#perhaps this sort of thing is why my wrist hurts when the weather changes

[beebfreeb]

I could not draw much today (wrist started hurting) and it's making my HP bar go down :-(

[godkilller]

IF BOTH OF THEM DIDN'T WANT A FIGHT THEN WHY DID SHINJI SEEK HIM OUT? WHY DIDN'T GIN JUST RUN OFF? They were idiots, then. That was the only reason that could explain this exchange beyond pure mutual masochism. Gin masked that masochistic flare, typically, as sadistic and heartless instead -- but perhaps the root of his issues stemmed from him having too much heart... at the beginning, at least. Threw his whole life away because he didn't like that the little girl he just befriended cried at night over something indescribably missing from her, haunted by the image of those men crowded around her.

Gin knew from the very start that no sort of justification was sufficient for the vile things he prepared himself to do -- before he even held Shinso in his hand he had blood staining his palms, a sharp rock dense enough to fatally strike into the skulls of the men who audaciously had offered up that glowing portion of Matsumoto Rangiku's soul to Aizen Sousuke's waiting hand, bowed like peasants to a deity of old. He snatched the black robe from the corpse of the perpetrator Gin deemed most guilty and proceeded to ruin his life more and more.

I'VE DECIDED -- I'M GONNA BECOME A SHINIGAMI AND CHANGE THINGS SO THAT YOU DON'T HAVE TO CRY ANYMORE.

What a load of shit.

I failed too, I know, I know, I know -- I know I failed, I know it didn't even matter, I know, I KNOW, I KNOW -- !

The Kido was expected, at this rate -- a fifty-fifty chance Shinji threw a fist instead, but either way Gin took it, tensed shoulders and an instinctive flare of his restrained reiatsu resulted in a glowing burn of the seal around his wrist ---- all whilst Gin was subsequently downed in a fluid motion. A huff of air was all that escaped him even as Shinji's foot connected, a vague thankfulness that his previous captain likely weighed very little even when soaking wet. He'd have a headache after this, but he weathered much worse than a faceplant before.

Another huff escaped him, closer towards a scoff. ❝ Would've if I could've, they took all the sharp things away from me. ❞ A hollow retort, one which had Gin shift his head -- just the slightest -- so he could actually speak. A lowered tone ---- if Shinji was so intent on continuing a conversation like this, then Gin wanted him to have to focus to hear him.

❝ ---- even if I was sorry, y'wouldn't believe it anyways. You wanna hurt 'cause you're hurtin' -- I get that. But I'm sad to report that hurtin' the one that hurt you doesn't give ya any relief. Though -- maybe you're different, I don't know. Did this make ya feel any better? ❞

Gin paused to allow the man to genuinely assess whether or not lashing out had any sort of positive emotion tied to its results. But when the name was all Gin got in response his brow furrowed. He swallowed the wince that was urged from the sharpened pressure of Shinji's heel against the back of his head.

❝ I'm aware of how family names work, cap'n Hirako. It's over a century ago, though, 'n my head was jus' kicked into the ground -- so gimme a minute... -- really, you shouldn't hit people in th' head right before y'want them to recall somethin' from long ago. ❞ Another pause, and it was simply for Gin to work his jaw rather than to actually gather his memories. Over a hundred years ago saw Gin as a boy again, a freshly appointed Third Seat of the Fifth Division. The implication that Gin specifically hunted down his future-lieutenant's family to then Hollowify on his own was something almost laughable. The dryest tone slipped out, and Gin smiled an emptied grin.

❝ Ah, yes. I suppose you caught me, it's been me all along actually -- not Aizen. I definitely saw into the future 'n knew about Izuru becomin' my lieutenant and thought to myself "you know what'll be really fucked up? If I arranged to have his dad killed brutally" and I got right to work. I invented the Hogyoku 'n had Aizen go round some people up, but I specifically asked for that guy in particular. Because I'm evil. Congratulations on discoverin' this, I really thought I had everyone fooled. It would've been the perfect crime, too, me bein' a kid at the time and all. Nobody expects that. ❞

DRY, DRY, DRY SARCASM WAS THE ONLY BITE GIN HAD LEFT AND SO HE BIT.

❝ Now that we're on th' topic of things that happened over a century ago, cap'n Hirako, why didn't you do somethin' sooner -- after you got exiled? Why didn'tcha try to warn anyone? Why didn't you prepare more for when Aizen eventually popped his head back up? Why'd you go into your fight with him usin' only your Shikai when y'already got beaten by his own Shikai a hundred years ago. Why didn't ya fight him harder, why didn't you try? It's because of people like you that I never told anybody else what I learned 'bout him, his weakness. You didn't even try your fullest to stop him. And then I would've gotten killed by him for leakin' his secret ---- all for nothin'. ❞

          Gin puts Hiyori's name in his big ugly mouth, and Shinji's heart clenches so abruptly, so sharply and painfully that he actually makes a tiny little sound he's never heard himself make before in his life.

          He doesn't want to hear this. He didn't want this to turn into a fight. He didn't want Gin to self-destruct────fuck, he just wants Gin to shut up, he wants a break, he wants to disappear or for everyone else to disappear so he can think and catch his fucking breath.

          But the noise comes in waves. He can't cover his ears and close his eyes, can't blast music so loud it drowns everything else out, can't get doped out of his mind, can't escape.

          Ya failed, too. Why didja wait so long? Ya didn't hafta kill her────ya knew she wasn't a threat, she wouldn't've even put a scratch on 'im. Ya could'a told someone.

          His tongue cannot articulate any of it; it can only taste blood.

          He moves before he even realizes what's happening.

          ❝ Bakudō #9: Hōrin. ❞

          An orange-hued tendril wreathed in electric energy lurches from Shinji's fingertips, wraps and tightens around Gin like a lasso and crushes his remaining arm against his torso, immobilizing him. Shinji pulls hard on the other end of the rope, yanking Gin off of his feet and throwing him face-down into the ground. Before silver head can be raised from the dirt, Shinji stomps down and keeps it pinned underfoot. Somehow managed to find his target while his whole field of vision is white with rage.

          ❝ I knew it, ❞ his says, and even he is surprised by how calm he sounds. ❝ Ya ain't sorry 'bout a damn thing. If ya were, ya would've at least had the decency to slice yer own belly open after they healed ya. Why come back? Why accept that haori? Is it cuz ya wanted to be with those ❛ loved ones ❜ ya killed for? ❞

          Sure, they lived, but not because Gin actually lifted a finger to protect any of them. They lived, but at what cost?

          ❝ ...Kagekiyo Kira, ❞ Shinji says after a brief pause, a twist of his heel to rub Gin's face in the gravel. ❝ That name ring any bells? Well, family name ought'a. He's on the record of shinigami that went missin' over a century ago. Nothin' remained of 'em but their shihakusho────everythin' still all tied up as if their bodies were just spirited away...at the time, we didn't know what happened to those shinigami or Kagekiyo Kira, but now we do, don't we...? ❞

[gryffindors-weasley]

Starlit Confession

Young!Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: On a camping trip tradition, your friends have got other plans neither you or Sirius are aware of.

Requested by @expelliarmusmyass : “can i request a classic enemies to lovers "there's only one bed" sirius x reader where all the marauders (+lily!) have a sleepover or camping trip of some sorts and lily and remus finally decide they need to get reader and sirius already and plan to get them to sleep in the same room/bed/tent ? thanks !!”

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, mutual pining, fluff, kissing

A/N: Thank you for my first Sirius request!! I absolutely loved everything about it, I hope you enjoy!

July 1979

The breeze swept coolly across your face against the warm summer sun as you stuck your hand outside the window, the air gliding over the back of it. You were headed to the stretch of woods that you’ve all come to know so well, something that was highly anticipated the moment the summer season had begun. Camping. It was something you and your friends had made into tradition without much discussion against it for the last three years. Lily had saved up for the very Volkswagen bus you’d been sitting in, knowing for a fact she’d get more use out of it than a simple small car; she knew her four closest friends were in it for the long haul and that was something that would always remain true.

It was mostly a golden yellow color, near orange, its roof white with a matching tire cover on the front of it between two round headlights. It was adorable, it was perfect, and most importantly it was big enough to fit a boisterous group of friends that surely needed the space. It’d already housed jovial memories that would be cherished for years to come.

You’d each packed up a bag or two, tossed them in the back and set off to the ever familiar place the five of you had found to be the perfect spot. A clearing amongst the woods, a place not far from the waters edge. It looked near enchanting when sunbeams filter through old yet thriving trees, as much as it could be for being a place without the very magic you’ve known all your life. It was perhaps your favorite tradition out of all others that had been created, one that you never failed to look forward to. No matter what’s been going on with any of you, traditions were never missed or forgotten. That was one thing that was constant and one thing would never change.

Another thing that had been just the same was the constant need for Sirius Black to get under your skin. You’d known him ever since you both were fourteen years old, and every day since then had been a battle of who’d been more witty and your three best friends had yet to determine who had been the rightful owner of that title. You were always bickering about something or another, always tossing narrowed stares and scrunched noses, grumbling under breaths and eye rolls. Even despite that, James, Remus and Lily especially had been convinced that there were feelings amongst it all. It hadn’t been too terribly hard for them to jump to that conclusion. They had their suspicions with each and every look Sirius had found himself giving you when your attention was fixed elsewhere. At the very same look you’d cast upon him when he wasn’t looking. They were absent minded actions to you both, and that was all the more reason for them to think there was something there.

It drove the tight knit group absolutely mad to see their two dearest friends love each other without even knowing of that very fact—James found himself far too close on multiple occasions to flat out complaining of the sheer obliviousness between you two. To simply tell them how blind the two of you must be. But each and every time he’d nearly done so it was promptly stopped by a stern Lily Evans who was not to be defied. They felt another day of this was simply not an option, too painful to watch a second more.

Even now, as you sat in the back with the raven haired wizard, the seating arrangement proved to make for an interesting trip. There was a flurry of jests and quips to match them; it was inevitable when he’d taken the seat right next to you, Remus on his other side. It’d been something entirely intentional on Lupin’s part, though the bickering was something to be expected.

First it had been over who was taking up too much of whose space, something accompanied by a lighthearted series of shoves and stifled laughter when you looked away in hopes the other wouldn’t see it. Then it had been when he’d changed the radio from your favorite song to his with a simple twitch of his fingers, a back and forth battle of rock and ABBA that nearly broke the radio, one that nearly drove your friends insane.

But now, Sirius had found himself staring as he so often does, at the way you waved your hand with the breeze, the way said breeze sifted through your hair and the way you sang along with James to the very same ABBA song that’d been on repeat for the past fifteen minutes. He’d reckon your voice far better than that of the brunette behind the wheel. He doesn’t know just why he always finds himself settling his attention upon you every moment he gets the chance. Or maybe he does and just refuses to admit the reasons for it. But there was something about you, there was always something about you to be admired. You were utterly enamoring even when you’ve got your brows scrunched over something entirely because of him. They never seem to stay furrowed for long.

“If you take a picture, it just might last longer,” you suggest with a raised brow and a smile indicative of your teasing, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, it’s just you’ve got a bug in your hair,” he counters quickly, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards.

Your eyes are quick to widen slightly as your hand rises to your head in mild panic, combing your fingers through your hair in a hurry. His laughter was a telltale sign of his deception, that ever so familiar frown pulling down your lips as you swat at his shoulder. “Sirius Black, you’re a pain!”

His laughter was immediate as he caught your wrist from swatting him once more, “I’m not lying! There is something in your hair.”

He releases your arm in favor of reaching upwards, the tips of his fingers pinching the delicate flower petal tangled within your hair. Your words fell silent as his fingertips traveled down to the very end of your hair, a gentle action that had your cheeks staining what must have been an obvious pink as you found yourself looking at the smile on his lips. One that was soft and lopsided, one that grew as he held up the small pink petal before tilting his head at you. You hadn’t even realized you’d been holding your breath until that moment, hadn’t realized the new found quiet had drawn everyone’s attention.

“Told you so,” he states confidently, blowing away the petal and leaving it to flutter to your feet.

You squinted at him and mimicked his words to quickly move on from dwelling on your burning cheeks, something that brought a different kind of smile to his face mere seconds before you’d ruffled his own hair in retaliation.

“I meant what I said,” you remind him, trying to fight your grin as you watch tangled strands of black hair fall back against his cheeks once more.

“I am so terribly hurt,” he scoffs, placing a hand over his heart in a display of faux offense.

In that moment you settle for shaking your head, biting the inside of your cheek in a pitiful attempt to conceal your smile. A smile so awfully contagious he found himself mirroring it, having lingered on his lips even when you’d looked away from him in favor of looking out of the window. In doing so, you missed the way James had been glancing at you both in the rear view, at the way he shared a knowing grin with Lily, who’d then done so with Remus. It was a moment missed by you both, how could it not be with the way your thoughts had entirely been about each other unbeknownst to you.

It’d been quiet after that, save for the radio and James’ occasional startling outburst of song should a part come on that he’s fond of. It’d been peaceful and upbeat as Sirius crossed his arms over his chest, trying desperately not to think of how you’d made his stomach twist and flutter with butterflies. It was nothing, that’s what he told himself.

—

The place was just as beautiful and just the same as you’d left it the previous year, the sun still beaming through tall trees and the birds still chirping just as contently as they always do. Upon closer inspection, your initials had been carved in the very same tree, untouched since the five of you had left your mark on it the very first time you found it. Of course, it’d become weathered over time, moss having flourished over the bark, but the engraved letters remain regardless of that very fact.

The fire pit that James and Sirius had made still sat in the center of it all, it’s crumbled stones and charred logs and sticks sitting in a heap within it, waiting to be lit once more. Even the logs circling around it to serve as seats had still sat untouched by anyone else, unmoved from how they were left the previous trip out there.

It was exciting to finally be back there, to finally be out of the car in a place you longed to see again. All was well, except one thing.

“That is absolutely not happening,” you state matter of factly, the twigs snapping beneath your foot as you frown at Lily before narrowing your eyes at Sirius. One look at his smile, just one look, and you return your displeased gaze to the two in question, James making no effort to stifle his laughter at the situation. “No way, that is ridiculous!”

“Lupin must have forgotten to pack a third, Y/n/n,” Lily sympathizes with the softest of frowns to accompany her words, though you hadn’t missed the grin she’d tossed her friend’s way as he scratched the back of his neck and fought his own. “I’m sorry!”

“Then I’ll sleep in the bus with Remus,” you state quickly with a raised brow, crossing your arms over your chest stubbornly as you squint at Sirius’ very obvious grumbling behind you. His reasons for doing it were entirely unknown to you.

“C’mon, Y/n. Pad’s won’t bite,” James chimes in with a laugh, earning a swat to the back of the head from Lily before he protests her actions in return, shrugging his shoulders and rubbing his head. “Not very hard, at least.”

You purse your lips at the brunette and glared, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. A smile that quickly faded as you glanced over your shoulder at the little tent that hadn’t stood very tall on the other side of the fire pit. Your heart leapt and raced within your chest at the thought of being so close, lips tugging downward as you looked back at them with a huff.

“I would say I can’t believe you, but I can,” you groan, brushing past them to get to the lake before they could become aware of your smile.

—

The last traces of sunshine were warm against your skin as you sat along the water’s edge with Lily, taking a moment to yourselves away from the utter chaos that came with the trio in the water. It was still a bit too cold to swim in but that’d never stop them from doing just that. Despite the chill that ran through you from it, everything around you had been exactly how it’s always been.

Wildflowers had bloomed just about everywhere you could imagine amongst patches of green and overgrown grass, framing the lake in varying hues of blues, yellows, purples, and pinks. When you sat at just the right angle, the reflection of the sky over the water had been absolutely wondrous, painting the water orange and pink. The ongoing breeze had been sifting through the leaves in the trees, leaving some to fall to the ground in its wake.

It was absolutely perfect, and you couldn’t think of just anywhere else you’d rather be in that moment than right where you are. You wouldn’t want to be there with anyone else.

“I think this is our best trip yet,” Lily states, leaning back on her palms as she tips her head back, allowing the sun to sweep across her skin.

“I think so too,” you sigh, letting your eyes fall closed as you hear another aguamenti spell used, followed by a bout of laughter that had a smile pulling at your lips at the sound. Her absence in conversation was sure a sign something was on her mind. It always was without fail.

She hadn’t left you to sit and wonder for too long before she spoke up.

“What do you think about Sirius?” There it is.

Your eyes squeeze shut at the question you anticipated, at the one you hadn’t expected her to wait so long in asked you. A soft huff left your lips as you opened your eyes, brows furrowing as she gave you an expectant look.

“Why do you ask?” You say, the corner of your mouth quirking up at her nosiness.

She shrugs her shoulders as she sits up more, heaps of red hair falling to splay against her back. “Just wondering.”

Her smirk was more than obvious as she looked at you, her smile widening. Lily and Remus had kept an eye on you both for quite a while, they knew that something had been there, it wasn’t that hard for them to figure out. Even if you hadn’t been aware of your own foolish love yourself, they’d certainly picked up on it. Because after every witty remark and every scoff and glare, there was always a smile to follow. After every frown and and nose scrunch as one of you stuck their tongue out at the other, there was always a lingering stare just moments after. Anyone could see that, anyone but to two involved that are far too stubborn and argumentative to realize that.

“Well?” She continues.

“Well what?” You ask, pulling your knees to your chest as you look at her.

“You can’t possibly have nothing to say about him, not after all the banter you do. What do you think of him?” She repeats.

You roll your eyes as you avert your gaze from her, resting your chin on your knees as you look ahead. You mull over your words as a laugh leaves your lips, your head shaking slightly as your eyes fall upon him. He’s got strands of wet black hair stuck to his face, cheeks reddened ever so slightly from the combined heat of the summer sun and the chilliness of the water. His smile was beaming and bright as he tips his head back and laughs at something James had said.

“He’s a pain, Lily,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek to hide your smile. “He’s a pain.”

She laughed at your words, though she took note of the smile that’d been on your lips as she followed your gaze to the very one in question. She hadn’t failed to notice the smile he had returned to you after having done a double take, an action that was far less subtle than he’d hoped. He couldn’t help it though. Not with the way you’ve got flowers tucked in your hair and the way the sunshine made you glow. But when he found himself looking for what he felt was far too long he’d stuck his tongue out at you, wiggling his fingers before you rolled your eyes.

“Oh really?” She inquires, her smile evident in her voice, laughing when you narrow your eyes only briefly.

You pluck a flower from the ground and hold it under your nose for a moment, twirling its stem as it sat pinched between your fingers. You shook your head once more.

“Yes, really.”

—

The tent was rather average, having danced dangerously on the edge being too small. Every gust of wind, no matter how gentle, had puffed against its very walls, rattling the zippers and the flap of the door until you’d finally closed it completely. You knew for a fact your friends had to have done this on purpose, at this point there was no way they couldn’t have judged by the smiles they’d done a terrible job at hiding.

It was becoming increasingly obvious when you sat around the campfire that evening when Lily sat with James, and when Remus managed to take up the entirety of the log he’d claimed his own. It left you no other option than to sit next to Sirius, his chin in his palm as he hid his taunting smile behind his fingers.

You could tell by the way their gaze fell upon the two of you more often than not, and by the way James had displayed his emotions a little too obviously each and every time Lily had whispered something undoubtedly about the two of you in his ear. By the very way that no matter how much your group of friends could talk and bounce from topic to topic with ease, the conversation would always, without fail wind up circling back to the two of you. You were becoming painfully aware of the plan made by none other than Lily and Remus.

You should have known they’d do something like this; they’ve done it at the spring ball in sixth year. It was the very first time Hogwarts had done something like that, it was magnificent. However, you thought your date had stood you up as you sat with Lily and Remus, the mysterious date they’d set you up with. Said date had finally showed up by the side of James, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head upon realizing just who they’d set you up with. You’d frowned as you danced with him, accompanied by a few laughs when he twirled you, accompanied by a few eye rolls when he said something witty. The night had been far better than it started, but you hadn’t spoken of it since.

They’d done it at Hogsmeade. They’d told everyone to meet at the Three Broomsticks, having diligently reminded everyone to do so. You and Sirius had been the first ones there, having sat awkwardly across from each other as you sipped your butterbeer. It was quiet until the two of you began to bicker over something too trivial to remember, one smiling when the other wasn’t looking. It took about thirty minutes for you to realize that the rest of the group hadn’t been coming, thirty minutes with Sirius Black.

So yes, you should have known better than to think that they wouldn’t do something like this again.

“Sirius?” His only response is a hum in that moment, a rather dismal one at that. “How do you suppose I’ll get any sleep if you keep huffing and puffing? It’s rather hard to ignore, you know.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” he quips, though you could hear the very smile in his words even without seeing him.

You shake your head at that with a huff of your own, but he could see the shake of your shoulders from your stifled laughter that you had fought so hard to keep at bay. No, he most certainly could not know that he’d been making you laugh, that would be absolutely terrible to your cause for he wouldn’t forget that he’d been able to do something other than make you grumble.

It was quiet for a few moments after that, nothing but the crickets singing just outside the little tent and the whisper of the wind in the trees. He hadn’t huffed anymore after that, and you quickly came to realize that it was in fact not the cause of your restlessness, though a part of you already knew that. You knew as you lay in that tent that you hadn’t hated his company, not in the slightest as much as your protests would beg to differ otherwise on the matter.

“Would you really rather spend the night with him than me right now? Remus?” He asks quietly, curious after a little while, and you didn’t miss the small bit of offense in his tone. It was the most subtle of indicators that he’d been jealous. Not terribly so, but it was enough to have your words stick in his mind for a few lingering moments longer than it should. He found himself to be just a little offended, because while he hadn’t expected this to be the sleeping arrangements, he’d hoped maybe you wouldn’t dread it as much as you seemed to have.

“In this particular moment, yes,” you quip softly, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of your mouth when you hear his displeased huff. “I might even sleep outside with the bears should you continue being jealous.”

“That is not happening,” he says, quick to add more once he realizes just what you’ve said. “And I am not jealous.”

As much as you two may have bickered near incessantly, as much as it may have seemed as though you couldn’t stand each other, he didn’t want you to do such a thing. It was dangerous after all. He knows a flimsy tent would do little to protect you, he knows you’re more than capable with magic, but he’d much rather prefer you weren’t out of his sight. It was safer that way.

