#remember to feed your middle aged men

[kply-industries]

[tiredfox64]

Hello! I wanted to know if you can make a request for kuai liang mk11 and his wife that have newborn twin babies?

Relax Mama

Yip notes: I love old men….

Pairing: Kuai Liang (MK11) x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: I don’t want baby fever

Giving birth ain’t easy. But giving birth to twins, ah good luck.

Thank goodness your baby boys were healthy. You were stuck in labor for about fifteen hours so you were beat. So was your husband, you crushed his poor hand.

And to think you thought with Kuai Liang’s old age there would be issues with getting pregnant. Hah! Jokes on you, you get two. Never doubt him again.

You knew the struggle wouldn’t end even after you pushed those babies out. They are needy little things. But Kuai Liang was determined to let you rest as much as you could. If the babies woke up in the middle of the night he would be the first to get out of bed to deal with them. If the babies were hungry he just brought them to you. You’re responsible for the breastfeeding part.

He tries his hardest he really does. No one taught him how to be a parent he is going on pure instincts or what he can remember from his childhood that wasn’t so messed up. He was doing his best so that you could get rest and he could prevent any mental stress. He has the strength to carry these baby around all day, he’s got this.

What a sight to see for everyone in the Lin Kuei. Seeing there grandmaster who is always so serious and gruff carry around two sweet, cuddly babies. The twins immediately fall asleep in Kuai Liang’s arms. One of them was even drooling on his uniform. People are just melting at the sight of your husband holding onto those babies. That is until he yells at them to keep training. The babies have gotten used to the yelling at this point.

Motherly instincts won’t let you sit down at all. You’re still tired but you want to tend to the babies even though they are in safe hands. You walked over to Kuai Liang, your movements a bit sluggish.

“Why are you out of bed? You should not be up while in your conditions.” He warned you.

“I know, I know. I just feel like I need to check on them.” You replied.

Kuai Liang could see that you were worried. He knows you want to help out since they are your children too. You don’t want him doing this alone and neither does he. You’re new parents and this can be exciting yet also scary. Perhaps it’s time that you both get some outside help. Any help would do and Kuai Liang knew the right person to call.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

A tall man with tan skin and yellow attire stood before you in the doorway. He had swords and a chained kunai with him.

It’s Hanzo.

It’s freakin-it’s freaking Hanzo! YOUR HUSBAND CALLED HANZO FOR HELP.

“I was unaware that you had a wife and children.” He said to Kuai Liang.

“Did you doubt my ability to find a partner?”

Hanzo didn’t say anything because, yes, he did doubt that Kuai Liang would ever settle down. Hell you thought the same but look where you are now.

You informed Hanzo that the babies were only four weeks only. They still got that new baby smell. You handed over one of the boys to Hanzo to hold onto. Your baby looked up at him in confusion, unsure of who this man was.

“You have been feeding them well, I can already tell. They do not seem that fussy. You are incredibly lucky.” He stated.

Hanzo bent down and began to put your baby on the floor. Kuai Liang did the same with the other one. He was not too sure why he was doing that until he saw Hanzo put the baby on their stomach. Oh right, it is best to start helping them grow some strength in their neck and limbs.

Your sons didn’t seem to like that. They kept trying to roll over but then Kuai Liang would roll them back on their stomachs. It looked silly but they really do need tummy time. When you asked Hanzo if there was anything else you done were not doing right he asked you simple questions.

“Are you feeding them?”

“Yes”

“Are you changing them?”

“Yes”

“Are you bathing them?”

“Definitely.”

“Do you love them?”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s all you need to do for now.”

If you think about it, it makes sense. They are new to the world and although they are needy there isn’t much they truly need. You and Kuai Liang absolutely adore your sons. They are the cutest things ever that will eventually turn into honorable warriors. But for now all you need to do was give them your attention and love.

A few minutes passed and that was enough tummy time for your boys. You and Kuai Liang picked them up. They stopped being fussy the moment they were in your arms. This whole time you and Kuai Liang have been doing the right thing. You were worried about nothing. Your babies are doing fine. You are doing fine, mama! Kuai Liang took hold of your hand and squeezed it gently as a sign to just relax.

Kuai Liang thanked Hanzo for his help. Though he didn’t do much anything was still helpful. The only thing Hanzo asked of him is to not ask him to babysit, they ain’t that close.

Once Hanzo left you two seemed to be in a better mood knowing that you both were parenting well. For some reason others in the clan took that as a signal to approach you two with wide smiles. They seemed giddy about something.

“Since you both are more comfortable…does that mean we get to hold them?” One clansman asked.

Even the toughest warriors can’t help but to gush at a pair of well-behaved babies. But your husband will tell them to,

“Get back to training!”

Yap notes: I’m sorry if this is too short I tried. You legit can’t do much with newborns because they are like potatoes, they don’t even know they exist. I would like to do more with mk11 Kuai Liang and im just sad I might have botched this. If you want me to try something else with him or possibly redo this I understand.

[hanafubukki]

My mind went a different way with the "Lilia finds you in a puddle of your own blood" prompt. Like... a Beauty and the Beast way haha. A beast with children- they could either be young or canon age so let's go with canon.

He's making an errand run in the village and also takes a stroll in the outskirts to make sure there's nothing troublesome in the area. Thats where he finds you in your own blood, off a beaten path where likely nobody would look for you. He doesn't know what happened, but you don't look like the type of person who deserves to die on the side of a road. So he takes you home with him to fix you up (with magic fae stuff idk). You're brought to the castle they live in, avoided by everyone in the area, and are put in an extravagant guest room where you're tended to. It takes three days for you to wake up. The first person you meet is Silver coming to check up on you. You don't recall what happened to you so Sipver explains how his father found you and healed you. The young man is so kind and gentle, you imagine his father must be the same way. You can't thank him personally yet, though, because he's gone further away for some supplies not avaliable in the village. Silver is the one who brings you meals and such, although a couple of times it's been Sebek, who yells at you that you'd better not be trouble and to be grateful for Lilia. You don't meet Malleus until you can leave your bed. You run into him in the castle- this strangely large but empty castle, housing only 4 men and is cleaned using magic. He's kind like Silver but with a hint of mischief. He gives you a tour and keeps you entertained. While he doesn't seem to actively seek you out, he does appear before you routinely an hour after you leave your room and seems reluctant to leave your side.

A week later is when Lilia returns. He's glad to hear you're up and out of bed. But you freeze when you lay your eyes on him. You know him. You've seen him before. You and a friend had stayed out a little too late one night and you caught a glimpse of him in the moonlight. Deadly fierce as he pushed his sword through a monstrous beast's chest. You didn't know WHO he was, but you knew he was dangerous and didn't want to be on the wrong end of his ire. And now you're in his castle with his sons. But...the personality he's showing is the exact opposite of what you saw that night. He's lively and funny and....weird in an endearing way. You thought your heart would race from fright but instead its racing for reasons you don't yet want to admit. And you forget that you could go home at this point, but instead you're fitting into this family's life so seamlessly and now....you don't want to leave. You want to watch Sebek and Silver bicker and have Malleus explain his favorite gargoyles to you. You want to cook a fsmily supper for everyone and enjoy evenings by the fire as everyone relaxes before bed. You want Lilia to take his spooks on you a step further...to kabedon you against the wall, to have you feed him a spoonful of soup you're in the middle of cooking, to share a bedroom with him....but is that even something he wants or would ever want? Are you a guest to him? A friend? A .... daughter? You want to be none of those things, but what right do you have to want that? After only a month or two, to be a permanent member of this family you hadn't know had even existed before.

((And later on, when you accompany Lilia into the village, you run into a big and burley man. And you remember what had happened that night Lilia found you. He'd been upset with you- you hadn't expected him to be so upset that he chased you into the woods and brandished a knife and....and did that to you. Lilia can tell instantly how you change and pulls you away from the man. He can tell that that man is the one responsible for you almost losing your life that night. It doesn't matter if you've remembered or not- your body does, and now that he knows who did that to you....he'll have to pay him a visit later that night, when the man is leaving the tavern and stumbling to a tree to relieve himself.))

-Fake Date Sebek Anon 😘

[referencing this post]

Hello Fake Date Sebek Anonie 🌷💚💞

I love how that post just went in all different directions in the reblogs lolol love it. 💞💞

Also Anonie, *grabs you* I need that sebek dating fic continued 😭 pleeaassseee 🙏🙏🙏

I love the beauty and the beast route this went. So wholesome and domestically cute 💞💞

To be kabedoned by Lilia and those domestic moments?? It’s a NEED not a want at this point. It’s a “it’s part of my survival and happiness” tier. Lilia please 🙏🙏

Time for the sons and sebek to play match maker 🤧🫶

Lilia could tell right away that something is wrong. Your trembling form and hitched breath gives it away. The way the man eyes you both tells him all he needs to know.

First he’s going to get you away from him, calm you down before you get into a panic attack.

All the while, he’s planning his nightly hunt. He’s a beast after all and the full moon will be here soon. It’s been awhile since he’s stretched his wings and let his claws out.

For now though, he’s taking you home where you can be at peace with him and the boys.

[universitypenguin]

Summary: Lloyd delays telling Princess about her stalker’s identity. Vivian has a medical appointment, which leads to an episode of babysitting where Lloyd bonds with a three-year-old. Meanwhile, an unexpected event kicks the serial killer investigation into high gear.

Masterlist

Word Count: 6,866

Warnings: Smut, erotica level explicitness, impact play (Lloyd spanks Princess), and semi-rough sex. Criminal activity including stalking, kidnapping, and murder. Mention of child abandonment and dysfunctional family dynamics.

Chapter 22

From your perch on a barstool, you watched Lloyd stir a pot on the stove. He wore a snug pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. You decided this was your favorite look on him. Lloyd glanced over his shoulder and caught you staring. He smirked.

“See something you like, Princess?”

“Mmmhh. You’re like a real life Calvin Klein model, and you’re cooking me dinner.”

Lloyd snorted. “Their current poster boy is what, twenty-one?”

“I don’t know. Calvin Klein models were more of a middle school fantasy for me.”

“Which models, specifically?” he asked.

“The ones featured during the South African World Cup. The internet was plastered with their photos. You don’t remember?”

“Twelve years ago I was in Afghanistan. They don’t allow underwear commercials.”

“Well, I can’t remember his name, but he was a Danish soccer player, who was like three times my age.”

“You were drooling over thirty-six-year-old men when you were twelve?”

“What? He had really great abs.”

Lloyd shook his head, returning his attention to the pot of soup simmering on the stove.

“They were inescapable, and I had a lot of hormones, okay? All those delicious muscles slathered in baby oil was my sexual awakening.”

“Once you hit thirty, you’ll feel more comfortable thinking about sexual awakenings happening around the age of sixteen, or even better, seventeen.”

You laughed. “That’s not reality.”

He flicked off the burner and winked. “Once you eat something, let’s talk about these soccer player fantasies. I want details.”

“Don’t get your hopes up - I wasn’t old enough to fill in the details. Now, my highschool fantasies? Those are worth talking about.”

Lloyd caught you around the waist and pulled you into his lap when you moved to sit down at the dining room table. You giggled when his hands snuck under the hem of the button down dress shirt you wore, exploring the bare skin he found there.

“No panties?”

“Your dress shirt was all I could find. Someone must have stolen my clothes.”

“What a tragedy,” Lloyd murmured, nuzzling your cheek.

You giggled when his mustache tickled your neck. He kissed along your throat and across your jaw and chin, before finding your lips.

“First we eat, then you tell me everything,” he said.

Eating in Lloyd’s lap was surprisingly comfortable. He didn’t insist on feeding you and didn’t mind when you stole the spoon for yourself. After consuming half of the bowl, you handed it back to him and curled against him while he finished the dish. You sighed, content.

“See, this is even better than my fantasies. You can actually cook-”

“This hardly counts, it’s just soup.”

You ignored him, continuing, “-and you have chest hair. I didn’t know there was such a thing as a chest hair kink, but I definitely have one.”

Lloyd groaned as you traced the whorl pattern of hair on his right pectoral.

“Plus, you’re warm.”

“You’ll be all over me this winter, won’t you?” he said.

“Arm candy, bed warmer, and he’s smart? You really are the whole package, aren’t you?”

You stroked a zigzag pattern through the dark brown hairs of his happy trail just above the waistband of his boxers.

“Princess… you’re playing with fire.”

You smirked at his gravelly voice. “No, I’m not. You already turned off the stove.”

He grunted when you straddled him. The position put your breasts at the same height as his mouth. Lloyd nuzzled their upper swells as you sank your finger into his hair, petting the short strands at the back of his neck.

Lloyd unbuttoned your dress shirt and examined your breasts.

“Still sore?”

“They’re definitely tender.”

He rubbed one and you hissed.

“Yeah, that’s going to sting for a while,” he said.

“It’s not a bad sore, just kind of… raw?”

“Well, I did promise you raw nipples, didn’t I?”

“And a sore ass.”

Lloyd glanced up through his lashes. “I’m glad you brought that up, Princess. It reminds me… I only delivered on half of my promise.”

“Huh?”

“I gave you instructions, and you disobeyed me. That warrants punishment, don’t you think?”

“Lloyd, I’ve never let anyone paddle my ass, and if you think-”

He moved too fast for you to protest, manhandling you so you lay chest down, spread over his thighs. Your breasts pressed against his leg and you moaned at the pressure on your aching nipples. Tension coiled in your belly as excitement heightened your sensitivity, making the raw flesh sting.

“Lloyd!”

“Scoot up. I suggest you cooperate because if I don’t spank you, I’m going to have to come up with another punishment. I have a few ideas…”

The butt plug and lube in his nightstand drawer flashed through your head. You scooted forward.

“Good girl, so obedient. I think you want to be punished, don’t you?”

You whimpered at his velvety voice. “Y-yes…”

Lloyd ran a calloused hand over the back of your thighs. “I’ve been thinking of smacking this pretty ass for a long time, Princess.”

That piqued your interest. “How long?”

“Too long,” he said, caressing your bottom.

“The first day you met me?”

“The second day. That pencil skirt, the one that goes past your knees? It’s blue and tight.”

You suddenly regretted donating that skirt last year during a closet declutter, even if it was a size too small.

“On the day you gave me your first research file, that’s what you wore. I still can’t forget how good your ass looked as you walked away. Last chance to back out, Princess.”

You squirmed, but didn’t object.

Lloyd grunted. “Princess, use your words.”

“I don’t think you have the guts to-”

His palm cracked on your left ass cheek. You gasped, stunned by the blow. He slapped the other side with the same force and you cried out. He pinched the fleshy part of your inner thighs between his thumb and forefinger, hard, eliciting a yelp.

“Don’t hold your breath. If you do, you’ll pass out,” Lloyd said.

Then his palm cracked against your skin. The sides alternated: left cheek, right, left, left, right…

“Lloyd!”

You surged up, only to have his forearm shoved into the small of your back, pinning you down.

“Arch your back, Princess. Keep your ass in the air, practice makes perfect.”

“Ow, Lloyd! That hurts!”

“It’s supposed to. You can’t follow instructions, then you pay the price, my naughty… little… fucktoy,” he hissed, punctuating the last three words with a smack.

Your back arched.

“Please! Fucking hell, Lloyd! Damn it, oh!”

You struggled to get enough leverage to escape, but he was too strong.

“Next time you’ll arch your back just like this, won’t you? You’ll be a good girl and keep your chest down and your ass up, huh?”

“Gaaahhh!” you screamed when he peppered a series of blows on a spot that was already aching.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…! Lloyd, please!”

He wasn’t holding back and despite the pain, his spanking was having the strangest effect on your body. It was turning you on. Your protests were born from shock and confusion, because you hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. The pain was the shocking part; the confusing part was that you hadn’t dreamed it would feel so good.

Yet, your toes were curling and your legs stiffened with each stinging swat. Every strike aroused you further. The harsher the sting of his hand, the sweeter the pleasure in your pussy. It was like the sting traveled through you, racing through nerves and transferring the heat of burning slaps on your skin to the inferno deep in your core. Your pussy was throbbing with a fire that was more intense than pain. Then his next blow triggered a cry that had nothing to do with discomfort.

Your thighs flexed and your toes curled as your shriek tapered off into a needy, hungry sound.

“Oh, fuck… Lloyd…”

You whimpered and rocked against his thigh, groaning at the overwhelming rush of pleasure, mingled with pain.

Lloyd cooed. “That’s my girl. Your pussy’s dripping down my leg.”

Your nipples tingled, still raw from their earlier treatment. You were panting and shivering, sweat trickling down your neck. He switched hands, and you squealed at the next barrage of unrelenting slaps. The line between what was pleasure and what was pain ceased to exist. You were acutely aware of the pulsating heat in your nipples and the hardness of Lloyd’s cock pressing against your belly.

The feelings his spanking elicited now were sharp and hot, causing your moans to drop into a lower register as you rocked back to meet each blow. Slowly, he eased into a gentler pace, delivering milder smacks.

Your chest was heaving as darkness danced on the edge of your vision.

“Breathe, Princess.”

You gasped.

“That’s it, good girl.”

His fingers brushed your sex, and you wailed, shuddering at the intensity of the sensation. Your back arched when he stroked your abused skin. The gentle caress made you keen.

Lloyd hauled you upright, turning you so your back pressed against his chest. Without his support you’d have slid to the floor. Your body buzzed with an urgent need and you mewled as he gently palmed your breasts.

You moaned, caught in the grip of a sensation somewhere between pain and immense pleasure.

“There, there, Princess. You’re okay. Next time, what are you going to do? Hmm?”

“Keep… my ass… up,” you sniffed, fighting back tears.

He rubbed the backs of his knuckles against the side of your breasts. “You’ll keep your ass up, and?”

“Chest down,” you whispered.

“That’s a good girl. We’ll try again when your nipples aren’t sore and you can show me what an obedient little fucktoy you are.”

You whined, thighs clenching. Tears were falling and your ass stung but you were so turned on that the pleasure was acutely uncomfortable. Lloyd’s hands drifted from your breasts to roam your body, tracing your waist, belly, and hips. He skimmed your thighs, tugging them apart until you spread them wide, giving him unrestricted access. His fingers dipped into your sex.

“Aw, fucking hell. That pussy’s drenched for me. I knew you’d like your spanking, naughty girls always do.”

He pinched your tender nipple, and you keened, tipping into a state of delirium. Your head fell back against his shoulder as your body went lax. Lloyd murmured something approving, but the words were lost in the buzz of euphoria that echoed in your ears. You couldn’t stop trembling.

Lloyd’s fingers breached your cunt, probing your g-spot.

“Yeah, gush all over my fingers. That’s my Princess, so fucking responsive. You’re spent, but this creamy little pussy just can’t get enough, can it? She’s throbbing. I bet it aches worse than your ass.”

He used his free hand to tease your clit, and you bucked, sobbing from the intense pleasure. You grasped his wrist to ease the friction and Lloyd snarled.

“Cut that out, or I’ll put you over my knee again.”

He spread your pussy open and stroked your entrance, collecting juices and swirling them over your clit.

“Come on my fingers, Princess.”

After issuing the command, he worked your clit hard. Within seconds you jackknifed from a lightning flash of pleasure that almost made you surge out of his arms. Lloyd nipped at your neck and the unexpected sensation made you shudder. His teeth sank into your skin as your body rolled with waves of ecstasy.

When you came down from the high, you felt the hardness under your thigh and squirmed. Lloyd allowed you to slide off his lap but caught your hips to steady you when your knees wobbled. After taking a second to get your bearings, you turned to face Lloyd, then sank to your knees between his legs.

Surprise flickered in his eyes but he lifted his hips, cooperating as you pulled down his boxers. The thick, ruddy cock sprang free, and you grasped it by the base, then licked at its weeping head. Lloyd groaned, shoving himself past your lips in a silent demand. You accepted him eagerly, wiggling your tongue against the underside of his cock.

“Yeah, just like that…”

He guided your head, showing you the tempo he preferred, then let go once you’d adopted the pace.

“Harder,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal.

You hollowed your cheeks and gripped him tighter. He hadn’t tried to push into your throat, which only made you more excited to perform the act. Relaxing your jaw, you inhaled through your nose and took him as deep as you could.

Lloyd gasped. His cock twitched in your throat, and you swallowed reflexively, moaning. When you couldn’t hold the position anymore, you pulled back, gagging. After another deep breath, you braced your hands on his thighs and repeated the maneuver. He was restrained, and that emboldened you to swallow harder, pushing yourself out of your comfort zone. You kept your hands on his thighs out of caution, aware that his good behavior might end at any moment.

The self-protection didn’t prove necessary. Going down on Lloyd was fun. He wasn’t pushy, and he was vocal about his pleasure. The slurred praise he offered when you took him deep made you quiver with excitement. When your jaw needed a break, you ran your tongue over his balls, laving the swollen sac and basking in the rough, male noises that rewarded your efforts.

You chipped in surprise when Lloyd hauled you to your feet. He jerked you onto his lap, cupping your ass while he aligned your bodies. His thick erection grazed your clit. The sensation was so intense that you jerked away. Lloyd growled, hauling you back down.

“Come on, relax for me, Princess. I know you’re desperate to be filled.”

He was right. Sucking him off had triggered a fresh wave of arousal that had fire licking at your core. Lloyd captured one of your battered nipples in his mouth and sucked, purring when you trembled in response. He released it and caressed your hips, then stroked his palms over the tender skin of your buttocks.

“Ready, sweetheart?”

You pressed your forehead against his and whimpered as his cock probed the entrance to your pussy. “Yes… Please, fuck me.”

He thrust up hard, impaling you with a single stroke. You screamed and dug your nails into his shoulders.

“Ah, fuck! Lloyd!”

“Shh… relax. Let me in. I know, I know. This is a new angle for you, isn’t it?”

He felt huge like this. The girth was too intense and you scrambled to adjust, hooking your ankles over his knees and raising your hips. Lloyd kneaded your ass, causing a rush of pleasure and pain that flooded your pussy with juices and allowed you to sink down a little further.

You groaned, thighs quivering as you struggled to hold yourself up. You were afraid your legs would give out, and you’d be impaled again. Lloyd claimed your mouth and kissed you. HIs mouth was slow and sensual and coaxed you into relaxing. You rolled your hips and whimpered when he slid deep, brushing a spot that made you quiver. He grasped your hips and pushed them back, then drew them forward.

You gasped at the sensation.

Lloyd paused. “Too deep?”

“N-n-no… Oh, fuck…”

You squirmed and tried to mimic the maneuver. Lloyd moaned.

“Atta girl, baby. Get yourself off on my cock.”

Your hips snapped harder at his encouragement. When he sucked delicately on one of your nipples, you keened. You lost your rhythm, but it didn’t matter because Lloyd took control. He used your body’s weight to guide your hips in quick tempo, rooting himself as deep as possible with every stroke. Your legs shook violently and when the orgasm hit, you screamed, unraveling into sobs of overwhelmed pleasure.

Lloyd took advantage of the deep angle. The ripples of your channel seemed to aim his cock right at the sweet spot that made you quiver and turned your muscles to Jell-O. His thrusts became rougher and harder, and your pussy creamed. You cried, disoriented, helpless against the unrestrained response of your body. All you could do was hang on and shudder as your eyes rolled back in your head and Lloyd’s hands guided your hips through the last of the orgasm.

He hissed your name and his seed flooded your womb, triggering another orgasm that wracked your exhausted muscles. After the final burst of ecstasy, your head fell into the crook of Lloyd’s neck and he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

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

Lloyd broke from his usual routine and silenced his alarm at 4 a.m.

