#whatever. admitting their source for the sake of reach. maybe you people would like to see my oc-ified anthro designs of them ?

[trancegnder]

new ocs. guess who they're based off of & get shoved in a locker

[kachuuyaa]

— TRAGEDY, TRAGEDY.

g.i oneshot , gn!reader , bsd!reader

genre ; fluff? angst? i dunno reader is alone though

includes ; mentions of death, gods, you are from the BSD WORLD?? SO TRUE!! reader is from port mafia, mentioned to be close w the double black, hints of chuuya being the love interest

synopsis ; The show is starting. There is no comedy in this world of tragedy, then, and now.

author’s notes ; WAHHH IT IS TIME!!!!! IT’S TIME IT’S HERE IT’S AN INTRODUCTION THOUGH, i’ll make the first meetings fic soon :)

Have the gods cursed you? You were given another chance in life, yet that isn’t what you wanted. Death came to you at such a young age (your life felt like a long, treacherous one even so), but you felt blessed, for the first time. Life in the Port mafia came with tragedies and betrayals, and all you wanted was an escape. All those memories, fresh in your mind, kept repeating themselves in the most vulnerable moments. You were alone, alone-- that word felt fresh on your tongue, foreign, even. How could you be alone when you were prominent to those against your organization? You were popular among them, being their target and a source of power. Surely, they would have laughed at your death, it would only be fair to consider it a victory, after all. Did the gods loathe you that much to give you a curse of immortality, one with all your past memories and abilities intact? Did the gods loathe you so? They have. In the beginning, all they wanted was human approval, yet you spoke words interlaced with spite and resentment.

You were alone. A wandering outlander; one who is reminiscent of the past. Many people have looked at you but not in the eyes, terrified at what you had to hide. You were silent, intimidating by nature. They were afraid of you, however, they couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Whispers and mentions of your name were heard throughout the most prominent nations, some even reached the ears of the divine, yet they paid no attention to such trivial matters, especially coming from mortals. Who would want to listen to such musings when they have earned the power to control this world, if you were a threat, you would be eradicated in an instant, no? You were but a mere mortal. Oh, how they wished they knew better. A wandering outlander-- dead in their own world and an outcast in the current one, should be deemed as a threat. Your power and your ability surpassed that of gods, and even though it was a curse, it was a blessing to those who utilized it well.

And while you haven’t used your ability in a while (and directly in front of individuals), you knew you were stronger than those who present themselves as gods. The archons, however, you couldn't care less about, for you only care about reuniting with-- with who? You were alone, for all the years you have walked this world that is still foreign to you, you have not felt a single familiar presence. You were completely alone; isolated, with no one to turn to. This was something entirely different from Yokohama, posters and warnings about you being spread among the townspeople were quite common in your world, really.

You were only noticed due to your somehow sinister and unnerving aura, being quickly feared by many. The cycle begins again, however, minus the tragic backstories. You were-- free. You haven’t felt free in a very, very long time. Death was an escape, a ticket to freedom, but at what cost? Freedom was obtained using sacrifices. Why would you have to live another life with freedom only to be stripped away from it once again? The gods have made decisions for mortals whose desires are not theirs to have, and if some were cursed, why should some be praised? Those sculpted by the gods gained approval and prowess of any kind, yet you-- you were cursed. You were designed intricately, beautifully by the king of gods himself, only to send you to a realm where none of them existed? Was this a cruel joke to you? Or was it retribution due to your unjust acts?

You didn’t care, though. You just want to go home. Do you even have a home? Somewhere to stay, to pour all your memories in? You don’t, do you? You’re dead. You don’t belong there anymore. You belong here, that is the punishment given to you. How ironic, a wandering immortal whose title does not fit themself has no one to turn to. No immortals do, anyway. As the gods have longed for human approval yet were prevented from speaking to such beings, immortals long for peace, tranquility while knowing even a second of that wouldn’t be enough for a long, long life filled with dread.

The phrase “I want to go home,” lands on your tongue quite often, yet you know, even though you hate to admit it, you do not have any. This world-- whatever this was, is not your home, nor will it ever be. Yet, why did you feel a sense of familiarity during your first meeting with the supposed “Outlander turned Honorary Knight of Mondstadt”? During the decades you have walked this earth, you have not seen an impact from a fellow outlander such as them. In different circumstances, where you actually cared for their crises, would you be in their place? It should be quite obvious. You were from the Port Mafia. Their executives were arrogant, powerful, and terrifying. Narcissistic, would be used to describe them as a whole. They weren’t entirely wrong, per se, however, deep in that never-ending, dark, hollow abyss of one, a blooming garden of emotions would be revealed. Under the seemingly unattractive shell you present yourself as, in the rarest of moments, you would be vulnerable.

You resort to repeating the actions you have done in the past. Gaining a negative reputation was what made you climb to the ranks of the Port Mafia, and even if there was no Port Mafia, no comrades insight, you would try to better yourself for the sake of the freedom you were generously given with your punishment. An immortal who is alone will never be remembered. Perhaps this journey would help you reminisce about the past in a positive manner rather than what you long for, no? You won’t replace them, no, never, you know it’s time to move on. And if the gods commend you for that, then, you will receive judgment. You were intelligent, a huge contribution to the Port Mafia as one of their most excellent members-- both in strategy and in combat. Decades of isolation have led you to be a one-person army, if you were as strong as a god then, you were as strong as the gods aspire to be.

A bird, specifically a Bohemian Waxwing, has landed on your shoulder. It was quiet, and it seemed like they did it willingly. Its most prominent feature was a highlighted orange streak across its head, reminding you of a very, very close, old friend. Its eyes held a familiar glimmer, as well. Thinking that your assumptions were far from reality, you decide to let it go, yet it remains persistent. Then, you decide to keep it, bringing him on your escapades. (you named him Nakahara, because of how much it reminded you of him. You were utterly speechless when you sensed content from its small figure.) needless to say, maybe your new biography wouldn’t be so boring.

© kachuuyaa | do not claim my work as your own.

[maxwell-grant]

Speaking of Tod Slaughter... any thoughts on Grand Guignol theater..?

Looking back on it, the first time I encountered the term Grand-Guignol was also the first time I looked at Fantomas, when I picked up the book above titled The Theater of Grand Guignol, which is all too fitting as Fantomas is Grand-Guignol to it's core. It's also a term that I've seen applied a couple of times to The Spider as well as some darker fan reinterpretations of Batman. Like film noir and sword-and-sorcery, it's a term for a type of storytelling that's associated with dime novels and pulps, influenced and was influenced by them in return, but isn't really the same thing and is, in fact, a separate "genre" (not quite the right term).

Indeed, if the common cultural association of pulp is that of something trashy and violent and darker than it's contemporary culture, one can see Grand-Guignol as perhaps the darkest of it's adjecent family, the Dario Argento to pulp's John Carpenter, the cracked mirror to all that exists.

Short and full-length plays were based on the hot topics unseen onstage at this extent before, from graphic scenes of murders, tortures, sexual violence to psychological thrills like resurrections of the dead, incest, suicide, characters being hypnotized, trapped or guilty of their loved one’s deaths. In most cases, it was a combination of several of those themes in one piece, which of course, multiplied shows’ popularity - AngryFishTheatre's article

‘At one performance, six people passed out when an actress, whose eyeball was just gouged out, re-entered the stage, revealing a gooey, blood-encrusted hole in her skull. Backstage, the actors themselves calculated their success according to the evening’s faintings. During one play that ended with a realistic blood transfusion, a record was set: fifteen playgoers had lost consciousness. Between sketches, the cobble-stoned alley outside the theatre was frequented by hyperventilating couples and vomiting individuals.’

Despite of its scandalous nature, for France Grand Guignol was more than a theatre: it was a tradition, an institution, and an attraction like the Eiffel Tower or the Folies Bergères, and Maxim’s... It was then highly fashionable. Celebrities of the day, South American millionaires and errant royalty went there assiduously to be scared out of their wits.

Going to the Grand-Guignol was less a social act than a private one and certain audience members preferred not to be seen. Some witnesses reported that the iron-grilled boxes in the back of the theater encouraged a certain ‘extremism.’

The cleaning staff would often find the seats stained - — Mel Gordon, The Grand Guignol: theatre of fear and terror.

It lasted almost the exact same time period as the American pulp era (from the late 1880s to 1950s), and even in it's origin, as the theater itself was built out of the ruins of a church, and it would attain fame and legacy as the shadow opposite to Moulin Rouge's glamour and spectacle. It's original intent on being focused on naturalistic theater led to breakthroughs of horror that made it the whole selling point, and much like the pulp lords of terror I talk about, their staged and spectacled terrors were still no match for the horrors of reality that followed.

“We could never equal Buchenwald,” the Grand Guignol’s final director, Charles Nonon, told TIME magazine that year. “Before the war, everyone felt that what was happening onstage was impossible. Now we know that these things, and worse, are possible in reality.”

And of course it goes without saying that the Grand-Guignol's influence on storytellers long transcended it's original lifespan. Gore for gore's sake is hardly something I enjoy, but I've definitely enjoyed many, many films that reached to extremes of horror and violence and gore for horror and comedy alike. I would not claim the Grand-Guignol started this because I could very well be missing out on something, but they are undeniably a huge part of the history of horror as we know it, along with the German Expressionist works of the 1910s that were as well both inspired by, as well as influential, on the Grand-Guignol.

Time and time again we see the pattern emerge, of creators or outlets or mediums that emerge as cheaper and less critically-reputable alternatives to the mainstream attain extraordinary and influential success both in their circles as well as those who would never admit to looking at them for inspiration otherwise. In fact, you could very well argue that it’s alive not just through films and comics and so forth, but in newfound forms of media created by people with all the freedom to put together whatever their imaginations and limited resources and lack of restraints can create.

Like Youtube Poop.

Now maybe I'm biased here because I grew up with YTP, but really, the main intent behind every YTP is to twist the media it's using to provoke a new reaction from you, every YTP is varying levels of a rollercoaster of jokes and edits and little narratives stacking up and flowing together, references and poop jokes and murder jokes and slurs and parody and criticism and SuS and literally anything the creator thinks is gonna get a reaction that wasn't in the original material. And it doesn't even have to be exclusively about jokes, there's a lot of YTPs that are centered on horror or drama or even are just completely original narratives using the assets at hand, sometimes even clocking in at almost movie-length.

There's no filter or censors or teams making sure it's tested to the audience, it's just as much chaos as someone with video editing skills can manage to create, and more so than anything else nowadays, it's the medium that abides and amplifies the same principle that ruled and defined Grand-Guignol: "The Hot and Cold Shower"

Grand Guignol, was not the inventor of this concept, but probably the first performing arts company that used it as its main programming principle. Every evening at the theatre was programmed with plays heavily contrasting in their nature. In the 6 plays presented on a regular night, every 2 horror plays were followed by a light comedy and the light comedy by another horror play or two. Using this contrast the creators aimed to give their audiences a fuller range of emotions. They called it a "hot and cold shower".

You could also make a similar argument for creators that used Garry's Mod or Source Filmmaker to create Youtube content, many of whom either followed the styles of YTP or created their own which ended up influencing others in return, and you can definitely see how YTP as well as these have influenced our current generation's taste in comedy as well as the editing styles of many prominent creators. It even seemed for quite a while that GMOD and SFM content of this type was dead, but it definitely seems like it's gotten a revival recently, and really just never went away. Likewise, a lot of people think YTP died circa 2012 or 2015, which is completely false, it just changed a bit, as things tend to do if they are to stick around.

The entire approach of extreme hot and cold, extreme horror and comedy shuffling per second and extreme absurdity overriding is something you definitely get nowadays a lot more out of these newer forms of media than anything that film and television's capable of giving, and just as Grand-Guignol started out relatively ordinary (focused mainly on naturalistic horror) before it completely spiraled into a perpetual race for excess, we've gotten so desensitized so quickly to surprises that you can see in real time the growing needs for content that's faster and more chaotic and funnier and more dramatic and more absurd and more well-produced but also worse produced and, yeah.

I definitely wonder how we may see future filmmakers and cartoonists and creators be influenced by, not just the above, but also the rapidly changing landscapes of meme culture and social media and the gradually less-funny theater of the absurd that reality's become. I definitely imagine we'll be in for some interesting times.

Y'know, if we make it that far.

Alternatively you could also argue Jackass is also a modern Grand Guignol and they just cut out the narrative middleman to get straight to the "people getting fucked up for your amusement" part, but at this point I'd just be inviting a retread of all the "Is -X- pulp" questions I got for "Is -X- Grand Guignol", and I may have stepped straight into a rake with this one.

[lunarsaga]

EPISODE 5: The Band of Seven, Resurrected

WELCOME TO EPISODE 5! So far, episode 6 is up on my Patreon already, and episode 7 is in progress. Support me on Patreon to see stuff first!

IMPORTANT: I am starting to integrate the art into the story a little differently! Instead of just visualizing a moment in the scene, the image will replace the lines it's depicting. It'll work more like a hybrid graphic novel, that way it'll flow better. (So don't skip over the art, read it like you would a western comic!)

Reminder: [Dialogue like this is English!]

EPISODE 5, LESSGO! ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆

It was a bit of a long flight between the bone-eater’s well and the spot where Luna last left her sister and her friends.

They were still headed northeast, still trying to find Naraku. But Luna’s supply of ammunition only lasted so long, and she decided she probably needed more medical supplies if they were all gonna make it past this war with Naraku. So she’d gone back to the modern era for a few days, and called Alice to get her connections with other Hunters in Japan—so Luna could make more Sacred Salt rounds without having to explain to international customs why she was getting a bunch of empty shotgun shells, non-native herbs, and a few other assorted (weird) things she needed.

So she’d gone home for a few days. Thankfully, she didn’t have to walk; Airisu (who still objected to Luna calling her ‘Alice’, but agreed to the simple nickname ‘Ai’) in full demon form could fly pretty fast, but she ran out of steam after about an hour. It took them a full day (including rest time) to get back to the village, and the same on the way back.

But before they joined back up with their friends, Luna had a stop to make.

It ain’t hard to miss, she thought snarkily, he’s like a damn homing beacon.

Finally, among all the green of the forests, she spotted a speck of white. Easy. “There they are!”

Ai set them down just behind the little group of travelers—Rin, the little imp Jaken, the big horse-dragon (Ah-Un, Luna believed?), and heading the line was, of course, Lord Fussy Britches himself. Rin spotted them before they touched down, and greeted delightfully:

“Miss Luna!”

The Hunter’s arrival brought the others to a halt, and for some reason, Luna found a very smug satisfaction in the incredibly irritated, over-the-shoulder side eye she got from Sesshomaru. But she paid him no mind; she was here for Rin.

Luna held out her hand, unfolding her fingers to reveal three beautiful pearls, strung on a little leather cord. Each of them glinted with an odd pink sheen and were warm to the touch; anyone with any sort of spiritual senses might’ve picked up on the soft energy radiating from them.

Luna tied the cord tightly at the ends and moved to slip it over the little girl’s head.

“As if she would ever need such a ridiculous thing!”

Luna swore one of these days, she was gonna drop kick that little frog. “Look, dude—”

“It’s Jaken, insolent human!”

“—I’m just looking out for her. No need to burst a blood vessel.”

“What is she to you?”

Luna was actually shocked to be addressed by Sesshomaru himself. He was still giving her the side eye, but there was less irritation and more of… something Luna couldn’t place. Maybe she was flirting with death, but she couldn’t resist.

She stood tall, chin high, and responded: “What is she to you?”

There was the anger: contained, but frigid and harsh as the Arctic behind those amber eyes. Sesshomaru did not answer her, but Jaken sure did.

“How dare you, human! Your nerve is surpassed only by your stupidity to speak to Lord Sesshomaru that way! Surely you wish for death!”

Only sometimes. “Can it, Kermit!” She snapped at him, “I ask because he’s always leaving her alone, with nothing but you to protect her! You, who are half her size and don’t have much in the way of defense!” She moved her challenging gaze to Sesshomaru again, steadfast. “So I ask again, what is she to you, if you leave her with barely any protection so often? Because to me, she’s a friend and I care about her, so I brought her these as a last resort option, in case you’re not around and she needs help.”

There it was, that unreadable expression again. Sesshomaru was definitely incomparable at hiding his true emotions—something Luna could absolutely not stand. Tense silence hung in the air for a moment, before Luna shrugged, holding her hands up.

“Hey, think of it this way,” She said, trying a sly little smile, “You’re a busy guy. It’s one less thing you have to worry about. And if she never needs them, at least it’s a pretty necklace.”

Man, this guy was good at keeping quiet. But now, the icy glare was gone. Luna swore she could see just the tiniest arc of a silver eyebrow before the demon turned back around on the path they’d all been heading.

“Jaken, let’s go.”

Flabbergasted, Jaken tripped over himself trying to follow. “Y-yes milord!”

Grinning, Luna got back down to Rin’s level. “You take care, okay kid?”

“I will! And thank you so much for these— I don’t think I’ll need them because Lord Sesshomaru always comes to save me, but I’ll wear them anyway!”

“That’s all I ask,” This little angel was definitely gonna need it at some point. “But if you do need me, I’ll always be there for you, okay? I promise.”

The smile on Rin’s face could’ve melted the ice caps. “Thank you.”

Luna stopped her as she started to leave. “Hold on, one more thing. Each one only works once before it shatters, so you gotta save them for when you’re really in trouble, okay?”

“Okay, I will! Bye, Miss Luna!” Rin grinned, waving at her friend before hurrying after the demons.

Luna chuckled, turning back to Ai for a second before something occurred to her. “Hey, Sesshomaru!”

He didn’t turn to look at her this time, but he did pause in his walking.

Good enough. “I heard there was something going down in the Northeast—direction of the Ox and Tiger. Something to do with Naraku. Thought you might like to know.” She didn’t wait to see if he heard or registered what she said; she just hopped back on Ai’s back, and the two of them took off.

“I hope you know conflating bravery with stupid pride is more than likely to get you killed one of these days.” Ai said as she lifted into the sky.

“Oh most definitely,” Luna laughed. “But as much of a pompous man-child as he is, you can tell he cares for that girl more than he’s willing to admit.”

“That may be, but he’ll definitely kill you if you keep disrespecting him.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take, for Rin’s sake.” Luna’s voice was soft, carried off by the wind. “That little angel’s been through enough, she deserves someone in her corner.”

~    ~    ~

Finally catching sight of their friends again was a bit of a relief for both Luna and Ai. It had been a long couple of days, going all the way home and coming back. Part of Luna hoped they’d get just a little bit of rest before whatever shit hit the fan next, but another part knew the odds on that were pretty low. Still, it was nice to be back.

Kagome was the first to spot them as they flew in. “It’s Luna!”

“Luna’s back!” Shippo proclaimed joyfully.

“Hey, y’all,” Luna greeted as Ai touched down. She hopped off the demon’s back as her friends offered their greetings. “What’d I miss?” She asked.

Miroku was the one to answer. “Quite a lot. It seems that we may encounter a new enemy: the local villagers recently informed us of a group of mercenaries called the Band of Seven. The villagers believe these ruthless killers may have been brought back from the dead.”

With a grin on her face, Luna shrugged at the idea. “Undead mercs, huh? Nothin’ we can’t handle.” She held up her fist for her sister to bump it, and as Ai changed back to her human form, Luna noticed their little group was smaller than it should’ve been. “Where’s Sango?”

Kagome bumped fists with her sister, smiling at Luna’s nonchalant comment. “She went off with Kilala. I sensed a Jewel Shard nearby earlier… so I think she may have gone to look for Kohaku.”

Luna didn’t have time to respond. Off in the distance, she heard the distinctive echo of a sound she was all too familiar with.

Inuyasha hopped up onto a tree limb, hoping to get a look at what was happening. He couldn’t see it, but he sure as hell could smell it. “And it ain’t from just a handful of people, either.”

So much for a second to rest, Luna chuckled to herself as she tightened the straps on her backpack and immediately kicked into gear. “What’re we waiting for, then?”

And off they were, charging headlong into danger as always. Luna could sense something was up; more so than usual. The stench of blood was never a good sign in the first place, but there was something else setting off warning bells. Something she couldn’t put a finger on.

The smell got stronger and stronger, until… they reached its source. Despite the amount of nasty shit she’d seen in her ten years of hunting supernatural monsters, there were some things that still turned her stomach, and seeing a single human being standing in a veritable ring of blood and gore was definitely one of them. His black hair was pulled into a twist; his lips were painted red, he had blue tattoos like tear tracks under each eye, and one side of his kimono was tucked up under his belt. The dude was just squatting in the middle of the carnage, eyeballing the barrel of a matchlock gun like it was his first time seeing one (which, hell, it might be, she thought to herself; in this time, they would’ve only recently been invented). He seemed completely unbothered by the dozen and a half bodies of freshly murdered warriors and their horses surrounding him.

Inuyasha was the one to get to the scene just ahead of the others, calling back over his shoulder: “Stay back! Don’t come over here!”

Instinctively, Luna remained in front of her sister, her arm out to try and block her view. Her stomach was churning, and her hand was poised to pull her gun if needed. No way this guy could be human… right?

“Did… that one person do all this?” Kagome’s voice was a shocked whisper.

It was then that the guy in the middle noticed them. He stood, his sword over his shoulder and his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Are you the one I’ve been looking for?” He asked, a grin on his face as he shielded his eyes from the sun. “Are you Inuyasha?!”

“Got a bad feeling about this.” Luna mumbled, “That guy isn't a demon, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Kagome uttered back to her, “I don’t sense a demonic aura….”

“How’d you know my name?!” Inuyasha demanded.

He got no answer out of the guy with the sword. Instead, the guy squealed: “You’re adorable!”

A dumbfounded silence fell over the group. Luna glanced around at the others to make sure she didn’t just lose her mind—but no, the general consensus among her friends was along the lines of ‘what the actual fuck?’

“I especially love those fuzzy ears of yours!” The guy continued, licking his lips. “I want them~”

Alright, so this guy was nuts. Luna had had enough of ignoring the bad vibe she was picking up from him. She dropped her bag next to Kagome’s bike and readied herself for a fight: detached the ammo bag and shotgun holster from her pack and slung them over her shoulder, slipped her short sword through one of the belt loops on her jeans, and pulled her shotgun to make sure it was in hand and loaded. She kept her eyes moving back and forth between Inuyasha and the dude with the sword during the next exchange:

“Who are you?” Inuyasha demanded, “What are you after? You don’t smell like a living person, you reek like corpses and graveyard soil!”

No answer.

“Inuyasha,” Miroku said in realization: “Could he be—?”

“Yep,” Inuyasha confirmed, before calling out to the guy with the sword again: “Some villagers were talking! They said some disgusting specter rose up from the grave. That’d be you, I presume!”

Right, zombies, Luna thought to herself; if he really is undead, the Sacred Salt won’t do as much as it would a demon… It’d sting, but what I really need is-… She smirked and holstered her gun again, grabbing a different weapon from the bottom of her bag.

“Are you one of the Band of Seven?!” Miroku asked of the specter as Luna was tuning back in. “Answer me!”

After a long pause as the specter seemed to size the monk up, his response was even worse than before. “Inuyasha really is good looking, but you’re pretty sexy yourself~”

Luna snorted so hard she thought she was gonna eject her brain through her nose. Ai whacked her in the arm as a warning.

“No one minds if I suck him up, do they?” Miroku grumbled.

“No.” Inuyasha said, flatly.

“Hold on!” Kagome said, “He’s got a Sacred Jewel Shard! He must’ve been revived with the power of the Shard!”

“So that was what I was sensing,” Luna mumbled, “but why does it feel off...?”

“Where’d you get the Jewel Shard?!” Inuyasha once again attempted to pose a question to their opponent, only to once again receive a weird, adoring response:

“You know, you’re cute when you’re angry~!”

“Shut up!” Inuyasha shouted, jumping forward and drawing his sword. “Alright, dead man, you’d better start talking to me, and I want real answers!”

The expression on the specter’s face shifted from one of reverence to one more sadistic as he regarded Tetsusaiga. “That’s an interesting sword you have there… let’s see whose is stronger.” He lifted his own sword, making an odd motion around his head and shoulders with it as if he were gearing up for something. “Yours or mine?!”

