#Also the entire battle is full of moments where Clear Sky doubles down on his violence

[bonefall]

how the fuck did clear sky get into cat heaven. he literally:

-killed multiple cats (or attempted to)

-disrespected starclan (the whole drown the stars in blood thing)

-try to start a whole war

-threw out his crippled brother

-tried to kill bumble (later the god of speech)

-and a dozen more that i can’t think off the top of my head.

it would be cool for an au possibly where one-eye dies but never forms the dark forest (like he doesn’t believe in religion thus never makes cat hell) and instead clear sky is the first one dammed and the first cat to walk the dark forest. this could be a great set up for later arcs where maybe in the distant future we see the dark forest fighting starclan (again) but this time it’s not tigerstar and firestar, it’s clear sky and gray wing

StarClan is flawed from its inception. It's the ancestors of all Clan cats, not just the ones from the Forest Four.

And that included Clear Sky, founder of SkyClan, cat who invented and established borders and war tactics. It's him and his followers who set the battle culture of the Clans that would come after, a snowball that would only grow larger and larger until it reached the state we see in TPB.

StarClan is the way that it is because of him. Him and cats like him are what encouraged StarClan to develop into the reactionary, self-righteous entity that it is, doing what they believe is right to 'protect' the Clans while still thinking their ego is something that must be coddled.

[cosplayproblemsposts]

Polkadot Man x M! reader Pt 2

Warning-Vent and a little bit of fluffy.

Summary: you manged to find out the truth but it didn’t help the fact you were still clinging onto something that has been proven true. Abner couldn’t help but comfort you even if you keep on rejecting every advantage. The thinker couldn’t help but feel a sense of justice but also a hint of guilt.

You sat within the bus eating girl scout cookies that you bought against Rick’s thoughts pressured on the cookies. “I can’t believe you actual bought girl scout cookies” Rick pondered on your childish behavior. “Your just jealous for your not stuffing your face” Rick rolls his eyes but smiles and gives you a fist bump. 

Cleo grins for Rick stomach growls “And when was the last time you ate Rickie” you tease. Rick huffs and takes the offered cookies and says “Shut up” you hum. More boxes of girl scouts cookies are handed out to everyone expect Nanaue for he doesn’t eat such foods.

“I like strawberry” Abner mumbles to which cause you to trade over your strawberry for his chocolate ones. You gave him a sly wink to which cause him to hide his face with the help of the box. 

“Hey why are you afraid of rats?”  Cleo asks Robert while you moved and took a sit beside Abner. “Why are you so in love with them ratcatcher 2?, you know what I think?, I think you have serious case of daddy issues” you frowned at Robert. Robert isn’t exactly known as a expressive type and everyone can see it regardless how cold heart he is you know otherwise.  

 “I have no issues with how much I loved my father” Robert sighs “You remind me of my daughter that’s why I’m here”. You couldn’t help but smile while biting into a cookie. “Why are you afraid of rats?” Cleo once again asks the same question. “My old man. when I was a lad, if I didn’t finish a task right, he would dole out a punishment. And one day, he just locked me in a create for twenty-four hours. And it was full of starving rats”.

You sighed and whistled to gain Roberts attention and threw three cookies at him, he caught all three of them. “As imperfect my father was ,he loved me. I wish I could give that to you”. ‘Don’t worry yeah?, I’m gonna get you out of here alive” Cleo smiles “I’m going to get you alive out of here”.

“What about clock” you hummed “Your oddly quiet” Robert pips up “Oh yes whats your story”. Cleo smiles up at you while Abner turns his attention to how close you were. “I don’t want to bore anyone to death” Rick scoffs “Shut up and tell us, I’m all eyes and ears” you frown at him. 

“Uh...where do I start, I was born in may the 18th 1918″ you thought of how you lost your mother. “My mother died after bring me into the world. I was small but strong while my father walked out of my mothers life the moment he found out she was pregnant”. Cleo frowns “So my granddad took me in so all I knew was that I had to live through a time era where if you were caught crying even a little your shamed for it”. Abner places a shy but comforting hand on top of yours “I was different I knew that but different made me strong and I reached for knowledge”.

“I found it easier to keep to myself until Benjamin came along in shape of defending me” you chuckled a little. “He is my childhood friend who glued himself to me from the very beginning, you see we both grew up in the back houses” Cleo frowns out of confusing. “That is what we called them, it’s just houses that were mistaken for apartments” Cleo nods. “I remembered getting into fights with older boys and I was an idiot for believing that I’ll win but I never did” Chris now understand why you protect Abner. 

“But I ain’t no coward for I didn’t run away from a fight other then that the old crow wouldn’t let it go” Robert chuckles or something like that. “I would come home all scruffy every two weeks to the crows dismay” Rick nods. “Years past and I was top of my class even tho I caused trouble and had been caned for it” Abner winces at the thought of it. “I enrolled into university but halfway through my second semester I dropped out to join the air force in 1939 August the 18th” you had to take breath. “I had trained enough to find myself within the sky in the midst of 1942 defending my country” you found yourself growing a pit in your stomach and you felt like vomiting.

“I was battling above a filed like nothing had gone wrong in the first place, the very Nazi manged to slash me out of sky” Robert doesn’t know anything about the air force but can see it. “I found myself hurrying to my death until an enemy pilot collided with me but I didn’t meet death instead I found myself two days before the whole entire event”. “Other then that when the fall of Poland had happened I had to be the last to know” You squint at the box of chocolate cookies before you.

“Around the time Benjamin had been set off to Poland and hadn’t returned so when I had been shipped off to Poland, I searched for him” Robert clears his throat. “I think that’s enough” Robert could tell that you didn’t want to go any farther with your side of the story. Abner squeezes your hand and when you notice you move your hand from his to which caused him to shutter away.

“Hey penis-maker, we’re on a mission” Chris makes a face “Easy inspector gadget. A little drink never hurts nobody”. You frowned at the idea but you really need a pick me up so you gone with the flow. “Expect the thousands of people killed in drunk driving accidents every year” Abner commented. You stare at him and could tell he was still a little hurt from you moving away from him.    

“Here’s to last three hours of being alive” Robert didn’t agree “I’ll be alive. You speak for yourself”. You drank your drink like a shot and didn’t hesitate to ask for another. You find yourself laughing and watch as Abner gag on his drink to which cause you to pat his back. “Easy there dots, you want to be somewhat sober” Abner nods.   

Everyone found themselves dancing with the music blazing in the background. You watch them fail at one of the most simplest thing in the world and you couldn’t help but laugh. “C’mon Y/N join us” Abner spoke while holding out a hand. “No you guys got it handle, I’ll just get in the way” you weren’t an upbeat dancer your more of slow dance type of guy. “No your not, you need this too” You smiled but caved in “Fine”. You took a last swig of your drink before standing up to dance with him.

You held onto Abner’s waist from behind and dance with him, for the truth you weren’t that bad. Abner sways his hips in synced with yours and you couldn’t help but evolve your arms around him. Swaying with your face just a few inches off from his right shoulder. You held his hand and kept on swaying while the both of you smile and laugh. You tugged him back to which cause him to look down at you, you grin and “Damn you are one dish”. Abner frowns out of confusion but by your grin it must be a good thing.

Abner turns around and stares down at you and without warning he captures your lips with his. You stood thunderstruck but kiss back after a few seconds, it never accrued to you how soft his lips were. How gentle and shy he can be, how easy a red tent grows across his cheeks. He had to be the most sweetest thing you ever had met. Far too sweet, Abner had to be the number one candy in the world. 

The two of you pull away with a small smiles on each other faces. You hum and kept on swaying to the music until Cleo poke Abner side. “Sorry for breaking you two up but you gonna have to focus for his here” you look and saw The thinker himself. You nod before parting from Abner to keep an eye on the weirdo over at the bar with Robert pressing a gun to his side.

But now here your with this odd looking man making a way to the back door with him mouthy off. “If you think that big mouth of yours is gonna save you sadly think again” he hums at your words. “Your the 1940′s guy right” you grow surprised “Pardon” he just smiles. You push through to the back only to see half-naked women “Sorry Loves we just want to get by” they screamed of course. 

A solider turns to us but Cleo makes a rat shove it’s way into his mouth to which cause you to frown. “Ah geez now you don’t see that everyday” you watch the man squirm while the others moved on. “Now that is nasty” the man reach a hand out to you but you declined his odd muffles for help. “Sorry mate it’s more like a you problem” he still lays there until he just stop moving. You made a face “Oh my goodness that’s fucking gross” you watch the rat scurry off somewhere else. You flinch when the rat doubled back and ran pass your right shoe “Ugh, fuck no” you shiver “Y/N!” you hear Milton call out.

“That was a gross way to die” Cleo only sighs “I’m sorry if that creep you out”. “No I didn’t mean it in that way for it was unexpected” Cleo looks up at you and smiles. You can tell she is still jumping “Welp weirdo how does it feel to be here” the man only grins. “Benjamin called out to you but you never came” you glare at him and kicked him. “Y/N” Abner spoke softly “Don’t his just lying” you frown and said “Yeah, his just lying”.

“Look Abner about before I..” you were cut off “don’t worry about it  we all have our ups and downs”. “For I killed my mom” you frown and by his very life you can tell he had done it for the greater good. “I know Abner and I’m truly sorry” Abner smiles and lays his head on your right shoulder. “Num Num” Nanaue says so you groaned “No, he isn’t Num Num’s” Nanaue seems disappointed.

Abner cuddles into your right side “Hey Abner” he hums “What are you gonna do once your free”. For the truth Abner doesn’t know himself “I don’t know” you smile. “You can see the rest of England with me then” Abner smiles and says “I’ll like that. Cleo came and said “Hey can I join” you smile and move over for her to join. She took your left while Abner has your right, Weirdo looks at you three before he started pondering over his own life.

“Okay so operation Harley” Rick says to each of us while we all nod.

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

I know I said two-parts but I’m gonna stop here for now.

[raddifferent]

I'm late but I'm in the middle of switching jobs so who cares! Here's Day Two of @rosemarymonth2021: Fantasy! This is Chapter 1; Chapter 2 will double as the Chapter 4 prompt because I want to finish this fic rather than do medieval with no fantasy elements. It's my writing project and I make the rules!!

Anyways, as usual the link will be in the replies and the fic is below the cut!

The esteemed Duchess Lepidopterina Dolorosa of the House Maryam, Baroness of the Misted Isles, Devotee of the Midnight Spiral, and Serene Lady of the Obsidian Blade, first of her name, was having a bit of a shit day. As some of her many fancy titles would suggest, she was an adept swordswoman, and she had been honored to be invited to the wedding of Duke Egbert’s daughter. She was more familiar with Lady Egbert than her betrothed, another Duchess of the Troll kingdom, despite being a troll herself. That was one of the side effects of spending an inordinate amount of time in the borderlands fighting off the blasted undead, as she found herself doing now.

Her traveling party had been journeying through the Cresting Mountains for a fortnight now, having crossed the mountain peaks worn oddly smooth by some ancient ocean and cracked in half on their tectonic ascent. The scraggly pines of its forests were dense in places and opened into large clearings in others, creating an unpredictable landscape full of pockets of zombies. Three of the party had fallen when the undead felled their horses, and she’d lost sight of the other two of her companions when the pack had separated them. Now, she fought the beasts alone.

Kanaya raised a shining hand, turning some of the undead near herself. She had a moment to catch her breath and assess the situation. A crowd of about fifteen undead humans and trolls had her backed against the base of a thick pine. At her feet lay a pile of bodies twenty-strong. Her black leather boots were shiny with rotting ichor, and splashes of guts, grime, and gore adorned her oiled outerwear. The Duchess twirled her twin blades, each a deep, midnight indigo sparkling with obsidian glitter, and also with a little magic. Her hands were covered with snugly-fit leather gloves, but beneath the animal hide Kanaya knew the sigils of the Church of the Midnight Spiral gleamed on the backs of her hands. Indeed, her skin itself glowed from the inside, although that was more of a side effect of being a Blessed Resurrectionist. Kanaya lived thirty five years, and died, and was brought back by The Bright Light in the Dark Sky to walk again some fifty more years. Those outside the Church would call her another, luckier undead. A vampire.

Her groaning, festering foes began to clamber close enough to swipe at her again. Kanaya whirled and sliced, removing limbs and heads as the undead shuffled within her reach. Eight more fell, leaving seven standing. Kanaya tried to wipe a smear of viscera from her face, but she feared the back of her sleeve only made the mess worse. She was breathing heavily. The dampness on her boots and the height of the bodies was beginning to impede her. She needed to reach high ground, and soon.

Just then, a golden light shone from deeper in the woods surrounding this clearing. Kanaya jumped to the side just as a zombie swiped at her head, leaving her in the perfect position to see a glowing arrow pin her assailant’s head to a tree. There must have only been one archer aiding her, as only one or two arrows came at a time, but they still landed more rapidly than Kanaya’s own battle maidens could achieve. In seconds, the battle had ended.

Still breathing heavily, Kanaya attempted to wipe her blades off on her jacket before sheathing them. She began to walk towards where the arrows had been coming from.

Kanaya was met at the edge of the clearing by a figure in a deep purple cloak. Her skin was a deeper, redder brown than Kanaya’s own, set in sharp contrast to their white-blond hair. Kanaya met her startlingly purple eyes, which were bright, intelligent, and a little mischievous. She had a golden lip ring down the center of her mouth, and a thin golden chain as a choker. Her clothing was modest but fine, Kanaya’s keen eye picking out expensive brocade in the shirt.

“To whom do I owe thanks for such gracious assistance?” Kanaya offered when the stranger did not speak.

The stranger spoke in a slightly raspy voice with a short, clipped affect. “Arrows rained upon your general area moments before, and yet you walk towards a potential source of danger? Moments after your own life was at risk? You must either be assured of your skill, or very stupid.”

“I like to think I am the former, although there is always time to prove the latter.”

The stranger smiled. “You think it is inevitable you will be proven unintelligent?”

“I find it imprudent to assume one will never make a mistake.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. “Ah, a pragmatist. We may get along yet.”

Kanaya pursed her lips. “I find I get along with people much better if we have something to call each other by.”

“You would still like my name, then.” It wasn’t a question. They seemed to be hesitating. “I suppose you can call me Briar,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m just a traveler in these woods. There’s nothing I have to claim that involves fanfare.”

Politely, Kanaya did not mention the clearly magical bow, or the fine clothing. “I do have a bit of a fancy title, but I think it best not to rattle off the entire thing. Suffice it to say that you can call me Kanaya.” Hopefully, her rescuer would be equally polite about her weaponry and dress.

“May I ask where you’re headed? I wouldn’t mind some company, and you certainly seem like you need the assistance.” The last was delivered with a smirk, which Kanaya bristled a little at.

“I have been traveling with several others, thank you; we just found ourselves separated after that large group of undead descended onto us. I had almost dispatched all of them when you arrived.” She made a sweeping gesture back towards the not-immodest pile of re-deceased zombies surrounding the tree she had been up against.

Briar smirked harder. “So my assistance is not desired?”

“No, that is not-” Kanaya broke off her objection with a huff as Briar began to laugh. “I would, actually, quite like your help locating my companions. However, I would like to know why you would want to help me. You seem to be taking great pleasure in needling me about needing it.”

The other traveler sobered slightly. “I just know what it’s like to be traveling alone, and the drudgery of not having someone to talk to, no stories to tell around the fire or on the road. It can be better to group up, even temporarily, just to kill the boredom.”

“Did you lose a companion recently as well?” Kanaya blurted.

Briar raised a thin eyebrow. “Not recently, as it were. But yes, I have previously parted ways with those whom I enjoyed sharing a story or three.”

“I would be happy to share tales with you, stranger. My companions would likely head towards the closest inn if they were sure they were separated from me, as that was our next destination. Does that align with your path?”

The other woman smiled. “That it does. When last I consulted my map, the next inn was a half-day’s walk up the road. Shall we?”

As they walked up the road, dappled light gently touched the faces of both travelers. Briar hummed an aimless tune, kicking up dead, brown leaves. They traveled in silence for quite some time, neither quite willing to speak up after such an abrupt introduction. About an hour into the walk, Kanaya opened her mouth and was about to begin some sort of small talk about the weather when they reached the top of a hill. Below them, the trees opened up to reveal a path curving down and around a small, ruined stone structure. What had previously been a large castle town now lay in disarray, the abbey wall crumbling and holding nothing at bay. The peasant houses must have been constructed of wood, as all but their foundations had long rotted away. All that remained was a small stone castle with a single, thin spire reaching high into the sky. Small was relative; the property would have held a baron comfortably in his keep with acres of holdings, but from the vantage point it felt like a child’s plaything.

“Well, that certainly looks interesting.” Briar broke the silence with a chuckle.

Kanaya did have to agree. Ruins such as this one, so deep in the woods, were possibly undisturbed, and might have strange and magical treasures hidden within. At the very least, there would be a few monsters to kill, and get some of her frustrations out. “We should explore it. There is still light in the sky.”

Briar’s smile faded slightly. “You know, I grew up not too far from here. When I was a little girl, we were told a tale in whispers. It was the sort of fairy tale that adults would laugh off, but forbid you from speaking about ever again. Would you like to hear it?”

“Right now?” Kanaya asked, the question coming out more incredulously than she intended. “While we’re stopped in the middle of the road?”

The smile was back. “I can walk and weave words, miss.”

“Well then, far be it from me than to stop you.”

“A long, long time ago, a young king killed what he thought was the last dragon in his lands. His fields were free from fiery terror, and his people lived prosperously for three decades. One day, a winged shadow drew over the land again, smaller than the scourge that had last plagued the land, but still enough to wreak havoc. One dragon spawn had survived, and had lived long enough to exact its revenge.”

Briar stopped to hop over a river, holding out an arm to steady Kanaya as she crossed. Her hands were warm, heat thrumming through Kanaya’s thick gear to her palm where she clasped Briar’s. She let go, and they continued. Kanaya’s hand felt cold.

“The dragon landed on the top of the castle of the now-middle-aged king, and told the king that he would leave the lands be, if only the king would offer his daughter. One life in exchange for the kingdom’s safety.”

Kanaya laughed grimly. “I suppose it was an easy deal to make with the dragon staring him down.”

“I suppose it was,” Briar replied. “He brought his daughter to be scooped up in the dragon’s claws and carried away. The kingdom was quiet and safe for another thirty years, until the king’s son had borne an heir and several daughters, and a new ruler was crowned. The dragon once again flew across the land, and once again sat atop the tower and demanded a companion. Every three decades, the dragon would return, larger than before, and more imposing.”

“And how long ago was the last time the dragon came to the land?” Kanaya asked, playing along.

“Well, that’s just the thing.” Briar held a branch up so Kanaya could pass under it. “The dragon hasn’t been sighted in over fifty years.”

“Do you know why?”

The first crumbling pieces of stone that formerly lined the road to the castle began to rise up from the sides of the road. “No one knows. Some of the bravest in our village once described traveling deep into the woods and seeing a castle with a tall tower, a sleeping monster curled around the top.”

Kanaya squinted ahead, trying to spot the castle. “Did you put much stock in their tales?”

“When I was younger? Not really. Now? Also no, not really. I think if a dragon had a castle, he’d sleep inside of it, not on top.”

Involuntarily, Kanaya burst out laughing. “That’s your justification for why they’re wrong? Not that your country doesn’t have a history of missing princesses, or that you happened to live close enough to the dragon’s castle to find it, but not so close that it bothers you?”

Briar put her hands on her hips. “Would you sleep out in the rain and the cold if you had the option not to?”

“I make a habit not to when I have the choice,” Kanaya ceded.

“Then you admit there’s some logic to what I say,” Briar smirked felinely.

Kanaya rolled her eyes, smiling. “Begrudgingly. At any rate, there was no dragon on that tower when we saw it from above.”

“No,” Briar said. “There wasn’t.”

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 24

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

2004 

“We lay to rest a beloved member of the community. A mother. A friend. A daughter. A wife. Claudia Stilinski...” We stood on the lawn of Beacon Hills Memorial Cemetery, watching Aunt Claudia’s casket being lowered into the ground. She had been sick for so long and it was starting to turn ugly... But she was in a better place now, that’s what Uncle Noah said. When he spoke at least. I looked past the grieving people, like Ms. McCall, Scott, the entire police department, and looked at Stiles. He looked so tired. His cheeks were tear stained and his eyes were red from crying. 

Once people started to disperse, my parents and I made our way over to Uncle Noah and Stiles. While the adults talked, Stiles and I just continued to stare at the grave. The grounds keepers were starting to cover her body with dirt. 

“Do you want me to spend the night tonight?” I whispered, reaching over and holding his hand. 

Stiles shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I want to be alone tonight.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

“Wouldn’t tonight be the worst time to be alone?” 

“I just want to be at home with my dad. I need some time for myself.” 

“(Y/N).” We both turned at my father’s voice, “Let’s go, sweetie.” We both looked back at the grave.

“Okay. Well, call if you change your mind.” I gave his hand a squeeze before letting it slip away. 

We got into the car, making our way back home. 

“How you holding up, sweetie?” Mom turned back and looked at me over the sink. 

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” I said, looking out the window.

“Well, you don’t have to.” Dad said, “We’ll get into our pjs and watch Disney movies. You know how much Aunt Claudia loved Disney movies.” 

I swallowed thickly, “Actually... I was hoping that I could go to see the Hales. If that’s okay.” Dad sighed loudly and mom smacked him subtly. 

“Sure, baby.” Mom said, a sad smile on her face, “I’ll call Talia when we get home.” 

-

When I was dropped off at the Hales’, Talia welcomed me with open arms, a blanket, and a hot chocolate. I guess what I needed was away from the whole situation. We played games, Laura braided my hair, we made friendship bracelets. At the end of the night, Laura and Cora had fallen asleep to the movie we had been watching and Derek had snuck us both onto the roof of the Hale house. We were on our back, looking up at all the stars in the sky and the moon shining down on us. We had been in silence for a while until Derek cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“So, uh, are you excited for high school next year?” 

I sighed and shook my head, “After today? I don’t think I’ll be ready for anything.”

“Yeah...” He turned on his side to face me, “I’m sorry about your aunt. I know she was important to you.” 

“Thanks...” I turned, “I guess I’m just kinda worried about everything. I don’t know what life is going to be like without her. And I’m worried about Stiles too.” 

“I bet. I don’t know what I would do if I lost my mom.” He said. Then, he reached out and grabbed my hand, “Whenever you feel like this again, let me know. You can come over and we can do this again. Whatever you need, I’ll be there.” 

I smiled, a slight blush to my cheeks that I really hoped was hidden in the dark, “Thanks, Derek.” 

“Of course.” He smiled, “It’s what friends do.” 

-

The communication with Beacon Hills was slim to none. And, ya know, that didn’t feel great. I understood that everyone was busy living their lives whether it was being a high school student or fighting supernatural beings or being a supernatural being or the sheriff in a town full of both. But unanswered texts and calls were starting to get to me. 

The ones I got weren’t great either though. Stiles occasionally sent me a long email about the events that had happened since long distance calls weren’t in the phone plan. 

I had learned more about the alpha pack - a blind one, a woman who could definitely use a manicure, a strong man, and twins who could morph into each other. I was almost a little happy I didn’t have to deal with that. 

All the betas were missing except Isaac who had stayed behind. Even if he did get in trouble every now and then. 

And then missing turned into dead. Hearing that Erica was dead really hit me hard. I barely knew the girl, a few moments and quick chats usually didn’t mean that much. But they found her locked in a closet, rotting. It was horrifying. She was a child. She was finally enjoying her life - a new life without seizures and bullying, her parents had taken her to get pictures taken; happy to see that their little girl loved herself for the first time. Now she was gone. 

They found Boyd alive, thankfully. And surprisingly, they had found Derek’s sister: Cora. 

Not forgetting that there were flocks of animals committing mass suicide and kids turning up murdered. It seems home is getting more and more dangerous. Not only was there an alpha pack but there was a creature called a Darach, a dark druid. 

The leader of the alpha pack, Deucalion, was trying to get Derek to join his pack. He also wanted me to join as well, apparently he had been asking where I was. To join, he would have to kill the betas. Derek, who I’m sure was done being manipulated, refused. To keep him safe, Derek kicked Isaac out of the depot to live with Scott. 

Speaking of dead...

Even thousands of miles away, the vision of falling three stories still hurt as much as if I was actually there. A battle between the alphas, Derek and Scott. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if Derek was alive or dead. Every little message I thought to him just echoed in my head. I had cried, tried forcing myself to work through it. But nothing really worked. I still woke up in the middle of the night, naked on the castle grounds having shifted my feelings or else I was instinctually trying to search for him. First it was anger, next it was denial, then more anger. And that was all just last night. 

Hell, not even forgetting to mention the fact that the test Lachlan ran on me was a little more than just a blood panel. They checked for human chorionic gonadotropin hormone aka the pregnancy hormone. And things were just getting better and better. Because it was positive. I am pregnant. And the father may be dead. 

-

Sending a preemptive long distance fee to Stiles’ PayPal account, I called the house phone. It didn’t have caller ID but it was something. Michael didn’t think it was a good idea, however, it was gonna be a cold day in Hell before I listened to his double agent ass. Lachlan thought I deserved closure. And I trusted him more. 

“Stilinski residence.” Stiles’ voice was a little scratchy, but still loud and clear. 

“Stiles, if you hang up on me I swear you will live to regret it. I still have access to your secret YouTube channel.” There was a pause on the other end, then a sigh. 

