#HE ALWAYS KNEW THEY WERE DOOMED BUT LEFT THE EVIDENCE BEHIND FOR WHEN SHE FIGURES HER OWN SHIT OUT. FUUUUUUCK

[drbtinglecannon]

oTL

HIMMEL AND FRIEREN WERE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER BUT BEING DOOMED IS THE FUCKING POINT OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP.

IT BEING BEAUTIFUL AND IT BEING IMPOSSIBLE ARE INTRINSICALLY INTERTWINED. FUCKING. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[whumperfultime]

June of Doom Day 12

@juneofdoom

Prompts: "I can't stand seeing you like this." | Dehydration | Grief | Coma

Contains: Bedside vigil, whumpee in coma, hospital setting, worry/guilt, mild dehydration, environmental whump, heat whump, heatstroke, and mention of kidnapping/captivity

It's hard for Kalei to care about her own physical needs when Dace is in a coma.

~

They had no way of knowing that the target was aligned with Fen. They didn’t know that his organization had spread to Ezanu or even into the neighboring solar system in the first place.

Not until Dace wound up captured.

Evidently the target was on Fen’s bad side and figured that handing over three of his rivals would mend the relationship. He only managed to grab Dace, snatching him up when he was casing the outside of the mansion they intended to rob. Kalei and Matago stayed behind onboard the ship, preparing some of their supplies for the job.

Neither of them knew much of what happened after that. Just that Dace  was being held in an outbuilding on the property when they found him – some grimy, cramped garage. He could barely speak and whatever he said was the result of delirium. He couldn’t even stand on his own, forcing Matago to do most of the heavy lifting while they brought him to the transport parked behind the building.

Kalei knew heatstroke when she saw it.

Dace passed out on the drive to the nearest hospital. That was two and a half days ago and he still hadn’t woken up. The doctors told her that he was in a coma. Any longer in captivity – in a locked building amidst the desert heat, given little to no food or water – and he might be dead.

If it weren’t for the sounds and glowing screens of the machines monitoring him and keeping him alive, Kalei might have believed he was. He looked so small amongst the wires and tubes. All the strength and energy she knew him for suddenly gone, leaving a pale and too still body behind. She hoped that strength was still in there. That he would have enough to fight his way back to the surface.

Sleeping on the Azaphia probably would have been more comfortable, but Kalei couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not after he’d been alone in that place. Not when he still hadn’t woken up. She couldn’t sleep that much anyway, just relying on brief dozes curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair.

A quick knock at the doorway jolted her out of her latest attempt at rest. Rather than one of the many doctors and nurses who came in to check up on him, it was Matago. He’d left a couple hours earlier to check on the Azaphia – it always felt risky to leave her unattended. Even more now that an interplanetary crime lord likely knew they were on Ezanu.

“Sorry to wake you,” Matago whispered. Then he caught himself, remembering that he didn’t have to be so quiet. That Dace wasn’t just sleeping and couldn’t be woken up so easily. “Any developments while I was gone?”

Kalei shook her head. “Same as always.”

Dace’s primary doctor seemed to be optimistic despite the lack of changes. She wasn’t sure if he was being genuine or just trying to keep their spirits up, but she clung to the sliver of hope anyway. At least his condition hadn’t worsened.

Matago pulled up a chair of his own, slinging his backpack onto the floor. “Guess he could use the extra beauty sleep.”

Normally Kalei would have shot him a glare for the ill-timed joke, but she knew it was one of the things he used to cope. (Besides, Dace would probably laugh if he heard it.) Instead, she hugged her knees to her chest and stared at Dace’s unchanging expression. She could feel Matago’s gaze lingering on her.

“How are you holding up?” he finally asked.

Kalei shrugged, trying to muster up the energy to give an actual response. “Mentally feel like shit. Also physically feel like shit.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Clearly she was not the one who should be warranting concern in this situation. “When we ate breakfast together this morning. You saw me.”

“What about the last time you drank?”

That was…admittedly harder for her to answer. “I had a few sips of tea then, too. Couldn’t finish it because the tea here is gross.”

“I meant water.”

Now she found herself avoiding looking at him altogether. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Sometime yesterday.”

“Oh for the love of-” Matago sighed, bending down and rustling through his bag. He retrieved a full plastic water bottle, slick with condensation after being removed from the Azaphia’s fridge, and shoved it in her direction. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. Drink, woman.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are clearly not. You are dehydrating as we speak.”

Kalei wanted to argue. To snap at him from taking the focus away from Dace, who was in actual danger, and putting it on her, the one who had just barely found him before he was too far gone to save. But the protest died in her throat…which was uncomfortably dry.

If she were being honest, she knew Matago was right. She recognized it overnight when she couldn’t sleep. Those quiet moments were when she allowed herself to cry over the situation, only last night it felt as if her body had no tears to give. Plus there were the times she got up to stretch her legs – Dace’s room in the ICU was cool, but in other parts of the hospital where she walked, the air conditioning did less to ease the desert heat. Which meant more sweat. And now that she was both awake and not spiralling over Dace’s condition, an evergrowing pain in her head finally registered.

She took the bottle without a word, too tired to argue anymore. Matago didn’t stop staring at her until she took her first sip…which turned to her chugging half the bottle once the cold water hit her tongue.

“That’s better,” said Matago, sitting back. “Just don’t drink so fast you get sick.”

Kalei managed a small smile. “You want me to hydrate or not? Make up your mind.”

“You know what I mean, you fucking smartass.”

She took another sip, feeling lighter if only for a moment.

Both of them turned their attention back to Dace…and found his eyes beginning to open.

[snidgetwidgeon]

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

[king-maven-calore]

5,6 or 7. Angst. Mareven

ok ok, so I had to be in the right state of mind to write this, sorry for the delay. This fits as part of a fic/request that I started writing and may never finish bc damn it hurts so much.

This is uhm... marecal fam y'all should keep your distance🚫🚫

Some days were easier than others. Wasn’t that the way of life? Some days Mare’s figure was a mere shadow at the corner of his eye, disappearing whenever he tried to focus on her. Others, she would linger, muttering snide comments at the Cygnet’s handle of political affairs. Needless to say, she had a great deal of disdain for them. Being married to Iris, he had a right to attend the meetings where such matters were discussed. He wasn’t trusted enough to have an opinion though.

Maven was a prisoner in all but name, in a foreign nation, doomed to roam the halls of The Royelle, chased at every minute of every hour by the ghost of the woman he loved. The dead woman he loved... because he had killed her. Tricky how that worked, that her ghost had chased away the echo of his mother’s voice inside his head, and instead made it her task to torture him.

“You know that plan will only get silvers killed and red deserters for the Scarlet Guard,” Mare chirped with a bounce to her step.

‘Task’ wasn’t the right word, when she enjoyed torturing him so thoroughly. If this was his punishment, it was also her paradise.

“Acute observation,” he sneered, keeping his head down until he reached his chambers. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

Word on the Lakelander court was that he was mad. A fallen king who often got caught talking to empty air and gazed at nothing, full of longing and loathing in equal measure.

“Obvious, and still you kept your mouth shut.” Her tone changed to scolding and she materialized right in front of him. “You could’ve stopped this.” Her eyes the color of trees in autumn, dead and cold, drilled holes in his.

He sidestepped her and kept walking at a brisk pace. Days such as these, when he could see her so clearly, he could also touch her. It was never a pleasant sensation. Today she looked the same way she had when he branded her in Harbor Bay; hair in a tight braid that fell over her shoulder the braid had come undone when she’d wriggled in pain on the floor when he used Cal’s torture device on her. She was wearing unassuming jeans and a shirt he’d moved out of the way so easily to burn the M on her skin. The spot was unscarred now. A pity. No matter how many times he re-branded the letter, she would just show up without it the next day.

Taunting him. Daring him to commit his sin all over again. Well, joke was on her. A tiny part of him would always sing at seeing her writhing on the ground beneath his hand, it was proof he could too, make her feel something.

“I couldn’t stop anything. They won’t listen to me.”

Maven closed the door of his chambers behind him and started yanking off the layers of heavy black clothes covering his frame until he was in his pants and shirt. It was getting hard to breathe.

“You can be pretty convincing when you want to be,” Mare spat in his face. “Do something, your highness.”

“Why should I?” He gripped her elbows with enough force to bruise. He hated how real, how warm she felt.

She’s not real. She isn’t here. Two sentences that held no weight by now. Not when his heart missed a beat and his skin prickled at the point of contact.

“I have no interest in my wife’s kingdom, or its citizens,” he gritted out pushing her until her back hit the wall, covered in scorch marks the palace staff didn’t bother to clean anymore. “Red or Silver. Their lives mean nothing to me.”

“Nothing ever mattered to you but your precious crown, right.” Mare laughed darkly; her eyes even darker as she glared at him. He loomed inches above her. “How miserable.”

She made it sound so small and simple. An existence reduced to a circle of iron... but it wasn’t true. Underneath the incomprehensible obsession with the power, there had been other things. Phantoms of things erased and squashed with surgical precision: curiosity for art and theatre, affection toward his father and brother, a taste for certain board games, love for two Reds.

The latter, rather than being squashed like the others, had morphed into this; staring into the fascinating, beautiful, horrible face of a phantom that felt more real than his own. He loved her so much he wanted to kill her all over again.

He didn’t realize his hands were burning until Mare’s shirt caught on fire. She remained unfazed, unharmed by his fire, still glowering.

“Not the only thing.” Maven’s voice was strained. “You mattered to me. I told you that.”

“And yet...” she added dryly, without feeling the need to complete the last part. The evident. The tragedy. His last, unforgivable crime. Ripping her away from the world and attaching her to him in return.

Forgive me, I beg of you. But some words could kill if spoken out loud, and he knew these ones would end him. And he was afraid of the darkness that followed, ironic as that may be for someone who had so comfortably inhabited darkness his entire life. One was a familiar comfort, while the other was the black dot at the end of a final paragraph. He refused to end it like this.

“I love you,” he gritted out through the noose tightening around his throat.

“No,” she whispered easily, without even pausing to consider his words. The flames were up to her collar now, licking at her neck. “You don’t. I believed you did, once, in your own way. But I was wrong because you don’t willingly murder the one you love, Maven.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, reflecting the orange light of the fire. “I loved you. I even chose you before you decided to throw it all away.”

Past tense. His gut recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, even though the ghost had no sparks. The room spun, the air scratched its way down to his lungs, his clothes asphyxiated him.

“Then leave me.” He pressed his face to her temple roughly, pushing her against the wall. “Go with him!” he growled like he was gurgling on venom. “Leave me! Leave me alone like all the rest!”

His screams would surely be heard across the palace but he did not care. Mare was all he had left... but not really. He’d made sure of it.

“LEAVE!” His throat hurt and the wallpaper behind Mare started raining down on them in hot embers that clung to their hair and clothes.

She shook him off and murmured in his ear, sweetly, as warmly as if she was pressing a knife to his neck and drawing out silver blood in rivers. “You thought you were the only one capable of hunting? I’ll haunt you even after your body is buried and left to rot.”

And then she was gone. He was left staring at the burning wall, carpet, and ceiling. Behind him, he heard the chandelier drop on the burning mattress. Maven fell to his knees grasping at the now empty air and screamed his throat raw for the first time, burning it all until the room was nothing but ashes, surrounding himself with fire to fight off the dark and the cold that permeated all things.

He let it all out because he did care, deep down he still cared. It was finally starting to push to the front of his consciousness and it was like a dam breaking, like birthing humanity, or himself, he did not know. The chaos and the pain were too great.

No one came to check on him.

When he woke up on the floor the next day, so tired not even 10 years of sleep could have helped, Mare was standing over him. Arms crossed and a quirked brow.

“Are you done?”

Leave it to the Little Lightning girl to shit on a perfectly good dramatic moment.

“Mare, dear,” he sighed, feeling slightly grateful for her presence. “I’m only getting started.”

[wingz-of-shit]

Adorable abnormal

This one shot was inspired by this post by @free-pancakes

Summary: This is how the survey corps reacts to Hange being five after one of her experimentation went wrong :) 

2k words

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CLANK! BOOM! FIIZZZZZ

It had been precisely twenty-seconds since Levi heard the blast coming from the other side of the building. If he had no idea what had been going on before, the way in which people were going gave him enough evidence to know it was coming from the devil’s lab. What the fuck did you do again? There were at least five people that were hurrying to the lab with him, among them, Erwin. 

« What happened? » he asked the blond-haired man. He had an obvious scowl on his face, Erwin spent the entire morning dealing with taxes and expenses… nothing could make him happy, while anything would irritate him. 

« I don’t know Levi. I don’t know. » 

They reached the corridor leading to the lab, it was filled with an overwhelming smell of burn and… something Levi didn’t even want to think about such it was abhorrent. Erwin entered the lab first, he deadpanned at the scene. 

« Erwin? »

Levi peeked his head inside being careful to breathe with his mouth, whatever had Erwin so astonished had to be abnormal. Abnormal. It was the perfect word for it. Levi was staring at a cloud of dark smoke that engulfed Moblit and… and a child. 

« What the fuck? » Levi mumbled while getting closer to Hange’s right arm. Moblit was curled around the kid protectively, whatever fluid had exploded must have been toxic. 

« What happened here? » Erwin asked while pushing the rest of the curious gazes away from the door. After closing it, the Commander came to kneel in front of the kid… kids weren’t allowed here. Why would there be a kid? Levi kept wondering how the kid came to be here, deep down he had a feeling he knew exactly who that kid was. 

« Berner. What happened? » 

For a second Levi thought Moblit would faint, but he quickly composed to talk to Erwin. « Commander… I … I’m not entirely sure. But… Hange-San, she experimented, and then, BAM, and smoke, lot of smoke.. » 

« Did that exposition blow your brain too? » Erwin darted a glance at him « What? You understood something? » Erwin sat Moblit on a chair while keeping an eye on the kid. Suddenly that very kid launched herself at Levi which provoked a gasp from the people in the room.

« Levi!!!!! » 

Levi stared at the squirt that was crawling up his leg with big brown eyes. For a second he allowed his gaze to linger on the figure. It couldn’t be? But yet… the brown eyes, the wide grin, the messy hair… even the same damn glasses. Could it be she has a kid? « Levi! Levi! Hold Hange on shoulders!!» *gasp *

« Moblit would you care to explain, please! » The vein on Erwin’s temple grew larger. 

« Well… Hange-san was trying to find a formula to make titan less aggressive. It somehow made sense given the plants she put in that potion. But then she added some kind of powder… Neither Nifa nor I saw what it was but it just went … BOOM! And next thing there was a huge vapor in the room, we could barely breathe. When it dissipated a bit we saw Ha - … what we think is Hange- San sitting in her place. I mean, the potion obviously took her back to a certain age. It has to be her. »

It was her, Levi could tell. No kid had ever reeked so badly. 

There was a knock on the door. Eren peeked his head inside and with all the subtlety that distinguished him and he ran to Hange. « Captain!!!! Is that Hange San? What happened!» 

« Shut up. » Eren dropped his eyes at the sound of his frigid tone. Surprisingly, when Levi looked down, Hange was still clinging to his leg. « Levi! Shut up! » She repeated happily. He groaned but lifted the kid nevertheless. She’s cute. 

« Berner do you know how we can fix this? » Erwin asked while he took a closer at Hange’s face. Suddenly Levi saw something change in Erwin’s eyes, there had been annoyance and weariness, now there were… stars, awe? 

« Aw, she’s so cute! She hasn’t changed!! Look at these chubby cheeks! » He kneeled to level her. « Hello Hangeee, do you remember what happened to you?? » Levi felt his lunch gather in the back of his throat… he’d never seen Erwin so sickeningly sweet. 

« Erwin!!! » Hange beamed extending her tiny arms to him. He gathered her in his arms. « Erwin!! Shut up!! » Time stopped for a second, if Levi knew how to laugh he would have, instead a weird sound that reminded him of a dying titan came out of his throat. The shock on Erwin’s face would be forever carved in his memory. « Erwin big eyebrows!! » 

In a matter of seconds, Erwin had left the lab obviously vexed, Hange was standing confused in the middle of the room with Jäger and Berner holding back laughs. « Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings come grains of truth.» 

After some time Levi decided he had to go to town to gather ingredients that would bring Hange back to her normal form. Hopefully, it would take the confusion away from him. For the past hour, he’d followed Hange around the entire building, scared she’d hurt herself. He’d never cared for kids before. With a deep breath, he entered the drugstore Hange was so fond of. He gave one last thought at the 104th kids whom he had entrusted Hange with. 

* Eren and Mikasa *

« What?!! Why me? » Eren pleaded the rest of the crew when they all left running away from the room the Captain had just left. He looked back and forth between the kid and Mikasa.

« Do you honestly think that its squad leader Hange here? » Mikasa asked while sitting on the couch near the kid. 

« Well, Moblit said it was. And so did Captain. » Eren groaned and dropped heavily on the other side of the kid. « Did you ever babysit? » Mikasa shook her head. « No. Can’t be that hard, right? » Eren thought for a second. « It’s Hange-San we’re talking about here. » 

After a few minutes, Hange asked the two teenagers to play, it had to happen at some point. So they led the five-year-old to the training grounds, they’d find entertaining things here.

« Look over there, behind this wall, there are giant titans which you usually love Hange San! » Eren smiled at the sun brightening the sky - and Mikasa’s smile -  « We always go out to fight them, and you are always getting in dangerous situations but you’re very good at coming out of them safely! » He turned around to look at the five-year-old

… gone. « Hange-San? » 

« HANGE SAAAAN! MIKASA! We have to find her!! Captain will kill us! » They both began to search around, on second throughs, the training grounds had been the worst idea. There were weapons, thunder spears, 3DMG… He gaped at the park, people were flying around, cutting fake titan’s neck… 

From afar he saw a small figure getting its head cut clean by a younger recruit. Eren fell to his knees sobbing. « Mikasa… what have we done. We’re doomed. We killed Hange-San. » 

Mikasa scowled at him and hit his head. « Are you dumb? This is a fake titan marionette Eren.» 

They kept searching for the next ten minutes until they met with a soldier who said saw a small kid running toward the wall. The wall. Of course. They hurried there to find Hange digging the foot of the wall with her small hands. It shouldn’t have been shocking, yet both Eren and Mikasa stood stunned at the sight.

« I wanted to see titans. » She wailed as they carried her back to the SC building.

* Jean and Armin*

« Why us? » Did Jäger want to get on his nerves? He had other things than to care for a small kid, no matter if it was his superior or not. « We made our shift. Your turn. » 

Jean stared at the small kid climbing on Armin’s lap. The sight wasn’t surprising at all. Armin had always admired Hange-San, he treated her with so much respect it was suspicious. But there, with the roles reversed, it totally made sense. The blond grinned brightly at the small brunette who was trying to push the hair off his forehead. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

He went to sit beside the pair and stared at the squad leader. « She’s so cute. » He said before he could hold it back. The girl shot daggers at him. « I am not cute! I am Titan!! Can we play titan? » It didn’t surprise any of them. 

They stood and went into the garden. Hange San stood on the bench as if it would make her look taller. « Armin is Levi! And Jean is the Titan! »

« Levi? » 

« Humanity’s strongest!! And you have to save me! And Jean is the bad guy! » 

The two boys exchanged a knowing look, maybe they could get information out of this tiny version of their superior… they’d always been wondering what was going on. Jean crouched in front of her. « Hange, if you answer one question I will be the best scary titan for you. » She titled her head expectantly. « Why would humanity’s strongest save you? Why not… the Commander or… Mister Berner? » 

« Because Levi will be my husband when I am tall!!! » Both boys nearly choked at the words. Had they… heard well? « Wait what? » Jean replied.

« That’s two questions. You said one. Bad titan now. » Damn, as smart as ever. 

« Hange, if I ask you one question again, I’m taking my 3DMG to be just like Captain Levi. » She nodded eagerly. 

« Does Levi want to be your husband too when you’re tall? » Hange grinned sheepishly, her cheeks reddened.

 « Yes! Short stack is Hange’s boyfriend! … Let’s play now! »

* Nanaba and Mike*

« It had to happen at some point. » Mike said as Nanaba lifted Hange on her hip. All of Jäger’s friends had kept an eye on her, they’d come to them frantically and exhausted claiming that there was no way someone could muster this much energy. Mike took a look at his supposed friend. 

« What did she even do to end up like this? » Nanaba gave the girl a glass of water.

« Don’t know… Moblit said it was a failed experiment. I hope we can get her back to her normal form. » He didn’t like the idea of people changing forms like this, it was unnatural… but then again titans existed too, so why not age-reversing potions. Mike relieved Nanaba from the weight and placed Hange on his shoulders.

« Whoaaa! I’m as high as titans! » 

He chuckled. « Last time she said this was because she smoked a blunt. » Nanaba slapped him on the shoulder.

« What? This is still Hange. I’m sure if you hand her booze now she’ll happily have it. » 

Apparently not interested in joking, Nanaba went through the books on the shelves to read a story. There were funnier things to do with a kid than read a story. « Hey, Hange, what do you want to do? » 

« Can we mess with big eyebrows? » It took Mike a second to understand she was talking of Erwin. « Did… I hear that rightly? » Apparently yes, because in a matter of seconds Hange explained a destructive plan on how they would piss the commander of the survey corps off. In any normal situation, Mike would have refused but he had a good cover… a five-year-old Hange. This could explain anything...

« So… you want to … command tons of candies with the survey corp’s funds…? » Nanaba asked again, unsure. « Yes! And then Erwin will be really angry! It’ll be fun! » 

« We sure don’t have the same perception of fun. » The blond woman looked up at him. « We can’t do that Mike. You know we can’t. » Hmpf responsibilities. 

« Okay how about instead we put mud in Levi’s room? Is that good enough for you? » The smirk that spread on Hange’s face terrified him just as much as it amused him.

*Levi *

He held the handles of the bags tighter. For some reason, Levi was frightened to go back to the SC building. He left Hange almost all afternoon with immature teenagers, this couldn’t be good. 

He pushed the door of the mess hall open, the sight that welcomed him was beyond was he had imagined. Everyone was slumped on the tables, seemingly exhausted, or almost snoring. Erwin was drowsing, his head barely supported by his hand, Mike was facing him, muttering.. curses maybe? His eyes lingered on everyone until they fell upon small Hange. She was braiding Historia’s hair with frightful focus.