He nestled against you, grateful that you were sleeping deeply, and therefore accepting of his intrusion into your side of the bed. When you were half-awake and still trying to cling to sleep you were very territorial about your personal space. He relished the victory of getting to hold you like this and pressed his forehead against the back of your neck. You slept soundly in these early hours, which sometimes allowed him to indulge in the affection he craved without disturbing you. Although he’d only intended to cuddle, he succumbed to sleep within minutes.

The buzzing of his phone woke him. Scowling at the time - it was just after six - he answered the unknown number.

“What do you want?”

“Hello, Lloyd.”

Lloyd’s nostrils flared. “Why are you calling me?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“We aren’t friends.”

“Fair point. Wait, don’t hang up. I have a new lead,” Court Gentry said.

Lloyd hesitated, his finger over the end call button.

“Go on.”

“The spy is trying to access files from B&H’s patent department. If they do, it’ll pose a threat to national security - a significant threat.”

“Then call Clayton Bishop, or the FBI - anyone but me,” Lloyd replied.

“Trust me, if I could, I would. You’re the only person I’m sure isn’t involved. The latest efforts to access the files prove this guy has hacking skills. He’s trying to exploit weaknesses in your cyber security and someone’s helping him. I know something is going down this week. I need your help.”

“No. I’m not a spy. Don’t call me again.”

Lloyd tossed the phone on the nightstand and sighed. The Chinese spy wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t even Court’s problem, but Gentry wasn’t the type to keep his nose out of other people’s business.

You murmured and rustled in the blankets, stealing the covers he’d loosened his grip on. Lloyd watched as you coiled yourself into a cocoon of blankets and wondered how you didn’t smother yourself by sleeping like that. His phone buzzed again. The sound made your lashes flutter and Lloyd rubbed your back. He was inordinately pleased when you settled immediately, your breathing evening out again.

Lloyd silenced the phone and checked his text messages.

There were three new messages, all from Jake. One had just arrived. The other two had come in around 5 a.m.

Hey. I need to upgrade the security on your guys laptops - work and personal. The stalker’s been trying to hack them. It’s mainly Princess’ work computer, but I want to cover all the bases just in case.

What time can I come over?

Lloyd? R u awake?

He responded, letting Jake know he could come over after eight, then went downstairs to make coffee.

Between the call from Court and Jake’s texts, the morning had gone sour. His anxiety was flaring back up and he was halfway through his first cup of coffee when it occurred to him that caffeine probably wasn’t the greatest idea right now. He poured the rest of his coffee down the sink and rubbed his jaw, wondering what problem to tackle first. There was the matter of telling you about Nguyen, reviewing your notes from the interview with Aliyah, catching up with Jake about the attacks on your laptops, and… Lloyd frowned.

The conversation with Court was still echoing in his head. Could the cyber attacks on your work computer have something to do with Nguyen? Did that fit the stalker’s profile? Aiden might be behind the latest attack. That would make sense… kind of.

Lloyd leaned against the counter, scowling, and wishing he hadn’t thrown the last of his coffee down the drain. Maybe Nguyen was the serial killer. Bishop still believed he was, and while Lloyd wasn’t keen on his boss’ blind faith in that theory, he suddenly wanted to take another look at Nguyen. His gut said that he’d missed something - something critical.

“Do I smell coffee?”

He turned to see you standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing his robe.

“Yeah, creamer’s in the fridge.”

Lloyd waited while you doctored your coffee and took a few sips. He’d figured out what he needed to say, but instead, he grabbed the files Landon had given him yesterday.

“Princess. We need to talk about your stalker.”

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

You sat at the dining table, reading the files. Each one was labeled with a name: Georgina Rochester, Aiden LeDoux, Shun Nguyen, and finally, Juan Medina.

Picking up Juan’s file, you frowned.

“What’s this?”

Lloyd cleared his throat. “We investigated all potential suspects we could think of.”

“Really? Investigating Juan would’ve involved talking to me. That never happened.”

“Given the circumstances, I can’t expect you to be impartial.”

Your gaze sharpened. “I’ve known Juan for a decade.”

“Princess, you’re too close to him to see him as a threat, and you know it.”

“And maybe you’re too far removed to see that he’s harmless. Everything in here is technically true - Juan got into bar fights and took anger management classes - but there’s more to the story.”

“Then explain it.”

“Juan’s little brother just turned twenty-one. He’s always had a bad temper and alcohol exacerbates it. Juan’s tried to keep him out of trouble but-”

“There’s no arrest record for the brother,” Lloyd interrupted.

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Juan is the complete opposite of his brother and he’d never do anything to harm his family.”

“He’s been charged with multiple misdemeanors.”

“Two nights in jail hardly makes him a hardened criminal.”

“Princess, you’re one of the most loyal people I know. You’d defend someone you love even if they were guilty.”

“Maybe I would, but the idea that Juan would hurt me is ridiculous. He’s not angry or dangerous.”

“We can’t afford to dismiss any leads,” Lloyd said.

“But this lead isn’t significant. You should’ve discussed this with me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to defend him.”

“The impression you get of Juan from this file is totally wrong and knowing the backstory changes everything. Letting me explain would’ve saved time and resources.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. We’re running down every lead in this case - especially after what happened two weeks ago. I’m not risking your safety on a blind spot.”

“You’re not listening to me. I know Juan and I trust him. I’m absolutely sure he isn’t the stalker.”

“I don’t even trust myself to be objective right now, Princess. Neither of us should try to unravel the stalker’s identity. If Juan made the suspect list, he’s on it until Landon decides he isn’t.”

“Then I need to talk to Landon because investigating Juan is a waste of time.”

“I’m sorry this makes you uncomfortable, but we should turn over every stone.”

“You’re being unreasonable on purpose, aren’t you?”

Lloyd’s expression softened. “I’m sorry I waited to tell you about this, but please, leave the investigating to Landon. He’ll figure it out. If Juan is as squeaky clean as you think, it won’t take long.”

You sighed, rubbing your neck. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle. I’m just…”

Suddenly, you were on the verge of tears. Your voice cracked when you tried to speak and you buried your face in your hands.

“Hey, it’s okay.”

Lloyd stood up and moved around the table. His arms wrapped around you as he let you bury your head in his chest.

“I’m here, Princess. Everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this and things will go back to normal. You’re safe.”

“How can I be safe if Nguyen is in the country?”

Lloyd squeezed you. “I won’t let you out of my sight. Also, Jake’s coming over to update the security systems on the house and our computers. We’re taking every precaution and then some, okay?”

You pulled back and looked up at him, lips compressing in a grimace.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about something… Vivian has an appointment with her obstetrician. She asked me if I could watch the kids this afternoon.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Lloyd said.

“I agree, but she needs my help. If you came with me, you could search for evidence on Juan. Think of how much time that would save Landon. Can we take evasive measures and sneak over, or is it totally out of the question?”

He hesitated. “It might not be safe.”

“The last thing I want to do is put Vivian’s family at risk, but if there’s a way to make it happen…”

“Have you discussed this with Vivian?” Lloyd asked.

“I can talk to her.”

“Explain the situation and if she’s okay with it, I’ll figure something out. Just don’t say anything about Juan, please.”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

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

Lloyd sat at Juan Medina’s desk in the upstairs master bedroom, preoccupied with Juan’s laptop. He kept an ear out for sounds that would warn him of an approaching toddler or the jangle of tags from the family dog, Chewy. The tan and white Cavalier King Charles spaniel had taken an instant dislike to Lloyd at first sniff, which he considered to be very insightful on the canine’s part.

The house was fairly quiet. The only sounds from downstairs were of you cleaning. He could hear the rumble of the washing machine, along with the frequent buzz of the dryer and the dishwasher. Your efficiency was unrivaled. He’d listened to the sound of you tackling a mountain of household chores while keeping the smaller toddler - the boy, Sam - occupied. Meanwhile, the three-year-old, Alyssa, had escaped to the backyard. From the window over the desk, he could see her playing in the yard.

His thorough search of Juan Medina’s laptop had yielded nothing of value. The man’s internet search history was full of hockey, nerdy online card games, and researching which fantasy novels he wanted to buy next. Judging by the bookcase, your brother-in-law’s primary hobby was reading. His offline commitments included a weekly Dungeons & Dragons meetup at the library, helping his mother with yard work, and taking the kids on monthly field trips with a local father’s group. Juan was probably pretty normal by regular standards, but to Lloyd he was the most boring person on earth. He was also envious of the man and that drove him nuts because he couldn’t pin down a reason why he felt that way.

Lloyd brushed off the feeling and closed Juan’s laptop.

Downstairs, the transformation in the family room startled him. The clutter of kid’s toys, piles of books, jackets, blankets, and empty drinking glasses had vanished. He barely recognized the room. In the kitchen, the countertops gleamed. You’d swept and mopped the floor and conquered the overflowing pile of dishes. The family room, the kitchen, the living room, it was all spotless. Even the sliding glass doors that had been covered in Chewy’s nose prints was now clean.

He noticed the basket of folded laundry by the couch and shook his head. How had you managed all this in just a few hours?

Lloyd walked out onto the deck where Sam was playing with a toy tractor. The little boy was so absorbed in his own world that he didn’t spare the man a glance when he walked by. Lloyd headed down the steps to the yard and headed to where you were crouched in the middle of the yard, looking frustrated.

“What are you doing?” Lloyd asked.

“I’m trying to fix this sprinkler head. Juan left Vivian a note to have Dad take a look, so I read a how-to article, which made it seem easy enough. I think I was lied to.”

Lloyd squatted down. “What step are you on?”

“Taking off the sprinkler head. I’m afraid if I use any more force it’ll break.”

“Do you have a screwdriver with a longer handle? You need more torque.”

You gestured to the tool box beside you. “Take your pick.”

He found the right tool and loosened the troublesome screw. Once it was free, you took over.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

After knowing you for three years, he recognized the look on your face and easily handed over the sprinkler head. It was better to just get out of the way when you were on a mission. Besides, he wasn’t about to get grass stains on his freshly dry cleaned Tom Ford chinos if it wasn’t necessary. He scanned the yard, taking in Sam playing on the deck and then turning to the rock pile where Alyssa seemed to be digging a hole to China.

“What’s your niece doing?” Lloyd asked.

“Digging up rocks. Don’t ask me why, because there’s a perfectly good sandbox on top of the hill. She’s always in that rock pile.”

He left you to the sprinkler repairs and headed toward the rock pile. When he saw who was approaching, Chewy, the cocker spaniel, positioned himself between Alyssa and Lloyd. He gave the suspicious dog plenty of space and crouched down on the other side of the rock pile, leaving a large space between them to appease the dog.

“Hey, Alyssa.”

The three-year-old glanced at him, then stabbed her yellow plastic shovel into the dirt. There was a pile of stones next to her right foot. Lloyd watched as she sorted them, examining each before keeping it or tossing it back into the pit. He spotted one he recognized in front of him and picked it up.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked Alyssa.

She stopped digging and examined the rock he held out for a moment before shaking her head.

“See how smooth it is?” Lloyd scraped his thumb over the surface. “When you can scratch a rock with just your fingernail, that means it’s soft. The color and shape are also big clues.”

The little girl looked at him expectantly.

“It’s slate,” Lloyd said.

She held her hand out, and Lloyd dropped it into her palm. He watched as she searched her red bucket and then handed him two more rocks. Lloyd examined them.

“Yeah, these are slate, too.”

Alyssa dug into the bucket again. She paused, as if something had just occurred to her, and extended her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He passed back the two pieces of slate she’d given him, and the one he’d picked up. She placed them carefully into the red bucket before offering him another rock.

Lloyd studied the specimen, hiding his grin. When he realized what she’d handed him he raised an eyebrow.

“This is agate. Sometimes people make jewelry out of these.”

Alyssa continued to pass him different rocks, though she only allowed him to handle one at a time. She was like a strict librarian who only allowed single book check outs and enforced the return policy with the zeal of a Mutaween. He identified limestone, quartzite, agates, and several pieces of granite for her.

“Which ones are your favorite?” Lloyd asked.

She reached under a dense fern and pulled out an old Folgers coffee container. It surprised him when she took off the lid and handed it over. Lloyd inspected the contents. There was a chip of Mica, easily identifiable by its flakey structure and pearlescent shine. Several of the greenish rocks looked like Sandstone, though one of them had the striations characteristic of Gneiss. Looking at the collection, he realized that Alyssa’s criteria for special rocks focused on color and shininess. At the bottom there was a gray rock with a dusting that looked like blue powder.

He rubbed it with his thumb and inspected it in the light. Chrysocolla or Amazonite?

“This is an impressive collection,” he said.

Alyssa reached under the fern and dug around, searching for something and brushed it off before passing it to him. At first he thought it was just a piece of limestone, but when he flipped it over, there was a clear impression on the other side.

“Wow. This is a cool fossil.”

It looked like a prehistoric crustacean, with lots of ridges and segments in the stone that showed the shape and structure of the animal’s body.

“Is this why you’re digging over here?” Lloyd asked.

The plastic yellow shovel she was using made sense, considering the fossil. He handed it back and watched as she packed the rocks into the Folgers container.

“Why don’t you pick a few rocks to take inside? You could display them on your windowsill or something,” Lloyd said.

Her lips pursed as she considered him, then glanced over her shoulder at you. Lloyd followed her gaze to where you were filling in the hole around the sprinkler head.

“Hey, Princess. Have you seen the fossil Alyssa found?”

At his announcement, Alyssa hissed, shoving the red plastic container underneath the fern. She glared furiously at Lloyd and grabbed the spaniel’s collar. He watched as she stalked across the yard to the deck, dragging Chewy along with her. Lloyd realized he’d committed a betrayal of great magnitude but wasn’t sure how.

When you’d finished with the sprinkler system, he asked.

“Why is Alyssa so protective of her rocks?”

“What rocks?”

“She collects rocks. She’s got a good eye for it too, but I guess she doesn’t like sharing them.”

“Oh, you mean the rocks she smuggles into her bedroom? We try to keep them in the yard because she stashes them in her bookcase and it gets all muddy. Vivian tosses them back in the rock pile when she finds them.”

“That must be frustrating,” Lloyd said.

“Yeah, Vivian can hardly keep up with it.”

“No, I mean that she’s finding interesting stuff. You should have them tumbled. One of her rocks is probably Amazonite or Chrysocolla and she has a really cool fossil, too.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She knows what she’s looking for. I think it’s the colors in the rocks that attracts her attention. Blues and reds seem to be her favorite. Does she have any books on rocks?”

“No, she can’t read yet.”

“They have picture books,” Lloyd said.

“Huh. That’d be a great Christmas gift. Do you think I should re-seed the lawn?”

“What?”

“It might be too early, and I don’t know if Juan is planning on aerating,” you mused.

“You already did the dishes, the laundry, cleaned the house, and fixed the sprinklers.”

“Oh, crap! I forgot about the dryer. Sam! Come inside, it’s getting late!”

Sam launched a valiant protest when you tried to herd him inside. You tended to the toddler’s outburst while Lloyd went to find Alyssa. She was upstairs in her room. Chewy was curled into a ball on her bed and when he saw Lloyd, the fluffy spaniel growled. Lloyd stopped short, respecting the warning, and leaned against the doorjamb.

“If you pick out some rocks from your bookcase, I’ll help you polish them,” Lloyd offered.

Thirty minutes later you walked into the kitchen to find Alyssa standing on a stool next to Lloyd at the sink. A paper towel full of wet rocks sat next to a pile of used sandpaper.

“What are you two up to?” you asked.

“We’re polishing Alyssa’s rocks. Look at this one, it’s a carnelian.”

You examined the bright red stone and smiled at your niece.

“That’s beautiful.”

She looked down, shrugging, but smiled. Lloyd picked up another one.

“This is a blue lace agate.”

After he showed it to you, he handed it back to Alyssa, who snuck it into her pocket instead of laying it on the paper towel.

“Did you find these in the backyard?” you asked her.

She didn’t respond, so Lloyd answered for her.

“I think she might have, but I’m not sure. There’s enough variety here that I think she collected some of them from other places.”

“You should put them on display in your room. Your Mom will be home soon and she’d like to see them - especially now that they’re clean.”

Alyssa beamed. “Mine.”

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

The quiet hum of the Mercedes’ engine filled the car as you drove west towards the cabin. Lloyd glanced over and you sensed his scrutiny.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you said, breaking the silence. “Is something on your mind?”

He turned his attention back to the road, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Tonight, at your sister’s place…”

“You really hit it off with Alyssa. I was impressed.”

“She’s a sweet kid, but I was actually wondering about all the housework. You did everything from the laundry to fixing the sprinklers. If your sister had hired a whole cleaning crew, they wouldn’t have done as much as you did.”

You sighed. “Vivian is juggling a lot right now. I was just lending a hand.”

“It’s not just tonight, though. You’ve always helped her out, even before, when you were in college. I’ve never seen her do the same for you, especially not to this extent.”

“She’s my sister, and she needed help. Besides, you never complain when I do things for you.”

“I pay you to help me,” Lloyd pointed out. “She didn’t even say thank you.”

You chuckled. “That’s just what having a sister is like.”

“Well, from my perspective, it seems like she’s taking advantage of you.”

“Lloyd, I can’t explain this to you.”

“What’s to explain?” he growled.

“I’m the oldest, it’s different. You wouldn’t understand, you’re an only child.”

Silence fell and again, the gentle hum of the engine filled the car.

“Actually, I’m not.”

“What?” you stared at him.

“I have two younger sisters.”

“You never mentioned… Lloyd, I didn’t realize… the articles about you never said...”

“I haven’t seen them in thirty years.”

“Why?”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. You watched his shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath.

“My mother left when I was eleven. She took my sisters, but left me.”

“She abandoned you…? And left you with your father?”

“Yeah.”

“Lloyd, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Did you ever reach out to them?”

“No.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

“I wasn’t even sure they were alive until recently. I doubt they’d want to hear from me. They’ve built lives of their own. What would contacting them do except stir up bad memories? If they can forget… that would be better.”

Better for who? You held back the question, unsure if he was ready to answer it.

Lloyd sighed. “I don’t know if they’d want to see me and talking about them isn’t easy. That’s why I’ve never mentioned them before.”

His face was stony but there was a quiet ache in his voice that hinted at the hurt hidden behind the composed mask.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For assuming. For not asking you about your family.”

He shrugged. “Who could blame you? Sharing isn’t exactly in my nature.”

You turned away, gazing out the window. You tried to imagine having your siblings ripped away but couldn’t manage it. What was wrong with Lloyd’s mother? How could she have done such a terrible thing? There were reasons, of course - desperation, fear, psychosis. None of those answers softened the anger you felt toward the faceless woman who’d snatched Lloyd’s siblings. Why would she leave him behind, sentencing him to live with the man she’d chosen to flee?

“You’re wondering why she took them and left me, aren’t you?” Lloyd asked.

“I can’t imagine what kind of a mother would do something like that. It’s awful.”

“She was crazy. That’s a solid reason, but if you ask me, it’s because I looked like him.”

You were confused. “Him?”

“My father.”

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

The cabin’s porch light glowed in a cozy welcome as Lloyd turned into the driveway. You pretended to look out the window to hide the tears in your eyes.

Lloyd’s childhood couldn’t have been easy. You’d known that already, but what he’d revealed tonight was crueler than your imaginings. He parked and shut off the engine, silencing the quiet hum.

The shrill scream of his phone pierced the quiet, making you jump. He frowned at the caller I.D.

“It’s Roth.”

You watched as he answered and lines of concern creased his face. The words on the other end of the line were muffled but the furrow between Lloyd’s brows suggested the news wasn’t good. He listened for a long time before he spoke.

“Alright. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“What’s going on?”

“There’s been a disappearance. Another woman was abducted in Harmony.”

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

Next - Chapter XXIII

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

Masterlist

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

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @jesevans @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida @mysweetlittledesire @liecastillo @marantha @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @yiiiikesmish @calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038

[strongheartneteyam]

I wet you like water but she stained you like blood.

Chapter 2

Pairing: widowed!dilf!Jake Sully x younger!female!human reader

CW: angsty as hell, Neytiri is dead in this AU, unrequited love, older man & younger woman relationship (y/n is in her 20's), feeling like you're only there to fill in the gap someone else left (Neytiri, in this case), mentions of death and being a widow, complex feelings, talks of trauma, CAN BE TRIGGERING TO SOME, mentions of sex, mentions of sexual fluids, reader feeling guilty about being with Jake not long after Neytiri's death

Not proofread. And I can't even read what I just wrote, without even correcting it, because I have to feed my cat and take care of dinner right now. I'm just praying this stuff makes sense. I'll correct any mistakes as soon as I can. Sorry in advance lol This amateur writer here never has enough time on her hands...... 🥲

Chapter 1 𓆩♡𓆪

You're so much older and wiser

And I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

Use my best colors for your portrait

Lay the table with the fancy shit

And watch you tolerate it

If it's all in my head tell me now

Tell me I've got it wrong somehow

tolerate it (Taylor Swift)

𓆩♡𓆪

Jake was a widowed father of 4, he was an attractive, responsible, charming, older man. And he was also funny when he was just chilling, hanging around his friends or his family. Last but not least: he had a delicious "dad bod", a word people came up with to describe older men who are still toned but have some cute fat here and there.

You were a girl in your 20's, a young xenobotanist living in Pandora, who used to spend her nights alone, eating cup noodles, watching and rewatching old TV shows from when the planet Earth was still a place where humans could actually live in, and feeling lonely. So, when Jake Sully got his eye on you, you fell head over heels for him.

You knew well you could never replace Neytiri. Even after her death, she still had a place in Jake's heart that nobody, not even you, would ever be able to claim as yours.

Still, you could not let Jake go. Still, you insisted in staying. Still, you didn't seem to love yourself enough to say to yourself "I deserve better" and wait for a guy who actually loves you, not one that seemed to only love your company and well... your body most of all, as it seemed.

Okay, maybe you shouldn't think this bad of Jake. You knew he felt really connected to you, in a deep level. You two would talk late at night and he would always be vulnerable and tell you about real personal and deep stuff about his life - the one in the human body and the one in the na'vi body -, while the both of you would eat roasted meat and fungi, up in some tree in the middle of the Pandoran forests. But you knew he did not love you. Even if you could feel his heart beating fast through his chest when he kissed and touched you, away from everyone, never in front of anybody, because you two were adults and knew damn well that situation, him seeming like he was so happy and living his best life with another woman, a much younger human girl, who was at an age where she could actually be his daughter, wouldn't sit right with anybody, not human, not na'vi - given that he had children that were still mourning the death of their mother (one of them being a little girl, Tuktirey).

That sacred feeling, love, was saved inside of Jake's heart for Neytiri, his deceased mate, even after death. He bonded with her through tsaheylu. You, as only a human, no neuro queue to connect with his in sight, knew you could never compare to that primal bond he had experienced with her. But worst of all (you felt horrible saying "worst of all" but you knew you didn't mean it like that, like you didn't care about other people's feelings), Neytiri was the mother of his children. She might be with Eywa now but you knew Jake would always remember her looking all beautiful and incredibly feminine carrying his first born, Neteyam Sully, and his other two biological children in her belly (Kiri was adopted after her biological mom died, a dear friend of the couple, Grace Augustine. Kiri was a miracle kid. Her mother was bearing her inside of her body after her own death, inside the lab. That was crazy stuff your human mind would never understand, you thought. Only the na'vi could understand the magnitude of Eywa's power. You yourself knew she was strong and respected her but didn't love and worship her like they did.)

