#raising my hand above my head might ne the death of me

[moonlightazriel]

Son of the Darkness XVII /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Hidden for so long The court of shadows thrived, and things were great until the high lord's death, now the next in line should assume the crown of high lord of shadows, will he accept his duties?

Warnings: More talks about war.

Word Count: 3,1K

Notes: Y/N Daera is definitely my favorite character and her friendship with Eva is everything to me.

Son of the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Y/N stretched her limbs, feeling a wave of anxiety curse through her body, she headed for her bathroom, taking a long shower, her whole body was shaking as she stepped out, dried her body and started to prepare her armour.

The black armour shone in the early morning light, the black fabric that composed the leggings and the long sleeved shirt glued to her body, then she started to assemble the pieces in place, the breastplate, the gloves, the piece above her thighs, the long boots, the shoulder pads that were adorned with two long spikes.

She strapped all her weapons into place, attaching her long sword on her back. Y/N braided her hair, to get it out of the way and be more practical when the time comes. She reached for her helmet, tucking it under her arm, the helmet looked like a crown, it had pointy horns that peaked through her hair, and a v shaped shield above her eyes and nose, two tiny slits for her to see and she was ready to go.

The Sephiran were already working, as she walked to the improvised breakfast area, forcing food down her throat and commanding it to stay inside her belly, her power cursed through her veins, singing for the battle ahead, the tension around the camp was almost palpable. But the true show hasn't even begun yet.

“Did you sleep well?” Ryo asked, biting on an apple.

“As well as you can, knowing that death is just around the corner.”

“Just remember, that we wouldn’t follow anyone else, we trust you to bring us home.” The witch walked out of the tent, leaving Y/N there, thinking about her words, she would bring them home, even if it was the last thing she did.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“If the wall is down, who protects the humans along the border?” Nesta inquired, her hand tapping on Rhysand’s wooden desk.

“No one, we can try but no we might not get there on time.” Feyre paced around, her blue eyes scanning the room.

“Unless…” Elain timidly started, her eyes searching for Azriel’s support, but he wasn’t looking at her, his eyes were glued to the tent’s entry, waiting for a certain General to come back. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can ask Graysen for his help, he will help humans.”

“He doesn’t know she is fae now, we can put a glamor over her to look human.” Rhys pondered.

“His father has thought about that for years, he can protect the humans behind his walls, he just has to be convinced.” Elain said, her voice timid and barely above a whisper.

“Elain, if you go, and they try to hurt you..” Feyre started.

“He won’t. I know that.” The middle sister smiled, and Feyre took a deep breath. She trusted her sister, but if Graysen tried anything, she wouldn’t hesitate to protect her.

“But if he tries, I’ll protect you, no matter what.” She warned.

“Just don’t kill him.” Elain begged.

“I can’t promise that.” Elain nodded, understanding.

“I’ll go change.” Nesta made an attempt to follow her but she raised a hand. “Nuala and Cerridwen will help me.” With that, she left.

“What do I do now?” Nesta asked, rubbing her forehead, she had been distressed ever since the wall was broken, feeling that it was somehow her fault.

“You come with us, and then we will go to war.” Feyre said, grabbing her sister's hand and pulling her close for a hug, Nesta rested her forehead against her head. “It’s not your fault, Nes, there’s nothing you could’ve done.” The words got stuck in her head, making Nesta squeeze her eyes shut to prevent her from crying.

“Then it’s settled, you guys should get change, dresses aren’t the best flying clothes.” Cassian warned and Nesta looked at him.

“What?”

“You will need to wear pants, sweetheart.” Nesta blinked and Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Any problems with that?”

“I never wore pants before.” She just shrugged.

“Then this should be good.” The general laughed, the sound warming Nesta’s chest, she gave him a small smile, letting Feyre guide her outside.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Calm down, Az. We will wait for her before we go.” Cassian said, patting Azriel on the back.

“She should be here already.” He looked around the war camp, more soldiers should be there by now, his mate should be there.

“Isn’t that her?” Rhysand pointed, and Azriel followed his finger, his eyes landing on the beautiful female walking towards him, prepared for war.

Thousands of soldiers followed her, coming out of nowhere, Rhysand couldn’t believe his eyes, so many soldiers marching, supplies being dragged with them. The feeling that now they stood a chance against Hybern filled his chest and he smirked. The three Illyrians bowed to the female as she stopped in front of them.

“Hopefully I’m not late.” She joked, as Cassian pulled her in for a hug.

“Do you think I would start the party without you?” The male let her go as his eyes landed on Azriel and his annoyed expression.

“Nah, I would kick your ass if you did.” She bowed to Rhys. “Any news on the others?”

“They’re on their way to our designated place, I shared the info with them last night, they will be there.” She nodded.

“They better be.” Azriel pulled her for a hug, his hands pulling her face up and he gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Elain is going to talk to Graysen, ask him to take humans inside their borders.” Y/N raised an eyebrow at that. “Her human ex fiancé? I’ll tell you the details later.” He winked at her.

“Are you down to scare some humans?” Cassian wiggled his eyebrows, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Someone has to take care of these people, but I’ll ask Alais to escort you in case you need some extra magical protection.” Azriel watched his mate walk away and Rhys squeezed his shoulder.

“She’s a natural leader, she will be an amazing High Lady.” Azriel turned to him.

“I know, right? Just hope she accepts it.” Rhys gave him a reassuring smile.

“Are you guys ready?” Feyre asked, appearing from a tent. Cassian let a low whistle as his eyes scanned Nesta.

“Looking good, Archeron.” She blushed under his intense gaze.

“Let’s do this.” Elain said, rubbing her sweaty palms in her pants.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Hey Y/N.” Ellora approached her, she was trying to talk with the camp lords and her man about moving strategies but no one wanted to listen. “Someone dropped this for you. Said it was urgent.”

“Thanks Ell, I’ll check in a second.” She tucked the paper in her pocket, turning to the males.

“We don’t have to listen to a foreign bitch.” Someone shouted and a couple of males cheered in agreement.

“You’re right, I’m not your General, but either you follow my lead now, or you die if you cross my way.” She drew her long sword, pointing at the man, her lords drawing their weapons as well ready to protect their general.

“Let’s be civil here.” The male she recognized as Devlon intervened. “She’s right, we can’t waste time arguing, we need to march to war, I can feel my blood signing, it’s time to face death.”

“Everyone will laugh in death’s face.” Someone said, bumping their fists on the table.

“Be prepared for the journey boys, we will move tonight.” She warned, nodding to Devlon and going out. She took a deep breath, reaching for the paper.

“Meet me in the border where we first said our goodbyes”

No name, no nothing, but something told her that she knew who it was. She walked around, looking for Eva, finding her preparing her bow.

“Do you need a break?” Eva smiled at that, knowing the look on her best friend’s face.

“I would love to.” She said, placing her bow on her back and her arrow quiver on her shoulder.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“We’ve been waiting here forever.” Nesta groaned, her forehead sticky with sweat, the Illyrian leather glued to her body, and she swat another fly away.

“He won’t deny me.” Elain whispered.

The archers kept aiming their ash arrows in their direction, making Elain shiver in fear, Graysen wouldn’t hurt her, she knew that. A drop of sweat trickled down her spine and she squinted her eyes as she saw the man on a horse approach them.

“He’s coming to see you.” He said as he got close. Elain breathed with relief. “Follow me.”

They allowed them inside the gates, walking in the scorching sun, Elain hoped her glamour wouldn’t falter as they approached the second gate, not a step inside the fortress, they weren’t allowed to see inside, nor the supplies they had.

Her heart almost stopped as she saw Graysen, his eyes shining as he eyed his fiancé, he managed to take a step forward before his father held him back, looking at them with disdain.

“What is this?” He inquired. Elain tried to find the right words to start but Nesta stepped forward.

“The wall is gone.” Her voice was powerful, commanding, Cassian looked at her feeling pride deep within him.

“How?” Lord Nolan asked.

“I was kidnapped.” She continued. “Taken against my will by the army that will invade this property, I was turned forcibly.” She stated and the man looked at her with disgust.

“How?” He repeated.

“There Is a cauldron, a weapon. Give you the power of doing those things, I was merely an experiment.” She finished off with a brief explanation about the mortal queens, Hybern and why the Wall fell.

“And who is your companion?” Lord Nolan asked, focusing on the wrong thing for Mother’s sake. Azriel looked at him with annoyance.

“I’m Feyre Archeron, High Lady of the Night Court.” Feyre stepped forward and the man stepped backwards, taking his son with him. “This is Rhysand, my husband.” She pointed to the male beside her. “This are Morrigan, Cassian, Azriel and Alais.”

Nolan looked at the last one, clearly human, but something about her felt odd, too odd for him to look away.

“Elain, why are you with them?” Graysen asked, his sad eyes glued to her fragile form.

“Cuz she’s our sister.” Nesta protectively stepped closer to her middle sister. “And there’s no safer place for her than by our side.”

“Graysen, please…” Elain begged, a sob escaping her trembling lips. “Please open the gates to whoever's human family that may come here. With the wall gone, we don’t have time for an evacuation and the queen won’t send help, they’re on their own.” Graysen listened to her in silence. His eyes looked at the engagement ring on her finger.

“I would believe you, if you weren’t lying to me since you arrived.” He spat in her direction making Elain flinch.

“Did you really think that you could come here and trick us with your fae magic?” Nolan stepped forward.

“We don’t care about what you think.” Rhys intervened. “We’re just here to ask you to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

“What do you get? What do you risk?” Nolan inquired.

“Taking in consideration your ash weapons, we’re risking a lot here.” Cassian scoffed.

“So is your sister.” He pointed to Elain.

“Any weapon can kill a mortal.” Mor tried to say but Nolan smirked.

“But Elain Archeron isn’t a mortal, someone told me she was the first one to be made and now she’s the mate of some High Lord’s son.” Elain gasped, feeling Nesta’s hand on hers, gently squeezing in a reassuring grip.

“Who told you that?” Azriel asked.

“I did.” Jurian said, appearing from behind the gate.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Eva asked after having teleported her and Y/N to a green prairie, they walked a few minutes and now they were in a dense forest that wasn’t there before.

“I am, we just need to find something.” She said, looking around, from in between the trees, she saw a spark of bright red hair, walking in her direction. “What a pleasure to see you again, Eris.”

“Ah, you came, and you brought your beautiful friend with you.” He said, pulling Evanore’s hand to his lips in a charming slow kiss, her skin jolted with the touch, her heart thrumming in her chest. Her mate just called her beautiful.

“Why did you call me here?” Y/N said, watching the two like a hawk, he might be her mate, but try anything and he would be dead.

“My father is refusing to gather his soldiers, he doesn’t want to help because of the “offence” of the Night court and that “bastard” claiming himself as a High Lord.” Y/N gripped her dagger tighter at the mention of Azriel.

“And what can we do for you?” Eva asked, and those beautiful eyes turned to her, making her blush under his curious gaze.

“I’ve been secretly reuniting the troops, we’re ready to fight, but I need two things from you.” He looked at Evanore and then at Y/N. “You have to protect my mom, remove her from court before I do anything, her safety is my priority.”

“Considered done.” Y/N said, shifting her weight from a foot to another.

“My father dies in this war.” His voice was low, he shivered as he spoke. “If we’re entering a new world of peace and freedom, I want the same for my family, for my court.”

“And you can’t have that with your father, not when he’s still alive and refusing to help.” Y/N concluded. “So you want us to kill him so you can be high lord?”

“I don’t care who will be high lord. My brothers and I, we’re not like that, not because we really want to, all we do is try to protect our mother.” Evanore reached for his hand, squeezing it and Eris allowed, feeling relaxed as her fingers brushed his hand.

“Looks like we’ll be celebrating a lot after this war.” Y/N said. “Let’s discuss how we’re going to do it.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I’m here alone, stop growling.” Jurian said, hands in the air in surrender.

“When he got here, Jurian told me what was done to the both of you, and what the Queens wanted.” Nolan spoke again, less tense in Jurian’s presence.

“Why are you here?” Azriel asked, controlling the urge to kill him, Jurian worked with Hybern, he should be ended before he gave away more information to that vile monster.

Jurian took a deep breath before he started to explain his reasons, about the mortal queens, and Hybern, even talking about how he never meant to hurt Miriam and Drakon, he wanted to find them to apologise, he was just playing his role very well.

“You should’ve looked into my mind.” Jurian smiled. “I wanted you to look, to see that I would never ally myself with that monster.”

“I didn’t want to see her.” He didn’t need to say the name for them to tremble at the thought of Amarantha.

“Are you telling us that you’ve been on our side this whole time?” Morrigan asked, her face frozen in a shocked expression.

“What’s a better place to tear the enemy apart than inside out?” She scoffed in disbelief, Jurian was really on their side.

“Why now? Why here?” Cassian inquired.

“Cuz the wall is gone and I can freely move around the mortal lands.” Jurian took a deep breath. “Cuz Tamlin ran away to Hybern and told everything he heard in your little meeting.” Everyone gasped, they expected it, but it didn’t hurt any less. “They’re in Spring Court, and right now Hybern is planning an attack on Summer Court by tomorrow.” Jurian finished.

“Then we have to go, now.” Rhys shouted.

“I’ll stay, to give them some wards.” Alais said, not asked. Nolan was smart enough to just let her pass and start doing her thing. “Tell Rune that I’ll meet her tomorrow.” Rhys nodded, winnowing away to the House of Wind.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“So Eva goes with you, sneaks your mother out to the Night Court, and then takes your army to our location.” Y/N finished.

“Basically.” Eris agreed, still feeling unsure about letting his mom alone at the Night Court.

“We have just the perfect place for her, she will be taken care of.” Eva reassured him, feeling his distress through the bond.

“WE NEED TO GO NOW, THEY'RE ATTACKING THE SUMMER COURT TOMORROW.” The warning in Rhysand’s loud voice startled Y/N, she looked at the two.

“Whatever we’re doing, needs to be done now.” Eris looked at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re on their way to crush the Summer Court.” She answered.

“You wait here, we will be right back.” Eva said, grabbing Eris’s hand and the two winnowed away.

Y/N assumed a fighting instance, ready to protect herself, agonising minutes passed when Evanore appeared again, a female that looked like Eris and a bit older with her. Not giving her any time for introductions, Evanore teleported to the House of Wind, right in the middle of the inner circle, who frantically argued.

“What the fuck?” Rhysand said, eyeing the three females, his eyes wide as he spotted Lady Autumn. “What the fuck did you two do?”

“We got the Autumn Court army.” Y/N said, in a staring match with him, she wouldn’t back away from a decision that would be beneficial for them.

“This is Aurelia, Lady of the Autumn Court, byeee.” Evanore said, teleporting back to Eris.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” Her calm voice matched her calming features.

“I’ll explain later.” Y/N said, waving her hands to them, who looked at her like she was crazy. “We need to move that army now.”

“Lady Aurelia, a server will tend to you, you’re more than welcome to stay here.” Feyre said, taking the female away.

“Are you insane? Beron will freak out.” Rhys marched towards her, Y/N held her head high.

“Well, then I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you that we’re conspiring with his son to steal his army and kill him.” Rhys gasped.

“Yep, you are insane.” He rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Don’t worry, I know how to make it look like an accident.” She winked and Rhys left out a giggle.

“Of course you do.” Azriel approached his mate, creating some distance between her and Rhysand.

“She just changed the tides of this war, we need to stop arguing and get moving to the Summer Court now.” He ordered and Rhys nodded.

“He’s right, I’m sorry.” Y/N shook her head at him in dismissal. “We have an army to slay.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @allison-rosewood-maximoff @devilsfoodcake22 @fieldofdaisiies @valeridarkness @brekkershadowsinger @margssstuff

[insert-funny-name-here69]

Here’s the angst if you wanna read it:

TW: child abuse, abuse, homelessness, starvation, Crimson, implied character death,(let me know if I should add anymore warnings)

Moxxie knowlastname wasn’t a bad kid, he tried his best. But sometimes that wasn’t enough, sometimes his father, Crimson, still got mad at him, sometimes Moxxie would still get punished even if he didn’t mean to. His father was angry again, Moxxie couldn’t remember what for, but he grabbed him by his sweater and berated him.

“You piece of SHIT, you can’t listen to me for five fucking seconds can you? You had no problems with your broad of a mother!” Crimson pulled Moxxies face closer to his, “What do I need to do? Hit you more? Cause I can do that you piece of sh-”

Moxxie, out of instinct, kicked him away. He didn’t want to be hurt… not again, he didn’t like getting hurt. He stumbled backward landing on the floor with his back against the wall.

“So, finally think you’re tough enough to fight back against your old man, huh?” Crimson questioned.

“N-no, p-please dad I’m sor- '' was all Moxxie was able to get out before he felt Crimsons hands enclose around his throat.

“I can’t believe you would try to hurt me. My own son, do you know how much that hurts Mox?” Crimson said, sounding as if he was pained. “I oughta teach you a lesson!”

Moxxie felt himself being thrown across the room and into a coffee table, knocking it over. He felt his side get bruised against the antique furniture as he collapsed onto the floor. He felt his scalp get pulled by his hairs as Crimson gripped Moxxie’s sideburns in his clenched fist.

“This will be a lesson you won't soon forget you little brat!” Crimson said as he raised Moxxies head above the coffee table, and brought it down with all his might. Moxxie clenched his eyes shut, anticipating pain to start radiating from his head.

Moxxie’s vision was blurred when he opened his eyes again. He reached up to feel his head to assess the damage but there was none… then he reached higher to his left horn and gripped the base then slowly felt his way up the horn. Right before the point where his horn started to curve, it cut off to two jagged tips. His father broke his horn… all the bruises, scratches, and cigar burns would go away… eventually, but this… this was permanent, you can't undo breaking someone's horn.

“Does he really hate me this much?” Was the only thing Moxxie was able to think, as tears began to build up in his eyes. His mom would never let this happen, she would’ve stopped Crimson. But she was gone, because of him….

“Men don’t cry in this house, Mox.” Crimson growled, “What did I tell you I’d do if I ever caught you crying again?”

Moxxie’s eyes widened with fear. “N-no, P-please!” was all Moxxie could get out before his father grabbed him by his sweater and started to drag him to the front door. He fought for his life trying as hard as he could to escape his fathers grasp, tears pouring down his face, as he begged crimson to stop. He kicked and pulled with all his might until he tore his sweater, leaving him on the ground with a long sleeve white button up, dress pants and fingerless gloves. Crimson grabs him by the back of his shirt and pulls him forcefully to the door. He proceeds to violently swing it open and grabs Moxxie with both hands as he quite literally throws him out of the house and onto the sidewalk.

“AND DON'T COME BACK TILL YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON!” His father roared.

All Moxxie could do was look at who he thought was his father with pleading eyes. Moxxie’s head was rushing through thoughts as he heard the nicest words his father ever told him:

“Happy 6th birthday ya little shit.” He said right before he slammed the door leaving Moxxie to the horrors of the Greed ring.

###

[2 Days later]

It was cold, dark, and the loneliness was suffocating in the crime ridden streets of the Greed ring. Moxxie found himself in some random alleyway hiding behind a dumpster. The only source of comfort he had was the sheet of newspaper he laid on. He was dressed in the same white button up, dress pants and fingerless gloves he was thrown out in. Difference being he was adorned with cuts and bruises, covered in dirt and dust and was tired. You would think, even in greed, he would be given some leeway. He didn’t expect to be helped, no… that would never happen in Greed. But he would never imagine that someone would actually try to mug a child, and when the man found out Moxxie had nothing to give… he was punched. Hard. Not enough to knock him out but enough for him to writhe in pain.

His body ached from the abuse he suffered, from Crimson and Greed alike. He could feel the plethora of bruises and scratches he had. He was so, so tired and just wanted this nightmare to be over. But he was too hungry to sleep, in the 2 days he was on the street he was unable to find anything to eat. Satan, his stomach hurt, he would squeeze his stomach if he had the energy, but he was just too malnourished. He tried to drink the rainwater he found dripping from the rooftops of Greed, but it was too murky, the texture of the water was disgusting. He tried to swallow the water but his mouth wouldn’t let him, it just sat there before his body made him spit it out.

And now he laid in back of some bumfuck alleyway in the middle of Greed. He had no one, and no one wanted him, he was just some wimpy imp that didn’t even know how to fight or stand up for himself. The closest thing he had to a friend was the crumpled sheet of newspaper that he used as a bed to protect him from the cold and wetness of the asphalt, if only a little.

His eyes grew tired as he laid in the cold, whether he was falling asleep or dying, he didn’t care… he just wanted this nightmare to be over. His eyes fluttering shut, numbness engulfing his body, as he laid there accepting his fate. Absolutely nothing could make this worse.

At that exact moment he was snapped back to reality when a heavy object slammed against his eye. “OW!” He yelped in pain, as he instinctively grabbed at his newly black eye. He couldn’t take it anymore the abuse, the cold, the loneliness. He laid on his side, curled into a ball, and started to whimper and soon enough he started to cry he thought he couldn’t anymore. The last few days were, well, hell for him, he thought he cried out all his tears hours ago when he gave up on… everything. His tears were the only sound he focused on so he didn’t notice the clacking of heels slowly approaching him.

“Are you okay?” He heard a worried sounding voice say. The way the voice spoke, it was nice, calming, and sweet sounding. Almost like… his mother was back. Back for him, ready to take him away to someplace safe, where they could live happily forever. But he knew that was just a fantasy so he looked up, and he saw a woman with a look on her face. It wasn’t disgust, frustration, or even pity, she was looking at him with sympathy. Was she actually feeling sympathy for him?

She wore a red tuxedo jacket with a black bowtie and black dress pants, she had pure white skin except for her makeup and red circles on her cheeks. Moxxie was bewildered and took a few moments to process the sight in front of him.

It felt like eternity for both of them before he finally spoke, “What?” he asked in nonbelief.

She spoke slightly louder thinking he must not have heard her, “Are you okay?”

###

Run :3

[writesowhatnext]

duolingo, mange ton cœur // fred weasley

Summary: Fred asks the reader (who definitely has a crush) to flirt for him

Request: nope

A/N: I tried to make the French easy to guess if you couldn’t read it or didn’t wanna google lol <3 let me know if you think I should include the translation

Reader: female

Warnings: swearing, making out

You’d been busy trying to scratch down a Transfiguration essay when a darkness came over you. The two shadows appearing over your shoulders, whilst not death-eaters or dementors, brought death with them. The death of any chance you had of finishing this essay. 

“Hello, Y/N.” Fred said happily. You sighed a little, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach that seemed to appear whenever he was around… for no reason, of course.

“You speak French, right?” George, by the sound of his voice, was also smiling. You’d hoped you could just ignore them but, despite your best intentions, they had piqued your interest.

“Je peux parler un peu Français, je suppose.” You replied, spinning around on your stool to face the two evil geniuses behind most mayhem at Hogwarts. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them, with their mischievous grins, towering over you. Both of their faces dropped, though, at your words.

“Right.” George said, frowning. “Anyway.”

“We need your help to get some girls from Beauxbatons to go to the Yule Ball with.”

You snorted before raising an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you going with Angelina?” you asked George, crossing your arms.  

“I am indeed, dear Y/N. This would purely be to help our little Freddie here.” George replied, staring far too long at you. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“So, what do you say? Can you get a lovely French girl to like me?” Fred grinned.

“Je peux parler Français, je ne peux pas travailler miracles.” You smirked, leaning back against the table. George sent you a dry look whilst Fred barked a laugh.

“Your wit transcends language barriers, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Well, what will get me to the ball with a witch that speaks French?”

“Chloroform?” you answered happily, smiling at your own joke. Fred mimicked you, wobbling his head from side to side to mock you. You made a face.

“Please, Y/N?” he asked, pouting. You deflated at his begging, knowing you probably wouldn’t be able to resist such a request from your best friend. Letting him get to you was your first mistake; your second was looking at George. He smiled at you knowingly, like he knew something he shouldn’t and you didn’t. You bit your cheek; you wanted to flirt with Fred, not for him. You huffed.

“You owe me.” You countered; Fred was already grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Of course, of course.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

When they told you about their new invention, Walkie Talkie Chalk, you began to regret your decision.

“So, let me get this straight,” you held a putty-like substance in your hand. “I put this thing in my ear and I can hear you?”

“And we can hear you.” Fred nodded, watching you push at the device in your hands.

“This doesn’t even look like chalk.” You remarked, squishing it in your fingers.

“It’s not.”

Your deadpan look only served to increase their grins.

“You’re idiots.” You shook your head.

“Yes, Y/N.”

“Your idiots though.”

You huffed, placing the gummy ball in your ear, your expression the perfect picture of disgust. It shifted in your ear, making you flinch.

“You’re vile buggers.” You hissed. George didn’t listen, though. He placed his hands on your shoulders and pushed you towards a group of witches in blue.

“Uh…” you stalled, looking at them. They were very beautiful, that much was obvious, and they were giggling between each other. At that point, you realised you’d vastly overestimated your bilingualism. “Merde.”

“Naughty.” Fred whispered in your ear. It figured that the only French he knew would be cussing. You tried to ignore the feeling that came over you at his words.

“Branleur.” You muttered in response before quickly approaching one of the girls leaving the group.

“Salut!” you said, way too loudly. You cursed your nerves. The girl, pretty with dark hair and bright eyes, turned around, unsure and surprised by your volume. “Ça va?”

She frowned, obviously confused.

“Well done, Y/N.” George chuckled. You clenched your jaw.

“Euh… ça va bien, merci.” She turned to face you then, gripping her books to her chest. “Et toi?”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised she was still talking to you. That was a win, right?

“Bof.”

She laughed and pursed her lips.

“Um, avez-vous une date pour le bal?” A vast overestimate indeed.

“Non, à vrai dire.”

You nodded, frowning. She giggled at your expression and you felt your face heat up.

“Je connais ce garçon – il est stupide mais... il est intelligent... et amusant... et très très beau…”

Fred couldn’t hear the rest of what you said, the Hufflepuff Quidditch team walking past you meant the only sound the Walkie Talkie Chalk picked up was their footfalls. He didn’t need to though, really. He could feel George’s stare on him.

“I don’t think we need a translator for that one.” George said, trying to hide his smile.

“George,” Fred frowned, meeting his twin’s eyes. “Do you think Y/N likes me?”

“No, not at all. She thinks you’re a right prat. I think she fancies you, though.”

Fred didn’t say anything for a moment. He pressed his lips together as a shit-eating grin lifted his cheeks. He leant out of their hiding place, peeking around a staircase to see you and the beautiful French girl. He watched, with a decent amount of glee and amusement, as the girl laughed, her hands on your shoulders. He sniggered when she placed a light kiss to your cheek, your face a picture of embarrassment and shock. He hoped that meant he wouldn’t have to let down a French girl today.

As you turned on your heel to come back to him, he jumped back into his hiding spot, noticing George wasn’t there. Looking around, he found his twin walking down the opposite corridor to you, shooting him a wink. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Sorry about that.” You said, appearing next to him, leaning against the wall. “I didn’t realise that she thought I was asking her out.”

A chuckle slipped from Fred’s lips.

“Where’s George?” you asked, looking over Fred’s shoulder.

“He’s working out a few bugs in the Walkie Talkie Chalk. The sound cut off just after you said I was beautiful and charming and wonderful.”

You opened your mouth indignantly. You’d been so focused on trying not to look like an idiot, you’d forgotten Fred and George were listening.

“I did not say that.”

Fred stepped around you so your back faced the wall. Your forehead creased.

“You might as well have done.”

“Well, sorry, I’ll try to sell you more realistically next time.”

He just stared at you, smiling widely.

“Why does your face look like that?” you asked, conscious of his proximity. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“I think you fancy me.”

“Pfft…” you did not have a lot of time to formulate an actually helpful response to convince him he was wrong and you knew it would be very obvious, especially to someone that knew you as well as Fred. “No, I don’t.”

