#one bled out after he cut its nail to the quick

[ace-fender-bender]

My stepdad always hinted at having had a lot of dogs in the past and I thought sure he's lived a ling life, he's seen a lot of pets come and go but the more he talks about it the more I come to realise that he's just a wildly irresponsible pet owner who has killed many dogs through negligence

[quicktimeeventfull]

Beetles

Death Note/Yellowjackets AU 600 words So I've been watching Yellowjackets nonstop. Here's a short piece in which Light was a Yellowjacket and L was not, set 25 years after the crash. Light is genderswapped and L isn't because idk sometimes one is moved to do such things. There aren't any spoilers in this, other than the basic premise of the show.

Light will not tell him what happened. 

This is fine. L knew, when they married, that her years in the woods were a black box not to be opened. To leave something unplucked is against his nature, but he’d promised Light and he’s promised himself that he’ll allow all those wires to remain untouched. Still. All the same. How could he not wonder? Everyone does. He can see it in their neighbour's eyes, sometimes, when they pass her in the grocery store, their gaze lingering just a little too long on his wife with her hair all golden and her eyes which never focus quite exactly right. He can read it in the newspaper, in the articles which come out each year like clockwork, lessening as time drags them further and further from the moment of impact but never quite sloughing off. Where are they now? What happened to the survivors, brave and silent and suspect. What happened to the girls who never told. 

Light calls them dermestids, her lip curling above the teeth, her fingers running up and down his arm. Dermestids, as in the beetles that eat the flesh of corpses. Other people say vultures but she doesn’t like to think of carrion. When she sees them circling above she shuts her eyes. Once the television had aired a nature documentary in which one was plucking away at the body of an elk and he’d left it running, thinking maybe it would be good for her to face what he’d assumed to be a tameable fear. She’d curled against him to watch, her face still and unbothered, and then for weeks after she’d been hidden away in the locked box of herself, speaking in trite and meaningless phrases, folding the laundry with a Stepfordian domesticity that was quite unlike her. She has always retreated into this strange facsimile of womanhood when the world becomes impossible to bear. Girl as preformed on network TV. Girl as written by a man who hates women. He doesn’t want to be one of them. He refuses to be one of the creatures who bruises his wife for no reason other than the desperation to know. But it has been twenty-five years and events are beginning to unfold.

He has woken, more than once, to find the bed warm but his wife absent. He has found dirt on the sheets and her nails cut flat to the quick, so close they might have bled. Once he came home early to find her hissing on the telephone. She hung up the moment she caught sight of him but he checked the phone logs later and found it to be one of the other girls-who-kept-their-counsel.

There is something happening. Something big and starving and of which Light will not speak, not even to him, her husband, her lover of a quarter century, who has always held his tongue and kept his prying hands at bay. And so he is looking, now. He is poring through the old photographs and the tabloid articles to find the bones the beetles unburied. He thinks there must be something. There are no such things as secrets, not really. There are truths unexposed and a thing like this — an act so big his lovely wife and all her survivors have seen fit to hide it for all these years — must leave its traces. 

At the dinner table he pours her supermarket wine and listens to her talk about everything but. He passes her butter, salt, a knife for her clever hands to hold. Her teeth are bright, stark white. He tells himself that whatever she did in the woods was done to survive and teaches himself not to flinch as she tears the meat from the bone.

[wornoutmouse]

Fun fact: demon slayer starts in 1912 and ends in 1927(or at least that's when the Tashio era ends). Using that math Tanjiro (as long as he kept his health good) would very well be alive today at the ripe age of like 78 if my math is correct since he started as 13 in the series. (My math probably wrong asf)

Power imbalance, power bottom reader, knife play,  blood but not blood play...

He hated you.

Your very being irked him more than anything he'd ever experienced in all his centuries of living. You were clumsy, boisterous, and played that arrogant music all throughout your home while walking around half naked. Well in Muzan's opinion you were half naked, he couldn't even begin to describe his disbelief at the trend of exposing skin. 

It didn't help that you had that insignificant filth running through your veins. At first he was unsure, after all this was a completely different country than Japan, not to mention your darker skin and coiled hair. But no, he could smell and recognise the Kamado blood running through your veins just as strongly as it had run through all your ancestors. 

Completely undiluted. 

At the very beginning when you first moved in, you  came to his home. Knocking aggressively on his front door already getting off to the wrong start. When he opened it, you slipped past him and walked into his living room barely even saying hello as you put poorly decorated sugar cookies on his obsidian coffee table. "This is a nice place you got here Mj." 

Muzan's eyes twitched, that joke had long since gotten old since he moved to America. 

Now that you were closer he could definitely smell, the century old stench of rivaling bloodlust simmered just below your onyx skin. At any moment he expected you to attack him in some way or form. "Anyways I'm here to say hello neighbor, my name is Y/n and I'm your new best friend!"

Your happy attitude also agitated him to no end. Even though the knowledge of demons had dwindled down to only a few select families, even basic humans were wary of him as their baser instincts made them aware of his dangerous origins. This fact had long since forced Muzan to only prey on the elderly to survive. You had stayed a bit longer babbling about some nonsense that Muzan never acknowledged as he watched you from a good distance.

"You know you really got to add more to your wardrobe than 1963 suits." You walked from the back of his home, an area that he didn't even notice you wandered to. Finally getting bored, you open his door bidding your farewells. 

Just before leaving you stop and with a cheeky grin say, "If you ever need anything just come on over. We Kamado's are known for our kindness." 

Since then he'd been on edge around you. The point of relocating was for him to keep a low profile but now it seems he'd have to come face to face with an old nemesis reborn. 

Muzan snapped out of his thoughts with a flinch as he pierced his hand with his nail. He watches the dark blood well up from the wound and drip down his wrist. In the end this world had long since lost its hostility dwindling the average human incapable of basic combat. Giving you were no doubt a great descendant, Muzan failed to see you as a true threat.  

But one can never be too sure

🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢🥢

You heard a knock on your door, soft and hesitant. "I don't think I'm expecting company." You checked your watch and peered out of a nearby window. It was at least 8 at night, you were braless wearing sweats with a red T-Shirt and on your way to bed.  In the back of your mind you visualize your two grand-uncles Inosuke and Zenitsu coming over to make you spectate their fights. For two old dudes they still had enough strength in them to do hip breaking nonsense.

You open the door shocked to see your next door neighbor standing before you. For once he wasn't wearing a suit that cost more than your house. His attire was still expensively dressed but in a more casual sense, that being a black dress shirt and slacks. His sleeves were rolled up displaying his pale skin. "Can I come in?" A dazzling smile you had never seen before practically blinds you as he walks past you into your home.

When Muzan walks in his eyes immediately dart to the clear as day Nichirin Blade sword displayed recklessly on your living room wall above your couch. "You like it?" A hand on his shoulder makes him jump, "Got it from my grandpa, he says it's really special but I feel like he's exaggerating. You know how old people are." Muzan shakes out of his stupor. "I don't quite understand what you mean by that, however I do know that it's much more wise to listen to your elders than ignoring…..It could save your life."

Muzan replicates you and puts a hand on your shoulder gently squeezing. This was it, he'd go in for the kill and it would be over, the amount of blood he'd pump into you would be enough to watch you meet a satisfying end of combustion completely untraceable if the police were to get involved. How he wishes he'd be there when your poor grandfather walks along your remains splattered on every surface in your living room. Unable to do a thing as he's finally in his last stretch of life. 

The beauty.

Muzan's finger only twitches in the slightest before pain sparks from his own neck. "The thought of you coming into my own home unprovoked and at night no less, was the most obvious sign one could ask more." You had his hand gripped so tight your veins popped while your other hand held a small pocket knife that burned  brighter than any Nichirin sword he'd ever encountered. He didn't understand, he was quick enough to kill even the best of the ancient Hiroshima. So how did a little foreign girl like you get the upper hand?

It was embarrassing and almost laughable if any of his pillars were alive to tell the tale.

You press the blade harder before bringing your other hand to caress Muzan's cheek,  "Did you think I'd be just an ignorant descendant of an infamous hero?" You clicked your teeth disappointingly. "How naive, you've really become lazy after all these millennia huh?" You walk forward, pushing Muzan back with seductive strength. He allows you to push him into your couch,  I say allow because at any time he could have stopped you.  

Muzan is most definitely not holding me at gunpoint right now. 

The knife never wavers even as you climb into Muzan's lap, pressing it even closer against his jugular. "You do know getting beheaded will not kill me, and I doubt this petty little kitchen knife will get the job done in the first place." Your lips draw into a smirk and you press the knife closer as you trail it down his chest, "That may be true but it's gonna take one hell of a time for you to grow back." Your hand jerks down, popping his shirt buttons open.

Muzan watches with interest, your eyes light up as more skin becomes exposed. The tones of your dark skin contrast strikingly as you caress his pectoral with the tips of your fingers. "For a 1,000 year old grandpa you look decent." Still threatening his life with your blade, you kiss him. It's deep and carnal. Your lustful desires being made known as you grind in his lap. The flesh of your ass snuggly hotdogs the forming outline of his cock. "I've always wanted to be with a demon. You've had to of become a real freak after living this long!"

When you pull away Muzan's thin lips are pink and a bit swollen. He is out of breath despite needing none, "You have a lot of nerve for a mere human." With your free hand you loosen the belt of his slacks, only standing to pull them off, pleased when Muzan voluntarily raises his hips to aid you. 

Don't get him wrong, he was still planning on killing you and ending your wretched bloodline once and for all, he just needed his mind to clear itself. Your scent, your confidence, strung him along like a puppet. His hands grip onto your ass cheeks like a lifeline. Molding them between his fingers, even giving them a shake through your sweats. His nails elongate and puncture the thick fabric as if it was nothing more than a spider web. 

Your sweats are tugged off completely leaving your lower half nude. Muzan moves his hands to hold your ass again but your blade politely makes itself known. You are out of breath and clearly flustered. "Watch yourself, demon, I'm the one calling the shots, don't forget that." Muzan bites his tongue with sharp glare. He raises his hands in surrender, "Of course." 

Muzan can feel your wetness against his leg and it's driving him insane. "Hey…" red eyes refocus on yours, "You ain't got any diseases do you? And you can't get me pregnant right?" Muzan smirks hands enclosing around your ass despite your protest. "I can, however it will cost a lot more than doing it once." The odds didn't seem in your favor but you were in no position to stand down and grab a condom and Muzan knew it.

You curve the blade towards his chin, "If you are lying and give me some ancient unknown disease or I find out you have superman sperm, I will kill you." Muzan links his lips, "Wasn't that the plan from the beginning or have you had a moment of level headedness?" Your wrist is quick and precise, cutting a thin slash along his jawline., not enough to scar and it barely even bled, but the threat was clear.

You grab Muzan's dick and use your thumb to attack the underside with fast strokes. Said man doesn't react outwardly, the only sign being his eyelids lowering by a fraction. "Were you always this well endowed or did you adjust this part too?" Muzan was not amused by your insinuation. Deciding to once again display the true power imbalance this situation had, he loops his arms underneath your large thighs and lifts you just enough to thrust his cock against your hole. 

From there he let's go, making you plop down on his length, making you yelp and allowing him to lean back with a relaxed sigh. You were so warm and tight. Now even though I explained what had happened with great detail,  keep in mind that in reality it all happened within a fraction of a second. 

Your large and in charge persona was cracking.  You gripped Muzan's sides tightly as your pussy spasmed around his girth. "F-Fuck it's too….." you trail off not wanting to give Muzan the credit he was truly due. 

It takes a few moments for you to get your bearings all the while Muzan and his dangerous jaw swayed in the crevice of your neck. A viper playing with its prey. The blade is back against his neck once again making his cock twitch. If he were human this would be a dangerous feat.  Your grip never slacked nor lessened against his neck, slicing into a growing wound that dropped dark blood down his chest and to his abdomen. 

His dick stretched your pussy and made it weap on each downstroke. Muzan's hands grip onto the cheeks of your ass with gritted teeth.  Your insides gripped him ever so slightly.  Sucking him back in as if he belonged there.  He felt used and it felt good.  His black ringlets stuck to his face from sweat and his red eyes grew in intensity. 

He couldn't see much of your body, hell he could barely even touch. In the back of his mind humorous thoughts such as how he knew Tanjiro would lose his sanity if he knew his granddaughter was being bedded by the man he despised. But the more you bounced, the more you squeezed, the deeper you cut into his neck proved that you were truly the one in charge. 

"Oh God you're so deep!" Your deep almond eyes shut themselves with pleasure. Muzan could feel your legs shaking with exertion at the same rhythm your pussy twitched. His balls felt tight after having no action in over a dozen years. "F-Faster." He has no care for your blade, only wanting to cum and feel the sweet ecstasy he knew your creamed pussy would provide. "Come on human, go faster." Muzan locks lips with you, gaze hardened and intent on proving some sort of point.

Tossing the knife you wrap your arms around his neck pulling his head closer. Red eyes target brown ones as his hands take a stronger grip on your ass. He uses his strength to bounce you. The sound of his balls slapping against the curve of your ass is just as disgusting as it is sexy. Your nipples rub against his through your tank-top making you both moan. The feeling blood stains your shirt making you shiver from the cool wetness

The couch you rest on bangs against the wall behind you the faster you both go. Muzan's feet are planted firmly in the ground, his fangs further elongated. He looks feral and it is in this moment where you get a glimpse of the horror many people felt when he took their lives. "Focus little Kamado, you wouldn't want to disappoint me now would you?" 

Muzan's hips meet yours, spreading the tempo. Your juices coat his lap before finally you tense up completely into a cramp inducing stance as Muzan impaled you on his cock one last time. "Ahh.." Muzan empties himself within you with a relieved sigh. 

Maybe the Kamado bloodline could go on.

[fandom-puff]

Kinktober Day 10: Pegging

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x reader

Also- I’m not sure if strap ons were like a thing in the 20s? Eh creative liberty 🤪

“What the fuck is that, YN?”

You bit your lip and shuffled your feet. When you had told Arthur you had a surprise for him, this probably wasn’t what he expected. He probably expected to come into your bedroom and find you laying out on the bed in some new lingerie. What he most likely wasn’t expecting was to see you fully clothed, with a sleek looking metal cock attached to a harness-like contraption.

“Well, I... remember the other day...” you began, unable to meet Arthur’s eyes. “And you were getting a bath but I needed my hairbrush...?” You trailed off, hoping he would get the gist. You had barged into the bathroom (a common occurrence in your house at this point) to grab your hairbrush, before hearing Arthur moan. You had expected to see him having a wank in the bath, and was about to tell him to make sure he rinsed out the tub before you gasped; there he was, fingering his own arse. You had bitten your lip so hard it bled as you watched his hand falter in its movements and murmured a quick apology before legging it.

Arthur nodded slowly, realisation slowly dawning on him. “Wait... that... that’s for me?” He asked, eyes widening. “YN... what am I meant to do with a fake bloody cock, eh?”

You gulped. “I just thought... well... you seemed to be enjoying yourself the other day... a-and I want to make you feel good, Arthur,” you whispered. Arthur’s face softened and he came to your side, pulling you to his chest.

“You do make me feel good, YN. All the time,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “You don’t have to do this, not if you don’t want to. It can get messy and... well I imagine it would be bloody hard work for you, eh?”

You frowned up at him. “I don’t care. I want to try it, Arthur. Want to make you feel good, wanna try something new. You’re always in charge, thinking about my pleasure, even when you’ve been working all day. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

Arthur deliberated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, alright, YN,” he said gently, kissing you softly. “You’re bloody amazing, you are,” you smiled bashfully and together you sorted out some towels and a wash basin and cloth and some oil to use as lubricant. You grabbed the harness and scurried off to the bathroom as Arthur prepped himself.

When you emerged, wearing nothing but the harness with the fake cock attached to it, Arthur groaned lowly. Despite your bashful posture and nervous face, you looked an absolute sight. “What?” You said, grinning slightly, biting your lip as Arthur stared at you slack jawed.

“Fuck, YN... you better get over here before I cum untouched,” You were more than happy to comply, clambering onto the bed. Absentmindedly, you began stroking his thighs with light touches, humming to yourself as you steadied your shaky breaths. Arthur covered your hand with his, making you look at him. “Are you sure, love?” He whispered, eyes sparkling with appreciation.

You took a deep breath and nodded firmly. “Yes,” you murmured. “B-but will you guide me? Help me make it good for you?”

Arthur smiled softly, propping himself up on the pillows. You climbed between his legs, sitting back on your ankles as you methodically drizzled the oil over the fake cock, before rubbing his actual cock with the leftover oil. Letting out a shuddery breath, Arthur grabbed your wrist. “Slowly at first, YN... only ever had fingers,” he murmured and you nodded, remembering the way he had eased into you the first time you had sex. Taking a steadying breath, you slowly breached the slightly looser ring of muscle, watching as Arthur’s face contorted in pleasure. After the first few inches, you stopped to gauge his reaction, but he groaned lowly. “More,” he whispered hoarsely, and you nodded, soon bottoming out. His legs fell wider apart as he reached for you, pulling you in for a deep kiss as he began moving his hips slowly. You moaned into his mouth, nipping his lip playfully as you gained confidence. “Move, yn,” he grunted, and you nodded, whispering ‘okay’ as you began slowly thrusting your hips, trying to find a spot within him that would make him see stars as he had done to your so many times...

“Fuck! Like that, YN!” He groaned out after a particularly sharp thrust. You moaned softly, your mouths colliding in a searing kiss as you began thrusting steadily against that spot, your own breath coming in pants. You could feel his thighs tightening around you, his hands grasping your thighs, hips, buttocks desperately, his nails digging into your flesh as he lost himself to sensation, submitting himself to you completely as you controlled such intense pleasure. Curses tumbled from his lips as his mouth hung open, chest heaving and whole body trembling as he came undone, his cock leaking sticky precum between you both. With a few clumsy jerks of his cock, he came, shouting wildly as he entire body convulsed. You moaned softly, eyes wide: you had caused that pleasure, that reaction...

Groaning as he came down from his high, Arthur pressed a sloppy kiss to your lips, before helping you ease out of him. He helped you out of the harness and sorted out the aftermath of your lovemaking as you went to run a bath. Already, your muscles were aching from exertion- you would both be feeling it in the morning.

As you soaked in the bath, back pressed into Arthur’s chest, you hummed, eyes fluttering shut as the steaming water eased your tight muscles. Grinning, Arthur trailed his finger down your side, dipping between your thighs as you squirmed. “Arth... what’re you up to?” You teased, leaning up to kiss his jaw.