Thinking about the way Jake must still adore the memory of Neytiri and think about her and even cry missing her gave you a big lump in your throat and made you wanna throw up. You felt like the worst being in the Universe thinking like that, but you swore, truly, that feeling that way was not you being a petty selfish girl, jealous of the man you were currently in a situationship with and not even considering to have some respect for his grief and the grief of his children - who had just lost their mother -, but it was actually the love you felt for Jake manifesting in your body, in a psychosomatic way. The pain and desperation you felt thinking about the possibility of him never getting over Neytiri made you sick to your stomach, it made the bones inside of your flesh ache.

The first time you saw him talking to Norm one day at the lab, his tall, large frame in all its glory, his blue skin so beautiful, his dark blue stripes adorning his whole body in intricate patterns, his long brown hair falling on his toned back, his tail looking so cute, reminding you of a kitty cat.... "I'm fucked" You thought to yourself. "Am I really catching feelings for this older na'vi man who will probably never want me in this way?! Damn, he's still mourning his dead mate.... Neytiri died not even a whole year ago... I must be evil to be thinking about him this way at this moment. Stop that, you crazy stupid heartless girl."

You looked at him again and he was smiling, his fangs touching his lower lip. He had such a cheerful, precious smile, even though you knew he had been through a whole lot of pain and trauma in his life. "He must be really strong and resilient. That's beautiful." You thought to yourself

Jake Sully had the right amount of muscles but still had soft flesh in all the right places, his tummy just perfect enough for you to be able to squeeze it if you wanted to, his thighs thick but the muscles were balanced with sweet softness. He made you feel a raw kind of heat in your lower belly and think about him just before sleep, like you were a damn schoolgirl. Sometimes (okay, many times...) he made your panties slick with your own juices when you imagined him taking you in his arms and kissing you hard, dominating you like you were his. Which you wished you were. Until one day that wish was fulfilled. You were in cloud nine when that happened.

Jake had been in the marines back when he was human and lost the movement of his legs, being left needing a wheelchair to move himself around and do day to day activities. He lost his twin brother back on Earth, too, after he - Tommy - had been mugged. And now, he had just lost his wife to death too and was left alone to take care of his 4 children. Poor thing must have PTSD, if the na'vi brains were able to have the same disorders as humans brains had. You didn't know, to be honest. You were a xenobotanist. Your area of expertise was the biology of extraterrestrial plants, not the biology of extraterrestrial bodies.

The fact that he still was capable of irradiating happiness through his eyes, smile, voice and overall presence made you weak with admiration. And love, you must say. Because thats what you were: weak and in love, all for and with Jake Sully.

Too bad his feeling were not even close to being the same as yours. He loved you as a friend and he lusted over your body. He wanted to protect you from any harm anyone could ever do to you. The bitter part of it all is: he could never protect you from the harm he himself did to you. The harm being giving you pieces of what could be his love, but it wasn't. That was the worst crime he could ever commit against you. At least that's what the pungent pain deep inside the arteries of your heart told you. Every night. Every time you remembered he didn't love you, but he loved Neytiri. Everytime you got reminded of the fact that you were alive and she was dead but you still were not his favorite.

Goddammit. How did you end up competing with a dead na'vi woman over a na'vi man's love? You sure were losing your mind.

But falling in love with Jake Sully proved to you that you were not the nerdy science girl who used to always put reason first and feelings last, that you always thought you were. Not when it came to love, at least. Or not when it came to this relationship.

𓆩♡𓆪

If any of you wanna be in the taglist for this fanfic, just leave a comment 🤍 ily n hope you're having a nice day/night 💓⚘

[taevbears]

Magic Shop - 13

Every coin has two sides

⤑ pairing: OT7 x witch!reader, Namjoon focused ⤑ genre: magic au, romance, angst, hurt/comfort, found family, domestic/slice of life, action/adventure ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 10.3k ⤑ warnings: descriptive violence, body horror, near-death of a main character, prejudice and oppression of mages, heavy angst. ⤑ note: lol bc last week, i had already written out the entire chapter and just meant to edit and post it last weekend. but then another idea struck me while i was at work, and even tho i meant to just change ONE scene, it started leading to a completely different ending. so lol here i am, one week later, after rewriting half this chapter 💀 this chapter is also heavily inspired by "A Village Under Siege" and "The Attack at Nightfall" quests in Dragon Age: Origins + the world of necromancer bells from the "Old Kingdom Series" by Garth Nix

Chapters: Series Masterlist | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

From the distance, an old windmill is spotted over a hill. Its turbines spin slowly with the breeze, and the weathered bricks keep it standing tall after all these years. The distinct landmark signifies one thing.

Hawthorn Village. You’re finally here.

And it’s just as Namjoon remembers it.

Nostalgia hits him as you all cross the bridge that leads into the village. Thatched roofs and walls made of stone and wood. A large well near the center of the square where he used to make wishes upon as a kid. The elementary school he went to, the old church that his parents religiously attended, and the farmlands with livestock and crop mazes.

Much to his dismay, the aftereffects of the nightly terrors have taken its toll on his beloved hometown.

People are trying their best to get through another day, distributing produce to feed the hungry and burning the dead. A blacksmith with tired eyes insistently pounds iron with a hammer to make new weapons that will give them a better chance against the enemies. A militiaman tries to keep up morale, although most of the remaining men are just farmers and workers – none of them trained to fight. Survivors step out of the infirmary tents, wrapped in bandages but still in pain. A small child cries, looking for their parents.

Doom hangs in the air. Haunted and defeated are the faces of Hawthorn’s residents, as the looming threat of another unsettling fight is set before them.

“What’s happened here?” Seokjin asks one of the villagers.

A middle-aged man’s light up when he sees your group. “I haven’t seen you folks before. Have you come to help us? Did our notices finally reach someone?”

It isn’t long until the group is ushered to the local church. Gathered by the altar is the mayor of the village. Dark circles are under his eyes from sleepless nights, but he looks at you all with hope as the villager announces you’re all from a guild. Then, he explains to your party their dire situation.

Decomposing corpses return to life at night with the hunger for flesh, and they have been attacking this small village for the past few nights. From dusk until dawn, these attacks on Hawthorn are relentless. Each night, they come in greater numbers. Due to the necromancer and dark magic being involved, no one has been responding to their urgent calls for help. The local hunters have been summoned to the capital, and guilds often overlook their tiny settlement when they pass by.

All of Hawthorn fears that tonight will be the worst attack yet.

“You’re our only hope,” the mayor pleads. “Hawthorn won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

The Oathkeepers look at Seokjin, but his eyes are on Namjoon. He feels the rest of you looking at him too. As if it’s up to him to decide whether his hometown is worth saving, or if the quest at hand is deemed too dangerous to assist. Allowing him to back out now before they’re obligated to see things through, no matter what the risk.

“Of course we’ll help,” Namjoon decides without hesitation. “Tell us what you need.”

Tonight, things look pretty grim.

Morale within the village is at its lowest. After multiple perilous nights of terror and gruesome deaths, the ones still alive are worried they’ll be next. That nothing will remain of their beloved Hawthorn once the sun goes down.

“Someone has to know something about the necromancer. We have to find out who is terrorizing the village and what their motive is,” Namjoon concludes as you all gather outside the church to debrief. “We also need to help the residents prepare for tonight’s battle: teach them how to properly hold weapons, encourage every able-body to help with the fight, and inspire them to defend the land and their community.”

“Leave the villagers to us,” Seokjin offers, gesturing at himself and the members of his guild. “We’ll do our best to get everyone ready before sundown. You just focus on finding that necromancer.”

“Taehyung and I are going to look at their resources,” Hoseok informs, surveying the infirmary tents. “I might be able to make something for the injured.”

“We’ll check on the blacksmith,” Yoongi says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “He was in rough shape when we passed by. Half of the villagers aren’t wearing proper armor and are carrying broken weapons. Repairs need to be done if they want to stand a fighting chance.”

“Taverns are a great source of information,” Jackson mentions as he eyes the local pub. A smile touches his lips as he wonders out loud, “Maybe I can even convince the owner to give out free shots of courage to the fighters.”

“Then Jungkook and I will talk to the farmers,” Namjoon decides as he looks at his familiar, who nods his head in agreement. “The notice mentions that they’re the ones who suspect dark magic is at hand. Maybe one of them saw something that can give us a clue to where our necromancer is.”

With a solid plan set, the party breaks off to their assigned tasks.

Tonight still looks grim, but there’s hope.

With success, they might be able to turn everything around before nightfall.

“Any luck?” you ask when you see Namjoon and Jungkook circling back to the village square after a while.

“Not really,” Namjoon mulls with a sigh.

“They said the horde comes from all around the village. One night, they’re skeletons from the village’s graveyard. Another night, they’ve come from the nearby lake or from the thickets of the woods,” Jungkook explains with a frown. Whoever they talk to seems to have different descriptions of the undead creatures. “Most of the villagers are too busy trying to stay alive to keep track of what’s been causing the dead to rise.”

“They did confirm one thing, though,” Namjoon adds before he throws a glance at his familiar. “They heard the sound of bells.”

“Bells?” you echo, looking between them.

“It’s how the necromancers summon the dead,” Jungkook simply explains. “Without them, they’re just like any other mage.”

“Good to know,” you mutter, shivering at the thought of hearing strange bells in the middle of the night. At least, if nothing else, you’ll be able to take away their advantage.

Still, a mage that has the skills to control the dead must be incredibly powerful.

“How is everything here?” Namjoon asks as he looks around.

“Good. Jin is a natural at raising morale,” you reply, looking over to where a small crowd chants Seokjin’s name. The others in his guild have been teaching them how to use their weapons, and although they’re still clearly unskilled, their progress is still quite an improvement from before.

“Hoseok-hyung looks like he has things under control in the infirmary,” Jungkook points out. The nurses and patients around him are in awe at the simple potions he had given them, claiming that he must be a miracle doctor. They also look smitten over Taehyung, who’s soothing voice calms and comforts the bedridden a bit.

“Yoongi-hyung, too,” Namjoon notes when he looks at your familiar, sitting over an anvil and helping the blacksmith craft weapons of steel. With assistance, it seems like the blacksmith will be able to get repairs done in time after all.

Shouts and cheers from the tavern show that Jackson, somehow, persuaded the bartender to give out free ale to the villagers. Although tipsy, their spirits are high, and they seem eager to fight after a round of complimentary drinks.

“I’ll help Yoongi-hyung,” Jungkook states, interested in what they’re doing. He approaches the blacksmith, who seems elated to have additional assistance.

“We should probably check on Jackson. Maybe he’s heard something,” you suggest, turning toward the tavern. But Namjoon grabs your hand and pulls you back.

“Actually,” he starts, suddenly a little nervous. He takes a deep breath before he tells you, “There’s something I need to do first. Before it’s too late.”

At age thirteen, Namjoon awakened the power of magic. The feeling of bestowment is like fire. The initial spark of energy courses through his veins and spreads within him. Mesmerizing, alluring, and dangerous. No matter how much he reads and tries to understand his abilities, there’s always something new to learn, to incantate, and to master through his connection to the Veil.

Magic is both a blessing and a curse. Two sides of the same coin.

At first, Namjoon hated what he was. He hated that he became a mage.

Every night, when he was locked away in Alterwood Keep or WIndshire Tower, he questioned what he had done to be damned with such misfortune.

Magic is what burned his family’s home to the ground. Magic is what got him taken away from his parents, his friends, and his village – everything he knew. Magic is what lured the hunters into killing Ignis, turned Adriel into a beast, and shunned him from his home for so long.

The same home he stands before now.

“This is it,” Namjoon tells you, looking at an ordinary-looking house.

It’s been rebuilt over the years. Shabby, but somewhat similar to what it used to be. The curtains are identical to the ones his mother had put on the windows, down to the same shade of color. The front has pots of flowers that she liked to grow, and as the weather warmed, she’d smile as they began to bloom. Inside, Namjoon is certain he’d find a small collection of books his father would’ve read, and upon his favorite chair, he used to emphasize the importance of education and the pursuit of knowledge.

Your fingers thread through his. “Are you ready?”

He looks at you and nods his head.

At age nineteen, shortly after he was transferred to Blackstone Castle, he finally started to see magic as a positive force in his life.

Magic is what brought you all together, intertwining your fates with each other like red strings of soulmates. Magic is what makes the ordinary, unassuming shop at New Haven come to life and keep you all safe and happy. Magic is what brings him back to where it all started, with you by his side.

Years have passed since that fateful day he was taken from his parents. He’s started to accept that magic is a part of him. For all its wickedness and destruction, and all its serenity and wonder. Two sides of the same coin.

He just hopes, as he raises his hand to knock on the door, his parents will accept him as well. Magic and all.

The door swings open. An older woman stands on the other side. “Yes, can I help you?”

There’s a polite but cautious smile on her face, and deep dimples on her cheeks that match Namjoon’s. The resemblance between them is unmistakable.

“Hi Mother,” Namjoon greets her with his own nervous, dimpled smile. His hand squeezes yours for assurance. “It’s me. Your son.”

Confusion turns to recognition, which turns from surprise to disbelief. You watch as the woman looks at Namjoon like he’s a ghost.

“Y-You. You shouldn’t be here,” she stutters, lip trembling as her eyes water. Her hand is pressed to her heart as she steps away from the door. 

An older man notices his wife’s distress and comes to the door as well. He puts an arm around her and frowns at you two, not seeming to recognize the young man who has his height and strong build. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“Father, it’s me,” Namjoon tries to say, but his voice is small. He’s starting to think that this is a bad idea. “Kim Namjoon. I’m your son.”

Like the woman, the man is initially shocked by the news. But then, his eyes narrow at Namjoon angrily. “What are the likes of you doing here, boy? Don’t we have enough to deal with?”

Namjoon visibly stiffens at the harshness in his father’s voice. “I’m here on a quest. I’ve come to learn that our village is under attack.”

“My village doesn’t need your help!” his father yells, spit flying as he holds his wife protectively. “Magic is what got us into this mess! Magic will make things worse!”

“Let’s get out of here,” you quietly urge, frowning at their hostility.

This is like his nightmares. Their looks of hatred and disdain burn under his skin, searing themselves into his memories. It’s hard for him to breathe, it’s hard for him to think. Suddenly, he feels so small. Like he’s a child again, standing before the fires that destroyed his home and took everything from him.

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you, little girl,” the man warns, finally noticing that you’re there. “He’s something Wicked. His magic put us all in danger and ruined our lives!”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon chokes out. The words that he wanted to tell his parents after all these years. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out! Do not come here again!” his father interrupts as his mother bursts into tears, burying her face into her husband’s shoulder. He grabs whatever is closest to him and waves it in a threatening manner. “Get away from our house before you destroy it!”

Namjoon obliges, stepping away from the door. He looks deeply hurt as he tries again. “But Father—”

“Do not call me that!” he barks as he gives him one more hateful glare. “We don’t have a son. Not anymore.”

Then, he slams the door shut.

“That went well,” Namjoon comments, sarcasm thick in his voice. He sits on a broken crate in the alleyway the two of you end up in and sighs. “I feel like an idiot.”

Part of him had known that, maybe, his parents weren't going to give him the warmest welcome. Part of him even thought that, perhaps, his parents wouldn’t recognize him.

Still, it hurts.

It hurts that he had expected otherwise. That he had hoped his parents would listen to him and forgive him. That they’d come to accept him.

But they’ve made it more than clear that Hawthorn Village and the house he grew up in is no longer his home. And that the parents who raised him are no longer his family.

Namjoon always knew this scenario could’ve been a possibility. And yet, he foolishly wanted to be wrong.

“Joon…” Your voice calls out from behind him, but you seem at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes, feeling incredibly dejected as he keeps his back to you. “I shouldn’t have bothered. I should’ve known it’d be a waste of time.”

And it hurts. It hurts so badly.

Knowing that all his efforts to return home — and all the punishments he took for running away — were fruitless. That no matter how hard he tries to be good and understand his magic, nothing will change.

In the end, Ignis really died for nothing. And that’s probably what hurts the most.

Namjoon half-expects you to scold him for dragging you along. For you to comment how you knew this was a bad idea, and that you both have other important things to worry about right now.

Instead, you approach him and gently wrap your arms around his neck. Your body is pressed against his back, hugging him from behind. Neither of you speak as he stiffens under your touch. But he places his hand over your arm in a wordless request to stay.

And you do. You stay with him, kissing his tear-stained cheeks and wishing you could do more to comfort him.

But to Namjoon, this is enough. Being with you is more than enough.

When the sun goes down, the dead awakens.

Villagers of Hawthorn scramble indoors, locking themselves inside and barricading the doors and windows. The church bells are quiet, not to be rung until morning light. Everywhere is an eerie silence, and those left to fend off the inevitable enemies swallow their fears as they train their eyes on the horizon.

There, a green fog mixes with the misty air, and the putrid stench of rotting flesh slowly advances toward them. Death is coming, and with it, alarming numbers of the undead.

“All right, everyone!” the mayor begins, taking command of the last line of defense. The odds are heavily against them, but he has to keep up what little morale they still have left. “We’ve driven off this evil before. We can do it again for one more night. We fight, or we die trying!”

With that said, the villagers charge in. Battle cries ring out as they use their pitchforks, shovels, and scythes to attack the incoming herd.

But they only get so close before the fear sets in.

Death looks them in the eye. Corpses with lifeless, glowing eyes, flesh rotten and decayed, and bones visible as they unhinge their jaws and let out an unsettling groan.

Some of them flee the opposite direction, running away from their foes. Some stand frozen, panic seizing them in place. Some, unable to stand the horrid smell, drop their weapons and retch out their stomach’s contents.

The villagers don’t stand a chance.

Then, they begin to hear it.

In the dark, rural farmlands, the sonorous sound of bells toll. Yet, when their eyes gaze to the local church, the large brass on the tower is completely still. If it’s not from the church, where are the bells coming from?

A scream pierces the air. The mayor turns to see a woman swinging an axe around violently. Her eyes are wide with terror, fixed on something before her, but there isn’t anyone around her. She continues to scream at something to get away from her as she slashes the air.

Two friends suddenly turn on each other. The two men have been buddies for years, and it’s like they don’t recognize their friend. They have that same, wild look in their eyes as they grab each other and raise their weapons.

The mayor’s heart hammers in his chest as they turn against each other, mistaking alley for enemy. “Men, what are you doing? Stop it!”

But it’s too late.

Blood splatters. Followed by cries of agony.

Horrified, the mayor gets away before they try to hurt him as well. As he runs, he grabs a woman’s shoulders and tries to warn her not to listen to the bells. But when she turns to face him, her face is completely disfigured. The flesh looks like it’s melting off her skin, bone and muscle peeking as she smiles wickedly.

“What’s wrong, mayor?” the woman asks, but her voice sounds off. Another voice is layered over hers – deep and raspy, almost demonic – that clearly isn’t her own.

The mayor lets her go and shrinks back in fear. As he looks around, he sees that the undead have somehow surrounded him. They stand there and watch him with their lifeless eyes. Their rotting flesh. Pitchforks, shovels, and scythes in hand.

Mysterious bells continue to echo, drowning out his screams.

“Do you hear that?” Hoseok asks from beside you. The two of you are stationed a little away from the village, near a part of the woods that locals claim was one of the spots the dead have risen from. It’s foggy and creepy, and you’ve been eyeing the thicket and expect a horde of undead to stumble from beyond the trees.

But it’s been dead quiet.

Even as you hold your breath and stand perfectly still, you can’t hear anything.

“What is it?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

Hoseok glances over at you with a frown. “I hear the ringing of bells.”

The sound of footsteps crunching on leaves and twigs catch your attention. Seokjin calls out to you and Hoseok as he and Namjoon appear from the fog. “We need to regroup. Something is happening at the village.”

“What do you mean? Are they under attack?”

Neither of them answer you. The concern on both their faces only makes you worry more as you and Hoseok follow them toward the old windmill where the rest of your party is waiting. It’s a little closer to the heart of the village, and you can hear some commotion going on, like the villagers are in the throes of battle.

You spot Taehyung in his raven form, flying from the direction of the village and landing before you and Hoseok. When he transforms into his human form, he reports, “The recently deceased have risen, but they’re not the biggest problem.”

“Then who are they fighting?” Namjoon asks, eyebrows furrowing together.

Taehyung leans against Hoseok for support, bringing his palm against his forehead like he has a migraine. “They’re fighting each other.”

Silence follows the unsettling news.

Seokjin is the first to break it. “What the hell is going on?”

As if to answer him, you all hear it too.

The haunting, sonorous sound of bells in a nearby distance.

Hearing them sends a chill up your spine. And knowing that they’re beckoning death makes them even more terrifying.

“We need to get the bells,” Jungkook reminds you, turning away from the village to look you in the eye. “It’s the only way we can stop their madness.”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Namjoon agrees. “Or Hawthorn won’t make it to sunrise.”

There are seven necromantic bells. Each is more difficult to wield properly as their size and power increases. And, without proper care, the bells have a negative effect on the ringer that could backfire to certain death.

As you and the others approach the village, you hear the chime of the first bell.

It’s been a long day. Traveling the long roads to the village by carriage and on foot. Helping the residents prepare for the gruesome attacks tonight. Getting ready to face a powerful mage hiding somewhere nearby.

Sleep. The first bell sings. And you’re hit with a wave of drowsiness.

Yoongi catches you before you collapse on the ground. His eyes are tired, as if he hadn’t slept for days. In a slurred mumble, he commands, “Stay with me.”

The others aren’t faring any better. Long yawns and slow steps plague your group. Some of them look like they’re about to slump over and fall unconscious. You and the other mages ignore the lull of the bell and stay awake and alert. With tired eyes, you try to scan for the source of the sound and see a shadow slip into a building.

“There,” you point out, readying your wand. You follow after it with half your party close behind you. Seokjin stays behind with his guild, promising to catch up. Jungkook looks lethargic as he kicks open the entrance a few times before nearly tumbling inside.

A home abandoned is what you’re met with. The people living here seem to be gone, hurriedly leaving in the middle of making dinner. Flies swarm the rotting food, but it doesn’t look like anything else has been touched.

“Be careful,” Jackson warns, going further into the house. He uses his wand as a light, cautiously going from room to room to make sure the coast is clear.

It looks empty. But you know it isn’t.

You feel someone watching you all from the shadows.

When you turn to face the main room, your eyes widen when the figure emerges. Shrouded in tattered robes and carrying a bandolier of old bells is the necromancer. Deathly pale as a ghost, thin and bony like a skeleton, and decayed like the very creatures they summon. 

The necromancer — a truly Wicked creature — isn’t human at all. It’s a phantom.

It towers over you, face covered in darkness. In its hand is the second bell, which rings and beckons the dead with every step it takes toward you.

A burst of flames comes from your wand, aiming right at the necromancer’s face. Fire catches on its robes, but the necromancer seems unphased. Even as it’s burning alive.

Behind you, wooden boards split and break, and arms of the dead reach through the window to grab you. A startled scream escapes your lips when something does.

You’re pulled tightly to Namjoon’s chest as he leads you away from the doors and windows. He keeps a wand pointed at the necromancer as he holds you protectively. From your peripheral vision, you see Jackson, Hoseok, and the familiars trying to keep the horde out.

Distracted, you don’t notice the necromancer tucking the second bell away and taking out the third one from the pouch. With two hands, it rings the bell – up, down, left right – each toll causing different sounds from one bell, but they make a dancing tune that compels your legs to move on its own.