« What the hell is going on here? » 

Nanaba answered him. « She… she killed us. How is she not sleeping yet? She’s a monster.» Levi approached the said monster.

« Hey there four eyes. » 

Her eyes lighted up when her eyes fell on him. She muttered his name in a whisper, holding her arms out to him. He lifted her and walked to Moblit who had… paint on his face… gross. «Here, got all you wanted for the potion. » Hange laid her head against his shoulder, he wondered then how all of them ever considered her a monster. 

« I’ll put her to sleep. » 

« Yeah yeah, we all tried, good luck. » 

"I'll scare her to sleep then." 

Levi left the mess hall to Hange’s room, it couldn’t be hard to put her to sleep, she was drowsing on hi… drooling, she was drooling on his shoulder already. He tucked her in bed with a care that surprised himself.

« Levi, stay? » she murmured when he turned the light off. « Mh, no? »

« Please? Nightmares… » 

Tch. He sighed and sat on the bed beside her, she curled up against him and fell asleep right away. We all tried they said. Morons.  

…

The first rays of light woke him up. Had he? Slept? He found himself being very warm and unusually well-rested. Hange. Right, he had to help Moblit about Hange. He inclined his head to the subject that was spreading so much warmth and nearly gasped when he saw a full-grown Hange resting her head on his shoulder. 

Her breathing was soft, her face as smooth as that five-year-old that had terrified the entire survey corps the day before. 

Glad you’re back four eyes.

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yeah so this was my very first Levihan one shot, thanks @free-pancakes for the support! 

[evermorehaikyuu]

It’s Nothing Special

MASTERLIST

DECLARATION OF INVITATION | AGREE TO DISAGREE | BREAKING NEWS

~

The only sounds heard as she walked alongside the empty roads were the crickets chirping in the same rhythm as her heartbeat, her footsteps, seeming a little too loud and giving everyone her location, and her shaky exhales. Clearly, this was a bad idea, the worst one she’d had. 

However, while it was a stupid thing to do, there was still a part of nobility within her. Would she sacrifice her life out of compassion? That was genuinely a question she had had for herself before but at the unknown number’s taunts about Tsukishima, she found herself walking towards her inevitable doom. It was the only thing to do if it meant that Unknown wouldn’t lay his hands on Karasuno, considering that it was sort of her fault that she was in this position. 

At that thought, Y/N frowned. It isn’t my fault, she thought, none of it is. I did nothing. I’m just doing what anyone would do, that’s a ridiculous idea. She stopped trying to blame herself, knowing that she wasn’t at all to blame. It wasn’t her fault that some psychotic bastard with a double face was trying to ruin her. Sighing, she clutched her jacket closer to her. It wasn’t cold; on the contrary, the atmosphere around her was warm. She was the only one that felt a chill creeping up her arms and down her spine. 

It was also fortunate that there was a pocket on the inside of her jacket with a knife in it. If push came to shove...she could claim that it was in self defense. She even had evidence. Thank every star above that Ushijima had taught her the basics of knife throwing and of specific locations she could target in order to get maximum damage. 

Shaking away the worst case scenario from her head, she could feel her face scrunch up from worry. Already she sensed Kaori telling her that if she kept doing that, she’d get wrinkles before she was supposed to. The thought of her team made her smile slightly, the only beacon of light inside of her place of darkness, literally. 

Hopping over the roots of a tree, she could tell that she was closer to the concert stage where the unknown had told her to meet her. Swallowing dryly, she could see the stage with the stairs on the side. In the wings should’ve been speakers and extra source fours, but it just looked as empty as it felt. The feeling of being alone quickly stopped, making Y/N freeze in her tracks. Someone was there with her, watching her. 

I’ve watched enough horror movies not to call out and I have enough sense, Y/N told herself silently. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and pulling it out, there was a new message from Unknown. All it said was, Take your final guess. That meant she had to talk. Groaning internally, she took a deep breath and said, “I’m not guessing until you talk.” 

Nothing. Her phone pinged again with another message. You’re not the one making orders here. 

“All right. Guess I’ll sit here and wait. I don’t mind.” Y/N could’ve grinned, knowing she was pissing off Unknown. While that would’ve terrified her, she did acknowledge that this person liked the sound of their own voice and ensuring that their victim was sitting there listening to them. There was no way Unknown would try to kill her without a dramatic monologue before hand. “Any second now. I will take a nap right here, don’t tempt me, I’m dead tired.”

“You think you can actually hide your fear?” 

With that sentence, Y/N knew she couldn’t anymore. Her heart dropped to the floor and she felt dizzy, her vision dotted with black spots. This couldn’t be. Of all people, it couldn’t be who she thought it was. 

“I’ll say it again. Take your final guess. And don’t you dare turn. Don’t make a move, I can see you clearly from here.” 

Trying to locate the sound was the first thing on her mind, shoved aside by the insistence of figuring out who it was. Clenching her fists, she took a deep breath and said, “You’re Yuki.” 

A pause. The fear of being wrong struck her hard and she was shaking where she stood until she heard laughter. It started off slow before getting loud enough to make her stare at the stage, her brain going haywire with possibilities. Was that Yuki? Could that be Yuki? The voice was alike, so there was a high chance of that happening. What if Yuki had a twin brother? No, that was impossible, she’d know about it. She knew everything about her team so the fact that Yuki had a twin brother couldn’t possibly escape from her knowledge. 

Could it? 

Closing her eyes, she focused on the area around her. The concert stage was certainly big and it gave Yuki--if it was him--an advantage. His voice would echo slightly, making it more difficult to find out his position. In order to be able to take him down, she needed to find that out first and then make a path to get to him. The predominant question now was if she was strong enough to handle him. If she lied to herself and said she could hold him down, she knew that there was not a snowball’s chance in hell she’d be able to do that. The only thing to do was not panic, find his weak points and attack him when he least expects it. For now, she wanted to see if her answer was right. 

If she was wrong, she knew that she’d be the one attacked first, followed by Karasuno. She could put up a fight, she just needed time. Time to stall, time to form a plan, as many as should could within a short time limit. Regret flooded through her, realizing that she never really got to say anything back to her team. The last thing she told Sakura was a lie. She was afraid. Something was going to happen her. A walk? No. It was a walk to her demise. 

“I guess you’re not as dumb as you look, Y/N. I’m pleasantly surprised.” Yuki’s slightly singsongy voice rang through the area, relaxing her the tiniest bit. She had time. She won. 

Her eyes were flickering everywhere as she did two things at once: she had to find him and she had to stall for time in order to do that. Make that three things: she needed a plan for the end result. 

“Yes, it is me. The unknown addess is me, Yuki. I guess now you’re wondering why I did what I did.” His tone of voice had a clear air of importance as if expecting Y/N to agree with him. 

In reality, Y/N couldn’t care less and she made sure her heard that. “Not really, but continue, seeing you like the sound of your own voice.”

“Not as much as you.” There was a clicking sound and Y/N could feel her blood go cold. Did he have a weapon with him? Oh no. Oh no no no. This was not part of her plan. Her only hope, in the last case resort, was that he had horrible aim. Which, she thought, he probably doesn’t. 

“So? Explain to me. Why are you doing this?” Her voice had an edge of terror and she instantly winced at the sound.

“Actually, I’d like for you to answer that. You think you’re so smart and great, but I bet you can’t answer it for me. Don’t worry. Get anything wrong and I won’t attack you.” 

Sighing, Y/N touched her right temple, her middle finger sliding down the side of her face slowly as she started thinking. Once she had an idea, she started speaking. “You have said a lot of things of your family background but not enough so as to make you seem vulnerable. That’s a sign of trauma. You hide everything behind a mask so that you can’t show what you’re actually feeling. After your failure--” She felt him tense up and that’s when she knew his guard was breaking slowly. “Your parents had considered you as such. You were no longer allowed to show bad feelings and forced to always be happy and controllable. When you saw me and you knew about my own parents, you wanted me to suffer like you did in some way because I don’t deserve what I have. I shouldn’t have gotten my position with the affection that you never received. That was unfair to you and for that, you wanted to make sure that if you couldn’t get what you wanted, no one else could. It didn’t help either that I rose to the top, thanks to Semi’s parents.” 

The gun clicked again but Y/N didn’t move. His guard was down. She could move if she wanted to. However, Yuki was one of her friends. She had to hear him out before going after him. While it was stupid to do, she had already planned her way out. All she needed was for him to talk. 

“You’re not wrong.” A laugh came out of him, but it wasn’t as boisterous as before nor was it malicious. It was the sound of someone that was tired of having nothing they did matter. “None of it. Yeah, I put a mask on. I was never allowed to be angry or sad or fearful. I was supposed to be the one that was always there, the therapist, you could say. None of you ever treated me like that. But that’s also the thing, why do you of all people get to have what I wanted? You should’ve been thrown aside.”

“I should’ve. I know.” 

“Why then? What do you have that I don’t?” For the fourth time, the gun clicked back into a deadly position. “Why is it always everyone but me? I shouldn’t be the one that’s left behind!” His voice rose into a scream, desperate and calling for help, but he was too far gone. “I’m always the one that’s not enough, I can’t even measure up to Sakura! She’s just an intern, but already everyone worships her just like they worship you! Even Karasuno, who became a prestigious company, started to love you before you had even met! Why can I never have what I deserve?!” 

A twinge of pain prodded at her heart, almost feeling sorry for him. But her life was at his mercy and there was no way she wasn’t getting out of there. “You can. You are enough, Yuki.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you! You’re the angel, the perfect one, the one that can do no wrong! Your words are meaningless!” Yuki’s voice cracked at the last word and she could sense tears emerging from him. That was it. Someone who was crying wouldn’t be able to see straight. Even a second was enough time for her to move. 

“I’m so sorry, Yuki.”

“Your apologies mean nothing to me either,” he spat, his words like venom, “especially since you were able to get what everyone dreams about, what I dreamt about. It’s better if you weren’t even here.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened and that’s when she could feel herself moving before she could think. There was a sizzling hole right where she was standing as she fled into the bushes, her heart racing so fast she couldn’t even feel it. She was positive Yuki could hear it though. 

“Where are you? Come on out, Y/N, we’re not done yet. I was the one to write what launched you, the least you could do is grant me this favor.” Yuki sounded hysterical now as he started walking. His footsteps were quiet and Y/N strained to hear him, taking out the knife from the inside of her pocket. This was it. If she messed up, she could either be in the hospital or worse. 

Something prickled at the back of her neck and she quickly left her spot. In the same place she was in, another dark hole appeared on the ground. She was glad that her reflexes were great, but she knew that this wasn’t a movie. There was no knowing if she’d make it out alive. 

“I can’t believe you. Everything you’ve ever done, all stolen. From me. Don’t you think that’s pathetic on its own?” 

No, that’s not the pathetic part, here, she thought. Trying to go after me and threaten innocent people that didn’t have anything to do with it. 

Staring around, she cursed herself for not even knowing basic knowledge of the area around her. Then again, it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know she’d have to literally fight for her life. If only she hadn’t listened to Semi when they were little and learned how to climb trees, she’d have an edge. All she had was--

There were more footsteps coming from the opposite direction of her, the exact one she came in. She could hear Yuki say something only to be cut off with a yelp and another click, all too familiar. There was a scuffle, grunts, followed by other footsteps. 

“Y/N? Y/N, where are you?”

Those voices. They were coming from Kaori and Yukie, but how? She didn’t tell them where she’d be--that was right, she had her phone with her and her location on. This was the exact time were she was grateful she had it ahead of time. 

Stepping out into the clearing, Kaori and Yukie found her and immediately hugged her tightly. Y/N didn’t even feel herself shaking until she was in their arms, trembling with terror of what could have happened. “Oh, thank God. I didn’t--I just--” Y/N couldn’t speak, because if she kept trying, she knew she’d burst into tears. 

“We know. Don’t say anything, take your time.” Yukie said soothingly and that was enough to make Y/N bury her face in her shoulder, trying to hide the tears that were inevitably coming out. 

Behind them was Hikari pinning Yuki down, Suki pointing a knife at him. What Y/N would find out later was that Suki was the one to find him first and during the entire struggle, she had had a dagger in her hand. Yuki, however, was stronger and bent on getting his revenge. Even with those injuries, he was still trying his hardest to get out from under Hikari. Sakura was on the sides, calling the ambulance for Yuki and so that they could check on Y/N. Considering what happened to her and what she’d have to deal with later, it was better to try and see if the medics would say anything beforehand. 

Flashes of red made the entire world spin and Y/N let her managers lead her as she closed her eyes, nauseous from the spinning lights. The only thing she wanted to know was sleep. While she knew that when she woke up she’d have to deal with a ton of things, the temptation of sleep was much stronger. Once her checkup was done, she made sure to stay with Kaori, who was in the ambulance with Yuki’s unconscious body. The paramedics had said that his remaining energy had gone to his struggling and that made him lose consciousness. He’d be awake in a few hours, which would give everyone enough time to figure out their next steps. 

“This isn’t going to be pretty.” Suki mumbled to herself in Hikari’s passenger seat. 

“Yeah,” he said, his face pale as he tried to process what had just happened. “She’s not going to be the same after this.”

“We just have to do our best to help her.”

It was fortunate that Sakura was a light sleeper and Y/N had her location on at all times. They didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if neither of these things were available to them. 

“Hey, Kaori?” Y/N asked, staring down at Yuki.

“What?”

“Do you think you can try to figure out more about him? Please?” It was clear in her voice that while she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, she wanted to know what was wrong with him, what would happen and what happened in his past. 

With a nod of assent, Kaori was also aware that Y/N wouldn’t be the same after this incident. But as she glanced at the girl next to her, she realized that she was strong enough to pull through. The contribution of time would help her be okay.

~

Originally this was gonna be in smau format but then I realized that would take away the actual feeling of suspense so ig we're having two fics in an smau <3

Taglist: @chocolaterumble @ghostdaichi @akaashikeillmepls @goopycookie @halparkebitch @nctdream-boat @laninasinnombre @nataliahaslosthershit @words-in-air @virgoamajiki @paranoid-borderline-insane @mirikusashes @mint-mai @noyasimp @24nah25 @definitely-yours @chesirecatwaltz @theydy-madamonsieur @lilsimp @eruji-chan-pb @kiraakaashi @trifliz @nightshadeshimin @kac-chowsballs @its-the-aerieljeane @hqreisin @channiechanchan @watermelon-sugar-is-my-drugs @bakugouswh0r3 @rizkei-iscurrentlydying @so-lo-stuff @jewlmin @kotarousbabyowl @lumin3xe @artemisnotfowl @random-fandom-girl-24 @darkangeldesignstudio @vhsryuu @chaotic-fangirl-blog @tycrackculture @4ck3rm4ns1mp @stupendousbonkcopland @bwnwlut @encryptpta

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[ncitygirls]

matryoshka - part 1, 4k

sibling!johnny, taeyong x f reader, mark x f reader, platonic/‘sibling’!haechan

nct crime au, angst, cw: character death, death, mental illness, police, injury, violence

300 days

There are few people who can disarm a man like Johnny Seo. Since the rather untimely, and inexplicable death of his mother and father at the tender age of fourteen, he quickly adopted this persona. He considers it a token from his late mother. She had always said, in a voice as soft as the breeze in spring, that to be polite is to be in control. He holds himself to that quite forcibly, reminding himself time and time again that there is power in making others fold to him. At time it is as simple as approaching an adversary with a smile, and awaiting the flare in their skin, the bugle in their veins and the ripple in their muscles. There are few who can disarm Johnny Seo. But few does not equate to none.

“When will you discharge her?” Johnny began, the words rolling off of his tongue with an air of nonchalance that bordered on flippancy, but an edge that was new to even him.

“Mr Seo,” without thinking, Johnny rolls his neck, bracing himself for a response he knows he will refuse. He thinks it odd to loathe an act he is yet to commit, especially when he can still prevent it. What he hates more however, is that you are here to witness it. When the doctor sighs, letting his glasses hang around his neck, he smiles sympathetically. Johnny sees nothing but pity. “I’m not sure how else to say this, but physically? Your sister is stable enough to go home. When we went in to remove what was left of the bullet fragments and saw to her ruptured spleen, we managed to mend her torn ligaments. Her blood work came back clear, and for the most part, her vitals are stable. With a few weeks of physio, I think we would be able to discharge her. Ideally, she could go home this week.”

“Wonderful,” Johnny’s hollow cheer guides his hasty movements as he, unthinking, strips you of your blanket to reveal a sight he thinks might change his mind. Rows of red line your skin, moons of dried blood covering the heels of your palms. He cringes at the dirty cotton cuffs that strap you to the metal frame of your hospital bed. Johnny can’t seem to make sense of the sight. “Did this happen during the shooting?”

“No, Mr Seo,” the doctor shakes his head, his frustration with his patient’s only living relative shedding every second he watches Johnny take in your limp frame. “It is like I was saying. Miss Seo is fit enough to leave. But mentally-”

Johnny simply raises his palm, ignoring the tears that pool in and out the corners of your eyes, a steady stream gathering in your hairline as you relive the events the two refer to so flippantly. “She will do better at home.” It is unclear for whom the assurance is intended. The doctor, you, himself. It is all just hope. So it doesn’t matter. “She will do better once she’s home.”

“Mr Seo, as your sister’s physician, I must implore you to reconsider.” Johnny understands where the doctor is coming from, he truly does. Johnny, taught well by his father, prides himself in being understanding. Like his father before him, Johnny prides himself in being calm in the face of not only danger, but regular folk - those who go about their lives, slaves to normalcy. Those who live life year to year, those who plan their lives, who wake up to sleep, expecting to see the sun once again. Those who consider life a right, rather than a privilege. Johnny has come to understand men like this. Not by choice of course, but because he had to. Especially once you met Taeyong.

2,109 days

“I met a guy today,” the words crackle through the phone, Johnny’s fingers stilling as he finally takes a break from his work, placing a mental bookmark on his train of thought. He wants to ask where, but he doesn’t enjoy seeming interested in affairs of the heart. They sicken him. “He was really weird,” you hum as you kick the curb, swinging your arms as you traipse through what Johnny thinks must be your university campus. He pretends he bother to know your schedule, but never has a reason for why he always gets himself up before you leave every morning. “A good weird,” you add, “his clothes hardly fit, they were all baggy. It’s hard to explain.”

“You kids and your trends,” he huffs, spinning in his chair to watch the city, eyes landing on the bell tower of your campus. “What happened to a nicely fitted suit?”

“It’s a college campus, John. Plus, it’s like half ten in the morning,” you can hear his next question before he even asks. “I mentioned his clothes because I wanted you to envision him, not judge him.”

“Well, I am envisioning a bum.”

“Okay, but envision a cute bum,” you try. “A beautiful, cute, funny bum.”

“That is still a bum, y/n.” You hear the faint sound of floor boards creaking, a telltale sign that he’s pacing. “Did he ask you out?” You hum in agreement, always too shy to admit anything so personal outright. It is times like this he wonders why you bother calling him and not just Haechan. He’ll never tell you this however. Lest he lose his spot as your first call. “I hope ope he’s taking you somewhere nice?”

“Yeah, of course,” he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s Hyuck’s you're both going to. Not that there as an issue with Hyuck’s. Even if you’ve already had the menu four different ways, front to back and then back again. It’s where you take all your first dates, you give Haechan a chance to size them up, figure out if they’re worthy. “I just wanted to tell you first because I think he’s a real contender this time.”

“And you’ll be late home, so you won’t be making dinner again?” Your affirming grunt forced a long sigh from Johnny. However, no matter many times he claimed his annoyance was due to your absence inconveniencing him; you both knew the loneliness bothered him now. “Well, have fun.”

“I’ll try,” you sing. “And I’ll bring that coffee cake you love so much, okay?” Johnny offers his own affirming grunt. Though it sits a couple octaves below your own, you hear the sliver of joy he lets through. “Love you.”

He doesn’t respond. He had already hung up.

300 days

“Mr Seo?”

Johnny had finally shrugged off his suit jacket and let his shoulders sag when he heard his name for the umpteenth time that day. He wanta to ignore it, but what would mother say?

“Yes?” SMPA. The badge is hard to read as it glistens under the glaring hospital lights. But he can’t miss the shape, the obnoxious insignia.

“Good evening,” the detective starts, his smiling eyes are in direct contrast to the gloom and doom of the last few days. Johnny wonders if smiling with teeth is proper practice when greeting someone who almost lost their little sister. “I am Detective Lee, I have a few questions for you about the shooting at Hyuck’s Diner. If you have a moment.”

“Of course,” he sighs, straightening his spine. “I am sure you are aware, but I wasn’t there.”

“I think it’s lucky you weren’t,” the detective adds, a sad smile settling on the bed to your right. “I am a friend of Donghyuck’s.”

“Oh,” there’s a short second where Johnny feels an odd sense of comfort, one he believed would only come when you finally opened your eyes. He also feels some guilt. “I didn’t know he had any other friends in Seoul, I tried to reach everyone I could.”

“And thank you for that,” the detective lets his eyes fall on his friend’s unmoving figure for a moment, his gaze returning to Johnny when he feels a familiar prick. “I have been hard at work on this case. I received word you did not wish for your sister to remain in hospital. May I ask why?”

“It is a public hospital,” Johnny responds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can afford better.”

“Then why did you let her stay?” The detective asks, scribbling away. Johnny wonders what dictates the parameters of an investigation versus a friendly conversation. “Her psych eval?”

“No,” he sighs, eyeing Haechan to your right. “They wouldn’t let me take him too,” when the detective tilts his head, surprise evident in his round eyes, Johnny lets himself laugh for the first time in over a week. “You wouldn’t want to be me when she wakes up to find I left him behind.”

2,361 days

It is past midnight when you fly into Johnny’s bedroom, a dew gathering on your forehead, chin and neck. In his sleepy haze, he hears only the end of your ramblings, your steps ordered in a manner Johnny can only describe as frantic. It is not in his nature to panic, he leaves such trivialities to you. But when your wide eyes find his, fear brimming as you scramble to get ready, you throw him your phone and he finally sees why.