“Oh nothing... just... making you feel as good as I felt before, love... got my work cut out for me though?”

[my-fanfic-library]

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [12]

Masterlist

~^*^~

You were frozen. Suspended by his grasp, chocking as the air left your lungs with no way of returning back to you. His nails had scraped the back of your neck. You wondered if you were bleeding.

“Shut it!” He bellowed.

Mustering up some strength, you kicked the door with your foot and the light was cut out. Dracula dropped you atop the dress. He slid back down the wall until he, too, was back on the ground. You could tell from the aura behind you that he was utterly furious.

Wait...

Was he... snarling...?

The nape of your neck where he had scratched you as he snatched you up... he had broken the skin. Droplets of blood were beading to the surface. The scent, the sight - they were consuming him. You pushed yourself up and threw your back against the wall. Your heart beat furiously against your chest. Fuck.

“Drac...” you spoke calmly, trying not to cry with the intense fear, “calm down, Drac...”

But he wasn’t Drac anymore. No, his eyes had bled to a crimson and his teeth had grown and sharpened in his mouth. He was looking at you both as if you were a meal, and yet also as though he was terrified himself.

“[First].” He breathed.

“It’s only a drop, Drac, you can control yourself.” Your voice wavered.

You had never seen him in his... prime (is that what it was even called? You didn’t know) before. The way his eyes ate you up all on their own: his mouth snarling and snapping at you, if he closed in he’d take a bite. You were shaking. When had tears started rolling down your cheeks?

“You smell so divine, [First]. Come closer, give me a taste of that sweet, sweet honey.” He cooed.

“No, Dracula.” You said firmly.

“Come on, [First]. Don’t deny me anymore, you sweet temptress. Give into me. Let me fill you with sweet dreams.”

“Dracula, please,” you begged, “get a grip of yourself!”

“Let. Me. IN!”

He lunged for you. You screamed, narrowly getting out of his way. He collided with the wall and the picture toppled down onto his head, the glass shattered and it clattered to the floor. You whispered as he turned his head to look at you. His lips curled as he bared his teeth. Was he always this animalistic? You had read accounts of him being oddly gentle when he devoured his victims. Why was he being so violent towards you?

You squeaked when he pushed himself away from the wall. And without thinking, you bounded up the stairs. He was right behind you. You could hear his footsteps. The rush of your blood filled your ears. The pounding of your heart hurt your chest. The sharp inhale and exhale of your breath stung your lungs.

Racing into the bedroom, you tried to slam the door, but he caught it. You cried out once more, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t want to die. Not like this.

Please, God, not like this.

You couldn’t hold him back and the door practically exploded open. You were flung back, toppling over your feet and landing on the floor with a thud. He prowled towards you. The back of your neck stung, but you pushed yourself up. You turned to rush to the window. He caught your waist. You struggled in his grasp. He threw you onto the bed face down. You felt him pin you down. You craned your head, to try and look at him. You were sobbing.

“Please,” you begged through your tears, “Drac, please don’t.” Your voice was hoarse.

He held you down. He was on top of you, legs straddling each of your thighs. He held your arms painfully behind your back and he bent down, just to get a whiff of your blood. It stung his nostrils in the most delicious way. Oh, how he had imagined it’s scent. It was so much more than he could have ever mustered up in his head. If it smelt this good, better than anyone else, how did it taste? How did you taste?

Beneath him, you whimpered but your utter submission to him only egged him on more. He vowed to himself that he would not sink his teeth in. Not you. Not now. Not like this when he was still upset with you. Not when you were upset with him.

You were shaking. He loved the way you trembled beneath him. The live flowing from you, the heat radiating from your body. Oh, how you gave it off - such radiance, such blossoming youth. He wanted to dive headfirst into it.

Keeping you pinned beneath him, he grinned. Those specs of red that had bloomed where he had accidentally been a little too rough with you. He hoped they wouldn’t scar you. But that red, the stench of life that filled his nostrils was intoxicating. He needed it. He needed it right now. He leaned forwards, and his tongue was a beautiful juxtaposition to the rest of him. It was hot. A low growl resonated from his chest and vibrates through your body. He gripped onto you tight. You were shaking beneath him as the taste of your blood exploded on his tongue. It was nothing like he had ever had before and it was only a couple of drops. Oh heavens above! How had he ever held himself back from this oasis? He couldn’t help but go again, flattening his tongue against your flesh, a little plasma mixing with the red, making it just a little sweeter. He hummed.

Below him, your tears had momentarily stopped. The feeling of his tongue, sending hot sparks up and down his spine was enough to render you motionless. It sent a fire down to the pit of your stomach and something swirled deep within.

For just a moment, you were okay with dying like this.

And then it was over. With all of the strength and will power he had, Dracula had pushed himself off of you and had turned to face away from you. You stilled. Then, the relief that washed off of you was so intense that you began to sob once more. You turned onto your back and sat up, looking at his back. He was panting.

When Dracula turned, his features had returned to normal except for the guilt-ridden terror that was evident. He had almost lost control with you. How the hell had he almost lost control?! He wanted to smash his head against a wall for being so weak. All of that, making you cry, for a few drops of your blood. They weren’t enough for him to see much into you. It was worth nothing except for the exquisite taste that lingered in his mouth.

He noticed the tears streaming down your face and slowly moved towards you. When you didn’t flinch, he sunk to his knees so that your head was merely a few inches above his own. He cupped your face with his hands. It was hot and your cheeks were flushed. He sighed.

“I am so sorry, darling...” he whispered.

Using the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away the tears. They continued to spill, however and he did truly feel a large pang of guilt. He hadn’t felt that for a long time...

However, despite the tears, you brought up one of your hands and layered it over his as you melted into his touch. It was much smaller, much warmer and had much more colour than his, but it seemed to fit perfectly. At the feeling, Dracula smiled softly and moved his hands down to your neck. He moved a little closer.

“Truly, I am so, so,” even closer, “very,” he placed a quick, chaste kiss to your cheek, “sorry.” He placed a kiss on your other cheek.

His eyes locked with yours, and you closed your eyes, which caused a few more tears to slip down your cheeks. Dracula begged for you to do anything but cry. He preferred any other look, the cocky sparkle in your eyes, the anger that he usually caused, the bright smiles. But not tears. Not when he had been the one to scare them out of you.

“Can you find it in your good, kind heart to forgive me?” He whispered.

“As long as you never scare me like that again...” your voice was broken and hoarse.

“You have my word.”

“Good... because it’s not like I have a choice... you’re the dangerous one here.” You laughed a little through the next couple of tears that came. Dracula’s mouth twitched.

“After the effect you’ve had on me recently, I’m starting to believe that you are the dangerous one, darling.” He smiled, and you giggled a little at his words, “sit back.”

As you shuffled back towards the head of the bed, he rose and made his way around the mattress. You shut your eyes and pressed your head against the headboard and sighed. The bed beside you shifted and Dracula wrapped an arm around you, bringing you into him. Your warmth radiated through him and he genuinely considered never letting you go. It was nice to be this close to somebody.

For a long while, you sat there in silence. Every now and then, you’d take a sharp, shaky breath and Dracula would look at you, waiting for you to burst into tears again. When you didn’t and showed no signs of relapsing into a crying-fit, he shifted his weight to look at you. Using his index finger, he tilted your head up to look at him. He inwardly sighed.

Your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, nose reddened and your lips swollen from the crying. How on earth had he let himself slip so far into blood-induced delirium was beyond him. Especially when it was you involved.

“Have you truly forgiven me?” He wondered.

“Yes...” you whispered.

“Would you like to prove it to me?” He inquired and you pulled away, turning more to look at him. Taking advantage of your confusion, he laced his fingers with yours.

“...how...?”

“Let me take you to a world of your wildest fantasies...”

You didn’t know what he meant and your mouth opened to say something. What could you say to that? There was a hundred and one things he could possibly say or do. Just what was he planning?

You took in a long, slow breath. You nodded.

His free hand came up to cup your face and his eyes scanned for your reaction. Your eyes had softened at the contact and he rubbed slow circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. Cocking his head only a little, he captured your lips with his own. You had maybe a second to relish in the feeling before you felt like you were falling and the world slipped away.

~^*^~

You inhaled sharply and when your eyes opened, you were standing in what appeared to be a wasteland of red. A thin sheen of water covered the ground and barren trees twisted up, bursting through the barrier and twisting off its branches at odd angles. It was hot. You turned a few times on your feet. It was just you. You shut your eyes once more.

“[First]...” the voice echoed and when you opened your eyes once more, there he was.

The love of your life, the person who had betrayed you. Smiling, like he had done in the past. He held his hand out for you. His eyes sparkled like they had done so many times before.

“Daniel...?” You whispered in confusion.

He simply continued to smile at you and you inwardly battled with yourself. Should you take his hand? Just as you reached out, a wind swept by your right and a head of tight raven curls that you knew so well. She moved past you, taking his hand instead and you felt your knees go weak like they had done that day when you had walked into the bedroom.

“Too late.” She shrugged and pulled him into a passionate and nothing less than steamy kiss. You turned away, breaths becoming rugged and tough to control. Their taunting whispers came from behind you, and you willed yourself not to look. When you couldn’t handle it anymore, and you did turn to look, a fog swirled around them, and they were whole as one right in front of you. Tears streamed down your face. You turned away once more.

Standing before you this side was your parents. They smiled at you. Their loving and warm smiles invited you in immediately. When you approached them, their faces twisted and contorted. They became angry and misshapen.

“You left us!” Your mother’s distorted voice snarled at you.

“I had to- I had to get away-“ you tried to explain, heart pounding. More tears streamed down your face.

“From your parents?” Your father cocked his head, however it cracked and bent at a 90° angle. You screamed.

You turned once more and found Jack. He was screaming at you to come to him. But he was so far away. So much farther away than the rest. You didn’t think twice. You began to sprint towards him, tears threading down your face as you disrupted the thin layer of water. The sounds of the moans of your ex-lover and ex-best friend and the twisted screams of betrayal from your parents grew as you neared Jack. When you were within feet of him, some invisible force knocked the wind out of him and he flew back. His body skidded. And just as it came to a stop, he was kicked sideways. Then pulled up and his head twisted 180°. You screamed once more.

The noise grew and grew and you collapsed to your knees. You clapped your hands over your ears, you squeezed your eyes shut.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

Make it stop.

“[First].”

Everything cut off and you slowly let your hands drop. You opened your eyes and looked up, finding Dracula staring down at you. He helped you stand.

“Are you drinking my blood?” You inquired.

“No... the kiss of a vampire is a powerful thing. I did not expect such tragedy in your heart.” He admitted.

“Then... how is it possible for us to be here...?”

“I already drank your blood. That’s why.”

~^*^~

When your eyes fluttered open, you were back at home. Dracula scanned your face. Your eyes were glossed over. What the hell had just happened...?

“Are you alright?” He asked gently, “that was not the sweet dream I was hoping you’d have...”

“You underestimate... what I’ve been through...” you whispered.

“Come.”

He pulled you into him right into his chest. You breathed in his scent. You stayed like that for a moment or two. You had to admit that it was strange to be in someone’s embrace and to not hear their heartbeat.

After a moment passed, your eyes began to grow heavy and you shuffled your weight so that you could lie. Dracula followed suit, keeping you in his arms. He didn’t want to let you go. He knew that mortals needed comfort after traumatising events, and that sure as hell was traumatising - that he knew.

It only took another five or so minutes before you had fallen asleep in his arms.

When you awoke, it was late at night. Dracula had stayed with you, however he had chosen to leave you to sleep alone and was perched in your chair, tapping away on his phone. Your eyes burned. He didn’t notice that you had awoken, and so you simply rolled over and pretended to stay asleep.

You were still angry at him, after all, for milking Lucy of her life, bit by bit, instead of devouring her in one go.

Quite a while passed and you lay there, listening to his fingers tapping away. Every now and again he’d very quietly chuckle or exhale and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was messaging her. That hurt - just a little.

His feet all of a sudden carried him towards you and he stopped at the edge of the bed. His cool fingers slid across your face, pushing the stray lock that had fallen into your face a little while ago.

“I’ll see you in a few days, darling.” His voice was a low and hushed whisper.

Pressing a quick kiss to your temple, he then left. The light switched off and you rolled into your back. You sighed.

~^taglist^~

@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @voidxngel @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @greeniemoon @blueinkblot @tefymorgan @misfitgirlwrites @lokiphan @newheart97 @middlespellman

[midnightwriting]

A story idea : By India Tungate

But now, my biggest fear was my reputation. Because reputations rule your life, right? One stupid mistake and suddenly your world can come crashing down all around you in a thousand of bloody pieces. Piercing right into your soul. Changing how you appear on the outside to everyone else and leaving scars on the inside.

I exhaled softly, hoping that Jacob couldn’t hear me crying as I sat in the passenger seat of his pick-up truck. I didn’t want him to think that tonight went completely wrong because of him. It was all me. It is always my fault.

“Look, it’s fine.” He spoke softly as he tapped his fingers nervously on his stirring wheel. “I should had known better than to ask you out on a date this soon after you and Lucas broke up.”

Hearing his name seemed to have set my soul on fire. The hairs on the back of my neck stood tall and my hands began to sweat. My stomach began to tighten and I could feel the heat of vomit rising in the back of my throat. The name Lucas is forever ruined for me.

“I was the one who agreed to it. It’s fine Jacob.” I replied quickly as I kept my focus on the flashing white line from the road.

His tapping grew louder, catching my curiosity. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Jacob reached his hand out towards me. I turned my face towards him and gave him a look that clearly stated “I do not want to be touched.” But yet he continued to reach for me until his hand landed forcefully against my leg.

“Jacob...”

“You know, I just thought that since you fucked Lucas that you’d like to know what a real man felt like.” His voice changed. It was deeper, rougher, hiding something.

I shoved his hand away and opened my mouth to say something but before I could, he reached out and grabbed my leg again, this time a little to close to my underwear. I growled in anger as I grabbed a hold of his fingers and tried my best to bend them backwards.

“Are you fucking kidding me Jacob!” I screamed.

“What? You are the one who decided to wear a skirt on a first date. Everyone knows that is code for easy access.” His eyes were glowing with mischief as they swept over my body. I suddenly felt dirty.

“I thought you were my friend!”

“Darlin’, ever since you decided to steal your best friends boyfriend and fuck him after only a few weeks of dating, you have no friends.”

Hot rage began to burn inside me. It took everything in me to calm my voice as I spoke, “Did Val put you up to this?”

“I’m not a rat.” He chuckled, unfazed by the tugging I was doing on his filthy fingers.

“Jacob please! Stop this! I didn’t even have sex with Lucas. The asshole tried to pressure me into it but I told him no. He was pissed and decided to spread the rumor around so that he could have his bragging rights and ruin my reputation. I’m not that kind of girl.”

Jacob’s hand gripped my leg so hard I squealed out in pain. “I know.” He admitted and shoved his hands up my skirt and into my underwear.

Hot tears strolled down my cheeks. I don’t understand why this is happening. Why Jacob was being so cruel to me. I tried to scream but panic gripped my throat. He saw me reach for the door handle and before I could try and escape, ready to jump, Jacob hit the door locks.

My hands were so wet with sweat that I had a hard time pulling the lock switch. As my fingers failed to listen to me, Jacob let go of my leg and held down my hands. He revved the truck’s engine and chuckled loudly with it’s echos.

“Your a evil piece of shit!” I spat and lifted my leg to kick his arm away but as everything else goes in my life, my plan backfired. Jacob’s tight grip found its familiar place on my thigh. He now had a hold of my hand and thigh. With one motion he placed my hand on top of my underwear and forced me to rub myself.

“You know you love this Mia. Let me just show you a good time.” His voice purred.

I kicked. I clawed. I pinched. I tried to bite him.

I twisted. I screamed. I cursed. I cried.

Nothing worked. Jacob was one of the largest males on our high schools football team and there was no way that my scrawny self was going to get away from his grip. I wanted to give up. I almost stopped fighting. Until it happened.

All I remember was hearing a huge smack. Then the crushing of metal. Glass sprinkled all around us. The world came to a quick halt. My head became fuzzy.

It took me a few minutes to regain my conscious. The first thing I noticed was how cold I felt. My body was shaking and I wasn’t sure if it was from adrenaline or from freezing.

Was I dying?

Is this what death feels like?

To my surprise, I was able to move my arms. It was then that I noticed I was laying on something hard. I felt dirt under the palms of my hands. Did I fly out of the windshield?

I pushed with all of my might and after a few failed attempts, I was able to push myself from the ground. I felt stiff but had no pain. I checked my legs and then my arms for any cuts but I had none.

“What the...” I tried to speak but the site before me took my breath away.

Jacob’s truck was crushed. I ran towards the front and saw that it was completely smashed in. It looked as if we had hit a brick wall but yet the only thing around us was a few trees and an open road. No cars. How could this of happened?

I ran around until I reached the drivers side door and began pulling against it.

“Jacob! Are you okay?” I shouted.

I couldn’t see a thing through the crushed metal. My throat began to tighten with fear. Could he be dead? What the hell just happened!

I paced the side of the road, praying that Jacob was on the ground as I was but I couldn’t find him. Before I could reach the truck, the sound of sirens bled through the air.

“And that is really what happened?” A piercing voice snapped me back into reality.

I blinked away the memory and took in a deep breath, hoping to calm away my nerves. I looked up, tears streaming down my eyes, and studied the woman’s face.

She looked unraveled by my story. Her dark brown eyes watched me closely from across the small table. Red painted nails began to drum against its wood surface, shoving me back into the memory of Jacob tapping his stirring wheel. Alive.

But he’s dead now.

And even though he was taking advantage of me, I wouldn’t of wished death onto him. But somehow an in invisible wall stopped him from slipping his fingers inside me. Somehow the truck crushed into us, twisting into Jacob’s body but magically I came out of the crash without a scratch.

I guess that is why I am stuck inside of a tiny room at the Langley’s Police Station and have had to repeat my part of the story three times now. Each time I have received the same judgmental looks and snickers. No one believes me. And I couldn’t blame them.

I’m starting to wonder if I could believe myself.

“So Ms. Overton, your.....”

A knock on the door interrupted the detective. With a quick frustrating huff, she motioned for a guard to open the door and as soon as her eyes landed onto our newest guest, a frown draped across her face.

“What are you two doing here? I have the rights—“

“I’m sorry Detective Mullins but we will be taking over this case.” A woman appeared from the shadows. Her voice moved through my body like silk. She wore a stunning white dress that hugged her body in all of the right places while keeping her style business appropriate. Her hair touched the base of her neck and was dyed an unusual shade of dark red. She had lips to match it along with a pair of enchantingly golden eyes.

