#she’s known him much longer than i have so maybe she’d have some insight here

[backtodecembertv]

for the past 8 months we keep either almost hooking up or actually doing it, then we fight, barely talk for a while, then eventually make up and pretend it never happened, except i resent him more and more. i think we’ve spent half this time in the barely-talking phase. why has he not found another girl in all this time. this is just the toxic pattern of two people with mutual attraction and, more importantly, severe attachment issues. he runs away at the first sign of conflict (but comes back when it blows over), and i cannot let anything go.

[reimahowaido]

Alternate story roads for Dread, anyone~?

Alrighty, working on my writings again now that I've managed to get to credits on PLA But to dabble right back onto the writing fandom: let's have some speculative Fun 'what if's for Metroid

This is gonna be LONG (over 3k words long for this whole post). You know me~ So, get yourself a drink and get comfy I guess? I'll try to split it into sections of some sort

The main subreddit (oh boy I should make an account there shouldn't I. .... mmm eh, someday) has apparently called off the need to spoiler stuff, but imma still include that warning here, because boy will I spoil stuff for this.

So, SPOILERS for Metroid Dread ahead!

Ok! So. Alternative things are always fun. I'm basing this on some old bit of 'oh lord oh boy' stuff I scribbled up some months ago. But here's some cleaner takes on it

- For a moment, imagine if Quiet Robe didn't have to die where he did. That he lived past that point, and played a bit bigger of a role overall other than being a fantastic man and giving us enlightening lore bits. Or, well, at least think of him as living through the robot encounter - Samus has good enough reflexes, notices the suspicious Robot Chozo and grabs Quiet Robe so he doesn't get shot - this way we still get to fight the robot, but QR is spared

- A little slight bit less pissed of Samus and a living QR is our result of this. QR would have known that speaking about things would put him on the bad side of Raven Beak pretty automatically, so destroying one of his 'precious soldier replacements' doesn't change his position, since it's already on the negatives

- We love our good boy. Of course we'd like to see him live! And wouldn't it be fun if instead of "ADAM" talking to you through the comms, it'd be Quiet Robe instead? He'd certainly have some insight on stuff. Perhaps he'd even be able to inform Samus about Elun. Of course, you'd still need to go retrieve Plasma Beam to progress - unless QR would have some tech that'd help you with that, meaning you don't need to actually go to Elun (which would be the absolute best case scenario, I'll get to that and the Why This Is The Case a bit later)

~~~ 2 ~~~

- So, throughout the rest of your journey you'd be chatting up with QR. Of course, this is kinda where things have other possibilities. Raven Beak will of course still want QR dead, now more than ever since he's actually actively ruining his plans and getting on his way. No longer a passive onlooker, this would prove very troubling indeed. Both QR & RB are smart, and who knows how long they've spent on ZDR with just the two of them. RB would be able to come up with more plans, ways and methods to try and still get Samus' DNA, to guide her according to His plans. But QR has known of this plan for a good while too, he's helped to put it to motion afterall

- So, it's likely that to RB's irritation, QR could further agitate him by being able to predict and read what RB has and is planning and would be able to guide Samus past anything RB tries to set up - or at least warn her about them up front. Certainly it'd lessen the fun of discovering mysteries and all that, so they'd have to go about it in some ways to still keep things fun for the player if this turn of events was the case in gameplay. One of my personal headcanons is that QR hasn't been allowed to explore the planet on his own. He only has certain paths he's allowed to take and specific areas he can work at = he wouldn't know of every corner and location of things. He'd have heard of stuff from other Mawkin when they were still alive and about, but these tales and stories of other areas like Ghavoran and Cataris are pretty much purely based on what he's heard and been told. And of course he'd tell Samus what he can

- QR really has nothing to hide from Samus - other than maybe her relation to RB if he knows of the DNA donation. Who knows how Samus would react to getting to know that afterall. She might and will still be pissed about what happened on SR388, so she'd want to beat RB up. But she's just a slight bit less pissed because QR is alive. Still very uncool from RB to try and assassinate QR, but at least in this alternate take that attempt failed

~~~ 3 ~~~

- To jump back to some gameplay stuff. They sure did put a lot of emphasis on the E.M.M.I. units in preparation for Dread's release. So it'd be a bit of a shame and a cop-out for them to just be out of order from now on. A twist for sure, that they'd only be a small faction of the game and then not even be relevant after the halfway point. But what's the fun in that?

- Which means we'll have to bring them back somehow, right? What I propose, is the funky fun stuff of 'QR is pretty much in charge of the E.M.M.I. anyway, so who's to say he couldn't be able to control them in other ways than just switching them on and off'. Yeah they're set to hunt down Samus, but we don't see wildlife/other creatures in E.M.M.I. zones until you've blown up the E.M.M.I. = There's a good chance the E.M.M.I. will still annihilate any and all beings that make noise and move about. Which leads me to this: RB would be short on ways to interact with Samus since QR is doing his darnest to prevent it. What does RB have though? He has the robots, and we know he sends several of them after Samus throughout Dread. Those of you who hate fighting them, rejoice, because now there's a fudge ton more of them! Yaaaay! Absolutely amazing. Perhaps there's even more variants of them now since they've just gotten a promotion. Ones that look, act and are built closer to the infected Chozo Soldiers you fight after Elun, hmm?

- Ok ok. So. Now there's More Robot Chozo Soldiers. Brilliant. The increase in activity outside of just Samus ought to be noticeable by QR, and he'll have to have a bit of a chat with Samus. Of course the E.M.M.I. are still not friends of her, but within their zones (if not even outside of them?) QR could reactivate them to deal with the Robots. This now means that while you could get ambushed by a Robot outside of the zones (some are likely weaker than the miniboss variants, just there to be an additional enemy that simply doesn't respawn just like the other critters), you'd not be ambushed by them within the E.M.M.I. zones. E.M.M.I. zones are still dangerous because of, well, the E.M.M.I., but this time they're the more 'safe' zones so to speak. Dunno if there'd be jumpscares with the robots, or semi-scripted encounters, just More - but I'm sure people who get scared easily would just, celebrate jumpscares. Enjoy~

- Also who is to say a Robot Chozo Soldier wouldn't rarely be able to get in the E.M.M.I. zone at the exact same time as Samus does. Maybe once or twice. So have fun running away from both or trying to fight a robot while you're also running away from an E.M.M.I.. There's no guarantee that QR can turn off every single E.M.M.I. just as quickly as he does with the Purple one in Ferenia - aka literally next door to where he himself & the control panels for them are located. There could be a delay, so you'd not get help if an E.M.M.I. catches you (or maybe you get more time to counter than previously, but you still need to hit the timing. Pick whichever option you prefer, aid or no aid)

- Another fun thing with the E.M.M.I. that we need to consider is the fact Samus gets abilities from them. QR probably can't just give them to Samus, he wouldn't have the time to work on her suit along with how ever long it might take to gather things for the abilities - I'd assume resources are scarce. So you'd be faced with the choice of destroying the E.M.M.I. for their abilities, or leave them be so you’d have some place where you couldn’t be randomly ambushed (you can hear when an E.M.M.I. is in the same room). You'd have 'less safety' in a way, meaning you'd face the robots more often and perhaps new stronger types of them too - but you'd have new abilities to deal with them + you can take shortcuts now with these new abilities, so progress is faster and there's more options on where to go now. Amount of exploration on a balance board. Either just find hidden ways to progress in or go a more straightforward way while also gaining more new areas to explore. Dunno if destroying all E.M.M.I. would be required in the end, or if you'd be able to make it without doing that. Adds to replayability potentially

~~~ 4 ~~~

- Now then, back to QR. There's probably one pretty glaring thing you might have thought of by now. He survived an assassination, but where is he now? Still the same room? Is he safe? He might be attacked at any moment so probably not that safe. It'd certainly be something to have QR travel with Samus, but I'd imagine the amazingly fast-paced gameplay would suffer from escort missions. I love QR a lot, but it's pretty much a given that he's not going to be as nimble or agile as Samus. I can't. Imagine old man QR. Just. Doing flips after Samus. His bones. The precious boy is going to break his back, and legs, and every other bone. Nope. Samus would have to carry him I'd say, to get from a safe room to another. Restricts your movement, but at least you aren't waiting on him to catch up

- Still, I'd imagine it'd be more realistic for QR to stay in his room rather than getting outside of it. Obviously there's a pretty clear downside to this. It's very likely he doesn't have a way to defend himself there. He could though, maybe there's some stuff he has done and he can lock the place up? But let's be honest, that robot soldier got in there, they're gonna get in there again. Meaning that QR is likely on a timer and not exactly in a good spot. Who knows at what point in the story he'd just end up dying regardless of having survived the first encounter. Samus can't stay there forever, she needs to get out and she said she'd finish this once and for all afterall. It's a bitter thing, but with a high % the most likely outcome

- Besides, I feel QR has already resigned to his fate. He's got survivor's guilt, he has helped RB do all sorts of things that are likely not exactly that great - like the whole 'Make E.M.M.I. hunt Samus' thing - so high possibility on him being ashamed of what he's done. And giving his life to assist Samus could be a way to pay for his deeds in his mind

- Samus isn't going to be happy about this. She does understand sacrifices to a very personal level though. She's witnessed them several times now, and has even suggested sacrificing herself in Fusion. Who knows how she'd take this. She could prevent this, it could come full circle from her trying to prevent a sacrifice (Ian), to letting it happen - although begrudgingly (Adam), to trying to sacrifice herself and being convinced of an alternate way, to now taking AI Adam's place and convincing that a sacrifice in this case could be avoided. Or she could take Adam's place in the flashback with sacrificing another for the sake of the many (though teeeeeechnically she already supposedly did that with letting Adam go with the 'unfreezable Metroids' but hey). Either way, choices, possibilities, development. All the more fun if both are options for replayability - but a nightmare for those making the game and good lord what would even be canon at this point. The lore has turned into spaghetti. What is this, Zelda? (Don't ask me I don't actually know Zelda lore, I only know there's like multiple timelines or something?)

~~~ 5 ~~~

- Back on track! Remember Elun? Remember our fun jelly gummy parasite friends? Of course you do. You absorb your vitamins through your powersuit you absolute chad. - Now, here's the writing bit that started this all.

{{ Freaking... Imagine if QR wasn't dead yet by the time the X were released. Instead of the "... Goddamn it..." kinda reaction Samus has, do ya think she'd have more of an "... Oh FUCK." kinda reaction? And suddenly the 'sad/creepy' cutscene where the red X takes over QR's corpse becomes a whole lot more terrifying and worse. Would they reach him easily? Would it be just the X? Or would it be the wildlife? Would he be torn to shreds or perhaps he'd have a safe room built in case of an outbreak? Would Samus run right back to try and save him? Might they try and make a vaccine? Would that have been an alternate sinister way of getting Samus to give her Metroid DNA to them willingly? QR obviously would not want it. He'd probably rather perish than give RB what he wants - likely so at least, he's not exactly a fan of the stuff they're doing, but more over QR is worried about Samus and doesn't want to harm her in any way. But just imagine the scenario, RB offering Samus a choice: Dead/Infected QR or her Metroid DNA. And even then there's multiple paths the story could have gone in. Gotta love speculating, right? }}

- Ok so that's probably a lot to take in. Lemme break it up for you. So firstly, if QR has managed to live this far, are we just going to end up loosing him, again, but this time instead of a swift death, it's possession instead. He's gonna lose his mind, his free will. Will he be scared? Try to run? Or would he have been prepared and made his peace with it. The X started it all, it might as well end him and he's fine with that. It goes against him not wanting to hurt Samus, but you can't be perfect. Witness her scrambling to try and save him, and be absolutely broken. Will you make it in time? Will you outrun the ridiculously fast spreading X Parasites? What if you're too late? Do you have to kill him now? Just like you killed that scientist in Fusion? Is the game going to make you fight our precious boy? QR boss fight?

- Or will the room be empty? Previously you could return here to have a more direct chat and exchange with QR whenever, but now the place is just dead and empty - perhaps there's a rampaging creature here, but no QR in sight. You're made to wonder what happened. This would kinda allow the end of the game to play as it does in Dread already