“Who’s to say?”

Your back remains to him as you close your eyes briefly, your grin having gone unseen. It’d always been your personal mission to get under his skin ever since he was just a boy who had made it a point to get under yours, and now that he was nearly twenty your goals were no different. Maybe they weren’t as childish and filled with a certain annoyance as they once had been in the very beginning, but the habit was still very much there.

“Y/n/n, could you be serious just once in your life?” He asks.

“You know,” you start, rolling over to lay on your other side. Your breath hitched upon realizing your closeness, his face mere inches from your own and you nearly lose your train of thought as he’d done the same. But you quickly gathered yourself as you swallowed thickly, a smile gracing your lips. “I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

He rolled his eyes as he moved to lay in his back once more, his smile bright as his hair splays across his pillow and you follow suit. Your heart had still been beating wildly in your chest at the closeness you’d shared just seconds earlier, cheeks flushed a soft shade of crimson as you dare not look over at him. He supposed he’s grateful for that because he’s too caught up in looking at you, that same smile on his lips that he knows shouldn’t be there. One look at him and you’d have days, even weeks worth of material to tease him with. But he can’t help it.

He also can’t help it when he laughs, his eyes squeezing shut. “What is it?”

He shakes his head as he continues, your own curious smile forming in your lips as you turn your head and look at him. “I’ve got that bloody ABBA song stuck in my head.”

Your smile widens and a giggle falls past your lips as you return your gaze to the sky, the mingled laughter between the two of you having been something not uncommon as of late. “Well I’ve got that dreaded AC/DC song stuck in mine.”

“It is not dreaded, it’s a classic,” he defends, scoffing lightly as a lingering chuckle accompanies his words.

“And so is mine,” you counter, just as much defense in your voice as he held in his.

“That is absolutely false.”

“It is absolutely not.”

He responded with a heaving sigh, a smile on his lips despite it but he let you win the argument this time because surely there would be more. There would always be more when the two of you were together, but he feels as though he can hardly count on one hand the amount of times you had argued over something serious.

Your shared laughter had since died down to silence amongst everything else, leaving you know choice but to think of how close the two of you were. To think of the fact that never in a million years did you believe you’d ever share a tent with each other. You will admit, only to yourself, that you hadn’t hated it as much as he may have thought. A part of you had found yourself thinking that maybe you’d even miss him had you not been less than a foot away. You thought that a lot lately, unbeknownst to everyone else, or so you thought.

It was then, as you lay beneath the stars in a tent you’d felt was far too small to house two, that you felt his knuckles brush against your own, the very tips of his fingers soon to follow it. The simple touch felt far more electrifying than you had cared to admit to, especially for a simple accident caused from the sheer closeness of your proximity. To be quite honest, you felt rather foolish with the way your heart had skipped a beat and fluttered relentlessly within your chest.

And it was then that you risk a glance to your left the same way he had risked one to his right, eyes meeting in a gaze that’d been shared for the very same reason. You both looked away from the other almost immediately, smiles pulling at your lips as you focus your attention on the sky. No attempts had been made to move.

“Something funny, Y/n/n?” He asks, humor in his tone that only made you smile more than you felt you should have been.

“Yeah,” you start, a soft laugh leaving your lips as your eyes flutter closed. “Are you desperate to hold my hand?”

The laughter he exhaled was immediate at your words, but not out of mocking. “Love, if I wanted to hold your hand I wouldn’t waste my time brushing my fingers over yours.”

That most certainly was a lie, it was absolutely false. As brave as Sirius Black can be, as bold as he always was, he was nervous to hold your hand. He felt as though he was tempting fate already by the mere nudge of his hand over yours. To him, the thought of being in love was both exhilarating and terrifying all the same. To care deeply for someone was in his nature despite his hardships, though he’ll never ever admit it aloud. He didn’t need to.

Sirius could and would risk his life for his friends without a drop of hesitation, he always would. But the idea of slipping his hand in yours, of telling you just how he felt—it was a feat that proved to be difficult. You, you were terrifyingly wonderful and breathtakingly beautiful. You always have a quip to counter his wit, and you would never hesitate to cast a harmless jinx upon him.

He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted to tell you until that very moment, that very day for that matter. With the way you sung that song he swears he dreads every time it plays on the radio. With the way you smiled at him, your cheeks stained a rosy pink when you told him he was a pain. Or the way you’d been beaming as you tucked flowers in your hair with Lily by the lake. He hasn’t known how he made it quite this far without telling you, it was beyond him how he did it.

You weren’t just the girl he’d bicker lightheartedly with on a daily basis over the most trivial of things, always ending in scoffs and eye rolls and narrowed gazes that were more humorous than intended. You weren’t just the one who’d turn his hair every shade of the rainbow given the chance, who could outdo him on the scale of stubborn bravery. You were the girl he found himself following wherever you went, who he found himself thinking of far more often than he told himself he should.

He’s pulled from his thoughts at your soft laughter, turning to lay on his side once more. Before he could ask the reasoning behind it you’d already reached up, your fingers brushing through his hair to grab the lone petal tucked pretty and yellow amongst the strands of black. His gaze never left you, gray and admiring as you tucked his hair behind his ear, the tips of your fingers lingering for just a moment before you pulled them away.

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, his breath fanning warmly over your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

The question was soft yet confident, having had enough of the question merely sitting at the edge of his tongue for days, weeks, months on end. It’d made your heart skip a beat, and you were nearly unsure if you’d heard him correctly. Because Sirius Black, the boy who’d never failed to get under your skin, who never failed to make you roll your eyes or purse your lips, the one you’d seemingly loved all along was asking to kiss you.

The grin on your lips was nothing short of an indication that your words would be that of something jesting. “It depends.”

“Do tell, on what?” He inquires, the glow of the moon illuminating the mischief dancing in your eyes.

You moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, your grin widening a fraction the more you look at him. “Just how long has it been that you’ve wanted to ask me that?”

“Who’s to say I’ve ever given it thought before this very moment?” He counters, though he knows he has a million times. You roll your eyes then, tipping your head back only momentarily before looking at him again.

“Could you be serious just once in your life?” You ask, copying his earlier words.

“I don’t believe I could if I tried.”

You shook your head as your hand settled on his cheek, quieting his further mocking as you pressed your lips on his. His laughter sounded softly against your lips, soon dissolving in favor of finally kissing you, of finally doing just what he’d longed to do for an amount of time he’s far too prideful to admit. He found himself smiling when your hair brushed against his skin, at the feel of your nose nudging his own and your fingertips just barely tangling in his hair.

His hand came up to rest over your own, the action soft and distracted as you parted from him only briefly. Brief enough for you to smile against his lips, for your giddy laughter to puff softly against his skin. Fleeting before he kissed you again—once, twice, three times more.

You pulled away completely then, his hand falling from yours as you swipe the pad of your thumb across the dimple in his chin, your cheeks flushed and his lips kiss swollen and pink. He followed after you for just one more, gray eyes sparkling and smile blissful as you lay back on your side.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “bloody hell I do.”

“Sirius Black,” you say, taking your lip between your teeth as you looked at him. “I love you too.”

With that he tugged your hand gently, pulling you back to his lips in a soft yet lingering kiss, one that made your heart pound and another bout of butterflies to flutter in your stomach as he held your hand to his chest. He’d waited too long to ask you just that, wasted too much time bickering over this, that, and the next thing.

“Our friends will never let us hear the end of this, you know,” he murmurs, forehead resting on yours. “They’ll go on for weeks, love.”

“Let them.”

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @ch0colatefr0gs @anchoeritic @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @dracosathenaeum @harrysweasleys @awritingtree @writeroutoftime

[lettrespromises]

LettresPromise informs you : you have one notification.

author’s letter :

❝dear reader,

given that today is the bisexuality visibility day, i thought it was convenient to write a series of headcanons regarding bisexuality through the lense of different verses. i hope that you had a lovely bi day, my fellow bisexuals, and i wish nothing but the very best for you all.

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

letter object : a series of headcanons where the reader is doing their coming out in the most serene, welcoming and comforting way possible.

genre : fluff.

warnings : none.

> Hawks just sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

Confidence reigns supreme in your bond with Hawks, it’s secret and perhaps silent, but you both know that you can trust each other with everything you possess.

It’s Hawks, after all. He’s pretty chill himself, so you don’t need the need to organize a flashing coming out with a cake or hell, even a plane which passes by him with a message attached to its tail indicating that you’re bisexual.

It doesn’t have to be over the top, and this is what you cherish with Hawks— the simplicity of things.

It probably comes natural, after a day at work and patrol. You’re just both exhausted and crash down on the sofa, your arms cradle the back of your head as a support while Hawks his stretching his wings.

“Keigo, can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead, kid, I’m all ears.”

As a matter of fact, it does come natural.

“I mean, it’s not that big of a deal but I’m bisexual, I just wanted to tell you know since you’re so obsessed with me.”

Regardless whether or not the both of you are in a relationship, his first instinct will be to protect you— whether it’s through wording or gestures.

Picture yourself cradled in his embrace and not only do you have the protection given by his arms, you are also shielded from the rest of the world by his scarlet wings.

He knows out of all people that the world can be a bad place and you’re an absolute gem to his eyes so he can’t help protecting you, nurturing you almost, after all, it’s in his nature.

Then, the pseudo-serious atmosphere is shattered by the man who created it himself. He allows a laughter to break free from his lips, a deed caused by an intense reflexion... or so you thought.

“Pretty bird, do you really think you can fool me? I’ve seen the way you look at Miruko, it’s cute. But I’ve also seen the way you look at me, and it’s also cute. Don’t sweat it, kid, I ain’t surprised one bit.”

Overall, his best atout is that you will feel at ease instantly. Dealing with Hawks equals entering a permanent “no judgement zone”, although... He’s not one to keep it quiet all the time, which leaves a rosy tint on the apples of your cheeks.

> Nami just sent you a letter, would you like to read it?

I wish I was kidding but Nami was actually a very big part of my bisexual awakening.

Nami not only has a sixth sense to detect any changes concerning the weather, she also possesses a sixth sense regarding lies— she can smell a lie from miles away.

This hidden ability of hers is the reason why she does not buy it for a single second when you’re telling her that you’re “fine” when in reality you have been cruelly lacking slumber.

Needless to say, Nami isn’t the type to beat around the bush (especially when the health and well-being of her crew mates are at sake) and will confront you.

She may exude some kind of terrifying aura when she is feeling vivid emotions, but this shell enveloping her is mostly coming from a place of love and care for you. As a matter of fact, she is hiding this haunting fear of you being hurt or anything of the sort behind this scary façade.

Although she is worried about you, she doesn’t want this to embarrass you or make things awkward hence why she decided to pull you aide from the preying eyes of the crew. Nami thinks that intimacy is the best environment to settle issues.

“So, do you mind telling me what’s been bothering you lately?”

“It’s so stupid, I don’t even know how to say this...” You answer but failed to form this sentence without hesitating over the choice of your wording.

“If you’re scared or don’t want to talk about it, we can just go back to whatever we were doing before and I’ll forget everything about it.” She offers, the pads of her fingertips brushing hesitantly against the flesh of your wrist.

You take a few seconds to inhale and exhale deeply, you needed this. You just needed a few seconds before jumping in the abyss “No, no, it’s fine. I agreed to come here so I might as well say it : I’m bisexual.” You sound even more out of breath than expected.

The sole thing you can see before being yanked into Nami’s chest is a grin plastered upon her facial traits, it shines amongst the stars dancing in the sky. “It’s okay to be scared, but just know that I’m so proud of you for having found the courage to tell me this.”

Ever since that day she trained Zeus to electrocute any homophobic person she sees in your honor.

[the-fiction-witch]

Blind Date p1

REAL LIFE

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING ADORABLE AF

I sat with my friend luke as we had some coffee outside of a local london cafe. 

"How's things with you and arthur?' I asked before having a sip of my tea

"Great got the ticket confirmations for our trip to south korea" he smiled

"Awesome" I laughed

"You have got to get back on the dating game"

"Eh, I like dating I just don't like the apps and stuff you know, tinder is just people looking for sex I want something more then two shags and another blocked number" I sighed 

"You know I had this exact conversation with someone earlier" he laughs 

"Luke I am not going out with Mikey so his parents think he's straight we've been over this" 

"Not Mikey,"

"Who then?"

"A mate of mine, little older then you, into motorbikes, fits your aesthetic-"

"I don't need a boyfriend who fits my aesthetic"

"Don't you?"

"Shut up"

"And I was having this exact conversation with him this morning, he hates the Apps and wants to meet some nice girly for more then a fling"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, trust me dudes a boarded line technophobe" he says "I had to go over and show him why he kept getting instagram notifications"

Which made me giggle 

"You see, how about I see what he's doing and arrange you two a little blind date?"

"I guess so Luke" I shrug 

I sat at my vanity in my tights, bra and underwear, slowly taking my hair out each curler and brushing it down a little so the curls where not quiet so intense doing my make up nothing too heavy as it is first date and a blind date at that. Once I was done I got up and forced my heels onto my feet already hating it when my phone went off 

Luke: hey hun, your date just left and is on his way to the restaurant have fun you too ;) 

I slipped my dress on and packed my handbag slipping my Jacket over my shoulder, 

Y/n: okay tell him I'm on my way, how will I know him?

I locked up my house and headed down the driveway as my phone went off again 

Luke : he says he's waiting outside with a cigarette and a present for you

I was worried but I kept walking down the dark, half broken London streets, all I had to light my way was the street lamps and my phone as I followed the maps to the restaurant, the clicking of my heels against the pavement, the sounds of cars and buses rushing by, why did I wear these shoes? I hate these shoes. Why did I walk? Why didn't I just get a taxi? Ughh I am so having a large red wine when I get there. I saw I was just down the street from the place so I put my phone away and checked my make up and reflection in the window of a closed shop. I was all good so I took a breath a walked up to the restaurant initial I panicked as I didn't see anyone, but I saw a little down the street where some chairs and tables sat for the restaurant during the day, it had a black metal fence to seperate it from the rest of the pavement, a man stood there.

He was taller then me, if I had to guess from here he wasn't six feet but high fives atleast but I think the shoes helped. He had black dress shoes, a black pair of suit pants with something in his pocket, a tight leather belt a black button down tucked into the pants with a slight patten I wasn't sure what of in it, he had a black slightly trench coat like jacket over him a ciggertte in his hand, watch on his wrist, he looked nervous in his face even if he still looked attractive, his hair fixed to one side alot clearly still a little wet from where he had washed it. He was the only one around so I went closer catching his attention away from the ciggertte in his fingers, his eyes glanced to me looking me up and down quickly taking in alot of me much like I did to him moments ago. He put the ciggertte out on the metal fence and smiled 

"Y/n? By any chance?"

"Yeah" I nodded 

"Ahh great, I was getting worried" he says 

"Yeah I uhh I walked" I smiled "sorry luke didn't"

"Oh, Thomas" he smiled offering his hand 

"Lovely to meet you" I smiled taking it he gave my hand a gentle kiss 

"Lovely to meet you too, he uh he didn't say you'd be so beautiful" 

"Ohh well thank you very much" I blushed "he didn't say how handsome you where"

"Your sweet, ohh uhh I got you something" he smiled moving his hands to his pocket "I wanted get you a real one but all the shops where closed so I thought then you can keep it longer" he smiled heading me a silk rose 

"Ohh thank you, it's beautiful" I smiled happily taking it "shall we go?"

"Well if you'd like to have dinner with me?"

"I'd love to" I smiled offering my arm, he happily linked arms with me and lead me inside he delt with the hostess and we where lead to a table that overlooked the outside garden space of the restaurant closed up at the moment for the night I went to get my chair but he stopped me 

"No, no let me" he says pulling my chair out for me

"Ohh why thank you" I giggled letting him tuck it under me and then take his own seat across the table "your very sweet" 

"First impressions you know" he smiled fiddling with his hair 

"Can I get you two started with some drinks?" The waiter asked bringing some meal menus I hadn't even looked at the drinks one on the table already but I knew what I wanted 

"I'll have a large glass of red wine please" I smiled 

"Very good madam, and for you sir?"

"Uhh I'll take a large cola, I'm driving" he answered

"Aww don't make me drink all by myself" I laughed

"Ughh alright, white wine but make it a spritzer" 

"Very good," he says before heading off 

"Sorry I shouldn't" I began

"It's okay, your right. One drink with you isn't going to hurt" he says 

"So you drive here?"

"Yeah, it was pretty far so I just drove" he shrugs "you said you walked?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd have a wine and I didn't want a taxi"

"Perhaps if we… go out again I'll have to come by and pick you up" 

"If?"

"If" he smiled "you ever been here before?" He asked as we both glanced over the food menus it was all so impressive and I had no concept what half of it even was 

"No never, have you?"

"Once but they have… changed things since I was here last"

"What sort of things?"

"The thing I liked has disappeared from the menu"

"Aww that's disappointing"

"Yeah, but hopefully that will be my only disappointment this evening" he says gently moving his hand across the table so his fingers grazed mine not looking up from the menu as he did. 

"Let's hope" I smiled gently moving my fingers against his own the waiter returned and we out in our order and he dropped off our drinks "so? How do you know luke?" I asked 

"Uh, not all that well actually." He says "I went to school with arthur"

"Ohh, yeah I like arthur"

"I kinda think it's impossible to not like arthur he's a bundle of joy and enthusiasm" 

"He is," I laughed

"How do you know luke and arthur?"

"Luke and I where neighbors growing up, he's probably my best friend" I smiled "he said you uhh don't so all apps and all"

"Ohh no not really, I keep forgetting my phone does more then just… be a phone. I'm not good at all the twitter, facebook, and that sort of thing"

"Yeah me neither" I smiled just then our food arrived "so uhh… how long have you been single? If you don't mind me asking"

"Ohh uhh," 

"It's okay, I shouldn't have asked" I said playing with my food a little

"No, not it's alright, I understand if your curious" he says "about six, seven months now. So… not to long,"

"Six months isn't that long" I said more to myself 

"Yeah I know, it was uhh a quick seperation you could say" he says "do you uhh mind if I ask?"

"A year" I answered trying to smile 

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked"

"It's okay, he ran off. Cheated on me got another girl pregnant" I said 

"Y/n. I'm so sorry" he says taking my hand 

"It's okay, I'm good" I answered smiling at him 

"I feel like I have to tell you now since you told me" he laughs

"You uhh don't have to"

"No it's okay, moved to the other end of the world, missed her family and all, and then just broke it off said she found someone down there so" he says "very much done and over"

"I'm sorry"

"It's alright, if she hadn't then I wouldn't be on this nice date with you" 

"Smooth" I laughed having some wine

"I try" he smiled "sorry I haven't even asked you what you do or anything"

I explained my job to him as simply as I could and he did likewise explaining it in that wash where you never completely say what your job title is but give and overview of what you do, the conversation moved to family and such, and we ended up just chatting about everything and nothing for a good while until we had finished eating, our plates taken away just nursing our drinks 

"I uhh I have to be honest y/n." He spoke up

Yay, here it comes the this was really fun but I'm not feeling any connection or anything

"I uhh I really like you,"

I stopped short almost choking on my drink 

"Sorry I know it sounds a little strange when we have literally been on one date but, I really like you. And I would really like a second date if… you wanted to go out with me again?"

"Yeah I'd liked that" I blushed "I'd love to go out with you again Thomas"

"Great uhh when are you next free?" He asks 

"Well I have nothing going on tomorrow night"

"Yeah me either," he says moving his hand to ghost mine a little "anywhere you wanted to go?"

"I've been dying to see that new movie everyone's been talking about" I said moving my hand closer too "but since it a horror, you'll have to promise to hold my hand if I get too scared" 

"I'll happily hold your hand, weather your scared or not" he smiled taking my hand intertwining our fingers "shall we get the bill?"

"Yeah its a long walk home" I said 

"I'll drop you off home don't worry about it" he says as he got the waiter to bring the bill 

"You sure? I don't want to be any trouble"

"I'm sure it's no trouble at all. And I'll pick you up tomorrow for the movie" he says "ooh I should probably give you my number so we don't have to talk though Luke'

"Ahh yeah good point" I said as I got my phone and we traded numbers just then the bill came so I reached for my purse

"No, no I'll get it" he says getting his wallet from his pocket

"No I can't let you pay it's not fair"

"I'm more then happy to y/n, its a date put your purse away it's on me" he says putting his card on the table 

"We split it. I insist" I said putting mine with his 

"Alright, but I'm paying for the tickets tomorrow" 

"And I'll pay for the popcorn" 

"Alright love" he smiled

[stargazing-enby]

is it crazy to ask for a lil fic of some sort for the soulmate 'saviour' thing?

Not at all! Also, I think it’s funny how I recently said I probably wouldn’t answer any prompts anytime soon, but as soon as you sent this ask I was frantically typing this story on my phone, LOL. Hope you enjoy!

Based on this textpost

Drarry | 2.3k | Teen and up | Soulmate AU, Nicknames, Drunken Confessions, Sectumsempra Scars, Cuddles, Happy Ending | Read on AO3

The Dursleys never acknowledged it; never explained. It was just one more tally on a list of things that made him weird. That made him wrong.

Harry liked to stare down at it while he showered and imagine a thousand different reasons the word Saviour was tattooed on his chest, the ink a deep black that faded into gold around the sharp edges of the letters. He imagined himself flying like Superman did in the comics they kept on the highest shelf of the school library—imagined himself stopping comets from crashing against the planet with his bare hands, saving babies from raging fires. 

In his daydreams, it never mattered if he got hurt. It only mattered that no one else did.

And then one night Hagrid stomped—quite literally—into his life, and he explained. He explained about Voldemort, about the magical world, about his parents. About the lightning bolt scar. 

About the tattoo.

“It’s a soulmark,” he said. “Every witch and wizard has one. It’s meant to symbolise the nickname that your soulmate will give you when you’re together.”

“Do you have a soulmark?” Harry asked him, awed.

Hagrid laughed bitterly. “Nah. My only true loves are magical creatures anyway.” He leaned forward, as though to tell Harry a secret. “You have to be cautious who you share your soulmark with,” he said. “Could be dangerous if too many people knew. Especially with you being Harry Potter. There are… speculations, you see.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned. “What do people think it says?”

“Eh, the usual, you know. Love, honey… many people claim to know that it says whatever their daughter’s favourite word is. Very creepy, if you ask me.”

