#(what if the the scale's description is the same with the comforting warmth......)

[inke-ri]

I know TOTK wasn't even a possibility in the creators' minds when they made BOTW, let alone its story, but. Consider. The dragon mission in Lanayru with the Light Dragon instead.

[targaryenimagines]

Twin Flames

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8,219

Summary: With your due date drawing nearer, you begin to wonder what sort of life you’re going to be bringing into the world; dealing with your constantly fluctuating emotions is easier than facing the thoughts that grace your mind during the midnight hours. You should have known it’d only be a matter of time before your dragon became aware.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, grief, self worth issues, allusions to sex, and descriptions of labor/childbirth (non-graphic).

Notes: This shifted around from what I had initially planned, but I can’t say that I’m upset with how it turned out! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you all! Thank you to @justyourwritter69 for the wonderful inspiration — it may not be exactly what you had been thinking of, but I hope you like it all the same!

Series Masterlist

Warm palms run up the sides of your heaving body — still coiled tightly from the last shockwaves of ecstasy passing through — pulling you ever closer, even as a light laugh is hidden in the crook of your neck, the large grin stretched across your wife’s lips being more than apparent when she nuzzles the sweaty expanse of skin.

“I have to admit,” Daenerys pants, pressing one last lingering kiss to the underside of your jaw, before pulling back to peer down at you: silvery-gold hair acting as a curtain, cutting off the rest of the world entirely. “You might be starting to wear me out, dearest one.”

You arch a brow, legs opening to allow for Daenerys to comfortably settle once more between them; the heat radiating from her back, when you stroke a gentle finger down the length of her spine, offering a sense of comfort that no quilt ever could. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” you tease, a lightness to your tone that caused Daenerys’ own smile to grow that much more. “In fact, I believe it was you who kept me up all night in Meereen. Because, and I quote, you wanted to watch the sun set and rise while being inside of me.” A huff of laughter falls from your lips. “Where has that woman gone to?”

Violet eyes roll skyward, but the open fondness within her gaze, and the bone-deep adoration etched across her face, never wavers in the slightest. “She’s still here, ñuha perzys. Very much so.” As if to prove her point, Daenerys ruts softly against you; letting you feel the extent of the influence you had upon her body. “But I can’t do all of the things I wish to do to you. Not when you’re carrying such precious cargo.”

A brilliant grin stretches across your face at the reminder — even as one of Daenerys’ palms slides from its place on your hip to the growing swell of your abdomen.

Precious cargo, you muse, taking in the sight of your Khaleesi’s peaceful expression. Your twins.

It had come as quite a shock to you when you discovered that you could potentially be having twins from the Palace Healer; a wave of complex emotions crashing over you as Daenerys had puffed up at the thought. It’s a trait you couldn’t help but admire in your wife. You had only ever seen her truly shaken a few times in your long relationship, even when she was the young would-be conqueror trying to find her way in the world, she rarely ever allowed herself to fall.

So, while you were swept into the tide of varying emotions, Daenerys stood as a sturdy rock beside you, preening with pride and jubilation at the fact that she’d soon have two more children to love, to adore, to protect.

In a manner she wasn’t able to before. A thought that had caused a spike of pain to lance through your heart, squeezing at your lungs to stifle the air that your two children would never be able to breathe again; Viserion and Rhaegal were never far from your mind. The golden gleam of the sun hitting the Narrow Sea reminded you of the warmth within Viserion’s aureate gaze, the pristine white of your wedding dress reminiscent of his beautiful scales. Whereas the changing seasons, from the cold winter months to the tentative grasp of spring, brought with it the memory of Rhaegal’s emerald-hued wings stretched across you in a protective embrace, the rumbling of thunder on the horizon, as a summer storm rolled in, bringing back the resounding echoes of his fiery roar to the forefront of your memory.

You knew, deep within your heart, that as long as their memory lived on within you, within Daenerys, and the people that they had graced with their presence, they’d never be truly gone.

Even though you wanted nothing more than for them to be here: to see three shadows flying over King’s Landing, to hear their roars echo along with Drogon’s, to feel the warmth of their bond within your very soul.

Their absence, as your pregnancy delved into the final months, became more apparent with each passing moment. You wished, more than anything, that you could share the kindling of new life with your darling Prūmia and Bāne; knowing that Drogon, your Mīsio, would find comfort from them as well. Instead, he now carried the burden of being an elder brother completely alone.

What was once three, is now only one…

The dragon is supposed to have three heads, but what do you do when two have been ripped away?

If you couldn’t protect Viserion and Rhaegal, mystical beasts from the oldest tales of Westeros, descendants of the mighty creatures of Old Valyria, then how would you ever be able to do so for your twins?

How could you be a proper mother when you’ve already failed so greatly?

“Where have you gone in that beautiful head of yours?” The gentle question pulls you from your torrential thoughts, unfocused eyes snapping to look into a calming violet gaze. At the sight a small smile quirks Daenerys’ lips, but you can detect the worry glimmering just beneath the surface. “There you are.”

You muster up a small smile, knowing that it was lackluster by the way Daenerys' frown seems to grow. "Here I am," you joke. "I was just lost in my thoughts, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried."

"I will always worry about you," Daenerys replies. "As long as my enemies walk this world, and something can cause harm to you, then I will continue to be worried. That's what you do for the people you love."

"Really?" Silken skin meets your fingertips as you gently trace a line from high cheekbones, down to a sharp jawline, to full lips, and back again. "I wasn't aware I ranked so highly on your list of priorities, Khaleesi."

Violet eyes narrow at the blatant teasing. "I don't have a list of priorities." You almost laugh at the petulant pout that overtakes your wife's face. "It's true, beloved."

"I don't think that's true, Daenerys." You begin to count on your fingers. "You have the Seven Kingdoms. You have your armies. You have the whole mess with the Stark's. You have--"

Soft lips do a great job at shutting you up, an expert tongue acting in a great supporting role to make you boneless beneath the commanding form of your wife, as nimble fingers curl through the strands of your still sex-mussed hair. "Nothing," she whispers hotly against your mouth, warm breath still mingling with your own. "Will ever be more important than you. The Iron Throne means nothing to me if I don't have you by my side while I rule. My armies mean nothing if I do not have you to defend. This right here?" Daenerys rubs her nose against your own, smoothing a hand down the swell of your belly. "Our family that you've blessed me with, our son that's been ravenously waiting for his little siblings, is all that I could ever want. Nothing will ever be more of a priority to me than my family."

You allow your Khaleesi to hold you close for a moment, at peace within her strong embrace, but soon the need to rile her up once more overtakes you. "All of those things you just mentioned are priorities to you?" Daenerys hums in agreement, having shifted over onto her back to allow you a better position to rest upon her chest, slender fingers now gently carding through your hair to untangle some of the strands. "Wouldn't you call that a list, Khaleesi?"

Daenerys' answering chuckle rumbles through her beneath your ear, her fingers never halting in their soothing motion, as she pulls you impossibly closer to her lithe form. "No, I wouldn't call it a list. A list makes it sound militaristic, cold, unfeeling, and that's the exact opposite of how I feel." She peers down at you through dark lashes, full lips quirked in adoration. "I call it the very reason for my next breath, the reason that my heart will continue beating, and the sole purpose that I'll never lose my fire to continue fighting for a better future."

Silence falls then — both being soothed by the company of the other; you by the steady beat of Dany's heart beneath your ear and Daenerys by the heat of your body curled against her own. You could even feel yourself beginning to fall asleep, something you're hoping will last till morning, before a need fills you once more. This time, instead of being one to tease your dragon, it's one to reaffirm that her adoration, her love, was more than reciprocated.

"You're everything to me, Dany," you sigh, nuzzling into warm skin. "I just want you to know how much you mean to me."

"And you, my dearest flame, are the big house with the red door and the lemon tree." Her arms tighten around you, her last words whispered against the crown of your head as you drift off into sleep. "I'm no longer lost when I look back. You helped me accept my past, embrace my present, and look forward to my future."

It’s only hours later, when your wife is nestled closely to you, a lithe arm wrapped around your abdomen in a protective embrace, that you finally give up on your battle to find sleep. You had hoped, as you had the many nights prior, that Daenerys would tire you out to the point that you could fall into dreamless sleep from sheer exhaustion; something that typically worked.

But no one, not even your dragon, could maintain that level of vigor at night coupled with being Queen of Westeros during the day; although she made a valiant effort, certainly better than anyone else could hope to accomplish.

Refraining from making too much noise, even if it was to just sigh, you slowly edge your way from underneath your dragon's arm — something that's a lot easier in theory, even if you had been doing it more and more recently as sleep continued to elude you — almost panicking when Daenerys tightened her hold, grumbling something against the nape of your neck, before she slackened once more.

Slipping from the bed, after ensuring that Daenerys had truly fallen back asleep, you carefully maneuver around the room, slipping on a discarded tunic that you vaguely recall Daenerys wearing upon entering your shared chambers after dinner — having quickly shed her clothing to take a much-needed bath after the arduous day.

Following your usual route, you find yourself standing on the overhanging balcony that let you see King's Landing in its entirety as well as the harbor twinkling softly in the night. It's on nights like this, when the moon is bright and the stars are twinkling, that you have the most trouble falling asleep. On stormy, or simply overcast, nights you didn't ache deep within your bones, but when the world unveiled itself in its natural state of beauty?

It's like having shards of glass travel down your throat every time you took a breath. Memories of nights underneath a different starry sky, in arid deserts and ancient cities, wherein Viserion and Rhaegal danced across the sky like they were trying to join the very stars themselves — always testing to see who could fly higher.

Looking up now, at the stars shining so brilliantly, you can't help but wonder if they were up there now? If they had finally made it in their pursuit to see who could make it to the top. You wonder if Viserion had saved a special spot for Rhaegal... You wonder if he was currently saving spots for you all...

Tears blur your vision, distorting the sky into a hazy blob of black and silver, and you hope, that wherever they may be now, that they were happy. That they were safe and loved in a way they always deserved to be treated.

Could they see you now?

Could they hear the way your heart cried out for them?

Did they know how much you missed them?

Did they know how much you love them still? How much you will always love them?

Did they know how much darker the world had become since their light was taken away?

"What are you doing out here, ñuha perzys?"

No, your mind cries out. Why tonight, of all nights, did she have to wake up?

"Beloved?"

You hesitated in turning to look at her, knowing that the moment you did you'd be caught, but the longer you waited, the longer you stalled, the more Daenerys would become agitated, her protective instincts flaring into life. There's no way for you to get out of this... Not without the conversation you've been desperately trying to avoid.

So, with a soft sigh, you turn to face the love of your life; being met with the adorably disgruntled form of Daenerys Targaryen: clad in only a rumpled robe that had been thrown across a vanity due to her haste to have you hours before.

"Dany."

Daenerys rarely had to ask you what was plaguing your mind when it became like this — her ability to read you like a book coming in handy — and, for a brief moment, you're glad that you won't have to explain it to her. Explain to her how much of a failure you felt like you were. How your fears of becoming a mother were amplified because you had failed so spectacularly before.

Violet eyes observe you for another moment, darkening with an untold emotion, before something seems to shift inside of her.

"Do you blame me?" The question is uttered softly, on a hesitant breath, that is the complete opposite of your veracious wife. "Do you?"

You shake your head. "Blame you for what, Dany?"

Please don't know, please don't know, please--

"Viserion and Rhaegal."

The mention of their names, coupled with the latent thoughts still swirling within the dark recesses of your mind, causes you to flinch, arms instinctively tightening around yourself in a protective hold. An action that Daenerys must have taken as a positive answer to her question; if the almost injured look that's now openly expressed across her beautiful face is anything to go by.

"We've had this discussion before, Daenerys," you murmur, not wishing to rehash harsh words and reopen still barely healed wounds. "I don't blame you for Viserion. Not anymore."

Daenerys winces at the reminder of what had occurred in Dragonstone all those moons ago. "But you did." It's not a question. There's no need for pleasant lies when in the face of your soulmate. "Who's to say that you don't again? I wouldn't blame you if you did. It was my fault to listen to my advisors instead of my instincts. It was my fault to agree to send Jon Snow beyond the Wall with Jorah. It was my decision to go after them completely alone. It was my own stupidity that led me to turn my back on everything that I learned, everything that I had become in order to get to where I am now." She steps closer to you, unshed tears causing violet eyes to shimmer like untouched amethysts in the argent light of the moon. "It was all because of me that Viserion was struck down in an icy hellscape. Where he was forced to become enslaved to that thing. It was because of me that our son, our youngest child, had his fire drowned by ice."

Your eyes shutter shut at the memories her words invoke. Flashes of icy blue eyes where there should have been gentle gold viciously cycle within your head as you try to forget the brokenly shattered form of your son that you had found after the Battle of Winterfell.

"Not to mention Rhaegal," Daenerys continues, angry spite, all of it directed at herself, hardening her tone. "If I had paid more attention, if I had kept him closer to me, if I had been more cognizant that Euron would have been lurking in the waters below, then he would still be with us. You wouldn't have had to watch as he fell from the sky, you wouldn't have been bathed red by specks of his blood, you wouldn't have had to use milk of the poppy or dreamwine in order to fall asleep because you had such bad nightmares. You wouldn't have suffered if it wasn't for me. Our children would still be alive if it wasn't for me."

Even if some of what she said held merit — others being beliefs you had held onto just to inflict pain onto her; not unlike the pain you had felt when dealing with the unending grief — you refused to let her drown within her pain, refuse to let Daenerys' light get snuffed out. Not when she had been your steady rock for so long, your guiding light to bring you home, the only reason you had been able to pull yourself from the dark abyss their deaths had caused.

"No," you rebuke, tone firm. "I don't blame you, Daenerys. The Night King killed Viserion. The Night King is the reason our beautiful boy was trapped in an unending purgatory instead of the peaceful death he deserved. Rhaegal—" Pausing, lips pressed into a thin line, you take a shuddering breath before pressing on. "We didn't see Euron's fleet either. We were all aware of the potential risks he posed, but none of us took the proper precautions. Rhaegal, what happened to him, and what occurred afterwards, wasn't solely on you, Dany. You were foolish, I won't pretend that you weren't, but you were trying to make too many people happy, trying so hard to be the ruler that they all wanted you to be, instead of being the queen you were always meant to be. You got lost, Dany, and while the price we paid was high, and I don't think the pain will ever fully disappear, I'm just happy you were able to find yourself in some manner in the end." You step closer to your darling dragon, pressing a reverent hand to a flushed cheek. "So, no, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, I don't blame you for the deaths of our children."

Daenerys simply stares at you for a moment, her gaze almost inscrutable, but you can see the light beginning to return, even as her lips downturn slightly. "Then why do you blame yourself?"

No answer is forthcoming even as a thousand more spring to mind.

How could I not be? I didn't speak up; I saw what was happening and didn't do anything. I wasn't the partner you deserved, Daenerys, not like the one you have been to me and, because of that, because I couldn't find it within myself to just fucking speak up, our sons were killed...

How could I not be responsible when I still remember the sounds of Viserion's distorted roar and Rhaegal's scream of agony?

How could I not be when I'm still haunted by their faces every damn day?

You know that you couldn't say any of those things — Daenerys would probably blow a fuse — but the look within your wife's gaze let you know that she wasn't going to let you off the hook quite yet.

"I don't know," you admit, shoulders slumping as you turn from her inquisitive stare. "I don't know. Are you happy?"

The warm presence of your wife settles before you, standing closer than she had since the entire discussion had begun. "Of course, I'm not happy. You're in pain." Slender fingers gently grasping your face to turn your head to look at her. "It's something I will never enjoy seeing, but I want you understand me when I say this." Daenerys' eyes sharpen, violet pools burning with an inner fire that bespoke of her bloodline. "You need to stop wondering what might have been. It's something I couldn't stop doing, something that I still struggle with on occasion, but it will only make it so that you miss what's happening now. Viserion and Rhaegal are gone, which is something that will never leave us, but to only carry the darkness around with us would be a disservice to the light they had brought into our lives. They're gone, but they'll never be forgotten, because we won't let that happen. So, please, don't blame yourself any longer for something you can't change. Not if you won't let me share that blame alongside you." She steps closer, always drawn like a moth to a flame when you're near. "I promised to protect you from everything when I took you as my wife, to love and hold you through any storm that may come, to weather any battle that'll mean you'll be okay. Even if that means contending with the beasts that lurk within your beautiful mind. I know it's hard, my beloved, but I can't stand not knowing when you're in pain. Not if there's something I can do about. So, please, don't shut me out even if you think you're protecting me by doing so."

You nod, heart twisting at her soulful plea. "I'll try."

Even if you don't know how you'll accomplish it...

"That's all I'll ever ask for."

There's a moment of silence — wherein only the world dares intertwine within the moment you were now sharing with your dragon — before Dany gently smiles at you, love and adoration etching themselves across her face in an open mural of her devotion towards you.

“Come back to bed.” Daenerys reaches out for you, her hands slightly chilled by the night air when your own slots perfectly in place. “You know how I hate the emptiness when you're not there.”

Fighting the urge to smile, you follow your wife back from the balcony into the spacious bedchamber you’ve made into your haven, and you're not surprised in the slightest when Daenerys flops down onto her back, arms wide open in a silent invitation for you to take your rightful place between them.

This time, when you fell into your dragon's embrace, the warmth of your bed surrounding you, though never standing a chance against the heat of your wife, you knew, in that moment, that you'd finally be able to sleep.

Even if it took a while for your mind to finally catch up with what your body needed.

You’re not sure when you had fallen asleep, but suddenly awakening, standing on a sunlit coast that was all too familiar, with the sound of sea birds and crashing waves surrounding you, gave you the impression that you had at some point.

Either that or you were finally going insane.

Turning in place, you take in the sights, the smells, and the sounds of a world that you hadn’t believed you’d ever return to; even if Essos was simply across the Narrow Sea, you don’t think you’d ever be able to see it the same way again. Not after everything that’s happened.

Still, even now, you couldn’t deny that the sight of the Great Pyramid, far off into the distance, didn’t elicit some bone-deep reaction within you. Memories of easier times flickering through your mind — even as the faces of the ones you lost threaten to overwhelm you — allowing for a small smile to stretch across your lips.

A smile that turns into a full blown grin the moment you crane your neck to look at the azure sky and see two familiar shapes circling overhead; Viserion and Rhaegal. Their wings beat rhythmically, creating a soft, soothing sound that echoes across the peaceful landscape as they begin to descend. The sight of them, at the ease in which they danced upon the wind, and around the other, brings a tug of longing to your heart; wishing, more than anything, that this wasn’t a dream. That you’d be able to see it when you awakened.

Landing with a soft thump, a small spray of golden sand showering over your feet, their massive forms tower over you, but you weren’t intimidated for a moment; not when they radiated an aura of warmth and familiarity.

Viserion approaches first, cream colored scales shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight, causing the golden accents to almost appear like flames, and nudges you gently with his snout, a gesture of recognition and affection. Pressing a hand to his cheek, almost crying at the feeling of his sun-soaked pebbled scales, you look into his gleaming golden eyes, a feeling of absolution settling over you as you realize that the icy blue wouldn’t be the last color you witnessed any longer.

Rhaegal, not to be outdone by his younger brother, soon approaches; emerald scales gleam like precious gems as the bronze hues brings with it the thought of your countless hours laying in a field watching him dip and dive in the wind. Tears, that had been gathering from the moment you saw your sons in the air, begin to fall down your cheeks, a sob being stifled in your throat, as you press your hands into both of their cheeks; wanting to be reassured that they were actually there. That they wouldn’t just vanish and leave you bereft once more.

“I miss you both so much,” you whisper, throat still tight from the efforts of keeping your sobs at bay. Their soft croons in response, large heads nuzzling closer to the warmth you provided, nearly being your undoing. “I’m sorry that I failed you. That I wasn’t able to protect you.”

They both let loose short rumbles in response; clearly not agreeing with your evaluation of your past deeds. Rhaegal nudges you with his head, forcing you to take a step back, as he and Viserion seem to have a silent conversation with the other. A sight that brings a small furrow to your brow, but you're not able to say, or do, anything before the world seems to tilt on its axis and everything blurs together. Your stomach lurching at the suddenness of solid ground, and a miasma of colors, as everything seems to settle once more.

Well... almost settled, you think, casting a quick glance to the world around you; noting, with a sinking feeling in your gut, that your sons were nowhere to be found, but that wasn't the only thing that had captured your attention.

Gone were the shrieking of the gulls, the warmth of the sand beneath your feet, the almost sweet scent upon the wind; now you stood at the precipice of a cliff you hadn’t been to since Daenerys had claimed King’s Landing — a place that’d forever haunt you.

Dragonstone…

The air is unusually still, carrying an otherworldly scent of sea salt and dragon fire. The sky above is a swirling canvas of deep purples and oranges, with stars twinkling faintly through the wisps of clouds; an almost dizzying shift from the golden sunlight, crystalline skies, and a warm ocean breeze.

Beneath your feet, waves crash against the rocks with an unparalleled intensity, sending sprays of foam into the air. You didn’t have to look behind you to know that the ancient castle was looming; towers reaching towards the sky as if to grasp what the owners had lost in the years since the dragons vanished.

Twin thumps, and rush of air that ruffles your hair, is all the warning you receive that your sons had arrived.

“Why are we here?”

You didn’t have the heart, or the strength of will, to ask all of the other questions plaguing your mind: Is this my punishment for failing you both? To be forever trapped in the place that I had last seen you? Happy. Whole. Together.

Viserion’s warm head bumps against your side, a small croon bubbling from deep within his throat; it was a sound he always used to make when he wished to go flying, or wanted you to scratch just a bit to the left, or simply because he wished for you attention, for your love.

You laugh wetly, fighting a losing battle in keeping your tears at bay. “I know you dragons are beasts that'll never be fully understood, but I’d like a straight answer at least once.”

None was forthcoming — not from Viserion, whose gentle gaze never wavered from where he had curled his neck around your body, nor from Rhaegal, who had decided to rest on the opposite side, bracketing you within their warmth, keeping you from the cold, harsh wind of the surf — but, in that moment, you realized all you needed to know.

It's a realization that barely registered before Viserion confirms it for you, pressing a warm snout against the clothed area of your abdomen — a place that had once been flat, now round with the promise of new life — and you feel your twins instantly react to his presence. A fact that causes Viserion to snort happily and for Rhaegal to finally raise his head to nuzzle closer; a position that you had been in numerous times before, wedged between your youngest boys while Drogon was off with Daenerys. The bittersweet twang that this moment causes makes you want to never leave, to never get up from the warmth that they had always provided.

Knowing, that when you woke up, you'd be without them once more.

Memories of the last time you had been on this cliff, watching the sun cast a miasma of colors across the Westerosi sky, as Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers worked on the sands far below, assault you in a vicious attack; echoes of Viserion's playful chortling as Rhaegal snarled in response to his brother's continued insistence to steal some of his food. A squabble the two had grown accustomed to having — one you had grown used to overseeing — that never escalated past the first few nips; wherein you'd finally step in and give Viserion the rest of whatever you had on hand.

