#rose hollers into the void

[l-capitan]

@grimulf-of-the-wilderness | cont'd.

Capitano must hand it to this stranger, they’ve been rather audacious in their romanticisms and flirtations, and it left him utterly stupefied.

Not once has he ever been caught off guard the way he has been by this…admirer, and while it does somewhat make his hackles raise, he had to give them credit where credit was due. After all, indeed, audentes Fortuna iuvat.

Fortune favors the bold.

The Harbinger made no move to slay the stranger where they stood. No, instead, it just stared at them ever silently, the oppressive aura that it always carried upon its shoulders having quieted considerably and was even replaced by something else entirely:

Curiosity.

Their playful yet almost taunting words intrigued him, hues of cerulean glinting within the void of his mask as he regarded the newcomer carefully. The Captain’s lived for a little over five centuries now. He has seen many things when it came to humans and their customs, even those when it came to gestures indicating courting. He’s certainly never seen anyone lick another’s knuckles, however. It was strange—and yet, somehow, mildly amusing?

He's confused. Terribly so. He’s never been at the receiving end of any sort of attention that was not fear or reverence. Or both.

As the wanderer rose to their full height, Capitano was subtly taken aback by the fact that they are tall; much taller than him. He’s never encountered any human that passed him in stature, and just that alone further solidifies the assumption that they’re anything but—or at least, no longer are.

Only when they pushed back the hood and revealed everything did he truly understand. Understand, yet grow all the more bewildered at the fact that of all beings, it was a Hilichurlian Rogue that had courageously stepped forward and gave him his affections.

It’s not often that the Harbinger comes across Hilichurls, no less rogues, as he tends to keep his distance from them in order to leave them with what little peace they have left. So, to be face-to-face—or rather, mask-to-mask, with one was utterly novel. It’s not unwelcome, even as the Hilichurl reiterated his words from before.

Devastatingly handsome paired with a beautiful soul…as though he wasn’t baffled enough.

However, Capitano was snapped out of his reverie the moment a passerby screamed in terror at the sight of the rogue before him, his head turning almost mechanically towards the source of the exclamation before chaos erupted around them.

Ah.

His attention remained on the crowds of people that scattered and hollered to get away from the rogue that had revealed himself, however it returned towards the Hilichurl once he spoke again and dismissed himself before the guards could step in.

“… Wait.”

These are not Capitano’s people—they’re not a group that he could easily calm with a simple gesture. What he can do, however, is to bring back that oppressive nature that weighed heavily around him as he turned his attention towards the guards and the few stragglers that remained. He has no jurisdiction here in Natlan, of that he is aware, yet he is still a Fatuus.

He is still a Harbinger, and one that demanded respect by his mere presence.

“Leave this being to me and return to your people. Assure them that all is well, as there is nothing to be afraid of,” it said, its voice unwavering and stalwart. Should they listen or should they not mattered little to him as his attention fell on the rogue once more if he did actually listen and stay, motioning with his head for him to follow.

There was no need to continue causing unnecessary stress on the inhabitants of Natlan, so the two of them may as well find a more secluded place so they could have a talk.

[theluckywizard]

In the Shattering of Things, Chapter 36: Wreckage

Latest chapter of my Dragon Age: Inquisition long fic In the Shattering of Things featuring Rose Trevelyan x Cullen and Rose x m!Hawke.

Summary: Waking up the survivor of the avalanche that buried Haven, Rose Trevelyan must dig her way out, tend to her wounds, dodge the red templar scouts searching for survivors and find a way forward. But exposure aims to claim her and she'll have to bargain for her life.

CW: wincy, gory descriptions of a stab wound and extracting pieces from it

Excerpt:

The voices first come from across the lake, though it’s hard to tell with the way they bounce off the broken buildings of Haven. I perk up, craning my neck to see any sign of movement, anyone. And suddenly I’m chilled by the prospect that it’s not my people. It could just as easily be the enemy looking for survivors. My people had climbed high up the mountain pass behind Haven. Squinting against the glare of the sun I see dark figures making their way across the lake. My hips are free but my feet are held fast deep in the ice pack. The voices grow in volume and clarity– harsh ones, and they aren’t calling for me. They’re discussing things– I can’t make out what, but I assume anyone searching for me would be speaking with greater urgency. The radiance of the morning sun and the prospect of being discovered trapped is enough to sustain my efforts and I start working my way deep into the snow with the splinter of wood, digging with desperation, digging wildly. The little fox returns, closer now, its ears alert, twitching around as it listens to the voices approaching. My heart skips and stutters inside my chest as I try to get free. I pull on my right leg– it moves! It starts coming up even while my left leg holds fast. I dig more furiously and then my right leg is out. I kick at the snowpack that separates my legs and it collapses into the void left by my other leg and suddenly I’m free. I wriggle and flop my way on top of the snowy debris, collapsing onto my back in exhaustion, but only for a moment. I see figures climbing up toward Haven’s gate which stands still, buttressed by debris. I scramble into the evergreens around the Chantry and press against the stone wall, my ears carefully attuned to the muffled conversation that grows nearer.  “Boss wants us to sweep for her. Says she can’t have got far.” “What about survivors, General?” Samson. My breath catches like breathing might give me away, but they are still down by the gate. “Take care of enemy survivors. Holler if you find any of ours.” “Yes, Ser,” says the soldier. I can’t escape out the back the grove of evergreens pressing up against a high rocky outcropping that I certainly can’t climb with the state of my arm. “If you see her, you let everyone know. Redheaded brat. Alive, dead. It don't matter.” “If we find her alive does he want her to stay that way?” “Alive enough.”

Read the full chapter here!

Tagging the DAFF crew!

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @mogwaei | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie

[mako-neexu]

[オベぐだ♀︎] “Epilogue” -wip (because obe is a pain in the ass to write so finding an appropriate ending is hard)

-

She starts with a heaving gasp, eyes blown wide as she wakes up.

Darkness was all that she saw. A gaping void that threatened to consume her whole, a familiar sensation akin to seeing a friend on the way home from school.

She clenches her fist atop her chest and swallows even as her lips were dry and her heartbeat cannot be felt.

A dream? It feels way too real to be one. But so were her thousand other dreams when she tried to sleep or even daydream.

She opens her mouth with the intent to call out on someone, anyone---

A thundering applause shatters the silence, and she is forced to cover her ears from the hollers, the claps, the praise, the sneers, and the gazes from all around her.

It was still dark. Yet, she could finally see the light that was aimed down at her figure. A spotlight that made her the target of attention.

She could only tremble and face the void head-on, her eyes darting all around to find any clue on where she is in.

But looking down was a mistake.

“Ah...A-Ah,” Her hands were shaking badly, dyed red gloved hands that hid her crumbling appendage beneath.

She sees a little clearer despite the spots in her vision. She was wearing her mystic code. A dress with white, black, and grey accents and combat boots- a uniform that was given to her not too long ago.

She looks up in horror as the nonexistent crowd continued to give their praises and jeers at her, flowers of all kinds thrown at her before the stage.

A stage.

She was standing in the middle of a stage.

Just when she knew her dread couldn’t sink any lower, this time, it did.

Beside her were props. Bodies- Dolls of- of herself piled up and murdered, a pool of blood flooding the set. And to her left were the people she met and loved- thrown on top of each other in the same fashion as if they were nothing more than dead bodies to deal with.

The world was turning upside down. Her stomach was churning. She wanted nothing more than to wretch and close her eyes, and block out the sound that was beginning to resemble more and more like screams to her ears--

Silence.

Her head whips up as she realizes the sudden lack of noise.

Gone was the void that seemed all-encompassing, but what replaced it were red seats with figures that were too vague to point out.

She swears she saw someone wear a familiar blue cap and pigtails, another one wearing a short braid, another was a woman with an astrolabe as her staff...and another was someone wearing a ponytail... ah, a smile, a smile? Why does it look sad? How can she see them yet not see these people watching he-

A clap. The clap came from a single person, yet she couldn’t see someone moving in their seats. Slow, yet sonorous, she tensed up as she heard the source of it come closer.

“Bravo,” She froze on the spot, her gaze turning into surprise over the familiarity of the voice.

“Bravo!” She sighed. She was tired. She doesn’t want to deal with whatever is happening now.

Oberon stepped out from the darkness and gave her his princely smile. It’s just him. Her body relaxes, eased over seeing a friend.

“Oberon...” She called out and approached him... but it only took her a few steps until something invisible blocked her from closing the distance.

“That was more than well-deserved, don’t you think?” Oberon smiles, his eyes creasing happily. “A grand round of applause to the main character who had fought so dashingly and nobly on the stage!”

She tests the invisible wall again and finds that it was no illusion nor it was something that made her hesitate. Her stomach churned over the growing dread inside her.

She stays silent.

Oberon still doesn’t seem to notice. (No. He knows. He’s simply ignoring it.)“And! It is customary for audiences and supporting characters to give roses to the heroine as congratulations.” With a flourish, a bouquet of said flowers were shoved against her.

She stumbles a bit but nevertheless notices how that invisible wall was something he could phase through...as if he wasn’t affected at all.

She swallows and replies with hesistance, “Thank... you...”

His eyes turn into cresecents and his smile stretches until it was thin, “Mhm! My pleasure!” He leans back with the entirety of his posture that of relaxed. But she knew better. The air was becoming suffocating and dark. Something was closing on her and it wasn’t tangible for her to repel given her circumstances.

“Your role is quite difficult so I just ought to make sure you were praised for destroying seven worlds, vanquishing demon pillars, Beasts, outer gods, and thousands of stories,” He smiles, he smiles, “-each person bearing their own burden, responsibility, emotion, grief, love, hate, hopes, dreams, loved ones, past, present-”

She blinks.

Oberon Vortigern takes his place.

“-but not their future.”

Thousands of questions ran in her mind. What was this? Where were they? Why is Oberon doing this? What sort of metaphor is he trying to convey? Resentment? Why is he acting upon it now? Did she do something earlier? But she- oh. She doesn’t remember what happened before waking up here. What was the purpose of being subjected to a stage with nonexistent audiences clapping and hailing her for the things she had done?

A laugh. A cold laugh breaks her from her inner dilemma as she focuses on the Pretender, “Do you really think you’re deserving of those praises? The respect from achieving such great feats!? Do you really deserve to smile and laugh alongside your companions, eating cake with bloodstained hands!?”

He was shouting now, and she was like a fawn doing its best to stay strong in the face of such onslaught.

“And?” Oberon growls and grips her arm, on the side where her command spells were etched, “When the crowd leaves, the curtains fall, and the supporting cast withdraws, what are you left with?”

No more. She couldn’t bare to look at him. She couldn’t bare to listen to the words that stabbed her entire body like poison-tipped daggers.

And to that brief second of being alone in the stage, she knew what he meant.

All of her breath leaves her lungs when he wrenches the bouquet and crushes the entire thing with his clawed hand.

“You are nothing.”

Trembling and silent, she risked glancing up. His condescending smile as cold as his glowing eyes. “Imagine getting flowers wrapped in sweetness and praise after trampling over the lives reduced to nothing but data and numbers. The irony of it is enough to kill me, you know? Even your so-called friends seemed to bask in destroying those very lives alongside you.”

She opens her mouth and finally, gives voice to what she wanted to say. She looks straight up at him, eyes defiant, “...There’s nothing wrong in wanting to take back our world, our previous lives and everyone else who was in it.”

She takes back her hand by twisting it in his hold, allowing her to break free take a few steps back for herself, “Everyone did their best and fought to the very end, to that normalcy everyone yearned for. They’re happy because they survived. Because they avoided dying from a single blow that would mean the end for them. My friends gave their all to support each other because we were shoved into a that situation without warning. I did my best as well, even if what I did had a kind of responsibility no human can bear.”

Silence once more reigns the atmosphere between them. Dust motes floated about underneath the single spotlight that focused on the both of them.

Oberon’s face was slack, unamused, and she, guarded and tense.

“Even now, you’re still stubborn to a fault, huh?”

There was no time to react. No time to even flinch or use a spell before he’d grabbed her by her jaw.

His glare was scathing, and by now she was used to such looks. She thinks she’s used to such looks. “And you, my fellow liar, if you know so well about what they feel, it is only fair you tell me about yours beyond that horseshit of ‘I’m okay’ and ‘I’m strong because of my dearest friends’.”

“I-...” For once, she is rendered speechless against him. Her hesitation was taken as a cue.

His grip on her tightened, and she had to wince from how much he was hurting her from that alone. “And so they rejoice in saving their skin! They stay in that comfy little ship with only physical support to back you up. But what about your mental state? Do they even bother addressing the damn weight you carry? Do they even ask about what you feel after felling a world? They don’t, do they? Hah! At best, all they have to offer is for you to get an hour of rest, leaving you to your own devices.”

She did her best to glare at him, weak as it was. Because deep down, that ever selfish part of her knew that he was right. That they believed her to be strong because she smiled through it all. That they believed her to be someone who can handle the stress of it alone.

