#I started yesterday by writing up my little dove (also on ao3)

[polar-equinoxx]

The Guardian Angel🌟

click for quality!!

[winterlament]

Funeral March

Hello The Secret History fanbase… I offer you my first TSH fanfiction. this is more an exercise in character than anything, I want to be able to write them all accurately before doing much else of substance — and I really just wanted to write the Greek class being the weirdos that they are. go easy on me but I hope this is at the very least enjoyable.

not canon compliant, Bunny is alive and they’re all friends.

Word Count: 3k

Read on AO3 or below the cut! ☕️ ☆ 🕯️

Early morning. Tall blades of unkempt grass glimmered with the shine of dew drops; wildflowers sprouted in lush patches; and damp stepping stones littered the yard. The tang of wet, damp earth lingered heavy and humid; the air thick but clean. The snow had melted in the past week, and the Greek class was enjoying early spring at Francis’ country home. The sun had barely risen above the horizon to fill the yard with light when the smell of something sickly, putrid like an overripe fruit, became abundant.

“Oh, no!” Francis cried, stopping in his tracks and glancing towards the ground. He was in shirtsleeves, and his pants were rolled up to his knees. His pale feet were bare and wet with dew, disrupting the grass where he stood, and drops of water were rolling off him and catching on the hair on his legs. Charles stood next to him, peering down to see what had gotten Francis so upset.

“Look at that, Charles,” he said, pointing to a small clump of feathers and red. “Poor thing.”

Along with rain showers, vibrant greenery, and blooms of flowers, Vermont spring brought songbirds back from a winter away. Francis’ countryside property had found itself full of small birds, singing and chirping away at all hours (starting early, a bit before sunrise, tending to wake Bunny, who decided to wake everyone else in his tired annoyance). Dashes of blue jays and sparrows and warblers in the trees, daring near the ground only in search of food.

“Oh, what a shame! What are we to do?”

“Leave it,” Charles said dismissively. “Why should we have to do anything at all?”

“Charles, look at it.”

The blond crouched down in the grass, blades thick and full, to examine the mass of feathers and, upon closer inspection, gore.

A round, cream-colored bird lay with its wings spread in its full span. Its torn open chest painted the feathers on its small body close to the shade of a cardinal — red; visceral and bloody, vermillion, wine, raw meat. Sternum to ribcage cracked open like a pomegranate, seeds torn out, thrown back on the ground to let it sink into the earth. Its neck, Charles noticed, was turned at an unnatural angle, a bite mark deep in the flesh of its throat. Viscous, sticky liquid surrounded the small corpse, still and fresh. The smell was something awful, sickening but sweet, iron. It made Charles’ stomach clench the closer he got.

Reaching for a stick, Charles ignored Francis’ wailing (‘Oh, no, Charles, don’t,’ ‘I can’t look,’ ‘Oh, forget about it,’ something in French) and poked at the bird from a distance, turning it over and around. Getting a better look at it, the bird was a dove. A white mourning dove, a dove whose coos had likely woken Bunny up in the morning.

Francis’ house had not only been a springtime retreat for birds, but also for small but vicious predators – cats, raccoons, things with claws – one of which had seemingly gotten its paws and teeth sunk into the little dove nestled in a cushion of wet grass and stirred up dirt. Despite the still warm blood on its feathers, the unnatural tilt of its neck, and its exposed and empty abdomen, it looked peaceful, as all doves should be.

Francis’ eyebrows were scrunched together in a worried, pained sort of expression. “It was probably one of those damned cats you’ve been feeding. Look at this mess,” he said. “How horrible. Little thing only wanted some seeds–” tapping his foot – “I should’ve refilled the feeder yesterday. It must’ve been hungry. Oh, we’ve got to get rid of it. It’s dreadful.”

He pulled a pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket.

Unable to rip his eyes away from the mauled remains of the gentle creature, Charles stood in his grass-stained pants, propping himself up on one knee and pushing himself up. The stick, now bloody, was still clutched in his fist.

“The cat was hungry too.”

“What?” Francis asked, wiping his eye.

“The cat that got it,” Charles repeated. “It was hungry too.”

“Oh. Well, yes… but look at it. Brutalized. Careless. A horrible way to go.”

Charles paused, examining the bird again. The curve of its wings, body sprawled on the ground, looking as if it fell right from the sky and into the jowls of a predator with sharp, sharp teeth. Predestined. Inescapable. Fate.

