#took 2 hours to get the lines only to realize upon laying down flats that it was still Completely off

[hinamie]

thank u canon plant nerd megumi for my life

bonus:

[themadlostgirl]

Keeping Warm

*It is soft Felix simping hours*

Prompt: Reader gets cold easily and steals Felix’s cloak to keep warm not knowing it was his. Felix has some feelings about this.

Requested by: anon

Warnings: language

~~~

I am not good with cold. I’m just not. It’s been that way ever since I was little. When I am cold I shut down and for some reason I always seem to be cold. I don’t know what caused it but I needed to be in the heat at all times. I figured that when I flew to Neverland I wouldn’t have to worry about the cold anymore. It is a tropical jungle after all.

The days are long and the sun is sweltering. I bask in the heat and humidity with a reverence reserved for deities. I was warm and I was happy. The Lost Boys often joked that I was just like a lizard basking on a hot rock. Almost no one actually called me by name anymore after they made that connection. I was always lizard or viper. I learned to live with it.

With that said it looked as if Neverland was my dream come true and it was...until night came. The second the sun was no longer in the sky the island got cold. I expected it to drop a few degrees during the night but the difference was so stark that I spent most nights shivering in my tent with my thin cloak huddled tight around me.

One night I had been so cold that I huddled myself near the bonfire and fell asleep there. It was at that moment I decided to suck up my pride and ask the boys for some help.

“Hey guys,” I approached a group of boys I was sorta close to, “Are there any blankets around?”

“What do you need a blanket for?” One of the asked.

“Well, I get really cold at night and I was wondering if I could maybe get a blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak.” I muttered, meekly.

“How on earth are you cold?” The boys started laughing. “This island is a thousand degrees all the damn time. You really are cold blooded, lizard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” I crossed my arms, “I’m a wuss because I get cold easily. Can you stop making fun of me?”

“Awe, did we hurt your feelings?” One of the boys pinched my cheek, “Little lizard girl can’t stand a little cold?”

“You guys are such jerks!” I shoved them off. “Forget I said anything. I’ll find something on my own.” I huffed and marched off. The boys were wrong about me being cold blooded because I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. Now if only I could bottle this red hot anger and use that to warm my tent at night.

I went up to other Lost Boys asking around for a spare blanket but they all gave me the same bark of laughter and refusal to help me. I had enough and went out to the beach to find my sunbathing rock. It was a large smooth flat rock that stretched into the sea a bit. It was a nice place to keep warm and get some peace and quiet.

When I got there I saw that I wasn’t the only looking for some quiet.

“Hey Felix,” I sat down next to him, “What brings you here today?”

“Stone skipping,” He gestured to the pile of stones by his feet. “Come to warm yourself, viper?”

“What else do I do?” I sighed. I liked Felix. He was easy to talk to and unlike a lot of the other boys when he called me lizard or viper I didn’t think he did it out of malice. It was just a name like Toodles or Slightly. I thought briefly about asking him about acquiring a blanket but decided not to. I had enough of the boys laughing in my face and I really didn’t want to add Felix to that list.

The minutes passed by as I laid down to soak in the sun. Another thing that I liked about Felix was that I didn’t feel the need to fill the silence around him. We could simply exist next to each other. It was rather comforting that we could have these moments when I lived on an island full of boys that couldn’t stand still for more than five seconds.

“Scoot over,” Felix nudged me with his foot.

“Run out of rocks already?” I made room next to me so Felix could lay down as well.

“Yeah,” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Weren’t a lot to be found today.”

“Happens,” I shrugged. I pulled an orange out of my pocket and started peeling it. “Orange slice?”

He opened his mouth and I rolled my eyes before dropping a slice in. “You know,” I said, “One of these days I’m going to do something like drop a rock or a little hermit crab in your mouth.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” I bit into a slice. Felix opened an eye to glare at me. I held out another slice as a peace offering. He took it with his hand this time. “Smart choice.”

“Remind me why I put up with you?”

“Because I’m fun and also quiet and I always end up giving you half of my snack when we’re together. Speaking of, my canteen is empty.”

“Here,” he handed me his.

“Thank you.” I took a generous swig. We passed the rest of our time laying in the sun not saying much until Felix had to leave.

The sun started to set and it was with a heavy heart that I braced myself for the cold and meandered back to camp. The boys I had spoken to earlier sniggered as I passed. I got to my tent and sighed when I realized what exactly those idiots had been giggling about. My cloak was gone. The one thing I use to keep myself warm at night and it was gone. Assholes.

Fine. If they want to take my stuff then I’ll take theirs too. I maneuvered stealthily around the camp looking for an unattended cloak. I eventually found one in a distant tent near the edge of camp and grabbed it. Let’s see how funny they think it is that their stuff gets stolen.

I bundled up the cloak and made a straight line for my own tent. I unfurled the cloak and was surprised by how much thicker this one was than the one I had. Probably thicker than what any of the boys wore. It also smelled kinda nice. I don’t know why but I caught a whiff of it and it put me at ease almost immediately. I wrapped myself in the cloak and reveled in the extra warmth it provided before promptly falling asleep.

~~~

Someone was gonna die!

Felix was turning in for the night and had noticed that his cloak had been missing. One of these idiots stole his cloak and when he found out who he was gonna murder them. No one steals from him. Not even as a joke.

It was the whole reason he set up his tent away from the main bustle of the camp. So stuff like this wouldn’t happen. But now it had and heads were gonna roll.

He noticed a group of boys together laughing it up by the fire. He saw one of them holding a bundle of fabric and charged.

“Hey!” Felix grabbed the kid by the neck. “You got some explaining to do you little shit!”

“Felix, calm down buddy.” One of the boys tried saying. “You’re choking him.”

“That’s the point.” He growled. “Cloak. Give. Now!”

The boy shoved the cloak into Felix’s free hand. Felix released him and the kid stumbled back gasping.

“Why do you have to be such a kill joy?” The boys complained. “Did the lizard send you to do her dirty work?”

“What?” Felix asked. “What are you talking about?”

“We stole her cloak cause she was complaining about being cold again. I really don’t see how she can be cold when it is always hot on this island.”

“Oh so this isn’t mine.” Felix really looked at the cloak in his hands. It was very thin and threadbared from years of use. It was a wonder that it was still together at all. He balled the cloak up and stuffed it under his arm. “So which one of you assholes stole my cloak then? It was in my tent this morning and now it’s gone.”

“We didn’t take anything from you.” The boys said. “We swear we didn’t go anywhere near your tent.”

Felix prowled closer, fire in his eyes. “You had better not have. You know how I feel when people touch my stuff. So if I find out you are lying I will shove a spear up your ass and roast you over the fire.”

Felix trudged away leaving the terrified Lost Boys behind. Now he just needed to get this cloak back to you. As thin as it was it was the only thing you had to keep the chill off so some coverage was better than none. Maybe he could approach Pan about getting you a real blanket or at the very least a thicker cloak. He knew how easily you got cold.

Felix sighed. He really was stuck on you. Out of everyone on the island you were the only one that he liked spending time with. Unlike everyone else you were able to sit still and enjoy the moment of silence the world offered. Spending time with you was like finding the eye of a hurricane. All the noise and chaos continued while he stayed safe.

He came upon your tent and peered inside. You were already fast asleep. Looking closer he realized that you already had a cloak covering you. How was that if the boys had taken yours earlier?

Wait. That was his cloak. Why would you steal his cloak? He plan was to wake you up and make the swap but upon seeing you laying there without shivering he couldn’t bring himself to take his cloak away from you. It was much thicker and warmer than your old one was and you clearly needed the layer.

It didn’t help matters that he got a strange fluttering in his chest when he saw you curled up in his clothes. Why was that happening? Why did you look so...cute? Cute was not a word that Felix used, ever. But it was the only appropriate word he could find as he gazed at you.

With a sigh Felix left your tent. He threatened the Lost Boys to not take anything of yours again lest they answer directly to him. The boys nodded in terror, not wanting to incur the wrath of Pan’s second in command. He threw your old shitty cloak into the bonfire. You wouldn’t be needing it anymore now that you had his to keep you warm. Felix let himself a small grin as he watched the cloak turn into a pile of ash. Besides, he thought, his cloak looked way better on you anyway.

---

(Part 2)

[nestasgalpal]

The voyage of the smuggler [Emeriel]

Part 2

Summary: Rhysand has been killed by his enemies from Hewn City, and Feyre has died with him because of a secret pact between them no one knew about. Keir, Rhysan’s only male relative, has inherited the crown of the Night Court and the High Lord’s magic, and he is taking revenge on each and every member of Rhysand’s Inner Circle one by one. Azriel’s been taken, and Emerie has only one chance to save him before he is executed in two days.

A/N: To the people who thought the last chapter had a lot of angst... sorry in advance. This is a long one.

*If you want to be added to the taglist let me know!

Azriel

Azriel’s cell under Hewn City hadn’t existed a year ago, when he was still the Spymaster of the Night Court. The space had been built in record time just for him, and the spymaster couldn’t help but wonder if Keir had given an order to create a personal nightmare for each member or Rhysand’s Inner Circle, or if it was just for him. The light was blinding and came from the ceiling. Not even his body could cast a shadow on the marble floor because of how intense it was. It felt like an endless noon, with the sun right above and not a shadow to be seen. The cell’s walls were not average either. They were not made of raw stone or bricks, it was a flat rock surface without any breaks or divisions where a tiny shadow could grow. He was absolutely powerless there.

“Maybe this is life’s way to punish me for my crimes” he thought. The white floor was so smooth he could get a glimpse of his own reflection. It was not neat, but he could still tell that his black hair was long enough to almost cover his eyes. 

That’s what gave him the idea.

Azriel knew for sure it had been less than a day since they shove him inside of the cubicle. His whole body was tense, eager to get out before he had the chance of discovering the variety of tortures Keir and his subjects had planned for him. To take revenge on him. Azriel had known a day might come in which he had to answer for all the pain he inflicted on others, and he had been ready to endure it. But now that his destiny was so close, he felt scared. He hadn’t thought he would feel that way when death lastly approached him, but he did. Because he had dreamed of his own life ending many nights, but in his reveries, Rhysand and Feyre were alive, Amren was alive, Mor and Cassian were safe, and Emerie was still a stranger who had recently befriended Nesta Archeron.

He realized with horror that he hadn’t dreamed about his final day coming since they met. Not once had the urge of punishing himself with self-inflicted nightmares come to him since Emerie forced herself into his life with her loud arrogance and big presence. He could only look forward, to what the next day by her side might bring.

The bright light of his cell didn’t allow him to sleep, so he didn’t even get the chance of trying to imagine her in the scenario. That was probably for the best. Azriel didn’t want her to see him when his life was taken from him, even if her face was the one thing he wished to see before his eyes were closed forever.

Azriel had always understood balance. He thived from it. His power was not darkness, like many people assumed, but the mastering of shadows; those that came from both obscurity and light. He was sure darkness would come into his cell sooner or later. They had built new spaces to torture them, sure, but the protocol of Hewn City’s prison was sill the same. He only had to wait and it would come to him.

“For how long?” he asked himself. They kept Amren there for a month, but Keir’s people would probably hold him for a longer time just to enjoy torturing him with no hurry.

Vengeance upon him, what Keir had wanted from the moment Rhysand sittted on the Night Court throne’s for the first time and declared him his enemy instead of making him his mentor. Azriel, a bastard born and a lesser faerie having a bigger role in the Court’s politics than he did. He was above Keir, who was of royal blood, and that couldn’t be forgiven. Nor all the humiliations that came next.

Azriel stood up and walked around his cell. There was nowhere to sit or lay, so he had to “go for a walk” pretty often to avoid his muscles becoming sore. It was tiring, and he thought it could help him get some sleep. His wings were tied, but no one touched them further. They didn’t dare. His name still had power in the Night Court, battle-hardened soldiers flinched at the sound of it. He had a reputation, and even the people who found an imprisoned him were wise enough to be scared of the tied up and unarmed Illyrian shadowsinger.

Besides, if he stayed on the floor, he would eventually get bored, and when that happened, his thoughts went straight back to Emerie. Every moment he didn’t spend scheming a way out of the prison was invested into regretting their last encounter.

After a lifetime of chasing the wrong love, he found her, and barely a year after, they were forced to part. He could have proposed to her, but instead, he was the one who suggested never binding themselves together.

“For your safety” he had said. And she had agreed.

At least, he knew it had been worth it, because she was safe and out of this big mess Rhysand and Feyre’s death had led them into.

The loud steps of a prison guard on the corridor took him out of his trance. Azriel noted he was having too much trouble unlocking the three latches. He pushed the thick door open only enough to come inside. The male was armed to the teeth and held a bucket in one hand.

“For you” he threw it on the ground before Azriel’s feet, but the Illyrian had his stare fixed somewhere else, on the guard’s eyes, covered in shadows cast by his hood.

Azriel didn’t even had to think about it, his own instinct commanded the power in his veins to come out, the darkness that was supposed to protect the male’s eyes from the bright light of the cell, becoming his death sentence. His shadows weren’t just the union of light and obscurity, but the absence of both. They were voids shaped like black snakes with a life of their own, and they were now corrupting the male’s yes, covering them, getting inside, feeding themselves with his flesh and absorbing his life into the nothingness they were.

He died before he had a chance to scream, and the shadowsinger was there to hold his body so he didn’t make any noise when falling down. Still, he was not gentle when he dropped him on the marble floor and run out of his cell.

As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, he realized why it had taken the guard so long to open the door. The absence of light after so many hours trapped in a cube of white shine made him go completely blind. His eyes simply couldn’t see anything, not even perceive the walls around him. Azriel had to use his hands to grope for the stone partitions that formed the passageway.

“Where am I?” he didn’t know. He thought he had an idea of where his confinement might be taking place, but he didn’t recognize the texture of the walls around him. He didn’t know what way to go, and he hadn’t expected that at all. He was the Spymaster, he had been for almost 300 years now, and he used to know the space under Hewn City they used as a prison as the palm of his hand. “Where am I?”

He had to think quickly, because his options were narrower than he anticipated. And he hadn’t thought he had that many to start with. Keir had put a lot of effort into making sure he was confined in the appropiate space, because he had been in a room too well illuminated to let him find his shadows in it, and now he found himself in a corridor too dark to get a glimpse of light. If he remained near to the door, he could still gather a few shadows and send them to explore the labyrinth, but they would only go so far before the darkness was too vast for them to thrive.

But he couldn’t stay there for long either, or some other guard might go check on him and find him sitting next to the dead body on the floor. He couldn’t just go now, or he would get lost too soon to be worth it.

He needed to find the way out.

Azriel recoiled a few steps and sent his shadows to explore the way ahead. He could sense what they saw... endless walls, cold floors, and if he took three turns right, he would find... Mor? No, not her, but a familiar warmth that reminded him of his friend.

“Could it be Keir?”, he wondered; they were family, after all. No, he never reminded him of her. Their auras were almost opposites. This wasn’t Mor, but it was a feeling of safety that guided him in the darkness. Azriel was disoriented, and maybe that’s why he decided to follow what would stink like a trap if he hadn’t been so desperate.

His shadows couldn’t go far enough to tell him what was it three turns to the right that called him so badly, but he put his hands to that side of the wall, and started walking, trusting it blindly.

Only when he finally saw the orb on the floor, its silver light illuminating the space enough for him to distinguish its round shape against the rest of the tunnel, he recognized the Veritas. Mor’s family treasure had once belonged to her father. Azriel himself stole it from him and gave it to Rhysand. The last time he had seen it, it had been used to negotiate with the Mortal Queens, before the war.

The shadowsinger knew it was a trap, a piece put there by Mor’s father to play mind games with him. If he had learned anything from his missions during the centuries, it was that one should never, under any circumstances, take Keir for granted. Rhysand had thought he would be able to keep him in line if he opened up Velaris, and Caldroun knew how that had worked out for him.

Yet, the magical object had an aura so strong he couldhear it calling his name.

“Azriel, Azriel, Azriel”. It was a familiar voice. Azriel touched the orb, and a vision of the past projected into his mind without giving him the chance of resisting.

They were in Emerie’s bedroom, the snowstorm outside so dangerous she had offered him to stay for the night. They had been seeing each other for half a year, but they had never spent the night in the same house before. That night they had sex, and she made dinner for both of them. At first he thought they had been lucky Nesta was with Cassian, or elsewhere it would be the three of them having dinner in silence. Then, he remembered they only met in there when Nesta wasn’t around, so it was not a coincidence at all.

Emerie didn’t like silence, but she also hated small talk, and getting into deep conversations made her uncomfortable -At least with him. At least for now-, so when they didn’t know what to say, she would start talking about her childhood and all the good memories she treasured of the time. He had been afraid it triggered him, or it made her uncomfortable if he told her about his own past, but it didn’t, and she found the right way to mix his experience into the conversation with that dark humour of hers he enjoyed so much.

“You whiny bitch” she had called him that night. He knew a fire-related joke was coming, and a smile was already forming on his lips. “Oh, my dad set me on fire” she mocked “That’s nothing, Az. My dad...” she made a pause and pinched the bridge of her nose in a dramatic gesture, like she was trying to overcome a wave of emotion. All faked. “... My dad gave me the worst haircut I have ever seen when I was 17 years old”.

Azriel held his smile and put a comforting hand on her shoulder “Em, I...” he pretended he had no words to ease her pain. She pushed him away.

“You what?” she fake-cried. There were no tears on her face, but if she could cry on command, it would have been the perfect charade “You feel me? No you don’t! I was 17, and I looked so bad not a single boy asked me out for a year. At 17, Az! That’s like the most important age for dating”.

He thought she was funny. He thought her effort to make it easy for him to talk about his childhood without throwing a pity party for him was endearing. And she always made sure she wasn’t overstepping and hurting his feelings. She had finally mastered the fire jokes, after getting bored of the not-knowing-how-to-fly ones. Those had been the first ones she came up with, because, ironically, she couldn’t fly either.

“Em, I don’t even know what to say. I can’t even start to imagine what you went through. I mean, I can’t even remember what I was doing at 17″ He made a dramatic pause too, but his weren’t as good “Oh, wait, I was getting laid every night. Yeah, that’s why I can’t really feel your pain, sorry". He held her hand in his. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, she said she liked his scarred hands better. He didn’t believe it, but took them off every time anyway. “Maybe you should try sharing this story with someone who is ugly. Maybe they’ll know what to say”

“I’m never cutting my kid’s hair” she said. She was smiling, and he was too.

“Yeah, I’m okay with that. And if they want to cut it, I can probably do it better than you, anyway” he answered.

The room went silent. They looked at each other, suddenly serious. Azriel panicked, realizing the implications of his words. When he didn’t know what to say, the shadowsinger stayed quiet, in fear he would add the wrong thing and make things worse. So it was Emerie who said:

“Well, if you want your kids and my kids to be the same kids, you’ll have to do something about your friends who hate me”. Her voice was firm, not nearly as loud as it had been moments ago. He nodded and silence reigned in the room again. “I’m serious, Azriel. I would like to have a life with you, but... I’m not doing it unless I know I’m going to be a priority”

It was fair. She had complained about his friend’s co-dependency before, and he knew sooner or later she would bring it up again and he would have to either break up with her, or grow some balls and talk to them.

Azriel had done a good amount of unforgivable things in his lifetime. He knew that, and he had never tried to make excuses for it. After all he had been through as a child, he genuinely had trouble sometimes telling where the line was. And knowing he had already crossed it once, he thought his soul would be cursed forever, no matter if he never did it again or if he did it a hundred times over. At least he was useful, and his family loved him regardless. 

He thought no other female but Mor would be able to see his darkness and embrace it, and that was why he had been pining for her for so many years. He had thought Morrigan was the only chance of love he would ever have. It was either her or solitude. But Emerie saw him, everything he had done to others, and still loved him somehow. The only thing she asked of hin in return, was the certainty that she would never be harmed or neglected even if Rhysand asked him to hunt her down, which was fair. She had wanted to know that he would always put her first, and no matter what the High Lord from the Night Court commanded, she would never suffer by his hand.

“He would never ask that from me”

“Still”

So he went to Mor and talked things out. He told her about Emerie and how deeply rooted his love for her was after less than a year of knowing her. He told her about the bond he had felt between them that night in her house, and how every fiber in his body had known he simply wasn’t capable of staying away from her, no matter what.

He then talked to Rhysand, who was his friend, but also his High Lord, and who could, technically, use his power over him to force him. Azriel was convinced Rhysand would never cross that line, but Emerie had asked for certainty, and he was going to give it to her. Rhysand had been happy to grant him his wish, and had been eager to celebrate his bond with Emerie. It had snapped for him, not for her. Azriel was not sure if it had actually fallen into place and she was being cautious, or if her fear for his job and duties in Court was so big it was the one thing preventing it from snapping for her.

Emerie and Nest had their onw party the night they all met to have dinner together in Velaris, and he didn’t mind her not attending, it was just onther one of Feyre’s endless fancy meetings. He thought there would be many more to come. The Inner Circle reunited and they drank too much while celebrating life, and happiness, and how lucky they all had been founding each other.

When the sun came out, Azriel was the one who found Rhysand’s body in the gardens.

Stabbed in the heart, his High Lord had been killed in a city that used to be safe. Inside his house. Cassian’s hungover had disappeared in less than a second when he saw Azriel carrying their friend inside the house and had run for Feyre. Their High Lady didn’t have a dagger forged in Hewn City coming out of her chest, like Rhysand did, but somehow she was dead too. Cassian was out of his mind, desperately wanting to get out of the city and go to his own house to make sure Nesta was okay, the bond pulling, but knowing his High Lord had been murdered, and he had a duty to attend. Watching him like that, so desperate, so lost and overwhelmed by feelings, made Azriel realize he couldn’t marry Emerie now. She still had a chance of having a normal life, and he wasn’t cruel enough to ask her to leave with him into exile, not knowing when they would be caught by the enemy. By his enemy, not hers. Not if they didn’t bind themselves together.

He took care of the bodies while the rest decided what their next move was going to be, because he already knew: to escape.

The the vision changed, and he was now seeing a letter. He knew the handwriting, it was Emerie’s. It was addressed to Keir. The piece of paper was folded on a familiar wooden desk, so he could only see Keir’s name and address on it.This wasn’t a memory of his own making, but if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have been true.