“You know it too, don’t you?” The smile was poisonous, his face so close that it felt as if he was seconds away from biting off her head. “That you’re broken right from the start, able to make hundreds of contracts with sentient weapons and do even the stupidest shit no human would ever dare do.”

His voice was scathing. Oozing like lava and burning everything it touches,it scorches the depths of her heart, yet shes faces it head on. “With the repercussions of the things that made you seem so cool and special, you’re tortured by voices. Voices in the guise of that blond commander, that homunculus inventor, that detective clothed in white wool, and the hundreds who stuck by your side but never called you by your name.”

Name. Her name. She was called by so many names, that her very own was overshadowed by the countless titles she’s gained throughout these years.

Senpai. Kouhai. Contractor. Christine. Lord. Anjin. Piglet. Albrecht. Little Deer. Jokanaan. Accomplice. Mom. Liege. Prince. Student. Retainer. Lover. Daughter. Sister. Prey. Enemy. Friend. Master.

Unable to help herself, she spat out, “They’re names given to me by my friends-”

Oberon clicked his tongue and growled, “-all of whom who’ve never once used your own name. Not even once. But I digress. Those voices you hear were taken by your own head and malformed all of it into a vessel of your self-hatred and insecurity.”

Horror dawns on her as he addressed her pandora’s box she carefully kept hidden away from prying eyes.

Her body trembles, and she tries to pry away from his grasp, but all of that were rendered useless when he smiled cruelly at her.

“Fujimaru Ritsuka, Panhistory’s Last Master yearns to be punished. To finally be absolved of the burden of her sins and responsibility, clinging on to death without realizing it.” He lifts her chin to face him, but she doesn’t dare squeeze her eyes shut. “With a desire like that, are you still truly wishing to go back to that normal everyday life when you have come this far?”

No longer human, not with how many she has made sure to dye each world’s stories in inky black. To the point where her hands were stained with it. Blood and pen ink mixing until no longer discernible. Just like the play she was forced to act in.

notes:

she’s standing at the center of the stage.

[saintsmith]

The Eilhship’s progress through the void seemed slow; Shiaaj figured they’d been traveling two or three days, and were just now almost at the Occultation. Yet she didn’t seem to grow tired, hungry, or thirsty. She asked Haagrul if this was a saint thing.

“More of an Eilh thing,” he answered. “In this sphere, these needs like ‘hunger,’ ‘exhaustion,’ and ‘thirst,’ are mere concepts that can’t affect us. Even these mortal sailors are immune.”

Shiaaj hadn’t noticed the Eilhship’s crew were mortals, not saints. But she hadn’t checked their eyes, so how could she have?

She felt her stomach. It didn’t feel full, but neutral. Her throat wasn’t parched, but neutral. Her mind seemed fresh and ready, and her eyelids didn’t risk shuttering her vision. She’d only known (by direct experience, at least) what these requisites for living felt like for a week. They had surprised her, when she was hatched, with their urgency. But now they were completely absent.

Something rocked the boat. Shiaaj threw out her arms for balance. “What was that?”

Before Haagrul could answer, the question answered itself: the great head of a massive beast, long, pale-scaled, serpentine in its movement, rose over the bow.

“An Eilhwyrm,” breathed Haagrul. His eyes taking in the wyrm, he added, “I’ve never seen one so close. How majestic! But this one seems rather small. A wyrmlet, probably.”

The Eilhwyrm turned its finned head to glance at the ship’s occupants with its huge green eye.

Then an arrow pierced the eye.

The wyrm loosed a scream, but not one of sound. It made Shiaaj’s brow-plates feel like they were being split open and torched. No concrete thoughts, only pain.

Haagrul turned to find the arrow’s source. It was a bow held by a landsaint on an upper deck.

“Fool of a landsaint!” he cried. “The wyrms are harmless!”

“It could have capsized the ship, regardless!” yelled back the landsaint.

The psychic shriek began to fade as the wounded Eilhwyrm fled into the darkness, but it never fully went away.

“Fool, fool, fool of a landsaint!” Haagrul shouted, spinning around with clear fear on his face. “It was a wyrmlet! They are never far from their mothers!”

A nearby Greshtal skysaint’s face fell. She called to a nearby sailor, “Tell the captain to make haste! We are in grave danger!”

“Aye aye,” responded the sailor, who sprinted up-ship towards the helm. 

Not long after, the ship began to accelerate towards the Occultation. At the same time, Shiaaj heard a rumbling roar through her brow-plates. She grabbed Haagrul by the arm. “It’s coming.”

Haagrul took the lead, hollering across the ship at every saint who would listen: “Archers! Sorcerers! Ready your artillery! We need to slow that wyrm down!” He dropped his half-halberd and readied in his four hands balls of fire, lightning, ice, and stone. Others followed suit, archers nocking their arrows and sorcerers preparing various spells.

Soon it emerged from the void, truly colossal, its psychic voice making Shiaaj’s brow-plates numb and her brain rattle, as it approached the port side of the Eilhship. Its scales were a reflective black, only visible by how the scarce light played on it, and by its brilliant red eyes, like some malefic spirit cluster at night.

“Faster!” cried the nearby Greshtal skysaint, her four hands working in tandem to prepare some complex mysticism. “I’ll give us a boost, but it won’t last long!” After her gesturing was finished, she planted all four palms on the deck, and the Eilhship burst forward, Shiaaj almost falling over from the sudden acceleration.

The ship was fast approaching the Occultation now, but the wyrm seemed faster, gaining on them rapidly. Once in range, the saints began to assault it, loosing arrows and casting spells. Most hit true, and instead of slowing it down, they seemed to only enrage it further, quickening its pace, rampaging through the Eilh towards the ship.

“We need more speed, Dregor!” Haagrul shouted at the Greshtal who cast the accelerating spell.

“I’m giving it…all I’ve…got!” she groaned. But still she tightened her face, and somehow poured more magic into the vessel, giving it a bit more speed.

Shiaaj felt useless. She couldn’t shoot at the wyrm with either arrow or spell, and there was nothing she could do to hurry the ship along. She closed her eyes and grabbed for her Origin Stone by instinct. The opal was warm; the spirit inside seemed to be trying to tell her something. She tuned into it with her brow-plates:

It spoke of flight. It spoke of sailing the skies. It spoke of pure speed, unfettered by any obstacle. It spoke: now. Now. Now!

If the Eilh is just concepts made real, she thought suddenly, as if divinely inspired, maybe I can make concepts real, too.

She concentrated on the ideas the spirit showed her. She knelt and placed her hands on the deck and poured herself completely into making the ideas reality. Flight. Sailing. Speed.

The ship rocketed forward, knocking her and several other saints over. The last thing she saw before they entered the Occultation was the open maw of the Eilhwyrm. There were no teeth. There was no tongue. There was no throat. All was blackness.

And then her eyes faded into that same blackness.

[moonlightheretic]

Venom of the Gods- Chapter 1-Snippet (Rough draft)

“Venetori? What in the void are they doing in these parts?”

“Maybe they fancy sight-seeing…” Elle remarked sarcastically before she tempered her tone when realization took center stage. “…or they were after the artefact too.” Their stone bodies draped over each other as they swarmed the ground beneath the harmonious artefact. Curled over like deceased spiders, their legs and arms rigid but still conveying a frantic motion halted in time. “They didn’t succeed.” Elle cocked her head and dribbled her foot, “Sorta odd how they are assembled, looks like they died all at once…they were trying to flee from something. Caught from behind like that.” She glanced back at the slain professor and his entourage. “Looks like Venetori got to them first though. “We aren’t the first to travel here, that is for sure.”

“You don’t think whatever came for them…isn’t still here?” Athan inquired with curiosity, a little too chipper for her liking. He was such a peculiar fellow.

“I think we would have confronted it by now. However, that doesn’t mean this place isn’t trapped.” Elle thrusted her fists into her hips and sighed, “I am going to investigate a way to free it without getting us skewered or something worse.”

“I’ll be over by the mural.” Athan jabbed his thumb in the direction of the previous room, already with his dagger in his hand.

Elle followed him out and wandered over to the remains of the archaeologists, there could be a clue here…these people wouldn’t let one stone go un-turned, surely, they would have documented any devices for hiding traps, right?

She rummaged through their equipment, their packs and their pockets but found nothing of use. Her eyes fell on a well-dressed human male, his chest slumped into his knees, his arm folded in between. She crouched down and with her hands on his shoulders, she pried him apart. Looped inside the crook of his arm was a heavily bloodstained journal. ‘He protected his work until the end.’ She observed with a grimace. “I am sorry.” Elle couldn’t help feeling guilty, using his work to profit her own, but there was no other option.

 Inscribed on the leather journal:

‘The Art History of the Elvhen Empire Volume Six’

‘Notes of Prof. Perrick Montague’

‘The University of Orlais’

She whistled low in genuine amazement, “Fancy, fancy.”

“Find something?” Messere Athan hollered from the other end of the room, chipping away at the mural.

“Perhaps!”  

 She flipped through the pages of the blood-stained journal with sincere interest, the professor’s notes were fluid and well scripted, a word or rather a name was repeated, Ghilan’nain. She squinted at the name, attempting to make sense of it. She turned another page, this time to a detailed rendition, a sketched figure with an upside-down crescent crowned her head. Above her head was written, Ghilan’nain. She rose to stand when her legs started to tingle, pulling the page close to her face. It looked familiar. She swiveled on her heel slowly,the rest was smeared with dried blood from her shoulders’ down, but bloody fingerprints accentuated the adjacent page, and with caution she willed her fingers to peel it back. Sloppy and broad, this bloody message was written in evident haste covering more sketches of this Ghilan’nain, now facing the mural Athan plucked jewels out of.

‘SEVEN EYES.’

Elle gulped nervously and felt her heart plummet to her stomach. Not sure why those words overwhelmed her with dread, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted to figure that out.

‘A strange thing to write as your last words.’ But who was she to judge? She reasoned with herself, achieving very little success.

Her eyes left the page to compare the drawings to the sight before her. She wasn’t here to frighten herself. Business, Elle. Don’t get distracted. She allowed the memory of her father’s admonishment playout.  But her vision swelled with the figure who had his back turned to her and something felt wrong.

Messere Athan swirled a blue vile as he gazed up at the mural, his back straight and shoulders relaxed, he rested all his weight on his backfoot. His body language continued to befuddle her; he acted like he was enjoying the artwork at some haughty soiree.

She pinned the Lyrium vile with her eyes, lowering the journal in her hands, as the man drew it to his lips and downed it in one large gulp.

“It is rather unlucky for you that I am a Templar of the Southern Chantry. Unlike those neutered dogs in Tevinter.” Messere Athan allowed the vile to shatter on the floor as he twisted on that backfoot, hand on his sword. “Magister Alexina sends her regards.”

[pyrinas]

@idanazaldrizes asked: ❝ i have only ever defended you. ❞ / for Esmae!

Bare feet dug into the sands of the island, seemingly unaware of the pain of the grit biting into the skin of the soles, as orchid eyes stared upwards at the other girl standing above her on the rocks. She slowly rose from her crouch, gaze unwavering as she stood. Somehow, the bastard's face was void of any emotion. No sign of anger, annoyance, shame, or gratefulness flickered across her young features. There was nothing to be read upon her face. Not even her eyes showed a single thought.

"Stop," the girl finally hollered up, her stance stiff, but not aggressive. She had been crouching upon the shore for quite some time, quietly and curiously poking at crabs and shells alike. Esmae nearly forgot why she had fled from the castle that towered above the sands. "Don't."

Still indifferent, she lowered herself back to dig around the sand. To an outsider, it was almost as though she were searching for something with her focus. If she had truly offended one of the lords or knights above, Esmae was certain that they would have already had her head snatched already. She doubted the words of another girl, similar in age, mattered all that much. That was how it was back in Flea Bottom --- words did not keep people alive. "You don't have to."

PROMPT.

[tanoraqui]

and if you want a happy ending...

A little while after that, on the outside edge of the world Rathilien at the last fading door between it and Elsewhere, two siblings and a cousin ran up, panting, and fell into fierce debate.

“It’s shut fast.”

“It’s locked?”

“Are really surprised?”

“No. Can’t you just break it? Or pick it?”

“I’m as spent as the two of you. And I don’t have my lock picks.”

“You still have claws.”

“They’re not as good as a proper set of picks! Anyway, I said it’s shut, not locked—I can’t pick a barred door.”

White-haired Preservation-who-wasn’t-anymore leaned past his bickering cousins to knock on the door.

“Hello?” he called. “May we come in? It’s getting rather unstable out here.”

Not-quite-Destruction-anymore and Creation-no-longer both looked nervously over their shoulders, at the reality that really wasn’t and at the increasingly small patch of doorstep on which they stood.

Jame entirely gave up the pretense of mythology, and started hammering on the door. “Ragga, Tishoo, Burnt Man, Eaten One!” she hollered. “We promise not to break anything this time, just let us in! Granny Sits-by-the-Fire! Gorgo, you owe me—and you too, Suwaeton, and all your Divine Order! Dalis-Sar, Heliot, Abarraden! Kroaky or whatever your name is, Lady Professionate, Lord Artifice, Lord Mercer! Pathfinder, please—ah!"