- If he does somehow manage to survive and makes it out without getting infected, and Also avoids death by any other manner and makes it to Samus' ship in one piece and all that.. Pretty much impossible, but this would be the 'happy ending' kinda deal. Realistic? Not really. But if you wanna dream I won't stop you. Boy I can't even stop myself. I Want this, but I know we ain't getting it. Besides, who is to say he'd end up living even in this situation? If Metroid Samus shows up, you bet QR is gonna let/make her absorb him to be able to regain control with the extra Thoha genes. And Boom, more emotional damage for Samus. Yeah maybe QR could steer the ship, take off as Samus is still trying to figure stuff out, but we're really twisting things here to try and get the best possible ending

~~~ 6 ~~~

- And now for that other bit, it being yet another plan RB crafted up. Man's got backup plans a plenty that he can come up with on the spot. If QR's life means nothing and he's just a pawn among the rest, and he sees Samus can be emotionally manipulated (assuming that's possible, she's pretty hardened by now), that means this pawn just promoted to play a more important role on his board. If he can't use force, and the 'awaken your inner Metroid' doesn't work quickly enough to RB's liking, he could threaten Samus & QR with Elun. RB is smart, he's been steering Samus with fake Adam so far, so clearly he's got some mindgame experience to him. QR wouldn’t want to let RB have anything, but Samus would have to weigh an ally’s life on this decision. And that’s kinda cruel. They’d either have to talk it out or rush stuff

- Raven Beak though? Yeah he's absolutely disrespecting all his fallen Mawkin brethren by just undoing the seal - QR will handily point this out to him - but it's about pride and desire now, and you should know better than to doubt the iron will of a man ready to sacrifice his own and a whole separate tribe for a cause. He's got all the pieces he needs, and he's gonna use them. Feeling guilty? Don't know her. He's gonna run his plan through, one way or another

- Main threat here is that while Samus is immune to the X, QR is not. RB is ready to take risks and gamble, but currently he's pretty cozy and safe away from the threat of X. In fact, he could just blow up the whole place right now and leave. Yeah if he'd do that he'd have to scrap the whole Metroid plan - which obviously isn't happening. But Samus and everyone else would lose if she'd die here & she said she'd finish this once and for all - and we gotta assume that that doesn't involve her losing

- All of this is obviously hanging on the fact that they'd be able to make another vaccine in the first place - one that would work and not just go crazy like it should have had it not been for Samus' unique DNA zoo. QR is a Thoha so there's probably a chance it'd work even better? Or not be quite enough. Perhaps they'd need a pure Metroid for the vaccine, but really, they make Metroids out of exploded particles cleaned off suit surfaces, they can pretty much go ham

- And yeah it's going to potentially fall apart if RB needs for someone else to go to Elun and can't actually remotely unseal it in the first place. But even there he does have his robots. If it has to be a scannable person then he oop, but these are just ways of looking into it deeper. Surely if this scenario would be the one to go with he'd have a working method (outside of "I'll go myself and then turn into 'fast as frick boi' as I, the mighty Raven Beak, depart the section faster than the X can". Dude can Shine Spark without much set-up and get fancy with it and Flash Shift, and the ego to believe)

*

So yeah : ) Those are some thoughts I've been rolling in my head. Hopefully you had a time reading 'em all~ It's a lot, but sometimes you wanna read all you can

Anyway, I'll get back to writing stuff following canon lore, with extra spice but mostly still keeping it to what I could see as 'this is how the story went' kinda take on events (If you wanna write your own 'what if' takes and alternate storylines, boy I'd love to read them <3 Hit me up if you do~)

[fruityutas]

wild | l.yy

yangyang x gn!reader

not proofread

genre ~ best friend!au, pining, one-sided love, angst, happyish ending

wc ~ 1.9k

warnings ~ cursing? uhh mentions of food, and ofc the angst lol

synopsis ~ yangyang would always be your best friend, but a person in love can only take so much before their breaking point

note ~ based on troye sivan’s song wild, and part of the blue neighbourhood series

taglist ~ @du0tine , @badwithten​ , @softsungchan​

the school year was coming to an end, and that meant summer was beginning. liu yangyang, your best friend, was raving on about all the plans he had for you two. you were barely listening, focusing more on him than what he was saying. you’d liked yangyang since middle school, and that was seven years ago. now seniors in high school, he still didn’t know. you honestly did plan on keeping it that way, but plans get spoiled all the time don’t they?

“hey, are you even listening?” yangyang snaps you out of the fantasy land in your head. “uh, yeah you were talking about… uh the water park?” he rolls his eyes. “no. but good guess, you doofus.” times like this made your heart pound. he was so close to you, staring into your soul. it made the butterflies erupt in your stomach. it was getting harder to avoid your feelings for him, the past seven years building them up. “should we get some ice cream? i heard this new place across town is really good.” you nod in agreeance and get up, dusting yourself off. “c’mon we can go in my car.” you both walk the short route to his house before he drives you to the shop. the hot air signaling the first breath of summer in your quaint town. the bell to the shop rings its sweet tune to alert of any customers coming in. yangyang races ahead of you and begins his order, turning to you after he finished. “i can get mine, it’s fine.” “if you don’t order right now-” you punch him in the arm before stepping up to the counter. “one scoop of mint choco in a cone please.” the worker makes quick work, and soon you’re stepping back outside into the humid air with cones in hand.

cause there’s still too long till the weekend, too long till i drown in your hands. too long since i’ve been a fool.

harboring your feelings for yangyang was hard, especially since he always looked so kissable. you hated yourself for not acting on your feelings. every time he talked about a girl, it broke a piece of your heart. you knew he didn’t like you back, and you tried to accept that. still, loving someone who could never love you back in the way you wanted was painful. everything about the world around you reminded you of him. almost every second of free time was spent with him, and when you were younger, you made a pact with each other. “i solemnly swear that we’ll always be best friends.” you smiled at the memory of you sitting with him in your backyard, sweaty from a game of tag, muttering the words to each other. if keeping yangyang in your life meant being hurt from this one-sided love, then you would hurt for the rest of your life. he meant so much to you and throwing that away was out of the question.

you’re driving me wild, wild, wild.

the first month of summer, yangyang kept his promise of hanging out with you, but he met someone during that time. she was everything you wanted to be to him. delicate face, soft voice, amazing personality. to say you were jealous was an understatement, every waking moment of the day you wanted to despise her so much, but it was impossible. she was perfect in every way. the days went on and yangyang would still hang out with you, but he would constantly talk about her. it hurt knowing he found someone to like, and it not being you. but you made a promise to yourself to be happy as long as he was.

never knew loving could hurt this good.

the weeks went on, and yangyang lessened his interactions with you in favor of his girlfriend. you would always say that it didn’t matter, but oh boy did it hurt. he told you one summer night that he thought he loved her. “she’s just so…” “perfect?” he snaps his fingers in agreement. “how do you always know what i’m trying to say?” you send him a small smile, patting his shoulder. “because i love you.” it came out a mumble, not meant to be heard by him. “what was that?” you stutter out a cheap excuse, terrified he heard you. “be...cause i’ve known you for so long!” yeah nice save idiot. 

the days grew longer and air hotter. it was the second month of summer and you were getting busy preparing for college, packing all your things little by little. you’d still call yangyang daily like normal, and talk about future plans and your days. you were going to the beach in three days, and yangyang was supposed to join you, it was a tradition between you. “oh, i forgot to tell you that i can’t come to the beach this year.” you stopped packing clothes, dumbfounded. “well why not?” a sigh was heard from his end. “i promised yingqi that she could pick a day to have a date and she chose wednesday… i wouldn’t have been able to do both since they overlap. i’m sorry but i promise that i’ll make up for it.” you stay silent, tears forming in your eyes. “uh, ok well that’s cool. just um, let me know when you come up with something else we can do. but listen i gotta go my mom is calling me for dinner, i’ll talk with you tomorrow yangs.”

you’re driving me wild.

the beach trip was lonely without yangyang there. your parents could tell his absence affected you more than you’d like to admit. it just wasn’t the same without him there. after getting back, you didn’t hear from him for three days. you were worried that maybe something happened while you were gone so you went to his house. his mother opened the door, giving you a much-needed hug. “it’s been so long, y/n! where have you been?” you laugh, she was always the worrier. “it’s been a bit busy with college preparations and all. do you know where yangyang is? he hasn’t texted or called in three days.” she snorted, letting you in the house. “that girlfriend of his has taken a lot of his time lately, but he’s up in his room right now.” you nod and yell a thank you as you ascend the stairs. creaking open his bedroom door, you call out to him. “yangyang? are you in here?” you hear shuffling from his closet, and a string of curses come out. “yeah, i’m in here.” you chuckle and walk further in his room. “is everything ok? i’ve had radio silence from you for three days.” he walks out with a few hoodies in hand. “oh yeah, shit. i’m sorry about that. i meant to call you after you got back but yingqi decided that would be the perfect time to call me. and then i went on some dates with her and it slipped my mind. dude, i feel bad.” a fake smile makes its way to your face, masking the pain. “it’s ok, you were spending time with your girlfriend. no biggie.” how could he see he was hurting you when he didn’t even pay attention to you?

“what are those hoodies for? are you finally cleaning out your closet?” he fakes offense to your statement. “of course not, i’m giving these to yingqi. i think she’d be cute in my clothes.” you hum unenthusiastically. “you’re weird.” he rolls his eyes and grumbles. “anyway, did you wanna hang out today? i missed you.” he nods and his hair bounces, which was just so cute to you. “yes i actually have something planned to make up for me missing the beach.” you laugh, slightly in annoyance and slightly in happiness. “well what is it?” “a surprise, doofus.”

the day was well spent, yangyang took you to an amusement park and let you do whatever you wanted. you had a good time with your best friend and you felt as if everything was falling back into place. he dropped you off at your house and told you that he’d call you tomorrow. the butterflies that erupted in your stomach made you feel guilty. you can’t feel like this anymore, he had a girlfriend. but oh, you craved him to be yours so bad.

you make my heart shake, bend and break, but i can’t turn away and it’s driving me wild.

summer was ending soon, and you’d be going off to college. you were terrified of losing yangyang, the days of interaction slipping away. you met yingqi twice, and you couldn’t even try to force yourself to hate her. she was an angel to you, and even wanted to be your friend. you gave her insight on yangyang, and she treated you with such respect. that night, you cried yourself to sleep. she was so perfect for him, and it hurt so bad to see her live out your dreams. hold him, kiss him, wear his hoodie and cuddle with him. you were in so deep that you couldn’t breathe. drowning in your own feelings for your friend, with no escape. how will you ever tell him that you’re in love with him when he’s in love with another? your wounds will never close, and new ones appear every time you see him with her. you promise yourself to get over him, but subconsciously you know that it’s no use. you couldn’t get him out of your head, he was your everything without even being with you. 

you were restless that night, and it showed in the morning. your parents asked if you were feeling ok, to which you said yes. no, you aren’t. you barely told them where you were going before racing out the door to yangyang’s house. you had to tell him. even if it meant jeopardizing what you had. his mom answered the door again and you sped past her, yelling a good morning and a sorry. you bust into yangyang’s room, your mind set on explaining everything. “dude, what are you doing here so early?” you don’t answer his question, getting straight into your confession. 

“yangyang i have something to say. i’m in love with you, and i have been since middle school. i’ve memorized every detail about you, from your favorite color to the way you like your eggs.  i have never told you because i was afraid of rejection. the pain it would bring me and the risk of losing you as a friend. but i’ve had enough, i can’t pretend anymore. i’m happy for you, don’t get me wrong. you’re my best friend and i’ll always support you, no matter the hurt it causes me. to be honest, i’m scared that doing this is gonna ruin what our friendship is, but i really need you to know. i’m both happy and hurting that you’re dating yingqi, and no matter how hard i try, i cannot hate her. she is so perfect for you in every way, and i hope for the best because she really likes you. being your best friend is amazing and i wouldn’t trade it for anything this universe has to offer because i care about you. so i hope this doesn’t fuck everything up, but you deserve to know and i really don’t want our dynamic to change.” you take a deep breath and look over to yangyang, who is staring wide-eyed at you, mouth agape. “you don’t have to respond. i get it if you don’t wanna be friends anymore.” he shakes his head. “i just… don’t know what to say. but we’ll never stop being best friends, ok? you mean too much to me, please remember that.”

it’s driving me wild.

[annabethy]

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 23: toy stores

Character A owns a struggling toy store, and Character B is looking for a toy,, percabeth

Annabeth’s stares up at the toy store’s sign that appears to be falling apart before her eyes. It gives her an eerie feeling, looking up at a sign with glowing letters that are crooked and dull.

“Mommy?”

She glances down at her daughter beside her, who is tugging on the sleeve of her sweater. “Yes, baby?”

The three-year-old slides her hand into her mother’s, and Annabeth holds onto the tiny fingers tightly. “Can we get toys now?”

Annabeth smiles gently, tugging her daughter along lightly. The doors to the store creak open, a small bell chiming overhead. The store seems to be empty save for an old couple wandering the aisles with a cart that is peeling grey paint.

She stands in place as she looks around, entirely unsure of where to start. Annabeth hadn’t wanted to come here to begin with, much preferring to stick to more known stores like Target, but Sophia has gained much more insight to the world and began pointing out the store each time they passed by. When she’d begged to stop at a real toy store so she could pick out a new toy, Annabeth hadn’t known how to say no.

“Go on,” Annabeth encourages softly, letting go of her hand. Sophia wastes no time, immediately beginning to run as fast as her tiny legs will let her, which isn’t very fast at all. It helps Annabeth a lot, actually, because it’s already becoming much harder to chase after her, even only at three months pregnant.

Annabeth watches fondly as her daughter is fascinated by the wall of Barbies they have. They’re all basic enough in her opinion, and cheap enough for her to afford at least two of them, so Annabeth lets her daughter run her fingers over the boxes, cooing at each and every one.

“Pick two, baby,” Annabeth tells her, looking around the rest of the shop. Even the inside doesn’t appear to be in great shape. The lighting is rather dim, and it’s incredibly echoey – she can hear each footstep resonate, and her daughter’s excited chatters are loud in the empty vicinity.

Annabeth leans against the aisle as she watches, her hand moving up unconsciously to rest against her stomach. She tries not to think too much of it, but it’s gotten worse now, knowing that she’s alone, and going to be raising two kids on her own. She doesn’t know how she got into this position, but it’s too late to do anything except keep moving.

“Is there anything I can help you with?”

She glances to her right, startled, where there is a man looking at her kindly. He has a plain black t-shirt on that shows his arms that her eyes linger on just a bit longer than intended. She looks back to his face where he has a gentle smile on. His nametag reads, Percy.

“We’re just looking,” she replies, a soft grin back to him.

“Anything in particular?”

Annabeth’s eyes dart down to the four boxes of Barbies her daughter has pulled off the shelves.

“I’ll take a wild guess and say Barbies?” Percy asks. “It seems so,” Annabeth says, laughing.

“Well, I’m afraid this is all we have on that then,” he says, moving towards Annabeth’s side. “We aren’t the most advanced toy store there is,” he says more quietly, for Annabeth to hear. “But from the look on your face, you already know that.”

She blinks, a slight blush forming on her cheeks. Had she been that transparent? “It’s… fine.”

He laughs sweetly. “I know it’s practically falling apart. Sometimes I have to close by myself, and I get scared one of these dolls are actually cursed and going to kill me in my sleep.”

“Like Annabelle?”

“Exactly,” he says, giving her daughter a humored look when she holds up a fifth doll to Annabeth’s sight. “This is your daughter?”

She’s a bit surprised at how chatty the store worker is. He seems too polite to be working in such a rundown place, and it almost makes her feel bad.

“She is,” Annabeth answers after a short pause. “She’s only three, but she’s expensive.”

“I know what you mean. I have a daughter at home too, and I never knew how expensive kids were before I had her. It feels like they’re demanding a new toy every two seconds.”

A sixth toy is shoved into Annabeth’s hands by her daughter, and she waves it in front of him. “You mean like this?”

“Seems about right,” he replies, laughing. “Are you shopping for any special occasions?”

She shakes her head, biting her lower lip. “She just wanted to come look around, and I ran out of ways to tell her no.”

“It’s always hard to say no,” he agrees. Annabeth looks at him again and catches his bright green eyes. It’s the first true look she gets of him, and she has to admit she’s not disappointed with what she sees.

“So when are you due?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re pregnant,” he comments. When she looks at him questioningly, and a bit daringly, he smiles. “You keep touching your stomach.”

She drops her hand and chuckles. “I didn’t even realize.”

“My wife used to do that all the time,” he says. The word wife makes something in her drop, but she doesn’t quite know why. She hadn’t even realized how much she liked talking to him until then. “I’m sure your husband has picked up on little quirks like that.”

“Oh, there’s no husband,” she starts, laughing lightly. “Divorced was finalized a few weeks before I found out I was pregnant.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I think it’s cute that you notice stuff like that about your wife.”

“It would be cuter if we were still together,” he says.

Annabeth nods, lips tugging upwards. “So we both know the pains of divorce and fighting for custody.”

“And the pains of sleeping alone,” he adds. “It’s a different feeling, I’ll admit.”

“Try having a baby on the way and no husband,” she says. “It’s that icy type of fear – the one that freezes you over because you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, but you seem like you’ll be okay.”

He’s looking at her with such warmth and kindness, and it feels weird to say, but this might be the most comfortable she’s felt in months. They fall into a silence, and she lets herself just take in his presence – it’s familiar in an unfamiliar way. She doesn’t know if it’s just having someone else close to her, or feeling protected, but she doesn’t care because she feels safe with him by her side.

“I want these,” her daughter says, placing a last box by her feet. It makes Annabeth feel a bit lightheaded because she knows there’s no way she’ll be able to afford all of those, and this trip is going to end with a tantrum.

“I said two,” Annabeth reminds her. “Pick two and put the rest back.”

“But I want them!”

Annabeth sighs, scrunching her nose at the feeling of an oncoming headache. “Mommy can’t buy all of them.”

“Why not?” she asks accusingly.

“These are expensive, baby.”

“But you go to work all the time for money!”

It makes Annabeth’s heart sore, because there’s no way for her to explain that the money she makes from work goes towards everything else. She’s barely making the weekly payments on her apartment, or the water and electricity bills, and she just can’t afford everything her daughter wants. But she can see the tears brimming in Sophie’s eyes, and suddenly she wants to cry too because she’s doing everything she can, and it’s still not enough, and it won’t be in six months either when she suddenly has another child to take care of.

“Put them back, Sophie.”

She whines.

“Please put some of them back, and maybe Santa Claus can bring you more in a few weeks.”

Sophia doesn’t budge, and Annabeth knows it’s going to take herself putting them back on the shelves. Percy respectfully wanders off back into the store somewhere out of sight as Annabeth begins to shove them back on the shelf. She lets Sophia hold on tightly onto two of them as she begins crying and is forced to pick her up and carry her over to pay.

Annabeth waits by the counter for a good few minutes before Percy reappears. He’s pushing a cart suspiciously in front of him that he sets by the counter.

“These are the best toys we have!” he tells Sophia, coaxing them from her hands so he can scan them. “You did a good job choosing.”

“I wanted more,” she whimpers as Annabeth’s hand slides up and down her back soothingly.

“I know, but you have to leave some for Santa Claus to get you,” he whispers, handing the toys back to her after it’s scanned. “You’re a good girl, so I bet you’re going to get a ton of presents from him this year!”

Annabeth shoots him a dirty look, and it makes his eyes mirthful.

“That’ll be twenty-five dollars and forty-nine cents.”

She hands him a card from her back pocket, setting Sophia down. Her daughter seems to be in a slightly better mood by now, but she still wraps herself around her mother’s leg. She takes the card back, about to turn around and leave, but his hand wraps gently around her wrist.

“Is it alright if I walk you to your car?”

“May I ask what for?”

He glances to the shopping cart he placed by the counter, and she has a vague feeling of what’s in there.

“I’m compelled to say no,” she tells him, eyeing the cart.

“This place is closing in two months anyways, and it’ll all go to waste,” he tells her quietly. “Let me do this.”

“If there are five dolls in that cart, I swear to god.”

“There’s six, actually.”

She glares at him.

“You can save them as Christmas presents for her,” he says. “You have another baby on the way, and I can tell you’re struggling. I’m not trying to judge because believe me when I say I’ve been there, so let me help.”

She feels bad taking stuff from him that could easily add up to more than one-hundred dollars, but she also knows that even if Christmas is weeks away, she’s not going to be able to do much on her own. She has to figure out how to afford things for a newborn that are more necessary than a few Barbie’s that’ll be forgotten quickly enough anyways, but it breaks her heart thinking of Sophia waking up to a nearly bare Christmas tree, so she says, “Okay.”

He shoots her a grin, coming around the counter to grab the cart. He helps stuff them into the trunk of her car as Annabeth straps Sophia into her car seat. She turns the car on before stepping outside to speak to him alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay giving these to me?”

“Of course I am,” he says. “It would be sitting there for months otherwise.”

“Then thank you,” she says earnestly. “It means a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wanted to do it.”

“Yeah, why is that?” she asks, smirking now. “I didn’t see you doing this for the old couple walking around.”

“You’re a lot cuter than the old couple,” he admits, fingers toying with the handle of the cart.

“So now I’m cute?”

“I’ve always had a thing for pregnant women,” he says.

Annabeth slaps his arm playfully. “So you actually do this for all the pregnant women?”

He winks. “Only the cute ones.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“I was hoping you’d let me know that.”

She gives him a sly look. “Annabeth.”

“Now that I know your name, Annabeth, I was wondering if you’d like to go out to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Or we could take our girls to a toy store and let them run wild,” he suggests, “but I think both of our bank accounts would be wiped in that case.”

“Dinner sounds nice,” she agrees. He gives her his phone number, and for a moment, she imagines that life is perfect. She doesn’t know if it’s because she really does like him or because she’s been alone for what feels like forever, but she can see a future. They are together in a home, three girls around a fireplace, unwrapping toys, and Percy is sitting by her side, her wrapped in his arms. He places a kiss to her forehead, and she feels at home. It’s a fleeting image, but it makes her long.

She learns four years later on the anniversary of when they first met that maybe she really did see a glimpse of her future. There are three girls curled up on the couch, and they all love each other so much. Instead of unwrapping presents though, they are watching a Disney movie. Annabeth watches the kids with a smile on her face from the doorframe, turning her head up when she feels him slide his hands over her swollen stomach (courtesy of Percy). He gives her a sweet kiss.

She’s in love in a way she never thought possible, her heart is full, and everything is perfect.

[miraculousmarifan]

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 19: Fallen Angel

Happy @felinettenovember! Can you guys guess what prompts I spend more than one day writing? I almost decided to try drawing the akumatized Felix before remembering that I haven’t drawn in nearly 10 years (maybe I would be better off painting it?) and wasn’t really good at people before that point... So I did this instead!

Almost 1900 words and if requested, this could have a continuation for some resolution later this year or early next year and/or potentially a piece of art to try showing Felix as an akuma and/or the object that inspired his form

Felix was close to flipping tables. Marinette had to be an angel from above with how she was handling being bullied by this Lila girl. How was it that even after the school was notified that Lila supposedly had a disease that made her compulsively lie but wasn’t antisocial personality disorder (?), the teacher refused to step in and help one of her star pupils? He shouldn’t be surprised. This was the same teacher that condoned Chloe’s defacing of Marinette’s present to count as them working together on it, even though Marinette had put actual effort into it. This was the same teacher that tried to convince Marinette to be a doormat, in the name of “setting a good example,” as though that has truly changed people that benefit from wronging others.

What he really couldn’t understand was how her friends weren’t more cautious about the liar. She had temporarily gotten Marinette expelled by claiming that she had not only cheated on a mock test, but also stolen the liar’s necklace, AND pushing the witch down the stairs. The class didn’t believe that it sounded like Marinette and YET after Marinette is returned due to the supposed uncontrollable lying diagnosis, they don’t question Lila's integrity? He couldn’t quite fathom why they wouldn’t take the things she said with a grain of salt after that very public and obvious set of lies, especially about Marinette.

And yet, here he was. Standing outside the classroom, waiting for a phone call from his driver, when he overhears the liar whispering to a few girls from the class. Marinette had been gone for an appointment the last period of school and apparently that wasn’t enough for Lila. He heard Alya exclaim, “That doesn’t really sound like Marinette…” and then a sad reply along the lines of how she knew Marinette was friends with all them but she couldn’t believe Marinette said that to her and just wanted to understand why by asking their closest friends. So on so on. Even with her verbalized doubt, it was clear from the tone she used that Alya believed it possible that Marinette had something to Lila, even if it wasn’t as severe as the liar had made it out to be. Felix didn’t need to be any closer to smell the fake crap Lila was spreading. He was sure it would have smelled over a mile away.

Rose exclaimed how she couldn’t believe how much Marinette was starting to act like Chloe and how they really needed to shake Marinette out of this. Alya volunteered to talk to her about it and encouraged them not to do anything crazy before then. It was the first time Felix felt a decent amount of respect towards Alya. Apparently she is starting to learn not to jump immediately to conclusions when it comes to Lila and Marinette. Unfortunately their other friends hadn’t gotten that much insight from the previous incidents and believed that Lila wouldn’t possibly exaggerate or make up anything and cause drama unnecessarily. Alya told the group that she had texted the girl and was going to head over to their place to hang out later that night.

Alya left, muttering how it sounded too extreme to be what Marinette had actually said. Felix had to give it to her, even if she had too much faith in the Italian, it was nice to see she wouldn’t fully discount her friend without any true evidence. Unfortunately with Alya’s departure, the voice of reason had left these girls and they were left with a snake. Felix decided to move slightly closer, just to keep an ear out for danger.

“I don’t think having a talk with her is really going to change Marinette’s mind. I mean she already knows about my health conditions and she’d rather discriminate against me than admit that I’m just trying to be friends. I reached out in good faith, painting her a picture, and she destroyed it and told me we could never be friends. It was just shockingly mean! She’s so nice to you guys so I thought this would help, especially since we like so much of the same stuff! I can’t help it if Adrien rejected her for me!”

Felix wanted to gag at that reasoning again. Marinette had worked to move on from Adrien long ago and especially hard when he had started dating Kagami over a year ago. She even started having tea and snacks with his girlfriend at least once a month, since Kagami didn’t get out much and Marinette didn’t want her to feel left out. As far as Felix knew, Marinette had long since given up on Adrien and was more focused on her personal projects than on boys, something her friends should have known by now.

“We know it’s not your fault and she should realize that too!” Rose tried to cheer up Lila.

“It’s so hard to imagine her destroying someone else’s art when she preaches about how people shouldn’t touch other’s work! Plus she has to know how much that sucks, after Chloe ruined her present for Ms. Bustier a few years ago…” Alix sounded angry enough to act impulsively and it didn’t sit well with Felix.

“To me, it just doesn’t seem like talking to her is going to be enough for her to really think about her actions, but you guys know her the best!” Lila managed to get a small amount of wavering into her voice, to convey hesitant worry and unsuccessfully attempted optimism through her small shrug. Felix may have thought that some of her lies should be relatively easy to dismiss but he had to admit that sometimes she could be a good actress.

“If we left her a message along with doing something, she wouldn’t ignore it right? Especially if she knows that if she ever does something like that again, we won’t stay friends with her…” Alix suggested. Felix felt his stomach sink. This was going bad but he couldn’t just walk in there right? He waited a moment longer to hear them start planning how they were going to ruin Marinette’s personal art project that she had been working on during her study hall, as it was sitting in a drying area of the art room. He had enough information to go talk to Damocles about what he had heard.

After hearing Felix’s concerns and hearing his stern insistence that this was actually at risk of happening, not just girl’s venting, Damocles accompanied him to the art room to check into the security of the projects inside. By the time the pair arrived though, they were too late. Nobody was in the room anymore, however Marinette’s project was beyond repair. 

She had sculpted a human-like angel with arms raised with peace and joy captured remarkably on its face, an orb in its hands being presented to the sky like a holy gift. The wings had been formed into individual feathers and Marinette had just put the first layer of paint on it that day. The base color of the wings was a lovely shade of light pink, her dress had the first layer of white, the skin left a gray tone, with a small amount of darker gray and lighter gray added to certain areas to imitate how light would fall if emitted from the orb. The orb had a strange tone of light blue-green for the base. He had been enthusiastically anticipating her final painting work since she had finished the sculpting step.

Now the angel was missing a wing, the orb that had barely rested on the carved palms was separated from the hands, and the arms were no longer connected. He picked up the body of the statue gently before looking up at Damocles sadly.

“It’s too bad we didn’t get here sooner. I guess we will just have to check the school’s cameras to figure out who did this.” Damocles took a step towards the stand that the statue had previously been set on, picked up the note left on it, and read it out loud.

“‘This is for ruining Lila’s painting. You should’ve accepted her peace offering rather than blaming her for Adrien’s rejection and if you keep acting like this, you won’t have any more friends here.’--” he cleared his throat in displeased surprise, “-- I will need to take this note as evidence in this. Also, we should probably take some pictures of the damages before getting this cleaned up.”

