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nevertheless-moving · 4 years

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Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - - - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced.

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making.

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?”

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on.

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous.

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said.

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.”

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.”

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory.

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years.

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-”

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-”

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash.

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.”

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view.

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.”

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.”

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement. The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely.

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.”

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply.

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster. “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?”

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme.

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-”

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...”

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions.

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-”

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head.

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #prequel trilogy #potentially triggering #discussions of suicide #references to self-harm #star wars au #bonding? between #Mace Windu and Anakin Skywalker #? in my #hurt/comfort fic #? It’s more likely than you’d think #also I struggle with fix it stories that just never address the big tusken elephant in the room? of course i want everyone to #live happily ever but theres a certain scale of atrocity that i feel u gotta address 2 get there #ugh this chapter got reallly long and im just gonna post it ok? ok.#meh #a lot of this fic is just people mentally going What The Fuck at various registers with different inflections #Because that’s not an inappropriate response to time travel in general! and star wars canon in particular.#star wars au no 27

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x-avantgarde-x · 3 years

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Of love and dancing- Levi Ackerman

Summary: after taking back wall Maria, you and the other members of the Survey Corps, attend a ball held on your behalf.

Warnings: none, apart from some modifications of the canon story. Mentions of Erwin/Character and pure fluff.

Song to listen to: As the world caves in by Matt Maltese.

I also had this image in mind while writing this image because Levi looks amazing.

I have to thank @starrynightlys for taking the time to read this! Go check her blog if you don’t know her guys, she’s amazing ♥️

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Pink silk gently framing her well defined curves, her curly brunette locks tamed down to perfection for the first time in years in the survey corps; red juicy lips and rosy cheeks, it all combined with a soft pearly eyeshadow framed your best friends snow white pale skin making her look like a goddess out of an ancient painting. The enticing smell of roses being adding a little something to the picture in front of your eyes.

You smiled sweetly at her, quite proud of your work after the many hours you had spent locked in your room making sure that your best friend looked her best for her ball tonight.

The night had been carefully planned out from weeks before. Since the very first time she had lightly told you about her infatuation with commander Erwin Smith you had made it your duty, as you always had, to ensure her happiness by helping her lure the man. You yourself had had a certain someone in mind, from the moment the event had been announced the image of a certain raven haired captain had done anything but to roam your every thoughts. You had intended on inviting him to attend the ball with you, but for the past weeks Captain Levi had been awfully busy and you hadn’t had a chance to properly talk with him, if only to exchange a few words when you crossed paths on the hallways or delivered him one of his many cups of tea, before he drowned himself back in paperwork.

“Are you done already?” You hear your friend Maria talking from outside the door, “We’re almost done!” You responded, before rushing to the other side of the room and grabbing both your purses. You walked back to Andrea, a reassuring look on your eyes. “Are you sure he will like this?” She asked, voice trembling gently from the butterflies inside her stomach, “Trust me, he will love it.” The words were simple, but the unspoken message hidden behind them was acknowledged by you both ‘He will love you’, that particular way you had had of communicating with each other without the need of words since you were merely kids coming in handy once more.

You were greeted with your friends Maria and Rocio, each of them respectively holding Jean’s and Connie’s arm, while Sasha happily waited for you leaning on the door. Maria shook her head jokingly while complaining “Took you long enough in there to get ready” to what Connie and Rocio agreed while Jean added with a smooth smile “But has it been worth the wait, though”. You all laughed at his comment while Maria crossed her arms, playing offended with her boyfriend as he tried to get her to forgive him.

Once in the castle, your eyes widened in fascination. It was the biggest, fanciest place you had ever stepped your foot at. You were pretty sure, by the look of Andrea’s face, that given her rich familiars she had been to places similar to this before, but given that the place most similar to this that you had ever gone to was the upper class restaurant at the end of your street back at wall Maria, and the fact that the establishment wasn’t comparable to the luxuries and the greatness of the palace left you speechless and feeling quite out of place.

At the end of the room you could hardly pick out Historia, now Queen Historia, from the thousands of people in the room. After successfully taking back wall Maria, and having properly mourned the fallen soldiers, she and her ministers had decided to hold a ball in order to commemorate the Survey Corps and its members. And you couldn’t be any more grateful to her for any of this.

Returning your attention back to the room, you saw Sasha make her way to the food tables as Jean and Maria and Connie and Rocio drifted off to the dance floor, getting lost in between the many couples swaying together, as you tried unsuccessfully to find both your superiors. Making your way through the room, holding hands with Andrea in order to not get lost, you walked along the room a few times failing miserably in your search. Dizzy and bothered by the many people in the room you both walked away to a quiet corner hidden in between a few columns, sitting in a forgotten table that had been placed there you took in the look of disappointment in your friend’s eyes, so in order to light up the mood you asked her “Would you like for me to go and pick up a few snacks and drinks before Sasha finishes with it all?” She nodded faintly as you stood up walking once more towards the buffet.

As you walked back to your table, plates in hand and two glasses filled to the brim with the most expensive wine you had ever tasted, you finally found the men you had been searching for hours ago, Squad leader Hange and them sitting all together in a table in one of the most crowded places of the room. Without losing a moment, and leaving your food behind, not before taking a last sip of your wine, you made your way towards them with steady steps. When you were close enough to their table you made your presence known with a gentle cough and a loud enough “Commander!”

As the tall blond turned to face you, you tried your best to ignore Levi’s piercing eyes looking directly at you. “Cadet (Y/L/N), what a pleasure to see you here. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked you, but you didn’t fail to notice how he seemed to be searching for someone behind you. “Indeed I am, sir” you answered politely “but I wish I could say the same for my friend Andrea, over there” you added, pointing back at were your best friend sat, patiently waiting for your return “She has been awfully bored since we got her. But I’m pretty sure it’s not something a nice dance couldn’t solve”.

Erwin stood up from his chair almost immediately after your words, and you weren’t really sure that he had even heard your words as he walked away, a bright smile on his face. Hange laughed almost hysterically at the scene playing out before their eyes while you took the seat Erwin had occupied moments before, sitting right next to the man you had been dying to come to this same ball from long ago. You were about to speak, fearing to fall into an awkward silence, when you hear the captain’s smooth voice talking to you “I actually thought he wouldn’t end up asking her for a dance given how things were going. Though he probably hasn’t talked about anything else for the past few hours”, you chuckled in response, turning yourself back to face him.

Levi looked dashing, dressed in a pristine black suit and hair slicked back, giving him some sort of aristocracy air to his appearance. You could feel your heart skip a bit and once again you found yourself growing insecure about your appearance, asking yourself if the plain cream coloured dress and golden high-hills you had come with and your barely noticeable makeup were enough for the place you were at. “You... you look amazing, Captain” you told him, a sweet smile on your face, a faint blush appeared on his cheeks and ear “You look pretty too” he answered back, as if he could read your thoughts "and cut the formalities, tonight we are not in a mission" laughing at his comment you agreed with him, leaning back on your sit not without catching another glass of wine from one of the butlers trays. The next 30 minutes were spent in a comfortable silence, as you entertained yourself with watching your friends and their partners dance to the music, and enjoying your wine along the many decorations of the room. It was then that the music came to an end, the musicians getting ready to play a new symphony, that you finally got the chance you had been waiting for. “Levi...” you called for his attention making him turn back to you “ would you care for a dance?” He looked taken back by your question, his posture getting totally stiff and a disturbed look on his face “I’m sorry, I...” Levi spoke, voice low and trembling, as if he didn’t know how to phrase his next sentence “You...” you spoke back, trying to encourage him as you placed your right hand on top of his, which rested upon the table, and drawing small circles against his skin. He inhaled deeply and said in a rush “I don’t know how to dance”.

You weren’t able to stop a small chuckle from escaping from your lips, to what the man next to you reacted by straightening himself once more and trying to get off your touch. In an attempt to solve the situation you came closer to him, a sweet look on your face “Levi, it’s okay if you don’t know how to dance... follow me” a small smile took over his face, what made your heart skip a few beats at the sight, and his eyes glimmered in amusement as he nodded in agreement and extended one of his hands for you to take it. Doing so, you walked him out of the lounge to a small and solitary room you had spotted once you walked inside the palace, there you could still follow the music without getting swallowed by the mob of dancing couples and without worrying about judicious looks. Intertwining your fingers with his long ones, you placed his left hand upon your waist at the same time that he pulled your closer to he’s chest, a shiver traveling both your bodies making goosebumps appear because of the proximity. The song began and you started to move, almost gracefully, around the dance floor. In a moment of braveness, you decided to place your head against his chest, listening to the rapid rhythm of his heart against his rib cage; you breathed in deeply, his usual scent of tea leaves, old wood, and soap slightly masked by the scent of his cologne. As you continued dancing you could feel his body relaxing against yours, his steps becoming less unsure as you twirled around the place, your whole attention laid on one another.

Songs began and songs ended and there you spent the rest of the night, twirling around the room in your Captain’s arms, detached from the rest of the world that stayed behind a closed door.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n #levi season 4 #levi aot

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theodora3022 · 4 years

Text

Love You To Hell And Back(Yandere Claude)

Pairing: Yandere Claude Faustus x F!reader

Summary: Upon running away from home due to an unwanted arranged marriage, you took up a maid position in the Trancy household. You thought it would be simple, lay low for couple of months then the other family would cancel the engagement. Being a maid should be easy right? Just wash and clean the house and saying yes to their lords. You never thought you would end up in such a bizarre and dangerous household.

Notes: I am a Claude simp. If you do not know before, you do now. Do not get the wrong idea, Sebastien is handsome alright, but there is just something about those golden eyes makes me shiver in the best kind of way. (Also I love the French pronunciation of his name but whatever)

Word count:2k

Warning: Non-con touching, coercion, possessive behaviour, general Yandere content

SFW

As a lady on exile, you do not have many options. Your relatives were out of the question since they could inform your parents of your whereabouts, and so does all of your friends. Luckily, you figured out the perfect solution: disguises! And who is more unnoticeable then a maid? They blend naturally in the background of drawing rooms and parties, no one will bat an eye if there happen to be an extra one. Nobles do not care for servants, so a forged name and documents would get the job done.

Answering advertisements seems to be a good way to start. Ah, there is one right here. The Trancy Estate? To your knowledge, there is only one young lord there, and you are not acquainted with the family. Seems the ideal choice: “Only for two months, as a replacement.” You know being a servant would be unpleasant, compare to your noble lady life now, but you had chosen between this instead marrying a man you despise.

Packing some essentials, you thrown on a simple cotton dress borrowed from your maids and sneaked out. You thought you had escaped from hell, not knowing you are better off staying. Because, you had quite literally, walked into a spider’s trap.

A dark-skinned maid welcomed you, explaining how she has to leave the household for some personal business while giving you a small tour of the building. She seems nice enough, although you were curious why her right eye is covered by bandages. The manor is dead quiet and empty, giving you an illusion of how you can hear your own breathing.

“Miss Hannah, where are the other servants?” You shiver, tightening your clock just a bit. Although it is only autumn, the winds are chillier in this house, or so you felt.

“There is only five of us. Me, the triplets, and Sir Claude the butler. Our master can be...difficult, one could say.” Handing you a basket of maid attire, Hannah seem to be terrified of this master she speaks of.

I wonder why he is so difficult. You thought as you thanked her and settled down in the little servant room you were given. Better put on these maid clothes soon, getting use to them as fast as possible. Blue and white does not look so bad together.

Kitchen duties are not so bad since all you need to do is chopping up vegetables and wash the dishes while the triplets took care of the cooking. Dusting is a nuisance, but with enough efforts it was taken care off. The triplets are an odd flock, as they never speak unless necessary. All your befriend attempts had failed miserably, you felt as if they look down on you somehow? Since you only do backstage work, you had yet to meet the master and his butler. Not that you mind, you want to kept your existence covert, after all!

You were trying to dust off the chandelier in the drawing room when you first met Claude. The stairs you use are a bit unstable, which causes you to have major anxieties about falling.

“Ahh!” You squeal as your staircase finally deciding to let you fall. Closing your eyes in horror, you were certain you are going to suffer at least bruises. But the expected pain never came. Instead, you felt a strong set of arms had caught your body mid-hair.

Gazing up, what did you see?

Oh did that gorgeous face make this fall worth it. The tall man in black reminds you of those flawless Roman statues, of King David. You never thought humans can be this magnificent.(Well you are still right, as he is no human)

Gently placing you back on your feet, Claude started to examine you behind those clear glasses. You quickly smoothed the wrinkles on your skirt as you dip your head for greeting.

“Greetings, kind Sir. You must be Sir Claude. My pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am (y/n), the new maid.” Gods, he is handsome. You were not even sure words can describe how those golden eyes made you feel. Are you blushing? Ugh, get it together, self! He is only a butler here. It is beneath you to swoon over him. You put on a smile, then courtesies to the stoic man in the most elegant way possible.

The lack of callus on your fingers and your sophisticated manners informs him that you, are no ordinary maid. As a servant to his lord, Claude needs to make sure no sketchy individual can harm him. Some investigation would need to be done.

How interesting...Why would a high-born lady such as yourself ran away from your prestigious noble house, only to serve as a humble servant here? Just where did Hannah dig you up? Ah, that is no matter at present. Surely your cheerful spirts can light up the dull days of this mansion. The only thing Claude need to ensure is you do not expire as quickly as others. Alois can be such a spoiled brat; however no harm should befall to you as long as he can help it.

Your voice reminds the demon of little birds of forest mornings, chirping delightfully to a new day no matter how horrid the night before was. The way you thank him stuttering then trying to go back to your duties are just adorable, and amusing. It is clear as day:you are fascinated by Claude’s pretty face. Quite bold for a lady to do so. Claude had met a lot of people in his long life, but none of them intrigues him so as you do. He cannot grasp what exactly, but there must be something enchanting about you, that makes him want to pull you close and do unspeakable things to your good, pure body.

Tender and cautious, that is what the knocks on his office door suggests. It is late, way past Alois’s bedtime. Who could have business with him this hour, apart from his demanding lord? “Come in.” Claude’s curiosity had spiked up.

It is you, still dressed and with a plate in your hands. What a pleasant surprise. And are those pastries?

“I...baked these for you, Sir. I want to thank you for your help earlier today.” Looking away, you quickly remind yourself how you should never indulge too much. However you had already spent two hours of your free time trying to bake something decent.

Did your parents taught you it is improper to visit a man’s quarters this late at night, alone? How rebellious of you, not that Claude minds anyway. You might appear to be demure and good at first sight, but under that nice façade is a bold maiden who does not care for modesty, how complex.

Chocolate chip biscuits, but with distorted shapes. “I am not very good at this, so I totally understand if you do not wish to eat them. I jus want to properly show my gratitude, that is all.” Nervously fidgeting your apron corner, you bit your lip when he raises one of them to his lips and took a small bite.

Edible, but has lots of room for improvement. Claude can practically taste your eagerness to please from the chocolate spheres. Seeing your gaze fixated on him, expecting his comments on your work, Claude let out a quiet laugh. Which made heat rush up to your cheeks. Is that a good or a bad response? It cannot be that terrible can it?

“Come.” He signals with a hand wave, and you hesitantly walked beside his chair. How cute, the butler and the little maid. It would be a shame to just give you some half-hearted praises and send you out, wouldn’t it? It is what a gentleman would do, of course. Claude on the other hand, has never been one. He could entertain that appearance for his lord’s sake, but in this little room with just you, there is no need for charades.

You were shocked when one gloved hand pulled you swiftly onto his lap, with the other locked around your waist, pressing you against his chest. Of course, you fantasized the idea of being the lover of such a fine specimen of mankind, but only the idea of it. Even though you are nothing more then a lowly maid now, you are still a lady of nobility with conducts of propriety.

Your shrinking pupils made Claude realize he might be pushing a bit too fast. But human lives are so fragile, so short compare to demon ones. If he does not seize this opportunity, who knows when is next one going to arrive? Whether it is your intention or not, Claude is now mesmerized with you. Now that he is holding you this close, breathing in your intoxicating sweet scent, the old demon had his first epiphany of a millennium: you are lovely, and he intends to keep you this way, one way or the other.

Squirming with protests, you tried to get out of his suffocating embrace. “Sir, this is not proper, please let go of me.” Yet you achieve no results, those iron grips still hold you firmly in place, those same arms that spared you an embarrassing fall this morning.

“Little bird, finally thinking about propriety? You should know better then coming to my office this late unless you want something to happen.” Claude is close, too close, you can feel his breath fanning your ears gently. Gloved fingers trace down your jawline, making you tremble with fear. “Am I right, Lady (family name)?” You froze. What how did he-how do he know you are not a mere commoner? Had he already done a thorough investigation on you?

“Now, repeat after me, little bird.” His golden eyes shifted its color to pink, round pupils bending into a thin line. In normal circumstances, you would be terrified of how his features suddenly changed, but now you are too possessed by his intense gaze to think of anything else. Those eyes, you felt as if you could drown in those two magenta pools.

“I love Claude Faustus forever and I would do anything should he asks of me.”

“I-I love Claude Faustus f-forever...and I would do anything should....should he-e asks of me.” It is still your voice, although those words are defintely not your own. What is happening? Why do your tongue just moved on its own like man possessed?

“Perfect.” Running his bare fingers through your hair, Claude left a light kiss on your forehead, ignoring the horrid expression you are wearing. “You will behave, right little bird?”

“Of course, Sir Claude.” You did not just say that !There is no way. What has this evil man done to you? You never should have come here. Your terrible fiancée at least could not cast spells on you!

“I’ll take good care of you, my dearest little bird. After all, your fate is defined since the moment I lay my eyes on you. We are destined to be together.”

“Oh, do try to behave. It would be a shame if something should happen to your dear family. I would hate if you end up like your other human predecessors.” His lord, despite his young age, is a master at torture and inflicting suffering. There is a unfortunate reason why there is only a few servants in this manor, and the fact that they are durable demons too. Claude knows exactly where you would end up had he not intervened. Do not worry, he would never let you go. Demons mate for life, didn’t you know that? Why resist?

“I love you my dear, to the hell and back. We shall stay together until the end of time.”

#black butler #black butler imagines #black butler fanfiction #yandere claude faustus #claude faustus #yandere black butler

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eternally6pm · 3 years

Text

To Distraction

Rating: T

Characters: Jakob, FCorrin, vague mention of various occupants of the Northern Fortress, Corrin’s Nohrian siblings.

- almost to a state of madness -

A/N: These are two old reposts mashed together. In a stroke of serendipity on my old blog, I had received two four-word prompts that happened to inspire two scenes with some sort of continuity. This takes place pre-Fates, with a number of assumptions: that Corrin and Jakob arrived in their adolescence having already developed strong feelings for one another; that Jakob, being the older of the two and a pessimistic sort of young man, wanted to do the practical thing and attempted to distract himself from the horrifying realisation that he was falling in love with his master - and that this failed miserably.

One of my favourite things about master-servant relationships is that even when there are hard lines and clear expectations, on closer inspection, you can never be sure who really holds power over the other.

---

Felicia could not find any clean hose. Knowing that the maid had not only a tendency to misplace but to also overlook things, Corrin joined her in her search and was very soon just as perplexed – not a single pair could be found.

As Felicia excused herself and ran off to find her sister, Corrin sat uncomfortably before her mirror, still laced in the leathers that she had worn to combat training that afternoon. She judged herself to look somewhat foolish, her tightly braided hair in disarray, her jerkin having ridden up so that the edge sat too high, the thick, stiff leather digging into the flesh of her stomach as she tried to sit on her chair.

She was going to have to ask for a new one. Her current jerkin just didn’t fit over her hips anymore, and the space in the chest was too small. There was pain in her back when she tried to stretch upwards, and if pushed a little too hard, she found it difficult to draw breath.

Gunter had been dissatisfied with her progress today, having knocked her onto her back several times without much exertion. Her left wrist smarted when she tried to flex it and she realised that she must have landed too heavily upon it while trying to soften her fall in a clumsy attempt to spare her sore backside from additional bruises to the ones that had already darkened there.

Corrin sighed, shifting slightly in her seat as she saved all these thoughts for later, when she saw Jakob. He was a soothing thought, a welcome presence who always came after Flora and Felica left, bearing a tray with her dinner and a gentle smile. At her request, he would stay to lend a patient ear to her complaints, and she always felt slightly guilty, keeping him from his duties, but never guilty enough to deny herself the part of the evening she looked forward to most.

Come to think of it…

Jakob would know. He knew where everything was.

With a wince, Corrin planted her hands on the seat and heaved herself from the chair, her already stiff muscles protesting the movement. Reaching for the bell, she rang for assistance.

It was not uncommon for her summons to go unanswered. There were few servants at the Northern Fortress, and often, they were distracted by either Felicia setting fire to something, or were simply occupied with something else.

Corrin waited only long enough to work her gauntlets and wrist guards loose and shed them where she stood before dipping her hands into a basin of (cold, goodness, Felicia,) water to wash the grime from her fingers. Drying her hands on a soft cloth, she left her room.

The Northern Fortress sat on the border of what was historically, heavily contested land. As a result, the fortress was structured as simply that – austere, heavily fortified barracks for housing soldiers in preparation for war. Now that the borders of Nohr stretched far beyond this point, it had been repurposed as Corrin’s home – though it often felt more like a prison than a home.

Fortunately, the nature of the Northern Fortress meant that servants were given the unusual benefit of being granted individual rooms, and the privacy was a privilege so great, not a soul cared to complain of the size of their quarters.

Corrin knew where Jakob slept. It was a piece of knowledge that she guarded jealously because she knew that Gunter would take a riding crop to Jakob’s wrists and shoulders if he ever found out that the princess was visiting his chambers in the dead of the night to trade books and whispered conversations when she couldn’t sleep.

Lately, Jakob had been more reluctant to open his door to her – he spoke constantly of propriety and what was appropriate, and Corrin, well-read and suitably informed by her sister, had more than just a vague notion of what it all meant. However, she also knew for certain that she didn’t like being told that she wasn’t allowed to spend time with him, especially now, when she realised suddenly that she would rather be around no one else.