You remember, with sharp clarity, the way the sun had cast an almost angelic aura within Viserion's kind eyes and the way in which it brought out the darker green hues within Rhaegal's hide.

You remember the serenity you had felt watching Drogon dip and weave across the bay, leaning up against Viserion's warm side with Rhaegal's large head nestled close to your lap.

You remember the sounds of raised voices, that you had previously ignored when they graced your ears through the whistling wind, growing closer; Tyrion's exasperation and Daenerys' calm nonchalance finally keying you into the severity of what was occurring.

You remember your own objections being raised when Daenerys had told you her plan — worry and fear nearly choking you. For her. For your children. For what it could mean for her men if something were to happen. For the future that you weren't ready to live without her in.

You remember the gentle kiss and promise that she had bestowed on you before mounting Drogon: "I will be back soon. You'll be cuddled up with our children and me before you know it."

You remember the warmth of Viserion's cheek as you caressed his pebbled scales, the way your hair blew back when Rhaegal huffed as you leant to kiss his nose, and the amused look within Drogon's crimson gaze when you scratched under his chin.

You remember the heavy feeling in your chest nearly crushing you as you watched all three, along with your Khaleesi, disappear into the horizon.

And, above it all, you remember the look within violet eyes upon Daenerys' return, her pleading words when you looked out into the bay expecting to see three forms but instead saw only two, the distance that had grown between you as you dealt with your grief, the pain that kept you up at night, the regret that hung over you for not speaking up, and that same weight bearing down onto you.

You can't even bear to look out towards the open water now where Rhaegal had fallen, where his emerald scales had been stained forever crimson, and the sounds of his cries still haunted your dreams; your darling boy, your Bāne, always so hotheaded, disappearing beneath frothing water... Simply gone before you could even blink.

Both gone before you could...

The sudden realization of why you're here, why Viserion and Rhaegal were nestled so close to you, finally clicked into place and, with that realization, your tears finally cascaded down your cheeks.

"To say goodbye." You look down into their eyes, one set gold and the other bronze, as tears continue to fall from your own. "That's why I'm here. You're letting me say goodbye."

Twin rumbles meet your declaration, large heads pushing closer as they gently nuzzle your growing stomach. A sight that you would do anything to see in real life — knowing, with everything you had, that they would have made the best big brothers. Smoothing a hand down Rhaegal's jaw, and then shifting to Viserion, you lean closer and allow yourself to be fully wrapped in their embrace.

"I wish that I could go back and hold you both a bit longer. Give you a bit more of the fish I had stolen from the kitchen. Stayed a little bit longer snuggled into your side as I read. I wish that I could get all those little moments back and hold them tightly, so I'd never lose them, never lose you." Rhaegal nudges your shoulder, causing a watery chuckle to escape from your lips. "But, above anything, I wish that I had been able to show you both how much I loved you as fiercely, and as loyally, as you loved me, because I would have died to protect you. I would have gladly sacrificed myself so you both could live."

Shifting back, you look at your darling boys, never letting your hands stray too far from the warmth of their scales. "I want you to know how much I love you, how much I will always love you, and that you'll never be far from my heart. No matter how much time passes, I will never forget either of you. I will never forget the moments we made together and the love you freely gave me. I will never forget what you both have done for me." You lightly place a kiss on both of their snouts. "Goodbye, my darling boys, for the next time I see you, I won't be leaving your sides ever again."

Viserion and Rhaegal press closer, their wings stretching out further to eclipse the very sky above you; casting the diluted light into a fractured array of bronze and gold coloring. The sight bringing you peace as the beginnings of the world starts to blur at the edge of your vision.

And, even as everything fades into grey around you — the twin gazes, one gold and the other bronze, act as a beacon of light to where you were meant to go.

Rain hammers against tall windows, accompanied by the occasional flash of lightning that illuminates the grand tapestries on the walls within the royal bedchamber; the air heavy with the scent of salt and sea, mingling with the sweet incense burned by the attending septas.

You don’t know what had caused you to feel the sudden urge to travel to Dragonstone, remnants of a hazy memory being your only clue; as you rarely left King’s Landing since the news of the impending heirs became public knowledge. Daenerys hadn’t been happy about the potential trip — the way in which she had grit her teeth almost made you believe she was about to spit fire — but something in your eyes must have given her the impression that you weren’t going to back down.

Her acceptance didn’t mean it was an easy trip — with Daenerys’ constant hovering, Drogon snapping at anyone that got too close, and Grey Worm almost stabbing three maids that had suddenly appeared to help you out of the days outfit, being the lightest of the events that had occurred — but the sight of the ancient castle, with its dark spires reaching out to seemingly conquer the sky itself, brought with it a wave of relief that nearly keeled you over; the pressure within your heart clicking into place, making everything right once more.

Everything had gone smoothly for the first five days of your spontaneous vacation, but things had almost imploded when Daenerys had been told, via a raven, her presence was needed in King’s Landing due to a few of the minor noble families stirring up trouble with the visiting dignitaries from Essos. You knew that your wife didn’t wish to leave you, not so late into your pregnancy, nor did your son, but escalating drama within King’s Landing — one Daenerys wanted you far away from — compelled her to shift from doting wife to Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

She had left the next morning, with a searing kiss pressed to your lips, arms wrapped tight around your form, and a whispered vow seemingly imprinted into your skin: “I will be back within the next two days, I swear it. Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.”

Which means it was only right that you’d go into labor on the end of the second day; a raging storm, the likes that hadn’t been seen since your darling wife had been born, crashing over Dragonstone.

“Daenerys still isn’t here?” You gasp, a strangled groan escaping you at the same time. “Shouldn’t she be here by now?”

Grey Worm stands by your side, his sharp features etched with concern. “No, Your Grace, but I know she’ll arrive soon. Even with this weather I’m certain the raven will have reached her by now. For the moment, until Her Majesty can be here, I implore you to focus on yourself.” His rough hand clutch yours, offering what little warmth and reassurance he can. “I’ll be by your side until then.”

The maester, with his wispy beard and trembling hands, no doubt aware of what would happen to him if something were to go wrong, moves between your legs, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Push now, gently,” he instructs, his soft tone a sharp contrast to the tempestuous night.

You follow his guidance, clutching at Grey Worm’s proffered hand, summoning every ounce of strength left within your body.

The ancient stones of Dragonstone seem to tremble in response to each clap of thunder, as if the very castle shared in your agony. Yet, amidst the roaring winds and pain — a single strike of clarity, not unlike the lightning streaking through the sky, hits you; a profound sense of determination racing through your haggard form, burrowing deep within your heart, to bring life into this world, despite the raging storm and the absence of your wife.

Gritting your teeth, an agonized cry tears itself from deep within your chest, as you push once more, only faintly hearing the guiding words of the maester.

And, just as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky, Daenerys stormed into the room, her presence commanding and urgent; violet eyes burning with residual fury at being held up, and silvery-gold hair slightly disheveled, betraying the haste in which she had arrived to Dragonstone.

Where she is, Drogon is sure to quickly follow, you think, warmth spreading through you at the sight of your wife and the knowledge your son was home. And, just as the thought crosses your mind, a familiar shadow casts itself over the room, thundering wing-beats being easily discernible from the crackling lightning. No matter how tired he may have been from his long journey, Drogon would stay outside until you brought the twins into this world; a thought that brings a wave of affection for your eldest crashing through you.

“I’m here,” Daenerys announced, voice strained in apology but her relief was palpable as she made her way to your side; taking the spot that Grey Worm had quickly vacated. Pressing a kiss to the hand clasped in hers, Daenerys brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your overheated forehead. “I’m sorry I’m late. I wanted nothing more than to be back by your side the moment I left it.”

You’re only able to offer her a strained smile in response, another wave of pain shooting through you as the maester continues guiding the process along.

Daenerys, easily taking note of your state, turns wild eyes to the gathered servants. “How is she? How far along are we?” The strained quality of her voice, coupled with the vice grip she has upon your hand, gives you an easy understanding of where your wife’s mind had went; to the night of her own birth in this very castle — a night where Daenerys Targaryen was borne but Rhaella Targaryen ceased to exist. “Has there been any issues?”

“No, Your Majesty.” A midwife helpfully supplies, her presence near the bed signifying that you’d hopefully bringing one of your twins into the world soon. “Everything has gone well. Her Majesty has been doing well. There’s no cause for alarm.”

Daenerys, while still stiff, seemed to accept the response, her attention swiftly falling to you solely. “I’m right here, my beloved. I’m not going anywhere.”

Time seems to stretch into an eternity — you’re barely able to discern Daenerys gentle hold, and soothing words, from the maester that was still acting as a guiding light — and the pain is almost stifling until, with one final push, the first of your twins enters the world.

Exhausted, yet elated at the same time, you watch, through bleary eyes, as a midwife quickly takes the babe into her arms to clean, only giving you the barest glimpse of a tiny form before disappearing into the swarm of moving bodies.

But, however much your body may rebel at the thought, the labor wasn’t over yet; another wave of pain crashing over you, ensured that you understood that fact. With every bit of strength you had left in your body, while sweat beaded your brow, and your wife stayed steadily by your side, you give one final push and feel as your second child comes into the world; the same process quickly taking place as the babe was swept away to be seen to.

Twin cries soon fill the chamber in a harmonious display of new life — cutting through the fog that had fallen over your mind — a sound that brings tears to your eyes and a lightness to your chest, as if a weight had suddenly been lifted that you hadn’t even realized was there.

“Boys! You’ve had two beautiful boys, Your Majesty!” A portly midwife bustles towards you, a delicately small form cradled against her clothed chest. “Perfectly healthy.”

Your son is soon placed on your chest, skin to skin, and he’s soon joined by his brother; both babes swaddled but giving you a perfect view to see their beautiful faces. Looking up at your dragon, you can’t help the tears that stream down your face when you notice her own glistening upon porcelain skin.

“Two handsome princes,” you murmur, gently tracing a line down a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe we’re mothers, Dany.” Your eyes meet the violet gaze of your wife, happiness shared between you like the love that has bonded you for years. “After all this time, I can’t believe that I’m actually here.”

“I never wish to be anywhere else,” Daenerys replies, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple, smoothing a hand down your back. “I would do it all over again, go through all the pain and heart ache, if it meant that I could end up right back here with you, with our children.”

Angling your head, you huff out a light chuckle, taking note that Drogon had taken his leave to, no doubt, rest on the cliff side until he was allowed to meet his siblings in person; something you were excited to do, but your new position also allows you to get a better look at your Khaleesi for the first time; your brow furrowing in concern instantly.

“I thought I was supposed to be the only one covered in blood.” You tug at the crimson stained fabric of her ornate tunic. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m more than fine, dearest one,” Daenerys soothes, calmly smoothing a wild strand of hair back behind your ear. “I simply honored the promise I made to you upon my departure.”

Even if that means I have to kill every last person that would dare keep me from you.

Your eyes flutter shut, arms tightening ever-so-slightly around the twins. “Who did you kill, Dany?” Violet eyes, filled with open amusement, are the first thing you see when you collect yourself. “It wasn’t anyone that’d cause a war, is it?”

“As if any of the nobleman would dare test me,” she scoffs, clearly affronted at the mere insinuation. “I made it abundantly clear how foolish it’d be to keep me from arriving back at your side promptly, something that most of those imbeciles seemed to take as a challenge. A feat that became even more imbecilic when I had received the raven stating that you had gone into labor.”

“How many?”

“I don’t see why that would matter—”

“How many, Daenerys?” You interrupt, the sharpness within your gaze causing your wife to halt mid-sentence. “Don’t you dare lie to me either, I’ll find out sooner or later.”

Daenerys huffs. “A little over two dozen, I’d wager.” Her eyes roll skyward, as if she still couldn’t believe the audacity of the people who had stood between her and her family. “However, as I was saying, I don’t see why that would matter. I did tell them to not get in my way, especially since I was already in a horrid mood having to deal with their foolishness to begin with, not to mention leaving your side, I simply ran out of the patience that had already been in short supply.”

“I don’t even wish to imagine what you would have done if you had missed the birth of our sons.”

Your wife tilts her head. “I would have killed them all, of course. Keeping me from you is a sin upon itself, but keeping me away so you go through something like this alone? Wherein anything could have happened to you?” Daenerys shakes her head at the mere notion. “There wouldn’t be any mercy left in my heart; for there can never be any remnants if someone dares affect you due to their actions.”

Despite yourself, and still wanting to know the finer details about who exactly she had killed, and what sort of mess you could expect upon your return to King’s Landing, you couldn’t help the affection that courses through your veins; Daenerys, for everything that she was, and everything she used to be, had always loved you. More than you think you deserve, in all honesty, but the clear dedication she had for you was never more apparent than in this moment.

So, for her, for everything that she has done, and will continue to do, in the name for her love towards you, you decide to drop the conversation for the moment. This wasn’t a time to get into a petty squabble with your wife; not when your sons slumbered peacefully against your chest.

Daenerys, clearly on the same wave of thought, runs a slender finger across the wisps of silvery-gold hair peeking out from underneath the cloth of the twin closest to her. “What shall we call them, ñuha perzys?”

You pause, ruminating over the variety of choices; Old Valyrian was an obvious choice, something strong to showcase the roots that your sons now held to the ancient world, but what names stuck out the most?

Suddenly, as if hit by a bolt of lightning, you realize the only choice of what they could be.

“I have the perfect names in mind, Dany.” Whispers of a phantom dream wisp through your mind, echoing deep within your heart and soul, your smile turning soft as you gently stroke the soft cheeks of your twins. “If you’ll allow me the honor of bestowing them?”

Daenerys’ beautiful smile in return, violet eyes glassy with unshed tears, is all you needed to see to understand that she was more than willing to grant you whatever you wished.

“I think I’ve always known. It’s just something I haven’t been able to see until now.” You lean against your wife, nestled safely underneath her arm, forever seeking the warmth she so effortlessly provided, as you spoke to the room at large: the surrounding midwives, a wizened maester, various servants, and your most loyal guards, all standing at attention. “I’d like you all to meet Prince Rhaegon and Prince Viseryn of House Targaryen.”

And, if you allowed yourself to believe, to listen close enough, through the crashing of the waves and the rage of the wind, as well as the cheering of the people within the room, you could just make out the twin sounds of answering roars from across the Narrow Sea.

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 29

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of her uncle, that she's loved all her life.

(Coaxed You Into Paradise and High Infidelity Rewrite.)

masterlist for this series

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Victory/Blood and Cheese (Alyssa II) 

It was a horrible day - the clouds covered the sun before it could rise. An equally horrible storm was happening beyond Dragonstone, making it hard for Daegon’s boat to settle near the shore. A loud groan escapes his mouth, seeing that there was no way that his boat would meet the castle in time. 

“We should take a rest, my lord.” his loyal squire whispered, also ceasing his rowing. Daegon is brought back to reality - the reality that his cousin is dead, and that his sister’s husband was the one that murdered him. 

“What do you think will happen next, Dorren?” he turned to look behind him, the older man had a defeated face. 

“We'll tell the moment we enter Dragonstone,” the man answered, rubbing his hands together to create warmth. 

Daegon knew that there was something he should’ve done to prevent Lucerys’ death. He should’ve sworn his hand to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters, pledged to them his undying loyalty - but he froze. He froze at the sight of Vhagar and Aemond asking for his eye. 

Daegon was Lord of Harrenhal, but he felt like the lord of none. 

“Do you think muña will be mad at me?” he looked down - imagining his mother’s disappointed face. The man chuckles softly, “I’ve never seen your mother cross with you.” he replied, comforting the boy. 

“She will be proud of you, my lord.” Dorren added, placing his hands back on the oar. 

Daegon was about to do the same, but he began to hear rumbling - slow flapping of a dragon’s wings. He looks behind him, and Dorren hears it too. “Are there any dragons we should look out for?” the man asks, and his mind drifts off to the books that his uncle provided. 

The Cannibal, the Sheepstealer - and countless dragonlings. 

“A lot of them,” he whispered while lowering his head - seeing a dragon fly above them. The dragon was black as coal - with pointy scales. It lets out a loud roar - shaking their boat slightly. “The Cannibal,” he mumbled to himself while holding onto Dorren. 

The man begins rowing the boat again - keen to escape the watchful eye of the dragon, but it keeps following them. 

“Stop,” Daegon commanded - the dragon begins charging at them. The man closes his eyes, and the dragon swerves at the last minute. “Does he want to eat us?” Dorren freezed, and the boy shakes his head. “I-I don’t think so,” he mumbled, hands reaching to pet the dragon. The Cannibal flies down again, but this time - he uses his belly to land on the water. 

Daegon reaches for the dragon’s snout slowly - placing his hand with caution on the dragon’s scales. He takes a deep breath, seeing that he wasn’t dead yet. “I think he wants you to ride him,” Dorren remarks, earning a twitch of a brow from the dragon. 

A warm feeling enters the young lord’s veins, flowing through him and prompting him to exit the boat and board the dragon. He looks down on Dorren, “Will you be safe?” he inquired, feeling the slow falling of the water on his skin. “Yes,” the man replied - and that was all the dragon needed to fly. 

A loud scream exits the boy’s mouth, feeling air and water crash on his body. “Slow down,” he mumbled - grabbing onto the dragon’s scales in order to not fall. The Cannibal relents, slowing down with reluctance. 

—

Daemon’s hands were wide open to welcome his little boy. “Our boy has claimed a dragon,” he mumbled while wrapping his arms around Daegon. Instead of saying words of appreciation - or of love, the boy takes a deep breath. “Prince Lucerys is dead.” he announces - Rhaenyra’s smile drops. 

She begins marching towards her nephew, refusing to believe him. “Who killed him?” she inquired - biting the inner corner of her lips. Her sweet summer boy was taken from her - all she wanted was to make the murderer feel the same way. “Who killed him?” she repeated, watching as Daegon evades her stare. “Daegon,” she says firmly - holding his collar. 

“Prince Aemond,” he replied reluctantly - knowing that there was a connection between them. Rhaenyra’s face turns stoic and cold. She lets go of the boy - and begins striding towards the castle. Ignoring Saera who was arguing with her. 

—

(Alyssa’s POV) 

Queen Alicent was my guardian in the absence of my parents - she was my second mother, providing me with knowledge and advice. But something was different about today. The banners that once flashed black and red, were now green and gold. King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra would never approve of the change, unless something was amiss.

"Alyssa," the Queen smiled, pouring herself a glass of tea. "My Queen," I bowed, making my way beside her. "- have you seen Aemond?" I inquired, searching the room for the familiar face of my husband. "I will be frank with you, dear girl." the Queen took a deep breath, "- The King is dead." she added.

A gasp escapes my mouth - eyes brimming with tears at the realization that Aegon was king. "- and I have sent Aemond to make negotiations with other houses." the Queen replied - anticipating all the emotions that were flowing out of me. 

"Do you believe that we'll be on your side?" I spat - she was like a mother to me, but couldn't betray my actual mother in favor of her. "War will not brew, Alyssa. Alliances are being forged," she comforted, placing a hand on my shoulder - but I shove her away. "What will you do to my siblings? Will you kill them? They pose a threat to your very claim," I interrogate - cursing the gods that there wasn't a knife or a dagger near me.

"They will be cupbearers and squires, my dear."

"My mother would rather kill herself than let that happen." I snap, and someone clears their throat from behind the both of us. It was Larys Strong - my uncle, and he had a dark grin on his face. "Queen Alicent, Princess Alyssa." the man curtsied, quickly making his way beside the Queen - and whispering a few strings of words on her ears. I was unable to hear it, but the premise was clear

Prince Lucerys Velaryon is dead.

Alicent's eyes widened, eyes suddenly shaking and spilling drops of the tea that she was holding. "I apologize, Alyssa - if our meeting is cut short." she stood up, motioning for Ser Criston to bring me back to my room. "What is the meaning of this? I refuse to be included in this treason," I wiggle away from the knight's grasp but his hold remains firm.

"Ser Criston, I beg of you." I pleaded - his brown eyes softened, "I will bring you to Aelor, but please follow whatever the Queen commands." he whispered, pulling me away from the chambers.

—

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, staring at the men in front of her. “Mysaria mustn’t know of this,” she asserted - knowing that the whore was on her sister’s side. “- I want you to execute Prince Aelor.” she commanded, dropping a few gold coins on the table. 

“It will be done, my lady.” the older man replies with a smirk. 

“What’s your name again?” She raised her eyebrows. 

“My name’s Blood.” 

“And I’m Cheese.”

next chapter>>

that's a wrap guys, see u in 2024

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[manikas-whims]

Bed Sharing– a Kanej Fanfic

[Read on AO3]

He didn't want her to placate him with an embrace. He just wanted to sleep next to her without the threat of her arms and legs, and her insanely silky hair suffocating him. But he complied nonetheless and lowered himself towards her, letting her wrap her arms around him.

...

In which Kaz just wants to share a bed with Inej but she has some peculiar sleeping habits that might cause discomfort to him.

Light humor and fluff cause i simply adore the canon fluffy Kanej :3

Sharing the same bed, falling asleep right next to each other, arms and legs casually tangled together. It was another act of intimacy that was of utmost significance for the both of them.

Kaz had given up on ever experiencing such trivial yet invaluable moments of life due to the nature of his sickness. At least that's what he believed until a petite suli girl dared to not just sneak up on him but also offered to help him. The notorious Dirtyhands! She wasn't just another girl with pretty ribbons or a sort of sidle in her walk. She was kind and forgiving despite her circumstances. And like the graceful acrobat that she was raised to be, Inej Ghafa smoothly scaled her way into his heart.

Unfortunately, it took her getting stabbed by the rival gang for him to realize that his Wraith had become his reason. He had never given thought to what would come after he was done with his revenge. After he had defeated Rollins in his own game. After he had brought that wretched son of a bitch to his knees. But Inej, with her Suli platitudes and soft brown eyes, made him truly wonder about the prospect of a future. Of actually living for more than just money and contempt.

And so, after years of struggles in working towards healing from their respective traumas, they laid together in bed.

Kaz had imagined this moment being far more dramatic and exhilarating. Expected it to bring a sense of fulfillment. A warm and heady sort of contentment that Jordie used to read about in his story books.

However, when Kaz woke up in the middle of the night, he could not associate any of those endearing descriptions with his current predicament. No, it wasn't the sensation of waves lapping at him. They hardly ever bothered him anymore. It was just the general discomfort with the way Inej's leg draped on his belly and her impossibly long hair spilled over his face. And to top it off, she seemed content. Peacefully asleep in her peculiar position.

Kaz didn't remember falling asleep like this.

He tried fidgeting away but she crept closer to the warmth that his body radiated. He tried gently moving her off of him but mere moments later, she turned towards him and resumed her oddly-comforting position.

He puffed out an annoyed breath to blow her hair away from his face and sat up, her leg sliding down into his lap.

“Inej” He called.

Unfortunately, she didn't even budge.

Kaz frowned. He was nothing if not vengeful. How could she coax him into getting some proper sleep then not let him have any?