“Hey (Y/N). I was wondering why I got an email from my PayPal."

 "Is there a reason I've been on everyone's pay no mind list? Because it's starting to piss me off."

"Well... Derek said that we shouldn't worry about or get you stressed out."

"So not talking to me for months is supposed to help?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Uh... Ya got me there."

I groaned and started tapping my foot, "I just...." My mind seemed to go blank, my heart rate going up. That's not right. I wasn't doing anything to make it spike like this.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry, I wish I could contact you more. But there's a lot going on here with the alpha pack and Lydia and-and Derek-"

"Shit." I wheezed, sitting down on the bed. My body felt so warm and not in the way it normally would.

"Yeah I know, it's a lot right now-" His voice was drowned out by my senses taking over. It was the familiar warmth of intimacy. But not from me. It was Derek! He was alive. But he was with someone. And that someone-

He was kissing her. Touching her. His heart racing. Her touch set his skin ablaze and nothing else mattered. Not even the wounds on his body that nearly killed him. But all that mattered was her intoxicating touch. The touch of a woman he didn’t know. But her whole being enveloped him.  

I screamed loudly in anger, but behind that anger was so much pain. My chest ached and felt like it was being pulled across the world. I dropped the phone, holding my chest.

"(Y/N)? (Y/N)! What's wrong?!" My breathing was erratic and my thoughts were going wild between what had just happened and what I was thinking and what I had to do from here. I felt so helpless and alone. What could I do?

Then... There was an answer. Maybe it was the stress? Maybe it was my raging hormones? But I had my answer.

I picked the phone back up.

"(Y/N)! Talk to me, what's going on?"

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, "Derek’s alive."

"He is?"

"But not for long." I hung up.

How dare he? HOW COULD HE? AFTER EVERYTHING WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH OUR ENTIRE LIVES AND HE JUST- JUST THROWS IT ALL OUT? And for what? Who could have been more important than me? I'm his stupid mate for Christ's sake.

But if he wants to sleep around?

Fine.

Fine.

He could for the next thirteen hours. Because I'm going back to Beacon Hills for the soul purpose of ripping his heart out like he did mine. And if this emotional trauma affected my child? Well, there were repercussions for that too.

-

Michael and Lachlan were in my room, watching me as I threw together a bag to take on the plane. Remarkably, as a member of the Lunar Circle I would get free airfare courtesy of Lachlan mostly because the guy was insanely rich and he agreed with my revenge plot, for the most part.

"Okay, let's think rationally here." Michael said, taking things out of my bag as I was putting them in, "He's a total douche bag for doing this. We all agree. But in your state, I don't think you should fly. I mean anything could happen."

"I can fly until I'm thirty-six weeks along." I said curtly, grabbing my things out of his hands and putting them back in the bag.

"Come on, think about what you're doing-"

"I have thought about it. And I'm going to kill him."

Michael looked back at Lachlan who had his arms crossed over my chest, only observing.

"A little help here, Praetor McLeod?"

Lachlan shrugged, "Seems justified to me."

"Murder? Murder seems justified to you." He asked incredulously.

"It's the werewolf way." Lachlan said simply.

"Thank you, Lachlan." I smiled.

"Anytime."

"Okay, what about this?" Michael stood in front of my path to my bag, "Murdering him seems like a great idea right now, I totally get it. But-but if you do that, it will weigh heavily on your conscience."

"The Lunar Circle has excellent insurance, including therapy." Lachlan chimed in.

I moved Michael out of the way, "Duly noted."

Michael sputtered, "And-and your baby? What about your baby? That's their dad."

"Their dad who decided to stick his penis in another woman." I raised my eyebrows at him, "That one? Yeah, what a stand up guy."

“But you love him. Don’t you think killing him-”

“Michael!” I slammed my suitcase shut, “Shut up.” I turned and faced both of them, “You’re right, okay? I do love him, which is the worst part. I hate him so much but I still love him. I dedicated my life to him and I thought he had dedicated himself to me. I was wrong.” I zipped the bag and made my way out the door, “I’ll be back at the end of the week.”

-

Getting on the plane didn’t take long. Relatively short lines, quick ticket, fast boarding. Like someone was looking out for me as I went to kick Derek's ass. Becoming alpha to Derek's pack was starting to sound better and better as the pain continued to radiate through my body. Eventually, I just felt numb.

The people on the plane were nice. I sat next to an older gentleman who slept for the most part so I could whisper profanities under my breath. The stewardess had been kind, making sure I had enough to drink. It seems someone had tipped them off I was pregnant, probably Michael. The guy had been a nervous wreck since he found out I was pregnant. He wouldn’t even let me train, not like he had much of a choice in what I did. But he sure knew how to annoy me out of a room. Lachlan had been supportive, talking about adding an additional room onto mine for a nursery. I told that it wasn’t necessary since I wouldn’t be staying in Scotland that long. 

After the plane landed, I was met by a very tired looking Stiles. We didn’t speak much, just began the drive back home. 

"So...." He swallowed, his eyes darted from me to the road ahead, "Pregnant," He chuckled nervously, "That-that's great! I'm so happy for you.” He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. He was hesitating, he wanted to say something else, “Uh...Speaking of-” I groaned loudly, another lecture. 

He ignored my dramatics, “Maybe you shouldn't kill him. That's not good for the baby..." 

“It wasn’t good for the baby when he decided to take our bond, step on it and rub it in the dirt.” He was silent, but not for long.

"Yeah-but you see we kinda need Derek to help with some big bads. Like Deucalion and the Darach and ya know, other stuff." 

"I remember you telling me about it. I tried to do some research but Lachlan said that we didn’t have too much information on them.” 

“Well that’s not too helpful.” 

-

We made it back to the house at sunset, which was perfect timing. The cover of night would be great to conceal me in the dark. Sure, he would smell my scent but he would have no idea where I was coming from. I pulled on the handle on the door but stared at it when it didn’t budge. Still locked. I looked back at Stiles. He looked tired, a wreck.

“Would you just... See dad before you cover yourself in blood? He was really excited to hear you were coming home.” Like he always seemed to be, Stiles’ was right. I should see Uncle Noah. 

“I will. I need to rest anyway. Besides, I can’t kill him on an empty stomach.” I winked.

“You terrify me.” He unlocked the doors. We got out just in time for Uncle Noah to jog down the driveway. 

“There she is!” He grinned, wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tight. 

“I missed you so much.” I said into his shirt, giving him a soft squeeze. He pulled away and looked over me, “Look at you.” He motioned to my stomach that looked more like I was bloated than a fetus growing inside of me, “This-this is... Mhm. Exciting!” 

I chuckled, “Thanks. Very mhm.” 

“Uh, you hungry?” 

“Starving.”

-

Dinner had been extremely awkward, the conversation mostly coming back to the child growing inside of me. Lots of questions from both of them. Mostly how I hadn't called. In actuality I had called approximately twenty times a day with no answer from anyone per Derek's request. Unfortunately for him, his requests were now being put on the back burner. I excused myself to my room.

My room was kept the same, I'm certain no one had been inside besides Uncle Noah. And from the ruffled blankets, maybe Stiles. Back when we were kids, we used to sneak scary movies and had to sleep in a huddled pile because we were too scared to sleep by ourselves. 

I grabbed a jacket and opened up my window, I was half way out of it when my door opened. Stiles stood in the doorway. We stared at each other for a minute. 

“I may regret saying this one day because I don’t care for Derek, but don’t kill him.” He said, “Kick the living shit out of him, sure. Get in a few punches for me. But don’t kill him. We need him.” Of course, all it took was Stiles to talk me off the murder-ledge. 

“I won’t kill him.” I smiled, “I’ll be home soon.”

-

Odds are, with the alpha pack threat Derek will have the depot protected. What he failed to remember was that the most dangerous being in the world had a key to every place in the depot. I simply walked in the front door. Almost like he was expecting me.

His scent was so strong, like the forest after it rained. It made this ball of emotion well up in my chest bringing me back to all the love and memories we had shared together. Not all the memories were life and death. They weren't all fights. Some days, Derek and I would curl up and bed and never leave, only grabbing food here and there. His smile would light up his whole face, sometimes it would even reach his green eyes and make them sparkle. When he would nap, he would lay his head on my chest and sleep, like he was finally at peace with himself and the world. That was the person I loved. 

I walked through the main room at the depot, getting to the stairs. The worst part here was the pictures, us together, the pack. I want to make the depot less abandoned and more homey for the betas to have a place to go and relax. Some of the pictures had turned heads at the photo developing counter (but I had managed to convince them that it was for a theater class). The worst part was that on my way here Boyd had been killed. If only I had been here soon, if only I had been here at all. Only two of the pack remained, Isaac and Jackson who was no longer a killer lizard thanks to Lydia. Say what you will about Peter Hale but sometimes he knew what he was talking about.  

If Derek knew I was here, he hadn’t tried to make a move. Smart. 

After wandering a bit, I finally decided to face the music. I found him hunched over his desk in the main office room. Rain was dancing against the fluorescent lights from the street lamps down below. He hadn’t looked up at me the whole time that I walked up to him. He felt defeat and alone. He had lost everything. He was looking down at his desk, his hands laced together. He looked up slightly, more looking at my shirt than my face. 

“I...” His voice was soft and quiet, something unlike the loud, booming man I was used to, “I messed up.” 

“Yeah, you did.” It was silent for a moment, then he spoke again. 

“Who’s with you?” He asked, his eyes scanning the room. 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “No one.” 

“Then why do I hear another heart-” His eyes widened. He stared directly at my stomach. I thought I almost saw his ears perk up. 

“Are you...”

“I am. I’m having a baby. Emphasis on the ‘I’m’.” I really hadn’t wanted to do much talking, I really hadn’t planned on saying anything besides obscenities and screaming at him. He stood up from the desk and quickly came around, he reached his hand out towards my stomach but I smacked it away. 

“You have no right to touch me. Especially when I can still smell her stench on you.” I scrunched up my nose and sneered. 

“Look,” He licked his lips, “I can’t give you a good answer or an excuse-”

“Good, because I don’t want one.” I glared. 

He looked at me a moment then continued, “I don’t know why I did what I did. Something just came over me. Please tell me you believe me.” He put his hand on my shoulder. 

He really should have taken a lesson out of his own book. With amazing speed, I grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the room. When he landed, my features shifted and my eyes glowed red. He groaned, holding at his waist. That’s where he had been injured in the alpha fight, it had healed but it was still sore. 

“I don’t want your apologies.” I growled, walking towards him, “I want you to feel what I felt. The pain and the suffering. The violation...” I chuckled darkly, “You know that I felt her hands on you? Touching the most private parts of your body that only I was supposed to feel. Do you know how disgusting I felt afterwards? I felt used and dirty and it wasn’t even my body.” I stepped on his chest with my boot to keep him down on the ground. He still wasn’t looking at me. I snarled, grabbing him by his shirt and shoving him against the concrete pillar he landed on. 

“Look at me!” I roared, “You broke me into a million little pieces. You didn’t answer my calls.” I punched him. 

“You kept me hidden in the dark about Erica’s death.” I hit him again. 

“You wouldn’t let my family communicate with me and when they did they couldn’t even tell me everything that was going on. I was begging to hear from someone, anyone, I was all alone!” I threw him across the room. 

“You blocked my number two months ago.” I stalked over to him, ignoring the tears running down my face, “I couldn’t even hear your voice on your goddamn voicemail!” I got down on my knees and grabbed his chin so that his eyes met mine. 

“LOOK AT ME!” I screamed, “Look what you did to me! For months you’ve been using our bond for your own strength, strength that used used to heal and have sex with another woman!” My voice was starting to crack as all the things I had thought about were coming out, “See how much my heart broke when I felt how happy you were with someone other than me.” He was finally looking at me. The worst thing though was that his eyes were full of so much love for me, that special twinkle that Peter said only happened when he looked at me. I wasn’t angry anymore, I was devastated. 

“I came here to kill you.” I sniffled, my features shifting back to normal, “I wanted to tear your heart out. But I can’t... I can’t because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I shouldn’t have hurt you, but I want to because of what you did.” As the anger fogged cleared, I realized that I was just as bad as he was. 

“You had every right to hurt me-”

“No, I didn’t. I shouldn’t have hurt you. I’m sorry.” I looked down at my hands, “I felt so out of control. I thought I was getting better at it.” 

“You were.” Derek sat up slowly, “It’s the baby. All of your emotions are going to be heightened. More than usual.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” I made my way towards the exit, not caring that he was calling after me, running to catch up to me. I just left him there. Even when I got home and he tried to get into my window, I just ignored his pleading. What I did wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have hit him or punched him. I was just so angry and that anger clouded my vision. 

Weren’t we a pair - one cheats and the other goes into a blind rage. Perfect. 

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

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[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

How about some eventual snuggling with Kili who used to tease human!reader for not having her first kiss yet? I just love the way you portray the brothers in your writing, it always makes me smile 💘

I'm sorry this took so long, I've been lacking motivation to write since I hurt my hands but I got this out! I hope you like it!

You never understood why people care so much about others romantic experiences when they're not even interested in the first place. 

It literally makes no sense. 

What does it matter that you've never kissed anyone? Or been in a relationship? 

A conquest is how you've been seen in the past. Like a goal that people are working towards over something so stupid.

What do they even gain from getting a kiss from you anyways? Another roll of innocence on their belt? Bragging rights? 

Whatever. 

I mean really, it shouldn't matter at all; and in this particular group of dwarfs you thought it wouldn't matter at all, and for the most part it doesn't. However, while your first kiss may not be a conquest, it certainly is the topic of a lot of teasing. 

Specifically from Fili and Kili.

Double specifically from Kili. 

It was just a casual conversation like any other when the topic came up, the two brothers discussing how awkward their first kisses were since they had given up their first kisses to the same girl. 

"I know, I know. It sounds unbelievable but it's true!" Kili exclaims between laughter, nudging his brother in the side while you join in with giggles of your own. "And do you want to know what happened after we kissed?" 

"What?" You ask eagerly, practically on the edge of your seat. This story is just too good. 

"She called me Fili! She had us completely mixed up with one another and it then dawned on me that she hadn't said my name the entire night." He looks indignant and tries to feign shock, though the big smile on his face gives him away. "I'm completely certain that she forgot if I was Fili or Kili, and then panicked and guessed at the last moment. It was mortifying." 

You gasp dramatically and look over at the blond-haired brother who is watching on with amusement in his eyes, though he isn't laughing as much as you or his brother. "And what about you?" 

"Me? Well, she kissed me afterward and didn't bother to tell me that she had been snogging my brother only a few hours-" 

"A few hours? " Once more you're left shocked- this is better than any soap opera- and you look at him with wide eyes. 

"I know! I had no idea. And when I returned home later and Kili told me what happened, I nearly lost it." He shakes his head after he finishes speaking and crosses his arms over his chest.

You reach up and scratch at your cheek lightly, pressing a bit further, "What did you guys do about it?" 

They exchange a glance as smiles creep up onto their faces, and right away you know they did something no so kind. 

"Well, the next time she asked me to join her for an outing," Fili begins, a smirk creeping up onto his face, "I invited Kili along." 

"Oh, her face when she saw the both of us together. Once we approached her she looked like a deer caught drinking by a hunter, I tell you! And then Fili said-"

"I said, 'Oh, Elora! I hope you don't mind but I brought my brother, Kili, along since I wanted him to meet you.' And then she looked absolutely horrified." 

You place your hand on your face and look at him with wide eyes, asking very energetically, "W-Wait so you brought along your brother, who she also kissed, _and _indirectly told her she said the wrong brothers name?"

"That's exactly what I did, and she looked none too happy about it. She started yelling at us for being horrible and tricking her." Fili sighs and shakes his head as if he's disappointed just thinking about it. "She looked positively foolish." 

"What an awful way to lose your first kiss- because that certainly does sound like a loss." You look at them sympathetically despite the humor of the memory, knowing that it must've been much less pleasant at the time. 

Kili shrugs his shoulders indifferently, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, "Well, we're not bothered by it anymore anyways." 

"It's your turn to share." Fili urges as his humorous demeanor becomes much more expectant. 

You frown deeply at his call for your story, but, unfortunately for them, you don't have one. "I've never kissed anyone, so I've no embarrassing story to give." 

A moment of silence passes by where they just look at you before Kili asks incredulously, "You've never been kissed?" 

"No..." You suddenly feel a bit nervous, glancing away shyly. "Not everyone has been, you know. Surely it isn't that surprising to you." You're grumbling more than speaking at this point, hoping more than anything that they'll just drop it since it isn't a big deal. 

A smile curls onto Kili's lips and the tease leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, "Certainly there must be some sort of mistake! Our brave, adventurous, Y/N has never kissed anyone?" 

In contrast to Kili, a scowl works its way onto your face and you look away pointedly, "What does it matter?" 

"Oh, well it doesn't matter much...," he trails off as that same mischievous smile stays on his face, and then he continues, "You're even softer and sweeter than I thought!"

"How does that make me soft or sweet?" You ask incredulously, half-hearted disgust twisting your features. 

"It just does." Fili chimes in suddenly, earning a glare from you. 

A heavy sigh leaves you and you flop down onto your back, avoiding looking at both of them, "Oh, you too? You're both incorrigible." 

All they do is laugh in response. 

You got an awful lot of teasing from those two after you let that slip (it wasn't actually a slip up but whatever), but eventually the jokes and jabs died down and became less frequent, though they didn't stop altogether in the slightest. 

Some of their jokes ended up being kinda funny too, surprisingly enough, though that doesn't mean you disliked it any less. 

And there's also the thing with liking all the attention you've been getting from Kili- even if it is attention derived from being made fun of. 

Also, there's the fact that a few of Kili's jabs included things like being willing to teach you a thing or two about kissing... Oh, even thinking about it makes you embarrassed. 

You can feel your face heating up upon the thought of his recent behavior, and you chance a quick look around to see if anyone is looking at you and, luckily, find that nobody is paying attention to you. 

Thank god. 

A moment or so passes and the raging heat of your face cools, and then you dispel all thoughts of this from your mind. 

You take a deep breath and lay back into your bedroll and pulling your blanket over you, looking up at the sky with a slight pout on your face. 

A chill runs down your spine in unison with a strong gust of wind that breezes by, and, instinctively, you reach up and wrap your arms around yourself. It's a cold night, but you'll be able to manage as long as you bundle up properly. 

"Y/N? Are you cold?" A voice pipes up from your left suddenly. 

You turn toward the voice and see Kili sitting with his back propped up against the trunk of one of the trees in the clearing, one of his eyebrows raised while he smokes from the dreadful pipe. 

"Just a little bit." You mumble, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and sitting back up so you can look at him full on. "Are you going to sleep soon?" 

"Yes..." He trails off and looks like he wants to say something else, and right away you're on guard. 

"If you're thinking of more ways to tease me, then I won't speak to you at all tomorrow." 

A smirk curls at the corners of his lips and he laughs heartily, shaking his head along while speaking, "I was not planning on it. Have I really tormented you so much that you expect it now?" 

Uh, duh. 

You nod your head vigorously and glare right at him, "Yes. And you know it, too." 

The dark-haired dwarf laughs some more and shrugs his shoulders, placing his pipe down and crossing his arms across his chest. "Fair." 

"Is that all?" 

He doesn't say anything right away and instead looks at you silently for a bit, seeming to debate something internally before he gestures for you to come over to him. 

You, of course, just look at him blankly for a moment, eyes narrowing a fraction with clear distrust, "What?" 

"You said that you are cold." 

"And?" 

"I'm offering up a solution." 

Once more you say nothing and just look at him, thus causing him to sigh heavily. 

"Come on now, I'm only trying to be nice," he pauses, then adds, "I promise not to tease you." 

"How do I know I can trust you?" 

"You'll just have to try." 

The sourness does not leave your face while the two of you engage in some sort of stare down, a battle of wills, but when another shudder runs through you, you know that you're just gonna have to concede. 

And I mean, it's not like you don't want to be close to him or anything like that, but there's still that little bit of suspicion whispering in your ear...

Oh well. 

You sigh heavily and resign your hesitance in favor of crawling over to him, not removing your blanket or being particularly quick, and once you're next to him you settle and pull your blanket tighter around your shoulders. 

"Okay, I'm here." 

He wraps his arm around your shoulders right away and pulls you into him, laughing lightly at your hesitance since he really does find it to be rather cute. "Come on now, it's only me." 

"I know..." You grumble, leaning into him comfortably and wrapping one of your arms around his waist, less skittishly this time around. "You're always bothering me, though, so I never know what to expect." 

Fair. 

He only smiles and doesn't reply, looking ahead and just getting more comfy himself. 

The change in temperature is almost instant, and right away you know that you don't want to be anywhere else. 

You slide down further and stretch your legs out in front of you, sighing contently while you look at the flickering and orange fire ahead. The air is still cold of course, but it feels so much better with someone holding you. 

Kili unconsciously smiles when you snuggle up further into him, pulling you over so your head can rest against his shoulder which you appreciate greatly. 

You're practically laying on him now, but if he's uncomfortable at all then he definitely isn't showing it. 

You aren'y quite sure when your eyes began to droop or your body began to completely relax, but very soon were you on the verge of sleep, tipping just over the edge of rest as he held you so comfortingly and remained as still as he possibly could - which you are very grateful for. 

At one point you vaguely register movement beside you and, when you begin to stir, a soft whisper telling you that everything's fine and that you should go back to sleep, and not long after that are you completely whisked away into dream land. 

Kili had elected to lay down and bring you with him once he got tired, and, instead of sending you off to your own bedroll, he just held you a bit tighter and looked up at the sky for a little bit while he waited for sleep to overcome him as well (that ended up taking a bit longer than he thought it would, for he was entranced in your peaceful expression and the soft breaths fanning out across his chest). 

Right before he falls asleep himself he leans down and presses a delicate kiss to your forehead, smiling tiredly when your nose twitches. 

And then he too falls into the depths of sleep. 

[seijch]

➣ the fate of a blade has (and always will be) to live and live and live. whether or not they retain their memories is optional.

kuroo tetsurou + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

high fantasy au, angst

2k

this fic is inspired by the video game xenoblade chronicles 2, but knowledge of that game is not needed to enjoy this fic :-) this fic also takes place in the same universe as my ushijima fic simple life, but the stories of both take place independently of each other !!

Wait.

Stop.

"Kuroo?"

You know him; of course you do. You'd recognize the sharp lines of his face from anywhere, any place, any time. You take his appearance in the same way one would thumb through the pages of their favorite book: with familiarity and all the care in the world.

He turns at the sound of his name, his gaze searching for a moment for the source of the sound. When it lands on you, your heart breaks.

He looks about the same as always, hair permanently disheveled and exactly as annoyingly attractive as you remember.

(He used to lord it over you when you'd admitted it to him. "Oh?" he'd asked, chin in his palm and a twinkle in his eye. You had wanted nothing more than for the ground beneath to swallow you whole.)

It's been almost a full year since you've seen him. You didn't think you'd get the chance to ever again.

"Do I know you?" he asks.

You did, you want to scream.

You did—

(Your eyes blink open for the first time. Well, not really; they've blinked thousands, millions of times before. This just marks the first time your eyes have opened to your current incarnation.

For a moment, you think you're seeing double, the girl you assume is responsible for awakening you shadowed by her doppelganger. Ah, you think. They must be identical twins.

Introductions are standard. They have to be, when all you've come into this life with is your name and the innate knowledge of your power. Such is the life of a blade, you suppose. You come into this world with one purpose, one goal: to serve your driver, the person who summons you. 

Thankfully, your driver and her sister look nice enough, but their company does not, all scarred faces and scowls.

"Tough crowd, right?" a voice asks, low in your ear. You startle, whipping around to strike your would-be assailant. It's another blade, judging by the gem embedded in his chest and the vaguely unhuman look in his eyes. He holds his hands up in surrender, a playful grin on his face. "What a way to greet someone you've just met," he drawls. When your body relaxes, he offers his hand for you to shake. "I'm Kuroo. And as for this," he nods to the grim atmosphere of the camp, "you get used to it."

Niceties, it seems, are few and far between when your trade is entirely underground. Both your driver—and Kuroo's, whose driver is the mirror image of your own—were involved with the illegal dealing of core crystals, the very thing blades are summoned from.

You voice these concerns to Kuroo on your second night. "It took me a while to get used to it, too. Turns out our drivers aren't as morally corrupt as the rest of the crew." Blades tended to take after their drivers, their personality overlaid over the blade's to make each incarnation unique. "But hey," he rations, tossing a deep orange gem with one hand, "money makes the world go 'round, doesn't it?")

You did—

("You've got to try harder than that," he teases, the tip of his katana kissing the gem on your chest. "I was just starting to have fun, too." You hiss, ignoring the sting as you get up from where Kuroo's knocked you on your ass.

"Oh, I'll show you fun," you growl. He only smiles, dropping into a fighting stance as you pick up your weapon, a cannon drawing its projectiles from the ether energy in the air. You've long since learned that Kuroo is an opponent you can't hope to beat; there were a select few blades that were lauded throughout history for their power. Kuroo Tetsurou, wielder of the Chaos Uchigatana, happens to be one of them.

But that sure as hell won't stop you from trying.)

You did—

(The sparring sessions become routine, and you end up playing into Kuroo's hands every time. Each blow landed is an uphill battle against his strength, his skill.

Out of all the mornings and nights spent butting heads, you can only remember one instance where you come out on top.