“Is that right?” he asked, stepping closer.

You frowned, nodding with your jaw clenching. You cursed yourself for being so obvious, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“So,” he looked at the wall above you for a second and you took the opportunity to look at his face. It made it worse when he turned back to you. “If I asked you to the Yule Ball, you wouldn’t want to go?”

You considered your choices: lie and say no to conserve your pride; say yes, be honest and finally have a chance with Fred, risking that he might be joking; change the subject.

“I thought you wanted to go with a French girl?”

He leant closer to you, so close you could feel his breath on your face. You dared to meet his eyes, lost almost instantly at the intensity.

“I said I wanted to go with a witch that speaks French. I think you fit the bill, don’t you?”

You bit your lip, looking down to his, weighing up your options. He didn’t give you that much of a chance before you were pressed to the wall, his mouth and body on yours. His hands gripped your bum, pinning you to the wall whilst yours clawed up his chest. You were thankful for a free period. You weren’t aware that you couldn’t breathe until he pulled away and the silence was filled with your panting, his mouth wide in a grin.

“You’re serious?” you asked, looking up to him, his hands heavy on your hips. He frowned, looking up and pretending to think for a second.

“Oui.”

Whilst he enjoyed the sound of you laughing at one of his jokes, he enjoyed kissing you a lot, lot more.

[kanonsarchivedblog]

Sleepless (Sleep Less)

Word Count: 1312 Rating: T Characters: Rengoku Kyōjurō, Rengoku Ruka; mentions of Rengoku Senjurō, Kamado Tanjiro Genre: Angst Trigger Warnings: Night terrors, canon-typical gore, anxiety, symptoms of PTSD Author's Notes: Rengoku survived, but with a lingering price that he can't seem to pay. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The air smelled of burnt rubber and flesh, thick with smoke from coal. It made his lungs burn as he breathed, made his eyes water as he stood atop the wreckage of the train. Train. Train? Why was he on top of the train? Brows furrowing, he turned on his heel, gaze drifting; passengers were mostly uninjured- good, good. That’s good. He nodded to himself before jumping off of the train car. Tanjiro- he needed to find Tanjiro, Inosuke, and Zenitsu. They were okay, weren’t they?

“Are they?” A voice murmured in his ear, soft, sweet. “Are they okay, Kyōjurō?” The voice was so familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. “Look to your left.” His head turned. Zenitsu- oh. Oh, no! He tried to walk, but found himself frozen in place. Why couldn’t he move? “He’s crushed! I think he has a broken leg. Maybe some ribs. He got lucky, didn’t he?” He did. His spine could have been broken, or his skull crushed.

“Ne, ne, Kyōjurō- look!” The voice whispered excitedly, causing his gaze to jerk to the right. There was a figure in the smoke. Wait- no. No, why was Senjurō here? He wasn’t a Demon Slayer! He could barely lift a sword! Why is he wearing the haori? “Look at him! He really did take after you, didn’t he? Following in his big brother’s footsteps.” The voice cooed, but Kyōjurō couldn’t take his eyes off of the scene.

“Run!” He yelled, eyes wide, heart pounding wildly in his chest. “Run, Senjurō! You can’t fight him! You have to run!” Try as he might, they couldn't hear him. Senjurō was bending over Tanjiro, laughing and helping him up. Telling him how to stop the bleeding by using his breathing technique. Inosuke was trying to get Zenitsu out, cursing at the rubble. “You all need to run! Please!” Kyōjurō begged, voice cracking as realization dawned upon him. “RUN, SENJURŌ!”

“What’s this?” The voice whispered as Upper Moon Three appeared. “Look at that! What a spectacle!”

He was- off-blue skin, dark blue lines, pink hair, golden eyes- he was a spectacle. One of death, of fear, of absolute chaos. He was talking, but the words didn’t reach Kyōjurō. Instead, they reached Senjurō, who stood tall, unwavering as he held up his sword. Kyōjurō’s sword.

Wait.

No.

No, no- Senjurō wasn’t the Flame Hashira. Why was he holding the sword? Why was he holding his sword?

“Oh! The fight’s starting!” The voice squealed- so familiar. Why couldn’t he place it? His chest heaved as he watched Senjurō fight Akaza, gaze tracking the movements that should have been far too difficult to track. Back and forth, the blows were traded, until Akaza blinded Senjurō in his right eye.

“Run!” Kyōjurō begged, voice cracking with the effort. “Please! Save yourself and run!” But Senjurō didn’t listen. Tanjiro was screaming, was trying to get up but he couldn't, too injured to fight, not after taking on Lower Moon One. “Fucking run! To hell with our family’s pride!”

“To hell with our pride?” The voice asked, and the fight froze. The scene froze. Everything froze. “To hell with our pride?” It asked again, and realization dawned upon Kyōjurō.

“Mother?” He asked softly, brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Watch the fight, Kyō.” She murmured, the feeling of her hands caressing his cheeks causing his head to turn, watching as the fight drew closer and closer to a close. “Look, this is my favorite part!” She whispered gleefully as Senjurō drew closer, raised his sword high, leaving his torso open.

Open torso.

It happened in slow motion, the phantom pain flaring up in his own abdomen as Akaza’s fist cleaved through Senjuro’s solar plexus, carving a hole through his middle, leaving his younger brother to simply hang on his arm as blood poured out of him like a grotesque waterfall. “NO!” Kyōjurō screamed, his voice mingling with Tanjiro’s. “SENJURŌ! NO!”

He couldn’t move from his spot. He sank to his knees, tears spilling down his cheeks as Senjurō was tossed aside. The sun was rising. Akaza would be running. “Not my brother, not my baby brother,” Kyōjurō whimpered, arms crossing over his chest as if to attempt to self-soothe, “not Senjurō, please don’t take Senjurō.”

“He’s already gone!” Ruka whispered, grabbing her son’s face to jerk his head up. “He’s already gone- and 𝙨𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚.” Her face began to melt, to decay, maggots crawling from her mouth, her nose, boring into her eyes. He couldn't pull away as he sobbed in horror, as skeletal hands gripped his face, digging into his cheeks. “We’re all dead!” She cackled, half of her face gone.

“No!” He yelled, shaking his head. “No! Senjurō- Senjurō didn’t die! I almost did! Not him!”

“LOOK AT HIM, BOY!” She screeched in his face, the sound nearly deafening as the scene moved rapidly. Senjurō’s body was beside him, the hole gaping, large; no spine in sight. His intestines were falling out- kidney, pancreas, small intestine, stomach. “LOOK AT HOW YOU'VE FAILED HIM!”

“I DIDN'T FAIL HIM!” Kyōjurō yelled, sobbing. “I did the best I could! Father wasn’t there for us! You left us!”

“YOU KILLED ME.”

"I DIDN'T KILL YOU!"

“YOU’VE FAILED THE RENGOKU NAME! YOU DIDN’T KILL UPPER MOON THREE!” She screamed back into his face. “YOU COULDN'T PROTECT US.”

“I tried!” Oh, he was going to be sick. “I tried to protect everyone! I’m only one man!”

“Your father was right.” Ruka’s voice was cold once more as she rose, reminding him of the deep winter. She stood over him, lip curled up in a snarl on her half-face. “You never were cut out to be the Flame Pillar. It should have died with him. You should have died.” She hissed as Kyōjurō sobbed, choking on his breaths. “You’re a pitiful disgrace. Look at you, sobbing. Disgusting.” She leaned down, leveling her face before his. “You’re a disgrace.” Her hand reared back, and he flinched, ready for the familiar sting-

Only to find himself sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, blinking in the darkness of his bedroom. His chest was heaving- his chest. Frantically, he reached down, touching against the healed skin of the injury. Twisting scars, gnarled skin. Whole.

Home.

A night terror.

Alone.

A moment passed before a sob broke free- and just like that, the floodgates opened. His arms wrapped around himself, holding himself as he tried to muffle his own sobs to not wake anyone. Senjurō was safe. Ruka was dead- her body not having rotted. She’d been cremated. Her spirit was at rest.

The other Hashira were safe. It was safe.

Why didn’t he feel safe in his own bedroom? He felt as if he looked to the side, he’d see golden eyes peering at him in the dark. Quickly, he grabbed a yukata he’d discarded before bed and wrapped it around himself before all but throwing the shoji open. The night air was cool against his skin, tinted with the scent of wisteria. His hands were shaking as he settled down on the porch, feet dangling above the ground.

Alone. Mitsuri was with Obanai- he couldn’t bother her. Tengen was with his wives- he could bother them; they’d still be awake at this hour, but he didn’t want to impose. Sanemi didn’t like his space to be invaded; Shinobu wasn’t someone he could freely talk to. Gyomei would attempt to help him pray. Muichiro was much too young for him to even consider talking to of this. Giyuu…

Giyuu was an option. A possibly good option. Yet, something kept him rooted to that spot on the porch, as if invisible hands were pushing him down. No, this was his burden. He had to handle this on his own.

After all, the Flame Hashira could not show weakness.

Hashira could not show weakness.

[ladyhallen]

Intentionally Courting Your Oblivious Herbivore

Tsuna had been desensitized by Reborn, that’s why he’s not screaming when a corpse drops beside him.

He rubs his eyes.

If there’s a thing as too much handcuffs, Tsuna has just seen it.

He blinks at the criminal hogtied in front of his desk, at the freaking ribbon on the man’s head and wants to walk out and go back to bed. The urge is very strong, especially when he realizes that the only person who has a cambio forma of handcuffs (specifically, Alaude’s handcuffs), is Hibari.

It’s hard enough to deal with Hibari when he’s in a mood, it’s gotten progressively stranger after Tsuna blew up the Vecoli base. Especially because Hibari has been proactively going out and looking for fights. And the thing is, nobody has been bitten to death. They’re all alive and well (or as well as one can be after having Hibari fighting you), and all dumped in Tsuna’s office.

It’s like Hibari has just realized that the sure-fire way to kill Tsuna is to dump living bodies for him to deal with. Dead people are easy, living ones are such a problem.

The man, who he vaguely recognizes as the asshole badmouthing him in the last party, starts to cry, proving Tsuna’s point. Dead bodies don’t cry so much. Ugh. So much tears.

“Decimo, thank Primo you’re here! I-I was...” the man trails off in horror and Tsuna, with well-honed instincts of a Namimori Middle School alumni, turns around and glares at Hibari lurking behind him.

“Tsunayoshi,” Hibari says, not even giving any pretence of guilt or shame. “This one was ruining your reputation.”

Then, he rocked back on his heels and stared at Tsuna, as though waiting for something.

Tsuna gives in to the urge and covers his face. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then drops his hands. He smiles at Hibari. He doesn’t know what kind of smile, but it makes Hibari smirk.

“Thank you, Hibari-san,” he manages to say instead of screaming. What he really wants to scream was, “What the fuck are you thinking, and why are you doing it to me?”

Nana raised Tsuna with more tact than that, thankfully.

“Call me Kyouya,” Hibari says in reply, that air of anticipation still around him.

Tsuna’s brain hurts.

It’s just. Too tired to deal with this shit.

For the past week, Hibari had been dumping living bodies in his office, usually people he wanted anyway, but Hibari had the tendency to induce sheer horror in his victims that it made Tsuna a little guilty for extorting and coercing them from all their assets and money just for the promise of never meeting that Demon Cloud ever again.

Just a little though. Reborn’s lessons stuck at some point.

And then. There’s the gifts. The other, non-living gifts.

They were extravagant, crazy, and above all, extremely expensive and Japanese. Once, Tsuna even woke up from his bed with his sheets changed to four hundred thread count, Egyptian Cotton Sheets. It had been changed. With him sleeping on it.

The Namimori Special Sake that appeared in his cupboards cinched who the culprit was, even if the flash drives with extremely sensitive information on their enemies consistently appearing on his desk.

And now this.

If he didn’t know any better, he would think that the air of anticipation around Hibari was of a teenage girl waiting for approval or rejection from their crush. But no, of course not. Hibari would never.

Yes, Hyper Intuition tugged insistently.

With Nana inherited denial, Tsuna replied, NO, just as insistently.

No way was HIbari courting him.

Nu-uh. Not happening.

Right?

.

.

The next day, a tank is on the lawn.

Just. A real fucking tank.

There could be two culprits, but Ryohei nii-san is not in the habit of bringing home tanks but training equipment. He knows it could not be Mukuro or it would involve more tentacles.

Tsuna bangs his head on the window sill.

Hibari. WHY.

.

.

Hayato is heaven sent and gives him a sympathetic smile while holding a cup of Tsuna’s favourite tea.

Beside Tsuna is the source of his headache.

A lion cub, recently liberated from the zoo, presented to Tsuna with a sloppily tied bow around its neck.

Tsuna doesn’t even want to know how many laws Hibari broke, he just wants to know why.

It really was almost as if he was being courted.

YES, Hyper Intuition sobs at him.

Fine, Tsuna sighs back.

“Kyouya,” Tsuna finally says after finishing his tea, handing the tea cup back to Hayato. He’d closed his eyes, or else he’d have noticed how completely focused Hibari was on his lips.

“Yes, Tsunayoshi?” Hibari says, perking up disturbingly on hearing his name.

“The weapons department just finished making you new modified tonfas on my request,” which had been a few days ago, when the first living human appeared in his office. Sometimes, he hated his Hyper Intuition so much.

Hibari looks surprised. Which. Hmm. That is a nice look on him.

Tsuna smiles at him this time, a more sincere one. Tellingly, there’s a hint of red around his ears.

Told you so, Hyper Intuition says.

Tsuna ignores it and moves closer to daringly hold Hibari – no, Kyouya-san’s hand.

“Want to test it out together?” he asks.

Behind them, Hayato drops the teacup.

“Ah, that reminds me, Hayato, can you take care of Hibarin for me?” Tsuna asks, gesturing to the lion cub.

Kyouya-san tugs on his fingers insistently, impatient now. The red on his ears has yet to disappear. In fact, it seems to have intensified at the name of the lion cub.

“Hai, Tsuna-sama,” Hayato says on reflex like a reliable right-hand man.

Before the door closes, Tsuna faintly hears him say to himself, “What the fuck is going on?”

.

.

Sparring is a great way to lead to making out, if he does say so himself.

Ripped clothes, sweaty bodies on display, exertion...

Tsuna doesn’t last ten minutes, forgoing the use of his flames and is immediately slammed to the floor.

His hands are trapped under Kyouya’s knees and his shirt had disintegrated two minutes into the fight. It had been a great distraction while it lasted, but Kyouya recovered admirably after, only stumbling a little before trying out the chains again.

Tsuna is now wrapped up in chains.

If he didn’t know any better, he might have accused Kyouya of tying him up on purpose. His Hyper Intuition told him that he didn’t want to know.

“Tsunayoshi,” Kyouya says, face inches from his own.

“Kyouya,” Tsuna breathes out with a smile.

“You are so oblivious,” he states baldly before kissing his brains out.

.

.

Extras:

“Ne, Tsuna,” Takeshi says, sidling up to him. He has a big smile on his face that makes him trustworthy.

Tsuna does not trust that smile, but he is too distracted at the sight of Kyouya walking around in a suit. If there’s anyone who’s made for a suit, it’s Kyouya.

“Ne, Takeshi-kun,” Tsuna says back.

“When did you notice Hibari-san courting you?” he asks bluntly.

Tsuna hears somebody slapping their face in the background, but Tsuna’s blushing and too flustered to wonder who.

“Wh-why are you asking?” he stammers. Takeshi’s face is full of glee and Tsuna drops his face in his hands. “It was two weeks ago that he was courting me, I think.”

Then, the question registers properly in his head.

“What do you mean ‘notice’?” he demands.

Takeshi pouts but hands over money to – was that Spanner?

It did not take long to put two and two together.

“Were you betting on my love life? Wait, do you mean to tell me it’s been going on for longer than two weeks?”

Takeshi escapes, laughing even when he lost money.

“Tsuna-sama,” Hayato sighs, answering reliably like always. “He’s been trying to get your attention for three months.”

.

.

This may or may not be connected to “Accidentally Courting your Assassin.” Still haven’t decided yet...

[lu-undy]

Chapter 46 - SBT

Here it is!

"Bugger…" 

The lights had switched back on in the dining area for a while now but Mundy's breath was still held, not that he particularly wanted it. But he couldn't help it. 

"You seem to have enjoyed your dessert, Sir." 

"Huh? Sorry?" Mundy blinked repeatedly as if he was emerging from a dream. The waiter chuckled. "Y-yeah, dessert was very good, thanks. I'll uh, I'll go and pay in a minute." 

"You don't need to, Sir."

Mundy raised an eyebrow. 

"What d'you mean?" 

"Your meals here are taken care of, Sir." The waiter took his dessert plate and headed away. 

"Wait, what d'you - ugh…" Mundy half smiled. There was only one person who could have done that for him… 

The Aussie raised his eyes to the stage and smiled to himself as he shook his head. And that small gesture was enough to give him the boost his confidence needed. Mundy picked up his hat and a leaflet from the table before his feet guided him naturally backstage. He walked with a lazy smile on his lips, his eyes didn't see the restaurant, nah, they were just anticipating the sight of the man in the dark blue suit and tie, who had absolutely blown his mind with his vocal chords, about half an hour ago now. 

When he arrived in front of the door, Mundy stopped and looked left and right. No one. Good. There was a shining metal pane on the wall there, Mundy could see his reflection on it. 

"Oh… Uh…" He did his ponytail again, a bit better he hoped, and adjusted his tie. Ok, alright, hopefully he looked half decent now. 

Three knocks. He gave three knocks on the wooden door with the Frenchman's name written on it. 

"Go away!" 

Mundy's smile shattered like glass. He spun on his heels but then he frowned. No, he needed to at least say thanks for the food. He knocked again. 

"Argh! Pour l'amour du ciel, ne peut-on jamais profiter d'un moment de paix?! Frank, I swear, if it is you again about the songs, I will not change my mind!" 

[For the love of God, can't I enjoy a moment of peace?!]

"It's not Frank." Mundy answered. He didn't see Lucien freeze and his eyes darted to the mirror instantly. 

Merde, merde, merde…. He thought as he arranged his hair and face faster than the speed of light itself. 

"Mundy?" 

Lucien's voice was muffled but Mundy understood it very easily. Non, the Frenchman was right behind the door, there was no doubt about it. 

"Y-yeah, it's me." 

Lucien unlocked the door and opened it. 

"Please, do come in." 

Mundy slipped in and Lucien shut the door after checking that no one else had seen him.

"Am I botherin' you? I can come back later or something." Mundy asked, holding his hat in his hands nervously. 

"Non, non, please, take a seat and make yourself at home. You look…" Lucien started but what word should he use? He looked at Mundy and all he saw made his insides warm and fuzzy. The long hair tied back allowed to see Mundy's face better, and even if his eyes were still hidden behind the glasses, Lucien found them more than pleasant. There were a few locks of wavy, dark brown hair that fell on Mundy's face and Lucien resisted the urge to push them back behind his ear. Non, it was too personal, too intimate. The Frenchman's eyes went down and seeing Mundy in that beige, three-piece suit was such a delightful sight to behold… "You look handsome."

"Thanks, mate." Mundy sat on the sofa and Lucien joined him after pouring a second glass of water and handing it to him. 

"So, what brings you here?" Lucien asked as he sat down. 

"I wanted to say thanks."

"What for?"

"I was going to pay for my food and head back home but the waiter told me that it had already been cleared for me. I guess it's you, right?"

Lucien smiled. 

"It might well be."

"Pfff, why did you do that…? Duchemin might realise somethin'." Mundy chuckled. 

"In his mind, we are romantically involved with one another anyway so I don't think him or any of his friends here suspect a thing." Lucien drank some more water. 

"Yeah, well, still… Thanks." 

"My pleasure."

"Also, what's that about?" Mundy handed the leaflet that him and the rest of the customers found on their tables. 

"You call it a leaflet in English, I am told, Bushman…" Lucien played smug and Mundy rolled his eyes with a smile. 

"C'mon, y'know what I mean… That's new. You didn't have those things when you first started, eh?" Mundy said. "I read it. It's got the program of the pieces you guys play and there's an entire page on your song - someone's big headed, but anyway - it's got the lyrics in French, and the translation, it's brilliant!"

Lucien smiled. 

"Glad you appreciate it. I did it because one of my uhm, what did you call them again the other day? Ah, oui, one of my fans wrote to me."

Mundy smiled. 

"Yeah well, you got tons of those, we know, yada, yada, yada…"

"Non, non, non, tsk, tsk, tsk!" Lucien waved his index finger left and right as he shook his head. He still had an arrogant smile on his lips. "Non, this fan, I actually talked to him, Mundy."

The Aussie frowned for an instant.

"You see," Lucien went on. "He told me that he had liked some of my songs so much that he managed to find some cassettes and he listens to them in his leisure time. He also told me that he tried hard to translate them. So I thought to myself that I could perhaps help and offer a translation, so that he doesn't need to."

Mundy's face was red. Lucien was obviously talking about him.

"I hope the leaflet helped." 

"Y-yeah… Thanks… I mean… You didn't have to do that." Mundy said. 

"Non, I didn't have to, but I did it anyway."

"Hm…" Mundy looked into Lucien's eyes and felt his own cheeks burning. "Thanks."

"With pleasure."

"Also, uh, y-you really did a great job tonight." 

"Did you like the song?" Lucien asked. 

"Yeah. And it didn't feel like you were the one who sang it, it felt like it was Lulu."

Lucien smiled. 

"I guess it's the tears." Mundy added. "I can't imagine you crying and when you do it, well, I'm gonna sound like an idiot but to me, it's Lulu who's cryin', not you, as if you were two different people still…"

Lucien's grin hid the distress he had spent the past half an hour in and he thanked the Lord high up above that Mundy didn't seem to have noticed his still slightly red eyes from the intense sobs he had gone through.

"I… It does happen." Lucien said. 

"What?"

"I do cry. Occasionally."

"Yeah, I saw you on stage."

"Not on stage." 

"Oh… I guess it's when you think of… her?" Mundy tried to be tactful. 

"Oui and non. Indirectly, I suppose. It is the unfairness of it all and how powerless I am that sometimes makes me so furious that I burst."

"What d'you mean?"

"Why them?" Lucien asked. "Of all the people on Earth, I could name a lot who were more deserving to die. Yet, God called her and our young son back."

"Mate, you're lookin' at it the wrong way. There's no rhyme or reason to life and death. People die of stupid things. You and I could die of stupid things. There's no sense to be found there."

"I know that and yet I cannot help but think that God should have taken me instead of them. I am the oldest of the three, I am not a woman or a child, I committed crimes, murder, cold-blooded assassination, and other sins for which I am sure to spend my next life burning in hell." 

"No-!" Mundy burst out, speaking faster than he had thought. "Shush!" He screwed his eyes shut. "Don't talk about that!"

"Why not? That is all I deserve. I have killed many who were deserving and many who were not, because I was asked to. At any time I could have refused and resigned. But here I am."

"Spook." 

"But that is not all. You see? When I climb on stage and sing, I become someone else, as you have noticed. I become a normal, civil man, someone who doesn't know what killing is, someone who sings sentimentality and romance as if he still knew what they were. Non, the more I think about it, the more I remember your letter and I think you were right. Lulu is a lucky bastard for not knowing the weight and pain that Solitude can bring."

Lucien took a sip of his water and put his glass away. 

"A lucky bastard indeed." He added. 

"But mate, you are him." Mundy answered. "Y-you're the one singin' those songs, you're the one who cries when he sings. I saw you today again. You tried to hold it back but eh… Spook, Lulu is part of you too. Stop thinkin' that you're an emotionless killing robot. You're a normal bloke."

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed. 

"We already had that conversation, Mundy."

"Yeah, but apparently you didn't listen to me. Also, uh… About the song..?"

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy. 

"You said to me that you didn't like any other sheila than your fiancée but…"

"But what?" 

"You really looked like you… Uh… You had someone in mind when you were singing."

Lucien sighed and looked away. He put a hand on his face and let it sink down from his brow to his chin. 

"Hey… It's good, it's nice if you've found someone, I-I'm happy for you." Mundy said and Lucien shook his head. 

"Think, Bushman!" He burst out at him. "Have I not learnt from my past? Have I not suffered enough from my own stupidity! I do not want to find anyone, I want people to stay as far away as they can from me. I am a curse to live with and deal with! I bring death, despair, frustration and powerlessness! Non! I do not want anyone to come close to me and I do not want to-"

"Have you finished with your dramatic nonsense?!" Mundy barked back. "Some of us here don't have any choice and have to live completely alone, you ungrateful snob!"

Lucien's eyes snapped wide out of surprise. He did not imagine the Aussie could become irritated, he always seemed so calm. 

"You bloody mongrel! The least you can do is appreciate it!"

"Appreciate what?"

"Appreciate the blessin' it is to have someone with you! Pff.. And to think that you told me you knew what solitude was about, you have no idea, do you?! Or maybe you're so deeply in love with that sheila that you actually have forgotten what it is like, eh?" Mundy frowned behind his aviator glasses. "Well let me tell you, you arrogant idiot! Have you forgotten the pain of your past ten years alone?! Besides, for the love of all that is holy, please enjoy it! It's a blessin' to like someone and I'm sure that sheila likes you back so be fuckin' happy because that simply hasn't happened in the last ten years!"

"Mundy, what part of 'there is a contract on my head' do you not understand?!" Lucien's anger escalated. "I am a dead man!"

"No, you're not! You're alive, well, and breathing! You're also talking a lot of nonsense for someone who's dead!"

"It is all AS IF I was dead already! And I had better consider myself so! They are coming for me Mundy, each day that I wake up is just a step taken to MY DEATH!" Lucien exclaimed. 

"Why won't you fuckin' enjoy what you have instead on focusing on the fact that you'll lose it?! Go sing all that to her in person!" Mundy pushed the leaflet against Lucien's chest.

"Because I am going to LOSE IT!" Lucien shoved the crumpled leaflet back to Myndy's chest.

"WELL THEN YOU'D BETTER GO AND ENJOY YOUR TIME WITH HER, YOU FUCKING UNGRATEFUL MONGREL!" 

Mundy stood off of the sofa and left the backstage room, slamming the door shut after him. He went straight to his van and drove away, fuming with rage. 

"Merde…" Lucien cursed and sighed. But there was no time to lose. Duchemin wanted to have dinner with him so he had to oblige. 

-- A week later -- 

Mundy was next to the lake as usual. Hunting had been tricky that day but he managed to return to his van with a pheasant. He sat down next to the fire he had made and started cleaning the beast before cooking it. 

He hummed to himself, tried to fill the silence around him with songs. But each time he did, his mind and his mouth would play something that Lucien had sung.

"No."

He stopped and tried something else. Damn it, that was still one of Lucien's songs. 

"No, c'mon…" 

Mundy was plucking the bird's feathers and he tried again. 

"Hm…? Hmmm, da da da, la Solitude… No, fucking hell!"

He sighed and looked up from the colourful feathers between his hands to the silver lake in front of him. 

Mundy sighed and decided to continue in silence. Birds were chirping, the lake's shy waves were rolling on the shore, not too far from him. All of that would occupy the silence, as it used to before Mundy met Lucien.

"Bloody hell!"

Did everything he thought about had to loop back to the fucking posh French snob?! 

Once he finished with the feathers, Mundy gutted the bird and cut it neatly into its different parts before washing it and throwing it on the pan, above the flames. He let it grill and sat back on his chair. While the meat cooked, he pulled his hat down on his face and closed his eyes. He could do with a nap.

"So you do love a sheila, eh?"

"Bushman, look at me. Did you seriously think that a man like me could stay alone and single for long?"

Mundy stared at Lucien. No, of course Lucien couldn't stay single. The man was receiving heaps of letters from sheilas who would no doubt leave everything for him if he did as much as ask… Fuck him, he was irresistible… Mundy sighed. 

