#✶ WHEN I BREAK PATTERN I BREAK GROUND ✶ ( ooc )

[espercr]

unfortunately, school : /

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

You Call It Madness But I Call It Love

Chapter 7: Are We Old Friends Or Old Enemies?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter seven of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm going to rate this 18+ just to be sure. References to Past Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Cursing, Blood, Guts, Graphic Death, (spoilers?), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. Reader is described as "curvy" occasionally. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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Present Day

Your motorcycle crunches loudly against the black gravel driveway outside of Crimson Countess' trailer. It looks worse than you imagined, shoved behind Vought-land, and sprouting out of the ground like a fungus. Not an unusual thought given it's ogre-like inhabitant.

You weren't looking forward to seeing her after all these years, because you knew it wasn't going to end well. Deep down you hoped that she had let go of everything that happened in the past, like you had tried, well, until Butcher and Hughie showed up at your apartment. Then again, you're not sure that you've really let go of everything that happened. Sometimes it felt like you just shoved all your feelings into the deepest darkest part of your brain where they’d been festering for the past forty years.

And ever since Butcher and Hughie showed up, those feelings had been clawing their way out like a banished Titan climbing out of Tartarus.

You think again about driving away. If you saw her, there wouldn't be any going back. You couldn't go in there pretending to be your daughter, you had to be you. Which meant the possibility of losing the life you'd constructed in the aftermath that followed your long superhero career.

Was it worth it? Was Ben worth it?

You sigh considering that thought. After the fight it was difficult to answer that question. If the answer was no, you might as well just leave. But the answer was yes. You hated that after everything that happened between Ben and you, the answer was yes.

And that meant you needed to know the truth, needed to see it in her eyes. Which also meant there was only one choice.

You look around the clearing where the trailer sits. It’s in a circle of trees that filter the setting sunlight through their lofty branches, making patterns on the gravel where weeds and patches of grass break through every few feet like an oasis in a desert. Further down the road to the right you see a collection of empty circus carts that rust onto yellowed grass, rising from the earth to tangle in the wooden wheels of the carts.

At least the trees are pretty. You think to yourself trying to focus on the positive. They were, after all, one of your favorite things to paint.

You consider your apartment downtown, the open floor plan and large windows, very different from how she chose to live her life. Your eyes trace the mobile home thinking back about the fungus analogy.

The trailer was covered with peeling white paint stained black and yellow in some areas where sticky mold had begun to fester against the structure. The rickety porch was rotted, so much so that when you walked across it, it creaked loudly beneath your feet and you stepped around several foot-sized holes, where others had fallen through.

She definitely didn't budget her money well. I wonder how much money she got when she was a hero? I know that my salary wasn't amazing. Ben definitely did better than me because of his films.

Then again, you were living off money from your father, and your grandfather's investments in real estate, not to mention your artwork was selling better than it ever had.

Your knock against the flimsy front door of the mobile home, not using your supe strength, but the entire house still shakes.

Probably wouldn't withstand a thunderstorm. Hopefully she's invested in an umbrella.

No one answers and for a moment you hope that she's not here or she's dead, but just like always you’re disappointed.

"Who the fuck is it?" You hear Countess' familiar voice shout from inside.

A swarm of memories flock across your mind at her voice, but you push them aside.

"Your best friend in the whole world." You respond, before you can stop yourself. Sarcasm was an easy fallback. If your mother was here she'd say that it wasn't ladylike.

Really just disappointing her in every century. The thought makes you happy.

"What?" Countess rips open the door so savagely that you wonder how the door didn't come off in her hand. You watch her eyes widen and her face pale as her gaze lands on you.

Well, that's certainly not a normal reaction to seeing me.

"Y/n?" You hear her heartbeat spike in her chest. "You're-" She sputters to look for the right word.

"Alive? Yes." You smile at her. "Well, aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Um-"

A flash of the last time you saw her comes roaring back. The smug look on her face when you caught her and Ben together, the way her face was flushed bright red, sweat dotting her hairline while he- You clear your throat to stop the memory.

You push past her into the small residence, not waiting for her to invite you, and your nose wrinkles as the smell of sweat and her rancid perfume invade your nostrils. It was barely two rooms, the small kitchen/living room was separated from the bedroom with a red beaded curtain that doesn't hide the unmade bed and clothes covered floor.

This was unusual given the fact that she was wearing her supe suit, complete with cape and mask. It was a little tighter in some places than you remember, her reddish hair reeked of cheap dye, her perfume like a cloud of sulfuric acid, and her pointed, cruel face was more wrinkled that the last time you saw her.

"I'd like to say that this is cute," You turn to look back at her from the small kitchen/living room, that was covered in dirty plates and take-out boxes. "But it's kind of a shit hole, isn't it?"

That was fast. So much for trying to be civil. Too much history I guess.

"What are you doing here?" She keeps her voice calm, but the tempo of her heart suggests otherwise.

Your eyes trace the lines of her face, the wrinkles, the subtle graying of her hair that the dye couldn't cover. "Just thought I'd check in. See how things are going. You definitely didn't age well."

"What the fuck do you want?" She snarls this time.

You can't help but smile at her. Something about this whole situation was utterly ridiculous to you.

She said Ben died. Why am I even here? What did she have to gain from his death? The thought swishes around in your brain. But then why was she afraid when she saw me? You think about all the times you spent watching her manipulate the others on Payback and all the other times you were around her, she never showed fear. Why now?

"I'm here because somebody showed up the other day asking me about Ben." You shrug, running one of your hands against the dirty kitchen countertop examining the tip of your finger as if looking for dust. "And it's funny, because as they were asking me questions I realized that you and I never talked about what happened that day. I mean I heard what you said through Stan and Legend, but I never heard it from you. Thought it was time we had a little heart to heart."

Her pulse spikes again, but she covers it with a smirk. "You want to talk about Ben?" Her voice drips with false sweetness. "Well I'll say this, he was a good fuck. But I'm sure you knew that."

Your entire body goes rigid, remembering the night that you found them together, the night after you finally told him you loved him and he pushed you away.

"I mean, after all, he popped your cherry didn't he? Made you a woman." Countess' smirk turns into a rueful smile. "You definitely waited long enough. Ben told me how long you’d been friends. He told me the sex was so boring, that you were so inexperienced, that he wanted a real woman who could actually please him. A woman who wasn’t quite so-." She sniffs, tapping a bright red fingernail against her hip. “Big.”

Her words are like a slap in the face and you feel the cold disapproval of your mother for the first time in eighty years. The anger that surges up underneath your skin flares hot against your cheeks.

Ben wouldn't have said that about me. He- he knew how special that was for me. He said that he wanted it to be special for me.

You remember how happy he looked when you woke up in his arms the next day, before you said the three little words that you couldn't hold in anymore, the ones that you had wanted to say to him since you were eight.

"Poor little y/n. You worshiped the ground he walked on for so long  and finally he decided to pity fuck you. It’s so sad. You wasted your life pining for someone who will never love you. And you thought you could just come here and intimidate me? You’re still the same little girl who begged Ben to fuck yo-"

Her body flies forward telekinetically into your outstretched hand, that clamps down around her throat.

"But I do intimidate you." Your eyes shift to purple with your display of power. "Your heart rate hasn't dropped below 120 since I got here. So obviously there's a reason why you're afraid of me." She gasps against your hand, but you don't let go. "Tell me what happened that day." Your voice has slipped into a monotone, tinged with rage. “And I promise that I’ll let you live. In what condition, well, that's up to you.”

"I don't have to tell you anything!" She spits, pushing her hands together and sending you flying backward as the ball of fire hits you just under the right side of your rib cage.

There's a high pitched popping sound, an immeasurable amount of pain, and everything goes black.

It wasn't the first time you'd died. You'd heard of other supes being able to come back from the dead, and of course the others like Ben and Homelander who were almost invulnerable to injury, but your gift was different. Yes you had enhanced senses, speed, and strength, which were the original powers that were displayed after you received the injection of Compound V, but there was more to it than that.

It took you the first two deaths to figure it out, and you could remember both clearly.

The first was a few weeks after you took Compound V, when you and Ben were on his tour overseas promoting the might of the United States. It was supposed to be safe. The shot fired from the crowd was meant for Ben, but you pushed him out of the way. It was before you figured out he was bulletproof. Your gut reaction was to protect him as it always was. He ripped the guy in half for what he did and turned back to you. You remembered how he looked, remembered the fear in his eyes he never allowed to break through the façade he wore as Soldier Boy as he held you across his lap, holding a hand against the wound where blood poured freely from your chest. You remembered gazing up at him for what you thought was the last time and then the darkness that followed, welcoming you like an old friend.

And then thirteen seconds later you woke up, gasping for air, the bullet wound healed leaving only a circular scar behind. You didn’t understand at first, it wasn't until you died the second time that you realized how powerful you could be. The second time was Ben's fault, a scorned lover, a telekinetic, with a bone to pick with him. When you got in her way she'd snapped your neck with her powers. But this time when you woke, it was different, you felt different. You could feel her powers stirring beneath your skin, and it wasn't until you flicked her away from Ben that you understood. When you died a normal way you came back after 13 seconds, but when a supe killed you, you came back in 13 seconds with their powers.

You didn’t know why 13 seconds. In fact it was Ben that told you it was exactly 13 seconds, why he knew that you didn't know. It seemed that for everyone else 13 was an unlucky number, but for you it was the difference between life and death, literally. You also didn’t understand why you kept the powers. Sometimes you wondered if when you were killed by a supe your body analyzed how you died, understood it, and then you came back with that forbidden knowledge like you’d just eaten the fruit off the wrong tree. 

Ben was the only one who knew and when anyone asked, you attributed your sudden ability to move things with your mind as something you never used in public. Having that much power scared you. You weren't sure what people or Vought would do if they found out, so you kept it to yourself and so did Ben. Honestly, sometimes you think the reason why he kept it to himself was because he didn’t want anyone to be more powerful than him, but you didn’t care about the abilities. You didn’t think you were a god despite Vought’s constant worship and praise. If anything, you felt closer to hell and in a binding contract with the devil.

Exactly thirteen seconds later, you sit up from the floor completely healed while Countess stands there over you, a horrified look on her face. She'd never seen you die before.

"Did you just try to kill me Countess?" You ask.

She puts her hands together to shoot another fireball, but you make a motion with your hand to that flicks her away. Her body soars backward illuminated in the purple glow that manifests with your telekinesis, into the small hallway that leads to the bathroom on the other side of the mobile home.

"You know," You stand from the ground looking down at your melted motorcycle jacket. "This was my favorite jacket. Had it from the 80's it was vintage. Damn.”

“How-“ She groans stumbling to her feet and leaning on the wall for support.

“We all have our secrets don’t we? And I'd love to hear yours."

Her eyes flash to where the front door is, but you beat her to it, yanking her back towards you by the arm, crushing her right wrist in your hand. Her scream of pain quenches the anger fueling in your chest from the words she snarled at you earlier.

"You're pretty worthless, even with your powers." You sigh. “I was hoping for more of a challenge.”

She cradles her broken wrist to her chest, backing away from you. Fear flashes in her eyes when she realizes that she's made a mistake, but instead of it making you feel powerful, it makes you pause.

Being a hero was difficult. You watched how so many others abused their powers over the years, feigning to be pure and heroic but really succumbing to dark urges when no one was looking. It was also why you hated Herogasm.

You hated it because you knew what happened to the normal people, the ones that thought they would be safe with the heroes they admired so much. You'd watched Ben lose control more than once, knew stories of innocent people that were hurt, not that Countess was innocent. But you never liked to hurt people with your powers. Standing here in this trailer made you guilty and watching her cower away from you made you guilty despite your shared history and her harsh words.

"So I'm just going to ask one more time, what happened to Ben?" You force your voice into a snarl, shaking off the guilt.

Because it was necessary. It wasn't just about you settling something from years ago, it was about Ben.

She deserves this, she isn't a good person.

"Go to hell." She spits at you.

You grab her by the front of her red suit and throw her away into the small kitchen. Countess' body crashes into the lopsided brown cabinets with a solid thwacking sound smashing through the flimsy structures. Blood drips down the side of her face from where she hit the cabinet corner, blending into her reddish hair. She rises from the ground with an angry snarl, clutching a dirty knife in her hand.

"I don't want to get tetanus from that. I can't remember when my last shot was-" You begin to say with a sigh.

She swipes the air in a vicious arc, but you grab her by the wrist, dodging the knife. "You never learn do you?"

The wrist twists to the side in your hand with a loud snapping sound followed by Countess' scream that reverberates in your skull as you break her other arm. "Pretty soon you're gonna be out of limbs, so I'd start talking."

Countess drops to her knees as the pain begins to seep into her body. "Fine. I'll tell you-"

"Then do it."

"He's not dead."

As the world stops spinning a high pitched ringing in your ears takes over, filling the monotonous drone of seconds ticking past. The past forty years no longer matter, the next hundred wouldn’t either, because Ben wasn't dead. As much as you hated him, the thought chilled you to your core, because then where the hell was he?

"Or at least he wasn't when they took him." She mutters, holding her arms to her chest.

"What did you do?" Your voice comes out in a whisper because you can hardly speak let alone comprehend what she's saying. "WHAT DID YOU DO?" You scream, grabbing her by the front of her suit.

"They wanted him." She spits.

"Who did?"

"The Russians. They wanted him and they took him!"

"You sold him out to the Russians?" You roar, hauling her up into the air so close you can smell what she ate for lunch. "Why? Did they pay you?"

"No. We all hated him!" She snarls. "But you were always around." Her mouth twitches into a painful smile. "It was so easy to get him to fuck me. I knew it would drive you away, you'd wanted him for so long and he didn't give a damn about you. And then you weren't there to protect him!" She laughs through the pain that builds in her chest.

I was right. She fucked him to make me angry, to get me to turn my back on him. I wasn't there to help him and they sold him out the first chance they got.

"He always wanted me more than you, knew that I could satisfy him better than you ever could. You really thought that he could love you? Ben doesn’t love anyone!” Her eyes glint with malice. “And you’re still the same pathetic little girl who begged Ben for his co-“

Her head tears from her shoulders in you hands cutting off her next words, the explosion of blood from her carotid artery spraying your face, and soaking into your ruined clothes. The ringing is back, filling the void of silence in the air that followed the tearing of bone and sinew.

You stand there for a minute holding it, not quite comprehending what you've just done. You hadn't lost control in a long time, not since you had the fight with Ben about Countess, or when you threw your sofa through one of the walls in your apartment and then broke every piece of glass, windows included, and had to move when you found out he was dead.

Or not dead. The thought chills you. Payback handed him over to the Russians, where he's been for the past 40 years? Why? Just because he was irrational, angry, and a dick? There's got to be more to it than that. Stan would have never allowed that. Soldier Boy was his golden boy, his meal ticket-

You think about the last forty years of hating Ben, cursing him, trying to forget him, wishing that you'd never loved him. The night you fought washes over you, bringing the anger, frustration, and heartbreak roaring back. The head in your hands smashes into mush as the memories barrage your mind, surging over the dam you built to keep them away.

You and Ben had always watched each other's backs. It was the promise you made to each other before all of this started, on the night he asked you to come with him and leave everything you knew behind. You knew him better than anyone else.

And yes maybe he fucked me once and I told him I loved him and he immediately went out and fucked Countess-

Your heart cracks in your chest with the thought, the heartbreak coming back in a wave of sadness that makes you shudder.

But you couldn't leave him, because you knew he would have never left you. Ben may have said that he didn't care about you, but you knew in your gut that Ben would have torn anyone apart who hurt you. He's always protected you. Even before you became supes together.

You stare back down at the mush coating your hands and the front of your clothes.

Why the fuck is everything so complicated?

********************************************************

When you get back to your apartment you're covered in a thin layer of soot, from blowing up the trailer, and a layer of blood and brain matter from removing and crushing her head. You hoped that by blowing up her home and burning her body with your newfound abilities that it would be enough to cover your tracks, but you were uneasy. The buzz of killing her and the shock of her revelation had worn off, but was now replaced with a numbness when you think about what could have happened to Ben, what could still be happening to him.

The shower does little to ease your mind and sleep evades you, despite the exhaustion that pulls at your limbs for using your powers. Dying usually meant that you needed to replenish that energy, but you couldn't muster the enthusiasm to do that. You just felt listless. The last forty years felt like a lie, felt like a waste, because as you’d been living your life Ben had been trapped in Russia.

So you open your laptop on the counter, wet hair soaking through your sleepshirt, and begin to research flights to Russia leaving within the next few days.

I have no idea where I'm going. I go to Russia and then what? Where in Russia? The Kremlin? Yeah let me just waltz right up to that.

You lean forward with your head in your hands thinking about Butcher. He came here because he wanted to know more about Ben. Maybe he knew where he was. He was the one who mentioned Russia.

You pull the card he left behind on your counter towards you, rubbing your thumb over the number. Legend said he kills supes. So is that what he wanted? To find Ben and kill him? The thought makes a chill travel down your spine, immediately followed by the primal urge to protect Ben. But what had Ben ever done to him?

You look at the number again.

If I call him, he's going to know that I was lying. Not that I'm scared of him.

You finally pick up your phone and dial the number, but it goes to voicemail.

"Hey this is Y/f/n Y/l/n. I just remembered a few things about Soldier Boy and thought you'd like to discuss them. Just give me a call-back whenever you get this."

You hang up the phone and sit there for a minute, eyeing the coffee that sits untouched next to your open laptop.

I killed someone today. The thought should be chilling, but you feel no remorse, no guilt.

Is that because I think she deserved it?

Your mind goes back to what she said about Ben sleeping with you, what he told her about you. The urge to cry rises in your chest with the memory of her words.

You remembered that night. You had been so excited. Ben had taken you out to dinner for your birthday, despite your insistence that you'd celebrated enough of those. The restaurant was quiet, secluded, different than the flashy world the both of you were living in.  It had reminded you of before you took the Compound V, when you were still normal. The food was good, there was flirting and hand holding at dinner, and finally a slow dance when he kissed you for the first time.

And when he took you back to your apartment and to bed, it didn’t seem like a quick fuck, it didn't feel like cheap sex. The way he took care of you, held your hand, said your name, looked at you, held you close to him after, and the soft smile on his face that he had only when it was the two of you- it felt special. He made it special for you because he knew how important it was for you.

Tears slip down your cheeks. It would have been one of your favorite memories if you didn't know what followed, what was going to happen the next morning or in the next 24 hours. 

"Guess it was just a lie." You mutter to yourself, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes.

The next morning when you woke up in his arms you couldn't help but tell him that you loved him, whisper it to him, more happy than you'd ever been curled against his chest. You remembered the way he looked at you, like you were crazy and then he left for his movie premiere even though we were supposed to go together muttering flimsy excuses as to why he had to leave. And finally the image of him and Countess in the bathroom crashes over you, sending shards of glass back into your heart.

You thought that by now you'd picked them all out.

More tears drip down your cheeks, as your thoughts drift back to Ben and the years that followed that night. You sigh considering what to do.

I wish I could just forget, wish that I could leave him, but I can't.

But that didn’t mean you had to forgive him.

**********************************

After a night of no sleep, you stand poised over the wooden chest in the back of your closet. Packing for the flight that left in two days was turning into a bigger task than you'd thought.

Your current wardrobe wasn't suited for storm the capital city of Russia and kill everything in your path to find Ben, it was more suited for late night painting and art shows. The amount of paint stained overalls, oversized band t-shirts, sweatpants, and dresses in your closet was astounding and none of which screamed "fear me." You would definitely need to go to the mall to find more things that you could move in, if need be, and find things that hid your identity. All it took was one photo or video linked online and everyone would know that you weren’t dead.