She found that she liked to watch him whenever she could, studying his profile when he focused on work or catching a glimpse of him when he sparred with the other boys. Not that she could really call Jakob a boy anymore… she couldn’t remember when things had started to change, but now when he spoke, his voice was deeper, a low, wonderful sound that sank like hot liquid into the depths of her chest, and he had put on a lot of height, towering head and shoulders over her in a way that made her want to crawl into his lap and steal the warmth from his skin.

Thinking about him made her feel sick with delight.

Even now, as she approached his room, her stomach flipped like she was falling, and she had to inhale deeply to slow the rapid pulse of her heart. She was irrationally nervous. All she had to do was ask if –

“Oh!”

Corrin’s shoulder was knocked backward, unprepared for the sudden contact, and an arm reached out to steady her, a maid who immediately gasped in recognition and released her hold, dropping into a deep curtsy.

“Princess! A thousand apologies, Your Highness!”

Corrin waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s quite all right. My attention was elsewhere.”

“As was mine, milady. Forgive me for being inexcusably clumsy.”

“Think nothing of it. There is nothing to forgive.”

The maid lifted her gaze, smiling and Corrin could not help but notice that she was remarkably pretty, with blonde hair and eyes the colour of the sky on a fine day. She folded her hands neatly upon the front of her apron and politely inclined her head. “Can I be of assistance, my lady? Do you seek Flora?”

“Jakob, actually.”

“Oh.” At this, the maid directed her eyes downward again, and seemed to hesitate, the tips of her fingers worrying the edge of her skirt. “He is in his room, Your Highness. Though I believe him to be presently occupied.”

The sensation of falling returned, but this time, Corrin felt dread clench about her gut.

“Th-thank you…”

“Clara, Your Highness,” she curtsied again, colour rising into her cheeks and Corrin felt suddenly ill, nauseous as the maid’s words seeped into her skin, crawled into her pores with little thin legs to wriggle and bite.

“Thank you, Clara.”

She curtsied once more, but Corrin had already turned to continue her path, her steps quickened by fear or anger – she could not tell which.

She found his door ajar, and in her urgency, forgot to knock, pushing it open and letting herself in as his name left her mouth in a bark.

“Jakob!”

Dismay struck her square in the chest like a blow from Gunter’s shield, and she was winded, her heart still and all sound stifled as she watched him turn in shock to face her, his hands grasping at his half-open shirt for decency as he stammered unfinished words and excuses.

“Lady Corrin! I am not – I didn’t hear –“

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t speak.

“Apologies, milady, if you could spare me a moment, I could – “

The air smelt stale, acrid with the scent of something unseen, warm like the heat of two bodies.

I believe him to be presently occupied.

Her chest heaved against her inanely ill-fitting leathers and swallowing the bile that sat at the back of her tongue, she willed her lips to smile through the pain of her heart cleaving in two.

“Do not concern yourself, Jakob, it is only me.”

A burden, a chore.

“I came to ask you something.”

It was a tone Camilla had made her practice, repeat so often that it came with only slight effort.

Still his fingers fumbled at the buttons and Corrin stared jealously at the smooth skin and taut muscle that he hid away – a sight for someone else.

But never for her.

“Felica cannot find any clean stockings. Are you able to assist?”

The question sounded foolish and trivial. In that moment, Corrin could not have cared any less if she caught her death walking barefoot through the halls of this damned fortress.

“She sent you to fetch me?” Irritation caused his brow to furrow. “Is she insane?”

“Felicia is not at fault, I came of my own accord.” And oh, how she regretted that decision.

“Nonsense,” he muttered, and Corrin hated the way she enjoyed watching him knot his cravat, neat and pleasantly high upon his neck.

Did he remove it himself, or did she help him?

Where did she touch him?

Do you love her?

The questions prickled on the tip of her tongue and frustration wrenched an empty substitute from her lips. “Who were you with?”

“J-just a friend, milady,” it was the same blush, the same downward glance.

Why did she have to be so beautiful?

All of a sudden it felt like her lungs were bloated with water, her throat tight. Corrin was drowning and she had to leave, lest she retched and spite was expelled from her mouth.

“I’m sorry I was a bother, Jakob. I’ll see if Flora can help.”

She did not care to hear what else he had to say, turning to leave, and wandered blindly, until she returned to her own rooms where she gave no replies to Felica and Flora’s concerned questioning.

She nodded numbly as Flora explained that her stockings had simply been moved, and there were plenty, so there was no need to fret.

Silently, she let the sisters undress her and climbed into the bath they had prepared, sinking beneath the surface where it was warm and she could not tell the scented water apart from the tears that she shed.

“Felicia. Please inform Jakob that I do not want dinner. He is not to disturb me tonight.”

She curtsied, but hesitated. “Milady, you must eat.”

Corrin pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms about her legs as if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will alone. “Please, Felicia.”

At length, she curtsied again. “Yes, Lady Corrin.”

In the silence, Corrin sat still, shut her eyes as Flora’s cool, slender fingers threaded through her hair and pressed firm strokes against her neck and scalp.

“My lady, do not punish yourself for the sorrow that others might inflict,” she advised quietly. “They are not deserving of your suffering.”

Corrin sighed. “Thank you, Flora.”

“If I can aid you in any way, milady, you have but to ask.”

For a long moment, Corrin considered being benevolent, gentle and forgiving, but she had not the strength, and it was too easy to speak the words without conscience, draw a line in the air across her throat and call for blood.

“The maid, Clara. Do you know her?”

“Yes, she works in the kitchen.”

“Her efforts are to be commended. I wish to recommend her for promotion.”

There was silence as Flora ceased her ministrations and reached for a pitcher. “An excellent suggestion, Lady Corrin. I shall put a good word through to Gunter.”

---

The motion was a small one, almost casual. Camilla laughed softly as the young Duke spoke of studding horses, her long fingers neatly grasping the edge of Corrin's glass and whisking it away from the server before he could attempt to pour more wine.

“Wait, sister –“

There was not a single word spoken in direct response, but Camilla smiled brightly, her eyes narrowing as she laid a hand firmly on the satin of Corrin’s skirts.

“I think I’ve heard quite enough about the size of a stallion’s member, don’t you?”

Corrin stared vacantly at the man beside her, almost surrendering to the urge to frown. “Yes. One might presume to expect too much.”

Laughter cut through the low chatter and Duke coloured indignantly.

He asked her afterward, his voice low as he bent to speak softly, unpleasantly close to her ear, if she would be so kind as to honour him with her company as he had never been to Castle Krakenburg before, and would very much like a tour of the grounds.

Corrin would have been more interested had she been shown the underside of a slug.

But she could hardly say as much, and simply gave him another empty smile, evading a touch to her shoulder like she would the glance of a blade and excusing herself to retire with the other ladies from the dining hall.

With absolutely no intention to stay, she bid Camilla and Elise a good night and left without a word to anyone else, not caring that they would whisper of her cold and graceless behaviour, unbefitting of a princess of Nohr.

Her fingers closed upon the neck of a tall, unattended pitcher of mulled wine, and with the same motion she had just learnt from her sister, took it gently away, her only companion as she thought miserably of Jakob and how he was probably somewhere else, seeking comfort in the arms of a friend he had made years ago at the Northern Fortress.

---

The first sign that something had gone awry was the sound of shattering glass.

Jakob jerked in shock in his seat, the needle slipping between his fingers and he quickly dropped the hem of the cotton blouse, mere moments before a bead of crimson formed and began to run.

He released his breath in a long, hissing exhale, pulled the thread taut with his teeth and slowly, silently, counted to ten. He got as far as six before the clomp of heeled shoes reached earshot.

She was getting better at anticipating disaster, even if she hadn’t a clue on how to avert it.

It was certainly dire, he realised, as the door swung open without so much as an attempt to knock, and she stumbled into his temporary quarters with the momentum of the movement.

“Where’s the fire, Felicia?” He asked dryly.

She shook her head. “No, Jakob – it’s Corrin – Lady Corrin. She’s had far too much to drink.”

He stood at once, sewing forgotten. “Where is she?”

Felicia was nothing if at the very least, quick when it came to requesting aid. She hurried back out the door with Jakob on her heels, passing through a short corridor that connected their much smaller rooms to the solar of the guest suite.

The princess was found standing in the centre of the darkened room, still and staring as though lost. In one hand she held a metal pitcher, which she mindlessly released, letting it clatter hollowly and roll over the remains of what appeared to be a broken crystal statue of a swan at her feet. There had been a function at the palace that evening and she was laced up in a gown of pale blue satin with a neckline that dipped in such a way that made Jakob forget for a moment how to breathe.

“I dropped it,” she explained, smiling, and Jakob barely managed to completely close the distance to catch her by the shoulders before she could reach down to pick up the shards with her bare hands.

He gestured to Felicia. “Take her to her room and put her to bed,” he instructed, already planning how he would clean the jagged glass they trod upon.

Felicia nodded and tried to reach for Corrin, but with a sharp, petulant whine of irritation, the princess swatted her away.

“Horrible! Unhand me. I won’t allow it.”

Felicia turned to look at Jakob, shaking her head helplessly. “I’ve tried already. She won’t listen to me.”

Honestly, if you wanted something done right…

“Come now, Lady Corrin,” he soothed, pressing a hand between the blades of her shoulders to gently propel her towards her room. Suddenly obedient, she took to his encouragement without any resistance and Jakob flicked a hand at the mess they left behind so that Felicia might take the cue to clean it before he returned.

However, Corrin had other ideas.

No sooner had Jakob eased the door shut, he felt her hand upon his back and alarmed, spun immediately to face her, stepping away.

“Ah,” she frowned, reaching for him again, and he barely managed to catch her by the wrists, forcing her back, trying to get her to stand straight, to not… tempt him with her bare shoulders and neck exposed by her dress. By the moonlight, he could see that her cheeks were flushed red, and there was the scent of fruit and spice on her lips as she spoke.

“You weren’t so shy before. Let me hold you.”

It was a cruel joke, he realised, much too late, standing alone with his mistress in her bedchamber as she swayed, intoxicated on her feet and mistook him for someone else.

“Lady Corrin, stop. It’s me. Jakob.”

“Good,” she giggled softly, and the sound wove like a net over his heart. “Come here, Jakob.”

“No,” he replied firmly. It was a reminder to them both that she was senselessly drunk and knew not what she spoke; an order to maintain his distance. He gripped her wrists tightly and tried to ignore the writhing anxiety that came with the guilt of knowing. Of wanting.

Gently, he attempted to guide her towards the bed, to have her seated in a bid to escape from this nightmarish trap of his own devising so that Felicia (the gods themselves never could have imagined the day he required her help!) might rescue him.

With a motion trained and too swift, Corrin turned and threw her arms about his shoulders, throwing her entire weight upon him. Unprepared, he stumbled and could only reach for her out of reflex as they both toppled upon the bed.

“Lady Corrin -!”

There was a flurry of motion, a delectable confusion of bare skin and satin as she giggled again, pressing herself close to him and in that moment, Jakob was powerless to fight, because being touched by Corrin felt like being burned by a fire he couldn’t contain, like being drawn by the weight of the moon and drowning, euphoric in the tides.

“Just a taste,” she sang softly, so warm and pliant in his arms.

He couldn’t.

How many times had he fantasised of such a scene? Of having her witless and willing, because nothing else would ever allow the suggestion of impropriety. However, now confronted with it, the reality was horrifying, both in the possibility of having his wicked desires realised and in the fact that he found it utterly reprehensible. He could never forgive himself for such a dire lapse in judgement, for dragging the reputation of the one person he held dearest down into the filth of rumours whispered behind the flicker of a fan, about princesses with no honour who deemed to take their own servants to bed.

What would have been the point in resisting, in dressing his affection in decorum and drowning his desire in another girl?

What would be the point of his duty if he couldn’t even protect her from himself?

“My lady, you must stop.” He gently took her arms and pushed her back, rising from the bed and shaking his head when she tried to reach for him again.

“Why?” She asked, her voice plaintive, and her expression crumpled with dismay. She sat up, gathering her long skirts in both her fists and folding her knees to her chest. “What did I do wrong? You don’t mind kissing other girls, but you… You don’t want me.”

Jakob felt his heart wrench as she pressed her hands to her face and started to weep.

Who had done this to her? What deplorable scum had abused her kindness and corrupted her joy?

Slowly, he knelt before her, waiting until she lowered her hands and looked at him, her breath ragged with sorrow, her face wet with tears.

“You are mistaken,” he told her.

Do I dare?

“You cannot possibly know -”

How much of this will she remember?

“- how much I want you -”

This… is a mistake.

“- to only be mine.”

Smile for me, Princess.

Her lips were soft, her face warm. He felt her hand grip the fabric of his waistcoat and she leaned against him, a small, sweet whimpering note hummed in her throat, pushed onto his tongue. He tasted wine in the heat between her parted lips, and it was enough to intoxicate him too.

He parted the kiss with a sigh, stood and stepped back, his heart a storm of fear and elation, pierced deep with guilt.

Jakob couldn’t explain why he had decided to do this, only moments after convincing himself that it was a doomed choice, treacherous and lonely. He didn’t know why he felt the compulsion to flee, as though the longer he stood there, the greater the risk of being caught out, called traitor, exposed as a fraud.

“Felicia!” He growled as he strode out of the room, hiding behind a veil of irritation. “Lady Corrin is now calm. Kindly assist her.”

The maid scampered past him, barely acknowledging his words.

All he knew was that he was miserably weak, and for all the pain and suffering he had ever seen in his life, he couldn’t stand for a second to watch his princess cry.

#Jokamu #Jakob #Joker #Corrin #Kamui #mutual pining #maybe I just need to find another prompt list #they're not bad for kickstarting an idea #republished edit #fanfiction

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whitefoxed · 3 years

Text

Stupidest Plan Shenanigans

@algrimthestrong: continued from here

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Algrim gave Lise a pointed glance over his shoulder. “I appreciate your honesty, but a little more faith in my abilities would be nice.” He peered around the stone pillar, grimacing at the sight of the two green-skinned ogre women guarding the entrance to the treasury.

After negotiations had failed, there was but one way to obtain the fabled grimoire they had been sent to acquire. Under normal circumstances, resorting to theft would have been far below Algrim’s dignity, but it was still preferable to dealing with the Accursed’s temper should he return to the king with empty hands. As Algrim had explained to Lise earlier, this particular breed of ogre happened to have a weakness for elves. Against his every expectation, the queen had remained adamant, withstanding his every attempt to persuade her to part with her prized possession. Thus, after diplomacy had failed him so miserably, Algrim’s plan was to send Lise in his fox form to slink past the pair of guards and steal the precious book while he took it upon himself to distract the ladies.

“If you have a better idea, now is the time.”

Lise was grinning his head off. The mere idea of Algrim doing his best to charm large ogre ladies had him in fits, when just mere hours ago the adviser had been so confident that he would be able to convince the queen to trade them the grimoire. As far as he saw, that charm did little with the queen, though it was more likely his precious elf would be eaten up by the powerful ladies.

“I could use magic if I knew what the treasury’s inner layout was like.” No point teleporting in to get stuck in a wall or some trap. Lise swished his tails smirking, arms folded across his chest while he leaned against the pillar where they were hiding. “Why don’t you share a few lines before we do this? I know my taste in elves, but who knows if the ladies prefer a rogue?” He gave Algrim a good once over, taking in his current ensemble and hairstyle. Mysterious yes, even the silhouette was well covered in bulky cloak. The fox’s grin turned into a squint and flattened lips, followed with a shake of his head.

Being someone who could turn into a lady if he wanted, the whole vague mysterious traveler thing wasn’t working very well.

Algrim shook his head. “Teleporting is not an option - too dangerous.” Admittedly, the plan he had devised was below his usual standard, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Lise’s open amusement at Algrim’s suggestion earned the fox a quelling glance from the elder. “The queen would have yielded up the book,” Algrim clarified, “but the price she set on it was… outrageous, shall we say.” He wrinkled his nose in disdain, but offered no further explanation as to what sort of payment the ogre queen had demanded, trusting Lise to draw his own conclusions. In the end, stealing the book was the only feasible option.

When Lise suggested they rehearse Algrim’s lines before putting their plan into action, his request was met with grudging acquiescence. “Well, I was going to pay them a compliment, to praise the craftsmanship of their battle axes, their devotion to their queen, or even the colour of their eyes,” Algrim explained. “Ogres are simple creatures, easily impressed. I am sure I can engage them long enough for you to steal into the treasure chamber and locate the book.”

Allowing Lise to assess him, Algrim remained still under the younger’s scrutiny. The decidedly unimpressed look on Lise’s face told him everything he needed to know. Without comment, Algrim stripped off his cloak and opened the collar of his robes to reveal a V of smooth indigo skin. “Well, how’s this, then?” The look on his face could have curdled milk.

At Algrim’s clarification, Lise raised his brows with understanding. Certainly it was a price he himself would not agree to, for such a thing. Still, it amused the fox that the elder’s charm backfired on Algrim and that he was going to proceed with the same plan with these ladies.

Watching the elf sacrifice some coverage, Lise tapped his lips with a finger. “Much better. You’d need to think of more lines than that though, the fastest I can promise is a quarter an hour and that’s if I don’t get lost or there isn’t any traps or devices safeguarding the grimoire.” He pointed out, mentally forecasting that Algrim would end up in awkward silence with the guards. “Perhaps showing off your skills or sparring with them? Unless you want to start pole dancing in front of them.” Lise suggested, the mere idea of which had him holding back giggles.

In fact Algrim’s current expression was enough for him to find glee for the following week or so.

#algrimthestrong #t.algrimthestrong #t.algrim.stupid plan #t

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years

Text

Working My Way Back To You 8/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

I promised you guys some more comfort and here it is! For the prompts “panic attacks” and “exhaustion.” In which our poor pirate has just had a tough session with Archie and finds himself in dire need of some comfort. Thankfully, Emma is close at hand to give it to him. (also chapter count has gone up because these guys need a fluffy epilogue after everything they went through haha)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Panic Attacks + Exhaustion

Killian gets better. He spends some time on the Jolly Roger, though his fingers still struggle to do much of the finer work on her and Henry picks up the slack with great enthusiasm. He goes out for drinks with David on a Friday night and only imbibes an appropriate amount of liquor, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz and not so much it leaves him hungover in the morning. Killian takes Emma in his arms regularly and kisses her and lets her hold him – though after the disaster of their last attempt, any further enjoyable activities are focused on Emma’s needs, and his trousers stay on until he’s alone in the privacy of the bathroom. But it’s okay. Emma continues to be supportive and gentle and like she promised that night, she doesn’t do anything he’s not comfortable with. Meanwhile, Killian keeps his appointments with Stacy and with Archie. He loves and laughs and lives, and does his best to move forward. But the way to healing is not smooth sailing. Other days every sound still makes him flinch, makes him want to hide away even from Emma. Some nights his terrible dreams have him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Sometimes his hand just won’t stop shaking.

-------

It’s a combination of a bad day and Archie poking at his trauma that finally does him in. His sessions with the cricket often leave him feeling drained, but this is something else – a dark, roiling storm of fear and horror throughout his body as his legs carry him onward without conscious thought. He can’t even remember leaving Archie’s office at the end of their appointment, but the overwhelming urge to get away has brought him to the Jolly’s deck and he can’t bloody breathe. He trips on something and slams onto the deck, hard. For a moment it all stops, recognizable wood under his cheek and his hand steadying, grounding. But up, up his mind screams, wild with fear, and he’s helpless to refute it. He should be feeling calmer now, standing on the Jolly like this, and maybe he would if he could get any of the salty air into his lungs or hear her familiar sounds over the roaring in his ears. The need to hide away lest someone sees him in such a frenzied state overwhelms him, driving him below deck to his quarters before his wobbly legs give out once more. This time he doesn’t have enough strength to follow the commands of get up, Hook! And it’s been a long time now since his subconscious has called him by that name. Killian’s losing himself, he’s going to fall right off the damn world, his head is spinning so much and he knows, knows he needs to breathe but he can’t quite get that message through to his ribcage that seems set on squeezing his lungs. He crawls rather pathetically to the nearest vertical surface to lean against. He fights his body’s instinctive desire to curl up and instead focuses on the feel of the solid thing at his back, legs sprawled in front of him, because he needs to breathe and folding in on himself is just going to make it more difficult. Just focus on where you are right now. Breathe. I’m safe. I’m safe. Just breathe. He’s so single-mindedly concentrating on trying to calm himself down that when his phone jingles, he nearly jumps out of his skin. And that sets him right back at where he started, undoing all the efforts he’d put into slowing his breathing and he bites out a strangled curse between ragged breaths, furious at his own weakness. He tugs the phone from his pocket, fingers trembling so bad he nearly drops it, and squints at the screen. Emma.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma’s voice comes through almost immediately once he presses the answer button, “How’d it go today?”

He doesn’t know how she seemed to sense all is not well and called him at this exact time. He hadn’t thought to ask for her help, but now her voice is in his ear, he’s feeling rather desperate for the comfort she could provide. But the words falter on Killian’s lips and since when did they start tingling like that?

“Killian? Are you there?”

“S-swan, I need…”

Help. Killian’s mind is at war, one side screaming that he’s going to die and the other, a quiet bit of rationality saying he’s actually fine, he’s experienced this before and he knows how to deal with it. Just relax, slow your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay. He knows what he needs to do to bring himself out of it but dammit, it’s been centuries since he’d been felled by one this powerful and so he’s out of practice, okay? (He doesn’t know who he’s trying to justify himself to.)

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Jolly…” he gasps and that’s all the breath he has.

The phone slips out of his hand. His fingers push into his chest, over his racing heart, as he tries futilely to draw a decent breath. It feels like his heart is trying to beat right out of him, an almost painful hammering that echoes in his ears.

“Killian?”

Emma sounds close. Real. No longer tinny through the phone, although the blood rushing through Killian’s head still muffles it. He startles at the sight of her face suddenly appearing in his darkening vision as she kneels beside him, the flinch making his head smack against the wood behind him.

“Hey, easy, you need to calm down, Killian, you need to-”

As if Killian’s not painfully aware of that fact and doing his best to manage such a feat. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Can I… can I touch you?” Emma asks, her voice a carefully steady tone, like she’s panicking as much as he is and trying not to.

