#the devil sings a cradle

[dark-and-kawaii]

The Ascended Devil & The Mouse

Raphael x f!Tav/Reader

⋆˙⟡♡ 18+

⋆˙⟡♡ Summary: It was the first time he had experienced being ascended, and you found him utterly breathtaking. Korilla warned you not to get close, that he could do anything to you, but you ignored her warnings.

⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Monster Fucking | Belly Bulge | Ascended Raphael

Ao3

Korilla observed from a distance, her eyes fixated on the sight before her. Your belly contorted with each forceful thrust of his cock, bulging with every penetration. The flush on your cheeks and the open, blissful expression on your face revealed your pleasure rather than discomfort. Your hand tightly grasped his arms, they reminded you of the texture that combined with wood and the solidity of bone. The fire from them never singing your delicate skin.

"R-Raphael!" you gasped, breathless, repeatedly uttering his name as if he were a god you worshiped. Korilla noticed how his gaze remained fixed on you, never wavering, like a wild predator dominating its prey. Raphael, in his ascended form, was an unknown entity, and she couldn't predict the final outcome. She had warned you to stay away from him, as Mephistopheles had never bestowed such a gift upon him before. Yet you defied her, approaching him and cradling his much larger face in your hands, kissing his tusk and proclaiming his beauty in this form.

She understood that one of the reasons he cherished you, his little mouse, was because you saw the beauty in him that others did not. You turned away even Haarlep, who was considered a more conventionally attractive version of Raphael. You truly loved Raphael for all that he was, even like this.

Beads of sweat formed on your skin, giving your body a radiant glow. Korilla had to admit, Raphael had excellent taste. Even the sounds of your soft moans and pleasure-filled cries, the way your body responded to his, made her envious of him, but only a tad in this moment.

It didn't take long for his pace to quicken, his large hands gripping your sides tightly, keeping you in place while he took his fill of you. His growls grew more pronounced, his hips moving with increasing speed, his testicles slapping against you forcefully. The outline of his cock was still visible through your distended belly, and she marveled at how you endured it all without screaming in agony.

"I-I want to be filled, please! I-Raphael!" Your nails dug into his infernal flesh, your legs attempting to wrap around him, but they soon went limp, falling to the sides as your vision blurred with sweat and a lust-induced haze.

Your arms fell limply above your head, your breath labored as your eyes continued to admire his exquisitely sculpted new face. Raphael was no longer just a handsome devil; he had transformed into a beautiful monster. You could feel the pulsations of his throbbing member inside you, hitting all the right spots, causing you to climax once more. This time, your eyes rolled back, a loud scream escaping your throat, and your toes curling as the waves of orgasm washed over you.

As your walls tightened around his cock, he showed no signs of slowing down. Instead, he leaned down and licked one of your sensitive nipples, his hot tongue grazing the tender bud, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. It felt as if your body was on the verge of breaking, yet you remain beneath him, never attempting to push him away. You trusted your devil more than any god, knowing he would protect you even from himself.

His large claws grazed the sides of your hips before slipping beneath you, effortlessly flipping you over onto your side. His cock angled perfectly to reach your most sensitive spots. Korilla watched intently as he wrapped his ascended hand around your fragile little neck, the claws lightly digging into your flesh. She knew it was wrong not to give you both privacy, but as soon as you removed your garments Korilla knew she’d have to stay to ensure your safety. She knew Raphael would never forgive her if she allowed him to do something reckless.

The sounds that emanated from you, the screams and moans of pleasure, served as undeniable proof that he wasn't causing you harm. But still, he was a Devil, and anything could go awry. She watched as your hand gripped his, your head falling back, your eyes fluttering shut. "C-cum for me, m-my Raphael!!"

Raphael grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, his tail swishing back and forth, knocking over opulent vases in the process. Your screams reverberated through the house, leaving no doubt that you had reached your peak once again. Raphael nuzzled into your shoulder, his tusks and bony face scraping against your skin. Korilla was certain you would be covered in cuts, but the healing bath would soothe those wounds.

A deep growl erupted from the devil, followed by a mighty roar. His grip on you tightened as his cock pulsed, finally releasing his thick, scorching seed deep inside your unprotected womb. Your stomach appeared several months pregnant, swollen from the copious amounts of cum. Your eyes drifted down to your swollen abdomen, your shaky hand caressing it as if there were a child growing within. The thought of bearing his child had crossed your mind several times before, and this experience only fueled that dream.

Korilla watched as his cock was milked, your cunt squeezing every last drop before the ascended Rapahel collapsed to the floor beside you. Careful not to crush you, his cock still buried inside of you. A low rumble vibrated against your back, his hands loosened their grip on you, his breathing beginning to even out. His bone tail wrapped around you in a protective manner, pulling you closer to him.

He was finally asleep, and you were exhausted. Korilla left the room with a sigh, knowing no one would dare enter and interrupt either of your slumber.

[madcoincidence]

The Bioengineer's Cybertronian Knight

1

Ratchet's younger life was a pretty normal one with only a few small ups and downs. Before all the chaos with the Quintessons, he had been the youngest to finish top of his classes and receive his Bioengineering PhD. He was strongly encouraged to further his education and thanks to his roommate at the time, it wasn't long before he returned to do just that. He had almost lost the dumbass when their apartment's designated research room exploded. He never wanted to relive that feeling of helplessness he had while cradling Jackie's bloody shrapnel dusted face in his lap. Only able to wait for help while trying to keep pressure on the gushing wound from Jackie's thigh, it was a real bad time. After that he worked hard to earn the next step up from Bioengineering. He gained a Biomedical Engineering PhD while soaking up the training needed to do field triage. By the time he had finished everything, Jackie had fully recovered and finished building a much larger lab for them as an apology to Ratchet for destroying all their belongings.

"Level four. Bleeding has stopped and a safe neural link disconnection from the mecha is done. Give him oxygen and keep track of how long it takes for him to regain consciousness." Ratchet motions for his team to move in and lift the pilot out to their transport. Ratchet doesn't join his team, stabilizing and disconnecting the pilot from the mecha suit was just step one of twenty-seven. His focus now shifts to shutting down the Mecha to stop the over heated frame and sparking wires from causing an explosion.

While he works his multitasking brain shifts back to thinking over his life choices, ranting and banter has always helped steady his hands. Jackie was a hazard to limbs but still not the worst to be around. No, that could go to Roddy and his meddling. The menace had tried setting him up with many blind dates. Thanks to him there was one blind date that few know of and wouldn't dare bring up if they value their vocal cords. The ones who do know of it have started calling it ‘the one night-’ Ratchet clicks his tongue with a heavy sigh as electricity and hot sparks fly and pop all around him. It laps against his gloved hands and hits his visor with snapping sizzles. Just as good ol’ Jackie promised, the suit is able to withstand whatever a seriously damaged Mecha can dish out. Unless it's an explosive level of damage, the suit can absorb or dispel the electrical current and heat. Ratchet wrangles a handful of the sparking stripped wires that are swaying above his head as he swipes through the smoking control panel. He forces override codes making the suit start the shutdown protocols as he goes.

He drifts back to mentally ranting while the metal frame around him pings and creaks. Nah, compared to both Jackie and Roddy, Jazz and his mecha suit had to be the biggest migraine starter pack. That maniac tests Ratchet's skills almost daily, on and off the field. How many times has he saved Jazz's life? Too many times. Jazz is a devil of chaos in that mecha suit, always doing down right suicidal stunts anytime an opportunity strikes. Ratchet has personally worked with Jackie on Jazz's mecha to make sure the kid wouldn't end up frying himself or slip further into insanity. Still with all the care put into that mecha, Jazz's sanity is still debatable.

Yeah… keeping everyone sane and healthy is something that feeds into Ratchet's sleepless nights. He knows better than to think he can save everyone, he was never that naive. Still the harsh reality of how fragile life is hit hard and fast at the beginning of the Quintesson war. Those memories are buried deep down with the first prototypes of mecha suites. Despite everything, Ratchet still refuses to give up on anyone, he'll do everything in his power to save anyone in his care. The small moments during down time, when he catches people smiling, singing, and laughing with friends thought lost to this war, helps make the nightmares just a bit easier to endure.

Ratchet stands up and swipes broken glass off his knees before grabbing the strap to his satchel. With the Mecha safely disabled Ratchet shrugs the strap over a shoulder and starts climbing out of the cockpit to start scanning the area for any more downed pilots. Being in the mecha had muffled the ear splitting screeches and roars of battle. Outside the mecha, everything echoed and rumbled through the hills and gullies, shaking the ground and trees. The trees where the bulk of the fight is happening have caught fire, turning the sky a hazy gray with a reddish orange hue. The fight has fallen closer to city limits but still hasn't reached what the commanders would call a, ‘panic level threat’ to start evacuation efforts. That, like many things, is not something Ratchet agrees with.

From his position on the Mecha's chest, Ratchet narrows his eyes to try and see through the smoke better. He spots specks of red light flickering from a gully to his left. It's close enough to him and his team that he can make out a mecha shaped form at the bottom, “Aid! Fix! With me! Everyone else, start hooking this up to the transport!” Ratchet yells above the noise while he climbs down the Mecha and hops off to the ground when close enough. Satisfied that his team immediately starts moving as soon as he gives orders, Ratchet starts jogging with Aid and Fix right behind him. “We need to move fast. I spotted a downed Mecha past that hill. Don't know how long it's been there. Since we haven't seen any mecha close to us while working, I am going to assume it's been a while.” Ratchet grips the strap to his satchel as he picks up the pace. The lights he saw means the mecha is still functional but no movement tells him the pilot is injured or worse.

- - - - - - - - -

As they catch their breath, Ratchet scans the gully to find the best way down, “Ratchet, sir... this is a really steep climb down. Let's find another way. Trying would be way too risky.” Fix rasps out as he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. Aid makes a wheezing noise while hunched over, hands on his knees. The smoke and soot is not doing their lungs any favors. 

“This thing stretches for miles. Quickest way is to climb down. Don't like it, stay up here.” Ratchet coughs to clear his throat as he squats down to look over the edge. At the bottom of the gully, laying on its side in murky pink tinted water is the damaged mecha. The lights he had spotted from before are coming from what seems to have been a space ship. From what Ratchet can see of the remains, it doesn't resemble a Quintesson transport vessel. Hard to say though since it's scattered everywhere. Some of the shredded debris is embedded into the walls of the gully. Larger pieces are scattered all around the mecha. Ratchet swings his legs over the edge and start climbing down. He ignores Fix's pleas and calls up to Aid, “Call for the mecha transporter. If the mecha is stable enough to be moved, it might be safer to keep the pilot inside the cockpit.”  The two wheeze and mumble above him but he catches the click and static screech of a field radio turning on.

 As Ratchet climbs down he glances over his shoulder now and then trying to see what he's working with. He notices a lot of damage to the plating on the mecha's arms, chest, and back. Possible damage to the cockpit has Ratchet taking the risk of using less sturdier holds for his hands and feet. Ratchet notes that the weird pink color in the water is coming from the deep gashes and holes littering the mecha's frame. The larger pieces of debris that Ratchet thought were from the ship turns out to be chunks of Quintessons. Ratchet exhales, steadying his nerves as he continues the climb down. When he deems it close enough, he clears the rest of the way by sliding down into the water with a splash. Thankfully it's only knee deep.

After fixing his strap and giving a dry cough, Ratchet pulls out his infamous wrench from the satchel and takes a step forward. The muddy bottom sucks his boots back down with every step forward, “Kid better be alive.” Ratchet mutters to himself, not wasting any more time he works his way towards the mecha. His breath catches when he sees how detailed the mecha's face is. Its lips are pulled into a tight thin-lined frown and the eyebrows are pinched together, creasing the area between its closed eyes. Like it can feel the wounds while unconscious, so expressive…. Ratchet shakes off that trail of thought before it can get started, “Pilots skipping face shields and visors for their mecha's now? Is this where the money is being wasted? Mecha used for commercials and toys shouldn't be out on the field. Wait till I get you out kid. If all of this was a stupid publicity stunt, you'll wish the Quintessons finished you off.”

He tightens his hold on the wrench as he makes it to the chest plates. His heart is pounding just a little faster but he continues to ignore all the red flags saying something is off about this mecha. If there's a chance there's someone in there, then he needs to try to save them. Besides, he has that gut feeling that he's needed here and that gut feeling has never failed him yet, “hot… but not a, going to blow up right now, kind of hot.” Ratchet mumbles as he slowly, barely, ghosts his gloved fingers tips over where the cockpits emergency release panel should be, “Not helpful kid. How am I supposed to get to you if I can't find the medical override..” He swears he saw a clawed finger twitch inside his peripheral vision. The weird muffled whirling noise coming from its chest picks up.

“Ratchet move!!” Aid and Fix scream out from above. Ratchet turns his head towards them then to the heavy thwumps and splashes from behind the mecha's frame. Ratchet curses and waves a hand for them to back away from the ledge and stay down. He grips the wrench in both hands and presses his back into the Mecha's chest plating. Very familiar blood chilling, high pitched chitters and low hisses start surrounding him. Tentacles slide around and on the mecha, moving past the frame closer to Ratchet. He doesn't dare breathe as one comes extremely close to touching his foot.

Many things happen in the next few minutes. Sounds of shifting plates and a whirr chur noise comes from behind him. He ends up falling back into the water as the surface he was pressed against moves away way too fast to follow. Ratchet's cool blue eyes dart up to catch sight of a Quintesson with a mecha sized gun down its throat. Ratchet is barely able to register that before being drenched in muddy water and Quintessons blood as it rains down on him. He scrambles to clear his visor as chunks of the alien continues to hit the water. 

When he can see again he looks to his sides then up. The mecha is crouched above him, one knee had been very close to squishing him. The mecha tosses the gun to the side and this time the knee blocks Ratchet from the splash. Water with the weird pink liquid drizzles off the mecha as it grabs another Quintesson by the tentacles and yanks it towards them. Ratchet scoots back and stumbles to his feet as the mecha doesn't hesitate to sink it's claws into the Quintesson's head and lower jaw. With a stomach flipping roar, the towering being above him rips the jaw off and throws it aside like it did with the gun. Ratchet yells out as he is soaked once again, his suit is well past being comfortable anymore. Burning red eyes land on Ratchet for a split second before growing staticy, the mechanical being gives a sharp wince. The red static quickly becomes a solid but dimmer red as the mecha turns its upper torso to focus on the next charging Quintesson.

- - - - - - - - -

Ratchet definitely can't ignore the ‘this is not a mecha’ warnings anymore. Weird destroyed spaceship, red flag. Weird pink fluid leaking from the mecha, definitely not oil or lubricant, red flag. Mecha vocalizing through a moving mouth and showing hints of pain, big red flag. The moment the Quintessons are dealt with the, not piloted by a human but very much mecha looking being, falls back onto their side. When the shaking from the large being's fall settles Ratchet had finished processing everything. Right now to Ratchet, the only thing that matters is they're hurt and Ratchet may be able to help them. Ratchet trudges through the water towards the mechanical being as they give a static filled rumble, “Hush, you did enough. Thank you.” Ratchet places his palm on their cheek. He rubs the warm metal as he tries to sooth them. He watches as the eye watching him darts to the edge of the gully where his teammates are yelling at him to be careful, “It's ok kid we're getting you out of here. Focus on me. Only me." The rumbles trickle away as the intense red glow shrinks back onto Ratchet. It flickers a few more times, then slowly dims till it's completely off. A lid slides over the eye closing with a soft click, “I've got you.” Ratchet promises switching the pets to a pat. He starts planning out how he'll fit the mecha into his quarters back at base. Jackie can help him move around his sitting area.

*** *** ***

So I realized I didn't start with how Ratchet and Deadlock met in the TF Mecha Universe. I just hopped straight into the mushy stuff. @keferon 's TF Mecha Universe has given me a spark of creativity again. So thank you Keferon for starting this chaos! It's beautiful. I am looking forward to writing this fanfic, it has quickly stolen all of my attention. Anyways, I hope this was enjoyable to read! Keferon has been overflowing with tons of wonderful asks, so I though I could make it a bit easier on them by figuring out how to post this fanfic on here. Let's see what I can do.

[just-barely-a-somebody]

Well deekideke’s fanfic script has given,,, so much. As a recap of what I personally got from it (A very devildice focused perspective):

King Dice drinks

This isn’t the first time Devil had Stickler walk Dice home

Based on the way Devil says it, he’s probably tucked Dice into bed, cradled his head, and told Dice he’s his #1 until Dice fell asleep before (please I need a short fluff fic of this immediately)

King Dice had to wear a flower gown

There’s a joke that he should be called Queen Dice

His gown is ripped into a fucking bikini and then he just “decides to own it and strikes a pose.”

Devil loves the chaos and was probably about to confess feelings before being interrupted

oh yeah devil is also in a wedding gown

they genuinely just flirt with each other

THEN they both sing “Endless Love” WHILE BEING DESCRIBED AS “It’s a romantic dance sequence for the length of the entire song”

AND THEN they almost kiss before… eugh Stickler.

but uh yeah that was a lot /pos

I’m almost 100% certain that Deekideke had/has ideas for other eps that would develop their relationship a bit more and come before this ep

either way, they’re gay+queer as hell <3

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 10- keep me from my grave

"Well, don't sing me praise. Just keep me from my grave." -Me Against the Devil by The Relentless

Main Masterlist Regent Series Part 9

They met at a bookstore. 

It had been almost two full months since the Joker had met his end, his head mounted and strangely not decomposed, with Jason returned to the Batfamily Gotham had settled into a lull. Not a quiet one, but a lull nonetheless. 

Jason was taking a break from sorting through cases with Dick, head throbbing from the lack of sleep and patience for annoying siblings wearing thin. 

The bookstore, tucked away in a quiet part of Old Gotham, was often empty of people during the day. Despite its large bay windows, comfy seating and welcoming atmosphere, the Page-Turner would remain a hidden gem to the city dwellers. For Jason, it was a haven he could never feel bad about keeping to himself. 

He’d branched out from classics some time ago, deciding to try other genres he’d long since ignored for the Bard, meandering around the shelves to find a title that caught his eye. 

It was between the mysteries and thrillers that he found her. 

Her. 

She was sitting on the ground with her back pressed against the thriller shelves, slender jean-clad legs tucked towards her chest to cradle a book, eyes never straying from the pages, red hair tied into a low ponytail with what looked like a small braid tucked behind one ear. Jason couldn’t tear his eyes away from her soft features, desperately wanting her eyes to meet his, her lips to offer him a smile and her hands to cradle his own.

 For the first time in his life, Jason finally understood what the regency novels meant by love at first sight… because the man was halfway there already. 

The Page Turner was a haven admist the chaos that was Jazz’s life, especially once she finally admitted to herself and Danny that she needed help to manage her depression. Her little brother was concerned, but also relieved when she confronted the elephant in the room first. He’d been weary of bringing it up himself, not wanting to worry her more. 

(Silly brother.)

(It was her job to worry.)

Nonetheless, Jazz asked around among the living and dead for a therapist recommendation, which she was correct about it being difficult in Gotham, but Jazz didn’t want to branch out just yet. A toss up between disbelief and enthusiasm awaited her, but she didn’t let it deter her from contacting the recommended psychologist- Harleen Quinzel. 

A bit awkward to be in a session with the reformed rogue, dutifully ignoring whatever lingering shades wanted her attention. Harley was a great listener, more importantly she cared about Jazz as a patient, as a human being. Whatever Bozo the Clown had done to her, what she had survived, had given Harley a new lease on life with his death (ironically). 

“It sounds like ya never been allowed to simply be, Jazz.” Harley spoke plainly and evenly, her brooklyn accent barely clipping her words. The redhead had spoken of her childhood, her brother’s death, the neglect.

Opened up about the nightmares, how Danny’s destroyed grave haunted her. Let the truth spill from her lips, free to simply exist in the space between the two women. Sure, Jazz would never spill secrets about the Realms, but where it concerned her guilt, or lack thereof, about the blood on her hands- yes, Jazz knew Harley wouldn’t judge her. 

And it was true, Jazz had no childhood. She was Danny’s caretaker, his first memory, his first steps towards, the first to have his back. There had never been just Jazz, only Jazz and Danny. Every dream she’d once had, broken and scattered in the ashes of Danny’s grave. 

(Danny had no hope of reaching the stars, of being an astronaut, with his death.)

“Sweetie, Danny sounds like he is capable of taking care of himself for a while. Have you considered finding a hobby?” Harley questioned, sincere in her wish to help. 

Jazz sighed, “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” What did she have outside her little brother and work as Regency? 

“Do ya like to read?” 

Jazz huffed, finding amusement with that question. Of course she liked, no, loved to read. It had been her one escape from the nightmares so long ago, but she hadn’t found the time since taking regency to lose herself in a good book. 

Harley didn’t need her to respond, offering a sincere smile in response to Jazz’s lack of reply. 

“There’s a bookstore in Old Gotham, the Page Turner, ya could check out? There’s no pressure to pick up a book, but it would be enough to just get through the door, yeah?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“That’s a good start.” 

As it was, Jazz wasn’t able to find time between Realms Work and patrol to do anything other than sleeping, eating, and various other tasks that filled her days (and nights). The more it itched at her, to listen to the therapist she liked, the more Jazz wanted to read a book. To get lost in a good story, just like she used to. 

Patrols were harder with Hood back, his haunt under his command once more and streets protected by a vigilante in red. Only twice in the few weeks since Jason had been moved from her side to the batcave had the Regent caught a glimpse of him, both as his nighttime persona, and from a distance Jazz hadn’t been able to sense him as clearly as previous. He did seem healthier with the pure ecto and his Proto-Core, though Jazz was in no mood to test her luck by crossing into his Haunt. 

The girls were sad to see the Regent less, even though Jazz remained firmly in the Phantom haunt and was barely a few minutes away at any given time, but it was the principle of the thing. The Regent was one of the good ones and a woman at that. A woman who could kick ass wasn’t rare, but it was rare that they would take up a vigilante role for the occupants of the Alley. 

Red Hood, while awesome and respected by his people, was a man. 

Some of the girls were gradually drifting into the Phantom haunt, or a shitty part of Old Gotham that bordered on the Alley. Regardless of it’s quality it belonged to the Phantom Fraid… and Phantom was a Protector Spirit. 

(With the Regent and the Phantom, crime was all but extinct in their haunt.)

With the decrease in crime, Jazz was finally able to dematrilize her armor, set down her sword and enter the Page Turner. 

A distinct mix of old books, ink, and some kind of body spray welcomed the redhead once she stepped inside, intrigued by the sense of calm that greeted her in place of a human. 

Which was fine, Jazz preferred to browse in peace. 

Grateful for the shelves being categorized, Jazz found herself enthralled by a thriller (They Never Learn by Layne Fargo) and didn’t notice another person in the aisle until they were within arm’s reach. 

Jazz flinched back, embarrassed by her lack of focus and attention to her surroundings, dangerous when one is a vigilante in Gotham. She greeted the man in front of her after a few moments of awkward silence, his stare making the redhead even more embarrassed, but now by her appearance. She'd been too tired to fuss with her hair or clothes beyond ensuring the orange-red strands were brushed into a semblance of order and her clothes were somewhat decent. 

(Jazz was more concerned with her bracelets being concealed under glamour and sleeves.)

(The metal, eternally cool against her warm skin, offered some comfort in times like these.)

(She was the Lady of the Acropolis, once student of Pandora, the Ancient of Peace.) 

(There is nothing that can make her feel lesser without her consent.) 

“Uh, hi.” 

(Oh how eloquent, Jasmine.) 