Emerie sat on the desk and with a perfect trace, she flipped the paper and signed it at the end of the page. Then she put it inside an envelope, and sealed it with a wax seal Nesta had gifted her for her birthday.

The spymaster knew this game. He understood what Keir was trying to make by showing him the letter: creating doubt. He had used the technique on countless prisoners to get information from them, to drive them crazy. That’s how he knew it was working. Because he knew Emerie would never contact Keir, he would bet his life on it, on her innocence, even after seeing her hadwriting on it, her signature. But if the Veritas was showing it to him, it must have somehow happened.

How? Why would Emerie do such thing? There must have been an answer, a trick hidden inthe text he wasn’t allowed to read, even if he couldn’t come up with anything at the moment. He hoplessly wanted to believe in her.

He woke up numb, his wings still tied together, and alone back in his cell. The bucket the prison guard he killed had brought him was right where he had dropped it, but there was no trace of the body.

Azriel knew he was not making it out alive. What he didn’t know, was that Emerie was on her way.

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

tagging:  @illyrianwitchling  @arin1030 @bookstantrash @mireillemystique @silvernesta @thatoddgirl777 @angrypotatofairy @azrielsgirl @thalia-2-rose​ 

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- Took me a sold five minutes to spell ‘ecstasy’ in the title)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7  8  9  10

Warnings- Angst

Chapter 11- Ecstasy To Aching 

The heavy ticking of the round faced, analog clock mounted over the bedroom door stirred the silence, drowning the steady beating of her heart and the loudness of Y/n’s murky thoughts. Even in the darkness, with heavy floral drapes blocking out the moonlight and all the lights in the house turned off, a consequence of it being past one in the morning, she could make out every detail of the bedroom. Her bedroom, even if the occasion of her occupying it had recently become scarce. Y/n had decorated the room herself, when she’d just moved in with her Aunt Bev. Her mother had hated that Y/n had chosen to leave, despised the court for giving Roger sole custody and abhorred the fact that in the end, because Y/n certainly couldn’t travel the globe with her father, she’d settled with her ex-sister in law. 

Rolling onto her side, facing the wall opposing the awning window to the left, Y/n couldn’t see it, but she knew for a fact that the lilac wall was peppered with band posters, sentimental pictures and those ridiculous plaques with inspirational quotes strewn in cursive. Sometimes Y/n couldn’t believe that she had been that kind of teenage girl. The kind that was so oblivious to the jaggedness of life that she thought hers could be remedied with some pretty words framed with flowers and hearts. Even then, she should have known better, she’d seen the marriage that she’d idealized fall apart, watch her mother spew venom at people she’d been taught to love and watched her father get in a cab, only to leave for months on end, more times than any little girl should have. But she had hope. Hope that things would be different when she was finally old enough to make it count. Hope that she hadn’t realized would dwindle before she could put it to use. 

Sighing quietly, Y/n shifted again, the rustling of her duvet no match for the persistent clock. It went without saying that sleep had been hard to come by since she’d gone to Santa Clara. She’d gotten in two days ago, and in those two days, a collective ten hours might have been a generous overstatement. It was like Y/n couldn’t turn her mind off, it was always going, usually replaying every moment spent with Keanu, desperately trying to figure it out, find where they were going wrong. But she couldn’t, for the life of her, Y/n just couldn’t. Well, at least, she couldn’t accept it. Accept part of the blame, accept that their way of doing things wasn’t the best, accept that maybe, they really had no place being together.

They hadn’t even spoken since she’d left, and while Y/n had, several times, considered calling him, she’d let the thought pass her by. Or rather, she’d forcefully pushed it away. What if he didn’t want to talk? What if she called and didn’t know what to say. 

She wished he wanted to talk. 

Keanu.

Blinking slowly, Y/n exhaled slowly. It was getting hard to pretend it didn’t hurt most times, but still, she cared for him. She cared too damn much. He was dangerously gorgeous, and his baritone was reminiscent of fine whiskey over rocks. His calloused touch, gliding over her hips, skimming her curves, was incomparable and Keanu’s brazen, quiet charm never failed to draw her in. There was so much about him besides that too, they way he made her heart beat a little faster by just whispering her name, they way his embrace could brighten the darkness and how it felt to kiss him. His taste; tobacco and mint, the way his tongue slid over Y/n’s when his lips fused with hers, it was……..perfect.

Y/n’s breath hiccuped at the realization that finally dawned upon her, and her eyes burned. Even after everything. After she’d realized that they were probably headed down a one way street to gut turning heartbreak; she’s fallen in love with him. 

She loved Keanu.

There, flat on her back, staring blankly at the clear ceiling, Y/n could barely register the quiet tears that escaped the corners of her wide eyes. Loved? When she wasn't even sure if he cared. And then, because she could never really get away from him, even if she was out of town, Y/n’s phone vibrated on the nightstand next to her, illuminating the darkened room.

The ringing seemed to go on forever and Keanu was beginning to think that Y/n had already turned in for the night. Still, he kept the faith, hoping that she’d pick up. He wanted to hear her.  He needed to hear her. It had been going on two days since they’d last spoken as time stretched forward, the gnawing feeling, the sheer insecurity, had only grown. Y/n was miles away, and every minute passed was a minute more of her putting him in the rear view. 

Even if they were a mess before, the moment Y/n had left, Keanu’s affections for her had been reignited with vigor. He couldn’t tell if it was plainly physical or not, but if his unsavory, juvenile actions had been anything to go by, he couldn’t discount the thought. Though, Keanu wouldn’t have gone as far as saying that he didn’t miss other things too; her laugh, the playful way she’d roll her eyes when he told a stupid joke and the warmth that would spread through him when Y/n laid her head on his shoulder. 

“Hello?” The line connected and her voice rang through breathy and soft. If Keanu closed his eyes, with just that one word, he could fuel his fantasy and ease his weary mind, and she was there. 

“Hey,” he whispered, husky and low, sitting up against the headboard, running corrective fingers through disheveled hair, “Did I wake you?”

Keanu could have sworn he caught her sniffing quietly, but Y/n spoke before he could think to ask about it, “No,” she dismissed, and could hear the faint sound of Y/n moving around between the sheets. Maybe he should have gone with her, that might have made things better, right? “I actually couldn’t sleep.”

Moistening his lips, Keanu wondered if it was because of him. If Y/n had been laying in bed, mind running rampant with thoughts of him they way his head with images of her. “Yeah, me too.” He sighed when she didn’t make a move to stir the new bout of silence, not really sure of what he should say next. The mood was confusing, he wasn’t even sure if she actually wanted to talk to him. If she wanted to talk, she might have called. And she hadn’t called, so maybe she didn’t want to talk. After his not so stellar behavior a few days ago though, he couldn’t blame her. And of course, that had just turned into something else they had neglected to address.

“I miss you,” he tested tentatively. It wasn’t a lie, he did miss her, yet still, Keanu was surprised that he’d chosen to admit it. He often thought that it was probably better to guard his feelings, to keep them close so there wasn’t the chance that they could be used against him. He didn’t want to be hurt like that, so instead, by default, he’d hurt her like that.

It took a while, and Keanu could feel the weight descending on his chest, she didn’t feel the same, she wasn’t missing him. Saying that was a mistake. The sirens were about to go off, he was about to shut down their brief conversation, when meekly, as always, she was able to still his quickened breaths, uttering in return, “I miss you too.” 

Clam. 

The sigh of relief that escaped his parted lips caught Keanu off guard and he was immensely relieved that the feeling was shared between them. “What have you been up to?” Y/n, seemingly sensing the impending awkwardness, probed gently.

“Not a lot,” an air of pseudo-nonchalance carried in his tone as Keanu toyed with the tightly stitched hem of his thick, warm, coverlet, the navy strips barely visible by the moonlight filtering in through the pulled curtains, “Just clearing up some things at Arch. I hung out with some friends earlier tonight. But that’s it. What about you, how’s your aunt and Santa Clara?”

“They’re good,” Y/n glazed over everything she’d done since she’d gotten there; how she’d caught up with her aunt over dinner, how they’d gone shopping and everything else. And after that, the ice between them seemed to start thawing and they fell into easier, more comfortable conversation. Two hours had passed, and it was only when the clock at his bedside indicated that it was nearly half three in the morning when Keanu heard Y/n yawn, a soft groan traveling through the line followed by and very sleepy, though absolutely adorable, “I’m tired.”

“I should let you get to sleep then,” Keanu chuckled. He was only just starting to feel the wear of the day past himself, and as it turned out, a lengthy chat with Y/n was just what he needed to loosen the tension in his shoulders.

“Mmm,” Y/n hummed, probably not even completely registering the words leaving her mouth, her mind in too much of a sleep deprived haze to keep up, “But I don’t want to,” she whined playfully. 

Truthfully, Keanu didn’t want her to either, but it was getting closer to four am and he didn’t want Y/n to spend too much of her time back home asleep, missing out on doing things with her aunt, and he was supposed to meet his sister the next morning too. “Well,” he worried on his lips for a moment, thinking some more, “Can we switch to Facetime?” 

Y/n hesitated for a minute, but eventually complied, “Sure,” she giggled, probably wondering where he was going with that. In just minutes, Keanu was looking at her, the image blurred from the darkness, though he could see that her hair was a little messy, less so than his, and she was wearing her pajamas, “What next?”

“Lay down,” he urged, easing on his own pillow and propping his phone on the bare spot next to him, watching intently as Y/n eventually followed suit, using a little stuffed animal and an extra pillow to keep her phone from falling. “Okay,” he sighed giddily when they were both set, “Now we can go to sleep together.” Keanu watched, smiling softly as Y/n dragged her lower lip through her teeth, before reaching over and fiddling with the sheets, “What are you doing?” He chortled, amused as he caught bits of the covers in the frame.

“Tucking you in,” she defended, adjusting the sheets again. Out of instinct, and definitely not by her request, Keanu started doing the same. By then, he didn’t need Y/n to mention something before he started mirroring her habits; chewing on his lip while he thought, circling the rim of his coffee mug with his finger, and now tucking his phone in. “Goodnight Keanu,” she managed between slow, sleepy blinks. 

“Goodnight Y/n,” he hummed, his own eyes heavy and slipping closed as Y/n finally succumbed to sleep, the call still on.

5 days later Coming in through the private terminal, Y/n knew that Keanu had adamant on picking her up, though she hadn’t expected to see him so soon, awaiting her just as she approached the escalator, struggling to carry her luggage. Squealing, she beamed as he pushed off the glass railing, approaching her quickly, only for Y/n to drop her bag and pull him into a tight hug. Through a deep inhale, she breathed his musky scent, reveling in the comfort of his arms. “I missed you,” she breathed into his neck as Keanu briefly lifted her off the floor. 

“I missed you too,” he grinned as he set her down, his hands still maintaining a firm hold on her waist. Just for a minute, Keanu started leaning down, about to kiss her, when he caught himself, realizing that they were already on the receiving end of some inquisitive stares, thinking better of it. Suddenly, the air between them felt clumsy and awkward, like it had before Y/n had left.

So nothing had changed.

Letting go of a nervous, silently pained breath, Y/n pulled away, a little upset when Keanu made no move to keep her to him. “Let me get this for you,” Keanu offered, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and easing her carry on off her shoulder.

“Thanks,” Y/n sighed, letting the space between them build naturally as they walked. The ride down turned out to be as uneventful as she’d expected, though the real drama came when she and Keanu were headed towards the exit. It had started slow and unwelcome, one pushy camera man at the first waiting area they passed, another two joining him as they walked. But eventually, somehow, they had multiplied,  and before long cameras were shuttering and being shoved in their faces, and while most of them just wanted her and Keanu to stop for pictures, some of the shoves came  with invasive questions. 

“Are you two dating?”

“How’s the movie coming along?”

“Are the rumors true?”

“Did you break-up with Luke for Keanu?”

They took it in stride, like two professionals who knew what they were doing, not for a minute entertaining the paparazzi as they bustled towards the automatic doors just up ahead. With everyone surrounding them though, the door seemed almost unreachable, and while Y/n had grown used to being bombarded by nosy paps who’d do anything in the name of the gig, she found it especially unbearable that day, especially since part of Y/n longed for the reassurance that she Keanu wasn’t going to give. If he wouldn’t take her hand on the beach, he certainly wasn’t going to do it when they were surrounded by cameras. 

Her breathing quickened and her heart thumped erratically against her ribs. She didn’t like that, not in the slightest. Even if Keanu was just a foot away, Y/n felt completely alone, as if she were the only receiver of those pushy, invasive questions, while Keanu, as always, looked perfectly unaffected, not uncomfortable in the slightest. Y/n wished that just for once, he could be as bothered as she was, care as much as she did. 

By the time they had left the building, two security guards had escorted them to his car, and it wasn’t until they were safely inside his Porsche, did Keanu lean over the consul in an attempt to kiss her. Y/n wasn’t willing to make it that easy though, he was fine when they were alone but avoided being with six inches of her in public, it couldn’t work like that, she wasn’t something that he could just play with when he was bored. So, instead of letting him near, Y/n pulled away, her head jerking back. “What’s wrong?” Keanu furrowed his brows with real concern. 

“You tell me,” Y/n’s lips pursed, and she stayed like that, huddled against the passenger door, "You're the one acting……"

"Acting like what?" Keanu stood his ground, shifting in his seat to face her properly. Y/n could tell he knew exactly what she was talking about, though wasn't as willing to admit it. 

"Like you don't want people to know about us," she folded her arms across her chest, imposing a physical barrier between them, unwilling to waver as much as Y/n knew Keanu wanted her to. 

"Come on Y/n," he chuckled humorlessly, his tongue quickly darting out to nervously moisten his lips, "You just got back, you really wanna do this now?" 

Y/n thought that Keanu almost sounded exasperated, still though, she pushed, "So I'm right?"

Shaking his head, his ran sticky fingers through his hair, disturbing its wind tousled neatness, "I never said that."

"You never say anything," emphasis lingered in the last word, "And you don't have to either, the way you act when we're out says enough."

When he reached out for her hand, Y/n pulled away, and if it were possible for her to recoil further into her seat, she might have, "Come on babe," Keanu sighed heavily, "You're blowing this out of proportion, you know how people will talk if they find out."

By then, stinging tears had gathered in her eyes, and Y/n knew that he was trying to downplay and dismiss her suspicions, and the worst part? It was working. She knew he was lying, the problem wasn't the press, the problem was him. It was them. But he was never going to want to talk about it. So instead, he'd sell her a lie, one she'd readily swallow if it meant she could keep him. "So you want us to just…….hide?"

"Just for a while," there he went with a another lie, "Maybe when you're older, or when we're in a better place," that time, when Keanu reached out, Y/n begrudgingly let him take her hand, relaxing ever so slightly when his thumb traced her knuckles, "I'm just trying to protect us. Protect you."

She didn't want to believe him, but she loved him. God, she loved him. Knowing full and well that he probably didn't love her back. And because of that she'd take whatever he sold as the truth, for as long as she could. Y/n would forgive the pain he'd cause and ignore the warnings. She'd do a lot, if only it meant that she could prolong the inevitable. 

"Okay," she breathed tearily, feeling the warmth slowly trickle down her cheeks. Reluctant at first, Y/n eventually let her resolve crumble as Keanu reeled her in.

"Come 'ere," he mumbled, Keanu's free hand tangling in her hair and his hold on her wrist loosening. "I missed you," he added quietly, laying his lips on his, in a salty, bittersweet welcome back. In unison, their mouths worked, and Y/n let her eyes slipped closed, tilting her head and cupping his neck. 

As they continued Y/n let the weight of Keanu's untruths sink in, hoping that like everything else, it would lighten as time wore on. 

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​  @danceoftwowolves​

[bitchin-beskar]

Found

Chapter 2: The Offer

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Ahhhhh I’m so so sorry this is so late!!!!!! I was without internet for a couple hours, so I couldn’t post at 2pm. But, better late than never! Here is Chapter 2 of Found!! There will be one more chapter in this story before I move on to the next in the series. I really hope you guys like it!!! Also, I posted a prompt list here, feel free to send in requests! I will be trying to work on any requests in between chapters of this story. 

Cerliah blinked, staring at the towering form of beskar in front of her. His dark, T-shaped visor tilted down at her, and she felt a brief flash, wishing for just a moment, that she could see his eyes, if only to know what in the kriffing hell he was thinking in that moment.

The Mandalorian stood just as still as she, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’d shocked himself with his words. She struggled with what to say, how to even begin to answer his offer, but she didn’t have to. 

“We can bring you back to Markon-Vel after,” he offered. “It’s–It’s the least I can do.” 

Cerliah struggled to keep her expression blank while her mind raced, her hand absentmindedly coming up to brush against the side of her neck where she knew the implant was. Was he really offering–? 

She’d had the transmitter implanted when she was young–too young to really remember much except for the pain–and she’d only been told that if she disobeyed her master, the trigger could make the tiny bomb underneath her skin go off. She’d spent most of her life with the tiny explosive resting just underneath her skin, and in all the time she’d spent with it, she’d never entertained the idea that someone could, or would, willingly deactivate it. 

She looked at the Mandalorian, still standing in front of her, waiting for her to speak. She opened her mouth, despite not knowing what her answer would be, when the little one, still wrapped securely in his guardian’s arma reached for her. 

Eyes wide, she stared at the little baby with his tiny three-fingered hands reaching out towards her. His guardian tilted his head down to look at the baby, but didn’t seem inclined to let him go, until the baby’s big black eyes began to fill with tears, little whimpers working their way out of his little mouth. The Mandalorian quickly straightened his arms, holding the little one out for Cerliah to take, even as she’d begun to stretch her own arms out. 

Stepping forward, she reached out, taking the baby in her arms, her fingers brushing over the Mandalorian’s vambrace as she did so. She pulled him in close to her chest, and the little one tucked his wet cheeks into her neck, his ears laying flat against the exposed skin of her collarbone. His fingers twisted in her dress, and she began to slowly sway to and fro, humming softly as she tried to calm his sobs. 

The Mandalorian watched as the woman in front of him calmed his son with surprising speed, her movements reflexive and unconscious as she cradled him. When his son had reached for the woman, he’d unconsciously tightened his grip, but when the telltale whimpers of an oncoming tantrum began to increase in volume, he’d relinquished his grip to her. 

She seemed to know instinctively how to calm him down, the rocking of her body and the humming coming naturally as she soothed the baby. He watched in awe as his son settled down without fight, his tiny body relaxing in her hands. 

He felt a sharp, stabbing sensation as he realized this wasn’t this woman’s first time calming a child. Seeing the maternal instinct in the woman in front of him brought forth memories of his own mother–faint as they may be.

He could barely remember his mother’s face, but he still dreamed of the sensation of being held in her arms as she’d soothed him in a way only a mother could. Seeing his son experiencing that same comfort he himself could barely remember brought a tightness to his chest. 

“You’re good with him.”

Cerliah looked up almost guiltily at his words. For a brief moment she’d forgotten that he was standing there. Holding the little one in her arms, she’d allowed herself to imagine what it might have been like, holding her own baby in her arms. Would she have been able to calm her baby as easily? With the little one, it was instinctual. Would it have been just as instinctual with her own flesh and blood? 

She went to try and dislodge the child from her chest, trying to pry his fingers off her dress, but the Mandalorian held up a hand to stop her. She stared at him for a moment, before looking down at the child tucked against her bosom. She watched for a moment as the baby nuzzled into her, before making her decision. 

“If–if it’s not too much trouble–” 

The Mandalorian nodded as she spoke, watching as his son seemed to relax even further at her words. Narrowing his eyes–although neither she nor the kid had any way of knowing that–he groaned softly under his breath, too low for the modulator to pick up. He’d have to explain to ad’ika later that the woman wouldn’t be traveling with them for any longer than it took to bring her back to Markon-Vel. It was already cramped on the Razor Crest, and he didn’t need to worry about another mouth to feed, no matter how useful it would be to have someone willing to watch the little womp rat while he was away on jobs. 

“Do you need to grab anything?” 

Cerliah bit her lip in thought. “How far away is your friend?” 

The Mandalorian was silent for a moment, thinking. “We should be back within a standard week.” 

Cerliah nodded. “I’ll grab my things.” She had better luck getting the child to let go this time, and she handed him over to the Mandalorian, turning quickly on her heel and walking back towards her hut. She packed her dresses into her knapsack, grabbing the small medkit she’d purchased in the village, and after only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the small stuffed bantha toy that she’d bought the little one as well. 

She left the small hut, shutting and securing the door behind her as she walked back to where the Mandalorian and the baby were standing, not having moved an inch while she’d been gone. As she approached the duo, the little one caught sight of his stuffed bantha, and immediately began wiggling in his guardians arms, little three-fingered hands clutching desperately at the air as he reached for the toy. She relinquished the toy to his hold, smiling softly as the baby immediately cuddled the stuffed animal close. 

The Mandalorian tilted his head, a silent question, asking if she was ready. Cerliah took a deep breath, glancing back at her hut one last time. 

“We’ll be back in a standard week.”

Nodding, she turned away from her home, gesturing for the Mandalorian to lead the way. He spun on his heel, still cradling the baby, and began his march back towards town. Somewhat surprised at his quick pace, Cerliah walked quickly to catch up, struggling to keep in pace with his long stride. They marched through the village, and although she flushed slightly at the curious stares from villagers, her face otherwise remained impassive. 

She nodded at Katriel, who stood next to Grandmother, watching her leave. Kat had become a fast friend, and Cerliah felt a pang at leaving without saying goodbye, although judging by the look in Kat’s eyes, she understood. The Mandalorian was already doing a lot for her by taking her with him to get the transmitter removed, and she didn’t want to risk his wrath by asking to say goodbye when she’d only be gone a week. 

They left the town behind them as they walked into the woods. After roughly half an hour of walking, Cerliah was just mustering up the courage to ask if they were close to his ship, when it came into view. 

Eyeing the craft, Cerliah took in the carbon blasts that marred the silver panels of the Clone War era gunship. There were scrapes and dents in the hull, and the remnants of what might have once been red paint, but otherwise the ship looked to be in decent condition. As they approached, The Mandalorian pressed a button on his vambrace, and the large ramp began to lower. As they approached the ramp, Cerliah could see the carbon freezer, with empty slots, waiting to be filled. 