She yelped because she was suddenly falling, not backwards into void but forwards into the open door. Torisen caught her around the waist before she went flat on her face before the one who had opened it—who was, indeed, Pathfinder, the pale, bedraggled, eternally candlelit old man who was patron of the Tai-Tastigonian Guides' Guild and the latest manifestation of Hope.

"Unlike some of you, I cannot not answer," he was calling warmly over his shoulder, to an indistinct but bickering crowd of gods and god-adjacents. Though he didn't shift from where he stood, blocking most of the doorway.

"Well met," Torisen said politely, before his sister could consider slipping in like a stray cat. She elbowed him in the ribs as she wiggled out of his grasp, because she hadn't seriously��been considering it. 

"May we come back in?" Torisen repeated, with some measure of a Highlord's dignity remaining. "We seek only to rejoin our people. If it is any concern, we've left all of our power behind, eons back."

Mother Ragga pushed her way in besides Pathfinder.

"Girlie's still got claws," she said, jutting her earth-ruddy head toward Jame. "And your foolish people will rush to give back all they can, the second they see you." Toward Kindrie, she added, "They're halfway to giving it to your lady as it is."

"Er," said Kindrie. A moment ago, he'd been anxious about the void of utter nothingness nipping at their heels. It wasn't much better to consider Kirien's likely reaction to being hassled by god-hungry priests. 

"Many people have claws," said Torisen, as he once might have said, Everyone has dreams, but better. Even after everything, Jame fought the urge to hug him with fierce pride and never let go—both could wait until later.

"We will take great care," she swore. "Honor break me, darkness try again to take me—c'mon Mother Ragga, you know we're good for it."

Torisen and Kindrie both echoed her oath.

Rathilien debated, as the Tyr-RIdan clustered ever more tightly together on the fading doorstep, last remnant of the parasitic shadows that the Kencyrath had fought for so long. A familiar, supportive quonk! quonk! rose above the tumult, finally cut through by Granny Sits-by-the-Fire's exasperated, "They've made a place for themselves here, same as the rest of us. Just let them in."

Pathfinder smiled broadly and stepped aside, swinging the door so swiftly wide that all three Knorths tripped over the threshhold—

—and through into the last particularly weak point in the walls between worlds, which just so happened to be the Great Hall of death banners—most faded or burnt, but a few souls still hung on—at the heart of the royal keep of Gothregor.

Sentences Saturday

@thelordofgifs tagged me to share "some sentences" from a WIP (side note: I love how far this has devolved from neat tag memes like "Five-Sentence Friday" or even "WIP Wednesday). As it so happens, I spent yesterday and today writing a short little thing for the Chronicles of the Kencyrath, so here it is in full! Tagging @finxwrites, @smallblueandloud and @words-writ-in-starlight to go next if you want :)

---

Smothering, twisting darkness swirled around them in a dancing duel with silver-pale weirding mist, and the mist was winning. Where it cleared away the taint and then itself, it revealed a silent battlefield—exhausted, watching the center where the Tyr-Ridan stood, the living all still alive for now and the dead all staying dead at last. Rathilien was saved. Perimal Darkling was destroyed.

Yet darkness still loomed in front of them, utter, absolute Darkness. Ahead and behind. The ground had stopped shaking—Mother Ragga stood watching with the rest, not far away. But something still shifted unsteadily beneath Jame’s feet. Some loose thread—loose steering rope, loose fate whipping in the winds of history—was left untied.

"We have to go back." Her lips were numb with the realization. "We have to go back and start it all."

Kindrie shouted, a wordless rathorn cry of grief beyond endurance. He turned away and strode to where Kirien stood, not far behind them (or maybe distance hadn't mattered in…about as long as time hadn’t mattered).

He took her in his arms and kissed her fiercely, then pressed their foreheads gently together. The serpent cloak on his shoulders wrapped around them both.

Jame looked away to give them their privacy.

The final battlefield was full of friends and loved ones, kith and kin, more alive than she would have expected. Timmon and Gorbel were leaning heavily on one another, as were Trishien and Dianthe of Danior, all surrounded by Kendar of a melange of houses. Randiroc’s jewel-jaws were feasting on his corpse, which was fair. A few steps away, Death’s-head had started eating the Dark Judge’s corpse, which would probably give him indigestion. Before Ashe had finally gone still with the rest of the haunts, she’d sat back to back with Harn, who was gritting his teeth over a mangled forearm while Sheth, kneeling beside them, tore and tied his black coat into a hasty tourniquet.

The Kencyr had gathered closest to their lords and lady, but they were far from alone on the field. Gran Cyd bent a bloody-speared Chingetai into a passionate kiss and showed no sign of stopping. Wolvers began to howl, a rippling harmony of triumph tinged with mourning. An assortment of Tai-tastigonian gods, Bashti ancestors and other deities still ran amok, mopping up shadows with spears, fire, frying pans and odder weapons, egged on by Old Man Tishoo soaring above. Through the howling chorus, Jame heard a distinct quonk! Further yet, Arribek sen Tenzi was already stalking around, rallying his hillmen for whatever came next.

He wasn’t the only one. Countless people looked back at Jame and in their eyes she could see that one word from her, the slightest nod, and despite their wounds, exhaustion, and dawning sense of relief, they would stand and follow unflinchingly into the darkness. Brier was already getting to her feet, with blood coating her side and a mulish set to her chin. Yce was glaring past Jame, past Tori, straight into the heart of Perimal Darkling, teeth bared and legs coiled to pounce on the enemy that still hadn’t fully vacated her territory.

Kindrie let go of Kirien at last, and she of him. As he walked back to his cousins, the serpentine Cloak pressed closer and closer to his skin until it sank in completely, leaving only a ghost of snakes’ heads at his shoulders. As it faded, Kindrie shone brighter and brighter, with a white light so pure that it burned Jame’s eyes.

She turned away, and dropped the ivory Knife from her right hand. It disappeared into the shadows curling around her feet and never landed; in its place her claws slid out, longer and sharper and more natural-feeling than ever before. Each would be deadly with only a scratch. 

As usual, Torisen was the last to join them. He hasn’t reacted at all to Jame’s words; his head was bowed over the Book still open in his hands, his shoulders hunched.

With a deep breath, he straightened. The Book flared and fell into ashes in his hands. The fire licked down the bonds that tied the Knorth to their lord, and the Kencyrath to their Highlord, and set them all loose before any could be drawn into the Darkness before the three of them. Pure Creation remained, unbound, and the Kenthiar on his neck blazed as brightly silver as his open eyes.

Jame snapped her few bonds with a flick of her wrist, as easy as breathing for Destruction incarnate. With her other hand, she turned her claws carefully away one last time as she took her brother’s scarred hand, and leaned her shoulder against his. Her odd, black-purple glow was dark against his silver, though still bright against the Darkness.

On her other side, Preservation gripped the loose sleeve of her d’hen, just in case the road was rough.

And so the three faces of the Kencyr god, Torrigien, Regonereth and Argentiel, walked out of Rathilien and into the Darkness beyond worlds, beyond time.

A little while later and thirty thousand years earlier, the Three-Faced god bound together the Kendar, the Arrin-ken, the in-between race that would be known as Highborn, and the short gray folk who had always called themselves Builders, and charged them to fight the purest malevolence of entropy until it was defeated—and then upon its defeat, to the stupefaction of many on a small, divinity-packed world far down the Chain of Creation, released them all at last.

[roses-raccoon]

Ojibwe word of the day is Michi-sak (mih-chih suck) which means floor. When there's a hyphen in an Ojibwe word, it means 2 separate words have been joined to describe something

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Edge of Seventeen - An Angel Reyes/OC Story.

So then, guys! I did promise that if I finished the second chapter, you’d get the first. I did, so here you are! Please do remember to leave that vital feedback and give me a reblog, help your struggling authors as once again, visibility has dipped so low across many of the fandoms, and without your help, our content gets lost in the void. And now, onto the show! 

Words - 3,259

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Song reference - Edge of Seventeen by Lilith Czar. Whenever Bella is performing, Lilith is basically the music and voice claim - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWW7_v8HRYc&list=RDAWW7_v8HRYc&start_radio=1

“Hello, everybody,” the singer began, taking the microphone after she and her band had walked onstage at The Blue Banana, a live music bar in downtown Santo Padre. 

“Hey, that chick sounds weird! Yo, honey! What’s up with that voice, huh?”

Bella raised an eyebrow, shielding her eyes from the bright stage lighting beaming onto her, looking in the direction the drunk heckler from the crowd had hollered from. “I’m British, darling. Ain’t you ever heard a British person before? Silly twat.”  

Bishop and Angel almost choked on their beers, hearing her refer to him as such.  

“Why does swearing always sound so much more effective when British people do it?” Bishop laughed, shaking his head.  

“Right?” Angel agreed, amused.  

“Anyway,” Bella continued, “before the rude, bald fella over yonder interrupted me, I was about to say, we’re Heavenly Creature, and we’re gonna play you a few songs. Enjoy.”

The club then filled with the opening bars of a song Bishop recognised instantly, nodding his head, thinking it was a very, very brave choice to cover something so iconic.  

“I’ll give her props before she’s even started,” he shouted, pointing at the stage. “Not many people out there would have the balls to cover Stevie Nicks.”

“Who?” Angel shouted back, Bishop rolling his eyes, about to chastise him for not knowing who the iconic vocalist originally from Fleetwood Mac was, when up on stage, the girl opened her mouth, drew a breath, and...

“Just like the white winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she’s singing, ooh baby, ooh, said ooh.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” One line, and he was bowled over by the huge, powerful voice that came from the diminutive blonde.  

“Oh, shit! I know this, man! I just didn’t know the chick’s name who sang it!” Angel piped up, falling silent thereafter, stunned by the power of the vocalist onstage. Her voice was all sultry smoke, and sounded like it belonged to a woman of greater age, Angel thinking that she couldn’t have been much older than twenty. He stood, utterly awestruck at her voice, staring slightly open mouthed as he watched her stalk the stage, exuding confidence, engaging the crowd who all cheered their approval, absolutely fixated on her.  

If Courtney Love and Axl Rose had conceived a bastard lovechild and made Stevie Nicks the godmother, the girl onstage would have been that offspring. She moved in a feline glide, but with attitude, the personification of a boho, rock n’ roll girl, Angel moving through the crowd, past where a few other guys from the club stood, pulled in by her. God, she was stunning.  

Her golden blonde hair fell in waves down her back, a smattering of random tattoos etched across her lithe, lightly tanned skin, green eyes shining out through smudgy eyeliner. The way she was dressed, too, her whole aesthetic screamed effortlessly cool, with her many earrings, feathers, hoops and crucifixes littering her ears, pendants strung around her neck, multiple bracelets and rings, piercings in her septum and nostril, wearing a black silk top that hung off her, revealing a peacock print bra beneath, and a pair of tiny denim shorts.  

Yep. Angel approved. His dick even more so.  

But his ears? Oh. His ears were in love. Her voice was incredible. Like, how was this chick not famous already? In fact, how were the whole band not out there touring, he wondered, rather than playing this tiny little hole in the wall? They were incredibly talented, exuding confidence beyond their tender years, looking more at home up on a stage than some seasoned performers did after decades in the music industry. The girl, though? She stole the show, shined like a supernova, her voice astounding just about every last person in the room.  

“Thank you, you’re very kind,” she spoke softly after the song had finished, smiling widely at the huge round of applause they received. Oh, she was even prettier when she smiled, Angel feeling his heart do a little somersault. He was not leaving that venue without her phone number, he decided right there and then. Despite the words delivered after his brother had moved to his side, attracting his attention with a soft elbow to his arm.  

“She’s too young for you, man.”  

Angel snorted. “Says he who dated an eighteen-year-old how long ago?”

EZ dropped his head, laughing. “We don’t speak of Gaby.”  

“Sorry.” Of course, his brother had been somewhat brooding over his most recent breakup, Gaby moving to Lodi to pursue a nursing career without him the previous year. While mindful, his apology lasted all of five seconds, though. “But for real! She was eighteen, and you were thirty!”

“And that girl up there is probably about her age, and you’re pushing thirty-seven.”

Angel took another swig of beer, trying not to grin so widely. “And what of it?”

“Twelve years is better than an eighteen-year age gap, man,” EZ shrugged, entertained by his brother's tight lipped expression.  

“I’ll let her be the judge of that,” he vouched, gesturing towards the stage, the band playing one of their own songs that he hadn’t caught the name of, but was enjoying immensely. “Besides, ain’t this all a bit premature? I ain’t even met the girl yet and you’re there, yacking on about age gaps.” Angel shook his head, sinking the rest of his beer.  

“Yeah,” EZ began, his grin widening. “She’ll probably take one look at you and tell you to find somebody your own age.” Angel mouthed a few cuss words in his direction, turning his attention back to the stage. 

Sadly, the show was over after another three songs, the next band coming on after a brief pause, Heavenly Creature clearing away their instruments and equipment. The girl then vanished, but Angel kept one eye on the room for the next half hour, waiting for her to surface. When she did, he noticed her over by the bar, excusing himself to his brothers and heading over.  