“Hi.” The deep voice, smooth and accented like a native Gotham, made Jazz finally move her gaze from his chest- nice chest as it was, it was his eyes that made her breath rush from her lungs. 

Jason. 

.....Jason!

(Oh yes, Jazz picked a good day to walk into the Page Turner.) 

(She was finally able to talk to her dream man.)

(She wasn’t disappointed.) 

(And by the smiles they had as walked away, neither was Jason.) 

A/N:

This isn't the best, I know. Hey, they finally meet! Keep an eye for the updated masterlist, because I'll be putting the link up and changing some of the chapter titles. Thanks for reading!

Update: “They Never Learn” by Layne Fargo is an actual book, with a female Anti-Hero who kills bad men. I don’t want to say more because I’ll spoil something, but it’s a great book.

[lovelystarlightsblog]

Motherly reader babying them~

(So reader is a loving Mommy type that loves babying and spoiling them. So after awhile she somehow manage to bring up their Inner child)

Albert James Moriarty

He was a little uncomfortable with the thought of being spoiled. Like, him? Spoiled? He beg to differ. But after he met you. All he could say is…. Well sh!t..

He was never the spoiled type (that’s what he thought), if anything he would be the one spoiling his S/O. But now he could only question how the hell did he end up here while sitting sideways on your lap.

He was honestly embarrassed by it. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Well, not anymore….

He wasn’t familiar with motherly love considering his childhood. He was never felt like he was accepted in his “Family” so mothers love wasn’t something he can Imagine to have.

After he met you he feel like he found something that was missing his whole entire life. He never felt so safe, so comfortable, so……. Happy….

At the start of the relationship, it was something small and simple things like serving and feeding him cookies, and then leads to wrapping him in blankets and cuddle him the whole night (You’re the big spoon obviously), which also leads you into tucking him in before bed and sing him a lullaby, and also leads you to cradling him when he had a hard day…..

He was really embarrassed to say the least. He was treated like a child! And for some reason it makes him feel so warm inside.

He likes it…..

He will never admit to anyone, not even when someone threatens him death. But he loves how you treat him like a child, he loves how you spoil him so much with your loving. You’ve awaken his inner child he never knew he had.

As time goes on the others start to notice how Albert’s behavior is slowly start to become more… Childlike….

Like how he looks at you so excitedly like a child seeing his birthday present when he finally gets back, or when you’re home after going out to get groceries. Or how he becomes 970% more clingy than he used to. And how he always clings onto you when you’re sitting together or you’re just talking with someone else.

Well… They’re not the only one who realized it. Cause I’m pretty sure that Albert would realize it sooner than they do. But despite that he’s not stopping it at all…. What kind of spell did you used on him?!

Nobody ACTUALLY complains about it, maybe Moran would tease him but he would get the most terrifying glare, that it can make the devil look like a baby kitten. He notes himself that he would NEVER tease Albert about it ever again.

But when someone else points it out…. Let’s just say that he never wanted to jump out of the window so bad in his whole entire life.

He’s conflicted. He’s a grown up adult, he’s not supposed to be treated as a child nor act like one. But at the same time it just feels soo good that he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like it! Not like he can stop even if he wants to.

He was honestly quite self-conscious about it. He feels like he should stop letting you treat him like a child so much, but he also craves for it. He can’t decide whether to stop you or letting you do anything to him.

He once told you how he feel a little ashamed of liking all those childish things. But you told him that there’s nothing wrong with enjoying all those things. Everyone has their own inner child and everyone always want to feel loved. And that actually made Albert feel a lot better hearing you say that.

After some time, he lets himself loose and let you do more “lovey” things like cradling and other babyish things. He also really likes how you spoon fed him, but he only let’s you do that in private.

William and Louise also notice Albert’s childlike behavior. And neither of them judges him. In fact, they’re happy that Albert is able to feel happy and comfortable with someone. And they really do appreciate your company cause they haven’t seen Albert so content and happy before. So that really made Albert relieved.

He loves the way you scratch his back while he’s cuddling you (I love back scratches, y’all knew this was coming). He always wraps his arms around you as he lays his head on your chest while you softly scratch his back. He’s the big spoon most of the time, but sometimes he’s the little spoon when he’s feeling tired or down.

And then… There’s cradling, OH THE CRADLING!! He’ll be DAMNED if anyone else knows about this, but he he craves to be cradled! It’s probably one of the most babyish things he actually enjoy but boy he loves it!

It’s just… The way you hold him while he sits on your lap and rocking him slowly (god that’s adorable) and having his head resting on you. He has never felt so safe and comfortable in his life. It’s embarrassing and he loves it so damn much.

It would take a lot of time for Albert to accept his “tendencies” he’ll try to be a lot more open with his childlike behaviors. Of course he won’t show that side of him to anyone, but now he’s a bit more open to admitting his “tendencies”. He’ll also let himself act a bit more spoiled to you and enjoys how he’s treated as a child.

And once that finally happens you’ll realize how adorably spoiled he is. Like how he ask you to sing him to sleep, making him and feeding him cookies, clinging onto you, and running up to you when you get back. It was incredibly adorable and beyond cute!

Of course that doesn’t mean he’s not serious with his work on taking care of the nobles. It’s just that whenever he takes a break he always know where to go and what can make him feel so much better after all that. And that’s something he will never take for granted.

Of course he will try to pay you back. (Even tough he feels like he will never be able to). Like treating you out for dinner, buying you gifts, getting whatever the hell you want (even if it’s as absurd as bringing home a lion). It’s just that… Words cannot express how thankful he is to have you and you make everything so worth it in this life…

He has never felt so happy….

Wow….

This is one of the most tooth-rooting, stomach stirring, diabetic thing I have ever wrote…

I’m so proud of it…

[nina-ya]

May I please request a super angsty femReaderxzoro fic where reader dies trying to save zoro but in a really specific way as in she has devil fruit similar to uta but with healing abilities instead and she trades her life to save zoro which makes her have a death similar to rikas from jjk but the song she sing when she’s leaving is long live by Taylor Swift specifically “long live all the mountains we moved I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you” ect.If it’s too detailed, you don’t have to do it but I would really enjoy if you could do this

Long Live

A/N: Italics is a flashback and purple are the song lyrics I had so much fun writing this! well as much fun as you can have writing something sad, but thank you for giving me an excuse to write about more Taylor i hope you enjoy! <3 Pairing: Zoro x fem!reader CW: Reader dies, blood, vague alluding to sex WC: 2.1k Your voice had been a source of joy and happiness for as long as you could remember, and your devil fruit ability only heightened that joy, granting you the power to heal through your melodies. It felt like a gift straight out of a fairy tale. Cradling injured individuals in your arms, you would serenade them, witnessing their wounds miraculously vanish as they sprang up with newfound energy.

In your pursuit of understanding and enhancing your abilities, you dove into the histories of past users who once possessed this ability before you. While you didn't find much in terms of strengthening your powers, you stumbled upon something intriguing: the most recent user of your ability met their demise by sacrificing their life for a marine soldier. The event was well-documented—the tale of their final song and fading away into the unknown, all to save a critically wounded soldier. At the time, you found such sacrifice baffling and perhaps even foolish. The idea of willingly giving up one's life for another was a concept that had always left you questioning whether you could ever do such a thing.

You first encountered Zoro when he casually slid into the seat next to yours at a random, somewhat sketchy tavern on an island whose name had already slipped your memory. Ordering a beer, as expected, neither of you paid much attention to the other until you initiated a conversation, asking about the swords he carried with him. Drink after drink, the banter flowed effortlessly, and as the night progressed, so did the subtle hints of flirtation. Before you knew it, you found yourselves in the confines of the bathroom, Zoro pinning you against the wall, lips locked, hands exploring, clothes quickly discarded—an intense moment that seemed to mark the conclusion of your unexpected encounter. Or so you thought.

The next day, as you went about your business, you stumbled upon a wanted poster that featured none other than Roronoa Zoro, one of the most formidable and dangerous men in the world. The revelation left you torn between celebrating or worrying over the fact that you had just slept with one of the most deadliest men in the world right now. You had chosen the former.

Your lingering questions about whether you'd see him again were answered when, to your surprise, you spotted Zoro rounding a corner, seemingly lost and running in your direction. The unexpected reunion left you wondering about the twists and turns fate had in store for the two of you. He screeched to a halt in front of you, muttering something about being in the wrong place. You were on the verge of teasing him for looking like a lost fool when the unmistakable sounds of approaching marine footsteps and shouts pierced the air from behind. Without a moment's hesitation, Zoro swiftly unsheathed his swords, leaving you momentarily confused when he shoved one into his mouth. Your confusion gave way to surprise as marines in front of you began dropping like flies.

In the chaos, Zoro reached for your hand, grabbed it, and started running with you. Urgently, he asked you to lead him to the docks. Though an underlying sense of fear lingered, the idea of potential injury or worse, you couldn't help but go along with the green-haired man, guiding him through the streets towards the docks. The urgency of the situation fueled your pace, and as you turned a final corner, a grand pirate ship came into view. To your amazement, some very enthusiastic individuals, recognizable from the wanted posters plastered everywhere, were waving at Zoro and urging him to run onto the ship. 

You might have assumed that Zoro would have let you go and abandoned you at some point, but to your surprise, he had you stick around. Soon enough, you found yourself on the deck of the pirate ship, met with perplexed and cautious stares from the crew. This wasn't the life you had envisioned, yet the appeal of friendship and adventures proved too compelling for you to resist.

As it turned out, your unique ability to heal with the simple power of song quickly earned you the role of healer on the ship. You often teamed up with Chopper, working together to mend the wounded, a category that frequently included Zoro. It seemed like he would intentionally find himself in dangerous situations just to give you an excuse to heal him. It became almost routine  for Zoro to pull you aside for healing sessions. He would claim it was because "you're the faster healer" or "Chopper is busy with the others," but the way he stared at you with complete and utter infatuation as you sang hinted that there might be an underlying reason why he always sought you out.

Your relationship with Zoro had flourished during your time on the ship. While the two of you hadn't explicitly labeled it, an unspoken bond had formed, making you inseparable. It was clear to everyone around you that you and Zoro were meant to be. Your connection was so strong that it felt as if you were bound together for life. You, the enchanting songbird, had managed to melt the heart of the swordsman. It was a relationship that seemed almost too perfect to be true.

-

-

-

The shaky rhythm of Zoro's breath sliced through the air, the only accompaniment being the unsettling drip, drip, drip of crimson liquid splattering onto the floor from each painful gash on his body. His eyes threatened to give in to the darkness, the grip tampanoding his profusely bleeding wound weakening with every passing second, allowing more of the red tide to seep out. "She's close by," he reassured himself in a desperate whisper. "She will come and heal me, and everything will be okay." His vision blurred, the edges of consciousness fading, yet the approaching footsteps redirected his waning focus. Your silhouette emerged into view, and a feeble smile of relief played on his weakened lips.

You stood there, your body pulsating with the ache of injuries you had sustained from the battle. Exhaustion weighed heavily on your chest, each labored breath revealing your weariness. As you took in Zoro's dire state, a chill ran down your spine, and your hands trembled uncontrollably. The blood painted the wall against which he leaned, the pool he lay in enough to have claimed the life of an ordinary person by now.

In that moment, a wave of realization crashed over you, akin to what the previous user of your devil fruit must have experienced when confronted with the imminent death of that soldier. The only conceivable explanation for willingly sacrificing one's life in such a manner was love. Only someone who is deeply in love could find themselves doing what you were prepared to do.

Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump-thump—thump... thump... thump...

Your heart beats in your ears, slow and steady, a sharp contrast to the urgency that surrounds you. Crouching down next to him, your knees bathe in the blood beneath you. You reach out and stroke his face, your voice cutting through the tense air as a sweet melody falls from your lips, “Long live the walls we crashed through, I had the time of my life with you…”

Your vision blurs slightly as you start to sing, and your voice wavers, but determination fuels your every word. Zoro's consciousness begins to steady, and his gaze focuses on you. He listens to the lyrics you sing, his smile quickly fading as he senses your growing unsteadiness. His own heartbeat starts to quicken, mirroring the vivid recollection of the last time he was this severely injured.

Your fingers gently comb through the emerald strands of the injured marimo, the sound of your singing soothing his pain, mending the cuts and bruises that adorned him. As his eyes gradually flutter open from the haze of injury, he gazes up at you, a soft smile spreading across his lips upon hearing the sound of your voice. This time felt different from his previous injuries; there was an abundance of blood, and the worry etched across your face reflected the urgency to reach him in time.

You knew you couldn't stop singing. You needed to heal him, but you also needed to talk to him, so your song took on a more serious shift in meaning as you sang. "Will you take a moment? Promise me this: that you’ll stand by me forever," you begin, your voice carrying a weight that matches the importance of this moment. His larger hand envelops yours, nodding in silent agreement. You continue, "but if, God forbid, fate should step in and force us into a goodbye," confusion knits Zoro's eyebrows, wondering the reason behind the unexpected shift in your melody.

You persist, “if you have children someday, when they point to the pictures, please tell them my name.” Your voice grew shaky as you continued, “Tell them how I hope they shine." Teardrops fall onto his concerned face, and he instinctively reaches up to wipe them away. The inevitability of this conversation weighed heavily on both your hearts, each word spoken a painful acknowledgment of the uncertainties life may hold.

In response, Zoro reassures you with a resolute voice, "I promise to stay with you forever, but you know fate won't dare step in and tear us apart. I won't allow it. You’re too important to me, and I swear that we will live out the rest of our lives together, and *you* will get to tell our kids all of these things, okay?" His words, a promise fueled by determination, aim to chase away the uncertainty of what lies ahead, providing comfort in the tomorrow that they both look forward to.

It's happening. Fate weaves its cruel design, guiding you toward that goodbye—a scenario Zoro strongly vowed would never come to pass. “Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you,” you continue, your voice quivering with an emotional strain that mirrors the tension in the air. The aura that your powers provide seem to shimmer with an magical quality as Zoro's wounds gradually fade, mirroring the slow, inescapable dimming of your own presence.

Your body slumps over, a proof of the draining strength within you. Stronger hands, Zoro's calloused and desperate, grasp your arms, pulling you close in a desperate attempt to defy the approaching reality. A gasp escapes you, the sound of your body's instinctive cling towards life.

“Stop… Stop this… I—I’m fine now, see? Chopper can just fix us up; you can stop now,” Zoro pleads, his voice quivering, the tremor reverberating through the air. His lip wobbles, tears teetering on the edge of escape. He knows the words he's uttering form a desperate attempt to go against the harsh reality. In this wretched moment, he attempts to make you hold onto your own life, to discourage you from the selfless act of sacrificing yourself to mend his wounds. Yet, the heavy truth hangs in the air—a truth that your fading form seems to convey with every passing moment.

Your breath is shaky, and a sudden weariness envelops you. Yet, his pleas, laced with unspoken desperation, don't deter you. ”Long live the walls we crashed through, how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you,” you sing softly, leaning onto him, a somber smile gracing your lips despite the impending farewell.

“Please stop…I love you, please don’t do this…” Zoro's whisper is almost a plea, his voice breaking as tears fall freely. He grasps your hand, squeezing it with a desperation that clings to the diminishing hope that both of you can somehow emerge unscathed from this ordeal.

“And I was screaming, ‘Long live all the magic we made’ and bring on all the pretenders…” Another wave of weakness washes over you, and your head falls limp onto his shoulder, “I'm not afraid.” you murmur, hoping the reassurance in your words might alleviate some of the weight on his shoulders among the unfolding tragedy. ”Long live all the mountains we moved…I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.” With that final line, your voice softens, the melody fading into a whisper as your breaths grow shallower. The grip of Zoro's hand on yours tightens, desperately clinging to the waning connection. With each passing moment, your form dissolves into an ethereal glow. In desperation, Zoro reaches into the empty space that you once occupied, his trembling fingers grasping at nothingness, a denial of the harsh reality that you are gone. The ringing of your song linger in the hollow space, a haunting reminder of a love transcended beyond the boundaries of existence. Zoro, left with an aching emptiness, is now entangled in the flickers and fragments of a love that slipped away.

[justhere4thevibez]

ok so suppose corroded coffin is becoming big and chrissy has a regular 9-5 and she’s afraid eddie will get too famous and leave her for someone w a less strict schedule, who can travel along w him etc 🥺

ooh, this is a good one! Thanks for asking, love 💛

Even though Eddie promises over and over that there's no one else for him, that she's all he's ever dreamed about, that the sound of her voice over a payphone is more intoxicating than any fan screaming his name, Chrissy still can't help but wonder if the distance is too much. Or if maybe she's not enough.

So, on one of her rare long weekends, she heads up to surprise Eddie when they're playing in NYC. She feels a little bit bad for not telling him, like maybe she's trying to catch him out or something, but she just... wants to surprise him. And if maybe she wants to know what he's like with his fans, how he acts when she's not around, well...

She's not perfect. She's never been perfect.

Eddie's amazing. The way he plays, it's electric, like his voice is swirling in her veins. Like he's singing in her ear, the way he does when he cradles her in his arms at night. She's almost forgotten about her fears when the guys pause before their last song. Eddie takes a deep breath and looks out at the crowd, squinting in the glare of the stage lights.

"You all know what time it is. We're about to wrap this shit up, so there's one last thing I gotta say. People ask me all the time where the music comes from, and the answer is easy. It's not a magic spell or a deal with the devil" — he smirks a little when the crowd laughs — "it's my girl. Every song, every note, every line, it's all her. It's always been her. So Chrissy, wherever you are right now, sweetheart, this one's for you. They all are."

He starts playing a song, one she knows like the back of her hand, but she can't even think of the name right now because her eyes are filled with tears.

The second the song is over she races backstage, and even though security doesn't let her through, Eddie races over the second he hears her voice.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he whispers into her hair as he crushes her to his sweaty body.

"Came to surprise you," she says back, holding him just as tight.

He pulls back, and she sees tears in his eyes that mirror her own. "Did you like the show?"

"Loved it," she says, and she's never meant anything more.

Ask me things to keep me occupied!!!

[melishade]

Was the part with the flowers reference to this?

now I’m imagining Primus singing Akuma no ko to Ymir either the original or a English cover

Actually the flowers are in reference to IDW. Specifically:

My knowledge of IDW is spotty, but I do remember when chapters were being dropped that this was fuel for the transformers fandom. Very angsty fanart kept popping up, specifically around IDW Megatron.

Because these flowers are called Remembrance Flowers, and in IDW, the flowers and the statue represent the amount of people that were killed by that one particular person. Each flower, represents a soul, so when the comic ends up cutting to this panel about Megatron's flowers, it basically showed the weight of Megatron's actions and all the lives that he's taken. Because his field of flowers is extremely massive. I think he drove through his flowers with a scooter and he was out there for a few hours.

So instead of the Eldians being connected through a tree in the Paths, Primus has altered everything so that the souls of each Eldian are present and visible, no longer bound by the rules of the Paths and allowed to just be individuals.

And in regards to the scene with Primus and Ymir, Akuma no ko doesn't fit simply because it's a love song meant for Eren and Mikasa. The song that I think fits, and I've put it on the playlist, is this:

A Million Miles Away from the Belle movie back in 2021. The Belle movie is supposed to be a modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast, and while the story is extremely imperfect, but the songs are really great, especially in the dub.

But instead of Belle being a love story between Belle and the Beast, it's about a girl named Suzu who resents her late mother for sacrificing her life to save a random girl during a storm, essentially leaving her behind. This trauma prevents her from going back to singing, and she's only able to sing again in a virtual reality setting as Belle. And the Beast that she interacts with, causing a lot of problems in the internet, turns out to be a boy who's being abused by his father, along with his little brother. When Suzu finds this out and says she's Belle, he obviously doesn't believe her and her willingness to help. So she ends up shedding her avatar and sings this song to prove to the boy she is who she says she is and she wants to help.

Why do I bring this up? Because I think this song fits how Primus feels about Ymir. He heard Ymir's cry for help from across the universe, her cry transcending time and space, as she's locked away in the Paths. He traveled through the memories of the titan shifters in the Paths, trying to find the answers he needs and trying to find her so he could save her. He says he's been in the Paths for 2,000 years, but if he's searching through the memories of all the titan shifters, it would no doubt be longer, as he has to account for different perspectives and lives.

Ending the power of the titans was the second goal Primus had. His first goal was to save Ymir, simply because he heard her crying out for help and he didn't want to leave her alone. The chorus fits this perfectly:

Come back to me, and stay by my side I feel my heart shake Come, ease this ache I'm standing over here, reaching for you A million miles away, come back and stay No matter how far the memories may be When I close my eyes, you're all that I see Come back to me A million miles away, come back and stay

And now try to read this while listening to the song:

Primus pulled back and looked at her blank face. He cradled Ymir’s face in his hands, and felt tears brimming in his eyes. “Little One, you suffered so much. You gave up so much, but what he did to you was not right. That wasn’t love. He hurt you and used you. He took everything from you and you did nothing to deserve that.”

Primus felt Ymir flinch and continued. “You are not a slave. What the king told you...that was wrong and cruel and unjustified. You’re not a slave, you’re not a devil, and you’re not a god. You are just a little girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A heavy burden, that causes nothing but misery.”

Primus saw her expression change. There was light flickering in her blank eyes, and he could’ve sworn he saw the color of her eyes.

“You do not deserve this,” Primus declared, “And I wish to take you far away from here…but…I cannot.”

Eren was shocked. What did he mean by he can’t? He stated earlier that he had the ability to do so! Why was he saying that he couldn’t now?!

“Little One, you were never given a chance to choose what you wanted,” Primus explained, “All your life, you were told by others what to do, but that is not what you want. I want so badly to take you far away from here and give you the peace and love you deserve. But I do not wish to force you to come with me. I wish for that to be your choice.”

Primus took her hands into his own. “If you wish to stay here forever, then…I will not stop you. I will leave you here, and you will not see me again. If you wish to come with me, I would be more than happy to take you as far away from here as possible. If you are not certain, then I will wait here as long as possible until you come to the decision.”

Ymir’s flickering gaze went to Primus’ hands holding her own. Ymir opened her mouth, and she could feel the strain in her voice. She struggled to form the words and felt like her throat was burning from trying to form it. But Primus patiently waited for her to speak. He waited and waited until…

 “…why?...”

Primus felt it: her confusion, her intrigue, her denial. She wanted desperately to understand the reason why a stranger came all this way to find her. Why was he willing to give a slave the whole world? Why did such a powerful being travel for 2,000 years to find a pitiful girl? There had to be a good reason.

“…Because I heard your cry, and I wanted nothing more than to save you.” Primus answered.

Ymir’s eyes brightened as she sharply turned her head to look at Primus. The life missing reappearing, revealing her eyes to be a pale gray infected by the blue of the energon. That…that was it? That was the only reason? He came all this way…for her? He came all this way…for a pathetic and worthless girl. Tears poured from her eyes once again as her lips trembled. He didn’t even know her, but…he came all this way. Someone had listened to her cry, her desperate plea for help, and it was him.

Primus gave her a warm smile, happy to see the life come back into her eyes. “Do you wish to come with me?”

Ymir gripped his hands deathly tight. She was still trying to comprehend those words, but she didn’t want to let go. This warmth, this kindness, this comfort, this boundless freedom: she had never felt it before. It was so different from what she had before. She…wanted to go with him. She wanted to go. She wanted the love and freedom he offered her. Ymir, despite her own fear, nodded her head, answering his question.

 “Then come with me, Little One,” Primus offered, “Let us go home, together.”

