#what was that shadow that appeared in his room that he gave a ominous glance to…

[kaiiscottage]

Little Matakara and his brother since i haven’t seen anyone post them yet <3

[neeksparksg]

A Moonlit Memory

On 0001 Cemetery Lane stood the Addams mansion, looming in eerie grandeur against the dim light of a misty morning.

Y/n, stepped into the living room. "Ghoulheart, my love," she purred, wrapping her arms around Gomez, who was engrossed in his model trains. "are we letting the locomotives roam free today?"

Gomez chuckled, his mustache twitching with excitement. "Absolutely, Amore mio! All aboard the Addams Express!" He turned to face her, planting a kiss on her lips.

Just then, Morticia entered, her elegant gown flowing as gracefully as ever, her presence enough to capture everyone’s attention. "Beautiful as always, my beloved Nightshade," Y/n greeted her, giving a subtle but intimate kiss on Morticia's cheek.

Morticia’s lips curved into a smile. "And a lovely morning to you too, my love." She reached for Gomez, pulling him into their embrace.

Their moment was interrupted by Uncle Fester, bursting into the room. "Gomez! Y/n! Morticia! Guess what I've invented? A train track that changes its form automatically!" he declared, dragging in a desk covered with a blanket.

Gomez’s eyes lit up like a child’s on Halloween. "Fester, you’ve outdone yourself! Let’s give it a whirl!"

"Boys and their trains," Y/n whispered with a smile as she watched Gomez and Fester excitedly pull the blanket off the table to reveal an built-in train track.

As Fester and Gomez fiddled with the setup, Morticia turned to Y/n. "There will be a beautiful full moon tonight, my dear. Perfect for a moonlit stroll."

A smile crept across Y/n’s face at her wife’s suggestion. "Absolutely perfect, my love. Let's ask Lurch and the kids if they’d like to join." She pulled on the rope hanging from the ceiling, ringing the large bell that echoed through the house.

Lurch’s tall, looming figure appeared silently from the shadows. "You rang?"

Y/n looked at him with a grin. "Lurch, my dear, ominous friend, would you accompany us on a moonlit stroll tonight?" Lurch answer was just to give a solemnly nod.

Just then, Grandmama shuffled in from the kitchen. "A stroll, eh? Just remember to watch out for werewolves!"

"Don’t worry, Mamá," Y/n replied. "I’ll be sure to pack a snack for them."

The sound of scampering feet announced the arrival of Wednesday and Pugsley. "Morning, Mother, Mom," Wednesday greeted, looking up at Morticia and Y/n. "We've been working on a potion to turn vegetables into bats."

Pugsley added, "It’s not working yet, but it makes great slime!" He held up his hands, covered in a gooey mess.

Y/n chuckled. "Still that is Impressive work, you two."

As the morning melted into afternoon, the family went about their usual activities. Morticia tended her garden; Y/n rested in the living room, listening as Lurch played the piano; Gomez and Fester tried to outdo each other with in a explosives battle, and Wednesday and Pugsley enjoyed their break in the playroom after finishing Grandmama’s lessons.

As night fell, the family gathered in the garden, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns. Before setting off, Y/n turned to the kids. “Did you remember to leave food for Aristotle and Homer?”

“Yes, we fed them earlier,” Pugsley replied. Fester chimed in, “And I gave Kitty Kat some meat. You know how much that cat eats—wouldn’t want him sneaking out to hunt.”

“Good thinking,” Y/n nodded approvingly. “Poor thing wouldn’t last a second out there.” With everyone ready, they began their moonlit stroll, arms linked.

“It truly is a remarkable night,” Morticia murmured, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

Gomez grinned. “Absolutely. A brilliant idea to come out tonight!”

The stars twinkled above, casting long, shifting shadows across the garden. Pugsley and Wednesday glanced up at their parents, curiosity lighting their faces.

“Mom, Dad… Mother,” Pugsley began, “how did you three meet?”

Morticia’s lips curled into a nostalgic smile. “Ah, well then, gather ’round, and we’ll share a tale from the days of our youth.”

Gomez leaned in, his eyes gleaming. “It was a night much like this, many moons ago. Your mother and I were young.”

Morticia continued, her voice soft and melodic. “We’d heard whispers of a peculiar circus in town, one promising oddities beyond imagination. Naturally, we thought it would make for an unforgettable date.”

Gomez chuckled, his enthusiasm infectious. “The circus was like no other—a strange blend of performances and macabre wonders. But amid it all, we spotted something special.”

Morticia gently brushed a stray lock of Wednesday’s hair. “A curious sign caught our attention: ‘Gaze into the Spirit Veil and Communicate with the Beyond.’ We were intrigued, drawn in by the mysteries it promised.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled as Morticia spoke. “We entered a tent adorned with mystic symbols and deep velvet curtains. In the center, a figure cloaked in shadow awaited. She stepped into the light, revealing the most captivating girl I’d ever seen.”

Pugsley leaned forward, wide-eyed. “You were part of the circus?!”

Y/n chuckled softly. “Yes. I had a gift—connecting with spirits—and the circus… well, they exploited it. People would come to speak to the beyond through me.”

Wednesday’s curiosity deepened. “What happened next?”

Gomez’s gaze softened, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face. “As I looked into Y/n’s eyes, it felt like the world around us disappeared. We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame.”

Morticia’s voice held a touch of mystery. “It was love at first sight.”

Y/n’s smile was tender. “We spoke without words; it was as if our souls connected in that single moment.”

Gomez’s tone turned mischievous. “We knew we had to help Y/n escape the circus and its clutches.”

Morticia nodded, her eyes reflecting a boldness from her younger years. “With a plan as daring as it was risky, we orchestrated a grand escape. Beneath the watchful gaze of the moon, we whisked Y/n away into the warmth of our love.”

Pugsley’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “And then you got married?”

Gomez laughed, ruffling Pugsley’s hair. “Exactly, my boy!”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, watching her family fondly. “Well, it wasn’t quite that simple, but yes, that’s how it all started.”

[zeezed01]

Chapter Ten - The Stranger We Knew

The hospital loomed in the distance, its shadowed silhouette a beacon of temporary relief. Percy shifted Nico’s weight on his shoulders, his arms aching from carrying the unconscious boy for what felt like miles. Nico’s pale face rested against Percy’s back, his fragile frame a stark contrast to the bruises and blood staining his arm. Each labored step echoed exhaustion, but Percy pressed on, driven by a mix of guilt, obligation, and the knowledge that Nico’s life now depended on them. 

Leo trudged alongside him, pistol in hand, his expression sour. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “He tried to kill us, and now we’re carrying his scrawny ass back like we’re some rescue squad?” 

Percy didn’t respond. The words hung heavy between them, but the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps on the cracked asphalt drowned out any further argument. 

By the time they reached the hospital’s makeshift entrance, Percy was drenched in sweat, his muscles trembling under Nico’s weight. He barely had the strength to call out, his voice rasping as he banged against the barricaded doors. “Will! Open up!” 

It only took a moment before Will flung the door wide, his eyes widening at the sight of Nico slumped against Percy. “What the hell happened?” 

“Long story,” Percy grunted, staggering inside and gently lowering Nico onto a gurney they’d salvaged weeks ago. “But we need your help. He’s hurt—shot.” 

Will stepped into action immediately, his hands already moving to examine the wound. “You brought someone back?” His voice was sharp, accusing. “Are you insane? Who even is this?” 

“Not important right now,” Percy said firmly, though his tone betrayed his own uncertainty. He stepped back, finally able to straighten up after the grueling trek. 

Leo, less willing to let the tension slide, crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Oh, I’ll tell you who he is. He’s a Grade-A asshole who nearly killed us. That’s who.” 

Will gave Leo a withering glare as he began to carefully peel back the bloodied fabric of Nico’s sleeve. “And you still brought him here?” 

“He was going to die if we didn’t,” Percy shot back, his voice sharper than intended. 

Will sighed, muttering under his breath as he worked. “Unbelievable. Fine. Let me see how bad it is.” 

The room was silent except for Will’s murmured observations as he carefully cleaned the wound. “Through and through,” he said, sounding relieved. “No bone damage, but infection’s a serious risk. We’ll need antibiotics. And he’s dehydrated—badly.” 

Will gestured toward the hallway. “Grab one of the real hospital beds from the west wing. He’ll need to be elevated, and the gurney’s too unstable.” 

Percy and Leo exchanged a glance before nodding. Together, they wrestled a wheeled hospital bed through the debris-filled corridor, the clatter echoing ominously as they returned. Will directed them to transfer Nico carefully, securing him on the clean sheets before covering him with a blanket. 

Leo stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Great. He’s comfortable. Now, can we talk about how stupid this is?” 

Piper appeared in the doorway, her brows furrowed as she took in the scene. “What’s going on?” 

Leo threw up his hands. “What’s going on? Oh, I’ll tell you. We rescued the guy who tried to kill us. That’s what’s going on.” 

Piper’s gaze shifted to Nico, and her expression softened. She walked closer, her steps tentative as she studied his face. “Wait a second…” 

Percy noticed the change in her demeanor. “What?” 

Piper crouched beside the bed, brushing her hair back as she leaned in for a better look. Despite the grime and blood, something about Nico struck a chord. Her voice was quiet, almost disbelieving. “I know him. I’ve seen him before.” 

Leo blinked. “You what?” 

Piper didn’t respond right away, her focus entirely on Nico. “He was at my high school. A couple of years younger than me. I remember him—Nico di Angelo, right?” 

Will froze mid-motion, his hands hovering over Nico’s wound as he processed the revelation. Percy straightened, surprise flickering in his tired eyes. 

“You knew him?” Percy asked cautiously. 

“I mean, not well,” Piper said, standing up but keeping her gaze on Nico. “He was quiet—really quiet. But he was sweet. Always had his nose in a book. Everyone thought he was a little strange, but he wasn’t a bad kid.” She frowned, glancing at the others. “I thought he moved away before… before everything.” 

Leo snorted, his tone bitter. “Well, he didn’t exactly move away to Disneyland. He joined the ranks of the creepiest cult of people we’ve ever met.” 

Will straightened, wiping his hands on a bloodied towel. “I’ve done what I can for now. He’s stable, but infection’s a real concern. We need to get more supplies.” He glanced at Percy. “I still don’t get why you brought him here. This is a risk.” 

Leo crossed his arms, glaring down at Nico. “Not just a risk. He’s dangerous. You saw what he was like back there. He’s one of them.” 

Percy rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion lining his features. “We made a call. Right or wrong, we couldn’t leave him to die.” 

“And now he’s here,” Leo shot back. “In our space, where he can stab us in the back the first chance he gets. Brilliant.” 

Piper stepped between them, her voice calm but firm. “He’s hurt, Leo. That doesn’t mean he’s beyond saving.” 

“Yeah?” Leo gestured at Nico’s unconscious form. “Tell that to the gun he pointed at me.” 

The tension was palpable, the air thick with unspoken fears and doubts. Finally, Percy broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less determined. “We’ll deal with it when he wakes up. For now, we just make sure he doesn’t die.” 

Leo muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further. He stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. 

Will looked at Percy and Piper, his face tight with worry. “This better not come back to bite us.” 

Piper sighed, pulling a chair over to sit by Nico’s bedside. She rested her elbows on her knees, her gaze distant. “He was different back then,” she said softly. “Quiet, sure, but… sweet. It’s hard to believe he’s the same person Leo’s talking about.” 

People change, Percy thought but didn’t say. Instead, he leaned against the wall, the weight of the day settling over him like a lead blanket. 

As the room fell silent, Nico stirred faintly, his lips moving as if caught in a dream. Percy couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded like a warning—a flicker of the boy who’d grown into someone they could barely recognize. 

[heylorrain]

Serpent's Innocence

[ 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮 𝐦𝐲 🐍 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ]

Previous Part 10 Next

You can read it here or just expand and enjoy!

"They found evidence of all three Unforgivable curses on the wand they confiscated from you, Mrs Morgana. But that wand you gave them... it's not yours."

Lorra's heart raced as she was escorted through the imposing entrance of the Ministry of Magic, her wand taken from her and secured by Arthur Sallow.

Even the time being, the building itself exuded an aura of power and secrecy, with its hulking walls adorned with front pages of the Daily Prophet, bearing headlines of every kind that showcased the vast range of wizarding news. From famous Aurors capturing criminals to the most mundane topics, like the top 10 best-dressed wizards and witches. 

Along the sides of the cold, black marble halls were rows of black chimneys, a telltale sign of wizarding transportation known as floo powder. Lorra watched in awe as witches and wizards appeared and disappeared in flashes of green flames.

Their journey led them to a set of ornate elevator gates. Lorra followed nervously as they descended what felt like an eternity before finally arriving at a door marked with an ominous phrase: Veritas vos liberabit - "The truth will set you free." 

What a wonderful way to spend Christmas Eve…

They cautiously stepped into the small room, its thick gray walls seeming to close in around them. The only source of light came from a dimly glowing floo flame chimney at the far end of the room, casting eerie shadows across the space. In the center of the room sat a worn and uncomfortable looking emerald sofa, serving as a waiting space for visitors.

“Wait here,” one of the stern-faced aurors instructed Lorra as he disappeared through the black metallic door on the other side of the room. She nervously took a seat on the sofa, her mind racing to make sense of what was happening. The rough texture of the furniture only added to her discomfort.

After a few tense minutes, the green flames in the chimney sprang to life, signaling the arrival of Matilda Weasley, Ominis, and Sebastian. Lorra's heart leapt as she rushed towards Ominis, nearly tripping over herself in her haste. They embraced each other tightly, their reunion filled with both joy and pain.

Lorra's shoulders shook as she fought back tears while Ominis wrapped his arms around her, trying to calm her down. 

-"Why would they take my wand? What is happening?" she asked Ominis trying to imagine any possible answer.

-"I don't know, dear," Ominis said, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. "But I promise I will do everything in my power to get you out of this misunderstanding"

-"Don't make promises you can't keep," Arthur sneered, strutting towards them with an air of self-importance.

-"Arthur, please," Professor Weasley interjected sternly. "This is a serious matter and we need to handle it calmly and professionally"

Sebastian rolled his eyes 

-"Always so professional and well-centered, aren't you Arthur? Our family and your colleagues must be very proud." His words dripping with sarcasm and rage.

Professor Matilda let out a frustrated sigh. 

-"Enough! I brought you both here because you insisted on accompanying Lorrain...and because the Ministry allows two witnesses in cases like this."

Witnesses… Witnesses for what?

She glanced at Lorra and gave her a reassuring smile.

- "I'll make sure the paperwork for your wand is ready as soon as possible, Miss Morgana, and with it, your release. Then you can see for yourself that she is innocent, Arthur." 

With that, she turned and left the room with the rest of the aurors.

-“Your wand is currently undergoing thorough examination in the Department of Wand Control, Miss Morgana,” Arthur Sallow began to explain in a stern yet cordial tone. He attempted to soften his approach by casually adding, “Without so many formalities, do you mind if I refer to you as Lorra?” 

She remained silent, her eyes devoid of any respect for him standing in front of her.

However, before she could respond, Ominis interjected with a sardonic and cruel tone. The true Gaunt attitude seemed to seep through his pores as he sneered at the auror's attempt at civility.

-"I'm sure she does mind, especially after being abducted without any explanation from our school. But I suppose you understand that." 

- "I'm not here to argue or entertain petty insults. I want answers, just like I'm sure you all do".

-“Of course you do…” Lorrain whispered.

-“Look, miss Sweety Pie, you’re not going to start giving me lip here. You need to remember your place, and watch it. I’ll give you whatever explanation when I see fit to do so.”

Fury burned in Sebastian and Ominis as they listened to Arthur's patronizing words towards Lorra. Their fists clenched tightly, itching to punch some sense into the arrogant man before them.

"Don't you dare talk down to her like that," Sebastian growled, his voice laced with anger. "She’s not a criminal!"

Ominis stepped forward, his wand at the ready. "We demand answers now, Arthur. Ignoring us will only make things worse for you."

Arthur sneered, his smug expression infuriating. "I couldn't care less about your political and social advantages, young Gaunt. I am here to protect the Wizarding World, and that includes keeping secrets from nosy students like yourself. You’re only here because Matilda Weasley’s stupid connections to the Ministry of Magic proceed her long before your births."

Sebastian's hands trembled with fury as he resisted the overwhelming urge to lunge at his cousin and unleash his pent-up hatred. He could still vividly remember meeting Arthur for the first time at a family reunion, and the disgust had only grown since then. In that moment, he despised his uncle just as much for raising such an arrogant and useless man.

- “Your audacity to accuse innocent people in the name of protecting society makes me sick”. 

-"ALLEGEDLY innocent, dear cousin, allegedly…" Arthur spat back. A flash of rage flickered in Sebastian's eyes as he clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to retaliate. 

-"...And I'll thank you both if you’d let me do my damn job now!" 

With a sudden burst of rage, Arthur slammed his fist down on the wooden table with enough force to make it shake. 

A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by the faint sound of shallow breathing and the distant ticking of a clock. The auror's face contorted in anger, his lip curling to reveal two sharp fangs as he glared at the three slytherin students before him.

Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, he motioned for Lorra to enter through the ominous black door. As it closed behind them with a heavy thud, they were enveloped in an eerie silence, unable to hear anything from the other side. 

-"Arthur is the true living image of Uncle Solomon. They are so alike they can't even tolerate each other. That's one of the reasons he left Feldcroft, they are just like two drops of water, him and his dad " As they stood outside the door, Sebastian couldn't help but chuckle grimly at the irony. 

-“I didn't even know you had a cousin, Sebastian. Charming he is…”

-“Something changed in him ever since he returned from Paris, where he was mentored by Professor Bertrand Caillet. He was already moody and insufferable, but after his return, everything went downhill…

Their chat was interrupted by the sound of muffled voices and screams coming from inside. Panic crept into their minds - could they possibly be torturing her?

Sebastian grabbed Ominis’ hand, in which he had his wand pointing at the door trying to catch a better glimpse of what was- or could- be happening. Sebastian slowly pulled it in another direction. He wanted to prevent his friend from the possible scenarios coming to his mind. 

"Don't torture yourself with unnecessary thoughts, Ominis. If anything happens to her, I'll make sure Arthur pays for it with every last tooth." 

His comment barely registered, and Ominis just nodded silently, feeling frozen in place. 

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, there was something else lurking just beneath the surface. An urgent need to share something important with Ominis, caused Sebastian to speak up despite the difficult circumstances. 

-"I know this is not a good time," he began hesitantly, "but I need to tell you something important." 

The blonde's attention now fully shifted to his friend

-"Anne has been-"

The creaking of the door interrupted Sebastian and jolted Ominis out of his trance-like state. Sebastian's sharp gasp and urgent movements snapped him to attention. Something was clearly wrong. Ominis’ eyes immediately shut to concentrate on what his wand was showing him was happening”.

Lorrain was being carried out of the room by Arthur and the other auror. 

She looked drained and pale, her normally vibrant features now marred by tear streaks and bloodshot eyes. She appeared exhausted and on the brink of collapse.

Arthur attempted to lay her gently on the sofa, but was quickly pushed aside by Sebastian and Ominis, whom took over the task of carefully placing her down on the stiff old cushions. The other auror hovered nearby, holding a small bottle of Withering potion to aid in her recovery. 

“We are not the monsters here, you know” the older Sallow said with full regret on his face. 

“Well you’ve certainly been behaving like one!” Ominis yelled at him, losing his grip as he could feel Lorra’s cold cheeks. 

Ominis had never felt the urgency to try to heal someone as hard as he wished he could at that moment. His hands traveled from her cold and sweaty forehead to her chest, that was beating so fast she could barely breath.

-“Sebastian, what did your cousin do to her?”

- “She’s just tired. Unharmed. She’ll be alright”

- “Does she look alright to you?!” Ominis yelled at Arthur but was quickly interrupted by the sound of the main door opening.

The -not so- imposing figure of Hogwarts' Headmaster, Phineas Black, strode into the room, his leather vest stretched taut over his chest and his long black coat billowing behind him. His presence craved attention, and it was clear he expected an answer or verdict from the other aurors in tow. 

-"W-What are you two doing here? Ugh, matter of no importance. Well, Arthur?" he demanded carelessly to the auror. The students just listened intently as Black continued his questioning. 

-"Have you determined her guilt or was this all just a waste of my time?" the Professor asked with a hint of impatience in his voice. The auror took a deep breath before responding. 

-“Despite administering Veritaserum at twice the legal dose and attempting Legilimency, we were unable to extract any useful information from her. Her early memories seem completely blank. As a result, we do not have enough evidence to move forward with a trial, Phineas. We are also waiting for the results of the Wand Weigher, but I’m afraid it’s a dead end”.

As if the words had fallen on deaf ears, Professor Black turned to face the blonde wizard next to him.

-"Young Gaunt, a word with you?" His stupid silly voice punched Ominis right in his brain.

Ominis rose from his seat, leaving Lorra in Sebastian's protective embrace, her now caretaker, making sure she drank all of the potion.

-"Do you understand, young Gaunt, that your family will not be pleased to see their youngest son associating with a criminal and a... stubborn farmer?" He gestured towards Lorrain and Sebastian with a dismissive wave of his hand.

-“I know... my father has made it clear... to some extent.” Ominis stumbled over his words, trying to translate them into something comprehensible from the ridiculous perspective of Black. 

Then it slowly dawned on him what was truly going on. This was no coincidence. This was perfect timing. 

How convenient…

-"Let me give you a piece of advice young man, from one pureblood to another: Stay away from them, until everything is sorted out and we know exactly what we're dealing with. I'm sure you understand what I’m trying to say." Professor Black spoke with a mix of pride and greed.

-"I do understand, Professor. Thank you for your wise words," Ominis forced himself to sound grateful and appreciative towards the headmaster, even though he was really just putting on a facade in an attempt to finish the conversation as soon as possible so he could return to Hogwarts. 

-"I'm so glad you understand... everything is for the greater good, isn't it? To maintain our pureblood status and connections." Professor Black finished with a smug smile as he patted Ominis' shoulder. 

Gaunt forced a polite smile in return, masking his true feelings towards the snobbish headmaster. He didn't even need his wand to see right through the facade of elitism and manipulation, all in the name of preserving their privileged standing. 

Ominis was smart. Extremely. He knew not playing along with the headmaster's game would only bring danger to him and his loved ones, but he had no choice. He had to maintain the facade of the well-behaved lamb, like he had always done. 

-"May I excuse myself? I believe I have more important matters to attend to." Ominis declared abruptly, feigning indifference to the tense situation.

-"There’s the young Gaunt I know! Of course, good boy. Get going and focus on your studies" Black replied with a sinister grin audible enough for others to hear. Ominis nodded in response.

As he walked away to the only chimney in the room, he slyly slipped his wand behind his left ear and whistled a tune. 

He hated whistling. 

But that was a signal to Sebastian, who caught the subtle motion and understood it immediately. They had devised this secret code years ago when they first met, and only they knew about it. Not even Anne, nor Lorra were aware of its existence. 

With a sneer on his face, Arthur scoffed as he watched the blonde wizard disappear into the green flames.

- "Well, well, isn't he just a quick changer?" he said mockingly, his contempt bubbling to the surface.

The headmaster only smiled proudly, convinced that he had managed to manipulate and control the situation to his advantage. But just as they began to bask in their self-righteousness, Matilda Weasley entered the room with two burly ministry officers, holding two chubby folders between her hands. 

-"Gentlemen," she announced with a smug smile, "I am pleased to inform you that this young witch is innocent of all charges you have falsely accused her of. And her wand has been thoroughly inspected by the Ministry. Not a trace of any Unforgivable Curses was found within its core." 

With a triumphant flourish, she handed over the sealed folders to Arthur Sallow for him to see for himself.

As he flipped through the pages, his eyes widened in shock. Every spell cast with her wand had been documented with meticulous detail. The evidence against her accusations of murdering Lady Igraine and Lord Gorlois were irrefutable.

-“Are you certain about this, Professor Weasley?” Professor Black's voice filled with disbelief and disdain as he stared at the green envelope with the results. His eyes were like daggers, willing her to be guilty of the false charges.

-“I made sure the officers followed all the proper protocol, Phineas. Prior Initio Incantato . It never fails,” Mrs. Weasley bit out through gritted teeth, her impatience evident. “Now, if I may, please take my students back to the school. This has been enough for today, don't you think?” She turned to face the Headmaster, a steely determination in her gaze.

-"Of course, of course, Mrs. Weasley," the Headmaster stuttered, clearly intimidated by her sharp tone. "Please, take them and be gone now. And umm...in the spirit of cooperation and convenience, I'll award 50 house points to Slytherin for your services to the school. Also, Merry Christmas!”

Mrs. Weasley scoffed at his pathetic attempt to silence his own students with mere house points. She couldn't help but feel disgusted by such a cheap attempt at manipulation. 

The deputy headmistress frantically pulled her two students close under her protective wing as they left the room threatening to consume them if they lingered any longer.

As they ascended in the elevator, Sebastian and Lorra stood silently at their professors' sides. She remained stoic, eyes scanning the elevator walls for any signs of danger.

-"Professor, how did y-" Sebastian began, but was cut off by a fierce look from her. 

-"You seem to have forgotten my past life as a curse breaker at the Ministry of Magic," she snapped, her voice laced with impatience. "I know how to navigate these treacherous waters, and there are some who still owe me favors, Mr. Sallow."

With a swift movement, they exited the golden elevator and she led them through twisting hallways, her pace almost frantic. In this moment, it didn't matter that she was their teacher - she was their protector. 

Lorra's breath caught in her throat as she whispered, finally regaining her voice. "You lied to them, professor, didn't you?" Her words hung heavy in the air, punctuated by the start of crackling sparks around them. 

"I did." She admitted. "They found evidence of all three Unforgivable curses on the wand they confiscated from you, Mrs Morgana. But that wand you gave them... it's not yours."

Without another word, the professor grabbed her students from the back and they disappeared into the closest chimney, leaving behind only a trail of green sparkles and swirling ash.

Notes

👉 Sebastian understood the assignment - protect your best friend's girl at all costs.

👉 Also I love the idea of Matilda Weasley being a badass

[soulofamy]

Evil in Zaterra's Shadows

With the knowledge of the secret genocide that wiped out the Zaterran Shapeshifters weighing down on him, Syzoth embarks on an investigation, with Ashrah and Khameleon at his side, to find out who is responsible for this madness chapter 2 || read it on ao3

Chapter 3

Ashrah's eyes passed over the whole room as she, Syzoth, and Khameleon in their reptiloid forms entered the main hall of the capital building. Her cheeks warmed as all eyes fell on her and any and all conversation quieted down to whispers. Despite her heart pounding in her ears, she continued walking in with a gentle smile on her face and with confident poise. No matter what, she refused to appear meek.

It's only natural that they would stare, she reasoned to herself. None of them have ever seen a demon before.

She should have expected this. Then again, it wasn't as though she had come along to experience Zaterran hospitality anyway. Syzoth had always supported her in her goals, and she in turn wanted to support his. His was a noble goal, one that, if successfully executed, would save lives for generations to come. It was hard for her not to see the potential for furthering her own goal along the way. An insidious evil lurked in Zaterra's shadows, and Ashrah was saw no more perfect tool to flush it out than her kriss.

Judging by the ominous energy Datusha radiated, she was most certainly in the presence of that evil now. However, the source remained a mystery.

"Syzoth, my boy!" Arch Duke Mahazzem greeted, his tone jovial as he stepped forward to greet the three. "And friends! Wonderful to see that you could make it. I know how exhausting traveling could be," he said with a chuckle.

"Of course, how could we miss this?" Syzoth replied with a polite tone.

"Ah, Syzoth," a new voice spoke. An elderly female Zaterran draped in shimmering silver silks encrusted in jewels stepped forward. "It has been a while."

Syzoth turned toward Ashrah and Khameleon, then gestured back to the newcomer. "This is Arch Duchess Zynira, of Sylvoran."

"Your grace," Khameleon greeted with a bow of her head.

"It is a pleasure to meet you," Ashrah said with a smile. She felt judgement pass over her as the Duchess's gaze shifted from Khameleon over to her, then back to Khameleon.

"I see you found yourself a reptiloid mate, Syzoth," Zynira said with delight in her voice as she turned back to Khameleon. Ashrah pressed her lips together and had to restrain herself from frowning or speaking out. "You are quite beautiful as well, my dear. For a Saurian, anyway." Khameleon's posture stiffened with the attention and she gave Ashrah a silent glance, both in apology and in desperation.

A small gasp escaped Ashrah as she felt a hand around her waist. She looked to the side to see that Syzoth had shifted into his humanoid form. His arm held her middle and he wore a polite expression that only a diplomat could wear, but Ashrah could read the annoyance and anger in his eyes.

"Khameleon is a good friend and colleague, who risks her life every day in service and for the protection of Her Majesty, Empress Mileena," he said. Ashrah noted that invoking Mileena's name caused Zynira to look uncomfortable. Syzoth then glanced at Ashrah as he held her close to his side. "And this is Ashrah, my significant other."

"You're...courting a demon...?" Zynira gawked, her mouth agape. Ashrah's cheeks grew hotter as her heart pounded in her ears. She glanced back at the door as her shoulders stiffened. Khameleon stared at Zynira before giving Ashrah a look of sympathy.

"I am," Syzoth confirmed. Zynira's eyes narrowed and her lip curled with what Ashrah could only assume was disgust. "But more importantly, Ashrah is also a friend to the Empress. She was gracious enough to agree to come here at the Empress's personal request. With any luck, her efforts will open the door for many friendships between reptiloids and warmbloods."

"Ah, yes," Zynira responded, her tone flat. "My apologies." Her eyes passed over Ashrah and Khameleon once more. Ashrah wished it was easier to read Zaterran facial expressions. "Enjoy the celebration, my dears," she said before slinking away.

This investigation is going to be longer than I thought... Ashrah lamented to herself as she stared after the Arch Duchess.

Khameleon pearl eyes passed over the crowd of Zaterrans, her hearing sharp as she tried to decide how best to engage in their socializing. As an Umgadi, she was unused to being allowed to participate as a guest during celebrations. Normally she was on the sidelines, vigilant as she ensured the crown remained safe. While she was raised to know proper etiquette when communicating with courtiers and politicians, being particularly social had never been emphasized in her training.

There was then the issue of how out of place she felt. As she roamed the room now in her rarely-used reptiloid form, she realized how daunting it was to be surrounded by this many other reptiloids. Reptiloids who lived their lives abiding by the customs of Zaterra while she only masqueraded as one of them. Reptiloids who watched her from down their snouts as she tried to maneuver this scaled body that was larger than what she was used to. It was an odd feeling, being this out of her depth.

"Greetings, Lady Umgadi," a voice spoke, causing Khameleon to stop and turn. Standing to her side was a young female Zaterran, Arch Duchess Sytholin of Selkora, draped in green fabrics embroidered with flower patterns. The Arch Duchess looked at Khameleon with kind eyes. She was accompanied by a young male Saurian wrapped in exquisite brown fabrics, as though wearing a tunic.

"Your Grace," Khameleon greeted with a polite bow of her head. Had she been in her human form, she would have been smiling. "You look well. I am glad to see you again."

"The same to you," Sytholin responded, her tone kind. "I must say though, it took me a moment to recognize you."

"I don't normally assume this form," she admitted, cautious. She was unsure if she was being judged or not.

Sytholin gave an approving growl. "It suits you quite nicely," she complimented. Khameleon felt her posture begin to relax. She watched as Sytholin gestured to her companion. "May I present to you Arch Duke Syvrin, of Dravonak."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Umgadi," Syvrin said, his tone just as kind as Sytholin's.

"The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace," Khameleon responded with a bow of her head. "I can't say I have ever met another Saurian before."

Syvrin tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh? In that case, you must come visit Dravonak. Most of the Saurians of Zaterra reside there."

"I would be honored."

"I was very curious to hear about Syzoth's undertaking here in Zaterra," Sylothin commented. "It is regrettable, the state of our relationship with the warmbloods. Most Selkorans have never seen one before."

Syvrin looked from Sytholin to Khameleon. "I agree. It was a wise decision on Her Majesty's part to send you along with Syzoth. There could be no better mediator between your warmblood friend and the reptiloids than those who walk the paths of both," he said with a nod. For a moment he fell silent and shifted where he stood, somewhat nervous. "Please pardon my ignorance, Lady Umgadi-"

"Khameleon," she corrected, her tone gentle.

Syvrin gave an approving growl. "Very well. Please pardon my ignorance, Khameleon, but...I am very interested to see what what it looks like when a shapeshifter shifts between forms."