“Namjoon!” you gasp, trying to hold onto him. Mechanically, one foot marches over the other. Against your will, you leave his side. Neither Namjoon nor the other boys could stop you as their own feet seem planted in place, unable to move.

By its command, you spin around and start to slowly head straight toward the window, into the reaching arms of the undead. The boys call out to you, and you try to resist the magic. Every fiber of your being tries to hold you back from being torn apart by their greedy hands and mouths.

But your body won’t listen. You continue to march forward.

With all his willpower, Namjoon leans as far as he can and reaches toward you. His fingers grasp the back of your clothes and he yanks you backwards. You stumble a bit, but you reach back and cling onto him, anchoring yourself as he pulls you closer.

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, wrapping both of his arms around you.

Relief washes over your face, even as your legs continue to move on its own, you and Namjoon hold onto each other. With the wand still in your hand, you manage to point it at the necromancer and cast a spell of frost, just as it takes out two more bells.

The necromancer freezes. Icicles form around it for a few seconds before it shakes it away. Namjoon’s eyes widen when he realizes something.

Magic is very effective against the necromancer.

Just as he realizes this, the phantom necromancer starts to rapidly swing the bell in its left hand.

Whispers from beyond the grave seem to float around the room with the fourth bell, disembodied and ambiguous. The voices are in every direction, layered with the quick and steady rings. And Namjoon swears one of the voices is calling out to him.

His eyes look for who is calling him, and his gaze turns toward the crowd of undead by the window. Then, his eyes widen when he hears the chime of the fifth bell.

One of the skeletal remains starts to look familiar to him. The clothes are tattered and weathered, but the scraps of what’s left are the same from that day, slightly charged from when the hunters burned him. Flesh and muscle start to form around the skeleton, bringing back the teenage boy Namjoon once left behind.

Impossible.

Ignis, alive and well, is among the horde. His first friend since he’s become a mage.

“Namjoon,” Ignis calls out to him again. His voice is echoing and weak, but it’s still very much the same as he remembers.

Hoseok, and Jackson are looking in the same direction, stunned. Namjoon would’ve thought they’re also seeing Ignis until he hears the names they call out.

“Mina?”

“Adriel!”

A sense of confusion draws Namjoon out of the spell. He doesn’t see Adriel or Mina in the crowd, but he sees Ignis. Are you two seeing someone different?

Taehyung grabs both Hoseok and Jackson before they could step closer to the window. “Don’t. You’ll get hurt.”

Yoongi and Jungkook block the window as well, trying to keep you and Namjoon safe. He doesn’t realize it, but Namjoon’s grip loosens around you from the shock. The spell from the third bell still lingers, causing you to move away from him again, but Yoongi easily catches you this time.

“Is that—?” you begin to ask, but Yoongi shakes his head.

“It’s a trick,” he says as he tightens his hold around you. “Whoever you see isn’t there.”

Namjoon’s heart drops a little when he realizes the fourth and fifth bell must’ve brought back memories of a deceased loved one. An old friend to each of you that had passed on. Their voices. Their likeness.

“Hyung, you have to get the bells, Quickly,” Jungkook reminds him as he glares at the phantom necromancer. “Before it uses the seventh one. That’ll cause death to everyone who hears it.”

That means there’s only two more bells left, and the last one is deadly. If there’s a chance to stop the necromancer, it has to be now.

The necromancer tries another combination. It exchanges the fourth and fifth bell for the second and sixth ones. With the second, it’s able to summon the dead, beckoning them to come to it from beyond the grave. And with the sixth, it has complete control over them, binding them to its will. Within its shrouded face, its eyes begin to glow an eerie yellow the moment it wields the sixth bell.

Namjoon casts a bolt of lightning from his wand, but the necromancer vanishes before it hits. The bells ring somewhere that he can’t pinpoint, and he sees you and the others regain control of your bodies and try to look for the necromancer all over again.

“It couldn’t have gone far,” Namjoon reasons, scanning around. All of you are on high alert, wands ready to strike the moment the phantom necromancer appears.

Then, he hears the sound of wood breaking. More reinforcements join the previous herd and start to come inside. Namjoon completely loses sight of you and the others, using gusts of wind to blow the undead back and knocking them against walls and furniture. He calls out to you, but the disembodied groans, the stench of rotting flesh, and the sight of disfigured creatures keeps him from looking for you.

One of the creatures he comes to face is Ignis. Or at least, what looks like him.

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you,” Namjoon says, pointing his wand at him. It feels like his Harrowing all over again. Being forced to face his biggest regret.

Ignis has his wand pointed at him as well. It’s a broken stick. The old, dirty clothes that he wears barely covers his chest and waist, but there’s a deep wound where the hunters have stabbed him through the heart. There are burn marks from when they had set him on fire.

Namjoon feels a burst of hot air as a fireball flies past him. He counters it with a water spell, dousing the flames before it hits him. The two elements collide as steam fills the room, causing Namjoon to lose sight of his old friend.

Sparks of lightning flash to his right, and he barely dodges an electrifying bolt. The attack hits a picture frame behind him, and the glass shatters as it falls on the floor. Wind sweeps up the broken glass and hurls it toward him, and Namjoon levitates the broken boards in front of him and uses them as a shield to protect himself.

Spells after spells become a dance between offensive and defensive attacks between Namjoon and Ignis. He can feel himself getting tired. The overuse of magic is causing his hands to blacken. He’s breathing heavier, and pain shoots from his arm when it got hit with a critical ice attack.

But Ignis is slowing down too. He’s proven to be an incredibly difficult opponent. But like Namjoon, Ignis is panting for breath and from the tips of his fingers down to his wrist is inky black of magic overuse. The wound on his chest expanded, bleeding heavily, yet he still stands. Stubbornly, he continues to point his wand at Namjoon, still wanting to fight.

However, Namjoon knows he needs to end it now.

While in battle, it seems like the others have taken care of the undead herd, but the necromancer’s whereabouts are still unknown. He can hear them shouting at him, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. All he can focus on is the opponent before him.

Needing to end the fight, Namjoon tries a new spell.

Keeping his eye on Ignis, he slowly crouches and puts his hand on the ground. The earth moves beneath his fingertips, and covering the house are thick vines. They come from one side of the house, through the window, reaching across the floor and ceiling, and finally snagging Ignis. He seems surprised when they wrap around his wrist and disarms his wand, and around his ankles to immobilize him. 

The surprise turns to worry when one of the vines wraps around his neck.

Then, they begin to tighten.

Namjoon tries not to react as he watches his old friend die by his hand once again. He feels the sting of tears threaten his eyes as the wand falls on the ground and Ignis begins to choke.

As much as Namjoon wishes he could go back in time and undo his old friend’s death, as much as he’d like to think this is the real Ignis and not some undead creature wearing his skin, he knows his friend is long gone.

He points his wand at Ignis, the tip of it heating with a fire spell.

But before it’s cast, Namjoon is knocked to the ground. As he comes to his senses, he realizes three horrifying things.

First, the phantom necromancer had been there the whole time. It’s been ringing the bells, conducting them like a puppeteer. And Namjoon is its puppet with strings.

Second, it isn’t just Namjoon that was being controlled by the bells. His party has been immobilized, forced to watch as Namjoon fights Ignis. But Jackson – who was standing closest to the phantom – manages to break from the spellbound restraints, covering his ears to block the sound. Out of willpower and determination, he puts one foot over the other to sneak up on the necromancer. Until, finally, he yanks the hoister of bells before the necromancer has a chance to grab the seventh and deadliest one.

Third, the moment that the necromancer is no longer in control, Yoongi lunges at Namjoon with his hand curled into a fist. Jungkook manages to grab Yoongi’s waist, but they both topple over and knock into Namjoon. The three of them are on the ground, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok and Taehyung are yelling at him too, but their voices are where Ignis is.

Or what he thought was Ignis.

It isn’t an undead creature caught in the vines of his spell.

It’s you. This whole time, it’s been you.

“Let her go, Namjoon!” Hoseok screams, trying to yank the vines away from you. Every time he pulls one away, another takes its place. They start to tangle around him and Taehyung as well. He can feel it grabbing his ankles and see it wrap around Taehyung’s hand as he tugs on the one around your neck.

Fuck, he doesn’t even know if you’re even breathing. Your body looks lifeless as they continue to constrict your chest and your neck.

Taehyung curses and tries to shake off the vine that’s spreading up his arm and toward his neck. Hoseok’s mind is spinning, wanting to use a fire attack to burn the vines, but afraid that it’ll hurt you and Taehyung. And Namjoon is still dazed from the effects of the bells.

Seokjin finally catches up after helping the surviving villagers. His eyes widen when he sees what’s happening and immediately rushes to you with his sword at hand.

“Hyung!” Taehyung exclaims as Seokjin carefully cuts the vines to free the three of you. Hoseok immediately catches you, and to his relief, you’re still alive. You’re still breathing, but barely.

“Is she okay?” Seokjin asks, his hand still around his sword. The Oathkeepers have jumped into battle with Jackson, trying to take the necromancer down with standard magic spells now that the bells are not with it.

“She’ll be fine,” Hoseok says as he sees Yoongi rush toward you. He hands you off to him. “Watch over her, hyung. We have to help Jackson.”

Yoongi merely nods. His hands are trembling a little as he holds you in his arms, taking you somewhere safe from the fight.

Namjoon finally snaps out of it when he sees Yoongi passing by. He catches a glimpse of you too, but Jungkook shakes his shoulder and urges, “Hyung, come on, let’s go. They need us.”

Slowly, Namjoon stands and his eyes narrow at the necromancer. The spells are aggressive as it targets Jackson, trying to get its bells back. The Oathkeepers surround him, protecting him as they use their weapons against the powerful mage.

“Push it toward the vines,” Namjoon instructs, and they do. Each swing of an attack that the Oathkeepers land, and each spell cast from Hoseok and Jackson causes the necromancer to step closer and closer to the vines where you were.

One of the vines manages to snag the necromancer’s ankle. Another starts to wrap around its arm. Everyone watches as a being associated with death struggles to free itself from the plants that are full of life. But that only tangles it up even more, constricting it until it can’t move at all.

Then, Namjoon stands before the necromancer. He still has a bit of magic in him, and with it, he unleashes a small fire. Just like he had accidentally casted all those years ago, when he first awakened his power.

This time, it’s with purpose as the flames engulf and destroy everything before him.

There’s an unnerving feeling that settles throughout the remains of Hawthorn Village.

All night, the Oathkeepers gathered everyone they could find and brought them to the church. They figured it would be easier to protect everyone if they’re all in one place.

Priestess and the faithful Devoted clasps their hands so tightly in prayer, their knuckles turn white. Mothers hold their young children close, comforting them as best as they can. Men guarding the inside of the chapel anxiously pace with their hands hovering over their weapons, anticipating that they’d be the last line of defense if your party fails to stop the necromancer.

It’s been a long night.

The fighting and shouting beyond the church door lasts for hours.

But beyond the horizon, there’s a silver lining of hope. Dawn breaks, and a new day begins. As the sun rises, so does their salvation.

Word spreads of what you and the others have done. How you all saved the village. How Namjoon defeated the awful creature that’s been terrorizing them.

“Didn’t you have a son named Namjoon?” one of the villagers asks, but Namjoon’s father shakes his head and denies it. There’s a frown on the old man’s face as others have gathered to talk about the news.

It’s finally over. Their village is saved. They’ve survived those perilous nights. And it’s all thanks to the guild that came to help them.

Stepping outside, the morning light greets them. Fighters return to embrace their loved ones after the long battle. Children cheer with joy for their heroes, and tears are shed from relief between reunited families and partners.

Among the fighters, there’s Namjoon and his group.

One of the boys – the one with a slender build and a sharp face – has you on his back. The others are worn and exhausted, but seem okay from the distance as they help support each other back to the village. And Namjoon, with two of his comrades holding him up, keeps trying to disregard his own injuries as he worries about yours.

The concern on his face, the remorse and sorrow in his expression – it’s just like when he was a kid on that fateful day.

“How do you reckon they did it?” another villager asks him, looking at the direction that Namjoon’s father is staring at. It would be easy to reveal the truth. That Wicked mages are among them, and the entire village would be full of distrust and anger toward them.

“Who knows?” the old man says instead, and turns away from the group with a frown.

Magic may have gotten them in this mess, but in an ironic twist of fate, magic is what saved them.

For the first time in days, Hawthorn Village is promised a good night.

The mayor and the surviving villagers hold a small ceremony to honor the deceased and to hail your party as heroes. It will take time for their tiny village to recover. Even with the threat of the necromancer gone, there’s still fear of the night and what it could behold. But the mayor is confident that they can rebuild.

You’re then taken to Hawthorn’s inn to recover. Luckily, no one else is severely injured, but you and Namjoon have the worst of it.

Hours pass, and you’ve yet to open your eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok reminds him, wrapping a cloth bandage around Namjoon’s arm. “That necromancer made you guys attack each other.”

It doesn’t make Namjoon feel any better.

“I nearly killed her,” he laments. At Blackstone Castle, Hoseok once swore that if Namjoon ever hurts you, he’d kill him. Truly, this warrants his friends to turn against him like others have done before.

But somehow, they don’t.

Hoseok finishes up and examines his work. “To be fair, she did a number on you too.”

Namjoon is told to rest, but he can’t bring himself to let his guard down. He keeps thinking there must be a catch. That, perhaps, the others are still angry with him and are starting to resent him.

“Namjoon-ah, come eat,” Seokjin calls out for him, gesturing for the mage to sit at the table. He serves him a bowl of stew the innkeeper made. “Be careful. It’s still hot.”

“Hyung, are you healing okay?” Jungkook asks again – probably for the fourth time that hour alone. He frowns at the bandages Hoseok put on him, and there’s genuine concern in his big, doe-shaped eyes. “If you need anything, let me know. Got it?”

“Be careful, hyung. You don’t want to hurt yourself again,” Taehyung scolds when Namjoon nearly bumps into something. It’s the closest any of them have been stern with him all day, yet Taehyung frets over him like he does with you and the others.

Even Yoongi strikes up a casual conversation with him, flipping through a book of Devoted scriptures he’s found. “What is this garbage they’ve been teaching you?”

Namjoon frowns. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“There’s nothing else to read,” he states with a scowl.

“I mean, why aren’t you angry at me?” Namjoon asks, his heart still full of guilt. You mean so much to all of them, and what he did is unforgivable.

“You didn’t mean to hurt her,” Yoongi simply replies.

“But I did it,” Namjoon protests, feeling a bit frustrated. He doesn’t get it. “Why are you all so nice to me after what I’ve done? Why don’t you hate me?”

Isn’t this how it always goes? Why is it so different this time?

“You’re family to us, Namjoon,” Yoongi tells him. “We could never hate you.”

Namjoon wants to believe that, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to. Not after what he did to you.

Whenever he feels overwhelmed and stressed, Namjoon likes to run to clear his mind. Usually, it’s along the river near New Haven, where he can relax beneath the shade of a tree he liked afterwards. But as he lets his feet take him somewhere, he finds himself by the Hawthorn Lake.

Most of the villagers have gathered here as the late afternoon sun colors the skies with reds and oranges of twilight. To honor and mourn the lives that were lost the past few nights, they’ve decided to hold a small ceremony for them. And standing a short distance from them is a familiar face.

“Where’ve you been?” Namjoon asks, walking up to him.

Jackson is quiet as he watches them. The villagers pray and hug each other, and some sing hymns and play instruments by the shore. Paper lanterns are lit and sent off into the water, representing both hope and remembrance, as well as grief and loss. With the setting sun hitting the water’s surface, it matches the small flames being carried across the lake.

It’s a beautiful ceremony.

“I wish we could’ve done something like this,” Jackson quietly confides without looking at Namjoon. “For Adriel, Mina, and everyone else we lost at Blackstone.”

“We still can,” Namjoon tells him, facing the lake as well. It might be difficult now, but maybe when things settle down with the hunters, they could go back to the lake by the castle and hold a memorial for them one day.

Silence passes as the sun continues to sink. For once, it’s a peaceful evening. And the somber songs start to turn to ones of celebration as a relief washes over them. Tonight, they no longer need to fear the dark.

“You know, I wanted to take up this mission so I could bring them back,” Jackson confesses. “Adriel sacrificed himself to give us our freedom. I’ve been trying to enjoy the gift he gave us, but it isn’t fair that he’s dead while I get to live outside the prison he desperately wanted to escape from.”

Namjoon frowns. “Necromancy is dark magic, Jackson. What if it backfired?”

“I didn’t care. I would’ve used whatever they had to bring them back: bells, tomes, ritual circles,” Jackson lists as he looks at the stash of bells he’s been carrying with him. “Whatever it took. Wouldn’t you want to do the same for that old friend you told us about? The one you saw during the fight?”

Ignis.

Immediately, Namjoon thinks of how the bells convinced him that his old friend had come back. How it took his shape and form, and how it used his voice.

“If I did, he wouldn’t have been the same.” He’d probably be no different from any of the other undead they saw last night. A shell of a human with its spirit gone. A mere illusion of what he once was.

“I probably wouldn’t have been the same either. Had I tried, I would’ve lost a sense of who I am and become a monster like that necromancer phantom,” Jackson concludes with a frown. “That thing we fought… it wasn’t human. It was truly Wicked.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. The necromancer felt like it had lost its humanity a very long time ago, and now just wanders into towns and villages to torment and cause chaos.

“Here.” Jackson holds out the bells to Namjoon. “Make sure to destroy them.”

Namjoon takes it, and he can feel the weight of its power in his hand. “What’s your plan now?”

“Don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out,” Jackson replies with a small shrug. “I might stay here for a bit and help them rebuild. The guys at the pub really liked me.” 

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep.

For a while, you drift in and out of consciousness. You feel the warmth of Hoseok’s healing magic before he applies an ointment to your wound. You hear the sweet tune of Jungkook’s song as he sings to you. You feel Taehyung brush the hair away from your face and press his lips against your knuckles. You hear Seokjin bargain with you – a kiss from your handsomest boyfriend if you open your eyes. When you do, you see Yoongi sleeping on a chair nearby, and you’re certain he hasn’t left your side since you were brought here.

But you don’t see or hear from Namjoon. You force yourself to sit up as the memories of last night come back to you.

In all the years you’ve known Namjoon, he’s always been a strong person. He has thick skin and a level head, and is eloquent and witty with his words. He shoulders a lot of the hard work so you and the others don’t have to. Whenever you need advice, comfort, or someone to rely on, he’s always the first person that comes to mind.

But Namjoon is also human. He can’t always be strong.

And while the details of the fight are still a bit foggy to you, there’s one thing that haunts your mind. The absolute horror on his face when Namjoon finally realizes it’s you he was attacking.

Yoongi stirs when he senses you’re awake. “Where are you going?”

Caught halfway to the door, you stop mid-step and ask, “Yoongi, have you seen—”

Just then, the door opens. Jungkook blinks in surprise when he sees you out of bed. “Oh? You’re awake?”

The others start to crowd in when they hear you’re up. You’re met with relieved sighs, lingering touches, and questions about how you’re feeling from all of them. But as you look around, you notice someone is missing.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

The boys look at each other, exchanging glances as if they don’t know what to tell you. Then, Jungkook speaks up. “He went to get some fresh air. He feels really bad about what happened.”

“I should talk to him,” you decide, determined to find him. You want to look for him anyway. “Do you know where he went?”

Soon, all of you are outside the inn. It’s incredibly empty by the square, and you learn that it’s because most of the villagers have gathered by the nearby lake. From what you’ve heard, it seems Jackson and Namjoon heeded over there as well.

“You’re the girl that was with that boy, aren’t you?”

For a second, you almost didn’t realize someone was talking to you. Then, you turn to see a familiar face. A woman that looked at you with terror and coldly slammed her door at your face yesterday. Namjoon’s mother.

“I am,” you answer, honest but a bit guarded. Now that you have a good look at her, you can see how much Namjoon takes after her appearance. He has the same high cheekbones, the same shape of her eyes, and the same deep dimples in his smile. She stares at you as well, but she doesn’t say a word. Self-conscious, you ask, “Is… Is something wrong?”

She blinks and shakes her head. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You don’t sense any hostility from her this time. Rather, you feel like she’s genuinely curious about you. Perhaps, after the battle and hearing people talk, she had a change of heart about her son.

“That’s all right. I must look terrible.” 

You laugh awkwardly, trying to dust off any dirt from your clothes and fix your hair. Magic helps make you look presentable enough to go out, but you’re still exhausted from fighting all night. Your spells are still weak from overuse, your current clothes are battle-worn, and you’re in a dire need of a bath.

“Actually, you’re quite beautiful,” she quietly admits, and you’re taken aback by the compliment. She looks away from you. There’s a sadness in her eyes as she asks, “How do you know him?”

She doesn’t need to name him for you to know who she’s talking about.

“We’re…” Friends? Lovers? Housemates? Family? “Together. He’s my partner.”

She still doesn’t look at you, but you can see the frown form upon her lips. “And you know what he is?”

“That he’s a mage? Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

You blink at her, confused. “Why would it bother me?”

Her gaze lifts to meet yours, and she stares at you for a long time. It begins to occur to you that, although she knows that Namjoon is a mage, she doesn’t know that you’re one as well. To her, it seems outlandish that a human would willingly love a mage.

“He’s a monster. At least, I believed so,” she finally tells you. “I blamed him for ruining our lives. Don’t you know how shameful it is to have a child cursed with magic? The whole village shunned us for years.”

“Perhaps that’s a problem with your village’s beliefs and not your son,” you retort with a scowl. “His affinity to magic isn’t the only thing that defines him. He’s a good man with a kind heart, and while he’s many things, a monster is far from it.”

Remorse flickers on her face. “Forgive me. It seems you care an awful lot about him.”

“Of course I do,” you tell her so earnestly. “Whether he’s a mage or not, he’s still Namjoon. And I love him.”

Again, his mother stares in silence. She seems baffled, and, perhaps, a bit guilty. For a moment, she hesitates, and just when you’re about to walk away, she asks, “And… is he happy?”

You glance back at his mother. “You can always ask him yourself.”

“No, no. It’s too late for that now. It’s better that he doesn’t know I talked to you,” she backtracks, but there’s a small hint of relief to know what’s become of her son after all these years. “Thank you for indulging an old, shameful woman. I’m glad that he has someone like you who loves him for all he is.”

Night has fallen over the village of Hawthorn. But for once, it’s met with laughter and festivities of celebration. Jackson spots his new friends from the pub and introduces them to him. A guy named Mark invites them both for a drink and to hang out as the lantern ceremony continues.

The moon shines brightly as its light reflects against the lake’s surface, and the glow from paper lanterns being carried across the water is a breathtaking sight.

“Namjoon.”

But despite all the people and festivities around, all you see is him.

Namjoon leaves Jackson and the others and sprints toward you, but stops himself before he gets too close. His hand reaches out to touch you out of habit, but he holds it back. He swallows the fear and hesitation building within him before he plasters a nervous smile. “Hey, baby.”

You look him over, not saying anything at first. Your eyes seem fixed on the bandages he has around his arm. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

His smile fades. A short chuckle of disbelief escapes his lips. “How is that the first thing you ask me when I’m the one that hurt you?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve killed you!” His voice raises, causing a couple passing by to look at you two. He steps a little closer and frowns. “I’m sorry, baby. I swore to myself that I’d always protect you, and I put you in danger. I don’t ever want to put you in that situation again.”

“Namjoon…”

“So, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

You seem to know where this is going. He could see the shakiness in your breath and the way your eyes water. “Namjoon, stop…”

“I think it’s better that I stay here at Hawthorn.”