Speech is beyond him now, but he nods, a tiny motion as his eyes flutter closed. Emma’s hand is on his shoulder at once and her fingers are tugging his fingers away from his chest to hold onto them firmly, a solid counterpoint to the terrible whirling of the world. It only makes him want to pull away a little bit, his scrambled mind briefly unsure if this contact is safe or not, though she asked and he gave permission. And he knows it’s safe. It’s only Emma. Gods, he really needs to calm down.

“Killian. Killian.” A soft mutter of don’t make me slap you, and Killian thinks he should respond to that strange comment. He can’t though, he’s too preoccupied with trying to get air. “I need you to slow it down a bit, okay? Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do this.”

He’s probably crushing her fingers right now, Killian thinks dazedly. Last time, he’d gripped the charms on his necklace so hard the marks on his hand remained for hours. The time before, he’d twisted his fingers into a rope, pulled it tight enough that it chafed his skin, desperately trying to find something solid to drag him back to reality as the tempest rattled his mind. Huh. Killian hadn’t even thought of those events in probably a century. It’s funny where the mind goes when it thinks you’re about to die.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Killian.”

Oh, right. Emma’s still here. And he’s still not able to take a decent breath. He lifts his heavy eyelids and she’s so close, and so beautiful, green eyes wide with concern for him and her hair framing her face. He’s not sure at what point he’s ended up laying on his back with his head on her lap, but he’s not complaining.

“There you are,” she’s saying, and he’s earned a wan smile, apparently, “That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Take a nice, slow breath for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Gods, she’s far more patient with him than he deserves. But his breath is flowing easier, her gentle touch and her calm voice quelling the storm within him. She’s caressing his face and he tries to pull his hand from hers because he’s surely hurt her fingers during his episode, but he’s trembling quite strongly now as he comes out of it and she won’t let him go.

“Ssshh, just relax,” she murmurs, soft and tender, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good, Killian.”

Killian thinks he’ll never get over how much he loves hearing her say his name like this, or any other way, truthfully. After so long being Hook to everyone he met, in both title and deed, the way his true name sounds in her mouth sends a wave of warmth through his whole body. It’s not desire or arousal; no, it’s more akin to the pleasant burn of rum down his throat. And what a miserable pirate he is that his only point of reference for how good things feel is to compare them to rum.

“Good, good,” she praises a bit more, and he revels in it, “Nice and slow, that’s it.”

With the calming of his body comes the calming of his mind, his thoughts sorting themselves into a functional order and-

“Swan, did you threaten to slap me?” Killian asks, going for dramatically offended but his voice is still weak and trembly. He hopes his face expression conveys his teasing.

It must, because Emma laughs then, a slightly unhinged version of it, testament to how shaken she too is, and Killian feels a rush of guilt for scaring her like this.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t… I saw it in a movie once. It’s supposed to snap you out of it, either that or a kiss. But I don’t know if it would work.”

“A kiss? Well, I’d not make an objection to that method. Perhaps you could even show me right now, just how you intended to kiss me in such a way that I would snap out of it…?”

Slipping back into the easy, flirtatious banter feels good. Normal. Safe. His head rested on Emma’s legs, her hands on his skin, and now the attack has passed he can hear the water lapping against the hull and occasional soft creak-groan of his ship as the ocean moves her gently. But exhaustion seizes him now, abrupt and all-encompassing like every other time, and his head rolls further against Emma’s palm as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Whoa, are you okay?” she asks, startled at his sudden change in demeanour.

“Aye,” Killian says but he can’t quite gather the strength to move, “Tired. S’normal. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Normal? Killian, has this happened before?”

She sounds angry and he slowly tilts his chin up a little so he can see her. She looks angry too but he can’t fathom why.

“Not for a long time, love,” he assures her.

“A long time? Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses, “Weeks? A month?”

He can feel the weariness in his very bones. His eyes are closing against his will.

“Centuries, Emma.”

“Oh,” she whispers after a moment.

Then her hands are holding him a little tighter as she moves them through space in an instant, and the sounds of the harbour are replaced with the soft growling of a heater and what’s probably Henry rummaging around downstairs. He’s back home. He blinks slowly and takes in their bedroom, warm and cosy and Emma’s still holding him.

“Can you stand?” she asks, “The bed’s right here.”

“Aye. Can you-”

She knows what he’s asking before he asks it, carefully helping him to his feet and bracing him through the dizziness at the change of altitude. He collapses facedown onto the bed once his body allows him movement again, fully clothed but he isn’t intending to move again for quite a time.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” Emma asks.

Killian nods, eyes already shut again.

“Jacket too?”

“Whatever you desire, love,” he mumbles against the pillow.

She snort-laughs, and he allows her to wrangle his limbs through the removal of his jacket and his boots, and then his waistcoat as well and finally his hook. He’s too weary. He feels as though he could sleep for an eternity.

-------

He wakes feeling terrible and it’s dark outside, his mind foggy and his mouth stuffed with cotton. The sensation is so strong that he must work his tongue around his teeth just to be certain there’s actually nothing in there. He probably should have had a drink before passing out. Ah, but it’s too late for that now. He’s just gathering his strength to go in search of water when-

“Killian? Do you want some water?” Henry’s walked into the room holding a bowl of… soup? Potentially. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

Killian doubts his ability to speak with his mouth as dry as it is, so he just nods, and Henry grabs the cup of water from the bedside table – how had Killian not noticed that? His mind is still a little foggy, it seems. He sits up slowly and gratefully takes the cup that Henry gives him. The water feels wonderful, cool and fresh, and his thirst is only barely slaked once he’s downed all of it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Henry asks, “We made soup. But my grandparents are here for dinner, so… Do you want to come downstairs? Or you can eat up here if you want to.”

The weariness has somehow now morphed into a full-body ache, despite the hours of sleep he’s just had, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good company in this state. He says the last part of his thoughts to Henry, who nods in understanding and sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Henry,” Killian says with a grateful smile.

“Ok.”

Henry smiles back before leaving the room. Killian hears him taking the stairs two at a time, and Emma half-heartedly admonishing him for it. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes a mouthful of the perfect soup, gently spicy and warming him all the way to his toes. Emma obviously had some help with the cooking tonight – she’s good, but not this good. He must remember to thank Snow White later.

--------

Archie had called her, Emma tells him when she comes up to their bedroom after Snow and David have left. That’s why she’d called Killian when she had, checking to see if he was alright.

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, her fingers absently brushing through Killian’s hair as she sat on the bed next to him, “He said you left his office in a hurry and he was a bit worried about you.”

He remembers back in the hospital when he’d woken, disoriented and panicked, and she’d used this same method to calm him, gentle pressure and the tiniest scrape of her nails against his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair. It had been comforting then and it was comforting now. After his meal, Killian had gathered the strength to ready himself for bed properly, but that small amount of energy is depleted again now. And if Emma’s not careful, he’ll go right back to sleep before this conversation is over, his belly comfortably full and his tired muscles coaxed into relaxation by her affections. He tries to rouse himself a little more. It’s not really working.

“He’s… that was good of him, I suppose,” he says, voice rough with the sleep he so desperately wants more of, “It’s just… My mind got a bit… stormy. It does that from time to time, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state.”

He can’t help the hint of loathing in his voice. Now that Killian’s had some time to think on the events of the day, he’s rather mortified that Emma had witnessed his moment of vulnerability. It would have been better if she hadn’t shown up, then it’s likely Killian would have blacked in his quarters and woken sometime later, once his mind had settled. It had happened that way before. And then nobody would have known how pathetic he really is.

“Did you tell him what happened?” he asks, trying to keep his mind on the present.

Emma’s fingers in his hair are helping to anchor him here, though they’ve stopped moving, just settling amongst the dark strands instead.

“Yeah. Was that… was that okay?”

No.

“Aye.” He’s lying through his teeth and Emma can probably tell. “I suppose he should know.”

“He wasn’t really surprised to hear about it, anyway. He said you guys went into some pretty dark topics today.”

Killian’s breath hitches, and his hand curls reflexively into a fist.

“Is that all he said?” he asks carefully, and he looks intently at her for any sign she’s not being honest with her answer.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Killian. I’m not going to hear any details from him, and I wouldn’t ask anyway. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that, you know.”

Of course. He does know, logically, that Archie would never share with anyone what Killian tells him about those two weeks in captivity, not even Emma. And he knows Emma would never ask Archie to do so either. But still, Killian can’t help that little thrum of fear in his heart.

“But if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of it, I’m willing to listen,” Emma says quietly.

Killian’s mind cries yes and gods no in equal parts. The two sides of him wage a brief but intense battle on the other, one wanting to open up to this beautiful woman who cares so deeply about him, but the other part wanting to hide away all the hurt in some dark corner of his soul.

“Perhaps one day,” he compromises, “But it wasn’t… I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, love. It’s bad enough having them in my own.”

“I’m the one that found you in the cellar, remember? I know what they did to you.”

Killian swallows, hard.

“It’s one thing to see the aftermath of that sort of situation, Emma. Quite another to hear the details of how it was done.”

She nods once.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

They don’t talk for a long moment, but the silence is far more tranquil than any sort of awkward. Emma resumes her soothing motions through his hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp. His hair has got to be sticking up all over the place by this point and he knows it’ll take more than a little combing in the morning to get it tamed again. Killian’s just about to drift off to sleep when Emma finally speaks again.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Killian mutters, his words coming out a little slurred, “But I wouldn’t mind having you under the covers.”

Emma chuckles, her cheeks getting a bit pinker. Oops.

“To sleep, Emma,” Killian specifies quickly, because he’s definitely inadvertently dropped a potential innuendo in having you, but he is bloody exhausted and he really didn’t mean it that way, for once, “But I can have you the other way in the morning, if you like.”

“Sure,” she says with a grin, “Let me get ready for bed and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He loses his fight to stay awake while she’s brushing her teeth and slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He wakes with the sun, like he so often does, and feeling much improved, with Emma sleeping pressed against his side and her arm across his chest like she’s trying to hold him in place.

to be continued...

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fic #killian whump #ptsd #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfics

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Patience

Summary: Hohenheim and Trisha sleep together for the first time. It’s somewhat awkward considering that the souls are attempting to be helpful for once, but Trisha is nothing if not understanding, and what could have been a disaster turns into something sweet.

Rated: Explicit

Note: From what I can tell, opinion seems split as to Hohenheim’s sexual activities prior to settling with Trisha, but I’m in the camp that thinks Trisha was his first and only. I’m not going to go into my deeper reasoning here, but I headcanon him on the ace branch of the sexuality tree. Even after he settled with Trisha, I don’t think they had all that much sex.

Patience

It isn’t until they’re inside the front door and it has closed with a soft but very final click that Hohenheim begins to fully appreciate where this is going, and he feels a slight current of panic start to thread itself through his nerves.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to have sex with Trisha. It’s just that she’s the first person he’s ever had those kinds of feelings towards, and he knows that his lack of experience will show. How on earth can he explain to her that he’s still a virgin?

Prolonged life aside, she’s twenty and he’s physically thirty-six (he thinks – he never celebrated his birthday back when he’d been a slave). He really ought to have some knowledge. As it is, he’s got four centuries on her and he’s completely clueless. Four centuries and he’s never had sex. What has he been doing with his life? Not that, obviously. He’s travelled far and wide and he’s met many people, but Trisha is the first one he’s let get close enough for that kind of desire to develop.

Then there’s the ever-present hum of the souls. Trisha knows about them; there’s no way he would have let things get this far without warning her about the half a million unavoidable, if unwilling, observers sharing his headspace. She’s all right with the notion, but right now, Hohenheim himself is having some trouble with them. He’s learned to live with them, but he really wishes that they would all just shut up for five minutes. He knows they’re only trying to help in their own way, but the first time is daunting under any circumstances and absolutely not made easier by a few hundred thousand souls, all arguing with each other over the best way to go about this.

He’s even more confused once they all start yelling conflicting advice at him, and he’s about to give it all up as a bad job and take Trisha back to her own home when her arms slip around his middle and her mouth slants over his, soft but undeniably eager, and Hohenheim surrenders. Maybe, just this once, he’ll let himself have what he wants for a night.

She smiles at him as she breaks the kiss, and he feels one hand come down to his ass, pulling him in closer against her.

“Everything ok? You’ve got your thinking face on.”

“My thinking face?”

“Yeah. You look worried. I don’t bite, I promise.”

She’d said that the first time that she’d kissed him, and he’d been unable to articulate anything other than ‘arp’ for about five minutes afterwards.

“Trisha?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve never done this before.” The words almost fall over themselves in his haste to get them out.

“Really?”

Hohenheim nods, searching her face for scorn, disgust, mockery, expecting at any moment for her either to laugh or recoil, or just leave him standing completely dejected in his own hallway. Not even the few souls attempting and miserably failing to be encouraging in the back of his mind can stop the familiar nervousness of being truly terrible at interacting with normal human beings.

Trisha just smiles. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m sure we can figure out what we’re doing between us.”

“I have every faith in you. It’s me I’m worried about.”

She laughs, but there’s nothing malicious in it.

“You’ll be fine.”

Hohenheim kisses her again, because at least he knows what he’s doing with that. And it’s not as if he doesn’t know the basic fundamentals of what’s about to happen. He could just do without the ‘helpful’ tips generating slanging matches inside his veins. At least they’re shouting at each other and not him.

“Please be quiet,” he hisses under his breath. Trisha touches a fingertip to the bridge of his nose, trying to smooth out the frown line there.

“Hey. Just ignore them for a while. I’m here.” She squeezes his ass and gives him a saucy little look that should be wrong on someone as sweet as Trisha but that does something to his insides and makes that ember of attraction burn a little brighter. “Maybe we ought to go upstairs?”

Hohenheim nods, letting her lead him up the stairs to his bedroom. At least the bed is made and it’s vaguely tidy, which isn’t always the case.

Trisha looks around at the books and paperwork that have spilled over from the study. “Are all the rooms in your house filled with alchemy?”

“Yes.” Considering he’s been known to draw arrays in toothpaste on the tiles before now, he can’t even claim that the bathroom is untouched.

Trisha rolls her eyes and begins to undo his tie.

“Oh, you’re wonderful.” She pulls him in and kisses him before he can respond, but there again, Hohenheim doesn’t think that a response is needed. Just more kissing, and Trisha’s hands finding his and bringing them to the buttons on the front of her dress.

“I think the next step is taking all our clothes off.”

Hohenheim would be lying if he said he has not thought about what Trisha looks like naked. He would be telling the truth if he said he hadn’t thought about it up until two hours ago, when the hints she’s been dropping for a while that she would very much like him to see her naked, and vice versa, ceased to be subtle and even he couldn’t misconstrue her desires.

Since then, it feels like he’s been thinking about it at least every five minutes.

Objectively, he knows what women look like naked. He’s seen enough of them – he’s been studying and practising medical alkahestry for hundreds of years. But there’s something very different about that context and this context, and his fingers fumble over her buttons, his mouth going suddenly dry as he pushes the dress off her shoulders, leaving her in a plain cotton camisole and knickers.

There’s colour rising in Trisha’s cheeks now, and for all she’s taken the lead so far, he’s reminded that this is the first time for her, too. He should probably do something that isn’t just standing here staring at her like a lemon.

“The bed?” he suggests.

“Good idea.”

He’s not quite sure how they manage to make it to the bed, or how Trisha manages to get his shirt off, but then she’s lying back against the pillows with her legs open in welcome, and she’s pulling him down on top of her, and he feels like he’s drowning in a very good way.

You can touch her, you know, some talkative soul points out, but there’s something in the back of Hohenheim’s mind saying that he can’t, that he shouldn’t, that he’s a monster and Trisha is, well, Trisha, and he doesn’t deserve her.

There’s also the fact that she’s petite and slender and he’s tall and solidly built, and he doesn’t want to crush her.

“I won’t break,” she whispers, as if she can tell what he’s thinking. “I’m not indestructible, but I’m not made of porcelain either.”

She reaches up and takes his glasses off, and he blinks a few times to readjust. He doesn’t actually need them; any optician would be able to tell at a glance that the glass is plain. But knowing that he has a doppelgänger out there, he wanted something to distinguish them, and he knows that the Thing in the Flask (no longer in a flask, more’s the pity) would never want to be seen as anything less than a perfect specimen of humanity. So glasses it was.

There’s another, more pragmatic reason. People are less likely to notice his unusual eye colour if they have to look through glasses to see it.

Hohenheim trusts Trisha. He’s never trusted anyone this much, not even Pinako, whose obstinate and enduring friendship is the reason he’s stuck around in Resembool long enough to meet Trisha and form a relationship with her in the first place. If Trisha says she’s ok, then he’s not going to pretend that he knows better than her.

So, he takes his chances, shifting his weight and bringing a hand to her breast, rubbing his fingertips over her nipple where it stands hard and pert against the soft fabric of her camisole.

Trisha wriggles under him, lips quirking up in an expression of pleasure.

“Mm. That’s good.” She pushes him back so that she can sit up, pulling her camisole off and tossing it onto the floor. The flush of self-consciousness is still there in her cheeks, spreading down over her neck and bare decolletage, but her eyes are bright with want as she brings his hand back to her breast. “Please. I want you to touch me.”

In that moment, Hohenheim doesn’t think that he’ll be able to deny Trisha anything for as long as he lives, because in that one simple sentence she’s given him a gift she’ll probably never truly comprehend the scope of. She knows his story, she knows about the souls, she knows about Xerxes, and yet she still loves him in spite of it. She still wants his hands on her, unafraid of him marring her in some way. She still wants him to be the first one she’s ever intimate with.

He leans in, capturing her mouth again and trying to pour all of the gratitude and need into the kiss, trailing down over her cheek and jaw and making her gasp. He pulls back.

“Are you all right?”

“I’d be better if you keep kissing me.”

Hohenheim is happy to oblige, continuing to circle her pebbled nipple with his thumb, and Trisha arches up into his touch, wanting more. He switches to her other breast, repeating the treatment and feeling a little pride at the soft noises she makes. He’s so focussed on her that he startles when he feels her fingertips trail down his arm.

“My turn. I want to touch you, too.”

Trisha’s touch is featherlight as she maps his chest with her hands, drawing out an involuntary shiver as her fingernails scrape over his own nipples, and she smiles that sexy little smile again at his reaction before moving downwards towards his belt and the now completely undeniable bulge below. A part of him can’t help being ferociously embarrassed by his body’s rapid reaction to what’s going on and moreover to the fact Trisha is in his bed wearing nothing but her knickers and she’s touching him and…

“May I?”

Her hand is hovering over his crotch, and there’s that drowning feeling again, and Hohenheim nods. She touches him so lightly, and yet he can almost feel her warmth through the fabric. Suddenly he’s very aware of human anatomy and the fact he’s a lot taller than Trisha and his cock is in proportion with his height, and she’s slim-hipped and unstretched, and this has the potential to be a complete disaster. He closes his eyes, attempting to focus on the here and now and trying desperately to ignore the bluster that’s started up in the back of his mind again.

It’s fine, it always hurts the first time. No, if it hurts then you’re doing it wrong. Virgins bleed the first time, why do you think we had to slaughter so many chickens on wedding nights? Shut up and let him breathe for goodness sake, he’ll be a nervous wreck any minute if you keep this up. If she bleeds then you’re being too rough. Why did we bother with the chickens then? The patriarchy, Mara, that’s why. Can we not get into arguments about the patriarchy right now? My first time hurt like hell. It’s called ‘making LOVE’, it’s not supposed to HURT.

“Hohenheim?”

He opens his eyes to find Trisha’s green ones full of concern. She pushes him back up onto his knees and scooches up into a sitting position, her legs cradling his as she holds his face with gentle hands.

“Are you all right?”

“I…” Hohenheim sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Trisha smiles. She’s so accepting and so patient.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t. If it’s uncomfortable, then I’ll tell you to stop, and you’ll stop. You won’t hurt me.”

She kisses him, softly but still with that ever-present fire, carding her hands in his hair to get him closer and giggling against his mouth when she gets tangled up. Hohenheim decides to cut his losses and pulls his ponytail loose. It’s probably the first time Trisha’s ever seen him with his hair down, and he watches her taking in the sight for a moment.

“You remind me of a lion, with your beard and your hair like that. It’s like a lion’s mane.”

In spite of the remnants of panic swirling through his veins, Hohenheim has to laugh at that, and Trisha laughs too, and she buries her face in against his neck.

“It’s ok,” she says. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Tonight we can just… be close.”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

They break apart by necessity, Hohenheim standing up to take his trousers off whilst Trisha gets comfortable between the sheets. She cuddles in close against him when he joins her, fingers dancing over his shoulder and down his arm, interlacing their hands and pressing a kiss to his palm.

“Feeling better?”

Hohenheim nods. “Trisha, I think you’re the most remarkable person I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you.” She giggles. “You’re definitely the most remarkable person I’ve ever met, but then I’ve never left Resembool, so I don’t have a very wide field of comparison.”

She trails her fingers back up his arm, down his side, round over his hip and up his spine, and Hohenheim feels his skin break out into gooseflesh under her touch. Trisha must definitely have noticed, but she doesn’t say anything, content to keep drawing patterns over him with featherlight fingertips. Emboldened by her ease, Hohenheim mimics her, lazily working his way over her soft skin until she nestles in his arms, closing her eyes with a smile and drifting off to sleep in his embrace.

For a long while, Hohenheim just watches her, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath disturbs the tendrils of her hair that fall over her face. No matter what else happens, he feels like he could get used to this, that spending every night for the rest of forever with Trisha here beside him, in his arms, would be better than anything else in the world.

The souls are still arguing in the back of his mind even as he begins to feel a sense of calm that he’s not felt for a very long time, if ever, and he’s content to ignore all their bickering as he feels slumber take him too.

For the briefest of moments when he wakes up alone in a bed that he definitely had company in before, Hohenheim is rather alarmed, but Trisha’s dress and shoes are still on the floor so she can’t have gone far. He rolls over, pillowing his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. Everything seems different in the warm morning light. There’s less urgency, less energy, although still the same amount of desire. There’s time and space to think. Actually, that might not be a good thing. Overthinking everything was what led to all the trouble last night.