As he approached, he saw she was standing with a guy, but from her face and her body language, didn’t look like she was at all comfortable with it.  

“Look, I’m not interested, alright?” Angel heard her say when he was within earshot.  

“Oh, come on, darlin’. Just let me get you a drink,” he continued, stepping closer to her, the girl taking a step away to put some distance between them, her eyes peeling through the room, obviously looking for any of the three guys who were in her band to come to her aid, as the man before her certainly wasn’t getting the message. He would, though.  

“Hey, we got a problem here?” Angel asked, moving to her side, giving the guy a look that clearly stated, fuck around and find out.

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, Angel turning to the girl and winking in a ‘go along with it’ kind of way before draping an arm around her shoulders.  

“Her boyfriend.”

The guy quickly did the math. Six feet three inches and nearly two hundred pounds of outlaw weren’t worth messing with. “Sorry, dude.”  

“Yeah, you wanna be,” Angel snorted. “If I see you sniffing around my girl again, your bitch ass is gonna need a damned good dentist, homie.” The man retreated at speed, Angel turning to the girl with a smile, stepping back out of her space respectfully.  

“Thank you!” she breathed, relief flooding her. Who’d have thought that it would have been one of the scariest looking guys in the whole bar to be the one with the most chivalry? She then looked up at him properly. Ooooh. Not so scary. In fact, quite the opposite. ‘Blimey, that’s a helluva sexy man!’ she thought, offering her hand forth. “I’m Bella, by the way.”

He took her hand, shaking it, his eyes focusing in on hers. He’d never witnessed a shade of green so pretty before. “Angel.”

“Oh, what a gorgeous name!” she cried. Not many guys were called Angel where she was from. In fact, she could wager that probably none would be found within the London borough of Hammersmith. “Gorgeous name for a gorgeous fella.”  

Her wink had him beaming, dropping his head for a second, having to gather himself. Angel knew he was attractive, his success rate with women was one hundred percent, but god, there she was, the loveliest thing in the entire establishment, and she was flirting with him.  

“Oh, so she’s flirty?” he observed.  

Bella grasped the straws of her drink between her teeth, sipping on it slowly. Just watching that action made something very pleasant run through him. “She is,” she confirmed, placing a hand on his arm. They were like steel. Wow. “When she sees something she likes, she goes right on after it, too.”  

Again, she reduced him to grinning like a simpleton, bowled over at her confidence. “You’ve got some serious game, you know, girl. You’re kinda denting mine a little here, shit!”

Her laugh was raucous, a booming chuckle, like if someone wrote the words ‘ha ha ha ha’ down on a piece of paper and then enchanted them to play aloud. He loved it. “Tell you what, then, shall I shut the fuck up and let you continue?”  

He nodded at her glass. “You want another drink in there?”  

“Thanks, that’d be lovely.” Oh, her accent. Fucking adorable! “Just a Coke too, please. Full disclosure, I’m not old enough to drink yet. I’m only eighteen! That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”  

He looked her up and down a few times, a glimmer of lust running through him. “Absolutely not.” He then winked, Bella feeling her insides soar. He was the hottest guy in there, and he was interested in her. Elated didn’t quite cut it, but she kept her poise, her effortless cool, that very thing that had attracted Angel in the first place. Well, not just that.  

“I gotta say it, your voice is fucking amazing,” he began, before ordering their drinks when the bartender came to a stop in front of him. “How long you been singing for?”

“Since I could speak, pretty much. My mum used to play me music while she was pregnant, and she always said that even my first wails as a newborn were tuneful. I’ve always loved it, found an affinity with it,” she explained, taking the tall glass he passed to her with a smile and a thank you. “I wanna go for a smoke, you coming?”

He quickly paid for the round, following her through the club, going out of the side exit and finding all the tables full, so choosing a space atop the wall bordering the seating section from the parking lot. “So, how long you been living out here for, and what brought you here from the UK? You’re the first British person I’ve ever met. Your accent is amazing.”

She was about to pull her own cigarettes from her bag, Angel there with his first, handing one to her. “Thank you.” He was so attentive, and she really liked that, liked that the space was filled with beautiful women, yet the only person he was looking at was her. “As for how long and why, well, my mum is a botanist, and she got a job as chief researcher at UCSD, so we moved out here six months ago.”

“And you got a band together already?” Angel stated with surprise. “You don’t waste any time, huh?”

“Nah, I don’t. I want something, I got right after it, like I said.” Her eyes gave him another appreciative sweep. “But yeah, the guys are all on my college course. I’m studying for a BA in music, at the same college mum works at.” She lived and breathed her passion; Angel appreciated that very much. “So, how about you? What do you do, apart from being a member of an MC?”  

“I work at a scrap yard about two miles from here, Romero Brothers. I’ve been there for about as long as I’ve been in the club.” Bella didn’t really know much about motorcycle clubs, other than the whispered talk that they were mostly criminals. She set that to the back of her mind, though, instead asking him more questions about his life.  

They were vastly different people, Bella learning that Angel had been born to Marisol and Felipe Reyes, a week early on December 2nd, 1985, surprised that he was thirty-six. She’d thought about twenty-nine or thirty, although their vast age difference didn’t put her off at all. He confessed to being a bit of a tearaway through his adolescent years, which had lead him into somewhat of a bad boy existence (she sensed there was much beneath the surface that he wouldn’t reveal to someone he’d only just met) his life marred with the tragedy of his mother being murdered, and a sometimes rocky relationship with his father, mainly brought on by Angel’s feelings of inadequacy in comparison to his golden child of a younger brother, who he stated was his best friend now, having ironed out his jealousy issues.  

“See, I never had any of that,” Bella began, tucking her hair behind her ear, managing to tangle it in one of her many earrings, Angel assisting unravel it from the lone peacock feather sitting through the same hole as one of her big, silver hoops. Just the feel of his warm hands against her neck gave her a little pleasant tingle, the same thing flowing through Angel, her scent catching under his nose. She smelled like apples, and he couldn’t get enough of it.  

“There, all untangled,” he spoke once he’d finished, letting his hand linger against her neck as they shared a weighted gaze.  

She bit the corner of her lip, looking down for a second, his stare suddenly a little overpowering. He radiated bad boy energy, charm, confidence and something else a little dangerous, and hell, it pulled her in so strongly. Angel, he was the real deal. Bella had never been around men like him before, and she found him extremely intoxicating. She cleared her throat, sipping her drink. “Anyway, as I was saying.” As she was saying, before she felt herself be pulled into the void of dark, delicious energy that was the huge biker sitting beside her. “I didn’t have any of that, because I’m an only child, and it’s been just me and mum for a really long time now.”

Angel managed to pull himself back out of the daze he’d slipped into, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and capture her pretty lips in a kiss. “Your dad not around?”

A little flicker of sadness flashed across her face, her smile bittersweet as she remembered him. Nick Thorpe, aka the best daddy in the world. “Not anymore. He died when I was seven. Brain haemorrhage while he was at work. He was there one minute and gone the next. It was a big shock, especially for my mum. They’d been together since they were fifteen.”

“Shit,” he lamented, reaching to squeeze her hand, her delicate fingers grasping back. “I’m sorry, Bella. Damn, that’s rough.”

She nodded, swallowing back a little lump in her throat. Lord, how she still missed her dad so much. “It is, he was such an amazing person. If he taught me one thing, it was to always live life to the fullest, go after what you want, because tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us. Him passing at just thirty-two years old is testament to that.”

Angel admired that tremendously, loving her zest for life, her determination, how she’d turned something so saddening into the driving force to reach out and take whatever she wanted as hers. He’d been the exact opposite. “So, you take life by the balls then, so to speak?”

Bella couldn’t help herself. “Among other things.” she muttered, sipping her drink, Angel snort laughing.  

“You’re so bad,” he laughed.  

“I am,” she confirmed. “I’m a little bit naughty.”

“A little bit?” he exclaimed, giving her a playful shove. Just the hard bulk of him hitting her slender arm made her quiver. God. ‘I bet he’s so strong. I wonder what he looks like without a shirt on? Bloody hell! I bet he’s even more jacked than he looks’ she thought to herself.  

They sat there talking happily, their flirting playful, until one of the guys from the band called out for her. “B! Come on, we’re heading off.”

“Ahhh, shit,” she lamented, standing up. “I gotta go, or I’ll miss my ride.”  

He couldn’t let that slip by. “You got another one right here, whenever you want it.” The way his eyes flitted down to his crotch and then back at her sparked her laughter, that booming ‘ha ha ha ha’ all over again, Bella feeling herself blush.  

“And you say I’m bad, Angel?” she cried, poking him in the chest with her fingers.

“Yeah, ‘cuz you are,” he attested, taking her hands in his, stepping a little closer to her, feeling that tingly rush of reciprocated attraction as she let go of his grasp, draping her arms around his neck, his hands clutching her narrow waist. “Real bad,” he confirmed, leaning closer. “And I really like it.”  

They fell into a kiss, Bella pressing herself against him, her heart thundering. Oh, how he kissed her, how he smelled, how hard his chest felt against hers. That was it, she was hooked.  

“Bella! Come on, bro! Put the big dude down!”  

“Ian, quit being a fucking impatient wanker!” she broke away to yell at him, Angel laughing, returning his lips to hers. The way she hummed softly as they kissed, even her hums carried a tune, and it pulled him in so much, he didn’t really want to let her go again. God, she was cute.  

“Bella, van is leaving in sixty seconds with or without you. I’m on curfew!” Ian shouted again, Bella rolling her eyes.  

“So, can I get your number before you go?” Angel asked, watching her nod.

“I don’t remember it off by heart yet, hold on.” Pulling her iPhone from her little black suede bag that had multiple long tassels almost trailing to the floor, she scrolled through and found it, Angel copying it down. “So, it was nice meeting you, Angel. I hope you’ll call.”

“I will. You can count on that.” Another quick kiss and she was out of there, running over to the van, her friends exasperated with her tardiness, Angel waving goodbye as they drove past, grinning to himself as he returned his phone to his pocket.  

That night, once he arrived home, he thought about sending her a text, but decided to leave it, not wanting to come off as too eager. Instead, he found her band’s Instagram page, with a link to their Soundcloud account, too. Scrolling through, he clicked play, sitting back on his couch and hearing her voice all over again, singing the first song he’d heard her sing.  

‘Just like the white winged dove, sings a song, sounds like she’s singing, ooh baby, ooh, said ooh.’

Oh yeah. Angel Reyes knew when he’d been seduced by the song of a siren. He played that same track on repeat five times before he went to bed, pulled in a little further by Bella’s voice every time. Edge of Seventeen had suddenly become his new favourite song, but only when she was the one singing it.

[loud-whistling-yes]

... So, turns out I did end up writing a part 2 to the oneshot after all, considering im pretty sure red techno anon has now birthed a new au. hooray...?

@wildcardjoey good morning! this thing is 2400 words long. god help me.

(tagging people last i knew wanted a part 2: @parchmentengineer @dragongobrr @carbonated-roses @sunny-is-in-the-void @offcameras @cc3204 ​)

Edit: now available on Ao3! 

.

“The fuck are you people doing down there?” Tommy hollered, voice echoing down the canyon. The group — five people, he counted, all looked up to him.

“Watch your language!” One of them shouted back, and Tommy snorted, a grin creeping up his face.

“Dick!” He cupped his hands and yelled down at them. “Ass! Fuck! Shit! Bitch! Cock! Dick, dick, dick, dick-”

The one with the red helmet and a stupid backpack stomped their foot. He burst out laughing. Oh well, things were getting a little boring around his house anyways, he could use some entertainment.

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

“How did you get here? Pretty sure this server is private or some shit. Y’all just gonna-”

“Why won’t he stop swearing.” Grian complained through gritted teeth. Pearl laughed. 

“You’ve challenged him into a battle. I don’t think you’re gonna win anytime soon.” She grinned, studying the funny boy up the canyon. He had blond hair, tied into a short and messy ponytail behind him, and was that a butterfly clip in his hair? Around his neck was a faded green bandana over a white t-shirt with sleeves as red and loud as his voice was.

The boy squinted. At least, Pearl was pretty sure he was squinting — it’s hard to tell from the distance. 

“You guys need a rope to get out? No one dug a staircase down yet.” He hollered at them. 

“We’ll be fine, thanks!” Grian replied, pulling off his dummy suit. The rest did the same. Pearl stretched her wings. Hers were nowhere as bulky as Grian’s or Impulse’s bird and demon wings, but moth wings are unfortunately a lot less foldable than theirs. The hard backpack Scar made for her might’ve saved her wings from tearing, but wow was her back sore.

Impulse raised an eyebrow, eyeing Grian’s head. “Grian, buddy... looks like your horns got bigger...”

Grian looked over to him, hands reaching up to touch the side of his head, before humming in amusement. Ever since he first got the Tegg at the start of Season 8 (wow, that felt like ages ago) little horns had poked out from the top of his head. They grew horrendously slowly throughout the season. In fact, Pearl was pretty sure his horns barely grew over an inch over the course of six months? Now though, his horns curved up from his hair, much more similar to Impulse’s than before. It must’ve grown at least an inch- no, two inches since their escape.