"Whatever." He grumbled as an answer. 

"Well then, I shall go and enjoy my day and my night with her."

"Yeah, alright." Mundy lowered his head. What was he thinking anyway? Of course Lucien wouldn't look at him any other way than a colleague, at best!

"Mundy?" 

"What?"

Lucien raised his hand and splayed it on Mundy's chest. The Aussie's heart beat violently against it. 

"Oh…? What have we here…?" Lucien pushed his hand against Mundy's chest and the Aussie felt his heart want to rip out of his ribcage more and more. Each beat made him come closer to bursting out until… 

"ARGH?!" 

Mundy woke up in a frightened startle and put his hands on his chest. His heart was there, his heart was there, oof, no problem, everything's fine.

"Gosh…"

He took a few seconds to wake up completely and put a hand on his hat to adjust it when he realised that his hat had gone. 

"What the…?" 

He could swear he had it on his head before he took a nap. 

Pop.

The hat landed back on his head and Mundy looked up. 

"What the fuck are you doin' here again?!" 

Lucien was standing behind his chair. 

"I put a few of those feathers to good use with your hat." He answered. 

"What-?!" Mundy took off his headgear and took a look. On the side of it were two beautifully coloured feathers. 

"It brightens up your hat without changing it too much." Lucien added. 

"What d'you want?" Mundy cut to the chase. 

"To hold a promise. But maybe we can discuss this around a good pheasant leg?" Lucien added and took a seat on the other chair that he must have stolen from inside Mundy's van again. 

"Hm." 

Lucien removed his gloves and both started eating. 

"So, what's your promise about?" Mundy asked. 

"I promised I would keep the lies to a strict minimum, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and?"

"You were right. I had someone in mind when I sang Hymne À L'Amour last week."

Mundy's hunger made him focus more on his food than what Lucien was saying.

"But you were wrong." The Frenchman continued. "It is not a woman. It is a man."

Mundy stopped chewing and raised his eyes from the leg he was eating to Lucien's eyes. 

"Hm." He threw the bones away and took another part to eat. 

"I realised that you might have been under the impression that it was for a woman that I sang all that. But non. It is one special man that my heart has decided to claw onto, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Mundy repeated. 

"Oui. You know why it is useless of me to try and achieve anything with him." Lucien continued. 

"Can he like blokes?" 

"As a matter of fact, oui, he can."

"Then go for it." Mundy said and Lucien chuckled. 

"Go for what exactly, hm?" 

"Go and tell him you fancy him. Invite him to dinner or something. I don't know. J-just do something."

"That leads me to my second point."

The Aussie froze thinking that Lucien would then invite him to dinner. His eyes snapped wide and his breath cut, while his teeth were still sinking in a bit of pheasant. 

"I need to make something clear to you." Lucien went on. "Because I can see it in the way that you look at me. Since we argued the other day, your eyes don't see me the same way they used to."

Mundy's shoulders sank. Oof, and he had thought that Lucien was going to invite him for dinner… Silly Mundy… But the spy was right. He looked at Lucien less warmly now that he knew that his heart was busy with someone else. There was bitterness, and Mundy tried his best to hide the heartbreak of it. No point in admiring the Frenchman anymore, it would just hurt. At least when Lucien's heart was free, Mundy could maintain the illusion that maybe, maybe, he could slip through the tight cracks of his stone cold heart. But now it was useless. Lucien liked someone else and that had made him forget one of the things that made Mundy connect to him deeply: the solitude.

"I have to break another lie to you and please do not beat me up for it this time."

"Go ahead. No promises."

"I intend to offer myself to Duchemin's goons after we kill him."

Mundy's bit of food slid between his hands and fell to the dusty desert ground. 

"What?" 

"I will ask you to keep Perle and take care of her while I distract them."

"What d'you mean, you distract them?"

"I will give them a long, even though easy, chase at the end of which I will die in any fashion that will satiate their thirst for revenge. That way, they will not come after you, and Perle still has someone who will take care of her. Admittedly, you are more knowledgeable about her kind than me, she might be the one for whom it would be the best deal."

"What the hell have you been drinking, you idiotic, absolutely retarded mongrel?"

"Bushman, I am sorry to have lied to you again but I will repeat myself. If anyone has to die at the end of all this, it is me."

"You made me promise to survive it…!"

"Oui, for yourself and for Perle. You have never done anything wrong in your life. You have never lied, never hurt and never killed. Let death make sense for once, let her take someone who has done so many things wrong that it is useless to try and make something right. Please."

Mundy stood up and went to the lake where he washed his hands with the little bar of soap that sat on one of the rocks next to him. 

"So, do we have a deal?" Lucien asked. 

Mundy came back to him and the Frenchman stood up, offering his hand to shake. The Aussie stared at it. 

"Bushman?" 

Violently, Mundy took Lucien by his collar and lifted him up. 

"Bushman?! What are you doing?! This shirt costs more than-!"

"SHUT UP you egotistical, selfish piece of garbage!" Mundy threw him on the ground. 

"Argh-?!" Lucien's back hit the hard and dry desert ground painfully. "Why do you say that?! Have you not heard me?! I am doing this for you and for Perle!" 

Mundy straddled Lucien's body and his punch flew to his jaw. 

"Shut up! You don't do it for me or for her, you compulsive liar! You do it for yourself!" 

"Non!" Lucien punched Mundy's jaw back and pushed the Aussie away from him. 

Both took a moment to stand back up. 

"Why do you not believe me?!" Lucien asked.

"Excuse me?! Are you asking me why I don't believe any word you say?! Well turns out that not many of them mean anything, you lyin' snake!" 

They leapt at each other and exchanged punches and kicks again. They grunted and winced, the pain pulsating from their faces, their chests, their arms, their knuckles, everywhere. Mundy's hat had been thrown away, same for his glasses and their clothes had streaks of their bloods, mixed together. Mundy's nose was bleeding impressively and Lucien's stomach ache soon started to incapacitate him. 

"Tell me one thing, one only thing that was true in anything you've told me so far." Mundy raised his index finger.

Lucien had wrapped an arm around himself, holding his painful stomach. His hair was dishevelled now and one of his eyes was particularly stinging. He closed it. 

"I love a man… He doesn't know it… But… Argh-!" Lucien bent down. His stomach and ribs burnt with pain. "He is the reason I can fall asleep at night… If I don't think about him, I cannot…. I cannot sleep…" 

Mundy sighed and stopped fighting. He walked to the lake and entered it fully clothed. 

"What the…?" Lucien opened his one functioning eye wide. "What are you doing, imbécile?"

"Like you, idiot! I try to drown my problems in my bathtub!" Mundy shouted from a distance. 

Lucien grumbled and took a few steps towards the lake. He removed his shoes and wanted to remove his socks but bending down further was incredibly painful. 

"Merde, Bushman…" He looked at his own self and deemed the clothes good to be thrown away. No washing machine would fix the tears and the blood stains. "Merde…"

[Shit…]

Lucien walked to the shore and winced in disgust when the water hit his socks. He looked down and grimaced. Ew, now nothing and no one will ever fix anything. There was no turning around. He looked up and saw Mundy floating on his back. 

"Putain de merde, Bushman. Tu me le paieras cher."

[Fucking hell, Bushman. You will have to pay for all this.]

Lucien walked further. The level of the water rose from his ankles to his legs, now his knees and thighs. The lake wasn't cold at all. It would have been very pleasant in other circumstances. Lucien kept on walking until the water level was to his neck. Then, he started swimming. 

"Argh, umph, gnh-!"

"What the hell are you gruntin' about?" Mundy was as relaxed as he could be, floating like a plank on the surface of the water, his wet polo shirt and trousers sticking to his skin. 

"I am trying to make sure you don't stray too far away - argh - Bushman… But you have hit me pretty badly and now everything hurts terribly…" 

"Oops." Mundy answered, not apologising one bit. 

Lucien grabbed his shoulder and pulled him closer to the shore, where he could actually stand up. 

"Why're you doing that?" Mundy asked. 

"I don't want to fish you out the same way you did me." Lucien answered. He stood up and the water level was to his arms. 

"Don't worry, my bathtub's large enough for us both to swim in it… C'mon, lay on yer back and relax."

"Quoi?"

[What?]

Lucien was completely baffled. 

"Don't make me do it for you, idiot. Lay on yer back."

"Ugh…" Lucien sighed and bent backwards slowly. He then raised his legs and now the lake carried him like it did Mundy.

"There, now, gimme your arm."

"What?"

Mundy didn't wait and grabbed Lucien's arm firmly and laced his own around it. 

"What are you doing?!" Lucien asked. 

"Like the otters do it."

"Bushman, nothing you are saying makes any shred of sense."

"Nothin' you do makes any bloody sense! Now, shut up and listen to me. When otters sleep, they lay on their backs on rivers like that and to make sure they don't drift far apart during their sleep, they hold their arms together."

"Ah, I see." 

Lucien and Mundy both stared at the immense blue sky punctuated by a few cotton streaks of clouds. They both remained mute for a long while. A bird would sometimes fly above them, or a fish would disturb the otherwise calm surface of the water. Apart from that, nothing but their own breaths and their own thoughts as both drifted away on the lake, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right…

Mundy closed his eyes and as he started drifting away in a nap, he felt Lucien's arm move from his. He snapped his eyes wide but before he could do or say anything, he felt the Frenchman's hand slide along his forearm and finally settle when he slipped his fingers between Mundy's. The Aussie frowned. Why would he do that if he liked another bloke…? 

"I cannot stand who I am." Lucien broke the silence.

"That makes us two. Can't stand you either." 

"If I were to meet me and get to know me, I would hate me. There isn't the shadow of a doubt about this."

"Can see why." 

"Everytime I look into what I am and what I have done, I don't see much to be proud of, and even less to share with someone else." Lucien said. 

Mundy's eyes moved to the right, where Lucien was floating, next to him. 

"Why are you doin' this?" He asked and squeezed Lucien's fingers once, gently. He wanted to ask why he was holding his hand, when clearly he had someone else in mind and in his heart. 

"Because despite everything I say, despite my brain thinking that it is useless to chase my feelings, it is still my heart who wins." 

"I'm surprised you got one of those, eh, a heart, you say? I thought you only used your rock stubborn, big head." Mundy teased. 

"That is what I have done for a long time. But you broke that, and many other things." Lucien answered. 

"Sorry… I guess…? Did I break your nose?"

"Non."

"What are you talking about then? I have no idea."

"And it is better that way." 

"Why?" Mundy asked.

"Because… Because!" Lucien removed his hand off Mundy's and started swimming back to the shore. They had drifted quite far from where they had entered the lake first. 

Mundy swam after him and when they could both stand up and reach the bottom of the lake, they did. 

"Hold on." Mundy grabbed Lucien's arm again. 

"What? Do otters come out of the water together too?" Lucien asked sarcastically. 

"No, you muppet." Mundy went to grab the bar of soap and came back. "Here. Scrub yourself, you're covered in half dried, half still runnin' blood." Mundy tossed the soap over to Lucien who caught it effortlessly. 

"Ha! Thanks to whom?, Might I ask, hm?" 

"Shut up and do it, or give me back the soap and I'll start." 

Mundy yanked his wet polo shirt up and away and threw it on to the nearby rocks. He then removed his trousers and did the same. When he raised his eyes to Lucien, the Frenchman's eyes were glued to him and he looked ridiculous with his shirt sticking to him and his tie completely drenched. 

"What? You've seen me before, you pervert."

"Mundy! I am no pervert! I couldn't see a thing, it was the middle of the night! All I could see was the outline of your silhouette!" Lucien's cheeks had got some colour and Mundy chuckled because of it. The Frenchman looked and sounded offended. 

"C'mon, clothes, out! And start cleaning yourself. You're so dirty you might as well get clean by tomorrow if you start now…" 

Lucien crossed his arms on his chest. His salt and pepper hair was all wet and stuck to his face not in a way that put him in his advantage… But God was he funny, pouting like that with his face flushed red.

"C'mon, Spook! Or are you so posh that you snobs don't wash your skin directly but wash with your clothes on?"

"Hm…" Lucien grumbled and threw the soap over to Mundy who started washing himself. "Let me tell you that you will have to pay for this damaged suit. It cost me a fortune!" Lucien undid his tie and threw it away, before he opened the buttons of his shirt. "This is no ordinary suit that you can find in any odd shop! I hope you do realise that, Bushman!" The white - and red because of the blood - shirt flew away and Lucien removed his trousers. 

"What the hell are those?!" Mundy pointed at Lucien's legs. 

"Those are the garters you have now ruined because you decided that you were an otter today!" Lucien answered and Mundy burst out laughing. The Aussie had covered himself with the white foam of the soap and Lucien threw away socks and garters. Now both were in their underwear. 

"Spook?"

"What now?" 

"Do I have blood still on my face?" Mundy asked and Lucien walked closer to him. He squinted at his face that he rinsed slowly. The Aussie hissed. 

"Spook, that hurt!" Mundy closed his eyes.

"Don't move so much! I am trying to see!" Lucien rinsed his hands and let his fingers run softly on Mundy's face, looking up to him until the Aussie opened his eyes. The soft fingers on Mundy's face made him melt and his guts went to mush. How could a bloke have hands as delicate as a sheila? 

Their faces were a few inches apart and both now blushed beyond their ears. "There is blood still below your nose." Lucien said and took a step away. He took the soap off of Mundy's hand and turned his back to him to start cleaning himself. 

"And now?" Mundy asked. 

"One minute." Lucien answered as he washed his face. He carded his hair back and turned to Mundy. "Oui, that is better. Oh, let me see here… Oui, you have some blood on your cheek here, let me help…" 

Lucien cupped some water in his hand and washed it away. 

"There, that is better. Your face is clean now. What about mine?" 

Mundy had looked away from the Frenchman until then but as his eyes moved to his face, he blushed more and more. 

"Uh, I mean, it looks ok, you face, uh, ah, actually, you've got some blood above your mouth still." Mundy squinted and Lucien's heart jolted in his ribcage as the man was staring right at his lips. "Looks dried out a bit but you should be able to wash it away."

"Fine… Many thanks…" Lucien washed his mouth repeatedly and turned to Mundy again. "What about now?" 

"Yeah, yup, no blood, no, your face's fine, yeah, very fine, ok… I'll uh… I'll grab some towels…" 

Mundy went off of the water and into his van. He came out again and found Lucien shivering, his arms wrapped around himself. He was sitting on a rock at the edge of the lake and was watching the calm ripples at the surface of the water.

"Here…" Mundy wrapped the towel around Lucien and wiped behind his neck and shoulders. 

"Oh… Merci… I was starting to get cold." 

"No worries." Mundy sat next to him. 

"You don't wipe yourself?" Lucien asked. 

"Nah. I uh… I like to dry like that y'know… uh…"

"Mundy…?"

"What?" 

Lucien took his towel and covered both of them. 

"You are right, I am a compulsive liar. But that makes me good at telling when people lie. Do not offer me this poor show again, please." 

"I tried my best, eh, sorry…" 

"It is fine." Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder. 

"Uh… Mate… Y-you shouldn't…" The Aussie moved away from Lucien and the Frenchman's heart sunk to his feet. "You told me you had someone. D-don't do that to them." 

[shaydeoffical]

Bright as a Diamond. Hitoshi Shinsou x Fem Reader: Chapter Five

Summary:  

When (Y/N)’s co-worker decided to send a picture of her making a diamond to the paper, her life was over. Gemstone based quirks weren’t all that rare, but being able to make a diamond put a target on her back. After years of hiding in the city, it’s time to hide in the countryside with her Uncle Shota Aizawa and his more than ‘roommate’ Hizashi Yamada. With the promise of training her to be self-sufficient, she’s ready to learn.

Chapter Summary: In this Chapter (Y/n) and Shinsou turn up the heat on the training, and we get to see a small taste of EraserMic.

Chapter Four: https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/611717748218904576/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Chapter Six: https://ambershaydeoffical.tumblr.com/post/617587014787809280/bright-as-a-diamond-hitoshi-shinsou-x-fem-reader

Warnings: Some sparring and flashbacks.

Round Two

Saturday rolled around, and Shota told me to get dressed for training. The week had gone by so fast, and finally, mundane, I forgot the real reason I was here, to get better at protecting myself.

   Once I was in my camo pants and jacket, I went outside. Shinso was in a similar suit to what he wore to work, but he didn't have his amp on.

   "Alright, today we're going to work on hand to hand combat." Shota had us stand a few feet apart, and I struggled to keep his gaze. I just wanted to knock the slight upturn off his lips and humiliate him, just like he dished it out to me.

   "We're going to see where your skill level is, (Y/n). Shinso, take it easy on her today."

   "No worries there." Shinso spread his legs and raised his hands. The urge to knock his teeth in was growing.

   "Just say when Shota, I'm ready," I cockily popped my fingers and pushed my hair away from my face. He was going to get it this time.

   "Begin." Shota gave the signal, and I didn't hesitate.

   Going straight for the kill, I swung a haymaker, but Shinso dodged it without much effort. Instead of actually hitting me back, he tapped my forehead. This irritated me more than a real hit. I brought my leg up, going straight for his groin. He caught my leg and twisted it, sending me straight to the ground. Once I was down, he straddled my hips, pinning my arms against above my head.

   "Again," Shota yawned.

   This time I tried to fake him out with a punch to the face but landed my other hand in his stomach. He doubled over, but just smiled back up at me.

   "Not bad, Kitty," he took my confusion and tapped my gut, then throat.

   "I'm just warming up lint ball," I stumbled for an insult, but it worked. He was frozen long enough for me to sweep his legs out from under him. Now I had him pinned, my hips heavy on his chest. "Sho look I- ugh," Shinso flipped me over and had me under him in an instant. Licking his lips as he hovered over me.  

   "Don't let your guard down. Again, but try something new." Shota put his hand on his hip. We reset, and I refused Shinso's outstretched out hand.

   Instead of starting out with a strike, I held up my hands and waited for him to make the first move. He struck at my forehead, but I ducked out of the way. Then I dodged his knee and escaped his attempt at a tackle.

   "Good, you save more energy by being on the defense." Shota nodded at my small improvement.

   I noticed Shinso left his right hip open, so I got in my first strike and then went back to defense. Only I didn't see a fallen tree limb and tripped when it snagged my pant leg. Shinso jumped me and spun, so he hit the ground first. He had my arms and legs immobilized, my entire weight resting on him on top of the branch.

   "Stop wiggling," he ordered, matching his movements to mine to keep his hold.

   "Then let me go," I fired back, shocked when he released his hold. I got off his body by rolling to the side face down. Taking a moment to catch our breath, we just stayed put.

   "Again," Shota looked us over, "but this time, turn up the heat, Shinso."

   "What?" Shinso seemed to understand something I couldn't. This was the first time I had seen him question Aizawa. His brows knitting together, and bottom lip hanging loose.

   "She can take it." Shota went back to his spot.

   "I'm sure I can if Sho thinks so." I encouraged Shinso, it was the good nature in me, but I couldn't stop it from coming out.  

   "Mr. Aizawa I don't thin-"

   "Shinso, did I steer you wrong?" Shota was emitting alpha vibes that had even me quivering. I sat up on my knees and scooted away from the two disagreeing men.

  "If she can make half as much as her father. Then this isn't even a quarter."

   "She says this is it. I don't know."

   "Use the incentive, ignore her limits. Take it all."

  "Up," Shota caught my attention, and I stood quickly. My eyes wide as saucers, body on autopilot. "Begin."

   I didn't raise my hands, and when Shinso swung at me, he stopped before making contact. Forcing myself to move, I swung feebly back at him, and he dodged.

"Shinso, she can't learn if she doesn't know how to work through the pain." Shota reminded him. I never thought Shota would have someone try to hit me so soon. Sure, I had given consent, but I didn't want that.

Still, Shinso was more arcuate then before. Now with Shota's reminder, he was getting closer to hitting me.

"This won't do." Blood oozing from my lips. "Push harder. We need quality and quantity!" Boot smashing my hip.

I covered my face and kneeled down, cowering under the pro hero. He had stopped short of hitting me again, I could tell. Quivering, I refused to look up. Instead, I bolted.

   My first lesson was to run, so that's what I did. There was no way I could catch my breath, the forest around me feeling vast and full. I was the rabbit, and the fox was right behind me. I had to get away, there wasn't another way.

   "Honey, pick up your feet." Mom tugged me along, her cape smacking me in the face as we fled. I vomited instead.

   Pushing and pushing, I finally came to my senses once I reached the road. "One two three one two three one two three." I counted over and over, it didn't make sense, but the repetition eased my thinking. Soon I was flat on my back, looking at the clouds.  

   "You didn't need a head start today," Shota peered down at me. "You want to tell me why you ran from training?"

   "Why did you tell Shinso to hit me?" I asked in return, not moving from my position.

   "If you want to be able to fight, you need to be able really to experience it." Shota offered me his hand, but instead, I pulled him to my level.

   "It made him uncomfortable." I chewed my lip. "Also, I've been hit enough in my life. I really don't want to do it again…I shouldn't have even hit Shinso, but I know I need to build up the muscle memory."

   "You do." Shota rolled in the grass and took a deep breath.

   "How did you train in your hero courses?" He grasped a piece of my hair and twirled it in the light.

   "I participated in a few, they were mostly an elective. Then I- things happened, and I just don't do- I don't like that. I thought I'd be fine then I just.."

   "Froze." Shota stood and helped me up. "We'll work on it. Now I need to help Shinso train, would you be willing to help with that?"

   "Nope," I popped the p.

   "He helps you." Shota gave me a stern glance. "It's good for you, and it won't involve any fighting. You might even enjoy it."

   "You really need me?" I affirmed, teetering on agreeing.

   "Yes." I sighed but started the walk back.

   "Come on, then." I looked back for him to come on, but he had taken the lead without me knowing.

   When we returned, Shinso was on the porch, feet hanging off the side. Hisoka was in his lap, content in his hold. He gave the feline a quick pat before rejoining us.

   "You ready for our session?" Shota asked Shinso.

   "Yea." He glanced at me, biting his tongue. It was probably an insult about how pathetic I looked running off that he was holding back. He had better keep his mouth shut for the rest of the day.

   On the walk back, Shota had told me what my job would be. It was simple enough. I was to toss water balloons at Shinso while they sparred. It was exciting, to say the least. The balloons were filled, and I had two ready to go while they discussed the parameters of their fight. When Shota landed the first hit, I sent the balloons flying. Instead of hitting Shinso, it smacked Shota across the face, and I couldn't help but giggle.

   "Not me," Shota scoffed, giving Shinso the upper hand, connecting his fist to Shota's stomach. There was no holding back between the two, and it was mesmerizing. How fast they progressed, how they knew each other's moves so well they couldn't break out of their cycles. That's when I tossed balloons into the mix and gave them a run for their money.

   My fave k.o of the day was when I got Shinso's head, soaking his hair. I also loved it when Shota slipped on a balloon that didn't pop. I kept up my antics till the balloons were gone, I was snickering fool.

   The duo was drenched with sweat and water, and still, they kept on sparing. At some point, they brought in their capture weapons. Suddenly Shota looked at me and smiled a little too wide. "(Y/n), could be our stand-in?"

   "What kind of stand-in?" I hesitated, I had just barraged them water balloons, now I was needed for scarf training?"

   "We've been working on grasping two people at once with more accuracy. So I'll demonstrate on you and Shinso then let him try." Shota grabbed his scarf and waited for my consent.

   "Okay," I accepted. "Just don't get back at me for drenching you two. What do I ne-"Shota's scarf was around my arms in a death grip, and he pulled towards him, Shinso was wrapped on the other side. We crashed into each other than the ground, and Shota hoovered over both of us.

   "You get it?" He asked Shinso, letting us both go. I rubbed my wrist, staying seated on the earth.

   "I think so," he nodded, offering me his hand. I refused and stood on my own.

   "Thanks, but you're drenched," I laughed, flipping my hair as I walked away. "I'm waiting…rope us up."

   "Whenever you're ready," Shota encouraged Shinso, stepping back from the boy.

   As I expected, the rope circled my waist like all the times before, and I was dragged back. Unlike when Shota pulled me in, I bounced into Shinso, and then Shinso into Shota. We all fell, making a Shinso sandwich.

   "Close," I murmured, wriggling myself free.

   "I'm sorry Mr. Aizawa." Shinso held the back of his neck and flushed ten shades of red.

   "It's progress," Shota smiled.  

   "Dinner," Hizashi yelled, like the little housewife he was.

   "You two better shower before you catch a cold," I stated, sprinting towards the house. The two helped each other up and walked back home. They were so picturesque walking back together, like father and son.  

   If my dad were still around, he'd taken the fall for the diamond I made. He always cleaned up my messes, even hid my quirk from mom. He was my hero…now all I had was my mom.

   "How was training?" Hizashi was in an apron coated in flour.

   "I had a small meltdown, but then I got to take out my emotions by hitting Shinso with water balloons." I sat at the table, taking my jacket off.

   "Sounds like fun," he dished out the noodles and sat across from me. It was second nature to let Shota and Shinso sit at the heads of the table. I hated giving up my spot, but he had been here first. Still, I got to stare at Hizashi while I ate instead of either of the stoic men.

   The first to emerge from the bath was Shota, and ten minutes later, Shinso. Both were in their pj's, which meant that Shinso was spending the night again. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend the night, it turned out that he and Shota had been working on a big case, and that he typically stayed over often. It had been a pain trying to avoid him of the mornings, but I had gotten used to his presence. He wasn't as bad as I initially thought, but I knew it was just that he didn't have enough vigor to be annoying of the morning. The boy was always sporting eye bags and low energy.

   "How's work been?" Hizashi started the conversation glancing at me to start.

   "Um, it's okay. The boy who slipped my picture to the paper is now my manager…he was transferred too. He's been super clingily this week, not that he wasn't before. It's just now he's in a new city alone and is having a hard time adjusting. That's the only weird thing about working here. Everything else is pretty much the same. Fewer people to serve in the daytime, but I just have more time to spend on each customer."

   "How about you, Shinso?" Hizashi turned, and I glanced at the pro hero.

   "No new leads on the trafficker, but I think I might have a possible relative to interview." I could tell he was paring down the details of the story. Being an underground hero meant top secrete work.    

   "I'm fairly certain that it is his daughter." Shota hummed, resting his chin on his hands.

   "Monday, I've got a job interview at her child care center, I should be able to find out what we need to know." Shinso sipped his water, and the conversation died there.

   "What's your plans tomorrow?" I asked Hizashi, working my fingers into an orange.

   "It's date- date day. Yea, I'm going to go to the store and make sure to replace all the foods that are about to expire." Shota was turning red as Hizashi, and I just nodded.

   "Yea, I'm going to explore the city and maybe visit my friend's apartment." I changed the subject before one of them passed out.

   "What a wonderful idea." Hizashi clapped his hands and started to shuffle plates around. Tomorrow would be fun.  

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Trapped (China/Yao Wang)

Genre: Angst, Mystery, AU ☁

Word Count: 1,766 ☁

Pairing: Reader, China ☁

World: Axis Powers Hetalia ☁

Author’s Note: I wrote this a while ago and I honestly don’t know where I was going with this lol I think it was supposed to be a series? But now it’s a one shot. If enough people like it, I might make a part two.

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“A-A-Achoo!” you groaned in pain at the pressure in your nose and temples. Your head felt so fuzzy. You’re not sure when or how it started, you just happened to wake up feeling like death was creeping at your door. You tried to ignore it at first and just went about your day, but fifteen minutes later, you were crawling back into bed where you remained for the rest of the day.

Your stomach grumbled loudly and you groaned. ‘How the hell can I feel like I’m starving and want to throw up at the same time?’

Loud voices slipped past the paper-thin walls and you wondered if your neighbor was throwing a party. That seemed unlikely since the apartment opposite yours was owned by a retired older woman and the one beside you belonged to a couple with a one-year-old child. The apartment opposite them was vacant.