You knew that no one would be willing to talk to you, give up the information willingly, not to mention if you really had to break into the Kremlin it was not going to be a walk in the park.

It wasn't that you were out of shape. You still trained during the week, took self-defense classes, and worked out to prevent yourself from going soft, but fighting Countess was the first time in forty years that you had faced another supe and you weren’t up to speed on the supes that the Russian government employed.

You also didn't like the idea that you were going in blind. There could be any number of men there, any kind of supes, and anything waiting for you.

But the truth was, deep down you didn't care. What the rest of Payback did had ignited something deep inside you. You knew that people were going to die if they stood in front of you, but the urge to protect Ben rose above all else. Because you still loved him, despite everything he said, despite everything he did, he was still Ben after all this time and you couldn't let him go that easily. 

You hold up your supe suit in front of you. It was made specifically for you, designed of a breathable material that made movement easy, not to mention the hood and mask did a wonderful job of concealing who you were.

I really don't want to wear this again. You think to yourself, eyeing the smooth material. It wasn't that you hated your suit, it was what it represented. If you wore that again, you'd be Indigo and you'd spent the past forty years trying to put as much distance between you and your superhero career as possible. You would be recognized instantly.

Could I even squeeze into this thing again?

You look at yourself in the floor length mirror on the opposite side of your walk in closet. You looked the same as you always had. Countess’ jeer about you being big makes you flinch again, bringing another cloud of insecurity over your mind.

Maybe that’s why he never slept with me before that night. Maybe that’s why he ran to Countess.

The thought is immediately followed by the image of Missy Callahan at your 16th birthday and how Ben clung to her. Then followed by your mother’s constant attempts to hide your figure. And finally, followed by all the other women you had ever seen Ben with. None of the others had looked like you. You shake off the urge to cry and look back at the suit.

Maybe I can paint over the purple, make it only black? Would that really change it that much?

Suddenly your phone rings, shattering the still silence in your apartment. For a second you hope that it's Butcher returning your call, but when you lift the phone to your ear you realize that it's something much worse.

"Hello?"

"I need you." The familiar voice says.

Shit.

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Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @anundyingfidelity @cheynovak @cassiecasluciluce @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @kayleighmeister @demodemo909 @fruitfacess @bobbobbobinogs @bughill126

[world-in-a-nook]

"And upon his name was a crown of jewels, and the brightest was Hope"

character : Aventurine pairing : Aventurine (drunk!Aventurine at the end) x avgin!gn!reader (specified blond hair) ; angst/comfort art : @しかく

synopsis : Aventurine, while sitting in a bar, finds you performing at a bar in Penacony. Surprised to see another Avgin, he watches your dance performance and comes to see you after it. inspiration : dance ; warnings : spoiler for 2.1 (all of the Aventurine's backstory) ; Avgin racism (implied prostitution); alcohol ; petname ( little gem ; darling ;) ; survivor guilt ; might be ooc lore taken from : Signoia, Unclaimed Desolation (I went full on worldbuilder and might have expanded a bit) wc : 3.1k author's note : not my native language

The night had long started inside the bar with drinks passing from hand to hand, chatters getting loud. The cocktail, an Imagined Sunrise, in Aventurine’s hand swirled the sweet colour of sunsets. He was seated in an obscure corner, far from anyone’s gaze. Although his client had long left, he decided to stay anyway to pass time. Why stay in the boring room when you can have fun outside?  His bodyguards would have preferred the former since it meant being less alert but Aventurine wasn’t the type to cooperate especially after a frustrating deal.

Through the rose-tinted glasses, he looked at his surroundings. The bar was crowded like any night of Penacony, people sipping on the dream syrup or on some Soulglad. The chatter filled the room mixing with the clicking of the ice and the music. The coloured bottles shined in the dimlit bar creating drinks. His own was gleaming like some dawn, one that he dreamt so much of. He took a sip before looking at the clock, curious to see if the casino might still be open. His thought process was interrupted by the bar’s owner standing up on the stage:

“Tonight, folks, I’ll present you with an exotic flower from a faraway land. This desert bloom will offer you a performance like none other!”

It was at this point that you appeared on the stage, waiting for the musicians to start. Though Aventurine was already captivated because he could now grasp what the owner meant with “faraway land”. He recognized the patterned clothes, the colourful jewellery and golden hair gracefully swaying with each movement. And when he finally saw your colourful eyes, he felt as if the ground was breaking before him. Each one of your movements seemed like turning his world upside down. He followed the movements of the colourful fabrics, of the golden jewellery. The fabric moving like the wind in the golden dunes, your hair like the rays of gold that warmed his skin. The jewellery chimed together as making a melody on its own. He crossed your gaze through his glasses and couldn’t resist to lean forward in disbelief. Those movements reminded him of the time faraway from now, a time where each shimmering aurora had the warmth of comfort, of home; a time in which he danced with his family and rejoiced in the Kakava festival; a time which felt so far away, yet he yearned for it.

His contemplation continued: how the fabric’s colours and your movements was a wildfire swaying to your liking, each of the golden jewellery was a spark for every new flame, the chiming of it like the crack of the firewood. The dance sending him into a spin of fascination and disbelief. Each step like an acknowledgment of your presence, each beat of the music making him realize that he wasn’t the only one left. The fire continued to dance and show off its movements with the rhythmic music. The drums beating as hard as his heart, the graceful sway of the fabrics leaving him in a daze. With each new melody, he took a sip of his own drink. His head spined with the dance, the alcohol, and your twirls.

Before a stop, the dance ending, and some applauses. Pearls of sweats had appeared on your body completing your jewellery set. You bowed with the applauses and toss of coins, though Aventurine could hear some of many murmurs:

“An Avgin? They’re just some snake, manipulating their charms for money.”

“They’re just trying to find a fool for the night!”

“You know Sigonians, rotten to the core…”

He didn’t care when those insults were about him. He had heard them so many times now that it felt numb, but he wasn’t the target of it, another Avgin was, and it felt so different. Someone like him was insulted. His eyes darted to see your reaction if you would say anything back. Though you had already escaped from his gaze, the only remain of your performance was your faint perfume.

He wanted to follow you through the narrow corridors, through the dazzling streets of Penacony, through each planet, through the desert dunes until that moment where he could go back to that very moment, that impossible moment in which the festival took place in joy. The faint perfume did bring him back to reality after a moment and like the good businessman he was, he knew how to use his tongue. A slight gesture and the owner approached:

“Good evening, Mr. Aventurine. Thank you for choosing our humble establishment!”

“Oh, but I must thank you, my friend, for the atmosphere, the drinks and even the entertainment!”

“Oh, did you like tonight’s beauty? A rare gem…”

How he objectified you felt repulsing, you were a being, not some sort of possession limited to its beauty. Aventurine bit his tongue, though he had led the conversation where he wanted to, so he asked:

“Oh indeed, a one-of-a-kind. May I ask if it could be possible to see that gem?”

“I’m sorry sir but they don’t accept visitors…”

He gazed upon the owner facing him. It was easy to see his lies: the crossed arms, the slight bite of the lip and this twitch of the eyebrow he had seen in some gambler he provoked. He had encountered so many liars like him, so confident yet wearing their emotions under the spotlight. He didn’t mind it, after all that’s how he won. So, he asked:

“My friend, I have heard that your establishment lacked customers. I might be able to do just that… Some of the Strategic Investment Department needs a place to have fun time. Would you be able to grant that?”

“Yes Mr. Aventurine, of course. Our humble establishment would gladly welcome your colleagues. They would also have a price. The IPC, and yourself, have done so much for us !”

“Then make me another drink for me and your generous patrons! It’s on me!”

The owner rushed to the bar, urging his employees to start serving drinks to all patrons. A big investment for just one fleeting moment. Drinks appearing and going from left to right, up and down, cheers coming from one side to another, praises for the generous esteemed guest. Yet he knew how they were just hypocrites, esteeming him during their drunken state. One moment, he was one of the avgins “rotten to the core” and the other he was an “esteemed guest”, what a joke. He looked back at the owner, now was truly time for the gamble:

“If I may bring a drink to the precious gem…”

“Oh of course, Mr. Aventurine. Let me show you the way…”

A few corridors later and they entered your dressing room, knocking on your door. You were facing a vanity taking off the jewels resting on your forehead and chest. The owner introduced:

“Little gem, one of our esteemed guests wanted to give you a drink. So, I brought him to you. He is a particularly important guest which is giving us new clients which means you could get more money for your performance. Treat him well…”

The owner escaped while Aventurine sighed at the owner’s lack of subtility. He signed his bodyguards to stay outside the door and after a few seconds, you finally spoke for the first time:

“I’m not selling my body…”

“Oh no need to inform me, I’m not here for that…” replied the businessman.

To confirm his saying, he sat down on the furthest couch and laid your drink on the nearest table to you. More seconds of the awkward silence, silence in which he delighted because as a gambler he knew it was a silence of thinking, of calculation. You asked politely while turning:

“Then why are you here sir?”

“Because I think we have something in common.”

“Oh really?”

Aventurine, for the first time, took off his glasses to reveal his colourful eyes while his left hand went inside his pocket. Your gaze met and there was this moment. He could see emotions passing through your mind and body: first, the slight widening of your eyes from the surprise, the lips parting as if trying to find words, the quivering fingers as if grasping for reality and then seating back as in disbelief. At last, the nod of acknowledgment. Both of you stayed staring at each other, like staring into mirror. Two beings that started the same but ended up as opposites. You broke the silence:

“I’ve heard rumours about an IPC debt collector being Signonian but are you…?”

“I’m an Avgin.”

The sentence was short, but it felt like a revelation for both of you. An acknowledgment of each other’s fate, each other’s hardships and despair. The realisation of each other’s suffering by the mere gaze, the lack of shine in each other’s eyes. He broke the silence by sipping some of his drink, it was easier to numb the pain. You took again the lead in the conversation:

“May I ask for your name?”

“They call me Aventurine.”

“Doesn’t sound avgin…”

“As I said, darling, they call me that way.”

Behind the dismissive use of the petname and the play on words, he didn’t expect your wit. Although you were quite right to not trust him at first in this cold world. He couldn’t bear to see you slip between his hands like the golden sand. Another gulp of alcohol, of courage. For a second, his vision blurred and his head spinned. For the first time, through sheer will or maybe was it his thoughts blending into a mess, he broke again the silence:

“And may I call you something else than what that man called you? May I have your name?”

You replied, after a few seconds, with your stage name which he immediately got:

“Oh, come on darling, it’s not that much of a big risk to give a name.”

“Says the one who didn’t give his name either…” you retorted.

“Touché! But I did it because I’m known as Aventurine and besides, I’m part of the IPC. As a member of the Ten Stonehearts, I shall reveal no secrecy and invest in my persona.”

You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his lips and he started to be more talkative, probably from the alcohol ingested throughout the night. Even if you wanted to go, you had to stay and treat him well because of the owner’s order. You would be interrupted in your thought process by the blond:

“Those jewels… Are they from turquoise meteorites?”

“Yes, they are. Mama Fenge has blessed my family with it and so I carry them to each performance”.

“Can I see them up close? No touching you or them if you would like to, it’s just been a long time since… Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen some… Would it be possible?”

He silenced himself by taking another gulp of his drink and he put the fedora away, starting to feel hot from the alcohol. He let out a small sigh of relief when you approached to let him look at the golden chain, which was previously attached to your belt, with turquoises and charms. The melody of the chain lulled him into deeper memories, and he started to talk again:

“You know, I’ve heard that these turquoises were as beautiful as Gaiathra Triclops’ eyes, but I wander if they are as valuable as hers. If turquoises are that valuable, then is that why our land was destroyed? Why were our valuable land and people left for dead?”

You didn’t respond because of the sudden emotion. The alcohol had certainly turned the gambler into a sentimental. You didn’t know how to quite manage to those questions because, you too, didn’t have the answer to that question. The dreading question that didn’t come in each other’s mind since a time long ago, a time that felt like forever. Yet your thoughts were again interrupted by him:

“I have a lucky charm too, not as valuable as turquoises but a gold lucky charm my mother gave me. Lucky charm to a lucky child, quite an irony. Big sis’ told me that it was to symbolize my name. “Blessed by Gaithra Triclops”, Kakavasha, lucky child yet received a lucky charm.”

You didn’t comment on how he just told you his name, his mind obviously elsewhere, probably drowning in the memories and the alcohol’s fog. You parted your lips as if trying to find your words, they didn’t come. The small details in his drunken speech seemed to confirm his identity as an avgin. It wasn’t one of the silver-tongued men but of an avgin, one of the last. You tried to continue the conversation:

“But you were blessed by Gaithra Tricolps. You are here, and you are someone powerful and you are quite fit at gaining money at the roulette.”

“Blessed… Lucky me, I guess! Luck makes powerful but my destiny not lucky, not just…”

“Then, how about we pray to the mother goddess for such luck and a happier destiny?”

His eyes widened at your proposition. You showed him your left hand to initiate the prayer, yet you saw his glassy eyes look at your hand like witnessing some kind of miracle.

He was about to take another gulp of his drink, but his hand was too shaky. He didn’t even know now if it was from the alcohol or the emotions, perhaps both, perhaps one facilitating the other. He approached his gloved hand and, after some clumsy movements, rested upon your hand.

You started the prayer, his voice being quieter. With each sentence, the blond went quieter and staring at the joined hands. You didn’t yet notice, at first closing your eyes in this ceremonial moment but when the prayer ended, you could see how his glassy eyes turned teary. You parted your lips trying to say something, hoping you didn’t do anything wrong, yet your surprising reflex was to embrace him.

You were shocked by your sudden gesture, and you couldn’t see Aventurine’s reaction. Though you could sense how tense his body was, how his shoulders were trembling. At first, you thought he would immediately pull away, and he didn’t. You let out a sigh and wrap your arms around him, not sure how it ended up like this. First you were dancing on stage, swirling to the tambourines and bells, and now you end up with a man – you didn’t quite process that he was an avgin just yet- in your arms.

You thought it would be another moment of silence. Not an awkward one, like when he entered your dressing room, but one of acknowledgment. One of contentment in which each other saw pain and sorrow. Yet this silent was broken by his slurred words:

“I should’ve saved her… I should’ve…”

You should hear the slurred words mixed with the throat tightening. The shoulders continued to shake in your embrace. Blond locks following his shaking. The taste of alcohol blending with the salt of the tears. Slowly dripping on your performance outfit, yet you didn’t care. It wasn’t about your outfit or treating him how the owner wanted. It was about helping him in his pain, comforting him. And you didn’t even know but it was the first time that anyone had treated him that way, that anyone had seen him in such despair, that any miracle had managed to quell his solitude.

Everything felt numb, his muscles tensing as if he couldn’t breathe. How would he dare to live? How was he allowed to? He was blessed, yet it was like a curse. He couldn’t bear to think that the one who didn’t come one was the closest to him. He had selfishly followed and ran, as far as he could, even though he knew something horrible was coming. And when he came back, it was too late: the cackling Katicans, blood drenching the golden sand, the fire devouring the tents. And of course, he had survived. He hated that he survived. Tears running down his cheeks and drenching the colourful fabric.

Yet, in this tender embrace, he could smell your perfume. Eyes slowly closing into those nights he longed for so much time: the warmth of the bonfire, the feast with spiced meals, the laughter and conversation swaying, music echoing in the valleys. It was the night of Kakava. Jewellery and colourful fabrics blending in the dance, his sister looking as beautiful as a gem, inviting him for a dance. The well-known steps coming back to him and following the music. You had come into the dance, and all laughed. He took his sister’s hand to give her a turquoise necklace, as precious as Gaiathra’s eyes, just for her to wear in this special occasion. He told her about all the travels he did, journeying far beyond Sigonia, of all the riches he gathered, of all his schemes that worked and some that didn’t. The tender embrace exchanged afterwards bringing him the warmth he so much desired. Sparks going back into his eyes as the warm embers of Hope coming back. They smiled and dance until the blinding dawn came. He turned to his sister and saw her smile, as bright as the sun.

Yet it was the same sunlight that awoke him. He rubbed his eyes and slowly looked around: he was laid down in his bed, with the same outfit as last night – well what he could remember of it – and his headache reminded him of his alcohol consumption. He could almost hear Ratio’s sermon about how alcohol kills his liver. He took out his phone and checked his messages and bank account, thankfully he didn’t spend anything drunk nor text any weird messages. There was only him in his bed, so he didn’t bring anyone home or they might’ve escaped before he woke up.

He slowly sat up, leaning on the headboard, and heard something fall onto the sheets. After rummaging a little, and taking a sip of water, he found a turquoise charm. He couldn’t quite remember when he bought it or if he won it yet there was some sense of familiarity. He approached it, made it shine in the golden rays before the realisation hit him: it was one that once was on your golden chain. As precious as Gaithra’s eyes yet you accepted to give one to him, a fellow Avgin. He swallowed his tears and stood up, one day he hoped to thank you. He didn’t look at his reflection this morning but if he had, he would see that glimmer of Hope back in his beautiful eyes.

[leighsartworks216]

Acid

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

This is my first time writing Shadowheart, so she's probably ooc

Warnings: descriptions of chemical/acid burns, descriptions of acid burning flesh, swearing, panicking, pain, blindness

Word Count: 1,804

Main Masterlist

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You scream as the acid bottle breaks against your face. Glass tearing into soft flesh and white-hot burning all over. In your eyes, across your cheeks, on your lips. It sizzles and eats into your skin. You can't think past the pain. You should be terrified - your enemy has just blinded you, and now you can't defend yourself. All you can think about is how you want to wipe it off, get it off your skin so it stops burning, but doing so would only cause more damage.

Hands grab you and you scream and struggle. You have no idea who's touching you. You can't even look. You're going to be sick.

"It’s me! I’ve got you,” Astarion shouts by your ear. You stop fighting him, your screams reduced to mere whimpers. "You're going to be okay."

You gasp, "Can't see."

"I know. Don't open your eyes. You're safe."

He guides you away from the battle. War cries, the clinking of weapons, and incantations no longer surround you. He carefully helps you to sit down. It's grass beneath you. You clutch handfuls in your fists, tearing it up. Anything to keep you from touching your face.

"Burns," you whimper. You can no longer tell if it's acid or tears that sting your eyes.

He shushes you again. You listen, trying to figure out what he's doing. You hear a canteen opening and water being poured out. You jolt when something cold touches your face.

"It's alright. It's just water." He doesn't wait for you to adjust before he's trying to wipe away the acid. The sooner it came off, the less damage Shadowheart would have to heal... If she can heal this at all.

Your skin is red and mottled. The more he removes, the more he fears for your eyes. Little pieces of glass stick to the cloth he used. He has to pause often to brush them off, else-wise they'd cut your face up more. Your eyelids are bright red and sensitive; the acid burnt away so much he could almost see through the thin skin. You wince and pull away repeatedly, but he can't stop.

It must have been a very potent acid, he thinks. The patterns formed in your skin remind him of Karlach's scars; the ones that cover her right shoulder and side. It's not a pretty sight.

"How's that?" he asks when he's wiped down your entire face. The rag is almost in tatters, burned away by the acid.

You hiss through your teeth, eyes squeezed tight as you tilt your head back. "Eyes," you whine. "Burn."

He grabs your head and tilts it back down, worried you'd try to open them. "Shadowheart will be here soon." He can't promise that. The fight was pretty hairy when he left - it could still be a bit before it's over.

He peeks out from your hiding spot. He should go help, but then you'd be completely and utterly defenseless. He curses. "I'll be right back, darling," he assures. "Keep your eyes shut, no matter what happens."