He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her. “Inej”

This time her brows knitted at the disturbance. “Saints..”

“Not your Saints”, He grumbled. “It's me.”

“Something..happ..ened?” Inej mumbled as she rubbed her eyes and pulled out her cherished bone-handled knife from under the pillows.

“No.” Kaz replied, watching her hand immediately tuck the knife back. Then drily added, “I just can't sleep thanks to you throwing your limbs all over me.”

Inej chuckled and drowsily gazed up at him.

“Come here.” She beckoned with open arms.

He didn't want her to placate him with an embrace. He just wanted to sleep next to her without the threat of her arms and legs, and her insanely silky hair suffocating him. But he complied nonetheless and lowered himself towards her, letting her wrap her arms around him.

Inej pressed her lips upon his. Lightly. Sleepily. And by the time he finally decided to give in to the affectionate gesture and return the kiss, Kaz felt her arms loosen from his back. He moved away slightly to find that she had drifted back into a calm slumber.

For a moment, Kaz stared at the sight of her beautiful face glowing under the foggy moonlight of Ketterdam. Laughed to himself about the suddenness of it all and then laid down next to her. Within moments he felt her scoot closer, a leg coming to rest upon his belly. Only this time, the bastard of the barrel didn't have the heart to rouse her from her sleep.

SOC Masterlist

Custom Divider by @skylightlantern

[poptod]

The Blood of the Covenant (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen encounters a cult hidden from the view of Thebes and the Pharaoh.

Notes: i...... i have no words for myself. literally what the fuck is wrong with me. warnings for violence and some mild gore. WC: 4.4k

+

He should've known.

He should've taken his knife.

The worst part was that he knew––the meetings he attended at his father's side had been primarily to discuss the rise in crime within Thebes ever since the addition of silver coins to the economy. Whether or not this was related to his current predicament remained, for a time, unknown, but either way, he cursed himself for forgetting.

They gave him no chance to escape, either. His legs had been bound at the ankles, his hands tied behind him, and a sack placed over his head. All he could tell from his surroundings was that they had taken him from the city onto a boat, shipping him across or down the river in slow, rippling strokes. It was the only thing that sounded; the frogs and bugs of the Nile's shores were now too far away to hear on either side, and the two men who caught him remained in a ghastly silence.

He lurched forward as the boat found the shore, but before he could move at all, the men grabbed him by his upper arms, dragging him off the canoe and onto dry land. He writhed best he could, achieving nothing but sore muscles and scraped feet.

The cool of the night deepened, the wind fading to make way for echoing footsteps and pebbles that clattered down long, descending stairways. Ahk's breath caught in his throat, lodged as though it choked him. His fingers went numb behind him.

Warmth suddenly hit him, flooded in the threshold he passed by. He straightened slightly, curiosity overtaking his apprehension as the hands on his arms forced him to his knees, leaving him alone and bound in what he assumed to be the middle of a room. The natural echo of the space had long dissipated once he stopped moving, bringing him to believe he was now alone.

He was not.

A burst of flame sounded nearby, causing him to jump back with a gasp. Steps drew nearer and he shrunk away, but the hands that reached forward yanked the bag off his face, exposing him to the dome of rock surrounding him. The walls circling upwards were painted with a number of heavenly images not unlike those of temples, but the throne at the head of the room were the likes of which he had never seen before.

Built into the stone of the mountain he now stood beneath, the throne sat high above, building to the sky with a row of steps leading up to it. On either side of the stairs were flowers made of the same stone, intricately carved into the many different petals Ahk had seen along the Nile. At the top of the seat, the face of a serpent had been carved in glittering, obsidian scales, two long fangs piercing either side and shadowing the person who sat atop the grand structure.

He couldn't see your face, but the tresses that fell from you like rays of purple and red dust were already tell-tale of a person of great majesty, great theatrics, and more often than not, great beauty. What he originally surmised to be painted rock along the stairs began to move, slick scales creeping along till the face of a long, thin snake looked him directly in the eye.

"You are in the presence of the Serpent of the Nile," said one of the men flanking the bottom of the throne. The tops of their spears glimmered a stark black, held high above Ahk's knelt image.

Terror washed freely over him, no comfort to stay its' effect on him. His palms began to sweat, his breathing quickened, and his eyes opened wide and white, straining up toward you.

"Hmm," echoed in the chamber, humming soft and high. "You're prettier than I thought you would be."

What?

"I am Mukarramma," you said, catching his eye as you stood, "Apophis on earth."

"Apophis is locked into the underworld," he said in a shaky voice, assuring himself more than anyone else. "He is a serpent. Not a human."

Murmurs came from behind him, causing him to whirl around and find a host of people watching, spread out in a crescent from the dome's entrance.

"Is that why your Pharaoh claims to be Horus on earth?" You asked with a grin, displaying long rows of numerous, sharp teeth. Your eyes were what caught his attention, though––spread wide, never blinking, and split by a slivered pupil.

"It's just a––"

"Silence, little one," you sung.

Something on your shoulders moved, but it took a moment for Ahk to process that it was still the same snake that was watching him carefully. Its' thin body had grown to such a length that it could easily encircle the whole stairway and the throne, though currently, it was draped over your shoulders and arms.

"What do your people tell of me?" You asked, drifting down the long staircase with slow steps.

"Very little," he answered as he glared at you. "We burn images of snakes and write spells to spill its' blood."

You chuckled smoothly, "how beautiful."

You reached the end of the stairs, and he attempted to move back, but the people gathered at the entrance pushed him forwards again. The smile had yet to leave your face, curiously still and unmoving.

From the folds of your clothes, still falling and trailing after you just as the darkened rays of shadows follow the mountain at sunset, you raised a hand donned in rings and golden frames that lengthened your fingers into long, sharp claws. Again he flinched back, and again the people pushed him forward, leaving him helpless as you grasped his chin. You appeared to scan him as you pushed his head to each side, testing how his muscles reacted.

"Yes, you'll do just fine," you murmured. "You are sure this is the favoured son?"

"Yes, master," said one of the guards, bowing his head.

"Well then," your smile stretched, creeping across your lips, "let's prepare him."

"Prepare me?" He said, looking from you, to the soldiers, and ultimately to the crowd that began to pull at his limbs. "Prepare me for what?"

His question came too late––the cloaked people grabbed him, leading him down another hall and deeper into the earth. This time he writhed with all his might, desperate to escape if even for a moment. Panic coursed through his veins, jerking and pulling to release the bindings, though they hardly tore before they threw him down into a shallow pool of water.

Here there was no light. No flames, no chance of sun, yet filled with its' heat surrounding him in thick steam. Each ragged breath he drew tasted of perfume, filling his lungs with the moisture trapped in the small room. Footsteps and quiet conversation still surrounded him, though he remained a stranger to their actions, till soap and water splashed over his head, entirely soaking him and his clothes. Hands appeared from the darkness, running over his skin from every angle. If he tried to cringe away, hands simply pushed him back from the other side, still massaging soaps and oils into him.

He spluttered but had no words. Technically he was quite used to this treatment, but not in the dark. Not by strangers, and definitely not by at least 10 different people.

For the next several, traumatic minutes he was washed, dried, dressed in clothes that barely covered anything (though, to be fair, he still couldn't see. He just felt cold), and anointed in oil. At the end of it his hands were shaking from the tenseness gripping him, and the sudden absence of anyone had his tremors spreading to his uneven breath. Your people had left him alone in a dark, empty room, though they had spared him the mercy of undoing his bindings.

A soft laugh echoed around him, seemingly sprouting from nothing but living forever in the chamber. Something brushed his ankle and he jumped away, sucking in a sharp breath as he turned, attempting to see through the darkness what had touched him.

"What do you want with me?" He asked, trying his very best to keep an even voice, but despite that it still cracked.

"Not much," you said in a murmur. "Just your absence... from the city."

He turned to try and see you, but could not pin down where your voice was originating from.

Whatever had touched his ankle earlier returned, slithering up his body as the realization dawned that a snake was twisting round his leg. He tried to shake it off, holding back a shout as its' tongue tested his scent, but was once again restrained, this time by your hands pulling his behind his back, your body pressed hot against his.

"Don't you hurt her," you murmured by his head, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. He shivered, still holding back that shout in the bottom of his throat.

"Is she a pet of yours?" He asked in an unfortunately shaky voice.

"She is... my child," you said, circling him as your hands ran up his back, across his shoulders, and down to his chest.

What little he could see was now made up by you––blackened eyes staring into him, looming over him as the shadow of chaos so often did over the denizens of Egypt. Your lips were still stretched into a strangely beautiful smile, showcasing the many sharp teeth hidden in your mouth.

"My only child. They say I am infertile," you murmured, coming to play with his hair. You tugged him forward, and helpless to the enchantments in your touch, he let you. "They say I am like Set, but... I know they are wrong. I have a daughter. Soon, I will have a son."

"How will you do that?" He attempted to swallow through a dry mouth.

"I must call my true form to this realm. It is impossible to create a child I would desire in this.. two-legged stature. I require––well, I suppose I shouldn't tell you, should I? Would ruin the surprise," you said, drawing your fingernail teasingly from his navel to his hips.

"... is this why you've brought me here?"

"I don't want your filthy blood in my family," you spat, your expression dropping in an instant. Your eyes fell to his neck. "That being said..."

You pushed him hard, knocking him off his feet. He let out a yelp but landed safely on something soft behind him, followed by you dropping down to his height, trapping him to the silk twisted beneath his body. You laughed, digging your gold nails into the various clothes he had been adorned in and tearing them apart. Once you were fully satisfied with your destruction, you leant lower yet, dipping your head into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply, releasing with a humming, pleased moan.

"Do you smell that?" You asked in that same moaning hum, a forked tongue slipping out from your lips and licking along one of the veins prominent in his neck.

His hands shook, all too aware of the razor teeth and their proximity to such a sensitive part of him. There was no moving. No escape.

"Of course you don't," you said, your tongue leaving him. "You humans hardly notice anything. I do. You smell like..." another long inhale, and another long moan, "fear. Anticipation. Yearning.. desire. What do you yearn for?"

"In general or right now?"

"Any time you like, dear," you said, moving to once more hold yourself above him, staring him down.

"Safety. My family," he answered truthfully.

"Bullshit. You – you yearn for.. hmm," your eyes flickered from his face to his neck, "need a little more of... you."

You dove back down, biting his neck. This time he truly well and did scream, his hands shoving desperately back on your body as you cackled, sucking and gnawing softly. The pain was not horrible––he'd endured much worse before––but the thought of those teeth anywhere near him already had him shaking.

"You yearn for excitement," you moaned against him, still biting at his neck. "For lust and the satisfaction of it. Do not lie to the Great Serpent of the Nile. I can taste you... and you reek of desire."

Heat spiked throughout his body, surging through his veins like a sickness that followed the story of your twisted words. Heat. Burning heat. Placed there by you, it had to be you, it couldn't be coming from him––not now. Not with you practically eating him, pinning him to the softest bed he had ever felt. He wasn't sure when he opened his mouth, but he was talking, saying something he couldn't quite hear. It appeared to satisfy you, and you pulled away.

"Oh dear," you said, though you were still smiling. "You are a dessert that is very hard not to indulge in."

"I'm what?" He asked weakly.

"Delicioussss," you said as your smile widened, stretching farther than it should have. In the same moment your eyes began to glow yellow, illuminating that creeping grin, and the blood coating your lips and chin.

Instantly he was back to scrambling out of your grasp, twisting and worming to try and lessen your hold on him. You laughed at his weak attempts, entwining your hands in his and pinning them above his head, and keeping his legs down by sitting on his hips.

"Fight all you want," you cackled, teeth still glimmering with his blood. "You belong to me now. I'll take very good care of you.. you'll see. I still need you yet."

"Am I going to die?" He said, his resolve finally cracking his burning tears welled in his eyes.

"No, no," you murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "You're far too pretty for that."

"But my – my neck," he said.

You glanced down apathetically, scanning the wound till your tongue fell out of your mouth. Once again you leaned down, and he cringed, tensing up as he prepared for the returning pain. What he felt, however, was the slick warmth of a tongue, sliding over the teeth marks as the pain dripped away to relief.

When you pulled back, you wiped the blood off your mouth, then stroked his cheek with your thumb. The room remained dark as ever, but through it he could see your outline. The unearthly look of your eyes, the dim, purple halo that seemed to trace your silhouette, the intricacy of markings in your skin.

"You like this form," you said after a moment, drawing your hands slowly down his arms before leaving him untethered to you.

"You are... interesting," he managed to get out. You chuckled, tracing your finger down his chest. "I'm afraid I haven't been able to see you all that well."

"Don't let that stop you from admiring me," you said, a smile gracing your face.

Slowly but surely, the darkness faded away, and in its' place were flames that roared in a nearby fireplace. That toothy grin still tainted your image, but he noted that you were not wearing any clothes. Everything was bared, showcasing tendrils and curls of gold built into your skin, cold compared to the warmth of your body, but still glittering even around your eyes. In several places around you, obsidian scales sprouted out of nothing.

He must not have noticed he was staring, as soon you grew bored and vied for his physical attention once more. To gain it, you gently raked your nails over his chest and stomach, earning a sharp intake of breath.

"If you think this is beautiful, wait till you see the body I left in the Duat. You will understand my glory then," you said nodding as you carefully scanned his face.

"You're bringing your true form to the surface?"

"I need to be in the realm of the living to create life, don't I? That is why I am here."

"Do your.. soldiers know that?"

"They aren't soldiers," you quickly said with a frown. "They're followers. Here of their own free will."

"That’s bullshit."

"Oh, did someone forget who's in charge here?" You asked, grinning as you just barely dug your golden nails into the soft skin of his waist. He hissed despite the fact that there was no pain.

In a sudden motion you drew your hands away, eyes still scanning him––his reaction, his expression. He stared blankly up at you, attempting to garner his own understanding of you. He expected nothing and earned it.

"You are beautiful," you murmured, reaching forward and tracing his jaw with a barely-there touch.

Your eye twitched, and you shook your head to try and rid yourself of it. When it persisted, you sighed, sliding away from him as you stood.

"Bomani?" You called, rubbing your temples as the twitches continued.

A man popped through the door with an expectant expression, though he had a hard time paying attention to anything but the fact that the man's eyes were overgrown with the same, black scales that dotted your skin.

"Is it sunset already?"

"Yes, master. I believe it's actually almost gone by now."

"Very well. Prepare the pool."

"Yes, master."

"What – the pool?" Ahk asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Ra is completing his journey across the sky and will enter the underworld soon. I don't want to miss our little... shenanigans," you said vaguely, but Ahk was fully aware what you meant.

Apophis was the enemy of Ra––the enemy of all of Egypt, but Ra specifically, as he fought the ungodly snake each time he descended into the dark of night. Other Gods often joined him to aid in the battle between chaos and peaceful order.

The door opened and in came four of your followers, three of them flocking to you and the other to him. He tried to crawl back on the bed, but the woman managed to grab him anyway, pulling him to his feet with little callousness in her movements. Before he could ask what was happening, everyone was herded out of the room, paraded down the unlit hallways, and forced into a room that glowed blue from a shallow pool of water sat in the middle.

He stopped, his breath once more unsure of itself as he stared into the drifting halo of still water, rippling only when disturbed by another. The followers redressed you, and the long, thin snake you called your daughter slipped into the pool, running along the outer frame till she reached her own tail. Without word you followed her into the water, sitting down in the middle.

"What are you –"

"Shh!" One of your followers said, glaring at him before they turned slowly back to you.

Several more of your followers entered the small room, forming yet another circle around you. They began their chant simultaneously, startling Ahk out of his concentration on you, and unsettling him as it continued. He couldn't pinpoint the words, and thus he assumed it was a language he simply could not understand.

The gold embedded throughout your body began to glow, thrumming with vibrations that echoed near painfully in the small space. He covered his ears as politely as he could, flinching each time you changed notes, which ended with him missing the frame of gold rising out of your body before sinking down into the water. However he did see your body fall from its' upright position into the pool, breaking up the circle of followers who now helped you out of the water.

Peeking over the shoulders around you, he found you more human than you had previously been, with normal teeth and fewer marking on your skin. The scales remained, seemingly lodged permanently, but all else had faded away, and you looked... human. Like someone he'd flirt with at a dinner party. Beautiful, but likely unattainable.

The thought of ducking out of the room and running away didn't occur to him during the strange ceremony, but it did come to him afterwards, a  moment too late as the followers took you and him to the same bedroom you'd come from. He opened his mouth to protest before realizing it would be futile. Instead, he let himself be thrown into the bedroom, stumbling inside after you walked in on delicate feet.

"What in the world was that?" He asked the second the door closed behind him. The fireplace was still lit, but the flames were smaller than before, casting the whole of the room in a dim, warm light.

"Apophis must return to Himself to greet Ra in the evenings. Otherwise, the Gods might think He's up to something," you said, though you didn't meet his eye.

"I thought you were Apophis?" He frowned as he followed you, sitting across from you as you sat at the fire.

"I am His Prophet," you said with a small nod. "I was the first to give Him power and I am the only one He can inhabit. But the human body is... frail, to contain the life of a God."

"Apophis is no God, he's a demon, and he's using you," Ahk insisted, earning nothing but a glare.

"You do not understand the nature of magic in this realm. It can only be gifted by Gods and they do not care to listen. No one but Apophis listens, and He hears all." You stared into the fire, your eyes and body still. "He hears each prayer and curse. He is the only one willing to involve Himself with the problems of what Gods call 'petty' humans."

"I was with him for quite some time and I really don't think he's the type of person to... help people without reason," he said slowly, rethinking his words to put them in a nicer, more easy to swallow way.

"I know you were with him," you snapped. "I was there. I ripped off your clothes and drank part of your essence."

"Oh."

Well, strange as it sounded, that was technically what happened.

"Do not think of me as some pawn in this game," you said, at last looking to him with seething eyes. "I am as willing a participant in this as you are in your own festivals. It is simply tiresome––like a long day of work. I have this honor and I would wish it no other way."

The anger painting your face peeled away to exhaustion once more, dragging down your eye lids and pulling a shaky breath as you leant against the outer stone of the fireplace.

"Mother of Gods," he mumbled before he shifted forward, closer to you, and reached forward a hesitant hand to draw the silk veil away from your face.

Without thinking you leaned into it, nearly falling asleep on his palm in less than a second. You caught yourself, though, and he quickly pulled his hand back to his side.

"Why did you call Apophis," he asked, and you slowly raised yourself to look at him. "Why do you have faith in a serpent?"

"Why do you have faith in your Kings?" You asked in return. "I have seen what they have wrought, the bloodshed and the greed fuelled by those who bow at his feet. Is that not any different from your vision of Apophis? Apophis does not lie to those who worship him, like your Kings do."

"My father keeps us safe."

"Is that why Memphis got sacked by the Hyksos?"

Ahkmen glowered but had no comeback––he had been there the evening of the battle, heard the cries of thousands and seen blood dripping from the chests of soldiers and mothers. His father was in Thebes to overlook a festival, leaving him alone with his elder brother who had little idea on what to do but run away. After that, his father moved the capital to Thebes, waiting for Memphis to be properly rebuilt before it earned the company of the Pharaoh.

"I saw you that night," you said, and a smile came to you, entirely unlike the smile Apophis had given him with glittering fangs. This one was soft, dimpled, and not maimed by sharp teeth. "I was one of the palace servants at the time... I walked to Thebes with you."

You yawned, the casted shadows of the fire's embers highlighting the dark circles beneath your eyes.

"You're going to fall into the fire," he said after a moment's silence, his throat choking itself as his voice strained.

For a minute or two you sat, staring with burning eyes into the fire.

"Bring me to bed," you murmured, just barely audible through the sleep already overtaking your swaying body.

"Uh..." He glanced away, unsure of what you wanted.

When you didn't move, he tentatively moved forward, easily manipulating your limbs so he could carry you in his arms, walking you to the nearby bed. The lavish blankets and covers surrounded you, bringing a long, satisfied sigh from you.

Before Ahk could think of what to do next, you were tugging at his hand, weakly attempting to pull you down with him.

"He wants you here," you mumbled, half your face buried in the pillows. "He does not trust you to free roam our temple, but He trusts me. I will keep you safe."

"In your condition?" He snorted as he tried to rid himself of your grasp. You held on surprisingly well.

You looked up unmoving for a moment, till you reluctantly sat yourself up, breathing deeply as you did. Turning to face him, you moved your hands from his to his waist, dragging him forcefully onto the bed. Both of you stood on your knees, chests and noses barely brushing together. You breathed, simply as you could, staring into him just as he did to you, attempting to read each other in languages you could not understand. Heat entwined together.

"I can still smell your desire," you whispered, flickering down to his lips. "It's stronger now."

"I desire you alone more than I do Apophis," he murmured, his heart racing within his chest, terrified you could feel it beat without even having to touch him. Singing in the space between you. A fierce jealousy welled in him––a sense of protectiveness.

"Then sleep with me," you said softly, pulling away and pulling him with you.

He once again found himself entirely hypnotized, entranced by your beauty and helpless to do anything but your bidding. You brought him to lie on the mounds of blankets and pillows, shifting him onto his back as you slithered up his body, pinning him down with your weight.

For a little while you continued to stare at him, but soon you lowered yourself to the crook of his neck. There you nuzzled yourself, your nose poking his jaw as your hands took their places––one on his shoulder, the other cradling the opposite side of his neck.

"Keep me warm," you mumbled. "The venom of the cold-blooded still runs through me."

A prisoner to the poison of Apophis.

"... alright," he whispered back.

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 7)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Speed of Sound

Next Chapter: Red Strings of Fate

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

Double Update today, because these two chapters go hand in hand. It didn't feel right to upload one without the other.

Chapter 7: Bird of Flame

You faced Todo off in a clearing. Everyone else was at the far side watching. “Just run away if it gets too much.” You worriedly said to Miwa and Mai pushing them back.

“It’s okay, I’ll hold off any attacks.” Noritoshi assured you. You beamed up at him, “Thanks senpai.”

“Someone’s being awfully friendly today.” Momo half coughed and half murmured out. Noritoshi just gave her the side eye.

As per your style of fighting, you stayed still if you did not know of your opponent’s cursed technique.

“I won’t immobilise you this time since we are sparring.” You called out to Todo. “Fine with me!”

You could hold out your protective space warping around you for several hours. You just had to make sure it was activated in the space around you.

Todo didn’t hesitate to start off with punches and kicks. Nothing moved you of course. 5 minutes passed with him getting nowhere. Is that all he has?

You narrowed your eyes, but lifted a hand to push him back into a tree. You manipulated its branches such that they were all pointing to him. He was about to hit them until he clapped his hands and suddenly, you were there.

Your eyes widened, barely having time to brace yourself as you guarded for impact. You hit the branches hard. “Shit.” Looks like you might have to use your extended techniques against him.

He was in front of you in a split second and you quickly moved to dodge. You tried to maneuver your way around him, but it was hard to pinpoint the exact origin of the hits as he kept swapping your positions before landing a hit.