In a way, it was beautiful. In its death, it had fallen into a patch of daisies, fresh and new, stained a color they would never naturally grow. Spring, the season of new life, of thriving, had brought death with it, too. For in the cycle of life and death, there is a profound sense of continuity, repeating and repeating and repeating. Die. Feed. Birth. And though brutal, ripped to shreds, the dove was peaceful – nothing could last forever; nothing that was mortal could ever escape the sharp teeth of death, be it a dove caught in the claws of a feral cat, or something more. In time, it would sink into earth, and feed the plants. Become a plant itself. Grow the seeds it was hungry for. Continuous. To live forever was to die, repeat the cycle. Become again.

However, as beautiful as it may have been, it was clearly distressing to Francis, who was now through with half a cigarette.

“It wasn’t malicious, Francis. Whatever it may have been,” Charles began, “it didn’t know any better. It was hungry. Everything needs to eat, that’s just how it goes. Besides –” he took Francis’ hand in his– “it’ll feed the flowers you like so much. Fertilizer?” He offered a smile.

“Right, sure, but… can we at least, God, I don’t know. Bury it? It’s horrible to look at, and it deserves a resting place, not so out in the open.” Francis said.

–

Across the yard, back at the house, Bunny sat in a porch chair, rosy-cheeked in the morning sun and coffee cup in hand, not paying the slightest attention to Francis and Charles in the grass. He had the radio set up on the table next to him, and he was listening to some awful war song (no one was quite sure if it was on a CD of his or if he had found a military radio station) that was far too loud for the hour. The large, French-style double doors were wide open, propped with books as door stops, and the sun sank into pools of light on the dark floorboards. In the house, Camilla and Henry walked back and forth across the foyer, visible every so often – carrying things, maybe books, Henry following Camilla’s lead.

Charles yelled something and waved his arms, trying to get anyone’s attention, unsuccessfully. He yelled again, this time Bunny’s name, holding up the bloodied stick and waving it around. The blood and the look on Francis’ face seemed to be alarming.

Bunny sprung up from his chair on the porch and ran through the yard — still in his robe and pajama bottoms — his mess of unruly blond hair not fully brushed and his not fully awake body tumbling over itself. He motioned for the others, and Camilla followed him, running towards the commotion with curlers in her hair; the gentle glow of the early morning sun made her face look soft but bare, and the gray of her eyes matched the sky so perfectly they nearly disappeared into the horizon. Shortly after, Richard appeared in shirtsleeves, struggling with pulling his shoes on, his eyes (and limbs) still heavy with sleep. And Henry followed behind them, fully dressed, like a disinterested father caring for his ill-behaved children, trying to control them before anyone had had any breakfast – they’re getting fussy, and he hadn’t had his coffee yet.

Bunny and Camilla came to a grinding halt, nearly crashing into each other upon Bunny’s sudden stop, Richard close behind them. Taking his time to reach the rest, Henry strolled through the grass, admiring the flowers. Charles and Francis pointed at the ground in unison.

They stood in a circle, heads together, mess of bird between their feet.

“Oh, that’s horrible.” Camilla was the first to speak. Her voice was layered with sleep, dark like tinted glass. “How on Earth could that have happened?”

It was, evidently, unnerving. Francis explained that he thought it was a cat, and Camilla cocked her head but was shushed by Charles before she could question him. Richard tried to hide his expression, one of disgust, but his nose scrunched and his eyebrows turned up. Bunny appeared similar, hiding it less; holding his nose closed with his fingers. Henry seemed indifferent, staring at the wounded bird with a lack of emotion.

“I want to bury it. I don’t like the way it looks,” Francis said.

“It’s just a bird,” Richard interjects. “What’s so wrong about it?”

“It’s eyes are open. It’s looking at me.”

“Sure is.” Bunny agreed. His voice was nasally, more than normal, nose plugged by pointer and middle. “Nasty sight. Damn awful smell, too. We should bury it, yes, yes. Hold it a proper funeral.”

“A funeral?” Camilla asked.

“Well, sure. Can’t just bury it all unceremoniously, can we? If we’re burying it, we might as well make a show of it. None of that Catholic bullshit. A real funeral! Like the Greeks! We’ll mourn, wear all black, pray to the gods. And Henry can dig the hole.”