When he brought his arm down, something that looked almost like a bolt of silver lightning shot from his blade. Inuyasha barely had the chance to block it as it cut an arc through the air toward him.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome called out in surprise.

“Stay back!” Miroku threw his arm out in an attempt to shield the others. “It’s some kind of trick sword!”

“That’s my cue!” Ai shifted into full demon form, jerking her head at the sisters and the little fox. “All aboard!”

Kagome climbed on no issue, but Luna glanced at Miroku, who made no move to follow them. “You coming?”

“I’ll be alright, you keep them safe.” Miroku said, resolute. Not about to argue, Luna climbed on the demon’s back and Ai leapt into the air above the fight.

“You gonna be okay holding all of us after that long flight?” Luna asked her friend.

“I’m fine, it’s the same weight as you with your pack on.” Ai sassed back.

“Yeah well, fuck me for being prepared,” Luna laughed, starting to prep the other weapon she’d brought.

Kagome managed to tear her eyes from the confrontation below to try and see what her sister was doing. “What did you bring, Luna?”

Luna grinned as she clicked the last accessory into place, then turned back to show her sister. “This? This is my baby.” She held up her favorite weapon: it was a fully-customized folding compound crossbow as long as Luna’s arm. She pressed a release on the side, and the arms shot into place, making both Shippo and Kagome jump.

“Whoa!” The fox demon exclaimed, “What kind of a weapon is that?!”

“It’s a crossbow, Shippo,” Kagome explained, “It’s kind of like my bow, but the arrows are smaller and it’s easier to fire.”

“Self-loading, too,” Luna smirked as she strung it up, “The ‘arrows’ are called bolts or darts. This thing can shoot way faster than a longbow, and since we’re dealing with Zombie Harley Quinn down there—” She grabbed a bolt from her ammo bag to show it to them, “—we’re gonna need these. They’re tipped with pure silver. Great for dealing with Vampires, Werewolves, The Undead, and The Unholy.”

Shippo reached out to touch it, but Kagome stopped him, shaking her head rapidly. “It’s safe to assume you shouldn’t touch anything Luna has in her bag, Shippo.”

The kid swallowed nervously. “G-got it...”

Below them, the fight continued. Inuyasha could barely avoid each strike of the snakelike sword, and his opponent only seemed to be having more and more fun.

“What do you think of Jakotsu of the Band of Seven, huh?!” He shouted as he swung the sword once more.

“Not too much!” Inuyasha came back at him with Tetsusaiga, but to no avail.

Kagome gasped. “He needs help!”

“That’s what this baby’s for,” Luna grinned, patting her crossbow. “Ai, can you stay out of reach of the sword but get me close enough to shoot?!”

“It’ll take a miracle!”

“Better start praying, then,” Luna lined up the shot, finger still as stone on the trigger. There was a familiar voice in the back of her head; she could hear her father saying: “Aim for where they’re gonna be, not where they are.”

I know, dad. She tried not to sigh audibly as she managed to get Jakotsu’s head in her crosshairs and pulled the trigger, quick as a viper.

And… almost missed him.

The consecrated silver bolt seemed to burn through the air as it shot just centimeters shy of the specter’s nose and grazed his arm, burning a hole in his kimono. He whipped his attention to the woman who shot it.

“How dare you interfere?!” He snarled, rearing his arm back and whipping his blade toward them.

Luna felt her stomach drop.

“You idiot!” Ai snapped at her, trying to fly out of range of the sword as Kagome and Shippo both clung, screaming, to Luna’s back. Just as the sword arched toward them, there was a familiar cry of:

“HIRAIKOTSU!”

And Jakotsu’s blade was then tangled around the aforementioned boomerang. All three riding on Ai’s back sighed in relief when they saw Sango swoop in on Kilala. Ai touched down just as Kilala did, transforming into her human form and unceremoniously dumping the sisters on their asses.

“Are you all okay?” Sango called over to them.

“We’re fine!” Shippo answered.

“Perfect timing, Sango!” Kagome said.

“Some weapon, Luna!” Ai huffed in the Hunter’s direction. Luna just stuck her tongue at her.

Jakotsu was practically red in the face, shrieking in frustration: “What is with all you vile women?! Can’t you see I’m trying to battle Inuyasha?!” In the same breath, he whipped his sword again, toward Sango this time. The movement freed Hiraikotsu, and ended up leaving a small slice on Sango’s arm as Jakotsu pulled it back.

“Stay out of this!” He continued, “None of you will interfere!”

But their “interference” had served Inuyasha well enough: it gave him just the opportunity he needed to rear back and punch the specter in the face.

“Shut up! I’m tired of listening to your pointless babble!” Inuyasha growled.

Jakotsu grunted as he tumbled back, then rubbed his cheek and pouted like a kicked puppy. “That was cruel…”

“Oh, get over it!” Inuyasha snapped, “Now tell me who gave you the Sacred Jewel Shard before I have to seriously hurt you!”

Kagome and Miroku rushed to see if Sango was okay, but she assured them that it was just a graze; she was fine. Her attention was more on the subject at hand.

“I have a feeling that the shard came from Naraku,” She said, somberly. She looked at Kagome. “When you sensed a Jewel Shard earlier… it was Kohaku. I saw the Saimiyosho around him as well.”

“That means that your brother is still under Naraku’s control…” Miroku said. Sango nodded.

Luna had set her weapon down next to her backpack, and came back with a bandage for Sango’s arm. Her mind was going at a million miles an hour, trying to figure out how the hell they were gonna handle this—first an undead band of Ronin, now they have something to do with Naraku. What was Naraku playing at...?

“Gotta wonder what the hell is next…” Luna mumbled sarcastically.

Seconds later, she would regret asking. A cloud of black smoke poured over the cliffside, drifting right toward them.

Like he knew what was happening, Jakotsu got up and collected his sword. “Inuyasha! You should get out of here while you can! Bye!” And with that, he was just… gone.

“What the hell—” Inuyasha broke off with a startled yell when the cloud reached him. “Its poison!”

“But where’s it coming from?!” Miroku wondered.

“We need to move.” Luna reassembled her bag in less than thirty seconds—side effect of doing it so often. “We can figure out what the hell is going on when we’re safely away from here!”

Why do I feel like we stepped into something huge here? Luna thought to herself as the group of friends moved away from the cloud of gas.

[xbaebsae]

“You think too much.”

I was lucky to get another commission from the extremely talented @reidreamer​! Honestly she’s one of my favorite artists ever, go commission her if you get the chance, I mean look at this?! Hot damn, I love it so much!

If you want to read the whole scene for this you can do so under the cut :’) ♥

________________________________

A plethora of crates unfolded in front of me as I stepped into storage room four. I couldn’t say I was surprised that nobody else had volunteered to tidy up that mess but, unbeknownst to them, they had actually done me a favor. Mundane, annoying tasks like these were the perfect distraction from all the mess going on in my head. I’d thought that finally accepting this whole whatever-it-was between Jakob and me would improve my mind situation. But once again, it hadn’t exactly worked out as I’d hoped. I should’ve been mad because he hurt me - kind of - , but instead I was mad that he was mad that he had hurt me. What sense did that make? How twisted was I at this point?

Angry at myself, I pried open the first crate only to find it filled with illegal bottles. Wine, Whiskey, I even found a bottle of Champagne - what a disgrace. It was one of those days where I’d let it slide. The ‘No Alcohol’ rule in the project had always bothered me anyway, especially considering John’s expansive cellar repertoire of only the priciest of brands; and Jakob’s fridge that never missed beer. Faith, and even Joseph himself, probably had their own storage of whatever their favorite drinks were, making them all hypocrites. 

Just as I was about to close the lid, I couldn’t fight the urge to steal one of the whiskey bottles anymore. Nobody would notice and I really needed it. Yeah, solving problems with alcohol was never a good thing but the mere thought of it numbing at least some of the confusion was too tempting. I hopped onto the crate, opened the bottle and took a large sip, large enough to burn a little in the throat and to give me the warm feeling of getting tipsy. And after another few, the day suddenly seemed a lot less bad.

“Why’s it that half the time I run into ya there’s alc involved?” I stood corrected, the day was bad. The one fucking voice I didn’t want to hear, owned by the source of my problems. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Henbane today?”, I asked dryly and refused to look at him. “I guess we’re both not doin’ what we’re supposed to do, Shorty.” “I’m tidying up, that’s what Tucker asked me to do. So the only person in the wrong place is you.” From the corner of my eye I could see that he was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and if I had actually bothered to look properly, I’d have found him staring me down. This wouldn’t end well, it never did. “Y’know the good thing ‘bout being the boss is that I can change my plans whenever I wanna.” “And why exactly did you decide getting on my nerves is the better option? The Henbane business sounded important.” I needed more whiskey for this. 

Jakob remained silent for a moment that felt like an eternity. Not that I desperately wanted him to talk, but whenever he got caught up in his thoughts I didn’t know what to make of him. Part of me expected him to get angry again, this time shouting at me for going radio silent for a couple of days. Though, I did have to admit that it was a stupid and childish thing to do. I needed to learn how to talk things out at least as much as he did, but instead we were both unbelievably bad at it. “You finally gonna tell me why the fuck ya left the other day.” The demanding tone in his voice bothered me immediately and I swallowed an unspoken ‘or what?’. 

When I didn’t answer right away he came closer, too close. He rested his palms on each side next to me on the crate and I finally looked him in the eyes. “I’ll get ya to talk one way or the other, you know that.” I knew that. But instead of talking I rolled up my sleeve and held up my bruised arm in front of him. The one that hit the counter when he pushed me away the other day. “This is why.” He immediately pressed his lips together and I could see the anger he tried to suppress. It wasn’t anger towards me. “Ya said we’re good”, slipped through his teeth. “I’m not mad at you.” “Then why?” I averted my eyes. “I’m mad at myself.” “What?” He didn’t understand and I couldn’t blame him. “I should be more bothered by this Jake! It’s not fucking okay! But instead I... “ Not even knowing how I had initially planned to finish the sentence I clung onto the bottle once more. Finishing it would knock me out enough to not give a fuck anymore for sure. 

Unfortunately he picked up on my thoughts and swiftly pulled it out of my hands. “Give it back for fucks sake!” But he ignored me. As usual. I let out a sigh and gave up my effort to not look at him. “It’s not okay, you right. Though, we both beat each other up worse before in training.” “Intentions, Jakob. They matter. They should matter. And that’s the god damn problem!” Another hopeless attempt to get the bottle back failed. “I should be fucking mad that you pushed me. For fucks sake, that’s what normal people would do, right? But you know what I do? I feel mad because ...because you got mad, because at the end of the day I don't care about it. I know you weren't...you. And that makes me angry because it’s wrong!” 

He raised an eyebrow and frowned, then finally shook his head. “You think too much.” “Well, I can’t help it. You do see what’s wrong here don’t you?” “Does it really matter, Rheese?” Now I was the one who didn’t understand. “If ya start with that right or wrong bullshit, I think ya gonna find a lot more wrong here than right about everythin’.” After a short pause he added: “Hell, almost all of this is wrong anyway.” Now he was the one taking a giant sip out of the whiskey bottle. Pouting, I watched him lower it while making damn sure to keep it out of my reach. “So I wanna know, does it really matter?” 

After my own moment of silence I shook my head. “It’s just a damn mess”, I said in defeat and he gave me the hint of a smile. “Can I have my bottle back now? I need more drinks for this.” “Ain’t yours when ya stole it.” His smile turned into the cursed one I always wanted to rip out of his face. My blood started to boil. “Stop being an ass! I had it first!” “Thief complaining about being robbed, if it were someone else I’d have called it cute.” I punched his arm. “Fucking asshole! I just want more whiskey and I damn right deserve it for putting up with you!” He roughly grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “Didn’t I tell ya to be careful ‘bout how you talk to me?” “Where’s the fun in that?”, my voice sounded more seductive than I wanted it to, but I couldn’t deny that I missed certain things between us. 

He took another sip from the bottle but I realized he didn’t swallow. Instead, he held my face in place and I’d already opened my mouth in anticipation as our lips met. The Bourbon tasted sweeter than before and a strange feeling of urgency overcame me. I leaned into the kiss more and the hasty movement caused some of it to drip out of my mouth. Jake moved his hand further back and tightened his grip, making sure I wouldn’t pull away. Not that I had any intention to. My fingers started to cling onto his shirt and I made damn sure he wouldn’t move away from me either.

After a long while that still felt too short, he stopped and fixed his posture. “You’re disgusting’’, I laughed, still holding onto his shirt. “The one time I do what ya ask me for.” He smiled meanly, removing my hands from his shirt and resting them on my own lap. “Not a very efficient way to get drunk, but I could live with it”, my voice sounded a little weaker than I’d liked. Slowly he moved away from me and towards the door, where he stopped and looked back at my flustered self with that damned smug smile on his face. “If ya wanna continue, come home tonight.” He was sure I would agree, with the face expression of someone too used to getting what he wanted. 

And maybe he would win this time. But he didn’t need to know that just yet. “Maybe, if I don’t have anything better to do.”

[vv3nti]

BIRD BOSS (part three)

[social media hybrid]

summary: y/n wants to rush her recovery process, putting her hero career on hold for what should have been a simple injury was devastating. she was ready to give. but the number two hero had an irresistible proposition. but he lands himself in a rocky situation as a crush develops on y/n; who quite frankly wants none of his shit. will hawks win her heart or will someone from her past steal it away?

warnings: language!!, angst, fluff, some ooc—sue me, CRACK, and LANGUAGE, pay no attention to timestaps, adult talk??? excuse the mistakes pls and ty

2.4k words

SERIES MASTERLIST

NO. NO. NO. NO. Your eyes widen as they fell upon your boss’ relaxed figure, chatting with your friends. What the hell was he doing here, and why did he look so casual among your peers? There was still time to make a run for the door; no one had even noticed you descend from the bathroom; feigning sickness didn’t sound like a bad idea right about now. This wasn’t the plan; Hawks was supposed to go home and meet you on sunday, not stay and mingle. He was ruining the atmosphere; people were gawking and staring at the pro, bringing unwanted attention to your table. Why would he think, showing up to a mediocre downtown club was a good idea? You didn’t have much time to dwell because Mina exposed your existent as she called you over. She smiled brightly, countering your set grimace. Keigo turned around slowly, a smirk decorated his lips and a glint in his eyes. He knew what he was doing; he found it quite amusing and rather eventful.

“Y/N! Look! It’s Hawks.” Mina gleamed, her drunken state failing to keep her excitement from bubbling over; she was practically bouncing off the floor. The time you told her you’d be working for the pro-hero, she went ballistic, bombarding you with a profound number of questions. Sure, the girl did have a special love for heroes but let’s not forget Hawks’ popularity due to his appearance, which granted him a few extra points in Mina’s book. It took a lot of self-restraint not to roll your eyes at your starstruck friend as you traveled to the booth.

“Yes, I see. What is he doing here?” you emphasized, turning to Hawks, the previous glare returning to your expression. If your eyes had mouths of their own, they would have told him to fuck off in a multitude of ways. You hoped he’d take the hint and leave you be, but to your luck, Keigo either didn’t notice or choose to ignore. You bet on the latter.

After a few seconds of your stare off, Keigo straightened his posture, flashing his pearly whites. “Hello, babybird.”

“Answer the damn question.” That earned you an elbow to the gut from Mina.

“Well, I know I told you to give me the bill on Sunday, but I thought it’d just be easier to take it straight from the source.” He scissored his centurion black card between his pointer and middle finger. He feigned surprise before reaching down on the table, grabbing a white iridescent clutch. “And you forgot this.” Hawks confessed, handing you the bag. You knew you didn’t take a purse to the gala, and you knew Hawks knew you didn’t take a flashy purse to the gala. So what the fuck was this expensive piece of material doing in your hands. “Consider it a thank you for showing up tonight; finding a last-minute date would have sucked.”

The explosive blond spoke up, all attention rushing his direction. “You gave her your card already; a simple verbal thanks would have done.” He snapped with a scowl. To say Bakugou had a distaste for the pro-hero would be an understatement, and he has zero hesitation voicing his dislike. It was painfully obvious Bakugou was envious of Hawks; number two hero, highly on almost all charts, and good looking, he had it all and at the mere age of twenty-three. In truth, you believe he looked up to the wing hero, but even if that were the case, her friend would never admit it.

Keigo took notice of the boy's irritated persona; he wasn’t a stranger to haters, but right now, he’d rather Bakugou not ruin the moment. Absent Mindlessly waving his hand around, Hawks remarked, “Well, maybe, I like to spoil my employees, Ground Zero.” The quick look of surprise on Bakugou’s face satisfied Hawks, as did Mina praising how sweet he was. “I’ve seen you on TV before; your quirk is just as explosive as your personality, too, huh?” He sassed, the snarky response earning a few giggles from your friends.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, grumbling incoherently as he sunk further into the plush seating. If this went on any longer, you swore you’d choke on the testosterone.

You turned towards the booth. “Hey, he’s only messing around with you, Katsuki. Just let it all out by order drinks, yeah?”

The smug expression vanished from Keigo’s face rather quickly, a confused one taking its place. You're on a first-name basis with this guy? He thought, though, he tried to mask his it as best he could when you focused your attention back on him.

“Listen, thank you for the drinks and this.” You lifted the clutch in your hand. “I appreciate it, but I-” The pink-haired girl to your left softly tugged your arm. The desperation in her eyes caused you to look away only to meet the begging stares the rest of the group bore into your figure. Guilt crept up your spine—no, you shouldn’t be feeling this way, but you didn’t want to disappoint your friends. So much for a night off.

You signed, dragging a hand down your face. “Fine, you can stay.”

The night progressed relatively smoothly; it was a surprise to you how well Hawks mixed with your friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves in his presence. Well, everyone except for Bakugou, who continued to sulk by himself. His sour attitude prompted you to a stand, reaching your open palm in his direction. Bakugou ignored your offer, but you were persistent and wouldn’t take no as an answer.

“Katsu, please.” A whine pulled from your throat, attracting the attention from the winged-hero talking with Momo, Kirishima, Denki, and Mina. “I want the legendary ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ mix, and you’re the only one who knows the order, c’mon.”

You squealed as Bakugou grumbled in agreeance; you clutched his wrist and started your departure to the bar. The rest of the table paused their conversation, watching you leave. Hawks didn’t remove his gaze until you were entirely out of sight; confusion racked through him again. He found himself wishing you talked about your personal life more because as he’s out with you now, he doesn’t seem to know anything about you.

“That’s the nicest Bakugou gets.” Denki laughed. “And I have to say I’m jealous. What a world, him not hating me.”

“Well, you should’ve snatched him up first,” Momo replied, giggling profoundly when the yellow-haired boy glared. Not that he would ever admit it, but when they first met, Denki had quite the crush on Bakugou. “And maybe he’d be your boyfriend, huh.”

Mina’s entire being jumped in her seat, eyes wide and lips pursed. She slapped Momo’s shoulder sharply, giving her a pointed look, one that a mother would give their child when they’re acting out in public. “Bakugou is not her boyfriend.”

“Maybe if he ever got around to confessing his feelings to L/N. It’s been years at this point.”

Oh, was this interesting? Hawks shouldn’t find this as intriguing as he did; this was his assistant, for fuck’s sake; he should be professional instead of indulging in this drama. But, hey, when has he ever been known to keep things traditional. Keigo deemed his attraction to you a given crush; isn’t it abound to happen to two people who work closely and spend a lot of time together? Right? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t seem to just enough. You’re a drug, and he’s addicted, obsessed, always wondering when he’ll get his next fix.

Mina rolled her widen eyes. The girl was far too biased to even indulge in the conversation, but she couldn’t help but peeve. Mina had her money on Hawks swooping into your life before Bakugou ever got over himself. “A girl can only wait so long.” She huffed, perking up as the explosive blond rounded the table. “Where’s Y/N?”

Bakugou mumbled something about you taking too long to order, causing the group to erupt loudly. He was never great showing his affection around other people, huh?

“You left her up there?”

“By herself?”

“What the hell, Bakubro?”

“What about the Lord Explosion Murder.”

“Dude!”

All noise ceased as Hawks stood up, his chair sliding back against the dark wood. “I’ll go check on her; I need a refill anyway.” The bass of the club drowned the sound of ice rattling against his glass.

You tapped your finger to the rhythm on the beat as you waited, watching the bartender move from person to person. Unfortunately, they were out of orange citrus syrup—to key ingredient to Bakugou’s said drink mix—so you had to find something else to get. You didn’t mind waiting, though. Reading the odd cocktail combinations was quite entertaining as long as you didn’t have to go back and face Hawks.

“Hey.” Keigo’s voice caused you to glance behind you. He leaned over your shoulder to place his glass on the bar, his warmth mixing with your own. Hawks was exceedingly close to your body; you were able to smell his spicy cologne as his front lightly grazed your side. You partially expected him to pull away, put some distance between your bodies but part of you knew he would test the waters. “What’re thinking?” he asked smoothly, eyes grazing the menu. “This sounds good.” Angel Wings was the name of the daiquiri, how cute.

You felt your cheeks begin to flush, this was too far, and you’re intoxicated. Keigo’s usual teasing comments and flirty gestures you could effortlessly ignore, but this was entirely different. There was no room to shuffle away from his figure, for someone occupied the space next to you. Why did he find so much pleasure messing with your head? Truthfully you aren’t surprised; this is what Hawks does; he reels girls in and leaves a trail of hearts in his wake. You’d witnessed it a handful of occasions. Angry, pained, desperate girls trying to either enter the agency building or spam your social media to reach the hero. You will not fall victim to his charms, but as you turn to the side, your eyes meeting his yellow ones, you felt your facade grasping for dear life.

A chillingly squeaky voice pulled you from your trance. “Can we please take a picture with you?” Two petite girls stood feet away, clutching phones in their shaking hands. “Sorry, we just have never had the chance to meet a pro.” You don’t think you’ve ever been so thankful for quirky drunk people.

On the opposite spectrums of things, Keigo internally cursed; he was so close. And although he had no clue what he was close too, it felt right. But thing one and thing two had to show up and spoil it. Before acknowledging the two, he turned back towards you only to see you’d moved away from his touch and started conversing with the bartender. Fuck. Despite his frustration, Hawks equipped his award-winning smile and accepted their request.

“Sorry bout’ that, babybird.” Keigo hummed sheepishly. He knew you dislike the alum of attention he attracts when performing mundane activities, and by the slight squint in your eyes, he figured the distaste settled in you once again.

“Hmm, here.” Your fingers grazed his own as you handed him a fresh drink. Of course, you knew his order. “I'm used to it, gotta take care of the fangirls.” The prior encounter was still fresh on your mind; you cursed yourself for allowing Hawks to get into your head like that. Your walls stood up pretty high, but tonight, he almost made it over the top for whatever reason.

“I'd much rather it be you be one of my fangirls.” And the teasing was back. Classic. “I could always make some exceptions for you, take a few pictures.” He suggested, lips curling into a sinister smirk.

You rolled your eyes, your head lolling to the side. A part of you wanted to play his game, ruffle his feathers a bit, but on the contrary, that would successfully add gasoline to the raging flames. You took a sip of your drink. “My friends really like you.”

Keigo couldn't say why, but the compliment made his heart flutter. He wanted acceptance from your peers. Made him feel like he was doing something right for once in his godforsaken life. Running into you was his golden ticket; Keigo never hesitated when it came to you; he’s always so sure. That’s one reason he keeps you around because as much as you invade his thoughts, you also focused his mind. “Not all of them.” Why would he bring him up? “What’s his problem, huh? Got a crush on you.” Keigo said teasingly, masking the sour taste in his voice.

A stream of air blew from the nose as you shook your head with a small smile. “Aha, no. Katsuki, he…” you trailed off, searching for the right words. The mood dampens. “He blames himself for what happened. He took it remarkably hard, so he’s kind of protective. But no, he does not have a ‘crush’ on me.”

Hawks wanted to ask more questions, he craved to fill the gaps, but he refrained. He wanted you to open up to him on your own will; although he was reasonably comfortable around you, Keigo knew you still put walls up around him. He respected it, but that didn’t mean he’d stop trying. “Either way, he has a major stick up his ass. Popularity charts are gonna be rough on him.”