Ymir began shaking, shocked by the god’s words and offer, the tears pouring down her cheeks. Primus lifted his hands to touch her cheeks and wipe the tears that were falling. She slowly lifted her hands to touch the ones there, actually registering the physical contact, surprised by the soft touch and warmth he continued to give. She let out a cry of sorrow and relief, the first real and raw emotion she let out in years. She cried and cried and cried. She tightened her grip, not wanting this being to let go of her. Primus wrapped his arms around her and Ymir hugged him tightly. He rubbed her back as she cried in his chest.

“Little One, I promise you,” he began as he looked down at her and wiped her tears, “As long as I still function, no one will ever hurt you again. I promise.”

Primus saw the smallest ghost of a smile on her lips before nodding his head in reassurance. Primus smiled brightly towards her, tears coming down his face. He quietly laughed and hugged her close once more. Ymir continued crying into his chest, feeling all of her tension and stress leave her body in an instant. Her grief and sorrow were mute. All she felt was the warm and kindness this gentle being was willing to give to her. This…this is what love was. It had to be.

Primus raised his head and spoke ancient words. Both titan shifters watched the blue stream of energy surround Primus as he spoke this unfamiliar language. They grew fearful when they saw that his eyes were beginning to glow once more and his tears began to fade. When he finished speaking, the tree began to fall apart. It crumbled and turned to dust, and the dust flew up towards the stars. Eren then noticed a flower sprouting and blooming at Ymir’s feet. It looked other worldly, glowing a bright blue in a rather desolate place. Then, three more flowers bloomed next to the first one, and then nine formed. Before Eren realized it, multiple flowers began to spring up and bloom. This garden continued to expand for miles; the flowers blooming under Eren and Zeke. Eren watched as it went on for miles, a never ending field of flowers. He turned his head upward, and saw the starry night change into a mix of day and night. A sun began to shine while the stars glistened in the sky. Eren gasped when he saw the shining mountain lights that Armin had once told him about when they were kids, while three moons appeared in his line of sight. It was…it was indescribable.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Reunion

Kinktober Day 1

I'm not using prompts for this, just writing what I feel like each day. Today's song is Sober by Lorde.

Doe stumbled home to the little hovel she'd settled into in the lower city. Cradled in her palm was an orb, swirling with smoke. It was warm to the touch. She closed and locked her door, padded down to her basement on soft-booted feet. With care, she placed the orb on the table in the corner; it might once have been a hidden altar, stubs of candles bleeding wax into the smooth surface. She replaced them with fresh candles from the stash in the chest on the opposite wall and lit them with a murmur.

'I hope this works,' she said aloud. Perching on the rickety chair, she took a deep breath, placed her hands either side of the orb and let its warmth suffuse her.

When she opened her eyes, she was gazing on a richly appointed office; plush red leather sofas, a dark panelled desk, the glow of a hundred candles in braziers. And there, lounging, the devil who'd been following her almost since the moment she'd crashed into the sword coast.

He was sipping wine that glowed ruby red in the light, apparently unconcerned.

So he's home. If I tell the others, we might have a chance.

With a gesture, Raphael conjured a second glass, poured more wine. Doe frowned, trying to peer at the door to see if he had company.

And then he glanced over his shoulder, transfixing her with his infernal yellow eyes, smiling with sharp teeth.

He can see me, she realised with the cold slip of dread in her belly. Fuck.

He snapped his fingers, and with a jolt she was yanked from her realm into his own.

'Spying, little mouse?' He tilted his head, an indulgent smile playing around his mouth. 'That's unlike you. You're usually so sweetly straightforward.'

What could she say to that?

'Idle curiosity,' she tried.

He tutted, standing. 'You're a bad liar. I'll let it go, this time.' Reaching out, he took her jaw in his clawed hand; his cambion form dwarfed her. 'Hmm. Drink.' He lifted the goblet of wine he'd conjured to her lips. Scowling, she drank, feeling the burn of something fortified slide down her throat. 'Delicious, isn't it?'

'Hmm,' she said noncommittally.

'You're desperate to kill me, aren't you?'

'I'm not desperate for anything.'

That was a lie, too. She'd been making plans since the shadow cursed inn, where she'd witnessed him preying on Mol.

'Keep lying to me,' he said softly. 'And see how well that goes for you.'

'I'm not lying.' She wrenched her jaw from his grip and stepped back. His tail thrashed in anger, mouth a thin disapproving line. 'Take me back home.'

His eyes glittered, alight with savage glee. 'No. If you will use those lovely eyes of yours to spy on me, the least you can do is allow me this. Have you come to make a deal, mouse?'

'No.'

'Then what,' he said, voice low and dangerous as he stalked forward, eyes narrowing as she backed toward the desk, 'do you want?'

A dangerous question.

She shrugged. Her heart was racing, the reality of her situation sinking in. Some part of her was singing in triumph and the rest was damn near terrified. She searched his gaze, saw the sparks of hunger and desire.

Gale had been right. The devil was desperate.

'Depends. What do you want?'

He growled, lifted her with one arm to settle her on his desk. 'I want your soul,' he rasped. 'And if I cannot have it I'll settle for possessing your body and haunting your mind.'

She dug her hands into the desk to stop their anxious trembling. He surged forward to envelop her in the heat of lips and tongue, the pleasure-pain of tooth and claw; raking a hand down her back, the soft leather of her armour in shreds beneath, red scratches raising on her skin. She gasped into his mouth, pushed her hands against his chest. He broke away with a smirk.

'Well?' he purred. 'What's your answer?'

'Yes,' she said breathlessly. 'The answer is yes. Make good on your threats, devil.'

He tangled his clawed hand in her hair, pulling her head back to kiss and mark her throat, drawing whimpers from her lips. Every one was satisfying, but when he pushed the ruins of her armour from her shoulders and closed his teeth on her shoulder, he moved his hands to her legs, divesting her of the soft leather to reveal soft unmarked skin.

'This won't do,' he breathed into her ear. 'So unmarred. I won't have it, mouse. Tomorrow you will look in the mirror and the only thing you will see is me.'

He grasped the plushness of her thighs, warm rivulets of blood welling under his touch. She hardly cared; to be desired was to be hurt. Her head swam with overwhelm, nose filled with cherries and smoke, the taste of his lips on her tongue, the gentle, dark rumble of his voice in her ears. She was almost outside of her body, a creature of sensation. Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily as he murmured words that he didn't mean, too sweet not to be poison.

And then fire, heavy and searing, as he sheathed himself within her. She screamed and it mingled in the air with his triumphant laugh. His weight crushed into her, pressing her into the desk, unable to move. He captured her lips again, tongue roughly catching drops of blood, his hum of satisfaction rumbling in her chest, his groans of pleasure in her own throat.

She came with little warning, crashing into starbursts behind her eyes, clinging with blunt nails to his shoulders. His hand slid to her lower back as she went limp, his pace vicious and focused. He licked and bit and kissed every part of her he could reach, chased and chased and took from her body and drew more pleasure from her, more screams, more, and more, and more, and then more still-

and then he roared as he came, filling her with near unbearable heat, pulling her to his chest and settling into the leather seat again. She was exhausted and aching, soft and pliant against him, accepting more wine with no complaint.

'This will never happen again,' she murmured.

'Of course it won't,' he agreed, though he'd not bothered to remove himself from her little mortal body just yet. 'Go to sleep, mouse.'

It's not safe, she thinks through the fog of exhaustion. But better the devil you know.

Tags:

@bluerosetarot @dansnotavampire @further-than-forever

@forget-me-maybe @poetryvampire @sasha199 @wandawillow

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @lastlight-inn

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[theygotlost]

um so. here it is 👉👈 I've never written a fanfic before let alone posted one so I'm shy please be nice to me 😭

Son of Sam

After little Sammy has a disciplinary incident at school, Vimes finds a more enriching environment for his son.

G rated, 2,011 words, just vimes bein a dad :)

A rather nervous-looking young messenger was waiting at the door when Vimes got home.

“Er… Can I help you?”

The messenger startled into a stiff salute. “Your grace!” he said smartly. “I bring a message from the Primary Academy of Ankh! It has been requested that… erm…” he fumbled open the roll of parchment he had been holding. “The parents-slash-guardians of the student, er, Samuel Ramkin Vimes II, come to the office of the headmistress at once. We have a coach ready outside for you already, your grace,” he added as he rolled the parchment back up.

Vimes scoffed. ‘The Second’… Please. A title like that nearly made you forget the boy’s only eight years old. “Alright, what’s happened this time?”

“I don’t know, your grace. I’m only here to deliver the message.”

“Fine. And you really want both of us?” said Vimes, already making his way around the side of the house. “Sybillllll?” he called, in that sing-song voice used by all husbands everywhere looking for their wives.

He heard the explosion before he had even turned the corner. The backyard filled with a sharp, acrid, chemical smell that nearly would have made him retch if he wasn’t so accustomed to it already. He sighed at the charred black rosette that now decorated the lawn. Beyond it, in a wider blast radius, were… other bits of things.

A bulky figure nearly six and a half feet tall emerged from the dragon pen, decked head to toe in leather armor. “Oh dear, and he had nearly recovered from his case of slab throat…” she mumbled from behind her welding mask. She ducked back into the dragon pen for the shovel, too distracted to notice her husband on the periphery of the yard.

Vimes strode directly toward the carriage out front. “She’s busy. I’ll go by myself,” he said decisively to the messenger as he brushed past. The messenger considered protesting, but thought the better of it.

—

Vimes was ushered into a room half the size but almost as austere as the Oblong Office. Little Sam pouted in an adult-sized chair, grumpily swinging his legs back and forth. Vimes knew that look: the boy was in trouble for something. Sulking in the other chair with a bandaged nose was a boy who appeared the same age, though bigger-boned. Both of his parents were doting over him like a pair of storks brooding a rather large, and rather spoiled, egg. Vimes had been forced to socialize with these people at many a banquet or some such event, or at least this type of people, if not this particular couple. They all blended together in his mind anyway. He had yet to have a conversation with one of them that ended satisfactorily for both parties. 

The headmistress greeted him primly from behind her desk and motioned for him to sit in the chair beside his son. “Thank you for coming, your grace. Her ladyship…”

“Couldn’t make it,” Vimes responded curtly. He swore he heard the other boy’s mother exhale derisively through her nose.

“I have called you here,” the headmistress continued, “because your Samuel has gotten into an… altercation with his classmate.” She spoke as though she were handling her words like a very fragile, very expensive heirloom vase.

Vimes turned to little Sam. “You got into a fight?” he asked, more conversationally than disapprovingly.

“I should hardly call that a fair fight!” the other boy’s father interjected. “It took two teachers to pull your little devil off our Thomas! He nearly bit his nose off!” Thomas began to whimper, and his mother cradled him in her arms while staring daggers at Vimes.

Vimes raised his eyebrows as he sized up the victim. He was taller and stockier than his attacker, but apparently that hadn’t helped him much. He turned back to his son, still without any trace of anger. “Why’d you do that, Sammy?”

“It doesn’t matter why he—” Thomas’s father began, but the headmistress held up a hand. “Let him answer,” she commanded.

“He took my spelling sheets from my homework daddy, ‘n he said that my daddy’s nuthin’ but a dirty scoundrel, said I’m ruinin’ the school ‘cause I’m dirty ‘n dumb like him, ‘n then he ripped all my papers up,” little Sam explained sullenly. Thomas whimpered again.

Vimes looked up to meet the father’s eyes with hawklike focus. “He really said that, did he? I wonder where he could have possibly gotten that idea from.”

The father’s features bubbled with the kind of indignation reserved for those who have just been accused of something they actually did. “Slander!” he blurted. “Not only is your son an aggressor, but a liar as well!”

The duke of Ankh stood up. “You’re calling my son a liar, is that it?” he nearly snarled the words.

“You grace—” the headmistress began.

“No, go on,” Vimes continued. “You think Sammy made up that little story, just to make you look bad? Your precious little Thomas would never have done something like that, oh no, because you’ve raised him properly, haven’t you?” He was practically toe to toe with the boy’s father now. He squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, which unfortunately was still shorter than his opponent. He cracked a few menacing knuckles.

“Daddy, mama said you’re not s’posed to fight the other grownups at school anymore,” Sammy whined from his seat.

“I won’t be threatened by the likes of you,” the man spat. He leveled a self-important finger at VImes’s nose. “I won’t tolerate it. You and your son both owe us an apology for the injuries you have caused.”

“Oh, I’ll give you some injuries to apologize for, all right.”

The bureaucratic voice of the headmistress pierced through his haze of bloodlust like a letter opener. “Your grace, that is enough. To prevent another incident like this, you need to set a good example for your son. Children learn by imitating their parents.”

“Yes, I’m sure they do,” Vimes said pointedly without breaking eye contact with the nobleman. He took his son’s hand and led him out the door. “Come on, Sammy. We’re going home.”

“This isn’t over, Sir Samuel!” he heard the father call after him. “Her ladyship will be hearing of this, and she will not be pleased!”

Don’t I know it, Vimes thought.

—

Lady Sybil was, as predicted, not very pleased. “First I have to lay poor Lord Sharptalon Brightspark Blazeworthy VI to rest this afternoon, and now I hear both of you have gotten into a scuffle,” she sighed, and idly stirred her tea.

“News travels fast,” Vimes grumbled, not looking up from his own teacup.

“The headmistress was right, you know. He takes after you. He sees his father throw a punch or kick a shin, and figures that violence will solve all his problems.”

“It usually does.”

“Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“I spoke to the boy’s mother. She swears up and down that she has no idea why young Thomas would say those things about you.”

“‘Course she did. It’s all about appearances with these people. They’ll say whatever they want behind their expensive closed doors, but none of ‘em have got the spine to say it to your face.”

“As much as I agree with you, Sam, ‘these people’ are our people, even if you hate to think of them that way.”

“Still, good to know Sammy can hold his own in a fight.”

“Dear, I don’t think you’re taking the right lesson from this.”

Vimes grunted noncommittally.

“He just needs a different outlet for his aggression,” Sybil continued. “Something more…productive. Like an organized sport. The academy offers some rather robust athletic programs he could get into.”

Yes, organized sports… Sammy could wipe the floor with all those spoiled little brats, that was for sure. He needed a sport, but perhaps one that was less, well, organized. 

—

“Daddy, you still won’t say where we’re going,” young Sam lamented.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more streets.”

After a few moments, Vimes heard the little voice from about twenty or thirty feet behind him. “Daddy, wait up! You’re going too fast!”

Vimes stopped. Damn. Without thinking, he had fallen into his normal Proceeding step.

“I’m tired of walking,” Sammy panted as he caught up.

Vimes almost laughed. Tired of walking? Then he realized. “You know, I ought to teach you how to walk properly. You swing your foot forward, like this. Get it right and you can keep going all day.”

Together they Proceeded, hand in hand this time to prevent another separation, to their destination. There it was…

Cockbill Street.

Gods, when was the last time I was here? thought Vimes. An investigation had led him back here some nine or ten years ago, but before that it must have been decades. The same peeling paint, the same worn cobbles, even the hopscotch game was still there…

“Where are we?” little Sam asked impatiently. “Looks like justa buncha ol’ houses.”

…And this was the first time the boy had ever seen it.

“Son, your old dad grew up in one of these old houses.”

“You used to live here?” Sammy looked doubtful. “They’re not as nice as our house.”

His father sighed. “Right you are. You’re awful lucky that your mother’s got a big fancy house and money to send you to a big fancy school. But you and I both know a big fancy school ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

The boy’s face looked blank. A chorus of shouts and hollers turned his attention to a particularly rough-and-tumble football match taking place down the street, mostly boys a few years older than him.

Vimes nodded toward the game. “They don’t let you play like that at the Academy of Ankh,” he explained.

Sammy considered this as more shrieks and curses echoed off the decaying edifices. “But I dunno any of ‘em,” he pointed out. 

“Doesn’t matter. Cockbill Street boys’ll toss a ball around with any little bugger who can force his way into a match. Just get in there and start running around, you’ll pick it up.”

He still looked unsure, but he ambled up to the pack as they were taking a time-out, as there looked to be some sort of hot dispute between the teams. He addressed a boy who was currently wrestling another into a headlock. “Lemme play,” he said simply. The boy in the headlock used the momentary distraction to wrench free and scamper off, sending a few other players to break off in pursuit. 

“Who’re you?”

“My name’s Sammy, ‘n I wanna join. I can kick a ball real far.”

The older boy looked incredulous. He turned around to give a consulting glance to the others, who shrugged. “I s’pose we could use another player, since STUPID JOEY’S A THIEVIN’ BASTARD!” He addressed this last comment to the direction that Joey had run. “Jus’ try to keep up, since you look pretty small,” he added. And that was that.

Vimes leaned back against a crumbling wall and, more out of habit than anything else, lit a cigar. He watched the game intently. Indeed, young Sam had ingratiated himself seamlessly, dashing and darting and hollering to keep up with the fierce competition. Once he took a nasty spill, tumbling face first onto the cobblestones, and Vimes sucked his teeth sharply. But before he could move in to help his son, the boy jumped up with an alarming fierceness, completely unbothered by his bleeding nose and scraped knees, and made a mad dash to get back into the action.

Tonight he would be brought home covered in scrapes and bruises and a tear or two in his clothes, Vimes knew. Sybil wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed, but he figured he could convince her it’s no more dangerous than herding spontaneously explosive dragons as a hobby. 

Vimes couldn’t help but smile. Whenever little Sammy got knocked down, a vengeful little gleam sparkled in his eyes, and just like a certain someone, he got right back up.

[onmyyan]

Been playing so so much baldurs gate and wanted to submit DND considerations for your OCS, please share your thoughts on the vibes:

Caspian: cleric all the way baby. can hit things real hard AND won't let shit hurt a loved one, but if it does get past him, he'll patch you up <3 healing touch on darling so he can cradle their face all lovey dovey. Could also see a paladin, but maybe one with a very unique understanding of his oath to protect others. Maybe even secretly broke the oath but doesn't care; if he's sworn to protect life, surely the oath should understand that he WAS protecting darlings life by violently ending another one?

Gabe: barbarian, obvs. himbo energy, big and tall, flies into a rage when need be, likes and enjoys violence with as little armor as possible. Tries to drink everyone under the table in every town and usually wins, but also usually ends up in a bar fight when his drunk competition ends up a little too mouthy abt darling for his liking. Will throw darling over his shoulder when they need to run

Ricky: wizard pondering his orb but in the snarkiest way possible towards everyone but his darling. "Are you that fucking stupid??? Are you illiterate?? Why get in the direct and literal line of fire when I'm casting. You deserve that scar" vs "if I ever accidentally singe even a hair on your head, I'm going to throw myself off a cliff". Likes to read to you in your tent bc it's "easier to focus", but just thinks you're so cute when you're falling asleep listening to him <3

Marcos: rogue, baby!!! He's stealing shit off anyone that annoys him, pulling darling out of the way of traps and into cozy little nooks with him while the others scramble out of the way. The party gets stopped at a toll house and he pickpockets the guard, then undoes their trousers and ties their boot laces together for good measure.

Manny: warlock but some real freaky shit, eldritch horror type beat. He's flickering at the periphery of your vision and you SWEAR he's got tentacles coming out of his face but when you look directly at him he's all :3c . his patron doesn't come around too much, Manny picked one that specifically wouldn't be too intrusive, bc he's been planning this shit out since the moment Ricky first cast a spell. He's always wanted magic but didn't feel inclined towards the scholarly pursuit of it so much as the "deal with a devil" thing. Is trying to figure out ways to bend the deal to benefit him and darling through powers beyond mortal comprehension

Diego: druid, no question. Affinity for wolves over everything else but makes a very cuddly lap dog too when the need strikes. Probably hangs out with darling as a literal stray first and then accidentally shifts one day, ending up directly in the lap of a now very freaked out darling

Ash: long-suffering ranger in a party of city dwellers. "Put that down" "don't eat that" "for the love of- no, you cannot pet the owlbear". Secretly enjoys being the only one in the know when he gets to show off for his sweet pea and may let the others do stupid stuff knowingly if it means he looks better by comparison.

Darling could be some adventurer or innkeeper who crosses paths with one and then all of the party, who just has to go with them to finish their quest or stay safe from the town that's suddenly overwhelmed with monsters. Or maybe HER party was wiped out by some shadowy threat, and she never figures out that her new pals know more about that tragedy than they let on.

This is absolute perfection??? How did you know I been playing baulders gate huh?? How'd you know this would scratch my brain in a perfect way??

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | x

Fear of vulnerability becomes obsolete as y/n manages to conquer it once more.

Read part nine here

Listen while reading: Black Magic Woman - Santana or Fleetwood Mac version

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 12.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), praise, dirty talk, shower sex, biting (slightly), touch of body worship, swearing, drinking, angst, long emotional talks, feelings of insecurity/inferiority, sorry if I miss any!

hello everyone!! posting this as a birthday gift to myself bc i finally managed to finish it!! thanks for participating in the poll and for all the lovely messages I’ve been receiving. I really hope you like this chapter and please feel free to share your thoughts in my inbox 🫶🏻 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!! (this is also v lightly edited, my apologies 😁)

Moonlight poured in through the large panel windows casting a luminous white glow over the entirety of the room. All other forms of light were off, leaving you relying only on the night to bless you with vision. Your Gold Top was sat in your lap, odd notes ringing through the air when you felt enough energy to pluck the strings. Your pedalboard was sat by your foot, allowing you easy access to it while you sat lazily facing the door in the only armchair the room offered. Your journal was sat atop the table next to you, open to a page of scribbles and various words, none making a bit of sense. Beside it, a crystal clear glass shimmered under the glow of the moon, housing your pick of poison for the night. The ice inside was causing drips of condensation to fall down on the wood below it, tempting you further the longer you looked at it.

You had one leg draped over the side of the chair as you sat on an angle, cradling your guitar in the other. All sense of creativity seemed to have gone, leaving you feeling like you were failing at your only talent. You kicked off the distortion pedal, sick of the same grungy tone you used so often. You strummed a few chords on the clean setting, cocking your head to the side as the sound filled your ears. “There it is,” you whispered, content with the sound and finally finding the motivation to play something worthwhile. You slid your fingers up the fretboard, landing midway between the body and the head. You closed your eyes, using only your memory to guide you. You plucked away at the intro, lowering your foot on the wah pedal just to add a touch of mystique to the sound.

“Got a black magic woman,

Got a black magic woman,

I’ve got a black magic woman

Got me so blind, I can’t see.” You echoed the tune like an anthem, finally feeling the defeat in your heart flowing away.

“That she’s a black magic woman,

She’s tryin’ to make the devil out of me.” You muted the strings, seeming like the song was put to a stop, only to jump in again with the next line.

“Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Yes, don’t turn your back on me, baby

Stop messing round with your tricks,

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

You might just pick up my magic sticks.” You let out a sigh of content, kicking on some light distortion and leading yourself into the solo with ease. You let your head fall back on the chair, eyes screwed shut in concentration as your fingers danced over the strings. As you finished, you let out a breath you had been holding for quite some time, feeling your head spin slightly. Of course, the alcohol was more to blame, but you were never willing to admit to your own intoxication.

You continued singing, the low pitched melody settling in your chest the way music should; filling any emptiness and replacing any discontent. You sang yourself through to the end of the song, taking in a breath so you could sing the last line.

“I need you so bad, magic woman, I can’t leave you alone.” The voice startled you, as did the flash of fluorescent hallway lights that flooded your room. You looked to the door, a laugh on your lips as you noticed the intruder.

“Sing it again, baby.” You said, leading him back into the last line for a moment of sweetness. He took a few steps towards you, a smile growing as he approached.

“I need you so bad, magic woman, I just can’t leave you alone.” He sang, slow and gentle, but impactful and with clear intent. You plucked the last few notes, letting the final one ring until it faded on its own. “Santana?” He asked.