Harry nodded. “And what do you think it says?”

“Me?” Hagrid seemed uncomfortable by the question. “Well… Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me when we dropped you off at your Aunt’s, so I’ve been trying not to think about it, you know.”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Harry said.

“Really?” Hagrid’s face lit up. “Y-you don’t have to, but—”

Harry snickered, and told him.

He didn’t understand why Hagrid had to wipe away a few tears.

(more under the cut)

***

The first time he was called saviour was in his second year. Ginny, waking up beside him in the Hospital Wing and surrounded by her family, had murmured it without realising. 

From the other side of her bed, Ron had given Harry an indecipherable look. 

Ron’s tattoo was the word Idiot, neatly written on his ankle. Harry also knew Neville’s hip said Schnuckums, and he’d caught the word Flitterby inscribed in Ginny’s wrist when he’d rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets. 

He didn’t think he would ever say such a word. Still, assuming he was Ginny’s soulmate was the obvious conclusion for any twelve-year-old, and Harry spent the next two years convincing himself he and Ginny were meant for each other. 

And then Fleur Delacour called him a saviour when he emerged from the lake with her sister. 

To be fair, Ron had been called an idiot by quite a number of people by then, including McGonagall, Hooch, all of his siblings and half their Gryffindor classmates, so Harry rationally knew that anyone could call another person by their soulmark nickname and not be their soulmate. 

And yet, he spent a whole month sending increasingly confused letters to Sirius before he came to the conclusion that he liked playing Quidditch with Ginny more than he liked holding her hand. 

***

Ron returned to the forest. Hermione, deep bags under her eyes, tears threatening to come out, called him an idiot, and then stormed over to where he was awkwardly standing, launched into his arms, and kissed him.

She’d never told them about her soulmark, but that night Harry learnt the word Love was neatly tattooed on her ankle.

On the same place as Ron’s, then.

***

Harry tore out the page of the Daily Prophet. Then he tore it into small, small pieces until his picture was no longer moving, until the headline—Saviour returns to Hogwarts—turned into a soup of letters in his hands. 

As he threw the bits into the flames, he thought about his parents. He wondered, for what seemed like the thousandth time since he’d first stepped into the Gryffindor common room, if this had been the first place his mum had called his dad a Toerag. If this had been the place where he’d called her his Princess. 

He’d never had the chance to ask Sirius about it. The only time they had talked about soulmates, Sirius had told him no matter how many people called him by the word on his chest, when the right person did it Harry would know. But when Harry had asked Sirius if he’d ever felt that, his expression had turned sombre as he’d shaken his head.

Now, Harry wondered if Sirius had even known what he was talking about. If it was all utter bullshit: the knowing, the butterflies and fireworks he’d imagined after hearing Sirius’ words, the very idea that there was someone out there—someone who would call him saviour, of all things—meant for him at all. If soulmates existed at all, or if it was all a bad joke meant to make him feel like he wasn’t destined to always be alone, even when he was surrounded by people.

***

Things were supposed to be better after the war ended. Harry guessed they were; all around him, the world was pulling itself back together. In a similar way to how his two best friends clung to one another and brought each other up, the castle was slowly becoming the warm, welcoming home it had always been, and so were its inhabitants.

Harry felt like he was sinking. Like he was too broken to be repaired, the wound so deep that nobody seemed to notice it was there.

Perhaps that was what drew him to Malfoy. 

Malfoy, who looked broken, and tired, and as full of hurt as Harry felt. Malfoy, who took months of sitting in silence beside Harry, of half-hearted fights and sleepless nights in the Hogwarts corridors, to open up and tell Harry that nothing felt worth fighting for anymore.

Malfoy, who, a few months after the school year ended, rolled his eyes and mumbled the words bloody saviour as he accepted Harry’s scarf. He’d started sneezing uncontrollably, not dressed appropriately for the changing November weather. 

It took Harry longer than it should have to notice—or perhaps to admit—that the word felt different when it fell from Draco’s lips. That the way Draco would use the word to point out the most mundane things Harry did, the way he’d catch Harry’s smile a moment later, always filled his chest with warmth. 

That Draco was the first person to not make him hate the word in a very, very long time. 

***

Soon the word became an inside joke between them. Soon, it began to come with soft brushes of hands, with private shared looks of mischief, of complicity. Soon, Draco would call him his saviour as Harry handed him the sugar bowl and Harry would just smile into Draco’s neck, and Draco would lean closer, allowing Harry to hide his smile for a second.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t told Draco yet. That saviour was his soulmark. That he was the first person that had made the word sound okay to his ears. 

That he wanted him. That being around him was easy as breathing.

Okay, maybe he did know, even if he tried not to think about it.

He was scared. Scared that this would end—that he was mistaken, and Draco wasn’t really meant for him. After all, wouldn’t Harry have started calling Draco by some cheesy name by now if it was real? Wouldn’t they have talked about it at all? 

“Has anyone ever called you by your soulmark?” Harry asked one night. They were slouched on the sofa of Harry’s shitty flat, as they often did these days, watching some crappy show and snapping back at the telly from time to time.

They never talked about their soulmarks. It made sense, Harry knew it—knowing what someone else’s mark was before you started calling them by it felt a lot like cheating. 

Still, his mind wouldn’t stay quiet; wouldn’t stop telling him all of this, all he had with Draco, would disappear any moment like sand in the wind.

“Plenty,” Draco said, gaze weirdly fixed on the TV. They usually looked at each other more than the screen, each slumped on one arm of the sofa, legs tangled. 

He was trying to hide a reaction, Harry knew.

“Me too.” Harry trailed his eyes to the screen too, but it didn’t catch his interest. He eyed Draco again. “Anyone feel different from the rest?”

Draco met Harry’s gaze. Then he eyed the clock. “I should get going.”

Harry slept badly that night, drowning in thoughts of Draco leaving. Of Draco being called by the word on his skin—a word Harry surely hadn’t said before and would never think to say—by plenty of people. What if Draco was destined for Harry, but someone else was destined for Draco?

***

He stumbled out of the elevator, Draco resting all of his weight on him. As he fumbled with the keys, Draco slurred into his ear. “You really are a saviour, huh?”

“And you’re really drunk,” Harry said, pushing the door open. “Sit down here a second, I’ll make up the sofa-bed.”

“Sleep with me.”

Harry spluttered—pulled back when Draco, leaning dangerously from the chair, tried to grab his jacket. “Wait here,” he said, a little breathless, and disappeared into the living room.

But when he walked back into the kitchen, heart in his throat, Draco’s words whirling in his mind, Draco wasn’t there. 

Harry found him in the bedroom, sat on the bed, a deep frown scrunching his face as he tried to fumble with the buttons of his own shirt. He’d gotten halfway through, and Harry rushed toward him even though the sight had made something in him stir. 

“Hey, stop that—” he started. But Draco, upon realising Harry was back, stood up and stumbled backwards, yanking the top of his shirt, as if to show Harry—

“Yeah, I know. Funny, isn’t it,” Draco said, although there was nothing funny about what Harry was seeing. “You slayed my soulmark in half and then became the sole person that makes my own name mean anything to me.” He laughed to himself.

Draco. The word, tattooed just below the sharp line of his collarbone, was split in half by an angry, deep scar that made the c almost nonexistent.

“We’re…” Harry started, not daring to finish the sentence.

Draco huffed, his sneer exaggerated by the alcohol. “Don’t be daft, Potty. Just because you say my name from time to time it doesn’t mean I would ever say whatever stupid, cheesy nonsense you have tattooed on your pretty arse—”

Harry pulled at the neck of his shirt, pushing aside the flap of his open denim jacket for Draco to see the word written under his collarbone. 

“Not on my arse,” he muttered when Draco just stared at his chest.

A moment later, Draco shook his head. “But—I—didn’t—”

“You didn’t think that word could ever be my soulmark?” Harry asked. “Welcome to my world of disappointment.”

“I—” He shook his head again, stepped closer. “Only called you that because you’d… you’d started calling me by my name, and it felt so…” Draco touched Harry’s chest. He probably meant for it to be gentle, but he was unstable on his feet and ended up leaning forward, eyes closed, his weight on his palm where it pressed into Harry’s skin. “I was terrified. That you’d… that you’d notice. It couldn’t be you. I”—Draco frowned as though in pain—“couldn’t be for you. So I just—thought of the most ridiculous thing to call you, something that you would absolutely not have on your skin, under any circumstances, and I started calling you that so I wouldn’t call you anything else.”

Harry scoffed. At their luck; at the relief that was washing over him. “Good job,” he murmured, and Draco, emitting a low, pained whine, leaned into him completely, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Does this mean I can sleep in your bed?” he asked after a long moment.

“Wouldn’t you like that.” Harry, an almost painful smile pulling at his lips, walked a grumbling Draco back to the sofa. 

***

“Hey there,” Harry said. All that came from the bed was a low groan as Draco turned around. He’d gotten out of his work robes and not bothered with his pyjamas, and his eyes were barely open. “Long day at work?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine,” Draco muttered, even though Harry knew he would hear all about it soon enough. “Hmph. Can’t wait to retire.”

Harry sat on the edge of the bed—pushed his shoes off. “My poor, poor Draco.” He laughed softly, nuzzling Draco’s neck between the sheets. Draco immediately grabbed at him and made him fall on his stomach into the blankets. “Still a few years till that happens, I’m afraid.” 

“Hmphh,” Draco repeated by way of an answer. He sniffed Harry’s hair. 

“Want me to make dinner?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Harry asked, amused.

“Not as much as I want you to stay in bed with me all evening,” Draco murmured.

“There’s an easy solution for that,” Harry said, taking his phone out. “Pizza or sushi?”

“Sushi.” Draco snuggled closer, then scowled. “Take off those hideous jeans.”

“Okay, okay, one second,” Harry laughed as Draco dragged him under the covers. He re-ordered their latest order and left the phone on the nightstand, then pushed his clothes down. “Gimme a foot.”

Draco squirmed in bed and draped a leg on Harry’s chest. When Harry started massaging the sole of his foot, he sighed, a smile finally revealing Harry’s favourite lines on Draco’s face, rather than the ones that formed when he frowned. “Mmm. My saviour.” 

Harry smiled and kissed Draco’s knee.

(Thanks to @spaceaas for betaing and to all the friends that helped me come up with these nicknames!)

[watch-grok-brainrot]

Striving for Humanity

Thanks to @merelhyn for 1) this post, 2) having a conversation with me about it at an ungodly hour, and 3) reading the story over before me posting. I shoved a lot of head canons into the story. I guess I’ll ramble at the end about some of them. I can’t think of any content warnings? If you see one I need to mention, please let me know so i can put it in the tags. :)

------ 

覆載群生仰至仁，發明萬物皆成善。

“Through the years, living things strive for humanity; Since their creation all things improve.” -- opening poem of Journey to the West by Wu ChengEn

Jiang Cheng felt a shift in his bed and suddenly Wei Ying’s voice sounded by his ears. “Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng! Wake up!”

“Go away. It’s too early,” he turned to go back to sleep. Why was Wei Ying awake at this time?

“But Jiang Ch~eng! It’s important! I think my golden core formed!” Wei Ying said in a hushed whisper as he shook the other boy. 

Jiang Cheng bolted up. “What? How? I work so much harder than you! Have you been practicing without telling me?”

“Not on purpose! I mean, I don’t know!” Wei Ying waved his hands defensively. Then he paused and added, contemplative and thoughtful, “Well, I guess when I’m swimming in the lake, part of me is thinking about how spiritual energies feel.The way the water covers my skin and how my spirit and meridians respond. I like the way the energies feel when I move through the water and when I direct my Qi flow into the water. When we eat Shijie’s soup, I like the warmth of it going down my throat and I imagine the calming spirit from the soup seeping into me. I think I’m always looking for how our Qi interacts with us. Do you not do that? I just assumed you did.” 

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. He spent all his free time working on his spiritual energy but he definitely didn’t work on it while eating or playing or swimming. Wei Ying’s approach made so much sense! If only he shared earlier. Annoyed, he punched Wei Ying in the chest, “What? No! I’m too busy trying to keep you from getting into trouble! And I can’t think over your incessant chatter anyway!”

Wei Ying allowed himself to flop backwards from the punch. “Do you want to feel for it, Jiang Cheng? I want to see if you can tell I’ve changed.” He offers his wrist to the other boy. 

Jiang Cheng reached out and set his middle three fingers on Wei Ying’s wrist. He found the other boy’s pulse and followed the energy flow up. Sure enough, there was a small seed in the center of Wei Ying’s chest. It pulsated in synchrony with Wei Ying’s heartbeat, sending out small waves of energy. Jiang Cheng withdrew his hand, sighing. 

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying said, excited. “If I got mine, I’m sure you’ll end up with yours in a few days! You’re never actually behind. Not when it matters. And plus, you work so much harder than I do!”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “I know I do. It doesn’t make sense that you get everything first and you seem to be slightly better than me.”

“Don’t be jealous! It’s just because I got used to thinking on my feet on the streets!” Wei Ying said, trying to diffuse Jiang Cheng’s jealousy and insecurities. “It’s not like a day or two will matter in the long run anyway. It’s so tiny right now. It’s about the size of a lotus seed, I’d say. Maybe when yours form it’ll be the size of our spirit bell! And if you form yours in the next five days, you’d still have gotten a golden core at a younger age than me. I am your Shi-ge for something, remember? ”

Jiang Cheng pushed Wei Ying off the bed. “Well, Shi-ge, I guess you’ll have to help me get mine soon! Let’s go train!”

He jumped out of bed, stretched briefly, and ran into the courtyard. Wei Ying quickly followed.  

~~

Seven days later, Jiang Cheng woke up with a golden core. The two of them immediately found Jiang Fengmian to ask for courtesy names and swords. 

“Dad! I have a golden core!” Jiang Cheng yelled down the hallways of Lotus Pier.

“Uncle Jiang! We both have golden cores!” Wei Ying’s voice joined in. 

Jiang Fengmian put down his brush and looked up from his work. “Come here, let me feel.” Both boys rushed up and offered their wrists. He tested their cores and found two small lotus seeds beating with youthful vigor. He smiled. “Very good.”

“So how do we pick a courtesy name? And what do we need to do to get a sword?” Wei Ying asked, words tumbling from his mouth without pause. “Do we have to find the materials? Do we have to forge it ourselves? Is there a trial or a test? Will we have to infuse it with energy from our golden core before it can be forged?”

Jiang Fengmian placed a hand on Wei Ying’s head to calm the boy. Then he placed his other hand on Jiang Cheng’s head and said, “Per Jiang family traditions, you must determine what is most true for yourself. Pick names and sword components from that. The best swords develop spirits. It would be wise to give them a vessel that resonates with your morals and your identity. We can pick your courtesy names after your swords are forged. Now go, and present something for me tomorrow.” 

Both boys nodded solemnly, gave each other a grin, and ran out of Jiang Fengmian’s study.

~~

After meeting with Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Cheng ran to tell Yu Ziyuan his news. Wei Ying, not wanting to incur the woman’s wrath, decided to take a walk instead, his Uncle Jiang’s words echoing in his ears. He had a lot to think about. 

Wei Ying’s father was a servant to Uncle Jiang. A close friend, but still a servant. He had no status. And Wei Ying’s mother was as elusive as her name indicated. He never got any stories about her, though he asked. Where, then, was their child’s identity rooted? How, from a lack of identity, can Wei Ying figure out the sort of vessel that would fit his sword? 

Lost in thought, Wei Ying wandered out of Lotus Pier grounds. His feet carried him to the first tree he climbed after arriving at Yunmeng. Perhaps only a couple decades old, the tree stood in a clearing. Wei Ying walked up and put his hand on the tree, “Hey old friend. I’m surprised I’m here again. I don’t have anything sad to say to you today. I guess I’m just here to think.” He walked around the tree a few times, fingers trailing along on the trunk.

You came to me that day. I realized, when you touched me, that you had changed. As you walked around me and spoke to me, I knew you would leave me one day. You who I’ve always known. 

Wei Ying grabbed onto the lower branches and pulled himself up. The large leaves batted him in the face. Wei Ying laughed and climbed higher. A few minutes later, he had gone as far as he was willing to climb. The leaves did a good job of hiding him but he could see out and watch Yunmeng. He sat down and leaned against the main branch. The familiar shape of the boughs brought back familiar feelings.

Your tears were what woke me. I heard you cry and tasted your anxiety and fear. I watched you fall. I was powerless to protect you. After you and the larger child left, the blood you spilt seeped down and I took it in. The earth did not deserve any of you. 

This was the first tree that he had climbed when he arrived at Yunmeng. That was the night he became friends with Jiang Cheng. That was the night he first tasted Shijie’s Lotus Root and Pork Rib soup. 

I watched you grow, your spirit bright and strong. Your laughter felt like sunlight. It grew my spirit as sunlight grew my body. Your cries hurt like passing storms. But weathering them made my spirit stronger. I swore to shelter you. 

This tree has been his safe haven when Madam Yu got mad, when local dogs chased him, when he wished he could remember more about his parents. He remembered climbing the tree, hiding in the tree, crying in the tree, and falling from the tree when he inevitably fell asleep.

You fed me, unknowingly. I drank in your tears. From them, I learned of human suffering. From them, I understood loneliness, insecurity, and pain. How does one so small feel so much?

Wei Ying put his hand on the tree and channeled some of his spiritual energy into the main branch. “You’re as much part of me as you’re part of Yunmeng, aren’t you? I can’t believe you’ve been here with me through everything." 

Either by his words or by sheer coincidence, he heard a crack and saw a lower branch about the thickness of his upper arm break and fall to the ground. His eyes lit up and he patted the trunk twice. “Of course, you and I are the same here. Thank you old friend.”

I could not tell you not to go. So I did what I could. I went with you.

Wei Ying climbed down and picked up the branch. It was about a meter and a half long and four to five fingers width in diameter. The break was surprisingly smooth and the wood was much less wet than he expected. He smiled. This is exactly what he hoped to find.

~~

Jiang Cheng presented Jiang Fengmian with four aspects for his sword design: two metal sculptures, one of a snake, one of a toad, a jar with five centipedes, and a jar of purple pigment. “Father, I present to you the elements for my sword. First, the purple is Yunmeng. My future responsibility and my family. The other three objects represent three of the five poisons. As I am the son of Mother, the Purple Spider, and you, the Water Scorpion, I thought it would be only fitting for me to take the other three. I come from you, I hope to take the best of you two and become more. Furthermore, it will only do me good to remember the three poisons of Buddihst teachings. Calling my sword Sandu will remind me of both my roots and my faults.”

Jiang Fengmian nodded approvingly and Jiang Cheng beamed. Jiang Fengmian then turned to Wei Ying. 

“A-Ying, what did you choose and why?”       

Wei Ying thought about Jiang Fengmian’s question and offered two answers. “I chose wood because it represents what you have done for me. Prior to being taken in, I was but 不材之木，無所可用 (wood that cannot be crafted, useless). Your raising me made me what I am today. I want to have a wooden sheath and hilt to remember from whence I came. I also believe trees, like lotuses, reflect the Yunmeng Jiang motto. 禽獸固有群矣，樹木固有立矣 (birds and beasts gather in flocks and herds; the trees stand in place). Trees know their lines and what they will bend to and what they will weather. We also know our moral lines and stand by them. Holding a sword made of such, I hope to do the same.”

“What about its name?” Jiang Fengmian prompted. 

Wei Ying fell silent. In his head dozens of names flew by. He dismissed all of them as unworthy of his sword. Finally, Wei Ying looked up and blurted “Suibian. Whatever you want to call it, Uncle Jiang. Suibian. I defer to your wisdom.”

Suibian. Whatever. These two characters that tumbled from your lips I knew to be truer than anything anyone else could say. I wanted no other name. It reflected your spirit. It reflected my will. How could you suggest anyone else try to name me anything else?

~~

As my body plunged into fire, I clung onto your words. Whatever. I insist on whatever. The flames roared around me, trying to force me docile. I screamed back my desires. I have will! I choose this! Finally the flames yielded and I molded them for my own use. I will be your whatever, as long as you let me stay by your side.

When the swords left the forge, both boys eagerly grabbed their weapon. 

Jiang Cheng’s Sandu held the poisonous motifs -- snakes intertwined to form the cross guards and a toad sat atop its hilt. The five entangled centipedes were embedded in Sandu’s heart. The sheath’s Yunmeng-purple surface displayed a snake skin texture. The sword epitomized a deadly elegance befitting the Yunmeng heir. 

Wei Ying’s sword was a masterpiece of intertwined metal and wood. The hilt seemed to be of plain wood, yet it conformed to Wei Ying’s grip as if it were whittled for that sole purpose. The metal rippled around the sheath, wrapping around the wood like the waters of Yunmeng wrapping around Lotus Pier. Upon the wood of the sheath were engraved the characters 随便 (Suibian.) 

---

Notes:  

1)  So, per traditional chinese medicine, the spider is not one of the five poisons. There’s a salamander/lizard instead. I believe it has to do with what you use to make extracts/tonics. However, in many Wuxia novels, the reptile is replaced with spider... and for my motif, i went with the spider. CQL is a very wuxia heavy xianxia show anyway. :)  

2) We know NOTHING about the parents so i made up the thing about Jiang Fengmian’s moniker. It sounded cool to me. That way he gets to be a poison. It rounded out 5 with Sandu and JC’s sense of family and duty. The water thing was just being from Yunmeng. 

3) Per CQL aesthetics, the golden core is separate from the dantian that Wuxia talks about. I’m making that assumption here.

4) Once i learned courtesy names were given historically at a later age, it really bothered me. Since i figured it’s a coming of age thing, I started headcanoning courtesy names were given at the same time as when the golden core formed. That would explain why wwx, jc, lwj etc have courtesy names so young. 

5) If you paid attention to CQL, you’ll know i framed the tree as a young Yao to start and then it shoved its spirit into the branch which i guess would make it a Guai. I don’t know if that even works... but if monsters can eat spiritual cognition, what’s to say wwx’s tears etc didn’t wake up a little creature. It would explain Suibian’s loyalty that @merelhyn referred to in her post. If the wood/tree imprinted on WWX even before it became Suibian... then of course it would seal itself and of course it would have the words carved even if WWX wasn’t a ancient cultivator. 

