in place and asked, “How long will the marks last?”

“It’s too bad you asked,” Oikawa said, resisting Iwaizumi’s grip by running the tip of his tongue along the side of his neck. Iwaizumi grunted, low and hot, and Oikawa snapped his teeth at him. “If you were human, they’d be gone by morning. For you, maybe a few months, depending on how rough you like it.”

“Not on the neck.”

“Unless you want a bruise that’ll last twice as long, I need an artery.” He slid a hand between them, smoothly popping the second button on Iwaizumi’s shirt. “Your wrist will work, or your elbow.” He made quick work of the rest of the buttons, then slipped his hand under the shirt, pushing it down off one shoulder and murmuring against the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Or if you really want to make sure no one sees it…” His hand slid down, fingertips toying with the buckle on Iwaizumi’s belt.

“Nice try,” Iwaizumi said, catching Oikawa’s wrist and pulling his hand away.

“I was only trying to be discreet.”

“I’m sure,” Iwaizumi said.

He pushed Oikawa back and sat up, shrugging the rest the rest of the way out of his shirt. He did it quickly, so he wouldn’t get caught with his hands tied up in the sleeves, then tossed the shirt aside. He reached back over his head and hooked his thumbs in the neck of his black tanktop, but before he could start to pull it off, Oikawa said, “Stop.”

He grunted. “I don’t want to get blood on my-”

“Shut up.” Iwaizumi’s gaze jumped to Oikawa’s face before he could check the instinct. His eyes were dilated inhumanly wide, brown irises swallowed up almost completely by his pupils, and he’d gone dangerously still. “Don’t move.”

Iwaizumi froze. He’d mistaken Oikawa’s easy, graceful movement for catlike, but he was more like a snake in tall grass, so fluid he seemed boneless. The inky voids of his eyes looked hypnotized. He slid a hand along the underside of Iwaizumi’s left bicep, cool fingertips angling his arm. Iwaizumi dropped his weight back on his right arm as Oikawa leaned into him and started working slow, wet kisses to the inside of his bicep, sucking on the muscle until he found the pulse thudding beneath the skin. Oikawa closed his eyes and groaned, opening his mouth again, and this time when Iwaizumi felt the press of fangs against his flesh, he didn’t protest. He flexed his arm, and Oikawa made a rough, hungry sound and bit down, hard.

Iwaizumi had been bitten before, but not like this. Being bitten hard enough to draw blood hurt, but after the first sharp stab of teeth breaking skin, the pain quickly gave way a slow, burning ache – the skin-tinglingly familiar sensation of being penetrated – and then to heady, dizzying pleasure as Oikawa started to drink. Iwaizumi curled his captive arm around Oikawa’s head and lowered himself back to the floor, closing his eyes. He’d never felt anything like this, like Oikawa’s mouth was sending a current through his veins, electrifying him between every heartbeat. His pulse throbbed and Oikawa swallowed, and it was like a tug that ran through his whole body, an insistent pull at something deep inside him. He didn’t realize what it was until it was too late, and only had time to grunt out a harsh fuck before Oikawa pulled and it unraveled him – a knot coming undone, a cage coming unbarred – and his wolf flooded through him, prematurely unchained.

He arched his back and moaned, feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor as it started to take him, teeth going sharp in his mouth, nails hardening, hair starting to grow thicker on his body. It wasn’t like moonrise, though, he realized – his wolf hadn’t been set completely free; more like the lead was being lengthened, one chain link at a time. It was intoxicating; his senses heightened as his natures mingled, but his transformation still held at bay. Oikawa had been right – Iwaizumi had no idea how much blood he’d lost already, and he didn’t care. He didn’t want him to stop.

As Oikawa continued to drink, Iwaizumi started to feel his own blood moving beneath the vampire’s skin. At first, it was bizarrely like butting up against another shifter, touch accompanied by a heightened awareness and deeper, more fundamental understanding, but instead of dipping into Oikawa’s mind, it was like he was seeing himself mirrored back in another body, his wolf staring at him from underneath someone else’s skin. He jerked, revolting against the alien feeling and trying to recoil from it, but Oikawa held him firm until they reached a tipping point. Until his body started to absorb the blood and make it his own, until Iwaizumi stopped seeing a mirror and started seeing Oikawa.

He didn’t feel like another shifter, now – there was nothing lurking inside him to answer Iwaizumi’s call – no warmth of life or familiar connection. Instead, he was like a still, glassy pool, infinitely deep and dark, in the shelter of a cool, empty cave, and Iwaizumi was filling him with life, lighting a fire and dipping toes in the water, letting warm laughter echo down hollow tunnels.

It was almost like wearing a second set of skin, like it was him bringing strength to Oikawa’s limbs, filling him up and reviving him, warming his skin and making his heart beat and heat pool at delicious points on his lean, muscular body. He could feel himself being drawn, inexorably, to a hungry point in the center of Oikawa’s chest where the arrowhead sizzled and burned, the shape of it becoming clearer with each throbbing pulse of blood. He hated that sharp piece of silver, blindly and furiously, hated the way it grazed against their heart every time they drew in a breath.

He curled his hand in the front of Oikawa’s shirt and tugged, pulling it tight across his back. Then he twisted his hand, wrapping the fabric around it, and pulled until the seams gave out and the cloth shredded. Oikawa made a low sound that was not, precisely, a protest, surprised enough to relax his jaw and lose his grip on Iwaizumi’s arm, and that was all the opportunity Iwaizumi needed. He flipped Oikawa onto his back and pinned him to the floor, pushing one bloody arm across his throat, knees at his hips, shins pressed down hard on his thighs. Then he pushed his thumb and forefinger into the hole in Oikawa’s chest.

Oikawa screamed, choking on the blood still thick in his mouth and clawing at Iwaizumi’s arms.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Iwaizumi said, his voice hardly human as he pushed deeper into the wound, “but I might if you keep moving.” Oikawa went breathlessly still beneath him, and Iwaizumi let up his grip on his throat, just a little, as he continued to probe the wound with his fingertips. He expected to find at least a little bit of the arrow’s shaft to grab onto but found the threaded base of the arrowhead instead. It wasn’t attached to anything – like the shaft had been precisely removed, or the arrowhead had been driven into place by force. It wasn’t an accident that it was wedged in such a treacherous spot. “Don’t move,” he said, trying to get a grip on the small piece of metal. It was like pinching the tip of a hot soldering iron. When he was pretty sure he had it, he pressed his wrist to Oikawa’s mouth and growled, “Drink.”

Oikawa sunk his teeth into Iwaizumi’s wrist, and Iwaizumi pulled.

The base of the arrowhead was small and slick with blood, but the threading was enough to give him purchase, and he held onto it tightly, not letting it slip from his grip as he drew it out. He could feel the barbs like they were pulling out of his own body, shredding everything they touched and, inevitably, dragging like claws along the vital muscle of Oikawa’s heart. But the silver was already pulling blood to the wound, and Iwaizumi’s blood was potent, flooding in to seal the cuts as soon as the poisonous metal was removed. Oikawa gasped as Iwaizumi ripped the arrowhead free, his eyes wide and dazed and his jaw going slack, freeing Iwaizumi’s wrist.

Iwaizumi held the arrowhead up, blood and flesh sizzling and smoking, and growled out, “This is my token.” He held it in front of Oikawa’s face until his eyes registered it, until he nodded, then he flung it across the room and swore, looking down at his burned fingertips. The silver had all but melted his skin, leaving deep, ridged indentations where he’d gripped onto the threaded base of the arrowhead. The wounds would be slow to heal, and they were on his dominant hand, but at least he couldn’t feel the phantom barbs digging into his chest anymore. That thought made him realize that the intense feeling of connectedness between them was starting to subside. His blood had become Oikawa’s blood and was beginning to burn away as it repaired the wound in his chest. He was surprised by the feeling of loss as the fading connection pushed him back into his own body, his own mind, leaving Oikawa closed to him.