This decision didn’t come easy. But after hearing that Jackson planned to stick around, he figured he’d stay with him. Help the villagers rebuild. Reconnect with old friends and maybe even his parents. Make this place feel like home again.

It seems like a reasonable idea, but the hardest part is leaving you, the family you brought together, and the shop that became your home. As Namjoon stands before you, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of them. Not you, not the others, not the shop.

“You don’t mean that.” You’re crying now, and even as you wipe your tears, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

In all the years Namjoon has known you, you’ve always been a strong person. You carry an admirable confidence when it comes to your magic. You’re as kind as you are protective of the people you care about. You’re capable of handling yourself when faced with difficult situations.

Before he realizes it, he reaches out to you again. His hand cups your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek, wiping your tears away. “I’m so scared of hurting you again.”

“And I’m scared to lose you.”

But you’re also human. There are times when you’re not always strong.

It dawns on him that you, like him, are terrified that your magic has hurt him. That you think the reason he wants to stay at Hawthorn is because you attacked him.

“You’ll never lose me,” Namjoon promises. Because he knows, even if you’re far apart, he’ll always think about you. In his dreams, in his thoughts. You’ve already claimed every part of him like a fire. “I love you.”

“Then don’t stay here,” you tell him. “Come home. With me.”

And it strikes Namjoon that this is what he’s been searching for his whole life. All the times he’s tried to return to his family, and all his efforts to understand his magic were to get what you’ve given him all along. Acceptance, trust, love. 

Namjoon nods his head, swallowing back his own tears. “Okay.”

“Okay,” you repeat, smiling with relief. And on that beautiful night, with the moon shining brightly and the paper lanterns glowing in the water, he kisses you.

Hawthorn is just as Namjoon remembers it.

The small, farming village with a tight-knit community. Every morning, the villagers rise at the crack of dawn, tending to their animals and crops, fishing by the nearby lake, and selling their produce at the marketplace. His parents still live here, and so do many of his childhood friends and their families. And when he looks around, he sees the familiar buildings of the old windmill, the local church, and homes made of thatch roofs and mud and stone walls.

Even when he was forced away, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else could be his home.

Years later, after finally returning to the village, Namjoon realizes he couldn’t be any more wrong. He had once thought – while trapped in a tiny room in Alterwood Keep – if he ever made it back here, he’d never want to leave. That this place was his village. This place was and will always be his home.

“Ready?” Hoseok asks, looking at you, Namjoon, and Jackson. The three of you nod as all wands are drawn over the necromancer bells.

With the power of four mages, the powers are sealed away and their tempting call to beckon the dead is nearly silenced. They look like ordinary bells, but should anyone try to ring them now, it’d be muffled and mute. Its effect is significantly weak with the magical seal intact, and the bandolier of bells tucked away in Jungkook’s pack.

“Let’s get out of here,” Seokjin decides once the spell is done. His hand slips around your waist protectively, weary eyes double-checking that none of the villagers have seen you guys use magic.

“It was nice seeing you guys again, man,” Jackson says, hand clasping Hoseok before he pulls him into a quick hug. He does the same to Namjoon and adds, “I’m glad you changed your mind. It doesn’t feel right to separate you all for some reason.”

Namjoon smiles a little at that. “Feel free to stop by at the shop anytime, Jackson.”

“I’ll know where to find you.” There’s promise in his voice that he’ll keep in touch.

Your party heads out of the village, receiving final thanks from the mayor and some of the other villagers for your help. Namjoon pauses when he sees his parents among them. His father merely nods at him and says, “Take care of yourself, Namjoon.”

“Thanks. You too,” he replies, a bit stunned. His parents leave it at that, shuffling away as Hoseok calls for him not to fall behind, but for Namjoon, that is more than enough.

When he catches up to you, you’re at the bridge that enters the village. He pauses and takes one more look around at the old windmill, village, and the farmlands. It really hasn’t changed that much since he was a child.

But Hawthorn no longer feels like home to him.

“Ready?” you ask, offering your hand to hold.

Around you, the others state how they’re looking forward to going back to New Haven. Yoongi complains that he needs a bath and a long nap. Jungkook wrinkles his nose at his muddy pants and mutters how he’s eager to start his meticulous laundry routine. Hoseok and Taehyung invite the Oathkeepers for food and drinks at the shop once you’re all back, and Seokjin complains how he’ll end up doing the majority of cooking.

Namjoon smiles fondly as he watches you all. Then, he nods and takes your hand.

These days, home to him is a small, ordinary, and unassuming shop in a bustling trading town. It’s a building that’s much bigger and more extraordinary on the inside than it is on the outside, with a tavern, a parlor, a mysterious door by the entrance that fulfills a person’s greatest desires, and bedrooms on the upper-floor curated to their residents’ tastes and styles.

Lately, home is waking up to bread baking and coffee brewing when Seokjin and Hoseok wake up early to start the day. It’s afternoons when he’s reading a book and listening to Yoongi playing the piano in the parlor, or Taehyung and Jungkook giggling as they play games with each other. Home is evenings when Jimin stops by with a bouquet of flowers for you, and all eight of you are gathered together for dinner as the weariness of the day melts away in each other’s presence.

To him, home is picnics by the river with you, basking beneath the sunlight of a gorgeous day. Home is debating what fruit is the best at the marketplace, and ending up taking home both of your favorites anyway. It’s childishly teasing each other with pranks and mischievous spells, and then finding ways to be in each other’s arms by the end of the day.

Home is with you.

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

[margindoodles2407]

@seeking-elsewhither I was going to put this in the tags of that last post but nope, there's too much to elaborate in such a limited amount of space

Therefore

Let me explain to you The Big Family Experience (tm), for your enlightenment and understanding and perhaps even. Amusement

So. I have seven younger siblings at home. Also three who have gone to the next life and whom I can't wait to meet when I get there too, but for the purposes of this essay I am speaking only about my living siblings who I spend my day-to-day earthly life with.

When you live in a family as big as ours, there's a certain point you reach where the entire household falls into a kind of hierarchy of age. It's the only way to keep things civilized and also save our parents from premature deaths to cardiac arrhythmia. In my family, it looks something like this:

Me (Margin) Brother One Sister One Brother Two Sister Two Sister Three Sister Four Sister Five (Baby)

The first tier, the Damage Control, consists of myself, my first brother, and my first sister. Our job is essentially to keep everyone else from killing each other (this... also includes ourselves) and, as the name implies, smoothing the messes out as best we can when the attempted murder does inevitably occur. In practice this means we're the ones who do most of the chores, the ones who wake up in the middle of the night when a little one is crying to spare mom and dad the trip upstairs, the tantrum-soothers and get-an-ice-pack-the-toddler-has-a-black-eye brigade and the right-hand-men of our parents. I don't think they've hired a babysitter in at least five years. We're also the main organizers of sibling events- which we have a lot of; I make jokes about how we're always two side-eyes away from fratricide but we're actually all extremely close. We run an impromptu camp for them (and our cousin) in the late summer, we have an Olympics-esque tournament in the spring, right now for Advent we run a nightly mini scavenger hunt and have for years- these are only a few examples. The three of us are a unit, we rely on each other for support and as the closest and most mature there's rarely any major infighting we can't smoothe over in a couple of hours.

The second tier, the Assists, is made up of my second brother and sister. They're the middle children, too young to be part of Damage Control but too old to be considered little, and they play a critical role in helping us oldest three when things are Too Much. They're single-handedly challenging the "useless middle sibling" stereotype- they know their strengths and they know how to play them. My second brother is really, really, good with little kids- so when, for example, we babysit, he's usually the one in charge of the youngest three on a personal level (so one of Damage Control- usually me- can focus on like. feeding people. and making sure the house doesn't burn down), while my second sister, who's a little more pragmatic and better at solitary tasks, helps out with the more practical side of sibling culture: household chores and cooking and stuff like that.

The third tier, the Littles, consist of my three youngest sisters. The babies. The vod'ike, if you will. They're too young to do any real heavy lifting- right now, their job is to learn, to grow, to practice making good choices and getting along with each other. They're perhaps the second closest-knit sub-group after Damage Control.

There's an average gap of two years between each of my siblings, myself included. For example, I'm around two years older than my first brother, who's around two years older than my first sister, and so on. The largest age gap is between the Assist siblings- this is because we moved when brother two was a baby, so there's more like three years between those two. Now, two years may not seem like a lot- until you remember how many of us there are. What does this mean, you might ask.

Well, it means that I am a whopping fifteen years older than my youngest sister. (Which isn't even the largest age gap I've seen between oldest and youngest siblings- we know a lot of other big families- but I digress.) And this is actually the reason that last post reminded me so much of my own family. See, when Baby was born, Damage Control was old enough to take a new level of responsibility for the baby that we couldn't even take two years prior, when Sister Four was born. She was the first one of our siblings we kind of had a hand in actually raising. We held her almost as often as either of our parents. We fed her bottles. We helped change her, we helped put her to bed, we were an integral part of her infancy. She was the first infant that mom and dad left us to babysit- and she's barely ever had a sobbing meltdown when they're gone, like her older siblings did (no you don't understand they'd literally just sit there and scream-cry for hours and there was nothing you could do except ignore them until they fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion), because it was just normal for us to be there.

And... our hijinks were normal, too.

What I have to emphasize is that that post was spot on. Seriously, yeah, you do balance your food on the baby's back when you hold her. Your little brother will stand on your face for no reason. You absolutely use the side of your face to keep the bottle in the kiddo's mouth while your hands are occupied. This is how big-family-inter-sibling culture is.

I've got a scar on my face from a time I threw Sister Two in the pool and the bridge of her goggles caught on the bridge of my nose. The only time I've ever gotten a nosebleed was because Brother Two headbutted me right in the face. Sister Three is nicknamed "The Creature" because she is actually a little feral rodent in human form. Once Sister One and I were cleaning the attic in preparation for me to move in, we had a scuffle over the music, and she completely shattered my front right tooth (I've got a replacement now but it still aches a little when I eat cold foods). Brother One and I are the most tactile out of all of our siblings because our dad would wrestle with us when we were little, and to this day we still just all-out brawl each other affectionately for no reason. Sometimes I just pick Sister Four up by the ankles and shake her (she loves it). Baby and I have an entire love language that just consists of us repeatedly slamming our foreheads together. The list goes on and on and I'd be more than happy to give you more examples if you're so inclined to ask for them but I think you get the picture.

Anyway. Yeah. The Big Family Experience. It's hard. It's not for the faint of heart. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

[writingakanatorior101]

Forbidden fruit

Plot: When Vinces little sister takes a gap year fresh out of highschool to spend time with her older brother Nikki's unwelcoming reaction leads to somehting more.

MDNI BELOW THE CUT

This story contains:, choking, dom(nikki), mentions of fucking

"Vince do you think I don't see the news stories about trashing hotel rooms, coke, and hookers. Locking me in the back of an Rv is not gonna stop that."

Vinces chest rises and falls. "Y/n I dont want you around Tommy and Nikki when their having their dumbass conversations. Its like listening to cavemen."

I feel my eyebrows cock. "You know your one of those cavemen right?"

"I came here to spend time with my brother, not to critique his Neanderthal lifestyle."

A smirk comes to his face. "Please don't do anything they do."

I manage to come up off the bed. "So leaving me in the back of the Rv is going to fix that."

"Just listen to me once, you never do y/n"

I click my tounge

"I swear to god mom and dad said that a couple of times about you."

"I remember Tommy and I'd like to meet the others."

In all my life I have never seen Vince that mad until I said that.

"Your going to listen to me on this."

Without another word the doorway was empty and the door to the room was shut from the outside. I had been sitting here waiting to meet them all. This bus is empty the bandmates were gone when I arrived the only who was here was Vince.

I can't fucking believe it I took a leap year for that fake blonde prick just for him to lock me in the back of a rockstar RV.

"So his sisters just tagging along"

"Man I didn't know she was our age."

Men's voices grace my ears, whoever it was, was defiantly outside. Peeping my head up and pulling myself off the bed I strutted my ass to the windows.

I know damn well who's outside, the rest of Motley Crue. The velvet of the curtain felt so rich when I touched it. This defiantly wasn't some cheap camper. No matter how many hookers and how much crank have been in here.

To my surprise their taller in person. Especially Tommy someone needs to feed that man he looks the same weight as he did in high school. Then there was a Mick someone Vince describes as sweet and most likely to be the only one he would let me talk to.

But there stood in the middle of them Nikki fucking Sixx. He resembled this picture of Hades I saw while reading a book. The mother fuckers godly and the most piercing blue eyes god how do any of them get women with a man like that standing around.

He's got that type of height that makes a girl feel safe you know I like a man I can climb.

Tommy turns when Vince comes out the camper doors. "So where is she?"

"Its been forever since I've seen her, and she did use to do my homework for me Vince."

Vince retorts "Thats sad man she was a freshman, and you were a senior and in the same math class."

Mick tilts his chin up "when did you get a sister, we've never heard about her and now she is living with us."

Doc turns to them "Shut up all of you, a young girl is less of handful than any of you could hope to be and here wanting to see her brother means she may be with us for while."

I close the curtains. Do I just have to act like a ghost as long as their all around. At this point seeing Vince might not be worth it.

"So is she in here" Tommys voice cascades from down the hallway and I feel the camper start.

"Sit down, fucktards." Docs voice is very domineering and when he yells, they listen.

Then a voice rattles me one I hadn't heard from outside the window before it was deep and sultry. He didn't use a lot of words when he spoke, everything he said sounded like a summary. I knew it was Nikki.

"So is this sister goanna stop me from living my life are we going to have to change for the whole tour cause this little girl around or something."

"What you can't come fuck groupies now on the table" Vince had a mocking tone "you gotta get a hotel."

I know they think I can't hear them but the wood door is very thin. And honestly Vince has been gone for three years a lot changes in three years. I'm not very innocent like come on I went to a public high school in LA and I'm damn sure not a virgin.

But I'd prefer if my brother didn't know that.

When I got here the look on his face. Like I was a whole different person hell that man spent five minutes sizing me up trying to make sure I was the real y/n his sister.

That I'm the same y/n who told him over the phone that she got a full ride at NYU and the same y/n who used to do Tommys homework and watch MTV every night.

I would like to go out that door and see those men from not behind a glass and I would love to talk to Tommy again.

"You brought a child a Fucking rockstars tour bus and except us to live our lives so she isn't exposed to the way you live."

Nikkis voice spit with poison

Vinces spit back "All I said was you don't have to bring your whores in here weird ass."

They were yelling now and I was giggling. Not because it was funny but because I genuinely didn't know what to do.

"Is she fucking giggling behind that door"

I lift my hand to my mouth. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Theres rapid footsteps approaching the door.

"I will turn this goddamn bus around sit down get, Nikki get the fuck away from that door."

They were to close for comfort on the other side. From what I could hear Doc was right next to Nikki.

From the other side of the door, I hear Doc's remorse "I'm sorry young lady."

"Its ok" is all I could muster up.

Hours passed and the sun went behind the hills I was reading a book not like a could focus at all. This was the nicest camper I had ever seen. I completely opened the curtains and the lights of the other cars illuminated the roads.

It was so peaceful I heard my brother's laughter in the background he is so happy and Im proud of him I am.

Sitting on the bench next to the window. Footsteps were coming down the hall. They were Vinces I know they were so I picked up a book and started "reading".

The oak door opened and I could see his blonde hair in the light. "Hey uh were gonna stop at a gas station and I'm gonna meet Beth and drive her to the hotel."

"Your finace Beth am I going to meet her?"

"You will tomorrow but no promises tonight."

"look at me y/n"

I whip my head around

"Don't leave the room while I'm gone."

"yeah whatever sure vince."

And just like that my freedom was granted. All because Vince wanted to see his fiancé, a woman I have never met.

Peeking out of the curtain I see him exit the RV and I see Beth getting out of a ford truck. She is pretty. She has a small frame and bleaches blonde hair. That real American look which is defiantly Vinces's type.

Looking at me and Vince you can't tell were related anymore I kept our real hair color which is a light brown and went more towards the blonde side.

When they were out of dodge the door was open. I wanted to see some rockstars goddammit. All I was wearing was a short romper that was grey with a blue line that ran down both the sides. My hair was in a bun. Down the narrow hallway the room was vacant the boys had all gotten into different cars all except Nikki. Who was facing the Tv.

"I thought you would be taller and have more muscle."

The rv was moving now and there was a wall separating us and the driver.

"I knew I heard the door open I just thought it was Vince. But no its his little sister dressed like whore."

Now that comment hurt but not as much as that lamp I threw.

A glass lamp sat next to me it was beautiful probably one of those thousand dollar ones. Well now it was in a thousand pieces on the floor and I barley missed Nikkis head.

"Piss off" My voices bounces off the room walls.

"You crazy bitch."

"I know you're not talking, all the blow you fucking do and you wanna call me crazy."

I hadn't even noticed it but between the lamp throwing and insults me and Nikki had moved closer to each other.

All he was wearing was some jeans and sleeveless tee that said Black Sabbath. He just toured with Ozzy after all.

"All your wearing is a fucking romper."

"What are you a middle school boy who just saw his first pair of tits, its romper not lingerie."

"Your not exactly shapeless."

It was at this point I lost my morals

"Oh you like it, we call that sexual frustration and you can handle that with your hand."

Until this point the man didn't really have an expression on his face. Yeah sure he was vocal but he was still. That comment left a mark on him though. He was dumbfounded he looked complexed if anything. Then a shit eating grin had took his face and I knew I lost the argument.

"I bet you like it hurt."

"You like to cry during it don't you."

I didn't know what took over me but who does this man think he is. He can be free and loose with his words and Im gonna be free and loose with my hands.

"Actually you don't know the half of it, I like to fuck like hate people I don't mind hitting, spanking I love choking why do I need air."

When I moved closer to him he stiffened his body and cocked his head.

"And to think I called you a little girl"

Nikkis hands are cold, but they can hold me throat easily so easily. The wall of the rv was made out of wood so it didn't hurt that bad being pushed against it.

His breath was in my ear and suddenly every part of me was warm. He seems so tall like this and his eyes have never been so pretty.

I start to giggle, is this real. It feels like lucid acid dream or like I won the lottery that caters to really fucked up girls.

"Why are you laughing, you always laugh" His hands are on my throat still and he slammed he into the wall again with more force than the first time. I had enough courage to warp my legs around him and put my full weight on him.

For a moment that felt like a lifetime he just sat there looking at me. Trying to decide what to do. He could barley meet me eyes with his. But the hunger in them couldn't hide nor could I hide the moisture between my hips.

In my life I had never felt a man so prominent. Fuck this fucker might sell out shows every time if he only wore grey sweatpants. The girth could probably keep you from walking for weeks alone but the length is causing him to almost touch my stomach piercing.

Any dignity I had turned into liquid between my thighs despite his grip I threw my weight to wear I hanging on him with my arms and my legs and moving myself up and down.

His head was back and he was riding it out with me. Nikki was using every iota of his being to not let this cross the line.

"To bad you'll never have this baby"

My high died and he was off me so fast like a bat out of hell. The erection had a clear outline in his jeans and I could see precum stains where his tips is. I could also feel it on my inner thigh.

I was painting breathing for air I could feel my shoulders rising and falling.

"You fucking let down Nikki"

!!!Let me know if you guys want a full fic!!!!

[bookwormgamerweeb]

Vampire Hunter D x fem reader

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

WARNING

There is talk about religion and pedophilia and grooming view at your own risk

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

I reload my pistol, firing in every direction killing the bastards one by one.

The job was messier than what I'm used to, at least with the carnage people who want me dead will think a bit before attacking, hunters especially.

Being born a dhamphire was very difficult my father human, mother vampire.My childhood actually not a bad one my father loved me and I had friends but as I got into teen years everything slowly went down hill one of the ways was when the Sherif of village came to my home in the middle of the night just to kill my dad, turns out the bishop sentenced him to death for no reason at all.

Most of the reason I got in this line of work is so I could kill him, his disgusting.Unlike the priest the bishop would hang around me a little too much, my dad noticed this and told me to say no if he asks me to do anything while we are alone.I ofcourse followed what he said but doing so would lead to his death . . .

FLASHBACK

I remember it clearly it was a normal day me andy friends were playing and feeding the horses by the church and he came out I hadn't seen him coming to us but my friends did

they ran

He asked to help him clean the church, I said yes.I made sure to always put distance between me and him but he always had a reason to come closer to close .I was forced to stay till dawn,I was finishing up cleaning the stairs I bent to grab "You always tempt me"he whispers caressing my thigh,a chill runs down my back "I must go my father is probably worried", I try to walk past him but he grabbed my shoulder squeezing my arm."He won't be worried your with me", he whispers again but closer in my ear.Something in me gave me courage to push him away and run out of the church fear of him following me home as the sun seems to set faster and faster.

I never told father but I knew he knew something was wrong so he went to Bishop and he didn't like it (the bishop).

After my father's death I ran away knowing no one had my back besides from my father.

PRESENT

At that age I knew I was a dhamphire trying to learn how to control my powers was difficult since there was no one like me so I opted for weapons my favourite being my pistol.But that was 854 years ago, throughout that time I have made friends with many people but no one has stayed with me, I don't know if that was a blessing in disguise or not since I'm not that comfy around people since I left my village especially men.

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

I'm very inconsistent but there might be pt2, kinda got the bishop thing from Castlevania but I hope u enjoyed it byeeee

[moonlite-drabbles]

Correspondence (pt. ll) - Mika, Capitano, Varka

Aka; Mika wingmaning for Varka and Capitano, 2.3k words

~

Mika found himself an… unexpected new responsibility, what with their expeditions traveling side by side for the time being, Varka had thought it fit to use Mika as the currier between the sides, since he was already aquainted. As such, he was running between the two to trade information on the upcoming routes, or to simply invite the other side over for dinner. 

One such situation had Mika walking into the enemy camp. Heads turned towards him, but they recognized him by now, letting him nervously trot up to a high ranking looking personnel. 

“H-hello. Grand Master Varka requested I shared information on the path ahead. We scouted out some upcoming terrain issues.”

“Hm.” The general replied simply. “Take it to Capitano. He requested you be sent his way next time you cross over. Training is done so he will be within his tent. Just go in.”

The general pointed him towards the large tent set in the middle of the encampment. Large enough for someone even of Capitano’s size to stand fully within it. “Oh. A-alright.”

Which is what lead him to Capitano’s tent, sitting nervously across from the man as he shared information.

Mika couldn’t help but wonder if this was part of his training, facing such a terrifying man diplomatically. It got easier though. Capitano was a beast of a fighter during training. Untouchable in terms of strength, except maybe by Varka. As such, when they were on the move, Him and Varka led the expedition by horseback, side by side.

“S-sir? Varka requested I-”

Capitano tilted his head towards him. The gaping void of the mask swallowed all light, but Mika got the impression the man was looking his way. “Sit, scout.”

Mika did so, silently reminding himself of good relations and respectful interaction. Archons, why was this his job?

“So, you came here for…?” Capitano asked. His voice was deep and smooth. 

“Ah, yes. Varka requested I share.” Mika quickly handed over the mapping, which detailed the paths ahead, along with the issues with each one. “The westmost path is long, at a roughly thirty-five degree angle going through it, and the recent rain has rendered it muddy. It poses a hazard for horses. The second is over forty feet wide and the straightest shot towards progressing, but we have concerns about rock slides closing off the path. The third requires traveling a ten foot wide cliff edge during the worst of it.”