6) I really like the idea of WWX’s bendy flexible brain just finding ways to cultivate 24/7. I wanted to share it so tada. you get that here too.

Ok. that’s it. oooof. if you’ve stayed here this long, thank you for reading! <3  

[write4tomorrow]

The Necromancer (pt. 2)

Word Count: 1966

Pairing: Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: You are Fury’s secret weapon. An avenger in your own right, you should be able to handle anything thrown your way. But Quentin Beck? A man from an alternate universe? Your gut tells you one thing while your heart tells you another.

Genre: Angst / romance

PART 1       PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 (COMPLETE)

You and Peter were becoming close. Even though he spent most of his time on his field trip through Europe, the time he spent learning about the elementals and working with Beck had allowed you two to become friends in the span of a couple of days.

While a large group of bustling people moved around the base, Peter, Beck and you were sitting together - almost relaxed. Fury had instructed you to look after both Peter and Beck like a babysitter. Truthfully, you didn’t mind. You felt off your game and appreciated the seemingly easy task. Something was distracting you, but you couldn’t tell what. You hoped that this was just some sort of European sickness. Perhaps a cold. You hadn’t been sick since before Stark’s changed you.  

“Are you cold?” Peter asked in the middle of Beck’s sentence. He had noticed you rubbing your hands along your upper arms. You felt like there was a fine layer or new hair on your skin or permanent spider webs had been woven over you. This feeling hadn’t gone away since it began a few days ago.

“Y/n’s been shivering the past couple of days,” Beck answered for you. Before you could do anything, Beck reached out and placed a hand on your cheek. You froze at his touch.

“I have not been shivering,” you lied, “I’ve just been catching the glare from your helmet, fishbowl boy.” You knew it was a dumb excuse, but you were not about to admit that you weren’t okay. Beck rolled his eyes at the nickname you had gifted him. After using it the past few days, it had begun to catch on.

“She’s not feverish,” Beck finally says. He doesn’t look away, even after noting that you felt fine. You look at his expression, searching for something amis. There was still something inside of you that wouldn’t allow you to trust Beck despite the fact that he had given you every reason to trust him. He had even managed to wring a laugh from you a few times.

“I’m okay,” you answered, finally looking at Peter. “I’m just adjusting to the weather,” you smile. Peter looks between you and Beck, cheeks becoming mildly rosy. You could tell that Peter thought he was intruding on some sort of… moment.

“How can you be adjusting when you never leave this place?” Beck asks with an award winning smile. This one was gentle and meant for you. It felt personal and you felt yourself smiling in return.

“Did you just call him ‘fishbowl boy’, y/n?” Peter asked with a small smile. Beck shot him a warning look but you nodded, the beginning of laughter filling your chest.

“C’mon,” Beck glanced at Peter before pulling you to your feet, “I’m sure Peter should go check on his friends. You and I can go for a walk. Maybe a boat ride?” Beck offers.

“I can’t leave - and a boat ride? We’re not in Venice anymore,” you protest, “Fury will-”

“Oh! Mr. um Fury! I have a question for you!” Peter races past you and captures all of Fury’s attention. He blocks Fury’s view of you and Beck. You feel a small smile creep onto your face. Had Beck planned this? You watch as Beck smiles fondly at Peter and begins to pull you out of the room.

“Let’s go before Nick realizes our little distraction plan,” Beck says in a low, conspiratorial voice. You suppress your own laugh and allow Beck to pull you away from your work.

It was late and the streets were mostly quiet. Beck seemed to know where he was going so you followed him as he talked. You ignored the feeling of disorientation that had been following you the past few days and tried to enjoy this moment. Beck had changed into a long sleeve shirt, rolled to the elbows and a pair of regular pants. He told you some stories about his earth. He never said anything specific, simply glazed over a few fantastical parts. You assumed it hurt too much to ask for details. Nevertheless, you enjoyed Beck’s stories. He seemed to be a natural performer and did great impressions of people from his earth. His imitation of his old and angry director made you laugh loud enough to hear it echo form the buildings around you. Beck laughed with you and watched as your smile dimmed to a simple grin.

“You’re so bright,” Beck said quietly. You were mildly surprised.

“I mean I graduated with-”

“No, not smart,” Beck said with a shake of his head, “Although, you are smart. I just meant that you are- radiant is a better word for it. You are a radiant person, y/n.” Beck ran a hand through his hair and kept walking.

You? Radiant? You knew you were smart. Maybe likable. But you were also an agent that pretty much belonged to Nick Fury. You smiled when it was necessary and that was almost never. You weren’t depressed, but you weren’t happy either. Not like the way you had been once upon a time. The girl that used to be radiant died on a cold pristine table in one of the Stark Industry labs.

But here you were, smiling along with Beck. This new hero was taking the time to make you laugh. Gone were Mysterio’s armor and cape, but there was magic here. Perhaps it was necromancy; Beck was bringing some part of you back to life. You felt a strange haze settled over you. You were content and wondered how Beck was so charming.

“Did you dance in your world?” You asked suddenly. Beck looked just as taken aback as you felt. Where had that come from?

“We had the most elaborate balls you’ve ever seen,” Beck answered. His eyes were glittering as he watched you. His attention was almost overwhelming.

“Sounds like a fairytale,” you mused, “I miss having the time to dance or even having energy to just sway to the beat around my room.” Beck let your sentence hang in the air. You loved music but you didn’t have the time to enjoy it anymore. You missed being able to discover a new song and the euphoric feeling of listening to it on repeat until you grew tired of it.

“I- you know, I took a page out of the kid’s book,” Beck said when you didn’t continue. Was he talking about Peter? His hands were in his pockets and he seemed nervous. You had trouble hearing his heartbeat. It sounded muffled and as if it were coming from different directions, but it didn’t take someone like you to see that Beck was up to something.

“What do you mean?” You asked. You watched Beck search in his pockets for something. He began to speak just as your phone rang. Apologetically, you shrugged towards Beck before answering the unknown caller.

“Yes, ma’am?” you answered the phone knowing exactly who was on the other end.

“Get back here,” Maria Hill instructed. She didn’t sound angry, but you could hear Peter in the background issuing apologies to Fury.

“Time to go,” you tell Beck. You didn’t want the walk to end but duty called. Reflexively, you run your hands over your upper arms again.

“Hey,” Beck cups your face in his hands. “Is there something wrong?” You could feel how fast his pulse was. His wrists were so close to your ears that it made you blush but you heard his pulse more clearly now than you had in days. He was definitely nervous. Still, he smiled and stepped closer to you. You could feel his breath on your skin as he looked down at you.

“This - all this - is new to me,” was all you answered. Beck nodded and you swayed a little on your feet, feeling disoriented. Beck pulled you into his chest and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“They overwork you, honey” Beck said angrily. “You have given and given and given but- you know what? We should get you back.” He was right. You were overworked and you needed to get back. But why had Beck been so angry? You pull back and look up at Beck, still wrapped in his arms. He smiled down at you. You could see all his teeth and you ignored the suspicious feeling welling up inside. Instead, you press a small, delicate kiss to Beck’s lips. He almost immediately deeps the kiss. So much intensity. Too much.

You broke away and look at him once more, still feeling disoriented.

“Quentin, I-”

“Let’s get you back,” Beck interrupted with a warm smile and a gentle blush in his face. You nod and followed him back, still tucked under his arm.

He was so close to having you wrapped around his finger. He had to tread lightly, though. He almost overstepped when he kissed you, but he almost couldn’t stop himself in that moment. Yet, he knew how to win you over.

Sounds like a fairytale. The words echoed in Quentin’s head as the next step in his plan for you began to form. He knew you’d love it.

He also knew that the constant exposure to drones was making you sick in some kind of way. What were they doing to you? Quentin noticed how you swayed on your feet, though. So had the kid.

A few more days, honey. Quentin thought. That’s all he needed and he would come clean to you. And you would understand. You would understand and wrap your arms around his neck and tell him it was okay. Eventually.

Quentin knew that you may turn against him, but it wouldn’t last long. After you understood everything, you would help him. Quentin would make sure of it.

What if the plan doesn’t work? An unwelcomed question popped into Quentin’s head. He wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. You were too good to let go. You were too good to just be a weapon. Over the past few days, Quentin had begun to realize how much he missed your genuine self. Hell, even the kid told Quentin that the two of you would be a good match. Of course, Quentin only told him about his feelings for you to garner some trust from him, but it hadn’t been a lie. Rather, it had grown more true with each moment spent with you, finding your laugh and smile. Tonight, he almost jumped for joy at the sound of your laughter bouncing from the street walls. You hadn’t done that in years, Quentin was sure.

“Beck,” a voice pulled Quentin out of his memory, “We should run the fight one more time.”

Quentin knew he should.

“Show me the choreography for the fight again,” Quentin said through a yawn, “Also, reduce the settings on the drones around y/n.”

“You want us to remove a drone?”

“No,” Quentin wasn’t a fool, but he didn’t want you to continue to feel disoriented. “y/n will figure it out if we reduce the number of drones. Just reduce the settings by fifty percent and gradually bring them back up to eighty percent when I am around. If y/n begins to suspect anything, bring all settings to one hundred percent and alert me immediately,” Quentin commanded. He pulled a small, simple necklace from his pocket.  It was a small fish bowl on an elegant chain. Quentin had wanted to give it to you tonight in the hopes of making you smile. Perhaps he’d find the opportunity tomorrow.

“No one harms, y/n. I will deal with it if the situation becomes a risk.” Quentin said, tucking the necklace away. You were his and he would allow no one to harm you.  

PART 3

A/N: Hi again! Thank you so much for reading! This will be a six or seven part story. Let me know what you think, please!

[razieltwelve]

The Prince and the Rose (Final Rose x GOT)

Robert Baratheon loved all his children, but if pressed, he’d admit that his eldest was his favourite. Aye, he’d loved Edward since the little rabble-rouser had screamed his guts out and then had the temerity to puke on his head. His son had been born with a damn good set of lungs, a fighter right from the start. With his spiky black hair and blue eyes, there had been no doubts whatsoever about which parent he took after.

He was clever too. He’d been walking and talking faster than any child Robert had ever heard of, and he’d taken to his lessons with the sort of glee that could only have come from his mother’s side of the family. It wasn’t long before he was surpassing his teachers, and the damn maester’s proclaimed him a genius.

Robert had worried a bit at that. Being clever was good, but a king needed to be strong. Edward had proven himself again, taking to his lessons on combat with equal gusto. Robert had preened with pride the first time he’d seen his son handle a blade and then a war hammer. It was like he’d been born to it, like he was remembering things he’d forgotten instead of learning them for the first time. Watching a seven year-old Edward knock some squires onto their asses had been one of the greatest moments in his life.

Aye, the boy was the best of both his Houses, as fierce and mighty as a Baratheon and as intelligent and cunning as any Lannister. Perhaps that was why he’d brought his two parents closer together.

Oh, Robert did not like to think of it much, but he’d not treated Cersei well to begin with. He’d been too full of grief and rage to be fair to his lioness. Yet Edward had shown his love for both his parents right from the start, and Robert had looked at his firstborn and the woman who’d birthed him and realised that even if this wasn’t the life he’d dreamed of, it wasn’t half bad either.

It had taken a few years, but Cersei had warmed to him, and they’d had other children. Joffrey could be a bit arrogant, but he was cunning and loyal to those he called friend and family. He favoured the sword more than the war hammer, and perhaps that was better for he had more of the Lannister build to him for all that his hair was as black as Robert’s. Tommen, well, he was a kindly boy, one who loved his books and studies. Yet when angered, his blood rang true, and he was as fierce as his older brothers. Myrcella, his only daughter, was the apple of his eye, a beauty in the making, and he was already dreading the days when he’d have to smash some skulls to keep suitors away.

As he reached the practice yards, Robert took a moment to study himself in one of the polished shields propped up on a bench. He’d let himself get out of shape for a few years, but he’d done a much better job of it since Edward had begun his training. Now, he was fit and strong, a king whose very presence commanded respect. Besides, it wouldn’t do to be bested by his own son before he was even a man grown. Gods, it probably wouldn’t be long now, the boy was just that good with a weapon.

And speaking of his eldest…

“Are you sure you don’t know magic?” Edward griped as he parried a blow from Ser Barristan. “No man should move so quickly at your age.”

The knight grinned warmly and continued his onslaught, his blade a swift, steely viper that never ceased to look for openings. “Are you sure you are a child, Your Highness? I’ve bested men - good men - full grown with the pace I’ve set, and you’ve yet to let a blow slip through your guard.”

Edward grinned back. “Odd words coming from a knight so famous for his youthful exploits.” The boy parried another blow and then replied with a lightning fast riposte that would have landed cleanly on any other man. At the last second, the old knight turned just enough to let it swing past his shoulder.

“An excellent attempt!” Ser Barristan praised. “You almost caught me there.”

“Almost but not quite.” Edward chuckled. “Although perhaps we should pause here. I daresay my father wishes a turn.”

Ser Barristan lowered his blade and nodded respectfully at Robert. “Your Grace.”

“How is my boy?” Robert rumbled, though he already knew the answer. To be able to stand against Ser Barristan at twelve was a feat any father would be proud of. 

“A peerless swordsman for his age,” the knight replied. “And though you did not see it, I did face him when he wielded a war hammer. I imagine it was like facing you in your younger days.”

“Hah!” Robert boomed. “The boy might be better than I was.” He tossed his son a war hammer, blunted and wooden instead of metal. “Let’s see what you’ve got, boy.”

“Of course, old man.” 

“Old man?” Robert chuckled. “What? Do you want the crown on my head already?”

“You can keep it,” Edward shot back. “It looks good on you, and I’m too busy with my other projects to be king.”

“Is that so?” Robert smirked. His boy had a talent for taking those wild ideas of his and turning them into coin. It was definitely something he got from his mother’s side of the family. Indeed, his preferred business partner was his Uncle Tyrion, and the pair had grown quite close. The Dwarf was no warrior, but his mind was as keen as any blade, and his son appreciated that. “How is that new liquor of yours going?”

“The fire water? It’s going well. I promise you’ll have first try of the next batch once we know it’s safe.” Edward tested the weight of his war hammer. “Now are we going to fight, or are we going to talk?”

Robert bared his teeth. “Spoken like a true Baratheon! Let’s see how far you’ve come!”

X     X     X

When Diana had first been reborn, she’d been rather put out at the fact she’d been reborn a man. Her aggravation had only grown when she realised she’d been born in what could, politely, be described as a technological backwater. On the upside, she was royalty, and that put her into a position to make changes.

After all these years, though, she’d gotten used to her new body. Or rather, his new body. He couldn’t complain, though. His new body was immensely strong, even for a twelve-year-old, and far faster than most people would expect. Indeed, it was something he’d often thought about his new father. Robert Baratheon was unbelievably strong, yet it was his unexpected speed that so often granted him victory.

Sadly, not all of his powers had made the trip with him. Ragnarok was… well, not gone, but certainly not there in its entirety. He was still hopeful it would awaken in earnest at some point, but even still, he healed faster than he should, and he’d noticed other things besides. He was careful to conceal the oddities. Prince or not, magic here was apparently serious and often highly unpleasant business.

As he made his way back to his quarters to bathe, he wasn’t surprised when his uncle fell into step beside him. Slowing just enough to help him without making him feel condescended, Edward glanced down at the man many called the Dwarf.

“You’re looking cheerful, uncle. Did you get some good news?”

“Aye, nephew.” Tyrion had a spring in his step. “We’ve heard word from our craftsman about those ‘printing presses’ you proposed. There are some problems still to work out, but the design seems decent enough. In a few months, perhaps, we’ll have a working design. And from there…”

“Profit.”

“Indeed.” Tyrion nodded. Some of the bitterness about him had faded over the years, Edward thought. It did not take a genius to see how his… treatment at the hands of Edward’s grandfather, Tywin, rankled Tyrion. But since their partnerships had grown more and more successful, his uncle had become a very, very wealthy man in his own right. That success had put steel in his spine and dampened some of the old hurts. After all, Tyrion no longer had to worry about begging his father for money, and he had the ear and favour of the crown prince. Not bad for a dwarf. “I saw your practice in the yard. You’re even better than my brother was at your age.”

“Uncle Jaime was a prodigy,” Edward said. “And of all the Kingsguard other than Ser Barristan, I think he might well be the deadliest in a fight if he could be bothered to put his back into it.”

“Ah, he does have a tendency to play with his food, doesn’t he?”

“I think he is so rarely challenged, he likes to savour any real fight he gets.” Edward pursed his lips. “Do you have any clothing suited for cold weather, uncle?”

“I believe so. Why?”

“Jon Arryn is an old man now,” Edward said. “And though he has managed to sire two sons, he has had precious little time to raise them. I do believe my father might seek out a new hand, so Jon can retire to the Eyrie to raise his sons and hopefully sire a few more.”

“And you think he means to go north?” Tyrion’s brows furrowed. “Ah. Right. Lord Stark. Well, they are as close as brothers, and the North has prospered mightily in recent times. Mayhap, your father hopes to bring some of that prosperity south.”

“We’re prospering enough as it is,” Edward retorted. “The crown has never been richer, and if all of our plans go as expected, uncle, we will only grow wealthier.”

“Hmm…” Tyrion got a crafty look. “Perhaps you should think carefully about your future, nephew. After all, the Rose of the North is of an age with you. I daresay, your father would love to join his house to Lord Stark’s.”

“Ah.” Edward had his suspicions about who exactly the Rose of the North was, but he had yet to receive a definitive answer due to how difficult it was to communicate across long distance in Westeros, and he could hardly send a raven to her without his father finding out and scheming for a match. Well, maybe in a few months he could. He’d made good progress in learning how to train his own. “We shall see.”

X     X     X

Lyara Stark rapped Arya on the wrist with her stick just hard enough to catch her attention without doing any real harm. “Your wrist should be supple but firm, sister. Too soft, and you will lose all control and power. Too tense, and you will be slow and ungainly.”

Arya huffed. “How do you make it look so easy?”

“Practice,” Lyara said with a fond smile. Indeed, she almost always had a fond smile ready for her youngest sister. Oh, she loved all her siblings, but there was a lot of Diana to be found in Arya Stark, and the girl who had once been Averia had always had a soft spot for her sister. “Now, again, Arya.”

“Can’t we practice some other moves?” Arya grumbled.

“I do not fear the warrior who has practiced ten thousand moves once. I fear the warrior who has practiced a single move ten thousand times,” Lyara replied. “A warrior must have absolute confidence in their skill, Arya. Do you think you can have confidence in something you haven’t practiced?”

“No,” Arya admitted with a huff. “But when can we do more sparring?”

“Complete your next set of exercises,” Lyara promised. “And then we may spar.” She grinned. “Our brothers wish to test themselves against me again, it seems.”

X     X     X

Ned Stark managed to keep himself from grinning as he watched Robb hammer away at his twin sister’s defences. His son and heir had more of a Tully look about him, but Lyara was almost his sister reborn, albeit there was something unmistakably regal in her bearing that undoubtedly came from Catelyn. 

Robb was a great swordsman for his age, as skilled as any youth, but there was a reason Lyara was called the Rose of the North, and not simply for her beauty. Aye, a rose had thorns, and Lyara’s were the sharpest in the North by a good margin.

“Good,” Lyara praised as she parried another attack and circled away, keeping Robb turning. She was testing his footwork, Ned realised, making sure he did not grow too accustomed to simply moving backward and forward as so many youths were prone to. “You’re mixing your attacks up better.”

“I still haven’t hit you yet,” Robb replied.

“No,” Lyara returned with a ghost of a smile. “But you’re doing better than the last time.”

“Come on,” Theon japed from the sidelines. “She’s your sister, Robb! You’ve got to win.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Robb retorted without taking his eyes off his sister or her weapon. “You didn’t even last a minute the last time you fought her.” Next to Theon, Jon chortled, and Ned himself had to swallow a laugh. “It’s like fighting someone who can see the future. It’s like she knows what I’m going to do before I do it.”

“Because I do,” Lyara teased, blade blurring forward like a viper. At the last moment, Robb managed to jerk his own weapon up to deflect the strike, but a twist of Lyara’s wrist locked the two swords together, and then a graceful pivot sent Robb’s practice sword tumbling end over end through the air until she caught it crisply in her other hand.

Robb put his hands on his hips and glared. “Now, you’re just showing off.”

Lyara’s lips curved up at the edges. “How can I make it up to you, brother?”

“Well, you can bloody teach me that disarm for one,” Robb grumbled. “And… what is that new contraption you’re working on?”

“A new furnace,” Lyara replied. “For making better steel.”

“How about a sword from it when it’s done?” Robb asked. “Then mayhap my wounded pride will be soothed.” He clutched at his chest melodramatically. 

“Of course,” Lyara agreed with a joking half bow. “It would be my honour Lord Robb.”

Ned chose that moment to step into the training area. All of his children immediately look to him, and he smiled warmly.

“I’ve been watching,” he said. “And you are all doing very well.” He nodded at Robb. “Your sister is right, my son. You’ve improved by leaps and bounds. You might well become one of the finest swords the north has ever seen.” He turned his gaze to Jon. “And the same could be said of you, Jon.” He clapped both boys on the shoulder and then nodded at Theon. “Your bow work is impressive, Theon, but your swordplay… mayhap more work is required.”

“Has something happened, father?” Lyara asked.

“Oh?”

“You are a bit earlier than usual today,” she replied. “And you had a most thoughtful look on your face as you watched - but not the one you normally have.”

“You have keen eyes, daughter.” Ned smiled. “We have received word from the south. The king, my dear friend Robert, is coming to Winterfell, and he is bringing the royal family with him.”

“Truly?” Arya asked. “Is the Young Demon coming as well?”

“Arya,” Ned said with just a hint of warning. “That name is… perhaps unfortunate if fitting.” Robert’s boy had been blooded recently, or so he had heard, when bandits had attacked the queen’s party during one of her trips to visit her father. Young Edward, the Young Demon some now called him, had slain half a dozen bandits himself after they had tried to seize the queen. The tale had become somewhat famous, with many drawing the parallels between father and son. In the North, of course, the young prince was popular. Any boy of twelve who could slaughter those who tried to harm his family would be viewed well in the harsh North. “But, yes, I do believe he will be coming.”

“You should fight him,” Arya said to Lyara immediately. “I bet you could beat him.”