I was so intrigued by this mystery woman that once Detective Mullins shouted my whole body shuttered, ripping me back into reality.

“This is bull shit! This makes twenty cases this month! Twenty! You can’t do this.” She argued, flaring her nose as she spoke each word.

“Oh but I can. Now if you will excuse me, I have some work to do.” The woman waved her hand at the guard who took Detective Mullins by the arm and led her towards the door.

“I’m talking to Ben!”

“Whatever you must dear. I really don’t care. Goodbye!”

The door slammed from behind Detective Mullins, leaving the intriguing woman and myself alone in the room together. I looked towards the door, puzzled that there wasn’t a guard in the room with us. Then I studied the mirror, wondering who was watching us from behind its two sided glass.

The woman snapped her fingers, startling me. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it towards me. I tried to smile a thanks but my strength was gone from the past 24 hours of interrogations.

“I’ll tell you the same story that I have told everyone else.”

“There will be no need for more story telling Mia. I believe you.” She smiled as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

I watched her closely as she placed a cigarette into her mouth and inhaled its cancerous smoke. She didn’t look like she was mocking me but I wasn’t sure if I could take her seriously. Especially with that cigarette in her mouth.

“You believe me? Why? Everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”

The woman blew a puff of smoke towards the ceiling, her golden eyes piercing into mine the whole time. She rose one of her red brows and took in a deep breath before she spoke.

“I believe you because I know the truth about you. And I’m here to get you out of here and take you to a place where you’ll feel safe.”

“Wait, what?” I baffled, unsure of what this woman was saying.

“Mia, sweetie, your enchanted. And your not safe here anymore.”

[tisfan]

Always a Moment

Title: Always a Moment Written by: @tisfan Card: 3023 Square: T5 - Last Chance Rating: Teen and up Triggers/warnings: none Tags: prisoners together, Winter Soldier!Bucky, hopeful ending Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 1690 Written for ezazahaz, WinterIron Exchange

Prompt - Tony is captured by Hydra, who try to get him to create weapons for them. When he keeps refusing, they throw him in a cell with the Winter Soldier--hoping some time with the Asset will scare him into cooperating, but also accepting that the Soldier might just kill him. Like a snake befriending the mouse given as a meal, the Soldier instead takes Tony as a (consensual) snuggle buddy, becoming fiercely protective of him. Eventually, the two find a way to escape.

Link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138426

Story below the cut

The Hydra soldier, with his fresh, pressed and cleaned uniform and the tentacled skull badge, barked something to Tony in Russian.

Tony spoke seven languages, in addition to English.

Russian was one of them, but as far as Tony could tell, Hydra didn’t know that, and he wasn’t about to correct the assumption. Making someone repeat what he’d just been told, or try to make polite noises with the often profanity laden comebacks that Tony issued bought him time.

Time for what, he hadn’t yet decided.

But time.

And every moment counted, because sooner or later, there was always a moment to act.

Tony just hadn’t found it yet.

“He says this is your very last chance, Mr. Stark,” the woman said who was translating. She was the second -- or maybe the third -- such translator that Tony had had since Hydra captured him. He wasn’t sure what happened to the second one, but the first one had been shot in front of Tony and left to bleed out in their cell.

As a lesson.

They were all pretty, these Hydra women, and they’d all attempted at one point or another, to get close to him. Tony didn’t trust them either.

He knew Hydra’s method, he knew what they were like; these women were Hydra, no matter what he said, no matter what they said, and no matter if they died in Hydra’s service, kicking their life out on the floor while they slowly bled to death.

If didn’t make it easier for Tony to look at his translator and know that she might die because of what he said.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Tony said, nodding. “Getting tired of this routine anyway. Last chance. Last time for me to say, no thank you.”

He would not convert. He would not cow. He would not break. He would not build weapons for Hydra.

No.

The cost of one, or a dozen, Hydra agents didn’t come close to the debt that would be racked up, if Tony agreed. And, he reminded himself, those choices were still on Hydra. They didn’t have to kill people. They chose to.

Tony wasn’t making them.

Maybe they’d finally shoot him and have done with it; he wasn’t panning out on their investment. God only knew what a good torturer cost these days. 

Stark Men are Iron. He met the eyes of his translator. “I’m sorry for you.” Because that was true. “But the answer is still no.”

“I am sorry for you, Stark,” she told him. And then she told the other officer what he’d said, including his remarks about her. 

The door to whatever his fate was was unlocked and he was shoved inside, hands still zip-tied behind his back, legs still hobbled by the chain and cuffs they’d welded onto his ankles. 

They locked the door behind him and--

Walked away.

What, the plan was to starve him to death now? To forget about him.

An oubliette.

He took a few steps forward, squinting, trying to see.

A narrow bench was fastened to one wall, maybe long enough to lay on, uncomfortably. The corner would probably work pretty well for scraping the damn zip tie off, and maybe then he’d be a little more comfortable. He shuffled forward again--

The faintest sound of breath warned him, more than anything else. He had no sense of another person, no feeling of being watched. He was alone, and then a shadow moved in the darkness.

Tony did not shriek and stumble backward, falling on the metal bench and banging his head on the wall. That didn’t happen and he would deny it until his dying day. Which was probably today, all things considered. He whined a bit because he couldn’t rub his head with his hands behind his back, and now his nose itched too, which seemed somehow extremely unfair.

“Ow,” he complained. “Look-- whatever this is, can we just get on with it?”

The shape moved again, came closer, and Tony could see a man, dark ragged hair and dark clothes, who moved with feral grace. Beautiful, under a layer of dirt and grime and blood. Good cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Could use a shave and a shower, and maybe a few candy bars--

“Hey, hey now, what are we--” 

The man picked Tony up, pulling him to his feet, and then turned him around, ignoring all of Tony’s attempts to wrench away.

With one hand, the man tugged the zip tie free, which was mostly nice, except it left a bruise on Tony’s wrist. “Well, that’s handy-- oh, wow, look at your arm.” Because brain to mouth filter was still in its default off position. Prosthetic, metal arm, fully functional, it made soft whining noises as the servos moved, the plates clicking into place like metal skin. “Wow, this is beautiful tech, can I see, do you have a name, what should I call you, are you Hydra, or another prisoner--” He pushed the man’s sleeve up to see how far the arm went up, but the sleeve wouldn’t go any further than the elbow joint.

“Bucky,” the man said, his voice a low, almost inaudible growl. Pressure in the air, the shape of a word on full, lush lips.

“What?”

“My name. Is Bucky.”

“Hey there, Buck. I’m Tony Stark,” Tony said, turning the arm again. “So, Hail Hydra, or no? I prefer no, because Hydra sucks, but I realize I’m in here to be punished, so--”

“No.”

“No covers a lot of territory, can we be a little more specific.”

“You’re mine,” Bucky said. “You’re in here as a reward.”

“Yeah, okay, no, so I don’t--”

Tony found himself squashed into a hug, with Bucky’s nose stuffed in the crook of his neck. 

“--awkward.” He took a few breaths and when it seemed like Bucky was not going to break his back or squeeze him to death, or even, for that matter, do anything else, Tony patted the man on the back. “So, is this what you do with all your rewards.”

“No. Usually I kill them.”

“I can’t say that sounds appealing to me,” Tony mentioned. “Why?”

“They fight me,” Bucky said. 

“Hmmm, yeah, no, that’s not the plan,” Tony said. “I mean, I will fight, if I have to. But as long as you don’t try to hurt me, or make me build weapons, I’m just as happy to let you sit on your side of the tiny little prison cell.”

“It’s not a cell,” Bucky said, pointing. The dark corner had concealed a doorway to a narrow hall. Perhaps not a cell, but still, a prison. Even a gilded cage was still a cage, no matter how nice. 

“What?”

Bucky eyed Tony up and down, noting the chains at his ankles. “Come on,” he said, and then, rather than dragging Tony after him, stumbling and tripping over the hobble, he picked Tony up in a bridal carry and strode off. 

“Uh--”

“It’s easier,” Bucky said. “And you weigh nothing.”

“I am five foot ten, and a respectable weight for an adult male,” Tony huffed.

“You’re tiny.” Bucky paused. “Smol. Sweet bean. Precious cinnamon roll.”

“Oh, come on,” Tony protested.

Deeper in the building, Bucky had a few rooms, bedroom, a living room with a television, a kitchen. There was a coffee pot, oh thank god. When Bucky noticed Tony staring at it, he threw another filter and grounds in, started it up. 

“I think I love you already,” Tony murmured. “What is this place? If you’re not Hydra.”

Bucky shrugged. “My home. They sent you to me, to show you the truth of things. You will do-- I’m not--” He poured coffee and handed it to Tony. “I’m not Hydra. I’m an American. I-- but I am also The Fist of Hydra. The Winter Soldier. You will-- comply. No choices. You will… hear their words and you will do what you’re told. It’s a long process. There will be pain. And you will lose. You can’t fight them. Not anymore.”

“What, you mean, brainwashing? That’s a load of crap. Pseudo science. A bad movie plot.”

“It’s real,” Bucky said. “I wish to Christ it wasn’t. But sometimes, between missions, I have a home. I get a friend. If I don’t kill them, they-- go to the Chair. They comply. They always comply.” He sighed, sitting in the chair, gesturing for Tony to take the one across from him. 

“You sound like you don’t like that idea much,” Tony said, turning it over in his head. 

Bucky put his hand on the table, the nails bitten to the quick, the knuckles dirty. “Then I’m alone again. Or sent on a mission.”

Tony reached out, and Bucky took his hand, twining their fingers together. Touch starved. Lonely. They both were. “What if I said it doesn’t have to be like that? That I might be able to get us out.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are they?”

Bucky shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe.”

Tony finished his mug of coffee, but weirdly felt more tired than stimulated. Maybe it was just being able to rest, to relax, for the first time in months. He yawned.

Bucky nodded, then said, “Give me your feet.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, but put his feet, chain clinking between his fettered ankles, up on Bucky’s lap. Bucky wrapped his hand around one end of the chain, then using that metal arm, pulled, strained-- the metal of the chain squealed as Bucky’s bicep bulged, and--

The chain broke, two links breaking entirely.

“Holy shit, you’re strong. Why-- how can they even keep you here?”

“The words,” Bucky said. “I comply. I will-- Tony, I will kill you, if they tell me to. You can’t trust me. I can’t… I can’t be trusted.”

“You let me worry about that, Buttercup,” Tony said. “Sleep, food, and then-- planning.”

Bucky touched Tony’s cheek, light, with one metal finger. “All right.”

It wasn’t much, but Tony nurtured that little speck of hope, that could ignite a blaze, and light their way to freedom.

It was a chance.

It was a moment.

There was always a moment.

[mydearsaddiary]

Chapter 5- All’s fair in love and war PART 2

Trigger warning: mention of drug use and sexual harassment, +16

(Link to part 1: https://mydearsaddiary.tumblr.com/post/619859528811495424/neil-season-3-part-5-trigger-warning-16-this)

The Mayor’s reaction to my presence wasn’t of shock or even surprise. I felt the quick motion of his eyes down and up my body that made me feel dirty, and then he locked his dark eyes in mine- Oh, what do we have here?- He said and I almost choked. It’s never good when they say that, is it?

-Mayor Adler…!-I looked at door that was just a few feet away from me, but now so far away with the tall figure in front of it- I am a friend of Vera’s. She invited me over for tea but had to leave in a hurry, so she said I could let myself out-I started to make my way around him- So you caught me going home, if you don’t mind…

As I reached for the liberty of the outside world, his hand forcefully shut the door. I couldn’t explain it, but this fear crawled into my body. My heart started racing and my breathing heavy- H-Huh…-I was planning to say something but I didn’t know what to say

-I know who you are, Miss Granger-His eyes looked into mine again, although they wandered to places I didn’t want them to- My wife kindly informed me you were coming. After all I have to keep a woman like Vera in a pretty tight leash. Women like her and you think they can act like men, do whatever they want- He put his hand on my neck grabbing it, by impulse my hands were on his hand, trying to pull it away. He wasn’t pressing hard, but it wasn’t a gentle hand either. Of course that didn’t matter because it was unwelcome- All you’re missing is a strong, conventional man to teach you your place. In the end that’s what you women have to do, whatever a man who possesses you desire

Adler was like a colonizer. Whatever he put his hands on he assumed he owned it and could do with it as he desired. Those hands were on me. I was never the quiet or submissive girl, I praised myself for being modern. However I couldn’t do much against a man so much stronger than me. I thought about my gun in my holster, but my arms shook so much he would overpower me either way. It was dangerous to let him know I was armed- Please, let me go- It was all I could say

-I love it when people say please to me. It means they’re afraid. Are you scared of me, Miss Granger?

I didn’t say anything this time, my mind was racing, and my body was on fire due to adrenaline. He let go of my throat and I coughed a little, reaching for the door again.

But for the second time my heart leaped when he grabbed my upper arm pulling myself towards him- I wasn’t done with you, yet. I wanted to talk still- This time he pushed my body against the wall, his hand on my back. He had a funny way of wanting to talk. His firm hands told me he was used to getting what he wanted, by cooperation or by force- You know I must be aware of everything you do, including your uncle’s illegal activities and how he put you to manage his little gang

I breathed slowly. I knew he knew, but I had to calm myself and think if I was going to get out of this situation- Are you threatening me of something?- I snarled

-On the contrary. I didn’t marry Vera because I love her, but because she’s of use to me- I didn’t care much for Vera being used, since I knew she was using the Mayor for his title. They deserved each other- But you, Miss Granger. You’re made of sterner stuff- I felt the chills when he said that close to my ear so I could feel this breath- You would be a perfect wife. How does it sound? MC Adler

-Keep dreaming, Mayor- I tried to get free, but soon froze when his other hand that wasn’t holding me travelled south on my body squeezing an inappropriate place. First I felt like screaming, then the fact that he was pulling my dress up and I could feel his hand under my clothing woke in me a fire I didn’t know I had. I wanted to scream, cry, run… All at once. However my experience in the past didn’t allow me to just freeze. I was armed, for god’s sake, I had to do something! I’ll be damned before I let him go through with this.

I kicked him in the shin as strongly as I could and he backed away wincing in pain. I took the opportunity to open the door and run out, not allowing myself to glance back. I just saw the car and kept running. However I heard the door open again. This time I heard a shot, pain and then I was on the floor

I needed only a couple of seconds to look back and realize my calf bled out of a bullet hole in it. My eyes darted to Mayor Adler walking towards me with a gun in his hand. I got up, even if my leg hurt the adrenaline in me was so big I ran to the Studebaker. I was lucky enough he missed the other shots. Once I was in the car he still shot in my direction but the car was armored. I drove away as fast I could, trying to convince myself this wasn’t just a bad dream

I parked at the Ice Box and limped inside my safe haven. I pulled at chair from one of the tables and let myself fall on it. I breathed loudly for some seconds. I could feel my throat hurting, the pain on my left calf. But what hurt more was still feeling the unwelcome touch of the Mayor on my throat, arm, back, under my dress on my thighs and rear.

I closed my eyes and as the adrenaline left my body, everything that had happened settled in. The waterworks started and they didn’t seem to stop. I was thankful for having the whole place for myself. I wanted to go get a drink but when I tried to get up my leg hurt too much. So I just stayed still and allowed myself to cry without anyone seeing. It was at least half an hour before I stopped. My nose was stuffed and my head hurt

But eventually I stopped. After some more minutes my face was only slightly red when Vince and Cliff came barging in laughing and got serious as they took the view. I realized I must’ve looked awful. My clothes were dirty and ripped at the seam where Mayor Adler had forced his way in, I had bruises on my arm and neck and my left leg stood straight out while my calf bled on the floor

-Doll!- Vince said loudly coming to me- What the hell happened?- He said as Cliff went to the phone, calling Neil

-I went to Vera’s house for tea.- My voice had that roughness in it after you cry- Snooped around when Donovan gave her the call. Everything was going according to plan until Mayor Adler showed up himself-I said angrily looking at him- The snake is worse than Vera. He caught me in the house and was kind enough to say some threats and…

-He did this to you?- He pointed at my calf then up to the bruises. He got up and formed fists with his hands going for his gun- Now I’m goin’ to crack a few skulls- He said in a low, almost haunting voice

-V-Vince!-I yelled and Cliff, already off the phone, grabbed him- You can’t kill the mayor!

-I’m tired of the pacifism, MC!-He looked at me- We can’t just stand here and hope to solve everything without violence! It’s bootlegging, it’s the gangster business! You can’t always keep your hands clean

-You’re right!- I yelled and he seemed surprised- We are gonna have to get our hands dirty this time. Still, we can’t just be careless! We can’t just go in guns blazing and all that. We still need to outsmart them, even if we have to resort to violence.

He nodded, breathing more calmly now- Alright.

And then Neil barged in the door. His eyes went straight to me. I expected to see anger in them, but even in all its seriousness I could just see worry as he grabbed his bag from behind the bar and started to clean my leg

-Neil…-I started

-Don’t think you’re off the hook here-His stern voice said- We’ll talk about this later. Now, what did you find out?

I told them everything that had happened, skipping the part where Mayor Adler invaded my dignity in ways that made me wish I could cut off the skin he touched.

-I know where the documents that incriminate The Broiler are. The Mayor has documents incriminating all of Chicago. I didn’t have the chance to get to them thought because…-I took papers, now all crumpled up, and showed them- Because I only had time to get these instead. Documents on the Ice Box and everyone involved in it

Neil sighed looking at me- At least you know where they are

-Which means I’m gonna have to go back there again

-It’s out of the question, MC-Neil said, I winced softly when he stitched the wound on my leg and finished caring for it

-I’m the only one who could have access to that place, Neil. I get that it is dangerous but we have to do what we have to stop th-

-IT IS… OUT. OF THE QUESTION!- He yelled. A tone of voice I had never heard before. Me, Vince and Cliff looked stunned at him because of it. I don’t think anybody had ever heard him yell. No one said anything for a while and the silence even became uncomfortable

After a while he got up and announced the both of us were going home and asked Cliff to handle the Ice Box that night. Before I could protest he picked me up bridal style and carried me out

Not long after we were in Neil’s living room. He sat me down on his couch and poured a drink for himself, and then another, and another…

-Are you going to get drunk, now?- I asked- Or maybe you could yell again-

-I’m sorry- It was what he said instead- I’m sorry I yelled- He looked at me- But I walk in and you have bruises all over you, you’ve been shot and you… You…-He recomposed himself before he continued- I could see on your face you were crying! What are you going to do next, get yourself a knife between the ribs?