A chill ran down her spine as she saw the empty units, and her breathing hitched. Pointedly avoiding looking at the freezer, she took in the rest of the ship. Towards the nose, there was a small cot with crates stacked on top of it, shoved next to an even tinier ‘fresher. There were crates secured against the wall with tactical nets draped over them, and multiple cabinets lined the walls of the ship. Cerliah could only imagine how many weapons were contained on just this ship alone. 

She followed the Mandalorian up the ramp, watching as he stored his rifle in one of the many cabinets before closing the ramp and ascending the ladder next to the cot and ‘fresher. She paused, wondering if she was supposed to wait down in the hull when she heard him speak.

“Come up here.” 

She ascended after the Mandalorian, and as she went to step off the metal bar and on to the upper deck of the ship, the worn sole of her shoe slipped on the smooth metal, and she began to fall. A hand wrapped around her bicep and jerked her forwards with such force that she crashed into the solid form of beskar. Her hands flew to his shoulders, gripping at the fabric just to the sides of his pauldrons. Her body smacked hard into the beskar cuirass, although the Mandalorian didn’t move an inch.

He waited a beat, while she found her footing, and once she let go of him, his hand detached from her bicep. She stepped back slightly, looking down at the metal grates on the floor while the Mandalorian moved to the pilots seat. She looked around the cockpit, and upon seeing the child sitting on one of the two remaining seats, she sat down in the other, just to the left of the Mandalorian, after taking off her knapsack and tucking it next to her. She buckled her belt quietly as he began take-off procedures, and she watched in amusement as the baby kept pushing buttons that the Mandalorian would quickly re-press in order to undo whatever chaos the baby was trying to cause.

After a minute or so of that little game, she reached over and plucked the baby off the seat, pulling him into her lap, holding him so he couldn’t press any buttons. 

“It’s a wonder you ever go anywhere if all you do is cause trouble.” she murmured down at the child, who just looked up at her with an innocent look in his eyes. His ears twitched upwards slightly as she cooed at him, and she stroked the soft skin she found there. She didn’t look up, though if she had, she would have seen the Mandalorian watching her distract the baby. He stared for a minute at the sight, before turning in his seat and continuing to set the course. 

“We’re about to take-off,” was the only warning she got as the ship began to vibrate beneath her feet as it rose in the air. Her hands tightened imperceptibly on the child as the ship rose, rattling and clanking as the engines hummed. She watched through the transparisteel windows in the cockpit as the ship rose above the trees of Markon-Vel, leaving the atmosphere and entering the cold darkness of space. 

Cerliah hadn’t imagined that she’d be back in space so soon after landing on Markon-Vel, but anxieties building in her chest about the upcoming deactivation of her trigger distracted her from those thoughts. She couldn’t help but let her mind race as she wondered what all could go wrong. She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice as the Mandalorian engaged the hyperdrive, although the jolt of the ship entering hyperdrive certainly caught her attention. 

She looked up as the Mandalorian stood from his seat, gesturing for her to follow him. She unbuckled her belt, and grabbing her knapsack with one hand, cradling the baby with the other, she followed him through the door and into the back part of the ship. There was a door off to the right, and a slightly larger ‘fresher to the left, with a shower. Towards the back there was another cot, and floating beside the cot was a small, white, spherical orb. The Mandalorian pressed yet another button on his vambrace, and the orb opened to show that it was a floating crib. 

He stood beside it silently, and Cerliah took the hint, setting the baby down inside the padded interior. She watched as the baby laid down, closing his big, curious eyes, and the Mandalorian closed the crib, allowing him to rest. 

“Here’s where you’ll sleep,” he offered, and Cerliah turned to look at the small bunk. “It’s not much, but you won’t be on the ship for long.” The bunk, while rather small and depressing, was not the worst sleeping arrangement she’d ever had. She’d had masters who preferred their slaves not to have any amenities at all, so she’d grown to appreciate little comforts, no matter how small they may be. She turned to thank the Mandalorian, but he was already walking back towards the cockpit. 

“You should get some rest. We’ll be in hyperspace for a while yet.” He threw out over his shoulder, and Cerliah shrugged. Pulling off her tunic, leaving her in just her chemise, she set her knapsack down and crawled into the small bunk. Tucking herself under the coarse blanket, she fell asleep with surprising speed.

The Mandalorian sat in the pilot’s chair, pointedly not looking towards the back of his ship, where he could hear the woman’s soft breaths as she slept. When she’d almost fallen down the ladder, his hand had shot out on instinct, not wanting her to fall. He’d overestimated his own strength, which had resulted in her entire body pressed tight against his, her hands on his shoulders, dangerously close to his helmet. Strangely though, that wasn’t what he’d focused on when she’d fallen against him. His mind had catalogued how she’d felt against him, her soft curves pressed against the cold ridges of his beskar. He’d been able to feel the heat of her skin, even through the thick leather of his gloves and the heavy canvas of his outfit. He’d waited only until she’d gotten her footing back before stepping away, although it had pained him to do so. 

He told himself it was only because it had been practically years since he’d felt any kind of touch that hadn’t led to pain, aside from a rare few. He ignored the fact that he’d never felt that rush of adrenaline when Omera had stepped a bit too close, or that sense of comfort when he’d felt Cara’s presence at his side. 

He could only stare at the view out the cockpit window for so long, and he eventually found himself rising out of his chair, about to make his way to the lower deck when a soft sound floated towards him from the back of the ship. He paused at the ladder, waiting–for what he wasn’t sure–and when he heard the noise again, he slowly walked back towards the cot, unable to control his movements. 

The woman lay curled on the cot, the canvas blanket clenched in her grasp as she pulled it tighter around her body. It took him a minute to realize she was cold. Before he had time to second guess himself, he spun around and made his way to the door towards the front of the ship. It slid open with a hiss, and he quickly grabbed the blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed–his bed, although he rarely used it–stubbornly ignoring the voice inside his head asking him what the hell he thought he was doing. He moved quietly back to where the woman lay, and he gently arranged the blanket over her body. 

As though with a mind of its own, his gloved hand trailed up her shoulder and across her cheek, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear. He paused, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest before he realized what he was doing, snatching his hand away as though her skin had burned him. 

Chastising himself, he made his way to the lower deck, busying himself with cleaning one of his already pristine blasters. He needed to do something, anything, to keep his mind off the woman asleep above him. 

For Maker’s sake, he didn’t even know her name.

[ai-suru-hito-yo]

Waiting For Someone To Release Me (Pt. 3)

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: Your search for a new job leads you to cross paths with one of your new found friends, who invites you to the next Queen show.

Warnings: none? bad humor, probably bad writing I am exhausted and my brain is fried.

A/N: Part 3. This is a lot of filler and a lot of Roger. I meant to continue this on further until after the show, but she’s already a beast and I got to a point that seems natural to stop at. So the next part will pick up with more actual plot, more John, and a lot more action.

Part 1 Part 2

Sunlight streamed in through the crack in the curtains, washing a small sliver of your bedroom in bright yellow morning light. Even with your eyes closed, your body detected the light boring in on you, pulling you from a deep sleep. You lay there motionless for a few breaths, simply taking in the sounds of the world around you and reflecting.

You had spent the better part of the last two days searching for work to no avail. After it sank in that you no longer had a source of income, you had gone through three different bouts of panic in the span of the weekend, interspersed with frantic searches through newspaper listings and long walks through the city looking for “help wanted” signs in any of the shop windows. Any time you had not dedicated to job searching was spent eating, sleeping, and dreaming of long, soft hair and green-grey eyes.

You knew you had to find a job right away. You had saved a decent sum of money for any desperate times that may come up, but it was not much. Your rent was coming due in a week and your emergency fund would dry up fast.

It was now Monday, the third day since you had been fired from the pub and the third day since that fateful night in which you had met four very charismatic and intriguing young men with whom you had instantly connected.

Unfortunately you had all gone your separate ways that night and you had no idea how to contact any of them. You had their names, and you knew where the block of flats where two of them lived was located, but you had no idea which specific door was theirs. You were not about to go knocking on all the doors or loitering on the front step like some lost puppy or pining schoolgirl, waiting for one of them to show themselves. Instead, you simply kept your head up and looked for any sign of them or their band as you went about your life, hoping fate might bring your paths together again.

Sighing, you threw your threadbare duvet off your body and shivered slightly against the cold air. You sat at the edge of your bed and stretched, your whole body tensing until you heard and felt a satisfying 'pop' in your spine. You shook out your bed head a bit as you tried to wake up a little more, before pulling on your bathrobe and heading to the shower to start your day.

You only had one class today, so you would be spending most of the day on the hunt for employment. You decided you would scope out the area of shops and cafes around Kensington Market today, hoping that your hard searching would finally pay off. It was a bustling area with new shops constantly opening and expanding, and you thought it seemed like as good a place as any to scope out.

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The last ten minutes of your class seemed to be taking 10 hours, at least. You looked up at the clock every few seconds, hoping to see it meet the hour, only to find it had only been a breath or two since you had last looked. You sighed, causing the guy in front of you to turn slightly toward you with a furrowed brow. Have I been doing that a lot? you thought. You decided to busy yourself with quietly packing away your notes, as you were no longer listening to anything the professor said, and avoided eye contact with the other student. Finally came the welcome sound of your professor's farewell accompanied by the sounds of other students shifting about, packing up their things and discussing study groups.

You immediately bolted for the door, eager to get to the bus stop and off to Kensington to start your search immediately. You turned left at the door instead of right, and made you way down the unfamiliar path toward the other side of campus. Other students gave you frustrated looks as you bolted past them, nearly bowling a girl over once you saw the bus stop in sight. The bus had just pulled up, and you hurried even faster, hoping to catch it and avoid waiting 20 minutes for the next one. That's when you saw him.

Standing three back in the line to board the bus, a tall, slender man with waves of shiny, red-brown hair, his rounded nose in perfect profile from where you stood. Your heart skipped a beat. Surely it could not be him?

“John!” you called out, praying he would hear you above the hustle and bustle surrounding you. “John Deacon!”

John's head whipped around, hair flying, searching around him for the source of the voice he had just heard calling for him. You tried to wave to him, but a group of young school children rounded the corner then, too busy talking amongst themselves to see where they were going. They pushed you back out of John's line of vision At that moment, the lady behind him must have said something about holding up the line, for John flashed her an apologetic smile and quickly hopped on the bus.

You finally broke free of the group of children just as the bus drove off again. You sat on the bench at the stop and buried your face in your hands, feeling like could have cried, and were very close to the tears spilling over as you stared between your fingers at the grey pavement below you. You were so close. So close to getting John's attention, so close to being able to see and speak to him again, and he slipped right through your grasp.

You sat at the bus stop and stared at the ground in frustration and defeat until the next bus to Kensington Market stopped in front of you.

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Once you finally made it to Kensington, you put the matter of John and Queen behind you, instead shifting your focus totally on your job search. The first business you spotted upon exiting the bus was a small cafe with a very cliche looking neon sign depicting a steaming cuppa in the wide front window. It looked small and somewhat dingy, but still warm and clean. You were absolutely freezing standing out in the late autumn breeze, so you decided it would surely not hurt to step inside for a coffee and a warm up to help you along your search.

Upon stepping inside, there were two things that caught your attention which made you very happy you had stepped inside. First was the “help wanted” sign hanging from the till. A smile plastered itself to your face, and you waited patiently to place your order.

“Hi! I'll take a drip coffee and an employment application, please,” you said to the barista, who looked momentarily confused by your request.

“Oh, oh! Oh yeah! Just a second,” she turned toward the back room, and shouted, “Hey, Marie, we got a live one!”

“Oh, yeah?,” a loud but upbeat voice answered from somewhere in the depths of the shop. “Well hand over the papers and tell them to take a seat. And the coffee is on the house!”

The barista handed you a sheet of paper from below the register and told you to take a seat wherever you would like. You thanked her before turning toward where you had spotted some empty tables when you arrived. That was when you spotted the second thing that you made you sure you had come to the right place.

Sitting alone at a table for two with a large mug in front of him, mop of blond tresses artfully askew, was none other than Roger Taylor. Your face could have cracked with how wide you smiled, and you hurried over to him, forgetting the paper clutched in your hand.

“Finally!” you said, announcing your presence once you were just a few steps from him. He quickly looked up at you from his magazine, surprised by suddenly being addressed in the middle of the cafe.

“Finally, what?” he asked as a mischievous smile broke out across his features. He folded the corner of his magazine to mark his place, before gesturing to the other seat, offering it to you. You set your coffee down before climbing into the tall stool, never taking your eyes off his sparkling blue ones.

“Finally I was able to track one of you down! We all went our separate ways on Friday after what was probably the most eventful night of my life, and I had no way of contacting any of you!”

“So, you followed me to Kensington?” Roger chided you. You nearly choked on your coffee as you took a sip.

“No, no, not at all! It was a coincidence, I swear,” you tried to backpedal before you noticed Roger was shaking slightly with laughter.

“I was joking, (Y/N)”, he said, reaching for his half empty mug. It was then that you noticed the black and blue marks all over his right hand and yelped.

“Oh my god, Roger! Your hand!” you reached toward it, but realized grabbing his hand might hurt it more so you quickly withdrew it before flattening it on the table next to his magazine. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“What? Oh, that. No. It's just bruised, I promise. Nothing broken or dislocated or anything. It's happened before. Bruised hands kind of come with the territory.” He waved his good hand through the air like he was just brushing away a pesky insect. You could not help but think it looked very painful. The knuckles of Roger's hands were indiscernible beneath the swelling, and the marred black, red, and blue covered his skin from the lower knuckles of his fingers all the way down the back, nearly meeting his wrists. Roger watched you still examining his hand for a moment before he pulled it to his lap and out of your sight.

“It's nothing, I promise. I'm so used to the bruises by now, as a drummer. I power through, they heal until the next time, the cycle starts again.”

“That's different though, Roger. You didn't get those from going a little too hard at rehearsal or showing off at a gig.”

“Really, I promise, it's fine. The ice pack helped a lot. Besides, it needed to be done. That dickhead needed to be taught a lesson, I decided to be his tutor. The satisfaction totally outweighs the pain.”

You looked into Roger's eyes and saw nothing but sincerity and good-natured humor, and so decided to drop the subject for now. Instead, you flashed him a smile before changing the subject.

“So, Mr. Taylor, what brings you all the way to Kensington?”

“Work,” he replied on a sigh, slumping somewhat in his seat.

“Oh?” you asked, intrigued. “Has Queen got another show in the area?”

Roger looked back up at you then, his posture changing into a more open one. “No, nothing like that. It's my day job. Freddie and I run a little stall in the market to supplement our income. We don't quite get enough gigs to um...sustain our lifestyle.”

“Really?” you asked, eager to learn all you could about Roger and his bandmates. You had no clue why you were so curious, but you felt an inexplicable bond to these gents, like they were fated to be part of your life. It had been so long since you had met any new people, your life being almost entirely dedicated to work and school for the last two years. You felt like you had been stuck in a glass cage, able to see and at least partially experience everything happening around you, waiting for something, but you never knew what. Perhaps you were about to find out.

“Yeah, we sell antiques. Clothes and accessories and that sort of thing. Most of it is rubbish that Freddie finds god knows where, but I do pay some attention to trends and that, so we get by.”

You were interested to hear that someone like Roger was so interested in fashion and popular trends. You figured he was the kind of person to do whatever he wanted and dress however he wanted and not care what anyone else thought. The more you looked at him, though, the more you realized he actually looked quite casually stylish, with his dark wash bell-bottom jeans, button up shirt, and purple high-top sneakers. There was also what looked like a patchwork cap sitting next to him on the windowsill along with a pair of sunglasses.

“Well I must admit I never would have guessed that,” you said with a grin.

“What about you? What brings you all the way out here?” Roger asked, leaning over the table toward you.

“Well, thanks to Charlie's lovely behavior and Mike's...overall...Mike-ness I find myself in need of employment. Figured I'd scope out the market today, see if anyone was hiring, and I just so happened to stumble in here and saw a sign. In fact, I'm meant to be waiting for someone named Marie...”

“Oh, yeah, Marie,” Roger said fondly. “She's a riot, you'll like her. She owns the place. Very hands on, she's always here working, does all the baking herself. Crazy but in all the best ways.”

“You seem to know a lot about her, Roger. Is there something going on between you two I should know about?”

“What?!” Roger all but shouted back at you. “No! That's insane! I just come here a lot. I'm a regular, and Marie treats her regulars right, that's all. Nothing going on there.”

“Okay I believe you!” You were laughing heartily now, the panic in Roger's eyes slowly fading to embarrassment. “I'm sorry, I didn't realize how defensive you would get. I wasn't serious.”

“No, I'm sorry,” Roger said quietly. “It's just that...no one knows I come here. None of the guys, anyway. Freddie thinks I spend my lunch either at the pub down the road, or in the music shop round the corner from the stall. I do go to the shop occasionally for more sticks or guitar picks, or if they've got a new album I like. But I mostly spend my time in here.”

“Why?” you ask, wondering what's so wrong with the place that he would lie about his whereabouts.

“They've got the best coffee in the area and the pastries are to die for.”

“No, I mean,” you were laughing again, and Roger smiled, too. “I mean, why don't you tell the guys you come here?”

“Well, partly because I'm sure they'd take the mickey out of me if they knew I liked to sit here listening to smooth jazz, sipping fancy coffee and eating fucking pastries, but mostly its because it's a respite from my day and from them. I love them dearly, both as the band and as my friends, don't get me wrong there. But I need a break from the chaos now and then. It's quiet and calm here, and if I brought them here and if, by chance, they enjoyed it and came back...well...”

“There goes your respite,” you finished for him. “You would lose your solitary place.”

“Exactly,” Roger nodded. You found yourself constantly surprised by Roger as you learned more about him, and as you learned more, you wanted to keep learning more. The two of you spoke a while longer, about school (which he had finished) friends, life, and eventually, Queen. Roger seemed very eager to make a living as a musician, and you found yourself thinking about how entranced you were at their gig just a few days ago. You were certain Roger saw their potential just as you had, and found yourself encouraging his ideas and hopes for the future. You find out during your conversation that Queen would be playing again the following Saturday in Camden.

“You have to come! It's our first show in Camden and we need support!”

“I wouldn't miss it,” you found yourself answering without even thinking about what might happen should you actually land the job you were here waiting for. Speaking of which, you looked at you watch and realized you and roger had been talking for almost 40 minutes. You figured you would have been interrupted by Marie my now, and looked around for any sign of her.

Roger must have caught sight of the time, too, for he suddenly jumped up and started collecting his things.

“Blimey! I've been gone nearly and hour! Bloody hell, Fred's gonna be pissed with me.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry I kept you!” you apologized as Roger threw his coat over his shoulders and jammed his cap and sunglasses on.

“Not your fault love, I lost track. See you Saturday, 8 o'clock?”

“Yes!” you said with an enthusiastic nod. “I'll be there!”

Roger turned and quickly made his way to the counter, just as Marie made an appearance from the back. He quickly said something to her that you could not hear which made her look over his shoulder toward you. Then with a sweep of his coat, Roger was gone.

Marie came bustling over to you then. She was a small woman, probably in her mid to late fifties, with short hair and glasses. She looked very much the mothering type, and you already liked her warm smile.

“Sit down, dear, sit down!” she told you, bringing you a refill on your coffee. “I would have come to speak to you sooner, but I saw you having a grand time with young Mr. Taylor and decided to leave you to it while I finished my batch of cupcakes.”

“Oh goodness, I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long! I'm so sorry!”

“Pish posh! Sometimes what we need in life is to slow down and connect to other people. Now, let's get started here. What is you name, dear?”

You spent the better part of the next hour in conversation with Marie. She was incredibly easy to talk to and in many ways reminded you of your own mother. You were not entirely sure whether this was meant to be an interview or not, but just in case, you were on your best behavior and answered her questions in depth.

As the conversation lulled somewhat, you were just about to ask if this was a job interview when Marie beat you to the punch.

“Well, (Y/N), when can you start? Let's pinpoint a training day and we'll iron out your schedule and details then. Sound good to you?”

“You mean, I'm hired? But I haven't even filled in the application.”

“Oh that's just a formality at this point,” Marie waved her hand toward the paper still lying on the table in front of you. “Of course I'll need one on file so you can bring it back filled in when you come for your first shift. You were hired the moment Mr. Taylor stopped to commend you so highly.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped. “I'm sorry, he what?”

“He stopped on the way out and told me you were my absolute best option, and that I might as well stop looking now. Maybe it's crazy, but I trust him, and this conversation has only cemented in my mind that he was right.”

Suddenly Saturday could not come soon enough.

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It was Saturday afternoon and you were certain it had come entirely too soon.

You stood in front of your wardrobe, staring at every last piece of clothing jammed into it and realizing quite belatedly that you had nothing to wear. You flatmate was out at the moment, so you had no one to call to for aid, no one else's closet to raid (you refused to touch Sarah's without her permission) and you were on the verge of giving up and staying home when you heard the door open and close followed by the sound of keys being rather forcefully placed on table beside it. Throwing on an oversized t-shirt, you wandered back into the main area of the flat, which served as open kitchen and living room.

“You're home early,” you told Sarah, watching as she struggled to remove her scarf from her red hair, static from the dry winter air causing it to cling everywhere.

“Study group was canceled. Apparently no one thought to inform me that Marcus and James are both sick and Beth got called into work, leaving just me and Allen,” she finally ripped the scarf free and you moved forward to take it from her as her cold, numb fingers started to work on the buttons of her coat. “Obviously that made meeting tonight pointless, but I had to walk half a mile in the snow before finding our rendezvous spot empty. Luckily I had change for the payphone. Anyway, what are you doing? I thought you were going out tonight to see that band?”

“I can't,” you sighed. “I have nothing to wear!”

Sarah pursed her lips at you, thinking for a moment. “That's not true. What about the crop top you bought just a couple weeks ago? Or that romper you wore to Tina's party? You looked great in that!” You suddenly found yourself being pulled back into your bedroom as Sarah rummaged through your clothing.

“Aha!” she shouted in triumph before pulling out a slinky, silky dark blue piece of cloth that flowed loose and light from the hanger it was on.

