#that glowing white wall thing in the drawing was like a one-way gate. you could only cross it from the other side and ghost came from there

[maddieandangel]

Had a weird Hollow Knight-related dream a couple days ago, so I decided to draw a major scene I remembered from it dgsgshf

More context will be in the tags, for those interested!

[kotias]

South Downs cottage - Our Eden

Okay, I've decided to create the cottage that I envision for Aziraphale and Crowley's final retirement at the end of the story.

I have used the Sims 4 game, meaning that I have been a bit limited on a few things, but here it comes, the vision I have for it.

Anyone looking for references, for inspiration, whether it is for drawing or writing, is very welcome to use those pictures.

In a story being worked on together with @daneecastle, called Our Eden, here is the full description:

Our Eden

(2836 words)

It felt like it had been two hundred years in preparation. And in a way, it was; the universe had so kindly presented him to the suicidal girl who had made it all possible, after all. It had so kindly given him a way to help her that would change her so dramatically that the effects of it still rippled through current days. His hands started shaking, and he pretended it was the strain of the walk. He had received the rights to that land in 1884, as Elspeth expired in her farm near Fulking, leaving a will addressed to him. He had spent years and years preparing it, honing it to perfection. He had build a proper garden out of the enormous fields, made it something his. Something theirs. Back then, he thought he may have lost Aziraphale, and yet receiving the land had sparked something new in him. He had spent an ungodly amount of time, only planting his trees, giving them time and space to grow into the luscious beauties they were today. He guided him through what felt almost like a forest, infused with his attentions. The apples had started showing- he grabbed one on the way, gave it to the angel. Anxiety spiked as they approached and were about to come into the final view. He pushed him against a tree, blocking his path, and kissed him, passionately, desperately, with all his love pouring out. He was shuddering. He wanted him to- He kissed him, again and again. The tree above them glowed a golden sheen.

"Cro-" more kissing. "Crowley-" Even more kissing. "Mm!" Aziraphale couldn't break away. So he pushed hard. "CROWLEY! What is going on?"

Crowley pursed his lips. Fuck it. He took his shades off, pushed them down into the pocket of his vest. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, his eyes betrayed them all. His anxiety, mixed with unfathomable excitement, was shining through them, he knew that very well. But Aziraphale knew what taking them off meant; he trusted him, he trusted him entirely, and he wanted him to know. "Just... just a little bit longer." He grabbed his hand again, and they were back on the path. Very quickly afterwards, he opened a little garden door, they passed another set of weeping willows, and there they were. The old farm had been rebuilt entirely into a cottage. A ground floor and a first floor, hidden under a dark tile roof. Maroon bricks, intertwined with regular touches of beige on the rims. Big, white windows all around it, giving more than sufficient lighting to the entire place. Large, teal shutters were attached to the walls. The entire garden around it had been fournished as to compliment its outdoor colours, and deeper into it, an enormous greenhouse had been installed, and was already almost exploding with greeneries. "... well. That's-" He forced himself to breathe. "That would be ours, if... if you would like to."

[...]

"Wanna visit the property properly, angel?" While he was swimming in his relief that his companion loved what he had created, and could stay there for days, he saw the looks he gave to the place, and of course he would be more than happy to show him what he had built for them.

Crowley took the hand and heaved himself up, cradled Aziraphale's hands into his own and kissed them. "Come on." He guided him back through the weeping willows, through the little garden gate, and they lost themselves into the near-forest he had taken the time of erecting for a century and a half. The trees who were welcoming them into the orchard were none other than apple trees of various types, blessing them with reds, greens and yellows. They were sheltered under gigantic mirabelle plum trees whose branches were hugging their little siblings, mixing their tame golden with the reds of their counterparts. The wind -or so Crowley pretended- was passing through the leaves, shaking them slightly as they passed below them. Like a finely-tuned music, nectarine trees, mixing their blonde and crimson colours into perfectly round and juicy fruits. Extending lower on the ground, several mulberry trees were offering a dark shelter from the sun and from any external view.

With a few steps, Crowley leaned down to pass under them, and leaned against the trunk of one of them, pulling Aziraphale against him. He gave him a kiss and brought him out of the leafy shelter, opening his view to a little vineyard he had managed to put together in the last decade. The vines adorned themselves with the blush colours of the setting sun, and opened their arms to the view of Devil's Dyke below. The never-ending greenery, the valley and the hills were battling for a chance to be seen by their two pairs of eyes, demanded the full spotlight and, in doing so, enhanced each other even more. Far into the horizon, beyond the curves of this landscape, glittered the shadow of the sea, reflecting the Heavens above like the Sun dropping into it burned like Hell below.

[...]

In his estimation, fifteen minutes passed before he nudged Aziraphale forward in their tour. They circled the orchard, until they reached the peaches and the pears that were hanging proudly from their trees. He guided him back into the small forest, and quickly, they were entirely covered with foliage above their heads. "I wanted to have more than one originally, but... they just don't know when to stop taking all the space. I thought it safer to just leave the one." This one was a fig tree, whose trunk was large, almost veiny with small craters all over, and its leaves and branches were extending so far beyond it that it had made itself a proper clearing. No other trees were allowed in its protection, and its roots were merrily swimming just below the surface of the ground, peeking through in a few spots. "But, strangely enough..." he brought him to the other side of the trunk and pointed to a large bush whose sharp-looking leaves were climbing up the fig tree like a praying Saint. "It seems to have gotten well acquainted with the strawberries. I don't know how they even appeared here, I for sure didn't plant them, but they've been clinging onto it for about ten years, I'd say." He leaned over the bush and picked one of its fruits, offered it to the angel. "Their taste really is unique, it seems that they've taken a bit of inspiration from the figs above them."

He brought him further into the orchard and back out the other side, and they were back into the garden around the cottage. Bushes full of fruits and vegetable patches were trailing their way around the back fence and contained to a single, rather large area, hidden behind rhododendron flowers. Crowley snapped his fingers for a basket, and did that a second time to collect the never-ending stream of growing zucchinis that were trying very hard to take over the entire area. A few pumpkins were starting to show, and the carrots and potatoes were just about to be ready- only a few additional weeks. Snap. The basket was sent into the kitchen directly. The sun was almost entirely set now, and the light was getting very dim. "If we enter the greenhouse now, I don't think you'll be able to see much. How about we go tomorrow morning, and I show you the house?"

"Yes, I'd like to see the greenhouse with the light, I believe thats where I'll find your best handy work so ..." He gestured toward the cottage. "After you?"

Crowley wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's and led him to the cottage's front door and unlocked it. He couldn't help a deep breath before opening the door, feeling his heart race again. That was it. Everything else would mean nothing if he didn't like the inside. The entry was a short corridor where a thin, dark brown table had been placed for usual end-of-the day clutter; it was open in a way that gave some space for the shoes of the hosts and visitors alike. By its side on the wall, a few hooks had been placed for any coat that needed taking off. It was quite simple, with walls painted yellow and a maroon ceiling. On the left, there was a bathroom as Crowley showed, rather large for the use they may have of it; a toilet, a sink, and, behind a semi-clear curtain, a grand bathtub, with enough space for two people to bathe without feeling the tiniest bit cramped. "I figured that you may appreciate visitors. There are a few families around here, and the kids get easily curious, I'm sure they'll pop by eventually. So... thought I'd furnish it properly, with the toilets and all."

[...]

He opened the door on the other side of the corridor, showing the living room, with one mahogany bookshelf taking over the wall in front of them, entirely empty except for two plants crawling their way up to the ceiling and showing off their vibrant green leaves all around the shelves. On their right was a large, arch-like window that would fully lit up the room during the day, in front of which were two armchairs and a small side table. In front of them, he had placed an off-white oak table that would comfortably host six diners, eight if they were feeling generous, but at the moment, a wooden bench and matching two chairs were surrounding it. On the far left of the room, a large couch and a low table were facing a grand chimney. Just before the couch was an archway that gave a hint of the kitchen hiding behind the wall.

Aziraphale wandered into the room, touching the furniture and looking at all the details of the room, a big smile on his face as he explored the living room. "This is so cozy! I love the chairs." He came to the arm chairs and leaned against one. "Do you prefer to have one or the other? Or is it 'whatever closer'?"

Crowley smiled tenderly at the angel. "You seem to have chosen yours already. Go on, try them out- I think you'll like them."

Aziraphale smiled, glad to see that Crowley noticed which one he favored. He sat in the armchair and leaned into it. It almost felt like he melted into the chair. "It's so comfortable and yet not too much so, I can definitely see myself spending a long time in this chair." He got up and walked over to Crowley, "next room?"

He nodded when it was time to get to the next step, and guided him through the archway and into the kitchen. Compared to the other rooms, it was rather small, but, Crowley thought, rather well furnished. It also was entirely Aziraphale, he hoped. Its soft, pastel colours, mainly beiges and teals, were lighting it up quite nicely, particularly considering that the window in this room was not quite as impressive as the one in the living room. It had a small folding table placed against the nearest wall with two high stools, where his basket full of almost overgrown zucchinis was resting. All over the right corner, facing the door leading to the entry, were a large set of counters and cupboards, an oven and a stove. In one of the cupboards, he had hidden as many kitchen appliances as he could find, enough to make the angel's life easier whatever the task he set himself to do. On the left side of the room was the stone staircase leading them upstairs; before it was a glass door bringing them back outside, behind it was one last door to be opened- and that was the big one. His library.

Aziraphale examined every drawer and cupboard. He pointed out the appliances he knew and questioned and investigated the ones he didn't; he was on an adventure through the kitchen, really getting to know everything. He knew this was his place. He had not really gotten too much into cooking,as he usually only made things for himself, but this time was different. He wasn't just cooking for himself. He was cooking for Crowley too, even if his demon only drank alcohol and coffee; he still got to share that experience. He hurried over to Crowley like a little kid. "Apologies dear, I couldn't help but explore. What's the next room?" He tipped his head ever so slightly in curiosity.

"Oooh, I think you'll like it." He really hoped he would. He took his hand, brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, looking straight into his eyes. "And please, tell me if you would change anything." He brought him to the door, and opened it. While it had not been filled with books yet, the library was covered, on every wall, from the floor to the ceiling, with book shelves. That was a very round and rather high room, crawling all the way up to the end of the first floor, almost eating into the roof of the cottage, and every bookshelf had been designed to embrace those facts. They were accompanying the walls, hugged them perfectly all the way up to the roof. Three more of them, thinner and shorter, had been placed closer to the middle, creating a visual guide to the large window on the left side, mirroring the one in the living room. In that place, he had installed a wooden resting place, with plenty of cushions and plaids to keep it comfortable. Under that bench, he had created a large space to confine all sorts of blankets, tartan covers, pillows and other comfortable fabrics that would prove incredibly useful during the winter period. Covering the ground, he had chosen soft, dark blue carpeting, and placed more ottomans and footstools in the middle of the room, and a small, low metal table had been fixed on the floor for stability. Aziraphale did love drinking something with his reading, it would be a shame for it to stupidly fall on the floor due to a bad movement making the table tumble. Crowley gave plenty of time to the angel to discover his space, sat on the wooden bench while he was looking around, anxiously watching his reactions.

Aziraphale's reaction was bigger than any of the other rooms he was so overjoyed that his wings burst out and stuck to him as he ran around checkout every detail of his library. He would chatter on and on about what books he wanted to stack where, what he wanted to do with which area during which time of year. He even joked about letting Crowley sleep in a little area for him to cuddle with his Angel when he wanted to read. Then he came running back, floating when he leaped, his wings assisting, then pounced Crowley kissing him. "Thank you! This is absolutely wonderful, my love!"

"Well, as you'd have it, that was the plan-" He kicked into the bench's sides, and a little door to its hidden space opened, revealing the overflow of covers. "I know how much time you'll spend in here, angel, and I'd hate for either of us to get cold. Now, since you're already floating- if you go up to the next floor, you should be able to see your study. I made it so it felt part of the library." It was a little space he had created with a desk full of drawers and a few shelves, usually accessible by going up the stairs, and facing the open space of the library with only a fence separating them. Two windows circled it, giving it a fair bit of light.

Aziraphale paused and looked behind him, and giggled, let his wings vanish. "No, I think I'll go up there the human way. Care to show me?"

[...]

He chortled against his mouth and grabbed his hands, dragged him towards the bedroom's door, opened it with a kick and brought him in. It was a great room, he thought; full of warm colours, albeit on the darker side of the spectrum. The walls were burgundy, with large beige accents all over them, and the lamp above them was adorned with golden colours. On their right, the wall was comprised of a large, retractable door, with large mirrors attached to it, opening to what he knew was an enormous walk-in wardrobe, big enough to host all the clothes they had amassed during the last centuries. There were two little, dark side tables with small lamps attached to them. But the main piece was the bed; perfectly outraged with the tiny thing that Aziraphale dared call his resting place in the bookshop, Crowley had taken it upon himself to make it a proper King size, which had been covered with white and teal bed sheets on which slithered a red bedspread.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 12: Riding To Freedom

Season One | Season Two | Season Three | Season Four

Raining Hellfire: Season Four

Word Count: 3333 words (the way i laughed when i saw the word count)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, wounds, blood, vecna's curse

[A/N: i'm not making this steve or eddie thing any easier, i'll admit.]

Riding To Freedom

“Y/n?”

You awake with a groan, moving to rest your hand on your stomach before someone else carefully moves it away.

Blinking your eyes open, you settle on messy hair, layered to frame big brown doe-like eyes. The familiar glint of silver shone on the hand that held yours and you take a breath, frowning.

“Eddie?”

“Hey.” He smiles, dimples denting his cheeks, eyes searching yours. “You, uh... we almost lost you there.”

It’s not until you try and move that it all rushes back to you.

“Oh. Yeah.” You wince but Eddie places his hand on your back, helping you sit up. Your stomach was covered in white and black material, a flash of red painted on but that could just be blood. “How long was I…”

“Couple of minutes.” Eddie says, trying to keep his smile but you notice it keeps faltering. “We, um… we heard from Dustin. In the walls or some shit.”

“Yeah, it’s like an echo of our world can be heard here. Happened when Will was missing too.” You clear your throat, looking around and noticing the other three were crouched by Dustin’s bed, staring at nothing. “Not to sound paranoid but… are they good?”

“Oh, them?” Eddie glances over, “They’re waiting for some weird glowing lights to appear.”

You raise an eyebrow and he chuckles.

“You mean that didn’t make you any less paranoid?” He jokes and you smile at him. There’s a sweet moment between you both before he coughs, a deep set frown on his face.

“Hey, you okay?” You ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I had no idea.” He mutters and you shake your head.

“What-”

“All of this.” Eddie gestures around the room but you knew he was talking about the alternate world in general. “That you’ve been dealing with this shit since I met you. It’s… it’s fucking terrifying if I’m being honest.”

“We’re getting out of here.” You comfort, tilting your head so his eyes move to yours. “We just need to find another gate.”

“Right.” He nods, thin lipped. “As easy as that.”

...seeing this?

You whip your head around once the voice called out, panic attacking your chest as you tense up. Eddie quickly places both hands on your shoulders, turning you back.

“Don’t worry, don’t- I heard it too.” He reassures and you sigh, looking to the others just as a soft glow of light illuminated in front of them. Eddie’s eyes widen. “Whoa.”

Not moving… unplug it. Stand by.

Nancy’s hand retracts from where she had been waving her fingers through the sparkles and you watch as the light fades.

You look to Eddie and he immediately acts, straightening to help you stand and move over to where the others are.

Robin shuffles over once she sees you, leaving you situated between her and Eddie. Her hand finds yours and gently squeezes, a smile woven into her face as you sigh.

...Try it now…

“Okay.” Nancy says, looking as if she was buffering. “Um…”

She drifts her head towards you and shrugs, not knowing what to do. Instead, you move forward slightly, trying to remember where the light was before and you tentatively reach your hand out, ignoring the small cuts and scratches covering the skin.

You draw a line down, your finger tingling at the sensation, and it appears to work. Dustin’s laughter echoes around you and you continue, drawing line after line until you formed a single word.

‘Hi’.

You wait in silence until his voice came back, cheery.

That worked!

“Yes!” Steve yells out as you all celebrate, looking to eachother with bright smiles.

“Hi!” Eddie repeats, joy overflowing and you laugh as he side hugs you.

“Okay, what now?” You ask, you and Nancy sharing a look.

She points to the space and you nod, watching as she begins spelling out another word, broken by the restraint of the light. ‘Stu-ck’.

Stuck

You clearly hear Erica’s voice now and you smile.

Can’t… back… Watergate?

“What the hell’s Watergate?” Steve frowns and you hide a smirk.

“Cause it’s in water and it’s a gate.” Robin explains half-heartedly, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Oh.” Steve says and Eddie tilts his head.

“That’s cute.” Eddie comments, smiling in confusion as you look to him with a small frown. “What?”

“Watergate?” You look around at the blank stares, Nancy too busy concentrating to help you. “Okay, never mind.”

Nancy frowns. “Uh, okay… it’s…”

‘Guar-ded’. Your breath hitches and you look at Steve, his own eyes already on yours with a feared look on his face.

Both of you bore scars now, Steve more so. Guilt hit you like a brick when you remembered how you left him on his own. And, as you look down, you realise the yellow jumper was still wrapped around you, slightly lower as if someone had pulled it down to access your wound.

We think…have a theory… help with that.

“Genius child.” Robin mutters and you nod along. Dustin really was a genius.

We...Watergate isn’t….only gate… another… murder site…

“Anyone have any idea what he’s talking about?” Nancy asks and everyone shakes their head.

“A gate opens every time Vecna murders someone?” You mumble to yourself and they all look at you. “Uh… or not. I don’t know. Okay, just-”

You lean forward and draw a quick question mark into the light.

Seriously? How many… do I… right… the money… beforeyouguysjusttrustme?

You raise your eyebrows at his outburst, quickly drawing back your finger and holding it as if it had been bad.

“Jesus Christ, this kid’s gotta get his ego in check.” Steve sighs.

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie leans forward, looking at him.

“I know.” Steve nods, pointing at you. “This one’s fault.”

“Hey, I am not responsible for that monster.” You raise your hands in offence.

“Her fault.” Steve mouths at Eddie and you punch his shoulder, making him gasp.

“Okay.” Nancy interjects, “I think Y/n was right the first time.”

“Ah, see?” You nod at Steve and Eddie, raising your chin, “If Dustin got anything from me, it was brains.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a smirk while Eddie tilts his head, nodding at the thought.

“So… So how far is your trailer?” Nancy asks the boy next to her.

“Seven miles.” Eddie immediately responds and the others lean back in recoil at how quickly he knew that. “Uh… I had to… come up here a few times. A lot, actually.”

Heads turn to look at you and you feel the blush creeping onto your cheeks.

Robin winces in embarrassment for you, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking over at Nancy. “Nancy? Uh, I know your house here is, like, weirdly, creepily frozen in time and shit, but… haven’t you always had bikes?”

“The kids.” You nod at Nancy when she thinks it through. “Plus two more bikes at mine.”

“Three, actually.” Eddie says casually and you look back at him, his cheeks suddenly burning red instead. “You know, cause… okay, let’s go get these bikes.”

He stands up, clapping his hands together and after a moment you all join him, a plan set in your minds.

The ride was as you expected it to be; painful.

Every muscle in your body ached as you powered through, pedalling to keep up with the others. The last thing you’d want is to keep anyone behind.

The street was way too familiar for your liking, a darker version of the road you had biked down in ‘83.

You weren’t expecting a speed chase with the party when you woke up. It was killing your legs and seemingly almost killing children when you all biked though a small playground, Dustin yelling at them to move.