“Is this how you always make friends?” Oikawa gasped out. His voice was steady, almost teasing, but he was trembling. The blood smeared across his mouth made him look wide-eyed and pale. “Random acts of heroism?”

“I keep my promises.”

Oikawa laughed, abrupt and edging on hysterical. “Who are you?”

He made a gruff, irritated noise and said, “You could at least try to remember my n-”

Oikawa pulled him down and kissed him. Iwaizumi groaned, hard, and leaned into him, letting out a low, contented rumble deep in his chest. Oikawa’s mouth was still thick with blood, but Iwaizumi didn’t care; Oikawa knew what he was doing. It was immediately obvious that he was more practiced at navigating two mouths filled with sharp, pointed teeth; he knew how to bite gently enough not to break the skin, how to angle his head to keep their fangs from clacking together, how to lick and tease without bloodying his tongue on their teeth. Iwaizumi shifted on top of him, putting his weight on his forearms to either side of Oikawa’s head so he could lean down into him, and when he did, Oikawa coiled his legs around his waist and rutted up against him. Apparently now that his blood wasn’t racing frantically to heal him, it had had a chance to relocate. Iwaizumi groaned and thrust down against him instinctively, but it made his focus slip, and he sliced the tip of his tongue on the sharp edge of Oikawa’s fang. Oikawa moaned in answer, drawing Iwaizumi’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it greedily.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back on the floor and Oikawa was straddling his thighs and tugging at his undershirt. He sat up, settling Oikawa in his lap and raising his arms, but Oikawa only got as far as tugging the shirt over his head before his hands fell to Iwaizumi’s belt, undoing the buckle and then the button on his jeans. Iwaizumi tugged his shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it aside. “You could at least buy me dinner first,” Iwaizumi said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that kept it from sounding as teasing as he meant.

Oikawa showed just a moment of surprise before a slow, lazy smile spread across his features and he started to laugh, low and sultry. Then he closed his eyes and tipped his head back and to the side, baring his pale, pristine neck – perfectly submissive, perfectly prey-like – his voice smooth and velvety. “Help yourself.”

Iwaizumi lunged. Before even he had time to process Oikawa’s offer, he had an arm around his waist, a hand in his hair, and his teeth in Oikawa’s neck. Oikawa made a soft, heady little sound that wasn’t quite pained as the sharp points of Iwaizumi’s fangs broke through his skin. Blood welled into his mouth, thick and slightly sweet on his tongue, and when he swallowed, his wolf flared to life, surging through him hard enough to make him sway.

Oikawa gasped. “What was that?”

Iwaizumi growled and bit harder, gripped tighter, and shuddered against him, because his wolf hadn’t just stirred beneath his skin, it had pushed through him and flowed into Oikawa, and Oikawa had felt it. He whined, a low, animal sound, each swallow of Oikawa’s blood expanding his awareness and fortifying his wolf, until it stretched between them like pulled taffy. It was breathtakingly intimate – something that shouldn’t have even been possible, something that was rare even among shifters – his most private self rubbing contentedly against a still, glowing ember in the center of Oikawa’s chest. It wasn’t a wolf, but it was something like it – something more than the lifeless, graveyard chill he felt before; something essentially him. He whimpered, soft and needy, and Oikawa loosened his arms from around Iwaizumi’s head, leaned down over him, and sunk his teeth into his shoulder.

His blood pulsed into Oikawa’s mouth, and when he swallowed it down, something more than blood moved between them – the ember burning bright and igniting, sending a rippling rush of warm air racing through Iwaizumi, the sultry heat of a pleasured sigh. It was an echo of Oikawa’s failed mind control, but – it hadn’t failed. It had showed him exactly what he wanted – not Oikawa the desperate, starving vampire, but Oikawa as he really was: that cool, fathomlessly deep pool turned scalding hot, a subterranean spring that filled the air with thick, velvety steam; the slide of wet skin and slow, breathless kisses; the embrace of hot water and strong hands, every sound echoing off the high stone ceilings.

It flowed into him, an answer to the part of himself he’d given over to Oikawa, each swallow of blood laying Oikawa bare, peeling back his layers and exposing the hidden corners of him. Iwaizumi didn’t know what Oikawa was seeing in return, didn’t know the price of this exchange, but he didn’t care. Oikawa was letting it happen, was letting him see, and that alone was enough to be dizzying even without the electric hum of Oikawa sucking on his shoulder, keeping the wound from closing, keeping the blood flowing, keeping the connection open between them. Memories that weren’t his own flickered at the edge of his awareness – faces and smells and half-forgotten moments – and beneath them the faintest whispers of Oikawa’s thoughts – gratitude, awe, hunger that was only partially for blood, and a soft, hushed murmur of his name, Hajime, Hajime, looping in the back of his mind, a tug that pulled at the core of Iwaizumi’s chest, calling his wolf and coaxing it loose with every repetition. His change was so close his skin was tight with it.

They drew back at the same moment. Oikawa gasped, “We have to stop,” just as Iwaizumi groaned, “Do it.”

Oikawa threaded his hands in Iwaizumi’s hair and pulled, holding his mouth away from the pulsing wound on his throat and murmuring, “You don’t know what you’re asking.” Iwaizumi looked over at him, dazed and bewildered, and when Oikawa realized he wasn’t going to bite him again, he started rubbing gentle circles against Iwaizumi’s scalp with his fingertips. “If you keep drinking, you’re going to become my thrall.”

Iwaizumi let out a raspy laugh, because that wasn’t what he’d meant – was the last thing on his mind, though he could feel it at the forefront of Oikawa’s. “Don’t pretend that’s not what you want,” he said, Oikawa’s thick, dark blood dripping from his open mouth. “I know how badly you want to chain me up and point me at your enemies.”

“I don’t think you’d take well to a leash,” Oikawa said a little murmur of amusement in his voice. He turned his face into Iwaizumi’s hair and lowered his voice, soft and serious. “I want you willing or not at all.”

They were miles beyond concepts like “willing” and “unwilling,” but that wasn’t something a vampire would understand. He liked the idea of a blood bond even less than most other kinds of obligation, but it didn’t really matter anymore; in decades of searching and dozens of packs, this was the first time he’d ever had his wolf slide under someone else’s skin like it belonged there. And he didn’t think it was a trick of the blood, because when he pulled Oikawa into another kiss, slow and hard, the boundaries still blurred between them. With his eyes closed, it was hard to tell where he ended and Oikawa began, a tangle of lips and hands and sensations that made it easy to forget they were two instead of one. When he drew back, he was breathless. “My wolf is already yours to call,” he said, pressing their foreheads together, “and if you don’t realize it, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathed, but it was more than enough to make Iwaizumi let out an abrupt, startled moan, his back arching and something important straining and popping in his chest, his hands shifting to claws and the color draining from his vision as his eyes turned golden and lupine.

“Fuck,” he said, scrabbling at the concrete and twisting beneath Oikawa, “fuck, please.” He saw the smile slide across Oikawa’s face, but before he could test this newfound power and say his name again, Iwaizumi flexed his misshapen hands and barked, “I don’t care how pretty you are, if you say it again before you take my pants off, I’ll claw you in your smug, shitty face.”

Oikawa smoothed his hand up the center of Iwaizumi’s chest, laying him out on his back, then slid down between his legs, murmuring teasingly, “You think I’m pretty, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi growled, slamming a fist down hard enough to crack concrete, but Oikawa was already making quick work of the last of Iwaizumi’s clothing, tugging off his shoes and socks, then pulling his jeans and underwear down and off in a single fluid motion. “Please,” he said again, rough and harsh, because moonrise still hadn’t come, and with his wolf curled at Oikawa’s ankle like an obedient dog, he couldn’t force the turn himself, no matter how achingly close it was. “Please.”