“I don't know,” you said, chewing at your thumbnail. “You don't think it would be a bit much?”

“Are you serious, (Y/N)? No, it's not too much! Its fashionable, it's sexy, it's a head-turner without being too revealing. I think it'll be perfect. Come on, I have the perfect shoes and earrings to go with it. I'll do your make-up, too!”

Twenty minutes later, you were dressed, bejeweled, and just putting the finishing touches on your long, sleek hair as Sarah watched in the mirror from beside you.

“You look foxy, (Y/N)! Perfect for a rock show! Ooh, wait! Mascara!!” she said, turning toward you with the little black tube, ready to attack your eyeslashes.

“Um, I think I can do this bit myself, thanks,” you chuckled and took the tube from her, quickly swiping a single coat onto each eye, before standing back and admiring the overall look. You had to admit, with the help of Sarah's earrings and makeup skills, you were quite pleased with what you saw. Taking a final deep breath, you decided you were ready and made your way to where your coat hung on the back of a kitchen chair.

“You sure you don't wanna come with me, Sarah?” you asked her one last time.

“Nah, I'm exhausted, and it's freezing out there. You go have your fun.”

You gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door and into the waiting cab.

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Upon arriving at the venue in Camden, a small banquet and concert hall that could probably hold a crowd of around 200, your nerves caught up with you again. You hadn't seen any of them since your conversation at Marie's with Roger and your near run-in with John that same day. You were sure Freddie would be happy to see you, and Brian was a nice bloke, but after the strange conversation with John on the way home, you were still a little unsure about seeing him again.

When you entered the venue, you realized you were quite early, as the band still seemed to be running a sound check on the small stage at the front of the hall. You checked your watch, it was 7:56 and Roger had definitely told you to come at 8, you were sure of it. You started toward the stage when I tall man dressed in all black stopped you.

“I'm sorry, miss, but the venue doesn't open until 8:30, you'll have to wait outside, or come back later.”

“I-I'm sorry,” you said to the man, feeling totally out of your element now. “I was invited by the band, they told me to come at 8?” You didn't mean for it to sound like a question, but the man did not seem to notice as recognition flitted across his face.

“What's your name, miss?”

“Um, it's (Y/N).”

“Ah. Sorry about that, I forgot Rog had mentioned someone might be showing up early. Right this way. You can wait in the back for the goys to be done with sound check.”

Your mind was whirling with what the man had just said. The crew had been told you would be coming? And now you were being escorted backstage. You decided to just go along with it, excited to see your friends play another great show. The wait only lasted about 5 minutes before you heard bickering coming down the hallway.

“...am not playing it to fast, you were going so slow!”

“I was not, Roger, I played it exactly as it is on the record,” that soft voice had to be Brian's.

“Tell him, Fred. Tell him he was playing to slow! You always do this, like I've never-”

“Children, please! Let's wait until after the show to kill each other, hmmm?”

The door opened just then and Brian stumbled in, closely followed by Freddie, Roger, and John bringing up the rear.

“Oh, hello (Y/N), how are you?” Brian asked once he noticed they had company.

“Alright, you?”

“Alright, at least as well as can be with these idi-”

“(Y/N), darling, how are you?” Freddie interrupted whatever grumpy tirade Brian was about to embark on, rushing over to kiss both your cheeks.

“Doing fine, Freddie, thank you,” you answered him, before turning your attention to the other two in the room. John and Roger were both watching you quietly. This seemed perfectly in character for John, but Roger's silence concerned you somewhat. He blinked a few times, however, and seemed to snap out of it.

“You found the place, I see! Lovely to see you again!” Roger crossed the room to a chair piled with clothes you assumed were his and sat down.

John, however, hovered nervously by the door. You crossed the room and stood in front of him.

“Hi,” he said quietly, a small smile forming on his lips.

“Hi to you,” you answered, catching his eye. “I saw you the other day, you know.”

“Me? Where?”

“Yes, you. Monday morning, you were boarding the bus. I called your name but then got lost in the crowd.”

He laughed. “So I was actually hearing that! I didn't imagine it!”

You laughed, too. “You didn't imagine it.” You just smiled at each other for a moment before he offered you a seat and a drink. You accepted, and John made for the small table set up as a mini-bar in the corner of the room. You took a seat on the unoccupied couch, removing your coat before doing so. You were so pre-occupied with straightening out your outfit and neatly folding up your coat to drape over the couch that you failed to notice what was happening around you.

John had glanced up just as you set your coat aside, catching your look for the evening in full view. He fumbled with the tumbler of gin he was holding, causing the alcohol to splash over and onto his sleeve. John cursed quietly, which caused Brian to look up. He then looked around for the source of John's distraction, and upon seeing you himself, actually did a double take.

On the other side of the room, Freddie was talking animatedly to Roger, who was ignoring him entirely. Instead, he had decided to stare openly at you from over Freddie's shoulder, and his mouth actually dropped open. He looked behind him to see what Roger was staring at, and in the process caught Brian's eye. The two of them gave each other a knowing smirk and went back to their own individual activities, leaving their rhythm section to pine like a couple of school boys.

Taglist:

@itsametaphorbriansblog​ @queendeakyy​ @reavenedges-lies​

[barefoot-joker]

Yandere!Jeremiah Valeska X Reader One Shot Pt 7 (Pt 4)

Hey, guys! Welcome back to another installment of Yandere!Jeremiah! I’m going to be honest this is probably the longest part of the series and is the second to last part. :( As per usual feedback is appreciated and I will see you all in the epilogue!

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182328341418/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182409053588/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-2

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/182862984808/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-3

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183226748438/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-4

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183462856853/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-5

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/183601483818/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-6

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184215467078/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184513626468/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/184712916978/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot-pt-7

https://barefoot-joker.tumblr.com/post/186623351048/yanderejeremiah-valeska-x-reader-one-shot

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Beep.

  Beep.

     Beep.

         Silence.

I quietly rolled over in my shared bed at Wayne Manor. Beside me the space was empty and the sheets were made neatly. I ran my fingers over it and gained goosebumps from the coolness of the fabric, it reminding me of the absence of Bruce’s presence. I sighed and decided to get up. I pulled the covers off my body, swung my legs over the side and stood. Going to the closet I grabbed a pastel purple tunic top and black leggings before pulling of my pj’s and putting them on. Folding my nightgown I laid it on the end of the bed and proceeded past the full length mirror, my body pausing. Looking into the glass I allowed my hand to run over my now flat stomach, my eyes closing upon remembering the sad memory.

{Flashback}

I blinked rapidly as sweat donned my forehead and my heart sped up, the pain in my stomach unbearable. I let out a scream as I gripped the white gurney sheet tightly, hospital lights zooming by as I was rushed into a wide room full of beds. Lee came to my side and raised me up, a shriek ripping from throat. “Try to relax, Y/n. This is going to be painful but I fear the baby is coming.”

The baby coming...now?! “It’s too early! Lee, it can’t be coming!”

I grit my teeth and tugged on the sheet, the pain too much. “I’m going to get you through this, Y/n!”

She lifted my dress up and I grew fearful when I saw bright red blood on the white cloth. Lee noticed it but she passed over and lifted my legs into position, quickly putting on latex gloves. “Alright, Y/n. When I tell you you’re going to push, alright?”

“W-wait! What about Bruce?”

“He’s with Alfred and Jim. Now, push!”

I obeyed and cried out, my head pounding. “Push!”

“I-I can’t! L-Lee, it hurts t-too much!”

“I know, Y/n. But you need to pull through.”

I nodded and pushed, my scream echoing off the walls. “You’re doing great, Y/n!”

Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I pushed yet again, my grip on the sheets turning my knuckles white. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a group of nurses and another gurney, my eyes widening when I realized it was Jeremiah. “What is he doing in here?”

“Doctor Tompkins, there was no other room! They were all occupied!”

She sighed. “Leave him here then.”

The nurses nodded and began hooking him up, Lee turning back to me. My process went on for about an hour, my body sore and exhausted as I lay sweaty. Lee had gone to clean up the baby and I couldn’t help but look over at Jeremiah. His eyes were closed and most of his skin was wrapped in gauze, some blood seeping through. From the skin that was visible it took on an icky green gray color and was swelled. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I peered out the window when shoes clicking the tile reached my ears. I whipped my head to see Lee, a sullen look on her face. “Lee, what is it?”

She didn’t reply right away but sat herself on the end of my bed, her hand caressing my leg. “I’m sorry Y/n, but the baby didn’t make it.”

My eyes widened. “W-what?”

“Something must have happened that caused internal damage and the fetus died.”

“B-but nothing had-”

I stopped myself. It was then I remembered the punch. The blow that came from Jeremiah’s fist at Ace Chemicals before he fell in. The force must have done the internal damage. I could feel the tears come to the edge of my eyes and even though the child had a terrible father I would have loved and cared for it. My lip trembled as the tears flooded from their prison, my heart breaking. A sob left my throat as I curled into a ball, Lee looking very concerned. “Y/n, you’re free now.”

“Y-yes but that c-child could have been J-Jeremiah’s salvation-n!”

I allowed the tears to fall.

That day was when the last of Jeremiah Valeska’s sanity and humanity died.

{End of Flashback}

Reopening my eyes I walked away from the mirror and to the vanity, my fingers opening a wooden jewelry box. Inside was a golden necklace chain with a ring attached. I smiled and picked it up before clipping it around my neck. The piece of jewelry was important to me as it was my engagement ring from Bruce.

{Flashback}

“Bruce, why do you have to leave?”

“I need to learn to protect you and the city of Gotham, Y/n. I can’t have you get hurt anymore.”

“Then let Alfred and I come with!”

“I need to do this by myself.”

“When will we see you again?”

“I’m not sure but I promise to write a letter every week to keep you two informed.”

I watched with saddened eyes as he bent down and pulled something out of his suitcase, the object glimmering in the airport lights. Bruce unhooked the object and placed it around my neck before clipping it back into place and it was only then I realized there was a ring. “Bruce-”

“Consider it our engagement ring. When I return one of the first things I’ll do is marry you and get rid of that villain’s last name.”

Excited I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Oh, Bruce!”

“I have to go now. Alfred and Jim will take care of you while I’m away.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I will too but it’s for the best. I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too.”

With that we gave each other one last kiss before Bruce picked up his suitcase and got into an airplane, us waving at each other as he flew off.

{End of Flashback}

That was 10 years ago. 10 years of waiting and seeing Gotham being rebuilt with the help of Alfred and myself through Bruce’s orders. The years were hard on the both of us, the only communication from our dear friend a letter every week.

Taking the ring in my fingers I smiled, today being different. Today Bruce was coming home for the first time and we would be attending the opening of Wayne Tower, perhaps even declaring our engagement in front of our friends. “Miss Y/n, there’s someone on the telephone for you!”

“Coming, Alfred!”

I rushed downstairs and met the butler in the study, the phone sitting on Bruce’s desk. “I believe it’s an update on Mr. Valeska.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

He nodded and left, wanting to give me some privacy. Ever since Jeremiah woke up from his coma he’s been in Arkham Asylum, I putting him there as I kept my promise of helping him. Picking up the phone I put it to my ear and responded. “Is this Miss Y/n Valeska?”

I cringed. After Bruce had rescued me I declared my original last name as the only one I had, erasing the fact that I had been married to Jeremiah. “This is she.”

“This is Doctor Johnson at Arkham. I was wondering if you could come.”

“If it’s to see Jeremiah than you can count me out.”

“Please, Miss Y/n! There’s something wrong with him and we thought that-”

“Mr. Pennyworth and Detective Gordon strictly told you I am not allowed anywhere near him.”

“I-I know but this is an emergency!”

I sighed. “I’m sorry but that man has caused me enough trouble in my life. Goodbye now.”

“Miss Y/n-”

I slammed the phone down on the receiver, not wanting to talk. The Arkham staff had been told the day Jeremiah entered that I was not allowed near him, that he could come for me at any time. However the doctors still tried to get me to come when they updated me. I shook my head and walked into the main entrance way to put on my coat and black boots. “Where are you headed off to, Miss Y/n?”

“I’m just making sure everything is ready for Bruce tonight. I don’t want him to have to worry about a thing.”

“I understand. What time should I be expecting you back?”

“Around 6:00.”

“I will have your outfit set out by then.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

With that I opened the front door and walked out. My list of errands was pretty extensive so I hustled my pace a bit, eager to get them done.

The rest of the day was spent checking up on Wayne Tower and making sure everything was in order before returning back to the Manor exactly at 6. Upon arriving Alfred and I greeted each other before we each got dressed in our formal attire: Alfred in a sharp tuxedo and I in a light blue dress with pastel blue lace overlaying. Just as I was putting on my heels the phone rang. Picking it up I said, “Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me.”

I gasped. On the other end was a voice I hadn’t heard in so long. “Bruce! Oh my god! It’s really you!”

“Listen I won’t be able to make it to the opening tonight. I had some business come up.”

“Bruce-”

“Alfred already has instructions to read off his speech and I want you to just have fun. I should be back to the Manor later to see you both. I love you, Y/n.”

“Bruce, wait-”

The line went dead. Silently I set the phone down and sighed. 10 years later and Bruce already has business here in Gotham?

I just shook my head and finished getting ready, Alfred and I leaving a few minutes later. On the ride over the two of us talked about the first things we would do with Bruce and how exciting it was to get him back.

DING! DONG! DING! DONG!

The newly built clock tower struck 9:00 when Alfred and I arrived at Wayne Tower, guests already there. The two of us mingled with some of the guests for a little bit, I hanging out with Barbara. “Y/n, somebody was wanting to come to just see you tonight.”

I quirked a brow when suddenly a young girl ran up and hugged me. “Y/n!”

“Barbara Lee!”

I smiled and hugged her. Barbara knew of my unborn child and thought that watching over her little one would suffice. It did to say the least, I officially being named the girl’s godmother. “I tried to get her to stay behind but she was just so excited to see you.”

“I see. Well how about we talk and catch up.”

“I’d love to!”

I chuckled and led the young Barbara to one of the black leather sofas near one of the many large windows. We sat and began to talk, the two of us laughing at small happenings and amazed by each other’s adventures. Just as she was telling me about this time at school Jim ran in, immediately talking to Lee. The two began leading people out frantically, the only ones left being Alfred, Lee, Barbara, Jim, Lucius, Barbara Lee and myself. The young child looked confused but knowing the situation was bad I kept talking to her, trying to keep her calm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucius lift off the clock tower model out of the display, some kind of machinery underneath. “Y/n, what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure but tell me about that story, Barbara Lee. I’m dying to hear it.”

“O-okay.”

As she told me her tale I watched Lee and Lucius, her cutting wires. Oh my god. Who put a bomb in here?!

A few moments later the group all gave out sighs of relief and chatted among themselves, Jim suddenly coming over. “Daddy, what’s wrong?”

“Honey, you and Y/n are going to go with your mother for a little bit, okay.”

“Jim, w-what’s going on?”

“Everything’s fine. Barbara is just going to escort you home.”

“What about Alfred?”

“He’ll be fine. But please Y/n, just go.”

I gave solemn nod and followed the two Barbaras, the three of us hopping into a car. We drove off and I just became more confused when we stopped in front of the Siren’s Club. Barbara ushered us out without a word and into her old clubhouse, the three of us heading into her old office. “Something happened tonight, didn’t it Momma.”

“Yes but it all worked out.”

“Then why are we at your old club?”

“Mommy just had to get something.”

She opened a drawer in her desk and I couldn’t help but widen my eyes when she pulled out a gun. I was about to say something when suddenly the lights behind us turned on and loud music blared. I looked to my friend, who in turn shushed us. “Stay here. Both of you.”

She went forward and pulled back the curtain, my ears picking up on a conversation between two familiar voices. “I need to check on Momma.”

“Barbara Lee, no!”

I tried to grab her and pull her back but I was too late. I heard the young girl growl, a gunshot and a scream, my stomach dropping. “Y/n dearest, come out, come out, wherever you are!~”

I froze. That voice, so familiar yet different than I remember. “I know you’re here so there’s no point in hiding, darling.~”

I swallowed but didn’t move.

BANG!

“The next shot goes into little Barbara’s head. I suggest you come out, honey.”

“LET ME GO!”

Slowly I walked forwards and stopped before the curtain, preparing myself. “You know how shaky my trigger finger is, Y/n.”

Releasing all my air I closed my eyes and slid the curtain open, my body trembling. “There you are, darling.~”

I opened my eyes only for them to widen at the sight before me. Lee had told me my husband was going to look different due to his chemical accident but he was much more horrific now. His skin was clown white as if he had put on makeup and scars from the acid made intricate drawings all over his face. His once smooth green hair now lay in several crisp strands and his eyes had lost their bright blue haze, it just dulled down. His chin seemed to appear swollen but it just made his bright red painted on smile much more menacing. “Well, well, well. You must have been expecting me. You’re wearing my favorite color on you.~”

His raspy voice sent chills down my spine but I replied with, “I want you to leave.”

“Leave? I just got here.”

“I’m giving you the chance to run out of my life.”

“And why would I do that? You are mine and I am yours. We agreed to that when we wed.”

“Jeremiah, leave now or I will call for the GCPD.”

“Tsk. Since when did you give orders? I guess I’ll just have to kick start your memory.”

“Huh?”

BANG!

I tensed when a bullet zoomed past me, it grazing the flesh lightly. “There we go.”

“W-what do you want?”

“You of course! I didn’t escape Arkham for the fun of it.”

“You know I’ll never go willingly.”

“That’s why I have backup.”

I cringed when he shot Barbara in the knee, her falling to the black floor as Ecco laughed. He connected the gun to little Barbara’s temple, the young girl squirming in his grip. “Come with me willingly and nothing happens to the girl.”

I gulped and clenched/unclenched my fist. “You know Boss would do it, puddin. Just come with us.”

“If I do you won’t hurt anymore innocent people?”

“Promise.”

I knew that this was a mistake but there was no way all three of us girls were getting out alive with the lion in the room. “Y/n, don’t hurt yourself like this!”

Ecco growled and sent a kick into the ginger’s side, her grunting on the floor. “Let Barbara Lee go first.”

“And why would I do that, hmm?”

“You want me to go with? You let her go.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed her away, the young girl crying as she hit the ground. Jeremiah lifted his arms and smiled, his grin unnerving. “Come to Daddy.~”

I bit my lip in disgust but walked towards him anyway. I tensed when his arms wrapped me and his nose dug into my hair, his burned skin tickling my cheek. “Boss, the police will be here any minute if we don’t hurry up!”

“Then we’ll just have to create a distraction, won’t we?”

I screamed as he fired his gun, my ears ringing from the close contact. “D-Daddy?”

I put a hand to my lips as I saw blood ooze out of Ecco’s mouth, the shock and betrayal still evident in her eyes as she fell to the ground beside Barbara. “She was starting to annoy me.”

My eyes flickered up to Jeremiah as his golden leather glove wrapped around my wrist and tugged me along, I stopping when Barbara Lee attached herself to me. “Y/n, please don’t go! H-he’ll hurt you!”

“I’ll be fine, honey. Just tend to your mother.”

Jeremiah quickly tugged on my arm to get me away, both Barbara's screaming for me to come back. I felt a few tears fall down my cheeks but I knew I had to put on a brave face for all of my friends. The demon suddenly stopped and opened a car door before thrusting me in, him getting inside and driving rapidly. “Where are we going?”

“The place I was reborn and where you will be too.”

I looked at him confused. What did he mean by that?

I gripped the car handle as we sped around corners, finally slamming to a stop. My eyes widened when I was pulled out, the stench of chemicals wafted into my nose. I tried to turn back to the car but Jeremiah tugged me along harshly, my heart beating fast as I knew where we were. The rusty door slammed open and I was guided to that dreadful bridge, the gap where Jeremiah fell through still there. The same neon green acid bubbled beneath us as we gazed at it, the liquid inviting us to jump in. “Why are you doing this?”

“Before my incident I was enraged with Bruce for him taking you away from me. I had done all I could to connect us and yet he was the one you cared for the most. It was then while in Arkham I devised a plan. Perhaps if you became like me then Bruce would leave you alone and I could have you all my own, my sweet little wife.”

His gloved hand brushed against my cheek and I couldn’t help but be disturbed by the insanity in his eyes. “Jeremiah.”

I placed my hands on his purple striped shirt, his hands wrapping around my wrists gently. “It’s alright, darling. It stings for a bit but I can assure you the pain is worth the outcome. And afterwards we can go home to our child and be one big happy family!”

I took in a gulp of air. Of course Jeremiah didn’t know about my miscarriage as he was still in his coma when it happened. Suddenly his arms lifted me into a bridal style position, my hands gripping his sparkly green suit jacket. Bringing me closer to the same spot he fell in Jeremiah smiled and gave me a kiss. “Don’t worry. You can look up at me to make you feel better. That’s what I did during my rebirth.”

Slowly he inched closer to the edge, my heels sliding off my feet and plopping into the acid below. “Jeremiah, please! Don’t do this!”

“It’ll be alright, dearest. See you after your swim.”

With that he pulled his arms away.

I felt my stomach twist and heart leap into my throat as a scream ripped through the silence.

My hair flew up around me as I lifted my arms to try and grab something.

Why does this feel much faster than before?

I felt a searing pain on my left elbow/upper arm, right foot past my ankle and upper back when I was once again falling, just this time into the air. I gripped the black figure tightly and cringed when bullets zoomed past us. “LET HER GO!”

“I’ve got you, Y/n.”

My eyes widened upon recognizing the voice, even if it did have a tuner to make it sound different. The man set me down on the bridge and shot up into the banisters, Jeremiah shooting at him. Suddenly a whirring noise came from up above and I gasped at seeing the clown’s gun fly from his hand, him cradling it as a bat shaped object protruded through both sides. Jeremiah began to cackle and I took the opportunity to grab his weapon, my hands shaking as I had never held one before. “Y/n honey, give me back my gun. I need to protect you.”

Quickly I raised the weapon up and held my finger over the trigger. “N-no! You’ve hurt me so many times! Y-you’ve kidnapped me, killed Selina, hurt my friends and other innocent people! You’ve even married me and gotten me pregnant! And you don’t even realize how much damage you’ve done, you, y-you psycho!”