“There are a bunch of guys who won’t pay up at Hyuck’s and he’s scared. Let’s go.”

That’s how Johnny found himself parked outside Hyuck’s Diner in downtown Seoul, just north of the river. You didn’t give him a chance to park up as you dashed out the still moving vehicle, door left wide open. Johnny is thankful it’s late, but quickly notes it being far too late for Hyuck’s to still be open. As he parks up, he watches you storm into the near empty diner, sees the relief on Haechan’s tired face as you round the bar. Johnny can’t really make out what you’re saying, but he can see the fire in your eyes. He sniggers as he stalks after you, seeing his mother in them too.

“I said, pay up, or give it back.”

“That’s funny,” one of the burly men says, food spitting out his mouth and onto the clean bar top as he laughs in your face. While Johnny only counted two from outside, he can now see a third standing off to the side. When his eyes meet Johnny’s, he falters slightly, thick hands running through his hair as he avoids Johnny’s haunting figure hovering by the only exit. “Who exactly is gonna make us?”

“Me,” you grin, reaching for the back of his head and slamming it hard down onto the bar. You hear Haechan yelp in what you assume is fear for his newly polished, now dented bar top. As the guy to his left lunges at you, you’re quick to utilise your surroundings. Johnny almost applauds your ingenuity as you quickly reach for a used butter knife and practically mutilate the man’s fist. It is then Haechan disappears from your side, his head nearly halfway down the drain pipe as blood splurts onto his newly polished, now dented, now blood stained bar top. The first guy had rounded the bar, only to be met with a fist to the throat, and knee to the gut. Johnny sees you’re expecting something to happen as you repeat the motion before seeing sense. With your hand latched to his collar, you drag his doubled over body out onto the street before you knee him again.

In the middle of the intersection pours his unpaid bill, meeting one end of the deal. Johnny laughs at how visibly dissatisfies you are, considering how long their bill actually was. You fish his wallet out of his back pocket, taking a few hundreds to cover the balance. “Who even carries cash anymore?”

Johnny wonders too as you pass by him, walking back inside and turning on the third guy. “Your friend covered yours, so you’re free to go.” As he scrambles to leave, he keeps his eyes fixed on your brother, halting when Johnny moves to stop him, a lone finger pointing toward the man's weeping companion.

“Take them with you.”

It’s a few seconds before their presence is no more than a distant memory. Johnny is quick to clean the bloody bar top, and rearrange the furniture. He even loads the dishwasher as you tend to a still queasy Haechan. “When I text you, I didn’t think you would do all of that,” he huffs, backtracking as he notes the hurt look in your eyes. “I mean, I am so grateful. Really, I am,” he smirks, fatigue stealing the light that usually fills his eyes. “But I didn’t know you were The fucking Bride.” When you roll your eyes, he presses on, glimpses of his usual self slowly return as the adrenaline begins to kick in. “No, honestly! I wish I had cameras in here because- fuck! That was insane!”

“Alright, whatever. Get your things, you’re staying with us tonight.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Haechan asks, the worry in his tone hurting you beyond belief. “Do you think I should call Mark again?”

“Who, the cop? No, they won’t be coming back, trust me,” you hum. When Johnny emerges from the back, drying his hands on a clean rag, you jest, “no thanks to angel eyes over there may I add.”

“Oh my god, hyung! And you!” Haechan restarts, allowing you to pack up his things while he recounts the terror in the third man’s gaze as he locked eyes with your brother. “It’s like he saw a ghost or something.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, grabbing Haechan while Johnny locks up. “Or something.”

It’s nearly dawn when Haechan crashes. It was Monday and he needed to find cover for the open. But getting cover didn’t stop him fretting, and no amount of herbal tea nor booze could settle a frantic Haechan. It is laughable though, how it took no more than a film opening to send him off. You slip away at sunrise, snuggling up to Johnny who gave up on sending you away shortly after your parents passed. However, he still makes sure to express his disdain for the affection.

“At least stick to your side, y/n-”

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you breathe, clearly uninterested in satisfying his request. “I know you have to be up soon, and I’m sorry. But having you there was- yeah. Thank you.”

For the first time in years, Johnny lets you snuggle with him. An hour later, for the first time ever, Johnny lets Haechan do the same. He fears that this might become a pattern, the two of you craving so much affection it might suffocate him. Johnny knows it just might, but has found peace in that. Much like he has found peace in your insistence that Haechan be one of you. Because he is one of you, he too left orphaned at a young age, you took him under your wing. So much like that day, as Johnny falls asleep to the sound of your light snores, he also decides-

300 days

“He’s family.”

“He speaks so highly of you both,” Mark adds, smiling thankfully at your sleeping frame. “But I’m sure he would forgive you for doing what’s best for her.”

“She wouldn’t.” Johnny adds, though a part of him knows he might have trouble forgiving himself.

“What is it you do for a living?” Mark asks, eyes quickly scanning Johnny’s crisp suit. “I can’t say I recall Hyuck ever mentioning it.”

“A bit of this and that,” he jokes, glancing towards you. “That’s what she calls it.” He hates the melancholic tone he has adopted. It is pitiful. “After our parents passed, I took over their pharmaceuticals company just after I turned twenty-one. We dabble in everything; medicine, cosmeceuticals, nutrition, you name it.”

“That must keep you busy.”

“I work from home,” Johnny knows he is being foolish, trying to falsely place an accusation in Mark’s assumption. Johnny knows he fell into the classic trope of throwing himself into his studies, and then his work, just to avoid the harsh reality that his parents were gone and they were never coming back. He would readily admit he abandoned you in the beginning to grieve on your own, to figure it all out on your own. He just wouldn’t take that from a stranger. “I tried to be around for her as much as I could.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mark’s smile is kind, full of unfiltered sympathy. Johnny wonders if you have to practice such a thing, and if so, whether someone should have the doctors do the same. “I just wonder if you are wearing yourself thin is all.”

“You needn’t worry about such things Detective.” Johnny reminds, drawing the line between the two so simply, his eyes flicking slowly to Mark’s badge. “Worry about the case.”

“Of course,” Mark rushes, scrambling to defend his statement. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“And I you,” when the doctor enters to take both yours and Haechan’s vitals, he greets Mark warmly. Johnny feels no resentment to this warm reception, none whatsoever. But he can’t help but wonder what about him denies him the same warm greeting. He is quickly reminded of the first time he was to meet Taeyong.

1,977 days

“Your knees are shaking the counter, hyung,” Haechan sniggers. He knows he shouldn’t, he does. But he can’t help but bask in his friend’s nerves. How can the coldest man he knows be so scared to meet his sister’s boyfriend. As calm and collected as he behaves, Haechan is no stranger to worry, and it worries him to no end how the evening will go. From what he has heard from you, Taeyong is as nervous as one can be. And yet, your main concern lies in how your brother will react, and Haechan is an empathetic soul. He just knows he will feel it all. “Your vibe is really killing the mood, lighten up.”

“Shut up, kid.” Johnny warns, eyeing his watch every so often. “They’re late.”

Strike one.

“You know what y/n is like, she’s probably trying to talk him out of it.” Haechan notes how innocent Johnny looks with his head tilted, confusion bleeding into his features. “You are pretty scary hyung, maybe she thinks you’m scare him off.”

“Maybe he isn’t worthy then.”

Strike two.

“Or,” Haechan sings, adjusting his embroidered apron, Hyuck’s opening anniversary gift from the very man he is about to berate. “Maybe you’re not ready to watch your sister grow up, so you sabotage everything with your scary eyes and bad vibes,” Haechan shrugs with his chin in his palm, blinking sweetly at Johnny who resists the urge to flick his forehead.

“Don’t you have coffee to go pour?”

Haechan sniggers once more as he does just that, refilling Johnny’s coffee and shrugging. “Or maybe they’re stuck in traffic.”

So he can’t fly?

Strike three.

300 days

After a few hours, Mark returns for a detailed description of the three men he suspects may be involved in the shooting. Johnny says as much as he can recall, even going as far as to emphasise the detective’s lack of involvement. He suspects it is in direct retaliation to his earlier comment and ignores it, though Johnny quickly sees his own guilt reflected back in the detective’s guilt ridden eyes. “Will that be all?”

“Almost-” Mark starts, before glancing over at you. “I just,” he can’t seem to push past the lump in his throat. Johnny has given him everything he knows, that much is true. But after speaking with the doctor, Mark can’t help but wonder. “Why haven’t you tried speaking to her? Doctor Kim said she may respond well to a familiar voice.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

Mark knows it’s a loaded statement. One dripping in regret, in guilt, and in shame. But Mark can’t afford for Johnny to be ashamed. Not with Haechan lying unconscious as you lie there, reliving that day over and over and over again. Mark needs you to wake up. But Mark also swore to never relinquish his compassion. All Mark knows of you is the stories he’s heard through Haechan. Though some have a rosier hue due to his familiarity with you, Mark is sure there is no exaggeration in your case. You are a good person. One who cares deeply, who loves deeply. Mark thinks those parts of you are the ones Johnny can tap into. He just won’t.

“Haechan was my first friend in Korea. When I moved here as a kid, my parents worked at the orphanage he was at. He made fun of my Korean for a year straight before I could finally understand and speak fluently enough to defend myself. But, I guess it was okay, you know? He was helping all the same. I was a scrawny kid, I used to get picked on a lot. He was always there. Even though he got beat up too. He’s in all my earliest- my best memories. growing up. He’s like my brother. If he was awake, I think I’d-”

“But he isn’t,” Johnny reminds, eyes locked on your sunken face. Johnny knows what Mark is doing, he knows the tactic very well. He is quite acquainted with guilt as a form of persuasion. “He’s not awake, detective. The doctor said he doesn’t know if he will ever wake up. You know, I overheard the doctors say they haven’t seen spinal fractures that severe in their fifty years of combined experience. They said if Haechan ever opens his eyes again it will be a miracle. If he walks again? This hospital would be internationally renowned. Those surgeons would be infamous. But they can’t. They can’t so it. They can’t do it because they don’t have the facilities for such an operation, and even if they did, Hyuck couldn’t afford it. Even if he could afford it, y/n would have to wake up and give them the okay, because this idiot made herself his guardian so he could practically sell his soul for the loan for that fucking diner.

“So, I’m sorry, detective. I’m sorry that the only thing standing between you ever seeing your friend again is my selfish sister.”

“Mr Seo-”

“But you must agree, she is selfish. She thinks she’s the only one hurting, the only one who has lost something, lost someone.” Mark only sees what Johnny is doing a few seconds too late. As Johnny raises a lone finger to his lips, his eyes catching on the stream pouring down your temples. Mark’s heart nearly beats out of his chest as your vital signs begin to whir, the machinery at your bedside coming to life as Johnny reminds you that, “people die every day. Our parents, Hyuck’s parents, and now Taeyong-”

“Don’t!” You scream suddenly, your body nearly thrashing off of the bed. Johnny fears the force with which you rise could snap your arms in two, but nothing is more worrisome than the bloody red rimming your crisp white eyes; the visible and painfully rapid rise and fall of your chest; the tremor in your chapped lips. “Don’t! Please! Please don’t say it-”

Johnny had never moved so fast. His hands clinging to your trembling frame as he stroked the back of your head. He chanted quickly in your ear, pleading with you to stay with him as he promises to stay. “I won’t go anywhere, I won’t leave you. Never. I promise. Just please, stay with me, okay? I need you here, Hyuck- Hyuck needs you, okay? I need you to stay with me, we’re all we have. Please, y/n-”

Mark couldn’t help but feel intrusive. His earlier pushing began to feel filthy, unfair, unjust. But how could he know you were this far gone, this distraught. Nothing is more sickening than the soft, croaky ‘yes’ that spills from your lips. Your bloodshot eyes lingering on his frozen frame before you see Haechan. You tremble again, your body nearly convulsing as you recognise the boy beside you.

“Shh, he’ll be okay- I promise- we’ll get him help. I promise you- we’ll be okay.”

Johnny rarely spoke out of hope. He was a man who would cling so tightly to reality, you would sometimes joke that his knuckles would snap from the pressure. But as he holds you tightly in his arms, rocking your hollow frame back and forth, he realises he has nothing more than hope.

But since when has hope ever been enough?

[2manyfandoms2count]

Sleepless in Paris

I ended up not posting anything Ladrien in June when I'd planned to do something, but then I saw the last prompt of @ladrienjune (Speechless), and since it tied in with an idea I had a couple of weeks ago... Here you go!

Established Ladrien, Adrien receives a text from his girlfriend and overthinks its meaning. Thankfully Ladybug comes and clears things up.

Loosely based on a quote from Le Discours, a novel by Fabrice Caro.

Read on AO3

---

Adrien, we need to talk.

Adrien read the message over and over again, like an overworked student stuck on a paragraph whose meaning just won’t register.

He tossed his phone aside and lied back down, rubbing his eyes as he did so.

Oh, how much he regretted ever getting Ladybug a private phone so they could communicate. It had seemed like a good idea after their third close call, when she had almost swung into his room like she owned the place (and maybe she did, she was his girlfriend, after all, anything was possible), in the middle of an impromptu piano recital his father had requested. Thankfully, the false notes he’d made upon seeing her almost crash into the window had covered any sound she’d made as she changed course, and made sure his father and Nathalie’s attention was on him, and not on the red blur just outside.

She’d laughed so prettily when she’d unwrapped the box and noticed that he’d painted little black dots on the back of the red phone case. She’d insisted on paying him back in kisses and sweet nothings. Even if he’d wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to refuse; his girlfriend was convincing like that.

Yes. Those had been the good old days.

The ones when the messages he received from her didn’t come as a blow that made his stomach tie into knots and question if he was going to be okay (although that might not have been entirely true; the feeling he’d gotten when he’d read “I love you” on his screen, written down, not just whispered between two makeout sessions or before she left, a permanent trace of her feelings, could definitely have fit that description, but the difference was that he’d questioned if he was in heaven, then).

The timestamp of the message read Monday, 4:36pm. He’d managed to type a “when?” at 5:58pm, which she’d seen at 5:59pm. Nothing since. That was new, too. Even messages that didn’t require an answer always got at least a couple of emojis in reply.

It was now Tuesday, 6:12am, and he hadn’t slept a wink, dissecting the five words, twenty characters, like they were a long lost spell that could fix hunger on Earth.

The first thing he’d noticed was the full stop. That didn’t bode well - even he knew that nobody ended a text like that these days.

Then, the comma. A pause. Not great either, in the context of a relationship.

Especially when it came before a “we need to talk”. He didn’t need to have seen many romantic comedies to know that this was probably an end of the line warning.

Even his name was a sign.

Adrien.

Not “my prince”. Not “my love”. Not even “my Adrien”, like she’d taken to calling him recently. Just plain old boring Adrien . Until the message had arrived, he hadn’t realised they’d been on a downward slope, but maybe he’d been too busy burying his head in the sand to notice. Maybe deep down, he’d known that it wasn’t viable.

That Ladybug, basically a goddess among men, had no business being in a relationship with a commoner like him, however much she tried to fool herself by calling him her prince. Adrien. The more he read it, the more emphasis he put on the second syllable. Ad- rien . Ad rien. Towards nothing. Maybe she’d known they were doomed from the start, that they had no future, but she’d tried anyway.

Maybe he was reading too much into it and the lack of sleep was making him delirious.

Whatever the outcome, he supposed they’d had a good run. He’d cherish all of the moments they’d spent together.

Actually, he thought, sitting up again, maybe that was what she needed. Maybe he could change her mind if he reminded her of all their good memories. There was no way she couldn’t be convinced, or at least persuaded, by his plea. He hadn’t gone six months playing a double game of putting on a fake insensitivity mask over the one he wore with Chat Noir's to avoid her seeing through him, when she deserved to be showered in compliments at every moment of the day, for it to end this way.

He loved her.

He picked up his phone again and pressed the dial button.

One tone. Two tones. Three.

Adrien suddenly remembered the time, hastily hung up, and facepalmed audibly, making Plagg roll over in his sleep and hiss.

“Sorry,” he whispered, before turning his attention back to the phone.

If his call hadn’t woken her up, then his mistake would be the first thing she’d see when she did.

This was bad. It wasn’t like he could go delete the evidence. He didn’t know where she lived, and since he doubted that she slept while transformed, there was no way to track her. Which would also be bad, he reminded himself, but maybe this emergency would justify it.

Anyway,  he couldn't cry over spilt milk, but maybe he could escape. Just move somewhere, preferably on the other side of the world. He could change his life, his name (actually, could that alone change the outcome of their relationship? If he changed it before planning anything, could they pick up as if nothing happened, and would the timeline be fixed? He wished he’d thought about it before calling her), and raise hamsters in the mountains. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, right? And then he could live happily ever after in the sweet, sweet illusion that despite them being miles apart, he still lived in a world in which he was Ladybug’s boyfriend.

He didn’t know if he preferred the idea of her never coming after him, or her seeking him out, even if it was to deliver bad news, but it didn’t really matter. The plan sounded good. Foolproof.

He hopped off of his bed and pulled a suitcase out of his closet. He’d always wondered why his father stored them there when it really seemed like an unnecessary temptation, but at least it was useful now.

If he was to start over somewhere, he needed to leave Adrien behind. The guy was a train wreck anyway, but unfortunately for him, a train wreck people would want to find, when he just wanted to be left alone to mope.

No more white shirts, then. They were too recognisable. He found a collection of dark hoodies at the back of the closet and stuffed them in the bag, along with t-shirts (they’d be hidden under his hoodie so he could keep those), a pair of jeans and some shorts.

He came back into his room and put his suitcase on his bed, scanning his surroundings for other essentials. His eyes landed on the fencing cup he kept his Ladybug pictures in. He’d definitely need those. It would help maintain him in his illusion. He also needed his Ladybug pyjamas, which he kept hidden since he wasn’t sure his father would approve of them. They’d be perfect for his new life.

Plagg stirred on his pillow. Before Adrien could ask himself whether it was reasonable for the small god to come with him, there was a knock on the window, and he froze. He turned around slowly; Ladybug stood in the window frame, looking glorious in the soft dawn light. He noticed she was holding a small paper bag in her left hand. He was sure it could fit everything he’d ever gotten her.

“Going somewhere?” She frowned, hopping inside before he could even move.

Adrien stared at her, before guessing he’d better bite the bullet. “Well I just figured I’d rather not stick around if you’re going to break up with me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

He watched her face fall and started to doubt his conclusion.

“Break up with…” she muttered slowly, as if tasting the words, before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Adrien, we need to talk.” He airquoted. “I get it, it’s fine. I’m-”

“Adrien, I’m not here to break up with you. At all.” She shook her head again and took a step forward. “What would make you think that?”

“Adrien, first of all,” he stated.

“Your name?...” She tilted her head inquisitively.

“You used to call me my Adrien. Or sweeter stuff.” He pointed out.

“Oh Kwami.” She shook her head, trying to repress a smile, although the blond didn’t notice.

“And then don’t think I didn’t notice you being less present lately.” He waved a finger at her, feeling himself blush. He knew his accusation was a tad hypocritical; sure, their date hangouts in the previous few weeks had been less frequent than they’d been at the beginning of their relationship, when she’d drop in practically every day, but they’d also been full of Akumas and photoshoots, what with his father’s new collection dropping. She’d managed to beat him to his room most days, hanging out around the windows as she waited, which had made it very difficult for him to sneak back in.

But on the occasions they had seen each other, she’d also seemed more lost in her thoughts than usual. Nervously wringing her hands together while they chilled in front of a movie, despite him soothingly raking his fingers through her hair. Being even more elusive about what was going on in her life, if that was possible. Looking at him with determination in her eyes, opening her mouth to speak, only to close it and shake her head with a sigh.

“I’m really sorry about that, my love .” She gave him a pointed look as she took his hand. “I’ve just been thinking a lot lately, about you, me, our relationship. How, you’re right, it might seem like we’re spending less time together to you , but…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“How could that statement have a but ?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, um, I had this sort of crazy idea, because we’ve only been dating for six months and it’s totally not like I ever imagined us getting married and having three kids and a hamster or anything…” she mumbled nervously, and Adrien felt his heart flutter in his chest. “Anyway, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Chat Noir all night to check that he approves the idea, and also because I feel like it’s kind of an unspoken agreement that unless it’s an emergency and it really feels right, we’d do this together first, but he’s not replying and I was awake and you were awake and I thought…”

“Okay my… Lovebug, breathe.” Adrien’s caring boyfriend instinct kicked in as her rambling gave him confirmation that their relationship wasn’t in immediate danger, and he placed his hands on her shoulders, taking a deep breath to show the example. She mirrored him, and they breathed in sync for a couple of cycles, until he was satisfied that she’d stopped hyperventilating. He lead her to his couch and helped her sit down.

“Croissant?” she asked shyly, presenting him with the bag she’d brought. A pastry bag. Not a bag with his belongings. He really needed to stop jumping to conclusions.

“You know me so well.” He smiled brightly as he took one of the baked goods. They were still warm. The croissant didn’t last long in his hands. “Anyway,” he gulped down the last bite, “if you don’t mind me asking, what was your miraculous idea?” He smiled at himself, proud of his pun.

“Well, I was thinking that I could reveal my identity to you,” Ladybug replied, daintily wiping the corners of her mouth with a tissue.

It was a good thing Adrien was already sitting down, else more than his jaw would have ended up on the floor.

“Your… Your identity. Reveal. To me.” He asked seriously, hoping his words would make sense to her. It was better than remaining speechless.

“Yes, I am considering it,” she laughed. The sound made his brain tangle even more.

“Why?” He croaked.

“Well, as I said, it would enable us to spend more time together.” He raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t elaborate. “And I don’t know, I feel like it would be right. You’ve got something, Adrien.” She smiled tenderly.

“I… I do?” He felt himself blush.

“It’s just a croissant crumb, there, let me get it for you.” She leaned forwards and kissed the corner of his mouth. The contact jump started his brain.

“Ladybug, this is serious.” He backed away slightly. “Why me?”

“Fine.” She sighed. “Well, you're my boyfriend, but I know you a lot better than you might think. Before you say anything, no, I can’t tell you why yet, I need to speak to Chat Noir first. But there is something about you, Adrien. I feel like I can trust you. With this. Because of course I trust you otherwise.”