But instead of saying his name again, Oikawa smoothed his hands up Iwaizumi’s thighs, then leaned down over him and licked a slow line along his cock. Iwaizumi’s hips jerked and he had to resist the urge to curl a hand in Oikawa’s hair as he closed his mouth around the tip.

“Mother fuck,” Iwaizumi growled. “I swear to god, if you bite my dick, I-”

Oikawa’s lips curled, the promise of a smile, and he hummed before plunging down, taking Iwaizumi all the way into his mouth.

It was too much, the mounting pressure of the wolf inside him, the pull of Oikawa’s mouth (just slightly cooler than it should have been), the muddied boundaries of his awareness. It overloaded his senses, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. It was the first time his impending shift had ever felt good, the first time it had been something he was eager for, rather than the particular, chronic pain that he was so accustomed to.

Oikawa proved as deft with his mouth and careful with his teeth as he had been when they were kissing, and Iwaizumi found himself mesmerized, watching Oikawa as he moved. This time, though, it wasn’t magic or mind tricks that held his gaze – it was the new and different kind of hunger he saw in Oikawa’s dark eyes. It wasn’t long before Iwaizumi was drawn bowstring tight, trembling with the effort to keep himself together – balanced on the cusp of too many sensations. A heartbeat before he tumbled over the edge, Oikawa drew back, mouth pink and wet, then struck, snake-fast, sinking his teeth down into the hollow of Iwaizumi’s thigh.

He moaned, loud and sharp, as his orgasm tore through him and his wolf broke free of its chain.

Nothing had ever felt so good, the surge of pleasure and relief darkening over his vision as his muscles started to tear, fur flooding over his skin and his joints dislocating as his limbs reshaped and remade themselves. He only noticed Oikawa was still drinking when his pelvis shifted and his leg didn’t slide into place at his hip because Oikawa had a death grip on it. Iwaizumi let out a sharp, pained yip and kicked, and though it felt feeble – like he was moving underwater, half drunk and hardly himself – it sent Oikawa flying across the cell, blood blossoming on his arm where claws had struck flesh.

As soon as Oikawa was gone, pain flooded over him, but with one last wrench of his spine, Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades slid into place and his tail twitched to life, his body settling the rest of the way into its new shape. Iwaizumi closed his eyes and panted, staying spread eagle on his back on the floor. He ached exactly as much as he always did after he turned, his limbs loose and useless, but he could still feel the whisper of Oikawa’s presence in his mind like silk, and he was dizzy with blood loss, his heart beating just a little too fast in his chest.

He opened his eyes as Oikawa knelt down beside him and started running cool fingertips through the shaggy, deep brown fur on his belly. Iwaizumi let out a soft huff, but stretched under the attention, letting Oikawa pet him. “You’re a big boy,” Oikawa cooed. Iwaizumi snapped his teeth at him, but made no genuine move to stop him, and when Oikawa stilled, looking down at him pensively, Iwaizumi leaned in and gave the wound on his arm an apologetic lick. Oikawa curled his fingers under Iwaizumi’s chin, stroking the soft fur there, and murmured, “I’ve never seen anyone so calm after a turn.”

Iwaizumi chuffed, then leaned in and bumped his cheek against Oikawa’s before tucking his head gently under his chin. He didn’t know if Oikawa understood the gesture, if it meant anything more to him than just a touch, but it was enough that Oikawa coiled his arms around his neck and rested his cheek against the top of his head.

“Where did you come from?” he asked no one in particular, and Iwaizumi huffed again, butting his head against Oikawa’s chest, then yawned and flopped onto his side, stretching and kicking his legs out in front and behind him before curling up next to him. When Oikawa didn’t get the point, Iwaizumi let out a soft little bark to draw his attention, then rested his face between his paws and sighed. Oikawa laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you sleep,” he said, starting to push himself to his feet.

Iwaizumi grabbed the hem of Oikawa’s pants with his teeth and let out a little grumble of displeasure.

“Or not?”

Iwaizumi shifted on the floor again, uncurling and rolling, just slightly, onto his back, showing his belly.

Oikawa’s face went placid for a moment, picking at a puzzle behind an impassive expression. Then, just as abruptly, he started to laugh. “Oh my god, you want to cuddle.”

Iwaizumi growled, rolling back onto his stomach defensively, but when Oikawa dropped back down to the floor, he stilled. Oikawa wrapped his arms loosely around Iwaizumi, one draped over his side, the other around his neck, and nuzzled his face down into the thick, soft fur on his flank. Iwaizumi rested his head gently on top of Oikawa’s and huffed out a little sigh, closing his eyes.

***

When Iwaizumi woke, he was alone and naked, but his cell was no longer empty. There was a chair by the door with folded clothes and towels, his cell phone, two protein bars, and a small bag of cookies set neatly on the seat. There was a piece of paper tented over the back of the chair, and a big bottle of apple juice and large metal basin sitting on the floor next to it.

Iwaizumi pushed himself to his feet and found that he was still sore and a little lightheaded from the night before. He braced himself against the wall and took stock of himself. He hadn’t quite managed to shed all the dried blood and other bodily fluids between his transformations, but the bite marks were far more healed than he expected them to be – like they were weeks old rather than hours. Oikawa’s blood had probably expedited the process, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of himself. He looked like a vampire junkie – like he’d been bitten too many times for even a vampire’s saliva to heal the marks, like he’d given himself over to a whole nest of vampires at once for the thrill of it.

…But the burns on his fingertips were almost healed, too, and other than being a little, well, drained, he felt surprisingly good. Strong. Really hungry. He staggered across the length of the cell and grabbed one of the protein bars and the note off the back of the chair and read while he ate.

Iwa-chan:

As promised, your truck made it to Houston this morning before the dealership opened, and no one is the wiser. The pickup in the parking lot is all yours for the day; the keys are under the visor, just park it outside your dealership when you’re done with it and someone will pick it up. The token you requested of me is in the right front pocket of your jeans, which I believe resolves both of our debts to one another.

Oikawa Tooru

P.S. My apologies for the lackluster accommodations; while I was indisposed, the water heater broke and I haven’t had an opportunity to have it repaired; the only running water in the building is currently in the kitchen, which incidentally has no food in it. Also, I’m unsure about the particulars of your physiology, but be cautious of your blood pressure and iron levels, refrain from operating any heavy machinery, etc. etc.

Iwaizumi read the letter over twice more and frowned. “Debts resolved” wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for, though he shouldn’t have expected anything else. He was a means to an end, and lucky to be that rather than a meal, or an example. Maybe what they’d shared the night before had been a trick of the blood after all, or maybe Oikawa just hadn’t felt it, or wasn’t able to. It wasn’t like he had much point of reference. He crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor, then squatted down next to the big metal basin, which was filled with water that had probably been piping hot some time around dawn, but was now just a degree or two warmer than room temperature. It felt good anyway when he splashed it on his face and arms, washing away the sweat and blood and other things. He dunked his head in the tub and scrubbed his hair. When he was about as clean as he thought he was going to get, he lifted the tub and carried it over to the drain in the center of the room and poured the whole thing over his head, rinsing himself off.

He shook off the excess water, toweled dry, and dressed. In the pocket of his jeans, he found the arrowhead affixed to a black leather cord, and he carefully slipped it over his head, making sure to leave it resting outside his clothing so the silver wouldn’t burn him. He turned his phone on while he was eating the second protein bar, and of course now – now – the fucking thing was working just fine, and from the look of it, he’d been bombarded by messages over the course of the morning:

BossMan: Great work tonight, Jimmy! Sorry about the short notice, but you really pulled through for us!