The souls are still at it, but they’re much more subdued now. Maybe they’ve realised that they’re not helping and are trying to give him as much space as they can. Maybe they got it all out of their systems whilst he was dead to the world.

The bedroom door opens and Trisha tiptoes around it, smiling when she sees him awake.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes. I was surprised, actually.” She slips back into bed with him. “I thought that having another person there would make it difficult, but apparently sleeping with you is as natural as anything. Actually sleeping, I mean. Not the other kind of sleeping. Although maybe that will come naturally too. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.” She pulls the sheets up over her head in embarrassment.

“That’s ok. I don’t know what I’m saying either.”

Trisha emerges from her cocoon and leans over him, bending in closer and closer until she presses a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“It’s still pretty early,” she says. “And we don’t have to be anywhere.”

Hohenheim knows what she’s suggesting. Maybe they can restart what they cut short last night.

“We don’t.

There’s a pause then, a moment of stillness and silence, and Hohenheim realises that Trisha is waiting for him to take the lead. She’s far readier for this than he is, that was made clear to him last night even if neither of them actually said anything out loud, but being the perfect person that she is, she’ll go at his pace. As if he needed any more reasons to be head over heels in love with her.

He wants this. He never thought, in the past, that it was something he ever wanted. He always wanted to have a family, but after so long alone he’d accepted it would never be possible. Trisha has reignited the hope, and at the same time ignited something dormant that was perhaps never ignited before, the want to be as close to her and as intimate with her as possible not for the sake of itself but because she’s Trisha and she’s wonderful and he adores her.

Hohenheim pulls her down into a kiss that he hopes conveys all that. Her reaction is certainly encouraging, covering his body with hers and tangling her fingers into his hair.

“All right?” she asks breathlessly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Yes. You?”

“Oh, yes.”

She sits up and pulls her camisole off again, and now Hohenheim can fully appreciate the sight of her in the light. His hands follow a familiar course from last night, cupping her breasts and rubbing her nipples to pebbled points, enjoying the way her eyes close and her head tilts back.

“Maybe you could go lower?” Trisha takes his hands and draws them down her sides to the waistband of her knickers. The blush is spreading from her cheeks down over her chest again, and Hohenheim just sits up and stares as she slips off him and pulls her underwear off, leaving her gloriously naked and bathed in a sliver of golden sunrise.

Every language he knows, including the mother tongue he hasn’t spoken in so long, deserts him in that moment, and since he knows in the back of his mind he should probably do something that isn’t simply gawp at her like she’s a fairground attraction, he kisses her again. Trisha curls her arms and legs around him, keeping him close, and they stay like that for a long time until Hohenheim begins to feel his cock responding to her nearness again. He goes to pull away by instinct more than anything, but Trisha holds him tighter, one foot tracing up and down his calf.

“Don’t run away,” she murmurs. “I want to feel you. I want to see you.”

She releases her tight hold on him a little, and although there’s a part of Hohenheim that still thinks they’re about to get on a runaway train to disaster, he takes off his underwear.

He knows he’s never been this vulnerable with someone before, but it’s not uncomfortable with Trisha. She drinks in the sight of him like he did her, and then she’s pulling him back down into her arms, peppering him with kisses over his lips, cheeks, neck.

“Please touch me,” she whispers in his ear. “I trust you.”

That vote of confidence shores him up more than any of the misplaced encouragement the souls can give, and Hohenheim shifts his weight off Trisha, tracing his hand carefully down over her chest and tummy to the patch of soft dark curls on her mound. Her thighs fall open wider for him and he can feel the first traces of her wet and glistening arousal on her folds. His own pulse quickens at the thought of it.

“Is this all right?” He strokes along her slit tentatively, watching the way her hips jerk and wriggle against the sheets, pressing into his touch.

“Mm.” Trisha nods, her eyes fluttering closed, and then her hand comes down to guide his fingers to her entrance, hot and slippery and ever so slightly overwhelming in a very good way.

Hohenheim yelps as Trisha’s fingertips brush over the sensitive tip of his cock and she looks at him, startled.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes. That was just… Would you do it again?”

Trisha smiles that devilish little smile again, her tongue darting out over her lips as she curls her fingers round his length and strokes gently. Hohenheim’s masturbated before, he’s no stranger to this kind of touch but from a hand other than his own is something entirely different and indescribable.

“Are you ready?”

Is he? He’s pretty sure his brain’s only half there, but…

“Yes.”

It takes a lot of awkward fumbling for them to get into the right position and lined up properly, but Hohenheim knows that Trisha’s giggling fit is not directed at his ineptitude but at the entire situation, and he’d far rather that she was giggling and happy than not giggling and not happy. But then her arm is around his back, and her face is buried in against his neck, and he’s pushing into her and everything falls into place.

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

Trisha nods against his neck and Hohenheim begins to move slowly, going a little further with each thrust until Trisha’s hand stops him.

“No deeper, please. Not this first time, at least.”

The implication of there being a subsequent time after this one must mean that he hasn’t completely disgraced himself, and Hohenheim keeps going, as carefully as he can, Trisha’s thighs tightening around his back. He can feel the tension beginning to coil in the pit of his stomach, and Trisha is so warm and velvety around him. For a minute or so, his entire world is reduced to him, Trisha, and the bed frame under them; he can even drown out the souls.

He retains enough presence of mind to pull out before he comes, but not enough to be able to warn Trisha and stop her from getting her thighs covered in his sticky seed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to, not inside you…”

Trisha just kisses him again, and for a long time, nothing more is said. Hohenheim rolls off her onto his side and Trisha follows him over, snuggling in close again as their legs get completely tangled up in the sheets.

She smiles softly, pushing his hair back out of his face.

“All right?”

Hohenheim nods. “More than all right. And you?”

“I don’t think we did too badly for a first attempt. And you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.”

“I think I’ll need a minute before any more practising.”

Trisha laughs. “You’re wonderful, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Trisha.”

The souls are blessedly quiet as he continues to lie there in the rising sun with Trisha in his arms, never wanting to let go of her.

There’s a part of him that knows it can’t last. She’s human, he’s immortal, the entire thing is doomed before they even start, but Trisha is different to anyone else he’s ever met over the course of his long life, because Trisha gives him hope. She gives him the drive to not just accept his fate and resign himself to never making this kind of connection with another person. She makes him want to fight against the inevitability of what will eventually come. She makes him want to be mortal again, to regain a normal life and live it out with her. She makes him believe that somehow, somewhere, the means to do it are out there and he can achieve it. She trusts him despite everything he’s told her about himself, and although he’s barely trusted anyone since he made the mistake of trusting the Thing in the Flask, Hohenheim trusts Trisha with every soul in his veins.

She makes him believe that, just maybe, he’s worthy of love and happiness after all, and for Hohenheim, that’s a gift far more intimate than what they’ve just done.

#FMA Brotherhood #Fullmetal Alchemist #FMA Fanfiction #Van Hohenheim #Trisha Elric #HohenheimxTrisha #Fic: Patience

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anianimol · 4 years

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Moonlight Melody | Ushijima Wakatoshi

Ushijima x Fem!Reader

Fluff/Imagine/Slow Burn

Synopsis: As he heads into his senior year at Shiratorizawa, the last thing Ushijima expects is a distraction; his last year was supposed to be smooth sailing — another trip to nationals. When practice begins for the fall semester, he finds himself lured by something strange, someone strange — perhaps someone he had never known he needed.

Author’s Note: Hi guys!!! I had started this a little while ago and wasn’t sure exactly what I should do with it and I was planning on making it a little series:) Let me know what you think and requests are open as always!

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Taking his usual path down the corridor towards the club room to get changed for afternoon practice, Ushijima solemnly listened to his sneakers padding down the stairs, stray rocks crunching under his shoes as he left the main building. Making his way across the sunlit courtyard, he continued on his routine walk before warmups, checking his watch as he always did, reading “3:02”; he was exactly on time to make it to the gym before the others. Blinking sunlight out of his eyes, he had almost reached his destination, circling around the fountain as he heard faint music, a warm breeze rustling his windbreaker. Music? He paused. That was new. He had made this walk over a thousand times in his past two years at Shiratorizawa and had not once heard music. Shrugging it off, he headed up the stairs, hoping to run into as few people as possible before making it to the gym.

As the final bell rang the next day, Wakatoshi slid out from his desk, beginning on the same trek as usual, passing by other students walking to their club activities. Paces away from the lockers, he heard it again. The music. He turned, head swiveling in an attempt to find the source of the sound. Sighing, he moved once again as the notes subsided, this time set on making it to the club room. His foot almost in the door, he felt a soft chord land on his ears. This time, his curiosity got the best of him—curiosity? Since when was he the curious type? Shaking his head, he began heading towards his locker, his feet already moving. He was halfway down the stairs when he realized he was not walking in the direction of practice; no, his body, practically in a trance, was leading him towards those sweet sounds, tripping him in the process.

Pulling himself together, he felt his heartbeat quicken its pace as the music grew louder, eventually leading him back across the courtyard towards an unfamiliar building with a door left ajar. He had never been to this part of the school, strange to him as he was now in his senior year at Shiratorizawa. Peering inside, he opened the door further as quietly as possible.

You sat at the piano, eyes closed in concentration, dextile fingers drifting across the keys, padding them so softly that any onlooker would think that they were not even making contact. Breathing deeply, toes pressing down on the paddles, you allowed yourself to drift further and further from reality, letting the intertwining melody and harmony carry you far away. Lost in the score, you almost missed the faint creak of floorboards behind you.

Spinning in surprise, you found a towering figure looking back at you with an identical expression on his face; “I, um—” he started, as you squeaked out a frantic “Hi!”. As the olive-green pupils looked back at you, you felt your cheeks growing red hot with embarrassment. Shit. ‘ Did you forget how to speak, or were you just an idiot?’ your inner voice sneered, as the boy in front of you continued. “ I apologize for intruding,” he began, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as possible as to not startle the tiny figure in front of him, failing miserably with his deep register.

“That’s alright” you stuttered, clearing your throat as you took in his presence. As he was still in his school uniform, there wasn’t much you could gather from his appearance, other than the fact that he was tall—well, he was extremely tall, almost unnaturally so.

His face, though stoic and a bit intimidating at first look, was softened by the kindness hidden in his eyes—though his opponents would likely argue otherwise. You continued, “So, what brings you here? Are you…..” you trailed off.

As she spoke, Ushijima noticed how small she truly was, her figure appearing almost fragile in front of him. She pushed wavy black strands out of her face as her lips moved, doe-like brown eyes gazing up at him as her cheeks were lightly flushed a soft peony. The girl before him looked up at him expectantly, causing him to frantically realize that he had been staring for way too long.

Attempting to engage him in conversation, you quickly deadpanned, realizing that he was staring down at you intently, eyes boring straight through you. ‘Was he staring at you? Did you have something on your face?’ You scrambled think of whether or not your choice of bento for lunch had been a horrid mistake. Trying in vain to mask your apparent embarrassment, you glanced up to see a mirrored expression, the giant before you gazing with a smoldering expression, the tips of his ears beginning to go pink.

“I’m sorry I…” he stumbled over his words, caught off guard by his own actions. You giggled, drawing a dazed look from the oblivious boy before you.

Smiling, you stood, walking towards him in a surge of confidence (source unknown, possibly from one blushing giant).

“I don’t think I introduced myself. My name is ____. Judging by your bag,” you pointed at his volleyball bag with his last name and number sewn in, “I would assume you’re the captain I’ve heard so much about.”

He bowed formally; “Ushijima Wakatoshi. Nice to meet you________.”

You laughed quietly at his stiff manner; “ Want to learn some piano Ushijima-san? I must say I am a pretty great teacher.”

“Wait I—”

Not allowing him to finish, you dragged him by the strap of his bag behind you to the bench, plopping down next to him. Shrugging his bag off, he realized that it would be no use in fighting the headstrong girl beside him; she wouldn’t likely take no for an answer.

Lifting the cover and scooting a tad closer, you grabbed his wrists, your fingers not even reaching fully around them; “ Relax your fingers” you commanded, your hands gently tugging on his calloused ones.

He peered over at you curiously, watching silently as you used your own hands to guide his, your dainty fingers dwarfed by the ones underneath them.

As you controlled his hands, you felt his hot gaze on the back of your neck, hairs standing up at attention.

Once again, the melody began, slowly this time. Ushijima found his eyes closing, entranced once again by the song, the corners of his lips. Peering down at the girl beside him, he thought to himself silently;

‘Maybe this year will be different.’

#haikyuuwritersnet #underratedhq #haikyuu!!#ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu hc #fluff #fanfic #ushijima x y/n #ushijima fic #ushijima smut #hq anime #anime #shiratorizawa #hq imagines #imagines

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missmalice202 · 5 years

Text

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 13 - Kisses

Chapter 01 - Chapter 12

“Viperion, are you humming right now?” Carapace asked. “You do realize we’re in the middle of a boss fight, right?”

“Leave the boy alone, Carapace. It’s obvious something good happened to him for him to be in such a good mood.” Rena Rouge scolded. Viperion chuckled at how fiercely she’d defended him, even though it didn’t bother him at all to be called out like that in the clan chat.

“Really? Care to share with the rest of the class?” Ladybug teased. She was a little disappointed that his humming had stopped, though. It made her smile to hear him unconsciously expressing his pleasure. He had an excellent humming voice. Is that even a thing? Or is it just a singing voice? Regardless, she enjoyed listening to him regardless of what kind of sound he was making. The smooth tone of his voice did wonderful things to her nerves and gave flight to the butterflies in her stomach.

“Well,” he said, hesitating. “I found her, guys.” He felt a little weird mentioning Marinette around Ladybug. She hadn’t been online when he had initially discussed his little problem regarding the hard-to-find designer, and now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have just kept it to himself. He and Ladybug had been growing closer over the past few months and it didn’t feel right talking about another girl when she was listening. But he was happy that he had found her and wanted to talk about it to his friends.

“You seriously found her?” Chat Noir asked. “Congrats! I’m glad it worked out for you.”

Carapace began giggling into his microphone, trying hard to hold back his laughter but failing miserably in the end.

“Hey, are you okay?” Chat’s voice sounded confused. What was so funny about Viperion finding the girl he’d been searching for? Chat was happy that his friend would finally be able to talk to her about her design. Plus, it was really sweet that he’d been so affected by her that he kept hearing her song in his head. He wasn’t really sure what that meant exactly, but Viperion obviously couldn’t forget about the girl… A feeling he knew all too well.

“Hold on a second,” Rena said. “Who is ‘her’?” She knew that her friend had a minor fascination with their reptilian clan mate, but if he was off the market, that would make things difficult for her to ship them together. She’d been trying for weeks to get Nino to tell her who he was, but her boyfriend was even harder to crack than his namesake.

“I first mentioned her to the guys about a month ago. You and Ladybug weren’t on that night, so I guess they didn’t tell you about it, huh?”

“No,” She replied through clenched teeth. “Carapace definitely did not mention that you were looking for some random girl.”

Carapace’s nervous chuckle echoed in their headsets. He was sure that his girlfriend would give him hell for not telling her about it later.

“Anyway, I’ve been looking for someone for a while now and I finally found her the other day.”

“That’s awesome, Viperion,” Chat cheered. He was a sucker for happy endings, especially since his own life felt like such a tragedy.

“Oh, Chat, if you only knew…” Carapace’s cryptic response confused everybody, but he quickly changed the subject before they could ask him about it. “So, are you going to see her again?”

“Yeah, we’re going to get together again later this week,” he replied, his anticipation palpable for them to hear.

“Aw, that’s great,” Chat cooed. “Good luck, buddy.”

A loud smack filtered through their headsets. Unbeknownst to the other listeners, Nino had slapped his forehead in exasperation at how completely clueless his friends were. Seriously, it was too much for him to take sometimes.

“That’s…awesome, Viperion. It’s just…awesome. If you’re so interested in her, she must be just…awesome.” Ladybug’s voice was stilted and they all could tell that something had upset their friend.

“Girl, you okay?” Rena had hoped that she wouldn’t be upset by this development, but it looked like it was inevitable. She sighed, knowing that she’d be doing damage control soon.

“Yeah, Rena, I’m awesome. I just remembered that I had this…thing I had to do so I’m gonna log off. I’ll talk to you later.”

With that, her avatar disappeared, indicating that she was now offline.

Viperion was concerned. Ladybug usually wasn’t the type of player to quit in the middle of battle, especially a boss battle. It was apparent that something had bothered her about the direction their conversation had taken. Maybe she was disappointed that he had been talking about stuff that had happened in the real world, something she was adamant about keeping separate from gaming. He felt guilty for driving her away. “Was it something I said?” he asked his friends.

“Dude,” Carapace said seriously, “you have no idea…”

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

It’s been almost a week since the fashion show and Luka’s patience was finally paying off.

Finally, after months of being stuck in the middle of the tug-of-war game between Mr. Roth and Jagged Stone, he’s been set free.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind being forced to come to the studio day after day to play for his idol, but the futility of the exercise and the fact that he had something else he would much rather be doing was enough to make the normally patient man quite irritable. His sister had even commented that he seemed to be on edge lately and wondered what the cause for it was.

But now, thank god, Vivica was back from her maternity leave and ready to take his place as Jagged’s guitarist. Luka didn’t mind being a temporary replacement. After all, he had no grand ambitions of being a rock star or anything. He just loved to play, even if it was playing someone else’s music.

Though, considering everything he and Jagged had worked on had been scrapped, it wasn’t as if he’d be given any sort of credit for the time he put in at the studio.

He didn’t let that bother him. He knew that if Jagged needed him again, he’d be there to play for him, no matter how frustrating the circumstances were.

The silver lining to the whole situation was that now he was free to pursue his current interest: a Miss Marinette DuPain-Cheng.

Resting his bike against the side of the bakery, he looked up at the storefront with a barely suppressed smile gracing his face. He’d been looking forward to seeing her again. He’d refrained from texting her until he would be able to see her for his fitting, even though every fiber of his being wanted to reach out to her.

Adjusting the acoustic guitar strapped to his back, he entered the shop where he was immediately comforted by the warm ambiance of the bakery. Sabine was behind the counter, as always. When she looked up at the bell ringing and saw him, she greeted him with a smile as sweet at the macaroons she was boxing up for a customer.

“Luka! Welcome back, sweetie. We haven’t seen you in a couple of days and I was starting to worry about you.”

He grinned down at the tiny Asian woman. Despite his true motive for frequenting the bakery in the past, he honestly had missed the gentle woman. However, he’d never admit to her that he’d actually been coming to the bakery so often in an attempt to track down her daughter. He didn’t think that admission would go over so well. Especially since he’d heard about how fiercely protective Tom DuPain was of his only daughter.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been by lately. Work has been keeping me busy, unfortunately.” He walked up to the counter. “But now I’ve got some time to spare, so I came to visit.”

She laughed. “Don’t bother trying to suck up to me. I know you’re here to see Marinette. She told me you’d found one of her designs and wanted her to make it for you.”

His eyebrows raised. Guess he was busted. “She told you about that, huh?”

She nodded. “Yes, she did, dear. I’m just surprised that you were able to find her based only on one of her drawings.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I actually have you to thank. I made the connection when I delivered that fabric to her room. I saw her designs on the wall and I recognized her signature.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “So that’s why you became such a regular customer.” Her usually cheerful face fell into a disappointed frown. “And here I thought you were coming for my pastries.”

Luka raised his hands in surrender. “I did come for your pastries. Honestly. They’re the best in the city! I would have come even if Marinette wasn’t here.” He spoke quickly, hoping to avoid offending the petite woman.

Taking pity on the poor boy, she started to laugh. “Relax, sweetie. I know.” She nodded her head toward the stairs that led to their apartment. “Head on up. She’s expecting you.”

Relieved that Mrs. Cheng didn’t hold his true motive for all his visits to the bakery against him, he climbed up the multiple staircases to Marinette’s space.

Upon opening her trap door, he could see that she was definitely not expecting his arrival.

Hunched over her desk, she looked almost possessed by whatever it was she was working on in her notebook. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and there’s a spare pencil tucked behind her ear. There’s another pencil between her clenched teeth as her almost crazed eyes scanned the page. With a growl, she grabbed a white eraser and began to furiously attack the paper with it. With a frustrated growl, she tossed the eraser aside, she used the pencil between her teeth to continue working.

It was obvious to Luka that she hadn’t heard the thump of the trap door opening, so rather than interrupt her work, he simply walked over to her pink chaise lounge and made himself comfortable. She was so interesting to watch when she was focused on a task. He could see her energy barely contained in her movements. Her hand jerked and swept across the paper.

Inspired by the movements her pencil made as she created her own form of beauty, he brought his guitar around and began to quietly play. Tempo fast, notes discordant, he created a melody to accompany the frantic dance of her hand.

Minutes pass before Marinette registered the music playing at the edge of her senses. Glancing toward the source, she was shocked to see Luka sitting with his legs folded under him to support the guitar he was playing.

With a squeak, she began to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He didn’t even look at her as he continued to play, transitioning from her frantic song, to a slower melody, its gentle chords slowing her heartbeat and easing her tension. “It’s okay. I understand what it is to be taken over by inspiration. To have the world around you fall away and nothing else exists but what you’re creating.”

Her shoulders relaxed. Of course, he would get it. Feeling much more relaxed and less embarrassed at being caught in the midst of a designing storm, she released the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Thanks for your understanding. Just give me a minute to get this cleaned up and we can get started getting your measurements.”

She quickly gathered the papers scattered around her desk and stuffed them haphazardly in a folder.

“There’s no rush.” He looked up at her then, eyes piercing through his hair. “I like watching you work. The way your hand flies over the page as your drawing, it’s almost like a dance.” He smiled softly at her blank expression. “I was just providing some music for you to dance to.”

Marinette’s mind went blank as she stared dumbly at the musician.

“Yes., well, yeah…” She didn’t know what to say to that. What do you say to something like that? How do you respond to something so beautiful? “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Kissing any chance of this not being an embarrassing experience for both of them goodbye, she gestured to the stool in the middle of the room for him to climb on so she could take his measurements.