–

Before Henry had much of a say about digging the grave, he stood in the garden, shovel in hand – expressionless, digging a dove-sized hole under a large willow tree next to the lake. He was wearing a black pin-stripe English suit, per Bunny’s request, and was narrowly avoiding getting dirt on his freshly polished Oxfords.

Bunny, Francis, Charles, and Richard had also found themselves in black suits – pieces of Charles’ suit oversized and borrowed from Bunny, as he doesn’t wear much black, nor did he plan on attending a funeral over the weekend. Francis wore his suit over a thin, starchy white shirt with turnback cuffs, his flame-colored hair slicked back and pince-nez glimmering in the (now afternoon) sun. Richard’s was ill-fitting, tight on the elbows, and had quite a few loose threads, adorned with a little golden lapel pin, shaped like the top of an Ionic-style column. They each held flowers in their hands, taken from the garden, that Camilla and Francis had tied together with strands of twine and ribbon. Charles still held the red-stained stick.

To Henry’s left stood Bunny, ordering him to dig the hole deeper and refusing to help. He had a black sheet thrown over his shoulder, a mockery of some sort of toga. Camilla stood to Henry’s right in a knee-length black dress with sheer black stockings underneath. She held the bird in her arms, wrapped in an old curtain Francis had found in the attic, laid in a small brown box, a makeshift coffin. Flowers lay around its body, and the smell of rot had been overtaken with the smell of a strong, floral perfume — stinging cherry blossom and bitter notes of bergamot. Bunny used his pocket square to wipe the sweat off of his, and then Henry’s, brow.

The smell of freshly turned dirt, woody and sweet. The air had warmed and cleared as the early morning turned to afternoon, the dew on the grass had evaporated, and the sun reflected off the lake in a blinding, star-like way. A dense, large willow shaded the funeral part; lush curtains of green cascading off of thin branches surrounded them and swayed with the breeze. The hushing sound of wind ruffling leaves was cut through by a funeral march – Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2, playing on the radio sitting on the tree roots. The glow of the sun hit the backs of Bunny, Henry, and Camilla, encasing the three of them in shadow haloed in gold, like a group of God’s finest angels, harbingers of death, or vengeful creatures sent by Hades up from the underworld. Henry mumbled something unintelligible to Camilla and held the shovel to his side. With that, Bunny began:

“Lady and gentlemen, we’re gathered here today in honor of this here dove. Tragically, our little friend was taken from us much too soon. Even though it woke me up this morning, no bird deserves a fate this bad, no, no. I’m sure it had a family, a bird-wife and chicks, you know, it’s spring and all. Real sad it ended up like this, all torn apart… Anyway, enough lamenting, right? This isn’t some pious, uptight mass, no, no Hail Mary’s. This is a celebration of this bird’s life! Sending it off.

“O Hermes, messenger of the gods, we ask you to guide the soul of our dearly departed dove safely across the river of Styx. Grant passage to the underworld of Hades, and let it find peace in the Elysian Fields, or wherever doves go,” Bunny said, talking with his hands and looking to the sky, like a preacher.

He rambled on, choosing his words carefully, about the underworld and the afterlife and how even sweet little birds had to meet their makers. When he finished, he wiped away a pretend tear, and Francis clapped, everyone else following his lead. Henry stifled a smile, covering his hand with his sleeve.

Thank yous were said to Bunny, and he bowed like he was a talk show host walking off stage – see you next time, folks! – and Camilla stepped forward in his place, box in hand, standing at the head of the grave plot and glancing down into the earth.

“Put him in, little lady.” Bunny motioned with his head towards her and put a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, crouched, and lowered the box into the hole. The dove’s feathers ruffled in the breeze, its eyes still open and glossy as it and its box-casket were placed into the earth. Camilla placed it down gently, careful not to disturb it, as if she might’ve woken it up if she jostled it around. Henry offered his hand, and she took it in hers. He pulled her up, looking like he could’ve swept her up into a press lift as if they were dancing pas de deux. When she stood, her stockings and shoes were caked with damp dirt.

“Say goodbye, gentlemen. François, any final words?” Bunny asked.

Francis stepped to the head of the plot and threw his bouquet on top of the bird. “Au revoir, mon petit amie. Live forever, and let the flowers grow on top of this awful mess of dirt.”

Following his lead, Richard threw in his bundle of wildflowers, followed by Charles’, as well as the stick that had been stained with blood. Camilla unclasped her necklace – small, gold – and threw it in unceremoniously.