“Good to know. Our own scouts came to similar conclusions. With less detailed maps though.” He thumbed over the paper. “Does Varka wish for the soldiers to eat communally today?”

“He said nothing of it, sir.”

“Hm. You said you were fifteen when we first met, correct?”

Mika froze, Capitano had never delved into person conversation before, despite having been the designated currier between the two for a few weeks. “Well—yes. I am fifteen, sir. Soon to be sixteen.”

“Young for someone with Varka’s expedition, which has been active for years.”

“I am capable… sir.” he said, did he say that before? When they first met? Mika couldnt quite remember with all the days that’d gone by.

“Indeed. I’ve seen some of your maps when meeting with Varka. You are incredibly talented with drafting military maps. They rival ours, which are drawn by men twice your age—and stature.”

“Thank you?” Was that a compliment?

It probably was. Capitano continued, appraising Mika with a tilt of his head. “You are a good scout. Could use some meat on your bones, though. You know, in Snezhnaya, we at least try to feed our boys.”

“I—I am fed well, I promise. I am just on the skinnier side.” Mika responded, feeling an embarrassed heat rise to his cheeks.

“Hm. Boys like you freeze back home.”

“I am not too concerned with freezing currently.” Mika laughed slightly. “Natlan is quite hot.”

Capitano seemed to drop it, instead turning the conversation. “Grandmaster Varka, what is your opinion of him?”

“Well—I’m not quite sure I can answer these types of questions.”

“It is nothing of intelligence I assure you. Just a personal inquiry on the character of one of your comrades.”

“Alright then...”

“So, is your opinion of the Grandmaster?” Capitano asked.

“Grandmaster Varka?” Mika tilted his head. “Well, he’s my combat instructor so he’s taught me a lot. He’s a very good Grandmaster. He’s very…”

“Boisterous? I’ve seen such. He is a loud man. Proud to laugh. I’ve seen. He often, and with enthusiasm, invites me to a drink. He is a good conversationalist, if a little long winded.”

Mika resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose at the mention of Alcohol. “Yes. He’s—he’s a good man, really. I respect him deeply. He’s very honorable as well. There’s no one else I’d have leading us.”

“I see.”

“And of Varka, surely a man of that renown has a lover?”

What.

What.

“I mean… he has children. Two, both adopted vision holders, that are in Mondstadt, but—I suppose there are only rumors of flings. Nothing solid, definitely not official or–or public. I guess.”

“And of these flings, who has been the subject of them?”

“S-sir… this is very quickly turning to a subject I cannot talk about.” Mika bit out, flustered. What was this man playing at?

“I apologize, but ask you indulge me, scout.” The Captain dipped his head.

Oh. Oh. Mika… supposed he could help out Varka and the Captain in this regard. There couldn’t be much harm in it.  “W-well… there was rumors with a admiral of similar age stature, but that was long before the expedition.”

“And what was this… admiral like?” Mika immediately deduced this question’s true intention. The Captain wanted to know the gender.

“I don’t know much about him. This was before the expedition so I was quite young. More of gossip. The admiral though I met in passing later on, he was a decorated man. But he did not join the expedition.”

Capitano seemed to have gotten what he was looking for. He dipped his head in gratitude. “Hm. Thank you. You’ve been very insightful.”

He seemed appreciative, as if what Mika had done was more than just participate in gossip. The young scout tired hard not to smile. Honestly he should get a metal of valor for this. Or maybe an acting award. Does Liyuean theatre hire Mondstadters? “N-no issue, sir. Was that everything you need?”

“Yes. You are free to return to your camp. Oh, and tell Varka we extend an invitation to him and his comrades for a joint dinner.”

Mika left that tent, struggling to maintain a straight face as he darted from the fatui camp, only breaking out into giggles as he ran back to Varka’s tent.

That night, Mika watched as Capitano chose to take a seat at the bonfire next to Varka at dinner, instead of the other way around. And when Mika had to retire to his tent, he glanced over at the near abandoned bonfire, The Captain and Varka still sitting by it long after the other’s retired.

~

“I must ask, is this a common arrangement, Grandmaster?” 

Capitano asked, long after their sins had been committed, as they laid against one another. They were in Varka’s tent, Capitano having abandoned his own. Just for the night. And maybe another.

“Bedding opposing military personnel? Can’t say it is.” Varka’s laugh was soft. 

Grandmaster of the country of freedom meeting with the highest commander of the goddess of love. To an outsider, it would make sense, be beautiful in a way. 

To Capitano it was a slight to his goddess, equal to heresy. To Varka it was an embodiment of his ideals.

“Is that comforting, Captain?” 

“How is the boy?” He asked instead of answering.

Varka knew who he was referring to. “Mika? Good. He’s back on scouting shifts and training.”

“You take a lot of care with the boy. I’ve seen you personally training him.”

“I try to pay special attention to Mondstadt’s vision holders. And the attention is good for him. He does not have many… responsible men in his life.”

Capitano stayed silent, hoping Varka would elaborate despite doing so would probably be invading the boy’s privacy. He did not. Instead the man sighed.

“I have a soft spot for the boy as well. I have it for most kids.” Varka said. He was always doing that. Just admitting things. Freely. As if no one was listening. “Which is probably how I ended up with two despite not having a wife.”

This was new. “You have children?”

Varka laughed, and Capitano felt as though he had referenced a joke he hadn’t learned yet. “Some would say—they themselves change opinions on the topic. The younger of the two is Razor. I knew his parents, but they died, and the boy was raised by wolves. The lad is still half feral according to his teacher, but he wields a claymore and an electro vision…” 

Capitano listened. It was another one of Varka’s long winded tangents, where he hid nothing and spoke because he loved to.

“The elder is Rosaria. She’s an adult, a nun of the church, though you’d sooner guess a vampire from her way of dress.” He gave a small laugh. “She wields a polearm and a cryo vision. Deadly, the girl is. I didn’t even train her to be so, I left her in the care of the church hoping she’d find peace. Instead, she found it necessary to put others to peace. Pretty soon the two of them will be able to hold blades against their old man. I wouldn’t mind it.”

Capitano hummed.

“Those are only the ones who choose to call me family. There are others I’ve done my best to help raise—an old friend of mine had two sons. The red haired one…”

And Varka shamelessly fell into another tangent, detailing, with glowing pride, his children and their lives back in his homeland.

“Then there’s Mika. I’d be lying to say anything less than I see the boy similarly to Razor and Rosaria. Perhaps it’s simply because he’s been the youngest of our expedition, and I’ve had no one else to exercise  what my daughter refers to as ‘empty den syndrome’ onto, but I do think of him quite fondly. He, though, has a set of parents, though—ah. I seem to have gotten off track. Yes, I have children.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Many would.” Varka responded. And then they laid in silence a moment longer.

Varka breathed like he spoke, deep, loud, and without care. Not an ounce of tension to the man. Capitano wanted to gently rest his hand around the other’s throat, just to feel the thrum of his windpipe as the other would surely laugh at the motion. It was an infatuation uncharacteristic of him. And so, once again, he distracted himself.

“Mika is young. Very. For a scout. He must have been younger when he joined the expedition, and younger then when he joined your knights.”

Varka hummed. “He was. Twelve when he started as a courier for the knights. Thirteen when he earned his vision and officially joined under one of my officers. The boy has always been flighty—uncertain. It was much worse back in the city. He’s come far.”

“I’d imagine it’d be better—what with his family nearby.”

Varka sighed, face falling into far off frustration, not directed at Capitano. “His parents have always been moving about as adventurers, and Mika found himself being raised by—or rather raising, I’d think—a much older brother with a drinking problem. The amount of times me or my men have seen the poor boy dragging his adult brother from Angel’s share is pathetic. I’d dismiss the older from the knights but I’m certain he’d just wallow at the tavern until they sold the house.”

Well. That was quite a confession. One he didn’t quite know how to respond to. “I suppose that’s why the boy always looks seasick when we pass around fire-water.”

“Indeed. It’s unfortunate but it’s simply what it is.”

“I’ve never understood how Mondstadters can leave their children about. To wander and such.”

“Our landscapes are safe, our weather temperate, and our predators few and far between. The freedom gives them strength.”

This, Capitano knew. 

Snezhnaya was much the opposite. Their icy land filled with jagged edges, the weather raging and dangerous, their predators always stalking. Huddled close together and around warm hearths is what allowed them life. The love, perhaps, is what gave them their strength.

Freedom and love. Between the two of them, Capitano would offer both roles to Varka. The man was undeniably better versed in each, and when he commuted his heresy he had no duty pulling him away, no god to judge him. But, Capitano supposed, if needed, he’d take one.

Once upon a time, the Tsaritsa’s gospel and worship spoke of love. The different kinds, the magic of it, the gift of it. Once, Snezhnaya was icy cold, but warm in the ways of his goddess’ love. He remembered sermons where preachers promised them that they will fall in love, and may pursue that love under the protection and benevolence of their goddess. No matter what land they hailed from, or scars they bore. Now though, such practices were abandoned as his goddess The Tsaritsa ended such worship. Now, there was no promise of acceptance, should it be found him and Varka had courted.

He shifted to his side, propping himself up on one arm, to look Varka in his eyes. Then he planted a kiss on the man's jaw, scratchy stubble brushing against his lips. He’d take that chance. If even for the fleeting moments that their sides passed one another in their lives.

~

Also up on AO3!

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

hii so I'm like a super ultra silent reader of your content bc I am deathly afraid of my liked posts showing up on my friends' feeds. but I had to somehow let you know that even though you seem to be having some sort of burnout and unhappiness with your writing, as someone who's very very picky about what writing I even enjoy, your writing style and skill is definitely some of my favorite on the app at all. I totally understand being unhappy with your own work since I'm an artist too (albeit a visual artist so, not quite the same here but the idea applies), and I can relate to being unsatisfied with whatever it is you're putting out there. but basically, I just wanted to let you know from an outside view, your writing is extremely eloquent and well-put-together and organized. you can tell your writing is created with a lot of thought and time put into it, which is why it's so easy to enjoy. and side note, I LITERALLY haven't been able to stop thinking of your last post since I read it yesterday which almost never happens 😭. honestly even though there's like 5 gepard fans on here so he gets practically no content from anyone, I'd still prefer to have your writing carrying the "fanclub" of sorts over a large crop of posts from lots of people that isnt very well-done or thought about. I know you said this recent post may be your last one for a bit, so please, PLEASE take your time with whatever's next!! your stuff is always very much worth the wait ❤️ and please do take care of yourself and don't push yourself too hard.

(by the way, you totally don't need to post this on your profile or respond to it at all, I just wanted to send in some kind of message about it since as I mentioned, my paranoia prevents me from interacting with your posts directly 😞)

CRYINGB UGLY SOBBING OMGOMGOMG

It surprises me when people say I don’t need to respond because I can’t keep such a nice note to myself 😭 but I do the same thing when I’m sending asks so I totally get it (I’d get this tattooed on my forehead if no one stopped me)

i had NO IDEA I had a super ultra silent reader so this was an absolute joy to get. There was a post I saw earlier about how in fandoms, it’s either you talking with a small group of friends or your door is open and people come in and listen to you ramble. I’m definitely the latter. I’m so fortunate to have so many people invested in my story lol, because like most things I write, they start off as daydreams in bed. I’ve never written one out before, but I’m SO GLAD I DID.

And honestly, if I were to release something the quality I wanted it to be, it would take ages of rereading and refining. Unfortunately im not a very gifted writer, but all the practice I’ve gotten due to being obsessed with gepard has helped me a bit. I just have to remember that haha

Some less coherent thoughts

ITS EASY TO UNDERSTAND???? YAY IM SO HAPPY AHHHHHHHH

i actually based my style off the wings of fire series, i don’t know if y’all are familiar with it, but the introspective humor was so fun to me as a child. (Also I love using Chekhov’s gun as a crutch I’m sorry guys) it also stemmed from the worry that readers wouldn’t be able to visualize what I was picturing, so that ended up in a LOT of describing scenes early on. With no metaphors so it was just like. (Y/N) set the cup down, (Y/N) put the laundry in the washer, etc. hahaha it makes me laugh looking back on it

it also makes me absolutely kicking my feet giddy that it’s invaded your brain. I love giving people brain worms and inflicting emotional damage on them. And gepard ALWAYS shares posts with other Hsr men like. The absolute middle child treatment. But I’m glad I’m doing my part to bring something to the table that’s different than the usual 1k words he gets sandwiched in between five other people.

it makes me so so happy you think my writing is organized and well thought out, because I do put a lot of thought into it!

I’ve run out of words to say but i might come back to this to ramble pfft

i hope that fic gives you a good supply of serotonin for days to come 🩵🩵

[canyouhearthelight]

Nihilus Rex, Ch. 12: Aftermath

Here we have what should be the last really technical chapter for...hopefully the rest of the book. Fingers crossed. Although I am sure we can sneak some more stuff here and there if someone asks for more technical stuff, just not so many unending chapters of it.

As always, on the even-numbered chapters, I wrote while @baelpenrose co-wrote and beta'd.

Some legends are told

Some turn to dust or to gold

But you will remember me

Remember me for centuries

And just one mistake

Is all it will take

We'll go down in history

Remember me for centuries

Fall Out Boy, “Centuries”

Lash

“I heard it was part of a bigger hack.”

“Everything I’ve seen about that goes back to some QAnon boards. They think everything is a conspiracy.”

My heart rate picked up just a bit as I looked over dozens of similar conversations across several message boards.  It was entirely too close to home, but felt completely surreal at the same time - I had been part of a coordinated attack against major financial institutions, and no one even believed the scale of what had actually happened.  Not even the people directly impacted, if everything from our botnets was accurate.

In the immediate aftermath, over truly horrendous spinach pie and far too many dolmades, Nils and I had kicked around what-ifs and half-assed contingencies.  It had all boiled down  to keeping an eye on our feeds, waiting for updates from Bishop if he caught anything, and laying low until the attack had aged out of the news cycle.  If online communities started piecing anything together, the plan was to sow misinformation and redirect.

We had definitely called it on the news portion - pundits were still arguing over whether the slain men were heroes of the middle class out to free people from the bonds of financial indenture, or anti-capitalist villains trying to destabilize the global economy.  Every late night show had a self-referential monologue about the deceased, followed by a person-on-the-street segment with split opinions like some ghoulish, real world version of the Boondock Saints.  No one could agree if their goal had been just the one attack, or if there was a secret manifesto somewhere with their ultimate strategy.  What everyone did agree on, however, from the Department of the Treasury, to the OCC, to all major news networks, was that the people responsible had been gunned down by police.  Body camera footage had been released, sometimes uncensored, with all six men declaring loudly that no one else was involved, nobody had put them up to this, nothing had inspired them. 

No One. Nobody. Nothing.  Anyone who had interacted with Nils online and had two brain cells left to rub together would have known immediately.

Except… Our damage control had done its work for us.  Every single time I had been alerted that someone was suggesting a larger plan, the same response had come: That’s QAnon nonsense. A conspiracy. I bet you think the moon landing was fake, too.

Nils had joked about his handle then. “Would you buy that my handle is also an Odyssey reference to be a contingency for exactly this?” He’d said, half joking.

I squinted, half smiling at the memory. “I bet your minion morons believe that.  I do not.  Especially not having seen how far back your handle goes, in some form or another.” She waggled a bite of food at him. “Nice try, though. The bravado almost sold it.”

“Fair enough. Speaking of handles, Lash. Can I get your real name?” He’d said, as they’d shared dinner after the fact. “I haven’t tracked it down as a matter of respect, but we’ve been friends for a while and I would like to know. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

“You aren’t allowed to use it,” I had made him promise. Something about sharing my first name had always felt too… exposed. “Not in person, not via text, not at all.”

He’d given that weird smile that seemed almost like his signature, the one that seemed like he was laughing at something somewhere else, and said, “I promise. I’ll only call you Lash.”

“Then I will tell you when all this dies down and you can’t rat me out to the authorities.” He hadn’t been expecting that, and I winked at his shock. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Not like you would rat me out anyway.” Truth be told, I liked having him at something of a disadvantage.

He inclined his head at a little bow, “As you wish, Lash.” He raised a glass. “This was really fun though. Good working with you.” 

Now, I was staring feeds on three monitors, a week out, watching the entire financial sector and public refuse to believe anything more serious had happened than six armed men breaking into a major bank Guy Ritchie-style.  All three of us had expected some form of damage control, but there was nothing to control.

Almost like I had cursed myself, my phone started buzzing violently across my desk, sending me to my feet hard enough to almost knock my chair over.  “Spam Spam” showed up on my caller ID - Bishop.

“Please take me off whatever list this is,” I answered carefully. Bishop did not call me. He messaged me through about a million proxies, but calling was a no-no.  Paranoid did not begin to describe the man’s communication habits.

“Just a moment of your time, Miss,” the voice came through. “I am calling on behalf of Bloomberg to offer you a one year subscription for only $1 per week. That’s all your basic financial and stock news, for $52 a year.”

“That’s nice, but I’m broke,” I sighed, taking note of the site before hanging up.

My stomach sank when the phone buzzed again, this time a message from Nils. “Uh. Quick meetup somewhere secure. We may have overshot slightly. In a good way.” 

Definitely not good. “Let’s meet at the usual spot. We need to talk about the project for class, anyway.” I sent the message and didn’t even check for confirmation before gathering my stuff with one hand while I checked my news skimmer with the other.

Well, fuck.

Nils was waiting at the shitty hacker cafe, and he looked tense, eyes sharp. He barely waited for me to sit down. “So. There’s a thing. Remember when we were making the worm? And we had to shave some stuff off to make it small enough to still function? And we had to simplify some of its seeking parameters? Uh…it…I just realized that everything in Blackbox…”

“Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention. “You and B reached out within about five minutes of each other, and he managed to tell me to check the news. I saw. We overshot by a couple orders of magnitude, yeah.”

“Yeah. Explains why no damage control. Until someone leaked it, I don’t know that they were legally allowed to admit it could be hacked.” 

“We need coffee,” I stammered out, running a hand over my head. “And B. But coffee first.” Without waiting, I bounced up and ordered for us both. When I came back to the table, he was bouncing a knee - not out of place in a place that specialized in caffeine addiction for the ADHD set, thankfully. “I don’t suppose you carry a flask or something? Could only make it taste better.”

“My flask is for energy drinks when I need caffeine in emergencies because my head is starting to hurt from withdrawals, so, no. It absolutely would not. I appreciate the suggestion though.” Nils’ voice was flat. “I’ll reach out to B and tell him to get over here. We have a bit of a security concern to address. A slimy, perverted security concern to address.” 

“He doesn’t know my actual name or my face,” I told him pointedly. “I’ll drive the bus if you’ll do the throwing, it comes to that.”

“He knows your handle, he’s better than we are at breaking encryptions and worse about boundaries, he absolutely knows your name.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to trust any records scavenged from a defunct elementary school or a birth certificate. Those are the only places my actual name is listed. I don’t even drive.” I thought about it for a minute. “But backing up his stuff remotely to make sure we have any sex trafficking or worse would be a good idea.”

“Honestly I was thinking simpler. We have a crime that he was accomplice to, he can’t blackmail us without incriminating himself without claiming he didn’t know what it would be used for. He might get immunity for the tip, but that takes time. He’s attempted to solicit you for indecent shit a lot, and attempted to get me to engineer…basically letting him do sex crimes, a few times. I kept the messages after turning him down, you? If nothing else it kills his credibility as a witness and ruins any ability he has to get us convicted of anything.” 

I gave him a dirty look. “What kind of amateur do you think I am? I have all my dirt on everyone backed up where no one can find it except me or my parents. External drives, somewhere safer than that server we just fucked up.”

“Of course, my apologies.” He looked a little calmer with the idea that Weasel was handled. “They’ll try to trace us but our databombs will have made such a brutal hash of anything they could trace that they won’t know where to start looking. At a guess they’ll move to a different system against future hackers - and I don’t envy the next suckers to try this.” 

I tapped my chin, trying to think what Bishop would point out. Something simple we would be missing. I wasn’t good a peopling, but Bishop was surprisingly adept - “They have six dead bodies, a drive designed to fuck shit up, and six cell phones that had been in contact with you.  So, first link is you. Let’s start there.”

“Burn phone, pre-paid, cash, with an out of state number, picked up ages ago for something else entirely, under an alias I no longer use, again invented for something else entirely, and called through wifi service using a vpn. Said burn phone has now been utterly destroyed with its remains scrubbed of fingerprints and the remains tossed into a dumpster, whilst I was not carrying my normal phone, on the opposite side of town from where we normally spend any time. I think that about covers it.” 

“I don’t ever want to hear anyone say women watch too much true crime,” I muttered. “You literally could have just taken it apart and used a belt sander on it, handed the pieces to a makerspace. Or donated it to a Goodwill bin.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

Bishop showed just after that, making a point to ignore us while getting his coffee and sitting at a table two over from us, facing away.

“I knew getting involved with both of you at once would get exciting. So. We want to talk about what you little maniacs have been discussing before I got here so I can go over what you missed?” B’s voice was vaguely amused, and a little tense. “I should mention, I’ve already gotten a message from Weasel. He put it together. Hopefully you two have a contingency for that.” 

“Oh, the usual,” I answered airily, arching a brow at Nils. “Blackmail and making sure there aren’t any other tracks to cover. Nils overdid it with his phone, but it should work.”

Harvey’s voice took on an amused note. “Alright then. I’ll tell Weasel to pound sand. Am I to take it you kids had fun the night of the job?”

“Food was hit or miss, and there was some half-delirious contingency planning around damage control.” I rubbed my face. That felt like a decade ago.

Nils was looking embarrassed and Harvey looked amused as the older man continued. “Pity. You two were getting really wound up and I was hoping you’d be able to take a load off that night. From the looks of things, Nils’ usual bullshit and choice of pawns is working out on deflecting suspicion against a bigger conspiracy - I think the feds are reluctant to give conspiracy wingnuts credibility.”

Someone isn’t paying attention to politics, I mused internally. On the surface, I just smiled and took a sip of my coffee, suppressing a grimace at how bitter and nasty it was. Cold brew…. How hard did you have to try to fuck up cold brew, I swear. “Either way, the damage had controlled itself so far.  Any updates since you called? I checked my skimmers right after, but the news was sparse.”

“So far an announcement that 4Chan white supremacist boards are going to be looked at more seriously as a breeding ground for stochastic terrorism coming from the FBI, unsurprisingly now that they’re affecting rich people.” 

Nils gave an evil chuckle. “Oh good, that’s a pot I was stirring a bit ago. Unmanaged retaliation against cops in a predictable timeframe for whatever happens to them and we can let the system eat itself and look away from us, thank you very much…”

The only reason my head didn’t bounce off the table when I dropped it is because my arms cushioned the fall. “Don’t get me wrong!” I held a hand up blindly. “After the revenge porn thing, yes, scrutinize breeding grounds. And at least everyone knows the guys who are currently taking the fall are not - “ I pointed at myself emphatically. “But I am not a fan of ‘unmanaged’ retaliation against a group with airtight legal protections and a poor track record of reading perp stats correctly.” It was the most polite way I could say ‘racist assholes’ without everyone in the cafe looking at me.

“Options: I have to actively take command of the right wing gun nuts a la some shitty real life Code Geass-ripoff shenanigans to manage them, or I let their anti-government shit lead them to fight actual problems for a change, or I let them continue believing that the Jews were running the world and that everyone who couldn’t pass a paper bag test were their foot soldiers in need of shooting - right as the ax was about to fall on them. Guess which option I figured involved the least collateral damage? If you prefer I decide to go whole hog on the aesthetic and try ripping off Lelouch vi Britannia harder, which to me seemed worse than telling them they were going to have a cop problem rather than a Jews run the world problem…” Nils response was less annoyed than exhausted, and unlike our previous conversation where it was clear that he hadn’t thought it out and felt bad about it, his tone indicated that he’d thought this one through and had simply picked the least evil available option he saw. 