‘Oh god, what have I gotten myself into?’ she asked herself once more.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Chapter 14

*Sorry for the delay. I wasn't certain on where I wanted the story to go from here, but I finally figured it out. My original plan was to have 29 chapters to this story, to go along with the 29 days of Lukanette February prompts. Now, I'm not sure if I want to drag it out for that long. But I DO know that there will be at least a few more chapters to this. There's a lot of things I need to resolve before I can say "and they lived happily ever after" or whatever.

Special thanks to @novicevoice, @skatsh18, @macaknight, and @unabashedbookworm for your comments. I’m glad you all like this story I’ve come up with. Your kind words are very much appreciated <3

Until next time, my lovelies XOXO*

@write-for-your-life2

#lukanette february #lukanette #lukanette fic #lukanette fanfiction #mlvalentines2k20 #ml fanfic #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #they're so oblivious #adrien encouraging the enemy #nino knows all

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dracula-in-purple-story · 5 years

Text

Romantic Idiots

How to confess to your crush(es)?

Option 1 : Do not let your brain and heart clashes together and give you mixed signals. Then confess.

Option 2 : Give him/her/them an Applin or any shiny Pokemons. Then confess.

Advice : Panic if fail.

“Panic if fail? What’s that supposed to mean, Grandpa?” Hop glanced up hesitantly as he finished noting down the old man’s advice. His ex-champion brother nervously clenched around his Charmander plushies.

The grandfather smiled coyly as he went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of tea while the brothers tried to follow behind him. Their mother chuckled at this silly scene before the grandmother answered for her husband, also smiling coyly.

“Panic as in running away like an idiot. I swear to Arceus, when I was at your age, Leon, your grandpa over there tried to asked me out by throwing a Poke Ball at my window. Poor Appletun dearie got a fright that time and refused to acknowledge him for a decade.”

“Hush, sweetheart.” the blushing old man ruffled his wife’s hair before settling down. “Our daughter-in-law got it worse than you. Am I right, Helen?”

The said woman just sighed blissfully before snorting out loud, almost making the brothers laughed if they weren’t asking for some love advices. Standing up, she shuffled through the living room to picked up her wedding photos and was reminiscing the moment.

“Mom?” the older brother asked gently as to not interrupt the moment.

“Yes, Leon?”

“How did Dad confess? It can’t be worse than Gramps’ attempt.”

“Yeah!” the younger brother butted in while grinning at the offended-looking man, “What was it like? Could it be he try to serenade? Bet he sounds goofy and passed it down to Lee!”

“Hey! I sound amazing, Hopscotch! You are just jealous!”

“Boys,” the mother smiled at her sons’ playful banter. When they finally stopped, she smiled even wilder as she recounted the fateful evening.

“Well, he didn’t serenade, for starters. But he did tried to make an A Capella with Rotoms and Dittos. Never worked out since he first practised it at the Lake of Outrage. The Rotoms snitched on him with the Dittos were making ‘He love You’ letters while I saved his arse.”

“Oof, ouchies.” Hop scrunched up his face jokingly while Leon laughed as he imagined the scenario over and over. They pulled out their own RotomPhones when they were done though.

“You better not snitch on me, dude. I must do this myself.” The ex-champion pleaded with his little bro nodding beside him.

“You got it-Roto! Don’t stutter when you confess-Roto!”

“We make sure to taped you guys so we can see who’s got the worst end of the stick-Roto!”

“ROTOMS, NO!”

The purple-haired brothers panicked as they chased their cackling phones, leaving the amused adults behind.

“I bet two thousand PokeDollars that they would failed terribly and cutely at the same time.”

“No need to bet, Mother. It’s obvious that their ability to confess is still strong in their blood.”

“Rude, ladies. Very rude.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Now back at their shared apartment at Wyndon City, Leon was pacing around. His little bro had already went out to find his crushes. The new chairman wished he had this kind of courage. He wished, just not gonna happen. He and Raihan are just friends with a healthy rivalry of ten years! How is he going to react if he just confess out of the blue?! That’s why he got a perfect plan! Sonia had helped him devised a lot of plans. Plans related to shiny Pokemons were quickly rejected due to him being a natural shiny repellent. Flowers were also a big no, Raihan’s Pokemons tend to gobbled up flowers from his fans. Chocolate was supposed to be part of the plan, but Sonia rejected that idea because it was overrated. So this is the result. Just ask Raihan to go out with him and make sure he knows it’s a date and not a Valentine’s Day hangout. Solid A+ Plan! “Over a phone call? So outdated, Master Lee. Not gonna lie but that’s so last season,” the RotomPhone floats around in front of Leon while showcasing the contact details of his master’s dream man. “I don’t want Raihan to see my face if I ask him face to face! It’s too obvious!” “Ain’t that the plan?” “No!” “Okay, okay! Geez, you humans are so overly complicated. What happen to mating calls? It’s so much easier.” “Shut it, Rotom...” With a heavy sigh, he slouched over the single-seat coach. Maybe it’s a bad plan, but it’s the only foul-proof plan he could ever execute. “Okay,” Leon sat up and slapped both side of his cheeks to concentrate, “I’m ready! All I have to say is ‘Go out with me this evening’!” Snatching RotomPhone from the air, while apologizing, the purple-haired man pressed ‘Call’ with confidence. It rang for a few times before the Dragon Gym Leader picked up with his smooth, husky voice. The voice he should still get used to but still melt every time he heard it. “What’s up, ex-champ? Feeling lonely on Valentines?” Let’s be boyfriends. Leon’s mind went on short circuit for a bit. He didn’t respond for a minute, making the silence unbearable. “Uh, Leon? Are you there?” “LET’S DO BOYFRIENDS’ DATE!” Unfortunately, his mind ended up fusing what he initially going to said and his current thoughts. Freaking out, he ended up the call without hearing the reply. He just screwed up. He managed to screw up the only foul-proof plan. This is not what it should happen and yet, here he was. Leon stomped his way to his bedroom, slammed his door open and threw himself onto the bed in frustration. He really shouldn’t take Option 1. ~~~~~~~~~~ Arriving at the Hammerlocke Gym, Hop quickly strode towards the lift, and quickly slid his access card. He went in but not without getting bumped by Raihan, who never seems to noticed him as the top Gym Leader dashed outside with the biggest grin plastered on his face. Leon succeed, huh... The lab assistant shook his face to focus on his mission. He really put a lot of effort finding these Pokemon after all. Gramps’ advice always worked! Reaching his destination, he walked out slowly towards his so-called Rival Gang. They were grooming and playing with Zacian and Zamazenta. The Legendary Pokemon was really ease up on Victor and Gloria real quick. Hop let out his own Legendary Pokemon partner, Eternatus, scaring the occupant in the room, especially the albino-haired boy. “Hop! You idiot! Are you trying to scare me half to death?!” I wanna smooch you til I melt though. Grinning characteristically, he settled himself down between the girls, who now switched their focus on Eternatus. Victor, the new chairman’s secretary, smiled gently at him as greeting. Arceus, I would love to see your smile everyday, every time. “So, how’s the research coming up, Hop? Having such a rowdy Pokemon like this dragon must have damage the lab a few times.” Marnie smirked at Hop while throwing a Heavy Ball for it to catch. Such a graceful badass. With a super effective smirk. “Natus can shapeshift to a smaller size to roam freely so it’s not a problem,” the lab assistant answered before side-glancing his Legendary partner, “the problem would be giving Sonia a hard time to examine it.” “Typical. Seems like giving you Eternatus is the right choice. After all, I don’t think I can handle two huge responsibilities at the same time. Am I right, Zacian?” Gloria, the newly-crowned champion, winked at the Sword-wielding Warrior Pokemon. Zacian huffed out a pleased grunt, almost indicating it agreed with her. Are you trying to faint me with your adorable wink?! Finding the right time, Hop waited for the opportunity as they talked and played around. Occasionally battling or betting matches, making curry at this unusual location, talking about work. Hop had to thank Arceus when Victor popped the question. “So... today’s Valentines Day, ain’t it? You guys got some confession to make?” Silence taking over the room. Marnie and Bede tried to hide their blush but failed miserably while Gloria was looking embarrassed for once. Hop took a deep breath. “I do.” Shocking his gang again, he took out four Love Balls. Each of them had their unique designs that Hop took the time to do. “It makes me sound crazy but I think... I have a crushes on you guys. Super, duper big ones,” he slowly exclaimed as he handed them each of their own unique Love Balls, which they took it gladly. A good sign. Victor had Sobble with heart-shaped eyes drawing; Gloria had Scorbunny with its ear forming a heart-shaped drawing; Bede had a heart-shaped Solosis drawing; Marnie had Morpeko with heart-shaped cheek pouches drawing. “Hop, I hate you,” the Fairy Type Gym Leader started scowling. While Hop thought he was already damaging their friendship, the blushing albino head also threw him and the others a Love Ball. “You make me look so underprepared that it hurts.” “Me too.” The Dark Type Gym Leader joined in as she too had four Love Balls. “Me three.” The secretary chimed in, also with another four Love Balls. “I’m an idiot,” Gloria was flushed red as she took out four boxes of chocolates. The gang bursted out laughing at their rightfully-called lover. Lovers... that rings nicely to my heart. Our heart.

#One Shot #Valentines Prompts #Pokemon Sword and Shield #TrueRivalShipping #RivalGangShipping #Pokemon Trainer Victor #Pokemon Trainer Gloria #Rival Hop #Rival Marnie #Rival Bede #Champion Leon #Gym Leader Raihan #Zacian #Zamazenta #Eternatus #SWSH

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smoljojo · 5 years

Text

Serenades and Seidr

Summary: Loki imagine - Imagine Loki singing loudly and passionately, and then blushing when he realizes that you’re listening. Also, Loki helps you siphon seidr.

Edit: I don’t know why but it didn’t occur to me when I first wrote this to say that this my little smutty AU flurry for @maiden-of-asgard ‘s wonderful Frostbite story. Go check her full fic out!

Notes: So, it has been a hot minute since I posted my last Loki drabble, but I’m back baby! I’m honestly not sure how I feel about this one but I’ve had it in my drafts for the longest time and thought I’d might as well post it before I start up my first multi-chapter fic. Hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Loki/reader