Adrien looked down at his hands and twiddled his thumbs, pouting as he thought.

“Adr- Sunshine? Is everything alright?” Ladybug placed a concerned hand on his thigh when his silence stretched to a slightly uncomfortable length.

“When you talk to Chat Noir, and he agrees to your plan…” He looked up and met her gaze.

“If,” she corrected him, but he waved her interruption away.

“...Will you guys reveal your identities to each other? Will you ask Chat Noir who he is under the mask?” He felt almost feverish as he searched her eyes for a hint of the answer before she could speak.

“Um, yes, I guess that’s how I saw the discussion going.” Ladybug frowned. “Are you concerned that it will change our relationship somehow? Because I promise it won’t, I-”

“Oh Bluebell, it definitely will, but not in the way that you think.” Adrien pecked her lips, a mischievous smile spreading on his as he pulled away.

“Oh?” Ladybug blinked a couple of times. Adrien tried to hide his smugness at her speechlessness.

“Yep. You see, I’m one hundred percent paw-sitive your dearest partner will agree to your plan.” He grinned, watching the realisation dawn on her face.

“How hard was refraining from making cat puns in the past six months?” Ladybug finally sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Very, my Lady.” He pouted. "But not as hard as refraining from kissing you on patrol."

“Maybe you can help him pay up all the Camembert he owes me for sitting through him ranting about all the missed opportunities,” Plagg called out, making her jump slightly. Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, you were right, your plan really will allow us to spend more time together!” His face lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Ladybug shook her head, before looking back up at him, an indecipherable look on her face. “Need a lift for school?”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Adrien looked at his girlfriend with kitten eyes, disappointed that she hadn’t held up her side of the bargain.

“Well, it’s time to go if you don’t want to be caught by your bodyguard.” She shrugged, stood up, and extended a hand toward him, the twinkle in her eye the only tell in her poker face.

“Ladybug…” He whined, pouting.

“What, Chaton?” Her smile finally broke free. “It’s very literally on my way. I can drop you off at your seat, and then walk to mine… Right behind you.” She booped him on the nose.

Once again, Adrien was thankful he was already sitting down.

As she carried him to school, Adrien decided sleep was overrated. Sometimes reality was the best dream of all.

[nyxicnymph]

The Curse On Hyrule

A Zelink Angst fic based off of some angsty theories for BoTW2.

Enjoy. Or not.

Link gasped for breath, bending over. Dammit, he was so close!

Stupid curses. Stupid magic. Stupid Calamity.

Link reached for the Master Sword with his right hand, before flinching and switching hands. He stared down at both his arms, the right black and blacker, with hints of green, and blue, and that stupid magenta. The left, shaking with the weight of the Master Sword, used to bearing shields or supporting longer weapons, but not wielding a weapon by itself. Link snorted at the irony.

He stood up, ignoring how more than half of his body almost wouldn't obey him. He had to get to Zelda.

Zelda, who knows everything. Zelda, who was close by. Zelda, who had fallen into that abyss at the time. Zelda, who had already been traumatized by one bearer of the cu-

Link cut that train of thought off. He raised his sword, using the shaky light to illuminate his path. He knew she was close. He could feel her. He would shout, but he couldn't.

The closer he got, the quicker he moved. He could feel the curse growing, gaining control of his right side. And moving faster, as if it could feel that the possible end to it's goal was close.

Link almost passed the opening, and had to use the Master Sword to keep himself from moving forward. He entered the cavern cautiously, scanning for traps and monsters. Surprisingly, and suspiciously, there were neither.

Link rushed to the huddled mass in the dark corner, reaching out to her, to let her know he was there, that he needed her help. Then he stopped.

The last time he touched a dark mass in a dark cavern, well. He'd ended up cursed, losing the l- Princess of Hyrule, and accidentally reshaping the entirety of the continent.

He opted for another way. He sheathed the sword, then tapped the sheathed sword against the princess.

She jumped up, battle ready, her golden locks framing her determined face, and backlit by her unlocked power glowing from her right hand. The power faded as she lowered her hand, and her face melted in relief.

"Link!" She leapt forward as if to hug him, but Link sidestepped her. When the princess turned to face him, hurt evident on her face, he lifted his right hand to eye level, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

Zelda's own eyes widen as she took in the sight. "W-what happened to you, Link? Is this my fault? Is that why you-?" She choked up.

Link hurriedly shook his head. He pulled out his sheikah slate and pulled up an image of the corpse that started it all.

Zelda's face turned from concern to horror as it sunk in, and she fell to her knees. "No," she whispered softly. "No, it can't be. It doesn't... Does it?" She buried her face in her hands. "We have to fix this. There has to be a way."

Link wanted to help her up. His heart ached to see her that way, broken, on the floor, lost. But he can't touch her. He hadn't touched anyone since the curse, not even his enemies. He sure wasn't going to touch her.

He'd hate himself.

Zelda stood up, and brushed off her pants. "We'll figure this out. Have you gone to see Impa yet?"

Link shook his head. Zelda had and always would be his first priority, and she seemed to gather that.

"Well, then let's start with that. Impa has a good head on her shoulders, she should know what to do. And if she doesn't, she might have an idea." Zelda started walking, and Link, loyal as ever, followed behind.

<Kakariko Village>

"Have you tried using your power, Princess?" Impa suggested, grabbing Zelda's attention away from whatever she'd been glaring at.

"What? My power?"

"If my theory is correct, this curse...."

Link lost track of the conversation, trying to figure out what Zelda had been glaring at so intensely a moment ago. He glanced up the staircase to see Paya disappearing.

Oh.

The knight returned to the side of the princess, but didn't meet her eyes. He didn't want his mind to go down that road, for the sake of the worst-case scenario.

"Link, are you listening?" Impa's harsh voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Link nodded, and Impa scoffed. "You and the princess are going to the field overlooking the Zora domain, and she is going to try to remove your curse. Follow her instructions." Impa turned to Zelda. "Remember. Do not touch him, unless you are absolutely sure it has been removed."

Zelda nodded resolutely. "Understood."

At the field, Zelda and Link stood facing each other, all alone in a sea of green. Even the deer were gone. Link was surprised that the field remained, instead of being hoisted into the sky like many other parts of Hyrule had been.

Zelda cleared her throat. "Link, I have to see how far the curse has progressed." Link looked at her blankly, and Zelda averted her eyes. "You need to remove your shirt."

Link nodded, and did as the princess commanded, but slowly. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He hadn't wanted her to see how much of him had been taken over.

He hadn't wanted her to see him turning into a monster before her eyes.

"Link, I-" she stammered as she looked at his torso, two thirds blackened, and the remaining third crossed over with angular patterns. "I don't know what to say. How did it get this bad?"

Link signed that he thought it was hastened by activity against it, but he wasn't sure.

Zelda sighed, tears evident. "I pray this works. Lanayru help us." She raised her right hand, and it glowed.

Link closed his eyes, and opened his arms, as if to embrace the power that washed over him in the next second. He felt cold, then warmth, then a feeling like his nerves were tiny lightning bolts. Then it all faded.

"No!"

Link's eyes snapped open to see Zelda kneeling on the ground, her hands covering her mouth, and tears streaming down her face. He looked down and saw his torso had been completely blackened, and the hints of green, blue, and magenta were stronger than before.

"This was supposed to work!" The princess cried. "It was supposed to cure you! To cleanse you! What good-" She choked on a sob. "What good is this power if it can't even save my l- loyal knight?!"

Link knelt beside her, trying to comfort her with his presence, since he couldn't hold her. He signed:

I'm still here, princess. We will figure this out.

Zelda cried a while more, before wiping her tears away. "Let's go to the temple at the plateau. Maybe we will get a hearing from the goddess, and she will help us."

Link nodded. This was as close to a back-up plan as they had.

<The Temple, Great Plateau>

The sun shone on the two small forms kneeling in front of the large goddess statue. The figure on the right begging frantically, her tears soaking the stone beneath, and the figure on the left, silently crying as well, but more focused on his fingers than anything else.

How long until the left hand matched the right? Link knew it wasn't that long. He could feel the curse slipping through the veins and muscles of his left bicep, curling around his elbow.

He had to get Zelda away from him before he was completely taken over.

He sat up, which drew Zelda's attention. They turned to face each other, and Zelda looked at him questioningly. Link hesitatingly lifted his hands up, and signed:

I need you to run. Away from me. I'm afraid it's too late.

His hands movements were jerky, some of them uncoordinated. He almost couldn't control his own limbs, and Zelda noticed.

"No, Link! Even if you're consumed, I won't leave you! It's my fault we were down there! And so it's my fault you were cursed!" Her tears dropped, splattering the floor between them.

Link's own tears fell as he signed, And I can't have you being hurt because of me!

"But it's my fault!"

You're the only one who can stop me, Princess! You're the next most worthy of the Master Sword! Link signed in frustration, trying to get her to see his point.

"The... The Master Sword? Why?"

Because the Master Sword will be the only thing capable of killing me.

Zelda stood up and shook her head. "No! I refuse! I- There has to be another way! I will not kill you!"

You have to. Or Hyrule is doomed.

Zelda spun away. "I refuse to listen anymore! You will be fine! You-" She cut herself off when she heard a thud.

She gasped when she saw Link on the floor. "Link!" She halted her dash forward when a dark shadow came over the temple. She looked up and saw the clouds were purple.

She made to run to Link anyway, until he stopped her with a single sign.

No.

She saw the curse creeping up his neck, and she ran up to him regardless. "I refuse to let it end like this!" She told him as she grabbed him under the arms and tried to pull him away.

Zelda, please, for my sake, run!

"No!"

Zelda, please!

"I won't leave you!" She screamed, tears and sweat mingling on her face as she pulled him out of the temple.

You must! Link signed as the curse covered his chin.

"I'm not leaving you, so stop trying to make me!"

Zelda, you have to leave!

"Why are you so insistent I leave?!" Zelda cried as his body slid from her fingertips and hit the ground once more.

With incredibly, increasingly uncooperative fingers Link signed:

Because I love you.

The eyes of the knight met the eyes of the princess, and something passed between them. Link saw the fire in her gaze and knew he had said the wrong thing, but had no idea what. Zelda found confirmation of what she had been suspecting for months.

As the curse consumed Link, and the Master Sword fell to the ground, Zelda stepped forward. She picked up the sword, and felt it hum deep in her bones. She knew what she had to do.

Or rather, what was good for all of Hyrule.

"I've sacrificed myself for Hyrule once already!" She screamed at the sky. "Why should I do it again?!"

She threw aside the sword, and grabbed Link. "If you won't stay with me, than I'm going with you! I never want to be separated from you again! I owe you my life a hundred times over! I refuse to let it end like this!"

She pressed her lips to his, and refused to separate, even as she felt the curse flowing into her own body, moving faster than it had before.

As Princess Zelda died, she prayed one last time for a hero to save Hyrule. One worthy to wield the Master Sword, and stronger than she.

And if Hyrule wasn't saved?

Well, that's what the new calamities were hoping for, after all.

And thus fell the Hope, Princess, and Kingdom of Hyrule.

[peachyqueenly]

The Night of Witches

Rated: T

White Lily Cookie goes to The Night of Witches seeking answers... but this time, she is not alone. Will this affect how Fortuna writes the story?

Link to it on AO3 (if you prefer to read it there): https://archiveofourown.org/works/31830856

//Quick note before we start!!

Firstly, I'd like to thank my friends Lou and Cas (if either of you are reading this, mwah mwah thank you for your help besties!!) for helping me proofread!!! Yall are the best and your suggestions definitely helped bring this work to life <3.

Secondly, feel free not to click this link until you either a. reach the part where they appear or b. finish the entire story, but here is a link to the design for an OC (or alt design, if you will) that appears here. I find having a visual reference helps me, so: https://twitter.com/PeachyQueenly/status/1399134036359106567?s=20.

Finally, just in case, a fair warning that there is an injury (someone loses a finger) and a death in here. I don't think I wrote it too graphically, but pay heed to the T rating.

~

Such a solemn place...

White Lily had told him it was just an evening trip. Nothing specific, just that she had some business to attend to outside the soaring peaks and sweet valleys of the Vanilla Kingdom. She told him not to worry himself to the point of crumbling... and at first, he felt bad for not believing her mournful eyes.

But now? He was glad to have trusted his judgement rather than her words... for once.

The smell of burnt dough and... batter? Like the lingering smell of the occasional Cake Hound attack. That was the first thing that registered in Pure Vanilla’s senses as he got lost in his friend’s frantic mumblings. Then, he noticed how dark and dreary this place was compared to the sunshine that blessed their home. Even in the deep shrubbery that was White Lily’s personal residence, the faint traces of sunlight could be seen in the sprawling vegetation was in no doubt comforting to one such as her.

Here, however? Nothing but darkness and a foreboding sense that something was... off. As if this was a place no mere Cookie was meant to be.

“The Night of Witches...”

The Night of Witches? He recalled hearing about that back in the two’s school days. Though, no Cookie was able to learn much beyond its name. Something about it being too dangerous for them. Or those who devoted themselves to its research leaving one day— like Lily did after her crime, only to never return. Sentencing their knowledge to secrecy forevermore.

That would all change tonight.

Pure Vanilla had situated himself not far from the display of desserts Lily herself hid behind. That’s when he saw... them.

Even more towering than those grand displays were three figures; cloaked in dark robes and large hats not so different from what the practicing wizards he helped train wore. Yet, their hats lacked the crispy charm their waffle cone attire had. Those jagged edges bringing with it an air of uneasiness—unlike the soft breezes that passed through his kingdom’s canyons.

“...AND WOULD YOU LOOK AT THESE! THEY LOOK AMAZING!”

… huh?

“PHEW! I BAKED A TON OF COOKIES!”

Cookies? Were these the celestials that blessed them with life—

“HERE, TRY ONE! YOU’RE GONNA LOVE IT!”

The crack that reverberated through the air could only be matched by one from all those years ago— that glass-shattering sound which marked his last day as a student of the Blueberry Yogurt Academy. Pure Vanilla never imagined there would be a sound more frightening and life changing than that.

… and yet, that crunch of a Cookie—one of their own—being bitten into. It was enough to turn even one as pure and sweet as he into a trembling mess. One hand covering his mouth as to contain the emotions that threatened to spill out as tears and screams.

White Lily, meanwhile, had never been able to maintain her composure well. Even back when she committed her original sin, the immediate regret and despair she felt was evident in her cries. And her inability to escape the doomed school without the help of her dearest friend. So, it came as no surprise that this revelation sent her into a spiral of mutterings, shaking, and... resolve? No, that last one was surprising. Her insistence that Cookies she hardly knew must escape was a sign of just how much stronger their endeavors with the other three had made her.

All her courage was met with were eerie smiles and silence, however. Perhaps these Cookies had already met their fate... doomed to become the next generation of tragedies.

How cruel... how defeating, Vanilla thought. No one deserved this.

“I...”

“--AAAAAH!”

Pure Vanilla’s eyes shot open as he watched the one dearest to him back away in despair, only to then fall backwards. Off the table edge she was so precariously situated upon. From his view, he had little idea what awaited her... but he was not about to let her find out.

He was not about to let her be subjected to more suffering than she already had.

The beholder always on his person could only glare and roll its eye as Vanilla threw it aside and dashed forward. Jumping into action—literally. He pushed himself forward with the swiftness of the wind, and his hand soon met with her own bandaged one.

He pulled Lily back over the table... throwing himself into the maul of the beast in her stead.

Pure Vanilla could only smile as gravity took hold of him. Smile as he always did... even as the rising heat threatened to crumble him before his body even touched that sickly-looking dough below. Regret could come later. For now, relief came out as a few stray tears and a soft whisper, "Thank you, gods—”

…

White Lily only sat there, wide eyed and shaking as she tried to process what on Earthbread just happened. The soft plop of Vanilla’s poor body made her feel the five four stages of grief in just ten seconds. Denial: there was no way this was happening. Anger: why did this have to happen; why did they have to continue to suffer? Bargaining: please, let the hands of time turn back and reverse this. Depression: this was all her fault.

Acceptance was the logical next step, but it was far too early for such a thing.

Her mouth opened and closed as wordless breaths came from trembling lips. Until, finally, she tried uttering one thing, “Vanilla—”

“WHOSE COOKIE IS THAT?”

Lily quickly covered her mouth, both to stifle her frightened voice and hold back the bile she felt bubbling up. Quickly, she took cover behind a stray plate covered in desserts. Such a sight didn’t do much for the sick feeling in her gut, but at least it offered her cover from the stares of those witches and ever-smiling Cookies.

“LOOK, IT FELL INTO THE ULTIMATE DOUGH!”

Fell? Into the Ultimate Dough? She had little to no idea what this Ultimate Dough was, or what it meant for Pure Vanilla. However, that was perhaps more terrifying than at least knowing her friend’s fate.

“”T’IS ALRIGHT! LET’S JUST BAKE IT AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!”

… Huh?

“YEAH, LET’S BAKE IT!”

No... please—

“LET’S SEE WHAT FORTUNA HAS IN STORE!”

Thick streams of syrup ran down White Lily’s face. She wanted to scream for this all to cease so badly, and she probably would have if she could. This couldn’t be happening. This endless night... their endless suffering had to end eventually, right? From their mad dash into the night following the destruction she caused, to this night they were taught was beyond sacred...

Her endless mistakes couldn’t continue to doom them both, right!?

She could only sit and watch as those cruel hands of theirs began to knead the dough. How each tool so effortlessly and callously did its job: the flattening done by the rolling pin... the cutting of the dough with a tool she remembered gliding her hand across all those years ago. How cold and hollow such metal had been...

Was Pure Vanilla feeling all of this? All the, no doubt, painful experiences such cruel gods wrought?

White Lily became consumed by thoughts such as these. It was all so gut-wrenching to watch, and yet she couldn’t pull her gaze away. It was all so disturbingly mesmerizing.

Soon, many bodies laid across baking sheets normally used as parchment by Cookies. Could one of them be the friend she’d go to hell and back to save? She almost hoped none of them were. As the unfortunate fate of these Cookies was not lost on her.

How could it be? Such a loud crunch left a stain no amount of scrubbing and scratching could rub off.

All those poor, unfortunate souls were then moved over to the oven almost every Cookie escaped from. Perhaps what were once thought as gods had finally grew tired of their endless torture and torment... for now, at least. Soon, they’d move from simply trying their handiwork to...

No, Lily couldn’t bear to remember what The Night of Witches meant for the Cookies who fell victim to it. To witness to it all again.

She needed to get out of here. Fast.

Trembling, White Lily began forcing her old, tired limbs to move. Her staff acting as a cane to support the weight of both her body, which felt on the verge of crumbling, and her new sins. Someone needed to get out of here. Someone needed to tell this story.

Pure Vanilla’s sacrifice couldn’t be for nothing.

… That was when a wave of doom washed over her. This feeling... this... scent. She knew it well. The smell of molasses and pomegranates: Black Magic unique to the priestesshood they visited as young wizards. How... could the witches have gotten a hold of such magic?

And, more importantly, why did magic familiar to her fill Lily with such fear?

She was given no time to theorize. Rather than the sound of breaking glass or crunching of their fragile bodies, the clanking sound of metal vibrated throughout the room. Catching the attention of anyone conscious to it: including the witches and White Lily. The oven doors... they were slammed wide open through no fault of the ones using them. Whatever the answer was to her previous inquires, it was coming. Soon. She could feel it.

A whisper fell from her lips, “What—”

“Ha... HA.... AH HA HA HA HA HA!”

If her magenta irises could widen any more, they did so as that howl echoed around her. A familiar yet twisted laugh. One that was far too sickeningly sweet to mean good fortune.

It can’t be—

“Haaa... who could have known?” relief and a newfound truth came from the reborn Cookie’s lips. A truth as clear as the finest sugar crystals. “Who could have known it was so simple!! All the world’s problems... they all have one simple answer!!”

Another clang of metal reverberated as it slammed the fork-turned-staff against the oven. The loud noise awakening the thing on its aforementioned staff—revealing a burning cyan iris. Such an intense stare could serve as a declaration of its own, but the staff’s commander still offered its own words to those there to bear witness, “Witches... Cookies... truly, none of them have the right, nor should be given the privilege, to define our fate.”

This can’t be real.

“Reborn in a new body... and with a new name. Yes, you lot may call me Black Molasses Cookie—the one true god of this world.”

Pure Vanilla?, White Lily thought: dumbfounded and speechless.

The Witches, meanwhile, gave Black Molasses not a second of respite. Or rather, one Witch didn’t. That one fool amongst them lunged forward in an attempt to grab what was meant to be a tasty treat to them. No doubt to crush and then... eat him. He was just a Cookie, after all. What harm could he truly cause?

“Ha... foolish—”

Two eyes opened and glared at those who should terrify all Cookies: one a familiar cyan to the trembling wallflower, and the other a red that burned a hole straight through her very soul. “As I just said...” he declared “Only I get to define our fates!!”

Seeming to know what its master wanted, a soft glow emanated from the staff before a beam was fired straight towards the Witch. That which wiped one of her elongated fingers clean off. Not a drop spilled from the cauterized wound, but the smell of burning... something made Lily feel even sicker than she already did.

Meanwhile, Black Molasses laughed as his first victim wailed in agony, “HA HA!! That’s what—” his incoming tirade was interrupted when those wails and screams of the Witches turned into a mad dash, “Awww, leaving so soon? Don’t forget—you left your cakes in the oven!!”

Everything happened so fast. Cake beasts arose at the slam of his staff— awakened by its call. Their feral growls and gnawing were not directed at Cookiekind this time, however. Instead, they chased after the fleeing Witches. Bearing their fangs until they found something to sink their fangs into.

White Lily could only stare in horror at what it was.

Pained and agonized screams left the Witch who, just moments ago, had the misfortunate of losing a finger. If only all she lost tonight was that finger. Now, the beasts’ crunching fangs tore at what was left of her withering body and corrupted soul. Until not a single wail was left. And all that filled the air was a metallic scent and the howling of beasts all too pleased with their work.

“Remember this night well, everyone!!! As, tonight, I have shown the world why I am to be the one who divines and rules above all!!”