Henry, who had disappeared through the flower-tossing service, had returned, a bottle of wine in hand. He stood next to Camilla, his jaw clenched and his eyes glossy behind his glasses. With a pop, the cork, too, found itself in the shallow grave. The scent of grape, aged and spiced, poured into the earth, on top of the dove, and in the box. When the bottle neared being half empty, Francis ushered him to stop, and he did – taking quite a large swig of it himself – and handed it over.

The bottle was passed around between them as Henry shoveled the dirt back onto the grave. Bunny made reception small talk about “fond memories” of the dove while Camilla sat in the grass, tying pieces of twine around a bundle of sticks and flowers.

“Did we offer enough, do you think?” Charles asked, wrapping his arm around Francis’ shoulder.

“Sure,” said Francis, the bottle clenched in hand. “I’m just glad I can’t see it anymore.” He tilted the bottle up and finished it off.

“I’m sure Bunny’s speech was more than enough,” said Henry, calm and unbothered. “We gave it a thorough send-off. Returned it to the earth. The first dove to have a real funeral like this, I’d say. If the gods choose to care about a dove, this will be the one. Besides, I’m sure your flowers will look wonderful, Francis.” He threw another large pile of dirt into the grave, twirled the shovel in his fingers, and patted the earth down. “Factum est. Camilla, would you hand me that?”

He towered over her, encasing her in his shadow, and she handed over her stick-and-twine gravemarker. It was delicately made, but the details were clumsy: knots too big and in the wrong places, flowers lacking petals, an uneven bow in the front. Henry told her it was beautiful and stuck it into packed-down earth at the head of the burial site.

The six of them stood around the grave, now marked and permanent in Francis’ yard. The dirt was the color of freshly brewed tea, ornate and flowery, shaded by the dense overhang of weeping leaves and branches. In true fashion of spring, the sun had found itself behind a blanket of gray, surrounded by curls of hazy, dark shades, accompanied by the air marginally warming.

“You know,” Bunny began, slapping Francis on the back (startling him to a jump). “Every funeral I’ve ever been to, there’s been food after. A luncheon. And –” checking his watch – “It’s almost noon; that’s lunchtime. I’m starving, gentlemen.” Before any of them could answer, Bunny was already strolling towards the house – no, the driveway.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Richard cautioned, looking at the overcast gray of the clouds narrowly closing in.

“We better hurry up, then!” Bunny yelled as he took off towards the cars – Francis’, Henry’s. “Got to beat the weather, yes, yes!”

Glances were exchanged; the twins shrugged in unison, and took off after him. Gracefully, they moved their legs identically, and their feet kicked up dirt in unison. Charles yelled for Bunny to wait, and Camilla ran beside him, giggling. Francis took Richard by the hand, running along with him, and Henry followed behind the lot of them, patting his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.

[moonstruckmoony]

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better!

Thanks for the tag bbys @choccy-milky @the-ozzie @keri-mcberry @ethniee 🩵

LAST SONG? - oh no, you’ve opened the Pandora box. When given the chance I usually couldn’t shut up about music and when asked questions like these I can never just say only one… Mostly for the purpose of finding kindred spirits 😶 Nowadays I often listen to RnB, Soul, Hiphop, 70s-80s hits, Jazz fusion, Jpop and Rap… but I do listen to a wide range of stuff, from Jazz and Classical to Rock/Punk and Metal (loove Paramore and BMTH), to Kpop (I’m an ARMY btw) and Anime songs lmao.

But I digress. The last 3 songs (yes even now I still can’t choose just one 😔) I listened to were:

Suuper sick 1976 Japanese funk track the I discovered, I dove into Minako Yoshida’s stuff and she’s suuper cool.

There’s this lovely playlist on spotify called “sade, erykah badu, lauryn hill vibes 🧚‍♀️✨” by someone called izzy eve and as a lover of all 3 i’m living for it 😫🩵

FAVORITE COLOR? - if it’s not obvious already, it’s light blue, could be baby blue, robin egg blue, or serenity blue 🩵 though most irl people would guess black, seeing 98% of the time I wear always wear black…

CURRENTLY WATCHING? - I mostly watch YouTube nowadays but yesterday I marathoned “Madougushi Dahlia wa Utsumukanai” (or Dahlia in Bloom in English). I’m a big fan of the red-haired, strong-heroine-anime trifecta (Red-haired Snow White, Akatsuki no Yona, and The Ancient Magus Bride), so I assume I’ll love Dahlia in Bloom and I was right. I’m just a huge sucker for heroes/heroines who are both passionate and skilled in their craft/hobbies, add with a little dash of obsession in the topic that they excelled in.