“I know,” You want Bakugou to succeed as a hero; it’s all he's ever wanted. But his hostile disposition was going to hold him back. “You should teach him the rings,” You joked, partially.

“No can do, I'll be too busy teaching you, babybird.” Hawks was quite the optimist, but you figured he was just trying to make you feel better.

You looked down, stirring your drink. “Tch, whatever.”

“It's true; we’ll be an unstoppable duo!” Hawks beam, waving his hand in the air enthusiastically.

“If I take your offer.”

“Oh babybird,” Keigo paused, inhaling through his teeth. “You signed a contract. You're stuck with me for life and the afterlife.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.” With that, you left him standing at the bar. Not only did you want the last word, but you also wished to get back to your friends. This was their night, after all. “Hey, take care of your fan club before joining us.” You motioned to the group of people gawking at the winged pro.

taglist: @therealwalmartjesus @katzurras @noonewouldlisten25 @cathy8taffy

[punkcupcakestyles]

Sober up

So, quick note: I wrote this for the pypfc that the absolute babes @oh-honey-styles​ and @for-fucks-sake-h​ put together. I hope you enjoy it. 

Part 1

If someone were to ask, there was a lot of alcohol involved. A lot. 

It was too late to pretend it was never your intention. 

It was just that your courage tasted like margaritas. 

***

Harry was an asshole, everyone knew that. He was one of those pretty assholes, with the sweet smile, which made it hard to hate him, but, oh, you tried. 

It didn’t always work, but you tried. 

It’s what matters, isn’t it?

The night when it all began, it was unseasonably warm, and you stepped out of the crowded house to take a break before you could sweat...more. It had been a good idea to wear a dress, cause the light breeze was easing out the warmth of your skin.

You felt relaxed for the first time that night. 

The porch was empty and quiet, which was just what you were looking for: A moment of silence to break the noise. You were settling in, even stepping out of your high heels to feel the cold floor under your feet, when the door suddenly swung open behind you. You turned around, startled by the loud music that was booming inside. Harry didn’t see you, or better yet, he chose to ignore you, as he walked out of the house, carefully holding the waist of a blonde girl as she stumbled on her own feet. 

Tipsy would be an understatement. 

You looked at him carefully, crossing your arms over your chest, as you watched the way he softly guided her out of the house. It was truly a sight to be seen, the girl kept giggling and trying to get out of his hold, as she kept grabbing at him, his shirt, his hair, whatever she could reach. She smiled drunkenly at him and he whispered soft words at her that you couldn’t hear. 

A mocking smile curled up the corner of your lips as your eyes followed him, seeing as Harry helped the girl climb into an Uber and waited for her to leave. 

“Awww, poor baby...are you losing your charm?” You bit as he walked towards you. He was wearing a red worn-out flannel shirt, with a white graphic tee underneath. His black jeans were sinfully tight.

“Wanna find out?” He smirked, brushing off your words as easily as they slipped out of your lips. 

“Thank you, wouldn’t want to catch something,” you said, to his amusement and your disappointment. 

“Or have any fun, that wouldn’t be like you.”

It had been like this for a while, ever since you met him, when he stole your morning coffee cup from you, shamelessly. He kept denying it, though, saying it was you who wanted to steal his much needed coffee before an early lit class. How cruel could you be?

He was a pest, a literal one. You would compare him to a moth if anyone were to ask, but in reality, he was more like some source of light where all the girls gravitated to. All the boys as well. 

Everyone but you.  

He stood next to you, leaning on the handrail as he looked at the empty street. He smelled a bit of soap and a citric perfume, and a bit of spilled vodka and lime. He flashed you a smile, an obnoxious one that let you know he was looking for a reaction from you. You held your breath, still refusing to be the first to give in. 

“Why aren’t you inside?” He asked after a few seconds of silence, and you noticed how his curls bounced a little bit as he suddenly turned to look at you with curiosity shining in his big, bright, green eyes. 

“It was hot. And I don’t know where my boyfriend is,” you mumbled.

He chuckled at this, that kind of low and dry laughter that comes with bad news. You breathed in slowly, letting the sudden dreadful feeling take over your chest. Bad news were indeed coming, you could feel it in your aching bones. 

“What?” you snapped. 

“Nothin’”

“You’re an idiot, did you know that?” You tore yourself away from the handrails, ready to get the hell out of there. Away from Harry and the intense way he always made you feel.

But Harry stopped you in your tracks, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you closer to his chest. The sudden movement made you crash against him, and your eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at you with that stupid smile of his. 

“What?!”

“Your boyfriend’s fucking his best friend. That’s why you can’t find him.”

The words had barely registered in your brain, but you were ready to fight them. Your hand went to his chest and you pushed him away until you were free of his touch. You could feel the rage boiling in your veins, but all that fire could only be aimed at Harry, he could handle it, he deserved it. 

“Oh, that’s pathetic, Harry, lying like that!”

“Why would I do that?”

“Cause he’s a good guy, unlike you!”

“He’s not that different from the guy you think I am,” he replied, calm and softly, as if you were a wounded animal and he was afraid that you would attack him. Easy, slowly, quietly, that was the best way to approach you.  

“Of course he is!!!”

“Look, I know you cannot be a very good fuck, so I get it,” he sighed as if he regretted saying anything at all. “But he’s cheating on you with his best friend. I’ve seen them. Been meaning to tell you.”

“Margaret has a boyfriend, she’s gonna get married,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest in a victory gesture. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. 

“I never said it was a girl.”

***

It wasn’t with a girl. 

It was his best friend David. 

He was prettier than you, you would give him that.

And even though the realization didn’t come as hurtful as expected, days of torment came ahead. The most annoying thing was the fact that people looked at you as if you were stupid, worthy of pity. You hated the fact that everyone was treating you as if you were made of glass and could break apart if someone held you too hard. 

Everyone but Harry. 

He kept treating you like he usually did; like you bored him to death. His disinterested glare would follow you from time to time, as he bit the side of his cheek, which made his jawline pop even more, maybe waiting for you to fuck up. 

He was fucking obnoxious. 

***

If anything, going out that night had been a bad idea. Your head was fuzzy, maybe from all of the margaritas you’ve had. It was cheap alcohol, so you could only expect a massive headache. 

Once again, you found yourself at the porch, witnessing how Harry helped a brunette get inside a car. He kept his head low, maybe hoping you hadn’t noticed it was him. But you noticed, and you had to let him know. It was the least he deserved. 

“Do you think,” you started to ask as he walked by you on his way to the house. “they know you are a bad fuck and that’s why they’re running away? Cause, dude, something is going on...”

It caught his attention, no doubt, and Harry turned on his heels, walking menacingly towards you. He was taller than you, so when he stood in front of you, it almost felt like you should take a step back. Or maybe two. 

“Do you really think I’m a bad fuck?” He whispered and his voice made you shiver. It wasn’t fear what you were feeling, not quite. It was a new type of excitement, one that only grew as you stare into his eyes and his lips curled into a mocking smile. 

“I bet you are,” you whispered back, hoping to get a reaction out of him. You just didn’t know what you were expecting. 

“Why does it sound like you want to find out?” He cocked his head, still staring into your eyes. He was definitely amused.

“Nah, I’m good with disappointments.”

He took one step closer.

“Are you sure?”

You could feel his warm breath fanning over your skin and the electricity that was scrambling up to his skin. It almost felt like the world had stopped, leaving only and Harry to slowly burn under each other’s stare.

You gulped. Maybe you weren’t so sure after all. Not sure at all.

“What if I’m not?”

Your words were barely a whisper, fueled by your heart beating so hard that it was pressing against your neck. You had no idea where this was coming from, but you felt a sudden urgency to know what his lips tasted like. 

“I knew you liked me,” he smirked before turning around to enter the house. 

***

Every effort you had made to avoid him came to a violent end.

There you were, stuck in his car while he drove you to God knows where. 

You peered up to him, noticing how he bobbed his head to the rhythm of Fame by David Bowie. His two fingers drummed over the steering wheel, and he hummed lightly, focusing on the road ahead of him. He was wearing a green snapback backward, that crushed his curls and a black plaid shirt, that he was wearing unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

“Don’t pout,” he said when his eyes met yours, and you quickly looked away, suddenly interested in the dust that covered the road. Where the fuck was that party?

It was supposed to be a week getaway, now that your days as a college student where officially running out. Alcohol, party, guilt-free junk food and sex...for those who had someone to fuck. 

No orgies were allowed. That would make it weird. 

The thought occurred to you and you briskly looked at Harry, narrowing your eyes as you saw him smiling. 

“Why didn’t you bring anyone?” You asked and he shrugged, still looking ahead at the road.

“Who would I bring?”

“I dunno, one of your many girls. You must have a list.”

“Didn’t have time to pick anyone up, you don’t know how to fix your bloody car.” 

His accent did things to you when it got rough. 

Not that you would ever admit it. 

“You could’ve left me there. I would’ve called an Uber.”

“Yeah, and then you would’ve told everyone I was an asshole.”

“Oh, I always say that about you. It wouldn’t make a difference,” you smirked, giggling a bit as he turned to glare at you. “And I don’t know how to fix my car cause Andrew always did that for me.”

Harry switched on his seat and his face turned somber, almost uncomfortable, which made you feel bad for some reason. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Were you...did you...fuck!”

“Am I dying of a broken heart?” you helped him. “No, I just wanted an explanation, y’know?”

“Of course you did,” he snorted, and his smile came back as he shook his head in half-surprise. “You would want an explanation so you could tell him his explanation was idiotic.” You tipped your head, looking as his smile as he slowly turned around to look at you once more. “I knew you’d be alright, I should’ve told you earlier.”

“I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“I know, that’s what lets me sleep at night,” he said softly, as his lips curled into a half-smirk. 

It felt weird, to be in a car with him without going at each other’s throats. You were natural enemies, like cats and dogs, or some guys and showers. There was no need (or way) to explain the animosity between you two. It was something you could always count on. 

You closed your eyes, sighing aimlessly as he drove around, as a subtle way to let him you were done with this conversation. And every other that could follow it. 

Talking to Harry made all of the feelings come back, made you feel warm and your skin prickled with something that could only be described as excitement. It made you feel giddy. 

You had realized that years ago. You had never even tried to understand it. 

You opened your eyes again when the car came to a full stop, and Harry parked in front of a huge white house. The air felt salty and the music coming from the house was so loud it made you wince a little bit. It took you a bit to gather your bits, and you slowly stepped out of the car as Harry got all your things from the back of it. Leaning on the car, you waited for him until he stood in front of you. 

“Ready?” You asked him, not even pretending that you were gonna help him carry shit. 

He looked at the house and peered at you again as if he was deciding whether he was ready to go in. You looked at him, as his eyes traveled from your eyes to your mouth, and that same electricity took over the air, the same anticipation that almost made you lick your lips. “What?” You mumbled as he stepped so close that he was all you could see. 

“Shhh…Before we get drunk,” was all he said before he pressed his soft mouth to yours. Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes fluttered close, shivering as his fingertips pressed to your ticklish neck. It was a soft kiss, a slow one, as he was getting to know you, exploring every second of your reaction. His hand dropped to the curve of your waist, and he pushed you against the car, trapping you between his arms. It wasn’t like you were going anywhere. Not even the thought of fighting him had crossed your mind. Your own hands held to him, slowly grazing over his muscles as you brought them to his shoulders. 

Curiosity was burning in your tummy. It all made sense, all was right. 

He was right, kissing him while you were both drunk would’ve been a waste of a wonderful opportunity. His lips were sweet and soft, and the weight of his body pressing down to yours felt heavenly. Your body molded to his and your heart pumped almost expectantly as he tipped your head just slightly, so he could deepen the kiss. Slowly, you parted your lips for him, moaning as he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth. 

A loud crash came from the house, and you both broke the kiss, staring at it as you expected it to blow into a billion pieces. But it remained standing, a loud curse filling the air, followed by a million cheers. The party had indeed started. 

Your eyes traveled to Harry before he turned around, wondering if it had all been a dream. Deep down, you had always wondered how it would be to kiss him. It was better than you could ever imagine. 

Why did you hate him again?

***

The rules of the house were quite simple: If you were single, you were fair game. People could hit on you. Things could happen. 

You had never really thought about it, never had to. That’s what Andrew was for, to shield you from the bitter breath of drunk boys while they tried to convince you to fuck them. 

But now that Andrew was out of the picture, it almost seemed like you had a sign on your head that reads “offer to fuck me. I’m open”. So boys kept droning around you, and your veins were already buzzing from all the alcohol they had offered you. 

If only you could take your eyes off of Harry. He had decided to ignore you most of the afternoon, spending his time with his friends by the pool, smiling at girls that kept stumbling his way, as if he were a fucking magnet and they had no other choice. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, even though you tried to keep your distance, staying by the kitchen and only coming out when it was strictly necessary. 

His skin was almost golden now, and his muscles glistened with droplets of water as he entered the house. His eyes fell on you, and he rolled them as he saw Baz standing next to you, smiling almost lustfully as he leaned in closer and offering you another drink that you subtly left aside. Still, Harry made his way to the kitchen, standing right behind you as he pretended to be looking for a glass. 

“So,” Bas dragged and you realized it was fucking hard to focus on him when Harry was near. “What do you say?” He asked and even though you had no idea what he was talking about, you nodded, out of politeness. His smile spread wide and you looked at him as he left, with a triumphant air on his step. 

“You’re not going up to his room, right? He’s looking for condoms, the twat,” Harry spoke as soon as you were alone and you narrowed your eyes as you looked at him. His jaw was locked and he pushed his bottom lip out, biting on the sides of it as he shook his head lightly. 

“What if I do?” You asked as coolly as you could. Your hands found the edge of the counter behind me and you leaned against it as you tried to copy his usual cool demeanor. As if the world didn’t matter. As if he already owned it. You realized now what you had agreed to. The answer was no, you weren’t going anywhere with Bas, but it wasn’t Harry’s problem. “You’re always saying I am no fun.”

“There are better ways to have fun…” One step closer was all it took for him to take your breath away. Your will quivered under his smile, as he looked down at you and his warm breath fanned over your skin. “Don’t you think?” He whispered and he was made out of trouble. You should stay away from him. 

“Someone could say you’re offering to fuck me.”

“What if I am?” He shrugged, placing the glass he was holding onto the counter right next to you. It was enough to raise goosebumps on your arms. 

He didn’t let you answer. It was probably going to be something stupid, a jab you didn’t mean, you both knew that. So you allowed his fingers to lace with yours, and you followed him as he made his way to the tiny bathroom by the kitchen. 

People could see you, you were aware of that, but they were probably too wasted to care, or What exactly were you doing, following him while your whole body burned in anticipation? Adding your name to an already long list of names?

That was not a question you had an answer for, and you didn’t care much about it. Whatever it was that you were doing, felt like the right choice. 

You would worry about the consequences later. 

His hands are on your body as soon as the door closes behind you, but this time it doesn’t catch you by surprise. You were expecting it, craving him. 

He was shirtless, so there was nothing to hold on to but his skin, so your fingers grazed over his smooth chest and pressed them to his neck as his hot mouth pressed to yours. He tasted like gin and beer and a little bit of weed. His hands settled on your bum, pulling you closer to him until you had no other choice but to wrap your leg around his hips to give yourself some balance. 

Your fingers pushed into his hair and you pulled on his curls, making him moan lightly as his fingers dug into the meaty flesh of your curves. His lips were soon leaving yours and he trailed heavy, wet kisses on your jawline, traveling down your neck at the same time his fingers snuck under the fabric of your cotton blue skirt. 

It felt natural, as natural as hating him felt. 

You sucked in air as his fingertips brushed over the hem of your panties, and his teeth grazed over the sweet spot below your ear, right where your pulse was beating wildly. 

His touch was ticklish, exciting, something new. Your hands fell on his shoulders and pressed lightly to them as he continued to make his way down your body. He kissed whatever sliver of skin he could find, pushing your shirt up so he could suck on the swell of your breasts and humming as he crouched in front of you, which made your feet fall back on the floor and caused you to stumbled a little. 

Your eyes met as he knotted the waistline of your undies in his fingers, pushing it down until they were pooling around your feet. It made your tummy bubble in excitement and your bottom lip rolled into your mouth as you saw him kiss the upper part of your thighs. 

He was taking his sweet time, pressing soft kisses to your hips and your thighs, until you moaned in exasperation, almost begging him to do something before you lost your mind. 

None of you had said a word since you entered the bathroom, and you weren’t going to be the first one to talk. It might break the spell. It might bring you back to reality, and force you to run out of there. Away from him and whatever feeling that was throbbing in your lower tummy. 

“Fuck,” the word escaped your lips before you could even think it through, as Harry bit lightly on your thigh, and his finger slid to your clit to massage it softly. 

You could feel his smirk against your skin. 

“Look at me,” he commanded, right before his tongue slid between your folds. You did, you looked at him as he licked from your center to your clit, forcing yourself not to close your eyes out of pleasure when he wrapped his lips around the pink little bud and sucked lightly on it.

It sent shivers up your body and you had to bite your bottom lip just to hold your moan down. He smirked against you, letting your clit go so he could lick the wetness that was already dripping on your center. His breath swirled on hot puffs of air against you, as he worked on you, licking and sucking like you were the most delicious dessert.

Your leg hooked around his shoulder and both of his arms wrapped around your hips, pulling you closer as he went back to suck and flick on your clit with the tip of his tongue. It wasn’t like anything you had experienced before, he wanted to taste every inch of you, his tongue lapped deliciously against your folds and your knees felt weak, maybe because your legs were shivering with every new movement of his tongue. 

You couldn’t bear it anymore and your fingers tangled on his hair to keep his head still as your hips rocked against his face. It was slow, cause you wanted to enjoy the feeling of his tongue sliding between your folds. Every now and then, he would stop you, so he could suck and kiss on your clit. 

“Fuck!!”

It doesn’t take you long to feel how your walls start to tighten and clench with every new lap of Harry’s tongue. The bubble of bliss in your tummy burst and you pulled hard on his hair as the world blurred at his edges and your tummy trembled with the euphoria of your high.  

Harry’s breath was rough as he forced his forehead to yours and you pressed your fingers to his cheek, feeling his flustered skin before you kissed him. 

“You don’t hate me so much now, do you?” He smirked against your lips. 

“It was a one time only. Don’t get excited.”

***

It wasn’t a one time only. You fucked that very night, in the darkness of his room, with his hand on your mouth so your loud moans wouldn’t alert anyone. You rode him, enjoying the way his thick cock would burn slightly every time you took him all in. He bit your chest and sucked on your tits, leaving faded marks that you had to hide for at least a week. 

You also fucked in the morning, this time in your room, before everyone woke up. Something good had to come up out of your breakup with Andrew, and you had a room all to yourself. It was lazy and slow, and you kissed sweetly, while your arms were wrapped around his neck and your legs were hooked around his hips. 

It was a week thing only, you swore to yourself. 

***

“I don’t wanna go,” he mumbled against the pillows, his eyes close stubbornly as you turned to look at him. 

4 months had gone by since that party. You were clearly not very good at keeping your promises. 

“Harry,” you whispered, even though you weren’t actually sure if you wanted him to go. “They’ll find out.”

It was the very first time he had spent the night, the whole night, in your bed. You hadn’t even had sex. You were on your period and he came to your door, looking like a capeless hero as he held a bag full of goodies: Ice-cream, chocolate, Nutella, cheese puffs, everything you swore you could never eat, but craved when you were on your days. You spent the night watching Netflix and actually chilling, which was weird enough. 

It wasn’t something you usually did, but he had a cold and wanted to be coddled. So, why not?

“Let’em.”

You still hadn’t told anyone. You weren’t sure how to bring the subject up to your friends. “Hey, remember how I always said that Harry was an asshole and probably had a small dick? Yeah, I’ve sucked him off. Great fuck,” didn’t seem like something you would say. 

Your nose bumped against his, and you pulled your hand out of the warm of your covers to press your fingers to his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before you closed your eyes again. 

There was no use in fighting him. 

He usually won. 

***

“I think you should leave through the window,” you stated later that morning, looking at a blank point on the wall. Anything to avoid looking at him. It was harder when you saw him leave. 

“Are you mad? We’re on a second floor!” He asked you, barely able to hold himself up as he was putting on his jeans. His accent was thick and almost dripping with honey. There were very few instances where his accent got rough, which was a shame, cause it made your knees weak. When he was fucking you, deep and slow and your fingers pulled on his hair or your walls clenched around his cock, that’s when his accent came out.

“There’s people downstairs, Harry,” you insisted, even though your tummy twisted in a knot at the thought of him hurting himself because of you.

“We’ll tell them we were studying.”

“They won’t believe it.”

“Then let’em believe whatever the fuck they want,” Harry said, suddenly serious as he stared at you.

“They’ll believe we’re fucking! They don’t need to know that!!”

“Are you...Are you ashamed of me??” He laughed in disbelief, and you felt your face flare up as your eyes went to focus on a loose thread on your covers. 

“You’re not the type of guy I usually date, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry I’m not a closeted gay, babe. Or a stuck-up-horse-riding club boy.”

Your eyes snapped at him, but it was too late. He was already gone. 

***

You had no right to be mad, you knew that much. 

But still, your blood was raging. 

He was sweaty, all of you were. It was one of those stupid competitions that your friend Rose would put together from time to time. ‘Let’s play volleyball, even though none of us really knows how to!” “Let’s run stupidly around campus!” “Let’s all train for a 10k!” 

You couldn’t stop looking at him, the way his tattooed chest glistened and his golden skin were taut around his muscles. He was wearing a pair of white running shorts and that stupid green snapback and his curls were poking out of it as if they were screaming for help. It was the first time you saw him, since that morning in your room, and he looked fucking good.  

As soon as the race was over, the boys had decided to get drunk, and you all followed them to someone’s house, so you could all enjoy the sunny day, without running your lungs out. You were all aware that it defeated Rose’s efforts to keep you fit, but you didn’t care much about it. 

And now, the day was giving in to the night, and you all had had too much to drink. Everyone but you. All you cared about was Harry and the way kept flirting with the blonde girl that sat next to him. 

You couldn’t blame him, she was fucking hot, sporting black shorts and a red sports bra that barely did anything to cover her poking nipples. You would’ve been flirting with her too if you could. 

She put a hand on his leg and leaned over as if to tell him a secret and you almost growled, spreading your palms over the table as you looked carefully at them. You couldn’t stop, and you wished you could say you didn’t care. But you cared, more increasingly as the days went by, and right now you felt like your heart was racing in your chest, preparing itself for the moment it had to break. 

He looked at her, with his eyes half-closed, and allowed her as she leaned over him and pressed her lips to his. She kissed him, hitching her hand closer to his bulge as he kissed her back. 

Your heart didn’t break, it just stopped, it stopped beating and you stopped breathing. You could feel it cracking in your chest, and you could do was stand there and stare at them. 

The girl giggled as she broke the kiss apart and Harry smiled lazily at her, telling her something before he got up from the couch to walk to the kitchen, holding some red plastic cup in his hands. 

He stopped dead in his steps as he saw you, and his eyes went wide as he realized what had happened. Any haziness in his face went away and he stepped towards you, placing the cup on the counter as you recoiled back, trying to look busy in the empty kitchen. 

“Babe…”

“That’s not my name,” you whispered, biting into the corner of your lips as you looked away from him. You were ready to leave. You picked up your gym bag from the floor and tossed it over your shoulder. “And s’not any of my business, Harry. Go ahead, have fun.”

“Don’t leave, please.”

“Why? Do you want me to go upstairs and watch you two fuck?”

“Don’t…don't blame this all on me. Don’t be unfair.”

“Oh, no, you’re right, Harry. I should blame myself”

“You’re the one that doesn’t want anyone to know!!” He insisted and you looked at him with rage firing in your eyes. “I was just…I shouldn’t have kissed her. I’m just...a bit drunk...”

“I don’t need to know, Harry. Let’s go back to what it was, hating each other was easier.”

“You don’t hate me,” he whispered as he grabbed your arm, stopping you before you could leave.

“I do.”

“Oh, I don’t know. If you hated me, you wouldn’t scream my name so loud when I’m fucking you.”

“Fuck off, we’re done.”

[whereflowersbloom]

Nightmares and donuts.