Sometimes, when you brace for a hit, he doesn’t swap your positions. How annoying!!! Of course your spacial barrier is still active and taking the hits for you, but it does have its limits.

Moving at mach speed in a short distant range won’t help you too much as it’s better for transport rather than combat.

You breathed out low and slow, before channeling your concentration into your 6th sense. Spatial awareness. Faster and faster, you started bracing for his hits and pushing him back.

And when he was unprepared you lashed out with your hidden twin blade only for him to dodge it. You can’t deny that the 2nd year's have more experience than you in battle. And Todo's specialty is obviously close combat.

You had both blades out now quickly slashing at him dangerously. He avoids it and the slashes cut all the way to the trees behind him.

You gave in, sheathing your blades and turning around to recuperate but he was faster as he finally caught you by the arm. “I got you!”

You grinned. Who got who?

With one hand, you straightened 4 fingers out towards Todo and folded your thumb into your palm. “Extension cursed technique, focus range: Niflheim”. Your applied cursed technique slows down the movement of molecules in an enclosed area, forcing items to freeze.

A layer of ice covered Todo’s entire body. The branches that binded around him were also covered with ice, stretching behind him in an ice pillar.

You quickly released your hand from his hold and slowly breathed to the sky, releasing an icy smokey breath. You turned around with a slow smile. “Checkmate”

He struggled against the ice but, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That is way under 0 degrees celsius. You might lose a limb or 2 Todo senpai.”

He sighed, “I g-g-guh-give!” He could barely utter the words as his teeth chattered. You gently focused on raising the temperature, melting the ice off of Todo first. You couldn’t do it too fast or else he would combust.

As soon as he was free you reached out and applied your reversed cursed technique on him, healing the cold in his body. “Thank you so much for the match! It’s been a while since I felt that much fun in battle!” You excitedly said.

“Good game. As expected of my little sister, you’re very strong.” Todo patted your head. You stared, “Excuse me, whose little sister??”

“You should have buried him y/n!” Momo exclaimed. “Hear hear.” Mai chanted. Mechamaru just said, “I almost got buried by her once. She should have done the same with him.” You just laughed, “It’s okay, I’m satisfied with this.”

You turned to Noritoshi and he walked up to you and Todo went back. At this distance, the others couldn’t hear your conversation. “That was incredible.” He had a very proud smile on his face. “I hope you take our fight seriously as well. That’s all I ask of you.” He whispered.

“Of course I will senpai. But like with Todo senpai, I won’t use immobilisation techniques so we can spar properly okay?”

“Okay” he patted your shoulder and gave it a small squeeze before moving backwards. ‘Kamo clan, blood manipulation. They can manipulate their blood freely.’ you thought to yourself.

Your eyes zeroed in on his bow and arrows. The smell of blood was always on him, but you bet he had blood on those arrows. “Begin!”

He launched arrows at you only for you to stop them. Projectiles were the worst thing he could do. You frowned as you turned the arrows on him and sent them back. He dodged and shot more.

What on earth? This was so ineffective against yo-

He suddenly came from the side and punched you. Diversionary tactics dummy, you didn’t think about it.

You got pushed back from the force but stood your ground. He was insanely fast for a human. He is currently faster than Todo and any of the male cousins whom you’ve fought with.

It was a jarring experience. “Flowing Red Scale” He moved backwards, one eye wide open with a red blood x mark on it.

Your brain went into overdrive in a hurry to connect the dots while you defended against him. Blood. Red blood cells. Oxygen. He’s increasing his physical abilities.

You quickly lashed out with a double kick only for him to bring out a blood bag. “Blood manipulation: Crimson binding”. Blood strands wrapped around you and caged you in.

But you froze them and easily broke it in the process. You hurried to try and bring him down with mixed martial arts, not wanting to hurt him too much.

Sparring with him actually felt like a dance. You dodged and had an instinct as to where the next move would come from, and he was the same. Barely any hits landed on each other for a while.

Ah right, you promised to go hard on him. You put two hands out in a V shape, with palms facing him. Noritoshi’s eyes widened at the familiar hand signs. It’s the very first one you showed him.

“Tatsumaki” A huge horizontal cyclone hit him and forced him back. “Enhanced Gravity: Output level 4%”

“Aarghhh” Noritoshi groaned as he was forced to the ground. You didn’t notice his hands moving.

“Convergence! Piercing blood” a sudden fast stream of blood shot out and grazed your cheek. It would have been worse had you not moved your head aside. Noritoshi’s eyes widened as blood poured from the wound.

You quickly made tree branches hold his hands apart and forced him back onto the ground. You pointed both your twin blades at his head. “I give!”

You released your technique and knelt down. “Are you oka-”

“Are you okay? I hit your face!” He exclaimed in worry, hand hovering just over your cheek. You stared at him in amusement. “It’s a serious matter!!” he insisted.

You covered your face with one hand, then wiped off the blood to reveal a flawless cheek. He gaped, “Reverse cursed technique. I see. Good fight” He wheezed out.

"You actually hit through my defenses in battle. That was amazing Noritoshi senpai." You whispered in amazement. There was something different about the blood he manipulated.

His bond to it was far stronger than your hold over his blood. So if you tried manipulating his blood, it's a low chance that you could get it to attack him.

You can manipulate anything and everything, even at molecular levels to some extent. But you can't produce what's not there. There seems to be a limit to your manipulation over certain items.

"I still lost. Thank you for the match." He said.

You held his hand for the first time as you pulled him up, when suddenly a searing pain hit the inside of your wrist.

"Ouch!" You exclaimed while Noritoshi winced as well. You both pulled back your sleeves to see a large bird surrounded by flames just below the inner wrist on your right hand. Noritoshi had the exact same symbol, but it was in the inner wrist on his left hand.

You quickly pulled over both your sleeves to cover the markings, “Just say we both got wounds, let’s keep this a secret.” You pulled back and acted on purpose, “Good fight. You almost got me there.”

He naturally followed your lead, but there was a brightness to his eyes that told of something else. “.... Yeah you got me. I’ll do my best to catch up to you next time we spar.”

“What happened?” Utahime ran towards the both of you upon seeing you both flinch forward. “No, Utahime sensei we just got some scrapes that stung badly, nothing too bad.”

“I see. I have a first aid kit on hand, feel free to use it if you need to.” She said, and pushed you two back to where everyone else was.

You both stayed at the back watching the other students ask to spar with each other. Noritoshi quietly tugged at your sleeve, hidden from view with his own large and wide sleeves.

You tugged back twice on his sleeve and grabbed his hand to squeeze it. His hands were rough and calloused from fighting, but also had a tenderness and warmth from the way they tried to hold onto yours.

Both your marks flashed with heat when your hands touched. Noritoshi turned to you with all the world's curiosity in his face.

But you pulled back and put some distance between the two of you so it wouldn't look too obvious. "That binding technique that you did earlier was cool. Is it possible for you to manipulate the blood even after I freeze it solid?" You asked to try and divert the attention.

"Actually I haven't tried yet. But I should be able to as the main composition is still my blood." He admitted.

The remaining time left on the field was spent mostly on the others working on their cursed techniques against each other, and with you engaging in tactical discussion with the other students.

You all bid each other goodbye and went your separate ways. Except… Noritoshi mouthed "library" after he waved you off.

You lifted your eyebrows silently in agreement and walked back with the rest of the 1st year's.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[sunflowerheartsandstarryskies]

The Devil and the Mermaid - Chapter Four (Lucifer x Mermaid!Reader)

Author’s Note: The inspiration here came from a dream of mine, also one of my favorite shows “The Legend of the Blue Sea” has some heavy inspiration in here as well. Thank you so much for the support of the series! I will also create a tag list for this story since I saw people interested in that. Again I love reading your guys’ comments and if you want to be part of a tag list for this series please let me know :)

Warnings: None, maybe mild violence? (You shove a guy out of the way)

Taglist: @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al, @magnet-girl, @roxytheimmortal​

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You were covered in darkness, but you were adjusted to the darkness, you lived in the dark with your clan who usually swims in the parts of the ocean where the light just barely touched your skin. 

However instead of the comforting warmth and assurance, you had when you were a woman swimming with your clan, your family, it was a lingering warmth and a reassurance that had made you realize you were dreaming and not of your memories. 

“(Y/N) you have met an interesting fate having fallen for Lucifer,” a voice echoed around you. You looked around in the dark space to search for the voice but found no answer to that.

“I would not have known of your existence if you hadn’t gone out of that water, it’s strange what this world has created once I left it.”

“Are you the moon? What do you mean by that? All I know is what I have been taught and seen when I was in the ocean”

“You could say I am the moon, but I am more than that and also less than that at the same time. I affect the world around me indirectly but you have caused quite a stir where I am at with your involvement with Lucifer, I wish you the best of luck and the best of health.”

With that, you were startled from your sleep by pressure on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes to see Lucifer smiling at you. Once he saw you were awake he went to say, “Good morning my dear, have a good dream?”

“Funny you should mention that, I heard a voice say that they were the moon, I think anyway. I don’t quite remember what they said but I remember your name,” you say as you start sitting up from the bed.

Lucifer sat down next to you as he took in what you said, humming in thought, he turned to you and patted your shoulder.

“Well the only one I know that could do that, would be my Dad, but I don’t know why he would want to talk to you.”

After a couple of days, you have gotten well versed with different aspects of human life and culture, mainly you are not allowed to eat spaghetti with your hands. You also have gotten interested in the tv that had got you basically hooked on the subtleties of different subsets of human culture, one being that if bad men are about to hurt you you can beat them up.

“Anyway, darling remember when I was talking to you about my consulting job for the police?”

You nodded remembering the different stories of his workplace along with his partner, Chloe. She seemed weird but nice from what you heard from him. 

“Well, I have to go in today there is a case that the police department says they need my help with,” Lucifer continued, “and I want you to come with me.”

“I would like to, is it going to be like what I saw on tv with how they deal with violence?” you asked.

“Kind of, it depends, now love let’s get you ready for the day and we can get going.”

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

You and Lucifer walked into a one-story house it looks plain and forgettable with its beige outside paint and white shingled roof. There were also some beautiful hydrangea bushes in the front, and you noticed them because they were the only splash of color in the whole property. There were police officers around the property and you saw one documenting the bushes. You tilt your head as you were stalling to enter the house and saw footprints underneath the bushes. 

“(Y/N) are you okay? Come on,” Lucifer urged on. He leads you into the home, and you immediately see the crime scene.

 It was an execution. Plain and simple. The victim was a young woman from what you saw, and she was shot point-blank in the back of the head as she was sitting on her couch, she probably knew the killer, since the tv was still on. 

The aquarium was direct across from the living room, and you saw the fish in there was trying to get your attention. You can hear the voices of the fish repeatedly crying out, “He hurt her! Help her! He was her friend” You looked at the aquarium and the fishes seem to surround you as they try to talk to you through the glass. ‘Can you show me what he looked like,’ you broadcasted to the fish. 

Lucifer was looking at you confused at what you were doing and was about to talk to you when he got interrupted.

“Oh no, you did not bring a civilian to a crime scene” you hear a voice coming towards you. 

“Ah detective, how good to see you again, and this is (Y/N) she is my assistant and friend,” Lucifer says. 

You turn your head away from the aquarium and saw a stressed blonde woman coming towards you, and you realized that this must be Chloe Decker. She tilted her head with furrowed brows and a hand to her hip as she eyes you. 

“Why would you need an assistant?” Decker questioned.

“You know there are always things that I could miss out on while we’re out here and plus don’t you want someone who can put me in line and in order for once?” Lucifer replied.

“That’ll be the day,” Decker snorted.

You tugged on the jacket sleeve on Lucifer to get his attention to you, and he leaned for you to whisper to tell him the thoughts and profile the fish given to you about the person who committed the murder.

“Oh that’s brilliant, darling, see Detective my assistant just gave us a solid lead to go off of. We have a suspect!” Lucifer exclaimed as he grabs your hand and leads you out of the crime scene.

“Wait a minute can you tell me what means?” Decker ran off to you two.

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

So the three of you ended up at an apartment building on the opposite side of Los Angeles waiting to interview the suspect that the fish had identified to you at the victim’s home. 

Lucifer ended up filling into Decker that you had deduced based on the footprints outside the house and the way she was killed, it was someone she knew intimately enough to let the person in without a second glance. You just confirmed that for him with the description of the man the fish saw kill their owner, Blaire Wright. He also found that there was a single picture of him and the victim together faced down so he connected the dots to realize that the relationship must’ve turned to an obsession for the man and had gone possessive over the woman. The old “if I can’t have her nobody can” cliche, which made Lucifer quite bored about that trope but you can’t always choose what happens in your cases. 

You all made your way to the apartment building, Decker went to find out from the landlord about the suspect and you and Lucifer were ordered to stay out in the parking lot. You spotted the man that matched the description the fish gave you and the picture Lucifer showed to verify it. His name was Oscar Grant, and he’s suspected to have developed an obsessive behavior over Ns. Wright … and he was heading your way.

Lucifer seemed to be aware of it as he straightened himself and walked over to where the man was walking into the parking lot. 

You felt a strange sensation of being submerged in the water again, you felt heavy and light all at the same time. You couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but you felt the danger and sensation of a cornered animal, and that’s when you felt that you had to move. So you did. Grant pulled a gun but as soon as he did you grabbed his forearm and threw him towards the dumpsters that were ten feet away from him. You may have used a bit too much of your strength. There was now a new dent behind Grant that there wasn’t there before and a shocked looking Lucifer next to you and staring at the gun in between you and the culprit.

You heard Decker walking behind you and you heard her go with a bewildered voice, “How in the-?”

When he came to a few seconds later, he was given his rights by Decker and placed in the back of her car off the police department. While you were walking up to you and Lucifer’s ride you felt a lingering gaze on your back throughout that entire encounter. You just shook your head in an attempt to get rid of that feeling. 

Later on, Oscar Grant ended up confessing to both the attempted murder of you and Lucifer and the murder of Blaire Wright. Decker relented upon the idea of Lucifer bringing you to cases because you ended up being a pretty good asset. 

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

Now you were back at Lucifer’s penthouse and you were in pajamas lounging around the bar area in his place. Lucifer was down at the LUX club area taking care of some business that he needed to get done as he told you. 

There was a small pool that he had in his apartment which you found, and you can hear the call of the water no matter its state. So you took off your clothes and went in the pool, your tail and scales came as soon as you were submerged and your whole body was singing with happiness as it felt alive again. 

The more you spend on land without the return of the love that you came out of the water for, your heart will stop beating unless you step back in the ocean. You forgot to tell Lucifer about that specific part of the deal of you coming on land because you didn’t want him to feel the pressure of returning a love that might not be real, to begin with. 

You begin to worry about what might happen if he found out you didn’t tell him the whole truth of your situation to him. You didn’t want him to concerned for your fate, because you never know what might happen there might be a happy ending for you both.

As you were swimming in the small pool brooding in your thoughts you heard the elevator ping, so you peaked your head over the corner of the pool. When you just saw it was Lucifer and no one else you let yourself be seen by him.

“Well hello there, I see you have found my pool then?” Lucifer greeted you. You beamed at him and nodded fervently at that.

“Y’know I never actually saw you as your original mermaid self? Is it alright if I watch you swim?”

“Um sure if you want to, I’m not the most beautiful, there are others in just my clan that have amazing scales and tail fin,” you state.

“Let me be the judge of that, love-” he cut himself off with a mouth agape look as he marveled at your full beauty.

Your tail was massive and the scales decorating and protecting your body were glittering with a rainbow of colors complementing your skin tone. It made you look heavenly and the flowing tail at the end made you look that way even more so.

You became self-conscious at the way Lucifer was just staring at you, so became to fidget under his heavy gaze in the water.

Then he spoke gently, “You are beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Thank you for letting me see your true self like this.”

“Thank you Lucifer, that means a lot to me.”

The brooding can wait, you have time to be hopeful and to think about that happy ending.

[applsauss]

Letters | War-tober #18

Description: “Read it to me?” When you speak your voice cracks with disuse.

Fandom: Band of Brothers


Pairing: Ronald Speirs/Reader

Word Count: 1.9k+

Warning(s): None.

      “We ain’t get any letters for a while now…” O’Keefe breaks the tepid silence without thought, as if he doesn’t spend every moment not filled with gunfire spiraling with dread. 

“Nope,” Perconte says around his toothbrush. 

You squint up at the white sun, then close your eyes and chase the colors dancing behind your eyelids. It is a dull pain that takes the edge off the darker thoughts prowling the corners of your mind. The acrid smelling smoke rising from the cigarette in your right hand fills your nose, and you flick it so the ashes crumble, then are taken by the breeze.

Germany is peaceful. Spring is melting the frigid countryside bit by bit and when the wind picks up, you don’t shiver anymore. It is the type of cold like shade on a summer day, not something bone chilling and desperate--a reminder of the dead.

The birches planted along the road sway while the countryside takes another long breath, their leaves flashing silver under the pale blue sky, and you watch this marvel of nature without comment, utterly still. 

"You think they'll come in soon?" O’Keefe asks. 

“Nope,” Perconte responds again.

"Well, I hope they do," O'Keefe barrels on with an optimistic lilt to his voice. 

This is the final straw for Perconte. He pulls the toothbrush from his mouth and braces his forearm on his knee. "Why? Got a dame back home to get ahold of? O'Reilly?" 

You let out a sharp breath from your nose. No matter how much the replacements bother you, they always seem to drive Perconte the furthest up the wall. Everyone's lost their fuses since Toccoa, the Krauts have gone around the circle with scissors halving them. Discipline helped you survive Sobel, but you've traded that, along with your patience, in for the reflexes and nerves honed only in battle. 

You are not so different that you are unrecognisable as that paratrooper who spent that night of nights praying to god for mercy over the English Channel, but you are changed, like that person you were before was nothing more than a cast, and now the common Easy Company soldier is poured and forged of iron. 

O'Keefe seems to consider Perconte's question, then after a moment he fumbles over his answer. "...Yes?"

Perconte turns sharply towards you. "Now that's a lie if I ever heard one." 

You are tired, the memory of the fear you felt in that flying fortress enough to drag your heart down until it is barely beating. You bring the cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers up to your lips and take a drag to try and calm down. "Leave the kid alone, Perco," you mumble. 

Annoying as he is, O'Keefe is right about one thing. You haven't gotten a letter for a very long time. Not just because they haven't been delivered, though. Nobody's writing anymore--not even your parents. It's not that they don't love you, but you think that they've already finished mourning you. 

Everyone back home, they've made peace with never seeing you again. Whether you die today or live tomorrow, it wouldn't make a difference to them because you'd still be gone. They've moved on, not for any fault of yours or theirs, it's simply been too long since they've seen your face. 

This is just one more thing that drives the wedge between the common Easy Company soldier and replacements deeper. There is this deep, ugly resentment that seizes your heart and fills your mouth when you watch those boys walk around as if they are still loved, while you know in your body that you are not. 

What’s worse than that is that the funny thing the men have been saying is right. Germany is the best you've had it this whole war--better than France, or England or even your own Toccoa. Germany is the closest you've felt to home since you stepped foot on the train that dragged you away from it. 

Perconte clicks his tongue at you, then sticks his toothbrush back into his mouth, the bristles nearly flat from use. "Take that fuckin' thing outta your mouth," you grouse. 

"Not everyone wants to rot their teeth with them cigarettes," he defends halfheartedly. Squabbling is a comfortable pastime you've honed. 

"Perco,” you shoot back, “you're one annoying sunnuvabitch." 

"He's not that bad!" O'Keefe is quick to jump to Perconte's defense, and the sound of his voice makes annoyance pinch in your gut. 

Both you and Perconte round on O’Keefe at the same moment. "Shut up!" 

Nobody shuts up. O'Keefe keeps talking about home like it's down the road, Perco keeps sniping at him, his sharp words flying right over the replacement's head, and you take another drag from your cigarette, then stare down at the mud between your boots. Fuck, you wish you had a letter to read. 

Gravel crunches under foreign feet, and all three of you glance up as Captain Speirs walks past in that dangerous, prowling way he does. He doesn't look at you, but the sight of him churns your stomach--just not in the same way it makes Perco gulp nervously. Everyone in Easy has gotten a little more comfortable around Speirs (Bar Talbert, who tries to compare him to Winters every chance he gets, only to disappoint himself), but the air still changes when he's near. It is the shocking cold feeling of being alert. 

You wait till Speirs disappears from sight, then put your cigarette out in the dirt and pocket it, fed up with your current company. “I’m gonna go sniff around for some food,” you say before standing abruptly and stalking off in the same direction you last saw Speirs. 

---

He's in your thoughts more often than not. 

When you're staring down at the puppy chow the cooks serve you, when you're shivering under your thin blanket watching the stars, when you’re washing your face in a bucket of dirty water, when you're pressed up against your fellow soldier being shelled to bits, more often than not he's in your thoughts. 

Speirs’ face is leagues better than the last one you were stuck on (your neighbor's while he waved you off to war, two years older than you and a college boy, too smart for you anyways).

"Sergeant." You nearly jump out of your skin when Speirs' voice rings out from the dark alley to your left. He steps into the light, emerging from the liquid darkness like he is born from the obscurity. 

You startle for a moment, your hand settled over your stuttering heart, then you close your eyes. "Sir." 

Speirs hums quietly and says your name then, cradles it in his mouth before the affection bleeds through the syllables and your chest expands with warm breath and something else--some emotion entirely too strong for you to name. 

There is a delicateness to his features that seemed foreign until you traced it for the first time with your fingers, learned that he tastes of the same liquor you and your pals pass around the fire. 

Now when you think of Speirs, of that low camber of his voice, of his dark eyes as he watches you, his long eyelashes and the bow of his lips, there is no danger. You are as familiar with him as you are yourself. 

“Ron,” you utter, voice unchecked.

---

In your memories, it is morning. The winter sun is struggling to peak over the horizon and the dawn is a solemn blue-gray, as if it is afraid to break the silence. You are afraid to break the silence as well, as you pull the covers off your naked legs and take in your first breaths of wakefulness. 

The radiators have no such qualms. It is so quiet you can hear the house whispering with each breath it takes, and then they click on all at once and the house is filled with the sound of that comforting rumble, a promise of warmth.

You make your way through the house, bare feet sticking to the cold hardwood floor, and you hear your father in the kitchen, fussing with the coffee pot. There is something sacred in the mundane, in the everyday. This moment in time will live with you forever.

---

You spoon the warm beans into your mouth and close your eyes. Eating this meager dinner feels better than anything ever has before after two days without, but there is an exhaustion that sits right behind your eyes now--always. 

“We’ve got it better here than we’ve had it anywhere else. Isn’t it kind of bullshit?” Luz gripes from beside you. 

You are sitting at the top of the steps of some shop front, leaning against the awning. Luz and Johnny are cramped in beside you, and Cobb, Liebgott, Malarkey and Jancovek are sitting below you. Liebgott is resting his back against your shins, you can feel the warmth of him through your pants and when he shifts, his shoulder blades knock against your knees. 