SWEET/SPICY/ SAVORY? - SAVORY. Same as you guys @choccy-milky and @the-ozzie , I’m an absolute sodium menace. Bags of chips and instant noodles (particularly Shin Ramyun, or Indomie) are my kryptonites…. I’ve been eating healthier these past few months though. I set a rule for myself to put in veggies and fruits and good proteins first before I’m allowed to eat whatever I want. But yeah, even tho I do love spicy and sweet as well, I’m addicted to salt 💀

LAST MOVIE? - Wow I don’t remember which one was the last one, it was either Ultraman: Rising or Women King (I know I’m late but God, Viola Davis was magnificent in that one).

RELATIONSHIP STATUS? - I leave it to you guys to guess lol

CURRENT OBSESSION? - Well, Hogwarts Legacy is a given, but besides that, a resurfacing obsession is The Umbrella Academy… 👉🏻👈🏻It’s my comfort show, comfort characters, comfort cast! Just got back into it again since it has ended. And with how season 4 being so…. lackluster(I wouldn’t call it total garbage like most brellies bcs there are things I enjoyed but I agree that it’s a mess and I hate that they ‘ruined’ many of the characters.), I started rewatching my fav scenes from previous seasons and started seeking for fics in Ao3 (my first time ever hunting for TUA fics even tho I started watched TUA the year S1 came out). Fic author brellies are such a blessing, I’ve read fics that are so much better than the experience of watching season 4, with all the emotional complexities they’re able to write and their creativity… just chef’s kiss.

LAST THING YOU GOOGLED? - Cyrillic alphabets lmao. I learned how to read them back during the pandemic out of boredom and curiosity… Yesterday I came across a Russian sentence on my friend’s laptop sticker and I forgot how to read “ю” and “л” so I googled it 😂

Non-obligatory tag, you don’t have to do it! ☺️ also idk who amongst you has done it already, sorry if you have 🥲 I’m just tagging HL people I genuinely want to get to know. @diana-bluewolf @rednite-dork @tamayula-hl @sallowly @sparxyv @ccelicaa @hummingmuggle @gogglesyoyinyin @applinsandoranges @alun1r @gce-hiiragimare @morelikeravenbore @vienguinn @alliezarin

[ofallthingsnasty]

friendly favors

Pairing: Jasper (Steven Universe) x F!Reader Tags: HARD noncon, vaginal fingering, piss (loss of bladder control), physical abuse (includes loss of teeth), reader is implied to be chubby, dead dove: do not eat Word count: 3.6k Summary: What are favors between friends, right? When Steven asks you for one, you’re happy to help him with trying to get a certain gem to Little Homeworld. Too bad she has been itching for a fight.

Note: Mind the tags, as always. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. Been meaning to write this for two years now and I finally got around to make this little thing happen :) Hope you enjoy and requests are open! I really hope the format is right, tumblr gave me hell when uploading this 😬 my ao3 is here, if you'd rather read there.

It’s hot. The morning air around you is heavy with the smell of heat and summer, yesterday’s weather still clinging to the underbrush. You can feel the sweat building underneath the layer of sticky sunscreen you applied before leaving the house, a fragile shield against the sun that is slowly starting to peek through the leaves. You’ll probably sweat it off before even reaching your destination but you can’t find it in you to care, your stomach too fluttery in anticipation. You’re too nervous for this beautiful Saturday morning, doubt creeping into you with every single step you take. A deep breath, then two and you feel a little better, that hollow pit in your belly swallowed up by your breakfast again. Think logically, you tell yourself. Nothing is going to happen. She’s going to say no and that’ll be it. You kick a stray rock to the side and sigh. How did you even agree to this? It’s your own fault, really. Ever since the Crystal Gems had started building Little Homeworld, ever since Beach City had been flooded with colorful aliens, you had been obsessed. You had gotten involved maybe a year or so back, happy to help with lessons and anything else Steven and the gems needed assistance with. You had grown closer to the boy over time and learned soon enough that both ancient rebel aliens and serious, established adults (like you) couldn’t say no to his puppy eyes. And this is how he got you to trudge through the forest, a couple of pamphlets in hand and some pre-crafted sentences in mind, on your way to persuade one of the rogue gems into joining the rest of them over at Little Homeschool. To be fair, you didn’t agree because of his puppy eyes alone. How could you deny yourself the opportunity to see the Jasper, the perfect quartz according to some of the Crystal Gems, the very gem who corrupted herself? You have heard some stories here and there, enough to be curious about her - but also enough to be aware of the fact that she isn’t to be taken lightly. Tales of violence and fury, of pride and a steep downfall kept you curious. Now that you’re mere minutes away from facing her, you don’t really know if satisfying that curiosity is worth the trouble. She could easily turn you into minced meat, if she so pleased. 