Your breathing is hard, the cannon focused at his head. You'd tumbled into his lap at some point, but your head is hazy with the fog of victory. "I did it," you pant, chest heaving.

"After what?" he asks, as though he wasn't pinned to the ground. "How many losses did it take you, hm? Fifty? Eighty?" The real number—not like anyone was counting—is closer to ninety-seven. You wisely choose not to tell him that.

"You're not going to take this from me," you tell him as your breathing evens out, crooking a finger at him. Only then do you notice the space—or lack thereof—between you. You scramble to get up, offering him a hand. It's warm. Calloused. Fits perfectly in your own.

You try not to think about it.)

You did—

("What is this, Kuroo?" You're the only two awake, up for the last shift of guard duty while the rest of camp snoozes under the night sky. The only light around is the campfire Yaku set up hours ago. It burns low, crackling enough to cut through the silence.

"What is what?"

"Don't play dumb with me," you mutter from his shoulder, a bit muffled. "We both know you're smarter than that." His shoulders rise a bit, like a wave cresting and falling as he exhales from his nose in a half-laugh.

"Let's say," he deflects, "one of our drivers dies tomorrow." 

“How morbid. Are you talking about my driver?”

“Why would I be talking about your driver? It could be either of us. That’s the point of a hypothetical situation. It’s not likely to happen.”

“You tell me, Mr. Ninety-Seven.” You’re sure he’ll take the compliment, say something about how his total number of wins against you has gone up into the hundreds, but he surprises you with what he says next.

“Don’t pretend like we’re not equals.” When you huff, he exhales, refocusing.

"Let me finish. Let's say one of our drivers dies tomorrow. One of us returns to our crystal. When they're reawakened," he does his best to crane his neck, trying to make eye contact, "we won't remember this. We won't remember us."

"Yeah." It's a fact of life; blades only live as long as their drivers do. They return to the conscious, corporeal plane once they're reawakened. It's something you know, something you'll always know, through this life and the next. You're sure there are countless people, blades and drivers alike, that have been wiped clean from the slate of your memory. "And?"

"Is it so bad," he says, barely audible, like he's trying to convince himself to believe it rather than persuade you into agreeing, "to be so selfish with your present because you'll never remember the past and aren't promised a future?")

You did—

(The next job ends in an ambush from some of the competition.

You're sure the exertion will weigh on you later, but right now, you relish in it. You've long since passed the point of being one with your driver. The ether bond between you causes you both to glow golden with the raw energy being used, and she handles your cannon with ease. They say that it's during battles that the lines that separate driver and blade are the most muddled, and right now, you know it to be true. You’re certain that you two can take on whatever comes, that you’re on top of the world and nothing will take you down.

So you do just that, the cannon's shots of ether echoing into the night, against the rock walls of the cliffs surrounding the valley.

The dust clears. The euphoria of battle begins to seep out of your bones.

Your driver's twin sister—Kuroo's driver—lies broken and bloody on the dry grass.

"No," your driver sobs, her eyes glassy in a way you've never seen in all your months together, "you said it was us against the world." Her voice cracks, "You said-"

"I know what I said." Kuroo's driver has always been the more rational twin, hasn’t she? When she smiles, her teeth and gums are stained red. "I meant it. Still do." Her words are punctuated with a gurgle bringing with it a bubble of blood that pops on her lips. "It always will be. Now run."

"What-"

"Reinforcements are coming!" Yaku shouts, out of breath as he runs in your direction. You're not sure if it's because of exhaustion or because his driver's life force is ebbing away, the ocean itself receding in time for low tide.

"I can't leave you behind," your driver cries, tears running down her cheeks unbidden. Kuroo is fighting them off by himself, a speck barely recognizable in the distance. He's winning, too—for now.

A blade with a driver on their last legs won't last. The realization is heavy as it drops to the pit of your stomach, like a pebble creating ripples in a pond.

"You have to. What's the first thing we learned on the job?"

It's one of the first things you learned about the job, too: when things go south, it’s time to bail out.

You're told to run and not look back.

You and your driver—you're sure it's a trait inherited from her—have never been good listeners.

When you chance a glance behind you, you're just in time to see Kuroo and Yaku's core crystals fall to the ground as their driver takes her last breath.)

You did.

(Life is dull after that. Colors are no longer as vibrant, the excitement that came with each day long gone. You wonder if that excitement was something that came with Kuroo alone.

Gone are the sparring sessions, the late nights spent on watch duty. You know your driver has it worse; she's despondent half the time, enough for the crew to leave her to fend for herself.

"We have enough money," you tell her one afternoon. The coins clink softly as you draw the strings of her purse closed. "Let's buy a place somewhere. I hear Uraya is nice this time of year. Would you like that?"

"Yeah," she replies. The firecracker you’d come to know and love has fizzled out. "I'd like that."

You pretend to not notice the locket she clutches close to her chest when the nightmares get the best of her. When you'd first awakened, Kuroo had been the one to tell you the story behind it: it was the first thing the two of them bought with the money from their first job.

You wonder where Kuroo and Yaku are now, eyes trained on the view of the sky from the window of the inn. You wonder if they've returned to the land of the living.

But thinking like that won't get you anywhere; after all, even if they were, it wouldn't be the Kuroo and Yaku you know.)

His eyes are guarded, entirely without recognition. In the end, he was right. (And you're sure that if Kuroo—your Kuroo, not this Kuroo that stands before you—was still around, this would be yet another victory held over your head. You find it a little annoying that he's still winning, even now.)

In the end, you are the one left with the memories. The weight of them is enough to bring you to your knees, to drag you into the depths with no chance of ever seeing the light again. Every fiber of your body wants to reach out to him, to ask "Don't you remember me?"

But you've had your share of selfishness.

Your driver is waiting for you to return with the groceries. (She's taken to cooking these days. She's no good at it, but the humming you hear from the kitchen on good days makes eating her awful dishes more than worth it.)

You swallow, but it does nothing to get rid of the lump in your throat.

"No," you smile up at him. The edges of it are a bit too strained to be genuine, and he notices. You’ve known him long enough that you can read his tells, the slight narrow of his eyes when he picks up on something poorly concealed. He’s perceptive, as always. You suppose some things never change.

(Your Kuroo knew you. He knew you well enough that the slightest change in mood would tip him off. But then again, that feels like ages and years and lifetimes ago.

Now, you’re just a stranger that’s stopped him in the middle of the street.)

"You don't."

[demialwrites]

Fallen Angel, Down to Earth

Fuck me, things have been rough with my mental health lately. So I slowly nurtured this fic. It was relaxing to write so it’s not too exciting. It’s a nice length, tho!

Hanging upside-down was more awkward than you previously thought. Especially since one of the biggest heroes of Wutai was the one holding you up. By the ankle and you were sure his hand was made of iron by the way he gripped you. If anyone saw Sephiroth holding you from plummetting to your death over a cliff, the story would spread like a nasty fart until everyone in Shinra knew. And laughed. You would have laughed, too.

You pled silently with him to put you down. You would have spoke the words but the hero himself but you were too engrossed in checking him out up-close. You did that instead, brows knitted in concentration. He did wear more belts than he needed to. His long, silver hair was glorious. And his eyes were a spring green that you'd never seen before. His black slit pupils dilated when your eyes met and you shivered. "Please, put me down, Sir!" you blurted. He smirked slightly before doing as you asked, giving his full bottom lip extra curve. He was surprisingly gentle, not just dropping you to the hard ground. "Are you hurt?" he asked. You sprang up, rapidly patting yourself down for injuries. You came up with nothing but extra dirt. "No!" Another slight smile. "Good." He turned from you and walked away. You stood there for a second before you realized he expected you to follow without being asked. You hurried up to his side. "So what do we do now?" "We find everyone else." Oh, right. You forgot you got separated from the rest while you were falling off the cliff. "Where could they be?" you wondered aloud. "I don't know. This shouldn't have happened." You followed Sephiroth around for a while, with no one in sight. You almost followed him around a corner when he quickly doubled back a step, shoving you back, also. "What?" you hissed quietly. He whipped around, hair brushing your knee. He squeezed your shoulder and put a finger to his lips. His pupils were wide again. You got lost in their blackness until a procession of bomb monsters floating past caught your eyes. They came from where you were heading. It was a much bigger group than you were used to. If not for Sephiroth's presence, you would have been terrified. You were hyper-aware of his hand still gripping your shoulder. He let go when he felt it was safe, checking around the corner again. You put your hand where his used to be. "C'mon," he said. You joined his side again. "Why didn't you just kill them...if you don't mind me asking, Sir." "There were too many for me to guarantee that I could keep you alive." Your shoulders relaxed down. "Ahhhh. That's nice." "I thought you might like that," he teased. To you, Sephiroth was just wandering around. But he pointed out evidence on the ground that proved otherwise. Bootprints and such. It surprised you how knowledgeable he was. He followed the trail until you started yawning. You tried to hide it. "The excitement of nearly dying probably tired you out," he said. "Let's stop for the night." As much as you wanted to keep going and return sooner to a warm, comfortable bed, at least you got more time with Sephiroth. Maybe you would learn more about him. He told you to set up camp while he took care of the fire to keep the chill at bay. You put down your bedroll, then looked up to find him lighting a suspiciously thick pile of branches with fire materia. Like he had snapped small trees in half. After some bland rations, you both settled down to rest. You got into your bedroll while he sat on top of his. You wanted to ask him about himself but the warmth from the fire was making you drowsy. He was gazing up at the clear and starry sky. You looked up as well. You gazed along with him in silence, the stars reminding you that the planet was spinning slowly on its axis while it orbited the sun. A massive, round cradle for all the tiny living beings on its surface. You yawned, the drowsiness increasing. So easy to lay your head down on that cradle and sleep like a baby. This experience with Sephiroth soothed away some of the intimidation you held before and you hoped you would get to work with him again. He did you a favour and found you himself in the halls first. "Hey, Sir!" "Hey," he replied. "I know you want to avoid the humiliation of everyone finding out what happened at the cliff. I'll omit from my report what exactly happened if you go on a date with me." "You don't date!" you blurted without thinking. It was always what you heard. He'd been asked many times and always turned them down. He was just teasing you. "You're cute when you're flustered. Are you turning me down?" He didn't seem concerned with your answer, just gazed at you with that same smirk as when he held you over the cliff. It had a softened, dreamier edge. It wasn't aimed at your eyes but lower. Your lips or maybe your body. You were still confused but had no reason to say no. "Yes, I guess..?" His gaze jumped back up to your eyes. "Alright, then. Where should we go? Normally, I'm too busy to go anywhere for fun." You suggested your favourite spots to eat. You would love to hear his opinion. He shook his head; too many people would bother him. That left you stumped. "I want to see your place," he said. "Show me how you live." "Me? It would bore you." "I'm curious." He leaned down closer. "Humour me." Your heart beat faster, butterflies went nuts in your stomach, and you agreed. On the night of the date, death was at your door. He had glowing green eyes. Actually, it was Sephiroth in black with the hood up on his hoodie. You smiled, laughing inwardly at yourself. His shadowed face unnerved you at first but you couldn't be surprised at his fashion choices based on his battle gear. The zipper on the hoodie was down halfway, showing a grey shirt. Black jeans and boots completed the outfit. He pulled the hood down and all of his hair out of the back of the sweater where it had been tucked and looked relieved. You assumed he didn't want to deal with anyone who would recognize him off the Soldier recruitment posters and didn't question it. He held out a white plastic bag that was tied at the top like takeout normally was. That got you a little excited. "I had one of the cafeteria chefs make something similar to the food you mentioned." "And they just did that for you?" He shrugged. "Yes." Like it was a normal occurrence. You wanted to peek inside the bag of takeout but instead, took it to the dining table. Instead of following, Sephiroth got distracted in the area just inside your door. "What's this?" he asked, picking up a knickknack and inspecting it. "Oh, I..." Sephiroth went around, picking up or pointing out various items with which decorated your apartment. You explained how you got each one and what drew you to it. It was like a child using a magnifying glass just to see how things look in more detail. Maybe this was his version of fun. You looked for an opening to turn it around and ask /him/ something but you couldn't bring yourself to interrupt. "Why don't we eat?" he finally said, turning from your personal items with a satisfied look. You embarrassed yourself by sneaking glances at his full, curvy lips while he sucked in noodles from his portion of the takeout. The date was looking up. A good view and the heavenly slide of greasy chow mein down your throat. Mmmm, fat. The cafeteria chefs didn't skimp on the meat and vegetables, either. Sephiroth finished his portion with a healthy appetite and said, "Not bad." There was an awkward moment until he told you he wanted to see what you normally did on a night like this. You thought, No, that's boring. I'm boring. How is he not bored yet? His expectant look won over. You went to your bathroom to grab some items. You came back and placed a couple of sheet masks on the table. He picked one up and eagerly read the package. "I see. Is this like a hair mask?" "Yeah!" You lit up with a smile, thankful that he caught on quickly. "I use those." "What?" "Surprised? This hair requires a lot of maintenance." He said that so casually but you couldn't picture him lovingly brushing and styling his hair. Either way, you had an out-of-body experience when Sephiroth, the most famous hero of Shinra, ripped open the mask and applied it carefully. Thankfully, your real body was numb enough without your soul to follow suit and put on your own mask on autopilot. Since he was wearing the mask, you decided it wasn't so bad to do the other thing you normally did on work nights; watch TV. You made a guess that he would want to watch a documentary because he spent all evening soaking up information. Turns out it was a good choice. He commented often that he had been to the various places filmed and how easily he had dispatched any monsters shown. It reminded you who you sat next to and you were glad he was friendly. You were starting to get sleepy from the all carbs and the late hour. Sephiroth, in contrast, seemed like he could stare unblinking at the TV screen forever. You shrugged inwardly; it was weird but least he was easy to please. Staring at him, it struck you that this entire time you wanted to see him humanized. Not the untouchable hero from the recruitment posters. This date had done just that. He was weird but who wasn't a little? You smiled at him. "This was a good date," you told him. He returned the smile. "I'm glad you think so." He held his hand out, palm-up. You put your hand on top. He closed his fingers and rested your two hands on his thigh. You fell asleep. Sephiroth let you sleep until he decided it was your bedtime. He nudged you awake and guided your half-asleep self to your bed.

[lady-divine-writes]

The Prince of the Sea and his Child of Fire - Chapter 9/15 (Rated NC17)

Summary: Blaine is a water sprite, prince of the undersea kingdom and sole heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen and his big coronation, he decides to take a journey to the surface, to seek out a legendary flame said to be tended by an evil witch. Instead of a witch, he finds something else entirely ...

Kurt is a fire fairy, prince of a race of fire fairies and heir to the throne. Five days away from turning seventeen (on the night of a full solar eclipse when he will transform and become king), he sees for the first time in his life a water sprite - a member of a race that he's been raised to hate.

What will happen when these two mortal enemies fall in love? Is there any way for them to escape destiny and be together?

Read on AO3.

Blaine paces the floor of his cell - back and forth, back and forth - trying to figure a way out. He's never been trapped in a place or a situation that he couldn't escape, but his father might have him beat this time. The dungeons are in the lowest part of the castle, beneath the sea floor. It has multiple levels and spirals down, down, down, like the inverted cone of a conch shell. His cell is on the upper level – a simple recess cut into smooth rock. It's long enough for him to lie down on the floor, but shallow width-wise. In front of him - a single door of coral bars and beyond that, two armed guards who no longer recognize him as heir to the throne.

In his many explorations of the castle growing up, Blaine made it a point not to go down into the dungeons. This is the kind of place Kurt probably imagines when he said he thought the ocean was dark and spooky. This is dark and spooky, and cold – so much colder than any other spot in the ocean Blaine has ever traveled to. But it's the silence that bothers him the most. Even in the tranquil waters, he could hear the swaying of plants, the darting of fins beating against the water, the tides rushing in and out. Down in the dungeon, the thick walls dampen the noises from outside. All he hears as he shuffles about are his footsteps against the stone, his breathing, his heartbeat …

The dungeons are reserved for the worst villains in the realm. Most prisoners go mad within a matter of months.

Some of the prison guards do as well.

He tries to let his mind wander to thoughts of Kurt and their night together. Being with him had been more incredible than he dreamed it would be. Kurt is beautiful, soft, and so full of fire. Every sound he makes, every touch of his skin is like immaculate music. But it's not for superficial reasons that making love to Kurt had been so amazing.

It is because Kurt loves Blaine.

He’d said it. Now Blaine has the memory of those words to carry him forever.

But it also made rotting away in this cell that much more agonizing.

He wants to slap himself hard for believing that he could have Kurt, that the two of them could bring their people together and begin an era of peace. That his father might accept him and Kurt, that he might even be proud of him for finding a way to bring their races together.

It is plain to Blaine now that there will never be peace between them - he and his father.

And there is little hope that he'll see Kurt again.

His father was right. He is a disappointment. And useless to boot.

At least, with the true traitors behind the jellyfish attacks behind bars, the fairies are safe.

Maybe it would have been better if Blaine had never traveled through the forbidden waters and went to the cove. Maybe meeting Kurt was a mistake. But it's a mistake he doesn't regret. Not for a minute. Not even locked up in this cell for life.

Blaine hears footsteps and his ears perk up. It can't already be time for a changing of the guard. He peeks out through the coral bars, but they're woven so tight together that little can be seen through the gaps.

"Stand aside," a voice commands. "I have orders to relocate the prisoner immediately."

Blaine's heart leaps when he hears Trent's voice.

"But, sir," the first guard says, "we have orders from King Malek to keep the prisoner …"

"Yes," Trent cuts in, "and in a day I will be king. For now, I carry his message. He wants the prisoner moved and he has sent me to do it."

Blaine smirks. Trent might be overdoing it a little, but he's not complaining. Hand it to Trent to come to his rescue.

He'll never let Blaine live it down.

"With all due respect, sir," the second guard starts, but Trent doesn't let him get farther than that.

"Would you like to go up to the throne room right now and tell King Malek that you questioned his orders?" Blaine can hear Trent move closer to the two guards, his voice dropping to a lower, more dangerous register. "From what I've seen, he's in an exceptionally foul mood. I'm pretty sure he will not take well to having his commands second guessed."

In the silence that follows, Blaine hears an audible gulp. It makes Blaine shake his head. His father rules more by fear than respect, but whatever works.

"Wh-where is the prisoner being moved to?" the first guard stutters as he hands his keys over.

"He’s been ordered to a cell further below," Trent answers, the iciness in his voice striking Blaine straight through his soul.

Further below.

Down in the deep.

Where prisoners are locked away, and then forgotten.

Maybe this isn't a ploy like Blaine originally thought. Being locked farther below sounded like something his father would do. He just can't believe that it's an order Trent would consent to carry out.

Malek probably didn't give Trent a choice. Possibly Malek opted for something worse, and Trent negotiated up to this.

The lock clicks, the door swings open, and Trent steps inside - his face stony, his eyes hard. And Blaine gets ready to put up a fight.

A fight against his best friend. He never thought he would see the day.

Trent sees Blaine stare at him from the far corner of his cell, hands up for defense, preparing to charge … and he smiles. He puts a finger to his lips to keep Blaine from speaking. It takes a moment for Blaine to understand, but when he does, he gets angrier before he calms down.

Trent almost had him there. In any other situation, Blaine would give him the hardest punch in the arm he could.

"Come along," Trent commands loudly, grabbing Blaine by the elbow and dragging him from the cell. Blaine struggles in the presence of the guards for effect. He kicks out, and the guards shuffle out of the way.

“Do you need some assistance, Lord Trent?” one guard asks. “We can accompany you and the prisoner. Help keep him out of trouble.”

Trent’s hand, locked on Blaine’s elbow, tightens, and Blaine’s heart double-thumps in his chest.

“Not at all,” Trent says with a casual confidence Blaine has never heard from his friend before. “I can handle him on my own, thank you.” He brings Blaine around harshly, leading him down the hall and out of sight.

Blaine mellows when they turn the corner, but Trent keeps a hold of his arm in case they run into anyone else along the way. They walk through the dungeon, traveling deeper and deeper into the belly of the prison, along curling corridors until they are near enough to the bottom that no light reaches them and they are less likely to be heard.

"You're going to have to go out through the sewer," Trent says in a hushed voice, eyes glowing blue in the dark. "There are guards all around the castle, inside and out. There's no way you'd be able to escape that way."

Blaine nods. "Thanks," he says, steeling himself to go, but Trent puts his hands on Blaine's shoulders, holding the focus of his glowing golden eyes.

"Blaine, you have to get to the fire fairies. Your father is gathering an army – every soldier he can. They're going to attack the cove." Trent pauses to take a breath, unintentionally prolonging Blaine's suffering. "They have orders to leave none that they find alive."

“What?” Blaine's vision suddenly blurs. He sees nothing but a haze in front of his eyes - thick, black smoke billowing up towards the sky. And as it starts to clear - the carnage. Hundreds of fairies drowned, hundreds of sprites burned. They are equally numbered, equally matched as far as Blaine can tell. If there is a battle, it isn't going to end with anyone the victor.

His father's war will wipe out both races.

"But … but Hunter …" Blaine stammers, still unable to comprehend his dad's purpose in attacking the fairies.

"Both Hunter and his father have been imprisoned for treason," Trent explains, "but it doesn't seem to matter." He shakes his head, sympathizing and equally confused. "It doesn't make sense. After hearing about you and Kurt, your dad got it in his head that the fire fairies have to be destroyed. It's going to take him the day to gather the numbers that he needs, but he's planning to attack during the coronation, before I am crowned king. There's nothing I can do."

"I have to warn them," Blaine says, staring stunned at the dark space surrounding him, feeling more trapped than before.

"Go." Trent embraces his friend, patting him heartily on the back. "Go save your fairy."

Blaine returns Trent's embrace, then races down the spiral staircase that leads into the furthest reaches of the dungeon. Even for creatures that live in the dark, this part of the castle is a never-ending nightmare, and Blaine hopes to never visit it again. He focuses his every thought on Kurt. He has to reach Kurt. And if he has to travel through the dark to get to Kurt's light, he'll do it a thousand times over.

***

The sewer lets him out far away from the castle. From this distance, he can see the ruined gates, the scarred coral, the mounting army preparing for battle, and he knows that, locked in his throne room, Malek is looking out with satisfaction at the thought of the destruction he is about to cause. Blaine has heard his father talk maliciously about the fire fairies before.

He knows that the king has been longing to demolish that foe for years.

Blaine pushes off the sea floor and swims to the surface without anyone the wiser. He always thought that being relieved of the leadership and authority of becoming king would feel like a weight off his shoulders, but he feels heavier as he leaves the castle behind. He worries for his friend, about to become king in his place. He worries for his kingdom, entering a needless battle. He even worries for his father. Whatever happened to make him the bitter, heartless sprite he is now, Blaine wishes he knew. He can't imagine that his father was always this way.

But becoming king - that part of Blaine's life is over for him, and there is nothing he can do to get it back. The only choice he has is to move on with his life – and moving on means Kurt, in whatever way he can have him.

Right now, his sole purpose is to warn Kurt that his father's army is headed their way, and they're out for blood.

***

"So, when is your sprite going to get here, huh?" Rachel teases, flitting around the fire while Kurt sits on the branch, staring into the water, his feet grazing the surface. He thinks he can feel it – that cool comfort Blaine talked about, that solitude the water gives him. Kurt thought he would never find it. Blaine belongs to the water; Kurt does not.

But now, Blaine is a part of Kurt. And just as Kurt's body burns Blaine less and less, Kurt can find the allure of the water.

Even if he can't have Blaine, maybe he can have that.

A whole day has gone by without a word from the kingdom beneath the sea. Kurt knows that Blaine can't contact him till nightfall, if he gets the chance to contact him at all, but the torture of waiting wears Kurt down emotionally until the slightest thought of Blaine's touches or his kisses makes Kurt cry. All Kurt knows is there had been a battle beneath the ocean. What if it was still going on when Blaine got there? What if he had been hurt … or even killed?

Kurt would like to believe he'd know if Blaine died, that he would feel it like the tearing of his own heart from his chest. But there is no way for him to truly know until Blaine comes back. Unless he tries to go under water.

Kurt doesn't have enough faith in the water yet to try.

Rachel throws her flowers into the flame, not really paying attention to it. It reaches out and flicks her on the butt.

"Ow!" she yelps, rubbing her sore bottom. She catches sight of her melancholy brother dangling his feet and shudders. "Can you not do that? It gives me the creeps!"

Kurt bites his lip. He didn't want Rachel there with him, but his mother had insisted – a fostering of goodwill, she’d said. But Kurt is sure she did it to keep him from seeing his love again. Out of spite, Kurt sticks his feet in the water up to his ankles. Rachel lets out a high, trilling scream.

"Stop!" she squeals. "Pull them out, pull them out, pull them out!"

Kurt closes his eyes, letting the cold creep up his legs to his knees, reaching for him beneath his skin. A hand wraps around his ankle and gives a gentle tug, and Kurt jumps. He flies straight up, pulling a giggling Blaine free of the water and dropping him unceremoniously on the grass.

"Blaine!" Kurt screams, tackling him to the ground, holding him tight, not concerned about the drops of water chilling him to the bone. "I thought … I thought maybe … oh, Blaine!"

Blaine feels Kurt's chest heave, hears the fairy cry into his skin. Blaine puts his arms around him.

"Shhh …" He strokes Kurt's hair and kisses his cheek. "I'm here. It's all right. Everything is all right."