Before you can protest, he's gone.

You’re left alone in the dark. You can hear the fight in the distance. The faint thwip of Astarion’s bow as he takes down foes from a distance, Karlach’s battle cries as she keeps the hoard at bay, the spells Shadowheart casts to heal and harm. It’s horrifying.

Your friends are out there, risking their lives against overwhelming foes. And you’re stuck here - useless.

You focus on anything else to ignore the pain. The ends of the grass pricking your skin. The dirt sliding beneath their boots. Birds chirping, a cool breeze, your armor - anything. You’re vaguely aware of tears running down your cheeks. They burn as they carry the acid from your eyes. Their trails are prominent amongst the mottling.

You want to claw your eyes out. It's unbearable. You want to writhe on the ground and scream. But you can't. Your hands rip more and more grass up from its roots. Deeper and deeper, until you’re clawing up dirt and worms and ants and mycelia. It’s not cathartic enough.

It takes too much effort to focus on your surroundings, but you strain your ears anyway, listening for any hint of combat. It’s quiet, and you can’t tell if your hearing is gone, too, or if the battle is over. You twist your body, trying to recall which way it was. Where did Astarion take you? How far away? Did they win? Were they okay?

“Astarion?” you call. It’s strained. There’s no response. You nearly sob as you call out again.

Oh, gods. Please, gods no, please. They can’t be dead; you refuse to believe it. You can’t focus on the pain as fear constricts your heart. You cry out again, hoping someone answers. Anyone. You can’t even hope to find them in this state.

Someone stirs behind you. You whip around, trying to listen. Was it one of them? Why were they being so quiet? You can’t open your eyes. You can’t see. You have to know.

Your voice comes out small, trembling with worry. “Star?”

Something whizzes by your head. You yelp as you flinch away, covering your head in defense. Whatever was there let out a coarse shriek. Another something whizzes by your head again, the same direction as the last time, and with a rattling breath, it was quiet.

“Don’t open your eyes.” You jump when Astarion speaks right behind you.

You want to sob again. It’s evident in your voice, in the trembling of your lip. “What happened? Why weren’t you answering?” Your fear tinged your words with anger.

He huffed. “I didn’t exactly want to give away my position to the goblin hoping to make you its next meal.”

Ah, so the something you heard was a goblin trying to sneak up on you. His hand holds the back of your neck, cool against your hot skin. You sigh and try to focus on it. Footsteps rush toward you. Astarion can feel the way you bristle with fear.

The footsteps stop with a gasp. “Gods, what happened?!” Shadowheart.

“Acid,” you groan. You’re just glad they’re alive! “Fucking burns.”

“It got in their eyes. I got what I could off their face.”

“Shit.” Her hands are on you in a minute, displacing Astarion’s hand as she tilts your head back. “You need to lie back. Fuck, you should have rinsed it out their eyes! There’s no telling how much damage it’s caused.”

You follow her guidance, lowering yourself back onto the grass. Your armor feels suffocating.

The spawn scoffed. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing, not to mention the horde of goblins surrounding us!”

“Stop fighting! You can argue later!” Karlach shouts. You want to thank her. Usually, you can deal with their bickering, but your nerves are taught with fear as is. “How can I help?”

“I need water. And probably something to bite down on - a stick or leather or something.”

You hear someone going through their bag. “Will this work?”

“It should.” You hear another canteen being opened as Shadowheart touches your chin. Her fingers are gentle despite the situation. “Open your mouth and bite down on this.”

A thick stick, smooth and solid, is slotted between your teeth. Your heart skips as a shock of panic rushes through you.

“How dignified,” Astarion murmurs. You look like a dog playing fetch. It would be funny, if it wasn’t there to keep you from biting your tongue or breaking your teeth.

“On the count of three, I need you to open your eyes. I’m going to rinse them out as best I can. And I’m sorry, but it’s going to hurt.”

Astarion grabs your hand. You squeeze it in a death grip. He can feel your pulse, rapid and pounding. You can feel Karlach sitting by your head, warm hands on your forehead and shoulder, ready to hold you down.

“One. Two. Three!”

You open your eyes.

There’s an impossible pain.

The wood cracks beneath your teeth.

Everything fades away.

-

When you wake, it’s to total darkness. You’re still laying back, a hand still holds yours, and you can’t see anything. You whimper and try to touch your eyes. Are they gone? What’s happened? Why can’t you see? Your attempt is stopped by another hand grabbing your wrist.

“It’s alright. We’re back at camp.”

“Can’t see.” It comes out pathetic. A frightened whimper, like a child scared of the dark.

He hushes you and begins rubbing circles into your hand and wrist. “It’s just a bandage over your eyes, darling, you’re alright,” he assures. “Shadowheart has a healing spell over you, but she didn’t want to risk it. Your vision isn’t lost.”

He watches as you process his words. Your heart calms down with your breathing. You let your hands go limp in his hold.

“What happened? I… I remember Shadow counting, but it’s all foggy after that.”

You can hear him shifting as he gets comfortable. He sets your hand back down, and holds the other with both of his. He continues rubbing your palm and knuckles. “You opened your eyes,” he began, but he paused as he remembered the brief glimpse he got of them. They were reduced to near nothing. He felt sick thinking he caused it, by not acting quickly enough to wash the acid out. “She poured the water in them, you… screamed and almost broke the stick in your mouth…” He swallowed. “What matters is you’re okay now.”

His hands shook slightly, movements becoming more mechanical as he worked through his own fear. You squeezed his hand.

“I don’t blame you.”

He chuckles, but it’s bitter. “Of course not. And the fiend that did do this has been thoroughly disposed of.”

“What Shadow said…” His hand stilled. “You did your best, Star. You didn’t know.”

He sighed softly and raised your hand to his lips. He murmured against your skin, “It’s behind us now.”

You loosed your hand from his hold to cup his cheek. It was strange being able to feel his face and not see it. But you recognized the curve of his cheekbone and the crease by his mouth, and of course the feeling of his curls tickling your fingertips. “But you’re still upset by it.”

He leaned into your hand, running his fingers from your elbow to your wrist before covering your hand with his, keeping you there. “I don’t think you’re fit enough to lecture me,” he teased. You could feel him smile. “In a few hours, once you can see again, then you can tell me just how much none of this was my fault.”

“And will you believe it then?”

He hummed, turning to kiss the inside of your wrist. “I could be persuaded to.”

---

Tag List:

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[rosehxnt]

oh, simple thing

characters: ruggie bucchi, jade leech, jamil viper summary: small moments of serenity don’t come often with your hectic schedules warnings: might be ooc, mentions of stress (jamil)

Ruggie Bucchi  When you got a message from your boyfriend saying he’d finished all his running around for Leona, you immediately went to search for him.  As you went to open the door to your dorm he was already there, donuts in hand.  "If I'd known you were going to bring food I would've offered to pay for it." You pouted.  "There's still time," Ruggie said, giving out his signature laugh. "But really, I noticed how hard you've been working and decided to pay this time."  "You work just as hard as me, Rugs. Let's break into those treats though, I'm hungry."  You split the donuts evenly between the two of you, cutting each in half so you could try each flavor. You told each other about your days and shared any anecdotes the other hadn't heard yet.  "I don't understand how someone like Leona can go through so much laundry," Ruggie said, finishing off his last piece, making sure to get as much frosting off his fingers as possible. “It’s always overflowing whenever he calls me to take care of it.”  "Tell me about it," you commented. “Grim seems to make messes on purpose and leaves me to take care of them.”  “At least we’re finally getting some time off from that,” Ruggie said, swiping some frosting from the corner of your lips.

Jade Leech  It was about an hour into the hike you'd promised you would take with Jade every other week. He refused to tell you where you were going and gave no warning when he would stop to look at nearby plant life.  Your legs were nearly burning but as usual, he was unbothered. The occasional breeze gave you some brief relief from the steep slopes.  He suddenly stopped once you reached even ground, but didn't move to inspect or gather any fungi like you expected.  “Jade?”  “Yes, pearl?”  “Why’d you stop?”  “So you can rest for a bit,” he said, now facing you. “Don’t you remember wanting to sit down on this fallen tree last time we were here?”  You looked around his broad frame for the first time since you stopped and noticed the mossy trunk you’d insisted on leaning on two weeks prior. Sitting next to it was a small basket and some patterned cloth.  “You have been very busy on top of working at the lounge with us, so I’ve prepared a small picnic for us as well.” His considerate gentlemanly manner never failed to amaze you.  “Thank you so much, Jade,” you said as you walked over together to spend the rest of the afternoon cashing in on well-deserved rest.

Jamil Viper  Jamil was no stranger to stress, what with Kalim's seemingly nonexistent sense of self-preservation and the pressure to keep him safe and in line lest his family would be in big trouble.  Usually, when he had some time off he'd spend it alone, but ever since you'd come along, he found himself longing for your presence.  You met him in his room, where his roommate was long gone. Jamil was sitting on the edge of his bed smiling when you approached him. You could tell he was tired by the way he nearly melted into the sheets, but he still gave you the energy you were used to.  He greeted you by holding your hands and gently kissing your knuckles. You could still feel his exhaustion even through light touches. It made you want to bear all the weight on his shoulders as your own.  "What do you feel like doing, Jamil?"  "Just staying here with you is good," he replied as you sat next to him.  "You've worked really hard today. You know that right?" You locked hands with him. "I'm proud of you. I'm always so very proud of you."  "I know my dear," he squeezed your hand. "I know."

a/n: i believe that jamil deserves to know he’s appreciated for his hard work m.list & rules

© rosehxnt

[2haetls]

KISS ME, SON OF GOD. tatsumi K

urhh.. silly under read more, hehe :3

CW/SKETCH INFO : smut, semipublic, death of an angel (not actually hehe), noncon, defilement, angel reader, corruption kink, female reader, ooc tatsumi (idk his yknowww uhhh speech pattern or his mannerisms, so this is kinda just hc?), one sided pining, manhandling + slight size kink.

tatsumi kazehaya, the priest at the kazehaya church, obviously, he was amazing. the way he enlightened the audience, even the passerbys, coaxing them to come join. his soft voice when praising the Lord was unbelievable. when you talked to the other churchgoers, you found him catching glances. How odd.

A/N. i am not a religious person, and i was not raised to be a religious person! I've never been to church, so im researching. i apologize if anything is wrong ( layout n other stuff )! also, if this isnt to your liking or what you want feel free to request again!

as renovations started, you came, observing a lot more. donating to the church during hours, and normally during non working hours, and tonight was certainly a mistake. a grave mistake.

you walk through the heavy doors of the quiet, dimly lit church with a basket in your hands. heels clicking against the tile floor as you strut in between the aisle and rows of seats, the feeling of the moonlight covering your face as if it were a veil— slowly being drowned out by the dancing trees. the quiet of your surroundings was as peaceful as the ocean. You place the basket filled with supplies on the pulpit, staring out of the stained glass until your eyes wandered over to the tiny confession booths. tatsumis voice breaks the silence, startling you. "Ah, miss yn! what brings you here?" Your head whips torwards him, following his wandering gaze. you clear your throat and scratch your cheek awkwardly, "im just.. visiting, kazehaya. " You smile sheepishly, the air around you two slowly souring. "i should leave, shouldn't i?"

tatsumi shakes his head and laughs to himself.

he actually laughs to himself, walking torwards you with muddled intent. "Before you leave.. can i show you something?" You nod, raising your eyebrows. "Hmm. just follow me," tatsumi ushers you to an even quieter room, whispering nothings into the air. he opens the door only for you to find a semi empty room with a cross hanging on the opposite wall and two ceiling tall shelves filled with bibles, a few.. rulers, i shall say, and a candle. the creaking of the wooden floor snap you out of your daze, and your eyes widen right before he pushes you into the room, closing it behind him. his mouth is parted, and his pupils are blown, tatsumi gulps, reaching for your hands. "it was.. an accident." he lies through his teeth, and you grit yours, brushing your skirt off. "Hum, alright." Your voice is quiet with a hint of malice. how ungraceful for an angel, you thought to yourself. his body blocks the door, and you squint at him, adjusting your sight in the dark room. "Ah.. can you move, please?" You ask sheepishly, confused until he embraces you, slowly unbuttoning your dress. "kazehaya..! That's not right..." Again, you ask until your dress is off your your shoulders. you push him away with fail, unable to leave his arms. hes silent when spinning you around to look at your back speaking up only to comment on your appearance. "Such small wings.. i thought they would be bigger. " he smiles into your ear, fondling your breasts softly.

"hn.. this isn't right doing this out of wedlock, tatsumi.." You mumble, squirming in his arms uncomfortably. he whispers under his breath, praying before he pushes you to the ground, not using much force. "Are you suggesting we get married?" he sounds estatic. You suck your teeth, and you feel sick.— your wings flap wildly. "and these wings.. does it hurt when they're pulled, miss?" he asks, running his soft hands over them. you flinch pretty hard, crawling away from him and pulling your dress back up. and your voice shakes through your attempt at sounding assertive. "i won't answer that.. is this all you wanted?" Panic courses through your veins, and you pray. "If you let me leave.. i won't say anything." he hums, walking torwards you again. "i like you." the sound of his footsteps stopping right behind you felt gross

he repeats himself, "i like you, yn," and he does it again, "i really like you." tatsumi opens his mouth, and you interrupt him with a brisk 'stop', turning your head away as you feel his chin on your shoulder. "I'll be your first, won't i?." he breathes into the crook of your neck as you try to shrug him off. it's no use, and your knees ache; he takes no time having the both of you stand. Tatsumis arm hugs your torso, and he lifts your skirt above your butt with his unoccupied hand. "I'll be your last, too." he continues with a breathy and exasperated tone, "I'll make you mine.. I'll ruin you for anybody else, i promise. " You whimper, unable to fight back with your arms pinned, and even if they weren't, you couldn't hurt him, how unfair, how cruel. "i.. tatsumi" being unable to tell what you were pleading for was embarrassing. you sigh in defeat at the feeling of his hand fumbling with his sleep shorts, pulling them down to his knees.

was this really going to happen? an angel being defiled by a preist was a rare sight. a man of god, about to have sex with his lords disciple.

you weep, "dont take my innocence.. anything but that, oh lord. im sorry" muttering under your breath, he swipes his cock over your folds, tainting you. you begin to lose control of yourself as he pushes his member inside of your cunt, his gasps of pleasure drowned out by your cries. "agh.. it hurts! that hurts, hngh.. " he squeezes your torso tighter, the other hand coming to your lips . you've never thought of anything like this, so why does this happen to you? "You feel so nice, my angel.." Sweat drips down your temples, and you moan. it's quiet and drawn out. "No.. uuh," he lifts your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with the cross. tatsumis hips rock into yours unceremoniously, his lips come in contact with your neck, kissing and nipping at the skin. "tatsumi.. hngh.. take it out–" With wide eyes, you keep contact with the sacred item— it feels horrible, you feel horrible. you can feel yourself fall, having everything you've wanted taken from you.

now he's holding your hand, so gently. "My beautiful angel, my wife.." tatsumi kisses you, it's.. lovely, to say the least, tears run down your face in discomfort. "Ah.. it hurts, please!" You yelp, your legs beginning to shake, and you tighten around him. he grunts, grinding his hips into yours. "Let it go, just like that. " his sweet voice coaxing you into your orgasm was uncomfortable, the man you once saw as innocent, someone who could never do this. and hes calling you his wife as you cum, youre squirting all over his cock. you squeak, begging for him to stop moving, for something. "nn..." He's so caring.. it feels wonderful. your eyes are hazy and drooping, tears continuing to flow from them. tatsumis thrusting becomes more of him chasing his release. "No.. not inside." You sniffle, feeling restless. he leaves kisses on your neck, moaning into your skin, "I'll make you my wife.. you'll have my babies. " his hands migrate to your hips, no longer holding you up. the sickening sound of skin against sound was now covered by mixed moans of pleasure and pain. you can feel the warmth of his cum settling inside you before he pulls out, leaving you to think. "i love you, yn." he stands there as you begin to fall, your wings being dyed a murky color right before his eyes. and he smiles. "Now you'll be with me forever, right?"

as he leaves, the silence is comforting. like a hug after a devastating situation. its cold.

idk how i feel about this one, but its finished! i was gonna use cannibalism as a metaphor but my mommy said no 🙁🙁😒 ( i asked her while she drove us to a party) butt. this kinda makes me sad

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Start of Something New (Silver/Gold)

Note: This contains Canon/OC and spoilers for Diasomnia Chapter 7. Possibly a bit ooc for Silver (restudying his dialogue/speech patterns currently)

“And that’s where I am currently.” Gold hopped over a root protruding from the ground as she walked along. “Thanks a bunch for the study guide you lent me - it’s gonna come in handy for finals.”

“Of course,” Silver - her friend and current strolling partner - replied. “Let me know if you need any more help with certain subjects. We can set aside time to review before your exams.” 

“Aw, you don’t have to! You’ve got your own studying to do; I’ve heard the exams for third years can be a real pain.” 

“As have I.” Silver sighed in mild exhaustion. “I’ve been told that Professor Crewel’s final project is especially taxing. Even the slightest mistake can cause the potion to turn…one slip and I either have to retake it or repeat my entire third year.” 

“I know you’ll do well,” Gold reassured. “From what [Name] has told me, you’ve gotten a lot better at preparing that stuff since last year. You’ll knock it out with little problem, I know.” She lightly tapped Silver’s wrist with her middle and forefinger. “Just be sure to show me the final product once you get it back from Crewel. I’d love to see it!” 

A small smile graced the fair man’s face as he glanced down in her direction. “I’ll be sure to.” 

For a couple minutes, there was silence between the two as they navigated through the woods and back to campus. Gold had needed to procure a flora sample for alchemy class; as she was still largely unfamiliar with that part of the island, Silver had offered to accompany her. It wouldn’t be right to let her get lost. Silver had come by to visit her at Ramshackle earlier to deliver her the aforementioned study guide anyway. As one of the housewardens at Night Raven College, it was his responsibility to help his underclassmen in any subject or area, no matter their dorm affiliation. That, and Gold was a very dear friend, so of course Silver would help her in any way he could. 

“Have you heard from your dad lately?” Gold asked, breaking the brief silence. 

Silver’s smile returned as he nodded. “Yes - yesterday, actually. I got a postcard in the mail, along with a letter and a few photos. Father and mother are visiting Port o’Bliss, at least at the time they sent the parcel. They also sent some souvenirs and snacks for Sebek and I.”

“That’s so nice!” Gold ducked under a low hanging branch as they approached a clearing in the woods. “I’m happy they’re enjoying their retirement.” A playful grin stretched across her face. “Or is it a prolonged honeymoon thing?” 

“A bit of both,” Silver chuckled. “They’ve made themselves at home in Red Long Country, but they’ll travel about from time to time. Father has seen most of the world, but mother has barely seen a fourth of it; Father wants to let her explore it before they truly settle down.” 

Gold let out a hum of agreement. “They deserve it after all they’ve been through.” As they stepped into the clearing, the sun above mildly shaded by clouds, Gold made another comment. “It’s also nice to hear you calling Persy your mom, too.” 

“It took some getting used to,” Silver admitted, “but she is married to Father, so that’s who she is.” He let out a brief laugh, “Though she was that long before then.” 

“I could tell. When Sebek told me last year, a little bit after I got here, that he and Persy weren’t married and she wasn’t your mom, I was surprised! You treated her like one from the get-go; at least now it’s official and doesn’t feel off anymore.” 

Silver nodded in agreement. “They sent Malleus a package as well. I delivered it to him shortly after I retrieved mine; I’m sure Sebek and I will find out what’s in it later.”