My thumb pulled back the safety pin, the click ringing in my ears. Jeremiah’s grin faltered and he made a move towards me. “I should have done this a long time ago.”

BANG!

Jeremiah looked down at his chest to see blood pooling around his gold tie, his lips twitching into a grin. “Heh. Good one, love.”

                                          And that’s when he dropped.

My hand loosened on the gun and it fell to the metal bridge below, a sob overtaking me. What have I done?

Arms wrapped around my waist and held me close to a hard chest but all I could do was cry. “It’s over, Y/n. You’re free now.”

Yes. I was free.

Police sirens rang in my ears and before I knew it my dark knight fled and I was in Jim’s embrace, him sending me over to Lee’s hospital for treatment of my wounds. The rest of my night was spent laying in a hospital bed with gauze wrapped around my injured skin, a shallow feeling in my heart.

That night I had lost a friend.

     That night I had gained my freedom back.

            That night the chains came off, dropping to the ground.

                                   That night I became my own person.

[sailor-slam-dunk]

AU Ficlet Collection

Tagged: @noamsariya​, @kiwi-buzzkill​, @bastardnev​ [if you would like to be tagged in future fic uploads, please send me a message!]

Chapter 2: Vampire AU

Fandom: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Blood/gore, 18+

Relationships: Ariya Daivari/Noam Dar

Additional Tags: Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood and Gore, does this count as, Blood Kink, ? maybe, Dry Humping, Vampire Turning, Happy Halloweeeeeen [belated]

Word Count: 5,350

Chapter Summary: A young man becomes ensnared by a mysterious stranger.

[ao3 link] [text below cut] 

18+ ONLY

How did this happen?

Noam stares down from the hilltop, the highest point of the cemetery. Tombstones cascade down to the base as if they’ve sprung from his own feet. The mare is calm even as Noam anxiously tugs her dark mane. No one has been buried in this plot of land for more than 15 years. No one has even come to this church to worship.

But the village prays tonight. Noam knows this, and that all their piety rests upon what he should discover out here.

There is fear that one of these long dead has risen.

A local man was found killed early one morning, laying facedown in his field with one hand still on the plow. In his neck, a wide gash, purple with congealed blood. Ice crystals formed along inside his exposed flesh—a murder done in the cold of an October night.

The coroner either could not explain it or didn’t care to. Nothing was said, yet, amongst villagers, except that this must have been the work of that damn rabid dog suspected to be lingering in the forest. But somehow they already knew. The farmer’s corpse was buried upside down, millet and wild rice strewn over his grave.

It was not until the next murder—some local drunk butchered in much the same way not fifteen meters from the bar—that the fear was spoken in low tones, the suspicion hard to ignore. A wax angel was affixed to the headstone of his grave. Around the village, bibles were carried in back pockets. After all, it was was whispered by old matrons over afternoon tea, you never knew when the demon would crawl up behind you.

At last came the third death, a scullery maid lying on the steps of her home flat on her face—a river of blood trailing down her neck. A sturdy man from town that went by the name of McIntyre came to check upon it himself. The onlookers gathered closely as though it were a medical lecture. They watched as he drew his hand down to lid her pale eyes, and turned up to face them. He stated its name plainly:

“Vampire.”

And it was McIntyre who directed the entire affair, calling all men and their sons into the back of the carpenter’s shop to meet. He didn’t hesitate as he stood before them and asked the stinging question.

“Who here is a virgin?”

It took a moment for Noam’s hand to rise, blood rushing to his face. But sitting in that room full of old men and too-young boys, it was all too obvious who it had to be. Thus the decision was made.

Noam was thrust upon a horse, her coat as deeply black as the sky at that time of night—nearly midnight, just before the start of the Sabbath. The Devil would be weaker then, they told him, as if it would offer some comfort. The village presented him with a number of gifts: a string of garlic; a corncob whittled quite crudely into something resembling a cross; a branch of hawthorn for one hand and a wild rose for the other. McIntyre came up to Noam last, presenting him with a sharp stake of aspen.

“Kill it when you see it,” was all he said.

And Noam was sent off into the graveyards, hardly certain of what he was looking for.

By now, he presumes, the last hour has come, the moon hanging in the sky like a berry from a branch, dead white and drained of its juices. The night is black, so deeply that Noam can barely see even the horse beneath him as they travel amongst tombstones—if there is anything Noam has actually discovered during this mission, it’s that this village seems to have more of the dead than the living in it.

Noam pauses to throw a handful of mustard and crushed garlic onto the ground, just as he’s been monotonously doing all night. Garlic in his pockets, an aspen stake slid into his belt. He can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at—something. He pauses to wonder what. What was he expecting if he had come face-to-face with...?

Noam suddenly laughs to himself about the entire notion, of getting so caught up even for a moment in the hysteria. A vampire—how little it took for forgotten superstitions to return.

And yet, Noam’s grip remains tight on the mane of the horse as she trots slowly over the hill. He wonders at the thrill of his own heart, the blood rushing through his veins. He knows that there is nothing to be anxious about. And yet the feeling persists, and the more he thinks about it the more he can somehow trace his blood racing through his body, and...

Noam shouts with exasperation and hops off the horse, pacing in a circle. After a moment, he tries to shoo away her with a wave of his hand.

“Alright, bastard, off with you.”

The mare doesn’t budge. She stares off into the distance, hooves digging at the dirt. She sees something, and she, too, is frightened. Noam feels his own heart beat faster just watching her, so he swats at her rear and says, tersely, “I said git, you old nag...”

But the mare won’t move, eyes transfixed. Noam follows her gaze and falls upon a tombstone just ahead of them on the hill. It’s ancient, markedly more deteriorated than all surrounding graves, a chipped and crumbling model of a small obelisk. The name inscribed upon the base is long-faded and impossible to read.

The mare makes a sound that Noam has heard no animal make before, nearly a shriek. She rears back at the night sky, and Noam realizes that she is about to charge. His feet freeze to the ground.

For that moment, he’s certain that he’ll be joining the other bodies below—when, suddenly, he feels hands on his shoulders pulling him away. Noam stumbles backward just in time. The wind rushes past him as the horse flees, hooves striking the earth so loudly it’s as if she’s cracking it to the core.

Noam trembles as he watches the horse run down the hill and out of the gate, getting lost in the black forest below. He’s so frightened by the encounter, he doesn’t even notice the presence behind him until he suddenly hears it speak.

“God!” It exclaims, “are you alright?”

Noam jolts, still shaking from the shock, but turns his head.

The man he sees behind him is immediately disarming. He’s slender, just a bit taller than Noam himself, adorned in a golden chain and a silk shirt. His face is handsome with a regal nose, a dark beard and head of gently curled hair—yet there’s a strangeness to the ashen, plain color of his skin and even his lips.

But his eyes—his eyes, deep amber, are what’s most arresting. Noam flinches instinctively at the sight of them.

“Fine—” he gasps, and suddenly becomes aware that he’s out of breath, “I’m fine.”

The strange man’s pale lips turn up with a smile, oddly restrained. His eyes maintain a warm quality that doesn’t quite put Noam at ease, but at least lets his heart rate subside enough to speak. “Who are you? What are you doing out here?”

The man smiles again, showing just a bit of his teeth. “My name is Ariya Daivari. I was just out for a walk.”

Noam’s expression quirks. The name is unusual, downright exotic for these parts—but then again, probably fitting for the man before him. He feels even more keenly aware of the blood pulsing in his veins, and takes a slight step backward.

“You’ve had quite a fright, mister…” Ariya says, taking the same step forward that Noam took back, closing the distance.

Noam trembles as he comes closer, but swallows and responds, “Noam. N-Noam Dar.” Ariya nods.

“You really shouldn’t be out this late at night, Noam…”

Noam bristles, his spine going rigid. “Oh yeah? You’re out for a stroll, why can’t I be out too?”

Ariya lifts a hand to his lips, half-heartedly attempting to conceal a laugh. “You’re a bit young to be out here on your own, aren’t you?”

The blood rushes to Noam’s face. He clenches the branches of hawthorn and rose until they snap, falling to the ground.

“You—you—” Noam huffs and stammers, trembling with a flustered rage. “Wh—you—what’re you trying to say? I’m not a man? Is that it?”

Ariya doesn’t even look Noam in the face as he speaks. He kneels down to the grass, picking up the broken wild rose and sniffing the bloom at its tip.

“Are you a man?” He asks, tucking the rose gently into the breast of his shirt.

“I...” Noam swallows, then scoffs and turns away. “I shouldn’t have to tell you anything. I don’t want to waste my time with you.”

Ariya’s eyebrows rise curiously. “Busy?”

“Yup.”

“With what, might I ask?”

Noam’s lips flatten out into a straight line. “Mind your own business.”

The man’s eyes glisten with amusement. “Now, give me some credit,” he chides, “I can tell you’re clearly up to something.”

Noam feels his heartbeat grow erratic for reasons he can’t even begin to understand. It’s as if his body is reacting to a distress that his mind cannot see.

“You really should relax, young man...” Ariya says, voice oddly soothing. The words send a shiver throughout Noam’s body. For a moment he almost forgets what he’s talking about.

“W-what makes you think I’m not calm...?” Noam demands suspiciously. He  makes a point of avoiding looking right at this presumptuous stranger, internally debating what caused his anxiety—fear? Embarrassment? Or something else entirely? Noam’s mind drifts back to the pouch of leftover garlic and millet still sitting in his back pocket.

Ariya smirks again. “Isn’t it obvious? Your heart is racing...”

A trail of ice runs down Noam’s spine. His jaw opens and shuts without any words coming out. Ariya only lets out another laugh, and Noam can just notice the tips of his canines seem a bit too sharp. “See? Now you’ve run cold.”

“How did...you...” Noam’s question trails off. A notion begins to form in his mind, but he does his best to dismiss it.

Ariya, meanwhile, only leans against the black iron spokes of the graveyard fence, gazing out at the village.

“It’s a lovely night out, isn’t it?”

For a moment, the two stare at each other: Noam nervously fidgeting, Ariya just looking him over, waiting patiently. At last Noam timidly stands at the fence, keeping a few feet’s distance between the two of them.

The light of the moon is gentle, less cruel than that of the sun. Under it the many orange and red autumn leaves are washed with a soft blue, leaving them a spectrum of violet shades. In the distance sits the main village square, spires and sloped roofs standing up deeply black as ink against the night sky. The hour is dotted by low clouds, their long bellies lavender and blue as they stretch out along the horizon.

“You’re right,” Noam says. “It’s pretty.”

Ariya nods, his amber eyes fixed ahead of him. The feeling of danger in Noam’s heart begins to subside—but the notion in his mind continues to weigh heavily.

Abruptly, Ariya points out into the mass of black houses in the village.

“Look there. See that?”

Noam looks. He’s indicating the carpenter’s shop, its windows filled with an orange glow. It’s the only spot in the whole village with a light on. “What is that?”

A wave of nervous heat rolls over Noam’s body. “That...that’s the carpenter’s shop.”

“Well, of course. But it’s the only light on in the whole square.”

Noam tries to calmly shrug even as his mind wanders back to the crucifix in his pocket. “Maybe he’s working some late hours?”

Ariya raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I…” Noam swallows, feeling his heartbeat thudding in his chest and cursing it, cursing himself for being so overcome by nerves. Why was he so shaken? What about this man caused him to stir with fear? He knew that this mission was a pointless errand—that there’s no vampire haunting them.

So Noam forces himself to abandon his reservations.

“Alright, fine, you got me,” Noam admits. “The truth is…practically the whole village is congregated in there. They’re waiting for me to get back from a vampire hunt.”

Ariya’s eyebrows arch up in amusement. “You’re hunting vampires?”

Noam snorts derisively. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the crudely-shaped crucifix, examining it in thought. “Yes. They gave me all these things to try and deal with it. I got a whole pocket full of garlic, too…”

Ariya’s pale lips turn up in a smile as he extends his hand. “Might I see that?”

Noam easily hands over the cross, noticing that there’s a strange glow to the man’s amber eyes as he holds it—but suddenly Noam is unafraid. Now he’s certain of how ridiculous the whole situation is, and how stupid he’d been for being frightened. “As far as I’m concerned you can keep it. It’s got no use for me.”

“Oh?” Ariya hums, twisting the little crucifix in his fingers. “And why is that?”

Noam looks at Ariya incredulously. “Why? Because vampires don’t exist, that’s why.”

There’s an unmistakable gleam in Ariya’s eye like the glow of an open flame. “Are you really sure about that?”

Noam stares at Ariya, waiting for him to smile and say he’s kidding. He never does. A cold wind arises from the west, rattling the dry leaves in the trees and sending a chill up through Noam’s spine. The loose shirt around Ariya’s waist quivers in the breeze, looking so ancient and fragile that it may tear. Slowly Ariya smiles fully, teeth long and sharp, eyes shimmering ominously.

Noam’s hand twitches toward the stake in his belt. He isn’t fast enough—the golden eyes seize upon him. In an instant Noam’s hand goes limp, his mind static. Thoughts are suddenly distant and difficult to grasp.

Time seems slow as Ariya steps closer, almost floating on the wind. “Take that stake and drop it to the ground.”

Noam pulls the stake out from his leather belt and drops it into the dirt, not thinking twice. His heart is rolling in his chest with peals of thunder, blood rushing hot and thick through his veins—but his body and mind are still and blank, drifting through a fog towards a shining light. Ariya looks him up and down, tongue running across his lips.

“So you’re a virgin, then.”

It’s not a question, but Noam responds in a whimper, beautiful eyes searing into his soul and brain. “Yes.”

A smile forms on Ariya’s face. “They sent me a nice one, this time, didn’t they?”

Noam’s lips tremble as darkness closes in around him. Ariya takes some pity on him, grabbing his jaw and tilting his head back, exposing his neck.

“Don’t talk,” he purrs, his voice more soothing than any sound Noam has ever heard before. “Just be good.”

Noam complies, his body slack—like waking sleep. He sees nothing but gold; hears nothing but blood rushing through his veins; feels nothing but the tips of Ariya’s sharp teeth feeling slowly across his skin for the jugular. It tickles, almost like a kiss. Noam wants more; every cell in his body cries out for it.

How did this happen? A faint thought from the back of his mind, buried in the static and warmth.

Then they sink in. Noam lets out a hoarse cry from the burst of pain, then drifts away into the darkness, helpless as the vampire takes what he wants.

When Noam opens his eyes again, the world is soft and smudged. His body rests on something thick, plush and warm—but his flesh is so cold; he runs his fingertips across his own arm and shivers as though he’s dipped them in snow.

His vision is blurred in the dim light, unable to make out shapes—he can see two long white forms wavering over his head like ghostly arms. Noam rubs at his eyes with the back of his wrists and blinks, and now sees that they’re linen curtains, flickering in the wind pouring in from the open window.

The window...?

Noam sits upright, looking about himself. He’s in a small bedroom, resting on a bed of heavy red quilts. Outside, Noam can see the moon hanging low in the sky, casting broken light over the thick treetops—this place is in a forest, perhaps many miles from the village.

Noam leaps from the bed and stumbles, knees weak. He makes his way to the mirror hanging on the wall and looks at himself. He’s pale and disheveled, and his eyes seem tinged with amber. A strip of gauze is taped to his neck. With fumbling fingers, Noam tears it away, revealing two perfect red spots lying side by side in his flesh. At first they’re nearly indistinguishable from freckles, but the twinge of pain Noam feels as he touches them tells it all.

“H…how…” Noam begins to ask nobody, but trails off, overwhelmed. It’s useless, anyway—he knows exactly how this happened.

What Noam doesn’t know is how he’s still alive.

Presently, the large door creaks open, and Noam panics, lunging back onto the soft bed. A head pokes in—it’s Ariya, looking noticeably less pale, his cheeks and lips softly pink.

“Oh, you’ve woken up,” he says with a blithe smile.

Noam reaches back instinctively for the garlic in his pocket when he finds no such pocket there. Noam looks down at himself and discovers that he’s wearing a rather antiquated silk dressing gown. At a loss, he looks up at Ariya, who chuckles.

“Your other clothes didn’t seem too comfortable to rest in, so I gave you these instead. Like ‘em?”

Noam doesn’t seem to absorb what Ariya has said, instead looking dazedly about the room. “Where...w-where am I?”

“Consider it my ancestral home,” Ariya says, leaning against the doorway. “You’re the first guest I’ve had in a long time.”

Noam’s head is swimming. He lies back in the bed and massages his temples as if it could provide some clarity. None comes, and he sighs.

“How...how did this happen?”

Ariya hums, sauntering easily into the room. “Well, I’m a vampire. Your village sent you, a handsome young virgin, to seek me out. And I made you mine.”

“No, no,” Noam says wearily, “I mean...”

He pauses, fingers gently circling the two puncture wounds in his flesh, still tender.

“How am I...alive?”

Ariya smiles as he sits on the edge of Noam’s bed. “I went ahead and patched you up. Figured I ought to give you a fighting chance, right?”

Noam stares into the mirror. The marks in his neck are deeply red, almost black, with the remnants of his blood. It’s as cold to the touch as the rest of his skin.

Ariya’s face appears in the mirror next to Noam’s, hands resting on his shoulders. “To be honest, though, I’d hardly call you alive. Just...not dead.”

Noam swallows. His amber eyes almost shine in the darkness. “I’m a vampire.”

Ariya nods. “I see you’re bright.”

Noam doesn’t even have the wherewithal to be offended by the remark. He’s touching his flesh, the wounds in his neck, the dark circles under his eyes, still in disbelief that this is all real.

“D-Daivari...?” He whispers. This time, Ariya’s smile is gentle.

“You can just call me Ariya, you know.”

“Why...why didn’t you kill me?”

Ariya’s eyes narrow slightly. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” He asks.

“W-why would you keep me around? What do you…” Noam pauses, realizing that there’s been a gaze held between himself and Ariya. He turns his head away uneasily. “What do you need me for?”

Ariya gives Noam a smile, taking his jaw gently in his hand. “To be completely honest, young man,” he says, guiding Noam to look into his eyes, “I don’t need you at all.”

Noam looks hurt. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t…” Ariya smirks, drawing Noam’s face forward until they’re just scant inches apart, eyes glowing like embers in fire. “I took you because I want you.”

Noam blinks at Ariya through his dark eyelashes for several seconds. Ariya sighs as he realizes that he truly doesn’t understand.

“Come on, don’t look at me that way. You’ve felt desire before, haven’t you?”

There’s an immediate reaction in Noam’s veins, blood rushing in a torrent to his cheeks. Ariya smirks as he senses the warmth. “I can tell I’ve struck a nerve.”

Noam breathes out, looking down into his lap. “It…it doesn’t matter what I feel. People don’t notice me until they need me to do something.”

Ariya’s expression fades into something that may be concern. Noam is sure that he’s mistaken.

“I can’t believe that.”

“Believe it,” Noam scoffs. “Nobody has ever given a shit about me. They only sent me out as bait for you.”

Noam turns to gaze out the open window. The cold wind doesn’t even make him flinch as he focuses beyond the tops of the trees, as if just beyond lies the village for which a seed of hate grows heavier in his undead heart.

“They sent you out as bait for me,” Ariya repeats in a voice that’s calm and measured. “And then what happened?”

Noam’s hands clench into fists. The wounds in his neck irradiate a pain from deep within. “I became your prey.”

For a moment, they’re both silent, curtains billowing around Noam as he stares. At last he whispers, nearly to himself, “you made me like you...”

Noam at last faces Ariya again. His eyes are blown wide, as golden and bright as a sun at midnight. Something new is coming over his expression—something dark, surprising on the face of a man that had so far struck Ariya as wide-eyed and naïve.

“You...you made me yours.”

Ariya feels his own blood begin to rush as he nods. “Figuring it out, are you?”

Excitement builds in Noam’s chest. He had been taken by someone—with no favors in mind; no sacrifice needed; no conditions for their attention. He hadn’t been needed, but he had been wanted. It’s almost overwhelming.

“I...I’ve never been...’desired’,” Noam confesses, eyes trained on Ariya, who merely extends his hand.

“You’re beginning to understand, now.”

Noam reaches out and twines his fingers with Ariya’s. His gaze is burning.

“Show me. Show me how much you want me.”

Ariya’s eyebrows rise, and he chuckles. “I suppose immortality isn’t enough for you?”

Noam bites his lip, feeling the newly sharpened points of his teeth nearly pierce his own skin. In his whole body he senses a deep aching. At first he had thought it to be the pain of emerging from death, but now he knows that it’s yearning—yearning for Ariya, for the liberation that he presents, and for that look in his eyes. Desire.

So he grips tightly to Ariya’s hand and pulls him forward. Their foreheads nearly touch; the mutual glow in their eyes creates a light of its own.

“I never had enough before I met you,” Noam breathes. Ariya feels himself stir in a way that it hasn’t for so long.

“Please.” Noam moves Ariya’s hand to rest right over his chest. “Make me inhuman.”

That’s all it takes. Ariya grabs Noam roughly and throws him back into the mattress with enough force to make him bounce. When Noam reorients himself Ariya has already crawled up his body, glaring deeply into him with pupils narrowed to slits. Noam trembles and swallows—those eyes may not have a power over him anymore, but Ariya’s gaze still shocks him right to his core. It’s like being bitten again.

“Very well.”

Ariya’s voice is nearly a growl as he speaks, a cruel smile on his face. With one swift motion he grabs the front of Noam’s nightshirt in his fist and tears the fragile fabric to bits.

Ariya moans as he’s almost instantly overcome—even under flesh so cold, blood is rushing hot through Noam’s body. And it’s making every fiber of Ariya’s being burn, pleading to get closer.

His hands reach out for Noam, landing on his hips and pulling him up to meet him. Noam is all too willing, legs lacing around Ariya’s waist and closing whatever gap remains between them. Their chests press together as if one body needs the other, and Ariya finds himself slotting so easily into Noam’s shape, cocks pressing together through the fabric of Ariya’s clothes.

Ariya purrs, already grinding easily against Noam, sensing the hot, delicious blood straining between the two of them. But Noam is unsatisfied, reaching up and grasping Ariya’s shirt in his hands. He’s visibly trembling.

“O-off...need this off...” he gasps.