You don’t pay much attention to anything said after that. The night is turning dark and the silver clouds obscure the stars from sight. Faintly you wonder if the Germans feel the same way you do, or maybe they’re more upset because now they are fighting in their own country. 

“Hey,” Liebgott says suddenly, shifting so your legs move with his weight. “Any of yous got letters to read?” 

The question makes your heart twist painfully. You’ve lost your appetite. 

---

Despite how hard you fight it, when given a moment of respite your thoughts, without fail, turn homeward. You are no longer in Germany, aware of krauts or guns and bullets, but you are a child and the smell of food cooking in the kitchen fills your nose. You are a teenager tripping over the shoes in front of the door, late once again to meet with your friends. 

You are unaware of the world, laying on the hardwood floor with stripes of sunlight shaped by the windows across your bare skin. The window is open, the breeze smells like baked asphalt and grass. A dog is barking. The leaves on the tree in your frontyard shimmer and flash like scales. 

Your mother calls your name. 

Your father laughs. 

Speirs sighs, and you blink your eyes, suddenly staring at the cracked ceiling of someone else’s childhood bedroom. 

Night falls quicker than you’re used to in this part of the world. Candlelight bounces off a pile of silver in the corner and is alight in Ron’s dark eyes. 

He is sitting up, back against the headboard, the blankets around his waist as he stares at a letter he received today. 

You huddle into the quilt, curled up in your side. You trace the lines of his face with your eyes before your attention drops to the letter. There is a bitterness in your mouth you bite back. A loneliness--a longing you cannot control. 

Home. 

You think of your home.

“Read it to me?” When you speak your voice cracks with disuse. You clear your throat before repeating the question once more, only with less confidence.

Ron’s eyes flick to you and he regards you for a long moment before his eyes soften with something like empathy, something like love--and maybe those two things are in practice, the same.

He clears his throat and begins narrating the letter from his mother without much inflection, though in just hearing the kind words of a mother you can pretend to feel the love of one. And with that you close your eyes and slowly, slowly drift to sleep to the sound of Ron’s voice filling the gentle darkness, traveling out the window and into the night--warm like candlelight and soft like the shade of a tree in springtime.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule | War-tober Prompts

[mlmreaderfics]

You Look Quite Divine Tonight (Cthulhu x Lighthouse Keeper!Male Reader)

The years have not been kind to you.

You are grizzled, old, scarred from your face to your heart, and tired. Your hair has gone white from age, along with your beard, and wrinkles break up the symmetry of your sandpaper skin. Your voice constantly aches and itches from yelling and overuse, though you appreciate the light Scottish accent you allegedly have. It makes you seem tougher than you actually are. There are callouses and blisters on your fingers, palms, feet from work. For work on the sea is anything but easy.

The sea has not been kind to you.

On occasion you find yourself with a strange, salty taste in your mouth. You used to know whether it was the ocean or your own tears. Your eyelashes freeze, yet you feel the most comfortable in the cold, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself. You are very tired. Ever since hitting your ripe age of “too old to go to sea, but too young to retire properly” you took the toll of a lighthouse keeper. When you got here, it was supposed to be six weeks, with a young, scrappy helper that reminded you of yourself. Instead, he hung himself from the rope while he was supposed to be repainting the blistering white tower. Maybe he hated you. It wouldn’t surprise you, although it’s the first time anybody has taken their own life just to get away from you. You didn’t know him, yet you feel immense sorrow. Perhaps you were being too parental. You do tend to get attached.

The world has not been kind to you.

You never really knew your mother, she left before you were ten, and your father was colder than the ocean himself. Yes, you tend to refer to inanimate objects as “him,” but those rich men call their boats “her,” so who are they to judge? Though, perhaps it is because they see you as a predator, an animal itching to get its hands on any man it can find. But that’s not what you want. What you do want, you’re not sure, but it wouldn’t be just any man, and it wouldn’t be just for sex, throwing yourself around dark alleyways like a London whore. Though, you are just as tired as they are. It was supposed to be six weeks.

You have resided here, alone and without rescue, for a year. You think.

Thankfully, you have enough food to last you another six months. There’s been no ship to come rescue you from this rock, perhaps they no longer have a need for lighthouses. Maybe those children with their inventions figured out how to navigate the sea blindfolded, backwards, and in the dark. but they wouldn’t just leave you here, right?

You decide not to think about it. Thankfully, you have a very worthwhile distraction.

Whilst searching through the house, you notice one of the floorboards sounds off when you step on it. It takes you about five minutes to crouch down to the floor, but in the end, it’s worth it. You knock on the floor. Sounds like normal. You move your scarred fist to the left, three raps following. Also normal. Left once more.

There it is. The knock is echoed slightly, the wood hollow underneath.

It takes you ten minutes to get up off the floor, but thankfully you have a newfound adrenaline. You hobble over to the toolshed outside.

You make a point of not looking to your right, knowing you will find some of the grisly remains of your crew-mate, your excitement giving you tunnel vision to the crowbar. You rush back and bend over, your back loudly protesting as you attempt to pry back the floorboard. One push. Then two. Then three.

With a loud crack, the board splinters away, revealing a small hole with a book inside. It appears to be a journal.

————————————————————————————

Though you eat dinner that night, your health is the furthest thing on your mind as you theorize what the book could be. A book of spells? A tale as old as time itself? Maybe just pretty pictures? Whatever it is, the fact that new information is occupying your head is enough.

When you finally get a chance to sit down and begin to read, you notice an important sentence on the front page:

“This journal belongs to: Gustaf Johansen.”

Well, whoever this Gustaf character is, you are sure to be fascinated by him!

————————————————————————————

January 12, 1792.

Today marks my first day on the sea. While I do admit that I may come down with a minor sickness, I still have faith in my comrades to help me, as I shall help them.

———————————————————————————

You scan the pages, word by word. It details six months of a life at sea, similar to yours. Gustaf is (allegedly) described by his friends as “a man with strength and beauty to rival Thor himself.” Though you doubt that description, you can’t help but entertain the handsome image.

He’s holding your hand, rubbing his thumb on the back of it. Smiling, he nestles his head between your head and shoulder.

You shake your head. It’s ridiculous, no one is coming to save you.

_________________

April 20, 1792.

I have been having frequent dreams of a place I have yet never seen. I find myself under the ocean surface, far from dry land. And yet, in the murky waters, I see a glowing, beautiful city.

——————-

That night, you have the same dream.

You don’t think anything of it.

You continue to read.

_____________________

May 2, 1792.

The dream has come again, but now I hear a chorus of people. Or perhaps, not people, but simply voices. They speak in a language I do not recognize, yet still understand. They speak of the coming of a god, a Great Old One.

They call this being Cthulhu.

—————

Underneath the entry,  a sentence, phrase, or paragraph in an unknown language, presumably the one from the dreams, is written. It is a terrible mess of consonants and apostrophes. Though, it is still somewhat readable. Your pronunciation is messy, but you get through it.

Mggoka'ai ya, throdog gn'th

nog, uh'eog ot shugg

Y' nogephaii

nogephaii l' ya, gn'bthnknyth

nogephaii l' ya, orr'e

nogephaii l' ya, cthulhu

You finish the final syllable. Nothing happens.

In a burst of anger, you grab a flare from the supplies closet and walk out into the night.

Standing on the beach, you light the flare, waving it around. The sky is black, not a star in sight. “Please, help me!” you cry. “Please, anybody! I’m right here!” Tears burn your eyes and run down your cheeks. You muster all the strength in your lungs.

“I’M RIGHT HEREEE!!!”

With the final syllable, the ground shakes. Did somebody finally hear you? Are they coming to help you, after a lifetime of isolation?

It shakes again, your take a few steps to regain you balance.

Again. Your knees wobble.

Again. You fall, and a great deal of pain does not fill your body. In fact, you feel a great sense of rejuvenation in your bones.

Again. You manage to get up, seeing bubbles on the ocean surface.

Slowly, a mixture of flesh and scales emerges from the sea. Two sets of burning red eyes lie below. A strange beard of tentacles. A hugely muscled body with miles-wide wings. And when he speaks, you feel it in your chest.

“I do not recognize you, my beloved.”

You stare in fear, the flare still belching smoke.

“Lovely mortal, fear not. My beloved, Gustaf, had the most beautiful soul.”

The tentacles on his face gently wrap around you and lift you up. You find yourself between his eyes.

“You have that same soul deep within you.”

You begin to cry once more. The tentacles are surprisingly not as freezing as you thought they would. Instead, they fill your body with loving warmth.

“I-I apologize.” You say. “I have not been held like this since…”

You look back on your life, quickly.

“No one has ever held me like this,” you admit. Your voice is small, lost, broken.

“Then I am honored to be the first.”

His centuries-deep voice is filled with love. He speaks your name softly.

“Wouldst thou like to experience the pleasure of a god?”

“Yes,” you whisper desperately. You quickly unbutton your shirt, but the tentacles take care of your clothes for you. He laughs like rolling thunder.

He devours you, body and soul.

[scarletaire]

homeland (Chapter 6)

A/N: Here we are at the end! And Cardan isn't quite done surprising Jude just yet.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Genre/s: Contains Fluff, Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Smut

Rating: E

Tags: Post-QON, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Protective!Cardan, Bewildered!Jude, Jude and Cardan discuss the Undersea, but they get a little Distracted

Description: 

Cardan’s eyes flash open.

“Why?” he repeats, and Jude feels the power shift between them. “Don’t you remember, wife?” he croons. “It was the Undersea who stole you away from me.”

And Jude has only enough time to think, danger, before he lunges at her.

or:

Cardan and Jude work on removing their armor. Taking off this particularly stubborn piece happens in varying states of undress.

Links: Masterlist | AO3

“This is a stupid idea.”

“Have you known me to have any other kind?”

He has her there. Jude tugs at the blindfold around her eyes. “Where are we even going?”

“To the beginning and the end of all this.”

“What does that –” Her voice cuts off as the boat rocks precariously beneath her. “I really don’t like the sound of that.”

“You like very little, Jude, and that is a problem of yours.”

I was stupid enough to like you, she almost says. Instead she asks, “Why did we have to take a boat? More importantly, why are you the one rowing? You’re the king.” The boat rocks again, and Jude finds herself thinking longingly for a ragwort steed. Steady, secure, reliable — or, well, as reliable as Vivi’s magic allowed them to be.

“Crossing the water myself proves a fine reminder of my position to those who yearn otherwise.”

“A power play? That’s what you woke me up so early for? Cardan, there are a thousand more things that need my attention back at the brugh.”

It was still light out when she’d felt lips behind her ear, nuzzling her awake. They had probably been asleep for a mere few hours at most. She’d woken up slowly and sweetly, like dragging a spoon through thick syrup, with Cardan curled around her — arms, legs, and tail — and his mouth soft on her neck. It was such a stark contrast to how she’d woken up the previous night that Jude melted right back into his embrace, her body heavy and worn out in the best way possible.

But then he was pulling away, coaxing her to get dressed, murmuring into her skin that he had something to show her.

Promising that she would like it.

The fae cannot lie, but that last part has yet to come true.

“I’m taking this blindfold off.”

“Jude –”

She can hear the petulance in his voice and that just makes her rip the stupid thing off even faster.

It turns out that “crossing the water himself” doesn’t much include actual rowing on his part. Instead, iridescent, aquamarine scales flash across the surface of the water underneath them, their movement rippling and propelling the boat forward.

Merfolk.

Pulling their vessel on his whim.

A power play, indeed.

Jude raises an eyebrow at him, impressed despite it all. He continues to pout at her and the blindfold in her hand.

Then, something catches in her mind.

“Salt and seafoam…”

“Hm?”

“Your nightmare.” She’s staring at him now, understanding how it fits together but not quite believing it. “You said that when you dove into the sea and couldn’t find me anywhere, it was because there was nothing left of me but ‘salt and seafoam.’”

“Yes.” The word is like water on burning coals.

“You –” The sentence is inconceivable even when she tries to form it in her mouth. “Have you… have you been reading fairytales? Human fairytales?”

He scoffs. “Nothing Faerie about them.”

A yes, then.

“So –” She’s known about him reading Alice in Wonderland and even wondered at the way he had kept the mortal book in his rooms. It boggles her mind like this next thought does. “So…” How does she say this? She has no clever ruse with which to coat her words, and so she gives up and goes for direct. “The Little Mermaid. That’s what caused your nightmare?”

He cuts her a look, like she’s being stupid. “No, Jude, your kidnapping and prolonged torture at the hands of my brother and the Undersea while I waited powerless and unable to help you was the cause of my nightmare. And many more of its kind before it.”

She doesn’t much like how he speaks to her like he’s explaining something to a child, but she holds her sharp tongue and wields her silence against him.

“But fine.” He doesn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. The mortal tale about the moronic mermaid and her wayward prince may have… exacerbated any woes I may have already been carrying. Don’t know why I bothered,” he grumbles under his breath. “I hate stories.”

“No,” she says, thinking of the way he fancies himself a villain even though he hasn’t truly been one in a long time, “you don’t.”

He looks pointedly over her shoulder. “We’re here.”

And Jude turns her head to see where it is that he has brought her this morning.

She has to shield her eyes a little from the amount of sunlight that refracts off the massive stretch of sparkling sand in front of her.

No, not sand. Ash.

She knows where they are.

Insear.

The beginning and the end of all this, he said.

When they disembark, Cardan holds out his hand to guide her from the boat.

She doesn’t need his help.

She takes his hand anyway.

There is still something of last night humming underneath their skin, and so if they lean into each other’s warmth and stumble across the shimmering shores of the Isle of Ash, a little lovedrunk while they walk — well. There is nary a soul to see.

It’s somehow even more beautiful in the daylight. And with Cardan here, the island seems to unfurl even further, coming alive just a little bit more the moment he steps onto the soil. The air turns sweeter the farther inland they go, the blues and ivories and blacks of the native flowers populating everywhere they turn. When Jude looks back at their footfalls upon the ash, she sees little sprigs of myrtle springing up from the indents they leave behind.

“There’s something I want to check on,” she says when they reach the thicker parts of the forest. “I’ll come find you again.”

“As you like.” Cardan’s gaze is caught on something up ahead. “Dally not, wife.”

When Jude returns to the clearing where they had encountered the fallen falcons the previous night, she finds no trace of them save a single, tawny feather in their wake.

A token.

She pockets it with a smile.

That same smile fades far too fast when she comes back to find Cardan reaching out a hand towards a shrub of suspiciously familiar, dark-petaled flowers.

She’s between him and the shrub in seconds, pushing him away a little too violently.

In that moment, she was more seneschal than queen. And in the next, when her fingers tighten around his lapels out of their own accord, she is more wife than seneschal.

“Did you touch it?” Panic raises her voice. “Did you get any of it on you?”

“No. I didn’t recognize the flora –”

“Idiot, that’s probably the flower that poisoned me.” She’s checking his hands, his clothes, for traces of shimmering, black pollen.

“Is it?” He plucks one and raises it to his face before she can stop him.

“Cardan –”

“Peace, Jude. It cannot harm its maker.”

And Jude pauses, because it’s true. This flower, this island and everything on it, is Cardan’s creation. He is the root, and as he has proven last night, he is also the remedy.

A beat passes between them, and then: “Did it really have to take a noxious, mood-altering flower for you to tell me about my brother?”

Jude scowls at the insinuation. “I was going to.” She weighs the next sentence in her head. “It’s just… easier to talk to someone when you don’t give a crap what they think.”

The human word is out of her mouth before she can reel it back in, but Cardan nods.

“Yes, I think I can understand that.”

She watches him twirl the flower in his hand. With his dark hair and eyes and clothes, it is without the shadow of a doubt that he created it, that it sprung forth from him and his magic. It belongs with him; it is him. She can imagine it pinned to his collar, petals of black glitter, an extension of his essence.

“We should inform the Bomb. Tell her that an antidote won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cardan grins at her like they are old friends trading a secret joke. “I can think of a few ways that an antidote could be useful.”

And Jude feels a thrill up her spine, because there is something conspiratorial in his voice, like he’s letting her in on his plan, like they are in it together, and maybe she enjoys that more than she thought she ever would. Having a partner.

“Scheming, are you?”

“I learned from the best.”

He is always more than what she thinks he is.

“That flower is connected to you. This whole island is, actually.”

“To us,” he corrects immediately, and she marks the strange note in his voice. “The island is connected to us.”

“Me, by extension,” she concedes. “But you raised this island with your own magic.”

He sighs then, as if a great burden has befallen him. “I suppose it now falls to me to name this flower, doesn’t it?”

“Well, you don’t have to name it now. We can always come back later –”

“Bitterblack,” he pronounces solemnly and somberly, and with a swiftness and surety that couldn’t possibly be borne of extemporization.“This bloom, flourishing upon the Isle of Ash, the land raised from my own bitterness, shall henceforth be known as bitterblack.”

“Um.” Jude blinks at his pomp. “Okay. Raised from your bitterness?”

“The birth of Insear marked the moment I deemed the crimes of the Undersea – against you, and against the crown — unforgivable. It was a bitter heart that sowed the seeds of this land. Perhaps it is only fitting that it was a full one that healed its poisons.”

Cardan casts her a sidelong look. He has a way of almost smiling, like the edge of moonlight peeking through the spidersilk canopy of their bed. A gossamer thing, but the light shines through.

A shame that this island will have to go belong to someone else, when she will forever remember Cardan here with her, looking at her like that.

“You brought me here to show me something.”

“Yes.” And oddly enough, his smile freezes a little. Jude narrows her eyes at it.

He leads her towards another clearing among the birches, tucking the bitterblack behind one pointed ear. There is more space here, and the air is crisp and clean, threaded through with the scent of salt and sunshine. The birches stand tall, but the sun reaches high enough to set the ash dusting the tops of the trees afire with crystal brilliance.

“What is this?”

His tail flicks once behind him. “The solution to the Insear claim.”

“What? Wait. You mean you knew how to resolve it all along? Randalin was right. You have been putting it off.”

“Not putting it off, waiting for the right time.”

“It’s been going on for weeks.”

Cardan shoots her a look. “I was supposed to ask you during the revel.”

The events of the revel — and the way it had ended, with Randalin bleeding in her chokehold — play out in her head. “Oh.”

He waves his hand. “No matter. It wouldn’t be the first time you caused a scene in front of the entire kingdom anyway.”

Jude crosses her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it, then. Tell me now so that we can put this whole thing behind us.”

He hesitates.

“Come on. Explain your solution.”

“This isn’t how I planned for this to go.”

“Planned for this to – Cardan. Just spit it out already.”

“Alright, fine,” he hisses. “I want to build a home with you. Here, on Insear.”

For a long moment, Jude wonders if she heard him right.

“Are you drunk?” Even though he couldn’t possibly be.

“I wish.”

“But the claim –”

“Is ours. Rightfully.” He raises his brow at her. “This island is connected to us, raised by my own magic. Isn’t that what you said?”

She stares at him.

“You know how this works, right?” Exasperation is clear in his voice. “I ask you to make a home with me on a new magical island, and you set yourself upon me, your acquiescence falling delightfully from your lips –”

“I do nothing delightfully, Cardan.”

“Oh, I could make a good argument otherwise.”

The entirety of last night, every sordidly delightful detail, flashes behind her eyes.

She clings to any rational thought she can find. “We already have a castle.” She thinks of the brugh, the entire sprawling mass of it. “A really big one.”

“Yes. And the Palace of Elfhame is the first place the High King and Queen should be. But often, it is also the last. A royal castle is just as much a royal warground.” He gives her a meaningful look. “As you and the rest of my family are well aware.”

Jude swallows. “What are you saying?”

“Our brugh will be the first place we make a home of, as monarchs. But it doesn’t have to be the only one.”

He turns her to face the clearing. His arms come around her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder as they gaze out into a landscape stolen straight from the pages of a book.

“We could build something. Right here, in this glade. Where we don’t have to worry about anything. Where nothing else can touch us. We’ll close it off. We’ll come whenever we want. No spies, no interruptions, no watching our backs.”

And Jude recognizes the way he is holding her, because it’s the same way he held her in their secret room behind the throne, confessing the truths of his nightmares. “This is about protection.”

She feels him shrug. “A part of it, yes. Mostly I just want us to never be interrupted again. But there is power in protection. Wouldn’t you like that, Jude?”

Her head is swimming, because he’s put ideas into her brain, of waking up to the smell of birchwood and of walking along a glittering, moonlit shore — and they’re wonderful, damn him. If she’s being honest, those ideas came to her the moment she first stepped foot on Insear, like something in her had taken root in its sparkling soil, but she hadn’t let herself linger over them, knowing that the land would soon be treatied away.

But now, it’s like Cardan’s words have opened the floodgates, and her entire being, connected to Insear through his magic – their magic – thrums with the song of I could live here, I could thrive here, I belong here, and she aches with the rightness of it all.

“It’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she admits, and doing so feels like she’s left her flank vulnerable during an open duel. She twists around in his arms quickly, before she can dwell on it. “But let’s get one thing clear.” Her fingers fist into his collar. “This nonsense about my being your weakness, that’s your problem. Not mine. I refuse to be held back by your fears.”

He nods with more gravity than is probably required. “And I could never ask it of you.”

“Then what do you ask of me now?” And because so much has changed between the two of them, because of everything that has led up to this moment, she adds, “What do you ask of me now and forever?”

He cups her face in his hands even as her fingers tighten on his shirt. “That you stay by my side. Through it all.” His mouth crooks self-deprecatingly. “And that you do not begrudge it too much that I miss you when you’re gone. That I worry. That I fear. Not because you are human, but because I hold you in my heart.”

She hates how swiftly her breath leaves her.

“Okay,” she says, more to steady herself than anything else, because this is a lot, and she’s never been good with dealing with a lot of feelings all at once. “Okay. I –”

“The rest of the kingdom belongs to the crown.” He presses closer, as if he can see her weakening. He takes a breath. “This… this could be ours. Just for us.”

“This island is too big for just the two of us.”

“No, Jude.” The look on his face is a little pained. “Us.”

A breath. A slice of time separating this moment into a before and after.

He isn’t talking about just the two of them. He’s talking about –

“Oh,” she breathes. “Us.”

“Only –” He’s scrambling a little now, she can see it. “Only if you want them.”

Them. Plural.

Jude sways a little. She’s not prepared for this. He should’ve warned her or something, because she doesn’t know how many surprises she can take in such a short amount of time.

Cardan is looking at her funny and she realizes she’s been quiet for too long. Something moves at the corner of her vision, and she realizes it’s his tail, flicking back and forth with the nervousness that he doesn’t show on his face.

“I want –” she begins, and he stills immediately, as if he could live or die on the next words that leave her mouth. “Okay. I don’t actually know what I want. I haven’t really had time to think about it. I want to talk about this. I do. And we’ll have to talk about it one day. But today, I don’t know if — if I know how, today.”

“Very well.” He says the words like he’s learning the shape of them on his tongue for the first time.

“It’s not a ‘no,’” she says quickly, before he gets the wrong idea. “It’s a ‘someday.’ Someday, you can ask me about children again. And in the meantime, I’ll think about when I can say yes. Deal?”