As Silver and Gold passed through the clearing and entered the woods again, they came upon a small pond, about Silver’s length and a half of hers. The sun’s rays that peeked through the leaves above made the clear waters glitter like diamonds. Birds chirped from the high branches; bushes rustled as wildlife went about their own business. There was little need to worry about any of them threatening the two - Silver’s uncanny connection with the fauna of the world decreased that possibility significantly. If they left them alone, they’d leave them alone. It wouldn’t be too surprising if one of those birds, maybe even a squirrel, came down from their perches to pay the young man a visit, however. 

“Did you see all those flowers that came in the carts today?” Gold asked.

“I did,” Silver replied. “They’re for the upcoming dance, I think. There were a lot of them.” 

“You think it’ll be bigger than last year’s?” 

“Possibly. As Malleus is spending his fourth year as a student teacher, he might have a hand in coordinating the event - Andromeda, too. I think they would enjoy something like that together.” 

“As long as they’ve got the budget,” Gold joked. “They might make the other professors’ blood pressure go up if they spend too much on it.” 

“Malleus isn’t above dipping into his own funds to make he and Andromeda’s visions a reality.” Just as Gold expected, a little red bird fluttered down and came to rest on Silver’s shoulder, chirping a greeting. Silver gave it his attention and petted its feathered head gently with his finger. “It’ll prepare them for what’s to come in their future.” 

Gold sometimes forgot they were all in the presence of a future monarch and his queen consort. The Draconias had more money than she could ever dream; by extension of a pending marriage, it was Andromeda’s, too. Just a tenth of their money would set Gold for life. Seven, the prospect made her want to vomit. Maybe one day she could earn enough to live comfortably similar to that. “Do you have your outfit picked out for it?” Gold inquired, changing the subject before she got too caught up in the what-ifs. 

“I do.” Silver watched as the bird took off back into the canopy of trees before he continued. “Father set aside funds for me to get a suit tailored to my measurements, among other things.”

Man, some people really were set, huh? 

“That’s good.” Gold stopped to lean against a tree, granting herself a brief respite beside the pond. “I’ve still got to come up with what I want to wear. I got the concept down, and I’ve made sure it aligns with the dress code. Now I just have to come up with the money.” 

“Will your paychecks from the lounge be enough?” 

“They should be…at least I hope. Most of the shops around here are pricey, which I expect from a college town. I could order one online, but it’s a little risky cause I won’t really know the fit, quality, stuff like that until it gets here. I’d like to try a potential dress on first before buying it, you know?” Gold sighed to herself as she thought about everything that could go wrong. “I don’t want to have to return it and risk a replacement or alternative not getting here in time for the dance.” 

“And if it comes to that?” 

Gold shrugged. “I guess I just won’t go. The dance isn’t mandatory, so…I could just hang out at Ramshackle until it was over.” 

Silver’s expression turned to concern, disappointment, at the prospect. “I’d hate for you to miss it. I know you want to have a good time with the rest of us. What happened to your dress from last year?” 

“I still have it, but…” Gold looked a little embarrassed to admit why she couldn’t wear the dress, but she didn’t want to leave the man guessing. “I’ve apparently gained a little weight somehow. It’s a bit too tight in my waist area now; it’d be too risky to wear, not to mention uncomfortable.” 

Gold didn’t look like she’d gained weight, at least to Silver. She wouldn’t lie to him though. With a determined look in his eye, he said, “If your checks won’t cover a dress here on the island, I’d be happy to give you the amount you needed to pick one you liked.” 

Gold’s brows raised, eyes widened, heart clenched in guilt and surprise. “Silver, no, it’s okay. It’s just a dance, I-” 

“A dance you really want to go to.” Silver to a step closer to her, now standing in front of her. “Please, Gold, I really don’t mind. I have more than enough left over for food and other things I need.” He mumbled under his breath, “Sometimes I wonder if Father spoils me for how much he gives me.” 

Gold overheard that and let out a small giggle. Silver glanced down at her and smiled - a soft, genuine smile. This guy really was the princely type, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was an actual prince from a kingdom long since passed, but still, he really seemed to have stepped straight out of a fairytale. Gold let out another sigh, this one of relent. “If I feel my checks won’t cover it and the stuff I need, I’ll ask you for a loan.” 

“You promise?”

Gold laughed this time. “I promise, I promise!” 

“Good.” Silver’s hand brushed the back of hers. “And it wouldn’t be a loan - it’d be a gift.” 

“You know, you really need to be careful with stuff like that. Someone could take advantage of you one day.” 

“Maybe,” Silver leaned in a little closer, “but I know you never would.” 

There was that odd feeling again. It always came up with Gold when Silver was this way with her. Not in this exact scenario, per say, but when he was kind and gentle towards her. The qualities a good few of her friends shared, but Silver was just…different, somehow. It was hard to look him in the eye without her heart skipping a beat. That handsome smile of his haunted her many a night, too. Gold wondered if this was the effect he had on everyone else; she should ask around later. 

“Well, whatever happens, I’m dreading wearing heels.” Her feet ached just thinking about it. “I know they look good, but they really begin to hurt your feet after a while.” 

“I don’t believe you have to wear heels,” Silver pointed out. “They’re not part of the dress code; I recall it only states you have to wear formal footwear.”

“I know, it’s just…a girl wants to look pretty, you know? Vil knocked everyone out of the park last year with his; while his are more downgraded, Riddle pulls them off like no one’s business.” Gold shifted her feet, which were nestled in her dark brown loafers. “Everyone who wears them just looks so good! And they look even better when you’re all dressed up. I just wanna look cute.” 

“You still would without heels.” Excuse her, what? Gold whipped her head around to look at Silver again, eyebrow raised. “I’m serious. I don’t believe heels are what make a person look good. If someone wants to wear them with their clothes, I think it’s fine - but it isn’t the thing that makes them look pretty or cute. It’s the person themselves.” 

Gold smirked and gently elbowed Silver. “Oh, so you’re calling me cute, huh? You think I’m soooo pretty?~” 

“Yes.” 

She could have choked. For a moment, her heart stopped. Gold forgot to breathe altogether for a few seconds. Silver was just going to say that out loud, so matter-of-factly and not expect her to balk?! Her cheeks were burning, she could feel them. Silver took a step back as his expression fell. “I’m sorry, did I offend you?” 

“No, not at all!” Gold protested. “I just…didn’t expect you to answer like that.” 

“Do you think you’re ugly?” Silver seemed shocked at the very idea. “You’re not, you’re-” 

“I know I’m not!” Gold interjected, as politely as she could. She really didn’t want Silver to explain how he viewed her and make her blush even more. “It’s just,” she let out an awkward laugh, “you’re so honest it’s almost unbelievable. You need to be careful saying stuff like that.” 

“Why?” 

How pure can one man be? Lilia really had to be doing something with his kids to make them this way. Was it the food? Maybe it was the food - it realigned some of their brain cells in a certain way. “Um, well…” Gold tried to find a good way to explain it without being weird. “I guess…I guess someone might think you like them.” 

“But I do like you.” 

“Well, yeah, as a friend, but I meant in a more…intimate way.” 

“Ah!” Silver gasped as he flinched. Was that…was he blushing? From embarrassment, clearly. “I…” He turned his head downward, Gold now unable to view his face. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“No no, you didn’t,” Gold giggled. She reached out to pat his arm. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you for the compliment.” 

Silver didn’t respond, just kept staring at the grass. He was quiet for so long Gold began to worry. Then, just as she was about to ask if he was alright, he raised his head and faced her again. “Well, in any case, don’t feel pressured to wear something that hurts you. If you decide to wear heels and they begin to hurt your feet, you can take them off and I’ll carry them for you.” 

Gold laughed again. “And what would I do then? Just walk around barefoot?” 

“You could borrow my shoes, if you wanted.” 

Gold laughed a lot louder this time, imagining herself wearing Silver’s shoes and Silver wearing whatever heels she picked out. “Everyone would be staring at us!” As she calmed herself down, a lint of her laughter poked through her next sentence. “But hey, you look better in heels than I do, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

Silver sniffed in amusement. “You think so?” 

“I know so! I remembered when you rocked it at the Fairy Gala. The heels weren’t too big, but you pulled them off really well!” 

Silver chuckled again. “Thank you. I’ve worn larger heels a time or two before then. They were father’s…I guess you could say I was curious about how they felt.” 

“Well, consider me confident in your heel-ing abilities.” Gold raised her arms above her head in a stretch. “Now if I can just learn how to dance properly, we’ll be golden.” 

It was Silver’s turn to raise a brow in question. “You don’t know how to dance?” 

“No, I do - you’ve clearly seen me dance a good few times. It’s just certain ballroom ones I have trouble with. I learned the foxtrot when I was little, and have danced a dramatic version of the tango once, but other than that it’s like I’ve got two left feet.” Gold flexed her fingers as she dropped her arms back down to her sides. “I’m going to watch some videos online and try to learn from there. Maybe I’ll drag [Name] and Grim into being dance partners.” 

Silver seemed to contemplate something for a moment as he stared at Gold. A few seconds later, he voiced his thoughts. “Father taught me how to dance since I was a child. I believe I’m pretty good - would you like me to teach you?” 

Silver, ever the man of charity. And with no ulterior motive in sight; aside from Kalim and [Name], maybe Deuce, that was quite rare. “Really? You wouldn’t mind.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” That fair smile of his returned to grace the world with its presence. “I’d love to dance with you.” 

Yeesh, at this rate Silver might as well be dubbed “Most Likely to Be Prince Charming” in his yearbook photo. Gold made a note to put a word in with whoever was in charge of that later. For now, she let her heart flutter once again as Silver offered his hand to her. “Here?” she asked, glancing about the forest area where they currently stood. 

“If you like.” 

Yep, definitely plucked from the pages of a fairytale. “Alright.” Gold took his hand, feeling the leather that fit snug around his palm and fingers. “Waltz me silly, housewarden, sir.” 

The man laughed as he pulled her to him and rested his other hand on her waist. “Just Silver is fine, thank you.” His hands were strong, firm, yet as gentle and soft as their owner. Silver handled her carefully, protectively, as he guided her on how to step and where. When he stepped back, she stepped forward. When he stepped right, she stepped right. And so on and so on. Round and round and round until there was nothing else in the world but the two of them. 

Gold was so caught up in the dance, in Silver’s hold and gaze, she didn’t notice he was humming until minutes later. She listened closely to the tune, smooth and soft, almost like a lullaby. Gold had never heard Silver sing before, let alone hum. It was…soothing. “What is that?” 

“What is what?” Silver asked, seemingly knocked from his own thoughts as he abruptly stopped. His movements stalled, too, and Gold immediately missed it. 

“That song, the one you were humming. I’ve never heard it before.” 

“Oh.” Silver looked flustered. Did he even know he’d been humming? “It’s a song Father taught me when I was young. Malleus knows it, too, as does Sebek. It’s a lullaby from Briar Valley - I believe Queen Malenore was its creator.” 

“It sounds really nice.” 

Silver made a small noise of amusement. “I’m not as good as father; sometimes I even find myself making up my own words.” 

“Keep going,” Gold urged. “I like it.” 

Silver’s expression softened to something like endearment. “You’re sure?” 

“Mhm.” Gold squeezed his hand, hers still safely held in his gloved one. “You sound nice.” 

There he goes, making her feel like she’s going to collapse under that smile. Somehow Gold kept her legs steady as Silver guided her back into the waltz, fluid and slow. The calm breeze, the occasional chirp of birds and rustle of trees and bushes, the sound of their feet stepping along the fresh green grass, were Silver’s orchestra. His humming slowly morphed into hushed lyrics, scarcely audible to Gold’s listening ears. It was beautiful - he was beautiful. She wondered if he knew. 

I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

The look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it’s true, that visions seldom are all they seem

But if I know you

I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once 

The way you did once upon a dream

The third time Silver repeated the last lyric, Gold nearly stripped over her own feet as she missed a step. She gasped out as she stumbled. Silver caught her before she could fall, wrapping his arm tight around her waist to steady her. The movement brought Gold against his chest. His hold and build was strong, as she knew it was, but…again, there was a difference to it than it would be with Jack or Sebek. Silver was so close now, the tips of their noses inches from touching. His warm breath cascaded over her lips, as hers did his. Likely in her scramble to find something to break her fall, Gold’s fingers were now laced with Silver’s in the hand she still held. 

For a moment Gold beheld the whole of Silver’s perfect features, handsome and beautiful. Then, at some point, her gaze solely focused on his aurora colored irises. They were like a brilliant sunset, just as the night was beginning to glimpse the sky. In seconds those eyes went from wide to hooded as Silver stared back at her, just as entranced by her pretty hazel pools. They reminded him of woods in the light of sunrise, browns and greens basked in a golden light. The beginnings of words danced across his lips, mumbled nonsense, until he finally found what he wanted to ask. 

“...Are you alright?”

It took a good minute for Gold to process what he’d said. “Y…Yes.” 

“Good…” For a few more seconds, they remained unmoving, locked in their embrace. Then, slowly, Silver relaxed his hold on her waist. He blinked a couple times to regain his barrings on the world. “Can you stand?” 

Gold nodded her head as she moved away from Silver’s warm chest. She shifted her feet once, twice, before releasing her hand from his bicep, which she’d apparently been holding. It didn’t feel too bulky under her fingers, but not too lean either - just right. She adjusted her school uniform as Silver straightened his dorm uniform. There was palpable silence between them once more, but not like others they had before. This one held an unspoken, unknown tension neither could place. 

Gold was the one to finally break it. “Sorry for using you as a break for the fall,” she said, tittering awkwardly. 

Silver shook his head. “No no, it’s alright. I wouldn’t have wanted you to injure yourself.” 

“Like I told you,” Gold quipped, “two left feet.” 

“You did well,” Silver assured, yet there was a muse to his tone. “With enough practice, you’ll be able to handle yourself just fine.” 

“I’m so happy I have a good teacher.” 

“And I’m happy to help.” 

Another pause in conversation. One simply gazed at the other, not a thought conjured. They only beheld the other and basked in the feeling of happiness that overtook them at the sight. Then Silver glanced up at the sky and said, “We should get going. From the sun’s position, it will be dinner time soon.” 

“Good, cause I’m starving!” Gold announced, trying her best not to feel awkward anymore. She peeked in the pocket of her jacket to make sure the flora sample she’d taken earlier hadn’t fallen out. Nope, still there! Thank goodness. She patted it as she added, “And I’ve gotta get this to the fridge as soon as possible. Crewel said it could spoil if it was out in the heat too long after being plucked.” 

“To Ramshackle, then?” Silver asked, though already knew the answer. 

“To Ramshackle,” Gold repeated. “And then to the cafeteria.” She paused, then looked up at Silver as he came to stand beside her again. “Do you…want to walk there with me? To the cafeteria, I mean.” 

His grin was radiant. “I’d be happy to.” 

Idle conversation filled their little bubble as they began to walk, all about nothing in particular. Though try as they might, neither could totally keep their thoughts from straying. For Silver, it was to how soft Gold felt in his arms; how she looked even prettier up close, and how nice she smelled. He thought about how wonderful it felt to have her compliment his singing. For Gold, her mind went back to remembering how strong his hold was; how handsome he was; how he found her pretty and cute and was willing to do so much for her for nothing in return. It felt so weird, yet so lovely how he made her heart soar whenever he was around. Each was so, so very happy to have the other in their life. 

Was it really just friendship? It was, of course it was, but…there was a certain sweetness that strayed from the norm. Who would make a move on the other to explore it? 

Silver. 

“Is there someone you’ve asked to the dance?” Silver asked, casually. 

“Nope,” Gold responded. “I just planned to hang out with our usual group. You?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I’d take the leap if I were you. There’s no telling how many would love to have you as their date!” 

“Yes…”

Gold stared ahead as she walked on, scanning the area for any possible obstacles she’d have to avoid tripping over or knocking into. When she turned her head to look back up at Silver, he was gone. Her brows furrowed as she turned around to search for him. There he was, a small several steps behind, crouched down in front of a small outcrop of pretty flowers. Silver looked over each carefully before picking one: a purple lilac. He stood swiftly as he examined the bloom in his hand. 

“That’s pretty,” Gold commented as she took a few steps towards him, expression relaxed, yet curious. “What’s it for?” 

Silver didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to face forward and walked up to Gold. His gaze was centered on her as he stretched out of hand, lilac gently clutched in his fingers. It was an offering - a silent question. Gold eyed the flower, confusion clear on her face as she glanced back up at Silver. The man felt his stomach tie itself in knots, his heart pumping in his chest, his nerves begin to buzz. Nervous, yet determined and sure of what he wanted. 

“Gold…Callidora.” The sound of her real name caught the woman off guard. She now certainly had his full attention. Silver lowered himself onto one knee, just like what he’d seen many a prince and knight do in many a storybook from his childhood. He kept direct eye contact with his friend…the one who held this intimate affection he’d been oblivious to for a long time. This is what he had to do. This was the first step to something new - he only hoped she returned the feeling. 

“Will you go to the dance with me?”

For a moment, Gold said nothing, body and mind held in stunned silence. Silver’s expression was sincere, serious about the entire matter. This was no joke, not something he was doing on a silly whim or flight of fancy. All possibilities of what this could mean flew about in the young lady’s mind. First a thought of a favor, then one of simple friendship, and then…once more, there was only him and her in the entire world. Callidora didn’t have to think to put a grin on her face. She slowly reached out and took the flower from her friend - her man of interest. 

“I hope you’re ready to wear heels,” she said between the beginnings of giddiness. 

[roobylavender]

i mean most abusers do love the people they abuse. abuse isn’t something done with intention or malice half the time, it’s done by people thinking they’re doing the right thing. bruce’s love and need for control are constantly in conflict with each other and that’s why the robins are stuck waging a war against him. i feel like a big part of a dysfunctional parent-child dynamic is feeling trapped by your parent’s love. Even if you hate it, it’s still canon that Bruce has been historically bad with dealing with his kids. Half of them don’t even feel comfortable calling him dad cuz the relationship seems so undefined or shaky. In Dick’s case i feel like he has no grounds to oppose robin and his vigilantism because Bruce (deep down) loved having someone like dick around to fight crime with. They both refer that time as “the good old days” so it’s not like Bruce was truly opposed. It’s only when the actual reality of that negligent and naive behaviour materialises that he realises he fucked up (robin year one eg). Then he treats Dick in such a cold manner that Dick believes if he’s not robin, he’s not wanted. This has been a pattern since the golden days so no it’s not ooc for Bruce. Yes the natural conclusion to all the modern day tension should be for both parties to meet and resolve their issues but Bruce is still the abuser at the end of the day, and even though Dick’s self sacrificing nature might easily forgive him, on a textual level it should be clear that a true resolution between the two would need Dick to dig deeper, and for Bruce to be ready for rejection from his son.

i don’t disagree with that assessment of abuse like it’s absolutely true, but my problem is i don’t think the cold or controlling behavior is really a consistent enough pattern until we move into post-crisis canon. for several decades dick and bruce have a great rapport with each other bc that’s what everyone knows they’re supposed to have. like i don’t think most writers from the golden or silver age if asked that they intended to write bruce as an abuser would agree and say yes, and that distinction to me is impt, bc sure, we can take what we’re reading on a surface level and project our own experience or modern understanding of relationships onto it, but i don’t think that should happen to the extent authorial intent is superseded bc then you start to enter territory where you’re divorcing narrative from genre conventions. if we go by the assumption that bruce is an enabler and abuser for allowing dick to be a hero for so long without purported attention paid to his safety then that establishes practically every hero within the universe possessive of a sidekick as an abuser. and i do get that some people are interested in following that thread like esp in post-crisis we see that exploration a lot but ig for me personally it’s kinda like the thing that breaks the camel’s back and withholds the entire genre from actually allowing itself to explore more pertinent issues. not to say abuse isn’t a pertinent issue, it absolutely is and i do think there’s ways it can still be explored, but the primary reason the genre was established in the first place was in response to fascism. obv the engagement with that wasn’t necessarily complex early on but it’s incredibly impt to the development of the genre and as we can see in a modern context how that response to fascism or lack thereof is conveyed can be incredibly influential in terms of facilitating support or not for fascist government. so my issue is like, yes, it’s impt for bruce’s faults in these relationships to be addressed to a constructive and worthwhile extent, but i also think writers have gone so drastically far in curating those faults in the post crisis era that it’s effectively restricted the scope of the stories they’re allowed to tell, bc they’re more focused on individual instances and relationships within this world than they are on any form of commentary that reflects the operations of the world at large in relation to regulation of crime

[pokeglitchden]

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

[OOC- Since this is five different memories they are all going to be short. But they are each still a repressed memory in some way.