Thankfully, Bishop’s unending focus on ‘simplest solution is best solution’ saved me palm abrasions and an assault charge from strangling the cute but dumb motherfucker on the spot. “Since the heat right now is on an actual breeding ground for incels, alt right, and revenge porn entrepreneurs, we could just let them chase their tails and keep laying low. White collar crime is historically white, et cetera, ipso facto Columbo Oreo.”

“I like that idea,” I agreed, putting as much reluctance as possible behind the sentiment. Realistically, Nils as Commander and Chief of the Fucknuckle Wingnut Army was not giving me the warm and fuzzies.

[capcavan]

Deaged Riko AU (10 years) angst fluff idk

There is a demon summoning circle the size of exy court in the undergrounds of Edgar Allen. The room is dark and as big as the stadion hall itself there is no light sources aside from the red gloving marks on the whole area of the floor For years the demon uses the circle to feed off all the misery and suffering the young men and women experience in the nest, their pain and their deaths are all here for it alone. Riko is 20 when he finds the summoning circle drawn to it he steps in the middle, it feels like hell, but when wasn’t it calling to him?  The only place he felt like home was on Reven's court , right under the court, the summoning circle. He was meant to be here wasn’t he? Because of all of them he suffered the most out of all of them he was never happy, never loved and now the demon wants to enjoy all of those feelings from the source itself. “For half of your life i will make it worth living again” It promised Riko expected to die at age of 40 , loved and respected , top of the world of exy once more after Minyard broke his arm a month ago. Instead he runs out of the basement room screaming and crying horrified , 10 years old and with damaged memory. The boy has enough awareness to try and call the one person he trusts and after kevin brings him on Wymack’s doorstep they take care of the confusing case. David knew there was something wrong in edgar allan, moriamas contact with the other side were popular conversation topic, repeated often enough that now with heavy proof David took it in stride The demon did not lied Riko gets another chance at growing up, this time with people that support him and care about him. Riko dreams daily of long dreams that he can never forget, dreams of life he had before, every night of his new youth is plagued by memories of a day of life that responded to it in the past. The vivid nightmares leave him trembling and crying. It’s hard to tell which is real - riko somewhat remembered the 10 years but the nightmares are perfect 1:1 re-enactment, including all his abuse and traumatic events forcing him to relive those as well and when he realises it he starts dreading it - riko is terrified that one day he will not wake up and that his old life is still his true life - riko doesn't understand why his other life was so horrible, what had he done wrong for things to be so horrible the first time around? it makes him feel like the happy life is the fake one - nature of all his relationships with others changed drastically due to his age and he is mourning them every day 

[court-of-gloomvale]

The Snake Queen: Cult of the Snake

The air was dancing from the heat; it was noon in the village of Duskvale. It was a settlement in a semi-arid area with a large well in the middle. 

The inhabitants were preparing themselves for the festival of the snake deity. These strange, slender people with big eyes and narrow noses almost seemed like reptiles themselves. 

They cared a lot about their celestial animal because it was the one they loved and related to most. They were treated the same way, being viewed as outsiders and the source of all evil. 

The women in the village were carrying water vases when they heard a loud noise at the village gate.

“Intruder! Bring me a pitchfork, and I'll take care of her!

“No! A hatchet! Get a hatchet! We're under attack!” A group of men shouted over each other.

Aya, the youngest of the village women, was trying to take a look. Shouting men created a wall that was difficult to pass through, but ultimately, she managed to investigate. 

She gasped. There was a woman lying on the ground. Her clothes were dirty, and she looked like she had been walking for a long time. Aya was able to catch a brief glimpse of her face before someone attempted to pull her back. “No, wait!” She struggled against the person who grabbed her. “Don't you see her face?”

The group of men suddenly got quiet. The unknown person looked up. One of the men exclaimed,  “Mark of the Twilight Mother!”

Aya appeared beside her, offering a hand. She helped the stranger get up, but the stranger was silent. “Let's get her to the chieftain.” 

The group of pale people helped her get to the main hall. They walked by some shabby-looking tiny dwellings. The hot cobblestone was burning the mysterious woman's feet, as her shoes had nasty holes underneath. Each step brought her discomfort, but none greater than the one she had in her head.

She noticed a branch of herbs hanging by the door frame as they approached the main hall's entrance. The door squeaked loudly, and the smell of dust penetrated her nostrils. The inside was dark, but she could clearly see the silhouette of a person inside.

“Come in,” he said. It was a middle-aged man who was tall and round. He smiled at the mysterious woman, which made her feel like he had good intentions. “Who is this?” he asked. “What is her name, and what is she doing in here?”

Aya came closer to her. “We are uncertain. We're here to let you know that we found her at the village gate. She was alone, sire.”

The chieftain looked at the mysterious woman. “Hmm, so what is your name?” he asked again. She wanted to respond, but the only thing she remembered was Raajimera. She had a feeling that it was not her own, but her mind was empty. The mysterious woman looked down. A sudden flash of light lit her face. The chieftain squinted his eyes and lifted the hair from her forehead. “Oh,” he said to himself.

Aya looked at him and said, “What happened? Is it about the mark?”

“Well,” he started. “It seems like our prayers have finally been heard, We might have gotten the Snake Queen in front of us, but she doesn't speak. She seems to be in shock.”

One of the men from the group shouted, “Snake Queen? Chieftain, are you sure?”

Raajimera didn't understand.

“She has to be treated as such if she is, but we can't be sure right now. Please provide her with the best clothes we have and feed her properly. I suppose if she rests, she will speak and relieve our uncertainty,” the chieftain said as he settled into his chair.

Aya grabbed Raajimera by the hand and led her outside. They appeared in front of a building that looked slightly better than the rest. Without a moment of hesitation, the young girl opened the door. 

The interior was lovely. All those fancy pillows and fancy ornaments. It was hard to believe it was still a part of the village. 

Raajimera sat on an ottoman at the side of the room. Aya opened the wooden wardrobe, which was located in the corner. She was trying to find something inside. Finally, a beautiful black outfit was presented to Raajimera.

“This is for you. You understand me, don't you?” Aya looked her straight in the eyes. Raajimera gave a nod and took the present. Despite this, she remained silent. 

Aya remarked with a cheerful tone, “If you are not ready to speak, I shall speak on behalf of both of us.” 

Raajimera looked at her with confusion.

“Right, ah. There is a folding screen if you need privacy.”

The strange woman nodded again and then disappeared. Aya began scouring the place for her gear. Her rummaging was interrupted by Raajimera's return.

“Here you are,” she said. “Please sit down and let me brush your hair.”

The strange woman returned to her previous spot. She felt awkward, but the kindness of this girl made her feel… warm inside?

Aya sat next to her with an adorned brush in her hand and grabbed a strand of her hair.

“So, how did you get that mark of yours? Can you recall?”

Raajimera shook her head in disagreement. 

“No? Do you know what it represents?”

The strange woman shook her head once again.

“Also no? Well, that's fine. I might be able to clarify things by telling you about our village. We worship one of the spirit animals here in Duskvale. The snake. She must have brought you to us after hearing our prayers. It's strange that you don't remember how you got it; it is a great honor to bear the mark of the snake. The Twilight Mother is a good deity. She listens to us and eases our pain, but our village is weak.” She paused for a while. 

Raajimera veered around, trying to catch a glimpse of her.

Aya caught her stare and remembered that she was supposed to speak.

“I'm sorry, I got lost in my thoughts,” she said. “Our village is one of the few places in this area that are still free. Hazyan Empire raids us from time to time. Terrible people. They hate us and our cult of the snake. They want to take over Duskvale. We have been praying to the Twilight Mother for months, hoping she would help us. We began to believe that she had abandoned us, and then you arrived. The Twilight Mother wouldn't send us a bad person; maybe with your help,” she interrupted.

Raajimera glanced at her and touched her hand with a bitter smile.

“We have always had this thing called a prophecy. The story revolves around a powerful duo of heroes, the Snake King and Snake Queen. It was believed that a snake ruler would appear and choose a partner among our people to lead our village to greatness. It is necessary for us to know if it is about you, but if it is, you will need to pick the Snake King out of our finest men.”

The strange woman wanted to tell her that she probably listens to too many stories around this age, but she didn't want to speak just yet. Aya would start asking questions about her story, and she didn't want to disclose them. She had no idea what her name was, but she refused to use the one given to her by Raa.

Aya finished brushing her hair, helped her get up, and led her to the mirror.

“You look good, don't you?” she asked.

Raajimera looked at her reflection. The outfit was beautiful, but as she admired it, her eyes wandered straight to her face. She touched her forehead. So this is what that cursed mark looks like. This was the first time that she had ever seen it, but she already hated it so much. This must have been why she remembers nothing. It was the damned snake goddess. She must have stolen her memories from her; after all, she wouldn't willingly give them up, would she? What kind of person was she to end up with this mark?

Aya interrupted her inner monologue when she touched her shoulder.

“Are you okay — ?”

Somebody knocked on the window. Aya opened it. It was one of the village men. 

“Hey, are you done? The chieftain told me to bring the both of you to a special feast. The food is almost ready; don't make us wait!”

“Have you heard? I hope you're hungry.” Aya smiled at her guest.

Raajimera didn't think about it until now, but her stomach was indeed empty. All that anxiety and confusion must have clouded her mind. She nodded. 

They got back out on the street. Everybody must have been at the feast already. The chieftain peaked from behind the wall of his office.

“Hurry! We are waiting for you!”

Everyone in the village must have put all of their house tables together. There were plenty of mismatched pieces of furniture bending under the delicious food. 

The villagers were sitting by the table, chattering happily. The chieftain asked Raajimera to sit on his right side. She was so hungry.

“Treat yourself,” he said. The woman didn't have to hear it twice. Her stomach was churning. 

Aya handed her a platter of succulent roasted meat. Apparently, table manners were among the things erased by the Twilight Mother. Raajimera was messy and got hiccups, but she ate quickly.

The chieftain chuckled. “You haven't eaten in a while, haven't you?”

Raajimera nodded and tried to find something to clean her oily hands with.  

A villager handed her a napkin.

“Please tell us about yourself when you can, but make yourself at home.”

She looked at him with misery in her eyes.

“There's no pressure.” The chieftain placed his hand on her shoulder. “You can eat whatever you wish. We're going to be dancing soon; you can either join us or not. It's okay if you want to stay here. We'll show you your new place after this feast is over. You're welcome to stay as long as you please.”

Raajimera felt uneasy, yet she resumed eating. She had more food, like meat, fruits, and vegetables. They tried giving her wine, but she didn't like how bitter it tasted.

She felt like she was about to roll like a ball. Eating quickly made her feel sick. When they asked her to dance with them, she refused. 

Aya noticed that she was not feeling well and told the leader. They decided to let her rest and relax. 

Aya escorted her to a room on the upper floor of their inn. The space seemed drab, but it felt cozy. Raajimera sat on the bed and brushed the fluffy blanket with her fingertips.

“I'll return to the feast if you don't mind. I'll give you some time to rest. See you tomorrow.” Aya looked at her with concern. 

Raajimera nodded and waved her hand at the girl.

The door was shut tightly. 

It was silent. She peeked through the window and noticed a group of seemingly happy people dancing around the bonfire. 

She let out a sigh and climbed back onto the bed. The mattress felt rough, but not too much. She covered her head with the blanket. Suddenly, she heard a faint thump.

“What was that?” she thought to herself and lifted her blanket. She was looked at by two beady reptile eyes.

“HI!!!” 

She came close to tumbling off the bed. It was a small snake, and it was talking to her. TALKING?

“Hello! I noticed you were here.” The snake said, “I know that you are now one of us. You can speak my language. Try it!”

“What?” She whispered. She was unaware that she could communicate with animals.

“Don't be scared; they won't understand it anyway.”

Raajimera was confused. The woman scratched her head. “How did you know about me?”

“Us snakes are connected into one big mental network. We can share information easily. I was notified that you were blessed by Raa. Congratulations!”

“Blessed? You mean, she stole my memories and gave me a mark?”

“Stole? No, no, no. She is not a thief. According to my knowledge, you two came to an agreement, and you were the one who initiated it.”

“Me? But why can't I recall it?”

“She turned you into a demigoddess; you can't achieve greatness with the weight of the past dragging you down, don't you think?”

“Demigoddess? But I am just a regular person.”

“No, that's who you BELIEVE you are. When you sealed your deal, what name did she give you? It's Raajimera, right?”

“…right.”

“Are you aware of its meaning? It means 'Raa's chosen'. She must have seen something in you that you don't.”

“If you know all of that, can you tell me who I was and what name I had before the deal?”

“Unfortunately, no. That information was lost during the process. From what I know, you can't get it back. Ever. Sorry.”

Raajimera looked downcast. “I want to be myself with my own name.”

“But you are. Your name is not what defines you. Listen, you can't get back to whom you once were, but you can build a bright future for yourself. You have to accept your new name to truly become one of us and be able to use your demigod powers. Do you know what my name is? It's Feng.”

“They named you Feng?”

“It's Fang, actually, but they call me Feng because I'm silly.” The snake swung back and hissed with its head upside-down, touching the ground. “And you know what? I just went with it.” The snake came back to its original position. “I don't care what they call me because I know who I am. Soon, you will as well.”

Raajimera patted the snake's head.

“Soon you will be the demigoddess you were meant to be, but let me tell you what.” Feng lowered its voice. “I've been in this village for quite a while. The goddess needs you to help them. You better start talking to them quick because, by the looks of it, they don't have much time left.”

Suddenly, Raajimera felt much sadder. Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Oh, come on, don't you cry.” The snake curled up beside her. “I'll be your friend, and I'll help you. Everything will be okay.”

Both of them fell asleep under the radiant moonlight, which glimmered into the room with timidity.

[legitalicat]

Dragon of Valhalla

AN: It has been far too long since this was updated, so to make up for it I gift you a large part. I experimented a little with this chapter. So when the text is bold and italicized, think of it as a sort of voice after or cutting too and from two different scenes. Thank you all so much for the love and support.

Series Masterlist Here!

Songs of the Chapter:

The View Between Villages by Noah Kahan

I miss you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams

In Case You Don't Live Forever by Ben Platt

I'd Come for You by Nickelback

Summary: Anya and Sihtric arrive in Repton.

CW: Grief, talks of first love, violence, language

Pairings: Sihtric Kjartansson x Anya Eivorsdottir, mentions of Uhtred Ragnarsson x Gisela, Eivor Varinsdottir x Hytham of the Hidden Ones

Word Count: 4.6k

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Chapter 9

Repton, Kingdom of Mercia

Anya and Sihtric walked into Repton’s alehouse. To Anya, it was nothing but normal. Danes were prominent in the crowd, a comforting fact for her. She knew the Sons Ragnar had negotiated Repton as part of their holdings with the old King of Mercia, Ceolwulf.

Sihtric, though, tensed upon walking in. The men at the table she was fast approaching was full of men he recognized. He was a man fully grown now, they had no control or say over him now. The eighteen year old boy inside him, though, lurched in fear at the sight of Kjartan’s men sitting there. ( 1 )

He could count three faces he would recognize immediately; Hymir, an old warlord only ever bested by Kjartan, and Olaf, who made his father’s favorite ale and was decent with an axe, were bad enough on their own. But it was the sight of Arvid that truly made him fearful.

Sihtric could remember the way the man smelled when he burst into the home he shared with his mother. The Kennel Master of Dunholm was the one responsible for feeding Kjartan’s dogs. Sihtric could only just remember his mother screaming, begging for his life to be spared, as Arvid dragged her out by the hair. Everything in him tried to forget the image of the old Kennel Master throwing Elflæd to the dogs before turning to Sihtric and telling him he was next.

For the last several years, Sihtric thought himself safe. He had escaped Dunholm, his father. Uhtred took him to Wessex, far from Northumbria. There had previously been hundreds of miles between him and the worst of his nightmares. Yet, now, the man who tormented his every thought was in the same room as his woman.

Anya, who didn’t know any of it, walked in front of him. He reached out to grab her. He wanted to pull her away, to get her as far from this place as possible. There was no way Sihtric could think her safe as long as Kjartan’s men were here, breathing.

Yet, she rushed forward and he was a moment too late.

“Ivarr!” she greeted happily, hugging the man who now stood.

The man’s head was half shaved, the other half full of greasy black hair going down to his shoulders. The shaved skin was not bare, though, instead marked with black ink forming some indistinct beast with wings, Nordic knots trailing up from his neck. Perhaps once it was meant to be Jörmungandr, but age and many barrels of ale did not do well to preserve the image. He was shorter than Sihtric, but a bit rounder around the middle, and Sihtric determined this was probably due to age and ale too.

“My brave wolf pup! England has warmed since your return,” Ivarr told her, hugging her so tightly he lifted her off the ground. “Your travels, tell me of them.”

He set her down and she couldn’t help but to smile at him. “Perhaps I should have Bragi write a song of them,” she said to him.

Sihtric watched the pair. The old man did not seem like much of a danger to her. In fact, he seemed to love her as though she were blood. Still, he remained guarded.

“Gold?” he asked.

“More than you have seen,” she told him with a grin.

“Fire?”

“I would not be me if I did not burn down a village or two during my time away.”

He exclaimed a word neither could quite make out, but it was one of revelry and joy. Ivarr turned to his companions. The two closest to him each got one of his hands on their shoulder.

“This girl, a force you would not believe if Odin himself told you of her. She was in my raiding party for near a year. A shield-maiden near as fierce as my father’s first wife. Disrespect her and you do not need to worry about what I will do to you,” Ivarr told Olaf, Arvid, and Hymir. Though Sihtric did not miss the knowing look he cast over his shoulder.

Arvid shifted in his seat, and Sihtric instinctually stepped forward. He placed himself in between Anya and Arvid. He was too small to do anything to save his mother. Now, though, he would kill anyone before they could breathe in Anya’s direction.

Anya looked to Sihtric, brows furrowing in confusion. This reaction would’ve been expected if it were Ivarr that he was distancing her from. The man he stood before, though, was a man she did not know. A man she had never seen.

“Sihtric?” Arvid asked, looking from his head to his feet.

“Aye,” Sihtric grunted. Though, now, he leaned back, never taking his eye off Arvid. “Men of my father,” he said quietly to her.

He felt her touch against his lower back, her fingers gripping his shirt. A touch of comfort, a hold to keep him in place, maybe both. She had never asked for details of his life before Uhtred, it was not her place to push for that. Even still, she knew there had been no peace.

“You know each other?” Ivarr asked as he turned back around. His face was blank, as readable as a stone found in a river.

“We watched Sihtric grow, from the time he was whelped on his mother to the time he abandoned his father,” Arvid said.

Anya noticed how his words were almost taunting, speaking as though Sihtric had a choice. Even without knowing the specifics, she knew he did not abandon Kjartan. Sihtric was far too loyal, too kind, to ever truly abandon anyone. Kjartan, she knew, was a terrible man. The opposite of everything she knew Sihtric to be. There was no honor had in staying by his side like an attack dog.

“Then we should thank the gods he did not turn out as you,” Anya said before thinking. Now, she moved to step around Sihtric.

“What was that, little girl?” Arvid said and slowly rose from his table.

The man was larger than her by far. It was almost comical to her. He was taller, stockier. The scars on his face helped to age him even more than the wrinkles did. His hair came in patchy, evidence of many fights. By all accounts, she should fear him. Perhaps she would if it did not mean cowering behind the one person she felt she had to protect.

So, again, she acted before thinking. With her right hand, she grabbed the man’s impressively long beard and yanked him down before he reacted. Where the move was unexpected, he did not know to brace himself until his face slammed into the table. With her left hand, she held her wrist blade to his throat.

She did not notice, but Sihtric did, as Olaf and Hymir moved to rise from their seats. Only Ivarr, glaring at them with his hand on his axe, made them sit again.

“I said we should thank the gods that Sihtric did not turn out as you did,” Anya said into his ear. “Must I repeat myself again, or do you understand me now?”

“You crazy bitch, unhand me,” he grunted under her grasp. He could not get the right angle to push himself off the table and Anya was stronger than he had thought.

“Let’s try that again,” Anya told him, pressing the blade further. The metal tasted blood for the first time in two decades as it began to pool on the tip. “Repeat after me. Anya, please release me so I can ask for forgiveness from the gods and my mother for being a shit stain on the world, I will do better.”

“Little wolf, let the man go before he shits his breeches,” Ivarr laughed.

Without saying a word, she let him stand and stepped back. Arvid looked between Ivarr and Sihtric, as though they were meant to answer for Anya’s actions. Sihtric could only smirk as Anya put her back against his chest.

Until this moment, he had failed to realize just how far she would go for him. Any reasonable person would have said that her actions were stupid and reckless. Going toe to toe with a man such as Arvid was stupid and reckless. Yet, Anya did it without hesitation merely because Sihtric had been uncomfortable. He would love and die for her, just as she would for him.

“So, what is it you need me to do?” Anya asked as she turned back to Ivarr.

Ivarr chuckled as he looked at her. He could see nothing but her mother stare back at him in this moment. He could not even count the times he saw Eivor put men back in their places.

“It is simple. You are to keep the promise your people made to Ubba and me,” he said. His grin was as wild as a starved bear being presented with meat for the first time in weeks.

Sihtric looked to Anya, hoping for some explanation. Yet, all he saw was a smile. She herself looked as though there were endless riches waiting for them at the end of this path. Excitement, lust for battle, the promise of glory and power shimmered in her eyes.

“Go. Rest. The room is already paid for. We leave by day break,” Ivarr told her.

“Do try to be sober, Ivarr. We do not need you pissing yourself as you did in Ledecestre,” Anya told him, clapping him on the back with a teasing grin on her face.

“Neither you or your mother will let me live that down, will you?” he asked.

“No. Mostly because Ceolbert made us promise not to,” she said with a small, sad smile.

Sihtric noticed a flicker of emotion cross Ivarr’s face. Guilt, perhaps. Grief without a doubt. He could feel the way Anya shifted against him, guessing she felt similar grief.

The two looked at each other. There was a moment, one in which they allowed themselves to share in a grief only they knew. It was quiet, words unneeded in this. And then Ivarr broke the silence.

“He would be proud, you know,” he said quietly.

“I can only hope,” she said quietly. Once again she shifted. And suddenly, Sihtric noticed, the grief she allowed herself vanished. “Tomorrow, then.”

When Anya awoke the next morning, Sihtric’s arms were wrapped around her. He had not slept long, in truth. There was a feeling buried deep inside him that something was wrong. It was one he could not shake.

Something about the way Ivarr looked at Anya at the mention of this Ceolbert made Sihtric uneasy. He did not think his unease to be the result of Anya’s response. He could tell Ceolbert meant a great deal to her, but it did not bother him. They both had pasts, he knew that.

No, it was solely because of Ivarr. He did not just look saddened, but guilty. Though, guilty of what, Sihtric could not say.

“Who is Ceolbert?” he asked her once she was fully awake and readying herself.

She stopped her movements. Her hair was half braided as she prepared it for the battle she knew they would walk into. There had been no warning of his question, no time to prepare.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed to admit she had past dalliances. It was that Ceolbert left a hole in her life that until she met Sihtric, she did not think could ever be filled. Still, she could push past the tightness in her chest to tell him. ( 2 )

“Do you remember the old King of Mercia? Ceolwulf?” she asked Sihtric as her fingers resumed their braiding movements.