For a minute he can’t see anything, then he’s in this unknown place, a foggy forest, there’s some creatures lurking in the shadows. He couldn’t see them clearly, he didn’t understand. what was wrong with his eyes? There were monstrous creatures and they wanted him. They tried to catch him.

Then everything goes black.

Now he is running down a street at super speed, people surround him screaming desperately, he has no idea what’s going on. He can hear them crying for help, little children, civilians, he listens to their heartbeats pounding. Then he detects the figure of a girl, he cannot see her face, but he recognizes her. He only catches glimpses of her through the crowd. He pushes harder, his legs pumping. He knows her well. He panics and he’s sweating.

“Raven, wait for me” he tries to say, but nothing comes out. He cannot speak. She can’t hear him. He can’t reach for her, touch her soft skin. He needs to get to her.

Save her.

Panics swells within him. He runs faster, pushing his limits. She’s closer now. But she never looks back. Never looks at him.

He’s reaching, reaching, but the distance between them stretches too far and he can’t get close enough. Why he wants to know. He wants to punch a wall, his frustration and anger driving him mad.

She’s going to fall, she screams, crying out in desperation, fear, falling into the endless darkness. Taking her away from him.

There’s nothing he can and Conner knows with with an absolute and dreadful, sinking feeling, it’s his fault. He wants to shout, yell, his fury, misery, disappointment.

Then she’s on the floor, lying in front of him, unmoving. Her lifeless body. Empty eyes, her cosmic violet eyes he adores with every fiber of his body. There’s blood. Blood blooming across her torso, in rich and vivid red. The place is flooded with her blood. Everything’s red now. He can’t escape it. He holds her dead body in his arms, he wants to hold onto it, with all his strength. He feels like something was ripped off his chest, he’s sobbing, his emotions out of control , he sobs, agonizing, he’s broken. His dreams and illusions destroyed. He failed her. He wasn’t made to fail. He was supposed to protect her. No matter what or the cost. Everything was meaningless if she wasn’t there. Sobs tearing out of his throat, it’s too much, all the pain, the loss, it’s going to destroy him. As if he’s about to explode from all the torment.

He wakes up, gasping, breathing shakily. The emotions hitting him, and slowly, flowing away from him, slipping between his fingers like water as he’s awake. He’s disoriented, he feels heaviness in his chest. He tries to focus, looks around, attempting to discover where he was, but he’s too numb to think. Relax. Breath in, out. Someone squeezes his hand gently. Warmth. He wasn’t alone. He’s calmed down and he concentrates, he’s in his room. At the Tower. He seeks the source of warmth. He finds it. It’s her. He’s relieved. He relaxed as he takes a deep breath. It was a nightmare. He squeezes her hand to assure himself it’s real. She’s real.

“You’re okay now. It was a nightmare.” Her melodious voice whispers

“What happened?” He can’t remember anything, his head hurts,he was too affected by the dream. He massages his forehead, trying to regain composure.

“We were on a mission. But there was an ambush. They had Kryptonite. You were badly injured. Very” remarked with sadness and worry in her voice. “I had to heal you.”

Oh. He did fail. Was she injured? Immediately he studied her figure completely. Everything seemed to be okay. He stares, his stare expresses deep longing. She was safe was all he could think about and alive. Her violet, shinning-stars-in-the-sky eyes, full of life. He was so grateful but he had to be strong for her. For everyone but her specially.

“I’m sorry I made a mistake.” He whispered with remorse, guilt, reminding himself he had to be responsible of his actions. Be stronger. Be better. His throat was dry.

“Conner. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Nobody is. Not even me.” She confessed, she wanted to comfort him. She felt his agony and pain.

“Clark would sacrifice himself if he had to. He’s stronger and exceptional, worthy, a man I have no certainty I’ll become.” He clenched his jaw. Superman was invincible. But he was different, a clone. Only half the man Clark is, maybe less.

“That’s not true. You’re worthy. You’re so much more, things you can’t see. Things you’ll become. You’re only a year old.” Raven was looking for the right words. It saddens her immensely, the pain she felt, horrors she saw in his mind. She had to say it or he wouldn’t stop.

“Stop pushing yourself for my sake. We are partners, friends, growing and learning together.” She muttered serious. She bit her lip, she intruded his mind, oh no. “Sorry. Empath. Can’t help it sometimes.” She apologized but a part of her got the feeling he didn’t mind.

“How much did you see?” He asked her looking down. Afraid she had seen his worst fear.

“Enough. Enough to know that if I leave you alone, you’ll spend the rest of the night brooding and reproaching yourself over something you had no control over.” She folded her arms, giving him the ‘I know you ‘ look.

He exhaled, slowly managed to sit up on the edge of the bed. She was right. All the tension in the room. He had to say something to Change the mood.

“So you’ll act as my temporary nurse?” He joked, a grin spread widely on his face.

Raven crossed her arms over her chest. Suppressing a giggle but giving him a genuine smile. “I suppose, and I happen to know the cure for half-kryptonians. You’ll feel better in a flash.“ she said cheerfully.

“Oh. What is it?” His eyebrows raised, he didn’t expect that, curious about her magical remedy. His mind forgetting about that terrible nightmare.

Raven smiled mischievously “you and me. Donuts and the rooftop. So get casual clothes and get ready to go out.” This sparked Conner’s interest, his eyes sparkling. It was no secret he had a fondness for sweets.

“I was born ready.” He smiled, feeling the warmth in his chest. She always knew how to make it better.

Moments later he was sitting beside Raven, looking at the night sky, wearing civilian clothes. Conner says through a mouthful of pastry. “I love donuts and this.”

“I have to admit they are pretty good.” Raven picks a strawberry filled donut and tastes it. Delicious. Sweet.

They got four boxes of donuts. Conner was currently halfway finishing the second one. He was sitting on the rooftop, looking at the stars with the girl he likes. She hasn’t said much about his nightmare. His fear. They didn’t need words. Raven understands. It’s moments like this that makes everything worth it. Moments he joyfully treasures.

He looks at her again, even if he couldn’t tell her his feelings out loud. His eyes could speak the words he wanted to say with all his heart, human or Kryptonian. Whatever he was. He knew now he was capable of caring, loving someone. Raven didn’t judge him, she accepted him unquestionably.

“So how does the portal thing work?” He asked looking up and taking a mouthful of another donut. “If Krypton was still up there. Would you take me?” Half interested, the other half just wanted to hear her talk. He wished upon the stars, the whole galaxy if it was possible to stay in this moment, make it last, just a bit longer, or forever.

“If that’s what you wanted. Yes, of course.” And she gets into explaining how her powers work. And the infinite planets and dimensions in existence. Conner can’t hide his amusement.

The spend an unaccountable slice of infinity on the roof, until Conner is full, eating almost all the donuts, counting the starts, identifying constellations, talking about Azarath and other places, feeling at ease. At home. She feels like coming home. Conner thought.

I am home.

Thus is for @grassfour 😊😊😊💜💙

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

Heyyyy I saw requests are open and I was wondering if you could do something where the reader was an American nurse in the war who saved Tommy’s life, and she finally finds him after many years?? You can make it romantic or platonic between reader and Tommy :) thank you!!

Debt - Thomas Shelby x Reader

A/N: Loooooved this idea 🥺

Taglist: @imagine-richards @hxnky-cat @sweetiekokkiri @captivatedbycillianmurphy @tranquility-or-chaos

*****

Your life as a war nurse had many ups and downs. The war stayed with you, as with all the others who lived through it. They said it was over, but did any of you really believe that when memories still played out in vivid color before you?

There was an upside to the trauma, though. The men you'd help save brought you immeasurable joy and relief. You always told yourself that the ones who lived made it all worth it. It didn't stop you feeling guilty when others died, but you figured that part would never go away. You helped where you could and that had to be enough. Especially when these men thrived. Thomas Shelby was one such example. A photo of him in uniform was on your desk, and you couldn't stop the tears that sprung to your eyes.

He'd been in a bad way when you'd gotten to him. Cold, dehydrated, and in shock. He'd been a clay kicker if you remembered correctly, and only a few men of his team made it out. He was mostly silent as you had treated him, and he did whatever you needed him to. He let you save his life because he already died in the tunnels, but some small part of you hoped that it was for your sake.

"Thomas Shelby." you murmured his name aloud, remembering how clear blue his eyes had been amidst the dirt and grime on his face. The sepia photo didn't capture their hue.

Your roommate and fellow nurse entered the room with a mischievous look on her face, "Aha! It's that man from the war, isn't it? The tunneler you wouldn't shut up about?"

"How did you get this?" you answered, nodding.

She explained, "I'm still friends with one of the girls over there. She wrote me complaining about the gang wars, and how she had to treat one of their leaders. She said she was sworn to secrecy about who he was because there were men after him, but she remembered him from the papers after the war."

"Ah, when he was awarded O.B.E. He's a gang leader now?" you wondered, at a loss for words.

"Apparently. They call themselves the Peaky Blinders." she sat down across from you.

"What does that mean?"

"They cut people, I think." she frowned, and folded her arms.

"Fuck."

You roommate sighed, "Even after me saying that, you're still going to go see him aren't you?"

You gave her an embarrassed smile, "I have to see him. Don't give me that look! You gave me the photo!"

"Fine, you're right. I thought maybe you'd be satisfied with just the photo." she threw up her hands.

"Liar. You're a hopeless romantic, admit it!" you jumped up and hugged her, grateful for the photo between your fingers.

"Oh, whatever."

*****

A week later, and you were walking down the muddy streets of Birmingham. You held the photo in your hands tightly, but trying not to wrinkle it. Anxiety was running rampant inside you, but you'd never been more sure about something before. It had been a mistake to let him leave the infirmary without leaving him a way to contact you, and you felt you had to make it right. You couldn't live your life wondering what if.

"Have you seen this man?" you asked a stranger.

The man nodded gravely, "Try the Garrison, it's a pub up the road. The Peaky Blinders run it, so he's bound to show up some time. Just be careful, miss, they aren't the sort you should hang around."

You thanked him, and carried on. You didn't come all this way to be discouraged by a scared man. Sure, you knew what you were getting into, but Tommy was worth it. Besides, you were fairly certain that the war couldn't be outdone in terms of the trauma inflicted upon you.

Pushing open the ornate doors of the pub, you were immediately surrounded by the din of conversations and glasses clinking. It was a warm sound, a sound of life. A long bar stretched out to your right, and cozy tables and booths were to your left. You spotted a door in the back that probably led to a private room, and another smaller private room near your end of the bar.

You moved the counter when the bartender was close, "Excuse me, do you know where I can find Thomas Shelby?"

"Ah, American? How is it in the States?" a man to your left interjected, clearly drunk if his slurred words were anything to go by.

"It's fine. If you'll excuse me.." you told him, looking to the barkeep for an answer so you could leave sooner. You didn't like the way the drunk man was looking at you.

"Who's asking? I haven't seen him around." the bartender looked quickly away from the photo, and you got the distinct impression that he was lying.

"Tommy?" the drunkard asked, snatching the photo off the counter. He leaned close enough that you could smell the reek of body odor surrounding him. You tried desperately not to gag.

"Hey!" you tried to get the photo back but he kept it out of reach.

"You're looking for Tommy? I know where he is. Oh, don't worry, I won't charge you for it. Come on." he took your photo and slumped off his stool. Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling towards the door.

"Thanks." you said as venomously as you could to the bartender. He had the decency to shrink back a little as you passed.

This was a horrible, horrible idea, but you wanted Tommy. Maybe this drunk man was part of the gang some how? You were told that they hung out there, so you supposed maybe he really did know Tommy's whereabouts.

"He always cuts through here." the man gestured to you, sliding down the extremely narrow alley next to the pub.

You wondered as you tentatively followed, 'Why would Tommy willingly remind himself of the tunnels every day?'' You'd seen how cramped the hole he came out of was. No one you knew would ever go back in there, whether they got claustrophobic or not.

Stopping as you neared the entrance, your tried to decide if you could make it back inside the pub without the man noticing. But that's when you looked up.

The man who had seemed nearly incapacitated by alcohol just moments before was now standing as still as a shadow with a gun aimed at your face. He gestured you forward with his free hand, no shake to it at all.

"What the-?" you began, but he got impatient and yanked you into the alleyway with him.

"Scream and I'll shoot your pretty mouth off." he snarled, shoving you against the wall and the gun to your cheek.

The alleyway was so narrow that you had no room to escape him or the smell that radiated from his body. You did gag this time, unable to stifle it in such close range to the source. He took advantage of the distraction and slid his free hand around your throat.

"Who are you? Some kind of whore? Or better yet, you his girl?" he demanded, squeezing.

"Get off me! I'm not a whore, you jackass!" you rasped out, painfully aware of the metal being pressed into your skin and the lack of air you were receiving.

"Ah, so you are his lover! Well, then, I bet he'll mind if I take you with me." he chuckled, moving the gun your shoulder and shoving you back toward the street.

You inhaled sharply as he released your neck, only to yelp as you stumbled into the street and caught your boot on a rock. You nearly went down, but the man wrenched you back up by your arm. He pressed the gun into your back. This was all happening too fast! Who was he? What did he want with you? Why did he think you were Tommy's lover? More importantly, how were you supposed to get away from him!?

A group of men were headed towards the pub, and recognized the infamous peaky hats that your roommate had warned you about. You couldn't tell if Thomas was among them, but you hoped if they were his men that they'd step up like you hoped he would.

"Get the fuck off me!" you shouted as loud as you dared, hoping your captor wouldn't shoot you for doing so.

To your luck, one of the men said, "Hey, let go of the girl, mate."

"Fuck off! There's nothing to see here!" the man holding you snapped back, tightening his grip on your arm.

"She told you to let go." you heard a familiar cool voice behind you and your captor.

"I knew you'd come out if I laid a hand on her!" the man laughed, releasing you entirely.

You whimpered and scrambled back, rubbing your arm. There was sure to be bruises there tomorrow. Guiltily hoping to see a gun in Tommy's hands, you were shocked to see that his hands weren't even raised! You bit back your terror and continued to watch the scene unfold.

Suddenly, faster than you could see, Tommy swung at the man. The next second, the man was spraying blood and falling to his knees. Thomas swung the cap in his hand twice more, slashing at the perpetrator's face. Then, Tommy kicked the gun out of his hand and one of his men retrieved it.

Peaky Blinders. It made sense now.

"Get the fuck out of here." Tommy snarled to the now wailing man curled up on the gravel. Two of the Blinders hauled your attacker to his feet.

"Wait." you stopped them, finally finding your nerve. You snatched the photo of Tommy from his pocket.

You added to the man, "Those will need stitches. Being a nurse, I would be inclined to do them but you've made me angry. Plus, you stink."

"Y/N?" Tommy started, realizing who you were. He tried half-heartedly to wipe the blood off his hand.

"You saved my life." you tried to smile and calm your still racing heart. It helped that your attacker was being dragged away.

"I'm only standing here today because of you." he said calmly, blue gaze ensnaring yours.

You stepped closer and pressed the photo into his hand, "The same goes to you."

He slid his arm around your waist and held the door to The Garrison open, "Come in and I'll get you a drink. We've got a settled debt to celebrate."

[fallenrepublick]

If these are still open... can I request a part 2 of our Feral family? Possibly with Maul and his reaction to seeing this other brother of his and also that he actually has a family of his own? We get to see more interaction between Savage and Feral's children as the boys just adore their uncle? While, of course, Feral is making them a nice home meal to let his pregnant wife relax with their coming daughter. I love this family and they shall live on!!

This ended up long as fUck but it was cute, so whatever

Here is the first part.

Warnings: A screwy timeline

“Did I not tell him to stay with the ship…”

Having thoroughly scoped out the land and finding it annoyingly peaceful, Maul had returned to where he had landed with Savage hours later only to find the ship… empty. It was unlike him to wander around anywhere without reason, but even more unlikely that the over two meters tall Zabrak had been captured, especially not by people like these. The only reasonable conclusion, Maul decided, was that something had caught his brother’s eye and he had chosen to follow it.

He turned in the direction of the nearby village, the faces of the houses and buildings obstructed by thick forest life and plants taller than any natural greenery Maul had ever been in the presence of. He trekked forward, unsteady footing slowing down his pace, and pushed through the vines and leaves that blocked his path. Mumbling to himself as he walked, he dearly hoped, for Savage’s sake, that whatever he had followed was worth it.

The forest ended at the edge of the village, loud lively, many residents having taken to the streets enthralled in conversation and tasks, some children running to fro as they played. It hadn’t seemed like Savage had been through there, but then again, one could never be too sure.

As he began walking amongst the people, his vision glazed over the people largely too interested in their own business to notice a stranger traveling within their midst. Faces of various colors blurred together in a haze of surreal memories. He understood, at least a little, the appeal of this planet, the rainbow of appearances that spanned not only through the population but also the environment kept everything interesting, preventing its natives from falling into the dangers of monotony.

The noise of the bustling town didn’t interest him, but one single voice stood out from the others. Though it wasn’t one he knew, there was a strange familiarity to it, as if it was one he was supposed to.

To his right stood a lone house, modest in size, but no less pretty, with multiple figures moving in the front, backlit by the lowering sun. The voice had come from there, light and cheerful, the primary trait an airiness that he hadn’t heard in a long time. Upon venturing closer, hesitance slowing his pace, he could more clearly see the family in question and the source of his curiosity.

Savage stood with the family, arms crossed in deep consideration. Beside him was yet another Zabrak, similar in color, but lighter, soft brown tattoos framing his face less intrusive than his own. He was smaller, younger, more innocent than Maul or Savage, but he held himself assuredly, as if the cruelty of reality hadn’t quite hit him yet. Or maybe it had and he had just chosen to ignore it.

Three children, varying in height, were beginning to be herded together, directed towards the house as the smaller Zabrak continued his conversation.

“-but to this day I still don’t know where the ship came from. But you know how we were, always ready to fight outsiders when the goings got tough!” His laugh was just as cheerful, ringing in everyone’s ears like bells from a clocktower in the mornings. As he spoke, he lightly elbowed Savage, who himself was smiling at his companion, more pleased than Maul had ever seen him.

Though the conversation halted when Maul approached, Savage’s smile fading as he remembered what he had even come for, and Feral’s eyes widening in surprise at the new visitor.

“Is this-” Feral began, gesturing towards Maul, who’s annoyance had faded into simple confusion when he had fully processed the scene in front of him. Savage simply nodded in response, and it wasn’t long that Feral was hurrying over to Maul, a grin plastered on his face.

“We haven’t formally met, yet!” His hand was outstretched, eager to make contact. “I’m Feral. I’m not sure how much you know about me, but I’m your brother!”

Maul took the hand, albeit reluctantly, and nodded. “I’ve heard… only a small amount. Though I was under the impression you were-”

“Dead?” Feral shot Savage a glance. “I might’ve been, if I didn’t have help along the way… Oh well, both of you should come in! I cook around here most of the time, so we can catch up while I feed the monsters.”

Savage smiled at the thought, watching as Feral led them back to the house. Maul however, remained wary, uncertain of how his brother had come to build such a comfortable life while he still struggled to get more than three hours of sleep each night.

“You look so concerned…” Savage mentioned as Maul came up beside him, brow furrowed. “I’ve known him our whole lives. Nothing bad will happen.”

Maul shook his head. “It’s not that. I just don’t understand it. How can he come from a planet like ours and still be able to maintain such… domesticity?”

“Feral was always more tame than the rest of us. I wouldn’t call it weakness, just… an aversion to the violence he was born into.” He stopped a moment, sighing as he watched his nephews race to get into the house first. “I always worried for him, hoping he wouldn’t be targeted as defective if he didn’t adapt to the harshness. He found a way, though.”

Maul said nothing, mind still contemplating the strangeness of it all. He had never considered the possibility of anything other than the power he was raised to believe in, yet here was one of his own kin, living out a life free from that constant struggle. It didn’t sit right.

Still, both followed their brother inside, the children wrestling in the living room and a female Togruta laying on the plush couch. The colors on the interior were light and natural, soft on the eyes and fitting for the natural aura of the village.

Already, Feral had prepared drinks for the company, setting cups on the wooden table outside the kitchen. His brothers sat, Savage visibly more comfortable than Maul was.

The oldest child had seemed to take a liking to Savage, lingering around him as often as possible. He couldn’t have been older than ten, head-tails still very short, encircled by budding horns that were placed more like Savage’s than Feral’s. His skin was a lighter brown, as were the stripes on his head-tails, and he carried himself with more authority than his siblings, prepared to remind him of his elder status at any moment.

“You know,” he said to Savage, leaning forward on the table’s edge, restlessly kicking up his legs. “I’m gonna be like you when I get older. I’m the biggest and the strongest of my brothers, and I’m going to make sure it stays that way!”

“It’s ah… not an easy task…” Savage replied, not wanting to admit that he effectively cheated. Maul snickered. “You’ll have to train for years if you want that to happen.”

“I don’t care!” He leapt up, arms crossing and chest puffing out. “I look kinda like you anyways, so I’m already halfway there!” Well, that’s good, at least he was aware of it.

Feral piped up as he filled a pot with water. “Terren, you’re still not done with school. Please wait until you can long divide before you do that.”

Maul felt something on his leg. It was the youngest, about two, tapping on the metal casing. Rounder and softer in features than his older brother, he was a deep green, like his mother, but the horns that just barely poked out from the area around his head tails bore a strange, uncomfortable resemblance to Maul’s when he was that age. Remarkably curious, he was easy to please as long as he got the answers he sought. And at that moment, he was seeking answers about the being in front of him that he was certain was a droid.

“Fake?” His nails tapped again, harder. Maul didn’t like children in any situation, but what he liked even less was that he found this one mildly charming. He moved his foot back, just to see what would happen, fully expecting the child to cry. But no, he simply scooched himself back with it, gaining an even closer look. “Fake.” He nodded, having determined his hypothesis correct, and placed both hands directly on top of Maul’s foot in confidence.

He really wanted to pick this kid up.

Against his better judgement and personality, he reached down and lifted the child up to eye-level, not sure what he was looking for, yet searching nonetheless. Upon seeing his uncle’s face for the first time, as he was much too small to have noticed it before, the child’s expression hardened into intense concentration. This being was certainly not a droid, and it was unfortunate that now he’d have to go back to the drawing board to discover the truth once more.

“Oh that’s Uta…” Feral said, noticing his brother holding up the young child like a small sack of potatoes. “He’s… a handful.” He laughed as he said it, the sounds of cooking food blending with his smooth voice.

Uta was still frowning, having earned his spot standing on Maul’s lap, and very clearly trying to reason out why he had been tricked before. “Real.” He pointed at Savage. “Real?” He turned to look up at Maul, whose expression was difficult to read. “Fake?”

“It’s about half and half…” Maul offered, hoping to relieve the child of what might’ve been the most stressful situation of his mini life.

“Half-av?” He considered a moment, letting the newly learned word sizzle in his mind a second. Feral tried to choke down his laugh. Uta finally nodded. “Half-av.” The answer was acceptable.

And in came the middle child, mother in tow, who was still discussing an old legend about Nautolans as he entered the room. Stalky and narrow, he was the researcher of the family. He looked most like Feral, with kind eyes turned down at the edges, his mild yellow colors dimmer than his siblings and a slight air of nervousness surrounding him like a cloud, but that didn’t stop him from opening up to his family in ways few would understand or expect. Madin was nodding thoughtfully as she listened to him, pulling out a chair so that she could also sit with everyone else.

“I, for one, don’t understand the Anselmi’s goals in the long run.” He leaned against the table’s edge closest to the kitchen as he finished his explanation. “Oh hey, I’m Forta.” He gave Maul a small two-fingered salute as his introduction.

“Out of the way, out of the way,” Feral chuckled as he waved his kids away with one arm and set down a large serving platter with another. Forta scurried over to Savage’s side, where he marveled at the sturdiness of his uncle’s armor. He began going on about various materials found throughout the galaxy, and was gushing about Beskar, while Terren tried to convince him that no one wanted to hear his boring facts.

Sitting down beside his wife, Feral rubbed Madin’s back while the three boys hurried to their seats across from them.

“You know…” he began slowly, considering the environment. “I didn’t think this sort of thing was possible, getting off of Dathomir… having something more than what we were told was allowed.” He glanced over at Savage, who met his eyes and looked down. “But I get to have all of this… and I’m so glad that you two get to be a part of that now, too. So… I guess what I’m trying to say is… Thank you. For everything.”