It breaks Blaine's heart that those sentiments aren't entirely true, but for now they are. While they hold one another, everything is alright.

"So this is the water sprite you're so in love with?" Rachel groans, hovering overhead.

Blaine feels Kurt's body deflate against him and he tries not to laugh. Kurt reaches a hand up to wipe tears from his cheeks without his sister seeing. When he’s regained his composure, he turns to face her, her snobbish air tarnished by the blush covering her entire body.

"Blaine, this is my sister, Princess Rachel," Kurt mutters, motioning to his sister, who performs a clumsy, mid-air curtsy. "Rachel, this is Prince Blaine, heir to the Undersea Realm."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Rachel says sweetly.

"The pleasure is all mine," Blaine returns, kneeling to bow.

"Don't encourage her," Kurt grumbles, "or you'll make her feel important, and we'll never be rid of her. I was hoping to get a little time with my prince alone."

"You can have all the time you want with me," Blaine says, trying to sound upbeat, "because I'm not anymore."

Kurt's brow furrows. "Not what?"

"Not a prince.”

"Not a … what happened!?"

Blaine sighs. He wishes he had the whole night to explain, wrapped naked in Kurt's embrace where he can kiss away the fairy's confusion, along with all of his pent up anxiety and fear.

"We need to talk," he says. "Something terrible is going to happen, and every fire fairy is in danger."

"Rachel, go back to the flame," Kurt commands, Blaine’s serious tone chilling him to the bone. "I need to talk to Blaine alone."

"No!" Rachel stomps her foot defiantly. "I’m princess! Second in line to the throne after you! If the fire fairies are in danger, I want to know why!"

"It's all right. She might as well find out now." Blaine holds Kurt at arm’s length. He would much rather embrace him while he tells him, but he needs Kurt to see the truth in his eyes. "We were caught," he says, pausing a moment, waiting for Kurt to understand.

Kurt gasps. "Wha---who!? Did your friend …?"

"No." Blaine runs his hands up and down Kurt's arms to soothe the rage building beneath his own skin. He doesn’t feel like reliving the past few hours, and there are some parts of that tale he wants to tell Kurt when they’re alone. "No, not Trent. Someone else. Someone who used to be my friend, who's been trying to get the crown for ages. But he doesn't matter. My father found out about us and he took away my claim to the throne."

"Who's going to be king now?" Kurt asks, even though deep down he knows that question isn't necessarily important. But it’s a placeholder, giving him time to come to terms with everything.

"Trent is." Blaine smiles automatically at the thought of his best friend becoming king. "But my father is furious. He wants revenge."

"Against you?"

"Yeah, against me," Blaine answers dryly, "but also you and your mother, and every other fire fairy he can find. He's gathering an army. During Trent's coronation tomorrow, they're going to attack. He wants to kill you all."

Kurt stumbles back from Blaine's hold on his arms. "But … but why would he want us dead? What have we done to him?"

"I don't know. I don't understand it. I think I know someone who might. And maybe, if we can find out the answer, we might be able to find a way to stop this war before it starts. But we have to go now. We're running out of time."

"But … the flame." Kurt turns towards the fire burning a gloomy blue. "I have to tend it. If it goes out …"

"I'll do it," Rachel says. Kurt and Blaine look at her, surprised as they had both temporarily forgotten her.

"But you can't! It’s too dangerous! You're not strong enough!"

"I'm as strong as I'm ever going to be! I'm taking over tomorrow anyway."

"With Mother's help and guidance! I can't let you …"

"Kurt!" Rachel raises her voice. "You're running out of time! If I can't do it, then I'll call for help, but I need to give you a head start. Once Mother finds out about the army, you know what she's going to do."

"Yes. I know." Kurt bows his head. Blaine looks on befuddled.

“What will she do?” he asks.

“If the queen finds out about the coming army, she’ll attack first,” Kurt explains. “She’ll extend the power of the Eternal Flame beneath the water. She’ll put all her power behind it till it burns brighter than the sun.” He swallows hard. “She’ll eliminate every creature she can reach – malignant and benign.”

Blaine chokes on air. “Kurt! We have to …!”

"All right, all right." Kurt takes a deep breath. "Rachel, you’re in charge. But you have to promise that if it gets too hard for you, you'll call for help."

"I will," Rachel says with a solemn smile.

Kurt heads for a log on the far side of the meadow. He returns quickly with an armful of burgundy leaves and drops them on the ground at her feet.

"If you need help, put these in the flame. They'll turn the fire a brilliant gold that can be seen for miles. Burn these, and I'll return."

"I will." Rachel hugs Kurt tight. "Now, go. Find a way to stop this war."

"I will." Kurt kisses his sister's hair. "I promise."

Kurt turns to the fire, morphing in shades of light to dark green - colors of fear and confusion. Kurt puts his arms around it. “Take care of my sister,” he whispers. It flickers, then becomes silver.

The color of Kurt’s wings.

Rachel starts gathering up leaves, waving shyly at Blaine, who winks back before diving into the water. Kurt takes to the air. He looks down at the cove, the flame, and his little sister bravely tending the Eternal Flame. To the east, he sees his mother's palace, shining like a flame itself, a pyre of ivory stone.

"I'll be back," he says. Turning toward the ocean, he spots Blaine cutting sleekly through the water. Kurt beats his wings and, staying above the spitting surf and the rolling waves, follows the sprite out to sea.

[eldunea]

god ok i haven’t even started anakin’s blog yet but i already have his entire pokéverse thought out here i go

ORIGINS.

anakin was born in my fakémon region of preuzien to an enslaved old prussian (prūsai) family. in real life the old prussians were exterminated but in the pokémon world they were made the slaves of the junker ruling class. when the allies came into germany after wwii they tried to put a stop to this but unfortunately were not entirely successful.

as in canon, he has no biological human father, he’s like……the universe’s kid or something, it’s where he gets his insane powers from. in this verse he is also definitely a chosen one, but don’t take that to mean he isn’t a douche because he still totally is

like in canon he was a racer, but he didn’t race pods he raced dragons. his master knew he could make big bucks off him from an early age due to his abilities so according to prussian custom he was put on a dragon before he could learn to walk and learned how to ride that way. 

he speaks three languages: german, prūsiskai (the old prussian language) and english. his inability to speak japanese has been a weakness of his that he wants to improve on, and so he is studying that as well.

his first pokémon was a racing noivern that he named majjis, which is old prussian for “corn.” she loves her name and he didn’t even change it after he went vader, it was real fucking obvious which one of “team sith” would go back to the light side when all the other admins named their pokémon stuff like “void devourer” and “bone crusher” and here was darth vader with his ace named fucking. corn. he is currently 36 and starting from like age 10 he never lost a single race while riding corn until he was finally defeated by his son luke.

also like in canon, he won his freedom in a race but was unable to free his mother. much like lotor at the age of 12, anakin had the sense to get the fuck out of preuzien, but unlike lotor, nothing pressing dragged him back. he went to make a name for himself as a trainer and racer around the world, and also became the world’s strongest psychic.

he did go back to prussia briefly to rescue his mom. by that point shmi had been brutally beaten for refusing to give sexual favors to her master, and died in anakin’s arms. enraged, he slaughtered the entire family that had enslaved him.

DESCENT AND REDEMPTION.

as in canon, he was tormented by prophetic dreams of his lover padmé amidala dying and was corrupted by sheev palpatine to join the sith order (colloquially referred to as “team sith”), a criminal organization in orre that stole some of team snagem’s shadow-turning techniques and aimed to do it on a grander scale. palpatine’s goal was to build something known as the shadow star, a weapon so powerful that when aimed at a planet, it could turn all beings shadow, even arceus. the sith order would then use shadow control techniques to rule the world. but one thing that palpatine was also obsessed with was the search for immortality, which is how he baited anakin into joining him--by promising he could save the one he loved.

when anakin became darth vader, he allowed palpatine to turn him into a SHADOW HUMAN, just like all the other team sith admins. this means that much like a shadow pokémon, the door to his heart was sealed and much of his original personality was subsumed into just. this roiling inner turmoil of anger and violence. formally, nobody knew that star trainer and dragon racer anakin skywalker was actually underground crime lord darth vader, but they could all tell that something was really, really wrong because he started becoming colder and more withdrawn to his fans that he had formerly loved. 

nobody guessed that he had become a shadow, however, because they all attributed his change in personality to the cybernetic enhancements he had been given. by this point he had lost half his head and three of his limbs in battle, and so they were replaced with prosthetics and his artificial brain was enhanced with programming for metagross supercomputers. metagross are known for being assholes who think more like machines than living beings, so it was easy for his adoring fans to believe that anakin’s change of personality was no fault of his own.

he was purified by his children, luke and leia. they were battling rivals who later discovered that they were twins and figured out who their father was. meeting them, he felt human again for the first time when he was around them…then they told him they wanted to defeat the evil darth vader and darth sidious and restore balance to orre, and he was just. well this is awkward.

his first instinct was to just kill his children but something held him back. so instead of killing them, he accompanied them on pointless missions that would ultimately lead them nowhere near close to defeating him and sidious--just to keep them distracted. little did he know, the more he fought alongside them and spent time with them, the more his heart gauge was emptied and the closer he became to purification.

much like a shadow pokémon, the more he was purified, the more his body and brain resisted it. finally the temptation to stay shadow became too strong, at which point he told his kids he was vader, locked them up, and turned them over to sidious to dispose of them. they managed to escape, however, after which there was a double battle of luke and leia vs. vader and sidious. the twins found themselves quickly overwhelmed, and sidious was about to kill them--when the sight of the two children about to die in front of them instantly emptied the remainder of anakin’s heart gauge. finally feeling real love again for the first time in years, anakin killed his master and saved his twins. luke and leia then took him to a purification chamber to be fully restored.

CURRENT STATUS.

anakin has returned to preuzien to become one of its strategic gym leaders. his gym’s theme is sky battles, which are fought only by pokémon that can stay airborne such as flying-types and those with the ability to levitate. though this may seem to be restrictive, anakin can still fight with a diverse mixture of pokémon.

he’s actually a league member in two regions: preuzien, aka german prussia, and prutenia, the newly-instated old prussian nation. essentially he’s a diplomat but in many ways he’s the wrong choice because……darth vader, have you fucking met him? however, lotor deliberately chose someone who was angry and undiplomatic to fulfill this role because he wanted to make it very clear to the german prussians that the rights and sovereignty of the prūsai are completely non-negotiable and there is a guy in the prutenian league who will happily beat the shit out of anyone who says otherwise.

he and lotor have a very strained relationship. on one hand anakin has healed a lot since he left the sith, and he is very concerned because he sees lotor going down the same path as he did. but on the other hand he still has a long way to go yet acts like he’s 100% redeemed when he lectures lotor, and lotor sees right through this…then when lotor calls anakin out on the fact he still has issues, anakin gets all pissy. also, anakin correctly suspects that lotor is using him as an ally for his “chosen one” status, inviting him to the league and giving him a second chance in spite of him being vader because he wants to get on the legendaries’ good side by treating their chosen one well. basically them being colleagues is an Angry Bastard Disaster that they need a lot of sorting through if they are ever going to be on truly good terms.

one time anakin straight up “force choked” lotor using his psychic powers in a fit of rage. lotor taunted him by choking out the words “vader…you haven’t changed.” this could easily have led to lotor’s death, as anakin was highly emotionally charged, but instead of snapping his neck psychically at that moment he dropped him to the floor and left the room. a sign of hope in their relationship perhaps?

honestly he’s? still a fucking mess??? like just because he left the sith doesn’t mean his issues are over. he’s still angry over his mother’s death and over padmé’s death, and now he’s angry that he let palpatine manipulate him and suffers from crippling guilt that he nearly killed his two kids. not to mention psychologically he’s part machine now so he has forgotten how to be human in some ways, and it’s in this way that he still hasn’t stopped being vader.

he doesn’t feel love for anyone except his twins, majjis, and padmé. he feels small likings toward other people and pokémon and he is trying to turn that into something deeper, but he’s still extremely stunted.

he gets terribly impatient with humans when they’re not as precise or as exacting as he is. in the og movies darth vader hated anything that he perceived to be incompetence, and anakin is the same way…except now that he’s part metagross, his standard of “competence” is so far above anything humans can do that he inevitably gets irritated and lashes out at people just for being human.

he’s lost all interest in “the little things.” he doesn’t appreciate the warmth of a sunny day or the coolness of a soft breeze or seeing a pretty looking bug on the sidewalk or anything like that, the only thing he is fixated on 24/7 is sharpening his intellect. he’s kind of like sabrina in that way.

MISC.

this would be his battle theme, full stop.

he has an aegislash variant that is basically a lightsaber: the hilt is metal but the blade is pure energy. 

he is an overprotective dad and in that way he’s kind of a hypocrite, because of how he was once the biggest threat to his kids before he reformed. he gets rEAL FUCKING ANGRY when leia starts dating han solo, saying he’s just a street rat from orre and he’ll eventually stab her in the back and she’s like do i need to remind you of how you almost killed us?

he doesn’t need to hold out his hand to force choke someone bc that’s not how psychic powers in pokéverse work, he just does it because he’s a dramatic little bitch

he eventually has five grandchildren, all of which he gets overprotective toward. on luke’s side: ben skywalker. on leia’s side: jaina, jacen, anakin and ren solo. and if you thought him disliking han solo was bad, you should see his reaction when ren starts dating palpatine’s granddaughter rey…he just tENSES any time he’s around her saying i sense a great potential for evil in her and his kids are like oh really, well we’ve been sensing that in YOU ever since we met you and we don’t judge, so………damn i hate canon reylo but i mean it could work in an AU where kylo ren was never evil

[hejer-maomao]

The long-awaited second part of this ask is finally here!

I was actually planning on posting this last night, but I had a couple of health related issues to take care of, so I chose to push it back until I felt better.

I hope you enjoy this continuation, and let your heart be crushed with all the oncoming angst ❤

(First Part: Lancelot watching his S/O die)

Trigger Warning: Very Heavy Angst, mentions of Blood, Major Character Death.

Edgar Watching his S/O die:

Edgar felt his world falling apart around him. 

And he wished nothing but to die. 

Edgar’s empty eyes, devoid of all human emotions, were glued to the the young man sitting in front of him restrained in handcuffs. The judge’s deep voice was announcing the final verdict, but Edgar could not find it in himself to properly listen, gaze still locked tightly on his most hated enemy. He could faintly feel Jonah's gaze on the back of his head, his superior ready at all moments to step in and stop Edgar from committing any grave action. 

Zero, hand clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword was sticking close to his side as well, his presence although usually soothing to him, was making Edgar's wrath raise in intensity.

His King's eyes were also on him, the only thing barely keeping him in check. Minutes painfully ticked by, as the criminal received his rightful sentence and rose up from his seat to be escorted to his assigned prison. The now convicted man slowly raised his head and started searching through the crowd in the court, a disgusting smirk growing on his face as soon as he spotted Edgar sitting in the front row. 

Edgar saw red. 

He saw crimson blood, heard agonizing screams, and felt your body growing cold between his arms. 

He saw your killer, alive and well, walking away from him, a week after your funeral. 

 And the nightmare played out in his head again. 

Edgar has never been this happy before. 

How could he not be when his bloody past has been finally buried, his real self accepted, and his love returned? You were the very light of his life, the sunshine to his darkness, the smile erasing his loneliness. You wholeheartedly embraced his every flaw, and poured so much affection into his broken soul that he felt the desire to live burn in his veins for the fist time in a very long time.

That desire was his first mistake.

But nothing lasts forever.

And because the worst things in life come free to us, soon things took an abrupt turn for the worst.

It was a slightly cold afternoon when Edgar saw you off on your way to pay Blanc a visit. Cradle’s Official Record Holder has apparently invited you to have a cup of tea with him, and you were more than glad to accept his offer. Your smile was shining brightly as you kissed your lover goodbye, hand coming up to softly caress his cheek before you waved at him. Grinning when he spotted the delicate bracelet he gave to you on your last birthday, which you were proudly showing off on your wrist, the Jack of Hearts watched you skip across the paved road, heart feeling at ease.

Waiting until your small figure disappeared from his sight, Edgar tuned around to get back to his neglected duties, when a loud voice stopped him in his tracks.

One of the his unit’s newest recruits stood behind him, a bouquet of flowers held carefully in his hands. The soldier quickly saluted his superior, before handing him the beautifully wrapped gift, tone formal as he announced.

“This was just delivered for you, Sir.”

Raising one eyebrow in sheer curiosity, Edgar slowly pulled off the thin veil protecting the flowers’ fragile petals as he questioned.

“Who was the sender?”

“I-I am not sure, sir.” The soldier nervously responded, “We have found the bouquet in front of the main gate, with your name written on its accompanied card, so we have brought it to you, after checking it for any harmful substances or hidden poison.”

Lightly nodding his head in incomplete understanding, Edgar finally took a good look at the delivered flowers, eyes suddenly widening in shock as he recognized the deceivingly vibrant colour.

They were Purple Petunia.*

Edgar’s breath was caught in his throat, but he quickly regained control of himself, dismissing the confused soldier before hastily entering the Headquarters, directly heading to his office.

Once inside, Edgar made sure to properly lock the door before turning his attention back to the suspicious bouquet. He was never a true believer in flowers’ meanings and symbols, but he did recognize its practical usage while sending a coded message to a certain enemy, thus he was unable to dismiss this particularly ominous flower.

Carefully picking up the small card hidden between the delicate stems, Edgar took a deep breath and concentrated on reading the following message.

‘Dead men tell no tales. 

But when gone are the hidden veils,

Guide the Gentle Devil to his doomed rails.’ 

The foreboding note sent a shiver down Edgar’s spine, his heart dropping as a sinister feeling seemed to completely envelop his senses. Shaking his head in a futile attempt to shake the dark, unreasonable thoughts swarming in his mind, Edgar soon spotted an address at the bottom of the card in an almost unreadable handwriting.

Incapable of making sense of the flowers, card or creepy note, Edgar let his body drop on his chair, suddenly feeling too exhausted to move. His logical side knew it was best to treat the entire thing as a unsavoury prank from one of the soldiers, but the the ill-boding feelings continued to grow further in Edgar’s head despite his resistance, and he wished he could see your face soon.

Glancing at the clock sitting on his desk, Edgar deduced that you would probably be back in two hours or so, considering the fact that Blanc’s house was not that far away from the Red Territory.

He can wait for you, and when you’re finally back, maybe this impending feeling will disappear for good.

Waiting was his second mistake.

And Edgar will come to realize so in the next few hours, as you were nowhere to be found.

“Is she not back yet?” Zero’s voice carried a hint of worry as he stepped beside Edgar, who was standing at the front gate, face completely blank. When Edgar did not respond, Zero sighed in defeat, eyes locked at the road where you were last seen in, before he muttered:

“She probably got caught up with Blanc’s idle chatting. She will be home soon, so don’t worry.”

Edgar’s mind barely registered his protege’s words as another wave of dread invaded his body. Something was incredibly wrong. Edgar simply knew it, and he couldn't help but to squeeze the hilt of his word even tighter.

“Sir!” A shout suddenly echoed behind the two men, forcing them to immediately turn to face the young soldier running to them in full speed. Edgar, recognizing his recruit from this morning’s delivery, didn't waste any time waiting for him to catch his breath, quickly snatching up the note held in his hands.

“We-- found another note-” The soldier struggled to properly breathe, “At the back gate this time-”

The note was partly covered in blood, instantly sending warning signs in Edgar’s head. Willing his hands to stop trembling, the Jack of Hearts unfolded the piece of paper, colour rapidly draining from his face as soon as a too-familiar bracelet fell from the folds, equally covered in blood.

Zero’s face twisted in pure shock just as Edgar crumbled the note in his clenched fist, eyes loosing every ounce of warmth at once.

Frozen in his spot, Zero was only able to watch Edgar calmly walk away from him, unhesitatingly heading towards the forbidden forest following the note’s specific orders. Small droplets were starting to fall from the grey sky, thunder growling in the far distance, turning the previously relaxed atmosphere to a gloomy one.

Zero harshly bit his lips and rushed back into the Red Headquarters, praying with all of his might that Edgar makes it to you before it’s too late.

Finding where you were kept hostage was an easy feat for Edgar, considering the fact that your kidnappers were generous enough and provided him with the address earlier this morning.

‘If only I realized their twisted plot earlier!’ Edgar bitterly thought as he made his way through the thick, dense vegetation covering what seemed from afar, as an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Pausing to quickly sweep his surroundings, Edgar’s gaze finally spotted a young man standing in front of the lone cabin, absent-mindedly toying with a sharp dagger.

Few minutes passed in absolute silence, but even after straining his well-trained senses, Edgar found no proof of any other presence, apart from the seemingly uninvolved man. 

Clenching his sword in preparation for a close battle, Edgar slowly stood up, fully exposing himself out in the open, anger steadily boiling in his veins the closer he got to the man. The latter didn't waste any time spotting the Jack of Hearts, a disgusting grin plastering on his face as he quickly reaches behind him to open the cabin door.

“Where is she?” Edgar’s frosty tone echoed throughout the empty space, making the man stop in the middle of his action, hand hovering over the doorknob.

His eyes, now clear of any trace of his previous mirth, unwaveringly fixed Edgar, voice equally cold as he muttered.

“That’s the first thing you say to me after all these years?”

Edgar subtly moved his hand closer to his sword, trying his best not to trigger the man’s wrath. In an attempt to keep your kidnapper too busy to act on his twisted whims, Edgar sought to distract him with the first question that came to his mind.

“Oh my. Have we met before?”

These six words were Edgar’s third fatal mistake.

 The man’s hysterical laughter filled the deadly silence as Edgar continued to watch him doubled over, disgust written all over his face.

The man continued to laugh for what seemed like ages, only straightening out to properly open the door this time, voice revealing none of his emotions as he responds.

“...Have we now?”

His venomous whisper passed unnoticed as the door slowly opened to reveal the horrible sight inside.

You were tightly tied to a chair in the middle of the bare room, your mouth painfully bound with a dirty rag, forcing you into tormenting silence. From where he was standing, Edgar was only able to spot few nasty bruises scattered on your knees and several still-bleeding wounds engraved deep on your thighs.

Just the sight of you, badly hurt, with tears filling up your eyes as you struggled against your restraints, was more than enough to send Edgar into a fit of rage once again. You soon managed to lock eyes with your lover, a flicker of desperate hope finally returning to your eyes as Edgar took one step closer to you, hand reaching out to hold you close as soon as possible.

...Then there was blood. Everywhere.

Your eyes were still locked with Edgar even as your throat was slit open. Blood gushed from your open wound as life slowly seeped from your body. The crimson liquid slowly dripped from your neck to your chest and down to the ground, where the soil instantly absorbed it as it never existed within your veins. Your muscles twitched in a last, hopeless effort to cling to life before the fire igniting in your heart was put off for good.

Edgar stood frozen as seconds passed by, and only snapped awake from his dazedness when the man --your killer-- spoke, his tone terrifyingly indifferent.

“I sure hope you now remember me and my sister. The young girl you killed off by your own hands three years ago.”

The hazy memories of a young, red-haired girl trashing in his arms, hitting his chest and struggling against his hold as he choke her to death resurfaced in Edgar’s head.

‘Ah,’ The cursed Jack of Hearts quietly thought to himself, ‘How did I ever allow myself to forget the monster I am?’

Edgar have always believed that his past will not leave him in peace. He knew that his bloody sins will definitely come back to haunt him sooner or later, but he never thought the victim this time will be you.

Edgar chuckled to himself, sword falling to the floor.

‘I give up’.

The following events occurred too quickly for Edgar to fully comprehend, as if he was observing them from a very far place. Red soldiers, led by Zero and Jonah, quickly filled the cabin, arresting the man without any resistance, and recovering your corpse in the process.

Zero’s face was twisted in extreme agony the minute he spotted the bloody scene, and Jonah was unable to stay for more than few minutes in there, quickly running away to hide his tears from his soldiers.

Edgar stood perfectly still right in front of you, smile eternally frozen on his face.

‘I'm sorry, love. You were my cure and I was your disease. You were saving me and I was slowly killing you.’

Edgar’s heart died with you that day.

(*Purple Petunia symbolizes resentment and anger. Do not let its vibrant, beautiful colours fool you, this flower is usually associated with malicious feelings and heavy grudges.)

See? I'm somehow able of NOT killing off my favourite characters in these stories!

This second part in particular took way too long for me to brainstorm, craft, write, correct and even more to edit. 

I couldn't have done it without the lovely @edgarbright who not only helped me create the initial story frame, but also bared with many of my failed ideas, blabbering and whining before coming up with this final draft. Girl, I really cannot thank you enough ❤ She was the first person that came to my mind as soon as I received this ask for Edgar, and I was not rejected despite my sudden ask for help! Many kudos go to her!

My Ask Box is still open for the moment, so make sure to make the most out of it! I’m looking forward to your Asks!

[rose-gold-romantic]

Whatever It Takes: Chapter Twelve

A Loki x Reader based in the Tesseract fic universe! Avengers: Infinity War follow-up fic. Next in the Tesseract fic series. Links to Tesseract, Lokasenna, What Heroes Do, and Fidelity. Also to my AU Feel You.I WOULD LOVE FEEDBACK! Want to be tagged in updates? Let me know!