“Y/n, actually.” You corrected, knowing that no interaction with Sam would be complete without at least a little bit of teasing. “And if you’re referring to the song, it’s Peter Green. Shouldn’t you know that, rockstar?”

“Sorry, slipped my mind.” He chuckled, looking around your room with curiosity.

“I’ll forgive and forget, just because you put on such a good show.” You said, leaning forward and switching off the power to your amp. “Minus a point for showing up without an invitation.”

“Your door was open. Thought that was enough of an invitation.” He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. You gave a shrug, placing your guitar back in its case.

“Got me there.” You conceded, both of you knowing that you were only joking with him anyway. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just thought I’d visit. Haven’t seen much of you lately. I miss you.” His transparency was haunting, mostly due to the reasoning behind your sudden absence. Your withdrawal had everything to do with his brother and the profound connection you had felt with him the night you had made your confession of love. Since then, you found it difficult to look Sam in the eye. Despite it feeling so right at the time, you held guilt for having to choose which brother to proclaim love to first. More than that, you felt guilt because it was not Sam who came out on top.

Although guilty, you did not hold any remorse or regret for what unfolded that night in your hotel room. You loved Jake, and you were incredibly relieved to have finally spoken it aloud. You had no desire to withdraw the confession, because it was the truth. But as you had learned, especially when it came to loving the brothers, the truth hurt and sometimes it hurt excruciatingly bad. You knew that you could love Jake and feel bad for shunning Sam all the same, and despite many beliefs, you absolutely can love two people at once. Not only were you struggling with the idea of opening your soul to Jake, you were also struggling with sadness at the thought of pushing Sam away when you so desperately wanted to do the same with him.

So, in short, you had found yourself in yet another cycle of self-punishment for the things that you could not control. You could not control the love you had for Jake, and you could not control the love you had for his brother. Instead of finding the courage to confess to Sam, too, you had locked yourself away in hopes that you would never have to face the harrowing truth of your own complicated emotions. “I miss you too, Sammy.” You replied, turning your head to watch as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He asked, his question loaded and his tone soft. How could you begin to explain without inviting him to ask all of the questions you did not want to answer? You reached for the whiskey glass calling to you, taking a sip of liquid courage before trying to conjure a response.

“So much to say, so little time.” You muttered, clasping the cold glass between both of your hands. The shock of the chill seemed to regulate your brain as it swirled with aimless thoughts and worries.

“I have all night.” He assured you. “Should I close the door?”

“You don’t want the world to know about our dirty laundry?” You smirked, sipping back more of the beverage in your hand. “I’m sure they’d get some good entertainment from it.” He let out a low chuckle as he stood to close the door of the room, locking out any intruders and locking in any confessions. There was nothing inside now but the sound of your sorrow, and the weight of the unspoken love that you couldn’t seem to fess up to. He returned to the bed, the moonlight cascading upon him like a cloak of protection. Unfortunately, not even the comfort of the moon could lessen the pain in your hearts. He could feel the weight of your troubled soul before he ever stepped foot inside the room, and the only thing he could hope was that it did not come from your desire to leave him.

“I saw you and Jake leave the bar that night.” He stated, his words echoing off the walls and striking you with every rebound. You chose to keep your chair pointed away from him in hopes that you could keep your composure. Everything always seemed infinitely harder when you were looking into his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about your brother.” You said, tone flat and setting a firm boundary. “I want to talk about you.”

“The floor is yours, princess.” He said, inviting anything and everything more than what you were giving him, even if it turned volatile. You ran your fingers over the fabric of your jeans, racking your brain for the best way to begin the conversation.

“We’ve been doing this for a while now, Sam. I think it’s time that we start thinking about the future.” You explained, stomach sick at the thought of tomorrow. “I feel like I’ve been blindly trusting that time will make things easier, but it’s only made it harder. I’m starting to believe that this won’t end until it kills us.”

“Do you want to end this?” He asked, but aimed to keep his inquiry vague in hopes that he would not be met with a devastating response.

“It has to eventually, right?” You scoffed. “I mean, we can’t keep going through life when all we’re doing is hurting each other.”

“I don’t think we’ve only been hurting each other,” his rebuttal was soft. “It certainly hasn’t been easy, but I’m incredibly grateful for the time I get to spend with you.” His words warmed your heart, sending a rush of joy through you despite feeling like you did not deserve it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He assured you, wishing that you would turn around so he could see your face.

“I…” you had no idea what to ask first, previously believing that your instincts would guide you through the difficult conversation, but your instincts had never been kind to you before. After all, they were the exact reason you were in the situation you had been struggling with so much. “I need to know the truth. It’s time I asked you everything we’ve been running away from.”

“Whatever you want to know, baby.”

“All those months ago… did you ever notice me?”

“Notice you?” He wanted clarification, unsure of what exactly you were referring to.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself from the crackle of fear in your voice. You needed to know, but you were unsure if you wanted to. “Before… before Jake. I want to know if you noticed me, or if you saw how much I noticed you.”

“Of course I did, y/n.” He defended, trying to comprehend the thought of you not knowing how much he cared.

“I just… fuck!” You exclaimed in no more than a whisper. You ran your hand through your hair, pulling at the strands in hopes that the proper words would come to you. You knew the longer you deliberated your questions, the more confusing they would become. “Then why did you never say anything! Why did you let me sit there and hope that you wanted me, too?”

“I… I don’t know.” He muttered, ashamed that he couldn’t give you a better answer.

“It’s time to know, Sam! Because I need to know, and if you can’t give me any reason to believe you’re not lying, I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I sat there every night praying that you would come and talk to me, or that maybe you would just look in my direction and notice how much I cared about you. You can’t tell me that you didn’t know I loved you, because it’s been painfully obvious since the minute I met you.” You stopped yourself to take another sip from your drink, hoping that the burn would distract you from your breaking heart, but it was just another shot to fill the void that only ever seemed to grow larger. “It only ever seemed like you wanted me when you were scared of someone else having me.”

“That’s not true,” he shook his head, horrified that you would ever think that. “I know I was stupid, and I wish I could make up for the mistakes I made, but I know that they’re always going to hurt you no matter what I do. I can’t take it away, even if I wanted to!”

“Jesus Christ, Sam. The door is closed, the lights are off, you can stop acting! I’m sick of the ‘I dont knows’ and the ‘I’m sorrys’. Why did I only ever exist to you when Jake came into the picture? I didn’t exist when other girls were hanging off your arm, or when there was someone better to talk to, so if your interest in me is more than just a pissing contest with your brother, I need to know!” You exploded, your chest feeling like it was going to explode. You wanted to turn around, to face him while you spat your accusations to at least see if he appeared guilty, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You knew the minute you saw him, nothing would matter anymore. It was the way your relationship worked; all other issues seemed obsolete when in his company. The beauty of him seemed to outshine any pain, and the comfort that surrounded him was always greater than any turmoil you could imagine. If you were going to get a confession, you would only have the power to do it as long as he wasn’t looking into your eyes.

“More than a pissing contest?” He reiterated your comment, baffled at the lack of understanding you had for him. “Is that what you think this is?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Sam?”

“You’re supposed to know how much you mean to me. You’re supposed to know that after three months of dates and playing house, you mean more to me than bragging rights!” His tone was strong, clearly bothered by your unwillingness to see him as he was. “I’m not falling in love with you for some ulterior motive. I’m not hurting over this because I think it’s fun to play with everyones feelings.” He said, the strain of emotion heavy on his shoulders. “I noticed you, y/n. You just didn’t care to see it, because you’re so fucking afraid of being in love that it changed the way you view the world.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, matching his temper with ease. Your fear of love was not an insult to be thrown, and you wanted to make that perfectly clear.

“It is fair, because it’s true. You asked, and I’m answering, so sit there and be quiet.” You wanted to fight back, but you were too stunned at the tone of voice he was speaking in. Sam had never been anything other than gentle with you, and it was shocking to hear anything close to anger in his words. “I noticed. I see you, y/n, even when you won’t let yourself believe that I do. I thought that I showed you over the last few months, but I’m okay with telling you, too. You don’t have to answer, or tell me if I’m right, because I already know that I am.” You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure of what he was getting at. You only had to be confused for a moment before he began again. “Right now, you have a ring on your middle finger. It only has one stone, and it’s a moonstone. It’s a little cloudy, and sometimes when the light hits it, it looks blue. I thought it was an opal, but when I asked, you told me it was a moonstone. I don’t really know what those are, and I had never heard of them before you told me, but I love them, because now they remind me of you. You wear that ring every day, y/n. I’ve never seen you without it.” You looked down at your hand, eyes drifting over your middle finger. You stomach churned with regret as the stone glistened in the pale light from the moon. He was right, and in your time of knowing him, you had never taken it off.

“You have a speckle of brown in your left eye. It’s right under your pupil, and you can only notice it when you look closely, because from far away it just blends in. When you smile, there’s two little dimples in the corners of your mouth. When you’re nervous, you play with your hair. You can’t play beer pong unless your partner is on your right, because you have this little superstition and you think it’s bad luck to play any other way. You’re always the last one to go to bed when we’re hanging out, and you claim it’s because you’re a night owl, but I know that it’s because you can’t sleep unless you make sure everybody else is taken care of. You hate beer. You’ve always been open about that, but it’s so bad that you won’t let us hug you if we’ve been drinking it because you can’t even stand the smell.”

He was right; every little thing he had listed was undeniably true, and the knowledge he collected extended far beyond the few weeks of intimacy you had shared.

“You love the moon, your biggest idol is Stevie Nicks, and you blush when you’re lying. You love to love people, but don’t know how to accept when people love you. You invite everyone to your house because you hate when it’s quiet, and cheap tequila makes you sick. You love the colour green so much that you thought about painting your entire house the same colour, and you think pizza is overrated.” He finished, feeling like he had made his point abundantly clear. “I know you, y/n, and I always have. You can be mad at the stupid decisions I’ve made, but you don’t get to say that I don’t notice you. I notice you so much that it’s hard to see anything else.”

“Why did you wait so long? If you cared so much, what were you so scared of?”

“Everything!” He exclaimed. “I was terrified, and I didn’t know how to get over that. I still don’t, but I’m trying.”

“Did Jake light that fire in you?”

“You lit that fire!” He stood, too passionate about the topic to remain staring at the back of your head. He placed his hand on the arm of your chair and spun it around so you could face him. “You said you didn’t want to talk about my brother, so why are you making it about him?”

“Because you made it seem like it was about him!” You snapped, looking up at him with fire in your eyes. “So you payed attention, but I didn’t catch your eye enough for you to make a move? You let someone else shoot their shot before you thought I was worth the energy! I was in love with you for years, and nobody else ever compared to you. If you asked, I would have given you the world. I would have killed myself just to keep you alive! You let girls flirt with you in my house while I sat there and waited for you like a fucking idiot!”

“What girls, y/n?” He was shouting now, both of you caught up in the moment and unwilling to back down. “What girls are you talking about, because I don’t seem to recall it the way you do!” You recoiled at the strength of his words. “The girls that I had conversations with, but barely ever remembered their names? Maybe had an arm around every now and then? I’m sorry if you perceived it differently, but I was not flirting with them, and not once did I ever take anyone home! If you wanted to, you would have realized that I was giving you the exact same treatment, and my brothers, too! I wasn’t flirting, and I wasn’t with a single girl after I met you. That is the truth, even if you don’t want to believe it!” Your stomach sank, the malice fleeing your body and guilt rolling in to replace it.

Your love for him had skewed your perception of the situation, and now that he was laying it all on the table, he was correct. Looking back on the past without the pessimism and confusion clouding your judgement, he had never once touched nor talked to another girl in the way he did with you in the recent weeks. Back then, when he had a moment of seclusion with you, he acted the very same way as he did with the girls at your parties. You never saw Sam leave with a girl in tow, and you had never found a girl scrambling from your spare bedroom early in the morning before anyone else was awake. He was breaking down your previous notions about your relationship and reconstructing them with pillars of truth. You were the master at overthinking, and the queen of oblivion. The memories seemed to flood back into your brain with more clarity than ever before.

“What are you doing sitting all by yourself?” The sweet tone broke you from any internal brooding, immediately reigning importance over any other thought of the night. You looked up from your drink, the boom of music from the speakers beside you not even loud enough to overtake the beautiful sound of his voice. Your eyes landed on Sam, who was smiling down at you with tipsiness engraved in his features.

“Waiting for you to come and talk to me,” you joked, but the truth underneath the surface was painfully obvious.

“Why wait? You could’ve came and found me.” He grinned, eyes glistening with joy at the thought of you wanting to talk to him.

“I like to be chased, not do the chasing.” You giggled, hoping he would pick up on your humour.

“If that’s the case, I’d be happy to chase you.” He took a seat beside you on the couch, not caring about intruding nor asking permission.

“You don’t have anything better to do?” You said, nervous at the closeness of his body. His leg was practically resting on yours, and you had to bargain with the idea that he chose to sit so close despite the entirely vacant couch.

“When it comes to you? Never.”

You thought you were going to be sick, the rush of blood from your head making you feel woozy and the thud of your heart against your ribs growing more aggressive by the second.

“Hey, you better not be playing beer pong without me!” A voice called from behind you as you walked by with two ping pong balls in hand. Your head snapped towards the source of the sound, gaze immediately landing upon the youngest Kiszka brother. He was standing next to a blonde who seemed enthralled in his every move, but he wasn’t looking at anything but you. “Thought we were partners for life?”

“Better hurry if you want to join.” You sing-songed as you continued walking towards the fold out table, knowing that he likely wouldn’t want to leave his conversation to accompany you. You didn’t make it a point to stare, but had you waited a second longer before turning away, you would have noticed Sam ditch his company without as much as a second glance.

You let your head fall back on the chair, feeling the scratch of tears in your throat and your heart begin to ache.

Slumped over in the kitchen chair, you let your head rest on the table in hopes that the cool wood would satiate the ache in your skull. You couldn’t even seem to find the energy to get up for a glass of water and an Advil. Even if you did, the painkillers wouldn’t take away the hurt in your heart. You had drank your way through the last of your liquor the previous night until it guided you to sleep. By the end of the bottle, you still hadn’t seemed to forget the sight of Sam laughing with the pretty brunette your coworker had brought to the party with her. All other memories? Well, they were obsolete. In comparison, even if you were able to remember the rest of the night, no memory would be nearly as daunting as the one of Sam smiling down at another girl.

“Good morning, sunshine.” The words accompanied footsteps, and had you not recognized the voice so well, you wouldn’t have bothered to look up.

“Morning, Sammy.” You squinted as your eyes tried to adjust to the brightness.

“Headache?” He asked, moving towards the cupboard on top of the fridge. He didn’t need to ask to know; you always had a headache when you were hungover, and you had nursed a bottle of cheap tequila until the bitter end. In truth, he was expecting to find you in a much worse state.

“Mhm,” you mustered the noise in lieu of a verbal response, hoping that it would be easier on your migraine. Sam closed the cabinet after retrieving what he intended to grab. He moved to the sink, filling a glass with water and setting it beside you. He took a seat in a chair, accompanying you in hopes that it might make you feel better. When you looked towards the two pills he sat on the table, you gave him a small smile of thanks. You took them, feeling better at the idea of relief alone.

“Where’s your company?” You asked, hoping to seem nonchalant with the comment. He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of who you referring to.

“Right here?” He replied, motioning to you.

“No,” you chuckled. “The girl from last night. You two seemed to hit it off, thought maybe it would go somewhere.” He appeared to be racking his brain to recall the girl in question. After a moment, his eyes lit up with clarity.

“Oh, no. I don’t even think I caught her name. After I helped you out, I just went to bed.”

“Helped me out?” You questioned.

“You don’t remember?” You shook your head, anxiety creeping into your chest as you waited for him to elaborate. “You were pretty drunk, and you seemed upset, so I thought I’d check in on you. You were sick for a while, so I stayed with you until you felt good enough to go to sleep. Brought you upstairs to help you to bed, and we ended up talking for a while.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You groaned “did I say anything stupid?”

“No,” he smiled, recalling the memory “it was nice, actually. I mean, you were upset and cried for a little while, but you wouldn’t tell me why. Once you calmed down, we laughed about it and you asked if I would stay until you fell asleep. Think we listened to the same record for an hour before you started to doze off.”

“Was it a good one at least?”

“It was a great one,” he nodded, but he only enjoyed it so much because you loved it, and if he had to admit, It was his new favourite album, mostly because you had fallen asleep in his arms to it. He decided to keep that memory to himself, locked away in the back of his mind for safe keeping. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed about it, and he was too scared to admit that he enjoyed it.

“Thanks,” you felt your cheeks tinge red.

“My pleasure.” He assured you.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your chances with her. She seemed nice.” You felt the need to apologize despite your elation at the knowledge he had spent the remainder of his night with you. You wished you could remember what it felt like to be in seclusion with him, desperate to know what intimacy felt like at the hands of Sam Kiszka.

“Oh, no, no need to apologize. I’m always happy to help you out, y/n. Besides, I’m not looking for anything like that, anyway.” He said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your arm to reassure you he meant what he said. Your stomach burned with desire for him, but your head was screaming at you to remember the picture of him laughing with the nameless girl. Instead of realizing that you were both feeling the same way about each other, you allowed yourself to hurt over the thought of him showing interest in another girl, when in reality his interest was only in you.

“Oh my god, Sam.” You put your head in your hands, desperate to rid yourself of the remorse that was eating you alive. The memories were endless, pouring in with no intent to slow. You had been foolish, equating your lack of intimacy with him to a lack of interest. He did care, and he cared more than you ever realized. You were so afraid of falling that you failed to understand that he had fallen just as hard, terrified of the same fate. “I’m so sorry.” You muttered, trying to control the wavering of your voice. Tears were stinging your eyes, the reality harrowing and the darkness of the night matching the feeling in your heart. He loved you the same as you loved him, but you were both too foolish to find enough courage to open your souls to each other.

“Do you get it now?” He attempted to mask his own hurt, but it was crystal clear. The weight of it was settled on both of you, making it impossible to think of anything else. “I cared, y/n, but you never wanted to see it. You didn’t know how to let me care about you, so you convinced yourself that I didn’t. We were both scared, and we both made mistakes. Don’t paint me as the devil when you were doing just the same.” He took a seat again, defeated from his own confession. “I haven’t been pointing fingers at you for falling for Jake, and I feel like that is just as criminal as anything I’ve done.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I’m terrified! I always have been, and you never said anything either, so I had myself convinced that I was imagining something that wasn’t really there!” He said, looking up to meet your eyes. His sin was heavy in his gaze, as was yours. “I hurt the only person I’ve ever fallen in love with, and the world hasn’t forgiven me since. I haven’t even forgiven me.”

“Talk to me, Sammy.” You held his stare, eyes burning into his soul. “Tell me, so I can understand.” He debated the choice, knowing that if he opened up to you, you would see every part of him, good and bad. If he didn’t, he would lose you indefinitely, and there would only be him to blame for letting you walk out the door. After a moment of silence, he took a breath before divulging into the story he’d tried so hard to bury forever.

“It’s strange, you know. It feels like we’ve been cursed for life, and I’m not sure what we ever did to deserve it.” He started, the first blow striking the wall in hopes of breaking it down. “No matter how hard we avoid it, Jake and I always seem to find ourselves in the same situation. Every single girl I’ve ever fallen for has fallen for him, too, and vice versa. It’s horrible knowing that no matter what, we only ever get to enjoy love for a moment. When we were younger, I think we were stupid and cocky. We saw it as a game, which is horrible.” You nodded along, hoping to encourage him to keep talking. “When we went on tour for the first time, it was so surreal. I mean, we were still kids, y/n, barely grown and travelling the world.” He laughed at the memory, finding it mind blowing to recall.

“We snuck into a bar one night. Well, Danny and I did. Jake and Josh were barely old enough to get in, and we managed to scrape by. Turns out, the bar wasn’t very hard to get into, because it looked like it was crawling with high school students.” He found another chuckle amidst the pain of honesty. “I met a girl about a year or two older than me. She was fantastic, and we ended up talking all night. So much that when they were closing up the place, they had to kick us out. We texted back and fourth, got to know each other, and then seemed to be on the phone constantly. Eventually, we got fed up and she flew out to travel with us for a little while. Things were really good, and she took breaks from travelling with us to go home for a while. When a situation is good, it gets comfortable, and when you’re that young and your life is all over the place like mine was, comfortable is the same as boring in your mind.”

“I got drunk and hooked up with another girl while she was travelling with me. It was my fault, and I’ll never try and say otherwise. I hurt her, and I still feel guilty about it. She was the first person I fell in love with, even if I was young and didn’t really know what love meant. After we fought, she ended up in Jake’s bed. It killed me, even if I did deserve it. Jake and I fought like never before, and I don’t think we ever really recovered from it. Since then, I guess we always let the pattern repeat instead of putting an end to it. I think we both feel like there’s no point in trying to avoid it, because it’s inevitable anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Even though you knew the story, it seemed to hit so much harder when you could see the emotion in his face.

“I don’t want sympathy, y/n. I deserved what I got, and I know that. Pain doesn’t make someone innocent.” You nodded, understanding completely what he was saying. “When I fell for you, I fell so fast and hard that it nearly shattered my soul. I was scared because of how much I cared about you, but I was even more scared that he would steal you away. It’s not a good excuse, and it never has been, but it’s the truth. I thought if I kept how I felt hidden, I could enjoy you more, because then I wouldn’t have to watch you fall in love with Jake. I could see he felt the same way for you that I did. It may not have been obvious to everyone, but it was to me. I didn’t want to compete for you, but it looks like we ended up here, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling disgusted at how the predicament continued to repeat itself.

“So yeah, when Jake made a move on you it certainly made me realize how much I could lose, but I didn’t pursue you solely because I didn’t want him to have you. That would be disgusting, and I might not be perfect, but I would never put you through that.”

“I wish… I wish we could have said something sooner. It would have made everything so much easier.” You whispered, aching to reach out and touch him. He looked up from the floor, eyes settling on your face as a sad smile crossed his lips.

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Jake wouldn’t have let you go without a fight, and I don’t blame him. You’re worth all of the pain, and I’d go through it a million times if it meant I could be with you, even just for a little while.” He said, holding your gaze. “I fell in love with that girl, and I fucked it up. Y/n, how I feel for you is far beyond anything I have ever felt for her. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much, but I do. I love you, but I am terrified of hurting you. I learned lessons that sucked, and I know I would never do that to you, but it scares me to know that I have the power to cause you any type of pain. The only thing I have ever wanted to do is love you, and no matter if it’s forever or only for a little while, I’m still beyond grateful that I got the chance.”

“You mean it?” Your words were barely loud enough to break through the silence, but he heard you. No matter where you were in the world, or how much distance between you, Sam would move heaven and earth to ensure someone was there to listen to you. Your voice was his favourite melody, the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He was certain that he would never hear anything that compared, and he would certainly never search for it. He adored you, and he did not care solely because he wanted to stop Jake from having you. He cared because he did; there was no personal gain nor any hidden benefit. He loved you completely, and he loved you for you. The suffering, the heartache, and even the fear of losing was not enough to deter him from loving you, because it was the best thing he had ever experienced.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life.” He refrained from reaching out to you, wondering if you would make the first move. He thought he had pushed you far enough with his words, and he didn’t want to scare you away. “I love you, y/n. Always have, and I always will. I will love you until you don’t want me to anymore, and I’ll keep loving you long after that, even if I have to keep it to myself.”

“I love you, Sam. I fell in love with you long before this started.” You breathed, feeling the weight of the world being lifted off your chest. It felt just as good to be honest with him as it did with Jake, but you had not laid the full truth on the table. “But I love him, too.”