Felix helped set the pieces of the statue on the table next to each other before the principal took out his cell phone and snapped a quick picture of that and of the note. Before the man could leave, Felix volunteered to clean up the classroom as he was sure Marinette would still want the pieces. He was also sure that Damocles would actually proceed with this investigation due to his involvement and firmness regarding the need to supply a punishment. While the punishment would not be sufficient, there would at least be some record of this incident.

Before sweeping up the tiny pieces that he didn’t expect her to care about, he sat down in a chair and held the body of the statue. His fingers ran over the one remaining wing despite the paint smearing on his skin, feeling the texture his classmate had managed for the feathers. It was an amazing work that would be difficult to replicate, if Marinette even decided it was worth doing again. Part of him hoped she would redo the remarkable piece. He felt anger bubbling just below the surface of his sadness, anger that the girls that were supposedly her friends would do this. Anger that their school was not secure for her. Anger that he wasn’t able to protect her, even having heard the plans. Grief over being too slow to protect her. Crushing sadness that she couldn’t trust her classmates, her supposed friends, to even ask her about a situation before trusting another’s words about her. Someone that had very publicly lied to get her suspended just the last school year. He was so busy with his thoughts and the statue that he missed the purple butterfly coming towards him until it settled into the statue.

“Hello Ange Déchu. I am Hawk Moth. The people around you pass judgement on the innocent and work on behalf of the wicked. It must be frustrating to watch them work to break the people you care about. I will give you the power to understand people’s intentions and apply your chosen consequences on them so you can protect the ones you love. In exchange you would give me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.”

In this akumatized form, he could not only protect Marinette but also help her get revenge on the manipulative witch. She would be his queen, his direction, and she would be able to decide how she wanted to apply justice.

“Yes Hawk Moth. I will deal out Marinette’s justice and get the miraculous for you.” The akumatized Felix, called Fallen Angel, unfurled his black wings and pushed off the ground to fly to Marinette’s side. He would protect her first and foremost. Then they would deal with the witch and her flying monkeys however she saw fit.

[maldito-arbol]

It is occurring to me that the events of my life over the last 2-3 months are very much blurred together in an amalgamation of trauma and dissociation and depression and I can hardly remember me at all. Hey. Sorry. I probably need therapy.

My current update on life is: still living with a friend. It seems as though my parents are content in having abandoned me and harbor no desire to apologize nor to take me back. It’s hard to accept but by no means am I surprised, I’m simply tired. I have to rebuild my own self and my own life here, where I stand now. Rebuilding is hard, but I have to keep trying. It’s the only way I can keep myself from falling off the deep end.

In regards to work, yes I did end up quitting my job. I put in my two weeks and I served them despite them many many times tempting me to just leave and never look back—no, I stuck it out, and I earned my due pay. I thought work was hard before, but it suddenly became hell on earth once I made it known I wasn’t going to let them push me around any longer. I am still trying to understand that I deserve better, am still trying to comprehend that I CAN get better…it’s a lot. I thought if I wasn’t suffering then I wasn’t worth anything at all. And that’s just the way I was raised, the way I’ve been treated all my life from school to work to home. It took me a very long time to realize the people I was around were toxic, and when I did, I felt so sick I could almost die.

Guys, I don’t know how quite to express the way I felt and the way I feel, but I thought I should maybe give you some more insight to my life in a formal post rather than just disjointed pieces in the tags of my posts. So the long story short (though unfortunately still too long) is, I was trapped in an abusive home that eventually imploded and resulted in my eviction by my very petulant mother over a barely qualified for conversation conversation about politics. Because she couldn’t stand the fact that I didn’t want to listen to her. I’d hate to imagine how she’d react if I told her I was gay, or genderfluid of all things if she reacted this way over the fact that I lean left politically. Isn’t that incredible? After all the horrible things she’s put me through, physically, mentally, emotionally, she sees fit to kick me out because I snarled “I don’t care” when she attempted to sway me. It’s funny actually. I spent so many nights crying over something so pathetic. Maybe it’s because she’s my mother and her actions directly imply that I am a child unwanted by the one who birthed them, a child who was never truly loved or cared about in the way children dream of. That undying, uncompromising, unconditional love every human being desires. And in a perfect world it should be guaranteed by a mother, but it’s not. How cruel is it that I feel more loved by my friends’ parents than I do by my own? You know no matter what, they’ll never be my birth parents. There will always be that missing hole in my heart no matter how much I tell myself this is enough. Because I feel like I don’t deserve to be loved. And yet I crave it so much. So much that I was willing to be abused, to be put down, to be the punching bag to a miserable, uncaring woman who didn’t know the first thing about love. Even now sometimes I wonder how she’s doing without me. Does she worry? Does she feel regret? Guilt? Anything? Or does she simply go about her day thinking, “it’s no big deal, I have two more children I can ream in your stead.” As for my dad, I may hold off on getting into that whole rabbit hole, because I feel like I shouldn’t even bother giving him the time of day if he barely will even give me that. He is very very very tiring, and I fear I spent too long desiring a relationship that will simply never blossom.

I thought work was my escape. I thought that repetitive tasks would help distract me from my problems, would provide me something to live for, cause gods know I couldn’t come up with a creative reason myself. And yet, in a way, being mentally shattered once again by my mother once again taught me a little lesson about the other people in my life: if they act like my mother, they’re doing something wrong. And my boss, while different in many ways, shared a core of manipulation mastery that really should’ve bothered me from the start. And because I had been kicked out, because I’d moved in with people who genuinely cared about me, all of the sudden I saw how horribly mistreated I was at work. It was easier to write it off before, when I was treated worse at home so work felt like Heaven. But it wasn’t. It never was. How many times I fooled myself into believing it was. It’s interesting how being loved and cared about can show you just how poorly you’ve had it everywhere else. So when my sister quit because of another explosion of verbal abuse from my boss, I decided that was my final sign to throw in the towel. While she simply walked off the job, I allowed my boss to keep me for two more weeks; just to be polite, just to be professional, and I may have just shot myself in the foot in doing so. It’s quite a show manipulators will put on when they realize they’re about to lose you. When holding power and the high ground over you has been torn down, ripped away from them, you see truly the desperation, the lengths they will go to restore order and control over you. I was emotionally manipulated, gaslighted, bribed even in my final days. She had power over me almost to the bitter end, because I so nearly gave up and gave in so many times. I was emotionally broken, and I still am, but what frightened me so then was that she knew my weaknesses and she knew how to exploit them. She understood I was alone and scared and still picking up the pieces in my own life, and with that understanding came not compassion but the determination to squash me underneath her thumb. I needed a whole army of healthy people in my life to beg me not to rescind my decision, to prod and poke at me to follow through with my exit in order to ensure I made it out safely, though clearly not unscathed.

Of course I’m going to continue carrying the trauma from this, but I won’t allow it to be special. I’m going to dump it carelessly into a duffel bag stuffed with every unkind word and every bruise and hit from my mother, with every humiliation and heartbreak dealt by my teachers, with every fucking dumbshit rumor and practiced bullying technique from my peers at a whole variety of different schools and clubs and camps, with every user and moocher from friend groups past, and anything and everything that has left its lovely scar be it on my skin or in my mind. You struck me hard enough to remain for the lifelong flight? Cool. You’ll find your seat in the back with all the snot-nosed children and disappointed mothers and not a good enough view to provide entertainment for the whole trip. Eat some far too salty crackers and wonder what your life has come to. I hope you enjoy.

[eruden-writes]

Wretched Creature - Part 3

A Beauty and the Beast retelling.

After taking on her father’s punishment, Bellona finds herself imprisoned at a castle with Larek, a man who has an incessant need to self-depreciate himself despite being decently attractive, and a contingent of sentient objects.

Needless to say, it’s a confusing time all around.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

---

At some point, she and Larek began to run into each other. Perhaps he noticed she gravitated toward the library, since - after the first few run-ins - he appeared to visit the books more frequently. Bellona would try to shake him off. There was only so far she could go, though. Eventually, tired of actively trying to avoid him, she'd simply ignore him.

In the library, they'd sit on opposite sides of the room, quietly reading. In the garden, they'd pass each other on the path. Through the castle, they'd gravitate to opposite sides of the corridors. Over time, he edged closer. Asking about her books or informing her about the noteworthy fauna in the garden or history in the castle.

Bellona didn't know when or how it happened, but one day she realized Larek no longer skirted the edges of her day to day life. They'd sit close in the library and linger over books, sharing insights. Larek sometimes surprised her with a succinct observation she never would have considered. Or they'd walk through the garden together, where she taught him to make flower crowns and relayed her late mother's herbal knowledge. On one particularly clear, crisp night, the two even went to the solarium to view the stars and he pointed out constellations she hadn't even known.

The strangeness of the castle soon became her new normal and, oddly, she found herself fitting in. She'd bake and cook with Miss Chai or help Fruk clean the hard-to-reach places in the castle. Often, she'd watch the teacup children, keeping them entertained with stories or what projects they could do.

But Larek's ongoing crusade of how his body was wretched and ugly and useless remained.

One day, while they read together on one of the couches in the library, Larek began complaining. She wasn't even sure what triggered his self-hate. Perhaps something daring he read in his own book, reminding him of his perceived inadequacies. Fed up with his sentiments - taking them somewhat personally, for some reason - she shot back to him, "Should I show you how to love yourself?"

That certainly got his attention. Larek's eyes snapped to her face, wide with momentary shock. Bellona refused to look at him. Her eyes glued to the book in her lap, trying to remain cool as her brain agonized in embarrassment. The expression on his face shifted as his eyes narrowed, an uncertain flush biting at his cheeks. "How, exactly?"

The scant space between them, on the library couch, warmed and sizzled. If a hapless dust mote happened to fall between them, it'd burn up. Bellona pretended to finish her page, before calmly placing her bookmark and closing her book. Her attention slowly turned to Larek. He shifted beneath her eye and, she thought, he was holding his breath. He looked stiff and awkward, like the young men in the village whenever a woman repaid a flirtatious remark. Making a contemplative sound, Bellona set her book aside before bridging the space between herself and Larek.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she started, trying to keep the smile off her lips as she reached to his cheek. His body heat seared into her fingertips and the pink on his cheeks darkened. "But you're more of a physical learner, aren't you?"

The knot in his throat bobbed as he swallowed, eyes never leaving her face. When he spoke, his words came out in a rasp, "Very much so."

"In that case," Bellona purred, the smile cresting her lips now. Her hands drew to his chest, pressing her palms flat against him. Beneath her touch, his heart thundered. She leaned close, lips brushing his as she spoke, "I should show rather than tell, shouldn't I?"

When their lips met, heat bloomed in her and her eyelids fluttered shut. Bellona leaned further into his heat, feeling his chest rise and fall with excitement as she deepened the kiss. His warm palms pressed to her hips, their positions shifting until she was straddling his lap. A throaty groan left his lips, her hand finding itself buried in his hair and giving him a little tug.

Excitement flashed through Bellona as Larek's hands tightened on her hips, his own bucking up into her. She answered with a little gasp of her own, breaking the kiss. Her eyes flickered open, her mouth returning to his to catch his lower lip between her teeth.

Larek groaned again, deep in his chest and vibrating against her palms, as her nip sunk in. Instead of pulling her closer, his hands pressed to her arms and firmly pushed her back. Her curious look was met with three words that brought chilly displeasure to her gut. "We should stop."

"What?" Suddenly, the delightful heat she'd stoked turned sickly and painful. Her eyes searched his face, wondering if this was a cruel teasing on his part. But a sober seriousness pinched at Larek's features. "Why?"

She hated the fact she sounded so hurt.

It took Larek a moment to answer. His eyes turning away from her, as if to find a physical representation of his excuse. "None of this is fair. Especially not to you."

The heat inside Bellona shifted. It turned from warm and fuzzy to biting and rigid. Her time with him, idling away the days, had nearly made her forget. He was her captor, keeping her in the castle through a deal. How could she forget that? How could she so eagerly kiss him, let alone climb into his lap? Why was she so upset he'd stopped?

Confusion bit at the back of her eyes as she pushed off him. She blinked back the tears, anger whirling around her head. At herself, the situation, Larek.

For once, Larek's tone was hesitant. "Bellona?"

Her name on his lips spurred the rage inside her. She wheeled her hand back, letting it fly through the air until her palm made impact with his cheek. A satisfying SMACK echoed in the library. With her hand stinging, Bellona stormed from the library, leaving Larek behind. His eyes wide and a red hand mark flaming at his cheek.

After the library incident, Bellona ignored Larek. He'd approach and she'd brush passed him. He'd ask about the book she was reading, but she never looked up or she got up and left the room. By the third day, he took the hint and tried to smooth things over. They were sweet attempts - bouquets of wildflowers, baking her a dessert, trinkets from carved wood - and almost melted her cold exterior.

Instead of thawing, his actions ended up cracking her. One morning, while in a sun-dappled garden, she stared at the things Larek had thrust into her arms. A bouquet of flowers - lilies, this time - and something new. A necklace made of bone and carved with delicate designs. Her thumb traced the carefully etched lines as he explained where he'd gotten the materials and bumbled over his reason for making it.

She didn't fully hear him. Her brain was stuck on flowers and sweets and, now, jewelry. Trappings of courtship and mocking ones, at that.

"Stop!" Bellona threw the bouquet and necklace - made of bone decorated by Larek with intricate carvings - back into his face. Clenching her fists, she glared up into the man's face, face ruddy from frustration and confused tears swelling on her lashes. "Stop with all this! This is confusing enough for me, as is."

"What?" The word came out small for someone who liked to pretend to be bigger than he was.

"What happened in the library was a mistake." Her words came out fiercer than she anticipated. Or maybe a subconscious part of her liked how pained Larek looked from her outburst and wanted more. Still, perhaps, she couldn't deny the hurt and confusion making her heart ache. Tears started to stream down her cheeks and, savagely, she wiped them away as they fell. "No matter what, I'm a captive here. Anything developing between us would be wrong."

With her eyes on the ground, Bellona could tell he stared at her. That just made the heat in her flare again. She wanted to scream at him to say or do something. Pride kept her shoulders hunched, palms swiping at her cheeks as more tears fell.

"Go home."

Her head snapped up, brows furrowed as the surprise halted her tears. "What?"

"Go home. See your father." Larek spoke slowly, as if he didn't want to say the words. His gaze locked onto previously offered gifts in his arms. "Return to me when you're ready."

The world felt strangely still to her, though birds fluttered overhead and bugs flitted in the corner of her vision. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, anxious trembles clenching at her stomach. After a deep breath, Bellona asked, "And if that's never?"

He didn't answer right away. His eyes were still on the items in his arms while the knot at his throat bobbed. Finally, he drew his eyes to Bellona's face, expression pinched with an ache she couldn't define. "Then I'll accept that."

---

Moments later, she was in her room, intending to pack to visit her father. But, as she entered the chambers, a voice said she shouldn't have anything to pack. He'd kept her there, against her will. She should have fled the garden and gone straight home.

Numbly, she began gathering items, laying them out atop a blanket she'd later fashion into a bag. A book of pressed flowers, started by she and Larek. Sloppy drawings the teacup children had made. Her own sketches, in a bound book made with Miss Lumi's direction. With the book she was currently reading in hand, she paused.

"You can take that," Causton's clipped tone came from the doorway. Bellona spun, eyes widening as she saw the crowd.

Causton, Miss Lumi, Fruk, Miss Chai and the little teacups, and... more. It surprised Bellona that she could name each one, had grown to know them well. Their expressions ran the gamut from dismal to embittered. A miserable cloud hovered over them, each staring from the hall, none entering her room. Many seemed about ready to say something.

"Bellona, please don't leave. We need you to-" One of the little teacups - Grey -clattered forward, their small voice sounding close to breaking. They were stopped by Miss Chai, tilting her spout to halt their progress.

"I need space from Larek, from here." She turned back to her things, deciding she had what she wanted to keep. Trying not to look at them, she tied the blanket closed, before folding and wrapping until she had a makeshift bag. Did they know what had happened between she and Larek? He seemed to tell them everything. That thought made her stomach spin and, if she hadn't been fighting down tears earlier, now she was. "I'll be back. I just... I need to think."

No more was said as she shrugged on a coat, the spring days still a tinge chilly from winter. She had made her way out of her bedroom and down the hall when one of them spoke again. Again, her heart lurched, closing her eyes to stymie the sudden flood of tears.

"Come back soon," Fruk growled, voice thick with hurt. His words softened as he added, "We're going to miss you."

It took her a moment to reply. Two deep breaths and a swallow, before she half-turned to give the assembled a watery smile. "I'll try."

With that, Bellona hurried down the stairs and out of the castle, refusing to look back again.

[the-apocryphal-one]

Ebb and Flow

Summary: She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things. Astarion x Isaniel

Also check it out on AO3 here and ff.net here!

A/N: whelp, here I am. writing fic with my OCs. that never happens. but this cheeky little bastard left me no choice. I fell in love with him so quickly, I had to write how my character did (or is starting to...getting there...feeling feelings...look we're still in EA and I love slow-burn enemies to lovers).

Minor spoilers ahead!

-

A mix of old paranoia and carefully-honed insight tell Isaniel, from the moment she meets him, that Astarion is suspicious. The only reason she even approaches the grass is because the risk of leaving an intellect devourer on the loose is far greater than the risk of exposing her back to a stranger. One is a dangerous beast that could quickly kill her or innocents if left unchecked; the other, she believes, is just an elf she knows to be wary around. He cannot do anything she is not braced for.

She is wrong. He is far stealthier than she’d expected.

-

After she diffuses the situation and they agree to work together, Isaniel subtly flexes her left hand. His dagger had cut into her palm as she’d struggled to pull it away from her throat. It was deep enough to merit healing, and she knows it’ll scar. A lesson.

It’s not an easy thing, to watch your surroundings and look for other survivors and keep someone in your peripheral vision, but she manages.

-

That night, everyone at camp is wary, watching each other, gauging their trustworthiness. They’re all newly acquainted, a collection of cast-off captives with bombs in their heads. It’s simultaneously the most ironclad and the thinnest of bonds. But gradually, one by one, they drift off.

Isaniel tries not to. Decades of learning to embrace Eilistraee and lower her guard around others have vanished tonight. She sits, staring at Astarion across the fire, and he stares back. His eyes are somehow both jeering and flirtatious, the planes and shadows of his face even more beautiful in the firelight. They sit for hours, just watching each other, her quiet declaration that she wouldn’t turn her back on a stranger heavy between them.

But eventually, exhaustion creeps up on her and slips the trance over her head, and then it is morning.

His smugness is unbearable.

-

Isaniel considers herself a practical woman. You can’t not be and survive the Underdark. She will refuse to give up on a cure until her body physically starts to change, but she knows that the second it does, she wants the others to cut her down—the same way she’d cut them down if they began to transform.

So when Astarion asks how she wants him to kill her should she sprout tentacles, she’s not affronted. She sees it as professional courtesy.

After some thought, she decides on a knife. Poison is not gentle, nor quick. Neither is strangulation. A good, clean thrust to the heart or head, though, will be fast and painless. The best result for her and those around her.

His eyes light up with enthusiasm as he discusses her choice, and Isaniel remembers how quietly he’d snuck up on her. This is not just professional courtesy, she realizes. This is a man who intimately knows the art of death, and loves it. And at that realization, the walls that had started to cautiously lower, just a tad, jerk back into place.

When he finishes, she crosses her arms, cocks her head, smiles coolly. “And you? How shall I kill you?”

His teeth flash an almost unnatural white when he grins. “Oh darling, I’d love to see you try.”

-

The night they gain some leads, she finds him stargazing while doing the rounds of the camp. When she pauses to speak with him, it is surprisingly nice. His quip about “taking or leaving” her chin makes her lips twitch, despite herself. And she can’t help but approve of someone who can also appreciate the beauty of the night sky.

Her eyes seek out the moon instinctively. Her hand closes around her sword pendant for a brief moment. Eilistraee, watch over me.

For a brief heartbeat, an echo of a song floats through her mind. It’s the same music that stopped her dead in a marketplace in the Underdark, so beautiful and ethereal and divine it almost brought tears to her eyes. Isaniel would later learn that Eilistraee was always seeking to touch the hearts of the drow, and had been beyond grateful she’d listened. But at the moment, all she had known was that she could not rest until she’d found that music again. Hearing it again now is a promise.

The notes fade, but she doesn’t feel empty like she did that day in the Underdark. Her goddess is with her and loves her, and there is nothing more comforting in the world than that. Even Astarion seems not so bad in that moment, and they bask together in the companionable silence.

But then he wonders aloud what will happen in the future, and the illusion of safety breaks. She briefly mourns its departure; then, she straightens her shoulders and looks back at reality. And reality includes him.

She gives him a taste of his own medicine: “What? Would you miss me?” He laughs, rises, and compliments her. She accepts it, and in doing so deflects. He flirts, invades her personal space. Out of sheer stubbornness, she refuses to step back. To do so would be to admit that he has unnerved her. It’s not just his proximity; it’s this undercurrent of something.

The dance ends; he leaves. The tension drains out of her body.

-

When she emerges from a restless, unsuccessful trance and finds Astarion leaning over her, Isaniel lashes out. Her elbow catches him square in the jaw; he curses and stumbles back, and she almost attacks while he’s off-balance. But she’s a follower of Eilistraee, and somehow, she’s become the leader of their group. Both of those factors give her a responsibility to hear him out. So, she stomps down on those old, false instincts and lets him talk.

It’s almost a relief to find out he’s a vampire. The secret is out, and now she can deal with it. Really, Isaniel feels like a fool for not putting the pieces together. The sun doesn’t burn her eyes anymore, thanks to the tadpole—why shouldn’t a vampire be able to walk in it as well? But she’d just assumed that his red eyes were indicative of drow blood somewhere in his family, the fangs some form of genetic defect.

Astarion asks her to trust him. Incredulously, she counters that he tried to bite her. He retorts that they need each other. And then he begs for a sip of her blood.

Isaniel takes a deep breath. Looking around, she realizes that their brief scuffle woke the others up. She decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and assumes that they only watch because they’re too surprised to actually do anything. But that’s irrelevant right now. She turns her focus inwards and analyzes exactly how much they need Astarion.

He’s the best among them at picking a lock. His speed is blinding. He’s deadly with his daggers. And he moves so silently…

Losing him would be bad, she has to admit. So: keeping him means feeding him. And logically, it makes sense that a vampire would not find animal blood as nourishing. Oh, she knows he’s manipulative, she doubts he’s telling the whole truth with his “I’ve never fed on humans!” spiel—but she does believe him in that, at least.

She certainly can’t half-starve him, but she will not let him eat innocents. So…what other options are there? Letting him feed off their enemies? Plausible; but that is a question for the morning. Because Astarion is ultimately right: it really comes down to whether she can trust him.

Isaniel doesn’t know what surprises her more: that she does trust him, or that the events of this night haven’t cost him all of it.

Well, she trusts him to an extent. She gives him his share of night shifts, she relies on him in battle, and he has easy access to their food. But that’s trusting him not to kill them; keeping him, knowing what he is, requires trusting him to not lose control. It means trusting that if an emergency happens and he needs their blood, he won’t go into a frenzy and drain them dry.

A test, then. If he reverts to a creature of base instinct, if he cannot be reasoned with, if he tries to kill her, she will kill him. Better to discover the extent of his self-restraint now, while she’s alert and prepared to stop him, than later, when circumstances might not be so fortuitous.

So she sends up a quick prayer to Eilistraee, bares her neck, and lies down.

-

He gets caught up in the moment, but her command to stop brings him out of it easily enough. He lets her go, breathless and smiling, thanks her, and stalks off.

Isaniel can’t be angry at him; after all—and this is very hard to admit, even to herself—she almost got caught up in the moment too.

-

Sometimes she would catch him gazing at the sky, during the day, open wonder on his face. Now she knows why.

Isaniel can understand that. With her eyes no longer burning, she can drink in the tableau around her in a new way. There are shades of color she couldn’t quite discern before, and everything seems so much richer in the sun. How many drow have been able to do this? Very few, most likely.

It’s not enough to make her want to keep the parasite—it could never be enough—but it is something she can’t help but appreciate.

-

The day the sickness strikes, Isaniel gives the order to make camp where they stand, long before night falls. They’re all just too exhausted to keep traveling, even to search for a suitable place to rest.

That’s not the only thing they’re too exhausted for, as it turns out. Not one of them can muster the energy to scout for nearby threats, or camouflage, or stand guard. Even Lae’zel’s attempt at a “mercy kill” is sloppy. They’re all so pathetic a kobold could walk into their midst and kill them.

Between talking Lae’zel down and doing her customary rounds of their parody of a camp, Isaniel’s low energy reserves are completely barren. As she crawls into her bedroll, for some reason, her mind turns back to Astarion’s panic.

He’s usually so self-assured. Smiling in the face of anything. Ready with his rapier wit. The complete unraveling of his composure is…alarming.

But before she can think much more on that, a fresh wave of tremors hits her. She squeezes her eyes shut, curls into a ball, and prays.

-

The next morning, Isaniel wakes up with heartache—and fury.

How dare it? How dare that parasite approach her in the guise of her dead husband? How dare it speak with his voice, ignite her skin with his touch, dishonor his memory by wearing his face? The sickness of the previous night is completely forgotten; instead, she shakes with rage as she brushes her hair, checks her equipment, gears up. Her fingers itch to play her lute and vent it all out in jagged, discordant music—but no. Astarion’s pale form is up and about, but the others are still sleeping.

She pauses and subtly studies him. He looks much better now; his movements are fluid again, his step springy. Even his hair somehow seems extra fluffy.

He turns, catches her staring, and winks. She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch, damn them. Definitely back to normal.

At that, the memory of the dream rears its head. Her anger, which had started to simmer down, flares up anew. Isaniel scowls as she struggles with her sword belt, her normally dexterous fingers made clumsy by emotion. Curse that tadpole to the Hells—

“Well hello! Feeling better, are we?”

Astarions voice rings from right next to her, and she jumps. Eilistraee’s sword, how did she not realize he was a vampire sooner? No one can move that silently and swiftly and still be mortal.

“I certainly am,” he continues, without waiting for her answer. “This morning I find myself free of pain and with a new trick. A new power. Last night, the risk of transformation—it all feels like some terrible dream now.”

A dream…

Isaniel doesn’t know why she opens up to him. Maybe it’s because he’s around and she needs to get it off her chest. Maybe it’s because his witty tongue actually does make her chuckle, despite herself. Maybe it’s because he draws her eyes like the moon draws the tide.

Regardless, she ends up spilling the contents of her dream, anger and pain leaking into her voice. Astarion doesn’t really say anything; he just listens, eyes bright with curiosity and intrigue. But just listening is enough; she can feel an invisible weight lifting off her with every word out of her mouth.

When she finishes speaking—with an exhale of relief—he asks if she enjoyed it. Her fists clench at the memory of that intruder’s touch on her skin. “No, it felt invasive. Uncomfortable.”

“We had the same dream, then. The worm’s trying to be…enticing.”

Had he also seen someone he’d loved? But that blank look, the flat voice…there’s more to it than that, she’s sure. Isaniel hesitates, then pushes him to share. He lent her an ear, in his typical flippant fashion, but an ear nonetheless. It’s only fair to return the favor.

The truth of what he really dreamed about surprises her. She finds herself blurting out, “Your old master? That doesn’t sound ‘enticing’.”

“It was not,” he says, voice raw and low. “I—we don’t need to talk about it.”

And—oh.

That flash in his eyes. That pain.

Her throat closes.

It was brief, but she saw it. She would never mistake it.

It’s the pain of someone who has been trapped in darkness for so long they don’t even know light exists. The pain of someone who lived with cruelty every minute of every hour of every day. The pain of someone who does not let themselves feel pain, does not even acknowledge they are in pain, because that would be weakness and wolves would descend on them if they admitted to that.

It was her pain, before Eilistraee.

Isaniel is not good at comforting people. She knows how to talk people into doing what she wants and how to keep their group more or less from killing each other. But put her in a room with a crying woman or a scared child, and she’s just lost. Emotions are messy and difficult to deal with.

But at this moment, she wants, more than anything, to brave them. To let him know he’s not alone.

She can’t think of anything to say, can’t figure out how to put this epiphany into words, so hesitantly, she reaches out a hand—

And he recoils like a snake. Then, he strikes like one, eyes and fangs flashing, venom flying from his mouth as he renounces her pity.

It’s not pity, she wants to say. It’s not pity, because I know how hard it is to survive an environment that wants more than anything to break you. To pity you would belittle your strength. It’s empathy and support.

But she’s so stunned that by the time she’s able to begin, “It’s not pity,” it’s too late; his retreating back is the only thing that hears her.

-

One of Isaniel’s first memories is of her mother killing her pet bat, then slapping her until she stopped crying.