I thought back to when I first told him I was infiltrating John Bailey and Louis Tibbs’ circle.

“I’ll be alright” He said “As long as we work this stunt so you don’t get hurt”

“Haven’t you figured out I’m tough as nails now?” I replied cocky

“I know you think you are, but I don’t want to put that to the test. Can’t risk it, now that I know I’m in love with you”

Neil loves me. I love him. I felt guilt now, more than anything. I came back wounded this time, of course he had a hard time taking it. The guilt grew inside me as I realized I was putting myself in harm’s way, thinking I’d be protecting Neil and everyone this way. However I realized what it’d do to him if the worst had happened. I lowered myself letting me cry again

Why was I crying so much these days? I hated it! I felt so sensitive. Soon he was beside me, holding me in his arms

-I’m sorry too, Neil. I know I haven’t been really careful and I’m sorry- I hugged him tightly

He kissed my forehead, then he put his finger on my chin gently pulling it up, kissing me so gently, as if I was the most precious thing he ever held.

That was a welcoming touch, one I wished for the rest of my life. It wasn’t just physical, it was spiritual. He touched me in a way nobody else could, in all the ways you could touch someone.

I kissed him back, longingly. Nothing made me feel better and safer than to be with him

-I know there’s something you’re not telling me- He said, almost in a whisper- You told me once that anything I needed to say I could, that you wouldn’t judge. It’s the same for me. So, please tell me

I breathed heavily, looking into his eyes- Mayor Adler, he…- I struggled

-It doesn’t seem like Vera to cause bruises or shooting. He did this, didn’t he?-He said lowly, but his tone indicated immense concealed anger- Your arms and throat, he hurt you.

-He did…- I said in a weak voice- But that wasn’t all of it- I looked down pulling my dress up my thighs, revealing my bruised skin under my dress, in places only Neil had touched before. Realization dawned in his face as he put two and two together and understood his touch on me wasn’t just to hurt

I felt him shiver and almost grow, like an angry bear, ready to kill. Neil didn’t get this angry and as a doctor he wasn’t a threat to anybody’s life. But if looks could kill, Mayor Adler would be having a stroke right now wherever he was- That bastard- He held me tightly again. Almost possessively- I’m not leaving you alone anymore, do you understand? Everything we do, we do together. Until Vera and Mayor Adler are done with, I cannot risk anything else happening to you

-Okay- I didn’t hesitate. He looked at me surprised. He probably expected me to fight back or say something like “I don’t need to be watched over”, but that wasn’t what I was thinking- I’m going to be your wife, and you’ll be my husband. If you’re my partner in life, it means… We’re also partners in crime aren’t we?- I held his hand tightly- I’m sorry I’ve been putting on a brave face in front of you. I need your help. Will you help me beat Hurricane Vera and Adler together?

He looked at me for a few seconds before saying something- Of course, MC. You didn’t even have to ask. That’s why it’s called a gang, you know? You don’t have to do everything on your own, but you never listen to anyone with that cracked skull

I smiled, kissing him again- I could take a break from all of it though. How about…- I picked up a magazine I knew I left on the side table and opened it up- Picking the flowers for the wedding?

He looked at me, about to say some snappy remark about how he’d rather stab himself than pick roses or lilies, but he caught himself and opened a smile- Alright, yes. Flowers sound good

1917

Somewhere in the Atlantic, in a long slow ship to France

-Are you nervous?- Alton said, pulling me out of my thoughts. I had honestly lost count of how many days, or maybe months, we had been in this ship. I was nervous about certain things. It was my first time out of the U.S. Gosh, it was my first time out of Massachusetts. I knew where I was going and why, but I knew I was ready for it. I knew me and Alton were going to be okay because we had experience. In that sense I wasn’t scared.

However when you’re taking part in something as grand as the Great War itself, you start pondering. Here I was, sitting in uniform, a medic badge on my arm, surrounded by many other soldiers. All of us, making our way across the Atlantic. Away from the safe haven that was America and into the dangers of Europe. I didn’t know what came over me and I knew it was childish, but I was excited.

-Neil!- Alton said again- Stop daydreaming and answer my question!-My best friend said. He was tall and pale just as me, but the dark of his eyes and hair contrasted my appearance otherwise

-I guess not. I’m not nervous, I’m just tired of waiting this long-I played around with a knife in my hands

-You can’t way to get home and get married to Lillie, can you? You’ll start making babies as soon as you’re back

I laughed at him- Hey, why don’t you worry about your own girl?

-Huuuh… Because I don’t have one-He sat by me- So I’ll just have to be nosy about your life instead

-I heard French girls are friendly enough-I said, this time lighting up a cigarette- And I heard they love soldiers

-Yeah, that’s just stuff the other people say- He dismissed it with his hand- Can I ask you something?- I looked at him with interest- Why did you propose to Lillie?

-There’s a couple of reasons. My family was always talking about her, I knew they approved of her. We have known each other for years and she’s friendly. We could get along well. Then she is also very attractive which is a bonus- I hesitated for a few seconds- Then I guess I rushed it a little bit because I was leaving, and I thought if I had a motivation, a girl to come back home to… That’d make things easier- I looked at him- I do plan to take care of her when I get back and if I have to marry within the high society, Lillie is as good as they come. I think we could build a good life together and raise good children

-And of course you didn’t want anybody taking her while you were away- He teased and I laughed, then he continued- Do you love her?

The question surprised me, it took me a few minutes to recompose myself- I… I guess so, yeah. When she asked I did say I loved her…

-That didn’t ring very sincere-He said it in a low tone- But I’m not judging, really.

I thought about it for a few seconds- I guess I’m not in love with her, but I know I can learn to. She’s a good person. Besides, who in high society marries for love, Alton? It’s all a transaction, something to appear in the papers and build reputation and pass the name along. Hopefully, you find somebody who you can work with and learn to love.

-I guess so, but… You may call me an idiot-He smiled shyly- But when I’m home from the war, I want to marry for love. She can be the poorest girl you’ve ever seen, a small town girl who grew up in a small town house in the middle of nowhere and her parents could have five bucks in their pockets…-He was smiling now- As long as she makes me happy, why does it matter all that jazz about she having to be perfect for my family?

-You were always more courageous than I ever was. - I said, admired by my best friend yet again

-I always did know that. Besides, your parents would probably throw a fit if you ever brought a low-class girl and said you were going to marry her - He laughed with me, but then got serious to continue talking- But… I do wish the same for you, you know. If you are sure Lillie will make you happy… Then go for it. But I-

-Hey, don’t worry Alton. You know Lillie, she’s great. We’ll work it out, I’m sure-I smiled to reassure him

-Alright, I just worry about your thick head sometimes. Especially whether you’ll be happy after you go back

-After we go back! Besides, somebody needs to be there when you bring a poor girl to meet your parents, to keep them from sawing your head off

He laughed again- I don’t who she’ll be yet. But even if you already made up your mind. I’m sure there’s a girl out there who would make you crazy about her, I’m telling you. You could drink all the bourbon in the world and she’d still be there- He tapped his own head- That’s the kind of girl I’m talking about

I sighed shaking my head- Not me, Alton. What are you expecting?-I teased now- That there’s the perfect girl somewhere, waiting for me?

-Yes, she’ll be everything but high-society!- He started to joke- She’ll not just be low-class and come from the middle of nowhere-He pointed a finger at me- She’ll be the boss of ya- I laughed as he continued on- She’ll talk back to everything you say, she’ll take none of your sass! She’ll be a modern one, talking loud and everything, giving out orders, she’ll even have a job outside the house. No housewife business, she’ll stand up to you and be on your level too

-Even if my parents would ever allow that- I crossed my arms- What makes you think I’d marry such girl?

-That’s it, dear friend, you won’t want to. But she’ll be so stuck in your head, you’d have to drink yourself to a coma to forget her. Even so, she’d be in your dreams. And she’ll be the hottest dame you’ve ever seen. She’ll even dare to show her ankles around- He laughed and then sat by me again- Well, that’s the kind of girl I’m hoping for

I laughed at him- Well, you’re expectations are so low- I joked- Or so high, I’m not sure. Either way, if that was the case, she’d be the complete opposite of Lillie.

-A girl like Lillie ain’t for me. To be honest I didn’t even consider her for you-He stared at me- But you’ve decided to keep the tradition going. The conventional, beautiful, quiet and feminine dame. She’ll take you places in the high-society… She’ll be the perfect wife and you’ll always have your peace and quiet

-Peace and quiet will always win for me-I offered him a cigarette this time and he took it

-Whatever you say, buddy, whatever you say-He said shaking his head

Same year, somewhere in… Columbus, Ohio

-Well, that’ll teach him to never yell at me again- I said- My name is MC Granger and don’t you forget that!-I yelled before starting to walk home

-What are you doing, MC? Scaring the boys off ya again?- Edith said. Her and Hazel soon joined me as we walked home from school

-Tomorrow is finally my tenth birthday-I yelled excited- I’m gonna be a big girl, and Joe Dixon was laughing at me just because he’s eleven! And then there’s Millicent who just has to have thrown the best party, now who’s gonna want to come to mine?!

-MC, there’s a war going on in Europe and people are dying! And you’re worrying about your stupid birthday party- Edith started

-War this, war that, I’m finally gonna be a big girl!-I crossed my arms- It’s time for me to start looking for my husband

-You don’t become a woman until you-She lowered her voice to a whisper this time-Bleed.

-Ew, Edith! Just because you did last month doesn’t mean I will!

-Well, if you want to find a husband and become a big girl, you need that to happen first

I looked at her, this time my eyes went wide- Really?!

-It’ll happen for you soon!

-Well, until them I can at least imagine! Like I already know I’m gonna marry a rich man. Momma said so

-According to Momma we’ll all marry rich men-Edith replied

-You guys worry too much about boys- Hazel said-They’re just plain mean and gross!

-We’re talking about older boys, Hazel-I said- Like, when they’re ten or eleven. They’re basically men then! I already know I’m gonna marry a rich men and he’ll buy me everything I want

-That’s all you care about?-Edith said- What about how he’ll treat ya?

-Of course he’s gonna treat me well!- I replied

-Well, what if he doesn’t? They’re all mean-Hazel repeated herself

-If he doesn’t treat me nice,-I turned my hands into fists and started punching the air- He’ll wish he never messed with MC Granger!

____

Author’s notes: Thank you so much for reading this chapter! Coming up, the gang discovers that the pacifism of past season is really over. We’ll be seeing a lot more fights and action when it comes to Mayor Adler. He and Vera are our main villain duo! Neil’s mother and Lucille (and her husband) will be coming to Chicago, so we’ll be seeing a lot of wedding planning!

Thank you!!

Candy, My Dear Diary (06/02/2020)

[lostinfantasies38]

Sun Touched Chapter 1: A mage, a warrior, and a dwarf

Alistair watched her out of the corner of his eye as she walked into the ancient stone ruins. No, she didn’t walk – she prowled. Dark eyes shifting constantly, wary, hesitant, not trusting that something didn't lurk in the shadows of the toppled stone. Her leather clad fingers fidgeted nervously, just itching for an excuse to rip her daggers from the sheathes strapped to her back and he was sure there were other blades concealed elsewhere on her body.

Alistair swallowed a little thickly in between his verbal sparring with the mage as she filled up the space next to them. He could feel the tension rolling off her like a tidal wave, but it was no match for his own, as he tried in vain to keep his gaze from flicking to her.  He could only pray that she wouldn’t notice his distraction. She didn’t; she was too engrossed with her examination of their surroundings.

A mage, a warrior, and a dwarf walked into an elven ruin – it sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.  He shook his head to drown out his inner idiot, playing it off as minor annoyance when the mage exited the conversation in a huff. He was forced to turn his attention to her now. There wasn’t another person to pretend to be engaged with.

Alistair was awkward at the best of times, but around women he was utterly hopeless. He was vaguely aware of saying something stupid about the Blight bringing people together and she frowned deeply, cocking her head slightly in appraisal, sending his stomach plummeting to his feet. Maker, he wished the earth would open up and swallow him.

She was slow to respond, but he didn’t rush her - too mortified of saying something equally ridiculous. Instead he studied her: dark hair braided halfway down her back, the rich brown a match to her fathomless eyes, a trio of geometric tattoos in black stamped across her cheeks and down her left eyelid. But the starkness of the marks on her fair skin were offset by a generous, full mouth that very suddenly pulled into a quick smile. Her eyes flashed with amusement, the gold hoop in her nose glinting with the movement. Alistair’s heart raced at the impish quality that expression lent her face.

 Shit, shit, shit.

“You are a very strange human. Not entirely wrong…just strange.” Her gravelly voice washed over him, the raggedness falling from such lovely lips surprising him, yet still alluring in its huskiness. Alistair smirked and tried to keep his tone light.

“You are not the first to tell me that.” She snorted and crossed her arms over her bosom that wasn’t fully contained by the layers under her leathers and he swallowed hard again.

“So…you’re Duncan’s new recruit?”

“Call me Sirra. You are Alistair?” He nodded and held out his hand to shake hers. She leaned back, wary again, and he quirked an eyebrow at her hesitancy. Taking a deep breath, Sirra lowered her arms and cautiously extended her hand to his, but she gripped him higher around the forearm instead of his hand and gave him a single, firm shake before releasing him. Nervously, she tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear out of habit and refused to meet his eyes.

“Right,” Alistair cleared his throat, trying to ignore the heat on his arm where her gloved fingers recently touched him. “Let’s go meet the rest of the recruits. Duncan has a task for us.” She merely nodded and fell into step with him. He noticed that she fell behind him when they walked down the second ramp depositing them back into the main camp. She was trying valiantly to keep up with his long stride on her shorter legs and he cursed himself mentally for being an ass, immediately reining in his steps so she could keep up.

Sirra was flushed when she reached his side again. He shot her a small smile and muttered an apology, but she dismissed it with a shrug. They reached the center of camp where Duncan and the others awaited them. The Warden-Commander quickly informed them of their task for the evening before the Joining could take place that night and then they were off to scour the Wilds for darkspawn blood and mysterious Warden treaties.

It was Alistair’s first time with any of the recruits in battle and he was nervous how they would work as a team since he didn’t already know their strengths and weaknesses. He knew that Ser Jory was a seasoned warrior and Duncan had raved about Sirra’s prowess with her daggers in his letter, but Daveth was an unknown. Oh, well – he could pick up the slack, if he needed to.

No sooner had they entered the dense forest outside the camp then a pack of starving wolves descended on them and he heard Sirra suck in a shocked gasp, but she kept her wits. A flick of her wrist and one of the hidden blades he suspected she carried flew into a wolf’s eye, taking it down instantly and tripping a couple animals that followed. The four of them made short work of the beasts.  Daveth and Sirra used stealth and brutal backstabs in vital organs to debilitate and the warriors finished what they started with massive swings and slamming shield.

Yanking her throwing knife from the first animal, the dwarven woman wiped down her blade and used the time to collect herself.  None of the men said anything – afraid of embarrassing her, or worse, making her so angry they found themselves staring at the pointy end of her weapon. Once it was tucked back into place, she finally turned and blew out a shaky breath.

“What. The. Fucking. Ancestors. Were. Those?”  It was the first time Alistair heard her break up her words, as she tended to string them together, and they sounded harsh in her low pitch.  Her barely concealed fear was obvious.

Daveth barked out a laugh and then stopped when no one joined in and he stared at her in shock. “You’re serious? She’s serious?!” He turned to each of them taking in Ser Jory’s uncomfortable blush and Alistair’s glare as understanding dawned and he looked at Sirra sheepishly.  “I’m sorry. I-I thought you were a surface dwarf…”

She shook her head and crossed her arms defensively, nervously swaying from one foot to the other.  Ser Jory was the first to find his tongue in the awkward silence.  “Wolves, my lady. They roam wild places like this and hunt in packs.”

Sirra frowned. “Wolves.” She rolled the strange word around her mouth and bent down to examine one more closely. “They kinda look like the beasts in camp…same teeth.” The dwarf shivered a bit and stepped back from the sharp canines, as though expecting one to still bite in death.

Alistair shook his head and reassured her. “No, the war hounds only bite enemies. They are loyal and domesticated.  These are wild creatures and will attack anything.”

“Okay.  Good to know.”  She finished wiping down her main daggers and re-sheathed them without making eye contact with her human companions.  “Let’s keep going.  I don’t want to make us fall behind.”

Alistair studied her closely during their foray into the forest. He realized belatedly, like Daveth, that she would have no concept of life above ground and he wondered what would cause her to leave Orzammar. The surface must be completely alien to her. He watched her jump at the whistle of a bird or howl of a wolf and it opened his eyes to see the world the way she did. Her eyes flicked to the sky and he noticed her nauseated expression which lead to her occasional need to steady herself against a tree trunk. Curiously, she examined the crumbled bits of bark left in her glove after pressing heavily on the loose tree casing.  Sometimes she stared into the branches, following stray patterns of light that the sun cast through the leaves into the murky undergrowth with her dark eyes.

Maker, how strange things looked to him now. No wonder she had been so hesitant when she entered the ruins earlier. Everything was foreign and untrustworthy until proven otherwise. It was hard to believe that until two weeks ago, she’d never seen the sun, never felt the wind on her skin, she didn’t have a word for ‘tree,’ much less an understanding of them.

Yet, when it came to combat, she was a whirlwind of flashing blades and grenades – a silent Mistress of Death. The men were careful to stay out of her way to avoid accidently coming too close to the woman’s fighting perimeter, as wolves and darkspawn alike fell under daggers. Alistair spun to help her with the final darkspawn archer on the ridge, but she planted her foot in the creature’s back and shoved it off her blades with a soft grunt. Slipping the vials Duncan provided from her pack, she quickly slit its wrist and filled the three vials with the thick, foul smelling blood. Smiling in approval at her, Sirra couldn’t help returning the grin as she stored the vials and continued their trek. He noticed that she didn’t even put her daggers away now, idly running her gloved fingers along the hilt, waiting for the next band of spawn to attack.

He was curious if she’d fought the creatures before or if they were new, too. Either way, she dashed fearlessly into the next group they came across, warning her companions of the traps that littered the ground. Reaching into a pouch on her belt, she tossed a handful of metal shards, triggering the line of traps across the bridge and disappeared into a cloud of smoke only to reappear behind the darkspawn mage.