“I know.” He said, unable to be upset at you for your honesty. “I just hope that in the end, you realize you love me a little bit more.” You gave him a sad smile, the sullen reply ripping your heart straight from your chest. “I know you can’t control what your heart wants, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed. If not, I’ll be happy as long as you are.” You were furious with yourself for not being able to end the suffering. Your greed was affecting everyone around you, and you couldn’t seem to find the courage to put a stop to it. You had so much history with Sam, and it seemed like the most logical option to be with him, especially considering your years of feelings for him. But logic had never been your friend, and it was a stranger when it came to the brothers. As much as you wanted to fall into Sam’s arms and be with him, you felt like you were stuck to the ground. You were not ready for that choice, and if you were to act impulsively, you couldn’t ensure you wouldn’t double back on your decision.

Worst, of all, you couldn’t stomach the thought of hurting Jake in that way. The conversation with Sam, the profession of love and all of the understanding was simple. So simple that it seemed too good to be true. The clarity you had gained from your discussion was incredible, and it seemed so much easier to confess your love to Sam. The fiery and emotional nature of your confession to Jake made your head spin when you thought about it for too long, and it was all but simple to talk about your feelings with him. But, you had come to learn that intimacy was not supposed to be easy, and by defaulting to loving Sam due to a lack of hardship was not fair to either boy. If you were to decide to love Sam based on simplicities, it would do nothing but make you a coward who could not find the gall to do hard things.

You sipped on your drink, desperate to find something to put your mind to rest. You both sat in silence, looking away from each other in hopes that the other would speak first. “Do you think that there’s another universe where we get to love each other more?” You finally broke the silence, looking up at him with a glimmer of hope in your eye.

“It’s impossible, because in every universe, I love you the same.” He gave you a sad smile. “Maybe there’s one where we can love each other easily.”

“I’d like to know what that one is like.” You felt tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “I bet it would be fantastic.” He gave a shrug, feeling a stab to his chest at the sight of the tears overflowing from your eyes.

“This one is too, princess. Loving you is fantastic, even if it’s not perfect.” You closed your eyes, feeling a sob fall from your lips. You wished you could go back in time and stop yourself from falling into the trap, to understand that despite your confidence, the situation was bound to be disastrous. But, at the same time, even if it was painful, loving them had been the most fun you had in your entire life. No matter which boy you picked, or even if you picked neither, you did not regret the time you spent with them. Going back and avoiding your mistakes may have saved you some hurt in the future, but it would have never taught you the lessons you needed to learn.

In your time spent with them, you learned that it was okay to open your heart enough to make room for another. You could finally realize that vulnerability was not the enemy, and intimacy was not as terrifying as you had previously thought. In fact, it was incredibly enjoyable when shared with the right person. You learned that you had the ability to love, and what it meant to love another wholly and completely. Better yet, you were shown that you could be loved, which was something you had never felt before in your entire life. You had always taken the stance of keeping people out for two reasons; the damage they could cause, and the damage they would find. By doing so, you failed to realize that people could introduce a lot more into your life than just pain, and your demons were not as threatening with two people standing guard. You did not regret the decision to love both brothers, even though you knew that the future was not as bright as the beginning. You were thankful to finally know what it felt like to be loved by another, and that they made your realize that you deserve to be loved just as much as anyone else.

“I think that I’m going to need some time to think about all of this.” You said, wiping your cheeks clean from the sadness. “Maybe take a step back, just to straighten out my head.”

“As long as I leave here tonight knowing that you know how much I care about, you can take as much time as you need. I just need to know that you understand, and I’ll wait forever for you if I have to.” He was tempted to hold you, to take the initiative and wipe the tears from your face in hopes of washing the pain away, too. It was hard to resist, but he wanted you to decide if you wanted it or not. He was not going to be the person to push you to love him, because in reality, it would do nothing but push you away.

“Can we… tomorrow?” You asked, not feeling like shutting him out immediately after such confessions. “I don’t want to be responsible, yet. I just want to enjoy this for a little while longer. I’m going to take some time, but I’ll start in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” He wanted clarification before jumping to action, needing to know that you were certain about your decision.

“We said I love you, Sam.” You managed a small laugh through the turmoil that was still ravaging your brain. “I think we’re allowed one night to enjoy it before we have to make any hard decisions.” He watched you for a moment, giving you ample opportunity to change your mind. When you showed no signs of regressing, he jumped from the bed with a new found burst of life. You barely had time to comprehend his sudden move before he was in front of you, reaching down and scooping you into his arms.

Despite the pain that was still thick in the air, you both found yourselves in a shriek of laughter. You wrapped your legs around him, cradling his face in your hands as he made sure you were secure in his grip. “Say it again.” His grin was blinding, making it hard to believe that there were tears in his eyes only moments before. “Please.”

“I love you, Sammy.” He let the words linger, revelling in the bliss before he pulled you into a kiss. It was messy, a show of desperation for each other after being deprived of it all night. It was the perfect show of the truth behind the saying ‘sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing until you’ve come across it’. You had lived your whole life without ever feeling love, romantic or otherwise, and now you were so full of it that you weren’t sure you could ever live without it. You had been so afraid of something that felt so good, even within its own repercussions. You knew you would even miss the bad that came along with it if you were ever deprived of love again.

“I love you,” he mumbled, barely taking the time to part from the kiss. “I love you,” he said again, his smile growing every time he spoke. “I love you so much, y/n.” You thought you would be able to live off the euphoria of being loved by him forever. You leaned forward for another kiss, laughing as you did so. The moment of childish glee was beautiful, especially after the weight of the conversation. It did not take long for the passion from the moment to manifest itself into something larger, neediness increasingly radiating from both of you the longer you had access to each other.

He carefully stepped backwards, lowering himself onto the mattress and gently settling you in his lap. When you were situated, you broke away for air. He took advantage of the opportunity and made a move to slip your shirt over your head. The sting of the air on your skin was a shock, but when his hands came back to you, you forgot the feeling almost instantly. As he brought his mouth back to your own, his fingers unhooked your bra. You dropped your arms from around his neck and let it fall to the floor with little care. He let his lips drift down your neck, gracing you with delicacy and adoration in the small movements. You let out a shaky breath as he worked his way downwards, pulling your nipple into his mouth to continue his physical show of love.

“God, Sam.” You breathed, the moment of physical intimacy amplifying the emotional intimacy you had divulged in. The feeling of his tongue on your skin was intoxicating, his touch similar to that of a wicked entity. The only thing that reminded you that it truly was Sam behind your pleasure was the familiarity of his hands and the weight of your adoration for him. You despised that both brothers seemed to make you into a fool for them with ease, like it was not a struggle for them to hold complete power over you with a single glance. Their power had only grown stronger over the months, and it could only be accredited to you falling victim to love. It was almost funny, how you claimed harm at their hands, but seemed to be holding the gun and prompting the pull of the trigger.

Your hips moved down on him, desperate for any type of friction to relieve the growing ache between your legs. One of his hands dropped downwards, settling on your ass and holding you to him, his own need showing through the small action. You let out a hiss of pleasure as he gently sunk his teeth into your nipple, the surprise of his action adding to the sensation. He broke away from you, looking up at you with lust heavily clouding his gaze. You were both long overdue for more, and weren’t willing to wait any longer. You shuffled to your feet, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them off in one swift motion. He let his eyes drift over your exposed skin, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to comprehend your beauty. He was practically feral at the sight, crazed at the thought of being able to see you in such a way, but he held himself back in hopes that you could make the night last as long as possible.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, catching your eye as he spewed out the compliment. You felt your cheeks heat red, a smile pulling on the corner of your lips as the words struck you like lightning. A compliment from Sam was worth the world and more, and you knew you could live off them for the rest of your life.

Everything about the brothers was so phenomenal that it made it hard to believe that they were real; you could not comprehend perfection taking form in a human body, but somehow the universe had managed it twice. You wanted to love them forever, to never know what it was like to be deprived of them, but you knew it was not plausible. It was time for you to grow up, to put a stop to the immature behaviour and finally begin to think first, rather than act. You had let the devil lead the way for far too long, and it was finally time to take back the power that you had willingly given away. The only way to stop the hurt was to stop the entanglement, and even if the idea of losing one or both of them hurt so badly, the decision was long overdue.

Then again, you would not be a Gold Dust Woman if not for your tendency to destroy yourself at the hands of your own desires. In true Gold fashion, you allowed the night to continue on even with the knowledge it would do nothing but make the choice even more difficult.

He stood, slipping his own shirt over his head. You felt the same skip in your heartbeat, the sight immediately taking your breath away. He noticed your reaction, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, hoping that he couldn’t sense the nervousness in your tone. Somehow even after months, he still seemed to make you nervous when in his presence. He took a step towards you, cupping your cheek in his hand as he pulled you in for another kiss. It was like an addiction for him, almost impossible to resist. “Shower?” You mumbled against his lips, the idea enticing him almost as much as it did for you.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asked, barely parted from you. You let out a giggle, walking away in the direction of the bathroom. He followed closely, not willing to let you get too far away.

You flicked the light on, immediately reaching into the shower and turning on the faucet. Within a few seconds, steam had already began accumulating in the air. Instead of waiting for you to get in, Sam’s hands slipped around your waist. You smiled at the familiar feeling, wishing you could exist within his touch until the end of time. Something about his hands on you gave you the relief you’d been so deeply craving, and not in a sexual sense. The gentleness always eluded to a future without suffering, and even if the momentary touch was the only time you felt that way, it was nice to finally have some peace amidst the chaos.

He pulled you into him, limiting you from stepping into the shower. You wanted to complain, to voice your excitement for the soothing warmth of the water, but being in his arms always triumphed. He leaned down, letting his lips drift over your shoulders and any exposed part of your neck. Your eyes closed, melting into him and willing to accept whatever he had in store for you. With great care, he guided you towards the countertop until your back gently connected with it. The cold shocked you, searing your skin with the unfamiliar temperature, but you didn’t have time to think much about it. Sam had firmly grabbed your hips, lifting you up and setting you down in one swift motion. He moved forward, settling between your legs so easily, like he belonged there without question.

He brought his lips back to your own, but only for a moment. He worked his way down your neck, to your shoulders and down your chest. Slowly, he sunk to his knees before you with his head nestled comfortably between your thighs. You bit down on your lip, silencing the gasp that you so badly wanted to let out. Your heart was racing, overly excited for what was to come next. His fingers were branding his name into you forever. You knew that when the sun rose in the sky, and you took your inevitable step away, your body would still be littered with Sam. It would be so overwhelmingly obvious that distance would not even begin to diminish the strength in which you needed him. In a moment of weakness and fear of the aching loneliness that was to come, you almost jumped into his arms forever. After the moment passed, you knew you could not discard Jake so easily, especially after the raw intimacy you had shared with him.

When Sam’s mouth connected with your cunt, rationality was no longer the leading thought in your head. Although the devil continued to push you further into Sam’s arm, another one was holding you tightly, pleading with you to stop. At first glance, it seemed to want to protect you from the downfall you were headed towards by allowing Sam access to you while feeling such turmoil. Then again, it would not be the devil if it had no ill intent, and it was not holding you back in fear of soothing broken hearts. The part of you leaning away from Sam was leaning directly into Jake, serially motivated by the desire you had for him and your fear of letting him go. As much as you wanted to fall in love with Sam forever, it was just not possible at the moment. As much as you craved to be with Jake, the time was not right. Which was exactly why time is what you needed, spent away from them and their ability to captivate you. The closer you were with them, the harder it was to resist the love they gave to you. Pain was guaranteed either way, but you had to chose the option that you believed would hurt the least.

But only after one more bad decision, of course.

“Fuck,” you panted, chest burning from the lack of air in your lungs. Sam was working hard, determined to prove a point with his tongue. You weren’t certain exactly what he was trying to prove, but he was doing it well. The steam in the air was thick, melt from the shower but some purely from the energy between you both. Your hand was in his hair, gripping at the roots and holding him to you. He hummed against you, pleased with your enjoyment. It seemed the more disheveled you became, the harder he worked to make it worse. “G-god, Sam. Please don’t stop.” You whined as your head fell backwards. Your eyes were squeezed shut, the burning in your belly almost unbearable.

He used his hands on your hips to pull you closer to the edge, tongue never faltering as he did so. He dropped his arm from the hold he had on you and added his fingers to you, slowly pumping them as he moved his mouth upwards to focus on your clit. The moans you were expelling were vulgar, painting the walls with every sin you already had, and continued to commit. You were so lost in pleasure that any thoughts of right and wrong had disintegrated into nothing. Everything was Sam; you felt like you were being consumed by him, his aura so powerful that you were crumbling into nothing. Dying would be an honour if it were at his hands, and you knew that the descent would be nothing but comfortable as long as you could feel his touch until the bitter end. “Sam,” you repeated, unsure if you could hold back your orgasm any longer. He curled his fingers upwards as he pumped them into you, a small encouragement for you to let go.

With the slight change in angle and the relentless speed of his tongue, your legs began to shake. Your muscled tensed, and you felt yourself clench against his fingers. With only last warning, so weak that it barely sounded over the putter of water against the shower floor, your climax washed over you. Your chest ached from the intensity, limbs begging you to relax, but you couldn’t seem to slow the ferocity of the moment. Your head was spinning, filling with thoughts of nothing but the boy between your legs. You were so filled with love for him that you thought your heart may explode. As you came down, sweat glistening on your skin and the pleasure settling into a dull tingle across your body, you finally managed to get a full breath into your lungs. As you did, Sam slowly tapered his pace to a stop, moving away from you to catch his own breath.

You released your hold on his hair, an apologetic look crossing your face for the strength in which you were holding it. He seemed unbothered at the action, eyes still closed in bliss as he ghosted kisses over your thighs. You let your hand fall to his cheek, appreciating him as he showed you the act of kindness. “Shower?” You asked, voice still airy from the intoxication of the orgasm. He let out a hum, too enthralled in you to care about a verbal answer. You managed a small giggle at his enamouring expression, but ultimately had to put a stop to his admiration. “We’ve wasted enough water, come on.” You said, ushering him to stand. He obliged, although not voluntarily. He helped you off the counter, pulling you into him for a moment as he placed a kiss on your head.

“You first,” he promoted, moving out of your way. You slid the glass door open, stepping under the droplets and immediately feeling the relaxing warmth. He followed suit, closing the door behind him. As you sat under the stream of water, he took the opportunity to have the moment of closeness he had been craving so badly. He wrapped his arms around you, hands settling on your lower stomach as he guided you into him. With your back against his chest and his hands on you, you felt unstoppable. The warm water alongside the memory of the orgasm only solidified the feeling. Sam made you feel like you were on top of the world, like nothing could ever hurt you. His love was like a cushion of protection, keeping you away from any harm as long as he was with you.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You said, leaning your head back to rest on him, too.

“We can, princess.” He reminded, the small seed of evil planting in your brain effortlessly. He would do whatever it took to keep you in his arms, and if it meant persuading, he was already thinking of a million reason as to why you should stay. “If that’s what you want, we can do that.”

“I know, and I do.” You said, but you didn’t have to finish the statement. He wasn’t ready to face any type of rejection, and you were not willing to dish it out. His hope, although blind by times, was the only thing giving him the will to keep going. “I love you.” You changed topics, hoping the blow would lessen by the sweet phrase. You wished you didn’t already have to use it as an apology, but being apologetic had been the only thing you knew how to do as of recent. You were always sorry for the pain you were inflicting, even if they knew that it was coming. You wondered why it was so common to hurt the ones you love the most, and if it was uncommon, why it was so simple for the three of you to do.

“I know, and I love you, too.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to your cheek. It was beautiful, how much he cared despite knowing how bad it hurt him. You turned your head to meet his mouth, the confession still hitting as hard as it did the first time. You could feel his erection against you; he was desperate for relief even if he was enjoying the sweetness of the moment. You pushed your hips back on him, also eager for the main event after such an emotional night. His grip tightened, enticed by the small movement. The kiss grew messy, both of you at a breaking point long before you ever got into the shower.

He spun you, pushing you against the wall with a new-found energy. Your upper half was flush with the cool tile, and he pulled your hips back to grant himself access to you. He lined himself up with your entrance, fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he pushed his own forward. You both let out a sigh of relief at the feeling, knowing that there were few things in the world that felt as good as it did. “God, you feel so fucking good.” He muttered, closing his eyes to focus only on the way you felt wrapped around him. The heat of the water only amplified every sensation, the steam filling your senses and your brains with the obscene energy that it had leeched from you both. You were feral for each other, uncaring of anything other than the sexual desire between you. The encounter was no longer a solidification of the vulnerability you had shared, but now a need that far outweighed any other that had previously existed.

Sam surpassed any normal person in terms of desire, and quickly manifested himself as one of the most important things to ever exist to you. The thought of being without him was excruciating, and the only thought worse than ones of death. “Harder, please.” You groaned, hands supporting yourself on the wall as he fucked into you. He obliged to the request with little hesitation, pulling you back on him as he thrusted forward. He snaked one hand to your hair, knotting it in his fist and pulling your head away from the wall. He leaned forward, letting his lips rest on your ear as he placed a small kiss to it.

“Does that feel good, princess?” He crooned, voice low and settling straight into your soul. You let out a moan, unable to verbally express the pleasure he was giving you. His grip in your hair tightened, snapping you back to reality for a moment.

“F-feels so good, Sammy.” You muttered, feeling another groan tear through your chest. He hummed against your ear, letting his teeth sink into your earlobe to show his enjoyment of the sounds you were making for him.

“Just want to make you feel good, baby.” His tone was husky, coated with lust and showcasing his desire. He turned your head to the side, just enough so he could capture you in a kiss. He continued moving his hips, never slowing his pace. You let a moan slip into his mouth, driving him further into the cloud of euphoria that was slowly engulfing him. He slipped his hand from your hip, wrapping it around you and settling his fingers between your legs. He began tracing slow circles on your already sensitive clit, making the feeling of every movement even more powerful. You pushed your hips back on him, not ashamed to show him your need for him. A growl came from deep in his chest as he parted from you, the small movement sending him into a frenzy.

He dropped his hand from your hair and used it to hold your hips in place as he began his frenzied attempt to drive you to an orgasm. He didn’t need to try very hard; the knot in your stomach was tightening with every second that passed. “Fuck,” you whined, the fire consuming every nerve in your body.

“Come on, sweet girl.” He encouraged. “Cum for me, baby.” His words hit you hard, the impact nearly stealing the air from your lungs and making your legs grow limp. His hands were holding you steady, making sure you were secure so you didn’t have to worry about anything but your pleasure. You let out another moan, desperation evident in the sound. He continued his relentless effort, moving his fingers faster and with more precision.

“Sam,” you breathed, feeling the pressure reach a peak. Your body tensed as your breath caught in your throat. You tried repeating his name, but it was a useless endeavour. No coherent thoughts were forming, and the only thing coming from your mouth was a slur of curses and moans. Your legs were shaking, weak as they struggled to hold your weight and your heart was erratic against your rib cage.

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coaxed you through, slowly tapering his pace. When your body relaxed and you gained strength to keep yourself upright, he slowed to a stop. “How was that?”

“S-so good,” you stuttered, heaving a heavy breath. He let out a chuckle, amused by your disarray as he pulled out of you. You managed a small groan of discontent at the loss of the feeling, but he ignored you. He gently spun you around so you were facing him, leaning in for a kiss. The gentle action was greatly appreciated; your body was still recovering from the excitement of the moment. His hands planted on your hips once more, but this time he lifted you. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him as your hands snaked around his neck. He pressed your back against the tile, the cold surface a shock, but you were too tired to care. He pressed his lips to yours once more as he lined himself up once again. When he was certain his grip on you was secure enough, he pulled you down on him. You lacked any self control, the feeling euphoric and the sound that came out of you matched the sensation.

“How’s that, Princess?” He hummed, resting his forehead on your own for a heightened sense of intimacy. “Is that better?”

“Mhm,” you nodded against him, tangling your fingers in his hair. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, but the barrier of your bodies was prohibiting what you needed to satisfy the desire. You felt like his being was too powerful; it was consuming you and leaving behind a shell of what you once were. Sometimes, especially in moments like the one you were sharing with him then, it felt like your sole purpose was to love Sam, or to be loved by him, but truth behind the thought was almost too much to bear. There was a part of you devoted to Sam, wanting nothing but to love him for the rest of time, but there was another part that felt the same about Jake. It was horrendous knowing that you could never love one fully without loving the other.

“Give me one more, baby.” He pleaded, fingers bruising the skin as he continued to pull your hips down on him. The request was simple to fulfill, and you knew that it would not take much for him to get what he wanted.

“If you cum with me,” you placed down your own term before an agreement.

“That’s what you want?” He questioned, trying to make it seem like your words did not bother him. In truth, he was struggling to hold himself back and your statement had only driven him closer to the edge.

“God, yes. Please, baby.” You whined, knowing that the longer he was inside you, the closer you were being pushed to insanity. He let out a low sigh, sent into a downward spiral at the sound of your desperation. He hoped he could hold off for long enough to make you cum, and you were hoping to hold off for long enough to please him. You were both hoping for something that meant nothing; the pleasure that was upon you both was too good to refute, and a climax was easier to attain than anything else.

Your mind was abuzz with the love you had for him, the intensity growing with the steady movement of his thrusts. You were delirious, body exhausted from the continuous pleasure and muscles aching from the strain. The water soothed only enough to keep you going, but Sam’s hands were what made you feel best. “I love you,” he whispered. You felt your stomach burn with desire as he voiced the same thought that had been so pressing all night. You knew you could never get sick of him saying it, and you knew you could listen to him say those three words and survive solely off the feeling it provided.

“I love you, Sam.” You groaned, the climax threatening to take hold. “I love you so much.” He pulled you down harder, his cock slamming against your cervix in a pleasurable type of pain. You let out a cry, the sudden sensation immediately sending you into a third orgasm. You were lost in euphoria, barely existing within the same realm anymore. You clenched around him, singing his name as if it was a hymn and he was the god you were praying to. From the sight of your descent alone, it send him over the edge with no mercy. He held you down on him, uttering curses as he spilled his release into you. By the time you both came down, you were breathless and seeing stars. You held each other close in hopes that you could make the moment last forever, but you knew that nothing this fantastic could ever last. The harrowing reality was just around the corner, and you had to understand that this was the last night you could spend with Sam before you had to make the final decision.

He loosened his grip on you, carefully letting you down to your feet and holding you steady in fear your legs might give out. You leaned into his chest, craving comfort after the chaos. You wanted for everything to be over, for the pain to stop and for the happy to last, but you knew that the hurt was only beginning and bound to stay for a while. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowed in his chest, soothed immediately by your touch. “Here,” he said, shifting so you could be fully under the stream of warm water. You let out a hum of satisfaction, the heat soothing any ache that was lingering. He looked around, grabbing a bottle of shampoo while you enjoyed the water. He lathered some in his hands and ushered you back towards him. You rested your back on his chest once more while he brought his hands to your hair, gently rubbing the shampoo into the roots.

You could have fallen asleep in his arms with how relaxing the feeling was. He was gentle, using great caution in fear he might pull on the strands the wrong way. When he was satisfied with his work, he helped you rinse the soap from your hair. He repeated his actions with the conditioner you had sitting on a shelf and held you until you found the energy to wash the rest of your body. He washed his own hair while you scrubbed away the filth of the sins you had partaken in, but the feeling of Sam could never really be washed away. You both finished the normal shower routine and sat in each others company for a moment before turning off the faucet.

When you got out, Sam found a towel on the rack by the sink. He wrapped you in one before worrying about himself, fearful that the temperature change might disturb you. With a small smile on your lips and love in your heart, you both returned to the bedroom with intent to sleep. “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. If not, I understand.”