It was as a lesson, of course: that love was something that would only be exploited. The sort of lesson that every drow child learned young. Other lessons included how to think creatively, hurt others, scheme, and be paranoid—Isaniel still remembers carefully pouring poisons and potions into large, hollow glass beads and stringing them into her jewelry.

The lessons that had really struck a chord with her, though, had been how to create. Her family had been artisans, and had held a relatively secure position as employees to a well-off merchant clan. The plotting hadn’t been as intense as among the nobles, but it was still dangerous. After all, there were rival artisans and rival merchant clans to watch out for or destroy, and Isaniel had done her share of participating in that.

But oh, she had truly loved art, beauty, music. Eilistraee used that to reach her, and through it Isaniel came to love Eilistraee in turn. But it took a long time. Secretly seeking information about that music, a flight from the Underdark, and decades of studying the teachings of Eilistraee, testing them, putting them in practice, before the scars the Underdark left on her had begun to heal. Decades in which she found companionship with others of her faith, met her husband, became a mother…lost her husband to the ravages of time…

And now, after such a long time away from the toxic mindset she grew up with, she has come face to face with someone who embraces it. And she is torn.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has grown and nourished, that is appalled in the face of Astarion’s casual cruelty towards others.

There is a part of her, one that Eilistraee has also grown and nourished, that begs her be compassionate and forgiving.

There is a part of her, one that she has abandoned but clings to her like a ghost nonetheless, that screams at her to end the threat before he ends her.

There is a part of her, one that has been with her as long as she can recall, that sees his trauma, and remembers, and empathizes.

Their experiences are not the same. But the darkness is the same.

She does not know what to make of him. She does not know what she should believe or do about him. So she watches, and speaks with him, and tries to understand.

-

Their travels eventually take them to a swamp, and there, they find a Gur. A monster-hunter. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s foolish not to gauge his intentions, considering her company. So, in-between Astarion’s light insults, she inquires.

He says he’s hunting Astarion. Not to kill him, but to capture him.

Ice settles in Isaniel’s belly.

Capture him. And bring him to his “associates” in Baldur’s Gate. Back to Cazador. Back to the bastard who scarred him down to his very marrow. Back to chains and torment.

That’s not going to happen, she thinks vehemently.

Astarion is practically vibrating in place, his red eyes hard and uncompromising, his hands hovering close to his daggers. And yet, he still waits for her order. Out of genuine respect for her authority? Trust that she’ll neutralize the hunter? She’s not sure, but something about it is…a little touching.

She gives the word, and he lunges.

-

The battle with Auntie Ethel is tough, but manageably so. They all stay away from the cliff edges and destroy her illusionary copies as soon as they appear, they put out the fires near Mayrina and keep her out of harms’ way, and while the hag’s spells are powerful, they all somehow manage to avoid the worst of the damage.

But Auntie Ethel is one of those types. The type that likes to taunt and mock with a loud, clear voice that rings across the battlefield. And through some hag witchery, she knows how to hit where it hurts.

“Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?”

She’s not near him, but Isaniel can see Astarion’s flinch—then his strikes resume, much faster and more furious than before. Her own teeth grind with outrage and sympathy, and she redoubles her efforts, and soon the hag is brought down.

She is not feeling quite as sympathetic when, after bidding a crestfallen Mayrina farewell, Astarion blithely remarks that it was a pity the young mother-to-be couldn’t see the funny side in her husband being resurrected as a zombie.

-

And yet, he voiced his approval back when they helped Karlach.

It’s not like that outweighs it. Life isn’t a set of scales. Helping one woman doesn’t balance out being amused at another’s pain. The people Isaniel hurt back in the Underdark wouldn’t care or forget just because she helped someone else now. Words and actions have permanent, tangible impacts.

It’s not like she wants to “fix” Astarion, either. People can’t be “fixed”. They can be broken or damaged by others—but never returned to who they once were. They carry the scars and lesions on their heart, like Isaniel does. With time and support, they hopefully heal, but that’s only if they want to.

It’s more like—and she might be projecting a bit, or biased because of her past—remembering Karlach gives her hope that Cazador didn’t destroy Astarion’s humanity.

-

Maybe it was inevitable.

Isaniel weaves throughout the party, smiles freely, even dances and sings. It’s impossible not to—the tiefling’s joy is infectious, the gentle warmth of the wine is infusing her body, and the moon is full and smiling overhead. All of her problems will still be there tomorrow, but tonight is a night for forgetting, and celebrating, and living.

The back of her neck prickles, again. This time she doesn’t ignore it. This time, she turns, somehow already knowing what she’ll see.

Sure enough, there’s Astarion, lurking on the fringes of the party, a glass of wine in hand, eyes fixed on her. Under the moonlight, his hair is practically glowing, his skin silver-tinted. He looks like some ethereal king of night and winter, standing there silhouetted against the darkness. It’s striking.

Striking. Oh.

She has always been watching him, hasn’t she? From the moment she met him. Maybe it was inevitable she would start seeing other things.

A jostle jars her out of her thoughts; she’d stopped moving right in the midst of the dancers. She mutters an apology to the tiefling couple and hastily clears the floor. Glances up again.

Astarion is still watching her.

Before she consciously decides to do it, her feet take her towards him. She falters when her mind catches up to her body, almost turns and runs. There’s something in his eyes, something in the air, something between them that crackles with intensity and promise.

But it’s too late to run—he’s coming towards her, too. Her heart lodges itself in her throat. Stay strong, she tells herself.

Whether she wants that strength to resist the shifting currents in their relationship or to swim towards them, she does not know.

[mulletcal]

when did you first know? -- a calum hood one shot

a/n: okay so i was hit with inspo for this like 8 hours ago and here we are.  it’s the origin story for cal & mama from my twin universe, but you don’t need to have read those to know what’s going on here!! pls enjoy

words:  3.9k

warnings: cavity inducing fluff mb???

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

Soulmate was always a word that Calum heard, and while he believed that they existed, he was never certain that a soulmate would be something he’d find in his lifetime.  He saw his friends pair off with their respective partners, and it warmed his heart to see the people he loved so happy.  Calum grew content with the fact that he was meant for platonic soulmates, already having found those in his best friends.

The fans never let the idea go that Calum was preparing for his soulmate though - citing his quitting smoking, and in general cleaning up his act as the source.  That was never consciously what Calum was doing though, rather just choosing to better himself for himself.  

It was a Tuesday when he first met her - the sky was clear and the moon full, the air was warm, and he was surrounded by his best friends as they shared stories from their past.  Why Michael had decided to have a party on a Tuesday, he’d never know; but he knew that he would one day need to thank the man. 

Andy had brought her along, saying how she was an old friend from his hometown who just moved to L.A. and had zero friends there other than him.  Maybe it would be Andy he’d need to thank - in all the years he’d been alive, he had never met someone so beautiful.  The night carried on in similar fashion to previous nights, most of them crashing in various rooms in Michael’s house rather than heading home.  She went home, though, without Calum being able to say goodbye, or get her number - she was gone.

For days thoughts of her clouded his mind; the sound of her voice, her laugh, how she danced with his friends as if she’d known them for years.  It tugged at his heart how well she fit in with them, and he wished he knew her well enough to invite her along to things they had plans for.

In a vague attempt to rid his mind of her, he thought he’d distract himself with the one thing that always seemed to cheer him up - dogs.  Duke enjoyed wandering the dog park, even if he didn’t interact much with other dogs, Calum was always there to toss a ball or two for his old baby. 

Pressing a kiss to the side of Duke’s head, he set him down onto the grass and took his leash in his hand, at least till they got away from the busy parking lot.  Letting him begin to sniff around, Calum’s eyes scanned around the park - it wasn’t a particular busy day for a Friday, they may be able to have a wider range for Duke to roam.

He froze, though, when he saw an oddly familiar face underneath a nearby tree - it was her.  This had to be some form of serendipity, right?  There was no way she knew he would be there, at that time, on that day, so maybe this was his chance.

Calum’s feet took over before he got much of a chance to overthink it, stopping when he and Duke reached a few feet away, “Hey, didn’t expect to see you here!” Oof, lame line.  He could’ve done better than that, truly.

She looked up, lifting the sunglasses off of her head as she met his eyes, a bright smile spreading across her lips, “Calum, hey! How are yo- Is this your dog?” Her eyes were wide as she looked at Duke, whose head was cocked to the side as his dad interacted with this woman he never met.

“It is, his name’s Duke.  He’s wary of people, so maybe just approach with caution.  It’s not his fault, he’s old and grumpy.  I feel as though he should be back at home readin’ the dailies.” Calum was rambling, and he knew it - but his comment made her laugh, so it counted as a win to him.

“Me too man, you have no idea,” She shook her head as she spoke to Duke, as if he could understand her.  She held out her hand and Calum waited with baited breath while his dog gave it a sniff, usually Duke would huff and walk away from the offending person - but after what felt like an eternity, Duke’s tail began to wag as he looked at her expectantly.

“That absolutely never happens,” Calum stated, stunned; and the responding smile that he got was brighter than the sun that was high in the sky that day.  “D’you wanna come toss a ball for ‘im?  He seems to like you,” While Calum had been deep in his own thoughts, Duke had taken to putting his front paws on her legs so she could have better access to behind his ears.

“Really? Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude on a quiet day at the dog park.”

“It seems as though if anything, we’re intruding on you,” Calum motioned to the tablet and pen beside her and she responded with a wave of her hand, standing up to dust off her pants.

“Thinkin’ bout it now, I was very likely sitting in dog pee, wasn’t I?” She pouted, continuing to brush off the back of her pants.  Gathering her things, she slid them into her bag before turning to the pair, “We ready boys?”

The rest of Calum’s afternoon was spent exchanging stories of their pasts, and how they came to be where they were today.  He found out that she was a graphic designer, working on animation as well, and she moved to L.A. because she was offered an amazing job she couldn’t turn down.  The more he learned about her, the more infatuated he became; and when his phone went off to remind him of a time slot they had at the studio.

If Calum didn’t act now, he knew he’d miss his chance - he could sense it deep down that the universe had given him the perfect opportunity and he couldn’t waste it.

“Hey, d’you have plans for tomorrow night?” Tomorrow night? What an incredible way to sound desperate.

“I don’t actually, I was supposed to go for coffee with Andy but something came up!” She grinned, adjusting the bag on her shoulder, “Why what’s up?”

“Would you want to go out tomorrow? On a date, maybe?” Calum swallowed thickly, running his fingers through his hair, avoiding any and all eye contact with her.

“I’d love to, actually.”

Calum’s heart soared, breaking into a toothy grin that brought out the crinkles by his eyes.  She said yes, and it wasn’t just him imagining things.  He tried to prevent his hands from shaking while they exchanged phones and phone numbers, the promise of the next day hanging from their lips when they departed.

***

Calum had been pacing through his house for the last hour, the anticipation leading him to sweat through the first shirt he had picked for the night.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so nervous for something, even crowds of people watching them perform.

He could be vulnerable, he could be himself, but what if she rejected him? What if he opened a door as an insight to himself, and once he did he couldn’t close it again?

The drive to her apartment was shorter than he would have liked.  Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have been left alone with his thoughts for too much longer or he may have backed out.

Calum wanted to be a gentleman, but the whole process of buzzing up to her apartment and her waiting at her door to be picked up seemed a little awkward - so instead he waited by the passenger side door of his car, a small bouquet of wildflowers in hand.  He almost started to pace again while he waited, but then his eyes landed on her.

Her silk, navy blue dress swayed as she walked towards him, tucking her keys and phone into her purse but her eyes never left Calum’s.  He couldn’t help to notice that the dress hugged her upper half in all the best ways, flaring out to stop just above her knees.

“Hi,” She breathed, standing up on her tippy toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. 

A spark radiated from Calum’s cheek, causing goosebumps to raise on his skin, “You look absolutely stunning,” he spoke softly, extending the flowers to her.  “These are for you.”

The expression on her face softened ever so slightly when she saw the flowers, a smile present on her lips while she thanked him with another kiss to his cheek.  Calum opened the car door for her, assuring she was in before rounding to the other side.

Conversation flowed easily between the two, and Calum’s cheeks were beginning to ache from the amount he was smiling- he genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he ached because he was so happy.  It continued well through dinner, her even offering up a forkful to him of her meal.

Once dinner was finished, Calum paid and escorted her again out to his car, grabbing the door even though she insisted she was fine before they headed to the second part of their date.  This part was met with confusion from her, a teasing smile quirking at her lips.

“Ah, I see.  The infamous Calum Hood shows a gal a good time, and then takes her out to the beach late at night to kill her, is it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

It wasn’t an entirely unfair assumption - the only light illuminating the road ahead was his own headlights, and those of the occasional car that would pass by.  She had guessed right about the beach, though, and Calum faked an incredulous gasp.

“How could you think I’m a murderer? I know we’ve been driving down a dark road for half an hour, but that’s irrelevant to the matter.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve sent Andy my location, in case you do choose to kill me.  At the very least he could come locate my body.” She was biting her tongue to keep from laughing, but ultimately failed and she squeezed Calum’s hand in an attempt to let him know she was kidding - but also possibly a poorly veiled attempt at wanting to hold his hand.

Thankfully, Calum took the hint and laced their fingers together, bringing their joined hands up to his lips, grazing against the back of hers.  He heard her breath stop, and he quickly glanced at her with a hint of a smile.

The rest of the drive was silent, only the faint sound of Louis Armstrong playing in the background.  The lights of their destination came into view, and Calum chewed on his lower lip while he tried to gauge her reaction.  It would be impossible to tell what it was just from a glance, but the smile that came across her face was enough for Calum.

While the sound of Louis Armstrong was now gone, the sounds of a vibrant jazz band filled her ears, and her smile went from soft to ear to ear within seconds.

“What is this, Cal?” She asked softly, reaching for his hand when he had met her at the front of the car. 

The first thought at the forefront of his mind was how he could get used to the feeling of her hand in his, but the next thought he had was that he should probably answer her question. “Well…” He began, tugging her hand gently so she could follow, “There’s this jazz band I’ve come across that plays here once a month and I love to come and watch them.  They’ve even let me play for them a handful of times.”

Her eyes scanned the people, wide with wonder as she did so.  She saw couples of all ages milling about, and much to her delight some were dancing.  You often heard about things like this, but she never could have dreamed that this beautiful man standing beside her would have taken her here.

“Wanna dance, doll?” Calum asked, looking down at her expectantly, giggling softly at how quickly her gaze snapped up to him.

He didn’t need to say anymore to her before he was dragged out to the ‘dance floor’, proceeding to sway and spin to the music.

After a few songs, they decided to take a break, sitting down at a table beside this elderly couple Calum appeared to know, excusing himself to go get you both a drink.

“You don’t see that often, do ya Ruby?” The man spoke up, clearly trying to the attention of his wife, as well as the young lady that sat beside them.

“What’s that darlin’?” The woman, Ruby, said to the man, leaning her chin onto her hand.

“Calum seems to have brought a special lady with him tonight.  Don’t think he’s ever done that before.”

Now he had her attention, turning her head to look at Ruby and her husband, chewing on her lip before she asked, “He hasn’t?”

The couple shook their head practically in unison, knowing smiles on their lips, “He must really care about you.”

It took her off guard when Calum came back, setting down waters for them.  Sipping it absentmindedly while their words echoed through her head.  If Calum truly had never brought anyone there before her, this place must have been special to him; and what lead him to want to bring her there? Her chest was warm with the implication that she, too, could be special to Calum in the same way this place was.

Not much longer later, they made their decision to leave.  She had been making her rounds, getting to know the regulars of the area, and them doing the same for her.  It didn’t take her very long to be invited back by the regulars, all of them kissing her and Calum’s cheeks before they finally departed.

Arriving back at her apartment, there was a sense of hesitation in the air, neither of them wanting their night to end.  It needed to though, if only to let the night continue on and they could venture into the future together.

“Walk me to my door?” She asked, glancing over at him with a hopeful expression in her eyes.

“It would be my pleasure,” He answered honestly, hopping out of the drivers side, quickly making his way to her side to offer his hand to her.

The nerves from earlier returned while they made the short trek upstairs to her apartment.  Calum knew before he reached the door that he wanted to kiss her, but the thought of it being the typical awkward first date kiss hurt his chest while it constricted in panic.

He could tell she was nervous too when he saw her fumble with her keys, and it made him breathe a little easier.  When they stopped in front of her door, she spun around to face him, stumbling back despite the lack of alcohol either of them drank that night.

“I had an amazing time,” She began, licking her lips when she finally met his eyes.  “I’d love to do it again sometime, if you’d like.”

“Trust me, I’d like nothing more.” Oh, so he was back to desperate, that’s good. 

“Good, good…” Her words died in her throat when Calum stepped closer to her, bringing his hand up to brush against her cheek.  Their eyes seemed to take turns glancing from their lips, back to each others eyes - a wordless request for a kiss.  It was just a matter of who would move first.

Calum couldn’t wait any longer, the anticipation enough to kill him, so he closed the gap, capturing her lips in the most breathtaking kiss she had ever received.  His lips were so gentle and soft against hers, and she couldn’t help but to tangled her fingers in the front of his shirt, desperate to have him closer.

A long moment later, they pulled apart, both slightly gasping for air and sharing breathless giggles.

“Alright, so I’ll talk to you later then?” Calum teased, his fingers still dancing along her waist, enjoying the feeling of the soft silk under his touch.

“You’d fucking better honestly.”

With that half threat, they shared one more kiss before she slipped inside, pressing her back against the door with her hand against her head.  The whole night had been a whirlwind, and it was difficult to believe that it was her real life - every series of events felt movie like, and it was the last thing she expected when she moved to the City of Angels.

Calum had begun the walk back to his car, waiting until he was fully inside before he rested his head against the steering wheel and laughing softly to himself.  He had never felt such a strong connection to anyone before, his heart was racing at the fact that maybe he had just met his soulmate.

Taking his phone out of his pocket for the first time that night, he noticed the group chat was blowing up with questions of his date, shaking his head before he sent a simple reply:

[9:54pm]: She’s perfect. I’m gonna marry her.

Once that was sent, he silenced his phone again and headed home, proceeding to write the same words down in his journal with a date, almost as a manifestation of his future.

***

Their relationship only blossomed from there - In ways they were completely inseparable, but both knew the times when to step back, letting one another have alone time, or time with their friends.

It made the boys so happy to see their best friend completely and totally in love, excited that he had met someone who matched him on different levels.  It was rare to see them argue, and when they did, it was resolved almost as quickly as an issue came up - it was almost then that everyone realized that the two really were meant to be together, knowing how much Calum despised conflict.

At the year and a half mark, Calum began to plan his proposal.  Their friends demanded to be in on it, but being in on it revealed the only thing he ever kept from his friends - the one thing that was just for them. 

In the end, it was worth showing them if it meant she said yes to him, and the promise of their future together was more set in stone.

When the day of the proposal finally arrived, Calum was a nervous wreck all day - he had to call Andy to help get her out of the house so he could panic in private.  Ashton showed up at one point in the day so someone could force him into the shower, so he’d be ready for the night.

Calum lost count of how many times he was told to relax by his friends via text, after his shower Ashton was long since gone, not wanting to be there when she got home in an attempt to not give away the surprise - as if him being there was anything out of the ordinary.

When she arrived back home, she got ready for their typical once a month Saturday night date, still seemingly unaware about what was in store for the night.  It put Calum at ease a little, to see her go through her routine of getting ready without the knowledge that he was going to ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

“Ready baby?” She asked softly, smoothing out her skirt, cocking her head to the side while she waited for an answer.

“Yeah, love, let’s go,” Calum smiled, lacing his fingers with hers as they headed out to their destination.

The familiar lights were a welcome sight to Calum, further easing his nerves for the night.  It helped knowing that everyone that was there loved them, and only wanting what was best for them.  When he wrapped his arm around her waist, she shivered slightly and curled into him.

“We gonna dance, angel?” Calum whispered, his lips lingering near her ear, leading her to the dance floor regardless.  His eyes scanned the room, not giving her much time to look around before he pulled her close to him.  

Over her head, he saw Luke getting into position behind the mic, smiling at Calum. ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me’ by Louis Armstrong began to play, Calum continuing to move her to the music with him until Luke began singing.

‘Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me…’

The moment she recognized the familiar voice, she spun around, a bright smile on her face.  She started to suspect something was up, especially considering that at any given chance, Calum would never be able to turn down playing with his best friends.  He wrapped his arms around her from behind, swaying from side to side as she watched the boys play the song. 

As it came to an end, Calum felt her take a deep breath before turning to face him, suspecting what was about to happen.

Calum took his arms from around her, rubbing his hands on his pants to wipe the sweat that was forming, taking the small box from his pocket.  “I know you can kind of guess what I’m about to say, you’re too smart for your own good - but at least I managed to keep this a surprise this far.  Anyways… Before I met you, I wasn’t quite sure that a soulmate existed out there for me.  I watched my friends pair off and meet their amazing significant others, leaving just me usually.  But then you came, and my world turned upside down.  I didn’t know what to do with myself, but I knew I had to be near you.  You simultaneously stole the air from my lungs, but breathed a new life into me I didn’t know I was capable of. I’ve become a better man because of you, and for you. So, I need to ask…” He finally got down on one knee, opening the ring box with tears in his eyes, “Will you marry me?”

She couldn’t contain the tears streaming down her cheeks any longer, nodding fervently as she dipped down to his level to kiss him, nearly knocking him over, “A million times yes. In every universe, in every lifetime, yes.”

She hadn’t realized that all their close friends and family were there, and it caused more tears to flow when she saw them.  Never in her life had she felt more loved, and it was all thanks to the beautiful boy who brought her to a jazz bar on the beach.

Despite having a lot of friends and family, they kept their wedding small.  They wanted it to be intimate and sweet, and everything about it spoke to who they were as people, and it represented their relationship perfectly.  Growing up, she never had brothers, but as she swayed with Michael to the song playing, she couldn’t resist the urge to rest her head on his shoulder and tell him how they’re all the brothers she’s always wanted.

Later in the night, the newly wedded couple decided to exchange gifts.  Hers was a set of shadow boxes, with pressed and dried flowers from their first date that she had kept for the now almost three years.  His gift to her was a simple frame, but in it was the paper he wrote after their first date.

“Baby, this isn’t the day of our first date.”

“You’re absolutely right, my love, it’s the day I realized I wanted to marry you.”

tag list: @cals-wildflower​ @talkfastromance4​ @softbabiestan​ @roseycal​ @calum-uncrowned​ @boyfriend-cal​ @wildflowerirwin​ @irwindoll​ @gosh-im-short​ @atlcalm​ @thesubtweeter​ @heavenisapeach​ @ridingcthood​ @loveroflrh​ @wokeupinjapanisabop​

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 32 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 31 here. Part 33 here.

Summary:  Does anyone want to be here? Seriously.

Words: 4800

Warnings: tw: EXTREMELY DUBIOUS CONSENT for the first half of the chapter

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: This took some time to write, despite its length, so I really, really hope y'all enjoyed it, and I hope it achieved what I was hoping to achieve.

Big big thanks to @pnw-escapism, @thetorturerwrites, and @faestae for looking it over and providing guidance/corrections. I love y'all very very much.

I also love YOU. And I also hope you are enjoying this fic. I enjoy trying new things and challenging myself, so I hope the results are worth it. Y'all truly bless me every week. Thanks so very much, and stay safe. <3

In less than fifteen minutes, Kylo Ren was going to fuck you.

At the thirty-minute mark, your pulse pounded when you tied up your hair, recalling the last time he’d taken it down, wondering how you would feel once it was over.

At sunrise, you’d woken to the chirping chorus of birds in the garden, their song stirring in your mind as you dressed, as you shambled down the stairs, counting steps like you prepared to count seconds.

Yesterday, in bed, you imagined the painful stretch of his dick, the apathy in his eyes, the solemn sentence of your existence--not a woman to him, or even a person, but a receptacle for his seed.

And now, in less than fifteen-fucking-minutes, you would lie back in Johana’s lap, hold her little hands, spread your naked legs, and Kylo Ren would fuck you.

The sound of his voice permeated the thick air of the den, filtering through your ears like mud, mind already too murky to process it. From your knees, you could spy the shadows of his boots and Johana’s feet. Between them, the fireplace was barren--you wished for flame, for something else you could blame for your damp hairline.  

Whatever reading he was performing dissipated while you focused on your breath, the slow, leaky sound of your trembling lungs grounding you to reality. In any other reality, in any other universe, you would spread your legs for Kylo Ren without him having to ask--but in this one, you were his former lover, his future incubator, his present cum repository. What you had shared with him was indescribable and unsustainable, it had shredded you open from your spirit to your skin, it had left you floating, a spectre to your own existence--and it made you terrified for him to touch you again.

The snap of a shutting Bible jolted you alive. You swallowed, and Kylo stood, leaving the book on the chair.

“Go prepare. I’ll be in.” His voice was emptier than you’d ever heard it.

“Yes, Sir,” Johana replied, and he left, crossing the room and exiting without a word.

On her instruction, the Marthas departed, and you followed her just as you’d done twice before--across hardwood, up the staircase, through the dark halls and into the bedroom. In the two days since she’d stolen your switchblade, you hadn’t spoken a single word to Johana, partially out of fear, partially out of anger. Your meeting with Rey had been embarrassing--you’d almost begged her to take you off of the assignment, to let you escape and forget about everything you’d promised to provide.

But you doubted Kylo would let you go, regardless of his current demeanor. And you’d also come to a reluctant, painful realization that you were the only person on the planet with enough insight on him to help bring Gilead down.

The thought of his future torment was a skewer to your heart--you were breathless at the mere consideration of him suffering, when all you’d ever desired was to hold his hand as his equal. But perhaps that was what he’d meant when he’d said he’d had no choice. There was no choice but to drive that skewer through your chest. After all, this wound would be like so many other wounds you’d accumulated since you’d been assigned to a red dress--it would continue to weep, drench your flesh in iron agony until it could scar. Until you were finally free.

“We don’t have all day.”

Johana’s voice yanked you back into his bedroom. She’d already lit the candles and was sitting, hands open, in the middle of the bed. Your stomach squirmed again--but you stepped to the side of the frame and slipped out of your underwear before clambering to join her, scooting to the edge of the mattress. Staring into the ceiling, you plopped your head onto her stomach and eased your knees apart, stiff fabric scratching your bare thighs, and when she grasped your hands, you started trembling.

Your first ceremony with Kylo Ren had been before you’d known him, before he’d known you. Now you’d lie under him and pretend that you had never seen devotion in his eyes, or felt affection at his fingers.

“What are you nervous about?” she mumbled. “This is nothing new for you.”

You didn't respond, worried that if you opened your mouth, you'd tether yourself to a moment that you wanted to fly away.

The door opened, and your stomach fell through the floor, smacked the foundation. Commander Kylo Ren stepped through the threshold, silent while he shut the door and approached the bed. Your heart hammered your chest, throat thick, breath picking up in pace, and through the veil of fear, you met Kylo’s gaze, the electric surge between you stuttering your pulse.

He studied your face, his jaw tight, a flicker of shielded connection vanishing in his pupils. You stared, chin quaking, seeking his mercy, met only with vacant, deadened consideration, an absence of recognition--it was as if he wasn’t even there. Behind you, Johana crushed your hands, a reminder of your inferiority, and you whimpered. You were a hummingbird, flitting between two lifeless flowers, starving for sustenance they could no longer provide, exhausted wings beating pleas into the cold, hollow air.

As he lifted your skirt, you disappeared into your mind, hoping to dissociate until he was done.  An ache tore open your gut, a longing for him to be someone, anyone else--anyone who hadn’t held you, anyone who hadn’t kissed you, anyone who hadn’t ever spoken your name. And especially not this man, the one who had driven you to delusion, who haunted you, a revered revenant of your desires both pure and depraved.

In the distance, you heard Johana sigh, and then the muffled sound of him groping himself through his trousers. The world had become a turbulent torrent around you--all you wanted to do was drift. Or drown, flooded in memories you wished you didn't have.

Johana jerked your arms back in a vice-grip--you flinched, glancing up at her, only to observe that her focus had fallen to your Commander, who had exposed his erection, his cock thick and hard in his hand. He worked himself in preparation, as if he wanted to ignore you, as if the acknowledgement of your presence interfered with his task. Your pulse picked up, and another shudder rippled through you when he stepped forward, avoiding the pressure of your stare that you knew he felt.