Word count: 1653

Warnings: Fluff, mild embarrassment, some semi-steamy kisses but no actual smut

Rating: T

~~~

You huff in annoyance after you finish your third failed attempt at seamlessly connecting the arms of the figure you’re drawing to it’s torso. The paper is slightly wrinkled and the faint marks of half-erased pencil strokes are visible surrounding the shoulders, both of which provoke you to crumple the paper and chuck it at the far wall. The crude ball, quite pathetically, only makes it halfway across the room before landing in the middle of the royal Asgardian rug of yours and Loki’s shared drawing room, only furthering your ire. You drag yourself out of your cushioned chair to pick up the trash, but your body stills before you can even get close to your miserable paper ball.

The faintest sound of someone singing drifts across the empty space, seeming to originate from the room separated from the one you’re currently in by large, heavy doors. The only person it could’ve been was Loki.. but you’d never heard him sing before, and he certainly never boasted about this secret talent. You silently pad over to said doors, and gently press your ear against the cool wood.

The lyrics are indecipherable but the melody is sweet and soothing. You sigh and lean more of your weight against the door as the song continues, picturing Loki mindlessly singing this tune while preparing for his meeting with the lords from the coast and various other members of the Jötun royal family. The thought of him positioning his golden, horned helmet over his raven hair as the tune slips through his throat is enough to give you the courage to crack open the door for a peak, praying the Norns will let you slip into the room undetected.

The hinges make the tiniest of groans, but Loki’s voice, of which is much clearer now, never falters, encouraging you to sneak through the opening and slowly shut the door behind you.

He’s lying fully dressed on his back on the bed when you spot him, illustrating glowing runes and symbols you recognized from one of his many spellbooks, in the air in front of him. The figures of light seem to dance along with his voice as he waves his hand half-heartedly.

“Would you like to try?”

The question shocks you, of course a part of you had suspected he was aware of your presence but you kind of hoped he’d let you watch him for a moment.

“What do you mean?” You ask, tentatively closing the distance between you both when he sits up. “Try magic? You know I’m no good.”

“You mustn't doubt your ability, most mortals only dream of being able siphon seidr, much less being able to harness it - come here.”

You fold your legs under you when you sit down next to him on the bed of furs, “also, when were you going to mention that you can sing?”

His ears tint the slightest shade of red and he runs his large hands down the sides of your arms, shoulder to elbow, as a distraction, “shh, one thing at a time.”

“You know I’m going to make you sing for me later ri-“

You’re cut off when he presses one his long, lean fingers against your lips, “How about this, I’ll sing for you only if you at least try practicing simple seidr.”

You cringe at the thought of another embarrassing, failed attempt at spell-casting, but the promise of being serenaded puts your mind at ease.

“Alright.”

He smiles brilliantly at you, adorably giddy like a child. “Do you rememberer the sigil I showed you, the aegishjalmur?”

You try visualizing the relatively simple symbol in your mind, “I believe so.”

“Good, you’re going to try to do what I was doing when you walked in,” he tells you, “all you are going to do is try to produce the sigil in the air.”

He makes it look easy when he waves his hand, demonstrating the movements required.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs you, and you obey, “first, try to harness the power.”

“Easier said than done, Lokes.”

“I was getting there,” he teases gently, chuckling, “clear your mind, you’ll sense the pull of the seidr’s power if you focus.”

You try to do as he says, and when you feel no magical “pull”, you start to get frustrated and huff.

“It’s not working,” you almost cringe at how petulant you sound, but the embarrassment of yet another failed seidr attempt makes your face burn, and you’ve no doubt your face displays your crushed emotions as well. “Don’t you have a meeting or something to get to, anyway?”

“They’ll live. Besides, a king is never late,” he rubs soothing circles into the outsides of your thighs, just firm enough to calm you, light enough to not distract you.

You focus on your breathing, searching for that ever elusive “pull”. You’re about to give up hope when you see a ball of light flash behind your eyelids. You frown and try to follow it, like a magnet, it draws you towards it.

“I see something,” you tell Loki, your voice no longer containing the disconcerted tone of before, but a newfound sense of awe and excitement. “It’s some form of light? It’s drawing me towards it.”

“Draw it towards you, darling. You need to control it, harness it yourself or it will consume you.”

The warning, despite being delivered without any apprehension, sends a bolt of fear down your spine, the idea of being consumed by an unknown magical force doesn’t exactly sound fun. You find the burning ball again, but you don’t follow or entertain it when it darts about, instead willing it to come to you. The light becomes less fleeting but is still stubborn, so you try harder. You can’t help but feel ridiculous when you frown in concentration, using every bit of your will power and feeling quite like Eleven from Stranger Things in order to rope in the ball. After what seems like forever, the light finally falls within what you can only describe as your mental grasp.

“I have it!” You exclaim, grinning and letting out a small giggle in your exhilaration.

You hear Loki chuckle along with you. “Good, good. Place the seidr’s power in your hands.”

You drag the light closer to you, close enough to feel it’s power warm your chest, you direct that power to your fingertips the best that you can, but you’re not sure if it’s working.

“Open your eyes, love”

You slowly creak your eyes open to reveal a glowing, golden mist enveloping your hands. You squeal in shock and happiness, causing Loki to bark out a laugh.

“I’m actually doing it!”

“Indeed you are, darling,” he encourages with the biggest smile adorning his beautiful face. “You’re not done yet, though. Visualize the aegishjalmur, and trace the design in front of you if it helps.”

You do as much but for a moment, nothing happens. Refusing to allow yourself to get upset again, you try again, and the slightest outline of a circular symbol appears between your hands.

You gasp in elation and bite your lip in determination to make the sigil more visible. Slowly but surely, a golden aegishjalmur begins to glow brightly and proudly between Loki and you.

“I did it, baby!” You laugh and twirl the figure with your fingers.

Loki twists his hands in order to allow his own aegishjalmur to dance with yours.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Loki’s voice is low, just above a whisper.

“They are,” you reply without hesitation.

The green and gold sigils dance around each other, seeming to move to an inaudible rhythm. After a moment, you let yours fade away, a loopy grin etched onto your face.

“Thank you, Loki,” your eyes flicker up to meet his to find him watching you with a loving smile pulling at his own lips. Your breath hitches when his eyes flick down to your lips.

“You’re beautiful when you smile, you know that?” He’s already leaning towards you before he finishes complimenting you, and your lips meet before you have the chance to reply.

His mouth is warm and inviting, even in his Jotun form, he gently pushes you onto your back and moves over you. His hands make quick work with your hair, pushing it out of your face and allowing access to your neck. You feel your blush travel from your face to your chest and a low rumble erupts from his throat as he nips your jaw with his sharp teeth.

“Gorgeous,” he growls into the crevice between the corner of your jaw and the flesh just below your ear.

You sigh happily and intertwine your fingers into his hair, keeping him pressed hard against you.

“My King, your presence is requested in the throne room by her Highness Lady Fárbauti.”

The interruption takes you both by surprise and the whine of displeasure does not go unheard from the said King in your arms. His childishness would make you laugh if you weren’t frustrated from the intrusion yourself.

“Inform her Highness that the King will be down in just a moment,” he calls out in the vague direction of the door, his voice booming with an underlying tone of annoyance.

His earlier promise pops into your mind when he peels himself away from you.

“You owe me a song when you return,” the smile you give him is cheeky and his responding groan makes you cough out a laugh.

“I suppose a promise is a promise,” he reluctantly recedes as he smooths out his leather armor. “I’ll send for a servant to bring you food if you wish?”

“That sounds great,” you cross your arms behind your head, a blissed out expression adorning your features.

He leans down to place one last sweet, chaste kiss on your forehead, “In case you’ve fallen asleep before I return, rest easy my little drottning.”

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eightlittletalons · 4 years

Text

Playing with Fire

Also known as Dorian and Lavellan playing chicken until they just make out in the middle of the tavern.

Revas and Sera were on their way to the Herald’s Rest when Cole materialized seemingly out of thin air. Sera’s chatter came to an abrupt squeak of a halt as both jumped in surprise. Cole shot her a wary look as she huffed and glared down at her boots to avoid looking at the spirit. “I brought the book you asked for,” he mumbled, pushing a bundle into the Inquisitor’s hands.

“Wonderful!” the Dalish mage exclaimed, smiling brightly. He tucked the bundled sack under his arm and clasped his free hand onto the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Cole. You’ve been a great help.”

“Really?” Cole asked with a soft smile, fidgeting under the praise. “But won’t Dorian be worried if he finds out?”

Revas patted his shoulder comfortingly. “He might, but this is for a surprise, Cole. I’m sure Dorian will be delighted. But remember, this is a secret,” he said, drawing Cole in closer with a reassuring smile. “I’ll let you know when I need you to return it to Dorian’s room, alright?”

“Of course,” Cole replied, looking relieved and tentatively returning the elf’s smile with one of his own. He vanished just as quickly and quietly as he had appeared, leaving the elves alone once again.

“So,” Sera drawled after a moment of silence. “What’s all that ‘bout a surprise? What’d you get it to nick from Lord Fancypants?”

Revas glanced furtively around the grounds, making sure the coast was clear before he pulled out the book from the sack. “It’s Dorian’s grimoire,” he said, grinning roguishly. His smile faltered at Sera’s blank look.

“His whatsit?” she asked, nose scrunching up in confusion. She took the book from him to examine it closer, flipping through the pages.

“His grimoire. It’s like...a journal, but for magic. It holds spells, research, that kind of thing,” Revas explained impatiently. He crowded close to her, turning the pages until he found a good one and gestured to the spell that was outlined there.

“Oh,” Sera responded, a note of disgust in her voice. She passed the book back to him and shoved him out of her space. “Why’d it give it to you?”

Revas heaved a heavy sigh. “Cole is not an it, Sera,” he chided. The mage paused then, shooting her a speculative look. Was telling her a mistake? She was always game for a good bit of mischief, but to say that she didn’t trust magic was an understatement. Time would tell, he supposed. “I don’t want Dorian to know I have it. That shem would become even more insufferable if he knew I wanted to know more about him-his magic, I mean.”

Sera’s eyes widened in delight. “You stole it!” she shouted, laughing wildly. “What are you gonna-” She was cut off by Revas throwing his hand over her mouth.

“Shhhhhh! No. No, no, I didn’t steal it! Borrowed. I’m borrowing it!” he stressed. Sera rolled her eyes and licked his hand, causing him to release her in disgust. “Sera, promise me you won’t say anything. I’ll have Cole return it before Dorian even knows it’s missing.”

She pretended to think about the demand, watching Revas wipe his hand on his pant leg in amusement. “Let me draw a picture in it, and I’ll promise,” she finally declared.

“What? No! Then he’ll know someone took it!”

“Then no promises, oh mighty Inquisitor.”

“This shouldn’t even be up for debate,” Revas grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face as he scowled at her.

“Where do ya think Dorian is right now? He’d sure be grateful if someone tipped him off ‘bout a theft.”

“Alright, fine,” Revas relented with a groan. “If you promise, I’ll consider possibly allowing you to draw in it. Deal?” He stuck out his hand for her to shake. Her palm met his in a resounding smack.

“Deal.”

A short while later, Dorian swept into the tavern looking distressed. “Has anyone seen a book lying about? I seem to have misplaced one, and it’s quite vital that it’s returned to my possession as quickly as possible,” he addressed the room. Sera caught his eye and subtly inclined her head in the direction of a corner booth where Revas was seated, his head bent over a familiar looking tome. Ah, of course. “Inquisitor!”

As Revas glanced up and locked eyes with him, a look of guilt flashed across the elf’s face as the tips of his ears turned a fetching shade of pink. He then had the gall to snap the grimoire shut and attempted to hide it under his arms. “Dorian,” Revas greeted, feigning nonchalance.

“Might I join you?” the Tevinter mage asked, approaching the table. The elf’s jaw set obstinately, but he gestured to the seat beside him. Dorian made a bit of a show of getting comfortable, letting Revas sweat it out a little longer before he pinned what he hoped was a stern expression on him. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain whether he was irritated at the elf’s brazen theft or amused at his reaction to having been caught.

The Dalish refused to meet his eye, and leaned ever so slightly away from Dorian as he waited to be reprimanded. Finally, he pushed the grimoire over towards him. “Is this the book you were looking for?” he asked innocently.

Dorian just managed to hide his laugh behind a cough. If Revas wanted to play that game, so be it. He picked up the grimoire, clasping it to his hip, then leaned in closer. Revas leaned even further away. “Indeed it is. Might I ask where you found it? I was quite sure I’d left it in my room.”

“Ah. It was...around. Somewhere,” the elf said vaguely, shrugging. He met Dorian’s eye with such a fake look of sincerity that the man felt his lips twitch upwards. Kaffas, he wouldn’t break that easily. “If I had known it was yours, I would have returned it straight away, of course.”

“Of course,” he repeated. “I’m sure I’m not the only one in Skyhold with a grimoire detailing theories of time magic.”

“Oh,” Revas winced, averting his eyes again. Good, Dorian wasn’t able to suppress his smile any longer.

“Oh, indeed. My Lord Inquisitor, I would never dream of accusing you of such a base crime as theft, but is there any possibility that the ‘somewhere’ you found my grimoire was on my bedside table?”

“He got Demon Boy to get it for him,” Sera called from across the room, where she was balancing on the hind legs of her chair. Revas made an obscene gesture towards her, and she huffed indignantly. “Pff, you wish. Ser Lordybloomers was gonna draw rude things in it.”

“Thank you, Sera,” Dorian replied. He failed to stop his grin when she returned the Inquisitor’s gesture with a smug look. Revas, on the other hand, looked positively stricken when Dorian returned his attention to the elven mage.

“Dorian, I swear on the Dales that isn’t true. I would never deface something so important to you. I only wanted to borrow it for a little while. We use similar magic, and I wanted to compare-”

Dorian raised his hand to cut off Revas’ babbling and managed to summon up a severe look. “Lavellan, I don’t know how the Dalish do things, but when a human borrows an item, it’s customary to ask for permission beforehand.”

“Ah. Then let’s chalk this up to a cultural misunderstanding, shall we?” the elf asked hopefully. He began to slowly get up out of his chair. “Now if that’s all, I really should be-”

“Not so fast, Inquisitor,” Dorian interrupted, reaching out to grab ahold of Revas’ coat to pull him back to his seat. Revas sat heavily with a sigh. “Whether or not you realized you were in the wrong, I do believe I should be offered recompense.”

“Recompense,” the elf repeated flatly, eyeing Dorian warily. “Uh...sure. What do you want?”

“You could kiss me.”

“What?”

Dorian leaned into Revas’ space and was mildly surprised that the elf allowed it. Though perhaps that was the shock. He’d like to think after all their flirting that this would be welcome. Taking a chance, he lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind one of the Inquisitor’s tapered ears, brushing a finger seductively along the delicate tip. The elf swallowed heavily, and Dorian knew he had him.

“A kiss from the beautiful Inquisitor Lavellan should be enough to soothe my hurt feelings about this...incident,” Dorian murmured, glancing at Revas’ lips before dragging his gaze back up to his eyes. If he’d had trouble getting the Dalish to look at him earlier, he now had the smaller mage’s undivided attention.

“Is that all?” Revas asked hoarsely. His eyes were dark with interest.

“It does have to be on the lips, of course,” Dorian clarified. He watched in satisfaction as Revas’ eyes dropped to his mouth. He leaned in closer.

“I can do that,” the Inquisitor breathed. He slid his hands slowly up Dorian’s chest, reaching up to cup the human’s jaw and angled his face down as he brushed their lips together. It was light as a feather, but Dorian felt as though he’d just been ignited.

Dorian’s arms wrapped around the elf unbidden, one hand tangling in Revas’ hair and the other curling around his waist, tugging the elf against his chest. “One more,” he begged roughly. He felt Revas smile against his lips before he was pulled into a deeper kiss.

Dorian closed his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as Revas caught his lower lip between his teeth. He couldn’t hold back a moan as the elf bit down lightly. And then Revas was untangling himself and stepping up and away from the table. He looked deliciously rumpled and out of breath, his ears blazing a bright red. “How was that for recompense?” he asked, grinning smugly at Dorian’s dazed expression.

“It was satisfactory, I suppose,” Dorian replied as he straightened his own robes and willed his heart rate to slow. He aimed for a casual tone, though by Revas’ smirk and cocked brow, he fell miserably short.

“Mhm. Well your moustache tickles, but it wasn’t terrible for a shemlen. In fact, I believe that was the most pleasant punishment I’ve ever been dealt,” Revas said, laughing as he smoothed his hand through his hair.

“Was it, now? I take it you’ve received many punishments for this kind of behavior?”

Revas laughed again, more rueful this time. “You could say that. My Keeper often lamented the fact that I was going to be the one that the clan eventually looked to for guidance. And now the entire Inquisition looks to me for the same. Funny how these sort of things happen.”

Hoping to rekindle the moment before the elf retreated too far into his dark thoughts, Dorian took a deep breath and dove straight in before he could think better of it. “Revas, if you’re still interested in comparing spells...I would like to invite you to my room for a discussion. Perhaps a...demonstration could even be arranged,” he suggested, feeling his bravado leave him as the elf pinned him with a predatory gleam in his silver gaze.

“It would be my pleasure, Dorian.”

#dragon age #dorian pavus #dragon age inquisition #pavellan #lavellan #revas lavellan #liv writes

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spoopyghostgirl · 5 years

Text

Oblivion Modern AU Fic

Pairings: Lucien Lachance X HoK, Lucien Lachance X Silencer, Martin Septim X HoK

Word Count: 9.969

TW: Attempted Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts

Cameras click, Liliths lips stretching into an empty smile. Several council members stood around her, smiling at photographers and passing around congratulations. Mehrunes Dagon has been vanquished and the last member of the Septim line laid dead. A martyr for his nation, for his people, for her.

“It is the end of an Era,” Lilith blinked, High Chancellor Ocato’s words sounding muffled and far away. “But thanks to our brave Champion and our dear Emperor, Tamriel is safe once more!” The crowd cheered, their voices echoing around the large auditorium. The award ceremony had been thrown together two weeks after Mehrunes had been vanquished. Two weeks after Martin died. Lilith’s eyes pinched shut, in a small reprieve from the stare of well wishers and council members. “But, we all know who you’re really here for.” Lilith felt a hand on her back, her eyes widening in panic as Ocato pushed her forward. “The Hero of Kvatch and now the champion of Cyrodil, Lilith!” She stumbled, both hands coming up to catch herself on the smooth wooden podium before her to a roaring applause. Swallowing painfully, she pushed herself up to her full height, surveying the endless sea of strangers. “If you’d like to say a few words, Lady Corbeau.” Ocato spoke gently in her ear after a pregnant pause. ‘No,’ instead she nodded her head, knowing what was expected of her. 'You’ve done this before, put on a charming smile and tell them the words they wish to hear.’ Her lips twitched, her gold eyes running over the crowd. Taking a calming breath, she forced herself to speak.

“Thank you, High Chancellor, for this ceremony and-,” her right hand closed around the amulet, it’s appearance flickering in her hand, “award. It is an honor to serve the Empire and her great people.” Inhaling deeply, she pressed on, voice wavering. “But there was no greater honor than standing beside Mar- Emperor Septim as he stood against Mehrunes.” The crowd roared, eating up her words but their cheers only caused the void in her chest to ache. Her best friend, the man she was in love with was dead, and these people stood cheering. Celebrating a man they never would have given a fuck about. The spare heir in a long line of conquerors and mad men. They didn’t know how he sang in the shower. They didn’t know how he painted the world in vivid color across her skin. They didn’t know the love they had shared or the promises they made. And it ached in a way that Lilith could scarcely describe. Did they deserve to know those intimate moments? The man behind the sacrifice? No but she’d be damned if they didn’t. “But Martin is- was more than that,” she continued, voice quivering. “He was-,” she bit her lower lip, vision blurring as tears filled her eyes, his smiling face flashing before her eyes, a cup of coffee that was more than half creamer clutched in his hands. “He was-,” blood flooded her mouth and she stumbled back from the podium as she begged the tears not to fall. Gold eyes opening she looked to the one person she felt sure could understand. 'Jauffre,’ “I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t- I can’t do this,” with that Lilith turned on her heel and bolted out the back door of the auditorium and into the snow chilled air. Lilith’s feet pounded against the frozen pavement, hot tears blurring her vision as she ran.

“We can find another way,” her voice trembled, gaze moving from Jauffre to Martin. “Even with the portal opening we have time. We just- we just have to find another way.” Her voice cracked, eyes move pass Martin to the blood red sky, thick black magic whirling around a growing Oblivion Gate.

“It’s too late,” Jauffres words were gentle, his right hand squeezing Liliths shoulder. Her mouth opened, hot tears filling her eyes only for a loud bang to tear through the air. Eyes snapping back to the portal, Lilith found several large red hands wrapped around its edge before a head emerged. “He’s already here,” her mouth opened, words failing her as the news copter that had been buzzing about the chaos was grabbed in one of Mehrunes large hands and crushed. Shrugging off Jauffres hand, Lilith stepped closer to Martin, her hand barely grazing his arm before he turned to face her. The fear that had been glowing in his blue eyes had been replaced. Staring back at her was a man who knew what had to be done and wasn’t about to hesitate.

“Martin, please-,"

"I love you,” Martin cut her off, left hand sliding up her face before being joined by his right. “I love you so much, more than anything,"

"No,” her voice cracked, thick tears rolling down her cheeks. “You can’t leave me, please, I-,” his lips moved against hers, a weak whimper leaving her lips when he finally pulled away. “Martin-,” her words faltered, seeing warm tears streaming down his cheeks,

“More than anything.” With that Martin summoned a burst of magic in his hand, destroying the Amulet of Kings. Lilith rushed after him, barely making it out of the Temple of Akatosh before a pair of arms wrapped around her.

“Martin no-,” but it was too late. Golden magic swirled around her lover, his soft blue eyes meeting with hers one last before his form changed. “I love you!” Her words were drowned out as Martin, now the vessel of the great dragon Akatosh, threw his head back and roared.

“Gods damn it,” Lilith reached up to rub uselessly at her eyes. She wasn’t sure where she was going until she looked up, finding the now standing, great statue of Akatosh. “Akatosh Akatosh Akatosh,” she hissed angrily, “so great and powerful.” Her voice quivered as she yanked off her “award”, a gold plated replica of the Amulet of Kings and whipped it at the statue. It bounced off uselessly before skittering across the ground. “If you were so fucking great you wouldn’t have needed a vessel, needed him! But no, I finally find him again, after 5 years, and you go and rip him away from me! And for what,” she stormed up to the statue, arms flying open, “You saved Tamriel but what’s the point!? What is there for me without him!” Her voice lowered, arms wrapping around herself as she pressed her forehead against the cool stone of the statue. “What’s left for me,” She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before she could feel someone watching her. 'The traitor,’ not even raising her head she spoke,

“Whatever you’re going to do, just do it. There’s nothing else left for me here,” black boots entered her peripheral vision before something warm and smelling of sandalwood was draped over her. Shivering, Lilith look up to find a pair of worried honey eyes. “Mathieu,” her lower lip trembled and she looked away, the concern in his eyes reigniting the ache in her chest. “How did you know I was here?"

"I didn’t,"his voice softened, "but several of our siblings were watching the award ceremony. Vicente called me when they saw you bolt and I figured you’d either be here or at the park near the castle.” He avoided mentioning Lucien having offered to come to the monument, telling Vicente he was already on his way there. Pinching her eyes shut, she lowered her face into his jacket, pulling it tighter around her shivering frame.

“But why did you-,” stepping closer to her, Mathieu helped her slide her arms into the sleeves of his jacket before zipping it up.

“I was worried about you,” and he had been, something that had surprised the murder happy sibling. He wasn’t sure what about her had made him hesitate but even if he had come here to kill her, he wouldn’t have been able to. Seeing her here, cheeks red from the cold and dried tears, his heart ached for her. “I-,” he paused, unsure how to proceed. Could he trust her? Would telling her alert Lucien to him knowing who killed his mother? “I know what you’re going through,” hesitating again, he searched her face for any signs of distrust or disbelief. “My mother she…,” cold fingers lightly caressed his cheek, drawing his eyes back to hers. “My father killed her when I was a child,” blaming his father was easy and closest to the truth he could offer her.

“I’m so sorry, Mathieu, I had no idea.” Her voice was hoarse, either from sitting out in the cold too long or from the sobbing he was sure she’d been doing. Offering her a sad smile, he squeezed her hand as she pulled it away. “How could you have? It’s not something I like talking about but… I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you.” A small smile was his reward though it didn’t meet her eyes. In that moment she reminded him of his younger self so much that it scared him. He had wanted nothing more than to end his own miserable existence. 'Nothing means anything to me without her,’ but then he had discovered that it was his father that had contacted the dark brotherhood to take his precious mother from him, and everything changed. 'But unlike me, she knew exactly who took Martin away.’ And, from the look in her eye, he wondered if anything would be able to pull her from the path she was on. 'I’ll speak to Him,’ he had enough practice to not snarl whenever he thought of Lucien, 'together we should be able to keep her off contract. Keep her safe,’ satisfied with this line of thought, he pulled his phone out his pocket and set out a quick group texts. The first was to Lucien and Vicente, informing them of his idea, and the second to the Hand and Listener. Lilith had climbed quickly through the ranks, they would be willing to give her time because they would fear losing an extremely talented assassin. Focusing back on Lilith he offered her his hand. “Why don’t we take you home and get you to bed?” Sniffling, Lilith looked up at the statue that had once been the love of her life and then back at Mathieu. “Come on, dear sister, it’ll be there tomorrow.” Releasing a heavy sigh, she took his offered hand, and escorted her to his car. Once in, the drive was quick and silent, Mathieu sending several worried glances in her direction though Lilith seemed to not notice them. Instead she worried at the hem of his jacket sleeve, the wool material soft under her fingers. Pulling into the large parking structure attached to her pent house apartment, Mathieu moved quickly, fishing her out of the car and escorting her into her home. Her fingers trembled as she tried to slip her key into the lock, a sudden realization hitting him. 'They lived here together,’ “You know what? Why don’t you come stay with me for the night? I don’t think I want to be alone tonight,” he added when her mouth opened to argue. Pursing her lips, she looked at the mahogany door that led to her empty apartment before sighing.

“Okay."