“Of course you can, Sammy.” You said, dropping your towel to the floor as you climbed in bed. “I can worry about everything else in the morning, but for now, I want you here with me.” He couldn’t hide the blinding smile he adorned at the sound of your statement. He climbed into bed, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. You let out a giggle at his enthusiasm, but you knew that you were feeling the same way just from the thought of sleeping by his side.

“I don’t care who you pick, y/n.” He started, letting his fingers trace shapes into the soft skin of your back. “I hope it’s me, but I just want you to be happy. No matter what happens, I’m thankful that I got the chance to love you, even if it’s only for a little while.”

“I’m grateful for that, too.” You agreed, feeling his words settle into your chest and begin to make your heart ache. You closed your eyes, but your mind was far from asleep. You were dreading the morning because it signified separation and moving on, two things that you were far from ready to do. Even if it was the right choice, it did not mean it hurt any less. Same eyes were closed too, thinking about the same things that were disturbing you. Neither of you spoke about them, and neither of you seemed to curb the fear of loss.

It seemed like such a shame for so much love to be shared between the three of you, especially knowing that the end would be nothing but painful. It was a shame that your first experience with love would ultimately burn you and everyone caught in the crossfire. But, it seemed as though your biggest fear of all was not to love or to hurt, but rather the fear of never wanting to love again after the storm settled. For your entire life, you were horrified of vulnerability, and intimacy was the enemy. Now that you experienced it both so beautifully and profoundly, you were most afraid of never feeling it again. You were terrified of being the Gold Dust Woman from the story, rather than the one Jake viewed you as. Beautiful but empty, cold and distant, and always searching for a thrill, yet forever too scared to take the leap. You hoped that you could remain the person Jake had viewed you has when he gave the nickname, but you knew it was not the case. There was only one way to be a Gold Dust Woman, and it was not in any way he chose to perceive you. You had become all that you swore not to be, and there was no escape from it.

Love was no longer the cause of your downfall; in fact, it never really was. It had always been yourself, even if you chose to remain blind to the harsh reality. The problem found home within you, and this time, you had no one else left to blame.

Did she shatter your illusions of love?

Come on, did you really think I’d let Sam go down without a fight? ;)

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 176- My Bloody Valentine

Summary: Josie sings a tune that falls upon astounded ears. Moose, The Elvenking and Thranduil battle. Josie fears she is losing her own battle. She and Lola have a heart to heart. Lola attempts to help. A spoonful of warlock magic makes the medicine go down. Rahl feels the wrath of his kin. A heroic act is foiled. Love is declared. Charles and Lola conspire. Another is missing. She-devil alert. Lola is down for the count. Rahl is too, for a hot mess of a moment. REDRUM!!! Rahl "shockingly" submits. Thranduil senses a sinister shift deep within his very soul.

*Chapter Warnings* BLOOD BLOOD BLOOD! Violent death depictions!!!! sexual and strong language, angst, mentions of rape,

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Josie returned to her chambers with tear swollen eyes and excessively panting after running from one end of the castle to the other without a moment of rest. As she opened the door, clutching her anxiety ridden chest, Lola sprung to her feet with worry. "Josie, where have you been? I need to tell you about...are...you alright? You've been crying."

"How perceptive of you." Josie snapped and made her way to Leean's cradle, peering down at her dreaming daughter.

"Would you like to talk about it? Is it because of Haldir?"

Josie's eyes rolled as she kicked her hated heels off and poured a glass of wine, offering none to Lola. "Do not speak to me of that exasperating elf. In fact, do not speak to me at all."

"I...I'm sorry, I...I just thought you should know I was told that Haldir left. To where, I do not know."

"Hmmph. Good riddance." she scoffed and knocked back her drink. "You can leave too."

"L...leave? But there is more that I need to tell y..."

"There is nothing more that I care to hear. I want to be alone with my daughter."

"Did...you find my fath....Darken Rahl? Is that what has you so upset?"

Josie sharply turned to her. "Have your ears gone deaf?? LEAVE."

"Y..yes miss." Lola squeaked and quickly departed.

Instantly, Josie tugged at the zipper of her dress and tore it off as if she were on fire. After slipping on new attire and touching up her tear streaked face, she returned to her daughter's cradle and sat upon the bed to view her once more. Besides Legolas, Leeanduil was the only way she could see Thranduil's face clearly.

It had been pointless in refreshing her makeup, for she was now in tears once more as she watched her six week old little girl sleep, frightened she would soon lose all the love she had left for her child and her King.

In desperation to stay in the moment with her feelings, she began to softly sob her way through a song of relevance that had strangely came to mind. Closing her eyes as she did so, she envisioned Thranduil holding Leean.

"Close your eyes, give me your hand. Darling, do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame? I believe it's meant to be. Darling, I watch you when you are sleeping. You belong with me. Say my name. Sun shines through the rain. A whole life so lonely and then you come and ease the pain. I don't want to lose this feeling...."

Thranduil and his company had resumed their journey alongside the River Running after a brief rest, for the Elvenking strongly believed there was no rest for the wicked and each moment that passed on reclaiming what was his, his newly acquired impatience grew as did the blackness of his tainted heart.

As he traveled in silence and solitude atop his great elk at the lead of his elven army, he had nothing better to do than be inside his own head and in his relaxation, it opened a doorway he was ever so certain he had permanently secured.

What he heard earned his prompt attention and brought Moose to a screeching halt, for the elk had heard it too. The resounding angelic voice of his emotional Queen, just as he had heard her cries for help for months upon end before he had discovered her in his realm the night she escaped her abusive captor.

Thranduil's eyes widened as the breeze simultaneously washed her cherry essence all over him. What was happening? He did not permit nor want the intrusion and the Elvenking was about to terminate the connection, but the elk who adored the Queen, had other plans.

Launching up onto his hind legs, the beast reached for the tangerine sky with peddling hooves, bayed a raging roar of hot steam into the chilled December air. The faithful and loyal companion had never defied his elven master, but the stag knew of the malevolence that consumed the lost Ellon and he felt compelled to enforce the same protection that Thranduil would give him when needed.

"Moose! Dorth- cín near!" (Stay your place), Thranduil bellowed with command, struggling with the reigns to control the disobedient animal of substantial strength as Josephine's continuing tune fueled his rebellion.

His hooves heavily reconnected with the ground, stomping about and turning the Elvenking in circles as he vigorously huffed, bobbing and shaking his head until Thranduil, with great agility, swiftly dismounted and fearlessly stood beneath the steaming snout no one would dare approach.

Thranduil's moonstone eyes softly gazed into the largely round and moistened chocolate eyes of the normally gentle giant and placed his hand upon his lengthy snout, instantly calming him. This continued until Josephine's voice and scent dissipated into the wind.

Thranduil calmly spoke, offering words of comfort as he stroked the brawny beast. "I understand your pain old friend and I will not dismiss it because it is real. But keep in mind that pain causes weakness. There is a war ahead of us that must not be compromised by such emotion. You must find a place within you to contain it's existence."

In turn, Moose shared his telepathic thoughts to his master before bowing in submission for Thranduil to remount. "The true war lies somewhere within you. You must find that place and fight for what you love, for that is what's real. Do not dismiss nor underestimate your own suffering. Pain also causes strength."

Arching a bushy brow and clenching his jaw, Thranduil's stance stiffened as he lifted his chin, narrowing his eyes downward at the very wise and valiant old elk. "Undauntingly bold are you?" he snarled as his lip curled into a pleased grin. "From one King to another, I commend and respect your lion-hearted spirit."

As the journey carried on, Jareth's blood, paired with the power of the citrine ring, intensified the Elvenking's battle against the eternal flame burning in the shallow of Thranduil's very soul and Josephine's heartfelt song and own eternal flame had been an accelerant, much like the moonstones when united.

Anger now consumed the dark elf. Discreetly he held his breath, willing the flame into suffocation and soon, his bottom lip began to quiver and his eyes glistened of tears but it was not for lack of air, for elves could hold their breath for an inscrutable amount of time. It was because not even his will or his own magic was strong enough to fight the power of twin flames. The darkened Elvenking had once vowed he would never allow Josephine back into his heart after her prior invasions but Thranduil's pain was an underestimated strength just as Moose's percipience proved.

Strong and silent sobbing had now overtaken Josephine for she was fearful of when her moment of clarity would rescind. It was as if her tears temporarily cleansed the venom but she knew she could not cry forever and a knock upon the door ceased the waterworks altogether.

"Just a moment." she called out as she wiped her face and soaked up the tears from her eyes with a tissue.

"Who's there?' she whispered against the door.

"It's Lola, my lady. May I return?"

Feeling bad for how she treated her faithful friend, Josie opened the door and broke down once again at the sight of her.

Lola's loving arms quickly wrapped around her. "Please, come sit and tell me what ails you."

"It's...everything." Josie sniffled as they sat across from each other in the living quarters of the chamber to not wake Leean. "I'm losing myself Lola and everyone I love."

"You have not lost me? Nor your daughter. And Legolas is still here." she sweetly assured, still feeling the sting of the Prince's harsh 180.

"But for how long? I do not know how long I have until I am not me at all anymore and turn on everyone. Look what I've done to Haldir. He must be disgusted with me to have actually left. He was the only one who ever kept his promise to never leave me and Garrett...well...I get it now, why he left this time. He's ashamed of who he is. The dark side of him that he never wanted me to see. I guess that's why he chose to reunite with Kate and now that's what I am becoming. Rahl's venom is reeling me in and he...he was so cruel to me earlier."

"Of course he's cruel. He's a dark warlock lord. Wait...so you did see him?"

"His persona anyways. He..he carried Stephane's image because he was weak but..." Josie began to sob again. "But he's never coming back either. He's my only hope of being me again and I don't know how to revive him. He's as lost to Rahl as I am. My soul is turning black like his."

"Nonsense. You are a lady of light and if anything, you have the strongest love keeping you you right there in that cradle and you hold her father your heart. He will always be there if you seek him out."

"You are wrong Lola. He is gone. I haven't felt him in weeks. He doesn't come to me anymore. For a moment, I thought I had smelled him, even heard his voice in the garden this morning, but it was only the trickery of that evil Ravenna to weaken me and take my blood. Thranduil is only a memory now that's fading."

Lola took her hand. "I am so sorry. I cannot imagine a life without the man you truly love."

"Can't you?"

"I...I'm sorry?"

"Legolas. It is he you love is he not?"

Lola blushed, but her eyes saddened. "Josie...it does not matter. His love for you is quite obvious."

"And as you know, as does he, I do not return his love in the way he desires. His heart has been broken and my own heart breaks because of that. He now protects it. He keeps you at arms length not of his own wish but give him time. It is also obvious that he cares deeply for you. I've seen it. I feel you can mend his heart and restore his faith in love. And know this Lola...if anything is to ever happen to me, I have asked Legolas to be his sister's guardian. I would like it very much if you were to be at his side and I believe that will happen someday. I trust you with her life Lola."

"Josie...I...I do not know what to say. I would be honored. Of course I would look after her, guard her with my life but it will not be necessary, for nothing is going to happen to you and I am going to do my damnedest to see to it."

Lola hopped to her feet. "I will be back shortly."

"Lola?? What are you going to...."

Lola smiled as she opened the door. A smile that held a hint of wickedness. "Get some rest."

Rahl had refreshed himself out in the snow covered gardens, breathing in the fresh crisp air to void out the angelica leaves he had inhaled, but Stephane's bothersome image still remained. Regardless, he was feeling more of his wicked self, so he decided it was time to have a little fun. As he sat in the dining hall, sipping on some wicked whiskey with a wicked grin, he closed his eyes and mumbled. "Paybacks are a bitch like you."

A knock sounded upon Catherine's door. Fearing it was Charles or possibly even Rahl, she froze solid in her seat, hoping whomever it was would go away.

"Mother, are you in there? I really need to speak with you."

Catherine sighed in relief to hear her son Francis' voice and sprinted to the door, yanking him inside. "Francis, where on earth have you been?!! Darken Rahl has seized Stephane's body and he attacked your brother last night. His own son Francis!! Do you have any idea what he will do to us if he finds out you did not burn the real letter from Thranduil??? Stephane already despises you so I assure you that Rahl does too!"

"Mother, that is why I am here. I think you should sit down."

"You want me to sit?? At a time like this???"

"Mother....SIT DOWN!" the Lake Town King barked.

Practically jumping out of her skin at his clamored command, she did as he said.

"A..al..alright. I am sitting. There is no need to shout at me. It is not like you."

"I think he knows. I think...I have been poisoned."

"W..what did you say??"

At that very moment, tears of blood as red as her gown began to pour from Francis' eyes and as Catherine ran to him, he collapsed in her arms.

"Francis...FRANCIS!! SOMEBODY HELP!! HURRY!!!" she cried.

Her shill screams were heard by Francis' Queen and two servants who had been down the hall tending to the seam on Mary's gown and as they raced into the room, they were all quite dumbfounded at what they were witnessing.

"Mary!! Mary, your King has been poisoned. He's dying!!"

"What???" Mary frantically asked and scoured the room with her worried eyes only to see Catherine leaning over as if she were holding something, only there was nothing there. "Catherine, your son is in the city."

When Catherine looked back at her hands, they were empty. It was then that she believed she had just experienced a premonition.

"I...I have just had a vision."

Rahl opened his eyes and swallowed down the remaining whiskey in his goblet, then he smiled from ear to ear as he released a deep cackle. "Oh Catherine, indeed you did. Tick tock you wretched shrew. I am far from done with you."

As he rounded the corner, making his way back to his chambers, he almost collided with a fuming Lola.

"You!!" she screeched and belted him across the face with a hearty slap strong enough to impair his balance.

Seemingly thrilled by her bout of rage, he smiled. "Well now, if it isn't my long lost daughter...Lola."

"I am not YOUR daughter. I am Stephane's daughter you miserable excuse for a man!!"

"Oh but we are one in the same as everyone likes to debate against. Considering I have not seen you in well over a decade, what have I done to spark such madness, which by the way, I highly enjoy. Like father, like dau..."

"Oh shut up! I am nothing like you nor do I intend to be. Dare you really ask of your insidious indiscretions??? Shall we begin with my mother?? You defiled her!! You held her captive! You forced her to give up my sister Sarah and now she is in the clutches of another vile monster!"

"Josselyn is the only one at fault for what happened to your poor sister. If she had remained here, Harker would never have gotten his wolfy hold on her."

"You mean just like he got his wolfy hold upon me WHILE I was here???"

"Stephane is to blame for your disappearance, not I!"

"And Stephane is the one who saved me! Now give me back my father or I'll..."

"You'll....what? little...girllll. " Rahl snarled into her face.

Lola cringed at his peppery breath and fumbled through her words in fear, knowing that she had no magic power, or at least she didn't know how to use it if she had and it surely would have been no match for his. "Just give him back. Please. And leave Josie alone."

"Ahhhhh, so that's what your empty threat is really about. Sweet little Josephine. Even if I wanted to do something for her, I cannot, nor would I! Her soul is rotting and she will soon be mine and you my dear child. You will be next....and then Charles and Bash...I think you get the idea. One happy little family we all will be."

Emerging from the darkness of a stairwell, stood the Elvenprince with his arrow aimed at the dark lord of Dorwinion. "Over my dead body! Back away from the girl before I put another dose of poison into your arm!"

"Legolas!!" Lola shrieked with both happiness and fright.

Rahl's eyes slitted at the elf as he bravely stepped in front of the spiked iron threat, placing it against his chest. "You dare to raise your bow to me yet once again on my own lands. I should have ended you the first time. Your cat like stealth is admired but your skill is of no speed nor match for my magic."

It was faster than the speed of light and unseen to the eyes, the morphing of a man into the largest beast of a cat Lola and Legolas had ever witnessed and in a split second, the elf's bow was merely splinters on the ground, completely obliterated by the striking force of the prodigious paws and razor sharp claws.

As Lola's hysteric screams echoed through the hall, Legolas pulled his blade from the holster on his back, but that too was swiped away in an instant by the fierce strike of the panther's other powerful paw, then the ferocious feline pounced, pinning Legolas beneath it's suffocating weight.

Lola bolted to the knife, swiftly picking it up and clutching both hands around the handle, pointing it straight at the snarling snout before her. The mirror-like blade swayed and shook as she gasped through her hyperventilating breaths. Her gaping eyes fluttered out streams of tears that began to blind her vision.

"Lola! Back...away!!!" Legolas pointlessly pleaded as she became paralyzed with fear.

The monster sized head raised up as did the hair on the scruff of the beast's neck clear to the end of it's tail. Face to face, blazing yellow eyes glared directly into hers. The ears went back and a ghastly growl rolled up it's throat, then the mouth opened, revealing pearly fangs of death as a scorching roar laced of pepper blew Lola's hair straight out behind her.

She stumbled back from the force and the fear, dropping the weapon and before she could even regain her balance, she was suddenly reprimanded by one of many warlock guards and Rahl, still in Stephane's image, was standing before her once more.

"Seize him and take him to the dungeons to rot for an attempt on my life!" Rahl commanded.

"What about the girl?" a guard asked as Legolas was detained and his bloodied wrists chained while two other guards poked blades to his back.

It was apparent to Rahl that the two cared for one another and it sickened him to his core. "Leave her to me. Take him away."

As Legolas was promptly escorted away, Lola attempted to run after the Prince, but Rahl roughly clutched her arm. She screamed, cried and struggled something fierce but it was futile. "Nooooooo!!!!! Legolas!!! NOOO!!!! Let him go!!!! I....I love you Legolas!!!!!!"

Just as they were turning the corner, Legolas halted and glanced back in shock from her words. Their eyes shared an intense moment and then...he was gone.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" she cried again and dropped to her knees in defeat.

"Oh get up you whimpering fool." Rahl barked, scorned by her actions. "This is all your fault and now, your punishment will be to reap what you have sown. Go on. Go cry your little eyes out like the little girl that you are. You are an embarrassment and a disgrace. I will handle you later just as I have your mother!!"

"Wh...what??? What did you do to my mother!!!" she raged and lunged at him, only to be shoved back to the ground.

"Still, you do not learn. What am I to do with you?"

"Father!! Leave my sister alone!"

Rahl spun around to see the glowing eyes of his son Charles. "THIS again. I just want to go back to my chambers and have some fucking sex! Is that so much to ask??? It seems there was too much sparing of the rod and spoiling of the children in your upbringings, but who says you cannot teach adolescents new tricks?"

Raising his hand, an electrical bolt charged across the hall and knocked Charles onto his back.

"You're mad!!!" Lola shouted and ran to the boy she once crushed on as he had her before either knew of her paternal parentage.

"Damn right I am mad! Now both of you, get out of my sight!"

Lola helped a stunned but seemingly unscathed Charles to his feet and quickly, they both hurried off with Charles leading Lola back to Bash's chambers to check on his condition as he filled her in about his cat scratch fever. but when they arrived, their warlock uncle was also missing.

"Now what do we do Charles??? Who is going to help us?? My mother is missing too."

"I know. I have already searched high and low for her to heal Bash, but I fear it may be too late."

"We need to free Legolas! They took him to the dungeons!"

"Yes, I passed them in the halls and that is when I heard you screaming. He will be heavily guarded. There is no way for us to free him."

Lola thought for a moment as she nervously paced. "What about your powers?? You could trick them or something."

"I could...IF I wanted to risk the wrath of my father once more."

"Charles, you heard him. He is going to be...ummm... busy."

"And what about after? I've already used my powers upon his guards once when he was still himself and that did not go well. Now that he is the dark half, can you imagine how that will turn out? I am not strong enough to challenge him alone."

"It would seem you were more than capable last night in the forest?"

"Yes Lola, but I had a small army with me AND he was only temporarily defeated because I wounded him, which I did not enjoy doing. I will not hurt him again."

"I understand. I do not want to hurt him either. He's my father too."

"Yeah...that is still so weird." Charles added, feeling humiliated and even angry. "You and I grew up together and none of us were the wiser that we were siblings...wait...what about you Lola? Have you tried to see if you have any power? Surely you must."

"No...and if I do...I am by far clueless on how to use it. I believe you are right. You and I would still not be enough and even if we were...what would we do to stop his insanity?"

"We could...contain him maybe? Until we can figure out a way to bring my father back?"

"You mean, like trap him...in his own dungeons?? He will just use his power to free himself."

"Not if he is weakened. The bars are iron and so are the shackles. Look at him now. His image. He's still weak."

Lola chuckled. "Not that weak. You missed the part where he just transformed into the giant beast that attacked Bash....and..." Lola began to panic. "Oh my god, Charles! Legolas, he was...bleeding. What if he was scratched??? From my understanding, elves are not immune to poison. Look what Catherine did to Haldir!! We need to find the Marchwarden. He will help!"

"Lola...Haldir is gone and we do not know where to even look. It is dangerous out there with Harker lurking about and now Ravenna and the white witch as well, not to mention the dead that have risen. As far as what my mother did to Haldir, that was poison, not venom. Haldir told me once they are immune to vampire venom, so maybe it holds true for all venom?"

Lola began to cry. "Maybe isn't good enough! I have to help Legolas! I just have to!"

"Where's Josie??"

"Oh my...Charles, we need to tell her what's happened! Before she..."

Charles tilted his head at her pause. "Before she...what?"

"Before she too is not herself anymore, for then, she will be our enemy."

The Narcisse siblings raced back to Josie's chambers only to find that things had gone from bad to worse. The fiery redhead was unconscious and sprawled out on the floor and Leeanduil was crying in her crib.

"Josie! Wake up!" Lola shouted as she shook her shoulders. "Charles, she is burning with fever. The venom is spreading again. We need to get her into bed and one of us needs to go find a healer. There must be something they can do to at least slow it down."

Charles, although of a very slim build, scooped the Queen right up as if she were as light as a feather and placed her onto the bed. "I will go. You stay here with her and lock the door behind me. Let no one in. As far as I am concerned, no one can be trusted."

That was the last Lola had seen of her brother that day, which then had turned into night. Hours had passed and Josie was constantly tossing and turning, mumbling words that appeared to be of black magic incantations and her skin felt like it had been badly sunburned, but she was not feverish anymore or even sweating. Any attempt Lola made to place a cool wet cloth upon her forehead, Josie thrashed about and cursed her as if it holy water, which in a sense it was since it was that of the protected Mirkwood waters. The only thing left for Lola to do was pray.

She opened the sheer curtains adorned over the balcony doors to allow optimal absorption of the full moon's rays into Josie's body, believing it had healing properties for many ailments and then she pulled her rosary from her pocket and wrapped it in her folded hands, then proceeded to kneel beside the bed, making the sign of the cross. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Hea..."

Lola froze and opened her eyes as the grandfather clock in the halls struck midnight. After the 12th chime, Josie became ominously still and then her eyes of moonstones also opened, but as she blinked and reopened them, they turned to eyes of pure coal like that of a crow.

"Josie?" Lola gasped as she tried to move away but Josie aburptly arose and grabbed the candlestick on the night stand, swinging it at Lola's head and knocking her out cold onto the floor.

Climbing out of the bed, Josie cocked her head downward at the bleeding girl and wickedly grinned. "She's gone."

(Viewer/Reader discretion below!!!)

In his birthday suit, an aggravated Rahl stroked his uncooperative cock at the bath's edge while an anxious Seppia, standing with her back turned to him at a small table, did not speak.

"Seppia, do tell me why I am doing the job you are paid to do?" he snapped as he yanked his hand away from his limp girth with disgust.

Her silence and reluctance to face him only made him believe she was possibly shy, nervous and inexperienced due to her youthfulness. Sighing heavily, he moved towards her.