You wondered, briefly, if he’d thought about stopping--if he knew you didn’t want this, didn’t want to be fucked like this, and especially not by him. You also wondered if he knew that it wasn’t because you hated him, or because you didn’t want him, but for just the opposite--and to meet him in faux-intimacy, to be branded with recollections of what you would never have and had been stupid to crave seemed worse than wallowing in nothing at all.

It didn’t matter, really, if he had--between the Eyes and Johana, he was duty-bound to fuck you and pump you full of semen--but as he parted your folds with the head of his dick, his eye twitched, his throat bobbed.

The pain was sharp and sun-white, and you whinged, wincing as your Commander broke your pussy open with a long, slow thrust, his breath caught in his chest. Chin trembling, he exhaled, tearing his attention from between your legs to meet your eyes. But it brought no relief--instead of solace, you found nothing. Nothing but a resigned, black void, swallowing familiarity. You snuffed a wheeze, sweat blooming at your nape.

Johana cleared her throat, jostling the bed with her calves, and Kylo started thrusting in lustless, obligated strokes. The tension, the resistance made it worse--you bit your lip, absorbing the hurt, unable to leave his gaze. With every new thrust, he split you wider, nerve endings buzzing in protest, the pain subsiding as your walls worked to accept the intrusion. In this fervorless reunion, you could focus on nothing else but the ice of his stare, the squelching sound of his cock, and Johana’s quiet, restrained breath.

Regret swelled in your chest, suffocating you. You wished it hadn’t had to end like this, wished he could have seen you as whole, wished he could have known you as you were, wished that he’d had the opportunity to truly cherish you--and maybe, to your horror, even more. Maybe, in some other world where he wasn’t possessed by power, he could have freed you.

Maybe, in this same, fictional world, he could have even loved you.

Water welled in your vision, and you sniffled, averting your gaze, hoping Kylo wouldn't see your tears. But it was too late--he grunted, and his hips jerked, moving faster, skin smacking yours in a shockwave of suffering. Whining, you caught his eyes again, and now they were whirlpools, churning with loathing and fury and sorrow. It thawed you, the intensity, the company in your misery--your Commander, still your reflection, as desperate as you were to leave this moment, to end the dagger reminders of your history.

That was the truth: you missed him. And he missed you. But you could never have each other in any way other than this.

Seized in the hurricane of emotion, Kylo’s lid twitched, and he gulped. He was close, you could tell, but stuck on the edge, unable to reach his peak, fucking you deeper, forcing himself toward climax. A tiny gasp left him when he shifted, leaning back to watch his dick drive into you--but your lack of enthusiasm, the dry spasm of your cunt dashed this strategy, too, and his chin quaked, eyes darting to you again, the whirlpool now a maelstrom threatening to gush from his flesh, and you wanted it to, wanted to asphyxiate in his anguish, wanted to meld with his need until the hot awful ache in your chest bubbled and burst and bled you alive.

Johana growled. “Will you hurry up and finish, already?”

You splintered, a sob escaping--it was unfair, so, so fucking unfair--and tears spilled down your cheeks as you trembled in her grasp, shuddered wails fleeing your chest. She seethed, and Kylo choked a groan as he shivered, slamming your cunt once, twice, with deep, full thrusts, teeth bared. And then he collapsed, back crested, bracing himself on the bed, panting with something you might have confused for exhaustion if you didn't know the truth, despite his theatrics. He hadn’t actually finished.

Avoiding your face, he pulled out, a blessing to your sore sex, and tucked himself away. Johana sighed with impatience, but he ignored her, glancing at you with glossy eyes before storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

With a snivel, you met Johana’s gaze through the watery cloud of your own. If she hadn’t stolen the switchblade--if she hadn’t been so damn blind...

The latent pool of pain within you boiled like lava to sudden rage. Snarling, you ripped yourself forward, and she yanked you back, legs curling around you.

“What are you doing,” you hissed, “let me go!”

“If you think I’ll let you screw up getting pregnant--”

Grumbling, you twisted in her grip, wringing free. “I don’t care about that!”

She snagged your wrist, reeling you toward her. “Well, I do!”

“Get off!” You shoved her back, catching her eyes, spying the pricks of wetness there. “Is this really what you wanted? This is what you dreamed of?” Sneering, you leapt to the ground, wobbling from the ache in your cunt before snatching your underwear and pulling it on. “This is the life you imagined as a little girl?”

Johana watched you, silent, face contorted in a strange mixture of terror and disbelief. You rolled your eyes. There was no point in trying to reason with someone who was dedicated to dragging you into her own personal hell. Scowling, you took to the nightstands, ripping out the drawers--empty, empty, empty. Only one was occupied by the Bible, which you opened and shook for good measure, but found nothing. Growling, you turned to the dressers, stalking over to them.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said. “The knife isn’t in here. I don’t even sleep here anymore.”

You spun on her. “Why hide it at all?” Quick steps carried you to the bed. “Why are you doing this?”

She glared at you. “Why are you doing this?”

Blinking, you stalled. “What?”

“Is having the Commander wrapped around your finger not enough for you?” she said. “Do you have to try and--and take Gilead, take my child from me, too?”

“Your child--”

“Yes, my child!” She straightened, hopping from the bed. “I’m owed it! I deserve it!” More tears brimmed in her eyes. “And it deserves even a shred of stability when it comes into this world!”

A short laugh left you. “Is that really what you want?” you asked. “To raise a baby that isn’t even yours with a man who doesn’t even love you?”

“That’s what God wants for me!” she snarled. “It’s my job as the Commander’s Wife to stand by him, and once you give birth, I don’t care what I have to do. It’ll be your job to leave.” She was feet from you now, face tight. “Whether he loves me or not doesn’t even matter.”

You allowed her sentence to hang in the air, collect the weight of hopelessness like a magnet.

“Doesn’t it?”

She stared. There was a level of fantasy to her indignation, her ego clinging to the belief that once you were gone, this could all go back to normal, that all she needed to do was endure this new bout of her husband’s madness, as she’d endured everything else. A nagging thought lingered in the back of your mind--there’d been others who’d threatened this fairytale. You couldn’t figure out why she was putting up with you.

“I know there were Handmaids,” you said. “Before me. Why haven’t you, you know.” You shrugged. “Done with me like you’ve done with them.”

Johana stuck her chin out as she glanced over you, cheeks pink--then looked away. “It doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat, smoothed her hair, and stomped to the door. “Just. Get pregnant. That’s all that matters.” Slipping behind it, she was gone.

Alone in their bedroom, you stared into the ground, shaking, and you kicked the air with a furious shriek, forcing tension through your hands. Your mind was still roiling--Kylo’s behavior during the Ceremony had confused, baffled you. There was only one important part of the entire ordeal, only one true reason for your purpose--and in the face of your pain, he’d abandoned it completely.

Sighing, you crept through the threshold, deciding to return to your room. As you passed through the blue-night soaked halls, through the wide windows overlooking the garden, you heard it--a tormented roar, the crash and shatter of something on stone--and your chest tightened. It could only be your Commander. And he could only be that upset about you.

Your ribs wrenched open with shameless need--a need you could and would no longer deny. In the strangled air of the bedroom, pretense had collapsed; you had needed him to see you, not a Handmaid, not his property, but you, human and broken and afraid. And he’d met you there, human too, a lonely Midas on his throne, buried within a mountain of glittering, lifeless gold. Like a gust, your feet carried you down the steps and through the house, careening toward the garden.

Breathless, you threw open the back door, flying over stepping stones, your path littered with the colorful carcasses of his wrath. You followed the shredded hedges, the flower petals tossed like confetti over grass, guided by his echoing ragged breath, hidden beyond the trickling pond. Skipping past the bench, you snuck between the topiaries, dodging shards of ceramic--remnants of planters that he’d shattered on the ground, leaving mulch hills and mangled leaves behind. And then, breaking through the viney maze, you saw him: a terrible, heaving shadow, stranded in a sea of black emerald grass.

He heard you, a ghost in the wind, and turned--hips-chest-shoulders--appraising his demolished domain, and then his eyes, red with remorse, found you in the wreckage, awash with him in the receding tide of reality. God, Gilead, the Council, the Ceremony--all of them equally meaningless in the new, blistering dew of your shared liberty, all of them crumbling like a brittle nest under the gravity of your need.

Kylo cut through the lawn, rushing you, and before you could think or speak or breathe, he was on you, one arm buckling your knees, the other catching your shoulders as he swept you up to his chest. Air escaped you, and you stared into him and his galaxy gaze, his hair melting into the moonless sky--a deity descended, your secret salvation. He clutched you to his chest, as if he could collapse you into it, nuzzling his face into yours, breathing in the scent of your skin.

You went to speak, and he hushed you, drawing a deep breath into his lungs, his fingers curling into your flesh. He held you there, cradling you under the stars, until you relaxed, releasing the breath you hadn’t even known you’d been holding. Then, without words, he walked with you, keeping you tight to his torso, sheltering you in the strength of his body. Trembling, you nestled into him, pressing your ear to his breast, reveling in the resonance of his nervous heart.

Kylo Ren carried you through his home, ascended the stairs, took you through those blue-night halls again, never once loosening his grip until he opened the door to his bedroom and shut and locked it behind him. He took you to the bed, a faux-bride in a blood-red dress, and eased you down, your head sinking into the pillow, your body limp on the mattress.

Strange, how different it felt from moments ago, how it was now a refuge in his presence, rather than a prison. Your shaking wouldn’t stop--it had escalated to full-body tremors, and he shushed you, cupping your face in his large palm, lifting your bonnet from your hair and tossing it to the side. Kylo captured you in his shiny, wet gaze, pressing his lips to your forehead before meeting it with his own.

“I don’t want you in this,” he said, tugging at your dress. “I don’t want you in this ever again.”

Blinking, you exhaled a laugh of disbelief. “What?” you asked. “But the law--”

“I don’t care.” His hand quaked at your cheek. “Let me remedy this.”

“Oh…” Your blood sang. “Okay.”

Keeping his forehead to yours, Kylo grappled with your boots and socks, tearing them free and tossing them to the side, then lifted your skirt, peeling your dress from your figure, staying linked to you until you needed to raise your arms to remove the rest. His face burrowed into your naked neck, and his hands swathed your back while he worked to remove your bra, sliding the straps from your shoulders and discarding it, too. Your breasts exposed, new gooseflesh smothered you, this time borne of wonder. Breath shallow, he hooked his thumbs into your underwear, meeting your eyes for permission--you nodded, and he shucked them in a single, strong movement.

Fully naked below him, he drank you in, his gaze glossy again, but he swallowed the emotion, passing his thumb over your temple. Then he paused, glanced at the floor, before kicking off his own shoes and stripping himself, his clothes joining the pile he’d created at the side of the bed.

He was flush with fire that swarmed the air as he climbed over you, the sensation of flesh-on-flesh wracking your bones. Shushing you again, he threaded his fingers into your hair, pressing soft kisses along your cheek, trailing to your jaw before he nestled into your neck once more, an arm looping under you, pulling you into him. Heat blossomed, blazing between your bodies as skin skimmed skin, and you writhed, wrapping your arms around him.

“Tell me,” Kylo began, his voice a whisp in your ear, “tell me everything.”

A shiver skittered up your spine. “About what?”

He mouthed wet, warm kisses at your throat. “You.”

“Like…” You blushed, thighs grating together. “Like, where I was born?”

“No.”

Nipping your ear, he moved lower, hands skating over you, painting pleasure with his palms. He suckled at your clavicle, tracing a line to your sternum with his tongue--you whimpered.

“Tell me what you fear.”

Gripping your backside, he burned kisses between your breasts, briefly acknowledging them with a nuzzle before continuing--his mouth was tender and deliberate, as if you were gossamer, as if you would tear under his touch.

“Tell me what you’ve lost.”

With a hum, he kissed over the roll of your belly, to the swell of your sex, settling between your legs and gracing your thighs with his lips. You squirmed, chattering with need, rocked by the ripples of pleasure arcing through your nerves.

“Tell me what you think of before you sleep.”

His nose skated your folds--and in one swift action, he grappled your hips, spinning you and rolling until he was supine beneath you, your legs straddling his head. You balanced yourself with the headboard, trying to find steady breath while you dizzied at the sight of your Commander’s beautiful face below you, a demon preparing for baptism between your thighs.

“Kylo--”

He murmured your name to quiet you, kissing the quivering flesh near your heat, your walls throbbing in anticipation. Kylo was slow, dragging over every inch while he teased toward your knees, then back, his hands caressing your hips. His eyes met yours, brimming with adoration, and he licked a line across your cunt, mouth massaging your other thigh. Breath quaking, you sifted through his hair, head falling back as you allowed your lids to flutter shut.

“Tell me,” he said, and pressed his lips to you.

A soft cry escaped, and you swallowed--Kylo was scattering small kisses along your slit, as if to heal the intangible wounds he’d left behind. He slicked through you, tentative, curious, exploring your depth, groaning with delight as he tasted you. To your surprise, words tumbled free, an easy baring of your soul, loosened by the barrage of bliss on your brain.

“I’m afraid…” You whined when he sucked a fold into his mouth. “I’m afraid of being alone.”

He purred in praise, releasing you to gather the other half with his lips, suckling it swollen, his tongue wet and strong as it slipped into your slit. There was a deliberate avoidance of your clit--which twitched and stiffened in ways it would only do for him--his mouth marking you in memory as he kissed you not in desire, but in apology. In servitude.

“I’m afraid of being lost,” you said, and another round of tears threatened to fall. “I think I am lost.”

Licking lines through you, Kylo purred when he reached the top of your cunt, circling your clit with lavish, lingering kisses. You groaned, fingers coiling around his waves, your hips bucking, begging for him, for his release. But he was torturous--he drew his tongue between your slit until his nose grazed your clit, sparking pleasure, a moan catching in your throat. Humming, he rolled the tip around it, and air fled you in wanton breaths while you tried in vain to grind onto his face, fighting his hold on you.

“I’ve… I’ve lost who I was.” Your throat was tight, your breath cycling faster. “I’ve lost who I wanted to be…”

Finally, finally--he rewarded your patience and flicked your clit with his tongue, swirling it in saliva before taking it between his plush lips. You sobbed, tears spilling free, body thrashed with waves of ecstasy, and Kylo moaned into you, his mouth hot and soft and working your clit as it throbbed and ached against him. Laving at you, he sucked, hands stroking up your sides until he reached your breasts, palming at them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your back arched in bliss, and you jerked his head into you--in response, he battered your nub with his tongue, suckling you faster, chasing your wriggling frame as you gyrated in rhythm, your chin dropping to your chest, body plunged in pleasure.

“And I--ah--I think of you before I sleep,” you panted, unashamed, creeks streaking your cheeks, “I think of belonging, I think of being found, I think of being yours--oh--”

Kylo gripped your hips. “Cum for me,” he muttered, breathing your name. “I’ll find you.”

He drove his face into your cunt, sucking your clit past his teeth, beating it faster, groaning, bathing in your slick. You whined, twitched, moaned, and euphoria exploded over your skin--you came hard onto his tongue, clit pulsing in his lips, walls spasming at his chin. Kylo sucked in a breath through his nose, swallowing your orgasm, following your descent until the tingles disintegrated and you collapsed, spent, onto the bed, sweat sticking to the sheets, still shivering with tears.

A guardian, he gathered you up, pulling you into his protective embrace, a strong arm enveloping you. He folded you to his frame while he pet your hair, his lips soothing at your scalp.

“You’re here,” he murmured against your hairline. “You belong.”

You knew, from the soft lilt of his voice, he meant with him, not to him. In the silence, you wept, nuzzling into his bare chest, snaking your legs between his, hoping to blend your bodies. Doubt and relief zipped through you--this was all you’d wanted, perhaps all you’d ever want. His defiance and rejection of your role was concession enough for your forgiveness. But he was still a Commander. You couldn’t understand why he’d do it all for a Handmaid. For you.

“What about the others?” you asked. “Before me? Did they…”

He huffed. “The others sought me as you did.” A pause as a tiny exhale left his nose. “None were like you.”

You blushed. “But don’t you care,” you said with a sniffle, “about. You know. What made me this way?” When he didn’t respond, you continued, “Um. Like what made me a Handmaid.”

“I read your file,” he replied. “The day after you crushed a flower in my face.” He kissed your crown. “I’ve known.”

“Oh.” Heat swept over you. “You don’t care?”

He eased you back, gazing into you, thumb swiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Any man before me is inconsequential,” he said. “The number moreso.”

More heat. Shame. “I just thought…” You couldn’t continue looking into his honest eyes. “You helped make the laws.”

Kylo was silent, for a moment, his chest rising and falling with a slow breath. “There are laws I did not create.”

The admission flipped your insides, mind rushing back--Snoke’s office, his mockery of Kylo’s doubts, the recording, Ben Solo--you snuggled closer, smoothing your palms over his scarred skin. There were more scars, scars that you couldn’t see, but wanted to know and understand.

“What made you this way?” you asked. “Who was Ben Solo?”

Kylo Ren said nothing for a long, strained stretch, his heart quickening at your cheek. You stared into the wall, unwilling to move, to shatter the fragile vulnerability that he’d revealed. Then he tilted your head, large hand grasping the back of your neck while he pulled you into a slow, gentle kiss, lips caressing yours, his arm pinning you to his side. As he kissed you, he maneuvered you both so you were under the sheets, hidden to the world. He released you, only to graze your mouth again before passing his nose over yours.

“Tomorrow.” His irises shimmered, molten gold alive with passion. “You’ll see.”

Your pulse jumped. “O-okay.”

From the corner of your eye, you spied a proud tent in the sheets, bobbing for attention--you hadn’t even realized how long he’d been this hard. You knew he’d been denied release, that you hadn’t made him cum in weeks (though you didn’t know his private activities), and to have the opportunity now, in this bath of intimacy, was almost irresistible. Biting your lip, you reached for it, but he grabbed your wrist.

“Tomorrow, eager little bird.” He wove his long, thick fingers between yours, his grip dwarfing your own with ease, and clutched your hand to his chest. “Lie with me. Sleep.”

Nodding, you wiggled your fingers in his, your heart dancing, cells crackling with joy. Tomorrow. You didn’t know what it would bring, or the path for your future--but you knew, for now, the path to freedom seemed like one you could walk together. For now, the Resistance could wait. For now, Kylo Ren was warmer than a hearth, deeper than a forest, calmer than an empty ocean.

He was everything--both your night sky and your stars. And you fell asleep, serene, in the vastness of his arms.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Royal We ch.2 (baon)

Summary: Family helps family. Sometimes right into the path of an oncoming car.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it here!

Note:  Just remember as you're reading this that all endings are eventually happy ones in 'By Any Other Name'!

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One of the first things Red set up for the newly created security department in New New Home was a phone tree for calling out in case of an emergency. The first contact called their contacts, those contacts called theirs, and so on. Slightly archaic, perhaps, but Red had his reasons, bluntly explained, “if you actually talk to ‘em, you know they got the message and it don’t get jumbled up in a buncha chat replies. no one ever has ta call more’n three people, so it don’t take long and we got a better idea of whose gonna show up.”

In this case, it worked perfectly. It hardly took more than a couple of minutes for Edge to call his contacts and within ten, Monsters were already showing up at the house.

Edge spread out a map of New New Home on the hood of his car, using a felt-tipped pen to mark off grids. Next to it was a picture of Jude taken from their own refrigerator, proudly holding up the lumpy volcano he made one weekend in one of Stretch’s impromptu science classes. So young, only six years old, still an infant when they came to the surface; he would have no memories of living underground, nothing but his entire life on the surface to look forward to.

He glanced back at the porch where Stretch was sitting with Janice, talking to her in a low, soothing murmur, her other son sitting at their feet. She’d tried to rush off again to search, but in her panicked state, Edge was more concerned that she’d end up hurting herself than finding her son. He didn’t know what Stretch told her that convinced her to stay, but then, Stretch was always good at finding the right thing to say. If she couldn’t be coaxed to sit inside, then the porch was a reasonable alternative.

The Dog family was unsurprisingly the first to arrive, their oversized SUV pulling up next to the curb. Their protective nature towards children extended far beyond their own and every member of their family was present, even the youngest pup tucked sleeping into a carrier strapped to Dogamy’s back.

Without a word, Edge held up a small jacket, one of Jude’s, brought to them by his older brother, Oscar. If he weren’t already heavily invested in finding this child, Oscar’s expression would have cemented it, his fears hidden beneath brave determination to help protect his little brother in any way he could. It stirred old memories, ones that Edge rudely shoved away as the Dogs passed the jacket around, each of them sniffing intently.

“Dogamy, you and Dogaressa start in grid one,” Edge ordered, tapping the square on the map with a gloved fingertip. “That’s the last place he was seen, see if you can pick up a scent. Greater Dog and Doggo, grid two. If you find anything, call my cell phone before you come back, all right?”

“Got it,” Dogamy growled out. His wife nodded and the two of them loped off, their kin at their heels even as more cars began arriving, other Monsters walking up to get their own search grid.

Not long after, Undyne pulled up and came to a screeching stop at the curb, struggling to get from behind the wheel of her jeep. For most of her pregnancy, she’d hardly showed, but in the past couple weeks, she’d…blossomed, was the word Alphys used, her eyes glowing with adoration behind the lenses of her glasses. Privately, Edge thought ballooned might be more fitting considering the waddle she’d recently gained as she made her way towards him.

“Whatcha got left,” Undyne pushed in next to him to examine the map. With her belly leading the way, she very nearly bounced him into the yard.

Edge recovered and returned, leaning back in. “There’s a few grids left,” Edge said. He pointed out a sector. “We started closest to where he was last seen and spiraled out.”

“Good plan,” Undyne murmured.

“If you’re thinking of taking a grid for yourself, I’d like to invite you to think again.” Edge let his gaze drop meaningfully to her swollen belly. Her t-shirt could no longer contain it and from beneath the hem an expanse of taut, deep blue skin was peeking out, paler stretch marks striping along the sides, battle scars, according to her and Edge did not doubt it.

She graced him with a shameless, needle-sharp grin and gave her exposed belly a scratch, “Like you could stop me? Nah, Al already gave me a fin-full, I’m here for support purposes only.” She leaned in again, bracing a clawed hand on the hood as she studied the marked off grids with a nod, “Looks like you’ve got it mostly covered, anyway. Kid couldn’t have gotten too far, Dogs’ll sniff him out.”

Edge glanced up at the porch again where Janice was sitting, holding a coffee mug in clenched hands. Next to her on the table was a pile of crumpled tissues, the box close by. His competent assistant was nowhere in sight, lost in her worries for her son. Edge pitched his voice low as he said, “Let’s hope so.”

At that moment, there came a burst of sound from behind them reminiscent of the false flatulence from San’s whoopy cushion. To Edge, it was annoyingly familiar, the sound of his brother’s teleportation caused by the displaced air. Stretch’s sounded more like the sharp pop from a bubble of chewing gum, and Edge did not assume that the shortcutters in their family had control of the sound it made past the fact that it made sound at all, but he couldn’t help noting sourly that it suited their personalities nonetheless.

Undyne was less accustomed to having short skeletons popping in and out around her, and she jumped, her unsteady balance almost sending her sprawling on the car hood as she swore, “Fuck me, Red, give a little warning!”

Red snorted loudly, “ya look like someone beat me to it.”

He ignored her renewed curses, crawling up on the bumper to get a view of the map, sneakers squeaking against the fiberglass while Edge grit his teeth. He still hadn’t forgiven Red for his earlier cruelty, but this wasn’t the time. “Where is Sans?”

Red shrugged, his eye lights intent on the map, “checking a few things.”

Casually said and Edge left it at that. As this world’s Judge, Sans might have some insight into possible scenarios, he always knew more than he should. Like his brother. Like Stretch.

Edge knew little about Judging, by design. He hadn’t even known his brother was one until he became Captain of the Guard and it was Asgore who advised him of what it might entail, a discussion best forgotten. Stretch never brought it up, even on the very rare occasions when he spoke of Chara. It was easy to forget the unpleasant role he was forced to play in his own world.

“this area here is clear,” Red tapped a finger on grid seven, the one near the school. Edge didn’t question him, only crossed out the square and a low, distant howl made them all look up to see Dogaressa loping towards them, her long pink tongue lolling out as she ran.

“Report,” Edge said crisply even as she panted, catching her breath.

*Scent was strong, leaving his yard, went two streets, south,* she pointed at the map and Edge circled where she indicated. *then gone.*

“Gone? How could it be gone?” Edge demanded.

Dogaressa shook her head sadly, *Bike, car, vehicle of some sort, maybe. Not enough trace to follow. We’ll keep scouting, see if we can’t pick up the trail again.*

“Thank you,” Edge said, heavily. He chose not to look at Janice; seeing the crumbling hope on her face wouldn’t help find her son any faster.

Dogaressa nodded and loped off again.

Red hopped down from the bumper. “gonna head off, too, bro, got some cameras i can check, see if we can get a bead on him.” He reached up and pointed with a sharp-tipped finger. “get someone out to grid eight.”

“That’s very far for him to have traveled.”

“not with a bike or somethin’ and there’s a kinda treehouse out there that the kiddos use.” Red lowered his voice, “if it was a car, we got other problems than a simple lost kid.”

“I know,” Edge murmured. He spared a glance at Undyne who was listening silently with her hands folded over her belly. Her expression was a thundercloud; none of them wanted to voice their suspicions aloud. Much as he wished otherwise, Monsters were not exempt from criminals in their ranks, even where children were concerned. That was one of the few areas that Edge left in the control of others. He couldn’t trust himself to face anyone who would deliberately hurt a child, his soul burned even to consider it, a coal set inside his ribcage as he struggled to rid himself of the very thought. Janice needed his cool competence, not undefined rage at someone who might very well not exist.

Next to him, Undyne visibly struggled with her own anger, cradling her belly in both hands. “Go see if you can figure out what happened to the kid, Red,” she said low, “we’re depending on you, boss.”

Red grimaced, teeth gnashing, “don’t go giving me titles now, i’m more the take-ya-to-my-leader type.” He stepped back, vanishing into the void.

There was nothing to do but continue the search until Red reported back. Edge returned to the map, considering who to send to the next grid when a tug at his elbow made him jerk, very nearly lashing out. He stifled the reaction back, forcibly tamping down the agitated LV in his soul; his frustrations and anger were not serving him well here, blast it all.

At his side, Oscar looked up at Edge without the slightest clue to his inner turmoil. He was entirely too invested in his own, twisting his hands together with bright tears glimmering his eyes. Edge crouched down, close to his height, and asked with as much gentleness as he could muster, “Oscar? What is it?”

The child mumbled something too low to be heard.

Edge glanced at Undyne and handed over the pen in a silent ask for her to take over. She nodded, already grabbing her phone, as Edge said, coaxingly, “It’s all right, Oscar, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“It’s my fault,” Oscar said, low. The tears standing out in his eyes finally shed, dripping down to wet the short fur on his face. “It’s all my fault.”

Edge exhaled slowly. “How is it your fault?”

“I yelled at him,” Oscar burst out, his voice breaking on a sob, “We were tryin’ to set up a fort and he kept knocking things over, ‘n getting in the way. I yelled at him to go away and now—”

Of course. Children were alike no matter where they were from, it seemed, so often taking on a disproportional amount of blame that no one expected them to carry. Edge slid a careful arm around his quivering shoulders and gave him a gentle little shake, “Oscar, I need you to listen to me. Are you listening?”

He nodded, sopping at his wet face with his sleeve.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is--!”

“No,” Edge said firmly. “Sometimes brothers fight, sometimes they say things they don’t mean.”

That caught Oscar’s attention. He frowned, reluctantly intrigued, or perhaps hopeful to think an adult like Edge still squabbled with his brother. “You and your brother fight?”

“Constantly,” Edge said dryly, “and as recently as today. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love him or that I wish any hurt on him. It doesn’t mean I don’t care. You didn’t mean for Jude to wander off, it is not your fault. All right? Now, go sit with your mother. She loves you both very much and she needs you right now.”

He nodded, a little less miserably and headed back to the porch where Stretch and Janice were still sitting. Janice enfolded her son into her arms the moment he was in reach and the two of them clung to each other. Stretch leaned in to say something and Janice nodded. He stood and headed towards Edge, quick strides that were nothing like his usual lazy saunter.

“babe,” Stretch said, low, “i'm gonna head off and help look.”

Edge resisted the initial, ridiculous urge to deny him. Stretch was an adult, older than him as Stretch so often liked to point out, and Edge could hardly forbid him the right to join the search groups. They were in New New Home, not out in Ebott amongst the Humans, he couldn’t play at the protector by keeping his husband under lock and key. “All right,” Edge agreed, softly. “What grid do you want?”

“none,” Stretch said. He reached over and waved a hand loosely over the map. “babe, this is the right direction for everyone else, but i'm not about to stick myself to one spot when i can be halfway across town in two steps. you,” he pointed at Edge, “stay put, rally the troops or whatever, you do not need to be tromping around on that leg.”

“I hadn't planned on it.” He did not say he’d already mentally calculated the damages vs what assistance he could provide. The possible benefits did not outweigh the costs, it was not worth losing searchers if they were forced to assist him. Before Stretch could vanish, Edge blurted out, “I love you.”

It earned him a lopsided smile in return, “love you, too.” And with a single step Stretch was gone, shortcutting away nearly silently while Edge turned back to the map and Undyne, readying the next wave of searchers.

Hours went by, various groups checking in as they finished searching their grid. As soon as their section was cleared, a person was assigned in it to stay while the others moved on.

A text came from his brother, terse information that Jude climbed on a scooter where the Dogs lost his scent, and he’d been traveling north when he disappeared from camera view. The relief that he hadn’t gotten into a car was brief and the search was redirected, grids marked off. Jeff and Antwan reported nothing, as did the Bun family, who paused only briefly to comfort their kin before heading back out in search of hers. Doggo returned, tail between his legs, to report that the scent hadn’t been found again.

The day was dragging on, the weather cooling as the sun dipped lower, but they weren’t giving up, not with a child out there lost in it.

Undyne went inside to use the bathroom twice, muttering about her abused bladder and pausing to talk with Janice and Oscar each time. On her last trip, she brought out the blanket that was usually draped over the back of the sofa, bundling the two of them in its warm folds. Her earnestly encouraging expression fell when she began walking back to Edge, replaced with more grimness with every minute that ticked past.