He touches her cheek, gentle, too gentle. “Deal.”

And all too late, she remembers the rule that she’s lived by all her life, the rule she’s broken time and time again when it came to this bewildering, beautiful boy that has made a place for himself between the stained-glass shards of her heart — never make a bargain with a faerie — because really, really, he shouldn’t be smiling like that, not like she’s given him the world when she’s barely even agreed to anything.

“Did you really plan a revel just to ask me about all this?”

“Yes. And you ruined it by taking a slice out of the Minister of Keys.”

Jude can’t help it. She throws her head back and laughs. “You’re a disaster.”

He glares, but there is no heat to it. “Only because you render me into one.”

Then something clicks into place. Something Tatterfell said while lacing her up in the dress he designed for her. For the king’s sake.

“Tatterfell knows.”

“She was most knowledgeable in your living preferences. How you like your room. Your furnishings. Your floors. I decided that I might know them, too.” He glances at the open space before them, at the sheer potential of it all. “Just in case.”

“We’ve been married for months. You could have asked me.”

“Would you have taken me seriously?”

She changes the subject, because he has her there. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A while.” Another shrug, less carefree this time. “Almost as long as the nightmares have come to me.”

Something hard glints in his eyes, and Jude recognizes the sharp lines of revenge if only because she has worn it too many times on her own face.

“All of this was as much a scheme,” he admits, “as it was a proposal to you. For to take a land borne of bitterness and remake it into a land of bliss, it would be –”

“The ultimate power play,” Jude finishes for him.

He grins down at her. It is heady, the realization that only she knows the true, full depths of her husband’s wickedness.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with blissful homes.” She feels the sudden urge to make sure he knows this. That he understands. It’s as much of a promise as she knows how to make. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping one.”

“Nor I. We’ll have to learn together. Knowing you, there’ll be plenty of knives involved. But I think it starts,” he says, gathering her closer, “just like this.”

And when Cardan kisses her, Jude is sure that this is what conquerors must feel like. Because for years, she has fought for her place in Faerie, fought and bled and killed to belong somewhere.

And here it is.

Here it is, and she could dream entire worlds in his arms.

But she doesn’t have to. She has a whole world spread out before her already.

It’s a land of magic, raw and untested, ready to be discovered. A land of possibility, of infinite potential, waiting to be shaped by their hands. A land where sunlight grows and wayward falcons find peace. A land where the future blooms in full color, one amongst the thousands of flowers.

And it is theirs.

Their homeland.

______

Chapter Visuals:

Myrtle. (Love and partnership, marriage.)

End Links:

Everything: an edit.

His Door. (Cardan POV drabble, post-homeland.)

_______   

End Note:

This fic represents a lot of firsts for me: my first completed multi-chaptered story, my first time (heh again) trying my hand at smut, but most importantly, my first time encountering some of the nicest, most thoughtful people as readers.

If you’ve read and followed this little fic of mine up until the end, let me thank you from the bottom of my heart. It’s been an absolute honor to have readers like you. ❤️ I've learned so much from writing this little fic that could, and I hope to continue to grow as a writer. Thank you for coming along with me on this journey and bringing so much value to the fic writing experience – kudos, comments, and your wonderful insights and all. 

As always, you can find me and my open ask box on tumblr. 

Much love to you, always!

________

Tagging: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks​

* Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics (Jurdan or other fandoms!) and it would be my absolute honor to do so!

[octalove]

X: The Bottom

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: One way or another, it all catches up. Previous.

After I all but fled from Jason’s, I came home to a dark house. Unsurprising- it was around midnight, and that was usual patrol time. I hadn’t bothered to patch up my face, or anything else. I didn’t have the mental capacity at the moment. Just as I was about to limp up the stairs and retreat, by phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, looking at the caller ID.

Bruce.

I answered without thinking; my whole body was on autopilot at the moment.

“H-hello?”

“You’re home.”

I didn’t bother confirming or denying. I nodded, even though he obviously didn’t know that.

“Come down to the cave.”

And that was that. The thing was, I was exhausted, covered in my own blood, scared and high-strung. I wanted to see him. I wanted someone to help me- to tell me it was gonna be okay. I wanted my father.

I stumbled down into the dark, hoping the adrenaline comedown wouldn’t send me crashing to the floor. Bruce, Damian, and Alfred were in the cave, looking over monitors and running interference with Nightwing and Oracle. My eyes sluggishly dragged over them. Not one of their faces gave anything away. They just took in my appearance and held mannequin expressions.

“Explain.” Bruce’s voice held all the tension of a migraine. It was the biggest, widest, deepest question I’d ever been asked. I didn’t know how to answer, so I didn’t.

“Y/N.”

“I... I’m...”

“Answer me.”

“You don’t understand.” My voice was rising with the panic that flit like a bird around my head. I knew I was unraveling, but Bruce had no idea what the past few months looked like for me. What it was like to know Penelope D’amici, and to want revenge for her- then to have it, ten fold. To watch the man responsible have his head slowly made unrecognizable, then to fight Jason Todd, who was a furious, wild thing and an icy phantom all at once.

“You don’t-“

“Enough.” It was an order so hard and sharp that I quieted. He composed himself. “Enough. You need to tell me what you’ve been doing tonight. Now.”

I shook my head, taking a couple steps back to put some safe distance in between us.

“No... I can’t handle this.”

“I know that. You’ve proven to me more than a handful of times that you can’t handle this.” I looked at him, but I couldn’t seem to register all of the stern disappointment he wore.

“You’ve completely lost grip in the last few months, and it’s become quite apparent that you’re no longer able to shoulder the responsibility of your place within our cause.”

of your place within our company. I could almost hear the words. I wanted to laugh; bitterly, sadly.

They worked for him and so do you. Only difference is they worked for Bruce and you work for Batman.

I worked for Batman. I was getting fired.

“Consider yourself barred until we can figure whether or not you truly value the safety of Gotham over your own whims and emotions.”

“But, Batgirl-“

“I don’t need Batgirl, Y/N.”

I was expecting it, but the fatalistic tone in his voice still hit me- like a book slamming shut before I got to read the end.

It was the weight of the past few months that sent me reeling thereafter. I didn’t leave time to consider a response before I turned and scaled to steps to the manor, bolting through the silent, dark house and making it back to my bedroom. The door slammed shut. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to organize the events of the night.

Finally, an involuntary sob escaped me. One hand went over my mouth as the other gripped the sheets for some merciful steadying element. I gasped, shoulders shaking, and tears streaking through the blood on my face.

I sat there for a while, going over the night’s near-misses, Bruce’s words, and the resulting mixture of disappointment and fear.

It would’ve been better if I had just stay where I was that night in Otisburg. Just stayed gargoyle-still and watched over the peaceful streets.

But I didn’t- and now I didn’t know where to begin. At least Jason knew who to hate. I couldn’t hate any of them because it was nobody’s fault but my own. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault I was reckless, and it wasn’t Jason’s fault he was angry. Both of them were bigger and more dauntless than I was, and between them, I was nothing. My mind restlessly searched for somewhere to shift the blame, so that maybe I could feel justified in my ceaseless pity- until I’d exhausted every option and teetered on the edge of lying to myself. I disillusioned myself by turning on the shower head.

The water burned my wounds, but there was an overall comfortable warmth in the writhing steam and dancing water at my feet. Though safely enveloped in my fervid baptism, a new great chasm erupted in the space between myself and my family. A foreign distance jaggedly inserting itself into the marble of the mansion, tectonic plates shifting with the bodies in the foundations.

I had outgrown the skyscrapers. I’d surpassed the tallest spire in Gotham. And now, helplessly, gracelessly, I was falling.

*

When I blinked my eyes open, it was still dark. My head ached from the pressure of crying, and I could feel how swollen my eyes were. The cool sheets beneath my head were a relief. Checking my phone, I saw that it was almost 5 am. The part of the night that was only a few hours ago seemed now like a mature memory. I had several missed calls from Dick, and one from Babs. A text from Tim just a few minutes old asking if I was awake.

There was a knock on the door, and foggily, I realized that it was the sound that had woken me up the first place. I pulled myself to a sitting position, and faced the door.

“Come in.” My voice was hoarse, so it was a raspy whisper at best. Still, the door cracked open, dim light from the hall flooding into the room. My aching eyes fell on Dick’s face, changed from his uniform into sweatpants and a t-shirt. He had a new bruise on his arm, but otherwise seemed alright.

There were no words from him as he stepped into the dark, settling on the edge of my bed in a slow, tired way. I didn’t look at him. He reached for me, and I realized he had a bandage in his hand. Then, I remembered the laceration on my cheek, and as if on cue, the cold, still air of my room began to irritate it. It stung as he applied a couple of butterfly bandages to hold it together, and then a larger one to cover the expanse of my cheek. I must have looked pathetic. Too pathetic to reprimand, so he settled instead for a weighty silence.

“You’ll need stitches.” He said finally.

A silver gray light was sleeping through the blinds, the last labored breaths of an aging night disappearing with the arrival of dawn. He sighed, letting his hands fall away from my face.

“I haven’t been here.” He said quietly. “I haven’t been here for you, and I wasn’t there for him, and now...”

A siren wailed somewhere in the city.

“...and now... now it’s all happening again, and I’m making the same mistakes, aren’t I?”

“No.” I whispered. “You’re not.”

I couldn’t stop the tears, even though I was sick of crying. I felt his hand on my back, and I leaned into his shirt as I sobbed.

“I was so terrified.” I confessed, muffled by the fabric. “I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I didn’t want either of you to get hurt.”

“I know. I saw you. He didn’t hurt me, Y/N. I wasn’t going to hurt him, either.”

“I just... we were doing so much good. Cliffs- he killed that girl. He shot her in her own bed, just like my moms-“

“Shh...” He pulled his other arm around me, wrapping me up. It should have felt safe, but I only felt the guilt and grief filling my chest, like fighting a tide in a raging sea. A hopeless, uphill fight against the non-sentience of things you can’t take back. “It’s alright.” Dick said. “I know you had all the right reasons. I know.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter, now.”

“That’s not true. It’s not too late for him, and it’s not too late for you.”

I watched the light from my window grow stronger, a lulling, gradual transition.

“It just needs time.”

*

And so, I was given time. Its passage became a blur. Christmas break came, to my relief, because I wouldn’t have been able to handle to upkeep of school, even if I usually could hold myself together. I still did things like woke up, had coffee, and walked in the garden. I went to a café to get a seasonal drink I wanted to try, and went shopping at the gaudy mall in Fashion District on a Saturday. My phone was tapped of course, and I was fairly certain my car had been chipped. Just one of the side effects; reflective shards of shattered trust that pricked me, but helped me see clearly. Every night, I went to bed.

Normal things. Terrible, standard, ordinary things. It was all a rythmic reminder that I was now ordinary.

Hopelessness was no stranger to me. I had hopelessness in excess, and it kept me in bed some days, left to rot in my own sorrow and self pity, and Bruce allowed me that. I still went down to the cave and asked about unfolding cases, because the utter absence of control left me holding onto whatever was left with white knuckles.

Tim dipped gracefully around me, like when I entered the room, the wooden floors became broken glass, and if he didn’t flee within two minutes his feet would fall victim.

Dick was the opposite; overbearing in every sense of the word. Texting, calling, even bringing me gifts. It felt insultingly akin to charity.

Damian braved me. It was that stubborn little whim he often had. He probably liked it- everyone not knowing what to do with me. He initiated conversation because he reveled in the idea that everyone else was too scared to.

And as for me, starkly situated between Jason’s hate and Dick’s overbearing management and Bruce’s disappointment, Damian bringing me a bowl of peach slices or indulging me about how a case was going was nice. I never would’ve guessed Damian al Ghul Wayne would be the keeper of my sanity, but even pigs could probably fly under the right circumstances.

Not a word from Jason. Despite our final words to one another, I ached for all that came before. His jagged laugh, and dark, attentive eyes. The way he never put his head down, like he had pride under his chin. The way he watched and listened. I didn’t want to be alone anymore; the kind of alone where you’re surrounded by people but not a single one of them has any idea who or what you are. I wasn’t my mothers’ daughter. I wasn’t Batgirl. I knew that.

But what was I to him? He didn’t like me because I was Batgirl- he hated Batgirl. He liked me because-

because...

I tried to think of a reason. Any reason he would let me push away his helmet of the darkness of that alley. Why he would kiss me on the balcony of Olivier D’amici’s Luskan townhouse. Not needy, not lustful, not vengeful. Just an ordinary kiss. Ordinary.

Ding.

[taeyamayang]

hi! congrats on 400+! i saw your post after you went to bed so i hope you had a peaceful sleep!! good morning as well :D

i’m juniper, i use they/he pronouns, and i’d prefer to be matched with a guy! for cards—hearts, clovers, and spades. as for my personality—i’m very introverted & it’s a struggle for me to try and get to know people & like trust them / open up to them. i’m stubborn and easy to anger, struggling with feeling empathy and properly caring for people. i do try very hard to work past all of that & be kinder, softer, and more forgiving towards others and myself. i think the songs i am not a robot & are you satisfied? both by marina really capture my personality. some of my hobbies include reading, writing, drawing, and gaming. i’m also trying to learn how to code & i’m interested in astrology and reading tarot cards! word—cosmic.

i just wanna thank you for doing this and i hope you have a great rest of the week! take your time with it and please rest when you can <3

a/n: juniper, i have no idea if you'll see this post but thank you so much for including a song in your description of yourself bc it helped me a lot to get to know you (even in surface level) and write for you! also, i am not a robot by marina just?? hits me?? it's like a callout to myself holy shit i ended up staring at the wall of my room vensvsjs anyway thank you for requesting, i hope we're mutuals bc i'd like to get to know you more like for real lol ♡

you chose: HEART, CLOVER, & SPADES

HEART: soulmate

YOUR SOULMATE: Asahi Azumane

TROPE: soulmates | friends to lovers

GENRE: soulmate au | soulmate indicator | tattoos | comfort | romance | wholesome fluff!

GIST: You are born with the weighing scale constellation on your scapula, a soulmate marker that would tell you about the star sign of your other half. In your opinion, you are not exactly compatible with Libras because their seemingly outright affection and softness around people contradicts your personality. It could be that Libras remind you of your shortcomings. Well, except for one. Laying your orbs on him for the first time sends tingles in your senses as if the universe is telling you he's the one. You've found the right person. He is the only person capable of loving you and your cosmically complicated persona. He erodes your edges, kneads your hardened heart, and blows tender kisses on your wounds. He is your venus, the marker of love and beauty.

CLOVER: star-crossed lover

YOUR LOVER: Oikawa Tooru

TROPE: friends to lovers to exes

GENRE: ANGST | hurt no comfort | slow burn | 626383k mutual pining then yall both lost each other | romance

GIST: You spent an awful time convincing people that he was real, that he isn’t a product of your imagination. To you, his touch was tangible. You could vividly remember the warmth he left on your back when he pulled you in an embrace. His smile imprinted in your mind cannot simply be a product of your quirky fantasy. What you felt for him was real. It was so real that you could vividly remember his voice in your head and his laugh? It was music to your ears whenever he chuckles loudly. He exists because you would often see him everywhere. Still, you cannot understand why you were the only one who could see him. Until one day, you find yourself standing before his tombstone, his death recorded decades of years ago. He was the ghost of your lover who failed to meet you in the same cosmic timeline.

SPADES: ex-lover

YOUR EX: Yamaguchi Tadashi

TROPE: couple goals

GENRE: romance | ANGST | huge angst but you both will get through it | ex lovers | slow fucking burn | mutual pining | self-love | slice of life | college au | hurt with comfort | gsnshsns this idea i have of you and yamaguchi i love it i ship it ugh | wholesome

GIST: Breaking up with Yamaguchi was the last thing everyone expected from the two of you. As a known couple on the campus, everyone was endeared with the fondness you have for each other. For others, you were destined to be lovers—that the cosmic stars written across the crest of cheeks are somehow a signifier of your fated love with him. But soon, you realized you were fooled--fooled by your own selfish expectations. Yamaguchi was too good for you. He was more than enough you could ask for. He found you in your most vulnerable state, but his love could not amend the void in you. You thought his devotion for you could overpower the numbness that sits inside you, but it couldn’t. A person could never fix something they did not break. You broke up with him not because you’re tired of him or fell out of love with him. You want to learn to be gentle with yourself at your own pace. You want to be kinder and more accepting of your own flaws without the possibility of hurting him in the process of finding yourself. You take your time intending to return to his embrace as a whole piece so you could love him ardently.  

Masterlist | HQ Masterlist

[divineluce]

Let’s Marvin Gaye and Get These Lizards Out || Rosalyn & Luce

Timing: Backdated to April 21st, 2021

Tagging: @truecolorcollector & @divineluce

Location: Rosalyn’s Apartment

Description: Rosalyn needs help evicting some unexpected roommates, Luce offers a hand. Chaos ensues.

Was Luce the most in touch with nature? Not really. Not in the conventional sense, at least. She hiked, she’d lived in the woods, she felt more comfortable out in her cabin surrounded by the sounds of the forest than she did other places. But she wasn’t a tree hugging hippy or deluded enough into thinking that nature was all sunshine and rainbows. She’d been chased down by too many monsters in the woods to think that. Either way, it didn’t really matter if she was some nature girl or not-- she knew fire salamanders. And more importantly, she was still fireproof. Her flames might have left her, but at least she still had that. Grabbing the hamster cage from her passenger seat, Luce made her way to the apartment building and texted the number to let the woman know she was here. As the door swung open, Luce held up the cage and nodded, “Someone looking for lizard removal?”

Rosalyn had been eating lunch at her small dining room table when she saw something skitter across the floor out of the corner of her eye, nearly making her choke on her sandwich. Her first instinct was to grab her glass of water to chuck it at the creature. Luckily for it, it managed to quickly scramble under a large cardboard box and Rosalyn stopped herself before she could dump water all over her stuff. Then the text came in, as if on queue, and Rosalyn rushed downstairs

“Perfect timing!” Rosalyn said slightly frazzled from running to get the door. “And I’m not being hyperbolic. I actually managed to see where one of them went.” With that, she motioned for Luce to follow and made her way up the steps to her apartment.

The apartment was nice, if a bit cluttered, a good portion of the large living area taken up by an L-shaped work desk and large shelves packed with boxes and other containers. Not to mention several moving boxes still strewn about.

“Sorry, that wasn’t really a proper greeting.” Even as Rosalyn spoke she was scanning the room for signs of any other lizards. “Rosalyn Holt. And you’re Luce?”

A blonde woman who Luce didn’t recognize opened the door and ushered her in quickly. “Oh hey, lucky me.” Luce said as she looked around the apartment, taking in the moving boxes and slight disarray of the space. No wonder she didn’t look familiar-- this lady must have just moved into town. And already her place was infested with fire salamanders? Christ, that sucked. Not everyone had fireproof houses like she did. Looking around, Luce could already spot a few places that Iggy would love if he was here. A bunch of crumpled up packing paper, perfect kindling for a nice warm fire. Some flattened cardboard boxes that would be excellent material to chew on. Setting down the cage, Luce held out a hand, “Yep. Luce Vural, unofficial sa-- specialty lizard wrangler.” She said with a nod. “Seems like White Crest is giving you a nice warm welcome with these guys.”

Surveying the area, she asked, “Do you have a fireplace? Lizards. They like warmth-- starting a fire could draw them out.” Yeah, it’d sure as hell draw them out, they’d want to get it on in the coals. _

As Roslyn shook the woman’s hand she tried not to get distracted by the mirage-like purple shimmer rising off of Luce like heat off of blacktop. In her rush upstairs she hadn’t even noticed until, not until they were standing in the living room with Luce looking around. So this woman was a spellcaster? That was promising.

“Go figure the landlord wouldn’t mention the springtime roommates I’d be getting. And I’ve got-” Rosalyn looked towards her kitchen with a sigh. “An oven. And matches. Not sure if that works for whatever you're planning but I’m not exactly eager to set my fire alarms off if we can avoid it.”

As she finished speaking a rustling sound came from near one of the shelves, close to where she saw the lizard duck under the box. She pointed. “Oh right. Lucky me, one of them decided to get into my supplies. Anything else that draws them out? Food? What do those things even eat?” The rustling grew louder and Rosalyn furrowed her brow. They better not have a taste for jewelry supplies and werewolf fur, otherwise this was about to turn into a much more expensive problem.

“If it makes you feel better, this sorta thing doesn’t happen often. It’s like cicadas. Some springs they’re super active and other times no dice. Guess you just happened to move in during a bad year.” Luce said, not entirely sure if what she was saying was true or not. Iggy was being a little more antsy than normal, trying to get free from his terrarium more than he usually did. But, Bea’s house had wards around it that made the bracelet around her wrist ping when people came or left, so she’d always been able to scoop him back up when he’d scuttled off the property line.  “Hm. In the interest of not blowing both our ears out, I think I’ll try something different.” She said, rummaging around in the cage for the paper bag she’d shoved in there.

“I’ve got something that might work. It could lure them out.” Luce said. Iggy, like most growing fire salamanders, shed his scales. And Luce didn’t know much about animals, but hey. Maybe the smell of a fire salamander in the prime of his life would lure out some of the lady salamanders? Who the fuck knew. Worst came to worst, she’d just shake the boxes and try to grab them. But, as luck would have it, before she even had a chance to shake some of the scales out into the cage, Rosalyn had pointed out a rustle of movement. Setting the cage down, Luce began to poke around the boxes, eyes focused on any kind of movement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tell-tale glimmer of scales and she darted forward, hand closing around a squirming, scaly body. “Gotcha! Hey! Knock it off!” She gasped as the fire salamander’s scales glowed the color of coals. If she was a normal human, it would have burnt her skin, but all she felt was a light warmth. The fire salamander stared at her as though it was startled she wasn’t hopping up and down in pain. “I’ve got one. Can you grab the cage for me?”

“So just something that I’ll keep having to deal with every couple of years, that sounds lovely.” Rosalyn's tone was joking but she certainly hoped that one lizard extraction was all she would need. As Luce pulled out a paper bag she quirked up an eyebrow, curious. “What’s in there?”

But before she could find out there was more rustling and Luce was off to search the area. The sight of her grabbing the glowing creature in her hands made Rosalyn flinch before she realized that Luce wasn’t smoking or shouting in pain. “So they really are fiery...” I mean, there were clearly signs that they weren’t some normal pest before this, but seeing the unnatural glow up close made it clear. Rosalyn watched the squirming creature curiously. It was rare that she got to see supernatural animals up close.

“Is that thing not as hot as it seems, or do you just have some tricks up your sleeve?” Rosalyn shot Luce a knowing look as she brought the cage over. Well that was one down. Hopefully just one more to go. She didn’t want to think about the idea of any more than two hidden around her place.