Your stomach cramps at the thought. She wouldn’t hurt you, right? Her obsession with Steven was misguided and she wouldn’t try to outright murder a human, right? No, that’s just your anxiety running wild - she might perceive you as an annoyance, but you’re pretty sure she’ll just chew you out for bothering her. You kick another stone as you try to calm yourself, this time with more force than intended. It bounces off the cap of your boot, up into the air. Instead of spiraling further for really no reason at all, you try to focus your mind on the reasons you agreed to this, the reasons you’re so enamored with these alien life forms. They’re fascinating, really. Thousands of years old, capable of creating and maneuvering astonishing tech, some strong enough to rip you apart with their bare hands, others able to manipulate the nature around them. And yet, here on earth they’re nothing but bumbling idiots when faced with the basics of human day-to-day life. It’s strangely endearing to watch them fail at making phone calls and cooking and rewarding to show them just how it’s done right. You’ve made friends over in Little Homeworld and your weekends are usually filled with gems and their antics, not that you mind. It’s easy enough to forget that most of them have been involved in earth-shattering wars, that some have killed - not only each other but organic lives as well. It’s a little too much to think about sometimes, but when they’re in Little Homeworld, they can finally be themselves, finally free to pursue their own interests - and you can forget how easy it would be for a quartz to rip you limb from limb. You’re easy to get along with, at least that's what Steven has told you. Soft and eager to give out smiles and laughter - every time you drop by to spend some time in Little Homeworld, you have a gaggle of gems following you around, curious about your day and excited to tell you about theirs. Maybe that’s why Steven had asked you to talk to her. Maybe she will be more receptive to an organic - although he had sounded skeptic at the very thought of that and you weren’t all too sure either after asking the other Crystal Gems some more questions about their shared past. It is a sign of good character that he wants to try to get her to re-join gem society at least somewhat and although you don’t think you’ll be able to talk her into it, it is worth the shot. Maybe you were too confident in yourself, in your ability to sweet-talk gems of any kind when you agreed to this some days ago, but if it’s any help to Steven and Little Homeworld, you can’t say no.

One last deep breath and you feel a little better. You know you’re almost there - the forest around you gets more and more sparse, broken stumps peppered in between the massive trees around you. There is a clearing up ahead and you can spy the cave entrance from where you’ve paused for a bit. You’re straining your neck to see if you can make out her figure as well - you know she’s home, she has to be. Nothing much to do with your day when you're a free gem hiding away in the darkness, all alone. When you can’t spot her, you simply strut forward - you’re pretty sure she’s already aware of your presence, anyway. The clearing is weirdly silent when you step into the ring formed out of mowed down stumps and receding grass, only silence greeting you. Just where is she? Is she still scouting you out, trying to see what you’re up to? No matter. Your stomach is too queasy not to break the tension. You just want to be over with this and go back to your apartment.

“Hello? Jasper-”, you call out, only to be interrupted by thud behind you. Of course. You should have known that she was already one step ahead of you. You turn around slowly, hands already raised in defense. She’s huge. Peridot hadn’t been wrong when she called her the perfect quartz - she towers over you with ease, thick arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. She looks at you like one would at a disgusting bug they just found squirming around, one eyebrow quirked up while she glowers down at you. Your mouth feels unusually dry when she pins you down with a simple glare and you’re reminded of the power imbalance between the two of you. Unlike the other quartzes, she doesn’t exude that laissez-faire attitude, that friendly openness. Other soldier gems, although intimidating in stature, are usually friendly and eager to make friends. One look at her yellow eyes and you know she very much isn’t. “Earthling”, she spits out in disgust and- disappointment. “Yeah, that’s me”, you say and cringe at your own voice. You sound like a total idiot who is trying to impress the popular kids at school. “I came here to talk about something.” She clearly isn’t amused. You give her another sheepy grin and hastily fold open one of the pamphlets, already trying to form the perfect sentence to get her to consider your little missionary deed. “You see, this is about Little Homeworld”, you start, but she rolls her eyes and pulls a disgusted face. “Please, at least listen to me?”, you squeak out, having lost all of your confidence with one simple twitch of her mouth. You figure she hasn’t punched you yet - she might not do it at all if you’re careful. Jasper narrows her eyes for a moment, searching your face for something before she scoffs again in realization.