[blu-archer]

Somethings Missing

Part 1 of the Flower shop and Bakery AU 

Snz [mild sneeze kink implied?]

No warnings. it’s cute.

Main Pairing: Jimin/Yoongi

Yoongi knew the day was going to be long and tiring as soon as he left Hoseok to man the shop so that he could sneak his morning dose of Jimin -  unfortunately only to find that his cheerful, gorgeous boyfriend had been replaced by Jungkook. The taller man had greeted Yoongi with a wide grin, turning even more amused at the sight of the pink carnation that Yoongi had snipped before leaving his store.

“I like you Yoongi, but Jimin has martial arts training and I’m not about to stand in the way of that.” Jungkook teased as he restocked the packaging in the shelves behind him for the baked goods and coffees.

Yoongi gave a light chuckle, leaning on the counter as he watched Jungkook work. “Funny. You’re early today, is Jimin in the back?”

Jungkook shook his head. “Just me today, Jin will probably come by at around 2 but other than that, I’m the only front man for the next day or two.” Upon seeing Yoongi’s face morph into one of confusion, Jungkook added. “Jimin called in sick this morning, it was really last minute so Jin wasn’t able to switch his schedule around enough to get here earlier than he can. I tried calling Jimin to see how he was, but he didn’t answer.” He took a big gulp of his coffee once the last of the packaging cups were in place. “I called Tae next and there is a high chance that Jimin is passed out and dosed up on cold medicine. Which is probably for the best. An upside of him getting sick really easily is that he at least knows how to take care of himself.”

At least Yoongi knew where he was, but that didn’t make him feel any better. 

He left Jungkook soon after that and tried to bury himself in work, but everything seemed to be small tasks that didn’t fully occupy his time. He sent a message to Jimin that he had worked on for half an hour, writing and then rewriting before he had just sent a simple text.

Y – ‘Heard you were sick, need me to stop by?’

It was annoying how little focus he had throughout the day because of Jimin’s absence. Hoseok even tried to distract him with random ‘Name this flower’ quizzes that he made up when he was bored, but nothing helped. He spent most of his day dragging around a big new load of bagged fertilizer and doing some low maintenance around the shop. That one flickering bulb was getting on his nerves and he was going to fix it whether it risked shocking him or not. 

It was close to 4 o’clock when he finally heard a message come through on his private phone. Yoongi didn’t even try to act cool about how he had scrambled for the device. Thankfully the only other person in the store was Hobi, and he seemed to be invested in restocking some gardening supplies.

~Mochi~-‘Hey, Sorry, I only looked at my phone now… It’s really not bad, I’m mostly sleeping it off. Tae should be home soon so you don’t need to stop by, I wouldn’t want to accidently get you sick too.

Without a seconds’ hesitation Yoongi replied.

Y-‘I wouldn’t mind, I missed you this morning. Jungkook thought I was trying to court him.’

He didn’t get an answer straight away and his presence was dragged away momentarily by the entry of a customer needing help with finding the right assortment of flowers for their spouse. Yoongi spent the next twenty minutes discussing flower meanings, arrangements and building a bouquet for the customer, it felt like an eternity before he got the chance to see the reply. And Jimin had sent a few in succession.

~Mochi~-‘He’s just jealous because no one wants to date him.  

~Mochi~-‘You should have seen him sulk that first week when we went to the arcades and art museum.

~Mochi~-‘It’s like the ideal date place for him apparently?

~Mochi~-‘But seriously, stopping by wouldn’t be worth your time. I was awake for maybe 2 hours – max, and it was more of a staring into space situation until I just went to sleep. You’d get bored.

~Mochi~-‘sleep is better than having to deal the mess this cold wants to make of me, anyway.’

Yoongi couldn’t help the small smile as he pictured what Jimin must look like right now, probably bundled up in his bed or the couch trying to fall asleep every second he could. 

He had seen Jimin with the after math of colds before and had definitely seen him with allergies – he had learnt the hard way that Jimin and roses didn’t mix well, and there was that one time that Hoseok had brought his sisters kitten to work when she was out of town and he had to care for it. Jimin had fallen in love with it despite having spent the rest of the day sneezing and rubbing at his puffy eyes to the point where Jin had had to send him home.

Yoongi loved seeing Jimin a mess, he loved seeing that his perfect, beautiful boyfriend was human and wasn’t in control of everything. Yoongi loved seeing Jimin unravel, and he had to admit – although he’d probably never say it out loud – even before they had gotten to be good friends Yoongi had found his attraction to Jimin’s prone natural loss of control to be over-powering. He had never thought he would see someone trying to catch their breath shakily from sneezing or to have that pink hue to their cheeks and nose, or anything related to that, attractive. Maybe it was because it was Jimin, but Yoongi could never really stop thinking about it.

Y-‘Can I video call you later? I want to make sure you’re still alive…’

Yoongi sat perched behind his front desk watching his phone, waiting for the next message, wondering if that had been the correct thing to type. 

On an upside it was nearing the end of the workday and he couldn’t be gladder. While he hadn’t done anything extremely productive, Yoongi felt drained. He often blamed that on Hoseok. That man had the power to absorb the energy source of his surrounding people, and unfortunately Yoongi was the one that spent the most time with him.

Speaking of... Yoongi hadn’t realised how quiet the store was until he could vaguely hear Hoseok’s loud laughter breaching through the walls. He must have gone next door for something while they had no customers. The younger seemed to be making a habit out of it, recently taking to the exchange of Jimin so that he could have sometime alone with Jungkook. Yoongi had tried to speak about what it was that was transpiring between the two, but Hoseok had merely shrugged him off and teased him about whatever recent thing he’d seen his boss do towards Jimin.

The laughter got louder until Hoseok burst through from the back, shaking his head at whatever had been said to him with a wide smile before handing Yoongi one of the large cups of coffee he was carrying.

“Thought you might need it. It’s getting quite chilly now.” Hoseok mused. “I have a feeling winter is going to hit hard.”

Yoongi thanked him, accepting any form of caffeine with gratefulness. Winter was definitely going to be a harsh one, Yoongi had thought it many times before especially in terms of his business, but a new concern had suddenly arisen. He’d have to look out more for Jimin. Maybe he could send him over some warmer jackets or hats to help keep him warm.

“Did anyone else come?”

“Not really, its’ been quiet.” Yoongi murmured, breathing in the warm steam. “We still have to organise that big delivery order for Friday, but we can do that tomorrow afternoon.”

Hoseok nodded, moving to sit down next to Yoongi behind the counter. “Jin said that we are in for a week or so of storms, so I don’t think we’ll have many clients these next couple of days.”

“Probably pick up a bit after wards..”

“Flowers are a good ‘Get Well Soon’ treat and with the weather we’ve been having I won’t be surprised if our sales increase after this next week.” Hoseok rambled. “Probably more deliveries than walk ins though. Are you going to send something to Jimin?”

Yoongi blinked. Should he? Jimin didn’t seem to want him to come by, but maybe if he just had the flowers delivered it may make him feel a bit better.. Yoongi was broken out of thought by the vibration of his phone, alerting him of an incoming call that Hoseok quickly reached over to hand to the older man despite Yoongi being closer to it.

~ Mochi ~

Hoseok looked away to hide his smile as he watched Yoongi’s expression soften. The elder took a breath before he answered hastily, unsure what the call would mean considering how he had thought Jimin had fallen asleep again.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” Jimin answered roughly, holding the phone away from him as he tried clearing his throat before speaking again, still sounding quite heavily congested and tired. “I’m sorry it’s not a video call but… I look like shit right now. I haven’t showered and Tae has been sending me zombie emojis randomly all day, so this is the best I’m offering.”

Yoongi chuckled lightly, swirling his drink as if contemplating to drink it but making no moves to. ‘I’m sure you look beautiful, but if this is what you want then we can do this instead. You sound really hoarse, is it your throat that’s bothering you?”

“Throat. Head. Sinuses. Chest. The whole lot.” Jimin broke off to muffle a cough, sniffling miserably before he continued. “It kind of progressed rather quickly through the day, I seem to wake up with a new symptom every time I lie down. At least Tae is at the pharmacy now, so I should be getting something stronger in my system soon.”

“Take as many days as you need.” Yoongi advised softly. “This weather’s only getting worse, and if you have to come into work get Taehyung to drive you. Or call me, I’ll come fetch you.”  

Jimin hummed and Yoongi bit his lip as he heard the small sniffles through the line that Jimin was no doubt trying to manage quietly. He didn’t remember Jimin showing any signs of being unwell the day before but  from the sounds of it, this cold of his has burrowed in fast and deep. While Yoongi hoped that Jimin felt better in the next few days for his sake, he had a feeling that Jimin wasn’t going to kick it like everyone was planning for.

“And you need to dress warmly too.” Yoongi added, he could hear shuffling on Jimin’s side and another hum of agreement. Yoongi sipped his coffee, letting the caffeine he craved ease through him. “I can drop off-“

“Huh’imphshiew… Hih – Hih’inxgtsh’uh – Eh’INGXtshew! Sor-sorry, snf. Hih’ehNXgtshh!”

“Bless you..” Yoongi said, feeling his cheeks warm a bit at the interruption. Hoseok didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, so he allowed himself to flush lightly as he listened to Jimin succumb to another double-  this time a bit further away from the receiver, hearing the desperate thicker sniffles that he could no longer try to hide. “I was saying that I could drop off some warmer winter Jackets, but it really does seem like I was a bit too late to suggest it.”

Jimin tried to give a light laugh but his effort was lacking. Instead he excused himself for a moment and after a few seconds of loud tossing he could distantly hear Jimin blowing his nose.

“Sorry.” Jimin sniffled as he returned. “I left the tissues in the kitchen, just… Snf… Hih’iiTSHhew.. snf snf. Damnit!”

“Bless.” Yoongi’s brows pinched with concern at how thick Jimin’s speech had become. “I wish I could help you.. I know this might make you sneeze more but maybe you should take a shower, or a bath, let yourself soak and breathe in that hot steam.”

Jimin moaned lowly and Yoongi took a big scolding gulp of his coffee.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure how long I’m going to last here. I wanted to call now rather than later since I was awake, but this is just getting embarrassing. Snf.”

“This isn’t something to be embarrassed over... Now the time you and Jungkook decided to wear matching bunny onesies for Easter…  That you should be embarrassed about.” Yoongi teased and Hoseok tried to stifle his laughter as he glanced warmly at his boss, as if thanking him for reminding him of that fashion catastrophe.

“Hey!” The pout could be heard in Jimin’s tone. “Jin made us wear those, and even if I thought I was going to die of heat I made that outfit look cute.”

Yoongi hummed with amusement.

“I did.”

“Of course.” Yoongi agreed playfully. “I’m sure you had a line of suitors handing out their numbers for you.”

“Well, I got you.” Jimin said, coughing briefly away from the receiver.

Yoongi smiled. He had a point there. “Fair enough, glad I was the one to be chosen. It must have been a very difficult choice to sift through the offers.”

“You seem to make all of my choices easier.” Jimin replied softly, then made a disgruntled sound as if rethinking his words. “Forget I said that. This cold is making me loopy.”

Hoseok made a move to switch the open sign to close and gestured to Yoongi that he would start the cash up for the day seeing as they were unlikely to get any more customers in this final half an hour. Yoongi merely moved his chair over to give Hoseok more space to work behind the counter.

“It’s cute.” Yoongi murmured. “So besides sleeping, did you do anything today?”

Jimin sniffed. He had started to breathe heavily and Yoongi could only assume it was because of the youngers inability to breathe through his nose. “I heated some soup and uh… started watching a movie but that only lasted like -snf- fifteen minutes… What about you? Was the shop busy?”

“No, it was uneventful.” Yoongi sighed. “The cute boy next door wasn’t in for some reason.”

“Oh -snf- how boring for you. snf. I’m sure he missed you as much as you missed him.”

“You think?”

“I – Hih’eNGXshh snf.. snf.. ‘EhhiNGXtshew! Ugh… Yeah.” Jimin sighed tiredly, breaking out into harsh cough.

“Bless You.” Yoongi bit his lip. “I hate saying this because I really did miss you and I love speaking to you, but you should probably rest, or take a bath. Maybe a bowl of hot water and a towel over your head if you are too tired to bath. It could help just ease your breathing or something.”

He could barely make out the soft murmur of agreement that came from the younger, directly followed by the distance gurgling sound of nose blowing.

A moment later Jimin replied light heartedly. “Who knew Mr. Min could be so concerned and caring? This is a side I’d love to see more of.”

“Let me come check on you then.” Yoongi insisted.

“Yoongi…” Jimin sniffled and groaned. “I really don’t want to get you sick, Hoseok can’t man the shop alone when you have deliveries. I’ll be fine in a day.”

Yoongi really doubted it, but he would respect Jimin’s plea as far as he saw improvement. He could rely on Taehyung to make sure that his boyfriend didn’t die in a bundle of blankets and tissues, and Jin surely wouldn’t let the man return to work if he wasn’t well enough for it.

“Ah..” Jimin murmured quietly before briefly greeting someone away from the receiver. Yoongi could hear a faint reply but couldn’t make out the actual words.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. Tae just got back and I’m already having medicine aggressively pointed at me.”

“Best you go then.” Yoongi laughed lightly. “Rest well, Minnie.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow… love you.”

Jimin hung up and Yoongi felt a warmth rush through his body at the unfamiliar mumbled words.

[mbti-notes]

My esfp brother has recently started saying racist things, talking about how white men have it worse in this country than anyone, etc. I’m having a hard time dealing with it. I’m intp, so my instinct is to counter with a factual argument, but this is not an effective way to communicate. For one, he tends to see challenges or contradictions as personal hostility, even when they’re gently stated, and a debate usually ends up with him digging in, raising his voice, and resorting to statements (1)

[con’t: like “It’s just my opinion” or “You just hate me no matter what”. Secondly, he has a slippery relationship with facts and not a lot of philosophical integrity, so logical debate is pretty pointless; sources that confirm his argument are real and ones that don’t are Fake News, and he’ll also freely change his line even if it contradicts what he was arguing yesterday. For these reasons, our family doesn’t usually take the bait when he picks fights or says something outlandish (I think in our interactions, he’s motivated to be racist because he likes to provoke and knows it’s one of the few things he can say that will consistently get under my skin, and also because he thinks I look down on his alt-right friends (he’s right, though I’ve always tried to be diplomatic about why I find that worldview disagreeable). I don’t want to think my brother is a lost cause, and I don’t think he’s as invested in the ideology as some of his friends are at this point but I still don’t know what if anything I could do to get through to him. Any ideas?]

I often hear people say that they hope to have “a reasonable debate” about controversial issues, but then what they proceed to do is not debate but rather squabble, lecture, preach, proselytize, compete, or browbeat. You know that constructive debate (i.e. one that reaches a satisfying conclusion for both parties) can only happen under very specific conditions, including:

good faith: the willingness to give fair consideration to the opposing viewpoint as well as the willingness to allow fair critical examination of your own viewpoint

higher purpose: a commitment from both parties to seek out the truth and put it above personal ego and pride

critical reasoning: the ability to carefully construct and deconstruct arguments such that one can draw logically valid and sound conclusions

I’m not making any statement about you or your intentions. I think you’ve shown patience and restraint. I’m simply pointing out the fact that most people are not prepared to have a proper debate because they do not meet the conditions for being able to debate well. This matters in the sense that you should ask yourself whether it’s worth it for you to engage in debate with someone who is obviously not debating in good faith. This also matters in the sense that, if you are the person who isn’t able to engage in good faith, then you might be part of the problem in creating and continuing the conflict, despite whatever good intentions you possess.

I think many of us know someone who likes to be contrarian for the sake of being contrarian. Perhaps they like the drama of provoking people. Perhaps they like the feeling of being “special” in going against the grain or belonging to an “underdog” tribe. Perhaps they hide behind victim mentality (i.e. claiming “persecution” of their beliefs) because they don’t want to feel responsible/guilty for their ignorance or complicity. If someone is irrationally motivated to hold on to their beliefs, they’re not open-minded, in fact, they might even “debate” you just to use you as an excuse to double and triple down on their beliefs. It would be nice if everyone in the world were rational and came to their beliefs rationally and listened to reason all the time, but humans are just not that simple.

People at low levels of ego development have a very difficult time admitting when they’re wrong, often due to misplaced pride. Also, Fs use their moral beliefs to define who they are, which adds an additional obstacle to changing their mind. ESFPs are not particularly serious people, and that can be an advantage because it means that they are mentally flexible in terms of easily getting bored with any one idea. If you are right that your brother is only “flirting” with these beliefs and doesn’t actually believe in them wholeheartedly, then you should be careful about pushing him the wrong way. You don’t want to push him into a position where he is: 1) too embarrassed/ashamed/guilty to admit to being wrong, and 2) too personally identified with these beliefs to change his mind.

Fs are often insecure about their intellectual abilities, so perhaps it is difficult for you to understand how they feel when they have to admit to being wrong - it is a vulnerability for them that serves to harm their self-esteem. Different types have different vulnerabilities, but most people don’t like feeling vulnerable and do what they can to avoid it. Therefore, if you want to change someone’s mind, do it in a way that lets them maintain a sense of dignity in their vulnerability. In other words, make it easier rather than more difficult for someone to change their mind by being sympathetic (e.g. by creating a “we all mistakes” social atmosphere) rather than indulging the desire to humiliate or punish them for their mistakes. 

If he’s just trying to provoke you to get your attention, then he’s not interested in debate, right? It’s a “game” that he plays with you, on repeat. ESFPs are mostly about having fun because they are easily bored, so perhaps this is his way to create some interesting drama between you, though it isn’t fun for you. If you take it too seriously, you push him into defending his beliefs, which has unintended consequences. Studies have shown that simply being asked to defend a belief for a few minutes leads people into identifying more strongly with it. Therefore, avoid putting him on the defensive too often, otherwise the beliefs get gradually subsumed into Fi, and then he really won’t budge.

Also, note that he may genuinely feel that he has it tougher as a guy, etc. Something that people often don’t understand is that inequality hurts everyone. It doesn’t hurt everyone equally, but it does hurt everyone in some way. For example, men also suffer from rigid gender expectations in that they are extremely limited in the ways they can express their identity. Maybe this is the point he’s trying but failing to make. If so, you’d do better to acknowledge the feeling itself while not agreeing with the subsequent conclusion/belief. Of course, you know that feelings do not equal fact, but he doesn’t, because FPs treat feelings as facts. You coming in to counter him with your facts doesn’t work because you’re ignoring that his beliefs don’t come from "fact” as you define it, rather, they come from his personal feelings. Instead of letting him bait you into conflict and invalidating his feelings, tell him that you respect his right to have his feelings/opinions, though you disagree. 

Explicitly establish that you agree to disagree, and you stop playing your role in this game of his. Show people that you understand why they have their beliefs (despite them being wrong), or let them know that you will continue to love them (despite disagreeing with what they stand for). Then they have little reason to feel defensive and hold even tighter to their beliefs. When people approach you with the attitude of “winning” or getting the upper hand (though you have nothing in particular to lose), you should NOT join in and try to get the upper hand over them, because this will make it harder for them to change their mind, since they will perceive it as being “defeated” and then feel “inferior”. Leave people their pride by remaining as neutral about them as possible, then they are more likely to calm down and be reasonable. 

Remember that Fs value relationships and, deep down, they often want nothing more than to be validated and loved. If they have psychological development issues, they may choose the wrong methods for seeking love and attention. In that case, it’s up to you to be the bigger person if possible and avoid playing their game of “bad attention is better than no attention”. He already knows your beliefs at this point, so there’s no need to debate him in circles over and over again. You can simply say that you disagree and leave it at that. If he suddenly shows the willingness and capacity to examine his beliefs, then by all means guide him. But, until then, don’t give him an excuse to engage in tribal mentality and fashion you into his enemy, especially when he’s already feeling “aggrieved”. Focus on the fact that he’s your brother and you care about him. Remember that “to err is human; to forgive, divine”. From there, your approach should be empathetic enough to create the space that is necessary for him to change his mind without losing too much face. It’s hard, but sometimes you have to admit that you can’t help people who don’t want help and/or you might not be the right person to help them at this time.

Yes, some beliefs are quite morally abhorrent and difficult to stomach. But the fact is that they exist out there. The point isn’t about eradicating them, it’s about trying to discover the best strategies for reducing the number of people who believe. One subject I came across in my studies was about people who had been politically radicalized and then later de-radicalized, e.g., incels, terrorists, white supremacists, etc. If you are interested, you might benefit from reading a book or watching a documentary about why people get radicalized so that you understand how it happens and how to avoid exacerbating the process.

[skullrock]

the partners, chapter three - Steve x Reader

chapter three: panic

series summary: you and Steve are police apprentices at Hawkins Police Station in the fall of 1986. you get along famously, but there’s something Steve is hiding, and there is an unknown evil lurking in Hawkins. [friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff]

chapter summary: You and Steve start an investigation; you stand up for Steve. 

warnings: swearing, death, mentions of suicide, talks of blood, Reader channels their inner April Ludgate, Tommy H.

word count: 3.1k

a/n: here’s the Spotify playlist that goes with the series, and you can catch up here. enjoy!

------

You race home to grab your uniform and promise Steve that you’ll meet him at the scene. His anxiety is so spiked about a dead body in Hawkins that he doesn’t even worry about driving in the dark. He just wants to get to the scene.

Steve grips the steering wheel of his car so tightly that his hands go numb. His face is paler than usual, and his throat feels dry. His head spins and there’s a black edge to his vision. But still, he drives.

Steve doesn’t know the details, but he has a gut feeling that this is a murder. The last murder in Hawkins – if you can call it murder – happened that night at Starcourt. Things had gotten back to normal since then. The town was quiet, dull, almost serene. Who the hell is murdering someone? What if it’s the Russians? The lab? A Demogorgon? Steve feels like he’s been punched in the gut. How can he make sure everyone is safe?

He wishes you drove with him.

Steve pulls in and hardly remembers to shut the car off before springing out. He jogs over to the scene, already brightly lit by floodlights and taped off. He notices police that aren’t from Hawkins – the government must be here. Steve sucks in a sharp breath at the realization. If the government is here, it has to be bad, right?

He approaches where the Chief is standing with a few well-dressed men. The Chief hears him and allows him into the circle. Chief Edwards knew about the events at Starcourt – hence why he was brought to Hawkins in the first place. Steve shared an odd bond with him, despite the growing feeling in his gut that something just wasn’t right about him. He had his theories, which he kept to himself. The apprehension probably had something to do with how the American government acted the last time they were stationed here. That resulted in Will, the Upside Down, and Eleven.

Was he really so wrong not to trust them?

The body is of a man, middle aged. He’s got a gun in his hand and a shot through the middle of his forehead. Dark red blood pools around his head like a halo. Steve’s desensitized to gore, not even flinching at the macabre scene. He shakes his head solemnly before looking at the Chief and the men.

“Do you think it’s the Russians?” Steve asks anxiously. “Or a left-over Demogorgon, or something?”

Chief Edwards purses his lips. “If it were one of those creatures, the body wouldn’t be here, it would be there. And there’s been no signs of Russians here in Hawkins.” He shakes his head. “Looks like your everyday suicide to me.”

“Suicide?” Steve scoffs. “Like how Benny Hammond ‘committed suicide’?”

“Watch,” Chief Edwards says. The men beside him are quiet – Steve thinks they look like aliens. Edwards looks at the men and waves them off, and they head over to another group of men who look the same.

Edwards turns to Steve, face soft. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me, kid?”

“Not work for the government would be a start,” he spat, turning to look at the older man with his arms crossed.

“Those people are gone,” Chief Edwards stressed, throwing his hands out. “They’re dead. They sent Sam Owens and his team to take care of what they did. Even Jim Hopper trusted Owens!”

Steve hates hearing Hopper’s name thrown out like that, and winces. “That doesn’t mean I do.”

“Kid, you’re an apprentice. You’re here to learn, not teach. Either you get some faith in me and your government, or you can leave.”

Steve bristles, glaring tensely at the man’s blue eyes, before he feels a soft hand on his arm. He spins and finds you, eyes wide with worry.