Knock, knock, knock.

Your brow furrowed. ‘Was that at my door?’ Your eyes slid to the digital clock on the bedside table – ten-thirty at night. The only people that visited you were your mom, younger brother, or your friend, Kyousuke, but why would they be visiting so late at night? There were no missed calls on your phone, either.

Bang, bang, bang!

‘What the hell…’ your heart picked up speed, but you didn’t freak out like you normally would and, instead of trying to figure out if it was an intruder or an emergency, you slowly pulled yourself out from under the covers. Your brain was far too cloudy to think clearly, your bare feet shuffling across the wooden floor because it was far too much effort to lift them.

Knock, bang, knock!

“Geez, keep your thong on,” you muttered under your breath, sniffling loudly as you reached for the doorknob. The second you turned it, the door swung open and two bodies rammed into you. Your back hit the floor and you wheezed as an elbow stabbed into your ribs, sending you into a coughing fit. You shoved the bodies off you with a strength you didn’t know you possessed so you could roll onto your side and cough up a lung.

A warm hand came to rest upon your back, followed by a male voice thick with an accent you couldn’t place at that moment. “Aiyah~ Are you okay?”

“Look what you did, idiot!”

“Hey, Italy fell on top of them, too, bro!”

“Ne, ne, do you think they have pasta?”

“This is very unpleasant.”

“Shut up, you nimrods!”

The hand on your back rubbed gentle circles against your shirt, while the other rested on your forehead. “They’re burning up, aru!”

You glanced over your shoulder as your coughing died down, your vision moving in and out of focus. Six men stood in your doorway, arguing amongst one another with accents you couldn’t place. ‘Mama, I think I might die tonight…’

And then your world went dark.

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You woke with a start, shooting up in your bed, unsure of what had pulled you so violently from your sleep. The red digits of the clock showed two in the morning. ‘Damn it, I gotta pee but I don’t wanna get out of bed.’

You rubbed at your eyes with a groan before throwing the covers off and pulling yourself from the bed. The bathroom was directly across the hall from your bedroom and, in your half-asleep sick state, you failed to notice the steam coming up from the crack under the door. You turned the knob and stepped inside, only to freeze in terror as you came face to face with a tall, sandy-haired man standing stark naked in front of the shower.

He turned his head to look at you, eyes closed and lips tilted up in an amused smirk. As soon as his lips parted, you scrambled from the room, slamming the door shut and leaning against it as if that would somehow fix the problem. ‘I… I think I’m hallucinating… Maybe I should visit the doctor tomorrow.’

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, aru?”

Your head snapped to the end of the hall where another man stood. Shorter than the first, he had medium brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, his eyes a warm chocolate color. You swallowed hard as your heart picked up speed. ‘What the hell is happening?’

Pain shot through your skull and you slid down the door, groaning as you clutched at your head. The man was at your side in seconds, his arm around your shoulders and face filled with worry.

“Easy now,” he scolded softly, rubbing your upper arm. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,”

“Who the hell are you?” you muttered under your breath. “And what are you doing in my apartment?”

“My name is Chi -” He stopped abruptly, clearing his throat as he helped you back to your feet. “I’m Wang Yao. Now, you need to get back in bed, we can talk when you wake up, aru.”

You pushed him away with what little bit of strength you had left, only to stumble back into the naked man who now stood in the doorway. His arms wrapped around you tightly, binding your arms to your sides, and he easily lifted you off the ground, your back firmly against his toned, naked chest.

“Russia! Put them down this instant!” Yao demanded, putting his hand on his hips.

“Hm?” He tilted his head to the side, violet eyes shining. “They attacked you, da?”

“Of course, they’re scared.”

The door to the apartment suddenly opened and slammed closed after two more men entered the apartment, bickering loudly. When they noticed the scene in the hallway, they stopped abruptly.

“What’s going on, dudes?” asked the blue-eyed blonde.

“Bloody hell, why are you naked?” Demanded the green-eyed blonde with a disgusted expression.

The door to the spare bedroom popped open and yet another blonde entered the hallway. “Stop being so loud, you idiots! You’re going to wake up -” his words were cut short when his blue eyes landed on you.

As badly as you wanted to struggle in the man’s grip, you simply had no energy left and he was clearly stronger than you on a bad day.

“What are you doing? Put them down!”

The tall man frowned but finally released you. Your feet hit the ground and your legs gave way, body crumbling to the wooden floor. Yao reached out to you, hugging you gently to his chest as he rubbed the top of your head.

Tears filled your eyes as your body started to shake within his grasp, your voice hoarse. “Please… just kill me and get it over with!”

The third blonde frowned as he stepped forward. “We’re not going to harm you, dear.”

Yao helped you to your feet again, bringing you into the kitchen where he pulled out a chair for you to sit at the small, square table. “I will make you some tea,”

As he got to work, the third blonde settled into the wooden chair across from you. You glanced at him and his stern expression softened, bright blue eyes calm like the waves of the ocean.

“What is your name?” He questioned, words laced with a thick accent you recognized to be German.

You chewed on your lip for a moment, wondering if you should cooperate with them. Finally, you answered. “Y/N…”

“Y/N,” he repeated with a smile. “I am Ludwig,”

The rest of the men introduced themselves in turn. The green-eyed blonde called himself Arthur, while the blue-eyed blonde was called Alfred. Finally, the naked man, now dressed in a heavy tan coat, called himself Ivan.

You glanced at him with a frown, voice barely above a whisper. “Russia…” Low as it was, the man easily picked up the word, his violet eyes staring into your own. You swallowed your nerves, hand clenching around your cloth pants. “Why… did they call you Russia?”

The room tensed up, Yao pausing in the middle of pouring the tea into a cup. Ivan, however, just smiled brightly. “Because I am mother Russia, da.”

His answer unsettled you more than you already were. ‘He… thinks he’s a country?’

Arthur’s eye twitched in annoyance as he glared at the taller male. “We weren’t supposed to tell them that, you bloody buffoon!”

He only giggled in response, tilting his head to the side. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Who the hell are you people?” You demanded weakly. “Why are you in my apartment? You said… you said you weren’t going to hurt me so what do you want?” Tears threatened to build up again, but you did your best to hold them at bay, not wanting to show more weakness to these men than you already had.

“Please calm down,” Yao spoke softly as he set a cup of steaming tea on the table in front of you. He offered you a kind smile before addressing the other men. “I think we should tell them. We owe them that much, aru.”

“Are you crazy?” Arthur cried in disbelief. “They will never believe us!”

“You don’t know that!” Yao argued with a huff, his hand on his hip. “They deserve to know the truth!”

As they argued back and forth, voices raising in volume, you moaned in pain, taking your head between your hands. Was this what they called a fever dream? It felt like you were on drugs and you hated it.

Ludwig frowned as he leaned across the table, gently pulling your hands from your head, but he didn’t release them. His hands were large, easily engulfing your own. It was oddly comforting. “I am Germany,”

The arguing stopped dead, everyone snapping their attention to the German.

Yao sent you a warm smile as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “I’m China, aru~”

“I’m America, dude!” Alfred grinned proudly, puffing out his chest. “And I’m the hero of this story!”

Defeated, Arthur folded his arms across his chest and grumbled under his breath. “England,”

Your eyes darted between the men surrounding you. You wanted to call them nuts, to believe that this was just a dream concocted by your high temperature, but with Yao’s warm hand on your shoulder and Ludwig’s warm hands cradling your own, you knew deep down that it was not a dream. These men were real and, if their sincere faces were anything to go by, the story they told was very real.

‘Mom, I think I just found myself in a really weird situation…’ you groaned, letting your head drop to the table.

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📜 Read more by checking out my masterlist 📜

If you enjoy my writing, please considering tipping me on Kofi or Cashapp. Every little bit helps and means a lot, thank you so much ^~^)/ If you can’t afford to do so, that’s okay, too, thanks for reading!

[maastrash]

It’s On, Archeron (Nessian Oneshot)

A/N: Ahh Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I finally wrote my fic celebrating 800 followers! Thank you to @a-court-of-nessian and @happy-smiling-things for suggesting a Nessian fic! I’m so glad I finally got to write a roomate fic :)

PS: Thank you to @actuallyacotartrash for beta reading this for me 💗

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and Nesta is miserable, but maybe a certain roommate can change her night for the better :)

Read on A03 here!

Today was not Nesta’s night. It was Valentine's Day for crying out loud and here she was lying in bed eating chocolate like a heartbroken loser in a TV drama. She sighed. It had been 2 years. 2 years since Thomas - she didn’t finish that thought. Even though so much time had passed she still couldn’t bring herself to seriously date anyone else. Sure she had flings and a multitude of one night stands but she didn’t give a crap about any of them. No, she didn’t give a crap about anyone or anything. At least that’s what she told herself.

She had the ice queen act nailed. She hadn’t seen her sisters in months and it pained her every night, but she would not give in. She was still mourning the death of her mother and the more recent death of her father, but she wouldn’t let it show. Yet there was one crack in her icy exterior that she couldn’t seem to fix - one that continued to grow every single day. She couldn’t ignore the tug that pulled her to her loud, annoying, but devastatingly handsome brute of a roommate. Cassian.

Although he annoyed her to no end she found herself thinking about him constantly. Every day began and ended with him flirting with her and she couldn’t deny that sometimes she found him endearing. He had made it crystal clear that he wanted her, but he was a player. He never had long term relationships and never took anything seriously, but still, Nesta was drawn to him. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, Cassian got under her skin in more ways than one. Some days he made her so angry she actually thought she would kill him. Other days he managed to make her blush and stutter like a complete and utter fool. And although majority of the time they flung insults at each other, Nesta couldn’t deny that their little spats were the highlights of her days.

Groaning, Nesta threw her chocolates onto the floor, turned off the light, and shut her eyes hoping sleep would finally end her miserable night.

~~~

Nesta awoke to the sound of guns shooting, people screaming, and utter chaos. Not real, she realized, the TV. Cassian.

She glanced at her phone. It was 11 pm for crying out loud what was he doing? Not even bothering to put on a robe Nesta stepped out of her room preparing to end her roommate.

“CASSIAN WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” she screamed as loudly as she could without waking their neighbors.

“Hey Nes,” he smirked, his eyes darkening as he took her in wearing an oversized shirt and some very short shorts. “Looking good.”

“What do you think you’re doing? I’m trying to sleep you psycho.”

He gave her a lazy grin one she absolutely despised. “Since I have no date tonight I thought I might forget about how lonely I am by binging this show.”

“Well. Turn. It. Down.” she grit out, her patience thinning.

“Why don’t you join me instead since you’re clearly not doing anything either.”

“Cassian I would literally rather die.”

“Dramatic much sweetheart?”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Ok Nesta,” he enunciated “I’ll turn it down.”

“Good and if you fall asleep without turning the TV off I’ll literally kill you.”

“I make no promises,” he shrugged. “Come watch and you can make sure I turn it off.”

“What is it?”

“Come find out.”

She groaned sliding onto the couch. There was no beating a determined Cassian and she was not trying to waste money by leaving the TV on.

“Give me some blanket you brute. I’m freezing,” she snapped.

Cassian chuckled “As you wish.”

~~~

Nesta really tried to watch the show but it was just so boring. Before her brain could tell her to stop, her hands were in Cassian’s hair.

“Hey Nes, what are you doing there?”

“I’ve always wanted to feel your hair. It’s so soft.” She said massaging his scalp gently.

“I like tired Nesta. She’s very nice.” Cassian said softly, leaning into her touch.

“Whatever brute, I’m tired because you’re making me watch this stupid show.”

“Ok then let’s do something fun instead,” he said standing up abruptly.

“Like what?”