Ariya smirks. “Then take it off yourself.”

Noam looks dismayed for only a moment before growling, his eyes suddenly animal. He sharply yanks, and surely enough, Ariya’s shirt rips away just like Noam’s just a minute before.

There’s a pause for a mutual gasp between them—Ariya for Noam’s exhilarating fierceness; Noam for Ariya’s chest, strong and toned, flesh perfectly smooth and soft. The only blemish visible is by Ariya’s clavicle, where two perfect round scars sit side by side.

Something about Ariya’s bare skin drives Noam to the brink. He feels his mind spiraling as a scent washes over him, leaving his whole body buzzing. Something new and unfamiliar—something dangerous—now underscores the desire that’s still burning heavy down below, and it’s all too much for Noam to bear. He sobs as he lunges forward, fangs latching directly into Ariya’s neck.

Ariya gasps deeply, body jolting in shock as points like needles are driven into his throat. He trembles and laughs.

“O-oh, yes...y-you must b-be so hungry...”

Noam is too lost to answer. He’s growling and sucking, intoxicated by his first blood—and what blood it is. Ariya is perfect, hot and delicious in a way that Noam never wants to be full from. It sends all of his senses into a wild frenzy, as if every ounce that trickles over his tongue makes him more and more of a beast. His hands fly up and knot Ariya’s hair into his fists, leaving Ariya writhing and gasping as he tugs and tugs hard.

“Oh—oh, Noam—“ he sobs, already weak from bliss. He had forgotten over all these years how sweet pain could be. And Noam just keeps obliging him with it, sucking his neck until he’s numb and almost emptied.

Below Noam’s hips are rolling as fast as his body can stand, the taste of Ariya driving him into ecstatic fits. Ariya is left sputtering, struggling to keep up with the awakened Noam. The bloodlust feeds itself more and more until the bed is creaking beneath their bodies from their desperation for each other. Ariya is slowly losing his grip; the friction of Noam against him is driving him to the edge, and with every moan that comes from his lips, Noam tugs his hair harder, grinds his hips down faster, presses his teeth just a strained bit further into his flesh. He’s in total control—and Ariya, after all these years as the hunter, is now the loving prey.

“O-oh...ohfuck...” Ariya moans helplessly, his body weak to Noam’s power. Waves of pleasure crash over him in rapid succession, pulsing out from his cock up into his spine and every nerve in his body. His hips are so sore that they just relinquish and surrender, letting themselves be pressed flat into the mattress as Noam overpowers them. Every stroke makes Ariya’s cock throb in pain, the irresistible kind that he hasn’t felt for so long, begging for a final release but too much enjoying the torture.

And then, just as suddenly as he plunged in, Noam halts. Ariya winces with just a twinge of pain as Noam pulls back, teeth sliding free of his flesh. Blood trickles out, curling in ribbons down Ariya’s ribs. He feels Noam trembling in his arms for a moment before their eyes lock.

Noam—the Noam that Ariya ensnared earlier this evening—is gone, his golden eyes harsh, reflecting something so ancient and primal as Ariya falls captive to their stare. And then he spots the blood, heavy and rich like red wine, curling down Noam’s lips and chin as he sobs brokenly. He’s drunk from the feast—Ariya tingles with the sight of it, the blood of the prey, the blood that is his, trickling down the mouth of that wicked face with those entrancing eyes. For once, after so, so long, Ariya has been hunted.

And that’s enough. Ariya sobs breathlessly as his spine goes rigid, pressing his hips flat against Noam’s tireless body.

“N-NOAM—!”

His cry is almost pathetic, keening against Noam as he throbs and—at last—spills over hot in his own clothes. Noam twitches for another moment before gasping, joining Ariya, making himself filthy with his own cum.

They collapse in each other’s arms. For a while there’s only basking; Ariya feels  a peace like nothing before as he watches the moon drift across the sky through the open window. Noam rests panting in his arms, and Ariya listens as the blood cools off in their veins.

For a few minutes, Ariya drifts off into a light sleep, until he’s interrupted by a soft, cold hand tugging his arm. Ariya looks down to see Noam gazing up at him sullenly.

“I-I…” Noam whispers brokenly, “I…’ms-sorry…”

Ariya silences him with a finger to his lips—lips that are still coated with blood, now cooled and almost beginning to congeal. With a sigh, Ariya reaches to the bedside table to retrieve a handkerchief, which he proceeds to clean Noam’s face with.

“Don’t be sorry,” he says gently. “You just seemed like you were starved...”

Noam gives Ariya a meek smile. “I-I didn’t even know I was hungry...”

“Few do,” Ariya says, wiping the corners of Noam’s mouth carefully. “I remember how hungry I was when I first turned...I thought I was going to die all over again.”

Noam sighs softly as Ariya finishes cleaning his lips. He settles into Ariya’s arms, looking meek and placid, almost irreconcilable with the animal he was just minutes ago. “I’m so sleepy...”

“That’s common,” Ariya says, stroking Noam’s soft hair sweetly. “You’ve sated yourself pretty well. You should sleep...”

Noam moves to comply, nestling into Ariya’s arms and closing his eyes, resting his head in his chest. Ariya gazes down at him fondly, swearing for a moment that his own heart begins to beat.

This young man, once timid, virginal, is now all his, belonging to him in a way that’s much deeper than a thrall—and Ariya belongs to him just as completely.

Even he can hardly believe this has happened.

“Ariya...?” Noam murmurs sleepily.

“Yes?” Ariya hums.

“I never told you earlier...I...I have felt desire before.”

Now Ariya’s eyes creak open to see Noam shyly blushing.

“Oh? Whom for?”

“A...” Noam clears his throat, “a man from the village. He’s big, strong and demanding. Whenever he looked at me I got a little...flustered.”

“What’s his name?” Ariya asks pointedly. Noam swallows hard.

“M...McIntyre.”

Ariya’s lips twitch with a smirk. “Oh? And just as I was thinking I was special...”

“I don’t mean that!” Noam huffs. “But...I thought that perhaps you and I could...”

Ariya chuckles under his breath. “Well...I do think I may be hungry after I wake up...”

An expression of wicked excitement crosses Noam’s face. He purrs, arching back to nuzzle Ariya affectionately.

“Thank you....”

Ariya smiles, pulling Noam in close against his body, feeling a warmth from within. “Only for you...you are my closest...’companion’, now, after all.”

Noam just smirks

“Oh, Ariya...I think I’m going to like this new life.”

[juniper-tree]

Last Day at Kinloch Hold - 4

Read on AO3  |  Part 1  |  Part 2  |  Part 3  |  Part 5 

The bell clanged into the empty passage, tinny and hollow.

It was a formality.  No one missed dinner.

The mages, the Tranquils, and all the Templars but the guards at the gates were eating in the hall.  Though the fare was modest at the best of times, meals were a reprieve.  The Templars were occupied, and the rest of the mages, as well—distracted from politics and petty squabbles.

To always eat alone, though… to pass so many crowded tables in search of an empty corner… Solona would not miss that hall.

The bell rang a second time.  She walked into the silent library.

The heavy bundle on her shoulder knocked against her back.  She crept into a dark corner, and waited.  Candles dotted the room with soft, golden light.  Towering bookshelves lined the walls, the ladders leaned against them spindly and worn.  In the light of day, Solona would crane her neck to peer the books so far out of reach, at the very top.  At night, the highest shelves faded into darkness.

So many books there had never been time to read.  Now there never would be.

Soft footsteps shuffled through the arched doorway.  From the shadows, against the stone wall, she watched him enter.  Cullen walked into a halo of dim candlelight, and looked around the room.  He was looking for her, she realized.  He wore no armor or Templar sashes, only a simple brown tunic and pants, and a worried look.

His worry matched her own.  She saw in his face all her doubts reflected.

She could end this before it began.  She could hide here in the shadows, and never step out.  She could wait for him to grow impatient at her absence, and walk back to his barracks.  Then she could sit through the night, alone, in dark silence.

It would be wiser, she thought, to forsake this foolish notion.

But it was the silent, lonely night ahead that drove her to seek him out.

There was no one else.  Irving was no longer someone she wanted to be near.  This Duncan was a stranger to her.  And if any of the others wanted reconcile, to apologize, they did not make it obvious.  None of them knew she was leaving, and it was not news she would offer of her own accord.

She would not parade her misfortune and fear before them, even to prove their hypocrisy.  What would it satisfy?  She would not be pitied, no matter the circumstance.

Cullen, though, was not one of them.  That he stood here in the library, searching the darkness, was proof of that.  If he pitied her, he had never shown it.  Whether his interest in her was improper... that was not a question she could answer with objectivity.

In the face of what lay ahead, her own interest did not amount to much.  It was loose pile of fleeting feelings: relief at someone who still acknowledged her with a smile; an unsettled anticipation each morning in the chapel; her heart's soft thump when his flushed face turned to her.

Cullen looked around the quiet library, uncertain, but eager.  She could feel it.

Her skin prickled with a cool sweat.  What, precisely, was he eager for?  What had she been thinking, bringing him here?

For all his kind good mornings and visits to the chapel, he was a Templar.  They held power, and they used it.  They were—  It was difficult even to think it.  They... took liberties.  Whatever their sacred role in the Chantry, some were happy to shed its bindings as soon as they could manage it.

She closed her eyes against the soft lights, and his face.  If she were going to her death, and nothing here made sense anymore... there could be this.  One night of friendship, without the Tower's rules which made that impossible.

And if her offer of friendship had not been clear—should it come to that, she would use magic, and not hesitate.  She was no longer a Templar's charge.  And she had nothing left to lose.

It was something she would have to get used to—destroying men with her magic.  It was, in essence, what she had been asked to do.

Cullen folded his arms, head bent.  Even in the dim light of the empty library, she could see his face had fallen.

No, there was no point in hiding, no matter the danger.  She had begun this and would see it through.

She stepped forward into the candlelight.

He spun toward her, his body tense and ready to react.  When he saw it was her, his shoulders fell, and he sighed.  He hurried to her quietly.

"Why here?" he whispered.

She shook her head in lieu of an answer.  Not here.

She moved toward a recessed passageway and beckoned him to follow.  There was a battered wooden door at the end of the short, dark passage, held fast by a rusted iron lock.  With a slight wave of her hand, the heavy lock unlatched and the door creaked open.

"There," she whispered, gesturing to the dusty passageway inside.  From around a corner, light seeped into the passage and dimly lit the way.

He looked at her, questioning and concerned, and glanced at the empty library behind them.  Then he squared his shoulders, and moved forward.  She closed the door and waved her hand again.  The latch clasping shut around the lock sounded from the other side.

The storage room was well-lit, warm and dry.  There were magicked candelabras that burned without flame set among the low, rough shelves.  Here, there were even older volumes and scrolls than in the main library.  The ones of value were housed in glass cases in the library, or in Irving's office.  These were duplicates and discards, the stock that was not worth storing properly, but still too valuable to simply thrown out.  It had its place, out of the way of everything else.

Perhaps it was ridiculous self-pity to admit she felt at home here—but all the same, she did.

She found Cullen looking around the room, his nose wrinkled.  There was a fine sheen of dust on everything here.  In all her hours spent alone here, she tried not to touch anything, not to leave a trace of her visits.  But simply entering seemed to envelop her in it.  She set down her bulky pack with a thud to clap the dust from her hands.

He bent toward a low shelf to examine its contents.   "What is this place?"

"Just library storage."

He hummed in response, pushing aside a pile of loose scrolls atop a large, leather volume. Dust plumed up around him, and he sneezed into his sleeve.  "I've never seen this part of the Tower before," he said, coughing.

"Oh?" She picked up the pack again and dragged it toward a row of shelves overflowing with tattered scrolls.  "I come here a lot.  Just to be my myself."

"Is... is that allowed?" he asked. She did not bother to answer.  It no longer mattered. "Here we are," she said, pulling the pack around a broken chest, toward the corner where she usually hid herself.  He followed her there.

Her corner was cozy and dark.  There was a rug, a few flat pillows, some candles and candlesticks, some parchment and ink.  Squatting, she opened her pack and began sorting through everything she brought.

"Um, do you—"  She heard Cullen sigh, and looked up to find him staring down at his feet, his brow tight.  He looked as though he wanted to say something, but wouldn't.

She could explain herself, explain the desperation and loneliness that gripped her now.  Explain that, in her mind, this was a last rite before an almost certain march toward death.  That he was the last possible person in Thedas who might spend time with her willingly, but still she felt it necessary to lure him here with a cryptic message.

She could explain all that, even if it made her sound—and feel—pathetic.

Or she could pretend she was another kind of person, if just for one evening.  The kind of mage who would happily sneak away with a willing young Templar.  Someone who could steal her own moments of happiness.  Someone who found the rules they lived under less an iron fist and more a mild annoyance—like a stray hair, easily brushed aside.

Given the choice, pretending was less painful.

"I am sorry I rushed you in here," she said.  "I thought perhaps we could... talk."  She unwrapped a half-round of bread from the pack, and a bunch of red grapes.  "We've never truly had the chance before. And we won't," she said, "after tonight."  She smiled sadly, and sat down at one end of the rug, nestled against a large pillow.  She pulled out a wedge of cheese, a dark bottle of wine and two cups.

"I brought some food, as well, so you don't have to miss dinner," she said, gesturing to the pile on the rug.

She had thought of everything.  Everything except what to do if he did not want to join her after all.  The discomfort in his every move made Solona think he might run at any moment.

But he did not.  He seemed to have no clue what was expected of him, and she herself did not know quite what she wanted him to do.  So he mimicked her steps.  He sat across from her, upon one of the flat pillows, and folded his legs in.  Then he waited quietly, with no more direction from her to follow.

She gestured to the array of candlesticks, and the flames softly grew.  She twisted out the bottle's cork, poured the wine, and handed him a cup.

He took it, limply, and stared down into it as he spoke, flat and quiet.

"Do you have any idea what will happen if we're caught here?"

She drank from her own cup, and looked at the rug between them, hoping the nervous shifting in her eyes was something only she knew was there.  The person she was pretending to be would not be nervous.  She would be defiant.

"If you're too afraid," she asked, "why did you come?"

[cancerianprincess]

Birkin Bag (1)

Alright peeps! This started as a cute and corny imagine based off a line from this song (2:06), and evolved into an idea for a mini-series for Erik that no one asked for 🙃Heads up: it might start off a bit slow in this one but it picks up later. Feedback is always appreciated & I hope y’all enjoy it!

Summary: Erik finds out he might’ve rubbed off on his best friend a tad too much and that she’s really with the shits 