“Lucas!” You breathed as the boy appeared next to you and you all came to a quick halt. This all would have been avoided if I just had a damn car, you thought, clutching your side.

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think we lost them.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Dustin, you’re gonna jinx-” Your warning was interrupted with the sounds of tires screeching towards you. “Move!”

“Go, go, go, go, go!”

“Shit!” You yelled as a van drove towards you all.

With the vans closing in and Dustin screaming, you barely noticed El draw her focus onto the van in front of you. Before you knew it, the van suddenly flipped into the air and landing just behind you to block the others. The impact caused your bike to wobble but you remained upright, pushing on further.

You half expected El and the boys to show up beside you, yelling about men from the lab. You wondered if you’d ever see El again.

There’s a shiver of goosebumps along your skin and you look around, noticing everyone else look uneasy too. Out in the distance, you could see the Creel House through the trees, looking even more haunting than you thought possible.

A chill down your spine and you tense slightly, allowing your bike to carry you without your help. Glancing behind you, you notice a flickering street lamp, a demobat perched just on top, watching.

Fear struck your nerves. Vecna knew.

By the time you made it to Eddie’s, your legs were screaming for rest. The sky was storming red and you all dumped your bikes. You stand, bent over with your hands on your knees as you tried to catch a breath. The scratches on your chest were stinging from the cold air, the bandages bleeding through.

“That’s gotta be a Guinness World Record.” Robin pants, walking backwards towards the trailer, “Most miles travelled inter-dimensionally.”

Next to you, Steve jumps off his bike, stretching before walking over to help you.

“Just inhaled a bunch of that crap.” He says, coughing. You offer a sympathetic smile, walking with him. “It’s stuck in my throat.”

“Wait until you smell Demogorgon breath.” You comment and he raises an eyebrow, letting out another cough as you step into the trailer.

It was strange. You hadn’t been in Eddie’s home for 2 years now, and yet you could have easily made yourself at home if it were the real place. You’d walk straight over to where Wayne kept the mugs, tracing your fingers over the small doodles Eddie had drawn on the counter surface. Then, you would delicately pick up the trail of DnD campaign papers he had scattered all over the place, joining him in his room and fiddling with his guitar pick collection. You really had loved it here.

And, as you look to him now, you knew Eddie was reminiscing the same things.

Despite the vines and general black muck spread over the place, that wasn’t really the big difference between the Upside Down’s version of Eddie’s trailer to Hawkins’ own.

No, it would have to be the gaping red slit in the ceiling, humming to life as it shone crimson into the dark night.

“This is where Chrissy died.” Eddie says and, when you look to him, he bore a look you’ve worn many times. “Like, right where she died.”

You brush your hand against his and he relaxes his shoulders, eyes still fixated on the gate above you.

“I think there’s something in there.” Robin shares and when you look closely, you can see something moving against the membrane.

“What the hell is that?” Eddie mumbles as you all stare up, something long and thin cutting through the slime.

It suddenly pierces through, pieces of the gate splattering on the ground and you all jump back, Eddie’s hand immediately grabbing hold of yours as everyone yelps.

Steve is the first to move forward, everyone else shuffling along with him to see what was waiting for you on the other side.

As you stood directly below, your heart burst with happiness.

Dustin stared back at you, laughing a joyful melody. Behind him were Erica and Lucas, their smiles just as bright as they rejoiced finding you all.

And Max stood in view, her eyes lighting up once she found yours, sending you a small wave.

“Hi there.” Dustin laughed and you all replied with quick ‘hello’s’.

Looking to eachother, you all felt the hope that radiated from eachother. Robin looks at you, squeezing your shoulder before her eyes caught sight of something else. She simply raises her eyebrows, smile never faltering. It’s not until you share a look with Eddie that you remembered you were still holding his hand.

“Sorry.” You both mumbled, dropping the contact and clearing your throats.

“Holy shit, this is trippy.” Robin comments.

“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin yells and you laugh.

“God, I wish this was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” You sigh happily, brain trying to understand how the gravity was working here.

“There’s been weirder stuff?” Eddie questions and Steve hums in response.

“Oh yeah.” He nods, “Like, we got kidnapped by Russians last year.”

“And they had this whole ass lab beneath the mall.” Robin adds and you snort.

“Don’t forget about the monster we had fought that was made out of human flesh.” You say and they both let out sounds of remembrance.

Eddie’s eyes widen. “What?”

“Not to mention that was all one day.” You frown and tilt your head, glancing at Steve who was sharing the same look. The look of ‘how the hell is this our life?’.

“Noted.” Eddie breathes out.

“Okay.” Max’s voice calls out and you look back up, watching as the others disperse. “We think we have a plan, just hold on.”

She disappears too and you let out a sigh, waiting.

“So…” You start and they all look at you, “How has everyone’s day been?”

They all let out small chuckles and Nancy clears her throat.

“Well I had a great night swim.” She says and you smile, the humour masking the terrors of your night.

“Fought off some bats.” Robin points out and Nancy nods.

“Steve had an Ozzy moment.” Eddie nudges your shoulder and you furrow your brows. He allowed you to think it through until you let out a small gasp.

“You bit a bat’s head off?” You gawk at Steve who looks at you, exasperated.

“How the hell did you-” He glances between you and Eddie, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“What about you?” Robin asks and you look confused. “What did you get up to while we were, uh, bat-fighting?”

“Uh…” You purse your lips, unsure of what to share. “I woke up in the middle of the woods. Ended up at the graveyard. FoughtaDemogorgon. And then I found you guys-”

“WHAT?!” They all exclaimed, eyes wide with concern written across their faces.

Steve’s eyes fell onto the slices below your neck, it all piecing together in his mind.

Saved by the thump of something heavy above you, everyone looked up to see Eddie’s mattress had been dragged out and placed directly under the gate. You froze as you looked at the mattress.

“Those stains are, uh…” Eddie begins, side-glancing at everyone as you stayed silent. “I dunno what those stains are.”

“Mmm.” Robin nods slowly, squinting as Nancy shivers beside her. “I bet Y/n has memory loss too.”

Beetroot red. That is what you assumed the colour of your face had turned since everyone was now staring at you. You sent a glare to Robin who was stifling a laugh.

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “Dustin? What’s the plan here?”

“Just a second.” He replies, coming into view with a rope made up of various sheets tied together. “Not quite sure how these physics are gonna work. But, uh… here goes nothing.”

He launches the rope through the gate and Steve pulls you back just in time, it barely missing your head.

“Thanks.” You say before your eyes widen.

The rope was somehow floating between worlds, Dustin hands still firm on his end of the material.

“And if my theory is correct…” Dustin lets go and sure enough, it stays. “Abracadabra. All right, pull on it! See if it holds!”

Since Robin was closest, she grabbed hold and tugged as hard as she could. It didn’t budge.

“This is the craziest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Erica says, sharing a high-five with Dustin, “And I’ve seen some crazy shit.”

“Just casually defying gravity.” You mutter and Eddie smirks.

“Does it beat human flesh monster?” He questions, leaning towards you and you pretend to think about it.

“It’s definitely top three.” You decide and he grins.

“Okay, come on. Let’s get out of here.” Steve suddenly says and when you look over, he’s avoiding your eyes and looking at Robin instead.

“Guess I’m the guinea pig.” She shrugs. She reaches up and starts to pull herself up the rope.

When she slips slightly, you step forward and help her, hand on the back of her thigh.

“Whew.” Robin glances back at you with a cheeky grin. “Take me to dinner first.”

“Is that a request?” You return a smile and she continues her ascent, reaching the gate.

Once she pushes herself through, she seems to flip and immediately falls, landing on her back with a yelp. Thankfully, the mattress broke the landing and you stare up at her with a wince.

“You good?” You ask and she lets out a breathy laugh.

“That was fun.” She replies and Dustin helps her up from the landing pad.

“Who’s next?” Nancy asks, looking at everyone and you settle your eyes on Eddie.

He sends you a frown and you simply move your head towards the rope.

“All right, guess I’ll go.” He says and you move back to let him climb out of the gate.

He crashes onto the matt and you hold your breath until he bounces back up, nodding. “That… was fun. Shit.”

Steve chuckles at the display before glancing between you and Nancy, something unreadable on his face.

“See you on the other side.” He settles on Nancy stepping back and you do the same.

“On the other side.” She repeats to herself before looking to you. “Are you sure-”

“Go.” You laugh, shoving her lightly.

She grabs onto the rope and Steve shuffles around to join you, lowering his head.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Your smile falters as the grandfather clock echoes in your mind. Something was wrong.

“Hey, uh, are you okay to…” He waves his hand towards the gate and you smile, nodding.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You sigh, “Besides I only got bitten by one bat, really. You got the family discount.”

Steve laughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’d rather it be me than you.”

You start to fiddle with your clothes, unsure how to answer until your hands brush over familiar material. “Oh.”

Steve frowns and looks to where you’re staring, eyebrows raising. “Is that my jumper?”

“Yeah.” You let out a breathy laugh, untying it and holding it out in front of you. You wince once you see just how red the yellow jumper had gotten. “Uh…”

You look at Steve who was trying to stifle a laugh.

He catches your eye and holds up his hands. “Sorry, I just- I wasn’t expecting the new colour.”

“Hey, you said to keep it safe, you said nothing about returning it in the same condition you left it.” You laugh despite everything and Steve chuckles.

“That’s true. I should really be more specific about my instructions next time.”

You go to respond before your eyes catch Nancy still stood at the bottom of the rope and you frown. “Nance? You can go, seriously, we’re big kids now.”

She doesn’t respond and Steve walks over. “Seriously, we-”

His face drops and he immediately grabs onto her shoulders, shaking.

“Hey! Hey! Stay with me. Nancy!”

You stumble back, your chest tightening and the jumper in your hand falls to the ground. You didn’t need to see her face to know what was happening.

Vecna had found another victim.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Chapter 13: Maybe We Are Crazy ->

[A/N: i really don't think y'all are ready for the next chapter...]

taglist: @gnnnne / @beepisbeep / @paintballkid711 / @eddiesbirdie / @livasaurasrex / @darktimelegends / @jackierose902109 / @mvrylee / @chervbs / @eternallyvenus / @nervouscatsuit / @f1nn-wolfhard / @hereiamhereigo / @ladybug0095 / @fangirling-4-ever / @astrolockley / @mothmanatemycat / @sheisjoeschateau / @champagnejoker / @umidktbh / @fallinginlovewithqueue / @ilovetaylorswift132006 / @live-the-fangirl-life /

[thepaintedlady00]

Burden Chapter 15 Finale Sneak Peek!!!

Just a note before getting into this, I do not know a ton about Daniel or how things change after certain canon events so please don't crucify me if this doesn't match canon! 😅

Enjoy y'all!

You approached the young tree with a gentle touch and kind gaze upon the face carved into the trunk. Hector's son was still quite young, and his tree of memory reflected such. It was smaller than his mother's that stood beside it, but the roots were strong and ran far deeper than any mortal. Daniel, you quickly realized, was special. Different. Like you.

The face seemed to stare back at you, white leaves peeking out from beneath the lush green canopy. You approached slower, urging the roots to lift and open the young ones mind to you. His memories would be few, but there was no doubt much you could learn within them. Veins of white stood out in the darkness. Some roots, the ones that borrowed deeper, were pale and sung with power and immortality. The song of The Endless. But, the tune wasn't Dreams, or Deaths, or Desires. It was its own song, still unfinished.

You walked through the light, lush still forming along the walls of his memory, focusing on the memories he found joyful. You intended to share them with Hector, a gift to show your gratitude for his hard work and kindness. That, however, was not where the tree led you.

Stumbling into the blinking light, you found yourself kneeling in deep sand. Sand scratched your palms, sticking to you like sap, just as it had the first time. Except now that sand, once a deep void of black, was white. It sparked like tiny perfect crystals in your palms as you stood and looked out at the miles of glistening sand and bright cerulean waves.

You knew this beach better than any save its creator. You knew the placement of each stone and the feeling of the sand as it molded to your steps. This place felt different… All at once, the beach you knew and not. It was old and new and entirely confusing.

The fragile ground beneath your feet seemed to remember you as you walked toward where the Gates of Horn and Ivory should have been. The sand didn't swallow your feet or try to slow your steps. It felt as though you were walking on nothing at all. Before your eyes, the entrance stood, an entrance that was not the gates you knew at all.

Glossy white marble caught the light and cast an ethereal glow all around you. An aura of both light and color, beautiful and bright. The gates stood open, revealing a sight you'd grown to know well. "The Dreaming."

As you passed through, you admired the fine craftsmanship of the carvings in the marble gates. A story familiar and also not… Something that had not yet been told. Familiar things were more abundant here as you walked through the town and admired the dreamers. Dreams and Nightmares, old and new, greeted you like a friend and wished you good fortune as you made your way to the palace.

The regal and beautiful palace of The Dream Lord was quite similar to the one you’d known. Only some small changes in the stone and the statues caught your eyes, but as the doors opened to the throne room, a wave of unfamiliarity washed over you at the sight. The white marble of Dream’s palace was pristine in every sense of the word, reflecting the array of light and color that swirled around the room, drawing your gaze to the tiny crystals that hung in the air like drops of frozen rain. It was beautiful, marvelous, but not what you knew to be.

The stairway leading to the throne was wrong as well, far more winding and long, a path of almost transparent crystal. The stained glass windows above the throne shifted to reflect you, a perfect vision of white mist and black dogs and golden leaves. It was as if The Dreaming was trying to welcome you… trying to lull you into a feeling of peace or comfort at all that was not as it should be. And there, in the place of the throne, you knew Morpheus to have was something entirely not his. It was far more organic looking, like a split geode that held an uncontainable cosmos of stars and cosmic clouds within it and delicately carved flowers lining the top. And sitting on that throne was a being that was not Dream of The Endless. Not your Dream.

The pale being lifted his head, and not a single strand of his cloudy white hair strayed. His black eyes consumed you entirely, two small slivers of starlight shining brighter as they looked upon you. The robes he wore were white, adorned with golden designs, and there, sitting proudly upon his chest, was a glowing emerald dreamstone.

“It is a great honor to meet you at last, Munin of the Emerald Wood.” His voice was silken and light, Dream’s but not his. 

“You are not my Dream… are you?” You asked with tears building in your eyes.

With a soft sigh, he rose from his throne slowly, almost as if he thought doing so any faster would scare you. “No, I suppose I am not.”

You didn’t dare look away from him as you asked, “Then who are you?”

“The name you would likely know me by is Daniel. Daniel Hall.”

[charnelhouse]

black sheeps

Pairing: Dave York x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.9K Warnings: a smidge of daddy kink. pain kink. violence. rough smut. cheating. Summary: It was always going to end like this. You or Dave. A/N: i barely looked over this and it's kind of trash but i just hope you all like it lmao. ill fix it later

You think the grass is too green. The streets are too wide - so wide that the asphalt turns into a snaking black river and you are out in the open - the blaring sign of your bare figure stumbling through the quaint neighborhood. So many streetlights. You avoid the pale glow that dots the sidewalk. You know his kids are gone. His wife, too. Dave’s house sits white and naked on a hump of land. No gates.

Foolish man.

The house is a symbol of him not fearing a thing - no old ghosts to come to bite him in the ass except for you. You and the slip of paper in your pocket. Fair is fair.

This is a suicide mission. This is dangerous and you’re not at your best, but you don’t care. You’re spread thin and the people who asked you to do this are chomping at your heels. They’re waiting in the wings - the bleak maw of that chasm ready to strike and drag you into the pit should you fail. Asps and hungry teeth and sour venom. Foreign markets and their lack of red tape and you really should have gotten that shit in writing.

Finish it or you’re fucked.

You wouldn’t mind dying by Dave York’s hand you think as you slide into his house. There are worse ways to go and it’d be rather romantic and tragic all at once.

It was always going to end like this. You or Dave.

The taste of succulent lobster in buttered bread and his mouth at your ear. Main in April and there had been so much rain. The tiny room in that white-board inn and his tongue inside you. Blue blankets and sweat and Manhattans in bed. He’d spooned candied cherries into your mouth soaked in rye.

You’re playing for the opposing team, baby.

I’ll tell you what though - shit that feels - feels good. Fuck - c’mon are you listening? I’m giving you an out. I’m giving you a chance to run.

Okay. Alright. After this, then? That’s my good girl.

Fuck - you really did hate him.

***

He knew you were coming. He could see you and every piece of him burned with the knowledge that you were giving in or giving up. You wouldn’t be so clumsy - so messy. You blatantly step on the cracks of his porch. You jostle the door handle. Dave had seen you take out four men in broad daylight and none of them had known until the barrel was digging into their skulls.

You want him to know.

You slip through the window and Dave’s fist catches your cheek.

Your head rocks into the wall, but you wrench it back on straight. You snatch his next hit and twist his arm violently enough to make him grunt. He shoves you into the kitchen table - rips at your hair before you slam one of his kid’s school books into the flat of his face. There’s a crunch - maybe a hairline fracture and he’s left dazed.

He sees stars - sees black dots and a whole collage of colors and then you’re punching punching punching. There’s the sharp scratch of air as you tug a knife from the woodblock. You do well enough - slicing through his cotton shirt - his bicep and hip. Slash of dark red and a pricking sting like a wasp or scorpion. The blade gets embedded in a coloring book.

It takes him a minute to realize that neither of them has said a word. Just feral broken noises - groaning and grunting and hitched breath. He draws backward after he sends you careening into the sink - your spine cracking on the faucet.

“I thought you were going to run?” he asks - almost playful. You sweep your head back - your hair flying with it and he thinks jesus christ you’re too pretty for this line of work because your face is swollen and bruised and he realizes that all of those hurts aren’t just from him.

“That - that was two years ago, Dave.” You press your hand to your shoulder and shove - the creak of joint and bone splintering through the shadowed kitchen. “You have a lot of enemies. It's not personal.”

“Feels personal.”

You wedge your hand beneath your black jacket - grimacing as you snatch your lip between your teeth. He’d missed your mouth - the soft plush of it. He’d missed a lot of things, but fuck if he didn’t think about you more often than not.

You pull your hand away and there’s the stain of blood.

He hadn’t cut you there. He knows that, at least.

“Did they hurt you?” he finds himself speaking out loud. The worry in his voice unrestrained before he can change it - before he can mask it.

It makes you pause and look up at him. “Does it matter?”

“It lets me know that you don’t want to do this.” He stalks toward you, passing around the marble island. You don’t flinch or jerk away, only regard him with a dubious expression.

You can’t save me. You can’t save me.

“You were messy about this. Why?”

You laugh - dry and caustic and bitter. You shake your head - combing your shiny hair back as your face goes slack. “I’m tired.”

“So you wanted me to kill you?”

You shrug. “I can’t get out of this. I can’t leave it. I’m stuck.”

That wouldn’t do.

He could make a decision here. He could end you and tie up the ragged edges of his past. You were certainly a ragged edge - certainly a scratch in his record. He won’t though. He’s too deep here and he finds himself lunging forward - crowding you up against the wall. The clock above them chimes twice. There’s the dull hum of the air conditioning. The drip of the sink and groan of the trash compactor. He plants his hands on either side of your head - his breath warm on your brow. “You can run,” he murmurs - pushing his knuckles against the swelling beneath your eye. The smell of you breaking him open - tearing him to flaps of skin and meat and fuck - he’d missed you. “You can run. I’ll help you out.”

You roll your shoulders - your eyes glossy as they peek up at him through the fringe of your lashes. Dave remembers what it was like before when things were easy and clean. When the both of them played on the good team - though what was even good - what was bad - this was all just relative.