Alistair barreled around the clumsy hurlock the others were capable of dispatching and ran to her aid. The emissary roared when her poisoned blades sank under his ribs, but before he could turn his fury on her, Alistair was there. Swinging his shield, he caught the darkspawn’s jaw with the edge of the hammered metal. The move stunned the creature and Sirra peppered it with jabs and cuts, twisting the daggers slightly with each removal so the wounds bled faster while Alistair swung his sword deeply along its front.

Even weak it fought tooth and nail, summoning a magical cage to snare the warrior and squeeze around him, seeking to crush the life from him. Alistair watched fretfully when the mage swung his staff and caught Sirra on the temple, sending her stocky frame skidding along the ground. The corrupted creature chuckled darkly covered in black blood, as his quarry struggled to regain her footing after the hit. She managed to rise and growled something he couldn’t make out. The mage shot a bolt of lightning at her and she was too slow to completely evade it, hissing as it scored her right side and tore through her leathers.

Where were the others? Maker damn it! He couldn’t move, he could barely breathe now, and that emissary was acting far too alive for his liking. A ball of fire erupted in the creature’s palm, but before it was able to lob it at his target, a throwing knife buried in its wrist and it screamed in surprise, fingers unclenching and dropping its staff. Of course, it could still cast, but it would be difficult for it to concentrate through the pain and in that moment the spell holding him broke. Alistair took a deep breath, but didn’t bother to chug a health potion before he rammed the spawn with his shield and knocked it to the ground, toppling with it in his weakened state. He managed to stay on top of it and hold it down, but he was too weak to do anything else.

Before the creature could regain its senses, Sirra was there and the sound of her honed blades whistling through the air sent a shiver down his spine.

“Alistair? Are you okay?”

He stared at her and the blood pooling near her hairline, smeared by her unmarked eye where she’d rubbed it with her hand and wondered why she was wheezing. He opened his mouth to reply and dark blood bubbled over his lips and he realized in some fuzzy part of his brain that he was the one struggling to breathe.

“Fuck! Hang on!”

He wanted to laugh at the way that crass word sounded coming from her pretty mouth, but the world was darkening around the edges of his vision and noises were quieter than before. Someone tilted his head back and forced him to drink something – Maker, it was bitter! Who in the Void distilled that ale? They should be fired – immediately.

His body was gently eased down and he landed on something soft and warm and he was tempted to give in to the darkness, until the warmth of the potion flared in his broken body. His ribs realigned and the puncture in his lung began to knit itself together before suddenly stopping. He coughed when he breathed too deeply and spat another clot of blood as voices (damn, those were loud) demanded another drink. Ugh, no – he wanted to protest, but words failed him and yet again he was forced to drink more bitter plonk.

The heat was back, chasing away the chill he’d been tempted to give in to, and finished repairing the extensive damage caused by the emissary’s cage. Alistair’s hearing attuned first and he could hear the sounds of birds singing in the distance as he slid his hand up to his chest, breathing deeply to make sure there was no pain. He released the breath slowly with a quiet sigh of relief. It took a couple extra heart beats before he realized his head was laying in someone’s lap causing his breath to hitch again.

Nervously, he cracked his eyes open and met Sirra’s concerned gaze. He smiled wanly and tried to sit up, but the world was still wobbly and she gently pressed him back down and shook her head sadly.

“Be still. You may be a warrior, but you aren’t indestructible. By the Stone! You know that you are crazy, don’t you?”

He chuckled weakly and gave a listless shrug. “Couldn’t let you get roasted on your first day.” Her lips quirked at the corners and she glanced away quickly, but she gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“Thank you,” she breathed so quietly he almost missed it. A new kind of warmth suffused him then and sent wriggles of anxiety deep in his gut. From his current angle, he noted her feminine nose and jawline and traced her tattoos with his eyes. A broken ‘s’ on her right cheek, a rectangular bar ending in a sideways ‘g’ on her left cheek, underneath an obelisk pointing into her hairline and extending under her eye, with a small ‘g’ shaped open space over her eyebrow. She had to be tough as shit to sit through that one.

Her beauty was edged with danger with those unconventional markings, but it was there and Maker, he found himself willingly ensnared by her deadly mien. It seemed he was not immune to the allure of danger when it wore a pretty face and fought like a rabid marbari.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. This time when he sat up the world was only slightly off-kilter and he needed to regain his distance from her soft curves and gentle touch. Once he was standing, he extended a hand to help her rise and caught sight of the dried blood still on her face. It had been shadowed when he was on the ground and in his state, he’d forgotten about her own injury. Now he frowned softly and lightly touched the side of her head with his fingertips. Sirra hissed and jerked her head away from the contact. He shook his head with a quiet ‘tsk’ and passed her one of his own potions. She nodded in thanks and swallowed it quickly, not even grimacing at the taste and tossed the bottle in the bushes.

The others rejoined them now that he had collected his weapons and they continued up the incline to the ruins on the hill where Duncan was sure the Warden treaties were stashed. They all groaned to see the next band of darkspawn milling around the crumbling building, but readied themselves. This time, Alistair issued orders for a plan of attack – the warriors would focus on the alpha and the rogues would concentrate on the closest archers. Once the alpha was down the warriors would join them. Thankfully there wasn’t an emissary in this group, but no one wanted any more surprises.

It worked pretty well. Daveth snuck behind an archer and slit his throat with a single deep slash, freeing him to move onto the next one, so Sirra stole to the archers flanking them while the warriors handled the alpha. Ser Jory was a master of the two-handed sword – his final upswing literally eviscerated the creature and by the time they rejoined the rogues, only two archers remained. In mere minutes the entire band of darkspawn were dead at their feet and they trudged towards the section of the dilapidated outpost marked on Duncan’s map.  

They found the area indicated and had to dig the chest out from under some ancient rubble. Alistair sighed in frustration to find that the chest was empty, most likely looted hundreds of years ago. A throaty chuckle bounced around the stone and a raven-haired woman wearing clothes so skimpy they could hardly be called such emerged from the shadows. His templar training sized her up in an instant; a hand carved staff, the formidable surge of her aura pressing on the Veil – an apostate and a powerful one.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, listening as she honed in on Sirra and they bantered back and forth in a duel of witty words. “Don’t answer. She looks Chasind. That means barbarians could be nearby.”

The apostate scoffed with a sneer, but did not even deign to look at him when she replied. “Ooooo, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

Alistair crossed his arms defiantly. “Yes. Swooping is bad.” Sirra shot him a bemused glance and he flushed slightly, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. Maybe she would blame his injury for addling his brain – he could only hope.

The woman – Morrigan – revealed that her mother was in possession of the scrolls and after some debate it was decided that they would go with her to reclaim them. Her mother seemed like a crazy old bat and he didn’t give her much credence, only remembering to thank her for keeping the treaties safe when she told them the seal wore off a long time ago. The old woman had Morrigan escort them back to the edge of the army’s camp and the four of them re-entered the barricaded site with a shared sigh of relief.

Duncan smiled approvingly when Sirra passed him the vials and Alistair showed him the treaties. The Warden-Commander sent a runner to alert the Circle mages to prepare for the Joining and intoned gravely that it was almost time for them to commence with the ritual that would see them finally become Wardens. Alistair suppressed a shiver and tried to ignore the clenching around his heart – he knew what was coming and he did not relish it for any of them. Sirra bravely told Duncan that she was not afraid and was ready for whatever came next and he swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact with them. With her.

“Alistair, take them to the ritual site.” Alistair only nodded and waved them to follow him. Maker, hear my cry – don’t let her die. Please…for me.

[thechildoflightning]