The Cakes howled louder at such a declaration.

No. No, this couldn’t be... this wasn’t her dearest friend—

“Waah...”

Finally, a much more pleasant sound registered in White Lily’s senses. A child’s voice. How had she not noticed someone so young was but a few steps away from her. Were they cowering there the entire time? Alone? Regardless, she wouldn’t let them be alone for any longer. “Young one, Do you... we need to...” A surprised gasp came as, upon closer inspection, she noticed, “Your arm—!!”

“My, my~ and what do we have here?”

There was no time for her to push the issue. Quickly, White Lily assumed a defensive position in front of the young Cookie. Or... as defensive of a pose she could assume.

Her gaze betrayed her. For the agony and fear behind her eyes served to show just how despaired she truly was. Just how much she looked at Black Molasses and knew one thing: this was all her fault. Whatever happened next could’ve been prevented if it weren’t for her twisted, curious mind. White Lily had no right to convince him otherwise, and yet she persisted, “Vanilla, I—”

“Ah, you still see that old fool in me, do you now?” not a single ounce of respect was given to what Black Molasses considered a mere fragment of his past, “Tell me, dearest Lillia.” he jeered, “You saw the same thing we all saw. You, me, and even that child... yet you look on at my divine judgement in fear. Why?”

“I...”

He sighed. “Perhaps you consider my methods too cruel? Too beneath Cookies meant to help others?” with every word used to poke at her resolve, he took a step closer to both Lily and the child she kept guard over—blue flames rising and dancing from the back of his gown, “And what of you, young one? What do you think of this night Cookies are told is blessed and holy?”

“Leave them out of--”

“Black... Molasses Cookie...?”

“There, there. I hear you, child.” with a flick of his staff, White Lily was hoisted into the air and thrown to the side like a toy who had long outlived its value. A helpless yelp punctuated the thud that followed. Black Molasses didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, his focus shifted towards the kid, “You who lost your arm— no doubt to those infernal Witches— understands the need for the world to be rebuilt, yes?”

The child nodded, “Hm... I guess... yes.”

“Then follow me.” A gentle smile accompanied his invitation. “I can not only provide that which you need, but I can also show you a better world. One built in my image... I need but your name and devotion.”

“... Red... Velvet Cookie.” the young one responded. The simple act of sharing his name serving as an allegiance to this new Cookie’s vision.

“I see, Red Velvet...” Black Molasses mused as his hand met with the velvet-soft locks of Red Velvet’s hair. Then, his attention turned back towards Lily, “And as for you~”

The previous impact had left White Lily rather shaken and dazed, on the border of consciousness and unconsciousness. Really, it was surprising she wasn’t out like a light by now. What with the exhaustion that came with tonight’s events and the thud she had experienced earlier.

“Still awake, are we?” a crooked smile, and then Black Molasses held her chin in his hand. Directing what little of an attention span she had left towards him. Only him, “Consider my mercy, in spite of your waywardness, a blessing.” he leaned in close, crooning into her ear “I have great plans regarding you. For now, have sweet dreams... then, warn the world of my name.”

Black Molasses then let Lily’s head drop back down before turning his back to her. Leading Red Velvet away from his disciple with some remaining doubts and back towards the oven. They had a great deal of baking to do, after all. Plenty of baking... especially of one particular soul who deserved the ultimate payback.

“... not that any such warning will stop me, of course.”

And with that, White Lily slipped into unconsciousness. That sickeningly sweet laughter lingering in the air as she hoped this was all just one bad dream...

~

//Hello!! Peach (Katie) here!!!! I'd like to thank you for reading my work-- it means a lot to me that anyone would be willing to check out my writing. Trying to figure out both White Lily's internal conflicts, and how Black Molasses would differ from Dark Enchantress, was a lot of fun. I definitely want to revisit this AU both in writing and drawing over time!!

If you would be interested in anything else I do (as I'm primarily an illustrator), check me out on Twitter @peachyqueenly, A03 @Peach_KT, and instagram @peach_kt. Thank you so much again, and I look forward to bringing everyone my next creation.

Quick credit to Cookie Run Kingdom for some of the lines-- as some were remained unchanged or slightly edited to fit the scene.

[lastxviolet]

The Assistant - CH. 1

Description: Summary - Her sixth year at Hogwarts was supposed to be relatively peaceful but after an incident on the Hogwarts express, Violet Wilkes finds herself the newest target of the Weasley twins. This, combined with a dark family secret, and the Triwizard tournament, makes her first few months back more exciting and stressful than every year before.

pairing: George Weasley x Original Female Character

warnings: pg-13. slow burn, eventual smut hehe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28218804/chapters/69148695

The Dark Mark.

Cloaked figures running, burning, torturing.

The threat of a second war.

Screaming.

A sharp train whistle brought Violet Wilkes back into her body on Platform 9 ¾, its sound tearing her mind away from the horrifying morning news in the Daily Prophet just last week. The moving pictures on the papers front page had barely left her thoughts, even now, as she was steps away from saying goodbye to her family for nearly a year, the dark mark burned behind her eyelids with every blink.

She walked ahead of her parents and little sister, weaving through the crowd of fawning mothers and sniffling siblings, towards the very last car in the line, dreading the long journey ahead more and more with every step.

For the past five years, she had seriously considered not returning to Hogwarts, solely because of the egregious train ride from London, and this year was no different, except for the pit in her stomach from the thought of noise, people, and confined space was joined by the fear of her family's hypothetical imminent doom at the hands of Death Eaters. Despite the fact that no one else shared her fears.

She'd told them all week that the events at the Quidditch World Cup weren't a fluke. No one conjured the most fearsome symbol in their world nearly thirteen years after its disappearance, by accident. It meant something.

A terrible something.

And now, she was leaving them. Defenseless.

Her father hadn't picked up his wand in nearly a decade, and her mother had no magical abilities to speak of. Her sister, Olivia, would surely be a powerful witch in the coming years but for now, she remained a timid ten-year-old. They hardly stood a chance without her. That was if the events last week were as dire and fearsome as she believed them to be.

Of all people, she thought her father would understand her worry but he insisted that it wasn't going to be like 'last time.' Even then, she'd made him swear that he would brush up on his spells and hexes just in case you-know-who had returned and picked up where he'd left off, targeting blood traitors and their families.

The train whistle cut through the commotion again and they sped up to make the 11:00 departure. She glanced down at her watch; 10:58.

If they hurried, she'd make it. But if they didn't, the train would mosey on without her. Not that she'd mind.

She looked around at her fellow hustling peers pouring into the train and exhaled sharply. What if she just stopped? Dropped to her knees and refused to move. Missed the train and begged her father to let her go to a muggle school as her mother had. Her fingers gripped the iron handrail in the vestibule of the final car, and she hesitated, ready to throw herself back onto the platform but deep down, she knew it was already too late. There was no avoiding the journey ahead.

Her sister launched into her arms, squeezing tight before her mother's arms replaced them around her neck. She kissed her father's cheek last, lingering on his kind, dark blue eyes, staring at their own mirrored pupils in her head. He pressed one more kiss onto her forehead before stepping back to wrap his arms around the other halves of her heart.

A blood-traitor.

How could anyone call him a blood traitor?

Easy, she thought. It was the same way her housemates called her a half-blood. With condescending smirks and dead eyes.

She turned to enter the car so they couldn't see the tear falling down her cheek and rushed to wipe it away before she came back into view through the last window.

Her sister called out a final time when the train began to slowly move away and a wave of dread constricted her lungs. The sound was too similar to the screams she heard in her nightmares nearly every night. Fog from her breath on the window obscured the final visible moments of her family's smiling faces and wildly waving arms as the platform disappeared from view.

11:00. As one torturous moment ended, another, 8-hour-long one, began. The ruckus of running feet, excited hello's, and sporadic spell work was instantaneous and completely impossible to ignore. She closed her eyes and tried to tune it out.

She couldn't conceive why a wizarding school would trust their unsupervised adolescent students to not blow each other up when muggle schools barely trusted their docile coeds to use the bathroom alone. Other people's happiness didn't normally give her such a headache but the lack of professor supervision provided no perimeters on her peer's ability to run amuck.

She felt her stomach flip with the swaying movement. Bile burned her throat, as the seat underneath her moved back and forth, rocking in a nauseating pattern. The noise, in combination with the repetitive piercing whistle and lurching wheels thudding through London, was dizzying.

Distraction. She needed a distraction.

Calloused leather brushed her hip, reminding her that she'd anticipated this very moment. She thanked her past self profusely and dug through the bag until the pebbly fabric of her favorite muggle book scratched her fingertips.

The deep blue hardcover still precariously clung to its title even after years of wear and tear, reading and rereading. She caressed the carved gold words with a shaky, anxious finger.

The Princess Bride

By William Goldman

It was a pity that the Hogwarts library didn't cater to muggle-born students, she thought. Even in Muggle Studies class, assigned readings were books about muggles, written by the magical beings that walked among them. Wizard writers were wonderful but their ability to write compelling fiction was limited when they can do the unthinkable with the mindless flick of a wand.

She flipped it open and paused to admire her mother's swirly signature on the dedication page before turning to the first chapter.

"I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering 'As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard."

"I hear you now, and I promise you this: I will never love anyone else. Only Westley. Until I die."

Eventually, the disorienting blur of houses, trees, and cars ceased— replaced by much more appealing, rolling hills and sprawling fields. The speed of the train was barely discernible as the scenery outside the window moved in slow motion, barely changing, monotonous and still, a comfort to her dizzy head.

She glanced towards the glass doors that were protecting her from the chaos throughout the halls and determined that the motion sickness and general discomfort had been suppressed. She took a deep breath and weighed the options for the second half of the trip. Stay, and finish the beloved book that lay open in her lap, or leave, and trade all peace for conversation.

Alone, but also lonely.

She'd probably missed loads of drama on the first half of the ride, and Sadie would surely be furious with her for being absent.

Sadie Baldock had plopped down next to her at the Slytherin table one random morning during her second week at Hogwarts. Happy to have some company, she'd let the energetic girl talk her ear off for the entire meal, not once interrupting or telling her to shut up, even though it would've been warranted. They'd been best friends ever since and she'd been an absolute treasure for the entirety of their past five years.

Despite Sadies strong personality and pension for gossip, she understood and accepted that Violet had no desire to be attached at the hip to anyone and gladly gave her space.

Alone and lonely, was much better than being suffocated, she thought. This had been her preference, even before she arrived at Hogwarts, and was sorted into Slytherin, her supposed 'family' away from home.

She scoffed and shook her head.

Family, yeah right.

Other houses might consider themselves family. Hers, however, felt more like a cage.

Families weren't supposed to be judgmental, at least not to the degree that her peers were. Families didn't shun disgraced peers for impure bloodlines or enforce generational loyalty without question. In recent years, the house had shed any sense of camaraderie left, even between those with pure-blood and ancient ties.

Due to this, tensions ran high and tempers were like time-bombs. It was exhausting to bite her tongue enough to remain cordial with most of the somewhat sane peers in her house and fly under the radar of the rest. She clenched her jaw, remembering Draco Malfoy and crew taunting her half-blood status and muggle mother.

Exhausting, but necessary, for self-preservation and peaceful existence. She occasionally betrayed herself with a viper-quick temper that was always simmering in her chest but most took it for stereotypical Slytherin nastiness, and not a haunting disdain for those who shared her green and silver uniform. This, a knack for potions and a morbidly dark wardrobe were perhaps the only evidence of a correct sorting.

Oh well, she thought. It was a bit late in her career to be considering a house change, besides, the sorting hat was a sod old brute who insisted that he was never wrong.

In actuality though, it wasn't all terrible. At least she had Sadie and the few other perks that came with the snake emblem.

The dungeons provided cool darkness that deprived the senses of any reason for restlessness and anxiety. Although the green uniform occasionally invited disapproving glances, it complimented her dark blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair much better than the blue and white of Ravenclaw, or heaven forbid the bright red Gryffindor insignia. And, she was only a few feet away from the potions classroom, where she'd managed to instate herself as one of the only students their head of house, Professor Severus Snape, did not actively hate. The bond had been painstakingly cultivated over the years the only that way he would allow; speaking when spoken to, correct answers, and perfect potions.

She stared out the window, focusing on the rolling hills, trying to let go of the gnawing feeling in the back of her mind that couldn't help but wonder if the hat had gotten it wrong.

Introspection was one of her biggest flaws. Sadie was constantly telling her to get out of her head and she knew that she was right. But, analysis always felt necessary, even about moments and emotions long gone. Sorting through every feeling, decision, movement; double-checking every second to make sure they were all accounted for, was compulsory.

Even now, six years later, she wondered whether she even truly belonged in Slytherin, and whether or not being sorted into the other houses would've been easier or even different at all. Would it have been better to be sorted into her father's Hufflepuff house?

Maybe, but unfortunately, when considering where to place her, the sorting hat had ignored her father and zeroed in on the countless other Wilkes before him, all in Slytherin, before deciding that she would be forced to pick up the lineage again. Not that any of them would ever know, or care.

She felt a shiver down her spine.

It was for the best that they hadn't any idea of her existence, let alone the continuation of their legacy.

She squeezed her eyes closed and the beautiful scenery outside dissolved into the Dark Mark behind her lids and the memory of photos she'd secretly found amongst her father's old school things. Photos of a boy, a few years older than her father, clad in green standing next to his younger brother in yellow and black.

A legacy, broken. A legacy, reborn.

She felt her heartbeat quicken and tried desperately to conjure the image of her sister, next year, with the sorting hat on her head, yelling any other house's name.

Screams from the next train car over tore her away from her thoughts. She jumped slightly and shook her head, glad for a distraction from the oncoming downward spiral. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment but another chorus of "no's" and laughter bursting through the door at the front of the cabin pulled her back to reality.

Pushing the doors apart slightly, she poked her head into the hall and moved to step out but voices stopped her. Loud, obnoxious, exuberant voices yelled something about "research" to an amused audience.

The Weasley twins.

Maybe the imminent doom she'd been worrying about wouldn't come at the hands of Death Eaters at all, but two idiotic and insufferable redheads instead.

She searched for an escape, eyes moving frantically, but her only option seemed to be a jump from the back door and onto the tracks below. Why hadn't she left to find Sadie when she'd had the chance?

Rolling her eyes as far back into her head as they would go, she sunk back down onto the bench and held her breath, hoping to miraculously turn invisible before the twins could sour her mood further.

"C'mon George, one last try," a voice belonging to Fred Weasley yelled over the last wave of students laughing and telling the twins to get lost.

She groaned, knowing that they were indeed coming for her. She couldn't think of a single time during her years at Hogwarts when she'd enjoyed the terroristic Weasley antics, but this moment was particularly ill-timed. Their talents for pranking were legendary and despite being in the same year, she'd never been a target or victim. But, it seemed as though her time had come.

She screwed her eyes shut, trying to find a single positive about the cursed situation. The nerves twisted her stomach into a knot while she listened to nearing footsteps. Maybe, if she played along and let them get it out of their system, they would leave quicker, and get back to ignoring her.

Another couple of torturous seconds crawled by before the twin who she thought might be George yanked open the cabin door.

She forced herself to breathe and tilted her head to meet them with a perturbed expression glued to her face; brows furrowed, lips pursed, and arms crossed. Every Slytherin instinct whispered in her ear to hex them back to London but the exhaustion from her emotional goodbye a few hours ago overwhelmed any anger left, resigning her to accept this fate without much of a fight.

"Well hello, Violet. Today is your lucky day."

She was right, the one coming in first was George Weasley. She recognized the two moles on the left side of his neck from Herbology last year when she'd fantasized about slashing his jugular when he wouldn't shut up.

He moved her feet from the bench opposite her, and she stared at him, noting that his slightly crooked nose also distinguished him from the brother coming in second. Once seated, they stared at her with intense brown eyes, and eager slack-jaw smiles —incredibly sharp features exaggerated by flowing radioactive red hair, waiting for an answer.

"Is that so?" she growled, conjuring a deadpan stare.

The twins straightened their chests and leaned forward simultaneously. "Yes, indeed," Fred said, the excitement in his face and voice completely unaffected by her cold response. "And we'll tell you why. George?"

"For a limited time only, you have the incredible opportunity to join us on an intellectual exploration," George explained. She shot him a disapproving glance before shifting back to Fred who was nodding fervently at his brother's side. "Groundbreaking research," he added, sensing her apprehension.

"I've never exactly thought of you two as intellectual," she sneered.

"Been thinking about us though?" George teased.

She cursed herself for the blush that formed instantly and shifted her gaze back to Fred who was still waiting anxiously to explain the situation.

"All you need to do is eat this delicious toffee," Fred said, producing a brown lump from his robe.

He shoved it towards her and unsuccessfully tried to hide the mischievous glint in his eye with a sweet smile.

She glared at him, remaining silent, unsure of what to say next. What were they trying to pull? And why did they think that she was going to fall for it this easily? Did they think she was stupid?

She narrowed her eyes and tried to ignore her bruised dignity. "You're joking," she drawled, earning fake looks of concern from both of the twins. "What makes you think I'm going to fall for that?"

Fred's long red hair covered his face slightly as he shook his head. "See this is where everyone keeps misunderstanding us, George."

George leaned across the small space between them. "Indeed Fred —Violet darling, clearly our offer is much too transparent to be a prank," he said, now a little too close for comfort. "This is product research for our business so please try and take it seriously."

She scowled at the pet name and leaned away. Why was he being so familiar with her?

Gryffindors. Always too friendly to be trusted. At least her fellow Slytherins never tried to hide their agenda, no matter how much their bluntness stung.

It was difficult to gauge how to best get rid of them. Their puppy dog eyes didn't seem to be affected by rudeness, if anything, it seemed to egg them on further. She decided to try another route instead, hoping to catch them off guard.

"Fine. In the spirit of transparency, say that I do eat it," she said. "What will happen to me?"

Their coy confidence turned to surprise. "It's only ever been tested on a Muggle so we have no clue," George confessed matter-o-factly. "Hence it being such a great research opportunity."

"You'd be a pioneer," Fred finished, a stupid confident grin returning to his face. "Maybe even a legend."

Violet looked down at Fred's outstretched arm and plucked the brown ball from his hand. She stared at it skeptically and brought it up to her nose. It smelled just like normal toffee, but no way it was that simple.

The twins exchanged a nervous glance and she could tell that they were holding their breath.

They most likely doubted her ability to take a joke and were probably nervous about the outcome of their prank, if she did indeed fall for it.

She couldn't blame them, of course. Last year, Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy's toadies, joked about her mother being a muggle during the Halloween feast, and nearly the whole school had witnessed her merciless rebuttal. She stifled a smile, remembering the look on his face when she'd stuck her wand in his mouth and said "Langlock." His friends had scrambled and scratched to open his mouth again and Madam Pomfrey had about reached her wits end trying to figure out how to separate his tongue from the roof of his mouth. She wondered if they'd been there for that, but the sudden hesitation in George's smile told her they were well aware of her short fuse.

Lucky for them though, she didn't have enough energy to fly off the handle today.

She slipped her wand out of her bag and touched the tip to the toffee, muttering a revealing charm. "Specialis Revelio."

The twins lunged forward to snatch their sweet back, but she was quicker.

"An engorgement charm?"

"That's cheating," Fred protested.

"What is this?"

They stared at her with a mixture of defeat and annoyance.

"It's a ton-tongue-toffee," George said grimly. "The newest product from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

She remembered him talking about his plans for a joke shop constantly in Herbology, while his gaggle of admiring Gryffindors hung onto every word but she never thought he could be serious about such a stupid career endeavor.

She frowned. "That's idiotic."

"That's the whole point," Fred snapped. "It would've been funny if you hadn't taken the easy way out."

"What would have been funny?" she countered, relishing in their sudden mood shift from smug to perturbed. "Me casting a counter-charm as soon as I felt my tongue swelling? I thought you two were supposed to be good at pranks."

She tried to hide her delight at the ability to get under their skin. Their presence was unwelcome but not as completely intolerable as she had expected, even as their cheerful nature and goofy grins faded, they were almost bearable.

Suddenly, she saw something dark shift over George's gaze. "Well then eat it, if you're so sure."

Violet's eyes widened, unprepared for the confident challenge. Irritation moved swiftly through her chest. She tried to hide her nerves and glanced down at the ball in her hand. It would be easier to tell them to leave, or even get up and walk away but she couldn't let a Weasley best her.

If living inside of her head was her first flaw, then pride was her second.

Her eyes bore holes into George's, and regardless of what happened next, his look of shock was prize enough as she popped the lump into her mouth. The toffee was a little warm and soft but not inedible, she wondered if their mother had made it.

Her mouth was fuzzy before she even swallowed, and as she had suspected, her tongue began to swell profusely. She poked the tip of her wand to her tongue as it flopped out of her mouth, nearly reaching twice its size.

"Reducio."

The twin's mouths dropped open in shock before they exchanged a curious glance. Even though the counter-charm came out with a slight lisp, as quick as it had happened, her mouth closed around her normal-sized tongue, the caramel-like taste of toffee on her lips all that remained of the prank.

She broke her staring contest with George and glanced back to Fred, but neither looked like they were going to say anything.

Arrogance replaced her irritation and she just couldn't hold back.

"Had you not thought of that?" She asked with a smug smile. "I hope none of your other products are so easily reversible. Who would want to buy something so temporary? Faulty merchandise is hardly a way to run a business."

They both stared at her in displeasure, but George looked more enraged than anything, not that she cared about hurting his feelings. This was turning out to be quite fun, she thought.

"Well, you've been a lovely assistant," Fred said, trying to quell the tension and clearly over the situation. "C'mon Georgie, finding someone less capable than Wilkes will be a snap."

George didn't budge. He just stared back at her, his brow furrowed, like he couldn't remember her name anymore. The thoughtful expression was freaking her out. She waited for him to return to the annoying ginger twat who had entered her cabin without permission but his expression didn't change.

His eyes searched hers for something but she couldn't tell what. She chanted 'fuck off' in her head, hoping that he could see the sentiment reflected in her eyes.

How odd, looking at them now, they weren't identical at all. While Fred seemed to operate as their crazy motor, George was something else…steering wheel maybe? Regardless, she was glad their exchange was coming to an end.