“Trust me?” he asked, offering his hand for Nesta to take.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I promise you won’t, sweetheart.”

~~~

“Cassian you have to be joking. This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

“Rhys, Az, and I do it all the time. Trust me you’ll like it.”

“No I’m going to bed,” she said, heading towards her room.

“Why? Think you’re gonna lose?”

She stopped, turning around slowly, “Shut up and give me the socks.”

He gave her a slow smile handing her a pair of ridiculously slippery socks.

“On 3. 1, 2, 3.”

Nesta pushed off the wall sliding down the hallway trying her best not to fall flat on her face. Thankfully within a few seconds, she was able to grasp the edge of their couch, stabilizing herself.

“I have to same I’m disappointed.” Cassian said shaking his head dramatically. “4 seconds is quite pitiful.”

She rolled her eyes, carefully making her way back to the starting line. “Fine let’s see how fast you can do it.”

Cassian handed her the timer and almost knocked her down as he pushed off the wall crashing into the couch. Nesta gaped. 2 seconds? How was that even possible?

“Well if you told me I could crash into the couch like a crazy person I would have done it better,” Nesta said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Oh, it is so on Archeron.” Cassian drawled as he slowly made his way back to the end of the hallway.

“No timing this time. Let’s race.”

“You’re making a mistake Nes.”

“Who’s scared now?” she smiled devilishly placing her hands on her hips.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, smugness coating every word.

“Shut up Brute,” she said, pushing his shoulder. “On 3.”

“1, 2, 3.”

Nesta pushed off the wall as hard she could, not caring how hard she would hit the couch. She wanted to win. Needed to win. She was so close, a fingertip away, and then before she knew it, she was on the ground.

She was about to scream at Cassian when the ground moved, Not the ground she realized, a person. She was on top of Cassian.

“Shit Nesta are you ok?” Cassian asked, worriedly checking her for injuries.

Then Nesta did something she hadn’t done for so long. She laughed.

She was laughing and she couldn’t stop. She slowly pushed herself off Cassian and lied down next to him on the floor still laughing. It wasn’t long before Cassian was laughing too.

Once she actually couldn’t breathe anymore and the laughter faded, she and Cassian remained on the floor.

“So,” she said breaking the silence. “Who won?”

Cassian turned his face, grinning “I think it’s a tie.”

“BS! You tackled me, cheater.”

“Fine Nesta Archeron you beat me,” he said, raising his hands in defeat.

She turned on her side to face him fully. She had never been this close to him before. She had never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. They were such a rich brown - she could get lost in them for ages. She never noticed the little scar above his eyebrow or the slight dimple in his cheek, and before she could stop herself her fingers gently brushed the hair from his eyes.

“Nesta,” he said grabbing her hand.

“Sorry I don’t know why I did that. I -”

She was cut off as Cassian’s lips crashed into hers.

At first, she didn’t know what to do. She should pull away. Pull away and keep the ice intact. But as she debated she realized she didn’t want to. She closed her eyes, melting into the kiss - melting her icy exterior. With Cassian, she let her walls fall.

He pulled away first smiling softly as he brushed some of her hair out of her face.

“So how long have you wanted to do that?” he smirked.

She groaned “Don’t you dare ruin the moment Cassian.”

He laughed kissing her softly before pulling away again. “You’re right. Happy Valentines Day, Nes.”

“Happy Valentines Day, Cass.”

And for the first time in 2 years, Nesta Archeron truly felt hopeful for the future.

[turtle-steverogers]

Fugitives- chap 10

AAAAAAND WE’RE BACK! WELCOME TO ‘SHIT GOES DOWN’ THE CHAPTER.  THIS is major fucking plot so bare the fuck with me, chiefs.  IT GETS INTENSE heres chapter nine if you need a refresher

most of the chaps are on #masterlist and ALL of them are somewhere under #fugitives lol,,, its also now on ao3 if that’s easier

thank you as always to my fugitive ;) in crime @technically-whizzy for helping me raise this fucking awful baby of ours

OKAY LETS GET ON WITH IT ship: eventual ralbert

warnings: gunshots, blood, violence, drugging, cursing, the fucking works, death, yeah its not pretty now and it will never ne

word count: 6792 OHMYGOD

editing: a little bit, actually.  i gave it some lov

He pulled his hood up further, bowing his head to the cold Winter air.  His hand grasped the rubber handle of his crutch tightly, palm slipping as it shifted under him.  He watched his feet, waiting until the road slanted upward, a familiar bridge slipping into view.

Another hooded figure was waiting by the railing at the start of the bridge, the bold tattoo that was brandished on his bicep glinting in the moonlight.  Crutchie’s eyes scanned the familiar symbol, the sharp lines of the tattooed bridge almost exactly replicating the real thing behind them.  

The other figure looked up, hood falling off his head as he stepped forward, beckoning for Crutchie to join him.

Crutchie reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.  He silently handed one to the shorter man, offering his lighter as well.  They leaned against the railing, watching the view of Brooklyn in the distance.  The city at night was an eerie kind of beautiful.  The sky was still bright from light reflecting off the buildings, the water underneath the bridge flowed ominously, the black, inky waves threatening to engulf one’s mind.  The sounds of the city could still be heard at full volume, only barely masking the horrifying secrets it also held.

“Did you hurt him bad?” Crutchie asked, smoke blowing out of his mouth and getting caught in the cold, Winter air.

“Mmm, only as much as necessary.” The other man said.

“What should we do about it?”

The man twitched the cigarette between his fingers, “I think we need to do it.  Tonight.”

Crutchie nodded, “Okay.  I’m on it,” He stubbed out his cigarette on the railing, tossing it over the side and watching as it was drowned in the darkness.  He pushed off the railing, adjusting his crutch back underneath his armpit, “Take care of yourself, Conlon.”

Spot saluted, placing the cigarette back into his mouth, “M’counting on you, Charlie.”

Earlier

“I want in.”

Albert forced himself not to look away from Spot’s intense glare.  He could feel the handle of his switchblade pressing against the small of his back and his arms ached to reach back and grab it- arm himself in some way.  But it didn’t seem like any sudden movement from him would work in his favor as far as Spot went.

Spot hadn’t moved, his eyes trained solely on Albert’s.  Albert resisted the urge to shrink in on himself.  He had to maintain his act.  He couldn’t crack now, but Spot looked like he was reading him like a book.

Could he see through him?  Did he know?

Suddenly, Spot took a step forward into Albert’s space, eyes squinting further as his gaze flicked to Albert’s hair.  Albert clenched his jaw, trying not to shiver as Spot observed him.

“Higgins.” Spot muttered, only barely audible.

Albert’s eyes widened for a moment as cold fear shot through his entire body, “What?”

His answer was a fist to the temple.  The world seemed to silence for a moment and he was barely able to recover before he was hit again.  Then, everything went black.

XXX

Sounds returned first.  Voices echoed somewhere close to him, making his head throb more intensely than it had before.

He lifted his head, wincing as a stinging pain traveled through his temple to the rest of his head.  It felt like someone was poking his nerves with a white hot rod.  He groaned, fighting the urge to be sick as pain moved through him in waves, making his muscles ache.

He was definitely concussed.  Brilliant.

He cracked open his eyes, only to find it didn’t make a difference.  It was pitch fucking black.  He assessed himself, taking note that his hands were bound behind him and his ankles were tied together.

His back was against a wall.  Or what he assumed was a wall.  He couldn’t really tell what anything was.

His face felt sticky and he licked his lips, blood seeping onto his tongue.  He gagged and spit aimlessly, trying to rid his mouth of the metallic taste.  Apparently, his nose was bleeding.  What the fuck happened?

Light flooded whatever room he was in and he flinched, turning his head away from the source.  Footsteps approached him and he folded in on himself as his arms started to tremor.  He was going to die.  He was literally going to die.

The person crouched in front of him and Albert could feel their eyes boring into his being.  He whimpered involuntarily as cold fingers made contact with his jaw, turning his head to face his captor.

“Open your eyes, bitch.”  Spot’s unmistakable Brooklyn accent sent shockwaves of pain through his head.

Albert shook his head, “Fuck you.”

His cheek stung as Spot slapped him and he cried out, his headache intensifying almost impossibly.

“Do as I say.” Spot growled, tugging the hair on the back of Albert’s head sharply, making him hiss in pain.

Albert forced a chuckle, gritting his teeth, “Getting kinky on me, huh, Conlon?” he managed, his voice sounding strained.

His neck cricked as he was jolted forward, the cool metal of what Albert presumed was a gun handle pressed to the back of his head.  He fought the urge to vomit as waves of excruciating nausea rolled through his body.  

“Who are you.” It was a demand, not a question, whispered close to his ear.  Spot’s breath was hot and smelled distinctly like cigarettes and Albert winced, scrunching his nose involuntarily.  

“Mmmm, your mom,” Albert said, his words looping together groggily.

There was no reply for a moment, then Albert heard Spot growl, the noise sending chills up his spine.  He tried to maintain eye contact as Spot forced him to his feet, watching him with a wolflike stare briefly, before sticking his gun between his teeth and placing his hands on Albert’s biceps.  Albert held his breath, not daring to move as Spot began to pat him down.  He felt down his arms, then moved his hands to Albert’s chest, patting vigorously.  Albert bit his tongue, refraining from making a crude, biting comment about their current closeness.  He had a feeling it wouldn’t be well received.

Spot turned him around slowly, starting the process over at his shoulder-blades.  With a jolt, the presence of his switchblade at the small of his back returned to his cognizance and he fought the urge to tense up.  Spot was going to find it and take it and then he’d have lost his last bit of security.  The one thing linking him to safety.

Spot’s hand landed on the handle of the blade and he let out a small, triumphant, ‘aha’.  Albert squeezed his eyes shut as Spot lifted his shirt and took the blade out, his cold hands ghosting horribly against his skin.

“Jesus Christ,” Spot muttered and Albert couldn’t help but turn around.  Instead of pocketing the knife as Albert had expected, Spot was squinting at the blade where Albert’s name was engraved.  He held it closer to his face, recognition flitting through his eyes.  Albert watched him, confused.

“Where’d you get this,” Spot demanded, suddenly, “Who made this?”

Albert shook his head, “I-I-”

“Nevermind,” Spot spat, “I know what I need to know.”

A moment later, a crack echoed through his brain as Spot slammed the hilt of the gun into his head and once again, the world darkened.  

Time passed at an indiscernable pace.  Albert felt himself shifting unsteadily in and out of consciousness.  People were discussing him nearby and he could make out bits and pieces of hushed conversation, but none of it made much sense.  

At one point, he found himself able to stay awake for longer than a few harried seconds.  He kept his eyes closed, the pain from his evident concussion making it difficult to do much besides sit solemnly and pray for his rescue.  Oh well, at least he wasn’t dead.  

People were speaking hurriedly now- desperately.  Albert could make out Spot’s angry voice, rising above the rest.  It sounded as if he were organizing something, spitting demands from person to person and only being answered by mumbles of ‘yes, boss’ or ‘you got it’.  

But the most gut clenching, perhaps, was a command, hissed in a harsh, yet loud whisper sending jolts of cold fear through Albert’s body.

“Get Crutchie over here, I need to speak with him.”

Albert swallowed, trying not to panic as the possibilities of what Crutchie had to do with this wormed into his brain and seized hold of his lungs.  He had to warn someone, he had to-

Ow.

He clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay awake and think of an escape.  But it seemed as if fate had other plans as he was pulled under once more.

12 hours later

Jack sat with his legs propped up, absentmindedly cleaning his gun as he sat in the rec room, watching the local news.  Davey was upstairs, taking a nap and Race had gone out to meet Albert to discuss any further Prospect information he might have gained, so Jack found himself alone in his relaxation.  A luxury that was rare to find in Empire.

“Mind if I join you?” Jack looked up to see Les stroll in and take a seat in one of the chairs next to him, propping his legs up to mirror him.

Jack chuckled, “I guess not,” he said, placing his gun down on the table in front of him and picking up a pack of cards that lay nearby, “Gin rummy?”

Les shrugged, “Sure.”

Jack dealt out the cards, mentally preparing to be beaten by Les, who was scarily good at most card games.  He’d gone on a rampage a few years back, claiming that he was going to beat Race in every card game known to man at least once, and in his endeavors, he’d gained great skill.

“How’s Albert?” Les asked, accepting his pile of cards and looking up at Jack.

Jack took his own pile and hummed noncommittally, “dunno, Racer’s out checking on him right now.”

“You think he got into Prospect alright?”

Jack sighed, making a questioning gesture with his hands, “We can hope so.”

“Jack, I need to talk to you,” Jack and Les glanced over to see a breathless Race, standing in the doorway to the rec room, bouncing nervously on his toes, “Now.”

Jack pursed, setting down his cards, “What’s wrong?”

Race’s gaze passed over Les briefly, “Alone.”

Jack twitched his nose and placed down his cards, standing, “Alright, one sec squirt,” he said, ruffling Les’ hair.

Les squawked indignantly, “Stop calling me squirt!”

Race led him out of the room and a couple paces down the hallway until they were right in front of the drug storage room.  He turned towards Jack, the worry in his eyes evident up close.

“Something didn’t go right with Al,” he said, the words coming out rushed.

Jack’s stomach dropped, “What? What do you mean? How do you know?”

Race ran an anxious hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.  It was obvious that he was fighting the urge to work himself up.

“I, uh, I went to where me and Al planned to meet up, over on Frankfort Street by the bridge and he wasn’t there-”

“Okay, don’t panic yet, maybe-”

“Let me finish,” Race continued, “he wasn’t there, so I decided to wait for a bit, because, you know, sometimes shit takes time, but it was getting a lot later than when we had planned so I decided to look around a bit and I found another one.”

Jack cocked his head, “Another one what?”

Race let out a frustrated noise, “Another ‘Less is More’ thing! It was fresh, too.”

Jack’s eyes widened, “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Race grimaced, “Seemed a little too coincidental that a new one popped up right where I was supposed to see him.”

Jack leaned against the wall, overwhelmed, “We gotta tell Davey,” he said after a moment.

Race nodded, breathing out a sigh, “I’m scared for him, I-” he clicked his tongue, looking at Jack, “Prospect can get real bad...Spot can get real bad,” he averted his gaze, trailing off.

Jack examined him for a moment, concern pooling in his stomach, “Hey, we’ll get Al out, okay?” Race didn’t answer, haunted eyes trained on the ground.  Jack reached forward, tapping his chin.

“Okay?” He repeated once Race met his gaze.

Race shifted his jaw, “Okay.”

XXX

Albert stared at his feet, scuffing his shoes across the carpet underneath him.  Sometime in his unconsciousness, he had been moved to what appeared to be Spot’s office.  His wrists, ankles, and torso were bound tightly, holding him to a small wooden chair.  Upon waking, he’d tried for a few feeble minutes to free himself, but to no avail.  Whoever had tied the rope knew what they were doing.

The office was small and neat and somehow nothing and exactly like what Albert had expected.  There was a singular mahogany table in the middle of the room, a tall, leather office chair pushed neatly in behind it.

Everything in the room was carefully placed, as though Spot had put a lot of thought into the layout of his room.  Nothing was out of line.  Pencils were pristinely sharpened and placed eraser-up in a shiny, glass pencil holder.  The rug was dust free and perfectly centered.  The two bookshelves that stood opposite each other at one end of the room were stacked end to end with books, which seemed to fit almost too well on the shelves themselves.

The meticulousness of the room seemed almost out of character for Spot, not that Albert would know.  But he wouldn’t have pegged him for a neat-freak kind of guy.  The obvious attention to detail sent a shiver down Albert’s spine.

He scanned the room, unsure exactly what he was searching for.  Something out of order, perhaps.  Something to clue him into the enigma that was Spot and Prospect.

However, nothing caught his eye.  The room was too damn cookie-cutter to hold any glaring secrets.  Which, admittedly, was a clever strategy.  Anything that could be of importance was hiding in plain sight.

But Albert was in too much pain to look too hard.  He sighed loudly, allowing his head to drop lazily to the side, pain surging through his temples once more.  

He was about to close his eyes briefly when a small glint of polished wood on Spot’s desk perked his attention.

A wave of cold washed down his legs as he realized that it was his switchblade, perfectly unbroken.  Something was propped haphazardly next to it, the only visible attribute of the unknown object being a large crack in its glossy, dark green exterior.   

He squinted, trying to get a better look.  He could see something etched into the side of the other item, but its distance from him made it impossible to make out.

He blew out a breath, steeling himself for a moment before bracing his feet on the floor.  With a grunt, he shifted his body weight forward, using the momentum to move the chair a few inches towards the desk.  The wooden legs scraped the ground loudly and Albert winced, holding still

for a moment before heading another few inches forward onto the carpet.

Albert hummed triumphantly, pleased with himself.  His view of the desk was unobscured now and he leaned forward, curiosity peaking when he realized that the object next to his knife was a lighter.  As his eyes focused, Albert realized that the etching on the handle was a faded ‘R’.  The curve of the lettering was oddly familiar and as his gaze shifted sideways onto his knife, a small gasp left him.

The lettering style was the exact same.

He frowned, his bottom lip worrying its way between his teeth as he tried to work out why that was unsettling.  He blinked a few times, lips parted slightly as he continued to inspect the lighter.  The damage was clearer up close, showing that the crack on the handle stemmed from a large chip out of the metal where the green plastic met the metal lighting mechanism.  It looked like someone had hit the lighter against something hard.  Or thrown the damn thing.  

A pair of footsteps echoed outside the door and Albert tore his gaze away from the lighter, wishing for a moment that his hands were free so that he could grab his knife.  Briefly, he considered hopping his chair back to where he’d been left in case Spot grew suspicious as to why he’d moved, but the thought left him as the door to Spot’s office opened.

Albert winced, bracing himself.  Though, he was unsure as to what exactly he was bracing himself for.  Spot soaking him again, probably.

“Ah, so you’re the brat who tried ta trick us.”

A voice Albert didn’t recognize rang out and he opened his eyes.  Across the room from him stood two men, both sporting sleeveless henleys.  The Prospect branding was visible on each of their biceps, tattooed non-discreetly into the skin facing outwards.  The one on the right looked to be around Albert’s height with longer, brown hair that curved at the nape of his neck.  He had a wide face, a permanent scowl set on his features.  Albert wrinkled his nose, feeling slightly intimidated by his piercing stare.  The other guy stood a fair few inches taller than the first, muscles bulging through his shirt.  He had tan skin, his beady eyes glaring at Albert.  His hair was jet black and looked a good bit greasier than the other guy’s, giving him a rat-like composure.

Albert’s gaze traveled from the first guy to the second, hesitating a moment before flashing a smile, “Hey there, gents.”

Neither looked amused.

“I can’t fuckin’- ugh, why’d Boss nail us with the annoyin’ one?” The first guy complained.

“Dunno Bumlets, but I already wanna punch him,” The second guy said, eyes shifting between Albert’s, “Whatever, he’ll be outta commission soon.”

Albert’s smile faltered, uneasiness leaving a vile taste in his mouth.  He vaguely recognized his voice and with a jolt he realized that this was the guy Spot had been with when he and Race had gone to Queens.  He didn’t look anything like Albert had expected.

Bumlets strode over to him, pulling a knife from his boot and bending down.  Albert sucked in a breath as the ropes that previously bound him down were swiftly cut away, allowing blood to flow normally through his body.  He wiggled his fingers, willing the tingling feeling to go away.

Bumlets grasped the back of his collar, yanking him to his feet, “Got the cuffs, Hotshot?”

Hotshot grunted, producing a rusty pair of handcuffs from the inside of his jacket.

“Right ‘ere,” He said as Bumlets pushed Albert forward.  

Hotshot grabbed hold of Albert’s bicep easily, keeping one hand firmly on his arm as he secured the handcuffs around his wrists, locking them tightly.  Albert tried to jerk away, hissing when the sharp metal cut into his skin.

“No use in fightin’ too hard,” Bumlets sneered, pushing past Albert and Hotshot towards the door, “You’re outnumbered.”

Albert swallowed, jaw shifting as he was lead out of the room, Hotshot still holding him firmly, “Is there any point in asking where you’re taking me?”

Both men ignored him, pushing him through the dark building and down several flights of stairs.  As they ventured on, Albert looked around, noting the dinginess of the place.  It was significantly grimier than the Bowery, the damp, cool air giving it a dirty feel.  The ground was coated in dust and grit, and there were several places in which Albert swore he saw bloodstains.  It smelled of mildew, causing Albert to gag if he breathed in too deep.  As they ventured to the main level, the corridors seemed to darken even more and Albert ground his teeth, trying in vain to remain calm.

“Did boss leave the truck ‘round back?” Hotshot asked, coming to an abrupt halt near a door.

Bumlets nodded, fishing what looked to be a car key out of his pocket, “All parked an’ ready for us to ride.”

Hotshot hummed, jerking open the door and thrusting Albert into the night.  For a moment, the grip on Albert’s arm vanished, but before he could make a move, a bag was being placed over his head.  He tried to duck away, only for his hair to be yanked harshly underneath the bag.

“Behave,” Bumlets snarled, knotting the bag in the back to keep it in place.

“Mmm, but that’s boring,” Albert said, aiming for a cocky tone, but wincing when his voice cracked slightly.  Why couldn’t he have Race’s poker face?  

His heart twanged briefly as he thought of the other boy.  It had only been a day, but already the plan was going to complete shit.  His fingers itched for his switchblade, the one thing meant to ground him to some semblance of security.  A vague part of him longed for the night previous, when he and Race had shared that moment on his cot- when things were still safe and calm.  

He felt himself being dragged again, trying his best not to trip as they descended down a small slope.  Albert felt the ground under him turn to pavement and a moment later, the sound of a car door opening came from beside him.  He tensed his shoulders, sensing what was about to happen.

“Behave.” Bumlets repeated, roughly shoving him against the car.  

Albert grunted as his shin made hard contact with the metal step that led to the backseat.  He stayed still, knowing that he wasn’t going to get out of this, but still refusing to make it easy on his captors.

“Climb in the goddamn car,” Hotshot snapped, stomping harshly on his heels.

Albert grimaced, “Can’t climb anywhere while my hands are cuffed behind me.  Is everyone in Prospect so damn kinky?  Ya know earlier, Spot-”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Bumlets cursed, gripping him by the elbow and boosting him upwards.

Albert smirked to himself as he settled into the backseat.  As screwed as he was, he was getting a rise out of them.  And that felt pretty damn good.

He heard the door slam next to him and he rested his head against the headrest behind him, trying not to let the claustrophobic feeling of the bag suffocating him consume him.  He stretched his neck, wincing when he felt the joints crack.

The car started and Albert frowned, “Y’all better be buckled up there.  Someone in this car has got to conform to the New York safety measures and I sure ain’t.”

Hotshot sighed, “Why can’t we shoot him now again?”

“Because Conlon’ll kill us if we get his car bloody,” Bumlets grumbled, “Usin’ his car at all has got us on thin ice.”

The rest of the drive was spent in silence, save for the staticky hum of the radio playing old rock music.  They drove for what could have been hours and as time stretched on, Albert grew more anxious.  He’d known their intentions from the start, but the reality of the situation seemed to settle on him in sickening waves.  He wasn’t going to make it out of this alive.  

Last time ever driving through New York and I can’t even enjoy the view, he thought cynically, huffing a laugh, although his heart was in his throat.

The truck screeched to a halt and Albert held his breath as Hotshot and Bumlets exited.  Cold, night air gusted at him as his door was opened and he was pulled out.  He was guided on numb legs for a few minutes, only noting the change in the ground underneath his feet when his shoes began to echo on concrete.  They walked for a few more feet before he was shoved downwards, knees hitting the ground roughly. The bag was yanked off his head and he involuntarily whimpered as his eyes crossed, focusing on the barrel of a gun that hovered directly in front of him.  Out of his peripheral, he could see mass amounts of scaffolding that seemed to climb to a high ceiling.  Machines protruded from the wall in front of him, but they looked worn and broken.  It was unclear exactly what kind of establishment he’d been brought to, but it seemed to be out of use.

The smell was awful, as if something were rotting in the walls and Albert shivered, feeling strangely uncleansed.

“So, we’re gonna kill ya obviously,” Hotshot said, his voice low and unnerving, “But there’s shit we gotta know from you first.”

XXX

Race sat on the floor of the rec room, leaning against a leg of one of the card tables.  His arms were draped lazily around his knees as he tilted his head back, allowing it to thud into the cheap plastic tabletop.  

He was mad at himself, angry that he’d allow someone else to slip from between his fingers.  Guilt pooled in his stomach, threatening to choke him.  Every time he had something good, it fucked him in the face, usually resulting in people getting hurt or killed.  Or both.  Usually both.  

He blew out a breath, head rolling to the side to look towards the ratty book cabinet placed awkwardly in the corner.  On the bottom shelf, stacks of old, dusty newspapers lay unceremoniously, rarely to be touched by anyone in the gang.  

It had been awhile since he’d sifted through it, only venturing to that dark corner when he needed a reminder of...who he was, but now seemed good a time as any.

He scooted out from the card table, standing on sluggish limbs and crossing blindly to the bookshelf.  He knelt down, tremoring hands reaching forward to extract a worn, obviously used newspaper article from the bottom of one of the piles.

Swallowing, he unfolded it, blinking a few times as he scanned over the head of the article.

Bombing at the Rockefeller Center Leaves 12 Dead.  Culprit Still Unidentified.

He breezed through the article, eventually focusing his gaze on the blurry picture on the bottom of the page, showcasing the damage.  His eyes bore into the image, lips parting slightly as shouts echoed through his memories.  

He stayed frozen, losing himself in the picture until the shaking in his hands became too much and he closed his eyes, anxiety rising in his throat and slowly morphing to panic.  He jerked, anticipation shooting through his arms as he crumpled the newspaper in both fists, feeling the wrinkled paper rip underneath his fingers.

“Antonio?” Race opened his eyes, becoming acutely aware of himself once more, but failing to drop his tense position, “Are you alright?”

Race rolled his shoulders, taking a measured breath before calmly dropping his arms to his sides, tossing the newspaper in a nearby trash can.  He turned around, putting on a tight smile as he faced Davey.

“M’great,” He said, knowing full well that neither of them were convinced.

Davey eyed him warily, “Well, I’m ready to go when you are,” he busied himself in unbuttoning his his dress shirt sleeve and expertly folding it up, “Romeo is going to join us.”

Race nodded, “Perfect, yeah, okay.”

Davey studied him for another moment before briskly turning, “I’ll be by the stagedoor, be hasty.”

Race watched him leave, taking another moment to compose himself before hurrying out of the room.  He froze in the hallway, running a mental checklist of things he might need while retrieving Albert from whatever hot shit he was in.  His knife was in his boot and his gun was resting snugly against the small of his back, held in place by the waistband of his jeans.  His jacket was in the entrance hall and he’d stuck an extra pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of that earlier.  He was set.

He nodded once to himself, erasing the last holds of unsteadiness from his mind as he crossed to the stage door, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on along the way.

Davey, as promised, was standing just beside it, hands clasped behind his back.  Romeo stood adjacent to him, fingers curled gingerly around his vape.

He perked up when Race walked in, “Heya Higgins, want a hit?” He held up his vape, wiggling it in front of Race’s face.

Race flinched, rearing back a little, “Mm, don’t do that and no, I’m good.”

Romeo shrugged, “More for me,” he took a long drag, looking expectantly from Race to Davey, “Soooo, where’re we headed, boys?”

“Excellent question,” He said, looking towards Race, “Race?”

Race mulled it over for a moment, realizing that he hadn’t given this any actual thought.  The prospects of Albert still being at The Refuge were slim, but that didn’t mean it was entirely off the table.  He could still be in one of the holding rooms, but Spot never allowed the dirty work to be done directly in the building.  It was his policy: never spill blood where you sleep.  That didn’t lead to any clear answers, however.  Spot had three designated execution spots, but they were well spread out between Queens and Brooklyn.  If they tried to check all of them, it would be impossible to reach Albert in time.  If there was even time left.  Albert could already be dead.

He shook his head, not allowing himself to go there yet.  He had to stay focused.

“Antonio…” Davey sounded like he was going to get impatient and Race shushed him.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” he ran his tongue over his lower lip, trying to think of each of the locations of each spot.  

There was the Bergen Street platform, although Race doubted Spot’d chosen that spot.  It was hard to access most of the time and he saved that area for more intense matters, ones that involved several people.

The New York State Pavilion was the closest to The Refuge in relation to the others, but it was the most open of all of them.  It was mainly used when someone needed to be taken care of quickly and Race doubted that they’d let Albert off without questioning.

That left the Jumping Jack Powerplant.  It was well secluded and a healthy distance from The Refuge- the perfect candidate for their predicted intentions with Albert.  

“I, uh,” Race ran a hand through his curls, “I think I have an idea, but it’s a bit of a drive,” he continued when Davey and Romeo raised their eyebrows, “It’s called the Jumping Jack Power Plant?  I think that’s probably where Spot would want to take him.”

Davey nodded slowly, no doubt trying to map out where that was in his head, “I think I know where you speak of.  We can take the van,” he opened the door, ushering the other two out first, “Quickly, quickly.”

“Shotgun!” Romeo called, hurrying towards where the van was parked in the back of the alley.

Race glanced towards the skyscrapers in the distance, his heart thudding with anticipation, “M’coming Al.  M’not gonna letcha down, too.”

XXX

Albert allowed a whine to escape his throat, “Is there, like, a world record or something for the most times a guy has had a gun pointed at his face in a short amount of time?  ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I could qualify.”

Bumlets growled, rolling his eyes as he pressed the muzzle of his gun to his forehead, “Do ya ever shut up?”

“Ya know?  I get that a lot,” Albert said, tilting his head as he feigned deep thought, “I wonder if that’s, like, a social cue or something to reassess myself and change my ways.”

Bumlets expression turned somehow more exasperated, “Can I please blow his brains out now?”

“I fuckin’ wish,” Hotshot sighed, “But no.”

“Mmm sadly,” Bumlets said, “Alright,” he dropped the gun momentarily and stepped behind Albert, pressing it to his neck instead, “I’ll start with the easy questions.  What’s your name?”

“Jennifer, Jen for short,” Albert said, keeping his tone light, “Though if we’re really close, or like, fucking or something, I’ll let you call me Jenny.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hotshot groaned, stepping forward and slapping Albert across the face, “Your real name, smartass.”

“Eat my ass,” Albert said lowly, squinting his eyes.

Accepting the fact that they weren’t going to get a proper name out of him, Bumlets pressed on, raising the next question, “Are you associated at all with Empire?”

Albert worked to keep the recognition from his eyes, “Your fuckin’ rival gang or whatever? No, my balls haven’t dropped enough for that yet.”

Hotshot held eye contact for a moment before directing his stare at Bumlets.  He suddenly looked down at Albert, something mischievous glinting in his eyes, like a kid who knew he was about to win Monopoly.

“How about Antonio Higgins?”

The gasp that left Albert’s lips was nearly inaudible, but Hotshot caught it.  He leaned down, levelling himself with Albert.

“Gotcha,” He grinned, hot breath blowing into Albert’s face, making him wince.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it was rude to talk about people behind their backs?”

Albert could have started crying as a familiar voice rang across the room.  Hotshot’s face contorted into one of confusion and his head snapped to the side.  The gun that had still been pressed to the back of Albert’s neck was removed and Albert managed to duck out of the way as the first round of shots were fired.

He rolled backwards, eventually steadying himself and crawling on his hands and knees until he reached the far wall.  Once he was out of the line of fire, he peered backwards, heart leaping into his chest as he watched Romeo shoot a bullet at Bumlets, hitting him square in the forehead.  He recoiled and shut his eyes tight, covering his ears with his hands until the sounds of gunshots stopped.

He opened his eyes again, avoiding looking at where Bumlets now lay and instead fixating on where Race was shoving Hotshot into the ground, knocking him out.

“Motherfucker,” Race spat, “Never liked you.”

He directed his attention towards Albert, chest heaving as the adrenaline drained from the room.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Albert panted, “That was the most badass thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Race grinned, jogging over to him and helping him up.  Before Albert could say anything else, he was being pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

“Whoa, hey,” Albert floundered for a moment before wrapping his arms around Race’s torso, “Hey, buddy.”

“Thank fuck you’re alive,” Race mumbled into his neck, “I don’t know what I woulda….just, thank fuck.”