Growing Roots Ch3- Hypocotyl

Title: Growing Roots [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Prinxiety, background Logicality

~~~

Chapter Title: Hypocotyl

Summary: 

A plant, much like friendship, doesn’t grow in a day. To grow, a plant requires the right nutrients, proper soil conditions, and correct lighting to grow to its full potential. Even with this perfect balance, not every plant makes it. A friendship is much more delicate, and a lot more complex.

Or: How exactly did Roman and Virgil become friends?

Warnings: PTSD, Intentional Self-Harm (past), Unintentional Self-Harm, RSD, Sucide Attempt (past), Scars, Blood, Islamphobia

[ao3 link]

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Growing Roots Ch3- Hypocotyl

After that night, Roman thought things between him and Virgil were bound to get better. After all, it’s not like things could get worse. In addition, Roman now had a better understanding of Virgil. He knew that Virgil had PTSD and his PTSD had to do with a bad situation where something involving sexual assault (or at least near or relating to it) had happened. He could work with that. He could support Virgil through that.

But things between them didn’t get better, In fact, if anything, Virgil seemed to draw more and more away. The problem was, he wasn’t only drawing away from Roman, but Patton and Logan as well. Roman could understand if Virgil didn’t like him. Roman knew he had fucked up plenty of times. But Patton and Logan were such good people and he couldn’t figure out why Virgil would draw away from them too.

(Maybe it was because Roman was spending more time with them. Maybe Virgil was canceling plans more just to avoid Roman. Maybe Roman should start backing out so Virgil could have the support he needed from Patton and Logan. After all, they were friends first. He was the newest, last member. The least important).

It was as a result of this recent behavior that Virgil’s newest text to Roman came as a surprise.

V: Can u come over? I have to give u something

V: It’ll be quick

R: can it b later? have a class soon

V: It’ll be quick

R: is that ur way of saying that it cant wait

V: ,,,yes?

With a huff, Roman shoved his phone in his pocket and left for Virgil’s dorm, not knowing what was so important that it couldn’t wait two hours. Luckily, his dorm building was only two away from Virgil’s. If he jogged, he could get there quickly, get whatever Virgil had for him, and still make it on time to class.

He did exactly that, coming to a stop outside Virgil’s door with little huffs of breathe to show the fact that he had raced across part of campus. Hopefully this wouldn’t take longer than a minute. Roman really hated to skip class, he struggled with his grades enough as is.

Now at the door, he texted the boy and then knocked, knowing that Virgil wouldn’t answer the door unless he knew who was there.

It wasn’t a long wait, the door quickly twisting open to reveal a disheveled Virgil.

“I need you to take this,” Virgil said, shoving something into his hands almost immediately.

Roman stumbled a bit to keep a steady hold on the item considering he wasn’t really expecting something to be dramatically shoved into his arms.

“Uh, okay,” he said as he readjusted what he could not identify as a locked box in his arms, “What is it?”

“Stuff,” Virgil replied, “Here’s the key. Don’t open it.”

Roman readjusted the box again to grab the key from Virgil.

“So you’re giving me a locked box and the key that goes with it but I’m not allowed to open it?”  he questioned.

He shifted from foot to foot, gaze traveling from the box back to Virgil. Because what the hell? What was so important about this damn box that he had to come over right now and take it but wasn’t allowed to know anything about it? He had a class he had to get to! He didn’t have time for mysterious boxes.

“Yes, no opening it,” Virgil agreed, “And you keep it until I want the box back.”

Okay, what? Virgil wasn’t just giving him the box? He wanted it back? Roman was box-sitting? Why was Roman box-sitting? What was he supposed to do with any of this?

“Uh, then why are you giving to me?” Roman asked. 

Roman thought he had been lost before, but well, now he was even more confused. It reminded him of that show “Naked and Afraid” except the setting was Virgil’s dorm instead of being stranded on an island and a title like “A Box and Vague Words” would probably fit the situation better.

“I can’t have it right now,” Virgil explained. But, no, it wasn’t really an explanation. It was a half-explanation to avoid actually explaining.

“The box?” Roman questioned, “You can’t have the box right now?”

Virgil sighed and rolled his eyes before giving Roman a look like he was stupid. Which was not fair at all. Here Virgil was texting him to come over immediately, demanding he take a box, not telling him what was in, eventually wanting it back, but unable to have it right now. So sue him for being confused. It was a confusing situation!

“What’s in the box,” Virgil attempted to clarify, “I can’t have what’s in the box right now.”

“Well, what’s in the box?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

Of course not. Virgil could just never make things easy, could he.

“Virgil I’m not taking a sketchy locked box from you unless you allow me to open it or you tell me what’s in it.”

“Just take it.”

“No.”

“Roman, I really really really need you to take the box.”

“What’s in the box, Virgil?”

He was raising his voice a bit at this point, something he only noticed when Virgil took a step back and Trixie took a step forward, going into a Block. 

Right. Virgil didn’t like yelling.

He took a breath and lowered his volume.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Virgil relaxed slightly as he exhaled loudly.

“It’s just- Virgil I’m not taking a random box from you in this weird as fuck situation if you’re not going to tell me what’s in it.”

The boy froze. The previous tension didn’t quite return to his body but he also didn’t relax any further. Instead he just went completely still. He seemed to calculate something in the silence, though Roman had no idea what.

Eventually, he refocused on Roman, and Roman was surprised to find a bit of steel in his eyes. 

“The box contains everything sharp I own,” Virgil admitted, his voice small.

Roman blinked.

What?

This was what Virgil couldn’t tell him was in the box? I mean sure it was weird, but not nearly on the level Roman was expecting. Honestly, he didn’t know what he had been expecting. Human organs? Evidence of money laundering? Virgil’s diary?

“Well that’s not ominous at all,” Roman offered, “But, uh, why are you giving them to me? Is this some kind of social experiment or something?”

Really. Sharp things? Again, kind of creepy but not what he had been expecting.

Virgil just blinked at him.

Roman stared right back.

Virgil sighed loudly and gave Roman the same look he gave him earlier, like Roman was an idiot or something. He bristled up a bit.

“No. I- Roman. Everything sharp I own,” Virgil repeated. Roman nodded. The better explanation followed, “Everything I could hurt myself with.”

Roman went back to blinking.

“I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

“Everything I could hurt myself with,” Virgil repeated, and then he was off, “And I mean, I know I said everything sharp, but it’s not just sharp things. I uh- there’s all my meds in there except for like a week’s dosage so I don’t run out and I threw in some cleaning chemicals and stuff because even though I don’t think I- well it’s just better to be safe, so... Oh! And I couldn’t get rid of everything glass, but all the glass from picture frames because, well, I’ve- in the past- well yeah. Just thought it was better not to have them, y’know?”

Roman just held the box as Virgil’s rambling came to a close. 

The speech filtered in but didn’t seem to quite connect.

“What?” Roman asked, “Virge, why would you hurt yourself? Why are you giving me these things?”

Virgil shifted on his feet and his hands came to grasp his elbows. His nails dug in sharply through his hoodie. Trixie whined and nudged his arms away from one another. When his grip loosened, Roman noticed the spots of darker coloration on the jackets arms.

“V-Virgil,” Roman started, heart thrumming in his chest, “Are- are you bleeding?”

A million expressions passed across the older boys face, all to quickly for Roman to decipher even one of them. 

“I- Roman I struggle with self-harm. I have for a long time. I- I haven't done it for over a year now. But the urges still presents itself all the time. Usually it’s manageable. Right now it’s less so. That’s why I need you to take the box right now.”

Roman felt like his head was going to explode and his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

“Allahu-” Roman starts, before cutting himself off. He knew what ‘allahu akbar’ means. He knew that in this case it’s just a simple expression to him. He also knew what other people thought of it. He knew that the words are equivalent to ‘terrorist’ in their eyes. How many times had he been called exactly that for much less?

“Virgil,” he restarted, “Virgil did you- are you bleeding? Are you- Virgil did you hurt yourself? You- You’re arms.” 

He saw the hoodie and those had to be bloodstains and that meant that Virgil bled through his hoodie and was Virgil hurting himself? Was his friend doing this to his body. They were friends right? I mean, Virgil had come to him and now Roman had to deal with his. His friend was hurting himself so what did he do?

“No, no,” Virgil said frantically. He shook his head so hard Roman would be surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

It didn’t do much to cause Roman to relax.

“I didn’t hurt myself,” Virgil promised.

That, on the other hand, did allow Roman to relax a little bit. His shoulders loosened and he felt like he could breathe again.

“I mean, I kind of did hurt myself,” Virgil admitted, “but it wasn’t really on purpose? And it’s not bad!”

Roman was back to being very worried. This whole conversation was making his head spin. He felt like the physical manifestation of a 404 error code.

He wondered if this was what Logan felt like when he got so overwhelmed by everything that he couldn’t talk and had to be left alone for awhile. 

Virgil seemed to be able to tell that Roman was completely lost, because he carried on with his explanation.

“Okay so. I don’t self-harm anymore. Or I haven’t for a year. But I’m having the worst urges I’ve had in a while. And I would ask Patton or Logan instead of you-” That stung a bit but was also probably fair. Virgil and him weren’t the closest. “-But they went home yesterday evening because neither of them had classes today and so they left for the three day weekend. And I am bleeding and I did hurt myself but I didn’t mean to. It was unintentional. I was digging my nails in my arms and I don’t mean to but I do that a lot sometimes. Trixie catches it for me. But well, I’ve been doing it a lot recently because things haven’t been the best so I accidentally broke skin and started bleeding. But I didn’t mean to and it’s not bad.”

Okay. That was a lot all at once. Roman worked on focusing on the things he could handle now.

“Virgil, you’re bleeding through your jacket.”

Virgil’s eyes went wide and he turned his arm to look at. He brushed a finger against the blood stain.

Sure, it was a small bloodstain. And Virgil’s jacket wasn’t very thick, worn down by tons of use. But he had bleed through his jacket, which meant that the wound was a little more than a bug bite. It might not be bleeding profusely, and would probably clot pretty quickly, but a band aid would probably still help.

“Do you have band aids?” Roman asked.

Virgil’s brow furrowed but he nodded anyways.

Neither of them moved.

“Can- can I come in?” Roman asked.

Even after this long and pretty draining conversation, he was just awkwardly standing right outside of Virgil’s dorm holding a box of all the things Virgil owned that he could hurt himself with.

“I can get a band aid myself,” Virgil insisted.

Roman hesitated.

“I know. But, I’m concerned. Please? It would make me feel better.”

Virgil stood there for a while, shifting in the doorway. Roman could practically see the gears in his mind turning.

“Okay,” he allowed eventually as he moved out of the way of the dorm. Roman entered as Virgil wandered over to a shelf, presumably to grab a band aid. Roman took a seat at the desk off to the side. Trixie sat near him, out of the way but with her eyes on Virgil.

Virgil grabbed a small first aid kit and brought it over. He opened it and pulled out a band aid.

“See, I have band aids, I’m fine,” Virgil insisted as he waved the band aid in Roman’s face.

“Okay, let’s see the damage,” Roman insisted, reaching out to grab Virgil’s arm.

Virgil jerked back and Trixie was up in seconds, going straight into a Block between Virgil and Roman.

“Virgil?”

“I- uh-” the boy stuttered, “Uh, please don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Roman asked, a frown on his lips.

“Try and grab me.”

“I wasn’t. I was just trying to look at your arm,” Roman insisted.

Why had Virgil freaked so bad? He was just trying to help.

But this was what being around Virgil was always like. Roman was always walking on eggshells and never knew what to do. Virgil could just randomly go off and Roman wouldn’t know what was wrong. He would then feel terrible because he knew Virgil had PTSD, didn’t know the specifics, but it was obvious that he was affected by it. Roman was trying, he was, but he didn’t even know where to start.

“Just, please, don’t do that again?” Virgil asked.

Now that Virgil had told him, Roman wouldn’t do it. That wasn’t the problem. He was good at respecting Virgil’s boundaries now. The problem was that things always went this way. Roman would do something and it would set Virgil off and then he would just feel this crushing guilt. Then Virgil would tell him not to do it again and Roman would try not to but he didn’t even know what he did in the first place and Virgil never explained. Of course, he didn’t really expect Virgil to explain because that was unfair but it did make everything so much harder for Roman.

Roman hated messing up like this because he thought Virgil was maybe his friend now but how could they be when Roman could never get anything right?

Instead of voicing any of these concerns, Roman just mumbled a simple, “Okay, I won’t,” and left it at that.

Virgil gave him a wary look and a nod, so Roman assumed he was in the clear.

“Just, can I see your arm?” he asked, “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Virgil hesitated but nodded. He set the first aid supplies down and took to shucking off his jacket, exposing his arms. Arms that had scars littered across them like spiderwebs. Planned and coordinated, like little lines swirling and growing. Roman felt sick.

“The fuck,” Roman blurted out.

Virgil stiffened and brought his arms in close to his chest, jacket falling to the ground.

“Virgil- Virgil your arms I-”

Roman had never seen anything like this. Sure there had been a kid in his high school who went around every day showing off two new lines to her classmates as if they were some sort of prize. But those had been two a day and had barely bled enough to be even called cuts. None of them left scars.

Virgil’s arms were covered. Most of them were small to medium sized, wrapping around the sides like mini white bracelets. Some were more faded than others and blended in better, but many were still stark and apparent against Virgil’s light skin.

The most shocking were the two long ones that stretched vertically. They were bumpy and raised and Roman had only seen them for a minute but he had seen them. He had never seen them in person, had kind of thought they were a myth of the media. But he knew what they were.

A suicide attempt.

Virgil had tried to kill himself.

“I just told you I had a history with self-harm,” Virgil muttered meekly as Roman continued to stare. Not that there was much to stare at now that Virgil clutched his arms to his chest.

What was he supposed to do in this situation?

“Roman?”

It was the tone of voice that got through to him. Roman had heard Virgil happy, mad, angry, sad, scared. He might not have been friends with the boy long, but he had known him for a bit longer. He had seen Virgil in better and worse moods and learned the tones that went with each one.

But he had never heard the boy sound meek and small like this before.

Roman snapped out of it.

“Okay,” he said, to steady himself, “Okay. Let’s take a look at where you’re bleeding.”

Virgil didn’t move.

“Virge,” he pleaded.

The other boy relented and held his arm out. Roman took it gently and turned it so he could see the small marks near his elbow. 

They were bleeding slightly, but Virgil hadn’t been kidding when he said that they were small. They were also clearly from his nails and didn’t seem intentional like the lines further down on his wrists.

Roman trusted that they had been an accident.

It made all of this a lot easier to deal with.

(He wouldn’t of known what to do if they hadn’t been an accident).

The blood had smeared a bit, presumably where it had soaked into the hoodie. Roman moved around to gather the needed supplies, Virgil trailed after Roman, and Trixie followed Virgil. A miniature congo line of disaster.

Roman grabbed a bottle of water from Virgil’s desk and found a Kleenex off to the side. He poured a bit of water onto the Kleenex and set to wiping away the blood.

When he had cleaned the small wound he took the band aid Virgil offered him and placed it on the scratch.

He did the entire procedure twice more. Once more on the arm he held now, and then again on the other.

When he was done, he released Virgil and threw away the trash.

“Thanks,” Virgil muttered. He pulled his arms back into him but didn’t replace his hoodie. Roman didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Virgil looked back up at him.

“Uh, you can- you can go now?” he half told, half asked, “Just please take the box with you.”

“No, yeah, I’ll take the box,” Roman confirmed. Now that he knew how could he not? “It’s just, Virgil, are you okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered, as he quickly turned away from Roman to put away the first aid supplies.

“Bullshit,” Roman declared loudly. Virgil flinched and dropped the kit. Trixie quickly pressed up against him. Roman made a note to lower his volume.

“I-” Virgil hesitated.

“Virgil we’re friends right?” Roman asked, “I mean, I think we are? I want to be? And friends help each other out, okay. I’m- I’m here for you, alright?”

Virgil turned around and met his eyes. Roman got the distinct feeling that he was looking for something, but he didn’t know what Virgil was looking for, or if he would find it.

Virgil eventually sighed and clutched his elbows. Trixie nosed his arms and he dropped them to his sides before picking up the first aid kit he had dropped.

“I- I’m having a tough time,” he admitted.

No shit. 

But this was progress. This was Virgil opening up. Roman just had to figure out how to keep it going.

“How can I help?” he asked.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut.

“You can’t,” he answered miserably.

“Bullshit,” Roman declared again, but quieter, “I might not be able to like, make you not want to hurt yourself. But I can help you. C’mon Charlie Frown, let me in. I’m here for you.”

Virgil burst into tears.

Roman blinked and took a step back. Whatever this reaction was, it was not one he was expecting. He was way out of his depth here.

He was always out of his depth with Virgil, always saying the wrong things. Roman had always been a good dancer, but around Virgil he had two left feet and another in his mouth. He could never say or do the right thing. Ever.

Maybe Virgil didn’t want to be his friend. Roman was pretty shit at it anyway.

Virgil continued to cry.

Roman tried to push down the self-doubt and loathing. It wasn’t the time for it. He was trying, and for now that would have to be enough. He refocused on Virgil.

“Hey, uh, Virgil, shit. Uh, hey it’s gonna be okay?”

Roman’s words seemed to be unheard or ignored as Virgil continued to crying. Roman didn’t know what to do.

Virgil’s crying continued to increase until he started choking on his breathe, his gulps of air becoming tiny frantic wheezes.

Trixie, who had been pawing at him for a while now, jumped up slightly to tap Virgil on his chest. He finally seemed to notice his dog and- lacking any sort of grace- collapsed to the floor. Trixie immediately covered him, performing what Roman thought Virgil had called ‘DPT.’

Roman just stood there, feeling absolutely helpless, but knowing at least enough to not interfere with Trixie’s work.

He stood there for what seemed like ages before Virgil got his breathing back under control. Roman couldn’t help but think that he was definitely missing his class today. He wasn’t going to be leaving Virgil like this.

As Virgil slowly began to be able to breathe again, Roman joined him on the floor, keeping a wide area of space between him and the other boy. He didn’t want to scare Virgil.

“Hey, Virge,” Roman murmured softly. The other boys eyes flickered up to his own as Virgil desperately wiped tears away from his eyes. “We don’t have to talk or anything, but is it okay if I stay with you for a while?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil muttered stiffly.

“You might be,” Roman agreed.

Virgil blinked, as if trying to compute the words Roman had just said.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I’m fine. So you can leave.”

“If you really want me to, I’ll leave,” Roman said, “But I’d like to stay.”

Virgil played with his dogs fur and studied her carefully to avoid looking at Roman.

“Why?” he eventually asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to stay?”

Roman gave a little frown and leaned forward from his seated position.

“Virgil- Well, like you said earlier, you’re having a bit of a rough time. And you might be fine. I get that. I’m not here to tell you that you’re not. But I am your friend. Or at least I’m trying to be your friend. And friend’s help each other out when the other’s not doing so well, right?”

Virgil’s eyes started to turn glassy again and he blinked to hold back tears. He continued to not face Roman.

“You don’t have to stay,” Virgil said.

Now Roman got it. He hadn’t before, hadn’t understood why Virgil had been so evasive, so detached. Maybe there was more to it, maybe there was something else (there always was when it came to Virgil), but Roman understood this. He understood the stressed word. He understood the connotation behind it.

“Virgil,” Roman insisted, “I know I don’t have to stay. I want to.”

Virgil hesitated, then nodded.

It didn’t fix anything. It certainly wouldn’t fix Virgil’s problems, nor would it fix Roman’s. But maybe it wasn’t the time to fix something. Maybe it was the time to build. Inshallah, Roman was going to succeed at building this friendship between Virgil and him.

~

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[daftydrafty]

Snippet/Scene from 2-1-20

Long snippet/scene. TW: Violence, reference to violence, death/bodies.

Eyes straining to scan along the edge of the Manor missed the squat opening of a chimney, but the scent of wood fire and heated iron wafted from it caught Rheia’s attention. 

That combination was most common at a blacksmith’s shop. The only time iron was allowed to stay in the fire long enough to heat to the point of giving off that particular scent… was in branding, or when used as hot pokers.

Like a snake sensing a burrow, Rheia dove towards the chimney. Not thinking beyond getting to whatever poor soul was doubtlessly on the iron table, she wriggled her way into the smokey passage and down. The low but panicked calls of Asami and Kai followed her down, but Rheia barely heard them.

The heat and crackle of the fire greeted her an instant before she landed head-first onto the embers.

Hair caught fire, and the scorching pain of burns erupted over her as she tumbled forward and rolled to douse the flames. Aithei’s strength poured through her veins as the burns healed in seconds. Her hair was still singed, but she didn’t care about that as Rheia jumped to her feet, ready to confront Fellowin and wrest whatever poor sod was strapped to his wretched table.

A maid stood in the doorway, screaming, but someone was laid out on the iron table. Drying blood covered his fine silk shirt, the hands and sleeves of his velveted robe.

The strangled screams from the maid cut off like a knife as she ran out of air, and had to take a rattling gasp.

Rheia’s mind froze as she stared at Nicholas Fellowin, stretched out on the table that she had adorned so many times. Stared at the blood that collected beneath him, in carved grooves of the table, meant to catch and carry away such things so the subject could remain as clean as possible.

The reek of blood and bowels mixed with scorched hair and flesh, as she stared. And stared. And stared.

It couldn’t be. He wasn’t supposed to be dead yet. There were things she’d wanted to say. To tell him that it was by his own actions he was now dying.

But he was already dead. A clean, deep gash across his throat. It would have been a quick death. Too quick.

Her hands balled into fists, arms shaking with rage that now had no direction. Why did he deserve a single, quick death? Laid out in his fine clothes where she had died naked in pain and fear and loathing. The fizzing magic in her blood rose on a tide of rage.

It wasn’t fair.

Wasn’t fair.

WASN’T. FAIR.

The maid caught enough breath to scream again, and this time it caught Rheia’s attention. In vicious irritation, she snapped out. “Be silent!”

The words rode her magic out in a whiplash and the girl cried out as a welt streaked across her cheek.

Rheia hadn’t even looked at her, still staring at the corpse of Fellowin. The sound of fleeing footsteps were her only satisfaction.

Staring at the hated face, his eyes glazed in death, Rheia couldn’t stand it anymore. Raising a fist, she pounded it down on the dead man’s chest. Like a child in a tantrum.

“It’s not FAIR!” She shrieked. Pounding her fists down again, and again, and again as she repeated the mantra.