1)

[First memory is a very young one. Simon must be only around seven or eight years old at this point. He sits at the kitchen table, swinging his feet uncomfortably as both parents stand and discuss his latest grades.

Neither of them seem to even be looking at him, or even considering the fact that he's still in the room as they speak.

"Well, you know he's a bright enough kid. He just doesn't apply himself." his father says a little sternly.

"It's just the new school." his mother at least seems to be TRYING to be on his side, "Too many distractions. It'll settle once he's actually made a friend or two."

"Well, he'd better work on getting his grades up. It's really the only thing he's got going for him."

He stays there a long time past when his parents leave the kitchen.]

2)

[The memory begins inside the Silph Co. during lunch break. He is walking with his lab p�rt�er(?) as they try to find a seat.

It is the first day they've spent in the department of Glitch Research, and for once it looks like people are watching them. It's the look someone gives a person they believe will probably be dead by the next week. Pitying, a little sad, but not enough to do anything about it.

Everyone they pass seems to have that same knowing look on their face.

Someone says behind them.

"They're really going through them fast in Department H. Poor bastards. Hope they hold together."]

3)

[ He stands before Grant for the first time. The man's eyes are the most striking thing about him, glazed and almost hollow looking. And a dull white in color. Simon can barely look at him.

He has with him a young woman who is clearly a ZZaZZ victim. Her body is lined with spots, mimicking the pattern of a Bulbasaur, and she fragments wildly every few steps she takes. Her eyes look a little vacant, a far cry from the endless aggression she'd been expressing only moments ago.

He'd done this to her.

"I believe this does settle our little deal." Grant says with a smile. He hands over what seems to be a small tape recorder, "I hope you'll find it in you to work with us again."

When Simon takes it, there is a flicker of green in his shadow. It is so... SO tempting to end this all right now.

Once again. No one would have to know. After all, they already never would.

That night he sits in the dark and recounts every one of his regrets. He knows he can't ask Q to take this memory, but sitting with it is agony. A message from �aver lights the screen of his Dex Nav, and instead of answering it, he throws it against the wall. The screen cracks.]

4)

[A memory from the Mystery Zone. An endless expanse of trees stretch before him on every side, and he walks, limping, sometimes barely moving forward, as he counts each minute that passes meticulously.

The bottle of water he'd brought with him is now thoroughly empty, and he knows that if he doesn't find the exit to this place soon, it will likely not happen at all.

He has stopped recording, for now, and only a minute after he does, he feels his legs buckle. He barely feels himself hit the ground.

Without the sound of his own shuffling feet it is deathly quiet in the Mystery Zone. He can't move, and his entire body feels like it is about to unravel.

"Simon? Are you coming back?"

�aver's voice sounds so clear in his ears he could swear it was real. For a moment, just a moment, he turns and he can see him.

"I'm trying." He says back, his voice barely a whisper, "I'm trying, really."

"Do you need a hand? Come on."

He is so sure he can see his hand. It looks so real in front of him that when he goes to grab it, it is startling how fast it slips through.

He feels like he could cry. He knows he cannot trust anything he sees or hears any more.

He tries to just focus on counting the passing minutes until he can move again. ]

5)

[ Simon flies on Gilligan's back as they soar over the cluttered landscape of Glitch City. Beside him �aver is starting to pull ahead on the back of Lullaby, his ▶️A.

He is such an adept scout that he seems to already have a flight path all set out to cover as much searchable ground as possible. He is darting back and fourth, a deep red tint easily tracking his movements.

"Look! I think that's them! Over there!" He shouts, pointing to a spot Simon can barely see in the middle of the chaotic urban sprawl of half formed houses. It is the ZZaZZ victim that ran away. The hybrid.

He smiles at Simon with a confidence he knew he would never see in him again.

"Come on! Let's go get them." He says as he descends.

Simon slowly gives the signal to descend after him. He says nothing. ]

[espercr]

it's not monday anymore, but feeling cute today so ! ! !

[espercr---archived]

                                         ✶ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐄 ✶

follow the above link to my about / rules / pages . welcome to the bakery !       - interest tracker .        - discord : ✶ 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 ✶#5943

[zafirosreverie]

Talking hands (Dolores x reader)

a/n: first time writing for Dolores since I don’t really have her on the masterlist! Sorry if she’s ooc

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

You smiled as the warm air ruffled your hair slightly. You loved those quiet afternoons where you could lose yourself for a while. You loved your woodworking shop, but from time to time you had to hide from prying eyes and poorly disguised whispers.

It tired you that people always treated you like a helpless little bird. A fragile thing that would break at the slightest unforeseen event. You hated pitying looks. They didn't have to feel sorry for you, you were just a little different and that's it! But people would always be like this, you were used to it.

You were concentrating on your piece of wood, digging intricate patterns to slowly begin to shape the little bear, when you heard footsteps approaching you. You turned around in time to see a beautiful brunette girl holding her head. No, she was covering her ears.

The girl stopped abruptly when she noticed your presence and she looked at you for a few seconds. You knew her. She was one of the Madrigal girls. Milagros? Daniela? Something like that. You really weren't paying much attention to the things of the rest of the town.

She blinked rapidly and lowered her hands, smiling at you in an obviously forced and awkward way, she even looked like she was in pain. AH! Dolores! Dolores Madrigal.

"Hi" she said softly "Sorry, I didn’t know there was someone here"

You turned your head a little and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Dolores laughed softly if only to try to lighten the mood. She had really expected to be alone for a few moments because the noise from home had become too much for her and she didn't want to have to feign kindness. Still, strangely, you still hadn't tried to answer her.

"Uhm...I'm Dolores" she said

You just nodded and offered her a small smile. You waved lightly before patting the ground next to you. You didn't know her beyond her name, but she looked tired and as if she could use a hiding place. You could share yours. The brunette blinked in confusion and she decided to get a little closer.

"W-what's your name?" she asked, sitting next to you, but leaving a good distance between you.

You looked at her for a while before reaching into your pocket and pulling out a pen. You quickly scrawled something on the palm of your hand and held it out to her. Dolores frowned before reading.

Y/N

"Oh...hi Y/N, nice to meet you"

You smiled at her again and made a gesture with your hands that Dolores didn't understand. Usually, you would roll your eyes and write something in your notebook so that others would understand you. But there was something about her that made her look adorable, maybe her huge, beautiful eyes or the way she seemed to have forgotten about her headache as she tried to discover you, you didn't know.

Dolores only frowned more. A part of her told her that you were making fun of her and her gift. Sure, keep quiet with the girl who heard everything! Very funny. What other reason could you have for not talking to her? Unless...

Unless you couldn't.

By the time Dolores looked at you again, you had already re-carved your piece of wood. Still, you could feel the moment when the realization hit her because she crawled a little more to you.

She timidly tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention.

"You can not talk?" she asked tentatively.

She didn't want to be rude or nosy, but a person who was always silent? It was new and fascinating to her! Maybe that's why she didn't know who you were. Because she had never listened to you.

Fortunately, you simply smiled at her and placed a hand in front of your mouth, gently shaking your head. Nope, you couldn't speak. You found it funny the way her eyes lit up. It was the first time someone seemed...impressed? fascinated? for your condition. Most thought it was tragic. It was nice meeting someone who didn't.

"Wait, but if you don't speak, how do you communicate? Do you use your hands? Do you write?"

Dolores began to invade your personal space without realizing it. She wanted to know everything about you. You laughed...or so it seemed, though no sound came out (and that only amazed the young woman more).

You put your piece of wood aside and turned completely to her. You made quick gestures with your hands, knowing that she probably wouldn't understand them, but it was your way of letting her know that you could indeed use sign language. When you made your point, you took your notebook out of your bag and wrote quickly.

Signs are useless if no one else knows them. So most of the time I just write.

Dolores frowned "Doesn't it take more time?"

You shrugged. It did, but what could you do? There was no one in town other than you and your parents who knew sign language. And they couldn't always accompany you everywhere to be your translators. Dolores thought about it for a while. It didn't seem fair to her.

With her headache and anxiety gone and forgotten, she made a decision. She liked you. So she took your hands, surprising you, and asked you the one thing that no one else seemed willing to do.

"Could you teach me?"

[sakebytheriver]

Seems that the good girl/bad boy AU has won the unofficial race between my human AU fics

Might be kinda ooc in some moments but it's an AU so sue me 🤷‍♀️

Also warning, most of my fics have been rated E for everyone and full of fluff this one treads the line of PG-13 and NC-17 so open at your own risk

They had a falling out when they were kids, but about 6 months into Willow's first year of college, Amity's father divorced her mother and got full custody of the three kids and Amity had called her crying one night clearly drunk and explained just how much influence her mother had over her life. Since then, the two had started talking again, calling all the time, texting each other in class like passing notes from hundreds of miles away, feeling like kids again picking up where they'd left off. They'd even visited each other at their colleges, which was how Amity had met Willow's roommate Luz, and the two started dating. Now after two years of rebuilding their friendship and five months after Alador had married a new man, Willow had been invited to spend spring break at the Blight mansion, and when she landed in their city, she made a beeline for the nearest bar.

She couldn't tell you why she was sitting in that sleazy dive bar staring down into a glass of anything cheap looking entirely out of place in her flowing yellow daisy patterned sundress, giant bright green suitcase on the ground next to her, and cutesy mushroom shaped purse over her shoulder, but she couldn't make herself go to that giant house just yet.

Sitting in her own self-pity, she absently felt a man slip into the bar stool next to her. She looked up through the corner of her eye and took him in. If she looked entirely out of place here, he looked the complete opposite as if this was a second home to him. With dark circles under his eyes, a large scar on his right cheek, a chunk missing from his left ear, red colored contacts, ripped black jeans combined with a black hoodie and a red leather jacket with obviously steel toed combat boots and a pair of fingerless black gloves, the smirk he gave her revealed the gap in his front teeth.

"Never seen you before." The words dripped from his mouth with obvious intent, and Willow couldn't help but roll her eyes; he was so not what she was here for.

"Let's keep it that way, yeah?" She said back. The look he gave her wasn't one she was expecting. He smiled even wider and tilted his head to the side almost as if he was impressed with her.

"Okay." He said with a grin before standing up. Willow looked at him skeptical, and he just tapped the bar twice with his fist lifting his eyebrows at her before turning and walking the other way.

Willow watched his back with narrowed eyes before shaking her head and turning back down towards her drink.

About ten minutes later, Willow was feeling buzzed and bored enough to start shooting pool by herself on one of the empty tables in the back, just continuing to avoid the destination she knew she had to reach. Part of her knew it was only a matter of time when a different man slipped up behind her, putting his hands over hers on the pool cue.

"Actually, sweetheart, you've got to hold the cue like this." He said, trying to adjust her hands.

Willow broke away from his grip, turning around to face the man, "Actually, sweetheart, I don't need your help." She said.

"Oh, come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning into her, reaching around her to wrap his arm around her waist, the other going to her face. The movement had apparently caught the attention of the blond from before because he'd made his way to the pair by the tables approaching the other man from behind, but Willow didn't even notice him. In one moment, she analyzed the movements of the man trying to grab her and the alcohol she could clearly smell on his breath and in the next she'd widened her stance and planted her feet like anchors.

"Hey-" the blond man interjected about to grab the other man off of her except she'd acted faster, landing a solid punch to the man's face. As the man between them went down knocked out, the two made eye contact. The blond was surprised for only a second as a sly smile grew on his face. Willow looked at him, pursed her lips, and raised her eyebrows at him with a nod telling him without words she could handle herself.

As the blond's smile was about to grow into a grin, he noticed something over her shoulder that took his attention away. Before Willow could tell what was happening, the blond had grabbed her and pushed her behind him, engaging with a man who'd approached her from behind to try and grab her. In a blur of movement, Willow realized distantly as she ducked a punch thrown by another man and returned with a kick to his stomach that she had started a bar fight.

Breathing heavy and senses on high alert, Willow stood straight and backed away from the aggressors in front of her until her back made contact with someone else's. She turned her head quickly to see who it was only to find the blond grinning at her. Instinctively, she was rolling her eyes at him when they heard police sirens in the distance, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the back of the bar, pushing their way out to the back alley. He pushed her up against the wall of the bar behind a dumpster.

"I can't believe you just did that, my stuff is still in there!" She slapped him on the chest.

"You're welcome to go back in there and get it." He said, gesturing back to the bar.

"Fine, I will." She started to move from the wall to march back in the bar, but he pushed her back in place.

"You're not going back in there."

"Why not?"

"Because you started a bar fight."

"Shut up."

"Hey, you threw the first punch."

"No, shut up." She said before grabbing his face and smashing their lips together as she heard the footsteps of a group of police pass them by. At the first touch of their lips the blond had instantly let himself melt into it, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush against his and as his tongue slipped into her mouth the realization that he had a tongue piercing invaded her thoughts without permission. Once she was certain the footsteps had passed by, she broke away from the kiss, and he moved down to her neck. She rolled her eyes at him before looking around for anyone else.

"Ok, you can stop now. They're gone." She said, patting his shoulders.

"You sure?" He said against her neck. "We wouldn't want you to get taken away now, would we?" She hated how she could feel his smirk against her skin.

"Okay, off." She grunted as she pushed him away. He stumbled a few steps back with a self satisifed smile.

"Well, that was fun."

"You have a weird definition of fun." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, the company was at least." He moved to box her in against the wall, stretching his arms out and placing his hands on either side of her head, leaning down to look the shorter girl in the eye. Willow scoffed. "Come on, you just got in a bar fight. Why not finish the experience with a dirty hookup in the alley behind the bar?" He grinned at her.

Willow glared up at him resisting the urge to kick him in the balls and walk away, but then she remembered exactly where she had to go after she did that and suddenly the last thought she had before she kissed him was that she was definitely not drunk enough for this.

_______________________________________

Willow stood in front of the giant front door of Blight manor fidgeting with her dress and her hair hoping that it wasn't somehow written on her forehead that she'd just hooked up with a man whose name she didn't even know behind a dumpster after starting a bar fight. She pulled her suitcase closer to her, remembering how, after the deed, the blond had slipped back in the bar and returned with her bag, stating with a smirk that he knew the bartender.

Her cheeks lit on fire at the memory of him and everything they'd done together. She still couldn't believe that she'd done that and with him, it felt like a dream or someone else had taken over her body, but at the time she was dreading walking into the house that had been the birth of a lot of childhood trauma and using him felt better than drinking a whole bottle of tequila to steel her nerves. Her thoughts were interrupted by Amity throwing open the door and wrapping her in a hug.

"You're here!" Amity said pulling away from the hug. Willow giggled in response. "Come in, come in!" Amity grabbed the suitcase at Willow's side and ushered the other girl inside.

Amity directed her into the living room where Alador and the twins were already gathered.

Alador stood to shake Willow's hand, "Willow, it's good to see you again."

"Yeah, Amity's been telling us so many stories," Emira said wrapping the younger girl in a hug.

"You've gotta tell us about Luz, give us some blackmail material," Edric added as he joined the hug.

Willow laughed as Amity shooed the twins away.

"Ah, Willow, I'd like to introduce you to my husband." Alador said as a tall man with purple dreadlocks, and an obviously designer outfit walked through the living room door.

"Darius. It's a pleasure to meet you, darling." He said, shaking Willow's hand.

"Willow, and the pleasure is mine, sir." With Darius in front of her, she didn't see the last member of the family who slipped into the room.

"And my step son, of course." At the sound of Alador's voice Darius moved out of the way, revealing the blond from the bar to be standing right behind him.

Willow's eyes widened, and she could feel her entire body tense up as she looked into those red colored contacts and realized she had to pretend this was the first time. She watched as a grin stretched across his face, and she hated how much it made her feel like prey.

He walked up to her and held out his hand, "So you're the childhood best friend?"

She took his offered hand in hers and shook it, "And you're the new stepbrother."

"Hunter."

"Willow."

"Nice to meet you." The look in his eye made Willow want to slap him.

_______________________________________

Willow had finally been able to slip away to the guest room they'd set up for her after a few minutes of idle chitchat and one conversation with Amity she'll be replaying till she dies.

"Sorry about my stepbrother, he's kind of a sleaze." Amity whispered to Willow, giving him a side eye from across the room.

Willow looked at her friend and cringed a little, remembering just how well aquainted she was with his sleaziness. "Oh? Is he?" She said as casually as she could, glancing over in his direction. At the same moment, he looked up to meet her eyes and flashed her a toothy smirk. She narrowed her eyes at him and looked away.

Willow sighed thunking the back of her head against the solid wood of her bedroom door. Of course, the man she had partnered with in a bar fight and then hooked up with in the bar alley would be her no longer estranged best friend's new stepbrother, of course something like that would happen to her.

As she stood against the door, lamenting her poor life choices, the door opened, pushing her stumbling forward. Before she could land on her face, a hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her forward into a warm body instead. She hated that she knew instantly whose chest she was pressed against from the smell of his cologne.

Willow pushed him off of her, his back hit the closed door as she walked several steps backward. Her cheeks on fire as she finally looked up into his grinning face.

"What are you doing here?" She asked in a hushed whisper, looking around her as if anyone could hear them.

He chuckled at her behavior, "If you mean at my father's house, well, I think that one answers itself and if you mean what am I doing in your room, well..." he trailed off, grinning at her as he let his eyes travel down her body.

"Ugh," she made a grossed out face at him even as she felt her body light up at the thought. "You're disgusting. Your entire family is on the other side of that door."

"That wasn't a no." He smirked at her.

"It's a bad idea."

"Still not a no."

Willow glared at him, "Shut up."

Before she knew she was doing it, she'd crossed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand tangling in his hair as she pulled him down to kiss her. He responded in an instant bending over far enough to wrap his hands around her thighs, lifting her up and turning her around so her back was against the door, her legs wrapped around his waist. Willow would deny it if you asked her, but she couldn't help the way the movement made her stomach swoop. Just as she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to make the same mistake twice in less than five hours a sharp knock on the door she was pressed against forced her out of the kiss.

"Willow?" Amity's voice rang out from the other side of the door and in an instant Willow had separated from the kiss and slapped a hand over Hunter's mouth. He gave her a look over her hand. "We're setting up for dinner soon, I made sure it was vegetarian for you."

"O-okay, um I just need to take a shower first, wash the plane ride off of me, you know." Willow said, hating how stuttered and high-pitched her voice was.

"Of course, take your time everything will be ready to go when you are." Willow held her breath as she listened to Amity's footsteps as she walked away. She released her beath the second she was sure the other girl was gone and finally took her hand off of Hunter's mouth.

"Put me down."

"Don't wanna."

"Hunter. We are not hooking up in this house."