Khameleon heard her heart pound in her ears, unsure what to make of the request. She glanced to the side at Sytholin, who only watched on with intrigue. After deciding she believed he was only asking with the best of intentions, she allowed the light around her to bend and contort until her pale skinned human form stood where her Saurian form once did.

"Incredible," Syvrin breathed as he watched her with fascination.

"This is the form I serve Empress Mileena in," Khameleon explained.

"Zaterra is fortunate to have a representative in you among her Umgadi," Sytholin praised. Syvrin gave a growl in agreement with the sentiment. Khameleon gave them both a kind smile before reverting back to her Saurian form, her heart full as she appreciated these new, rapidly budding friendships.

"Enjoying the celebration, I hope?" a new voice spoke. The three turned to face an elderly male Zaterran wearing a long white silk scarf approaching them. Both Syvrin and Sytholin were eager to show their respect as they bowed their heads in his direction. Khameleon followed suit.

"Father Zathren," Sytholin greeted. "Zyssara has decided to smile on us today by granting us your presence."

"And myself, by granting me the opportunity to see you," he responded, his eyes kind as he passed over the three of them.

"Father Zathren is the High Priest of the Temple of Zyssara here in Zikandur," Syvrin explained to Khameleon.

"Ah." Khameleon nodded in understanding, then turned to Zathren. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Eminence."

"The pleasure is all mine, my child," Zathren returned. "Welcome to Zaterra. I have heard about your noble cause and commend it. I have no doubt that Zyssara will smile down upon you and your friends for your valiant effort."

They mention that name quite a bit, Khameleon thought to herself. "Thank you very much." Though he watched her with a warmth in his eyes, Khameleon sensed something else in his gaze. It was as though he had something he wanted to tell her, but that he was withholding.

"Forgive me for interrupting your conversation," the High Priest said as his gaze passed over the three of them, then landed back on Khameleon. "however, I wanted to extend an invitation to you, Lady Umgadi. The monastery would be honored by your presence if you joined us tomorrow."

Khameleon's mind began to race, unsure what to make of this invitation. "I appreciate it," she responded with a polite nod. I will have to see if my schedule allows for it."

"Of course," Zathren agreed before turning away. "Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

The three watched as he walked off before turning to face one another and resume their idle conversation. Khameleon began to list all the information she has learned thus far in her head so that she could be ready to share it with Syzoth and Ashrah later on.

The three reconvened in Syzoth's room as they had planned. Syzoth listened to Ashrah and Khameleon give their observations with his lips pressed together. He wracked his brain as he tried to dissect every detail and tried to decide it any of it was of value.

"I don't know anything for certain," Ashrah said from where she sat on the bed as she reached for her kriss to present to the two. "But Datusha did sense evil in that room. But who it was sensing, and what what evil about them, are both yet to be seen. I don't know if the evil it sensed was even related to this conspiracy or not."

"That still gives us something to start with," Syzoth tried to encourage. "Do you trust Datusha's judgement?"

"With my life," Ashrah responded with a nod.

"Then keep it close throughout this investigation," he said. "Its insight will be invaluable to us."

"You don't suspect Sytholin or Syvrin of being complicit, do you?" Khameleon asked, her tone cautious.

Syzoth frowned and thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I suppose we can't rule anyone out definitively at this point," he prefaced. "But as far as politicians go, they are both very mild-mannered and agreeable. I would be surprised to learn it could be either of them."

Khameleon nodded and her shoulders relaxed. "I'm glad. They were very pleasant company. Argus willing, you are correct about them." She glanced to the side. Feeling as though she had more to say, Syzoth remained silent. "I met the High Priest of the temple of...Zy...ssara?" she continued. "He invited me to visit his monastery tomorrow."

Syzoth turned this over in his head for a moment. "Will you be going? I've never really interacted with the High Priest before, I can't say if he will be good company or not," he warned.

"I am unsure," Khameleon confessed. "There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel as though he had something he wanted to tell me."

For another moment, Syzoth was silent. He then walked to his desk and pulled out the copy he had made of the records of the genocide. "Much of the information I found had already been redacted. But we at least have dates to work with. There is a possibility that the High Priest is old enough to remember when it happened." He looked back up at Khameleon. "I say go to the monastery tomorrow and see if he has anything important to tell you. Use your best judgement, but if you deem it to be safe, see what he can tell you about that day."

Khameleon nodded. "Understood." She then stood up to walk toward the door.

"Wait," Syzoth urged. Khameleon stopped and looked back at him with curiosity. Ashrah eyed him but said nothing. "I wanted to apologize to both of you," he said as he looked between the women. "I put you both in a position today that opened you up to unfair scrutiny and prejudice. I am to blame for the disrespect that you faced today. For that, I am sorry."

Both of them looked at him with confused frowns. "That was not your fault, Syzoth," Ashrah said. "You are not responsible for the actions of others."

"You were doing your duty, the same as we were," Khameleon chimed in, glancing at Ashrah then back to Syzoth. "If that was all it took to deter us, Zaterra would be doomed."

"There is nothing to apologize for," Ashrah said. Khameleon nodded in agreement.

Syzoth's shoulders relaxed and he sighed in relief. "I'm glad." He looked between the two. "Well then, I think we should get some sleep. We have much to accomplish tomorrow."

Khameleon gave a nod in greeting before exiting the room.

Syzoth released a deep breath as he watched Khameleon leave for the night. He turned around to see Ashrah sitting on the edge of their bed, staring out the window, lost in thought. He was quiet as he went over to sit beside her.

"You've been quiet tonight," he remarked, his voice gentle. "Is something on your mind?"

Ashrah looked back at him with a distant smile. "Just thinking about the celebration," she said. "It was an enlightening experience, getting to learn more about the Zaterran people." She looked back out the window.

"But...?" Syzoth prompted.

Her gaze wandered down into her lap. "...it's silly..."

Syzoth frowned and took both of her hands. "If something is troubling you, then it isn't silly," he asserted as she looked up to meet his gaze. "Please, allow me to put your mind at ease."

For a long moment, she didn't speak. Syzoth watched as she pressed her lips together and as her eyes strayed to the side, reluctant. "...do you..." she started, her voice small. Syzoth noted that she refused to look at him as she spoke. "...regret...choosing to be with a demon...?"

Syzoth's heart shattered when he heard her question, and a venomous scorch surged through his veins as he recalled the way that Zynira had disrespected Ashrah at the celebration. He had always known Ashrah to be a confident woman, it was foreign to see her so insecure now.

"Look at me, Ashrah," he murmured. One of his hands left hers and instead guided her face back to him. "I have many regrets in this life, but loving you, devoting myself to you, is not one of them."

"Yes, but Zyni-"

"To hell with anything she, or any other Zaterran says," he stated. "They only respect me now because they have to. Who I choose to court would have no affect on what they think of me. And frankly, it is none of their business."

Ashrah was silent as she slowly nodded, her eyes still reflecting pain.

"The only people whose opinions matter here are ours," he explained, his eyes softening as he spoke, his thumb brushing her cheek. "And in my eyes, you are the only one for me. I would choose you again," he leaned forward to kiss her forehead. "and again," He kissed her cheek. "and again." He leaned forward to press a slow, deep kiss to her lips. A content hum left her as he felt her relax with his caresses. "You are the only one for me," he reiterated in a whisper. "And nothing those pompous, self-important bureaucrats have to say will ever change that. With you, I feel something that no one else makes me feel."

Ashrah looked up at him with dazed, searching eyes and an enamored smile. "And what would that be?"

He placed another brief kiss to her lips, then smiled. "Peace."

Ashrah leaned forward to embrace him, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm glad," she murmured. Syzoth was eager to reciprocate. "Thank you, Syzoth." She turned her head and he felt her lips on his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

[ashes-2-ashes57cba]

The Bad Batch: Valkyrie

Episode 13: Tipping Point

*adla-vod: twins (directly translates to same brother/sister), Mando'a

Crosshair walked down the same depressing hall as he did every morning now since he was taken. No sign of his twin since then, she only came in fleeting dreams. The guards shoved him along his path as he hesitated to glance at a fellow clone; Crosshair didn’t know what he was looking for, really, but he hoped to find something among the faces of his brethren.

The woman with the brown hair and goggles was waiting for him in what he dubbed the torture room. She turned as he and the guards stood in the doorway.

“Good morning, Crosshair. How are you feeling?” she inquired. It was a loaded question.

“What’s it to you?” he grumbled. A guard pushed him into the room and forced him to lean back against the table.

“The doctor is on his way,” she reported instead. “Be smart and cooperate, or he will resort to methods you will not enjoy.” Crosshair didn’t care much, but he turned when the mentioned doctor appeared in the doorway. The man gave off an eerie and unpleasant aura.

“You’ve healed quickly, considering the state you arrived in,” he said, almost gently. 

“Why am I here?” Crosshair asked. He thought he would be dead, that Specter would let him be instead of giving him fleeting tastes of hope at every mirage of her. He deserved it.

“If you think this is punishment for shooting your commanding officer, you’re incorrect,” the doctor said, almost with disappointment. “I actually think that shows quite a bit of initiative.” Crosshair met his gaze with tired defiance. He stepped down into the small room. “No. No, you are here because I want to give you a clean slate. And all you have to do in exchange is tell me how to find Clone Force 99. They’re in possession of something I need,” he explained, a sinister tone leaking through bared teeth. Crosshair thought for a moment. 

“The kid,” he said. Please, don’t let it be Specter.

“Very good,” the doctor affirmed, chuckling. 

“You’re wasting your time. They’ll never turn her over.”

“They don’t have a choice. She’s a clone and, therefore, Imperial property. I would have liked to attain your twin, the Valkyrie, but priority falls to the girl.” Crosshair bit his tongue to restrain from pulling the doctor’s out. “Help me locate your former squad, and you will have your freedom.” The doctor stepped closer.

“I don’t know where they are,” Crosshair told the truth. The doctor frowned and turned to one of the guards, nodding in silent command. The soldier shoved Crosshair back and held him down as they secured restraints around him. He tried to fight back but to no avail.

“But you know how they think,” the doctor drew even closer, his shadowed face eclipsing the light from above, “how they operate, contacts they’d reach out to. Surely you have something useful to share.”

“Wrong.” He almost smiled, but so did the doctor. His stare turned cold as he sighed.

“Let’s see if we can jog your memory,” he said, tightening a strap around Crosshair’s head and stepping back. “Begin.” An interrogation droid hovered close with its ominous whirring. Crosshair told himself he wasn’t afraid, but he begged for Specter to show herself again.

He groaned and spasmed again. He could fight it, he knew he could just for a little while longer. Everything was in pain, which in turn, numbed it all enough so he could keep his focus on keeping his mouth shut.

She would never forgive him. 

“That’s enough,” the woman said, guiding the droid and its syringe away. Crosshair let himself relax, allowing for the woman to remove the strap around his head. She checked his eyes but he closed them again; it was an opportunity to either rest or prepare to fight. 

“Our orders were to not stop until he talks,” one of the guards reminded. 

“He can’t talk if he’s dead,” she retaliated, injecting some bacta into his system. “You may secure his restraints.” Crosshair’s eyes flickered open enough to see the guards bend out of sight to tighten his restraints under the table. And just by his hand was a blaster the guard had set down.

Specter wasn’t there. He took it anyway. 

The guard looked up. He fired twice at him, twisted his arm behind him and shot the other one, then the droid which promptly dropped. The woman held her hands up when he pointed the gun at her, though his grip was unsteady. The adrenaline quickly wore off, leaving Crosshair’s eyes strained and body exhausted.

“Take a breath. Think this through,” the woman urged.

“Release me,” he hissed, nodding over to the control panel over him and still trying to adjust his eyes. With her hands still up, she shuffled to the side and did as she was told. 

“You cannot make it out of this facility,” she advised. He ignored her, stepping onto the floor with weak legs, panting as he tried to muster up enough energy. “Not in your condition.”

“Give me your access card.”

“It won’t get you outside. But even if you do manage that, the hounds will find you within minutes,” she warned him. Again, he ignored her, grunting as he raised the blaster even more. “Don’t make this worse, Crosshair! There is no escape. Lower the blaster.” 

His finger itched on the trigger and his eyesight focused just enough… yet he found himself setting it to stun and firing, knocking the woman out cold as she gasped in shock. Crosshair fumbled as he grabbed her access codes; he used it to unlock the room and peered down the hall before making his move. Out of breath and out of time. 

The sniper peered around the corner of a hallway junction, glimpsing two guards facing each other just across the way. He went to take aim, but his grip weakened—he hid behind the corner to recollect himself with a shuddering breath. Crosshair knew he wouldn’t be able to escape, he just needed to get a message out to his former team and warn them about the doctor hunting them. He had to make sure the kid would be safe—it’s what Specter would have wanted.

He peered around the corner again and raised his blaster, doing his best to aim at the guards. A gentle hand moved the weapon, changing his target. He turned to find his sister there in her red and black armor, smiling ruefully and holding his blaster with him like she had on that cold planet. He understood her idea; Crosshair fired a shot in between the two guards, causing them to turn toward him and give him the perfect clearance to shoot at their chests. He slouched over from the strain.

“About time you showed up,” he mumbled, holding his side. 

“Just like old times, Cross,” she winked, nodding down the hallway. He followed, though he couldn’t keep up with the mirage. 

“I have to warn you. And the kid,” he panted, losing sight of her around a corner. “That doctor, he-”

She was in the white dress with lace-like armor again, facing him now without any sense of playfulness, holding a golden spear like a guiding staff. 

“There’s only so much that can be done, adla-vod. I’m not here so that you may reach out to me; I’m here to guide you through battle. That is my duty,” she said, forlorn, before turning about-face to continue to lead him down the halls. Crosshair recalled what the doctor had called her: a valkyrie. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, but he could guess that this was it. She stood by as he came across a panel for the blast door blocking their path. He opened it, finding that a small squad was posted on the other side and became alerted to his presence

“Halt!” one ordered, pointing at him. The others fired. She was gone again. Crosshair ducked behind a corner to think of a plan as blaster-fire flew past. He peeked around. 

Specter stood there, among the troopers, using the golden spear to point at a section of piping above them.

His first shot was too high. He tried again and found his mark, she disappeared as steam streamed out in a hiss from the broken pipe, creating cover for Crosshair to use as he gunned down the four troopers. It was quiet again, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would get caught. He had to hurry.

She was waiting for him in the control room in her old armor again and leaning against one of the consoles. She said nothing, watching as he stumbled in and placed the blaster aside, fumbling to insert the other doctor’s access codes into the terminal. 

“It may not get through,” Specter noted, coming around and crossing her arms. She blew a strand of hair out of her face, just like how she always used to. Crosshair was not fooled by the familiarity. 

“I have to try. If not to save you or the others, then to save Omega,” he said, opening the old comm channel. “Plan 88,” he said, holding his aching side. “You have to hide. They’re after-” he didn’t finish. The doors closed and a chartreuse gas emanated from the vents, filling the room. 

Specter—in the dress once more—was only able to stand and watch as he choked on the gas, fumbling for the blaster and his steps before he fell. She kneeled by his head, placing a comforting hand on him as he struggled to breathe. The door opened to the unmasked doctor and one of his guards. She seemingly met his gaze as he kneeled down and took a deep whiff of the gas unfazed.

“Having trouble processing the toxin? It’s my own special formula,” he bragged. Crosshair could barely register the warping and echoing tones of his voice over the high-pitched ringing in his ears. “One I’ve built an immunity to. You, however, have not.” He nodded to the guard. 

He was the last thing Crosshair saw before he closed his eyes and allowed the world to go dark. He had hoped it would be her. 

“This friend of yours who’s stopping by, he’s another clone?” Shep asked Hunter once they placed the supplies down. The sergeant wiped his brow; he didn’t mind the hard work.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. He’s not with the Empire,” Hunter reassured. 

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for me,” Shep said with a smile. Hunter nodded, appreciating the trust, before sparing his gaze over to where Specter was seated among a small group of people. 

She had been able to integrate herself in the deaf community on Pabu and was currently sharing a story of one of their many battles… at least so he thought. Galactic Sign Language and its regional variations were different from tactical hand signals, and as much as Specter and Crosshair tried to teach him, he wasn’t a very good student.

[It was stuck up there for a week!] Specter signed. The group laughed. [I wanted payback but I didn’t realize he’d get so fussy about it!]

[Never separate a man from his hair accessories] a boy signed. Specter laughed out loud, as did the others. As the silent conversation went on, she caught sight of Hunter’s gaze with a smile. Shep chuckled and clapped a hand on Hunter’s shoulder, ready to speak until Wrecker came bounding up from the docks. 

“The new fishing dock’s rebuilt and moored,” he reported, holding a fish as big as him over his shoulder. “And I caught some dinner!” He slammed it down with a laugh.

“You’ve been busy,” Hunter teased.

“You got that right,” Wrecker winked.

“Hey, Wrecker. Can we get your help?” It was Lyana calling out to him. “We’re fortifying the seawall.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he happily replied, eager to start another helpful task. 

“He’s become an integral part of this community. You all have,” Shep remarked, watching Wrecker run off, then glancing at Hunter and nodding towards Specter. He stole the moment to gaze at her again. She was glowing from the sun and the life around her. Her hands moved fluidly, as she asked and answered questions and contributed to the group’s conversation. 

“Any chance you’ve reconsidered staying permanently?” Shep asked. Hunter hated his answer.

“For soldiers, putting down roots is an occupational hazard,” he excused. 

“Is that all you are? A soldier?” Shep questioned. It caught Hunter off guard; they certainly weren’t a part of any armed forces anymore, they were mercenaries with militaristic training. But he wanted Omega to have a semblance of a normal childhood, he owed her that as her guardian. Besides, the rest of his team was happy on Pabu. Wrecker had become a helpful and jovial figure, Tech and Phee were getting along nicely, and Specter’s anxiety had eased tremendously. 

It was the first time in a long time she had been able to just let go. She was at her happiest, especially with the time she shared with Hunter. It’s what they had both wanted with each other for a long time. Staying on Pabu had only solidified his love for her.

The Marauder raced by just over their heads, followed by a gust of wind, before soaring off at high speeds. The two went to the dock entrance to get a clear view.

“More flying lessons?” Shep asked with a chuckle. 

“Uh-huh,” Hunter replied before chuckling himself. “Tech’s got his hands full.” Omega was getting better and better with her skills with each lesson and he couldn’t be prouder. 

He supposed it would be time he and Specter start the trek to the top of the island to wait for Echo’s imminent arrival: Wrecker could join them later. Hunter turned and made his way to Specter’s group, waving to get their attention and doing his best to sign.

“Can… I… borrow… Specter?” he asked, trying his best to sign, remembering to use her name-sign. A few of the folk laughed but nodded or signed ‘yes’. Specter was giggling to herself and stood up to join the sergeant. The boy from earlier signed something to Hunter as they walked away, though he didn’t know what it meant.

[Goodbye, bandana man.] Specter made the gesture of swiping at him before walking side by side with Hunter. 

“What did I say?” Hunter asked. She chuckled again.

“You asked if you could shovel me, not borrow me,” she explained. He smiled and chuckled to himself in embarrassment. 

“I’ll, uh, work on it,” he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“You don’t have to,” she shrugged.

“I want to,” he quickly said. “It’s important to you.” Specter paused, stunned at the sentiment and willingness from her sergeant. But she smiled and kissed his cheek before continuing on up through the city. 

“Come on, Hunt. Maybe you can charm Echo into staying here.”

Specter used a hand to shield her face from the sun and wind gusts from Echo’s ship landing. She embraced the moment, happy to see him again. The clone walked down the ramp and caught Hunter’s sights. The two clasped hands in greeting. 

“You weren’t kidding. This place is remote,” Echo remarked.

“That has its advantages,” Hunter agreed. Specter came up to hug Echo, standing on the platforms of her feet to reach up. 

“Glad to know you’re okay, Echo,” she said, squeezing him. He hugged back, but noticing how Hunter narrowed his eyes, he kept it brief. The Marauder approached, although by the looks of it, Omega was having a hard time landing. “Ah, Tech must have turned off the automatic landing system, she’s off kilter.” Specter ran off, waving her arms to get Omega’s attention to try and guide her into a landing. There was no doubt Tech was doing the same from the inside. 

“I’m surprised you’re not on Ord Mantell with Cid,” Echo added.

“We’ve been… reevaluating things,” Hunter explained. He was sure he’d be able to brief him later. Once the Marauder had finally landed, the ramp lowered.

“Echo!” the girl waved from the entrance, dashing towards them. Tech was behind her, uneasy on his feet from the rough lesson and landing, cradling his dizzy head. He high-fived a stressed out Specter at the bottom of the ramp, each of them grateful for a successful landing. Omega had run up to Echo, leaping into his arms in a hug.

“We’ve missed you!” she squealed.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Echo said with a chuckle, placing the girl down after giving her a squeeze.

“Feels like it has.” Tech and Specter had come back around, she had gone to stand by Hunter again.

“You mentioned needing some assistance with data decryption?” Tech reminded. Echo reached for the data stick attached to his belt and handed it to the clone.

“This is what’s left of the files I recovered from an Imperial shuttle. It was transporting clone prisoners, and we need to know where and why,” Echo explained. They all looked to the sergeant, who nodded and led them towards the Marauder to get to work. 

“You all plan to stay here indefinitely?” Echo asked as he and Hunter walked through the promenade, each with a warm drink in hand. 

“We haven’t decided yet,” Hunter admitted. They watched as Wrecker chased Lyana and Omega around the great tree, screaming and giggling with delight. Hunter smiled at the sight. Specter walked out of the Marauder, massaging the back of her neck and walking towards where Wrecker and the girls were playing, no doubt taking a much needed break from helping Tech with the decryption. “But, to be honest, it might be the best thing for us.” He meant it; watching Omega play and be a child was the driving force in the decision, along with seeing how happy Specter was. 

“What about you? What have you been up to?” 

“Rex and I have built up a small network of clones. Some are in hiding, underground. Others act as our contacts within the Empire.”

“Echo, you’ve seen the power you’re up against. You can’t defeat them,” Hunter warned.

“It’s not about that. It’s about fighting for our brothers,” Echo said, passionately.

“I understand why you’re doing this but,” Hunter put a hand on his shoulder and sighed, “when will it be enough?” He wouldn’t admit how worried he was for his teammate. All that he had faced, and still he wanted to fight; Hunter admired his drive but his question still stood. He could confidently say that at least he knew when to stop. 

A sharp whistle called their attention. It was Specter, waving over Hunter and Echo. 

“Bring it in! He’s got it figured out!” she called out, still holding her comm link. Echo and Hunter glanced at each other before following her, Wrecker, and Omega back inside the Marauder. 

“The Imperial transport Echo hijacked was assigned to the Advanced Science Division,” Specter reported, pulling up the schematic of the shuttle. She had found that information herself, though the effort to do so was a task in itself. 

“Never heard of it,” muttered Hunter. 

“That is because it is a clandestine operation,” Tech said. “There are no records on its location or its purpose. All I-” Specter smacked his shoulder, “we could find on it was the chief scientist in charge, Dr. Royce Hemlock. An officer expelled from the Republic science corps.” Specter pulled up the image of the doctor. It was the only clear image she could find, and even then it was from a far away camera of low quality. She didn’t like the look of him.

“They didn’t like his unauthorized and unorthodox experiments. So there’s no telling what the Empire is allowing him to do,” she added. It was the last bit of information she was able to find before she had to take a break.

“Why were they sending clone prisoners to him?” Omega asked.

“We don’t know, but Tech says it gets worse,” Specter said, allowing Tech to continue. He adjusted his goggles. 

“Previous transfer records recovered from the ship’s logs list other clone prisoners detained by the Advanced Science Division. And Crosshair is one of them.” A chill went down Specter’s spine; Tech didn’t mention anything about Crosshair. 

“You mean Crosshair turned on the Empire?” Wrecker wondered. Hunter caught sight of Specter’s frozen form. 

“How sure are you about this?” he asked.

“Very. After discovering his clone number on the transfer register, I checked our old comm channels and found a recent distress message sent from Crosshair’s old code,” Tech explained.

“What did it say?” Omega asked.

“Plan 88. The Seeker.” The clones glanced among each other. “We are being targeted. I believe he is warning us.”

“Or it’s a trap, like he’s set for us before,” Hunter argued. He wanted to believe it was Crosshair reaching out, but nowadays he couldn’t be too sure. 

“Well, how do we find out?” Wrecker grunted. Again, Hunter wasn’t sure, so he went to look at Specter… but she was gone. The rest of them realized that she had disappeared from the ship too. 

They tightened the restraints on Crosshair, he didn’t struggle. He accomplished what he needed to, now all that was left was to try and survive for a while longer. The doctor entered the room with the other woman.

“If your escape attempt didn’t clue you in, the only chance you have of leaving this facility is if I allow it,” the doctor seethed. Crosshair was too exhausted to smile. He wasn’t trying to escape. “Perhaps now you’d like to reconsider my offer.” Crosshair only defiantly stared at the ceiling. 

“Why suffer more? I don’t even want your twin at this point; all I need is the young clone. She means nothing to you,” the doctor tried to reason, kneeling close. “Help me and you’ll have your freedom.” Crosshair silently glared at him. The doctor sighed and stood back.

“Increase his injection level this time. Let’s see how long until you break.”

Crosshair felt painful tears welling in his eyes. This time, he prayed for the vision of Specter to stay away. 

Sorry about the delay. I had a hectic week and the Arcane finale to deal with, so I didn't have time to edit. But while I have your attention, there is going to be Quite a hiatus for season 3. I have only 1 1/2 episodes written and because of school, have not had the time to sit my ass down and work on the episodes, and I want to give you guys the best. I'll keep you guys updated if I'm able to figure anything else out!

[theolivebranchreview]

Whispers Between Bites

by Francis C. Sorvino (@frank_sorvino)

Nestled among the clattering of dinnerware and the low murmurs of casual conversation, Lou and Sasha found themselves seated at a small table near the window of a long aged Italian restaurant known colloquially as Angelo’s. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across their faces, illuminating the intimate yet palpably tense atmosphere. It was their third date, and while there was an undeniable attraction between them, an undercurrent of nervous energy that they couldn’t seem to shake electrified the air.

Lou, a kind and thoughtful man burned by an analytical mind, often found himself overthinking conversations, and tonight was no exception. He noticed Sasha, a spirited and vivacious woman with a love for storytelling, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, a sign that she too felt the unspoken tension.

Sasha, in turn, who had decided that the loose thread on the end of her dress was a lost cause, looked over at Lou and held back a timid laugh. “There’s no denying that he’s cute when he’s nervous”, she thought to herself. As the waiter hovered ominously over them to pour their respective bottles of wine, she wondered if even he could notice how badly the date was going.

He didn’t.

Seeking to lighten the mood, Sasha glanced around the restaurant and her eyes settled on two men seated at a table across the room. “See those two?” she said, nodding subtly towards them. “That’s Tommy and Pete, they look like they’re having an interesting conversation. What do you think their story is?”

Lou followed her gaze and observed the duo. Tommy, a young man with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, was animatedly talking to Pete, who appeared older, more reserved, but with a warm, indulgent smile as he listened to Tommy.

“Oh. Do you know them?”, Lou inquired.

Sasha gave him a mischievous grin and shook her head. “C’mon, just play along”, she chuckled excitedly.

“Brothers, maybe?” Lou suggested, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Tommy seems like the wild, younger sibling, and Pete, the more grounded, protective older one.”

Sasha leaned forward, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I like that. Maybe they’re celebrating something tonight. Tommy might have just graduated, and Pete, being the proud big brother, is treating him to a fancy dinner.”

Lou, warming to the game, added, “And maybe Tommy’s telling Pete about some crazy college stories, the kind that make you glad you survived your younger years.”

They both chuckled, the imagined antics of Tommy and Pete bridging the gap that had lingered between them since the start of the evening. Sasha’s laughter was infectious, and Lou found himself drawn into her light-heartedness, the tension between them dissipating like mist.

“Look at Pete’s expression,” Sasha pointed out, her voice tinged with mirth. “He’s definitely heard this story before, but he’s pretending it’s the first time. Poor guy.”

“Oh look! I think things are starting to get kind of tense. Maybe Pete’s getting fed up with always hearing the same story.” Lou chuckled as he took an extended sip of his wine.

“Well I guess there’s only one way to find out what’s really going on”, Sasha said as she began to get up.

Lou shifted nervously in his seat. “Wait. What?”

Sasha’s grin widened as she stood, her adventurous spirit taking over. “I’m going to stand around there for a couple of minutes and if I get caught, I’ll just say that I’m the manager or something,” she declared with a playful glint in her eye.

–

From across the room, Tyler and Stephen, a couple deeply in love yet at a crossroads, were completely oblivious to the fabricated stories being spun about them by Lou and Sasha. They sat, engrossed in their own world, in the midst of a conversation that was both tender and tense.

Stephen, older and more reserved, listened intently to Tyler, his partner of three years. Tyler, with his youthful energy and mischievous twinkle, was finding it hard to maintain eye contact, a clear sign that the words he was about to utter were weighing heavily on him.

The dim lighting of Angelo’s cast a warm glow over their table, creating an intimate space that felt both safe and daunting for the confession Tyler was about to make. He took a deep breath, his fingers nervously tapping against the stem of his wine glass.

“Stephen, you know I love you, right?” Tyler began, his voice laced with a mix of affection and apprehension. “But there’s something I need to tell you. It’s about… someone else.”

Stephen’s expression, which had been warm and indulgent, shifted subtly. A flicker of concern passed through his eyes, but he maintained his composure. “Go on,” he encouraged, though the edge in his voice was impossible to miss.

Tyler hesitated, then continued, “It’s the barista at The Bean, our coffee shop. I’ve… I’ve developed feelings for him. It just happened, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

The confession hung in the air between them, a tangible presence that threatened to disrupt the balance of their relationship. Stephen’s face remained impassive, but his eyes betrayed a storm of emotions – hurt, confusion, and a hint of betrayal.

“Why are you telling me this, Tyler?” Stephen asked, his voice steady but his heart racing. “What do you want from me?”

Tyler’s eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and sincerity. “I want to be honest with you, Stephen. I don’t want to hide anything. I love you, and that hasn’t changed. But I needed you to know about these feelings, even if I don’t understand them myself.”

Stephen took a moment to process the revelation, his mind racing with thoughts and questions. He cared deeply for Tyler, but this was a situation he had never anticipated. The trust and openness that had been the foundation of their relationship were now being tested in a way he never imagined.

As they continued to talk, the atmosphere at their table shifted from celebratory to contemplative. Unbeknownst to them, Sasha, under the guise of a curious restaurant manager, lingered nearby, misinterpreting the gravity of their conversation as brotherly tension.

Meanwhile, Lou watched from their table, a mixture of curiosity and concern etched on his face, unaware of the true nature of the conversation unfolding across the room.

Sasha walked quickly back to her table and flopped in her seat. Lou stared at her wide-eyed, waiting for the intel.

She looked at his big dumb face and couldn’t bring herself to end the game on such a sour note.

“Ah yeah, you’d never believe it. Tommy is actually Peter’s accountant and Peter is one knock-off Rolex away from going bankrupt.”

Lou’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? That’s quite a story. Accountants and knock-off Rolexes, huh?” He leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, clearly amused by Sasha’s creativity.

Sasha, still feeling the residual weight of the actual conversation she had overheard, forced a laugh. “Yeah, who would’ve thought, right? The things you learn just by eavesdropping a little,” she said, her tone light but her eyes not quite meeting Lou’s.

The game they had started, meant to ease the tension of their own date, had taken a surprising turn. Sasha found herself grappling with the unexpected reality of the situation she had just witnessed, while also trying to maintain the playful facade for Lou.

The tension from the start of the date re-appeared as quickly as it had vanished. Sasha’s steak and Lou’s alfredo each came out and their attentions shifted.

They each joined the ensemble of cutting and scraping while they chewed in silence.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

[1kook]

commercial break ; EIGHT

this is part of my netflix & chill series! takes place a little after part 7 :)

SUMMARY You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same.  WARNINGS unprotected sex, nipple clamps, overstimulation, pretty pet names for jk, oc is so fckin horNEE, both have a high sex drive, oc is obsessed with the koobies MISC flashbacks to jk’s ex gf yes you read right!, there’s backstory yuck, taehyung the bestie, jk is just so happy where he is now <3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.9k

NOTES finally after six months..... we get a glimpse of jk’s life pre-netflix n chill 🥶 also i just rlly wanted to write jk wearing the nipple clamps hehe 

Taehyung had warned him about this. 