He had NO RIGHT to die so easily. So cleanly. When he had never gave that gift to her. He’d deserved every one of the gruesome deaths she’d pictured for him while laying on that hated table.

She had turned away from giving him one of those deaths when she escaped, and had been punished for it. Now she had come back to correct her mistake, and it had been STOLEN from her.

Clatter of armor, the pounding of feet racing down the hallway. Rheia whipped her head towards the door and snarled out “Stay away!”

Guards unfortunate enough to step through the door as she spoke were flung backwards by the force of the first word. The second cut like a blade, and fresh blood scented the air.

The slight release of rage and magic took Rheia up like a kite in a storm. She rode high on the impulse, turning that violence to the tools of Fellowin’s twisted trade. The whipping post splintered under a series of sharp kicks. Whips, wooden staves and leather saps snapped under her hands. Nails went bloody as she tore leather to pieces.

All while her fury pushed magic out in waves from her. The sensation of the magic was not only hers. Starting in icy numbness in her heart, it radiated out into the Mother Serpent’s burning flood, leaving Rheia shaking in reaction to the extreme temperatures.

Still, she didn’t stop. When her nails were torn too short to cut, she used her teeth, her screams of temper and magic to slice them to pieces.

Glass vials of potions or acid, she didn’t care what, were thrown against the wall. Some of them left the stone discolored and smoking, others only dripped harmlessly to the floor. Shattered glass rained to the floor, but still failed to soothe Rheia’s despairing temper.

She would never, never be free of the nightmares now. Fellowin was dead, but she deserved to be the one to do it! To end it, end him.

“Rheia!” Asami called from the door, but she waved a hand and magic that radiated from her knocked the Fistas’Rawet off her feet. Kai cried out, but she no longer heard words. Only the echo of his voice in the crowded hall.

All the while, Rheia vented her rage on the only source of her despair that she could. Stones clattered and crumbled as she kicked at the wall that held the hidden door. Mechanisms twisted and bent under her fury, and the dark satisfaction fed into the magic as much as her bottomless despair.

How could it end, if she couldn’t end it?

What payment could she collect for her pain, misery, and death?

Guard after guard tried to push into the room, but she barely spared them a thought as her magic pushed them back. Didn’t flinch as more blood spilled under her ire.

The mounting rage was choking her, as Fellowin’s hated garrote had choked the life from her. Needing to vent it, Rheia turned to the table, where Fellowin laid, wide eyed and sightless at the destruction around him.

That fucking table.

Another focus for the rage, and this one gave resistance. Rheia bore down on the most central instrument. It took only a second to catch the inner hum of the metal. A heartbeat later for her to spill her rage into it, as her furious tears spilled down her cheeks.

Slowly, so slowly she couldn’t be sure it was working, the metal heated. As the inner makings of the metal were excited to a frenzy, a red glow began to appear in patches. Blood and flesh scorched and burned against the metal. Fellowin’s fine silk clothes ignited against the red-hot table as it collapsed under the weight.

That, at least, gave Rheia something of what she sought. He could lay in the molten iron of his precious table. His finery burned and torn to scraps. All his finery, his twisted nobility could be his resting place.

Liquid metal pooled around him, and spread over the stone floor.

Rheia had enough sense to step back, to keep the toes of her sandals out of the molten iron.

She stood in the wreckage of the room. She hadn’t bothered with the half that was a study. It had never paid much of a role in her torment. Not as much as the saps and irons, knives and runes. The chest that held the acids was nothing more than splinters now.

Still the storm of despair and fury in her heart would not die. How was she supposed to repay him for Allastor? Even as the destruction around her had bled off the edge of her temper, what vengeance was this?

Tears dripped from her chin. When she wiped at them with the back of her hand, flinging them sharply in disgust, they sizzled against the cooling iron.

Bloodied ends of fingers gripped onto her arms as she crossed them over her chest. Fighting to bring in or let out the last of the pain in her heart.

There was nothing more to break, nothing more to tear. Still, the pressure in her chest squeezed at her, until there was nothing else she could do but scream.

In screaming, the destruction she had done with focused rage fell aside as pale imitation to the chaos that stormed out with her at its core.

Splintered wood disintegrated, even the plush cushioned chair fell to pieces before scouring away as dust.

There was no intention, no spell woven into the screams. Just the attempt to empty out the well of rage and despair that she had kept locked away in her heart. Thinking she had escaped, that she could set the horror aside. Now it spilled out into the screams like lancing a boil.

She couldn’t hear anything beyond her own screams, but sensed through them as she had felt movement through her magic when she and Kai had been attacked.

Sensed movement at the door, someone attempt to enter, only to recoil sharply.

Good. Stay out. Everyone, everything, stay the fuck out.

Stones from the ceiling loosened and fell. Each shaken apart into harmless dust before it could hit the floor.

Fists beat against the raging magic of her screams, but she couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. If she bled out her life in this screaming rage, it might be enough. Let the Manor crumble around her. Let every stone of Fellowin’s stature fall, and she’ll stand in their place. A thing of vengeance and fury.

Something managed to push into the storm of her magic, and stayed. Rheia looked up from where she was rooted to the center of the room. The molten iron had been scrubbed away. She hadn’t paid attention to Fellowin’s body, but assumed it had gone the same. The room was nearly empty, with the gaping maw of the hidden cell behind her.

Abram stood in the doorframe, eyes glinting with a light she couldn’t quite identify. He reached out, against the magic, and she saw the skin on his hand shred away.

To her dull surprise, he did not recoil. When the scouring magic tried to work its way up his arm, he pressed his left hand, still holding a dagger, to it.

It must be the light in the room, but Rheia swore she saw a faint glitter of gold in his eyes as skin regrew, down the arm and to his hand. The raging magic buffered back, like a bolder tossed into a flooded stream.

One labored step after another, Abram entered the room. The only living soul to do so since Rheia had tumbled down the chimney ready to do battle.

Screams were still tearing themselves from her throat, out of her control. She was only the vessel of the magic and rage now. The anchor that kept everything in swirling chaos.

The dagger, hilt pressed to the crook of his arm to strengthen it, dripped blood onto the floor. Instantly, every drop scoured away in the screaming magic as Abram struggled step by step towards Rheia.

His eyes, sparkling with gold, and perhaps with an autumn brown across the ashen grey, were fixed on hers.

She couldn’t hear what he said, deaf to everything but her own rage, but she saw his lips move.

In the back of her mind, where the rage couldn’t reach, a part of Rheia witness all the destruction in mute horror. Knowing that she was no more than a vassal to rage and destruction, and wishing it would end.

Her eyes flicked from the dagger to Abram’s face, and saw his lips move again. Was he telling her it would be alright? It would be quick and painless?

Maybe it would be. Even as the screaming rage kicked up to a new level of shrieking indignation, the mute, frozen part of her mind accepted.

One more step, and he’d be in range to plunge that bloody dagger into her heart. End the rage, the destruction.

Glittering ash-grey eyes stayed on reddened golden brown ones as Abram took the final step.

Part of her braced for the stinging insult of metal into flesh, and so she jerked with surprise as the dagger fell. Hands that were still raw and healing gripped around the sides of her face.

As she had done in a forested clearing, he now crushed his lips to hers. Silencing the screaming rage as he drank her in.

The rigid force of her magic died with the scream, the flame of rage quenched in the same instant. Leaving her with only the smoking, hollow emptiness that had been behind them.

He pulled back, the scruff of beard on his upper lip scratching against hers. His gaze returned to hers, waiting to see if the rage would rekindle.

She almost wished it would, but instead she felt weak, overused. Collapsing forward, Rheia buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s not fair.” She whispered, her throat equally ravaged from temper and magic alike. “Not fair at all.”

A hand more gentle than it had a right to be stroked through the singed lengths of her hair, stopping just above her shoulders. If she weren’t so tired, she would be irritated all over again to have lost her long, gorgeous curls.

Kai and Asami finally entered the room, guarding the doorway as Abram shifted to sweep Rheia up into his arms.

She was so tired, her body beginning to voice complaint after complaint from being used as a magical conduit beyond its level.

Her eyes wanted to close, heavy as lead weights. Rheia forced them to stay open, turning her face from Abram’s shoulder as they entered the hall.

Bodies littered the floor of the hall, all of them wearing the scarlet and silver colors of Auberhaven guards.

Seeing the ones that bore cuts too sharp to be from any blade, Rheia knew she had taken life that night. Not the one she had intended, but it had happened.

Perhaps that was worse. She didn’t know yet.

Closing her eyes, Rheia let herself be carried into oblivion.

[fallintosanity]

this is the weekend for themes about sacrifice

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Several hours later, Noctis and his friends had showered, dressed, and eaten the entirety of the rich brunch delivered by the same Citadel staffer who’d brought last night’s dinner. She had also brought their clothes, cleaned and mended, and the guys were back in their Kingsglaive uniforms. Noctis had dressed in his formal wear as well, though hadn’t bothered with the ornate outer mantle or most of the golden adornments. If and when Regis was ready to meet with him again, he’d dress up fully, but for now, it was nice to not have a bunch of ornaments jangling every time he moved.

Not that he was doing much moving. The suite which had felt spacious and grand last night now felt cramped after he’d paced its length a hundred times, waiting in vain for Regis to summon them. Even his friends, who’d spent a large part of the day merely basking in the sunlight, were clearly growing restless and bored. Prompto’s hands and heels drummed out an absent, muffled rhythm on the carpet where he sprawled in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the sitting area. Gladio prowled around the suite like a caged coeurl; Noctis wouldn’t have been surprised if he sprouted electric whiskers. Even Ignis, sitting cross-legged and prim on the couch, was tapping a finger on his knee.

It was Prompto who spoke first, tilting his head back to look upside-down at Noctis where he sat in an armchair. “So… when d’you think King Regis is going to talk to us again?”

“Dunno,” Noctis answered. He was trying to sound casual, but didn’t quite manage to keep his frustration out of his voice. “He said he needed to talk to his councilors, but I have no idea what he’s doing that’s taking this long.” It was like being a teenager again, never getting to see his dad because of this meeting running late or that function being rescheduled.

“It’s not every day future versions of your son and his companions fall into your lap,” Ignis pointed out in his let’s-be-reasonable tone. “I’m sure His Majesty is—” He cut himself off abruptly, head turning toward the door.

An instant later there was a knock, and Cor Leonis’s voice called, “Your Highness, it’s Cor. I’m coming in.”

“Majesty,” Gladio muttered under his breath as he moved to stand at Noct’s shoulder.

Noctis elbowed him in the hip. “Leave it,” he muttered back. Technically he was the king and therefore not highness anymore, but he’d grown up with his majesty the king meaning dad, and wasn’t quite comfortable claiming it for himself yet.

The door opened and Cor stepped in. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the last time they’d seen him; he was wearing the same clothes and had deep circles under his eyes. He sketched a quick bow more appropriate for a prince than a king. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

“Is the king ready to speak with us?” Noctis asked, making his voice level. At least those months wandering around back-country Lucis pretending to be hunters hadn’t made him forget his court training. Until he knew better what Regis planned to do, Noctis wanted to honor the various rules of hospitality and diplomacy that governed meetings between monarchs, as much to remind himself that he was in fact a king in his own right, as to remind Cor and therefore his father.

Cor shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Why the hell not?” Prompto demanded. He, like Ignis, had stood up when Cor came in, and now stood at Noctis’s other shoulder. Noctis tilted his head enough to give Prompto a sharp look out of the corner of his eye; Prompto frowned and subsided sullenly.

Noctis looked back at Cor and raised an eyebrow. By etiquette rules, Prompto had spoken out of turn, but he’d only said what Noctis had been thinking anyway. Cor sighed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I know you’re frustrated,” he said. “But if everything you said yesterday is true… It means the Niflheim Emperor’s right-hand man is running loose in the Crown City, and his most trusted general is leading the Kingsglaive in a battle against Imperial forces. The king wants to ensure the security of Insomnia and its people first.”

Noctis couldn’t help but notice Cor had said Insomnia and not Lucis. He’d never noticed before - as a kid, Insomnia had been all of Lucis as far as he was concerned - but now, having met so many people living outside the Wall, knowing the Glaives’ grievances, he couldn’t help but wonder whether this was what had led so many of the Glaives to turn traitor.

But bringing that up now wouldn’t help anything, so all he said was, “I see. Please tell His Majesty that if he’s willing, we’re happy to deal with one of those problems for him.”

Cor stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “We don’t want the city to become a battleground,” he said pointedly.

“We can’t return to our own time without Ardyn,” Noctis said. “He’s not likely to come quietly.”

“That may be true, but we still want to do everything we can to minimize the collatoral damage,” Cor said. “Please, Noctis. Be patient. The king will speak to you as soon as he can.”

“Of course,” Noctis said. Despite his best efforts, some of his frustration bled into his voice as he said, “Will that be all, Marshal?”

Cor actually seemed taken aback. “Yes, Your—Your Majesty.” He bowed, more deeply this time, then hurried out of the room.

Noctis frowned at the locked door. “Did Cor just… run away from me?”

“Can’t blame him,” Prompto said. “You were pretty scary.”

“I was?”

“The Marshal in this time is accustomed to a teenage prince with an allergy to formalities,” Ignis pointed out dryly. “You sounded like a king.”

“I did?” It was what he’d been trying to do, but Noctis hadn’t felt like it. Mostly he’d felt frustrated and worried.

Gladio’s eyes crinkled in something that was almost a laugh. “Not like that you don’t.”

Noctis elbowed him again. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime,” Gladio shot back, but then his expression darkened and he turned away, stomping over to the window to stare out at the city. “Can’t believe Regis is making us wait like this. We got out there, we could find Ardyn and get out of his hair.”

“King Regis,” Ignis corrected pointedly.

Gladio huffed and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like king do-nothing. Noctis narrowed his eyes. “Say that again, Gladio?”

Gladio turned and met Noct’s gaze levelly. “King Do-Nothing,” he said, flat and angry. “It’s what a lot of the hunters call him. Can’t blame ‘em, either.”

Noctis shot to his feet. “My dad isn’t—”

“Noct!” Ignis grabbed him by the arm. “It’s nothing. Just hunters grousing.”

But Gladio was still watching him with that flat stare, and Prompto had looked away, a familiar set to his jaw that meant he was biting his tongue. Noctis said, “Clearly it isn’t nothing. What do the hunters say about my dad?”

For a second he thought Ignis was going to refuse to let the others tell him, but then Ignis’s shoulders sagged. Gladio seemed to take that as permission, because he said, “Lotta people ain’t happy about how Regis handled things after he took the throne. Ceding Galahd to the Niffs, protecting Insomnia at the cost of the rest of the kingdom.” His jaw tightened and he looked away briefly before meeting Noct’s eyes again. “Protecting you at the cost of Insomnia and everyone in it.”

Noct’s throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. It was too much like what Noct himself had thought, in those horrible days immediately after the Crown City fell. That other people thought it… that other people thought Noctis wasn’t worth it… he couldn’t blame them, not really. But the knowledge was a knife to his heart, to his memory of his father as a strong, infallible king. He made himself say, “The peace treaty was a bad deal all around and everyone knew it. But no one else had any ideas. The ‘Glaive couldn’t fight the Niffs’ daemonic weapons. My dad needed to get me away from them so I could stop Ardyn. He was doing what the gods and the Crystal told him to do.”

“You know that, and we know that,” Ignis said gently, “but few Insomnians truly follow the Cosmogony anymore. Pilgrimages to the Disc of Cauthess had been slowing for decades before King Mors pulled the Wall back, and without that protection, Crown City residents stopped going altogether. For most, the Six are little more than legends, distant slumbering gods who’ve no interest in humanity.”

“They’re not wrong, either,” Prompto muttered bitterly.

Noctis glared at him, then at Ignis. “So all those covenants didn’t mean anything?” he demanded. “People saw them and, what, shrugged?”

“Coulda been just big daemons,” Gladio said. “Niffs were sure as hell trying to kill ‘em like daemons. Point is,” he added quickly when Noctis opened his mouth to interrupt, “yeah, we know the gods are real. We know you’re the True King the holy books talk about. But most people don’t believe any of that. They just saw a king who allowed that sham of a treaty to happen and his country to fall.”

Noctis turned away, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. He wanted to deny it, to defend his father against those horrible accusations, but the people who needed to hear it weren’t there. No, they were trapped in darkness twelve years in the future, and would remain trapped there unless and until Noctis managed to find Ardyn and return.

He sighed, the anger leaving his body as quickly as it had come, and with it the desire to fight. Sinking back into the armchair, he threaded his fingers together and pressed his forehead against his hands. “I’m going to make it right,” he whispered. “I have to.”

Footsteps, muffled on the carpet, then Ignis’s hand on his shoulder. “We know you will,” he said, though the waver in his voice betrayed what they were all thinking: Noctis would make it right, but at the cost of his own life.

[theonetruespacegayarts]

It’s a Delicate Process

Chapter One

[Content Warning: Non-graphic depiction of vomiting.]

Deck stumbled and tripped over his own feet, his vision was more than double. He could feel sickness rising from his stomach, his shoulder hit a wall as he tried to keep it down. Just a moment later, the ground below, along with his boots, were painted with the contents of his stomach. He swore and stumbled away from the mess, well, it was more like he tripped over nothing. He fell onto his hands and knees, which broke the half filled bottle of vodka he'd stolen from the bar he was just thrown out of. When the bottle shattered, several shards, large and small, cut into and embedded into the skin of his hand.

He fell heavily onto his rear, with a sort of thud, and he began to pull some of the larger shards out of his hand. Tears formed quickly in his bloodshot grey eyes, streaking his pale cheeks with the faintest glint in the flaxen light of the alley. He gently sobbed, legs sprawled out in front of him, angrily tossing larger shards as he pulled them from his hand.

The light sound of scuffing could be heard at the entrance of the alley, behind Deck, the scuffing of lazy feet. Someone too lazy to pick up their feet while walking, or maybe it was deliberate? Deck knew he didn't care, he just wanted to get home to free his mind of the complicated memories that somehow seeped through his drunken state.

"Oi, buddy. Y'alright?" Someone behind Deck called out.

Deck didn't even acknowledge them, he only winced in turn with the scraping of his nails across sharp glass in his skin. He couldn't breathe through his nose now, and his sniffles echoed just slightly against the walls that surrounded him. His sobs did too, short, soft, and half choked, trying to quiet himself.

"Ay, I'm talkin' to you." The voice called again, the scuffing stopped and he heard footsteps approaching him. The scuffing was deliberate.

"J-Just fuck off, wouldja?" Deck exclaimed in a shaky tone, tossing another shard he freed from his hand a few feet in front of him.

Deck mumbled something incoherent and the person behind him was unsure if he was talking to him or to himself. Regardless, he knelt down and gently placed a hand on Deck's left shoulder, which was as quickly swiped off as Deck had slid 3 feet away from him.

The man was alarmed, he raised his hands out in front of him, palms facing Deck to show that he meant no harm.

"Easy, there. I'm not tryin' to hurt ya." The stranger said.

Deck's eyes were wide with what seemed like confusion, especially telling by his furrowed brow. His eyes quickly turned away from the stranger as he stood up quickly, oh fuck, too fast. He lost his balance, stumbled to the side, his head felt like it was floating and his eyes closed. He briefly opened them again to see the stranger lunging toward him and the world was spinning, the ground was--rising? And then-

The whir of an oscillating fan could be heard, and Deck didn't need to open his eyes to know the room he was in was bright, too bright. It was plain to anyone's mind that he was really hungover, his head fucking hurt and his thoughts were only on the pain. He rolled over, shit, too quick, and he was on the floor. A carpeted floor, his were all hardwood. He half opened one eye, taking in the piercing bright view of an unfamiliar room. He shut his eyes tight and a groan made itself known deep in his throat as he pressed hard into his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Wh-Where the fffuck," he began, and felt a harsh rush from his stomach, somehow holding in the sick that almost erupted from him.

"Good morning, gorgeous!" The same voice from earlier? Last night?

Deck was startled, he jumped up from his stomach quickly on his knees and shuffled backward. He was too sober for this, too fucking sober, and his head was throbbing. Instinctively, both hands rose to his eyes, which he now noticed were quite puffy, and covered them to shield the light. At this point, he didn't care if he'd been kidnapped, he just wanted that fucking light off right now.

"Do what you want, dickhead. J-Just turn off the fucking light." Deck said, an obvious demand.

"Buddy boy, you're in my house," The man's voice said, it sounded louder than it should have. "And, well… Can't turn out the sun, in case ya didn't know."

Deck was relieved when the light got dimmer, the sound of metal scraping metal accompanied the sudden lessening of light.

"The hell am I at your house for? You kidnap me?" Deck was defensive, and more than a little bit scared, which could be heard by the trembling tone of his voice.

"'Cause you passed out in an alley and I wasn't gonna leave you there for the pigs to grab." The man said with a short laugh.

"Why do you c-care? You don't knooow me." Deck said, he'd gagged while speaking and held a hand to his mouth to keep it down.

"Darlin', I'm not fond of the way those fuckwads handle drunken messes like you. The junkies wouldn't be too kind with you either." The stranger said, his tone was so serious yet he sounded like he was joking.

He must be joking, no one gives a shit about a junkie.

"Name's Lars, by the way." He said when Deck didn't say anything to him.

Deck's mind was so jumbled, his thoughts were like the shards of glass that were still in his hand. He winced when he realized his hand was also throbbing, but noticed the feeling of gauze wrapped around his hand. His shoulders slumped and he heaved a heavy sigh. He felt so defeated, like such a disappointment, he just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Ah, right. Your hand is pretty sliced up, isn't it? Didn't wanna mess with it while you were unconscious, but I made sure it wouldn't get infected." Lars said before he stepped out of the room.

Deck simply let himself fall over onto the floor and closed his eyes, he rolled himself on his side and hoped he'd fall asleep before Lars reentered the room. Within minutes, and to his dismay, he heard footsteps approaching from the direction Lars had left the room. He heaved a gentle sigh and felt tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, he didn't want to cry in front of someone who barely knew him so he fought the tears away.