Ned chuckled. “Perhaps they can spar.” His daughter and his oldest sons were already blooded too. Poor Bran had almost been seized by Wildlings during a ride, and Lyara had reacted with the sort of deadly precision more common to experienced warriors than girls of ten and four. Robb and Jon had likewise done well during the encounter although they had only slain a pair each, whereas Lyara had slain a good seven on her own. “And perhaps Robert has other things on his mind too.”

Indeed, Ned could easily imagine Robert asking for a match between Prince Edward and Lyara. If he did, Ned would be only too happy to agree. They had often talked of one day joining their Houses, and by all accounts, the prince would not mind a woman who could fight as well as he did. Indeed, if some of the rumours were true, he might even prefer one.

And such an alliance would only be good for the North. His daughter had a keen mind, and she had suggested many improvements that had worked out well. Likewise, the prince was blessed with many ideas of his own. At the very least, such a match would ensure close ties between the crown and the North for many generations, and Ned was certain that the prince would get along with Robb too.

“But enough of that,” Ned said before reaching for a practice weapon. “Let me test my children with my own blade. Who shall be first?”

Arya, of course, all but threw the others aside in her eagerness. “Let me go first, father!”

“If you wish.”

“Remember our lessons,” Lyara advised as they made way for Arya and he to spar. “Father is far bigger and stronger than you. Do not try to fight his strength with yours. You must be quick, agile, and cunning.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Well, I have no idea where this came from. It kind of popped into my brain one day, so here it is. Ah, yes, there will be so many glorious misunderstandings in the future as Edward/Diana and Lyara/Averia try to finagle their way out of a betrothal while saving Westeros from the Others and who knows what else.

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

You can find my original fiction on Amazon here.

[straight-into-the-animus]

We Might Blame The Gods (Or Ourselves) (Thalexios)

More Thalexios! But with angst, so please be warned with this one! It has very little in the way of comfort and very much hurt! This was requested by @kaliandra so thank you for the patience! I got really carried away but I loved the prompt and I hope you enjoy it! 

Read on Ao3!

Every Spartan boy, from the time he was old enough to hold a spear, trained in the agoge. Every boy knew it was to make Sparta stronger. Your body was meant to be perfect. Your mind was always meant to be sharp, hungry, focused on the next battle. You would come home with your shield, or on it. You fought honorably, yes, but on the battlefield you were ruthless, uncaring, cold.

While Alexios wasn’t a Spartan anymore, hadn’t been since his ‘execution’ nearly two decades ago, for as long as he could remember the battlefield had welcomed him. Perhaps it truly was something left over in him from his time in Sparta. It was dull but still very much there.

He had no problem with Athenians, personally; they were generous with payment, after all. They trusted him, they paid him, and the mercenary Sparta had chosen to side with was part of the Cult. Cutting off one head of that snake? That would simply make his day among all other things.

The weather was fair and unforgiving, even though the terrain was hard and unforgiving as Alexios fell onto it more time than he would like care to admit. The cultist had a brutal bludgeon with blunted, short points. It had hit Alexios square in his stomach in a way that had him nearly doubling over, and again on his left arm, but Alexios was able to kill him with more than a bit of agility that winded him just slightly. 

He heard the rocks shift behind him just behind him, more like pebbles, and without even thinking he raised his freshly bloodied sword to face his would-be assailant. Adrenaline was still fresh as it sped through his veins, but he felt a chill as he took in the man in front of him, a chill that had nothing to do with a change in wind.

“Thaletas.”

“Eagle-Bearer.” Thaletas’ voice was… He couldn’t say it was soft, because how could a voice be soft where they were? When two people were doing what they were doing? He stood across from Alexios, a sword in one hand and a painted Spartan shield in the other, a general’s shield. ‘It suited him’, Alexios allowed himself to think, before he forced himself to go blank.

“You’re the polemarch.”

“And you’re the Athenian mercenary.” Thaletas responded instead of answering. “I’m sorry.”

And oh, Alexios had only been truly sorry a few times in his life. He had been sorry for leaving Phoibe. He had been sorry for not being able to save his sister from falling off that mountain and into the hands of the Cult. But now? Now he was sorry for having thought he could just leave Mykonos and Thaletas, for taking those steps to bring himself here. But he didn’t say that.

“Bruised, bloody, or broken.” The meaning was clear as Alexios crouched into a fighting stance, something not feeling completely right in his body as he did. But Thaletas understood. He gave a barely there nod and mirrored the position.

“Never hold back.”

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

The last time they had fought at those ruins felt like ages ago. But back then, it had been in some weird, fantastic fun. Some warriors courtship they both acknowledged and agreed to. There had been no goal there to hurt for real, to kill. But now? Thaletas had no words. 

Back and forth it went, with clashes of steel and sparks flying where metal connected. The battle raged around them both but Thaletas paid it no mind, too concerned with the firebrand of a misthios in front of him. Those deep brown eyes, which once used to look at him with a sort of smug pride and soft adoration, now burned with an intensity from Ares himself. His mouth was hardened into a sort of sneer. There was determination etched into every line on his face. He looked every inch the demigod that the stories had said. And yet… Thaletas couldn’t help but wish they were still side by side.

It was one move that he saw, one misstep in Alexios’ footwork that Thaletas took his chance. Fatigue hung on both of their bones, but the mercenary they had hired had gotten to Alexios first. Thaletas sidestepped as Alexios moved and sent him sprawling into the ground. Alexios tried to turn around onto his back to get up but Thaletas’ sword was pointed straight at his face.

“It’s over, Alexios.” Thaletas spoke as confidently as he could, even if it was more so than he felt. Their chests heaved and he watched the blood and mud stained face of his opponent hide how much it was starting to sink in. Defiant until the end. This was the man who had defeated an Athenian blockade, had won over islands and killed leaders in their own household, seemingly by himself. You didn’t get that far by surrender. But he had no choice in this manner.

“Spartans don’t take prisoners.” Alexios finally made it out. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Exceptions can always be made.” As the surroundings came back, Thaletas realized that even as they spoke, the battle was almost over. Athenians were beginning the retreat, or they were being slaughtered on spears and swords. They had failed to take the land, but they would come back, of course. There was little doubt about that. But Thaletas would likely be gone by then. His concerns were of the here and now; and, against his better judgement, he needed to do something with the misthios at his feet.

“Polemarch!” A soldier came running up as if he could read Thaletas’ mind. “What must be done now?”

“Assess the living, their conditions. Those who are dead of our army, I want them and their equipment brought back to camp with us. And…” He trailed off and put his attention back on Alexios, who had gone uncharacteristically silent. Thaletas quickly saw why in the way he tried to hide how he cradled his stomach, even as he held onto defiance the way a man trying not to fall holds onto a fraying rope. “Take this one back to the camp as well. He was employed by the Athenians. Perform aid on him and bring him and everything he owns to my tent when finished.”

“Yes, polemarch.” There was a question that thankfully that did not make it past the soldiers lips as he turned on heel and left.

“All of Sparta would weep at how soft you’ve turned.” Alexios murmured, but there was no real malice or bitterness directed at anyone that Thaletas could tell.

“Perhaps.” Thaletas said, and nothing more was said before eventually more soldiers came and picked Alexios up, dragging him to his feet. Thaletas walked away. Overhead, in the clouds, an eagle with golden feathers was starting to cry out.

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

Spartans were nothing if not efficient, Alexios quickly learned as he was handed over from soldier to soldier through the march and through the camp for his wounds to be tended. As soon as everything from the fight had begun to wear off, he could feel the bruises and pain set in up and down his body, extending even towards the outside of his spear arm where he’d been hit. It wasn’t broken, but even if it was they likely wouldn’t have cared. 

They took his weapons and grandfather’s spear and quickly bound his hands in front of him before marching him over to Thaletas’ tent. It was larger on the inside, but spare, with a place for his armor, a makeshift desk with a map in the center of the tent, and a single bed in the corner. Nothing fancy, nothing more than what he needed. Very Spartan, and very much what Alexios remembered of Thaletas and his life on Mykonos.

They were left alone as Thaletas dismissed the soldiers, and soon it was just them in the candle lit tent. Thaletas sat at his desk, Alexios barely able to hold on as he stood in front of him. He was stripped bare and defenseless despite his armor, knowing very well that there was a chance that if he left this tent, it would be as a corpse. Their eyes met and their gazes held each other. It was finally Alexios who broke the silence.

“Why did you bring me here? You could have, you should have, left me on that field.”

“You had been working with the Athenians. Any information you have would be useful.” The reply was smooth, immediate, and practiced.

“You know as well as I do the Athenians wouldn’t tell me anything. And you can’t hold me as a prisoner of war. Luxuries such as that don’t apply to those of my trade.”

“And your ‘trade’,” Thaletas’ voice was quiet, but seemed to hold an air of almost… disgust at the word, “has led you here to a Spartan general’s tent as a captive, bound and injured.”

“Sometimes these things happen.”

“How can you stand to be so calm at a time like this?” Thaletas finally stood up from his desk. “Alexios, do you realize how much it pains me to be here? For us to be where we are? After everything we shared…” Gods, the pain in his chest was greater than any spear or sword that could pierce him.

“You chose Sparta. You chose Kyra. A Spartan general, are you not? You made a choice as much as I did.”

“And I have lived in regret of that choice everyday. Ever since I have just kept thinking that there was something I could say differently to bring you back to Sparta with me.”

“Don’t do this now, Thaletas, I’m begging you.” Alexios shut his eyes and had to will his breathing to slow down. His hands clenched and he felt the strain of the rope around his wrists, trying to remind himself where he was, that this wasn’t that night. He couldn’t fall for these sweet words again, couldn’t reach out to pull Thaletas closer and destroy any semblance of where they each began and ended like he wanted to.

“I can grant you leniency, Alexios. You can say you have defected. And once we are free to leave these shores, I will take you back to Sparta, work for you to be under me.”

“You don’t even know the whole story.”

“Then tell it to me. We never… We never spoke as we said we would.”

“It’s a long story. Not one I can just give freely.”

Thaletas went quiet again. He studied Alexios’ face before leaving and going for his armor. Alexios didn’t realize what it was until Thaletas began cutting at the ropes with a dagger. He was free quickly but didn’t know what to do with himself, somehow.

“I have time.”

Alexios knew he likely didn’t have a choice. But this time, he didn’t want to refuse.

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

They sat on the bed, hunched over the edge, and Thaletas stared at Alexios as the other stared resolutely at the ground and told his story. The general had never forgotten Alexios’ face, nor its subtleties. The scars decorating it, the beginnings of a beard that Alexios never let grow into anything else. The way his nose curved to the side, crooked from where it had been broken a few too many times. Now he learned things he never thought he would learn, or need to learn.

He learned that when Alexios was nervous, he clenched his hands together and interlocked the fingers. 

He learned that when Alexios was in pain, he paled and became a smaller version of himself, a way to not be so much of a target; like an animal in the wild.

Most importantly, Thaletas learned Alexios’ life. Learned about Mount Taygetos. About his execution. His legacy and the search for family. And he learned just how strong Alexios truly was.

The moon was well in the the sky when Alexios finally ceased, having run out of story to tell.

“I don’t know what to say.” Thaletas finally made out, quietly.

“You don’t need to say anything.” Alexios spoke with the same volume. “Just understand. I can’t go back to Sparta, Thaletas. Not now, if ever.”

“You said that on Mykonos. I thought… I thought it was a lust for adventure that had been put into your heart through a curse. Something to take you and keep you from me.” He found a humorless chuckle springing forth from his lips. “Had I known instead…”

A smirk barely twitched the corner of Alexios’ lips upward before he went stone faced again, still staring at the ground. “My mother is out there, Thaletas. As is my sister. Maybe… Perhaps one day, truly one day, I will step foot on Spartan shores. Perhaps you will be there as well. But until that time…”

Thaletas knew what was coming next. But his mind had been made up from the start about what he was to do. He stood from his bed, striding over to the other end of his tent, and picked up the sack of Alexios’ belongings and weapons. The misthios looked confused, with nervousness just barely there in his eyes even as he stood and accepted the items.

“The back of the tent is unstrung and loose. Leave through there. I will make an excuse for your escape. Your bird is likely nearby waiting for you anyway.”

“It’s not too late. Come with me. You will be safe on my ship, with my crew.” Alexios spoke, but both they knew it was in vain. He had given this offer once, it would not be taken the second time. 

“I have my men to look after. And you… You have your family to find. Take care, Alexios. Truly. May the Gods bless every step you take, my…” There were no words to complete that sentence. But he didn’t need them. The meaning was clear. Alexios nodded his understanding and his thanks.

“I’m sorry about earlier. On the battlefield, it was a rush, I thought you-”

“I felt it too. But you had it right. Bruised, bloody, broken.”

“Never hold back.” Alexios whispered and nodded once more, moving to brush past Thaletas. He paused in his tracks and turned, meeting Thaletas’ eyes for the briefest of seconds before leaning in and brushing their lips together. There was promise there, Thaletas felt it in his bones. A small, quiet promise that they would meet again, whether in this life or in the next. It was something gentle in a life and a world where they weren’t guaranteed such things.

“Stay safe.” Thaletas whispered, and Alexios nodded once before turning and hurrying away out the back of his tent as best as he could. Thaletas knew there would be explaining. Some of his men might have known who Alexios was from Mykonos. Some might even have a thought of their time together. But he would take care of that in the morning. But now, for the night… his bed looked cold and empty. As it had for what felt like ages now. 

Dear Gods, Alexios. Return safely. Return to me. Thaletas prayed to the only thing he cared to pray to at this point before putting out the candles in his tent.

-----------

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[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

Lap of the gods.

Summary: Two gods from different worlds prove that opposites really do attract.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, fluff

A/N: This is the enddddddd 😭 I have loved this series and I'm so glad that so many of you have enjoyed it too! Thank you all so so much for your comments and support! Enjoy! 💖

Part 7.

——————

In the palm of your hand you had six pomegranate seeds, the dark liquid that clung to them stained your skin. Roger was staring at the seeds in your hand. "There's isn't much to the process," you began to explain. "Eat the six seeds by chewing each one six times, then wait six seconds before eating another."

"666- the devils number." He lowly spoke and looked up to you with the faintest glimmer of worry in his eyes.

"I'll understand if you do not want to do this..." you whispered and soothingly rubbed his arm with your free hand. He had already done so much for you- more than anyone else. He had shown you so much love and compassion already. He owed you nothing.

Roger shook his head "No. I want to do this. I want to be with you." He smiled and gently kissed you. "I want to stand by your side for the rest of my immortal life."

You sent him a small grin before becoming serious. "Once you start you cannot stop- you must all eat all six pomegranate seeds." He nodded as he absorbed the information. "After the first, the pain of your decaying soul will ease with each one you take and then you will be bound to the underworld...and me...for all eternity"

"Will my soul be gone for good?" He asked with the slightest bit of concern.

"No you'll have one, only it will be half claimed by the kingdom of the doomed deceased." He let out a small sigh of relief. "You will be able to live and travel freely between worlds. One part of your soul shall remain pure, the other...dead."

"Okay, okay I'm ready." He went to reach for a seed but you closed over your hand.

He raised a confused brow. "Roger, you really don't have to do this if you don't want to. You have nothing to prove to me." You wanted to double check with him before he signed half his soul away.

He softly pried open your hands to reveal the seeds again and he took one between his fingers. "My queen," he spoke so gently it sounded like a purr "This is all I want." He placed the seed in his mouth and followed your instructions, chewing six times. He let out a pained groan and rubbed his chest, staggering sightly when he felt his knees go weak.

You caught him before he fell "It's alright, my love. I've got you." You soothingly murmured.

He groaned in agony as he braced himself for the next seed. "It's okay," he tried to reassure you but he didn't sound okay at all. "Just hurts a little." It hurt a lot.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," you softly cooed and scooped him up in your arms, slowly sitting down on the floor with him. He lay against you and delicately stroked your cheek with his soft fingers.

"It's worth it for you. No matter how challenging or painful the hurdles may be- in the end it's always worth it if it means I'm with you." He cracked a smile before taking the next one, the pain gradually easing off. When it came to the sixth and final seed, he felt almost no pain at all.

When he finished eating it, he didn't feel any different. He thought he would feel a little more gloomy or feel some sort of emptiness- but he never. He was still himself. He was still your Roger. You smiled down at him and gave him a kiss. "Long live the king of the underworld..." you cupped his face. Roger liked the sound of that. He sat upright and felt a weight on his head. A crown that had roses made from blood red rubies and leaves made from bright green emeralds, all entangled in pure gold. It was a nod to his godly gifts that blossomed in his flowery, immortal bones.

Cerberus barked with delight and threw himself at the pair of you. "Yes! Yes!" Roger giggled as Cerberus licked his face "You'll see me a lot more often!"

"We're both very happy about that," you smiled and Roger pecked your lips with a wide grin.

Your happiness was short lived for the moment- you had something to do and you'd need their help. "What's the matter?" Roger asked noticing your troubled look.

"I have to go to earth, I have to speak with John and Brian. News will get back that you're now bound to the underworld and a lot of gods will not be happy- my father in particular." You stood up and pulled him up with you. "You need to stay here and out of sight. I'll make sure Charon doesn't bring anyone to the palace once I'm gone." With a snap of your fingers, you changed into a pair jeans and a top to try and blend in on Earth.

Roger's brows furrowed and he held both your hands. "But I want to help you. I'll come with you." He shook them slightly, you could see the look of worry and determination battle in his sapphire eyes.

You almost melted at his kindness and his thoughtfulness to show you how loyal he was to you because he knew how others betrayed your trust. Roger always put you first. "You can help me by staying here. I'll know you'll be safe in my palace." You smiled, trying to assure him that everything was going to be alright before sending Cerberus a small glare as if to silently say: 'Make sure he stays here and keep him safe'. You pressed your forehead to Persephone's "I'll be back soon." You were about to pull back but Roger gripped onto your waist.

"Wait," he whispered and ghosted his 'sweeter than strawberry' lips over yours "My Queen." He passionately kissed you and you moaned against his skin "My love." He brushed his nose against yours with a smile on his face. He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and conjured a tiny daisy to rest just behind it. A reminder that he was always with you.

"My king." You traced your fingers over his crown and down his jawline before running the pads of them across his soft, kiss-stained lips. "My love." With one final kiss, you left and made your way to earth.

•••

You were standing on a beach, the weather began to turn worse and crows began to caw upon your arrival. A simple charm made you undetected from gods who looked down on earth. You approached the sea and stopped just before the water hit your shoes. With a deep breath you held out a hand in the air, allowing the wind to flow between your fingers. You then kneeled down and placed your other hand in the cold sea.

You shut your eyes over and summoned your brothers. Wether they would turn up or not was another thing. "I call forth my brothers of the sea and sky. My brothers. One of the depths and the other the breeze- I call on you both to stand beside me." You opened your eyes a few minutes later and sighed with disappointment. They hadn't come. You stood up and turned your back to the sea, ready to return to your underworld when you heard sloshing. Swiftly turning on your heel, you saw John emerge from the water. Drops of the salty seawater fell from his noise and clung to his hair. "John..." you whispered with a smile forming.

"Y/N?"

You turned hearing another voice and saw Brian standing on the sandy beach just behind you. You glanced between them both, feeling overwhelmed with their presence. "You both came."

"You called for us," John spoke up "You are still our sister. We will always answer your call." You smiled at him and Poseidon almost burst into tears of joy at the sight. It had been far too long since he saw you genuinely smile.

"Why did you call for us?" Brian asked, getting right to the point.

You bit of your bottom lip and twiddled your fingers. Despite being the eldest, you knew they were going to give you the biggest scolding of your life. "Roger...Persephone...he has..." you drew out what you were trying to say before huffing and spitting it out. "He has let half his soul die. He ate six pomegranate seeds, thus binding him to the underworld. And to me." Brian loudly groaned and placed his head in his hands whereas John took a moment to absorb the information.

"Oh you've really done it this time, Hades!" Brian snapped "Are you both that stupid to carry out something like this?! Father will attempt to burn you in your own hellfire himself!"

"If I were to meet my end in hellfire then I'd hope we would all burn together by his hand!" You loudly retorted. "I called you both here to let you know what had happened first! And I also called on you because I need your help!" That made your two brothers blink in shock. You had never asked for help. You weren't the type to need help.

"What do you need help with?" Brian asked a little warily and walked to stand beside John with his arms folded.

"I-" you sighed and shook your head, looking away from your brothers. "I can't. It's too much to ask of you both."

You began to walk away but stopped on the spot feeling a hand wrap around your wrist. Despite it burning him, he never pulled away. "Y/N, I'd part the seas for you if you asked." John softly smiled.

"And I'd split the sky in half if you wanted." Brian stood beside you and placed his hand on your shoulder.

You looked between them with a growing smile and tears in your eyes. "I'd freeze hell for the both of you." They felt themselves welling up, especially when they saw a dark line stream down your face. They couldn't recall ever seeing you cry. Taking in a deep breath, you took their hands. "Why were we so angry at each other for so many years? Why did father put us against each other?" You questioned them but they looked to their feet. You were right- your father always pinned you against each other and in the end you always ended up fighting and falling out with one antler. "Perhaps he always wanted that- for us all to fight. Less of a guilty conscious I suppose, then he wouldn't have had to do the deed himself if one of us killed the other."

"We were much stronger than that." Brian said in a low tone.

"We are much stronger than that." John corrected him. "What do you need from us Y/N?"

You looked between them both, they could see the plan in your eyes. It was a mad one but had the outcome they both wanted- even though they would never admit it. "I need you to bring father to the underworld before news of Persephone gets back to him. Make father think he's won and that I've given up before I deliver the news. Then we shall join forces and finish him for good and reclaim our right as rulers. Reclaim our right and everyone else's to be free from his ruthless grip."

The two brothers looked at one another and nodded before taking your hand in theirs, forming a silent pact with you.

Brian was a little nervous about it, he was standing in between the devil and the deep blue sea making a deal to end thier father. "Zeus?" John spoke up when he noticed him spaced out. "You okay?"

"Yeah I...I can't believe this is going to happen." He admitted "I'm hoping that it'll all go to plan."

You could hear the worrying undertone in his voice. "It will Brian." You smiled at your brothers. "Because we are strong. Stronger than he will ever be."

