#the rest are strange Foreigners from the east from with odd ways. and if they aren't evil they're helpless victims

[llycaons]

it's like I always say. only 6hr26min left

[cottoncasp]

Dr. Ratio x Aventurine NSFW Writing // Honkai Star Rail

As he meandered along the slick cobblestone sidewalk, the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and a husky earth scent that was strengthened by the pouring rain. Aventurine kept a playful eye on the towering spires that loomed overhead. Each structure he catched between his neon eyes seemed to scrape across the usual sky, stars reflecting the light that the buildings shined back, it's silhouette’s dazzling across Aventurine’s empress-teal tinted turtleneck.

The gorgeous night sky blanketed everything in an ethereal twilight, stars dotting the inky sky like a scattering of diamonds. He would love to sit back and gaze at it, admire it, drown in it, but he had to arrive at the shop soon. Besides, the rain was heavy and the walking grounds soaked; countless puddles were covering it and making a small flood, it started to soak his dress shoes. He smiled slightly to himself and continued to navigate the familiar route through this ever-night planet. He had always loved this planet, the way it made every venture feel like a celestial dream. The shops here had everything he favored, and everyone was a charm among these sleek roads.

The rhythmic tap of his soused shoes against the wet stone was the only sound accompanying him through the deserted streets, he found it odd no one was out here. Yes, he was in the further side west, however this was a surrounding people bustled about. His best guess was the rampant rain, its relentless and utterly cold companionship that plastered against his peacock themed umbrella. Though he didn’t mind, it added a sense of grandeur to the night’s mission.

Aventurine turned a corner, and the Poison Sommelier’s shop came into view. The unassuming storefront was tucked between two broader buildings, an elegantly carved piece of obsidian, swayed gently in the wind, the intricate lettering spelling out "Poison Sommelier" in a curling, archaic script that glowed faintly with golden snail slime. A scintillating light from inside cast eerie shadows on the rain puddles that dotted the entrance. He quickened his pace, the anticipation of picking out a unique and exquisite poison for himself propelling him forward in excitement.

As he pushed open the door, the small copper bell above it jingled softly, announcing his arrival. Its aroma was that of a wood-scented smell, a stark contrast to the sulfurous tang outside. The exterior of the shop was a smooth gleam of beige and a fresh petrichor scent came from the dark wood that outlined each vessel and corridor of this place. A vast, arched glass cover dominated the east, showcasing an array of exotic and poisonous however stuffed, dead animals. A vague cyan light shining over them, causing highlights to form on their lifeless beady eyes.

Aventurine shut the door rather unconsciously, but his eyes pondered down to examine it as well. The handle, a tarnished brass serpent coiled around an emerald, felt nice and cold under his touch. The door frame a black obsidian, covered with golden undertones. He traveled his eyes back to the east, the rest of the shop was a labyrinth of narrow aisles lined with towering shelves, each crammed with expensive and foreign glass vials, bottles, and jars. The air was thick with the mingling scents of various herbs, potions, and poisons, creating a heady, intoxicating aroma. Soft, mari-gold light from antique sconces bathed the room in a warm glow, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. It certainly had the sense of a cozy but odd circumambient.

The shelves themselves were an interesting mix of polished wood and smooth iron, each one adorned with delicate carvings of famous combat soldiers (specifically those who worked with magic) and arcane symbols. Some shelves housed rows of neatly labeled bottles containing vibrant, swirling liquids, while others displayed dried herbs, preserved creatures, and strange, unidentifiable objects. In one corner, a glass case held a collection of ornate, venomous daggers and needles, each one glinting menacingly under the soft light. Aventurine was immediately drawn toward it. A pure-black one with astronomical sculpting on the tang and rivets. He chuckled slightly to himself, foolish of him, it wouldn’t prove use. It was supposedly a stealth mission, not straight on combat. Daggers were too obvious. He would need something like a liquid or food to sneak in the dinner. Ricin sounded like a good option, he might slyly sink it in the lobster. Perhaps, he could ask the poison sommelier to get some pufferfish from the back and souse their tetrodotoxin out. One drop and it could paralyze and be the end of you. But it would be easier to get caught by if it strikes too soon in the dinner, but the bigger the risk, the better the reward.

The floor was covered with a mosaic of intricate tiles, their patterns forming a mesmerizing design that seemed to shift and change as Aventurine moved away from the section of venomous weapons. The tiles depicted scenes of alchemical processes, mythical beasts, and ancient rituals, while the receptionist desk was bolted into a soft cushiony carpet area, a fiat beige, a bit darker than the glossy walls. A thin line of pitch black rutilated quartz separating the carpet and marble tiles.

At the back of the shop, behind a counter cluttered with alchemical tools and half-finished scrolls of ingredients, stood the shopkeeper or otherwise the Poison Sommelier himself. A man of medium height and a rugged build, his face bore the scars of years dealing with dangerous substances and equally deadly individuals. Sharp, piercing multi-colored eyes peeked out from his mop of dark hair streaked in green, and other odd colors that seemed to radiate poison as his whole persona suggested. He wore a tough leather jacket, with an emerald undercarriage that hinted at his skill to deal with both natural and toxic materials.

Aventurine’s eyes traveled down to the belt circled around his waist, he was mostly interested in the vials of venoms and various pouches of.. blood? His hands, or rather gloves that were stained with the same substance, moved across the desk as he seemed to label a new batch of venomous potions, barely glancing up from his work.

He took in a deep inhale and trudged toward the copper desk, “Greetings, I hope your day has been good, Mr. Windward! I’ve come here for a midnight appointment that I signed for about a week ago?” The sandy-haired man gave a cheeky smile, You know? The Patrevia assassination, I need a one-hit vial.” Aventurine solicited, adjusting his poplin shirt collar with leathered gloves.

The owner of the name looked up from his activity, turning his head to catch the magenta eyes mischievously smiling at him. Windward parted his lips, “Ah.. it’s just you gambler.” He paused for a moment, “A one shot? You know that you could just use ricin, it doesn’t require a professional to obtain it.” He grumbled, setting down the phial he was labeling and stood up straight; his hands being wiped dry with a nearby cloth.

Aventurine lifted his shoulders into a half shrug, “Well, I wouldn’t have come here if I just wanted ricin, don’t you think? I obviously want something stronger, and your job is to give it to me.” He pointed at the husky man as he spoke.

Mr. Windward eyed the tone with a glint, turning to open the intricate backgate of the reception desk with a vexed attitude, motioning his client with a flick of his wrist. “Head to the back and enter a dark green door, it has the deadly items, so be careful,” he ordered, beckoning Aventurine to a narrow corridor, tossing the keys to him which Aventurine catched easily.

Aventurine gave a bantering beam and nodded, pocketing the keys with ease. “Will do, Windward,” he remarked, heading toward the indicated corridor.

Windward’s eyes followed the young man as he padded before returning them to his phial of venom. Only to be jumpscared by the sudden appearance of a tall, imposing figure who adorned a deep frown.

…

Windward returned the same expression, recognizing the man immediately. “I don’t remember you asking for an appointment, Dr. Veritas. What are you doing in my shop so late?” He stood to block the violet-haired man from proposedly entering the back where Aventurine had wandered off into. “And why are you daring to go into prohibited places without my permission?”

Ratio crossed his arms, his abs flexing slightly through his tight shirt. Squinting his eyes with haughty inflection, “I’ve arrived here with my dear, however damned gambler,” He took an intimidating step forward, “He has, in my infinite wisdom, sought my assistance looking through the vials. So, it would be dearest of you if you let me through, I can’t leave the poor wretch to flounder without my guidance.” He pouted arrogantly, or rather lied with a dire undertone.

The gruff man remained in his posture, giving Ratio a firm glare, “That’s not a valid reason, I only let those who I trust through that door, besides, why can’t you just wait out here for him?”

Ratio’s coral eyes narrowed once more, “Pray tell, are you inflicted with a hearing impairment, Windward? How am I supposed to assist him with the vials if denied entry?” He complained, taking yet another step, towering over the other man with his eyebrows furrowed deeply against his brow.

“I’m sure he can figure it out himself, and in addition, even if you came with him, you shouldn’t be in my shop without a prescription. Therefore, and respectfully, the door is behind you.” Windward pointed past Ratio, leering into that disdainful gaze.

Ratio leaned forward, his face merely inches apart as his wavy violet hair trickled on his nose, the corners of his lips emerging into a disgruntled smile. “Your presence seems to be an idiotic waste of my valuable time.” He returned to his past stance, watching Windward go silent in vexation. “Hmph.” With that, he bumped past the Poison Sommelier and slinked into the hallway, easily completing the first step of his intended plan.

…

Aventurine hummed contently to himself, the soft mari-gold light from the greenhouse fading as he ventured deeper down the rows of shelves. The walls held a copious amount of holders, each containing various crates, boxes, jars, and vials. It was larger than he had expected, with high ceilings and glass cabinets beautifully gleaming from the fake sunshine. It showcased rare and exotic toxins inside each of the glasses, each vial and bottle holding the promise of a silent and lethal efficiency. They were all meticulously organized, each section dedicated to different categories of poisons and venomous substances.

The center of the room featured a large, wooden work table covered with various tools and ingredients; phials filled with bubbling liquids, and half-written scrolls of alchemical formulas cluttered the surface. Aventurine approached the table, running his gloved fingers over the tools, appreciating the craftsmanship and the care that had gone into building and maintaining this ancient building.

His eyes roamed over the labels on the shelves, recognizing some of the names: nightshade, belladonna, arsenic, cyanide. The others were less familiar but just as interesting, exotic names from distant lands that promised effects ranging from swift and painless death to prolonged agony. He needed something special, something that would ensure the success of his mission without leaving any trace back to him.

NSFW/Sexual themes are past this point, view at your own discretion.

A soft creak from the door caught Aventurine’s attention. He swiveled to find the figure of a man he knew very well. “Veritas,” he greeted, his tone light and casual, though his eyes showed a flicker of surprise. “What brings you here at this hour-?”

Ratio closed the door behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. “I could ask you the same thing, gambler,” he replied, “What are you doing in a poison shop? Much less Windward’s.”

Aventurine chuckled, regaining his posture. “Sunday ordered me for an assassination, so, I’m picking up something special for the job. Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

Ratio’s frown deepened, “You? Out of all people? Hmm..”

Aventurine's smile faded completely. "What do you want, Veritas? If you're here to interfere—"

"I'm here to make sure you don't make a mess of things," The doctor interrupted, his tone cold and firm. "You have a habit of being reckless and impudent, and this mission is too important to be botched by your usual antics."

Aventurine bit his bottom lip at the accusation, maintaining a sassy smile at the man’s usual bitchy mood, but before he could respond, Ratio grabbed his arm, pulling him deeper into the room. The force of the movement sent a few vials clinking against each other on the shelves. "Careful," Aventurine hissed, hitting his shoulder, "these things are fragile and expensive.”

Ratio didn't release his grip. Instead, he pushed Aventurine against one of the shelves, their faces inches apart as his minty and hot breath flowed on Aventurine’s face. "You listen to me," Ratio growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "This mission is critical. You need to be focused and precise. No distractions, no slip-ups. You got it, doll?”

Aventurine's breath hitched, his pulse quickening not just from the proximity but from the intensity in Ratio's eyes. "And what makes you think I'm not focused?" he challenged, though his voice was struggling to maintain its usual bravado.

Ratio's grip tightened, his eyes burning with a mixture of underhanded meaning and something else, something Aventurine couldn't quite place. "Because I know you," Ratio said, his voice softer but no less intense. "I know how you operate. And I'm not going to let you jeopardize this. You know the consequences if you get caught.”

For a moment, they stood there in a tantalizing silence, the tension between them obvious. Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Ratio leaned in and kissed Aventurine fiercely. The kiss was rough, urgent, a clash of dominance and need. Aventurine responded in kind, his hands gripping Ratio's coat as he kissed back with equal want.

They stumbled back into the deeper parts of the storage room, knocking over a few bottles and vials in their heated exchange. The sharp scent of spilled venom filled the air, mixing with the already tangy aroma. Ratio pushed Aventurine against the left wall, his long veiny hands roaming over Aventurine's body, exploring with a desperate hunger.

Aventurine moaned into the kiss, his own hands working to remove Ratio's coat and shirt, needing to feel the heat of his skin. The urgency of their actions left little room for thought; it was all raw instinct and desire. Ratio's mouth moved from Aventurine's lips to his neck, biting and sucking, leaving marks that would surely be visible later.

Aventurine's fingers found the hem of Ratio's shirt, tugging it up and over his head. He ran his hands over Ratio's chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his fingers. Ratio's hands were equally busy, unbuttoning Aventurine's shirt and sliding it off his shoulders.

Their movements became a slutty dance, each trying to outdo the other in their passionate onslaught. Ratio's hands found their way to Aventurine's trousers, unzipping them and pushing them down. Aventurine gasped as Ratio's hand wrapped around him, stroking with a firm, practiced touch. The man’s minty breath returned to blow his earlobe, “You’re such a beautiful little thing under there, hm?” He hummed, directing what he was talking about by rubbing his thumb over Aventurine’s manhood. Ratio’s tone softened, replaced with a desire as he pressed their bodies together as tightly as he could.

"Veritas- ahh-…" Aventurine moaned, his voice filled with both plea and shyness. "Veri, please-."

Ratio raised an eyebrow at the sweet nickname, taking his hands off of the magenta-eyed man. He dropped to his knees, wasting no time in taking Aventurine into his mouth with a fervor that bordered on secret worship and possessiveness. Aventurine's hands tangled in Ratio's hair, guiding him, urging him on. The sensations were overwhelming, each one sending shivers of pleasure through Aventurine's body. He started to whine as his sore testicles became wet by Ratio’s spit, being attacked furiously by his desperate tongue.

Just as Aventurine was about to reach his peak, Ratio pulled away, standing up and pulling Aventurine into another searing and slobbery kiss. Their bodies pressed together, the friction almost too much to bear. Ratio turned Aventurine around, pressing him against the wall, and rubbed his thick and fat cock against the quenching entrance that was oh so needy. Ratio laughed slightly and wiped the spit coming from his bitch’s mouth with his thumb, licking the saliva off his finger and watching as Aventurine’s face erupted into a darker blush.

Aventurine moaned out, feeling something intruding and large abruptly enter inside him, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the cold, hard surface. Ratio moved with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through them both. The backroom echoed with the sounds of their love, the primal, obsessive need for each other driving them both to the edge. Ratio's hand reached around, stroking Aventurine in time with his thrusts. The double assault was too much; Aventurine came with a shuddering cry, his body tightening around Ratio. Ratio followed moments later, purposely pushing even deeper to release his hot seed deep into his bitch as he held him close and kissed his bare neck.

They stood there for a moment, panting and leaning against each other, the aftershocks of their encounter still rippling through their bodies. Ratio pulled out gently, wrapping his arms tightly around Aventurine, leaning down onto his soft skin and admiring his gorgeous curves. His eyes, once filled with annoyance and intensity, now held a softer, more tender expression. Which was unlike for an arrogant prick like him.

Ratio took in a deep inhale, “This changes nothing. And you dare not tell anyone.” He snarled, however his actions portrayed his words otherwise. He picked the more petite man up, pulling his pants up and buttoning his shirt back up. “We’ll get the vial tomorrow, you can stay at my chambers tonight.” He murmured on Aventurine’s trembling body, stroking it with hidden love.

[luminnara]

Goddamn, Shit-Sucking Vampires | Lost Boys x OC  CH 1

Summary: Vera is an unusually vicious bloodsucker who's never stuck in one place for very long...until a mysterious feeling pulls her right to the murder capital of the world: Santa Carla, California. Now, she needs to figure out why exactly she's there, where she fits in amongst the boardwalk's nighttime denizens, and how to cope with her own personal vampire-related problems. Poly Lost Boys/OC, starts just before the movie

Also posted on AO3

My requests are open!

Chapter one | Chapter two

Warnings: Blood, gore, smut, all that good stuff

Vera had been to a lot of cities, some of them twice, some of them three times, some even more, but none of them were quite as unique as Santa Carla. The boardwalk was crawling with lost souls, kids with nowhere else to go, and she was one of them; no family to call her own, no real friends, barely any possessions…Vera was a wanderer, a lone soul, a lost girl. She drifted from town to town, hanging around for a day or two if nothing interesting happened before moving on...and honestly, nothing very interesting ever happened. 

Sometimes she took the bus, if she had the money from odd jobs or pick pocketing her meals, but for the most part, she was left to her own devices. She traveled on foot when she had to, avoiding major highways unless she was feeling up to a fight. During the day, she took refuge under bridges if she was broke, or motel rooms if she had a little cash. If she felt particularly frisky, sometimes she even managed to seduce locals into helping out, but for the most part, she only had herself as company, traveling by night for no reason other than an insatiable wanderlust and nobody else to spend her time with.

Nothing had ever held her in one place. She had started traveling a long time ago, when she realized she had no reason to stay in her hometown. Plus...people started to grow a little bit suspicious when they noticed too many bodies cropping up. The world was changing, and for someone like her, it was best to stay on the move.

After that, it became a habit, and she got used to wandering and never having a place to call home. Did it ever bother her? Sometimes, when she was resting, it did. She could stop and look at the stars, with some kind of foreign aching in her chest, but it was rare that she thought about it. It had started up years ago, and she had forced herself to get used to it. She had never found any cure, and while she lingered around the east coast, it had finally dulled to a strange, quiet pain. A constant throb in her chest, next to her heart, some kind of strange tightness that she was happy to forget whenever she could. It was becoming more frequent, though, as she neared California, and she chalked it up to the fact that she had been alone and hungry for far too long.

She would have to do something about that soon. She hated feeling hungry.

Vera hopped off the bus when it stopped in Santa Carla, a coastal town that boasted a crowded boardwalk and just the kind of nightlife she needed. From the road, she could see the bright lights of a Ferris wheel and even a roller coaster, and she couldn’t help but smile. She had always liked fairs and carnivals. They were fun and exciting, and good places to pickpocket. Plus, the chaos made it easier for her to go unnoticed.

At the bus stop, she was greeted with boards and telephone poles covered in missing persons ads, and it was an oddly comforting sight. She would fit right in.

“Murder capital of the world, huh?” she said to herself, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She had seen the graffiti on the back of a big WELCOME TO SANTA CARLA sign on the way in, and the flyers only added to the town’s reputation.

Yeah, this place was worth checking out.

The pier was bright, neon signs and carnival rides lighting up the night. Kids and adults alike were enjoying their summer, stuffing themselves with treats or screaming their way around the roller coaster. It all looked fun, she had to admit, and maybe once she had a chance to grab some cash she could hang around and enjoy herself. She could use a break from running constantly, and she was finding that the boardwalk was already making her happy. 

As she walked through the crowds, Vera spotted every kind of person, from middle aged parents toting along a family of four to dirty vagrant children to punks to a couple of weird kids lurking around the comic book store. There were pizza places, cotton candy carts, all sorts of dine in restaurants and bars...Santa Carla seemed like it had everything, but mostly, it was a good place for someone like her to spend some time. 

She sat herself down on a railing, trying to ignore the hunger pains she was feeling as she people watched. Beyond the homeless kids and the weirdos, the boardwalk was full of partygoers, and it looked like summer vacation was in full swing. There were a million smells in the air—cigarettes, weed, funnel cakes—but none of them really caught her attention. She let out a sigh, leaning her chin on her hand. She hated being indecisive about dinner. 

“Ugh, Surf Nazis,” a woman whispered to her friend as they ran by. 

“Gross,” the other wrinkled her nose.

Vera looked past them to the men that were shouting about their asses as they left and she snorted. 

“What’s wrong, girls?” One of them yelled. 

“Come back, we’ll show you a good time!” Another cackled, tossing an empty beer can over his shoulder. 

Vera rolled her eyes. Disgusting, pathetic creatures, all standing around a trash can as they smoked. They smelled awful, she realized with a wrinkle of her nose, and it wasn’t just from their smoke. They were nasty, leering at girls and laughing loudly with each other when the women they were bothering scampered away. 

Well, they weren’t her first choice, but at least she had found a meal.

She hopped off the fence and sauntered in their direction for a moment before turning, giving them just enough time to notice her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them perk up, and before long, all four of them were following her through the crowd, shouting profanities as she made her way down to the pier. 

“Hey baby, where you goin’?” one yelled, jogging to keep up with her pace. 

Vera looked over her shoulder. “Down under the boardwalk...unless you’re chicken.”

She heard a chorus of hoots and whistles and grinned to herself. Men were so easy. 

“I call first dibs!”

“I wanna piece of that ass!” Another yelled.

They always did. Vera was a short girl, only around five feet tall, and stocky. She carried her weight in her legs, giving her thick thighs and a round butt that could never quite stay covered by the denim shorts she loved to wear so much. 

Boys liked the way she looked. They liked how she seemed so easy to grab, so soft, so touchable. As the Surf Nazis followed her down the rickety stairs to a secluded spot under the boardwalk, their hands were already moving, unbuttoning pants and reaching for Vera as if they were entitled to her. She smiled sweetly as she backed into the shadows, cooing for them to follow, grinning sickly when they obeyed. They always did, like lambs to the slaughter, never clever enough to recognize her predatory gaze and dangerous movements until it was too late. 

Sometimes, if they were lucky, they could catch a glimpse of her bra or panties before it was over, but tonight, Vera had little patience for the dirty fingers that tried to pull her shirt off and her shorts down. Their faces leered down at her, even in the darkness, grunting as they palmed themselves through their pants.

She gave them a second to enjoy it before her lips twisted into a sick grin and she reached for them, nails like claws and teeth like fangs. The air was suddenly filled with the sound of their screams, but the waves crashing against the sand drowned the grisly noises out. As she tore into them, she laughed, loving the way they were so terrified now that they had completely lost any sense of power over her.

 Boys always liked the way she looked, until she was covered in their friends’ blood.

-o-

David was having a boring night. 

His boys were under control for the time being, lounging on their bikes next to him. Paul and Marko were laughing loudly, occasionally punching each other just for the hell of it, and Laddie was reading a comic as he clung to Dwayne. Star had decided to stay home for the night, and nobody was complaining about that; at the thought of her, David growled to himself, grimacing at the reminder of the troublesome bitch. Max had wanted a daughter and a good mother for Laddie, and what had they ended up with? A mopey, whiny little cunt who refused to kill and feed like everyone else.

Feed...damn, he could go for a snack. He could practically taste blood in the air as he thought about grabbing a bite, fangs threatening to lengthen. He hadn’t even thought he was that hungry, but now that he was thinking about it, it was bugging him, and when David got the urge to feed, there were very few things that could stop him. The hunger would sometimes gnaw at him the way it did a newborn, and even Max was occasionally put off by it. It was something he expected from a younger vampire, like Marko, maybe, but David? His appetite could be insatiable, truly monstrous in a way that most others’ weren’t. 

The boys picked up on his hunger and he heard a few growls of agreement before he nodded for Dwayne to take Laddie back to the cave. The kid was never allowed to go with them when they hunted, and Dwayne was capable enough to grab something for himself if he didn’t catch up with them. Ever since Laddie had gotten his pesky little hands on their bloody wine bottle, they had been stuck with him, and if Dwayne hadn’t turned out to be so good with the kid, David would’ve been irritated beyond belief. 

It all worked out, though, and Laddie fit in well with the rest of the group. David just had to keep reminding himself to be patient. 

“Anybody catch your eye?” Paul asked as his brother took off down the beach with their youngest member.

“Absolutely fucking no one.” David sneered.

The tall blonde straightened up to sniff the air. “Get a whiff of that, though…”

David paused, mimicking Paul. He was right. There was a metallic scent on the breeze, the sweet smell of fresh blood. It made him thirsty, and as he led Paul and Marko down the boardwalk, it only grew stronger.

“Shit,” Marko mumbled as they started down the stairs to the beach. Once they had broken free of the crowd, the scent had hit them like a train, and even David was having trouble controlling himself.

“Careful,” he warned, voice coming out with a ragged, heavy breath. 

Murders happened in Santa Carla all the time, and not only because of the Lost Boys. It was a rough place, full of drugs and vagrants, and the violence only helped them blend in. Someone had probably gotten themselves in trouble under the boardwalk, and at this point David was just hoping that the killer was still around to sate his hunger. They never fed from corpses, so stumbling across them never yielded any good results unless they were in the mood to rip them apart for shits and giggles.

David was not in the mood.

He led Paul and Marko off the stairs and through the sand, hurrying now as the blood filled his senses. It was so fresh, and there was so much of it...this wasn’t normal, even for the murder capital of the world. What kind of sadistic human would cut someone up enough to spill so much blood? What the fuck was going on under his boardwalk? Sure, it was something he would do, but other than his boys, who could possibly be that brutal?

It was in the shadows of the pier that he finally got the answers to all of his questions. 

Just like the blood had, her scent hit him like a freight train. He could tell Paul and Marko were just as confused by the way they stopped and hissed, fangs already out as they looked down at the bodies littering the sand. It was a gorey scene, throats and stomachs ripped open, Surf Nazis gutted with their pants down. 

And in the middle of it all, she had the audacity to glance up at David, and then completely disregard him as she turned back to her final victim. She wasn’t worried in the slightest about the three males, and that pissed David off a little. When he would have snarled a warning at her insolence, he found himself distracted instead, head tilted and lips parted as he drank in her scent and checked her out.

She was wearing shorts that barely covered her bloody legs, ratty combat boots on her feet and an equally ratty denim vest over a ripped up black shirt. Her ebony hair was cut into some sort of shaggy mullet,  falling around her shoulders. It was long and wavy and glossy, but tousled and messy, no doubt thanks to feeding. 

He could only stare in shock at the black-haired girl that was feasting on a Surf Nazi. He couldn’t decide if he was angry at someone else hunting on his turf or happy to find a real female vampire, one that wasn’t stupid and whiny like Star, but the one thing he knew for sure as he took a step towards her was that he was just the tiniest bit turned on.

Paul and Marko could both smell the tiniest hint of their leader’s arousal, and it excited them. They weren’t used to supernatural girls, and the thought of getting a turn with her was enough to make the air heavy with the scent of lust as they followed David. 

Paul let out a low whistle behind him. “Shit, first time I wouldn’t mind bein’ a Surfer. I’d take a little of that sugar right now, know what I’m sayin?”

The vampiress lifted her head from her victim and smiled, drunk on blood and high off the hunt. “I don’t usually share meals, but I’ll give you the rest of this one if it gives me a free pass back outta here.”

Paul tensed to take her up on the offer, but David stopped him. “Free pass?”

The girl sat back from the still-whimpering Surf Nazi, blood running down her chin. “Figure you wouldn’t want me in your territory. Sorry. Didn’t realize anybody else was here, else I’d have been moving on already.”

David smirked. “No need, sweetheart.”

She furrowed her brow. 

“It’s feeding time, boys. Grab a snack.” David grinned, allowing Paul and Marko to surge forward and rip into the Surf Nazi. He watched with a twinge of annoyance as Paul turned from his meal and pressed his bloody lips to the girl’s, but that annoyance turned into surprise when she kissed back, albeit lazily. 

She smiled as her lips moved against his, a hand moving to tangle in his wild hair. Fire tore through Paul and he growled, pushing her down until her back hit the sand and her chest touched his as her breaths turned into frenzied pants. 

Hands ran down her sides, hard nails digging into her skin as Paul nipped at her lower lip. With a whine, she arched up against him, tugging at his hair until he snarled.

“Paul,” David growled a warning. 

Paul sat back up with an irritated grumble, licking his lips before plunging his fangs into the Surf Nazi and leaving Vera alone.

David had to admit, he had never met a female vampire that wasn’t stuck in limbo like Star. They seemed rare, or at least they were around California, but Max had always told him that girls of their kind were a special breed. He was already feeling a tug toward her, some kind of something pulling at his chest whenever she moved, and before he knew what he was doing, he was crouching down to suck up the last few drops of blood while his boys turned their attention to the killer.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” Marko asked, playing with a strand of her hair. 

“Vera,” she answered with the sweetest voice either of them had ever heard, practically a purr. 

Paul sighed, leaning in again. He was head over heels already. “What brings you here to our little corner of the world, Miss Vera?”

She blinked, and they were fucking mesmerized by those lashes and those hazel eyes. “Just passing through, boys. Don’t wanna step on any toes.”

Paul groaned. He wanted her to stay. She smelled amazing, and when she had returned the kiss he hadn’t even realized he was giving her, he felt jolts of electricity shoot through every part of his body. 

He wanted more.

“Damn, babe, you’re breakin’ my heart,” he said, holding her face so that he could lick blood off her chin.

“No fair,” Marko nudged his brother. “I want a taste…”

David looked up from the drained corpse, listening as his boys slurred with love drunk voices. Max had warned him about females, about those with foreign sires. They could trap you in a web of lust, keep you dumb and happy there for as long as they wanted, rob you blind and kill your entire family...but somehow, he got the feeling that Vera wasn’t even trying to fuck with them. There was no misty, foggy sensation that would signify magic, no eye contact, no focus. As he rose to his feet, he realized he was walking towards her of his own accord, the only spell being that strange, unspoken one that kept pulling him to her.

He had an inkling of what it could be, but he didn’t dare get his hopes up.

“Got a place to stay, darling?” He asked as he shoved his boys out of the way and knelt before Vera. 

She leaned toward him, a sweet smile on those bloody lips that told him she was confident enough in her ability to handle them all. She was calm, completely in control of herself, even when faced with three healthy male vampires. Her eyes were half-lidded, long lashes fluttering whenever she blinked. 

When her tongue slipped out to lick blood off her lips, David’s eyes widened at the sight of something he had never seen before. It was split in two, each side moving of its own accord easily. Paul let out an eager noise, Marko shoving him with his shoulder to try to get a better look. Vera just laughed at their fascination, pulling her tongue back into her mouth and smiling. 

David could feel her breath on his cheek as she took in his scent and he couldn’t help the shiver that went up his spine. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her better than Paul had, to fuck her and hear his name on her lips. He wanted to show her how strong he was, to impress her, to prove himself for some reason. He would kill a hundred surfers if he had to, if it would grant him her favor. He would sit out in the sun and burn himself if it meant he could be hers. 

He had never felt this way about anyone, and it was pissing him off.

Vera laughed to herself. She could smell his desire, and she knew that it was because of her. Just like those Surf Nazis, these vampires wanted her, but at least she liked this little pack. What’s more, that aching in her chest had stopped when they showed up, and she had a feeling she knew why. 

It was a little bit terrifying, though, and she wasn’t about to stop and think about it. 

“What are you suggesting?” She asked, brushing her fingers along his cheek, a smear of blood following. 

“Stay with us,” he breathed, blue eyes locked with hers. 

“Darling, I don’t even know your name,” she quipped, never shifting her gaze. 

“David,” he said with a slight growl as he felt himself getting lost in her eyes. 

“David,” she repeated, voice soft and breathy. Her hand moved to cup his cheek and he leaned into it, nose twitching as he smelled the fresh blood in her wrist. It was sweet, sweeter than any blood he had ever encountered before, and all he wanted to do was sink his fangs into her flesh and get a taste.

Vera heard a sigh and finally took her eyes off David. The other two were watching, just off to the side, staring hungrily at their leader and the new girl. 

“And what about you two?” She asked, hand sliding down to the side of David’s neck to keep him in check. She was confident enough in herself to handle him, but at the same time, he put her on edge. There was no way she was going to let her guard down around him yet.

That was the thing about female vampires, though; they had the uncanny ability to always put on a facade, and Vera was no exception. David made her nervous—they all did, honestly—but she wasn’t about to let them know that. 

“Paul,” the tall blonde said quickly, rushing forward as if he would die without her touch. He pressed his nose against her throat, breathing her scent as if he was starving. 

“Marko,” the smaller one followed, desperately reaching out to touch her hair. 

“Paul,” she purred, earning a growl. “...Marko…”

Another growl. 

They acted like they needed her, all three of them, but they were behaving themselves. She had no doubt that if she gave them the go ahead, she would be naked within seconds, but for the moment, they were listening to her. She had never experienced something like this before; usually, other vampires ignored her, or threatened her until she left their territory. These boys seemed to adore her, and she had to admit, she liked it. 

“Paul, Marko,” David said roughly. “Clean up so we can go home.”

With a groan, the younger two did as they were told, dragging Surf Nazi corpses into the ocean before wiping their hands and faces clean. 

“You’re their leader,” Vera said, more as an observation than anything else. “Are you their sire?”

David smirked as he helped her to her feet. “Depends on how you look at it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “There’s only one way to look at that, David.”

He melted when she said his name, leaning in to catch another whiff of her scent. It was sweet, like honey, sticky and sick, and all he wanted was to drown in it. “What have you done to me, Vera?”

She smiled and took his hand, raising it to lick blood off of his fingers. “Nothing on purpose, I promise.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t mind,” Paul suddenly grabbed her from behind, arms snaking around her waist as he buried his nose in her black hair, inhaling deeply and letting out a happy sigh. The feeling of her there in his arms, pressed up against him, was enough to make his fangs slide out again, and he couldn’t help but swipe his tongue up the side of her neck.

David snarled, snapping only inches from his brother’s face. “Behave.”

“You say as if you are,” Vera snorted, giving David a gentle push and easing her way out of Paul’s grip. “But you boys are all very sweet. I don’t mind the attention.”

“Oh, you have our attention, sweets,” Paul whistled as she turned and bent over to wash her face and hands at the water’s edge, giving them all a good view of her ass. A low rumble rose in David’s throat as he appreciated the sight, and Marko echoed it. 

“So greedy,” Vera mocked as she straightened up again. “Are you this nice to every bloodsucker that hangs out on your boardwalk, or is it just me?”

“Just you, that’s for sure,” Marko said, almost cackling.

“The others aren’t so delicious,” Paul cooed with that signature laugh. 

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer?” Vera said, walking back to them. Now that her arms and legs were clean of blood, they could see that she was covered in tattoos, and David wondered if she had them as a human before she was turned, or if she had found some way to make the ink stay in her regenerative skin.

Paul gave her a cocky grin and David rolled his eyes. His brother was such a flirtatious bastard. He was a lady killer, literally, even more than David was, but Vera didn’t seem to mind his advances. She seemed comfortable with Paul, taking it all in stride.

It made David just the tiniest bit jealous. 

“Come with us.” He said it more as an order than an offer, extending his hand out to her. 

“Unless you got somewhere better to go,” Marko joked. 

“And there ain’t nowhere better,” Paul snickered.

“There aren’t too many places to hide from the sun on a boardwalk,” Vera snorted. She was finally coming down from her high, the thrill of the hunt fading again and giving way to her less monstrous personality. “I was going to have to find a good spot anyways…”

Now that she wasn’t operating solely on instinct, she could take a moment and think about her situation. Three male vampires, none of whom had tried to kill her for stealing prey in their territory, seemed to be absolutely obsessed with everything about her and wanted her to go home with them. One had even kissed her and she had kissed him back, because it had felt so right. She allowed them to touch her, to taste her skin, to share her meal. They were stronger than her, and they outnumbered her, but she still felt like she was...in charge? 

David, the definite leader of the little pack, was looking at her hopefully. His face was stony, but she could see excitement in his blue eyes, and when she smiled, there was a spark of something in those irises. 

“Just don’t kill me in my sleep,” Vera joked as David took her hand and began leading her back up to the boardwalk. 

“No promises,” Marko leered as they followed.

“You look good enough to eat, babe,” Paul growled playfully, lunging forward to cop a feel of her ass. 

Vera only laughed, but David snarled dangerously at his brother, moving his arm to Vera’s shoulders and pulling her against his side. 

“Relax, you big angry beast,” Vera said with a grin, raising her hand to his chin and giving a teasing scratch. 

David huffed and Marko hooted with laughter. “Damn, she’s way more fun than you, David!”

“I dig this chick,” Paul snickered.

“You better share her,” Marko whined.

David smirked as they climbed the stairs back up to the boardwalk. Could he manage that? He only ever shared things with his brothers, but even then, he was terrible at it. Vera had some kind of magnetic pull on him, yeah, and his mouth watered at the thought of keeping her around, but Marko and Paul were both obviously into her...and she was into them. 

She was into all of them.

He needed to talk to Max. He honestly hated having to ask his sire for help or advice, and he avoided it whenever he could. Max had never been very nurturing, despite wanting everyone to act like a big family. It worked out for the boys, sure, but Max was…not a great father. A patriarch, yes, always seated at the head of the metaphorical table, but he was cruel and cold towards David, and he had been from the very start. He thought they all needed a stern hand to keep them in check, and David didn’t like that. 

Still, Max let them run free, and he knew more than David did about their own kind. He was helpful, sometimes, in his own way, and his son was going to have to defer to him. He had questions about Vera, about the pull he felt toward her, and Max was the only one with the answers.

As they returned to the boardwalk and joined the crowd of humans, Vera was pleased to see that the sea of people parted for the boys. They stepped aside, glancing with mixtures of emotions at the little pack. Girls looked dreamy, parents grabbed their children, Surf Nazis raised their lips in sneers. Was it because of their reputation, or did the humans somehow know that they should be afraid of the predators that stalked Santa Carla? She hoped it was both. She hoped that these boys were wild and rowdy enough to rule this boardwalk, and she hoped that they liked her enough to keep her around. 

She glanced up at the sky, a few stars twinkling despite the light pollution from the city. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t itching to hop on a bus or hitch hike to the next town. For once in her life, Something was occupying her mind, and the wanderlust was giving way to another, completely foreign feeling. The ache in her chest was gone, but it was replaced by a strange, burning, almost longing that she had never felt before. It was almost similar to the emotions she experienced during bloodlust, but she was in control of herself. Her fangs weren’t poking through, her eyes weren’t shining...she was happy and her hunger was sated, so where was this coming from? 

She was still avoiding the one train of thought that would bring her to the right conclusion. It was just too much to consider, especially with everything happening so quickly all of the sudden. 

They came to a halt when they reached their bikes, Dwayne already back from dropping Laddie off. From the looks of it, he had grabbed a bite on the way, jeans stained with fresh blood that the humans would just assume was from a fight. 

Vera stopped. There was another male here? She was finding it hard to believe that she had stumbled across a pack of four males without any females, but she couldn’t smell much in the way of estrogen on them. It was just odd; vampires didn’t usually live in bachelor groups like these, but she supposed it wasn’t entirely unheard of. It was just strange that they hadn’t found any girls they wanted to keep around for all eternity.

Most people got lonely eventually. Maybe these four were all actually lovers...but she hadn’t seen any marks that would mean they were claimed, and she hadn’t smelled or sensed anything that would lead her to believe that they were serious.

Odd.

The one leaning against the bike was tall, long dark hair falling around his shoulders and a curious, but serious, expression on his handsome face. She felt frozen under his gaze, uncharacteristically nervous, like a deer in the headlights. It was like he could see right through her, and she didn’t know if she liked that or not.

“Dwayne, this is Vera,” David said as he tugged her along. She found a way to make her legs work again and followed, letting a smile curl its way onto her lips when Dwayne bowed his head to her. 

“And she’s tough,” Marko said, bouncing over to his bike. 

“And she’s gorgeous,” Paul took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss as he passed her.

“I can see that,” Dwayne said, his voice deep and smooth, a seductive smile on his lips. 

David narrowed his eyes, but tried to hide the movement with a smirk. “Keep an eye on her. I’m going to visit Max.”

“Oh, I’ll keep both eyes on her,” Paul winked as he beckoned for her to sit behind him on his motorcycle. 

David rolled his eyes, desperately trying to not make a scene. “Control yourself. I’ll be back.” 

He pressed a kiss to Vera’s head, inhaling deeply before leaving her side and stalking off down the boardwalk. He could already feel his sire tugging questioningly at his consciousness, curious as to why David was so eager to speak to him. His son had always been good at blocking him out, keeping his mind locked down unless he needed something or there was trouble that called for Max’s attention. The others were more open, but Max didn’t have as strong a link with them, and while David was supposed to be his prodigal son, he was so...secretive. Private. Closed off. For him to be willingly heading to the VideoMax store for anything other than annoying him or hitting on Maria out of boredom, something very important had to be going on, and Max was beyond itching to know what it could be. 

“Who’s Max?” Vera asked, joining Paul to perch on the back of his bike. 

“David’s sire,” Marko answered. 

“A grouchy old bloodsucker,” Paul grinned. 

“He runs the video store. He hates it when we crash.” Marko laughed. 

“But...that cashier is pretty cute,” Paul said, thinking of Maria. “I’d love for a bite of—”

He was cut off by the breath leaving his body when Vera wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back. 

Marko hooted with laughter at his brother’s reaction and Dwayne let out a chuckle. Paul was absolutely speechless, and Vera wasn’t even making skin on skin contact with him. 

Until she felt him tense, smirked against his back, and slid her hands under his mesh shirt. 

If Paul could blush, he would have. He would have been a shade past tomato red. The feeling of her fingers running over his abs was all he could focus on for a moment, and all he wanted was to kiss her again, feel her again, maybe get a little tongue action...

“You’re supposed to behave yourself, Paul,” Marko taunted as he caught a whiff of the lust in the air and felt his brother’s excited thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paul snarled. “I don’t need this shit from you.”

“I’m just repeating what David said,” Marko said defensively. “You’re the one who can’t keep it in his pants.”

“Well, aren’t you just the perfect little angel?” Paul shot back. “I’m the one with a goddess on his bike, might I remind you.”

Marko scoffed, lip raised in a nasty little snarl. “Not for long, Paul!”

Vera smiled as they bickered. Paul’s arousal hung in the air, but she didn’t mind; in fact, she liked it, and she hugged her arms around him tighter as he squabbled with Marko. She was eager to get back to wherever it was that they called home, and she was eager to sleep surrounded by them and feel truly safe for once. She was used to being alone, and she wasn’t scared of it, but she was always on edge, always ready to run or fight. It made her a light sleeper, and the concept of not having to worry was more tantalizing than any of these boys were on their own. 

[mooniefics]

— the hands that beckon me

pairing : zeke jaeger / reader

word count : 1.9k

tags : emotional hurt / comfort, relationship discussion, pillow talk, insecure zeke :(

summary : zeke is finally home, on a brief layover from the war, and you both finally get around to having that tough discussion you've been putting off for far too long.

— originally posted 1 / 21 / 21 on ao3 —

"what do you do while i'm gone?"

your skin was still hot from being pressed over his when he asked, thrumming with a warmth you hadn't felt yet craved so deeply for months. you turned to face him from your place on your back in bed, pressing into his side, peering curiously at his profile. you'd missed seeing him like this, out of his ironed, pristine uniform, hair messy from your fingers running through it, sharp features warmed with the flush of passion, unobscured by his glasses, eyes and voice sleepy and relaxed rather than alert and tight with self-awareness.

"what do you mean?" your reply was soft, almost playful to counter his matter-of-fact delivery, reaching out to draw your fingers across his firm, bare chest.

"i mean what keeps you busy? what do you do for fun?"

>readmore<

the war with the mid-east allied forces had been dragging on for just about two years now, and there seemed to be no end in sight, but after the marleyan army managed to snatch a victory from the jaws of defeat on foreign soil, the news came to your internment zone that the soldiers would be returning on a brief layover as the countries' political leaders decided whether or not they'd be willing to smooth things over in a more peaceful manner.

this afternoon you had been there at the gates with his grandparents, barely able to stand still beside them as all three of you waited wordlessly with baited breath, balancing up on your tiptoes, straining to peek over the crowd to catch a glimpse of him. while others were stood by with looks of unmasked dread—men with clenched jaws and stiff shoulders, women with tears brimming their eyes, children tugging at sleeves and already crying with impatience—you felt an uncontainable joy. it was humbling to look around at all the panicked faces, to remember that not every family had the luxury of your confidence, the almost guaranteed certainty that the one you loved would return. but you couldn't help the blinding smile that broke out across your face as he ambled through the crowd, tired, well-kept, but looking warmly down at you and his family.

you had let him to greet them first, they were his blood relatives after all, but only after he'd finished giving his grandmother a tight hug and exchanging affectionate words did you allow yourself to throw your arms around him, burying your face into his shoulder and breathing in his rich scent of gunpowder, pine, just a faint hint of cigarettes, melting easily into his strong embrace. you and zeke had wandered back alongside the older couple to their home, sharing a calm, easy dinner where zeke relayed what information he could to them about the status of the ongoing battle, but you were just itching to have some time to yourself with him.

you'd spent hours cleaning your quaint little home a few streets down, agonizing over every little detail despite how you knew he didn't mind whatever state it was in, just that you were there. and as soon as you'd both said your friendly goodbyes and made it through the door of your home, he was pulling you along to the bedroom, legs having memorized the path of weaving through the living room and kitchen and down the hall to the door on the left.

he was impatient, as he always was when he was tugging you out of your clothes, but sensual all in the same when he pressed his lips onto yours, murmured soft, longing words in your ear, hands squeezing and grabbing, reacquainting themselves with your soft figure. you both didn't last long—how could you when you were so eager—but felt satisfied all the time after everything was said and done, lowering back onto the mattress, flushed and panting, a faint sheen of sweat shimmering over your skin. his question just now had puzzled you. it was simple, but you knew it hid something deeper, he'd never asked something of that nature in all the time he'd been coming back and going away.

"well.. not much really. i go to work at the jewelry shop, have tea with your grandmother on thursdays, wander around the market if i feel up to it, help mary from down the street with her boys if she needs it."

you faltered at the mention of her, not remembering whether you'd seen her husband when you'd met with zeke at the entrance to the zone. you forced yourself not to frown. how selfish of you, you didn't even bother to check on her before you allowed yourself to be whisked away for the night.

he seemed to notice your sudden dismay, wrapping a comforting arm around you as he spoke, "you mean aksoy?" you nodded. "he made it back on the train alright. drunk off his ass, but alive."

you breathed a small sigh of relief, offering up a small smile at him. "good to hear."

and though his lips curled back in a similar expression, it didn't quite reach his eyes, and you only felt further perturbed by how his gaze briefly flickered elsewhere. "why do you ask?" you prompted, fingers trailing up his neck to rest at his jaw, gently turning him to face you again.

"just curious, is all.."

you could sense that he was lying, but about what you didn't quite know. "come on, zeke, we've known each other since we were kids. you don't think i know when you're hiding something?"

he hummed, the corners of his eyes creasing as an easy, genuine grin graced his features. "i apologize for underestimating your lie detecting skills."

you couldn't help but giggle softly at his words, thumb stroking over his warm cheek, body fitting perfectly against his. he was really here. finally, after all this waiting, he had come back to you, even if only for a few weeks that would surely fly past in an instant.

"i don't really know how to say this.." he seemed uncharacteristically sheepish, grey eyes traversing over your face, onto a far wall of the room, then up to the ceiling for a brief moment before it finally wandered back to you, "i guess you could say it started with me feeling a bit guilty, leaving you here all by yourself."

"i can bear the wait, you know that. as long as i know that i'll get to see you." for now, came the silent addendum.

he had three years left, barely a quarter remaining in his term, but you didn't broach the topic, and he seemed just as content putting off the discussion as you were. your relationship was easy, in a sense. there was never any squabbling over when the two of you would move in, or when he would retire from his position and settle down, milestones such as marriage and children were never issues. but there were days where you wished they were, though you'd never admit it.

just like how you'd never admit to the warm burn of envy that sparked to life when a man came into the shop you worked at searching for a ring for his partner, a spark that inevitably gave way to a cool emptiness settling deep into your chest, swallowing up your heart and balling an uncomfortable lump in your throat by the time you'd helped him choose out just the perfect jewel and sent him on his way.

"i know that, but," he swallowed, licking his lips, "sometimes i'm afraid that you're getting bored."

"bored?" the word felt strangely odd on your tongue, your own eyes blinking at him.

"bored." he reaffirmed, frowning slightly as he continued, "you see other people your age—our age—every day, don't you? when you go to the market, when you're at work, hell, even when you're spending time with your friends, you see people with lives, with structure." you knew the exact words that were coming next, but the impact of them hurt all the same. "people who don't have the thought of how time is running out hanging over their head."

it was you who turned away this time, feeling your lower lip tremble, eyes suddenly watering despite how you wished not to cry. all those complicated feelings you'd pushed down in favor of relishing in your feigned ignorance, of pretending that zeke was just a normal soldier with normal duties who was just lucky enough to come back each time. you'd always politely brushed your friends off when they'd pestered you of the absence of a ring on your finger, asking when you'd have children of your own rather than always being there to help them take care of theirs, you swept their concerns aside with a rehearsed smile because you didn't want to come to terms with the fact that you wanted those things for yourself.

the pill of zeke's looming mortality was hard enough to swallow on its own, all without mentioning how the love you shared was so rich yet so fleeting, fruitful yet futile all at once. you had no words to offer him, but your silence seemed to be enough of a reply, a forlorn, almost remorseful look settling over his handsome features.

"perhaps— perhaps you should search for someone else." you felt your stomach knot and twist, sorrow bubbling up like a geyser from below, biting at your cheek as to not let your shaky breaths spill from your mouth, "you're beautiful, it would really be no trouble at all for you to find someone—someone who can give you a good life. a fulfilling life."

"but.. there's still time left, isn't there?" your voice was quiet, thick with restrained tears, "there's still time for us."

"it isn't fair to you."

"it wouldn't be fair to you either if i left now." your brows knitting together, expression strained as you felt warmth trickle down your face, dripping down your chin onto his shoulder. "do you want me to leave?"

he looked away, hesitating just enough to make more droplets bead at your lashes before he shook his head, drawing a crooked finger across your cheek to catch a few stray tears. again, that disdain at your own selfishness came. he was worried for you, ruminating own his own impending death, trying to soften the blow of it for you at the expense of his own happiness, yet all you could do was cry at the thought of parting with him in any voluntary way.

"you're the one i want." you whispered, sniffling, "i knew what i was getting into at the start of all this, the things that i would miss, the things i would have to give up on, but they can wait. i can't be without you, not if i know that i can spend a single moment longer like this, loving you."

the sun had sank low in the sky, light abandoning the two of you in the dark of your room, alone with your shared, trembling breaths, his frown and distant eyes, your tears and imploring gaze. you felt weary in many ways as you allowed yourself to settle back onto his chest, closing your eyes at the feeling of his arm tightening its grasp around you, holding you close, a silent plea to stay just as you were.

he didn't speak, not another word of uncertainty exchanged, but you knew that he understood. he was here, and as long as that was the case you would always wait, keep turning down the hands that beckoned you, rescind your domestic desires for the sake of clinging to this one rare, importunate, lovely thing you had—clinging to him.

[hongism]

mists of celeste ➻ 33

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, smut ➻ Word Count: 10.5k ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part eight

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Five people in the room. Dark walls, wood panels laid over bricks at haphazard and awkward angles, quiet voices muttering off to the side, three cots smashed together as closely as possible on one side of the room, body splayed out on the two cots on your left whilst you lie on the third. Every muscle in your body aches and burns like it’s been sitting over a fire for the better part of a day. There’s a slight itch to your throat, but you can’t even bring yourself to cough. You don’t move; you aren’t sure you could if you wanted to, so you don’t push it quite yet and instead settle for lying down and listening to the hushed whispers around you.

Seonghwa’s voice is the first to drift to your ears, and just the sound of it lets a bit of comfort sink into your heavy bones. You wish he was at your side and not across the room, and the small cravings for his hand in yours swell up in chest. Jongho speaks up after that with his deep timbre that rumbles against the soft sound of the air conditioner. And lastly, Yunho. His voice grates hard on your mind, and you wish you could fall asleep just so that you wouldn’t have to listen to it any longer. One quick glance to your left tells you that Yeosang is sprawled on the cot beside yours, and just past the steady rise and fall of his chest, you catch sight of Hongjoong’s blue head of hair.

Five people in the room, and San isn’t one of them.

Rest is out of the question at this point, especially with the swirling memories of the dream you woke up from not too long ago.

“Ah, Tsukio. There you are.”

“Tsukio?” You question, head falling to the side as confusion waves over you. Water continues to lap at your feet and pushes between your bare toes. “That’s — you’ve never called me that before.”

“Yes, I have, child. Ever since the first time you visited me.”

Daichi turns back to the pebbles under him. He nudges them some more with the end of his twisted branch, then lets the stick splash against the surface of the lake. He pushes himself up to his full height, yet something about it doesn’t feel quite right. He isn’t as tall as you remember him to be. Not only that, but your body doesn’t feel the way it usually does. You feel heavier, like something is wrapped tight around you and pulling your shoulders down with its weight, but you can’t bring your hands up to look at them any longer.

“She is too close to you,” Daichi utters without sparing you another glance.

“She?”

“You were foolish enough to let the fire come in and scald you. The water will drown you in her embrace.”

“Wh-What?” You stammer through your endless confusion. You hardly have the mental capacity to be thinking about the meaning behind his riddles might be, but that added to the strange foreign sensation running through your system doesn’t help to ease your panic one bit.

“How often must I remind you of the prophecy before it sinks in through that skull of yours, Tsukio?”

You grit your teeth together to keep from snapping at the old man and telling him off. You want nothing more than to tell him that you are not Tsukio, you are not Umiko, you are just Y/N and nothing else. He has never even mentioned any sort of fucking prophecy to you in all the time you’ve been meeting with the damn man.

“The moon will meet the sea in fire, and guided by the earth, they will seek the sun. As the sun rises out of the east, so the moon will set in the west with waters crashing out of the south and the earth climbing in the north, and fires will blaze at the center of it all. Blood spilled over pale sands and misted skies.”

You find it in you to pull away from the man, although it takes far too much effort to do so, and you slide back across the mud. The sensation is strange between your toes, and you certainly don’t welcome it, but it carries you away from Daichi and his odd mutterings. That’s good enough for you. You don’t manage to pull that far away before your legs fail. Black waters splash around you when your knees sink into the mud. That’s the position you remain in for quite some time too; unable to pull yourself up and incapable of doing anything other than stare down at the swirling waters. It’s only when they still that your senses return. Because the reflection in the water is not your own.

The face blinking back at you does not belong to you.

It belongs to —

“Y/N.”

You jerk your head towards the sound of the voice, eyes honing in on broad shoulders before Seonghwa’s face comes into view. He kneels down beside your makeshift bed. The second he extends a hand to brush the loose strands of hair off your forehead, a wave of comfort hits you, and the gentle smile painting his lips almost convinces you that everything is okay.

“How are you feeling?” He inquires. His hand remains in your hair, nails now scraping therapeutic patterns across your scalp. The idea of sleeping again comes to mind, but you force yourself to sit up on your elbows and look closer at the man’s features.

Even if you were to put it kindly, Seonghwa looks like absolute shit. The deep circles under his eyes, shallow scratches over one cheekbone and a nasty purple bruise on the other. You can see white gauze under the collar of his form-fitting shirt that seems to snake up over his shoulder, but he uses that arm without any visible issue just fine. You hardly realize how your arm moves on its own accord, reaching up to cup the line of Seonghwa’s jaw, and your thumb drags over his scraped cheek.

“I’ve been through worse, princess,” he chuckles under his breath. The smile on his lips stretches to one of amusement, and if you had it in you, you might laugh back with him. But not now. Not while Yeosang and Hongjoong remain unconscious beside you, and nearly half the crew is unaccounted for.

“I’m – I’m sore,” you manage after a couple of seconds of easy silence.

“Not surprised. You were given a pretty strong tranquilizer.”

It comes back to you then, an almost instantaneous shift in your demeanor as you remember what exactly went down prior to you passing out. Nothing too dramatic or memorable compared to the finale. If you had thought that Han Jisung wouldn’t haunt your thoughts after that, then you would have looked a fool on all accounts. Seonghwa notices the tension that rises in your body, and his hand drops from your head to your shoulder, squeezing gently at the flesh under his fingers. He opts not to comment on your unfocused gaze; rather, he motions towards Yeosang and Hongjoong behind him.

“We don’t know when they’ll be up. Yunho was up within a few hours, but his dosage was apparently a lot lower than yours and Yeosang’s were since he didn’t pose as much of a threat.” You squint at Yeosang’s reclining body once before pulling yourself up into a better sitting position. Seonghwa moves with you, hand never leaving your form for a second, and he’s there to steady you when you wobble a little upon swinging your legs over the edge of the cot. You don’t dare to get up from there, content to just sit and stew as you watch the unconscious crewmates in front of you.

“What happened?” You ask after quite some time.

“I can explain that a bit more when Yeosang wakes. It’s… um—” Seonghwa doesn’t let himself finish the thought. Your heart twinges in your chest, although you know that it isn’t on your own accord because of the way Seonghwa’s expression shifts. His gaze falls to the floor past your cot. You don’t press him for answers, but it is more than clear enough to tell that something awful has happened in the time you were unconscious. Your initial reaction is: no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. I would be better off not knowing.

That devolves in a matter of seconds thanks to the worry rolling off Seonghwa’s body in waves. You bring a hand up to the one he has resting atop your shoulder then with a hesitant grasp take his lithe, long fingers between yours and offer whatever minimal comfort you can to him.

“Hongjoong is lucky to be alive.”

If Hongjoong is lucky to be alive, then what of Mingi? Where is he? Is he in a similar condition? Better? Worse? Wooyoung isn’t at Yeosang’s bedside. San isn’t at yours. So where the fuck are they? In another room? If they managed to cram three cots together in this one, then surely they could have made some more room for the others as well.

“We need to let him rest longer, give him time to recover, and let his body catch up on sleep as well. So hopefully Yeosang will get up soon, and you won’t have to stay waiting for an explanation for too long.”

Seonghwa’s words exude a sense of finality, and yet he doesn’t move away from you. He stays put and brings his gaze up to trail over your features. He seeks something in them that you aren’t aware of, a dash of confusion to his dark orbs that has your stomach churning every which way, and you can’t pretend not to know why.

“I thought I would lose you both,” he whispers so quietly that only you can hear the words. “I fear that I won’t be able to have you as fairly as I promised bec-because–”

“Do you still love him?”

“Not in that way any longer.”

“We can talk about that later,” you say, cutting Seonghwa’s thought short despite the fact that you already know where it was headed. It is an easy feeling for you to understand because every aspect of your life seems to drag you back to Jisung somehow. If Hongjoong is Seonghwa’s weak spot, then Jisung is most definitely yours. Too much is happening for you to properly process it all at the moment, so part of you demands to postpone that conversation with Seonghwa as much as possible if only to let you have time to gather your bearings and work through the confusion. Some things can wait. Others cannot. What happened before you got here is one of those that cannot wait. That conversation with Seonghwa can. And Jisung… Jisung is a thought that you will push to the deepest recesses of your mind and avoid with as much willpower as you can muster because while you should have seen this coming, you are still reeling.

He always spoke of coming to Kebos once he retired. It was his dream for the both of you. You didn’t have word for word confirmation that he was alive but you knew quite well that he escaped Eros prior to the execution then he disappeared from your radar. You figured he would be here and yet… you could never have expected him to be in the arena when he was or do whatever it is he did. To the outside eye – to Seonghwa – it might seem like an attack, and that would be logical since Jisung didn’t seem to know who you were until you said his name. However, he had to have seen you before the attack, he had to have known it was you, he said your name without an ounce of hesitation, and he was very clearly watching you because you could sense a presence before he showed himself. If he had wanted to kill you, he would have done so. He could have killed Yeosang and Yunho as well, but here they are, alive and for the most part well with you. San… Wooyoung… you don’t want to think that Jisung would kill either of them, and you don’t want to think that they are dead either.

What exactly was Jisung doing in that tunnel?

You are so lost in those thoughts that you don’t feel Seonghwa pulling away to face where Yeosang lays behind him. Jongho comes closer to the bedside, head stretching out to rest atop your head, and the gentle weight soothes you enough to bring you out of the intruding thoughts. He seems to be in far better condition than Seonghwa is – you can’t spot a single scratch or bruise on his face at least, but his knuckles are all battered. His red eyes are tired and bloodshot in a way that is concerning. He reassures you with a gentle smile before pulling his hand away from your head.

“Yeosang?” Seonghwa nudges the sleeping man with the back of his hand. At first, the blonde doesn’t budge even an inch and remains so still that you would believe that he’s dead if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Seonghwa bothers to prod at his shoulder once more, this time garnering a reaction from the man as the Elitist bolts upright on his cot. His body still seems to be on the offensive because he nearly clocks Seonghwa right in the nose with a wildly swinging arm, but the latter deflects the awkward attack before it can make contact.

“Where are we?” Yeosang asks the moment he somewhat gathers his bearings.

“We’re at a hostel not far outside the city, but at a safe distance from the arena.” Seonghwa stands up straight as Yeosang continues to blink around the room. It’s only a matter of time before the blond begins to ask more questions, including ones surrounding Wooyoung’s absence, but Seonghwa beats him to it. “Now that you’re both awake, we can better explain what exactly happened. As soon as Vladimir figured out that it was Mingi down in the arena, he detonated the electromagnetic bomb underneath the building that sent an intense electrical current through the arena itself. Neither Hongjoong or Mingi had time to react or withdraw, so they were both caught in the majority of the blast, but it also stirred up an awful duststorm, which flooded the base and tunnels surrounding the bomb. Then, Vlad dispatched several fighting units to no doubt dispatch of us before we could escape. Jongho and I went down to get Mingi and Hongjoong. We could hardly see a thing in there because of the dust, and it was only when it cleared that we were able to find Hongjoong, unconscious and beaten within an inch of his life. Mingi was nowhere to be found.”

Your gaze flits back down to where Hongjoong lies. His face is turned to the opposite wall so you can’t see the evidence of his fighting all too well, but several bruises poke out of the collar of his shirt. That is enough to tell you how bad things got for him.

“We spent so long searching for Mingi,” Seonghwa continues through a deep sigh. You shift to glance towards Jongho, but the Berserker stares at the floor without moving a muscle. His expression is impossible to read, and you can’t bring yourself to try to figure out how he feels about this. The exhaustion alone on his features tells you about how well he’s taking the situation. “There was only one exit, and that was the tunnel you all were already in. We assumed that we could carry Hongjoong out and find you all with Mingi in the tunnel. However… when we came in, it was worse than we could have imagined. The two of you and Yunho were all lying face down, completely unconscious, and there was a man with a green hood standing close to your body, Y/N. We – I immediately confronted him because I thought it had been his doing, but he claimed that he did not do anything to harm you all. There was still no sign of Mingi there either.”

Seonghwa must have more to say than that. You can hardly believe that he wouldn’t breathe a word about Wooyoung or San, but his continued hesitance offers no comfort and only makes you want to make a break for the door and get out of this damn room. Yeosang picks up on that as well, and this time he is quick enough to ask a question.

“And what of the others? Wooyoung?”

Seonghwa’s tongue pokes out to moisten his lips. He doesn’t respond right away, then he reaches for his pocket, pulling a shattered wristband out and passing it to Yeosang without a word. You lean forward to look on as well but regret it the moment you catch a glimpse of the screen. It’s the band that was assigned to Wooyoung, and you only know that because of the small initials flashing in the corner of the cracked screen. You don’t get to look longer than a moment; next thing you know, Yeosang is pushing himself to his feet and hurling the band across the room. It hits the brick wall with a loud clatter. He must not have all his strength back quite yet because just the simple movement has Yeosang stumbling and falling to his knees. Seonghwa tries to catch him a moment too late, hand clasping around Yeosang’s forearm the second he hits the floor.

“Wh-Where is he?” Yeosang asks, tone heavy with labored breaths.

“We… we don’t know, Yeosang.” The lack of confidence in Seonghwa’s tone betrays how he truly feels, and it scares you when he glances up to meet your eyes. The next words to fall from his lips are far worse. “San is gone too.”

Gone.

Choi San is gone.

“No,” you choke out, hardly aware that you say the small word of denial out loud. “Not again. I-I… pl-please—”

“What would’ve happened if you died out there?”

The world suddenly feels a lot less real, like you’re stuck in a pathetic state of limbo and watching everything happen around you without being a part of it. There is a stabbing pain in your chest that lingers for far too long.

“And I wasn’t there to be with you. What would I have done if you died before I told you how much I care about you?”

Seonghwa, Yunho, Jongho, Yeosang, Hongjoong. Five people in the room. And not one is San.

This time when you reach out to Seonghwa, it’s a desperate attempt to have something ground you. Jongho moves to intercept your movements and stand in Seonghwa’s place, but the lieutenant doesn’t let him do so; instead, he slips away from Yeosang and closer to you. His fingers slip between yours, squeezing tightly at your hand, and his other hand moves around your waist. He anchors himself there, the sinking sensation of his warmth filling your senses as you drink it in deeper and deeper. The black waters of panic surge around you.

This is what you feared would happen.

The reason why you were so adamant and desperate not to get attached.

Seonghwa braces his body against yours. The anchor sinks deeper. You ball your fists around the fabric of his coat, clinging to it like a lifeline, and your panicked gaze drops to where Yeosang still kneels on the floor. Jongho squats beside him now, having taken Seonghwa’s place by his side. If your pain and fear are this deep, then you cannot even begin to imagine how Yeosang is feeling at this moment in time.

Can love be so powerful that it changes the deepest parts of a person? You would like to believe that yes, it can. And you can only say that because of the way Kang Yeosang – an Elitist, an arrogant and logic-inclined Elitist – is hunched over on the floor sobbing into his hands. Sobbing could not even begin to describe his cries, in all honesty. They are wretched and awful, so broken at the seams that every crack in Yeosang’s usually so-put-together composure shows every drop of pain in his body. You aren’t sure what you expected from him — perhaps anger? Rage directed towards Seonghwa and Jongho for not getting there sooner? Towards himself for failing to keep Wooyoung safe? Towards you since you gave your word to him?

You aren’t sure if it’s the panic gradually residing or if Seonghwa is influencing your emotions somehow with his closeness and the heat of his breath on your ear, but your heart slowly comes down to a more regular pace. The intense pain over your heart remains quite present. You can manage that; Yeosang, however, just seems to be devolving further and further into a drastic state of hysteria thanks to the news. There is nothing you can do — nothing any of you could possibly do to console him unless you brought Wooyoung through the door right this instant.

Sometimes, on days that were not so busy or stressful, you would find yourself in the mess hall with Yeosang and Wooyoung, maybe with Jongho or San at your side as well. You never put much thought into it back in the heat of the moment, just filtered through things and stored certain memorable moments in the recesses of your brain. But something you could always clearly see from Yeosang – something you see every single time he looks at the dark-haired man – is the way the Elitist would look at Wooyoung as though he held every star in the universe in the palm of his hand. Now you can reason it out and know why exactly Yeosang would look at Wooyoung in such a way.

Because the man hunched over on the floor before you is crying as though the light of his life has been taken from him, like he is fully enshrouded in such an intensity of darkness that there is no way out.

They are doing nothing more than the rest of every last sorry soul in the universe: trying to create what would be their perfect world. Fate has deprived them of enough. Who are you to take more from them?

You would make every last monster who took Wooyoung from Yeosang pay a hundred times over, just as you would do the same to the ones who took San from you.

Jongho maintains a steady touch on his shoulders, one hand squeezing tightly around each one, but the gesture doesn’t slow or stop the cries falling from Yeosang’s lips. It’s with a rare look of desperation that Seonghwa focuses his attention on Yunho, and with an unspoken plea for Yunho to give him something, anything. All the healer can manage is a shake of his head, and he returns to watching Yeosang sob forlornly. For Yunho of all people to admit that there isn’t anything he can do to help the man right now is a punch in the gut. Seonghwa leans away from you to mutter something into the shell of Jongho’s ear, and the Berserker offers a curt nod in response.

“Let’s get you some food,” Seonghwa whispers once he turns back to you. “Jongho will stay with Yeosang for now and… try his best to calm him down some. At least enough so that we can discuss further and talk about a plan.” Seonghwa sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “I wish — I’m sorry I don’t have more answers. I wish I could give you more than what we have now.” The way Seonghwa gazes at you speaks more than the words that fall from his lips. The endless apologies on his mind that don’t come to light – you don’t need to hear any of them to know how he’s feeling and how he’s blaming himself for not doing more.

When he stands, you move with him, albeit on shaky legs that aren’t used to the sudden pressure. Yunho leads the way out of the room without a word. Again the world seems to shift under your feet, like a cruel slap to the face, and you can almost feel yourself slipping back into a dingy and rusted cell. Your mind is so disconnected from reality that you don’t even fully fall into a flashback; it comes in snippets instead, gross figments of your past that you don’t want anymore.

“He’s not coming back. I told him to leave for good.”

“H-He wouldn’t do that, Hyunwoo. He wouldn’t leave us. Jisung’s – he’s different, not like that!” Your hand clasp desperately at the iron bars separating you from the broad-shouldered man. Hyunwoo dips his chin to his chest.

“Forgive me, Y/N… the only way I could convince him to leave was to – was to tell him that you were dying with me.” Your throat goes impossibly dry. “Jisung is gone. As soon as they take your chains off, you should do the same. Get the hell out of here, get off this planet, and – and do better.”

Seonghwa’s hand rests on the small of your back. The pressure of his palm increases with each passing second. It pulls you back and gives you glimpses of the present. A dark hallway, stairs, a smiling woman who motions towards an empty table.

“I – Hyunwoo, I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“I’m sorry. This was the only way I could save you all. Maybe one day you will get to see each other again, and you can tell him the truth. And he can tell you the truth.”

Sitting down, Yunho sitting across from you.

“What fucking truth? You can’t do this now of all times, Hyunwoo! It isn’t the time to be cryptic and mysterious!”

Seonghwa’s hand still on you.

“You’ll understand one day, Y/N. I promise.”

You don’t understand a thing. And you certainly don’t get why life or fate or whatever the fuck it is keeps wrenching the people you care about from your grasp.

“Do you at least know whether they’re alive?” You ask, tone hesitant and quiet yet pleading at the same time.

“San and Mingi both had their wristbands still on. Vital signs were active for quite some time but…” You don’t even care that there is a ‘but’. Simply hearing that the vital signs were active is enough to wrench a relieved sigh from your lips. “We have reason to believe that they were taken off-planet. The bands only work within a certain range, and the atmosphere affects them greatly as well. Since we were all on-planet, I didn’t set the frequencies to adjust for space travel. I-I should’ve thought of all the possibilities and planned accordingly.”

The woman from earlier bustles around the table, delivering plates of an assortment of foods from bread to fruits to meats. Despite hunger curling in your gut, you aren’t sure that you can stomach the food anyway. Seonghwa nudges a plate in your direction, and you decide to at least put in a bit of an effort for him, if only to make him feel better.

“It’s not your fault.”

The words surprise both you and Seonghwa, heads whipping up to look at the man who spoke in unison. Yunho stares down at the table as though he hasn’t breathed a word at all, but you all know what he said, heard it loud and clear.

“Pardon?” Seonghwa says after blinking away his shock.

“It’s not your fault. There was no way you could have expected what would happen on the mission. Even if you did expect it, there was no possible way of preventing the damage that was done. Thus… it is not your fault.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust comfort coming from your lips, Yunho.”

The healer sighs upon hearing Seonghwa’s clipped tone, carefully setting his fork down beside his plate, and when he glances up at the lieutenant, his gaze is unreadable.

“I feel guilty too, you know. For not fighting more, doing more, not being strong enough, for not being the one they took. Seeing… seeing Yeosang’s reaction and Y/N’s reaction — those things make me wish that I had been taken in Wooyoung or San’s place. In Mingi’s place. I know you feel the same way, just as we both wish that we could have taken Hongjoong’s place in the arena.” Seonghwa’s fingers curl into a tight fist against the wood of the table. “I do not want to admit this, and it truly pains my pride to say it, but I do realize the truth of the situation. If things had gone worse for Hongjoong, then you would have lost the most out of everyone.”

“Comparing losses is like comparing apples to oranges, Yunho. A loss to me is far different than a loss to you. It isn’t about who loses more.”

“Yet, you would have had to step up and become captain right away. Be on the bridge of the ship alone for the first time in years but with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be coming back. Bury Ho–”

“Is it your goal to pain me right now?” Seonghwa asks through gritted teeth. His tone is almost choked in the way it strains in the back of his throat, evidence of how upset the mere thought of Yunho’s words are making him. Yet, for once, you don’t feel as though Yunho is intentionally trying to upset him. As shitty as it may be, you almost think that it is his attempt at an apology. Yes, his ego and pride and a whole slew of other issues that he has have not gone away and are blocking him from providing a proper apology. But his tone is not aggressive or seeking to draw anger out of Seonghwa.

“It’s not. We both know Hongjoong will awaken and that he will recover. He will be okay, and he’s come back from worse in the past. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry, but it allows us to have more confidence this time around. And I know that when he does wake up, your name will be the first on his lips. What Vladimir said before Hongjoong descended into the arena — he mentioned how Hongjoong looks at you like you’re something precious. Still. Even after all this time and everything you’ve been through together, he still looks at you the same way. I merely feel an unreasonable and unruly amount of jealousy when I think about it.”

“And that jealousy drives you to overstep boundaries and lines you should not cross.”

“Then we share in that jealousy.” Yunho’s gaze flits up to meet Seonghwa’s across the table. You expect some sort of altercation to unfold between them, but for the time being, they both remain level-headed. The thread keeping Seonghwa tethered is wearing thinner and thinner by the second; you can see it in the way his clenched fist trembles. “He didn’t start coming to me to slight you, Seonghwa. It was never about rubbing it in or trying to hurt you. He only came to me because he didn’t want to hurt you.”

The thing about love is that no matter how hard you try to force it down, no matter how much you kick and scratch and bite at it in a desperate attempt to push it away, it always comes back with more force than before. The more you fight it, the more it spreads. The thoughts that invade your mind, the memories clinging to your skin like a disease, the emotions curling sharp talons into your heart. So no matter how much Seonghwa claims to love you, he will always be fighting his love for Hongjoong. The same can be said of you and your love for Jisung, or even your care for San. Love is not something you can force out of your heart; it is something that you must gradually grow out of, and you only realize now that all your attempts to run away have made it worse.

“Y/N, I—” Yunho cuts his thought short to look towards the ceiling. He must have had enough of the conversation with Seonghwa, tone shifting as he changes the topic over to you. “You did not run away even though you had every opportunity to.”

“Don’t give me one now.” Yunho is trying to say that he was wrong, and you can recognize that. Seonghwa surely can as well. If it’s forgiveness he’s after, however, you aren’t inclined to give it to him quite yet. An apology given under the guise of narcissism doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and forgiveness given in that situation would only breed further issues later on down the line. The selfish part of you also just doesn’t want to forgive him yet.

The meal continues on in silence for quite some time. You don’t bother with trying to figure out how much time passes exactly; all you know is that the air surrounding the table is terse at best. Things only change when Yunho decides to speak again, although this time it’s to drop bombshell information that you could never have predicted.

“You know my mother was murdered here on Kebos.” He doesn’t look up from his plate, but both you and Seonghwa again jerk to stare in his direction.

“I thought she died of illness,” Seonghwa whispers.

“She did. The illness was poison. Poison administered by one Vladimir the Bloody.”

“I — Yunho, I had no idea th—”

“It was my job, my duty, my responsibility to heal her. I knew what to do, I knew how to heal her, how to extract the poison from her body, and I couldn’t do it. Every case I take on is a selfish attempt for me to reconcile those mistakes. To, if nothing else, prove to myself that I am not the failure who watched on as his mother died because he was too weak to save her. I didn’t save my mother, I didn’t keep Mingi from killing his father, and I didn’t save Cass. I broke Jongho’s trust, failed Y/N when she confronted me with the truth, and I cannot count on one hand the amount of times that I’ve failed you, Seonghwa. I’m not asking you to pity me or feel sorry for me. When I first woke up and started treating Hongjoong, you begged me to save him. I do not fear Vladimir taking another life from me. I fear not being able to do the job that is expected of me when the going gets rough.” Yunho drops his hands to the table, letting his palms lie flat against the wood. “I don’t care what you think of me. Whether you find me to be selfish and egotistical — that does not matter to me. I just refuse to let you look at me like I’m still that failure who is helpless and naive. I see it enough when I look in the mirror.”

Seonghwa inhales sharply as Yunho speaks but does not make an effort to come up with any sort of reply until well after the healer has stopped talking.

“Never once have I thought you to be a failure, Yunho,” he mutters. “Nor have I ever despised you. All my anger is directed at myself and Hongjoong. I never wanted you to get dragged into that, but things just happened this way. It’s unavoidable when we all work in such close quarters day in and day out.” Seonghwa sighs and drops his chin to his chest. A hesitant hand reaches up to comb through his dark hair, pushing it off his forehead, then that same hand drops down to his side. “You two should eat quickly. I’m meeting with someone here soon.”

“You are?”

“Yes, the man we found with your bodies initially. I asked to question him about what he saw, if he has anything we can use to find the others, and he agreed to meet me here.”

“Consider me gone,” Yunho sighs, leaning away from the table. “I need to check on Hongjoong and dress his wounds again. And have a chat with Yeosang if he’s any less… hysterical.” Seonghwa offers a hasty nod. Yunho continues pushing away from the table until he’s on his feet, and he doesn’t wait for you to move before he walks up the stairs and out of sight. A hand drops onto your thigh, not searching for anything more than the small contact.

“I would not be opposed to you staying here with me during this meeting.”

“Do you think this person might try something?”

“I doubt he would be so bold as to do that. It’s just that… well, your presence brings me peace.” Seonghwa whispers the words under his breath as though they’re meant for your ears only.

“Because of what we are,” you state even though it was initially meant to be a question. Seonghwa huffs out a quiet laugh and shakes his head a little.

“If that’s what you would like to believe, then yes.”

Seonghwa’s hand falls away from your thigh. At first, you think you’ve done or said something wrong, but the way his back straightens and eyes grow cold tells you that it is something else entirely. You follow his line of sight to the door to the hostel, catching the way it swishes open, and a hooded figure steps through. It must be the man Seonghwa saw in the arena, but you can’t quite catch his face through the harsh shadows his hood casts over his face. Some odd feeling twists in your gut as he moves towards your table, like you already know what is about to happen, and yet that still cannot prepare you for it.

Because when the man slides into the spot where Yunho just sat and tugs his green cloak back to expose his face, you truly feel as though you have entered some strange distortion of reality.

“I don’t believe I introduced myself when we last met, Lieutenant of Death,” he says, tone as clear and teasing as the day you met him all those years ago. “My name is Jisung. Han Jisung. I hope you’ll remember it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Seonghwa exhales through a tight smile. He motions towards you, eyes remaining glued to Jisung’s features as he speaks again. “This is—”

“Y/N L/N, Ghost of Eros. Oh, where to begin with her repertoire? Best sniper in the military of Eros. Assassin of the King of Eros. One of six members in Unit 24, a reconnaissance and extermination team operating under the esteemed military of Eros. Recruit number 17. Little lady, perhaps?” He smiles at you with every passing word. Smiles like not a day has passed and nothing has changed between the two of you. Round cheeks balling up with the same joy they always did in the past, and you nearly believe that time has frozen for the two of you when you see it. Seonghwa brings you back to reality, eyes wide and flashing confusing as he glances between Jisung’s smiling face and your more solemn one.

“You two… do you know each other?”

“Han Jisung, otherwise known in the past as the assassin and reconnaissance specialist of Unit 24. Recruit number 41.”

Seonghwa inhales so sharply that the air whistles through his teeth. His gaze is on you, and you can feel it so intensely that you almost want to burst into tears to alleviate some of the pressure in your head. You have reached the point of no return, chest so tight with emotion that you somehow feel nothing at all when you blink back at Jisung. It haunts you — the mere fact that you are looking at the man who once held your whole existence in the palm of his hand as though he means absolutely nothing to you.

A hand slips back over your thigh, searching for your own desperately, and you know Seonghwa just wants to offer whatever comfort he can right now. The damage is already done. The dam is already broken. And your words spill forth with a reckless abandon that you never imagined you could muster up.

“You knocked me to the ground and injected me with some sort of potent anesthesia. Whoever the hell was with you in that tunnel did the same to my four crewmates. When I woke up, it was to find that two of those crewmates are gone. You’re smart enough to realize how bad that looks for you.”

“I… I do,” Jisung says, tone falling quiet, and his smile droops a bit at the corners. Seonghwa levels him with a suspicious glare, but he doesn’t add anything more for the time being. “I hardly expected this to go over well, but all I can do is plea that you hear me out. My boss — the man I now work for asked for two people to be brought out of that arena. The Brute of Kebos and the Ghost of Eros.” Your throat turns to sandpaper, and Seonghwa’s hand clenches harshly around your leg. Jisung’s lips twitch as he grins a little wider. “You know I’ve never been good at following orders, especially when they come from a leader I can’t see directly. I have two superiors — my boss and my captain. My captain is the one who dispatched me and my three crewmates to take care of the mission. I have never met or seen my boss; I don’t know his name, his face, anything about him. That made it easy to decide what to do, because as soon as I heard ‘Ghost of Eros’, I knew I wouldn’t be able to take you. So, when I went into that tunnel and saw you with four other people, I made a spur of the moment decision to take two others under the guise that… that we simply could not find the Ghost of Eros, but we brought two others instead.”

“You used my crew as a bargaining chip?” Seonghwa seethes.

“To protect Y/N, yes. I know that if it meant protecting your crew, you would do the same.”

Seonghwa’s jaw stutters, but he is unable to come up with any sort of reasonable or logical response. Jisung is right, and you all know it. That doesn’t keep your rage from overflowing, although it isn’t directed at the man across the table. More than that, ti’s what he said. That his boss — whoever that may be — wanted you, and because of you, both Wooyoung and San were taken. Guilt sweeps over your whole body, overtakes your senses in less than a second, and before you know it, your vision blurs with unshed tears.

“You should have fucking let them have me,” you spit before a dry sob tears through your throat.

Because of you, your team fell to pieces and broke apart. Juyeon abandoned his best friend. Soojin left the only family she had. Ash lost all the people he looked up to. Jisung gave up everything. And Hyunwoo walked to his death.

“Why wouldn’t you let them have me? What were you thinking? That you couldn’t set me free at some point on the way back to your boss? That I couldn’t fucking protect myself? Why would you take them in my place?”

Because of you, Wooyoung was taken. San was taken. The light of Yeosang’s life is gone. All your past mistakes rush back to greet you, reflected in the face of the man before you.

“Even after all this time, you would always be my priority.”

Seonghwa snakes his hand around your back, fingers dancing over your spine as he lifts it to brush against the base of your neck. You wish that the action would bring you comfort, that it would do something to alleviate the burning pain spreading through your chest, yet it does nothing except make your tears roll over the balls of your cheeks. Jisung’s brows knit together as he watches you cry. He stretches a hand halfway across the table and stops there, unsure about going the rest of the way.

“If I had known what they meant to you… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“If you had known what they meant to me, you still would have done it.” Jisung shifts his jaw at your words, eyes blinking away from yours and confirming what you already know to be true. There’s another question on your lips, one that you desperately want to ask but can’t bring yourself to speak into existence, so it dies in the back of your throat with your cries. Seonghwa’s fingers continue their methodical drags over the base of your neck.

“That is true, yes, but — but now it means that I can help you get them back. All of them, including the Brute of Kebos.”

“What’s the catch?” Seonghwa inquires. Jisung wets his lips then presses them tightly together before speaking again. His gaze falls on you, the soft gleam in them taking you back to a starlit night full of cherrywood and sugar and the taste of honey and vanilla on your tongue.

“I want to retire from this life of… constant running and fighting and following orders. I want to do something for myself, but someone made me a promise a few years ago. To retire with me, move here on Kebos, and put that life behind us. If I’m going to help you, I need a surefire promise that after we get them back, Y/N will come back to Kebos with me.”

“That is not a deal I can agree to. Not without having time to discuss it with both Y/N and my captain—”

“Are you not the acting captain, Park Seonghwa? I saw the extent of the damage done in that arena, most delivered by none other than the Brute of Kebos. You can’t tell me that he will be up anytime soon, and I doubt your friends can wait that long for an agreement on your part.”

“Don’t – don’t drag him into this,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone as flat as possible. “I’ll do it.”

“Y/N, no.” Seonghwa blinks down at you. His eyes are wide and glassy, and even just those two words convey more emotion than you thought possible. He said he was afraid to lose both you and Hongjoong. What about when it comes to choosing between three crewmates – people he’s been with for years now – and you, someone he’s only known for months. It isn’t a decision you would wish on anyone. You don’t know what you would do in such a position. You do know that you would rather see yourself back in a prison cell for treason than let Wooyoung, San, and Mingi be taken to some god-forsaken place. As Seonghwa once said, sacrifice and trust go hand in hand. Now, he needs to trust that this is the best decision you can make and let you make it.

“You love her,” Jisung states, drawing Seonghwa’s gaze off you for a moment. “What is love compared to duty? Would it keep you from agreeing to my help, something invaluable in this situation?”

“You would do well not to romanticize love in such a way otherwise you will be sorely disillusioned. Love contains the freedom to choose what you want without the other person making any decision for you. Hence why if this is what Y/N wants to agree to, then I will compromise for her.” There lies a hidden meaning in Seonghwa’s words. They aren’t just meant to defend himself and explain his reasoning, but criticize Jisung for what lies behind his bargain.

“Love means keeping promises as well.”

Those words bring a dramatic halt to your tears, causing anger to bubble up in your gut as you process them, and all you can think is how fucking hypocritical it is of him to say such a thing.

“Don’t subject me to a life without you in it, Jisung.”

“I could never. I love you far too much to do that.”

“Promise me that you won’t.”

“I swear on my life that I’ll never leave you.”

“Then why did you not keep the ones you made me?”

“I was told that you were going to die.”

“If you had truly believed that… If our positions had been swapped, I would have at least stayed and done something to stop it.”

“I suppose that’s where we have our differences then. I trusted Hyunwoo enough to believe him when he told me you were both slated to die and that I should leave. But you’ve always had a problem with trust, haven’t you?”

“I think it’s best if you stop talking before you ruin your chances of walking out of here alive,” Seonghwa retorts before you can come up with a response.

“You wouldn’t dare kill me when I’m the only one who can help right now.”

“No, but I can hurt you just enough to leave you within of life and force the information out of you. I do not wear the mantle of ‘Lieutenant of Death’ for show. Although, if you truly believe that it’s merely a farce, I would be more than happy to show you how I got the title. You have what you want. She’s agreed to this deal of yours, which means it’s now on you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

Jisung regards the man with nothing more than a wavering glance for several seconds. Then he drops his head, a messy mop of blond hair falling forward to cover his forehead.

“I can meet you here again tomorrow morning, but it’s too late to be going out right now. My guess is that your captain will need at least three days before he can even be well enough to move to your ship.”

“It will only take him two. He’s a determined son of a bitch after all.”

“Of course he is. I’d expect nothing less from someone of his notoriety. Tomorrow, I can bring information concerning where they’ve taken your crew as well as what they intend to do with them, if I can. Boss has been pretty mum about his intentions, but I can at least figure out what they’ll do with two he didn’t ask for.”

“Won’t your captain be suspicious of your absence?”

“My captain is none other than Vladimir the Bloody. He doesn’t care to keep tabs on his men when they aren’t working a job for him. My job is complete. All that’s left for me to do is report back on the status of the mission. After that… I can easily eavesdrop on his conversations with the boss. I’m a Spectre, after all, and a damn good one at that. I’ll do my part. You have my word.” Jisung pushes himself up from the table, stepping over the bench and turning around to face you again in one move. “Y/N, if there had been any other way to get you out of there, I would have done it in a heartbeat.”

You answer him with silence. Your bloodshot eyes avoid his features like the plague. You only decide to look at the place where he just stood when you hear a door swishing, and it’s empty when your gaze falls upon it. Seonghwa’s hand slips down to meet yours. He intertwines his fingers through yours without saying anything, offering a silent plea for you to follow him when he too stands up. And you do. You let him pull you to your feet and up the stairs without complaint, even when he stops in front of a new door and guides you inside. It’s a single bedroom, much different than the one you woke up in, and Seonghwa parts from you there with a gentle kiss to your forehead and a whispered promise that he will be right back.

You hardly process a thing as you fall to your side on the bed and tuck your legs up into your chest so that you are curled into the most fetal position you can manage. The darkness in the room adds to your dazed state, shadows blur together into almost human-like forms in the edges of your vision, and you find yourself drifting back in time until your surroundings feel a lot more like that hotel in Echidna where San laid his soul bare before you.

A shaky hand reaches across the darkness to brush over the mattress as though San will appear under your fingers if you do so. He wouldn’t have been taken if not for you. Why won’t that thought leave your mind? The guilt that eats away at your stomach is far too much; it physically hurts you with every breath you heave, and your breaths rasp into the empty air before you. Fingers tighten around the linen sheets. The shadows almost come to a rest before you, almost morph into a face that is recognizable, so close to a dimpled smile and cat-like eyes.

Please be okay. Please be alive. I don’t know what I would do if you aren’t okay.

“Y/N.”

The voice doesn’t startle you or cause you to shift in the slightest. Every muscle in your body feels ten times heavier than before. Seonghwa slips into the empty space before you, causing that shadowy figure vaguely resembling San to dissipate into thin air. Whatever spell was binding you to the silence shatters, and you choke out a fresh sob. Seonghwa catches your wrist and tugs you into his embrace without hesitation. You can only press your forehead against his chest as tears begin to fall.

“This isn’t your fault, Y/N. I promise,” he murmurs, chin coming to rest atop your head. “You didn’t make them get taken, you aren’t the reason why they were taken. That decision… it was not yours. Jisung is the one responsible for that, not you. And he is paying for that choice by helping get them back.”

There is an elephant in the room. One so large and intruding that it occupies most of your thoughts as you listen to Seonghwa speak. You choose to continue avoiding it, running from him, pushing it back to the deepest recesses of your mind while you can.

“I’m t-tired of running from the – the past only for it to r-repeat itself,” you stutter through choked sobs. Seonghwa’s hold tightens around you.

“I know, Y/N. I know you are. I am too. But I understand. We are going to get this. All of us, with not one person left behind or forgotten.” His chin shifts until you feel his lips caressing the curve of your ear, hand tangled deep in your hair. “I’m here, I’m with you. I’m not going anywhere. For now. For as long as it lasts.”

When you first asked him to make that promise, you did not think that your time together would be so impossibly short, but now it truly feels like there is a ticking time bomb surrounding everything about you two.

“Why didn’t you ask him to make a different deal?”

“Because it was your choice, Y/N. I hate the mere thought of having to trade you for — I hate it. Yet if this is what you truly want… if you have a chance to rest peacefully at last with someone you love, who am I to deprive you of that? That is all I could ever want for you.”

“Stop me from doing it, Seonghwa,” you cry weakly. A pathetic whimper slips past your lips as you pull your head away from his chest to look him in the eye, and you are startled now because nothing could have prepared you for the sight before you. Tears paint the smooth skin of his cheeks, leaving ugly streaks down the side of his nose. “Make me stay. Please, I-I won’t stay otherwise. If nothing else just – just make me stay because I’m a Siren, because Hongjoong needs me, because you need me. Be selfish, please, I’m begging you.”

“I was selfish enough to have you as long as I did.” He smiles through the whisper. Not a happy or content smile, not one that brings you comfort, not one that blossoms a warmth in your chest. It’s one that takes your heart right out of your chest and squeezes it so painfully that you cannot breathe. “We can find another Siren. There are always others out there but this? This could be your only chance to have a normal and peaceful life.”

“I don’t want it. I don’t want normal or peaceful, I don’t want to go.”

“I think that deep down in your heart, you know that this is what you want. What you’ve always wanted. A chance to be free of expectations and pain. I would do anything to give you that opportunity, yet maybe Hongjoong and I are meant for each other simply because of what we are at the end of the day. Scourge of the Black Sea and the Lieutenant of Death. San told me that you have pardon papers. You can use those to clear you—”

“But they aren’t for me! They aren’t for me. I don’t want – I don’t deserve to be the one who is pardoned. What makes me more deserving than the man who died for me?”

“Oh, darling, if you could see yourself through my eyes, you would know that you are the most deserving person in the universe.” Seonghwa cups your cheek so gently, with such care, and holds you as though you are delicate and precious. “I know my fate, Y/N. It is to die amongst the black sea at my captain’s side. I do not think that is meant to be your fate though.” If you could possibly cry any harder than you are, you truly would. It is hard enough to breathe as it is, sobs continuing to tumble from your lips as Seonghwa keeps on holding you in the palm of his hand. “I’m sorry. I would do anything for you, but I cannot force you to stay. That is the one thing I cannot bring myself to do.”

You crash your lips against Seonghwa’s in a mess of salty tears and saliva, teeth clashing with his, but he’s right there with you, gasping into your mouth as a quiet sob slips through his previously unbroken visage. There is no more strength left in your body. You don’t have it in you to continue the kiss, and you can barely keep your eyes open at this point. When Seonghwa pulls his mouth away from yours, you can’t even chase him for another kiss, letting him slip a hand behind your head and tuck you into his shoulder. Hot breath ghosts down the back of your neck. You cling to it as desperately as you can like it’s the last bit of warmth you will ever be able to have from him, even though you know deep down that that is not true. He carries you into a deep sleep like that, and it is a sleep that awakens new dreams in you with new and haunting implications to them that you won’t be able to explain come morning.

…

Panic surges through your veins, startling you into a state of consciousness, but when your eyes open you can only see dark shadows in your vision. You aren’t alone. You know that much thanks to the steady sounds of breathing around you – at least two people with you, wherever it is you are. There is a strange sensation about your body, one that you recognize from your previous visit to the Dreamscape, but you cannot see well enough to stare down at your body and figure out what it is. Two shaky hands dart up to your neck, clasping around something terribly cold and metal. It’s a collar of sorts, and it refuses to budge even a centimeter as you try to yank at it.

A finger slips under the ridge of the metal. You brush over the cold skin there only to find a blossoming scar across your neck, one that spreads no matter how far you move your hand along the collar. You jerk your hand out from under it with a growing feeling of disgust churning in your stomach.

In the very least, your eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness, and you can make out the two figures with you. One sits off in the furthest corner of whatever cell you’re being held in. Broad shoulders slumped forward and showing unconsciousness, but you can detect the faintest scent of blood coming from him. The other is closer to you, only an arm’s length away from you, but his head faces away from you so you can’t make out any of his features.

You dare to reach out to him, forcing your tired muscles into action as you drag yourself closer to him. Even through the darkness, your hands look far too masculine to belong to you, but you hardly have time to think about that when you pull the man to face you.

A strip of white in his hair. Unmistakable features, even in the dark.

San.

You stumble back with a gasp, head hitting the metal wall behind you so hard that your vision goes spotty for several seconds. You still can’t see straight as you force yourself towards the other man in the corner. Hands fumble over his collar, jerking and pulling until his head falls forward into your waiting hands. Fluttering lashes pull his eyes open. Red eyes. Close-cut hair on the sides, blood trickling down the side of his temple.

Mingi.

You lose all control of your body — if you can even call it your body. Something else takes over, something pushes its way forward and assumes full control when Mingi fully comes to and squints at you. Off to the side, San is waking up as well, a soft grunt falling from his lips that has the body you’re in darting back over to where he’s hunched.

“San, are you okay?” The words aren’t yours. The voice is foreign but not quite, only odd because it feels like it is coming from your lips.

You can remember it now. The face in the water was not your own. It was Wooyoung’s. You remember it oh so clearly because it scared you so much the moment you saw it. You were in the Dreamscape yet you were in Wooyoung’s body.

San blinks himself to full consciousness, squinting harshly through the dark to look at you better.

“Wooyoung?”

✧✧✧ a/n: hi yes welcome. welcome. to the finale of act four. welcome yes wow can you believe it? i can’t um yeah so !!! a TON happened! let me know what you think, how you feel, how much you hate me! i love to see it! that ending tho 👁👁

taglist: @faeriewoobin​​ @sugarrimajins​​ @atinyinwonderland​​ @2504-life @lil7bluedragon​ @sparklychangbin​​ @jeong-uwu​​ @jeonartemis​​ @anothershorthuman​​ @xxbluestrifexx​​​ @haotheheckk​​ @noonawriter​​ @lostscenarios​​ @nlost21​​ @mirror-juliet​​ @okokokok123-45​ @purple-aeon​ @theoinkypiglet​ @toothlessshiber​ @atinyarmyx1​ @simpforhyunjin​ @hwangwoosan​ @vampire-jimin​ @softyubi​ @drumboydowoon​ @chatsgotmytongue​ @just-a-starfruit​ @babydolljo​ @scintillating-souls​ @khjssss @felixity​ @rawrrainn​ @hewwo-from-the-other-side​

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[westmoor]

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞  | main post |  ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same. 

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own. 

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant. 

And still, he can’t give up. 

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below. 

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

--

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt. 

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road. 

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours. 

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

--

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options. 

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other - 

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses. 

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness. 

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that. 

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human. 

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead. 

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary. 

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections. 

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing - 

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands. 

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

--

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day. 

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract - 

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold. 

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds. 

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now. 

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories. 

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath. 

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?” 

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

 And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

An Interlude — Warmth Under the Covers

The Master of Chaldea — Ritsuka Fujimaru — checks in on his allies, only to find them slacking off yet again.

What’s a Guda to do?

[POV-Ritsuka]

—

I am a Master of Chaldea.

That is what I am — nothing more, nothing less.

The guy operating the summoning system most of the time — one of the two guys who keeps the contracts between the Servants that Chaldea summons.

Mash’s Senpai.

I’m a Cause, and so is my coworker.

“...That’s right. That makes me a badass now, sort of!”

I can feel my fingers run through my hair as I wink at the mirror before me. Comparing my two options to figure out which one I preferred in the Combat Uniform, I ran over my daily routine.

Step one, of course, was figuring out how much I wanted to do myself up in the morning. The Chaldea bathrooms had the perfect lighting to check my face and skin, ensuring my skincare routine was up to snuff. Making sure my eyes weren’t bloodshot from the two hours’ sleep — making sure the bags under my eyes were concealed with a little bit of makeup.

“It’s like every day, Suzie’s training becomes a little more useful.”

That’s right — a closer look, and my cheeks were smooth as a baby’s bottom — my eyes as normal as they could get, considering their bright orange shade. At least the curtains matched the windows — always something that did bother me about my other look, that my hair wasn’t blue.

“...Then again, that would look awful with the uniform.”

The thought made my spine shiver. Like a genderswapped Rei — not bad, but not exactly the visual I liked seeing.

Truly, it was preferable to have that set form — anything else would be nauseating to even think about.

“...That should do it.”

Yes, truly — I looked perfectly fine, now. Care had to be taken to ensure I looked like my best.

That, of course, was easier than worrying the others.

...

...The bathrooms led to the Chaldea halls, just as well as they led to my quarters. Why the creators did this always confused me — even moreso, that the doors were one-sided, and were flush with the wall, so you couldn’t even get back in.

“Goddamned mages and their one-way bathroom door magic.”

Adjusting the plugsuit that never failed to get bunched up near my arm, and trying to imagine the map of Chaldea in my head, I put one foot in front of the other and started course to the cafeteria. Simply a hop, skip, and approximately twenty-five different hallways that look exactly the same away — my only saving grace being how many times I’ve made this journey before.

That, and the burning Olive Garden due east of the Cafeteria, whose smoke signalled the food area from a mile away.

And for much of the trip, it was the same as it always was — simply my footsteps echoing in an empty hallway, the only accompaniment being the odd intercom message from Da Vinci letting the staff know of a Singularity that had only recently cropped up.

“Just calling to let you all know that we will begin our scheduled Rayshift in four days~! Prepare yourselves for it!”

...We never really had a break. Even walking down these empty, empty halls, my footsteps served only to momentarily break up the endless thoughts of what came next.

‘A mystery Singularity. Is that what it is? I’ve never heard of it. We had the four Pseudo-Singularities handled already. There shouldn’t be any Pillars left! On top of that, we still don’t know the first thing about its location, and even if we did...’

Tap.

‘...It’s not like we can do anything to stop it. All my research, and nothing about this makes any sense at all. Maybe a Foreigner could do it, but—‘

Tap.

‘—Why? There’s no reason to make a Singularity anymore. No Demon Pillars left. The Lostbelts are already destroying mankind. There’s nothing left to do. And—‘

Tap.

‘...We need a break. We need a break from this — from ALL of this. Cadence needs a break, and that’s to say nothing of myself. Can’t we have a moment to sleep..?! Can’t we have even a second to rest our eyes, snooze, and..?!’

The smoke overwhelmed my thought. Against the harsh fumes of a burning building, and the strange smell of spice, rational thought was impossible to maintain — and the growing headache of a nightmare-riddled sleep wasn’t exactly helping matters.

Tap.

It wasn’t far now, surely. Another step forward, and —

...

...Between the tables of the cafeteria, there lay a kotatsu.

I made it with Da Vinci’s help just a few days before. A little wooden table, at least compared to the surrounding cafeteria tables — a red blanket sort of thing, and a heater underneath that Da Vinci cleverly placed carefully to avoid burning oneself. It could sit, I reckoned, four people on a good day —

—I didn’t account for Gorgon, clearly.

Finally directing my gaze to what was coming out of the blanket of the kotatsu — and moving forward as to get the damned Olive Garden smoke out of my eyes — I was met first with the ever-clear figure of Gorgon. Eyes just barely shut, a hand positioned to form a makeshift pillow, and a tail surrounding something out of view, she drew a figure much unlike what I’d previously seen — only made a little more curious with the resting Lobo just behind her, which made its resting spot close to her in order to be as warm as possible. Hessian, for what it was worth, was still awake, sitting at a table nearby — offering me a wave of recognition as I returned my gaze to the table.

Jeanne Alter lay — more accurately, sat — at the kotatsu, almost as if she were awake, her hand still gently grasping a bag of chips that had by now spilled across the oak surface of the table. If it weren’t for her loud snoring, and her face smushed against the table, she would’ve had me convinced she was still awake.

Circling around, I found an Artoria that seemed quite familiar — Lancer, clad in a black turtleneck sweater, dark grey jeans, and her esteemed headpiece, resting her head on her hand and looking almost wistfully at whatever Gorgon had wrapped up in her tail. Even as I approached, she didn’t even look back in recognition — as if I never existed at all, or as if she were staring through a window that wouldn’t accommodate for anything Ritsuka-shaped.

And as I followed her unshifting gaze, I found —

—Wrapped in Gorgon’s tail, a young lady, sharp black hair tied up in an impressive style I couldn’t quite describe. Her face, uncovered by a mask I’d grown accustomed to seeing, seemed at peace — eyes gently shut, arms wrapped around...

“...Cadence, you motherfucker.”

The careful, wistful gaze of Lancer Alter, the comically tight squeeze of a sleeping Gorgon, and the gentle hold of Ushiwaka, all contained a cowardly Master that somehow bonded with the most hateful, evil beings alive.

In a sense, it would bring about the ultimate safety, being around those that would always fight to protect that which they care of — even if their ultimate fate is to burn all that lives, surely some safety remained in keeping close to those who would protect you from anything they hated most.

“...This guy claims he’s a one-on-one sort of guy, yet he ends up like this.”

...It wasn’t like I had any right to complain — I did have Mash, and that was utter perfection, so I supposed he had the right to find a portion of that.

“...I’m never letting him live this down.”

“...Ritsuka.”

...I glanced over to Lancer Alter, who seemingly only now clued into my existence — her almost hazy eyes, as if overlaid with a world both like and unlike reality, gazed both at me — and through me.

“What is it?”

“...Rest well. Your journey will not end so easily — you would do well to follow his lead.”

...Her gaze moved back to Cadence, who hadn’t moved a muscle. If not for the subtle sound of his breath, I’d have presumed him dead — though he wouldn’t have much room to move, the way he was.

“...I don’t think I can rest that well, Lancer. He’s got two ladies keeping him warm, and a third keeping an eye on him. Can’t tell me I’ll ever rest like that.”

...At that, the Lancer only smirked.

“...It shocks me as much as any other, Ritsuka, that this has happened. But... You have your own who would be all too willing to provide, no?”

I could hear myself let out a snort in a desperate attempt not to laugh.

“Only one with Ritsuka cuddle privileges is Mash. Serenity gets a pass, but the others terrify me.”

“...So be it. Find those two, and rest. If that is how you rest best, then so be it.”

...Keeping a close look at her eyes, the fog faded ever-so-slightly as she kept watch over the other Master. I reckoned it was probably due to the contract being transferred to him — though Cadence did always have the strange habit of bringing Alters down to earth. If he weren’t so scared of the others...

“...You do the same, Lancer. Don’t watch over the guy forever. If you wanna get in there, Gorgon could probably fit you, too.”

As I briefly procured me phone to snap a picture of the scene before me, to tease Cadence with later, Lancer only laughed back.

“I am already dreaming, Ritsuka. I have no need to rest.”

“Right, right.”

Even as I turned around, and began setting foot outside the cafeteria with a wave Lancer’s way, my eyes remained on the photo of Cadence.

A lot had changed — a lot would still yet change.

Friends had been made in unlikely places, enemies made of friends, and friends of enemies.

But in all this, even a guy as paranoid as Cadence found time to rest — he found company with Avengers, and those more evil than he could even hope to be, and he found safety in their loyalty and affection, so it seemed.

...

“...I guess I don’t need to worry about him, hm?”

...It was best to listen to that Lancer while I still had time —

—while, instead of the ceaseless nightmares, I would dream instead about teasing the coward that remained so affectionately in such a silly place.

...Perhaps it was time to dream.

[shiishki]

okay wait, i changed my mind. you should answer all of these questions as well, if that's what you want from me >:)

oof there's a lot of it, that's what i get for wanting to be ✨aesthetic✨

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

vowels (and the importance of being me) - hunny

honeypie - jawny

pretty young thing - michael jackson

mirrors - justin timberlake

sunflower - red orange county

paradise - rude-a

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

a therapist.

ok someone else.. uhh,, my grand grandma because i only have scratches of memories but i dunno if that counts since she passed away...

*rummages through ancient scripts* uhh ok someone who isn't dead.. uhm,, tommie? yeah I'd like to meet them if i could meet anyone on earth

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

ok, the closest german, english or polish book? nvm i have english

"suddenly was. So I just said thank you a few times too, and Mum" ironically this is one of the normal lines in this book

4: What do you think about most?

the fact that I'll have to do something after school. and I don't know if i want to go to college or get a job bc i have no legitimate idea on what to do with my life. it gets overwhelming, just the lack of knowledge about the actual experience.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

Ok

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

with, tho i sleep with just shorts in summer

7: What’s your strangest talent?

not sure if it's a talent, but i can fall asleep anywhere

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)

girls are pretty. boys are pretty

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

by me, yes. no one else has written a poem about me specifically. nvm, tommie wrote one and it shall rest on my wall, or desk, i need to find a place for it

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

uhh i think last month?

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

i don't think so, but i am hella afraid of the possibly gigantic, terrifying things in the ocean depths that humans haven't discovered yet

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

yep, beloved legos as a lil child

13: What’s your religion?

i can't ever remember the name, but i believe gods (from all religions) exist in some way or form. so i believe in different pantheons and etc.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

walking my doggo, skateboarding, thinking about how to make the lives of my characters worse

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

behind it.

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

uhmm the arctic monkeys? or the strokes

17: What was the last lie you told?

i know what i want

18: Do you believe in karma?

yes, the rule of three specifically

19: What does your URL mean?

i don't know. it's something me and my sis came up with and that's just my whole identity now.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

uhh greatest weakness.. i can't finish things. strength is that I'm very stubborn so maybe I'll finish that thing out of spite

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

i grew up thinking crushes were like unicorns. my ex was odd enough to argue with that i didn't love her if i didn't have a crush on her. but I think if i had to guess.. selena gomez, especially in the role of alex russo in wizard of weverly street

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

nope

23: How do you vent your anger?

i write angry letters. sometimes they're sad letters. i write a lot of letters. except i never send them out and no one made a movie about them :}

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

jars and witchy bottles, books? scented candles

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

phone calls are stressful enough as is, i don't need you to see my reading off what i frantically wrote to not stumble over my words

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

i think so, yes, but that won't stop me from becoming better

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

hate flies buzzing right by my ear, love cat purring

28: What’s your biggest “what if”?

what if I'd been born in a place where it was illegal for me (nonbinary) to live, in a time when others thought of me as a curse?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

they be chilling.

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

right arm, doggo, left arm, pillow

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

fresh air and doggo, because doggo is with me and I can't live without open windows

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to?

i dunno tbh

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

which one is less homophobic?

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

every gender is my opposite gender. selena gomez and justin timberlake

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

to make it easier for people down the line

36: Define Art.

make thing, thing goes woo

37: Do you believe in luck?

yis

38: What’s the weather like right now?

it's nice actually, very sunny, slight breeze

39: What time is it?

12.59 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

i don't, but i once crashed into a fire department vehicle with my bike. bike ded.

41: What was the last book you read?

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

i legit ass don't know what gasoline smells like.

43: Do you have any nicknames?

many variations of my name, aka. Luce

44: What was the last film you saw?

i think it was Robin Hood: King of Thieves, but it might have been that half of spider-man homecoming i managed to watch with my poor internet

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

oh man i dunno... it's not an injury, but i was very sickly as a lil kid and almost died :)

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

once, years ago

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

hmmm horizon zero dawn i think

48: What’s your sexual orientation?

proud pansexual ^^

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

not really, i don't think they're big enough to be actual rumors,, meh

50: Do you believe in magic?

yis

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

meh. they suck, i know they suck, that's it.

52: What is your astrological sign?

cancer ♋

53: Do you save money or spend it?

i attempt saving. attempt

54: What’s the last thing you purchased?

for my own money, sweets. i bought lizards for my cats so they can brush their teeth from my dad's amazon acc

55: Love or lust?

luv

56: In a relationship?

nope, i buy my own cookies

57: How many relationships have you had?

1, kinda toxic toward the end, very stressful, don't recommend

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

nu ><

59: Where were you yesterday?

on the fields walking my doggo

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

yep, a pastel pink hoodie in my closet uwu

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

yis, thicc warm socks

62: What’s your favourite animal?

cats

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

cuddles and food.

64: Where is your best friend?

bold of you to assume i have a best friend.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

tommie-hildebrandt, kageyuji, nekomas-kuroo, joyful-soul-collector

66: What is your heritage?

I'm a demon boi from Poland tho that's not a thing to be proud of, i mean, look at the economy. awful.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

sleeping, trying to sleep.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name?

Pinkton. or Satan.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

this is such an odd combination of words i had to look it up. yea.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

a friend who won't laugh at me when i ask them to order smth for me because I'm too anxious to.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

excuse me? i am saving the doggo wtf. f u boss, I'm gonna sell my tragic story to the news.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

a) i tell my parents. b) live the hell out of them uwu c) nope uwu.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

trust.

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

history maker - dean fujioka :]

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

3332

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

communication, trust, some more communication.

77: How can I win your heart?

let's not pretend to be something else to please each other, and bring some bitter chocolate.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

maybe. it could. i don't have a say in it since my sanity is held by tape.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

eat the pizza. stop caring about others not liking me/parts of me. just living for myself uwu.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

uh i dunno how the american sizes work and i don't wanna look it up so, 39, 40 fits too.

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

demon boi

82: What is your favourite word?

socks.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

the bloody organ that sits in your chest and pumps blood into your body so you don't die.

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

uhm im not sure if that counts as a saying, but fake it till you make it

85: What’s the last song you listened to?

blinding lights - the weeknd

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours?

oh a normal question people use for ice breaking, sea blue and pastel variations of it.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

like my wallpaper? or the actual picture that sits on my desk? or how my desk looks like atm? it's ugly, a lot of papers and pens and schoolbooks.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

donald trump. or the next asshole who'll try to take the rights of the lgbt and poc away

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on?

this. this is the question.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do?

yo there's a pizza somewhere in the refrigerator, want me to heat it up? we can have a sleep over and talk about our feelings :3

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

telekinesis! or shapeshifting! i could do such fun things with telekinesis ^^ yeah I'd totally eat some radioactive veggies

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

that time my "friends" got me into shoplifting, half-hour is more than enough to punch some sense into my brain and develop good music taste

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

can i save this one? i don't think i have an experience horrible enough to be erased haha

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

sleep as in.. uh no thank u. but I'm down for a sleep over with sam smith ^^

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

just me? what about my pets? my fam? it's lowkey illegal for me to go just anywhere without them owO

uhhmm, greece. imma become part of the greek pantheon out of pure spite. and maybe toronto canada.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not any that i know of o.o

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

i think i may have but i honestly don't remember

98: Ever been on a plane?

nope, i dunno if i like planes, but I'd probably sleep if i were on one.

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

yeet.

[jacquiesims]

Viper Canyon - Chapter Seven

‘Elijah McLain turned over his shoulder to the wagon party members that had followed him to Viper Canyon. 

“We’ll arrive in town soon. No longer than an hour’s ride, I’d say.”’

TW: Violence, Death

October 1852

Elijah McLain turned over his shoulder to the wagon party members that had followed him to Viper Canyon. 

“We’ll arrive in town soon. No longer than an hour’s ride, I’d say.” 

The three passengers that remained exchanged glances of relief. They were exhausted and starving – the journey had not been an easy one like the last. The party had seen illness, death, attacks from the natives, injured animals that Elijah was forced to put down, and worse.

Jacob and Alice Sawyer were siblings from Pennsylvania who had travelled westward with Jacob’s business partner, Harry Dunn. The two men had been barbers back east and Alice helped run the home they all had shared. 

It seemed strange to Elijah that the three of them would come together to Viper Canyon, most men wanting to make a name for only themselves, but stranger things had happened. Most of the bachelors that Elijah escorted came by themselves but it wasn’t unheard for siblings to travel together. 

And yet he was still thankful for the skills the men brought along with them – they’d treated Elijah to a haircut and the occasional shave on the trail, and even he had to admit that the prospect of a proper trim and clean shaven face by a trained hand was appealing. He wondered absentmindedly how long it would take for the men to open their barber shop.

Jacob, Alice, and Harry waved goodbye at Elijah as he forged on home, leaving the party behind at their selected plot of land. 

He would be back to check on them, certainly, but at the moment, he was eager to get home and rest in a proper bed in a clean set of long johns.

Meanwhile…

The Yates Bank had been open on Main Street for two months exactly. 

Mr. Yates, a benevolent man, had made his fortune several times over in foreign trade and decided to move westward with his family in hopes of enriching his coffers in a new economy. He had done just that – many who came across the country needed loans to see their visions of frontier life to fruition, and the Yates Bank had nearly made back its upfront costs of construction in interest already.

John Williams had finally settled into his position as teller at the bank. He’d tried his luck in the mines, but after several weeks with no luck he opted for the safer option of a salaried job under Mr. Yates and his son, who were both fair employers. 

John smiled as a young woman came through the front door. The wind behind her carried in the subtle smell of her perfume and his heart skipped a beat. He was instantly struck by her beauty – he’d never seen her around Viper Canyon before, and he would’ve certainly remembered if he had. 

“Good day, miss,” he said pleasantly. “How can I help you?”

The woman seemed to have not heard him. She looked around the lobby, eyes lingering on the expensive drapes and well-crafted furniture. 

“Madam?” 

She blinked her large brown eyes, finally turning towards John. 

“Lovely waiting area,” she remarked flatly. 

John’s brows knit together. “Yes. It is. Mr. Yates has very fine taste. Can I help you with something, ma’am?”

“Especially fond of the draperies,” she said, taking slow strides toward the teller’s desk. “Do you know who happened to make them?” 

“Er…” John was confused, but he tried his best to oblige the woman. “I believe Mr. Yates had them commissioned from an interior designer in Aridia, miss.” 

She scoffed. 

“Is there anything I can help you with today? We provide loan and investment services, money conversions, and we have some lovely iron safes in the back for sale if you’d like to have one of your very own at home…”

“Well, what about the money?” She asked. “I’m interested in keeping my savings in this bank. They’re much safer here than at my home. Where do you keep it?” 

John was relieved, glad the woman was actually interested in doing business. “Our money is kept on the top floor in an extremely secure vault, miss. Only Mr. Yates, his son, and I know the combination,” He added with pride. 

“Lovely,” she said. “Could I see the vault?”

“Well,” John fidgeted, “We don’t really allow customers on the second floor unless they have a meeting with Mr. Yates, for security reasons, you see.” 

The woman narrowed her eyes. “I have to see the vault before I know if I want to keep my money here.” 

John felt put on the spot. He’d been explicitly trained by Mr. Yates to never let someone up on the second floor unless he was expressly informed that the individual was allowed up there. But if he let the woman go without seeing the vault, then he would almost certainly lose her business. Surely Mr. Yates would praise him if he secured another customer for the bank – by the looks of her frock, she was well-off indeed. 

“I’m sure a little peek won’t hurt,” John said with a smile. “Mr. Yates and Mr. Morris are out for the afternoon, and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. If you would follow me, miss.” 

“Thank you,” the woman said gratefully, following John as he unlocked the door towards the back room.

John stood in front of the vault door. 

“Here it is, ma’am. As you can see, it’s an absolute stronghold of security. No one is getting in here without the combination.” 

The woman looked the door up and down. “There isn’t any security? No one watching the door?” 

John waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need, really. The vault door is state of the art. Mr. Yates had it brought all the way from New SimCity – and it cost a pretty penny, I might add. I assure you, this door can withstand a blast from dynamite, even!”

“Dynamite, you say?” 

John beamed, turning towards the door and giving it a firm knock. “Yes, the manufacturers assured us – AH!” 

He turned back around to see the woman brandishing a revolving pistol, the barrel pointed squarely in his face. 

“Open it.” 

“Miss! Is this really necessary?” 

She sighed, growing impatient. “Open the damned door.” To make her point even more painfully clear, she pulled back the hammer of the gun with her thumb, resounding a sinister click. 

Cold sweat began to pour down John’s pallid face.

“If you open the vault and let my men take what we like, I’ll spare your life. If you don’t, I’ll have to settle for…” 

The woman swirled the gun around in her hand, making up her mind, before pointing it at the tip of John’s shoe. 

“Making due with a few of your toes.” 

John struggled to speak. “I…miss, please – I can’t…” 

“I said open the door, you idiot!”

At the rage in her voice, John’s trembling hands opened the vault door. Horrible, icy guilt swept over him as the woman stepped inside, never letting the barrel of her gun stray. 

“That’s more like it,” she smiled. “Nobody needs to get hurt. Just do as you’re told.” 

They stood there for a moment, John trembling with fear, until he heard the door downstairs open and heavy feet rush into the waiting area.

“Fantastic work, Rose!” 

John was suddenly in the company of several terrifying looking – yet cheerful – men. They began to fill their bags with all the cash and finery in the vault. The woman watched, hand steady as she kept John at gunpoint. 

“Don’t take it all, boys,” she said. “Leave the people with a little.” 

One of the men piped up. “Can I take the vase? It’d look lovely in the parlor, Rosie.”

“Oh, sure, love. Don’t get too greedy, though.” 

John’s blood moved in his veins like slush as the men carried their bloated bags downstairs, leaving the vault nearly entirely empty. The woman’s eyes never left his pallid face. 

“Jimmy?” She called. 

The smallest of the men – if he could even be called a man, John thought he was more of a boy if anything – strolled over to his mistress. 

“What do you need, Rose?” 

She smirked. “Take care of this one for me, will you? You know how I feel about witnesses.”

“But-but!” John choked. “You said if opened the door!” 

“Don’t be a fool,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “You really believed the word of an outlaw?” 

The boy cracked his knuckles, looking at the cowering teller fiercely in the eyes. John’s gaze drew along the deep, dark scar that marred the boy’s face. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” He spat. 

John tried to swallow the painful lump in his throat to no avail. “Nothing! I, er…” 

“Ugly scar, ain’t it? Got it from a man…who kind of looked like you.”

“What’re you going to do to me?” John whimpered. 

The boy grinned darkly. “I reckon I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. I like feeling the struggle.” 

“Please!” John cried. “Please, don’t do this!” 

The woman scoffed again. “Do you really want to spend the last moments of your life begging for mercy like a coward? You sad little man.” 

James reached out with both hands, but before he could grab John’s neck, the man threw up his hands in surrender. 

“Please, just shoot me,” he sobbed. “Let me die an easy death, please at least grant me that!”

The woman considered John for a moment. An odd expression crossed her face before she chuckled. 

“A lady never dirties her own hands.” She nodded towards the dark-haired boy. “Jimmy.” 

The boy grabbed John’s taut neck was a terrible force, tackling him to the ground. The teller thrashed horribly against the brick floor, choking for breath. Stars appeared in John’s eyes, he clawed at the boy’s hands for relief but his grip was like steel – blood vessels began to crack open in his eyes as his vision grew black and distorted. 

Rose stood back and watched, sliding her pistol back into her skirts.

John’s body lay limp on the vault floor. 

“Lovely work,” she said to the boy. 

He stared at John’s unmoving corpse on the floor, expression unchanging. 

The woman approached him from behind, resting a gentle hand on the boy’s back. 

“Let’s get back home,” she said quietly. 

The boy nodded and followed her out of the bank to the waiting getaway coach outside.

To Be Continued 

Previous Chapter | Viper Canyon Index | Chapter Eight

(More characters introduced! There are so many...I know the plot seems a bit all over the place but things will all come full circle eventually. Thanks for reading!)

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 16- Free

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 3381

Warnings: None.

AN: Thanks for the love guys, I appreciate it sooo much 😊 For those who have read this on Wattpad, I have edited the hell out of this story, so some parts have changed. Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy.

15- York

...

One thing Ivar loved to do was sing.

They were usually the old lullabies his mother would sing to him as a child on nights when the pain was impossible to ignore. It remind him of his father. It was his peace of mind.

"Just wait, though wide he may roam, always a hero comes home,"

Ivar's hand hovered over the chess board as he contemplated his next move. His voice was almost a whisper, the melody ghosting over his pink lips, haunting yet beautiful.

"He goes where no one has gone, but always a hero comes home."

He quickly moves his piece forward, snatching his opponent's piece from the board and into the small horde of his collection. His opponent, the bishop, was as surprised as Artemis, his eyebrows shooting up at Ivar's quick attack. Ivar continues to hum the rest of the tune while waiting for the bishop to make his move. Apparently he learned the game from Prince Alfred sometime ago.

"What do you think of the bishop?" He suddenly asks her, his blue eyes following the bishop's scarred hand.

"I'm more interested in the game, I think."

Bishop Heahmund did not seem like a pleasant man. He often shot her accusatory glares after noticing the cross about her neck. He didn't resemble a man of the clergy with his leather clothes and cropped hair, and even less so with a sword in his hand. He didn't speak often, but when he did, it was rough and strained, as if he'd been screaming for an entire lifetime.

"He fascinates me. He is quite an impressive fighter." Ivar comments, turning his body to look at her from across the room, "His sword, I'd like you to examine it. It is unlike anything I've seen."

"As you wish, Prince."

The bishop mutters something to Ivar in that Saxon language. It was so dissimilar to the other languages of the Mediterranean, so foreign and strange. The way his mouth would move and how his tongue shifted to make certain sounds was beyond her, but Ivar grasped it with ease.

The bishop gazes at her with scrutiny in his eyes before looking back at Ivar's amused ones.

"He asks of your origins. He can clearly see you're not of the north."

"And I can clearly see he is no bishop." Ivar snorts at her comment, beckoning her closer. She was much too far for his liking. Artemis was hesitant in taking the seat that Ivar offered beside him, but she complies. She kept her eyes trained on the pieces on the chess board, very elaborately decorated.

Ivar speaks once again in the Saxon tongue, repeating her words and watching as the bishop rolled his eyes.

"I am Greek." She tells the man, waiting to see if he understood her. She didn't know whether he spoke her language or not, but most priests and clergymen did. He must have, because he hesitated, completely caught off guard.

"Do you understand me?"

"Minimal." The bishop answers brokenly. Perhaps he really was a bishop. "You are far from home." He continues.

"I have his brother to thank for that." She discreetly motions toward Ivar, who watches their conversation in fascination.

"Your people do not follow the Holy Father in Rome." Bishop Heahmund grunts out in his terrible Greek, finally losing his king piece to Ivar. Artemis rolls her eyes.

"Right. It has been a pleasure." She stands, pushing the chair back with an unpleasant screech before marching off to where she previously stood.

"Why has he upset you? I thought you'd both get on well," Ivar waved his hand about to explain himself further, the king piece in his tight grip, "He even speaks your language."

"I am not Christian enough for him-" Ivar snorts at this, "The people of the east do not follow the pope of Rome."

"What? What is a pope?"

"A man who has power over all Christian men of the west, even the kings." Artemis tries to explain the petty rivalies of the church, making herself busy by sorting out all of Ivar's daggers and wiping them down with a dampened cloth.

"I do not understand," Ivar frowned, helping the bishop set up the board again for a new match, "Are you Christian's not all the same?"

"It is much more complicated than that," She says, "There are different rules and traditions." If she were facing him, she would have seen him roll his eyes.

"East, west, you are all the same to me." He says after moment, his eyes following Heahmund's first move.

There was a long silence that followed, and only the clinking of the chess pieces against the porcelain board filled the chamber. Artemis settled comfortably in her thoughts as she polished Ivar's daggers. It was a useless task, really, as they would probably be impaled into an unlucky brute soon.

"Are you his whore?" Heahmund's scratchy voice burned the insides of her ears.

She really didn't like him.

"Of all the words to learn, you learned that one?" The bishop shrugs.

"You learn the bad ones first." Artemis scrunched her face in displeasure, turning to look at him from over her shoulder.

"I am his blacksmith, bishop." Ivar looks between the two in confusion.

"It seems I will have to learn this language as well," Ivar grunts, "Did he offend you?"

"I believe you should ask him that."

Once again the odd sounds of the Saxon language filled the room unpleasantly until Ivar snorts again, a large smile breaking across his face.

"The man has humor." Ivar let's out the laugh he'd been holding in when he sees her obvious distaste for the bishop.

"I find no joy in his humor." Ivar sighs, but the annoying smile still plays on his lips.

"Then I shall put you at ease. You may go." She was glad for it, storing away his daggers in a leather pouch and setting them aside before turning and giving Ivar a respected bow. She didn't miss the bishop's glare, and she was quick to return the gesture.

"Artemis?" Ivar calls after her, "Do not try anything stupid."

What he meant to say was do not try anything stupid because I have a guard following you.

...

Ivar decided to have guards posted at every entrance way and anywhere he felt a need for them, reflecting his rising paranoia. He felt treachery at every corner and deception in every path. His anxiety escalated ever since he'd severed ties with his older brother.

When Ubbe left, he took a small fleet of boats with him back to Kattegat. He was in obvious disagreement with his youngest brother. He had no desire to venture farther into England for raiding. All he wanted was to live out their fathers dream and farm the land that was given to them by King Ecbert. Except, that land wasn't really rightfully theirs anyway.

It was sad to see such a family drift apart from each other, all because Ivar was ambitious and wanted more.

Hvitserk had hesitated, leaving with Ubbe aboard the ship until the very last moment, deciding to jump off and change his allegiance with Ivar. The oldest left quite solemnly, but it didn't deter him from what he felt was his duty. He didn't agree with Ivar nor his ideas or commands, and therefore he felt no need to remain under such leadership.

It was sad to watch Ubbe leave. He was the glue that kept the Ragnarson's together and was a good man with a heart of gold. Artemis offered him an apple before he left. It made the blonde smile.

Ivar felt betrayed.

Despite all the taunting he had done watching his brother leave, it hurt him so much more than he could express. Ubbe was his defender, the one who always looked out for him. Now he was gone.

Ivar did what he knew best, throwing things about in his fury. His anger lasted days, lashing out on anyone who dared to approach him. But the anger passed as it always did and the conquest in York continued.

He kept true to his word, having a guard monitor her whenever she was alone.

It was a trust issue at first, but then word spread that a slave woman was raped by one of his own men. In a different situation, Ivar wouldn't have batted an eye at that as it was no business of his what his men wanted to do with slaves. But then it had him thinking about his own slave. Not that the men would dare touch her for obvious reasons, but still, it was precaution.

She was safe, for the most part, but grew weary of such boring company. And she was sure this guard was bored of hers. If she wasn't followed by Ivar's guard then she was in the company of Hvitserk, who constantly joked about having to play caretaker. Artemis actually liked his company.

Spring was slowly beginning to transition into the summer heat, carrying with it the humid airs and more rain. Her hair didn't agree with the weather, the long strands expanding into disarray until she finally decided to sport them into mediocre braids.

It took Artemis some time to grow accustomed to the new city. She often explored it when she could spare the time, following the path of the river Thames's slow moving waters. She found herself admiring the English view.

But if anyone were to search for her, she could be found in York's forge. It was nothing like Ecbert's forge, but it was still impressive. The area was large and heated, made for multiple men to work at once, with a large pit for a blazing fire in the middle. She loved it.

She became aquainted with the technique of the northerners with Arvid's help, and now she strived to retain more knowledge from the Saxons, specifically the bishops sword. She had taken the sword to examine it as Ivar requested, and she understood why he was so fascinated by it.

It was forged of a stronger material, and she could already tell it was quite expensive to own. The long sword had a golden pommel, with precious stones embedded on the grip. There was something engraved into the blade, which only added to its mystery.

Heahmund was obviously once a rich man.

Artemis ran her fingers over the smoothness of the blade, working to shine it to perfection. She was reminded of her father, a master of crafting blades. She thought less of him. The less she thought of him, the less it hurt, burying it deep within herself as to not feel the emotional pain of having no family and being utterly alone.

...

Artemis had done a fantastic job staying away from Arvid.

She didn't speak to him, she didn't even glance in his direction. He'd catch her from time to time, speaking to his wife, sharing a laugh or two with her, inquiring on his health, but nothing more. He'd wondered how she managed to dance her way around him, despite them working together. He suppose he deserved it.

Arvid found a chance to speak to her, catching her sitting on the stool that Ivar sat on only days ago while enduring the painful pricking of a tattoo. Artemis hears his boots scuffing up the dirt, stopping in front of her. His handsome features were clouded with remorse.

"Do you hate me?" He asks bluntly.

"Hate is a strong word, Arvid."

"It was not my intention to-"

"I do not understand what your intentions were." She interrupts him with a sigh. Her small fingers held onto a whetstone, sharpening the bishop's sword. When Arvid steps closer for a better look at it, the guard he failed to notice made his presence known, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. They were part of Ivar's personal guard. The guard was quite a distance away, but he held a threatening stance. Arvid frowns.

"What is done, is done," Artemis continued to say, posture becoming more rigid the longer he stood there.

"Surely you have much more to say than that." Arvid insists.

"Not really."

Arvid runs a hand down his rugged face. He wanted to shout at her and elicit something from her, but he was better off steadying his tone if this guard was watching.

"Odin help me. You are infuriating."

"And you are a traitor. You do not value our friendship," She replied harshly, sheathing the sword and placing it at her feet with less care then she should have before crossing her arms. "You sold me out for your own selfish reasons, and now you want to reconcile?"

"I did not wish to see you make a mistake." His tone drops lower, and his blue eyes shone with regret. He didn't want to have a simple friendship, his passionate heart wouldn't allow it.

"That was my mkstake to make," Artemis remained with her arms crossed, but her anger slowly faded, leaving nothing but a frown in its wake, "He could have killed me, you know."

"Nonsense, he cares for you," Arvid scoffs with a roll of his eyes, "He even has that nice guard to watch over you,"

"Now is not the time for your petty jealousy," Artemis, stands grabbing the heavy sword in her hands, "I could have been home. I had a chance." A wave of emotion erupted in her like a storm out at sea, and angry tears blurred her vision. She told herself she wouldn't cry anymore, she refused to show such weakness, but her voice quivered terribly, and her skin flushed pink from the stress of tears.

She was emotionally tired.

Arvid felt terrible. His attempt at making amends was failing miserably. The last thing he wanted was to see her weep.

"Forgive me." He says dumbly to her, but he knew that wouldn't be suffice. He was pathetic, pining over a women that would always belong to Ivar. The youngest prince of Kattegat did not hide his feelings well, it was obvious. He cared for Artemis in his own way, even if he couldn't admit it.

Arvid had no right to be envious. He had a beautiful and loyal wife who cared for him as any wife should her husband, yet he felt the jealously tighten its hold on him. He should not have been so selfish.

"Artemis?" The sound of Hvitserk's voice made her quickly wipe her face free of any tears.

"Ivar is requesting your presence." His brows rose in silent questioning, but he says nothing, only watching with eyes of suspicion as she casts Arvid one last look before walking over to Hvitserk.

"Prince Hvitserk."

"You know, I tire of such formalities." He says with a small smile, draping his arm about her shoulders as he usually did when he was being particularly friendly. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the rare sunlight that poked through her wet lashes before turning her gaze to the Ragnarson.

"Hvitserk." She corrected herself, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand.

"What did he want?" Hvitserk looks over his shoulder. At least Ivar trusted him enough for the guard to slink away when he came around.

"He was seeking forgiveness." She mutters, clutching the sword tight.

"I should be seeking yours as well." He laughs, ruffling her already messy curls over the area where her wound should've healed by now. He did it to ease her discomfort, but only succeeded in making her feel like a child. She swats his hand away, offering him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

"Can you forgive me?"

"I suppose," She begins, looking away from him, "What does Ivar need?"

"I am not sure, you know he refuses to disclose his plans." He was clearly annoyed about it. Hvitserk stayed behind with Ivar expecting for them to share the role of leader, but Ivar always kept his older brother out of the loop, leaving him in a foul mood.

"But he appeared to be in better spirits, so I'm sure he is up to something." He shrug, laughing when she playfully pushes him off before entering the church.

She wished she could have seen it in its glory, before it was desecrated. The walls were draped in Ivar's new sigil, a red banner with a circle of gold and black swirls. It was a sign of the future king he desired to be.

A blonde woman came skittering out into the hall, barely dressed and a large grin on her face. Artemis recognized her as Freydis, a pretty slave that roamed about the camp as a woman of pleasure. Freydis passes her, giving her a wolfish grin. She runs off in a flurry of giggles, pulling her tattered dress over her thin shoulders.

That was strange.

Artemis rounds the corner to see Ivar sitting on his throne with a blush dusting his chiseled cheekbones. He clears his throat when he sees her approach.

"Artemis."

"What can I do for you, Prince?"

"I have news." Artemis's brows knit in confusion.

"News?" He smiles, glancing at the sheathed sword in her hands.

"Yes, but first, how fair's the bishop's sword?"

"...It is impressive, made of superior steel, but surely not by any dwarfs." She jokes, which in turn makes Ivar smirk, resting his chin on his hand. He wore his metal legs, tapping a finger along the dark iron.

"You know nothing of the dwarfs, Artemis," He says with a chuckle, before straightening his posture, and suddenly he wore a thoughtful expression. He cleared his throat, bringing his hands together and lacing his fingers across his lap.

"I've decided to grant you what you most desire."

The words barely hit her, her mind slowly wrapping around the meaning. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but stops herself, not knowing what to say.

"I thought you'd be more excited," He was rather serious, staring at her with an odd intensity, "You have your freedom." His brow wrinkles as he awaited her response.

"I do not understand." She says, feeling her kneecaps shake, "Why did you not let me go with Bjorn?"

"...I did not want you to leave...under such circumstances, and without my consent," He hesitates, unable to meet her eyes, "I thought it would be the right thing to do." She had longed to hear him say such words. She lowers her head in disbelief, placing a hand to her brow as a weight lifted off her shoulders. It seemed too easy.

"No, none of that." Ivar says with a roll of his eyes. When she turns her eyes towards him he frowns, leaning forward on his throne as if to examine her features closely.

"Have you been crying?" Ivar grips his axe tightly, making movements to stand, "Has someone hurt you?" She shakes her head, biting her lip, but otherwise remains quiet.

"Are you hurt?" He urges, this time his tone was softer than she's ever heard it before. She sighs.

"Only my heart. I am homesick,"

"You are a free women now," His demeanor changes instantly, straightening his back against his makeshift throne, "You are free to navigate, but I cannot spare you any ships or men to help you, I need them all at my disposal." Artemis nods, keeping her eyes downcast.

"But," He continues, "I will offer to have you stay in my service as a blacksmith if you wish to remain loyal to me. You shall always have a roof over your head and food in your belly, if you choose to accept." She shifts on her feet, holding the bishop's sword to her chest in thought.

"You will be protected." He adds, noting the doubt in her eyes. After a few moments of silence, she nods, raking a hand through her hair. She hoped it wouldn't be a mistake.

"I accept the offer, Prince Ivar," He smiles at her, a genuine smile that could light every candle in the hall.

"Excellent choice," He says, "I shall like you to come back to Norway with me, to King Harald's lands. It is time to enact my revenge on Lagertha."

...

A Hero Comes Home- Beowulf

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @rastakami23

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Azula Week: Day 2 - When A Baby Cries

Prompt: Baby Pair: N/A Song: Within Temptation - The Last Dance (Music Box Version)

Summary: While looking for his sister, he comes across a baby that looks curiously like her. 

Crying echos around the jungle, he doesn’t exactly know where the wailing is coming from, but the baby doesn’t let up. Zuko frantically pushes vines and ivy aside. He hopes that the baby’s screams have nothing to do with his sister.

He has to track her down but he doesn't even know where to begin. The Forgetful Valley goes on and on for miles. Now he has to set that task aside to find the baby. It doesn’t sound like it is in pain but the distress is plain in its shrill cries.

At last he thinks that he has gauged the direction from which the cries emerge. He hustles, running short on breath, to the east. He finds the babe in a nest of vines and seaweed. She is positioned under a ray of light that has managed to break through the canopy.

Her face is red from crying so forcefully as she kicks her teeny legs. Zuko stoops down and scoops her up. She is relatively dry for being surrounded in rainforest water and he thinks that she is lucky in that she hadn’t been found face down in a small puddle.

He cradles the poor thing in his arms and rocks her back and forth. It is awkward at first, he has very little experience with children.  

“It’s alright.” He tries softly. “You’re safe now.” He continues his rocking. “How did you get all the way out here?”

At last her cries begin to slow. She blinks and looks up at him with vivid gold eyes before reaching out to grasp at his hair. She lets out a string of happy baby babble when she finally managed to catch a few strands. “I think that Katara’s going to like you.” He laughs.

.oOo.

She is a fussy thing. Noisey too.

When she doesn’t get food when she wants it she begins to bawl. When she isn’t clean she howls louder still. Thirst brings the tears and so do temperature drops. Zuko has come to find that the baby likes to be swaddled in heaps of blankets.

He wraps her up in them and picks up a bowl of fruit that Aang has taken the care to mash up for her. He spoons it into her mouth as he does every night before he passes her onto Katara for bedtime stories and lullabies. He finds that he isn’t creative enough for the stories and his singing usually makes the baby cry. She also isn’t fond of Toph’s singing.

Zuko gives her the last spoonful and rubs small circles on her chubby little cheeks. She gives a little yawn and reaches out to grasp at nothing in particular. He gives a half smile, recalling the night before. It had been Sokka’s turn to hold her and a cloud of glowflies pass by. The baby had tried to snatch all of them at once, successfully managing to capture none until one landed on her nose.

The baby had giggled gleefully. And she is doing it again while Zuko tickles her tummy. She might be fussy, but she is also happy.

He just wishes that he could find her parents.

.oOo.

“I may not have found her, but at least I found you. Right?” He finds himself mumbling to the infant. She looks up at him with those big bright eyes. At least she had made the misadventure at least a little worthwhile.

He finds himself wandering around the camp, pacing anxiously. He is beginning to think that is time to call off his search. If Azula doesn’t want to be found, then she won’t be. He doesn’t want to leave the baby out here for much longer. It has been a task to keep the mosquito-flies from harassing her. And the spider-wasps are even nastier.

It has been several weeks now and the rest of his party is growing weary and impatient. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth but he decides that if the week doesn’t close with a sign of his sister showing up, then he will abandon his question.

Zuko hugs the little bundle to his chest and carefully strokes her head. She is asleep almost immediately. He makes his way into his tent and tucks her into her makeshift bed. It is a rudimentary nest of blankets and pillows but it serves its purpose, she typically sleeps through the night. Only waking if she is startled by a jungle sound; an odd howl or a shrill squawk.

Tonight is such a night. He wakes to the sound of her crying out and kicking her feet as a roll of thunder comes to pass.

He scoops her into his arms again and lets her nuzzle her squishable cheeks against him. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” He mumbles.”I’ll keep you safe. And so will Aang and Katara and Sokka. You should see Toph when she gets going…” he rolls his eyes and chuckles at the thought. “Anyways, it’s just a storm, see Toph already has a stone roof to protect us.” He motions the the structure encasing their tent. There is a single wall missing so that they can leave if they desire. Not that he has any thoughts of going out in rainfall that heavy and battering.

“Go back to sleep now.” He mumbles and gives her a light rock.

He finds himself wondering if she has seen any storms before this and who had cared for her if she had.

.oOo.

Azula’s head is hazy when she wakes. Everything in her mind, everything before her waking is foggy like a dream. Yet she knows it has all been real and it brings color to her cheeks. To have been wholly and one hundred percent vulnerable. Completely and truly helpless…

Zuko hasn’t yet woken and she has half the mind to leave before he does. Even if she wanted to flee, she couldn’t. The earthbender had put the exit on the wrong side. The door to their tent faces one of the three walls of earth. And the door to their earth shelter faces one of the tent’s walls.

She supposes that she can burn a hole through that part of the tent’s wall but there is no sense in it. Besides, the little blanket nest he has made for her is admittedly cozzy. She nestles her face against one of the pillows.

He hadn’t known that he’d been caring for her for all of this time, but she very clearly remembers him muttering to her about how he was worried about her. About how he wanted to patch things up and start over now that their father isn’t around to poison them against one another.

Azula sits up and stretches her arms. She supposes that it should feel strange to be herself again, but it really isn’t. Such is the mercy of that dreamlike sensation. Confined to the tent and with nothing else to do while she waits for Zuko to stir, she fidgets with her hair, raveling her bangs around her pointer and then unraveling them.

At last Zuko awakens. “Hello, Zuzu.” She greets.

He is fully alert faster than she has ever seen anyone upon waking.

“A-azula?” He sputters. “When did you get here.”

“I’ve been here this whole time.” She confesses.

The dots seem to connect as he notes the absence of a screeching baby. Agni, that must have been aggravating to deal with. And as embarrassing as it is, she is glad that she has had the opportunity to thoroughly annoy him and break his sleeping patterns.

“I should have known.” He grumbles, rubbing the back of his head. “What kind of baby just shows up in a jungle? You had the same eyes…” he rambles. She can’t tell if he is pleased or not.

A mischievous grin lights his face, “you cry a lot.”

“Kiss my ass, Zuko.” She scowls, crossing her arms.

“I could have just left you there, you know?”

“You and I both know that you wouldn’t have had it in you, even if you knew.”

He sighs, “yeah, you’re right.”

“I know.” She replies.

“How...how did that even happen anyways?”

Azula shrugs. “Turns out, if you set enough things on fire, the jungle spirits get very angry.” She drops herself back onto the pillows with her arms tucked behind her head. Her hair fans out around her. “Or if you set the right things on fire. I’m not sure if it was a matter of quantity or quality.”

He almost laughs but he seems to stop himself at the last moment. “So are you going to run off again or…?”

“That depends, are you going to lock me up again?”

“I won’t if you don’t give me a reason to.” He replies. “If you work with me…” he trails off again.

She ponders his offer. Knowingly or not, he has taken good care of her. She is warm, well fed, clean, and comfortable. She had been...she had been loved. The feeling is foreign to her with the spirit curse lifted. But it is still there on the fringes of her memory.

“I’ll make you a deal, Zuzu.”

“The last one turned out so well…” he grumbles.

“It certainly did.” She smiles faux innocently. “If you can keep the whole baby thing a secret, I’ll come home and try to…” she considers her choice of words. “Make amends.”

“Fine, but I can’t promise that the others won’t talk.”

Azula groans at the notion of facing them again. Toph in particular is going to be a nightmare.

“Redemption is pretty fun, huh?” Zuko asks snidely.

“A real joy.” She mutters sarcastically with something of a pout. She supposes that, should things work out, it might be worth her while.

“Don’t be a baby about it.” Zuko smirks.

“I will light this tent on fire with both of us in it.” She threatens.

“You recover quickly.” He notes.

“That’s right.” She replies. But it isn’t entirely true, her mind is still unsettled and there are still many holes in her morals.She decides that if she can recover from one thing she can recover from another.

Azula is no fool, she knows a sign when she receives one.  She had been a baby; small and helpless, and needy. A baby. A baby and then--she looks at her hands--herself again. A physical rebirth to go with a spiritual one.

[writersrealmbts]

Con Amore: Part 15

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 05/28/2020

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

Fluff/Angst: 2,035 words

A/N: One more part after this, then we’re done. Promise.

They were an odd group, but they worked together brilliantly. Sometimes, they reminded you of your boys.

Yeonjun cracked some corny jokes now and then that reminded you of Seokjin, but could also be as serious as Hoseok.

Huening-Kai had a tendency to pull the maknae card like Jungkook, and the enthusiasm that Taehyung got when excited.

Soobin would get embarrassed and melt a little like Jimin, or sometimes like Namjoon.

Beomgyu was absolutely as snarky as Jimin.

Taehyun’s attention to fashion which reminded you of Namjoon mostly, but also Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok.

“Do you think they would train us if we asked?” Beomgyu asked quietly, a change from his usual talkative self.

You paused, then kept stringing the dried peels, berries, and popcorn. “Yes. I do think they would. As long as you showed that you were willing to learn.”

“They’re the coolest,” Yeonjun said, awe in his voice. “Whenever we heard about them at the temple, Taehyun, Huening, and I would then go and look for every video and article on it we could find on the library computer. They’re so well trained and they work so well together.”

You smiled a little. “I don’t know that they would be able to help you all train your powers. There are similarities with some of your powers and theirs, but there are also differences.”

“But they’ve worked this long in working together despite differences in their powers,” Taehyun countered. “We have a lot to learn about working together.”

You nodded slowly. “That’s true. They are exceptional when it comes to teamwork. They’re a family, but they also have a heirarchy. They know who is calling the shots. They have a specific purpose that they are devoted to.”

“You?” Beomgyu guessed, grinning and ducking when you threw popcorn at him.

“No, you imp. They want a world that’s better than the one they were born into. They were best suited to fighting those who would tear the world down to make it their own. Trying to make life better for supers like you boys,” You said softly, reaching over to push Huening’s hair from his eyes so he could actually see what he was doing.

Soobin nodded. “And what do you focus on?”

“The little things,” You answered, pulling a clip from one of your non-archive storage spaces and pulling Huening Kai’s hair away from his face. “Small robberies, hostage situations now and then, children, children’s homes. As Nightingale, anyway. But as an archivist…the scope of my job varies greatly from day to day. The overlap is very present though, which makes what I do a little more fulfilling than just…collecting things that will collect dust while staying a safe distance from the world.”

Beomgyu set a snack beside you just as you were thinking you should get one. “But…you’re known for being a fighter. I mean, you practically died to save the town. They built a monument to you.”

You shrugged. “The memories of the populace are short-lived. So distracted by every new thing, attention spans shortened by the speed with which needs are satisfied. It was the first big fight I’d ever participated in. And I…wasn’t exactly alive when they got me to the hospital. I had to leave for a while after that, I stopped by the temple for a little bit to be healed completely, then I went and just did my job as an archivist. Laying low.”

“Because it was your family,” Taehyun said, then his eyes widened. “Sorry, I—”

“Relax, Taehyun, it’s okay. I know you don’t purposely pry into my life.” You rested a hand on your stomach where the baby was pushing their little foot out, quickly reaching over and grabbing Yeonjun’s hand to guide it there since he was the only one who hadn’t been able to feel the baby so far. It usually pulled away just before he got to feel it, and lately it had been a little less active. Still moving, but not trying to push it’s foot into your lungs or kick your ribs.

His eyes were huge. “She’s really sticking it out there.”

“He,” Huening Kai countered playfully, not willing to let his hyung have the satisfaction.

“It’s a girl,” Yeonjun scoffed.

“Boy,” Taehyun immediately argued, tossing a piece of popcorn at the eldest.

You rolled your eyes. “Boys, at this rate, we’ll never have the tree decorated and I’ll have to cancel Christmas.”

Beomgyu and Soobin’s eyes got huge and they quickly shushed the other three who weren’t completely ready to give up—especially Huening Kai.

Until Soobin pointed at him and directly sent a wave of peace into him, then did the same with the other two. “String the popcorn.”

“Yeah, I’m not missing my first Christmas just because you guys were fighting,” Beomgyu added sternly. He set more supplies in front of them, then continued cutting the dried orange peels into stars.

The other boys quickly set back to work.

You laughed softly. “I wouldn’t actually cancel Christmas, you know that, right?”

“Not worth the risk,” Soobin said, waving a hand to dismiss it.

You shook your head, still smiling. They were adorable, and you doted on them more than you expected to. Part of you blamed the hormones, but you also knew it was because they were so young, and because they had all been through a lot in their lives. You’d doted on Soobin before all of this, but now you were seeing him grow with these other boys.

Made you feel old, and you really weren’t that old.

Huening Kai was just a baby, too. A cutie-pie who needed to be protected at all costs.

They all were, really.

Beomgyu looked at you strangely. “Are you okay? I’m sensing something…weird.”

“I’m fine?” You answered, shrugging. You picked at the snack, looking over the garland before tying it off. “Soobin, go put this on the tree.”

He got up and took it, pausing.

“Start from the top, wrap it around in a way the looks pretty, working toward the bottom and keeping in mind that there will be a few more strands.” You scrunched your nose as a sort of tightness   pressed on your stomach.

Huening Kai was trying to remember the words to a Christmas song, debating with Yeonjun playfully until you went to get your songbook to settle the matter since they were just making it worse.

You got up slowly, wincing a little. Your ankles were swollen and your feet hurt. So did your back. You’d been doing easy exercises to strengthen your body as the pregnancy progressed, but it still didn’t do much to help since the doctor you were seeing in the town nearby had told you to take it easy. You weren’t strictly on bed-rest, but she wanted you to act as much like you were as possible, and the boys had been making sure you obeyed.

You found the book, but instead of going out, you stared at the book, looking at the doodle Jimin had drawn on the front.

He had been teasing you, mostly because he knew what you had gotten Tae for Christmas, while he had been hand-drawing cards for the other boys and his marker had slipped onto the book he was using as a hard surface—your Christmas music. So, to make it up to you, he had turned the mark into a cute little snowman.

That was the year that you had gotten Yeontan for Taehyung.

You missed the domesticity of your life with the boys. You wanted them here.

You wanted them freaking out when they felt the baby kick for the first time, or staring at the ultrasound and asking you what was what again and again. Freaking out if you so much as got out of bed when they weren’t sure if you were supposed to or not. Reading the books with you, freaking out when you made them find out exactly what happens during birth. Fighting over who would get to be with you during the birth of the baby. How they would handle the hospital.

But that wasn’t possible.

“Y/n!” Soobin called, sounding alarmed.

Then Beomgyu hurried in. “There’s a group approaching, Hueningkai says they’re armed.”

“Okay, remember the plan. Stick to the plan.” You tossed aside the book, running through your repertoire of songs that wouldn’t accidentally harm the boys while you were trying to help keep them safe. Your powers were somewhat unpredictable lately, so you had to play it as safely as possible.

“Y/n, I don’t think you should,” Beomgyu said, grabbing your arm. “You’re health is different than even earlier this morning. Please just let us take care of you. I know it’s not in your nature, but it’s necessary. This is why we’re here, isn’t it?”

You slowly nodded, then stepped back. “Alright. But I’m establishing the communication network.”

Beomgyu nodded.

You hummed the song you’d come up with a couple weeks ago, which melded the various powers of you and the boys to form a sort of mental communication to each other. It was the safest song you had right now. “Update.”

“Four men to the south, three to the west, two to the east,” Hueningkai said.

“I’ll get the ones on the south,” Yeonjun said. “Blind the ones to the west.”

“I’ve got the ones to the east,” Soobin told them. “Hold until we know their intentions.”

You nodded, silently agreeing with Soobin’s assessment.

Beomgyu sat beside you, listening to the boys call out their positions. “We’ll be okay, y/n. Try to relax.”

You glanced at him, but mostly were focusing on sensing out there. The foreign melodies. The inclination toward major or minor melodies and the dissonant or harmonic chords, how it all fit together. “Be ready. They sound more hostile.”

“We’re ready,” Taehyun said. “I’ve got eyes on all of you. Yeonjun, Huening, try to increase the snow-fall to inhibit them more.”

“Got it.”

“Good idea.”

You froze as a foreign feeling washed over you.

Beomgyu looked at you in alarm.

“Boys, maybe put a rush on that,” You told them, getting up and grabbing the go-bag.

“What? Why?” Yeonjun asked.

“My water just broke. We’re going to the hospital.”

“So…loud and messy is okay as long as it’s quick?” Yeonjun asked, sounding a little freaked out.

“Anything to make sure the house is safe and no one follows us to the hospital,” You replied, voice a little sing-song in alarm.

Beomgyu grabbed the other bag and led the way to the garage. “Just do it. She’s a month early and I was right about the contractions.”

Your eyes widened when you heard a crash outside, followed by some screams of terror.

“Okay, just need to bury these guys and then the way is clear.”

Beomgyu shared a scared look with you.

Soobin darted in and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Clear the snow and ice from the roads?”

“Got it, rest of us our outside.”

You held onto the door handle as another contraction came through. “Hurry.” Your eyes filled with tears, and right then, all you wanted was one of your loves. Holding your hand.

But you didn’t get to have that. Not yet.

Beomgyu took your other hand as the other boys hopped into the vehicle. “It’s okay. Just breathe and try to stay calm. Do you want us to contact them?”

“No. It’s too dangerous,” You whispered. “Just keep my baby safe.”

He nodded. “Nothing will happen to the baby. I’m going to be with you and nothing will happen to either of you.”

You rested your other hand on your stomach.

“Soobin-hyung—”

“Got it,” He answered, then an overwhelming sense of peace washed over you. Almost like when Namjoon would use his confession inducement-type power. This was, admittedly, more agreeable.

“Taehyun, Hueningkai and I will set ourselves up around the perimeter and keep an eye out for trouble. Beomgyu will be with you, and Soobin will guard the waiting room. It’s the best we can do at the hospital.”

“I know. Thank you.”

~~~~

Part 14.   Part 16/Final.

Masterlist.  ~  Series Masterpost.  

Tagging: @ephemeral-mindset​, @alex–awesome–22​, @bryvada​, @missmoxxiesworld​, @knjhe, @i-dont-even-know-fck

[kpopchangedme]

Nocturna: Part III

The fragile peace between undead and lycanth is imperilled your arrival to the Inferorum Castrum. Between the changing power dynamics of the wolf pack and the insatiable urges of the vampire king, you aren’t exactly sure where your loyalty lies.

Protagonists: Im Jaebeom | You | Bang Chan

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre: NSFW | Supernatural!au | Vampires | Werewolves | Angst | Romance | Love Triangle

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

The second time you wake in this foreign place, you’re still as disoriented. It takes a moment for you to understand you’re being actively shaken to consciousness. Then, another minute to recognize your surroundings and the man waking you. Well, not a man, Jaebeom.

“There’s not much time left before dawn,” he states, looking away, “I can’t let you rest more.” You’re soft and out of it when he sits you upwards. With warm water, he wipes away all traces of your run into the woods, fall, the attack, his feeding, and your intercourse. When your upper body is all clean from the blood and the dirt, he slides a cream shirt over your head. It is way too large, it falls down to your knee. 

As if reading your mind, he clarifies; “Your clothes are ruined, you would get asked too many questions.” You could explain to him that coming back late from a hunting expedition in nothing but a man’s shirt won’t do much better, but you lack the strength. You are not exactly yourself. He stops wiping your feet to look at you, sensing this. “What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” you mutter, head doddering.

A dimple digs between his perfectly straight brows. Jaebeom brings his wrist to your forehead. “I think you have a fever,” he announces. He can’t tell because his body doesn’t match, but your skin is very damp. “I… It’s the blood loss...” He mutters, having never seen a human unwell after drinking from a vampire. For your kind, black undead blood is a magical cure. You were fine the first time, you’ll be alright. “We need to leave before sunrise.”

“Are we going to Ia-” You’re gagged before you can finish your sentence. Jaebeom brings an index to his lips, crimson eyes narrowing. Right. You aren’t supposed to say anything out loud in this place... He said so yesterday, or tonight, you aren’t sure what day or what time it is. You’re lost. He must think you’re the dumbest person he’s met. 

“I’m escorting you out.” Jaebeom nods, still bashfully avoiding your gaze. He stands, tugging you with him. You extirpate yourself from his large bed, body aching all over. “One more thing, before we go out...” He pulls you into him easily since you’re all sluggish. Then he presses his mouth to your ear, barely audible; “Do not look anywhere, do not step away, do not talk at all, do not even breathe somebody’s way. Do you understand?” 

“W-What?” Your head falls back and Jaebeom cages your chin to hold it straight, confusion painted all over his face. He curses between his teeth, a swear so ancient you have never heard it before. 

“Focus, tidbit, this is important.” The vampire hushes, annoyed. “It’s the only way I can honour my end of our deal. None should be curious about you. They should forget about your existence the moment you leave these walls.”

“Who?” 

“My Court. Do you understand me?”

“Sure.” You agree, too confused to care. You can’t keep up with anything he’s saying right now. Jaebeom sights, hesitating before lightly kissing your pout. You don’t jerk away.

He brings his palm to your heart, feeling it in your chest as though he’s worried about your well-being. Everything sounds fine, but you are off and feeble. You were a lot more doubtful, curious and combative at twilight. He doesn’t understand why you’re in such bad shape, you should’ve recovered by now. He braces himself, grabbing your hand instead of your waist as he turns the doorknob. Most vampires should be in their rooms, ready to get to rest for the day, and the diurnal beasts shouldn’t even be up yet. Ideally, no one should see you, even if they heard. He never brings humans over, and although he can do however he pleases, if someone saw you, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. There’s also a chance you’d be at risk in the future. He has many enemies and they'd wonder if they can get to him through you. If you're special somehow.

Dizzy, you watch as Jaebeom cracks the door, glancing at the large stone corridor you only got a glimpse of yesterday. Whatever he sees seems to please him, because he exits quietly. Pulling you behind, he moves fast by a multitude of closed doors, turning every corner with evident apprehension. After a few minutes of walk, you give up trying to understand where you are going at all. Whatever this place is, it’s a gigantic maze. You follow his instructions, breathing cautiously and always staying a step away. Without warning, Jaebeom suddenly stops moving, body tensing. His face is wiped clean when he turns to gesture you to stare at the ground. Unsure of what’s going on, you still obey, feeling something bad is bound to happen. He starts to walk again, faster, and you look fixedly at the gray stone floor as it becomes a luxurious red carpet. 

“Jaebeom-iiiiiiie.” Someone chirps up ahead, barely making the undead slow down. That’s probably why he tensed, you realize in horror. Another vampire? Hiding behind your loose hair, you keep your head down and follow him like a shadow. “Isn't it too early for you to go out?”

At that Jaebeom stops walking altogether, so abruptly that you collide with his back. “You’re the one who's up before dawn,” he retorts, cold but casual. Trying to be forgotten, you stubbornly keep your gaze glued down. You stare until dark dots are dancing in front of your eyes. You really aren’t feeling all that well...

“I haven’t slept much, you were being loud.” There’s a low laugh that ends in a weird cackle following. Don’t look, you tell yourself, fighting against your natural curiosity. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe the crazy thing that happened to one of my Betas yesterday...” At that, Jaebeom bends his elbow, bringing you all the way against his back.

“I know of everything that transpires here,” he hums threateningly. 

“Really?” Another laugh, and this time the urge is too strong. You raise your head, sneaking a glance above Jaebeom’s shoulder.

A stranger is leaning back against large wooden doors, as though waiting for you two. That is clearly the exit to this odd castle. The new creature tilts his head and wiggles his fingers in front of him, catching you looking. He’s short but has a large built, very impressive. He also has way more colours than Jaebeom, and abysmal black eyes. Not a vampire but inhuman beyond the shadow of a doubt. You are not sure how, but even at first glance, you immediately know what he is. Your nape tingles weirdly, shivers running down your spine.

“It doesn’t seem like you do, Jaeboem-ie.” The massive wolf-man nods his chin your way saying that, and you duck back behind the vampire’s shoulder. “Stealing from us to warm your bed for a night, it’s unlike you to be so reckless”

“Stealing?” Jaebeom snorts defiantly. “Last I heard, you were still guests on my land. I go and feed as I please. In my Castrum, your pack abides my rules.”

“Sure, I remember,” the dark one crinkles his nose, “the treaty hasn’t aged as well as me...”

“It’s a very generous pledge.” Monotonic, a newcomer in your back intervenes. Jaebeom, who was as strained as a pulled bowstring, immediately relaxes against you. 

“Ah, at last!” The wolf pushes away from the door at the entrance. He stretches his arms in an offbeat welcoming gesture, “the reasonable cold-one! I was so worried you already went to rest, Jinyoung-ie!” Without meaning to, you turn to assess the second creature. Clearly an undead. If his ethereal pale skin hadn’t given it away, the bloody steel scowl you briefly meet would’ve for sure.

“I was about to,” Jinyoung replies, remaining inhumanly still, “but I heard you troubling the king, Jackson.”

“K-King?” You repeat under your breath, heart quickening as your mouth opens in astonishment. No one minds you, but Jaebeom squeezes your hand twice.

“Troubling him? I’m the one dealing with the distress he caused my pack!” 

“Enough!” Jaebeom roars, exasperated. “Stop yapping nonsense and let me out!”

Jackson laughs once more at his anger, way too exaggeratedly. His amusement is obviously fake and does sound like a mad dog barking. If Jaebeom is his king, it sure doesn't feel like it. There must be a lot of bad blood between them. Uncomfortable, you wiggle from one foot to the other. The wolf-man ceases his howling to dart his black eyes on you, amusement giving place to something strangely just as warm.

“Nice to formally meet you, pup...” His expression twists into a large grin, “Jackson Wang, Alpha of the Bang Pack.”

Jaebeom reacts as though you've been directly threatened by the greeting. He turns to shield you with his arms, grunting as a warning. The other vampire also steps between both creatures, though still highly apathetic.

Jackson whistles, impressed by the scale of the reaction obtained. “You’re confused, Jaebeom-ie. She’s not yours to protect...” Claiming this, he raises his hand to the East side of the large Hall.

Summoned, another figure extirpates itself from the shadows. A silver-head you recognize instantly. There’s a strong pull in your stomach and warmness spreads through your body at his familiar sight. So, it wasn’t all a dream, Chan truly is here with these creatures. Has he lied to you all this time about his identity, or is there something you're missing? This is everything Jaebeom warned should not happen. If he hates wolves like he claimed, why are these two guests in his Castrum? Right now, you can't even begin to make sense of everything.

“Hello again, Jeonha.” Chan tilts his head your way, walking to the other wolf’s side. He looks tired and jittery, concerned. His eyes become two thin lines as he asses you from head to toe. There’s no hint of beastliness in them at all this time. You've never seen your old friend this agitated and distressed. You should reassure him, but Jaebeom beats you to it.

“Keep your paws to yourself, mutt,” the king warns, voice distorted, “or lose them.”

The larger wolf bursts out laughing for the hundredth time, “WOW!” Jackson claps, hysterical with merriment. The others wait for it to go by, unsurprised as if this happens to him regularly. “I think there’s a human saying… About history-” 

“How are you?” Chan interrupts, unable to hold back anymore. "Has he hurt you?" Unable to not reply when your friend is staring at you like that, you shake your head from side to side. He sighs in relief but still anxiously runs a hand in his curls. You're puzzled, the scene in the forest is flashing through your fuzzy mind. What happened between you two, who attacked you? He seems so worried. You can’t keep up with this messy situation. After a quick look at Jackson, Chan straightens and raises two fingers in front of him, bending them in an invitation. “Come here,” he commands with a deeper voice, one you have never heard him before. The vampire's arm on your waist tightens dolorously, and scary sounds birth at the back of his throat. “Here,” Chan repeats with a short nod, looking more drained and this time your whole body trembles. It is weird, as though you are yearning to obey. He doesn’t miss it and smiles tentatively, lips curving upwards, inviting... “It’s okay, you are safe now. I’m here.” His dimpled grin is simply contagious, irresistible. It's familiar, comforting and safe. You've been cherishing that smile of him for years. Craving to get closer, your right foot slides forward on the carpet causing the king to look down at you, shocked. 

“Where are you going?” Jaebeom might be whispering, but you’re certain every creature in the large hall hears. “That beast attacked you.”

Impossible. Your friend wouldn't hurt you. Shaking your head in denial sends your hair flying around. You almost lose your balance trying to free yourself away from the confused vampire's grasp. Chan’s irides slide to the corner of his eyes to the larger wolf, a silent exchange you miss.

“It’s almost dawn, Jackson.” The second undead points out, sounding a little less bored than prior. “My patience is wearing thin.”

“Well, Jinyoung-ie… Let me enlighten you.” Smiling cockily, the broad wolf walks up to him. “See, your king has been whoring around with my new whelp.” Whatever this means, everyone instantly reacts but you. For the first time since you’ve gotten out of his room, Jaebeom jerks away, putting some space between your bodies. “And obviously I couldn’t sleep because her-”

“What’s going on...” Your legs wobble, missing his support. 

“- mate wouldn’t stop whining about it!”

“Are you sick?” Chan promptly steps closer, alarmed at your feeble state. Unfortunately, he pauses halfway to you when Jaebeom's glare falls on him.

“I merely stopped your dog from bleeding her out, Jackson. What I did with the human afterwards is none of your business.” The vampire king's chin raises with pride. You wonder how you missed his rank before when he’s so obviously noble. “I was there, I saw him hurt her.”

“I would never!” Chan barks, outraged by the accusation. He braves the earlier threat to walk up to you. “I tried to explain everything to you yesterday, Jeonha. She's mine.”

The younger man doesn’t mind the vampire hissing through his teeth this time. When his hand wraps around your elbow to hold you up, you aren’t strong enough to even consider pulling away. Chan’s touch is warm and reassuring, scorching after Jaebeom’s unnatural dead one. He’s home when you are so lost and hazy, always has been. You can’t wrap your head around the possibility he could ever harm you. You've both saved and protected each other's lives many times in the past.

“That young wolf, isn't he Bang?” Jinyoung asks, getting ahead of something his king has missed. “Alpha legacy.” You’re too weak to listen to the rest of the heated exchange that follows.

“C-Chan... I don’t feel…” Like his chest is a magnet, you lean closer until your back is enveloped in him. This is soothing, your whole body hurts.

“Sssh...” Your friend brings his palm to your sweaty forehead, wiping cold sweat. “You’re safe, I got you now y/n... ”

“Y/n.” The king echoes in pure consternation.

“H-home,” you whine, eyelids heavy.

“I know… I’m so sorry, but you'll need a few days. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of gran.”

“How does the dog know your name?” Jaebeom’s stare is so deadly when you meet it, that you almost throw up at its intensity.

“Chan's my f-friend...” You reply, faintly, and his face twists in disgust like you’ve disappointed him. 

“You have our sincere apologies, Jackson.” Jinyoung interrupts, dignified as he looks at the tense scene. “The king made an honest mistake. We won't interfere with your business again.” 

At that, Jaebeom throws his arms to the side, angrier than before. “I don’t care, I’m not letting them turn her! I promised the human a safe return!” 

“You’ve always been so dramatic and short-sighted, Jaebeom-ie.” Jackson rolls his eyes back. “Couldn’t you tell while you were fucking her?” 

“She’s already marked, Jeonha...” The other vampire explains, way more pragmatic.

“I’m w-what...” Disoriented, you slip away from Chan’s grip and tumble forward. You’re hallucinating. The four creatures aren’t really there. You aren’t in this Hall, in this place. You’re dreaming. You’re back home in your bed. You have a fever. “You killed me.” When the young hunter reaches for your shoulders, you shrink on yourself.

“I didn’t,” Chan pleads, desperate, “I chose you!”

“I'm d-dying...” Your eyes barely focus, the rest of the room is fading. 

“You've been poisoned.” Someone shouts a protest from across the room but Chan goes on even louder; “You just need to sleep. The hours following marking are painful...”

Shaking your head, you crouch on the floor, breathing rendered heavy. No one moves, watching you curl on yourself on the carpet. You fist your hair, miserable.

Now everything hurts.

“For the record, the whelp left our wing alive, Jackson.” Dignified, the second vampire darts his bloody gaze on his king, who remains frozen still. 

“Of course you put it that way, Jinyoung!” The older wolf grunts sarcastically, pushing himself away from the wall to glare at both undead, “You can’t have another diplomatic incident...”

“She isn’t responsive,” Chan snivels, sounding far away. 

“I've fed her bloo-”

“Again, we won’t acknowledge that.” Jinyoung cuts off his king, successfully shutting him up.

“But it's obviously his venom!” Chan protests, mad. “She should be fine. She would’ve healed much slower without-”

“Chan! If she dies it’s on you,” his Alpha intervenes, warning with a deep voice; “not the king.” He’s skeptical as his Beta kneels. “You said she was a hunter, that she could take the bite. You guaranteed i- ”

“She’s it,” Chan pulls you into his arms. You’re so out of your mind that you don’t notice when he stands to carry you out. 

“It’s dawn, Jeonha.” Jinyoung coldly points out for Jaebeom who still hasn't moved. He doesn’t get the hype surrounding you at all, you aren’t that pretty. For all the vampire cares... You should die, it’d be less trouble. The king seems rather shaken though, and he hopes the current tensions at the Castrum won’t worsen.

Nocturna Masterlist | HALLOWEEN

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety-Seven: Peace ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Mikoto, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

Morning comes early.

Still reclined against the tree he took shelter beneath the night before, Sasuke wakes slowly, eyes peeling open to find the valley barely lit with sunlight. The tall peaks to both the east and west mean limited direct sun...and it has yet to rise over the eastern horizon. Even so, it’s early...but he feels well rested.

Lifting his head, he looks up into the boughs of a camphor tree, recalling the miko’s words from his first stay within the strange village just to his south.

“I cleansed the room with camphor smoke before you retired. It often helps lighten one’s mind so sleep can come easy.”

Well, it wasn’t smoke per se...but maybe the tree’s presence really did help him sleep. He doesn’t remember waking at all...and he half expected to, too paranoid and wary to rest. But now he feels keen and aware, mind and body spry after a good night’s sleep.

And a look over his encamped brethren show that they all still sleep, tucked into their bedrolls. Nothing or no one looks out of place or disturbed. Just...peaceful. No one was even thought to be put on guard duty, watching for danger as they slept.

Instead, Sasuke glances up at a smudge of white to see one of the strange owls overlooking them as he does. Golden eyes turn to look at him, but it offers no sound in greeting, wary of waking the others. Instead, it flares its wings and glides silently back toward the village, likely taking word that he’s awake.

Which will likely mean the miko will return.

So, Sasuke abandons his perch and stands, taking a few moments to ease the stiffness of his muscles from being in one position for so long. Reattaching his blades to his hip, he leans with crossed arms and ankles against the trunk behind him, watching his clan rest.

“Sasuke-san.”

A glance shows Hinata beside him, giving a small bow. How he never manages to hear her, he’ll never know. “Hyūga,” he counters.

Rather than looking surprised he’s learned of her heritage, Hinata only gives a small, somber smile. “...I wondered if your father recognized me. Your clan and mine were once considered rivals...but that was long ago, before their downfall.”

“And yet they’ve lived long enough to see you born...and that man I met before, he looked very similar.”

“My cousin, Neji. He is...not as welcoming as myself. It was he who escorted you from the village the first time you left. I hope he was not impolite.”

“Just blunt...which I can’t blame him for.”

“He is quite protective of me...he likely saw you as a threat not just to the valley, but myself as well. He will warm to you in time.”

“Well...I’ll not hold my breath until then.”

Hinata hides a smile in her sleeve. “I hope you slept well?”

“I did...the best in a long time. And the others sleep still.”

“Would you care to walk with me until they wake? O-Suigin-sama wishes to speak with you, and arrange the details of your clan’s settlement.”

“Should she not speak to my father…?”

“He may lead your clan, but it is you with which the goddess has spoken. It is you she trusts. In time she will come to trust the others...but surely you understand.”

“I do.” They may wonder at where he’s gone, but his father will surely assuage them until he returns. “Can I see my brother…?”

“Yes, he will join us. O-Suigin-sama has been working with him diligently...and I believe he has been speaking to her of you, and your clan, to better her insight. She is most curious and has been listening quite attentively.”

That earns a glance.

“It has been quite some time since she has left this valley, or conversed with an outsider. Much has changed about the world since her last venture. He’s been filling some of the gaps in her knowledge. And they seem to get along quite well. She prizes a reserved soul. Your brother has all the proper manners and decorum a god can appreciate.”

“...hm,” is all Sasuke hums in response, unsure of what to make of that.

The pair make their way south through the valley, soon finding themselves among outer buildings and fields before crossing into the village proper. A few people already stir, going about their business while giving the newcomer curious glances.

“...think they recognize me?”

“Some surely do. We all know the faces of our neighbors well...and though most have only seen you once, memories are keen in this place.”

“...I’d do well to remember that.”

“Indeed.”

At the very tail of the village is a modest home, and it’s there Sasuke spies the god’s human form...and beside her stands his brother. As they get closer, he can see the ease in Itachi’s posture, the healthy flush to his skin, and the subtle shine of his hair. It’s like he’s an entirely different person…!

“Anija…!” Manners slipping, Sasuke runs the rest of the distance, only slowing once he gets close and looks to his brother in wonder. “You...you look…!”

Itachi gives Sasuke a warm smile. “Is it so shocking? Perhaps I look as good as I feel...which would explain it. I can take a full breath, I can run without coughing...I’ve not felt this way in far too long. Suigin-sama is indeed a god of the healing arts.”

Beside him, the kami bows her head modestly with a hint of a smile. “You have become one of my chosen...it is my duty to keep you healthy and at peace. That is reward enough.”

“I didn’t know humility was a godly trait,” Sasuke offers, earning a warning glance from his brother. But the god only laughs.

“In many ways...men and gods are not so different. Just as you vary widely, so do we. I cannot blame you for your assumptions - it is how we are portrayed. And I have been rather...stern with you, young man. Your brother has told me many things...of you, your clan, your pasts. I feel as if I have garnered a greater understanding...and I feel wary of you no longer. Though surely you understand my previous caution.”

“Of course.”

“But...there is yet much work to be done.” A sleeved arm gestures back toward the village. “Less than fifty families call this valley home. Their houses have been built by trees cleared for crops and pastures. Very few are empty...and surely not enough to house your kin. How many made the journey?”

“Around a dozen families of all sizes.”

“I see...then we must prepare more shelters, and soon. Winter is mild here in the valley, but the odd snow storm blows down from the peaks. I will not have you exposed to the elements. I will speak to the other villagers and arrange help for this construction. The humans are far more involved in the town’s upkeep than I - your settlements are yet foreign to me, as I reside within my mountains and river. What help you need, you shall have. You need only ask.”

“Thank you, Suigin-sama. My father will surely have better ideas than I.”

“I shall trust your judgement. Until you have more stable shelters, have you something temporary?”

“We brought our tents - they’re weary, but should hold in the meantime.”

“Your elderly and your young may yet find places to stay should they require it in the empty houses, or with other families should you wish. I have made it clear to those within my valley that you are to be welcomed. Heed only that those who bear arms like your clan have not been seen in many a year...your weapons may comfort you, but many may find them...unsettling.”

“We’ll leave them at our camp,” Itachi assures her.

“Very good. For now...I give you leave to wander, and introduce yourselves. Grow familiar with your new home. You will be greeted with open arms. For now...I will rest, and speak to you this evening.”

Beside them, having been mostly silent, Hinata bows. “Rest well, O-Suigin-sama.”

“Guide them in my absence, miko of mine.”

“Of course.” Watching the god go, she then turns to the brothers. “Have you any particular request?”

“I will admit, I wish to see more of the village,” Itachi offers. “I’ve been kept mostly to the shrine, and have yet to see it fully.”

“Certainly! Will you join us, Sasuke-san? I know you saw much of it during your second visit.”

“I will. There’s still plenty to see, and I’ve yet to memorize it.”

Nodding with a hint of a smile, she leads them through the town, pointing out their various families, shops, and places of interest. When they meet the village carpenter, Hinata asks him to go meet with Fugaku, earning a smile and agreement before he goes.

“This place is so…” Sasuke struggles to find the word.

“...peaceful,” Itachi supplies, earning a nod. “Our previous city was not nearly so well kept, nor so welcoming. Are there no districts, no...hierarchy?”

Hinata shakes her head. “Such things are human notions...and O-Suigin-sama insists that all here are equal. None are left without, and all are glad to give to those who need. The village and its people, she tells us, are a web. Should one strand weaken...the entire network may collapse. If we all give a little to one who is in need, the impact upon the many is limited...but that upon the one is great. There are still the occasional disagreements - we are still human, after all. But grudges do not last long - they are addressed, and we move forward. In all my years, there has never been a serious crime or falling out.”

“Something to adjust to indeed,” Itachi notes softly. “Beyond these mountains, greed and mistrust run rampant. Perhaps in so small a place, this is more easily done...and with the help of a matronly god. The world of man is, otherwise, often a cold and cruel place.”

“Then I am glad you have come here,” Hinata replies with another small smile. “It may take time for you to settle...but I am sure you will come to know the peace we all share. Now...we’ve talked enough - your stomachs surely need filling!” She leads them to a small restaurant run by a family where the parents cook and the children help serve. They all greet both Hinata and her guests kindly, looking eager to know them.

To repay their debt, the brothers help tidy up, Sasuke chopping and packing in wood for their cooking fires. Itachi speaks jovially with the father and husband, telling them of the Uchiha’s new arrangement.

By the time they leave, it’s as if they’ve lived here all along, being given fond farewells and smiles.

“...this place cannot be real,” Sasuke murmurs as they head back toward camp. “No place of men can be this peaceful.”

“You forget...it’s not just of men. While most beyond this valley have forsaken the gods, here one lives among them. Helps guide them. And something tells me we’ll soon see other, smaller kami as they grow used to us.”

“Eh?” Sasuke looks behind them, as if expecting to see a tanuki waddling across the road.

As they reach the Uchiha encampment, Fugaku is still speaking with not only the carpenter, but a stonemason and a few farmers. Rather than interrupt, the brothers approach Mikoto, who smiles widely.

“My son…! Look at you! In so many years I’ve never seen you so full of life!”

Itachi allows her mother henning, all weary smiles as she gushes. Fugaku then joins them, just as taken aback by Itachi’s transformation.

“That alone is enough to allay me” he rumbles. “To see you so healthy, my son…”

“You should take a walk around the village - it’s amazing.”

“I can guide you,” Hinata offers, the Uchiha parents looking to her curiously. “And I am sure O-Suigin-sama is eager to meet you later this evening, and will be happy to hear you have familiarized yourselves with the valley.”

“...I suppose we can be spared,” Fugaku muses.

“We’ll handle things here,” Sasuke assures him, watching as the pair follow the miko back toward town. “...think they’ll like it?”

“Kāsan, surely. Tōsan...may be a bit unnerved. It is as you say, this place is...quite different than our roots. But we will adjust, in time.”

“...hm,” Sasuke hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Seeing his people sort through their things and put up their tents, he knows it’s nowhere near said and done. But...it’s a good start. Maybe, at last...they’ve found peace.

                                                              .oOo.

(This is a sequel to days 60, 77, 140, 165, 189, 290, and 296!)      More kami verse! Also I'm sorry for falling yet another day behind, but the weekend was an absolute killer...and I nearly didn't get it done tonight because of power outages Dx *knocks on wood* BUT, I'm here now, and I can hopefully start catching back up next month. Also eventually I WILL start organizing these mini series into series, I just...haven't yet had the energy or time to sort through almost 300 pieces OTL      But for now, we have a bit more insight into this verse! A little about Hinata, a little about the kami, the village...and things are moving along! Maybe the poor Uchiha will finally get a break, huh?      Anyway, it's late, and I have a busy day tomorrow (imagine that lol), so I better go. Thanks for reading!

[chrysalispen]

xv. dying, not mortal overmuch;

Only a handful of weeks later, Aurelia's solution initially appeared to present itself. It had all started with a damp morning, the muddy pathways made more slippery with dew. Once again she had been relegated to the most menial of tasks while she put her leg through its each paces (not that she would have had a choice in the matter either way; even could she use it the aetheryte crystal, broken beyond repair, had been disposed during her first sennight in the city), and on that particular morning it had meant the creation of field dressings from hempen bolts and the organization of the quickly dwindling alchemical supplies on hand within the Fane's storehouse. 

About her milled the Guild's grey-robed conjurers of varying ages and sizes and races, from Hearers to the greenest of novitiates to chirurgeons, and finally menial laborers and prisoners on work detail. Aurelia didn't really consider herself to be in their employ as a chirurgeon, given they had yet to actually trust her with a scalpel. 

Or, she thought wryly, perhaps there simply wasn't anyone in Gridania quite desperate enough to go willingly under the knife when it was wielded by a known enemy of Eorzea. 

Most of the townspeople simply made a point of ignoring her presence just as they did the others, clearly unhappy with the Seedseer's decision to take in imperial prisoners for the rebuilding effort but unwilling or perhaps unable to gainsay it. Her reception after that first day, when E-Sumi-Yan had introduced her to the others, had been about what she expected: cordial, but very chilly. 

It remained thus as she lingered about the far edges of the conjurers' notice, performing tasks that many either deemed beneath them or simply had not the time to complete. While Aurelia certainly did not find this state of affairs to be what one would call 'ideal', she supposed it was a measurable improvement upon having rocks thrown at her face by the surviving people of the city. 

So in the meantime, dressings it was. Dull work, but important all the same, and she was not like to be harassed or interrupted by hecklers so long as she kept herself relatively scarce from public sight. 

She'd barely paid attention to the robed figure hurrying past her station until a scant few moments later there came a yelp and the sound of breaking glass. A softly hissed "oh *fuck me*" was quick to follow on its heels, and with a frown Aurelia set aside her scissors and ventured out towards the source of the small commotion.

A young man in a novitiate's robes knelt on the ground, the expression he wore a picture of tragedy as he stared at the remains of a broken glass vial. His hands were bleeding from the glass shards but he barely seemed to notice the cuts. 

"Shite," he began with an audible gulp at the sound of her footsteps, "I'm so sorry, I wasn't-- oh, it's you."

The flat, faintly hostile tone stopped Aurelia in her tracks. 

"What's happened?"

"I've bloody broken the last vial of Azeyma rose oil we had on hand, that's what's happened, and Hearer Oswold will have my neck."

"I'm sorry, I don't think I quite understand," she said cautiously. "If it's merely a matter of needing rose oil, there are-"

"Don't even finish that sentence." At her raised eyebrows, he let out a disconsolate growl and wiped his fingers on the grass. "Look, I'm sure you mean well enough, but a foreigner wouldn't understand. The number of calming ceremonies we've had to perform in the last two moons to keep the Greenwrath at bay - not quell it, mind, just to keep the settlements safe enough for basic survival - has eaten through our supply. And before you ask: no, it can't just be any rose oil, it has to be that kind, and most of the botanists' fields were destroyed in the fire."

"Might I be of assistance? Gardening was my hobby back home, you see, and-"

"This isn't going to be solved by hobby gardening, imperial. Were that the case I could walk up to any cosseted woman of means and just ask for-"

"If you would kindly let me finish?" Somewhat taken aback by the quiet retort, he fell silent before finally offering a grudging and sullen nod. "It's been my experience that in most instances the plants one needs for recipes, reagents, and the like can be found in the wild if needs must. Should your elementals insist upon a very specific type of rose for your rituals, then I would imagine surely that is the case here as well?"

"As it happens," he said slowly, "the Azeyma rose does grow in the wild. I'm told the sort grown by the botanists is actually cultivated from a type of wild quince, for larger hips and easier harvests. But the botanists have no one to spare to go seeking it in the Shroud. Nor do we for that matter."

"Of course you do. I'm certain someone else can be found to make field dressings in the meantime."

The expression on the young conjurer's face changed into some cross between burgeoning hope and consternation. 

"...Are you volunteering to go find it yourself?"

"I believe that is what I'm doing, yes."

"I thought you and yours weren't allowed to leave the city."

"Not alone, no, but that is easily remedied. You can come with me to fetch my escort if my intentions concern you. Either way, if you describe the flower you need, I should be able to harvest enough of what you need to create the oil for your ceremony, at the very least."

There was still a hint of lingering suspicion there as they'd gone in search of Keveh'to, but for the most part his attitude seemed considerably warmer when they parted.

==

Not a bell past, Aurelia found herself on the edges of the city with a large burlap crossbody bag and a pair of shears. The forest still bore an acrid burnt smell, but weeks of rains had dampened the scent and green had, slowly but surely, begun to overtake the ashes, with tree saplings and grass-blades poking tentatively through the deadfalls. While the damage was quite evident it was not so overwhelming that it provoked those gut-wrenching flashes of memory, for which she was quite grateful.

Her eyes scanned the undergrowth looking for the rose the man had described, her trail taking her closer to the creekbeds. She could feel Keveh'to's eyes on her and made sure to keep her movements slow and easily seen; all it would take for him to unsling his bow was an instant of suspicion and she'd have an arrow in her back. 

After a surprisingly short amount of time she saw the flower the novitiate had described. A small pink-red bloom, peeking shyly through a patch of weeds. There, she thought. That might be it. 

The thing she actually grabbed was decidedly not a flower of any kind. 

As soon as her fingers closed about the stem she heard a startled, high pitched squeaking and the sensation of something... warm and fluffy? flailing frantically at her searching fingers. The weeds rustled as loudly as though she'd disturbed a bird's rookery. 

"Kupopo?!"

Wincing, she immediately drew her hand back. The creature burst out of the bush in a shower of green leaves and small twigs. It was small and white with fluffy fur, leathery little black wings, and what she had thought at a glance to be the rounded, plump flower of a wild quince was simply a large, pink tuft of fur, dangling atop the animal's head from a slender stem of some kind. It was not a bird, or any kind of predator- but nor was it anything the Garlean had ever seen before in her life.

Aurelia set the small knife on the ground at her feet with the bag so as not to frighten it again, then held out her empty palms. 

"Terribly sorry," she said in a soft and conciliatory voice as if she were gentling a spooked animal, though she doubted it could understand her. "I... appear to have mistook you for a flower."

The creature didn't answer. It zoomed towards her face from one angle, then another, then just as immediately skipped out of her reach midair, its wings still fluttering wildly. It seemed curious, but still wary, taking her measure from top to bottom.

"Kupo," it huffed, and then swept away with the same surprising burst of speed towards deeper reaches of the forest.

"Miss Laskaris! Are you all right?" 

Keveh'to was running towards her, weapon drawn. With a slow blink Aurelia glanced back towards the copse where the small... mole? bat? mole-bat? had fled, but there was no sign of it now. 

"I heard something in the bushes. A wolf? There's word that they've been preying on-"

She shook her head.

"No, not a wolf. I’m… not certain what it was, truth be told. A very odd creature. I've never seen its like before. This little fluffy thing with what looked like- bat wings, almost."

The expression he gave her then was the strangest look she'd seen from him yet: a slight narrowing of the eyes, then a guarded grin - as though he thought she was having a jest at his expense for some reason. 

"That must have been very strange indeed, Miss Laskaris," he smiled. "What did it say to you?"

Aurelia's eyes narrowed. He was definitely humoring her. 

"It wasn't really a word? Just a noise- then it flew away into the trees." She exhaled, sheathing the knife and folding it back into the bag. "I rather think I frightened it, actually."

"Well, there's all sorts of wild animals out this direction. It probably isn't safe to be wandering about too far beyond the guard station. Have you got that flower the conjurers sent you out for?"

"Unfortunately not. I suppose we could try the far riverbank and see if there's aught to be found."

There was not. 

Her foray into the east-central Shroud was a much longer affair and, for the next handful of bells, unfruitful. She didn't know the area so she didn't know what plants were native, what could be feasibly harvested and what was useless and where the roses they needed were wont to grow unchecked. 

As the sun climbed into the sky she called for a rest, and took the opportunity to lean against an elm tree to get her bearings. Once she was certain Keveh’to was not in hearing range, she cursed under her breath. 

Foraging and gardening were two entirely different undertakings, she thought--

The rustling sound emanating from a growth of nearby sumac caught her attention. With a thoughtful frown, she approached it on slow and careful footsteps. 

A glance at her back told her that her minder was still within sight, watching her with a curious tilt of his head. She was probably pushing her luck doing this. Even did he not become suspicious of her behavior, he'd mentioned something about wolves-

But she... heard voices?

Very small, high-pitched voices, but- no, she thought, 'twas no mistake. There were two of them. Talking.

"We shouldn't be out here alone!"

"You know we can't return empty-hand-"

"There could be Ixal or worse, kupo!"

Aurelia knelt, took a handful of leaves and brush in one hand, and pushed it back to reveal two of the small white bat-winged creatures she'd encountered before. Both of them let out cries of alarm and flew past her through the opening she'd made to flutter about the air in obvious panic.

"Ixal! We must flee!" one of them cried. "Flee for our lives!"

The second reached to its companion and caught it by its whisker, dragging it backwards. "She's a Hyur, not an Ixal!"

"She's not a Hyur, kupo! Far too tall! An Elezen!"

"No, she's not! The ears are all wrong!"

Aurelia could think of nothing to say so she said the first thing that came to mind. 

"Hells below, you lot can talk?"

Their argument cut off into abrupt silence at her (rather blunt and untoward) exclamation. 

Its fear quite forgotten, the first of the pair now spun about in tight and indignant circles mere ilms from her nose and waved its tiny paws furiously in her face. The rounded little sphere bobbed erratically on its thin black whisker as she shrank back, blinking in surprise. 

"Well! I never, kupo! That's a terribly rude thing to say," it huffed. "Of course we can talk! How would you like it if I said 'Goodness me, a talking Hyur!' You lot can talk, indeed!"

"And what of you and your friend, then? What are you?" Aurelia said, feeling rather a sense of whimsy in the vein of the absurd as she folded her arms over her chest in open amusement. "I met one of your, ah, people just this morning but-"

"Ha! See? I was right! I told you she can see us!" The second creature performed a delighted backflip. "Pleased to meet you! I'm Kupto Kapp, and this is Kapna Kugi! We're moogles, and most handsome moogles at that, kupo!"

She couldn’t quite hide her smile.

"I... see."

"...Don't you know what moogles are?"

"No, I come from a land quite far to the north. There's not any 'moogles' there, not that I'm aware, anyroad." She paused mid-explanation. "...Wait, what do you mean 'I can see you'? Am I not supposed to see you?" 

The pair exchanged meaningful glances but said nothing. Laughing softly, Aurelia raised her hands in mock surrender. 

"Never mind; forget I asked. I can pretend as though I never saw you, if you'd prefer it?"

"Quite all right, kupo!" Kapna Kugi chirped. "Did the Seedseer summon you to help fix the Twelveswood?" 

"Something like that. At the minute I'm actually trying to find Azeyma roses for the conjurers. Most of their fields were lost when-"

"The fires," Kupto Kapp mumbled, posture slumping forward for perhaps a single breath before he brightened with a cheerful wave of his tiny paws. "Oh! I think she's talking about the pretty pink ones that look like our poms! We know where you can find plenty of those, kupo! Follow us! This way! Watch your step!"

"All right. One moment..." 

She turned around, caught Keveh'to's eye, and waved, then motioned in the direction the moogles were already floating - it wouldn't do to get herself shot trying to fulfill this request - before adjusting the crossbody bag and venturing into the undergrowth by the riverbank.

Her first friends in the Black Shroud, Aurelia thought with a soft chuckle as she watched the pair dance happily through the air before her eyes. Very small and strange little friends (and she knew someone would probably have themselves a good laugh at the irony of a Garlean befriending what her people would have immediately designated as a beast tribe), but at this point she'd take any friendly overtures that came her way.

~*~

Alden Greene hauled another bucket from the back of the old cart and made for the debris-choked river. 

Truth be told, the middle-aged Midlander couldn't help his misgivings. The water smelled sulfurous and he'd heard talk from some of the other refugees that they'd seen the bodies of fish downstream, floating in the pools half-rotted and glassy-eyed ever since the fires that had ravaged the area over a moon past. But he was too exhausted and desperate to let himself be overly cautious. It had been days since they'd had fresh water of any kind and their food source had long since been reduced to the mealy, weevil-ridden hardtack from Resistance rations. 

They'd boil it, the Ala Mhigan thought. It would be fine.

Like countless others he'd taken advantage of the chaos in the wake of Dalamud's fall to slip across the border. While the Empire normally kept a close eye on Baelsar's Wall, even their warmachina couldn't be everywhere and there were rumors the XIVth had deserted Gyr Abania entirely, substantiated at least in part by the far leaner perimeter patrols in the fringes of the badlands as of late. It had been the perfect opportunity.

What he hadn't counted upon was the number of refugees in the Shroud itself, displaced by the destruction of their villages and as desperate for succor as he and his fellows. Most were on the road heading towards Gridania, though a fair number had spoken of leaving the forest altogether to seek solace in Thanalan. Ul'dah was a wealthy city and not as badly impacted; surely they would have opportunities aplenty. 

Alden didn't think there would be as many opportunities as some others wanted to believe, but he kept his opinions to himself and decided to try his luck with the forest folk. The last two hamlets they'd tried to shelter in wouldn't take them though- some rot about elementals and woodsin and the like that made no sense to him. 

Still, Gridania lay ahead and he'd heard they had taken in several families already. Perhaps they'd have better luck there. 

He shouted to Tilda to bring the stew pot and while he waited, he doused his grimy face and hands with the water in the bucket. A bath wouldn't be amiss either; maybe a quick swim in the creek was in order.

=

The first to sicken was old Edmund. The aged quarry worker was seventy-two winters, stooped and gnarled, already made frail from the rigors of a dangerous journey and a lung ague left to him from the unseasonably cold weather, so few thought much of it when he took to one of the wagons and was unable to leave it. 

Alden sent Tilda to tend him and did his best, in the meantime, to collect water and food for the others in the makeshift camp. They'd have to move on soon; there had been beastman sightings on the edges of the forest, Ixal no doubt lying in wait to harry their weakest remnant. The small handful of martially inclined still among them were watching the perimeter but it would not be enough if the birdmen made a concerted effort to attack.

Tilda wore a worried expression upon his return later in the day. The old man would take no water nor a scrap of food, she said, but his bowels were naught but liquid. She'd changed his bedding twice, and the reek had been enough to drive off all but the hardiest of stomachs, her own included. Only pity had compelled her to remain.

"Please, we have to break camp tonight," she begged. "He's taken so ill-"

"You think I don't have eyes, girl?" Alden growled, staring down at the half-eaten rabbit on its spit and not sure how much he really wanted another bite. Cursing softly, he flung the carcass into the fire pit and wiped at his lips with the back of one hand. "Aye, he's taken ill, all right. 'Tis the flux, no doubt. I've seen it before, at home and abroad with the army."

"But Da, I've never seen a case so bad. If we don't get him to a barber, and soon, he..."

He cut her off, voice a gruff rumble:

"He's like to die. I know."

Indignant, Tilda stood, wiping her hands on her apron and her dark eyes flashing fire. "How can you be so cold about it?! Over something so- so bloody unfair-"

"Because crying over one man's corpse won't save the rest of us!" 

Father and daughter glared at each other, shadows flickering against the backdrop of tree and cart. Tilda was the first to break eye contact, if only because she pivoted on one heel and stormed off towards their cart without another word. 

Alden watched her go before running a weary hand down one side of his face. 

His stomach turned at the thought of the dying old man alone and miserable in his own filth. The flux was a miserable way to pass. He'd seen it sweep through entire villages if left unchecked. They'd have to burn the body, the sheets, aught that had been touched by its victim, and pray it wouldn't spread any further.

Shivering in the chill night wind, he drew his cloak tight about his broad shoulders and poked at the burning wood until the fire had died to naught but embers.

=

When they awakened in the morning, the old man had passed. Five others had fallen ill in the night, unable to leave their beds, and the worry among the refugees had become palpable. 

Feverish and ill himself, Alden shouted to the others to break camp, that they made for Gridania. As his daughter helped to load their meager possessions for the last leg of the journey south, he and two other men cleared the area around the dead man's cart and set it ablaze. They didn’t dare attempt to douse the flames until all had burnt beyond recognition. 

"Godsspeed, Edmund," he muttered under his breath. Imperial law had forced him to conceal his faith for so long that it felt strange to speak the words aloud again without fear of reprisal. His fingers grasped at the well-worn talisman of the Destroyer still laid under his homespun, warmed by his bare skin. "Twelve keep you." 

As epitaphs went, it was a piss-poor thing, but there was neither the time nor the resources to spare aught else. 

Still, pity speared him deeply. The old man had survived a fearful and trial-filled flight through the harsh and unforgiving climes of the Gyr Abanian badlands, had escaped to safety beyond the great steel wall-- only to succumb to such an ugly and ignoble fate in the middle of the Eorzean wilderness. 

Fate was a cruel mistress, indeed.

Unaware of what this new misfortune presaged, the Ala Mhigan boarded the weathered cart alongside his daughter and huddled trembling in his seat, hands weakly clutching at the chocobo's reins. Before and behind, the train of struggling men, women, and children made their way towards the city. The skies loomed over them, grey and ominous. Time was short; they must be away. 

Within a bell, the rains came and washed the detritus of the camp into the fouled waters of the river stream.

Another day had begun.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

What if Claire was somehow a long lost relative of one of the other clans like the Grants or the Macdonalds?

I mashed this one up a little, Anon, and made Claire a full on Grant. I hope you don’t mind

On Foreign Ground: A Valentines Chronicle Fic. 

Part One:

“Keep up lad!” Dougal barked, his snipped tone making the hair on Jamie’s arms stand on end as he ducked under the low hanging branches, cutting off the path in order to catch up to his uncle and their party.

The group had been skirting the Mackenzie/Grant land borders for days now - on the hunt for some escapee cattle that had fled Leoch after a young groom had -albeit unintentionally- left the gate open. It was summer, thankfully, and Jamie had been fostering with his uncle for only a month when the stramash had driven them all from their beds in the early hours.

“Head left, follow the stream to the east but dinna go into the valley - ye’ll never come out if ye end up down there.” Dougal sighed, his hand rubbing the sweat from his forehead as he pressed Jamie off the path. “Keep to Mackenzie lands and whistle if you see or hear anything, aye?”

Nodding, Jamie breathed a sigh of relief as he slid away from the men, hitching his kilt as he disappeared into the brush. It was quiet, the sound of the rushing water calling him forwards as he slowed his footsteps until he’d come to a complete stop.

At just seventeen (his second summer under clan Mackenzie guidance) he had a more developed sense of purpose than most of the other lads his age. His father had tried to send him away to France to study, but Jamie had been eager to spend more time learning about his homeland and so had managed to waylay his studies for another year whilst he retained some of his youthful independence.

The gentle sound of humming in the distance brought him back to the present, the sound of it echoing through the trees and clearing his mind as he took one slow step forwards, watching and listening as his feet skilfully avoided any loose debris on the forest floor. Not wanting to disturb the mysterious songstress, he also thought it prudent to discover their identity before making himself known. It was odd, he told himself, that anyone else would be out here so early unless they were hiding in the wilderness and his better judgement warned him to be cautious.

With the thought of the stray cattle vanishing from his mind, Jamie peeked out from behind a particularly large trunk and peered down the bank towards the river.

He could see her profile, her pale skin exposed as she flicked her thick curls over her shoulder, cupped her hands in the freezing brook and poured a small amount of water over her bare shoulders. The droplets ran down her skin causing gooseflesh to rise, disappearing under her shift as she glanced upwards - her eyes catching his in the dim morning light.

Jamie held his breath, his heart beating steadily in his chest as he waited for her to move. He thought she’d flee. Clearly she wasn’t a Mackenzie - he’d attended numerous gatherings and he’d never noticed her at one, though she didn’t seem fazed by the fact that she was in enemy territory, nor did she seem worried about being caught.

The air seemed to fizz between them as time stood still. She didn’t blink, nor did she move. But her head seemed to incline to the left a little as her pupils dilated - causing her eyes to look almost completely black. It was intense and discrete all at the same time and Jamie was sure that something had altered him in that moment. Twitching her fingers against the moist ground, she wetted her bottom lip, her tongue visible only for a moment as she dipped her head slightly. It was powerful and magical...but gone in an instant, dissipating into the mists from whence it came.

Her eyes held his for just a moment too long before they both realised the dance they’d both begun and severed the contact. She stood, very quickly -her balance off a little as she grabbed for her dress and pulled it across her chest- and started to bolt forwards as if her instincts had finally returned and she’d recalled that she was trespassing. But Jamie was quicker.

Wrapping his arm around the top of her chest, he held her back against him, the cool of her skin making his own prickle as he realised he’d slid down the small hill and stopped himself just shy of the river in nearly no time at all.

“Who are ye?” He whispered into her ear, careful not to hold her too tightly whilst not inviting any unwanted attention from Dougal and his men who, he thought, could pop up at any time.

“Just let me go.” She returned, her voice just as low as his, her hand coming to rest softly against his wrist as she stepped forwards - hoping, no doubt, that he would listen to her and let her go free. “Please.” She added, her Scottish burr so light that she almost appeared English.

“Ye ken I canna do that, lass. Yer on Mackenzie lands wi’out permission. So,” he pushed himself closer to her, his body language matching his words as his voice became almost inaudible over the increased sound of her breathing, “ye need to come wi’ me, aye, after ye’ve told me who ye are.”

“I’m not giving you my name.” She hissed, tugging more forcefully now as she tried to pull herself from his vice-like grip once more. “Leave me be. I’ll dress and leave, you won’t have to worry about seeing me again.”

Remaining steadfast in his decision, Jamie shook his head. “No. Yer coming wi’ me, whether ye like it or no’. Even if I have to throw ye over my shoulder.”

“What if we make a deal?” She returned, her body relaxing against his, the hand she’d curled around his wrist gently brushing along his forearm as she rested her thumb against his pulse. It was sensitive - sensual - and Jamie gulped, a lump forming in his throat as he shifted the weight from his left foot to his right.

“What could ye possibly offer me, lass?” He asked calmly, his voice sounding more even than he thought himself capable of when she was caressing him as she was.

“A kiss.” She whispered. “A proper one. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He nearly let her go at the mere suggestion of it, his grip tightening infinitesimally and then slackening again as he processed her offer. “Och, aye, of course - it’s in yer best interests to keep yer mouth shut about yer presence here. But why should I accept?”

The air was cold and still around them, the discrete hum of the wind in the trees breaking the silence that had fallen between them for just a second.

“You’re different,” she began, her shoulders tensing as she struggled to stand still, “and because you feel it too, don’t you? This…strangeness, here, between us, now. If it had been anyone else to catch me out here I’d have fought, thrashed my way out and have disappeared before they’d known what had happened.”

“Ye wish to kiss me?” Jamie replied, shocked, the bark of a nearby tree creaking, causing them both to look up until quiet settled around them once more.

She nodded, heat rising in her chest as he let his skin brush against hers.

“First yer name,” he bartered, his free hand reaching up to brush kindly against her cheek, “then a kiss - and I’ll let ye go. But no less, aye?”

“It’s Claire,” she said lowly, turning as his grip finally loosened enough for her to move freely, “Claire Grant.” Standing on her tiptoes, she didn’t even let him speak before pressing her lips to his. Tilting her head to the left, she opened her mouth a little, letting her tongue peak out and taste him, her breasts pressed flush against his chest as she did so.

By the time he’d realised what was happening, as promised, she was gone. He felt the breeze on his face as she dashed away leaving him gasping quietly for breath, his cheeks pinked and his lips throbbing from where she’d been only moments before.  

“Jamie,” he replied into the void, his words disappearing into thin air as he held his hand out in front of him, “Jamie Fraser. Lovely to meet ye…”