Warning: Language, Mild Drug Use

~~~~

“I bought my bitch a Birkin Bag so she could hold my fucking strap..”

_______

Plopping down into the passenger seat of Erik’s car, you slammed the door behind you with all the attitude you could muster.

“I done told you about slamming my door like that, lil girl,” he uttered, skipping right over the formalities of a normal greeting. He didn’t even bother to look in your direction, keeping his attention on the unfinished backwood in his lap.

You simply stared at him, pausing momentarily at how much his warning mimicked the voice of somebody’s mama, waiting to see if he would provide any explanation about dragging you out your bed in the dead of night. When none came, you finally addressed the statement as he flicked a lighter to seal the blunt.

“Nigga, you woke me up out my sleep at damn near two in the morning, remember,” you snapped at him. “And now you wanna fuss at me for being grumpy when you was blowing my phone up just to have a damn session?”

Erik clutched at his imaginary pearls and feigned an expression of false hurt.

“Damn shawty, I come back from overseas after three weeks and it’s like that?” He shook his head dramatically as he sparked the weed and took the first inhale.

“That’s cold,” he exhaled. “A brother can’t get no kinda love around here.”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, while Erik took another hit and passed it off to you. Despite glaring at him through sleepy eyelids, you accepted the peace offering, figuring there was no point in turning down a free smoke since you were already awake now. He grinned when you did, displaying his gold canines in knowing his best friend like the back of his hand. Taking notice, you kissed your teeth skillfully so that the blunt wasn’t at risk from falling out your mouth.

“Whatever,” you started. “Don’t think one wood is gonna make up for disrupting my beauty rest.”

“Well I woulda been here sooner to kick it with you if them white ass crackers at the airport knew what they was doing. They the reason my connecting flight got delayed so if you wanna blame somebody, you can blame them.”

As Erik launched into the tale of his troublesome journey back home, you couldn’t help but feel amused by the fact that he had suffered in some form or another tonight just like you did. You also felt a tad bit sorry for him, but mostly amused. Initially, he scowled at you when the snickering began on your end, but eventually he joined you, his nagging turned to clownery as the haze of loud filled the atmosphere. The two of you joked on into the early hours of the morning, bopping to the radio and swapping details of the events in your lives that had taken place during the redeemed Wakandan’s trip back to his true origins.

“Oh yeah, speaking of that, I almost forgot about ya shit.”

Erik was right in the middle of recounting the heated argument he’d gotten into with one of the residents from the Merchant Tribe when an afterthought struck him. You threw his form a puzzled look as he reached his arm into the backseat, causing all kinds of commotion in the floor behind you.

When he re-emerged, in his hand was a white, narrow, rectangular box. Different markings of the Xhosa language covered the package in shiny metallic grey letters, and was bound together by a gold ribbon tied off in a bow. He tossed it into your lap as he extinguished the remnants of the burnt out blunt in a nearby ashtray.

“What’s this?” You eyed Erik suspiciously, careful to be on your guard in case it was another one of his tricks.

“That,” he began, “is so you can stop getting on my nerves every time my ass go out on on these relay missions.”

Any time Erik alerted you he was flying out to handle business on behalf of the Wakandan Outreach Center, you poked at him here and there about bringing something back for you, but only out of fun, not really expecting him to follow through on the requests. Now, your gaze shifted from him, over to the giftbox, and back to Erik once again, peering past the curtain of dreads and into his eyes to search them for any trace of legitimacy. He noticed the inspection, and smirked as he spoke up again.

“I mean if you don’t want it, I can always give it t-”

But the rest of his sentence was lost among the crunch of gift paper being torn apart, sending Erik’s head back in a howl of laughter at how fast your doubt had been flushed away. You made quick work of the box’s lid and decorative ribbon, showing your best friend he had another thing coming if he even dared to pass your present off to one of his dusty ass hoes.

Finally reaching the object inside the cardboard container, your red eyes grew wide when they fell on its contents. Laying across your lap, was a gorgeous new purse, accented with gold trimming along all its edges to match its chain. You lifted it from the box, discarding it near your feet, and ran your fingers over the sleek material, absorbing the coolness of the metallic jaguar pin. Only when your thumb grazed over it, did you notice the minor pulsations the purse gave off, beginning to glow dimly upon doing so.

“I saw it and thought about the time you lost your old one at the club that night on your birthday,” Erik explained, breaking the warm silence. “So I went back to pick it up in my free time, had my little cousin tweak it for me in her lab.”

You blinked at him a few times, processing what he said as an explanation for its mystic illumination, before an ear splitting grin spread across your face with a quickness.

“Yo, E, this is dope as fuck, like I legit don’t know what to say!”

He draped his arm over the back of your reclined seat and sat back in his own, clearly pleased with himself and his present-selecting abilities.

“Yeah, well you’re welcome. Even though I ain’t get no kinda thank you or nothing like that,” he shrugged.

You cut your eyes at his theatrics once again, thinking that for him to be such a ‘thugged out soldier from Oakland’, he sure was a big ass diva on the low. Still, that didn’t stop you from leaning over and hugging his neck to express your gratitude.

“Seriously though, Erik, thank you for this,” you muffled into his ear.

He flinched at the vibration of your voice, but quickly concealed it by engulfing you with his free arm, and closing the gap with a light squeeze at the small of your back. The gesture held a particular surge of warmth to it, conveying every single emotion you held for each other.

Something about the hug made you want it to never end, and if you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn Erik felt the vibe too. You were aware of his lack of verbal expression concerning his feelings, even after he’d started his life down a new path it was a struggle for him. But you never pushed him on it. Not then, and not now. It had manifested into an unspoken rule as time went on, and as long as Erik had your back like you had his, you were perfectly content with it staying that way.

It could’ve just been an after-effect of the weed in your system, but each passing second was spent basking in the hold, discreetly taking in his scent and committing his hold to memory. It was odd that Erik let the contact go this long, but if he was okay with this level of vulnerability, even for a limited amount of time, you refused to deny him of it.

“Wait,” he cut into the moment. “You thought I did this for you?”

This caused you to draw back partially, enough to assess his face quizzically but still remaining in the embrace. One of your eyebrows shot up expectantly, prompting Erik to go on with his interjection.

He continued on in an amused tone. “Oh nah, see, I said I thought about you when I saw it. That don’t mean I necessarily bought it specifically for you.”

The smile you’d been wearing dropped into a flat line.

“What?” He questioned, trying to act innocent. “It’s true. I figured if I got Shuri to add a Vibranium lining to it, I’d have a better hiding spot for my strap, y’know?”

You tore away from his hold and merely retreated to your on seat, regarding him as best you could while attempting to maintain your composure.

Erik kept going playfully like you weren’t on the verge of smacking his block-headed ass.

“Y’know...because Vibranium doesn’t set off metal detectors…and guns are made of metal...”

That sentence had been the last straw, for you indeed, smacked him upside the noggin, and proceeded to go off on his block-headed ass.

“Nigga, don’t you think I know that witcho’ ain’t-shit-ass!?”

“Ain’t nobody ‘bout to carry your raggedy ass gun around like some slave!”

“Had me all excited for nothing, got me sitting here thinking you cared about a bitch!”

“YO ASS DON’T CARE ABOUT ME-”

You threw blows at him half-heartedly every couple syllables, sending Erik into a fit of laughter so great that he was too preoccupied to even fight you off. At first you slumped down in the seat, finally giving up on the assault and resorting to pouting, lip poked out and arms folded. It didn’t last long, though, because eventually the outburst became contagious, causing both of you to cackle like two high ass hyenas as the sun gingerly crept over the horizon.

That was one aspect of you and Erik’s friendship you valued the most: being able to kid around all the time but still realizing where your loyalties lied at the end of the day. Other than  extremely rare occasions, it was how the pair of you exhibited affection, rather than having the typical sappy exchanges. You both knew that majority of the words thrown amongst you meant nothing, letting deeds truly define the bond you held.

And actions would soon be the true test of that commitment, starting the day you learned that Erik had been kidnapped.

|Part Two|

~Taglist~

@iamrheaspeaks @princesskillmonger @eriknutinthispoosy @wheredidallthedreamersgo @thotyana-in-this-hoe @sonofnjobu

(This is just to mention my usual peeps plus others but if you want to be added/removed just let me know!)

[mcwxlr]

For All the Light That I Shut Out

prompt: “I haven’t slept in four days” // a 2010!dan dealing with insomnia and depression and seeking comfort from 2010!phil.

tw: depression, insomnia, starvation (unintentional)

word count: 2.5k

genre: comfort, angst

this is also on ao3!

    ‘8 AM’ the too-bright digital numbers blared directly into Dan’s eyes. He rolled over, sweat-sticky sheets clasping onto his warm skin and contemplated throwing the stupid device. He placed a hand over his forehead and groaned audibly. Here marks four days of no sleep! Dan sarcastically thought to himself. By now, his usually straight hair had began curling wildly. He wasn’t trying out a new style, no, he was just too drained to leave his room, let alone spend an hour straightening his messy hair.

    To be quite honest, this probably wasn’t the healthiest of lifestyles but what could he do? He’s just some sad kid trying to get by. Dan knows his insomnia isn’t helping whatever’s going on in his head but he just can’t bring himself to care. So what if I’ve stayed up for some 80 hours with a total of six hours of sleep? I’m not gonna die. It’s fine.

    Though, it wasn’t exactly “fine” as Dan had convinced himself before. As he wasted away in his prison-like dorm for the fourth time in a row, he realized this was probably not the best course of action for him. He remembered what Phil, the love of his puny little life, had told him as Dan exited the Manchester flat. Stay hydrated! Well, mark that off. Dan’s mouth was drier than the Sahara at this point. Remember to eat! Nope, Dan actually had only eaten a little packet of crackers from beside within his little stay in his bed. Socialise! No hiding! Ha. Haha. Ha.

    What Dan needed now was Phil. But Phil was 15 minutes away in an entirely different building. He couldn’t get up. For several reasons. One, he’d tried and he had literally blacked out. Secondly, he felt trapped as if his mattress held him in a death grip. Lastly, he’d have to call a cab and walk and move his arms and honestly that sounded more like climbing Mt. Everest than going to pay a lovely visit to his boyfriend. The best Dan could currently get was the occasional vibration from his phone, knowing that one (if not all) of the messages were from Phil. Phil. Phil asking if he’s okay, like always.

    Mustering up all of his energy, Dan counted to three… five… okay, ten will do. Dan counted to ten, preparing his arm to reach over and snatch his phone from where it laid on the little stand beside him. It was silly if you really thought about it but Dan was pretty proud of himself. He held the phone close to his face, opening it up, and gazing at all of the texts he’d received. 10 messages from Phil, 6 missed calls. 2 messages from Mum.

    Instinctively, Dan opened up the text messages from Phil. Most asking if he was okay, others being little quirky stories. The most recent one asking if Dan wanted to come round to Phils. For the first time in a solid week, he swore he felt a little spark of hope deep in his chest, somewhere. It was gone before he could relish in the feeling of something. He swore he was actually a bit hopeful. Unfortunately, that feeling had gone so quickly because his mind shut it down. Dan you fucking idiot! Going to Phils place requires movement and heaven forbid you move your uncooperative body. End of the bloody world, yeah. I bet.

    Dan deleted his response of agreement to Phils invitation, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand beside him and throwing an arm over his face so that he was hidden in the crook of his elbow. A few involuntary tears slipped out of his eyes, breath hitching. He rolled onto his side and faced the white brick wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. The fuckers shot back open though, emitting a sharp pain through his skull. A groan managed to die in his throat.

    Dan laid practically lifeless in bed for what felt like minutes, though upon glancing at his clock, had actually been several hours. Time flies when you’re having fun. From then on, Dan had just focused his gaze on different things. He was wallowing in self pity just wishing he could do something, anything. Thanks to his mess of a brain, though, he could only roll around and occasionally sit up if he put all of his energy into it.

    As evening rolled around Dan felt completely gone. He honestly felt as if he was just a body and a brain. Nothing else; no emotions, no will to do anything, no nothing. Just as he was about to attempt to sleep once more, probably to no avail, he heard his phone stream out vibrations, rumbling the wooden surface it was sat on. He rolled over to face away from the wall and stared at the light emitting from the screen and shining throughout his dark and murky room. Sitting up slowly and achingly, Dan reached his weak arm out and swiped his phone off the desk. Incoming call from Phil<3. On what was probably the final ring Dan tapped the small green circle, watching as the call connected the two before Phil’s voice flooded through the old speakers.

    “Dan?” Phil called, worry heavily lacing his voice. Dan managed to respond with a little hum. “Hey… how are you?” He asked.

    “I don’t know. Not great.” Dan admitted, his voice raspy from not talking for such an extended period. It could’ve gone a lot worse than just a rough voice considering he had managed to fight off a fit of coughs which surely would’ve drained him even more.

    “Yeah? Why?” The boy on the other line questioned, sadness and guilt edging into his voice.

    “Dunno.” Dan sighed out.

    “Would you like to come ‘round to mine? Or I could come and get you from yours? We can play video games.” Phil dragged out the a of the last word, then taking Dan’s silence as a chance to bribe him with more options. “Or we could watch a movie. Or just lay on the couch or the bed or wherever you want, so long as it’s not on some hard surface that’ll mess up our backs.”

    “I want to.” Dan replied in a quiet voice, barely audible to Phil. Phil formed his mouth around a word to cheer, and instead being interrupted by a loud scratching noise as Dan changed his phones location. “-but I don’t think I can.” He huffed out, voice wobbling a bit at the end.

    “Why not?” The older questioned, obviously disappointed which just made Dan feel even worse.

    “Can’t move.” Dan blankly stated.

    “What? Are you hurt? Should I-”

    “No, Phil. No.” Dan cut him off before Phil could panic. That was the last thing he needed happening.

    “Oh.” Phil paused, racking his brain for anything else. “Tired?”

    “Something like that.” Dan mumbled.

    “Shall I come ‘round to yours then? We can stay there or we can go to my place. I don’t- I just really miss you.” Phil let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a huff.

    “Maybe.” Dan responded, stomach growling loudly causing Dan to close his eyes and clench his teeth.

    “Well it isn’t a no. I’ll be there in six seconds exactly. Love you!” Phil exclaimed gleefully before hanging up. Dan didn’t bother to turn off his phone. He rolled back over to face the wall, hoping that maybe Phil would be able to pull him out of this slump.

    A knock on Dan’s door to the beat of the Super Mario theme, a low groan, and the turning of doorknob later, and Phil was in his room. There was silence throughout as Phil approached Dan’s weak form.

    “Dan?” Phil called to get the boys attention. He sat on the end of the others bed, cocking his head to look at him. Though there wasn’t a visible face, there was another hum. “Dan, hun, you’ve gotta sit up. You’re gonna get a blood clot, love.” Phil lightheartedly scolded Dan, scooting over to the curled up lump on the bed.

    Phil placed his hands gently on the forms shoulders, giving a light pull to inform Dan he was gonna pull him up. Phil barely heard the younger grumbling before Phil hoisted him up, Dan giving little effort to help the process. When he was sat up he immediately hid his face from the older.

    “Let me see your face, pretty please?” Phil coaxed, rubbing Dan’s bony shoulders. Dan sighed and Phil took this as a sign of approval. He used his index and middle finger to lift up Dan’s head from his chin. Upon focusing on the face, Phil knew for sure something was seriously wrong. Firstly, Dan’s eyes were completely bloodshot, hollow, sunken, and held some serious eye bags. His cheekbones were hollowed out, his lips were chapped, his hair was knotty and greasy, and his skin was paler than his own.

    Phil hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath with a hand over his mouth until he watched Dan’s eyes become watery. He let his hand drop from his mouth and onto the youngers shoulders, letting out a deep breath. He did a double take of Dans features and hugged Dan. The boy didn’t have any reaction, sitting still with his arms in his lap. Phil let his cheek rub into the boys bone-defined shoulder, feeling up his far-too-prominent spine. He had managed to pull himself together enough to release the others limp form and looked deep into Dan’s glazed over eyes, taking Dan’s hands gently in his.

    “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna put on some more clothes, we’re gonna go to my flat, you’re gonna have a bath and something to eat, and we’re gonna watch something together. No hiding away again.” The older stated in a firm voice with gentle edges. All Dan could manage was a little nod, feeling his mind begin protesting. This is for the best. For Phil.

    After helping Dan slip into a large, dark hoodie and sweats, Phil guided Dan out of the building and into a cab. When they finally arrived at Phil’s flat Dan felt absolutely exhausted, despite his only actions being walking and laying his head on Phil’s pudgy shoulder in the backseat of a cab.

    Phil guided a tired Dan into the bathroom of his homely flat, sitting the younger on the toilet lid. He squatted down and turned the tap on to produce warm water and waited for it to fill up. When the water level looked acceptable Phil helped Dan strip and sat him down in the water. Phil sat with Dan for a few minutes, watching as the purple bath bomb he’d thrown in there dissolved in the water. The cozy silence was interrupted by a loud rumble from Dan’s empty stomach which reminded Phil that the younger needed food.

    “I’ll be back.” Phil stood, rubbing Dan’s damp curls before walking towards the door. Dan was only alone for probably four whole seconds before Phil popped back into the doorway. “Pancakes or cereal?”

    “...Pancakes?” Dan responded after a few moments of silence and contemplation. Phil gave a thumbs about before trotting away.

    Phil had reentered the bathroom just as the water was getting cold and uncomfortable with a sympathetic smile on his lips. He sat on the toilet lid where he’d been before, studying Dan’s hair that was still fairly damp, unwashed.

    “Hun, you’ve gotta actually wash your hair.” Phil told Dan in a gentle voice. After Dan’s eyes teared up again, Phil quickly regretted his words. “No- don’t- don’t cry, Dan. Here, I’ll help. Okay?” Phil sputtered out, reaching over to grab a cup and some shampoo.

    Phil washed the last bit of conditioner out of Dan’s hair and helped the younger stand up, wrapping him in a fluffy towel. He guided Dan to the bedroom where he sat him down on the edge of his bright duvet and helped him slip back into his hoodie and boxers with Phil’s socks on his icy feet. After getting the brunet boy dressed, Phil took him by his hand and sat him down on his sofa, continuing to disappear into the kitchen. He reappeared with two plates of pancakes that were messily stacked and looked like they were about to topple over out of Phil’s unsteady hands.

    Phil sat down beside Dan, placing the two plates onto the little coffee table in front of them, barely avoiding dropping them entirely. He pulled a nearby blanket over him and the boy beside him, grabbing the remote and turning on an episode of Sherlock, the volume slightly lower than normal. The duo laid there together, listening to the others breath and heartbeat. Just a little notion to unintentionally let the other one know they’re here. Living. Side by side.

    In the span of a single episode Dan had managed to wedge a smooth leg between Phils, the other one sprawled out in front of him. His hands were both resting on Phil and his head was laid on the olders shoulder once again. Phil glanced down at the younger boy who was yawning and desperately trying to keep his eyelids open, despite it being only seven o’clock. This was a bit out of place as Dan was well known for going to bed super light at night or early in the morning.

    “What happened to Dan Night-owl Howell? It’s not 3 AM yet, silly.” Phil lightheartedly teased the sleepy boy that was hugging him like a koala. Dan weakley lifted his head off of Phil’s shoulder and offered him the first smile of the day. Even though it was tiny, almost invisible, it was there and this was progress.

    “Mm… I haven’t slept in four days.” Dan slurred, drunk on tiredness. Phil’s face hardened a bit and Dan instinctively dropped his head back on Phil’s shoulder so he didn’t have to meet Phil’s questioning gaze.

    “Like- not at all?” Phil questioned, worry lacing his voice just as it had earlier.

    “Nah. I like… passed out ‘n all that.” Dan snuggled closer to Phil’s warm body, not really paying much attention to what was coming out of his mouth.

    “Well that’s not healthy.” Phil said with a slightly shocked tone. Dan just hummed. “Okay, how about we go to an actual bed?” Dan just hummed again. Phil picked Dan up from the sofa with his barely existent muscles, only possible because he was so light, and carried the smaller one into his room. Dan was latched onto Phil like a black bear on a tree with his head buried in Phil’s neck. As they entered Phil’s room, Dan furrowed his eyebrows at the change of lighting, the brightness sending a shock of pain through his skull. Phil quickly laid Dan down on the bed and went back over to switch the light off.

    Phil climbed back into the bed where Dan was teetering on the edge of a deep sleep. He laid down under the covers where Dan swiftly wrapped his arms and legs around Phil’s torso, curling up and letting their foreheads rest against each other.

    “Goodnight, Dan. I love you loads.” Phil whispered to Dan, not even knowing if he was even still awake or not.

    “I love you too, Philly.” Dan responded in an even quieter voice and drifting off into what would end up being a 15 hour slumber.

A/N: I wrote most of this in my global connections class. As in. I probably wrote a whopping three paragraphs at home. Also related to global connections: as I was writing it the girl beside me kept trying to read it and was like “c’mon let me read it” “is it sexual?” “pleassee can i read it? i’m not gonna tell” like klsdjfklsjd no thanks that’s horrifyingly embarrassing. (Title from: I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young)

[loki-fanfic-whore]

Green Eyes in a Dark World

Loki x original character

Warnings: abuse (descriptive)/ suicide attempt (descriptive)/ bad grammar

Chapter 2

Hushed lies lie on their lips.

" I am also not of this world my dear....soon we will be able to speak openly, but not now." The voice was clear in Alessa's ears but she knew Torra had not spoken this aloud.

Torra brought Alessa to the classroom and they concluded after hours of book work.

At dinner that evening Alessa looked out the balcony of their dining hall to see the rain pelting the marble banaster. She ate very little as she contemplated all. Startled as a hand slid around hers.

"Mon cheri? What ails you?" Celeste spoke gently to her.

Alessa met her golden gaze with her dark emerald eyes.

"Celeste what was mama like?" She spoke randomly.

Celestes blinked slightly taken aback by the question.

"She was beautiful and graceful and had hair of spun gold and gold eyes. She captured fathers heart." She spoke softly. This was something Alessa had heard a thousand times.

"Did she practice with the workings?" Alessa asked feeling her heart beat faster against her chest.

"No. She did not have such a gift. She was not lucky enough to have been chosen to have that power. She passed away birthing you. Why do you ask dear child?" Celeste asked following Alessa's gaze to the balcony.

"Just wondering..." Alessa whispered. She stood up and excused herself. Recieving a glare from her father as she removed herself from the room.

As soon as the door closed she was running. Running through the crowd of servants and guards and civilians running out of the palace to the garden grounds and out of the gardens to the cliff. Her tunic and body soaked from the pouring rain as she stood at the cliff. Looking at her reflection in the rough waters.

'Their eyes' she thought.

'Their eyes are of gold....He cannot be my father'

She felt tears sting her eyes as her chest felt like it would crack. Sobbing she dove head first off the cliff into the water.

She felt the familiar icy stabbing as she began to sink. Her hair and tunic ebbing and flowing in the water. She focused as she sank head first to the bottom.

She felt another splash behind her. Her eyes widening she swam upwards temporarily to see.

A male was swimming towards her, his pale body naked save for dark trousers. He swam to her and grabbed her. Alessa began to panic and struggle. Why couldn't she breathe right now?! The boy began trying to swim upwards but Alessa was fighting hard. The boy cupped her chin hard to force her to look into his eyes; her own going wide.

His eyes were an emerald green. Like her own, but his hair was golden. The boy was looking into her eyes pleadingly trying to save her. She felt the burning in her veins as her skin glowed with blue once more. She gasped gently.

"Your eyes.... You are like me...who are you?!" She mouthed not knowing if he could hear it. The boy shook his head unable to practice the workings so he could not respond. His face turning pale and his body becoming ridged with lack of air he motioned up. Alessa shook her head no and moved forward. She cupped his face hard and pushed her mouth to his and parting her lips forcing air into his lungs. She could feel his body sucking the air greedily from her. The soft blue lines glowing onto his skin from her own lips before dissapearing.

Torra had said "To be able to heal herself and others. This was the blueworkings."

"I am called Maddox here your majesty, but ny real name is Loki..and these are my natural eyes. My hair is naturally black, but for obvious reasons it is blonde here." He spoke warmly into her mind. While connected like this they shared her workings. He could speak to her telepathically.

"Why did you jump? Surely you do not want to expire your highness." He asked her looking into her eyes as she breathed for them.

"..although it has crossed my mind before.... I am trying to grow in skill with this." She motioned to the blue glow under her skin swirling away. She felt herself beginning to get weak. Loki cupped her face and kissed her deeply.

"You are too beautiful to expire. Since I have seen you I have wanted to take you into my arms. You do not know it yet...but you and I are destined to wed." He kept eye contact as he spoke telepathically to her. Her eyes widened as she pushed from him feeling weakened.

"Loki...Maddox...I need you to swim. Please. I cannot keep breathing for us. I am losing my stamina quickly trying to keep us both breathing .. Once we are to the surface we will not be able to speak freely. My father watches me like a hawk especially near males." She whispered it to him as she felt herself burning alive inside. Everything ached. She closed her eyes and her body collapsed against him.

Loki's eyes dialated in fear as he felt her go limp. The blue fading from him. He pulled her body to his and kicked off the floor of the water swimming up to the surface. Once he breeched the surface he saw guards and the royal family were waiting.

"What took you so long?!" Snapped Lucreetus.

"Forgive me sire." Loki sputtered out of breath.

"She had sank to the bottom and was tangled in weeds. " he lied effertlessly.

The guards pulled him from the water and extracted the limp girl from him.

Celeste was screaming at the horror.

Alessa's body was unresponsive.

"Lay her down flat. Quick!" The voice came from behind Lucreetus. Torra stepped forward and took her gloves off. Her hands swirling with multiple colors. She placed her palms to Alessa's chest and closed her eyes. Focusing she breathed in and out. The blue in Alessa's skin moving towards where Torra's hands were placed.

A gasp sounded as Alessa began spitting and sputtering water. Torra flipped her quickly and rubbed her back as she retched.

Celeste was upon her side instantly. Trying to hold her wet hair back.

Lucreetus stepped up to Loki jabbing a finger in his face.

"If you touched her in any way inappropriately so help me." He said jabbing a finger at him again.

Loki straightened and looked at him with innocent golden eyes.

"Majesty. Maddox is my son. He would never harm the lady Alessa. He simply saw her fall over the edge and acted quickly. Had he not been near I would have feared a much darker outcome." The response was from Torra and not Loki, who stood with a clenched jaw.

Lucreetus straightened and turned to leave.

"Yes well, get some clothes on. You are not to be near Alessa again." He said curtly before marching off. The crowd of guards and civilians moving with him.

Alessa looked up at Torra trying to hide the tears that burned her raw eyes.

"I was just trying to-"