“Y/L/N,” Chief says. “Here’s your first dead body.”

You inch closer, heart panging with empathy as you look at the man. Your eyes well up with tears. “Suicide, huh?”

Steve wants to call you an idiot, but refrains.

“Looks like it,” the Chief responds pointedly, glancing over at Steve.

“But why here?” you ask.

“Yeah, great question,” Steve interjects. “Why here?”

Steve knows damn well that these government men know what happened here last year. He knows they know it was the Source. Why would a random man kill himself here? Of all places? It just doesn’t add up.

“Maybe he used to work here. Maybe he knew no one comes here and he would have some peace before he does it. Who’s to say?” Chief Edwards answers. There’s a sharpness to his voice that has your eyebrows running together.

Steve sighs heavily, quite frankly pissed off. “Guess it’s something we can look into, huh, Chief?”

You straighten, excited by the idea. “Could we?” you gasp. “Could we investigate?”

“Absolutely not!” The Chief seems irate now, much to your confusion. “You two are interns for Christ’s sake. Not detectives. You can sit in on the briefings, but this isn’t up to you. You’re not ready.”

Dejected, your shoulders slump, and Steve reaches out instinctively to comfort you, rubbing your shoulders.

“We brought you here to get a feel for how these things go. Go ahead and walk around, take some notes. We’ll meet back at the office.” Chief Edwards shoos you both away, but grabs Steve before he gets too far.

“I’ll look into it, kid,” he says, squeezing his shoulder. Steve wants to slink out of his grip but knows he’s already on thin ice. “Worry about something else.”

____________

“Well,” you say. “All nighters fucking suck.”

It’s nearing closing time for you both, after nearly having a 12-hour shift. Steve has been quiet for the past few hours. He looks like that famous sculpture, The Thinker. His brows are pulled together, forehead creased in response. He chews his lip thoughtfully, eyes roaming the room. He doesn’t respond to you, just nods, lost in something you can’t decipher. You wonder if he’s upset that he didn’t get a danish and milk-coffee this morning amidst the chaos.

“Steve,” you say, and he looks up at you. “What are you thinking about, buddy?”

He chews on his lips again, then gets up and walks to your desk. He sits on the edge of it. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s hesitating to tell you his thoughts – he has to word them just right, so he doesn’t give anything away.

Finally, he says, “I think something isn’t right.”

“About?”

“The body,” he sighs, a hand running through his hair. “Why would someone kill themselves there? At the S- at an abandoned warehouse?”

You shrug. “Maybe he really did have some connection to it.”

He shakes his head. “It just doesn’t add up.” He looks down at you softly. “Don’t you think something weird is going on?”

“You tell me,” you start, standing up, and Steve groans. He runs a hand over his face as you begin. “You were part of whatever the hell happened at Starcourt. I know that. You can’t lie about that. And yeah, I think something weird is going on, but I can’t know what it is unless you tell me.” You laugh mirthlessly. “If something weird is going on, it’s how you never want to open up to me about, I don’t know, anything?”

Steve shakes his head again, face scrunched up. He pauses for a long while, then says, “I can’t tell you.”

“So there is something!” you shout. “I knew it!”

“O-kay, don’t cream your pants,” he mumbles. “I just – I can’t. I can’t. All I can say is that some really… fucked up stuff has happened around here, and I think that stuff is back.”

Truthfully, you’re elated at his confession. It feels like a new level of friendship was unlocked. You feel like he trusts you now – at least enough to admit a bit.

“What can we do?” you ask. “I’m ready to help.”

“I’m thinking of doing some… undercover investigative work.” He places a strict emphasis on the “I”. “And that doesn’t involve you.”

“Steve,” you plea. “Come on. I won’t mess this up. Hell, I won’t ask any questions, either. But I can help. And I want to help.” The corners of your mouth quirk up. “And you can’t even drive at night, so you’ll need some assistance on that front.”

He shakes his head but can’t help the smile that forms. It fades quickly, though. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, Y/N. If what I think is happening is true… it isn’t merciful. And if we get caught, Chief is going to have us skinned alive. We’ll never be cops. And – and it might not even yield any results.”

“Steve,” you say gently, lacing your arm in his, leaning back against your desk beside him. “I don’t care. We’re partners, remember? I’m in this with you.” You sway into him. “And I love drama.”

He rolls his eyes and mulls it over. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to have some help. And you’re right – he really hates being out at night and would appreciate another person with him. The kids shouldn’t get caught up in this – they need protected. As long as he’s safe with what information he gives you, it should be fine, right?

“Fine,” he says. “But I have conditions.”

“Lay it on me,” you reply.

“Rule one: no questions. You will take the information that I give you and not ask any further.”

“Whatever.”

“Rule two: you don’t talk about this to anyone. Not a single person. Not to your best buddy Callahan, and definitely not to Veronica.”

“Callahan is funny and you’re just jealo—”

“Rule three: we are not listening to the Smiths when we are in my car.”

“Wh—”

“And rule four: we devote ourselves to discovering the truth and stop at nothing until we have answers.”

“Where do I sign?” you smile.

Steve reaches his hand out and you take it, firmly shaking.

“You better not mess this up,” he says, eyes bright.

_______________

Patrolling with Steve was fun.

You switched off cars so that it wouldn’t be too suspicious, and you finally took the Walter Mondale bumper sticker off yours. You both would meet up and leave around 10 pm, hiding out in the cover of night. You usually had some snacks with you and would basically shoot the shit while driving around. Around 1, you’d drive to a spot near Rimborn, sitting with your lights off and waiting for any strange activity.

Steve would usually start the nights out being tense, but relaxed after talking with you for a while. He genuinely enjoyed the company and the talks.

About a week into your undercover sleuthing, your talks with Steve start to become a bit more sentimental.

“You know,” you say, chewing on a Twizzler as you both sit in the idle car. “You’re way cooler now than you ever were in high school.”

He sighs deeply. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I mean it. You hung out with some real assholes.”

“Yeah,” he responds, leaning back in his seat. “If I could go back and change it all, I would.”

“Why did you hang out with them?” you ask after a moment.

Steve reflects on the question for a while. “I don’t know. Tommy Hagan was close in the alphabet to me, so we usually had to sit next to each other. I think we just became friends out of necessity. You know, like, ‘we might as well’.” He starts to pick at his fingers. “I hate who I used to be. I think about it every day. I think about how fucked up they were to me.” He laughs. “When Jonathan Byers beat the shit out of me, Tommy went to get me pain killers and a soda. And he asked me to pay him back!” He shakes his head and looks out the windshield. “I gave him my lunch for years, and all he cares about is two dollars?”

You purse your lips. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I’m in better company now.” He smiles gratefully over at you, and that same stomach-flipping feeling comes back. Again, you push it down.

He reaches out for your hand and grabs it, taking it in his, and you blush furiously. You’re happy that it’s dark out. “I’m sorry we didn’t hang out before.”

“Steve, it’s—”

“It’s not,” he interjects, knowing exactly what you’re about to say. “It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have let my stupid… mind get in the way of a good friendship. We’ll hang out as friends again soon, okay? Not sitting in my shitty BMW while we try to catch some bad guys.”

You nod. He squeezes your hand and lets go, and you look over at him. You take in his boyish features – the softness of his skin, the glimmer in his eyes, how strong of a nose he has. His broad shoulders, his toned arms. You force yourself to look away.

“We should go get more snacks,” you declare. “Drive us to the nearest 7-11 at once.”

“As you wish,” he smiles, putting the car in drive again.

You happened to choose the worst time to go.

Going inside was fine – you get a slushie and some more Twizzlers, a bag of chips. Steve gets a soda and some candy bars. You pay, he’s grateful, it’s fine. But when you walk outside, you literally walk into the devil himself – Tommy Hagan.

He’s surrounded by four friends, one of which is Carol. Everyone pauses for a moment, eyes wide, before Tommy breaks out into a devious grin. “Well, look who it is.”

Steve is stiff as a board. “Hi, Tommy.”

“Look at you,” Carol croons, reaching up to yank on a lock of hair. “Hair’s gotten longer.”

Steve shrugs out of her grip, scoffing. “I see you’re still as annoying as ever.”

Tommy steps in between them, toe to toe with Steve, and you don’t even think before you grab him and shove him away. The typical high school ooooo rises out of his friends, and Steve grabs your arm.

“Stop,” he hisses, but you can only hear your heartbeat in your ears, feeling red-hot anger coursing through you.

“Got a new slut, huh, Harrington?” Tommy asks, sneering.

“Fuck off, Tommy,” Steve growls. But that’s not what sets you off.  

“Got other people fighting for you again, Steve? You still hanging out with fucking twelve-year olds? You still disappointing your parents? I knew you’d never amount to anything. You’re the same dumb kid I remember—”

“What did you just say?” you ask through clenched teeth.

Tommy bares his teeth. “I said your boyfriend is a fuck-up.”

That’s what sets you off.

You lunge forward, taking the lid off your slushie, and dumping it over his head. He gasps loudly and before he has time to truly process it, you twist his arm behind his back, spinning him around, bending him over. He cries out in pain. You never had to use your subduing training techniques before this point, but you’re elated that this is what you use it on.

“Say it again, dickhead, I dare you,” you spit.

“What the fuck, man?!” Tommy cries out.

“Leave Steve Harrington’s name out of your mouth, you fucking caveman.” You twist his arm back harder and he cries out again. Everyone is staring at you with their mouths open, Steve’s hanging a little lower than everyone else’s. He wants to reach forward and stop you, but he’s in too much shock to move.

You shove Tommy and he lands on his back, and you grab him by the collar, pulling him close to your face. His eyes are wide and the sticky cherry slushie runs down his face. “If I ever hear you talking about him, if you even so much as look his way, I’ll ruin you. No one will even remember you, Tommy Hagan. I’ll obliterate you. Understand?”

Tommy’s brows are knitted together, and he’s terrified.

“Understand?!” you shout.

“Yes,” he says quietly. You lean down and peck his nose, then let him go, and he falls onto his back again.

“Let’s get out of here,” you mutter to Steve, and after a moment he kicks into gear, running after you.

Steve sits in a shocked silence, mind on autopilot. He ends up driving back to his place, done for the night. He has to sit and think about what just happened for a while.

You’re silent, too. You’d never done anything even remotely like that before. It just felt like someone, or something, had possessed you. You feel guilty and ashamed, which only gets worse the longer Steve is silent.

He pulls into the driveway and shuts the car off. He stares out for a while, then slowly starts to shake his head. He looks at you, a twisted look of amusement on his face. You’re worried, forehead creased.

“Where did you learn that?” he asks.

You pause. “Training?”

“Holy shit,” he breathes, leaning back. “That was awesome.”

Relief runs through you. “You’re not pissed?”

“Are you joking?!” he asks happily. “Y/N, no one has ever stood up for me like that. Not a single person. Tommy would only stand up for me because he liked getting in fights.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Holy shit.”

You stare at him with wide eyes. “I just… did what was right.”

Steve gets out of his side and runs to yours, opening your door. He gives you his hands to pull you out and wraps you in a tight hug. You pause before wrapping your arms around him, returning the hug, squeezing him tightly.

“You’re not a fuckup,” you say into his shoulder. “Not even a little bit.”

He buries his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you.”

You laugh. “If he goes to the police, I’m fucked.”

“He won’t go to the police,” he says, smiling widely, taking a step back. “He’s too scared to admit a girl scared him like that. And anyway, did you see his face?!”

“He looked so stupid,” you laugh.

“What an understatement,” he quips, and recreates Tommy’s expression, making you both double over in laughter.

As you calm down, he pulls you towards him, holding you to him tightly. “Thank you,” he repeats. “I mean it.”

You smile softly, squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around him. “What are friends for?”

_______________

taglist - @comedy-witch​ @wolfish-willow​ @harrington-ofhawkins​ @sassisaluxury​ @m-blasterrr​ @gothackedalready​

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[nelllraiser]

served shaken and stirred | lucky, connor, & nell

LOCATION: The Common, by the center fountain. PARTIES: @lvcky-charms​, @connorspiracy​, and @nelllraiser​. SUMMARY: lucky, connor, and nell gate crash a group of highschoolers’ fun, putting a real big damper on an otherwise thrilling Summoning attempt. CONTENTS: self-harm (sacrificial), death, homophobia (highschoolers being dumb).

 “Come onnn, how long is this gonna take?” Gary stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets and stood back as Drew and Megan lit the candles. “It’s getting late, and my parents don’t want me out past 10. What’s the point of this shit, anyways? You really think that dumb note you found is gonna do something?” Of course they did. Mom and dad always cautioned him not to read any weird writing he found, especially out loud, but his friends really had their hearts set on this. He really should’ve known better than to listen to Drew. Drew always got them into trouble. And ever since he and Megan started dating, Gary found himself consistently outvoted.

Megan sat on the edge of the fountain, kicking her legs in the air. “Your parents don’t want you to have a life, Gary. And aren’t you curious? He paid $50 for this sheet of paper. It has to do something.” She shrugged, her mop of curly hair bouncing. “Besides, I wouldn’t waste my Yankee Candles if I didn’t think this wasn’t going to work.”

“Okay,” Drew announced, stepping back from the last candle, “I think we’re ready.” He checked the paper, like it was a sheet of instructions for assembling an IKEA dresser instead of a dangerous incantation. “Oh, it says we need to put blood onto the surface. Megan? You’ve been PMSing all week.” 

She scowled at Drew. “Very funny. You know, I could’ve dated Shane instead. Maybe I made a mistake.” Megan hopped off the fountain’s edge and rummaged through her backpack, pulling out a dissection kit. “You’re just lucky I’m in AP Bio.” Drew still looked confused. She clicked open the small box and pulled out the scalpel as her answer, carefully handing it over to Drew. 

Gary’s nose wrinkled. “Did you use that on a frog or something? Is that sanitary?” Megan just rolled her eyes and tossed her hair back. Drew didn’t seem to care one way or the other, and held out his hand. But something made him freeze. Gary quickly understood why. “Do you guys hear something?”

It was a shitty habit, he knew, but Connor’s vape had ran out of battery, so he was left with the emergency cigarettes he kept in his inside jacket pocket. “Where the fuck did I put that lighter?” He patted himself down like it was magically going to appear, groaning to himself. “Fuck sake.” He glanced around, looking for someone else who might be able to lend him one, and across the common he caught sight of--was that candles? He scrunched up his nose, curious, heading towards what looked to be a bunch of high schoolers. “Didn’t the fire brigade ever come to your school and warn you about flames in a wooded area?” he teased, then held up the cigarette. “Which of you has a light?” He glanced around at their faces, looking like a bunch of deer in the headlights, then his eyes fell on the paper. “Oh, bloody hell, not a summoning circle. Hand it over.” 

Ever since Constance had decided to give Nell a deadly bath in the ocean, the ache of whatever the hell was wrong with her ribs had made it rather uncomfortable to breathe...or move- or do most of anything. But she’d run out of Takis at home, and desperate times called for desperate measures. If it hadn’t been for the faintest crackle of magic in the air, she would have walked on by whatever the hell was happening in the Commons, but the prickling of her skin turned Nell’s head towards the commotion, and a frown was quick to come over her as she slowly made her way over to the source of it, injury permitting. “What the hell are you all doing?” she asked unforgivingly the moment she saw the spread of the spell, obviously drawn with an inexperienced hand. Then she saw the scalpel, and realized they were only inches away from making a very big mistake. “Give me that,” she demanded in her next breath, holding her palm open for the tiny blade. “Or you’re probably about to get yourself and all your friends killed.” Summonings gone wrong were rarely forgiving.

“I had nothing to do with this,” Connor said, holding up his hands. “I just wanted a fag.” 

“Sorry, Mary Poppins,” one of the boys answered. “Try Flaming Mo’s.” 

Connor raised an eyebrow, looking over at Nell. He had to admit, it was nice to see her, even though they were clearly interrupting something stupid. Luckily, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for Connor to be involved in stupid shit. “That’s not what I meant.” 

Nell was reaching for the scalpel, and the girl was staring at her, holding onto it protectively. “No, it’s mine. Get your own, you old bat.” 

The other boy, the one who seemed to be her boyfriend, stepped forward protectively, grabbing the scalpel from her. Whether it was deliberate or whether it was an accident in the struggle, Connor couldn’t say, but in the scuffle, the scalpel went right through the palm of Nell’s hand, falling onto the scandals and fountain. “Jesus,” Connor exclaimed. “Bugger, that must’ve hurt. You alright?” 

The stiffness that had settled into Lucky’s joints kept him from getting any semblance of normal sleep. He figured maybe, just maybe, a walk would help loosen him up and tire him out to the point where he couldn’t not sleep. He maybe overestimated how familiar he was with White Crest, as now he was ambling around and definitely lost. The walk hadn’t even done anything to ease his aching joints as, now, they throbbed with every step. He was just about to find a place to sit and rest for a moment when something caught his eye. Was that people? And candles? That seemed like a disaster waiting to happen in a town like this, but still, he begrudgingly walked towards them, coming upon some kids, a stranger, and...Nell? Good, this definitely meant he should turn around and leave; she never seemed to not be getting into trouble from what Lucky could tell by their interactions thus far. Against his better judgement, he called out softly as he approached. “Uh, hey folks.”

The moment the blood fell from her hand into the fountain, Nell knew what it meant. A sacrifice had been given, and the spell would be complete. But it wasn’t enough. Already she could feel the spell demanding more blood, and now that the floodgates had been opened it would take all the energy it needed until it was satisfied. Drew, the boyfriend, fell to his knees almost instantly, his face shriveling in like a dried apple before their very eyes as the magic took the energy it needed. It had taken all of five seconds for the night to turn into mystery occult fun to deadly. His girlfriend was screaming somewhere, but Nell couldn’t focus on that now. “I’m fine!” she replied reflexively to Connor, ignoring the pulsing pain of her hand. “But it needs more blood or it’s gonna keep taking what it wants!” she yelled with a nod towards the husk of a teenage boy that lay unmoving on the grass. Hastily, she grabbed the scalpel from his hand to draw it along the length of her forearm before shoving the entirety of her arm into the fountain, trying to complete the sacrifice for the summoning. “Lucky, get out of here!” she yelled, not even sure where the selkie had come from.

Lucky’s mouth hung open as he stared at what was unfolding before him. “Are you okay?” he asked, rushing forward towards Nell and trying to look at her arm. “Why would you do that!?” He glanced away at the teenager on the ground and physically recoiled at the appearance of him. Tentatively, Lucky bent down and prodded at him, stomach lurching as he did. “Nell? What the fuck is going on right now?” he asked, standing back up and looking at her and then around at the faces of everyone gathered. “What is wrong with this town?”

"Holy fucking hell," Connor cursed, stumbling back a couple of steps as the entity appeared in the fountain. "Sh, sh, stop screaming!" He told the girl, which was probably difficult when her boyfriend was lying on the ground like a shrivelled prune. Cigarette long abandoned, he grabbed the paper the ritual was written on. His first thought was to destroy it. Maybe that would work, right? But then, they might need the words to find out how to reverse them. "Nell, shit! Stop that!" But in the short time he'd known her, Connor figured this girl knew plenty about summonings. She knew what she was doing. "Who the hell is Lucky?" Connor asked, turning towards the stranger who had decided to amble into this conversation at precisely the wrong time. "Mate, no offense, but she's right, you need to bugger off." 

“We were only trying to have a little fun!” Gary interjected, the look of immense shock and horror engrained on his features. “We didn’t mean to-- Oh, fuck… Drew…” 

Of course, in a situation like this Nell couldn’t have been fortunate enough to be blessed with two boys that knew their way around a summoning such as this one. Instead she had Connor and Lucky. Gone was any patience she had outside of non-life threatening situations as she tried her best to explain. “These dumbasses-” she began with a pointed finger towards the two remaining highschoolers. “Just summoned who fucking knows what! And now that it’s been started- it won’t stop until it has the sacrifice it needs! Which means it’s gonna come through whether we like it or not! I have to give it more of a sacrifice or it’s gonna start turning all of us into corn husk dolls like him!” What the hell had they summoned anyway? As her blood continued to spill into the fountain, staining the water red, all she knew was that the entity felt hungry. “What’s the paper say?!” she asked Connor, noticing he’d found some sort of instructions. 

Lucky was having a hard time reading lips by candlelight, but he made out enough to understand that whatever was currently in the fountain was certainly bad fucking news. “How do we make it go away? How do we stop it?” he asked, running his hands through his hair as the panic tightened in his chest. Why was he always at the wrong place at the wrong time? This was the second ghostly encounter he’d seen thus far and he was not prepared for how this one was going. He looked to Connor, opening and closing his mouth as he searched for words, before walking towards him and trying to get a glimpse of the paper and what it might say or be for that matter.

“Tryna figure that out, mate,” Connor answered. Didn’t seem like this Lucky guy was going to be very much help. Connor might still be figuring this exorcist shit out, but at least he had some experience, which he figured was more than could be said for Lucky. “It’s not good…” The fountain was bubbling as if it was made up of boiling blood, and the figure that had once appeared on the surface seemed as if it was trying like hell to manifest. It stared at Connor, pale face and tangled dark hair, as if it was staring into his very soul. Then it looked to Lucky, and then to Nell. He held up the paper for her and Lucky to see, guiding them back. The paper read; Bloody Mary Summoning Ritual.

As Nell made eye contact with the ghoulish face in the fountain, her eyes went wide, instantly getting the sense that this was no backyard bumpkin of a ghost or otherwise that had been summoned. Megan, apparently desiring revenge in the face of her boyfriend’s perceived killer rushed the fountain, yelling all the while. Her attempted attack didn’t get far before an arm darted out of the depths of the water, grabbing the highschooler by the throat- only to drag her face first into the bloodied fountain. It happened within the blink of an eye, faster than anyone could hope to react. In an instant the girl was gone, her body disappearing entirely into a fountain that couldn’t have been more than a couple of feet deep. 

“Fuck!” Nell cursed, the deaths of the highschoolers not yet fully sinking in when danger was still front and center. Then she turned to read the paper Connor was showing, and her blood ran cold. Bloody Mary. Even Nell who wasn’t all that versed in ghosts and the like had heard the whispers, though she’d never known whether or not to believe them. “You gotta go,” she urged once again, speaking both to Connor and Lucky this time. In the corner of her eye she saw the face, and only the face of Megan float to the surface of the water, the rest of her gone. “We can’t stop the summoning, and the circle isn’t good enough to hold her.” Nell could tell that simply by looking at the sad excuse for a spell. “She’s gonna be-” But before her sentence could finish, the boiling blood-water of the fountain exploded forth in a forceful wave, throwing her and anyone else in the radius back from the epicenter. A yelp of pain later, Nell was trying to right herself, ignoring the blood that was covering her in favor of trying to figure out a way to get this bitch bound in time.

Oh, shit. Sure, Lucky didn’t really think ghosts were real real, but this was definitely something real real. He’d heard of Bloody Mary before, but he thought that that was a story kids dared each other to try in a dark bathroom. This was definitely not what he would’ve expected by any means. Honestly, he didn’t need to be told again to leave, but would Nell and the others be safe if Lucky did leave? He opened his mouth to argue this with her, but before he could say anything or get a word in, he was being tossed onto his back by a wave from the fountain. The hard landing certainly didn’t make Lucky’s aching body feel any better and he groaned in pain, coughing as he rolled to his side. The water was warm, bordering on hot, and...viscous? Wiping it from his eyes so he could see, Lucky looked down to see that it wasn’t water but was, in fact, blood. His stomach did a flip again as he pushed himself into a sitting position and tried to wipe off his face. Looking around, he tried to see if Connor still had the paper and if it was intact or also blood soaked.

Connor frantically folded the paper, stuffing it into his pocket. He all but pulled Lucky and Nell back by their arms. “Don’t let her touch you! She can’t reach you.” She was confined to reflective surfaces, right? He’d remembered that correctly? That was the problem about stories like hers; it was tough to distinguish fact from fable. “The kids… she’s supposed to go after murderers. Why the hell is she going after kids?” Because they summoned her and she didn’t deem them worth her time? Or just for the sake of it? A killer with a code was one thing, but killing at random was something more terrifying entirely. His eyes widened as her bloody yet pale form emerged from the fountain, standing like Carrie at the Prom in the center of it, dripping blood.