The drive to his home took about 30 minutes, Lilith dozing in the passenger seat. A small part of him worried about her finding what he hid under his home but shook his head. He trusted her, as odd as that may have sounded to him months ago, but he knew that if anyone would understand his plan, it would be her. Reaching out with his right hand he tucked a strand of snowy hair behind her ear, a sad smile pulling at his lips. 'If she makes it through this.’ Pulling into his drive way he shook her gently to rouse her from her light slumber before helping her into his home. Her gaze flickered quickly around his home, absently noting the modern theme.

"It’s lovely,” she kicked off her boots, wiggling her toes as she crossed into his living room. “Your walls are very bare though,"

"Maybe you can come by and paint them for me.” He offered, latching on to the small thread of normalcy. She offered him a weak smile that he was sure was meant to reassure him. “Let me grab you some clothes to sleep in and I’ll set up the guest bedroom while you change.” Lilith nodded, silently making her way across the wooden floors of his home before perching on his couch. Frowning, he plucked his vibrating phone from his pants pocket, Luciens name flashing across the screen. “Yes Lachance,”

“Where is she?” Picking through his dresser, he pulled out a pair of soft grey joggers and a grey t shirt. “I’m at her apartment and its empty,” he could faintly hear the man pacing across her wooden floor. “She’s here with me. She-,”

“I’ll be there in 30.” Growling, Mathieu stomped down the hallway and steps, forcing himself to take deep calming breaths before stopping before her. She sat with her legs pulled up to her chest, her left cheek resting on her knees as she stared out the large bay windows that made up the right side of his living room.

“Hey,” he held out the clothes to her, her hollow eyes meeting his. “Let me show you to the room,” she followed him up two carpeted flights of steps, her fingers lightly dragging against the glass railing. Stopping briefly behind Mathieu she closed her eyes tightly, forcing herself not to cry in front of him anymore. “Here you go,” she could see it in his face that she hadn’t hid her tears well but after a quick glance in her eyes, he knew not to press. “Why dont you take a quick shower and get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs for awhile if you need anything.” She made it into the shower before her tears became too much and began streaming down her cheeks. Mathieu pinched his eyes shut, having stopped and leaned against the bedroom door. “I’m sorry,"

Lucien, true to his word, showed up 30 minutes later while Bellamont lounged on his futon. Lilith had showered quickly, the water having shut off 15 minutes prior. Mathieu had snuck in and placed a glass of water and some crackers on the bedside table. Hearing Lucien pull up, Matheiu quickly crossed his home, and opened his front door, Luciens hand suspended in the air.

"Speaker,” Mathieu spoke in greeting, telling himself that he allowed Lachance into his home, despite the older man all but shoving his way in.

“Where is she,"

"Asleep.” Lucien glanced around the living room before his face hardened in disbelief.

“In your bed,” Mathieu’s brows shot directly into his hairline, a weak sound of disbelief leaving his throat.

“You think I would take advantage of her in this state?” Shaking his head his disbelief shifted to anger, “I’m not you, Lucien.” The speed of which Lucien had grabbed the front of Mathieus white button down and lifted him against the wall seemed to surprise them both. “Touch a nerve,” despite the blade that had slipped from the older Speakers sleeve, Mathieu felt no fear. If Lucien killed him now, the black hand would execute him, if Lilith didn’t smell his blood and come to investigate first.

“You have no idea what you are talking about,” Lucien seethed softly, his composure slipping once more when he noticed the coy smirk on Mathieus face.

“Lucien!” An ice cold hand on his bicep pried him away from his fellow speaker, Mathieu stumbling lightly before the interrupter reached out and steadied him. “We did not come here for petty infighting,” Vicente continued, shooting Mathieu a scathing glare that wiped the smirk from his lips. Glancing between his two younger brothers to make sure their antics were finished, Vicente cleared his throat. “After you messaged us, the Listener called, and we came to the decision that we would suspend Lilith indefinitely until she is cleared by both the Speaker and I to return to her duties. Your details from this evening’s interaction with Lily really convinced the Listener that it wasn’t just Lucien and I trying to coddle her. We,” a pointed look in his former proteges direction, “wanted to thank you for that. Lily has become a beloved sister and valued member of our family. It would be a shame for her to fall during a job because of her own desire for death." Despite the look, Lucien remained silent, fixing Mathieu with a withering glare.

"Please tell Lilith to come by my home tomorrow as soon as she wakes. I will inform her of her suspension and what will be expected of her until she returns.” Lucien had already made it halfway to the door before either of his brothers spoke.

“You’re not going to check on her?” Mathieu was the one to voice the question but he could see that Vicente shared the sentiment. Lucien hesitated briefly before turning on his heel and leaving, much to Vicentes disappointment. Sighing, he and Mathieu shared a look of displeasure before he spoke.

“I’d like to check on her if you dont mind,” with a nod, Mathieu lead Vicente up the steps and to the guest room. Mathieu had expected the older vampire to merely poke his head in for a quick inspection but instead watched him cross the room. Lilith was curled up in a ball, a pillow clutched to her chest, and dry tears present on her cheeks. Summoning a small ball of magic, Vicente released a calming spell over her, hoping that it would alleviate her any nightmares for the night. “Rest peacefully, dearest Flower.” Vicente lingered a moment longer, Liliths previously furrowed brows had relaxed and soon after her body followed. Pleased with his results and with the knowledge that she was both comfortable and secure, Vicente exited the bedroom. Taking the hint, Mathieu followed Vicente to the door, tensing when a pale hand was place upon his shoulder. "Thank you for all that you’re doing for her, Mathieu. Lucien might not see it but you are a good Speaker and great brother.“ Stunned, Mathieu merely nodded in response, having not recieved such kindness from the vampire since his youth. Smiling, Vicente bid him goodnight and headed towards his car. Chuckling softly, he found Lucien still there, leaned against his car. "Waiting for someone, Speaker,” a small, disappointed part of him made him ask, Vicente being well aware of Luciens feelings for Lilith. Instead of responding, Lucien brought his hands up to his face, and released a breath of anxiety.

“Vicente, please,” he was aware of the way that he had conducted himself, Vicentes disapproval apparent but he couldn’t help it. A small, childish part of him knew that Mathieu was also looking out for Lilith. The pair had hit it off as soon as they had met, being introduced when the former member of the Cheydinhal sanctuary had to deliver a message from Speaker Blanchard. He wasn’t sure what exactly had transpired but he found Lilith spending more and more time with the blond. He knew he should have been happy seeing his dear family getting along so well but… shaking his head, he focused on Vicente instead of his own feelings on the matter.

“She is well, fast asleep in Mathieu’s guest room. I cast a simple calming spell upon her, in hopes that it will keep the nightmares at bay but it’s all the comfort I was able to offer her.” Lucien nodded, a weight sliding from his shoulders. “I’m not sure why you didnt just check on her yourself, Lucien. Mathieu has been nothing but supportive with all of this.” Lucien opened his mouth to argue his point but Vicente merely shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, Lucien. What matters is that we keep a close eye on her. Mathieu seems quite convinced that she may try to,"

"I know.” Lucien cut him off, not wanting to even consider the possibility. “That’s why we’re suspending her. She needs the time to mourn and we will give her as much time as we can.” Vicente nodded as they lapped into silence, both mens thoughts moving to their own individual plans to aid Lilith. “She isn’t going to take being suspended well,"

"And that is why you should head home and prepare for what you are going to say to her.” Lucien sighed, once more reaching up to scrub at his face with both hands. “Relax, brother, I’m sure you’ll figure out what to say. You just have to take it as it comes. Myself and the rest of the sanctuary will aid you in anyway we can.” With Vicentes hand on his shoulder, Lucien pulled his face from his hands, relief evident in his brown eyes.

“Thank you, Vicente."

Lilith awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs, her sleep heavy brain making her jump from bed eagerly before everything clicked. Looking down she found the bed of Matheius she’d slept on the night before and the aching emptiness that reminded her the man cooking was not the man she loved. Hot tears blurred her vision, a soft sob leaving her lips.

"Gods damn it,” scrubbing at her eyes she missed the door opening and her blond haired companion crossing the room to hold her.

“Hey hey, deep breaths, Lily, you’re hyperventilating.” Removing her hands from her face she pulled Mathieu closer, wrapping her arms around his waist, and tucking her face into his shoulder. Rubbing small circles into her back, Matheiu took slow calming breaths until Lilith’s breathing matched his own. Pulling back to look into her puffy red eyes, Mathieu offered her a gentle smile. “Better,” his head tilted, watching her wipe away her tears and nod her head.

“I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Shaking his head,Mathieu wiped away a stray tear of hers,

“No need to apologize, Lily. I’m always happy to help you,” she smiled weakly, “now come on, let’s get some food in you."

Breakfast was silent, save for the scraping of silverware and the television show that Mathieu had playing in the background. Lilith, thankful for the silence, had yet to break it and Mathieu had been content to watch her sort through her feelings. They were cleaning up their dishes when Mathieu mentioned Lucien desiring to see her sooner rather than later.

"And did he tell you what he wanted,” he didn’t miss the way her lips pulled into a grimace.

“No,” he had looked back down at the dishes as he spoke. “But I wouldn’t keep him waiting. He is a Speaker of the Black Hand,” she scoffed as he lowered his voice in mock seriousness. “If you’d like I can drive you over to his place,” he offered when he found her eyes had taken a glassy far off look again.

“Yeah, that… that would be great. Thank you, Mathieu,” They had both taken a quick shower, Lilith tugging on a black v neck shirt and a pair of stretchy work out pants Mathieu had given her. Slipping out the guest bedroom and down the steps, Matheiu offered her a black leather jacket before donning the jacket he had allowed her to wear the night before. Mathieu set up his home alarm system before escorting her to his car and sliding in. The car ride was silent, Lilith absently fiddling with the radio before sighing and closing her eyes. Mathieu watched her out of the corner of his eye, a small frown tugging at his lips.

“Septim for your thoughts?” They both seemed to realize his phrasing was subpar, Mathieu wincing while Lilith bit her lip. “Lily I’m-,”

“It’s alright. I… I’ll get over it,” she sighed softly, fidgeting in her seat next to him. “It’s just,” she nibbled on her bottom lip, briefly looking eyes with him, “does it ever get easier?” Mathieu looked away from her and at the road, a sharp intact of breath leaving his lips when his heart pitched painfully at the thought of his mother.

“I’ll let you know,” she looked down at her pale hands before sighing once more. Mathieu reached out, taking her hand in his gently. “I’m sorry I’m not more help,” and he meant it.

“No, you’ve been,” she laced their fingers together and squeezed his hand. “I’m happy you were the one to find me last night, Mathieu.” His cheeks flushed as her thumb continued rubbing absent circles on the back of his hand. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit he had harbored feelings for Lilith, especially after she had proven to be a kind and warm person. It had surprised him that she would join a band of murdering psychopaths but after discovering her penchant for drinking blood and remaining forever young, he understood. She had killed out of necessity for hundreds of years and now, she was paid. Yet, despite her murderous ways, she was still good. Still someone he could see himself remaining close to and even becoming closer with. The warm feeling swelling in his chest came to a abrupt halt when his gaze landed on her red rimmed eyes and nose. He could recognize that she was looking for comfort, a small part encouraging him to encourage her but he knew that if he did try anything now, it would forever stop them from actually being together.

“I’ve got your back, Dear Sister,” she smiled sadly at the term of endearment but did not release his hand. Thankful for the small understanding between them, they fell back into a companionable silence.

It didnt take much longer for them to arrive at Luciens home. One of the oldest estates in all of Cyrodil and probably the one that was best kept. Lucien had had it completely redone so that it had a completely modern interior. Lilith, who had rarely been to the estate, pressed closer to the glass, her yellow gaze moving quickly to take everything in. Mathieu, despite the home belonging to Lucien, smiled at her reaction.

“Its a nice place,” Hades observer absently, remembering that Ocheeva and Teinaava had told her about the estate in passing, having been raised by Lucien there.

“Not exactly my style but it does have a certain charm to it,” Mathieu admitted, earning a small quirk of a smile from Lilith.

“Agreed. Reminds me too much of home,” her lips twitched with her desire to growl but she kept her feelings in check. She didnt need to think of her parents, especially now, and especially after what her father had said of her relationship with Martin. 'It will only end in heartbreak,’ her eyes stung but she didn’t have long to linger on her fathers all too right observation, the car rolling to a stop. Lilith hesitated, her gaze moving in hopes of catching a glimpse of her Speaker moving within.

“It’s Sunday, dear sister meaning Lucien will likely be in his,"

"Garden.” Lilith’s lips twitched with amusement, the Speaker claiming that the garden was for poisons and potions for the brotherhood, but sputtered when she mentioned his colorful array of flowers and the very limited use she was sure they provided. Shaking her head Lilith opened her mouth to delay the inevitability of seeing Lucien, hoping that Mathieu would see her inner turmoil and drive her back to his home, but found Mathieu watching her with a look that reminded her far too much of Vicente. A look that told her there was no way of getting out of whatever was about it to happen. “Vicente would be proud,” she grumbled childishly, a surprised bark of laughter leaving Mathieu.

“Whatever do you mean dear sister,” rolling her eyes, she lightly shoved the blond before offering her an anxious smile. “It’ll be alright and if it isnt, call me, and I’ll come back for you.” Her eyes pinched shut, a shaky breath leaving her lips,

“Do you promise?” Mathieus brows shifted into his hair,

“I promise.” Accepting his answer, Lilith took off her belt and stepped out of his car. Lilith hesitated once more outside his car, left hand resting on the handle. Turning her attention back to him, she leaned in through the open window, right hand resting on the side of the passenger seat closest to him.

“Thank you, Mathieu,” her lips skimmed his right cheek, “for everything.” Mathieu swallowed the blush that threatened to spill across his cheeks, offering her a firm nod in the direction of Luciens front door. “I’m going I’m going,” her exasperation was false but Mathieu played into it, rolling his eyes and huffing. His dark eyes followed had to the front door before he was able to force himself to leave, knowing that Lucien wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. 'Not with how fond of her Vicente and his sanctuary are.'

Lilith didnt even knock, opening the heavy wooden door, and making her way through the foyer and out the door on the far right of the home. Lucien was right where they both thought he would be, in his garden. He wore a long sleeve black shirt and loose fitting bottoms black bottoms with a gardening apron over the front. Lilith found her eyes trailing up the tan skin his rolled up sleeves exposed, noting the speck of damp dirt that clung to his skin.

“Good afternoon, Speaker,” she lingered in between the house and Lucien’s crouched position, his dark eyes not even moving from the plant he was inspecting as she spoke. “Speaker Bellamont informed me that you wished to speak with me,” she pressed when he had yet to acknowledge her. Lucien dropped the plant onto the ground, his lips pulling into a scowl before he stood, brushing his dirt covered hands on his apron. “Luc-,"

"We can discuss inside, Lilith. If you’d follow me,” he moved past her, putting far more distance between them as he passed than necessary. Her jaw worked in an attempt to cool the flutter of annoyance she felt at his actions but followed him nonetheless. Lucien lead her to his kitchen. “Take a seat,” he gestured at the bar that made up one side of the dinning room, Lilith glowering as Lucien washed his hands and removed his apron. “Do you want something to drink?” He prattled on, opening one of the fridges under the bar,

“No, Speaker,” she watched him fish out one of his imported beers, “but I would like to get to the point of this meeting.” He took several large gulps of his beer before leaning his biceps against the counter across from her. She mirrored his posture, leaning her arms on the bar from her seat.

“You are being suspended indefinitely,” Lilith was on her feet in an instant, Lucien’s face barely register the distinct crash as her chair tipped over and hit his wooden floor. “Your behavior over the past few days have been erratic and irrational. The brotherhood, both with the possibility of their being a traitor in our midst and it’s general desire to be seen professionally, can not allow you to continue taking contracts at this time."

"You’re worried about the brotherhood’s fucking image!?” She hadn’t planned on yelling, she had planned on telling him that she was fine and had no need to worry in a calm and rational fashion. But hearing him say that she was being laid off because he was worried about the way her actions would be seen by potetional clients made her see red. “That’s what you fucking care about!?"

"Of course it is, what did you think I was suspending you because your little bed warmer died?” Lilith didn’t remember moving around the counter nor ripping the glass bottle out of his hand and throwing it across the room. What she did remember was the biting slap that stung her cheek and the intense rage that followed. “See this is what I meant by-,” Lilith’s right hand shot out with snake like speed, connecting beautifully with Luciens nose. Lucien, surprised by the attack, stumbled back, his eyes as equally wide as Lilith’s. “You dare strike me again,” Lilith shivered, whether in fear or excitement, she wasn’t quite sure but she wasn’t about to back down.

“Dare to strike a bastard like you,” she laughed humourlessly, “of fucking course and I will gladly do it again.” She spat, starch yellow eyes shifting to a flat black. Lucien scoffed, a smirk stretching across his lips, his blood stained hand dropping from his place.

“You will learn obedience, Lilith Corbeau, if I have to dill it into you myself.” Her mouth opened to bark out a petty challenge when Lucien’s left hand grazed her cheek, her reflexes saving her from a bruised jaw, and the brunt of his swing. Her right hand closed around his wrist and she twisted swiftly, bringing Lucien to one knee. Her victory was short lived as he reached up, also with his right hand, and yanked her forward. Lucien threw her over his shoulder and standing. Lilith attempted to hit the pressure point in the back of his leg but instead found herself being slammed against the wooden floor. Stars colored her vision as her head swam but Lucien wasn’t done. Lucien bent down, grabbing her by the color of her borrowed leather jacket and hauling her to her feet. Instead of grabbing at the hands holding her, Lilith brought her arms close together, lacing her fingers together, and thrusting them up between the two of them befor violently bringing her elbows down into the bend of his arms. Lucien had no choice but to release her, her left leg coming up and delivering a solid kick to his stomach.

“Come on, Speaker,” she drawled sarcastically, watching Lucien reach up and run his hand across his upper lip to stem the blood from his nose. “I thought you were going to teach me a lesson,” if the situation was different, Lucien would have found her comment amusing but given his bleeding nose and her rather uninjured state, he found his blood boiling. Moving to close the gap she had put between them he swung, the pair dancing quickly around the room, blocking and pairing strikes while also attempting to gain the upper hand, moving from the kitchen to the dining room. Luciens left hand grazed her cheek as stepped back, stumbling into one of the chairs around his table. Lucien, taken advantage of the distraction, landed a decisive hit on her mouth, splitting open her bottom lip in the process. Ducking under his next swing, Lilith once more put space between them, a hiss leaving her lips as her tongue slid across her open flesh.

“What’s that phrase that you like so much again?” Lucien hummed, “ah yes, talk shit, get hit.” He mocked, Lilith moving this time to close the distance between them. This time when she struck out at him, he found the familiar glint of a blade, the blade he had given her before she officially joined the family. “Trying to kill a family member? Oh, Lilith, I will enjoy punishing you for this."

"Family? Fuck you! The only person you fucking care about is your fucking self!” She seethed, successfully landing a glancing blow with her blade across the left side of his face. “You go on and on about how we’re a family,” she swung out with the blade, Lucien smoothly evading her attack as hot tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. “How we should look after our fellow siblings but that’s not even true! You only care about the brotherhood’s fucking image! And the fuck mothering night mother who allows her children to be slaughtered like lambs by one of their own! Some Mother she is,” Lilith cried out as Lucien tackled her over, thankfully catching herself before her head smacked against the floor again.

“You disrespect the night mother in my home,” Lilith spit in his face, earning another searing slap from the back of his hand. “She is our unholy matron, the guiding hand to which we all flock, and follow, and you dare say she does not care. That we should not praise her name,” his right hand wrapped around her throat, “should not respect and her and the wrath of sithis!?” Her hands remained at her side as his other hand wrapped around her neck. Her vision began to darken with the tightening of his grip and the erratic beating of his heart. Closing her eyes she felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks, ready to die, ready to find Martin in the afterlife only for the vice grip around her throat to disappear. Despite her attempt at trying to control her breathing, she gasped as her lungs burned painfully. Blinking, her vision cleared enough for her to look up at Lucien, finding him watching her intently, several emotions swirling in his dark eyes. “You were going to let me kill you,” her eyes pinched shut at the way his voice trembled.

“Yes,” she agreed softly, making no move to push him off of her, Lucien hovering above on his hands and knees.

“You were going to let me kill you despite how much it would hurt our family. How much it would hurt Vicente, and Antonietta. How much it would hurt Teinaava and Mathieu. You would let me kill you despite how much you know it would hurt me. Why,” his left hand closed painfully around the lower half of her face, forcing her to open her eyes, “why?”

“Because I love him!” She seethed, the pain in her face causing her eyes to sting with tears. “Because none of this means anything without him! You think I care about them enough to here, to hurt like this? Do you think I fucking care about you enough to feel like this?” Her voice rose with every word she spoke, her arms moving quickly to enunciate her point. “I love him more than anything else and you-,"

"Get out.” Lilith blinked once than twice at Lucien’s whispered words.

“What,” she gasped in surprise as Lucien’s left hand closed painfully tight around her upper right bicep before he hauled her to her feet and dragged her through his home. “Lucien, let me go, you’re hurting me-,” she tumbled as they made it to the front door and Lucien threw it open before shoving her out the front door. Lilith hissed as she landed on her hands and knees, having not had a chance to steady herself after he yanked her off the floor. Rolling into a seated position she growled, a set of keys hit her in the sternum, her right hand moving to catch them before they fell to the floor.

“Get the fuck off my property and stay off of it. That includes this house, my place in the city, the restaurant, and the sanctuary. Not only are you suspended indefinitely but if I hear one of our own breath a word of even seeing you outside one of those places, the black hand WILL hear about what you did here today and you will be punished. Do I make myself clear,” gritting her teeth together against the tears, Lilith nodded affirmatively. “Good,” with that, Lucien slammed the door in her face. Lilith sat for a moment longer before pushing herself unsteadily to her feet and making her way across the courtyard to the only car that was not locked away in one of Luciens garages. It was his normal every day use car, Shadowmare. Lilith had only managed to get into the car before bursting into tears once more. She was tired of this. Tired of the constant pain she felt knowing that she had failed Martin. Had failed the whole Septim line. Knowing that the man she had loved more than she had ever loved another was dead and she would never see him again. Tired of living. Taking several calming breaths, she pulled the sleeves of her shirt down to wipe away her tears. If Lucien wouldn’t do it for her and with the hand being aware of her desire for death, Lilith headed to the place she knew Lucien wouldn’t be and the place where no one would question her purchases of poisons. The Sanctuary. Lilith wondered briefly if she would feel worse for putting M'raaj in Lucien’s path of fury if he had been nicer to her from the start before she went through the alley behind the Lucky Light, the restaurant that the sanctuary used as a front. Tapping several bricks in the correct order, the wall opened up, revealing a set of steps that led directly down in the sanctuary. Sticking to the shadows, Lilith closed her eyes and listened. She could only hear one heart beat, recognizing the way they breathed as M'raaj. Sending up a prayer of thanks to whatever God was kind enough to make sure the sanctuary was empty of her siblings and its resident vampire, Lilith quickly moved through the sanctuary, finding M'raaj in the alchemy room.

“Just the man I was looking for,” she spoke in a way of greeting, ignoring the way M'raaj’s lips tugged down in a frown.

“If it isn’t our newest sister,” he didn’t even glance up from the potion he was working on as he spoke, “whatever can I do for you.” Stealing her face, Lilith allowed her gaze to move over the vials of elixirs and potions casually,

“I have recieved a contract from speaker lachance. I need a poison that is used by the Dawnguard to slay vampires. The contract requires a bit of subterfugation,” M'aarj nodded, absently, his focus already moving from her to the potion she needed.

“Here,” he held it out of her, Lilith doing her best to seem casual despite her eagerness. “If you’re efficient, half a vial should get the job done. It will slow their healing abilities, making them more susceptible to being killed by blood loss or another form of death.” Taking the vial, Lilith slipped out the same way she had come before heading home. Her thumb rubbed over the vial, a sad smile pulling at her lips as her thoughts moved to Martin and seeing again. 'Soon.’ Lilith moved through her apartment on auto pilot, slipping off Mathieus jacket and throwing it across the back of her couch before moving to bedroom. First things first, she tugged off Mathieus clothes, and moved through her room to her closet. Finding one of Martin’s oversized t shirts on the floor, she pulled it on, stifling a sob when his familiar smell wafted over her. Taking several calming breaths, Lilith broght the shirt to her nose, and inhaled deeply. Soon. Soon she’d be able to smell him and see him. Stepping out out of her room and into her attacked bathroom, Lilith placed the vial of poison on the wall shelf next to her soaking tub. Leaning down, she turned on the water before slipping out of the bathroom and heading to the kitchen. Her fingers dragged against her granite counters before she came to her fridge. Opening the door, she pulled out two bottles of sweet red wine, Martin’s favorite, and a brand of wine Lucien had introduced her to. Thinking of Lucien made her frown, her yellow eyes glazing over as she swirled the wine in the bottle around. Shaking herself out, she moved to the cabinet next to the fridge on the wall and fished out a large wine goblet, her mind once more moving to Martin and Lucien. She could almost smell the creamy gumbo Lucien had made, Lilith leaning against the island in the kitchen while she gulped down her wine, Lucien teasing her about her consumption and lack of sipping. The memory shifted and broke apart as an image of Martin walking into the room, holding a giant brown paper bag from their favorite Dunmer place. He had been super excited when he had seen that she had several sweet red wines and they spent the night going through three bottles and far more food than Lilith thought possible. Moving back to the bathroom, her wine glass and bottle joined the poison on the shelf beside the tub before she bent down to check the water temperature. Happy that the hot water would sooth her, she plugged the bottom of the tub, and popped out one last time to her room. Grabbing her phone and her secret stash of chocolate, she moved back into the bathroom, hesitating when her gaze flickered to the couch, her blade of woe peaking out of her borrowed jacket pocket. Moving across the room, she picked up the blade, continuing into her bathroom. Happy with her set up, she turned off the water in the tub, and unlocked her phone. Shifting through songs, she clicked on her playlist of songs she use to listen to with Martin while they lounged. Sighing softly, she set her phone down, and poured herself a large glass of wine. Stepping into the soaking tub, she submerged herself up to her neck, bringing her wine glass to her lips. Taking several large glasses, she successfully drained her first glass before reaching for her wine bottle.