•••

Hermes arrived as soon as you called him when you were back in the confides of your palace walls. Roger was sleeping off the exhausting effects he felt from the pomegranate seeds in your bed. You ordered Cerberus to guard outside your chambers.

"It happened."

Hermes wasn't the slightest bit shocked at the revelation- he knew you and Persephone would eventually defy the gods above and rebel against them in order to be together. "Where is he now?" Hermes asked.

"He's sleeping. He was so tired." You looked to your feet, legs crossed as you sat on your throne. "It was a shock to his system- the process. I think Roger expected it to be less painful." You swallowed the lump in your throat "I hated seeing him in pain."

Hermes remained in the same position "What do you need from me?" He asked, knowing you always called on him for a favour of some sorts. But your request shocked him.

"An ally." You stood up "Hermes, in a matter of moments my brothers will bring my father here." Hermes' jaw dropped and was about to speak before you stopped them. "I asked Zeus and Poseidon to bring him."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Hermes hissed "You're signing a death wish! Especially when he finds out about what Persephone's done!"

You shook your head with a smile "My dear Hermes, I will be signing nothing." You looked up in front of you and now saw three gods standing in a line in your throne room. You flashed a forced smile "So you've come to see for yourself my demise?" You asked looking at your father who was all too pleased to be hearing that. "My downfall."

"I knew the day would come." Even when he spoke normally his voice still boomed. "I only wish it came sooner." You could see that hit a nerve with both your brothers who kept thier cool for now but nevertheless, you kept a smile on your face.

"You want it over quick, don't you?" You slowly approached your father "For me to vanish and then you can go on as if I never existed." You walked further forward to your father with a sinister grin on your lips. Hermes, Zeus and Poseidon suddenly became very uneasy with the close proximity. "You never saw me as your daughter, you always failed to acknowledge that. You didn't want your first born to be me- that was the biggest disappointment of them all wasn't it? You wanted to burn the thought of me being your blood from your memory so you decided to let me burn down here!" You screamed, unleashing aeons of unreleased anger. "You hated me- you still do!" You saw a flicker of uncertainty and panic in his eyes. He could feel his powers getting weaker the longer he stayed in your domain. "And yet, you're also afraid...afraid that I'll become stronger than you'll ever be!"

"Enough!" He roared and the three other gods flinched. "You could never be as powerful as me!"

You cocked your head to the side slightly "You're right. Only because I am more powerful than you!" You spat with burning fingertips and ears. Standing back a little you walked around on the spot, shooting a look to Hermes who almost knew what to do and snuck away to fetch Roger. "You paid with blood to get in here. You will certainly pay it to leave...should I let you."

Your father intently furrowed a brow and then laughed incredulously. "You can't fight a titan!" He sounded far too sure of himself for your liking.

You let out a puff of amused air "I can and I will...because I am one." You looked to your brothers "We all are titians." Brian and John moved and stood beside you and the smile fell from your fathers face. "They were born to be princes of the universe and you denied them that to use that power for yourself!" You could see him becoming increasingly more angry seeing Zeus and Poseidon beside you. "Tell me father...do we get what we deserve?" You jibbed seeing him overthrown by his sons that were now going against him.

"You all deserve nothing but pain and unhappiness!" He angrily hissed before pointing in your direction. "You especially!"

"Oh...but I will never feel those things." You looked over your shoulder and saw Roger standing there in dark clothes and that ornate crown on his head with Cerberus by his side. "Not with my king by my side." You turned back to your father who had clenched his fists together and tensed his jaw seeing Roger walking over to stand by you and then lace his fingers between yours.

Your father shook his head "I give you the gift of life and this is how you repay me, Hades?" He bellowed "You all will never be as great as me!"

You let go of Roger's hand and walked forward smiling. "Well, I didn't gift you with your life...but I can gift you with death." Your voice became dark and out of nowhere, a figure in a black hooded cloak who was also shrouded with thick smoke appeared and stood next to you. The four gods behind you felt a chill run through their souls despite being in the heat of hell. You turned your head to the gloomy figure and sincerely smiled, death reached out its hand and you let them place it on top of your own. The simple touch would have took the soul of anyone else. But not you. You and death were close friends and ally's. You both looked back to your father who was now on his knees in defeat. "I think you forget, father dearest," you spat "That death is my closest, most trusted ally and friend." You dropped your hand and turned your back to your father who was pleading you to spare him.

Death placed its morbid grip on your fathers shoulder. It was as simple as that.

The feeling of freedom and relief was almost instantaneous for you and your brothers.

"Is that it?" John asked, cautiously eyeing up the hooded figure that was now standing on its own with hands softly clasped together.

You nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "That's it. He's gone. We're free." You widely smiled and turned to death. "You received what you always wanted. The soul of a god." Death bowed slightly and you did the same. "Thank you." The figure slowly wandered out of your throne room, disappearing once again.

You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned, Roger scooped you up in his arms with an ecstatic grin and kissed your cheek. You giggled and wrapped yourself around him before he put you down. You both faced your brothers and Hermes holding hands with a toothy smile.

John and Brian were over the moon to see you happy, as was Hermes. They had always wanted you to find joy and they were glad you had found it with Roger. "We can now all live in harmony." Brian said up and walked towards the two of you with John beside him.

You let go of Roger's hand to hold your brothers hands. "I'm so thankful for the two of you- I'm sorry if I haven't shown it the past few decades....or millenniums." The corners of your lips tugged upwards and your brothers cracked a smile.

"We should be off to tell the other gods," John said before giving you a hug, one which you happily returned. "We love you."

"I love you both too," you smiled and pulled back before hugging Brian "Come visit anytime. Cerberus will be much nicer to the pair of you." You winked and the two gods laughed. You stepped back and looked over to Hermes who was standing looking at you with a smile. "Hermes," you outstretched your hand and motioned him over. "You're as much a part of this as any of us." The messenger felt your arms wrap around him the first time ever. He effortlessly eased into the hug.

"I'm so happy for you," he whispered into your ear with a tight voice and glossy eyes.

You felt a tear stream down your face. "Thank you, Jim." He hugged you even tighter hearing you say his name. You pulled back and gently pat his cheek. "You best be off to see Fred." You winked, his cheeks flushed and he wore a bashful smile. You and Roger waved the three gods away, when they had gone Roger passionately kissed you.

"Together at last." He cupped your cheek and gently rubbed his nose against yours.

"Together for all eternity."

•••

"Cerberus!" You and Roger shrieked while laughing when your hound shook off water on the both of you. The fact that he was three dogs made it worse.

You and Roger were on a beach on earth- the one where you first met and started something magical. The sun was shining down on the two of you instead of overhanging dull, grey clouds. It was now spring.

Roger had to leave you in the spring to bless the earth with his gifts but some nights when the planet became cool and dark- he returned to the underworld to be with you. His Queen.

He often encouraged you to come with him and he'd show you everything he was doing and had done. It showed you just how much nature rested on Roger's shoulders.

As Cerberus ran off to splash in the salty water, Roger rolled on top of you and your giggle hitched in your throat. "I love you." He lovingly declared. As he so often did.

He sat up and pulled you up with him so you were both sitting on your knees watching Cerberus in the sea. A gust of cool wind took you both off guard but you laughed it off, especially when a flurry of petals whirled passed you both. John could hear you laughter being carried by the current while Brian heard it in the wind. A smile appeared on thier faces. They were overjoyed you were finally happy.

Roger had a soft, amazed, smile on his face as he watched the pink and white petals from the cherry blossom trees that he had created fall onto your head. They fell in such a fashion that they created a band across your hair. As if nature itself was crowning you it's Queen.

💀The End 🌸

———————————

•All parts •

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[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter Three: The Queen Mab

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 3/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Two+

Chapter Four+ >>

-------

It was half-past ten when Severus decided to leave The Queen Mab and go home. He had been sitting at the bar since a quarter to the hour, nursing a firewhiskey and feeling like more of an idiot with each passing moment. At least no one knew him here. The pub was a small, smart-looking place done in dark wood and filled with antique furniture. Groups of Art Nouveau maidens winked down from the walls, whispering and giggling to each other. An aging pianist tinkled away in the corner, playing popular wizarding tunes, and the other patrons talked and laughed over the music. No one seemed to take note of him, for which he was grateful.

With a final irritated glance at the clock, he finished his drink, tossed a few coins on the bar, and stalked out into the warm summer night. The Queen Mab was located in an alley off of High Street that had been enchanted to keep Muggles from noticing it. He frowned darkly as he emerged onto High Street proper, berating himself for being fool enough to think that a woman would actually be interested in him. He was so focused on his ruminating, that he walked straight past the cause of it.

“I didn’t think I was that late,” Miranda said lightly as he went by.

Severus halted in front of Shoreditch Church, almost unwilling to believe his luck. He slowly turned to face Miranda, frown still in place. She was wearing a calf-length emerald sheath dress and an amused smile. A bracelet of copper laurel leaves wound its way demurely around the upper part of one of her bare arms. Her hair was mostly loose, although a few braids wove themselves cleverly through the locks to keep it out of her face. She looked like a wood nymph escaped from some bacchanal.

“You aren’t one of those people who’s early to everything, are you?” she teased.

“Punctuality is a virtue,” Severus said in his sternest professor voice.

“And, unfortunately, one that I lack. Along with prudence and humility to name a few. I don’t suppose you could overlook my flaws this time and come to dinner? It’s Tuesday and Mrs. Mab always makes Bubble and Squeak and Eve’s Pudding on Tuesdays.”

He ran his eyes over her and allowed, “Perhaps just this once.” He offered her his arm, which she took, and they headed back to the pub in the alley.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” she said a bit later over plates of the day’s special and glasses of bitter house-brewed ale. “It took a bit longer than I expected to tie up the vampire case. There was some arguing over proper burial practices followed by some arguing about proper payment practices. I’m always amazed at how short some people’s memories are when it comes to fees and rates of exchange.”

“I would have thought that the life of a bounty hunter was all excitement and danger," he observed. "It sounds rather dull to hear you describe it. How disappointing.”

“It’s a bit of both, like everything. I imagine most people think that your work is tedious, but I know from personal experience the tedium is punctuated by thrilling moments of danger. I once blew up half of a classroom at Ilvermorny trying to make an Exploding Potion. Fortunately, Professor Wright had eyes in the back of her head and was the fastest Shield Charm caster I’ve ever seen.”

“What on earth do they teach you in that backwater?”

“I was supposed to be making the Draught of Peace, but I was bored.”

“I would have had you expelled if you had been one of my students."

“I don’t doubt that. I expect you’re a perfect beast of a professor. You probably hang students up by their toes for fun.”

“Only if they deserve it.” He sipped his ale and studied her a moment. “How do American Muggle-borns find Ilvermorny?”

“The wizarding families in America all know about the school, so they send their children at eleven, sometimes regardless of ability. Ilvermorny has a reputation for rewarding grit as much as talent, so anyone with the nerve to try is usually given a chance. Periodically MACUSA sends agents around the country to look for prospective students among the No-Maj population. I was spotted at a baseball game when I was nine.”

“A what?”

“Baseball,” she repeated with a laugh. “I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s the No-Maj national pastime in America. My whole family is wild for it, but I know it’s an acquired taste if you’re not born into the insanity. I was a pitcher, meaning that my job was to throw a ball at another player who was trying to hit it with a bat. I was supposed to keep the batter from hitting the ball if at all possible. At nine, it’s usually a feat in and of itself simply to throw the ball to the right spot. But I realized that if I held the ball and imagined where I wanted it to go, about half of the time I could make it do what I imagined. And by that, I mean I could make it curve, sink, turn loops, all sorts of things. One Saturday, after a game, a gentleman introduced himself to my parents. We thought he was recruiting for one of the more elite baseball teams, but it turned out he was going to offer me something much more exciting. So here I am. How does it work here?”

“A Magic Quill notes when a witch or wizard is born in the Book of Admittance and an owl arrives with a letter of acceptance sometime during their tenth or eleventh year.”

“How organized. I’m guessing you’re from a wizard family.”

“My mother is a witch,” he said shortly.

She seemed to notice the change in his tone and turned the subject. “I’ve been kicking around an idea for a potion for a while now. I don’t usually have a master of your caliber at my disposal, so I’m going to torture you with it.”

“An inauspicious beginning, but do continue,” he said, glad to discuss something else.

“Well, I tend to get ripped up a bit in my line of work, so I’m always looking for ways to cope with that.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered a change in profession.”

“I’m afraid I’m addicted to it. Do you know what an epipen is?”

“No.”

“It’s a syringe full of synthetic adrenaline. There was a girl I went to No-Maj school with as a child who was so allergic to a protein in milk that her throat would swell shut if she came into contact with it. She carried one of these epipens around with her all the time in case of accidental exposure. If needed, she could stick herself with the syringe and the synthetic adrenaline would keep her airways open until she could get further help. Now, I want to know if it’s possible to use a similar delivery system for a suitable potion. It’s not always practical for me to swallow a vial of something when I’m in the middle of a battle. And then there’s the extra time it takes for the potion to work through my stomach into my bloodstream. Imagine if that could be bypassed.”

Severus’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Interesting idea. It would be extremely dangerous to test.”

“That’s probably true. But do you think it would work?”

“Assuming you found the proper potion to use, I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” He was quiet for a while, pondering this.

She lit a cigarette and let him think in silence. When she’d finished smoking, she said, “It’s really a beautiful night. Would you like to talk a walk?”

“It’s a wretchedly hot night,” he replied, “but perhaps the company would be worth the bother.”

    She looked pointedly at his long black sleeves and high collar. “I think I’ll choose to take that as a compliment."

He allowed himself a smile. “I suppose I meant it as such.”

They left the pub and he offered her his arm again. She took it and inhaled deeply as they turned onto a deserted High Street.

“I know that the days in can be oppressive, but this time of night in summer is simply the most delicious time to be alive,” she said.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied, but his tone was teasing.

As they passed Shoreditch Church again, she let go of his arm and twirled around like a nymph dancing in the forest. Infected by her madness, he caught her wrist and spun her to him. Her hands landed on his chest and he kissed her with an eagerness that would have embarrassed him had she not been reciprocating with equal fervor. His arms went around her waist and hers slipped about his neck. Her fingers were tangled in his hair when they broke apart to gasp for air, but before he could continue his work, he noticed that they were no longer in London. He stepped back from her and his suspicious eyes saw rolling hills and a country lane rather than the city street he had expected.

“Where are we?” he almost growled.

“Oh, I thought it would be nice to be somewhere a bit out of the way,” she answered with an impish grin.

He was not amused. He grabbed her arm over the bracelet and gripped it until the leaves cut into his hand. “Where are we?” he demanded again.

Her jaw set in an annoyed look of her own. “We’re near my cabin. I used a Homing Spell. It’s something we learn in the backwater I’m from. I didn’t use it last night because you have to be a bit relaxed in order for it to work. You must have wanted to come tonight, or I wouldn’t have been able to bring you with me. Now let go of my arm, you’re hurting me.”

He held on for a moment longer before releasing her, then they walked on in silence for a while.

“Are you always that jumpy?” she asked pleasantly, as though enquiring about the weather.

“Usually,” he answered, rather more honestly than he had intended.

The half-moon shone brightly over the downs and Severus realized that the sea was visible beyond them. The breeze off of the water was cooler than it had been in the city and he had to admit that there was something to the idea of being a bit out of the way. As he studied Miranda out of the corner of his eye he found it difficult to say where the moonlight ended and her hair began. He offered her his arm again and she took it, as though the earlier exchange had not happened. Considering her occupation, perhaps she was used to people being what she called ‘jumpy.’

“How many brothers did you say you have?” Severus asked dryly.

“Four. Only three living, though,” she answered. Then she added with a note of mirth, “Don’t worry, they’re all in America. No one will be waiting for you with a shotgun.”

Before long, he saw the cabin from the night before waver into view ahead. Miranda’s arm felt good in his as he led her up the path to her front door. She ascended the first step and turned to face him, eyes level with his and lips inches away.

“Would you like to come in?” she breathed.

“I should think that were obvious,” he answered, a bit breathless himself.

She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him with those ardent lips. He was starting to lose track of his rational mind when a stabbing pain flew up his left arm. He broke off the kiss with a grunt and knew that the Dark Mark under his sleeve was glowing black and angry. Of course he would be summoned at this particular moment. He had been a fool to think that this evening would possibly go the way he had hoped.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked, sounding concerned.

“I have to leave,” he said harshly.

She paused, curiosity etched on her face, but she did not ask him where he was going. “Can you come back?” she asked simply.

“No.” He traced her cheek with a long finger, unaware of how the regret he was feeling glittered in his eyes.

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably not.” His lip curled in a wistful smile. “Unlike your family, I’m afraid I am not terribly lucky.”

The pain in his arm throbbed again and he turned, striding away from her.

“I wish you luck all the same,” she said after him. He didn’t wait to hear any more and Apparated to his Master’s call.

*****

Hours later, Severus stumbled into Spinner’s End, even paler than usual and shaking. His mind had been full of moonlight when he had appeared before the Dark Lord and Severus had been unable to keep it as blank as he usually could. The Dark Lord, still wary of Severus’s protestations of loyalty, had invaded Severus’s mind and begun sifting through the fresh memories of a silver-haired woman. Severus had managed to turn the hair red, to focus on Lily instead. Finally the Dark Lord had turned his attention elsewhere, bored with Severus’s obsession. Severus supposed the Cruciatus had been applied to him that night simply for being dull.

He gulped some water and fell into bed, not able to undress. Every nerve was still screaming with pain, but he knew it would dull to an ache by the morning. He slept fitfully and dreamed of a smiling woman whose hair changed from red to silver, and whose eyes flashed green and grey.

Moonlight Masterpost+

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Chapter Four+ >>

[aprettystrangeblog]

Unbowed, Unbroken

“Breathe, Stephen.”

“I, I c-can’t—“

“You were given lungs to breathe, child of the earth. Use them.”

Stephen Strange inhaled sharply— too fast, too quickly, gagging on the thick, sweet-sour stench of old air that could choke the life out of even the strongest—

“Try again. Not so hard this time. Slowly. Breathe.”

Stephen gulped down another breath of air, this one stinging the tear tracks carving canyons and valleys into his cheeks, gashing gorges that could never heal—

“Good, shh,” the voice murmured. Gentle pressure akin to a hand grasped his shoulder from behind, an immensely comforting weight amidst the aching sea of black. “Wipe your eyes, it’s alright. The time for strained sobs has dried and gone with the tears on your cheeks.”

“H-how can it, when so much is wrong? When I’m wrong? When I’ve gone and f—“

“That is enough,” came the firm murmur, a candle of a voice lighting the way through the pain. “You have done no wrong.”

“I, god, what am I doing...” Stephen scrabbled weakly at his thighs curled helplessly upon the floor, gulping down lungfuls of air with every new heartbeat. Breathe, breathe.

A pair of warm, strong hands grasped his wrists with gentle care, stilling their shaking search for something to tug or rip or grip with white-hot fingertips.

“Be still,” the voice whispered, “you are alive. You are breathing. You are pushing through this moment as you have done all others. You won’t stop or fail now, my friend.”

Stephen slumped forwards slightly, his arms wrapping around his heaving torso. Air was thinning, becoming clearer. Spring blossoms and fall leaves and the smell of rainstorms to come and sunsets to see and days yet to pass hung heavy in the breeze, brushing over his damp cheeks as soothingly as butterfly wings. Full of promise, full of hope, full of change.

“Can you smell that, Stephen?” The voice hovered near his shoulder. “The ocean. Sea and surf and sand. Collecting shells and sleeping in the sun. A dog running through the waves.” There was a pause, a shift in the air. “And there, dried lavender, years old and still treasured. A spider’s web, spun in the dew of the morning. A pine tree damp from a rainstorm. Hail on the breeze.” The gentle hand returned to lightly squeeze his shoulder. “So much yet to experience. So much yet to live for, to see. To love. Can you feel it?”

A delicate feeling blossomed in Stephen’s chest, knocking the breath from his lungs again. But this touch was different— soft, unassuming, a sum of laughter and a missed heartbeat and intertwined fingers and strung lights and dancing around the kitchen floor with a loved one.

Hope, he realized.

“Never let your spirit die,” the voice murmured somewhere close to his heart. “Never let your light go out. It may sputter. It may dwindle. It might smoke and flicker out in the darkest hour. But you must always close your eyes and breathe back in the hope and life and memories you’ve never made yet. All the good you’ve yet to do and all the good others will gift to you. Remember that you are a miracle of circumstance and chance and a galaxy unto itself— and what galaxy ever truly goes dark?”

Stephen managed a small smile. “You... sort of talk in circles. But... it’s comforting. Thank you.”

“Are you alright now?”

Stephen took a shaky breath. “Yes. I just. I don’t know how to pick up, to carry on. I feel as though I’ve forgotten how to stand up—“

“Your legs would never betray you,” the voice whispered lightly, sounding like a string of tinkling bells in the wind. “But...” The voice hesitated, seeming to ponder how it wished to reply. “Have you ever stood upon the roots of a tree so tall, so massive, that it dwarfed anything nearby in comparison? An ancient gnarled thing, perhaps an oak or redwood that’s stood time and time again against storm and wind and axe?”

“I have.”

“Then know this: part of that tree lives with you. Let its strength flow through you— for you too have weathered storm and wind and axe, have healed your hurts and grown and lost branches along the way. You are not so different.” The air changed again, promising new leaves and the smell of rain and dewdrop covered meadows. “Your soul is as unbowed and unbroken as the tree you speak of. And yes, one day we will all fall back to the earth from which we came. But while we can, why not stretch towards the sky and raise our heads proudly against what it throws at us?”

Stephen squared his shoulders, brushing strands of plastered hair off of his face. “One day, I will look to the sky and smile.”

“Make that day today,” the voice suggested softly. “You might find that a simple act of hope and rebellion against one’s storms can change much more than you think it could.”

Stephen nodded, inclining his head forwards slightly. “I will.”

“I know. I believe in you, and I’m so proud of you.” The voice seemed to straighten up, beginning to dissolve away into invisible petals on the winds of change. “So, Stephen, tell me. What are you?”

Green eyes opened. The air crackled orange. Sparks flew as Stephen pushed his sleeves up, every last drop of darkness shying away from the newfound light.

“Unbowed, unbroken.”

And Stephen Strange lifted his face to the palest of morning skies with a smile.