She gulped as she felt him approaching from behind. Her skin crawled as his hot breath grazed her ear. "Surely you have done this before? My men told me you were rather eager for them to choose you over the others in line at the docks. I cannot imagine a virgin would wish to take all of this pleasure inside of her without any practice, unless....you're one who enjoys torturous pain. My dear, are you into masochism? I must say, I find pain to be quite an aphrodisiac."

"Cat got your tongue?" he purred into her ear. "You don't need to speak to use it, although I would not mind a few, strike that, many dirty nothings whispered into my ear. Either way, your duties will be carried forth. The cat will have more than your tongue this night. There is no backing out. Why don't you begin by massaging the heat pressed against your back?"

As his hands rested upon her bare shoulders, she instinctively flinched and jerked one shoulder away, overruling his unwelcomed advances. His ego and the cock he could not even raise repulsed her. Sadist pig, she thought as her heart raced and her pores perspired from rapidly increasing adrenaline.

"So you wish to play cat and mouse is it? How I do enjoy a challenge. Games are quite entertaining but after the day I have had, drawn out foreplay is not on my agenda. To be quite frank, your resistance is beginning to piss me off. I would highly advise in not doing such. It will not end well for you."

Through her teeth, she finally spoke. "Like it didn't for my mother when you slit her throat before her young son's very eyes??"

Against her stomach, Seppia had been gripping a large clay vase filled with water that contained a very high dose of witch deterring salt, undetectable to the nose unlike the fragrant angelica leaves she had used earlier that day to weaken him, but the sodium solution was still strong enough to stun a warlock where he stood and delay his reaction time long enough to kill him with the blade of silver she also harbored.

In the split second Rahl had to react, he was able to recount the truthful event as the memory of Alice, a past servant of many years ago and the boy of approximately 10 years old named Nikolas, flashed before him. The woman had indeed been executed by Darken Rahl's hand and sword, for she had betrayed him by aiding Josselyn and her grandfather Zeddicus in sneaking Josselyn's baby Isabella out of the castle.

Taking an instant step back, his brows furrowed and his eyes recklessly moved about as he then remembered the infant daughter Alice also had, but never knew her name.

Without further warning, Seppia spun around and swung the vase with immense force, smashing it against the side of his head. As the salt water washed over him, blinding his vision and incapacitating his magical abilities, the powerful blow had thrust him backwards against the raised stone ledge of the bath, rendering him momentarily incoherent.

"And now I will avenge the mother and brother you stole from me, you murderous monster!!!!" she screamed, then charged and mounted him, raising the blade she pulled from the garter around her thigh....but as she did so, a bone-breaking hand clutched her wrist.

The knife was then ripped from Seppia's hand as she too had no time to react and without hesitation, her throat was immediately slit wide open just as her mother's had been.

In a matter of seconds, the entire room reflected of red in the candlelight. A warm crimson fountain sprayed forth from Seppia's neck, thoroughly showering Rahl in the deathly hue he so favored above any other as she was pushed over his debilitated body and sent plunging into the sizeable vat of water, instantly turning it in to a pool of blood.

As Rahl found the strength to turn over and support himself upon the bath's edge, his mouth wide open and panting as he gasped for air, his blindness vanquished, allowing his gaping eyes to view the floating sight before him.

It was then he heard Josephine's chuckling voice as she sat beside him. "Blood bath anyone? It would pair nicely with Dorwinion's finest red vintage, don't you agree my bloody valentine?"

As he processed her words, Rahl gazed at the red rippling water and knew he would never look at his wicked wine the same again, although it most certainly would not stop him from indulging in it.

Realizing that Seppia's blood which covered him from head to toe had cleansed the stinging salt from his body, his strength promptly returned and slowly, he stood stood, glancing down at a very pleased grin forming upon Josephine's lips as her eyes devoured his bare backside.

"You...you saved my life." he humbly admitted, finally turning to her.

Now standing before his blood soaked form in an intentionally chosen long white gown with a scarlet overlay, Josie adjusted her disheveled, saturated breasts and sucked the staining body fluid from her index finger. "I did. And now, do you bloody believe in me? Pun intended."

Rahl was briefly silent as his thoughts continued to clear. "I...I believe that..." he sighed and lowered his eyes. "I want to believe it, more than you know but...I believe that you only saved me to save Stephane."

"You cannot be serious right now. I do not go around killing young girls, or anyone for that matter, especially with such ease, well except for Asher but the bastard had it coming. I do not know what else I can possibly do or say to..."

He decided to test her emotions. "What if I told you that I put the fear of Satan himself into my own daughter, the one you so adore and I had your beloved Legolas placed in my dungeons to rot for raising a weapon to me."

Her brow arched in curiosity. "Oh?" and then she grimaced and shrugged her shoulders. "Well then I guess the asinine, imbecilic elf boy should have learned his lesson the first time he did so."

Rahl was astonished. "Funny....that is exactly what... I told him."

"Also funny," she chuckled, "Speaking of Satan, I too had to put the fear of the Keeper into dear Lola. She was spewing her silly little prayers at my bedside while stupidly attempting to heal me with the light of the moon. Little did the dimwit know that it only fed my transformation. Anywhooo, I had to knock her out. The blasphemy was hurting my ears. Don't worry. She will only have a splitting headache when she awakens. I had to get out of there. I needed to find you. I could sense the danger you were in. I just knew that slut Seppia was up to no good. So, are we good now?? Have I passed with flying red colors?"

"I see." he simply said.

"You see? That's it?" she scoffed, "You STILL do not believe me?? What you see is me NOT running out of here in a panic to save Legolas like you were expecting me to."

"Can you truly blame me for my cynicism?"

"There's a corpse in your bath, so YES I can!! Earlier, you told me that actions were what you needed and I provided them to you on a silver fucking platter so to say! If that is not good enough, then....how about this???"

Josie grabbed his hand and an electrifying light show began in and around their united fingers. The charge was so powerful, so intense that each of their bodies visibly quaked. Simultaneously, they both sucked in orgasmic gasps and their laughs trembled through their smiles as they clung to each other, refusing to break free.

"D..do...y...you....r..remem...ber ...th...this..ss?" Josie asked, smiling as her words jumbled about by the pulsations.

Rhal's reaction was identical. "H...how...c..could..I...f...f...forget...the...f...first...t..ttttime...we...mmmmmet?? I...wasss....s...soo...t...turn...turned...on bbb..by the sh..shock."

"Are...y...you...nnow??"

"L...like...a...f...fuc..king...s...sunr...rise."

Josie broke the connection and pulled him against her. "I can tell that is not all that has risen."

"Meow." he purred. "She's just a devil woman with evil on her mind."

A cat's growl vibrated in Rhal's throat as she grinded her pelvis into his and then they were impulsively lip locked. Slowly, softly, passionately, their mouths moved together, disregarding the gore which blanketed them and soured the air and the putrescence of a slowly sinking Seppia.

The Mirkwood elves were now at the halfway point before the Celduin's joining to the Carnen and they stopped once more for a brief rest, for it had begun to rain. No rest was needed for the evil Elvenking, but he wanted his elven army well rested and fueled for the days to come, for it was approximately 2 days before his arrival in Dorwinion and 11 days before the winter soltice, the night Jareth's army of the dead would wreak havoc upon all of middle earth and the Goblin King would certainly single out Dorwinion for the winter war's commencement.

Feeling the pull of the misty moon, Thranduil, staff in hand, basked beneath the magical rays of twilight in solitude as the rain saturated his nightly altered image.

With all the was occurring, surely things felt amiss for the elf lord, but something more began to gnaw at his ghostly white skin. Something in the rain. Something in his staff that he gripped tightly as it dimly glowed an electric blue and then began to hum as an electric current crawled up his arm and shocked his blackened heart. Something had shifted. Something as dark as he had become.

With a slight gasp, his widened yellow eyes darted to the direction of Dorwionion as the "something" in the rain became a potent scent that overwhelmed his olfactory senses. As he inhaled deeply, his nose cringed and his jaw gritted with an envious rage, for it was the pheromones of his Queen that he was breathing in. An arousing aroma he knew all too well.

A decision was made in that moment. One he had vowed to never repeat again, yet he had found himself betraying his own commands on more than one occasion when it came to Josephine.

Bringing his hand forth that bore Jareth's ring, he caressed the citrine gem with his forefinger and as he did so, he made his demand. "Show me."

Within the stone, a golden mist swirled into a funnel and as it dissipated, a reprehensible vision emerged. An intimate embrace between what appeared to be a bloodied Lord Narcisse and Josephine, smiling and once again...kissing.

"No more!" he barked and twisted the ring to the underside of his finger. "No more indeed." he then spoke in a softer tone, but it held vengeance in it. "No one takes what belongs to me. Now I," he emphasized, "will take AND punish."

@redeemer46

[slusheeduck]

Count Only The Happy Hours

PART I: [I][II][III][IV][V][VI][VII] PART 2: [I][II][III]

The road to the Stone Forest was clear enough, and for a brief burst of time, it felt as though Vivec and Sil would be able to sprint there in next to no time with the adrenaline singing in their veins. But the battle had been harder than expected, and Sil—drained from the fight in every which way—just barely caught himself from collapsing in the road. Vivec faltered, caught between continuing on and helping Sil. But, in the end, he turned back. Nerevar may have had his adoration, but he was hardly his brother.

            He doubled back to Sil’s side, helping the younger mer back up to his feet. Seht’s face was grim as he leaned heavily against Vivec, pale eyes flicking back and forth like gears as his brain whirred.

            “They might be dead,” he finally said, voice very quiet. “We need a plan if that’s the case.”

            Vivec grimaced. “If Nerevar’s dead, then the whole cause is gone,” he said, pulling Sil off the road and guiding him to sit. He scanned the road anxiously as Sil bent nearly in half, silver hair hanging over his face.

            “Not true,” he said, and the fierce optimism in his voice caught Vivec’s attention. “We’re still alive. If…if you continue to write, and if I can perfect my machines with the Dwemer…”

            Vivec gave a deep sigh, though he couldn’t stop the way his mouth turned up. “I truly am a terrible brother, if I keep being surprised by how you live up to your name, Seht.” He scanned down the road again. “Vas lor, sil shanta. We’ll be the light if we must.”

            It took a bit of time before Sil was ready to start going, and they moved much slower now. But it wasn’t long before they saw three shadowy figures up ahead in the road. They moved slowly, gaits limping and defeated. But even so, there was no mistaking the silhouettes.

            “Neht!” Vehk’s sharp eyes had picked out the Hortator first, and in the next breath, he was running to greet the three ahead.

            Up close, they seemed to be in even worse shape. Alandro, unsurprisingly, was unscathed save for a few cuts on his cheek. Nerevar leaned heavily against him, hardly able to put his left foot on the ground and one eye nearly swollen shut. Voryn’s legs seemed fine, but his fine robes were torn and dirty, his long hair tangled, and he cradled his right arm, the wrist bent unnaturally.

            “The n’wah organized an ambush,” he snarled by way of greeting, dark eyes blazing with fury. “We barely managed to get out alive.”

            Sil’s brows drew together. “And Grandmaster Elvasea?”

            “Dead. Long dead, by the time we got there,” Alandro said grimly. “Her whole entourage was probably killed the moment they entered Balmora.”

            Nerevar lifted his head; the pale blue of his open eye was nearly swallowed up by his pupil. “Ald’ruhn…they must be planning a concurrent attack…”

            “They did,” Vivec said. “We just barely managed to drive their forces out.”

            “And the Grandmaster?”

            “Safe. She was…incredible. Rallied the people to fight, built up their morale after the attack—I don’t know how many more we would have lost if she hadn’t been there.”

            “She’s overseeing the survivors,” Sil added. “We don’t anticipate there’s any more.”

            “Even so, let’s not dally on the road,” Alandro said, voice clipped as his star-bright eyes glanced around them. “Vehk, are you uninjured? Take Neht’s other arm. We can move quicker if we both help him.”

            Vivec wasted no time, pulling Nerevar’s arm over his shoulders. “How badly injured is he?”

            “Got a mace to his knee. Likely concussed, too, so make sure he doesn’t nod off.” Alandro rolled his eyes as he started moving. “Never learned how to step back—though they were brutal regardless. Even the Devil of Dagoth back there got hit pretty hard.”

            Vivec swallowed as they walked. “They must truly see us as a threat now. The Nords seem to have taken a page from Boethiah’s book with this.”

            “Suppose some of them must have brains, after all.” Alandro glanced back behind them. Sil hovered beside Voryn, still radiating fury as he limped along. “Don’t suppose you could heal up Voryn’s arm, Seht?”

            Sil shook his head. “My reserves were depleted in the fight. It’ll take at least a day to get my magicka where it would need to be, since I’m not a skilled healer.”

            “I can still cast just fine,” Voryn spat at Alandro. He huffed. “Dres is going to be in shambles. We can’t count on them to aid us now. The cowards are probably already drawing up an alliance with the Nords.”

            “They can’t do that!” Vivec protested.

            “They certainly can. And if Dres goes, Hlaalu will follow the gold like they always do.” Voryn spat on the ground, still incensed. “We’ve lost because of them.”

            “We haven’t,” Nerevar slurred out, head lolling against Vivec’s. “Azura…Azura is still on our side.”

            “Azura has done fu—”

            “Voryn, that’s enough,” Alandro snapped. He stared over his shoulder at Voryn, who looked as though he might argue. But finally, he huffed out a breath and looked away. Alandro kept his eyes on him for a moment longer, then sighed. “First things first. We get back to Ald’ruhn and regroup. Then we can decide how fucked we all are. All right?”

            There was no reply, but Alandro seemed to take that as an affirmative as he fixed his star-bright eyes straight ahead. His type of practicality was rarely worth writing about, if Vivec was being honest, but he had to admit, it was a great boon in times of upheaval like this.

            Nerevar’s head lolled forward as they walked, and Vehk was quick to jostle him. “Ah, ah. No time to rest yet, Neht. There’s still very, very much that we must do.”

            Nerevar rolled his head to look at him, open eye starry and half-vacant. “Vehk,” he slurred out with a dazed sort of fondness. “Do you know of the Tsaesci?”

            Vivec glanced up at Alandro. The Ashlander nodded. Keep him talking, was the silent encouragement.

            “I’ve heard their stories,” he replied lightly. “I know that they believe all waters lead to the gates of life and death, and that some say they’re serpents given the form of men.”

            “I met one,” Nerevar said, head lolling forward. Vivec coaxed it back up. “I met one. Before I came to Vvardenfell, in my travels. He showed me how to wield a sword like they did—no armor, you know. No shields. Just their blades for defense and offense.” Neht laughed, a half-delirious thing. “Said he could see my fate in my eyes, and that I’d travel to the edge of the world. I…” His eye slipped closed.

            “There must be more than that,” Vivec goaded as Alandro snapped his free hand’s fingers. “That’s a poor fate-telling, if he left it there.”

            Nerevar blinked a few times, rousing himself. He looked to Vivec, though it was clear he wasn’t quite seeing him. His gaze was faraway, though whether he was looking back to the meeting with the Tsaesci or all the way into Moonshadow was anyone’s guess.

            “I must be careful,” he said, voice soft and distant. “Because the edge of the world is made with swords.”

            Vivec smiled at that. “Of course it is,” he said. “They are the bottom row of the world’s teeth.”

            “Ald’ruhn up ahead,” Alandro said. “Vehk, you’re the quickest. Run up and send word for healers.”

            Vivec nodded, starting to pull up Nerevar’s arm. But suddenly, the Hortator’s grip tightened, and he kept him in place as he stared at the younger mer. His gaze was still elsewhere, but somehow it pierced right into Vivec’s eyes.

            “You believe we’ll succeed,” he said, voice serious and quiet. “You know what we’re doing is right, Vehk. If you don’t, we can’t go on.”

            Vivec met Nerevar’s gaze. Carefully, he reached up to loosen his grip, though he kept his hand tight around Neht’s.

            “We are the true heirs of Veloth,” he said softly, though with no small amount of feeling. “Resdayn’s freedom is our destiny, and we will find a way through.”

            Nerevar seemed placated by that, and he let his arm slip from Vivec’s shoulders. Vehk released his hand, then turned to run for help.

~

            There had been no further attacks, and under Grandmaster Almalexia’s instruction, the survivors were at work recouping after the ambush. They’d lost fewer than anticipated, though many were injured. The city wasn’t in shambles, but it was far from the haven it had been just a few hours before.

            Vivec had indeed gotten to her first, letting her know what had happened, and healers were sent to the inner council room to tend to the Hortator and Voryn. Alandro had needed no healing, and Seht very little—Hlareni, hearing they were back, had been quick to offer her own healing to him. They spoke in whispers in a corner of the room as she worked, two fair heads ducked together.

            As for Almalexia, she paced the room like a caged Durzog. “They cannot be allowed to do this without retaliation,” she spat out, bristled in indignation. If she had a sword in hand, there was no doubt she’d be slicing the air in fury. “Attacks like this must be repaid in kind. We shall find the nearest Nord encampment and…”

            “As satisfying as that would be,” Alandro interjected, “we can’t.”

            “I actually agree with the Grandmaster,” Voryn—arm healed and wrapped tightly in a sling—said, getting to his feet. “Are we to be sent scampering off after this insult?”

            Alandro rubbed his forehead. “You House mer will be the death of me,” he muttered, then huffed.

            “But it makes sense,” Almalexia shot back, golden eyes blazing. “They weren’t expecting us to best them here, even if you three had to retreat. Their morale will be low, this is the perfect time to strike.”

            “If we catch them off-guard, we may even have another Hofstaag,” Voryn added.

            “We are crippled,” Alandro snapped, hands slamming onto the table. “Minimal losses are still more losses than we were anticipating. And if you two bloodthirsty s’wits could see through your need for vengeance for five godsdamned seconds and think rationally for once…”

            “And if you could stop taking the coward’s way out—”

            “Call me a coward again, Dagoth, I dare you.”

            “By Azura, they’re loud,” Nerevar mumbled. “Vehk, tell me there’s no weapons out.”

            “Not yet.”

            “Then we’ll let them get it out of their system.”

            Vivec had set himself beside Nerevar as the healers worked on him, poised and ready to jump up if any aid was needed. But by all accounts, he seemed to be healing well—though he’d need some time to recuperate, and that was time they likely didn’t have. Now, though, the threat was passed, and they could gather themselves to think.

            Nerevar gave a long sigh as the healer respectfully bowed her head to the Hortator, declaring him well enough for now. He looked over to Alandro, Almalexia, and Voryn, still fighting, then to Seht and Hlareni, who seemed to have stopped their whispering to watch. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Vivec.

            “I was foolish,” he said, head falling back with a sigh. “We were so focused on not offending Almalexia that we didn’t consider reinforcements.”

            Vivec’s mouth twitched. “You’re much more important than you were, muthsera,” he said, coaxing a soft laugh from Neht. “You still think yourself a merchant caravaner, but you’re more than that now.”

            “So what am I, then?”

            “You’re the Hortator. A beacon for the masses, a new Veloth for the new children of Resdayn.” Vivec smiled. “I said that the Nords see us as a threat, now.”

            “I did hear that, in my daze.”

            “That’s because they now see you as we always saw you. And the Chimer love you as we love you.”

            Nerevar’s eyes shut, and he let out a long sigh. “Mm. Still, some days I feel out of my depth with this. There’s still a part of me that’s just Nerevar Mora, stepping off the boat in Seyda Neen to a motherland he’d never seen before.” He opened his eyes, looking to Vivec. “I know you write about how I’m…destined for this. But anyone could do what I do, you know. You could have been the Hortator, if you’d tried, with your clever words.”

            “But I didn’t,” Vehk said, voice soft. “Neither did Voryn, nor Alandro, nor anyone else. You did. And because of that, you must be the one to guide us through.” He glanced up as another slam came from Alandro’s hands hitting the table. “And, I think, the one to break up what’s about to be a deadlier fight than we just had.”

            Nerevar nodded. He gave Vivec a smile, patting his arm, then carefully heaved himself up to his feet. The movement finally made the three bickering mer quiet, and all eyes turned to the Hortator as he limped his way over to drop into one of the seats around the table. Vivec went to his own. A moment later, Seht came to sit beside him. Alandro, Voryn, and Almalexia glanced at each other, then each found a seat as well. The room went quiet, waiting for Nerevar to speak.

            Neht leaned forward, looking at the others around the table. “Grandmaster Almalexia?”

            “Yes, sera?”

            “Vehk said you took charge during the attack.”

            Almalexia dipped her head. A few coppery curls had escaped her braid, pooling on the table as she did so. “Yes. I’ve been trained in battle and strategy since I was young, and both Indoril forces and your own are well-trained.”

            “You have our gratitude,” Nerevar said, very seriously. “And because of that, I’d like to formally offer you a seat on our council.”

            “Nerevar, you’re concussed,” Voryn hissed.

            “I’m not; I have a clean bill of health now,” Nerevar said with a thin smile, then he looked back to Almalexia. “We need someone who can take command like you did. As I’m sure you know, we were nearly overpowered in our own ambush, and I don’t like the thought of freedom for Resdayn dying with me. In the event that I, or Alandro, or Voryn, or any of us end up in a battle we can’t win, we need someone else who can take up our cause. You, Almalexia, have proven that you are more than capable of leading in our absence.” Nerevar smiled at Almalexia, who stared back at him. “If you’re amiable, of course.”

            “I…yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I…I accept, most humbly, Hortator.” She bowed her head. “House Indoril will fight to our very last breath to ensure the Nords are driven out.”

            “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Nerevar gave a long sigh, fingers interlocking together as he looked down. “We need to plan our next move, and we need to do it now.”

            Voryn settled back in his seat. “I still think we should do what our newest councilmember suggests: strike back.”

            “And I think that’s a good way to have the Chimer end up extinct,” Alandro shot back at him. Nerevar held up his hands, and both mer quieted.

            “Vehk brought up a good point when we were chatting earlier,” Nerevar said, clasping his hands again and resting his chin against them. “We’re known now. We are the face of this revolution, and the Nords know that. I imagine that’s why they sent the fake invitation from Grandmaster Elvasea—they wanted to get all of us in one shot and kill the uprising.”

            “Well, we know their game now,” Voryn said. “So they can’t do something like that again.”

            “Perhaps not, but…even so. We’re too obvious.”

            “Are you saying we should split up?” Alandro asked. “I don’t think that’s wise, either.”

            “Neither do I,” Vivec said. “We must be seen as a united front. If we scatter, that shows that we’re frightened.”

            “And communication will be a nightmare,” Voryn added.

            “Perhaps we could disguise the council,” Almalexia said, a touch breathless in her eagerness to contribute. “I recall at the start, you all pretended to be a merchant caravan.”

            “Yes, but they know that trick,” Alandro said.

            “Not to mention that a whole pack of Indoril soldiers following us might be suspicious,” Voryn added dryly.

            “Obviously I would direct them elsewhere,” Almalexia scoffed. “They can take orders from me remotely, or Hlareni could stand in for me—she’s done so before.”

            “You’re still a Grandmaster, though,” Sil pointed out quietly. “They might not recognize you on the battlefield, but they’ll still know who you are.”

            Voryn nodded. “I imagine they know all the Grandmasters of the Great Houses. That’s why they could target Elvasea.”

            “Doesn’t that put you in danger, Voryn?” Vivec asked.

            “I’m not the Grandmaster of House Dagoth. My mother is still firmly holding on to that title.”

            “Knowing her, she might keep it even when she makes it to Oblivion,” Nerevar said, sending Voryn a smile. He sobered after a moment. “But no, disguises won’t help us at this point in the game.” He bit his lip, staring hard at the center of the table. He stayed silent for a very long time, but no one interrupted; Nerevar’s silence rarely ended in disappointment, after all. “We need to go into hiding.”