Another gasp of pain left Nell as Connor dragged her and Lucky along, her ribs instantly protesting at the unexpected movement. “But I have to try and bind her!” she said as she struggled, trying to get back to the fountain. “She can’t just go free! Who knows what might happen?!” But it was too late. As she looked back to the fountain, Nell saw the outline of Bloody Mary standing in it, her shoulders shaking with what looked to be a joyful cackle. Then the ghost raised a single, skeletally thin arm to send a wave in their direction, as if bidding them a mocking thank you for their part in this. As quickly as it had begun, the ghost was gone, having sunk back into the fountain, the blood in the water receding along with her- leaving two highschoolers dead and one sufficiently traumatized. “We gotta find her,” Nell spoke with a steely determination in her voice, realizing the dire nature of the situation. “We gotta find her before she finds anyone else.” Otherwise, who knew what terrors awaited White Crest?

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Felandaris

Chapter 22 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is up. In which there are feels! And smut!

A long one this week: >10k words. SORRY. Read on AO3 instead if you fancy!

*************************

Later that night, Tamaris sat cross-legged on her bed massaging the stump of her left arm while Felassan and Varric played cards downstairs. The dinner conversation that night kept on routing back to wolf hunt business, and Tamaris had forced herself to tolerate it largely out of guilt. Every possible effort was needed in their efforts against Solas, so there was no excuse anymore to keep her head buried in the sand. 

By the time they’d finished eating and Varric had broken out his pack of cards, Tamaris was feeling too irritable to be of good company, even though she’d been the one to invite Varric to stay. And unfortunately, the main source of her good mood these days — namely, Felassan — was partly to blame for her bad mood. 

She’d eventually excused herself on the premise of wanting some time to process everything she’d heard today. When Varric offered to leave, she insisted very firmly that he stay to play with Felassan, then blithely ignored Felassan’s frown and swiftly made her way up to her bedroom to be alone.

So here she sat, alone on her bed kneading her arm while she brooded over the words Felassan had said: she shouldn’t decide her fate based on her relationship with me.

Tamaris knew he’d been talking about Briala and not about her, but still. Briala was Felassan’s protegée. She was the person he’d known the longest and been the closest to in all the time he’d been awake. For fuck’s sake, he’d gone against the wishes of a man he’d known for thousands of years and had once deeply loved, all for Briala’s sake.

And despite all of that, Felassan still considered his relationship with Briala to be ‘sentimental’. He felt that his relationship with her wasn’t a good enough reason for her to do anything.

Did that mean he didn’t want Tamaris to consider their relationship as an important factor, either? Worse yet, maybe it meant he wasn’t going to consider his relationship with Tamaris when he was making his decisions about what to do next. What if he was planning to go and find Briala, but wasn’t planning to ask Tamaris to come along?

That thought had been curdling in her belly all night. She felt wrongfooted somehow, as though a certainty she’d been assuming was being pulled out from under her. She’d assumed that whatever happened next, she and Felassan would do it together — at the very least because she was helping to curb his outbursts and to control his magic, but primarily because of how she felt about him. Without asking him, without really talking about it, she’d been imagining them travelling together once travelling became necessary, assuming this was just naturally something they would do.

But now, to hear him say that Briala ‘shouldn’t decide her fate based on her relationship with me’... If he didn’t think relationships should be factored into decisions about the future, then how much did Tamaris matter to him, really?

She felt stupid. Humiliated. And of course she should feel stupid, because she was making this same fucking mistake again. She’d fallen in love with Felassan, thought their relationship was really something special — more special than any other relationship she’d had before, how stupid was she – and now he wasn’t even thinking about her in his decisions about what to do next? 

She scowled at the ceiling to ward back the burning feeling in her eyes. Really, it only served her right for putting so much stock into someone she’d known for less than two months. This was what she deserved for acting like a lovestruck romance novel heroine and planning a future around Felassan even though he’d never talked about any kind of future with her. 

She continued to massage her arm for a moment longer, then slid off of the bed and padded over to the dresser. She flipped open the little box of joints on the dresser and reached for one of the deep mushroom-infused joints Felassan had made for her. But before she could pick it up, she paused. 

After a second of thought, she selected one of her own plain elfroot-and-embrium joints instead. If Felassan was planning to leave her behind, then she’d better get re-accustomed to life without him. 

The lump in her throat swelled, and she swallowed hard. She held the joint between her lips, then struck a match on the ridged side of the box and lit the joint before returning to sit cross-legged on the bed. 

She rubbed her shortened arm and smoked her joint and sat there feeling generally shitty and betrayed. A minute later, Felassan opened the door and walked in. 

She shot him a brief glance, then dropped her eyes to her lap. “What are you doing here?” she mumbled around her joint.

“Joining you in bed,” he said as he sat beside her. “Varric left.”

“What about your card game?” she asked.

“It wasn’t the same without your lovely scowl,” he replied.

She scowled and kneaded her arm some more. She was on the verge of telling him she wanted to be left alone, but she already knew he wouldn’t leave without trying to make her talk.

He took the joint from her mouth. “Is your arm hurting?” he asked, and he took a drag from the joint. 

She shook her head and continued to rub it. “Not pain this time. Pins and needles.” 

“‘Pins and needles’,” Felassan said musingly. He pulled from the joint again and released the smoke along with his words. “I’ve always found that to be an odd expression. I far prefer the ancient Elvhen term.”

She didn’t want to talk about this, but it seemed she had no choice. “What’s the ancient Elvhen term?” she said grudgingly.

“Naslahna’miol dur seithe,” he said. “It means ‘ants under the skin’. It’s far more accurate, and with a nice unpleasant visual to match.”

She grunted and continued to massage her stump. Felassan tucked the joint between his lips and reached for her arm. “May I?”

She shirked away. “No,” she said.

His eyebrows rose slightly, and she forced her voice to soften to something less belligerent.  “No thank you. I can massage my own arm.” She gazed vacantly at the opposite wall. 

A moment later, Felassan stood up, and Tamaris watched resentfully as he extinguished the half-smoked joint on the small golden dish on the dresser. He returned to the bed and sat beside her, and a moment later, his hand smoothed over her hair. 

To her horror, a burn of tears surged at the back of her eyes. Don’t you dare fucking cry, she threatened herself, and she glared viciously at the wall to keep the tears at bay. But Felassan’s hand was sliding over the nape of her neck and her shoulder, and when his palm drifted down toward the stump of her arm, a treacherous tear escaped her eye. 

Furious at herself, she bit the inside of her cheek and lifted her eyes to stare at the ceiling. When Felassan’s other hand joined the first to gently squeeze the stump of her arm, she gave in and dropped her right hand to her lap.

He began massaging her arm slowly and firmly, rubbing one thumb against the end of her stump with a soothing circular rub, and Tamaris closed her eyes and tried hard to ignore the swelling ache in her chest. 

“You’re angry at me,” Felassan said quietly. 

Yes, she thought. But how could she explain what she was angry about without admitting how much she cared for him? Because she couldn’t admit that now, not after what he’d said. 

She said nothing, and Felassan went on. “Your silence means I’m right. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t smoking one of the joints I made for you.”

Fucking spy, she thought peevishly. Why did he have to be so good at putting details together?

He was still talking in a soft, thoughtful tone. “What are you angry about, I wonder? It was something I said while we were speaking with Dorian. You started pulling back just before he ended the call.” He tilted his head curiously. “Something about Briala, then?”

“Stop it,” she snapped. 

“Stop what?”

“Treating me like a mark,” she said irritably. “Stop analyzing me!”

“I would love to stop analyzing you,” he said. “Now, if only I had a more direct source of information.” He raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps if you told me what I’ve done wrong?” 

She shot him a dirty look, then gazed at her lap while trying to find the best way to explain this without exposing how horribly vulnerable she felt. “You said…” She licked her dry lips. “You said Briala’s relationship with you shouldn’t matter in what she does next.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. 

Her heart twisted painfully. “So you think that the people in your life shouldn’t matter when you’re deciding what to do?”

He raised his eyebrows, then laughed. “I beg your pardon?”

Her ears heated with anger and humiliation. “If you think Briala shouldn’t consider you in her plans, then that means you wouldn’t consider her in yours, but she was the person you cared about the most for sixteen fucking years. So if  she doesn’t matter, then–” Tamaris broke off. Her feelings were bubbling too close to the surface, and she didn’t dare let them spill from her mouth now, not when she felt so fucking raw.

Felassan quirked an eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain you aren’t Briala in disguise.”

She shot him a withering glare. “Obviously not.”

“Then I’m not sure why you think my statement about Briala would apply to you and I,” he said.

“But she’s the most important person to you,” Tamaris said. “In this world, at least.”

“She was, yes,” he said.

Tamaris swallowed hard. “So if you don’t give a fuck about what your most important person does—”

Felassan held up a hand to stop her. “You’re putting words in my mouth, avise. You make it sound as though I tossed her aside, or that I am dismissing my history with her. But the truth is this: I always knew Briala and I would part ways eventually, even before Fen’Harel tasked me with taking control of the eluvians.” He went back to massaging her arm. “Briala was my da’len: my protegée and student. But students should never stay with their teachers forever. There should always come a time when they strike out on their own. Had I remained with Briala, she would never have become the independent force of will that she needed to be in order to mold the Emperor of Orlais the way she did.”

“But what if she’s in trouble now?” Tamaris demanded.

“Even if I was capable of acting, it is not my place to swoop in and rescue her,” Felassan said. “She is perfectly capable of rescuing herself. Once we make contact with her and indicate that there are resources at her disposal, she will make use of them as she sees fit.”

Tamaris studied him for a moment. “You’re really confident about her.”

“Of course I am,” he said. “I was her teacher, after all.”

His lips were quirked mischievously. Tamaris scoffed and looked away. “Cocky,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “In all seriousness, I watched her grow for sixteen years. I know what she can do. She doesn’t need me to carry out her plans.”

Tamaris silently turned his words over in her mind. So… so it was his confidence in Briala’s cleverness that made him say she shouldn’t consider Felassan in her decisions, as well as his status as her teacher. 

That meant that when he’d made that comment about Briala, he really had just meant Briala. He hadn’t been making a veiled reference to Tamaris.

She ran her hand through her hair. “Fenedhis. I’m so… forget I said anything. This was stupid.”

“It was not stupid,” he said. “But I would like to know what made you think what I was talking about us.”

She shrugged and stared at her lap. “I… I don’t know,” she said. And she meant it; she really didn’t know why she’d jumped from ‘Briala can make her own decisions’ to ‘Felassan doesn’t care if I’m around or not’.

His hands were still carefully kneading her arm. His tenderness and patience were so obvious in the careful pressure of his fingers in her skin, and this only made her feel stupider for getting so angry.

She shrugged again, irritated now with herself and not with him. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“I can’t do that,” Felassan said. “Not when you’ve dropped this mystery in my lap. I have to unravel it now.”

“It’s not a mystery,” she muttered. “I was just being… paranoid. Stupid.”

“You are neither paranoid nor stupid,” he said. When he didn’t speak again for a few long seconds, Tamaris shot him a cautious glance. 

His expression was thoughtful. “I think you are understandably wary, given what happened with Fen’Harel,” he said. 

She frowned. “What do you mean? I mean, which part?”

“The part where he left, even though you thought you and he would spend your lives together.”

Her chest seized. Was that really it? Was it really Solas coming back yet again to bite her in the ass?

“You expect betrayal,” Felassan said quietly. “You expect me to leave, even though I’ve shown no signs of wanting to do so.”

Fuck, her eyes were burning. She bit her lips hard and turned her face away, but Felassan released her arm and shifted to sit in front of her on the bed. 

He peered carefully at her. “I can’t fix this with words, Tamaris.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” she snapped.

“I know you aren’t,” he said calmly. “But remember that it will be fixed with time.” He smiled faintly. “Time that you spend being unable to escape my clever remarks and my unshakeable air of ancient wisdom.”

“Why?” she burst out.

“Why what?” he asked.

“Why do you bother?” she demanded. “I’m so fucking pissy. Why are you bothering?”

His expression melted into that tender look that made her heart flip. “Are you asking me to list all of your many irresistible traits?”

She tsked. “No, of course not!”

“I could, if you want,” he said. “But I suspect you’d just call me full of shit if I tried.”

She scowled at him. “Seriously. I’m only going to get worse when we start doing more wolf hunt shit.”

“Worse in what way?”

“More cranky,” she said. “More mean. I was no fun as the Inquisitor, especially toward the end. Dorian said I could be ‘terrifying’.”

“I imagine you were,” Felassan said. “I imagine it was a sight to behold.”

“That’s not a good thing!” she retorted. “It’s — what if — I’ll start being a bitch all the time and being angry and I won’t be fun anymore, and I don’t–” She broke off with a sudden sob. 

She pressed her lips together hard to stop her tears. Then Felassan stroked her hair. “Come here,” he murmured, and he gathered her into his lap. 

Tamaris squinched her face up to stop herself from crying, to no avail; another sob escaped her. “I wish we could just stay here in bed,” she said plaintively. “I’m fucking tired, Felassan. And we haven’t even fucking done anything yet. And I know I must sound like a spoiled brat considering everything you went through for Solas and — gods, you were Tranquil for five years. I should really just shut the fuck up.” She tried to push herself out of his arms.

He tightened his arms around her instead. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t indulge me!” she yelled. “Don’t treat me like I’m special! Everyone’s suffering, okay? Everyone’s tired.” She waved her shortened arm in a vague angry gesture. “Varric’s tired, Dorian’s tired, and no one’s coddling them. I’m not special!” 

“Tamaris,” Felassan said calmly, “shut that lovely mouth of yours and let me hold you.” 

She glared at him. His expression was both sympathetic and implacable, and Tamaris finally slumped against his chest with ill grace. 

He wrapped his arms around her but didn’t speak, and she eventually closed her eyes. She felt exhausted but edgy, like she could sleep for an entire day if only her nerves would calm down enough for her to relax. But her heart felt like it was shivering in her chest, and her left arm was still tingling with discomfort.

She took a slow and measured breath. Felassan’s sleepy-soapy scent filled her lungs, and her heart swelled painfully. It was selfish and spoiled, but she really wished they could have a little bit more time to just be like this. This whole month with him had been like a suspended state of bliss: almost like a crossroads of sorts, a private place-between-places only for herself and Felassan, and she was scared of what would happen when they emerged from this sacred space. She was scared of what she would become when she was forced once again into a role of responsibility. 

You could be quite terrifying. Dorian’s words had not at all been intended to hurt, but Tamaris couldn't help but repeat them in her mind like a malediction. She liked to think this past month had helped her let go of some of that hardness and rage, but if her current mood was any indication, maybe all that ugly isolating anger would come rushing back as soon as she was tasked with something to do. And if she did become hard and angry again, what would Felassan think of her? When she wasn’t soft and relaxed, bumming around and smoking and laughing, would Felassan still want to be with her? 

When she and Felassan were pulled out of the dreamy idyll of this house and back into the ugly reality of the outside world, would he still want her?

She clenched her jaw to hold the tears at bay. This shouldn’t matter this fucking much. She and Felassan hadn’t known each other for long enough for him to mean so much to her, and she couldn’t help but feel pathetic and angry at herself for giving this much of a shit. 

“You’re going to crack your teeth if you don’t relax,” he told her.

She shot him a dirty look, but he ignored her and ran his fingers through her hair. “Speak, Tamaris. Tell me what’s happening in this head of yours.”

She ground her teeth together for a moment longer, then finally spat it out. “You’re going to get sick of me.”

“Impossible,” he said.

“I mean it,” she insisted. “I’m going to become a bitch again once I have to start doing things for the Inquis– I mean, for the wolf hunt, and you’re going to get sick of my shit.”

Felassan chuckled.

Stung, Tamaris leaned away from him slightly. “What’s so fucking funny?” she demanded.

“I have a story,” he said.

She scoffed. “Of course you do.”

“Can I tell the story or not?” he said wryly.

“Go ahead,” she said grumpily.

He stroked her hair again. “It’s a story of how I first started experimenting with felandaris,” he said. “Most people see felandaris as a rather unsightly plant, you know. The thorns, the leafless twisting stems: it’s hardly a plant you would find in a cultivated garden, either in my time or yours. But I was immediately interested in it. It’s hardy enough to thrive in precisely those places where the Veil is thin — in other words, the most turbulent places in the world. So I thought to myself: if felandaris thrives in those places, fraught with the snap of magic that is just slightly too far away to reach, what other impressive qualities would this plant hold?” He smoothed his hand slowly along her arm. “So I experimented with it. I ground up the thorns and inhaled them, hence the entertaining hallucinations. I shaved off the thorns and the outer peel and tried chewing on the stalks, which gave me boils on my tongue. I tried various things: drying it and mixing it with other compounds and using it in various ways. And the more I learned, the more I came to appreciate it, because I discovered what felandaris is capable of. It blocks one’s access to the Fade during sleep. It can be used as a poison and as an antidote. In a diluted form, it’s an excellent solvent and can be used to clean rusted armour.” He leaned away to look her in the eye. “Felandaris seems to be an unsightly plant. But I know what it really is. No matter how I might prick myself on its thorns, I know it is far more than thorns and twisting stems. And taking the time to learn its ways is not something I would ever regret.” 

Tamaris could feel her face crumpling. She hid her face in her hand, and Felassan pressed his lips to the crown of her head. 

“You were angry and irritable when we met,” he murmured.

“I know,” she cried. “I was horrible. That’s what–”

Felassan cut her off. “You were also sympathetic and incisive and smart. You were kind and selfless – an excellent listener. You are angry and irritable sometimes, but that’s not all that you are. Don’t insult me by thinking I am unable to see the properties of the plant behind the thorns.”

Tamaris sobbed and buried her face against his chest once more. But this time, she allowed herself to relax into his embrace. He kissed her hair and stroked her arm, and Tamaris hid her face in his shirt until the lump of distress in her chest finally felt like it had melted away.

She sniffed hard, and Felassan patted her knee. “As for wishing we could stay in bed for longer: I agree with you on that.”

She sniffed again. “You do?”

“Of course,” he said. “This is another thing I miss about the olden days. In ancient Elvhenan, it was common to spend months in bed with a lover.”

She scoffed, then offered him a tiny smile. “I saw a memory in the Vir Dirthara about that. Two spirits were having sex in the air for a really long time and someone told them to get a private chamber.”

Felassan laughed. “Ah yes. I was always rather envious of spirits for getting to frolick mid-air like that. It seemed like it would allow for a lot of interesting possibilities.”

Tamaris tilted her head, distracted now by her curiosity. “Have you ever had sex with a spirit?”

“Of course,” Felassan said. “What sort of foolish question is that?”

“It’s not my fault,” she said defensively. “Solas denied it.”

Felassan’s face lit with humour, and Tamaris hastily corrected herself. “Well, he sort of denied it. He refused to answer the question when Thom asked him.”

Felassan laughed again. “Well, I can answer that for you. Of course he had sex with spirits.”

She snorted. “I knew it.”

Felassan nodded. “Spirits make for multifaceted lovers. Particularly as there are many ways to… join with them, for lack of a better word. The way they touch is… well, it is often less about touch and more about feeling. A suggestion of sensation tinted by whatever virtue they embody. If you fostered a very intimate connection with a spirit, they might…” He paused, and a thoughtful frown creased his eyebrows. “In this time, you would call it possession. In my time, it was a consensual and normal sexual act between a corporeal person and a spirit.”

Tamaris looked at him with wide eyes. “Possession was a spirit’s way of having sex?”

“It was one way,” Felassan corrected. “And it could be glorious.” He smiled at her. “But that’s neither here nor there. We’re here now, and I suspect your arm still has ants crawling under the skin.”

She grimaced. “That sounds disgusting.”

“I know,” he said drolly. “Would you like me to keep massaging it?”

She gazed at him seriously. “Honestly, I can do it myself. You don’t have to.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,” he said. “These days, I’m endeavouring to do exactly what I like and nothing more.”

She shot him a chiding smirk, then sighed and gave in. “Okay. That would be nice.” She gave him a sheepish look. “It feels better when you do it.”

“Then I’m particularly happy to help,” he said. He gently shifted her off of his lap and sat on her left side once more, and when he started firmly caressing her arm, she closed her eyes and sighed.

Eventually, one of his hands slid up to her shoulder and began kneading the junction of her shoulder and her neck, and she winced. “Ah,” she groaned.

He softened his grip. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” she said. “But in a good way.”

He hummed in agreement. “I feel a good-sized knot here,” he said. His hand slid to her nape, and she sighed in relief when he gently squeezed the back of her neck. 

He tutted and shifted to a kneeling position. “Take your shirt off and lie down. You need a proper massage.” 

She shook her head vaguely. “You don’t have to–”

“Tamaris, lie down,” he said firmly. “I insist.” 

She grumbled as she pulled off her shirt. “Now who’s the bossy one?”

He smirked at her as she stretched out on her belly. “It makes for a refreshing change, doesn’t it?” he said. He placed the heels of his hands on the small of her back on either side of her spine, then slowly pressed his hands up her back, pushing carefully into her body to smooth out the tension along the length of her spine. 

She drew a deep breath, then released it in a languorous sigh as his lovely warm hands slid down her back and up once more. “Fuck,” she groaned, and she rested her cheek on her folded right arm. “That feels amazing.”

“I told you I would do this anytime you wanted,” he said. “I’m slightly offended you never asked.”

“I couldn’t!” she protested.

“Why not?” 

She rolled her eyes. “If I let you do a massage, I would have ended up asking you to fuck me.”

“And that’s something that’s never happened before,” he drawled.

She tutted. “I mean before we started having sex. When I was still being stupid because of Solas. Stupider than now, I mean.”

“Nothing that Solas made you feel is stupid,” Felassan said seriously. “You should stop referring to yourself as such.”

She didn’t reply, feeling humbled by his sober tone. He had a point, after all; it was a bad habit to keep calling her own feelings stupid. But it was such a hard habit to break. 

She sighed again and closed her eyes. Felassan was humming softly to himself as he smoothed his hands over her back, using his knuckles to carefully knead out the knots and rubbing her shoulders and neck carefully with his elegant fingers, and it wasn’t long before Tamaris was floating in a lovely sleepy haze, brokered and fostered by his firm and careful hands. 

His palms moved slowly up the center of her back and slid smoothly over her shoulder blades. As his hands made their way down her back, the tips of his fingers brushed along the sides of her breasts.

A hint of excitement leapt in her belly, but his hands were moving along, sliding back down to her hips and the small of her back. 

It was probably nothing, she thought, and she drew a slow relaxed breath. But when his hands moved down her back again, he grazed the sides of her breasts with his fingers once more.

She swallowed hard. Already her body was starting to jangle with a faint hum of lust, but Felassan had gone back to rubbing out the knots in her back.

She licked her lips, then exhaled slowly to calm herself. Felassan rubbed the heel of his palm in a slow circular motion over her left flank, then her right flank, then he smoothed his palms from the small of her back down to her hips. Then, slowly, the tips of his fingers began to slide around the sides of her hips and beneath her body to caress her hipbones. 

Her breath snagged in her throat. His fingertips were on her hipbones, and it was hardly a stretch to imagine them sliding deeper beneath her, sliding toward the apex of her thighs–

“Be still,” he murmured. “Relax.” He withdrew his hands and placed one hand in the center of her back, then skimmed the other hand up along her side, and Tamaris’s lips parted in anticipation. His fingers were tracing her ribs, moving closer to her breast… 

He caressed the underside of her breast and rolled his thumb gently over her nipple, and she gasped and shifted her hips. 

“Easy, avise,” Felassan said. “Don’t undo all my hard work by getting riled up, now.” 

His voice was soft but curled with laughter, and she burst out a breathless little laugh. “You fucking tease,” she accused, then she gasped again; his thumb was tracing over her nipple in a slow perfect circle, and it felt so damned good. 

She sighed with pleasure and pressed her hips into the bed, and Felassan tsked. “You need to relax,” he said. “Just relax for me like a good girl.”

Fucking smug brat, she thought in amusement. She opened her eyes and lifted her head slightly. “You’re starting this ‘good girl’ shit again?”

Felassan removed his hands from her body and raised his eyebrows. “Are you finished with this massage, then?” 