@malignentmac @fandomsfanman @i-am-supermerwholoked221b @markusstrayya @sincereleygmg @pandaqua​ @person-born-winchester Just a forewarning, this one has a major POV shift from the past entries, since Reader was Dusted at the end of Fidelity! Keeping with my recent trend in fic titles, it’s named after a track on the official soundtrack. I also constantly watch this Video, and recommend it to hype you up!

All of our forces charged forth, crying out and ready to defeat the most dangerous enemy we had ever encountered. As the opposing forces clashed, I worked my way as close to (Y/N) as I could, slowly making my way towards her.

Clint’s voice echoed over the comms, his heavy breathing evidence of the speed he was running at. “Cap, what do you want me to do with this damn thing?”

“Get those stones as far away as possible!” Cap answered, the sounds of battle dimly in the background.

“No!” Bruce shouted, “We need to get them back where they came from!”

“There’s no way to get them back.” Tony said, “Thanos destroyed the Quantum Tunnel.”

“That wasn’t our only time machine.” Scott countered, shrinking back to a normal person’s size.

“Anyone see an ugly brown van?” Steve called out.

“Yes!” Val’s voice responded, as I saw her soaring overhead on her pegasus, “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

“Scott, how long do you need to get that thing working?” Steve asked.

“Maybe ten minutes?” Scott surmised.

“Get it started.” Steve ordered, “We’ll get the stones to you.”

“We’re on it, Cap.” A feminine voice confirmed.

The din of battle hadn’t slowed, and Thanos’ forces seemed unending and impossible. Wanda was closeby, her ability to clear large areas useful in my pursuit of reaching (Y/N).

“Loki!” Thanos called out, pointing his blade to me. “All that I had given you, and you still choose to remain on the losing side?”

“You have given me nothing but blood and pain.” I spat back, “And I plan on returning the favor.”

Using doubles and teleportation, I was able to combat Thanos as Wanda approached slowly. I heard (Y/N) cry out, and I was distracted for a moment. That moment was all it took for Thanos to throw me down, blade ready to strike the final blow.

Wanda dropped from the sky in front of Thanos, her eyes glowing and face awash with unbridled fury.

“You.. took… everything from me.” she breathed, her anger cutting and unfiltered.

“I don’t even know who you are.” Thanos said, moving to attack her instead.

“You will.” She replied calmly, beginning to float and lifting large pieces of debris with her.

I used the opportunity to scramble out of the way, running to find (Y/N) and help her. I heard her call out again, this time quieter. I turned around a corner, and found her there with one of Thanos’ goons attempting to choke her out. My knife met its mark faster than I could even think of it, dropping the assailant to the ground.

Confused, she looked around her for a moment before her eyes locked onto mine. Her eyes softened, her lips parted slightly, and she ran to me as I ran to her. The second we embraced, I felt at home. All of the pain, stress, anger, bitterness, and struggle of the past five years melted away, leaving nothing but security and wholeness. Even through the grime of battle, I could smell her lightly floral scent, her hair’s length still just as silky between my fingers as it had been years ago. She sighed in contentment, her warmth reaching me even through my armor.

The moment of bliss was quickly interrupted, as Thanos’ ship fired down. We were surrounded by explosions, chunks of debris flying in every direction. I threw up a protective shield around (Y/N) and myself, crouching by a large slab of concrete and shielding her with my body as best I could.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the ship stopped firing down on us, choosing instead to fire up at the heavens at something I couldn’t quite yet see.

A brilliant golden streak tore through Thanos’ ship, destroying it in a fiery explosion as it crashed to the ground. The shockwave from its impact knocked us to the ground, and raised dust into the air.

“Danvers, we need an assist here.” Steve called out through the coms, and Danvers flew over to one portion of the battlefield.

“Time to end this once and for all.” (Y/N) said, brandishing her sword.

We ran across the battlefield, cutting down enemies as we went, attempting to reach the van in time to help Danvers bring the gauntlet to Scott.

When we could see the van in the distance, Danvers was holding off Thanos alone. She was fighting trying to prevent Thanos from snapping his fingers, the Iron Infinity Gauntlet now on his hand.

It seemed as if she had an easy victory ahead of her, until Thanos yanked the power stone from the gauntlet, using its sole full power to catch her off guard and throw her into a massive pile of concrete, incapacitating her. Placing the stone back in the gauntlet, the stone’s power began arcing up his arm, just as it had with Banner.

Stark flew in, pulling on the gauntlet in an attempt to remove it. His attempt proved futile, as Thanos batted him away, preparing to snap his fingers.

“I am… inevitable.” Thanos said pridefully, raising his hand and snapping his fingers.

The snap was nothing but a dull clicking noise, and Thanos turned the gauntlet in confusion. The stones were nowhere to be seen.

We all turned to Stark, who now knelt, the stones falling into place within the glove of his armor.

“And I… am… Iron Man.”

Tony snapped his fingers, a blinding flash of white ripping through the battlefield. After our eyes adjusted, we looked around to see all of Thanos’ forces crumbling to ash, as half of all life had done five years prior. Steve stumbled nearby, sighing in exhaustion as he took in our victory.

Thanos staggered, mouth agape as his entire army disintegrated around him. He sat down, his face sorrowful and defeated as he slowly was erased from existence himself.

Tony let out a breathy smile, and I ran to him to help him sit down. His entire right side had been completely destroyed by the power of the stones, and he was fighting a losing battle with life. Rhodey approached, placing a calming hand on Tony’s face. A young man swung up to Stark, tears already forming in his eyes.

“Hey.. Mr Stark? Can you hear me? It’s Peter.” the boy breathed, trying to get the rapidly fading Tony to look and acknowledge him. “We won, Mr. Stark… We won. Mr. Stark, we won, and you did it, sir. You did it.”

Tony remained unresponsive, and Peter began to break down, hugging him.

“I’m sorry… Tony…” Peter sobbed, and Rhodey pulled him aside to grieve, allowing Pepper to sit in front of Tony.

“Hey.” She whispered.

Tony looked to his wife, “Hey, Pep…” he breathed.

“Friday?” Pepper asked, her face briefly awash with pain afterwards.

“Tony, look at me.” She said, making sure that Tony was looking at her, smiling through her budding tears. “We’re gonna be okay. You can rest now.”

With her words, Tony’s body relaxed as he released his final breath. (Y/N) tucked herself into my chest, and I held her tightly as my own tears fell. Pepper began to openly sob, knowing that Tony did not need her to be strong any longer.

When we had retreated from the battlefield, (Y/N) and I attended to one another’s wounds. Though they were all minor, there were numerous cuts and scrapes, and it took time to finish.

“I can’t believe I was gone for five years.” (Y/N) mumbled as she cleaned the last of my wounds. “It only felt like I passed out for a moment. Then, all the sudden Dr. Strange had opened a portal, and it was time for us to march on Thanos’ armies, and you weren’t there anymore. It didn’t even seem real until I saw everything that he had destroyed on the other side of the portal.”

“It was the longest five years of my life.” I mumbled, wrapping her up in my arms. “There’s so much that I want to tell you, but I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Here is fine.” she replied, pressing her lips to mine. She pulled me towards our bed, throwing me down to the mattress gently. Time seemed to slow as I took in her beautiful smile, her gentle curves that pressed up against me. A mischievous smirk crossed her face, and I heard the room’s door lock. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me later.” She said, the smirk growing into a grin. “You’re going to have me first.”

Just like that, I was whole once more.

[impalafortrenchcoats]

tomorrow never came

Author: impalafortrenchcoats

Chapter: 1/?

Summary:

A look at Hogwarts and the battle for it through the eyes of the students who lived and loved there.

A BTS/Harry Potter Fusion no one asked for, nor wanted.

Ships: Namjin, Yoonseok/Sope, Jikook/Kookmin, VMinKook

Category: Harry Potter AU, Young Love, Angst, Some Fluff, Battle of Hogwarts

Chapter Wordcount: 5761

Other Chapters: Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 

Excerpt:

"And you're also crazy if you think I'm letting you go by yourself, Joonie." "Just this once, can you not argue with me. Not about this, please. I would feel much better if I knew you were — " "You can waste time arguing with me, or we could go grab the kids and get the hell out of here." "Jin, you can't just — " "No." "Ji — " "No." "Stop — " "Nope." "Gods damn it, Jin!" Namjoon finally exploded. Seokjin was quick to yell right back, "No, I'm not leaving, and that's final! What happened to you, Joonie? You used to listen so well!"

CHAPTER 1

Hogwarts, with its many turrets and towers and numerous hallways, was as much a historical landmark as a stronghold for wizarding knowledge. Through countless centuries it had housed and nurtured generations of witches and wizards.

But, on this day, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was burning.

Sending their small group to their knees, a thunderous explosion shook the entire foundation of the castle. Two second-year Slytherins who had been clinging tightly to Namjoon were tossed flat on their backs. Seokjin Kim quickly scrambled forward. He paused long enough to help the first-year Hufflepuff who was struggling to find her footing in the tattered remains of her school robes. They had barely moved when large chunks of the damaged wall came crashing down on the spot they had been in.

"Namjoon!" Seokjin called, eyes watering against the dust storm from the debris. "Namjoon-ah!"

He could hear the poor girl coughing heavily as he crouched over her small form. He tightened his grip on her shoulders and blindly pushed forward, making sure to shield the younger student as they stumbled through the crumbling hallway. It seemed almost no time had passed since the student body was assembled in the Great Hall and Voldemort's ultimatum was made. Turn in one Harry Potter or they will all suffer.

Rather than conceding, Professor McGonagall made the call for the students' evacuation, and the hall had emptied quickly. It had been stupid, but his body had reacted before he had even had the chance to really digest the news that the castle would soon be under attack. Before he had realized what he was doing, his feet were already at a full sprint down the familiar path toward the Slytherin common room. As a seventh-year Hufflepuff, the speed with which he made the trip, dodging down hidden hallways and skipping over trick stairways, should be an anomaly, but when dating the Slytherin Head Boy, one quickly learns all the best ways to and from the area for their midnight rendezvous. This served him well as he made his mad dash.

Then again, he couldn't really regret his actions. As he had rounded the dungeon corner, he was greeted by the sight of Namjoon directing the prefects to take the younger students to the evacuation passage for Hog's Head Inn. Seokjin felt a pang of guilt that he hadn't stayed back to do the same for the students in his own house, despite not being in a position that obligated him to do so. Yoongi had always been the more responsible one. However, as Namjoon turned around and their eyes met, whatever reservations he had quickly disappeared. Seokjin quickly ran to Namjoon's side and was relieved to see the Head Boy meet him halfway. It was a short hug, but Seokjin imagined he could hear his ribs cracking under the pressure of Namjoon's arms. He wasn’t about to complain. Besides, he was sure holding onto Namjoon just as tightly, if not more so. Taking a deep breath where his face was pressed into the crook of Namjoon's neck, he felt himself calming at the familiar scent of parchment and ink that clung to his boyfriend like cologne. However, like all good things, the hug ended and Namjoon pulled away. Seokjin couldn't help but feel disconcerted by the blank look on Namjoon’s face, something he only ever wore when under extreme duress. "Two of the second years are missing. Baddock says they were probably in the library," Namjoon said before Seokjin could voice his question. "I don't think they heard the announcements." "Oh, no," he felt his stomach drop at the thought of the younger students lost in the mess of the incoming battle. "We have to go get them!" "No, Seokjin, we don't have to do anything. You need to head back up to your house. I'll go look for them. I'm the Head Boy." "And you're also crazy if you think I'm letting you go by yourself, Joonie." "Just this once, can you not argue with me. Not about this, please. I would feel much better if I knew you were — " "You can waste time arguing with me, or we could go grab the kids and get the hell out of here." "Jin, you can't just — " "No." "Ji — " "No." "Stop — " "Nope." "Gods damn it, Jin!" Namjoon finally exploded. Seokjin was quick to yell right back, "No, I'm not leaving, and that's final! What happened to you, Joonie? You used to listen so well!" It could have been fairly amusing, but given the circumstances, Namjoon's bulging eyes and opened-mouth glare of speechless rage would simply have to be saved in Seokjin's mind bank for later perusal. He knew he won, anyway. He generally did. Namjoon might have the brains, being the smartest Slytherin in seventh year, but there was little logic could do in the face of pure obstinate stubbornness. Something that Seokjin had in abundance and was forced to harness after years of dealing with the other members of their small group of friends. Seokjin spared a moment and sent a quick prayer to whichever deity was listening for the others to make it out okay. His musing ended abruptly when a pulse of magic rumbled through the entire castle. "They're sending up the barrier,” Namjoon said. They shared a wide eyed glance before taking off down the corridor, Namjoon's hand automatically reaching out and grasping Seokjin's. Unfortunately, their search for the missing second years took longer than either of them anticipated. They had assumed the boys would be easily found in the library, but it was empty when they arrived. The only good thing to come from their frantic hunt was finding the small first year Hufflepuff who had also been absent during the announcements and had been lost in the subsequent mess. Namjoon still refused to leave until they were sure of the boys' whereabout. It was fortunately not much later that they were finally able to find the boys huddling behind a column as the old statues of the knights lining the halls were summoned to the school entrance. "Birtwistle! Plaskitt!" Namjoon barked as they dodged around the marching knights. "Where the fuck were you? We're evacuating, come on!" It wasn't a moment too soon. Namjoon grabbed both boys by the hood of their robes and tugged them after him. Seokjin internally winced at the rough treatment but uncharacteristically kept his opinion to himself.

They had barely managed a few steps when it seemed like the entire world around them was consumed by a loud hissing screech. Moving as one, their group stopped to look out the nearby window. The young Hufflepuff girl — Humphreys was her name, if Seokjin was remembering correctly — gave a shuddering gasp as bits and pieces of the sky began to glow red and appeared to be burning away in patches.

"Well, that's not good,” he couldn't help but say. "They're getting through the shield,” Namjoon said. Seokjin saw the Head Boy's knuckles turn white as he tightened his grip on the younger boys. "We have to hurry. The professors said the passage is on the seventh floor." That was all urging they needed to jump into action. As they ran, Seokjin could make out the last of the red glow dying, signaling the complete failure of the shield. He thought he could hear the distant sound of disapparation and discordant but eerily human-like howls. It was a good thing that compartmentalizing panic was an old trick he had plenty of practice with, particularly during the summer of fifth year when he gave himself the suicidal quest of teaching Namjoon how to cook.

Now here they were, stumbling through the broken halls while ushering three lower year students through the maze of falling stone and wood. From the moment the shields fell, all hell broke loose inside the castle. The beauty and horror of the situation all boiled down to the instantaneous effects of magic. Disapparation brought the enemy to them that much quicker, flashes of sickly but vibrant green brought death that much closer, and as they ignored the burning in their lungs to power forward through the chaos, Seokjin could fully appreciate the double edged sword that was the gift of magic.

From the perspective of a half-blood, Seokjin secretly knew that this irony was something that he could never fully share with Namjoon.

Namjoon, who with his old and very magical lineage, could never fully understand the often wild temptation of falling back into the safety and comfort of the mundane. Namjoon, whose mind was so often lost in the convoluted theories pertaining to the mystical realm of magical research, would never fully appreciate the charm of a simple properly prepared meal. Namjoon, who despite having all the possibilities of magic open to him, could not have possibly shown Seokjin, a simple half-blooded Hufflepuff, any more love and affection than he had in all the time they've known one another.

And all these thoughts rushed through his mind when he looked up.

Pure, unadulterated panic consumed him as the dust cleared, and he could clearly see. Namjoon, his foundation and eternal source of happiness, was standing stock still, across from him were a pair of Snatchers, both sporting identical malicious grins.

The students watched as the eyes of the men roamed over them. It wasn’t hard to see what the men were thinking: this was easy pickings.

No one dared to breathe.

Time slowed down to a crawl, and even the settling dust appeared frozen in the air as the entirety of Seokjin’s focus zeroed in on the scene before him.

Then, probably driven by a sudden rush of adrenaline, and a protective streak the size of the Atlantic, Seokjin decided to fuck it.

These Snatchers were looking for a kill and would rather gleefully see to it that they all met their grisly end. Maybe it was from living in what was essentially a wartime institution for the past year, but he was done with fear.

Suddenly, all he had was anger.

One year’s worth of stress was bubbling through him, desperately needing an outlet and these two fools in front of him were prime targets. Let them know the wrath of House Hufflepuff.

The ugly shit-face standing in front of Namjoon was just opening his mouth for what Seokjin could only assume was useless, villainy trash talk, but no one would ever know.

Seokjin took a note right out of Han Solo’s book of criminal dealings and fucking shot first.

He sent a powerful confringo , viciously aimed at the head of the Snatcher standing farther away. The trajectory of the spell also forced the closer man to duck to the side to avoid harm. Both men were taken by surprise, and the less fortunate of the two Snatchers only manage to avoid a head on collision with the blasting spell but took the brunt of it to his shoulder.

A large spray of blood erupted from the tattered remains of what was once the man’s biceps while his forearm was sent flying into the castle wall with a horrifying splat .

As the man let out a hair raising scream, Namjoon thankfully only spared a second to take in the sight before tossing up a protego and grabbing both shell-shocked younger years back toward Jin and the Hufflepuff girl. The shield came up none too soon as the uninjured Snatcher was quick to ignore the plight of his fellow wizard and occupied himself with tossing a few crucio their way.

Right before the shield collapsed, they all ducked behind a statue, Namjoon and Jin making sure to keep the younger students behind them. They both shared a meaningful look. This was possibly the worst case scenario for them. The men were in between them and their destination, and they were sitting ducks.

While the wounded man continued to holler in pain, punctuated by a series of slurs and curses that made Seokjin really wish he could throw a silencer at him, the other Snatcher also took the opportunity to take cover behind one of the many statues decorating the hallway as well.

Namjoon peeked around the side as they all took the moment to calm their racing hearts.

“There's one behind Morgana the Mad on the right. I think you got the other one’s wand arm so we might be alright there,” Namjoon whispered.

Seokjin nodded, ignoring the nausea bubbling up at the memory.

Instead, he spared the younger students a quick glance before asking, “So what do we do? That's the only way to go. I don't think they’re just going to let us go back the way we came.”

There was a moment of silence as they let the situation sink in.

Suddenly, a raspy call came from the other end of the hall, “Now, kiddies! That wasn't a very nice thing you did there to my friend here.”

This was punctuated by more semi-incoherent curses from the bleeding man.

“How about you make this easy for me and my friend and just come out. I promise we can make this quick.”

“Like fuck we are,” the one still twisting around on the ground chose that moment to join the conversation, “I'm gonna fucking kill you, you little bitch! Fucking blood-traitor whore, I'm going to fuck you up. Magic is too good for your kind! I'm going to tear that fucker apart with my bare hands!”

“Ah, shut your whining trap, Abney,” Raspy yelled, then cleared his throat and continued addressing them, “like I said, quick. I can be an understanding man. There's nowhere to run, kiddies, so why waste any of our time?”

Humphreys, the young Hufflepuff, was shivering and sobbing, while both Slytherin boys’ faces had lost all color.

Namjoon’s face hardened, and he whispered, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I hold a shield while you lot run for cover. Go toward the Morgana the Mad statue; it's the only one big enough to cover all of you.”

“But that's where the Snatcher is,” Plaskitt, the wiry Slytherin, finally spoke up.

“Yes, but he would have to run out and reach all the way around to get to you. And you will have Seokjin to keep you safe.”

“What about the other one,” Birtwistle asked.

This time Seokjin answered, “His wand arm is gone. The most he can do is growl at us. What about you, Namjoon?”

“I'll drop the shield once you're safe, and you can cover me. I think I can get behind the armor across from all of you, and I can try to get him from there.”

“Joonie! No.”

“Why? We don't have another choice. Besides,” he smiled and those blasted dimples were on full display, “you wouldn't let anything happen to me. I trust you, hyung.”

Damn him! Namjoon knew what he was doing. Seokjin could only sputter a bit, but he knew the battle was over; Namjoon had already won. It was unfair of the asshole to use his gift (mainly the dimples) for evil, but he did, and Seokjin had to reluctantly go along and hoped this shit didn't blow up in all their faces.

“Fine. But if you get us all killed, no one is going to stop me from saying I told you so.”

“Please, don't get us all killed,” Birtwistle pleaded.

Right then, a red streak of light hit the edge of the column they were hidden behind, raining bits of stone and wood over them. Humphreys and Plaskitt both let out a scream.

“Oy, kiddies! I don't have all day. You wouldn't want to see what I'm capable of when I'm angry,” the Snatcher called again.

“Okay. Let’s do this. Anyone have any questions?” Namjoon coughed out.

“Yes,” Seokjin didn't know what came over him, but he had to. “What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire?”

“Oh, sweet Merlin, Jin!”

The three younger years stared at him in utter confusion.

He looked them all in the eye for a moment, and then, completely serious, he answered his own question, “Frostbite.”

“I cannot believe you.” Namjoon sighed as Seokjin snickered quietly at his own joke.

At least they were momentarily distracted from their panic. Seokjin’s job here was done.

“We’re going to die, aren't we?” Birtwistle asked, sounding rather hopeless.

Ignoring the boy, Namjoon continued, “Alright, then, now that Seokjin’s got that out of his system. On, the count of three. One…”

Seokjin tugged the boys closer to him and reached for Humphreys’ hand.

“Two…”

He glanced at Namjoon and nodded. They can do this.

“Three! Protego !”

They ran forward; Seokjin had to push them for a second to get them going, but once they were moving he made sure to keep in front of them. It took the Snatcher a second to realize what they were doing, but once he did, a volley of spells came barreling straight at them.

It was unnerving, given the invisible nature of the shielding spell, to be seemingly running directly at oncoming spells. This was the main reason for the split.

While they were both relatively proficient at the protego charm, neither had enough practical experience, particularly under these circumstances, to guarantee the focus required to maintain it. Holding the spell while moving was basically enough of a challenge without someone tossing a crapload of offensive spells at the shield.

They slammed into the statue, and Namjoon immediately dropped the spell.

“ Protego !” Seokjin shouted, this time holding the spell in line with their location to prevent the Snatcher from coming forward.

Namjoon made a beeline for the suit of armor across from them, and even as he reached it, Seokjin maintained the spell, well aware that the wizard on the other side had long given up his cover and was viciously attacking the shield both magically and physically.

Both Namjoon and Seokjin were aware that each spell the man was throwing at the shield which ricocheted off was not helping the stability of the hallway around them. It couldn't be helped, since the Snatcher seemed completely unaware of the danger his actions were causing. It was best to make this quick.

From the corner of eye, Seokjin could see Namjoon taking aim. The Snatcher was too consumed with bringing down the shield to notice. By an unspoken agreement, the moment the tip of Namjoon’s wand began to glow, Seokjin dropped the protego , taking the man by surprise. The Snatcher stumbled forward from the barrier’s sudden disappearance, which proved to be his undoing. Before he could recover, Namjoon’s expelliarmus sent both man and wand flying.

He slammed into the side of the statue, taking Morgana the Mad’s arm with him as he fell. Seokjin felt his heart tighten when the crumbling stone and lack of wand barely slowed the man down. With a wild scream of rage, the man sprung forward from where he fell and charged at Namjoon, who was frozen in shock by the man’s recovery.

The thing was, the Snatcher had all but forgotten about the group of students behind him. And Seokjin had forgotten all spells except the one that he swore to never personally use.

The man’s back was to him and his proximity made the shot all the easier. Seokjin has never been successful with the spell before, but he felt a cold surety this was it.

He took aim and spoke the word, “ Sectumsemspra. ”

The spell was meant to cut victims from a distance, and deeply. However, the wizard was almost directly in front of Seokjin when the spell was cast.

The way the man’s head tumbling from his shoulders, while his body continued to stumble forward a step or two before collapsing, was a truly nightmarish surprise.

It was a few seconds of pure shocked horror, as Seokjin remained wide-eyed and frozen, wand outstretched, while Namjoon and the students continued to stare at the corpse and the quickly spreading puddle of blood. Then, the castle gave a dangerous lurch.

Mostly operating on autopilot, Seokjin bodily shoved the younger students back toward the wall, away from the falling debris. He noted Namjoon taking cover as well, and they all waited out the tremors, hoping that all the struggles earlier wouldn’t be in vain. When the shaking finally stopped, they allowed themselves a few seconds to breathe.

Seokjin didn't realize he was trembling until Namjoon came crashing into him and the taller boy’s arms came up and wrapped tightly around him. In fact, he didn't realize how shaken he was, until he fully registered that Namjoon was stroking the back of his head with one hand and holding onto him tightly with the other, all the while babbling comforting nonsense into his ear, ��It’s okay, Jinnie. Just breathe, that's right, you're doing good. You did good, hyung. You saved me. Just keep breathing, and listen to me. Okay?”

Oh, so that's what a panic attack felt like.

He tried to match his breathing to Namjoon's and just let his voice wash over him.

“It’s okay, it's okay,” he kept repeating into Seokjin’s hair.

He wanted to stay like this for a while longer, but the crumbling around them had increased, and Seokjin felt bad enough about taking as much time as he did already, the shock notwithstanding. They had to keep moving.

It was with great reluctance that he pushed away from Namjoon and said, “I'm okay. Let's get going.”

The skeptical but worried look Namjoon gave him was completely warranted, considering how much his voice shook when he spoke. But he just nodded and motioned for the younger students to follow him. Poor Humphreys was beyond tears and stumbling so badly, Seokjin made sure Namjoon had a firm hold on her before helping the two boys navigate through the debris.

As they moved forward, the castle was thankfully still. Even the injured Snatcher, Seokjin was sure the other man had called him Abney, was quiet for the first time in the whole encounter. He ended up taking up the rear, since Namjoon was leading their group, and he wanted to supervise the younger boys.