“There was nothing in grid twenty-five,” Papyrus said. His normal exuberance was dulled, his earlier confidence that Jude would quickly be found wavering into disbelief.

Undyne gave him a punch on the arm that nearly sent him to the ground, “Don’t you even give a hint that you’re giving up, nerd,” Undyne hissed. She jerked her head towards the house. “And sure as fuck not in front of moms back there.”

“Of course not!” Papyrus lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders, “Now I need a new grid to search!”

It was starting to get dark, the sun cresting the horizon and sending the neighborhood into dim twilight. Edge went into the garage and flipped on the outside lights, illuminating his car and the map on it.

“Edge,” Undyne leaned in, her voice pitched low, “Look, I know none of us want to think it, but we might need to look into contacting the Human Authorities.”

“Noted,” Edge said tersely.

“Humans have gotten in here before, and if one did and snatched the kid, the longer we wait, the—”

She broke off, grimacing, her shoulders hunching as her hand hovered over her belly.

Edge could only stand with his own hands hovering uncertainly even as he said, sharply, "Are you all right?"

A long moment passed, then she managed, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Don't you bullshit me, if you make me deliver your child, I will never forgive you."

Undyne gave a rough laugh, "Pal, giving you a front row seat to my shrimp salad is nowhere on my menu. Braxton Hicks contractions, been having ‘em for weeks." She took a couple of long, slow breaths, then straightened, “Now, about the Humans.”

“I have no issue with Humans, I have plenty of issues with the Human authorities,” Edge snapped. Behind him, he heard a small, alarmed sound from Janice and lowered his voice, “even if a Human somehow managed to get into New Home without being seen, snatch Jude, again without witnesses, and miraculously leave with him the same way they came in, I’m not convinced the Ebott Police would actually assist us.” Edge paused, his mouth twisting, “That said, Asgore contacted the mayor’s office already, they are aware of the situation.”

Undyne made a rude sound, “Should’ve known you were a step ahead of me.” She glanced at the porch. “I’m gonna sit with mama up there for a few, it’s getting dark, she’s worried out of her mind, and my dogs are barking the moonlight sonata.”

“Go sit,” Edge told her, softly. He watched her waddle up the sidewalk, that encouraging expression already pasted into place, then he looked out into the neighborhood. The streetlights were coming on, bright puddles of light spaced out along the road that left dark patches between them.

Flashlights were on their way, but what were the odds of their search parties finding the child in the dark when they couldn’t find him in the daylight? Edge shook the thought away, despair had no place here, they would keep searching until the child was found. No matter what.

Even as he thought it, he heard the sudden pop of teleportation, bubblegum sweet, and he turned to see Stretch tumbling out into the middle of their front yard with Jude in his arms. Both of them were filthy, their clothing stained and soiled with dried leaves clinging. One was tangled stubbornly into one of Jude’s floppy ears. Jude’s small face was awash with tears and Stretch’s pale and sweaty, as if perhaps he’d teleported them some distance and was at the end of his endurance.

Before Edge could demand answers or even move, Janice was stumbling from the porch, tripping into the grass and crawling towards her son, laughing and crying in the same breath.

Stretch handed him awkwardly over, "he's okay, mama, little cold and tired, maybe."

"Thank you," she sobbed out, clinging to her child. Jude was holding on just as tight and both of them slung an arm around Oscar when he joined them. Janice managed to pull away long enough to ask, laughing around her tears, “Where? Where was he?”

“out in old new home,” Stretch slumped back into the grass, sockets tiredly closed. “there’s some paths out there that the kids like, leftover from when they were putting up those first houses. looks like when they stopped construction, they tossed some boards over a pit and didn’t fill it in. kiddo was lucky enough to find it, huh, champ?”

Jude only clung to his mother, his sobs muffled into her shoulder. Headlights were already coming down the street, groups returning from the search. Chances were Red alerted them the child was found, and as they poured from their cars, all their expressions were ones of purest relief.

“I’ll get a team out first thing in the morning to fill it in,” Edge began, “Stretch, can you show me on the map where—”

Undyne’s voice interrupted him, soaring over the growing crowd. “Now that we found the kid, can, uh, someone take me to the hospital? Think it’s time for me to meet my rugrat in person.”

The brief silence was almost as deafening as the sudden chorus that rose up of Monsters volunteering. In the end Papyrus took her, loudly claiming his right as Best Bud. Edge only stood back, grateful that it wasn’t him, and watched as Undyne nearly punched him for trying to help her into the car. The crowd began to thin, Jeff and Antwan heading off to retrieve Alphys and the Bun family claiming Janice and her children in between profuse thank yous.

Janice paused as she walked past him, Jude in her arms and Oscar at her side. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was hoarse from crying, brimming with gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” Edge told her with quiet sincerity, and when he awkwardly held his arms out, she immediately leaned into the brief embrace. As she headed towards her brother’s car, Edge called out impulsively, “You can pay me back by handling all the press briefings tomorrow!”

Her sudden laughter was a relief from the previous onslaught of tears, “That’s a deal, boss!”

The other searchers had already headed for home, happy ending achieved, and Edge turned back to their house…and saw that Stretch hadn’t stood up yet. He was still sitting in the damp grass with his skull cradled in his hands.

“Love?” Edge knelt and saw with some alarm that his sockets were tightly closed. He was trembling, his hands rattling against his skull as they shook, and the bones were bleached nearly white, the soft orange glow of magic that usually lit his joints was dim. “Rus? Are you all right?”

“help me inside?” Stretch asked, tightly.

He very nearly scooped Stretch into his arms, injured leg be damned, and right into the car to head in for a room next to Undyne’s in the hospital. Instead, Edge tamped that impulse down and did as Stretch asked. Carefully helped him to his feet and guided him to the door, pausing only to snatch up the blanket from the chair Janice had been sitting in before leading him inside.

tbc

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

Hello, everyone!

I did say I was working on my Jonsa, but I hit a snag there, so I tried writing in other places and this is the one that came out first.

I've been out for a while -between writer's block and other things -so not everything went as planned. I had said -on AO3- this chapter would get a bit hotter, but in the end it didn't feel appropriate and it was already getting really long.

But next chapter is the one! We'll have more insight about Willas and Oberyn and Sansa will start to rediscover her sexuality ;)

****

Chapter 3

Sansa ended up in Willas' apartment. Oberyn insisted she just had to go there after dinner to try this Dornish wine.

Willas had just sighed at his friend’s antics, but assured Sansa it’d be lovely to have her over.

It was a bit out of character for her to do something like that; she barely knew Oberyn well enough, and Willas… She’d had few real conversations with him. Normally they made polite small talk at parties. Those few conversations were, however, more than enough to make her heart beat faster every time she saw him.

All the Tyrells were good-looking, but Willas… Maybe he was just the one that really called to her, but Sansa could think of few men more handsome than him. And it wasn’t only his sharp eyes and perfect facial lines; he also dressed so well. His suits were all taylor made and even the canes he used were stylish.

He was intelligent and kind. He wasn’t one for silly smiles or flattery. Marge had always said he was the serious one of the family, downright grumpy. Perhaps he wasn’t as effortlessly charming as Marge and Lora were, but he wasn’t an ogre. Sansa had even seen him smiling once or twice -generally at Marge and Oberyn.

She’d chosen to not make her interest known. She felt like a silly girl around him, and imagined he thought the same. Willas was always polite to her, and that was it.

But it’d been a while -a long while -since any men had treated her the way those two had during dinner. Oberyn flirted like there was no tomorrow and Willas asked her questions and actually listened to her answers. That much attention was intoxicating, and she saw herself following both men back to Willas’ apartment.

The wine was as wonderful as Oberyn had promised. Between the three of them, the bottle was quickly finished and a second one was opened. In the middle of it, Oberyn pulled Sansa up and danced with her in the middle of the room. She’d kicked off her shoes earlier on, and the carpet felt amazing under her bare feet. Willas watched them from the couch, an amused grin on his lips.

She didn’t remember what happened after that.

Therefore, waking up in a strange room was a little bit concerning.

Sansa looked around the room: it was clearly a guest bedroom, since it lacked any personal touch. The walls had delicate wallpaper, and the bedspread was light green. The bed was quite big and Sansa was happy to notice she had obviously slept alone in it.

She was also wearing a pajama set clearly made for a man.

What the hell had happened?

She looked around again and saw her dress from the night before left on the floor by her shoes. She got up from the bed, wincing at the headache she had and opened the door quietly. She heard male voices talking instinctively. She’d slept at Willas’.

Oh Seven. Please, she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself too much in front of them. Again.

Sansa went to the bathroom where she found a hairbrush and some leftover beauty products. She cleaned off her old makeup and brushed her hair. As it was now, her hair was an unsaveable mess, so she braided it. There were also brand new toothbrushes on the cabinet under the sink, so she brushed her teeth.

Finally, feeling as ready as she’d ever was going to be for this situation, she left the room. Willas and Oberyn were in the dining room.

“There she is!” Oberyn grinned upon seeing her. “Just in time for breakfast.” He got up and pulled a chair for her.

“Good morning.” Sansa said to both men, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Lady Sansa.” Oberyn winked at her, then pushed her chair in.

“Good morning.” Willas offered with a smile, but Sansa could see it was a bit forced. Then she noticed the wheelchair. Sansa remembered Margaery saying that Willas only used the chair when the pain on his leg was particularly bad. He did look tired and a bit pale.

Suddenly, she felt like a terrible intruder. “I…”

“I was about to wake you up for breakfast.” Oberyn cut her. “Willas wanted to let you sleep longer, but I strongly believed you wouldn’t want to miss out on my pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Sansa perked up.

“With a Dornish touch.” He told her as he passed her a plate, then took his place again.

Sansa cleared her throat. “How did I end up sleeping here?”

“You had too much wine and we didn’t want to put you alone in a taxi.” Oberyn told her as Willas remained quiet.

“Oh.” That made sense. “And the pajamas?”

“They’re mine.” Willas spoke up. “You didn’t want to sleep in your dress.”

“And you look quite fetching in them.” Oberyn teased.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.” Sansa turned to Willas, remembering the manners her mother had always insisted upon. “Thank you for letting me use your guest bedroom.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Where did you sleep?” She asked Oberyn.

“Spooning Willas.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Oberyn.” Willas frowned.

“Fine. He spooned me.” He whispered to Sansa, making her giggle. “The sad truth was that he wouldn’t let me share the bed with you, so I had to share it with him.”

“Was that an option?” She asked amused.

“You offered to share.” Oberyn told her. “You said you wouldn’t mind because I smelled good.”

Sansa’s jaw almost hit the table. She turned so fast to Willas she almost had whiplash. “I did?”

There was a tiny grin on the corner of the eldest Tyrell. “You did.”

“And I might be a decent enough man, I am no saint.” Oberyn carried on. “It’d be way too much temptation. Not that you aren’t, Willas my friend, but I gave up on you years ago.” Oberyn patted Willas’ hand.

Willas rolled his eyes. “Oh, how will I live knowing that?” He asked dryly.

“Well, thank you for protecting my honor. However unnecessary that was.” Sansa told Oberyn.

“That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t bed you given the chance, love, but you were way too drunk yesterday.”

“Is this really necessary?” Willas snapped.

Sansa, however, seemed surprised by the notion. “You would?”

Oberyn frowned at her. “You have to know how attractive you are.”

“Objectively speaking?” She asked.

Oberyn put his fork down. “I know we said we wouldn’t discuss this further, but we need to.” He declared.

“Oberyn.” Willas’ voice was full of warning.

Oberyn ignored him -as usual. “Sansa, darling. We heard your conversation with Margaery. That wasn’t right of us, of course, and we know and understand you’re embarrassed by that. But I can’t let you go on thinking there’s something wrong with you.”

“Ok…” Sansa nodded carefully.

“You’re a beautiful, charming and intelligent young woman. From what I’ve heard, it’s hardly your fault you had bad experiences before. And, at any rate, you can use them as a learning opportunity, not as an excuse to give up.” Oberyn pressed.

“It isn’t an excuse!” Sansa protested.

“You’re scared and that’s fine. You can be scared.” Oberyn continued. “But don’t let these moments rob you from the chance of really connecting to someone.”

Sansa got quiet, staring down at her plate.

“This sounds so self-serving when you just said you wouldn’t mind bedding her, Oberyn.” Willas glared at his friend, clearly unhappy.

Oberyn nodded. “You’re right.” He conceded, then turned to Sansa. “I am sorry, Sansa. I have no right to push you like this.”

“It’s okay.” She said softly. Her eyes met Willas’. “You agree with him, don’t you? You think I’m using those things as an excuse.”

“No.” Willas told her easily. “I think you’re young and you already went through a lot. As much as I’d like to forget what I heard, if only because I know how uncomfortable it makes you, I remember what you said. The men in your life were all rats, and you deserve much better. If you need time, take it. Just don’t give up, okay? One day, you’ll find someone and you’ll be thankful you didn’t give up.”

Although there was a part of her heart that felt warmer because of his words, they mostly broke her down a bit. Willas was amazingly kind… And he did see her as a little girl.

He’d never look at her as a woman.

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Beginning-Part Two

Summary: Anathema and Geralt continue their evening together learning more about each other and Anathema makes a big decision...but not a very difficult one, in the end.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena)

Word Count: 4742

Rating/Warnings: E for language, mature themes and situations, smut, smutty smut. 

Part One here 

Inspiration: Same as part one, just taking things to a sexy place in part two.

Author’s Note: So, here’s where things get steamy, friends! I’ve gotten explicit in some places, but in others, I decided to let you use your imaginations. (One of my favorite sayings, after all is “I don’t have a dirty mind, i have a sexy imagination!” lol!”) 

Tag List: @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy @mstgsmy @lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended! 

"I don't recall saying I'd mind sharing a cozy space with you, Ana." He used the short form of her name and it sent shivers through her. Only her closest friends and Tissaia ever used that name, and she was fine to let Geralt be among that elite.

"I assumed…"

"Mmm, bad idea, assuming. Haven't you heard?" As if to punctuate the joke, he stroked her ass.

"Geralt, I…"

"Don't. Don't lie to me. Just as you can sense a witcher, I can tell when someone wants me. I can smell the change in their bodies. Hear it in their pulse. See it in the dilation in their pupils and the blush of their skin. You can't hide it, Ana." He spoke all of these utterly irrelevant and obvious words in his guttural growl. All sounding like variations of his signature "mmm."

"Geralt, no, that's not what I mean. You're completely right about all of that, of course. But that's not why I hesitate now."

He looked at her, apparently concerned that he was dangerously near his word cap for the day.

"I'm very attracted to you. I won't deny it. But I'm not…I haven't. Fuck how can I even get into this at my age?"

"If it's something I need to know, like a disease, or something, don't mince around it."

God he was thick. The thickest. His thighs had nothing on that skull of his. Nothing but a canon was getting through it. For all his insight into other more physical things, how could he not sense something like this?

"I've never been with a man, you dolt." she rolled her eyes. The moment seemed to wither with their libidos. A virgin. How could she still be a virgin. It wasn't even a question. It was an accusation. A criminal charge.

He scowled, shook his head, something like a whinnying horse, and replied, "Fuck does that matter?" and he kissed her deeply and warmly. Firmly but tenderly. She started to bend to him. She would do this if he was willing to take her. But wait. Her sanity prevailed.

"Wait, wait, Geralt." she said around his lips and tongue. She still felt drugged. Damn, she could have done that for hours.

"Haven't you waited long enough, little mage?" he went for her mouth again, but she put up her hands to his chest to firmly protest.

"Yes. I have. I really want this. I promise, I do, but…I'm going to want to take things slowly. I don't know what to expect." Her hands were shaking against that cliff face of a chest he had. He took them in his, folding them together as if in prayer, and began to kiss them.

"In short, pleasure." he breathed out a laugh. He was sure of himself. She rolled her eyes. "We can go at your pace and I'll talk you through everything. We can take all night. Or several nights, if you like. Just know that I'm not bothered at all by this. I'm actually honored. I feel…privileged. You have nothing to fear from me. I only want for us to enjoy ourselves together." he pulled her back out into the main area in the tent and sat her on the chaise lounge near the top where the back and arm were.

"We are just going to kiss for now. Okay? If you want me to do more, just…move my hands wherever you want them. And talk to me about how you're doing. I don't want to hurt you. But I might by accident if you don't tell me when I start to." she nodded that she understood. That wasn't enough for him. "Tell me that you understand."

"I will tell you if you start to hurt me or if I need you to stop." she expressed, adding the bit about stopping on her own. They were sat next to one another, his hand resting behind her on the low-sloping arm of the lounge, bracing him. She thought he seemed a bit nervous, too. His other hand lifted her chin so he could better view her face. His touch was surprisingly gentle for his size, profession, and the way he spoke. His next words were the biggest shock yet.

"You are so terribly lovely, Anathema." her eyes focused on him in that moment of vulnerable expression. Why was it so exposing to tell someone that fact about themselves? Why did it seem to say so much about you? She had trouble reciprocating the compliment, even though she felt it…by the gods, did she ever feel it. She could only manage tearful gratitude. She couldn't remember being told of her beauty. Even after her ascension. After she truly saw it. "You really are. These eyes of yours. I'm lost in them." he leaned in to envelope her mouth in another kiss. This one, only her third ever, was gentle and measured, and didn't press for entry as the previous one had. He was content like this. And it was splendid. He kissed well, with his hand bracing her nape to maintain the proper pressure. She turned her body to him. She wanted to touch him.  One arm found his back and smoothed the fabric of his tunic over the warm granite of his sinew. The other landed lightly, and she thought, harmlessly on his leg near his knee. She heard him inhale sharply through the nose and groan into her mouth, increasing pressure on her lips.

She knew this meant he needed more of her. And she was beginning to feel the same. She parted her lips for him. His tongue entered tentatively, but quickly became right at home. She wasn’t expecting him to be so…active. So nimble. He was tasting every inch of her mouth. Inside and out. Lapping, nipping, and kissing around her mouth to tease her. It was working. She was giggling and he followed suit.

“That laugh. It takes me to a better time and place. It’s the most magical thing about you. And it’s all you.” What was he doing to her!? She pulled him in again, needing his mouth. She swung her leg around the other side of the chaise so that Geralt was essentially sitting between her knees. She shimmied closer. She wanted his arms around her. His hands feeling her. She needed him to just take control because she couldn’t do all of the work here and concentrate on the sensations.

“Put your hands on me, Geralt. Hold me. Do what you will. I’ll stop you if you’re going too far.” she begged. It went against the grain a bit, to plead to him like this, but at lease he wasn't the kind to take advantage or devalue her as most men would. It was all he needed to hear. He shifted so that he was now above her, one foot on the floor, the other knee on the cushion. She felt as though he was trying to pull her up into heaven the way he kissed her and held her neck and waist. She didn't know why he was bothering when she was already there. The pressure of him was so exquisite. She didn't know whether she would implode from it, or explode.

Her hands couldn't remain idle, themselves. They were on a sensory mission to explore his tunic and trousers. Such a different sensation now than when she'd been cleaning and mending them. No longer containing mere whispers and memories of him, but his warm, solid flesh incarnate. Her touch, light and teasing, had spurred him on to advance their kissing session to a more vertical position. She succumbed to him again, to the pressure of his bodyweight now advancing her back onto the pillows behind her, ones that she'd chosen to be decorative, but had become suddenly very welcome in a practical sense.

She'd been right to reserve the term "ravenous" during their dinner. She hadn't seen anything yet. His mouth sought every inch of her mouth to conquer, and when it needed a break, it retreated a while to her cheeks, and forehead, and chin. To her ears, neck, and sternum. She felt fire being fanned inside her at his onslaught and was beginning to lose her mind. What to do? Then like lightning, something primal in her that had been stirring since she'd met Geralt woke with a bolt. A creature to match the one driving her lover. She suddenly knew what to do to get relief. To quench that fire for a time.

Her wrap dress was already slipping from her thighs. She flicked it away with her knee to free her throbbing center. She used her legs to pull Geralt's thigh closer to her drenched, hot body, needing contact, and somehow knowing, even as a novice, that nothing would do right now, except for him. He growled at the naughty act, she giggled, until suddenly, it was not funny. The leather hit her center and she began to twist and thrust her pelvis against his leg. Her slickness gliding so easily against it that she had to keep herself from going too fast. Or maybe she didn't. She already felt something building. Maybe she should go with it.

"Have you ever had an orgasm before, Anathema?" he gently and respectfully asked the pointed question that very few could get away with.

She hadn't. She'd heard tales of girls in town losing their virginity by riding horses, so she'd always insisted on riding in a cart or carriage if she had to go anywhere back then. Not that she went many places. She found out later, much to her embarrassment that those stories were myths perpetuated by her mother to keep her modest and "pure," in spite of the fact that this irony could not be overstated.

And although Sapphic rumors teemed about the lady mages of Aretuza, she'd never been involved in anything of the sort…not that she hadn't been curious. And not that she would have turned down an invitation if she'd received one.

And she just hadn't known enough about her body to really try to make that happen on her own. Even though she knew it was possible.

She shook her head, and stopped thrusting dead in her tracks.

"You are free to continue doing that all night, if you like. But if you're ready, I'd love to give you your first one. What do you think?"

"What…what do you mean?" she asked. She wasn't trying to be dirty, but she really was curious what he meant to do to her.

"I mean foreplay, sweetheart." he brushed a tendril of sweat-dampened hair away from her face. And continued. "I'll use my hands and fingers, my tongue, if you want. You'll need quite a bit before we go all the way. It gets you ready for me, and it will feel incredible."

She said nothing, just stared at him with a faraway shyness in her eyes. She was considering what this meant. If he was ready to go on to this stage, he'd be ready for sex soon, too. And she wasn't certain that she was. But maybe the next step would be the motivation she needed. She nodded.

"Stop me though, if you don't like what I'm doing, okay?" he prompted sternly. Somehow, she knew this required a vocal response.

"Okay, I will." she nodded again.

"May I?" he asked, hands already beginning to untie her dress. She moaned her assenting response. He planted a centering kiss between her breasts, then moved clockwise around to her right nipple, up her neck, savaging her ear and kissing her deeply and with marked poignancy before descending the other side. Every kiss, nip, and touch of his tongue made her delirious. He anchored again in the center of her sternum, and descended. She squirmed beneath him, feeling every breath out of his mouth and nose course through her like a hurricane. Each touch, a lightning strike. She felt the tectonic plates in her body shifting under his handiwork. This was so alien to her. She loved the feeling. She tensed when he reached her pelvis. There was no accounting for these nerves, but she was feeling them, nevertheless.

"Relax, kitten. This part isn't going to hurt at all." The emphasis he put on the words "this part" caused her some dismay…it implied that there would be parts that would hurt. That was unnerving. But she couldn't think too much about that when his mouth was on her bare skin. He was teasing her without mercy. Kissing and licking all over her lower abdomen…her pelvis…her thighs. Then he growled…or at least that's what she thought it sounded like.

She looked down and tried to decipher the look on his face. It was almost the same look he'd had before they started dinner tonight. When he was washed up and ready for his meal. Hungry. Was he hungry again? Looking…at her? Blessed mother, he wasn't going to…but he did. He laid a gentle kiss onto her trembling mound. He was just breathing over her. Warming her already smoldering body. She writhed again. She felt a strange, hollow ache deep inside.  A painful emptiness was creeping over her body unlike anything she'd ever felt. It was most prevalent in a place that she didn't remember thinking about that much before. Somewhere adjacent to her bladder. It felt almost like a spinning top, wound too tightly, and made to spin for far too long.

He inhaled her again, all around her hips, teasing her, avoiding that spot nearby that was alight with nervous energy and ready to engulf them both in an inferno with the next tiny spark. She hadn't even realized it, but she'd been writhing beneath him, eager for contact. For friction.

"Easy, little tiger. I've got you. I'll take care of you." he smiled against her smooth skin. "It's just…your scent. I needed more of it before I went on." he didn't elaborate on what he was smelling, or why he needed it. She assumed it was a combination of the lilac in her soap and bathwater, and the rosewater she used to soften her skin along with her natural musk coming out as she got warmer.

He spread her as far as he could now, and reached out a calloused finger to her middle. She'd never felt this sort of touch. She gasped at the newness as he rubbed the little hood over her urethra. She thought she'd heard it referred to the clit in impolite conversations at Aretuza. Conversations in which she could not participate actively because of lack of experience. She moaned as he continued, varying his patterns and methods. He added a second finger, eventually, sliding one up and down either side of the trigger point. She didn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't form coherent thoughts anymore.

If she though she was going insane with just his touch, she was in for quite a shock given what was about to happen. As his fingers slid out of the way, his lips immediately replaced them. The sensations couldn't have been more different, but gods, how she loved them both. She was learning very quickly what she had been missing all of these years. And so far, she thought she might end up making up for lost time.

He sighed as he began laying open mouthed kisses to her quivering heat, tasting her body as she got wetter and wetter. It seemed the more he had of her, the more he wanted. Before long, the pleasure was almost more than she could stand. She wanted to stop him. Push him away. But it felt too good. She held on to the back of the chaise supporting her, now in more ways than one as he tortured her with the sheer bliss of his mouth.

She felt a digit graze her flower in gentle exploration as he continued his feast. He tested her, watching her for a reaction. She looked at him and just nodded. She was ready to have him inside her in some way or another. He breached her slowly, tenderly, searching for and quickly finding another doorway to ecstasy that she had no idea was there. She bucked her hips up, thrusting into his mouth, not expecting the surge of pleasure his touch would bring. She felt him giggle against her. She loved the sound, in no small part because, from what she'd learned thus far of the man between her legs, it didn't seem like his life was filled with much laughter. She'd not only been witness to a rare thing, but caused it to happen. That made her feel more powerful than any magic she'd learned so far ever could do.

He slid another finger inside her, spreading her deliciously, and filling her exquisitely. She shuddered at the slight twinge it caused her. She thought about his…well, she remembered several things together, actually. She remembered him implying that there would eventually be pain. She remembered his cock swinging thick and low as he stood naked before her. She remembered being put under for her transformation and being very sore in several…womanly places when she awoke from the anesthetization. She suddenly put together all of these thoughts like a puzzle and got a new, somewhat startling picture. When he had sex with her…real, actual sex, that would absolutely hurt.

She somehow had room for both the current pleasure and the impending fear. She tried to focus on the former. His fingers and mouth were miracles, finding all of the right places and doing all the right things exactly right…if this was so right, how could having him inside her, REALLY inside her, be wrong? He was picking up speed and pressure. Her breathing quickened and her body tensed. She could feel something about to happen.

"Let go for me, baby. Feel it. Enjoy this." his instructions weren't specific, but they were helpful enough in encouraging her to release whatever she'd been holding onto, tethering her to the physical plane. And the pressure inside that he'd been building for her suddenly exploded like a tiny bomb inside her. She was shattered, but whole. Fractured, but complete. Lost in nirvana but certain now of what was next. Her body pulsed with blood and spasms as she rode out the waves of her first ever orgasm. The first of many, she was certain. And more than a little hopeful.

"Oh, Geralt. Is this normal? Does it…does it always…feel like this?" she asked dreamily as he kissed his way up to her neck.

"You're very sensitive, Ana. Since you've never done this before, it will be very intense for you for a while. Until you get more familiar with it." he stared at her, caressing her blissed out face with a satisfied and smug grin. His lips looked so inviting, wet with her arousal.

"Come 'ere." she pulled him down to her easily. She was full of thoughts as she kissed her flavor from his full lips. She thought about ever getting used to what she'd just experienced. She didn't think it seemed likely. She also couldn't get the picture of his naked body out of her mind. What must he be like all cleaned up and smelling nice. She ran her hands down his abdomen to his bulge, which threatened to damage his newly repaired trousers. She palmed and squeezed him there gently.

"Geralt, I want it to be tonight." she assured him. She was beyond done being a virgin, and Geralt was the one she wanted to usher her into womanhood. He'd been doing so well, and who knows? They could be dead tomorrow. Why wait and risk it?

"You're sure, Anathema? You want me to do this to you?"

"No! Geralt! I want you to do this FOR me! I'm ready, you're incredible, and I want it to be you."

"Well, let's say I'll do this WITH you? Okay? I'm not doing it here, though. This is not the place where one is deflowered. Lead me to your bed, maiden, so I can make you a maiden no more." he said coyly as he stood and pulled her up as well. She took him by the hand and they walked toward the area where her bed was. She let go of him and slid the wrap dress off her shoulders, as it was barely hanging on, anyway.

Geralt was working at the laces of his tunic. Anathema didn't feel this was a prudent use of time, however and spelled him naked with a mighty wind.

"That's convenient." he laughed as he stepped forward to wrap her up in his crushing kiss. She replied in muffled fragments that when strung together sounded something like, "I never have occasion to use it. And it was terribly awkward to learn at Aretuza."

"You never mentioned naked women in your rant earlier this evening." he teased.

She poked his ribs and backed him onto the bed.

"Who said we practiced on women?" she asked, climbing atop him, and pinning him to the bed with a hungry kiss of her own. He raised his eyebrows. "We practiced on rabbits in human clothes. But ya know. Sometimes we'd miss." she teased. He flipped her over in a show of unquestionable dominance. Playful, but absolutely in charge.