Everything isn’t so easy now - too many loose ends to clip and too many old friends getting in the way of his cash flow.

It’s not even fucking greed.

It’s college tuition. It’s healthcare. It’s food on the table and why not do what he does best? Why not do what he’d been taught? The rock-heavy plaque on his desk in his office. He’d thrown it into the mirror above the fireplace and watched it shatter.

He can taste your blood on his tongue. The metallic dust of it.

“When did you decide to go noble?” you remark evenly - your palms on his chest.

He chuckles. “It’s not noble. It’s not noble to want you the way I do. It wasn’t noble - what we did in Maine. The way I let you call me daddy and I fucked you within an inch of your life. It’s definitely not noble that I still think about it - get myself off to it.” He drops his chin - drawing his lips across your forehead. You tremble - exhaling roughly before curling your fingers into his shirt. “I can still taste your cunt,” he finishes - low and slow and deliberate and he knows he has you as soon as your pupils dilate and your gaze goes far away.

***

You’re naked beneath him as he registers every wound that mars your perfect body. The gash beneath your ribs is the worst of it and you’ve taped it shut to stop the bleeding. It’ll need stitches no doubt, but you’d begged him: “Just fuck me, Dave. I don’t care.”

He screws you on the kitchen island - the mess of a broken chair at the corner of his eye - the bowl of fruit scattered above your head. Loose oranges and his foot skidding through a mushy banana. He holds your thighs apart - pinning you down - as he stares at the gaping flush of your sex. The parted lips swollen and wet and he knew fighting turned you on - he knew a little pain made you go blind with it. He drops to his knees to look closer - inhaling raggedly like some pervert. But you fucking like it - quivering and whimpering before he drags his tongue across the seam of your cunt - tasting the salt of you - the slight tang of sweet at the end of it. He pushes his fingers into you - spreads them apart as he feels your walls tighten and clench. You writhe and he presses his thumb to your clit - hard and puffy - and pushes down. It makes you twitch around him - your muscles bunching up as you gasp.

He keeps holding you in place - keeping your knees parted and glued to his waist. He hauls your ass across the table so you’re hanging half off and fully on display.

“You want it?” he asks.

You blink at him - still unforgivably gorgeous. “Yeah, Dave. Please.”

He traces the blunt tip of his cock through your folds - testing the waters before he begins to push inside.

He goes slow - making you feel every ridge and line of his cock. Your pussy pulses with it and he keeps the heel of his hand grazing across your clit to keep you soft and juicy for him. He shoves the last few inches in until he’s buried to the hilt - until he thinks he’s hit the end of you of your cunt - as if he could screw your heart or lungs or gut and all of the chaos within it.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he rasps. “I’m going to fuck you and it won’t be gentle or nice.”

He draws his cock back - the head of him catching on the fluttering hole of your cunt before he snaps his hips forward and knocks you up the wood. He fucks you hard and frantic - every plunge of his cock making you moan - making you grip the edge of the table above your head.

“Dirty little thing,” he murmurs as he keeps you spread open - as he watches your folds part around the shiny length of him - the stretch unbelievable. He wonders if it hurts - maybe just enough to get you going - to sustain you. Your body is littered in cuts and welts and he feels anger - true anger - at someone injuring you so severely in his name.

The table is creaking beneath the onslaught of his thrusts - the thwack thwack thwack of wood feet scratching on tile mixed with the obscene squelch of his cock driving into you. He feels you tighten up - feels your walls clench and contract and your hips bucking up and he knows -

“You gonna cum, honey?” he urges - the pump pump pump of his dick - thick and heavy and more erect than he’s ever been before because of you. There is the crash of his hips and your breath barely spouting from your gorgeous mouth. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you cry out. “Yes - fuck.”

Oh he fucking feels it. He feels you snap around him like a pulled string - your whole system short-circuiting and it’s just enough to drive him to his end. He grinds himself as deep as he’ll go and paints your insides with his spend - his seed - and thank god for getting snipped a year ago.

His knees give out and he pulls you off the table with him - both of you crashing to the floor. You jerk when you hit your injured side - a short grunt. You take pain so beautifully - it barely registers and he finds himself brushing your hair back to kiss you. It’s a tender kiss - more tender than he intends - but his tongue slips over yours and he cannot stop. It grows hungry and insistent and he’s already spreading your knees - his cock half-filling as he covers your body with his own. He cradles your face - notching his hips into the bowl of your pelvis.

“Baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl.”

Yes - a sweet girl with all of her guns and her knives and her ledger of red. Her kill list and the hammers she’s used to bludgeon skulls of men three times her size.

Dangerous and still giving up beneath him. Still submitting and asking him for death.

He doesn’t like it. He’d want it to be a fair fight.

He grips his cock before he returns it to the still gaping channel of your cunt. He sinks and sinks until there is not a wisp between them. You fit him well - fit him lovely. He rocks into you - makings your lips open against his - you breathe deep - breathe him in.

He will fix you enough - he’ll convince you to keep going - to not chicken out. He’ll get you all better and then - when it’s an even playing field - you can try to kill him again.

[archived-kin]

one thousand and one nights with you (is not enough to spend)

note from kin: the title is from that song in twisted by starkid, but that’s about as far as the similarity goes

anyway you’re visionless and basically run a little witch shop in mondstadt, with flowers and cool gemstones and mysterious powders and potions and stuff. albedo gets a lot of his alchemy ingredients from you (also he’s dating you but not a lot of people know that)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn! reader, albedo, plus a surprise venti cameo

pairing(s): albedo/reader

warning(s): i don’t know albedo that well so he might be ooc? also this is so cheesy it’s a little ridiculous

genre: fluff

“I’ll be going now, boss!”

You smile and return your assistant’s cheery goodbye wave as he disappears off into the night outside, freshly-filled coin pouch jingling at his hip. As the door swings shut with quiet click, your surroundings fall into quietude.

The candles keeping the room lit are beginning to burn down to stumps, throwing most of your shelves into shadow. You take a sip from the steaming cup sitting on your counter, then stand up to begin taking inventory and closing up shop.

The silence is comforting after such a long day. You’re not entirely sure what brought on the sudden increase in customers, given that your shop is tucked away in a quiet little corner of Mondstadt that not many tend to linger around. That had been a deliberate choice, and so was the lack of advertising - your speciality is the individual, not the crowd.

Still, you can’t say that it isn’t nice to have the increased income. More profit means better wages for your assisstant - and more Mora to buy even more cool things to stock.

You pass about an hour ambling around your shop, rearranging your products and making sure that everything is in order. Then, just as the bat-shaped clock on the wall chimes one o’clock, the bell above the front door jingles, and you hear quiet footsteps enter.

You don’t pay it any mind at first, instead focusing on rearranging the little bottles of various dusts and extracts on one of the ingredients shelves. A hand settles on the small of your back, and you feel the new arrival’s presence come to a stop beside you.

“We’re out of powdered lizard tail,” You say without looking at him.

A pause. Then a quiet chuckle. “That’s how you want to start the night?”

You smirk. “The night started a good while ago, darling.”

Albedo sighs as you turn to face him, though his soft smile betrays his faux-exasperation. “I did tell you I’d be late today.”

“You tell me that you’ll be late every day,” You reply, sliding one final bottle of powdered crystalfly into place, then move over to sit on your front counter. He follows, settling just beside you.

“I have a lot of things that need attending to,” He shrugs, leaning over and snatching your drink without asking. You shake your head, but let him take a sip from it anyway.

His eyes flicker up to look at you over the rim of the mug. “...though, of course, you’re the most important one.”

You laugh and bat at his shoulder. He doesn’t make any effort to avoid it, eyes twinkling as you smile. “Why not come round more often if I’m so important, huh?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t if I could?” He asks with a scoff, setting down the mug and gently nudging you in the side. “We both have jobs, [Name]. We need to actually do them.”

“Oh, I know that,” You return his nudge and hop down from the counter again. Albedo sighs a little at your restlessness, but follows as you swipe the keys from your drawer and open the door again. “But it doesn’t hurt to take a day off every now and then.”

“I’ve already taken far more in the last month than is reasonable,” Albedo says with a shake of his head, stepping out into the street at your indication and waiting as you shut and lock the door. “Grandmaster Jean will get suspicious.”

“Psh,” You dismiss, waving a whimsical hand about and nearly knocking the sign off of your door. “Why is it that you’re not telling her about us, again?”

“She doesn’t exactly like you,” He says, absently linking his hand with yours as the two of you begin walking aimlessly in no direction in particular. He’s removed his gloves, you notice. “You did set up shop without permission when you first got here.”

“Ah, right…” Now that you think about it, you seem to remember her shooting you a rather nasty look when you passed her in the street last week. Why she continues to hold a grudge is lost on you - after all, you did get the necessary documentation and everything eventually… though, to be fair, the method you used wasn’t exactly legal. “...well, forget her.�� What do you want to do tonight?”

“Hmm,” He swings your linked hands about for a moment. “I saw a lot of dandelions growing just outside the walls earlier. Why don’t we go pick some seeds?”

“If you want to pick dandelion seeds, why not ask Sucrose?” You ask as he begins leading you in the direction of the main gate. “She’s the one with the Anemo vision.”

“Sucrose?” Albedo repeats, turning his head to look at you. His irises almost seem to glow in the darkness of the night, brighter than any of the stars above - it’d be unsettling if it wasn’t so beautiful. “Why would I want to go seed-picking with her?”

You raise an eyebrow. “...well, I’m assuming you need them for an experiment, and Anemo-blown sunflower seeds are always far more effective in that area.”

“If I needed them for an experiment, I’d just buy them from your shop,” He shakes his head. “This isn’t an ingredient hunt. This is different - it’s special.”

“Special how?” You question as the two of you walk through the gate. Albedo guides you over to a particularly thick cluster of dandelions just a few feet away, nestled in a lush copse of grass.

“Special… like you.” He cups both his hands around one of yours, the one that he’d been holding just before, and guides it over to one of the tallest plants. “Go on, show me that trick again.”

You laugh a little at his almost childish inflection, but do as he requests anyway. Albedo pulls his hands away from yours and watches as you carefully pluck off the head of the dandelion without disturbing any of its fluff-topped seeds, allowing it to rest on the tips of your fingers.

“There’s no trick to having a delicate hand,” You say as he watches your every move with the utmost concentration. “It just takes practice.”

Carefully securing the little bit of stem left at the bottom of the dandelion head between your index finger and thumb, you slowly raise your hand so that it’s suspended just above Albedo; he ducks his head a little, closing his eyes as you bring up your other hand to ever-so-gently flick the seeds from the head. The seeds drift about in the still night air for a brief moment before landing in Albedo’s blonde hair; their white colour is barely distinguishable against it.

He opens his eyes again as you pull your hands down again, lifting his head slowly so as not to disturb the little decorations you’ve added to it. “...so what did you grant me this time?”

“A good night’s sleep,” You say playfully. “As the seeds are carried away on the wind, so too will all your worldly burdens be blown away.”

He shakes his head, and several seeds are dislodged by the motion, vanishing quickly into the night. “If only it were that easy.”

“Hey, it worked last time,” You counter, sitting down in the grass. Albedo follows suit, reaching out and plucking a dandelion of his own - though with a lot less deftness than you did.

“That wasn’t the dandelions,” He says plainly, blowing lightly on the dandelion and watching the fluff disperse and disappear into the dark. “I just sleep more soundly when you’re beside me.”

You chuckle. “Sweet talker. So you’d sleep like a baby if I was around all the time, then?”

“Perhaps I would half the time,” He answers, smiling in a way that tells you that he knows exactly how sappy what he’s about to say is. “But I wouldn’t sleep nearly as well for the other half. I’d be too busy looking at you.”

Despite already knowing that it was coming, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter slightly at his proclamation. “I could say the same about. Bet you’ve broken a good few hearts with looks like that.”

“Then so be it,” He shrugs, eye-lids falling a little as he gives you a devilish little smirk. “Yours is the only one I care about.”

“When did you get so charming?” You flick him in the nose, effectively wiping off the smug look on his face. “Have you been studying love poems or something?”

“Love poems aren’t really my area,” He says, drawing back and rubbing at his nose a little reproachfully. “But Lisa and Kaeya have been giving me plenty of tips on my… 'romantic endeavours’, as they say.”

“Those two…” You shake your head. Kaeya and Lisa managed to find about your relationship with Albedo almost as soon as he’d confessed to you, though luckily they’d agreed to try not to mention it around Jean. “Have those tips been working?”

“Isn’t that a question for you to answer?” He picks another dandelion and blows it directly at you. “Is your heart being stirred?”

“Not while you’re blowing seeds into my face, it isn’t,” You shield yourself with one hand, pushing it in front of Albedo’s face to obscure his field of vision. “Quit it!”

He does drop the dandelion at your request, but, unusually, doesn’t give you a verbal response. You’re just thinking that he must be planning something when he suddenly leans forward and kisses the centre of your palm.

You immediately pull your hand back, feeling yourself heat up. Albedo leans forward, cocking his head to the side with a smile. “What about now?”

“You’re insufferable,” is your only reply.

Albedo’s smile turns into another smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m yours.”

“Mine, now? How nice,” You say, still trying to act unbothered. You can tell it isn’t working, though.  “Am I allowed to get a refund if you don’t work as expected?”

“Would you ever want to return me?” Albedo counters. You can’t exactly say yes - that’s both mean and untrue -  so you just sigh and shake your head. He smiles, clearly pleased.

You’re about to say something else when you hear a series of uneven footsteps coming from the gate. It doesn’t sound like a Knight of Favonius on patrol - in fact, it sounds more like a drunkard.

Albedo shuffles a little closer to you as a figure stumbles out of the gates. It’s someone you vaguely recognise by their green clothes - the bard who often plays in front of the statue of Barbatos. He’s holding a bottle that’s already half-empty, and you have a feeling that he’s already had a lot more before it.

The bard looks over at you and Albedo, and while you doubt he can recognise your faces what with both the darkness and the distance, it’s obvious enough that the two of you aren’t just a pair of good buddies hanging out. He raises the bottle in your direction with a hiccup.

“Wonderful night to meet a lover!” He calls, voice ringing so loudly that you’re sure that he just woke up a few residents of the city. “May your relationship last long as the wind blows!”

He doesn’t wait for a response before beginning to stumble his way across the bridge. As he goes, he exclaims to no one in particular, “The air is crisp tonight! Such good wine - what a wonderful city!”

He quickly disappears into the darkness. You exchange looks with Albedo. “...how much do you think he drank?”

“Far too much,” He replies amusedly. “He’ll regret it come morning.”

“And it isn’t too far off now,” You say, checking your pocket watch. “Will you be heading back to headquarters tonight?”

He considers, then shakes his head. “I don’t have anything that’ll need attention tomorrow morning. So, if you’ll have me…”

He doesn’t finish, but you already know what he’s asking. “There’s always room for you to stay over - you should know that by now, shouldn’t you?”

He smiles a little bashfully at that, and nods. “I suppose so… thank you.”

“You might as well move in at this point,” You comment, shifting slightly on the spot and patting at his arm. He holds his hand out obligingly, and you thread your fingers through his. “You’ve left at least three sets of pyjamas over already.”

Albedo opens his mouth to respond, and you shake your head, placing the index finger of your free hand to his lips to shush him. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, Grandmaster Jean’ll get suspicious…”

He blows on your finger to get you to retract it. When that doesn’t work, he pretends to bite at it, which is a lot more effective. “...I will tell her eventually. Just not now.”

“While you’re on the rocks,” You say with a nod, squeezing his hand. He sighs and nods as well. “But I still don’t think she’d fire you over who you’re dating.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t want to get any more on her bad side,” He mumbles. “She’s still annoyed about that floor I melted.”

“Didn’t you tell her that I was the one who made you drop the potion?” You ask, thinking back to that particular day - when you’d learnt that Albedo is very susceptible to your flirting when he’s in the middle of an experiment.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me tattling. Besides, it isn’t like she punished me.”

“Well, you’re basically untouchable at the end of the day,” You comment, lying back in the grass and pulling Albedo with you. “It’s them who need you, not the other way around.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” He says, adjusting himself so that the two of you are pressed flush against each other. “If I hadn’t started working for them, we’d never have met.”

“We would have crossed paths eventually,” You say, smiling coyly when he turns his head to face you. “Though better sooner than later, I suppose.”

“Far better sooner,” He says, returning your smile with a much softer one. “I’m glad we did.”

Another dandelion seed drifts out of his hair and lands in the grass as you look at him. You'll be keeping this one for a long time, you decide. Probably forever. You like him.

You think he likes you, too.

[elliehase-blog]

It’s typical for me to set up a story or drabbles around my drawings, but I’m not always confident enough to share them with you due to my lack of knowledge in the English grammar.  This is a foreign language for me, therefore I still make a lot of mistakes and not noticing them.

For this redrawing of Crawly I wrote a little prelude for my story “Don’t Stop Me Now” on AO3. I have finished two new chapters already, but unfortunately my friend (who has corrected my stories in the past) is too busy with her work. If there’s anyone out there, who enjoys to proofread stories, please contact me! 

Prelude

It was lo-... something at first sight.

The angel of the Eastern Gate stood atop Eden’s outer wall, facing the deserted land with a concerned glance. His wavy fair hair reflected the setting sun, some soft rays gently embraced his contours. Gray clouds were piling over the garden. With his white robe and the dark atmosphere forming around him, he looked bright and shining like a star in the night sky.

He was the most fascinating thing Crawly had ever seen.

And Crawly had seen a lot of things in his immortal existence. In the old days he had been an angel himself, a builder of blazing stars and astonishing constellations. But none of his creations ever radiated in such a wonderful warm glow, giving him satisfaction and ease at once. There was something magical about the other man, which is why Crawly couldn't avert his gaze.

Strictly speaking, Crawly didn’t cross a line here. He wasn’t in close contact with the angel, staying at the apple tree most of the time, fulfilling his demonic duty. No one ever said he couldn’t sneak away occasionally and admire his new encounter from afar, though. Nothing wrong in it. At least until it became his favourite occupation of the day.

So the serpent observed the beautiful chubby angel quite a while. From a safe distance, of course. As a demon he had straight orders from Hell to cast some trouble in the Garden of Eden. It was highly inappropriate to reach out to the opposition by whatever means, he guessed, or even conveying interest in an angel in the first place. Probably it was forbidden as well. Something demons ought not to do.

He did anyway.

 Crawly watched the serene beauty and listened carefully to every word that emerged these rosy lips, straining to find out more about the angelic guard, trying to get the whole picture. Every piece of the puzzle dragged him closer each day. He liked the way the blond angel yielded his flaming sword when he was practicing some quite impressive combat moves. He liked the way how politely the other man was talking to God’s newest creations (especially the animals), just like he really cared. And he absolutely adored the way the angel’s name rolled off his tongue. Aziraphale... The demon whispered it a couple of times just to listen to the melodic sound.

After seven days Crawly came to the conclusion, that the angel of the Eastern Gate wasn't a threat or dangerous at all, only confirming his initial impression. In fact, there was something tragically lonesome about him. It was almost like looking into a mirror, finding someone as isolated as yourself. No other angel came to talk to him, even God never answered his prayers. That situation felt strangely familiar. Crawly wanted to get closer to the other man straightway, literally craved for a conversation with every fibre of his body. If there was the slightest chance, that the blond angel could truly understand how he feels, that they both are broken in some way, maybe they could feel wholesome again by being together.