"What would you suggest then?" George inquired with a sneer, standing up to follow his brother out the door. "Since you're so smart."

As if she'd help them.

George loomed over her, blocking her view of anything else. She stared up at him defiantly, not letting his size intimidate her. The question lingered in the thick air between them, ringing in her ears over and over. Surprisingly, she did indeed have an answer to his inquiry, not that she was going to say anything. They didn't deserve her help, even if she could mask it as superiority. She waited for him to leave but he seemed just as content sitting in their tension as she was.

He smirked and that threw her over the edge.

Besting him in his expertise would be a satisfying final nail in the coffin and he'd asked for it. She didn't mind him this way, begging her to intellectually best him.

"Potions," she blurted.

She watched his eyes widen. "What?"

"Potions," she repeated wearily. "If you had used Swelling Solution, it wouldn't have been detectable by a revealing charm and no one would take the time to brew its antidote. Victims would be stuck with a fat tongue until the effects wore off, which, apparently, is funny."

It had meant to sound smug but it came out too much like she was tutoring him in earnest. He looked just as surprised at her tone as she was and stood up a little straighter, before reaching for the door. She glanced down at her hands, aware of his eyes still on her, and cursed the sincerity in her voice, hoping he wouldn't take it seriously or respond.

Thankfully, the door clicked shut and his footsteps disappeared down the hall, without another word. She sighed in relief and stuffed the book back into her bag to finally go find Sadie.

Violet shook the strange interaction with the Weasleys from her head and pushed through, packed train car, after packed train car before reaching the self-anointed 'Slytherin Only' door. Out of all the options on the train, her house had managed to claim the worst one. The tables and benches were much more uncomfortable than the stuffy cabins and the openness of the room made every ride a free-for-all.

The window fogged from her breath for a moment but through the sea of green, black, and silver, she could just make out the short, dark-haired girl she'd been looking for.

She wove through the room, focusing on Sadie's scowling face, at the back table. She followed the witch's death glare to a gaggle of girls surrounding Draco Malfoy across the room, holding up some Quidditch pamphlet that was somehow making them squeal. She pushed through a group of large boys lurking around a few older sixth years and successfully made it the length of the train without anyone trying to speak with her, or leer something hurtful, which was prone to happen.

"I was beginning to wonder if you even got on," Sadie said.

"Please, hold your applause," she responded, thankful to hear her friend's voice after months apart.

Sadie smirked knowingly. "Did you yak?"

Violet sat on the bench across from her. "Nope. Almost threw myself out of the window near Manchester though, when the Weasley twins raided my compartment."

She thought about recounting the entirety of the strange interaction but decided against it, as Sadie already seemed perturbed enough.

"Merlin, those spazzy gits never take a day off. We haven't even started the school year yet," she murmured. "Please tell me you unleashed your wrath on them."

Before she could answer, a chorus of ooh's and ahh's erupted from the show going on at the front table.

"Oi get a room or shut the hell up," Sadie yelled, earning her more than a few dirty looks around the room and an especially sour sneer from Malfoy himself.

"Shove off, Baldock," Malfoy sneered.

Normally, Violet would've laughed but she didn't particularly feel like drawing attention to herself today so she turned to avoid his gaze.

"I swear, those girls should be over that albino twat by now," she scowled, staring daggers into Malfoy's back.

"Not everyone has your refined taste Sades."

Her friend fell silent, gazing towards the blond boy dreamily. "Vi, do you think I could kill him? Snap him like a twig or something?"

She laughed and turned slightly, ensuring that Malfoy's ominous gaze was off of them. "Surely he deserves a more painful death than that."

She shifted in her seat to rest the side of her face against the window and smiled at Sadie's hearty, murderous cackle. The cool glass quelled any queasiness left as she watched the sunset over Scotland, signaling that the ride was almost over. Despite her surroundings and previous disposition, it was quite beautiful.

As she has suspected, Sadie recounted the first couple hours of the ride with impeccable detail. Pansy Parkinson had gotten an unfortunate haircut, Theodore Knott had gotten hotter over the summer, and Malfoy wouldn't shut up about the Quidditch World Cup.

Her mind snapped to the dark mark once again. Of course, the Malfoy's had been in attendance.

"He was there?" she whispered across the table.

"Of course he was. As if his family would miss an opportunity to show off to the whole world," Sadie said rolling her eyes.

"What did he say about it?"

"Just the usual. Father this, ministers box that. Gloating twat."

"Did he say anything about the ending…about the Dark Mark?"

Violet's ears rang.

A forgotten picture she'd stumbled upon in her father's abandoned school photo album flashed in her mind once more. Lucious Malfoy swinging his arm around her uncle, clad in Slytherin robes, a year before the war started. Their smiling faces were unburdened from what was yet to come.

The same Lucious Malfoy who was charged with being a Death Eater, but ultimately exonerated.

Sadie shrugged. "Just that he saw Potter running scared like a little girl," she said plainly before launching into the details of her summer. It was the same every year; she fought with her sisters and mother all summer long, and then cried like a baby while saying goodbye to them on the platform.

Violet attempted to tune her out and glanced at the cruel blonde.

This was the closest she'd been to him in nearly two years. Ever since Lucious had recognized her father on the platform, she'd taken every precaution to dodge him in every meal, class, or school event, in order to avoid the things that he knew about her.

The image of both Malfoy's smiles twitching smugly as Lucious recanted the Wilkes family history to his monstrous son on the train platform flashed in her mind. Her father had ushered the family away, uncaring of the secrets that would follow her to school and unwilling to speak about it.

She knew he knew, and even though he had every opportunity to tell the whole school, he didn't. Or rather, hadn't yet, like she knew he would someday. She could tell that he was waiting for the most opportune time by the way he said half-blood, and blood traitor instead of her name and the way his eyes were always just a little too confident when regarding her. The anticipation and fear seemed to be torture enough, for him. Surely though, it was only a matter of time.

His presence suddenly became too much. The thought of sharing a room with someone so amused by the ridicule of anyone who wasn't of pure-blood made the taste of bile claw up her throat.

"Sades," she interrupted her friend who was still animatedly speaking. "Wanna head back to mine and change?"

The dark-haired witch nodded and chattered on.

She led them both back down the train, breathing freely again among less threatening red, blue, and yellow students. She was relieved to have Sadie rambling at her side, yelling at first years in their way, and shoving leering seventh-year boys back into the cabins.

They finally reached the last car, and suddenly, she felt her breath hitch in her throat. A tall redhead was leaning against the wall outside of her cabin. He was staring down at his shoes and muttering something. She couldn't tell which one it was from this angle but had a hunch.

Two times in one day? She must be cursed.

Her stomach tangled itself once more with nerves. Maybe he'd come back to enact some cruel revenge on her, for thwarting his prank. She gripped Sadies hand a little tighter, thankful to have her as a backup if things went south. The sound of her footsteps made him finally lookup. She wasn't expecting the expressionless look on his face, and suddenly she doubted that he wanted to harm her at all.

Sadie saw him not a second later and pushed past her, letting go of her hand and yelling, "Bothering her once wasn't enough, you back for more Weasley?"

George's calm face suddenly contorted into panic as Sadie shoved past him and into the cabin. Violet didn't move, and stared at him from a few paces away, unsure of what he was doing if not pranking her.

She hadn't noticed his height earlier when they were sitting, but now that she stood in front of him, it was a shock to be eye level with his chest. Concealing her nervousness to the best of her ability, she met his eyes.

"What?" She said deadpan, hoping to convey his unwelcomeness as much as Sadie had.

He furrowed his brow and looked down at the ground for a moment, failing to hide a flustered blush.

"Sorry…erm — I thought I forgot something —talk to you later," he mumbled through a forced smile. The sudden change in demeanor was surprising. His attempt at confidence was oddly manufactured and she saw, for the first time, a glimmer of shyness.

Git. He probably needed his brother for backup.

Before she could say anything, he brushed past her and sped down the hall and out the door.

"What the bloody hell was that," Sadie said, scrunching her nose in annoyance. "Freaks, the lot of them."

Violet's stomach detangled itself and she turned to watch the floppy long hair retreat from view. She nodded in agreement but kept her mouth closed.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update: Blood Wolf

Chapter 4

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Daud/The Outsider, but I’ll heavily focus on the Daud and his Whalers relationship

Rated: Mature to Explicit, Strong Violence and Gore Ahead!!

Synopsis: Daud-Centric Prequel to Wolfbann. Origin Story, pre-canon. Centers on how Daud turned, and his subsequent marking by the Outsider and his formulation of the Whalers. Notes: There probably won’t be nsfw content in this fic, but it WILL be… violent. I want to play with my own boundaries of written violence and also Daud’s start wasn’t nearly as clean as Corvo’s. Their contrast on dealing with the werewolf transformation is one of the things I want to really explore, and Daud gets very close to falling off the wagon.

CHAPTER TAGS: His hands do violence, but there is a different dream in his heart. Alternatively, Daud talks to the Outsider, saves a girl, frightens a medic. AO3 link

Previous ::  First :: Next

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Midnight, ???

The Month of Songs -- 1820

 Daud drew breath and it burned cold in his lungs. He checked himself; somehow, his clothes remained intact, untouched by… whatever had just happened to him. He lifted his gaze and when he inhaled again, it felt like gaseous seawater at the back of his throat. 

Where there once stood the Fink Manor, the house was now splintered, cracked, and floating into a vast, sky blue expanse. Though he was still standing in the pantry, the shrine humming next to him, the other two walls and the roof were destroyed as if by a bomb. A whale breached next to the stone platform this all stood on; it's massive eye met his briefly before disappearing down again. Daud felt his heart lurch. 

His hands flexed. He whirled back to the figure still watching him so adoringly. 

"What kind of game is this?" Daud asked, his chest still fighting to find air, still unsure if he was breathing water or not. The atmosphere was thicker here than it ever was in the waking world; not even the Serkonan summer had settled so heavily in his chest. Daud met those black eyes and refused to flinch. "Who are you?"

The entity just frowned, and something about that disappointment hit him like a carriage. He immediately regretted saying anything at all, especially something so pitiable, and he bowed his head in apology. A cold hand lifted his chin, forcing him to look back up into those glassy eyes. 

"Oh, Daud, you know who I am. Even if you never were the worshipping type…" A slender thumb ran over those wounds on his cheek and he shivered. "No, you're the gambling kind instead, aren't you? Betting with your life instead of coin. You've always been like this. Perhaps that's why I took such a liking to you in the first place."

"I don't understand," Daud said, his head feeling clouded under the touch of such an ancient being. "The Outsider is just a myth, a fantasy to keep children at home, to give nobles something to jerk off to, or to give the Abbey a scapegoat while they piss on the Strictures." He shrugged out of the Leviathan's hold, grabbing at the hand with his own. The Outsider watched the motion, his face full of glee at the contact. 

"Oh? It's not that complicated with me, Daud. You had a bet, remember? And I so wanted you to keep it." 

Daud frowned. He racked his brain, searching for the memory. As he did so, the Void around them warped, unbidden, and the Outsider smiled as a forgotten vision burst forth. Daud's eyes widened, looking up at two massive monsters fighting in a sewer. One was grey and malnourished, covered in boils and scars. And the other was a snarling mass of black fur, it's face glistening with dark blood that poured from fresh wounds that looked exactly like-- 

"What the fuck?" Daud's lip curled and he mirrored the black, wolflike creature of his memory. His tongue touched his teeth and found them sharp. The Outsider just grinned all the more. 

"I needed to save your life, or I would lose you before your story even began. So, I gave you the gift of your power a little earlier than others who have had the misfortune of being attacked by such a void-touched creature. Yes; you were cursed the moment those claws broke your jaw and split your throat, but I knew your tale wasn't so easily finished." The Outsider gave him a once-over, the gaze was so hungry it made Daud squirm. "You do not know your own importance and it is so splendid to behold."

There was a reverence there that Daud didn't trust, but it stirred something in his soul. "I'm just an assassin," he managed, taking a step away from the god of the Void. The Outsider just watched, but made no move to follow. 

"You will move the tides of the entire Isles, Daud."

"You sure about that," he sneered, his fists clenching. "I am cursed now, you said it yourself. Cursed. I am doomed to go mad, just like the beast before me." 

The Outsider held out his left hand. The smile he held was deadly. 

"Will you be worth my time, Daud?" 

Daud's lip twitched, wanting to refuse, but in the end, curiosity won. He relented.

"Bet," he growled, then gave his hand over to the Outsider to shake. As soon as he did, the back of his hand burned, seared as if branded with an iron. He hissed, not breaking his grip even as he turned his palm to see the back of it. There, glowing bright and smoking with arcane magic, a Mark appeared, one of an intricate arrow-and circle design. He stared at it, transfixed, as a new sort of power flowed through him. 

"My Mark," the Outsider said casually, running his hand over Daud's soothingly. "It will keep the beast of you at bay, give you the control you so desperately seek." He grinned, his eyes glittering maliciously. "But how long can you keep up that control? I wonder…" 

The god pulled Daud closer, dragging him in like the riptide. The Outsider smirked against his ear and Daud felt the shiver all the way down his spine. 

"Can you shape the world to your will, Daud?" He whispered, holding the statement between them like a secret. "Or will you be ruined by it?"

The Outsider pulled away, his smile far too knowing. 

"Until we see each other again." 

Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the Outsider was gone. His cold, suffocating presence fled from Daud and when he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Void. Instead, he was in the very real Fink Manor, the weight of reality far heavier than the pressures of the deep. Daud swallowed, first retrieving the runes from the shrine before stepping back across the pantry threshold. 

The house was in ruins. The rampage he had caused nearly razed the building; a pipe from the kitchen was spitting water, the pantry wall was burst and the dog and handler were lying dead at his feet. Down the hall, he could see evidence of his huge body crashing through doorways with little remorse and forethought. Blood splattered the walls and limbs settled in places far and away from their original owners. 

It was the sight of a massacre, one of Daud's own making. He choked on the bile clawing up his throat. 

This wasn't his handiwork. It couldn't be. Assassins were meant to be clean, quick, quiet. A good assassin left no trace of themselves behind; a great assassin could even clean and dispose of the body before someone found the scene of the crime. The City Watch was founded to try and protect the streets, but they could do nothing against men and women like him. The best of them were, in all ways, untraceable. 

If anyone saw this house, they wouldn't see the work of a trained killer. They would see a contained storm, or perhaps a Tyvian fanged bear set loose on a dare. 

They would see the work of a monster.

Daud silently stepped through the wreckage, spotting a woman -- a maid, by the clothing -- with her throat ripped open, the lines jagged and unclean from where her trachea was bitten into. A wolfhound, ripped in two; the other half, he could not find, no matter how hard he searched for it. It left him light-headed, slightly nauseous, considering he vaguely remembered Eustace's arm in his mouth, the blood in his jaws -- 

He retched dryly. He fought the sick that threatened to come up, not really wishing to repeat what happened on the roof earlier. Certainly, he didn't want to know or see what would come up if he succeeded in vomiting. With a monumental effort he kept it down, gasping for breath and running a shaking hand over his face. 

The fingers of his left hand traced over the new scars on his cheek and the sensation sent an intense shiver down his face and neck, all through his arm. He jerked his hand back away from his face, hissing in discomfort. The Mark on his hand burned for a moment, reminding him of his newest annoyance. He flexed his hand; the Mark lit up, itching, begging to be used. 

He pulled curiously at the power beckoning to him. His fingers immediately morphed into long, black claws; he yelped, shaking his hand out in surprise. The claws disappeared-- but the power remained. He frowned, trying again. He focused on one spot near the stairs; the Void grabbed him at his request, pulling him forward in a rush and leaving a trail of ash in his wake. 

Daud's eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. He had traversed 10 meters in just a moment, the Void whispering in his ear as he did so. It was heady, thrilling; he grinned, feral, and tried the power again. 

He landed in a nearby living room where he had ripped a couch in half and knocked a woman in fine jewelry into a wall, breaking her neck. He was about to jump through space again when he heard a squeak, a yelp; he froze, looking to the sound. 

What he saw brought a vice around his heart. A child, a girl, trapped under some fallen wood and plaster from the ceiling above. She caught sight of Daud and when Daud caught sight of her, her eyes shone with tears, threatening to spill over. 

"Sir…" she said weakly, her voice bubbling up, full of pain and fear. He rushed over, pulling his glove back over his left hand. She squirmed, choking in sobs. "Is it gone? Is-is...where did it go? That beast…" 

Daud shushed her gently, trying not to let shock set into his features even as his limbs ran cold. Of course the child didn't recognize him as the monster she witnessed slaughtering her whole family. "Don't use too much energy now, I'll get you out of there." He gently moved some plaster and she squealed in pain; he shifted a joist to the side and clenched his jaw tight. 

A large nail had impaled her tiny calf, the wound covered in blood, the color of it darkening her slacks. He looked at her carefully; she was staring at her leg and when she went to grab it, he caught her hand in his. 

"Do not touch it," he told her quietly. "You'll make it worse. How long have you been injured?" She just gripped his hand tight and shook her head as her chest heaved with swallowed cries. Void, she couldn't be older than eight.

"I don't know… it just hurts," she wept, her hands bloodied, her face pale. "My mother, she-she…" the child gulped, fighting for air. 

She was spiraling. Daud put a hand on her head, trying to ground her. "Hey, I'm here, okay? You aren't going to die. Did--" his mouth went dry, and he tried again. "Did the monster touch you?" As he asked the question, he dug through a pouch on his hip, his eyes darting down to look for a familiar lime-green vial. 

"No, I got trapped and then the dogs came and then…" her face screwed up in agony, and Daud had a feeling not all of it was physical. 

Did it have to be a child? He hated this, hated thinking he had let a kid see something so needlessly brutal. "It's going to be alright. I'm going to get you out of here. I'm not going to leave you to die on this nail."  

Her eyes met his for the first time all night, searching for the truth. He didn't waver, opting instead to hold her little hand tighter. He swallowed, and when he saw the returning trust in her eyes, he pulled out a small dart and showed it to her. 

"This is a sleep dart," he told her, holding it out for her to see. "It will put you to sleep for an hour or so. It will sting a little, but it will help lessen the pain, and it will help me get you off the nail without it hurting. Do you trust me with this?" 

What other options did she have? He knew she had very few, and there was nothing she could do on her own. She would die of infection here. 

She nodded, but grabbed his hand before he could administer the dose. "Wait," she said. "What is your name first?" 

He blinked. "Daud."

She smiled. "Daud, like Dad." That settled very unpleasantly in his stomach, but he did not correct her. "I'm Emma, it's nice to meet you." 

He nodded. "Likewise. Now, are you ready?" 

She let go and nodded. He adjusted the dose in the dart and then stuck it in her arm. Her eyes drooped; in the next few seconds she was asleep, and completely unaware. 

Daud moved as quickly as he could. He had some bandages on him, as well as a few rags for quick wound wrapping, but nothing sustainable. He got up, using the Void to rush through the house and find the bathroom. He looted it swiftly; the first aid kit would have to do for now. He transversed back to where she lay, still stuck to the nail. He breathed, then got to work.

Daud had a very strict policy on children when it came to assassination jobs, one that put him at odds sometimes with his colleagues in the business. Other assassins would happily off a whole family to prevent leaks or future loose ends. In a way, it was self-preserving more than anything; a dead child could not speak of what they witnessed. Sometimes, the hit was on the child itself; easy to poison an unwanted heir, for example.

But Daud… he wasn't in this line of work to slaughter kids. He left kids alive; he took parents away from the home if he had to, so that it looked like an accident. He had even dropped a child off at an orphanage, an unfortunate leftover from a hit he and Rulfio once conducted. Rulfio had argued with him about it, but they both decided it was better than ending up dead, abused, or in the Golden Cat. 

Never kill the kids. Not if he could help it. Whenever he saw a child, he saw a young Daud, stolen from his home, made to kill and perform for coin until he finally roused the courage to off his own abuser. 

Then Daud had run off to become a killer of bastards just like the one who abducted him. 

He frowned as he tightened the tourniquet and eased Emma's leg off the nail. The wound spurted with blood and Daud quickly staunched the flow as much as he could, before quickly wrapping the leg with bandages soaked in disinfectant. Through it all, the girl slept, and Daud sighed. This would not be enough, he knew; he worked his jaw, the scent of the blood and rubbing alcohol strong in his nose. He packed back up, lifting the girl carefully before shifting her so she was cradled in his right arm. His left fist clenched and he ignored the claws itching their way free as he jumped through the Void once again. He traveled back up the stairs, back to Eustace's room; the whole time, Emma slept. He kept a bead on her heart, the beat of it steady in his ears. 

The bedroom was even worse than the rest of the house. Eustace Fink's body was wretched apart, nearly unidentifiable. Daud neared the pile of human viscera, trying not to think of how he had lost control, bursting forth and slaughtering the man. 

Never again, he thought to himself, but even as he held the girl tight, he did not know the long-term validity of those words. 

He spotted his whaler blade and mask; he grabbed both, carefully sheathing the sword, then, after a moment of hesitation, he clipped the mask to his belt. He then pulled the audiograph from Fink's remains and carefully swept the room for anything else of value. 

A safe with gold ingots and 500 coin. A few choice books, stashed away. Notes from his brother-- Daud paused at these, frowning down at the ledgers.

  Eustace,

Jerome changed last week; he will be ready for challengers soon, so get those hound fighters excited for our next event! The first week of the month of Clans will be best. I will test this brute against the others; as a former assassin, I cannot believe how strong his killer instinct is! Brimsley was right; the stronger the person turned, the more likely they are to survive to put on a show! I don't expect the others to fare so well, but now we know that we at least have a sure-fire way to lure Dunwall assassins into a trap.

Be careful if you come down to the ampitheatre to see this dog, however. I can hear it in my mind… it taunts me, hates me, tries to overpower me. I always just shock it back into submission; it's so weak it can't carry out it's bigger threats. But Eustace… please. Your mind is not as strong as mine. Do not be swayed. These monsters of the Outsider are no longer human, like you or I, no matter what it says to you. 

Here is the list of the next possible brutes I have selected, and also the date for the next Hound Pits fight. Don't forget the fliers, we need the noble's coin to keep this up!