She tried to give him a dirty look, but it was hard to look forbidding when she was smiling like a horny idiot. “No,” she admitted. “I want you to keep going.” 

“Then lie still and quiet and let me work my non-magical magic,” he said. 

She sighed loudly, then rested her cheek on her arm again, and Felassan ran his fingers through her hair. “Good girl,” he murmured.

His voice was so fucking smooth and smug, and she drank in his words with a combination of exasperation and lust. “There’s no such thing as straightforward fuck with you, is there?” she asked.

His hand went still on her back. “Does that mean you don’t want a massage after all?”

“No,” she blurted. “I mean, yes, I — I want one.”

“You’re going to be still and quiet, then?”

She tsked, but with no real irritation. He always knew exactly how to tease her to get her to comply. “Yes, Felassan,” she drawled. “I’ll be still and quiet like a fucking good girl.”

He laughed — gods, that smug and lilting sound, and the way it pulsed straight to the vee of her thighs… “Excellent,” he said. He splayed his hands on the small of her back once more. 

Tamaris held her breath; his palms were sliding lower now, down over the curves of her bottom. When he gently squeezed the curves of her ass, she gasped and involuntarily flexed her hips. 

He hooked one finger into the waistband of her leggings and tugged. “I’m going to take these off so I can massage your legs.”

“My legs, huh?” she taunted breathlessly. “Not my butt?”

His hands left her body, and she arched her spine with a whine. “Felassan, come on…”

He said nothing and did nothing, and Tamaris finally opened her eyes to glare at him. He was watching her with an expectant look on his face. 

She sighed irritably and forced herself to lie still. “There,” she said snarkily. “Are you happy now?”

He raised his eyebrows, and she pressed her lips together to force back any further pleas or taunts. A few long, tense seconds later, he smiled very faintly. “Good girl,” he said.

His voice was a low and carnal-sounding purr, and it sent a shiver of heat down her spine. But instead of reacting, Tamaris closed her eyes. 

Felassan chuckled. “Ah, a very good girl. Lift your hips so I can take off your leggings.”

She lifted her hips slightly. Then his fingers were curving into the waistband of her leggings and her smallclothes and pulling them down. 

She arched her spine and parted her legs slightly, ostensibly to help him get her clothing off, but also in the vindictive hope of making him lose a little of his composure. She could already feel the heated moisture collecting between her legs, and when he exhaled sharply, she couldn’t help but smile. 

He chuckled softly. “Minx,” he accused.

No I’m not. I’m a good girl, she thought cheekily. But she didn’t dare say that, or he’d take his hands off of her naked body. And Creators, the way his hands were moving over her body… 

They were gliding up over the backs of her legs, his thumbs tracing the inner margins of her thighs, and Tamaris bit her lip hard to stop herself from parting her legs to welcome his touch. He palmed the curves of her butt, squeezing gently and smoothing his palms over her skin in a gentle caress, and she exhaled slowly in bliss as Felassan stroked her. His hands cradled her hips before sliding up along her waist, and when he cupped her breasts and lightly thumbed her nipples, she inhaled sharply through her nose to resist the urge to moan. 

He chuckled again, and the smug and heated sound almost made her arch her spine. “You’re being very good,” he murmured. “Staying quiet and still like this so I can focus.” He drew his fingers firmly down the center of her back, then rested one hand on the back of her thigh. 

Then he slipped his fingers through the slickness at the very inner edge of her thighs. 

By pure instinct, she jerked her hips. Felassan’s hands disappeared once more, and Tamaris gasped and arched her spine. “Fuck,” she whined.

He tutted. “Tamaris, Tamaris. I can’t massage you properly when you’re moving so much.” 

She whimpered once more, then tried to force herself to relax on the bed, but it was so fucking difficult. The more she tried to lie still, the more aroused and desperate she seemed to get, and by the time she was lying flat on her belly again in some semblance of calm, her heart was pulsing so firmly in her throat and between her legs that she could hardly focus on anything else. 

She gripped the sheets in her right hand and rested her temple on her forearm. Then Felassan spoke again. “Are you calm now?” 

She nodded silently.

“Are you ready to be touched again?”

She nodded again.

“Good girl,” Felassan crooned. Then he stroked her slick sex with the tips of his fingers. 

Her fist clenched in the sheets, and she bit her lips hard. His touch was gentle, so infinitely light and gentle that it made her want to scream or threaten him or beg, but she didn’t dare; she couldn’t make a sound and she couldn’t move. All she could do was lie on her belly and suffer the pounding pulse of need that his teasing fingers were coaxing to life between her legs.  

His other hand curved over the back of her thigh and gently pulled her legs apart, and her blood pulsed with anticipation. When Felassan rolled the pad of his finger over her clit, her mouth dropped open with the instinctive desire to moan. 

But she didn’t make a sound. While Felassan gently petted her swollen clit, she could feel her face twisting with pleasure and her fingers tensing so firmly in the sheets that they hurt, but she forced herself not to move or make a sound. 

When the building buzz of pleasure between her legs started to become unbearable, Felassan spoke again. “Hmm,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I think the tension is all rubbed out of your back now. Roll over so I can work on your front.”

Her belly leapt with anticipation. “My front?” she said stupidly. 

“Yes, your front,” he said in amusement. “Roll over, avise. And remember, you have to stay very still.”

She smirked and shook her head. Fucking menace, she thought, but she rolled onto her back all the same. She tucked her right arm beneath her head and looked at him, and a fresh bolt of desire rippled through her body.

The curl of his lips was casual and sly, but the rest of his body gave him away. His violet eyes were glowing as they moved greedily over her body, and his cock was a visible ridge pushing at the fabric of his breeches. He might be acting as though he was cool and composed, but he was obviously just as riled up as she.

His eyes slowly moved up to her face, and his smirk widened slightly. “You look very tense,” he said. “I wonder if there’s something I can do about that.” 

She smiled — he was being so cheeky that she couldn’t help it — but she didn’t speak or move.

Felassan chuckled, then curved his hands over her hips and began slowly sliding his hands up over her torso. His palms glided up over her ribs, then slid smoothly over her breasts, and she stared ardently at his beautiful face as he caressed her. He looked content and focused and wicked all at once, his lambent eyes following the path of his hands as they cradled her breasts, and when one of his hands slid higher still to curl around her throat, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes in bliss. 

Felassan stroked her jawline with one thumb and her hardened little nipple with the other, and Tamaris forced herself not to arch into his touch the way she desperately wanted to. He caressed her breast firmly, molding his palm over the swell of her flesh before sweeping his thumb over the peak, and she chewed her lip and used every ounce of her self-control not to move despite the pounding eagerness between her legs. 

He released her throat and slid his hand down her sternum, and his other hand followed as well, gliding smoothly over the bowl of her belly down toward her pelvis. When the heel of his hand slid lower still to cup her sex, she twitched.

His hands stopped. “Was that a movement, Tamaris?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head very slightly. To her enormous relief, he resumed the movement of his hands. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Stay very still, now.” One of his hands began gliding back up her body toward her breast, but the other one drifted lower between her legs. 

With two fingers, he stroked her slick and swollen folds, and Tamaris clenched her teeth to stop herself from crying out. He was caressing her slippery folds with a slow firm rhythm while his other hand smoothed up toward her breast, and she waited tensely for his fingers to glide over her nipple — closer, closer now, over tender curve beneath her breast, oh please he was almost there—

His hand slid back down her body instead of stroking her nipple. Meanwhile, one finger of his other hand dipped very slightly into her entrance, and Tamaris couldn’t help herself. Frustrated and desperate, she twisted her hips and mewled. “Felassan…”

He sighed and lifted his hands. “Tamaris, I need you to relax for me.”

“I can’t,” she begged. 

“You have to,” he insisted. “You have to stay very still and quiet while I massage you, or I won’t be able to fuck you after.” 

She gasped and lifted her hips again at his sweet blunt words, and her desperation only surged higher as he continued to talk. “You do want me to fill you up, don’t you? You want me to fuck you?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, and Felassan went on. “Then you’re going to lie still and quiet for me?”

She nodded furiously and forced herself to settle. When Felassan spoke again, his voice was like cream. “Good girl,” he purred, and he slid one finger inside of her. 

Her jaw dropped open on a silent cry of pleasure, and she dug her nails into the back of her own neck. Felassan curled his finger inside of her and smoothed his hand up toward her breast without touching her nipple, and Tamaris lay still on the bed, her entire body jumping with tension at the strain of not moving in time with his torturous teasing hands. 

He chuckled, and the sound alone almost broke her. “I’m impressed,” he said casually. “Look at you lying so still while I feel your heat from the inside. You must really be hoping for me to fill you up.” He curled his finger slowly and lightly pinched her nipple, and Tamaris clenched her teeth and dug her nails hard into the back of her scalp, unable to release her cries of pleasure without risking the abandonment of his hands. 

He petted her nipple, then smoothed his palm down over her belly once more. “Since you’ve been so good, I’ll make an exception for you. When I slide my tongue between your legs, I’ll let you make a sound.” 

She nodded furiously — whether at the promise of his tongue or the allowance that she could release some of the rapture building in her chest, she couldn’t quite decide — but it seemed to be good enough for Felassan: a heartbeat later, she felt the distinct divine heat and pressure of his mouth between her legs. 

He stroked her slowly and sweetly with his tongue. She moaned loudly and lifted her hips toward him, and his hands and mouth left her.

Tamaris cried out in frustration. “Felassan, please!”

His hand gently encircled her throat, and she gasped convulsively with excitement. He stroked her neck, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with that feral little growl that she loved. “I said you could make a sound, Tamaris. I didn’t say you could move.” 

“Okay,” she blurted. “Okay, I won’t move.”

“You’ll stay still for me?” he said. “Even when I make you come on my tongue, you’ll stay nice and still?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake!” she cried. “I’ll stay still, just touch me!”

He huffed in amusement and brushed his thumb over her lips. “You and your fiery tongue. I hope I won’t regret letting you speak.” He pushed her legs apart, then lowered his mouth between her legs and treated her to a hot opened-mouthed kiss. 

She moaned and clenched her nails into her scalp once more, but she forced herself to stay perfectly still as he laved her slick folds with long sweeping strokes of his tongue. The tip of his tongue swept up along the length of her cleft to swirl delicately around her clit, and through the delirious rising of her pleasure, she realized he was caressing her pussy with the same thorough attention he’d given to the rest of her body: licking her firmly as though to feel every delicate fold of her flesh, treating the tiny nub of her clit with special attention in order to lessen her tension… no, that was wrong. He was heightening her tension, making the pressure and pleasure build and rise between her legs with every delicate swirl of his tongue. She was desperately grateful he’d allowed her to make a sound, because her breaths were coming in short sharp gasps as the pleasure pulsed higher, and she didn’t think she’d be able to take this peak in silence…

He lifted his mouth. “Come for me, Tamaris,” he said coaxingly. “Come for me like a good girl.” 

She gasped — fuck, his gorgeous teasing words — then Felassan lapped delicately at her clit, and she came apart with a helpless cry.

He made a satisfied little growling noise and continued kissing and caressing her with his mouth, and Tamaris lay beneath him mewling helplessly as the pleasure crashed through her body in dizzying waves that reached all the way through the stump of her arm and down to her toes. 

He lapped slowly at her pussy to bring her down from her peak, then dropped a tiny kiss between her legs before lifting his face to smile at her. “I knew you liked it.”

“Which part?” she panted. 

“Being called a good girl,” he said complacently. 

She burst out laughing. “You are such an ass,” she scolded. “A smug, cocky, teasing ass.”

He laughed as well. “I wouldn’t tease if you didn’t like it. But I’ll compromise and let you decide what happens next.” 

“Sit back, then,” she said. She pushed herself upright. “I want to ride you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I know I’m from Elvhenan, but I’m not a halla.”

She grinned and shuffled toward him on her knees. “Shut up and take off your clothes,” she said.

He smiled cheekily, then slid off of the bed and quickly shucked his clothes, and Tamaris watched eagerly as his temptingly hard cock sprang free from his breeches. He crawled back onto the bed to join her, and Tamaris immediately settled herself on his lap. 

She gripped his shoulder for support and slid her slick cleft along the length of his cock, and Felassan exhaled a gorgeous groan. “Mm. I think you might just be ready for me.”

She let out a throaty little laugh as she rocked against him. “I might be. Just barely.” She rested the stump of her arm on his other shoulder and reached down to adjust him, then positioned herself right over the head of his cock, perfectly poised and ready to take him deep.

He gripped her hip and pulled, but Tamaris refused to budge. Instead, she dipped her head toward his ear and traced her tongue along the point of his ear. 

He gasped and jerked his hips. He tilted his head to the side in a silent plea, and Tamaris pulled gently at his earlobe with her lips, then kissed the angle of his jaw and his neck before running the tip of her tongue gently along the tendon in his neck. 

He sighed and smoothed his hand up along her back. “Veraisa,” he breathed. 

“It’s only fair,” she retorted. She lapped at his neck again, then left a tiny kiss and a tiny little bite just below his ear.

His fingers clenched on her back. She continued to lick and nip his neck, and it wasn’t long before he was rocking his hips up and trying to pull her down onto his cock. 

But Tamaris didn’t move. She stayed poised over his lap with the tip of his cock dipping ever-so-slightly into her entrance, and she ignored the lifting of his hips and the teasing pressure of his cock as she trailed her mouth from his ear down to the base of his neck.

“Tamaris,” he begged, and he tried to thrust toward her. “You’re killing me.”

I know, she thought. She knew exactly how much he liked being teased in this way — and this, of course, was the point. More than anything, more than his cock filling her up or his mouth between her legs or anything else, Tamaris wanted to make Felassan feel as good as she felt right now. He was a generous and intuitive lover, giving her exactly what she wanted even if she hadn’t realized she wanted it, and what she wanted right now was to make him feel even a fraction as satisfied as she was.

He moaned and dug his fingers into her hip, and the desperate sound of his desire made all of her inner muscles clench. But she kept herself poised as she began suckling at his neck more firmly than before. 

He drew a shaky breath and moaned again. “Tamaris, please…” 

Without warning, she took him all the way down to the hilt. 

He jerked and cried out, and Tamaris gasped with bliss. That first stroke, the first ecstatic moment when their bodies came together and he filled her up completely just like he always promised he would: it always felt perfect, so well-fitting and so fucking good, and for a few seconds, she just rested on his lap with their bodies flush together and savoured the needy sound of his breath. 

His hand slid from her hip to her buttock. “Come, avise,” he panted. “Ride me like you threatened to do.”

She nodded and rolled her hips toward him. “Do you want me fast or slow?” she breathed. 

“Slow,” he said immediately. “Slowly so I can feel you, ah…” He moaned again and gripped her ass. “Venirast’edhas.” 

She smiled. Even with her poor grasp of Elvhen, she knew what he’d said this time. 

She lifted her hips and lowered herself slowly onto his cock, then brushed her lips over his ear. “I think your cock is perfect, too,” she murmured. 

He burst out a little groan-laugh. “Oh good. We’re well-matched, then.” He lifted his hips toward her, and when she nibbled his earlobe gently, he moaned again. 

“Tell me before you come,” she whispered. 

“As though you won’t know,” he gasped. 

She smiled against his ear. “Tell me anyway.” 

He nodded and curled his hips toward her, and Tamaris watched and listened to him carefully, grinding and rolling her hips to take him deep and savouring the sounds of his pleasure as much as she savoured the completion of his cock deep inside of her body. 

He gasped more sharply than before. A few moments later, he squeezed her buttock. “I’m going to come,” he blurted. “Tamaris, I—” 

She suddenly lifted herself off of his cock entirely. His eyes flew open on a gasp, and he burst out a slightly hysterical-sounding little laugh. “Oh no. You’re not doing this to me,” he moaned. 

She laughed as well and stroked his neck. “Don’t complain. You like it.”

He grinned at her and released a long and shaky exhale, and Tamaris admired the brilliant glow of his violet eyes before taking his lips in a kiss. He thrust his tongue hungrily into her mouth, and Tamaris happily accepted the aggressive heat of his kiss until he drew away. 

He exhaled once more. “All right. Ride me again. I’m ready.”

She positioned herself, then kissed his cheekbone before lowering her lips to his ear. “Good boy,” she whispered. 

He burst out a laugh, then cried out as Tamaris came down hard onto his cock. She gripped his shoulder and rode him slightly faster than before, breathing hard herself as the sweet friction of his cock drove deep inside of her. When his hips began jerking more erratically and his face twisted with his impending peak, she lifted her hips and abandoned his cock yet again. 

This time, the sound that burst from his lips was a divine mixture of a sob and a laugh and a frustrated groan. “Ar dina’re rosa’sa’din inor ma,” he moaned. 

She smoothed a bead of sweat away from his forehead. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you if you let me come,” he said. 

She huffed in amusement. “You and your fucking deals.” 

“Please,” he begged, and he stroked her back. “Please, avise, have mercy.” 

She dipped her head to the side and licked his neck, and he groaned and restlessly twisted his hips. “I asked for mercy, not more torture,” he complained.

She hummed happily against his neck. “I haven’t decided if I’m feeling merciful yet,” she teased. “You’ll just have to see.” She adjusted herself on his lap and came down on his cock once more. 

Felassan’s feral cry lit a thrill beneath her skin, and she fucked him harder and faster than before. He pulled her into a kiss and dug his nails into her back and gasped into her mouth, and this time when he whimpered and tensed and fisted his hand in her hair, Tamaris finally allowed him to come. 

He jolted and let out a guttural groan of climax, and as Tamaris studied the rapture in his beautiful face, she wished she could bottle the glorious sound of his pleasure and hoard it away to listen to whenever she wanted.

Felassan shuddered and dropped his sweat-laced forehead against her chest, and she stroked his hair and neck until his body stilled. A few peaceful moments later, he lifted his head and gave her a tired smile. “‘I would die to come inside of you’. That’s what I said before.”

She laughed. “You’re so fucking dramatic.” 

“It was worth it,” he said, and he playfully patted her butt. “Now come. Unmount me.”

She smirked and slid off of his lap. A minute later, they were stretched out facing each other on the bed with their legs twined in an affectionate tangle of limbs. 

She smiled goofily at him. He returned her smile, but when he spoke, his words weren’t what she expected. 

“The Inquisition is over, you know,” he said.

She blinked in surprise. “I know. I’m the one who ended it.” She ruefully quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry for spoiling This Shit Is Weird.”

He smiled faintly, but his eyes remained serious. “What I mean is that the wolf hunt is not the Inquisition. You’re not in charge of this.”

She sobered at the seriousness of his tone. “I know that.”

“Do you?” he said.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You talk about the wolf hunt as though you’re being asked to lead it,” he said. “But neither Varric nor Dorian asked you to resume that role. Cassandra never mentioned it either, from what I recall.”

“I know,” she said, a bit tensely.

Felassan pressed on as though she hadn’t spoken. “It is not your sole responsibility to decide how to stop Fen’Harel’s plans. You’re not the one making the decisions.”

“I know, okay? I know that,” she said irritably. “But you’re the one who said I’m the most dangerous person against Solas. If that’s the case, then I have no choice but to do whatever’s the most useful.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You, the woman who told me that I’m more than a weapon or a tool?”

“But that’s different…” She trailed off mid-protest; Felassan was giving her a reproving look.

“Your history makes you a particular danger to Fen’Harel,” Felassan said. “But that doesn’t mean you should be in charge of the efforts against him. Being the one with the biggest weapon doesn't mean you alone should decide how that weapon is used.”

She gazed pensively at him for a moment. In truth, he wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t secretly thought to herself many times before. “Who do you think should decide, then?” she finally said. “Varric has been doing a good job.” Then she tsked. “Ah, but he’s the Viscount here, and that’s a job and a half already…”

“Why should one person be in charge?” Felassan said.

She raised her eyebrows. She was genuinely surprised to hear him say this. “You think the responsibility should be shared?”

“I don’t see why not,” he said.

She stared at him in genuine bemusement, and the corners of his lips curled in a small smile. “Have I stunned you speechless?” he said.

“No,” she said blankly. “I just… Solas said the opposite. He said power shouldn’t be shared because individuals can give it up, but groups can’t.”

Felassan’s smile faded somewhat, and he sighed. “His perspective is… understandable, but inflexible. Alternate approaches might better serve the wolf hunt.” Then he shrugged. “But it’s not up to me to say. Or up to you, which should be a comfort. It should be freeing, really.” He tapped her bare hip. “You’re just one cog in the machine now, as the dwarves would say.”

She frowned. “But we still have to play a role.”

“Oh, we will,” he said. 

She stared at him, thrown off by how casual he sounded. “I mean it. We have to do something major to help. Especially since we’ve just been sitting here for a month.”

“We will, avise,” he assured her. “Don’t worry your pretty head.”

She chewed her lip as she mulled over her final worry – one she hadn’t yet expressed to Felassan. “What if wolf hunt business means we have to be separated?” she asked.

He let out a tiny laugh. “We won’t be separated.”

He sounded completely certain, which only made her all the more nonplussed. “But… but if you’re going to stay here for a while to translate Varric’s texts, and I might be needed elsewhere to–”

He interrupted her. “If you’re going somewhere, I shall be going too.”

Her heart flipped. “But what if it’s dangerous? Your magic is getting better, but it’s still not what it was before. Not yet, at least.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you want me to travel with you or not?”

Of course I do, she thought. “Yes, b-but that’s not the point–”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled. When the time comes for you to leave this house, I will be leaving with you.”

Her heart burst into a gallop at this. He sounded so certain. How was he so certain? He was really that certain that he wanted to stay with her? “It’s not that simple,” she protested. “What if it’s better for us to do something apart?”

“In what possible situation is it better for us to be apart?” he said in amusement.

“I… I don’t know,” she said blankly. “If we need two bodies in two different places at once to, I don’t know, follow leads or something…” She trailed off and shot him an annoyed look; he was smiling at her like one might smile at a particularly charming but foolish child.

She scowled. “Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?”

He reached out and ran his hand affectionately over her hair. “I have lived for thousands of years,” he said. “I’ve been largely alone for the last twenty-five of them, and it hasn’t been particularly fun. I am not alone now, and I am having a very good time being not-alone with you. So no: nobody will be telling me to do anything that does not involve being with you. I’ll travel with you as I please, and if there is some ultimate goal that needs to be met by one of us, we will get there together eventually.” He stroked her hair again. “They can wait for us.”

She gazed at him with a fluttering heart, torn between exasperation and adoration and gratitude. “You’re such an arrogant immortal.”

He pressed his hand to his chest in a mocking gesture of hurt. “You wound me, avise.”

“I’m serious,” she insisted. “There might not be time for them to just wait for us. We short-lived shems don’t have the luxury of thousands of years anymore, you know.”

“All the more reason for us to savour the time we have by spending it together,” he said.

Her heart squeezed again. She shuffled closer to him and stroked his chest. “So you’re just going to do exactly what you want without giving a fuck what other people say?”

“Is that not what you’ve been encouraging me to do all this time?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Shit. You’re right. I have been saying that.” She blurted a little laugh. “You’re right.”

He sighed contentedly and ran his palm in a soothing caress over her hip. “It’s always gratifying to have one’s correctness acknowledged.”

She smiled at him wordlessly. She knew he was expecting a snappy retort, but she was feeling far too content to think of something clever to say. 

Felassan wanted to stay with her. Even when they joined the wolf hunt in earnest, even if she turned into a cranky no-nonsense prickly-like-felandaris bitch, he said he still wanted her. 

And against all odds, Tamaris believed him.

He raised an eyebrow. “What, no clever comeback for me? That’s disappointing.”

I love you, she thought. She tweaked his ear. “No comeback today,” she said softly. Then she smiled. “You fucked the words out of me.”

He laughed: that beautiful rolling laugh that Tamaris would never get sick of hearing. He rolled her onto her back and cradled her face in his hands. “You are a minx,” he scolded. “A terrible, loveable minx.”

Her heart leapt at his words. But his lips were brushing over hers and coaxing them apart, and then his tongue was delicately stroking her own, and in a matter of seconds, Tamaris lost interest in any further words. 

She curled her arm around his neck and kissed him back. He slid his fingers into her hair and settled himself cozily between her legs, and for the rest of that lazy and languorous night, Felassan and Tamaris didn’t bother with any further words.