How long had they been in the void?

“Your wings are changing too,” Mumbo pointed out, gesturing at his molting wings. Grian’s red-yellow-blue feathers of a parrots’ scattered in a mess on the ground, his wings currently in awkward patches of black and the old colours. He unfolded one of the limbs, revealing that the wing was almost completely covered in black scales, turning purple at the tips. Small clumps of parrot feathers clung stubbornly onto the leathery skin, refusing to come off no matter how hard he shook. 

It was silent for a moment. Even Grian himself stared in shock.

“Holy shit, you people have wings?! Where the fu-”

“Grian, when did you have dragon wings?!”

“I mean-” Grian squeaked, everyone electing to ignore the screaming teen above them- “They were molting a bit on the last week before the moon big thing happened, but I thought it’d take forever for them to change completely, not-” He turned his backpack upside down, an impressive amount of brightly-coloured feathers were dumped onto the floor- “this!”

“Well, we did spend like a week’s time floating through the void.” Scar scratched his head. “Maybe that kicked off your dragon puberty?”

“Scar, I love you, but never put those two words together like that ever-”

“Are you guys gonna come up or what?”

“Coming!” Impulse replied for the rest, stretching his own wings. “Grian, you take Mumbo and I take Scar?”

“Sure,” Grian shrugged, trying one last futile attempt at patting off the last of his feathers before grabbing onto Mumbo by the armpits, Impulse did the same with Scar. Elytras were banned on the ship to save space in the suits. Unfortunately, that meant that both Mumbo and Scar will probably have to rely on Grian and Impulse for the foreseeable future. Pearl wished she could help, but alas, having wings as thin as paper was not suitable for carrying the weight of more than one person (she tried it with Gem once; it took her respawning to fix that nasty tear through the back). 

Grian flapped his wings. Once, twice, and the two of them lifted up into the air. Then Grian titled to his side with an awkward turn and before they knew it there was a sharp yelp and Mumbo was back on the ground with Grian collapsed onto him. 

“You guys sure that you don’t need help?”

“I’m fine,” Grian grumbled, pulling himself and Mumbo up. Pearl turned to the blond boy up the crater and gave him a thumbs up, laughing awkwardly. 

“I think the feathers are throwing me off-balance..” Grian dusted himself off, yanking at one of his feathers before hissing in pain when it stayed on the leathery skin. He massaged the area he pulled at, probably regretting his decision. 

He flapped his wings again, testing his flight abilities. Once, twice, thrice, he was well over their heads by now, the wind sending the feathers he dumped on the ground flying as well — then he took a sudden swerve right. Pearl ducked as he crashed onto the floor yet again, feathers fluttering back onto the ground and over him. 

“I could’ve braided the goddamned rope needed to get you guys out by now with the time you’re taking to fly.”

Pearl giggled, watching as Mumbo pulled Grian off the floor, dusting off his feathers in the process. She cupped her hands, yelling at the general direction above her. “We’re stuck, could you go get the rope?”

The boy sprinted off, presumably to get the aforementioned rope. 

“If dragon wings are anything like demon wings,” Impulse chuckled, folding his own wings back down, poking at Grian’s scales. “Then you’ll have to wait till all those feathers drop before you can fly again. They’re really fussy about balance.”

Grian groaned, wings folding out and raised fully like they do when he gets distressed. Back when his wings were feathered they would’ve puffed up as well just to get the point across. Now though the remaining strands of feathers stood up awkwardly amongst the unfazed dragon scales — it was quite a pathetic sight to be honest. 

“The horns took forever to grow out,” Grian complained, head in his two hands. “How long is shedding a few damned feathers gonna take?”

“Oi!” The voice Pearl had begun to grow accustomed to echoed down the crater, interrupting their current conversation. The boy from earlier returned, hand full of a large bundle of rope. Beside him was another person, dragging a hammock behind him.

The person- what were they, actually? They looked almost translucent, as if light went through them without any acknowledgement from their part. They wore black-and-white all over, cloak floating and fluttering in odd ways unlike the wind would do. Even their skin was black-and-white, split down the middle, and they were tall, taller than the other boy by a head, if Pearl had to hazard a guess. 

They turned to the boy, nodding as he seemed to give them some instructions, before he turned away and disappeared from the ledge with one end of the rope with him. The person sat down, taking the rope with one hand and the other holding- were they tying it to the hammock?

They got up after a while, both hands full of the now stringed-up hammock, peering over the ledge and looking over at the group. Pearl was pretty sure they had green and red eyes.

“Oh, hello!” They— oh wait, it’s a he— he greeted, head tilting as he studied the group. 

“Hello!” Scar broke into his characteristic smile, waving at him.

“Tommy’s tying the rope to the fence over there,” The person— ghost?— pointed his chin at the general direction of where the boy had gone. “He said you guys can’t fly? I don’t really know why he said that, considering the only two-”

“Boo!” The boy — Tommy, Pearl now knew him as, hollered from somewhere she couldn’t see. The ghost turned to look behind him. “Yeah?”

Soon enough, Tommy came back in sight, hands now lacking the rope he was holding onto from earlier. He muttered a few words to the ghost— was his name Boo? That’s a cute name— before being handed over the hammock. 

He threw the hammock down towards them, the fabric landing on top of Grian, much to his annoyance. A shriek-like laughter rang from above.

“Very funny.” Grian muttered, pulling the green hammock off him. The rest bit back their own laughter.

“Who’s the lightest of you bunch down there?” Tommy tugged at the rope, causing the hammock to jump up-and-down. There was no hesitation; they all pointed at Grian.

“Get in there, we don’t have all day!” He ordered. 

Grian crawled into the hammock, grumbling all the way. “This kid is gonna be the death of me.”

“Oh come on, he’s helping!” Mumbo laughed, patting him on the back. The hammock suddenly shot up, and Grian yelped, almost falling off. He swung side-to-side like an out-of-control swing.

“Don’t fucking move!” Tommy’s voice rang down again. “Boo, pull harder- You’re really fucking heavy, you know that?”

Grian gritted his teeth, probably resisting the urge to inform Tommy that if even Mumbo could toss him over the shoulder with one hand it probably meant that Tommy had the physical strength of an endermite soaking with a weakness potion if he found him of all people heavy. Then the hammock suddenly dropped and Grian screeched, before catching his heart halfway up his throat when the falling stopped. 

“You guys need help up there?” Impulse asked, hands cupped together and looking up.

“I thought you people- oh my god this was a fucking mistake- coudn’t fly?”

As if on cue, both Pearl and Impulse opened up their wings. Impulse tilted his head at the others. “Are you guys gonna be okay down here?”

Mambo nodded, before continuing his concerned spectation of Grian being dangled up the canyon walls. Scar gave them a thumbs up. “We’ll be fine, I’ll make sure Grian doesn’t go splat on the ground!”

Impulse shook his head, hiding his smile, and the two of them were off. Pearl landed first, earning a startled yelp from Tommy and an amused “Hello!” from Boo, followed by an extremely distressed Grian screaming as Tommy loosened his grip on the rope. The line went taut suddenly, and the screaming stopped. 

Pearl turned behind her; Impulse was gripping onto the rope, chuckling awkwardly. “Hey guys…”

“You’re telling me only that guy can’t fly even with wings?” Tommy blinked, before looking over the cliffside to stare at Grian.

“I heard that!” Grian yelled from somewhere below. 

The rest of the process went a lot more smoothly afterwards, Grian back on solid ground after several quick tugs with Impulse on the team, followed by Mumbo, and Scar was picked up by Impulse while the rest focused on getting Mumbo up, just to speed things up a little. 

“So,” Mumbo started, after everyone had managed to pull him up the cliffside. “Asking on the behalf of everyone else here, who are you guys, and where exactly are we?”

Just as the same time Tommy mutters “Shouldn’t I be the first to ask?” under his breath, Boo answers cheerfully. “Oh, I’m Boo — Ghostboo is my full name, this is Tommy, and you’re on the Dream SMP!”

“I’m sorry, we’re in the what-” Grian cutted himself off, head spinning towards the sky above the canyon, eyes snapping into full attention. “Our stuff!” 

The entire group stared at the sky, Boatem searching wildly for whatever Grian picked up, Tommy and Boo squinted at the sky, puzzled at the reactions. A flash of dark colours appeared in the sky, from afar it looked like random objects on parachutes. Pearl focused harder at the spots, a cow, a horse… Nugget!

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

“Is that a fucking horse in a parachute.” Tommy deadpanned, watching as the demon and the moth hybrid sped through the air to catch the slow-falling animals mid-flight. At the other side of the L’Manhole the other three people yelled from the ground. The guy in the red sweater in particular — was his name Grian?— danced around like a headless chicken, staring up into the sky and screeching whenever a weird black object swayed in the wind.

“I think the girl is holding an egg.” Boo shielded his eyes from the sunlight, observing the scene like it was a drama spoken in a different language: you can kinda tell what the people are doing, but sure as hell ain’t gonna know what the fuck is going on in the bigger picture. “Oh wait, no, it’s a black cat- oh wait no it’s a black cat and a big black egg.”

“Why the fuck, in the two damned dimensions, would there be a big black egg.”

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know ei- oh! The demon guy is shoving the cow and the horse towards the water.”

Tommy looked down at the crater. Sure enough, there was the shadow of a horse and a cow slowly growing larger over a pool of water down below. “I think he also has a white cat with him,” Boo added, watching as the girl swooped back down to the ground near the three other people. The guy in the red sweater scooped up the gigantic egg, black wings wrapping around himself protectively like a goddamn mother hen sitting over her eggs. 

“Pretty sure the cat is yellow, Boo.” Tommy argued, studying the scene across the canyon. “Also, did the red guy lay that fucking egg or something? Why is he so… like that with it.”

“Incoming!- Oop, the horse is in the water now… and the cow. Do we have to pull them up with the hammock too?”

He sighed, watching the five new lunatics scramble around one of Eret’s towers, rescuing the random animals that fell from the sky. Again, they never told him how they got here?

“What the fuck…”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Of something beautiful, but annihilating🚬5/end

Warnings: nonconsensual touching, fingering, deceptive behaviour, allusions to abuse, blood, violence/death, fucking.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Note: Another finale! Hahahhaa, hope you like it!

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You went to bed with shame burning in your cheeks but the heat quickly travelled to your loins as you thought of the scene at the drive-in. When you closed your eyes, you felt Arvin’s weight on you and his hand between your legs. You rolled onto one side, then the other, tossing and turning as you couldn’t escape the memory or the lingering sensation of his touch.

He was already downstairs when you woke up, a lazy Saturday morning as the garage was closed for the weekends. He was at the counter, boiling water for the coffee as you came down in a plain peach dress and flats. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at you, urging you to sit.

“I’m gonna make you breakfast, honey,” he announced as he filled the coffee press, “you know, my ma was a waitress. Worked down at this greasy diner when she met my dad. Before she died…” he stopped and his throat bobbed, “I dunno, I just remember the smell of her cookin’.”

“I’m sorry, Arvin,” you said as you took a seat at the table, “about your mother.”

“Why? It was so long ago, I hardly remember,” he shrugged as he searched the cupboards and pulled out the cast iron pan, “you know, I can barely even see my pa in my mind. Even when I really think. I feel like I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes already.” He put the metal to the burner, “but I think I found the one I want.”

You ran your fingertips along your throat nervously as you leaned your elbows on the table. You felt the void left by your missing wedding ring. You clapped your hands together and lowered them to the wood.

You watched him work in the kitchen. When you tried once to get up and help, he bid you back down tersely and you obliged. You felt restless sitting there as someone else did everything. He put a cup of coffee before you and sipped from his own between flipping the eggs.

Finally, he presented you with a plate of hash, egg, toast, and bacon. You thanked him as he sat and you picked up your fork and knife. You weren’t very hungry, the anxiety squeezed your stomach as you watched his hand. He buttered a slice and you recalled the tingle as his fingers sank into you.

You dropped your fork and apologised for the loud clang. You picked it back up and pushed the potato around. You were trying to think of what to say. Of how to say it. Arvin wasn’t volatile like Roy but he showed glimmers of anger that troubled you nonetheless.

“Last night…” you began.

“You liked it?” he perked up and swallowed, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Arvin,” you uttered.

“I just… you’re so wonderful and warm, I never known a woman like you,” he ranted, “and I… I never been with a woman, you know? I hope I didn’t leave you wanting--”

“Arvin,” you said more firmly, “I’m married.”

His face fell and he leaned back in his chair. He looked down as he scooped up some egg and hash and shoved it in his mouth. He chewed tight-lipped. His steely silence was worse than any punch. You shoved some yolk in your mouth and chewed.

“I…” you began, “I’m not meaning to upset you but we can’t just pretend--”

A deafening bang sounded and shook the house. Your breath caught as you looked at Arvin with wide eyes and he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Where is ya, boy?” Roy hollered as another blast came and you heard the door jolt. You rose and looked down the hall as slivers decorated the floor below the holes peppered in the wood. “I heard about you and my wife…” footsteps clamoured up the steps of the porch, “you think you can pull a gun on me? Well, I got a bigger one, boy!”