“As hard as it is to believe,” he had said one night during their first year of university, haphazardly parked outside of a Wendy’s at three in the morning. Jungkook was trying to finish an assignment— early, always early —when he had been abruptly hauled to fulfill Taehyung’s spicy chicken sandwich craving. “Girls are hornier than guys.”

Jungkook remembers it so clearly. 

He had chuckled, had harbored this feeling of contentment, of belonging, with his best friend beside him, talking about the most mundane things. “No way,” he had said. He had only broken up with Haerim last month; his first girlfriend, his first heartbreak, all in his first year of college. So he wasn’t particularly bothered with women at the moment, and he probably wouldn’t be for a long time. He quite liked this life of solitude, the peaceful waves brought upon by the comfort of being alone, the occasional break in the water when Taehyung or Namjoon checked in on him. 

Taehyung, on the other hand, had always been concerned with women. A furious nod, huge eyes. “Dude, I swear,” he had exclaimed, and then had launched into a full feature recapture of how horny his then-girlfriend always was. Jungkook had simply listened— it’s what he does best —and nodded along when Taehyung continued his silly ramblings. 

He can still remember his thought process. 

Of course girls are horny. But Jungkook doubts they’re as horny as him or any of the guys he knew. Speaking for himself, Jungkook knows his sex drive is too high; too high for someone who’s only lost his virginity earlier that year. 

Haerim had once told him he asked for too much. And Jungkook understood, really; she was his first, and maybe he got a little too excited in his conquest to try everything, a conquest she wasn’t too keen on joining. “Do you even like me?” she had asked the night they broke up. “Or do you just want to have sex?”

Both, he remembers thinking, but that thought had felt like the wrong answer to give her. Her words had made him squirm, had made him feel so small. Was he asking her for too much? Was Jungkook too much— a handful for her to deal with? Jungkook’s love language had always been physical touch. He thought she understood that. 

They parted ways in the most mature way possible. A simple break-up, no hard feelings. Jungkook felt terrible. He had pushed her too far, had asked for too much. They aren’t as horny as guys, he remembers thinking. Or at least, not as horny as Jungkook. 

In the end, Jungkook remembers politely disagreeing with Taehyung on the matter. 

Until now, nearly four years later, with your hands circling his bare waist. 

He’d just finished nailing you into the mattress not even ten minutes ago, had fucked his cock into you until you were screaming so loud your neighbor had banged on your shared wall. Your lips are soft against his shoulder, the prettiest little giggle slipping past them. It’s pitch black outside, your room enveloped in shadows, but the warmth you press against his back is akin to that of the sun’s; Jungkook can’t think of a more fitting comparison. “I was thinking,” you purr, voice like warm honey down his throat. It makes him melt, has his eyes fluttering shut as your hands trace feathery lines against the waistband of his boxers. 

“That’s not good,” he manages to murmur, trapping your hand over his belly button. You make this sound, something between a satisfied hum and a moan; Jungkook wants nothing more than to spread your legs far apart and lick you down the middle. You shuffle closer behind him. He can feel your tits against his back, the hardened nub of your nipples. 

But it appears Jungkook isn’t the only one interested in nipples tonight. 

“The clamps,” you whisper, voice nearly lost under the thrum of the air conditioning, the steady beat of his heart in his chest. 

And in that moment, Jungkook truly understands what Taehyung had meant that night. 

They sting, terribly so, make him feel like someone is going to rip his nipples out of his chest at any moment. But at the same time, they make his toes curl, make Jungkook grind his teeth together in a feeble attempt to dismiss the pleasure. 

On top of that, the look on your face when Jungkook leans over you, the thin metal chain of the nipple clamps touching your chin, is enough to fuel his solo sessions for years to come. “Oh,” you gasp, trembling hand reaching up for the glittering chain. 

Jungkook hisses at the tug, accidentally bucks forward into the warm cradle between your legs. It makes you whimper, hand on his shoulder, the other holding onto the cruel device on his chest. “Fuck,” he bites, brows furrowed together as he glares down at you. 

“S- So pretty,” you slur, delirious. Jungkook’s not even inside of you, just has his cock resting on your hip. He thinks there might be a droplet of drool clinging to your lips. “Jungkook,” you breathe, finally lifting the other hand to his chest, thumb caressing the pretty gold clamp that is squeezing the life out of his nipple. It feels so good, and Jungkook is so embarrassed. 

You let him in soon enough, eyes trained on his flushed chest as he sinks into you. You’re still so loose, so wet and tender from the fucking he gave you earlier, from the two orgasms from before. He can’t comprehend how you’re still asking for more, capable of more, after he had spit in your mouth, bent you like a pretzel, and all but consumed your entire being in his earlier lust. 

He reaches the hilt and you tug at Jungkook’s clamps, make his chest jerk forward in surprise. “Fuck!” he chokes, hand on the back of your thigh around him. “Don’t f- fucking do that,” he begs, but it feels so good and you’re so entranced, he hardly thinks you hear him. 

It’s like you’re stuck in a daze, tiny mouth opening to release the sweetest little moans, eyes scarily trained on his chest. It’s like you don’t see him, don’t see Jungkook right before you, and for some reason… he adores the feeling. “Look at me,” he whispers, testing the waters. 

You spare him a glance, a supportive smile, and then it’s back to staring at his nipples. 

It makes Jungkook awfully hard. 

In a weird, roundabout sort of way, it’s like he’s being used. Like he’s nothing but a pawn in your lustful schemes, just a visual stimulus to help get you off; in short, it’s a teensy bit degrading. Dismissive. Whatever you want to call it. 

His dick twitches at the thought. 

And, like always, you’re in perfect step with him. Another tug at the chain, another moan torn from his lips. “So pretty for me,” you croon. It’s his line, you know it’s always been his line. Jungkook pushes deeper into you, but aside from a sinful cry, it doesn’t deter you. A wicked grin crosses your features, hand crawling around his neck to tangle in his locks again. “Tits all pink,” you shiver, tapping the pad of a finger against his nipple. Jungkook’s eyes roll to the back of his head, bucks forward suddenly. 

“N- Not pretty,” he growls, pushing you down deeper against the sheets, like maybe they’ll swallow you up and he’ll be saved from your lewd ways. “You’re pretty.”

You chuckle, and then contradict the sweet tone of your voice with a harsh tug against his clamps. Jungkook all but howls, pistons into you until he feels your cervix kiss his tip, call him forward, practically beg for him to fill you whole. “Prettiest boy,” you whimper, tracing his swollen nipple with your finger as if it’ll soothe the prickling sensations that shoot down his spine, makes him rut deeper into you. 

Jungkook wants to cum so badly, wants to spill his seed down your insides until it paints every wall, kisses every inch, until it’s physically impossible for you to not be pregnant. 

But the worst thing is, Jungkook is so terribly spent from the early events of that night, that the mere thought of coming again sounds like it would be painful. Of course, Jungkook immediately realizes the hypocrisy in his statement— he frequently makes you come various times in one night, sometimes in the span of a few minutes —but he never thought he’d be on the receiving end of this— this— overstimulation. 

Your walls squeeze around him, your fingers playfully tugging at the chain in intervals until Jungkook’s back arches forward, hips grinding against your quivering opening. “Cum inside,” you pant, curling one finger around the wretched contraption that seems intent on killing him slowly. He groans, hips snapping at your offer. He wants to so badly, but his toes curl, stomach tightens almost ominously. “Maybe if you do it a second time I’ll get p—“

“Shut up,” he begs, gasping for breath. You manage to laugh through a moan, harshly yanking your fist towards you in a motion that nearly has him crashing down on top of you. “I can’t—“ he shudders, forearms trembling. 

“You can,” you encourage, ankles locking together at the base of his spine. His every being feels overwhelmed, head like TV static. His dick throbs, practically begs for another orgasm that Jungkook fears will tear him apart, leave him a boneless pile of limbs for days. And his chest— “look, Jungkook,” you purr, pinching the already tortured nub between your fingers, “look at your fucking tits” —feels like heaven. 

It only takes a few more rushed thrusts, your stuttering moans like music to his ears, and a particularly brutal pull of the clamps on his chest, before Jungkook is bursting. And it’s painful, just as he thought, makes him release the most airy, fluttery whine. It’s so embarrassing, and frankly surprising, how high his voice can get, but it makes you beam beneath him. “Oh, such a good boy,” you coo, catching him in your arms when he slumps forward, chest against yours. 

He’s as boneless as he predicted, jaw twitching as he tries to gather himself into an acceptable state again. “Fuck you,” he groans, hips jerking with the after shocks of such a stimulated orgasm. 

You laugh, carding your hands through his hair. “You were made to wear cute things like that,” you mumble, lips pressed against his temple. 

Before he can speak (not that he knows what he’d say), you’re tugging him back by his hair, looking like you’ll eat him alive. He wants you to. “The cuffs,” you murmur, nose knocking against his. “Let’s try those on you next.” 

You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. 

But Jungkook is the same. You match him so well, fill the gaps when he’s too shy, lay yourself out when he needs more. 

(“You ask for too much,” Haerim had confessed, staring him down from the doorway of his dormitory. The room had always felt small, but today it feels miniature. Like the walls are closing in on him; he can’t breathe. “I don’t think anyone in this world can keep you satisfied, Jeon Jungkook.”)

Your heel knocks against the back of his thigh, and he is suddenly made aware of the trembling lips of your cunt around his cock, still so wet— still so horny. “Again?” you ask so sweetly, fingers dancing across his back. 

Jungkook shivers. “Again.”

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: How many colors can you see in the dark?

Summary:

"Darkness wasn’t pitch black. Darkness wasn’t nothing. It was a slew of shadows, lines and glimmers. It was a dark blue, a light blue in places and if she searched for it, a subtle shade of green.

Eyes were just constantly looking for something to see."

After the war, Hange and Levi start living together and Hangs notices something might be a little off about Levi.

Link: AO3

Note:

I know this is two weeks late but...happy birthday Shaila! Based on the prompt you sent ;)

Levi had always approached housemaking like it was a delicate art, a dance to master

Or maybe it was something he had mastered already.

Despite his small stature and his generally aloof demeanor, he navigated the kitchen with silent confidence, running his hands over each task quickly, efficiently and more notably, elegantly.

Elegant enough to catch Hange’s busy eyes for at least a few minutes a day.

Turning something as mundane as managing a house into an art was an admirable skill that Hange learned over the years, could never be replicated without the natural proclivity. And as long as it was Levi was involved, Hange seemed to be completely capable of giving her full attention.

And before she even realized it herself, she had mastered the subtle art of just observing.

She mastered it so well that when inconsistencies started to appear, Hange spotted them almost immediately.

There was a plate that Levi had settled on the counter with a louder than usual clatter and that was enough to ring alarm bells inside her. Then when the angry clatters, the awkward rhythm as Levi reorganized utensils became commonplace, Hange found herself watching every move more closely then listening even when she had know idea what she was searching for in the first place.

She surreptitiously kept her guard up, she followed his movements. She snuck glances when she was sure Levi wasn’t looking. Over time, acts as mundane as turning on the stove had Hange looking up, ears perked up, interest piqued.

Maybe she was just a little nervous that Levi might burn himself.

Levi knew the stove from the back of his hand, he knew everything inside and out from the vacuum cleaners, to the dishwashers, to the mops. She had never needed to be nervous before.

But the clicking of the stove as he turned the knob was just a tad slow. The plates continued to clatter instead of settling softly on the counter.

And when Hange observed the way he set the table, she couldn’t help but notice, the spoon was just a little closer to the plate than the spoon.

Something, a fastidious Levi would have never allowed.

It could have been the long observations, or just the broken dish that had started it all. It could have been Levi’s careful movements or Hange’s penchant for overthinking. For a while, she had even blamed herself for being overly zealous about how the house should be run.

Then understanding came out of nowhere one morning, as an abrupt yet taut curse from just a few feet away.

Fuck.

Hange’s reaction was almost immediate. “Levi? You okay?”

He wasn’t okay. Hange had stood up instinctively at the sound, her eyes following Levi’s hands. The latter had dropped the peeler onto the kitchen counter with a louder clack than usual.

“Let me take a look,” Hange said. Her pace quickened as she made more sense of the situation.

Out of instinct, Levi held his hand close to him, another clumsy mistake, considering the red streaks that pooled out of that tiny knick that started to leak into the white shirt underneath. “Fucking hell,” Levi let out another curse, that time as a hushed whisper. He pulled away even before Hange could get close.

“Let me take a look,” Hange repeated, that time more firmly. Instinctively her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed.

Somehow, that combination of everything had been enough to have Levi just a little more obedient.

He didn’t pull away further. But he didn’t make it any easier either.

It was Hange who carefully unwrapped his fingers, exposing the raw skin underneath. She ran her hand over it as gently as she could, but still not gentle enough to prevent a soft, hesitant and begrudging whimper.

“I’ll get the bandages,” Hange turned towards the cupboard, pulling out the materials one by one.

The process of bandaging was slow and the air between the two remained unbearably silent. Hange had more than enough thinking space to notice it then, when it was right at her fingertips.

Levi’s hands have always been rough, they have always been crusty to the touch. But something seemed a little different about the scrapes, the raw red that seemed to climb up his wrists, settling in his palms.

Levi had always been careful, he’d never been clumsy, let alone accident prone.

But his hands seemed to tell a different story. Hange ran her hands over his palms as she worked, ignoring the winces, the way he tensed up at each slight touch.

Then she started to ignore the passage of time, only painfully aware of the questions, then the ardent curiosity that seemed to manifest as some heavy weight in the silent kitchen.

She had to let it out somehow, or risk having that weight crush her.

Are you okay? Even if she did ask that, would Levi ever respond with a straight answer? Her own experience with him said no.

She took a deep breath. “Levi…” Hange started, hands running through the bruising once again. “Did you fall somewhere?”

***

Levi never answered that question. And any attempt at pushing and prodding after that, came up empty.

He was quiet, and it turned out, keeping mum could have been as much of his talent as being careful. He could ignore Hange if he tried and he would mumble something to himself, and walk away.

He always found a way to feign or at the most even force himself into a state of deep concentration, enough to even convince Hange to leave her questions for another day.

Hange was never one to stay quiet forever. And the universe was only tempting Hange to push the issue.

Suddenly everything was a catalyst.

The broken plate was the first catalyst. Then accidents seemed to pop up more frequently, an awkward clatter worse than an awkward clatter or a broken rhythmThere were rhythm. There were broken platess, a bleeding cutss and crushed fruits. Strange accidents had become a common sight.

I’m fine. Levi had said the first time she asked.

Hange gave it a week. One week became two weeks when Levi insisted that he was fine.

Two weeks became three when Levi insisted he was just tired.

One month in, Hange’s own habits of observation have graduated to levels of almost accurate predictions.

Hange didn’t notice it for herself immediately. In fact, she noticed it in slow motion, in the way she tensed up as she started to make sense of her observations.

They were in the moment Levi’s eyes twitched, the split second long blink, and the way his hand hovered over the plate, the way his hands gripped for something so tightly Hange could have sworn he had to have been gripping something.

Something a little more tangible than air.

Hange didn’t have to squint or furrow her brows to see that nothing had been between his two finger tips. Yet, for a second, Levi still held the air in between them like it was a lifeline.

When Hange looked up, narrowing her eyes at Levi’s, she noted the flash of confusion. As quickly as he pulled back, it melted away to something more subtle.

That dumbfounded expression didn’t fall away for any longer. It stayed long enough for Hange to see everything about the way Levi had blinked rapidly for a few seconds longer, the awkward way he stepped back then the way he gripped the counter as he bent down to grab the plate.

He didn’t go quickly for the broken plate, he started to feel the ground and Hange was sure she could have been much quicker. She rushed next to him.

Levi had a headstart but despite that, Hange was moving alarmingly faster. “Levi… I’ll handle this,” Hange said, noting the awkward and aimless movements of his hands.

Levi didn’t even protest but something inside Hange had wished he did. He pulled back, reached above him for some support from the counter.

When Hange focused on the obvious signs, she was quick to conclud, Levi had never been that slow.

He had never approached cleaning with such painful hesitation.

The first time, Hange did stomach it but she never really was the type to sit back and observe. She always observed but after observing, Hange would act in the most logical, calculated manner.

“We’re going to the doctor.” Hange brought it up out over an uncharacteristic silence.

“No.”

That brusque response had Hange jumping in her seat. When Hange thought about it for a second longer, after ‘I’m fines,” and “I’m just tired,” a firm ‘no’ seemed almost ominous.

Levi wasn’t making things any better with the rash way at which he stood up, then teetered, his eyes hovering wildly over the table. He blinked hard, then he widened his eyes in some look of confusion or surprise.

When Hange bent over to look into it, he looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You know I can help with the laundry right? Or cooking.”

“Why do you wanna help so suddenly? Don’t you have work to do?”

“I do,” Hange admitted. “But even if you’ve always wanted to do it yourself... I thought I wanna help with house chores more.”

“That’s new,” Levi glanced at her accusingly.

Glanced. That’s what it should have been

Hange squinted, then her eyes scanned over his expression while aiming to recall every other moment he had made eye contact before.

Levi wasn’t glancing. His eyes could have been staring at nothing. Either that, or he could have been staring at something which Hange couldn’t see.

There was a blunt grey in his sharp blue eyes and before Hange even felt the damp tension in the room, the way it weighed on her lips, forced her jaw back, she took one deep breath. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Doing everything on your own?”

“I’ve always done everything on my own,” Levi said. He pulled his chair back then walked slowly away.

He didn't finish his breakfast that day.

***

It was like a switch just turned on inside Hange.

The stronger the indignance, the more motivated Hange became. Soon, even the small things back home were pulling out the researcher from inside her.

Despite her chaotic personality, Hange always seemed to put some systematic process into something as complex as solving a problem and subsequently, getting into the bottom of someone as stoic as Levi Ackerman.

Define the problem.

Levi was just a little too clumsy.

Form a hypothesis.

That part was a little more complex. With a little more observation, a little more analysis, she noticed the small details.

The small details weren’t in Levi, in fact they were in the little changes in his surroundings. The spices and the groceries have always been arranged neatly but when Hange observed Levi’s movements, she noticed, he liked to hover his hand over everything before allowing it to land, on top of one cap, then he would grip the one right next to it.

The salt shaker was just a little smaller than the pepper shaker just an inch away. When Levi was done with the salt he put it in its usual spot.

In the exact same place.

Levi was meticulous. He always did it that way. But there was something unsettling about the way he gripped it hard before letting go, before hovering his hand over the jar right next to it.

“Here,” Levi said, dropping the plate gently on the counter.

Scrambled eggs with salt.

“Thank you,” Hange said as she pulled it towards herself. Most days, she had a book next to her, or a few documents to review before she left for the office. That day in particular, the documents were just for show. She watched carefully as he cleaned up, as he positioned the bowl right next to the plates, and when he set it, he let his hand hover, he let it gently fly over the other utensils.

As if he was memorizing where everything was.

But Hange couldn’t be too sure. She needed to experiment.

There was only one window to move and that was when Levi was in the shower.

So Hange called the office, mentioning something to Armin about being late, and about an urgent health concern.

She never called days off so Armin didn’t pry.

She opened the salt shaker and poured the contents into a bowl. She opened the pepper shaker and poured the contents inside. A few hand motions later, the salt was where it wasn’t supposed to be and the pepper wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

Then Hange lined them up. She could never be too sure if that was the exact sample place but it was worth a try.

The next morning, the experiment turned out to be very much worth it when Hange was served an omelette sprinkled with a little too much of something else on top.

“Levi, I asked for salt in the omelette right?”

“You always ask for salt,” Levi answered matter-of-factly as he picked at his own breakfast. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing… I just thought you put in a little too much.” Hange made a loud show of pushing the plate in front of him and it looked like Levi had been ready to make a show of something too.

He narrowed his eyes on the plate then nodded. “Sorry, I’ll put less salt next time,” he muttered, only proving himself what Hange already suspected.

“It’s fine, put as much salt as you want,” Hange didn’t even notice herself, not until she pulled the plate back towards her that her voice had deadened to smatterings of sound. She sliced the omellete into smaller places, mixing the black pepper with the gooey yellow just underneath then wondering for a second how Levi managed to so cleanly crack the eggs even when he could barely tell the difference between white and black.

The only way to ever find out is to ask. But there were more pressing things to ask at that moment.

Levi, are you blind? If Hange just went with her first instinct, maybe that’s what she would have asked.

This is pepper. That had been her second choice but with such a fragile moment right between them, that was no time for proving her own conjecture correct.

She went for an in between, a curious in between and she decided, it was up to Levi to take it for what he sees the question to be. “Levi? How much can you see right now?”

“I can see just fine,” Levi answered, once again straightforward and firm.

At that moment, he met her gaze with blank eyes, or at least, he attempted to meet her gaze. The moment Hange avoided his eyes, he didn’t follow.

She started to make sense of everything at once.

The strong denial, the lack of confusion, her omelette with a little too much pepper instead of salt and one strong inference later, Hange started on a new endeavor--- convincing Levi to see a doctor.

***

The disease wasn’t anything new and Hange was confident, she could have pronounced it and memorized it if she had put her heart into studying it.

As Levi put it, there were more pressing things to study than the sudden onset of failing eyesight. The doctors at least had been nice enough to put a prognosis on it.

The rules were simple, old people usually got it, Levi had just been terribly unlucky he experienced it decades earlier. It wasn’t common but it wasn’t unheard of either, even in the small island of Eldia. If Hange requested the documentation from Marley, if she made a quick visit to Marley, maybe she would have figured it out for herself.

Levi had shot down that idea though before Hange could have entertained it any further.

Even in the silence, in the bedroom, at two in the morning, even when Hange had so carefully padded towards the desk, Levi had seemed to have sensed it.

His voice rough, his eyes half open, he spoke up seemingly from out of nowhere. “No need.”

Whatever had hinted him to it seemed to have work, maybe even if it was just Hange’s own tense demeanor which she couldn’t so easily brush away.

In fact, Hange had been thinking about it. She had a half written letter for a leave to go to Marley. She had papers on whatever the doctors had even documented about the failing eyesight of elders, all scattered across the table.

But fading eyesight of elders was something not many people endeavored to cure. Levi's case was just too rare, and there were no other studies which made it worth white.

It was as if Levi had known that too.. “Hange, go back to sleep.”

He had chosen a convenient moment to say it. That exact moment where Hange had ran her eyes over the last few paragraphs of one of the files from the library.

No known cure.

“I’m reading something.” Hange disturbed the papers enough to release some loud rustle in the room.

“You wanna read it to me?” Levi asked. That was the first time he had ever asked her to read anything to him.

To Hange’s surprised, it sent some painful pang through her chest that seemed to settle in her stomach.

Suddenly, she was in no mood to read again.

“Actually, you’re right. I think this can wait until morning.”

***

Hange’s work in the office started to die down just a bit, and suddenly her mind was everywhere.

She allowed herself to ponder what the hell Levi was busying himself with while she was away. Did he get bored? More importantly, was he safe?

And a few times she did call home, only to get some form of ‘go back to work’ in a more and more annoyed tone with every call. The few times she stopped herself from calling, she busied herself with something else.

Piles and piles of paperwork, some of them were actual work and some of them were something that Hange would have classified as personal, hidden amongst a small pile of papers slightly obscured by the one Jean had left a while back.

Luckily, no one really asked Hange to clean up. No one among her subordinates seemed to have even made sense of the pile of paperwork and that was one thing Hange took advantage of.

After one call with Levi, where the latter had put down the phone a little too roughly, Hange quickly went through one of the letters she had written only that morning, to another doctor she had heard about through her network.

The few doctors in Eldia had deemed it incurable but Hange still managed to grip on to whatever hope came with a second opinion. The few researchers that had come back bore bad news but Hange was unfazed, there were still many other doctors, some in Marley, some in the Middle East, some in Hizuru.

Others had come back with nothing but affirmation that whatever research that had reached Eldia were the latest.

But Hange wasn’t giving up just yet. There were a few more she hadn’t sent yet.

She bent over, chin leaning on one hand. She knew the best way to write a letter and if she just let loose, she was confident she could make it sound as professional as the many other letters she had written before.

Somehow, the nth letter was harder. Somehow, writing that same letter when she had received too many rejections already was harder.

Was it worth it to still try? Hange took a deep breath, pressed the pen to paper and wrote out the first few words. It was like a script, when Hange gave into self discipline and to the mechanisms that kept working the past few years, she found it was easy enough to stay productive and efficient.

Doctor Wilken,

I hope you’re doing well.

My name is Hange Zoe from Paradis. I’m writing to you to inquire about a case…

Hange had gone halfway through, before the door to her office creaked open. The sound echoed, breaking whatever trance she didn’t even know she had been in and Hange jumped her seat.

“Did I scare you?” Armin asked, another wad of documents held close to his chest.

Hange eyed the documents and instinctively patted the empty space to the side of her desk. “Leave it on my desk.”

“This can wait until tomorrow.” Armin dropped the documents on the side and looked up at her expectantly.

“If it’s urgent, I could get started tonight,” Hange offered.

“The grocery closes at seven,” Armin volunteered.

At that point, she had been painfully aware that a lot may have changed about her work habits. How long had she been writing letters back and forth. More importantly, how long had she been frequenting the grocery on the way home?

Since the doctors had given her Levi’s diagnosis? Hell, maybe even before that.

“You notice I’ve been going to the market more often?” Hange said.

“Connie noticed it first. Then Mikasa,” Armin explained. He put his hands up in defense. “We weren’t stalking you or anything, but we used to see Levi in the market more… and when we started seeing you there, we got curious.”

Hange forced a smile. “I just thought I should pull my weight at home. I think I’ve been spending too much time working. Not too much time helping out.”

“Levi isn’t the type to get lonely though and I’m sure he does enjoy cleaning,” Armin said.

“He sure does,” Hange said. She kept whatever tone to herself, instead feigning some preoccupation as she shuffled mindlessly through the papers. “Still, we’re living together and taking care of the house is a team job.”

Armin nodded. “You know, you don’t have to work overtime anymore. Jean, Mikasa and I… The queen… Connie… we can handle most of the work. You should spend more time at home--- I don’t even think you ever got rest as commander.”

Hange sighed. “I’m gonna have to think about that. There is a lot I feel like I haven’t done yet. Gimme some time to think about that.”

“If you need anything else, just let me know,” Armin said. He bowed lightly and walked quietly out the room, leaving Hange to ponder that offer.

There were things she hadn’t done. There was a lot of work she still had to deal with but she didn't need the time to consider them.

It was an easy decision to make.

Soon enough Hange had stopped working overtime and she had started to spend a little more time cracking open books and reports from each doctor and writing letters in between.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel at all guilty about shortening work hours.

***

The door of their home opened up to the living room and just behind it was the kitchen.

By evening Hange would find Levi either working at the kitchen, sitting at the dining table or lounging by the sofa.

On the rare days that he wasn’t, he could be in the laundry room.

That was her first thought.

There was something about the eerie silence though that had Hange walking ahead more quickly.

“Levi?” she called out.

There was no reply. The beating of her heart only turned wilder. Hange dropped her bag by the sofa and raced towards the laundry room, just beyond that, was the bedroom.

She didn’t have to go any further though. Levi was slumped on the wall of the living room. A pile of clothes lay toppled over and scattered on the floor right next to him.

“Hange…” It wasn’t a question. Maybe more of a statement. But to Hange it had just been a lifeless name and the blank expression on Levi’s face wasn’t helping it either.

“Hey, I’m here.” Hange bent over and started to pick up the clothes, resting them on one hand.

“Did they get dirty?” Levi pulled at one of the sweaters then held it close to himself.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll put them back in the closet.”

“No, but I need to know, do I need to wash them again.”

“You don’t have to. I’m not as much of a clean freak as you are,” Hange folded the clothes once again and piled them all in. Levi had done his part but Hange couldn’t help but note, in the span of her folding ten, Levi had only folded two.

His was still neater and most likely, if Hange hadn’t caught him, if that accident--- whatever that had been--- that left him slumped on the wall, didn’t happen. He still would have managed to fold everything.

She carried the laundry basket with one arm and lumbered over to their bedroom. Listening closely, she made out the hesitant and clumsy steps of her partner right behind.

“Levi, what happened?” she asked.

“I fell over, the basket fell over, I hit my head on the wall.” He kept his voice soft, his answers straightforward.

“I’ll get some ice. Just lay in bed,” Hange ordered.

That accident must have hurt. For once, Levi was completely obedient, not even attempting to reorganize the clothes on the basket and putting it inside the closet. He didn’t even answer, or crane his neck when Hange entered the room.

She dropped the ice pack on his outstretched palm, guiding his fingers to the top, where it was easiest to hold. “In the morning, if it still hurts, you have to tell me. We’re going to have to take you to the doctor.”

Levi had experienced worse. Explosions, man eating monsters and war. Regardless, just a strong smack to the right part of the head was enough to kill. Hange had worked long enough with army medics to know.

He gripped the ice pack only lightly and once again, Hange was tempted to run her fingers over his and grip his hands guiding them over it. It wasn’t a physical issue. Levi was still strong, she was sure of that.

Still, Levi was stronger than that, he always had been. Hell, he was dubbed humanity’s strongest for a reason.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked.

“No. I’m not,” Levi admitted.

“We should see a doctor tomorrow then?”

Levi turned to his side, his front to the window. “It’s not that. It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“But something else hurts right? Something you can’t explain?” Hange suggested.

Levi didn’t respond after that and Hange didn’t prod further. She started to reorganize the clothes one on top of the other, noting then how Levi had managed to fold them neatly into piles.

Hers and his, divided like they’ve always been. Staring for longer than usual, not having to consider the day in front or any other things, she started to note that there was a slight difference.

There were small stains on the white, some white on the red and just colors where she didn’t remember having them been before. “Levi, maybe we should get two hampers, a light and a dark one? So you don’t mix them up?” Hange suggested.

Silence.

Hange turned back to the hamper, the clothes still untouched, clumsily folded on top of one another. She brought it back to the bed and held Levi’s left hand towards her.

“You want me to teach you how to tell the lights from the darks?” Hange asked.

Levi had been holding the ice pack to his head for the past few seconds and he turned to Hange, eyes half open.

“Sit up.” She pulled lightly at Levi and it turned out, she didn’t have to pull for long. That order was enough to get him to a sitting position.

“I’ll teach you the lights from the darks,” Hange said. She pulled out one of Levi’s sweaters, a pure white with a few colored spots from washings. “This one is your white sweater…” She started. She guided Levi’s fingers through it, pressing his fingers closer on the areas where the threads bunched together, making up some intricate design.

As she guided his fingers through, as she felt his fingers pinch at it, she started to notice it herself. The seams, the hems, the collar, they all gave the sweater a unique character, and the color was starting to seem almost negligible.

“I can still tell the whites from the darks,” Levi said.

“How much can you see?”

Levi nodded and gave her a wry smile, the first in a long time. “Just enough to pick up some colors.”

“I think you may have mixed some of the lights and darks together. ,” Hange said.

Levi seemed deep in thought for a second. “It’s dim in the laundry room. When it’s darker, I can’t see as much, maybe that’s it,” he explained. He pinched at the hems as he spoke, running his hand quickly over it, as if trying to distract himself. “I just have to do better at figuring it out.”

“But now...” Hange said. “If you can’t tell the whites from the darks…”

“I can. It’s just harder to tell at times.” Levi hummed. “Let me try to explain it… When in a room, I don’t see anything. But in a well lit room, like now…” He paused for a second longer.

Hange was starting to get impatient. “Like now?”

Levi fell back on the bed and stared up ahead at the ceiling. “Hange, tell me, how many colors can you see in the dark?”

***

She did the laundry again that night, particularly for the more dirtied bundle.

In the dim laundry room, she closed her eyes for a moment, just for long enough to understand it herself. Her eyes would naturally search for light and in the darkness, they still seem to find it.Yet, Hange was sure that that was the closest thing she could get to total darkness.

Once she finished, she retired to the bedroom, turned on the lights of the room once again. Unlike before, it did nothing to wake Levi or even have him stirring, half asleep. His own condition had actually made him a better sleeper over time.

Hange put whatever dried up clothes back in the closet and just to answer the burning question for herself, she didn’t turn off the lights. She fell back on the bed, just like Levi had done hours ago. She closed her eyes tightly and the lights above stayed within range for just a second longer and the longer Hange made sense of herself, the clearer it started to become.

Darkness wasn’t pitch black. Darkness wasn’t nothing. It was a slew of shadows, lines and glimmers. It was a dark blue, a light blue in places and if she searched for it, a subtle shade of green.

Eyes were just constantly looking for something to see.

How many colors can you see in the dark? The darkness was endless and Hange was sure, if she looked hard enough, she may even see every shade in the spectrum.