They barely knew each other, but as they started talking, it felt like they had known each other for far longer than just a minute. Aziraphale treated him as equal, even though Crawly had revealed his black wings, openly showing his demonic nature. There was no loathing, no rolling eyes, no distrust in the angel’s voice. It was ... odd. Something, Crawly had never experienced before.

So Crawly had stood frozen in indecision for what seemed like forever, thinking of the right way to approach, the right words to say. A feeling of nervousness overwhelmed him. The first impression counted, after all.

And the foremost thing that popped into his mind was, “That one went down like a lead balloon.”

Well. Could have been worse, right?

From up close he could study the other man’s face even better. His far too cute button nose and his ridiculously bright blue eyes, just to name but a few. It completely captured the demon. The way Aziraphale smiled, chuckled in a warm tone as Crawly mentioned their possible misstep, finally tipped him over the edge. It seized his chest with something deeper than admiration.

When raindrops started to pour at the very first time on earth, the demon gazed insultingly upon the sky. It felt cold and wet and absolutely annoying on his skin. The snake-like part inside of him immediately wanted to curl away and hide somewhere safe and warm. The other part clearly wanted to stay right next to Aziraphale, cautiously coming closer. Without a second thought or expecting any kind of counter-performance, the blond man stretched his impressive white wing to shield Crawly.

And that was when the demon had fallen for the angel completely.

Crawly knew on the spur of the moment that he had met the kindest person in his godforsaken life. Cheesy but true. He remembered clearly what Heaven was like. Not as nice as everyone thought it would be, though. On the one hand, he was bored stiff all the time. No temptations or decent drinks, for instance. But worst of all were the conceited archangels and their stupid duties and expectations they placed on every low-ranking angel.

Curiosity and self-determination were two words that simply didn’t appear in Heaven’s vocabulary. As well as ‘Thank you for your hard work’ or ‘We really appreciated that you’ve done this whole crap without questioning it in the first place’ or just a simple ‘Your last nebula was mind-blowing, you incredibly talented angel’.

It’s not that Crawly was demanding or so. Really! But for some kind words you’d wait in vain.

To be fair and square, in Hell they won’t offer you cookies either (Crawly really tried to convince his fellow demons to put more effort into the right acquisition, but incomprehensibly it never fell on understanding ears). Demons don’t trust each other, they don’t even have a single feeling for one another except suspicion. You certainly don’t make friends in Hell. It is a place full of loneliness.

Aziraphale was the first person who ever cared about Crawly at all, noticing things no one noticed, really looking at him and not at the demonic shell. A pure angel as people believe angels should be, with kind and untainted affection. And that was truly something remarkable, because after six thousand years with a troublemaker like him, a demon, his hereditary enemy, Aziraphale never stopped caring.

Read the rest of the chapter here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29945739

[bigbraincel]

🎨✨🗣️

OC: Feren (aka my Tav from Baldur's Gate 3)

🎨 Is your OC artistic? Can they draw or paint or do they prefer another medium? Are they a writer or musician or do they do something else? Give us a quick run down of what they can get creative with!

Yes!! Feren loves the creative arts in general: acting, story telling, playing music, dancing, singing, drawing and painting. He just can't write as he's illiterate. Feren is... passable at playing a lute, but he's a lot better at singing or dancing to music than playing it. He also loves telling stories, the more dramatic the better, but he only really knows of orally-told folk tales that are easy to memorise rather than complex & esoteric prose. He's able to perform in plays by memorising lines that are read out loud to him or he just wings it and improvises.

As he's not part of a guild, he has relatively limited access to the tools he needs for painting or drawing, although he's pretty good at scavenging materials for himself.

He has a shabby sketchbook with paper made from clothing rags of hemp or linen (that he's usually nabbed from wherever he can find it). He also uses his druid skills to source things from the natural world. For a canvas, he'll often use slate or bark, chalks for sketching, and pigments from ochres and flowers for paint. His bedroom walls are covered in bright colours that he's been adding to bit-by-bit over the years, depicting an emerald forest kingdom (which may or may not resemble what was once his home).

✨ If your OC were a deity of some kind, what would they represent? What do they look like? How are they worshipped and what offerings would they expect? What are their places of worship like? Their followers? Their teachings?

ooo love this question for a d&d setting

Feren is the Guiding Light, or Star-Wolf, God of starlight, guidance, reunions and protection. He shines light into wherever it is darkest; much like constellations have helped navigate people for many years, Feren helps those who are lost to find their way or reunite with loved ones. In his usual elven form, Feren wears little, save for the golden leaves that adorn his body. On his blond hair is a halo-like crown. His skin is covered in tattoos of constellations that glow whenever he feels strong emotion. He wields two things; his famed lantern, which is said to have captured starlight that can illuminate any darkness, and a sword with a blade made not of metal, but a window into the galaxies. His other form is a giant wolf made of celestial matter. As for offerings, he simply expects a lit match, candle or lantern. He can be worshipped anywhere, but usually at night or in dark temples where the contrast between light and dark is more apparent. He often gains followers in moments of desperation (whether they are figuratively or literally lost). His followers wear white, yellow, blue and black and are usually clerics, paladins or druids. They usually act as guides through dangerous or unknown lands.

🗣️ What are the most painful words that can be said to your OC to utterly break them? What are the words that you could tell them to cheer them up? Maybe some advice to give them the boost they need!

"I know what you really are. You're a murderer. If you hadn't been so reckless, so weak, so foolish, you could've saved them. But you ruin everything you touch, most of all yourself. You went from a prince to a whore. It's almost impressive how far you've fallen. So pathetic... nothing but broken goods."

^ something along those lines would hit right in the self-loathing that Feren tries so hard to repress. It would be pretty hard to cheer him up after that lol, but not impossible. Telling him that he isn't being judged, his trauma isn't his fault, and that he deserves happiness & love is a start. It'll take a while, but he will slowly start to believe it.

ksdjfklsf grimmy i am SO sorry about the novel, thank you for asking and thank you even more if you actually read any of this 😂

[vostara]

I Am Lost - 01

Volume One: A New Guardian Component 01

pairing: - cayde-6 x female guardian x uldren sov - the crow x female guardian (eventual)

blurb: “The woman’s gaze drifts down to look at her hands. She moves her fingertips, intrigued by this odd sensation of feeling, of movement.”

word count: 2.8k+

When Verna awoke as a guardian, she knew nothing about what life is meant to be like as a Lightbearer. And though she has been told that learning about her past is a forbidden endeavor, she can’t help but feel drawn towards discovering who she once was. But her pursuit of the quest is interrupted by the growing chaos, by the Darkness spreading.

Begins with the events of Destiny 1 and will continue up to the current timeline (but hey, it’ll take awhile to get there). Verna is a void-using Hunter.

*This work is cross-posted on Ao3.

01 | … series masterlist

Tag List (Open): @mangovalkyrie

We called it the Traveler, and its arrival changed us forever. Great cities were built on Mars and Venus. Mercury became a garden world. Human lifespan tripled. It was a time of miracles. We stared out at the galaxy and knew that it was our destiny to walk in the light of other stars—but the Traveler had an enemy. A Darkness, which had hunted it for eons across the black gulfs of space. Centuries after our Golden Age began, this Darkness found us and that was the end of everything. But it was also the beginning. — The Speaker

COSMODROME

Old Russia, Earth

A pale orange machine with golden engraving zooms around a wreckage of rusted, disintegrating vehicles. Searching amongst the ruins. He stops to scan a skeleton, slumped over in one of the cars. “Ouch,” he comments, blunt, before flying away. He pauses, looking off into the distance. And then, quick, he speeds off to investigate this new area of interest. Curiosity running strong within his circuits.

His scanner flicks on once again, scrutinizing the debris. “Is it possible?” For a moment, he feels an inkling of hope. His protective shell moves away from his main body—a metallic orb—pushed apart by a glowing sphere of blue light. “There you are!” He says, confirming his suspicions. Excited, the machine puts all of his energy into bringing the skeletal remains back to life.

In its place, a young woman appears. Tanned skin forms, surrounding the broken bones. Dark hair grows, cascading in loose waves down to her mid-back. And with her first inhale of breath, a blush of pink life spreads across her cheeks. Slowly, the woman opens her eyes, and winces at the invasion of light.

“Guardian,” the machine says. He moves closer to her, flying right up into her line of vision. “Guardian?” He repeats.

The woman blinks at him. She feels sluggish, confused. Her mind still busy trying to process the concept of life, existence.

“Eyes up, Guardian!” The strange object says, inching the slightest bit closer to her face.

She tilts her head in curiosity, finally noticing the talking robot.

“It worked… You’re alive!” He says. “You don’t know how long I’ve been looking for you. I’m a Ghost. Actually, now I’m your Ghost. And you…”

The woman’s gaze drifts down to look at her hands. She moves her fingertips, intrigued by this odd sensation of feeling, of movement.

“Well, you’ve been dead a long time,” the robot continues. “So, you’re going to see a lot of things you won’t understand.”

Something yells in the distance, drawing his attention towards it.

“This is Fallen territory,” he says. His optic eye shifts rapidly to glance around the area. He’s nervous, concerned. “We aren’t safe here. I have to get you to the City.” Briefly, he flies away, before turning back to the Guardian. “Hold still,” he says, disappearing.

The woman opens her mouth to speak—tries to call out for the machine to return—but no sound escapes.

“Don’t worry,” his voice says. The sound vibrates inside of her head, and it feels ever-so-slightly unsettling. “I’m still with you. We need to move, fast.”

Almost hesitant, the woman pulls herself up onto her feet. She surveys the world in front of her, overwhelmed by the sight of sparse greenery and spreading decay.

“We won’t survive long out in the open like this,” the Ghost gives her a verbal nudge. “Let’s get inside the Wall.”

She looks beyond the clumps of rusted metal, focusing on a building that’s crumbling in the distance. With unsteady steps, she walks towards it. She stumbles in the dry dirt, gradually adapting to process that’s involved in forcing her legs into motion.

“I didn’t bring you back just for you to die again,” Ghost says. “We need to move.”

Sensing the urgency, she picks up her pace. The woman climbs through the wreckage and jogs the rest of the way to the Wall. She enters through a large hole that greets her with darkness. An automatic light resting on her left shoulder switches on, illuminating the space. She climbs the staircase to her left, ascending up a couple flights of stairs. The woman is cautious as she travels further inside, careful to avoid cutting herself with the jagged, sharp edges of broken metal. She considers grasping onto the safety railings for support, but changes her mind upon noticing that they look as if they could snap between her fingers.

A skittering noise echoes throughout the building, pulling the woman’s attention to the dark ceiling.

“Quiet,” the Ghost says, half a step below a whisper. “They’re right above us.”

Making a deliberate effort to keep her footsteps light, the woman traverses further into the building in search of a way through. Eventually, she opens a door and steps into an open space.

The Ghost rematerializes beside her, and immediately begins to scan the area. “Hang tight,” he says. “Fallen thrive in the dark. We don’t. We need more light. I’ll see what I can do.” He zips away, flying deep into the darkness. “Another one of these hardened military systems and a few centuries of entropy working against me.”

As she stares into the pitch black, a rock of discomfort settles inside the depths of her stomach. Goosebumps bloom down the woman’s arms. She feels something watching her, examining her every move. But she can’t see the source.

The lights flicker on.

And illuminate the swarm of creatures moving across the adjacent bridges and walls. The woman’s eyes widen at the sight, caught off-guard by their six slender limbs, claw-like hands, and glowing blue eyes. The creatures—the Fallen—are dressed in spiked gray and silver armor, with purple cloaks draped over their heads.

The woman emits an involuntary gasp, taking a step back towards the door that she had walked in from.

“They’re coming for us,” the Ghost yells as he speeds his way back towards the woman.

“Yeah,” she responds. And for a brief moment, she is startled by the sound of her own voice. It’s coarse, strained, yet soft, quiet.

“Oh,” the Ghost pauses, stopping abruptly to look at her. “So you can speak!”

“Yeah,” she confirms, though she sounds as if she doubts this herself. Hearing hurried footsteps, she turns her attention back to the creatures that are gaining on them.

The Ghost turns to look back at the Fallen, and then rushes back to the woman. He scans a gate beside her, hacking into the system to unlock it. As the gate rises, he flies through and points a light at an object leaning against a metal crate. “Here,” he says. “I found a rifle. Grab it!”

She runs after him, quick to pick up the offered weapon.

“I hope you know how to use that thing,” he says.

Walking at a brisk pace down the hall, she detaches the rifle’s magazine and checks the amount of ammo stored inside. “You and me both,” she mumbles, clicking everything back into place. A group of Fallen soldiers jump in front of them, and the woman reacts on instinct, lodging a couple of rounds into each of their heads. Another Fallen appears, ready to strike. And, pulling out a knife from her thigh holster, she jabs the blade into the creature’s neck.

“I think you’ll be okay,” the Ghost says, watching as the fresh corpse collapses onto the ground.

The woman looks over at the Ghost, before continuing forward. Rifle raised and ready to fire. After walking through a disorientating maze of hallways and fighting off two hoards of Fallen soldiers, she stumbles into an open space with high ceilings. On the other side, a giant fan is slowly rotating behind a metal grate.

“The Fallen have a tighter hold on this place than I thought,” the Ghost comments. He heads towards the fan and looks down a new hallway. “Just a little bit further. Let’s hope there’s something left out there.”

She follows after him. “You don’t sound entirely confident.”

“I was fortunate enough to finally find you,” he says. “I don’t know how much more luck I’ve got left today.”

As the woman enters the hallway, she pauses to look back at where they had come from, double checking that none of the Fallen were hot on their heels.

All clear.

The Ghost and the woman follow the path. It leads them outside, into another field of rust and ruin.

“This was an old Cosmodrome,” the Ghost explains. “There’s got to be something we can fly out of here.”

“Cosmodrome?” The woman whispers. She takes in the sight, trying to process and understand this ever-growing pile of information.

“Right,” the Ghost turns to look at her. “You don’t know—”

His words are interrupted by the loud sound of something being launched in the distance. The woman and the Ghost whip their eyes towards its direction, watching as a smoking orange light—a flare—flies high up in the air. Gradually, it changes direction, curving towards a nearby tower.

“Incoming!” The Ghost warns, pulling the woman’s attention away from the flare.

A large portal of blue and white light forms in the sky. And through it, a ship appears and starts to descend. With the sound of a faint explosion, another ship flies through another portal. It heads towards them, landing closer than the first.

“Fallen ships!” The Ghost says. “This close to the surface?”

The woman unclips her magazine from the rifle and replaces it with a fresh one. “We should go.”

“Move!” The Ghost agrees.

She sprints across the courtyard, approaching the ship. As she nears, several Fallen leap out of the vehicle. Aiming her rifle, she shoots several of them dead before their feet can touch the ground. Moving at a quick, but steady, pace, she heads closer and continues her task of killing the creatures. Fighting her way around the swarm, she treks through the open courtyard, before entering a new building on the other side.

“I’m picking up signs of an old jumpship,” the Ghost says. “Could be our ticket out of here.”

“Here’s to hoping,” the woman mumbles.

They follow the hallways inside, pausing to kill the Fallen before these enemies are able to spot them. Eventually, they turn a corner and enter a wide, open room with a broken glass ceiling. Across the way, an old ship sits abandoned, collecting dirt and grime. It’s suspended above them, held up by multiple thick cables.

“There’s a ship!” The Ghost says.

The woman steps closer, her eyes glued to it. “It looks relatively intact,” she notes. A cluster of running footsteps storm in through the entrance behind her, and she pivots to shoot the Fallen. Once all is calm, she turns her attention back to the ship.

The Ghost reappears beside her. “Alright, let me see if I can get us out of here,” he flies up to the ship and begins to scan it. “It’s been here awhile,” he comments. “Hasn’t made a jump in centuries. We’re lucky the Fallen haven’t completely picked it clean.”

“Will it fly?” The woman asks.

The Ghost pauses and turns to look at her. “I can make it work,” he says. He turns back towards the ship and disappears as he slips inside of it. After a few moments, the ship’s lights flip on and its engine begins to rumble. Another moment goes by, and then the ship breaks itself free of cables as it raises to hover in the air.

“Would you look at that,” the woman says.

“Okay, it’s not going to break orbit, but it might just get us to the City. Now—about that transmat...”

Through a hole in the wall, several Fallen scurry into the room. “Might wanna put a rush on that,” the woman yells. She swings up her weapon, finger ready to pull the trigger.

“Bringing you in!”

Before she can fire a shot, the woman disappears in a cluster of blue lights. She reemerges inside the ship, disorientated and confused. As she stares at the different levers and buttons inside, the Ghost steers the jumpship out of the building and away from the enemies that are shooting at them.

“Let’s get you home,” he says.

“Home?”

The Ghost turns to look at her, but says nothing in return.

And unbeknownst to the duo, a stranger watches them from a distance.

TOWER

The Last City, Earth

The trip “home” is shorter than the woman anticipates. Though, she was—admittedly—a bit distracted with her face pressed up against the windows of the ship. Eyes glued to the snow-capped mountains, vast forests, clear lakes, and crumbling cities that passed by beneath them. Breaking through the dark clouds of a thunderstorm, the ship is greeted with bright rays of warm sunshine. And, pressing her nose even further into the glass, the woman’s eyes widen at the sight of a giant orb floating in the distance. Below it, a towering grey building glimmers beneath the sun’s light.

When the ship approaches the location, the Ghost switches back on the transmat and teleports the woman down onto the courtyard below. Just as her feet touch the ground, the ship flies away and disappears behind the roof of the building.

“Welcome to the last safe City on Earth,” the Ghost says. “The only place the Traveler can still protect. It took centuries to build. Now, we’re counting every day it stands.”

The woman takes a step towards the balcony’s edge, wanting a better view of the City below.

“And this Tower is where the Guardians live,” the Ghost says, flying towards the main building.

She turns to follow him, but freezes in place. She’s stunned by the expansive entryways, tall pillars, glowing lights, and red flags billowing in the wind. Robots patrol the courtyard, sweeping the ground and collecting stray pieces of rogue trash. A group of children race across the steps, led by a young boy that’s clutching a large black ball between his small hands. As the laughing children sprint passed one of the cleaning robots, it cautions them to be careful and to slow down.

“You keep referring to Guardians,” the woman says. “Is that what I am?”

“Yes.”

“And what does that entail?”

The Ghost hovers just out of her reach, his outer protective shell whirling in circles as he goes through an internal debate. “It’s normal for you to be confused,” he says, looking at her. “I’m sure that all of this is… a lot to take in all at once.”

The woman sighs, “Maybe just a little bit.”

Their conversation comes to a halt.

“Follow me,” the Ghost says, ending the long stretch of silence. “I’ll take you to—”

“Wait,” she interrupts. “I want to… I want to know who I am. Why can’t I remember anything? What even is this place? This… Tower?”

He drifts closer to her, meeting her gaze. “The answer to that is a bit complicated,” he says. “But who you are now is a Guardian, a new Guardian.”

“So,” the woman blinks, “I was once somebody else?”

“Yes and no,” the Ghost responds. “Your body—your face—it once belonged to somebody else. Beyond that, you are completely different.”

“So, you’re saying that I’ve been reincarnated?” She asks, looking down at her hands. The woman examines the bare skin, noticing long scars etched along the outside of her right forearm.

“Don’t think about it,” the Ghost says, nudging her arm back down to her side. “Pursuing knowledge about your past life is ill-advised. Forbidden, actually.”

“Do you know who I was?”

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

The Ghost stares at her.

But she continues to pry, “Not even a name?”

“Would you like a name?” He asks.

“‘Guardian’ feels a bit… impersonal,” she admits. “You probably have a name, don’t you?”