“Thank god you should up when you did,” Albert said, the reality of what almost happened hitting him full-force, “My god, I- wow.”

“This is all very touching,” they broke apart at Davey’s voice, “But we really must get back to Empire.”

“Right, right of course.”

Race and Albert pulled away from one another, readjusting themselves and following Romeo and Davey out of the warehouse.

XXX

Jack ventured into the kitchen, crossing to the fridge and humming when nothing worthwhile sparked his appetite.  

“Hiya Jackie, you hungry?”

Jack startled, turning on his heel, “Crutchie!” He exclaimed, taking in the sight of his best friend seated at the kitchen counter, mug in hand, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” Crutchie scoffed, gesturing to the seat next to him, “Care for tea?”

Jack considered, “Yeah, actually, tea sounds good.”

He padded around the counter, grabbing a spare mug along the way and perching himself next to Crutchie, gratefully accepting the tea he offered to pour for him.

“So, where have you been?” Jack asked, warming his hands on the sides of the mug while he waited for his drink to cool down, “I haven’t seen you, like, all day.”

Crutchie shrugged, “I’ve been out,” he reached out, grabbing the sugar bowl and offering it to Jack, “Sugar?” Jack shrugged, “Sure,” he agreed, spooning a fair amount into his tea and stirring.

They sat in silence as Jack blew on his drink, taking a small sip and grimacing at it’s oddly bitter taste.  He wrinkled his nose and took another sip before reaching for the sugar again.

“Does this tea taste weird to you?” He asked, spooning a little more sugar into his mug.  He became acutely away of the sluggishness of his movements as he reached for another spoonful.  All at once, his eyes turned foggy and suddenly, he couldn’t focus past the heaviness in his head.

Crutchie gently reached out, coaxing the sugar spoon away from Jack’s grip, “Don’t take too much sugar, Jackie-boy.” Jack turned a horrified eye towards him, fighting to stay conscious.

Crutchie’s face contorted into a cheshire-like grin, “After all, less is more.”

Then, everything went black.

XXX

The drive back to The Bowery was spent in relieved silence, save for the pleasant thrum of Race’s ‘Relaxation n’ Stuff’ playlist.  The city was oddly quiet, making the ride quick and painless.  They pulled into the alleyway next to the theatre, parking the van towards the back.  It was a bit tight climbing out of the car, but eventually, they were all trekking back towards the stage door.

“Holy shit,” Romeo stopped abruptly, fixated on something on the wall opposite the stage door.  

Albert turned as well, gaze landing on a freshly spray painted message, scrawled largely across the brick.

Les is More

“What the fuck,” Race said, voice frantic, “Why is it missing an S, what?”

“My lord,” Davey had gone a sickly shade of pale, mouth slightly agape as he swayed on the spot.

All at once, the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place and Romeo cursed, “Davey, where was Les before we went to get Albert?”

“Asleep,” Davey said, looking at them dazedly, “In his cot.”

There was a moment’s hesitation where the air seemed to gain several pounds.  Then, Davey cursed, turning to run inside.

The others were on his heels as they hurdled up the stairs, rushing onto the stage.  Other gang members were sitting up in their cots, watching the four of them in sleepy confusion.

Albert made it to Les’ section first, blood draining from his face as he took in the scene.  The sheets from Les’ cot were strewn across the floor, tangled in a way that indicated a struggle.  His pillows were chucked aimlessly around the room, small stains of what looked like blood dotting them.

Davey pushed past Albert, skidding to his knees in front of one of the pillows, shoving it aside as if Les would materialize from under it.  

He let out a colorful stream of curses and stood again, “Jack!” He called madly, rushing to his own section.  Jack’s bed was vacant as well, although it didn’t look like it had been slept in at all.  

They all stood still, completely at a loss of what to do- shock coursing through each of their veins.  

“Wait, the kitchen light’s on,” Race said, already speeding towards the doorway that led to it.  He disappeared for a moment before they heard a curse sound from the other room.

Race peeked his head back out, eyes wide, “I found Jack.”

By now, the other gang members were out of their beds, murmuring to one another.  A small crowd moved towards the kitchen and Albert pushed through to the front, sick fear pooling in his stomach as he took in Jack, unconscious on the kitchen counter.

Race bit down harshly on his lip, shaking Jack vigorously to no avail.  He was completely out.  Race huffed out a breath, bracing himself before hoisting Jack out of his chair and lowering him to the ground.  He carefully lifted his legs, resting them on the chair above them to kickstart his blood-flow again.

“He was drugged I think,” He said distractedly, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Move,” Davey demanded, “Finch, get the counter-shot.”

Finch nodded once, sprinting out of the room towards the drug inventory.  A tense minute later, he returned, long needle in hand.  He carefully passed it to Davey, who lifted Jack’s arm, feeling around for a vein before injecting the medicine with a surprisingly steady hand.

“That should get his blood pressure up,” Davey muttered, propping back onto his heels and taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, “Give it a minute.”

With an overcompensating gasp, Jack awoke several minutes later, dazed eyes blinking towards the ceiling.

“Jack,” Race said immediately, “Les is gone.”

Jack shook his head, defeat and something deeper dancing across his face, “Shit,” he said, sitting up, lowering his legs from the chair.  

He looked directly at Davey, “So’s Crutchie.”

-

it’s 1 am i have no excuse

who hates me for making crutchie how i did? 

ANYWAY YEAH HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH WE OUT HERE AT MILESTONES

fuck ok ok

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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[oohfluffy]

DDND Ch.2 | KJI

Group: EXO

Member: Kim Jongin

Theme: Fluff | Dancer!AU | Dormmate!AU

Word Count: 1,901

❀ Chapter 2: Barbecue ❀

"Have you unpacked already, Kai-ssi?"

"Did you already eat dinner, Kai-ssi?"

"Is your room okay for you, Kai-ssi?"

"Do you prefer the right one beside mine or the left one?"

"If you have anything to ask, you can approach me or my lovely niece here."

Kai-ssi there, Kai-ssi that, Kai-ssi everywhere.

You were beginning to get annoyed as your aunt acts like a hotelier towards this new guy of the dorm, Kai. After your knees were aided, your aunt began to ask Kai questions and your ears were getting tired of her loud voice. She reminds you of your mother though.

"Ahjumma, I think I'll rest for now. I don't really have plans for tomorrow, so can we talk tomorrow morning?" Kai politely pleaded and shot a simple smile that made your aunt (and even you) stare at him shamelessly.

"Uh. Of course! Yes. We'll just talk tomorrow, ne. You take a rest and have a goodnight sleep." Your aunt nodded. Kai stood up and was about to take a step forward when— "Oh, Lin! You take him to his room. He already chose one, just go with him and you can rest too."

"But can't you see? I'm injured—"

"No. Go with Kai."

"Serious—"

"It's fine, you don't have to come with me. I can manage."

Your shoulders slumped down in defeat as you slowly stood up. Your conscience was so persistent that you can't help but to comply to it. You're just gonna feel guilty if you didn't, anyway.

"I'll go."

Kai smiled and began walking to the stairs. You followed him, while your aunt shot you a wink and a thumbs up. You rolled your eyes at your childish aunt. She's always like that but she's like your second mother already. She may be childish and immature but she loves you as her own daughter. You're thankful for her.

As you both reached Kai's chosen room—

"T-this is your room?" You asked with your eyes open-wide. Kai turned his head to you as he grabbed the doorknob of his room.

"Why? Is there something the matter? Is this room cursed or what?" Kai asked as he let go of the knob and completely turned to you.

"N-no. It's not cursed. It's... nothing. Just get inside and sleep." You looked away and shooed him inside of his room. Kai walked closer to you in a very dangerous distance.

You (audibly) gulped as you felt his hot breath fanned your face. His height obviously towering you. His eyes that just make you feel like a statue once you made contact with them. You felt weak. You can't do anything but to stand.

"Are you nervous?"

Candies. Lollipops. Sour strips. Gummy bears. Cotton candy. Hello—

"Well, don't be 'cause I won't do anything to you."

You sighed in relief, feeling a lot of weight lifted up from your shoulders.

"... for now."

And the weight push itself back down to your shoulders. It seemed heavier second by second. Your jaw hung as your eyes found Kai's. His eyes were twinkling in mischief and playfulness. His smirk right now, ghad, his smirk will be another death of you.

Why does this guy look so... magnetic? It's like even though I want to get away from him, I keep getting closer to him!

"So, I'll take a rest already. Goodnight, bipolar girl. Go to your room now, you look like you need sleep. Dream of me~" Kai cooed as caressed your cheek affectionately, and got inside of his room with his killer smirk.

You breathed in and out continuously as you calmed your abnormal beating heart.

"Am I gonna have a heart attack here?" You mumbled as you walked towards your room. You glanced back at Kai's door and closed your eyes.

"Why do you have to chose the room beside mine?"

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

"How's your weekend with Hunnie? Was it fun? I bet he left you again?"

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at your friend.

"That dog never fails to amaze me." Joohyuk said as he wiped the café's counter while grinning at you.

"Well, maybe you should be friends with him than being friends with me." You snapped as you arranged the cupcakes and deserts stored in the curved storage glass beside the counter.

"Aww. Even if I can do that, I'll never leave you, my dear. Who knows what you might do if I did." Joohyuk teased as he moved to the chairs and tables. You smiled at your friend's hidden comfort. Joohyuk's always like that, he seemed to be teasing you a lot but he's actually making you feel better.

Nam Joohyuk has been your best friend ever since you two were in college. Now you're working in your dream café, MinBaozi Café (the owner is not that obvious of his liking towards baozis), with him. This café has the best steamed buns, cupcakes, cakes, milkshakes and everything that relates to sweets. Your boss, Kim Minseok, never failed to make you smile with his new recipes. He's a really good baker and a kind man.

"I've noticed that you had a sour face earlier when you got in here. What's with the face?" Joohyuk asked as he walked towards you, finished with all of his tasks. He leaned on the counter in front of you and crossed his arms.

"That was nothing."

Joohyuk raised his eyebrow and tapped his fingers on his arm, like he's waiting for you to explain further. You sighed defeatedly.

"Okay. I was just annoyed of my new dorm-mate. I thought he was really kind and... hot--"

"You did not just say the H word."

"Yes, I did." You shrugged.

"Do you like him?" Joohyuk grew more interested as your cheeks turned in the shade of red. You shook your head.

"No. I just met him, Hyuk! He's just a random sexy annoying guy who happens to be my new dorm-mate." You defended as you swiped your id on the authority sensor to access in the cashier computer. The computer opened and a pop-up box appeared saying, 'Y/FN is now on cashier duty'.

"Whatever you say. But what's his name anyway?" Joohyuk shrugged but the teasing in his voice cannot be not noticed.

"His name is Kai. I don't know if that's his real name because it sounded Japanese and he definitely does not look like one. But aunt call him that." You explained as you tapped on the screen. The glass door of the café opened, with the soft ringing of the bell above it.

"My socks are missing! I swear I put it on my laundry basket yesterday but when I checked it earlier, it's not there!" A high-pitched voice greeted you. Joohyuk chuckled and went to flip the 'Close' sign to 'Open'.

"Goodmorning to you too, Tiffany Unnie." You beamed at her as she pouted.

"You don't care about me~" Tiffany sniffed as she threw tantrums like a child. Believe it or not, Tiffany is 5 years older than you, that makes her 26 years old.

"Noona, your socks are on the cabinet below the counter." Joohyuk said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?" Tiffany stopped sniffing and looked at him. Joohyuk grinned and pointed at you.

"Unnie, you left them here yesterday before you got home. You said they were too sweaty and you didn't like to get smelly, so you left them under the counter." You explained as you lifted the pair of cute socks with cats as the design. Tiffany's eyes widened as she ran towards you. She dramatically reached out for her socks and hugged them.

"I thought I lost you, my babies"

You and Joohyuk laughed as your weird co-worker reunited with her babies.

"Let's start working!"

♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫ ❧ ♫

You walked home with cheerful smile on your face.

"Hmm. I wonder what aunt cooked for tonight's menu. Ah, I'm so hungry." You grumbled as you walked pass by a barbecue grilling truck. Your mouth watered with the sight of the sauce being one with the meat. You feel like crying because you're saving money as always and you can't bring yourself to buy one.

You're such a poor girl indeed.

"Ahjusshi. I'll buy 2 sticks of barbecue, please."

You didn't notice that you already stopped in front of the truck with a dreamy look on your face, you shook your head and continued walking with a sad face.

"When will I have lots of money to buy lots of barbecue? Haaaa~" You said to no one as you walk with heavy footsteps.

Your nose caught the heavenly smell of barbecue again. You pouted, clearly being tempted to buy one. You pinched your nose close to avoid smelling it.

"Here."

A sudden light emitted from the stick of barbecue that appeared right in front of you. You can almost hear how the angels sing. Your mouth watered again for the second time. It's like your prayers were answered by a—hand?

You trailed up your head to the owner of the hand and saw a handsome man.

Is he real? He looks like a model that came out from a magazine. Why do I keep on seeing hot guys these days? Am I that lucky?

"You were drooling over the piece of meat earlier."

... or not.

"So, I thought of buying you one. Don't worry, you don't have to pay me back." The guy said as he waved the stick of barbecue in front of you. Your eyes never leaving the meat. You can feel your cheeks reddened but you don't care right now.

"That's so kind of you but I don't really like to be in debt to someone I don't know." You declined his offer and was about to walk away.

"You'll really be in debt to me if I drop this barbecue on the floor. It would be a waste of my money. If you don't want it, I'll just do--"

You quickly grabbed the barbecue stick and chomped on it in front of him with no shame. You chewed on the delicious meat and looked at the guy.

It tastes yummier when I look at this guy—what the?

You choked as you realized what you just thought. The guy patted your back and gave you his can of coke. You hastily drank it in one go and sighed.

"Are you okay? You know, you can eat it at home. Are you that hungry? Have you not been eating this past years?"

You glared as the guy widened his eyes like he discovered something that can save Earth.

"I'm fine. I'm.. not that hungry! You're rude." You stuttered as you look at the barbecue stick. The guy chuckled, his deep voice vibrating and tickling your ears.

What's with deep voices that I can't help but to close my eyes on?

"Okay, okay."

His hand stretched out towards you. You looked back at him and saw his eyes forming crescents as he smiled.

"Oh Sehun."

You shook his hand, trying to ignore the softness and warmth of his hand that seems to be twice the size of yours.

"Zhang Lin."

"It's nice to meet you, hamstie."

Great. I have two nicknames already. Thanks to this Sehun and Kai.

—

❀ Ch.3

[cybrfang]

Anon asked: "U are so fucking funny! SO! THIS is going to be sad can u write something about Dwayne getting into a fight with his mate (including the fight make me CRY lol) and then she proceeds to not talk to him for days because she is insecure about herself and about what he said and then she leaves Santa Carla and u can decide what happens after that? But please u can make me cry there isn't much dwayne content here, and it's sad! Btw I love your blog , personality and aesthetic! 💞💗💕💖💓💘💝"

Warnings: Anxiety, Deoression, Death, Rejection??

You are the sweetest, of course I can write this for you. But be-warned, I hate making people cry unless they deserve it. But I'll try!! Also I tried to put some Cherokee words in there because Billy is Cherokee. @dead-inside-and-drunk-outside @langdonsdemon

Dwayne/Reader

First Person POV

It wasn't a busy night on the boardwalk, seeing as it was out of season. But it was Santa Carla, aka the best tourist trap ever. So it was still filled with a bunch of locals trying to avoid getting asked where the rides were, the movie theatre was, all that stuff. I was on the boardwalk, spending time with Star. Why was I doing that? My bestfriend figured I needed a babysitter while he and his family were out hunting with some people. Not that I minded spending time with Star, in fact I loved it. I just didn't appreciate Dwayne feeling like I needed someone to watch over me while he got something to eat. Star grabbed my hand, giving ne a sympathetic look, no doubt knowing what I was thinking. "You're annoyed aren't you?" I raised my eyebrow at her question and looked at her, "You aren't?"

I watched as she ran her fingers through her hair, a sigh coming out of her lips. "Sure I'm annoyed, but that's because I'm actually a full vampire. I can take care of myself." We were in the same boat. Well... Almost. I was human, she wasn't. A new undead gang showed up in Santa Carla three weeks ago. David decided he wanted to see what they were like and invited them on a hunt with him and his boys. No doubting the fact that he probably had a different motive. But, David didn't think Star could handle hanging around a bunch of new vamps.

"Not that you couldn't survive being alone for one night, but I'm hungry and this is just stupid." She rolled her eyes, pulling me towards a bench. "Plus, if he would just let me hunt, I could come back and actually just hang with you. Screw what Dwayne thinks." I snorted, remembering what he told me about 2 hours ago. "Look, we don't know how many of them there are. What if one decided to stay back and smelled all of us on you?" It grated on my nerves to no end. We watched Laddie bounce around in front of us, playing with the annoying pigeons. At least he was given an option to go. Not that he wanted to, he always stuck to Star like glue. Not that that thought helped much. They all trusted him way more then they did us.

The roar of motercycle's made me pick up my head, looking behind me at the beach. "Well... They're back I guess." Star gave a sigh of relief, leaning her head on my shoulder when I turned back around. I giggled at her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. "Look... Just don't say that I was ticked okay?" She hummed and moved her head a bit. "You and Dwayne still fighting?" I sighed, thinking about all of the small stupid arguments he and I have been having lately. I lightly shook my head, laughing a bit. "You know it. It's all we ever do now." I felt my stomach jump at the thought of seeing him again, making me grab Star's hand. "You won't... Leave me alone with him will you?" She turned her head, looking to see if the boys were on the boardwalk yet. Seemingly satisfied, she looked back at me, a humorless smile on her face. "You know I can't promise that. Laddie and I are starving. You can't avoid him forever." I stood up while sighing in frustration, not at Star but at myself.

Star stood up to give my cheek a kiss. I watched as she got Laddie's attention, telling him it was fine to get something to eat now that the boys were back. I didn't wait around for Dwayne to show up find me, walking down to the rides. It's just so damn annoying! I kicked an empty fry bucket that was in my way out of anger. Things were just weird between me and him now a days. I thought that maybe... Maybe he might... I felt my eyes start to water at the thoughts swirling in my head, all of them focused on Dwayne. I stood in the crowd formed around the stage and looked up, furiously blinking away any stray tears. I felt a hand on the small of your back, causing me to freeze.

"Relax (Y/N), it's just me." 'I know that it's you.' I wanted to say, but just like the first 3 years of our friendship, one of us will talk while the other stays silent. Of course he found me here. It was Friday night, and there was 2 free concerts. I looked up at the dark skinned man next to me, studying his face. "Where did Star go?" He asked quietly, worry laced in his voice. I chuckled, looking back at oiled up man on stage. "She and Laddie went to get something to eat, seeing as David didn't trust her." I paused for a moment before voicing what I had been thinking while with Star earlier. "Or maybe he did trust her and he just owed you something?" I looked back at him, feeling a bitter smile curl on my face. It was just like him to do this to me. 'No, No, No! Stop it. Just let it go. You said you could remain friends with him, so keep it to that.'

Of course I was going to through a hissy fit at him. This was getting ridiculous. Just because he turned me down didn't mean he didn't care and I had to act like a bitch. "Look, Dwayne it's fine. Can we just... Go back to the cave or something?" I caught the panicked look on his face and rushed to speak before he said no. "Can the others come to? I'm pretty sure Star and Laddie can find their way back on their own." He looked a bit more relived at the offer, nodding his head. Normally at this point he and I would be all over one another, holding hands, making jokes. All that jazz. But, after I asked him out... It's like he drew back from me. Meeting Dwayne, he never hid from me for one bit. Always trying to get me to laugh, lean on him, or braid his hair. It was one of the reasons I started to fall in love with him. Yes I know, love. Ugh. Tacky as hell, but I won't deny it. I almost had a heart attack the first time he kissed my cheek. Ugh! Stop it stop it stop it! If you keep thinking about all of this you'll get sad and annoyed again.

Second Person POV

You followed behind Dwayne, occasionally apologizing to people that got pushed out of the way. You looked at the figure in front of you, walking swiftly around everyone. A stitch in your side started to make itself known trying to keep up with his long quick strides. "Dwayne come on, can you please slow down? It's 10 pm. I think you'll beat the sun." If he heard you, he didn't show it. Out of nowhere, you felt something collide into your back, pushing you forwards. Out of instinct, you reached out and grabbed Dwayne's hand. "What th-" He cut himself off when he saw it was just you. "I'm sorry, I needed to stabilize myself." You know he heard you over everything, being a vampire had it's perks. You figured he would nod and keep walking with you, but when he wouldn't tighten his hand around yours, almost like he was trying to shrug you off, you just gave up. You felt your throat tighten up when you watched him shove his hand into his pocket, not sparing you a glance.

'Is it because I asked you out?!' You wanted to ask. 'Is it because I said I love you?!' You wanted to yell at him. You staggered a bit, tripping over a loose floorboard, your vision blurry. You landed on the ground with a hard thud, your face burning with humiliation. You hopped no one was watching as you rolled off your knees and onto your butt. "Jesus fucking christ..." Tears started falling down your face as you examined your hands and knees. They burned, the skin ripped, scratched and bleeding. You looked back up to see Dwayne looking at you, almost like he just lost a bet. It sparked something in your chest, him looking at you like that. You hissed in pain, pushing yourself off the ground with your hands. "You okay girl?"

"No. No I'm not okay Dwayne. And you're not fucking helping either." You side-stepped him, pushing away his hands. He walked behind you, easily keeping up with you. "What's your problem (Y/N)? What crawled up your ass and died?" A disgusted laugh escaped your throat. "Ya know I didn't wanna go there, but it certainly wasn't you." You speed up your pace, tears streaming down your face. You cringed a bit, hearing his footsteps falter and then pick up again. "What the hell is that supossed to mean?" You shook your head, trying to get him to get away from you. "I don't know... I just said the first thing that came in my head. Can you please just leave me alone?" You hopped off the boardwalk, onto the sand. "If you're gonna keep acting like a little papoose then I will leave." This stopped you in your tracks, looking back at him. "I'm acting like a child? You're the one who won't even look me in the eyes anymore."

It was true even at that moment, Dwayne chose to look just above your head then directly at you. It was annoying as hell, making you even angrier. "So what's going on then huh? We're friends the next minute, I ask you out and it's like I'm one of the new meals you're fuckin with." He flinched at the words you choose, making you feel bad. "I didn't really mea-" He cut you off, venom in his voice. "You did mean it and you know it." He let out a humorless chuckle, making you take a step back. You knew how he felt about you calling yourself the next meal. He always hated it, hated that you thought so little of yourself, so little of him. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hiccuping a bit. He finally looked down at you, seeing that you were crying. You stepped back, looking away when he reached out to you. "I know that you hate to hear it... But it's true Dwayne. It's like you never even cared about me in the first place. I can handle just being friends with you, saying okay and getting over the fact that you don't care about me the same way I care about you." You stopped talking, your chest spasming a bit. You took a few deep breath to calm yourself. But when you looked up at him, seeing his emotionless face, you just... broke.

You let out a strangled sob, clutching yourself harder and digging your nails into your skin. In the corner of your vision you saw the rest of the boys standing there, watching helplessly. You backed up a bit, hunching over forward. No one spoke while you continued to sob, almost on the verge of screaming. You reached up to your face, wiping away the tears and snot. You probably looked a mess, but in your state of mind you just didn't care. "Why..." You mumbled, closing in on yourself. You felt a sharp pain on your arms, but it was probably fron your nails. You just didn't want to be there at that moment, showing everyone just how hurt you were. You saw someone step forward to you on your right. They stopped moving whoever they were when you shook your head fast. You began taking short and fast breaths. Dwayne leaned down a bit, careful not to get in your space, "What do you need ageyutsa?" He whispered. You stuggled to form the words, completely collapsing in on yourself. "Star-" you struggled out, needing the only true motherly/sister figure in your life. "I want Star!"

Dwayne stepped back as you felt slender arms wrap around your frame. You finally let go of yourself, holding on to Star for dear life. She felt like an anchor to you as she spoke quietly. "Shhhh, it's okay." You buried your face into her stomach, letting out a scream. You knew you shouldn't be acting like this, it was so trivial to you. But you just couldn't explain the intense feeling of fire and ice that has been running through your veins ever since he rejected you. "Dwayne... Tell her." You heard Star whisper. You looked up at the man in front of you, confusion and despire mixed into his face. "(Y/N)... I won't ever be with you. I just can't." More pain spiked in your core as he continued. "I'm dead my love. I'm a vampire. You're human. You shouldn't have been the one." Star pulled you into a standing position, so you could face him.

"Tell her what you mean." You heard David say on your far right. Dwayne held your eyes, his face still emotionless as you struggled for air. "A vampires blood mate is supossed to be a vampire. But... You're a human. You're my blood mate. That makes me a disgrace of a vampire." You flinched at the harshness of his words. "It shouldn't be you. Max wouldn't let either of us live if he found out you were a human." You struggled to keep up with what he was saying, a small light of hope flairing into your chest. "Just... Change me then?" You looked over to David, a sad smile on his face. "He won't let me." He muttered loud enough for you to hear. The hope you were feeling escaped you with the strangled sob you let go. You looked back at the man that was holding your heart and ripping it to shreads. "I won't do that to you... I won't let you kill someone just to live." You felt lighthead as you let go of Star, "But letting me live feels like death already." You waited for him to say something, but when he didn't you nodded, brushing Star's hands away. Grabbing your hair and pulling it in an anxious manner, you walked up to Dwayne, stepping up on your tiptoes. "Fine then." You kissed his cheek and stepped back. "I guess we need time apart." No one stopped you as you walked away. No one saw the group of boys on the boardwalk, smirking while watching you crawl away for safety. The smell of your bloddied cuts from earlier reaching their heightened senses.

It had been a few days since that night. Everytime you thought about everything he said, you felt even worse about yourself. You sat on the bench at the bus stop, thinking about what you were doing. You couldn't go back and face them. Any of them. When you did actually brave the boardwalk one time, you saw David and you freaked. He started walking towards you to make sure you were okay, - Probably for Star's sake. You just can't see him really caring for you like a sister.- but you bolted. You haven't been back since. You used the money you've been saving for college to get motel rooms for about 2 weeks now. But, staying by yourself cooped up has been wrecking your mind. So you figured it was time to move on. You couldn't keep hanging around here. It was just something you had to do. You didn't see the shadows around you, or notice them growing.

Third Person POV

No one saw what happened that night. People would tell the Lost Boys that it was too dark, windy or it was raining. Well it was dark, but it certainly wasn't rainy or windy. The boys knew what happened. Paul swore to that damn god in the sky that if that any vamp even thought about touching his little sister, that he would make it his life's work to harm so many innocent people. Marko and David were the ones who tracked down the other gang. Star and Dwayne were the ones who ripped them apart. Laddie had to stay in the cave, still unaware where his other best friend was. The leader had simply stated to Dwayne that he was doing him a favor. That didn't really help him, and it didn't help Dwayne in the end either. He let a part of him die the night (Y/N) did.

No one talks about (Y/N) anymore around Dwayne. Everyone figured that she would show back up later, ready to kick Dwayne's ass. Marko and Paul had a bet going on, for when (Y/N) would come back. It was just the type of person she was. Mental breakdown, and then you just went mental. But Dwayne knew (Y/N) was dead. It was a sharp feeling, painful and world shattering. The moment it happened, he dropped to the ground, the world spinning. It wasn't normal for a vampire to throw up, but he managed it, only bringing up blood.

He wouldn't tell the others what he knew, all except David and Star. The two of them would go around and rip down the missing posters of her face. They just couldn't risk watching Dwayne break down again. He was the first one to come across the posters. It utterly destroyed him. What (Y/N)'s mother didn't know when printing the posters out, was that Dwayne was in it as well. He couldn't sew himself next to her on the page, but he knew that memory. It was the first time she ever held his hand, and then later kissed his cheek. It was in her room, black out curtains up. After calming down, he took the first poster that he laid eyes on, and put it in his breast pocket. He wouldn't talk to anyone but David. Always telling him that whenever he found his mate, human or not... To have them. To never make the same mistake as he did.

I know this is the laziest ending, but I've been going through some stuff today and I didn't want to skip out on the promise of posting this. I've just been so... Ugh lol. I'm sorry, I really hope you liked it and I'll try so much harder next time! @langdonsdemon I'll be writing that little one-shot with Dwayne and the reader soon. So it'll be alot happier!

[thecryptidofbravo]

Dec Hype 2018

“Stoga!” Wandering Eye called out, banging on the side of the caravan of which he had not asked the origin of. The Runner slowed the machine to a stop, and one of the Keepers waved for the figure on the road, guitar on their back, to hop on.

“G’yari?” the Runner asked, chuckling.

Wandering Eye rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Ne’solden, Renak’i.”

​The other lascarian swiveled his head, but the Jones thought he was probably still smiling under his veil.

​The hitch-hiker, a rover, caught up, and hopped into the back of the truck, freezing when he saw the five shrouded figures staring at him.

​“Don’t worry, we not going to eat you,” Wandering Eye yawned at him, before banging on the side of the caravan to start going again.

​“Dark Moon?” The rover questioned, still nervous, eyeing their weapons and, Wandering Eye suspected, wondering if he should risk jumping out of the vehicle before it gained too much speed.

​“Ne. Redwater.”

​“I’ve never heard of you.”

​“No.You won’t have... Where going?”

​“Oh, anywhere east, really. Where are you all headed?”

“Clan business. Then I go back near Bravo, rest go north.”

“Bravo?! I’m that far into the Lonestar?” The hitchhiker exclaimed.

“Is a few days, but yes.”

“Dang... I could have sworn I left the Gardens just a few days ago.”

The Jones only grunted.

“Do ya... do ya suppose you might be passing through Star City on your way to your... business?”

“... not likely.”

“That’s a shame. Still, I’d be grateful to get as close as you can.”

Another grunt, follow by “what business in that place?”

“Oh, I was out on patrol duty and got separated. I’ve been trying to report back in for a while now.”

“Forgive... we are... new to this region,” Wandering Eye slowly said, picking his words carefully. “Who you report to?”

“Oh, Commander Mustang!”

The other lascarians’ heads perked up at the name, even the Runner driving slowed to a stop and turned in his seat.

“Y’all’ve... uh... heard of him?”

“You could say this, yes.”

—————————-

“Uncle Wanderin’” Nibbler whispered, as the older Lascarian guided him down a side tunnel, motioning for the others to stay on the main path. “What’s goin’ on?”

Making sure they were far enough their voices would not carry, Wandering Eye knelt down, and hurriedly began speaking in a low tone to the youngling.

“Listen me, Nibbler. What is about to happen is new. You been accepted as Youngling, but already have name, this not our way. Things be happening very fast now. Is important you understand.”

“Understand what?”

“... everything, and not enough time I know.” He paused here. “You are too young for a name by our ways. You have not grown into it. Even if we have been let down here, this will trouble some. They may cause problem for you. They may say you give it up and become like rest of youngling.”

“But momma gave me my name! I don’t wanna give it up!”

“Hush, Nibbler, I not want you to give away either. Is not our way, this, but some will call it lesser evil. I will tell them is not, but only so much I can do. Much rely on you.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean best way to keep name is show you earn name. Not become Youngling. Show skill, become apprentice. You are young but not youngest to join a sect, in bad times, and these are bad times. This best way to keep name and also be welcome.”

The young Lascarian boy nodded slowly.

“Tell me, did your mother ever teach you things? Things to survive? How to hunt? Anything?”

“Ya, o’course!”

Wandering Eye breathed a sigh of relief, “what she teach you? What you best at?”

“Sh’taught me readin’!”

“And what else?”

“Uh...”

“Please youngling, think hard, what you best at?”

“Well, she taught me some SawBonesing...”

“Yes, this good. What know?”

“I can sew people up alright. I practiced on Ember a lil last Burnin’ Season... I’m not too good yet, though.”