Maybe it was wanting a sense of closure, but Seokjin felt the urge to take a last look at what he had done. The Hufflepuff glanced back and while the sight of the headless corpse was hard to miss, what caught his attention was Abney struggling across the floor, his single arm outstretched and reaching toward something. He stopped, confused. It took a moment of straining to see, when it hit him.

The other Snatcher’s wand was just barely out of Abney’s reach.

His eyes widened, and before he could do anything, the man’s hand wrapped around the base of the wand.

Seokjin whirled around, “Namjoon, run!”

All of them turned, and it was easy to see when they saw the reason for his call. They immediately began to run.

Being the closest, Seokjin made an effort to throw up some kind of barrier, but the combination of shock and fatigue meant his concentration was shot. Every spell that made contact meant the immediate collapse of the shield. Thankfully, the injured man was relying on his non-dominant hand and only a few spells actually ended up going where he was aiming. The downside to this was that he was wreaking havoc on their surroundings.

“Seokjin!”

Namjoon’s voice rose over the rumble and he turned slightly to see they were some distance away. However, they were all staring in horror at the ceiling, where a large fissure was growing above them. It wasn't even a matter of choice on his part when he dropped the shield and immediately casted an exumai on the group, blasting them back just as the entirety of the ceiling came crumbling down.

That was unfortunately where his luck ended that day. Before he could recast the shield, a dark orange streak struck him in the stomach, sending him crashing into the fallen stones.

Without taking a breath or even trying to get up from his position, Seokjin threw a confringo at the stone column beside the man.

The smirk on Abney’s face fell almost as fast as the broken pieces of the column. His terrified scream was cut short when a large piece of stone dropped on his head with a sickening squish.

Seokjin let his wand arm fall and sat back against the stones, panting, for a moment.

But a sudden twinge from his stomach sent him scrambling to rip off his cloak and untuck his shirt.

He couldn't help the sudden sense of terror that rose.

Seokjin continued to stare in shocked amazement at his own abdomen and the slowly spreading darkness on his flesh. It was as if seeing the wound cemented its reality, and all at once the pain hit him.  A pained sob escaped before he could stop himself. His hands immediately flew up to grip his own mouth in an effort to stifle any more unwanted sounds from escaping.

“Jinnie!” Namjoon’s muffled voice came from the other side of the rubble. “Jinnie-ah, are you okay? What is it? What's wrong? Are you crying?”

Denial. He was ready with it. He could do it. Namjoon had the kids, he could do it for them.

But then he realized his face was already soaked and tears were already flowing freely over his hands, cupping his mouth. And he just couldn't stop it. And had no real desire to stop any time soon.

Fuck it, he’ll just go a different route with this.

“Of course I'm fucking crying, Namjoon! It's been a fucking shitty fucking day! People were just trying to kill us, people are still trying to kill us. The kids are bloody crying, and I just killed the fucking people that were fucking trying to kill us! That was a bloody fucking stupid question, Namjoon-ah!” His voice had progressively gotten higher throughout that little tirade and fueled by the sudden anger he flailed along with his tantrum.

He was shocked silent when, of all things, he heard the familiar squawk of Namjoon’s laugh.

“Namjoon Kim. Are you seriously laughing right now?”

Okay. Seokjin had to give it to Namjoon, there was a pretty hysterical quality to his laughter, but really?

“I’m just glad you're alright, Jinnie.” Namjoon said once he caught his breath. “I've never been so glad to hear your bitching.”

Oops. And there goes his heart, diving down to the depths of his stomach, probably where the curse was wreaking havoc on his body. Ouch, fuck. Stupid thought, he didn't need that reminder — stop thinking, Seokjin.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. Don't even talk to me, anymore. Are the kids alright?”

“Do you want me not to talk or answer that, ’cause talking is necessary to answer, you know.”

“Namjoon-ah,” Seokjin whined, “stop it. How is everyone? Are you okay?”

Seokjin heard a thump and a chuckle and he could almost imagine Namjoon pressing his forehead against the rubble behind him.

“Yeah, we’re all okay. Plaskitt got a little banged up but nothing serious. You sit still for a second, okay? I think I can get through.”

“No! Don't!”

There was silence. Seokjin took the moment to calm his thundering heart. On one hand, he would give anything just to see Namjoon; on the other, he realized that if Namjoon were to see him then, it would take more than a Dark Lord to get him to leave his side and there was little enough time as it was to get everyone to the Hog’s Head Inn. And while there wasn't much he wouldn't give for Namjoon right now, the one thing he could never risk was Namjoon’s safety and that of the children.

“Namjoon, listen. If you don't want to bring the roof down on all of us, then don't touch anything. I'm pretty sure this pile of rubble is all that’s keeping it up as it is.”

“What are you saying? I don't like where you're going with this because I'm not leaving you here if that's what you're getting at.”

Damn it, Namjoon, stop making it more difficult than it has to be! Seokjin had been able to hold back his sobs up until now, but having his stupid, loyal, idiot boyfriend remind him exactly why he loved him was just too much. Taking a moment, he bit down on his hand to keep his sobs silent, before breathing in deeply and continuing to speak. By some miracle, his voice was steady, and he even managed to insert a bit of levity.

“You're not leaving me, dummy.” He forced a laugh to cover a hiccup. “It's only collapsed on this side. I can make my way around. I'll come up after you.”

“But that's twice as far! What if you run into more Snatchers or Death Eaters, Jin! What then? It's better if we stick together.”

“And how do you propose we do that, huh? I know you think I'm beautiful, but even I don't think I can pull off the pancake look if you pull down the roof on us.”

With perfect timing, an explosion from the battle below sent a violent lurch through their surroundings.

Seokjin closed his eyes and ducked his head as the shaking sent a cascade of dust down on him. He tried blinking away the dust once everything settled, but it stubbornly clung to the wetness of his face.

Wincing in discomfort from the mess and the pain from the spreading decay of the curse, he tried again, “Joonie, if you have a better idea I'll be glad to hear it, but if we sit around any longer, this place is coming down with or without your help. Just take the kids and go. I'll meet you at the evacuation point, okay?”

There was silence again, and Seokjin didn't breathe as he waited.

“Fuck this! Fuck this entire bloody war!”

“Joonie—”

“I don't like it, Jin.”

“I know. You've made that point very clear.”

“I don't like the thought of leaving you to go alone.”

Seokjin couldn't help but smile. He loved his idiot, he really, really did.

“You're not leaving me, Joonie. I'm telling you to go.” He swallowed another sob before continuing, “I'll see you soon. Don't worry.”

“Jin…”

“Come on. How old are you? I'll be right behind you.”

How Namjoon made silence sound stubborn, Seokjin didn't know.

“Please, Joonie. You've got the kids. You have to get them out. It’s not just the two of us.”

The following series of expletives from Namjoon’s mouth was admittedly impressive, and Seokjin was pretty sure the younger students were leaving with a infinitely more colorful vocabulary.

“You done there?” Seokjin asked when there was an ebb in the flow of words.

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!”

“I guess not.”

“Seokjin-ah! You better get your arse there fast or I'll… I'll…”

“I see. It's only my arse you want,” Seokjin said, eyes watering in relief.

“I'm serious, Seokjin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he breathed. “You take care of yourself, okay? Don't do anything stupid.”

“You too. I'll see you in a bit, alright?”

Seokjin really had to struggle to swallow the lump in his throat, “Yeah. I'll see you.”

There was a strange rustling noise and tapping.

“What are you doing, Namjoon?” He had to ask.

“I'm sending you the flying kiss. Tapping to let you know it's coming.”

“You are so stupid.”

“Nope. Still a genius. Got the papers to prove it.”

Why did it have to be like this? Seokjin hurt. The curse was spreading, and with every passing second he could feel it working its way to his heart, burning and withering the flesh as it inched upwards. And yet, the worst pain was the realization that this was it for him.

No more meaningless squabbles, no more gentle, or not so gentle, reminders to bloody eat when Namjoon gets caught in a new project, no more seeing those damned dimples that made him fall in the first place. They were young, who knew what anyone really wanted. But Seokjin was pretty sure he was ready for all of that, for the rest of his life.

Just maybe not so literally.

“Shut up already and go. You're still stupid.”

“I don't know about that, but Birtwistle says we're disgusting.”

“Your face is disgusting.”

“Real mature, Jin… Hey.”

“What?”

“Can I get one, too? For good luck?”

“Get what?”

“One of your flying kisses. You do it better.”

Oh, Joonie…

It hurt to move. Merlin, did it hurt, but Seokjin twisted himself until he was all but curled against the rubble. He pressed his hand to his lips then tapped the stones, wishing more than anything that he could touch Namjoon’s face instead.

He didn't dare breathe to keep his sobs silent and gripped the stones until his fingers bled.

It was fine, though. Because Namjoon would be fine. It was fine.

“Thanks, Jinnie! I'll see you soon. Be safe, okay?”

Seokjin’s entire body shook with the effort it took to keep his voice steady, “See you soon.”

He could hear the shuffling as Namjoon stepped away and called the younger students to him. He continued to hold his breath until the sound of running faded into silence, and just a little longer to be sure.

Funnily enough, it took him a few seconds after to realize that the low, keening whimpers he started to hear were his own. Slowly, he forced himself to let go of the stones and huddle down.

He wanted to scream, to give voice to the rage bubbling inside at the unfairness of it all. He was planning on it actually. But the moment the sounds of footsteps faded, Seokjin felt as if a bit of reality faded along with it. Everything was slightly muted, and he just felt cold. It was probably shock. Then again, the world always felt a little cold without Namjoon.

Stupid Namjoon.

As he huddled there beside the rocks, he tried to ignore the spreading, burning ache. The icy numbness left behind in the wake of the burn was so much worse.

He didn't know what to do. There wasn't really anything he could do.

And as he huddled there, sobbing quietly, he couldn't help but smile wryly at the familiarity of it all.

Wasn't this how everything started for them?

His mind couldn't help but drift to another moment when he found himself in a very similar position, just maybe in less dire circumstances…

Special thanks to allourheroes for cleaning up my writing mess.

[moiraineswife]

Alone With You, Part 1: Cold Comfort

For @widomauk​ sorry this took 16 years but as u are well aware by now I Suck, and hey! This meant I could add in New Molly Stuff, so u know, swings and roundabouts..I hope you enjoy it though, gray!!!! Thank u for ur prompt and also ur patience. 

Title: Cold Comfort 

Summary: Prompt: Molly and Caleb: Scared/Ashamed to sleep because of their nightmares.  Caleb wakes up intending to relieve Molly of the guard duty for the night, but the tiefling insists on staying awake and the two end up sharing the watch.

Teaser:  “Caleb,” Molly said, in that way where he caused his voice to drip with a saccharine sweetness that made Caleb simultaneously fight the mad, battling desires to punch and kiss his stupid, smug mouth.

Link: AO3 

The fire had burned down to embers by the time Caleb awoke.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the image the world chose to present to his slightly blurry vision was the slender outline of Mollymauk silhouetted by the ghost of the flames that had filled their campsite when he had dropped off to sleep.

He was rocking absently where he sat, sitting with his legs crossed, his head slightly bowed, though he glanced up every now and then. His tail was waving idly back and forth over one shoulder in the way it moved when he wanted to try and tease Frumpkin. The firelight gilded the honed edges of his scimitars, placed deliberately at his back within easy reach if he needed them.

There was a strange, ethereal beauty to the tiefling framed by the fire as he was now, and Caleb found himself sitting still and silent for almost a full minute, just watching the hypnotic rhythm of Molly’s tail, before he came to himself with a start.

Pushing himself up he picked his way through the hunched shapes of his friends. Nott was curled into her usual tight ball, her knees almost in her mouth. Beau curled up on her side, completely covered by blankets. Fjord lay on his back, one hand behind his head, while Jester sprawled like a starburst, limbs, and hair, and tail everywhere, taking up far more room than she should have been able to with her size.

Molly glanced over his shoulder as Caleb approached. The last light of their dying fire made his red eyes burn. Caleb knew full-well that most people would have been scared senseless by the sight of those eyes looming at them from the darkness of the night. He knew that many would have seen the demons that Molly’s ancestors had hailed from. But he…He found comfort in them, now.

Molly had overwhelmed him when they had first met, and for some time afterwards. With his red eyes, and lavender skin, deep purple hair, and patterned rainbow silk cloak, the tiefling seemed a deliberate walking assault to the senses. The red of those eyes had burst with fire, and heat, and passion, and lust. Strong, raging, sharp emotions that drew the eyes and demanded attention.

Now he realised that, much like the glowing embers, that red and those eyes could contain a gentle, soothing warmth, which was more a comfort to wake up to on a cold, dark night than he could ever explain.

Molly smiled as Caleb stood over him, but made no move to get up. Frowning slightly, Caleb settled himself down on the soft, cold grass beside him and, keeping his voice low so as to avoid waking the others, he said, softly, “Your watch is up, it’s my turn until dawn, you can go and get some sleep, now.”

“Tempting as that is,” Molly said, rolling his shoulders idly, “I’ll do you a favour and just keep going.” He patted Caleb’s hand where it was braced on the ground beside him and added, “You can go back to bed, get your beauty rest,” he winked.

“That is...Generous of you,” Caleb said, frowning slightly, since it didn’t particularly seem generous at all, but he couldn’t identify what else it could be at the moment, and that seemed like the right thing to say. “But, really, you need to get your sleep. We swap people out for a reason, Molly, no-one can stay alert for an entire night alone.”

“Caleb,” Molly said, in that way where he caused his voice to drip with a saccharine sweetness that made Caleb simultaneously fight the mad, battling desires to punch and kiss his stupid, smug mouth.

“Yes, Molly?” he sighed, when it became apparent as Molly remained with that ridiculous grin on his face, tail lashing playfully back and forth behind him, that he wasn’t going to spit out whatever it was he wanted to say unless Caleb indulged him.

“You fuss too much,” Molly informed him, the tail arcing out like a long, thin lavender snake and tapping him lightly in the small of the back. “Now, off to bed with you,” he said in a brisk, commanding tone, “There’s no reason the two of us should be freezing our tails-“ he raised a finger in Caleb’s direction in a hushing motion, obviously noting him opening his mouth to challenge this, and amended irritably, “metaphorical tails off. Go back to the warm, and have sweet dreams of me.”

He fluttered his eyelashes at Caleb who cleared his throat and pointedly looked away so he couldn’t see him anymore.

“I think there is no reason you should continue freezing your literal tail off when you could go back to bed and let me take the watch as I’m supposed to,” he said, unable to understand the ulterior motive behind Molly wanting to remain awake and on watch. Because he was Molly, so of course there was an ulterior motive.

“You’re a very strange soul, Caleb, have I ever told you that?” Molly said, conversationally, bracing his palms behind him and lolling back, leaning his weight on them and extending his long, slender body in an irritatingly distracting way, with very clearly no intention of getting up to go to bed any time soon.

“I believe you have, yes, several times if my memory serves me, and it usually does,” he replied, stiffly.

He’d had nice, sensible, orderly plans for this quiet time alone. They had included a lot of reading, perhaps some transcribing of spells, and approximately no flirtatious, irritating, impossible tieflings who refused to surrender the watch.

“Well I’ll say it again now,” Molly replied smoothly. He was always so quick. Every reply and retort seemed to have formed in his head before Caleb had even finished stuttering out his own words. He felt clunky, and awkward, and even more socially useless than usual around Molly, and it was not a pleasant experience. “You’re a strange soul, Caleb. If I’d offered this to Fjord he’d have chewed my hand off at the chance of a few extra hours of sleep, but you want to fight me on it.” He mock-pouted, pushing his lip out like a child denied sweets, and making his large red eyes even larger in an attempt to inspire pity, “Why do you want to fight me?”

“I do not want to fight you,” Caleb protested, wondering how this conversation had managed to turn around on him already. “But I don’t feel entirely safe leaving you on watch for another four hours when you’re bound to be exhausted.”

“Do I look exhausted?” Molly demanded, one eyebrow raised.

Caleb squinted at him, trying to decide. The tiefling was notoriously difficult to read. He hid almost everything behind that smile that seemed to be perpetually tugging at the corners of lips. Caleb was quite certain he’d manage to look idle and nonchalant with one foot through death’s door. It was infuriating.

“It doesn’t matter how you look,” he said, finally, after he realised he’d been staring at Molly a little too long since the asking of his question, “It matters that you’ve had no sleep, and you will be tired. I can’t just leave you alone when it might result in us all getting eaten by a dragon or some such because you were too tired to notice.”

Molly snorted at that, “Caleb, I think I might have to be dead to not notice a giant dragon eating our companions, not just a little drowsy.”

They stared at each other for a long moment like a weathered cliff-face and the relentless tide, both of them utterly convinced of the rightness of their own existence, neither willing to yield an inch to the other.

Finally, Molly broke the silence, and the slight tension, between them with a soft laugh and an uncaring shrug. “Have it your way, then,” he said, “Two pairs of eyes are better than one, we’ll both keep watch, and when you’re complaining about your pinky toe falling off due to frostbite tomorrow I promise not to say ‘I told you so’ too often.”

Caleb frowned yet again. It was amazing how often Molly could coax that expression from him, in a myriad of different ways, no less.

“Aren’t you concerned about your pinky toes?” he asked, doing a slight double-take a second after the words left his lips as he realised exactly how ridiculous the conversation they were currently having was.

Molly smirked, cocked his head to one side, and let his voice drop to a low purr as he said, “Save your fussing for something else, sweetheart, I run hot.”

“I’ve noticed,” he muttered, without thinking.

Molly’s grin became razor-edged and near-feral, his red eyes sparkling as his tail lashed back and forth.

Caleb felt his face burn and sincerely hoped it was either too dark for Molly to see, or that he’d assume it was a reflection of the dying fire. Judging by his satisfied smirk, however, Caleb was fairly certain he could see, and was under no illusions whatsoever about the cause of his flushed cheeks.

Molly, still leaning back on his elbows, tilted his head towards the sky and closed his eyes, humming softly in contentment as a light breeze ran its fingers through his hair. He inhaled deeply, a soft, relaxed smile settling over his face.

Caleb drank in the sight of him greedily. It was rare to see him in these moments, relaxed, almost vulnerable. There was a strange intimacy to it, to watching the softness of his face, the gentle lines it fell into when he relaxed and let his guard down. He felt both privileged, and also as though he was staring at something sacred, something divine, that was not meant for his mortal, unworthy eyes.

Molly played a good game. He came across as always at his ease, unconcerned about everything, but Caleb knew that was a front, a mask he donned to hide whatever truths would otherwise be revealed. No-one looked too closely at someone like that, at someone who didn’t seem to care about anything, and who was freely open about how much bullshit they regularly spilled for little more than their own entertainment.

But Caleb knew the cost of such a front, the effort it took to maintain it, the constant tension that filled the body of a person who was forcing themselves at every turn to edit their responses and maintain this carefully crafted persona.

Watching it drop, now, as Molly’s eyes were closed, and the smile on his face was not broad, or smug, or sarcastic, but soft, barely there, and slightly crooked, with one side higher than the other, was a strange experience. It made Molly look younger, and so different, as though another person entirely was sitting in this quiet, grassy field with their face tipped up bask in the gentle gilding glow from the stars in the heavens above.

And it made Caleb feel as though he knew him better in this singular moment with the two of them alone together in the darkness than he had in all the time they’d been travelling together.

He had opened his mouth to push further but...really, what did it matter if they both sat up? What did it matter why Molly wanted to remain on watch? Maybe he, like Caleb, simply enjoyed the peace and solace that could only be found in the quiet, peaceful nights spent alone with no-one to speak at you but the soft voice of the wind, and no touch but the kiss of the cold against your skin, with no-one watching you but the thousands of glittering eyes in the distant darkness above.

He liked everyone that he was travelling with, was perhaps even fond of them, at this point, and would miss not travelling with them. But he still enjoyed the quiet, still enjoyed the peace, and privacy, and relaxed solace that only came with solitude, that could never be found by day while travelling with a group the way that they were.

“Do you mind if I summon a few lights so I can read my books?” Caleb asked, “I can’t see in the dark the way you can.”

Molly smiled, his tail lazily swaying back and forth, like a snake before a charmer. He leaned forwards, smiling, “What if your lights draw some fell beast down upon us? Perhaps I should just read it to you instead.”

Caleb opened his mouth to protest that he had to copy the spells over, and that Molly likely wouldn’t be able to make sense of it, anyway, then he closed it.

“Alright,” he said, relishing the small blink of surprise that slipped through Molly’s idle composure.

He handed over the book he was working on, opened at the last page he had left off, then balanced his spell book open on his knee, dipped his pen in an inkpot and looked up expectantly at the tiefling.

Molly was moving the book, which he had balanced open in one long-fingered hand, closer and further from his nose, as though this might help him decipher it. His eyebrows knit together, and Caleb had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing at him.

Finally, Molly cleared his throat, straightened his back officially, and proceeded to announce as though he was doing a dramatic reading for a tavern full of half-drunk folks he was hoping would toss a few silver his way, “This is complete and utter gibberish.”

Caleb smiled and gently took his book back, stating primly, “No, it is just Zemnian.”

“Isn’t that what I said?” Molly asked, waving an elegant hand as he lounged back, propping himself up on an elbow, “Gibberish, Zemnian, six and half a dozen, isn’t it?”

“Not really, no,” Caleb said, frowning. Then he smiled, “It was amusing to watch you struggle, though.” He jolted slightly as Molly whacked him lightly on the back with his tail, scowling slightly. He huffed out a soft laugh, “You can’t be the only one who gets to have fun around here, you know,” he said, his smile growing more broad.

Molly held his hands up in a gesture of mock-surrender, “You’re right, you’re right, it was very amusing.” He waved his hand idly and said, “Light up the whole campsite if you like, I don’t care, I’m staying up either way.”

Caleb nodded vaguely then summoned his dancing lights, smothering them with a rag to make a hooded lantern which he could use to read by, but which wouldn’t disturb his sleeping companions.

Molly managed to maintain the silence for all of ten second before he was peering over Caleb’s shoulder at the scrawls of Zemnian notes and magical script and symbols that were indecipherable to him. Then he laid his chin on Caleb’s shoulder and said conversationally, “You should teach me, one day.”

Caleb blinked over at him, rolling his shoulder gently to dislodge Molly, who obligingly withdrew, “Teach you what? Magic?”

“Well, if you really want,” Molly shrugged, “But I was more meaning Zemnian.”

Caleb frowned again, “Really?”

“Sure,” Molly said lazily, plucking up a long blade of grass and plaiting it seemingly effortlessly with his long, dextrous fingers, which entirely consumed Caleb’s attention for a moment before Molly’s voice jolted him back to reality, “I figure I should at least be able to say the important things in every language.”

“That is...A good policy,” Caleb said, unable to keep a note of caution and suspicion from his tone, since this seemed entirely too....Reasonable for Molly.

This feeling was confirmed a moment later when Molly rolled onto his stomach, smirking up at Caleb and said, with a distinct purr in his voice, “I feel the important things to be able to say in any language are ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck me’. If I can do that, I’m golden.”

Caleb flushed again, cleared his throat, and pointedly returned to his book.

Molly crawled a little closer and opened his mouth again but Caleb, growing a little impatient, said, “Mollymauk, I appreciate a conversation with you sometimes.  This is not one of those times. I would like it if you would just let me get on with my work, please?”

Molly pushed himself up, eyed Caleb for a long moment with his head cocked to one side like a confused puppy, then he gave a little half-shrug and nodded, “Of course,” he replied evenly, “Whatever you like.”

The tiefling then promptly flopped onto his back, gazing up at the expansive heavens spread above them and spattered by stars. Caleb gave him another moment of consideration as he realised he had never really seen the tiefling get angry, or even mildly frustrated, by anything the others did.

Then, savouring the peace and quiet at last, he dedicated himself to his book.

A few minutes later he was jolted out of his focused study by the grating sound of metal rasping against stone.

Suddenly painfully alert, he allowed his palm to blacken with fire, feeling the scalding through his veins, ready to use it, ready to-

Molly’s soft, dark laughter made him turn his head, looking down to see him, realising he had stood up without realising it.

“Relax,” Molly said, smiling, “We’re not in danger, which you’d know if you were actually paying attention.” He gave him a broad, lazy smirk, fangs exposed, “Good thing I stayed up after all, eh?”

Caleb pursed his lips and said, “If I was alone I would be paying less attention to this,” he held his book up, “And more attention to this,” he gestured around at the dark night around them.

Molly laughed softly, “I thought you didn’t want me to stay up,” he said, cocking his head slightly to one side.

“I said it was unnecessary, and that you should get to sleep. I did not say that I didn’t want you to stay up.”

“Well that’s good to know,” Molly replied mildly, “I was almost insulted you thought so little of my company.” Caleb opened and closed his mouth several times, not sure how to respond. Molly huffed impatiently and tugged at his hand, “Sit down,” he urged him, “You’re making me nervous with your hovering.”

Caleb settled himself on the ground once more, then glanced back at Molly, frowning slightly, “What was that noise?”

“You mean this noise?” Molly smirked. From the ground he picked up one of his scimitars and a small, palm sized whetstone which he drew along the curved blade, replicating the rasping sound that had startled Caleb earlier.