The top of the Ghost’s shell lowers, as if pulling itself down to represent a frown. “No,” he says. “I’ve only ever been ‘Ghost.’”

“Wouldn’t you like a name?”

“Oh!” The Ghost’s straightens out his shell. And his optic center appears to widen with brewing excitement. “You could gave me a name,” he suggests. “We could… do a trade. You name me and I’ll name you?”

For the first time, the woman feels amusement. “A fair proposal,” she smiles, “Tangerine?”

The Ghost flies around her head, contemplating the suggestion. “I like it,” he says, coming to a halt in front of her face. “My turn! What to name you,” his voice trails off, pondering his options. “Something strong? Pretty? Traditional? Unique? Do you have a preference, Guardian?”

“It’s up to you, Tangerine. That was the deal.”

Finally, he speaks, “What about Verna?”

She quirks an eyebrow, “Verna?”

“You don’t like it?” Tangerine’s shell spins rapidly, nervous. He starts to sink towards the ground, unsure and embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s the first thing that I thought of. I can come up with something else if—”

She giggles softly, lifting the Ghost back up high into the air. “I like it,” the woman—Verna—says.

A/N: Thank you for reading! While I plan on keeping this story relatively close to the game itself, it will prioritize accuracy for the in-game cutscenes and spoken dialogue, and not any other miscellaneous written lore. This is simply because Destiny has an absolutely massive library of lore and I am simply a graduate student with little free time who has to write a novel for her thesis project.

Also, we'll be seeing some of Cayde-6 in the next chapter. ^^ I was hoping to squeeze him in for this one, but I felt that ending with Verna's name was a natural stopping point.

[uglyshirtsinc]

AIGHT HERE WE GO BUCKLE UP!! Endermen hybrids Illumina, Purpled, and Ranboo! With a sprinkle of Technodad and Sonboo, a drizzle of Little Brother Purpled and Big Brother Punz, with a side of Illumina and Fruit friendship! Less go! This was meant to be a ramble but literally ended up a fic outline?? Could even be read as a fic if you wanted??? What the hell 6 am me???

Endermen hyrbid are valuable because since they're half human instead of making enderpearls they make eyes of ender, and they respawn like humans do so they're used to farm ender eyes.

Ranboo meets Illumina and Purpled after being kidnapped and separated from his dad at the wee age of eleven meets sixteen year old Illumina and eleven year old Purpled.

He's tossed into a cell with the two of them, Illumina being there to calm the younger two down after being used for the farm. Whenever Illumina is brought back to the cell, he cares for the boys and dotes on them, acting much more worried and clingy that normal. They let him take care of them, knowing that keeping them safe calms him.

They talk about their lives before being taken, Illumina talks about the adventures he and his friend Fruit would go on. The dangerous things they did. He promises the boys to one day show them cool tricks, using the excuse of "the cell is too tiny and someone would get hurt" as to why he can't show them off there, not wanting to tell them the little portions of food he recieves (even less considering he gives most to the boys) has eaten away at his strength.

Purpled talks about his adoptive brother Punz who's just a bit older than Illumina, at age seventeen. How he was a cool mercenary hired to do "super secret" stuff and protect people. He tells them about his trident and tomahawk.

When Ranboo opened up, it gave Illumina his first real sense of hope he's had in a long time. Ran talks about his dad, emperor of the Antarctic Empire and faithful patron of the powerful Blood God. Illumina had heard of the Arctic Empire's hybrid son and after story after story began to believe that Ran really was the prince of the Empire. Ran's father obviously loved him, each story leaving him in tears of either longing or laughter. His father would be searching for them, and he would find them.

Weeks turned to months and nothing changed, until Ran was on the floor screaming in pain and Purpled was hiding in the corner wailing in fear. Illumina could hear cracking, popping, and spotted two hard lumps just next to Ranboo's shoulder blades and realized he wasn't just some Enderman hybrid, but rather a dragon hybrid. When the pain finally subsided and their captors returned to take the two young boys Illumina knew what he had to do.

He didn't know much of Gods and patrons, only what he read while searching the strongholds with Fruit after their latest adventure.

Patrons were messy, being worthy to have one and be a follower was even messier. But within that moment, he didn't care. Thousands of voices in his head was better than having to witness those monsters that held them captive force Ran to cough and gag and wheeze in attempt to get Dragons Breath from the boy. It was worth it to return Purpled to his brother, to see the boys eyes light up the same way they did when Ran said his dad would save them. And for just a moment, Illumina let himself be selfish. It was worth it to get to hold his best friend close, to be strong enough to scale buildings and run from golems they'd messed with. To see the sunrise over a snowy mountain, to show the world he was faster, stronger, and smarter than anyone imagined.

Cutting his hand on a jagged rock sticking from the walls that he had warned the boys about so often, be used his own blood to draw the symbol. When it glows and the world fades, stands before him a towering man with hair as white as snow, wearing the finest attire fit for a king, dressed in gold with everything he wore.

Wordlessly, a deal is made and as their hands shake Illumina is staring into dark, ruby red eyes sparkling with a beast like excitement. The Blood God speaks and tells him "They have been waiting." And Illumina knows what he means.

When the world returns, his ragged and dirty clothes are replaced by the ones he would wear before the monsters took him. A pouch of emeralds hangs from his belt and a familiar black mask covers his nose and mouth. His strength has returned, but at a cost he has yet to find out.

There's no whispers, no cries, no one yelling in his head. There's no insanity blocking his train of thought. No amnesia. He is Illumina.

He wraps himself with the one thin blanket they were allowed, curling up near the gate to keep himself and his clothes covered.

Purpled is first to return and Illumina places a figer over his lips, signaling Purpled to stay quiet. When Ran returns, it takes Illumina less than thirty seconds to have the monstrous man on the ground unconscious. Ran and Purpled watch in awe as he checks the horrid man for anything of value to them. A ring of keys, a pouch of coin, an iron sword, and a map are all Illumina deems worthy.

While his strength has returned, he's mindful of the boys and their weak bodies. He carries Purpled on his back, the violet eyed boy the smallest out of them all.

It takes hours to escape their prison mostly undetected. When they do, Illumina grabs the first horse he can find that's saddled up and tells the boys to hold on as he rides off.

The map was appreciated beyond comprehension. It doesn't take long to find a town and get the boys proper clothing that will survive the journey to the Arctic. Keeping them close and their heads down they get what they need tools wise and leave before the sun can even set.

It's hard, telling Purpled that he'll have to wait even longer to see his brother, but promises once they return Ranboo home that Punz can come there to take him home. If Illumina must admit, he chooses Technoblade first because once it hits the news of the princes return and Illumina's name is spread, he hopes Fruit will come and find him, even if they have to meet in the middle.

Throughout the terror and pain, they push through. From the nights they got separated, Purpled clinging to Ran and assuring the dragon hybrid Illumina will find them, fighting off zombies when Ran couldn't stand straight to hold a sword. The relief when Illumina scoops them both into his arms and holds then tighter than before.

With hunters hot on their tail they can't afford to stop and it takes four months itself to reach the borders between the Arctic Empire and whatever land they found themselves in.

Ran's wings have grown in, one a dark, scaley black with brilliant green in the folds between each bone. The other is a is white and reminds Illumina of a jellyfish, bits and tassles hanging from the wing giving it a much more fragile, paper thin appearance. Both are incredibly strong, despite their looks, and it's often the intimidation factor the two wings bring that gets them out of sticky situations.

A year has passed since they've been held in captivity, Illumina now seventeen and the boys twelve.

Illumina buys the cheapest tickets to the Empire, having to hold Ran's hand to keep him from teleporting ahead in excitement. He cries multiple times, the feeling of finally being free and so close to home hitting him like a truck. Illumina sees the excitement on Purpleds face, knowing after Ran he gets his family too.

They arrive on the island and immediately Ranboo is dragging them the way to the inner walls. Claiming to know his home like the back of his hand. Passing by a few guards, Purpled asks why they don't just tell the guards they have the prince.

"The guards were the whole reason Ranboo ended up where he was, plus they could try killing us immediately thinking we took Ran. I can't risk putting you two in any more danger." Is the reply he gets.

They teleport to the other side of the walls easily, walking to the other, and teleporting. This repeats for two days till they reach the inner most wall. Techno stands on a platform in the town center, his expression showing no emotion and stance as proper as ever. Just watching him stand so straight makes Illumina's back ache.

Ranboo sobs on the spot and before he can call for his father and rush forward a hand is placed on Illumina's shoulder with a harsh grip.

The guard asks who they are, saying they most definitely are not meant to be there, and within that moment a rage so heavy it hits Illumina like a tidal wave.

A year of torture and pain, months of walking and risking his life to get here and right as he can reach it someone stops him. Illumina barely registers it before the boys jump back screaming and he's pulled his sword out to hit the other man.

He faintly hears cries of "Harvey!" As more people rush towards them. He can only focus on his blade pressing against the man, Harvey's, sword and the deep laughter filling his mind.

"It seems you've finally been broken into." The Blood God thinks aloud.

He yells for Ran to run to his dad who's being ushered of stage, his speech being cut short.

Ran looks between his father who has yet to notice him and then back to Illumina who's risked so much for him. To Purpled, who looks horrified and is trying his hardest to pull back Illumina.

And he chooses them.

Jumping between Illumina and Tapl he unfurls his large wings and yells out with a slightly staticy voice "Stop!"

And it's as if the world has stopped, the Blood God no longer speaking in Illumina's mind, Purpled can sag his shoulders in relief, and all eyes are on them.

He looks into Tapl's heterochromatic eyes and in a voice barely above a whisper says "Stop attacking my family."

Tapl steps back, the other guards step back. All can easily recognize the missing Prince, from the two-toned hair to the sparkling eyes only he possesses.

His name is breathed out and demands attention. Ranboo turns to gaze at his father from across the short distance and it's real.

They meet in the middle and Ran holds his father like a scared child, and Techno allows himself to crumble and cry. He cries for the child thought to be dead, stolen from him by those he trusted. He cries for the year and months he's spent separated from him. They cry together, and tears of pent up pain turn to tears of happiness. His grandfather and uncles appear soon enough, he's wrapped in hugs so tight and a pair of wings so warm he could fall asleep.

Purpled and Illumina and thanked for bringing him back, and all Illumina asks is for them to help them find their homes. A message is sent far and wide of Purpled's reappearance and it takes less than a month for a blonde boy, fresh i to adulthood to come crashing through the castle doors and Purpled to find himself wrapped in his big brothers arms once more.

Punz sobs so loudly it's heard from across the palace, clinging to his baby brother and cradling him like a baby.

You'd think after the royal family just about got on their knees to thank him, Illumina would be used to it and stop being so embarrassed, but something about seeing Purpled light up like he's dreamed of seeing the boy do and finally getting to see with his own two eyes the brother he talked about makes him very thankful for the mask there to hide his flushed cheeks.

Ranboo and Purpled aren't ready to let go, so Punz stays with his brother in the castle for awhile.

Illumina is asked thousands and thousands of questions, where they were taken, how they escaped, etcetera.

He takes Techno aside and confesses the deal he made in return for their freedom. He confesses he has yet to know what he's given up to the Patron and his fears. He confesses that He couldn't bare the thought of young Purpled loosing his hope and being raised in a place like that, Ranboo being hurt worse and worse for bottles of acidic breath.

He apologizes for being selfish and wanting to find his family.

And for the first time in forever, he's being held in the safety of a warm hug. He gets to cry and be comforted, he gets to be weak.

It takes longer, but one day new face appears and after four years he breaths in that ridiculously sweet scent of green apples and sweet fruits that Fruit Berries always had. He hugs his friend once again.

They show the boys their tricks, as Illumina promised. They watch them do stupidly dangerous things that make Phil, Techno, and Wilbur flinch and jump to catch the two seventeen year olds, always groaning in faux annoyance watching them land safely, Phil claiming this'll give him a heart attack and Wilbue and Techno agreeing their stupid (while impressive) actions are gonna be bad influences on their sons. Wilbur calls it quits after they manage to drag Punz in, the mercenary dueling the two of them and trying to see whether strength or agility are better. Purpled is torn between cheering for either family member and just yells words of encouragement a lot.

For once in a long long time, they're safe.

[miss-smutty]

Immortal - Chapter 4

Summary- A mysterious pursuer causes Aria and Thor's bond to become bound with blood. Who is he? And why does he keep following her?

Word count- 2.1 k

Pairing- Thor x OC

Warnings- violence

18+only!!

Posted: 6th July 2021

Taglist:- @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @longlostinanotherworld @mostly-marvel-musings @darklydeliciousdesires

Immortal Masterlist <<<<

"I can help you." Thor pushes back from the gate and slides himself down next to her. "We're similar. And you can not deny the connection we have." He nudged her with his elbow, willing her to look at him just as the sound of footfall echoed down the alley towards them. They both turned their heads at the same time, in the direction of the noise. The footsteps drawing closer.

The footsteps fell silent, stopping in their tracks a couple of meters away from them. Arias ears pricked, trying to pick up any signs of movement. She could hear the sounds of her and Thor's heart beating ridiculously fast, too fast for a human and yet hers still beat the same rhythm as his. She screwed her eyes shut tighter, desperately trying to cut out the thrumming of their own heartbeats and concentrate on what else she could hear. Then she heard it, the heartbeat of someone else, whoever it was, they were definitely human - it was beating much slower and quieter. If only she could get a look at whoever it was and see them deeper, internally scanning them without them even knowing.

Thor looked to Aria knowingly, unspoken words muttered through their eye contact. They had to move to cover, they needed to get to safety but the easiest route, leading them straight into the sights of their enemy, wouldn't be an option.

Thor crouched back on to his heels, ready to move, the stance of a predator ready to pounce until Aria held her arm out against him, holding him back and gesturing with her hand to her ear for him to watch and listen. She closed her eyes again, blocking out as much of the background noise as she could until she heard him again, his feet gently shuffling on the ground as he switched position. Any normal person wouldn't be able to hear the things she could, not even Thor but Aria was far from normal. She pointed to the position of the intruder, letting Thor know where the danger was hiding.

"I could get rid of him with a click of my fingers." He said through gritted teeth, adrenaline coursing through his veins making his skin itch with a need to fight. She could see it like thick tar painting his skin as it travelled down his body, she watched as Thor's face contorted with a desperate need to do something and she realised they weren't completely alike. She was a thinker and he was a doer, unsure of which would actually be better in this current situation she stuck to doing things the way she always had.

"And draw even more attention to us? No, we escape. With our speed, there's no way they will be able to keep up." The thought of seeing Thor in action made her mind drift distractedly, until she got her head back into the game, shaking away her thoughts with a flick of her hair.

"You just admitted you have the same abilities as me." Thor smirked, his calmness was infectious.

She pondered the thought for a moment, realising she did admit that they were similar. She'd always known she was different but admitting it was a big deal and finding someone with almost identical abilities was an even bigger deal for her.

Her eyes were drawn back down the alley, a shiver travelling down her spine when she heard the sound of a gun being loaded, the eyes of a doe locked on to the target of their Hunter. She froze on the spot, her heart rate slowing to almost a stop as she concentrated on staying deadly still, the skills of a hunted animal. A lifetime of being someone's prey she was accustomed with the fight or flight reflex. She usually chose to flee but looking at Thor and seeing the muscles in his neck flexing, his perfect jawline taunt, she knew he would choose to fight.

Aria's wide eyes met with the hunter as he moved into sight, a face she recognised all too well. A face she had seen before many a time, the dark brown soulless eyes of her tormentor stared back at her. The smooth baldness of his head set upon his wide, burly shoulders. The 6'5" stature of pure muscle and brawn crouched behind a dumpster no more than four meters away.

She sighed heavily as she pushed her back against the cold brick wall, a trashcan the only bit of cover they had from the relentless beast who pursued them. 

"It's him." Her voice broke, panting loudly as she began to hyperventilate. Memories flashing through her mind after only the slightest moment of eye contact. Worry appeared on Thor's face as he gazed upon Aria's obvious fear, watching her closely as she regained her composure.

"Who is it?" Thor asked, Aria too deep in shock to reply.

She was pretty sure their stalker was an agent but had no idea why he continued to track her down. Her fingers grazed absentmindedly along the scar just above her collarbone as she remembered her last encounter with the monster in the alley. The way she'd barely escaped from his clutch as he'd held a knife to her throat. When she'd used the last of her strength to push him back against the wall, the knife had slipped and gouged a gash deep into her collarbone. The pain summoning more strength within her and she'd bit into his forearm like an hungry animal, tearing a chunk of his flesh as he let go of his hold upon her. Then she'd run as fast as she could, not stopping to turn around until she was far enough away. She hadn't seen him again since then. Until now.

"We need to go. Now." Thor didn't need to ask any more questions, he saw the look in Aria's eye's and moved low against the gate. Resting on one knee and offering an upturned palm for Aria to step on to. She cocked her head to the side, frowning at Thor before scaling the tall gate effortlessly, without his help. Thor took a moment to admire her climbing down the other side of the fence, a look of determination set upon her soft face. The moment cut short when he heard the agent running behind him, closing on them with a pistol in his outstretched arm.

Thor scaled the gate after Aria, joining her on the other side and wasting no time putting as much distance between the agent and themselves as they could. He held tightly to her hand as they ran through the rest of the alley, praying that it wasn't a dead end.

Aria felt the pain before she heard the sound of the pistol reverberating off the walls of the narrow alley. A sharp ache she could feel deep in the bone of her left shoulder, a pain so deep and acute that it took her breath away instantly. She needed to stop to catch her breath but she couldn't, not yet. She pushed through it, trying as hard as she could to get her legs to work the way she wanted them to but all she could think about was the burning pain exploding through her chest.

Thor stopped in his tracks as he felt Aria stumble forwards, her face ash white as she looked up at him with shock in her eyes before falling to the ground, clutching at her shoulder. He could see the hole in her clothes that the bullet had left and the blood that was seeping through and the sight made his anger flare. The ground rumbled around them, dark clouds gathering above them as a smooth breeze brushed through the alley.

He couldn't stop himself, looking at her crumpled body beneath him once again. The very skies trembling in his presence as a storm gathered above them, he barely even looked at the mysterious man behind them as his eyes glowed brightly, his electrical current tingling his fingertips, electrifying his body. He felt it buzz through him, not thinking twice when he reached out and commanded a bolt of lightning to strike the man right where he stood. Throwing him to the ground with force, his body flying backwards and landing against the brick wall leaving him unmoving.

"Aria? Look at me." He gathered her up into his arms carefully, her eyes fluttering open, a  smile playing at the corner of her lips as she stared into the eyes of her saviour. She gave in to him, allowed herself to trust him now he had proved himself loyal. "It's ok I've got you, tell me where to go."

Aria didn't have the strength to stop herself falling a little deeper for the man who's arms she was encased in when she muttered, "Take me home, Thor." 

**********

Aria's eye's snapped open as she took in her surroundings, a layer of sweat on her forehead as she sat bolt upright in the bed she was laid on, clutching the bandage on her left shoulder. The ache of the bullet wound still there but much less than before.

"You're awake, I've been so worried." Thor's voice came from the chair he had placed by the side of her bed. 

"I think I passed out from exhaustion more than anything else, thank you for taking me home." She pulled the bedsheet up to her chin, Thor's presence made her feel slightly nervous in the intimate setting of her own home. 

"You just keep on surviving don't you? Twice in one day you could've died yet here you are." Thor sat casually in the deep backed arm chair Aria used to read in, his legs planted apart as he leant back against the chair. Aria couldn't help but take a moment to admire the physique of the God, her eyes trialing up his body until they met with his own unblinking pair of deep blue eyes.