“Only if you’re unlucky. These guys don’t usually hang out in this part of town.” Luce said as she kept her hand clamped around the squirming salamander in her hand. She could tell that they weren’t exactly to have their time interrupted. She couldn’t blame the salamander-- she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled if someone barged into her room when she was trying to get it on. But, this was better than Rosalyn accidentally murdering two horny salamanders with a hose. “Fiery? Nah… Just, uh,” Luce looked again at the angry glow of the salamander’s body, the red and orange pulsing like the coals of a fire. “Trick of the light.” She said before gently sticking the salamander into the cage.

Opening up the bag of shed scales, Luce dumped some into her palm before scattering them on the ground. “Scales, from the same kind of lizard. They release a kind of pheromone when they’re trying to hook up, so I figure this might lure the other one out.” She said before glancing over at the other woman and holding up her hands, arms bare in her tank top. “No sleeves and no tricks either.” She said with a neutral tone. “I’m just good with lizards.”

“Do tricks of the light normally smell like burning?” Rosalyn asked with a quirked eyebrow. At least she could trust it wasn’t that hot, or the cage Luce was holding would be having a much worse time. Then again, she knew little about what this creature was capable of, or Luce for that matter.

“So you’ve had your own infestation before?” Rosalyn asked before grimacing as the scales fell against her hardwood floors. She hoped Luce didn’t expect her to pick that up herself. Then again... “Are these creatures rare? Or their scales at least? Just asking since you seem to know a lot about them.” Right now they seemed just like little black specks, but she wondered how easy it would be to get them to glow like the angry one in Luce’s hand had been. But if they were worth something Rosalyn couldn’t imagine a spellcaster just scattering them around for bait.

Well, Rosalyn had a point there. Luce shrugged, knowing when she was caught in a lie. No point trying to pretend like shit wasn’t magical as hell when this lady didn’t seem all that bothered by it. “Touché.” She said as she looked around the house, waiting to see where the next salamander might pop out from. “Nope, never dealt with an infestation before, I have one myself.” Luce said as she nudged some cardboard boxes aside, looking around for the other salamander. At the question of rarity, Luce cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?” They weren’t rare at all-- the salamanders, or their scales, but it was a weird question all the same. All signs were pointing to the fact that this lady was in the know with the supernatural. Which, cool. Good for her. Luce just couldn’t help but wonder what brand of strange she was. She looked human, but pretty much everyone did under the right circumstances.

Out of the corner of her eye, Luce caught sight of some of the boxes rustling and she grinned. Nice, looked like the scales had worked. “Come here little guy,” She said, shifting the boxes out of the way. As she pulled the last one back, Luce blinked as she was face to face with a spitting, sparking salamander, the frill around its throat puffed out and a deep scarlet color, “Ah shit…” She muttered as the salamander burnt a hole straight through the cardboard boxes and began to skitter across the floor in a trail of sparks and sputtering flames.

“So...as a pet?” Rosalyn didn’t like to judge (okay she did sometimes) but a flaming lizard seemed like a less than ideal pet. She was about to answer Luce’s question to her when nearby rustling distracted both of them. While Luce pushed around the boxes Rosalyn picked up a bit of scale from the floor and looked it over. But she barely had time to inspect it before she heard cursing and smelled smoke.

Rosalyn's first instinct was to rush toward the now on fire boxes. Or try to at least. But before she could even move a streak of black and orange rushed across the floor towards her feet. Rosalyn shrieked as she stumbled back, nearly falling as the creature hissed and charged towards the nearby kitchen.

A slew of curses came out of Rosalyn’s mouth as she watched the thing leave singe marks in its wake. But her attention quickly turned back towards the boxes. In any other moment Rosalyn would have been fully aware of how dumb it was to try to kick out the flames. But the moment she smelt burning hair she knew the fire was spreading to the bottom shelf and panic took over. “Fire extinguisher! Under the sink!” She shouted to Luce. Rosalyn would grab it herself if she wasn’t too busy pulling boxes from the shelf before they could catch and stomping on embers. A few burns were worth not losing her entire stock.

As much as Luce would have liked to correct Rosalyn on the fact that no, it wasn’t like a pet at all, she was a bit preoccupied. The fire salamander was hissing and spitting,hell bent on tearing up the apartment as it ran along the floors. Sparks filled the air as the lizard made a break for the kitchen. Staring at the boxes that had caught on fire, Luce’s eyes widened. Shit. She was pretty fireproof, but with her magic being what it was… she didn’t want to risk trying to smother the flames with her hands. Taking a deep breath in, she tried to pull the fire to her will, tried to focus on the magic within her. But, the magical flames lay dormant, unmoving. Cold. Fuck.

“Fire extinguisher, okay!” Luce called out, following the salamander into the kitchen. The creature had climbed up onto the countertop via a dish towel that had been hanging from the oven. The fabric was already in flames and Luce let out a startled yelp as the fire leaped to a nearby roll of paper towels. Jesus fucking christ, was this what normal people dealt with? Shit just bursting into flames? Running to the sink, Luce grabbed the fire extinguisher from underneath. She pulled the pin from the neck and aimed the nozzle at the ball of flaming paper towels before tossing the dish towel on the ground and stomping it out with her foot. The salamander, seeing the flames going out, let out a frightened shriek and its frills shrank back into its neck. “I’m not trying to hurt you! Get back--” Luce said as the salamander made a bee-line back to the living room, towards Rosalyn. Even from here, Luce could smell the acrid scent of burning hair filling the room. Jesus, why the fuck did this lady have hair in the boxes?

Pulling what she could from the lower levels of the shelf was only going to help Rosalyn so much if the fire kept spreading. She turned to shout at Luce to hurry, but as she looked towards the kitchen she could see the woman shooting the fire extinguisher at even more flames. Not even a few weeks into moving to White Crest and was she already going to have her entire apartment burn down?

It was at this point that the fire alarm started blaring above them. Rosalyn wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or curse that this apartment didn’t have built in sprinklers. She kicked the still burning boxes across the floor, away from where all her creature parts and craft items were being stored. As she did she could hear Luce attempting to reason with the creature, and then moments later Rosalyn was again being charged by the fiery monster.

No way in hell she was grabbing that thing the way that Luce had. In panic Rosalyn grabbed one of the shoebox sized plastic containers she kept jewelry pliers and other small tools in and flipped it over onto the creature. She crouched on the floor, putting her weight on the plastic box as she heard the creature hiss and felt it ram itself against the plastic sides. The plastic was partially opaque, but she could still see the glowing orange of the creature inside. And feel the box start to heat up as whiffs of melting plastic started to hit her nose.

“Can’t you just dump water on it!”

A fire witch using a fucking fire extinguisher, Jesus. And, even as she was putting out the last of the flaming dish rag, Luce could hear the fire alarms begin to blare in her ears. Great, more chaos. Looking around the kitchen, Luce saw a glass pitcher of water resting on counter as Rosalyn shouted at her. “Water kills them! I’m not killing him for wanting to get it on!” Luce shouted back at the woman. But… the pitcher. Hm. Grabbing the pitcher, she dumped the water down the sink and raced back into the other room. It looked even more like a disaster zone, with tools flung over the place and boxes still burning. But, she needed to focus on the source of the fire, where was-- her eyes fell on the woman struggling on top of a rapidly melting plastic tub.

“Here,” Luce set the fire extinguisher next to the woman, “For the boxes. Take the tub off him and back up. Don’t. Spray. The salamander. I’m going to stick him in this.” She said, holding up the glass pitcher. “They have a hard time climbing out of glass and it’s not that easy to melt through it. Just let him out and I’ll grab him.”

“He is burning my apartment down!” Yes, Rosalyn would shame this stupid lizard for being horny if it meant her entire livelihood was set ablaze because of it. Not to mention the danger her and Luce were in if this got more out of hand. Luckily Luce seemed to have a plan. For a moment Rosalyn glanced between the pitcher and the plastic container under her, debating whether she trusted Luce to scoop it up in time before the creature ran off to another part of her home to cause chaos. But with a quick nod to Luce she pulled the tub off of the lizard and grabbed the extinguisher instead.

As soon as she did Rosalyn started spraying the boxes, and the bottom shelf for good measure. Did fire extinguisher foam mess with the magic properties of werewolf and bugbear fur? Who fucking knew but it didn’t matter at this point. As the flames were put out Rosalyn glanced back towards the other woman, praying she wouldn’t see her chasing the thing around again.

Rosalyn had a point there. God, was this what being a normal human in White Crest was like? Having to worry about shit like fires burning down your home? But, Luce didn’t have much time to dwell on that because the tub had been pulled off the salamander and suddenly she was face to face with an angry salamander, frills puffed out and a vibrant red. Before he could run away, Luce grabbed the squirming creature in her hand and shoved it into the bottom of the pitcher. Fingers smoking slightly, Luce shook out her hand as she watched the salamander scrabble against the side of the pitcher. But, just like she’d guessed-- because it really was a fucking guess, she wasn’t an expert-- he was unable to get any traction. Exhausted, the salamander slumped in the bottom of the glass, leftover droplets of water sizzling against his scales as he stared angrily at her with beedy, orange eyes.

Letting out a sigh, Luce held up the pitcher. “Got him! Sorry about,” She glanced around at the smoke filled apartment, the fire alarms still blaring, extinguisher foam coating at least a quarter of this woman’s apartment. “All of that. You’re okay though, right?”

Rosalyn let out a sigh of relief when she heard Luce shout that she got him. Placing the used up extinguisher on the ground (great, now she would need to buy a new one) she ran her hands down her face, giving herself a moment to just breathe and not look at the utter mess in front of her.

“I’m fine. I think I might have burned my hands a little but-” Rosalyn could see a few blisters forming along her palm and fingertips. Nothing that wouldn’t heal with time but something that would make picking up everything and crafting a pain in the ass for a while. “I’m fine. But you wouldn’t happen to have-” Healing magic. She wanted to ask about healing magic but she tried to be careful about outing people’s powers on the spot. Then again, they were both past the point of dealing with anything a normal person should be handling.

“Magic. Do you have anything that can heal? Your hands seemed pretty protected and,” Rosalyn waved vaguely at the shimmering purple around Luce that only she could see. “I can tell. Don’t worry, I’m used to spellcasters.”

The salamander continued to skitter up the side of the pitcher, but the sloping sides were too steep and he eventually gave up and curled into glowing ball of orange and red in the bottom of the glass. Luce lowered the pitcher carefully, watching to see how the female salamander in the cage might react. The creature blinked at her with interest, but didn’t show any of the aggression the male had. Good. Turning to Rosalyn, Luce grimaced at the sight of the woman’s hands. “Ouch. Sorry about that.” She said with a shrug as she picked up the cage in her free hand. “Aloe might help. Burn cream too.” That was what people said, right?

But, at the mention of magic, Luce nearly dropped the cage. “Siktir,” She swore quietly, catching the cage before the salamander could break free. “Uh. No. I don’t. And that’s not me pretending that I’m not a witch.” She said, shrugging. “You saw me pick them up. But, no, I don’t have anything that can heal burns.” All her life, her mother had been the one to patch her up, to fix her scrapes and bruises. But she didn’t have that card in her back pocket anymore. At least… She didn’t. This lady, if she knew about spellcasters, she’d probably be alright. Right? And she’d gotten hurt because Luce hadn’t been careful enough. “I know someone who would be able to help you, though. Her name’s Nisa Vural. You might have seen ads about her acupuncture clinic. She does magical healing stuff too. Tell her a friend in silver sent you. And,” Luce said, her voice taking on a more serious tone, “Don’t, don’t tell her that I sent you.

“Mhhm.” If she wanted to lie to Rosalyn about having magic she certainly could. Maybe people in White Crest were a bit more cagey than she was used to back home. Not that the spellcasters she met in the city weren’t, but most wouldn’t try to hide what they were if they were willing to do magical stuff in the same room as her.

“Nisa Vural, a friend in silver, got it.” Rosalyn smiled. “Don’t worry, I'm good with discretion.” Maybe not the best statement to make after calling out the woman’s aura but it was true. She wasn’t one to go around telling others things they didn’t need to know. Not unless there was a good reason for it. If anyone asked, Luce was a normal person who had definitely not told her about possible healing magic.

Rosalyn glanced around at the destruction but quickly stopped herself. If she took stock now she was going to want to pull her hair out and Luce didn’t need to see her freaking out over the state of the apartment. “Thanks for the help. Do you have a plan for what to do with them?” she asked, motioning toward the cage.

“Appreciate it. A little bit of discretion goes a long way in this town.” Luce said with a firm nod. It was true. As often as weird shit happened here, they all had to just go along pretending like White Crest was just a quirky little town. “But yeah. She’ll be able to get you fixed up no problem.” She repeated, though the words made her ache. It had been over six months since she and her sisters had been excommunicated, banished from their coven and blotted out from their own family. And even though she’d seen her mother, had tested the bond of mother and child over duty and oaths to the coven… Luce didn’t want to push it. The less Nisa knew about what was going on in her life, the better.

Seeing how Rosalyn was looking around the apartment, Luce winced. Her place looked like… well, it looked like shit. Burnt boxes, dissolving foam leaving smears of chalky white against the floor, and the alarms still screeching overhead. “I’m going to release them in the woods, I know a place that should be safe for them.” A gully at the end of a creek that ran through the outskirts, a nice damp spot that would be perfect for the lovebugs.

“I’d offer to stick around and help clean up, but I get the feeling you want these guys outta here right now.” She said and shrugged. “Let me know if you ever need help again. I know a thing or two about stuff here, I can lend a hand if you need it.” With that, Luce headed out the door of the apartment, fire salamanders in tow. She couldn’t help but wonder how the woman had clocked her as a witch, but… it didn’t matter right now. The cage in her hand rattled as the female salamander sent a wave of sparks in the air. “If you light my Jeep on fire, you’ll wish I let that lady dump water on you guys.” She warned before sticking the salamanders in her car and speeding off.

[pocket-luv101]

Summary: Kuro is a mangaka and Mahiru is his editor. They visit London to do research for Kuro’s new shoujo manga. (KuroMahi, Modern AU)

“I’m back, Kuro! The meeting with the marketing department took me longer than I thought so I expect you to have your storyboards finished!” Mahiru called into the condo as he bent down to take off his shoes. The heavy bag he carried was lifted off his shoulder and he turned around to see Kuro. He hanged the bag on the wall for him. “Since you’re being so considerate right now, am I right to assume that you didn’t finish the chapter yet?”

“Ran out of inspiration.” Kuro said and tapped his finger against Mahiru’s lips. While Mahiru tried to feign annoyance, his faint blush betrayed his true emotions. He placed his hands on his strong shoulders and lifted himself onto his toes until he could kiss him softly. He thought a brief kiss would be enough for him but Kuro cupped his cheeks to steal a longer one. He whispered. “Welcome home, Mahiru.”

“Trying to put me in a good mood won’t get you out of trouble.” He nipped at Kuro’s lower lips before he let go of himself. Mahiru walked into the apartment they shared and threw himself onto the couch. He was tired after the meeting he had and he wanted to rest. “How far along are you in the storyboards? I’ll look them over for possible corrections.”

“I only need to finish the last two pages. Since it’s a two-page spread, it should only count as one page, right? That’s not much so don’t be mad.” Kuro collected a few sketchbooks from his work desk and then joined him on the couch. Mahiru sat up so there would be enough room for both of them. “You can look over what I have so far.”

Mahiru placed the sketchbook on his knee and flipped through the pages. He worked as Kuro’s editor for years and he enjoyed his manga series. Eventually, Mahiru fell in love with the man. They started dating but they had to keep their relationship a secret. It was unprofessional for an editor to date their manga artist and he would be fired if they were discovered.

When they decided to live together, they told others that it was so he could keep track of Kuro’s work better. He had an infamous reputation of missing deadlines and then sending the chapter around midnight. Kuro was talented but people found his work schedule impossible to manage. His past editors often asked to be assigned to another mangaka after a few missed deadlines.

Mahiru never gave up on him though. He would visit him every night to see his progress on the chapters and help him coordinate his schedule with the publishing company. It was clear that he loved helping mangaka publish their work. He was the best editor he had in his career and the effort Mahiru put into his job pushed Kuro to work harder as well.

“A talk show requested an interview with Sleepy Ash for the release of the new volume. You were finally able to surpass the sales of the former bestseller. I told them that you were too busy to give a public interview but you’ll send them a statement.” Mahiru told him.

“Thanks.” Since Kuro wanted to keep his privacy, he published his manga under a pseudonym. He leaned against Mahiru and showed him a sketch. “What do you think of this European cottage for the hideout?”

“This is beautiful but you should make the cottage more rustic. Thinking simply, they wouldn’t hide in something that stands out. Maybe have more trees around it too.” Mahiru suggested and Kuro nodded. He flipped to a new page and he started a new design for the cottage. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed Mahiru pull out a few magazines from his bag. “I picked up some travel magazines while I was out.”

Instead of handing them to Kuro, he sat on his lap and opened the magazine. “You said that you wanted to have the two leads go to Europe in a future chapter but you were having trouble choosing where. These might help you find one that suits the main couple. There are pictures in here that you can use for reference as well.”

“I was trying to choose between London or Paris. People say that Paris is the most romantic place to have a honeymoon. On the other hand, I grew up in London so I won’t have to do as much research for the chapter.” Kuro rested his cheek on Mahiru’s head and watched him flip to a different page. “Do you think I’ll be able to fly to London and do a little research? It’ll only be for a few days.”

“I can discuss the idea with the chief editor but it might be difficult to arrange the trip. The boss shouldn’t mind as long as you submit next month’s installment well before your deadline.” Mahiru started to rearrange their schedule in his mind. “If you add in travel time, you’ll be gone for a week. I’ll miss you while you’re in London. Make sure that you call every night so I know you’re eating properly.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I was actually hoping that you would come to London with me. The university that I went to has a flower nursery that I know you’ll love. We can visit those tourist traps for couples too.” Kuro suggested. “You deserve a break.”

Last month was December and the publishing company wanted each of the mangaka to contribute special chapters and illustrations for the holiday. Mahiru worked late into the night to manage so many projects at once and review their work for publication. Now that the holiday rush was over and their job had slowed down, Kuro thought they could relax.

“I’ve never travelled outside of Japan before.” While he didn’t tell him directly, Mahiru knew that he suggested the vacation for his sake. Kuro was the type to show his feelings through his actions rather than direct words. Mahiru could feel his love in how he held him and supported him. A warmth fluttered in his stomach and then spread throughout his body. “I’ll ask for Misono’s approval tomorrow.”

“We can tell him that you’re going to supervise me while I’m in London. That’s the same thing we told everyone when you moved in and they believed it.” Kuro wished that he could tell more people about their relationship but he would never ask Mahiru to give up the job he loved. A vacation in London would allow them to go on a date like a normal couple. He buried his face into the nape of his neck and savoured his warmth. “I know a place we can stay that’s cheap but it’s still comfortable.”

“Honestly, I’m a little curious about your childhood in London.” Mahiru stared at the rose garden featured in the magazine and he imagined Kuro standing among the flowers like a scene from a shoujo. He turned the page and read the description of a statue. “The Mask of Truth? Maybe we can take a detour and go to Rome. I want to ask the mask whether a stray cat truly stole the last slice of pie like he said.”

“You should’ve seen the cat scale the wall to reach our window and steal your pie. He must’ve heard the legend of your wonderful baking.” Kuro’s silly story caused Mahiru to laugh. They both knew he wasn’t truly upset at him for eating the pie and he was only teasing him. Mahiru leaned back into his chest and reached up to stroke his hair.

“We can have as much cake as we want in London.” Kuro was wealthy with his job as a popular mangaka but Mahiru rarely asked him for anything. He respected how independent Mahiru was but he wanted to give him an easy life. “I should finish that new chapter so we can go on our vacation.”

“If only you can be this motivated all the time, Kuro.” Mahiru said but he knew how hard Kuro worked. He remembered the nights he found him asleep on his desk. In the past, Kuro ate instant noodles rather than a proper meal because it was quicker to make. He was able to see a side of him that others didn’t. Mahiru kissed his cheek lightly before he stood. “I’ll start making dinner.”

The plane ride from Tokyo to London took twelve hours and Kuro’s body was stiff after sitting for so long. He slept through most of the trip with his head on Mahiru’s shoulder and his presence made the cramp chair a little more comfortable. “If they make plane seats any smaller, they’ll be the size of baby chairs. I don’t know how you were able to work on the plane.”

“Those seats would be uncomfortable for a tall person like you.” Since Kuro was half British, he was taller than him. His strong features were appealing to Mahiru. He reached out to him and took his hand. “Misono said that it would be difficult for me to join you on this trip. We made a compromise that I can go as long as I work on the proposal for Tetsu’s new poetry collection during the trip. I wanted to finish the report on the plane so I could have more time with you in London.”

Kuro forgot how tired he was after he felt Mahiru’s warmth and he squeezed his hand slightly. He brought their interlocked fingers to his lips so he could kiss his hand. They both worked hard to be able to go on the trip and there were dark circles under Mahiru’s eyes. “Are you hungry? Airport food isn’t that great but it’s better than nothing. I’ll order us breakfast while you find us a table.”

“Okay. We have a lot of time before we need to sign into the hotel so there’s no rush.” Kuro handed Mahiru his suitcase and walked to the food stands nearby. They lived together and they knew each other well so he could guess what Mahiru would want for breakfast. He was glad that the line was short and he wouldn’t have to wait.

Mahiru found an empty booth and he set the suitcases next to each other. They were only staying for a few days so they didn’t pack a lot. Still, he had looked forward to the trip for the past week. A smile appeared on his lips as he imagined the different places they would visit. In the corner of his eyes, he noticed a stall that sold maps.

He kept the suitcases close to him as he walked to the stall. Kuro grew up in London but Mahiru thought they should have a map in case they become lost. A lot could change in a city, even in ten years. He chose a thick booklet that included pictures of different attractions. His English wasn’t the best but he tried to start a conversation with the cashier. “Hello. I am a tourist. I want to go on a date in London. Do you know a place that is very romantic?”

He and Kuro already had a list of attractions they planned to visit. He thought he should ask a local about other places they go. Mahiru held out the map to the cashier with the expectation that he would point to a spot. He was surprised when the man grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. The desk was between them and Mahiru winced as his knee struck the wood.

“I thought Japanese men were more reserved but you asked me on a date before you even knew my name. You’re cute so I’ll accept. My shift ends in a few hours so wait for me in front of the airport.” He said and Mahiru realized that he misunderstood him.

“I did not mean that, Sir. I already have a boyfriend and I was asking about a date with him.” He tried to pull his hand out of the man’s grip. English had always been his worst subject and he wished he knew the language better. “Let go, Sir!”

“What are you doing to my boyfriend?” Relief washed over Mahiru the moment he heard Kuro’s voice. He placed himself between the two and the glare he aimed at the man was enough to make him let go of Mahiru. Kuro wrapped his arm around his waist and he naturally leaned into him. It didn’t seem the man had hurt him but he asked, “Are you okay, Mahiru?”

“He was the one who asked me out so shouldn’t you be mad at your boyfriend instead of me?” The cashier retorted and his words caused Kuro’s eyes to draw together. They began to speak in quick English and Mahiru couldn’t understand their discussion. “He asked me out.”