Molly laughed again at Caleb’s reaction, then tossed down the stone, and delicately laid the scimitar beside its fellow with a shrug. “I can stop if it bothers you,” he said, “Though it’d probably benefit you if my swords were sharp.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Caleb murmured.

“Good,” Molly chirped brightly, promptly picking up the scimitar and whetstone once again.

As Molly returned to his work, he found that, now anticipated, the rhythmic sound was actually quite soothing. He also found that his attention began to wander from his book to the light gilded form of Mollymauk sitting beside him. His hands were deft and sure in the practiced way they moved along the blade, pausing the rhythm of his strokes every few minutes to check the edge.

Caleb felt Molly’s red eyes on him as the rasping of the whetstone stopped for longer than it typically did. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the pleased smirk that spread across the tiefling’s face, as if he knew exactly what Caleb had been thinking, and exactly why those scarred, long-fingered lavender hands of his were capturing his imagination, and returned to his book.

It was incredible, truly. He had sat in leaking inns with wind whistling between cracks in the wooden walls, rain battering the windows, as the storm made the very foundations creak, the roof leaking, and had found it almost no trouble to concentrate on his studies. Yet all it took was one flamboyantly dressed, ostentatious tiefling sitting so close Caleb could feel the inviting heat seeping from his skin to make it almost impossible to write more than a few words at a time.

He gripped the pen more tightly and, frowning, forced himself to focus. He needed to get this spell done some time before dawn and-

A sharp hiss and curse from Molly had him sitting up, the nib of the pen snapping as he pressed it down too hard onto the page. Looking over he saw blood welling on the ball of Molly’s thumb. Glancing down, his own fingers were stained with the dark liquid of the ink that oozed from the pen in a similar way the blood wept from Molly’s skin.

“Sorry,” Molly offered, looking down at the now ruined page in Caleb’s book.

“It is alright,” Caleb said, and it was, mostly, thanks to Molly’s distracting presence he had made barely any headway at all with the spell. A dedicated five minutes without the intrusion of purple tieflings would catch him up. “Are you?” he found himself asking.

“Mm?” Molly replied, absently, now sucking on his cut thumb.

“Alright, I meant,” Caleb pressed.  

Molly smirked, his fangs tinted faintly red, “Caleb,” he said, smiling and cocking his head to one side, “It’s very sweet of you, but you should have noticed by now I’m not very easily bothered by pain.”

Covered in scars as he was, this assertion should have made Caleb feel foolish for asking after him. Instead he felt a strange, soft tinge of sadness.

“Still,” Caleb murmured, “I thought I should at least ask.”

Molly opened his mouth, no doubt to toss out one of his frequent quick quips, then he closed it again, studying Caleb. He fiddled idly with a loose thread in his trousers for a moment then, without looking up, said softly, “Thank you.”

There was a pregnant silence, in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. Molly broke it with a bright, “Well, I’d definitely say this one is sharp enough now,” he laid the first scimitar down and picked up the second, allowing them both to relax in the wake of the rhythm of stone against steel.

A breeze picked up, making the grass around them ripple in waves, as though it had been transformed to a pond of star-dappled emeralds and a stone had been tossed into it. Caleb shifted a little, cursing quietly in Zemnian and tugging his coat more tightly around himself.

There was a soft clink of metal on metal as Molly set down his second sword and said, “Problem?”

Caleb shrugged his shoulders noncommittally and muttered, “Just cold.”

Molly snorted softly in reply and Caleb blinked up at him, frowning slightly, “Is that all?” he said, mildly.

Caleb opened his mouth irritably to point out that some of them might be tieflings with fire in their blood and the ability to stay warm while encased in an ice cube, but others were only human, and weren’t accustomed to sleeping outdoors as Winter drew in- But he had barely opened his mouth when Molly had scooted right next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, coiling his tail around his waist, and tossing a blanket around them both.

“You should voice your problems more often, you know,” Molly told him conversationally, as though completely unaffected by their proximity, while Caleb struggled to remember how to breathe, “Especially when they have such simple solutions.”

“I, I- Molly, this is really not necessary, I-“ he began, torn between the comforting warmth of Molly that was already seeping into him and relaxing his cold-stiff muscles, and the rush of heat in his core that had nothing to do with shared body heat, and everything to do with his aching awareness of how close Molly was.

“’Course it is!” Molly said, brightly, “Can’t have our wizard freezing to death when it’s so easily prevented.” He squinted to the side and withdrew slightly, pulling his upper body away, though his tail remained curled around his waist, “Although,” he added, “If it’s a problem, I can-“

He made to pull further away and Caleb found himself reacting a little too quickly, “No, no it is not a problem, I-“ he broke off, cleared his throat, and said as composedly as he could, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Molly replied, winking at him.

Silence claimed the camp once again and Caleb returned to his books. Molly’s warmth and the softness of his body against his was oddly comforting and he found himself relaxing, savouring the warmth and the contact from the tiefling.

Molly seemed to sway beside him, his head nodding, blinking rapidly and giving himself little shakes. Caleb noted this, but chose not to comment on it. If it was selfish, that he didn’t want Molly to leave him alone in the cold for his bedroom, then he couldn’t be blamed for that, surely?

After a long while, Caleb oddly finding that he focused better with Molly right beside him, leaning heavily against him, worked on his notes, scrapping the ruined page and starting afresh, feeling the tiefling’s red eyes following the rhythmic progress of his pen.

There was a strange beauty in it, Caleb had found, a hypnotic quality to the flow of smooth black ink on the rough pale parchment, and he could feel Molly being drawn into it. It gave him a strange sense of heady power, to have him so close, so focused on his movements, on his study, on the thing he had dedicated his life to.

A half hour later, however, Molly had rested his head against Caleb’s shoulder, letting him take almost his full weight, which he was happy enough to do. He had rarely seen Molly this truly comfortable. Oh the tiefling acted it well, he seemed not to care about anything or anyone, but there was always at least a part of him that remained switched on and alert. All of that was gone now.

A while later, still, Caleb realised that Molly’s breathing had deepened and, with a start, he glanced up and realised he had fallen asleep.

A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Caleb gently rearranged the blanket around his shoulders to make sure he was completely covered, then returned to his reading.

[thatboomerkid]

A User’s Guide to the Abhorrent Heavens

A User’s Guide to the Abhorrent Heavens -- An Essay for Bloodlines & Black Magic

“The key difference between any one of the Abhorrent Heavens and the very foulest churning pit of the deep Infernal is subtle but distinct: within an Abhorrent Heaven, one person is having a wonderful time. These grotesque realms, home to souls perfectly selected by their mistress for obsession and malice, are obscene in the extreme. On the surface, some of these blood-splattered abattoirs may appear as 1950s suburbs or modern-era cities, but all merely hide the hunger of a psychotic spree-killer finally unleashed from all consideration of consequences.”

-- Bloodlines & Black Magic, pg. 204

Your players don’t stand a chance against the Grand Archons.

Not directly, anyway.

After all, the Invisible Masters of Heaven & Earth have been putting down titans, would-be messiahs, world-shaking Goetic monstrosities, rebellious Bloodlines, sorcerous god-kings, charismatic serpent-cults & upstart wizards since before time had a name ... or so they say.

In most cases, of course, the Grand Archons don’t even have to respond to a threat directly: the exact moment when someone dumb starts making enough noise that rumors of the Invisible World begin reaching mundane ears, Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights simply opens a gateway from our reality into one of her many Abhorrent Heavens & lets-loose one of her grateful, loyal servants to play dirty for a little while.

What happens next is, simply put, utterly unspeakable.

Brought to you absolutely free to play, to test & to share, as always, by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Additional content contributed by Blaine Bass of ScrapFinder and by Sam Berry; hugest of thanks to the Broken Token for editing assistance

photography by Boomer; digital editing by Tim Jenkins of Battle! Studio

SO ...

Maybe you’re starting a brand new Bloodlines & Black Magic campaign from scratch, and you’re looking for a unique way to kick things off with a real bang.

Maybe you’ve just ended a long, complex story-arc a little bit early, without all of the mysteries completely solved; maybe you can’t quite jump into the next chapter of your narrative until the PCs achieve a certain slightly higher level or meet a specific NPC or learn a particular secret; maybe only half of your players showed up to this session and you need a quick “filler” episode.

Maybe your PCs befriended & adopted the Godzilla, shunted the Terminator to the Deepest Astral, had the Voldemort removed from public office in perp-walked, handcuffed & humiliating disgrace or otherwise drove your campaign’s entire plot-arc so far off the frigging rails that you suddenly find yourself needing a few extra weeks to re-orient your entire game from first principles.

Whatever the reason, you require a brand new plot hook on the fly, and – simply due to the setting-assumptions of the Bloodlines & Black Magic universe! – a classic sword-&-sorcery fantasy plotline like “goblins attack the village” or “the princess is secretly a werewolf” or “foolish local knights go questing for the Vast Horror” simply won’t cut it.

No sweat, friend. We’ve got you covered.

In such an instance, the creaking & blood-spattered gates of the Abhorrent Heavens swinging wide into our own realm should provide more than ample fuel for your dark, strange fire.

original image from here

Plot Hooks (Pick from the list below, or Roll 1d10):

The PCs show up to a meeting with an important contact (or group of contacts) only to discover that everyone is dead or missing. Should any word of this discovery be made public, of course, the PCs are the most obvious suspects for mundane law-enforcement agencies to pursue. As their quick & panicked investigation unfolds, it becomes clear to the PCs that this was an extermination ordered by the Seven of Secret Names ... and that whatever was unleashed from an Abhorrent Heaven is now on their trail, looking to complete its mysterious mission and to have itself some slick red fun while doing so.

An old mentor of a PC is requesting help & offering sky-high payment: something is after him, and it’s rapidly chewing through every emergency defense he’s built-up over the last few decades. Upon closer examination, however, it becomes clear to the PCs that what’s after this particular occultist isn’t just a pissed-off Goetic spirit or some random undead manifestation: it’s a creature of the Abhorrent Heavens, released directly by the Archons to mete out justice in their name. Do the PCs continue to intervene, and risk angering the Grand Sisters directly?

The PCs are contacted obliquely by Jackie Ipanema (see below) or by another favored servant of the Archons who spends a lot of time outside of his Abhorrent Heaven on “real world clean-up”; this contact is polite & non-threatening in the extreme. This potent soldier of the Grand Archons needs a small favor: he maintains multiple false identities in the real world, and several of these identities have been invited (for mysterious reasons) to attend the same fancy dinner party at a secluded woodland mansion at the same time; of course, this is probably a trap. Can the PCs take on these roles & solve the mystery?

A bit of casual, routine investigation into an old “haunted house” in a remote farming community with a vaguely sinister reputation reveals the existence of a poorly-locked and seemingly unguarded portal sitting in the attic, marked only with some eerie chalk-lines. This hole in space-time leads directly into a previously unknown Abhorrent Heaven, full of thousands of fearful damned who are preyed-upon by a mysterious figure of terrifying power ... one who has (apparently) been used very quietly by the Seven of Secret Names on rare occasions to take out major targets. Do the PCs dare to explore this realm? Seal it & guard it? Profit from it?

The estate-sale of a wealthy & enigmatic amateur-dabbler in the dark arts turns up a “Dantean Codex”: a log-book detailing various entrances into an assortment of Abhorrent Heavens scattered across the US & Europe. 90% of the book is useless gibberish, of course ... but the parts that are real are literally invaluable: the sort of things that powerful Lineages kill & die for, or that make legends out of dilettantes. Problem is, the text ALSO represents the most deeply forbidden kind of occult knowledge; mere knowledge of its existence is punishable by death at the hands of the Archons & their servants. Where do you even hide such information?

An enterprising & clever young crew of magicians are playing with hell-fire itself: aping the legendary power inherent to the Invisible City of the Tianlong Dynasty -- Bloodlines & Black Magic, pg. 53 -- they’ve cracked their way into an Abhorrent Heaven with multiple exits back into the real world, and are using this otherworldly realm as a “secret level” to allow for quick, untraceable transportation between cities & across the globe. Every trip risks attracting the attention of the realm’s dark master ... and when these boys get caught, things are going to get very ugly very fast. Can the PCs shut down this mad plan?

The death of a famous & well-loved occultist reveals, hidden amongst the notes in his possession, that he was a MAJOR contact for the Archons: selling out other magicians for personal gain, setting up his friends & his enemies alike to be taken out by their purges, and often profiting directly from executions performed in the name of the Archons, all in the hopes that he would -- in death -- finally be granted the playground of his own Abhorrent Heaven in recompense. Worse, he names a close & trusted ally of the PCs as his longtime accomplice (or even mentor) in these double-deals. Who can the PCs trust?

The PCs are contacted by a powerful, underground circle of mages who think they have a real shot at taking-out one particularly nasty servant of the Archons, potentially crippling it -- like the famed Revered was pulled-down a peg -- or even killing it outright. If the PCs can bait the thing into a particular emotionally-significant, magically-potent location at a particular numerologically-consequential time -- and with all of the attendant esoteric magical formulae properly in-place to secure a full-on Occult Connection with the ritual casters -- then the PCs will have a front-row seat to watch something nearly unknown to modern arcanists, along with an exclusive invite to join the crème de la crème of international occult society. Of course, they’ll have to survive the fight ... and it might all be a trap laid by Nannareal, the Grand Archon of Secrets and Whispers.

An urgent call from an old friend of one of the PCs sends them down a dark alley with their associate in a strangely familiar location. Their sense of eerie déjà vu grows as they round a corner ... only to watch as a horrid creature lashes-out of the darkness and butchers their friend before their eyes, then vanishes into the night. Familiarity shattered, the PCs find themselves in an ever-shifting Abhorrent Heaven drawn from their own memories, locked into a game of cat-and-mouse that has gone on for centuries. When the PCs finally track down the monster and avenge their buddy, their sense of foreboding grows: this creature was not the master of any Abhorrent Heaven, merely a trapped plaything like themselves; soon after, another supernaturally-gifted foe is lured into the concrete jungle to start the hunt again. There’s a way out, of course ... but the voyeuristic occupant of this Abhorrent Heaven, a stalker obsessed with the vicarious thrill of predators & prey making war, isn’t talking.

Rumors start popping up -- with increasing & frightening regularity, and an uncanny level of detail -- about an ancient artifact resurfacing: a lost blade of Goetic Titan-craft that serves as a bane weapon against any creature tied to an Abhorrent Heaven. While the Archons & their servants scramble to kill-off anyone with anything resembling proof of this blade’s existence, the PCs are contacted by an old associate who claims to have located the thing ... as he requests extraction from a war-zone.

Uncountable Abhorrent Heavens ... and their Occupants

No one knows exactly how many Abhorrent Heavens there really are.

Or, more accurately, Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights knows ... but she’s not talking.

Or, more accurately still, Yasazziel is talking all the damn time. It’s just that nobody can quite tell what she actually means by whatever she says.

In any instance, there are innumerable Abhorrent Heavens -- glittering like dark jewels, smoking with thin coils of screams & ghost-iron -- tucked away into obscure corners of the Celestial Realm, forever waiting to be opened-up whenever it amuses Yasazziel to unwrap & caress them.

Each one is sort of halfway between a prized Pokemon & a reverse Darklord of Ravenloft: each occupant is an utterly unique dick-in-a-box, sure ... but they love every minute of it, "bound" to their realm only so much as is required to keep them equal-parts amused & dangerous, all so that they can be taken out to straight-up murder people whenever their mistress desires.

Below are two of them.

Jackie: a Signature Soul of an Abhorrent Heaven

So ... you need a unique & scary monster, the sort of creature that Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights would happily uncage & send after a troublemaker? Jackie Ipanema can, with only slight alteration, be used to fill exactly that role ... in much the same way that Canio de Pogo, Happy Muurvaerid and Khakissandra Ayla, the Foul Wish Granted can -- in a pinch! -- serve as interesting quick-&-dirty Goetic monsters.

image from here

Within the Bloodlines & Black Magic setting, Jackie’s ties to Zon-Kuthon are placed with service to Yasazziel the Grand Archon of Glittering Things & Earthly Delights.

ODDITIES:

If a character’s Threshold increases to an odd number from direct exposure to the presence (or the power) of Jackie Ipanema, she may gain one of the following Oddities (roll 1d10):

You can never again “spark” an object: you can’t turn on a stove or start a microwave, lighters that you try to use fail to ignite, cars you try to start won’t turn over, flicking a light-switch produces no effect, you can’t get a cellphone to turn on by pressing the button, and bullets or cartridges don’t go off when you squeeze the trigger on a firearm. You add quench as a 1st-level spell known to any one spell-list you possess; use of this special spell also extinguishes light bulbs, flashlights, chemical light-sticks and other simple, cheap devices that heat up, produce illumination and that can “burn out”. Use of this spell does not affect cars, cellphones, computers or other more complex electrical objects (such as firearms) used by opponents.

Your appearance becomes subtly creepy, and you remind everyone you meet of a dead person (either a specific dead person they have seen or a generic corpse, as appropriate). This affects your look, your voice, your scent and even the non-verbal sounds and movements you make; you suffer a penalty equal to twice your hit dice on all Charisma-based skill checks & ability checks except Intimidate. Once per day, you may choose, as a free action, to activate the Unnerving Gaze ability of an evangelist kyton, Will save negates (DC 10 + 1/2 your hit dice + your Charisma modifier); this ability last for 10 minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as another free action.

You add bullet shield as a 1st-level spell known to any one spell-list you possess. This special spell may only be cast while you are in an area of dim or lower lighting, and a spell effect created by you in this way is suppressed -- as if in the area of an antimagic field -- while you or the target of the spell are in any area of normal or brighter light.

While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you are always considered to have a running start when jumping; you also add your character level (max +7) as a bonus on all Acrobatics checks to jump. You are fatigued while in an area of bright light and exhausted while in direct sunlight.

You gain light blindness. In addition, once per day as a free action you may choose to see through mist and fog (including fog cloud and similar magic) as if they did not exist. In areas of moderate or stronger wind, while this ability is in effect, you can also see as if you were standing at both your own position and a position a number of feet in the wind’s direction equal to the wind’s speed in miles per hour, potentially allowing you to see around corners and other obstacles. This ability lasts for 10 minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as another free action.

As long as you are humming the song Girl From Ipanema to yourself (which applies a -10 penalty to all Stealth checks based on sound), you are immune to fear and to non-lethal damage.

You can never again “spark” an object, as per the first result above. While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you gain full use of Exotic Weapon Proficiency: spiked chain and Weapon Finesse. If you normally possess either of these abilities, you instead gain one of the following for each feat that you already possess: Improved Initiative, Lunge, Power Attack. You gain these abilities even if you do not otherwise meet the prerequisites.

While in an area of dim or lower lighting, you gain damage reduction 5/silver or good and immunity to cold. You gain vulnerability to fire while in an area of bright light and are nauseated while in direct sunlight.

You gain an overwhelming scent of rust and old metal; all opponents within 30 feet may freely detect you purely by sense of smell. If you are upwind, the range increases to 60 feet; if downwind, it drops to 15 feet. Your exact location is not revealed, only your presence within range and the general direction toward you. When you are within 5 feet of any creature with a sense of smell, that creature automatically pinpoints your location even if otherwise blinded to you. You may also be tracked by your smell: any creature may attempt to follow from where you have been by making a Wisdom (or Survival) check to trace your movements and current whereabouts, even if you possess the trackless step ability. The typical DC for smelling you out is 10; this DC increases by 2 for each hour since you departed the area. This otherwise follows the rules for the Survival skill. At will as a standard action, while you are in an area of dim or lower lighting and are not wearing any other armor, you may cause wickedly-hooked, barbed & razor-edged chains to sprout from your body, providing a +4 armor bonus. These otherworldly chains are not treated as armor for the purpose of spell failure, armor check penalties, maximum Dexterity, weight, or proficiency. These chains persist for ten minutes or until you voluntarily end the effect as a free action. If you already possess a strong scent, such as because you possess the third Oddity result from the Reverend of Razored Witch-Pyres, re-roll.

Roll 1d8+1 twice, keeping both results. If you gain the same result for both rolls, re-roll one of the dice.

Mr. Liu, the Cryptic Policeman, Secret Saint of Hong Kong (CR 13)

Those who speak with Mr. Liu on the telephone -- or correspond with the “man” via text or email -- universally find him charming, disarming and erudite in the extreme, with a remarkable wit; he has a refined British accent, exceptional knowledge of Chinese history, and he is obviously a highly-educated & well-traveled man: most likely from a fantastically-wealthy family of lawyers, college professors, international investors and physicians.

He often goes by Peter, Peyton or Penley; he comes off as a librarian, scholar or antiquarian ... although those who correspond with him quite frequently often begin to suspect that Mr. Liu might actually work for some type of clandestine, highly-discreet governmental organization.

That suspicion is partially correct.

Amongst those in-the-know, the Cryptic Policeman is a terrifying urban legend: the sort of ghostly creature who makes high-ranking members of the Tianlong Dynasty whisper a quick prayer & glance nervously over their shoulder.

Mr. Liu, the Cryptic Policeman, Secret Saint of Hong Kong, The No-Shadow Dragon, has never been seen. He is, in fact, invisible … save for a wide, toothy grin and the occasional flash of a bladed finger slipping through shrieking flesh. Despite this, Mr. Liu desires notoriety more than anything: he lusts for the perfection of his brutal art, wanting to be sought and never found, craving -- above all else! -- a eternal, profane and inverted game of cat and mouse: his Abhorrent Heaven is a bloody & endless game of hide-and-seek in the deep city, where he slays his pursuers and taunts the yet-unslain with riddles, poetry, bizarre word-puzzles and coded messages.

His identity is well known: he is considered one of the earliest recorded serial killers. In the 2nd century BC, there was a dragon-blooded Han prince, Liu Pengli, who ruled a small region in what would eventually become China. He was bloodthirsty and cruel, and led hunting parties made up of slaves and fugitives. At first they would kill indiscriminately, robbing and slaughtering the innocent and defenseless. After a time, though, Liu used these expeditions as opportunities to isolate and murder the strongest and most clever among his own men: he used misdirection & trickery to blame the deaths on the innocent and further the bloodshed. Eventually, he gained a taste for those with occult power in their blood, and targeted them specifically ... no longer killing the innocent, but instead hunting criminals, cultists, demon-summoners and rival murders, bringing a dark order to his province with his own hands.

While he wanted to get away with his crimes, Liu Pengli also wanted someone -- anyone, everyone -- to know how clever he was: how perfect a predator he had become. He had over 100 known victims, and far more unknown; soon, Liu Pengli began to announce the deaths of criminals & witches with messengers in every town, making known their deaths and his art ... even if he couldn't receive full credit for his lethal ingenuity. Eventually, this hunter of humans & magicians alike was brought before the Emperor, and he voluntarily stood for justice.

The Emperor, being his uncle, could not bring himself to execute the prince; thus, he reduced Liu Pengli in status, making him equal with those whom he had hunted & slain: Liu Pengli was stripped of his rank & title, made into a commoner, a no-one. The emperor exiled his nephew after making him anonymous, and sent him out of the kingdom to become a stranger in strange lands.

Liu Pengli couldn't help but smile.

It isn't known precisely when Liu Pengli actually died, nor how many he killed after being banished, but what is known is that before the 3rd century, he had been granted an Abhorrent Heaven of his own. Ever since, the occasional brutal murder of some poor bloke with a Bloodline is attributed to him, especially if a coded message is left behind.

Only two instances of prolonged activity are confirmed:

In London in the late 1800s, a powerful coven which owed fealty to the Goetic spirit of lust, Asmodeus, was all-but-openly active: conducting the dark rites of their cult under the thin guise of prostitution. The exact goals of their rituals are uncertain, but most likely these practitioners sought to magnify the influence of their patron-spirit in the material world, or to somehow otherwise threaten the power of the Archons ... because in 1888, the Cryptic Policeman was released from his Abhorrent Heaven to stalk & slay the Infernal-blooded priestesses. For three years the Policeman shadowed the five priestesses of Asmodeus's inner pentacle, with brief skirmishes slowed only by wards and fetishes which made it clear that the priestesses knew what hunted them. They attempted to replace lost members and complete the ritual, but failed ... as, one by one, they were hunted down, killed and mutilated in brutal fashion: sending a clear message from the Archons to those in the Secret World; lust is not to be flaunted. Mundane law enforcement never discovered evidence of the true killer, though the Cryptic taunted them through letters, using coded phrases and metaphor designed to communicate with the Invisible through the press, hinting that he was 'from hell'. The police never decoded the cipher, though those steeped in the occult could see it plain as day. He wanted to be unseen in his art, but credited for his achievement. Once his task was accomplished, the Archons spirited him back to his boundless cage.

Later, the Cryptic Policeman would be deployed again, loosed for nearly ten years at the very edge of the New World. From the late 1960s to the early 1970s, on the American West Coast, for unknown reasons the Fey bloodline began passing through love: granting power both to those born with the blood, and to those beloved by the blood. This allowed the power & influence of several new-born Lineages to grow rapidly, and threatened to destabilize the balance of power within the region. While most of these Fey-Blooded had no knowledge of their own power, or the significance of their acts, the Archons do not judge slights by intent. The Cryptic Policeman was released, and again stalked his prey methodically -- often for months -- waiting until he was certain that they had the potential to pass their power, and then brutally murdering both once the power was passed. Ever the artist, the Cryptic again taunted law enforcement with letters, this time encoded in a clear cypher. Once the code was cracked, he had the captive audience he sought: most watching the papers in horror, some in awe as he practiced his visceral art. Once the Fey outbreak was contained, his performance was cut short: with an unseen & shadow-less bow, Liu Pengli was again dragged back into his brutal paradise.

image from here

The Cryptic Policeman is a lawful evil invisible stalker (CR 7) with the Half Dragon template (+2 CR), the Gunsmoke-Blessed Creature template (+1 CR) [see Bloodline & Black Magic, pg. 161], the War Machine template (+3 CR) and the Lifespark Construct template (+1 CR).