“Shit,” Arvin pulled you back as another gunshot blew out the handle, “go, hide.”

He shoved you away and turned back to the table. He tossed the butter knife and hurried to the counter. He pulled out a drawer and took out a steak knife. He shook his head and glanced over at you again.

“Go on,” he snarled.

“No, you,” you ran to him and touched his arm, “go, I’ll talk to him--”

“He’ll kill you,” he whispered.

“No, he won’t,” you assured, “he woulda done it years ago, Arvin, go.”

You pointed him to the back door and he shook his head. You met his eyes as he glanced back at you and you nodded. 

“It’ll be fine, I’ll get him gone and come find you when he goes,” you promised, “Arvin, I can’t see you die because of me.”

His eyes searched your face and he touched your cheek. “Alright, honey,” he breathed, “you know I’ll do anything for you, don’t you?”

“Go,” you insisted as the door flew inward with a heavy kick.

Arvin scrambled away and the back door creaked in his stead as you turned to near the doorway and peer past the staircase. Roy kept the double barrel level as he pointed it at you. You quivered but tried not to show your terror.

“Roy,” you greeted through your tight throat.

“You whore,” he cocked the gun and you flinched, “I oughta shoot your fuckin’ head off too, but I just want the boy. Where is he?”

“I… I dunno, he just went out front, I thought you woulda seen him,” you lied as you filled the doorframe with your body, realising the table set for two would give away your deception.

“Don’t you be hidin’ him from me, you’re still my wife,” Roy snarled as you came closer, trying to keep him from the kitchen, “and I’m gonna put down that punk and remind you who I am. Who you are.”

“I am your wife, Roy,” you said evenly, “I can never forget that, now please, lower the gun, I’ll help you find him.”

“I ain’t believe you, you let him beat me--”

“What was I supposed to do?” you touched the metal muzzle, “he been keepin’ me here. He has a gun too, you know that.” You slid past the barrel and hesitantly reached to touch his chest, “I been so scared without you here, you’re my husband, Roy, and I love--”

He sputtered and flinched suddenly. The gun sagged and fired into the floorboards beside your shoes. The metal slid from his grasp and fell down smoking as a red splotch stained the dingy fabric of his shirt. The cascade spread as he staggered and you saw the wooden handle of the steak knife stick out from his side.

Arvin pulled the blade out as you tripped over the gun and toppled to the floor. Roy slumped to his knees as the younger man brought the knife down over his shoulder and sank it into his heart. Your lungs puffed with panic at the sickly crunch as the blade twisted between his ribs.

Your eyes widened and blurred with tears as bitterness filled your stomach. You opened your mouth and screamed as Roy fell onto his stomach and gasped out his last breaths. You felt a slickness on your cheek as a hand touched you and an arm wrapped around you. You blinked and Arvin came clear as he held the knife against your face and pulled you into his lap to cradle you.

“Wh--wh--wh--” you babbled as your eyes found your husband, completely still across the floorboards.

“He can’t hurt you no more,” Arvin cooed as he rocked you, “I heard him, he said he was gon’ shoot you. I told you, honey, I’ll do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.”

🚬

The porcelain was cold against your body as you sat in the tub, the hot water slowly rose around you. Arvin shoved your bloody clothes in a bag and took off his own. He tied up the sack, his hands still tinged scarlet. He put the bundle in the sink and neared the wall of the footed tub.

You watched him step over the side, his stomach tightly muscles, his figure much more slender than Roy’s, though his arms were thick and his shoulders wide. He lowered himself across from you as he sat with his back to the flowing faucet. The water deepened and scalded your skin.

He took a cloth and scrubbed your face, your neck, your chest above the surface of the water. You were numb as you felt itchy, as if bugs crawled over every inch of flesh. He stood you up and finished washing you. He was gentle but firm, lingering around your curves as his brown eyes drank you in.

He took a new cloth for himself and after wiping off the droplets across his face and rinsing his body, he scratched the red from around his nails. You shivered as he helped you out of the tub and hugged you in a towel. He led you to the bed and laid you down under the quilt.

“Gonna drive out and find a ditch,” he said as he dressed. “Finish cleaning when I get back. Probably need another bath then.”

You said nothing as you stared at the ceiling, a searing white.

“Honey,” he neared and pressed his hand to your forehead, “I know you’re shook. He tried to kill ya. We both heard him say it.”

You looked at him and your eyes dampened. He bent and pecked your lips and retracted his hand reluctantly.

“I’ll try not to be too long,” he promised and pulled on his denim jacket.

He left you and you listened to his footsteps fade. You closed your eyes and saw Roy’s blood spilling forth like a tainted river. You could hear the scraping as he was dragged across the wood, Arvin’s grunts as you watched him struggle to roll your husband’s large body in a sheet.

Your lashes flicked open but the picture is painted vivid in your mind. You hear the car and the engine fades into the soft sway of trees and the noise of critters in the grass. You don’t have the strength to do more than lay there. Time passes by your stagnant eyes and the shadows set in from the corner of the room. The windows darkened and deepened your gloom.

Arvin startled you as he appeared at the door. You didn’t hear the approach of his car or his footsteps on the stairs. He neared and kissed you again. He pulled the chain on the lamp and it cast a yellow haze over you.

“You’re awake,” he said as he stood straight, “I needa wash up again.” You hummed and stayed as you were, “you want tea?”

You shook your head and he watched you. He clamped his thin lips together and backed away.

“Found his truck, just down the way,” he pulled his grey tee over his head, “looks like he drove out to the river, walked up here. Make sure it was seen so he can’t be traced up here. Smarter than he looked.” Arvin bent to untie his boots. “I left it in the water, put it into gear and let it drift off.”

You rolled onto your side and pulled the blanket to your ear. He quieted as you listened to the rustle of his clothing as he stripped it away.

“Anyhow, they won’t find him,” he said, “likely he told whoever, if anyone even cared, that he was goin’ fishin’.”

He waited for an answer but didn’t get it. He went into the bathroom and you heard the pipes rattle as he twisted on the faucet. You felt the dampness cross the hallway and seep into the room. When he returned, he gave a sigh and tossed his towel over the old chair sat by your vanity.

He folded the blanket back and you closed your eyes at his nudity. He slid in next to you and tugged the blanket over his shoulders. He circled his arm around you and brought your body against his. Suddenly, you felt everything as you were set alight by the heat of his flesh.

“Honey,” he said softly as he framed your face with his hand, “I’m here. You’re safe with me.”

You quivered and pushed your hands to his chest. You’d never been naked with another man, never seen another man naked. In the tub, you hardly figured what was happening but then, it was all too real as you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

“Didn’t I save you? He would killed both of us,” he rasped, “honey, I know, I’ve met so many men like him…” he rubbed his nose against yours, “and killed every one of them.”

You winced and your fingers curled into his shoulders. He smothered you with a kiss as his hand trailed down and he cupped your chest. He groaned as he fondled you, tilting his hips to rub his dick against you. He rolled your nipple under his thumb as he dragged his lips down your cheek and chin.

His hand crept around your side as he slipped lower to nibble your breasts. Roy never touched you like that. Early on he was clumsy but impatient, and after a while, he was thankless and cruel. Arvin was gentle, doting and diligent. He suckled at your bud and the tugging plucked at your core.

“Mmm,” he left a path of spit down your stomach as he nudged you onto your back, “honey, you’re so beautiful,” he disappeared beneath the blanket and pushed your legs apart as he nuzzled your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your patch of hair.

He purred as nosed your cunt and his tongue dipped between your folds. You murmured and reached down to grasp his damp hair. You brought your thighs against his head and arched your back as he tended to you, slow and scintillating as he filled you with a yearning you’d never known before.

You didn’t think as you tangled your fingers in his locks and tilted your pelvis against his lapping. You shouldn’t feel this way, should feel so good. Your husband was dead and there was another man in your bed. You were a whore, just as he said. But it felt good and he wasn’t there to tell you again.

Arvin moaned as he devoured you, his hands hungrily groped your ass as he lifted you slightly from the bed. He pushed a finger against your entrance and eased into you. You gasped and he dipped another inside of you. He moved his hand in time with his mouth, his groans rumbling through you.

You hooked your legs under his arm and cried out as you came. Your body spasmed and jerked and you rode out the shattering ascent. You shook as you stilled and kissed your thighs with his wet lips, smearing your juices across your flesh. 

You panted as he pushed himself up and the blanket fell down his back, leaving both your bodies bare to the soft glow of the lamp. His hands roved over your body and he bent again, kissing every inch his fingertips danced over first. He brought his lips back to yours and you tasted the sweetness as he forced his tongue into your mouth.

He pushed his thighs to yours so your legs bent around them, wide and welcoming. He parted and stared down at you, his deep brown eyes swallowing you up.

“The moment I saw you, I knew,” he said as he caressed your cheek, “and I haven’t stopped thinking of this ever since that moment.”

“Arvin,” you sighed and touched his wrist.

“I’ll take care of you, honey,” he reached down between your bodies as he planted and elbow into the pillow. He ran his tip along your wet folds and his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep you safe, I’ll keep you…” he pressed against you until his tip was inside you, “forever.”

“Arvin,” you gulped and gripped his muscled arms, “I…”

“He’s gone,” he sank further into you and kissed you again, “and you’re mine.”

You moaned and he bottomed out with a gasp. His body tensed and he shuddered as he wiggled his hips.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he groaned, “so warm, so… sweet. Oh, honey.”

“Please…” you croaked as your eyes watered.

You didn’t know if it was the bloodiness of the day or that you’d never felt anything so pleasant, so gentle, so caring. You didn’t know why you were crying or why your body buzzed like cicadas under the moon. You pushed your head into the pillow as he pressed his fingers to your clit and rubbed in time with his steady thrusts.

“Honey,” he droned and kissed your wet cheek between each stroke, “oh, you’re so nice.”

He tilted into you over and over. You brought your legs around him and hooked your arms under his as you clawed at his back. Your body contorted with his as your eyes rolled back and you succumbed to the stolid heat coursing through your veins. You cried out and let your hands fall down as you groped his ass, begging for more.

The bed quaked as he grew more fervent in his appetite, the pain was dulled by the sheer bliss and you sang out your delight. There was nothing but his body and that radiating pulse in your core. You came again and again as you whined ravenously and dug your nails into his flesh.

He jerked into you with a fluttery breath. His hips stuttered and he fell limp over you. His head hung over your shoulder as he huffed. His cum coated your walls in a salacious heat and you ran your hands up his back. He turned his head to kiss your temples, tears still rolling down to your lobes.

As your nerves stilled and the afterglow dimmed, reality shrouded you once more. The body over yours felt heavier as you were paralysed against the bed. Arvin drew you with him as he rolled onto his side and held you. It was nice but tinged with the horror wrought by his hands.

You didn’t miss Roy but you didn’t feel free either.

🚬

Arvin rolled out the rug over the bloodstain in the hall, the whole covered over  with a thin board of scrap. You watched and clutched your purse then checked the clock. He stood and neared to fetch his jacket from the small square corner table. He pulled it over the button-up that once belonged to your dad and the tie that was Roy’s.

His hair was combed back tidily and he wore a carefree smile. His eyes twinkled as he offered his hand and gestured to the door. The frame was curtained with a sheet as the shredded wood was removed and another would be ordered from Tim’s Hardware. He clung to your hand as he followed you out into the Sunday sunlight.

“We don’t have to go,” you said as he swung your hand and led you to the Chevrolet, “I know you don’t like it.”

“Nah, we should go to church,” he smiled and spun you to kiss you. He held your face between your hands as his lips lingered overly long. “Let the lord and all the other holy people see me and my girl.”

“Arvin,” you shied away.

He reached past you and opened the door. You sat and he gripped the metal as he looked down at you.

“I will keep my hands to myself before the lord,” he avowed, “I only ask his blessing for what I know to be his work.”

You considered him and wrung the short strap of your purse, “I thought you didn’t believe in God.”

“I didn’t, not before,” he said with a smile, “not ‘til I met you. His most precious angel.”

You chewed your lip and turned your face down. He chuckled and closed the door. He got in the driver’s side and the engine rolled over. His hand wandered over to your lap as he steered with one hand. You looked out the window and stared up at the pale blue sky.

You didn’t believe in God. You couldn’t. Just like your father said, a benevolent lord would not gift such suffering to his creation. There was no all-knowing being sitting in the clouds, no glorious purpose for you or any other. There were only devilish men and their dark deeds.

[roses-raccoon]

Ojibwe word of the day is Mindimooye (mihn-dihm-OH-yae) which means old woman

[collectivefandomstuff]

The War of The Roses Altercation

{Day 1}

Dick: the war of the roses was so stupid

Steph: well yeah. Everyone knows who was in the right

Dick & Cass: Lancaster

Steph & Tim: [at the same time] York

Everyone:

Dick: HOW COULD YOU-

Steph: ARE YOU-

-

{Day 3}

Jason: [walks into kitchen, stops, and blinks] what the hell? Why are you wearing roses?