"Guess it's a good thing I'm staying in the guest house out back then." He grinned at her, and she pursed her lips glaring back.

"Put me down."

"Fine." He let her legs slip down to the ground but stayed where he was boxing her in against the door, and as she stood up on her own feet, she finally realized how much taller than her he was and she hated how much she liked it.

"Move. I need to take a shower."

"Are you asking me to join you?" He smirked.

Willow rolled her eyes, pushing him out of her way, taking her suitcase into the attached bathroom. She turned to look at him from the doorway of the bathroom, "You need to be gone by the time I'm done." She turned closing and locking the door behind her, unwilling to look at his smug face for one more second.

_______________________________________

He hadn't been there when she got out of the shower, and he hadn't joined them at the dinner table either. She should have been relieved at his absense, but instead she found herself fighting a panic attack the entire time she had to sit surrounded by Amity and her family in the Blight manor for the first time since she'd been a kid and she was supposed to pretend that everything was normal, no better than normal she had to pretend things were great. She almost wished Hunter was there to give her knowing looks and make sly comments that only she would fully understand instead of the polite conversation she was forcing herself to make.

At the first chance she could, she escaped the dinner table running to the back door, slipping out into the fresh air. She walked along the side of the house till she reached the edge, hoping to find a place to hide for a moment. But as she turned the corner, she found Hunter already in her hiding space, smoking a joint. He looked up at her and grinned, she rolled her eyes, snatching the joint out of his hand, sliding in place to stand next to him against the wall.

"Give me that," she took a drag as he stared down at her with an awe-struck expression.

"You are not what I was expecting Amity's best friend to be like."

"I'm a college student, I go to parties, I've been high before."

"No, that's not what I meant." He took a hit before handing it back to her.

"What? You heard about the chick on student council who's founded several extracurricular clubs getting a degree in bottany and thought I was a total goody two shoes?" She took a hit while he laughed.

"I think I'm uniquely qualified to attest how much you are not a goody two shoes."

"Yeah, about that..." she trailed off as he took the joint from her, he took a hit as she went on. "I don't generally do stuff like that."

"No." He interrupted her with fake shock, laughing at her as she rolled her eyes.

"Okay okay, I get it. Not exactly the surprise of the year." She took the offered joint from him inhaling as he spoke.

"Not exactly, so why'd you do it? A seedy dive bar isn't exactly where I'd expect someone to go when their next stop is a mansion."

"I don't know how much you know about my history with Amity."

"I know you had a falling out." Willow snorted as Hunter took one last hit before dropping the roach on the ground putting it out with his boot.

"Yeah, falling out is the nice term we chose for it. To me it'll probably always be the day my best friend turned into my biggest tormentor and it all happened in this giant stupid house." Willow kept her eyes down on the ground as Hunter stood studying her in silence.

"So what you're saying is I was just stress relief?" She looked up at him confused at the question.

"Huh?"

"So I was basically just a piece of meat to you? I mean, I feel so used." He teased putting his hand on his chest in mock offense, watching as she smiled realizing what he was doing.

"No, you do not." She slapped him lightly on the chest and the two fell into a comfortable laugh.

He looked up at her, "Look after my uncle died it had been years since I'd been adopted by Darius, but I was still the only living relative that old bastard had, so I inherited his estate. The first thing I did when I got there was trash the whole foyer, like broken windows and holes punched in the walls trashed. Sometimes, we have to relieve some stress even if we don't do it in the healthiest way."

She looked in his eyes assessing him, "You're a lot more insightful than those red colored contacts would suggest."

He laughed, "Well, I try to live my life the exact opposite way my puritanical uncle would have wanted."

"Hm. I can almost respect that."

"This might be the weed talking, but I really wanna make out with you."

"It's definitely the weed."

"How do you know?"

"Because I really wanna make out with you too." She shoved off of the wall and walked around the corner leaving him alone as she made her way back to the dinner table inside the house.

She tried not to let her heart flutter as she watched Hunter slip into the last empty seat at the table right before Alador came from the kitchen with dessert. Willow did her best to fend off Amity's questions of where she'd gone while absolutely not thinking about how Hunter's eyes never left her for the rest of the night.

_______________________________________

She stared up at the canopy on the big fancy four poster bed replaying the events of the day over and over again in her head. There were tons of things she wished she had done differently and yet somehow she couldn't stop thinking about Hunter, mostly about how she wouldn't mind his presence in the giant bed with her right now. She closed her eyes shut tight and grabbed a pillow throwing it over her face roughly letting out a muffled scream.

Then in the next instant she threw the pillow and blanket off of her walking to the door. She threw it open ready to rush down the hall but was stopped by Hunter already standing on the other side his fist raised to knock. He looked surprised only for a second before he smiled and slowly lowered his fist.

"Were you going out to the guest house?" He asked smug.

"No." She shook her head.

"Oh okay then I'll just-" he turned to walk away and she rolled her eyes and grabbed his shirt pulling him into her room.

"Get in here."

He laughed as he wrapped his arms around her waist leaning down to kiss her, letting his tongue slide against hers before he pulled back to speak.

"What happened to 'we're not hooking up in this house'?"

"Keep your mouth shut or that's just what's gonna happen."

"Eh, somehow I doubt that." He said as he picked her up by her thighs walking her back to the bed kissing her as he laid her down. She hated the fact that he was right.

_______________________________________

After an awkward morning after where she woke up naked wrapped in his arms to Amity's sharp knock rapping against the door and ended up pushing him off the bed in her panic she worked quickly to shoo Amity away and agreed with Hunter that the night before never happened. She then spent most of her vacation days doing activities with Amity and if maybe she spent most of her nights in the guest house waking up extra early to slip back into her room before Amity could come to wake her up in the morning that was her business.

All except for this morning, of course, Amity and the twins had plans together, so Willow was left to her own devices for the day. It really didn't surprise her to find Hunter lounging on her bed when she got out of the shower. She rolled her eyes at the way he looked her up and down in her bathrobe, making her way to the dresser she'd put her clothes into.

"What do you want?" She asked as she got dressed.

"Amity said you play like fifty sports, right?"

"Not quite-"

"Today soccer's one of them." He stood from the bed and opened the door for her. She watched him with narrowed eyes walking out the door and following him down the stairs outside to the front of the house where he stopped in front of a motorcycle and offered her the second helmet. She stoped in her tracks at the sight of it. An uncontrollable grin taking over her face.

"No. No way. You don't drive that."

"What?"

"It's too much of a cliche." She couldn't help the laughs that pushed their way past her lips. He looked at her with a fond smile walking over to her putting the helmet on her himself. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and looked into her eyes.

"Just get on the bike."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes with a smile.

And if Willow found herself burrying her face in his back and pulling herself close to him on the drive well that was no ones business but her own.

Of all the places Willow expected Hunter to pull his motorcycle up to, a field full of tweens kicking soccer balls around was not it. He climbed off the bike, holding his hand out for her.

"Come on, I want you to meet the kids."

She took his hand and he walked her over to the group explaining on the walk that they were foster kids from the same program he was in. He introduced every kid by name involving her in coaching decisions and getting her on the field with him and the kids.

As she watched him running around, laughing with the kids she felt like she was seeing the real Hunter under the scars and the colored contacts. It made her chest feel tight when he looked up to meet her eyes with a ten year old hanging off his neck trying to pull him down, the grin on his face so different from the others he'd given her up to this point. This one was so open and warm, he was at his happiest and he'd brought her here to see it. Willow did her best not to dwell on that realization.

After they'd said goodbye to the kids, Hunter refused to tell her where he was taking her next. She probably should have expected him to pull up in front of the same seedy dive bar from that first day.

"Seriously?" She asked pulling off her helmet.

"What? I told you, I know the bartender," he smirked at her once again holding his hand out to help her off the bike.

Willow looked up from the shirley temple she'd perkily made Hunter ask his bartender friend for and promptly had her breath stolen by the way he was looking at her. His smile was so soft and fond, it made her feel warm in her chest and a buzz settle under her skin.

"What was today?" She asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I mean. What. Was. Today?" She raised her eyebrows at him in a challenge.

He chuckled, "Today was... today." He smiled at her.

She snorted, "Yeah, right." She took a sip from her drink.

He smiled and leaned down to put his lips right against her ear whispering, "You know, I was thinking maybe this time we could hookup in the bar bathroom instead of the alley."

She almost choked on her drink and slapped his chest, "Hunter!" He leaned back letting a full body laugh take over at her reaction. "You're incorrigible."

"Better than the other option don't you think."

"You have no idea what incorrigible means do you?"

"Eh, you don't like me for my vocabulary." He leaned his arm on the bar letting himself lean closer to her.

"Who says I like you at all?" She copied his movement leaning into him.

"You do."

"No more than you like me." She grinned at him and he matched her expression. Her ringtone broke through the moment cutting the tension between them.

"You should probably answer that."

Willow looked away from his gaze to pull her phone out of her purse, Amity's contact picture staring at her from the screen. Willow cringed.

"We should probably get back." She said, letting the call go to voicemail. "It's getting kinda late anyways." She looked back up at Hunter next to her, desperately trying to avoid thinking about the way he looked at her like he wanted to ask her to stay. He made himself smile and nodded once before standing up, he left money for their drinks on the bar as she stood following him out.

When they pulled up to the front of Blight manor, the sun had long since gone down, and Amity stood on the front steps watching their approach with a scandalized expression.

"Oh God." Willow moaned into Hunter's back. She didn't appreciate how he just laughed at her.

The second Hunter parked the bike Willow was stepping off of it, handing her helmet back to him without even looking, walking to meet Amity at the base of the steps.

"Willow what-"

"You were busy with the twins so we were just hanging out."

"Hanging out?"

"Yeah, Amity, he's really not that bad of a guy, you know."

"Of course I know that, I just- I don't like the way he looks at you." Amity looked over Willow's shoulder to give her stepbrother an evil eye.

"The way he looks at me?"

"Like he wants to eat you." Willow's cheeks turned red and she looked back at Hunter to watch as he stepped off his bike. When he looked up his gaze immediately fell on her and Willow couldn't help agreeing with Amity.

She turned back to face her friend, "I think you're seeing things." Willow knew she didn't sound convincing.

"And I think you're blind," Amity crossed her arms over her chest. "What were you two doing today anyways?"

"Oh, he just took me to play soccer with the foster kids he volunteers with." Amity reeled back completely taken back by the revelation she looked at Willow in disbelief.

"You're kidding."

"Um no."

"He's only taken Darius to that."

Before Willow could respond Hunter walked up to them, "Oh yeah, Amity I talked to my bouncer friend and we're good for the club tomorrow night for your friend's big send off." He grinned down at Willow as he referred to her as Amity's friend before looking back up at Amity clapping her on the shoulder as he walked past her to the stairs.

"The club?" Willow asked hoping to get Amity off the subject of her and Hunter.

"I thought it would be a fun thing for your last night in town. You've only really been hanging out with me and my family I thought maybe at the club you could do some socializing." Amity put emphasis on the word raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Willow couldn't help thinking about just how much she'd already been socializing with someone in Amity's family.

"Oh."

She let Amity lead her inside the house and spent the next two hours picking out club outfits doing her best not to glance out the window at the guest house too many times.

_______________________________________

Willow really wished Emira hadn't suggested they grill some burgers and hang out at the pool for her last day before the club that night. It was hard enough for her to get Hunter to act normal around her when she wasn't wearing a bathing suit, it didn't help that she couldn't stop the way her own eyes inevitably crawled their way back to gazing at him in his. She did her best to ignore the part of her brain that told her she would be happier if the family knew about her and Hunter. Mostly because she had to keep explaining to that part of her brain that there was no "her and Hunter" to tell the family about. She'd been the one saying from the beginning that whatever they were doing ended the second she got on that plane tomorrow morning, and she knew there was absolutely no way he would want to change that. Willow barely wanted to change it even if the part of her that did was getting louder the longer she was around him.

When she excused herself to the house with the excuse of grabbing more lemonade, Willow knew it was only a matter of time before Hunter slotted in place behind her as she filled the pitcher at the sink. His arms wrapped around her waist, and his lips found her neck so naturally, she forgot for a moment they hadn't been like this for years.

"Hunter, anyone could walk in here right now."

"Don't care." Willow scoffed and gently shrugged him off of her walking away from the sink to stir the sugar and lemon juice into the pitcher. Hunter leaned back against the sink watching her. "So you gonna hook up with someone at the club tonight?"

His question caught her so off guard she almost spilled the entire pitcher in front of her.

"What?" She squeaked, knowing her cheeks were on fire as she straightened the pitcher.

"Amity let me in on her little plan to help you meet someone." He smirked at her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"And so what if I do hookup with someone tonight? What's it to you?" He smiled at her and shrugged shoving off the sink to walk behind her whispering in her ear as he passed.

"Nothing, I just think we both know where you'll be by the end of the night." He flashed her one last toothy grin before slipping back out to join the group at the pool. Willow glared at the space he had just occupied for a moment before grabbing the lemonade pitcher and following him back to the group outside. When her eyes inevitably met Hunter's she decided, staring at his smarmy little smirk, that she would be proving him wrong tonight.

_______________________________________

When they made their way into the club, Edric and Emira disappeared like smoke in the air and Willow wouldn't see them again until the next morning. Hunter immediately made his way to the bar while Amity took her hand and lead her out to the dance floor.

Willow and Amity danced together for a couple of songs before Amity looked over Willow's shoulder, spying something the other girl didn't. Amity grinned and spun Willow around, making her movement look like a practiced dance slotting in place behind Willow. She leaned in close putting her mouth right up against Willow's ear to be heard over the music, making a less than subtle gesture to a woman dancing just a foot away who kept sneaking glances in Willow's direction. When Willow locked eyes with her, the woman grinned and looked her up and down.

"She's cute." Amity said. "You should dance with her." She pushed Willow towards the other woman and in the next instance Willow found herself wrapped up in the strangers arms instead of her friend.

She let herself get lost in her new dance partner letting their legs slot together and wrapped her arms around the other woman's back. When she looked over her shoulder to see if Amity was still there she had disappeared, but just as she was about to turn back to the other woman, a man slotted in place at her back. The other woman leaned in close, putting her lips against Willow's ear.

"That's my boyfriend. If you're uncomfortable we can go back to just you and I dancing." Her breath tickled Willow's ear making a shiver run up her spine.

She turned back to the other woman and grinned at her, "Don't worry, I've got some experience dancing with more than one partner." She said suggestively.

The other woman grinned at her before sliding her hands into Willow's hair and pulling her forward into a kiss. Willow could feel the boyfriend's arms wrap tighter around her waist and his body pressed fully against her back as his girlfriend pressed up against her front. The woman broke away from the kiss and turned Willow to kiss her boyfriend instead, after that the couple kissed and as Willow watched them kiss over her shoulder she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

She let her eyes trail from the couple to the bar knowing exactly what she would see when her eyes found Hunter leaning back aginst the bar. When she met his sharp gaze it cut into her so deep it hit bone, making her feel more exposed in that moment than any other they'd shared. She could feel the way the couple's attention had turned back to her, their hands wandering around her body, their mouths kissing either side of her neck, their bodies grinding against hers from both sides, but her eyes were stuck on Hunter's. She felt caught like an animal in a trap unable to tear herself away from the way he was looking at her until the woman bit her hard on the shoulder and she closed her eyes moaning mostly from the surprise of the action. With her eyes closed she could feel the way her own body was responding to the couple matching their movements and let herself forget for a moment just who was at the bar watching her right now.

That was until someone grabbed her hand ripping her away from the couple surrounding her dragging her away off the dance floor.

"Hey!" Distantly she heard the woman's voice call out barely audible over the music.

The couple was swallowed up by the mass of people around them as Willow was pulled away through the crowd by a hand she knew from the fingerless gloves could only belong to one person. As the bathroom door was flung open and he dragged her into a rough kiss picking her up and sitting her down on the sink, Willow just let herself melt into it. Already too keyed up from the couple and from the way he'd been watching them, she didn't feel the need to talk about what they were doing happy to just let the bad idea happen around her for once. But the second she was about to start ripping clothes off the bathroom door opened again.

"Oh my God!" Willow separated from Hunter in an instant recognizing the voice that had just spoken. When she looked up at the door she was greeted by the sight of Amity's shocked face. "I can't believe you."

Hunter stepped away from Willow letting her slip off the sink, "Amity look-"

"Not you, this is exactly something you would do." Willow cringed as she looked up knowing Amity was going to be staring her down. "But you? Willow, what the hell? My stepbrother? How long has this been going on?"

"Um..." Willow winced as she trailed off knowing the answer was probably not something Amity would want to know, but her silence just confirmed the other girl's worries.

"Have you been hooking up in the house this whole time?"

"Well, not the first time." Hunter interjected clearly trying to get a rise from Amity. Willow turned to him.

"Not helping."

"Wasn't trying to." He turned to her with a smirk.

"I don't need comments from the peanut gallery right now."

"Peanut gallery? Last I checked I was an equal participa-"

"Okay, clearly that's not what-"

"So what exactly were-"

"I'm just trying to-"

"Well, I don't think-"

Amity looked between the two her head bouncing like she's watching a ping pong match.

"Oh my God! I can't believe you." This time her eyes were locked on Hunter. The two looked up at her in surprise almost as if they'd forgotten she was there.

"What? Me? I thought sleeping with your best friend is exactly the kind of thing you'd expect from me."

"Yeah, sleeping with her not falling for her."

"What?" Willow looked at Hunter as his face fell. He stole a glance at her before looking back at Amity keeping his face schooled in a blank expression. Willow turned back to Amity. "What?" Amity kept her eyes on Hunter a challenge clear in her eyes. Willow turned to Hunter again. "What?" Hunter looked away from Amity and walked out the bathroom door letting it close behind him with a thunk.

"What just happened?" Willow asked frantically.

"What just happened is that loser has feelings for you."

"No, he can't."

"And yet, he does."

"No, you don't understand, he can't like me. You don't know how this all started, we literally got in a bar fight and then hooked up in the alley. He cannot fall for me after that."

"Ugh. Gross, Willow, really?" Amity made a face clearly judging her friend before rolling her eyes. "Of course, that idiot would fall for you after something like that."

"Amity."

"Willow. Hunter has feelings for you and if you share those feelings, you might wanna go after him."

Willow just stared into Amity's eyes the gaze between them holding an entire conversation before Willow broke away pushing her way through the bathroom door leaving Amity behind alone in the bathroom completely exasperated with her brother and her best friend. Willow forced her way through the bodies on the dance floor frantically trying to reach the door, hoping Hunter hadn't gotten too far from the club. She ran through the exit whipping around hoping she could see him as he walked down the street only for all of her frantic energy to melt away when she saw him leaning against the wall of the club, away from the line of people waiting outside, smoking a ciggarette.

Willow let herself smile softly before walking over, leaning against the wall next to him.

"Thought you'd be long gone by now." She said looking at his face as he refused to meet her eyes.

"Yeah, well." He said before taking a long drag of the ciggarette.

"Do you have feelings for me?" She asked and watched as he winced exhaling the smoke. "Because I might have feelings for you, but I'm really stubborn so I can't admit it unless you do first."

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and she raised her eyebrow at him. He couldn't help the smile or the laugh that escaped from him, he shook his head laughing at his feet.

"You are so not what I was expecting Amity's best friend to be like."

She smiled at him, "I don't know what that means."

He looked up at her, "It means." He flicked the ciggeratte aside cupping his hands on her cheeks pulling her into the softest kiss the two had ever shared. As they moved against each slow and soft both doing their best to put as much emotion into the kiss as they could.