That should be the same for Levi right? Hange thought to herself. She turned to a sleeping Levi, tracing the lines under his eyes, the tense jaw and when she stared for a little too long, she was cruelly reminded, the difference was right there.

She could open her eyes when she grew tired from searching for colors. Levi couldn’t.

An attempt at an awkward apology, Hange turned towards Levi, pulled herself closer, pressed her forehead on his, found rhythm in his breathing, picked out the moment the rhythm broke. Then there was a light brush on her cheeks, light yet ticklish enough for Hange to just ponder for a second how long Levi’s eyelashes really were.

She let out that laugh that tickled at her throat and she pressed her lips against his.

“You can stop now. I’m awake,” Levi’s lips pulled up into a smile. “Why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” Hange answered almost instinctively.

“You never laugh at nothing.”

Hange sighed then she turned on her back. “I was just thinking about something.”

“About…”

“You know, there are things the eyes can’t see right? But are still very much there?” As soon as it came out of her mouth, all to a dead response, Hange realized, it wasn’t funny at all.

It had never been funny. It was just a glimmer of hope and she just hadn’t felt a glimmer of hope in a while.

***

There were colors in total darkness. There were colors the eyes couldn’t see but they were colors that the ears, the nose, the tongue, the skin had no problems making.

Getting Levi acquainted with them was a daunting task.

It took weeks to get Levi familar with the hems of each sweater, the collars of his shirts and the areas were seams split wide enough to make a noticeable dent just between his fingers.

Soon enough, Hange realized, Levi didn’t need the dent, or he didn’t need the areas were the strings awkwardly bunched up together. Sometimes the areas were the threads lined up perfectly were enough of a hint.

How Levi could have figured it out, Hange could never tell but progress was still progress.

The work at the kitchen continued, the cleaning continued and most days, Hange could pretend it was just like before. If she avoided looking closely at how Levi’s hands hovered lightly over surfaces, how he pressed his hand against the wall before he made a turn, she could pretend he was just slightly clumsier than usual.

And most days it did work. Levi was always improving, getting used to whatever view he had every morning. Sometimes, she could even pretend he wasn’t struggling at all.

A ripple in whatever progress they set for themselves came as a knock on the door and a surprise visit.

It was a lazy Saturday morning, Hange was lounging on the couch, Levi was preparing lunch when they first knocked on the door.

“Is this a bad time?” Armin asked.

It wasn’t and Hange didn’t think it ever would be. The cadets always had a special place in her heart. She didn’t need too much to reassure Armin. She let the wide smile play at her lips, she then let her head cock to the side.

“You wanna stay for lunch?” Hange asked. She turned to Levi who was looking up at them too, his eyes wide with surprise.

“We can make a little more,” Levi volunteered.

Armin shook his head. “No thank you. Mikasa and I will be visiting Eren’s grava after this. We just wanted to drop some things over.” He dropped the plastic bag on the coffee table and turned to Levi. “It’s been a while. We don’t see you go out as much anymore.”

“Hange offered to help with groceries so there’s no need to,” Levi explained, his expression completely deadpan, enough of a reminder for Hange that they never did tell anyone about.

“I noticed you’ve been sending a lot of mail… to doctors I think? And I saw you’ve been reading a lot of medical books so when these were sent over to the office, I thought you’d want them as soon as possible. They arrived at the office this morning.”

“From where?”

“It was sent with a letter apparently, from the medical society of Marley,” Armin explained.

“Yeah, I requested that.” Hange settled on the sofa and ran her hands through the package. The medical society of Marley was one of the most technologically advanced yet somehow, had been the most difficult to contact.

She unwrapped the packaging to find books. A quick look at the cover and Hange found they were case studies. She ran her eyes over the cover, then quickly through the pages. She took a deep breath.

Nothing at all about a cure, yet many pages about management, symptoms and cases. Then she ran her hand over the letter. She ripped the envelope open and unfolded the letter with one flick.

Hange had always been a quick reader but she only needed one second to realize, she didn’t need to read the rest of the letter.

Her eyes had only been searching for one word, cure.

No cure. That was the only answer she found..

“You okay?” MIkasa asked. Suddenly, she was right next to Hange.

Hange only needed to feel the hand on her shoulder and to see the surprised look on MIkasa’s face to accept it as truth. She was trembling, she was shaken. And for just a moment, Hange was feeling hopeless.

“I’m fine. Just a bit disappointed with the research I was doing.” “If I may ask… what research?” Armin asked hesitantly.

Hange managed a shrug and an almost uninvested expression. “Something about being able to see colors in the dark.”

And it looked like that had been enough. Mikasa and Armin didn’t prod more deeply than that.

Apparently, the disease would progress. Maybe over months, maybe over years but eventually, the subject would become completely blind.

The literature called him a subject but the word subject had always felt cold and calculating. Hange didn’t like the word patient either. He was Levi and he would always be Levi.

Tired of the negativity, the coldness, Hange put away the books, somewhere where even Levi wouldn’t find it to somewhere even she would need a chair to reach.

To hell with it, she wouldn’t be missing it for a long time. She was in a new stage of the process, the grieving process, the denial process, the acceptance process, one of those.

Either way, one thing was sure, it still fucking hurt like a bitch. And in her own way, she knew she had to find a way to shake it off. She opened the door then before leaving she let out a final greeting. “Just going out for a bit!” She said loud enough that Levi should hear.

And she slammed the door behind her. To clear her head, Hange went out to the streets and made the calming journey around the block.

They lived in a quiet residential area within what used to be walled Sinna, conducive for walks any time of the day. And Hange had learned over the years, keeping to some steady rhythm when she walked, keeping her breaths relaxed, she could easily take back whatever control she had lost.

Hange then tried another trick.

The end of the block led down to a downward slope and right in front of her was blue sky, framed by buildings on both sides. Out of instinct, or maybe just out of a burning curiosity Hange hadn’t tapped into yet, she closed her eyes.

Blue. Her view behind closed eyes was a light blond for just a split second.

Light blue but it never turned a dark blue. Then she started to search for contours between the light and the dark, then shapes, some of the perfectly geometric, other almost incomprehensible blobs.

Then Hange took a deep breath. The early autumn air around her seemed to tickle at her nostrils, the rustle of the leaves seemed to brush at her ears. Her lips were dry and they tasted a little bit like metal.

“Excuse me.” Of all things, it had been a passerby just behind her who had pulled her out of her trance.

“Sorry about that,” Hange responded almost instinctively. She moved to the side of the sidewalk, stood by and watched.

And having just fallen out of the last trance, suddenly Hange was finding anything to focus on. “What’s that big bag?” Hange asked, biting her lip soon after. Who the hell asks that out of nowhere?

“It’s a guitar,” the stranger asked matter-of-factly. If she had been at least a little offended by Hange, she didn’t show it.

In fact, the conversation seemed to flow a little more easily after that. It turned out there was a shop only a few minutes away, long enough for that instrument to draw Hange in.

She was out for an hour longer than she had expected. That one hour though was long enough to pick out a guitar, pick out some easy sheet music and guidebooks.

Hange came home late that evening but with two hands full with impulse purchases, brimming with newfound excitement.

***

Even in the deepest blackness, there were colors that shone clearly.

You just have to look for it. Hange whispered to herself, an attempt at self motivation.

One bout of serendipity and Hange found a new way to pass the time, that same time she had used up messaging every researcher and eye doctor in the international network.

In the evenings, she was reading tabs and sometimes, she was trying out the different chords, allowing her fingers to slowly get used to the soft nylon of the guitar, and the riffs which were unnatural to the touch.

One week into it, she was making music but admittedly, she was a little sloppy. A day or so after that, Hange decided to pick the sound for herself when she closed her eyes.

When she graduated from awkwardly pressing riffs and hearing unnecessary splats as she strummed, she opened up the lyrics.

And she only had to sing it once to feel the almost consoling burn in her throat, the rush in her cheeks and just her chest full, brimming with some cross between excitement and relief.

Eyes closed, hands moving, she seemed to see more colors, some colors she swore she had never seen before.

“Hey, can you sing that song?”

“Which song?”

“The one you sing on the balcony.”

Hange let out that wry smile. She looked away in instinct as she felt the blood rush up her cheeks, only reminded a second later, Levi wouldn’t have seen it. “You can hear it? I could have sworn I closed the door.”

“I still heard you, perfectly clear,” Levi retorted.

Hange cocked her head to the side, suddenly feeling like a five year old stealing from a cookie jar. Then she wondered, why the hell she had been hiding it in the first place. In her decades of managing squads and armies, somehow, she wondered how she made a mistake out of a stupid yet simple decision.

“I wanted it to be perfect before I let you listen,” Hange admitted. “But now that I think about it, maybe you would have enjoyed the process… of me learning?”

“I wouldn’t know if you don’t let me listen.”

Levi rarely made eye contact with Hange those days. There was no reason too when there was nothing to connect with. At that moment, he seemed to have deliberately met her gaze with his own unseeing one, an expectant look on his face.

Even before Levi had voiced the request, Hange was sure, she could never say no. She padded to one end of the room, taking the guitar hanging that sat on one of the shelves, and pulled it close to her.

“It’s an easy song,” Hange warned.

“Music is still music,” Levi said. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sing.”

Hange played the opening chords, slowing down just a bit as she felt the bed shake, then a warm body pressed on her back. Levi had lain on the bed, pressed his forehead to her back, or that was the quickest guess she could make as she concentrated on coordinating her still very amateur fingers.

The opening chorus passed peacefully. To Hange, that was enough of an achievement.

“What’s the song?” Levi asked.

“Ir’s called ‘You are my sunshine.’ There was someone who met me at the music store and she recommended that since it’s easy to learn. Is it too mushy for you?” Hange asked, stifling a nervous laugh.

“It sounds just fine to me,” Levi said.

Hange saw that as a cue to continue. She strummed again, opening with a few chords then the first verse.

Even laying on the bed, seemingly unmoving, Hange seemed to sense investment, attentiveness from Levi. Maybe Levi was just waiting for his own chance to speak.

“Please don’t take my sunshine away,” Levi let it out as a whisper but Hange couldn’t help but pick out the remnants of a melody that seemed to die at his throat.

“Maybe if we sing that line enough times, it might just work.” A shoddy attempt to lighten the mood. It was only after the second verse did Hange realize how depressing the song actually had been. She turned to Levi, an apologetic smile on her face.

“I still see the sun you know,” Levi said. When you open the windows in the morning, or the curtains, I still see the white, sometimes I see yellow. When the sun rises, I still know that it’s morning.” Levi was surprisingly talkative or Hange suspected, there was something about how she was carrying herself that Levi could have sensed from his place in bed.

Hange pushed the guitar right under the bed, and lay in bed next to him. “You told me before, you still see other colors. But it still hurts right?”

“It does,” Levi admitted.

“Then you don’t have to pretend it doesn’t. What I wanna do is I wanna try to enjoy whatever is still there,” Hange reached her hand just a little to her left, close enough to just grip at his fingertips. “But i won’t be able to help, if you don’t tell me what you want to work on.”

Levi hummed for a second. “Work on your guitar skills.”

“I don’t need that reminder. What else?”

“Just help around the house more I guess…” Levi’s voice lacked fervor and Hange wasn’t at all convinced.

“You can think harder than that,” Hange responded firmly.

Levi didn’t respond immediately. And maybe the silence between them had worked to rack Levi’s brain. His answer was unexpected, simple but it seemed to make sense. “I want you to describe things to me.”

“Things?”

“How our house looks like, how the outside looks like every season, how you look like.” Levi answered. “One day,I’m going to forget how everything looks like, the colors, the trees, our house.... What if I told you, I’m scared of forgetting how you look like?”

It was easy enough to give. “I’m still here. I’ll look in the mirror and I’ll tell you how I look like,” Hange said. She stood up, walked towards the mirror next to her desk, making out whatever she could under the dim moonlight. “Big nose, always chapped lips, messy brown hair, small eyes.”

“Did you know, your eyes are bigger without your glasses.”

Instinctively, Hange pulled out her glasses, only to be greeted by whatever blur she had become in the mirror. “I can’t see it now.” But she was a quick thinker. Hange pressed her fingers to her good eye, tracing her eyelids then her bags underneath.

It took a little more than a few seconds to thread through them carefully and she could never tell if they really were big without comparing them to anyone else.

It wasn’t about what she saw though, it was about what Levi wanted to see.

She walked back to the bed, holding Levi’s hand between her finger and she pressed his good hand to her eyelids. “Will this let you remember?” She only had to guide his hands through her eyelids before he took the reigns. His hands travelled lightly over her lashes, then to the bags underneath, resting heavily and long enough for Hange to feel the pressure to her bones.

The hands fell to her large nose, then as if falling over a cliff, they fell almost quickly over her lips. Suddenly, Hange was self conscious of how dry they were.

“You should lick your lips more,” Levi whispered.

Hange couldn’t even find the right moment to let her tongue out and lick them. Levi’s fingers stayed for a second longer on her lips, heavily enough that it was difficult to even mouth words in between.

Still, she attempted. “Have your lips always been dry?” She pressed her own fingers to his lips,

“You’ve kissed them before right?”

She saw that as some cue to draw nearer and maybe it was. Levi didn’t turn away or pull away. Instead, he did his part and their lips locked.

Levi’s lips weren’t dry. And Hange wondered how many times they had kissed, how many times they had even touched lips yet it had never been so much as even a passing thought.

Eyes closed, she felt it, she tasted it then she relished the in betweens. In complete darkness, there were still colors to expereince, colors to see. It was just a matter of finding it.

Levi’s hands fell forward, landing on her neck, then down to the collar of her shirt.

She didn’t want it to end there. Hange held his hand just an inch away from her, before guiding it down towards the buttons of her polo and Levi got the message.

He held both hands a hairs breadth away from the buttons of her shirt, then pressed at them slowly one by one. Despite not having any visual aids, he still had close to perfect coordination.

He then pulled at her undergarments, delicately and slowly and Hange did her part. She pulled at his own sweater, flinging it to the side of the room before falling next to him on the bed.

“Do you want me to describe anything for you?” Hange offered.

It was late at night, the room was dim save for the moonlight, there wouldn’t be much to talk about beyond their bodies half naked right next to each other. Still, if Levi asked, it would have been worth a try.

“No. I’ll figure it out for myself,” Levi said. Once again, his hands were pressed on her face, this time tracing her cheeks. They sat for a second on the cheeks just below her eyes, before falling onto her chin.

Somehow, by just the movements of his fingers, Hange could pick out a little of what he could have been seeing. Levi didn’t have to see it for her to feel it.

He had pressed his fingers over the apple on her cheeks then right down to the dimples underneath and even in the darkness, the circular movements seemed to goad whatever smile out of Hange.

“Are you done?” Hange asked, keeping her voice light, keeping the laugh in them very much apparent.

“How long will you give me?”

“Take as long as you need,” Hange said, The last thing she would have wanted would be for Levi to forget.

“How much will you let me do?”

“We’ll do what you want.”

Levi smirked. “You’re pretty generous tonight.”

“I have one condition.”

Levi raised his eyebrows. “What?���

“After this… after everything we do tonight, I want you to tell me about it. Tell me about everything you see in the dark.”

[danydragons21]

The Shadows That Sing: Ch. 9

Elriel Multi-Chapter Fic

Chapter 9 is up, and it’s definitely one of my favorites. I just love writing Vassa’s character!

Read it on Ao3 here: 

Shoutout to my betas @shedoessoshedoes and @helloyesimrhys!

Let me know your thoughts, my sweet Elriel babies. 

xoxo, dany

CHAPTER 9: TRUTHS AND LIES

An old man answered the door. Perhaps it was because she was around immortal and young-looking Fae all the time, but she thought he might be the oldest person she’d ever seen. Deep wrinkles formed grooves and channels among the topography of his face. His mortal heart started beating faster as he took in the sight of her and Azriel (though she was sure this was mostly due to Azriel’s intimidating presence rather than her own, since she was as intimidating as a sack of potatoes), but to the human’s credit, he gave no outward sign of fear.

After introducing himself as Damien, the Steward of the Manor, the man ushered them inside. A split staircase made of stone stood in the center of the spacious foyer, the wide steps leading to a roomy landing with two narrowing flights branching off to either side. The staircase railing was made of wrought iron. Stunningly intricate marble statues and busts atop podiums were placed strategically throughout the entrance hall, and as Elain’s slipper-clad feet pitter-pattered lightly across the black-and-white tiled floor, a glimmer of light caught her eye. Glancing upward, she saw a gigantic crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The light from the candles on the wall reflected against the crystals and cast glittering diamonds of colored light on various surfaces throughout the hall.

She and Azriel did not speak as they continued to follow Damien throughout the Manor. For such an old man, he was surprisingly quick, and she found herself wishing they could slow down, if only so she could admire her surroundings: astounding frescoes painted on the walls and ceilings, tapestries woven with what looked like real gold, and carpets so plush she thought she could sleep on them. But the Steward led them through the Manor’s winding hallways, and Elain settled for exploring the many treasures another time. She’d be here for a month, after all.

Eventually, they entered a hall that was much darker than the rest of the Manor, and much sparser.  Blood-red columns and dimly-lit candelabras lined the narrow corridor. Damien halted in front of a set of arched crimson doors at the end of the hall. Words, etched in gold, covered the doors’ surface, but it was of no language Elain could recognize.

“This is the entrance to the Throne Room. Her Grace is waiting inside for you both.” Damien said.

Elain and Azriel’s eyes met. With a slight nod of her head, Elain motioned to Azriel that she was fine, she was ready, she could do this. And it warmed some crucial part of her when Azriel nodded in return, offering her a small smile, his belief in her nearly palpable.

The doors flew open and the pair stepped inside the cavernous throne room. Lucien stood at the bottom of a set of steep steps. Above him, sitting on a golden gilded throne, was Vassa.

The mortal queen was utterly stunning. Fiery red hair fell to her shoulders, contrasting magnificently against her golden-brown skin. The top of her emerald gown was made of lace and clung tightly to her delicate torso. Once the dress hit her waist, it expanded outward, the perfectly-creased pleats flowing to the ground like a river. The train of the dress was so long it reached the bottom of the steps that led to the throne. Bright blue eyes scanned them smartly. The thought suddenly struck her that if anyone were to figure out her secret mission, it would be Vassa.

Elain curtsied deeply. “It’s lovely to meet you, Your Grace. Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

Vassa smiled slightly, though her piercing eyes still appraised Elain. “You are most welcome, Elain Archeron. Kingslayer . You are even more beautiful than Lucien has described.”

Elain remained silent, schooling her face into cold stone. She felt an irrational flash of rage at the thought of Lucien discussing her beauty like that, as though she was a painting to be ogled at like the frescos in the entrance hall. She snuck a glance at Azriel, trying to gauge his reaction, but his face was as steely as ever.

“I appreciate the compliment, Your Grace.” Elain said finally.

The mortal queen waved a dainty hand, her heavy bracelets jangling as she did so. “Call me Vassa. Your Grace is so formal, don’t you think? We’ll be living together for the next month, and if I have to hear such courtesies every day, I might as well just hand myself over to Koschei now.”

Elain blinked. Even Azriel seemed surprised at the queen’s words.

Clearing his throat, Lucien said, “You’ll realize soon, if you haven’t already, that Vassa does not have a filter. If she thinks it, she says it. It’s something she’s working on.”

Vassa scowled at Lucien, who grinned lightly back at her. Elain felt the strangest tug in her belly at the sight. Ignoring it, she said, “I appreciate the familiarity, Vassa.” Familiarities are for friends. She wondered what that made her and the mortal queen.

Turning her attention to Azriel, Vassa said, “Shadowsinger. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance again.”

Azriel bowed slightly. “Likewise, Your—Vassa,” he finished uncertainly.

She beamed, apparently pleased with his discomfort. “I hear you’re going to be a regular visitor at my manor. I hope you know that you are always welcome at any time, even outside of your scheduled sessions with Elain.” Elain felt an awkward tug around her heart, as though someone had tied a string around her ribcage and pulled. The feeling was uncomfortably familiar, and she knew without looking at Lucien that he would prefer the Shadowsinger not take the queen up on her offer.

Azriel inclined his head. “That’s very gracious of you.”

Grinning mischievously, Vassa said, “It’s not every day someone so devilishly handsome enters my home. I’d be silly not to take advantage of it.”

Elain’s eyes widened. She was not sure what she expected Vassa to be like, but never in her wildest dreams did she imagine her to be so... forward . She turned to Azriel slightly, gauging his reaction, only to find the Spymaster blushing . The knot in the pit of her stomach hardened.

“Is Vassa already scaring off the newcomers?” A drawling voice appeared from the other end of the throne room. Elain knew that voice. She’d heard it before, on two of the worst days of her life.

Jurian strolled into the room, all ease and confidence. He was quite handsome, she supposed, for a mortal, but he paled in comparison to both Azriel and Lucien’s otherworldly beauty. He stopped in front of Elain. “Lady Archeron,” he said, “It’s lovely to see you again.” He then proceeded to bend obscenely low, grab her hand and kiss it lightly, holding her gaze the entire time. Elain’s cheeks turned scarlet. She wasn’t sure she liked the man too much - he seemed far too arrogant.

“Elain is fine,” she told him evenly. He continued to hold her hand. Behind her, she heard the rustle of Azriel’s wings flexing ever so slightly.

“Jurian, you absolute prick, let go of her hand before you lose one of your own,” Vassa said, and although it was clear she was joking, an edge of honesty laced her words. The mortal queen’s eyes flitted to Lucien, who stood tensely beside her, frozen like a statue.

“Just welcoming our new roommate,” Jurian said. He winked at her, but dropped her hand all the same. The mortal then turned to Azriel. “Shadowsinger,” He said with a trace of apprehension. Jurian had been the one to shoot Azriel with an ash arrow in Hybern, Elain suddenly remembered, and her dislike for the man grew. Azriel acknowledged Jurian’s greeting with the smallest nod of his head, like he was flicking off an irksome fly. His shadows swirled ominously around him, and Elain was pleased to see Jurian wince slightly at the impressive display.

Vassa rose gracefully from her throne and made her way down the steep, stone steps. Jurian rushed to grab her hand, helping her down; Lucien’s eyes flashed curiously in response, but he said nothing.

“Azriel, you’ll be staying for a while, I hope?” Vassa asked.

The Shadowsinger nodded, his shadows bobbing along with the movement. “Yes. I’ll be making sure Elain settles in, and then I’ll depart after our daily training session.”

Vassa clapped her hands in excitement. “Oh, you must stay for dinner! I’m having the cooks prepare something special for Elain’s first evening here. We even imported some exotic wine from the southern realms. Oh, please say you’ll stay!” Her azure eyes gleamed with sincerity.

Shifting, Azriel replied stiffly, “I couldn’t possibly impose--”

“You wouldn’t be imposing. You would be a welcome guest. If anything, you’ll be doing Elain and I a favor, saving us from listening to Lucien and Jurian all evening. I’ve never met males who enjoy hearing themselves talk as much as these two.” The two males in question attempted to argue this point indignantly, but Vassa ignored them and looked expectantly at Azriel, awaiting his answer.

Elain bit back a grin as Azriel finally nodded his agreement. She’d never seen the Spymaster acquiesce to someone’s demand so quickly, but it was abundantly clear that Vassa excelled at the art of persuasion, the skill either stemming from her sharp intelligence, inviting aura, or some lethal combination of the two. Either way, she was certain that Vassa would not be easily fooled. That made Elain’s mission all the more difficult.

“Wonderful!” Vassa beamed at Azriel, who continued to look as awkward as she’d ever seen him. It was quite funny, really. “Now we can really get to know each other,” She winked.

Elain frowned. Quickly, she cast around for a new subject, but Lucien beat her to it.

“Have you had any more visions about Koschei?” He asked Elain.

“No, I have not.” She didn’t look at Lucien as she responded, instead staring at Vassa, who had gone still at the question.

“But you’re trying to see him, right? You’re trying to find a way for Vassa to get out of the curse?” Jurian demanded.

Elain blinked. “Yes, of course.” She answered.

Coolly, Azriel said, “Elain just started training her powers recently. She has made immense progress, but does not have complete control over what visions she receives. That will come in time.”

“We don’t have time,” Jurian growled.

Azriel’s wings snapped out menacingly as Vassa laid a steadying hand on Jurian’s arm.

“That was uncalled for, Jurian.” She told the man sternly. The voice of a queen talking to a subject. But when she turned to face Elain, emotion burned in her eyes.

“Please excuse my friend. This curse has, unfortunately, been a burden on us all. But I hope you know how grateful we are--how grateful I am-- that you are doing all you can to help me. After so long with no hope…to even have that glimmer of optimism returned, well, it means more than I can express.”

Elain swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I will do everything I can. I promise.” It was all the comfort she could offer, but Vassa nodded like it was enough.

“Well, enough of this horrifyingly morose chat! Elain, I would love to give you a tour of the Manor. I hear you enjoy gardening. I’m afraid we don’t have a garden on our grounds, but we have something else I think you’ll enjoy just as much. Would you like to see?”

It wasn’t like Elain could say no. Besides, Vassa had her curiosity piqued.

“Gladly,” She responded, smiling lightly.

“Should I come, too?” Azriel murmured. Elain looked up at him, surprised at the question. Why was he acting so protective?

“Oh, we’ll be just fine.” Vassa trilled. “Besides, the aggressive male testosterone emanating from you all is clogging up my pores. Us girls need some fresh air.”

Elain couldn’t help it. She giggled.

Everyone in the room turned to her. Embarrassed, she covered her mouth with her hands, lowering them just enough to whisper, “Sorry.”

But the human queen was smiling at her, something like approval glowing in her eyes. “Well, at least one of you has a sense of humor.”

***

Vassa led Elain through the manor’s hallways, pointing out various portraits of past queens, also known as her ancestors. “That’s my great-great-grandmother, Althea,” Vassa said, gesturing toward a painting of a particularly rotund woman with a face like a toad. “She was the most-hated queen of her age, and almost got my family kicked off the throne.”  

Elain’s eyebrows raised at that. “Why was she so hated?”

Vassa smirked slightly. “Did you see that painting of her? She looked like an old witch and had a personality to match. Althea would execute anyone who dared disagree with her, even if it was over something as insignificant as what tea to serve at breakfast. Thank God she died of The Pox before she could desecrate the family name anymore.”

Elain laughed, shaking her head slightly, bemused by this mortal queen with humor and heart as fiery as her tresses.

The Mortal Manor, it turns out, actually was a castle, or at least it had been built as one initially. A lesser Lord and Lady had lived there, so the castle was rather on the smaller side, according to Vassa, but Elain thought it would be a miracle if she ever managed to find her way around the place without an escort.

“It’s considered a manor now, though,” Vassa told Elain, lifting up a tapestry and motioning for her to follow. “It’s a secret passageway,” the queen said in response to Elain’s confused look. “I can’t say it’s much of a secret, though; I’m pretty sure every handmaiden and their pet cat know about it. It’s rather short and just leads to the conservatory.”  

The conservatory, it turned out, was the most beautiful room Elain had ever seen. It’s high and arching walls were made entirely out of wide windows. Rows of colorful blooms, perfectly trimmed hedges and shrubs, sprawling plants, and flowers of every kind covered nearly every surface of the wide and spacious area. Heavy sunlight refracted in the glass, coating the various fauna in a blazing, golden brilliance. In the very center was a rectangular pool; lilies floated lazily on the clear and calm surface. The heavenly scent the flowers emitted, the angelic glow of the afternoon sun against the blossoms, the soft chirping of the birds that lived in this cavernous haven...she took a deep breath, soaking in the sudden and steady sense of peace she felt.

“Do you like it?” Vassa’s voice shattered the quiet of Elain’s thoughts.

Turning around, Elain saw the mortal queen standing a bit behind her, a curiously vulnerable look on her face. As if she was nervously awaiting Elain’s reaction. As if she truly cared about her opinion.

It softened that part of Elain. That part she’d hoped to shove away and ignore during her stay because she knew it would only complicate her mission. While her sisters were vehement and slightly mistrustful of every stranger until proved otherwise, Elain had always found a way to connect with each person she came across. Like ivy, sprawling and uncontrollable, her heart just reached out to others.

And that’s what happened now, as she stared at this passionate and willful young woman who she rather liked but was assigned the task of spying on her: Elain’s heart reached out to her.

“It’s sublime,” Elain told her honestly. A beaming grin appeared on Vassa’s face, and Elain couldn’t stop her own smile. “Thank you, truly, for showing me.”

“I hope it makes you feel a little more at home.”

“It does. You’re very kind.”

Vassa smiled again and walked forward to lightly stroke a gardenia. When she turned to face Elain again, the smile was gone, replaced with a look Elain could only describe as queenly . “I know why you’re here,” Vassa said.

Elain froze. “What?” She asked, her throat dry. How could she have figured it out already? Elain had been nothing but polite and kind and oh-so-convincing --

“I know you are not interested in the bond with Lucien,” Vassa said, and Elain’s racing heart relaxed slightly. “He’s told me much about your interactions, and while I don’t blame you for anything...I think it’s clear to everyone here that you have no desire to connect with Lucien. So that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To reject the bond once and for all.”

Swallowing nervously, Elain said, “I...I’m not sure what to say.”

“The truth,” Vassa replied simply. “Just tell me the truth. What is it you want to accomplish during your stay?”

Just be yourself . Azriel’s voice rang in her ears.

“I don’t know, “ Elain answered. “I am not sure exactly what I want to accomplish. And that’s the truth.”

And it was the truth, to a point. Enough of the truth to cloak any deceptions. That’s how Azriel operated, a mix of honesty and an omittance of anything that might erase that honesty. Just enough truth to hide the lies beneath. And so that’s what Elain emulated as she spoke to the mortal queen.

Vassa appraised her for a moment, her sharp blue eyes gleaming. “Why do you detest Lucien so?”

“I don’t detest him.” Another truth, one that Elain had barely admitted to herself. “I just…” she breathed deeply, longing for air and for the insight of what to say next. Truth and lies , she reminded herself. “All I know about him is that he didn’t help Feyre when she needed it most. That he worked with the King of Hybern to steal her back. To steal me , and Nesta. And, whether or not he knew of the King’s plan, he was still there the night my future and my freedom were ripped from me in mere moments. And ever since then...ever since then, I haven’t known what to do with myself at all.”

It was, perhaps, the most she’d ever spoken about the emptiness the Cauldron had left in her. Feyre and the others told her that the Cauldron had gifted her with her powers, while Nesta had stolen from it, but it didn’t feel like that to Elain. No, all she felt was an aching hollowness that echoed in her very bones. A constant and cruel reminder of all she’d lost.

Vassa stared at her, her beautiful face unreadable in the glowing sun. “It changes you,” She finally said. “To have such decisions, to have such freedom taken away from you…” Vassa inhaled sharply, tilting her head up to face the gleaming sun. Elain watched her, watched her golden skin reflecting in the light, watched as the mortal queen whipped her head back. “I understand how you feel, Elain. I hope you know that.”

And while Elain did not know the full extent of Vassa’s story or exactly what she’d gone through while under Koschei’s grasp, she believed her. And she didn’t just think it was because of Vassa’s endearing personality or her own - what had Azriel called it? - ability to inspire trust in others. She felt a kinship in Vassa, like she’d known her in a past life. But she couldn’t put all that into words, so she just nodded.

Vassa combed through her fiery hair and then said in a calm voice, “I also hope you know that, over the past year, I have spent a lot of time with Lucien. I would never try to negate the trauma that you’ve experienced, or try and convince you that he did not play a part in it, willing or not. But I will tell you this, as objectively and simply as I can: He is a good male, Elain. He would never force you to accept the bond. Just as he would never tell you how much your denial and evasion is tearing him apart. I say this as his friend...and as yours.”

Elain just blinked. The honesty was scalding and refreshing all at once. And while her stomach twisted angrily every time she thought of her sisters telling her to address the bond, she found she didn’t really mind Vassa talking about it.

“While you are here, I hope you get to know him. And at the end of your stay, I hope you can make a decision about the bond. One way or another.”

“I will,” Elain said. “I will make a decision.” And it was entirely, completely, wholly the truth.

***

Azriel sat in the dining room with Jurian and Lucien. After an uncomfortable and tense tour of the Manor, the three had gone to the dining room for dinner. The two females had not yet arrived, though.

Elain had been gone with Vassa for a long time. Or perhaps the incredible awkwardness between him and the two males just made it seem like a long time. Either way, he needed Elain to return soon, or else he might just go mad, stuck with just these two pricks and his morose thoughts for company. He couldn’t stop reliving the conversation from the previous evening, when Elain had agreed to this foolish plan. It was nearly unbearable for Azriel, to sit there and listen to everyone try and convince Elain that the bond was something she had to address. Why should she have to do anything? She didn’t ask for the bond. It was clear she didn’t want it.