“Well I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played,” he hand trembled as she sang, spilling several drops of wine into the tub. Bringing the partially filled glass to her lips, she drained the glass before throwing it across the bathroom, deciding the bottle was better without the glass. “I remember when I moved in you and the holy dove moving too,” she pulled the bottle to her chest, closing her eyes, and inhaling Martin’s smell. “It’s going to be okay,” she reassured herself, not fearing death but the possibility of not seeing Martin. “He’ll be there,” she continued, finishing off her bottle of wine. Leaning her head back, she found herself becoming comfortable drozy and numb, the hot water causing her skin go flush and body to relax. Reaching out with her left hand, she grabbed the vial, and popped the corked cap off. Running her thumb absently against the rim of the vial, she brought it to her lips, and swallowed it down. The taste of metal and something bitter hit her taste buds and caused her to grimace. Reaching down she grabbed her second bottle of wine, bringing it to her lips, and swooshing a large gulp around her mouth before swallowing. She got half way through her bottle before she exhaled slowly, her lids becoming heavy. Wrapping her left hand around the blade of woe she held it above the water of the tub. A physical manifestation of the moment she had allowed Lucien Lachance and by extension, the dark brotherhood, into her life. Twirling the blade slowly she shook her head, not wanting to think of the dark haired man or their equally dark family. Pressing the tip of her blade to the middle of her inner wrist, she broke her skin before swiftly dragging it down, stopping just short of the heel of her hand. Her head swam at the sight of her blood and it’s rich scent wafting over her. Taking a shaky breath, she allowed herself a moment to catch her bearings before repeating the action down her right wrist. She had meant to set the blade back on her shelf but found the blade tumbling out of her hand and clinking against the floor. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, softly humming to herself. Her last thoughts before being lulled gently into darkness were of Martin, a sad smile gracing her lips. 'Soon.’ “Hey this is Lily, leave a message after the beep,"

"Beep!” Lucien drummed the leather clad steering wheel nervously, having not heard anything from Lilith for several hours now.

“You told her not to speak to you or go to the Sanctuary,” he growled at himself, having regretted the way things had gone between them. Pulling up to The Lucky Light, Lucien moved quickly through the front door, not even acknowledging the clients that buzzed around him. Making his way towards the back of the restaurant, he spotted Antonietta and Teinaava leaning against the bar, keeping watchful eyes over their clientele. Changing direction, he stopped before them, their warm greetings ignored. “Have either of you seen Lilith?"

"No, why, is everything alright?” The change in the pair was immediate, their love for their dark sister reflecting in the way they both paled with worry.

“Of course,” he lied smoothly, not needing them to throw together a panicked search party. “I was just wondering if she’d been here at all today,” M'jaar, having just exited the kitchen came up short.

“Yeah, she was here to pick up some poison for a contract earlier.” Lucien felt his blood shift to ice, M'jaar gasping in surprise when Lucien gripped both his biceps tightly.

“What did she ask you for,"

"It is a specialty poison called Silverite Bane, it slows the healing abilities of vampires, making them easier to- Hey! Where are you going?” Lucien had turned on his heel and darted out the front door, quickly dialing Vicentes number.

“Lucien, what’s going on?"

"I need you to meet me at Liliths, now!” He arrived at Lily’s place in under 10 minutes, halfing the time it would normally take to get to there. He sprinted through the lobby, cutting off a couple that had been ahead of him. Stepping into the elevator, he pressed the close button, ignoring the way the pair whined at his actions. He tapped his foot impatiently, watching the floor numbers tick by too slowly. “Come on come on,” he was out of the elevator before the doors had opened completely. Crossing the hall to her apartment, he pounded on the door, “Lilith! Lilith! Open up,” jiggling the knob he found it locked. The logical part of him told him to pick the lock but that didn’t stop him from delivering three solid kicks to the wood, the door swinging open and banging against the wall. “Lilith,” his dark eyes moved quickly around the room, not seeing head nor hair of Lilith. “Lilith,” he repeated, ears perking at the sound of soft music across the home. Following the source, Lucien felt his stomach drop and the air rush from his lungs. “Lily,” he was at her side in an instant, eyes running over the thick rivets of blood that covered her forearm, hands hesitating despite the desire to touch her. Crouching next to the tub, Lucien ran his fingers over her ice cold skin, hot tears prickling when he felt no heartbeat. “Please,” he whimpered painfully, his large hand covering her cheek, turning her face towards him. “I cant lose you now,” especially not after what he has said earlier to her. Eyes widening, he realized that tears had welled in his eyes and begun running down his cheeks. Biting his bottom lip, he forced himself to focus. Summoning magic to his hands, he started by healing the self inflicted slits that ran up her wrists before standing. If he was able to find the vial, he would be able to make an educated guess of what could be used to counteract the poison. He found it under the tub, the vial still having traces of the poison left inside. Raising it to his nose, he inhaled deeply, a grimace pulling at his lip. “Nightshade,” hearing footsteps approaching, Lucien reached out, and picked up the blade that had been sitting on the shelf next to the tub. His mind moved to the traitor. To unwanted company. To… his brain seemed to realize what he was holding and what the dark ichor like substance coating it was. The blade slipped from his hand, clattering against the ground.

“Lucien,"

"She used the blade I gave her.” Vicentes brows cinched in confusion briefly before his dark eyes dropped to the Blade of Woe on the bathroom floor. “This is my fault, I-,”

“Lucien, please, we can not focus on that right now. We need to help her if we want to save her life. What have you been able to figure out,” looking up, Lucien realized Vicente wasn’t alone. Two healers stood on either side of him, awaiting a nod from Vicente before the crossed the room.

“She took Silverite Bane. A special kind of poison that stops a vampires regenerative abilities for a time. She took it before she-,"

"We need to get her out of the water,” one of the healers grabbed a large towel off the hooks on the wall while Vicente rolled up his sleeves. Lucien, without concern for the exquisite suit he wore, knelt down and slipped his arms into the water. Carefully he hauled her chilled body from the water while the first healer came forward and wrapped her towel around her. Swinging her up into his arms, he followed the healer out of the bathroom and into Lilith’s bedroom, finding the missing healer already there and mixing together an antidote.

“Lay her here,” Lucien nodded, setting her down on the right side of the bed, hovering close by when the healer cleared his throat.

“Lucien,” if looks could kill, the healer would have burst into flames and died from the look on Luciens face. “They need room to work,"

"I’m not leaving her,” even as he said the words, he found himself being dragged out of the room. “Vicente, please I-,”

“Hovering will not help her, Lucien. They know what they’re doing,” and so would Lucien, if he took a moment to think.

“And what, I’m just suppose to trust them? You know our siblings have been dropping like flies, Vicente. And-,"

"And what? You think one of the healers is out to get Lily?” Lucien’s jaw clenched in anger at Vicentes exasperation. “Look, I’ll go sit in with them. While I do that, you stay out here, and try to breathe. If… if the worst comes to pass, you will need to be prepared to tell the others.” Lucien greyed significantly at his words, a small bubble of regret bursting in Vicentes chest. Instead of responding, Lucien turned on his heel and crossed the room to the kitchen, a large bottle of wine being pulled out of the fridge before the younger man crossed into her living room. Signing, Vicente rubbed his face and wandered into the room with Lilith. The healers had already hooked up two units of blood and attached IV’s to her arms. “Were you able to make an antidote,” he could hear the worry in his voice.

“We believe so but with how much blood she’s lost, we wont know for several hours if it worked. The best that we can do is finish the transfusion and wait.” And so, they waited. It took less than two hours for the transfusions to finish and even less time after for the healers to leave. Lucien, who had decided to stress drink had moved from the living room to her bedroom, dragging one of her love seats across the apartment. Vicente stayed to watch over both of them, the sun rising and setting once before Lucien’s body finally caved under the wine and stress, Vicente finding him fast asleep, half on Lilith bed and half on the love seat, his left hand wrapped tightly around hers. In that time, Vicente watched her ashen skin warm with color but her eyes still had yet to open. When another day passed, Vicente woke Lucien and tried to convince him to leave to get food but the Speaker would not budge and so, he left to get food for them both, his thoughts never leaving his former protege or the killer who stole his heart.

Lilith awoke not long after Vicente left, her yellow eyes opening slowly. Allowing her eyes go adjust she found herself in her room, her face twisting in confusion. She didn’t remember making it to her room or much of anything else until she glanced down at her left wrist. A faint red line ran up along her vein, reminding her of what she had done. Had the poison failed? No, she had been quite sure it had done exactly what it was suppose to so how was she-, Her yellow eyes drifted down to her right, finding Lucien fast asleep.

“Lucien,” her head smacked back against her headboard as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Of course it was fucking Lucien that found her and took care of her. He always seemed to show up when she least wanted him to. She had moved her hands to her face, the action startling Lucien into wakefulness.

“Lilith,” they stared at each other for a long moment before they both acted.

“Lucien, I’m so-,” Lilith gasped, Lucien crawling onto the bed, and pulling Lilith towards him. He hadn’t meant to kiss her but he had been so relieved to see her alive and well that his heart took control before he could stop it. Leaning back, Lucien flushed,

“I uh, I didn’t mean to,” a cool hand on his cheek silenced him.

“It’s… it’s okay,” her voice lowered, watching the way he held her hand to his face. “Look, Lucien, I-,” sighing she found her right hand moving to absently run over the new scar on her wrist. “I am so sorry, for everything. I didn’t mean,” inhaling deeply, she raised her gaze to his. “I never meant to hurt you,” she corrected, noting the bags under his eyes and the way his hair sat unkempt on top of his head. Shaking his head, Lucien took her wrist in his hand, running his thumb gently up her new scar.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he sighed. “I know I haven’t been there for you through this and I should have been but I-,” a pause, “I let my feelings for you blind me to your feelings. You loved him and if I had paid any attention, I would have seen where you were headed. What you were willing to do to be with him again.” Pausing, his gaze dropped to there joint hands, Lilith sliding her hand into his. “I thought he was a childish distraction from the Brotherhood, from your responsibilities, and… from me. But I promise, from now on, I’ll be here for you, if you’ll have me. We can have you doing noncombative tasks for the brotherhood so you aren’t alone and you could stay at the sanctuary or with Vicente or me or even,” she couldn’t help the small grin at his grimace, “Mathieu. Wherever you feel safe and good,” tears stung her eyes but instead of being caused by sadness they were caused by the realization that she had been blind. Her grief convinced her she was alone, as did Lucien’s cold words but being reminded of her family and the love they held for her, she knew she could make it through this. If not for herself then she would for those who still lived and loved her and Martin, who had loved her and been lost. Looking up at Lucien, a small voice reminded her that Martin may be gone but that didnt mean she could never find someone to care for again. Turning her lips into the hand on her cheek, she kissed his palm, offering him a small watery smile.

“Thank you, Lucien, for everything.” ReplyForward

#Lucien Lachance #martin septim #HoK X Lucien Lachance #HoK X Martin Septim #lucien lachance x silencer #oc: Lilith Corbeau #modern oblivion au #tes oblivion

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

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The Midnight Hour is Close at Hand Ch. 2

Chapter 2: Wonder if You’ll See the Sun

Summary: Marvin decides that if everyone else is going to give up he’s going to pull out his little dark book of spells and get the job done himself.

A/N: Warning! The death of a minor is detailed in this. This is for Robbie’s birthday, which is actually tomorrow but I didn’t want to push the release of another story back a day for that. Also no black magic was actually used in the making of this story because I refuse to be responsible for getting anyone in trouble.

Chapters: 1, 2

Pretty much every hero rushed to the base, Chase and Henrik were waiting for them.

Chase let in a broken gasp when he saw Robbie, “The fook happened?”

“The whole operation went south, either we were directed to the wrong building or it was a trap, but . . .” Silver took a deep breath. “Wilford shot him, we found Robbie alone with Dark.”

“Where’s J.J?” Marvin demanded. “I don’t know why he didn’t fookin’ reset us already.”

“Jackie vent und looked for him,” Henrik’s voice choked as he approached. “Vhy? Zis never should have ‘appened.”

The door opened and Ethan raced out, “Robbie!”

“Get back inside!” Mark ordered. “Get back inside right now!”

Ethan raced towards Silver, and he flew inside, pushing Ethan back in.

“How is he dead?” Ethan sobbed, “I was only gone for two minutes!”

“Don’t worry,” Marvin reassured in that same desperate panic. “J.J will fix this, he always fixes thin’s.”

“Zen vey has he not?” Henrik demanded.

Ethan was already in a panic, sobbing profusely as Silver carried Robbie into the main room. Jackie was walking.

“Where’s J.J?” Marvin demanded.

“He can’t—” Jack started, pulling off his hoodie and running his hands through his hair.

“The fook yeh mean he can’t!” Marvin shouted, and tried to step around Jackie to go and hunt J.J down. “Where is that motherfooker!”

Jackie put himself in the hallway so the magician couldn’t muscle past him. “I tried ta ask him an’ that’s what he told me.”

“He can’t just give up on him!” Marvin demanded, using his magic to force Jackie to the side and race down the hallway. “Where is he?”

He got to one of the living rooms and tore it open to see J.J idly drinking whiskey.

“Turn us back!” Marvin yelled at J.J, grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “This is what it’s fer.”

J.J just brought the glass to his lips, seemingly ignoring Marvin and Jackie.

“Marv,” Jackie warned, trying to pull him off.

“No! Turn us, back, Robbie is dead!” Marvin demanded angrily.

J.J leaned over and tried to pick up a stack of index cards.

Marvin pulled him back, “No! Tell me yerself yah fookface!”

“Tried,” J.J signed sloppily. “He always dies. Tried 20 times.”

“How can yeh fail twenty times yeh gobshite!” Marvin demanded.

J.J flipped him off, Jackie was finally able to pull him off, grabbing the cards and reading through them.

“Jackie help me talk some sense into him,” Marvin ordered.

The argument continued for a bit before Jackie forced Marvin out, J.J eventually just falling asleep and the other Septics reluctantly deciding that J.J while drunk couldn’t fix anything.

Slowly as the minutes ticked by the others were getting less hopeful, only J.J really remembered what happened when he reset time, other people who were involved sometimes got the sensation that time had been messed with. But if the mute hero didn’t want to set back the clock, there was nothing anyone could do.

J.J’s cards told a story in the hero’s elegant cursive, that his attempts hadn’t just drained J.J physically, but mentally. Robbie would either die by Wilford’s gun, or accidentally when Dark tried to protect one of his younger enforcers that was always present. Robbie and his overconfident curiosity. Or in the attempts they tried to keep the sidekicks safe in the base, Ethan would sneak out and he would die as a result.

Marvin’s desperation turned to anger, and that then turned on Henrik when he and Silver brought Robbie to the hospital’s morgue, along with Marvin tagging along Chase was with them. Ethan had thrown a fit when he was forced to go home by the older full-time heroes, angry and sad and blaming himself for not staying with Robbie in the building. Even if that would have probably led to both of the teens dying instead of just Robbie.

Robbie’s only family was his mother, who was supposed to be on a business trip until Wednesday.

“Vat vould you ‘ave me do?” Henrik shouted in anger as they stood in the hospital Henrik and Iplier worked at, they were in a room, Robbie’s body on a stretcher next to them. “I cannot cure ze dead!”

Chase was shaking and crying, completely taken over by his grief. Silver was trying to talk him into heading back but Chase didn’t want to leave Robbie. After months of treating the young man like a surrogate son, Chase was devastated.

They all were.

“I have a call to make, Marvin,” Henrik dismissed. “Zey vill make sure zat Robert’s body is safe.”

“Hen,” Silver called out as he walked over. “We should have called her ages ago. You’ve got her number?”

“I’ll make ze call,” Henrik sighed miserably, his hands smoothing over Robbie’s hair. “Vergib uns, mein Junge.”

Marvin glared at Robbie’s body, filled with furious indignation, “I’ll be back, Rob, promise.”

The magician slipped past Silver and ran out of the hospital. Time was ticking and he had supplies to collect.

It was late, 2 AM late when Marvin snuck back into the morgue with a bag full of things that would probably get him arrested on sight if the trespassing didn’t do the job first.

Only the hospital’s late night shift was still here, and to Marvin the security at this hour was a joke. It was why he’d had to wait, even though he was aware time was starting to run out.

Marvin walked into the morgue, quickly finding Robbie and sliding his tray open.

The magician gently ran his hands over his frozen hair. “I’m not fookin’ givin’ up on yeh.”

Walking back towards the door, Marvin locked it and began pulling things out of his bag to get the spell ready.

There were a lot of misconceptions about necromancy. When Marvin had first studied the topic in his formative years, he had dismissed the whole field as evil or a guide book on how to be a scam artist. But the more he researched, the more he’d realized it didn’t have to be. He didn’t need to kill or hurt people to make the spell, all he needed was the components, it didn’t specify they had to be from the living and unwilling.

Human souls were a tricky business, and getting one back into its body was even trickier. Mostly because you didn’t want to summon the wrong soul, or even worse a malicious spirit, and cram it into a body. There were all kinds of horror stories that Marvin had heard, but Robbie had barely been dead a couple of hours. He hadn’t been embalmed or cut open besides Henrik removing the bullet.

All Marvin had to do was be careful, and so as he separated a bowl with a human heart he had procured from a hospital. The heart had been a donor reject, but Marvin didn’t need a perfect one or a beating one, he just needed a heart. Two pints of Marvin’s blood he’d drawn himself, because he didn’t want Henrik or anyone else involved, they could get hurt and he didn’t want to risk them stopping him. Then he started setting up the floor, taking Robbie’s much heavier frozen body and placing it in the middle of the floor and drawing a circle of salt around the body, and a circle for Marvin to kneel in as he worked. Runes and writing was carefully traced in Marvin’s blood and then he separated the remaining out with the rest of the ingredients.

Finally Marvin sat with his legs folded under his thighs and tried to clear his thoughts from his blind, desperate hope, and his furious grief. He had to get Robbie back.

He took out a box of matches, and struck the match and quickly blew it out before using his magic to reignite the match.

Suddenly, all the candles in the room blew out at once and Marvin held his breath, trying to stay awake as his own magic was robbed from him. But he wasn’t trying to create a human from nothing, just wake up a long sleeping one.

He began a series of long incantations, designed for the soul purpose of bringing a soul back. Marvin envisioned Robbie, and how his life had been snuffed out by the villains that had killed and snuffed out the lives of many like him.

Marvin had power, he had magic and if he couldn’t use that to actually save Robbie, he figured he should back up his books, swear off magic, and go back to Offaly.

Then, the candle in Marvin’s hands flared back to life, already starting to feel drained and lightheaded. The flame was a gentle, ghostly blue, something about just making Marvin feel giddy. He hovered the magical fire over one of Robbie’s shoes and waited for a reaction.

Nothing.

Marvin let out a nervous, tired, giddy giggle. “I knew it, I found you.”

With extreme gentleness, Marvin touches the flame to the crown of Robbie’s head and the flame quickly erupted along the young man’s body.

Then in one breath it snuffed itself out, and Marvin, lightheaded, held his breath. The room was spinning and Marvin felt like throwing up, but he’d made his circle a bit too small and if he disturbed his circles then Robbie would leave.

He got distracted when for the first time in hours, the teenager’s fingers twitched, his eyes scrunched up.

“Rob—” was all Marvin was able to manage before he threw up and collapsed onto the floor, out before he could think.

Marvin didn’t know how long he’d been out, it felt like only a couple seconds and he felt like his body had been hit by a train. There was a pounding sound close to Marvin that was probably his awful migraine because his head felt like Marvin should take a bat to it.

When he finally opened his eyes he realized the pounding wasn’t just in his head, Robbie was trying to break the door down.

With his head still spinning, Marvin tried to pick himself up, but the nausea and his migraine were not helping and he fell back to the ground. “Rob, s’not locked on our side.”

Robbie turned and growled at him, a low throaty snarl that was distinctly inhuman.

Marvin struggled to pick himself up, wondering if somehow he’d read the flame wrong, he didn’t think he had the strength for another attempt.

“Rob,” Marvin stood up, so relieved to see him. “It’s okay, yer back now, yer safe.”

“Robbie” let out a grunting yell and went to grab or swat at Marvin but his hands contacted the barrier of salt and it was almost like an impenetrable barrier was suddenly around the magician. In frustration the teen slammed his fists on the ground, the linoleum splitting and crunching like glass with inhuman force.

“Woah, woah, Rob, it’s me,” Marvin cautioned.

Robbie made another inhuman yell at Marvin, clearly not recognizing him as anything other than something to fight.

The door to the morgue opened and a security guard shone his torch into the room. “The hell is going on in here?”

Robbie roared at him and then lunged, Marvin cast a quick spell to knock the door closed again. It didn’t work but Robbie slammed into the door instead of the unsuspecting human.

He collapsed to the ground again, but the security officer was able to pin Robbie to the ground.

“Don’t hurt him,” Marvin pleaded. “He’s been through enough.”

“What is going on?” The officer demanded but Marvin succumbed to exhaustion, blacking out for the second time.

When he woke up, it was to Henrik talking admittedly over him. “Regardless, vatever he has done, he vill not hear ze end of it.”

“Can yeh turn it down?” Marvin asked, he was less nauseous but now he was lightheaded.

Henrik was instantly leaning over him, looking furious, “Vat is vrong vit you‽”

“I saved Robbie,” Marvin was struggling to get back up.

“He vas dead!” Henrik shouted. “Und ve don’t know vat you have brought back to us.”

Marvin picked himself up to see that Robbie was lying on the ground, bound with metal cords and Silver was holding him down.

“What did you bring back?” Silver demanded.

“I did the spell right,” Marvin insisted.

Everyone but Robbie flinched when a dull ringing came from the other side of the door, and Dark opened it. All the heroes freezes, as if hoping the villain would just go away instead of probably escalating the situation.

Silver groaned, “Come on, Dark we got enough to worry about.”

Dark stared at Robbie, looking at him in confusion before the anger rolled over his face.

“You monsters,” Dark growled, slamming the door behind him. “None of you can let the dead rest, can you?”

Marvin scrambled off of the table to get in-between Dark and Robbie, “No, fook yeh, he suffered enough.”

“And that suffering is now ongoing,” Dark snarled resentfully. “He should have been allowed to rest. You filthy heroes just can’t let anything slip out of your control, can you?”

“Don’t touch him,” Marvin ordered, he’d only just gotten Robbie back, and now Dark was back to finish the job.

“How long has it been like that,” Dark dismissed, grabbing Marvin by the front of his cloak. “Don’t bother, you’re in no position to fight.”

“I don’t care,” Marvin literally spat in Dark’s face and he was thrown to the side, Dark’s aura pinning him down.

“Dark let’s talk this out,” Silver cautioned, trying to still keep Robbie pinned as the Entity walked over.

“How long has it been in that body?” Dark demanded.

“We don’t know, maybe a couple hours,” Silver admitted and Dark let out a groan of frustration.

“Do any of you know if it’s the boy or not?” Dark asked.

“Course it fookin’ is!” Marvin shouted.

“He hasn’t really said anything, just growled,” Silver answered.

Dark reached his aura down and started running it along Robbie’s teeth, as if checking, and Robbie was snarling before suddenly he froze up and started letting out a couple soft, huffed breaths.

Dark seemed to be checking for something, his ringing pitching up and down. Marvin was desperately trying to kick free, a loud bang from Marvin putting his foot through the wall, probably breaking a couple toes in the process. He screamed in pain.

Robbie however, flinched at the bang, looking around. Dark was carefully watching him for a bit longer before he pulled his aura away. Robbie didn’t start growling again, he was just watching Dark.

“There’s no guarantee you’ve brought back the right person, but I’m sure you would know the boy better than I would,” Dark sighed, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. “This mess is now your problem. Do tell me you’ve discontinued your internships.”

“We’re talking about it,” Silver actually admitted. “One or two of the kids have nowhere to go.”

“If they try and face my network or other villains, they will die,” Dark reminded. “Oh and that Derekson kid you have, if you don’t keep him off the streets, I’ll take him back.”

“How—” Silver started.

“None of your business, but,” Dark motioned down to Robbie, “whether or not you’ve got the right person, he will never be the same. Also, he might be hungry.”

Dark left through the door, only of the doctors nervously following him, which made sense for Silver how Dark even knew what was going on in the first place.

Now that Robbie had been calmed, the heroes did their best to keep him calm, Dark had been right, he was hungry. Henrik ran out to get him something.

After a short check up the heroes were starting to understand the problem: Robbie’s body had already started to decompose before he was brought into the morgue. A process that had now magically been halted.

One of the doctors showed up with a couple notes, all written in Dark’s fancy, cursive handwriting. Dark was instructing them on how to get Robbie to act human again.

It took several more hours to get Robbie responsive in a way that wasn’t blind rage, a full day to get him to recognize them. Silver mostly suspected that it was Marvin’s coaching whenever he was left with him, which everyone was hesitant to leave Marvin alone with Robbie again and would continue to be suspicious of Marvin for months.

Talking would take weeks, and even then Robbie’s ability to form complex, long statements would never come back. He would speak and even smile again, but sometimes Silver would look at the young man and wonder if they were just wishfully hoping it was him.

Dark had been right, they couldn’t be sure, and even when Robbie’s mom was allowed to finally see him again, a woman who had already been struggling to deal with her only child’s death, was heartbroken again when Robbie didn’t immediately recognize her. He needed several long minutes, and the woman calling out to him in desperate hope, to seemingly understand who she was.

Even Jackie was suspicious, but there was nothing they could do, Robbie was back, he was slotting himself uncomfortably right back into where he had been before, but with much more supervision to all the sidekicks as Robbie was kept with the doctors more than he had been before.

For better or worse “Robbie” was back and so far he seemed to like the real deal. All the heroes could do was hope he was.

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