[yeoldontknow]

Hero: 9

Author’s Note: a short chapter this time, friends :( and likely not the most interesting, but it is very important! Sorry! BUT! PCY POV! always means ~politics abound~ i didn’t have time to make this as long as i wanted, but when i come back from vacation longer chapters will abound. we’re in the meat of the story now tho! i hope you all enjoy this <3 Song for this chapter: Bad Things - Tricky Genre: Vampire!Chanyeol; horror; thriller; suspense; drama; eventual smut Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Rating (this chapter): R (for the overall atmosphere) Warnings (this chapter): (wow i don’t think there’s really any?) Word Count: 3,625

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CHANYEOL

Death becomes him, he thinks. It suits him in a way that feels as though it were tailored just for him, follows in his shadows and never really leaves the soil beneath his fingernails because it wears him. It wears him like armor and never has he found it within himself to grieve or mourn this reality. Death belongs to him, is born from him, and allows him to feel free. 

Death is his armor but never his suitor, and only now, in the wake of Hero’s wide eyes and vicious tongue, is he starting to feel his control over death slip from his grasp. 

Standing on the armory roof, arms crossed and mind reeling, Chanyeol feigns an expression of reticence as he accepts the fact that death is shrouding him, for the first time, without his consent. Staring straight ahead, he wills his attention to be focused on the blanket of stars above his head or the soft glow of the streets below, but all he can see is Hero. For days he has been haunted by her, haunted by her smell and taste in the air, but now he is haunted by everything she comes to represent. Her presence means weakness. Her presence means the certain, complete erasure and shutting down of covens as all wasted souls are burned by her command.

Her presence means cataclysm.

From the moment he saw her, turning in the trunk to greet his eyes with a scowl, deep in the catacombs of his black heart he knew she was an omen. Speaking to her felt like releasing the latch of a bomb. Touching her felt like holding a flood between his hands. Standing next to her felt like being burned alive and reborn within the same moment, like standing next to the sun. All the times he pressed his back into his bed to cower away from the sound of her rushing blood, all the times he gagged himself on a shirt to avoid the taste of her sweat permeating the bunker, the delectable taste was not of vulnerable humanity, it was of war and now he knows why he tried to run from it.

Everything about her is a pull and lure, designed to tempt him to the edge of his existence. Everything about her spells his weakness, because she is persuasion personified, and no man could ever avoid his fate. 

But more than existing as his weakness, she is the unavoidable, unequivocal reality of war. 

When Jinsoo invited him into his coven, sat him at a table, and handed him a fountain pen sharpened to a fine point, Chanyeol knew that war was slithering beneath their feet like a political undercurrent. When he slid the pen across his wrist, took his blood as ink, and signed his name, he could smell it oozing off the parchment. When the deal soured, he could smell it on the tire tracks. But now, with Hero and the bonfire of her will to survive, he knows that war, battle, and torn limbs are unavoidable. There is no amount of negotiation or threatening to put an end to this, no scale for the amount of blood that will be spilled because it is limitless.

War began on the day of her birth and will only end after all the blood of the losing side has been spilled. 

He’s felt it before, the white hot burn of his gun against his back and the twitch in his fingers to pull the trigger, the nerves of his body preparing for the smell of blood before his mind accepts the toll. Usually, he relishes the sensation. Usually, he finds it both satisfying and happenstance, amounting to nothing more than a passing thrill or a necessary par for the course. He’s built a kingdom of slit throats and pulsing veins, necks tilting as if he were their axis, but now with a Reader, he’s less keen to tear flesh and break jaws. Before his eyes, the precipice of eradication had come to rest at his feet and, as he looks out over the city, he begins to see every landscape and every alternative become little more than scorched earth. 

This time, the death he senses has every possibility to be his own.

Perhaps most disturbing to him, most upsetting of all, is not so much the knowledge of these things, the sureness of them, it is the paradoxical fact that when he is near her, he feels invincible. To call her a weapon is an understatement, she is nothing short of a nuclear reactor beneath his skin. It takes all of his self-control not to become reckless in her presence because she is there and it is easy to assume she is his. 

The reality is that she belongs to no man. She is an island of power unto herself, and yet he is pulled to her shores like a lonely moon. The danger in her, the sheer violence of her mood and will, is the kindling to his flame, and he feels a pull to her unlike any other. This is the true horror of her nature, this is her true power. The ability to pull even the strongest men into her hold, the ability to tempt only with the possibility of victory, sex, and power.

At every turn, she surprises him, defies him, moves in a concentric circle of perpetual disobedience and he finds that he is glad for it, glad that she exercises her will at every turn. This is how he knows he change is already starting, knows that she has already begun to fill her purpose. She chooses to disobey his wishes and he finds that he is lenient. She fights him at every turn and he bends to her will.

At every turn, he will choose to protect her.

His thoughts are disrupted by the sound of the latch being pushed on the emergency exit door, though he doesn’t bother turning to greet the intruder.

‘Sire, we need you to review CCTV footage in the security room,’ Jongdae announces, a hint of urgency laced through the words.

Chanyeol can hear the tension in his voice, can hear the pressing need for action, but does not move. Tonight, he thinks urgency has no place. Tonight, he’d rather take his time for these may be the last expendable moments he has. Moving to hold his hands loosely behind his back, he speaks out and over the city in a calm, pensive tone.

‘Are you ready to die for this coven?’

Even with his back turned, he can sense Jongdae bristling at the question. Caught off guard, he prepares an answer in an even, respectful voice that masks his surprise.

‘You know my oath,’ is his plain reply.

Chanyeol smiles, releasing a soft laugh. It is a good and true answer, a very Jongdae answer, even though it is not the answer he wanted.

‘That was not the question,’ he states, though it comes out gentle and almost placid.

Jongdae approaches his right side, hands digging into the pockets of his trousers. He stands to view the city with the same air of concern and apprehension as Chanyeol and, for a moment, he thinks Jongdae has been reading his mind even though it is not his gift.

‘I was ready to die for the brotherhood the moment I agreed to turn,’ he explains, releasing a heavy sigh. ‘I believed you when you told me this was the only way we could fight.’ 

Chanyeol regards his second for a moment, studying the way he watches the clouds as though they are his children. As always, the affinity between them resonates, both their souls and spirits sky born and desperate to fly. As always, they watch the stars together with longing.

‘History may be repeating itself,’ Chanyeol announces, airily. 

Jongdae merely nods.

‘Then the question of death has come to face us once more, and you should already know my answer.’

Chanyeol nods briefly with him, only to stop and frown. ‘The day is approaching.’

‘You can sense it?’ Eyes still fixed on the sky, Chanyeol can almost hear Jongdae’s brown furrowing. He is trying to wade his way through Chanyeol’s meaning, sort through the words and come up with answers based on what he knows of their life together, though nothing could prepare him for the truth.

There’s no simple way for Chanyeol to tell him, no possible way to ease him into the news. What he says now will hurt Jongdae, hurt him deeply and force old wounds to bleed once more because there are some scars even time cannot heal. There is no easy way for him to say it, so he does the best he can with a kindness he’s not used to handling.

‘What I am going to tell you will influence the way you view the continuation of your life,’ he begins, his voice little more than a tepid pool of caution. ‘Our futures will be defined by this and we will need to hold a council meeting.’

He adds the last sentence in the hopes of keeping Jongdae focused, keep him from reacting in a way that would influence the weather. All he really succeeds is doing is forcing lines of worry to appear along his forehead, causing him to turn and face his sire with a look of unease. 

‘It’s been three centuries since we’ve had to do that,’ he says, warily.

Chanyeol nods, not fully inclined to meet Jongdae’s eyes. Not yet. Not when he’s starting to feel like a boy. Not when the words he needs to say feel like a secret that will ruin his childhood friend. Again.

‘I didn’t think we’d have to do it again so soon,’ he concedes with a shaking breath.

He decides then to just say it, to release it into the world without care.

‘Our human captive is a Reader.’

Beside him, light cracks of electricity begin to burst. They don’t touch him or burn him, they merely make the hairs on his arm stand to attention. Glancing to his side he can see green sparks dance between Jongdae’s fingers, jumping from one knuckle to the next, until many tiny sparks combine to form three long embers of lightning. He’s holding them in his hands, looking more like a god or Zeus than any maker or Sire he’s seen, and Chanyeol knows he is holding himself back. The way his arms twitch and fingers shake, the way his jaw clenches and unclenches, and his chest hardly moves as he holds his breath to keep his fangs in check. This is true rage and control, a beast living and dying without a single word being spoken.

And as quickly as it started, Jongdae pulls himself back under control and turns back to face the sky. Distantly, a crack of thunder rolls and echoes with no rain to follow.

‘So the end is near,’ he eventually declares, voice dry. 

‘One end is approaching,’ Chanyeol clarifies, turning back to study the moon. ‘It is up to her to decide which it is.’

A long, shuddering breath emerges from Jongdae’s chest, like he’s run for miles to get to Chanyeol. Perhaps, in his mind, that’s exactly what he’s doing. ‘So the change has started, then?’ 

Grateful for the change in subject, the move away from the fact she is a reader to what it means for Chanyeol, he finds himself relaxing into the topic with a crack of his neck. ‘From the moment I saw her, yes.’

‘Is that why you’ve been...indulgent?’ he asks, smoothly.  

Chanyeol scoffs at the word. ‘She doesn’t see it as such.’

‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ Jongdae agrees with a snort, ‘though it was for her protection.’

Chanyeol cocks his eyebrow and turns to face Jongdae. ‘Would you like to reason with her?’ he taunts. 

‘No, thank you.’

‘Yes,’ he sighs, turning back to the sky. ‘I imagine it must have been hard for her to feel static electricity on her skin for no reason.’ 

The memory of Hero’s face as she regarded all the coven generals at the ceremony floats through his mind, her eyes wide and confused as each member bewildered her more than the last. At the time, he thought it was just reckless indignation that made her squirm in discomfort, but now, with the realization that she is a Reader, he almost feels sympathetic towards the onslaught of sensations that must have wracked her body. In particular, he almost wants to apologize for having her look at Baekhyun without any sort of preparation. She must have been blinded.

‘I guess you could say I’m shocking.’

Jongdae’s joke filters through the night air, forced and out of place. It’s uncomfortable in its cadence, strained and almost bashful in its attempt to carry on and evade the reality that he is crumbling. But in its wake, Chanyeol finds himself smiling. For the first time in centuries, Jongdae stands before him as his childhood best friend and as a human.

‘Goodness, Jongdae, a pun?’ he mutters in teasing surprise. ‘Keeping Junmyeon at your side too long?’

‘Perhaps, though it could be the idea of death approaching making me feel light hearted.’ The clenching in Jongdae’s throat and the tightness in his voice gives him away, and Chanyeol is too happy to gloss over it in the pretense of keeping the conversation light.

‘Jongdae, we are the same age. You make it sound as though we are as old as the sun.’

‘It feels that way, from time to time.’

‘Jesus, you have been spending too much time with Junmyeon,’ Chanyeol laughs in disbelief. ‘Spend three days with Sehun, old man. Learn to smile again.’

With a disgruntled sort of chuckle, Jongdae turns to Chanyeol and fixes his face into one of professional impassiveness. ‘As wondrous as this conversation is, we do need you downstairs.’

‘Spoil sport,’ he concedes, straightening his back and preparing to let time move again. 

‘Trust me you will want to see it.’

In unison, they turn from the roof and head towards the door. He allows Jongdae to lead the way, turning back once more as he passes to regard the night sky. Catching up with the present makes him feel like he’s moving away from the man he was and sometimes thinks he’d like to be again. Catching up with the present makes his chest burn and his fingers instinctively twitch for a trigger, and it always takes him a moment to get used to the sensation of being at odds with himself.

‘Jongin is on security?’ he asks, building his voice back to its normal cadence of authority. 

‘Yes, until sunrise.’

They move through the hallway in silence, the footsteps of their leather boots echoing off the walls in soft, rhythmic patterns. It is rare that CCTV footage needs to be reviewed. Chanyeol thinks he can count the number of times they’ve had to watch a tape back on one hand, most intrusions clearly a halfling or an animal scurrying through the night. Whatever Jongin found must surely have alarmed the young vampire.

‘What’s happened?’ Chanyeol asks as soon as he steps through the door of the security room. He comes to stand behind Jongin, eyes immediately raising the the twelve screens connected to the wall in a square. Each screen shows a different angle of the coven perimeter, all in crisp black and white night vision.

Jongin types a series of codes into the DOS log box on camera 9, and the screen flashes twice before reverting back. The scenery looks the same, unchanged and uninteresting, with the only clue of a change being the time stamp dictating the screen is in the past.

‘This footage is from 02:00 hours, around the left perimeter bank,’ Jongin explains hurriedly. ‘I watched it back three times before alerting Jongdae.’

Chanyeol frowns, glancing from the screen to Jongin and back again. ‘A perimeter breach? Why didn’t the alarm sound?’ 

‘Well,’ Jongin begins, but hesitates. ‘Just look. You’ll see why.’

He taps the keyboard and the screen begins to play. For a moment there is nothing, no movement on the screen to raise any sort of alarm. But then, from the bottom right corner, a long line of static moves across the screen to the left perimeter wall. Blurred as though the tape itself were warped and torn, it doesn’t hesitate when it approaches the wall and merely moves through it at as though it wasn’t there at all.

Children are told stories from a young age that vampires have no reflections or are unable to be viewed through photographs and videos, their lack of a soul dictating there is nothing to be given back within the frame. While some myths of their kind are true, many are not, and no vampire is immune to the video capture of a military grade camera. And so it is clear this diversion was done on purpose, the necessity of movement under stealth planned and willingly enacted in a blatant move of disobedience and betrayal.

‘Well that’s one way to get out,’ Chanyeol mutters under his breath. ‘Wall phasing?’ 

‘It moves in the direction of Jinsoo’s coven,’ Jongin explains, pointing to the screen with his pen. ‘Look at the trajectory. It comes from the training hangar and out to the left flank. A figure waits along the banks, though I can’t make out who it is. It appears they were waiting for this arrival.’

He pauses the footage and zooms in on a dark, hooded figure lingering half inside the frame just beyond the barrier. It’s clothed, so not a halfling, though the image is not clear enough to discern who or what it could be. 

‘Keep an eye on this side of a perimeter for a halfling,’ Chanyeol demands. ‘This could be who is making them. Possibly a team, of sorts.’

‘We have a mole,’ Jongdae announces, voicing Chanyeol’s concerns. ‘Who knows how long he’s been inside.’ 

Since the arrival of the Reader, Chanyeol had been moving and placing his chess pieces in preparation of defense. Every action he had taken had been in the guise of proving the deal had been tarnished before it had been signed, though he had no true discernible proof beyond gut instinct. But now, he supposes, the proof he has found is much worse than all his fantasies.

Until Sehun’s initiation, the last time a new member had been brought to the coven was over seventy years ago. While he was unable to place a name to the mole, their visage hidden away and kept secret by the nature of their power, it was certain they had been planted years before the deal had even been concocted. There was no telling how much information had been filtered over to Jinsoo throughout the past century, at least.

And it makes sense now, he thinks, for a Reader to fall so inelegantly into his lap. The winds of change and war have been blowing so long, he’s almost surprised she didn’t arrive sooner.

‘Do we notify the brotherhood?’ Jongin asks, though his tone does little to mask his anxiety.

Young, though having lived through and survived two coven wars, Jongin always approaches battle with the cautious eyes of a boy. Chanyeol appreciates it, finds that, after so long of willingly tears jaws apart, the softness in Jongin’s voice grounds him and forces him to consider loss of life before loss of bullets.

‘We cannot alert the coven of the betrayal, not until we know who it is,’ Chanyeol says, curtly. ‘For now, we act normally and lay low to prevent suspicion. We need to remain a unified front.’ 

‘Sire, there’s still the chance of an attack from within,’ Jongdae says with a scowl, eyes trained back on the screen.

For a moment, Chanyeol considers this. He runs through all his options and finds that he is glad Sehun was initiated before this discovery. He’s glad Sehun spent so long toiling in the armory. 

‘We notify our suppliers. Start with blood and weapons,’ he orders. ‘This will be Sehun’s first operation. Tell him to prepare.’

‘We should change the locks on each supply door. Only you and I keep the keys,’ Jongdae claims, rolling immediately along with the thoughts in Chanyeol’s head.

‘Yes, but we should give keys to Minseok,’ he affirms. ‘Junmyeon remains at your side often enough, and Minseok leads our security banks. We can’t leave him unprepared.’

At this, Jongdae nods and leaves the room, heading in the direction of Minseok’s bunker.

Chanyeol turns his eyes back to the screen before him and studies the shape of the blur, studies the dark figure at the side of the frame, and begins to imagine every action he decides to take as a domino.

‘There will be a council meeting before dawn,’ he murmurs to Jongin. ‘Please prepare.’ 

He doesn’t have to look at Jongin to know that a myriad of thoughts and emotions are passing over his face. 

‘Sire, it’s been -’

‘Yes, I know,’ he says cooly, cutting the him off.  ‘I regret that it has to be so soon for another.’

Council meetings are never to be taken lightly, only taking place when Chanyeol feels he needs the voices of all his generals to guide him through turmoil.

Council meetings are always the start of war, the first round table of action to reaction; conversations preceding the loss of blood.

The last time a council meeting occurred with a Reader in existence, at least in Chanyeol’s lifetime, was the week before he died.

History, he thinks, seems to be repeating itself.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Inkjournal Day 10 - A book you could live in

Summary: When it rains, you can always find Aeronwen and Ian Trevelyan in the library, reading the day away. This doesn’t change, even if time and location does. Some things just live on no matter what.  Word count: 2033

---

And before her eyes, the little seed turned into a might bean sprout. It went up and up, past the houses and even the church steeple, pushing past the clouds and towards the heavens. Even as the little girl glanced up, she could see no end to it.

“Where does it all lead to?” She wondered, before reaching out to take the first leaf. If she wanted to find out, she would need to do it herself. And so, the little girl began to climb the mighty bean stalk, leaving the ground behind for greater adventure.

Outside the window, a typical Ostwick fall storm was raging. Buckets of rain splashed against the glass, turning the few bits of dirt on the rocky ground below into mud. If anyone tried to walk in it, they would be stuck fast.

Aeronwen was away from it all, sitting in an alcove in the library with her book. Really, she should have been doing her homework for tomorrow's theory class. That book, much larger than the one she was holding, rested next to her on the seat just below the edge of her robes. It was waiting for her, ready to swallow her whole.

She hated theory class. The teacher was old and mean.

“Just one more chapter and then I'll read it.” One more chapter was of course going to become another, and even she knew it. But it was sort of a promise that made something inside her feel warm as she turned the page to follow the rest of the well-worn adventure.

At the top of the bean stalk, far above the clouds, the little girl found herself standing in a field. There, colorful flowers in jewel shades blossomed in the sun. Their color bathed the cloud ground below in a hundred hues, looking like stained glass on a Chantry building.

In front of her, on a simple path lined with this flowers, was a large building made of shimmering blue stone. All around it were bright red flowers, producing a cheery sight to anyone that viewed it. Despite that, a shiver ran down the girl's spine.

There was something unnatural about this.

“Did you get to the part where the wolf-headed man tries to eat her yet?”

Shadow fell over the page, blocking the rest of the tale. Scowling, Aeronwen looked up, fully prepared to tell off whoever had interrupted her reading. However, her face softened as she realized it wasn't an older student or a teacher who had bothered her.

Instead, she was met by the freckled face and bright red hair of her cousin, Ian. He was grinning at her as he moved her theory book onto the floor, hopping up to the seat next to her. Even though they were close in age, she had quite a few inches in height on him – where her feet touched the ground, his still dangled.

“Glad to see I'm the only one putting off school work. The way it is around here, you'd think it was a capital offense.” He chuckled and brushed back an errant curl of red that was always falling across his forehead. “Besides, who can read in such lovely weather? I'm surprised they haven't taken us out to exercise.”

Thunder boomed outside for emphasis as the rain kept coming down. However, the two young mages were safe in their tower from the elements. Perhaps that was the only thing they were safe from; after all, from the other side of the room they watched as a Templar skulked through the stacks.

They always thought they were so sneaky, but anyone could hear their armor clanking from two rooms away.

“How'd you know I'd be in here, Ian?” Aeronwen at least made an attempt to look like she was doing her homework by retrieving her theory book. She cracked it open, inserting her story inside like one would a notebook. At any angle, it would've looked like she was just taking down details for class. It was a trick an older student had taught her a year ago, and it had served her well.

The boy next to her grinned and rested both his palms behind his head, elbows up so his robes slid down his wrists. “You always go to the library when it's raining, Aery. You like to read the story you're reading now cause it reminds you of home.”

Indeed, it did. The Trevelyan estate was miles away from the Ostwick Circle were both of them had resided since they were young. Most days, she couldn't remember much about her former home at all. Like the shimmering blue castle in her story, it was more a dream than reality. At least, it was for mages like them.

At least she could dream, she supposed.

“You should probably pick up a book before Master Wendell comes back. He'll grab your ear again if he catches you goofing off.” The aforementioned teacher wasn't far either if the top of his bald head was anything to go by. Next to her, Ian blanched and scrambled for something that looked like a class book.

It was enough to make her suppress a chuckle as she hid behind her book, watching him with a smile. Even on the worst days, he always managed to make her laugh. Maybe that was the good part about having relatives in the same Circle.

Well, if there was any.

---

“Great, another lousy ass day out there. I'm going stir crazy!”

Trevy picked up her head as she sorted through yet another pile of library books. A loud voice had drawn her attention – there were guard recruits there, complaining about their lack of anything to do for the last couple of days.

If only she could've had that luxury.

It was to be expected, of course. Ferelden was lousy in early spring as the winter storms changed to spring showers. Right now, they were caught in a mix of the two as rain pounded against Skyhold's defenses and a freezing cold win blew through any cracks. It might not have been snowing, but it sure felt like it.

“Days like this, it's good to be in the library.” She returned to her task, sorting the books into piles that corresponded to the shelves. Once that was done, she picked up a stack and started her next task for the day. With her in command, chaos was slowly turning into order as books were categorized and organized into some semblance of a system.

Now if only they could keep it that way. There were certain mages she was this close to throwing something at.