And yet Azriel said nothing, did nothing, just let them all bombard her with their words and pressures. He didn’t even need his shadows to know how upset it made Elain, how her beautiful face fell into itself a little more with every word the others spoke.

She had agreed in the end, though. And he kicked himself for ever holding out hope that she wouldn’t.

It’s not that he didn’t have faith in her. He knew she could fool and charm just about anyone, so he wasn’t worried about her spying skills. Spying was simply hiding in plain sight, and Elain certainly excelled at that.

No, he was worried about something else entirely. Someone else, to be exact. Because whatever the others might say about not caring if Elain accepted or rejected the bond, he knew that wasn’t true. Elain accepting the bond would be incredibly beneficial in improving the Night Court’s relationships with both the Autumn Court and the Spring Court, and would ensure the continued support of Vassa. As much as Azriel didn’t like Lucien, he couldn’t help but feel a begrudging sort of respect to the highly influential male who held sway over multiple courts. But that didn’t give any of them the fucking right to pressure Elain into anything .

The Mortal Manor made him feel even worse. His shadows had rarely ever been limited in their power, and so it was strange to have them so confined. They could move, of course, and still followed his command, but the entirety of the manor seemed to be close enough to Vassa that all his shadows heard were a faint humming noise, like a mosquito buzzing in his ear.

Even with Vassa out of the room, the buzzing lingered. He wished he could have gone with them (not only did he wish to keep Elain in his sight while he still could, but he had no desire to spend quality time with Lucien and Jurian, both of which were arguably two of his least favorite beings. If only Eris was here to complete the motley trio).

Lucien had yet to speak to him directly since his arrival. Azriel knew it was because of his parting remarks the week before -- his warning. About what he’d do to Lucien if the male ever forced Elain to do something she didn’t want to do. He didn’t regret it, not in the slightest. But sitting across from Lucien’s murderous glower wasn’t exactly an enjoyable experience. He’d rather do something more pleasant, like stick toothpicks under his nails.

And Jurian was, if possible, even worse. The human never. Shut. Up. He talked constantly, about any and every thing that popped into his head, it seemed.

Now I feel even worse about leaving Elain here. His cold heart hardened a little more at the thought.

The doors swung open and Vassa sashayed into the dining room, Elain following.

It took all his effort to not let his mouth drop as he took in the middle Archeron sister. She was wearing a silver gown with material so smooth and sleek it looked liquid. The dress clung to her small chest and the generous curves of her rear like a second skin, but she still somehow looked innocent, intoxicatingly so. Her golden-brown hair was piled into an elegant but simple updo at the top of her head, a few curls hanging loosely around her angelic face.

A heaviness settled in his chest as his eyes zeroed in on her exposed neck. It seemed the greatest tragedy of his life: he’d touched her there, once.

Elain’s eyes flitted up and locked with his, and time ceased to exist, for a brief moment. That was all he and Elain were allowed to have. Fleeting moments, as vital as they were destructive.

“Sorry we’re late,” Vassa said airily. She was wearing a new dress as well, Azriel suddenly noticed.  He frowned. Usually his shadows would have told him that the two females had ventured to their respective quarters to change. Without his shadows abilities working, he felt impaired.

The two females settled themselves into chairs. Azriel tried to control his disappointment when Vassa took the empty chair to his left, leaving Elain to sit between Lucien and Jurian.

“How was your afternoon?” Lucien asked Elain.

Bitterness filled his chest at the gentle, cautious way he spoke to her, like he was approaching a timid animal. She was not a creature to be coddled and comforted. She was a lethal and lovely force of nature.

“It was delightful. How was yours?” She kept her voice neutral, not engaging but not dismissive. His stomach dropped at the light that appeared in Lucien’s eyes.

“It was pleasant, as well. I’m glad you enjoyed your afternoon. I hope you know how excited I...how excited Vassa has been to have you here.”

Ignoring his stumble, Elain smiled tightly and nodded once before piling green beans onto her plate. Her eyes flashed up to Azriel; he was watching her closely, but could see nothing in her expression besides discomfort. Good. Without it, she would seem suspicious to the others.

But then Elain began asking Lucien and Jurian a few questions; it was casual, polite conversation, but still: she was initiating it. He stabbed his chicken angrily with his fork, trying to ignore her light, lilting voice, trying to pretend the sound didn’t make his skin tingle.

“Are you alright?” Vassa asked him. The mortal queen was watching him curiously.

“Yes,” Azriel responded shortly.

Vassa arched an eyebrow. “You’re quite prickly, you know.”

Azriel frowned. “And you’re quite nosy.”

Across the table, Elain froze with a forkful of beans halfway to her mouth, dark eyes flashing in warning. Azriel almost chuckled at her shock. But then Vassa laughed, an uninhibited, ringing sound. “Yes,” She agreed.

“So I’m curious,” Vassa began, swirling her wine glass and taking a deep sip before continuing, “What is your stake in all of this?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

Vassa nodded across the table to Elain, who had returned to her conversation with the other two males. “You’re helping her train. Why?”

Azriel stiffened. “My High Lord and Lady asked me to. As a member of the Night Court, it is my duty and my honor to serve their wishes to the best of my ability.”

“Oh, please,” Vassa said loudly, and Azriel saw the others glance curiously at her before continuing their conversation. “Don’t feed that bullshit to a Queen. I may not know you, but I know of you, and reputation eclipses familiarity, much of the time. You don’t do anything you don’t want to do. So, I’ll ask again...what is your stake in all of this?”

You don’t do anything you don’t want to do. How he wished that was true. But he kept his face as unreadable as ever as he said, “Helping her means helping you, and that means helping my Court. I am sorry that my answer is not the one you were looking for.”

“So you and Elain aren’t close? That’s rather surprising. Aren’t both of your alleged brothers mated to her sisters? And you’re quite protective over her.”

His wings tensed. This mortal woman was certainly tenacious. And observant. “I wouldn’t say we are particularly close,” Azriel said. Anymore, he thought. “But I would consider her...a friend.” He finished.

Vassa surveyed him for a moment, her piercing blue eyes nearly scorching in their intensity. Azriel held her gaze. Whatever Vassa found, she seemed to accept, as she turned back to the others.

“She certainly is an easy person to be friends with,” Vassa said, watching Elain with a small smile on her face. And that’s how easy it was for Azriel to see that, like everyone who’d ever met the middle Archeron sister, the mortal queen had fallen under Elain’s spell.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Azriel replied, “Yes. She is.”

***

After dinner, Elain and Azriel left the others for her training session. Elain had asked if they could hold the sessions in the conservatory - “It just makes me feel safer and more in control of myself, to be in such a beautiful place,” Elain said to Vassa at dinner. The queen had lit up at Elain’s request, telling her the room was hers as long as she needed it.

So that’s how Az found himself in the manor’s conservatory with Elain. It was dark outside, now, but the moon shone so brightly that they had no trouble seeing.

She sat across from him on a bench in the very center of the cavernous atrium, her wide brown eyes surveying the peaceful scene in front of her.

“This is a nice place,” Azriel commented lamely.

This is a nice place?! He could not be more awkward if he tried.

But of course Elain did not tease him. Not like she used to. Because they weren’t friends anymore.

Instead, she said, “It is, isn’t it? I also figured it would be difficult for anyone to overhear us here.”

Az grinned. “Smart,” he said truthfully.

Shrugging, Elain said with a slight sparkle in her eye, “It’s been known to happen.” There . Even if it was faint...that little piece of her that treated him with amusement and (dare he say it?) affection still existed.

“You did well today,” He told her, leaning back and stretching out his long legs.

“It was easier than I thought,” Elain said. “To pretend...or at least to hide. I don’t know if that makes me happy or not.”

He cocked his head. “Why wouldn’t that make you happy?”

She looked at him. “It feels an awful lot like lying. I don’t want to be a liar.”

Azriel found he did not know what to say to that.

“I do think the conservatory will help with my training,” Elain mused, turning her gaze up to the wide windows. The moon gleamed through the glass panes like a beacon. “The peaceful darkness...the quiet contentment...the vibrant life you can feel ...all of it makes me feel more in control of myself. More powerful, even.” She smoothed down the front of her gown. “It was very kind of Vassa to offer this room up to us.”

“She thinks very highly of you.”

“I know.” Elain’s voice was tired, resigned. “I could easily see myself becoming friends with her. But I know that would only complicate my mission.”

“Perhaps. It’s all about finding a balance. You can respect her, like her even, share confidences and stories and experiences...but it’s true you need to stay objective. Get close to Vassa - but not too close. The same goes for both Jurian and...and Lucien.” The name tasted like vinegar in his mouth, but he forced himself to say it.

Elain was quiet for a long moment, lost in her thoughts. “Shall we begin training?” She asked after a while.

“One other thing first.” Straightening up and fully turning his body to face Elain, he waited until she met his gaze. Trepidation filled her brown eyes as she noticed his solemn intensity.

“What?” She asked slowly.

“Are you ready to talk about how your hands glowed at dinner last night?”

[elsa-writes]

Alfie Solomons x Reader: Beauty and the Beast

Part 1

Authors note: this is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders, and my first time writing a fic in a while, so please feel free to bully me for my inaccuracies! also I might change the title later cuz idk what else to title this. Enjoy!

—-

Polly pretended to disapprove of you and Arthur’s shenanigans. Reality was, she knew with you around, Arthur couldn’t get into too much trouble. True, it was not the most respectable of hobbies for a lady, to be playing cards and hanging around bars every Friday night. However, Arthur couldn’t be getting any whores pregnant when he had to watch over his young cousin. And he’d make sure you’d stay out of trouble, too. Tommy had a similar line of thinking. Although with this latest scheme, you weren’t sure you had his full support.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“I think,” Arthur paused for a beat, stroking his mustache. “It will go smoothly. You want to prove yourself, that you can function in this line of business, this is it.”

“And what did Tommy say about it?” You questioned. He’d sent Arthur in his place for a meeting with Mr Solomons. You were sitting in the car outside of the distill- bakery. Arthur insisted that you come along to this meeting. Camden Town was a bit nicer than Birmingham-though not by much.

“You know Tommy, he’s, well, you know,” he blustered. In the back seat, Billy coughed.

So Tommy was not aware of this arrangement. “Right.” But you were not going to NOT go in.

You’d bumped into Mr Solomons once. He’d been leaving after having a conversation with Tommy. You scampered away before he could say anything to you. Not out of fear of him; you ran away because you were afraid Tommy would know you’d been eavesdropping. Though Mr Solomons had made a reputation for himself, from what you’d overheard, he sounded like a bit of a clown.

“Are you coming or are you going to stay in the car like a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” you protested and stepped out into the cold air. “Finn is a baby.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t invite him for a reason.” Arthur punctuated the sentence with a slam of the automobile door.

You adjusted your outfit, making sure you looked proper and professional. “Let’s get this over with.”

A man awaited you by the door and led you inside the distillery. It was dark, and damp. The odor of rum-er, bread, permeated the air. The smell made you light headed. Your shoes echoed on the cement, the loudest sound in the room.

As you descended into the labyrinth, a man appeared from behind a corner. Mr. Solomons himself.

His hat cast an ominous shadow over his face- definitely planned for theatrical effect.

He did not react to your presence. If he recognized you he gave no sign. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Arthur!”

“Mr. Solomons,” Arthur greeted, offering a hand.

“I’ve head so much about you,” Mr. Solomons said. The amusement in his voice was evident. He wasn’t taller than your cousin, but he was stockier and way more intimidating. Billy stood on the opposite side of you, wary of the large man.

Arthur replied, “Shalom.”

You cringed. Mr. Solomons gaze flickered to one of his men behind Arthur.

“Let me just say, Shalom,” Arthur repeated, painfully serious. You felt ill. If it were a less tense situation you would have smacked him over the head.

Solomons tilted his head just enough for you to get a glimpse of the look of incredulity on his face.

“Shalom!” He said. “So glad you could join us for this most joyous of celebrations! And I see you’ve brought friends for the occasion.” Solomons nodded in your direction. You’d been instructed by Arthur to not speak too much or get involved. The same went for Billy.

Arthur shifted on his feet. “This is my cousin, and my associate. Shall we discuss business?”

“Cousin, eh? From the sounds of it, there’s a new Shelby every fucking week.” Mr Solomons chuckled. “Come along, come along.”

He lead you into a room with a table in the center. Something was off. Perhaps it was the comment Arthur had made. It had surely offended them. The Solomons men hadn’t even looked at you. Not that you wanted to be looked at. It was unusual, though. They weren’t even looking at each other.

Something else in the room caught your attention; a goat tied to the leg of the table. It bleated sadly at you. You resisted the urge to pet it.

Mr Solomons circled the table and gestured. You took note of the pipe in his hand that also seemed to function as a cane. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”

Arthur hesitated, both you and Billy watching him before making a move.

He took the chair on the end. Some of the Solomons boys were standing behind the three of you in a perfect line. Another one took a chair next to Mr Solomons, still not looking at you.

Mr Solomons himself remained standing, studying Billy like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “And you’ll be...”

“Billy,” Billy said.

Mr. Solomons focused his attention on you. “Shelby?”

“(Y/n),” was your answer as you sat down at the table. There were plates and cups arranged before you. You kept your hands in your lap, careful not to touch anything.

“(Y/n)...You know, out there in the sand, out there in the desert where me forefathers come from... started out as a little speck...”

“Is everything alright?” Billy leaned over to whisper to Arthur. One of the men lurking around had shut the door behind you while Mr. Solomons rambled on. Arthur tried to dismiss Billy’s concerns with a wave.

“Billy, don’t worry mate, yeah, if you want you can leave. If you need to go to the little boys room or something you can leave.” Mr. Solomons interrupted, sounding a little too much like a school teacher.

“He’s alright, he’s alright,” Arthur grinned, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Billy boy.”

Your stomach churned. Something was wrong. This was not the kind of conversation that Tommy and Mr Solomons had had the day you eavesdropped. This was not the simple meeting you were promised.

“You want to stay?” Mr Solomons asked Billy; staring at him so intensely you had to look away.

“I’ll stay.”

“You stay there, then, treacle.” Mr Solomons grimaced, and his voice suddenly became much louder. “So! The pharaoh! Have you heard of him?”

Without thinking, you nodded, and he pointed in acknowledgement at you.

“He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands of years.”

“Persecuted, right,” Arthur interjected, pleased with himself for making this astute observation. Mr Solomons eyes lit up with amusement.

“He did, he persecuted my race. killing the innocent, right. So this feast that we’re having here , is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck!”

“Right,” Arthur added.

“It’s part of our tradition to do this, for in order to make it good with god to kill a king.”

Oh fuck. You glanced towards your cousin. By the look on his innocent smiling face he had not come to the conclusion you had. Okay, keep it cool. From the rumors you knew Mr Solomons was an intelligent man who spoke in idiotic riddles. You could have been misreading things. Sabini could be the pharaoh in the story.

“Right,” Arthur said again. What was Tommy doing at this moment?

“That is the ritual of the sacrifice of the pass over goat.” Mr Solomons said.

Everyone at the table turned to look at the bleating creature.

Arthur looked ill. “A goat?”

Mr Solomons gestured to it. “Yeah, we’re gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That’s part of the reason why we have to shut the doors as well.”

You wished Arthur had let you keep a gun. You were a sitting duck. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready for the action. No, Tommy wasn’t the pharaoh.

“But this year we thought we’d give the fucking goat a name!” He grinned.

“You named it.”

“We fucking did.”

You averted your eyes as a man put a knife to the goats neck. “Arthur?”

“You named the fucking goat.” He shifted in his chair. It seemed as if he was catching on.

“Evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh-“

“The fucking-“

“And you know what we called it?”

“What’d you call it?”

Your hands balled into fists.

“Tommy Shelby,” Mr Solomons answered with a hint of triumph.

As the blood of the goat spilled on the ground you dropped to the floor. Chaos ensued; a gunshot fired so loud your ears rang. It took a few seconds for your hearing to return. Arthur was screaming. You looked up to see poor Billy slumped in his chair, covered in blood, not moving. You brought your knees to your chest and covered your head to avoid any potential stray bullets. Three of the men had to restrain Arthur, who thrashed and cursed.

Heavy footsteps approached. You scooted back further under the safety of the table. Trying to help him would be useless; you were outnumbered and they had guns.

Arthur went quiet, his freckled face pale.

The back of Mr. Solomons came into view.

“That’s that. So, and the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed by the blood of the Passover goat. Mate.”

You covered your moth with a hand.

He kissed Arthur’s cheek twice. “That’s for Sabini.”

Then he promptly bashed Arthur over the head. Funnily enough, it brought back memories of all the times you’d seen Arthur do the same thing to someone else. The urge to laugh overwhelmed you.

Mr Solomons dropped into a squat and placed the gun he’d shot Billy with into Arthur’s hand.

While he was in this position he noticed you under the table.

“Ah, hello there,” he grunted, eyes looking you up and down.

You wanted to swear, or grab the gun from Arthur’s limp hand, or do something very impressive.

He stared at you, waiting for a reply.

“Hi,” you sputtered out. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, nah, that would ruin the fun. You were not supposed to be here tonight.”

“I know.”

“Right. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?” You suggested. It was worth a try.

He scratched his beard, lost in thought. “Cute, but I think not. That wouldn’t exactly wrap things up nicely, would it?”

A heavy pause lingered in the air. You pulled your knees in even closer, in an instinctual effort to protect yourself.

“Ok. Well! Lads, why don’t you take our guest upstairs?”

“Excuse me? No, no way.”

One of the men grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“Hey!” You struggled to get your arm free.

Mr Solomons stood up and turned away from you.

“You’re gonna kidnap me and you can’t even look me in the face! Fucking coward!” You shoved the man off but slipped in the blood on the floor, letting him get the advantage.

Another grabbed your other arm and despite your best efforts you couldn’t elbow him off. The near tumble had discombobulated you.

Mr Solomons glanced over his shoulder, as cool as a cucumber. “My good friends the London police are here if you’d prefer to go with them.”

The shock of what he’d said made you forget to fight. “Wait, what?” He didn’t have police on his payroll. Oh, Sabini did, how could you forget?

“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed.

The two men dragged you out the same moment as the doors flung open. A group of police stormed the room.

“Fucking animal came in here with a gun and he shot him in the face!” Mr. Solomons gestured with his cane, ignoring your pleas for help. “And my lads restrained him. Look at him! He’s dead! Is he dead! He’s fucking dead!” His false astonished voice followed you down the hall.

You fought back with all your effort.

“Stop fucking fighting, you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you too!” One of them said.

“Oh, how kind! How generous! Please be sure to thank him for me! Arthur! Arthur!” You didn’t know why you were screaming for him. They were carting him off to jail. Fuck. Would Tommy know? How long would it take for him to find out? “Bastards!”

Going upstairs was the worst part; you managed to slither out of their grip and ran up a few steps before tripping onto your face. They at least had the decency to not laugh.

The upstairs appeared to be some sort of flat. The two assholes threw you into the closest room, probably out of desperation to be free of you.

“What are you going to do with me?” You demanded, although you were scared of the answer.

They exchanged glances. They had let you free but blocked the door.

“Well, we’re not sure. He didn’t really give us instructions.” One said.

“I could give you some instructions. How about you go shove a-“ the threat was enough. Without rhyme or reason you charged at them like a bull.

Before you could spring your attack, they slipped out, locking the door behind themselves.

Slamming your fists on the door, you swore at them, every word imaginable.

Once you exhausted yourself you switched gears. Taking in the room; you noticed a bed shoved against a wall, a large, messy desk, and a small window. The style of the room was at least ten years out of date, and was covered in what looked like ten years of dust. This must be where Mr Solomons slept. For someone who had money he didn’t live like it.

You moved to the one window in the room. Here was a potential escape route. Except for the crowd of men huddled outside smoking. They wore aprons, like the others you saw. There was no way you could get past all of them.

But you could once they left. The only issue was making sure nothing happened to you in between then and now.

Who knew what upsetting plans he had for you? He fucking shot Billy. He could have shot you. Maybe the only reason he did it was because the police were nearby. He could be on his way up here at this very moment.

You needed to block the door. Anything to stall for time.

There was a coat rack in the corner that you used. The large cabinet full of decorative China plates looked easy to push; after a few tense moments of pushing you abandoned it and went for the desk. You investigated your work. The door could still be opened a few inches. Anything more than that would be blocked.

It should be enough. It didn’t feel like it. You were becoming aware of the heavy, dull ache in your muscles. Your ribs hurt from you dropped to the floor and bruises had begun to appear on your arms. You sat down on the creaky bed. If you were trapped in here, you might as well enjoy the “comforts” of this place.

A few hours passed. It had to be the next day already. Your thoughts were with Arthur, wondering if he’d woken up from the bashing yet. And Tommy, if he knew you were being held hostage. He was smart. He’d get you out of this. Unless he’d finally had enough of your antics and disowned you. No, no. Polly, John and Ada wouldn’t let that happen. You were spiraling and tired but too paranoid to sleep. Laying back on the bed, your eyes closed as you strained to listen for any sound. Why in the ever loving fuck had you let Arthur do this? When had he ever done anything smart?

Someone knocked at the door.

“Fuck off.” You said, a conditioned response from years of your cousins barging in on you.

Mr Solomons huffed. “Yes, yes. Listen. I’m not going to shoot you-well, I might if you get on my nerves- I have actually come to the conclusion that you may be quite useful to me.”

You sat up. “What?”

Mr Solomons opened the door, and to your relief, it got stuck on the desk. “Moving my fucking desk around?”

“I doubt I’m any use to you,” you said in your bravest voice. “Tommy will be looking for me. And he will want revenge for your betrayal with Sabini.”

He jiggled the door again. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, exactly. Revenge and all that. And I know he’s fond of you- you were at his house that day- so if I have you, right, as leverage, he’ll be less likely to put a fucking bullet in my head.”

“Did you really put Arthur in prison?”

“Yes, and I’ve just gotten word that Michael...Gray, is it, he’s been locked up too. So Tommy is probably a bit busy at the moment.”

Michael? That was probably a lie. A bluff. Polly would be in shambles.

“So are you going stay in there forever or are you going to come out?” Not taunting. Curious.

“I’ll stay in here.”

“You can come out, I’m not going to fucking hurt ya-“

“I saw you shoot Billy in the fucking head! And nearly kill Arthur!” You barked and flung the nearest object you could find, an empty bottle, at the door.

He cursed and shut the door before the bottle could slam into his head. “Didn’t you listen to a fucking word I said? Tommy Shelby would really come after me then.”

“Fuck the fuck off!” Another bottle flew through the air for good measure. This time the liquid contents splattered on the papers on the desk.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. “Stay in there as long as you want then, yeah?”

Your voice wavered. “He’s gonna come for me! And you’ll be sorry when he does!”

[senju-sekhmet]

Leporina venatio

leporina venatio (latin): rabbit hunt

Summary: You’ve cleaned it. You’ve groomed it. You’ve run your fingers through it - time to get around to wear it. Tobirama’s fur collar has got to be the number one prize - except he’d never actually let you adorn it. You’ll just have to help yourself to it a little bit differently, no? I COULDN’T RESIST... In response to the lovely headcanons @cafeinthemoon! Go check them out!

Warnings: the fact I really suck at comedy? And slightly suggestive tones in the end. SFW, though, don’t worry!

~3.200k words Read on AO3!

He opened his eyes lazily. The sun was already filtering warmly through the window and with a content sigh he reached over to - Empty. Tobirama turned over to find your side of the bed vacant - cold, even. He huffed. Now he couldn’t deny being slightly miffed that you’d rather rise on your own than spend a few precious moments with him, awake, in bed - as you used to, on your off-duty days; but being the man he was, there must be a reason behind all this. Maybe you had prepared breakfast, received an urgent message… a multitude of logical reasons were plausible.

He still was annoyed. Those were your shared off days, after all. Precious and few inbetween. With a shake of his head and sigh he rose to get dressed in his dark casual attire. His scarlet gaze swept the room for any clues regarding your departure. At the very least he expected you to leave some kind of message behind for him to find - if you really did leave without any hint at all? However he came up short. Leaving the bedroom and entering the narrow hall, he found there was no smell of fresh food being cooked either, which ruled out the breakfast option. Tobirama’s heart sank a little. So much for a calm day off, then.

Quietly, as a last resort he tentatively called out - “Y/n?”

No answer. Closing his eyes momentarily he sent out a weak pulse of chakra and tuned into his sensor skills to see if you were anywhere nearby, but none of the signatures belonged to you. Opening his eyes again, he stemmed his palms to his hips and frowned deeply. Had you actually left just like that?

Suddenly, his gaze widened as a more sinister thought occurred to him.

Had something happened to you?

His frown deepened. Should he check the hospital - should he -

Then he noticed it. The door of your shared armoury - really, the small room in which you both kept your weapons, armor and other items for combat and missions was slightly agape. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. That door was always closed. He stalked over cautiously, nudged the door open - then he saw it. All the puzzle pieces fell into place immediately.

His ultramarine battle gear, polished. Shining.

His white fur collar - missing.

“Why, you…”, he muttered, no, snarled. For a moment the world was red and hot ire burned inside of him - then he gazed through the window, huffing.

He whipped around on his heels and stalked out of the house. Already, he channeled his chakra to let his sensor skills fan out in search of you.

You wanted to hide from him, an extremely skilled sensor?

Game on.

_________

Your neck and shoulders were comfortably warm. It was spring, so the temperatures were rising indeed, but not quite there yet - though it did make you wonder how Tobirama handled this in summer. Occasionally you’d tilt your head to the side to nuzzle into the warmth of the white fur that adorned your shoulders, inhaling the scent of your husband.

With a snicker, you thought about how he’d wake up to you - and his precious floof - missing.

Honestly, this was a godly prank, or so you’d like to think. Waltzing through Konoha, wearing what obvious was Tobirama’s trademark piece of attire was bound to turn a few select heads - and it did. You even happened to meet Madara - who had regarded you with a fine smirk. He understood immediately, of course - the fact Tobirama wouldn’t part willingly with this and was somewhere else, royally pissed off.

“Does he know yet?”, the Uchiha clan leader mused darkly, a glint to his obsidian eyes.

You blinked innocently, putting a slender finger to pursed lips. “Do you hear him yelling and ripping it off me?”

He merely gave a low laugh and waved goodbye, going on his merry way.

As you did yourself. You weren’t stupid, of course. Stealing Tobirama’s fur collar was one thing. Hiding with it for a prolonged amount of time was another - by now he’d be awake, have figured everything out and probably even be using shadow clones to look for you.

His sensor skills were an extremely unfair advantage in this game.

Which was another reason you kept to the broad public - the more chakra signatures were around you, the more difficult it’d be for him to discern yours. Really, it’d just buy you a little bit more time - and dignity. Tobirama wouldn’t make a scene to recover his most prized possession in front of the entire village.

You hoped, at least.

It was just in front of a flower shop when you spotted him - his silvery hair would always stand out, just like the three red facial markings he used paint on. He was down the road, way off; however his stare might as well have been a kunai flying in your direction for how enraged it was.

You gave a cheeky grin, waved at him and entered the shop without looking back to see his face become contorted by a furious scowl.

Inside the shop were a handful of customers and the keeper of course, who you approached politely. “Hello, might I take a look around? I’m looking for a little surprise for my husband and your display had me enraptured, really.” Your tone was honey-sweet, you almost felt guilty knowing what would follow in here.

The man blinked, blushing a little. “O-oh, sure, go ahead,” waving you towards his sortiment with a bright smile.

You made a mental note to buy some flowers from this poor fellow later.

____

Tobirama couldn’t believe his own eyes.

Not only had he located you amidst the bustling streets - it was a quite busy morning - but every single aspect of the situation fuelled his fury more. Obviously - obviously - you had been mingling in an effort to make tracking you down with his sensor skills more difficult (How pathetic - he’d know your chakra’s signature between a thousand, always), but you actually also had the gall to stare him in the eye once he found you, grin at him and, by all that is holy, waltz away.

With his fur collar on.

He wasn’t a conceited man nor did he care for appearances, but frankly a part of him quite liked the idea of you wearing it (for a short time, anyway) - your scent on it, the idea of it being warm by your body’s warmth -

But this was his fur collar! And he hadn’t given you permission to saunter around with it in public like some - some - look-alike? Furiously he stalked over to the shop you had just entered, paying no attention to what was being sold there exactly. People made way for him simply for how he walked - likely his expression helped with that bit too - but he didn’t care. This game was over, now.

Inside, his scarlet gaze locks with yours immediately and his eyes narrow to tiny slits. “Y/n,” he sternly calls as though his voice was a weapon - a threat he’d make good on.

The shop’s owner turned his head, mouth slightly agape when recognition settled into his expression.

You weren’t fazed the slightest, of course. That grin of yours was as cheeky as ever and had he been slightly more prepared - had this not been about his fur collar - maybe, maybe he’d have found it funny. A little bit.

But as it was, he didn't. Not the slightest. Nope.

“Tobirama!”, you waved, “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you before, dear, I’m glad you found me now.”

He was sure at this point his face became as red as three red streaks of paint that adorned it. The shop owner ducked behind his counter a little. “It wasn’t all that difficult, Y/n, with that outfit you’re brandishing right now, you know.” The tone of his voice was subzero, but quiet. He took a few measured steps towards you.

Your smile didn’t falter the slightest. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” You tilted your head slightly to rub your cheek over the fluffy white fur, closing your eyes to inhale the scent again.

Tobirama took a sharp breath and his eyes widened slightly as that motion alone did something else to him. His fists balled though. “Shall we, then? We got a lot more to do today.” He extended his hand for you to take, taking another measured step towards you. If you weren’t going to take his hand, he’d simply take your arm or make body contact somehow else to use his hiraishin seal and end this prank.

Unfortunately - of course - you were too smart for that. Your loving ministrations to the floof ceased immediately as an attentive eye caught his hand nearing you; your lips formed a wicked smile. “Sure - go ahead, Tobi. I’ll be right along, I promised Mito to stop by and - oh, I needed to buy something else, too.”

Tobirama nostrils flared and his gaze narrowed to tiny slits. Momentarily his jaws clenched so hard it hurt, but he raised his chin as he identified this for what this was. Defiance. And the proverbial gauntlet being thrown down again. “Then let’s go together, shall we?” He raised his hand to casually lay it on your shoulder as he stood by your side - as wife and husband would -

But you pranced to the side nimbly and towards the door before he could do so much as lay a finger on you or get within arm’s reach. “Wonderful! This will be fun. I’ll be back later, mister, your flowers are delightful!”, waving the shop owner goodbye, you already were out of the shop.

Tobirama’s hand dropped to his side, his hands balled into fists again. Darkly he stared after you. So this is how we’re going to do this. Not sparing the shop owner a second glance he was out before you could slip out of his sight again.

________

With no small amount of satisfaction you were sauntering down the main street of Konoha again, ignoring the ominous presence that was following you. The look on Tobirama’s face had been priceless. Unfortunately you had a problem now: he literally only needed to graze your skin now to whisk you away to your shared home.

Then the un-fun part of this prank would begin. You’d have to find a way to pacify him before that because right now, you knew he was royally pissed only.

Still. It was fun to watch, once in a while. And you really loved this lovely floof.

His low timbre reached your ears again, nearer than you expected. Already, you sped up your playful gait, throwing a glance over your shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?” He inquired darkly.

If looks could kill, you might drop dead now. There were honest shadows cast over his face from how enraged he was. But - and this was most important - he was far enough away still. You smiled cheekily again. “Quite a lot.”

His voice became chilly again. “You realise this is no match for my hiraishin?”

You giggled. “Yeah, I’d be in real trouble if you ever used it.” To accentuate your statement, you picked up your pace a little bit more. By now you were quite close to running.

Tobirama gave a low growl in response and answered by picking up his speed, too. The way the two of you walked must look comical by now. Not like you cared - and Tobirama seemed fixated on his goal now.

Truth be told, you needed a plan. Another shop would just strain his patience more - and that trick was old. Reaching a familiar destination - like Hashirama’s house - was dangerous. Tobirama might unleash his fury there or simply grab you and really haul you away. Briefly you considered seeking out Madara - but the fun would stop right there, or the probability of an actual incident was too high.

That left you with one option.

Within the blink of an eye, you bolted into a sidealley.

_______

Tobirama skidded to a halt for just a moment as you ran - right down into the narrow alley to your right. Snarling, he began the pursuit - gloves off now. If you actually thought you could outpace the fastest shinobi alive, you had another thing coming.