BossMan: Next round’s on me!

CatBreath: Yo, where are you? You’re missing brunch

CatBreath: Seriously man, we’re not waiting for you. You should see what Bo ordered

CatBreath: Dude, I just went by the storage facility and they said you didn’t show last night. Are you okay??? Message me back when you get this

BirdBrain: BEHOLD THE NEST:

That message came with a picture attached: a slightly blurry snapshot of a stack of Belgian waffles piled eight high, layered with bacon and whipped cream, set atop a massive pile of hashbrowns dotted with fried eggs.

It was the last set of messages that surprised him, because half of them he’d apparently sent himself, to a contact that hadn’t been in his phone the night before.

Me: Had a great time last night. Wanna do it again?

⋆*♡Tooru-chan♡*⋆: You’ll have to ask nicely, Iwa-chan~ My time is very valuable, after all.

Me: Well, I know you said that we’ve fulfilled our debts to each other, but I can’t help but feel like it would be cosmically unfair of me to give you one little taste of my (frankly magnificent) cock and NOT spend at least ten consecutive hours showing you what I can do with it.

⋆*♡Tooru-chan♡*⋆: You make a very compelling point. Dinner and a movie, next week?

Me: I’ll be dinner, you can pick the movie ৲( ᵒ ૩ᵒ)৴♡*৹

⋆*♡Tooru-chan♡*⋆: Hmm, sounds delish (ᵒᴗ-)b

⋆*♡Tooru-chan♡*⋆: Zoltan: Hound of Dracula, or The Forsaken?

Iwaizumi snorted. Apparently Oikawa wasn’t ready to let him slip away after all, if not quite for the reasons he’d hoped. He scrolled through his contacts and changed “Tooru-chan” to “Booty Call,” then stopped, hesitated, and changed it to “Oikawa” instead. He bit his lip, chewed it, then swore softly and changed it back to a simple “Tooru” before pulling up his messages and typing out a reply.

Me: How about From Dusk Till Dawn or An American Werewolf In London?

Me: I’ll bring some popcorn for you to smell

Me: And get your hot water fixed. I’m not actually a dog.

He pocketed his phone before he could think too long about it, then ate the cookies Oikawa had set out for him and drank half the apple juice straight from the bottle while he wiggled his feet into his shoes. He double checked the room for any stray belongings, then fished the key to the cell out of his pocket, only to realize the door was unlocked. He shook off his surprise. Of course the door was unlocked – he had the only key. Still, he hesitated with his hand on the knob. Deep down, he expected to find the hotel empty. Even if Oikawa was genuine in his desire to see him again, a secret hideout that wasn’t a secret wasn’t much good as a hideout, and for a vampire a resting place that was known to others wasn’t a safe place to rest.

But when he pushed the door open, he found Oikawa’s room exactly as it had been the night before… and Oikawa fast asleep on one of the low sofas. He was stretched out on his stomach, arms curled around an overstuffed pillow, face turned to one side, evidently completely nude except for a red satin sheet draped low on his hips that spilled over onto the floor.

Iwaizumi stilled in the doorway, breath caught in his throat and heart squeezing off-time in his chest, because Oikawa had left himself defenseless as a newborn - not just where Iwaizumi could find him, but directly in his path to leave. With an unlocked door between him and an unfed werewolf. Oikawa was too smart and too careful to do that for someone he only counted as a booty call.

Iwaizumi approached cautiously, not wanting to wake Oikawa and wanting less to startle him, but he hardly stirred as Iwaizumi knelt beside him. In sleep, he was changed, and not merely softened in repose. In the dim light of the room, Iwaizumi could see what he hadn’t the night before: the old, mottled tissue of a bullet wound on the back of Oikawa’s shoulder and a small hooked scar to one side of his chin, both obviously from before he’d been turned. The more he looked, the more subtle differences he found – there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of Oikawa’s nose and the broad span of his shoulders, more faint, pale lines of scar tissue etched into his skin, and the littlest finger was missing on his left hand – all visible only because he wasn’t awake to conceal them. The gouge he’d left on Oikawa’s arm the night before had mostly healed, as had the neat lines of claw-sized puncture wounds framing his spine that Iwaizumi didn’t remember putting there, but the bite on his neck looked just short of fresh, and that made something primal and possessive bubble up inside him and come out as a low, pleased rumble.

Oikawa made a soft, sleepy sound and shifted subtly, murmuring, “Hajime?” The sun was still up, so Oikawa couldn’t wake up short of someone smashing open a window or setting him on fire, but he made a good effort of it, propping himself on one elbow and reaching up to card his fingers through Iwaizumi’s damp hair, a lazy smile on his lips. “You’re all wet.”

Iwaizumi breathed out a laugh. “Go back to sleep.”

A small furrow of thought – of worry – marred Oikawa’s forehead, and the unguarded openness of his expression made him look terribly young. “You’re coming back, right?” he asked, settling onto his back and brushing the pad of his thumb along Iwaizumi’s cheekbone.

“Apparently I have a cosmic injustice to right,” he murmured, grinning at the slow flush and lazy, satisfied smile that spread across Oikawa’s face. After a moment, he let his gaze drop to Oikawa’s chest. The wound there had closed, but the cross-shaped scar was fresh and puckered, the skin around it still faintly discolored. He reached up and touched the mark, gently, and asked, “How’re you feeling?”

Oikawa breathed out a chuckle, just a low rumble in his chest, and stretched out on the sofa. “Like I’m not dying for the first time in six months.”

Iwaizumi recoiled. “Six months?”

His reaction made something change in Oikawa’s expression – the drowsiness disappearing and the small scar on his chin vanishing with it. Oikawa waved a hand dismissively, the sleep-heaviness of his voice becoming affected. “An exaggeration, Iwa-chan. No one could survive-”

“Liar.” Oikawa stilled, gaze leveled at him like an expectant cat. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. When Oikawa shifted his eyes away, a little petulant, Iwaizumi leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Oikawa’s chin where his scar wasn’t anymore. Oikawa drew in a soft breath, relaxing into him by inches and closing his eyes. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, letting his voice drop low as he moved to kiss Oikawa’s lips. Oikawa moaned softly, reaching up to curl his hands in Iwaizumi’s hair, but he didn’t pull him away. Iwaizumi pressed his hand to the base of Oikawa’s throat, pushing him back down against the couch and looking him in the eye. “I’ve seen you. I know you, and unless I’m very mistaken, I think you know me, too. So let’s make a point to be honest with each other, okay?”

Oikawa looked up at him, his gaze unfocused, then allowed himself a long blink, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “When you realized what I was, the first thing you did was turn your back on me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life.”

The haze of sleep was settling over him again, unconsciousness tugging him under, his scar and freckles just a suggestion on his skin but slowly becoming more visible. Iwaizumi leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, murmuring, “No one’s ever been able to call my wolf before.” He rested his forehead against Oikawa’s temple, voice dropping to a low breath. “You’re the only person it’s acknowledged as an equal.” It was a confession Oikawa wouldn’t understand, but one that weighed in his chest and left him feeling winded when he said it out loud.

Oikawa reached up and pressed his hand, deliberately, to the base of Iwaizumi’s sternum, and Iwaizumi shuddered and closed his eyes. That simple touch was enough to draw his wolf to the surface, to make it butt affectionately against Oikawa’s palm.

“Please tell me you can feel this, too,” Iwaizumi gasped, bracing his arm on the back of the sofa and leaning on it heavily.

By way of an answer, Oikawa gave a small curl of his fingers, carding them through the invisible strands that stretched between them. It was like being stroked on the chin, and Iwaizumi let out a soft, involuntary little croon.