“He set you up to this”, she says, looking right through your charade. You shrink into yourself at her steely gaze, a bit ashamed to be found out that easily. “Ah, well-”, you stutter, trying to find the right words. “Not entirely, I did agree to this-” She rolls her eyes at that. “Leave or I’ll make you regret it”, she huffs out, already turning to go back to her cave. “Please, at least consider it! Everyone put so much work into Little Homeschool-”, you press out before you get interrupted by her whipping her head around.

"I said leave!", she bellows, her tone suddenly angry. “I don’t have the time to listen to the begging of some puny earthling.” Maybe it’s the heat that is melting your brain, maybe it’s the thought of disappointing Steven - it doesn’t matter what it is, your feet move forward on their own for a few steps, a tiny call of “Wait!” tearing itself from your lips before you can process your actions. The air immediately shifts into something else. It’s prickly and instantaneous, heavy like the shift in pressure moments before thunder. You have half a mind to stagger backwards, but it’s too late. She charges forward faster than you can react, eyes wide and angry. Your mind screams at you to run but you can’t - never have you seen so much anger in someone’s face and never directed at you. The fist to your jaw catches you off-guard and you stumble back, immediately rubbing your mandible where she caught you. “Fuck-”, you cry out, but she only gives you another second to recover before she uses your open torso to her advantage. One hit turns into two and two into three- she pushes you around with sheer force alone and you can barely react because of her speed. The world is a blur of pain, adrenaline ringing in your ears. You’ve never been beaten up before and she is relentless, no plea or excuse making her falter. Instead, your panicked cries for her to stop seem to spur her on, seem to heighten her rage at you. “You can’t even fight back, weakling”, she sneers with her fist in your face. “Come on! Didn’t you want to talk?” Before you can utter one more pathetic word of defiance, she raises her arm again and brings it down on your jaw, smack dab in the middle of your mouth, right under your nose. Your bone creaks in protest, the sound unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. You can feel something break. The pain ripples through you like an electric shock and you sputter in surprise, spit and blood and something sharp flying off your tongue. Your mouth pulsates as you press your hand to your lips, a futile attempt at soothing yourself. The sensitive skin prickles against something jagged and you push your tongue forward out of reflex, a weird, unknown panic suddenly taking root. Did she- did she break your teeth? You can’t help the tears that rush in as you mutter- no, lisp - a string of no, no, nos to yourself. Oddly enough it’s just like one of these weird nightmares come true, but that thought slips away with reality of the situation.

Everything else is replaceable, could be mended, could heal- but not your teeth, your precious front teeth that are now reduced to nothing but bloodied stumps, the healthy pulps bleeding into your mouth until your saliva is thick with blood. Your reaction seems to entertain her enough to stop her abuse for the moment, but the relief of that fades quickly as your head spins with the terrible realization - it’s like the world is suddenly muted as you cradle your mouth in your hand, your head heavy with panic. Everything slowly fades out of existence as the only thing you suddenly know is your breathing and the louder and louder growing hiss in your ears- white stars flit over your vision and- The world topples.

You feel before you see. You’re sprawled out on the hard, dusty ground, cold sweat pooling beneath your shirt, arms and face and chest hurting from her fists. Something is pressed into your stomach, something so dense it pushes itself uncomfortably into the fat of your belly. Birds shriek around you in excitement as they flap their wings skywards and you can’t help but groan at the unnaturally loud sound. “Earthling.” Your eyes snap open. Above you, a hulking mass of orange and cream blocks the sun, its light spilling around the rugged edges of- Jasper. And with that the momentary peace is broken. You immediately scramble to get up, to get away from her, but you can’t - she has you pinned underneath her foot, the pressure on your stomach increasing until it genuinely hurts. “And here I thought we were done”, she spits out, eyeing you with nothing but contempt as you wriggle underneath her like a pathetic little insect. “Please-”, you lisp, tongue scraping over the ruins of your incisors with the ‘s’ sound.”Let me go- You beat me, you won.” She leans closer to you, eyes sharp and mean. Although you aren’t a real challenge, a real fight, she doesn’t seem to have enough, not yet. “Weakling.” “You’re so soft”, she lowers her face closer to you, “so round, so pathetic.” You watch in horror as she lifts up her foot from your stomach and slowly drags it down to your crotch, planting herself right on top of your cunt with a thud. It hurts and your legs close around her leg out of reflex, muscles hardening themselves to take your mind off the pain.