Deck was lying on the floor right in front of the couch, very much blocking the way, especially with the coffee table close by as well. Lars didn't seem to mind this, he found his way around Deck and sat himself upon the couch. Deck heard the clank of glass on wood and some wrappers rustling as Lars emptied his hands of what he was carrying.

"Come on, boy. Get up and sit on the couch." Lars said, it almost sounded like a demand, but there was a sort of caring tone to it?

This was foreign to Deck, it was so off from his usual life that he thought he was having a very weird dream. He muttered some words to himself, too incoherent for Lars to pick it up. He very reluctantly pushed himself up, losing a little balance on one side and wincing because of the glass in his hand. His throat was getting tight from the heavy emotion building in his chest and his eyes got misty. He wanted to scream and punch any nearby solid objects with all the force that his skinny arms could muster, but he held back. He was slow, finally sitting back on his heels, where he lingered for a moment. He fully expected Lars to bark Hurry the fuck up! at him, but Lars was quiet, patient. Deck slowly stood up, the light that remained in the room stung his eyes and he had to shut them again, carefully using the back of his legs to find the couch before slumping down next to Lars.

"There ya go, good job." Lars said with a faint smile that he knew Deck wasn't going to see.

Wake up, Deck. Come on. There's no way this is real.

Lars leaned forward to grab something off the table before leaning back and turning himself a bit toward Deck, where their knees bumped together. Deck's eyes shot open and he jerked away a bit on instinct, letting out a shaky breath before letting himself relax a little when he realized it was, what's the word… an accident? This has to be a dream.

Lars raised his hands defensively, holding metal tweezers between his thumb and forefinger, showing he wasn't doing anything to cause him harm.

"You're fine, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you." Lars said softly. His voice was rough and deep, but there was this tone to it that was so unfamiliar to Deck.

When Deck's stiff shoulders slacked the slightest bit, almost unnoticeable to the human eye, Lars slowly lowered his hands. He raised his left slowly toward Deck, splaying his fingers out to show he had nothing hidden.

"Can I have your hand? Gotta get those shards out." Lars said softly, not moving his hand even an inch so Deck wouldn't get spooked.

Deck was very hesitant, taking his time to contemplate his movements before making any decisions. After a few minutes and some incredible patience on Lars' end, he very slowly raised his left hand and gently rested it in Lars'.

"Okay, this will hurt, but I promise you it will help." Lars said before gently unwrapping the gauze from Deck's hand. It had several splotches of crimson where his hand had bled, but that was to be expected.

Lars took the tweezers he had in his hand and, as gently as he could, pinched a larger shard between the prongs to slowly pull it out. Deck visibly winced and yanked his hand away, which he immediately regretted because this reflex caused the shard to tear his skin a bit more upon its exit.

"S-Sorry!" Deck exclaimed in obvious fear, recoiling and slamming his eyes shut.

He opened his eyes a moment later when he felt no painful contact from the man next to him. And when he did, he saw what must have been concern in Lars' amber eyes. And there were tears sitting upon his lower lids, like the sight of Deck's fear tugged at his heart in a painful way.

"Hey, you're okay. Nothing's gonna happen to ya. You're safe here. All I'm doing is gettin' this glass out so you can heal." Lars spoke gentle and slow, giving a soft smile so Deck knew he meant well.

Deck give two quick nods, then hesitantly returned his hand to Lars'. He tried his best to sit still, but winced with every shard that was pulled from his palm and fingers. He also jerked away multiple times, but Lars only slacked the grip he had on his hand and let him pull away, waiting patiently for his hand to return. Deck was so stunned by the fact that the guy didn't get anywhere near upset. He was patient and obviously cared quite a bit, even though Deck was just was an addict he picked up from an alley.

Once all, or most, of the shards had been freed from his hand, Lars gave a small warning before soaking a piece of gauze with rubbing alcohol, and gently dabbing the open wounds, which Deck winced and almost jerked his hand away, but held mostly still for. After this, Lars wrapped his hand with a roll of gauze he had on the coffee table.

"I gotta wash my hands and throw this away. Just sit tight. I'll make ya some food when you're feelin’ better. Just let me know when." And with that, Lars stood up, grabbed the materials he had with him, and left the room.

Deck stared at his gauze wrapped hand, thinking deeply about the whole 30 minutes he just experienced. He was so confused, so conflicted, this could not be real. This could only be an incredibly realistic dream. His breathing started to pick up and tears, too heavy an intense to blink away, prickled from his tear ducts before beginning their trail down his pale cheeks.

[writingwhimsy]

Vega’s Broken Heart

Y’all like some angst?

The crisp, autumn wind screamed against his face--the perfect accompaniment to his mood. His wings beat hard, setting a brutal course into the inky night sky until the lights of the Forest House faded away. He felt the bargain bond pull tight like a tether, anchoring him to the earth. To her.

Idiot, he raged at himself. Why would she want anything more from you?

Even in the camps, Vega had always been selective of the females he allowed close enough to consider bedding. In comparison to Raeul’s notorious appetites he was a damned monk. Female Illyrians were too meek, too beaten down by the brutally regimented society of the camps to interest him. They weren’t bold enough to make him laugh or drive him so crazy that he wanted to shake them until they realized they weren’t invincible.

Somehow in the midst of all this chaos and danger, Vega had fallen head over heels for the child of his family’s enemy and a female that had no interest in him. And now he was the dumbass flying away from the only female he wanted so badly it hurt.

Because she didn’t want him. Because he meant nothing to her besides a willing soldier to protect her from her bastard uncles. He should have understood that from the start.

Instead, he’d been intrigued by the vulnerability she’d shown the first night he’d met her. The fire he’d seen in her eyes even before the world went to hell. The way she’d stood up to her uncles as if they didn’t want her dead.

The air around him began to grow painfully thin and with the thought of her face still in his mind, Vega tucked his wings in close and fell towards the earth.

What did you think this meant? Her husky voice seemed to taunt him.

Vega closed his eyes against the biting winds, letting the darkness of the night soothe him. He belonged here, in the darkness. Brynle’s firelight was a fever dream. One that had been brutally snuffed out.

He could feel the ground rushing up towards him and snapped out his wings in a practiced move that’d earned him a broken leg when he was thirteen. The memory of his father’s furious worry when he’d found out wiped away the adrenaline high of his flight. Vega was surprised at the intense homesickness he felt, standing alone in the back gardens of the Forest House with the stars shining down on him like old friends.

It was easier like this, he decided. He could fulfill his bargain with the High Lady of Autumn and go back where he belonged without worrying about unnecessary attachments.

______________________________________

The dining hall was dim and nearly empty by the time he stalked inside. The thought of returning to his empty rooms--alone with his thoughts--sounded like a new form of torture. So, he settled into a table that lay in the shadows cast by the dying fire with a bottle of some sort of whiskey he’d snagged from the kitchens.

Wincing at the first pull of the bitter liquid, he pulled the shadows in closer to him and snarled at anyone foolish enough to try to join him. After most of the liquid in the bottle had disappeared, Vega was beginning to feel better, more in control. Tucking away his wings, he leaned against the cool stone wall and stretched out his legs comfortably.

There would be other females, he thought. Other females that made him laugh and feel things. Females that would want him as badly as he did her.

Vega looked up from his drunken musings when Merytt slipped into the chair beside him. Silently, he poured the other male a drink from his unused glass and slid it across the table to him.

“Trouble with the High Lady?” Merytt said with a sympathetic look.

Vega grunted and took another long slug of the whiskey.

Merytt followed his example and sighed, “She is a fickle creature.”

The knowledge in his voice made Vega pause and look over to him with interest. “What do you mean?” he asked, afraid of what he’d say.

“I mean that I just saw Raeul convincing her to come back to his rooms.”

Vega went very still as a terrible darkness seemed to sweep over his senses. “He wouldn’t do that,” he muttered--not sure if believed it.

Raeul had been chasing after Brynle since he’d first seen her at the dinner. At the time, Vega had been more concerned with beating a hasty retreat as soon as introductions were over and never thought twice about his friend’s comments about an attractive redhead. Now it was all he could think about.

Merytt looked incredulous, “Are we talking about the same male? Raeul’s been chasing after females since the moment he could walk.”

“I asked him to stay away from her,” Vega said weakly.

“Like he did Lyra?”

Vega winced, running a nail over the scarred wood of the table as his mind tried to process what had happened tonight. He’d known Lyra liked to sleep around but he never imagined that Raeul was one of the males she liked to visit. Never imagined that his friend would go behind his back like that.

Now the new High Lord of Dawn had turned his eyes to Brynle.

The thought made his magic flare and the monster that lived under his skin fight against his hold. His jaw shifted to make room for the longer canines that pushed through aching gums. Without looking, Vega knew his eyes had bled to a black that matched the darkest night and he had to fight the urge to let the change sweep over him. Let the beast rage through the quiet halls of the Forest House.

Instead, Vega forced the monster back into its cage with promises of bloodshed and revenge. Reminded himself that he had no claim to the High Lady of Autumn. It would be easier to think of her that way from now on.

Without a word to Merytt, he stood--ignoring the way the room seemed to blur around the edges--and started to stalk out of the room. Merytt stood, grabbing his arm to try to stop him, but Vega twisted in a move that had taken him a week to master in the Illyrian camps. His arms broke the other male’s hold and, with fluid grace, used the momentum to slam his fist into Merytt’s chin.

Merytt’s head snapped back and Vega knew before he went boneless that he’d hit that sweet spot that guaranteed Merytt wouldn’t be getting up for a while. Ignoring the cries of shock and alarm in the room, Vega continued to the main corridor, stopping to snag another bottle from another table. Following the trail that he knew would lead him to the High Lady, he began to hunt.

As he moved, he let his magic pulse around him like a wild thing. A living shadow that had every servant and stranger he passed scurrying out of his way. Or maybe that was the murderous expression that seemed permanently etched on his face.

An unfamiliar male’s voice cut through the quiet hallway and Vega frowned when he realized it was in the direction of where Brynle must be.

“You son of a bitch!” the male snarled and he felt the magic in the air as tensions rose.

A placating female voice answered him and Vega felt his own growl rumbling through his chest as he recognized it. Brynle.

Turning the last corner to the hallway that led to the servants’ quarters, he was surprised to see a relatively large number of people gathered there. His eyes narrowed to where Raeul stood almost protectively in front of Brynle as he confronted the furious male at the end of the corridor. Kendrix, his memory supplied, the new High Lord of Spring.

Blue eyes snapped to him as soon as Vega came into view, like she’d been waiting for him to come back. Like she cared.

She wants a bodyguard, he reminded himself bitterly, nothing else.

Vega could tell that the alcohol was affecting his ability to shield his mind. That it must be blasting his emotions down their link but he couldn’t summon the energy to care. Let the consequences come tomorrow when his head stopped pounding.

Raeul’s attention flicked to him, eyeing the fury carved into every movement. The pools of liquid night that trailed Vega like a cloak. “Shit,” he said succinctly.

Vega clutched the stem of the glass bottle in his hand like it was a lifeline. “Did you touch her?” he rumbled, his voice sounding like the distant rumble of thunder.

“Look, Vega,” Raeul put up his hands in a placating gesture, addressing the male beside Vega as well, “this is all just a misunderstanding.”

More footsteps sounded on the other side of the corridor as Nusku and Mira turned the corner and headed straight for Brynle. The relief in her eyes was like a punch to the gut as she moved closer to them. Mira wrapped an arm protectively around her friend’s shoulders and leveled a glare in his direction.

The High Lord of Dawn seemed to sense that Vega’s control was beginning to slip because he took a step toward him. “I didn’t touch her, I swear Vega,” he said and his eyes darted over to where Kendrix stood looking murderous.

Vega took a breath, his eyes never leaving Brynle’s as she stood surrounded by her friends. As though she needed to be protected--protected from him. His heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

Nusku gave him a quick smile, “I think you need to sleep off that whiskey, my friend.”

Stiffly, he looked down at the drink in his hand and nodded. He coiled that horrifying darkness around his soul like a cloak and tucked his emotions out of sight behind the mask of the High Lord he would never become.

“It’s clear that you have more than enough bodyguards at your command tonight, High Lady,” he said flatly. “Forgive my intrusion.”

Sweeping into a bow that would do his mother proud, he gathered the tattered remains of his heart and retreated to his rooms without looking back.

[merulanoir]

Geralt/Emhyr, 57.

57. “Teach me to fight.”

*****

“Geralt, on your left!”

Geralt turns as fast as he can, and he’s almost on time; his sword parries the blow, but it’s twisted sideways and the enemy’s blade cuts his elbow as it slides away. Geralt blasts the guy backwards with Aard and throws a knife at his throat. The fact that he had to pick the knife out of his own thigh seems irrelevant at that point.

When he is certain that was the last of the assassins, he turns around again and lets out a breath of relief. Ciri is alright; she’s holding a dagger Geralt knows she carries under her ceremonial outfit at all times. She’s bloody up to her armpits, but smiling.

“Thank you, Geralt,” she says, glancing at the corpses littering the audience chamber. “I will need to have a word about enchanted artefacts with my captain of the guard.”

Geralt shivers at her tone, because while Ciri is his daughter, she is also an empress. Her threats sound more sinister than Emhyr’s ever did.

Speaking of, Geralt thinks as his eyes find the emperor emeritus, who is checking his heir is undamaged and in danger of biting his own tongue off to stop himself from making some heads roll. Emhyr is fine, too, but his tunic is soaked with blood from where the assassin bled out on him after Ciri dealt with the guy.

Geralt swallows thickly, because it was a close call. The assassin had an elven dagger pressed against Emhyr’s throat when Ciri acted faster than ever and stepped through time and space to slit his carotid artery.

Suddenly a wave of dizziness hits Geralt, and he suddenly remembers he is bleeding from approximately five places. Damn imperial court and its customs of not allowing him to wear armor during official audiences. He’d fought tooth and nail to be allowed to carry his sword, and he swears he’ll start bitching about the garments again.

He casts a quick glance at the wound on his elbow, but the dagger wound on his thigh is more acute; it has apparently nicked an artery, because bright red blood pulses out. Geralt sits down and presses his hand to the wound, sighing. As he lifts his gaze to call out to Ciri, a large, warm hand gently pries his away and puts more firm pressure to the cut.

Geralt looks up and his eyes widen when he reliazes the hand is attached to the former emperor. Emhyr meets his eyes calmly.

“Your hands are shaking. Have you lost a lot of blood?” Emhyr asks. Geralt opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Summon a healer,” Emhyr orders one of the servants, and the woman scurries away. Emhyr’s eyes find Geralt again, and now his brow is furrowed. Geralt resists the urge to bite his lip, because while he and Emhyr have been on the verge of something for months now, Geralt hasn’t been ready to take the next step. It would change everything, and since neither of them are actually talking about what the charge between them is, Geralt is hesitating.

Emhyr looks down at the wound, still frowning, but now the expression is slipping towards something more human, like suddenly the emperor has stepped out of the picture and it’s just Emhyr. He looks worried.

“I couldn’t help you,” Emhyr says very quietly. “I wanted to, but I was not confident in my abilities.”

Geralt shifts and grimaces as pain shoots up his elbow. “The whole point of me being here is to keep you from having to fight,” he says, shrugging and then cursing under his breath. He’s getting old, damn it.

Emhyr doesn’t flinch, but something shifts on his face. He clears his throat, and holy shit, is he nervous?

“It is not the only reason for your presence,” he says, very quietly.

Geralt’s ears start to ring. He blinks a few times, as if wanting to make sure it really is Emhyr currently holding onto his thigh. It is.

“Oh. Well,” Geralt says, eloquently. Emhyr opens his mouth, the mask already back in place, and Geralt suppresses a groan. Fine, they are apparently doing this now, while trying to prevent him from bleeding out.

“Not that I don’t like being here. You know I do,” Geralt blurts out. It’s pretty pathetic, but Emhyr’s eyes crinkle just a little.

“I’m glad,” he answers after a short silence. “Now, after you have been treated, I have a request for you.”

“You do?” Geralt asks, apprehension and curiosity battling each other.

“Teach me to fight.”

*******

[halfbloodlycan]

A Twenty-One excerpt

I don't remember if I posted this at some point. I probably did. But anyway, I’m in a mood, and I love this horrible little scene I’ve written so warnings for torture, gore, and character death. This scene is mature, and probably horrifying as it’s based in horror. I hope the “Read More” line actually works since it doesn’t always seem to work.  I don’t really like tagging people for this, but if you’re okay being tagged in things like this, please let me know so I can add you in the future. It’ll be considered a horror writing tag.

Camilla’s hands shook as she pushed the unlock button on her car keys. Nothing happened. No unlocking sound. She gripped the keys tighter as the rain was forthcoming. The key slipped around the lock until it slipped out of her hands. She gasped and scrambled for them in the puddle of accumulating mud surrounding her car. A swatch of metal hit her fingertips and she latched onto it just in time to feel a boot against her ribs. Her head hit the car side door, the rest of her body splashing water all over her. She buckled in pain, sure something cracked as pain shot through her body. The figure pulled her up, opened the door, and pushed her into the passenger’s side. The car roared to life and she could barely see where they were going.

The person seated beside her was tall, with a wicked smile and curly wet hair plastered to his forehead. The hilt of a knife poked out of his belt just barely within reach. Her vision blurred as she tried to straighten herself out. Warren glanced at her briefly, one hand on the wheel, the other fingering the hilt of the knife. “I only came by for a quick chat.”

“A quick chat? You’re going to murder me, aren’t you.”

Warren stopped the car in an empty lot and turned to face her. “Only if you push me too far. This isn’t something for you to take on. You really should listen to the others. Don’t be a hero and all that.”

“Did you pull those lines from YA novels?” Camilla spat. She could feel the fire in her hand building, but a car was not the best place for a fight. The door to her car unlocked and she got out cautiously, watching her back. Warren followed suit, his shit-eating grin practically splitting his face in half. His suit, distinguishing him as a professor of the college was stained with mud. He glanced at it, “Kidu will hate me for ruining it.”

Warren took a few steps around the car. Camilla backed up with each one.

“If you don’t back off, you’ll be forcing my hand. And no one will stop me.”

“I’ll stop you!” She shouted. The fire building in her hand fizzled out and turned to steam. She willed the water around her to condense and form a bubble surrounding Warren’s head. He struggled and tried desperately to splash the water away.

Camilla struggled to keep herself upright. The twinge of pain in her side made her crumple to her knees, but she kept the bubble of water surrounding Warren’s head. Something slammed into her side and she lost all control. Hard metal, cool against her bare arms. Her whole body broken and in pain. She turned her head as much as she could manage. Heim stood over her with a shovel.

Warren coughed and sputtered and cursed somewhere away, and she felt a sharp object dig into her shoulder blade. She tried to scream, but the wind was knocked out of her and she could hardly breathe without hyperventilating. Warren drew closer, blood staining the front of his shirt. He pulled the knife out of his shoulder and brought it dangerously close to her throat.

“Not here,” Heim hissed. “Take her to the place. To Kidu’s. You won’t have to worry about anything there.” She felt the sensation of being lifted, the feeling of being teleported to the Qualian plane, the cold placement of metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles.

“Do you understand how many come after me?” Warren circled Camilla’s broken form on the hard slab. “The organization has people tailing me constantly. They think I don’t know. In the end, most of them find their way here. No witnesses.” He grabbed something from the wall that sounded like metal grating against metal. “You just had to insert yourself into the whole mess. You’re not right for Denthos, a little cat like you.”

Camilla made a weak effort to cast fire, condense water, do anything. Above her, a giant pendulum blade swung lazily in place. The metal rubbed her skin painfully until her wrists burned.

Warren smiled. “You’ll be the first real warning to them. The first example I’ll let them see in case anyone else gets any mad ideas to cross me.”

Something sharp stabbed into her arm, and Camilla’s sight began to go blurry and dark until she was no longer aware of the pain.

“You’ll beg for death soon enough.”

Everything burned. Alcohol washed over her open wounds, white hot and unbearable. It was difficult to see with only one eye. Everything was blurry, and dark. In her head, she screamed for help. There was a quick pinch at the back of her neck, like a bug bite, and her face went numb and tingling.  

It was a relief only for a moment. It allowed her to think, to remember where she was and why her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Her body wanted to die, but Warren wouldn’t let that happen. Not yet. She could see him hovering above her like a blurry shadow. Her glasses were crushed pieces of glass crunching under his foot as he shuffled around, picking up one tool, putting down another.

She could only see his smile when he brought his face nice and close to hers, playing the edge of a tool across her numb cheek. He moved away, and picked up her left hand. The tool’s cool, rounded body slid to her fingertips and she knew what it was just a moment before the pain hit.

Clamped around each finger in turn, she felt the ripping out of each nail. When one hand was done, she balled it up into a fist, trying hard to squeeze away the pain. Blood coated her hand like paint. She bit her tongue so hard it bled; when he got to the next hand, her body shivered. She called out for Denthos, her voice meek, tremoring.  

Warren paused, and pulled her arm out. Something squeezed around her forearm, a tourniquet. Cold, and a pinch, and more tingling numbness made her arm and hand limp like a dead weight. He murmured so low she almost missed it. “Denthos can’t hear you here.”

He repeated the process on her other hand, numbed it, moved on to her toes. Blood pooled under her heels. Her toes and fingers twitched. Her eye rolled in its socket, searching for a way out. All the while, she called out in her mind to Denthos, begging him to come. Begging him to help her.

The ceiling came to focus above her, and she recognized it at long last. Kidu’s home. Warren had taken her to the Qualian plane just to torture her. A chop and soft thud of something hitting the floor, crunching underneath his foot as he shifted to one side of her body, made her stomach heave. He rolled her to one side, allowing her to empty her stomach’s contents onto the floor. Fingers lay below like dead branches cut from a tree.

She wanted to leave. She wanted her body to give up. She felt vibrations come from her throat. She was laughing. Denthos couldn’t save her. Denthos couldn’t enter Kidu’s home.

Denthos couldn’t save her.

She wanted to black out. She wanted to leave.

“Denthos,” She whispered, “I’m sorry.”