She wasn't only surprising him, she was surprising herself with the way she was opening up to him, allowing him to see the side of her she'd hidden for so long. More than that she was enjoying it, enjoying finally being able to be herself with someone.

Thor moved closer to her, sitting on the side of the bed, enjoying the feel of the unknown force that pulls them together. He reached out to run his fingers down her silky hair, reminding Aria of a part of herself she was still hiding from Thor. A part she still couldn't bring herself to reveal to him, her true identity being her last comfort cushion of safety. She knew deep down that she wouldn't be able to keep it hidden from Thor for much longer, not with the way she was starting to feel about him. The connection had been instant but the deep bond she felt had been created that day, when he'd scooped her up in his arms and taken her away from danger without a second thought.

Aria felt her cheeks flushing as she caught Thor's gaze with her own, the unperishing look of hunger lingered in his eyes.

"Why are you blushing? You weren't embarrassed when I first met you." Thor raised his eyebrow at her with a sly smile making Aria's insides twist and contort.

"That was because I thought I'd never see you again." Her tension eased as she started to feel relaxed within Thor's presence, a heavy feeling of lust hung in the air as their bodies gradually gravitated towards each other.

"While we are on the subject, when do we get to do that again?" His finger followed the curve of her Cupid's bow taking away all her coherent thoughts. Thor found her his weakness, he couldn't resist touching her. Desperate to get his hands on her properly.

"Erm, maybe when people stop trying to kill me." She giggled nervously while Thor licked his lips, looking down before his eyes met with her's again. That deep look of hunger burning more adamantly in his eyes than ever before. Something else flickered within them, something she recognised all too well, a look that was also mirrored in her own eyes the last time she was in the presence of the agent. Anger, deep unforgiving anger. 

"I will not allow anyone to hurt you again, not while you're with me." He closed the distance between them, taking her head within his hands. "And Aria, I am not letting you go now I have found you." 

"I don't think I want you to." Her lips parted, unable to contain the need any longer. She knew she didn't want him to let her go, she'd waited a lifetime to feel this with someone and now she had it she wasn't about to give it up. She allowed herself to open up to him although the thought of being weak completely terrified her.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 21

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT DAY

THRYMR’S TOMB

“They’re here, my lord.” The messenger said from the doorway, awaiting his king’s response.

Kjotve chuckled and lounged in his chair, allowing his feet to rest on the war table before him.

“Of course they are. It was only a matter of time.” He went quiet for a moment, sliding a rock along the blade of his battle-axe. “...Is Gorm with them?”

The messenger’s gaze shifted to the floor. “N-No, my lord.”

The other man didn’t seem surprised. “I expected as much. That boy was dead the minute he allowed himself to fall into their hands. They’ve likely hammered his head on a pike already.” Kjotve sighed and set the rock down, leaning forward in his seat. “No matter. We’ll manage without him. How many people are we dealing with?”

“It’s an army, my lord. Both the Raven and Bear clans are here. They’re attacking the fort from the southern half of the island. Sigurd Styrbjornson is leading the charge. Dag is nowhere to be found though.”

Kjotve nodded to himself, quickly formulating a plan in his head. “He’s probably dead. I knew something was amiss when Dag’s reports came to a sudden halt.”

He rose from the chair and stretched his arms, resting the axe’s hilt on his shoulder. “Tell our men to prepare for war, and make sure everyone is ready. If Sigurd loses this battle, the power of the entire kingdom will shift, and his family will lose their claim to the throne. He won’t accept defeat easily. We’ll have to throw everything we have at him.”

The messenger bowed. “Of course, my lord.”

Kjotve began striding towards the door. “In the meantime, I think I should get a look at this ‘army’ for myself. I’ve never known The Raven Clan to be a formidable opponent, but they’re not an enemy to be underestimated. Keep your eyes sharp, and your axe at hand. This isn’t going to end smoothly.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

THRYMR’S TOMB, SOUTHERN HALF

“Heave!” Sigurd bellowed, his voice towering over all the commotion.

The Raven Clan let out a unanimous shout and rushed forward with the battering ram, gripping the mechanism so tightly that their knuckles turned white. The wooden planks of the bridge groaned underneath their weight as they charged towards the fort, trembling from the footsteps of a hundred warriors.

Meanwhile, the Bear Clan marched alongside them and formed a shield wall around their allies, taking the brunt of any arrows that came raining down from the battlements. A series of thunderous war chants echoed from the sea of raiders flooding the gates, and within moments, they were already bashing it down.

“Heave!” Sigurd commanded once again, urging them to charge. The warriors took a few steps back and pulled the ram into position, holding it in place before letting it swing.

The front of the mechanism immediately broke free from their grasp and soared into the braces holding the gate together, causing an array of splinters to fly from the surface.

A few of the supports could be seen bending in the face of the ram’s power, and by now, a unit of Kjotve’s men had gathered on the other side, preparing to welcome the incoming horde of enemies.

Before Sigurd could carry out a final charge however, the shadows of multiple archers blotted the ground beneath his feet like phantoms emerging from the night, drawing his attention to the line of arrows growing above. He gazed upwards into the sun’s blinding light, and yelled another command.

“Shield wall!”

Upon hearing the order, the Bear Clan instantly got into formation and locked their shields together, creating a shimmering shell above their companions. A wave of arrows came bolting down soon after, and rapidly buried the army below under a hurricane of metal.

A number of Sigurd’s warriors were shot dead within seconds despite their attempt to deflect the attack, and much to his dismay, the battering ram suddenly found itself short of some men. The surviving raiders pushed on with any energy they had left and stepped over the handful of scattered corpses now littering the bridge, bringing the ram one step closer to success.

Taking advantage of the opening that followed the archers’ assault, the Raven Clan drew the ram back to its starting point and awaited their prince’s command, keeping the mechanism raised with a Herculean amount of strength.

“Heave!” Sigurd ordered one last time, signaling his men to rush forward. They tightened their grip and practically hurled the ram into the gate, shattering the remains of the barricade into pieces. Shards of wood violently erupted from the site of impact, and shortly after, the Raven Clan was storming the entrance.

“Find Kjotve!” The prince roared. “And send that argr dog into the jaws of Garmr himself!”

Barreling into the fort with a symphony of war cries, the Bear and Raven Clans began tearing through Kjotve’s men like a legion from Hel, cutting down anything in sight as if the spirit of Thor had possessed their very minds.

The sound of axes clashing rang across the battlefield like the shrill voice of a valravn and colored the air with mayhem, drowning out the agonized shrieks echoing from Kjotve’s army.

Meanwhile, Sigurd took hold of his longsword and jumped into the tempest swirling around him, butchering foes left and right in a haze of fury. 

All of his bottled-up rage, grief, and pain came pouring out in every strike, and soon enough, he resembled the man who visited Ingrida in her dreams. His eyes practically glowed with the sparks of a vengeful flame, and it didn’t take long for the god of war to start shining through his actions.

He no longer felt any fear; any doubt. The only thing that guided Sigurd’s axe now was the desire to honor those who had fallen. Thora, Dag, Ulfar, Eirik -- this was for all of them. This was to ensure that their deaths wouldn’t be in vain. This... was for his clan.

“Aarrgh!” A familiar voice shouted, causing Sigurd to glance to his side. 

In the distance, he spotted none other than Eivor himself burying an axe into the chest of an enemy raider, baring his teeth like a feral beast on the hunt. His eyes had been pried open by claws of adrenaline, and it was clear from the blood splatters staining his armor that he had already taken down his fair share of Kjotve’s men.

What the young warrior didn’t notice however, was the raider sneaking up from behind him.

“Eivor!” Sigurd exclaimed, dashing in his direction. “Behind you!”

The prince raised his sword in the air and slammed it downwards with an adamant amount of force, practically knocking the enemy’s head right off their shoulders. They dropped to the ground in an instant, and sank lifelessly into the mounds of snow.

Eivor took a moment to catch his breath, still processing the swift chain of events.

“...Thank you, Sigurd,” he said through labored breathing. The older man offered his hand and helped the blonde viking up to his feet, keeping an eye out for anymore men that may have been skulking in his blind spot.

“Don’t mention it.” He flicked his eyes around a bit. “Have you seen any sign of Kjotve?”

Eivor shook his head. “Not yet, and I doubt he’ll reveal himself anytime soon. He’s probably somewhere in the fort, using his men as a shield.”

“Then let’s make sure he has none to hide behind.” Sigurd stepped away from his lover, gesturing to the rest of the battlefield. “I’ll stay here and fight alongside our warriors. You focus on finding Kjotve. We cannot let him escape a second time.”

“Of course. Oh, and Sigurd?”

The prince paused. “Yes?”

Eivor’s expression softened with affection. “...Please, be careful.”

Sigurd returned the sentiment. “You as well, love. I’m not leaving this fort without you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A WHILE LATER

Sprinting across the reddened snow like a madman, Eivor charged through the war-weathered fort as he searched for Kjotve, trying to ignore all the chaos surrounding him. Everywhere on the battlefield, the young man saw nothing but men and women from both sides falling to their knees in defeat, quivering in the presence of death.

Their anguished cries blurred together in Eivor’s ears, and their bodies began to topple over like trees being cut down. Not a shred of honor or bravery graced the morbid scene before him, and instead of finding glory, he found no more than a desperate desire to cling onto life.

It reminded him of when he was a child. Everything was identical to that horrid night when his parents died, and the sound of Kjotve’s name only enhanced the vividness of the awful memories he carried. He felt like the exact same boy who had fled from that ruined village -- only this time -- there was no one to save him.

He was alone... and so was Kjotve.

Taking a moment to gather his composure, Eivor strengthened his resolve and firmly held onto Varin’s axe, marching directly into the hellish atmosphere ahead. Foes of all sorts blocked his path with a multitude of threats -- including arrows and fire -- but none were enough to scare him off. 

No matter how vicious their bite, or how large their shadow, Eivor refused to waver. He had spent so long trying to find Kjotve in this realm of ice and blood, that absolutely nothing would stop him anymore.

He came here to put an end to this war, and he would.

“Where are you, Kjotve?!” Eivor roared, prowling through the embers. “Come out and fight me! I know you’re there!”

Stomping through bedlam, the young warrior wildly swung his axe at the raiders standing in his way and struck them down one by one, stopping at nothing to find the man who had hunted him for all these years. His thoughts raced with the struggles he had endured to reach this point, and the voices of those he’d lost continued to sing in his head, urging him to keep going.

A primitive fear of death wracked the very core of his soul, but even then, Eivor couldn’t bring himself to retreat. A newfound defiance had been bred in his heart despite the dangers ahead, and in a strange way, his fear pushed him further.

“I will find you!” The Wolf-Kissed bellowed at the top of his lungs, lodging his axe into an enemy’s neck. “You think you can hide forever? You’ve taken my home, my parents, my sister, my honor! You no longer have any power over me!”

He carved his way through yet another group of foes and let out a ferocious shout, bashing his axe with so much force that sparks danced off the blade upon impact. By now, there was nothing but a trail of corpses lying in Eivor’s wake, and in the distance, he could see an all-too-familiar silhouette gazing down at him from the battlements above.

They didn’t move a muscle, nor did they say a word. They simply stood there in silence, watching as the tension in their kingdom finally reached a breaking point. The battle-axe on their shoulder was enough to tell Eivor who it was, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop when they made eye contact with each other. 

They both knew why the Wolf-Kissed was there. They both knew what he wanted. Even though they had spent decades straying from the fire Kjotve sparked all those years ago, they had finally found their way back to one another, ready to guide this saga to a close.

Strolling away from the battlements, Kjotve turned on his heel and began heading down the stairs, beckoning Eivor to follow him outside the fort. It didn’t look like he had any additional men in his company, and for the first time since their initial encounter, the younger man didn’t get the impression that this was a trap.

They were both eager to bid farewell to this lifelong rivalry. The Nornir had planned for this day all along, and soon enough, the ending to their story would be scrawled in blood. The only question that remained -- was who would provide the ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

OUTSIDE THE FORT

THRYMR’S TOMB, NORTHERN HALF

Treading carefully through the gathering storm, Eivor approached Kjotve from behind as the older man awaited his arrival, quietly taking in the view of the crumbling fort. Despite being outside its walls, the two of them could still hear the sounds of battle seeping through the cracks of its weathered stone, howling from beyond the veil of snow.

It was like a different world out here. Not a single soul disturbed the barren landscape, and the merciless weather had almost wiped out the scene of the war entirely. Only Eivor and Kjotve stood on the icy plates of Thrymr’s Tomb, and if they listened hard enough, they could practically hear the gods calling out to them, whispering in a tongue that evaded their comprehension. They were alone in this place, and somehow, the idea of that brought comfort to Eivor’s nerves.

They had an arena all to themselves, and that was just the way Eivor liked it.

“Here I am.” He announced, stopping in his tracks. The island’s river lay not too far away from him, filling his ears with the sound of rushing water.

Kjotve turned around at the greeting, giving his opponent no more than a glance. “...Here you are.”

The Wolf-Kissed took a few steps closer, careful not to provoke him just yet. “You waited for the enemy with your back turned to them? I can’t tell if it’s courage or hubris that drives you.”

A chuckle fluttered from Kjotve’s lips. “For all your flaws, Eivor, I know how much you value honor. You wouldn’t attack a man from his back.”

Eivor’s brow furrowed in anger. “...But you would.”

“A trait of mine that many look down on, no doubt. And yet, here I am, one step away from conquering the entire kingdom. There is no honor to be found in war, so I don’t bother with it.”

Kjotve took hold of his weapon. “But enough. We didn’t come here for idle chatter. You’re here for one thing and one thing only. Aren’t you, Varinsson?”

Eivor felt something spur inside him at the sound of his father’s name. “...Let’s bring an end to this, Kjotve. Enough running. Enough fighting. Just you... and me.”

“Eager as always. So be it. You’ve been a thorn in my side for long enough. I’ll gladly send you to the Corpse Hall. It’s just a shame that you won’t be able to see your father again, isn’t it?” He displayed a small smirk. “The price of honor, I suppose.”

Gripping the hilt of his axe with both hands, Kjotve slowly readied his stance and locked eyes with Eivor, watching him like a beast studying its prey. Meanwhile, the younger man began circling his opponent and held his weapon out in front of him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The world around them was still with a deathly silence. 

It seemed as if the very heavens had come to a halt to witness the grand spectacle, and even the ocean itself had fallen into a trance-like serenity. There was nothing to distract them, or divert their senses, and the battle at the fort had long since departed from their minds.

The gods had finally granted Eivor his chance to reclaim Varin’s honor, and he didn’t intend to waste it.

Lunging forward with a sudden surge of vigor, the young warrior landed a number of blows on Kjotve’s armor before springing back and evading the counter-attack that followed, forcing him to roll across the ground.

He pushed himself off the ice and quickly returned to his feet, whirling around to face the giant striding towards him.

In the blink of an eye, Kjotve heaved his axe above his shoulders and slammed the bearded weapon down onto the snow, missing Eivor’s head by no more than a few centimeters.

The blonde viking jumped to the side and used the opening to swing his axe at Kjotve’s face, causing the blade to slice straight through the lobe of his ear. Blood instantly came pouring down from the wound and onto the fur of the king’s cape, painting the hairs with a vibrant layer of red. A handful of droplets also plummeted to the ground beneath, marking Kjotve’s every move with a fresh trail of blood.

As for Eivor, he carried on with his assault and relentlessly threw one attack after another, refusing to give his enemy the chance to breathe. Unfortunately for him, a man of Kjotve’s stature was not so easily bested, and the Wolf-Kissed soon found himself on the receiving end of a direct hit from the other man’s weapon.

The gargantuan axe bludgeoned Eivor in the stomach and sent him soaring backwards, causing the wind to be knocked out of his lungs. Thanks to his armor, the blade didn’t make contact with his flesh, but he had still been struck with enough force that his abdomen now writhed in pain.

He stumbled for a moment due to the sensation and attempted to regain his footing, only to be kicked back down when Kjotve jabbed the tip of his boot into his gut. The king then proceeded to bash Eivor’s axe out of his hand by punting it from his grasp, allowing it to slide across the frozen terrain.

“Heh,” Kjotve said with a laugh. “Is that the best Varin’s son has to offer? All these years of tracking me down, and you’ve already been rendered defenseless.” He tilted his head in a patronizing manner. “I almost pity you.”

In spite of the soreness now spreading throughout his body, Eivor simply responded to the taunt with a feral war cry and yanked a dagger from one of the sheathes on his back, plunging the blade into Kjotve’s foot.

The king instantly roared in agony and toppled to his knees, unable to ignore the newfound pain now clutching his leg. Eivor tackled him to the ground as soon as he was staggered and climbed on top of him, desperately trying to press the dagger into his throat.

Due to his lighter physique however, Kjotve easily shoved the weapon away from his neck and pushed Eivor off of him with a punch to the cheek, creating a small distance between them. Eivor took this opportunity to retrieve his axe and returned to his feet, assuming his original stance. Not too far away from him, Kjotve did the same -- only now -- he had been cursed with a limp.

“...You won’t kill me that easily.” Eivor panted out, his breath turning into mist. “I’ve fought for too long to let you walk away now. Even if I die for it, this war will end today. You won’t leave this island alive.”

Kjotve sighed and approached the wounded viking, using his axe as a support.

“Ah... just like your mother. Fighting til the very end. An admirable mindset to have, but one doomed to end in futility nonetheless.” He straightened his posture, clenching his jaw in pain. “You’ll fall, Eivor. You, your clan, your king... you’ll all join Varin and Rosta soon enough. And then, Norway will be united under one crown -- mine.”

Trudging in Eivor’s direction, Kjotve carried on with his pursuit despite the injury he had just sustained and prepared to finish the other man off, prowling towards him with bloodlust in his gaze.

Just as the two of them resumed the fight however, a sudden growl reached their ears, leading them to come to a pause. They diverted their attention to the blizzard surrounding them and fell silent, trying to peer through the wintry fog.

For a while, there was nothing. No footsteps, no figures, no movement. Not even a shadow. 

The environment appeared just the same as before, and after a few moments of waiting, Eivor began to wonder if the disruptive sound had just been a trick of the mind.

Before his doubts could fully settle in though, the sound of a raven’s caw abruptly pierced through the air, echoing across the land like a summon from the gods. Synin herself emerged from the sky and started gliding down towards her companion, rescuing him just like she did when he was a child.

Perplexed by her arrival, Eivor stared at Synin in shock and watched as she soared over his head, vanishing into the storm beyond. At first, he didn’t understand the meaning behind her intervention or what she hoped to accomplish, but once she departed from the island, it all made sense.

Out of nowhere, a pack of white wolves leapt out from behind the fog and charged towards the barbarian king, allured by the scent of his blood. Their fangs glimmered viciously with ropes of saliva, and their eyes swelled at the sight of their next meal.

“What the--?!” Kjotve exclaimed in surprise, brandishing his axe at them. “Where’d you come from? Stay back!”

Pouncing on Kjotve, the wolves overwhelmed the colossal king in spite of his attempts to fend them off and immediately started tearing at his flesh, thrashing him around like a rag doll. The growing discomfort in his foot caused him to collapse to the ground, and before he knew it, the feral beasts were feasting on him without mercy.

Initially, Eivor felt a sense of relief upon seeing the wolves finish his job for him, but after a while, there was a certain emotion building up in his chest that he just couldn’t suppress. The sheer amount of agony behind Kjotve’s screams was enough to shake him to the core, and surprisingly, he found himself beginning to pity the man.

Eivor hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be attacked by a wolf. Despite the fact that he had carried his scar for over a decade, the terror of that night still remained vivid in his head. 