“I can call all the wolves in my pack,” Oikawa murmured, winding and twirling the tendrils of Iwaizumi’s wolf around his fingers, “but this is new.”

Iwaizumi let out a low grunt. “What about this?” he asked, pressing his hand to the center of Oikawa’s chest and reaching for what he knew was hidden beneath the surface. It answered his call, like a puff of steam released from an opened door.

Oikawa gasped, arching up into the touch. “New,” he panted, “very new.” Iwaizumi couldn’t help but smile. Not a trick of the blood, then, and something appreciably different than what Oikawa shared with the wolves that were bound to him. “I thought I was hallucinating last night,” he said between heavy breaths, “but this…”

“Let me show you,” Iwaizumi murmured, drawing Oikawa’s hand away from his chest and leaning down over him, letting the reaching parts of both of them find each other and grab hold. Iwaizumi let out a shuddering sigh. It felt like belonging. It felt like being whole. And when Oikawa pulled him down into a kiss, he was drawn in by more than just lips and hands.

He kissed Oikawa slow and languid, leaning over him so their chests pressed together and slowly losing himself in the sweet softness of Oikawa’s mouth and the inexplicable sensation of being joined. It was only the sharp, unexpected taste of blood welling up in his mouth that reminded him that Oikawa wasn’t in full possession of his faculties. When he drew back, nursing the cut on his tongue, Oikawa curled a hand in the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, eyes closed and breathing hard, and panted, “You should probably take your pants off immediately.”

It was more than tempting, but Iwaizumi shook his head. “You’re half asleep. I don’t even know how you’re awake at all.”

“No rest for the wicked?” Oikawa breathed, eyes heavy-lidded.

“You must not be so bad, then,” he said, brushing Oikawa’s bangs back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Oikawa whined. Iwaizumi smiled and murmured against his skin, “You wouldn’t want to fall asleep while I’m fucking you, would you Tooru-chan?”

Oikawa moaned, but it was hard to tell if it was the promise or the endearment that brought the flush to his cheeks. “Not fair.”

“Get some sleep,” he said, brushing his fingertips along Oikawa’s jawline. “I’ll call you the next time I’m going to be in town.”

“You could stay,” Oikawa said, leaning into his touch. “Until sunset.”

Iwaizumi shook his head again. “If I don’t get back to Houston soon, a lot of people are going to start scouring the road looking for my body, and I don’t want to bring them to your doorstep. Not until I’ve had a chance to explain in person.” He grunted. “And as much as I appreciated the cookies, if I don’t eat some real food soon, my muscles are going to start to atrophy.”

Oikawa groaned, long and low, reaching up to press a hand to Iwaizumi’s mouth. “There’s nothing less sexy than logic, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi kissed the palm of his hand and murmured, “You look cute with freckles.”

Oikawa blinked up at him, and Iwaizumi forced himself to stand. Oikawa dropped his hand, but it still felt like they were anchored to each other, rooted as firmly as though they were clasping arms. “You’re going to come back?” Oikawa asked again.

“I’m going to come back,” Iwaizumi said, then grinned. “As long as you promise not to put any more shitty emojis on my phone.”

“There’s no purer form of expression than kaomoji,” Oikawa said, but the end trailed off in a yawn. He stretched out on the sofa, closing his eyes, and was asleep again before Iwaizumi could muster a comeback.

It was a damn shame all the arguments he’d made against staying were true, because on his back, Oikawa was a portrait of muscles and pale skin against blood red fabric. One long leg peeked out from beneath the silk sheet, which looked like it might slide to the floor if he stared at it hard enough. He would almost have accused Oikawa of posing himself intentionally if it weren’t for the uncomfortable-looking way his arms had tumbled back around his head and the fact that he was snoring. Even so, he was absolutely stunning.

Iwaizumi sighed. There’d be time to stare later. He slipped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him. The hotel was deserted and eerily quiet, but he retraced his steps back to the lobby and headed out into the parking lot. There was a vintage baby blue Chevy pickup parked right in front of the door, and as promised, it was unlocked. He slid into the seat, ran his hands over the steering wheel, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the artificial vanilla scent of an air freshener. Then he fished his phone out of his pocket, pulled up his missed messages, and started typing a reply.

Me: Hey TK, call off the search party, I’m fine.

The response was almost immediate.

CatBreath: WTF HAPPENED MAN? WHERE ARE YOU?

Me: Long story. Face-to-face long. You free tonight?

CatBreath: I’ll make time. But seriously, wtf? Some people at your work said they saw you this morning after moonrise.

Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

Me: Wasn’t me.

Me: I got stranded in Louisiana last night. Blowout.

He chewed his lip, then let out a slow breath. If anyone would be able to help him figure this out, it was TK. Before he could decide out how to phrase what he had to say, though, a new message popped up.

CatBreath: Holy fuck. You’ve been hiding out?

Me: No. I walked right into a vamp den. I thought I talked my way out of it, but…

Me: Fuck

Me: I’m like 98% sure I just pair bonded with the Deacon of Baton Rouge.  

This time, there was a long pause.

CatBreath: Is that even possible?

Me: Beats the fuck out of me. I was hoping you would know

CatBreath: Shit.

CatBreath: I’ll ask around.

CatBreath: Did he bind you?

Me: No. He made a point not to.

CatBreath: Weird.

CatBreath: …is he hot?

Me: He’s fucking perfect

Me: And it scares the shit out of me

[quillerqueen]

A Chthonic Odyssey 1/2

Day 2 of @oqfixitweek​. I’m using my wild card today and making my “quest to bring Robin back” story due tomorrow a two-parter.

Inspired by events and elements of my beloved  Xenaverse. And Homer, obviously.

Bait and Switch

Regina comes alone.

She tells no one of her plan as she watches Robin’s coffin be lowered into the ground (and bloody hell, if that—his near and dear ones mourning his loss, his son crushed and his soul mate heartbroken—isn’t the most fucking dreadful thing he’s ever witnessed). She says nothing of it as she sits at their table, in their booth, stroking his empty spot on their bench, deaf for the most part to the condolences laid gently, if hastily, at her feet. Once the wake is over and everyone scatters from Granny’s to their homes, Regina does the same—and Snow White’s watchful eye is fooled by the ploy just like everyone else.

No one knows of Regina’s plan—except for Robin.

For Robin, stuck in boundless fields of pale asphodel, is listening.

He can almost hear the soft click-clack of her heels she berates herself for as she sneaks out like a shadow under the cloak of night; can imagine the gentle rustle of a satchel of provisions clutched under her coat; and distinctly makes out the last, barely whispering vestiges of hope hunkered in the deepest corner of her heart.

It’s that wonderfully resilient heart of hers that speaks to him even now, though in slightly different ways under the circumstances. He knows it well enough to understand why, loath to risk any more lives, she sets out to brave the dark Stygian depths on her own. She carries so much fear, so much doubt, and guilt, and pain; yet the weight she ultimately bends under is that of love. Every other thought, every other emotion is imbued with it, fuelled by it, drowned out by its might even as she follows him where she’s no way of knowing he’s presently to be found.

Affection swells within as he waits for her, itching to reach out and alleviate some of her pain as she ventures to do the impossible.

Then again, had they not beaten impossible odds time and again before? Was he not supposed to have ceased to exist? Could there be a way out for him after all? Is there a way--or must they be ripped apart again, with the sole consolation at least this time they get the chance to say a proper goodbye?

Robin knows exactly when Regina’s descent below ground is complete, for the moment she embarks to cross the mist-hung waters in Charon’s ferry, he no longer hears her thoughts.

Isolated in this squalid place with a myriad listless, wandering souls, he’s left with no way of knowing what goes on beyond its confines.