“Is alright, what else? Anything you good at? Maybe something Tallula not teach you?”

“... what if it was something I’d get in trouble for?” Nibbler whispered.

Bewildered, Wandering Eye nodded for him to continue.

“Sometimes... I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I couldn’t sleep at night, and I’d be hungry... so... I’d sneak out. I was real good at sneakin’, and then I’d go out into the woods and find lil critters and...” he trailed off.

“Is okay, Nibbler, is okay. Founders, I know Tallula would not like you doing this but this is good. She would understand. She saw me eat. She knew night was best for us. Is okay.”

He wiped a few tears from the boy’s face, and then his own.

“She be glad of this. These skills good. We can make good case for you with Runners now. They need good scout, and all better if you can stop the bleeding. Knowing to read, knowing the language Above, this too will be good for them. Can teach others, help learn about outside world.”

The boy nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Wandering Eye stood to his full height, and turned back the way they’d come.

When the boy reached for his hand, he squeezed it gently, and lead the way back to the path further down.

By the Founders, he hoped this worked.

———————-

“Yes... know Mustang,” one of the Keepers exhaled, shifting under his layers.

“Oh, you walk in the Lord Commander’s Light?”

“I would not say this,” Wandering Eye replied in a low voice, turning to the front. “Renak’i, fara’seint.”

“So, uh... how far did y’all say you could take me again?”

Wandering Eye stared at the Fallow, silent, considering.

———————-

A few hours after the rushed conversation with Nibbler, in a dimly lit area of the central cavern that had been carved out to make room, the five sat in a circle, Nibbler center, facing a sturdily built Lascarian named Crooked Bite, who carefully painted red on his face.

Three wavy lines across the right eye, for the Redwater.

The arc and ray above the left, a Runner’s mark.

“Welcome, to Renak’i, Nibbler,” he said, formally, in broken but intelligible Above-tounge.

“Thokke’yo,” Wandering Eye murmured as the elder Runner stood, dropping his chin in a quick nod, and turning to leave.

Nibbler raised his hand, touching the wet paint momentarily before hastily moving it away at Wandering Eye’s quick shake of the head.

An awkward silence filled the group, no one quite sure what to say now that their task was done.

It was Finbar who broke the silence, as he looked around, surreptitiously slipping a flask back into one of his vest pockets.

“This here is, uh, one might fine cavern, Wanderin’ Eye. I say, maybe the best one I ever did step into.”

The Lascarian looked at him, blinking slowly.

The small hold they sat in was sparse, basically an open hole carved out of soft rock. It had no homes, no more than a hand’s worth of tunnels branching out. It was... it was not home.

“Thank you, Finbar, but this is not a cavern you must like. It is nothing compared to the old Hold.”

“Oh, uh... well, I’m sorry to hear that. What happened to that place, if you don’t mind me askin?”

Nibbler’s head perked up, he’d only heard bits of this story, and none else here had, Wandering Eye realized.

He sighed, the memory of the burnt out husk of the centuries old Redwater home still painful, as it would be to every Redwater born before it was abandoned.

“Only tell short version,” he tiredly began. “Redwater never knew of Morgue or Gravemind, only one nearby was locked away, by Founders me thinking, deep below. We unlock one day, accident. Many, many dead come out. Clan scattered. Most dead, inside Other Side. Others, like me, cut off, alone, forced Above and away. Sometime after, Above-Born find entrance. Bad Lascarian dead from Morgue fill tunnel. They go back to their Hold, Star City, and bring big machines to clear out dead. Destroy Hold in process. Clan come out of Other Side after, start finding each other across Waste, but not safe to rebuild in the old place, not while Mustang sends his people nearby. Must become strong again, first.”

——————-

The Keepers in the back of the truck rummaged through the rover’s belongings, divvying up anything useful, and checking the quality of his scarves.

Scarves were always good to keep.

His body had been dumped over the side of the truck, a few miles back, after a quick death.

Wandering Eye had promised they wouldn’t eat them, and he kept his promises.

Besides, like he told the Runner earlier: He wasn’t hungry, and he had deep thoughts before he arrived back at Bravo.

Running his hands over the rolled papers in the small case attached to his hip, and the bag of parcels from Tallula’s farm, he expected there would be far more occupying his mind once he was there.

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Black Water (Ivar x Mermaid!Reader)

Synopsis : Ivar likes to sit by the edge of the water at night when everyone is fast asleep and he can be alone – but is he really ?

A/N : This is completely random, I got sucked into a maelstorm of Ivar imagines lately and I had this idea that I couldn’t get out of my mind unless I wrote it down – now here you go, a non-sexual Ivar imagine (I know, shocker) It didn’t turn out how i wanted it to but I’ll edit it later.

Word Count : 5.8k

MASTERLIST

The people of Kattegat were wary of the youngest of Ragnar's sons. The respect they showed him was inducted by their fear of becoming the next target of Ivar's increasingly frequent mood swings. One could never be too careful around him, for his apparent harmlessness was but an illusion. It was common knowledge that he was the preferred son of his mother, Queen Aslaug, whose influence extended as far as Ragnar's reputation did.

Ivar knew she favored him because he was like her in many ways – seemingly not a threat to anyone, possibly even considered helpless and utterly incapable of being so much as a minor bother. Yet she ruled over their lands with an iron grip and allowed Kattegat to thrive beyond imagination. She proved them all wrong, showed them that having power and having strength were two different things.

He would show them too, make them regret ever looking at him like he was less than a man. Ivar the cripple, Ivar the useless son, inferior in strength and moral to his brothers. But his parents believed in him, and it was enough for him to go by. His wits would give him what his brother's legs could not. He might have to crawl to get where he wants, but in the end he would reach his goal.

Until then he would have to wait for the night to fall to get his peace of mind and escape from prying eyes. He found that sitting by the still water was quite calming and allowed his mind to clear of parasite thoughts. He would have laughed at the irony of him finding comfort by the water even after he almost drowned in the ocean, if his near death experience wasn't still burning in his memory. Looking down at his useless legs, Ivar scoffed in disdain before looking away again, not bearing the sight of his own impotency. Oh if the gods had provided him with strong legs, surely he would be invincible.

He would be respected for who he is and not for who his father was. He would stand tall next to his brothers and not lurk in their shadows anymore. He would be in his home, pleasuring a woman, eating and drinking with his people and not be considered a weight for his kin. Instead he was sitting here yet again, wondering how his nightly disappearances from the family house went unnoticed – even his slow witted brothers should take notice. He knew his mother did though she kept to herself.

It was enough gloomy thoughts for one night, Ivar decided. He did not come here to dwell on things he could not change. The cold and the silence of this peaceful Spring night was meant to bring him comfort. It was a cloudless night, there was no wind either – everything stood still, as if the course of time had been suspended for a moment. The full moon basked the town in its pale light and made the water shimmer.

Something disrupted the smooth surface of the water. Ivar saw ripples appear – whatever was underwater appeared to swim straight toward him. He was not sitting on the sand of the beach where waves crashed steady all year round, but on the grass, farther away from the port.

The sound of a splash of water was heard and Ivar's vigilant eyes scanned the surface of the water to find the source of the noise but he saw nothing.

“You seem troubled, young viking,” a crystal clear voice said from his right.

In a split moment Ivar had rolled to his right to face the intruder and raised his ax, ready to kill whoever sneaked up on him. Surely enough there was a woman there, by the edge of the water, her arms resting on the ground a few centimeters above the surface of the still water. A naked woman, Ivar realized when she tilted her head and her hair slid down, leaving her skin exposed from her shoulders to her neck.

“Rest easy, viking,” she purred innocently. “I represent no threat to you.”

“Of course you don't,” Ivar snapped back, stung in his pride.

He lowered his ax despite his best judgment – she was naked and unarmed, and Ivar son of Ragnar would not be seen holding a weapon above an unarmed woman's head. But was she really inoffenY/Ne? What kind of woman would wander alone in the dead of night to take a midnight bath?

“'I am harmless', says the poisonous flower,” Ivar said, causing a smile to etch on the young creature's lips.

“What you say is right,” she laughed. “Caution is the mother of safety it is true. But I said I was no threat to you, not that I wasn't dangerous.”

A smirk stretched Ivar's lips in a wicked grin upon hearing this. Anyone who could play with words he was willing to hear. He lowered his ax and crawled to the edge, closer to her. Her long and wavy hair seemed to shine in the light of the moon and cascade down her back, as though it was a living moving thing.

“Why should I believe you? I don't know who you are,” he reasoned.

“I know who you are, Ivar the Boneless,” she said watching in triumph his face decompose and eluding his questions. “What dark thoughts are clouding your mind, my prince?

“Nothing of your concern!” He didn't like the way she smiled knowingly at him, as if she knew secrets he could not even fathom. “How do you know my name? What is your name?”

“I don't have a name,” the woman said with the ever enigmatic smile on her pretty face.

For she was more beautiful than any other woman Ivar ever saw – perhaps she was merely a figment of his imagination. Her smooth skin looked soft and he wanted to touch it. Trickles of water glistened on her cheeks and down the slope of her nose. He could not see the exact color of her eyes but he new they were dark as the bottom of the sea.

“What do I call you in this case?”

“I will be called whatever my prince desires,” she hummed softly, ripples erupting in the water behind her as though she was flailing her legs.

Where did she come from? Ivar had been sitting by the water for hours, she couldn't have stayed underwater this long. Suddenly her silky skin looked too perfect to be real, and if it wasn't too dark to see clearly, Ivar would have sworn he saw it glimmer and reflect the moonlight like a thousand iridescent scales.

“Fine,” he said, agreeing to play her little game. “You are Y/N1 from now on.”

“My prince's wish is my command.”

“Now tell me who you are!” He demanded, leaning forward and causing her lean away from the shore. He smirk – he always liked seeing people back away from him in fear.

“I do not understand,” she said. “I am Y/N, what else do you want me to be?” The young woman wondered in confusion, worry creasing her forehead. It did not make her look any less mesmerizing, if anything it captivated Ivar even more. She was like a child – an infinitely wise and cunning child with a silver tongue. He could recognize himself in this description.

She did say something interesting though. What was she? Surely no woman could rival her, she had nothing to envy to Lagertha, to his own mother, or even to Freyja. Big, deep eyes stared right at him as he pondered his next words.

“What are you Y/N, where are you from?” Ivar found himself speaking lowly, in order to not frighten her. It was the first time he put conscious effort into softening his voice, but his patience was wearing thin.

“I was born here, I've always lived here,” she answer happily, almost proud to finally be able to answer one of Ivar's inquisitive questions.

“You are lying to me, I know you are,” Ivar accused her. Y/N's smile wavered and her entire being lightened down a bit, yet when Ivar looked up, he saw no cloud hiding the moon. “Only a vixen would go out after nightfall to bath naked in the freezing water. Tell me what kind of creature you are.”

The woman smiled fondly and shook her head, showing him that it was an information she was either not willing to give him or not allowed to.

“I cannot tell, but if you guess I will reward you,” she told him in a tempting voice.

“Why should I believe anything you say? You speak in riddles and harbor a look of fake innocence, how can I trust you?” The suspicious way he glared at her didn't faze her one bit. He would have expected a reaction of some sort facing his blatant hostility but she showed no emotion besides mild amusement.

“Why mistrust me? Have I done anything to upset you?” The creature uttered in a sultry voice, her every word coated in honey. Ivar was getting tired of getting more questions instead of answers.

She swam closer to him and though Ivar was still well on the grass and not too close to the water, she still managed to graze his forearm with her hand when she stretched out her arm. The young viking jerked backwards upon feeling his skin sizzle where she touched him.

“I can prove to you that I am on your side,” she said, her dark eyes set on him.

She slid back down the edge and let her arm fall to her side in the water. Between disappointment and relief, Ivar took in a long breath as soon as she withdrew her hand.

“Then you must tell me how you know my name,” Ivar challenged her, desperately trying to squeeze some information out of her. Their exchange was going round and he would soon run out of patience.

“I know things,” the creature uttered softly, a smile on her lips as she shrugged her delicate shoulders, causing her hair to slide down her upper arms.

“How do you know those things? Who told you?” Ivar questioned her further, repressing the urge to move closer to her and thus fall in the water.

“The moon,” she giggled playfully. Her eyes looked up to the shining orb in adoration and her smile widened. But it quickly faltered and her eyes set back on him. “The moon sees everything.” Ivar could not tell if she was serious or not.

“Do not waste my time, creature,” Ivar hissed. “Speak plainly or I will cut your tongue with my ax.”

“Threats are unnecessary, my prince,” Y/N assured him. “I said I would prove my good faith to you and I will, but not with words. Words are not my people's way, that is your kin's prerogative.”

He would deny it later, but Ivar's reasoning during this conversation was greatly influenced by his desire for the woman – after all he was but a man.

“Come closer, my prince. Do not fear the water, it will not bring you harm, nor will I,” she promised, her slender finger drawing a cross on her chest, right above her heart and on the swell of her breast. She did not show any indication of purposely trying to elicit a reaction from him, but as all women did, she must have been aware of the way men reacted to her.

Reaching out for him again, she raised her right hand out of the water and towards him, gesturing Ivar to approach as the drops of water dripped from her open palm. Nothing ever felt as tempting as doing as she said, and Ivar was sure that had he been less clever he would have dived right in the depths of the water for this enchanting woman, even if it meant his death.

“What are you doing to me?” He asked, shaking his head to get rid of her influence. Instead he focused on the sound of nature around him, and the shimmering of the water, avoiding her magnetic gaze at all cost.

“Nothing, my prince,” she said. “Not yet. Now come, come to me. I will erase your pain and your doubts, I will open your eyes. All I ask in return is that you speak to me, and if you do I will grant you a wish.”

“A wish?” Ivar asked in disbelief. “If you lie to me-” he began in a threatening tone. “-It will be the last thing you say. You pretend to know who I am, but you don't know me at all, woman. I am Ivar the Boneless, son of King Ragnar Lothbrok, you cannot fool me or trick me. I am smarter than you and you will soon find out that whatever evil creature you are, my cruelty is greater than yours.”

“Enough! Stop it!” The young woman screamed at him all of a sudden, the dim light once again playing tricks on Ivar's eyes who could not make out what caused her to shine like the moon was not hanging in the sky but rather hiding under her skin. “I will not hear any more of this! You do not listen to me! Ivar you have to listen to what I say! I speak the truth, I cannot lie!”

“How convenient!” Ivar laughed dishearteningly. “But I have nothing better to do, so speak. What do you want from me?”

“I need to know what burdens your heart. Confess to me and your secrets will be buried in the deep sands at the bottom of the ocean.”

“I have nothing to confess!” He replied all too quickly for her to believe him.

“Your people lie,” Y/N said. “And although I cannot, I recognize a lie when I hear one.”

“Fair enough, I lied.” Ivar sat straight and smiled smugly. What did he have to lose after all? He would do as she asked and see what comes of it. “I confess that I plot against my own family; I confess I aspire to greater things and I am ready to kill whoever stands in my way; I confess that I want to exceed my father's exploits, and I confess I desire you more than anything.”

“You and I cannot breed,” Y/N chuckled and shook her head with a smile. “Your confessions were fair and true, I accept them.”

“Now do your magic, creature. Erase my 'doubts and fears',” Ivar snarled, misquoting her previous words.

It transpired in his voice that he did not take her seriously, but if she showed any sign of having tricked him, he could still kill her with his ax. No one would ever know that Ivar Ragnarsson let himself be manipulated by a naked woman.

“Your mind is sharper than your brothers' swords,” she declared confidently though the words were said carelessly, as if they bore no weight at all. Y/N began to comb her hair using her fingers and leaned on the grass, her breast pushing together. She looked up to meet Ivar's steady gaze fixated on her. “Your eyes are the color of the sea and the sea you will make yours. Ivar the conqueror, Ivar the unyielding, Ivar the strategist – you will have many names and be remembered for years to come.”

“How do you know that?”

“I told you-”

“The moon told you? Is that it?” He asked with a click of his tongue.

“You still do not believe me,” Y/N stated plainly. “But my words are true. May them bring you comfort as you think them through. Let them carry you through life, wait until they become reality and you will see.”

“Alright, I believe you,” Ivar told her, if only to see the displeased frown disappear from her delicate features.

“What you think you lack of in strength, you make up for in intelligence,. But your condition is no weakness to you, it is your enemies' weakness – everyone is always going to underestimate you and this is what makes you dangerous.”

As she spoke, the light surrounding her grew and extended on the water, making it transparent and glowing. Now Ivar could no longer deny what his eyes had been trying to tell him from the beginning of this strange exchange – the iridescence did come from scales and the ripples in the water were not caused by her legs. In their stead was a long and delicate looking fish tail, and her words echoed in his mind.

You and I cannot breed. I have always lived here. Words are not my people's way. I cannot lie. The moon told me. Your secret will be buried in the deep sands at the bottom of the ocean.

“You are a mermaid,” Ivar exclaimed victoriously, making the stunning creature flinch in surprise.

A weak smile caused the corners of her lips to twitch upwards but she did not smile. It was a sad victory for Ivar – he found that he would rather have her smile than be right. He thought that this was a win-win situation, that she couldn't tell him but wanted him to guess – but now it felt like this game had a winner and a loser. Y/N lost, and Ivar found no joy in winning.

His mother had told him about mermaids. Beautiful and dangerous creatures that have tremendous power over men. Not evil like the Lorelei, but good-natured and of good omen. His mother told him that if one could steal a mermaid's hair, the poor creature wouldn't be able to return to the sea and would be forced to stay with her captor until he let his guard down enough to leave her hair in plain sight so she could retrieve it. It was but a tale of course, surely no one could willing walk up to such a wonder and simply cut off her silky hair. The closer he was to her, the less Ivar could rely on his reason.

“You and I have more in common than you would think,” she replied, giving him a nod to show him he was right. “The gods have denied us the ability to walk but it does not mean we do not have a purpose.”

But Ivar was barely listening, his mind was elsewhere. Though she did not sing, her every word sounded like music and it was hard not to be entranced.

“Now you have to grant me a wish,” he reminded her distractedly, barely remembering her words as busy as he was getting lost in the deep pools of her eyes.

“Anything my prince desires,” she said in a voice so soft it felt as tough she stroked his cheek with the back of her hand.

He had thought about it since the words had left her mouth. He might have doubted her in the beginning, but what if it were true? What would he ask of her? Gold? Glory? Respect? A thousand ships and twice as many men to raid new lands? A beautiful woman? Ten beautiful women? To be normal?

Thanks to Floki's and his mother's education, Ivar knew the gods better than most people, and he was well aware of their twisted way of thinking. By wishing to be normal Ivar might find himself having two functioning legs but the mind of a simple man. He did not want that. It should be an easy decision though. Ivar wanted to walk. But like Y/N said, this bring a cripple could be a blessing in disguise. After all he did well up until this exact moment, he proved himself to his father and made him proud, he lived despite the odds.

No, he had to think simpler. Sometimes the best things are not those you would expect, the most precious treasures can be the simplest things in life. What else could he want? An offspring. For his name to be passed on to future generations.

“I want to be able to have children and everything it implies,” Ivar phrased cleverly.

“Sso be it.” Y/N nodded and smiled, as if she already knew what he would ask of her. “Now you must kiss me,” she requested, to Ivar's utter puzzlement.

“And why would I do that?” Ivar asked in indignation.

“I does not work if you do not kiss me. You must wish upon a kiss, my prince,” she explained, lifting herself out of the water. “That is how it is.” Y/N leaned on her forearms to stay out of the water enough to be at Ivar's eye level. She was completely exposed to him, naked, magical, enchanting.

For the months to come, Ivar would be haunted by this very moment. So quick yet so slow at the same time. Time stretched infinitely until finally he felt himself lean forward and right before Y/N moved, his hand shot forward and grabbed her by the neck, pulling her to him to capture her lips in a kiss. He could feel how soft her hair really was. He could feel her left hand grasp his arm, holding tight. He could feel her breath against his cheek when he broke their embrace to breathe, only to pull her in again. He could feel everything, and he didn't not care if the wish came true or not in this moment.

But soon enough, he had to let go, and without a word, without a goodbye, she returned under the surface of the still water and disappeared into the night.

Ivar could still feel everything though. He could feel his legs.

*

Ivar sat on the grass, elbows resting on his knees and hands joined in the middle, and eyes trained on the waterline, waiting. Strangely enough that was all he seemed to do, yet he knew for a fact that it was not true – he had spent the last months sailing West and South-West, leading his men to new lands and conquering them with the help of his brothers' men and his own sly strategies.

He had seen things he father would have never even dreamed of, unfathomably wealthy cities had fallen in viking hands, making them richer than any of them imagined. Ivar's insatiable need for more, always more, could never be satisfied. No matter of much land, how many slaves or women he had, and how much gold he gained over the past year, no matter the fear and respect he earned from his people – he needed something else. His thirst could not be quenched by anything on this earth, and there was one simple reason for that: what he sought most was underwater.

Wherever his raids took him he unmistakeably found his way back to this patch of grass at Kattegat. A many great things had changed in a year. Lagertha killed Queen Aslaug to become queen herself, then Ivar did the same to Lagertha. Sigurd died from his hand, and if Ubbe and Hvitsek still held grudge against him for his act, they did not show it. Life was good, they had plenty of everything and the town become a major trading place in Norway – yes, life was good.

Ivar the Conqueror, this is what his people called him now – now that they didn't have to look down to meet his eyes, now that he stood tall and looked down on them. A sweet yet somewhat bitter reminder of Ivar's chance encounter with a generous mermaid exactly one year earlier, on a similar night.

The roaring laughter and chanting of his people made the walls of the great hall tremble, and from where Ivar sat the silence of the night was troubled only by the distant sound of the festivities. Yet another victory brought to them by Ivar's unfailing mind and logic. However great his physical abilities had became since his legs were brought back to life, they did not equal his wits. He never mastered the art of the sword the way he did that of the ax and the bow. Years of being a cripple did not vanish over the span of a few months.

A crooked smile appeared on his lips – something he was not used to, when in his life does a viking get a chance to smile a genuine smile? Ivar had been restless in his body and mind. Even right now, surrounded by peace and quiet, he could not get his thoughts to calm down.

He no longer needed to come here to be left alone, all he had to do was to demand no one disturbed him and he would be obeyed. Yet he still came whenever he was not at sea or on Saxon land. He was waiting for her to come back though she never showed any sign of her presence.

I was born here. I've always lived here. Her words came back to him and he scoffed – yeah, right, she lived here and yet she did not show herself.

A faint rustle of leaves and cracking of a twig caught Ivar's attention and in a slipt second he had thrown his ax in the direction of the noise. It hit the bark of a tree but he heard a distinctive yelp.

“Who is there?” He asked loudly. “Show yourself!”

“K-King Ivar,” a young slave said hesitantly, shaking like a leaf in the wind as she stepped out of the shadows. “I did not mean to sneak up on you. Your brothers sent me, they wonder when you will come back to join the festivities.”

“Tell them I will come back when I will come back and not a second before, do you hear me? Now get out of my sight and never disturb me again when I try to isolate myself.”

The girl nodded energetically and practically ran back to the hall, all the while trembling under her skirts. She was pretty, Ivar thought. He found himself having these kind of thoughts more and more often since he recovered the use of his legs, but it was not a question of desire but rather an observation. He has had many girls in the past year, but sex didn't taste half as good as it should have in his opinion. His mind was set on one woman, and the gods damn him if he didn't find a way to get her.

“You scared that poor girl,” someone said in a scolding manner from his right.

Alert, Ivar jumped to his feet, immediately recognizing the soft honeyed tone of that voice. When his eyes found her, she was not in the water but sitting on a rock a little higher than where he stood. She combed her hair and braided it. Her careless demeanor wouldn't suggest that it had been a year since their first and last encounter. But her presence here tonight meant a great deal to Ivar – it meant that it wasn't merely a question of luck, she had chosen him, she had offered him a wish.

“You look surprised,” she observed, letting her hands fall on her lap as she tilted her head slightly while detailing him. “This is what you wanted, no?”

An unsettling feeling churned Ivar's insides. For months she had plagued his dreams and waking hours, the taste of their kiss still lingering on his lips, haunting him, and suddenly she was there. The image of her had been so clear, so vivid in his mind that he could not close his eyes without seeing her leaning on the grass, a mysterious smile on her lips, and dark eyes reflecting his own blue ones.

That was how he remembered her, and that is what she looked like. The vision before his eyes fit that description perfectly. Even the smile was there.

“Surely you do not waste your nights away on this shore for the view.”

“Oh but the view is exactly what brings me here,” he phrased cleverly, still not detaching his piercing eyes from hers. She shrugged one of her shoulders and a pleased expression replaced the amused one.

“I was waiting for you,” Ivar eventually said before quickly adding “Y/N”.

He hadn't spoken her name once since they parted ways. She was his secret – a half secret only, really. Whenever someone asked how he recovered the use of his legs, he first told them that a mermaid came to him and gave him a magic kiss. Upon seeing their confused frowns he invoked the will of the gods and they left him alone.

“I know, young viking.” Another graceful smile came to stretch her lips and she did not move apart from her fin which delicately curled and swayed next to her, still reflecting the moonlight off its iridescent scales.

“Did the moon tell you?” Ivar asked teasingly, earning a frank laugh from the woman.

“What do you want from me, my prince? Or should I rather call you my king now?” She asked amusingly, not answering his own question. “You have all the riches and gold a man could dream of, what is it you could be missing?”

“I have but one unfulfilled wish, and I want to change this tonight with your help,” he stated plainly, not beating around the bush.

Y/N smirked and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, gesturing Ivar to come to her. He did not hesitate this time and walked straight towards here, standing in front of her rock as she carefully studied him with her dark eyes shining like pearl in the night.

“You know how it works, my king,” she uttered. “Confess to me, unburden yourself then state your wish.”

“Do I have to state my wish? Can I not keep it to myself as I wish upon your lips?” Ivar questioned, visibly upsetting the mermaid who was offended by the question.

“I suppose you can,” she finally said with a wary gaze. “Are you keeping things from me Ivar?” She then asked gently.

“Not for long,” he promised and after studying him for another minute, she must have decided he was telling the truth because she gestured him to proceed.

“I confess my ambition has no limits and that I will not cease raiding news lands. I confess that my vow to kill whoever stands in my way still stands. I confess I will not stop until the mere mention of my name instils fear in the hearts of the folk all over the world. I confess- I confess I still desire you more than any other creature in the world and I will not rest until I have you.”

The same gentle, almost regretful smile graced her lips as the first time when he confessed his attraction to her.

“We were different a year ago Ivar, but now we are even more so,” Y/N pointed out. “I fulfilled your wish, and now you can breed and walk on ground, while I still belong to the sea. A mermaid cannot work her magic for her own purposes, my king.”

“What about the part where you erase my doubts and fears?” He dismissed her attempt to change his mind about her and changed subject.

“You have become fearless, Ivar. There is nothing I can say that would make you feel better, for you do it just fine by yourself. You are smart enough to know your limits and to find ways to move past them. My prophecy came true and you are a greater man than your father was or your brothers will ever be,” Y/N told him. “I have nothing else to add.”

“Do not sound so disappointed,” Ivar said with a smirk, daring to touch her face. His fingers grazed her cheek and she leaned into his palm before coming back to her senses and pushing his hand away. “This will not be the last you see of me.”

“I wish I could believe you,” she sighed and turned away from him, looking at the moon's reflection on the water. “Have you made your wish?”

His wish was made a long time ago, she did not need to ask him.

“Just kiss me, Y/N,” Ivar told her.

She did as her king demanded, and gladly so. He was yet again the one to instigate the kiss as he could not wait a second long to taste the salt of her lips again. With one and only one thing on his mind, Ivar deepened the kiss, refusing to let her go, until she had to physically pushed him away from her, letting out a painful gasp as he stepped back. Worry contorted Ivar's features as he watched Y/N stare in panic at her lower half while she slowly lost scale by scale.

“W-what have you done Ivar? What is happening to me?” She looked at her fin in horror, wondering if she was dying. “What did you wish for? What was your wish?!”

He did not answer right away – after a while, Y/N seemed to calm down when she realized that although it was unsettling, the process was not a painful one. Her hands stroke her tail and removed a handful of shiny scales in the process, but she did not feel a thing, almost as though it wasn't even part of her in the first place.

“What have you done?” She asked in a hushed tone, a little tear escaping the corner of her eye. By that too she was surprised, because her hand went up to wipe it away and stared at the wet palm for a minutes, eyes wide. “I should not be able to do this.”

“You are now. You can cry, and you can walk,” Ivar declared, full of confidence.

“W-why?” Y/N breathed out. “Because you desire me?”

But she was mistaken.

“No, my queen,” Ivar stated, emphasizing the last word. “So nothing stands in our way anymore. You cannot fulfill your own wishes, but you did mine. You could not stand as my equal but now you are.”

She stared at him in bedazzlement before her eyes focused back on her legs. Slowly her fish attributes disappears, withering away as they left place for smooth, light skin.

“I'm human,” she whispered. “I'm human.” A smile of utter disbelief and shock stretched her lips and before she could try and stand on her new legs, Ivar knelt down and scoop her up in his arms.

“You are queen,” he corrected her. “And I am your king.”

He stole one more rough kiss from her and walked back to his house, forgetting about the festivities and whatnot. In all her nakedness she would have drawn much unwanted attention anyway, therefore it was best for everyone to be busy elsewhere – the gods show mercy to whoever dared lay an eye on his siren.

The next morning, Ivar woke up to an empty bed, a chunk of long silky hair tossed at the foot of the bed, and an enchanting voice humming from the next room.

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TAGGING: @golden-guide

[datarevived]

-- ᴘʀᴇʟᴜᴅᴇ : ɴᴇᴡ ʟɪɢʜᴛ

Darkness.

A void of infinite and unknown. A deceiver of tranquility and peace.

What they had thought for so long, back in the time of man - was release, had been proven time and time again to be so. much. more.

The ambient sounds of falling debris and gun rattling, muddled by the groans and cries of the wounded. Piercing winds coiled around rockets, as manufactured arrow tips ghosted into the fallen enemies. The intense thumping of ones' own heart, playing the tempo of war like punches at ones' chest; the pleading suffocation of air to breathe easily through smoke and powder; as legs that wish so dearly to break carry on in a fit of desperation.  

The city had fallen. The world was burning. The enemy was winning. And the Guardians were dying.

A terrible, awful time to be witnessed, and even more so such frightening time to be alive. 

How lucky she had been to take one wrong step -- a silent gasp leaving her lungs moments before falling into the chasm. The uncomfortable sound of bone planted against towered rubble down below, shadowed by the roaring fires that surrounded the forest. 

A terrible, awful time to be witnessed.

--

. . . . . . . . "Th-- -ne?"              -- " Ah! --s! He-- --u --re!"              -- "C-- --u -ere me? He--o?"

If it's one thing that Guardians never talk about, it's their first time during the revival process.

Or so she could remember. 