“Aye. More, I remember stories. A friend married his successor, a good woman stuck with a repulsive little man,” he explained to her.

Anya did not react much to that. It did not truly stand out in the moment what he said. “Ceolwulf had a son, Ceolbert. He was not much older than me, maybe a year or two. He lived with us for a time. His father wanted him prepared to govern both Saxon and Danes in Mercia, wanted peace.”

Her voice was soft, quiet. It became obvious to Sihtric that her heart ached as she spoke, as she remembered. He stood to cross the small distance between them. It was only when he stood right behind her he noticed her hands shaking as she tried to redo her braid.

“Let me,” he said quietly. His hands replaced hers, taking a hold of the plaits. “You loved him.”

“I did. For what a fourteen year old’s love is worth, anyways. He was a Saxon, but the best of them. He did not hate us, nor fear us. He wanted to learn, to know, to understand. He father was a bit soft, following what he believed the power to be. A good man, but not really a leader. Ceolbert, though, was a natural born leader. Perhaps not as battle hardened as Dane leaders, but it was his only shortcoming,” she told him. She felt tears in her eyes, but a smile on her face. “He used to sit under the tree in the middle of Ravensthorpe and read his books every evening after he was done with his lessons from Randvi.”

Sihtric only nodded silently. Despite knowing Anya could not see him, he did not want to ruin the moment for her. He suspected it had been a long time since she allowed herself to speak of him.

“He was fierce in his own ways. A passion for people, as he put it. He did not care for wealth or power, glory mattered little. He was meant to lead people into peace, that was what he desired. I think you would have liked him. I know he would like you,” she told him.

“I think so too,” he told her as he tied off her braid. It was a simple one, not the best looking, but sufficient in doing its job. “I would like anyone who made such an impact on you.”

Anya smiled again, chuckling a bit as she wiped the tears that fell. She did not understand what she had done to deserve a man such as Sihtric. There were not many people, man or woman, who could listen to their lover cry over a past love with such kindness and patience.

“I think we would have married. It would have been a good life, a kind life. But Ma, Ivarr, and I were with Ceolbert as he tried to negotiate peace between the Britons and Saxons in Sciropescire. His father wanted him to become Ealdorman there, so it was his job to secure the peace. Ma helped a great deal. He went on a hunt, to smooth things over with Ivarr. I think their relationship was similar to that of yours and Uhtred’s. A mentorship, a friendship, perhaps looking at him as though he was a father of sorts,” she said quietly. The smile faded quickly, her body turning inwards on itself as she became almost impossibly smaller. “Ma went to look for him when he did not return. She carried him back to our camp, a Briton knife buried in his chest. He took his last breath as his head lay in my lap. I forced his hand shut around an axe, to make sure that no matter what, he would find an afterlife worthy of him.”

Sihtric kissed the top of her head. He listened, felt, as she let out a few shaky breaths and took in several just the same. He wanted to let her know she did not need to hold it in for his sake. There were no words he could find, so he settled for wrapping an arm around her shoulders, crossing her chest, and pulling him back into him.

She reached behind her and held onto his leg. It felt a bit childish, in a way, to grip onto him so tightly. But feeling his presence beneath her touch comforted her. It made her feel as though she was grounded in the Earth.

“I looked for every reason to leave England after that. I refused to meet the man who became Ceolwulf’s successor, I refused to give any part of it notice. He would never be Ceolbert. And while we were kids in love, we were in love all the same. It did not matter to me that it was all soft kisses and holding hands. It only mattered to me that he knew my heart and I knew his. Valka’s visions gave me reason, but Ceolbert gave me desire to leave Ravensthorpe,” she told him once her breath steadied.

Anya stood, slowly, as Sihtric released his hold on her. She looked up at him. And again, she could not understand why she was blessed with him. She simply thanked the gods for him.

In silence, she grabbed her pack and his hand. He nodded softly, answering a question she did not need to speak. He would carry her words with him, never speaking them to another soul, for her. She shared in him her grief, her sadness, and he would treat it as the gift it was.

It seemed to satisfy her as she lead him out of the room. Together, they walked outside in the faint light of morning, prepared to fulfill this promise.

Uhtred sat in front of Eivor and Hytham. An attempt to mend the chasm that still existed between them. He was a father, had been a husband, he could relate to them on that level.

“Did you always intend to only ever have Anya?” Uhtred asked them.

Anya and Sihtric listened to Ivarr and his men most of the ride. They talked about a lot of nonsense, sometimes getting rowdy and inappropriate. Sihtric would’ve liked the ability to take their tongues for no other reason than to shut them up.

Their path took them back the way they had come, towards Tamworth Fortress. It confused Anya for a moment. Tamworth was far too fortified for the six of them to take alone. And she knew the Lord and Lady of Mercia did not reside in Tamworth, further south. If the goal was to keep the promise between Raven Clan and the Sons of Ragnar, they would need to kill the two so that a Dane could rise.

Then, Sihtric’s words from earlier came forward in her mind. Without meaning to, she halted her horse as she watched the group continue without notice for a few steps. Sihtric had told her only that morning that the Lady of Mercia was a friend of his. A good woman…

She had lead him to the slaughter of someone he cares for.

Sihtric was the first to notice, to stop his horse. He turned to look at her, a cold chill rushed down his spine. He did not need words to know she was now trying desperately to find a way out of a trap. But he did not understand why. They were mere feet from the fortress, where they would regroup with a larger force.

It was when Ivarr noticed Anya had fallen behind that he knew he was caught. He turned his horse around and willed the creature to carry him back to Anya’s side.

It was a straightforward question. Blunt. Eivor respected it. They did not need to speak of why he was sitting with them.

“In truth, we did not even intend to have her. But she did feel like she completed our family, yes,” Eivor told Uhtred.

“They would shoot us before we got this close,” she said quietly, to herself mostly. Saxons still held the fortress, she knew it. Hearing Ivarr approach, she looked at him. “You liar.”

“Little wolf, listen to me, and you might still live,” Ivarr commanded her.

Sihtric moved too late, Arvid moving his horse in between Sihtric and Anya. Olaf and Hymir took either side, there was no chance for him to turn around.

“Why are they not shooting us, Ivarr?” she shouted. “Ubba and Ma dreamt of taking Tamworth together, with us by their sides! It to this day is held by Saxons!”

He sighed and shook his head. “You were always too smart for your own good, little wolf, when your heart did not drown out your thoughts.”

She looked to Sihtric. Their eyes held each other’s for only a moment. The connection they shared made it so he knew what she wanted. He was to leave, to go get help. They had walked right into a trap.

He tried desperately to urge her to move, to act. He knew she could see what he wanted, but she sat straight and fearless. Sihtric could only think of how he felt for her as he watched. ( 3 )

Uhtred chuckled for a moment, his heart weighing heavily as he longed for such a moment with Gisela. But he shook the thoughts from his head. “She is a fearsome force.”

Anya did not expect it, still thinking he would never truly harm her, when he pulled his axe from its sheathe and smacked her across the head with the butt of the handle. She lost consciousness almost immediately, slumping forward against the horse. Ivarr pulled her onto his horse without a second thought.

Sihtric dismounted his horse instantly, slipping in between the gaps left by the men. He had closed half the distance between him and Ivarr before a hand grabbed him and held a blade to his throat.

“There has been a change of plans. Originally, we were going to kill the Lady of Mercia,” Ivarr said to Sihtric. There was a sick, sadistic smile on his face. “But when little wolf brought an attack dog, I knew the plan would not work. Especially when Arvid told me you work for the man who killed my brother.”

If he wasn’t panicked already, this was enough. A burning heat, anger and fear twisting together, rose in him. It was a fury he only ever felt in battle that showed itself as he watched Ivarr begin walking towards the fortress with Anya on his horse.

“Do not worry, son of Kjartan. Your friends here tell me you’re capable. And I will grant you the opportunity I was not granted. Tell Wolf-Kissed she is to meet me here to answer for her betrayal. It is mid morning, you have until the moon is at its peak. At which point, Anya dies,” Ivarr said over his shoulder. “If you survive, that is.”

“Your man, Sihtric, seems to be one as well,” Hytham commented.

“Yes well, to escape his father’s shadow, he needed to be,” Uhtred said. “It has been my greatest honor to watch him grow these last years.”

Sihtric was pushed away. He stumbled for a second before he took hold of his axe and turned. Before he could have another thought, the blade was in the skull of Hymir. An almost sickening squelch came as he removed the weapon.

His chest rose and fell, the fury he felt coming unleashed. Sihtric did not fully know of his actions. The axe he held felled Olaf next after a small fight, his arm aching under the burn of the movements.

Without hesitation, he picked Olaf’s axe up from the ground and charged Arvid. Their fight was almost worthy of a song. Sihtric had the advantage, surprising Arvid with his speed and agility. He could only remember Sihtric as a timid young boy, and that was his first mistake.

Arvid took control after blocking Sihtric’s initial strikes with his sword. He kicked the younger man, causing a stumble backwards, allowing himself a moment to get his footing. Sihtric charged again. And still, Arvid was surprised.

Sihtric did not fight with such a ferocity when he was a child. But as a man, going against the one who had taken his mother from him and who helped the love of his life be taken prisoner, he could not hesitate. He did not want merely to kill Arvid, but to bathe in his blood. A desire that showed with the force he used every time he attempted to strike Arvid, neither man gaining the upper hand. Until Sihtric’s strike bent the sword’s blade. ( 4 )

Hytham nodded, yet did not speak. It was Eivor, now, who used her voice. “My husband knew of Sihtric’s father. So, you’ll excuse our concerns.”

“Sihtric is as far from Kjartan as the sun is from the dirt. If he feels for her the way I think he does, he will kill and die for her,” Uhtred explained to them. “You would find it a challenge to find someone as loyal as he.”

The bent sword allowed Sihtric to lay another blow to it and rendering the blade useless. Arvid realized it as it happened. Sihtric’s axe buried itself in Arvid’s neck, and the other in the side of his chest. The strength of the blows allowed him to lift Arvid off the ground with just the blades.

Blood poured over Sihtric, but he did not move for a moment. He had thirsted for this man’s blood for so long, killing him in every dream, that he all but reveled in it. The feeling of the warm, sticky fluid dripping through his hair and down his face, was almost enough to keep him there and basking in the victory.

Instead, Sihtric pulled his blade from the body and quickly mounted Anya’s horse. He turned the horse towards the direction of Ravensthorpe and started racing.

“Anya is much the same,” Hytham told him, chuckling. “Loyal to a fault. She serves her gods first, her people second, herself last. Sihtric is now her people, perhaps more than anyone. I suspect she would rather fall on her blade than to ever betray Sihtric.”

Uhtred gave a small smile. If their words and his thoughts were true, Sihtric had found the love he felt with Gisela. It was a man’s greatest honor in life, to be blessed in such a manor.

“I can assume she is like you in battle? I do remember a time or two when you fought alongside my father,” Uhtred said to Eivor.

“Oh no, she is far more terrifying. The Saxons fear her mere name,” Eivor chuckled. “So much, many know the only way they will ever stand a chance is if they take her by surprise.”

Sihtric was racing the sun as he traveled the sky. He did not follow their earlier path any longer. Running through water and mud, ducking for tree branches and swerving the horse around the trunk itself. He could only hear his heart thud in his ears in time to the hooves trampling the ground.

He could only guess how much time passed as Ragnarsson Lookout came into view. Urging the horse, pleading, begging to go faster as they came onto the path. It would take only a few minutes more.

Uhtred laughed out at that. The ferocity of such a person could not be underestimated, he knew that. And he was grateful she saw them as an ally and not a threat.

“How old was she when you took her on her first raid? My daughter grows larger by the day, only a small thing now, but already shows a desire to be a fighter,” Uhtred asked, beginning to look to them before the doors of the longhouse were slammed open.

Their attention all went to the door, standing with their hands on their weapons. Sihtric was now in front of them. From head to toe, he was caked in dry blood, leaves and twigs caught on him.

“He has her, he has Anya, “ Sihtric told them.

Taglist: @foxyanon @zaldritzosrose @lexeirikrleif @thenameswinter99

[katsukikitten]

Part one. Master list for plus one can be found here.

Just a nice fic I decided to write for fun. Please enjoy!

Asshole!

He was nothing but a huge, giant fucking ASSHOLE for the entire two years the two of you were dating and he decides NOW is a good time to break up with you?

Two days before your cousin's wedding and over TEXT MESSAGE?!

That fucking asshole.

He knew how you felt. Exactly how you felt about going alone to your cousin's wedding after your family begged to meet your boyfriend and teased you for "probably making him up." Which hell, he may as well have been made up considering how absent he was in the relationship. Using work as an excuse to come home late but forgetting to turn off his snap location when he showed up at the bar.

So you did what any rational woman in her upper twenties would do.

You drowned your sorrows in booze, tonight red wine as it was the only thing around, and you scrolled through your socials in hopes of distracting yourself from your suffering.

Alas the devil that is Instagram only amplified your sadness and irritation. Showing couple after couple, your friends on hikes kissing on the mountain top, kissing in the flickering light of candles at a fancy dinner or, worst yet, getting proposed to. The video showing her in hysterics screaming, "YES I DO I DO!"

And it feels terrible to feel this way. Especially about your friends, the people you love and want to support, still it stings. You hadn't told anyone about the breakup, you weren't even sure your friends even remembered that asshole's name.

A teardrop lands on your screen, magnifying all the magical lights of the led beneath the glad. You wipe away the tear and with that the feed refreshes. A new post has come in at the top, Res Riot's official account.

Kirishima stands with a fat white cat in his arms. He dwarfs the animal with his large stature that looks larger as he still has his Red Riot gear on. The caption reads something along the lines of "missed my precious baby."

Red wine is a dangerous thing as your body acts on its own. You go to his page to hit the little arrow to DM him. Typing out and backspacing your message as you struggle from the booze, you decide to say fuck it and use the voice memo feature. Before you know it your sniffling voice is playing back to you after you've hit send.

"My ex broke up with me before this stupid wedding. It's in two days and my family is going to roast me big time when I show up alone. They think I made that asshole up. I don't know why I'm even in your dms. Your account is probably run by some dick head who can't even capture your kindness. I guess I'm here cause my first thought seeing you on my timeline was Red Riot has always been my hero…"

Ugh totally fucking cringe.

There is no surprise as you see the three normally ominous dots pop up, probably his social media manager about to ask you to stop your "advances" as Kirishima is too busy to date and he'd hate to block you or some other bullshit.

But there it is a surprise to see a little bubble with the play button and some vertical lines in various heights. It takes your sluggish brain a moment to realize you've been sent a voice memo. Odd. Your thumb smashes the screen faster than you can think and a deep voice rumbles through the speakers of your phone.

"Actually I run my official and personal socials. And I'm sorry to hear about your ex doll. He sounds like a real ass. I'll be your hero, I'll go with you to the wedding."

Your heart stutters, no way, no way in HELL this was Red Riot. You had read about the horror stories before or pervy account managers taking advantage of women who so desperately wanted to talk to their hero.

Hell, it's happened to Dynamight plenty of times.

You swallow quickly but the bile rushes up your throat. Not just from the anxiety of a possible con but from drinking an entire bottle of wine with nothing on your stomach after months of sobriety. Quickly you stumble to the bathroom, abandoning your phone on your bed. You barely make it in time to praise the porcelain Gods before you fall onto your back. Looking up at the light in your cramped bathroom, the orb doubles and spins as you feel the Earth turning on its axis. You curl into your side using your bathmat as a pillow as you drift off into sleep, totally forgetting about the voice memo on your phone.

As you sleep peacefully on your memory foam bath rug, Kirishima settles into his nightly routine. One giant hand grabbing strands of long dark red hair into a towel while another sits snugly around his Adonis belt and the thick, black happy trail that follows up the center of his abs before spreading out onto his chest. He tosses the towel over the open door of the bathroom before sitting in his favorite armchair with phone in hand. Diamond, his beautiful white cat he rescued a few years ago, jumps onto the arm of the chair, purring loudly when Kirishima's free hand scratches her ears absentmindedly.

He chuckles to himself as he realizes exactly what he's done. Acting on a feeling instead of logic all because he heard a "damsel in distress." Starting off his rare vacation with spontaneity starting with an impromptu date with a stranger. He really isn't sure what you look like and it's obvious your handle doesn't have your real name in it, just PrincessPeach with some random numbers at the end. He takes the time to scroll through your profile. Seeing pictures of food, of many sunsets, a friend's dog that guest appears often, your own cat and plenty of strays.

It takes him a while before he sees a photo of you. His heart stutters in his chest as he looks you over. Laughing with a friend, soft lighting from strings over head that blur like little fireflies. Your smile is wide, half hidden by your hands as your eyes seem to smile with you. Sparkling as if they held stars.

For a moment Kirishima forgets how to breathe, it isn't until Diamond jumps down from the armchair does he inhale. He smiles softly to himself before he drops his towel, puts his phone on charge and promptly falls asleep in his bed.

Kirishima rises before the sun even has a chance to filter through his blinds. He sighs softly, getting up to a sitting position disturbing a fluffy white ball that lays beside him.

"Mmrow." Moon stone eyes blink slowly as they look at the mountainous man hogging the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you sweet baby." He says softly, going to pet the soft white fur only for her to get up stretch and give him her butt before plopping back down.

"I know, mean ol' daddy woke you up too early again." He says softly, his hand falling onto her back before he rises from the bed. Fishing for his running shorts, socks, headphones and shoes. He makes his protein shake, leaning on the counter as he drinks it, looking at how you read, or better yet, listened to his message but still no reply. It was late and there was a small slurring of your words, he figures you've passed out. He just hopes you're okay.

His run goes as usual, up before anyone else unless they were the normal avid runner. Passing by the usual array of people. An old man holding onto his youth by jogging through his daily five mile morning run, Kirishima knows he runs another five in the evening while the sun is setting. He hopes he can embody some of this man's commitment when he is older. Then he passes a middle aged woman, who gives him the biggest smile as she pases, jogging backward to send him a wink before plowing ahead. Occasionally he'll see a running group or a few teens training to be heroes, they always ask if they can run his route. "It's long." He always warns in a kind, warm voice. They assure him they will be fine so far only one other person could handle his 12 mile morning run. A young woman in her second year of hero courses at UA. Since then Kirishima put in a word with his boss and so every time internships roll around she's in the office.

By the time Kirishima is rounding back towards his high rise apartment, the city begins to stir. Slowly waking as men and women in business suits rush towards the train, parents flinging open the doors or curtains fussing at their children who cling to an extra few minutes of sleep before school.

This was always his favorite part of the run, not because it was almost over, oh no it was because he had a chance to glimpse at everyday life. Of nine to fives, of school hours and after school hangs outs at snack bars or the library.

What most would call the mundane but Kirishima would never call it that. It's why he worked so hard to protect it.

Diamond greets his sweaty form at the door. Glaring angrily with her moon stone eyes. Tail swishing before she goes to the kitchen by her bowl. Waiting impatiently.

"I'm not late, sweet cheeks." He coos, and she glares, "I know I know. You're hungry now."

He opens the fridge, gets out the highest quality food there is and places it on her dish, sure to keep it all in the middle or she'll claim her bowl was empty. He added a splash of water too since the weather was starting to get hot.

He sucks down a water or two, demolishes a protein bar and then heads to the apartment gym.

A few hours roll by and without hearing from you yet his worry over your well being begins to cloud the forefront of his mind. He pauses his music, picks up his phone and talks out a voice memo.

A loud DING echoes from your room and around your skull as you rise with a throbbing headache.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself grabbing at your head as you shakily rise to your feet. Yanking the handle of the faucet to drink from the stream before looking at yourself in the mirror.

"Ugh." You grunt ignoring your swollen face and eyes, yanking the mirror door open to snatch at the bottle of aspirin. Swallowing THREE extra strength pills before slamming the door shut and turning off the faucet. You make your way towards your bedroom, more than ready to sleep the rest of your day away. Grabbing at your phone to charge it you see the push notification of an Instagram message from Red Riot.

The fucking Red Riot.

Internally you scream before it bubbles up your throat and escapes. You fumble to unlock your phone before looking that it's a voice memo.

Mortified you realize you sent one too. And first at that.

"Fuck MEEE!" You plop onto the bed. Nervous this second voice memo is probably about how you're a weirdo or something as you relive the memory of asking him to be your plus one.

Hesitantly your thumb hovers over the play button before you find the strength to press the cool glass. A soft thunderous voice plays out.

"Good morning sleepy head. I haven't heard from you yet, I hope you're okay. Be sure to drink some water and eat something greasy. Trust me, late nights with Denki and Bakugou taught me something. Since the wedding is tomorrow I'll need a picture of your dress for the color and style so I can match you Sweet pea. Contact me soon so I can know where to pick you up."

Did he… did he just call you SWEET PEA? Your heart pounds in your chest before it registers he's asked for your dress color and lowkey asked for your address. This couldn't be real. It sounded like Kirishima, his voice familiar from interviews you've watched but it very well could be a prank. Defeated you hit the small microphone and reply.

Kirishima hears a sharp DING in his headphones over his music as he finishes his set. He wipes the sweat from his face on his shirt giving the few people in the gym a lovely view of his sweaty and thick torso. One woman trips on the treadmill but it goes unnoticed by Kirishima. He pauses his music and hits play on the little memo. Your beautiful yet groggy voice comes in through his ear buds causing Kirishima to bite his lip. It causes such a flutter of butterflies in his stomach he has to listen a second time to actually hear what you said. Although he understand, he cannot help but feel hurt by your reply.

"How do I know you're not just some pervy guy using Kirishima's Godly looks to prey on unsuspecting people."

Your phone chirps at you from the bed stand and you growl reaching for it. You had hoped your message would have been clear. An unspoken of you know they're a fucking creep taking advantage of their PR job.

"What can I do to prove it to you, Sweet Pea?"

You hate how that cute nickname sends your heart into a somersault and your stomach in delightful knots. Still your doubt pulls a harsh tut from your lips before you reply.

Kirishima doesn't need his phone to alert him that you've messaged him, he's been looking at his screen for far to long without having to restart his set. He listens to your voice as if it were music.

"Fine, you wanna prove it to me so bad. Take a picture of yourself shirtless with the word 'Sweet pea' you love so much and send it to me. No photoshop I know what my favorite hero looks like!"

For over an hour you don't hear back and you figure you showed that perv.

But now you can't sleep so you nurse a water, door dash a "greasy" breakfast all before cranking your shower as high as it can go. Your phone dings and you try to ignore it. You really do but as the saying goes curiosity killed the cat. Opening the message you see a classic guy mirror selfie. Kirishima is clear as day in the photo, his large hand pointing to his bare, hairy chest where sweat pea is scrawled in his adorable handwriting. He winks at the camera as his kissable lips wear a dangerous, almost cocky eyes travel down his bulk following his happy trail that dives under a pair of black shorts, the best part of the view getting cut off by the vanity. At first you try to rationalize that this was fake but damning evidence was sitting on the vanity. A fluffy white cat in a diamond and ruby encrusted collar sits on the counter giving her owner an odd look.

His cat Diamond that everyone knows he loves and adores. Slick begins to collect between your thighs and especially so after you listen to the voice memo that comes through shortly after. His normally friendly and soft voice comes out a bit dark, husky as he says in a playfully annoyed tone.

"Now send me a picture of that dress, Sweet Pea."