He may have hated Kjotve with every fiber of his being, but even then, it was difficult for him to condemn someone to such a torturous death. Humanity was a trait often lost during war, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to lose his own.

He had come here to reclaim his father’s honor. To restore peace. 

The suffering of others was something he wished to end -- and it all started now.

Rushing towards the wolves, Eivor waved his axe at the beasts and threatened them with a series of shouts, hoping to distract them from Kjotve. At first, they merely challenged his actions and growled in response, but were easily scared off once it became clear he wasn’t backing down.

Waiting for them to clear the area, Eivor guarded Kjotve until the wolves disappeared from his sight completely, and kept his eyes sharp for any other animals that may have been roaming around. The wolves didn’t show any signs of coming back to finish their meal, and for the time being, it was just the two of them again.

As for the fallen king, he had been transformed into nothing but the mauled scraps of an abandoned feast, and left in a pool of his own blood. Bits of bone could be seen peeking through his skin, and his hands trembled both out of shock and pain.

Eivor gazed down at the ghastly sight, unable to hide his disgust.

“Your breath hasn’t faltered yet.” He said, admittedly impressed by Kjotve’s survival.

The other man whimpered, croaking out a short reply. “...You... you saved me. Why? D-Didn’t want the wolves... to claim your prize...?”

The young warrior shook his head. “You mistake my mercy for malice. I may despise you for everything you’ve taken from me... but it is not my place to carry out your judgement.”

Kjotve scoffed. “...Then... whose is it?”

Eivor knelt beside his enemy, looking directly into his eyes. “Wherever you go from here, it is the gods who will determine your fate. The only thing I can do... is send you to them. You’ll die as you lived. Without honor.”

He positioned his axe under Kjotve’s chin, eager to finish this once and for all.

“Goodbye, Kjotve. This world will be better off without you.”

Yanking the blade across his throat, Eivor executed the king in one swift move and freed him from his suffering, watching as the life drained from his soul. His body fell limp soon after the killing blow, and a final breath escaped from his lips.

...Eivor could scarcely believe it.

Kjotve was dead.

Kjotve was actually dead.

After countless years of grief, loss, and sacrifice... the war had finally come to an end. Just like that.

There were no cheers of excitement, or horns of fanfare. There was only the deafening silence that had been left behind by the dead.

Was this truly what victory felt like, Eivor wondered? Was this that glorious moment that had been spun in so many tales, and sung by every bard?

He didn’t feel like a hero, nor did he feel any pride. All he felt was a blossom of relief like none other, and the crushing weight of endless regrets. 

A beam of contentment was starting to shine in his heart now that Kjotve had officially been slain, and Eivor didn’t wish to spend anymore time on this forsaken island. The only thing he longed for was the warmth of Sigurd’s embrace... but he didn’t even know if the man still lived.

Wandering away from Kjotve’s corpse, Eivor left the king buried in the ice and allowed the gods to take him from Midgard, not even sparing a second glance. A wave of memories flooded his head as he drifted back to the fort, and for just a second, he could’ve sworn he saw his parents watching him from across the river.

Eivor had no doubt that their appearance was merely a result of the battle’s ordeals, but even in his dazed state, he was able to make out the faint figures of both his parents.

They were standing side-by-side, wrapped in each other’s arms and observing Eivor as he made his way back to the clan. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak -- all they did was gaze at him from behind the curtains of snow. 

It was almost as if they wished to tell him that their spirits were finally at peace. They had endured a lifetime of torment trapped in Helheim’s depths thanks to Kjotve’s betrayal, and now, they could sleep, forever in each other’s company just as they were in life.

Eivor’s job was done at last, and he could move on from the grief that had burdened him for so long.

“...I did it, father.” He whispered, watching as the mysterious figures faded from his vision. 

“You’re free.”

[florencwrites]

prisoner 〚dreamwastaken〛

in which [reader] will always wait for him, in which dream is no longer dream

(!) blood, torture, emotional trauma (!)

If there's one thing that Dream had taught me; it was that persistence is key. "Stubbornness gets you places." He had always told me, laying in the grass against that same scratchy birch tree several times a week. He'd lay his head in my lap and hum songs while I played with his hair. He'd often pluck the grass and drop it on my knees, or draw little smiley faces on my skin.

He'd never meant for this to happen, for it all to happen. All along, all he had wanted was to be one big happy family, to give all his friends that exact feeling he had never gotten. He'd go out of his way to make people smile. Make them live in harmony, helping with crops and mining, even going as far as spending hours trying to find traces of ancient debris; all to make his friends content. He never wavered in his goals, always trying to convince people to see the best in everyone. Hoping that if he just kept smiling, one day, everyone would be smiling right back at him.

However, lately, his smile had rarely been genuine, really, the only time I ever saw the true glint of faith in his pupils was when we laid against that tree, humming songs and basking in the sun. He was having trouble keeping up his positive outlook, everywhere he looked there were pets dying and friendships breaking up. Houses being destroyed and families torn apart because of stupid things. Items that held no worth, that could never hold any worth as important as family or friends did.

"Stubbornness gets you places." He'd always say when I scolded him for acting like a brat. Unfortunately, the only place it had gotten him so far was in prison. I was reminded of this fact daily, returning to the impenetrable walls every minute I wasn't spending eating, at all hours of the day and night. My sobs echoed through the obsidian, mimicking the wails of the many ghasts that had tried to pass through generations of the dark purple stone. The block seemed to have created itself a connection to grief, mourning even. I pounded on the wall, to no avail I'd realized quite quickly on, until both my knuckles and palms were bloody and bruised, and I did it every single fucking day. I'd do everything to have him back in my arms, anything.

On the lonely nights, the residing heat in the obsidian often brought me warmth. The bubbles in the stone leaving marks on my shoulders. Often the warmth reminded me of him, of his chest pressing against my back. I could feel the ghost of his fingertips scour my arms, the glow of the obsidian on my neck making it almost appear as if he really was right there behind me, softly breathing into my skin. The lonely nights were good.

Because the nights where I wasn't alone, were nights I spent listening to his agonizing screams from deep within the fortress. Nights where the obsidian worked his torturous wonders and elated itself on the reminders of the excruciating pain that was put onto him. The nights where I couldn't physically bring myself to leave until his squeals had subsided, where I choked on my own tears until I could finally hear him sob again. Sobbing was good, sobbing meant that they had left him to be on his own at last, because sobbing meant that he was weak enough to them, and finally; sobbing meant no more torture.

Sam's shoes had been loud against the obsidian tiling, almost loud enough to distract me from the muffled growls that came from underneath them. Bubbling snarls that indicated that no man would be left alive, not when they breach these walls and definitely not when their body touches the water that surrounds it. He had caved, at last. He'd hastily ushered me inside late at night in the hopes of no person seeing the enormous gates open for the first time in weeks. I had clung to his waist, my knees failing me when he told me I was allowed one visit. No talking about it ever, or I'd see the same fate as my 'little boyfriend'.

He turned another corner as I cursed myself for not remembering the path we took, nor the redstone mechanisms he used to get me through the many disappearing doors. "There'll be a change of guards in 30 minutes, I need you outside in 20, got it?" His face was tense, eyes set sternly onto mine. I nodded, my head felt woozy from all the emotions swirling around it during these past few months, along with the lack of sleep, dehydration, and now adding to the list; the thought of finally seeing him again.

The umpteenth contraption boomed from beneath our feet, an almost rhythmic banging from right beneath our feet, slowly making it towards the wall in front of us. Slowly but surely the barricade was lifted, an immediate cry escaping from my lips as I saw the state of him. He was surrounded by iron bars in a cage in the immediate center of the room, the walls surrounding it bearing enough obsidian to guarantee his permanent stay.

My heart ached physically at the sight of him, my body moving itself to press against the bars hard enough to leave bruises on my ribs, dropping to my knees instantly. I reached my arms through the gaps of the confinement, barely not being able to reach where he laid curled up on the floor. He was facing me, however, his arms were shielding his features from me entirely. Tears upon tears flooded from my face as I screamed for him to look at me. He shot up, his pupils wearing nothing but complete and utter terror. He let out a loud shout, telling me to 'please, don't, please'. I wrapped one hand around the iron bars, steadying myself as I softened my voice, "Dream, it's me, baby, it's me."

He was on one knee, leaning his entire body against the barrier on the other side of the room he had fled to on instinct. His head rested on the metal for a second before instantly shooting up to look at where the voice came from. "Don't do this again, please." He pleaded, his voice was desperate, hopeless. "Anyone's voice but hers."

"Dream?" My voice was as gentle and soft as I could possibly make it while also sounding urgent enough for him to realize I wasn't fake, I wasn't some recording they played to demoralize him. "Dream, please."

His body froze at the sound once again, however, this time he turned his body into the bars. His back.

Oh, god, his back. The white tee he had been wearing the day they took him away was barely existing on his back at this point. The fabric was torn all over, showing the dozens of deep gashes beneath. His skin was practically rotting away from the outside, however, some were new. I had heard him, yesterday, I had heard his agonizing cries for release, which is exactly why I was so adamant about staying by the walls all day today. I had heard them do this to him, and there hadn't been a single thing I did or could've done about it. A sudden, almost traumatizingly powerful scream entered the small room we were in, the obsidian jumping at the opportunity of echoing; anything to prolong our agony. "PLEASE, I'M BEGGING, LET IT STOP."

My body choked up at his words, entirely shaking as his misery took its place again in my heart. I sat down, leaning my head against the metal bars as I let myself sob with him. I glanced up at where he sat on the other side of the cell, his hands pressing against his ears hard enough he could pop an eardrum, his body trembling with utter horror, slowly swaying from side to side. His back was on full display as he sat hunched over, some of the gashes tearing open again at the tension of his skin. Trails of blood soaked whatever was left of his shirt, and I couldn't help but wail out again, my heart physically feeling like it was imploding. "What are they doing to you, baby."

His movements stilled, a good few seconds passed. His arms slowly rose to get a grip on the barricade. As soon as he established the anchor, he pulled himself from the floor, slowly turning to look into my dark corner again. "Dream, it's me, please, c'mere." I pleaded, hope filling my eyes that even after three entire months of mental and physical torture, he would trust me. I reached my arms through the gaps, reaching for him as he came into grasping distance. He stood an inch from my extending fingers, almost gazing down at them tauntingly. He hadn't looked me in the eye yet, keeping his focus completely trained on my hands.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes from my begging hands and looked up at me. "It's you."

"Yes! Yes! It's me, baby!" I almost cheered, my face pressing painfully hard against the bars, my entire body bruising at the constant impact.

His face was completely frozen, utter shock coursing through his features as he tried to figure out what was happening. "They did this to me."

"I know baby, I know." I nodded, confirming his words for him. Rationalizing that he was okay to not trust me, knowing his friends had betrayed him ultimately. "Please, let me touch you, I need to touch you."

He fell to his knees, ushering his arms through the barms to hug me through them. he held my body tightly as his body silently shook with sobs. "They did this to me." I hummed into his ear in response, knowing how lonely he must've felt, how worthless and discouraged. I felt my hands get coated in his blood as I clung to him tightly, crying together in utter misery. "I just wanted to keep it all safe."

I spoke carefully, my voice barely over a whisper, "What do you mean, Dream?" I rested my forehead against the same cross he did, the gaps between the bars barely not big enough to fit my entire head through. They were just there for decoration, really, the thousands of blocks of obsidian and the torture was what really kept him in place.

I watched him sniffle softly, his eyes squeezed closed almost painfully so, the raspy sounds that left his torn throat were a mere ghost of his normally smooth and silky voice. "I just wanted to keep it all safe," A shuddered breath interrupted him. I was clinging to his words, desperately wanting to hear what no one else had dared explain to me; why he was here. "I just wanted to make them happy, keep them safe." He gripped my shirt as he pulled me closer into his body, the warmth I radiated probably being the first source of heat he'd felt in months, besides from the occasional glow of obsidian. "The things they cared about, keep them safe."

A shaky sob left my lips as I let his words sink into my brain, only now realizing what he had done. His trembling voice made the hairs on my neck stand up, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

"All I wanted was to keep them safe and happy," He paused as a sob left his lips again. "One big happy family."

[dazenightmare]

ALRIGHT, AS FAR AS I’M AWARE AT LEAST ONE PERSON WANTED THIS, SO YOU SHALL RECEIVE IT

(Again, sorry if this doesn’t make too much sense. I woke up way earlier than I’m used to and I’m really tired because of it. Also unedited because I’m really fucking tired)

AU, of course, but here we go!

Ranboo starts by waking up on the shore. He’s really confused and scared, even if he doesn’t know why he’s scared. Eventually he walks into a cave to escape hidden growls, and it clicks in his mind that he has an objective. He doesn’t remember what it is, but there’s a goal he’s working towards, and that’s all he needs to step further into the cave

It progresses as it does in the stream until he’s staring at the smile at the end of the hall. Ranboo tries to run, but before he knows it a figure with a happy mask is fast approaching and he blacks out.

He wakes up in an elevator that gradually lights up as it sends him down. Ranboo reads what he can off of posters before a monotone voice is talking to him. After crawling through a tight vent, he finds himself in a small room. He learns that this is some entertainment establishment with four humanoid animatronics, none of which he bothered to remember their names

He massively dislikes the monotone voice telling him what to do, the silent winged dancer, the stupid dude with a guitar who doesn’t like doing what he’s supposed to, the gentle voice that tells him that apparently Mr. Monotone was trying to kill him, and the angry boy in the dark. Ranboo does like however the small, strange voice that calms down the angry boy in the dark with reassurances that “it’s probably just a mouse”

He died when the angry boy in the dark actually found him and choked him to death, but woke up back in the small room, Mr. Monotone trying to send him back there. Ranboo had a breakdown and blacked out once again.

This time when he woke up he was on the hood of the car in a forest. Ranboo decided he liked this place so far despite his emotions screaming at him that this place was worse than the two places before. It was a pretty, sunlit forest in the fall! Who wouldn’t like that?

Until of course it turns darker the closer he gets to a house— his house? There was a thank you letter on the coffee table inside the house, so Ranboo decides that he’d assume it was his house. The drawings on the walls scared him, and by golly did the upstairs terrify him. It was almost pitch black up there for fuck’s sake!

He can’t help but feel like he’s being watched, and— oh god someone was screaming out back. Ranboo desperately doesn’t want to, but his feet carry him out the back gate anyway. He finds himself turning on generators, and pausing as he grabs a poster in the forest. It had a small child with fox ears

He feels a flash of pain before he woke up at the beginning again, and just fucking decided to get this over with as quick as possible. Second time’s the charm, right?

By the time he gets to the poster, he has to blink before pocketing it. There was a completely different child on it, instead wearing goggles with no funky ears. He sees a tall figure on the hill nearby, and looks but blinks as they vanish, breath picking up speed. He decides to move along.

Ranboo winds up at a burnt house, and screams at the man in it. He didn’t seem to hear Ranboo however as he stood swaying in a room over, mumbling to himself. Ranboo watched the man flicker between two different people; a man in a brown trench coat and a man with a green mask in his hand. When he taps their shoulder, they look at him with a crazed look in their eyes and a shout before disappearing, really shaking him up.

He can’t help but notice the figure always staring at him from a distance, vanishing whenever he got too close. It really unsettled him as Ranboo tried to figure out what he needed to do, frantically circling everywhere he had been as he tries to find a possible fourth generator. It’s only when he notices the figure getting closer that something odd happens

Something in him clicked, something he didn’t recognize, and in a panic he just blurts, “Tubbo there’s a man”

It didn’t make sense at all, but really, did anything about what’s been happening make sense?? Was he just as insane as the people he’s been seeing?? He must be, because a voice speaks in his mind not too long after.

“A man? I don’t see a man Ranboo.”

The voice speaks calmly, and it’s so familiar it brings Ranboo immediate comfort even as he’s staring the figure down

“He’s on the hill Tubbo! He’s just watching me!”

Ranboo decides the nice voice must be Tubbo, and officially dubs him as such. He continues throughout the journey talking to Tubbo, nearing tears as Tubbo tells him maybe he should approach the man. He tried it once, but they only disappeared again. Ranboo can’t help but notice how Tubbo seems a bit confused, but going along with what he’s saying

He finds a journal at some point, and Ranboo blacked out again before waking up in the same room, but his flashlight glowed a different color. Ranboo didn’t understand, especially when he started muttering about how “it was only the beginning” before blacking out again.

He wakes up again behind a pale desk, but this time there’s a figure with him. Ranboo learns this was Tubbo, and he was a bit fuzzy around the edges and always stayed in his line of sight. The outfit Tubbo wore confused him, because all he could make out was a white coat and jeans, but hey, he wasn’t any better with his tuxedo and crown he supposed

Ranboo walked around the weird office building with Tubbo by his side, who seemed much more inclined to agree with him and react to things too in this place. Ranboo actually got pretty far and wasn’t nearly as scared here than the last few times, but he remembered being terrified as his being was consumed in spiders

Blacking out for the final time, Ranboo woke up in a white room, curled into a ball in the corner. He had shorts and a long sleeved shirt, which was a lot more comfy than the tux. Tubbo was in front of him, clearer than ever as he smiled.

“Welcome back Minute Man. You stayed under for quite awhile, huh? Didn’t even hear me for about two hours, maybe one.”

Ranboo could only stare, vague memories clicking into place as Tubbo continued.

“Your name is Ranboo. You’re at Dreward’s Mental Hospital. You suffer from memory problems and severe hallucinations. I’m Doctor Corr, but all the patients call me Tubbo. Do you have any questions?”

And I don’t know how it would go from there if it doesn’t end there, but I like imagining Ranboo somehow finding out the people he saw were fellow patients in the same ward :)

[sailtoafarawayland]

Through the Window (Entwined Series)

Summary: Stilling his own breath, Hook disregarded the rustle of the trees in the wind and listened more intently, straining to hear what he thought may have been the dulcet tones of – a slow smirk pulled at his lip, the rogue in him stirring, and his gaze swiveled back toward the grey house behind the white fence, the sound drifting toward him from an open window near to the ground.

Series Information: A series of connected one-shots following the polyamorous relationship of Emma, Killian, and Hook. Each piece can be read standalone and is non-linear, but together will reveal some backstory and how these three came to be. Tags/warnings that are specific to each piece will be posted at their heading, but it is safe to assume all of them will contain both M/F/M and M/M (unless otherwise noted in the tags). If this is not your thing, carry on. If you would like to be removed from my tag list, please let me know. Keep in mind, I maintain one list for all of my work.  

Rated: Explicit

Relationships/Tags: M/F, Emma/Killian, Voyeurism, Voyeur!Hook, Canon Divergent   

AO3 - FF

Through the Window

Despite his many years spent aboard a vessel at sea, Hook still hadn't adapted to the strange unsteadiness and disorientation that portal travel entailed, stumbling a bit as the spinning vortex heaved him forward, his boots catching on rough ground and nearly sending him to his knees before he managed to find his balance once more. He darted behind the nearest cover as soon as his head ceased spinning, scanning the immediate vicinity to ensure he hadn't been seen.

Behind him the portal had already blinked out of existence, any chance Hook had of returning to his realm vanishing along with its light, but the moon was full and bright overhead, making it easy to discern that he'd traveled into some sort of town. Buildings as large as manors faced one another along a street composed of a flat stretch of odd, black stone, and ahead of him squatted a white fence that bordered a small length of it. The gate was open, and beside it loomed the dark shadow of a tree, adorning the corner of the yard that boasted a large, grey house with white columns.

From within its lower windows came the soft, steady glow of a lamp.