Though you weren’t exactly holding back either - nor were you a sluggish person. Your footwork had always been nimble and in the small streets it was possible to zigzag past narrow corners, under clothes lines and down even more narrow alleys that barely deserved the name.

He had to be careful. This was not some panicked move, this had been a calculated decision of yours. Quite possibly you had more planned. His best option remained to stay as close as he could - no, get close enough to touch you and teleport home.

His increasing fury didn’t help maintain focus, though. All he did see was his white fur collar trail in front of him and away, alongside the endlessly amused laughter of his wife.

Were he not so frustrated, he might find the challenge entertaining. Enjoyable. Perhaps he did, right now.

Nonsense, this was ridiculous! He had better things to do than running after you like some schoolboy!

Just as you turned around yet another corner he lunged forward for you to narrowly miss his grabbing hand - so narrow he could still feel the air draft of your movement as you had to dance to the side in order to avoid capture.

“Ahaha!”, you giggled, “It seems you got to be faster, dear husband!” - and with a literal twirl you were on your merry way again.

That did it.

_______

After your very narrow escape, you had turned yet another corner - quite frankly you were surprised Tobirama hadn’t shouted anything back. There are no people in these alleys; and by now you expected him to be frothing by the mouth or something. Instead he actually lost a few meters on you - hah.

Then you frowned.

That was quaint, actually. Had he stopped for some reason? You spurred yourself to greater speeds but nonetheless you couldn’t deny the tiny shiver down your spine. Your husband was an extremely intelligent man and the fact he had hatched some plan that had required him to stand still even for just a second - that didn’t sit well with you.

You had to change your tactic, again.

But quite frankly you were running out of options at this point. A disguise was out of question due to his sensor capabilities - back on the main road, maybe?

You took another quick turn-

Only to be slammed into the ground by a tall, silver-haired man. With a yelp, you rolled forward to ease the incoming fall as you lost all balance due to your speed, but your assailant was quick as well - before you could gain your footing again, he used the weight of his body to tackle you. You managed to roll on your back to identify the attacker as - who else could it be - Tobirama.

“How?!”, you breathed, incredulously, but already, you raised your legs to kick out viciously to shake him off; though he was faster.

With a low huff he seized your wrists simply and dragged you up with him - damn it all. This was as good as over now. After a short scuffle he had wrestled your arms behind your back and turned you around to face down the alley, where the answer was coming from.

Another Tobirama was striding down towards you. He clapped his hands, once twice, lazily. The smirk in his voice was unmistakable. “Well done. Shall we go home, dear?”

You struggled still against the shadow clone that held your arms wrenched behind your back, scrunching your nose and huffing. “That was low, Tobi. I thought we were having a fair chase here,” you moped.

He finally stood in before you, arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyebrows rose lazily. “I was chasing you. Apologies for not reading the rules, you didn’t leave any behind.” He sounded entirely unimpressed now, but there was a certain glint in his scarlet gaze as he stared his quarry - you - down. You were unsure if it was fury or plain annoyance.

Your lips formed a pout. “At least make your clone disappear now. You won.”

He didn’t move an inch. In fact, his clone reinforced his grip, earning him indignant “Hey!” from you. Tobirama only blinked, gaze never leaving you. “Do you think I’m stupid? You’re going to bolt the moment I release you.”

You click your tongue in feigned hurt. “Ouch? Please, have some faith, husband. I lost a fair chase, I’m a good sport.”

“You just called it unfair, my dear.” He cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

You just stared at him for another moment after he had called your rather obvious bluff. Finally, you bit your lower lip and attempted a little bit of a smirk again. “Come on, Tobi. You did enjoy yourself a little.” He still didn’t move an inch. His intense gaze simply kept mustering you, only narrowing ever so slightly. “We’re going home now.”

Instantly reality twisted and a familiar lurch later you were in your bedroom, Tobirama right in front of you. The clone was gone - he must’ve released it the moment it had teleported you. In a swift motion he backed you up closer to the nearest wall, closer and closer - until you felt your back make contact with the wall. Defiantly, you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“Well, go ahead then. Take the floof back.” At the very least, you were surprised he hadn’t been shouting or something. Remembering his face when he initially had spotted you, you’d been rather sure you were in for something.

Right now? Right now the scarlet gaze of his was near liquid, ablaze but narrow nonetheless. His jaw was working and slowly, he put a hand to the wall next to your head. “Hm,” he gave a low hum that rolled right off his tongue.

You raised an eyebrow. Was he going to prank you now? “If you’re waiting for me to give it back, no can do. I’m rather attached to this. Literally.” You smirked again, confidently, turning your head slightly to nuzzle the soft fur again for a moment.

From the corner of your eye you saw his throat move as he swallowed heavily, his eyes widening slightly. He was staring you down like a hawk now. Silence stretched for a few moments before - “Maybe I quite enjoy the sights right now, actually.” His baritone voice had taken on a sultry tone now and his free hand moved up to first ruffle through his fur, then trail up your neck and cup your cheek tenderly.

Your eyebrows climbed up. So that was what that look had been about. You leaned into his touch a little and couldn’t help but smile gently, looking up at him. Right then you wanted to lose yourself in that intense gaze of his. “Then ... I’ll wear it a bit longer?” you murmured headily, quietly.

He took another small step closer until his body almost touched yours, his fresh breath hitting your face as he seemed to ponder the notion for a moment. The hand next to your face slipped down to linger between the soft fur and your neck alike, his thumb stroking your skin gently. For a moment all he did was caressing you, pinning you with gaze; no marvelling you.

“A tiny bit…”, he finally murmured, then a fine smirk formed - and his voice turned stern. “But you’re not going to leave this house. With my collar on. Ever again.”

You rolled your eyes.

This was still Tobirama, after all.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 23 - So Far From Who I Was

Masterlist; Chapter 22

Summary: As plans for operation in Stalsk-12 are underway, you and Neil can’t seem to find a common ground. His selfish plans overturn everything...

Warnings: Even more angst (sorry!!! swear it will be over very soon); swearing; some slightly dubious thoughts appearing in the reader’s minds but it’s nothing too serious.

Author’s Notes: Okay, I’m really sorry for the 10.8k, but it once again shows that I’m incapable of writing short things. This one is a wild ride and it was fun to write even if painful at times... I hope you’ll ‘enjoy’! Let me know how you liked it... and I promise... fun is near :)))

From that morning, when the precious intel magically appeared for you all to use, the metaphorical dice were cast. The last stage of the plan was officially on, and there was not much time to waste. After two days of chaotic talks, interrupted by training and trying to make sense of living aboard the icebreaker, you were told to meet with everyone else on the bridge for the official confab. Your war council consisted of TP, Neil, Ives, Wheeler, and yourself. And you were the first to admit that you had no clue what your job was supposed to be there. However, ignoring the deepening sleep deprivation, pounding headache, and weariness that has made home in your heart, you made it to the destination with time to spare. That morning the sky over the Barents Sea was overcast with heavy, grey clouds, increasing your internal melancholia and tiredness. Basically, life was hard. And you still contemplated joining the seals. Probably more often than any sane person should. But then you never really considered yourself rational. Sighing, for the umpteenth time this morning, you sat down on the sofa and relished in the solitude. In moments like this, without the oxygen mask making you feel close to suffocation, or the looming danger of losing your control around certain individuals, you were almost at peace. They never lasted long.

“Morning sunshine,” Ives marched into the room with a grin on his face.

He was one of the people you could tolerate. Still.

“Hi,” you cracked a smile of your own in his direction.

He took off the mask and opened up the laptop, preparing for the meeting. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Ives groaned, stretching his limbs exaggeratedly.

“The bloody bunkbeds are a pain in the arse,” you snickered at the comment.

“My condolences,” offering him a mournful expression, you stood up.

Wandering over to the panoramic windows, you took a moment to stare at a seagull diving on the horizon. Well, technically it was springing up from the sea, but you preferred to imagine the traditional way of things. Just to maintain a functioning brain.

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Prince Charming looking out for their comfort you know” the casual remark made you look up at Ives.

Sure as hell, he was grinning smugly, satisfied by how he has managed to catch you off guard. But that was not the most outraging bit…

“Prince Charming?” you repeated with a deepening frown, “Spare me please, I’d rather forget he exists” conversation was ruined.

Prince Charming, my ass. Unless those tended to be lying bastards that never knew what they wanted. Or terrifyingly beautiful idiots that should never be trusted. Well… fuck.

“Good luck with that” Ives patted you on the shoulder.

You knew that despite the nonchalance, he was someone you could count on. For a second, you contemplated asking him to punch Neil next time he shows up. However, all train of thought disappeared when the man himself walked into the room the very next minute. That same neutral smile on his face, blocking off any attempts to read his mood. His gaze slipped over you. A shadow of a frown as though your presence was not a pleasant discovery. Just brilliant.

“Good morning” Neil nodded in your direction.

You could see Ives hesitate as though wondering how much could have been overheard. You found that you did not care. Ever since your blunder in the kitchen, you came to a decision that you need not hold back. Neil never did, after all.

“Morning mate” Ives squeezed his shoulder in a greeting.

Before either of you were forced to initiate small talk, TP marched in, with Wheeler following at his heels. With the whole team on board, you could skip the awkwardness and begin. You took your seat on the side of the table and placed the dossier with plans right in front. That way, you could have an easy escape should it be needed. These days you could never know for sure. The first surprise of the meeting took place when you heard a scrape of the chair on your side, followed by someone sitting down. One look was needed to ascertain that it was the blonde bastard. Fab. You refused to give him any satisfaction of being caught staring and so you focused on the documents, reading the same set of instructions for the hundredth time.

“Do you want coffee?” his question took you by surprise.

Looking up into his blue eyes always felt too startling. Especially considering your history. But that did not seem to matter whenever your gazes met. That same jolt of electricity heightening your senses. Until you would look away again, Neil was everything you could focus on. On the periphery of your attention, you could see Wheeler prepare cups of the beverage in the small kitchenette. Right…

“Yes, please,” perplexed by his helpfulness, you gave him the tiniest of smiles.

In response, Neil only nodded and got up, joining Wheeler at the counter. That was surprising. Somehow you assumed that he would do everything not to interact with you like that. And yet he was willing to get you coffee, knowing full well how dependent on it you were. When Neil sat down again five minutes later and handed you the mug, you muttered:

“Thanks” your hands brushed for a millisecond, causing a minor heart palpitation.

Nothing new. He met your gaze again, smiling lightly. It was in the moments like this that you felt completely at a loss for words. The tenderness and attention felt like the old days, as though nothing happened. But it did. And it made no sense.

“Hope I got it right” breaking the silence, Neil gestured towards the coffee steaming underneath your nose.

He used to know your coffee order well. Unable to deny yourself the curiosity, you took a sip of the beverage under his watchful gaze. Of course, it was perfect, a spark igniting your body with energy. Ignoring the idiocy of the situation, you grinned at Neil over the brim of the mug. Conveying gratitude more than any words could. Judging by the glimmer in his eyes, he understood.

“Attention, please,” Ives’s annoyed voice brought you back to reality “You’ll flirt later,” you blushed furiously at the comment.

Shooting daggers at the squad leader, you focused all of the attention on the dossier again. Yeah…no.

The next hour was spent trying to make sense of the plans you all had been weaving since the intel came. The obvious parts were the facts: a deserted city in the middle of the Siberian steppe, the dead-drop in the cavern underneath the ridge, three ways in, and a lock, that was the crux of it all. The instructions from TP were ominous enough: no guaranteed way out for whoever would open the door. And that fact was the needed spark that day…

“So, temporal pincer” Ives summarized the last few minutes of the discussion, writing the words on the whiteboard “One team normal, the other inverted and they deal with the mercs. A splinter unit goes into the dead-drop and extracts the algorithm before the timer goes off” he added.

That was the obvious bit. You finished the coffee in one swig, feeling Neil’s knee bump into yours under the table. It was like this for the past hour. Sudden touches, making you wonder whether it was all intentional. Another form of elaborate torture. Or whether it was just Neil unable to control his long limbs as per usual.

“Kat is the backstop?” you asked the question, distracting yourself from the mess in your head.

“Yep,” jotting down the note, listening in to the squad leader, “That’s the simple stuff. What we need to figure out is how do we deal with that lock, and what about the splinter unit”

Fun. You skipped through the information again, hoping to find any source of inspiration in the materials.

“What do you mean?” TP asked, and you glanced up at him.

With the arms folded on the table and face frozen in a permanent frown, you could feel the tension radiating from him.

“They shouldn’t leave the field” Ives shrugged upon an inquisitive glare from the boss “It’s safer that way” the cold steel look in his eyes was foreign.

It was a terrifying realization that he was right. If you were to succeed, you had to make sure that it could not happen again. At least not in the linear sense. Looking around the people sat at the table, your heart sank. It could as well be that you were not coming out of this alive. Not all of you. TP had to survive if the story was to follow as it should. But for the rest of you, nothing was guaranteed. Enough to make the anxiety worse.

“Right,” TP’s sombre nod made you focus back on the moment “I don’t think we need to decide on who that will be this early,” he added, his gaze slipping over all of your faces.

Looking at the companions, you could see that everyone else was deep in thought. Mortality was never something you paid much attention to, preferring to stay sane by taking every day as it is and then moving onto the next. When you finished the university and started getting used to the idea that your future will be spent behind the desk of one of the governmental buildings in Whitehall, you stopped giving it much thought. Death would come when it had to, and that was it. But apparently not. Perks of choosing an unusual occupation. Feeling the stress levels elevate, you got hold of the passing thought. The damned lock that has been at the forefront of your mind since the news first came. Maybe now was time to voice the vague plans…

“When it comes to the lock… I’ve been thinking-”

“It’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” Neil’s interruption made you look up at him sharply.

What? You did not like the enigmatic smile gracing his features. As though you have missed something glaringly self-evident, and he was waiting for you to catch up. Impatiently, at that.

“Neil… elaborate please,” TP’s plea was dripping with tiredness.

Relatable.

“I’m the best locksmith out there” he shrugged smugly, ignoring your stare.

You did not like where this was going. Before you could find any words of response, Ives’s dry chuckle pierced the silence.

“Smooth, mate,” he added when Neil turned to stare at him.

“It should be me,” the blonde man pressed, annoyance seeping into his words, “Ives, you know that. Stop looking at me like that” he waved his hand at the squad leader.

The pieces clicked in your head. Fuck. He sounded too sure. As though he has already made up his mind. But…

“The person who opens the lock doesn’t have a guaranteed way out” Wheeler looked weary, as though she was scared about the direction of the conversation.

Exactly. The heart was hammering in your chest, slowly absorbing the reality. Figuring out the implications. No. You could not allow that. Even the mere idea was enough to make you nauseous. It was one thing to wish you did not have to deal with Neil, the other to consider that he would volunteer for something like that.

“So?” the nonchalance in his voice was terrifying.

He was still refusing to meet your gaze, but you persistently kept your eyes fixed on him. Urging him to give in. To be able to check this was actually happening. Because once Neil would lock his eyes with yours, you had a chance of getting to him. Until he said it to your face, you did not want to believe it.

“That could be a one-way trip,” TP voiced your thoughts, eyeing Neil warily.

You could see that he was surprised and concerned. Ever since they were stuck in the container for a week, a comradery has formed. Finally resembling what you were used to from them. But now Neil was willing to destroy it all. One-way trip. The ultimate sacrifice. No.

“Evidently,” another shrug.

That was the needed signal for your brain to kick back into action. To fight. Point out the insanity of the situation.

“Surely there’s a different way of dealing with this. We could send the locksmith before the splinter unit and-” your rant got interrupted with a sudden creak of chair to your right. Impatience.

“Why complicate something simple? I go in and open the door. That’s it” Neil flayed his hands around as though compensating for the tension permeating the room.

Wishing to dissolve it by fake excitement. Not on your watch. Urging your body to stop trembling, you garnered the strength to voice the obvious question. The one everyone seemed to skirt around for the past ten minutes.

“You don’t want to come back?” your voice wavered, betraying the nerves.

That was exactly what Neil needed to finally look you in the eye. With reluctance, he turned to you. When your gazes met, he flinched. Barely perceptible and yet there. Great.

“This isn’t about what I want or don’t want” you could tell Neil was just about keeping himself cool.

This could go either way. You found yourself on the tipping point, tiptoeing the edge. The fall never seemed so inviting. Almost as good as letting yourself drown in his eyes. Anything to ignore the reality.

“As if you knew what you want,” you muttered, aware he will catch on to the implications.

Neil clenched his jaw as his hand gripping the mug tightened. You have hit the mark. Top job. It took him a moment to respond. You could feel the gazes of everyone else fixed on you two. Their breaths were held as though afraid anything could set off the explosion. They were probably right.

“…Maybe you haven’t gotten the memo yet, but this isn’t about us anymore. If the task requires sacrifice, then be it” Neil finished the sentence with a hard look in his eyes.

Us? The emphasis he placed on the word made you blink in shock. On its own accord, your mind drifted back to the conversation in Tallinn. We’re just us. Me and you, was what he said back then. Only now, it was not that simple. Ignoring the ache in your heart, you swallowed hard, trying to find any traces of reason.

“But-” it was not meant to be.

Before you could add another word, Neil took hold of your hand, making you shut up. Shocked, you met his eyes, only to be paralyzed by the harshness of his expression. Your protests were not welcome. He has made up his mind.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern. However-” his tone was dripping with condescension.

The nickname felt like a slap. You tugged at the hand he still had in his grasp, cutting in sharply:

“How very patronizing of you” giving him the fakest of smiles, you added, “I had the illusion that you’re better than this… but well, as with most things I was wrong” a shrug to complete the insult “I still think there must be a way around it. There’s a reason why we got this warning” ending the torture of prolonged eye contact, you glanced around the table.

A silent cry for help. TP met your gaze, rapidly catching on to the desperation pouring out of your eyes. If anyone should get it, it’s him.

“Okay, hold on. Let’s suppose we do it as you say-” the boss interjected, putting all of the charisma into the sentence.

For nothing.

“Maybe the reason was that you need time to get used to the idea. Clearly, you’re the only one who opposes it this strongly” Neil was still looking at you only.

Cold blue eyes and lips twisted into a cruel smirk. That was the same man that fought with you on the highway in Tallinn. Terrible beauty. And yet, you could not look away, drawn by the gravitational pull that kept you tied to his side.

“What are you trying to say?” your voice sounded small.

The confidence was gone. The gloves were off. That was it. The explosion everyone feared. Judging by the way Neil leaned in closer, it was all part of the plan. Calculated and measured for the greatest impact. His knee bumped into your thigh. You froze as his nose brushed over your ear. Too close.

“That you lied to me a few days back. That you still l-” blood froze in your veins as you took in the meaning.

Before he could say the word, you hissed and lurched back.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the curse ripped apart the tense silence.

The pain was unimaginable. You felt close to screaming. Helpless. Alone. Desperate. In love. All for nothing.

“As I said, sometimes feelings need to be put aside. Whatever they might be,” you heard his voice as though from afar.

Enough. Releasing a long exhale, you closed the folder and stood up. That was enough. He did not deserve the sight of your tears.

“Now, let’s assume I go, open the door for the splinter unit, and… What are you doing?” Neil noticed your movement a second too late.

The confusion on his face was almost laughable. Pity.

“What does it look like?” you scoffed, pushing the chair back onto its place “I’ve had enough of this sacrificial bullshit and personal insults” addressing the room at large, you added, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the range”

You noticed Wheeler’s sympathetic nod breaking in through the concern on her face. Ives looked pissed off, and you could not blame him for it. You have made quite the show. Again. TP just glanced at you, utterly perplexed. There was no logical explanation for any of this.

“You can’t just-” attempting protest, Neil took hold of your hand again.

You knew the purpose behind that. If everything else failed, he was well aware that touch was your weakest point. That previously it always worked. Not anymore. You met his eyes, encountering nothing but annoyance and frustration.

“Neil” Wheeler’s warning was a welcomed addition “Let her go,”

That was all he needed. Letting go of your hand, he gave you a final look. Something shifted for a split second. But you found that you did not care. Without a second thought, you bolted out of the room. The very last thing you heard felt like the final blow:

“She’s being ridiculous,” Neil muttered dejectedly.

She. Just that. With shaking hands, you closed the zip lock.

“And you’re stupid. Sit the fuck down,” Ives’s command rung out in the air behind your back.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you ran down the corridor. Fuck.

*** That day you have successfully managed to hide from everyone. Wheeler came to check up on you in the evening to, as she put it, make sure you have not taken the shooting practice a little too seriously. You could only offer her your tear-streaked cheeks and reddened eyes as you assured her that this would be the worst state she was likely to see you in. Was that a lie? Maybe. To put it bluntly, after the morning nightmare of a confab, death sounded like an interesting option. Certainly better than another week of Neil offering to get himself killed just because. You chose 2 am that night to finally emerge from the cabin in the search of food. Without bothering to touch up your bedraggled appearance, you tiptoed down the corridor, taking one extra look at the door of Neil’s room. Why? Fuck knows. The silence was encouraging. However, that confidence was to be your ultimate downfall.

The moment you dealt with the airlock leading to the galley, you knew that you were not alone. Neil was there, chatting to one of the squad members you vaguely remembered from the days spent in inversion. Dominic, or something. Briefly, you considered turning back around and leaving as though you were never even there. But when the men turned, and your eyes met, it was too late. Luck was never on your side.

“Hi,” you gave them both a nod and opened the fridge before either could take a longer look at you.

“Evening” Neil cleared his throat awkwardly.

After a pause, the men picked up their conversation in hushed tones while finishing sandwiches. Mindlessly you stared at the contains of the fridge, hoping to appear occupied. To be forgotten. But to no avail. You could feel someone’s gaze burning into the side of your head. Somehow you knew that if you dared look up, the blue eyes would be there. Ready to analyze you. To find weaknesses and strike when appropriate. You could only hope he would not do it with Dominic present.

Fridge held no answers. You closed it quietly and took hold of the granola bar from the cupboard. Only tea left now… easy. They were still talking. From what you could hear, it had something to do with the inverted weaponry and the training you were all forced to recap before Stalsk. You thanked the gods for the presence of the buffer, as you not so patiently waited for the water to boil. The false sense of security shattered seconds later:

“Thanks, mate. See you in the morning, yeah?” Dominic rinsed the plate quickly and started to put on the mask.

What is worse, Neil was not doing the same. Instead, he was still sitting at the table, smiling at the colleague.

“Yep. Can’t wait,” the fake enthusiasm radiating from him in waves.

But it seemed like only you could see it. Another observation for nothing. Your pulse quickened as you realised that it was only a matter of seconds till you were alone again. And the fucking water was still boiling.

“Goodnight, Y/N” Dominic smiled at you before moving to open the airlock.

“Night night,” your response came out too breathlessly.

Crap. Just like that, he was gone. It was you and Neil, staring at each other like two animals locked up in a cage. He quickly assessed your appearance, taking in the puffed-up eyes, tangled hair, and shaking hands. You wanted to ask him whether he was satisfied with his work. But that would mean admitting how much it hurt. And your pride was in the way. The kettle switched off. Neil’s taxing gaze stopped as his eyes widened.

“Is that-” that is when you realised.

Fuck. When leaving the cabin, you have not changed. That meant you were still wearing the only article of clothing that brought some comfort. Neil’s burgundy sweater. And he most certainly recognized it.

“Neil I-” his name was the only answer as you struggled for words.

Neil stood up and pounced, closing the distance. The malicious look in his eyes was terrifying. And inspiring.

“Why do you have my sweater?” to emphasize the point, he took hold of the material, drawing you near in progress, “I didn’t take you for a thief,” delivered with a cruel smirk.

With Neil that close and acting ridiculously, you realised that above all, you were tired. And had enough of this. Of him.

“I used the opportunity and went into your apartment,” a tight-lipped smile thrown in before he could interject, “Yes, I know, don’t worry, I haven’t stolen anything else,” you added, enjoying the surprise flashing in his eyes.

He forgot about the keys. Or did not think you would use them after everything. And now, when he realised how much you knew, it was hard to accept. That was encouraging. You waited for Neil to bite back, letting yourself stare at him without shame. His eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes lit up. There we go…

“You know that you’re not making any sense?” he blurted out the question and tugged at the sweater “You just- You’re telling me that it’s all over and yet here you are, wearing my clothes” another tug, bringing you just as close as the last time “I mean that’s one way of confusing me further” he finished on a whisper.

It took you a moment to recover. To realise that once again, you were too close. When that clicked, you took a step back and met Neil’s gaze. Too satisfied. His pupils were darker than usual, and that was worryingly enticing. Focus. Anger was the answer.

“Confusing you?” a sudden idea struck, “Fucking hell, you know what?” another step back, “Just take it, and let’s end this discussion” you started taking the garment over your head.

“What- Why are you...” much to Neil’s shock.

Good. The cold air hit your body as you took off the sweater and threw it in his face. You were eternally grateful to your morning self for putting on that tank top. Not much, but still preventing you from the walk back in only the bra. As Neil scrambled to pick up the garment that fell onto the floor, you added:

“I’ll give you back the keys tomorrow” you met his wide-eyed stare with pleasure, “There’s no need to stare. You’ve seen it before,”

Yet, the way his gaze roamed over your body was fascinating. There was nothing to see there, but still, he seemed transfixed. You took that as your chance to strike.

“Hell, you’ve even had your hand down my pants. Twice” Neil flinched, and you smirked, “Talking about wrong life choices and all that” it was nice to see him hurt.

For once. Even if it was another lie. He looked lost, unable to find a response to something like that.

“I-” a pathetic attempt at god knows what.

You took a final glance at him there. Clutching the cashmere sweater in his hand. Hair falling into his eyes. Shoulder sagged. Defeated. Confused. Finally.

“Goodbye,” you grabbed the mug and left before Neil had a chance of recovery.

The walk back to the room was cold. But probably worth the pain.

*** Sighing with happiness for the first time that day, you closed the door to the cabin and collapsed onto the bed. For the past three hours, you have been occupied with training that Ives made mandatory for all the mission participants, and you were exhausted. The only encouragement was the fact that the squad leader made sure your shift was different from that of Neil. What was even better, he did that without you needing to ask first. Just like that. And you were very grateful. Moments like those last two encounters in the kitchen were best avoided at all costs. Any contact was ideally off the books. Even when it hurt.  

With the sweater gone, you had no more things to hold on to. Well, apart from all those memories and the ability to read him like an open book. Utterly useless skills like algebra or functions at this point. You have changed into the comfiest set of sweatpants and a hoodie, hoping to spend the next few hours marinating in your misery. But long before you could even think of the first reason to cry, a knock made you jump up. Who the hell…. Grudgingly, you got up and opened the door.

“Hey…” you did not expect him.

Despite everything, your heart was naive enough to stumble upon the sight of Neil. And his stupid hair. And the repentant look in his eyes. What even.

“What do you want?” you decided to cut the bullshit, meeting his gaze coldly.

The visit was certainly unexpected. As was the fact that he seemed apologetic. Meek, even. Neil shifted nervously before answering:

“Here’s the sweater. You can keep it” he handed you the garment with a tiny smile, “It smells more like you than me now, but…” trailing off, he shrugged.

The implications of that statement were too much to handle. As was the fact that he gave you back the sweater. You gaped at him, speechless. It made no sense. But the silence stretched too long, and Neil looked even more uncomfortable.

“Okay…” you accepted the gift, making sure your hands have not brushed.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday it wasn’t reasonable,” he added, with that contrite tone you were not used to.

Unreasonable? That was one way of describing what happened the previous night. You did not know whether it was the glaring lack of confidence radiating from him or as something as simple as the fact that you missed him. But you could feel the resolve crumble.

“I’d say nothing you do is reasonable… thanks though” mustering a weak smile, you stepped away from the door, “You can come in if you want,”

Risky. And something Neil did not expect either, judging by the way he hesitated before entering the cabin and closing the door. You sat down on the edge of the bed and observed his awkward movement. A look around the small space. His eyes slipping over the few personal items you had. The sparring gear you have carelessly thrown onto the floor. And the bin full of used tissues. How humiliating. Then he perched on the chair and met your gaze wearily. Without you even needing to ask the question, he answered:

“I guess it surprised me to see that you’re using something of mine after everything” the honesty was strangely comforting.

For the first time since the disastrous mission in Tallinn, you could tell that he was genuine. Open for you to read and interpret however you fancy. That was intriguing. Enjoying the way his eyes roamed over your features, you leaned back on the bed. Relaxed. Sincere. You could try that.

“It surprises me too,” shrugging, you pursed your lips, staring thoughtfully at the window.

You did not have to look at him to imagine the expression on his face. A little concerned, extremely curious.

“How do you mean?” the soft tone made you glance back.

Sure enough, the furrowed eyebrows and sparkling eyes were there. Neil crossed his legs, studying you intently. You could tell that he wanted to know. That this was probably the closest you would ever come to a normal conversation with him. Might as well use it.

“Well, the heart knows best,” offering him a sad smile, you laced your hands in your lap.

Here’s to hoping he won’t turn it on you. But when you dared look up at Neil again, you were surprised to see him stunned by what you revealed. After a beat, he found the words:

“I thought you don’t-”

Of course. Unable to stop the irritation gnawing at your heart, you scoffed, preventing him from saying something so wrong.

“I never said that,” you explained upon his wide-eyed stare, “But that’s beyond the point, isn’t it?” you sighed, hoping to make him drop the topic before it would drift somewhere dangerous “Why are you here?”

You took a longer look at him then. Taking in the denial painted on his face. He wanted to press on, to get you to explain things. Not today. Then, returning your taxing gaze, Neil offered you his wistful smile.  

“I suppose I’ve missed you” the sincerity of the statement was terrifying.

You felt a painful pang in your chest, as though the heart itself was awaiting the tragic end to this conversation. Courage. For a second, you wanted to cross that meter of space. To… Yeah, what exactly? One memory of what he said in the kitchen a few nights back was enough to sober up. You had to be careful.

“...right” the next words were a result of annoyance, pure and simple “Are you sure there isn’t anyone better? Because I bet there are at least five people aboard this ship who would give you everything. Without questions asked. Maybe you should talk to them” once you were done with the rant, you faced Neil again.

He was gaping, speechless. It seemed like his sharp wit was missing. That was only good news for you. A myriad of feelings passed in his eyes. You could discern shock, offense, heartbreak, and most surprisingly, something darker. Contradicting the very next thing he said:

“If I was looking for that, I’d never come to you. Because I value you more. But I don’t expect you to believe me” the defeat in Neil’s eyes was confusing.

But not any less than you were at that moment. More than what? A cheap fuck? One could hope so. But at the same time, considering the multitude of instances when he seemed desperate to get too close, it felt like a lie.

“I don’t, so you got something right,” you admitted, hoping to keep the emotions in check.

His blue eyes were fixed on you with intensity, trying to read all that you were not saying. After a minute of excessive staring, you were the first one to give up. The last thing you saw was a smirk forming on Neil’s lips. As though he knew that you were close to breaking. Close to potentially doing something stupid. Jumping up, you paced to the window. Nothing but sea and sky. And the damned birds. But even that was better than being faced with what you have lost. After a few days on board the icebreaker, you got used to the casual outfits he sported. What was worse is that they did nothing to make this any easier. It only proved the theory that Neil looked good in anything. Well, fuck him. Only not literally.

With the silence stretching well past the point of awkwardness, you grasped onto the first passing thought, turning to Neil again:

“You’ve talked about… me with TP, haven’t you?” it was a strange change of topic, but also something that has been on your mind for a while “Because suddenly he seems to trust me and I’m not sure what the fuck happened” throwing in the expletive, you sat down on the floor with your back against the wall.

Neil eyed you curiously. He was strangely quiet, and you wondered why that could be. Whether it meant that for once, he did not know what to say. Or maybe because he already regretted coming to see you. Yeah, probably that second option.

“Yes, I’ve explained a few things on the way to Oslo” the diplomatic tone was mildly annoying.

He leaned back in the chair, making sure to face you in the new dynamic. Only the nervous foot-tapping was a sign that he did not like the direction of the conversation. Interesting.

“Such as?” pressing on, you took a moment to observe him.

These days he gave up on styling the hair as the wind outside would always blow it in his eyes. That was rather adorable. He unzipped the pullover, shifting in the seat. Tension spilling out in weaves as Neil waved his hand dismissively.

“It doesn’t really matter,” another remorseful smile.

So, he must have said much more than just the basics. Could he have admitted to things even you were not allowed to know?

“Well, you must’ve said some crucial bits if he’s now so eager to take my side” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze purposefully.