 The snarl that ripped through Daud was so strong and loud it shocked even him. The girl stirred but did not wake; he looked to the body of Eustace Fink and no longer regretted his fate. 

They truly had found some giant monster, one like him perhaps, that had attacked someone and then that person had turned. And then the next person, and then the next until they trapped an assassin -- Spirits. He knew Jerome, had seen him in passing; he was from Potterstead, was raised into the profession, was cleaner than all of them. Surgical, even. 

And he had been tortured into blindness, forced to fight dogs, and then Daud himself had…

Daud bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood. He scoured the room once more, then pulled out a bolt from his satchel on his belt. Carefully, he set the girl down in a chair, then readied his wristbow. Three incendiary bolts flew through the room, igniting expensive fabrics, flammable wallpaper, the remaining useless documents on the table. He watched the fire spread, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. He pulled the drag, then threw it into the growing flames.

Then, he secured his belt, carefully lifted Emma back into his arms, and left the burning wreckage of the home he single-handedly destroyed. 

------

It was another late night, one that Misha knew he would not be walking home from. It was well past midnight and even with the Watch prowling about, the Hatter's were likely to jump anyone unsuspecting, stealing money for months rent, or worse. So instead, he just sighed and closed the downstairs shutters, pulling the curtains in and locking the door. The one lamp still illuminated the front desk where his assistant had been sorting paperwork earlier; end of month books, on top of end of year numbers. His numbers had seen better days. Between the gangs clogging up the streets and his brothers getting caught up in hound fight gambling, he had lost more than he had recuperated. 

He missed his brothers. He did not miss them asking him for more coin every week of every month, effectively bleeding him dry. 

He had tried a few times to dissuade them, but all in vain. They were his brothers, two versus his one. They knew how to guilt him, especially with the death of their mother hanging over the practice like a cloud. So he had given them what they asked for, knowingly enabling them like a bar enables a drunkard, and hoped everything would be okay in the end. 

It wasn't okay. His brothers were presumed dead and he had no money for a dying practice. All he could do was try to set the remaining things right. Hiring the assassin gave him a grim sort of satisfaction, some twisted sense of justice. After the deed was done, he'd file with the Watch, see if their bodies couldn't be recovered. The hardest part was between step one and step two; waiting for the completed assassination.

As he headed up the stairs to retire to his office for the night, he stopped at the calendar on the way up. He looked at the final week of Clans-- then put an X over the 28th day, the last day of the month. Four other angry Xs precede the 28th, all counting down from when he and Daud had come to their agreement. He frowned, flipping the calendar to Songs. 

Daud had said that his job took time, but gave no frame of reference to ease Misha's worries. He sulked for a bit at the calendar on the wall before finally moving on, entering the office and lighting the desk lamp easily. He then -- as he had done so every night for the past four nights -- went over to the terrace and moved to unlock it, just in case Daud returned with news and wished to enter the way he had initially done. 

He didn't expect the man to suddenly appear before him in a swirl of ash and smoke. He also didn't expect the small, pale body Daud was carrying in his arms, either. 

And he certainly didn't expect Daud's face to be visible, his eyes burning, long scars cutting valleys into his otherwise young face. 

Misha gaped. He fumbled with the latch, pushing the door open to give Daud more access. The assassin pulled in a ragged, tired breath. 

"Daud--" Misha started, following the other man as he swiftly entered the office. "What happened? Is Fink--"

"Dead," Daud said, the roughness of his voice contrasting how gingerly he handled the body in his arms. "I need your expertise. Do you have a table?" 

Misha glanced towards the small figure and nodded, pushing open the far door; it led to a small operating room, separate from the others and one that he used for special cases. He turned on the light over the table as Daud placed a small child -- Void, a child -- down onto it. She was asleep but her breath was shallow, sweat beading on her brow. Her leg was bandaged, but it was already bleeding through, the blood dark and angry. 

Misha immediately let himself still, evaluating this new, sudden patient. His emotions detached, and his brow furrowed in focus. He quickly grabbed gloves and sharply demanded, "Tell me what happened."

Daud hesitated, then, "Nail. She impaled her leg on a nail. Got trapped in the home." 

"And you just took her?" 

"Everyone else was dead." He said it softly, as if full of remorse. Misha knew the time for questions was now past. Instead, he got to work. He unraveled the leg and pulled over a bowl, cleaning solution, and a syringe. 

"I used a sleep dart on her," Daud explained. "I don't know how much longer the sedative will last."

Assassin sleep darts, he knew, were usually sodium pentothal, and at the dose Daud probably used, the girl would still be down for a while. Still, a local anaesthetic wouldn't be a bad idea. 

"Here, be useful. My usual assistant isn't here so I will need your help cleaning this." Daud complied, then began the task of fetching anything that Misha asked of him. Sutures, clamps, saline solution, scalpel, magnifier, light. The girl whined in her sleep, and Daud, surprisingly, was there for her, holding her hand in a heavy glove. It wasn't long before her leg was properly cleaned and closed, the sutures staying as he carefully bandaged the leg back up. 

"If all goes well and the wound stays clean, her leg will survive," Misha sighed, pushing tiredly away from the girl and removing bloodied gloves. Daud just nodded, watching the girl carefully as she slept. A whisper tickled at the back of Misha's head and he grimaced, scratching at his hair. The movement made Daud's head jerk to look at him, inhuman and unnatural. 

It was now that Misha was actually able to get a good look at the face of his hired hitman. He had short black hair, styled back and out of the way, though now it was tousled and out of place. His eyes were a striking blue, but not in the way that left him feeling flustered. Instead, they were like ice, splintering into his chest and making him feel as if a wild predator was evaluating his continued existence. The scars on his face tugged as he frowned; the longest line cut from his right forehead all the way down over his throat,a and the second longest also sliced through his cheek alongside the first. The last two sat partially hidden under his chin, over his throat, and Daud's frown deepened as he caught the doctor staring.

Misha's face flushed. He was never one to hide his feelings well, and definitely not as easily as a hardened assassin. 

"Daud..." he started, trying to cover the intrusion. The assassin suddenly stood up, his hand flat on the table, challenging and threatening Misha to continue speaking.

"Go on, say it," Daud said, dangerously soft. "Others already have. They didn't have to be a doctor or an assassin to know I shouldn't have survived -- this." He waves at his neck, as if disgusted by the scars. 

Upsetting an assassin seemed to be a poor life decision. Misha chose his next words carefully. 

"You need to clean up, and you seem invested in the child. Would you like to stay the night, to at least be there when she wakes up?" 

Daud's face immediately closed off. Again, something itched at the back of Misha's head, and he tried to rub it away. A whisper, almost… indecision? Misha had not expected an emotion to come forth. When he questioned it mentally, it disappeared, so still he shrugged it off as imagaination. He watched Daud as he pulled his face out of the lamplight and back into shadow, his eyes still bright in the gloom. His fist clenched. 

"No, no, I'd rather not. I've already done enough to ruin her life." He looked around the office and then, finding what he was looking for, went to fetch it. 

Misha almost missed it; Daud's left hand twitched and then suddenly, in a rush of ash, he was across the room, and then back. Misha gaped as Daud scrawled words over the paper he had fetched, then handed the paper to Misha. 

"Outsider's eyes," he breathed out, but the look on Daud's face silenced him. 

"This address; when she's well, take her there. Tell them Daud sends his regards, and hopes Jason is well. Also--" 

He pulled a purse from his satchel, setting it down. "That's for the girl." Then he pulled out a whole gold ingot and handed it to Misha. "And this is for you."

Misha gaped. He'd never seen so much gold -- he shook his head, holding his hands up. "What--! I can't accept this-- Don't tell me that you are paying me for--" 

"Don't worry, I have another," Daud assured. "I made sure I'd be paid well for this too. Besides, I told you, 'half now--'" he pushed the ingot to Misha more insistently. "'half later.' Here's your half, later." 

Misha gulped. He had a feeling that Daud was not going to take no for an answer. He acquiesced, gently taking the gold, and the assassin relaxed. He stood back, giving Misha some space. 

"Don't spend it all in one place," he suggested, a dry attempt at humor. Misha managed a tired smile in return. 

"Am I allowed to offer my appreciation, now?" 

Daud said nothing. He looked away. 

"May we be blessed to never meet again, Misha Romanov." 

Misha, personally, did not see that as a blessing-- but perhaps, given Daud's line of work, it was for the best. He nodded, not wishing to argue with a man who could so easily murder him. 

"Regardless… Thank you, Daud." 

Those prickled whispers returned, just as Daud met his eyes. There was something mildly astonished in his gaze, and Misha tried not to push away the foreign white noise that invaded his mind. Instead, somewhere in there, he thought -- imagined, he reminded himself -- that he caught the faintest expression of " You're welcome."

As quickly as it built up, the emotion was gone-- and so was Daud. Misha blinked, putting a hand to his ringing ear. He looked to the open terrace and was suddenly filled with the urge to follow, to rush out to the balcony so he did, throwing the doors apart in his wake. He breathed the night air and there he was, on the opposite rooftop, eyes and scars burning, even in the dark. Daud looked back at Misha; their eyes met. 

Daud's left hand raised, smoking and black. His fist clenched. 

And in a flurry of ash and wind, he was gone.

[sermacsteph]

Clan Lavellan, Falon’Din Enasal Enaste

The woods near Wycome were quiet. The only sounds were the whistling of a gentle breeze amongst the leaves; the faintest sounds of wildlife: a fennec rustling amongst the fallen leaves, the distant song of birds in the trees above. It was peaceful, and in another world - another time, Estelle Lavellan would have found more joy in a walk in the woods. Had once run through the trees, with light and laughter, chasing his friend as she swung through the branches.

But that had been a time before the breach and Corypheus. A time before he had been made Inquisitor and made choices that would doom those he cared about. A time when his clan, his family, had still been alive.

Now, Estelle walked in subdued silence as they headed for the spot on their map - where Charter had marked a rough estimation of Clan Lavellan’s location before the humans fell upon them. Since they’d entered the woods that all too familiar grief weighed heavily on his heart.  Beside him, Dorian made no attempt to break the silence but remained a comforting presence. He was glad that Dorian had offered to come with him, he wasn’t entirely sure he could have done this by himself.

Originally, they’d come to Wycome to deal with the last of the Venatori in the area. One last mission together before Dorian returned to Tevinter. It had been somewhat satisfying to finally take down those who had sowed the seeds that had led to the humans turning on the Elves. Yet Estelle couldn’t just leave, not without seeing the woods that had become Clan Lavellan’s last resting place - without saying goodbye.

Though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Over the past few years as Inquisitor, Estelle had seen far too many killing sites then he cared to count. Had seen far too many sites of massacres, of past battles across both Orlais and Ferelden. Though many of them had been recent by the time they’d reached them, with perhaps the exception of the Exalted Plains. It had been two years since the massacre that had left both the city Elves of Wycome and Clan Lavellan dead - blamed for a plague that wasn’t their fault. 

A knot of trepidation twisted in his stomach, making him stop dead in his tracks. What awaited them in that clearing? Would bones be scattered about, picked clean by the wildlife? Or would nature have claimed the area completely, wiping away any evidence of the atrocities that had happened beneath its trees.

‘Amatus?’

Estelle blinked, the sound of Dorian’s voice jolting him from his thoughts. ‘I’m … all right. I just need a moment.’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ said Dorian quietly, watching him with concern. ‘We can turn back if you need to.’

‘And miss the chance to explore such a peaceful wood with you, vhenan?’ Estelle replied, he tried for a smile but wasn’t really sure he’d managed it. ‘You know, our clan had this tradition that if you paired with someone outside the clan, on the first walk back to camp…’ he trailed off, running a hand through his hair. ‘Guess I never imagined it like this though.’

No, it wouldn’t have been at all like this. They would have been able to hear voices floating towards them through the trees, the sounds of laughter, the little ones chasing each other. His best friend, Ellana, would have been here teasing him, endlessly. Keeper Deshanna welcoming them with open arms and a warm smile. Estelle wondered how they would have thought of Dorian. Some of the clan might have had reservations given Dorian was from Tevinter. But Estelle had little doubt that he and Ellana would have gotten on tremendously and he’d most likely have regretted letting the two meet. But now, Estelle guessed he would never know.

His chest tightened. That horrible ache twisted inside him, stealing his breath. Tears burned his eyes and Estelle tried to blink them back furiously. He heaved a shuddering breath as he felt Dorian take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Estelle had always known this would be difficult, but the idea of leaving Wycome without saying goodbye, without saying the prayers he’d been unable to say two years ago - it didn’t sit right with him. 

‘Now, I know you like being stubborn,’ said Dorian, ‘but if you need to leave, just say the word and we’ll leave, all right?’

Estelle nodded, giving him a grateful smile. ‘Come on, let's get this over with.’

They ventured a little further into the woods. The trees were closer together here, the leaves above blocking out the sunlight above as an unseasonable mist curled its way between the trees. Estelle shivered, a chill spider walking down his spine. 

‘The veil, it's thin here,’ said Dorian, ‘you can feel the spirits pressing against it.’

Estelle could feel it too. That didn’t bode well, the veil was always thin where so many deaths had happened. He’d seen proof of that across the Exalted Plains a few years ago. But the last thing they needed right now, was to have to fight demons. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words never left as they entered the clearing.

Broken, burnt out aravels littered the clearing, covered in dead leaves and draping vines. The torn red sails, gently fluttering in the breeze. Desiccated remains lay strewn throughout, the barest scraps of cloth the only way to tell if they’d once been Elves or Human.

‘Vishante kaffas,’ Dorian muttered.

Estelle could only stare, unable to take his eyes off what lay before them. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this. He remembered Deshanna’s last words: “live well Da’len, you carry Clan Levallan with you. They are coming for us.” as he looked around at the carnage that had clearly happened here, it was far too easy to imagine what had happened. How the shems had fallen upon the camp. How the hunters tried to defend those who couldn’t flee or defend themselves but in the end they had been vastly outnumbered.

He raised a shaking hand to his mouth, an angry sob catching in his throat. They hadn’t deserved this. Clan Lavellan had always maintained as much of a civil relationship with the humans as possible, unlike their fellow clans. But now the humans had turned on them, caught up in a Venatori plot that Estelle had no doubt aimed to get to him. Clan Lavellan’s only crime - to be the clan of the Inquisitor. 

A spark of colour, a tiny flash in the sunlight, caught Estelle’s eye. Stumbling forwards, he fell to his knees only to fall back with a cry as he brushed aside the leaves. Beneath them: a slender pair of daggers, their blades rusted and crusted with old blood and on the withered corpse beside them was the rusted remains of a bracelet, its original colour long since dulled.

‘Amatus?’

He felt Dorian behind him, staff in hand. But Estelle didn’t turn around - couldn’t tear his eyes away from the remains of his best friend. Ellana never went anywhere without those daggers, their bone hilts skillfully engraved with leaves - Estelle would have recognised them anywhere. And the bracelet… with a trembling hand he carefully lifted the bracelet free, the metal cool against his fingers, the barest tingle of magic.

Ellana had such a knack for getting into trouble, that Estelle had spent the few weeks before leaving for the conclave figuring out how to place a barrier spell within the metal. It had taken many failed attempts and he’d only been successful when he finally caved and asked for Deshanna’s help. 

‘Has anyone ever told you, you worry too much,’ Ellana had teased, when he’d given it to her.

‘If you didn’t have such a knack for getting yourself into trouble, I wouldn’t,’ Estelle had replied with a slight smirk as she pulled a face. ‘But… if you don’t want it -’

‘Hey! I never said anything about not wanting it!’ Ellana had snatched it back then, immediately slipping it on to her wrist. ‘You better stay safe, lethallin.’

A choked sob escaped him at the memory. Ellana had been like a sister to him and now she was gone. Gone, and there was no way he could ever get her back. Gone, just like Deshanna, just like the rest of the clan and his parents before them. There was no way he could ever make it up to them, could never make it up how much he had let them down. Deshanna had asked for his help and he had sent one of Leliana’s agents to assassinate the Duke without thinking what that might look like, the repercussions that might have on the elves.

Estelle crumpled in on himself, no longer able to contain the sobs that racked him. Tears stung his eyes, slipped down his cheeks. He had made a mistake and Clan Levallan had paid for it with their lives.

‘Mythal’enaste. I’m sorry, lethallen,’ he whispered. ‘I should have been here. I should have done something - chosen differently. I’m so sorry.’

He felt Dorian’s arms wrap around him. ‘Shh, it wasn’t your fault, amatus,’ he said, pressing a kiss to his temple. ‘You did the best you could with what information was available to you.’

Estelle wished he could believe him. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in Dorian’s shoulder as he felt him gently rubbing circles into his back, fingers threading through his hair. A part of him knew that Dorian was right, yet he still felt like he had let them down. That there was more he could have done to learn about the Venatori’s plot and sooner.

When at last the sobs had subsided, Estelle wiped his eyes and looked around at the scene that surrounded them. They’d already lingered here longer than was perhaps wise but … he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them like this. They deserved better, they deserved the funeral rites of their people even if Estelle wasn’t entirely sure how they could achieve that.

‘We can’t leave their remains like this,’ he said, ‘they… they deserve better than this.’

Dorian looked around them thoughtfully, before asking, ‘how do your people honour their dead?’

‘Well … remember the Var Bellanaris in the Exalted Plains?’

‘Ah, wasn’t that the one that was filled with demons?’

‘The entire Exalted Plains was filled with demons, but yes,’ said Estelle managing a small smile. ‘When one of the Dalish dies, they’re buried in the Var Bellanaris if their clan are either close by, or are able to make the journey. Otherwise, they’re buried with an oak staff and cedar branch and plant a tree over them.’ he paused, glancing around the clearing. A feeling of helplessness settled over him, he would never be able to give them their true burial rites. ‘We’re too far away to make it to the Var Bellanaris, I’m not even sure how we could even get them their if we could… and I don’t have the right things to be able to bury them …’

He trailed off, realising he was rambling. He hadn’t thought to try and find the things he would need before coming here - it hadn’t even occurred to him that he would need to perform the funeral rites.

‘Hmm,’ Dorian said thoughtfully, ‘we could light a pyre for them within one of the aravels. True, it might not be what is custom but it's as close as I can think of.’

Estelle merely nodded. Maybe it wasn’t tradition but, it was better than nothing - better then leaving their remains in the open. He owed them that much at least.

They worked in silence, moving the remains, wrapping them in the tattered red fabric of the aravels’ sails. It was grim work, and even with Dorian’s help and the use of magic, it was slow going. Estelle became far too aware once more of his missing forearm, how long they had already spent here and the spirits pressing against an all too thin veil. But he kept going. He wasn’t about to let his clan down a second time.

When they were done, they placed the remains within the least broken aravel, making sure it wasn’t near anything that would easily catch the flames. Then, after a momentary pause, Estelle reached out his hand, pulling the magic through the veil with far too much ease. With a clenched fish, flames enveloped the aravel and the bodies inside.

Estelle knelt before the pyre, watching as the flames took the last remains of  Clan Lavellan. Smoke stung his eyes, made them water, but he refused to look away. He felt Dorian’s hand come down gently on his shoulder and Estelle let that touch anchor him for a moment - reminding him that whilst his clan, his family were gone, he was not alone. With a shaky breath, he finally said the prayers he should have said two years before:

‘Ellana Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Deshanna Ismathoriel Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Clan Lavellan, Falon’din enasal enaste. Dareth Shiral.”

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (eventual Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

chapter 5 - professional secrets

SFW, we finally meet our new friend. there's some slightly spicy language and blood but nothing much. around 3.2K words.

The sudden realization that he was not alone made his skin crawl.

Heisenberg instinctively reached for his hammer, scouted his surroundings for any piece of metal he could find. The pots rattled and he heard the cauldron swing violently, the stranger protesting with a sigh of frustration as she tried to steady the cooking pot. He made a sharp turn to watch her, eyes trained on her every move as he prepared to defend himself. “I am sorry to disappoint - even the nails of this house are made of wood.” She snickered, not seeming to mind him at all, having gone back to stirring the stew, humming what he recognized as a lullaby. “Take a seat, make yourself at home.”

There was something familiar about her, perhaps the way she held herself, or the tone of her voice. She looked nothing like the hag, was taller and much younger, too, but something told him they were one and the same.

She turned around and stared openly at him with a small smile, far too friendly towards a rugged stranger who had just invaded her home and knocked together all of her cast iron pans with a slight flick of his hand. Her clothes were simple, a long linen skirt the color of moss, white buttoned shirt with gathered sleeves and embroidered flowers. A colorful apron was tied around her waist, its pockets stuffed with dried herbs and wooden utensils. Her raven hair was pulled back to keep it away from her face, though a few unruly curls insisted on framing it ever so gently. She was the very picture of a peasant villager, while looking nothing of the sort. She had the garments and sheepish expression, but none of the devotion and fear. There were calluses on her hands from working the land, freckles on her face from being under the sun day after day, and despite it all her skin looked warm, soft to the touch, promised delights he had never experienced.

Eerily beautiful, mysterious, sinister. Voice of velvet with a hint of malice. If he were ever to be lured into the embrace of a mythical creature only to be eaten alive not long after, she would be the one to do it. The prospect of such a gruesome death, for some reason, only served to pique his interest.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit? How can I be of service, Lord Heisenberg?” There was absolute certainty in her voice, like they had spoken many a time before. It was no surprise that she knew him, of course. After all, one had but to step inside the village church to see a picture of his handsome face alongside his adorable little family. He had never seen her, however, not in the fields nor the church, not in the masses nor the harvest festivals. Surely he would remember, such striking beauty and poised demeanor that would rival any noblewoman. She far surpassed the fabled Dimitrescu daughters, and that she was still alive was evidence enough to tell him she was not seen very often. Alcina did not suffer competition.

“In need of a curative or ointment?” There was homeliness in her grace, somehow, a simplicity one would not find among finery and expensive wine. She poured herself a cup of tea as she spoke, motioned in his direction as if to offer him some. The cup was neatly stacked upon others in the cabinet when he did not take it, and she shrugged her shoulders as if disappointed. The table set for two, the second teacup put away when he refused the offer. Had she been expecting him?