Though he'd traveled between several realms in his many years, this place felt entirely foreign to him, every turn of his neck giving him yet another strange contraption to ponder – but through it all, the wind was still carrying the smell of the sea to him on its back, and that would always be a small comfort that reminded him of home.

Standing in the darkened street, he was left wondering just what in this realm was supposed to lead him to a cure for his poisoned heart – back to his Alice – as the Seer had promised. With no direction or further knowledge to guide his choice, he decided to follow the road between the rows of houses until he met something more like a tavern or market, perhaps there he would be able to glean some useful information.    

He was about to set out when a sound caught his ear and he paused – uncertain that had heard correctly.

Stilling his own breath, he disregarded the rustle of the trees in the wind and listened more intently, straining to hear what he thought may have been the dulcet tones of – a slow smirk pulled at his lip, the rogue in him stirring, and his gaze swiveled back toward the grey house behind the white fence, the sound drifting toward him from an open window near to the ground.

The logical part of him was chiding that there was no purpose in lingering in this place, but something in his gut urged him closer – besides, reminded the half of him that would always be a pirate, it wouldn't hurt to gather some information on the locals. If anything were true of each port city he'd visited, no matter the realm, it was that illicit trysts were quite common, and what sort of pirate would he be if he were to pass up an opportunity for a little blackmail – especially if it might be the change in winds he needed to get back to his daughter.

Not much of a pirate, and not much of a father.

His mind resolved, he disappeared through the open gate and sidled closer to the house, the sounds from within growing louder as he neared. Testing his weight on the first step and finding it sound and sturdy, he took each one slowly and carefully, advancing toward the turreted portion of the house where a window had been opened to allow the breeze to enter. He pressed the leather of his greatcoat against the wall of the house, making certain no portion of his body would be visible from within should the moonlight be enough to illuminate where he stood.

There was a long moment of silence when he feared he'd made noise enough to be discovered, but then the sounds began again and his eyes closed of their own accord, something about the timbre of the woman's voice cutting through him to a place he hadn't wanted to admit he still possessed.  

“Oh, god,” she whimpered, drawing in a sharp breath before more words fell from her, “fuck...just like that...oh, god, don't stop, please, don't stop...”

Hook's fingers clenched at his side and a shaky breath slid from his throat, the woman's pleas burning like a flame along his skin, his cock stirring to life. Then came the sound of someone moving and another moan drifted toward him, the woman's voice rising into a broken cry as her lover played her beautifully. Beyond the blissful moans falling from her lips, he could just barely hear the wet sounds of her pleasure – most certainly the music of someone feasting on her delicate, pink folds.

His own cock was rock hard in his leathers as the soft moans and pleas continued from within, a pang of guilt stabbing through his gut as he listened to the lovers together, wondering whether or not he was truly standing here eavesdropping with an intention to use any and all means he had in order to get back to his daughter, or for his own self-indulgence – it had been years since he'd felt even a stirring of longing for another, since the witch deceived him, and yet...

He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line and jaw clenched, preparing to quietly take his leave. Whoever this woman was, she didn't deserve to have her intimacies defiled in this way, no matter what she had woken in him that had been long dormant. Though he was desperate, he still believed in good form, or at least the shadow of it. He was carefully finding the most trustworthy planks on the deck when the next words from the the house made his blood run cold, his heart tightening in his chest and a shiver of something unknown racing up his spine.

“Killian, please...need you in me already...”

His breath left him on a shudder, something between adrenaline and fear pumping through his body as he tried to decide whether to flee or press himself closer, to look through the glass and see...after all, surely he couldn't be the only man bearing that name – it must be nothing more than an eerie coincidence.

“The things hearing you beg does to me, love...” a familiar voice rumbled, its timbre just offset enough that Hook was certain he was learning what he himself sounded like to others.

Heedlessly, he leaned into view of the window and peered through the glass, needing the confirmation that only his eyes could give him.

Half draped across the back of a settee was a woman, her hair falling in a golden tumble over her face, hiding it from his view, but clear enough was the dimly lit form of the man leaning over her, his chest bare save for a familiar brace that circled his shoulder and traveled the length of his arm, the remainder of it concealed by the delicate arc of the woman's back – but Hook didn't need to see what rested at the end of the man's arm, he knew, just as surely as he knew that the strong line of the man's jaw, the dark brows and disheveled mop of black hair were the same as those he's seen in the looking glass for years – well, perhaps some years younger, as there were no silver streaks such as the ones he had earned for himself.

Unable to look away, unable to truly understand what he was seeing, Hook watched as the man – Killian, she'd called him, and how long had it been since someone had called him that – dragged his hand across his mouth once to wipe her arousal from his lips, and then once more, rings glistening, as he licked every remnant of it from his fingers.

“Tell me,” the woman purred, sweeping a delicate hand over her face and drawing back the curtain of golden tresses, tossing them over her shoulder – everything stopped.

Hook's lips parted and his gaze focused only on her as the movement revealed the most stunning woman he'd ever laid eyes on – her high, rounded cheeks flushed with color, pink lips swollen from where she'd caught them in her teeth. Her eyes flickered open briefly, settling on the window, and for an instant he feared she may have seen him, but she was too far gone in her pleasure, granting him only the smallest glimpse of emerald green before her lashes fluttered shut once more.

He needed to see them again.

“What does it do to you, hearing me beg?” she whispered, rolling her back and pushing the rounded swell of her bottom more firmly against where she was held anchored. “Tell me...”

Her body shuddered, lips opening on a silent moan, the pale swell of her breast and its rosy nipple peeking over the edge of the settee as she writhed, and Hook could only assume it was due to whatever this other version of himself was doing with his hook below the graceful bend of her stomach.

“Emma,” the man – Killian – spoke in a strained whisper, Hook only just able to hear the words he murmured against her skin as he bowed himself over her back, painting the slope of her neck with soft kisses. “It makes me want to stroke every inch of your skin, to wring every breath of pleasure from your body until you've no words left to beg, until there's no wanting left in you...until I've given you all you need and more...”

“Just you, Killian,” she breathed. “I only need you.”

Heaviness settled in Hook's chest like a storm pressing in from all sides as the woman – Emma, her name was Emma – shifted and reached beneath her, a moan of startled pleasure falling from Killian's lips as she grasped his length and guided him into her body, the glow of the lamp within shimmering on their skin as they began a slow, languorous rhythm, her body undulating beneath him like the sea itself.

“It's always been you, Emma...” he breathed, her lips framing the most beautiful sound Hook had ever heard as she keened beneath her lover, desperate to have him as close and deep within her as was possible.

Words broke amid the moans and pants rushing from her lips, but they were soon lost in the slap of their bodies together as they sought their peak, silver flashing through the air as he rose and grasped her hips, the furniture shaking beneath them as he drew back and thrust himself into her over and over, each drive harsher than the last as curses fell from her lips, her fingers digging into the dark fabric beneath them as she clung to it like a woman drowned.  

“God, fuck, oh my god...” Emma whimpered, “I'm so close...so full...”

“Aye, you take me so well, love,” Killian panted behind her, his hair damp with sweat and falling into his face, the blue of his gaze startling vivid for only a moment before his head rolled back in ecstasy, the lamplight glancing off the sharp bob of his throat as he swallowed. Hook's eyes traced the movement, his own body echoing the younger version of himself as he inhaled and swallowed heavily.

Barely aware that he'd moved at all, Hook palmed his own cock in his hand, his leathers straining and painful over his swollen flesh as he watched them both, rooted to the spot though he knew he should leave. It would be so simple to tug free his laces and take himself in hand, to relieve the burning need that would otherwise remain unquenched as he watched his twin bed the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but the heaviness that lingered in his chest reminded him that this wasn't meant for him. This moment wasn't his, and nor were the words traded between them as he carefully slipped from the porch and melded back into the shadows.

“I love you,” she said, her words lost in the wind just as they reached his ears, and like a dream he let them pass, holding onto only the memory of something beautiful he couldn't quite keep.  

* ~ * ~ * ~ * 

He shouldn't have returned, but days spent lingering around the outskirts of town had done little in the way of providing information, and given what – or rather who – he'd seen the other night, there was an added risk to showing his face among the townsfolk for any longer than a brief glimpse. Only now he was left with a narrowing path forward, the words of the Seer echoing in his mind.

His feet had carried him here just as surely as the heavy  longing still lodged between his ribs, and though the morning was still young, he'd learned enough of the man and woman who lived here to know they would be gone for the rest of the day, so he would indulge his curiosities – the persistent feeling that this was where he needed to be – and perhaps he would find his heading.

In the light of day it was easier to take in the details of the abode, the walls a calming grey-blue that recalled the sea on a cloudy morning, the whitewashed columns and woodwork pristine and ornate. Making certain no one had spied him, Hook passed once more through the gate and headed quickly around the house, ignoring the steps he'd climbed only a few nights earlier. It would be far better to gain entry away from the sight of prying eyes, even if he did hold more than a passing resemblance to the Killian who lived here.

His clothing alone would set him apart, and it certainly would not go unremarked upon.

His spirits were lifted when he saw yet another set of stairs leading to an entry at the secluded rear of the house, and knowing that Emma and Killian – the names he'd heard fall from their lips in moments of passion – would be gone, he hurried up the steps without worrying about making too much noise. As he suspected, the door was locked, but a quick swivel of a lock-pick within the mechanism and some pressure applied with his hook was enough to gain entry.

Easing the door closed, he found himself in a hall that led toward the front of the house, several pairs of shoes and boots lined nearly in a small alcove, jackets draped above them from wrought iron hooks. A doorway to his right led to some sort of privy, though for the life of him he couldn't identify the other strange equipment within. Though from the heaped piles of clothing atop them – the red fabric of a sweater Emma had worn only the day before and several black shirts drawing his eye – he imagined they were some sort of contraption for laundering clothing.

He passed through the hallway into the main quarters quickly, not wanting to waste what time he had sifting through their linens, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the settee he'd watched them make love on the other evening – for there was no mistaking the way in which they'd moved and claimed one another, the words they whispered into each other's skin. It was a feeling he remembered from long ago, from the woman etched onto his own skin, but it was also something he'd long ago given up hope of ever finding once more.

For a time, he'd had Alice, and she'd been more then enough – she'd been his everything – despite the trickery that had led to her birth, but now he'd lost even her, and the pressing loneliness he'd felt watching Emma and Killian – this strange, otherworld version of himself – make love had been a reminder that she was why he was here.

He needed to do as the Seer had directed, only then would he be able to cure his heart and find her.

Pulling his gaze away from where he could still see gold hair tumbling and the slick roll of two bodies together, Hook turned toward the stairs. He was uncertain what he was searching for – though his instincts told him there had to be a reason why the portal had chosen to land him here, immediately outside the home of a man who was his twin – but whatever it was, he was sure he would not find it in the main living area.

He rounded the corner of the banister and ascended quickly, hissing at the sharp squeak that sounded from one of the steps near the landing for the next floor, but relaxing when he remembered that he was alone. Both Emma and Killian would be doing as they did every other day, patrolling the town, and the boy who sometimes resided with them – perhaps a son, and that was just one more knife in his heart – would not be returning until this afternoon, if he did at all. Most nights he seemed curiously missing, and Hook had tracked him down to another home with another woman who also seemed to mother him.

Strange and curious.

He bypassed a room that clearly belonged to the young lad, heading instead toward the end of the hall where the edge of a curtain whispered in the breeze from an open window, the movement catching his eye. His boots echoed as he stepped off the edge of the carpet runner and entered the room, his gaze sliding to a large, four-post bed set against the wall to his right, its crisp, white linens made with a fastidious hand, recalling to mind how he used to tuck the blankets into his own berth when he'd had one. White fabric like gossamer or the finest silk hung from its canopy, tied neatly around the posts, and he found himself running his hand along the edge of the sumptuous bedding before he'd even realized he'd moved to its side, imagining their bodies stretched across it in the throes of pleasure.

He swallowed heavily, reminding himself that he was not here to pine over things he couldn't have, but instead to find what information he could about this other version of himself and the woman he loved. Perhaps if he only knew more about them, he would know whether or not they could help – whether they would when he had nothing to offer in return.

A familiar sensation at his throat stilled him before he could turn from the bed, the sharp prick of heavy metal and the press of another body against his back – his own hand knocked from his sword before he could act on the instinct to pull it free. He silently cursed the distraction his weakness had created, keeping him from hearing the man sneak up on him – then again, it was his house. Surely he knew how to move about it quietly, missing the squeaky stair and gaps of wood in the hallway.

“You'd better have a bloody good answer for just who you are, and why you're in my home, mate,” the younger version of himself hissed in his ear, the tip of his hook digging in deeply enough to his skin that his intentions were clear, a small trickle of blood running warmly down his neck.

“I assure you, I mean no harm to you or your family,” Hook sighed, knowing he'd gone and made a mess of things, but he hadn't been able to help himself. He was lost with no idea of what he was supposed to do in order to achieve what the Seer had seen, and for some reason, he'd been drawn back here.

“I'm sure you'll understand that it's a little hard to trust the words coming from someone who looks exactly like me – especially since you broke into my home and here you are, in my quarters.”

“Not exactly though,” Hook chuckled dryly, “a little more grey on top of my head, but I've not been magicked to look like you, if that's your concern. If I had, I certainly wouldn't have aged myself unnecessarily.”

“Aye, well, it wouldn't be the first time some witch has made an error – who are you?” Killian growled.

“It appears I'm you, mate, though I've only just traveled to this realm from my own.”  

“Is that so? And what realm might that be?” Killian asked, grabbing his greatcoat suddenly and dragging him across the room, jabbing him roughly in the back as he shoved him toward an upholstered chair sitting opposite the bed and near a window.

“I'm from the Enchanted Forest,” Hook sighed, easing himself into the chair and raising his hand and hook in resignation before placing them both down onto the arms of the chair where his twin could keep an eye on his movements.

“That's a lie,” Killian retorted, a look of annoyance crossing his features as he pulled a small, black box-like object from his pocket and opened it, glancing down at its surface before snapping it shut. “You see, I'm from the Enchanted Forest – and I know for certain that they're weren't two of me walking about, so I'll give you one last chance to answer me truthfully. Where are you from?”

Hook sighed, his fingers reaching to scratch behind his ear before he caught the tension in Killian's body and lowered his hand once more.

“Perhaps my world is known as something else to you and your people, but I wouldn't be privy to what that is – I only know that I was born and lived there, and I spent the last years of my life in a kingdom called Misthaven, ruled by Queen Snow White and her consort.”

A look of something Hook couldn't decipher flashed across Killian's face, and for a moment he had hope that his twin did know something of his world, that perhaps he even believed that he was no threat and would be able to aid him in his quest.

“I see you're less a hand,” Killian gestured, “just as I am, so tell me...Hook...what happened to the Crocodile who took it? Were you able to exact your revenge?”

Memories of his duel with Ahab resurfaced, the barely noticeable heat as the bullet grazed his arm, the thrill of winning only to find that in the end he had truly lost.

“Alas, I did not,” he spoke, looking ahead but seeing only Alice. “I gave up my revenge, and as for the Crocodile, well he suffered a far worse fate than I would have been able to deliver to him.”

“What would be a fate worse than death for the Dark One?”

“He's trapped in a cell of Snow White's making, his powers useless, stuck for an eternity with only his madness and scheming.”

“And that's why you gave up your revenge?”

“No,” Hook breathed, knowing that saying the words aloud to another would simply rip the wound wide open once more – he'd never forget the pain of having to leave her side, to abandon her until he was able to find a cure. “I have a daughter, and she was taken from me. I need to get back to her...I tried for years and failed, but then I chanced upon a Seer, and she promised a solution was within reach...”

Hook finally shifted his gaze to meet Killian's once more, a heavy sigh leaving the other man's lips as he walked to the bed and dropped onto its edge, a pained look flitting across his features.

“I think you may just be from a realm we call the Wish Realm,” he began, “but you're not...you're not as Emma described from her time spent there.”

“Emma's been to my realm?” Hook questioned, unable to hide the flash of something akin to envy on his face as he imagined a time where perhaps he would have crossed paths with her.

“How do you know Emma, mate?” Killian hedged, his tone suddenly cooler and eyes sharp once more.

Hook swallowed the sense of loss in his throat and raised his hands once more, arching a brow and throwing a smirk at his twin that he hoped might allay his worries.

“I may be older than you, but I've not lost my edge – I've been watching and learning about this town since I came through the portal, and Emma, she's spoke of often.”

“This portal, did anyone else come through with you?”

“No, it was only myself. I don't – ” I don't have anyone else. “I swear.”

There was a moment of silence in which Killian weighed his words, considering each of them, but perhaps being able to sense through some familiarity of their pasts that he was telling the truth, he continued.

“Emma has traveled to your realm, briefly, but she said when she crossed paths with you, you were quite a bit...older – far more than a few grey hairs, mate – and perhaps...not as trim as we are now. She may have pressed a bit more water and a bit less rum on me after that.”

“And you're certain this was my realm?”

“Aye, the Wish Realm is the only one we know of wherein the Evil Queen wasn't able to cast her Dark Curse and Rumplestiltskin rots, imprisoned.”  

“That is indeed my realm then, but I don't know...” Hook muttered, his fingers running through his hair as he tried to consider a reason for the differences. “I've no explanation of how time works between realms, wish or not, but I can assure you it's the truth that my age is as it seems. It took me years to find the Seer who set me on my current path, who gave me hope that my curse would not last forever and that I could get my daughter back.”

“What's your daughter's name?”

“Alice,” he whispered, his eyes falling closed as the sound passing his lips brought to mind her sweet smile and warm eyes. “I named her after – ”

“Our mother, aye,” Killian finished, his own words weighted with the sadness and longing of a past long gone – a past they both shared. “Well, what is it this Seer has prophesied you are to find here? What will aid in breaking your curse and returning you to your daughter?”

“She looked into my future and claimed there were many branching paths, but that there was a land called Storybrooke, and in that place waited the cure for my cure – that I need only find a magic bean and think of my happy ending, and then I would find it...”

Killian's head shot up from his hand as the words left Hook's mouth, a flicker of true fear passing over his face as he met Hook's gaze, the color from moments earlier drained from his cheeks.

“Your happy ending?” he rasped, and the tightness of his jaw did not go unnoticed by Hook. “And where did this portal leave you, if I might ask?”

“In the street outside, a few days past,” Hook admitted, hoping that his twin wouldn't put two and two together and realize he'd been witness to their more intimate activities, that it would ruin any chance he had of gaining their help. “Might you know – ”

“You'll need to speak with Emma then,” Killian nearly whispered, the tension from his jaw carrying through to the rest of his body as he stood, his eyes focused somewhere else as he gazed past Hook into some distance only he could see.

“And Emma will know how to help me find it, my happy ending, so that I might break this curse?”

“Aye, mate – your happy ending's always been one thing...”

“What is it?” Hook asked, desperation coloring his voice as he gripped the arm of the chair fiercely, hope flaring in his chest for the first time in years.

But his twin merely shook his head and rose, gesturing that he should wait where he was before turning and leaving the room, his boots muffled against the carpeting as he disappeared from sight, and though Hook could just barely catch the faintest whisper leaving his lips, he was too far to understand the words that Killian had exhaled like a dying breath – one person.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul​ @kmomof4​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @teamhook​ @zaharadessert​ @xarandomdreamx @jrob64​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @tiganasummertree​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @alifeofdreams @superchocovian​ @donteattheappleshook​ @hollyethecurious​ @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells​ @itsfabianadocarmo

[thiswasinevitableid]

77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

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

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

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

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

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

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

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

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

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

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

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

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”