Because the Cryptic Policeman possesses the Lifespark Construct template, his Intelligence is not reduced by the application of the War Machine template.

Whenever the Cryptic Policeman deals damage to a living creature with any of his natural melee attacks, his wide & toothy smile very briefly becomes visible. This does not negate his bonuses to Stealth from invisibility, as his eerie smile is disconnected from his body: often appearing two to three feet away from the Cryptic Policeman’s actual face, as per a combination of blink & displacement.

The Cryptic Policeman may choose to suppress his natural invisibility & is in possession of a greater hat of disguise; he may choose to appear as a normal human whenever he desires.

Using the Cryptic Policeman:

If a character's threshold increases to an odd number from direct exposure to the presence (or power) of the Cryptic Policeman, she may gain one of the following oddities (roll 1d8)

You begin compulsively smiling whenever you deal damage that sheds blood. You may choose to a cause a living opponent to bleed whenever you deal melee slashing damage; your attack may cause an opponent to suffer 1 additional point of damage each round for each level you possess (for example, if you are a 5th level character, you may cause you opponent to suffer up to 5 points of bleed each round). This bleeding can be stopped by a DC 15 Heal check or the application of any effect that heals hit point damage. Bleeding damage from this ability does not stack with itself; bleeding damage bypasses any damage reduction the target might possess. Each time this bleeding damage is inflicted, you suffer one half that amount of damage (non-lethal damage, rounded up) as your uncontrollable grin begins to ache, twitch & burn.

You can see through your own eyelids, and have a difficult time sleeping. You may make sight-based Perception checks with your eyes closed, but are always fatigued for the first four hours after waking or until you have had at least two cups of coffee.

Whenever you write anything, you involuntarily pepper the page with strange runes and sigils which you don't recall writing ... or know the meaning of.

You gain full knowledge either Draconic or ancient Chinese (your choice).

Whenever you speak face-to-face with an unfamiliar, non-related individual for more than a few minutes, small scratch-marks and cuts as if from from fingernails form on your arms and face. This is actually a great way to tell if you’re actually talking to someone you already know (who might be in disguise).

Whenever you hold anything that could be used as a slashing weapon, your hand grips it until your knuckles whiten. You are incapable of holding such an object loosely, though you may put it down without difficulty. You gain a +2 bonus on all Disarm attempts made against you.

You may make Linguistics checks untrained. Whenever you encounter a language or writing which you do not understand, you feel distracted and are considered shaken while within 10 ft. of such script.

Roll 1d6+1 twice, keeping both results. If you gain the same result for both rolls, re-roll one of the dice.

PLOT HOOKS (pick from the list or roll 1d8)

A new string of killings has begun in a local metropolis, and they seem to be imitating the ciphered letters of the Zodiac Killer. Although the new cipher has yet to be decoded, it uses the characters of a hidden & secret language. The Cryptic Policeman has, perhaps, inspired a copycat ... or an acolyte. Or a rival, calling him out to face vengeance.

A potent young Dragon-Blooded sorcerer with a warm, charming smile has discovered that amongst his ancestors sits Liu Pengli; the brash magician is now attempting to become a host for the Cryptic Policeman’s ancient power for the express purpose of taking revenge on a rival ... but he risks unknowingly allowing the Cryptic Policemen to walk the earth again, unfettered by the Archon's cage.

Multiple high-profile businessmen in the finance industry have been found eviscerated in their offices, the walls splayed with bloody & undecipherable sigils. Mundane authorities are confounded not by what is on the security tapes, but what isn't: the murderer is invisible. Already, secret organizations have begun covering-up the crimes. Has the Cryptic Policeman been sent on a clandestine errand ... or is another player at work here, hiding behind the Cryptic’s reputation?

An invaluable 13th-century German grimoire detailing rituals used for summoning & binding the Cryptic Policeman has gone to auction. While the seller -- and most of the buyers! -- have no idea what’s on the block, at least one buyer is willing kill to obtain the prize.

An ancient and priceless knife which supposedly belonged to Liu Pengli has been stolen from a local museum by a Dragon-Blooded cult who believe it may hold a portion of his power ... or the ability to command & control the great ‘Machine Colorless Wyrm’.

An eccentric hobbyist, fascinated with 'ripper-ology' and researching for a book, has deciphered an unnoticed code in the letters from the Whitechapel murders. He is drifting dangerously close to an open secret of the Hidden World: the identity of the Cryptic Policeman.

The newly-awakened descendant of a victim from the Cryptic's 1970s-era West Coast murders has manifested the power of Fey blood ... and, moreover, she has demonstrated the ability to pass that power on to others through love while retaining the full Bloodline potency herself. This young woman must be carefully introduced to the Secret World, and gently told the truth about her heritage, all without arousing the interest of the Archons or their murderous pet.

A panicked coven is seeking any & all of the help they can acquire -- begging, borrowing & blackmailing, as they are able -- from anyone powerful and in-the-know enough to assist: they attempted to summon the Cryptic Policeman from his Abhorrent Heaven & to bind him ... and while their summoning certainly worked, and seemingly escaped the notice of the Archons, they were unable to chain him. Now, the Cryptic Policeman is gleefully stalking the members of their coven, picking them off one by one in a slow-moving orgy of violence.

So ... what color of dragon is the Cryptic Policeman, precisely?

Within the context of your own Bloodlines & Black Magic game, this is left entirely to your own discretion. Whatever energy-type of breath weapon you want him to unleash in combat (or need him to be immune to!), that’s the one ... although there are certainly dozens of theories, dating back centuries across any number of cultures, claiming to authoritatively state that the invisible scales of his armor & unseen cogs of his bones are one precise shade or another.

[leah-halliwell92]

Hartha of Imladris

Summary: Hartha is an elf from Imladris who was raised by Lord Elrond. She was asked to join the Company on their quest to reclaim Erebor by Gandalf. Hartha knows the old bat is up to something and can't help but be slightly concerned of what he's planning.

(Glossary: Harthriel = Hartha - To hope; -iel =  daughter of

"I will join you on your quest," Harthriel (Hartha) told Gandalf as he basically sold her the idea of going.

Hartha tried not to roll her eyes as Gandalf explained what the quest entailed and could have throw the table they were sitting in aside when he mentioned the dragon.

"A dragon Mithrandir! Have you finally lost your senses?" Hartha exclaimed.

Gandalf blustered at the question of being mad and said, "Does this deter you from coming my dear?"

Hartha could have laughed and nodded despite.

She knew her father was not going to like her going on such a quest but relented when Mitrandir said he'd discuss it with her father. Going to her room Hartha put together a small pack consisting of her essentials. From small daggers to a medical pack to a mat for her to lie on. She knew there was no room for luxuries on such a quest especially since the unknown is a good source for finding unwanted and unprecedented danger at any turn. She indulged a bit in the sense that she would be taking a small parchment roll and compressed charcoal and tucked it away for her travels. She didn't overdue it with the packing being more than a little aware that room for lembas bread and the amount she is taking was also something to be aware of. Being a skilled archer as is the norm for her kin, Hartha made sure her quiver was filled with well sharpened arrows to then be placed side by side her pack along with her bow. She made sure her clothing was all in order next to what she was taking and made sure her extra double blades were sharp and battle ready (should there be battle along the way).

Making her way to the kitchens Hartha was met by her father.

"Harthriel I hear from Gandalf that you will be joining him in his travels this time around," Lord Elrond said a light yet reserved tone coloring his voice.

From the way her father said 'travels' Hartha could tell that Gandalf hadn't revealed too much of where they were going to her father. In all honesty Harhta could have hit the blasted Istari with on of her arrows for omitting giving her father the information she knew he seeks. Hartha is his youngest daughter, adopted or not she is his child and he as her father has every right to know of where she was going. But at the same time she didn't want to reveal too much herself knowing that the prospect of going to a place where there was a living dragon was not a good way to say goodbye to your loved ones.

"Yes," She said sounding excited.

Elrond's eyes softened at her clear enthusiasm and nodded.

"I wish to see the world ada," Hartha said as he held out his arm to her as they walked the rest of the way to the kitchens.

"I feared this day would come, however I see the truth in your words. You need to experience the world through your eyes," He said sounding sad.

Hartha stopped pulling her father close into a hug by the waist.

"I will come back papa," she said sadness now seeping into her voice.

She felt her father wrap his arms around her shoulders and his lips on her head.

"I have every faith that you will, after all Glorfindel trained you himself," He teased.

Hartha chuckled at this and nodded.

"Now lets go fetch your lembas and make certain that Mithrandir has all he needs. Keep him on his toes, he seems to need it more than he lets on," Elrond said with a fond grin his handsome features.

Hartha nodded eagerly and said, "Where would I find my fun then papa?"

Father and daughter shared a few more moments as they went over her pack and weapons before her departure.

//Time Skip//

"The bloody wizard," Hartha muttered to herself as she climbed a tree.

This journey had been nothing but awful for (and to) Hartha. She has known of the animosity between that of her race and the dwarves for as long as she could waddle. But she didn't think they would be this opposed to her being part of their company, despite the fortune having her along would give bring them. She had the fortune of not needing as much sleep as the others granting them an even longer period of rest while she is on guard. But no she is a tree shagging sprite that doesn't know anything of the world.

"She's probably in league with Thranduil," One of the dwarves said.

Hartha froze and the dwarf with the white beard (Balin she believes his name is) saw that that was not a good thing to say. Hartha stepped off the branch she was on and landed lightly on her feet before the camp of dwarves.

"I most certainly do not. My kin may hail from the ever forsaken Greenwood but I have never set foot in its borders let alone set my eyes on its King. He had my father executed and my mother, who at the time was with child with me was banished from her home," Her voice was hard as she spoke her story.

"What did she do? Insult his crown?" Thorin mocked as he stood toe to toe with her.

Hartha's eyes lit with anger and pain as she said, "She was banished for having aided the princess of Erebor and her brother."

All eyes were on her at that point. She knew none would believe her, but at the same time why would she lie of her mother's fading?

"My father thought that Thranduil ignoring a call for aid was not just an act of dishonor but an act of war and cruelty," She said her voice growing quiet, "My father lost his life for offering safe passage through the mountains and plains to those who survived the attack of the dragon."

With that said Hartha bowed to Thorin and climbed up her tree again.

From then on the group continued going about their business as more somber than they usually would.

"Here," She heard Bilbo say.

She looked to him and saw her offering her an apple.

Hartha looked at him and grinned.

"No," She said pushing his hand away, "You keep it...I'm more than certain they wouldn't want any of their food to be wasted on me."

Bilbo furrowed his brow and nodded sadly knowing her response to be true.

Hartha drew a deep sigh and let her head fall on the trunk of the tree. The starts were bright and the moon was high and full, 'Beautiful,' she thought as she breathed in the clean air of the forest.

"He is your one isn't he?" Bilbo asked quietly.

Hartha nodded mutely and resignedly.

"I'm an elf master Baggins...I'm no of no use for a King of Dwarves," she said sadly.

"He will realize it sooner or later," Bilbo said his voice filled with certainty.

Hartha gave Bilbo a small grin and said, "By the time he does, I'm afraid I'll have faded."

With that said Hartha helped Bilbo settle onto a branch close to hers and together they saw the stars and moon together in tandem in the sky.

Unbeknownst to the pair in the tree, Balin had heard what they were saying and couldn't help but feel for the girl. She'd found her One in Thorin and was wise enough to know that he'd never accept her. He was no fool, he knew the girl would lay her life down for Thorin now that she knew who he is and what he means to her. He also knew her story to be true. He had been there when an elven couple offered them aid for their ill and wounded as well as a safe trail for them to pass through. He had made sure that the rest of his brethren were also aware. He could bet his beard that Dwalin would be the first to give his respect once they got to know the girl better. Thorin he knew would be another matter entirely and Balin agreed with her on that front. By the time Thorin realizes she is his one she would most likely have faded due to her mate either neglecting her or rejecting her.

Tag List: @fizzy-custard, @patanghill17, @fandomgalcentral, @imagines-for-multiple-fandoms, @theimaginesyouneveraskedfor

[sceawere]

compromise | ivar ragnarsson

set after the ‘check’ series

part one: see the whole board part two: middlegame part three: check

“It’s quiet”

“Hmm” Ivar hummed from his place on the ground. He lay flat out in the sun that fell onto the grassy bank, arm hooked under his head.

You looked down at him, cast a look back, and then returned to peering out over the roadway.

“It’s quiet” you emphasised, rolling your fingers around through a loop of string nervously. You turned it over and over, like a wheel before you, like the cogs turning in your brain.

“Not when you keep talking, it’s not” he murmured, eyes not opening until you gave his side a light kick. He frowned as he inspected the site of contact, unhooking his arm as he brought himself up to sitting.

“I’ve travelled this road twenty times and each time-“

“Oh, will you-“he interrupted.

“No, Ivar! Listen to me!”

“You remember that we’re not at war anymore?” he looked up to you, eyes wide and piercing.

“I thought we were at war with everyone, everywhere, all the time? You gave me a whole lesson on it, remember, because that’s your idea of polite dinner conversation” you shot back and he returned your look, holding firm until you sighed and looked away.

“I’m just doing what you taught me. And what I learned from you even when you didn’t know you were teaching me. Your fondness for surprise and confusion taught me many things, including noticing signs that aren’t there as much as the ones that are and-” you crouched before him, bending over your knees to whisper to him “It’s too quiet, Ivar”

He sighed and looked away to where the rest of the army had parked up and spread out to rest. Travelling with such a band of people and supplies meant slow going and you still had maybe a week of travel ahead before you reached the section of land that Ivar’s group were allotted.

Splitting the land as equally between the brothers control as possible had meant everyone got something to rule without hovering over each other. The hope being that it would keep everything amicable between them. If not, the distance should help.

You weren’t sure how they’d adapt to ‘peacetime’ lives and trying to pre-empt any problems and avoid familial squabbles had kept you busy right up until the moment you joined said family. Ivar seemed to be doing well, considering. Although his assurance that your agreement forbade him only from raiding where you’d agreed and no further seemed to be calming him – you’d noticed the maps of the lands that had rejected your arrangement and expected to be spending the next summer alone already. It was strange to feel dread at the thought but it sat in your gut all the same.

He kept staring off at the group and you huffed, moving yourself into his field of vision. You made sure to keep eye contact before speaking again.

“I’ve travelled this road twenty times and each time you could set your pace by the noise from the blacksmiths. It was a running joke among my father’s soldiers. The town just over the ridge is practically one giant workshop. There’s a dozen or more smiths and they make a hell of a racket and I can’t hear-” you paused to emphasise your point”…a single noise but the birds. Which don’t often nest here, because the water is so mucky and the air so smoky and they don’t like the noise”

You leant back a little before deciding to double down on your point “Which I can’t hear. Because there isn’t any”

He flicked between both your eyes and you tilted your head towards him, imploring him to consider your point. For all he nagged at you about forgetting the tactics of war, he continued to treat every conversation between you as a negotiation. It was infuriating. Most of the time. You had to admit, it was also enjoyable. While he’d fight back, he’d let you go for a while first and after years of having to hold your tongue around all but your father and brother, it was refreshing.

He turned back over his shoulder to the small creek that ran behind you and then up into the treeline.

“The water’s clear” he noted.

“And the airs fresh and there are birds nesting” you added. He leant forward a little more, eyes moving to the horizon that was barely visible down the road.

“It’s the middle of the day and its fine out. Why wouldn’t they be working?”

“You used to see the smoke plumes, dawn ‘til dusk. Navigate by them. Why is no one working?” you joined his sightline, noted the clouds rolling around the hill.

“Because there’s no-one there to work” he turned back to you.

“You never raided out this far – did you?”

“No. Did they join you? We might have killed them all” he half shrugged at the end and you shot him a look before continuing.

“We came to them before that second battle, asked them to smith for us. We promised them if they provided for the army, they wouldn’t have to serve in it” you shook your head, sighing and pushing up.

“Something isn’t right, Ivar”

He reached for his crutches and you knew better by now not to try and help him, staying staring off at the horizon that was beginning to grey. He called over to one of the men he trusted who seemed to be becoming a sort of second in command – if he would allow that. The position remained an unofficial, unnamed one, on account of your husband’s pride. They spoke between themselves for a few moments before the man ran off again and started rounding up a band.

“They’re going to scout ahead” he informed you before moving off towards the chariot.

“You’re-you’re not going with them!?” you stuttered out as you realised his intention and followed after him.

“Of course I am”

“No”

“Wife-“

“Why do you insist on-What is it that you so hate using my name?” you questioned, more to yourself, as you trudged after him and slammed your hands against the side of the chariot “Ivar, don’t leave me alone with these people!”

He laughed to himself, preparing to ride out and you gripped your knuckles white against the wood, as if that would do anything at all if he decided to speed off.

“They’re your people now too” he pointed out, too much enjoyment in his tone for your liking.

“Only by marriage and partly by trickery”

“I didn’t trick you” he rolled his eyes to you, suddenly a little more serious, though he still wore his smirk.

“No but you didn’t play entirely fair either!”

“And you did?”

“We’re getting off track and you’re getting off that seat because you’re not going into the mystery village and leaving me with-Ivar!” you jumped back and shouted after him as he set off, growling to yourself as you watched them disappear along the way. You huffed as the dust and dirt fluttered around the hooves and wheels of the disappearing figures, eyes turning to the slightly smaller crowd.

“I should have become a fucking nun while I still had the chance”

-

The sky was almost continuously grey by the time they returned more than an hour later and you’d about paced a new trail in the grass beneath the cover of the trees.

“There’s no-one there” Ivar explained and gave an order for the group to carry on down the road.

“What do you mean?” you questioned, eyes on the movement of the army.

“It’s abandoned. Looks like it has been for at least a few days, maybe even a week or two”

“I was here six months ago. It was thriving”

He shrugged again and started preparing to turn back.

“Ivar-“

“It’s safe. We checked everywhere. We checked around. I stationed guards” he stared you down and while his tone wasn’t reassuring, you knew the intent. He’d spent enough time chasing you from battle to battle to lose you to something stupid now.

“Alright. Then it’s safe”

He never really seemed to know what to do once you agreed with him and it was almost funny to see him retreat back and flounder in his words.

“Well. Let’s go then. Unless you want to camp here in the mud and the rain with the pigeons” he motioned to you, regaining his mocking tone as he turned around.

“You know I could tip you off that thing or strangle you in your sleep or something?”

He scoffed a laugh as you set off.

-

This felt odd. You both sat before the fire, Ivar down in the furs while you sat above him on a chest you’d pulled over. He studied the book on his lap, moving his head almost on instinct as your fingers worked through the braids. All you’d known together was war camps and stops on the trail. Being together between walls was something you hadn’t experienced before. It almost felt realer. More true. But still a little like playing house, with the remnants of someone else’s life all around you.

Surveying the place and following down the trails out in the opposite direction you’d come to the conclusion that they’d probably heard of their new oncoming rulers and decided it was best to cross the border back into ‘proper Christian lands’. Ivar was right. These were your people now, too. You didn’t fit neatly into either group. You were a bridge now. A compromise.

Ivar had worked his way through the Church documents and the records building in an effort to understand his new kingdom better. You were glad at how serious he seemed to be taking this, regardless of his motive. If he wanted to keep the lands he’d taken and prove himself as a ruler he had to be more than a good conqueror and he seemed to understand that. Or at least he was going through the motions of it. He was trying to study a book of land contracts but given that the lawyers had fled with all the others, the two of you were having to cobble together your scant knowledge of the wording.

“This one” he pointed to another word and you lent over his shoulder, your hair trailing over his chest as you rested your chin on his skin. The village had in fact been abandoned but most of the ‘non-essentials’ had been left in place and so there was still a working settlement ready to be picked up. You’d all taken full advantage, glad to feel a few more home comforts after sleeping in tents in random fields for the last few weeks.

“Uhhh…I’m not sure actually”

He sighed and turned his head to you, so close you had to lift your head to keep your eyes on him.

“What?” you questioned.

“You’re supposed to be helping me-“

“If I would have known one day I’d have to teach a heathen raider to understand legal documents I would have studied a little harder. But as it was, there were monks and priests to help with the Latin and so I didn’t. Too bad your lot tried to kill them all, isn’t it!” you stuck your tongue out at his snarl, lifting yourself back up behind him properly. His hand flew up to grab you hand when you gave a little tug to his hair and you laughed as he tried to pull you back down over his shoulder, fighting between the two of you.

You shrieked a little as you lost balance and went swinging around, dragging his arm at an odd angle and he gave a shout of his own as you met the floor. You couldn’t help the laugh that came as two of his guards popped into the room and you waved them off.

“It’s alright boys, it’s alright” you made out through the giggles and they looked between you both confused as Ivar nodded them away. He looked back to you on the floor and you smiled even wider at him as you got comfortable. He rolled his eyes but moved to his side anyway, head lying on your stomach as your fingers weaved back into his hair. This isn’t how you thought it would be.

“We need a priest”

“No, we don’t” he grumbled, sliding the book away across the floor, a little too close to the fire. You slapped it back, jostling him as you reached across. He huffed as you settled back, taking a little too long to get comfortable again.

“If you want to do this right-“he groaned “we’re going to need a priest”

“We don’t need a priest, you want a priest”

“Fine, I want a priest. I don’t accept your argument, but if it gets me a priest, then I’ll entertain it. How about that?”

He closed his eyes and didn’t reply so you tugged at his hair again.

“I don’t like it” he grumbled.

“You don’t have to. You’ll like what it gets you though. That’s the problem with warriors gaining kingdoms. They’re good at the taking, not so good at all the giving and not-so-fun ruling that comes after. You all think it’s going to be battles and feasts and fancy fun stuff and not counting grain harvests and making sure the roads aren’t flooded on market day”

“I prefer the fighting”

“Of course you do. Fighting’s simple. Just kill everyone. Can’t kill everyone at a council meeting” you scratched at his scalp, staring up at the joists. Whoever lived here before had been drying herbs and flowers when they left and they remained tied up around the beams.

“I could” he replied and you tucked your free arm behind your head to help look down at him.

“You could. But then no one would count the grain harvest and the carts wouldn’t move on market day. So suck it up and make some compromises, King Ivar”

He smirked up at you, rolling his neck to stare up himself.

“Where am I going to find a priest?”

“At a church?” you posed sarcastically and he heaved himself up, lifting the book and throwing it across the room to land back in the pile.

“I can’t believe you did that” you watched in shock, keeping your place on the floor as he made his way over to the bed.

“I can’t believe you care that much about a book you can’t even read properly” he shot back, lifting himself onto the edge of the bed with a groan. He settled and rolled his shoulder and you wondered if you’d actually hurt him.

“Books are precious, Ivar. They’re essential to our continuation as a society and as an enlightened people” you pushed up to rest of your elbows and he laughed at you.

“We never needed books and look where we are” he pointed out, combing back his hair with his hands.

You rolled your eyes and got up, following over to where he sat.

“Yes. Look at all the things you managed to steal. I’m sure you’re all very proud”

His hands came to your hips and you leaned into him a little more, fingers tracing over the ink at his shoulder.

“You’re not proud of me, wife?”

You rolled your eyes away from the design on his shoulder to meet his gaze and tilted your head.

“I didn’t say that”

The ghost of a smile came to his face and you lifted the finger that had been tracing to flick his cheek. He wrapped his arms up around your waist properly and rolled you to the bed beside him, squealing as you flopped down on the blankets.

“Ivar! A little warning, for heaven’s sake”

He hummed a response, hand diving under the shirt you were wearing to trace your side as he lay kisses at your hip.

“God, I’ve missed real beds” you settled back, taking in the feel “Ow”

You tugged Ivar’s hair again as he nipped at your hip.

“What is it with you and pulling my hair?” he mumbled, trailing his way up.

“What is it with you and calling me ‘wife’? I do have a name, husband” you reminded him.

“You don’t like it?” he asked as he settled next to you.

“I don’t understand it”

“I use your name sometimes” he hooked his arm behind his head again and you tugged the edge of the blankets up with your foot, kicking them into the reach of you hand so you could pull them up over you both.

“Rarely”

“I like it”

“It’s a nice name” you joked.

“I like calling you wife. I never thought I’d get to do it”

You paused, eyes softening as you crooked your neck and looked up at him.

“Oh”

He hummed in his throat, not lowering his eyes to meet yours. You lifted yourself onto your hands, hovered over him, and planted a kiss to his forehead. You dropped and rolled to your back, tucking your hair back as you settled in.

“Well, goodnight, husband”

“Goodnight, wife”

The fire crackled in the space between your words and the shouts from outside where it seemed they were taking full advantage of the wine that had been left behind echoed in.

“We should stay here for a few days” you whispered, shuffling a little closer to his side.

“Hmm”

You trailed your eyes over his profile, the light flickering behind him.

“I’d like a priest”

“Oh, for fucks-“he groaned and turned to his side.

“Hear me out, here!” you argued, resting on your elbow and wrapping an arm around his waist. You dropped your chin to his arm as he linked his hand in yours “I’ve got three main lines of argument that I think will-“

-