Like she had heard his very thoughts, the woman pulled a chair and gestured for him to sit, moving about with little discomfort for his presence. It felt as if he was no esteemed visitor, no frightening intruder, but a frequent houseguest, someone who had visited a thousand times over and needed no coaxing or guidance to make themselves comfortable. It was strangely heartwarming, the way he felt like he could kick off his boots and sit beside her on the couch to chitchat, open the cabinets to find himself a snack. He could sit cross-legged on the woven rug and pet the dog in front of the fireplace, sit by the table to study his plans with only the crackling of the fire as background noise.

She pat his shoulder reassuringly as she crossed the room to check on the stew, her touch lingering just a second too long, hips swaying to a tune only playing inside her head. The domesticity of it all was soothing, but also infuriating. He had not come for pleasantries, to sip on tea while they laughed over the latest village gossip. He had come to bind and gag her, to drag her all the way back to a castle that would become her final resting place. Somehow, he was sure the idea of being tied and manhandled would actually please her.

“Seeking a nice massage to alleviate the pressure on those shoulders?” She continued when his silence persisted, the teacup left behind on the kitchen counter as she reached up to a shelf littered with glass bottles. Crimson painted fingernails ran along the labels to pull a flask that looked harmless enough, though his knowledge of toxins was too limited to be sure. He recognized the liquid inside it as a fragrant oil, a drop hitting the skin on the back of her hand before she gave it a good rub as if to test it.

A massage would be nice, he had to admit, decades of sibling rivalry and impending doom for being part of a cult that worshiped a gross looking blob of mold taking a toll on his soul. He could picture it, his trench coat finally sliding off his shoulders after such a stressful day, her nails scratching against his skin as she pulled his shirt over his head. She would tell him to make himself comfortable on the bed or the couch, but he’d refuse it; he hadn’t laid in a bed in years, and at this point he was afraid of trying. Instead he would hold his head in his hands as he sat forward on the dining chair, for once trying to push away the thoughts that always raced through his mind. He knew he would lose his composure as soon as her hands touched the tender spots on his shoulders, a groan and his worries escaping his lips. He figured she would listen and hum appropriate responses as he wove the tales of his woes. It was hard to picture how it would all go, what relaxation truly felt like after so many decades of stress. Maybe he could stay a little longer, take her offer, and-

What the fuck was he thinking? His own inner contradictions were driving him up the wall; her friendliness was wearing on him more than Alcina’s rudeness ever did.

Once again she shrugged when he rejected her offer, made her way to the chair he hadn’t taken and sat down with her steaming cup of tea in her hand once more. They are dangerously close now, he is still frozen in place between the dining table and the fireplace - like an idiot. He could touch her from here. He could kill her from here. She scrunches her nose when again he says nothing, smells the air before saying: “Are you sure you do not wish me to draw you that bath?”

That is just about enough to set him off. The stunt with the horse, the illusions with the creature and the hag, the tricks with the lycan heads, and now this. Heisenberg saluted her fearlessness in the face of near certain death, could appreciate the confidence that exuded from her despite being in the presence of the most powerful lord of the village. Enough, however, is enough. He closes the distance between them in a flash, footsteps too loud in the silence of the cabin, and finds that his hand fits perfectly around her pretty little neck. He can hear the teacup in her hand fall and shatter somewhere beneath them, the chair comes along for a few steps as he drags her before it falls to the ground, but she wouldn’t live long enough to clean up the mess. He has her off the floor and slams her hard against the nearest wall, satisfied with the sound her body makes as the surprise knocks the wind right out of her. Teach her to shut her fucking mouth.

He watches closely for the terror in her eyes, waits for her strained voice to beg, please, Lord Heisenberg. It always made him feel dirty when they begged, made him feel like he was no better than any of his siblings, but just this once, he will allow himself to enjoy it. He seeks terror, yet all he finds is wickedness. Even so close to her demise, with his fingers tightening against her wind pipe, she does not fear him. He opens his mouth to speak, to yell, to tell her to shut it and announce that she is dying tonight, not because he wanted to, but because she had done away with his patience. Her hand snakes its way up his chest and arm to reach his own, holding it almost lovingly, nails scratching the skin ever so softly just like he had imagined, but somehow better, so much better.

“I was expecting something more romantic over dinner,” she finds the strength to speak, her voice almost a purr. “But I do like the eagerness.” His fingers clutch her neck a little tighter. In any other situation, this would have been enough to convince him to fuck her senseless. He liked himself a feisty partner, someone who didn’t bow their head to him, a challenge at last. But not now, not when he was pissed off and tired and sweating as if it was summer outside.

“Oh, you’re not going to like it when I’m done with you,” he pauses to pull her and force her back against the wall, the boards shaking with the impact. “Sweetheart.”

“Is that a promise, my lord?” Her eyes burn with something not quite like desire, contradict the deep turquoise and calmness of her irises. The hand around her neck is bloody, glove and flesh torn where the lycan had bit him, and her tongue darts out of her mouth to get a taste. The smile she gives him makes a delicious heat pool at the bottom of his stomach, sliding down dangerously close to his navel. He is deciding between choking her to death, biting a piece of her face off or bashing her skull in, lips contorted in a wicked smile, when he feels his fingers grasp at nothing, balance lost as he topples over and hits the wall with full force. There is a hollow thud when his nose hits the wooden boards, blood dripping down onto his chin. It takes him a moment to register that she has, somehow, slipped away from him, ducked under his arm to make her way back to the bubbling pot on the fireplace. She continues to hum the stupid lullaby and treat him like a harmless peasant.

“Are you staying for dinner, my lord?” She speaks as if nothing has transpired in the past few minutes. Like he hadn’t gone through the painfully embarrassing experience of threatening her with a very noticeable and contradicting bulge in his pants, right before he lost his balance - and dignity - and broke his nose against her living room wall.

He hadn’t felt this humiliated in decades. There are no words to describe the rage that courses through his body, although the snarl he pushes through gritted teeth might be good enough indication. Heisenberg braces himself against the wall, wipes the blood off his face on the sleeve of his coat. Plan B: shove her head into the fire and then choke her.

“Oh, let me take a look at that,” is all she says when he turns around, a piece of cloth in hand as she guides him to a dining chair. There is no time for his explosiveness, for his plans to be put into motion; for reasons not at all clear to him, he can do nothing but play along. She lifts his chin with such grace that he is unsure how to feel. The beast in the forest held him with the same care. He could deal with quite a range of emotions: anger, hatred, disgust, some more anger. This nobody had ever done to him - shown him kindness, cared for him. Miranda had tried, in her own awkward way, but never again after she had deemed him a failure.

It feels good to be at a loss for words, he notices, to have choice and violence taken away from him for just a few minutes. To let himself waddle in the silence of his empty mind, a tender touch to ground him and nothing else. It feels good, but awkward, and he shuffles to find something, anything, to talk about.

“You’re the monster in the woods then?” He asks as he looks away, too busy trying to justify to himself the absurdity of the situation. Here he is, sitting in a chair that is about to give under his weight, in the middle of the woods after petting a dead horse and almost being swallowed whole by a goat-human hybrid. The woman he was sent to kill is now gently caressing his jaw with the hand that holds his chin up as if to comfort him, the other busy soaking up the blood coming out of his broken nose. The embarrassment far outweighs the pain, but there is no sign of judgment in her features. It helps.

“Yes, sir.” She answers with a proud smile. “I am a healer by trade, you see. A little knowledge of plants can go a long way, especially in such a quaint, isolated little village like yours.” she smushed his nose in as if to prove a point. “Is that the reason you have come to me, my lord?”

“Funny thing,” he begins with a chuckle and ends with a whimper as she wiggles the cartilage on his nose. “I was sent to take you back to the village as a prize to the one and only Lady Dimitrescu. That, or kill you. Although she would prefer you alive.” Heisenberg observed her closely, hoping to catch a glimpse of something other than friendliness. If she had heard of him, surely she had heard of Alcina, and the horrible things she put women like her through. “Monsters don’t usually get a reputation for mixing poultices.”

She nods calmly, too busy with her ministrations to care. “Must preserve some professional secrets, now, mustn’t we? What is that you would prefer? Alive, dead? What can I help you with?” Her question is a simple one, although it feels as if it weighs far more than it was supposed to.

“Unless you can kill a century-old monster, my darling, there is little you can do for me.” His answer is pure sarcasm, and she does not seem to care. Her head tilts slightly to the side as if she is considering her options, as if, you know, maybe she can do that. “The fog in the forest - that you?” There is no hesitation when she nods. “Overgrown stallion?” Another nod. “Eldritch abomination? Sickly hag?” A throaty hum of approval. “Not bad.”

“Would you be so kind as to let me live, my lord?” She has her back turned as she speaks, perusing a tall shelf over the couch. The bleeding in his nose has stopped, and he realizes she has slipped the torn glove off his hand without him noticing. “I would be most interested in such a prospect.” There was a touch of drama in her words that he appreciated. When she turns back around, she looks and sounds more like a person than a character out of an old romance. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” The woman returns with clean linens in her hand, a bottle of antiseptic and a pincushion in the shape of a pumpkin. He is unsure whether the needle and thread is meant to sew his glove or him back together.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he makes to rise from the chair but never does, a firm hand placed on his shoulder.

“Allow me to fix that at least.” He sighed in defeat as he sat back down. It crossed his mind that he had no reason to comply, but did regardless. “And I insist you take a bowl of stew.” Her hands were back on his face before the could muster a response, more determination behind her movements this time. “This will only take a moment,” she explains, two fingers pinching the sides of his nose. A wiggle and suspicious crack later, and it was like the pain had never been there. Her hands were clean, as was his face, not a trace of blood anywhere. Quite the miracle worker, wasn’t she?

They remained quiet as she worked, his injured hand splayed against the wooden table. The burn of the antiseptic was good to keep him alert, to pull him away from his embarrassment. She expertly dabs onto the wound to cleanse it, her touches featherlight. The dog awakens from its nap with a stretch and a yawn, bounds up to him with a happy tail wag. Heisenberg pets its head with his free hand, the dog’s tongue peeking out in glee as it settled down at his feet. The shaggy yet adorable fleabag manages to distract him long enough for her to finish dressing his wound. “All good.” She announces, and he turns over to stare at his hand, expecting to see vestiges of blood and a nasty bite mark. He peeks under the bandage to find that it is merely aesthetic at this point, for there is nothing but perfectly healed, clear skin under it, a very faint half-moon scar where the infection should be. He looks at her in confusion and all she offers is a charming wink. Professional secrets.

Heisenberg spotted his hat placed neatly on the couch, and his hammer right beside it, though he did not recall how they had come to be there. He once again began to feel like himself with the weight of the hammer in his hands and the raggedy hat in its rightful place atop his head. Charismatic, glib Heisenberg, confident as all hell and twice as clever. Cold, calculating Heisenberg, who had been given an opportunity and bargaining chip and wouldn’t let his anger get the best of him. His fingers had reached for the doorknob when she poked him, a small lidded pot fastened with fabric in her hands.

“Take a left at the crossroads and I trust you will have no issues finding your way back.” She handed him the bowl with a smile, as did he in return. “I hope to see you again soon. Godspeed, Lord Heisenberg!” Were her last words as she pushed the door closed, and just like that, he found himself once again in the foggy forest, nothing behind him but trees and the sound of critters roaming the night.

[aipilosse]

Prophetic Tears

For @finweanladiesweek, Day 4: Later generations

Summary: Idril Celebrindal’s life with a Cassandra twist

Idril felt like her fear was closing in on her, shrinking her world until it was like looking out from a deep tunnel. She finally told her mother, feeling foolish; she was thirty years old, practically an adult. After she tearfully told Elenwë of her waking visions of darkness swallowing them both, the ground opening and icy spears springing out, her mother had taken her a few paces away from the main group to help her talk through her fears.

Elenwë walked with her on the ice, gripping her hand.

“I will not say there is no reason to fear, for we travel to a land of great peril. But your father and I will always protect you, and teach you to protect yourself.”

“Amil, it’s not monsters I’m afraid of.”

Elenwë stopped and looked at her, her brow creased. 

A loud crack rang through the air, and the next moment Idril was immersed in water so cold it felt like burning.

~

At first, she kept trying to warn others when dread slithered into her mind. They looked at her in pity.

“It’s no wonder she sees danger everywhere she looks, after Elenwë died the way she did.” She read the sentiment in their looks, and heard it whispered when they thought she could not hear.

When her father confided in her, and told her of his plans for Gondolin, a hidden city, safe from the danger and darkness of Beleriand, she determined that she would be a beacon of light for all who dwelt there. She would leave her darkness behind in Nevrast.

~

The feeling of foreboding still pressed on her sometimes, even before Gondolin was complete. 

When she heard where Penlod was building his house, she immediately wanted to leap out of her seat and scream, “No, not there!”

That was foolishness though; the plot of land was a fine spot, in a south central part of the planned city that would be near both the largest market square and the palace.

“That’s a wonderful location!” Turgon said. “I wish you all the best.”

Idril bit her tongue - the shining city was no place for her dark thoughts.

She knew before there was the knock at the door of their temporary residence that something terrible had happened. 

The messenger was out of breath and wild eyed.

“A sink hole! It opened right beneath Penlod’s house!”

Penlod would always walk with a limp after the accident. Far worse by far was the death of his son, crushed in the rubble. It was the first death in Gondolin, and reminded them all that while they may be hidden from the eyes of Morgoth, tragedy could never be outrun.

Idril told herself it was a coincidence - if she saw misfortune everywhere, it was only a matter of time until she was right by happenstance.

~

When her aunt announced her intention to visit Fingon, her heart began to pound in her ears so loudly she thought the rest of the room must hear it. She clenched her fists in her skirt to stop her hands from shaking and schooled her face.

She must not have masked her fear fully, because Aredhel tried to comfort her.

“Fear not! I travel with three valiant escorts and have no small skill in arms myself. I shall only be gone a few seasons, you will hardly miss me before I return.”

It’s almost one hundred years until she sees her aunt again.

At least with Aredhel, she knows no warning of hers would have been heeded.

~

The night before Aredhel and Maeglin return to Gondolin, Idril could not sleep at all. She tried hot tea, reading, and meditation, but the sick feeling in her stomach kept her awake. 

When she saw the familiar figure of her aunt, she told herself that this should be the final evidence that proved her disquiet was not to be trusted. She should be full of joy.

She also now had a cousin; that should be a happy occasion. But when her cousin’s gaze fell upon her, something troubled her, although she couldn’t voice her misgivings at the time.

With Aredhel safely back, there was no reason to go running to the guards and demand they close the city. There was no reason at all to sharpen the blade that she now kept in a ceremonial case.

~

After Eöl attempted to kill Maeglin, she knew she could no longer keep her forebodings to herself. Darkness had come to their blissful city without any help from her.

She begged Turgon not to kill Eöl. Deep in her heart, she knew death would beget death, however just it might seem to end Eöl’s life. Unfortunately, speaking does not guarantee that you will be heard.

~

Her father bears the moniker The Wise, but he is as deaf as his sister when it comes to leaving Gondolin. Idril laid out the inevitable outcome, first gently, and then more forcefully. As the shining host made ready to depart, she looked with dread on all the familiar faces she knew would not return. When her father left to fight beside his brother (one last time), she governed in his absence by day. When her duties were finished, she grieved. She knew there would be no time for her own grief when Turgon returned.

~

Idril had no warning when Tuor came to Gondolin, she didn’t know that he was coming until he bowed before them at the Tower of the King. Afterwards, there was murmuring in the streets. He came with the blessing of Ulmo, but who needed the blessing of a God other than the doomed? 

Turgon was pensive after he listened to Tuor’s message. He at least heard Tuor and discussed the matter with his council, even if he chose to ignore the message. Idril envied Tuor’s ability to be the messenger of God with fewer doubters than plagued her.

As her father was clouded with doubt, and whispers of doom began to run through the city, Idril had to laugh. She knew Tuor was no harbinger of their downfall - they had sealed their downfall long ago. 

All wisdom would say she was a fool. Tuor was mortal, loving him was choosing inevitable grief. But when she looked at Tuor, she has no dark fears. When Tuor smiled at her, she felt like she could breath again.

~

As she gazed at her son Eärendil, she saw the light of heaven in his face and the heavenly light he would be to all. She knew she could no longer keep her fears to herself. It was also not enough to be the voice of warning. It was time to act - the only way to avoid the worst was to create the path out of the dark cloud surrounding Gondolin herself. 

She summoned the best and most discreet builders she knew, and counted herself among them. She needed no permission, and her way was certain. Idril would lead the escape; it was the only way to save some part of her people.

[malecftw]

Could you perhaps do a Chance Perdomo x fem!Reader where she’s in the cast of CAOS and Chance and her become best friends. They both like each other but they think the other person doesn’t like them like that. Plus the whole fandom wants them to get together? I know it’s long srry

A/N: Heyooo, thank you for your request! Hope you like it!

Word count: 1105

Warnings: none, not proofread, just fluff really

You can find my masterlist here X

‘Cut!’ the director yelled straight after you and Chance shared an intense ‘impending doom’ kinda look. Your face softened as did his and he held his hand up for a high five. You quickly obliged and accepted the hug he offered after. ‘We killed that scene!’ He sang into my ear. My giggles filled the set as he slightly lifted me off of the ground. It was kinda our thing after a heavy day of shooting.

He scratched the back of his head after he put you down. ‘Hey, you wanna come back to my place? Me and the boys are getting pizza and are just gonna chill out.’ He didn’t let your bewildered look shake his confidence as you said: ‘Now? It’s 4 AM? What are Ross and Gavin even doing up so late?’ Chance shrugged. ‘4th of July weekend, everyone’s got a couple days off so we figured why not.’

You pretended to think about it, even if you already knew the answer. He saw straight through you but still played along. ‘Pleaaase. It’ll be fun.’ Your stomach imploded with butterflies as he nudged your side.You jokingly rolled your eyes. ‘Fine…’ He fist-bumped the air as his energy went back up, speeding off to the makeup trailer to get all the fake blood off of him.

A sigh escaped your lips as you trailed behind him, checking your phone for the entire walk to the trailer. Sometimes filming for 10+ hours made you feel disconnected from the world. So much could happen during the time you were working. It’s just one of many things you and Chance bonded over during your time on Sabrina.

‘Finally, he wouldn’t shut up about you.’ You were met by the voice of one of the makeup artists as you closed the trailer door behind you. You smirked and looked at Chance’s reflection in the mirror he was sitting in front of, sheepish look plastered on his face. ‘Is that so?’ You teased as you went to sit down, the makeup artist quickly making work of turning you back into yourself, leaving your character on the shelf for the night.

You could hear the laughter and guitar strumming from outside as you saw Ross and Gavin sitting on Chance’s balcony. You immediately had their attention since there wasn’t another soul outside that evening. ‘Your neighbors are going to be pleased.’ You stated, eyeing the two boys that were disrupting the oh so peaceful night. ‘Eh, it’s a new apartment complex, barely anyone’s moved in yet. We’re good.’ You nodded, staying silent.

As Chance pressed the floor number you let yourself fall against the side of the lift, a yawn uncontrollably taking over your features. ‘You know I could just order you something and we can go to bed if you’re that tired.’ You shook your head, waiting for the yawn to end. ‘Nah, when’s the next time we’ll get this much time off at the same time. We should really make the most of it and chill now that we can.’

‘Look what the cat dragged in,’ Ross said smiling at Chance, before looking at you fondly. ‘And you brought in a stray.’ You scoff. ‘Watch who you’re calling a stray Lynch.’ He giggled and fell backward on the couch as you jumped him, completely crushing him under the weight of his guitar and you. ‘Yo, how are you still awake, are you like a vampire or something.’ He joked, readjusting his position so your head was now in his lap and his guitar in the hands of Gavin. ‘You’re on the wrong show buddy.’ He smiled down at you. ‘For now at least.’

‘Right, y/n stop flirting with our costars. What’d ya want for dinner, or breakfast,…’ Chance said, a serious tone evident in his voice as he scoured the internet for restaurants still open that deliver. ‘1. I am not flirting. 2. You pick.’ Chance sighed, trying to hold in his eyeroll. ‘Helpful as always,’ which quickly led to getting a pillow thrown at him.Gavin gave you a glass of water, smirking at both you and Chance. ‘Chance you should really take that as a compliment, y/n never trusts Ross or I to pick her food for her.’ ‘Yeah cause you’re idiots and would mess it up,’ you said as a matter of factly while taking the glass from his hands and sitting up.

‘At least Chance knows what he’s doing.’ Your hands slide over his shoulder after you made your way off of the couch and towards him. ‘Woah you are so tense, you should take a hot shower.’ Chance readjusted his position in the chair and smiled up at you. ‘I’m fine really, just keep rubbing that spot.’ You swore you saw his eyes flash from your eyes to your lips but he played it off well. ‘Well, Mr. Perdomo, if you want me to be your masseuse you should’ve asked my price first.’ You whispered teasingly in his ear. You don’t know if you were overstepping any boundaries but you felt fierce all of a sudden. If things didn’t work out, you could just play it off as being playful.

Chance audibly swallowed, ‘I’ll make sure the right compensation is received.’ His thick, warm accent making its way into your ears, flowing through your veins like warm honey. You’d completely forgotten about the two other boys until a flash went off and pulled you of your moment. ‘Gavin are you kidding me.’Ross was facepalming himself and Gavin turned a whole other shade of red you’d never seen on him.

‘Can I post this, the fandom will go nuts.’

Chance spoke up, voice raspy. ‘Not until I’ve kissed her.’

This made Ross look back up and you look down at Chance in surprise.

‘Well, when are you going to kiss me?’ You asked, still careful to not mess things up.

‘Remember that compensation we were talking about.’

You nodded, too excited, stressed, and infatuated with the man you were facing.Chance took your nod as his cue and he slowly came in closer, lips finally touching after months of fantasizing about it. It was slow, sensual and sweet. He was a damn good kisser which you weren’t surprised about.

The next day when you woke up, your notifications were going crazy. Gavin had left the entire fandom guessing your relationship status after he posted the pic.

You didn’t mind teasing them a little though. After all, things worked out and if they continued to work out, it wouldn’t be a secret for very much longer.

It all worked out.