And so the wait begins.

Read on ff.net

Regina’s been preparing for the worst--for Robin’s absence in the land of the dead and no proof of his existence elsewhere--but she’s nowhere near ready for this.

Barely has she reached the other shore of the River Styx when the first stirrings of trouble present themselves.

“What the--?”

“--hell?” the gnarled-limbed ferryman finishes for her. “I know, right? Even with the old order I had my work cut out for me, but this? This--chaos? This pandemonium?”

Manoeuvring around a cluster of howling souls crowding the usual landing spot, the skeletal man rows further upstream. The sight of him only seems to act as bait, luring dozens to give chase.

Regina grips the sides of the dangerously rocking boat.

“What’s going on?” Her first thought is they’re here for her, bearing old grudges and wounds inflicted by the Evil Queen. “What do they want?”

“To cross, of course! But I sure ain’t ferrying anyone back to the surface--look what happened the last time we let you mortals walk outta here. Hades--gone! Stripped of his powers! His realm in disarray!”

Charon continues to steer them off course, spilling profanities at the souls clamouring after them amid the tireless tirade he rains down upon Regina.

“Even the afterlife isn't what it used to be,” he carps. “Sure, that flea-ridden beast Cerberus is having a field day, chasing around the damned and the redeemed, but does anyone give a damn about my workload? I'm not cut out for this border patrol duty--not like this anyway.”

Regina, fighting back an eyeroll in hopes of gleaning some useful information from this outburst, looks up into his flaming eye sockets.

“The damned and the redeemed?” she repeats. That’s new--and most definitely not good.

“Why, after Hades’ fall, all hell broke loose! Without him, there's nothing keeping the damned from walking in the light, or the good from being cast into eternal night. I swear if I could hold my liquor,” he pats his belly, rattling the bare bones underneath his filthy cloak, “I'd already have started drinking on the job.”

“Yeah, well,” she scoffs, “perhaps there’s an alternative solution to the problem?”

She’s here for Robin. She never once dreamed to find herself in a world upside down in a way more atrocious than the mess that had been Underbrooke. But just as she couldn’t leave the first time to chase her own selfish goals, the sense of obligation wins out again. They are, after all, somewhat responsible for the current state of affairs, having upset the balance on their quest to bring back Hook ending in Hades annihilation--never once considering the consequences for the order of the world. So she can’t help the question, even though it derails from her original mission.

“Sure, Your Majesty,” Charon cackles, coughing up little balls of dust as he finally heads to a patch of rocky shore surrounded by jagged cliffs, and shoos her to disembark. “Just a trifle, really. Tiny little thing--almost unfit for a hero of your calibre.”

Regina sees it coming--should have seen it coming all along, really.

“You must find someone to take Hades’ throne.”

She fucking hates this godforsaken--pun absolutely intended, thank you very much--place. The first time had been bad enough, but at least Underbrooke had been familiar, its streets and buildings interwoven in a pattern they’d recognised. But this, now? They should give out fucking maps on entry.

Except those wouldn’t really be needed ordinarily; it’s precisely the utter lack of order that makes the task of finding one’s way around so damn frustrating.

Regina roams the bright fields of the blessed, on the lookout for former leaders with the potential to take on the delicate task of restoring said order. She scours grassy hillocks and babbling brooks of a countryside so gorgeous and idyllic it puts the most sickeningly sweet of pastoral images to shame. She braves the desolate wastelands, dark rocks dotted with seething, fire-spitting volcanoes and pits of molten lava, seeking those wielding magic and willing to take the reins. Everywhere she goes, she crosses paths with a motley of souls of the most varied of merits and depravities.

Regina’s head aches, her fists clench from sheer frustration when neither the deepest circle of hell nor the brightest tier of light brings answers. Not a single candidate seems a decent match--and none, no matter how noble or distinguished, seem all too keen to ascend the hellish throne. From the depths of depravity, where the only volunteers rear their heads to slobber over the idea of such power, she refuses to choose.

Worse yet, her eyes are sore and scratchy from scouring the horizon for the familiar figure of her soul mate--all in vain.

Not another failure. Not another heartbreak.

Even if she did find him--it seems fucking impossible to find anyone at all, even knowing for a fact they’re actually here, in such disarray--they’d still need to find a way to get past Charon, who’d categorically stated Regina herself, much less anyone else, won’t be leaving without the express authorisation of the new ruler.

“I suppose you could try one of the Titans,” says a man fumbling to hide an ornate sceptre (the reason she, in her final desperation, chose to address him in the first place) as his two companions throw her evasive glances. “Some of the better ilk might be grateful enough for the rescue not to wage war on the world like they did in the days of yore. But I wouldn’t rely on it. In fact, I strongly advise against it.”

“Why would I even need to free them?” Regina frowns, irritation catching flame quickly--why do people always insist on wasting her time by dwelling on things that cannot be done? “Aren’t all residents able to go wherever they please nowadays?”

“Not all, no. The Titans’ chains are forged with the power of the Olympians--they’re held by more than the mere might of Hades. Ironically, so is Hades himself.”

“Hades is dead,” she says flatly. “Obliterated.”

And if the damn crystal can do that to a god, then Robin--

“Hades is immortal.” The man puts up a hand to stop her from speaking, and Regina, forgetting momentarily about the limitations this awful realm places on her magic, is about to incinerate him on the spot for the sheer daring and blatant condescension of the gesture, when he adds quickly: “You can’t kill gods, not even with the Olympian Crystal--merely trap them. Hades was cast down to the depths of the same prison he’d been lord of.”

Oh.

So Hades had lied to them after all.

Could this mean--?

“What would the crystal do to a mortal?” Regina asks, tripping over the words as her heart picks up speed. She tries, truly she does, not to get her hopes up--but she’s already here, isn’t she, so who is she even fooling?

“There’s no such precedent,” the second man cuts in, fidgeting with the diadem in his curly hair.

“True,” nods the first. “In theory, though, such a soul would be exempt from our--exempt from judgement,” he corrects hastily, yet too slow to cover the collective intake of breath of his distraught companions. “Trapped by the crystal’s power, they could enter neither the highest nor the lowest tier of afterlife. They’d be stuck in the middle for all eternity.”

“A harsh punishment for the righteous,” adds the third man, twirling his bright flowery crown. “Possibly a relief for the wicked.”

“Debatable,” argues the second, prompting a lively discussion on the subject.

But Regina is in no mood for philosophical debate.

Robin is here. He has to be. He may be dead, but his soul’s intact after all, and she will get to him, she will--if it is the last thing she does.

“Where exactly would I find such a soul?” she cuts across them unceremoniously.

“Why, in the Asphodel Meadows, of course.”

It’s bloody torture.

Ever since Robin’s demise, the thoughts of his loved ones have kept him company--a blessing and a curse alike. Of all those he’d left behind, it’s Roland’s tender heart that calls out to him most often, shattering his own to pieces with his incomparable grief. Robin hasn’t lost his son entirely, remains connected to him through Roland’s memories, but the inevitable heartache means he’s constantly torn between joy and sorrow, oftentimes wondering if, given the option, he’d choose to sever the connection to (selfishly) spare himself the pain.

He wouldn’t.

He knows this now, because while it pains him greatly to be witness--and source--of their suffering, the silence is so much worse.

How long has it been since the last echo of Regina’s voice? Days? Weeks? A decade? Time is an elusive concept down here.

Elusive. Like that satisfying smile of hers he still thinks about every time he closes his eyes. Not that he’s any thought of sleep--there’s no need for him to anymore, anyway. But he thinks about her all the same, oh does he ever--pictures her soft, happy, and radiant; bold, sassy, and temperamental; visualises every feature and every curve, holding on to every little detail catalogued by awestruck eyes and questing fingers while he anxiously awaits her arrival.