Hoping he will catch on. Just like the matter of whatever it was between you, the battle plans were a clear no-go in this conversation. But that did not mean you could not hint at it. He had to understand that you were not going to give in so easily. That his suicidal mission was not getting a green light from you. The bait worked. Kind of.

“I said things that you and I should probably explain to each other one day” Neil’s grin did not reach his eyes.

Oh. He must have read the shock from your face, for his eyes glimmered dangerously as he relaxed on the chair. Your brain froze. Things? As in what? You both did and did not want to ask. Instead, you chose to attack.

“We won’t have time if you sacrifice yourself” simply put with a merciless stare.

Neil frowned, not expecting that kind of a dig. Before you could taste the satisfaction, his weary expression caught you off guard. Could that really hurt him? The cold of the wall was digging into your back.

“Let’s leave that for the meeting tomorrow,” a silent plea in the blue eyes “I don’t want to argue,”

He meant it. The tiredness etched onto his face told you as much. You were used to seeing the same kind of exhaustion every morning in the mirror. You could let him off.

“Okay…” a solemn nod before you got up and picked up the pacing again.

It was a strange feeling to be with him alone and yet not close. You realised that this was likely the first time since the early days when you were together somewhere private and were not even touching. It felt wrong.

“How did you like my place?” Neil’s question was like a much-needed grounding.

Swallowing down the discomfort, you turned back to him. The innocence was just a façade that he has put on for your sake. He expected an answer, and you did not know where to start. And then… the way his hair caught rays of sunlight was an inspiration.

“It was… enlightening,” you relished in the curiosity reflected at you, “For starters, I never realised that this is all fake” crossing the space in one leap, you ran your fingers through his hair.

Just like the old times. Only then, Neil would not shudder upon the initial contact. It took him a longer moment to recover. You smirked seeing his stunned face and resumed the movement, separating the strands slowly. You had no clue why this was the fact you latched onto. Blonde or not, he was a sight. But the idea that he dyed his hair would not leave your mind like the worst of brain worms.

“Ah, you’ve seen the photos” when he finally found the words again, his voice was hoarse.

As though whatever you were doing had some sort of an effect. A spark of confidence. You tugged at a strand sharply, the gasp making you bite your lip hard. A dangerous game. The words you have been biting back begun to spill from your mouth:

“It fascinates me because you act oh so confident all the time, and yet you’re pretending you’re someone you’re not” glancing down, you noticed the closed eyes and pursed lips.

It was definitely working. Whatever you even wanted to achieve. It was nice to hold power for once. To call him out on the bullshit you had to deal with every day.

“That’s just hair,” Neil protested weakly, grabbing onto your free hand and encircling the wrist.

Unable to stop the emotions bubbling under the surface, you scoffed:

“It really isn’t. I mean, why? It’s not like you have to scrape for attention” his eyes met yours with defiance, “Unless you’re compensating for something. In which case, that’s just ridiculous” the hit came with a visible flinch from Neil “And ever so manly” you perfected the punchline with a final tug on his golden strands.

That turned out to be a step too far. Before you could sense a change in the mood, Neil used the hold over your hand to bring you down. More accurately, to make you sit in his lap. Your brain caught up too late. Suddenly he was too close, with hands settling on your hips, securing you in place. Fuck. You opened your eyes, cursing the moment of weakness. Neil was staring right back, his eyes unreadable and dark. You messed up.

“What are you doing?” too breathless.

He caught onto that, rubbing circles onto your thigh, focused on you. It would be easy to get up and throw him out, ending this madness. But you found that you did not want to.

“I’m not sure. Say a word, and I’ll leave. But...” he trailed off, searching your eyes for something.

A protest, most likely. A clear-cut rejection. When he found nothing, he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. So close. Slowly your willpower was waning. You placed your palm over his heart to feel the warmth.

“Neil, why...” unable to find the words, you stared at him with questions multiplying in your head.

What was this? Was it why he came? And why, despite the hurt he inflicted, you could not tell him to stop?

“Because you’re here. It’s all I need to start feeling like...” another open-ended response.

Adding on to the confusion. His heart was beating fast, breaths coming out shallow. With fingers still tangled in his hair, you urged him to keep eye contact. That was the only chance of telling whether he was honest.

“Like what? Like you could want me?” the words were hard to say out loud.

For a moment, you felt like this was Tallinn all over again. Like you were losing sanity just for the sake of getting something from him. The ever-present yearning getting the best of you. The only difference was that this time Neil was the desperate one. His hands roamed over your hips and thighs, causing worrying jolts of electricity. It shouldn’t be that easy.

“You know that I do,” a whisper, eyes overfilled with determination.

Did you? Now – maybe. Any other day – hell knows.

“Maybe once I did. But recently... I don’t think you know what you want. You’re just...” you offered him the honesty, absentmindedly running your fingertips over his temple.

Exploring all that was familiar yet missed so much. The creases on his forehead deepened.

“What?” Neil leaned in once again, nuzzling the skin on your neck.

The shaky exhale felt like a defeat. It was increasingly hard to think, let alone give him coherent answers.

“You’re not making any sense” that had to do.

Only it was whispered breathlessly. Not convincing.

“Maybe this will make sense...”

Before you could contemplate the meaning of his words, Neil kissed your neck, drawing out a shudder. One of his hands wandered underneath the hoodie. His fingers ghosted the skin. You have not realised how much you’ve missed it until you got it. As he got braver in his ministrations, teeth grazing over your pulse point, hands stroking your bare back, you felt intoxicated. Unable to do anything but pull him closer and let your hands venture underneath his black t-shirt. It made no sense. But as soon as a reasonable thought would come up, Neil would do something to make you forget. It could be a kiss right under your ear or fingers getting too close to your sports bra. Christ. No logic, just Neil being the sole reason for insanity. The heat travelling up your veins was getting too evident to be ignored. As he gave you a particularly forceful mark by sucking on the skin in the crook of your neck, you could not hold back a moan. It pierced the silence accompanied only by your shallow breaths. Neil froze as though he was not expecting a reaction that strong. His breath causing goosebumps all along your neck. For a second, you wanted to pull him even closer, to give permission to take everything he desires. Even without a promise that it would mean something to him. He raised his head, meeting your wild gaze with the darkened pupils of his own. The proximity was suffocating. Unable to make sense of your thoughts, you leaned in, hoping to get lost in a kiss. To buy some time before you would have to make up your mind. That is when Neil did something unexpected – he pulled back, with a strangely remorseful look in his eyes. Fuck. Alarm bells started ringing out in your head, harshly reminding you about the reality of the situation. As though nothing happened, Neil’s hands went back to the meticulous caress of your upper body. But you could not ignore the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach. What if this wouldn’t mean a thing? Suddenly it seemed like the worst mistake you could make. The previous frenzy was quickly replaced with dread. Not meant to be. You retracted your hands from underneath Neil’s shirt and pushed him back. It took all the strength available to deliver the next sentence with necessary firmness:

“I think you should leave,” you hoped to hide the pain behind the schooled features.

If he was surprised, he was very good at pretending. His eyes searched yours for a beat, and then he let go of you. His touch was already missed.

“If that’s what you want,” Neil’s voice revealed remains of passion as he nonchalantly smoothed the hair you have tangled.

That was the cue to get up. With cheeks burning, you turned away from him, doing your best to cool off and keep the scraps of dignity you had still left. Before you could risk a dangerous spiral, Neil’s voice brought you back to the moment:

“Too close, wasn’t it?” you frowned at the casual tone.

He was zipping up the pullover, staring at you with startling composure. As though the past minutes have not happened. As though he has not marked you as his for the umpteenth time. It was terrifying.

“What?” you gaped, trying to collect the thoughts and keep calm.

“We got too close. And you’re worried because for a moment you wanted more than you should” Neil shrugged upon your quiet gasp.

He could read you too well.

“Don’t do that,” a pathetic attempt at a plea.

But it must have worked for his expression softened. A small smile split his face as Neil pressed the door handle:

“Just thought you should know that I don’t mind. I don’t have much left to lose,” a parting remark, and then he was gone.

You covered your face with your hands, falling onto the knees when the remains of strength gave out. What a fucking mess.

*** What you did not expect to be the hardest feat of all before the meeting the next morning was making sure that all the bruises were covered up. You did not need to add questions and human curiosity to the list of your problems. After all, it would have been obvious to anyone with a brain. You fucked up, and Neil was the reason why and how that happened. As usual. That was best avoided since everyone on your war council knew enough already when it came to your relationship. Or whatever the fuck it was.

As you walked in, everyone else was already on the bridge, spreading the materials and preparing the whiteboard. Wheeler gave you a welcoming smile which at that moment was worth more than it should. Any expression of kindness was at a premium. You sat down, and before you could process much of what was going on, a mug of coffee appeared before your eyes. Just so. A second later, Neil took the seat next to you without acknowledging your existence. Cool. Perplexed, you looked around the room, locking eyes with TP. He shrugged as though exactly aware of your issues yet unable to help. That much was enough to make you feel a tiny bit better. After a beat, the boss spoke up:

“Before we begin… Y/N?” his question interrupted the first experimental sip of the coffee.

Perfect. Again.

“Yes?” you ignored the annoying spike of anxiety upon being the centre of attention.

“Is Mahir going back to meet Kat in Vietnam on the 14th?”

Ah, that. The little side quest that you have been given ages ago with close to no information towards its purpose. Thankfully, Mahir cooperated. No questions were asked as you arranged for him to invert in London and travel to Vietnam to be Kat’s aide. That kind of smooth operation was a welcomed change.

“Yep, as ordered,” you offered the dark-eyed man a small smile, “Turns out I am capable of not fucking up some things…” that addition was a product of spite.

It was rewarding to see Ives and Wheeler crack a grin at your comment. It made you feel less alienated, as though it was only the man on your right that had issues. And he might as well be ignored. Neil was being helpful in his silence too, moodily staring at the papers in front, refusing to lay his eyes on you. It was painful, especially considering the previous day, but it also meant you felt more at ease.

“It would be great if we could agree upon a few things finally,” TP interrupted the silence, looking at you all expectantly.

“Can’t promise you that, chief” you shrugged, aware of the way Neil shifted in his seat.

His knee bumped into your leg, starting the irritating dance you thought you had moved past. But, supposedly, laying his hands all over your body yesterday was not enough for him.

“I know. But let’s try” you focused all the attention back on the boss “Splinter unit,” the phrase fell between you all like a death sentence “Who and how?”

“The tunnel” you picked up the map and showed it to him, “That’s what the intel said” taking the sip of coffee, you added, “As towards who…”

One of the sleepless nights has been spent wondering whether you should not volunteer for that. The logic was that there was a reason why TP chose you as his link with everyone else. It meant his future version trusted you enough. But it also meant you were important. In those hopeless moments, it felt like maybe that was the purpose. And if it would mean no coming back? So be it. Death for the means of saving the world did not sound half that bad. Before you could express the thoughts, TP spoke up again:

“It should be me” his voice was emotionless.

“Why-” Neil’s voice rang out in the room.

You glanced at him, noticing the tension and worry radiating from him. It was a strange situation; everyone could see that. You all knew that TP had to survive. After all, how could you be at this point if he did not? He had to set up Tenet, hire Neil, Ives and everyone else, prepare the ground for the operation to unfold just like this. But then, considering everything you have been told about temporal paradoxes… could it be that simple? Or was Neil wrong, and what’s happened could also unhappen, so to speak? Too much. Your head began to pound.

“I’m the protagonist of this whole operation. The reason why you’re all here” that was convincing.

And in any other situation, you would have laughed at the prophetic overtone of the statement. But now other emotions were more prominent…

“Mmmm, I’m here because of him,” you retorted, pointedly staring at Neil, 

“Only, he doesn’t care” that is when the man turned to look at you for the first time that morning.

Irritated. Fed up with your bullshit. Lips pressed into a thin line. Eyes glimmering dangerously. Nothing new.

“What are you-” the sharp edge to his voice was satisfying.

Any kind of reaction meant you succeeded at pissing him off. Somehow back then, it was the best thing that could happen.

“Just being salty. Don’t mind me” you shrugged, making sure to pat his shoulder quickly.

Another tiny stab. Neil’s eyes flicked to your hand in a flash and then back to meet your eyes. You could only give him a deliberate smirk.

“Anyways… The splinter unit will be two people” Ives brought back the topic with palpable annoyance, “I’ve got an obvious choice on my mind, but I’ll discuss that later with some of you” the definitive tone would have made anyone shut up.

Not you though. Not when there was nothing to lose, and you decided that you might as well have fun with this mess.

“Why so mysterious, huh?” another quip, all to make Ives look up at you with surprise.

He rolled his eyes, showing you exactly what he thought of your new approach to things.

“We’ve got a more pressing topic to deal with” nothing to play with there.

What a shame. Mouthing an apology at the squad leader, you could feel the tension surge. The more trivial topics have been already mentioned and moved past. Now it was the time for big guns. For another clash of the titans. 

“Precisely,” Neil jumped at the chance and spoke “The elephant in the room is rather obvious” his eyes scanned the space with a predatory gleam, settling on you, “I mean, look at her… she’s barely staying quiet,” a mocking smirk to compliment the statement.

Presumptuous fuck. Despite the anger reaching a boiling point in your veins, you refused to give him the satisfaction. To show how much it hurt.

“Her?” arching your eyebrow, you met his gaze defiantly “Neil, that’s a low blow. Even for you” a passing flinch on his face giving the power to keep going “But yes, I’d love to know whether you’ve changed your mind regarding some important matters” you addressed the room at large, searching for support.

That concerned look Wheeler shot you was helpful. As was the way TP hunched in the chair, burdened with terrifying possibilities of Neil’s stubbornness. Maybe you won’t have to be alone in this.

“I’m going in,” the blonde man shrugged nonchalantly, staring you down, “The only thing you can do is help us plan how to make it work,”

The strategy was to alienate you. Make it sound like you were the only one protesting against his idiotic plan. Well, not on your watch. Now was the time to put all those sleepless nights to use.

“How to make what work? Your suicide?” you scoffed, taking pleasure in how he frowned at the word, “If you let me speak for once, I’ve got an idea” finishing the lukewarm coffee, you gathered needed strength.

“Go ahead, sunshine,” a sarcastic half-smile, begging to be wiped off his face with a slap.

Maybe another time.

“What if two people went first to take care of the lock?” your voice cut through the tension permeating the room, “You rarely send anyone out without a cover. Because it’s unreasonable. So why this time it should be different?” that was logical.

The most sensible of plans you could come up with. Two on the splinter unit; two to deal with the lock. More likely to find an exit or, simply, survive whatever was waiting by the dead-drop. You also had ideas when it came to who should accompany Neil. But those were best kept a secret.

“Because losing two is worse than one. Even you can do the maths” the unnecessary dig made you roll your eyes.

He was ridiculous. In moments like this, you wished you had never fallen for him. But there was no point in crying over the spilt milk.

“Two have greater chances of survival,” you counterattacked, stating the obvious.

The truth he was so gladly ignoring for his purposes.

“You’ve got a point,” Wheeler chimed in, making you both turn to her.

“Thanks,” you offered the brightest grin you could muster and searched for more backing on the faces of the fellow companions.

Before you could analyse the grave expressions on TP and Ives’s faces, Neil spoke up again:

“You’re also rather emotional…” another insult.

Fuck. It was getting increasingly hard to stay calm. But that was the only thing to do. Another scene before the whole team was certainly not desired. You took a deep breath, fighting to maintain composure.

“Neil, stop” Ives was your saviour of the hour, interrupting with the non-bullshit attitude, “I think this idea is worth going over. It’s not like we’ve got anything better,”

You vowed to send Ives a bouquet of roses if you were still alive after all this. Or better, take him out to a pub. Nothing was settled upon during that meeting. The chaos of you all trying to convince Neil to listen to your arguments was only interrupted with him throwing more offences at you. Apart from emotional, you learned you were also delusional. And a potential loose cannon that was best kept away from making crucial decisions. You debated putting all of those on your CV and asking him to provide the references. After all, Neil was the expert when it came to your skillset. After half hour of barely held-together discussion, Ives told you all to calm down and fuck off for the time being. At least until you could decide on something without jumping to your throats. You doubted that was even possible. You were resolved to drive your plan forward. And so was Neil.

When the meeting was over, you were the first one to leave, hoping to slip out before anyone could stop you. You made it as far as the corridor leading to the bridge when you felt someone grab your arm, making you turn around. Of course. Neil’s steel-blue eyes were staring at you coldly. He was getting ready to attack, and you did not want to let him. Before either of you could break the silence, someone stopped in the corridor, and the familiar voice spoke:

“You two should fuck each other already,” you scowled at Ives’s choice of words, “Or break-up. I don’t care, only don’t do this again” he gave you a long taxing look, with annoyance brewing underneath.

You could not blame him. Only that kind of comment was too much right now. With cheeks burning, you desperately searched for words. Neil found them for you:

“We’re not together” dead simple with a tinge of anger to it.

You took a look at Neil, noticing the frown set on his face. And the fact that he was still holding on to you. Fingers wrapped around your bicep, just enough force to make it seem questionable.

“Could’ve fooled me” the squad leader shrugged and walked off before either of you could react.

Great start. Yanking your arm free, you asked:

“What do you want?” you made sure to make him hear the irritation.

That was against the plan, and you doubted your ability to survive yet another confrontation. From the look in his eyes, you could also guess where this was going.

“I know what you’re doing. All I’ve got to say is don’t,” Neil stared you down, keen on intimidation, “I won’t let it happen” no room for discussion there.

Well, maybe with any other idiot. You knew it would come to it. The moment when you would have to admit that your plan involved going with Neil. And there would be no debate about it. It had to be you. Reasons? Inexplicable.

“Tough luck because I’m not letting you get killed,” you counterattacked, meeting his intense gaze without reluctance, “Or go in there alone,” a pointed emphasis, to show him you meant it.

You felt like you could win this one. Maybe even walk away without the tears in your eyes. Just this once. But then Neil did what he does best – changed the topic.

“If this is about what happened-” he reached out to you again, fingers curling around your wrist.

There we go. You were surprised it took him that long to mention the previous afternoon. His touch and the bruises were hard to forget, but so was the lack of affection in his eyes. As though you were just another hook-up. Someone to seduce, get pleasure from, and then leave without a word of explanation. Nothing more. You deserved better than this. With heart hammering in your chest, you responded:

“Not everything is about you trying to fuck me, Neil,” it was his turn to scowl, as though the words have hurt him.

It was only fair.

“Who said-” his grip on your wrist tightened, drawing you closer.

But that alone was not enough to distract you from the denial he tried to pass as the truth.

“Please,” you gave him a pointed look, “That was a mistake, and it’s best treated like one” swallowing down the discomfort, you let the statement fall between you.

You wanted nothing but to forget about it. Brush it under the carpet. The marks were enough of a punishment for a moment of weakness. Neil seemed to consider something quickly, weighting the options, before he nodded:

“Of course,” the formality had the potential to drive you mad, “I’m glad we seem to agree on something,”

For a second, you contemplated leaving the scene. You knew he would not follow, too caught up in the grudges and apprehensions to stop you from escaping. But you wanted to have the last word. To put to use the ability to see right through his act. Neil was staring at you with eyes narrowed, trying to anticipate the very next move. You were sure to surprise him.

“Think I have figured it out though,” he arched his eyebrow in a silent question “Why you’re so keen on doing something that stupid” his face fell, you took a step forward “It’s that hero complex, hidden under honourable acts and philosophical bullshit” pulling your hand out of his hold, you advanced to intimidate, “You think you’re past redemption. That you don’t deserve it. But you can’t give up until you save everybody else. That’s just who you are” the sheer panic in his eyes was fascinating “Only there’s me. An obstruction” Neil swallowed hard as you laid your hand on his shoulder; nearly there, “And you might not love me, but it still doesn’t mean I can let you do it” you gave him a final sad smile, brushing away a stray hair from his pullover.

Yours, judging by the length and colour. A quirk of fate. You were too busy contemplating the fact to notice a shift in his eyes. Denial. Disbelief. Darkness.

“My god… you’re so stupid” the sharp edge to his voice was dripping with venom, “How can you not see it?” Neil was looking at you as though you were an idiot.

Wow. Fighting the urge to breakdown, you took a deep breath. You should have known he had not had enough of hurting you. Always naïve.

“… thanks,” you chuckled dryly, holding on to the remains of anger in your system, “First ‘emotional and delusional’. Now this… you’re expanding your vocabulary” his silence was deafening, “I wonder what will be next… expletives?” the next statement came from the depths of your heart “It would be much easier to just admit that you hate me, and we could be done with this”

That childlike belief in the existence of love wanted him to say no. To deny that he could ever despise you in any way. But the innocence had to be buried if you were to survive.

“I’ll consider that” the cold calculation in Neil’s eyes was terrifying. It was truly over. Even if your heart felt like it was being ripped out. The edges of your vision were blurring, eyes burning with tears begging to be released. Not yet.

“Fab,” you brushed away the strand that was falling into his eyes, “As a final note… I admit that the worst mistake I have ever made was allowing myself to believe you’re worth it”

It was not exactly the truth. But the tiniest moment of passing shock in his eyes was a good enough response. For a second, Neil was speechless, stunned by your harsh words and the way you caressed his face. One last guilty pleasure.

“I’m glad you’re acknowledging it” his face split in an attempt at a smile.

It was broken. Dishonest. There was something fascinating in him at that very moment. The set jaw, eyes cold as ice; yours, but not at all. The beautiful and damned. Gently, you ran your fingers over his stubble, hoping to memorise his face in every way possible. The intensity of his gaze was beginning to drive you insane, offering eternal suffering if you were to make the smallest mistake. Never again.

“The cruelty looks good on you” you zipped up his pullover in one smooth motion and turned away.

The searing pain in your chest was the needed punchline.

[wallwriterstuff]

Found Family ||Demetri Volturi x Female!Reader||

Part 2 found here: Baby’s First Christmas 

Warnings: Anxiety and panic, mentions of child endangerment 

Words: 7565

Summary: A request for @kpopgirlbtssvt

There are things Demetri never thought he could have, things he had never dreamed would be within his grasp ever again. He has plenty of experience with newborns…just not your kind of newborn. 

He was absolutely perfect. You couldn’t imagine anyone better for you than Jeremy. He had always been the sweet kind, the kind that complimented you when he held doors open and gave you his jacket when you were cold, the kind that paid for one date if you got the next. He was a hit with your parents and your friends. You were just so sure about him, more sure than you’d ever been about any of the other idiots you dated throughout university. That was why you were confident it was going to be okay when you missed your period that month, because this baby was Jeremy’s and he was your perfect match, your partner for life, so wasn’t it time to start living it? You’d told him the same night your first pregnancy test came back positive.

You’d never seen a man pack so fast.

Everything that was his in your shared apartment was gone and with no one to fill the space you had been forced to move home. Moving home meant telling your parents you were pregnant and that your baby daddy had run off into the wind, and that had gone down about as well as sticking a fox in a henhouse would. For the past eleven months it had been constant snubs, snide little remarks and complete overreaction to everything you did from your parents. How were you supposed to learn how to be a mother if your own constantly hovered and took over at the slightest perception something was wrong? Your daughter had been in this world for two months and she had most likely been held by your parents more than she had you. The timing of your friend’s sudden job offer was perfect for you.

She had planned a holiday in one of the more scenic cities of Italy, shutterbug that she was, but the job required her to move across your home city post haste. With her holiday deposit on the line, everything had been transferred into your name and the ticket dropped off at your doorstep. Your parents had done their best to convince you to stay of course.

You’re not ready to go on a holiday alone with her.

What’ll happen when she gets fussy on the plane hmm? You think she won’t? How will you handle all the people looking at you then?

We still help you with night feeds, how are you going to do that on your own?

You ignored every single one of their pleas and got yourself and your daughter out of there. The moment the heat and the sunshine and invaded your senses you knew you had made the right decision. Lyra wasn’t sure what to make of the sunglasses you put on her little face, and more often than not she pulled off the wide brimmed hat on her head, which left you in a very cyclical routine of putting hats and glasses on whenever they came off. There was lots of green space in Volterra, and so many beautiful alleyways hiding quaint little shops to wonder about in. Your spending money was limited but it didn’t mean you didn’t splurge on a few treats. Your favourite place by far though had to be the fountain in the centre of the square.

Though it was often bustling in the daytime, come the evenings it was calmer and quieter, cooler to. Laying back in the crook of your arm, Lyra seemed to find the splashing sounds of water and the way the light reflected off of it absolutely fascinating. If you had had a full day she sometimes napped, but when she was awake her little eyes were wide with wonder and she looked between you and the water a lot, trying to communicate with you exactly what she thought about it. You pandered to her of course, rocking her gently as you had a one-sided conversation about how beautiful Volterra was. If you didn’t have responsibilities back at home you could happily see yourself adapting to this slower pace of life. As it was, this small dose of peace in your newfound haven was all you would get, so you decided to make the most of it.

It was one of your last days in the city when you were approached by her. She was Aphrodite incarnate you were sure, statuesque with flawless skin shrouded in shadow, yet her hair couldn’t hide from the sun. No, it caught the beams and threw them back at the world with a dazzling amount of shine that left you utterly awed as she approached you. She looked down at Lyra, plush lips pulling into a smile and revealing perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Buon pomeriggio, hai bisogno di assistenza?” she asked. Her voice was like honey, sweet and smooth, trickling through your consciousness until all other noise simply faded away. You blinked yourself out of your stupor, your brain scrambling to try and translate what little Italian you had picked up over the past week you had been staying here. You could hazard a guess at the last word, and you knew the greeting well enough, but you weren’t sure about the rest.

“I’m sorry, erm, I don’t know that much Italian, Er…erm… non capisco?” you tried. Her laughter was as sweet as angel song, as feather light on your ears as a lover’s whisper.

“I see. I asked if you need assistance. Are you perhaps waiting for someone?” she questioned. Her accent was thick but oddly out of place, seemingly a mix of many different accents mingled into one. It wasn’t unpleasant to listen to however.

“Oh, no we’re okay thank you.” You smiled up at her, squinting slightly in the harsh sunlight. Her head tilted, glossy waves of caramel falling like satin over her shoulder, one strand slipping over the next in a gorgeous waterfall that left you more mesmerised than even her voice could.

“Then perhaps I might interest you in a tour of Castello Volterra? It’s so hot out here, the ancient stone will keep you cool and give you chance to take many more marvellous pictures.” Her head turned, a silent indicator that your camera had taken her interest. Your cheeks flushed pink – how much more obviously a tourist could you be? Lyra had yet to stir in your arms and you glanced down towards her, biting your lip. She’d been asleep for quite a while now and had been safely in the shade of her hat, but a cooler indoor climate would probably do her some good.

“How much?” you asked, cautious of spending your remaining money. She trilled a laugh.

“I’m looking to make up numbers, some turiste dropped out and I have spaces spare.” She waved you off with ease and, well, who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth? It never occurred to you in that moment that you hadn’t even caught her name or asked for a badge; the woman was enigmatic and honestly you were more than a little enamoured so her name seemed quite irrelevant as you hurried to gather your things and walk after her. You left Lyra’s buggy at the front desk with the secretary, your daughter finally stirring some and grumpily making her displeasure known with quiet half-cries and a pouty lip. The rocking movement as you walked and the strange décor of the place was slowly drawing her attention, your hand patting her back while your free one held your camera aloft.

When you had been told you were going to tour a castle you had expected more opulent decoration, tapestries and chandeliers, maybe some plush carpets. At first you had seen what you expected, a grand library decorated in deep reds and blacks with a stain in varnished wooden flooring that came with a ghostly story of blood spilled within medieval walls. You were thrilled, your eyes magnetised to your tour guide as much as they were too any painting or gilded book cover. It wasn’t until Lyra began to fuss and take up more of your attention that you started to notice how…odd, the place felt. The stone walls did little to keep heat in and compared to the outside the castle itself was freezing. Lyra had nestled into her shawl, sharing body heat with you, but you were starting to feel goosebumps pebble your flesh now.

It was not just cold but dark too. Very little natural light entered the castle’s rooms, and on the odd occasion you found a square patch of sunlight streaming through admittedly pretty windows, your tour guide avoided it with effortless grace. The further into the castle you went, the colder, darker and less extravagant it got. Bare stone walls were embellished with little decoration and the warmth in your guide’s voice was now gone, her pace hurried and heels clacking off the stone as though she was impatient to get you to the end of this tour for some reason. You struggled to keep up and quickly fell behind, Lyra’s fussing growing worse as she too started to feel the chill in the air and odd atmosphere. Her wriggling grew more intense and you had to lower your camera to tighten your grip on your daughter, hushing her gently when she began to snuffle, huffing breaths through her nose.

They were signals you knew well. With the nappy bag over your shoulder, you slowed your pace and started to rummage through the contents of the large satchel, producing a cloth for Lyra and settling it beneath her chin as you pulled her upright somewhat, pausing in the corridor to readjust your grip on her lest you drop her. A soft cry escaped her, face scrunching in the build up to something louder when you felt the ominous presence behind you. Turning around you were face to face with a man at least a head taller than you were, dressed entirely in black with dark dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. He radiated something dangerous, made every instinct in your body scream at you to turn and leave him be. Lyra seemingly sensed it to, letting out a wail on demand. In the brief moment where you turned your head to look at her you swore a flash of dark red, the same kind of colour as wine, caught your eye. It wouldn’t have been so strange to you if that flash of wine hadn’t appeared quite high up, at eye level, say.

Lyra was far more important though, her cries cutting off into a gurgle as she spit up just as you had expected her to. The warm vomit splashed onto the cloth, dribbling down as you scrambled to catch it and wipe her mouth. Her screaming grew louder at that, the horrible smell of bile and acid reaching your nose and making it scrunch.

“Keep moving.” The man’s voice was deep. It rumbled in his chest and shook you to your core.

“Is there a bathroom up ahead? Somewhere I can clean her up?” you asked.

“Keep moving.” He repeated, closing in on you with slow, deliberate steps that set your nerves jangling. Holding Lyra closer to your chest you clasped the back of her head tenderly, bouncing and rocking her to try get her to calm. Your daughter was here in your arms, unsettled and in need of your comfort. You had to be calm for her, even if your heart was racing in your chest.

“I need to see to my daughter.” Your voice was firm and left little room to argue, but he didn’t stop moving towards you. Heart leaping into your throat you took a step back, shaking your head and struggling to calm Lyra as you tried to remain firm and not give anymore ground. Your heart raced, a hot flush overcoming you as anxiety made itself present in a sudden, nauseous wave. Why wasn’t he stopping? Why wouldn’t he listen? Couldn’t he see your daughter needed your care? See he was scaring you?

“Keep moving and you can see to her then.” His voice wasn’t comforting in any way and it was difficult to believe a man so intense. He was twice your size and built well, very capable of man-handling you if he so chose to. You had tried to avoid looking, tried to play it off as a trick of the light, but when you looked into his eyes it was plain as day that you had been correct. His irises were the colour of rich red wine, and to your astonishment they only seemed to darken as they stared back into yours with such intensity your thundering heart was all you could hear for a moment. There was no ring around the colourful part of his eye. Nothing indicated that he was wearing contact lenses, but he couldn’t have had red eyes could he? It wasn’t possible…

“I think I better leave. Where’s the exit?” you asked shakily. Something was wrong here, wrong wrong wrong. The corridor was long, not a single door in sight. You could navigate the hallways again right? There had to be an exit somewhere close. Lyra was only growing more unsettled, screaming now at the top of her lungs. People were whispering behind you and the man was growing ever more annoyed, shooting your daughter a disgusted glare as if she had physically offended him with the noise. You instinctively held her as close to you as possible, turning slightly to shield her from him.

“Keep. Moving.” He ground out.

“My daughter isn’t well, we just need to leave! There has to be an exit near here!” you snapped. It was more fear than anything else that had made you snap, desperation more so than anger, but the man seemed to take it as such. He seemed to inflate somehow, shoulders squaring and lips pulling back over his teeth as he stalked ever closer when a pale hand intervened, gripping his arm. Given the way the man flinched, you guessed the newcomers grip was hard. Head snapping to the left, you turned to try and convince our saviour to help you, only to freeze at the sight of apple red eyes. They were the same red eyes, just different shades. He inhaled sharply as he locked eyes with you, his expression somewhat distant for a minute as you tried to make sense of the sudden and inexplicable relief. It was small, barely made a dent in your anxiety in the grand scheme of things, but it lessened some of your nauseous gut feeling to simply lay eyes on this man even if he was clearly a part of this strange tour company.  

“Is the little one alright?” he asked. His voice was smooth and rich, the deep bass reverberating through your head. He had the kind of voice you could listen to all day, the kind you could envision being good for audiobooks. Lyra was still screaming in your arms, her wailing echoing back to you off the walls. You bounced her again, rocking her side to side with a shake of your head.