"I know... You were trying to get a run in to enjoy the fresh air and salt of the water when you accidently slipped and fell. I know your majesty. It is okay, no one blames you." Torra cut her off and answered for her. Alessa nodded accepting the lie as she looked to celeste.

"Alessa you scared me! You must be ice cold. Let's get you in a bath and to bed." She spoke standing. She motioned for guards to pick Alessa up.

As she felt strong arms under her lifting her up she looked to the still half naked man. His hair was golden and hung to his shoulders in wet locks. His jaw and shoulders both broad and his chest was muscular but not buldging. His eyes were a honey gold just like Torra's. Alessa blinked and looked at Torra.

"His eyes..." She spoke softly looking confused.

"What about them majesty?" Torra spoke aloud

"What you saw was no illusion. He is of your world. Do not discuss it now Alessa." Came the voice in her mind.

"They look like yours." She finished as Torra beemed at the compliment.

The guards moved quickly pulling her into her room and leaving. The maids took it from there stripping off her wet clothes and getting her into the hot bath. She had just relaxed and was warming up when the door crashed open and her father stepped in red in the face.

Alessa stood at the noise but quickly tried to cover herself.

Whack.

A hand reached out and smacked her face jerking her to the side. Alessa fell into the side of the tub with a shriek. Lucreetus went on to beat her until he left in a huffing rage. Alessa had cried out in the beginning but realized it was fruitless. She whimpered hoarsly as he continued to hit and kick her, even smashing something over her body. She laid in the water that was now chilled and surveryed the black and blue in spots. She sobbed softly. Only when Lucreetus was gone did the maid come in and help her from the bath. She dried her and dressed her and put her in bed. Acting as if nothing was different. This was soemthing all of Alessa's staff had seen many times. They knew to keep their mouths shut. Alessa's entire body ached now and she was sure she had a cracked rib. One eye was puffy and she had a pounding headache. Lucreetus would hide her away with excuses until the bruises healed. She prayed swiftly for sleep, but sleep eluded her until dawn barely krept over the edge of her windows. Illuminating just how dark her skin could get. She laid sore and aching as her last drips of tears had dried long ago. She was left in silence for her brain to continue to abuse her far worse than Lucreetus ever would.

There was a knock at her door. She hissed as she stood from the side of the bed. Breathing hurt and she could taste bile and blood. She definitely had a broken rib. Her head pounding harder than the impatient knocking at the door she moved to answer it slowly as it became louder still with insistance.

"Lady Alessa I will not have you lat-" the sentence was cut off as Torra stepped in the room and closed the door keping her back to the door staring in shock at thr young girl. She moved her hand behind her back and flicked the bolt latching the door shut. Alessa stood with her hands together in front of her looking to her feet trying not to move or show her face. Torra took a gently slow step forward and lifted a gloved hand moving Alessa's black hair from her face and lifting her chin to survey the damage.

Alessa met her gaze with one blacked eye and a busted lip. Her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Dear Gods....what has he done to you?" She whispered aloud.

[thearrangment-phff]

XLIV. Gaelle

August 2017

When Isabella had said she was going Switzerland to visit her brother and sister-in-law she wasn't lying. Though she was also in Switzerland for a different purpose.  Princess Christine had explained that Isabella's eggs had been fertilized and needed to be placed back in Isabella. There were more medical terms and of course a longer explanation that Isabella didn't care for. She only saw it as all she had to do was lay on her back and get pregnant.  

The procedure, or as Gaelle thought of it as "the holy act", was done in the early morning of a Wednesday. Isabella and Adelaide had gone in together in case there were photographs of the day, Isabella, and her ladies-in-waiting would use the excuse of going to see the doctor would be because of Adelaide. Though her sister-in-law wasn’t told of why Isabella was there. 

Isabella was told that she would have another niece within the week and found irony in Isabella's was about to get pregnant and Adelaide was about to have her second daughter.

The small group of women had gone back to Christoph and Adelaide flat in Switzerland by the afternoon. Adelaide and Christoph had a home in France and a small flat in Switzerland where they spent most of their time. Both places had been used equally but the flat was a one bedroom that was bought when Adelaide and Christoph first began their marriage. It reminded Isabella of her flat just a thirty minutes' walk from her brother's place. That place had been sold just hours after her marriage.

Princess Christine, Princess Charlotte, Countess Gaelle, and Countess Olympia had been told to leave Adelaide and Christoph's home to enjoy their time in Switzerland for the time being. All had objected knowing that Isabella wouldn't be in the right state of mind since the morning. Adelaide couldn't handle Isabella if she would happen to go into a depressive state, but she also knew Isabella would rather break down in front of one person than anything else.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," replied Isabella.

"You know you can tell me anything," smiled Adelaide.

There were a couple seconds of silence that worried Adelaide. She was tempted to call Isabella's mother Marie Astrid, "Can you tell me about the first time you realized you were pregnant?" Asked Isabella.

"With Katarina or this little one?"  

"Either."

"With Katarina, I had my suspicions for days but I went to the doctor's and got a blood test done, then everything was confirmed. Christoph and I had been trying for about a year and no child had come. Before I found out that I was pregnant I was sad so I tried to convince myself that it was a good thing. That somehow Christoph and I would be good with more time of just us two," smiled Adelaide.

"I don't know what terrifies me more, being a mother and having to give birth to a child," joked Isabella.

"Giving birth is a small fraction of the fear. You never stop being scared when you have someone to care for, though not everyone is in your position. Not everyone has the eyes of the world upon them, press to hound them, and the whispers of small people that form a louder judgment."

"Sometimes I think about his mother. They killed her and I'm afraid they'll kill one of us too. I don't want my children to face what he did, it nearly destroyed him on separate occasions. He confessed to me that he fears that I'm having an affair and I swore to him I am not. He fears history repeating itself. Marriage, children, cheating, divorce, and death as if it a curse on his family," confessed Isabella.

"Isabella, he has every right to be scared. He lived through all of this and he doesn't want his children to go through the same thing. He's probably twice as scared as you are and you have to understand where he comes from. Your life and his were vastly different and I fear you can't see that."

"Of course, I understand him."

"No, you don't Isabella. You've always been an overdramatic, selfish girl and I mean that with as much love and respect I could possibly give you at this time. You can't see past your own needs because you've never had to in regards to finding a lover. There's a reason you've never had a serious relationship and it's not because you and Joachim have always had something. It's because you are a selfish woman and Joachim was willing to work with your needs. You change your mind so quickly that you never think about the consequences of the people you hurt in the process," stated Adelaide.

"I think it's time for me to leave. I fear I have overstayed my welcome and don’t want to intrude," smiled Isabella as she began to gather her things, "I'll send Olympia for my other things later on. If you will excuse me I have somewhere else to be."

Her ladies-in-waiting were around the city but rather than call all of them back she only called one. She had asked Countess Gaelle to meet her at the Basilica of Our Lady of Geneva. It was the Catholic church that Isabella had gone to with her family and the main Catholic church in Geneva.

Isabella looked up stained glass windows remembering her mother tell her stories about when they were made, who made them, and what story they told. Isabella had felt someone come sit next to her but her eyes never left the glass windows.

The two women sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Isabella finally turned her head towards Gaelle, "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

"No. Of course not. Why do you ask?" Replied Gaelle.

"Do you think I would be a good mother?" Asked Isabella.

"I can't answer that, at least not truthfully. Being a mother is something you learn as the days go by and it's very hard to judge motherhood on a scale of good or bad," answered Gaelle.

"Did you ever think about being a mother? I know you chose to become a religious sister but do you ever think about it sometimes?"

"On some occasions, yes, but I chose God and to serve him. I decided my life but fate knew I would always give myself completely to him."

"I don't think I want this anymore," whispered Isabella.

"Want what Belle?"

"My marriage to Harry. We've only been married about 2 months but I'm not happy Gaelle. Sometimes I am but most of the time I feel this stabbing in my gut as if I will vomit all over the floor. There are simple moments when he looks at me and it's as if we are the only ones in the room. He's always so gentle with me, but I can't get rid of that disgusting feelings sometimes. It's magnified since those eggs were taken out of me and they're worse know that they are inside me again, knowing I may be pregnant. If I can't last these 2 months than how can I last 2 years or 2 decades? I know I agreed to this and I know I won't get a divorce because everyone won't want me to but I feel nothing but sadness," confessed Isabella in tears.

"You know I would never say be this unless it needed to be, but Belle get a divorce."

Isabella shook her head violently, "I know I can because it was my agreement but everyone would be angry. Princess Charlotte may yell at me until I'm dead, Countess Olympia may push me to marry her cousin, Princess Christine would give me a disappointed look that my mother use to give me, and you..." Isabella couldn't continue.

"And me what Belle?"

"With you, I feel as if you are God himself ready to past my judgment and send me to hell every time I look you in the eyes," whispered Isabella.

"Oh my sweet girl, you worry too much."

"You have no idea how our evenings praying means to me now."

"I know you don't believe in God, and you haven't for a while. But, if praying with me helps then I shall be at your service until you tire of me. That is what a lady-in-waiting does and that's why I was chosen to be by your side. You didn't need me in the beginning, you needed Charlotte and Christine, but now that you have sworn yourself to a man in front of the world and God himself, and you need me. I won’t disappoint you Belle."

"Well what if I disappoint you? Or everyone else?"

"You agreed to all of this, you haven't disappointed anyone. Besides, no one should tell you anything otherwise. You have sacrificed a lot, even if you don't know it, for those people."

"Those people are my family. Do you know who is doing all this? The marriages that is," asked Isabella.

"Countess Lydia Holstein til Ledreborg now, but it wasn't always her."

"Henri's mother? Please don't tell me Gabriella's marriage is like mine?" Begged Isabella.

"No, not that I know of, but your sister did have his child before they got married so they should tell you enough your sisters love for Henri," replied Countess Gaelle.

"Who was the first?"

"Your ancestor Princess Adelaide of Löwenstein-Wertheim-Rosenberg had the idea, of course, every royal two hundred years ago married into other royal families. Then your great-great-grandmother Infanta Maria Antonia of Portugal continued that with all her Bourbon-Parma children. After her Archduchess Maria Anna took over but in her death, her line died with her. So Madeleine de Bourbon-Busset took the position but it was disputed because Infanta Alicia, Duchess of Calabria was Archduchess Maria Anna's daughter and many thought she should continue to work. In the end, the position should have gone to Princess Irene of the Netherlands but she divorced the Duke of Parma before Madeleine's death," explained Gaelle.

"Prince Carlos married a commoner," interrupted Isabella.

"Yes, so they searched the family tree to go through your great-grandfather Prince Felix's line. Why Countess Lydia was chosen I have no idea considering her mother is alive and well. I don't know much beyond that Belle so I couldn't answer more questions if you had them."

"Thank you... thank you for everything," smiled Isabella.

[oflgtfol]

bc i cant stop thinking abt that dream.. im gonna elaborate on it because it was so detailed and so long and felt so real

so it started off with me in a small library but like, it was so cramped and the lights were off. bookshelves were everywhere, and most were like only waist high? strange adults were everywhere, standing against the walls/shelves or sitting in the aisles. all had their hands cuffed behind their backs or in front of them and they all had like, tape or something over their mouths. but there were some adults among them in bullet proof vests and with guns in their hands. i dont know the situation like i dont even think i acknowledged it in the dream but from context clues im p sure it was like a hostage situation

so im in there sneaking around, in the back of my mind i just Know that my parents and my brother are also in the room also sneaking thru the aisles. all the hostage adults are staring at me like, acknowledging that they know im here to help rescue them. so after a few close calls around corners almost getting caught by the gunmen i get to a somewhat open area, meanig that its still cramped but its a small square between bookshelves with a table and 2 chairs. theres a TON of hostages squeezed into this area. i knew that that was the objective, that i had to get there

so me and my family burst forward and the gunmen spot us, but the hostages all help us overwhelm the guys. the gunmen are shooting blindly into the crowd, aiming mostly for me and my family, and SOMEHOW everybody else dodges it but me. literally it went in slow motion and i saw it like in third person, watching it come towards me and i was like “watch it hit me lmao. oh fuck its actually gonna hit me”

so i get shot in my stomach during all this and the pain just, it wasnt all that bad really? like it felt like uhm. getting hit with a water balloon actually (i was just in a water fight yesterday and now upon realizing this its like.... did that contribute to this dream....) so then its all clear like the bad guys are defeated, it gets kinda blurry at this point but i know in some disembodied way that i told my parents after everything wrapped up when they were asking if everyone was okay that i was hit, and they like, didnt care. i was like “HEY i got SHOT in the stomach!” and theyre like k and it took them foreverrrrrrr to get me medical attention. and i wasnt even.. bleeding outwardly? so i was so worried about internal bleeding because like HEY i have a bullet in me so i must be bleeding somewhere like,,, come on lmao

the next like visual thing i remember is in the hospital. its been a while since like, i woke up so this is kinda blurry too but i remember being put into a wheelchair by some nurses.. ive been in a wheelchair only once and that was in 2nd grade but this one i was allowed to use like, on my own, so it threw me off? and at this point i was like, fuck, i’ve been shot before when i was little. i’ve done this before. i had to go into surgery and everything. but it was all vague flashes i could barely remember it but it felt a lot like when i remember the major things from my childhood that i just COMPLETELY forgot about for so long, like speech therapy? like i had gotten injured from a gun when i was less than ten years old and i just, forgot about that? i was like HOW did i forget about this

so i was already in the hospital at this point but for the one room, i wheeled up to the entrance and it felt kinda like the 11th/12th grade cafeteria entrance that i use in school?? a small double door, blank walls, kinda dark, empty, and there was a nurse checking us in. at this point i was surrounded by all my classmates from my ap lang class, or maybe not ap lang in particular idk since like all the ap kids are mostly grouped together despite class? idk man. but my classmates were literally all fine idk why they were there? they werent even there for checkups or anything (disregarding the fact that you dont get a check up at a hospital you get that at a normal doctors office..) so i was there in my literal wheelchair and the nurse was like “wait your turn!!” she was really snooty it was annoying i was like, word for word, “uhm HELLO i have a GSW in my abdomen!!!!!!” and my one classmate finally spoke up as he was being checked in he was like “uh hey brot is here and like, got shot, so i think she should go first lmao?” so the nurse finally smiled at me and admitted me in

and it led to this small cramped room where they scanned your entire body for every single thing wrong with it adn they displayed it on a board where everyone could see, including my classmates, and i was like ohh my god. oh my god. the nurses were like “hm you could eat better but overall you’re in good health!” and i was like DUDE thats embarrassing i dont want everybody to see all my minute issues and LIKE I AM LITERALLY INJURED I HAVE A BULLET IN MY STOMACH WHY ARE YOU DISCUSSING MY DIET WHEN THERE ARE MORE PRESSING ISSUES...

so finally we go into the actual room and its this giant giant mostly empty room, im remembering this room from my first go at this from when i was a kid. theres a table in the middle thats pretty big but has.. no chairs around it... but theres puzzles and weird bookmark things scattered around on it to keep you occupied, and then theres a single table far removed from everything else, only long enough for a body and slightly wider, and theres one identical to that on the other side of the room. and i know from when i was a kid that those are for surgeries and like, i KNOW this but i was like, wrow thats unsanitary lmao

so i go to the table in the middle because thats where you’re supposed to wait till you’re called for surgery, but im so ANXIOUS because like.. its surgery... and now im remembering more of it from when i was a kid like im remembering going into it, waking up from it... my classmates are all sitting on the table like its some casual after school thing, theyre all talking

and then i remember from the first surgery. i remember the surgery itself. i apparently wasnt put under for it. i was conscious during it. i was numbed out obviously but like, i was AWAKE, and that makes me SO fucking scared for my upcoming surgery. like, enough that some of my classmates sense that im getting more and more anxious so they start shoving the bookmarks in my face, and the bookmarks are like the weird ones from the library irl that have quotes on them, and like i cant even read any because im just so anxious like im keeled over in the wheelchair so anxious about it, and the fact that my classmates are trying to interact with me during this is just making it worse like i APPRECIATE trying to make me feel better but i CANNOT read right now

and like, i was never called for surgery? im sitting there until the sun sets, but i only know that because i eventually leave the room just needing to do SOMETHING and the hospital lobby, for all the people waiting for patients? is empty and the sky outside is the dark blue kind of like, twilight

i really dont know how this dream suddenly turns, like i cannot remember the breaching moment and idk if its because its been almost 12 hours since i woke from the dream or if there even WAS a breaching moment

but the next thing i know is that me and shannen are running (me wheeling furiously) along the top of some like, wall. and the hospital looming in front of us is now some sort of fortified citadel, and we’re on one of the defensive walls around it, theres towers and spires everywhere in the distance around the citadel. and theres fucking. ANGELS attackign the place. the angels are classic white dress wearing, harp playing, type creatures but their eyes are all closed and black tears are running down their faces, and literally everything else about them is white. the dresses are this weathered white, their skin is weathered white (like, like marble but without the darker lines yknow?), and their eyes + tears are the darkest things on them so they stand OUT. and their mouths are flat lines, also black like as if its like, lineart or something yknow? like their faces look like masks but they arent. they have harps in one hand and then LONG ass swords in their other hands and they are fuckign terrifying

so me and shannen are outside of the main area of attack and we stumble upon this part of the wall thats like, collapsed, and theres a fucking OCEAN next to the citadel. so the stones that have fallen into the water, theres some sort of chariot on it with the same kind of look as the angels, white + black accent kinda look to it. the chariot is low lying and theres a figure laying over it, collapsed, reaching forward at nothing almost like a zombie trying to move? and he.. god i wanna say it was icarus but i really dont know because i feel, deep down that his name started with an e but i have no idea what dude it would be then bc i know it was a guy from greek mythology somehow but IDK WHO... so this guy also has the same vibe as the angels but his face is like, a fuckign mess, like it looked like he was melting (maybe thats why i wanna say icarus idk) but the melted parts were black, plus the black eyes (whcih were semi open) and the black tears and his mouth was kinda open in a silent wail (also black). i wanna say he had black hair too but idk maybe the whole black mass on his overall head was just the melting.. and this melted black liquid is strewn all over the chariot and the stone block thats barely out of the water. and out of the water, behind the chariot, all the angels were bursting forward and heading to the citadel like as if it was the Angel Spawn Point

IDK it was such a weird fuckign sight it looked like a fallen angel but i just knew deep down that it was some guy from greek mythology but I DONT KNOW WHO IT WOULD BE especially with a name starting with e..!!!

anyway yeah i woke up then. the whole angel sequence was super short compared to the rest of the dream, but it was more on par with what i normally dream than the rest? like i dont recall ever having guns in my dreams except for maybe one dream in middle school that was like,,,,, nuclear apocalypse type thing......... and never have i ever been like, INJURED like that in a dream? i’ve died in dreams yeah but ive never been like.. shot.. the closest thing i can think of was that one weird borderline nightmare earlier this year where i died of internal bleeding in school due to school negligence..... hm!

like idk this was just such a weird dream i normally have very very wild dreams with a more fantasy element to them, and the mundane ones are just me in school or on tumblr, like ive never had like, an ACTION MOVIE kinda thing??

and it felt SO REAL like when i woke up i literally thought that i had some sort of repressed gun related traumatic event from my childhood that i was only uncovering now and it was only when i realized that i was in bed and not like, at the hospital with a gun wound in my stomach, that i was like oh haha no thats not real

[jimmyyduttonil]

Family Letter 6.12.20-6.15.20 West Clear Creek

On an exciting Friday morning, we, the boys of B2B, deep cleaned the house, flaunting our streamlined abilities to dial things in. We then left after getting the brief for where we were going – a sacred, much loved B2B destination only around an hour and a half south, near Sedona. West Clear Creek is only accessible by first driving down a long dirt road then also backpacking around 3 miles into the creek area. That may sound like a menial task to some, however, when we neared the edge of the trail, we were abruptly reminded that the trail leading down into the canyon was frighteningly steep. Lucky to have top of the line gear and our athletic statues on the rise, the looming cliffs didn’t phase us. We made the hike down with no injuries or worries and proceeded to find a good campsite to lay our heads for the night.

When we arrived at the campsite, it seemed like paradise – however, as the sun fell into dusk, terror crawled out of the dark spaces of the earth around us. Spiders. Lots of spiders. (daddy long legs, safe for humans) Some of us don’t like spiders very much, typically freaking out about a single one. This, however, was different. An army, as in thousands upon thousands of these spiders, literally covered our campsite. Surprisingly, even those with phobias thereof were able to find ways to deal with their biggest fears, rather than let it get to them. This implies that the boys of B2B are constructively using their minds to solve problems in their lives rather than succumb to the pressures of real life.

The next morning, we awoke to, thankfully, no more spiders, and a beautiful landscape surrounding us. We quickly got ourselves together, drank some coffee, and got ready to venture deeper into the canyon, towards the waterfall. The last time we were here, we didn’t actually make it to the waterfall, so the goal was to get to the end of the trail. We loaded up on water and protein bars and headed out at around 9 am. After much playing around and scaling walls, we made it to the waterfall. Facing even more fears, the guys decided it was time to jump off some cliffs, into some crystal clear, deep water. After impressing all onlookers with our flips, spins, and frantic falls, we ran an AA meeting in the water and headed back. We made it back at around 5 pm. We wrote in our journals about what we most need to work on in our journeys, ate, and went to sleep under beautiful stars.

We woke up the next morning, swam much more, and began to get ready to hike out. The steep hike down was nothing compared to the descent, and so, naturally, we swam even a few more times before letting the time slip to about 3 pm. We geared up to head out and did so indeed. The last hike out took 2 hours and 30 minutes, but, in record time, we made it up 2000 feet and out in only an hour and a half. The aspect of physical health and well being at B2B was surely showing itself true. We made it back to the vans, ready to sleep for the night in the midst of making dinner, and were attacked by another form of terror, a swarm of gnats. After being bitten to the point of maximum irritants, we discussed options. When we did so, we realized that one of the tires on a van was concerningly flat. Trusting their masterful intuition, the outdoor guides decided it was a safety risk to camp the night, and so, late at night, we headed home. Despite the spiders and the gnats, we agreed that this, in particular, was one of the best trips thus far,

Till next time.

source https://back2basics-soberliving.com/family-letter-6-12-20-6-15-20-west-clear-creek/ from Back2Basics Outdoor Adventure Recovery https://back2basicssoberliving.blogspot.com/2020/06/family-letter-61220-61520-west-clear.html

[back2basicssoberliving]

Family Letter 6.12.20-6.15.20 West Clear Creek

On an exciting Friday morning, we, the boys of B2B, deep cleaned the house, flaunting our streamlined abilities to dial things in. We then left after getting the brief for where we were going – a sacred, much loved B2B destination only around an hour and a half south, near Sedona. West Clear Creek is only accessible by first driving down a long dirt road then also backpacking around 3 miles into the creek area. That may sound like a menial task to some, however, when we neared the edge of the trail, we were abruptly reminded that the trail leading down into the canyon was frighteningly steep. Lucky to have top of the line gear and our athletic statues on the rise, the looming cliffs didn’t phase us. We made the hike down with no injuries or worries and proceeded to find a good campsite to lay our heads for the night.

When we arrived at the campsite, it seemed like paradise – however, as the sun fell into dusk, terror crawled out of the dark spaces of the earth around us. Spiders. Lots of spiders. (daddy long legs, safe for humans) Some of us don’t like spiders very much, typically freaking out about a single one. This, however, was different. An army, as in thousands upon thousands of these spiders, literally covered our campsite. Surprisingly, even those with phobias thereof were able to find ways to deal with their biggest fears, rather than let it get to them. This implies that the boys of B2B are constructively using their minds to solve problems in their lives rather than succumb to the pressures of real life.

The next morning, we awoke to, thankfully, no more spiders, and a beautiful landscape surrounding us. We quickly got ourselves together, drank some coffee, and got ready to venture deeper into the canyon, towards the waterfall. The last time we were here, we didn’t actually make it to the waterfall, so the goal was to get to the end of the trail. We loaded up on water and protein bars and headed out at around 9 am. After much playing around and scaling walls, we made it to the waterfall. Facing even more fears, the guys decided it was time to jump off some cliffs, into some crystal clear, deep water. After impressing all onlookers with our flips, spins, and frantic falls, we ran an AA meeting in the water and headed back. We made it back at around 5 pm. We wrote in our journals about what we most need to work on in our journeys, ate, and went to sleep under beautiful stars.

We woke up the next morning, swam much more, and began to get ready to hike out. The steep hike down was nothing compared to the descent, and so, naturally, we swam even a few more times before letting the time slip to about 3 pm. We geared up to head out and did so indeed. The last hike out took 2 hours and 30 minutes, but, in record time, we made it up 2000 feet and out in only an hour and a half. The aspect of physical health and well being at B2B was surely showing itself true. We made it back to the vans, ready to sleep for the night in the midst of making dinner, and were attacked by another form of terror, a swarm of gnats. After being bitten to the point of maximum irritants, we discussed options. When we did so, we realized that one of the tires on a van was concerningly flat. Trusting their masterful intuition, the outdoor guides decided it was a safety risk to camp the night, and so, late at night, we headed home. Despite the spiders and the gnats, we agreed that this, in particular, was one of the best trips thus far,

Till next time.

from Back2Basics Addiction Recovery for Drugs and Alcohol https://back2basics-soberliving.com/family-letter-6-12-20-6-15-20-west-clear-creek/