Alfred: they are having a disagreement

Jason: about?

Dick: Tim and Steph are Yorkists

Jason:

Jason: oh hell no gimme one of those red roses we’re settling this

-

{Day 6}

Alfred: Nice to have you home again master Damian

Damian: [nods]

Alfred: I would suggest avoiding the living room. Masters Richard and Jason and Miss Cassandra has claimed it for the Lancasters

Damian: [pauses] are you suggesting a room in the manor has been occupied in the name of the red roses of Lancaster?

Alfred: quite. Master Timothy and miss Stephanie has also barricaded the sun room and proclaimed it Yorkist territory.

Damian: this is unacceptable

{later}

Steph: [hollering] HA YOU SUCKERS WE GOT DAMIAN NOW

Damian: THE SITTING ROOM HAS BEEN CONQUERED IN THE NAME OF THE NOBLE HOUSE OF YORK

-

{Day 8}

Jason: [yelling from the west side of the house] ROSES ARE RED-

Tim and Steph: [from the east side] BOO

Steph: FAKE NEWS

-

{Day 10}

Duke: [just stepped into the foyer] Hey Bruce

Bruce: Turn around.

Duke: what?

Bruce: [intense] turn around and walk away. Trust me, it's for your own good.

Duke: [peering past Bruce] is that Damian and Cass fencing on the stairs?

Bruce: That's not important

Damian: [loudly] Yield, you Lancastrian dog!

Duke: I feel like it really is

Bruce: [pushing him out the door] come back in a week

-

{Day 11}

Bruce: [hurrying down a hallway] WHAT WAS THAT NOISE?

Steph: [tumbles out of a doorway, spins around and faces Dick who's holding a stick] You cur! You shame your house with your cowardice!

Dick: Hardy words from a lady who's losing!

Duke: [sticks his head out from a room further down the corridor] Steph! This way!

Bruce: Wait, didn't I send you away?

Duke: [meets Bruce's gaze] Long live Damian of House York! The one true king!

Dick: You made Damian king?

Duke: He's the only one who's comfortable using the royal 'we'.

-

{Day 13}

Alfred: I feel I should inform you that the "Yorkists" have stormed the "Lancastrian" stronghold. We will be needing a new chandelier.

Bruce: [rubbing his temples] why?

Alfred: I believe master Timothy finally made use of those explosives he made from pilfered kitchen supplies.

Bruce: [groans]

[there's a crash from another part of the house, followed by a loud 'whoop']

Bruce:

Bruce: that was not one of the kids.

Alfred:

Bruce: Please tell me Selina didn't get involved in this

Alfred: [awkward silence]

Bruce: Alfred?

Alfred: [walks away]

Bruce: Alfred?? TELL ME SELINA DIDN'T GET INVOLVED! ALFRED?!

-

{Day 14}

Bruce: [walks into the living room to find all children collapsed onto various sofas and pillows]

Bruce: [peering at Cass and Damian, who are sharing an armchair] weren't you mortal enemies?

Jason: [lounging next to Duke] nah

Bruce:

Bruce: When I left to go scream into the void- I mean get some pie -you were locked in a furious battle in the east wing.

Dick: [laying upside down on the couch] ran out of steam

Steph: [munching on popcorn] we're watching Legally Blonde, wanna join?

Bruce: But-

Cass: Did you say there's pie?

Bruce: I- who won?

Tim: Who cares? hand over the pie

Bruce:

Bruce: Are you telling me I just lived through a two week version of the 30 years' war and you don't even care who won?

Duke: [waves him off] it wasn't the thirty years' war, B, if it was we wouldn't have fought to begin with. I mean it's clear that the Protestants were in the right that time.

Damian: [sniffs] I think you mean the Catholics

Everyone: [eyes each other]

Bruce: oh no

Dick: HOW COULD YOU EVEN TH-

Jason: THE CATHOLICS??

Steph: THOSE GREEDY LUTHERAN BASTA-

Tim: -CORRUPTION! UNSCRUPULOUS, UNCONSCIONABLE DEEDS-

Cass: [flips the coffee table]

[dirt-cup-draco]

Fred Weasley x Reader- Games Part 2/2

@just-here-to-escape-from-reality: Pls make a part 2 of games where she finally tells him off 🙏🙏

Previously: 

Even if you always lost, you loved Fred’s games. No one else could own your heart like he did. The lows were nothing in comparison to the highs. Even if he couldn’t commit, even if this was all you’d ever have, even if you crashed every night, it would all be worth it.

You knew that by the time the sun rose, you would be ready to play the game all over again.

Your bag was heavy against your shoulder, back aching and eyes burning. You’d snuck out again the night before to see Fred and you were regretting it now. Not just in the way your eyelids fluttered closed with exhaustion every time there was a lull in your class, but in the way your chest ached and every breath seemed like a battle. 

Is he thinking about you? Maybe today is the day he’ll realize you’re the one he wants whether you’re behind closed doors or not. 

Stomping out any gleaming bit of hope that tried to rise, you made your way to the great hall with slow and hesitant steps. Fred had been stealing you away for months now. Every word from his lips felt like a promise until you asked those damned words that felt like ice when you got lost in his fire. What are we?

Nothing. The practical, semi-pessimistic part of you hissed. Freddie knows you’re always going to be around, so why not have some fun in between girlfriends? 

It felt more like the truth than the quiet girl muttering in the back of your brain that Fred Weasley might love you, but just not know it yet. You knew he had love for you, but never in the way you craved. Fred loved you because you were a constant. You were one of his closest friends and you could never stray long from those honey brown eyes and sinful smile. It was easy to love someone who gave you all the attention you could ever ask for and more, especially with a family as large as his and siblings so close in age. 

You never asked anything in return and whether he knew it or not he was taking advantage of your love and it was bringing you closer to rock bottom everyday.

“Where’ve you been? You look like hell,” Lee Jordan pointed out and you tried to comment playfully, engaging in your normal banter, but you couldn’t find it in you. More often than not these days you couldn’t manage more thank a weak smile and a huff of laughter that felt foreign to your ears. 

“Just been busy with school,” Had been your most relied upon excuse and it didn’t fail you now as Lee nodded, shoving a cauldron cake into his mouth and speaking over the crumbs that fell from his open mouth. 

“Snape, the bloody bastard, took away ten house points from me yesterday just because my essay was two inches too short in length,” 

“Not the first time you’ve been accused of being a bit too short in length,” Angelina giggled to Katie and with a holler from Lee and a snort from Fred, they had forgotten all about your plight. 

George snuck a glance at you, noticing that your lips moved into automatic smiles when your friends around you grew more rambunctious but there was no warmth to it. It was like watching a puppet dance around on stage at the behest of someone else. He had to suppress a shiver when you looked to him, that tired turning of lips trying their best to convince him they were playing their part. Your eyes were dulled in a way he couldn’t remember seeing before. Surely school couldn’t be the issue? 

Tucking into his meal after giving you the widest grin he could, hoping to share some warmth, George promised he would ask Fred before lights out if you were okay. 

--

“Whaddya mean something’s wrong with Y/N?” Fred asked, eyebrows knit together but the concern that George expected to see at his statement was vanished. Instead, his twin’s look read more like he found George to be off his rocker.

“She’s just not herself,” 

“I saw her last night, she seemed fine to me,” 

“You were with Lee and I last night,” 

Fred shrugged, tossing his pajama shirt on with nonchalance. “Saw her after,” 

George narrowed his eyes, climbing into his four poster and trying to see if anything on Fred’s face would give away what was going on. If Fred was sneaking out to see you, after already getting up to no good with Lee and himself, what could the two of you possibly be up to?

“Something’s got to be wrong then if she’s losing sleep over your ugly mug,” 

Fred laughed at the joke, and then, “Seriously Georgie, she’s fine. It’s just school getting on her nerves,” 

Sensing he would get no other answer from his brother; George pulled his curtains around him, turned over in bed, and promptly fell asleep despite the growing questions. 

--

George came to you the next day, hair rumpled and out of breath. “Merlin woman!” He exclaimed, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ve been calling your name since you left Potions. Where’re you going in such a rush? Been chasing you halfway ‘round the castle,” 

“Oh don’t be a drama queen Georgie, it only suits your brother,” You teased and he was glad to hear some of the warmth back in your voice but it still remained void from your eyes. You looked....hurt. Not like you were shielding a bruise or trying to go easy on a limp, but like someone had taken everything dear to you and shattered it on the ground as if it were glass. 

“Glad you brought him up,” George grinned, tossing his arm around your shoulder.  He missed the way your smile drooped. Why could he possibly want to talk to you about Fred? Did he know? And if so, what did he think you and Fred were?

Maybe he told George he likes you. Your heart jerked around uncomfortably.

George wouldn’t be coming to you with questions if he had answers. Reason put your sporadic heartbeat to rest. 

The boy with his arm around your shoulder steered you past the Great Hall and to the room of requirement. What could the boy need so badly that the room was now opening up to the two of you? You hesitated for a single step and then George was pulling you inside with a tug of your hand. 

The space was small, comfortable. The fireplace behind you crackled and warmed your back. The two plush seats in the center called your name. You looked skeptically at the redhaired boy. 

“What’s so concerning about Freddie that you’ve brought me here?” 

George looked bashful, pink crawling up his neck. You shuffled nervously on your feet. “Well, it’s more about you than about him but he said something last night that’s got me wondering.... Do like Fred, Y/N?” 

Your eyes bugged out, the air knocked from your chest. Not because George had figured it out, but because it had taken him so damn long. You let out an incredulous laugh, feet carrying you to one of the plush wingback chairs so that you could bring your knees to your chest as a form of protection. 

“Took you long enough,” 

George simply nodded, no gloating, no laughter, no teasing. You couldn’t help but grow more confused. 

“George why is this relevant-” 

“My next question-” He interrupted. “-is why you haven’t told him how you feel yet.” 

The breath that had been knocked from your chest was having a hard time coming back in and you felt light headed as you forced yourself to inhale, albeit shakily. How did you explain to George that your true love, the boy you would trade the world for, didn’t feel the same and it had been proven by his lack of commitment and attentiveness. 

“It’s a long story, we’ve been-” 

“Sneaking around Hogwarts?” George guessed and you sent him a nasty glare but the proud little smile on his face at pulling a genuine reaction from you had you smiling back and the air was suddenly circulating in your lungs again. 

“More or less, not stop interrupting or I fear I won’t let out all I need to,” 

Heading your warning, and feeling an uneasiness in his chest, George quieted. 

You revealed that after your kiss during a typical game of truth or dare, you had expected things to return to normal. You, with your feelings and hopes still intact for a someday with Fred. And him, not thinking anything of the kiss or hopefully thinking of a someday with you. You hadn’t been prepared for Fred to seek you out every chance he got to pull you into hidden spaces and snog you until your mind grew fuzzy and all worries vanished. Then, when you’d finally gained enough courage to ask what you two were, if the kisses meant anything, Fred had dodged a real answer and expected you to want what he wanted.

 But how could you be what he wanted when you weren’t sure if it was you that he wanted? You were a friend, a confidant, a body. You stumbled over your seemingly harsh analyzation. 

“I know he means well, he hasn’t done anything wrong,” You defended, wringing your hands together and it was only then that George had taken notice of the very obvious love bite on your neck. It had been covered well by your robes earlier but you’d been fidgeting in your seat the entire conversation. “He cares about me but I don’t think he cares about me that way, I’m just easy access and he’s grown used to it,” 

George watched as the spark he’d seen not ten minutes before had sizzled out again and he finally had his answer. Fred was what was wrong with you. His idiot brother was using you, whether he saw it or not and you were being crushed by the weight of having the one you clearly more than liked but not having all of him. George felt guilt rise up and swirl with the fury in his gut. He wasn’t mad at his twin, but he was furious for you. You had been hollowed out  because Fred acted first and thought last and never had to deal with the consequences of it. 

“Y/N, you’re not-” George went to argue but his voice sounded pitiful even to his own ears, “He’s- I’m sure that he.... You know he cares,” 

Your eyes met George’s and you could see the turmoil lying behind his eyes. Melted chocolate as opposed to the honey you’d fallen for. He was much like Fred but when you looked in his eyes you saw someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and Fred couldn’t be further from that. 

“I know he does,” You sniffled, eyes glistening and George almost wished he could take back the blank look you’d been schooling for some odd days. He hated to see tears in your eyes. He hated knowing Fred had put them there and that he couldn’t make up for any of it. How did he fix his twin’s mistake? 

With a short nod and an affectionate squeeze of his arm, you left George puzzled and alone in the room of requirement. 

Fred wanted to see you again tonight.

--

You were sat in his lap, his hands running through your hair, but this time, both of you had your eyes on the stars. The nervousness bubbling in your chest was eased as Fred failed to make a move just yet. You were craving time spent with him that meant more than just easing his frustration or giving him a high. You wanted to be like this, comfortable and close, but content to do nothing. It made you feel more cared for than any kiss thus far. 