"You are a feisty one. I like that."

"Yeah?" she asked, breathless through his drowning and drugging kisses against her mouth and neck and oh, gods, every-damn-place.

"I like breaking in a wild filly. It's a challenge. One I'm more than up to." as if to punctuate the statement, he ran a firm hand up her neck, not choking, but implying his ability, and grinding his hard member against her. She gasped.

"But tonight," he continued, "I'll make sure to go easy. Your first time shouldn't be like that. We have plenty of time for…well, everything." he lifted her enough to pull back the bed coverings and laid her back down, properly this time, in the center of the mattress.

"Now, I want to ask you one more time. Are you sure about this?" he looked uncertain, himself. She didn't take it personally as she might have so many years ago. She knew his uncertainty was not a reflection of her desirability, but rather a concern that she was finally succumbing to a societal ideal and taboo all together. Because once she fucked Geralt, she would no longer be a prude. She would be a whore. And there would be no in-between. It didn't matter. She didn't care. Fuck everyone who had ever called her a prude. Fuck everyone who would ever call her a whore. Fuck everyone but Geralt…ironically. The one person she was about to literally fuck.

"I'm sure about this, Geralt. I'm sure about now. And most of all, I'm sure about you." she reached for the nearest bit of him, his hand, and grabbed it. She squeezed as tight as she could and smiled full of hope and excitement. He kissed the hand that had found his, and held it to his heart.

"Know that this means something to me. And it always will. No matter what becomes of us. Tonight is special to us both, Anathema." And with that heartfelt sentiment, he spread her legs.

He dipped his mouth to her center one last time to make sure she was ready for him, lending his tongue again just to make sure. Then, kneeling above her, he took his length in his hand and paused, looking at her. He was so close to her. She could feel his body heat radiating into her. Almost a touch.

"Ready?"

"Yes, Geralt." she didn't beg, but the words fell almost wanton from her lips.

He went into her little by little, causing her sweet agony. He went so slowly. She half wondered if it might be better to just have him slam into her. But she dared not ask. This was too perfect. Just when she thought there couldn't be any more of him, more is what he gave. His face was left her awestruck. The picture of agonized restraint. It did two things perfectly. It showcased just how difficult it was for him to show that restraint they discussed before; for which she now felt in his debt. It also made her want him to keep going. Harder. And faster. She knew he would, once she acclimated to the disparity in their body sizes.

She slid her hand up his rippling arm, over his sinewy shoulder and clasped it gently over his neck. His eyes met hers as he met the resistance inside her. Sparks flashed in her periphery and the canvas above her spun and wavered as if a tornado was about to snatch it right up from the supports and stakes. But there was no wind. There was only Geralt. Geralt, who was now beginning his slow thrusts. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensation of having him inside her. The pain of it was so delicious. This wasn't like the pain of an injury, as was her concern. This was like getting out of bed after a long sleep and stretching your muscles. That ache that came from using something long dormant. Which was exactly what was happening.

"Oh. Yes. Geralt!" she exclaimed as he quickened his pace slightly. Gradually. His mouth began working on her upper body. From her breasts to her ears, he ravaged her with love bites and wet, suckling kisses, and the filthiest nonsense in her ear she could have ever imagined.

"Ana, it feels so good inside you." That was one of her favorites. She didn't know she needed the words from him along with everything else. The touch, and the thrusts which grew faster by the minute. She could feel herself building tension again like she had earlier. She was eager  for another, but something was holding her back. She wasn't sure what it was.

"I'm gonna come inside you very soon, okay?" she nodded, but voiced a concern.

"Geralt, I don't think I'm going to be able to do it again." she didn't mean to sound so worried or upset. But apparently she was. And in her heightened state of arousal, she couldn't mask it.

"You can, baby. Of course you can. You can do it ten times as often as I can, and not to brag, but that's saying something. I'll help you, kitten." and he reached between their bodies and touched her again, never breaking his stride. She replied in the affirmative with a strangled "fuck," and continued to ride the waves of pleasure through her pinnacle and then his, hot and fast inside her. She had the presence of mind to take note of the sound he made as he lost himself. It was a guttural, almost feral grunt filled with pleasure and relief. She felt a swelling of pride. She couldn't explain it because, intellectually, she was sure that pretty much anyone could have given Geralt what she just had, but on the other hand…they hadn't…and she had.

"Wow!" Ana said, breathless. Limp. Satisfied.

"You can say that again." Geralt replied in the same manner, and equally spent. Rolling to her side, but still touching her.

"Can we DO that again?" She asked eagerly. He laughed, which made her smile and turn towards him and play with his skin, dewy from exertion.

"We can. I would like that very much. But maybe tonight we get some rest. We have a difficult task ahead of us in finding out what decimated this city, and if it's what I think it is, it will take all of our combined skills to defeat it." he said, somberly delaying their next romp and bringing the matter that had brought them together back to the forefront of her mind.

She'd had her suspicions, as well, but didn't want to be right, and certainly didn't want to think about it after such a beautiful milestone in her life.

"Okay. But, will you please stay with me?"

"After you conjured me such lovely quarters?" he teased. She nodded sheepishly. "Of course, little witch. If that's what you want."

"It is, witcher." she grinned haughtily at him, pulled him closer, and with a wave of her hand, cast the tent into pitch blackness.

~fin~

[salenakingston]

This is sort of a rewrite of something I wrote years ago, but is basically still canon to this story. Salena’s obviously not from earth, so how did she come into the world of Novembria? Well this answers that very question, and gives an insight to not only the man she fears the most, but first impressions with Alexander Whitegale. Warning: The manner in which Xander speaks to Salena may not be desirable to everyone. Bare in mind he is a zealot, and has an immense hatred for the undead.

Prompt: None

Warnings: Blood, Medical Talk, Torture, small Self Harm

Timeline of Events: Pre-Whitegale Estate (Backstory)

Total Word Count: 3,433 words

Her back felt like it was on fire.

Suppose that was the entire point of it wasn’t it? To make the flames he had etched into her skin burn eternal. They would have to die down eventually, just as all flames did, but the damage had already been done. If the scars held no ashes from the flames, then the blackened brand at the center of her back did. For someone of such a holy practice, even that seemed far more brutal than Light above might allow.

But even whatever being controlled that power allowed this to happen, and continued to grant him access to that light. So long as he truly believed that he was deemed just, he would never have to worry about a loss in that control.

He gazed down at her, somehow his smaller human form towering over her. She hated that smug look he carried along his face. He must have thought this was an appropriate punishment for past deeds. He must have taken great pleasure in binding her down, taunting her, letting the heat lick at her fur before it was pressed into her. He spared her no mercy when the knife came just after it. No rest for the wicked. Each plunge was dragged out, a means to make her suffer more than necessary. It came to about half way through when she had been unable to hold back her cries. She didn’t want to go back to her hollow state, not when she had worked so hard to get her emotions back. Larregis would probably tell her she was being weak, that even wanting these feelings back would make her weak.

She missed him. He took advantage of her depressed state. She should have known better. He taught her better.

Now here she was, laying nearly face first against the stone floors, a bubble of concentrated light around her. That in of itself wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was the location he chose to keep her that made things worse. The many cathedrals scattered across the realm all came with one very important characteristic: being built on consecrated ground. So, even if the pain wasn’t enough to keep her down, the constant drain she felt was.

His smug look hadn’t faded. She wasn’t bound anymore, not seeing a reason for such. She was encased in the very thing that hurt her the most, and the only reason she was before was to ensure she wouldn’t attack anyone stepping inside her prison. She hated this feeling.

And she hated him.

“How the mighty fall. You should have expected this would happen.”

Her head turned up towards him. He just stood there, hands behind his back. When she didn’t fire back a retort, he took it as incentive to continue, “You undead monsters have been allowed to run free for far too long. It’s time someone took up the mantle of eradicating your kind.”

The beast found her voice, though barely a whisper. An echo to the torture she endured, “Then… just… kill me…”

“As much as I would love to, I think I’ll hold off a little longer. You’ll make for a good example to the rest of the Ebon Blade.”

“That’s… stupid…”

“You might think so, but our numbers will grow. You might have others fooled abomination, but not me. It’s all an act. Even I can see the blood on your hands, and if I can, then so will others. You’ll fall back into your old ways. It’s only a matter of time. Might as well put the dog down before it becomes rabid.”

“You… light damn… zealot…”

“You’re mistaken. I am not a zealot. I’m simply following through with what we should have done a long time ago.”

She wanted to press her head back down against the stone, block him out, and pretend all of this was some kind of messed up nightmare. Then the searing pain slipped back to remind her of reality. Why did she have to feel so weak? Narrowed eyes peered at one another, forcing her body up from the floor. She couldn’t raise up further than her knee, head lowered down as pants escaped from her maw, “Still have the strength to stand defiant against me hmm?”

Again she said nothing, the signature glow of her kind’s eyes barring down on the paladin. He considered the look, but ultimately dismissed it with the growth of his smile, “Admirable, but we’ll break you soon enough. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter how much you fight, you’ll get what you deserve in the end.”

What she deserved? Maybe, deep down she truly believed she deserved this sort of punishment, but why should he be allowed to judge her? He didn’t know her. She tried to turn her life around. That should be what matters right?

No, of course that’s not what mattered. She was undead, a soldier, and one to be put out of her misery. Maybe she should, after all… what was there to live for now?

Larregis saved her, but for what reason? Her heart sank.

But all it took was one look at that smug smile to make a switch in her head flip. How badly she wanted to see it vanish… stop looking at her like that! Her eyes fell from him, just for a moment. The walls of her prison were not solid, the only binds keeping her inside being fear. Fear. She should fear nothing. Yet one look at the shimmer of yellow stops her in her tracks. Damn him!

Damn him!

Was she supposed to just take this lying down? It was just some damn light. Don’t be afraid of it.

Wipe that smirk off his face!

Her claws ran against the stone, body trembling as her head lowered. He didn’t need to say a word for her to know just what was running through his head. He’d conquered her, and he would end her on his own schedule. The only reason she was still alive was to be used as a message. Their forces would have to grow. Why her rather than someone else? Perhaps that too was a punishment for her own past sins. No… it couldn’t be like this. If she were to die, should it not be on her own terms?

Not his’!

This will come with pain. She was already in pain.

Endure it like always.

Just ENDURE…

And-

Her body propelled itself forward, firing pain scorching her fur. Light clung to her form, searing it as she raced through. Finally, she saw that grin wash away from his face, replaced with genuine surprise. Who would be stupid enough to jump through the one source of power that was their greatest weakness. Each passing moment seemed as if it were playing in slow motion. One of her arms pulled back, claws racing for his face. Her pupils were nothing but pricks, teeth bared as her face went feral.

She felt her claws rake across skin, blood pouring down the center of his face.

When time sped back up, her body came crashing down on his’. Even with her body trembling terribly, pain racing through her entire being, she still had enough weight to keep him pinned to the ground. He looked back at her wild gaze, arm already pulling back to strike him again. Rather than show fear, he laughed right in her face. She hesitated.

“Go ahead! Do it you bitch! Go ahead and kill me! Prove to me you’re the monster that I know you are!”

A wave of shame flowed through her. He deserved death for what he had done to her… but that would make her no better than him. She already knew she was a monster, one that was trying to make up for it. If she fell back into her old ways… she could imagine Larregis would push her towards killing him anyways. Morals were never something they could agree on… but she stuck by her own now. Her hand lowered, but hung only for a moment. She found enough strength to push herself to her feet, gripping his leg, and throwing him as hard as she could into the closest wall.

She didn’t want to hang around for the aftermath.

The beast lowered herself down onto all fours, her body swaying some as she began to take off up the closest set of stairs, a command ringing out behind her, “Stop her! Don’t let her escape!”

The catacombs of this church were hard to navigate, and with the pain rushing through her, it made nearly every inch look the same. Was she making any kind of progress? She kept moving, even with her body swaying from her speed. She’d crashed into walls and paladins alike, but there was only one thing that mattered.

Get out of here!

Just how long would she be able to keep this up for? Apparently not too long, as her body finally collapsed to the floor. His damn followers were able to block off both her paths. This couldn’t be the end of it. She had to be so close. Just a little longer and she could get out. She looked up… they were closing in on her. She had to move… NOW!

A bright light seemed to engulf the entire side of the catacombs, a wall where none had been standing previously. Whether on impulse, or desperation, she pushed herself back onto her hands and feet. If it was anything like those she knew, it had to be some kind of portal. Whatever was lying in wait on the other side couldn’t have been much worse than her current predicament. She pushed past the advancing men, jumped into the light, and then she was surrounded by nothing but white.

‘It couldn’t have been worse than her current predicament?’ She seemed to regret that sentiment now.

Pain once again shot through her body, but not scorching heat like before. No… it felt as if her body structure was changing. Something along her rear felt like it was trying to break out, and her hands were forced to her head with the rush of pain panging there. Her entire chest felt like it was tight. Just what the fel was happening?

When the light finally faded, she was no longer underground. She could feel grass and dirt under her form. Whatever strength she had before to get up had finally left her. At least from what she could tell, there was no one around, which meant she had managed to escape her captors.

The feeling didn’t last long though.

There was that tight feeling all along her chest again, something along her upper chest felt like it was beating so hard that it would break through the skin. That would be impossible though. Her mouth opened, and it felt like all the air escaped from her. Impossible. She’s undead. She doesn’t need to breathe!

Her arms clung across her form, choking gasps escaping from her maw. So this was really it then? Escaping her tormentors just to fall here… alone… Well… at least it would be as she wanted, on her own terms. Everything began to grow black, darkness working to claim her. The last thing she saw before everything went dark was the blocky shape of someone standing in front of her.

----

Beep… Beep…

What was that sound?

Beep… Beep…

It seemed to be the only thing she could hear, unable to bring her eyes to open. She could hear the sound coming from one side of her, but the same question remained: What was making that sound?

Beep… Beep…

All she had to do was open her eyes, then she would be able to tell what it was. Just open your eyes. It’s not that hard. If she could fight to stand her ground when she felt like collapsing, then she could break through the heavy feeling keeping her eyes shut. When they finally broke open, her vision was flooded with a bright light. Had she imagined the outside before passing out? Was she still trapped in the light she ran into? If that was the case, she should at least still be able to move right?

So how come when she tugged at her arms, they wouldn’t budge. Panic began to set in.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound was getting more frantic, as if it were following in tune with her own rising feelings. Had she been captured again? Did he somehow manage to find her again? How? How was that possible? Blurry shapes began to fill her sight, some blocking out the light. She had been captured! She fought to get free of whatever was holding her down, though the fight didn’t last long. Her ears could catch the faint sound of a low hiss… and then everything started to go blank again…

Beep… Beep…

That sound came back into focus again. What happened before? Much like important details prior to this point, it was a blur. This time when she opened her eyes, she could see things much more clearly. The room she found herself in was nothing like those she knew. No.. they were not held up by wood or stone. What was this strange white plaster along the walls, and strange squared pattern on the floor?

Speaking of strange things, what was with the bed she now woke up in? That’s what it was right? But the bars along the side were unlike anything she’d ever seen, though the same could be said for the machines in the room. Not even the goblin or gnome engineers had tools like these. The beeping was coming from a small device at her right. It contained a black screen, a beep echoing in the room each time a spiked green line passed by.

She couldn’t recognize any of the other ones, only that a fair amount of them were hooked up to her body. In the case of one, there was a needle sticking into her wrist. Ordinarily she would have ripped the strange thing out, but she had come to realize the reason she couldn’t move was due to leather restraints along her wrists. No matter how much she tugged, her arms would not come free.

Along her muzzle was also an oddly shaped device. It was made out of some kind of see through material, fitted around her muzzle so that it covered her nose and mouth. There was some kind of tube coming out of it as well, attached to a tank at the side of the bed. Just what the fel was all this? Why was she here? What was whomever captured her doing to her? The worst part of all this was she couldn’t fight back.

And there would be no one coming to save her.

Her ears snapped to the side, the sound of footsteps coming. Her captor perhaps, coming to gloat over his newest catch.

An older man stepped inside the room, adorn in a suit that she couldn’t recall any man around Stormwind wearing. He had a clipboard in his hands, and it didn’t take long for his gaze to fall on her. Her ears pinned back, not liking the way his gaze fell. What did he want with her? She could only tense her body as he approached, “You’re awake. Good. You gave my staff quite a scare.”

Staff? She gave them a scare? What was he talking about?

He stepped over to the right side of her bed, one hand moving over the closest restraint. Her body tensed more, lips pulling back as she bore her teeth. How could she trust this stranger when she had just escaped someone that hurt her so badly? What’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to her now? Unlike before, there was something keeping her down other than her own fear. He seemed to notice her sudden aggression, “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you. These were for the safety of my staff. Can’t have you injuring them while they work now can I? Behave and I’ll remove them.”

He was talking to her like she was some kind of dog in training. Why should she bend to his will? Her eyes narrowed more on him. His expression didn’t change much, “I’ll say it again, I’m not going to hurt you, though I would think you should be a little more thankful. I did save you after all.”

Save her? No he didn’t! She was still trapped! She gave a tug of her arms, “Says my captor. Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

“Captor? Dear, you are mistaken. I didn’t capture you. You’re here because your body was shutting down. Had I not brought you in, you would have died.”

Impossible. She was undead. She couldn’t die like that.

“You’re lying.”

One of his eyebrows seemed to raise. Without much hesitation, he reached for the strange piece along her muzzle. It took little time for it to be removed from her face. Everything seemed fine… but only for a moment.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

That noise was getting quicker, and she couldn’t seem to get any air again. Choking gasps rang out around her, eyes going wide as she tried to correct the problem herself. Growls echoed between her frantic inhales. The man standing over her seemed to smile, satisfied with his show of proof. He gripped her muzzle, slipping the device back on.

Beep… Beep…

Everything was normalizing.

“Believe me now? Are you going to behave?”

Damn him… What could she really do? She was truly at this man’s mercy, “I don’t have much of a choice do I?”

“Well you do, but unless you want to stay strapped to your bed, I suggest you work with me.”

Damn him! She really didn’t have a choice. Staying like this would only make things worse off for her. She gave a nod, feeling the tightness finally leave her wrists. She pulled her arms back closer to her chest, fingers rubbing over the sore feeling from her attempts at tugging. She could hear the man talking again, though most of it was drowned out. She had picked up on a few things.

“Your body is badly damaged. Your organs are acting as if they haven’t been used in years. They can’t handle functioning your body on their own. We’ll be keeping you in here and under close watch until they become more stable.”

Of course her body couldn’t handle itself. What reason would they need to work while she was undead? Such a thing meant nothing to her; but of course, they were still part of her body since she had not died before gaining her new state. And now… somehow… all of them were working again… and this man was aiming to try and keep her from dying. Why?

“What do you want with me?”

“Pardon?”

“I think I was pretty clear. Why did you save me? Why keep me here? What do you want from me?”

“My reasons are my own, but for the present time, I am willing to share that you are certainly not from here, and you look like you may need a place to stay. I can offer that to you.” He stretched an open hand out to her. Her own hand began to move up, but images began to flicker in front of her eyes. His own arm changed, covered in dark plate… That’s right… she’d been made this offer once before…

And look where that got her.

Her claws swiped across his wrist, the man pulling it back as she returned her own towards her chest. Eyes narrowed once again, her head turning to the side. There was a silence that hung over them for a while before he sighed, “Very well. I imagine you’ll be here for a while during your recovery, but that offer will always be open for you. In the meantime, perhaps it is best you rest. A doctor will be by later to check on you.”

And with that, he left. Once she was sure he was gone, a claw moved across her exposed arm, blood trickling down it. This stranger had opened up his place to her, and she threw it back in his face. She was going to be here a while… but that won’t stop her from punishing herself for her actions… This ‘doctor’ he mentioned wasn’t going to be happy when he or she turned up.

[entwinedmoon]

Torrington Update: Burgess Babies, Middle Names, and Other Odds and Ends

Hello again! I meant to write up this summary of various little things I’d found when continuing my Torrington research back in January, but I got sidetracked by moving. It was a stressful couple of months, so much so that I even put my genealogy work on hold, which is mostly just me playing around on Ancestry until I stumble across something important. But I had figured that I would get back to things in late March.

Then came COVID-19.

Like many people, I hunkered down at home in an attempt at flattening the curve. I was actually sent home early from work on Monday, March 16 (my birthday—yay?), but luckily I was able to telecommute…for a time. I live in the United States, and let’s just say that things here have not been handled in an ideal way. I had to resign from my job because I was being forced back into the office when I didn’t think things were safe to go back. So while moving seemed stressful back in January and February, it’s got nothing on a pandemic. Everything has changed, and while I had hoped that I might be able to visit some archives in person this year, traveling anywhere further than my living room probably won’t be happening any time soon.

But above all, I hope everyone out there is staying safe and healthy as best as they can.

Even though the world looks quite different from when I was working on my Torrington research before, I would still like to share some odds and ends that I’ve found. I don’t have anything groundbreaking to share with you today, but there are some interesting tidbits and a couple follow-ups to my previous posts that I’d like to discuss.

Burgeoning Burgesses

First of all, in my post Family Ties, I had found another possible child of Torrington’s sister, Esther—a son named Henry, born in 1850, before any of her other children that I had found at the time. I had only just come across the record on Ancestry when I was writing that post, and I hadn’t had enough time to evaluate it properly, so I left things up in the air. The problem was I couldn’t find a full baptism record for Henry, so I couldn’t verify if it was Esther’s son or not. It didn’t help that there happened to be another Esther Burgess living in the area at the same time as Torrington’s sister. Since Ancestry didn’t have what I needed, I turned to the UK’s General Register Office (GRO) to see if I could find Henry. Unfortunately, you have to pay to see the GRO’s records, but you can search by the mother’s maiden name and see the record stub for free. My initial search showed there was no Henry Burgess born that year to a woman with the maiden name of Torrington.

But then I expanded my search to include any child with the last name of Burgess and a mother with the maiden name of Torrington born in that year. The search results showed a record for a Thomas Burgess Burgess—a rather strange name. Why repeat Burgess like that? I ordered a copy of the record, and when it arrived a week later I discovered that the name for the child had been cut off in the record somehow, and the search must have gotten the child’s first name by grabbing info from the next field—the full name of the child’s father, Thomas Burgess. Matching the birth certificate from the GRO with the limited baptism information I’d found on Ancestry proved that this child, Henry Burgess, born January 4, 1850, was indeed the son of Esther Burgess, née Torrington.

Then I found his death certificate.

Like many children during the Victorian Era, poor Henry did not make it to his first birthday. He died November 17, 1850, from a combination of measles and pneumonia. This would be why I didn’t find Henry in the 1851 census, a census which listed Esther and her husband Thomas as having no children. I had already found Sarah Ann, who had also died in infancy, which means that the eight-year stretch between Esther and Thomas’s wedding and the birth of Eliza, the first of their children to survive to adulthood, was filled with more than one loss for these young parents. But this made me think, if I’d missed Henry during my research, could I have missed other children?

I searched again on both Ancestry and the GRO, trying to be as thorough as possible to see if there were any more Burgess babies out there. Eventually, I found one.

William Harrison Burgess was born July 12, 1846. Like his brother Henry, he did not live long, dying on March 15, 1847. He died of “dentition” (teething) and convulsions, which may have been caused by treatments given to him to relieve the pain of teething.

There are a couple of interesting things about William. For one, there’s his name. William was Esther’s father’s name, so it would make sense to name her first son after her father. But he wasn’t just a William, he was a William Harrison. And there was another William Harrison Burgess born the same year to a different couple. Why was this such a popular name combination? Was it because of US president William Henry Harrison, who died in 1841 after only a month in office? That would be a bit odd, particularly for a British family. Or maybe the name came from novelist William Harrison Ainsworth? I haven’t been able to find any explanation for the popularity of that name combination, but I would think Ainsworth may be the more likely inspiration than the short-lived president.

Another thing of note about William is his date of birth—July 12, 1846. Esther married Thomas Burgess on May 20, 1846, less than two months before. Esther would have been very pregnant when she got married. Was that the reason for the marriage? We’ll probably never know, and I won’t speculate further on such intimate details. But this does give more insight into the timeline of when Esther met Thomas. At the very least she’d known him for seven months before getting married, making the latest possible date of their first meeting somewhere around October/November 1845. If they had courted for a longer time before the pregnancy, then it’s possible that Thomas Burgess met his future brother-in-law prior to John setting sail for the Arctic in May.

The sad fact about finding William Harrison Burgess, though, is that this means Esther had (at least) eight children, but the first three all died in infancy:

William Harrison – Born July 12, 1846 (died March 15, 1847)

Henry – Born January 4, 1850 (died November 17, 1850)

Sarah Ann – Born July 24, 1852 (died; buried February 13, 1853)

Eliza – Born February 14, 1854

Sarah – Born May 27, 1856

Mary Jane – Born June 26, 1859

Thomas – Born June 7, 1862

Ann (sometimes spelled Anne) – Born September 15, 1865

Esther had a child about every two to three years, with the largest gap being between her first and second child (three and a half years). This was unfortunately common in the Victorian Era, as was a high infant mortality rate.

I can’t imagine what it must have been like for Esther to lose three children, one after the other. She faced a lot of loss in her life, outliving three children, her brother, her husband, her father, and both her mother and stepmother. But her surviving children were there for her when she herself passed on, as evidenced by the fact that her son-in-law signed as witness on her death certificate. And some of them would have children of their own, continuing her legacy through the years.

What’s in a (middle) name?

Ever since discovering the services the GRO provides, I have spent more money than I probably should have buying birth and death records for members of Esther’s family. These records have information that you can’t find on Ancestry, such as cause of death or the exact day of death—but there’s also plenty of non-death related information as well.

One particular thing of interest that I found was that a couple of birth certificates for Esther’s children list Esther’s full name as Esther Mary Burgess. The GRO doesn’t have records from before 1837, so unfortunately I can’t order Esther’s own birth certificate to verify this piece of information, but both Mary Jane’s and Thomas’s birth records include Esther’s middle name as Mary.

Esther’s baptism record did not include the middle name Mary, but baptism records often didn’t include middle names. Instead, her baptism record listed her as Esther Shaw Torrington. Her brother was also listed as a Shaw Torrington. I wasn’t sure if this was a shared middle name or a secondary surname—I say “secondary” because it’s not hyphenated and John and Esther seemed to treat it as optional since it is missing from the majority of records referring to them. However, if Esther had a middle name of Mary, then I imagine Shaw really was meant as a surname, making her full name Esther Mary Shaw Torrington.

Of course, now I wonder what John’s middle name was…

The completely unimportant mystery of the word “larter” SOLVED!

In my post about Torrington’s family, I mentioned the many occupations that Esther’s husband, Thomas, had throughout his lifetime, but there was one in particular that I couldn’t puzzle out. In the baptism records for two of his children, Thomas was listed as what appeared to be a “Larter.”

I wondered if this was meant to say “Carter,” because he had been a carter previously, but that first letter really really looks like an L. Larter, however, is not an occupation from what I can tell. It’s a last name—searching for it on Google brings up actress Ali Larter as the top result—and while last names are sometimes derived from occupations, there’s no consensus on what Larter originally meant. I started looking through books on old occupations to see if there was something, anything, that could have been at least close to Larter, and while there were a few job titles that were a letter or two off, there was nothing close enough to the spelling to justify it being written that way in two different records years apart.

I ordered the birth records for Ann and Thomas from the GRO, (it was their baptism records that contained this mystery word), hoping that might shed some light on this. But it takes a week or so for the records to be emailed out, so I had to wait. That was when I went back to the original records for another glance, comparing the writing to see if there were other Ls or Cs that looked like this. Just below Thomas’s occupation listing on Ann’s baptism record was the occupation for one William Mort. He was also a Larter.