To what end, he doesn’t know.

Just seeing her, just holding her one more time, scattering the dark clouds his death has brought upon her brow, would be enough. (It won’t be, but he can pretend for a while it might.) He’s been aching to chase away that guilt he knows she’s feeling, the blame she puts on herself, the firm belief she’s doomed to both lose love herself and bring doom upon those she loves. And he longs also to scatter demons of his own, to soothe his own pain in her embrace, to quell his regret that their story had to take yet another dreadful turn.

Days. Weeks. A decade.

Until his ceaseless, mechanical wanderings across the vast grey fields have him turn and face the never-changing horizon--and spot a figure moving towards him, for the first time since his arrival here, with purpose. Not wandering. Seeking.

She’s too far away to make out, but his heart knows.

“Regina!”

They break into a run in the same heartbeat, arms whipping and feet trampling the long stalks of vegetation with no care in the world other than to finally get close enough to recognise one another’s features (her smile, gods, the sheer brightness of it must make her jaw hurt just like his own is doing); close enough to hear them call their name (their voices even hitch in perfect unison); and finally, finally close enough to launch themselves into waiting arms.

She’s crying, gripping and clutching at him so tight it almost hurts--and Robin will gladly bear it for the rest of his life if it means no more forced goodbyes. He pulls her impossibly close, cradling her head against his shoulder with fierce tenderness before she raises her tear-stained face in a blur of motion and begins to dot kisses all over his mouth, cheeks, nose--wherever she can reach. She’s frantic. Frantic and disbelieving--and he can barely believe it himself.

“Regina,” he says thickly, struggling to soothe her erratic fumbling with soft touches of his own. “Darling, it’s okay, I’m here--you’re here.”

She sobs at that, repeats his name over and over again, kissing and stroking feverishly.

“I’m s-so sorry,” she says brokenly, and her voice splinters into a thousand fragmented pieces as she mutters apology after apology into his neck.

“Oh, my love,” Robin whispers, rocking them gently, pressing heated kisses into her hair. She’s covered in soot, smells of sulphur and smoke, and she’s still about the most beautiful sight he’s ever beheld. “None of that, now.”

“Are you okay?” she sniffs, palming his face, searching for physical traces of his malady. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no.” Dying hurt, missing them hurt, but all of that hardly matters anymore. He’s no less eager to check her for injuries, brushing hair from across her forehead and dropping a kiss over a bruise on her brow (it even tastes of ash). “Are you okay? I was so worried--it felt like bloody ages for you to reach me, I thought something might have happened to you.”

That ashy brow of hers furrows at that, and before he could attempt to kiss away the creases, she’s pulling back--though only just enough to hold his eyes without having to squint.

“You knew I was coming? How?”

“From you.”

And he tells her all about his peculiar experiences in this strange land, tells her above all of how the dead can hear your thoughts, and what bittersweet consolation that’s been to him, and thank you for remembering--for loving me so fiercely. Beyond that, he finds he cannot speak, all choked up and wary of her frame tensing infinitesimally in his embrace.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” she says at long last.

It hardly surprises him--they’d had these conversations before, when consequences of their mutual willingness to throw themselves into harm’s way for the other had merely approached fatal.

“You’d have done the same,” he tells her, soft but firm. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

She doesn’t; instead she extricates herself from his arms, pushing at him until she’s holding both his hands in hers, still toe to toe but touching nowhere but the fingers she’s toying with, eyes averted.

“But I didn’t,” she says bitterly, her words dripping pure self-loathing. “I could have magicked us out of there, or at least tried to. Instead I froze--and then it was too late.”

“And yet you never froze when it was Henry, or Snow, or Roland, or me.” And that, they both know, speaks volumes about her priorities, about how she loves others but not yet herself, about the long way to self-acceptance still ahead. This isn’t the time to delve into that though--there’ll be plenty of time later if he’s lucky enough to witness that journey. “I suppose we’ve a penchant for saving one another.”

She’s relentless though--inconsolable.

“Robin, you died. This can’t happen again.”

“I take it that means we’re leaving here together, yeah?” In hopes of coaxing a smile out of her, of lightening the conversation, he adds: “Because I never want to see a pale flower ever again.”

But all his attempt earns him is a frustrated sigh.

“Robin, I mean it. I won’t have you putting your life on the line for me.”

“I’ll promise to stop if you do the same.”

“That’s not--”

“Fair?” he suggests, raising an eyebrow at her.

“It’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same? And don’t tell me you’re not worth it, Regina, because that’s simply not true.”

Except she firmly believes just that--and he categorically rejects the very notion. Even as she grasps for some other justification (they’d exhausted the topic of their children, their friends, the good they can and do bring to the world many times over) he can tell she knows it’s a losing battle as ever before.

The silence stretches on, and Regina’s squared shoulders slump. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms wind around his torso once more, and he exhales in relief and anticipation as her lips hover inches from his.

She pours her everything into the kiss, tender at first then building in toe-curling increments, and all thought flies out of his head except for the single fleeting one that tells him perhaps this is how she brings him back to life.

Gasping for breath, they stand unmoving. They simply are--for a moment, or two, or a thousand.

“Wanna go home?” she breathes.

“With you? There’s nothing I’d love more.”

The first feat--leaving the Asphodel Meadows confining undistinguished souls--turns out a startlingly easy one. Much like they’ve both come to hope after Regina’d filled him in on the current state of the Underworld, there’s not an obstacle barring their path--nothing seems to be keeping the souls from leaving this corner of the land other than the sad, immovable listlessness of those trapped here by their own limits even with the realm’s magical borders down.

Robin counts his blessings for resisting that pull of lethargy, and squeezing Regina’s hand, tugs her gently into his side, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Which way to the Judges?” he asks, and follows her lead as they set off at a brisk pace.

Even with directions, the landscape is near impossible to navigate. They’re thrown off course by treacherous trails leading to nothing but dead ends; betrayed by patches of quicksand masquerading as solid ground; blinded by gusts of wind throwing specks of ash in their faces, stinging in the eyes and singing their skin.

When they finally find their previous location, the threesome they were counting on for counsel is nowhere in sight.

Well, fuck.

There goes their hottest trail to a rescue.

Robin runs a hand through his hair, tightening his arm around Regina’s shoulders. Her solid form is soothing as she leans in--until it occurs to him that she’s resting somewhat heavily against his side.

“We should stop,” Robin suggests. “Take a break.”

“No,” she protests croakily, refusing to meet his eyes. “We need to keep going. They could be close, they might know someone willing to--”

“Perhaps, but you’re dead on your feet. How long since you last allowed yourself some rest?”

Not since she set foot in here, if he were to guess.

It takes a while to convince her, despite the way she sways on her feet from exhaustion, and in the end he simply stands his ground and declares he’s not moving from the spot unless she agrees to take at least a short nap.

There’s an elm not far away, she tells him groggily, and everyone seems to give it a wide berth for some, presumably perfectly unpleasant, reason. So that’s where they head, for lack of a better idea, and settle down at its foot, Robin’s back to the trunk and Regina gathered in his arms. She’s tense, a bowstring drawn tight enough to snap, her fingers digging into his bicep rather desperately.

“Sleep, love,” he whispers, ghosting a kiss over the shell of her ear. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Her head barely finds the cushion of his shoulder before her eyes close, and her deepening breaths resonate against his chest.

She dreams of home.

Knows she’s dreaming, because of how real, and peaceful, and happy it feels. Her kitchen is bathed in warm orange hues, friendly and welcoming, so very unlike the hellish lighting of the Underworld--and there’s Robin now, tossing a laughing Roland up in the air as she and Henry warm up a bottle for the baby girl (gurgling happily in her bassinet) whose name most definitely isn’t Robyn.