Willow pulled back just far enough to speak her lips still brushing against his, "Hmm. I'm still a little confused, are you my boyfriend now or?" She smirked and Hunter laughed.

"Shut up." He said before pulling her smiling back into another kiss, his hands falling from her face to wrap his arms around her waist as hers wrapped around his neck. He lifted her enough to spin her around and she broke the kiss with a sharp laugh letting herself get lost in the moment with Hunter even though she could feel her phone buzzing in her purse like it was possessed from all the messages and missed calls she was getting from Luz at that same moment. Willow really shouldn't have been surprised to learn that Amity had snitched on her to her roommate, to be fair she felt like she kinda deserved it, but the freaked out messages and voicemails could wait till Hunter wasn't looking at her like he never wanted to let her go. To her that was the more pressing issue at hand.

[chaotic-noceur]

...waiting to be said

pairing: Nanami Kento x reader

summary: the fluff ending to never spoken, ever present. Also happens to be a chapter 120 fix-it

warnings: chapter 120 manga spoilers, mild angst, nanami is delirious and possibly ooc

a/n: idk what happened with the ending but i just want undefined relationship affection okay 😭🥺

[ part 1 | angst ending ]

He senses your curse technique before he sees you, feels it charging towards him before embedding itself in Mahito

Your body lands in the space between him and the special grade curse

He’s conflicted between telling you to run and to believe in your strength

He settles for the latter. He’s always trusted in you, there was no point in stopping now

He thinks fake pleasantries are exchanged and between the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head, he thinks he hears a familiar yell that can only belong to Itadori

He’s faintly aware that he should be getting away from the inevitable path of your destruction and he uses what little strength he has left to drag himself away, leaning against a nearby pillar

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, drifting between states of consciousness but the next thing he knows, warm palms are cupping his cheek while fierce eyes meet his

You’re saying something but he can’t unscramble the words before he’s being hauled to his feet

He sways slightly and lets his head fall onto your shoulder

You whisper against his ear then, “you’re not allowed to die, you hear me? I haven’t even told you I love you yet.”

He nods deliriously as his feet drag against the ground, adrenaline quickly seeping out of his system

“Nanamin!” Yuuji exclaims as you approach, Nobara leaning partially against him

Nanami grimace against you at the nickname and you chuckle, squeezing the hand that’s slung on your shoulder

“He’ll be fine if we get him to Ieiri,” you declare in response to Yuuji’s panicked expression

It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of that statement and he wants to reassure you, but his head is pounding and his limbs are heavy. It's taking everything he has to not collapse his entire weight onto you

The next thing he remembers is you handing him off the Ieiri, placing him onto the makeshift emergency bed

He almost whines at the loss of contact but you tell him you have to go, and that you promise to be back

He believes you

He sees your figure walking away before his vision turns black

When he wakes, there’s a weight atop his hand that he almost shakes off, thinking it’s Yuuji

But when he glances down and sees you, half seated in a chair, half laying against the bed, his breathe hitches before he relaxes into the touch

He goes to stroke your cheek with his other hand but the marred skin catches his attention

Ieiri couldn't heal scars. He knows that. But it still shocked him to witness the damage that his body had taken

He lifts his arm to his face, finding similar corse patterns running from forehead to chin and a bandage over his eye

He grits his teeth as insecurity begins to bubble up within him but he doesn’t get the time to dwell on it

As if sensing the negative energy accumulating around him, you perk awake and blink the sleep out of your eyes momentarily

“Hey handsome” you greet when you notice he's awake and he laughs

He laughs because he doesn’t know what else to do; because he was knocking on deaths door but firmly turned away; because its just like you to know exactly what he’s thinking and exactly what to say to counter it

Well, you don’t love someone for this long and not know them like they’re a part of you, he supposes

And then you’re smiling at him like he’d just saved the world, like he’s all that matters and it brings tears to his eyes

The reality of the last... however many hours its been finally sinks in and he cries for the first time in a long time

He curses at his own frenzied emotional state, turning his face to hide the tears from you

You frown momentarily before climbing onto the bed with him, careful to avoid any healing limbs

He loops an arm around your waist instinctively as you cup his cheek and swipe at the tears

When his eyes meet yours, so full of concern and love, he breaks

“I love you” he repeats, over and over while he brings his forehead to meet yours. “I know that you know that, I just need to have said it at least once.”

You heart melts in your chest and your hand moves to the back of his neck

Gently, you bump your nose with his before connecting your lips together

The kiss is slow and soft — you’re mindful of the state of his body, but it conveys years of love all the same

“I love you too,” you whisper when you part

You stay there, holding each other without a care in the world. He has his head resting against your chest, grounding himself in the beating of your heart as he cherishes the brief moment of peace in between all the madness of the jujutsu world

or in this specific instance, the madness that is Gojou Satoru with Yuuji on his tail

“NANAMIN!” they both greet in unison and Nanami swears he’s going to slap the both of them

Gojou says something about how it took you guys long enough when he realises your cuddling form while Yuji gapes at you like a fish, his grip on the bouquet of flowers in his hands loosening slightly

His gaze shifts between his mentor and you, questions clearly building in his mind but with a look from Nanami, he deflates a little, saving them for later

“You guys couldn’t have left him in the box for a little while longer?” Nanami grumbles as he buries his head into your neck

Gojou pouts at you while you laugh, running your fingers along the back of Nanami’s neck

He notices Yuuji placing the bouquet onto the beside table out of the corner of his eye while Gojou rambles on about something

He tunes his senior out and focuses on the gentle rise and fall of your chest instead.

Here, with you in his arms, his mentee's laughter filling the room as his senior goes about his usual antics, he's happy. He's home, and he can breathe easy.

Where you both go from here? He doesn't know. But he knows that you’ll always be there when he needs you most, just as he’ll be for you.

[ part 1 | angst ending ]

[angxlyxn]

forever - eren x f. reader

summary: Eren comes bearing a gift for his love.

warnings: mentions of abuse, blood, descriptions of wounds/bruises, kidnapping, yandere content but its sorta soft(ish)

a/n: I wrote this for a friend, and I apologize if its ooc :/ I don’t know Eren’s character that well because this story is centered around older Eren (season four), and I haven’t read much of the manga.

word count: ~1.9k

How long had it been?  

How many weeks had you been here, under his “care”?

Whether it was months or weeks, or maybe even years, you did not know.  All you were able to discern was the cold tile beneath your body, as well as your stiff limbs that were spread out upon it.  Your eyes fluttered open, lashes grazing against the bruise that sat comfortably on your left eye, the gradually yellowing mark feeling more like a brand than a black eye.  You rubbed your restrained palms against each other in an attempt to create just a bit of heat for yourself, but all that you really accomplished was gaining a few more rope burns on your wrist.  You shifted your bound ankles, trying to gain back any sense of mobility as you lay stagnantly upon the uneven flooring.  Looking down at your legs, you saw the various bruises and lacerations dotting them, shades of violet, red, and yellow dancing over your previously spotless skin.  Your glossy eyes were glazed over, about as void of life and awareness as your mind was.  It was as though you had undergone infantilization since you had been with him, you had lost touch with reality and become so useless because of his insistence on doing everything for you.  It made you sick just thinking about it.  You hated feeling inept, and you despised the feeling of powerlessness.  There was only one thing you hated more than these things though, and that was Eren.  

Eren.  His name felt far too familiar in your mind, the word a fleck of dirt upon your otherwise at ease brain.  The boy who you used to be so close to, the little kid who couldn’t intimidate a fly even if he tried.  You had gotten into your fair share of fights as a kid, but you always ended up being far too small to ever win any.  With Eren, it was half and half.  He would lose some, and win some.  Most of the ones that he would win would be the fights which you would team up in, what with your stealthiness and his anger.  That was one thing that certainly hadn’t ever changed about the boy.  As a kid he was more direct, more predictable.  His bouts of rage came in patterns, and you were usually able to subdue his more unsavory emotions relatively swiftly.  But now, as one might be able to infer from the sorry state of your crippled body, he was erratic, his temper having turned years ago from formulaic and obvious to completely incalculable.  You hated it.  You hated everything about his personality.  You hated him.  

Although, you weren’t entirely sure if you could bring yourself to completely loathe the brunette.  It truly was a complicated situation.  Feelings of affection and fondness for him left over from your childhood were still persistently blooming within you, rising through your lungs and up your throat and choking you out.  You could say that you hated him a million times over, scream it at the top of your lungs, but you weren’t sure if it would ever be true.  It couldn’t be.  A shred of the boy you used to know must still be within him, buried beneath layers and layers of cruelty and unfeeling.  He had to be there.  And when you think about his old self, his stable, grounded words and determined being, you cringe a bit whenever you so much as think about hating Eren.  

You just couldn’t believe how much he had changed.  

As if on cue, a lock clicked, and a stream of light shone over your body, the harsh brightness of the sun pooling around your form.  A rough hum of approval echoed throughout the room, the tired voice bouncing off of the walls and flooding your mind, the simple sound somehow being enough to make your ears ring.  Another click, this time the door being shut and bolted behind the tall brunette.  Your body involuntarily shivered as he began to approach you, your frame jolting off the floor with each step he took.  He crouched before you, his form nothing more than a silhouette in your tear-filled vision.

The boy placed what appeared to be a tissue-wrapped package down in front of you, shifting onto his knees and tilting his head at your tears.  A calloused hand gripped your jaw gently, yet in a manner that still demanded your attention and obedience.  

“Angel,” he murmured.  He never talked much these days, with the exception of whenever he got angry.  “I went into town.”

You finally brought yourself to look up at him, shifting awkwardly until you had propped yourself up against the wall behind you.  You hesitantly gazed at him with glassy eyes, your expression inquisitive and slightly pained.  

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you, the only sound being the methodical ticking of the grandfather clock that sat in the corner of the otherwise desolate cabin which you were stuffed away in.  He averted his eyes, breaking eye contact with you in favor of looking down at the package that he had brought in.  He mumbled something under his breath about money as he nudged the parcel towards you, retrieving a small switchblade from his pocket after doing so.  At the sight of the glinting blade you began to shuffle away from him, your bare feet catching on the billowy dress that Eren had picked out for you and scraping pathetically against the floor.  

Before you could get too far, however, he grabbed your shoulder, his scarred fingers wrapping around your creamy arm with an iron-clad grip.  He pulled you forward with a great force, causing you to tumble onto your stomach and fall before him, face pressing uncomfortably into the flooring beneath you.  He wrestled with your hands, pulling them in towards one another and grasping your wrists together.  You squirmed feverishly under his grip, wondering what you had done to make him want to hurt you.  Bracing yourself for the pain, you squeezed your eyes shut and kicked your legs pitifully as you felt the blade grow closer to your arms.  

However, all you felt was the release of your wrists, oxygen hitting the open gashes that had formed all over your lower arms as a result of rope burn.  As he brought his blade back into his chest, the tip of it nicked the side of your forehead, which was still pressed down into the ground.  Tears sprung from eyes as a bit of blood poured from the wound, the crimson substance dripping down your face and mingling with your crystal tears.  

“Sit up,” he said as he looked down upon you.  You complied with a bit of irresolution, your body faltering as you shifted to sit, using your numb hands to shove against the stony tiles.  After you had resituated yourself, he grasped both of your hands between his.  You flinched away, pulling your hands into your chest at the foreign feelings of his warm palms against yours.

He glared at your action, eyes darkening over and brow furrowing in contempt.  

“Y/n,” he said in a warning voice.  “Hands.  I went to the trouble of getting something for you.  Let me give it to you.  Please, my love.”

You reached out your hands to him, allowing the brunette to grasp your small fists between his disproportionately large ones, pressing the package tenderly into your hands as he did so.  Tentatively, you allowed yourself to gaze down at the parcel, your eyes drifting over the slightly crinkled tissue paper.  One of your fingers grazed over the gift, pulling the tissue up from one side of it to reveal a gleaming object.  You tore open the rest of the package, the silence filling the room still incredibly deafening.  

Words still did not find you as you revealed the gift, which was a small brass hair clip with a metal flower fastened to the end.  You discarded the tissue, instead opting to hold the barrette loosely, the cool iron brushing up against your warmed hands.  You averted your eyes as you felt his palms come into contact with yours once more, grasping the hair clip and twisting it between his slim digits.  

You felt a bit of hair being moved from your vision, the tangled locks effectively pushed out of your face by your captor, who only gave a small smile as he readjusted your tresses.  He clipped the barrette onto your hair, the heavy clip pulling slightly against your scalp after he let go.  He leaned back, his eyes shifting from jaded to soft, pupils dilating and lids opening a bit as he drank in your appearance, which couldn’t have been pleasant.  Weeks without being let out of your binds had caused some dirt to clump in your hair, and your face had surely become weathered and deadened.  

Yet he still looked at you as though you were God himself, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  You reckon that Eren used to look up to you when you both were younger, his eyes lighting up ever so slightly every time he would come into contact with you.  But this was different.  While you were in the Survey Corps, combat training with him always consisted of him holding back on fights that should have been balanced and him murmuring something about ‘not wanting to break you’.  You always took it with a grain of salt, thinking he was just being cocky by restraining himself, but it seems you were wrong, on more than one account.  It was now apparent that he seemed to think of you as some prized possession, one that was “far too good for the outside world”, as he would say.  

He still hurt you though.  “Even Goddesses need to be kept in check” was always what he said as he cut into your skin, or hit you around whenever he had a particularly shitty day.  Honestly, his treatment of you was far more confusing than it was cruel.

But maybe it was better that way.

You were brought back from your thoughts by the feeling of something rubbing against your cheek, namely Eren’s hand.  He brought his fingers up to your eyes, brushing away the tears that sat upon your lashes, and then the blood that had dripped down your face.  His touch mingled the two substances together, painting the skin on your face with a shade of watery red as he dragged his digits down your cheeks.  

Pulling his hands away, he looked at your uncomfortable form, your quivering lips and shaking hands making their presence far too obvious.  

Yet he still looked upon you gently, his mouth twisting upwards into a smile.  

“You’re always so beautiful for me,” He said, his words impassioned, yet soft.  

“I’m so glad that I get to have you, forever.”

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 38)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: The usual, plus like a heap of angst (or my poor attempt at it), a lot of stuff around broken bones, and mentions of injuries. And holy shit a lot of Persephone/Hades talk. A lot of it.

A/N: I hope you like this, and I’m sorry if tis is ooc, everything I write for Ivar feels ooc lately for me, and tbh I don’t know how to get better lol. Thank you for reading!

You never really considered, when you decided to tell Ivar about the Greeks, that maybe your lies were never for the sake of others.

That maybe pretending to love Narses was not for him to be safe and comfortable enough to lay all he had at your feet, but for you to be able to pretend it was something purer, softer, gentler than revenge what drove you to start that hopeless war against the Christians and their God.

That maybe the reason why you would have wanted to hide from Ivar the survival of the Greeks was not for them to be safe from him, but for you to allow yourself to live in a fantasy where the borrowed time, the winter, could last a lifetime.

You never considered it, and now you live with a weight on you that for once is caused by you telling the truth. Sometimes you wonder about the irony of it all.

You insisted to Ivar that nothing changed, that nothing had to change, but we don’t change the past or the present by telling a different tale.

And so things have changed. In the few days that have gone by since Ivar learned of their survival, of your meeting with Galla, a lot has changed, but at the same time, enough remains the same for you to pretend otherwise.

Pretend you don’t notice Ivar falter and hesitate at the sight of your gentleness, pretend you don’t feel the sting of pain when he sometimes rejects your affection, pretend you don’t feel your chest pull tight in pain and something else -something like nostalgia- when his eyes gain this haunted look even in the middle of something as innocuous as having dinner together.

This morning, his eyes are bluer than you’ve ever seen them, and he’s very obviously struggling, much more so than the day you saw him snap a bone out of place.

You eye him carefully as he tightens the iron braces around his legs, following his movements from your place at the foot of the bed, sitting with your legs hidden from the cold under your body and under a fur you’ve draped over them. Your refusal to get up has been deliberate, if only an attempt to lure him into choosing to not over exert himself by pretending everything is as usual.

Carefully, you start, “I don’t think you should-…”

“Ah, but I didn’t ask what you think.” He interrupts, not looking at you.

He can be annoying and infuriating when he wants to be, you know that. Knowing it doesn’t make the swell of irritation within you any lesser, but it does help you push past it, and insist,

“Just…come back to bed. If not for your sake, for mine. I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“No,” He states, unflinching, unwavering. But there’s a raw edge to it, a tinge of desperation in his resolve. Ivar stabs the crutch on the ground with more strength than needed, squares his shoulders and lifts his head. “I don’t get to stop my wife from sneaking out of our kingdom while I’m gone, I don’t get to decide when she decides to leave me,” His nose furrows in anger, and yet all that overcomes him is determination, “But I get to control this.”

“So you’ll break your bones just to hold on to control?” You call out, but he doesn’t reply with anything other than a grunt, leaving you alone in your room.

____

After more than half a day spent working with the women at the apothecary, and pointedly ignoring Valdís’ glares when she questions just why her son insists on her dipping him on the river holding him by the ankle; your relative peace is interrupted by a familiar-looking thrall coming into the home asking for a solution for the pain.

You step out from near the hearth, and Freydis shares a glance with you and steps back from the man, who looks at you with wide eyes.

You almost feel sorry for the way he seems to either fear you or your husband’s wrath so much so that his words stumble over each other as he tells you Ivar fell while inspecting the walls and broke his leg, but your sympathy for him is quickly overshadowed by concern -and more than a bit of righteous anger, because you told him so- for the man you married.

You dismiss him with short orders, and when you turn around Freydis holds a batch of comfrey in her hands, not hesitating, not even needing your words, to help you gather what you need. Her blue eyes shine with warmth when you thank her.

You are in your room waiting for him -but pretending not to by busying your hands with a mixture of chickweed seeds and primrose- when you hear the familiar pattern if Ivar’s steps, though they sound slower and more faltering than usual, and are accompanied by sounds of pain that make you grit your teeth.

“What are you doing here?”

If you weren’t told he had injured himself, that…warm welcome would have certainly let you know something was wrong.

“Have you forgotten this is my room too, love?”

“You aren’t subtle.” Ivar says, unnaturally-blue eyes set on you, even as he steps further into the room.

You answer with a shrug, “Never pretended to be.”

“They’ve put a cast on it already,” He tells you, and you can’t help but notice him not directly acknowledging the fact that he broke a bone. You eye the lower part of his left leg for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Ivar insists, “I don’t need you here.”

“I want to be here,” You reply, before changing the subject and asking, “You’ve sent scouts to find out where my people are, haven’t you?”

Ivar straightens where he stands, making himself taller and bigger, even though it makes the pain he is in all the more apparent. You have half a mind to scold him, but you bite back the words.

“Want to know where they are?” He taunts, but your answer is instantaneous,

“No.”

You make him falter for a moment; you witness the faint trembling of the mask he so cruelly wears. And there’s an inkling of regret within you, a voice telling you to remember that all you have done -and continue to do- is take away certainties from Ivar. Even if it is defeated and painful certainties, for the man you love it is better to hold on to scalding iron than to have nothing to hold on to.

Then again, he took much more than certainties from you, you think, but your soft heart keeps you from following that line of thought too far down.

He doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to move carefully to the bed. You hear him working on the heavy iron contraptions, and you try to keep your attention on your work, but your every sense is attuned to him.

“Your Goddess, and what Hades did to keep her,” He starts suddenly, startling you with the choice of topic. Still, you are grateful he no longer insists on trying to get rid of you. “You never thought it a trick, I know that.”

You never told him that. Granted, you never told anyone that, about how you always wondered if the temptation wasn’t really hunger, if the trick wasn’t one at all.