Fred was always careful in the way he held you and kissed you, knowing just what made you turn to mush in his hands, but he was clumsy with your heart and after your conversation with George you feared he had dropped it too many times. 

“Talked to Georgie last night...” Fred spoke into the night air, voice only a whisper but your heartrate spiked despite knowing that you and George had talked that evening and so Fred had to be alluding to a different conversation. 

“It’s a bit odd when you don’t talk so-” 

“Y/N/N” Fred interrupted gently, gaze soft as he made you look him in the eye. He was quiet longer than you expected. He was searching your features for something but all you could express was mild confusion. “He said there was something wrong, thought I would know. Y/N, what don’t I know?”

“Whaddya mean Freddie, I tell you everythi-” 

“Why are you lying?” Fred huffed, eyebrows now knit together in frustration, his hands pressing harder against your hips but not uncomfortably. “I-I can see it now. Where’d my happy girl go?” 

You bit down on your lip to stop from the whimper that wanted to force itself from your throat. You crawled out of Fred’s lap, immediately missing the warmth he provided. You wrung your hands together to distract from the sick feeling in your stomach. “That’s just it Freddie, ‘m not your girl,” 

“Y-you’re not?” He asked, face paler in the moonlight than you had ever seen it before. 

“I’m your best friend, I’m the person you trust most outside of Georgie, and I’m just another girl, another body. Like I told your brother... all I am is easy access,” 

Fred’s face had gone red as you continued to speak and the frown grew more persistent on his face until it was morphing into a sneer. You’d have seen it if your eyes weren’t downcast and blurred with the tears that were starting to fall. 

“You want parts of me Fred but you don’t want all of me and I can’t live that way anymore,” You choked out, hands slippery with your fallen tears. You looked up at the same time Fred bolted up, that angry look upon his face forcing you to wonder if you’d said something cruel in your admission. 

You opened your mouth to ask him- Well what had you wanted to ask him? It all seemed to disappear now as he ran from the astronomy tower. 

--

“Bloody hell!” George cussed as the door to his dorm was blown wide open, his counterpart stomping over the threshold with fury in his eyes. Fred’s hands were clenched tight, his jaw wired shut. George knew it was best to just wait for Fred to speak when these times came. He couldn’t help but feel the seed of worry that grew in his stomach when he remembered Fred and you had been together. 

“I cant believe she-!” Fred began but a strangled scream cut off the rest of his sentence as he tugged at his hair. “And that I-!” Another sentence lost to the sound of Fred kicking his trunk. 

Sooner than George thought, Fred was whirling on him, a finger suddenly pressed against his chest in accusation. “She told you how she felt dammit!”

“Who?” George asked and Fred threw his hands up in the air. 

“Y/N!” He snarled, back to pacing the common room. “She told you that she felt like... like... well-” 

“Easy access? Just another body? Like she was all yours and you could never be hers?” George supplied, laying back comfortably against his pillows as Fred took a seat beside him, deflated at the words that had riled him up so much. 

“How could she think that?” Fred choked out, eyes misty as he looked to his best friend for answers. “I-I, well, I love her,” 

George let out a grateful breath, one he’d been holding since he’d noticed your misery from across the table. “Because you idiot, you told her relationships were messy. Because you’ll hold her hand in the astronomy tower and make her feel like the most wanted girl in all of Hogwarts and then the next day she feels like the most invisible girl in Hogwarts. Because I know you better than you think and you didn’t realize until you stormed in here that you are irrevocably in love with Y/N Y/L/N. Now get your ass back to that tower and tell her yourself,” 

And Fred did just that, running like hell was on his heels. 

--

Your head was buried in your arms, forehead pressed tight against your knees as you tried to slow your breathing and force the sobs to stop. You’d told him how you felt, you’d told him you couldn’t do it anymore and he’d left without so much as a word. He must not want anything to do with you anymore.

The fresh wave of thoughts reduced you back to your sobs, your shoulders shaking. The force of your cries were so severe you didn’t hear the steps that were racing up the stairs. By the time you registered anyone was there, their arms were wrapped tight around you. 

You caught a flash of red in your peripheral. “George? Did Fred tell you to come?” 

“You daft girl, George told me to come,” Fred laughed through the few tears he’d begun to shed on the way to the tower. Never had he ever wanted to see one of his dearest friends look so vulnerable, yet you did and it was all because of him. Your gasping sobs as he’d come up the stairs had stopped him in his tracks for a moment and it sunk the stake in deeper that it was all because of him. 

You recoiled slightly at his words but couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. If the only reason he was here was because of George, why was his voice thicker than usual? Had Fred been crying? You took a chance to look at him and found a tear rolling down his cheek and over his freckles. Momentarily, you forgot the situation you were in and you brought your hand to Fred’s cheek. 

Concern burned in your eyes and Fred could feel his stomach doing flips. You’d been crying over him, you were crying over him, but once you saw he was in any distress you’d completely forgotten it. At least for a second it seemed, his shocked expression bringing you back to reality as you let your hand fall away uncertainly. 

“I- um- sorry...” You mumbled, going to stand. Fred finally saw the empty look George had told him of and it made his heart stop painfully. 

Fred didn’t let you get far before he was pulling you into a hug, a few more tears escaped past his eyelids and fell onto your hair as he brought you closer to him, head nuzzling against yours. “Merlin, no,” He choked out. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I didn’t realize until you said... well- I didn’t realize you felt so used and I didn’t realize everything I said and did confirmed every fear you had.”

You froze in Fred’s grasp, even your sniffles having gone away. 

“I don’t know a good way to say this,” Fred laughed weakly, hand pressed against the small of your back, his fingers twitching as he thought.

 “I love snogging you until your eyes glaze over and you turn to putty in my hands, which I think I’ve made a bit too obviuos. I love your messy hair whether I’ve just finished running my hands through it or you’ve just woken up and stumbled into the Great hall. I love how you stifle your giggles when one of us has said something mean to the other but you still can’t help but laugh once everyone else gets going. I love that you see the best in people and that even when I treated you the worst you still look at me like I’ve only spilled ink on your paper instead of broken your heart,” 

“Freddie-” You began but the boy shushed you and he took a second to fix you with pleading eyes. He needed to say this. 

“I love that I can trust you just as much as I trust George, just as much as I trust Lee. I love that you always listen to me and you notice when something is wrong before I do. I love that you are patient with me even when I can be a complete arse, and I love that even now you are listening to me because I’ve asked you to. You should be kicking me and running in the opposite direction after all I’ve done but you’re still here and I love you for it.” 

“But we’re just friends,” You finished for him, a rueful smile on your lips as you stared down at your feet. His arms were still warm around you but they tensed. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Your head snapped to his. The fragile wavering in his voice had stopped you cold. Since this started he had never asked what you wanted, at least emotionally, and now here he was asking you what you’d been begging internally to hear since the first time you’d kissed. 

“W-well what do you want?” You mimicked to him. You had put your heart on the line too many times now and it was his turn. 

“You,” He said simply, hand warm against your cheek as he stroked the skin on your cheekbone. The honey brown of his eyes shined brighter in the moonlight and you found for the first time you could see the truth in his eyes. “I want you to be mine,” 

“Then you’ve got me,” 

And this time when Fred Weasley, you felt a promise instead of a heartbreak.

The game was over and both of you had won.

Tag List: @stuckysdaughter @thehumanistsdiary @gaycatlord-stuff

Those who might be interested:  @hogwarts-is-my-h0me @emcchi @elf-punk @mozz-are-lla @alyssa-lupin-weasley-salvatore

[roses-raccoon]

KAI I JUST SNORTED XD YOU WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING XD

[zodiyack]

Teenage Dream (II)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, little bit o’ fluff

Words: 1,003

(Series) Summary: A woman, in his life prior to the war, has suddenly reentered Tommy’s life, leaving him just as longing as she did when he were just a teen. A romance blossomed and wilted long ago, but the garden is being watered again. Thomas is falling for her, again.

Theme Song For The Series: Teenage Dream (cover?) by T. Rex

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever​, @matth1w, @fandom-puff, @simonsbluee, @redspaceace-writes, @stuckysslag, @marquelapage​, @peakyxtommy, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @psychkunox, @jenepleurepasbaby, @darling-i-read-it

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders | Cillian Murphy Masterlist

Part I. Part II.  Part III.

The knocks at the door had gone unanswered for an annoying amount of time. Tommy sighed heavily, yelling for what had to be the twentieth time, but, like the previous calls, no one replied, thus prompting the incessant knocking to continue. He rose to his feet and paced to the door. Swinging it open, he prepared to yell at the guest who just wouldn’t leave.

But there she was. “What the fuck do you- Oh...Y/n...”

“Good morning to you too, Thomas.” A curt and polite nod was her greeting, just like it had been since he’d returned from the war.

“She’s, uh...she’s not here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ada. She’s out. At least, I assume you’re here for Ada?” He asked her with a raise of his right brow. To his surprise, she chuckled lightly and shook her head.

“Quite the contrary, Thomas. You see, ...I’ve come to see you.”

The emotionless mask he dawned almost slipped from his face before he caught himself and subtly pulled it back on. “Oh. Well, um, come inside.”

She followed behind him, examining the home after she’d stepped in. “It looks the same as when we were just two love-struck adolescents.” Her eyes were soft as they scanned their surroundings, a memory ghosting in her irises.

“Those were good times.”

Y/n’s head turned back around. Her eyes met his and she nodded. “Yes, indeed they were. Young and innocent- ...Well, that depends on your definition of innocent...” He allowed a small smile to slip past his tough facade and chuckled a little at her suggestive joke.

“Do you think of those times often?”

That question. That fucking question. It was harmless when he thought about it, but then...

He could see it; the look in her eyes that screamed yes. Even if her answer was no, he could see through her. “I uh, I came here to deliver this... It was sent to my address instead. Sorry for the inconvenience, Thomas.” She averted her eyes and sucked in her lip. The tension thickened with an awkward feeling as she nodded slowly before turning and walking out the door.

He handled the letter carefully, fidgeting with it. What was she doing to him?

After drinking away her ignored feelings for Tommy, Y/n walked home. Unfortunately, she had been caught unaware on a rather void road in Small Heath.

A man had expected to mug her, undoubtfully, and upon realizing she didn’t have anything on her person of worth, he grew agitated. She’d explained to him a number of times that she didn’t have anything and yet he made her prove it to him. As she showed her point, he furrowed his brows and raised his gun.

“Stupid bitch!” The stranger fired at her, the bullet finding her stomach.

She keeled over, muttering curses under the shortened breaths living her parted lips. Her eyes clenched shut and her hands darted over her wound as an instinctive series of actions took autopilot. Though her eyes remained closed, she could hear the groans and hollers of her attackers. The pain they felt was audible yet she felt no empathy for them.

After it was over, there was silent. A nothingness stilled the air around her. It gave her time to suck in a sharp breath through her teeth as she attempted to rise to her feet, face contorting as she let out a moan of pain. Y/n made it to her feet, but not on her own. Her eyes snapped open as the pain seemingly calmed to an expectable sting.

“C’mon.” Tommy grunted beside her. Her arm was slung over his shoulders and his free arm cooked around her side, helping her move and avoid pain as much as possible. “Don’t you go dying on me today, Y/n.” 

“I didn’t need your help.” An accidental misstep elicited a yelp from Y/n.

“Sure you don’t. Just know,” another groan from Tommy with another step Tommy took, “you would’ve been dead had I not been around.”

“And you would’ve been better off, seeing as you would be able to stop hiding in private parts of the bar and in your office at the betting shop.”

He rolled his eyes, inhaling deeply with a new hint of frustration. “That’s enough, Y/n. I will not have you tear yourself down over my stupidity.”

“Stupidity?” Y/n halted in her tracks, forcing Tommy to stop and focus his full attention onto her. “I never said such fucking things! Fighting for your country is not stupidity!”

“I didn’t fucking think it was! But then suddenly, I’m back home, and you’re fucking gone!”

“Don’t make this about me. This is about you, and your fucking-” she slammed her palm against his chest, voice cracking as the water sparkled like diamonds in her eyes, leaving traces of desolate treasure as it streamed down her cheeks, “fucking stupid,” another shove of her hand, “stupid bravery, your bloody irresistible good looks, and that stupid, absolutely fucking stupid, beguiling smile of yours.”

“The only thing-” He grabbed her face, ignoring the erratic shakes of her head as she tried to flee from his grip. Patiently, Tommy waited until she’d subdued herself, then looked her in the eyes. “Listen to me. The only thing stupid is my actions. My stupidity is not worth this self destruction.”

“I don’t give a fuck about you thi-”

“Listen. I was dumb, I made a mistake... I made a mistake that took my world from me. If anything, I should be the one tearing myself apart because of it. Because I let you go.”

His words genuinely caught her off-guard, the cruel retort dying on her tongue. “W-what?-”

His lips slammed against hers, shutting her up almost instantly. It didn’t last very long, but it would memory-wise, the kiss leaving her bemused. What had her even more perplexed was when he dragged his thumb down her lips slowly, eyes trained on it as he bit his bottom lip, before flicking his gaze back up to hers and walking away.