“No, no I need to take her back to the hotel, please, tell me where I can find the exit?” you were almost pleading with him at this point. He nodded slowly, his gaze strangely intense, unwavering and unblinking. On one hand you didn’t mind it; you liked the way he looked at you actually, with a hint of wonder and trepidation, as if you were the thing in the room to marvel at and the expensive paintings on the wall weren’t worthy of a second glance. Given the general atmosphere of unease that you had picked up on now however, his stare also left you feeling minorly uncomfortable. He held a hand out towards you, his arm open and separating you from the man with the dreadlocks.

“Allow me to escort you to a quieter room so you might tend to her needs.” He said. You swallowed thickly, itching to agree despite barely knowing him or his intentions towards you and Lyra. It felt safe, like his waiting embrace was something you could depend on. Getting you away from the strange man had to be your new priority, but could you really trust a stranger?

“Demetri, what are you doing?” your tour guide was back, her musical voice distracting you somewhat from the beautiful man before you. He was made with the finest of nature’s ingredients you were sure, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could have cut steel. His hair was the most beautiful shade of chestnut brown, his stature tall and lean, posture exuding confidence and grace. His smile was dazzlingly white and so very comforting as he ever so gently guided you towards him.

“Escorting the young lady to a room where she might see to her daughter. I will join you momentarily for the…conclusion, of the tour.” He seemed to choose his words carefully and despite how much more on edge that made you, you still stepped into him with a nod. Your eyes were drawn back to your tour guide again, unable to stray too long as her gaze turned somewhat dangerous.

“The child will be cared for as always.” Her voice was like wind chimes and you unknowingly leaned closer to hear it. The man, Demetri, immediately pulled you back and began to lead you down the hall.

“Indeed, by her mother.” He spoke as though she was still stood right beside him, yet you were sure she shouldn’t have heard anything given she was already four steps behind you both. His pace was quick, only slowing when he realised you were struggling to keep up. You could see the way his jaw clenched as Lyra screamed and you tried to shush her again, swallowing past the lump in your throat as your clawed fingers held tight to your baby.

“Where are we going? Surely there’s a bathroom or something near-“

“Somewhere we will not be disturbed, can you soothe her?” he asked, looking at your daughter with a grimace. You stumbled over your own feet a little.

“I – I’m trying.” Your stammered. He gave a terse little nod, eyes flitting about as he led you down a maze of corridors. By the time you emerged at the top of a flight of stairs you had no clue what way was up and what way was down. Perhaps that was what he had intended. Demetri quickly pushed his way past a heavy looking door made of dark, expensive looking wood; surprise flooded you, and it melted into horror as quickly as it came. A bed, you were looking at an extravagant, four poster bed, a room with a desk and a bookcase and a fireplace. This was a bedroom. Why would he bring you to a bedroom? Was it his? You shouldn’t have followed him. Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined all the horrible ways this once nice trip could turn out, and when Demetri caught sight of them he quickly shut the door with the most pained expression you’d ever seen on a man.

“I mean you no harm, truly, but there are things I am not at liberty to explain right now that you cannot conceive of. Use whatever you require from my bathroom to tend to your daughter but do not leave this room. I beg of you.” The urgency in his voice shook you to the core and your tears spiled over. His room? Why was it so imperative you not leave? What was wrong with this place that it was so dangerous to you you couldn’t leave this strange man’s room? His finger was as cold as marble and just as hard when he wiped the wetness from beneath your eye. You recoiled with a soft whimper.

“Please, just let me-“

“Stay, here. Please tesoro…Per il mio bene.” His finger delicately trailed your jawline before he was gone, the door closed behind him. It was like you had blinked and missed him. Lyra was quieting a little in your arms, though still crying she seemingly had run out of energy, not bawling anymore. You slowly sank to your knees, fresh tears springing to your eyes. You had doomed you both. What kind of irresponsible mother followed a strange man to his bedroom? Rocking back and forth, you shakily stroked the soft tufts of hair on her head, trembling and praying to a God you hadn’t really believed in before now that somehow, you would be okay.

With a quiet sniffle, you wiped your eyes hastily with your hand. Your daughter needed you to be strong right now, so even as you crumbled inside you pushed to your feet and paced towards the large bed, setting the pillows up in such a way Lyra would be securely confined away from the edges of the mattress. With quick, practiced movements, you cleaned her face with a baby wipe and changed her pretty little dress into a loose top and shorts combo, one you had packed for occasions just like this. Lyra wriggled, not enjoying the changing procedure and reaching for you. Maybe she was just as perturbed by the situation to, wanting your embrace, your comfort.

“It’s okay, we’re going to be okay, we’ll be alright baby.” You whispered shakily. You could make no such promise. Time seemed to drag by slowly, seconds feeling like eternity dripping by through the thin neck of an hourglass. Lyra had calmed after a few minutes of you rubbing her tummy, now enjoying the feel of the soft sheets maybe and being in fresh clothes, and her big eyes watched you as you paced beside the bed. It took a long time for you to pause, your mind coming to the shocking and horrific realisation that just because this Demetri fellow had told you not to leave, it didn’t mean you couldn’t.

Dashing to the door, you pushed down on the handle. Relief swept through you when it went all the way, the door clicking open, and with a soft gasp you raced back to the bed to collect your daughter. Her bag was of little consequence, though your purse and phone were so you pocketed these as you picked her up, cursing your old school phone and it’s poor battery life. With Lyra swaddled to your chest again in her shawl, lips smacking and a serious little frown on her face, you turned back towards the door only to find it closing behind the one man you didn’t want to see.

Your heart sank.

“You stayed.” He sounded surprised.

I didn’t mean to you thought hopelessly. Shaky hands came up to hold your baby girl again, Lyra sensing your obvious anxiety and beginning to shift again restlessly. She tried to turn her head, find the source of the noise, but you wouldn’t let her. Whatever he was about to do to her, you silently vowed your daughter wouldn’t see. You would suffer in silence, your lips pressed together in a firm line and your will caging your voice if only so Lyra wouldn’t suffer with you. Demetri held his hands up in front of him but the gesture was meaningless and empty – his eyes were now a vivid ruby red. The brightness of his irises frightened you. Deep down, you doubted he had simply gotten his irises retattooed in the time since he’d separated from you.

“I did, I did everything you asked, now please let us go.” You tried to keep your voice steady but the slightest warble gave away your fear. Demetri’s expression twisted into regret, an ugly expression his godly face somehow made it impossible to look away from, like you were the one who needed to comfort him, as though he was the one suffering and you weren’t.  

“Next time you ask me something please, try to make it something it is within my power to do.” He said softly. Tears welled in your eyes, one spilling down your cheek.

“Okay,” you swallowed, “Then whatever you can do, are going to do, please don’t make my daughter watch. She’s so young, please-“you choked, cutting yourself off with a sharp inhale as you tried desperately to hold in the sob building in your throat. Lyra let out a noise of discontent and you immediately loosened your grip. Demetri shook his head.

“Nothing is going to happen to you tesoro. My oath was true, I mean you no harm,” he promised, pausing slightly as his eyes flitted to Lyra, “Neither of you…how old is she?” his question caught you off-guard. It was such a mundane thing to ask, given he’d more or less kidnapped you from a tour group to steal you away to his bedroom it seemed out of place almost in the conversation. You swallowed.

“That’s of no concern to you!” you snapped, turning to shield Lyra from his view some. He winced slightly, stepping closer to you.

“Will you let me explain?” he questioned, “The things I wish to tell you, need you to know, are not easy to digest, but perhaps if you know them you might yet change your opinion of me.” He ventured. His voice was casual, as though he was discussing the weather with you and was not trying to beguile you into trusting him. In truth, part of you already did, and that part had made you lean towards him ever so slightly, your ears so focused on the sound of his voice your eyes hadn’t noticed how close he was until he was mere feet away. You backed up immediately, scolding yourself for being distracted by the honeyed words of a pretty man; last time that had happened you had ended up pregnant in your childhood bedroom while your parents lectured you about condoms for three hours.

“And why would my opinion matter to you?” you demanded, cringing when your back hit stone. A window to your right gave you a beautiful view of a garden, a garden with high walls and vibrant flowers and…a disco ball? No…no wait that was…a man? You were sure the outline of a man was quite literally glowing in the sunlight, his skin reflecting the warm rays and turning them into the most beautiful diamonds that scattered along the wall he stood by. As if he sensed your eyes the bulky figure turned his head, and though his features were too far away for you to make them out you were certain he was looking at you.

“There are things in this world you dismiss as fictious but should know are very much real, tesoro.” Demetri’s voice was soft by your ear and you jumped violently, whirling around to face him. His skin did the very same thing. He stood before you, an Adonis carved straight from marble that shone bright in pure light, his room lit up by rainbows that bounced off of the prism of his skin. You reached your hand out without thinking, pure instinct driving you to both fear and question this beautiful man. When your thumb came back glitter free, your stomach churned in silent horror. There was no make up, no illusion of any sort you could see or imagine, so how was it possible he could literally shine?

“What are you?” you whispered. Demetri’s eyes never left yours, his gaze soft and somewhat sad, as if he already knew you wouldn’t like the answer.

“Vampire.” His reply was simple, yet it set off a chain reaction in your head. Every instinct that had screamed at you to run before was now screaming that it had been right and you should run again, but your rational mind scoffed and forced those feelings down even as you tried to put more distance between you both. Vampires weren’t real, and so far he had kept true to his word. Demetri had yet to hurt you, though he seemed plenty ready to lie to your face.

“They aren’t real.” You denied.

“Because my coven made you believe so,” Demetri countered, following you with slow, cautious steps, “Look at me. What man do you know of that has skin like mine? What man has these eyes? Your body knows Tesoro, it’s been telling you all along that I am wrong, has tried warning you that there are differences between us your brain cannot put a name to.”

“Stay away from us!” you warned. He froze in place, letting you put as much distance as you could between you both. With your back to the wall you stared him down, afraid to move for fear he would to. Within a blink he was in front of you, and you were falling to your knees, like he had almost anticipated your obvious collapsed. With the way your knees were knocking together it shouldn’t have been surprising really. He had moved so fast and with such startling efficiency you were left completely in awe of the smooth series of actions that led him to catch not only you, but Lyra as well. She squealed in delight, the first time you’d ever heard her make such a noise, while you could only stare with wide eyes at the man who had yet to take his arm from around your waist. He was busy watching Lyra with his own wide eyes.

“Take her,” he whispered, giving you a little nudge to get you upright, “Take her now, please, before I drop her!” he insisted. You hurriedly made a cradle and accepted your daughter back into your embrace, somewhat spellbound. Demetri had moved faster than any human could, had horrifically red eyes and skin that literally glowed…yet a baby had undone him? There was literal panic written all over his face the minute his arm had curled around your daughter and he looked quite relieved you had her now. You could only stare at him as he carefully guided you back towards the bed. Once Lyra was settled back between the pillows again you sat and listened to every tale he wished to tell you, your mind spinning.

He spoke of where he had come from and how he came to be, your mind reeling as he told you of a far off, sunny land where the Gods had ruled his life before he was given life anew. He spoke of Aro and Marcus and Caius, and the war with Romanians that had ended the slavery of your kind and sparked the dawn of an era of secrecy. He chuckled as you tentatively listed off myth after myth, taking great delight in your obvious amusement that he had been the one to circulate the rumour vampires were weakened by garlic simply because he didn’t like the way it smelled. As impossible as it all seemed, you believed him. Demetri had maintained a respectable distance from you at all times, looking more relaxed and at ease the longer you spoke. Not a toe out of line.

The cadence of his voice had lulled Lyra to sleep, your own nerves soothed by the rhythmic rise and fall as he told his stories with the kind of expertise only extensive practice could bring. The wonder couldn’t last however, not when you remembered there were other people beyond the door to his room.

“Our tour guide…” you trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. Demetri looked regretful.

“Less a tour guide and more a fisherwoman. Heidi is like me, as is the man who dared try to confront you in the corridor.” His eyes narrowed a bit, the memory clearly unpleasant to him. You swallowed, your heart skittering in your chest.

“A fisherwoman?” you questioned, your voice weak. Demetri observed you carefully, looking reluctant to speak now. You were by no means stupid; you had a fairly good idea what he had meant but you wanted to hear him say it. He seemed impossibly perfect and as silly as it sounded, hearing him admitting to this one great flaw might actually soothe some of your own insecurities you were struggling with by just being near him. You were still losing a baby fat after all and the stretch marks…well your skin was not as unblemished as his.

“I think you know.” He said finally. You exhaled in a rush, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt so tightly your knuckles turned white.

“She’s not even a year old,” you whispered, “My daughter isn’t even a year old, and you were going to…she brought us here to…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, squeezing your eyes closed as you thought of the rest of the people in your tour group and the fate they must have endured. There was an elderly couple, Americans you thought, talking of how their history loving granddaughter would adore the pictures they were taking about the place. A young couple of Indian origin you guessed who were speaking their native tongue as they walked arm in arm, their gazes adoring as they stared at each other, a honeymoon couple perhaps whispering sweet nothings and fantasising about the life they were embarking on together.

“We would not have laid a hand on her,” Demetri swore, his voice somewhat cross, “We are not monsters, tesoro. Your child would have been taken to the authorities and given a good home.”

“Without me. You would have killed me and let my daughter grow up, without me.” Your voice was rising in pitch now and you pushed to your feet as the hysteria began to rise once more. Demetri shook his head.

“I would have done no such thing!” he snapped, losing his temper with you for the first time since you’d met. You took a hesitant step backward, afraid now you knew what he could really do but reluctant to leave him so near Lyra. Lyra…so small and vulnerable and still utterly asleep. He took a breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Why not? Why would you save us?” you couldn’t wrap your head around it. Your tour group had met a grisly end so why hadn’t you? Why had you been spared this fate? Why did he favour you? Demetri looked saddened again, his entire expression crestfallen, like a puppy who’d been scolded for being too close to the Christmas tree.

“I had hoped you would feel it, that you would know, at least on some superficial level.” He seemed to be speaking to himself, distracted by watching Lyra’s chest rise and fall as her mouth moved, eyelids fluttering. It was your favourite expression on her, the one she wore when she dreamed. For a moment Demetri looked wistful, as though he was watching something he desperately wanted but was out of his reach from a distance too great to cross.

“Feel what?” you groaned, your exasperation now obvious. It was difficult to be afraid now he’d told you everything. It didn’t make sense for him to spare you just to kill you now, especially not now he’d divulged what you guessed was a great secret to you. What exactly did he expect you to feel that you hadn’t already? The whole afternoon had been a roller coaster that left you thoroughly exhausted; fear, anxiety, awe, disbelief, scepticism and more had all been prevalent in your heart today and you weren’t sure how much more it could take.

“The mate pull,” Demetri said finally, tearing his eyes away from Lyra to look up at you, “My kind, we feel so much more deeply than humans do. Some people appeal to us so much it sets a bond. Fate has a hand to play in this to of course, making a pair so compatible that neither can deny the other was made for them.” You stomach dropped, mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. Without thinking your hand whipped up to slap him, your hand almost breaking on impact with his cheek. His head barely moved, though he did blink a bit in shock, something you had yet to see him do despite the time you spent together. The sharp sound woke Lyra up and she let out an abrupt, piercing cry, startled and upset while you hopped up to shake your hand out with a curse.

Demetri looked absolutely flabbergasted, his head turning between you and your daughter as if trying to figure out which one of you to approach first. His hand reached for Lyra, his lips protruding in the perfect pout as he tried to shush her.

“Keep your hands off of her you pervert!” you cried, hurrying forward to scoop her up and taking a few steps back from him. There was no fear anymore, just pure rage. It boiled in your veins and curdled in your stomach, the intense disgust you felt towards him unparalleled by anything else.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me! I don’t care what you are or what your world’s rules are but in mine, you keep your ancient ass hands off of my infant daughter!” you warned. Demetri paused, his eyes widening slightly before he recoiled from you with an obvious shudder.

“You think I – no! Gods no tesoro! Your daughter is not – I do not – it was you! I meant you!” he hurried to amend himself as your glare grew more vicious, and the simple confession made your mind fritz. There was nothing for a moment, a blissful few seconds of pure silence in your head, no frantic thoughts or feelings, just pure nothingness as you tried to comprehend what this gorgeous stranger was telling you.

“You…what?”

“I meant you, tesoro. The moment I laid eyes on you I was sure…do you truly not feel it?” Demetri asked, hesitantly stepping closer. You let him this time, swallowing thickly.

“What should I be feeling? Beyond confusion, there’s…there’s a lot of confusion.” You mumbled, cheeks flushing in embarrassment. His lips pulled into the slightest smile, but it quickly disappeared when Lyra let out another piercing cry. Neither of you had seen to her yet and you quickly set to work making sure she could see and hear you as you rocked her, patting her bottom as you swayed side to side. As she began to quieten down once more, looking confused and tired and grumpy with you for the long day you had turned out to be having, Demetri very hesitantly moved closer to you both again.

“Perhaps you feel curiosity, a desire to know me better. You may feel something when I am close to you, that tries to keep you near to me. There are many things you might feel, I could not possibly guess all of them as we all react differently to the mate pull, but I know I feel it quite acutely when I look at you.” He confessed freely, his eyes fixed on Lyra’s head. He lifted his hand, pausing to look at you for permission as his fingers neared her head. You glanced between them, finding Lyra looking at him with big eyes, no doubt confused as to why his eyes were a vivid shade of red while yours were a bright Y/E/C. If Demetri had proven anything to you so far it was that he really meant to uphold his oath, he wasn’t going to hurt either of you.

When you nodded, he ever so gently began to stroke her hair like he was touching the most precious and delicate of diamonds. Maybe it was this so-called mate pull, maybe it wasn’t, but your heart almost burst in that moment as you watched him share such a tender moment with Lyra, a moment her own father couldn’t even be bothered with. He looked absolutely enraptured with her, murmuring soft things in Italian you couldn’t hope to understand with the faintest wisp of a smile.

“Would you like to hold her?” you asked. The thought had escaped your mouth before you could fully process it and it made Demetri pause, his expression twisting quickly into concern.

“I better not, I fear I might hurt her.” he frowned. Lyra’s lips smacked, a slight huff escaping her – she clearly didn’t enjoy not holding his attention.

“I think she might hurt you if you don’t. It’s easy, I’ll show you.” You encouraged. Demetri was still shaking his head when you expertly jostled your daughter in one crooked arm and used the other to start moving his.

“Tesoro I think that I shouldn’t-“

“So long as you remember to support her head it’ll be okay, she’s only two months old, the support is key for her right now.” You explained, already handing him Lyra. There was no hesitation there, not anymore, you knew he wouldn’t hurt either of you. Demetri let out a small, panicked huff as he tried to settle his arms somewhat, relax into letting Lyra fit there. She looked thoroughly perplexed for a moment as he did his best to adjust his grip, head turning to you as if to say ‘what’s with this amateur Mom?’ before she lifted a tiny hand to place it against his chest, snuggling down into the cradle of his arm.

“Is this okay?” he asked. You nodded, unable to fight back your smile. He was adorably flustered, something you were surprised the suave vampire could be. All wide-eyed with awe you had to wonder if this was the first time he’d ever held a baby before. He stood still as stone, afraid to jostle her it seemed as they had an intense stare off. Lyra was the first to break it, a wide yawn splitting her face as her blinks grew longer. You watched her fall right asleep in his arms, slowly perching yourself on the edge of his bed to contemplate everything this meant. Demetri was a vampire, something out of your wildest imaginings, maybe a nightmare even. He had been going to feed on your tour group, on . He had been going to feed on your tour group, on you, but some supposed bond between you had made him save your life instead. Now, he held your daughter like she was precious gold in his hands, whispering sweet nothings to her in a language you couldn’t understand with eyes as doting as any father’s should be.

Did he already see himself that way? The thought made you mildly uncomfortable. He had a lot to prove to you before you’d even consider giving him the title of boyfriend, never mind father. It clicked suddenly, the realisation that your heart had already decided and was waiting for your brain too catch up. Demetri had captured your attention in more ways than one and his world sounded…fascinating.

“What if you stop feeling this pull? Are we in danger then?” you asked finally. Demetri seemed to struggle to tear his eyes from Lyra for a moment, but when his eyes met your’s they were flooded with sincerity.

“Vampires mate for life tesoro…even if I wished to fall for another in the midst of an argument perhaps, I physically no longer have the capacity to. It is you and only you who was made for me.” He vowed, moving at a snail’s pace to carefully sit himself beside you.

“We’re a bit of a package deal.” You pointed out. Demetri nodded.

“It was not expected, that I might find my mate with a child, but I confess I find myself in awe of her. Two months, did you say?” he questioned, glancing briefly at you. You nodded.

“Yeah, yeah two months old.”

“So she will not stay this small for much longer?” he sounded almost sad and you giggled slightly.

“Believe me, the sooner she sleeps through the better.” You lifted your hand to gently run a fingertip down her cheek.

“If you stayed I have no need for sleep, I could see to her in the night with some guidance, but I know I cannot ask that of you.” He sighed. You swallowed, the nerves fluttering in your gut. He was already asking you to move in with him? You wanted to see a red flag but you couldn’t. Demetri clearly wanted to look after you both. Why shouldn’t you let him?

“My parents would go mad.” You agreed hesitantly. Demetri chuckled.

“I shall have to win them over then. A child complicates matters, buys us more time to figure out exactly how we might proceed. She is a blessing, tesoro.” He promised you. Your brows pulled low together.

“What does Tesoro mean?” you asked.

“Ah, it means darling…I may have neglected to get your name.” he admitted bashfully. Your eyes widened, mind replaying all the time you’d spent with him that afternoon. He wasn’t wrong, you hadn’t introduced yourself once.  

“It’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. That there, is little miss Lyra.” You told him. Demetri sighed.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful pair…her father must be missing her, no?” he was clearly hesitant to ask and you didn’t blame him. You couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to just…walk into someone’s life, knowing they were made for you and find they already had a child that wasn’t yours. Come to think of it could vampires even have children? You had so much to learn…

“He left the minute he found out I was pregnant…you’ve spent more time with her than he ever has.” You informed him, the bitterness in your voice obvious. Demetri looked upset by that but you didn’t question or comment on it. With slow, careful movements, he gently began to rock her. You doubted he would relinquish her to your grasp anytime soon.

“He is a fool…but I’m not.” He whispered. You smiled slightly, a strange warmth filling your gut. Who’d have thought you’d find your very own Prince Charming while touring a castle?

[eleanore-delphinium]

The Demon’s Head

Damian Al Ghul for a moment was a hero. And in that time that he was a hero, naturally he would meet other heroes.

That was how he met her.

His Raven.

He would describe her as a very graceful woman. She was quiet, kind, generous and lovely. Despite her name sounding as if it should belong to a lonely person or an unkind being, she was none of these. But her name did befit her origins. In the sense that she is the daughter of a being synonymous to satan; and of intergalactic alien origin, the conqueror of worlds. Therefore, the name Raven as ominous as it was, befit her well, and yet also-- not so well.

But that was the thing, he was only a hero for only a moment. That moment was all that mattered, since—after all, that was how he met her. As she continued on her heroic path, he returned to what he knew to be right as a child, the path of darkness.

He took upon himself, the name Al Ghul, a name synonymous to a demon, and he used it well. And thus, Damian Al Ghul was reborn anew, he became the Demon’s Head. The name became associated to a cruel, cruel man. But he changed the ways of his organization, and tread very, very strictly on a grey line. And in doing so, he keeps his Raven. And remember it well and do not forget, he only stays on that grey line to keep her by his side.

And if anything were to happen to his beloved Raven, he will cross to the darkness before one could even blink his own eyes, and will burn everything and anything in his path with his bare hands.

So, make no mistake by taking his Raven away or you will live a life even more painful than death. For Damian Al Ghul has a league of assassin as his army, who are extremely loyal to him. And him alone.

Killing for him was as easy as dropping a needle on a hay stack.

Damian Al Ghul, the leader of the league of assassins, stood inside his throne room made of beautiful marble in ivory and gold. The sun high up in the sky, its light entering the space so blindingly. The sunlight weaves through the pillars and mashrabiya* leaving beautiful intricate patterns on the marble floors. The sunlight helped give an illusion of brightness and happiness and warmth to the chamber.

Damian was facing his throne, his back against the door as he read the papers he was holding with his right hand. His left hand resting against his back, atop his green cape. He was wearing his black with gold uniform and armor with a green cape in contrast to the almost white room. And with his cold facial expression one would be reminded, that all the sunlight was giving after all, was just an illusion of warmth.

Damian Al Ghul was not kind at all. But of course, there is an exception to the rule.

The door suddenly opened with a burst and a loud bang, and Damian’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. He had strictly told them that he shouldn’t be disturbed unless necessary. He coaxed himself thinking that it had to be an emergency. With narrowed eyes he tilts his head a bit to the left to acknowledge the presence of the intruder.

“My Lord!” A man in an all-black suit says hurriedly as he kneels on the floor with a thud. His left leg against the floor while the other propped up to let his right arm rest on top. His head bent toward the floor.

“What is it that you have to report?” His enunciation of every word unhurried and heavy. Damian could hear the gulp from his poor frightened little underling. Even if said underling was twenty meters away.

“It’s—it’s the Lady.” The poor man could barely say. And even though the sun was high up in the sky, and that it’s light shone brightly in the room, making the chamber look as if it was glittering, it became cold. So cold, that both people seemed frozen in place, but the poor underling was the one fighting his shivers.

“What about the Lady?” Damian asked a little too clearly, that the poor subordinate could only kneel on both knees, bend his body and rested his forehead against his hands that was now on the floor. At this point, Damian turned slowly, as his green eyes landed on the man in black.

“What about the Lady?” He repeated even more slowly than the last. And Damian saw his assassin shiver in fear.

“She-she has been missing for a few days, and we searched for her—but—but—she is nowhere to be found.” He reported as calmly as he could. The subordinate thought the room couldn’t possibly get any colder than it already was, but he was wrong. The moment he finished his report, he was kneeling there in pure horror, he was sure he will die today.

“It seems that my league of assassin who are supposed to be like a shadow, cannot protect their lady in the shadow.” It was spoken slowly that it was certain: that this was the calm before the storm. “It seems that my league of assassins lack training.” He concluded.

“You cannot even track down your lost lady, why do I even keep any of you!” Damian’s voice echoed through the chambers; his fury clear. And yet, anyone who knew their lord, would know that was not the full extent of his anger.

No, it really wasn’t.

“Lady Shiva!” He summoned and instantly a woman with black hair up to her neck in red appeared beside the kneeling assassin.

“It seems that you have been lax in training the league.” He tells her and as she bends her torso to bow. Before she could start with her apologies, he continued on. “Prepare the top ten men in the league, and have them follow me. We will look for the lady.” He started walking down his throne.

“No, in fact, I will be looking for her. And if you so choose to have people follow me then so be it.” He said when his eyes landed on Lady Shiva as he approached them, the assassin up on his feet, his head bent low as to be respectful to their Lord.

“When I find Raven, I hope my league’s errors would be corrected. But that would be wishful thinking, won’t it, Lady Shiva? I will personally see to their training when I return.” Lady Shiva and the assassin gave way to their Lord.

“Of course, my Lord.” She mutters as he completely disappears.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Damian held a woman in blood stained and dirt-filled white robes on his arms. Her face had cuts and bruises and she looked so weak and small against his shoulder. When he looks down at her injured face, there was a softness in his glance. A gentleness unbefitting of the Demon’s Head.

But as gentle as he was as he held her, the scene behind him was not. Orange flames flickered as he walks out from the heat and the building calmly.

“I want anyone who is even remotely related to this tracked down, and I want them tortured.” He said so calmly as he held the woman he loves in his arms. His gentle glance has become cold as he looks at his subordinates in front of him. The crunch of green grass under his feet as he continued on into the night that was illuminated by the orange flames behind him.

“If done well enough, then maybe I won’t be so strict when I train you all. Prove that you all aren’t so useless after all.” His tone stone cold.

The gentleness from before must have been an illusion. Because this was the Damian Al Ghul, they all love, respected and oh-so-feared.

“Of course, my Lord.” One replied with a bow.

“No.” They pause as they wait for Damian’s final instructions. “Keep the master mind alone, I would love to capture and torture them myself.” And the shadows that was surrounding him disappeared. Raven stirred in his arms, against his chest.

“Damian?” She called out weakly. And he stood frozen as he took a peek eagerly at the woman in his arms. “They didn’t know.” She mumbles and he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes on her. She means that it wasn’t the Justice League’s fault.

“They didn’t know it was going to be a trap.” She tried to keep her head a float.

“And look at the price you had to pay.” He said bitterly as he sneered a little and continued walking to the jet.

“I—” She couldn’t even say anything to defend the Justice League, because she felt the turmoil in Damian. How could she defend the Justice League knowing what he was feeling?

“I didn’t mind that you wanted to continue being a hero. I would not take that from you.” He sets her down inside the jet. “And I know that you know this to be true, I only stay in between good and bad for you. If you are taken out of the equation, I have no qualms in being the Demon’s Head, in its truest sense. But you choose to love me, despite of who I am. And I will not have any one harm you. Less others think that the Demon’s head is weak.”

“You are not a bad person, my love.” She replied, as she cups his cheek. He closes his eye and places a hand over hers. He opens his eyes and meets her violets irises.

“But I can be, if I am without you.” He whispered so gently as his forehead laid against hers. The words completely true. They stay like that for a minute in silence, and he pulls away.

“You shall stay in Nanda Parbat as you recuperate. I will inform the Justice League.”  He stares at her sternly but she does not refuse him and he turns away from her.

The Justice League has been quite cautious about Raven. They knew of her relationship with the leader of the League of Assassins. And what the risk of putting her in imminent danger would mean considering Damian’s nature. Therefore, Raven was treated as if she was glass and yet, also fire.

“I begged them to give me the mission.” She said softly, she took note of Damian’s body twitching but she had to continue on. “After you left, and made a name for yourself as the new Demon’s Head, they were uncertain of where my loyalties lie.” She found it difficult to talk due to her injuries, but she had enough strength to heal herself a bit, to keep herself conscious and stop internal bleeding. And so Raven did, as she continued on.

“And then you made a point to show that you were not like your predecessor. And yet, you also made it clear you could be far worst. And I, your beloved, was someone who they could not risk in the forefront anymore.” She moved in her seat, as she felt her insides return back to how it should be. “I just wanted to do one more mission, where I wasn’t treated like a bomb, and after that, I will be done.”

He turned to look at her with a shocked expression. Her voice was calm as her face was gentle. Despite her battered appearance, she looked like a saint to him. The words he couldn’t seem to say aloud, she felt, and she responded as she closed her eyes.

“Yes, I was going to leave the Titans, and be with you. Commit fully to you.” Her voice was soft but his thoughts were a mess. And it was clear to Raven, all of his thoughts, as if they were all written on the air for her to read.

“The Justice League thought it was a harmless mission; therefore, they could let me go. It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, nothing more. But we were ambushed, and I was captured.” She sighs and opens her eyes to look up at Damian. The water in his eyes finally gave way as he blinked when their met, and she inhaled a breath.

“You could have died.” He said it lightly, that Raven’s heart started beating fast in her ears. His cold eyes that had never been directed at her, has finally landed on her. “You could have died, if I was just a minute too late.” And like his eyes that could no longer contain his tears. Raven could not ignore his emotions. And she broke into a sob, as she covered her lips with her fingers. He knelt beside her, as he put a hand on her cheek.

And his face was not cold nor was it warm. The eyes she had seen him use with his fellow assassins had disappeared. She didn’t expect that the day he would look at her, the way he did his subordinates, would happen.

“Are you crying for me?” He whispered and she sniffed as she looks at him. But still, even if his cold stare was frightening. She could never be afraid of Damian Al Ghul, even if he was an Al Ghul, and the current Demon’s Head.

“I’m sorry.” She tried to contain the emotions. And she could feel the apology he was about to say. And before he could, she leans her forehead against his. Places her right thumb over his lips as her palm rested on his jaw. “But I swear to you, I am done with being a hero. I want to walk that grey line with you.”

And his lips turned up into a smile. A smile that was only ever directed at her. His gentleness and kindness only exclusive to her. His warmth only reserved for her. And she could feel it all in her chest, and in her very bones.

The love he has for his beloved Raven.

And the danger, if he loses his bird.

 (FIN)

  Notes:

*Mashrabiya = those wooden windows with intricate design; (wiki says: is an architectural element which is characteristic of traditional architecture in the Islamic world and is a type of projecting oriel window enclosed with carved wood latticework).