But it doesn’t surprise you anymore how Ivar seems to be capable of seeing you bare of all lies and pretenses. He has since that first time you met, since those first conversations.

You shrug your shoulders, and turn to him, still holding the mortar and pestle in your hands.

“We can be forced to do many things. Go somewhere, even if that is another realm; accept a title, even if it is one that implies binds of marriage. But we cannot be forced to be loyal to someone.”

“So you think she chose him.”

“Chose to love him, yes. For anything else, she didn’t have a choice.”

“Who did, then?” He asks, moving to settle better where he sits with a grunt of pain that you narrow your eyes at. “Your Hades certainly didn’t either, she still leaves him each spring. That isn’t a deal that sounds like a choice, hm?”

“You cannot change nature with a trick, Ivar.”

“Ah, but it wasn’t a trick,” He lifts a finger to point at you, annoyingly smug about his retort. “I think you insist on saying there wasn’t a choice to make because you don’t like accepting the choice made, wife.”

“Your mother worshiped the Goddess of death and you still insist she was good and pure?” The Viking woman sneers, fingers toying with the carved statue of your Goddess.

“My mother worshiped Despoina, there’s a difference. The God of death is Thanatos. Despoina, she is the Queen of the Underworld.” You reply cautiously, because you know she has to know the difference, and you have the strange feeling of walking into a trap. Eventually, eyeing Sieghild with a smirk when she purses her lips, you press, “What. You surely have something to say about that.”

She shrugs, reaching for her ale and drinking before replying, “Our queens are not usually married to their captors.”

“He gave her a crown in exchange for her hand. Would you refuse?” You scoff back, as if the answer should be as clear to her as it is to you. “Hades offered her himself and his kingdom, Sieghild. A king and his reign are no small bride price.”

She starts to show a smile that tells you that in her own language of runes and one-eyed Gods she sees a deeper meaning to your answer. When you were a child you would almost fear her tales of tortured Gods and strange creatures, but now you see in those tales of fall and triumph the same honor and the same glory that Sieghild sees in them, and you delight in talking with her about her Gods and your own.

“In your Godddess’ place, would you want a king or a kingdom, little one?” She teases, and you take a sip of your wine with a smile on your lips.

“Are we not talking of the Gods?”

“Humor me.”

After a moment of consideration, you offer, “A kingdom would limit me. A king would offer me countless kingdoms if I so wanted.”

The Viking laughs, in that way of hers that speaks of a life of freedoms women in your home could never dream of, green eyes piercing on yours when she asks darkly, “And you still believe Kore was stolen?”

Unable to hold back the anger born out of uncertainty, you snap, “Since when are you so certain of the stories of my Gods, Viking?”

Ivar offers a smile, surprisingly enough not a smug or a taunting one, and instead one that is almost tender.

He considers you, head titled to the side, before he states, “I wasn’t talking about any Gods.”

And you’re face to face with too many truths for you to breathe easy, so you clear your throat and return your eyes and attention to your work.

“Willow should help with the pain, as it did last time.” You tell him instead, gathering the small vial of dark liquid and almost cringing at what you remember to be the most bitter drink you ever tasted. You hand it to Ivar, who surprises you by not arguing and downing the awful-tasting tisane in one gulp.

As you return to your small table to gather rolls of thick linen and the mixture you’ve known by heart for a while, Ivar lays down on the bed, but he is far from willing to succumb to the pain or sleep, and watches you raptly as you move about.

His eyes narrow at the things you bring with you to the bed.

“And what is that for?”

“Salves and presses always work best, especially with injuries like these,” You explain simply, noting the way he immediately sets to argue and rushing to insist, “I want to help, and you have no reason not to let me,” You state, unwavering. For emphasis, you raise your chin and remind him, “I’m the best healer in Kattegat.”

“I didn’t marry you because you were a healer, I don’t need your help.”

“I could argue once again that there ought to be a reason why the woman you married is a gifted healer, but I know it would be pointless, since our marriage was fated by the Gods only when it’s convenient to you,” You point out, the slightest tone of tease in your voice, “Instead, consider this from my perspective.”

Ivar’s chest expands in a slow breath, but he bites, “Which is?”

“That the man I love is in pain, and I know how to help.”

“You already gave me the…the tisane that worked last. It is done with,” He offers, the tell of irritation and anger at being put on the spot like this clear in his tone as he speaks, “You don’t have to…touch them, or s-see them.”

“Ivar…”

I didn’t want you to…to see. Thought I could make you forget. He told you once, the mark of pain heavy on his stance and his expression, and an uncharacteristic resignation lacing his voice.

It surprises you, even though you know you should know him better than to expect any different, that a part of him, however quietened in these months of faint moments of pain and scarce episodes of what he perceives as weakness, still tries to keep his condition from you.

You know that rationally Ivar knows he can’t exactly hide it from you. From the way he walks, to the very clear tell of the blue hue of his eyes, there’s not much he could ever do to keep you from noticing.

But he admitted to it himself, to wanting to keep you from noticing the graver problems with his legs, to wanting to hide from you the way sometimes the pain gets to be too much to bear. In these last few days, it has become more and more apparent, with him adverting his gaze when you mention the blue tone of his eyes; refusing to let you see him bare even if he has seen you countless times since you’ve crossed that barrier days ago; and even now, after everything, not letting you do the one thing you’ve been taught to do all your life.

“You know you don’t have to,” He tells you, looking pointedly over your shoulder, refusing to meet your gaze but still too stubborn to lower his eyes. “J-Just leave it be, it will heal, everything will be n-normal soon, and I-…”

You interrupt him with a soft call of his name, silencing his protests and making his eyes finally meet yours. Your chest pulls tight at the apprehension and the uncertainty you see written in them, but you do not falter.

“Trust me?” Is all you ask, voice quiet and eyes set unwaveringly on him. Your stomach tightens as you watch the conflict in his expression, and pale blue eyes search yours looking for something you aren’t sure he finds because you don’t know what it is.

Eventually, Ivar takes a breath, a breath that you think was supposed to be a deep breath but sounds only shaky and sharp, and nods his head. You exhale slowly, knowing what it means that he allows you this, that he trusts you with this, and move further down on the bed so you sit on your side next to the length of his legs, your own folded underneath you.

You need only lift the left leg of the pants a little over his knee, but Ivar tenses and coils his body tight as if you are baring him of any armor. In a way, maybe you are.

Hands carefully folded over his stomach, you catch a glimpse of a tremble in them before he tightens his hold on his own fingers, knuckles white and the trembling once again under careful control. You spare only a glance, before completely focusing on his exposed leg.

It is frailly thin, though you didn’t really expect any different, and it looks knobby and bears many scars, some deeper than others.

You linger on the badly-set bone that has long since healed in a bad position, and wonder how long it has been since a proper healer has tended to a fracture like this. Still, the latest of the breaks has been properly set and the linen put around it seems strong enough.

You take it off trying to move Ivar’s leg as little as possible, and think what kind of cast the men and women that have taught you to be a healer would use for this, wondering what improvements or changes they would make to work around the braces Ivar wears, that you know are not made with comfort for a broken bone in mind.

“T-Talk,” Ivar orders gruffly, startling you from your work on the comfrey and the ganglong you are so lucky to have found all the way in Scandinavia. You lift your head to look at him, but Ivar doesn’t meet your eyes, looking intently at the ceiling. At your silence, he insists, “It is never good when you’re quiet. Talk.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I said talk, not ask questions.” He replies shortly, clear tell of gritted teeth in his voice. You don’t know if because of annoyance or pain, but you are smart enough to figure that it is best not to ask.

“Well,” You mumble, blinking a couple of times before you find something to say, “I once was mentored by a man that could know where a bone had been merely splintered with but a touch. I am…not nearly as proficient yet,” You smile slightly at the memory. He was from so far East that the people that traveled with you used to whisper he was from another Empire, and he had strict ways but he was a good teacher. You continue, “I’m using a plant he taught me to work with. Helps with healing, and with swelling. Not so much with pain. Comfrey helps with that,” You recall another memory and chuckle to yourself as you press the salve onto Ivar’s cold skin, and continue, “I…I was taught comfrey is incredibly useful when healing broken bones when I just started working as a healer, and I was still young, and…careless. Once, my mother was badly hurt in a battle. She had some of her ribs badly bruised, and was also nicked by a spear. They wrapped her torso with treatment for her wound before her bones, of course,” You mention, wrapping the press of herbs with a linen around Ivar’s shin. You are careful not to jostle the leg too much in fear of causing him further pain, but he doesn’t complain, and you continue, “And I was, uh, I was really worried about her ribs, so I made her an infusion using comfrey. Turns out, comfrey isn’t very safe for people to…consume. Sieghild was awfully sick for more than a week, threatened to poison my food as retribution for almost a month,” You fasten the cast he had before once again around the thin calf, and your voice turns wistful when you finish, “And she never let me forget it. Every time I made her an infusion, she would make me list the ingredients I used for it.”

You finish your work and after rolling the leg of the pant back down, you move the warm blankets and furs to cover both his legs and yours.

You look back up at Ivar, moving up on the bed so you are almost level with his face, and for as long as he needs to, you lay there, eyes on his and comfortably close even if a part of you grows anxious and searches desperately for something to say to make him lose the cautious and almost afraid edge.

His hand first settles on your wrist, lingering for a few beats before it moves up to grasp at your fingers, and you squeeze back without hesitation, lifting your joined hands to press a kiss against his knuckles, smiling up at him.

The warm specks of a dying sun linger on the room and make it feel somehow warmer, and smaller, more yours.

“I won’t do anything to the Greeks,” He starts suddenly, startling you. You hadn’t considered he would, if you are honest. Whether that makes you incredibly naïve or it makes him something other than the man that chained you, you don’t know if you want to hear the answer. Ivar takes a breath, the only indication he intends to continue talking before silence reigns between you for a few heartbeats. His voice is quiet but unwavering when he promises, “I love you, and…I know I have to let you leave.”

For a moment, with his voice so strikingly alike what it sounded like the night you told him of the Greeks, where he repeated out loud certainties for you to reassure him of and him to hold on to; you wonder whether he is trying to give you a few certainties of your own.

You try offering a smile that speaks of jest, though you are certain something much more saddened than what you intend is the result.

“They are technically your people too, you know.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, looking intently ahead and taking a deep breath before offering,

“You insist it is easy, you insist that…that nothing changed. That I should accept whatever time is left and forget that I promised to allow you to leave me,” His voice grows angrier and angrier the longer he speaks, but when he takes a breath, the anger is overshadowed by something else, and Ivar continues, “It isn’t easy, but I-…sometimes I forget. Sometimes you look happy here, with me, and I…I forget you’re leaving me.”

Your throat feels tight at his words, and your heart beats quickly as if trying to outrun the pain that fills your chest.

At the pain you hear in his voice, a pain you put there, it feels like your heart, no-longer-yours and trying to leave your chest with each of its beats, asks you to admit the shame and the failure and the damnation of I wish I never had to leave.

But you can’t, you can only remain quiet and advert your eyes to the side even if Ivar isn’t even looking in your direction.

“I’m…I’m being torn apart,” He confesses in a breath that shakes past his lips, eyebrows slightly raised as his expression trembles, as his strength crumbles and breaks your heart along with it. “I want to-…Sometimes I forget you are leaving, and I can pretend you won’t have to make a choice, and I am…” You cling to the way his words hang in the air between you, not realizing you lean closer and stall your breathing as if to hear the confession, not realizing until that moment how desperate you are to hear that he feels happy. But he doesn’t say it, shaking his head and returning the hardness to his tone, “But at the same time I need to remind myself that you are going to make a choice, that you will leave, because if I don’t…”

The words hang between you, but you don’t have the courage to ask him to continue, and you also don’t have the words to reply with, so silence too hangs between you soon enough.

Ivar turns on his side with a grunt of pain, and you don’t hesitate to move closer and lift your arm, his head a comfortable weight against your chest and his breaths, though labored and still hinting at a pain you cannot even imagine, familiar and warm against you.

“You should sleep,” You tell him softly, your fingers running through his hair in what you hope is a calming manner. Judging by the way his eyes flutter closed, you dare believe it is. Without thinking, you promise, “I’ll stay with you.”

You intend it to be the promise to remain in this bed for as long as he does, to keep him company and do what you can with your voice and your touch to soothe away the pain; but the moment the words leave your lips it feels like a weight dropped on you, like the reminder of the choice you will have to make.

For a moment, a fragile moment that you barely give time to be before you smother the foolish fantasy away, you pretend this is a promise you can make, and that it can mean forever and not a night.

If Ivar notices your poor choice of words, he doesn’t give it away.

Still, at your silence he speaks out, voice rougher with the pull of sleep, his words a little drawled out.

“If it wasn’t…pomegranates, what is it that keeps her there?”

You know to him they are just tales, but his curiosity for the world that has made you who you are and the Gods you’ll always hold dear to you never ceases to be…endearing, in its own way.

“I don’t know,” You answer truthfully. “This isn’t what we discuss at the temple, this isn’t…this isn’t what we are taught.”

“Were you never curious?”

“I didn’t have time to be. I left Greece when I was still a child, and when I returned…it seemed fitting, that she was truly stolen of a choice.”

“You told me some say she walked into the Underworld.”

“Yet she was still trapped, that part never changes.” You smile sadly, and for a moment when you blink you see warm eyes and olive skin and a sad smile that speaks of a man fully aware of your lies and choosing to love you anyways, choosing to trap you anyways.  In that moment, you understand why her story meant comfort to you all your life.

She was the maiden taken forcefully from her home, forced away from her mother and her land; you were a child clutching a wooden statuette of her and watching your birth mother burn, with Sieghild’s rough and unfamiliar hands guiding you on a path away from Greece.

She was the woman forced to marry a man she didn’t love, by deals of the Gods that ruled over her life and by her own mistakes; and you were a monster, a desperate one at that, whispering promises of love in Narses’ ear, earning what you wanted alongside heavy chains to be put on you.

She was queen of a world that was so unlike her, and a wife to a man many called a monster, alone and nostalgic; and you were dragged here by Ivar and told that by the will of his might alone he would make you wife and queen, no matter how much you fought against it.

And…and then she was a woman laughing under a red veil, lips stained with pomegranates and blood, and the winter meant home and love and belonging; and you learned to look into Ivar’s eyes and see a future even when you knew you couldn’t.

Chosen by Persephone, they always called you, since long before your birth. Child of the flower fields of Eleusis, they thought you to be destined to be yet another Hiereia under the warmth of Attica’s sun; they didn’t see the hunger, the heart that belonged elsewhere, they never imagined you to be one destined to delve into another realm to become its queen and never wish to return.

Lost in your thoughts, in your revelations, for so long that you don’t notice the passing of time, you only gauge how long you were lost by the way Ivar’s weight is a little heavier on you; by the way he is relaxed and pliant against you, even if shaken occasionally by a shiver or a tremble of the aftershocks of pain.

“Maybe they don’t tell us about whether or not she had a choice because she didn’t,” You whisper, voice so quiet you barely hear yourself. In the deep rise and fall of his chest, even if still interrupted by the quiet staggering in its pattern due to the pain, you are told he isn’t conscious anymore. Still, you continue your soft caress of the side of his face, and you continue speaking, “Or maybe it’s because she did, and she chose…chose love. Seems awfully selfish, though, doesn’t it?”

Your mother, the mother of sad smiles and a lost war, always told you that between love and duty one must always prevail. Between the earth under our feet and the sky over our heads, between what we must do and what we want to do, we must always choose.

Maybe she was never speaking of her plight, or in some prophetic way of yours, when she told you those things. Maybe she too wondered what temptation truly meant, whether there had been a trick at all; and she was whispering the truth about the Goddess of spring disguised as a warning.

You doze off, your fingers still carefully running through Ivar’s hair and your senses still attuned to him and his pain.

You wake up not because Ivar does, but because you hear something. For a moment, you think it to be him, but as the daze of sleep leaves you, you realize what it is.

The cry of a hawk.

Your blood runs cold, and with shaking hands and a heart that beats furiously in your ears you move your body from under Ivar and walk to the small balcony that overlooks Kattegat.

The sky is darkening, once again too late for a hawk to be hunting. Once again, it is too close, and its cry is too familiar for it to be anything other than Galla’s trusted beast.

You watch with wide eyes as the hawk flies above you, shrill cries piercing your head and your heart.

And a part of you that has been for too long too cowardly to face not the choice, but what the choice you’d make would say about you and who you are; that part of you begs and pleads in that moment.

You plead for more time, but the Gods have granted you time already.

And you once pleaded for a choice to make, and now the Gods demand you make it.

“His name will be Zephyr.”

“Why that name? He isn’t the fastest, or the strongest, out of the winds.” You mention casually, and Galla doesn’t take her eyes of her beast, smiling widely as it takes a piece of meat from her fingers.

“Because Zepyhr brings forth life, opportunity, change,” She chuckles, before knocking her shoulder with yours teasingly, “I may not be as versed as you in the worship of Demeter and Kore, Hiereia, but I know the gift that spring is.”

“And so you hold a special place for the one that brings forth the winds of the spring?”

She shrugs, fearless as she reaches under the hawk’s head and scritches at its feather’s, making it ruffle them and accept her affection. It never ceases to surprise you, how easily the beast has taken to her.

“Zephyr is the one that makes change happen. He is the one that time and time again guides Despoina home.”

You accept her words with a sigh, and reach for the piece of venison on the plate at her side, offering the raw meat to the animal, and smiling when it takes sit, though much more guardedly than when Galla offered the same.

“You hope it can guide us home?”

She chuckles, goes back to petting it, “I know he can.”

You stand there and watch Zephyr circle the longhouse, the cries louder once he sees you standing there. But all you can do is watch.

There was a girl, you don’t think you’ll ever forget her. You saw her first and last while working as a healer in some dusty city near Kufa. You were ambushed during the night, the cavalry of some enemy army broke past the defenses and were nearing the camp.

The hooves of their horses marched wildly over the dry earth, and Sieghild was cursing in her own tongue as she guided you both to the safety the soldiers provided.

But this girl, this thin and frail Arab girl, stood there, not moving, not breathing.

The ground trembled under the enemy’s might, the soldiers around you barked orders and prepared to defend, but she…she stood there, and watched them come.

Like she could keep time frozen in her small hands if she didn’t move, like she could hold on to life for as long as she held her breath.

You called for her. She still didn’t move. You screamed when the horses trampled her. She didn’t move again, and you didn’t even find her body in the aftermath.

And now you stand there in the small balcony, looking at the darkening sky like that wide-eyed girl looked at those incoming horses, frozen like she was.

You hear Zephyr’s call echo through the high skies of Kattegat and it sounds like the hooves of a hundred war horses wildly marching on cold ground.

You told Galla if she was ever to need you to send Zephyr to the skies, and you promised you’d be there. She needs you; they need you, and you promised you’d answer. You are their Anassa, their Hiereia; for the titles you bear and for your mother’s legacy it is your duty to answer their call.

Your hands tighten on the wooden railing, but still you turn your head to gaze into the dim light of your room, Ivar still resting on the bed you share. He trusts you; he loves you, and in another life you wouldn’t have hesitated to promise him forever. You are his wife, the woman he loves; for all the love you have for him you wish that you could be only that.

It was never Stithulf, it was never pomegranates; what forced a choice, what forced a change.

It was spring. From the first of its winds, it was spring what would force you to choose.

You just hoped winter would last.

____ ____ ____

....so yeah, s p r i n g.

What do you think will happen?

I might post 39 on tuesday just out of guilt for ending on a cliffhanger, but we’ll see.

Thank you so so much for reading, please let me know what you think!

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