“I know Mahiru and he wouldn’t do something like that. You obviously misunderstood or something. Do you often try to grab tourists like this? I wasn’t going to report you to your boss because it would be troublesome. I don’t like people who lie about my boyfriend though.” Mahiru didn’t know what he told the cashier but it seemed to silence the cashier.

Kuro picked up the luggage next to them but he kept one arm around Mahiru’s waist. He led him away from the cashier. Beside him, Mahiru said: “Thank you, Kuro. I heard that other countries are more forward than Japan. Should I be more careful? You grew up in London so you act more casual with people but you never grabbed me like that.”

“That guy was just a creep.” Kuro said. He pulled Mahiru closer to him and kissed his forehead. He was glad that he could finally be affectionate with Mahiru in public. They both wanted to keep their relationship private but it was difficult since he was a popular mangaka. “When I moved to Tokyo, I was surprised by how different it was to London. But I’m not the type to be this affectionate with others. You’re the only one I would hold close like this.”

“How many pictures do you need to take of me for ‘references’, Kuro?” Mahiru sat on the ledge of a fence. They walked along the River Thames and Kuro would occasionally ask him to stand in front of an attraction for a picture. He claimed that he needed someone in the photo so he would have a reference for perspective and proportions. “I’m fine with posing for you but don’t put me in your manga as a character or anything like that. It’ll be embarrassing.”

“I won’t.” Kuro promised after he took another photo. He didn’t include Mahiru as a character in his shoujo series but he was the muse behind most of his work. His work had become more hopeful and warmer after they started dating. “I’m pretty sure if I put you into the series, the villain would be defeated by you easily. You’re the only person who can be both scary and cute when you glare.”

“Oh please, Kuro.” He rolled his eyes but there was a blush on his cheeks. He put the camera into his bag and then walked forward to help Mahiru off the fence. When he stepped in front of him, Mahiru shook his head and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Kuro didn’t know what he intended to do but he stood still. Mahiru leaned on his shoulder for balance as he took out his phone. “This photo is for just us.”

“I’ll take it for you. Do you want the bridge in the background?” Kuro asked as he handed the phone to him. He held the phone at armlength and pulled Mahiru closer against his side so they could both fit into the photo. As he pressed the button, Kuro kissed his cheek lightly. He couldn’t help but grin as he pulled away and saw how flustered he was. “Do you like the photo? I can take another one if you want.”

“I like this one already.” Mahiru smiled at the image briefly before he put his phone back into pocket. He slid off the fence and into his arms. He stumbled slightly and he instinctively reached out to Kuro to catch himself. They didn’t have to worry about people discovering their relationship while they were in London so he wanted to savour the opportunity to hold him close. “Thanks, Kuro. You’re saving me a lot today.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t fall backwards into the lake. This cat is terrible at swimming.” They both knew that he would try to rescue him if he did fall into the water so Mahiru only laughed at his words. He stepped back from him and brushed the dirt from his pants. He took his hand and they continued to walk along the water. “The rose garden should be a few blocks from here.”

“London is tightly packed and we can easily walk places.” Mahiru said and squeezed his hand. They had already planned most of their trip but he would also have fun simply walking with him through the streets. “I know you find walking troublesome. How about we try one of those carriage rides? It might inspire a scene where the characters escape the villains with a horse and buggy.”

“I don’t mind walking like this.” Kuro shrugged but his words made Mahiru happy. “While we’re walking, we should try to find a local bookstore. Hyde made me promise to buy him some books as souvenirs. First edition Shakespeare collections.”

“Don’t get me started on the list of things Licht wants us to bring back.” Mahiru laughed. He rested his head against Kuro’s strong shoulder and smiled up at him. He tried to remember the English phases Misono taught him while they prepared for their trip. “Is there something you fancy, Kuro?”

“I fancy you.” He replied and his alluring voice created flutters in Mahiru’s stomach.

“You’ll have to wait until we get back to the hotel for that. Remember, we came here to do research on possible settings and locations for your next shoujo.” He reaches into Kuro’s pocket for his camera. Mahiru started to scroll through the photos. He paused on the image of Kuro eating fish and chips. It was a simple image but he thought he looked handsome and relaxed. “Maybe I should buy a cook book and try some new recipes.”

Before they met, Kuro would only eat instant ramen. He remembered the long lecture Mahiru gave him when he found his kitchen overflowing with ramen cups. He cooked him a proper meal after he finished yelling at him. They would eat together since that day and Kuro was certain he couldn’t go back to eating junk food. Mahiru had always supported him as more than an editor.

Kuro didn’t know when he fell in love with him but couldn’t see a future without Mahiru next to him.

[practicalmagicintuitions]

NV reading part 1 (and a little something else)

DISCLAIMER: If you will send me an Anon, I will answer the same tone as your ask, opinion is written.

All information and statements made in this reading or any other post of mine are all alleged until proven to be fact and for entertainment purposes & usage only. All information stated is based on my intuition and my tarot cards. Opinion only. The readings have no intention to cause any harm to the individuals, people featured in it.

Okay, I did a reading NV, it was multiply questions and I will post the rest later or update this post or something, but I wanted to share this first question and answer because I started this whole thing as a document, an open journal on my tarot journey. So I constantly reading about tarot, learning, makes notes etc. And probably I am the only one who is excited now, and this is totally fine, but as I was trying to link the first 3 cards and using what I can get from them intuitively, I’ve decided to look up the 5 of Wands card, which is not the most complicated card, not at all. But the context was interesting and I felt I need something more, so I’ve decided I will use one of Mary Greer’s books (highly recommended tarot author btw)

And I have no idea how I could miss that before, but as I asked around almost every people missed it too. And this element ties the whole reading so nicely… But long story short, I will type this question and answer and I will update later the rest. 

(And I am not excited about this because of the HC or NV element, at this moment I don’t care, because those discoveries make tarot so exciting to me.)

The reading was about NV and the Q was: How does she feel herself now? (cards pulled on 31/05)

I got the 5 of Wands, Page of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles. 

I sensed this is generally not that bad, even though the 6 of P is not my favourite card for various reasons I will explain later. But the PofP has a nice, hopeful meaning, that’s why I decided I will explore more on these 3 cards. 

(The cards were in line after each other, I just cannot insert them this way)

So, 5 of Wands is could be about a fight, a competition, battle, ego, chaos, conflict, lack of harmony etc. And all of this is true. But Mary Greer wrote, and that is mindblowing that the 5 boys on the card seem like they are trying to form a pentacle with their sticks. Which leads us to teamwork. Maybe they competitive and they are fighting and have many different views, but in the end, they are trying to form a pentacle together which is the symbol of stability, well being, earthy goods etc.  And in this reading, I have 2 more pentacles cards…

Page of Pentacles is a new energy pentacle, it can be about money, a job etc. He is focusing on his pentacle in his hand, examine, planning, observing. Pages in general are also about messages. So it could mean there is this creative competition energy, being part of a team that is trying to build something together and you are examining the possibilities or waiting for a piece of news about that pentacle that is about to build now. But because the pentacle is not formed yet fully… this task is not accomplished yet. It’s not a done deal. They can fail, they can succeed too. 

So I would say she feels herself part of a team that is working on something. Something job, or money or resource-related and she is looking forward to it. 

6 of Pentacles.

Well, many people tend to read this card very positively as a giving and receiving card and this card linked to actual charities because of its imagery. So on a very obvious, concrete level, it could be about charity. 

On the card, you see a well dressed, wealthy man. He holds a scale in one hand and with his other hand, he is giving money to two-baggers who are kneeling in front of him. For me, this card is way more complicated than being a giving and receiving card. There is a serious power imbalance here and the important question is who are you on this card. Which one is your current situation? You are a wealthy person who can give? Or you are the bagger? And there is no real warmth in this card. In fact, this card is so not warm or comforting that makes my skin crawl. Especially that the wealthy man has scale which should be a symbol of fairness or judging, but he gives money to the better-dressed beggar first. The one who really needs that money, have to wait until someone in less need receives the help first. It reminds people who are only good because they want to gain some plus point to go to Heaven. It’s the “I give you something and one day you will give me something. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.” 

I also have to point out that the wealthy person looks like the mature version of the PageofP.

Sorry for the long description. 

So the question was how NV feels herself now? For me this whole situation shows that she feels team energy, being part of one and they are working on something together, even if this is not smooth sailing. She is probably the page, who is planning her future, carefully, slowly, hopefully. New opportunities, jobs are on the horizon. But she knows what kind of situation is this. She is aware of the power imbalance.  Probably she also feels she doesn’t really judge the situation well. How much she should give since this is a co-dependent relationship. We are not talking about money here necessarily, it could be any resource. Time, affection etc.  It also could mean she feels she will end up in one of the roles. She could be the victim or the one who take care of.  

All in all these 3 is on the more positive side as a feeling. It’s not the best… but it will be a good enough now type of feeling. That the ‘I can work with that’ feeling. 

Rest of it coming soon...

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm (Alastor x Reader) Chapter 5

Warning: A little smut, toxic relationship and child nearly drowning

Part 1: link

Part 2: link

Part 3: link

Part 4: link

Cool, refreshing night air hit your burning cheeks. Arms wrapped around yourself on instinct to protect unclothed hands from the night's chilled air. Perring off to the right you gazed at cyprus trees with spanish moss blowing in the breeze. The smell of the bayou lingering in the fast moving wind, which typically smelt like alligators and dirty water.

     You weren't going to complain about it though, your papa used to take you shrimp fishing and you got used to that stench from day one. But,much to mama's indifference, she was terrified that you fall in and sink to the murky darkness below and like every other time she was exactly right. One clear, sunny day when you were eleven, you were sitting in papa's fishing boat while he was setting shrimp traps in the water. Well, one of the traps broke free and all you tried to do was put it back in place, but you ended up falling straight forward. You thrived to keep your balance fumbling with your grasp yearning for traction between your hand and the side of the boat, nonetheless you failed and plummeted into the murky abyss, dropping further with each second. You didn't realize, but your papa was on the shallow side while you thought everything was the standing up section. Holding your breath for as long as your little lungs could last, you tried to endeavor into swimming for the top. Not moving an inch no matter how determined you were, you stay put in one spot. In the next few seconds your lungs started to burn for oxygen and just like any human when near death you tried to claw and kick your way back to the surface. This sort of movement caused your energy to deplete, mouth opened without you realizing it, water rushed in and filled your lungs. You always thought drowning was a fast death. . . but no, you were very much awake and terrified that you couldn't breath or call for help. The more you struggle the more water comes rushing into both your mouth and nose.

   Then, came the peacefulness. The bliss of darkness and the slow drift away from the burning of your water filled lungs. The brown murky water turned black and the last kick reflex bucked against the muddy ground below.

   Bright light took over your vision and water bursted from your mouth and squirted from your nose. It took you awhile to see the dark figure hovering above you, before you made it out to be your papa. Who crushed you in a bone breaking hug, weeping and praying that I was fine. That memory always left you nervous, since it was one of the few very descriptive childhood memories you can think of.

   You really wished you hadn't drank that much which wasn't a lot at all, just four small shot glasses of gin. You probably won't drink gin for awhile after this night.(Especially with the thoughts you're thinking). Your body felt like you drank two whole pots of coffee, your nerves spiked like you're being interrogated. Glancing over at Alastor, he had his eyes glued to the road showing no intention of looking anywhere else. I guess the alcohol was speaking for the body to touch him, your head was yelling at you to wait for interaction before moving in. Struggling to keep your body in check you started to think about what Al and Mimzy did that took approximately two hours to finish. Refraining yourself from questing him now and deciding it would be better said at a later time when you weren't intoxicated.

   On the scale of drunkenness you were probably more in a state of excitement than anything. You had a pretty great time at the party and with a few drinks made the night even better. However, now you felt so nerve racked that your stomach was churning up everything you ate this evening and you really didn't want to regurgitate in front of Al. Sucking in a smooth breath and blowing it out trying your best to ease your clouded mind. Taking a mental check to drink ginger ale when you got home and laying awake for a while to read a nice book. Groaning, you leaned your head back and lightly closed your eyelids. This cool air did seem to cool your nerves for just a bit. Trying to fill the silence you mustered up a smile and peered over at Alastor.

 "Lovely night, isn't it?" Tilting your head off to the side, looking back at the surrounding landscape, ",so peaceful."

    Humming in agreement, he drew his hand on top of your cupped hands, giving the left hand a firm squeeze. Maybe a little too tight, but still a nice gesture.

 "Very lovely." Even though he wore his signature smile on his lips, that gaze in his eyes was completely. . . off. His eyes were too blank to comprehend a single emotion.

    Not understanding why his eyes look so indifferent you wanted to say something, anything to get him to vocalize his thoughts. A pang in the back of your head was telling you to speak, along with that heat in your chest.

     Al's absolutely terrifying when he's silent, because usually he can talk anyone's ear off non stop and without failure of boring himself. But, right now his silence most certainly meant he was either mad or in deep thought and you didn't want to take any chance of him in a bad mood.

     Before being courted he scared you to no end with that bleak, emotionless look and that stilled space we called a work environment. Trapping you in his arms, getting in your personal space and touching you randomly. What made it more creepy was he kept that permanent smile on, not falling even once. Needless to say you tried to keep his ego up on those days, no matter what your pride told you.

 "I made beignets for the party. Were you there long enough to grab one." You're not going to lie, your mind is still foggy of when Alastor arrived at the party. You drank more than what you normally drank tonight. So, it would make sense if Al mingled with others before joining you. He did have a tendency of leaving you, so he could talk to his friends. "Did you say anything to Husk before leaving?" Full attention solely on him now, offering him a gentle smile to lighten up the mood. Alastor kept his gaze staring forward his mind in great thought. Not noticing you talking or you trying to pry his death grip off your small hands.

     Accomplishing your quest and checking your hands for any signs of damage, you surveyed his features again. Becoming aware that now on close inspection, he had a small cut on the corner of his lip. It could just be your liquored mind playing with your eyes, but it looks so real in the moonlight.

  A car passing by shook him out of his stupor and he seemed to just notice that you just asked him several questions. The color in his pupils came back, and so went away that heat that flooded your body.

"Why, yes I did have a small chat with, Husker." Answered Al, his speech came out fluidly, like he wasn't just spaced out. ",he was having such a splendid time that I didn't want to interfere with his night of fun." His voice brought you some sweet release, although the pain was still there, you felt comfort in his soothing voice. "Mimzy, did eat some of your confections, but at last I was too busy looking for you, my dear." His hand rubbed against your cheek, cupping it with such warmth and love. It took your mind right off the nagging feeling in your chest.

 "Oh, yes! Mimzy and Husk were going to play tonight weren't they." A guilty pang rushed into you for not witnessing their performance, and were making arrangements in your head to fix them their favorite dishes later as an apology.

 Alastor's hand cupped your chin and squeezed both cheeks. Causing your face to mush together, you in return playfully slapped his hand. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over that. Husker was way too out of it to perform tonight anyway." Giving your head a light tap before moving it back on the wheel. His gaze completely focused on the road now.

    The pain resurfaced with a sharp sting and you were jolted upwards out your seat. Peering over at Al, he seemed to not notice your struggle at all. The fire only got worse with each passing moment only for a cold chill to wash over your form.

    Time steadily passed and with that an eerie silence filled the car, the only sound being made was the bumps in the road, causing the metal of the car to grind together.

    The silence formulated into that known fear that you had when you first met this man. Your mind was telling you to apologize for whatever reason you couldn't understand. It was like a small speck in the back of your mind nagging you to make amends with your lover.

   You just really needed him to converse with you, because this was causing your chest to burn with that searing heat, again. The last time this happened was at that restaurant where you first met. Back then you tried to deduct that it was only acid from your stomach acting up. Now you realized that both pains did feel similar.

    Yet, this time it was way different, because this feeling was more intense and vibrant. In the restaurant there was this escape from your body feeling, the same as a dream like state.

This was much worse.

________________

     The rest of the drive you failed to gain your lover's attention and learned to bear with the ungodly pain that felt like four ovens going off at once.

 Driving up toward your house, Al parked the car, getting out and opening the passenger side door waiting for you to exit the car. The tension was still there and you still don't see why he was irritated. You're probably reading into this and he just had a bad night and it's not your fault at all. But, you listened to that sweet voice in your mind giving you sweet nothings that if you talked to him again the pain would vanish.

     He walked you up to the door and this was usually the time he bid his 'Adieu' and left back to his car. However, he stood his ground and grinned down at you. The small speck yelling at you now that this was your chance to make your suffering end.

Conjuring up a soft smile you asked Alastor, "Uh. . . Do you want to come inside, Al?" Nervously staring up his large stature.

     Alastor rubbed a single finger underneath his chin, looking off to the side like the question was a difficult one to answer to.

       Always so, dramatic.

 "Why, yes! That would be splendid, my dear!" You nodded and spun around to quickly unlock the door. Once successfully unlocking the front door and giving it a great shove, you were met with two white, purebred poodles snapping their heads in both your directions. The metal tags on their collars harshly rapped against the buckle. Tails wagging when seeing your face appear from the door frame.

    Beaming you patted your padded knees calling for those cute dogs to give you small hugs and kisses on the hand. Making way toward in your direction they stopped right in their tracks glaring at the man behind you. Alastor strides into the house, but back tracks when encountering the two pooches. Alastor took comfort standing close behind you.

     Well, they never did get a chance to meet, Al. Papa lent them over to his work friend for hunting he planned to do in the fall.

     Remi and Rosa both were whining at this point and pawing at the ground. Turning around with a swift twirl you glanced up at Al.

 "Oh, yes!" Snapping your middle and thumb together to produce a loud sharp noise. "You didn't meet these two, yet. They were away with a family friend training for the hunting season." Gazing into Al's eyes you noticed the look of distastefulness while he stared daggers at the two poodles. "What's wrong, Al?"

    Shaking his head he made eye contact with, the grin on his features strained with a slight twitch. Even so, he threw off my concern with a wave of his hand. "Let's head up to your room, love." Sensing that Alastor didn't wanna talk about right now.

     Shrugging your shoulders you felt Al grip your hand while passing the pooches. Light growls emitted from their throats, as soon as we stepped forward. They never really growled at anyone before. You wanted to sum it up to the fact that Alastor hunts a lot and dabbles in taxidermy. They probably smell the fur of the dead deer on his clothes. Possibly, a big stretch though.

   Guiding him up the stairs and down the hall to your room, you let him in and dropped his hand to situate yourself on the bed. Well, not before locking the door for precaution sake. Taking the time to straighten out your outfit, while Al looked around your cozy, acquainted room.

    Staring over you ogled his handsome features. He took long strides around your mediums sized room,peering over objects he deemed interesting, which was everything apparently. Picking up a pouch of sand you collected when you last visited the beach. Which was about ten years ago, you went with your parents and brother for a nice day of fun.

      A very eventful day, especially when Isaac got scared of a little seaweed that hit his shoulders. He screamed bloody murder that a crocodile was gonna get him. While he yelled in terror, papa tripped on wet sand running to "save" Issac from a patch of seaweed. Mama and I were watching the chaos proceed within itself and laughing when Isaac was explaining how seaweed could've been a crocodile in disguise.

    So immersed in deep fond memories, Alastor walked over to your bedside and sat next to your small frame, wrapping an arm around your waist. Snapping you out of thought and nearly having a heart attack gazing at his face.

     Alastor gave your forehead a quick kiss, then your cheek two quick smooches and finally, reaching the neck.

     Heat radiated off your cheeks and quickly spread across your body. You should be used to him being this close by now, but nonetheless his closeness and his kisses always left you a heaping mess.

     The most intimate moment you shared was a seering, long and passionate makeout session that turned nearly indecent. You had to wear makeup on your neck to hide the hickeys and bite marks, you still have a reputation to uphold.

     Alastor shoved your back on the bed and climbed over your small frame. Continuing with his kisses and sucking at the flesh on your neck. A light, funny sensation radiated from your chest.

       Al's hands traveled from your waist to your hips, rubbing his thumbs into your sides. His right hand slid back up cup your cheek, kneading the flesh of your plump cheek. Tilting your head just a bit for him to have easy access to the exposed skin. Amused by this gesture he decided one up you.

       His other hand used little to no effort to pry open your thighs. Settling in between your thick thighs, grinding against your delicate parts in the process. Causing a moan to escape your lips.

 "Asshole, that was certainly uncalled for, you know." Huffing and glaring off to the side, applying pressure up on his chest. "Get off! I wanna try something, too." Excitement clearly in your tone. Giving his shoulders a great push, hardly moving him an inch. "I wanna try something new, tonight."

    Al was considering the idea of you taking control, which was uncommonly interesting, coming from you. You never took the first step in these activities. Well, besides hand holding and giving light pecks on the cheek before he goes on air. You honestly never took the first initiative to these intimate moments together.

 "Hmmm. . . Alright darling, I'll humor you just this once." He rolled off your form, laying next to awaiting for your next move. "Come now love, I'm in desperate need of your sweet kisses." Al dramatically draped his arm over his forehead, shaking his head back and forth like so.

     Sucking in a quick breath, you climbed over Al's lanky, built body. Hovering over his face for a good couple seconds, contemplating on whether or not to go through with your motive.

     Not taking any other awful thought to mind, you went in for the kill. Kissing his lips with such outstanding passion, followed up more feverish kisses slowly trailing off to his jaw. Suckling the skin rather harshly, pulling the muscle with your teeth.

     Kind of payback for all the marks he left visible on you.

     Alastor's hands stroked your back and gave your hips a pleasant squeeze. Soft and silent grunt came from his throat.

 "Is that all." He scoffed, rolling his eyes in the process. "I thought you wanted to try something new." He waved his hand off to his side, pulling his body upright along with your mass and sat you on the top of his thighs. "Now if you wanted something new, I can gladly assist in this troubling time for you." His smirk made butterflies act up in the pit of your stomach, your heart rate accelerated even faster than before.

 "I was getting there, I was just working up to the big finalè." Arms shot outward and lazily hung from Al's shoulder blades. Analyzing what he just asked your cheeks went flush with embarrassment. "But, what if I d-do want what you're serving." Nearly stuttering over some of your wording. Afraid to stare at his eyes, so you settled for his chin.

     Alastor laughed very loudly, then gently laid you down on the cushioned blankets. Then, situated himself next to your much smaller frame. Entangling his arms around your torso and waist.

 If question marks could come up out of nowhere the whole room would be flooded in your confusion. "Wait, is that it?"

 "Why of course my dear. This is something we hardly tried together, since your house is always full and my mother needs my attention. Why not now to test out a cuddle session with you."

  Groaning you shoved his chest again to create a barrier between the both of you, but failed miserably. Laying in defeat you decide to stay sheltered under his arm prison.

     "Hey, Al can I ask you a question?"

 "Why you just did my, dear." Laughing at his own joke, "ask away, my dear."

This subject was always delicate when it came to Alastor. He talked about his mom in such high regards, but never wanted to go into full detail about the situation. So, asking this question was already making your chest heat up with such fierce force. Although, you managed to mutter out the next words very clearly.

"So, when can I actually meet your mother?"

". . . ."