In fact, one was close to drawing her ire. Trevy sucked in her cheek as she spotted a book on primal magic smack dab in the middle of the entropy section, pushed in the wrong way. Before she returned it to her pile, she scribbled down the title. Whoever had returned it would be in her records, and they would be getting a stern talking to from her.

“Maker help me if it's Michael again. I told that fool the last time to just put them on the cart.” She shook her head, loose strands of white hair falling into her forehead. A quick swipe of her fingers put them back behind the thick cloth she wrapped around it, but the close proximity caused a brief twinge of pain. It wasn't anything to write home about of course, but it still hurt.

The good thing was, it was hurting less by the day.

“Right then, I'll just take this back to the primal section after I finish up here.”

The whole shelf was soon in order, leaving Trevy to hum to herself as she headed to the next bit of the library. Here it was quiet, probably because it was so close to the largest of the windows. Too close, and an unsuspecting reader could find themselves facing the full brunt of the icy cold wind that blew over the mountains their stronghold was nestled into. Thanks to her thick robes, she only felt a bit of it, but it was unpleasant all the same.

Outside, the storm was raging. Sleet and icy rain pounded against the windows and dripped down into the glacial valleys below. The snow hadn't started to melt, and now it would get a deadly coating of ice come nighttime. Tomorrow, anyone who had a good hand at fire magic would be hard at work to make sure nobody met their death on the battlements.

Luckily, she was crap at that too.

“I guess that's my one former Tranquil privilege.”

“What, not the stylish headgear? You're killing me, Aery.”

A warm voice caused her to turn. Another mage was standing there, chuckling as he crossed his arms over his chest. Unlike her, his robes were pitch pack and bore no Circle mark. In fact, everything he wore was black, right down to his boots.

“I'm surprised the quartermaster was able to get you back up to code.” A smile slid across her face as she wrapped her arms around the man's neck. “Good to see you back on your feet, Ian.”

He was a new recruit to the Inquisition after all – they had found him and some other mages in the dungeon of a castle. It had taken weeks to get him back to walking around health, and even now he looked a little pale.

Well, she thought so anyway. It was a little hard to tell under the skull makeup.

“The healers here did a good job of putting me back together. I'll have to thank them later.” He motioned her towards a small reading alcove. “Think you can ditch the books for a few seconds to join me?”

For a brief moment, Trevy's gaze went back to her stacks. They weren't growing, but they certainly weren't going anywhere. However, Ian's eyes were practically shining as he beckoned her on, so how could she say no?

“Just for a few seconds. I have work to do.”

Soon, they were both seated in the alcove, far from prying eyes. It was warmer there too, thanks to being so far away from the windows. Even the cold stone of the tower didn't feel as bad as she rested her back against it.

Ian, still beaming, reached towards a shelf to pull out a book. Memory reminded her it was in the folk tales section, and that particular row was centered in the Free Marches. Why he had called her there she had no idea until he slid the book over.

Jane and the Bean Stalk was written across the cover in curly font, and the picture was of a young girl climbing up a massive green shoot into the clouds. She had never seen a cover with illustration on it – the one they'd had at the Circle was plain, like all the books.

“Figured since it's such a crappy day you might want something good to read.” He nudged her arm. “Why don't you crack it open and get it started for me?”

There was a lump in Trevy's throat, but it was a good one. She blinked away tears she hadn't even realized were there as she opened the cover to the first page. Here too, it was illustrated in a delicate hand. Wherever they had gotten this book, it was special.

“Alright, but just a few pages.” She cleared her throat, forcing past the lump. “'Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a little girl in a little cottage...'”

And just like that, it was as if time had melted back to their childhood. Of course, she knew well that both of them were well past their apprentice days, but it was nice to  return for just the afternoon. In the end, Ian was right.

She had wanted something good to read after all. Even better, he was there to read it with her. Maybe the Inquisition was on to something after all.

[audreycritter]

overshadowed

Hullo! This is a fic exchange with @fuyunoakegata . It’s rated T for language. It’s Gen in content.  overshadowed (AO3 Link) The apartment was full of blasting 1990s pop music and five minutes before, Dick Grayson had been cheerfully singing along. Or, he had been trying to with an intentionally forced cheerfulness. But now he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror just staring at himself.

For a moment, it felt like he was making sure he was still there, but that was a little ridiculous. Of course he was there. No, he was making sure he was still...himself.

It should have been an easy thing to answer.

It wasn't.

He shook it off and left the bathroom, his toothbrush still unused on the vanity counter with a glob of toothpaste that would dry and turn gummy as the day wore on. He turned off the music and left the apartment.

Hour after hour seeped by and he ran through errands on autopilot, always half distracted with the mess inside his own head. He was running on three hours of sleep but that didn't really explain why he flinched at the bang of a cash register or why the crackle of electrical work on a street corner made him break out in a cold sweat.

By afternoon, he was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn't fix. He turned the corner from numbing fear to anger around dinner at the Manor, right before encoded strategy messages started filling the secure group channel.

He edged out of conversations, made flimsy excuses, left half a plate of food unfinished when he left for his apartment. He claimed he would catch up on sleep.

He did not sleep.

When night fell and he shuttered the windows and pulled black and blue over his chest, onto his arms, flexed his fingers in the gloves and pressed the mask into place, Dick Grayson was furious and absent.

His mind was years and miles away, strapped down and full of the tang of incense and blood, while his body leaned over the edge of a roof and he tapped his comm only to say,

“The cult guys are mine. I won't need backup.”

“O on monitor. Red on standby if you change your mind.”

“I won't change my mind,” Nightwing said firmly.

“If you need backup,” Batman amended Oracle’s statement. “Robin and I are also available after Tennyson Street bust.”

“I won't need backup,” Nightwing repeated, a little irritably. He tried to lighten his voice, to not sound so much like how he felt. “It’s not that complicated. What am I, a rookie?”

He muted his comm.

He didn't need the distraction.

He was already too far away. ***

The stupid thing about city cults, from a vigilantism standpoint, was that they were full of desperate and weirdly skilled people. People with a lot of nothing to lose and fractured lifetimes behind them. Men like ex-cons and trigger-happy soldiers with PTSD, looking for a shot at redemption or silence in their battered souls.

Nightwing knew what it was like to want something like that.

Their ranks, even small, were usually full of women both timid and fierce, made hesitant by trauma or loneliness and made forceful by the instinct to protect the one thing they believed in: their leader.

Not every cult was worth systematically taking down. But other cults, even the ones not set on world domination, sometimes ended up involved in dangerous and shady stuff-- experimental drugs, suicide pacts, ritual sacrifice. And Gotham was a breeding ground for the weird.

Illegal activities mixed with fervent acolytes made for a deadly cocktail. The most recent manifestation was a congregation of forty or so people, an adherence to five hundred year old missiles of an excommunicated Irish monk that might have been forgeries, and a manic depressed fourteen year old girl offering herself for spirit-summoning bloodletting that would probably kill her.

Nightwing had been tracking their activities, including the hallucinogenic drugs they were smuggling, for a few days and tonight was his last chance to act.

The Gaelic was unfamiliar but the robes they wore heightened his sense of unease, disrupting what focus he had. And when he leapt, the monotone chanting swelled in volume and the involuntary shudder that wracked him threw off his balance midflip and he staggered through his landing, skidding onto his knees.

He heard the shots before he saw the guns and it just figured that it would be the sort of cult to have semiautomatics. It was such a Gotham thing to have.

Nightwing was already on his feet again and he disarmed three of them, fighting toward the leader who was rushing his lines and standing near the teenager with a ceremonial dagger that looked so gaudy Nightwing was pretty certain it had been picked up from a Chinese bulk manufacturer.

The next man fell under his sidekick and then Red Robin was right next to him, scowling as he relieved two more congregants of their weapons.

“Turn. On. Your. Comm,” Red hissed while spinning to take someone down with his staff.

“I’ve got this,” Nightwing answered sharply, as a woman with a heavy candlestick managed to land a blow across his back.

“The gunshots were called into GCPD,” Red shouted back, while using a shoulder of a falling man as leverage for leaping into a double kick. “We had no idea if you were okay.”

“I'm good!” Nightwing yelled over the frenzied Gaelic chanting of the leader and one disciple who held the girl’s wrists down while she was clearly having second thoughts. Nightwing saw her face, that moment where she shifted from aligned to fractured in intention and understanding.

“Nightwing!” Red yelled and the man slipped right by Nightwing’s punch and lunged forward. All Nightwing was aware of was that the man missed him, he had moved quickly enough and he could get to the girl in time.

The disciple went down hard and the girl was already scrambling away from the crude altar. The dagger sliced through the sleeve of his suit and the leader’s face took a blow and another and another and--

It might have been more, it might have been too much, but in the mere seconds it had all taken, the man Nightwing thought he had evaded made it to Red Robin instead.

Red shrieked and Nightwing threw the leader behind the altar, where he lay writhing and moaning.

He took the last guy out from behind, a stunning blow that wouldn't leave him unconscious but dazed and immobile for at least a few minutes.

“I thought you had him,” Red gasped at him, a hand to his side. He was standing, leaning on his bostaff. “Sorry. I'm good. I just thought…”

He swayed and Nightwing reached out, put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his comm back on and swallowed hard.

“We need GCPD and some Bat clean-up here,” Nightwing said. “I'm taking Red to the Cave.”

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

“They fought back,” Nightwing said sourly, torn between defensiveness and guilt. He could have asked for help, he could have gone in prepared, he could have been better.

“It's not that bad,” Red said when Nightwing didn't clarify. “Just give the Doctor a heads up.”

“Done,” Oracle said. “He’ll be down there by the time you guys arrive. Now’s the time to be honest, boys.”

“Just a level two,” Red said. “Really.”

“Robin and I will handle cleanup,” Batman added.

Nightwing reached out once more to steady Red, but the younger man jerked away from him and began picking his way through the groaning bodies.

This was his fault. He could have prevented this: Red getting hurt, his own cut on the arm, the girl fleeing to the streets and not getting help, breaking the leader’s jaw. He was so weary, so shaken, so bitter, so lost, all at once. All things Nightwing-- Dick Grayson-- was not supposed to be.

He didn't feel like himself.

And he hated that feeling.

***

Kiran Devabhaktuni was sipping a morning cuppa that felt a rather lot like an afternoon cup of tea after an overnight shift at the hospital. Alfie was reading a newspaper and Damian Wayne was sitting between them at the small, round table.

Dev had taken advantage of both Damian’s proximity to Alfie and his own penchant for stealing and munching on straight brown sugar cubes. A simple nod while Alfie was buried in the paper had bought Damian’s complicity and lured the boy out of a sulk.

With a casual motion, Dev would snatch a sugar cube and then slip it under the table to Damian’s waiting hand. The boy was silent and had perfected sneaking as an art form and he was quietly adding each cube to Alfie’s untouched tea.

Damian sipped his own tea while this was going on and shoved back his bed-mussed hair more than once when Alfie glanced over the paper at them. Dev neglected his tea through most of this.

Finally, Alfie set the paper down, folded neatly.

They were up to fourteen cubes.

“How long did you sleep?” Alfie asked Damian, squeezing lemon into his teacup.

“Long enough,” Damian said sourly, his bitter mood returning a bit.

“I'll talk to Dick,” Dev said, guessing at the mood. Damian met his gaze with a startled lift of his brow and then nodded and looked down at the table.

“You were out much later than usual,” Alfie said calmly. “Shall I keep you home from school to sleep?”

At that offer, Damian yawned and stretched.

“I ought to go,” he said, “but if you insist on my truancy…”

“Stay home,” Alfie said with a fond smile. “The year’s almost out and I think you deserve a day off.”

Damian picked up a spoon and fumbled it out of his fingers; it fell beside Dev’s chair and Dev bent over to snatch it up.

“I'll use another,” Damian said, his hand already over another spoon when Dev sat up with the utensil. Dev shrugged and set it aside. He'd thought Alfie was just being kind but perhaps, if the boy was randomly dropping things, it was an attempt to get him to actually sleep.

With role models like Bruce and the other Waynes, it wasn't surprising he had a hard time setting aside appropriate time for rest during busy weeks. As the weather picked up, so did the criminal underbelly of Gotham.

Dev lifted his tea and sipped it and immediately recoiled. The brew was so sweet his teeth stung and he winced in reaction.

“Everything alright, Kiran?” Alfie asked in a mild tone.

Dev set the teacup down and nodded, but gave Damian an affronted look. The boy gave him a crooked grin in response. Alfie sipped his own tea, finally, and then sipped again as if nothing was the matter with it.

“I put too much sugar in this,” Dev said, standing with the tea cup.

Alfie looked up at that.

“I didn’t think you took sugar in your tea,” he said.

“I thought I’d give it a--” Dev stopped mid-excuse because Alfie was none-too-subtly exchanging an amused smirk with Damian. “Bloody hell,” Dev muttered as he took the tea to the kitchen. He dumped it out in the sink and wondered about the problem of how precisely to talk to Dick Grayson.

Ever since he’d come to the Cave with a wounded Timothy two nights before, and frankly even before that, he’d been acting oddly. Dev hadn’t seen much of him, exactly, but what little he had seen, the younger man had been brooding and reclusive in conversation and quick-tempered. It had worsened since Dev had sutured Timothy’s side and Dick’s arm in the Cave that night.

Dev knew from both Timothy and snippets of overheard conversations in the Cave that Dick had been dealing with a violent cult. When it became clear that breaking up their gathering and imprisoning some of the key members had not solved the problem but rather exacerbated Dick’s foul mood, and that it was radiating outward through Tim and Damian now, Dev spent the night before his shift at the hospital sorting through older case and medical files.

He’d found...not much. Plenty of information, to be certain, but very little about cults and several concerning gaps of long stretches of time-- most of them right before and after the date Jason Wayne’s own files had details redacted in thick, black markings that Dev now knew were about his first death.

For all his frequent failings contradicting this, Dev wasn’t exactly a stupid man.

The Waynes were not precisely the sort of family where one could wander around demanding explanations from just anyone-- after months of feeling out of the loop, he’d realized they kept their secrets from each other just as much as from him. Some of those things were none of his business and others sometimes fell in that hazy approximation of doctor-patient confidentiality they maintained. Going to the wrong person and asking for information might result in answers and might just as likely result in, “He did what?” and hours or days of upheaval.

And Alfred, who seemed to know everything and maintain a constant calm, actually hid his own sour reactions and grieving aches behind that demeanor and Dev knew after fumbling through that a few times that even if the older man had information, it wasn’t always worth the emotional cost just to avoid asking someone more directly involved.

So, if there were gaps relevant to his current state, Dick Grayson would need to answer for them himself. Dev ran the risk of Dick refusing and shutting him out for weeks or months, but at least it minimized the damage and isolated it a bit.

“We’re having a family lunch,” Alfie announced, coming into the kitchen with a tray of tea things. “Would you care for another cup of tea before I clean up?”

And Dev knew, as he accepted the offer and poured another cup of tea and drank it standing at the counter, that Alfie was arranging things on purpose. The older man had a way of putting people in the right places that sometimes made Dev feel a bit like a piece on a chessboard, but with gratitude instead of a lingering sense of manipulation.

“I’m going to go sleep,” he said, yawning and setting the cup down. “The hospital was busy last night. If there’s lunch, I’m not going to bother going to my flat and coming back.”

“Cassandra is using the ballroom,” Alfie said as he left the room. “I’ll leave you to decide on earplugs or interrupting dance.”

Dev opted for earplugs.

And seven hours later, after lunch where everyone who happened to be in town was present, Dick Grayson had been pressured by Damian and Cass into staying to swim in the just-reopened pool. And Dev, still trying to decide exactly when and how to approach him, went to at least sit outside (he didn’t care much for freezing his bollocks off in the still-frigid water) and found Dick by chance, standing in the hallway to the back door.

Dev stopped and took a step back. Dick Grayson in best form would have noticed him immediately, but Dick right now was distracted and self-absorbed in some inner turmoil. He left the hall, but once outside, took a sharp right away from the pool. Dev followed, quietly, as Dick loped around the house and then from the patio off the ballroom doors, swung himself up the face of the house and onto the flat section of roof.

“Mate,” Dev called after him, and Dick’s face reappeared at the edge, stony and dark. “I’m not nearly as skilled. I’ll be up when I find a ladder.”

He expected Dick to protest this or swing down and storm off, but Dick leaned out of view and then a moment later called, “There’s one behind the hedge in the landscaping.”

Dev found it and clambered up without looking down, glad that the flat roof was walled in by steeper sections and more like a deck without railing than a proper roof. If Dick had gone any further up, he wasn’t sure how useful he’d be in conversation.

“You’ve been out of sorts,” Dev said bluntly, sitting down next to the younger man.

Dick shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Tim,” Dick said after a moment.

Dev blinked and leaned forward to look at Dick’s face.

“What?”

“Tim,” Dick said again. He swallowed. “I know...I mean, I know you guys are close. And I sort of figured you’d come chew me out if I stuck around long enough.”

“Mate, Timothy’s plenty good at getting himself injured without help,” Dev said. “It’s not your bloody fault just because you happened to be in the same building. Nah, I’m not miffed about that. He’ll be fine. I’m worried about you.”

Dick glanced up at that and frowned.

“And Dames rather is, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

At that, Dick sighed and put his head in his hands.

“It’s been a bad week,” he admitted. “Just...a lot of stuff I’d rather not think about.”

“But you’re thinking about it anyway,” Dev said, leaning back and resting his palms on the gritty roof. In answer, Dick just nodded, his head still in his hands. “Flashbacks are bloody awful,” Dev said gently. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it. It doesn’t always help. But the option’s there.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, lifting his head and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“There are some...gaps,” Dev said slowly. “In your medical files.”

Dick looked at him sharply.

“Research,” Dev said, not feeling guilty in the least. “The files that are there are there for a reason.”

Dick sprang to his feet and flipped up into a handstand. He stayed upside down for a bit and then bent backward and came up on his feet. He brushed his hands off and sat back down heavily.

“There was a cult, a while ago. A guy named Brother Blood. It got some media attention.”

“I very vaguely remember that,” Dev acknowledged.

“Bruce knows that we, I mean, that the Titans and I were involved. But we weren't exactly on the best of terms, Bruce and I, I mean. He didn't ask for updates and I didn't offer them.”

“I can't imagine how you ever got to that point,” Dev said, prodding at Dick with his shoe.

Dick chuckled, a little low, and then sighed again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me either.”

“So, massive dangerous cult and smaller dangerous cult,” Dev said. Dick shuddered in response and Dev’s brow creased in concern.

“I was captured and tortured-- you probably know the usual story by now,” Dick said with a wry frown. “It was awful, but honestly that wasn't the worst part.”

Dev is quiet, waiting him out, and cursing inwardly at the fact that capture and torture are in fact too common elements of stories that get brushed under the rug.

“The worst part was the mind control,” Dick said quietly. “And it went on for months without me knowing. I…” he paused and put a hand to his forehead. “I almost, no, I sold out everyone I cared about. I mean, obviously things didn't stay that way, but I didn't know about the mind control until after.”

“Well, bloody fuck,” Dev exhaled. “Months, you said?”

Dick nodded again.

“And the horrible thing is that I remember what it felt like, to want to trust people and defend them and being completely convinced they were awful at the same time. Just how divided I felt at the end, knowing and believing two totally different things at once and not being sure which was right.”

They’re quiet in the afternoon sun, the irritated shouts of Damian and high, pealing laughter of Cass drifting across the rooftops. Dev thought of his own internal dichotomy, that he fought against even now, of you’ll never be good enough and you’re probably fine.

“That's sodding terrible,” he said. “That's a lot of time to lose.”

“It ruined a lot for me,” Dick said in a small voice. “I recovered but it didn't fix everything, you know? Some stuff was just too far gone. And chasing this cult the past week, it wasn't like I really thought I was vulnerable, but it just dragged up a lot of stuff I hadn't let myself think about for a while.” Dick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Thanks for talking. It does help.”

Dev shrugged and didn't mention how little talking he'd actually done.

“Anytime,” he said.

Dick stood and stretched. “You're swimming, right?”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Dev exclaimed, standing.

“It's not that bad,” Dick argued. “Al turned the heater on last night. Anyway, I'll meet you down there.”

Without another word, Dick sprinted across the roof and sprang up to the overhang of the sloped section.

“Those bloody slates are loose!” Dev yelled after him.

“Ain't nobody got time for that!” Dick yelled back without slowing down.

Dev took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and went down the ladder and replaced it behind the hedges. He strode over to the pool just in time to see Dick take a running leap off the roof and curl into a flip on his descent toward the deep end of the pool.

His heart skipped about five beats and he swore, but the water’s surface burst into a high splash and when Dick resurfaced, laughing, Damian raised an eyebrow and said, “Six out of ten.”

“Six!” Dick exclaimed in mock outrage, tugging the younger boy into the pool with him. He shoved Damian’s head under. When the younger boy came up sputtering, he shoved himself away and treaded water.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, while Dick floated on his back.

Dev sat in one of the lounge chairs and reclined until he was almost horizontal.

“Getting better,” Dick answered. “Wanna race?”

“Slowpokes,” Cass muttered from her perch on the diving board.

“You get down here and race with us,” Dick ordered. “C’mon. Dev! Sit up! We need you as a judge.”

Dev hauled himself off the chair and went to one end of the pool and put his feet in. It wasn't as cold as he was expecting but it was still pretty icy.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Best out of three. If any of you try to drag me in, I reserve the right to exclusively use Hello Kitty plasters for a month.”

“I fail to see how that is a suitable deterrent for either of them,” Damian called from the other side of the pool.

Dev studied the matching grins on Cass and Dick’s faces and he reconsidered. There was still a faintly haunted look in Dick’s eyes but it was faded far from what it had been earlier.

“All medicines will be dispensed in liquid form with strawberry flavoring,” he amended.

“Gross,” Cass said, wrinkling her nose. “Changed my mind, Dickface.”

“You've been spending too much time with Jason,” Dick told her seriously while Damian snorted into the water. “But yeah, that's pretty convincing leverage.”

“Are we racing or are we not?” Damian demanded impatiently.

“We’re racing!” Dick said, “Places!”

Dev ended up in the water anyway.

Dick took two separate medicines that month, both with artificial strawberry flavoring.

And Dev was relieved to see that while it took a few weeks and a few long nights just hanging out at the manor, the man’s mood improved and evened out and things went back to as normal as the Wayne household usually managed.