            “What?” The entire council spoke in unison, all gaping at Nerevar. He didn’t look up.

            “We must work together and we must be unified in the eyes of Resdayn,” he said. “But we cannot put targets on ourselves. The best thing we can do is to hide in the shadows until the Nords let their guard down.” He looked around the table. “Once they think we’re all talk, that we’ve been defeated, that is when we strike. And we will end this, with our allies at our side.”

            There was a moment of quiet puzzlement, but Alandro figured it out first. “You want us to hide with the Dwemer.”

            “Yes, exactly. The Nords will never think to look below ground, and Dumac will be glad to hide us as needed. They want the same thing we do.” Nerevar sat up. “And we can use the time to strengthen our bond with them, to show them that we’re indispensable allies and that they should—no, they must join with us to drive the Nords out of Resdayn.”

            There was a murmur of agreement, but Voryn sat back in his seat, frowning. “But we can’t all hide. We have our allies and our agents, but we’ll lose the trust of the Chimer if no one is above ground. Vivec can spin all the honeyed words he wants, but they’ll ring empty if there’s no one they can trust.”

            “Well, it can’t be Nerevar,” Sil said bluntly. “They’ll kill him.”

            “Voryn, too,” Vivec added. “You’ve attracted no small amount of notoriety as the Devil of Dagoth.”

            “I can stay,” Almalexia offered. “I’ve proven that I can lead, and I have the trust of Ald’ruhn and the Grandmasters.”

            “That’s why you can’t stay,” Nerevar said. “As Grandmaster, you have a target on your back as well, Almalexia.”

            “Don’t tell me we’re bringing all the Grandmasters down with us?” she asked.

            “No, but you’re a member of the council now. We can’t lose you when we’ve just gained you.”

            “I’ll stay,” Alandro said. “Nords can’t wrap their minds around Ashlanders; I imagine that’s why I didn’t get hit as much as you two did. They probably think I’m nothing but a merc.” He crossed his arms. “But the House mer up here know me well enough—maybe they don’t trust me like Voryn or Ayem here, but I can get by. And, of course, I can hide out among the clans.”

            Nerevar looked to Voryn, who nodded. He looked back to Alandro.

            “That’s wise, I think,” he said, then gingerly pushed himself up to his feet. “It’s settled, then. Voryn, Sil, Vehk, and the Grandmaster will come with me down to Dumac’s city. Alandro will stay here and manage things above ground.” Nerevar gave a long sigh. “We’ll come up with a full plan tomorrow, and I’ll send word to Dumac in the morning. For now, I think we ought to rest.” He started to walk out, then paused. “Almalexia?”

            “Yes, Hortator?”

            “I’d like to hear a more thorough account of what happened here, if you have the time.” He chuckled. “Though you will have to forgive me if I fall asleep during it.”

            Almalexia was on her feet in a moment. “Of course, muthsera. It’s just as well, Hlareni should be compiling the account of the battle. Come join us.”

            “Oh! I…well, I…” Hlareni looked to Sil as he got up, deliberating, then sighed. “Yes, of course.” She looked to Seht once more, then followed the two out.

            Voryn’s dark eyes followed Nerevar as he left the room, then he stood up as well. “Well, if we’re not sorting anything else out, I’m going to rest. Sil, you ought to as well with your magicka reserves so low.”

            “I was planning to,” Sil said quietly, then looked to Vivec. “Are you coming, Vehk?”

            Vivec’s eyes were on Alandro, a question brewing in his head. It took Seht repeating his name to get his attention. “Hm? Oh, not quite yet.” He looked up at him; for all of his talking with Hlareni, it seemed as though he hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of the day. Vehk smiled—the boy was, of course, far too grown up and mature to ask for him to stay the night, but he could gather the request well enough by the way Sil rubbed his arm. “But I’ll be by your room shortly, hla’daesohn. I just want to speak to Alandro for a moment.”

            Seht nodded, then made his way out. Vivec watched him go, then took a breath and strode over to Alandro. The ashlander’s gaze was far away, no doubt already trying to strategize their next move. He looked up curiously as Vivec approached.

            “Yes, Vehk?”

            “Let me stay with you,” Vivec said.

To his surprise, Alandro’s head tilted back, and he laughed. “Oh, absolutely not.”

A familiar burn crept up to Vivec’s face. It’d been a while since he’d been chided by Alandro, but that didn’t make him feel any less like a scolded child. “I’m an Ashlander, same as you. You know full well I’m a netchiman’s son.”

            “And you have a tongue that could rival Mephala’s daughters.”

            “I sang for an ashkhan, once.”

            “And you would do it again, then be gutted when you spoke a little too sweetly afterward.” Alandro shook his head. “I don’t know how young you were when you left your clan, but young enough to not know just how distrustful we can be. You, Vivec, reek of deceit.”

            Blood rushed to Vivec’s ears as his heart pounded. But as he opened his mouth to argue, Alandro held up his hand.

            “You have a gift, Vehk,” he said, voice soft and honest. “Your words are the reason we’re in this position, and that’s a good thing for our cause.” He rested his hands on the other mer’s shoulders, meeting his gaze with star-bright eyes. “I know you’re from the Ashlands, and you understand our home like the Ashlanders do. But you speak, you think like a House mer. You manage to exist between the two, and we need that. And if you stay with me, if the Nords find out who you are, they’ll put an arrow in your throat to shut you up.” He sighed, then gave a wry smile. “Do you remember a few years ago, when I told you to focus less on your wild accounts?”

            “Very well. You called it nonsense.”

            “And it was then. But it isn’t now.” Alandro’s hand moved to grip Vivec’s jaw, keeping his their eyes locked and deadly serious as he did. “I don’t pay lip service to you. Never have, never will. And believe me, I know how easily wounded your pride can be. So when I say this, know that I mean it wholeheartedly, as an equal and not a scolding babysitter: we need your words. Especially when Nerevar can’t be seen; you’ll be able to keep him visible even as you hide.” His eyebrows rose. “Am I clear?”

            Vivec swallowed. “Yes. Very clear.”

            Alandro smiled, and he gave Vivec’s shoulders a hard clap as he stood up straight. “Good lad.” He chuckled as he started to head to the door. “Besides, someone will need to step in for Seht when he tells old Kagrenac he’s doing things wrong. Sleep well—you’ll need it.”

            Vivec agreed vaguely, mind still reeling. Alandro was always upfront, but so rarely with anything but a critique or correction. Even if it was just to keep Vivec out of his hair…no. No, it wasn’t. Nerevar and Voryn would lie, but Alandro never would, especially not to spare feelings. He meant what he’d said.

            We need your words.

            His quills needed sharpening before they left.

~

            The next day, Nerevar’s request went to Dumac. The day after, they had their answer. And within the week, their plan was finalized: Nerevar, Voryn, Vivec, Sil, and Almalexia—along with a small entourage that included Hlareni—would make their way to one of the nearby Dwemer lifts, where they would be greeted and escorted to Dumac’s underground palace. The journey was a short one, but still required any identifying armor and insignias to be hidden away.

Both Voryn and Almalexia seemed less than pleased to don common merchant clothes, their own finery hidden away in the wagon. Sil and Nerevar, on the other hand, looked more than comfortable in their plain clothes. Vivec found the dichotomy both expected and hilarious.

Alandro had agreed to ride with them to the lift, clad in his own traditionally obscuring Ashlander clothes. He and Nerevar spoke in quiet voices as they led their caravan, no doubt arranging their next move. Hlareni had fallen in step with Sil, who tried to split his attention between her and Voryn, who in turn was speaking rather intently about the young mer’s coming of age—which, he warned, would likely happen when they were underground, and while that made things difficult if he wanted to join House Dagoth, he would be able to make a case for him when they came back out.

Vivec, meanwhile, found his way toward the back of the caravan, where Almalexia—tattoos covered and hair bound back—was keeping watch.

“Are you familiar with the Dwemer, Grandmaster?” he asked. Her steely concentration broke, and she gave him a smile as she turned to look at him.

            “I am not, but you are. As I recall, you were…raised in one of their machines because they were kind to you?”

            “Ah, that was the last draft of my birth. As of yet, I haven’t quite rectified how the Dwemer dealt with my egg.” He shrugged. “But, after my hatching, I admit I am not as familiar with them as Nerevar is. Sil’s been down a few times, but his talk of metal beasties and automatonic guardians always leaves my head spinning.”

            “I do believe that’s the first bit of truth you’ve said to me, sera,” Almalexia said, shaking her head.

            “Ah, no, no ‘sera’, no ‘serjo’, no ‘councilor’ or ‘master’. We’re both council-members now, and that makes us great friends by default.” He gave her a wide smile. “Just Vivec. Or Vehk, if you prefer, provided I can call you Ayem in return.”

            Almalexia’s brows drew together, clearly mulling over the familiarity. “I…yes. Yes, I’d like that, Cou—” She caught herself with a smile, golden eyes bright as she met Vivec’s gaze. “Vehk.”

            He nodded, very pleased to hear his name on her lips, and clasped his hands behind his back as he kept his eyes on her. Her own attention drifted, watching for threats, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Finally, she gave a huff that wasn’t nearly as irritated as she meant for it to be.

            “Is something the matter?”

            “No, quite the opposite.” He shrugged. “We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time down in the dark. So it’s of the utmost importance that I memorize just how very, very beautiful the sun is when it gets caught in your hair.”

            A flush crept to Ayem’s golden cheeks, but she put on a haughty expression. “Is this how you speak to all your friends, Vivec?”

            “No. They wouldn’t appreciate it the way you do.”

            “You don’t know that I appreciate it,” she said, trying to sound stern. “I find it overly forward, actually.”

            “Ha! Now who’s telling lies? If you believe that, then it shouldn’t be hard to believe I was taught by Fa-Nuit-Hen.”

            “In your egg.”

            “Yes, in my egg.”

            Almalexia shook her head, but a smile had already escaped. “You are a flatterer and a liar, and I don’t think I’ve ever met a mer with your boldness in either.” She looked over him for a moment. “My father would have had your tongue cut out.”

            “But you are not your father, Ayem.”

            “No.” Her mouth turned up in a smile. “No, because I’m far too curious. I can’t wait to hear the next ridiculous lie that comes from your lips.”

            “I’ll do you one better. I’ll give you a truth,” he said.

            “Oh? And what is that?” Ayem’s head tilted, clearly waiting for something ridiculous as she smiled at him. His eyes traveled over her face.

            “I meant what I said when we sparred,” he said, voice soft and far too earnest to be mere flattery. “I think you match the stars in their beauty.”

            Almalexia blinked, and she quickly looked away. But there wasn’t a bit of anger in her body; she may think him bold, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like what he said. But he left it there—any more, and he would need to start editing.

            It was just as well, because they’d reached the lift. A couple Dwemer already waited at the lever, waving at them. Nerevar took a moment to pull Alandro to him in a tight embrace, giving him a few whispered instructions or, perhaps, a few words of farewell, just in case. Then, he went to the lift. Voryn followed, giving Alandro a few parting words of his own along with a clasp of his hand. Hlareni and Almalexia both gave quiet nods and thanks. Seht was close enough that Vivec caught his farewell; Alandro reached up to ruffle the boy’s hair in the way he hated.

            “Try not to say ‘I told you so’ too much when you run circles round those architects, all right, jul? I expect you to come out on your own metal kagouti when this is over.” He pulled a small package from his bag, pressing it into Seht’s hand. “And here. Just in case I don’t see you for your birthday; it’s a big one, after all.”

            Sil looked down at it. His ever-stoic face shifted slightly, and he swallowed. “Thank you, Alandro.”

            Alandro squinted, a smile hiding beneath his mask, then ushered Sil toward the others. His star-bright eyes landed on Vivec. Like just a few days before, he set his hands on the other mer’s thin shoulders.

            “I still mean what I said,” he said quietly. “Right now, our best weapon is going to be your pen. Send as much writing as you can, and I’ll get them around.” He squinted in another hidden smile. “Make them all love Neht as much as I know you do.” Vivec nodded, serious and silent, and Alandro chuckled. “No witty quip? It is Vehk going down with them, right?” He looked over Vivec’s face for a moment. “Well. Since I’m less confident than Nerevar that I’ll get out of this alive, I may as well be honest.” He squeezed Vivec’s shoulders. “You’ve come a long way from the daggerlad that tagged along with us. I’m glad to have been fighting for Resdayn with you, and I hope we meet again to continue that fight.”

            Vivec swallowed. “I hope so, too,” he said, voice wavering more than he’d like. “Three protect you, Sul.”

            Alandro gave Vivec’s shoulders one last pat, then stepped back. It took a moment, but Vivec pulled his gaze away from the Ashlander to go join the others. Alandro gave a wave to the group, and the Dwemer accompanying them pulled their levers.            

And with that, the council—minus one—delved down into the dark.

[2af-afterdark]

Thinking about your Solomon and God are the same theory and Gabriel being completely obsessive. He refuses to leave MC alone, not after being separated for so long, constantly peppers them in kisses and whispers praise.

He'd adore eating MC out, not stopping even when once they orgasmed the millionth time in a row and are completely overstimulated, he just can't keep his mouth off of them. He'd lose his mind if MC groped and praised him right back, soaking up anything that could be remotely considered a compliment like a sponge.

I want him to hug MC tightly and wrap all of his wings around them possessively, so that nobody but him could even see them

I read this right before bed and it filled my head with good dreams. 😌 The best dreams.

I really want my crack theory to be true because it would be so very dramatic on the angel end for them to learn that Solomon, the human they hate, is just another façade for the God they adore so much -- making MC, by proxy, the person they adore the most in all of existence. That revelation would lead to less murder and more abduction/possessiveness.

The moment that information comes to light, Gabriel would never let MC go again. They are God -- his God. He's missed them so much. He's longed for them every day of his life and been waiting to see them again, to stand in their presence and worship them. He's been waiting so very, very long.

He would worship every inch of them, kissing them from the length of their legs to tips of their fingers to the soft of their lips. He'd revere every part of them. Kisses wouldn't be enough. No amount of kisses could quench his need for them, even the ones that make them sigh and sing and cry out his name.

It's been thousands of years since he last saw them, last heard their voice. Except this time God isn't some force far above him; it's MC. It's this fragile human who he can hold so close, so fiercely that it feels like they could meld into him. It's this human who he could break if he grips them as tightly as he longs to. MC is his God, but is oh so very mundane.

For the first time ever, he can truly hold the person most important to him and he will make sure they never want for anything. He will give them everything just to keep them as his and his alone; other angels, devils, and humans be damned. He doesn't care if the things he has to do to keep them as his are unholy. After all, what is holiness when compared to finally having them in his arms?

He'd have his mouth over every part of them, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of them. His hands would explore every inch of their body until he knows every curve and tender spot that makes their toes curl. He'd let them drown in depravity until it consumed them and his name was clinging to their lips. He'd teach their body that only he can bring them such pleasures and that they can never leave him again. His is theirs. He will always he theirs. Even if they disappear again, he will still belong to them and there is nothing that can change that.

They can drown in him forever. He will let them play at being a human while knowing and reminding them that they are anything but. He will hold them, cradle them, away from the peering eyes of all unworthy onlookers. He will love them the way he always has, the way he was made to.

He loves them so much ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[avinryd]

Cat's Cradle

Author: AvinRyd Fandom: Critical Role Rating: T Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast Word Count: ~1,650 Series: Shards and Spells

"...first time I've been glad Molly wasn't there."

- @caitmayart

--

Saw Cait's fanart (x) and it broke me into little pieces. I put those back together into this.

Read on AO3

On any other night, the soft riffle of worn parchment shuffling would be comforting, meditative work in Mollymauk’s hands. On any other night, there would be a blood-deep satisfaction in the near-inaudible sound of cards placed on threadbare fabric. On any other night, the glow of moonlight would light his spread and sing in his veins and there would be the humming feeling of not only Sehanine’s gentle presence, but a hint of mischievous spark from Jester’s Traveler and, underneath his incense and the floral warmth of the Wildmother, the sharp scent of ozone. Yasha’s Stormlord.

On any other night. But not tonight. Because Yasha is...Yasha is— 

Footsteps on the stairs of the Ready Room—ascending, growing louder, stopping on the landing.

“If we’re not discussing how to get her back, I’m not coming downstairs.” Molly says flatly, not looking up from his cards.

“I am not here to fetch you back, Mollymauk.”

Caleb. Soft-spoken, level-headed, absolutely fucking calm Caleb. How can he sound so gods-damned calm? How can all of them be so cold to just walk away and let that door close and— 

His mental tirade is interrupted by movement in his periphery. Just off the edge of his tarot cloth, one of Caduces’s wooden bowls slides into view. It’s full of a creamy stew of some sort, dinged iron spoon leaning against the edge, being held by a bandaged hand. It’s followed shortly by a chipped ceramic mug of steaming liquid, borne by a matching other hand. Molly looks up to see Caleb crouched across from him, fancy new coat pooled on the gritty wood floor and not meeting his eyes.

“You need to eat. You’re no good to her wasted away to nothing.”

Molly scoffs. “I’m no good to her stuck here either! Miles and a mountain and a half away, sitting in a fucking military storehouse when I should still be in there, still—” 

“Still what, Mollymauk? You wouldn’t still be anything. You would be stabbed through by another gods-verdammt oversized blade and by the time your neat little trick got around to bringing you back, there would be more time wasted than we are using right now.”

Caleb isn’t so soft-spoken, isn’t so calm now. His voice is low, but it’s tense and rough and he’s meeting Molly’s gaze now—deep purple bruising under his eyes and brows furrowed in consternation as he pins Molly with a hard look and it stops his mind short. This Caleb is familiar, for all Molly never actually got to meet him. This is the Caleb that rode up the Glory Run Road, dragging broken friends and compatriots away from a fresh grave to rescue the ones yet living. 

Molly swallows the spitting retort that’s fast dying on his devil’s tongue and carefully returns the cards to his deck, inverse of how they’d been placed and rolls up the cloth, sets them both aside and reaches for the bowl.

He eats in silence. Caleb shifts, sits against the bunk that hides Molly’s corner from the rest of the large room and pulls out a loop of silver thread to fiddle with. Moonlight catches in the threads and Molly recognizes the geometric patterns.

“No Molly, if you do it that way—see? You’ve got it tangled now.”

Molly made a face at the snarls of string binding up his wrists and fingers. Yasha only laughed softly and reached to pick apart the knots.

“Where did you even learn this? Practice for building snares in the Xorhassian wastes?”

“Jester taught me while we were at sea. It was a long journey and you run out of things to do on a ship, eventually.”

There was a waft of sea-salt tang rising from the string, nearly masked by the scent of dry parchment and flowers that clung to everything stored in Yasha’s belt-pouch. He wiggled his fingers gleefully once Yasha freed them, then looped the string around once more.

“Alright. Show me again.”

Molly sets the empty bowl aside—when had he finished it? Must have been hungrier than he thought—and scoots over across from Caleb. The wizard has reached a point in the pattern where he can’t move further. Wordless, Molly reaches in and deftly moves the strings, pulls them off Caleb’s hands and into the next pattern, then holds it out.

Their eyes meet in a quick glance, all that Caleb allows, then burn-scarred fingers reach across to pluck at the web spanned between Molly’s hands; gingerly pinching strings together, then looping them around and pulling back. Another familiar pattern. Molly follows along, and so they go, the silence stretching on and growing more comfortable as it does. Comfortable, but it’s not enough to soothe the agitation still simmering in Molly’s blood.

The emotions still boil up in him, horror and fear and anguish that steam out as anger at the situation, anger at his friends, their hesitance, their—

Caleb nudges Molly’s elbow with his own. Their hands are suddenly knotted together—Molly’s hands having spasmed and yanked the careful magic out of true, tangling the thread. Shit. Fuck. Gods damn it all, can't even get a simple children’s game right, let alone anything more useful. He doesn’t move as Caleb slips his own fingers free and starts untangling the thread. Still quiet, movements slow and purposeful and fucking hells below.

“How are you all so calm about this?” He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t.

There is a long moment of silence, Caleb slipping the last knots from the thread and winding it carefully before replying, “Everyone is in shock, Mollymauk. Do not mistake it for apathy.”

“Bullshit. If any of you gave a—” Caleb doesn’t let him finish, talks over him.

“Beauregard hasn’t said a single word since your shouting match three hours and twenty-seven minutes ago. Jester started crying halfway through that argument and hasn’t stopped. Caduceus burned the stew and oversteeped three separate pots of tea. Nott has done nothing but drink since we got back and Fjord has let his accent slip at least four times in that span.”

“And you?” Molly is still stuck on their firebrand wizard and his icy calm all through the ride back to Bazzoxan—stuck and enraged, if he’s honest with himself. 

Caleb laughs, dry as dust. “Well.” 

He holds out his right hand for inspection and Molly takes in what he hadn’t noticed earlier. The bandages on the outer blade of his hand are scorched brown, black at the edges, and there are red smears in the palm mirrored by the rusty brown caked under burned short nails. Unthinking, he reaches out to cradle it in his own two as Caleb continues,

“Nott told me to find something to do with myself before the proprietor noticed I was burning a hole in their table. So I brought you food.”

The hand in Molly’s grasp is shaking, as if only just being held back from clenching into a fist once more. Molly has to take a moment, has to sit with what Caleb’s just told him. He wants to stay angry, wants it more than anything, because if he’s angry then nothing else can get to him—if he’s angry, the rest of the awful, awful things...

Ah, too late. 

Their game of Cat’s Cradle had brought him and Caleb knee-to-knee, so it’s not far to go when Molly slumps forward to knock his head into Caleb’s shoulder. Months and months ago, back when they’d all first met, the Caleb Molly had known would have jerked back on instinct. The Caleb Molly had known wouldn’t have let his hand be held so tenderly either, or played a silly string game with him in grief-stricken silence. This Caleb has done all those things, and more—twisting his hand just enough to clasp around Molly’s forearm in a firm hold.

“I hate this.” Molly says to their laps, forehead pressed into the shoulder seam of Caleb’s fancy new coat. “Is this what it felt like? When I… When I was gone?”

“Nein,” Caleb replies, harsh and certain. Molly jerks upright at the tone.

“How?”

Caleb’s frown deepens. “You were dead, Mollymauk. You were dead and you were gone and we mourned you.” His hand tightens on Molly’s arm. “Yasha is not. She is alive, and we may not be strong enough yet, but we will get her back. I don’t— I’m not sure how we can, but we will, Molly. I swear it.”

Caleb’s free hand has lifted to rub at his face and Molly sees a smear of crimson when it comes away—a cut on his jaw that should have been healed many cleric spells ago. There’s dried blood crusted under the nails of that hand as well. Had he picked open that shaving nick over the course of the night?

There’s a hard lump in Molly’s throat that he tries to swallow past, but can’t. It blocks all his words except the few syllables he needs to send up to the Moonweaver as he reaches out to touch Caleb’s jaw. The silver crescent charm on his horn chimes softly as it spins and hits keratin, and a sparkle of divine blue light dances in the blue of Caleb’s eyes as Molly draws on the absolute last of his strength to seal up the tiny cut. He doesn’t move his hand after—keeps it there to feel the subtle movement of Caleb adjusting his jaw, relaxing clenched teeth.

It’s not far to go when their foreheads press together, made shorter by Caleb leaning in to meet him halfway. Molly lets his hand drop to fall atop Caleb’s wrapped ones in their laps, closes his eyes and tries to just breathe—he feels like he hasn’t properly since that door closed. 

It hurts. It’s going to hurt for a good long while yet, he reckons. But it’ll hurt a damn sight less once they’ve got Yasha back.