A possibility, just out of reach.

Always out of reach, so close yet never quite theirs to keep.

How will she get him out of here? Without a new ruler, there's no one to petition for Robin’s life. More than that--thousands of souls suffer oppression under the wicked. Sure, they could try to break Robin out, and possibly succeed…

But could either of them live with the knowledge that countless innocents are paying the price of their happiness?

A heartbeat--and she’s transported to her vault, dark, cold, and empty. Empty except for a sceptre and a stack of keys placed atop her parents’ tomb, circled by a diadem entwined in wildflowers. The odd arrangement rustles with a distant echo that sends chills down her spine.

You set your sights too far, dear child, While the answer you seek Lies inside.

Robin doesn’t sleep--neither needs nor wants to. He takes watch instead, glaring at every passerby, the timid and the rowdy, ready to ward them off should they choose to exploit their vulnerable position. Nobody approaches them.

So he redirects his full attention to the woman sleeping fitfully in his arms. Her eyelashes flutter now and again, and her features aren’t quite relaxed, but a smile is playing on her lips as he brushes stray strands of hair from her face.

Oh to wake up to this sight for many years to come.

He hates this place so bloody much for all it’s done to them, and for all the obstacles it’s yet to put in their way. Yet he supposes some modicum of gratitude is due as well, for his fate has actually been much kinder than the version Hades had threatened with. And for all its current turmoil, Regina and he have both managed to stay out of harm’s way so far.

He just wants to go home with his soul mate, back to their children, back to all the trials and tribulations of their messy (an understatement if there ever has been one) but oh so precious second (third? fifth? dozenth?) chance.

Which isn’t going to happen until order is restored beneath the surface. Not at the expense of all the righteous ousted from their rightful place in the afterlife. Someone must be willing to take the helm.

And hopefully that someone will grant them a wish in exchange for the favour.

And if they don’t, well...

His thumb, stroking softly across the apple of Regina’s cheeks, wanders to her forehead, and Robin sighs at the wrinkles of worry etched into her brow. Her jaw tightens, and she whimpers softly. He rocks them almost imperceptibly, enclosing her in his warmth. She shivers nonetheless.

“Regina,” he whispers, loath to wake her but unwilling to let her suffer even in slumber, knowing how vicious her nightmares tend to get. “Shhh, you’re all right…”

She blinks her eyes open, staring up at him with a softening expression as she reaches a trembling hand to stroke his face. It’s but a moment though before she’s sitting up, her features rearranging once more to look more determined than ever, and scrambles to her feet.

With a sigh he follows, lacing his fingers with hers as they resume their endless quest.

“Regina, can we please stop for a moment?”

They’ve spent a veritable eternity combing the blasted land, looking for someone worthy and willing to take the throne, but their search has turned up nothing. Minute by minute, the realm sinks into an ever deeper state of disarray. Anarchy feeds violence, and danger is omnipresent.

“I’m fine, Robin,” she dismisses impatiently, her fuse ever shorter the more her frustration grows. “I don’t need rest. What I need is to find someone--anyone--with at least a semblance of leadership skill and a speck of integrity, to just--”

“It’s not that,” he sighs, perfectly aware just how badly received his words are going to be. “We need to talk.”

“Now? About what?”

She’s wary--and rightfully so. Those words seem to be universally ominous in themselves, no matter the circumstance, and perhaps he should’ve chosen them more carefully, but in this particular case his word choice isn’t going to matter. No sugar-coating is going to mitigate the impact, so he cuts right to the chase.

“About the possibility that I might have to stay here after all.” She shudders at that, a dozen emotions ranging from disbelief through betrayal to defiance flitting through her eyes in a mere second. Robin understands, truly he does, but she must hear him out--she must. “No, Regina, please listen to me. If this new monarch agrees to let me go, you know I won’t hesitate a second. But if they don’t--”

“Then we leave anyway,” she snaps, immovable. “I don’t give a damn about their approval.”

“But I do.” He takes her hands in his with a pang of guilt at finding them cold and trembling. “Regina, if we reinstate order and our next step is to break it just to get me out of where I, by the laws of nature, now belong… They’ll be out to get us. And maybe I’ll survive this time, but someone else may not. And that’s not something I want hanging over me, or our children, or--”

Her eyes, welled up at first, now grow distant.

“Regina?” he questions, squeezing her hands.

Next thing he knows she’s slipping from his grasp, her voice measured and her face closed off.

“I think we should split up.”

This way they can cover more ground, she says.

Yet five thousand paces and not a single candidate later, Robin is half-resigned to having to remain after all. With a heavy heart he turns, as agreed, to take the same way back. Five thousand paces he spends rearing up for another fight to convince Regina, even though he detests the very idea himself, that this is how it must end. Not enough time in the world to prepare for the ultimate (and gods, there’s been too many already) gut-wrenching goodbye.

Regina, however, approaches with a crooked smile, eyes shining with something more than imminent tears. Hope blooms, and the stirrings of a tentative grin tickle his cheeks before she closes the distance between them and pulls him into a passionate kiss.

It’s all tangling tongues and nipping teeth as her fingers tug at his hair and his hands slide to her waist and lower still, grasping and taking, gasping and giving, like a silent promise of forever. When she tears her lips away from his after long moments of utter bliss, he chases them with another kiss, soft and gentle like a sweet confession, and another small peck to seal the deal.

She chuckles wetly at that--music to his ears--and presses her forehead to his with her arms around his neck and wrists locking at his nape as she draws heavy, ragged breaths.

“You’re going home,” she tells him. “I’ve found just the person.”

Old man Charon practically falls over himself welcoming them aboard, ushering Robin to the bow of his boat and attempting--in vain--clumsy small talk with Regina.

Even though their hands remain joined, Robin can't stop glancing at her for proof that this is indeed real. She looks...well, gorgeous as ever, though not quite as aglow with triumph as she might. Her eyes are a tad glassy, her smile a touch wobbly, but her relief is tangible.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his hand steady on the small of her back.

“Fine,” she returns much too quickly. He tilts his head, raising a doubtful eyebrow at her. “Just...tired,” she concedes, pressing a kiss to his cheek and lingering there until the boat hits the shore with a plunk.

She disentangles herself then and gives him a gentle nudge.

Robin steps off the ferry, thanking his lucky star--and Regina’s resilient heart--for making him the proverbial exception to Charon’s rule about never returning souls to the surface.

“You know,” he quips with a heart light as a feather as he turns to offer Regina a hand, “you still haven’t told me how you found the solution.”

“I hear no one else wanted the gig,” says Charon with a shrug.

And before the implication fully sinks in, a burst of magic pushes the ferry away from the shore--away from Robin.

What the hell does the blasted man think he’s doing?

Except it’s not Charon or his sad little pole but Regina’s hands emitting hissing sparks of energy.

She's not supposed to have magic down here--not like this anyway.

That’s when he understands.

It should have been me, her thoughts would ring, echoing the words to him countless times over his lifeless body--because it had been Regina after all Hades had targeted and not Robin, and it should always have been me.

“Regina--no!”

His desperate scream sets his lungs on fire as he plunges into the icy waters, a myriad pinpricks and then numbness in his limbs before he dives in to swim--but she’s faster, conjures up an invisible shield that won’t let him any further.

Shivering thigh-deep in the river, Robin watches her standing statuesque on the stern, hands wrapped around her torso, tears rolling down her face as they are his own.

“I’m sorry,” she says, as if somehow that made all of this even remotely okay. “There was no other way.”

And as the boat slices through the thick white curtain of impenetrable fog, Regina breaks the awful, crushing silence one last time.

“I love you,” she sobs.

Darkness swallows her.