They never seemed to talk about the crushing impact of ones' lungs being rejuvenated, or the shock that came with opening ones' eyes from black to white. The ghosting sounds from ones' departure still ringing in their ears, or the unseen bruises from ones' muscle memory at the time of death. 

It was like everything hurt all at once, yet at the same time - everything was in one piece and able. Everything right where it needed to be... not a scratch evident in the shock that grasped so tightly at her throat. 

With a grunt, memory serves indifferent as bare arms push away the dusted rubble that laid across ones' chest and lap. The tingling sensation of ones' blood pumping back in place, sending a temporary chill down ones' spine as she brought herself to a sitting position; clasp upon a throne of reinforced debris and metal bars that stewed in her fall some time ago. Her surroundings, dark and damp - sunlight misting in from above in waves, as a single independent light seem to glide to and fro several feet into the abyss in front of her.

Speak.

A challenge that required a moment of relearning. Her throat worn and dry, hand reaching in place as she grasps the very same fingerlinks that the Darkness seem to ghost. A perfect fit, her touch replicating the chill that rested naturally before body warmth seared away the empty. Relief. Motion now slowing down to a norms' pace as things became more coherent, that she was very much alive, and that this place was very much alone. 

All for one other being, causing her eyes to squint temporarily against the waves of light from the entry above. The tiny, almost mechanical-like object floating in a paces' race, audible muttering coming from its' core in confused piques. 

An opposing hand is raised, the gentle movement of trying to get ones' attention - was it hostile or not, she'd find out quickly - wilting against stiff muscles.

" ...Hello? "

Its' response, near-frighteningly instant as the object halted in its' guard. With speed unmatched to untrained eye, the voice that had been but a nervous whisper now bouncing in energies unexpected.

" Oh, finally! You're awake! " its' single optic, burning a bright blue, flickered in its' enthusiasm. " For a moment, I thought I had the wrong one.. which would have been, well, an awkward settlement to say the least. I don't think we carry a protocol for that... But besides the point! Are you okay? Well, as okay as one can be, considering. I can only imagine being revived is quite the experience-- "

" I... s-stop. Stop, " hand leaving her neck, it's then raised in attempt to silence the other. Another wave of inertia quickly causing her balance to weave, processing all in the span of several seconds the information she had been given. Both hands are then positioned to her temples, thumbs particularly pressed at their center as if forcing out the migraine that beckoned to be let in. 

Just breathe.

Breathe.

" ...I'm.. unsure that I follow, " her voice cracks, eyes closing shut for a moment.  “ If you could... slow it down. And try again... please? "

" Oh, sure. Sorry, " the voice responds. Its' small, diamond-shaped frame hovering about a distance, optic blinking in start, " You are... ah... well, a Guardian.  A once deceased individual, chosen by the Light. And I'm your Ghost. Your... companion? Chaperone? Guiding consciousness? "

" --My what? "

" Ah!... well, here, how about this. You ask me whatever questions you have, and I can give what answers I have. However, we must make this quick - you weren't an easy find, but I did find you. Which means those nasty Cabal aren't too far off. "

Cabal. A word that rings eerily familiar, causing the womans' head to drift back to the opening above in paranoia. The fog of ones' own memories refusing to dissipate, she takes it in best interest to comply - for now.

" You called me a Guardian. What does that even mean? " 

" It means' you're chosen to wield the Light. A raw talent not everyone is lucky to afford, I'm afraid. "

" Okay... " her head tilts, brows furrowed in befuddlement. " If it's such a talent... why me? "

" That is a question, isn't it? Unfortunately, not one I can answer directly. But it means you have something special. You just don't know it yet. "

" Sure... then, what else do you know about me? Anything other than this whole, something special? "

" I know that you're an Awoken, by the looks of it. Already something very special. And I know that if we don't finish our game of twenty questions soon, we both might never get to find out what else. "

As if on queue, the sudden rupture of cannon fire echoes from above. The vibrations of the ground sending trickles of dirt in a downward path, some flaking upon the womans' head in a nuisance. It was about time to put the rest of her body to work - pushing herself off the ground with a grunt, stretching legs to the balls of their heels as she slid down the hill of debris to solid ground. A curious look around the rest of the cavern to which she stood, something similar to an open sinkhole. The only way in and out, seeming to be that of the above.

" So how do we get out...? ”

" See, I haven't actually figured out that part yet... I was kinda waiting to see if you'd wake up  before I really dug into it... But, there is a group of human patrols near by. Maybe they have some rope? "

" Patrols? " she repeats, surveying the hole once more before beginning the climb back up the rubble. A slippery slope, easier said than done now that she had taken the effort to leave it. But it was still too far a jump from the top to the grass's edge. " Do we want their attention? "

" If my comms were correct, they are from the City. As good an ally as we're going to find in this place. But it'd require me leaving you by yourself for a moment. "

" Alone? What a shame, " she huffs, mid-traction against one of the metal bars as she pulls herself up to the next staple. Though the thought of being alone so soon... it brings a melt of uncertainty. " I think I'll manage. Maybe my ' special ' will kick in while you're gone. "

" And have me miss my Guardian's first display? That's not very nice, " the Ghost pouted, zooming past the Awoken's head as it hovered in the center of the opening. " Well, try not to do anything rash while I'm gone? I'll go get us some help. "

Making it back to the top of the hill, her neck cranes against toward the small figure. Her Ghost, it calls itself. A momentarily edge of panic raising back in her chest as it hovered just out of reach. If it was hers... it’d come back, right?

Right?

" Don't you worry - " she waved off, plopping a seat back in her throne of makeshift. " I'll be here. Waiting. "

[writevswrong]

FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART EIGHTEEN

Nessian Part Eighteen by L.J. LaFleur

Nesta:

I adjusted against the wet floor, unable to stay asleep. The fabric of my tunic provided little cushion between the stones and my ribs. I exhaled heavily, hoping my worries would flee with my breath. Usually Feyre’s lullaby would put me right to sleep but I couldn’t get the echoing roars out of my head.

“Do you need a distraction?” Eris asked quietly.

Awkwardly shifting into another uncomfortable position, I gave up, lying flat on my back. “I’m fine,” I lied.

Eris began to sing in a language I had never heard. His gruff voice transitioning into something angelic.

I tilted my head towards him, opening my eyelids just enough to not seem too interested.

Fire danced from palm to palm, a story to match the flow of his hymn. Amber eyes watched me through the rising fire, no doubt observing my lack of stealth. Flickering flames lit his face, dancing shadows unveiling his many masks.

Staring at the little fire figures, my breath hitched. Two amber bodies, hand in hand as they walked through a burning forest. I swear I could hear their laughter as Eris continued singing. Entranced by the two beings, I turned on my side to get a better view.

Entangled within one another, I could hear their passionate moans. My soft cheeks tinted red in response. Howls in the distance spooked them. The figures quickly stood, leaving their clothing behind as they booked it through a maze of foliage.  

My eyes glanced to Eris, a single tear trailing down his face. I looked back at his hands, at the breathless creatures he held so tenderly. The wolves closed in, launching towards the smaller figure first.

His voice cracked, another tear escaping his long lashes as he watched the pack surround them. The song grew darker, shifting to an ominous tone. The wolves edged closer; my heart erratically beating as I heard their pleas for mercy.

I wiped the tears from my eyes, knowing all too well what was to come next.

But the wolves disintegrated, a different picture being created as he twitched his fingers upwards. I stole a look at Eris, he was focused on his palms--his voice softening. The bodies of fire slowly danced from one hand to the other and back again.

I found myself utterly attached to his foreign words.

Before the song ended, I felt myself drift. Even as I tried to pry my eyes open to watch the ending—I couldn’t stay awake. One more glance and the silhouettes had slowed to a stop. They were barely moving, wrapped up in one another to form one large flame in the center of Eris’ palm.

My aching heart softened, the rhythm matching that of his song. I let the darkness swallow me. Sleep welcoming me with open arms.

The hallway seemed longer than before or maybe it was just the anticipation that slowed my steps. I needed to see what I had done. I needed to witness the aftermath of my burning rage. I quickened my pace, pausing just before the doors of the library.

I held my breath, carefully pushing the doors open.

Exhaling quickly, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The demolished library had been fixed. Lacquered shelves nailed to their original place; hundreds of books replaced. No trace of the carnage I had left behind yesterday.

I grinded my jaw, the unnerving feeling of being watched tingled the hairs on my neck. I ignored the warning signs, the smell. Instead I headed to the right side of the room, towards the section of poetry I had shredded just before the end of my undoing.

Guilt had filtered through the cracks of my anger. Tearing the pages became more difficult as the seconds ticked on. But I kept going…until he stepped forward. It wasn’t until after he left, after I cried for what felt like hours—that I had a moment to focus on the devastation around me.

My bloody fingers brushed across aged parchment. Blurry eyes focusing on the beautiful handwriting. The name and title ripped away; a mystery because of my own insanity.

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

Both rumble, sometimes unheard

Sometimes unseen

 You are the moon

I am the sun

Both light the infinite darkness from here

And beyond

 Mates, I pray

Mates, you say

 You are the mountains

I am the sea

We are infinite

In time, in death

We are one

It’s destiny

 Mates, you pray

Mates, I say

 Why that poem had caught my eyes then, why the pages of several more sonnets of the sea drove me mad--I didn’t know. But I needed to read, I needed to find some peace in this prison.

My healed fingers traced down the edge of the shelf, hunting for a title that might stand out.

Guilt riddled me to my core, years of it taunting me. It was more finetuned now, focusing on the worst parts of my past. I knew that I was exhausted but I needed to stay awake. If I didn’t…I, I drowned. Asleep or awake, I was drowning--in that fucking cauldron, all over again.  

Not only did I need to stay awake for my own sanity, but for Elain’s too. She wasn’t the same. Whatever she faced, whomever it was, it changed her forever. It took her innocence, her heart.

I didn’t trust any of them, even if Feyre did. She had trusted Tamlin once. Feyre had loved him, his people—the same ones who came for me and Elain.

And one day, I would kill them all. For Feyre, for Elain and for me.

I lost track of looking for the book of poetry. My trembling fingers paused at the end of the shelf as I tried to control my uneven breathing. The darkest parts of me threatened to escape, to embrace the fragile heart in my chest.  

“No tantrums today, Nes?” Cassian quipped from the doorway.

He was here the entire time, watching me as I internally struggled. I knew that much. Inhaling through my nose, I adjusted to his overpowering scent. As much as it corrupted my senses, it somehow comforted me. It even smelled warm, if that was possible--like an ageless fire.  

Devastatingly slow, I turned to face him. “Do not call me…” I stopped while scanning his hard body. Lines of blood slid down his obsidian wings, “you’re injured.” I scowled, pressing my lips together in a solid line.

Memories flashed before me, blocking reality. Images of his twitching fingers lifting towards me as crimson gushed out of his shredded wings; his fading light. My stomach churned, the burning acid rising.

Cassian shrugged, “I’m still healing, I guess.” He bit his lower lip, holding back.

“I thought you were immortal,” I pushed. Why was I still talking to him? Why did I care?

“Immortal in a sense. But it doesn’t mean we don’t bleed.”

My eyes traced over him again, “are you following me?” The sight of his blood stirred the nausea further.

Terrors of that nightmare sunk their teeth in my mind. A puddle of blood formed beneath his boots, spreading across the floor as it had on the day my human life ended.

Cassian’s pupils flared, his tone darkening, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” I snapped before thinking.

His brows rose, the familiar smirk retreating.

I observed the sweat that dripped down his neck, as if my vision had zoomed in like a magnified glass.

Cassian sighed, releasing the words that plagued him, “I’m sorry.”

I stayed silent, raising my chin as I studied him further. A face of confliction, of determination and angst yet unnerving sadness still lingered. His dark hair tied tightly in a bun; loose strands tapered off in different directions like snakes. He flew here, on damaged wings and a broken soul.

“I’m not one to break promises,” Cassian shuffled forward, trapping me against the wall of poetry. “What they did to you…” Ponds of hazel ignited, an endless inferno.

The knot in my throat grew as I thought back to the cauldron again. I straightened my spine, our bodies nearly touching.

“What they did to me?” I asked softly, a taste of sweetness before the deadly poison. “You have no idea. Not even an inclination as to the…” I paused, my voice close to breaking. “You are not the first to fail me, nor will you be the last.”

Cassian loosened a low growl, “is that supposed to enlighten me?”

“It’s supposed to humiliate you.” I spat out; pulse sputtering. I pressed my hand into his burning chest. He was so hot to the touch, yet the color was leaving his naturally bronze cheeks. “I was a fool to think a lowly bastard would keep his word. Would protect me and my family.” I withdrew my hand and stepped around him.  

A snarl shook the shelves around us. I froze mid-step, waiting for his cruel reply. 

His raspy voice barely above a whisper, “I held on because of you.”

Turning on my heel, I barked, “held onto what?”

Cassian crossed his arms, crimson lines threatening to stain his clothing. His expression fell--the anger peeling off of him, replaced by frigid stone. “I’ll leave.”

“Well, bastard commander, please do.”

Cassian bared his teeth, sending shivers down my back. He bit his tongue before saying his retort.

A silent apology filtering out of his eyes.

He had noticed, shit. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to show my emotions. I wasn’t flustered before, I wasn’t so distracted before the cauldron.

That damn cauldron.  

Cassian’s demeanor shifted, a serpent tongue licking his lips seductively. “When you come to accept this sick twist of fate, when your bones quake with longing and your heart beats with desire. Just know, Illyrians have had hundreds of years to practice,” his eyes lingered over my breasts then back up, “to fuck.” Cassian smirked at my flushed cheeks, “whenever you’re ready, Nes,” he winked while stepping away.

“Pig,” I breathed, I could feel the warmth racing to my chest. Rosy patches filtered up my neck, threatening to stain my skin forever. “You’re a disgusting pig,” I muttered. The anger distracted me from my moment of shame and weakness.  

Cassian’s deep chuckle cut off. His eyes widening as blood dripped from his mouth.

“Cass? Cassian?” I sternly asked, my brows knitted together as I watched him drop to the floor. As the oozing crimson seeped out of his ravaged wings, I heard his cries of pain.

The surrounding books began to rattle violently. Library walls crumbling beside us.

I launched forward, crumbling to my knees, towards Cassain’s limp body. “Wake up,” I begged, “wake up…”

Where we once stood, a tomb of knowledge, had disappeared completely. The room became clearer as I whirled around…I knew this chamber. My gray-blue eyes flickered to the small dais that led up to the cauldron.

“No…” I whispered, my eyes darting from Cassian to the cauldron. Not here, I couldn’t be here—not again.

Cassian laid on his stomach, his torn wings spread out. Tendrils of scarlet racing towards the cracks in the floor.  

Feyre, Rhysand, Mor and Azriel…all of them with a clear picture of horror on their faces. A blend of rage and agony—all helplessly watching.

My eyes burned with tears as Elain was thrown out of the cauldron, riding a wave of death till she smacked into the floor. Before I knew it, I screamed—threatening curses rushed out of me in between roars. Hands tightened around my arms, restraining me from leaping forward.

The King of Hybern lifted his chin towards me, “the hellcat now, if you’ll be so kind.”

I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. My focus on Elain shifted to Cassian. He had sworn to protect me, to protect her. The pounding in my chest shattered my ability to speak. Cassian wasn’t moving—slumped on the floor in a pool of blood.

The penetrating ringing in my ears muffled all other sounds.

He was gone.

Dead.

Guards hauled me forward—towards the cauldron.

I pulled and shoved, I fought and I would fight until they killed me. I would not go in. My nails dug into their armor, shredding what skin I could reach. I threw my leg into one guard’s groin; bucking with every step. But the guards were too strong, there were too many.

My racing heart, my hollow breathing…I was not enough. I could not save Feyre, Elain nor myself.

They hoisted me up to the water of my demise. My bare feet hit the waiting liquid. It was cold and wrong, making bumps race across my skin. Something was beneath the surface, I—I couldn’t see it. But I somehow knew.

The dark water whispered my name, beckoning me to sink.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

I thrashed and kicked, I would not go in. I couldn’t go in. Cursing roars rushed off my tongue but I didn’t feel it. I couldn’t feel anything as I looked one last time at Cassian. His hand was in a different position than before, like he had reached forward but failed to move any further.

Could he be?

I was thrusted in, dark water up to my covered shoulders. My last chance, I thrashed forward—liquid spewing at the guards who held me down.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

An icy thing touched my bare foot, caressing up my calf—I screamed.

My bloody fingernails clawed at the men again. This time scratching two in the face, nearly taking out their eyeballs. No, no…I couldn’t go beneath the surface—for whatever was waiting for me, I would surely die.

“Put her under,” the king hissed.

Three guards shoved my shoulders down, then pushed on the top of my head. I kicked my legs, hoping to stop whatever creature waited beneath. Freeing my arm of one guard’s grip, I pointed in defiance. Baring my fangs, I delivered a cursing finger, a death promise for Hybern’s head.

At once, all three men crammed what little of me remained above the surface into the pool of fate.

Frigid water enveloped me, caressing every curve. An icy hand dragging me deeper. I didn’t look down, afraid of the monsters that swam beneath. I was scared to face what latched onto me.  

I had to get out, I had to swim away.

The singing whispers grew louder, piercing my eardrums the farther we went.

I slammed my foot on the monster’s grip until I was released. My arms reaching towards the light as I attempted my escape.

The icy grip pulled on my ankle, tightening when I jerked in response. A bloodcurdling scream evaded my chest. Water entered my mouth, flooding my lungs. The iron hand adjusted around me, tighter and tighter as it dragged me down.

The more I coughed, the more ice entered my core. My eyes bulged, staring at the distant surface. I could feel life escape me, the only thing keeping me awake was the burning sensation that tore apart my throat.

The descent into darkness stripped me of my human form. Corroding the flesh of Elain, of me. Tears drifted out of me, engaging with the body of water I was trapped in.

This is where I die; where this world ends and another begins.

 Cassian:

It was too fast—everything that was happening. How out of control the situation had become. Spreading my wings, I let the searing talons of magic shred through me. Horrific screams released from my core. The only way I knew I was still alive, that I was still fucking breathing was because of her screams.

The King of Hybern seethed, “put her under.”

My legs locked into place, scraps of my wings remained but I pushed forward. An inch, barely that—as I lifted my arm towards her. Blinded with rage and agony, I tried to get up. I had to get up.

I had promised her. I gave my word that I would protect her and her sister. It was too late for Elain, but…I had to reach her.

The gods-damn guards pushed her in, shoving her beneath the surface.

“Nesta...” I breathed, a surge of fire bored through me as I stared up at her. She couldn’t hear me, instead she had lifted a finger—a vow to end him.

I had never been prouder.

Sliding to position, I waited till their focus turned to Feyre who was vomiting across the floor. Pulling myself closer to the cauldron, little by little as the room remained focus on the other Archeron sisters. Moving forward, I released a muffled moan…my bloody hand reached forward. I dug my fingers into the crimson cracks and pulled. A trail of red behind me; I kept moving.

Close. So damn close. I could make it.

I launched to my feet, nearly passing out from the pain and dived into the cauldron. Multiple guards tried to pry me out but I swam deeper, faster—as if my entire future depended on it.

Light filtered down, illuminating Nesta’s body. Her eyes nearly shut, she was fading. Nesta’s limp arms held out towards the surface. She had to know I’d come for her. My lungs burned the farther I went, but I was too close now. Coils of blood swirled in the water, clouding the distance between us.

Blindly, I reached out for her hand.

I clutched onto an icicle. Nesta. I needed air. I needed to get us out. I tugged, pulling myself down to her. Blue lips and a pale complexion…

Nesta…

Wrapping my arm around her waist, I shot us to the surface. Something grabbed at my boots, trying to drag me back down. I raised my leg, putting what remaining strength I had into that kick.  

Whatever it was, it had let go. We were free.

My wings held us back, a weight of despair piling on. I couldn’t lose her.

Breaking through the surface, I gasped for air. The bloody water drained off our faces. Slamming my body into the side of the cauldron, we tipped over. Red hued water gushed onto the floor, our bodies sprawled next to one another.

“Nesta?” I got to my knees, quickly crawling towards her. The shattering pain in my spine made me cry out it pain. “Shit!” I yelped as I nearly collapsed on top of her. “Nesta…” I flipped her on her back, forcing my calloused hand down. “Breathe, Nesta. C’mon…” I muttered, pressing my lips to hers.

A wall of tears built in my eyes, “get up—wake up.” I slammed my hand on her again. “Breathe, damn it!” the burning in my eyes increased as I felt the warm tears rush down my face. “Nesta,” my voice cracked, “get up, Nes.” I pressed my quaking lips against hers, tears dripping onto her pale skin.

Water spewed into my face as she coughed. Nesta gasped for air, struggling to get the oxygen down her windpipe fast enough. “Don’t…” Nesta breathed heavily, “call me, Nes,” she finished, still choking on her words.

Without hesitating, I collapsed beside her, our raspy breaths piercing the silence.

“You’re alive,” I nearly cried in relief. My fumbling hand found hers. They were cold, but increasing in temperature.

Nesta stayed silent, still catching her breath.

My eyes adjusted as the stone chamber shifted into something new. Walls of pink, hundreds of shelves filled with novels. We were in her head again, in the place she had never let anyone in. 

“I thought,” I shakily exhaled, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I thought I lost you.”

Nesta turned her head to face me. I could feel her eyes scanning over my silhouette.  

 Nesta:

The ache in my throat prevented me from speaking. Was he here? Or was this another dream? Was there a difference anymore?

“How are you here?” my hoarse voice barely recognizable.

Cassian tilted his head towards me, “I don’t know.” He raised his hand toward my face, wincing in pain as his palm rested on my neck. Cassian’s thumb brushed up and down my jaw line. “You’re alive.”

I nodded, closing my eyes as I let his touch continue. My galloping heart settled, in a trance from his warmth.

“Where are you?”

My eyes shot open, “no.”

“Tell me, Nesta,” his thumb stopped moving. Copper eyes penetrated me, searching for any clue I would give away.

“No,” I sobbed, traitorous tears flooded out of me.

Cassian shook his head, pulling me closer until our bodies collided. “I know you’re in the Autumn Court. I know it was Eris. Where are you?” he demanded, his voice thickening with malice. “Why…why won’t you tell me?”

“Because…”

“Why?!” His voice raised, shaking the surrounding walls. “Why?” He asked again, this time with more control.

I bit my lip, watching as the amber tears didn’t burn his golden skin. Several minutes had passed before I could finally speak.

“You will lose me either way. Whether I’m trapped here or back in the Night Court.”

He exhaled heavily, nearly giving up—but I knew better.

“I won’t stop searching for you.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me,” he stood to his feet, reaching out a hand for me to grab.

For a moment, I saw the damage I had done, the melted flesh of his arm. I sighed, closing my eyes to clear the image. The bastard was head strong, I’ll give him that.

“You don’t…” I grabbed his hand, feeling the electricity pulse through us. Stuck, my words were lost on the tip of my tongue. Something snapped in my chest, a heartstring, perhaps?

Cassian wiped his face, clearing the frustration off his skin, “please…”

“When you come here. When you find me. What will you do?”

“Take you home, wherever that may be for you.” Truth laced his words, the color in his face returning.

I debated whether or not to tell him. Whether I should keep my mouth shut, save him from me. “Maybe I deserve this…the torture, the pain. It’s what I’ve inflicted on everyone else for so many years. It was about time it caught up to me.”

“Save your gods-damn speech for your sisters. You could have murdered a whole village and I would still come after you.”

“Liar.”

He shook his head again, balling his fists as he bit his lip so hard he bled.

Staring at the floor, processing his words--it came to me. “After I take your life, who will be next?” I asked him, repeating Mor’s words that had crushed me.

Cassian’s face fell, transforming into something between anger and realization. “Is that what she said to you?”

“Who?”

“Mor.”

My spine stiffened, mental shields dropping in surprise. The smell of the dungeon filled the air, suffocating our breath with a retched scent. Cassian’s eyes widened. I turned behind me, towards the windows facing the magnolia trees.  

The windows had vanished, unveiling my cell. Eris moved towards me with a worried expression. “Nesta?” He asked, fear rising in his voice. “Nesta?”

“The dungeon,” Cassian said through clenched teeth. Fury lit in his hazel eyes, his inner monster released.

“Cassian, don’t….” I begged, “please”. He needed to stay away, he had to stay alive. They needed him, the family—Velaris.  

“If he lays a finger on you…” he warned, his voice turning guttural, “I’ll kill him.”  

“Cassian,” I pleaded, pulling at his scarred arm, “don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, instead he focused in on Eris, on my cell. Soaking in every detail he needed to find me.

I slapped him, the only thing I could think of. Cassian’s hand lifted to his jaw, holding the sore spot as his eyes ravaged me.

“Listen to me…” I snapped, my heart thundering so loudly that it reverberated off the rosy colored walls. “I will not lose anyone else I lov…” I stopped before I could finish, before I revealed more than I wanted to.

“What?” Cassian’s hand dropped, his questioning eyes searching deeper and deeper into me. “What were you…?”

I swallowed hard, wishing I had just kept my mouth shut. “If you come here, if you die,” my voice shook.

Cassian raised his chin, “I have failed you,” he cleared his throat, “…in more ways than I care to say.” His calloused thumb brushed over my cheekbone. “I refuse to do so again.”

“No…” I begged, “no.” Shaking my head as amber tears grew with a vengeance.

“Flaming beauty,” he smirked, disappearing from my head.

“Cassian!” I screamed, reaching for him only to swat air. “Cassian!” I cried.  

  “Wake up woman,” his voice rang against the stone walls. Eris shook my shoulders violently, fire spreading down his hands and onto my shoulders. “Nesta!”

I gasped for air, unable to focus my eyes on anything in particular. Blurry, everything was just a blend of autumn colors.

“For cauldron sake, woman.” Eris breathed, fire circling down my arms. “Nesta?” He asked more calmly, waving a hand in front of my face.

“What happened?” I asked, hissing at the searing pain on my wrists.

“You were whimpering…then screaming.”

My eyes focused on his auburn hair, dropping to his amber eyes. “Get these things off of me,” I demanded. I winced again, this time from the overwhelming nausea.

“If I take those off, what will you do?”

“What?”

“Who will you…?” Eris stopped, his back as stiff as a column. His chin turned slightly to the left, a pointed ear raising.

“Eris…”

Eris glared at me, a warning. He turned on his heel, “brother, what brings you here so early?”

“I could ask the same for you,” Aedin stepped into the cell, his ravenous eyes finding mine.

The battle of brothers. Words forged with steel. A deadly end for one, if not both.

Aedin laughed without humor, “Ferron wants to see her.” He moved one step too close.

Eris stood next to me, closer than before. He positioned himself between me and Aedin. Eris’ wicked smirk displayed, as he looked me over then back to his younger brother. “I have plans for her first.”

“Father demands it.”

Eris growled, his body turned primal as he quickly grabbed my wrist. Winnowing us away before Aedin could react.

The shadows sung to me, calling me to step away from Eris. Urging me to move through the darkness and swim beneath the surface that separated this realm from another.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“Eris…” I whispered. Before I could say another word, the darkness disintegrated. We were in someone’s chambers, a bedroom built for the future High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Golden leaf sconces lit with orbs of fire. Tapestries hung on every wall—similar to the ones in the throne room. Carpets with copper threading sparkled in the dim lighting.  

I walked around the room, praying the edge would wear off by doing so. A large bed was displayed in the middle of the chamber. Decadent velvet fabrics hung off the copper frame of the bed.  

“Your room?” I presumed, as I stared at the overtly autumn décor.  

Eris shrugged, “not my taste.”

“What is your taste?” I asked to distract myself from the growing anxiety. Though we were out of the darkness, I could still hear the singing whispers.

“You swam among us. You walked through darkness. You danced in the deep. Until you found, your way to victory. Come play with us,” the voices echoed, “come play with me,” a single, hollow voice sung to me.

Bumps raced across my skin.

His voice.

Not Cassian’s, not Eris.

Not Hybern’s.

The one who haunted me whether I was asleep or awake. A corruption of what little sanity I had remaining.

“Nesta…” He sung to me.

The restraints glowed brighter as the fire in my core sparked. “Ronan...?” I mumbled, glancing to every corner of the room.

His sickening laughter echoed through the chamber.

Acid rose up my throat, searing my esophagus. “Go away,” I muttered, my heart beating so loud I could barely hear his humorless laughter.  

“You need to eat,” Eris interrupted, his bushy brow raised, “who’s Ronan?” He took a long sip from a silver goblet.

My eyes flashed to Eris, to the cup he sipped from. If that was wine or ale, really any form of alcohol--I wanted it. “No one,” I replied, “what were you saying?”

“You need to eat before we enter Ferron’s dungeon. You need your strength,” he said sternly, still keeping a watchful eye on me. Eris held the goblet towards me, “Autumn Court specialty.”

I reached towards the shiny cup, “I thought I was in the dungeon.”

“We have several.”

I could feel myself sink, at an unstoppable momentum as I thought of the hundreds—thousands—who have died on this soil. “How many beings must rot beneath your feet.”

“I’m in the south tower, separated from the others.” Eris observed me as I downed the sweet and spicy cider.

I wiped my mouth, relieved as the alcohol swiftly eased my nerves.

“I couldn’t stand to hear their screams at night,” his voice trailed away, distant memories plaguing him.

“I’m not hungry,” I mentioned, in attempt to reel him back in.  

Eris laughed at my growling tummy. “You say that, but your gurgling stomach says otherwise,” he winnowed out of the room.  

I pressed on my stomach, the chains invading my tunic with a blistering chill. I didn’t bother to protest any further, not to an empty room at least.  

He reappeared with a large tray of food. Setting it on the wooden desk that overlooked the farm lands in the south.

Instantly, my appetite was spoiled by the plate of red.

“Our traditional breakfast. It’s not bad, if you enjoy a healthy amount of spice in your food.” He tried to crack a smile but scowled instead, shaking his head as he focused on the farthest tapestry.

I stared at the bloody sausages, the side of eggs spiced with specks of black and red. The lump in my throat grew as I scanned over a bowl of sliced pomegranates and another filled with spiced gray mush.

Eris pulled out a chair, beckoning me to sit, “is something wrong?”

All I could focus on was the scarlet dripping out of the sausages. Images of Hybern’s detached head flashed before me. I looked at my hands, at the crimson stains I would never be able to wipe off. Vomit threatened to expel from me. Tunnel vision prevented me from looking anywhere else but this damn tray.

Eris slid the food out of view, “what do you like to eat?”

“Hm?” I asked, snapping out of my daze. The orbs of fire grew brighter, illuminating the dark corners of the room.  

“Eat. What do you like to eat?” His amber eyes narrowed, “anything in particular?” Frustration hardening his posture.

“I’m not hungry,” I retorted. Ice racing threw my veins, making its way up my forearm.

Eris sighed heavily, “hopefully your stubbornness will get you through Ferron’s sessions.”

“How many?” I asked coldly, focusing on the farmer’s young son helping guide the horses.

“How many?” Eris asked perplexed, his eyes settling on me.

I finally peered up at him, “how many has he tortured?” The ancient cold from the faebane chains had slithered up my arms, invading my shoulders.

“Enough,” he murmured, wetting his soft lips.

“Will he...?” I couldn’t say it, Tomas and Aedin’s laughter stalked me. Their words slicing into my soul as if it were happening for the first time.

Eris scrutinized every line that struck my face. Every worry that I had felt since being captured. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?” I parted away from the desk, edging towards the window to gain a better view of freedom.

Eris stood beside me, his hands pulled behind his back. “Because I’ll be there to make sure he won’t.” He didn’t look at me, instead he studied a farmer raising his scythe. “Not everyone in the Autumn Court is as cruel as those you have met.”

The farmer brought down the long, curved blade. “You still have yet to convince me.” The penetrating ice worked its way over my shoulders…descending to my heart.

“Am I not proof enough?” He asked incredulously, his jaw tightening.  

Prying my blue-gray eyes off the field work, I observed one of the most dangerous men in Prythian…and criticized him, “you stole me away. You took me from my home.”

The corners of Eris’ lips twitched upwards, “if it was your home, you wouldn’t have run away.”

“I did it to protect them,” I argued, heat flushing my pale cheeks.

Eris’ body shifted, opening himself towards me, “from what?”

“From me.”

In case you missed the previous parts...

ONE

TWO 

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN