#they would have straight up said “do any of you remember that wardens are allowed Legally to do whatever we need to to stop a blight”

[gnawednoble]

i do think its funny to play a character whose feelings on blood magic are "if its willing/your own blood i don't care (and sometimes am supportive) but im not going to say it bc i know everyone will react Poorly"

[declinlalune]

Come and Take the Chance || Andy & Leticia

TIMING: after taking teagan to the lake. PARTIES: @rhythmicmeow & @declinlalune SUMMARY: andy and leticia talk while staying with teagan while she's in the lake healing. CONTENT WARNINGS: parental death & child abuse (hunter stuff)

With Teagan under the surface of the water, stitched up and safe, the feeling that washed over her should have been one of relief. But Leticia was still tripping over her fear. She wished she could say that Andy was pardoned from her feelings – but hunters were capable of this kind of cruelty. Hunters knew how to do this to a person and leave them half dead. And the worst part, Leticia didn’t have enough information to decide if this was something Teagan had escaped, or if it had been something the hunter had allowed because this was part of some longer game of torture.  

But all the hurt and confusion, all that healthy fear her mother had told her to have, was bottled back up when Leticia looked at Andy again and remembered that look on her face when they had first found Teagan. This time, when she reached out to comfort Andy, she didn’t stop half way. She rested her hand on Andy’s back at her shoulder blade, “Hey,” she whispered, rubbing a small circle on Andy’s back as she spoke. “She’s going to be okay. She’s tougher than most.” Tougher than she should have to be.

“Are you?” Leticia asked, tilting her head to get a better look at Andy’s face. “Okay?” 

Andy hadn’t tried to get Teagan’s blood out of her clothes. Instead, she stared down at the flannel bundled in her hands. She could feel Leticia next to her, and though she wanted to say something, she wasn’t sure what to say. She had just admitted to being the very thing that had attacked Teagan. Maybe a different flavor, but a hunter all the same. While Andy would have never done this to anyone, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of what happened to Teagan as if it had been her fault. 

Even if Andy didn’t know Teagan, she could still mourn the peace that the woman should have had. It shouldn’t have mattered if she was fae, she should have been left alone. 

It was Leticia’s touch that came first. Andy tensed slightly before looking over at the other woman as she spoke. Why Leticia felt the need to console her, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because it looked like she’d seen a ghost. She remembered the way blood looked against green, or the way it could soak into tree bark. She’d been reminded of her parents, then– or rather, what was left of them as she took Alex and ran. But she was angry, too. Angry that Teagan had been faced with this situation at all. 

“Mmm.” Andy inhaled sharply and dropped the flannel to her feet. She pressed her hands against her knees and tried her best to keep a straight face. Neutrality was easy when it’d taken precedence over personality. “Don’t worry about me.” She looked towards the water. “I’m just glad we got to her in time. It… could have been worse.” Andy wasn’t very familiar with warden weapons, but she could make out a bullet wound any day. Knife wounds, too. They were all the same– there to maim, kill, injure. Andy looked over at Leticia. “Are you okay?” 

Andy tensed under her touch and said not to worry, and Leticia felt a shadow of guilt as if she had gotten the answer to a very important question wrong. It took her a moment, her hand still gentle on Andy’s back for just a moment longer, and then it was back at Leticia’s side. More confusing distance that felt strange considering how much they had learned about each other in the past few hours alone. 

Worry was still there, written in her features, as was doubt. Not in Andy’s words, but in her own position here. Why was she so worried about Andy? They weren’t friends, were they? A causal moment in the record shop and then this walk that had taken on a life of its own — Leticia had no easy description of what they were. They weren’t strangers but the emotional distance between them, they couldn’t be friends either. “Okay.” It was the furthest thing from what she wanted to say because she had seen that look on Andy’s face when they found Teagan, and even now, something didn’t feel right. 

But Leticia had to trust her. She had told Teagan that Andy was worthy of that in relation to something that was far more important than this. Who was she to now cast doubt on her? The question was turned on her and she huffed a laugh, keeping her eyes on Andy, even if she was looking out to the water. “Not really fair if you’re excused from answering.” But after a moment, she let out a sigh. “No.” It was all she could manage in the moment, choosing honesty, no matter how brief. But she couldn’t explain why. She couldn’t look at Andy, with Teagan’s blood stains on her shirt, and say that she was imagining the worst moment in her mother’s life that she had missed. Her father dying a few thousand miles away from her and feeling like the entire world had been pulled from under her. And this place? This town? Was supposed to be safe. But it was the furthest thing from that. 

Andy ignored the strange sense of longing she had after Leticia lifted her hand away. It was odd, being the one on the receiving end of comfort. She was so used to providing it for others that it felt wrong. Dirty, somehow. Like she should apologize to Leticia for even considering comforting her of all people. The words stayed trapped at the back of her throat and she pushed down the apology that rose in her. 

Leticia sounded defeated and Andy couldn’t help but feel like it was her fault. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. She decided quickly that pouring pity over an already shit day would do nothing but point a continuous finger from one issue to the other, and at the end of the day, Andy’s feelings weren’t what mattered here. She didn’t deserve to throw herself a pity party. If anyone did, it was the fae at the bottom of the lake. 

A sigh escaped Andy as she leaned back to extend her legs. They sat on Teagan’s porch together, the only sounds being that of the lake lapping at the shore gently with the small gusts of wind, and a squawking of birds somewhere in the sky. It would be peaceful if she weren’t forced to remember what had happened, not only with Teagan, but the hellhound, too. “Yeah, I guess not.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, wincing at the sensation from where she’d bit down hard earlier. “Wouldn’t expect you to be.” Andy scrubbed a hand over her face, hoping that if maybe she pressed down on her already sore eyes hard enough, she’d get rid of the images of Teagan and how they had morphed into her parents. 

“I was trained up until I was fourteen,” Andy said after a brief moment of silence, “and I still don’t fucking get it. How somebody could do this.” She motioned towards the lake with a slight twitch of her fingers, then gradually returned her gaze to Leticia’s side profile. It was silly, she thought. To understand the wolves that had murdered her parents, but not the warden who had tried to kill Teagan. She’d always been on the wrong side of things, and this was no different. 

Leaning back into the door of Teagan’s home, Leticia looked up at the sky and tried to pretend not to notice each movement Andy made. Tried to tell herself not to worry because Andy was an adult and if she needed something, she could ask for it. Even if there had been a thousand other times that Leticia had needed help and she simply refused to acknowledge it. The day shouldn’t have felt this heavy on their shoulders. The world shouldn’t have been so cruel to her friend and it shouldn’t have been so cruel to the two of them. Chance pulling them together, but reality showing them that whatever they thought could happen here, whatever friendship might have bloomed, wasn’t supposed to be. 

It felt a lot like she was back in New York with her manager telling her that she needed to keep her private affairs quiet and to pretend to be an entirely different person. It felt like she had no say in how she was feeling or how things might unfold. It hurt her, in ways she couldn't voice because who would she voice them to? Would Andy understand? Would anyone look at her and hear her story and not tell her to shut up because she had a charmed life before all of this? 

“It’s okay,” Leticia offered lightly. Andy was deflecting and trying to be nice in the same breath and she couldn’t blame her for not wanting to talk. Leticia held enough inside and avoided answering questions like these on a professional scale for years. “I don’t talk about it,” she then explained, shrugging a shoulder as if it were just a simple thought. Something light between two friends. “Most people don’t know… not just about that but about anything.” Even now, she was vaguely tiptoeing around the pain of what happened to her father and the control that slipped away from her on a New York stage. 

The cork popped, it seemed. Andy started talking and Leticia pulled her legs toward herself, holding on and resting her chin on her knees while she watched Andy from the corner of her eye, worried that her full attention might send Andy back into silence. “I never understood it either. I thought…” She closed her eyes and told herself to breathe easier, over and over again, the balam wasn’t threatening the edges of her mind, but her heart was aching at each approaching thought. “When my father was murdered, I thought that there was no way… we had been good. We never - we lived with humans my entire life. We never had an incident. I couldn’t wrap my head around why.” She still couldn’t, but she held that in. Trying not to let the past bleed too much into their conversation. Because despite being a hunter, Andy had been good. And Leticia wanted to hold onto that image of her as long as she could. “There are real monsters out there. I know that. I just thought those of us that were good would be… spared. I guess.” 

Andy’s gaze shifted from Leticia’s side profile back to the shore, feeling as though any emotion that moved across her company’s face wasn’t for her to witness. Maybe in another life, Andy could have found a friendship with Leticia, and those like her. It was wishful thinking and she knew it, to hope that because she had her relationship with Alex despite her being a wolf, that it could work out for others, too. What was different was the familial bond. Andy silently wondered how long it’d take for Nicole and Leah to recoil. She would need to tell them, she decided. Before something like with Leticia happened. 

Andy knocked the heel of her shoe against the ground to scare away an ant that had started to crawl towards her foot. She looked over at Leticia again, hopeful that in doing so, she could give the other woman her undivided attention. If she focused on the water for too long, she might start to forget to listen. She might get lost again. 

Something split between them– honesty, or maybe something more rusty and corroded. Death, Andy realized, would bring them together. Andy wanted to ask if it had been a hunter that’d done it, the thing that had killed her father, but the words felt too big to ask. Asking would further fracture what could have been a friendship. Push Leticia further to the side of wrongly accused, and Andy the accuser, even if it hadn’t been her who had played executioner. But silence felt wrong. It would swallow her whole, and so her lips parted. 

“They don’t care,” Andy muttered. She leaned back, fingers digging into the wood of Teagan’s porch, fingers drawing circles into the sun bleached boards. “Whether you’ve done nothing wrong.” She looked away from Leticia, not sure she could explain the inner workings of a hunter’s mind accurately enough to ease whatever pain Leticia had gone through– as to why it had been her father and not somebody terrible instead. “They’ll do what they think is necessary because of some bullshit passed down from one generation to the next.” She thought about her own parents and their teachings, and of the camps, too. Of Alex, frightfully small beneath the pressure of it all. “They go against their own, too. If you’re not up to snuff.” She let out a laugh, even though there was no humor to be found in the conversation. “They’ll break you down just to build you up the way they want you. To make you believe that innocents are capable of something terrible.” Andy shook her head as if to rearrange the memories, to dispel them once and for all. 

“I’m sorry about your dad.” The words pained her to say, and though Andy wasn’t sure an apology was what was being asked for, she supplied it anyway, not because she felt like she needed to, but because of genuinity. “Whatever happened to him, he didn’t deserve it. Nobody does, not when it comes down to just…” She let out another laugh, this time wincing at how distorted it sounded to her own ears. “Existing. Just fucking existing.” 

They don’t care. Three devastating words that Leticia had been telling herself couldn’t be the reason he died. It couldn’t have been something senseless, bending over backward to give them an excuse so that she wouldn’t have to be consumed with anger. Her father was a good man, but it was easier to close her eyes and pretend that the balam had gotten loose in public or that he had done something, accidental or otherwise, that endangered others. There had to be a reason, because if there wasn’t, what was the point? 

Her mother had always told her to keep her guard up. That each person she met outside of the family was a threat that she needed to handle with care because any one of them could have been a hunter. And Andy was living proof of that. Had they not run into that hellhound, Leticia wasn’t sure if she would have ever known. And if Andy was anything less than herself, Leticia would have been dead. That thought alone was enough to make her sick. If their lives had been slightly different, it could have been the two of them.

Watching Andy from the corner of her eye, Leticia held her breath at the description. It was the kind of description you got from a horror movie, where people stopped being people and the only thing that mattered was the end goal. The cost was irrelevant. Their children, their own lives, everything around them was expendable as long as there was one less of her in the world. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Just like she couldn’t wrap her head around Nora’s parents adopting a replacement child. Why was hate the strongest force here? 

“Is…” The question nearly died on her lips. It was a selfish question that would be like pouring salt in an open wound that Andy had a firm hand over. Showing Leticia she was in pain but not revealing the whole truth. The little details Andy shared provided the differences between the hunters that were the boogeyman of all supernatural creatures, and the woman that was sitting next to her now. And the more she had, the more she could tell herself that Andy was different. “Did they try to do that to you?” The way she described it, fighting against what she was meant losing her family. But she had a sister - actively in her life, from what Leticia could remember of their conversation in the shop. 

Leticia stopped herself from jumping to conclusions, wanting the questions in her mind to be filled in with the details that Andy would give, and not some mix of fantasy that would make things more palpable. 

“That's all I could think about when we found her,” Leticia confessed. “I thought of… how awful it would have been to find her on my own.” And how scared her mother must have been when she had gone through the exact same thing. Picking at her nails, Leticia felt deflated. They had saved her friend, she should feel good. “You gonna answer me this time?” She asked, shifting in her position on the ground. “Are you okay?” 

Did they try to do that to you? 

Andy considered very briefly to lie, but after Leticia’s candor, she realized that it’d be a disservice to the other woman. If she wanted to salvage any good feelings here, free of contempt, then she knew she should at least give Leti a version of the truth. Maybe not the details on how her sister was now a wolf, but everything else, it could work. She’d given a version of it to Emilio already, what was one more person? 

It would hold the core of who she was and where she’d come from, anyway. It would just leave Alex out of the picture, and Andy knew that if Leticia did come across her sister, she’d figure out for herself that Alex was a wolf, and then if needed, Andy could have the conversation with her then. It still felt like lying, but after keeping quiet for so long, the paranoia was hard to displace. The thought of Leticia possibly using the information against her crossed Andy’s mind only briefly before she waved it away, knowing that it wouldn’t happen, not in a million years. Or so she hoped. 

As she tried to formulate a response to Leticia, she began speaking again. About Teagan. Andy’s stomach turned and she nodded. “I’m glad that you didn’t.” What if the hunter had still been there? Maybe Leticia could have shifted into whatever she was and ran them off, but what if she lost control and hurt Teagan in the process? “As shitty as it is, I’m glad I was there.” Because if she hadn’t been, would Leti have walked away from a hellhound attack? Would she even have been along the river to find Teagan?

Andy sucked in a breath at Leticia’s question, cutting her gaze back to the water. She focused on it as she spoke. “Growing up, I didn’t want to hunt.” Andy pulled her legs back, knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around them as she continued, gaze searching for Teagan as if she might pop out and tell them she was better already. “I thought it was bullshit as soon as people started to treat my sister differently because she…” Andy let out a small sigh, “wasn’t able to keep up, I guess.” She realized how stupid it sounded, but she hoped Leticia would stay with her. “There are camps and stuff. We get trained, we’re taught to throw punches and use our weapons. We walk away with scars and bruises and… other things, worse things.” She thought about the kid who had died due to another that didn’t know his anatomy when striking with a knife. “My parents um…” She cleared her throat and stretched her fingers against her knees, fingernails digging into the fabric of her hiking pants. 

“They died, or— were mauled, I guess. When I saw Teagan, it sort of brought it all back. She looked like she’d taken a small tumble, compared to them.” She avoided looking over at Leticia, too afraid to see her expression. Andy didn’t want any pity. She wanted to give her story. Maybe it was selfish inclination— if she did a better job at showing she wasn’t like them— the hunters who had killed Leticia’s father, or the hunter who had hurt Teagan, then maybe she would trust her. “We were camping. After it happened, we ran. We ended up in other places, but didn’t stop until we got here..” Her throat constricted and she absentmindedly brought her hand up to check for tears, but her eyes were dry. That was good at least. “So when I saw Teagan, I saw my parents. As much as I…” She tilted her head to the side, searching for a word, “I don’t know if I hate them, but… it was like seeing them. Again. I��“ Andy let out a brief uncomfortable laugh. “I didn’t teach my sister to hunt. I taught her self defense, kept up some routines, and that’s how,“ she poked at her arm for comedic relief, “these came into play, wanted to keep busy. It’s easier if you’re busy.” The last sentence came out quiet, barely above a whisper. 

Leticia wasn’t sure how to say thank you without it coming out mangled. There was no comfort that she could offer Andy that felt right, and the hand on the back she had tried before had been wrong. Words felt insufficient. Too simple to truly express how grateful she was to not have had to face this alone. Without her, she doubted she’d be able to carry Teagan to the cabin. She’d have run there and back to her body and anything could have happened. And then she would have sat on these steps alone with her own thoughts.

Andy started to answer. But the words that came out were nothing like what Leticia had imagined. The way hunters had been described to her was monstrous, but there had been no world where she would have closed her eyes and imagined the extremes they put their children through. It sounded like torture. Biting down on the inside of her cheek, she tried to keep her hands relaxed. But the anger was stronger than her desire to not be invasive in this story. Her hands clenched, and she turned her head away from Andy as her jaw tightened. She could find it in her heart to forgive many things - she had even forgiven the hunters that had killed her father because hatred would have only made her miserable. But this? This was too much. Who could do that to children and then take pride in themselves? 

With every horror that Andy described, it was a miracle that either of them had made it out of that life alive. But she had saved her sister, and even in the middle of the cruelest conditions, Andy was still gentle. Despite everything that had happened to her and all the horrors that she had witnessed, at no point had she made Leticia feel like a monster. She spoke about her parents being mauled to death and never once made Leticia question if it might have been her own parents that had done it. And when it came down to hunters who followed their ways or the monsters that might have attacked, even Leticia wasn’t interested in placing blame on either side. 

“They were your parents,” Leticia finally chimed in, trying to untangle her anger for what had happened to Andy and her sister from the care that she deserved now. “You don’t need to have a reason to care for them. No matter what they did.” Even if the thought of Andy and her sister being pushed into camps led by other hunters and forced through trials that Leticia could only imagine. She could be angry at them where Andy couldn’t. Grief was a complicated thing, as she was learning. Grieving for her father had felt like something natural, but the grief she felt for the person she was before the alley was different. She wished she was better at navigating both so she could take Andy’s hand and guide her down a path that could help her heal, but Leticia hadn’t managed to heal her own wounds. 

“I’m sorry, though, for what happened to your parents. And that you saw it,” Leticia’s voice was softer now. “But I’m glad you made it out. And I’m glad you got her out, too. It takes a strong person to survive that. And not this kind.” She used her knuckle to tap on the muscle Andy had been poking at moments earlier, trying to allow it to defuse the hurt that had been shared. Her hand dropped back to where it had been before, as a fist pressed to the ground. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look away. “And… I’m glad you were here. And that I was. Alone can be… pretty shit. Especially when it comes down like this.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Andy saw Leticia’s posture change. Slender hands over her knees had turned into fists and her jaw worked against something. Anger, maybe she thought. 

As the other woman spoke, Andynodded. She knew that they were her parents, but she couldn’t see them in a light that wasn’t shrouded with so many other things. A light that wasn’t damning. Because they had existed in that damnation and forced herself and Alex to do so too, and a part of her hated them for that. She hated her parents for what they had done, or rather, what they hadn’t done to protect their youngest daughter, and in turn, their oldest. She decided she didn’t want to think about how she felt towards them, and even though she’d provided the context, she wanted to shove it back into her mouth and swallow it before Leticia could dissect it any further. 

“It’s just the way of life, isn’t it?” Andy’s voice reflected her bitter contempt for the cards she’d been given. Even if despite it all, she wouldn’t have changed a thing, because it meant she and Alex were close, and that she could protect her sister. Anything else out of place, and that might have crumbled entirely. “Our— their life expectancies aren’t very long. For obvious reasons.” She let go of the hold she had on her knees and stretched her legs out again, rocking her foot from one side to the other, looking over at Leticia finally. It took courage, but she wanted to witness the genuinity that she spoke with. 

Jokes made the conversation easier to process, so she pressed on. “I don’t know, I think that my arms had a lot to do with it.” Andy had been putting in a lot of work over the years, slightly worried that without the constant training, she’d lose some of her strength. Her strength wasn’t there to hurt people, it was to protect people— protect Alex, and now, she guessed, people like Alex. Andy looked back towards the lake, after finding herself staring a little too long at the side of Leticia’s face. She thought about Teagan again and something in her chest tightened. “I hope—“ She wasn’t sure what she hoped would happen to the hunter who’d done this to Leticia’s friend, but it wasn’t anything good, and that in itself festered a sense of guilt. “They never show their face again,” Andy finished after a moment. But they would, if they knew where Teagan resided, and that in itself was a horror. 

The question of why Leticia had let her unspool the thread of who she was popped into Andy’s head after a brief moment of silence. Whether it was a longing to learn, or to escape a cycle that Andy knew far too well, she decided to accept the graciousness Leti extended with a silent thanks, not wanting to make some big deal about how she had listened to her sob story, even if they had some commonalities between then. “Do you have any idea how long she needs to stay in there?” 

The cards that they had been dealt at the start might have been ones they had to live with for some time, but Leticia had never subscribed to fate or destiny, it had always felt like something people used as a crutch to excuse the things they did or some bullshit reason why things simply didn’t fall into their lap. She wondered how many hunters had been like Andy, who had doubts and didn’t, because fighting would mean leaving everything behind. Maybe even dying. (She wondered, faintly, if that was something Andy was worried about. If there was an unknown blade out there with her name on it, just waiting for her to slip up.) 

It made sense in the context of how long they lived why they would start training so young. But there was a bitter thought in the back of Leticia’s mind that reminded her if they hadn’t been out killing her own they would have lived full lives. Or fuller, at least. The choices they had made cut their lives short while they took the lives of others simply because they weren’t like them — or weren’t human. She looked at Andy, shook her head again, and then spoke, “Even if you expect it to happen, it doesn’t make it any less… It doesn’t soften the blow.” Leticia wasn’t sure those would have been the words she wanted to hear after what had happened to her father, but they were the only ones she could give. The weight of what happened was heavy, no matter how expected it could have been.

Arching a brow, Leticia let a small smile form at the corner of her mouth. “Fine, all credit to the arms, then.” It was easier for Andy this way, but Leticia understood. It had been a distraction to keep herself busy as much as it had been to protect herself and her sister. It was something she needed, and maybe she needed it to mean something still. “They will be.” While the glimmer of hope might have been nice for a moment, Leticia couldn’t bring herself to pretend this wasn’t the start of something that could easily end Teagan’s life. Maybe her own, too. She didn’t know who had done this or how many connections they might have, if they’d even look twice at her if she wasn’t their main prey, but she knew it wasn’t over. “But at least we know they’re coming now. And with any luck, she won’t be alone when they meet again.” 

Leticia stretched her arms upward. “No idea. She said she heals like a human, but faster in the water, so I’m guessing a few hours at least?” But there was a mess inside that they had made stitching up Teagan and the shirt that had her blood on it that was sitting on the ground by Andy. “Here, give me that.” She pointed to the flannel and wiggled her fingers. “I’ll see if I can get the blood out while we wait.” She paused for a moment, realizing that Andy might brush it off and say not to worry — or that she’d handle it later. Andy wasn’t good at letting people help, she had realized. “It’ll help distract me. I’m better when my hands are busy, and the sooner we wash it out, the better.” 

Andy had been taught early on that to mourn a fallen hunter was a waste of time. That despite the relationships formed, there were far more important things to deal with, and even if Andy typically revolted from any of her parents’ teachings, this was one lesson she had latched onto. Not so much to deflect the inevitable loss and the pain that would come with it, but for Alex’s sake. In a way, she’d gotten lucky that she hadn’t been able to process her grief. Now, of course, she was just reminded of it every time she saw blood spilt. “I guess not.” Andy knew that Leticia was right. 

“Appreciate your cooperation, ma’am.” Andy’s voice softened as she gave a half-hearted salute in Leti’s direction. She wanted this to be easy— it was nicer this way, less grief, less damnation. Less pitiful sob stories; at least on her behalf. What Leti had provided Andy in the form of her father’s passing had been a reminder of who she was, and what she needed to continue being. Because Andy could be better than what she was meant to be, even if at the root of it all, she could have been so much fucking more. She had to be good, not only for Alex now, but for others. Even if she and Leti never spoke again after this and went their separate ways, Andy would want to be good for her, too. She deserved that much. 

Though it’d happened only hours ago now, Andy could already feel the haunting of their situation. Of the worry that the hunter who had hurt Teagan would crash through the trees and put a silver rod through Leticia’s chest, and an iron one through Teagan’s. Andy brushed the thought away, knowing it wouldn’t do either of them any good to spin a web of paranoia. “We do, you’re right. I hope not.” Andy wanted to ask how many other people Leti knew that Teagan knew, and if she had any support. The thought of Leticia moving through the woman’s cabin as if she’d been there before came to mind, too, but she decided to drop it. It wasn’t any of her business. 

“Faster in the water?” She stretched her fingers against her biceps and nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad we got her there, then.” Andy thought about the number of times she had to heal, and with Alex, too only being able to do so on a full moon. It had been arduous, after their parents had been attacked, because it wasn’t like they’d walked away without their physical scars, either. Pulled from her thoughts by Leticia’s hand sticking in front of her, she looked with slightly wide eyes to see the flannel. She’d been holding it before now, but even that felt like eons ago. “What? No, I can just throw it away—“ but Leticia had called her bluff, or maybe she was being honest. Andy hesitated before reaching down, balling up the flannel and handing it over to her. “If you’re sure.” 

Andy smiled at her briefly before rocking on her heels, pushing up from where she sat to get up. She looked down at Leticia and held her hand out for her to take, before pulling her up into a standing position. “So, are we going to beat it against a rock or something?” She’d had to do that plenty of times when she and Alex hadn’t had an actual home. They’d pull over, find some water, and do their laundry there by rubbing the fabric together in a freezing stream of water. “It works, if that’s what you do do.” 

Leticia wasn’t sure if her words really reached Andy in the way she had wanted, but she knew she had been heard. But somewhere in the words she had forgotten herself, letting Andy rip open old wounds that she clearly didn’t want to think about all to show that they didn’t have to be enemies, and Leticia was still sitting on every inch of her past, pretending the only event in her life that mattered had been her father’s death. Maybe one day, when they were sitting together by choice instead of chance. Less out of obligation and more… more as friends. Wanting to know each other, instead of being forced to.

“Alright, cool it Captain America,” Leticia said with a roll of her eyes, almost stopping to ask if Andy even knew who that was. But despite everything, it seemed like the grief hadn’t taken hold of Andy entirely. She was hurting, no doubt, but the light that she had shown Leticia in the record shop was still there. Something that was genuinely good. Something that Leticia had nearly wiped away from her mind in the chaos of the blood, the hunter, and the hellhound.

It felt like they were betting on the worst possible scenario, but was that wrong? The only other hunter she had met outside of Andy had been Emilio and she still hadn’t figured out how to wrap her head around what had happened in the alley. They were the exceptions, but quietly, she wished they were the standard. Protectors, like the balam, and not akin to the monsters they claimed to hunt. Part of her wanted to let that thought root in her heart, like something she might be able to change – something to fight for. But reality set in too quickly. A stupid dream that had no hope in the harsh light that surrounded them. “Surprise is the greatest tool they’ve got, I think,” Leticia said, trying to highlight what they had gained instead of the peace they had lost. “They won’t get a second chance at that.” She nudged Andy gently. “Silver linings.”

Nodding, Leticia let her shoulders relax. “Yeah. Me too. I don’t know a whole lot about the fae, ma just warned me about hunters and… the importance of control.” A lesson that would follow her through life, one that she was still trying to untangle herself from. It had been useful at the start, good at the start, but it turned into something that was rigid and unforgiving. Andy said she’d throw away the shirt instead and Leticia made a face. As if that was the worst thing she had heard in this entire conversation. “Don’t be so dramatic, we can get it clean.” The second that Andy handed it over, Leticia had a grin on her face. She had won. “I am.”

Taking Andy’s help and standing up with her, Leticia made another face this time. “Are you serious right now?” She was half tempted to ask if all hunters lived like cavemen or if this was a choice that Andy was actively making. But judging by the state of Emilio’s clothes, maybe it was a hunter thing. So, she put a pin in it and pretended not to be bothered, despite her initial outburst. “I’m sure she’s got soap inside and won’t mind. We just need to let it soak a little with some soap and it’ll be good as new.” She shrugged, before looking up at Andy. “And I want to clean up the mess we made. I know she wouldn’t care but… I don’t want her to have to worry about any of that when she gets back.”

Andy scoffed, hand to her chest. “Please, if anything I’m Captain Marvel.” It was the only other marvel movie she knew. “Should I be broody like her, too? Thought we were trying to avoid that.” It surprised even her that she’d gotten the reference right, especially for someone who’d just found out that it was Romeo and Juliet and not whatever she had said before. Though the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, it was there, and Andy held onto the hope that Leti would allow her to provide the truth she lived in, not some fucked up atrocity that was attached to her gene pool. 

“Silver linings,” Andy repeated, voice hardening. Whoever had attacked Teagan wouldn’t expect a shifter and a… Andy wasn’t sure what to classify herself as. Ranger felt wrong, because at the core of it all, the ideologies were not something Andy practiced, but she was something. It wasn’t like she needed to take on the role of knight in shining armor, because she was far from it, but she wanted to help Teagan in any way she could. It came from a place of fear, anger, and genuinity.

Something told her to let Leticia win this one. Friends helping friends, and all that. Or whatever they were. Soon to be friends, hopefully. 

“Yes, I’m serious.” She rested her hands on her hips, brow raised. Her eyes still stung a little from the hellhound encounter, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. “I mean, not right now, we’ve got—“ Andy let out a sigh, “a washer and dryer, that was just you know, on the road and stuff. You can’t exactly stop at laundromats when you’re on the run.” Or when you have a fitful seven year old reacting to a werewolf bite. 

“Alright, well, if you say so.” Andy turned to the door before looking over her shoulder as Leti explained she also wanted to clean up the bloodied mess that they’d left behind while rushing Teagan into the water. “No, yeah, of course.” She gave the other woman a firm smile before pulling open the door, holding it open for her. At the very least, Andy could be sure that it hadn’t been pity she’d received from Leticia. It had been something else, and she was grateful. 

[felassan]

Dragon Age II and Dragon Age: Inquisition concept art & assets from a 2016 talk/presentation by Matt Rhodes, titled “The World of Concept Art” [watch link & source]

It’s an interesting and insightful talk which I recommend watching, especially if you have an interest in concept art and related things like character design and how it fits into the overall game dev process. It’s also interesting to see a bit about how the DA team’s art direction/process has changed over time between games, and hear a bit about how they’ve been doing things going forwards for the next game.

This is Part 1. [Link to Part 2]

(Some notes on the commentary given on the images and in general in the presentation under the cut due to length.)

On image 2: DAII had a fast, hot production period where decisions were made very quickly. The devs knew that the central hub, Kirkwall, had been a center of an old slavery-based empire in the past, and wanted to have indications of this [in its art direction]. There were going to be giant statues that the PC eventually fought - on the right is the design for the statues as they originally were. In the top left, this is all they had for the location [owing to the intensive prod period]. They also had a general idea that they wanted to have tableaus that came to life, shown in the bottom left.

On image 3: Going back to the design of the giant statues, the beautiful golden clockwork version of the design doesn’t really say ‘tool of an ancient slavery-based empire’, so they took the model and tried to come up with something that had more of the kinds of shapes that get into the back of your head and say things like ‘aggressive, hard, simple’.

On image 4: So here they had started doing concepts trying to find some of the right poses, accessories etc that these things would have. One of the hearts of the internal ‘DA art [direction] codex’ is “gray and pointy”; if they give a concept like this to [then] Art Director Matthew Goldman he instinctively wants to go “Yes! Approve!”, and so has to kind of reign himself in a little bit.

On image 5: This is where they ended up getting to and how the concept art turned out in terms of the model, with some negotiation back and forth. This is an example of how their art direction process now tries to tell a story with the art (i.e. it tries to support the story through art aspects of the setting and the environment). Historically, they would have just thrown the French-looking, Baroque clockwork version of the statue into the game and gone with it. They are getting more and more intentional with this sort of thing.

On this image: This was an internal image made for internal discussion. The characters in it aren’t ones that exist or that became other characters, with the exception of the Warden, who kind of became Blackwall. In this image, they were trying to think about visual separation among members of a group at the most basic level (simple graphic design principles, like different shapes and colors). This image is part of trying to solve the design problem of having 4 different characters on-screen in the party at once in their games - as in, players of course need to be able to easily tell who is doing what and where.

A general comment: At BioWare, the concept artists nowadays involve themselves in the character design process much earlier than they used to. Historically, as in earlier games, the writers would write up a bunch of characters and then concept artists would be brought in to draw them. Through negotiation and back-and-forth they would then come up with something. Nowadays though, the concept artists are involved from Day 1. The writers now write down 2 words to describe a character and the artists do sketches based on that. The writers then will write a sentence and the artists will do more drawings based on that. Then it progresses to a paragraph and drawings based on that and so on. In this way it goes back and forth and they build it up so that the visual aspects and the writeup/content of the character are developed completely in tandem, complimentary to one another. This is their goal. They aren’t quite there yet, but this is what they’re trying to strive for in this area.

On image 6: These are Dorian concepts. His initial 2-word writeup was “rockstar mage”. They had different artists take different swings at him. The middle concept is Matt’s. The third concept is by Casper Konefal. Everyone was very excited about it and so it was then taken up to a more final stage (image 7).

On image 8: Casper is one of Matt’s favorite concept artists because he goes in and lovingly details absolutely everything - all the pieces of jewelry etc. Each ring has a story. This attention and level of detail and thought behind it adds authenticity and verisimilitude. 

On image 9: In game development, there is an effect on character design that can happen during review meetings. The concept/character artist will know what they need visually from a particular character’s design in order to visually tell the story and to help the character support that. Oftentimes, people who aren’t artists don’t have the language to describe this or realize that’s what’s going on in a character’s design, and instead they just see imperfections in the presented faces. What this can lead to is that unintentionally a group review meeting can slowly trim away all the features of a character that make them interesting or distinct. This is why, for many characters across the game industry, if they were shaved and had their facial decorations etc removed, it would be kind of hard to tell many of them apart, as they have all been subjected to this sort of “council sandblasting” process. Casper figured out an idea to help with this; annotating concept drawings with artistic knowledge that artists know intuitively, as has been done here. Artists know, for instance, that certain shapes and angles can allow for certain assumptions about the character to be made (for example, think about Cassandra’s personality and then consider the angular, straight strong lines that make up her face). Annotating like this and then presenting both versions alongside one another helps these aspects of character design be recognized in the review process, and helps characters remain more distinct.

On image 10: They knew that in DAI there was going to be a character who would be with the PC for the whole game - the humble little hermit, non-intrusive, someone quite closed off who the player wouldn’t know much about. “[quote] And at the very end of the game you’d basically find out that he’s Loki himself, or the embodiment of this ancient god that had been tricking you and basically manipulating you the whole time, characterized by a wolf.” And so Nick Thornborrow hung a wolf’s jaw bone off his neck and it was just there in plain sight the whole game. Because this detail was in the drawings at an early stage, it sparked conversations with the audio department, and the audio department could add touches from their end like having wolves howling when he walked into a new area. They could then get all of these different elements and things that could be hinted at, so that when you play the game a second time it’s like ‘They weren’t even hiding it!! It was there the whole time!!’ He loves that.

A general comment: Any one of BioWare’s 3D modelled characters standing in-game talking or animating probably ends up costing them something in the 40,000 - 60,000 dollar range (they calculated this).

A general comment: For DAI, the concept artists also started to get heavily involved in the storytelling side of things at a deeper level, doing things like quick’n’dirty storyboards for the cinematic designers and spending more time with the writers talking about what emotions they were trying to convey at different points and so forth. Since starting doing this, this has become a built-in part of their process.

A comment in the context of giving advice to up-and-coming and student artists, on the subject of how concepts and ideas are naturally thrown out during the process of iterating on ideas etc: “[quote] Right now, the project that I’m working on that I can’t talk about, I have 3 versions of the story in the garbage, and it’s awesome. Because now I’m working on the fourth with our lead writer and it’s so much better than it would have been otherwise and we’re doing it so much earlier so that we can actually change things up.” Said project could be DA4 or something else. (Please remember these comments were made in November 2016. MEA came out in 2017 and DA4 has been rebooted)

[source]

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

|next part|

|masterlist|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @fangirl-nonsense @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole

**Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you**

[sokkastyles]

Mai: The truth is, I guess I don’t know you. All I get is a letter? You could have at least looked me in the eye when you ripped out my heart.

I’ve seen some people say that Zuko was in the wrong here because what he does by breaking up with Mai via letter is the equivalent of breaking up via text message. The show tells us that Zuko broke up with her via letter because he didn’t want to get her involved for her own safety. However, there's another layer to it.

This is the equivalent of breaking up with your girlfriend via text message if you and your girlfriend were part of a violent terrorist organization and your entire relationship was founded on being part of that organization, and your girlfriend was best friends with your sister who is second in command of that organization. Oh, and the reason you broke up was because you realized that you did not believe in the ideals of the organization anymore, and literally had to defend yourself from being killed in order to leave. Zuko's not just protecting Mai here, but himself. His whole relationship to her is part of a life where he was abused and leaving the relationship is something he needs to do to realize his own agency. That's not Mai's fault, but it is what it is.

Not only is talking to Mai about this putting her in danger, but Zuko has every reason to believe, given all of his previous interactions with her, that she would not have responded well if he had had a conversation with her about it, that she would see his defection as traitorous and that his life might be in danger, considering how she reacts in this scene and won’t listen when Zuko tries to explain his motives. Zuko has changed his views of the fire nation, but Mai hasn’t, and their conflicting values are shown throughout the time they spend together. And Mai might be getting fed up with Azula and definitely a victim of that relationship, but as of “Nightmares and Daydreams,” which was the last time Mai and Zuko spoke, Mai was still a close confidant of Azula, as evidenced by her casually mentioning a war meeting that Azula brought up that Zuko did not even know about. Zuko has every reason to believe that when push came to shove, Mai would choose Azula, her childhood friend, over a boyfriend whose ideals she does not share, nor does she understand. Which might not have been true, but Zuko spent most of the relationship with her unsure of what she wanted from him and whether she actually cared about him, and given his history of abuse, and hers, I can definitely see why he would think that.

To be fair, I think part of the reason that Mai is so blindsided by it is because Zuko doesn’t try to talk to her about it, because as I said before, Zuko throughout his relationship with Mai was trying to be what he thought he should be. It’s hard to blame him for that, though, considering that Zuko’s whole fire nation identity is tied to being conditioned by abuse to believe that who he really was wasn’t good enough. Because of this, he tends to not handle personal confrontations very well and has a fear of rejection. It took incredible bravery to stand up to his father, but in some ways I think it was easier because he was no longer looking for affirmation from his father. A confrontation with Mai would have been harder in this respect because he still cares about her. When she reads his words from the letter aloud to him, he’s literally hiding his face from her and curling in on himself. I understand why Mai wishes that her boyfriend had “looked her in the eye” when he broke up with her but I also understand why he couldn’t, and forcing the confrontation in this way is not going to help the situation.

He’s also sitting in an interrogation chair for added symbolism.

Which brings me to the fact that when this confrontation happens, Zuko has been arrested and imprisoned by Mai’s uncle, who expressed to Zuko his desire to punish him for breaking up with his niece. Then Zuko is dragged into an interrogation room while screaming “I didn’t do anything!” with no idea why he’s being brought there (other than the warden threatening him for breaking up with his niece.)

Mai says she knew that Zuko was there because her uncle is the warden, and given that in “The Boiling Rock, Part 1″ the warden recognized and spoke to Zuko personally after he was caught, we can infer that Mai’s uncle took the information of Zuko’s whereabouts either straight to his niece, and then Mai told Azula, or he told Ozai/Azula and Mai agreed to go along for the ride to pay a visit to her ex boyfriend. So that she could save him from imprisonment, torture, and/or death? No, so that she could yell at him. Which actually confirms that Zuko was right not to tell her when he was going to leave the fire nation.

I said before that I do not mind at all that Mai was sent to track down Zuko before book three. Childhood friends/crushes/acquaintances to enemies to lovers makes for some very interesting story conflict. (And we were robbed of getting to see Mai and Zuko actually fight each other somewhere during book two, which would have been a cool fight, as well as possibly fleshing out their relationship by including some dialogue about how these two characters feel about seeing each other again for the first time after three years.) But what matters is how people treat each other within the bounds of a relationship, so Mai going along with Azula to capture her ex who will either be a) dragged back, and this time with no chance of going back as an ally but as a prisoner, or b) killed, because she’s pissed at him for breaking up with her is not very compelling if the writers want us to believe in this relationship. It's hard to blame her for her and Zuko's bad relationship because Zuko entered into the relationship based on the lies he was telling himself about who he should be, but that also doesn't mean that the relationship should continue or that it would make sense that it would. And even in this scene the show is using her in the ways they use Azula and Ozai, as someone Zuko has to leave behind in order to become the person he is supposed to become.

He has to physically lock her in the cell to get away from her. Which as I also said before, is one of the few times he is active about the relationship. And when he does, he looks her in the eye.

...And walks away.

It’s not necessarily that I think Mai is a bad person, it’s that even in this episode, which is supposedly her redemption, she’s presented as an obstacle to Zuko’s growth as a character, which does a disservice to her character as well especially when we are supposed to believe they should end up together. The show never really seems sure about what they want her to be.

She also seems to think that she gets to define the terms of the relationship, but that he doesn’t have any say at all. Remember that in “The Beach,” she broke up with him. He was being a jerk but he also told her that he felt she didn’t care about anything (which really meant that he felt she didn’t care about him), and that wasn’t addressed at all. She decides by the end of the same episode that they’re dating again without either of them resolving their issues with each other.

When Mai betrays Azula to save Zuko, I initially thought that the reason she did it was because she realized that she loved him and was willing to save his life even if it meant sacrificing her relationship with him. That caring about him didn’t necessarily mean she was entitled to a relationship with him. “I’m saving the jerk who dumped me.” This fits nicely with the themes of the fire nation plotline, Zuko realizing his own agency to become a better version of himself (instead of becoming a worse version of himself to please his father or a pretty girl), and the theme that you can’t control other people, that love is better than selfishness, that permeates Azula’s story and also extends to Mai and Zuko, who both try to control each other at various points.

Then she came back in the finale and announced to him that they were back in a relationship and he was not allowed to break up with her ever again, so there goes that, I guess!

[scripttorture]

(1/3) Solitary confeinment ask: the background is that the character (a strategic genius and a trained fighter) was a colonel running a death squad. After witnessing the death of his only family (wife and child, a collateral damage to heroes saving the world), unable to deal with grief, trauma and survivors guilt executes a series of terrorist attacks against the heroes to avenge his family.

(2/3) He succeeds, but before he manages to comment suicide to join his family (final part of his plan) the heroes stop him, so he can answer for his crimes. He is put pernamently on suicide watch in a solitary confinement in a state of the art prison. The character is content with the sucess of his plan and listens to the guards, but receives no psychological help (the character is deeply traumatised byt the death of his family and suicidal). (3/3) Other contact, aside from the guards, is the warden, who occasionally comes to mock the character. The character appears stoic, but deep down the emotional pain is overwhelming. After 3 years the heroes (not the ones directly responsible to the characters tragedy) bust him out from prison because they need his help to stop a bigger bad guy.
 (4/3) My question is how in the span of 3 years can the characters mental state deteriorate and is it possible that in those conditions (solitary, no psychological help) he can just mentally heal on his own? Also, after 3 years of solitary, how would the character react to being instantly thrown into the middle of dangerous mission with people he doesn’t play well with? Thank you!

-   

Honestly I think if someone was already suicidal and spent three years in solitary confinement with no psychological help there’s a good chance they’d be dead.

 The ‘safe’ period for solitary confinement is a week. It makes all pre-existing mental health problems worse. There’s not any getting around that.

 A person in this situation would not ‘heal on their own’. That’s sort of the mental health equivalent of wondering if a character who’s had their gut cut open will be able to stitch themselves up and survive when the character has no equipment, no medical training and is in the process of bleeding to death.

 This isn’t a survivable scenario, ‘suicide watch’ or not. Believe me someone who is determined to die will be able to find a way.

 Even if it was a survivable scenario, someone who has just come out of three years solitary confinement would not be able to…. how do I put this… function. He would not be able to relate is a healthy manner to the people around him, whether he got on with them or not. He would not be able to assist them. He would be having a mental health crisis.

 I can assure you from personal experience that having panic attacks, severe depression or any of the other common symptoms of solitary (which begin to manifest within a week remember) is not ‘helpful’ to anything.

 You’ve got the wrong idea about just how harmful solitary is. And it’s OK to be wrong. This sort of information is hard to find, that’s why I’m here.

 The important thing is what you choose to do now.

 The damage solitary confinement does is routinely ignored, denied or underplayed in reality. Fiction that presents isolation as harmless feeds in to the public perception that this is not ‘really harmful’.

 I can’t make you or anyone else take solitary confinement seriously.

 I can tell you that I’ve read survivor accounts of self mutilation (cutting up their own face) and psychotic breaks (hallucinations, paranoid etc) that happened in the time period you’ve proposed. Solitary caused that. That is what it does to people.

 Because humans are social animals and need contact with members of their own species in the same way they need air, food and water.

 So what can we do to bring this more in line with reality and remove the torture apologia tropes?

 For starters read the masterpost on solitary confinement here. Then read Shalev’s Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement here.

 Pay particular attention to the symptoms and consider your choice of which symptoms 3-5 you would add to the character’s pre-existing mental health problems (which will get worse.)

 Write down the list of long term symptoms the character will get out of solitary with. I’m going to pick a couple just as an illustration:

Suicidal urges (pre-existing)

Anxiety

Severe mood swings

Memory problems

Irrational impulses

 I didn’t pick depression because that’s commonly co-morbid with suicidal urges and the character might well have it already.

 Immediately after release, with no mental health support and being thrown straight into danger- This character would have panic attacks. Would forget important information. Would swing from apathetic, to furious, to suicidal so fast no one would be able to keep up. And might deny it later. Because they might not remember the fight accurately.

 I’m mapping this out because what I really want to ask is: are you sure you want to use solitary confinement in this story?

 Do you really want to engage with the consequences for the character and the plot? Have you allowed space for showing these mental health problems in the story? Are you ready for the way this kind of obvious, undeniable disability would make this character the focus? Can you balance the overall plot and the development of the other characters with all this?

 From everything you’ve said solitary confinement is not actually adding anything to your story. Because currently there are no lasting effects from it whatsoever, it’s just functioning as a way to take a character out of the plot for three years.

 The character is already in jail. You don’t need to add in torture to take him out of the narrative for a while.

 Really.

 As I see it the only thing solitary is giving your narrative is elements of torture apologia.

 If you want prison to be stressful for the character it can be. If you want prison to mean the character doesn’t have access to current information it can mean that too. You don’t need to add torture into the mix to achieve these things.

 And if you want the character to heal over this three year period then… that can’t happen without help and without positive human contact.

 I have mental health problems. They don’t get better on their own.

 The idea of locking up a mentally ill person in solitary and expecting them to get better is a form of abuse (or when done by institutions torture) that has killed a lot of mentally ill people. In some countries this practice is continuing to kill mentally ill people.

 If you don’t want to deal with mental illness in your story this best thing to do is not to write it. You decided this character was suicidal. You decided that he’s going to be tortured. Neither of these things need to happen.

 Look it’s OK if you don’t know enough to write this stuff yet. It’s OK to get something wrong and work to find out more or correct it.

 But as things stand I think your story would work better if you took out any abusive or torturous elements. Because torture should have consequences.

 If you’re not prepared to write those consequences then you’re not really dealing with the magnitude of the crime.

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[emerald-echeveria-plant]

[[Part 4 of ???]]

Stuck with you

//Baozhai and Islay walked through the jungle. Islay cutting down leaves in their way with her sword.//

Baozhai, looking at the map: You think we'll find any skeletons through here??

Islay: How should I know? I Never heard of this place before.

Baozhai: Oh well, then allow me to tell you about this place!

Islay: please don't-

Baozhai: The Paititi was a civilization that were known for having tons of gold and practically living in it everday! Everything they had was made out of gold. Bowls, statues, and even clothing! Isn't that amazing to know??? Then one day the the civilization just disappeared! As well as the gold items and riches they had. Once outsiders arrived, all they found were statues and the abandoned villages. The weirdest thing they found was murals, depicting where they supposedly hid their treasure...

Islay:

Islay: How do you know all that? I thought you were supposed to be stupid or something.

Baozhai: Oh Ironbeard told me- HEY! I'm not dumb! I have the intelligence of a highschooler thank you very much! >:(((

Islay: Yeah, yeah whatever you say.

Baozhai, still angry: I could literally wire your mouth shut if you said that in front of a crowd of people..!

Islay, stop walking and turns to Baozhai: Baozhai, let me get one thing straight with you. I don't care for your threats and I'm not afraid of you. Everyone else on the ship might cower in fear when you brutalize someone but I've seen other pirates with less anger issues do worse. You're just a temperamental brat who gets offended at the slightest comment that criticizes you. Now all I want to do is get this treasure, leave, and ignore the fact that you still exist... You think you can manage shutting your mouth for once?

Baozhai:

Baozhai, pouts: fine I'll be quiet but I won't be happy about it >:(

Islay, rolls her eyes: Just make sure you don't loose the map.

//Islay took a few steps forward. She pushed some giant leaves out of the way. In front of them was a stone path with strange runes drawn on them. Baozhai looked at the map. She took a step forward and put her pressed her foot down on the path. Immediately, arrows came flying out from the walls. Baozhai quickly backed away before one of the arrows could pierce her.//

Islay: The classic arrows coming out of walls and trying to figure out the correct pattern on the floor... How cliche.

Baozhai: Good thing this map shows you how to cross.

//Just as the two were about to cross, a gunshot fired near their feet. The two women jumped back. A few feet from the left of them, stood Flint and Billy. Flint had the gun pointed towards the women.//

Flint: Not so fast ya' harlots.. give us that their map and we'll let ye both walk free..

Islay: Fuck off mate! This is our map and we're getting to that treasure!

Bones: Islay, we all know where this is going. Ye really want to risk a limb over that map?

Islay, holding her sword towards them: I'd rather die for it then let ye rats have it!

//She rushes towards the two. Unfortunately, she was taken down by Billy with a swift kick to the stomach. Billy put himself on top of her, putting her arms behind her back. Preventing her to do anything else harmful.//

Islay, struggling underneath Billy: Doesn't matter! My accomplice will tear you both apart!!

Flint: Well then I guess we'll have have pry it from their cold dead han-

Baozhai, hands him the map: Here you go :)

//Flint, Bones, and Islay all stand there completely stunned for a few seconds. Islay stared at Baozhai with her mouth gaping. Flint snatches the map out of Baozhai's hand.//

Flint: Seems like yer accomplice is more accommodating than ye..

Baozhai, hugs Flint tightly: you're so handsome..

//Flint stared, unamusedly at the small woman. He tried gentle pushing her off of him. But alas, Baozhai stuck to him like glue. Flint attempted to shove her off but still she stuck onto him. With all his strength, he tried to shove her off.//

Flint: LET GO OF ME!

Baozhai: 💕

//Flint grabbed Baozhai by her shoulders. He put his foot up against her, trying to pry her off of him. Fortunately, he managed to get her off of him.//

Baozhai: sorry... Couldn't help myself from wrapping my arms around your big, beefy, frame~

Flint, obviously disgusted: ...

Flint: tie em' both up Billy..

//Billy nods as he takes out some rope. A few minutes later the two women are tied, back to back to each other. Flint and Billy leave them behind as they successfully cross the booby trap.//

Islay, eye twitching angry: I cannot ... BELIEVE YOU HANDED OVER THE FUCKING MAP! WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT YOU FUCKING IDIOT. YOU COULDN'T DO THAT BRUTAL SHIT YOU LIKE TO DO TOWARDS THEM?? DID YOUR TWO FUNCTIONING BRAINCELLS GIVE UP ON YOU???

Baozhai: I'm sorry! I couldn't help myself.. he was just so dreamy💕 I feel like we had a real connection there!

Islay: HE PUSHED YOU OFF OF HIM! HOW WAS THAT A "REAL CONNECTION"????

Baozhai: it didn't seem like through his actions but I could feel it.. emotionally 🥺

Islay: OH I'M GOING TO SHOW YOU A REAL CONNECTION YOU STUPID SON OF A BI-

//Cut back to Billy and Flint walking through the jungle. Flint was holding the map.//

Bones: you think those two ladies will be fine..?

Flint: I'm sure they will. If they don't, too bad.

Bones: I mean, I feel a little bad.. I knew Islay for a few years and seeing her again was pretty nice... Until she tried killing me. That other girl seemed to like you a lot too..

Flint, sighs: They're the enemy, Billy. Don't think you should feel bad for em'. If the captain was here, he'd smack you on the side of the head.

Bones:

Bones: but he isn't here..

Flint: I can clearly see that-

//Suddenly, Flint fell through the ground. Flint was clinging to the edge of the ground. Below him was molten lava... Seemed as though it was another one of the booby traps. Unfortunately they had overlooked it. Billy, quickly began to pull Flint up. As he began to pull him up, the map slowly slipped out of hands. Flint, just now realizing this, tried grabbing the map. Unfortunately, the map fluttered down into the lava.//

Flint: No, no, no!

//Map: disintegrates.//

Flint: GODDAMNIT!

//Billy successful pulls Flint out of the hole.//

Bones: You okay??

Flint: No! Damnit I lost the FUCKING map!

Bones: It's okay maybe we can-

Flint: No, it is not okay! I lost the fucking map because I chose to talk instead of looking where I was walking! GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT, GODDAMNIT!

//Cut back to Islay and Baozhai. Baozhai was trying to figure out a way to untie them.//

Baozhai: maybe if we... No that wouldn't work.. how about! No, no, that wouldn't work either.. HUH! I've got it!

Islay, dying on the inside: what is it...?

Baozhai, slowly tries to use her knees to get up: we'll... Stand up.. and walk to the treasure tied together!

Islay: Sounds stupid.. but by this point what choice do I even have..?

//Islay uses her knees to also get up. Struggling but successful the two were able to get off the ground.//

Baozhai: Okay! Now we just run across the trap!

Islay: If I die doing this... Tell the crew... I hate you more than that warden that almost killed me..

Baozhai: I'll keep that noted!

//Together the two began to run towards the trap. Immediately tons of arrows flew out of the walls. They screamed in terror as the arrows came close to piercing their skin. With luck on their side, they managed to get across without any arrows sticking to them.//

Baozhai, breathing heavily: see.. that.. wasn't.. so bad..

Islay, white as a ghost: I think I may have wet myself there.

Baozhai: ... Gross...

Islay: I SAID I MAY HAVE!

//Cut back to Flint and Billy. After Flint got over his breakdown of losing the map, him and Billy began to walk around the jungle.//

Bones: uhh, let's take this direction..? *Points to a path*

Flint: we already walked through there...

Bones: Oh, um, then how about through here-

Flint, facepalms: we already walked through there too... ten minutes ago.. WE'VE BEEN WALKING IN CIRCLES FOR FUCK SAKE!

Bones: um... how about we try to walk back and retrace out steps?

Flint, let's out a long sigh: ... Fine.

//The two walk back in order to retrace their steps. Behind a bush they saw, Islay and Baozhai. Who were still tied up together.//

Baozhai: I'm telling you, if I was captain I'd be great at it!

Islay: if you were captain, the ship would immediately blow up from your incompetence.

Baozhai: Hey at least I'm the one who memorized the map! That has to count for something when it comes to leadership or captainship..

Islay: Since when do you have photographic memory???

Baozhai: Ever since I could remember ever little detail of me getting "treated" at the mental asylum I was forcefully put in. Like how they'd lock me in a padded room for hours on end in complete darkness and isolation or how they stuck a needle into my eye and into my brain to get the bad spirits out of me.. god it was painful.. haha! Those were the worst times of my life..! :D

Islay:

Islay: Let's just try to get to the treasure in one piece.. and maybe figure out a way out of these ropes.

//Behind the bush, the two clearly heard what they were just talking about. Billy nudged Flint.//

Bones: I've got an idea..

Flint: Let me hear it..

//Baozhai and Islay continued to walk together. It looked like the sun was starting to set. Islay took notice of this.//

Islay: Damnit, night's gonna arrive soon. As if we need any more problems..

Flint, comes out from behind the bushes with Billy: Stop right there!

Islay: Speak of the devil.

Baozhai, gasps: You came back for me! :D

Flint: I'm not here for you, you stupid cow!

Baozhai: yes you are~! I knew you couldn't resist me..

Flint, groans: I swear I'm going to punch you again.

Baozhai: Ooo, sounds hot..

Flint:

Bones:

Islay:

Flint: you know what nevermind... Tell us how to get to the treasure or we'll cut out your tongues!

Baozhai: Oh okay! Make a-

//Islay hits her head with Baozhai's head.//

Baozhai: Hey! Ow...

Islay: Don't tell him anything you idiot! The last time you did that you got us into this mess! Who knows if they'll do it or not!

Baozhai: okay fine

Flint, holds a knife against Baozhai's neck and growls: Talk..

Baozhai: I'd love to but I'm caught between wanting to tell you or possibly being strangled to death by my crewmate..

Flint: I'm going to count to three and if you don't tell me I'm going to kill you and her..

Baozhai:

Flint: One...

Bones: don't you think we should torture it out of them at least?

Flint: two.. *puts the knife and his head closer to her*

Islay: Whatever you do, don't tell him anything Baozhai!

//Baozhai with precious seconds passing by did the only reasonable thing imaginable. She gave Flint a kiss.//

Flint, cutting him off from saying three: *proceeds to gag and quickly step away from her* WHAT THE HELL??

Baozhai: I'm sorry you were getting close to my face and I couldn't help myself~ It was worth it~! Albeit your teeth did kinda cut my lips..

Flint: FUCK THIS *pulls out his flintlock pistol and presses the end against Baozhai's forehead* I'm gonna put a bullet in this cunt's head!

Bones: What about getting to the treasure???

Flint, growls: ... We can figure that out later..

Islay: Hold on now! How about we all get there together..

Flint: What are you talking about?

Islay: I'm saying how about we NOT kill each other until we arrive to the treasure..? You help us get out of these ropes and we lead you guys to the treasure.. then when we get there we can go back to hating each other as normal... That sound like a deal..?

Flint: Why would I trust you.. you could betray us or strand us at any moment when we let you go..

Islay, looks at Baozhai: even if I wanted to, I couldn't because of the simp next to me..

//Flint stared menacingly at Islay. He took out his knife again and held it against Islay's neck. Islay tried moving her head away her from the knife. Instead of slicing her neck open, he swiftly cut the ropes.//

Flint, puts away his gun and his knife: let's get a move on then. The sun is getting low and I'm not planning on carrying the either of you.

Baozhai: ha, I knew you would do that. You care about me too much to ever do such a thing..

Flint: talk one more time and I'm throwing you down a lava pit.

Baozhai:

Baozhai: my lips are sealed..

//The four walk off straight ahead with Baozhai taking lead.//

To be continued...

[just-another-t-word-blog]

Ups, Downs, Mischievous Spren

Authors note: I do not own the Stormlight Archives series by Brandon Sanderson. This is a tickling fanfic, if that bugs you then scroll on past

Summary: Kaladin is extremely prone to low moods, especially on rainy days. Syl, however, is getting rather tired of seeing the young bridge leader so down and decided to do something about it. (Takes place around the middle of the book)

Kaladin sighed deeply, the icy rain gently tapping against the top of his head and shoulders as he sat, staring blankly into the distance across the Shattered Plains. Yet again a high storm had come, went, and now left him with ice cold rain that the storm wardens predicted wouldn’t stop until the next day or so. How fitting that for all he suffered he is rewarded with more sorrow.

Though only 19, he’d experienced horrors and tragedies that scarcely a man in his later years would have seen, normally he carried this burden gracefully but every rain reminded him of the weeping. It reminded him of Tien, of the lives he promised to save and failed, of every man he’d lost on the battlefield or on his fathers operating table. Despite the sadness and reflection the rain continued to fall, uncaring and cruel.

He sat a few feet away from the edge of a chasm on the boarder of Sadeas’ war camp, knees tucked to his chest and arms crossed atop his knees, chin resting on his forearms. His scraggly beard itched against his arms and his long brown hair was plastered to his face with water, deep dark eyes staring blankly forward as if daydreaming. His eyes didn’t change when Syl appeared before him, taking the form of a young woman and standing in the air in front of him within eye line. Though only a few fingers tall, she should have been hard to miss with her seemingly glowing blue form, but Kaladin continued to stare straight through her. She hovered in the air for a moment before striding forward, seemingly on an invisible platform, moving to wave a tiny hand in front of his blank eyes.

Kaladin blinked, jumping slightly as he noticed Syl, and straightened his back slightly. He knew that his bad moods upset her, there was no hiding it but he could at least pretend everything was fine. As fine as they could be for a bridgeman. He offered her a weak smile and got a look of concern in return. “Kaladin,” she started slowly. “You know you can’t hide from me.” He slumped his shoulders “I know. Worth a shot though” his voice was quiet, just barely audible above the rain. She walked over to sit on his shoulder, watching the rain fall and life spren dance around small patches of plants peaking out of cracks in the rock.

“Why does the rain upset you so much?” She asked genuinely, “it seems every downpour after a high storm gets you this way, you leave the barrack and find a place to be alone.” He shrugged, shifting to sit cross legged. He’ll admit that subtlety wasn’t his forte, but he also didn’t expect anyone to follow him. Syl always did, it didn’t matter where he went, but the men probably didn’t spare a glance when he left as soon as the storm was over. He allowed himself to feel this heaviness openly, knowing that only she would see it. “It reminds me of too many things that I’d rather not remember.” He said honestly, turning his head slightly to peer at her. “It’s nothing new, Syl, just my past coming to haunt me.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, hoping the chill water would distract him from the painful twist he felt in his heart at his own words. He wouldn’t cry, not here, not now. “Is there anything I can do to help?” He gave a small smirk despite the pain. “Stop the rain?” She snorted, standing to move in front of him again. “There must be something to cheer you up. Tell me how I can make you smile.” He shook his head, still facing the sky. “I’m afraid we’ll just have to wait this out, the only person who could get me out of these moods was my brother.” “Well what did he do?”

He paused to look at her, confused. “What did he do to help you? I can try.” He shook his head again. “It wasn’t what he did so much as who he was. He was always happy about something and somehow found ways to share that joy with me.” He swept back his wet hair from his face, smiling sadly. “He used to collect rocks, claiming each one was special. He’d give one to me every once and awhile. He’d come and sit with me wherever I went to sulk and brought me out of my thoughts. Mostly just him talking with me helped.” He sighed again, fidgeting with his fingers, trying to keep himself from getting emotional. He huffed lightly. “Once I decided to be stubborn and shut him out, that didn’t end well for me.” Kaladin smiled warmly, remembering that day. “He found it rather rude that I was ignoring him and tickled me as punishment. He was especially ruthless when it began to cheer me up.” Syl cocked her head, confused.

“What?” He asked as she kept looking up at him, puzzled. “What does ‘tickled’ mean?” He froze, heat rising to his cheeks. Did she really not know? He supposed she didn’t know a lot of things, but of all things to explain it had to be this? “Kaladin, why are you blushing? Do you have a fever, I told you the cold could make you sick-“ “I’m fine, Syl.” He cut her off. “Do you really not know?” She shook her head, sitting in the air as if on a stool, legs crossed and arms folded. “If I did I wouldn’t have asked” he sat up trying to compose himself. If he explained, she may try it on him, if he didn’t she might find out anyway. “Well, it’s uh” he cleared his throat. “It’s when you gently touch someone in certain spots and it makes them laugh. It’s an unbearable feeling that makes you panic and you laugh as a result.” He felt like his face was on fire, instinctively wrapping his arms around his middle. Syl smiled. “If it makes you laugh, then can I do it to you? Unless it hurts.” He wrapped his arms tighter, a nervous smile threatening to pull at his lips. “It doesn’t hurt, no, it just feels very strange. It just tickles, I don’t know how else to describe it.” She hummed, standing again. Anticipation spren began to appear around him, twisting in the wind mockingly. “You’re getting nervous.” She observed, watching him as he shifted around, trying to not squirm. “I can’t help it- please don’t.” The last part was squeaked as she started to get closer. A wobbly smile began to spread across his face. “Why not? It’s already working.” He was sure she didn’t intend for her words to seem teasy, but that didn’t mean they weren’t. “Just tell me how to do it, unless you want me to just figure it out on my own.”

Kaladin tried to force himself to relax, she was just a spren, he wasn’t even sure if she could physically touch him. How bad could it really be? He forced his arms to unfold, stiffly trying to bring them down to a resting position. “Alright, you can try.” He gripped the fabric of his trousers, still sitting cross legged. Why couldn’t he just calm down? “The motion is mostly fingers, poking and scratching. Different spots are sensitive to different things.” He flinched hard when she darted forward, placing small hands against his ribs. She must be doing something new, he could feel where her hands were. The anticipation spren around him grew and fluttered as an anxious pit in his stomach formed, strained titters escaping his lips. “Why are you laughing? I’m not doing anything yet.” She asked sincerely. “S-shut up. Teasing makes it worse.” He risked a glance down, seeing her smile up at him mischievously. “If you hit me I’m going to be very mad.” And then she dug in.

Kaladin was surprised when a squeal left his mouth, tiny scratching hands sending electricity shooting up his spine. He fell onto his back, clenching his fists in an attempt to not swat her away. She was quick, scratching and poking and kneading as she darted around his torso, doing her best to not let him get used to any particular sensation. Though he tried to fight it, he was already giggling. She darted up to his neck, scratching at the skin below his ear. “Aww! See? You’re happier already!” He turned away, snickering, half hearted pleas for her to stop slipping in between breaths. He hated to admit it but she was right, his clouded mind was clearing by the second. Kaladin gasped suddenly when Syl shot back down, worming her way under his bridgmens' vest and teasing the bare skin underneath. He couldn't see her but she grinned as he switched to wild cackling, laughter spren zipping through the air around them. His eyes squinted as his face twisted into a mirthful expression, but he could still see the glowing yellow specks flying around him. He would have been happy to see them if it weren't for the small blue pest climbing up and down his ribcage, creating unbearable sensations he couldn't halt for fear of hurting her. "Please!" He gasped out, a squeal following after. "Please stop!" He kicked out, starting to lose control. "Just a little more? You seem like you're having so much fun!" She chided, moving down to poke at his taut stomach. His cackling fell into deep belly laughs, a joyful and playful sound, legs trying to tuck up to his chest as he gripped his hair, still fighting to not try to squish her. He rocked side to side on his back, unable to keep still. This couldn't possibly get any worse.

Then she decided to shove her hand into his bellybutton.

A loud shriek exploded from Kaladin, silent laughter following after. Syl quickly zipped out of his vest, fearing she had hurt him, but smiled when she saw his bright red face. He kept giggling as he calmed down, sitting up in a relaxed but equally exhausted manner. "You-" he breathed, trying to compose himself. "Are way too good at that." Syl giggled lightly and bowed as if she had just completed a grand performance. "Glad to be of service, Kaladin Stormblessed." He smiled back at her, looking up and noticing the rain had stopped, the sky starting to turn shades of purple and orange as the sun began to set behind the thin layer of clouds. "Not a word of this to anyone, understand?" He tried to sound stern but the smile plastered this face took away any venom in his words. "Not even to Rock." She rolled her eyes and nodded, moving to sit on his shoulder again.

"Not a word, I promise."

Bonus:

Rock and Teft went looking for Kaladin once the rain stopped, though it wasn't abnormal for him to disappear he normally came back once it got close to time for the nightly campfire. It wasn't until they heard sounds of struggle and shouting that they began to worry, hustling to find the crew leader. Needless to say they were very confused to find Kaladin on the ground, rolling around and laughing like mad, begging to seemingly no one to cease what they were doing. Teft squinted, making out tiny laughter spren whizzing around in the air around the younger man, but no one else there with him. Rock, however, smiled fondly. He could see Syl clearly, and how happy Kaladin seemed to be. They both winced at a loud shriek that split the air, Teft scoffing and Rock shaking his head amusedly. "Must have finally lost his mind, poor kid." Teft grunted, turning to make his way back to camp. Rock glanced at him incredulously. "Why do you think this thing? He seems to be very happy. He and the spren that follows him are simply playing, it does the heart good." Teft snorted, turning back briefly to stare down the taller man. "Say what you want, but any man sat on the edge of a cliff laughing his ass off in a storming puddle is mad. And I don't care if there is a spren behind it, it's just not natural." He began to walk away again, leaving Rock to watch Kaladin struggle from afar. He chuckled fondly, turning to walk back to camp as well.

"Airsick lowlanders."

[dryad-of-the-dogwood]

Until the End

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: M

Word count: 2,505

TW/CWs: Major character death, violence, angst, saying last goodbyes, all that awful stuff.

This is a No Cure for the Calling story, an Alistair and Cousland go into the Deep Roads together story, and I never thought I would write this but Silhouette by Aquilo got stuck in the angstiest part of my head and I sobbed writing it down, but I still did it. Forgive me.

Until the End (read on AO3)

The moment Alistair found her sitting up in bed one morning, staring at the wall with her expression perfectly blank, he knew. Nalissa Cousland was vibrant and intense, whether her emotions were good or bad, and Nalissa Theirin was no different. If there was something too intense for her to feel, that made it too much for anyone in the world, because she was the strongest person he had ever known. And the only thing she couldn’t be stronger than was the Calling.

They had both thought they heard it once, years ago. The Inquisition—or more accurately, Leliana—had told them not to worry, that it wasn’t real, that the Inquisitor would handle it. And she had, somehow, however she had killed a darkspawn magister that kept him from being reborn into the next available blighted body. They had wondered, but not even Leliana had really known the answer beyond some combination of Rift magic, a dead red lyrium-corrupted dragon, and the power of an ostensible elven god. And so it had been yet another thing that wasn’t an answer, just like Avernus’ research had been a dead end, just like Nalissa had never been able to cobble together a cure from the Wilds flowers that had saved Ash warriors’ hounds or get a straight answer out of Grand Enchanter Fiona about whatever had cured her all those years ago. Finally when the mage had broken down into tears, she had admitted she didn’t know, couldn’t give an answer even to save the king and queen of Ferelden, no matter how much she might want to. And that had been the last lead before the trail had gone cold.

So when Nalissa looked up at Alistair, her eyes sunken and shadowed but still the same heart-wrenchingly beautiful sea green he had fallen in love with, he had read it on her face. The dreams were returning, she was hearing the whisper of the song, and her time had come.

It should have been him first. Why wasn’t it him? He had taken his Joining months before she had, he had been the one to perform that Void-forsaken ritual that had saved them at a cost that all these years later they still didn’t fully understand. It should have been him.

But it wasn’t, and he wept as he pulled her into his arms, even if she didn’t. Even if she locked everything away behind the mask of nobility that even after two decades on the throne, he had never learned to wear like she did. She was indomitable, his Nalissa, in everything except the Calling she couldn’t escape.

She very nearly physically fought him when Alistair told her he was coming with her. It was her Calling, not his, she had insisted, had shouted it at him in their bedchamber in a bout of hysteria he had never once seen her give into before. She had pleaded, threatened, tried to give him an order as Warden-Commander, but he had only smiled sadly and offered to travel to Amaranthine with her for trial if she wanted to bring him up on charges of insubordination. Only then did she cry into his chest, not for herself but for him, when she realized there was nothing she could do to talk him out of it.

He had promised her once, when they sat together in the grass on an early spring day during the Blight. He had promised her he would be with her until the end, and he meant it. An archdemon couldn’t keep him away. The fact that he didn’t hear the Calling yet wouldn’t either.

The preparation, that was almost worse than the realization. The landsmeet was a debacle, full of angry lords terrified of more instability so close on the heels of everything else the Age had brought upon Ferelden. But Nalissa hadn’t faltered, and she had given them the best solution she could: her brother, the man with the highest standing and the most experience in the country, even if he had balked at her suggestion. It felt like a repeat of history, Teagan had said, watching another Cousland put forth to the landsmeet as a potential king just like the teyrn’s father had been, only this time with no Theirin heir to dispute it.

But it was the sensible solution, they all had to admit. Couslands had ruled in Highever since before Calenhad himself was born, and the teyrn’s oldest child with his second wife was old enough by then to handle the teyrnir. Eleanor was a bright girl, as stubborn and dutiful as her father and her namesake put together, and she would take Fergus’ place well. Nalissa smiled with something like pride when the landsmeet voted in favor, even if her eyes shone a little more brightly than usual from unshed tears.

The Wardens were even more difficult. Alistair hadn’t stepped foot in Vigil’s Keep in years, but he refused to let her go alone, terrified she would leave for Orzammar without him. When the constables and senior Wardens began shouting and grappling for the Warden-Commander’s seat, he almost wished he wasn’t there to see it. The order, without Duncan, without Nalissa, wasn’t half so virtuous as he remembered. But she stood her ground as she always did, naming a stern-faced woman younger than half of them as her successor until Weisshaupt saw fit to replace her officially. Alistair didn’t know the girl, but he recognized the set of her jaw and the steel in her eyes, because he saw them in his wife every day. She would lead the Wardens well, if they allowed it, and he could only hope they did.

They returned to Denerim before setting out. Nalissa wouldn’t miss her brother’s coronation, even if it hurt to brave the noise of the crowds with the song ringing in her ears, even if she had to wear gloves to hide the mottled bruise-like marks on her hands that neither of them could pretend not to see any longer. She hugged Fergus goodbye for the last time on the steps of the palace, and both she and Alistair tried to pretend they didn’t see the pedestal at the gates, prepared for a statue that hadn’t yet been carved, with both of their names and dates etched into the stone.

Alistair Theirin, 11th King of Ferelden, Champion of Redcliffe, Hero of the Fifth Blight

Nalissa Theirin née Cousland, Queen, Warden-Commander, and Hero of Ferelden

9:10 Dragon - 9:52 Dragon

It was already written in stone, the end of both of their lives. The hardest parts were done, all the decisions that mattered had been made. But Maker, did that still not make it easier to set out on their final adventure.

It felt like a hollow echo, walking through the gates of Denerim and knowing they would never do so again. Camping along the Imperial Highway, like when they were young and free, now just the ghosts of two thoroughly overwhelmed new Grey Wardens tasked with saving the world. They had said their goodbyes to Oghren in Amaranthine, to Leliana at the coronation, written letters to Antiva meant for Zevran and to Par Vollen meant for Sten. Nalissa had even sent one to Morrigan, though who knew if that would ever be read. To their friends, to Ferelden, to Thedas they were already dead, but at least what little time they had left was theirs alone.

They spoke often of the similarities, of the differences, of what Wynne might have said to see them walking into death together one last time. Leliana would write a tragic ballad for them she would never share, Nalissa was sure. Zevran would have pointedly declared it was their last chance to join him in bed for the night, Alistair decided. But though they laughed and leaned into each other and drew every moment of pleasure they could from these last few moments of peace, both marked them for what they were: a collection of lasts.

When they finally made camp in the foothills of the Frostbacks, that final night before beginning the descent, they didn’t sleep. They made dinner together, joked how neither of them had gotten any better at it since the first time Morrigan had tasted the gray dreck they had boiled to the point of a tasteless paste and swore she would do the cooking after all. They danced around the fire, watched their shadows on the mountainside seeming to stretch into infinity. They looked up at the stars and whispered together how beautiful they were, without mentioning they would never see them again. And they made love slowly and tenderly, until they were too tired to do more than lie in each other’s arms sharing I love yous and every moment of the last half of their lives they wouldn’t trade for anything.

When the sun rose, they didn’t pack up camp. They put out the fire and left the tent and bedroll where they were, for whoever might find use for them, without ever quite discussing it. They wouldn’t need them again. There was no return journey to look forward to.

And they stopped at the entrance to Orzammar, drinking in the sun and the sky and the fresh air that didn’t smell of nothing but earth and taint. Nalissa hated the underground, hated caves and tight spaces, and her last breath before they stepped into the dark shook as she drew it, but she would not shirk this path and did it anyway. Alistair would have taken everything from her if he could, the corruption and the pain, the fear and the duty, but all he could do was squeeze her hand tightly and assure her again that he was with her until the end.

The end, he kept thinking, as they passed the guards of the dwarven thaig, as they were allowed past into the Deep Roads, as the great doors swung shut behind them with a final clang that rattled in his bones. His end would be lonelier than hers, he knew. As much as he feared it, as much as he wanted to never see those beautiful eyes empty and unable to smile back at him, he had to see her sacrifice made before he could allow himself to fall. That was another promise he had made, down here in the dark what felt like a lifetime ago. He would never allow her to become what the women taken by the darkspawn were twisted into. She would die a Grey Warden, full of fire and wild roars and singing blades. And he would die however he had to after that, even if it was on his knees at her side.

The sob that passed her lips as they paused in the shadows didn’t even sound like her. It was hopeless, shattered, things Nalissa had never been, and she clung to him desperately with tears spilling between them and soaking their armor. One last moment of fear. One more last.

When she dried her eyes and he did the same, he held her as he always did, tight against him even with the barrier of the armor they hadn’t worn together in years. Her head on his chest, his chin on her crown, their arms holding tightly to keep from shaking. Then he took her face in his hands, thumbs stroking her cheekbones that were now too pronounced, and told her that she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And she laughed, a laugh like they were young and foolish again and could still count years together ahead of them instead of hours.

She was fearless again, at the end. When they sensed the darkspawn moving through the tunnels and planned their intercept course, she was already bouncing on the balls of her feet, daggers whirling in each hand, giving him that reckless grin full of confidence and battle high that still took his breath away just as it had the first time. His shield was heavier from lack of use, his blade slower, but hers were so fast they were almost invisible as she cut through a wave of genlock assassins. And it twisted his heart in a way that he would never have recovered from anyway to see her so brimming with life and so close to death at the same time.

When Nalissa fell, she had downed an ogre, a hurlock emissary, and more genlocks than Alistair could count. Even the blade that finally slipped between her ribs was almost a matter of luck, a hurlock whose sword had clanged off a blade she had already parried and back toward her quicker than she could counter. And even though he knew it was what they were here for, that it had to happen before she became something unspeakable she would never want to be, the sound that ripped itself from Alistair’s throat was pure agony.

His sword and shield suddenly weren’t heavy at all, they were feather light and full of lightning as he crashed through two other hurlocks to the one that still held the blade and removed its head in one clean stroke. Nalissa had already hit the stone beneath her but both daggers were still in her hands and she stabbed viciously into the back of another hurlock’s calf. Blindingly beautiful even soaked in blood, fierce and deadly to the last. The last.

Alistair cut down the darkspawn she had injured, looked down to see her chest heaving, and dropped his shield. She looked straight at him even as she struggled for breath, shook her head, but he knelt beside her anyway. And again, even at the end, he could see the tears that streaked her face were for him.

She couldn’t make the sounds, but her mouth formed the words. I love you. And he sobbed it back to her, pressed his lips against hers, one last time, one last time. Her hand tried to raise to the back of his head as it always did, but it made it only halfway before it dropped and she went still.

Miles away in the deep roads, surely there were darkspawn or very unlucky dwarves that could hear the sound of Alistair Theirin’s anguish. Certainly more of them seemed drawn by his roars, bore down on him as he fought like a man possessed, with no shield but a dagger in his left hand that had fallen from hers. And it fell from his too at the end, when a viciously barbed pike caught the gap in armor on his left side. It should have hurt, but nothing hurt more than he did already. Nothing hurt more than falling beside her at last, seeing the faint smile still traced on her lips even as her eyes shone empty into the distance. Not seeing him. Never seeing him again.

But his hand found hers, before the last blow that turned everything dark. One last time.

(Also posted on AO3).

[fandomlife-giver]

Bedewed Maid - 1

Summary: My young master’s soul emites a heady aroma. A scent that intoxicated demons, drives them mad, impels them to battle. Music shall play, captivating all...And secrets shall be revealed.

Next time, “Bedewed Maid”

Surely I can resolve a prickly situation without Sebastian in 5 minutes, master. Otherwise, what kind of maid would I be?

Pairings: Sebastian X Demon!Reader X Claude

@wintersdoll @naniky @danabuggxd​ @redryderdesigns​ @inumorph​

Word Count: 2572

Warnings: Mild language, Implications of sexual themes

“An archangel…”

Your words breathed out in disbelief. Although still in your attack position, you were caught off guard at what you had heard.

Your eyes narrowed at his carefree smile. “Why are you here? You have no reason to be mingling with demonkind.”

He sheepishly shrugged. “Well, actually, I originally came here many centuries ago to rid of the rogue angel, as I was ordered to. But then...something came up.”

He locked eyes with you. “A certain half-breed of a demon was spotted by the angel I was hunting. And at that point, my mission was changed.”

He didn’t notice when you gulped at the memory.

“See, Abigail, as cliché as this sounds, I was assigned to be a watcher over you, you know?”

When he took a step closer, you raised your hand, your pointer finger signaling him to stop at his own risk.

You licked your lips as you straightened up and lowered your hands. “Let me get this straight...you’re saying that you are supposed to be my ‘guardian angel’?”

A grin broke out on his face as he suppressed a laugh. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” He crossed his arms behind his back. “Just a watcher. I was only allowed to ensure you stayed out of trouble and where you belonged.”

The laugh you let out made him pucker his lips. You side-eyed him and the smile you momentarily had dropped. 

“You’re my warden.”

He tilted his head back and forth and raised his eyebrows, confirming what you knew. “I guess you could say that.”

You sighed and outstretched your arms in a questioning manner. “If that’s true then why were you working with my king? Why did you come to me on the boat? Why should I even believe you?”

He rolled his eyes, growing annoyed with your many questions. “Look, I’m sure you want to know a lot of things. But for now, I think we have bigger problems to deal with. Trancy.”

You jerked your head back and scoffed. “We? Did you really expect to earn my trust just by telling me the truth? What we are up against is purely an enemy of my master, no one else.”

He loudly groaned and walked up to you. “Okay, you know what? You are way too suspicious for your own good. We need to hurry up and I told you the truth because I need your help!”

As he brushed by you, you suddenly grabbed his arm. He looked back at you and his eyebrows drew together.

Your eyes suddenly felt heavy, your skin feeling as if it was on fire. You began to gag as the familiar sensation of your blood boiling came over you.

“Abigail?”

When you glanced down at where you felt it originating, you spotted a small arrow in your shin. Hurriedly, you reached down and pulled it out. When you sniffed the end, your heart dropped.

“Dead man’s blood…”

His eyes widened when you collapsed, but he still managed to catch you.

“Abigail? Abigail!”

Your vision grew blurry as you managed to make out a person behind him. Within a few seconds, he was kicked to the ground and you thought you saw a woman standing over him, placing what looked like handcuffs on him.

And then the ringing in your ears drowned out everything else, and your eyelids slowly closed to blackness.

●●●

“Abigail! Wake up!”

The moment the sound of his whispered voice hit your ears, your eyes snapped open. He sat beside you, chains around his ankles as a pair of cuffs were around his wrists. They had strange markings on them, in a language you had never seen before.

Your face was cold to the touch due to it being against a steel metal beam connecting the roof and the floor. Your entire body was still on fire but you could tell the blood wasn’t gonna keep you weakened for much longer.

He sighed when he saw your eyes met his. “Well, glad you could join us finally. Did you have a nice nap?”

You narrowed your eyes, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. “Us?”

An amused smile spread on his face as he nodded his head in your direction, his eyes landing on something behind you.

You twisted your neck to look and when you saw the image of the prisoner you had identified not too long ago, still wearing the bag over her head, you seethed through your teeth.

“Oh, how perfect. She’s here.”

But after a few seconds of looking at her, a thought crossed your mind. “Hold on, they said they were taking her to the room the device was in. If she’s here, then where is it?”

He puckered his lips and glanced around. As he did, you focused your attention on the very heavy chains keeping you in place.

You were bound differently from them, for you had a leg chain so long that it was wound all around your body, and two rings on your neck, one attached to the chain, the other to what you believe they call a "keep-friend" or "friend's foot," from which hung two irons reaching to your waist with two manacles fixed to them in which your hands were secured by a big padlock so that you could neither raise your hands to your mouth nor lower your head to your hands.

“This seems a bit excessive…”

You eyed his own restraints and scoffed. “You can’t seriously tell me those handcuffs are keeping you in place?”

He exhaled through his nose and looked back at you. “Not only do they hold me here, but they drain my super impressive archangel powers as well.”

Your nose scrunched up. “How troublesome. What is that written on them? I’m not familiar with it.”

He forced a smile as he raised his hands. “Enochian. They’re specifically designed to keep archangel’s locked tight. I had heard Trancy got a hold of them somehow and that is the only reason I’m even here. Our deal was he’d give them to me so I could add it to my collection if I handed over my instrument.”

You have a short chuckle. “Well, I guess this means your deal is off then?”

He dropped his hands as he clenched his jaw. “I guess so…”

“You’re very chatty, aren’t you?”

The two of you immediately moved your attention to the woman that had entered, wearing a revealing black gown. You tilted your head in confusion. She looked extremely familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“My master ordered me to subdue the two of you. He wasn’t very pleased with you talking to our enemy, I’m afraid.”

Uriel rolled his eyes at her. But the more she talked, it finally clicked who she was. The maid. “That’s strange...I thought I saw you bump into me earlier...your outfit is hardly appropriate for your position.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You are certainly one to talk.”

You glanced down, remembering you were still in Lau’s ridiculous monstrosity of an outfit. “Oh. Right.” 

Your head shot up at her when she turned towards the back of the room. “Hold on, you’re the only maid in this estate. If that wasn’t you earlier than who…”

Slowly, your eyes enlarged. “Oh no...Ciel!”

●●●

”Good show, you’re all exceptionally skilled.”

Sebastian mockingly smiled down at the three identical servants that had attempted to decapitate him just moments ago. They stared up at him, jaws dropped when he jumped down from the tree he had been in, and ran passed them.

Ciel, who was in Sebastian’s arms, was holding on for dear life as Sebastian charged full speed ahead toward where Claude and Alois stood not too far away. One of the servants swung a blade at his head, which he easily avoided. 

As he continued to run, he stared down at Ciel. He muttered to himself as he thought back to a few weeks before when you and he escaped the Trancy manor with Ciel’s body in a briefcase. 

“It was like carrying a doll...running virtually unburdened.”

Ciel’s head moved up at Sebastian, as he caught what he had said. “Did you say something?”

Sebastian only smiled and looked away from him as he ran, a hint of laughter coming through his words. “Only that it would be far, far easier to carry you if you were in some sort of container, like a trunk, I’d say.”

Ciel’s eyebrows furrowed. “Is this any time to be joking?”

His laughter ceased instantly. “My apologies, master.”

His eyes locked onto Alois and Claude, who stood with his arm out in front of his master, protecting him. Alois watched in absolute joy as Sebastian spun around in front of them, his foot kicking the bangs in front of Claude’s face before he did a backflip over them, landing on the other side and continuing to run.

Ciel noticed the smirk of triumph on Sebastian’s face as he ran. “Sebastian, we need to get the guests out of there. What Trancy said has me worried. We must hurry and get to them.”

Sebastian only chuckled at him. “I wouldn’t worry much, sir. The servants are capable enough to handle whatever is thrown at them.”

He didn’t really believe that, though. He was truly only thinking about you as he said it.

Ciel only glanced down as his grip on Sebastian’s coat tightened. 

“It’s not those three that I’m worried about...we need to get both Elizabeth and Isabella out of there, they aren’t skilled enough to handle this. Their safety is the top priority.”

Sebastian glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Isabella? She’s only a servant, master. I’m not sure that she’s worth your worry.”

Ciel nearly slapped him with his glare. “You may not understand it, but she is important. A human to you, but family to me.”

Sebastian began to slow down, his eyes narrowing at Ciel. 

“If you say so, master.”

●●●

Uriel sighed as he watched you attempt to stand up, only resulting in you falling on your side for the 50th time.

“Honestly Abigail, this is getting old. You aren’t going anywhere whether you like it or not.”

You growled at him as you managed to sit up. “Well, it would be nice if you’d help out a bit. And stop calling me that damn name!”

Your sight landing on the maid as she walked over to the nun with the bag over her head. She smirked at you before removing the bag.

The moment the girl’s eyes adjusted to the poorly lit room, her eyes landed on you. She froze in an instant, her eyes growing bigger. And not even a few seconds later, she let out a blood-curdling scream and scooted her feet to back away from your direction. Only, it was muffled by the rag in her mouth.

Your eyes never left her figure, only making her more afraid as tears pricked her eyes. The maid reached over and removed the gag from her mouth, but not before giving her a slap across the face, silently warning her to not make another sound. 

Her lips quivered as she never let you leave her sight. “You...you’re the monster that tried to kill me!”

Your lips pursed together, making a duck face. “Actually, I’m a demon. Kind of. I don’t even know anymore to be honest. But you don’t gotta be so loud about it.”

She pointed a finger at you, her face in pure shock. “You are...a d...demon? They exist?”

You waved your bound hand back and forth. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

Her eyes moved on Uriel, who had been intently watching your back and forth. “Then are you one as well?!”

He raised his cuffed hands, shrugging. “Angel, actually. Or archangel to be exact.”

Her eyes widened in admiration. “An archangel? Oh my...it is an honor to grace your presence, soldier of the Lord.”

He made a face of exasperation. “Yes, yes. You’re welcome. I know, I’m amazing.”

He yelped when you kicked him with your feet before shooting you a glare. You focused back on the girl. 

“Oh, and I hate to break it to you, but the man that, uh, massaged you, he’s a demon too. And my mate. So keep that in mind if you ever think about him again. Cause It’ll probably be the last thing you ever think. Cause then I’ll kill you. Just warning you now.”

She loudly gasped and sat up on her knees. “He is?! So you’re saying I...I laid with a demon?!”

You rested your forehead against the metal beam again. “Well, technically, I guess. If that’s what you call massaging you, then yeah.”

She cocked her head, a deep blush coming on her cheeks. “Massage? That wasn’t like any massage I’d ever had then…”

Your eyes slowly moved to her, your head coming off the beam as you leaned in her direction. “Watch what you say. You’re lucky you got even as much as a massage before I killed you.”

She gulped, holding her hands up in defense. “I didn’t mean any ill intent, your demon-ness. It’s just that he didn’t ‘just’ massage me…”

Your back straightened up as your words spat with venom. “What are you on about, slut? Spit it out, I know you wanna say something.”

She looked at you in fear as well as curiosity. “I don’t know why you’re so into it, but…”

“He didn’t just massage me. We fornicated. He penetrated me.”

Uriel’s eyebrows shot up, a grimace coming onto his face. “Oh boy. This isn’t gonna go well.”

Her heart began to beat faster as she caught your stare. Your eyes had completely darkened over, all light draining from them. 

You felt your body begin to shake uncontrollably with anger, tears pricking your eyes at what you had just heard. 

Uriel looked at you, growing fearful of what you might do. “Abigail?”

Your jaw tightened as tears finally spilled over, falling down your cheek.

“He...cheated on me?”

Your nostrils flared as your eyes changed color to their terrifying blackish-blue.

“And he lied to me about it?”

Uriel sighed at the frightened face of the nun and scooted closer to you. “Hey. You need to get a hold of yourself. We have more important things to worry about.”

“Are you all done with your melodramatic moment?”

Your inhuman eyes snapped to the maid, who was still in the room, watching all of you. You immediately sat up once you noticed another person beside her, his body encased in a black bag.

Uriel noticed it as well. “Oh, great. Another hostage? Aren’t you getting a little overboard with it?”

She only smiled at him as she tossed the bag on the ground in front of you. It let out a whimper as it hit the ground.

Its head moved around a bit until a small hole broke out through the material. It thrashed around until it completely turned around and you saw a head poke out. It was a man.

The man completely ripped the bag apart and his full body emerged from it. And it made the nun’s face heat up. Because the man was naked.

At this point, your tears had dried up and your eyes returned to normal. Your eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“Pluto?”

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (7)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 | Previous: Part 6 | Next: Part 8 | Masterlist

7 of ?

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat.

“[Y/N]!!” he exclaimed as he shot up and heaved.

The image of you wailing in an ear-shattering agony, coated in a veil of violet lightning that covered you from head to toe, and eyes that are beyond recognition—it all burned in his mind, hotter than the fires of the explosives that tore down the tower. No amount of sleep can remove that from his system now.

He catches his breath as he was abruptly awakened by that horrid figment. He realizes he’s still in the cramped quarters in the rebel hideout—he’s all alone.

He curls up, drawing in his legs to his chest, props his elbows atop his knees while he rakes his blood-orange hair with his fingers—all of a sudden, he remembers the way you would do the exact same thing, sometimes you would hum softly a wordless lullaby—and then his heart ached. Parroting the way you caress him from his hair to his cheek didn’t seem to make it all feel better—it only made him miss you much more sorely.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and then another, and another… until a wet patch formed on the leg of his pants.

“You can’t be gone… you’re not…” he mumbles under his breath, he grips a clump of his hair caught in the spaces between his fingers as he buries his face into his knees.

“Bee…?”

Apparently, BD-1 was alerted by Cal’s waking from his nightmare. The little droid scampered towards his owner and nuzzled his head against the Jedi’s calf. The young boy didn’t budge, he retained his position as if nothing touched him or tried to get his attention. The only thing moving is his hunched back rising and falling as he breathes. Lulling himself to sleep was a struggle; for weeks, he had been restless, and even if he caught a wink of sleep, it will oftentimes be cut short by nightmares—such as this one.

Cal returned to his bed, pulling up the blanket up to his neck. BD-1 persisted to make himself seen-he stands right in front of the boy lying on his side.

“Sorry, BD… It’s gonna be a long night for me. Go ahead and set yourself to sleep mode if you like,” Cal muttered as he pets BD’s head gently.

The droid didn’t sleep until his owner dozed off first. Cal tossed and turned as he attempted to fall asleep. He tried everything: emptying his mind, reciting Jedi mantras in his head about any aspect he can think of—at least the ones he knows by heart—and remembering the serenity of the warm mornings where he’d meditate in the temple garden with Master Tapal. He was careful not to recall any memory of you because that would only worsen his insomnia—it would be instantly warped into horrendous scenes that his wild imagination makes for him.

Cal repeated the cycle until it bored him to sleep; when BD saw this, he switched to his sleep mode right away and scooted to his owner’s arm.

—–

They kept you in that torture chair—day in, day out.

For the rest of the days that they continued to interrogate you, no words came out of your mouth when they demanded it. As a reply to your continuous rebelliousness, they would switch on the voltage and send it flying straight into your body. Regardless, you held your tongue.

The medbay wardens tried to feed you, little by little with scraps of foodstuff and rations. It was them who insisted they be allowed to check on you for vitals—since you’ve been receiving volumes of shock after your prematurely-concluded recovery. They’re quite astonished by the threshold of your body and its instinct to preserve you.

In protest, you didn’t bite into whatever they gave you in the first few days. Eventually, they gave up on their kindness and stopped—or so you’ve thought, when in fact they were personally commanded by the Seventh Sister to cease your feeding. However, your fasting didn’t hold for long; you had too much pride in regretting and wishing that you should’ve taken whatever food they were trying to give you—even if it was anything short of edible.

Ignoring the pain of the electrocution was much easier than ignoring the relentless growling of an empty stomach.

Keeping the rebels’ location hidden at the expense of your health was commended by the Inquisitor—and the Grand Inquisitor, no less, when he heard of it through reports.

“She’s even stronger than I initially thought. I seem to have underestimated her.”

“She has been silent for days. When we come to her and find her with her eyes closed, she’s not even asleep! She’s just… blatantly ignoring us. I’ve never seen a Jedi this…”

“Resilent.” The Fifth Brother finishes on the Mirialan’s behalf.

She growled, “I grow tired of this! Why not just set it to the highest voltage and leave it on until she dies?! We can hunt down the rebel faction no problem, along with the Jedi she cavorts with!”

“And waste your time in an empty goose chase? I’d rather not, if I were you,” the Grand Inquisitor, in a contrasting tone of voice from the Seventh Sister’s, scoffed through his hologram. “Jedi like her can be of value to us. All she needs is a bit more training.”

“Are you saying, Grand Inquisitor, that she’s to become one of us?”

“How else would you interpret what I said, child? If her spirit is broken, she’ll be easier to bend.”

The Grand Inquisitor concluded the transmission from his end, the pair of Inquisitors headed to the torture chamber.

The two exchanged glances, but it was the Mirialan who had the most shocked look between her and the gray humanoid. She was neither keen nor disdainful for having someone added up to their ranks, she just didn’t know how to feel about it. Whether she liked it or not, the Grand Inquisitor’s word is to be honored. If it’s any consolation, one new headcount would factor to the likelihood of the newcomer being the one assigned to even the most mundane of assignments.

In that very chamber, you’re still underneath the halo of a white light pooling above the very chair. Mist from the piping and hydraulics wafted about your calves, it was an eerie sight. Whenever the dead silence was your only friend, you thought that death was a much easier fate to accept, or perhaps you questioned why you even survived the explosion. You afforded the quiet moments where you struggled to empty your mind, but the thoughts of rage and hate were too loud; provoking you with the thought of Cal being found and sharing the same fate as yours was a catalyst—perhaps, that is what the Grand Inquisitor sensed, even from afar, and what convinced him to bring you into the fray.

The blast doors whipped open, but that didn’t do much in catching your attention. Anyone who came in and out didn’t matter to you, the sounds and sights were dull and bleak to you now; at this point, they’re all the same, faceless, sentient mannequins that come to glare or gloat at you every now and then, poking you for a reaction to see if you’ve dropped dead or just clinging to the last threads of dear life.

“She’s alive, but weak,” the Fifth Brother observed aloud.

The bags under your eyes were prominent, patches of red swelled on your arms from the constant electrocution—the more severe ones made your muscles bloat—and your unkempt hair shrouded your cheeks. Despite your shoddy appearance while strapped to the torture chair, the Seventh Sister squints to take a closer look at you, there was something about your eyes: still and peaceful, despite all of that suffering—to her, it appears as though you were only sleeping.

“Unlock the restraints,” ordered the female Inquisitor.

Doing as what they’re told, the operator set you free those cold, silver handcuffs at the push of a button. Without anything to hold you anymore, you gradually slid away from the bed of the torture chair, the Inquisitor pair stepped back as if you’re some kind of leper when you plopped limply to the floor—without an ounce of strength left in you to bring yourself up, at least on your knees.

The Seventh Sister stepped forward again, bent down to your level, angled your face as she clutched you quite roughly; moving it left and right, to examine you at a much closer view. She watched you struggle to lift your eyelids, slits barely revealed the color of your eyes, seconds later, you gave up and eyes closed shut.

“She’s alive, alright. Follow me.” She sternly ordered as she erected back up, turned tail and made her way to the door.

Seeing that you’re fully incapable of doing so, a pair of Stormtroopers took you by each arm and let your knees drag across the metal floor. They hauled you all the way to a training dojo. Your garish entrance took the practicing Purge Troopers by surprise, they paused their sparring session and stared; a single nod from the tall, gray Inquisitor prompted them to leave, they walked past you hooked to each Stormtrooper’s arm and sniggered on their way out.

“Jedi,” one said in a tone intending to insult.

When the dojo has been emptied by those who weren’t needed, the Stormtroopers dropped you and you plopped on the cold, glossy tile. The coldness stinging your cheek eventually woke you up, your body realizes that it’s not strapped to that terrible apparatus anymore—though your limbs ached when you moved them—and you craned your neck to face what’s in front of you.

“Get up,” the Fifth Brother bellowed.

And get up you did. Your knees were still wobbly and shook off the grogginess in your head as you studied the new room they’ve put you in.

“Where’ve you taken me this time?” your words rolled off your tongue, though you’re still partially coherent.

“You’re in our training dojo,” the Fifth Brother simply replied. A sinister smile played along his stony face.  “We’re gonna play a little game, you se.”

“I don’t think I’m in the best shape to play along,”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, you’re part of the game and if you wanna live—you gotta fight,”

“With what—my fists and legs?”

The Fifth Brother chortled, then provided you with a baton similar to a Scout Trooper’s. He tossed it and you failed to catch it in time as you’re still seeing double. You crouched to retrieve the baton and practiced the firmness of your grip with it.

“So, are you two gonna be my playmates?”

The Seventh Sister flashed a toothy grin, “No. We have someone better in mind.”

They retreated to the main hold—like the bridge to a command ship—in front of the dojo, it also served like a watching room for those who spectated training sessions as a pastime and a control room to manipulate the setting of the dojo’s environment. There was an awkward yet tense silence humming across the room, you looked around and notice every single rectangle on the wall that could be a door—anticipating for one of them to shoot open and set whatever enemy they have reserved for you pouncing to you with bloodlust.

The only thing that you needed to look at was the door just below the control room. The metal groaned and out of the shadows came a familiar face. The armor had been remade back to its original appearance, in the place of a red haloed saber was a lance, the helmet was unmistakable—it was the Second Brother in a second face-off against you. Even when you’re groggy, you can sense the flaring hate within the Second Brother, more intense than the combined heat of Tatooine’s binary suns.

As he strode forward, weapon in hand, you struggled to get yourself straightened up to prepare for a fight.

“You’re lucky they only gave me this pathetic electrostaff!” the Second Brother hissed, putting himself in a stance as he would with his own saber. He continued striding towards you who’s barely made a proper posture with your block against the incoming attack.

You’re envious that the Second Brother has recovered so soon, but then again, he wasn’t the one strapped to a torture chair and be electrocuted almost everyday until you were treading the tightrope between life and death.

You wished that you could have uttered a comeback in mind, but you were too weak, and you prioritized staying alive in this unfairly-matched duel.

Your deflect was flimsy and unskilled, as expected.

However, something inside you refused to die in an indignant circumstance such as this—thrown into a dojo like livestock, pitted against a fully-recovered enemy while you’ve barely had a proper shred of recovery or medication.

The Second Brother didn’t hold back, neither was he thrifty with his windows of opportunity—he made all of them count. Whenever he would see an opening from you, he pommels you with the electrical end of the staff on your rib, your shoulder, arm, leg, anywhere and everywhere he could get a jab at. Dodging his attacks or returning it seldom happened, all you were doing was side-stepping away from him and the lance. He retained his dexterity and nimbleness that you initially saw in your first encounter with him; though, he seemed much quicker than you remember, more difficult to catch up with, and certainly more annoying. His acrobatics made it worse for your eyes—as you can’t even see without the hazy, mirage-like doubles of the things you fix your eyes to.

“Come on, Jedi girl! You seemed to be so tough in our last fight!” taunted the Second Brother in a cackle. “Where’s that spark I saw? Don’t tell me the explosions outshone it?!”

As much as you wanted to, you could barely put up a fight. He simply stepped five inches to his right or left when he sees you lunging at him, you’d clearly miss and in turn, he’d jab you—except this time, he’s keeping the end stuck to your body for a few seconds longer. If he’s feeling sadistically indulgent, he’d keep it for as long as a minute or so.

“Come on! Show me that little tough girl front again!” he chortled. “Again, Jedi!”

He might not have sensed it, but the Second Brother’s fighting tactics were beginning to get into your nerves. It was genuinely annoying now; it was nauseating enough to catch up to his lunging and pouncing around, adding to the mockery he peppers in one-sided banters during the fight, and they’re fueling to your rage in this mismatch of a duel. This went on until your attacks became raggedy and graceless—a dramatic contrast to your original fighting style.

Finally! Just finally! You found a small burst of energy which seemed to grow by the second, though you didn’t know where it came from—it just naturally came to you. Whatever it was, you weaponized it more than that sorry excuse of a weapon in your hand. You paid back for the moments where you’re denied of a chance at hitting the Second Brother because he wasn’t taking you seriously, mostly due to your state. He met the same ferocity beneath that tawdry exterior, eyes burning brightly with a menacing passion that lit through the dangling locks of hair, and your blows were weak but they packed a punch compared to the first few moments.

You gained your momentum in this fight. The satisfaction of finally being at par with the Second Brother’s caliber—with your current condition—was intoxicating. You found yourself tethered to it and can’t seem to get enough.

Faster, more intense!

With every strike, your strength and dexterity returned.

At first, the Second Brother was amused. Finally! He thought as a grin stretched across his face, albeit masked. Some fun!

His amusement was short-lived as he saw you trembling—not out of fear, but out of rage that could no longer be contained in the vessel that is your body. Slowly but surely, your body regained its confidence and composure; your stances were now more pronounced, the impact of the blows were much heavier, and your footwork was no longer faulty. This startled and amazed the Second Brother, Seventh Sister, and Fifth Brother altogether.

When you caught the Second off-guard with your burst of attacks, you cut the air with the baton—swinging it and landing its mark straight into the Inquisitor’s diaphragm. The two other Inquisitors in the bridge flinched in reaction, as if they felt the pain of your attack since they’ve been immersed with your duel ever since you started gaining the upper hand.

“Agh…!” the Second Brother winced, falling to his knees, the electrostaff fell to the glossy floor, the rhythm going from beat per beat until it faded out into a rattle.

“How’s that for a tough girl façade, you asshole?!” you snarled.

For good measure, as revenge for him humiliating you for the last time, you delivered a heavy overhead strike against the middle of his spine. The velocity of your swing was so intense, the Inquisitors heard the whoosh from where they stand.

When you were done exacting revenge on the Second Brother, you flung the baton to the direction of the bridge—it was like a statement, but it was just a final compulsive action from you. The weapon ricocheted against the walls and then to the floor, creating a gong-like sound as it clattered around. When the two of them caught sight of your face—that fiery tenacity, and your eyes…

They could almost see the hate and anger in your bloodshot eyes.

“Interesting,” the Fifth Brother mused.

“Well now, I think I’m going to enjoy training duty for once,”

The two Inquisitors exchanged glances and snickered together while peering through the glass, staring at their new, little experiment—you.

[definetlynotgab]

it’s the kiss of death (you took me by surprise)

Dave's not easily surprised - unless Klaus is involved

ao3

David Katz thought he was a pretty mellow guy – except for when he was around Klaus Hargreeves. 

Dave was twelve years old when he came to the conclusion that he liked boys in the way he was supposed to like girls. He kept this realisation to himself but wasn’t all that bothered about it – he was more concerned for his parents if people found out that their only child was a fag. When his parents died, he was sad, sure, but not surprised. Dave’s old man was getting on in years and when his mother died months later, it wouldn’t take much to convince Dave it was from heartbreak. He was twenty-nine when he went to ‘Nam. It wasn’t unexpected given the circumstances – he was young and had no family left. No one would miss him if he died.

Later, when Dave a few months shy of thirty, a stranger appeared in the middle of the night in Vietnam with a flash of blue light, clutching a briefcase and wearing nothing but a towel Dave was, understandably, shocked (it might have had something to do with how ridiculously beautiful the man was, but it was mostly the other stuff… probably). The man looked up at Dave with an expression of wonder that did nothing to deter the shock – though it did make Dave feel a little self-conscious. He’s pretty sure he went bright red.

When the man (Klaus. What a fab name) had casually asked for the date, including the year, Dave was a little freaked out but did his best to appear unbothered by the question. It became a little harder when, upon asking if he was ok, Klaus barked out a laugh and lied through his teeth (it wasn’t hard for Dave to tell that Klaus was definitely not ok, and it seemed to have very little to do with being in a war zone).

Almost a month later after watching Klaus have conversations with members of the troop who had died weeks ago (honestly, it wasn’t the most crank thing that Dave had ever seen a guy do), Dave was convinced that nothing that nothing else the beautiful man could throw at him could faze him. Klaus had surprised them all, leading the boys around landmines and away from hidden enemy troops, and at first Dave found it all a little daunting. He got used to it.

The next time he was surprised by Klaus, it wasn’t so much what he did, more what looking at him in through the haze of smoke in the crowded disco made Dave do. It was during R&R and Klaus was wearing a tight yellow shirt that left a tantalizing strip of pale skin showing. In that moment, Dave knew with absolute certainty that no one had ever looked more gorgeous.

And so, Dave took a depth breathe and slowly walked Klaus over to a dark corner of the room and kissed him. Slowly and sweetly. Klaus’s lips were soft and when they let out a low moan of pleasure, Dave just about floated up to Cloud Nine.

Over the following weeks and months, Dave’s residence on Cloud Nine became permanent, even in the face of war. The only time that was ever in question was when Klaus told him, well, everything. About his horrible childhood, his warden a twisted and cruel man, about how the drugs were the only thing that made the ghosts quiet until he met Dave (Klaus said that the way Dave went all bashful and red upon hearing that, was fucking adorable). Dave even learnt what exactly the briefcase is, and in the quiet of the tent Klaus whispered to him that he didn’t want to go back, and that, if Dave would let him, Klaus would live out the rest of his days by his side. Dave realised then and there that there would never be anything else in the world that he could ever want more than that.

Eight months After The Kiss (Dave has found most things have become sorted in his mind to Before and After Klaus, Before and After The Kiss) was the first time in a long time that Klaus shocked him. The bloody Cong were raining down hell around them, the air filled with screams of terror and Dave was really fucking scared for the first time in a long time. He was scared for himself, but also for Klaus who he knew had to be struggling based on the sheer amount of bodies that lined the wall of the trench. Dave glanced to his left where Klaus was pressed up against him. At the same time Klaus looked at him and gave a tight smile. Dave opened his mouth to say something, anything to reassure his lover (and himself) that would all be ok – it has to be ok – but was cut off by the commander’s sharp voice.

“Go, men, go! Come on you skirts! Go, go, go!”

Tearing his eyes from Klaus, Dave took a breath and thrust himself up, turning to face the enemy.

And fuck that hurt.

Dave staggered back down. He was vaguely aware of Klaus grasping him to sit him up against the wall of the trench. The noise of war faded into the background as Dave looked up into Klaus’ eyes (such pretty, pretty, green eyes. Like the trees in spring), and oh no, Klaus was crying, why was he cryin– oh. Dave had a whole in his chest. That must be why.

Dave forced a smile, needing to reassure Klaus that it would be fine, he would be fine cause Dave loves him and the war would be over soon and then they could go home, move to the country and get a dog (kids would be nice but who in their right mind is gonna allow that).

Klaus was looking around wildly, screaming… something. Dave was having a little trouble hearing.

Klaus looked back down to Dave and Dave reached his hand up to him wanting to touch him. Klaus must’ve seen his hand twitch cause he lent down pressing their foreheads together (Klaus just got Dave, even without Dave saying a word and that was one of the many things he loved about Klaus – and Dave hasn’t told him that, has he? He’d have to remember to tell him).

Dave could feel Klaus’ tears against his cheek. That was simply unacceptable. Klaus wasn’t allowed to cry, ‘specially not over Dave. Dave mustered his strength and lifted his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Klaus’s lips. That seemed to flick a switch in Klaus’ brain. Suddenly Klaus was pressing his lips against Dave’s with a ferocity that was unlike anything Dave had seen from his sweet, gentle (occasionally a tad crazy) Klaus.

The world slowly faded away until it felt all that was tying him to the world was Klaus (klausklausohgodklausklausiloveyouklausklauspleasebeokklaus).

And then, just as suddenly as Klaus came into his life, the world came back into focus. With a sharp gasp, Dave sat straight up, unintentionally throwing Klaus off him.

They looked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded. By all rights, Dave should’ve been dead (and boy, was that weird to think about – just moments ago he was fading away, now he felt like his head had been dunk in water).

Klaus was staring at him in much the same way the night they had met – equal parts shock, confusion and awe. Then the moment was over as Dave threw himself at Klaus, arms tightening around his lover’s neck. Turning his head, he pressed his mouth against Klaus’, savouring the moment that almost never was. Klaus kissed back, slow and soft, tongue tracing Dave’s bottom lip. Dave could feel Klaus grin against his lips and Dave grinned right back, lips parting to let Klaus in.

Dave pulled back, and though the moment wasn’t perfect (they were still in the middle of a war, covered in mud, people shouting and dying all around them), Dave couldn’t wait any longer.

“I love you.”

Klaus, somehow, managed to grin even wider. “I love you, too, Davey. More than anything.”

(Now Dave understood how Klaus was stretching his mouth that wide)

The moment that had carved out for themselves was ruined by the commander’s thundering voice. “Katz, Hargreeves! Stop pussyfooting around, get out there!”

They both let out an instinctive “yes, sir” (even just thinking about why Klaus fell so easily into the military lifestyle, when it took Dave months, he felt hacked) as the commander raced past them.

Klaus looked over at Dave with terror in his eyes, hand gripping Dave’s in a death lock (not that Dave could say he himself was doing any less), croaking “Dave” in that soft voice that usually made Dave so happy. Dave nodded and said firmly, “Let’s get the fuck out of here. You got that magic box of yours?”

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: The Dothraki Sea

Rating: M + Mature themes, language, and violence

Warnings: Themes of a child being wed and underage sex implied (as is canonical)

Masterlist | First | Next

Viserys Targaryen was not difficult to pick out, a blazing beacon amongst the tanned and dark haired Dothraki, in a fine silken tabard with the black and crimson of his house. For someone who had been decent looking in the show, Taliya was somewhat taken aback by the beauty that those descended from High Valyrian blood possessed. From the long silver blonde hair, to the fair skin, and the pale lilac eyes, admittedly, she was staring a bit longer than she ought to. However, the moment that Viserys noticed that she was gazing at him, she saw the hard lines of his face and the gaunt shadows that made him appear more emmaciated than robust. There was a sparkle, a maddened glimmer, that ripped a shiver down her back despite the heat burgeoning in the air as the wedding was about to begin.

Even if she had snapped at Benjen, it was only his presence beside her, the one true constant since arriving in Essos, that kept her from balking. Taliya could be brazen, she could be snarky, and she could be clever, but she was human and she had fears. She feared men who made eyes like that and even as she held the certainty that she'd carefully woven the web that got them there, she couldn't help but anxiously think of the unknowns and fickleness of this realm that could get her killed in an instant. With the way that he was looking at her now, she could only presume that the young man, barely on the cusp of passing his teenage years, was undressing her with his eyes.

Despite looking youthful, maybe even in her 20s, Taliya was more akin in age to Benjen than the Targaryen. Age didn't seem to matter here. Just appearances, connections, and gold. A comely woman was a comely woman. She'd never considered herself anything exceptional back on earth, but here she supposed she was rather good looking. Lean, athletic, a symmetrical face, and a wide, pearly white and straight smile. Things taken for granted, simply 'normal' back on earth, were signs of wealth or nobility in this world. Few commoners took half as much time grooming themselves as Taliya subconsciously did.

"I heard that there would be embassies from the Red Temple, but I did not expect them to be Westerosi," Viserys parted from a knight beside him-a large middle aged-man with dark hair.

While Viserys was focused on her, Taliya knew this was the moment of truth, whether or not Jorah Mormont would recognize the man beside her. He was shorter than she thought he'd be, but was twice as broad as Benjen. Despite his exile, he still took a fancy to wearing the dark green tunic displaying the standing black bear of House Mormont. His eyes flickered between them, landing curiously on Ben, but after a lingering moment, they repositioned on her.

"Followers of the Lord of Light come in many shapes and sizes, your grace," Taliya retorted crisply. "I am Taliya Sand and my companion is Ben Rivers."

"Bastards," Viserys observed.

"Bastards can find meaningful ways to live their lives," Taliya replied in turn.

"No doubt, much of Essos is evidence of this," Viserys waved dismissively. "To what do we owe the honor of the Lord of Light's ambassadors? My own family followed the Faith."

"The Lord of Light is here to bless the wedding," Taliya said lightly, but unfurled a tight smile. "But His gaze also extends past this union and toward the future. We are here as representatives for our Lord in your future endeavors. Perhaps your family followed the Faith, but I ask you, what did the Seven do when the Baratheons stormed Dragonstone and the Lannisters turned their swords inward toward the Targaryens? Regardless on whether you decide to convert, your grace, we have come here to be of service." Brushing back her scarves, she lifted Fate from her hip, scabbard and all to prevent the Valyrian steel from seeing the light of dawn, before she knelt. Ben mirrored her efforts, head bowed as they stooped before Viserys. "If you should accept our swords."

The prince paused, his eyes flitting between the pair, before his lips curled impishly. "The Dornish allow their women to fight, don't they?" he inquired, keeping them where they knelt.

"Yes, your grace," Taliya answered.

"The Seven never did answer the prayers of the Targaryens as they were slaughtered. I'd like to hear more about your Lord of Light. Rise," Viserys decided, motioning for them both to stand. "I acquire more swords by the day," he said smugly. "And after my sister weds this horselord, I'll have enough to retake what is rightfully mine."

"Your grace, it appears the wedding is about to begin," Jorah Mormont intercepted, still sparing the both of them wary glances.

"Right, let's get this over with," Viserys waved.

Illyrio joined them soon after, huffing with each step as they stood toward the front of the crowd as Daenerys and Khal Drogo were wed. Reading about a 13 year old girl getting married in a book was different than witnessing it in real life. A child, a little older than a third of Taliya's own age, stood frightened and tiny beside the great shadow of the Khal. She was a demure thing, none of what made her a conqueror or queen stiffening her spine. Dany was young, inexperienced, and had yet to step through the harrowing trials that would fashion her into a ruler.

Had Viserys believed that this was going to be a short ordeal, a simple ceremony, and then they'd be off--he was sorely mistaken. The first part of the wedding included the words, in Dothraki, before cheering ensued and the feast was kicked off. Inside the shade of the tent, Drogo and Daenerys were seated upon a dias.

"I should be up there," Viserys muttered, glaring up toward the Khal as he called for a toast, raising a horn of wine. "I am a king."

"The rightful king of Westeros," Ben remarked evenly. "Here, we are in the Khal's domain and it is his day for celebration." This should have been obvious, but the jaded lilac eyes of Viserys pinned a glare at the Stark.

This did not get better as the newlyweds were fed first. Viserys put in another wounded comment about how a king ought to be fed before his sister and her husband. Taliya wanted to bang her head against a wall, listening to the sniveling of a teenager who thought himself a man and walked with the weight of a sword that she knew he couldn't use. She had to pretend to like him for a time, to be loyal to him, despite the fact that it was Daenerys that she and Ben were there for.

Thankfully, there was a bit of entertainment to keep Viserys from whinging the entire time, but it wasn't the most... wholesome of shows. Dothraki danced to the beating of drums, the line between proper and modest erased completely as men mounted women like animals in the open. Fights erupted over women, which devolved into fighting and blood spilling in the sand before the victor took what they had originally laid claim to. By the end of the day, there had been a dozen deaths, which meant that the wedding was going on exceptionally.

Just as they'd arrived at sunrise, it was sunset that indicated the last portion of the wedding. The dramatic huffing from Viserys indicated his own disdain for the length which this all was dragging on. While unlike any wedding that Taliya had ever witnessed, she had to admit that she wasn't bored. With the bridal gifting upon them, they were resigned until waiting their turn, which came to be after Viserys, Illyrio, and Jorah. The three handmaidens, Irri, Jhiqui, and Doreah, were proposed to Dany... Not much older than herself.

Jorah's gifts were of books in the Common tongue, which brightened the girl's face and she thanked him repeatedly. While not as luxurious or brilliant as many of the more decadent gifts, it was something she could use to pass time and for enjoyment.

Illyrio's gift of the dragon eggs drew the attention of her brother. They were magnificent and undoubtedly, Viserys believed that he deserved them more than the girl wedding a horselord. Jealousy was rapt on his face as he stood back, arms crossed, as Dany ran her fingers over the stone ripples. Once she had finished admiring them, the trunk was closed and moved aside, her eyes flicking up to drink in Taliya and Ben.

The girl had spared them a few looks between her nervous smiles up on the plinth during the feast. They were strangers, dressed queerly, and sitting beside her brother. Rather than remain stone faced and impassive, Taliya relaxed her countenance and broke a smile as she stepped forward with Ben. Bequeathed in their arms was a gift similar to Jorah's, but different. They had not been as poor as the knight, but Taliya had remembered how the books had been well received by Daenerys in the pages of Martin's writing.

"Khaleesi, our gifts to you are books from Valyria before the Doom," Taliya explained, keenly aware of how expensive the tomes were, as many men had died passing these between hands. Despite how old they were, they were still relatively intact, but written exclusively in High Valyrian. Sitting upon the bundle that Taliya held was the bouquet that she had fashioned from the flowers acquired on their way to the wedding. "None have ever returned from the Smoking Sea, so there may not be any others like this aside from at the Citadel. We hope that these gifts will suffice."

"From Old Valyria?" Daenerys muttered, but her eyes had brightened just as they did when Jorah had brought forth books. "These are wonderful, rare gifts. I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your names-"

"Taliya Sand and Ben Rivers, Khaleesi," she bowed her head, passing the books from bloodrider, then in turn Daenerys. "We are swords of the Lord of Light."

"The Red God," Daenerys recalled, having lived in Braavos for a time, undoubtedly passing by followers of the religion until this point. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Turning away to let the next guests gift the Khaleesi, they settled back as the night winded down and Drogo was the last to gift Daenerys. The girl's final test of the day would be to please her husband, the very thought twisting knots in Taliya's stomach. Her arms crossed, a stiff line to her shoulders, and sharp eyes surveying the thick crowd as the newlyweds finally parted way from the khalasar and the finer attendees made to leave for the evening, including Illyrio.

"You look as if you could kill a man," Ben mused, nudging her with an elbow as they started back toward their horses to unpack and pitch their tents for the evening. They did not possess any regal yurts or beds or anything more than a bedroll and tarp enough to keep a roof over their heads and shade during the hot mornings. Here, they were not nobles, they were soldiers. Luxury was not on their side, but to be honest, she did not mind. The tent reminded her of those that she'd used when hiking long distances, intended for a single person and to be easily packed up each day.

"Perhaps I could, if the wrong one bothers me," Taliya snipped glibly, pulling down the rolls from the back of the saddle.

"It's more than that," Ben gleaned perceptively.

She wanted to curse at him, to tell him to shut up, but pursed her lips. Getting feisty with the only friend she had would do more harm than make her feel better. Perhaps he was good at reading people because he'd been First Ranger with many subordinates beneath him. "Where I come from, we don't marry little girls off like that," she sighed. "She was basically a gift horse, the cost for 40,000 swords. I can't even imagine her getting pregnant when she's little more than a child herself."

"It's not much different in Westeros," Ben admitted with a frown. "When a girl flowers, she's considered old enough to wed."

"That doesn't mean it's right," Taliya countered. "She's the same age as your niece. Could you imagine the same happening to her?"

Ben didn't seem to like the comparison. "And where you are from, how old do girls usually marry?"

"When they want. From 18 and above usually, but there are exceptions for 16 year olds. Some women don't wed at all," she shrugged.

"And you never-"

"No, I did not," she told him, her mood lightening at the questioning glance he continued to spare her. "I'm not a maiden if that's what you're continuing to wonder. Virginity is not as taboo as it is here."

"You didn't have to-"

"Oh shut up, you were wondering about it," Taliya snickered, punching the man lightly on the shoulder. "Oh Lord, you're a sweaty mess. It wasn't even that hot today," she wiped her knuckles off on her trousers, slick with the dampness from his doublet.

"Not that hot? It was blistering," Ben groused. "You would have me believe that it will get even hotter than this?"

"Mm, you'd better adjust quickly or maybe you'll melt entirely and I'll have to continue our mission on my own," she snarked.

"I'm not made of ice. I'll survive. I've survived in more austere environments."

"You've survived in one type of austere environment," Taliya corrected with a wolfish grin.

"And you're so much more experienced?"

"Actually, I am," she preened. "You've got a lot to learn, wolf-boy. I spent two years in the desert on deployment. Just a fair warning, fine sand gets everywhere. And given your fair complexion, you're going to want to cover your face."

"Wearing more clothing defeats the purpose doesn't it?"

"Unless you want an ungodly sunburn, which I have no doubt you'll get, then I'd cover up. A sunburn is worse than the extra bit of sweating you'll do. And, it's what you wear that matters. Thick wool like that will have you sweating like a pig, but silks and linen are much more breathable and will protect you from the sun. We'll see about getting you better attire before we leave Pentos," Taliya elaborated as they found a spot to pitch their tents and erect a small cookfire. The Dothraki paid them little heed, continuing with their festivities into the evening as they buckled in for the night.

"You're going to dress me up like a Dornish man?" Ben inquired smartly.

"If that's what you'd prefer, but I simply meant that we'll trade the wool for silks or linen. Call it whatever fashion you'd like."

"I'd prefer not to fall from my horse due to the heat, despite how queer I might look," Ben admitted as they both took a seat around a fire he had just lit. The evening had blown in a cool sea breeze, wiping away the worst of the day's heat as if it'd never been there.

"Do that you'll lose the respect of the Dothraki," Taliya reminded him. "I think they'll care less if you wear silks and more about you being weak."

"They certainly are... unique people," Ben admitted, utilizing the most polite manner he could to describe the barbaric displays they had witnessed earlier. "But there are things about them that remind me of the Wildlings."

"I think you'll see more differences the longer we spend amongst them. Now, let's work on your Dothraki, but it's still absolutely abysmal," Taliya grinned, watching as the bearded man frowned at the suggestion, and that the latter part of their evening wouldn't be spent relaxing, but instead practicing. Either way, she won this battle and they started going through the language once again. Ben would get better now that they were with the Dothraki and speaking their tongue would become necessary and more accessible than just muttering to one another in an effort to learn the basics.

*

The Dothraki Sea wasn't quite the desert, but it was just as sweltering and unforgiving. An expansive savannah with tall golden grass. The khalasar moved with a purpose, only the weak and the old confined to wagons where they could no longer sit a horse. Despite the plethora of things that they possessed, the horse people packed up and continued their nomadic lifestyle with ease. One would think it would be difficult to move beds, tubs, furniture without the amenities of the future, but the Dothraki had everything perfected to a fine, methodical manner.

Most often, they were riding beside Viserys and Jorah Mormont. The prince frequently wished to be right beside his sister, convinced that if he took his eyes off her for a moment that Khal Drogo would steal her away and not deliver on his promise of his khalasar. The fact that he distrusted the man so, bespoke of his ignorance of their customs. Khal Drogo had promised their alliance in exchange for Daenerys. He would hold true, despite the fact that Viserys saw the copper skinned nomads as mongrels and sub-human.

After getting past the harsh exterior and miasma of sexuality that exuded from the Dothraki on the first day, even Ben began to warm to them as he started to comprehend them better. There was a strong dichotomy between male and female life, on top of the position of slaves. Even if Taliya had been frightened of being attacked at first, she quickly came to realize that even if they did undress her with their eyes, they wouldn't lay a hand on her unless she welcomed it. She was a guest, woman or not, and not free to claim. This protection extended from Daenerys' status as Khaleesi and her connection to her brother. She did notice that the Dothraki men preferred not to speak to her directly, but supposed that was better than being afraid that she might be attacked.

Usually, if anything did need to be passed along to her, either a slave would deliver the news or they'd talk to Ben. This gave the Stark the opportunity to work on his Dothraki and understand their customs. His original trepidation lightened, conversation became lighter, and a few of the Dothraki men even asked him questions about his own customs and experiences. She knew once or twice (perhaps even more times than that) he'd been asked about their relationship, which always amused her as Ben tried to explain what it was they were, because to the Dothraki, a woman was not a warrior. She had a purpose and that was to birth children and raise them. Taliya was an anomaly, unlike any they'd seen before, and some even doubted she knew how to use the sword that she wore. Their confusion did not bother her, because as 'barbaric' as many claimed the Dothraki were, they'd been cordial until this point. A lot of that had to deal with her own understanding that she wasn't to participate in conversation without being asked a question first, which rarely happened.

That did not mean she did not have opportunities to talk. In fact, while Ben enjoyed learning about the Dothraki, she found herself having to listen to Viserys. Jorah also seemed to be growing as restless as she was when it came to tending the Targaryen prince, pretending that he cared when he had his eyes on the prize: Daenerys. Uncertain if their presence there would make Jorah act sooner on his assassination plans, she kept a sharpened eye on him, but thus far the knight had been a much more admirable companion than Viserys. Mormont women were known to pick up swords and thus, Jorah did not seem disdainful over her own choices in life and treated her as an equal. This actually sort of surprised her and while she made an effort not to let her guard down around him, it was nice to chat with someone else other than Ben on the road.

The Khaleesi took more time to warm to her, but eventually the girl's curiosity got the better of her and Taliya found herself riding beside her Silver on a fine afternoon while Drogo rode ahead with his bloodriders.

"Viserys told me that the Lord of Light sent you to him," Daenerys remarked as they canted forward.

"He did guide us in this direction," Taliya agreed cryptically. "He works in mysterious ways that we can't even begin to fathom. We only take our orders as we are given them."

"And how do you get them?" she continued, giving Taliya a sideways glance.

"Through the flames. We light a fire each night to keep away the darkness. Priests and priestesses sing to call the light back at dawn, but nor I or Ben are priest or priestess. Still, the Lord of Light gives us His messages in the flames, just as He gave us eyes that can interpret His will," Taliya answered as honestly as she could. Most of this was speculation, because the Lord of Light had never been exceptionally honest with either of them.

"I'd never heard of swords of the Lord of Light before my wedding," Daenerys commented.

"As have few others. We are well protected secret," she threw a tiny, but friendly smirk at the girl who seemed to be growing more confident with each passing day.

"Were you always a sword of the Lord of Light?"

"No, not until recently. I grew up in a family that owned a gardening shop actually. In Dorne, bastards are not scorned as they are in the rest of Westeros. But I still wanted to explore and do my own things. I loved seeing new places, exploring the wild... So I joined a sellsword company and I did travel. I spent six years going where the wind took me before returning home to take control of the family shop. My parents passed away in an accident and then the shop, which had been passed down for generations, burned to the ground. I found the Lord of Light shortly after that," Taliya told the tailored version of her history, meant to match up with her current setting more than that of earth.

"You were free to do as you pleased?"

"As are most common folk," Taliya pointed out.

"I envy that. Not having your fate decided for you, to do as you choose," Daenerys breathed loftily.

"Not every person has that opportunity, I was lucky that I had encouraging parents and enough coin to do as I pleased. Others are not as fortunate," Taliya admitted. "Be that they're too poor, uneducated, or just down on luck. I am gracious for everything I've been afforded."

"I've never wanted for much," Daenerys commented. "Material-wise," she corrected, her lips pulling up in a sad smile. "But I've never truly felt free. Viserys has always been looking out for me, making the decisions for us... Listen to me, I sound ungrateful, but here I am as Khaleesi-"

"A cage is still a cage, whether it is gilded in gold and garnets, Khaleesi," Taliya reminded her gently. "I think there are many noble and royal women who feel much the same. There are pros and cons to both origins. I suppose you just must decide which sound preferrable. Often, the grass seems greener on the other side, but I haven't a name to protect me, only my actions and sword. Additionally, in most places, I am still a woman and common born, a bastard at that. I am no one."

"I do not feel as if I am in a cage so much anymore," Daenerys admitted thoughtfully. "It was difficult at first... All of this. Even the riding hurt... but I do not feel that way now. Khal Drogo is... kinder than I thought. He truly cares for me. I do envy you though, you're free to do as you please."

"I am glad to hear that he treats you well," Taliya remarked evenly, aware that this would be the case, but it still felt good to hear it. Daenerys was so young and Khal Drogo dwarfed her like a mouse to an elephant. "But I am not truly free anymore. I serve the Lord of Light."

Daenerys pressed another smile and glanced back amongst the throng of Dothraki that rode in a file through the sea. They were rather far ahead, upon a ridge where the others were slowly beginning to catch up. The days in the saddle might've been difficult for Taliya had she not had the years of riding Balerion beneath her belt. She recalled the sores she had between her legs, the aching thighs from holding on so tight because she feared falling into the sky, but a horse was easy in comparison. She had already earned her calluses and the leathered area on her rump from where she'd grown accustomed to the relentless riding, especially bareback.

However, as both females gazed back toward the group, the pale head of Viserys was falling further and further behind. He was struggling to keep up and Taliya knew it was because he was not used to being pushed this hard. Had she been back on earth, she would've thought horseback riding was easy lest she spent this much time in a saddle. In the heat, beneath the open sun, it was relentless and a workout. The Dothraki grew up in the saddle. Ben had been horseback riding since he was a boy and as a ranger. Jorah had a similar experience in the saddle. Taliya's own experience, though limited by comparison, had been fast tracked by her griffin and riding in the air compared to the ground.

Viserys was used to being brought places or riding very short distances. Discomfort was a word he had not known in the recent years and his softness showed. Daenerys, a girl of 13, rode better than him and with less complaint. Originally, the girl had been a little battered and lethargic, undoubtedly earning her calluses and healing her own saddle sores. Now, she moved on her Silver with ease and displayed more comfort in being around her enormous husband. The shift in attitude wasn't instant, taking place over weeks in which Taliya had not been able to get closer to Daenerys. But now, the girl was comfortable enough with herself and her status to call upon Taliya.

Taliya suspected that it was inquisitiveness at first, the mystery surrounding the sword of the Lord of Light that had piqued the Khaleesi into requesting she ride beside her. Then, as Taliya noticed that the child preferred her company to that of men, she realized that she'd become a manifestation for Daenerys' attention because Taliya was all that the girl wished she could have been, romanticizing the idea that common life was free. She suspected it also dealt with the fact that Taliya was companionable with the Khaleesi, still discreet enough to address her by titles, but with each conversation the walls were lowering and she jested more often, poking fun at the girl as often and carefully that the girl might see her as not only a sworn sword, but a friend or maybe an older sibling that didn't put the fear of awakening the dragon in the girl's heart.

Each Westerosi had their own role. Jorah seemed to be the one who knew the most about the Seven Kingdoms and of her beloved, late brother Rhaegar. He filled her ears with what she wished to hear of her home, but was also honest about how the common folk wished for no war, bountiful harvests, and a summer that never ended.

Ben had earned the respect of the bloodriders, even sparring with a few of them to display his talent with a sword, while he honed his skill in their tongue. Daenerys took notice, often poking fun at Taliya for her partner's handsomeness and prowess. But the relationship that Daenerys had with Taliya did not extend to Ben. She was slightly more formal with him, but seemed to trust him as she trusted Taliya because of their mutual rankings as swords to R'hllor.

Even Khal Drogo started to tolerate Taliya more, his gaze no longer as scathing as he noted the manner in which Daenerys would spend afternoons riding beside her and not once had Taliya given him reason to worry that she was filling the girl's ears with redderict of her religion. Instead, she became another companion and also assisted Jhiqui in teaching Dany Dothraki.

"Is there a rule that you have to be celibate? I mean, you said you were not a priestess," Daenerys commented as they rode through the never ending sea.

"Lord up above, Khaleesi. I think I might drown in the amount of times you've asked me if I have interest in anyone," Taliya whistled, rolling her eyes emphatically. "I'm old and grouchy and there's other things on my mind."

"You are not that old," Daenerys retorted, running her eyes along her.

"How old do you think I am, Khaleesi?" Taliya chuckled.

"That's a dangerous game to play," Daenerys jested, but put a little thought into it. "Perhaps three and twenty, but no older than seven and twenty."

"Try about a decade more than your first guess," Taliya corrected lightly.

"I thought you were old enough to be my sister, not my mother," Daenerys snickered.

Taliya scoffed in mock offense. "I have never been more insulted in my life."

"You might run out of time to start a family at this rate," Daenerys continued impishly.

"Clearly, that's the first priority on my list," she smirked sarcastically. "A woman is not measured on her ability to wean children, but nor should she be scorned if that's the decision she wishes to make."

"I wish that were true, but you and I both know that a woman's ability to have children is most of her importance in this world," Daenerys sighed.

"And that's why I reject that reality and substitute my own. And why I'm ancient and live without a man."

"But you would really never consider Ben? Unless there are rules that you have not mentioned."

"Again, Khaleesi, it is not my priority. Ben and I have an amicable relationship, one that I would not wish to ruin by becoming romantically involved. I consider him a good friend and a trustworthy partner," Taliya insisted, but if truth be told, she did find the man attractive. It was natural to be drawn toward a person she felt comfortable around, especially since they could speak openly and honestly to one another. Still, she was under no guise that the man was task oriented and he had spent many years abhoring relationships with the opposite sex. They were partners, not lovers, and Taliya had done nothing to even encroach on blurring that line, as not to make him feel uncomfortable.

"But, if you ever wished to, you could," Daenerys pointed out. "Because you're free to love as you choose."

Taliya's face nearly betrayed her, the unspoken truth of how Ben was actually noble born and once their plans began to develop, he had substantial claim to House Stark, should Ned and his sons still perish. There would be no fooling herself as to how she'd be received, the scorn she'd meet by playing at the lover to a Stark who had much to inherit and little to gain by having interest in her--a nobody. Perhaps she had freedom, but that freedom did not include being with anyone of import. "I have many things to worry about, Khaleesi. I am not keen to add a man to that list."

"Hm, but you must know what you are missing," Daenerys quipped before kicking off on her Silver. "Stay behind with the others and have them wait for a moment. I'm going to ride ahead."

Taliya's jaw dropped at the girl's insinuation, choking back on a laugh at the little wildling thundered through the wastes and kicked up a cloud of red dust. Even if Daenerys told her to remain behind, she brought her gelding to a trot to cut the severe distance between her and the princess. While there was no one visible on the horizon, it didn't sit well to leave her on her own and she knew that her assigned bloodrider for the day also felt similar. She noticed Jhogo keeping close by as well, his dark eyes set forward to where Daenerys had stormed toward, a silver lance against the field of grass.

The day was nice, not as scathing as it could get, with a nice breeze making the tall grass dance. She suspected that Ben might even find it tolerable, having slowly adjusted to the heat of the Sea when compared to the frigid Wall that he was so accustomed to. A third pair of hooves joined the chorus with her and Jhogo, but when she turned back, she was thankful for the scarves wrapped around her head, as she'd bared a smile thinking that Ben had come to join her.

Instead, Viserys bobbed beside her, his narrowed gaze slipping from her and then to the bloodrider. "Where is my sister?" he asked tartly.

"She has ridden up ahead," Taliya informed him curtly, observing how he leaned in his saddle, not an anxious maneuver, but because he was in pain. Her eyes flitted up, poised toward Jhogo, who also had observed the gesture. "Please wait here, your grace, the Khaleesi is scouting ahead and requested that we wait-"

"My sister has ordered us to stay behind?" the young man's nostrils flared, his lilac eyes widening madly as he threw a haughty glare in her direction. "My sister, the whore to a smelly horselord, demands that I stay behind and wait?"

Taliya drew a gentle breath, controlling her own flaring anger as she tried to gauge Jhogo's reaction. He knew a few words in common as Ben had been speaking to him often, but even if he did not comprehend, he knew the tone of voice and the underlying fury in the blond's voice and that it was insulting. "Your grace, I doubt that the Khaleesi intended it to be a demand," she placated.

Viserys jerked the reins to his horse, erring uncomfortably close toward her, reaching over the horn of his saddle and yanking on one of her many scarves. "I do not need you interpreting my sister's commands, you Dornish cunt," he snarled, spurring his horse off after he'd tugged on one of her headscarves so hard that her head jerked down.

The veil of the silk fell into her face and she cursed beneath her breath, trying to fix her field of view. She had a bit of whiplash from his action, rubbing her neck as her tongue snapped behind her teeth and she snarled. For as fast as Viserys could ride in pain, she could ride faster. He had a head start, but she was vehement, beside herself with wrath that he'd touched her while she'd done nothing but tried to soothe his building vexation.

He arrived before her, Daenerys shoving him away as he spat like a serpent. For all his hissing, he was little more than a snake making futile attempts to breathe fire and not even managing a puff of smoke. His eyes widened at his sister's indignance, her rising confidence to react to his abuse, and as he raised a hand again, Taliya swept down from her saddle and smashed her forearm beneath the prince's jaw, sending him spiralling back a few paces, though he caught himself before he could fall. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, threatening to bare the steel if he countered.

"You whore! Do you know what you've done? You serve me. You swore fealty to me! I'll have you killed for this," Viserys snarled, his fair features blazing with crimson as if his skin had been set aflame.

"I recall asking to serve you, but I swore no oaths of fealty. I am no noble, nor am I a knight. However, you have laid hands on an unarmed woman, the Khaleesi at that, and my actions hurt much less than the misery you might've experienced had Jhogo intercepted you instead," Taliya countered vehemently. "Consider it a kindness I've done to you, because Khal Drogo does not care if you are the Khaleesi's brother, especially if you intend to harm her."

"You impudent-" Viserys fumbled, clumsily ripping his sword from the scabbard to point the steel toward her. "I am not just the Khaleesi's brother. I am a king! And a king does as he pleases! I will not be ordered around by the horselord whore or a sand bastard."

"Khaleesi, stay behind me," Taliya warned, brushing her hand back to urge the girl further from the fight.

But her sword never left its scabbard, a hissing snap echoed through the air and Viserys' blade went flying, thumping into the sand as Jhogo's whip coiled around the Targaryen's throat. He fell to the ground, choking on spit as Jhogo glared down at him from upon his steed. "Tat zalat mae driv che thash ha fin mae et nakhaan, Khaleesi?"

"What is he asking?" Daenerys stepped aside to gaze up at Jhogo.

"He is asking whether you wish for your brother to die for his impudence or if you'd prefer he injure him," Taliya translated, feeling no sympathy as the prince recoiled on the ground, his face changing from red to blue and then purple. She hoped a few brain cells died from the lack of oxygen.

"No, tell him to take Viserys' horse and make him walk," Daenerys decided after a moment of contemplation.

A much kinder fate than Taliya would have spared him, but she obeyed the girl's wishes, aware that this was an emasculating punishment. To walk was to be slow, weak, and lesser than most of the khalasar. Even outsiders rode horseback, but slaves did not. Death would be too kind, but this would make Viserys the subject of ridicule, which he was already honing such a niche. Without a horse, his fate would be sealed.

Answering Jhogo, the bloodrider nodded, loosening the whip so that Viserys could suck air in greedily.

Ben and Jorah had joined them on the rise, uncertain of what had just happened, but having heard Daenerys’ decision. Viserys scrabbled on the ground, wild eyes turning toward Jorah and then her partner. "K-kill her! Kill the sand bitch and the Dothraki too. I am a king and I will not stand being disintegrated like this-"

Neither man made a move toward their swords, eying Taliya before settling on Daenerys questioningly. Even if they'd considered obeying, what would that get them? They would be surrounded by enemies.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah entreated to the astonishment of Viserys. "He should walk."

Jhogo corralled Viserys away who spat venomously, leaving his sword behind as he was forced away. It would seem the threat of more pain was a good enough ward against his intention to do it again.

Her blood was still pounding, her ears thundering with the noise as she realized Daenerys could turn on her for lifting a hand against her brother. Lord, that had been a foolish mistake, but her fury had ignited as if the R'hllor Himself was in her. Even if she was just a girl, she had the power of her husband's 40,000 riders behind her. Swallowing hard, Taliya turned to look at her.

Daenerys was barefoot and contemplative, turning away to return to where she'd been gazing over the crest and down below at the expansive horizon. Her fingers left her hilt and she approached tentatively.

"I'm surprised I fought back," Daenerys muttered, making no mention of what Taliya had done just yet.

"He had no right to put hands on you. Not now, nor before," Taliya replied crisply.

Daenerys scoffed lightly. "I am not an amazing warrior like you, Tali. I have never had the opportunity to defend myself until this point," she sighed, shaking her head, tendrils of starlight blowing in the gentle wind. "Why did you defend me? You pledged your sword to my brother."

She stiffened and considered her answer. "I could not stand by and let him hurt you. To tell the truth, Khaleesi, my partner and I came here in search of Azor Ahai. We thought it might be your brother, but with the passing weeks, I doubt that and am beginning to believe our prince that was promised is a princess," this was not the entire truth, but the one that her and Ben agreed to cite when they changed allegiances. "And as I told him, I never took an oath, I simply asked to work in his service. However, I would take an oath for someone I believed in."

Daenerys flitted intelligent eyes up toward her, the corner of her mouth quirking, but not flipping up. "Remind me to keep account on any promises you make, it seems you're clever in finding loopholes," the girl mused. "Do you think I woke the dragon in Viserys?"

"The dragon?" she snorted, not hiding her indignance. "Cariña, he is a tiny, hissing snake without an ounce of venom." (Darling)

"But he is the rightful king. You understand this even if you are not of noble birth," Daenerys countered.

"Tell me, would you like to see him as king? Can you see him as king?"

"It does not matter what I think. The common people have been praying for his return, to be free of the Usurper," the girl raved, unconvinced, but repeating the words she'd been told so many times before like a parrot.

"With some experience as a commoner myself, I can tell you that they do no care who sits upon the throne so long as they are safe, healthy, and not caught between the wars of nobles. Peasants are often the ones forgotten and amongst the innumerable casualties when blue bloods wage battles with each other. They are not waiting for Viserys," Taliya assured her.

A blanket of silence threatened to smother them and she wondered if she had overstepped her boundaries again. Finally, "I always knew Viserys would never succeed in taking the Seven Kingdoms. I have always known deep in my heart, for a very long time. He could not lead an army, even if my husband gave him one," Daenerys declared insightfully. "Tell me, Tali, would an oath still stop you from betraying someone?"

"An oath is an oath, Khaleesi. I would not make one lightly," or make one at all if that pigeonholed her into one path and on path only. However, surrounded by the Dothraki, she was beginning to wonder if she'd ever had the choice, especially after what she'd done that day.

[flowers-creativity]

Whumptober day 3: Forced to kneel/held at gunpoint

Fandom: The Musketeers

Characters: Aramis, Porthos, Athos (Comte de la Fere)

Warnings: Blood, canon-typical violence

Notes: Giving up on summaries, sorry, everyone...

Living on the wild side writing in real-time and posting with barely any editing *yeet* ... If you find any mistakes, you're free to keep them.

AO3 link

“Kneel.”

Aramis raised his head and straightened his shoulders, ignoring the muzzle of the pistol digging into his back. “Excuse me?” he asked mildly as if he hadn't understood what he was asked to do.

The man, a minor noble with delusions of grandeur, scowled and repeated more forcefully: “Kneel. That's what you do before your king every day, don't you? Scraping and slobbering for his attention like the dogs that you are.” A sneer twisted his features. “Though you're a pretty one, so you're more of a lapdog, I guess, not one of his attack dogs.”

Aramis tried to smile pleasantly though he could feel tension seeping into it. It was one thing to deal with a disgruntled and rebellious man but this one was clearly approaching madman territory. “You should give him more credit,” he said, “he's quite content with bowing, most of the time.” He raised an eyebrow. “I could indulge you with one of those, maybe?” he offered. It was risky, of course, but if he twisted just right … After all, there was only the man at his back, the others of the noble's small force still out there looking for his brothers. He needed to get free before they returned, with or without the other Musketeers. Preferably without them, though that could also mean two very different things.

In any case, he would show this man that he was anything but a lapdog.

The muzzle dug deeper into his back, and the noble snapped: “On your knees! I won't ask again.” At the same time, the heavy hand resting on Aramis' shoulder began exerting pressure, and even though he tried to resist, his legs bowed involuntarily until his knees hit the dirt.

He held his head high and stared at the man with all the scorn he could muster, which was quite a bit. “Happy now?” he asked.

The noble pursed his lips and stared hard at the kneeling man. “It'll do,” he finally said. “Stay there and don't move – I will think about what to do with you once your friends have joined you.” He got up from the box he had used as a makeshift chair and moved away, leaving Aramis' field of vision and leaving him in the company of his silent sentinel, the hard edge of the muzzle pressing against his neck now as a constant reminder not to move.

It did not take long until his knees and back began to hurt from the uncomfortable position he had been left in, but Aramis refused to show any outward signs of his discomfort. Instead, he finally broke the silence and said to his warden cheerfully: “The weather is nice these days, isn't it? Almost summer. And in a region like this, it's surely quite enjoyable!”

The man grunted and shoved his head forward with the pistol. “No talking!” he barked.

“Don't be like that. I'm just trying to pass the time until your friends come back,” Aramis said. “They seem to take their sweet time with it, don't you think? And here you are, stuck back in camp watching me kneel. Very rewarding, I assume.” Sharp pain at his temple interrupted his stream of words, and he gasped, swaying slightly. But the pistol at the back of his head had disappeared.

“I said no talking!” The guard stepped to the side, and Aramis took his chance. He threw himself to the other side, his leg shooting out and hooking behind the man's knee, and he half pulled, half kicked him. A short outcry escaped the man as he was wrenched to the side and overbalanced, following his prisoner down to the ground. Aramis breathed in sharply when he landed on the rough ground but did not waste time. He pushed himself up and turned around, launching himself at the other man. His bound hands grappled for purchase, and for a moment, he could take hold of the man's belt and one flailing arm. Then another hit clipped his temple, he was shoved to the side and rolled over, and the guard loomed above him, face dark with fury. “You insolent worm!” he spat as he grabbed Aramis' upper arms.

Aramis didn't bother replying. At least the man had lost the pistol, and while his hands were bound, he could still fight this way. He brought his hands up between them, interlocked in a double fist, and rammed them into the man's face. Something gave way under his hands, and blood began rushing out of his opponent's nose down on him. The Musketeer gave him a feral grin that would have made Porthos proud, then pulled up his knee and shoved it into the man's lower body. A grunt was his reward, and he pushed again, feeling the hold on his arms loosening. Slowly, the guard toppled off him to the side, and he wasted no time to shove him away and scrabble upright, then shuffle forward until he was directly above him. “You deserve a nap,” he told him as the man blinked up at him in a daze. Again folding both hands together in a fist, Aramis brought them down on the man's head, and with a small sound escaping the guard, his eyes rolled back in his head.

Aramis let himself slump to the side, breathing hard. He knew he needed to move, to find a knife to free himself and then his weapons, but for a moment, all he could do was blink his eyes and convince his body that no, having a rest was not in the cards for him.

He straightened up – and froze at the sound of footsteps approaching. He had hoped the noble was not close enough to hear the scuffle but today was not his day, it seemed.

“Aramis?” a voice came floating from behind him, sounding almost uncertain – and oh, he would know this deep, rolling bass everywhere. Tension seeped out of his shoulders like water, and he turned his head and grinned over his shoulder at his brother. “Porthos! So nice of you to join us!”

Porthos' worried frown only deepened, and he hastily took the remaining few steps to Aramis' side. “You alright?” he asked even as he already drew his main gauche and set to work cutting Aramis' bonds. “You're hurt?” His gaze lingered on Aramis' face, and it took the marksman a moment to understand before he remembered the guard's nose breaking and the amount of blood that had rained down on him.

“Ah, not much.” Aramis shrugged and drew back his hands when Porthos released them, now free of the rope around his wrists. He rubbed them with a wince and added: “The blood's not mine. I got a hit to the head but I can see straight – so I possibly escaped a concussion, this time.”

Porthos grunted, the worry lines in his face smoothing out slightly. “Your lucky day.”

Aramis grinned, nodding. Then he looked around and frowned. “Where's Athos? d'Artagnan?”

“Athos is--” Porthos started, then stopped. “Athos is coming – and look, he's made a friend!”

Aramis looked in the direction Porthos was pointing in and had to laugh. There his friend was, striding towards them with long steps, and behind him, he was dragging the noble who was ineffectually sputtering at him in sentence fragments like “you have no right!” and “--hanged for this!” Their leader came to a stop before them and looked Aramis up and down. “Are you alright?” he asked in a clipped tone that was barely covering the worry underneath – at least for someone who had known him as long as Aramis had.

“I'm fine,” the marksman said. “You have great timing.”

Porthos snorted. “Not really,” he said. To Athos, he added: “He already took out that one before I got here.” He nodded at the guard lying insensate on the ground. The noble devolved in another bout of incomprehensible outrage.

Aramis smiled and got up laboriously, gratefully accepting Porthos' hand in support. “Still great to have you here now.” He looked around again and frowned, repeating his earlier question: “d'Artagnan?”

“I sent him off to send a message to Treville – informing the Captain of treason took precedence over a rescue mission, I'm afraid,” Athos explained. “As much as it seems the latter was not all that needed.” He nodded at Porthos. “Tie that one to his master,” he ordered, with a gesture to the unconscious guard, ignoring the protests from the noble with a great deal of experience.

Aramis shook his head, the last bit of tension evaporating and leaving him feeling wrung-out and beaten. “I bet he loved that,” he murmured and got a bark of laughter from Porthos and a half-smile from Athos in return.

“He did not,” the swordsman allowed. “But alas, duty called, and we are the King's men.”

“That we are.” Aramis nodded and then grinned at the captive noble. He playfully snapped his teeth at him and gave a short bark. “But not his lapdogs.”

[perspective-series]

Pet Perspective (15/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Unwanted touching 

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Roman was used to entertaining himself. It certainly wasn’t the first time he was left on his own, and it also wasn’t the first time he had traversed a human home. But doing it out in the open, when nobody was home, with the knowledge that he wouldn’t get in trouble?

Well, that just took all the fun out of it.

It made Roman feel almost twitchy, trying to occupy his time and not make a straight bolt for the door. He had promised Virgil that he would stay put, and while a promise to a human meant jiddly-squat, he had promised the same to Logan. Roman wasn’t going to make a run for it.

But, that didn’t mean he had to stay all cooped up inside, either. 

Roman grinned at this realization, abandoning his task of painting the kitchen table in favor of sliding down to the floor. He always felt better getting out and about. A little fresh air wouldn’t hurt anyone, and spending the day in the yard would hardly be dangerous. If Roman stayed close to the entrance, even stray cats would pose no danger. This line of thinking is what led to Roman ducking beneath the front door as human footsteps approached from the other side.

 Virgil came up to his door, intending to unlock and open the door like normal, when he noticed movement coming from the ground. He looked down, eyes going wide as he noticed Roman walking about outside. “Roman!” He hissed, coming over and scooping him up. “What are you doing?” Was Roman going back on his promise? He supposed it wouldn’t be the first time.

Roman gave an almost-yelp, startled from the sudden grab. “Relax, Warden! I was just going for a stroll.”

 Virgil winced. “S-Sorry.” He opened his hand so Roman was sitting on his palm before heading inside. “But is it really a good idea to go outside on your own? I mean...the last time you did you got hurt.”

“The last time I did I got unlucky.” Roman shrugged. “I don’t get pounced by a cat every time I step outside, you know.”

 “I know but...I’m just worried.” He went up to his room and set Roman down on his desk. “Why were you outside anyway? You said a stroll but...why?”

“I got bored.” Roman admitted. “It’s less fun having the run of the place when you’re allowed. I find going outdoors to be much more pleasant, there’s more adventures there.”

 Virgil shifted. “Well...if you want to go outside then it might be best for you to stick with me. Maybe I can take you to class tomorrow? Like how Patton took Logan today?” He still thought it was dangerous but it was less dangerous than Roman being outside on his own.

“I feel like that’s not exactly the same.” Roman argued, remembering a few times when Rebekah tried to sneak him into her class. He cringed in memory. “Being stuck in a backpack all day isn’t my idea of adventure.”

 “You won’t be stuck in a backpack...if anything, it’ll be my pocket.” He wasn’t actually sure if his teachers would let Roman be out on his desk or not. He would have to ask Patton.

“Same principle, Emo Nightmare.” Roman gave him a slight glare.

 “I know, okay I’ll talk to Patton about it and go from there. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be allowed to sit on the desk.” He hoped so, at least, or it would in fact, be boring for Roman.

“Oh, lucky me!” Roman mockingly clapped his hands. “I doubt your classes themselves are that interesting even then. Certainly not as interesting as the gardens.”

 “I doubt that, actually. What fun is there to do out in our front yard anyway?” Virgil asked.

“Basket weaving, tunnel digging, ladybug chasing, spider fighting, berry collecting…” Roman easily began to list off activities on his hand.

 Virgil frowned. “All that sounds more like work than fun. Also dangerous, why the heck would you want to get into a fight with a spider?” Virgil asked.

“To win?” Roman looked at Virgil like this was the most obvious thing.

 “Yeah but if you don’t win then you die, so how is that smart?” Unless the spider attacked Roman first, Virgil couldn’t understand.

“Oh please, most of the spiders around here couldn’t kill me.” Roman waved off Virgil’s concern. “Hurt like a son of a nutcracker, sure, but I’m not exactly their prey.”

 Virgil shook his head. “Still, it doesn’t sound fun.” 

 Virgil paused as he heard the door opening downstairs, Patton’s laughter echoing throughout the house. “Looks like Patton and Logan are home.” He offered Roman a hand. “Want to see how their day was?”

“Sure.” Roman appeased him, climbing on with still no intention of spending the next day at school.

 Virgil walked downstairs, smiling to Patton as they met eyes. “Hey, Pat. How was school?”

 Patton winced a little. “Well...they wouldn’t let Logan spend it out and about so he had to stay in my pocket…”

“Called it.” Roman gave Virgil a knowing look.

“The day was not a complete failure, however.” Logan still looked almost giddy. “Patton was kind enough to take me to the library where we completed an independent study.”

 “Huh? When did you have time to go to the library?” Virgil asked, looking to Patton. Patton smiled sheepishly.

 “I may have...skipped my other classes?” Virgil blinked, before smirking.

 “Wow, didn’t know you had it in you.” Virgil joked. “So you just went to the library instead then?”

 “Yep! And we had a great time!” Patton exclaimed.

“We read about biology.” Logan announced proudly.

“Wow, you really are a massive dork.” Roman teased.

 “But...school was a bust?” Virgil asked again and Patton nodded.

 “Yeah, I guess the school doesn’t allow borrowers.” He said sadly. “Which is unfair.”

“We’re... pets.” Logan reasoned, deflating from his excitement. “A place of education is no place for us.”

 Both Virgil and Patton shifted uncomfortably. “Still.” Patton said.

 “Well...thanks for the heads up, at least.” Now Virgil had to think of something else to do with Roman. Maybe the library? But Roman didn’t seem very fond of that idea. “Are you making dinner?”

 Patton nodded. “Yep! I’ll get started on it right now. Logan? Did you want to help?”

“I’m not certain how I could be of assistance?” Logan frowned.

 Patton giggled. “Well, I could always use a supervisor! And maybe a taste tester?” Patton offered.

“If Logan refuses, I’m always available.” Roman gave Patton a smile, wiggling his fingers.

“Roman, behave yourself.” Logan huffed. “Patton, I can certainly attempt to be of assistance.”

 “Yay! Then let’s get started!” Patton ran into the kitchen, Logan in tow, leaving Virgil and Roman in the living room. 

 Virgil looked down at Roman. “Okay so...maybe school is a bad choice.”

“What? I was right?” Roman gave a mocked surprise face, complete with bringing his hands to his cheeks.

 “Yeah, yeah, don’t get a big head over it.” Virgil said, plopping down on the couch. “But, still, the library worked for them so...maybe we could go out and do something else?” Virgil suggested. “Anything in mind?”

“Well, I just like being outdoors.” Roman shrugged. “But it’s not quite as much fun when being monitored closely...or being played with.” Roman added that last bit as an afterthought. 

 Virgil winced. “I’m...guessing that’s happened before.” Roman had been with a child before, after all.

“Ding ding ding, give the man a prize.” As usual, Roman hid his trauma with a smile and finger guns. “Though something tells me you’re not a man of tea parties.”

 “Er...no.” Virgil could guess what kind of play had taken place. “I’m sorry that happened.”

Roman waved him off. “It’s fine, it’s in the past.”

 “Obviously, it won’t be anything like that. We could go anywhere...almost.” He was sure, like with school, there were some places that would kick him out for having Roman. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Something I’ve always wanted to do?” Roman repeated. Well, travel back in time, but that wasn’t possible. Live in a proper Outsider clan again, but again, not something Virgil could provide. “Um…” Roman felt his ears turn a bit pink, realizing one thing that could work but feeling a bit silly. “Don’t laugh, but I’ve always wanted to visit some old human structures. Like the stone ones you see in novels.”

 Virgil blinked. “Old structures?” Virgil hummed. “I mean...I’m not sure where we would find one but...other than that, I don’t see why not?” As long as Virgil was there, nothing should happen, anyway.

“I’m not certain where they are either.” Roman admitted. “But I’ve just always thought they’d make the ideal base, and I wondered if any borrowers used to live in the walls when the structures were still standing.”

 Virgil nodded. “I’ll...I’ll look it up. And if one is close enough then I don’t mind taking you.” Virgil said with a soft smile.

“Why thank you, Virgil.” Roman gave him a smile in return. Of course, there was still a large chance it wouldn’t be possible, but Roman liked to dream.

 “Yeah, of course.” Virgil said, suddenly hoping he would be able to find one close by. After all, if it made Roman happy he was willing to do almost anything. 

 Virgil picked up the remote. “Want to watch something while Pat and Logan are making dinner?”

“Sure.” Roman agreed, leaning back. “It’s been a while since I watched Steven Universe, I’m probably several seasons behind.”

 As Virgil turned on the TV, he looked down at Roman. “Oh, you’ve seen the show before? Wait, right you were a...with a kid before.” That made sense then.

Roman winced, getting defensively embarrassed. “I’m- it’s not just a kid’s show, you know.” He didn’t want Virgil to think lesser of him.

 “Oh, no I know!” Virgil backtracked a little. “I mean, I like it too, after all. I just...figured that’s where you most likely would have seen it? Sorry.”

“It’s fine; I mean, you weren’t wrong.” Roman waved him off, his cheeks only a bit pink. He cleared his throat. “So...you really watch it too?”

 “Yeah, Patton got me into it. He loves the show and honestly, it’s pretty good. Good plot, good animation, nice representation. I think more people should be watching it.” Virgil explained himself with a small smile.

“Same!” Roman’s expression lit up. “It’s got so many interesting subplots that are far more complex than adults give it credit. Plus the style is astounding.”

 Virgil grinned. “Exactly! Glad to find someone else who understands.” Virgil went over and looked through all the episodes. “Since you’re behind, did you just want to start at the beginning?”

“Yeah, sounds good, gives me a chance to get back in the zone.” Roman gave a grin of his own.

 “Sounds good, and hey! Now you’ll finally be able to finish it. Might take us a month but it’ll be worth it.” Virgil said, before pressing play.

“A month?” Roman’s eyebrows rose incredulously. How much had he possibly missed?

 Virgil laughed. “Alright, maybe not that long but it’s five seasons long with a movie coming out soon, so it’ll take us a bit of time to get through it.” Virgil further explained, turning back to the TV as the intro finished playing.

“Ooh, I can hardly wait.” Roman appeared positively giddy, clapping his hands eagerly.

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

 Patton set Logan down on the counter and started looking through the pantry, humming as he did so. “Whatcha hungry for, Logan?” He asked.

“Anything is satisfactory.” Logan said, attempting to peer around Patton to gauge the options himself.

 “Hmm…” Patton looked through everything. “How about...tacos?” He asked, smiling over to Logan.

“Ta-cos?” Logan tried the word, unfamiliar with another meal. “It does fall under the category of ‘anything’, so therefore must be ‘satisfactory’.”

 Patton blinked at Logan trying to pronounce it. “Logan? Have you...never had tacos before?” Geez, the poor kiddo. He really has led such a sheltered life.

“I have had exactly as many meals as you have provided me.” Logan recited.

 “Right, right, sorry. It’s just still surprising to me.” Patton admitted, getting the meat out and turning on the stove. “It just sucks that this is the first time you’re experience these things in all your years...wait, how old are you anyway?” Patton didn’t think he ever asked.

Logan thought back for a moment, ticking the years off on his fingers to double check. “I am seventeen years old.”

 Patton froze, slowly looking over to Logan. “Uh...can you say that again?” Maybe he heard wrong?

“I am seventeen years old?” Logan looked to Patton, puzzled. “Is something the matter?”

 Patton blinked. “N-No, no, I just...H-How are you only seventeen! I-I thought you were in your twenties at least!” He thought Logan was at least as old as himself!

“I’ve always acted mature for my age.” Logan seemed to find Patton’s reaction bizarre. “How old are you?”

 “23.” Patton answered, mouth feeling dry. “But 17? You’re-You’re practically a kid!” He wasn’t far off, it seemed, calling him kiddo and all.

Logan’s nose twitched. “I’ve hardly been a child for years, and there is no age requirement to indicate we have reached maturity, humans often view us the same.”

 “Huh? Oh! Sorry Logan, I didn’t mean...I’m just surprised. You’re a lot younger than I thought and it...just kind of puts this whole thing in a newer light.” A harsher light, Patton thought as he stirred the meat around.

“I still don’t understand.” Logan was wary. “Do you mean to treat me differently now that you know I am of a different age? Because truly I thought you were closer to my own given your mannerisms.”

 “Oh, no, no! I mean, not if you don’t want me to. I mean, honestly seventeen isn’t that young just...younger than I thought.” He repeated, putting the seasoning on the meat as most of the pink was already gone.

“I see.” Logan mused. “No, I would not like you to treat me differently.”

 “Then I won’t, I promise.” Patton said, turning back to the meat. It was just about done now, so he turned down the stove. He drained out the grease and then placed the meat in a bowl before getting out cheese and lettuce and olives and putting those in bowls too. He then placed all the dishes on the table. “Alright, I think that’s good. Now, onto the tortillas.” Patton got them out and started grilling them on the still hot stove.

 He was quiet for a moment. “When’s your birthday?” He asked Logan.

“November 3rd.” Logan answered, uncertain how that could be relevant.

 Patton slowly nodded, noting that it wasn’t too far out. “Got it!” They were going to do something amazing and fun for Logan’s 18th birthday. “I’ll go ahead and add it to the calendar.”

“Why are you adding it to the calendar?” Logan asked. It was not a particularly notable date.

 “So I don’t forget! And so we can throw and awesome party for you! That’s what people do for their birthdays. Especially important ones like someone's 18th.” Patton explained.

“...intriguing.” Logan seemed surprised by this revelation. “I will need to make a note of that. I was not aware of this tradition.”

 Patton had figured this but it still made him sad to actually hear it. “I think you’ll like it. You get cake, any food you want and a whole lot of presents!” 

“There are certainly many benefits to such an arrangement.” Logan agreed, wondering what cake was and why it was so prized.

 “Well, I’m at least glad I’ll get to be with you when you experience it for the first time.” Patton smiled. He set out the cooked tortillas before offering his hand to Logan. “Ready to eat?”

“Indeed.” Logan climbed on.

 He set Logan down on the table before cupping his mouth. “Virgil! Roman! Dinner!”

 “Coming!” Virgil called back, pausing the episode. “Looks like we’ll have to continue this later.” Virgil said, standing with Roman in hand.

“I can hardly wait.” Roman assured him, meaning it as he climbed on.

 Virgil brought Roman into the kitchen and set him down before taking his own seat. Patton grinned. “Hope you like tacos Roman!” Patton said as he passed a couple of mini versions towards the two borrowers.

“Oooh, excellent!” Roman grinned, excited by the idea of getting to fold his own taco for once. “Gracias, esto es genial!”

 Both Virgil and Patton paused. “...You know spanish?” Virgil asked, surprised.

Roman looked up at him. “...you don’t?”

 “I took some in high school but I’m far from fluent. I know you said thank you but what else did you say? And where did you even learn that?” Virgil asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Apuesto a que te gustaría saber.” Roman gave a large grin, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

 Once again both humans were at a loss. “...What?” Virgil asked.

“He said ‘I bet you would like to know’.” Logan said offhandedly, taking a bite of his taco. “And the first time he attempted to compliment the meal.”

 Both human eyes snapped to Logan. “You too?” Virgil exclaimed.

 “Logan, how do you know spanish?” Patton asked this time.

“Borrowers are taught a number of languages.” Logan explained as though this was common knowledge. “Seeing as it is unknown what the nationality of a future owner might be.”

“Eres un traidor.” Roman grumbled, crossing his arms and feeling off-put that Logan didn’t just let him have his fun.

Logan paused, the taco halfway to his mouth when instead he turned to give Roman an annoyed glare. “I am not a traitor!”

 Both human’s eyes widened. “Whoa, hey, what just happened?” Virgil asked, looking between the two.

“I called him a traitor for translating my words.” Roman stuck out his tongue at Logan. “You always miss the big picture, short-stack. We could have held secret conversations right under their noses.”

“It’s not exactly a secret if they can hear us, and a translation app would quickly make that process unnecessary.” Logan huffed, clearly still annoyed about being a traitor.

 “He’s got a point.” Virgil pointed out. “I just can’t believe they teach you all of that. How many languages do you know?”

“About a dozen.” Roman shrugged, clearly looking proud despite his nonchalant attitude. He neglected to mention that a few of those were only a handful of phrases that he remembered.

 “Wow…” Patton’s eyes were wide in awe. “That’s amazing! Logan, I can’t believe you know so many languages at only seventeen!”

 Virgil paused, turning to look at Patton with wide eyes. “...Come again?”

 “Huh? Oh! Logan is only seventeen.” Patton answered, knowing the shock Virgil was currently going through.

 “Wha-but, but how?” Virgil exclaimed.

Roman barely tried to hide the snort behind his hand. “Practically a baby borrower.” He teased.

“I am not!” Logan retorted in an uncharacteristically childish way, easily riled by Roman. “And as to the ‘how’, I will not educate you on the details but I think you can understand the concept of my arrival to this world seventeen years ago and I fail to see the merit of your question.”

 Virgil’s face turned a bright red. “That’s...That’s not what I...nevermind.” He shook his head, shoving some food into his mouth.

 “Anyway, Logan is still Logan though. No matter what age.” Patton said. “Oh! And it looks like his birthday is the next one coming up!”

“When are your birthdays, then?” Logan asked, guessing it was polite to ask.

 “January 15th!” Patton exclaimed happily.

 “December 19th.” Virgil said with a shrug. “Oh wait, I guess we don’t know Roman’s birthday either.” 

“Thanks for the consideration.” Roman rolled his eyes lightly, leaning back as he tried to remember. “Ah...I think it’s June 4th, that might be it.”

 Virgil raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Borrowers don’t celebrate birthdays.” Roman explained. “It’s just a date, and I’ve swapped households enough that even my forms have gotten muddled.”

 “You don’t celebrate birthdays? But that’s so sad! Everyone should get a party for their birthday. With presents and cake!” Patton shook his head, looking up with determination in his eyes. “Well, don’t you worry. Once your birthday comes back around, I’ll make up for all the parties you’ve missed.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” Roman perked up, eager to see such a thing. He had seen birthday parties, naturally, but to have once focused on him sounded wonderful. Too bad his birthday was so far away…

 Virgil hummed. “Hey, Pat?” Patton turned towards him and Virgil smirked. “Why wait?”

 Patton gasped. “You’re right!” He grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Wait, what?” Roman frowned slightly, confused. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

 “Well, it does a little but we can make an exception this time for the two of you, since you’ve never had a party before.” Patton said with a smile. “Only if you want, though.”

“I mean…” Roman tilted his head back and forth as if weighing the options. If he was really gonna make a run for it at the end of the week, might as well take the opportunity. “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, Patton.”

 Patton jumped up and clapped his hands together. “Awesome! Then tomorrow, we’ll have cake and presents to celebrate the both of you! Oh! Virgil, we have to go to the store!” Patton said, pulling Virgil up and out of his chair.

 “Wow, Pat, slow down.” Virgil chuckled. He looked towards the two borrowers. “Will you two be okay here on your own for an hour?” He asked.

“We will be fine.” Logan assured him. “Solitude is often our normal state of being.” He had been left alone in a cage several times in his life, but in this world that was almost preferable to being bothered. Here he could roam free.

 Virgil nodded. “Alright, then we’ll be right back.”

 “With cake and presents!” Patton added on and then dragged Virgil out the door.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Girl Next Door (Part 2) - The New Normal

Summary: Dean’s starting to realize he needs some help when it comes to taking care of both Sam and he and the reader make plans to spend a little one on one time with each other...

The Girl Next Door Masterlist

Pairing: Neighbor/Mechanic!Dean x baker!reader

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: language, mention of injury, sad Sammy

A/N: Parts of this series are told from two different POV’s. Dean’s POV are written from limited third person. Reader’s POV are second person (like a typical reader insert). Enjoy!…

Dean’s POV

An hour later, Dean stumbled downstairs and sent Y/N home, feeling better than he had all week. He quietly cleaned some, the house covered in a thin layer of dust. He did laundry and got fresh sheets on all of the beds, unpacking a few belongings and hanging up his clothes in the guest room closet. His wardrobe wasn’t extensive and he wasn’t planning on getting a lot of quiet time for just him, at least not for a while.

Dean grabbed a notepad and sat down at the counter when he got downstairs again, writing up his chicken scratch into easy to read notes on what to take and when, simple enough that even Avy could understand with some help. He measured everything out for Sam and labeled it, tucking the medicine away in an upper cabinet with a note taped on the front that everything was in there. Dean got Sam’s freshly washed beanie’s up in his room and on his nightstand and cleared the path from the bed to the bathroom on anything he could trip on.

Dean hummed softly when he went to the fridge and started to take out ingredients for dinner. The last time he’d had a home cooked meal was probably two weeks, the night of Sam’s accident. The leftover ravioli meant for Sam to dig into was still sitting inside the fridge. Dean threw the container away and returned to putting together a mess of cheese, pasta, veggies and meat in a pan, one of Sam’s favorite dishes growing up.

After a few hours, Sam woke up from the couch, stretching out as he caught Dean working away in the kitchen.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” said Dean with a smile. “Or should I say, evenin’ sunshine.”

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“Eh, three hours give or take,” said Dean. “You need the rest. How’s the head feeling?”

“Uh, warmer,” said Sam, reaching his hand up, feeling a hat on there. “Thanks.”

“I figured you’re used to that flop on your head, might as well keep you warm,” said Dean, clapping his hands together. “So, I am making Sammy casserole tonight to celebrate you being back home. It should be done just in time for Avy to get home.”

“Thanks,” said Sam as he sat up. “You look a little better yourself.”

“Y/N stayed over for a while, let me get in a nap. Nice neighbor you got there,” said Dean. Sam hummed, glancing over to the kitchen. Dean set down the knife he was using and walked over to Sam, helping him up to his feet. They paused for a moment until Sam was walking forward on his own, Dean with a hand on his arm until Sam sat up on one of the counter stools.

“Yeah, Y/N’s cool. Keeps to herself mostly. I think she got out of some bad relationship or something before she moved in. She never really gave a straight answer on that,” said Sam.

“Surprised you haven’t made a move on the cute girl next door,” said Dean, wiping off his hands.

“The only cute girl I need in my life right now is about four feet tall,” said Sam. “So you can totally go for the cute girl next door yourself, Dean.”

“I’m not relationship material, Sammy,” said Dean with a smile, back to working on making up dinner. “You know that.”

“You’ve been saying that since we were teenagers,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want mom and dad’s relationship,” he said. Sam scoffed and lightly shook his head. “Sam.”

“Not every relationship is full of arguments and it has been years, years Dean, since they went at it. They don’t do what they used to,” said Sam. “They love each other. I think it’s time you stop being afraid of commitment.”

“Says the guy who ends it after every first date he’s been on the past three years,” mumbled Dean.

“Jess died,” said Sam dryly. Dean stilled, looking over to Sam who had his brow furrowed. “I miss her. I fucking do. Every day. I wish Avy had her mom still. But she would want me to be happy. It took me time to be ready for that again and yeah, it’s hard to date when you’re a single dad that works too much. I know that. I got way more excuses than you not to try but I don’t use them, not all the time at least. I know what I want and not stringing the girl along doesn’t mean I’m afraid of commitment. There’s a connection you have with a person Dean when they’re the one. I haven’t had it happen since Jess so I keep trying, like she would want, like you want for me. Now, I’m out of the dating game for a while so why don’t you go put yourself out there for a change,” said Sam.

“Alright, alright,” said Dean, holding up his hands. “Don’t give yourself a stroke.”

“That’s not funny,” said Sam.

“It’s a little funny,” teased Dean. “But I’m sorry for teasing you wimp.”

“Jerk,” said Sam.

“Bitch,” said Dean. Sam smiled a little, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Okay, you want it with the breadsticks too?”

“Yes please,” asked Sam quietly, Dean taken back for a moment to when they were kids and he made him Sammy casserole for the first time.

“Alright. We’ll make up the breadsticks too, Sammy.”

“Hi Avy,” said Sam, holding out his arms when their parents came by that night. She looked nervous though, staying by the front door and looking around the room at everyone. “Can I have a hug, honey?”

“Just be careful like we talked about, sweetie,” said Mary. Avy nodded and climbed up on the couch, shifting over slowly, Sam wrapping his arms around her.

“I missed you so much, baby. You have fun at grandma and grandpa’s? You got to tell me all about what happened at school,” said Sam. She nodded and threw her arms around Sam tight. Their parents gave them a smile as they followed Dean over to the kitchen.

“You guys want to stay for dinner?” asked Dean. “There’s plenty of food here.”

“Sure,” said John, glancing back at Sam. “You know, Dean...Mom and I were talking...we should really be the ones to move in here with Sam while he recovers.”

“I’m pretty sure Sammy’s going to put his foot down on that. Besides, you guys are both still working, you live farther away...I got this,” said Dean. “Really.”

“It’s not just taking care of Sam, Dean. You got Avy around here too,” said John. Dean blinked at him. “It’s a lot of responsibility is all I’m saying.”

“She’s my niece. I know how to take care of her,” said Dean. “Hell I take care of her all the freaking time.”

“Yeah but you can’t be fun Uncle Dean now. You’re gonna have to-”

“Excuse me but I took care of her the night her mother died and Sam was a mess and he had every right to be. I took care of her the night Sam almost died,” Dean whispered, scowling at his father. “I had to be the one that made medical decisions for Sam that night and the night after and the night after. I had to do those things because Sam trusts me. If he wants me gone, I’ll go. But I’m not leaving because you two don’t think I’m responsible enough,” said Dean.

“It’s a lot of work Dean,” said his mom, putting a hand on his arm. “No one is saying...we’re saying we’ll help is all.”

“Well ask Sam what he wants,” said Dean. “And guess what? He wanted me to be the one that moved in so I’m here. I will take the help but we don’t need you two living here.”

“Was living with us really that horrible for you?” asked John. “Really?”

“Sam and I both remember what it was like so yeah, excuse me for wanting him to recover in a place that’s calm and unstressful for him,” said Dean, narrowing his eyes.

“Alright. Don’t fight,” said Mary. “Alright. We’ll help out as much as we can but Dean can stay with Sam, alright? Boys?”

“Alright,” said John, holding up his hands.

“Casserole should be done in five. Watch Sam for me for a minute,” said Dean. He sighed and went out the front door, taking a seat on the front porch swing. He rested his hands on his head, taking a few deep breaths. He barely lifted his head when he heard the stairs creak, smiling when he saw a container be set down on the top step. Y/N just smiled and walked back over to her house, giving Dean a small wave as she went inside.

Dean picked up the container, laughing when he realized it was a pie. He flipped open the note on top, a warmth filling him up.

It’s my grandma’s recipe. Called it ‘feel good pie’. Always seems to do the trick for me. You guys seemed like you could use some after everything.

-Y/N

“Thank you, sweetheart. I needed this.”

Reader’s POV

“Morning,” you heard while you headed outside to wash your car the next day. Sam was sat on the front step of his porch, Avy playing with some chalk in their driveway. “Thanks for the pie last night. It was great.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, wandering over across the grass. “The prison warden giving you some parole time?”

“Oh no. He’s just changing into some clothes to work on his car some. I’m allowed to be alone for a few minutes when Avy’s keeping an eye on me. Small victories,” said Sam. “A little more time everyday.”

“They worried about…” you trailed off, Avy not seeming to take notice of the conversation.

“A lot can go wrong after a brain trauma. Time is the best cure unfortunately for my situation. Slow and steady. I’m not even allowed to watch TV or read right now so it doesn’t give me a seizure. I’m bored out of my mind,” he said.

“You could bake,” you said.

“Bake?” he asked.

“Mhm,” you hummed. “I mean, Dean might want to be the one that handles the oven right now but yeah, you could bake.”

“That’s...actually a really good idea,” said Sam. You saw Dean duck out of the garage, smiling when he saw you. “Hey, Dean, did you pick up any baking stuff at the store yesterday?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t, Martha Stewart,” said Dean.

“You know what? I didn’t feel like washing my car this morning anyways. Why don’t I take Sam here over to my place, let him do a bit of baking so he doesn’t go crazy today,” you said.

“Yes, please,” said Sam. Dean held up his hands, giving you a stare. You gave it right back but he sighed and relented, his gaze going to Avy.

“Fine but come get me if something goes wrong,” he said. “Now what to do with you little missy.”

“Hey, Avy. You want to come bake with me and your dad?” you asked. She carefully looked at Sam and shook her head, Sam’s face falling a little when he turned away. Dean squatted down next to her, giving her a soft smile.

“Avy, sweetie. I know we told you a lot of rules about playing with your daddy for now but you can still hang out with him. It’d make him really happy,” said Dean.

“Sorry, daddy,” she said, hopping up and giving Sam’s leg a hug.

“No, no, it’s okay, Avy. I wish I could run around with you,” said Sam. “Daddy’s still getting better.”

“I wish you’d get better faster,” she said.

“Me too,” said Sam with a laugh.

“Is your hair gonna come back?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’ll take a while though,” he said, holding out a hand to you. “Help me up? I get dizzy sometimes.”

You grabbed him with both hands, Dean keeping an eye on you both as Sam threw an arm over your shoulders.

“Come on Avy. Let’s go bake something with, Y/N,” said Sam. You led them over to your house and inside, Sam chuckling to himself. “It smells so good in here.”

“Well I am a baker, it always smells good in here...except when I burn a batch,” you said. You led them both over to the kitchen, Sam’s jaw practically dropping.

“I thought I had the fancy kitchen over here,” he said, taking a seat at the counter, Avy climbing up on one beside him.

“You got no idea what I do for a living, do you, Winchester?” you teased.

“Not a clue,” said Sam.

“Why don’t you spin around,” you said, nodding to the wall behind him. He turned in his seat, leaning back some when he saw the giant chalkboard. “That’s this week’s orders.”

“You’re a baker,” he smiled, turning back around. “For a living.”

“Yup. Need a good kitchen if I’m going to keep up with it,” you said. “So I got a order of chocolate chips I got to whip up today if you guys are interested in making some of those?”

“I think that sounds perfect.”

“Avy, you got those cookies okay?” you asked, Avy holding a pink box in front of her a few hours later. She hummed, that classic smile back on her face you were much more used to seeing. You couldn’t help but notice the layer of grime that’d been on your car was gone and the driveway was wet as you went past. You walked back over with Sam, a quiet chuckle coming from you both when you saw Dean passed out on the front porch chair with a baseball cap over his face. “Does he ever sleep?”

“He’ll get back to normal soon. I hope,” said Sam quietly. You helped him up the steps, Dean stirring at the noise, sleepily smiling at the three of you. “Turns out we live next to a professional baker.”

“How many different kinds of pie do you make?” asked Dean with a smirk.

“All of ‘em. Apple cinnamon, pecan, cherry, chocolate are my most popular probably,” you said. “Give me advance notice, I can make any kind you come up with.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” said Dean, stretching out. “I’ll so take you up on that.”

“Trust us, he will,” said Sam.

“Alright, Sammy. Why don’t you go on inside, eat your lunch and take a nap. Medicine is on the counter for you,” said Dean.

“Oh. Yay,” said Sam with a sigh. Dean held open the door for him and Avy, watching them go off to the kitchen, Sam holding out his sandwich from around the fridge door. “You can leave me alone now!”

“Dork,” said Dean, leaving the front door open, shutting the screened in one. “Thanks for keeping him occupied this morning. He’s getting a little stir crazy there not being able to use his head.”

“I think he liked it,” you said. “Thanks for washing my car.”

“I did no such thing. Must have been those car washing gremlins you hear about,” teased Dean.

“Must have,” you said, tilting your head up at him. “Thank them for me if you see ‘em around.”

“Will do,” he said.

“Dean? I’m sure Sam has good insurance being a lawyer and all. Maybe getting someone in to help watch him so you aren’t passing out on the front porch would be a good thing,” you said.

“I know. He’s in this limbo the next few weeks...my buddy at the garage, Benny, he’ll give me all the time off in the world for Sammy but I know…” said Dean, pursing his lips. “I do need help.”

“I got a friend that works as an in home nurse, deals with younger people most of the time. I can give you guys her name and the company she’s with if you’re interested,” you said. “I’m sure his insurance will cover it.”

“How much did he complain while he was over there?” asked Dean, trying to hide his laugh.

“Just a smidge,” you teased.

“Text me her name. We’ll look into it,” said Dean.

“Good,” you said with a smile, swapping phones for a moment. “So is pie your favorite kind of dessert?”

“Pie’s my favorite kind of everything,” he said, handing your phone back. You waited for him to make a joke but realized he was being serious.

“Alright. I got myself a pie expert. I may put your tastebuds to the test around these parts then, Winchester,” you said.

“Please do,” he said, licking his lips. “Last night’s pie was delicious. Blueberry and raspberry with a citrus flavored cream on top most people probably think is orange but is actually a lemon and grapefruit combo.”

“Dude, that’s scary good. No one ever picks up on that,” you said. “Like...no one. No joke, you want to come over next time I whip up some experimental stuff?”

“If I can arrange a babysitter for Sammy boy, sure,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll never turn down free dessert.”

“Awesome,” you said.

“Maybe we can get that pizza afterwards too,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “That sounds good. You ever have a bacon meat lover’s from Ricky’s? You have that with some bourbon and a slice of red velvet, it’ll give you a taste of what heaven must be like.”

“I bet it does,” said Dean, biting down on his smile. “I uh, I better get back in there and annoy the shit out of him. Big brother and all.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep you from that,” you said, Dean smiling as he threw his baseball hat on your head. “What’s this for?”

“It gives me an excuse to come talk to you tomorrow obviously,” he teased, heading back inside. “See you around, Y/N.”

“You are something, Dean Winchester,” you said, hopping down the steps, smiling under your new hat.

Dean’s POV

“I heard you flirting up a storm with Y/N earlier,” teased Sam late that night in his bathroom. Dean hummed, watching Sam take off his clothes in the shower until he got to his boxers. “Dude, you can go for the rest. I can shower on my own.”

“Sammy,” said Dean. “As scarring as this is for the both of us, just take off your damn underwear. I used to change you as a baby. Ain’t nothing I never seen.”

“Dean,” growled Sam.

“Here,” said Dean, handing Sam a washcloth from the towel rack.

“Really?” deadpanned Sam. Dean rolled his eyes and went to the closet, grabbing a hand towel and tossing it over. “Thank you.”

“You sit on the shower bench with that thing on your lap and use the spray thing to get clean, alright?” said Dean

“What, you ain’t gonna sponge bathe me?” mocked Sam.

“This is revolting enough without that,” said Dean, grabbing his phone and sitting up on the counter. Sam took a careful seat, a few grunts coming from him as he pulled off his boxers. “You good?”

“Why can’t I stand?” asked Sam as he tossed his underwear into this pile of clothes. “Or you know, have privacy?”

“Cause if you slip and fall or get dizzy and fall...basically you fall down, odds are you’re dead so deal with it,” said Dean, glancing over to Sam.

“Can you turn on the water,” he mumbled, glancing over to Dean. Dean nodded and walked over, turning it on warm for him, handing him the nozzle attachment. Dean kept his head down, Sam complaining often enough to know he was still conscious over there. “I’m done.”

“Alright,” said Dean, up again and turning off the water. He handed Sam a large towel and watched him dry off his top half, Dean throwing an arm under Sam’s shoulders. “I’m going to sit you down on the floor. Please have a towel over yourself by the time I open my eyes.”

“I got it, Dean,” said Sam. Dean sighed and shut his eyes, helping Sam until he heard what sounded like a slip. They flew open in an instant. Dean wasn’t positive what he did but he stopped Sam from going face first at the very least. He felt his own knees hit the ground hard, but his arms were around Sam’s torso tight, keeping him from going anywhere. Sam was down to his knees now, staring at Dean with a pant.

“Screw modesty?” said Dean.

“Screw modesty,” said Sam with a nod. Dean got his breath back and helped Sam out of the shower and sat on the floor. He handed Sam his towel, settling it over his lap.

“You’re okay,” said Dean, scooting back with a groan. He looked down, his knees a deep angry red. He gave them a rub, frowning when he saw Sam’s face. “Hey. I’m fine. Better my knees than your head.”

“What if you weren’t here to catch me?” he said.

“I am here,” said Dean, sliding over to Sam. “Shower time from now on, we’ll do it better so there’s no chance of anything happening. In a few weeks, your head will be a lot better and you can do things by yourself again and I won’t need to be here with you all the time. You’ll get your independence back real soon, Sammy.”

“I can’t drive still. Can’t work. I’m stuck doing nothing,” said Sam. “Avy’s more independent than I am.”

“Sammy,” said Dean, cupping his brother’s cheek, Sam squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re okay. Calm down for me. You were working too much and we both know it. Let’s take this as an opportunity for you to spend time with Avy, for you to enjoy life a little more, okay? Think of it as you got your own summer vacation coming up real soon.”

“You always take care of me,” said Sam quietly after a moment. Dean looked away, spotting the goosebumps on Sam’s arms.

“You need to get off this cold floor and in some warm clothes. Come on, Sammy,” said Dean. “Let’s finish getting you ready for bed.”

Reader’s POV

“Morning Winchesters,” you said the next day coming back from your jog. Sam and Avy were playing in the front yard and gave you a wave, Dean doing some planting in the pot by the end of the driveway. He smiled at you in your new hat but you spotted the bruises on his knees, Dean smirking at them.

“Oh I got these the fun way,” he said, flashing you a wink.

“I hope he bought you dinner first,” you said, Dean chuckling and shaking his head.

“Little mishap last night with bath time,” said Dean, nodding back at Sam. “Okay now though. Sammy called up that place, they said a nurse is going to start stopping by for a few hours during the day. It’ll give me a chance to work part time, get some chores done that need getting done. Avy’s out of school starting this week so I’ll need the help.”

“That’s great! You need to take care of you too if you’re taking care of them,” you said. He tilted his head, lip tugging up.

“I’ve never heard that before,” he said.

“Well if you’re not doing good, how do you expect to be able to take care of the people around you?” you asked.

“I never thought of it like that,” he said.

“Well make sure to take a little ‘me’ time too,” you said.

“Yeah, I will,” he said with a smile, glancing up at your hat.

“You want your hat back?” you asked, reaching a hand up to it.

“Nah. Looks better on you,” he said.

“Are you sure you’re not flirting with me?” you asked.

“Am I flirting with you?” he said, flashing you another wink.

“Alright, Winchester,” you laughed. “I gotta run. Lot’s of orders to get through today.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he said when you started to run back towards your house. “What’s your bakery called?”

“Sinful Sweets,” you said. “I got one of them websites and everything. Check it out sometime.”

“Will do, sweetheart.”

You were exhausted. Twelve straight hours of baking had wiped you out. Tomorrow you needed to go on a supply run but after that, you decided you were going home, sitting outside and doing absolutely nothing.

You almost groaned when you saw a new order pop up in your email. You knew better than to click on it at that time of night but it was for one of your adult dessert food types, one of your special bourbon red velvet cakes. It was a rarer order than normal but the need date on Saturday night made you chuckle along with the note from the customer.

I’m requesting the excellent baker over at Sinful Sweets make for me one of these awesome cakes I heard about. I’ll bring the bacon lover’s pizza at eight?

“Silly boy,” you giggled, grabbing your phone and giving him a phone call.

“Howdy neighbor,” he said.

“Did you order a cake just to ask me on a date?” you asked.

“Pft. No,” he said. “It’s so not a date by the way. Just two friends hanging out.”

“Uh huh,” you hummed, Dean giggling for a second as the phone moved away.

“But you know, you want to hang out on Saturday night?” he asked.

“Sure. I am going to reject your order though,” you said.

“But I want cake!” he said.

“I’m not charging you for a cake we’ll both be eating. You get the pizza, I’ll make the cake, deal?” you said.

“Alright, alright,” he said, quiet for a moment. “You sound tired.”

“Long day,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “Looking forward to the weekend.”

“Owning your own business must be hard,” he said.

“It is,” you said. “I don’t have half the problems other people do so I ain’t complaining.”

“You know, my new friend, this really cool chick, you’d love her,” he said with a smile, “She told me this thing about taking care of yourself takes care of other people you know.”

“Really? Never heard of it,” you said, shaking your head, smiling at the empty room.

“Wow. I mean, she’s a pretty smart cookie so it might be some good advice to take,” he said.

“You’re like, so not as cool as you think you are,” you said.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back. You hummed, moving over to the couch, hearing Dean move somewhere else in the house. “Sammy and the kiddo are down for bed. S’kinda of quiet here.”

“S’always quiet here,” you said.

“You ever get scared?” he asked.

“Thank you for asking me that, at night,” you said.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I’m just messing with you,” you teased. “I got an alarm system and self-defense training and a bat. I’m good, Dean.”

“Alright. You ever...you know...change your mind...or want some company...give me a call,” he said.

“Thanks,” you said, resting your head against the cushion. “Things going okay with Sam today?”

“Yeah, yeah. Today’s shower went much better than yesterday. Avy’s less nervous around him too which is good. It’s just slow going. They’re both used to a faster paced lifestyle. This kid does like five hundred activities, I swear,” said Dean.

“Maybe Sam will reconsider working so much when he’s ready to go back,” you said.

“Yeah. I hope so. He kind of threw himself into it all after his wife died,” he said.

“I only moved in a year or so ago. I never wanted to ask,” you said.

“No, I get that. This whole situation is bringing up a lot of stuff for him again. I can’t just go tell him it’s alright anymore and that fixes it, you know?” he said.

“Adulting sucks,” you said.

“Yeah it does,” he said. “It’s got it’s perks though.”

“I like talking to you,” you said after a beat. You heard him pause, your own head looking at your phone as if it wasn’t you that just said that. You hadn’t meant to, it slipped out was all. You felt the heat in your cheeks rise up, Dean quiet on the other end before you heard him breathe out.

“I like talking to you too,” he said quietly.

“Cool,” you said.

“Cool,” he said.

“Dean,” you hummed.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around before then but Saturday, your place at eight. It’s a date,” he said.

“Told you it was a date, Dean.”

A/N: Read Part 3 here!