How could two men have the same occupation that didn’t seem to exist? Clearly this wasn’t just some misprint or misunderstanding. I looked up William Mort in the census records, hoping there might be an answer there. Ann and Thomas were born in the 1860s, so I checked out both the 1861 and 1871 census in case Mort had a job change between years. In both census years, William Mort had the occupation of “Carter.”

When the birth records from the GRO finally arrived, Thomas’s occupation was listed as something that looks far more like “Carter” than on the baptism records.

“Carter” is an occupation that exists—“Larter” is not—so despite those baptism records that made the first letter look like an L, it must actually have been a C. Maybe the recordkeeper had a unique way of curving his Cs, or perhaps his hand was cramping after a day full of baptisms and a few letters came out funny, I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I think it’s safe to say that Thomas Burgess was a Carter not a Larter. The most pointless mystery ever has been solved!

John Torrington’s wife?

On Ancestry.com, there’s a great feature where you can build a family tree. I haven’t had much luck, though, in finding family trees containing Torrington. There are a few but rarely are they comprehensive, and some are private and therefore not publicly viewable. One tree did help me learn more about his stepmother’s family, but it didn’t include much about Torrington’s own family. Also, the validity of some trees is certainly questionable. I once saw a couple family trees that listed John Franklin, the leader of the Franklin Expedition, as Torrington’s father. There are also a couple trees that make a rather surprising claim—that Torrington had a wife named Elizabeth Browning.

Neither of these trees include any documentation to support that Torrington was married to Browning, and I have yet to find any information to suggest that Torrington was married at all. If he’d been married, wouldn’t he have allotted his pay to his wife rather than his stepmother? I suppose there could be a reason why he allotted his pay to Mary instead of his wife, but I have yet to find any marriage records for him, and certainly not any for him and a woman named Elizabeth Browning. And the particular Ms. Browning included in these family trees happened to have been born in 1818, seven years before Torrington, and she seems to have lived her entire life in the United States, so it would be very difficult for the two of them to have even met.

I Googled Torrington’s name along with Elizabeth Browning, and the only results were for Ancestry (looping back around to those family trees), a version of Wikipedia in Catalan that had Browning listed as his spouse but with no reference attached (I have since removed this because there’s no resource to back it up, and the beauty of Wikipedia is that anyone can edit it), and a cached summary of Torrington’s Find a Grave memorial page, which had Browning listed as a Calculated Relationship, but after going to the memorial page itself I couldn’t find this information anywhere, as if it’s already been removed. (Please note, I did this search earlier this year, and some of these links/results may no longer exist.)

Where this rumor that Torrington was married came from I have no idea, but it’s not the first time I’ve seen someone on the internet claim he had a wife. I once read a YouTube comment that mentioned his “young marriage.” Of course, YouTube comments aren’t exactly reliable, ranking somewhere below the wall of a public bathroom stall, but since I first heard that Torrington had a sister via a blog comment—and that turned out to be true—I wasn’t sure what to believe. In fact, it was because I kept learning new things about Torrington from random—and sometimes unreliable—places on the internet, that I decided to write my series of posts about him, to collect all known and verifiable information currently available about him in one place.

But why are there so many people saying Torrington was married if there’s no current information to support this? It’s possible he was married and that the record for this is lost somewhere, but how did these people find it if other people (e.g., me) can’t? A few months ago, I reached out to the owners of the two family trees on Ancestry to find out what inspired Browning’s inclusion, but I never heard back. Do they have access to some information that no one else does? Or is this just someone playing around on Ancestry? I think the answer is most likely the later, but unfortunately, I have yet to find out.

The Apprentice

When searching for anything and everything that mentions Torrington, I looked on Newspapers.com for any article that may have referred to him when he was alive. Like with most things regarding Torrington, there wasn’t much that fit the right description. There was, however, an article from November 16, 1844, in the Bristol Mercury that mentioned a young apprentice named John Torrington, who had suffered abuse at the hands of his master, a shoemaker named Perdue. I haven’t been able to find any information about Torrington having an apprenticeship, but I wondered briefly if perhaps this could have been him. After reading the article more closely, though, I realized that there were several facts that didn’t add up, indicating to me that this John Torrington most likely wasn’t THE John Torrington. However, I did think it was interesting. You can read the article below:

The reasons I don’t think this is the right Torrington are many. For one thing, in 1844, Torrington would have been 18 going on 19, and this article seems to be describing someone much younger than that. Apprentices usually started in their early teens, and it sounds like this boy is in the early years of his apprenticeship. Also, he’s living in Bristol, not Manchester. While it’s quite possible that Torrington left Manchester at some point to live, train, or work elsewhere, we know from the Allotment books that his family still lived in Manchester when he joined the Franklin Expedition. It would have been easier—and cheaper—for him to stay at home, even if he only called it home between jobs, such as if he worked on merchant ships. This article also mentions that he’d lived in the Bedminster workhouse prior to starting his apprenticeship, and Mr. Ring, the man who was helping him break free from his abusive master, said that he considered himself as legal guardian for the boy. This suggests that the Torrington in the article may no longer have parents. Our Torrington still had a father and a stepmother, and while it’s possible that if he left home he may have ended up in a workhouse for lack of money, this is sounding less and less like it fits.

Then there’s the whole shoemaker thing. In order to have been appointed to the job of leading stoker on HMS Terror, Torrington most likely had previous experience working in a position similar to a stoker. If he had been an apprentice to a shoemaker only half a year before joining the expedition, then he probably didn’t have the right experience to be a stoker, unless he started the apprenticeship after having worked as a stoker (or he just straight up lied and the Navy didn’t call him on it). Although, if the Torrington who sailed with Franklin had apprenticed as a shoemaker, that would mean he and John Hartnell have something else in common besides a first name and being buried on Beechey Island—Hartnell had been a shoemaker prior to joining the Navy.

But if this isn’t our JT, could it be that other John Torrington, the one from the 1841 census? I think not. JT1, as I called him in an earlier post, was born before the Franklin Expedition Torrington (JT2), and if the boy in this article sounds too young to be JT2, then this boy is definitely too young to be JT1. While John Torrington wasn’t an especially common name, clearly it wasn’t limited to just JT1 and JT2. This other other Torrington I have started to refer to as JT3, and it will be interesting to see if he pops up again to skew my research.

In some ways, though, I am a little disappointed that this probably isn’t the right Torrington. I don’t wish the abuse on him, but it sure would be nice to have some definitive answers as to what his life was like before joining the expedition. Knowing he was an apprentice to someone would fill in the huge gap between his baptism and him joining the expedition—you know, his entire life. Also, the article describes him as “a delicate, but intelligent-looking young fellow,” a description I’m quite enamored with for some reason. I feel that this may have applied to the Franklin Expedition Torrington as well. Torrington was small—a fact I might be a little too fond of because learning it turned my childhood boogeyman into an adorable little pocket person—and after wasting away from illness he did look rather delicate, but there’s something in his face that suggests he was more than that. I like the idea that he may have had an intelligence above his station, that he may have been more than just a grunt shoveling coal and trying to make ends meet. If this article were about him, it would have given more information as to who he was as a person than any other record I’ve found, and yet it’s unlikely that this is him. It’s a shame, but hopefully he led a better life than the one described here, and that he had a good home waiting for him when he set sail, with happy memories to keep him warm as the world grew cold and dark around him.

That’s it for now. Stay safe everyone!

Torrington Series Masterlist 

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Hopelessly Devoted to You

Summary: Yancy’s in love with his best friend. He already knows it won’t work between them, so he keeps his building crush buried deep. That is, until he admits it by accident. Warnings: None Characters: Yancy, Illinois, Yandereplier shows up a bit

Tags: @peribloke @tired-eldritchhorror @crithechaotic @letsrevitup

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

All things considered, living at Ego Inc. is a pretty sweet deal, even compared to Happy Trails Penitentiary. Not having a set schedule took some getting used to, but Yancy finds he enjoys being able to eat whenever he wants, to sleep in as late as he wants, or stay up late doing…pretty much anything.

That’s a good thing about Ego Inc.: There’s so much to do here that Yancy never has to step a foot outside the place, much to his relief. Freedom is intimidating, and unlike Captain Magnum and Illinois, Yancy doesn’t have any inclination for adventure beyond the four walls in which he lives. Here, he doesn’t have to leave the house to get something to eat, work out, or even record a song or dance on a stage.

Another great thing about Ego Inc., perhaps the best part: The other egos. Yancy was wary at first of all these new people, but it didn’t take him long to realize that they’re all misfits and oddballs just as his prison family was. He and MarkBop took a shine to each other over their shared love of song, and Yancy managed to convince Wilford and Bim to let him perform on the studio stage. All three had been impressed with Yancy’s singing and dancing chops, and Yancy’s spent too long surrounded by thugs and criminals to be intimidated by Wilford, so he gets along with them well. He found a friend in Yandere, too, after he challenged Yandere to a brawl and was promptly beaten into a pulp. He likes Yandere’s chutzpah and Yandere likes his, and the two quickly became metaphorical and literal partners in crime. Google Chrome became a friend too, or at least something close to it, just by proximity. His anger doesn’t faze Yancy; he's got his own problems with anger and he’s met plenty of angry people back in prison. He's found that they can be pretty swell if one looks past the rough edges.

There’s only a few egos who Yancy doesn’t much care for. Silver Shepherd is nice enough, but he’s too much of a goody-two-shoes for Yancy’s style. Darkiplier creeps him out, and Yancy bristles at his authority the same way he did at Warden Murderslaughter’s. Dr. Iplier reminds him too much of a parent, coddling and saccharine and way too gentle, and Yancy’s already made it clear that he’s not interested in that kind of family here (somehow the way Yandere babies him and calls him “Yan-Yan” and lavishes physical affection on him feels different).

There’s egos he thinks are okay, egos he’d rather avoid but can’t say he dislikes, and egos he doesn’t have much of an opinion on. But there’s only one that he can’t say he knows how to feel about at all.

And that person, strangely enough, is Illinois.

By all accounts, he should have a solid opinion. The two of them plus Captain Magnum came to Ego Inc. as a package deal, a trio of musketeers, on the tail end of a whirlwind adventure. Yancy certainly has an opinion of Magnum; he’s an awesome guy and great fun to be around, and helped show Yancy the value of freedom as the group traversed the globe. He looked out for Yancy when Illinois got too caught up in the thrill of adventure to watch out for his friends, and was the first to notice when Yancy started to bristle at the nomadic life they were living with the desire to be inside four walls again. Despite the good company Yancy’s found at Ego Inc., he still considers Magnum one of his best and truest friends.

But then, there’s Illinois.

Or Lio, as most of the egos have taken to calling him. Their opinion of him is as mixed as Yancy’s; half the group seems to have fallen for his charm, or at least likes him well enough. The other half bristles as his flirty personality and finds him irritating. Hell, the whole reason Yancy picked a fight with Yandere was because Yandere decked Lio after Lio blew a kiss at him. Yancy's managed to keep Lio in Yandere’s good graces as he's befriended him, assuring him that Lio means no harm. But at the same time, Yancy can see why some people dislike Lio so much.

He’s arrogant, cocky, self-absorbed, reckless…

Passionate…

Hard-working…

Gold-hearted…

Handsome…

Perfect.

Therein lies the problem.

“Don’t miss me too much,” Lio quips before he leaves for another jungle trek or spelunking trip.

“Like what you see?” Lio jokes when he comes back with ripped clothes from near-misses with traps.

“Did you finally fall in love with me?” Lio asks with a cheeky grin whenever Yancy does something particularly thoughtful for him.

“Oh, sure,” Yancy replies with a laugh.

“Yes,” he thinks, earnest and hurting.

He’s in love with Lio. He has been for a while.

He can’t stand it.

He knows Lio, he knows his issues with commitment. He knows about the partners of his that have come and gone, some who were killed on adventures, some who were scared off by the dangerous lifestyle. He remembers talking with Lio about Dark’s rule to avoid forming relationships with humans, romantic or otherwise.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Lio had sighed, “I do my best work alone, after all. It’s about time I stopped breaking hearts.”

Yancy had rolled his eyes and teased him, and inside he’d cringed. If only Lio knew.

Yancy knows from experience that he has a bad habit of falling hard and fast. It never really takes much; his standards aren’t exactly high, having spent so long surrounded by criminals.

His first love at Happy Trails was a blonde waif of a woman, jailed for shoplifting. She had a dazzling smile and the skill to snag apples from the cafeteria right under the noses of the guards, and that was all Yancy had needed to fall for her. They had a whirlwind romance that ended a few months later when she made parole. She came to see Yancy the first two visitation Sundays, and on the second, said she wouldn’t be coming back. She’d moved on with normal life, was trying to do better, and coming around to Happy Trails and carrying on a relationship with a convicted murderer wouldn’t do her any favors. Yancy had swallowed sobs as he wished her the best.

His last love at the prison was a dark-haired man in for drug trafficking, tall and nearly as broad as Magnum, but clean-shaven and absolutely covered in tattoos. He had an artistic soul, just like Yancy, and it drew them together right away. Yancy still remembers spending long nights dancing his fingers along the man’s many tattoos under the fluorescent lights of his cell. He was around much longer than the woman, and when he was finally released, he didn’t bother visiting even once. It took three months of visitation Sundays for Yancy to give up on him.

In between those two, there were plenty of others, and Yancy remembers them all, remembers every little piece of his heart they took with him. The prisoners not in Yancy’s group called him all sorts of unsavory names behind his back regarding the number of partners he’d had. Yancy doesn’t consider himself promiscuous, though it wouldn’t be so bad if he was. Maybe if he was only in it for the physical side of things, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when they left.

Because they always left.

And Yancy has no doubt that if he ever confessed to Lio that Lio would end up leaving, too. If he accepted Yancy’s affections then there’s no way it would last, not with the ghosts of a hundred failed relationships on both their backs. More likely, though, Lio would reject him, and Yancy would lose an incredible friend.

For all of Lio’s faults, for all his self-importance and too-high self-confidence, he’s still a good person. He supports Yancy’s passion as enthusiastically as he does his own, providing insightful critique when Yancy needs it and cheering on every performance. He defends Yancy to others when he gets in trouble, and doesn’t bat an eye at Yancy’s past crimes or current anger issues. He knows how to keep a secret, and Yancy trusts him enough to tell him his fears, his worries about living in this big building that isn’t a prison, the way freedom feels like pressure after so long without. Lio trusts him, too, and can be unflinchingly honest about his own fear of commitment and his petraphobia from years of dodging boulders. Under all the bravado is a truly charming man, someone kind and considerate and strong and beautiful –

“Get it together, Yancy. Quit thinkin’ about it.”

Fortunately, Yancy is a performer, which means he can be a damn good actor when he tries. And he tries so hard around Lio, swallows every feeling and prick in his heart deep into himself. They build and build, but Yancy keeps them locked up tight.

He does let it slip to Yandere once, though.

“Oh my gosh, you’re in love with Lio??” Yandere asks, squealing with excitement. “Tell me everything! How long have you known? Does he know? When are you gonna tell him?”

“Woah, hey!” Yancy cries, trying to placate Yandere’s excitement. “Look, I haven’t told him nothin’, and I ain’t gonna.”

“What!? Why not??” Yandere gasps with a pout.

“Because it don’t…” Yancy sighs. “It don’t matter. He ain’t gonna like me back. He’s got his whole thing about commitment, y’know.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Yandere’s eyes go starry. “But maybe he could change his ways for the right person, you could make him a better person –”

“It don’t work that way, Yan,” Yancy interrupts. “It’s a nice thought, but love don’t fix people. All the relationships I had in prison didn’t fix nobody.”

Yandere pouts again.

“But you two would be so cute together!” he exclaims, “You should at least tell him, get it off your chest! I can be your wingman, we could –”

“No!” Yancy shouts, then reigns himself in. “No, I’m not tellin’ Lio. And youse gotta swear you won’t, neithers.”

“Okay, Yan-kun,” Yandere says, concerned and bummed but not wanting to upset Yancy further. “But I’ll help you if you ever change your mind.”

Yancy isn’t surprised by Yandere’s reaction. He’s a truer romantic than Yancy ever could be, that’s for sure. Yancy may not have a clue what possessed him to fall for Darkiplier of all people, but he has to admit that they seem happy together, that they treat each other well. Yandere is, well, a yandere: He’s captivated by love, obsessed with it, he believes in happy endings and rom-coms and riding away on a white horse together.

Yancy’s a romantic, too, but he’s a realist. He’s been around the block too many times to believe in the power of love like Yandere does. Yancy knows that love can’t fix people, it can’t smooth over flaws, it can’t dull rough edges. Sometimes love can motivate people to do better, to be better (Yancy’s seen that, too), but it can’t change who people are.

Loving Lio won’t make him less of a heart-breaker. Confessing to Lio won’t make him more likely to love Yancy back.

So Yancy keeps it bottled up.

He keeps hanging out with Lio, of course, because Lio’s still his friend and he could never stay away for long. He still listens to Lio’s stories of adventure, still bounces song and choreography ideas off of him, still spends days with Lio and Magnum, too, just like old times before the group found Ego Inc., back when Yancy was too distracted by constant activity to think about his crush. He likes the change of pace at Ego Inc., but it means he can’t always stay up into the wee hours of the morning laughing with Lio and Magnum, nor can he always cause trouble with Yandere and Chrome all night.

Inevitably Yancy ends up lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wrestling with own thoughts. He’ll give himself whiplash pushing Lio out of his mind only to catch himself thinking of him minutes later. When Yancy falls asleep, he dreams of Lio, dreams of slow-dancing with him to quiet showtunes, dreams of holding onto his broad shoulders as Lio’s hands lightly hold his waist, dreams of moving his hands across Lio’s shoulders and up his neck to cup his cheeks, dreams of Lio flashing his classic heart-stopping grin as Yancy’s fingers trace his cheekbones, dreams of leaning in as Lio tugs him closer, dreams of their lips coming together –

Yancy wakes up and showers in freezing water for the next thirty minutes, waiting for the heat in his blood to cool, the heat that makes him want to finish the dream in his mind, the heat that makes him want to punch holes into his bedroom wall.

Thank goodness, at least, for the soundproofing. He’d asked for it when he first got his room, partly for the sake of the others and partly for his own privacy. Yancy has a habit of singing out his feelings, and he prefers a place to do it without anyone listening in.

“You know I'm just a fool who's willing, to sit around and wait for you,” he sings to himself quietly, under the roar of water in the shower.

“But, baby, can't you see, there's nothing else for me to do?” he sings as he gets dressed, words muffled as he pulls a white t-shirt over his head.

“I'm hopelessly devoted to you,” he sings as he hesitates by the door, knowing that he’s about to face Lio once more, and push everything down once again.

It’s not just the lovelorn sadness that’s getting harder to hold back. It’s the anger. The frustrated, impotent rage that he sometimes feels toward Lio for being such an oblivious, heart-breaking flirt. But more often he’s angry at himself, angry for torturing himself, angry he can’t just see Lio as a friend and get over it, angry that he has to hide so much of himself away day in and day out. Yancy hates it, because he’s gotten a lot better about his anger, lately. His outbursts have been much less frequent since he left Happy Trails, and the one he does have are much milder, much shorter. But anger is building in him like it never has before, right alongside the aching lovelorn pining filling up his heart.

He’s not in Happy Trails anymore. This is a prison of his own making, and it’s far worse than any amount of time in solitary Warden Murderslaughter could’ve given him.

He looks at Lio and he wants to kiss him.

No, he wants to punch him in the throat.

“Say it now, say it now, explain to me,” he sings to his bedroom ceiling, “Why this happens every time, give me any kind of sign, ’cause I just can't walk away…”

Lio laughs, and Yancy wishes he could listen forever.

He knocks his head against his bedroom wall until he stops thinking about it.

“Why beat your handsome brow?” he asks himself, “Nothing changes, nothing changes, nothing changes, anyhow.”

Lio brushes dust off his hat with strong, calloused hands that would feel so good in Yancy’s hair.

“Stop it, stop it, it ain’t happenin’, Yancy, get a grip!!”

“I love him, but every day I’m learning,” he shouts into his bathroom mirror, “All my life, I’ve only been pretending!”

When Lio hugs him, as he does sometimes, his whole mind and body stop working, and Yancy remembers the feeling of his arms for the rest of the day.

He screams his throat raw at night, throws the heaviest book on his shelf at the wall.

“My head is saying, “Fool, forget him,”” he gasps, “My heart is saying, “Don’t let go, hold on ‘till the end.””

He sits in the middle of his bedroom floor. There’s a dent in the wall. How long has it been since he last did something like that in anger?

“And that's what I intend to do,” he whispers, as quiet as he can manage, “I’m hopelessly devoted to you.”

The dam is doomed to burst.

After all the acting and hiding and swallowing feelings, Yancy blows his own cover in a single thoughtless moment, completely by accident.

Him and Lio are hanging out like usual. Magnum has gone off to who knows where, leaving Yancy and Lio on the floor of Lio’s bedroom, there to better take in Lio’s latest additions to his geode collection. The conversation’s moved on from the geodes, but they’re still sitting on the floor, laughing and goofing around.

“Dark really hates when Mags goes out sailing,” Lio chuckles, “I guess because he’s too conspicuous.”

“As much I don’t like the guy, he’s got a point,” Yancy points out, “Don’t think most folks make prost’etics outta tree trunks anymores.”

“And that’s the last thing people tend to notice,” Lio laughs, “After the beard, the scar, the accent, the way he’s as big as three men put together…”

“Youse think he’d be mad at us for talkin’ ‘bout him like this?”

“Nah, he’d take it all as a compliment. The man likes to be seen.”

“And you don’t?” Yancy raises an eyebrow.

“I never said that I don’t,” Lio chuckles, “Only that Magnum does.”

“Sounds a bit hypocritical s’all I’m sayin’.”

“Well, can you blame me for wanting to be seen?” Lio winks, and Yancy swears he can hear a whip crack in the air. “I mean, I am very handsome.”

“Very fulla youse-self, more like.” Yancy flicks him in the nose.

“Hey!” Lio sputters, and Yancy laughs. “Don’t act like you don’t get it. It’s only a matter of time before you fall for my effortless charm.”

“Is it really “effortless” if youse such a try-hard all the time?” Yancy asks wryly. “‘Sides, I already have.”

It comes out without him thinking, just another line of banter. His throat dries up.

“Did I really just say that?”

“Oh, have you now?” Lio chuckles. He’s still acting playful. He thinks Yancy was kidding. It’s not too late, this is salvageable.

“C’mon Yancy, play along! Flick him in the nose again and say “in your dreams” or somethin’! Don’t just sit there!”

But Yancy’s throat is still dry. This is different than a simple “oh, sure” or sarcastic “I’m swooning,” this is a true admission. Of guilt, of love, of everything Yancy’s been working so hard to hide. His brain screams at him to speak but he can’t make his voice come out. He knows it must show on his face; he can feel his blood running cold, feel how his smile has fallen away, feel how wide his eyes are. Lio doesn’t notice right away, he laughs at himself, at Yancy’s statement, but then he meets Yancy’s eyes and takes in his expression. There’s a futile hope that he won’t make the connection, but how could he not? Lio’s no idiot.

“Yancy, are you okay? What –”

Lio realizes. His eyes go as wide as Yancy’s. Shock floods his face like Yancy has never seen before. He wants to crawl away and die.

“Yancy, buddy,” Lio gasps, “That…that bit about falling for me, that…that was a joke, right?”

Lio knows it wasn’t. That much is clear. But if Yancy can just pretend, if he can try to play it off, then he and Lio never have to address it. They’ll never have to talk about it again. Things can go back to normal. Lio wants to save face, his own and Yancy’s. Yancy only has to say the word.

But he can’t. He’s spent too long denying it to himself, spent too long pretending. He can’t make himself do it any longer. He wants to keep denying, he has to, but he can’t play it off. His heart is too tired. His voice is too weak. He can’t hide anymore.

Watching Lio’s face is like watching a car wreck in slow motion. Yancy watches his confession settle into Lio’s mind, watches Lio realize that Yancy won’t take it back. His face fills with panic, his skin pales a few shades. Yancy thinks they must be twins, both pale and moon-eyed in their paralyzing shock. Lio opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He’s speechless. Yancy’s never seen that happen before.

“Yancy…” Lio starts. Regret, sorrow, pity, fear. It all plays across his face. He settles for strained, uncomfortable guilt as he struggles for words. “Yancy, I’m…I’m sorry.” He looks away, then back at Yancy again. “I don’t…” He sighs, a quiet huff out of his nose. “I don’t.”

This is the outcome Yancy knew would happen. This is the outcome Yancy feared. This is the thing that kept his mouth shut all this time. This is the thing he saw in his nightmares.

He can feel his heart split all the way down the center, twisting and knotting up in his chest. There’s knots in his throat, too, so lumpy and painful and aching that Yancy fears Lio can see them. He’s sure Lio can see the tears starting to cloud Yancy’s eyes.

“Oh,” Yancy manages, “I mean…yeah.”

He’s not surprised. He knew this would happen.

“That’s why you tried to hide it in the first place, you fucking genius, you moron, you huge goddamn stupid piece of worthless unlovable –”

Yancy gets up from the floor, fleetingly glad that this didn’t happen in his own room. He doubts he’d have the stomach to kick Lio out.

“I’m…I’ll just go,” he manages, voice choked with barely-restrained sobs.

“Yan –”

“Bye.”

“Yan!”

Yancy stops, hand on the door, knob already turned. He tells himself not to look back, but why start listening to himself now? Lio has stood up, too, staring after him with some mix of worry and terror on his face.

“Yan, how…how long?” His voice is layered with pity, and it makes Yancy’s heart start burning.

“It don’t matter.”

He opens the door and runs off. Lio doesn’t call after him, he doesn’t follow.

Yancy storms into his room seeing red, nothing but red, filtered through ugly tears. The moment the door slams shut they pour out in a howl.

“It’s ruined. I ruined it. I just lost my best friend.”

The lump in his throat bursts, sobs shoot out of him without his control. His body is torn between collapsing where it stands and storming around the room.

“He knows now, he knows. He knows how much I want him, he knows I’ve wanted him for a long time. He knows everything.”

His body makes its choice.

Yancy picks up his desk chair and heaves it across the room with a roar.

He punches holes into the wall. He kicks his bedframe so hard he leaves a dent. He throws books. He tears up music sheets. He only ever pauses to wipe tears out of his eyes when he can’t see enough to keep destroying. He never stops screaming. He never stops cursing himself inside. He never stops telling himself off for destroying his friendship with Lio. He never stops yelling at himself for letting his biggest secret go.

Unfortunately, though his room is soundproof, some sound can still leak out if it’s loud enough.

“Yancy, what’s going on??” cries Yandere from outside Yancy’s door. He must be here to hang out with Yancy. To watch a movie? To tear up the town? Who knows? Who cares?

“Go away!!” Yancy screams. He doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice, hoarse from shouting and warped from rage.

“What the hell are you doing in there!?” Yandere shrieks, alarmed by the venom in Yancy’s voice. Yancy doesn’t care. He slams his hand against his bedroom door, feeling a sick glimmer of satisfaction when Yandere yelps from the other side.

“I ain’t gonna tell you again!” Yancy roars, slamming the door again, both hands this time. “Get! Lost!!”

He turns away, anger unabated. He still can’t see through the red in his vision. Through the ever-falling tears. He hates this sadness. He hates this feeling. He hates his own stupidity, his own big mouth. He keeps wrecking his room, putting holes in the wall. He hears nothing from outside for a long moment, and thinks Yandere’s finally left him alone.

Until he hears a loud thud from his door, then another, then the door slams open as Yandere kicks it in.

Yancy whirls on him, and he catches Yandere’s determination falter. Yancy’s been good about managing his anger until now, Yandere’s never seen this before. They’re each at a standstill. But it only lasts a moment before Yandere furrows his brow again and approaches Yancy.

“The fuck’s he doin’ here, breakin’ into my room!? Can’t he let me grieve in peace??”

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re so mad about, but –”

Crack!

Yancy punches Yandere without thinking about it. He’s only angry. Angry to lose his privacy. Angry to have his space intruded on. Quick as a flash, Yandere reaches out to grab Yancy’s wrists. Yancy pulls but can’t pull free. Yandere snaps up his head to glare at him, eyes burning red. His grip on Yancy tightens, tightens. A bruise is already blooming across his cheek, a thin line of blood sneaks past his lips.

All at once, Yancy comes back to himself.

“What did you do!? You just punched Yandere! Youse already lost one friend today, what’ll you do if you lose another?? You’re gonna get abandoned again!!”

The red leaks out of Yancy’s vision. He blinks, gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice weak and raspy and already wet with fresh tears, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, please, I’m sorry –” He drops to his knees, blood rushing in his ears. “Don’t leave, don’t leave, I’m sorry, don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His words trail off as he starts to sob, aching and loud and painful like he did when he first ran into his room.

He can hardly see Yandere through his tears, but he can see the red in his eyes fade away as Yancy begs before him. Yandere may not know anger like Yancy’s, but he knows fear of rejection, he knows fear of abandonment. He lets go of Yancy’s wrists.

“Yan-kun, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he gasps, like he’s in pain, too. He kneels down to Yancy’s level to hug him. “It’s okay, you’re my friend, Yan-kun, I’m not going anywhere.” Yancy hugs Yandere back, as tight as he can, as Yandere rubs his back. “What happened, Yan-Yan? What’s got you so upset?”

Yancy only bawls harder in response, burrowing into Yandere’s arms so hard that he stumbles, falling back to sit on the floor. Yancy curls up in Yandere’s lap, wailing into his neck, and Yandere holds him, stroking his hair and trying to soothe him. They sit there in Yancy’s ruined room, curled over Yancy’s ruined heart.

Yancy keeps crying. He can’t forget any of it. He can’t forget his haphazard confession, he can’t forget Lio’s shock and embarrassment and guilt and pity, he can’t forget his own beating heart, still thumping for Lio after everything. He can’t forget the friend he’s lost, the lover he wished he could’ve had. He weeps because it’s over, it’s well and truly over.

He cannot sing for tears, but song haunts him anyway, it rings in his mind as keen as his beleaguered heart beats:

But now there's nowhere to hide,

Since you pushed my love aside,

I'm out of my head,

Hopelessly devoted to you.