“Oh-”, you choke out, shoving your hands down to protect yourself. “Please- not there- Anywhere else-” You receive a swift kick in response.  "That's your weak spot?", she says and smiles- no, bares her teeth at you- while she watches you writhing on the ground in agony, blood running down your shirt and eyes red with tears. “Please-” Another kick, another cry from you. She considers your pain and your helplessness, towering above you like some dark herald as you gasp and sob underneath her, too tired to fight back now. There is something peculiar in her eyes - not unlike the curiosity of a cat toying with its meal. You stare at each other for a single heartbeat, then- Within a second, her foot is gone from your body and she is all over you, tearing at your hair and clothing. Grunts and tiny sounds of disapproval fall from her lips as neither your shirt nor bra underneath it yield, her impatient hands traveling downwards instead. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your pants and you can only watch in horror as she rips them in half with sheer force. She doesn’t even give you the grace of taking them off, your ruined zipper and half-opened crotch are shoved just underneath your ass, barely enough space to give her access. Your panties follow with a snap of elastic and cotton, the fabric flimsy enough to be tossed aside. No amount of squirming and choked cries are enough to make her stop - she seems to be in some kind of stupor, those sharp eyes full of something vicious and nasty. Rough hands dig into the fat of your hips, strong enough to bruise and strong enough pinch your skin against bone as she turns you over. She rattles you around like you weigh nothing, and with arms like hers you can believe it. Face shoved into the dirt and ass up in the air, your teeth pulse as blood rushes into your head, the feeling dizzying and disorientating. It hurts and you can’t help the tiny groans of pain that slip through your busted lips. The feeling is strange and increases with each heartbeat, the blood in your head so heavy it feels like your cheeks twitch. A hand on your cunt pulls you out of the haze. You aren’t stupid. You know how this will end, knew it from the moment she had torn off your hiking shorts. But the way her hand curls around your crotch is still a shock to your system, enough for you to lurch forward- but your weak arms can only grasp air and not dirt as she easily swoops her left arm under your chest to hold you just above the ground. It’s humiliating; scooped up like an animal, exposed, the tattered scraps of your shorts still hanging somewhere around your knees. You can’t even make a run for it if you wanted to. She can do with you as she pleases- You whimper at the thought- and she laughs. It’s low and rough, an ugly sound that makes your skin prickle in fear. “Pathetic appearance modifiers.” She sets you down again, but pointedly keeps one burly hand on your back, pushing you down. Her fingers grope and pinch the fat of your ass, inspecting your organic matter. It stings but you bear it, even as she presses down to the bone. She probes and slaps and squeezes you again and again until your skin is numb and hot. Seconds feel like hours as you tremble in her grasp, nerves sharp with pain, waiting for her to go further down, waiting for her brash hands to abuse your cunt with the same fervor. It’s inevitable and the thought kills you inside. Ever so slowly she inches her way down to where your pussy is painfully exposed- at first her touch only tickles, deceptively careful. Then she reaches between your labia, grabs one pair tightly- before you can blink there’s a thumb shoved into you, and she pulls. It burns, especially with the sudden movement, and you cry out. Another laugh sounds behind you, deep and amused. “There it is.”

At this point you aren’t sure if she’s playing dumb on purpose or if she truly doesn’t know what she’s doing to your cunt. She has spent the last two years in isolation, but she’s hundreds of years older than you- there is the faint possibility of her being aware of organic reproduction. There is no use in dwelling on it, not when her thumb suddenly jerks within you. You squeal at the sensation, but she ignores you. Another back and forth motion until she finally withdraws, much too fast. Any word of protest falls on deaf ears as she delves back into you with her digits, no regard for how little fluid there is to aid her. Her fingers are too thick. You’re nowhere close to being prepared to take her, but she splits you open with two of them, forcing herself into you with so much power you have to brace yourself against the dusty, lifeless ground. It hurts unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, a dry burn deep within you. It’s agony in its plainest form and you grunt and grind your teeth to alleviate it at least a little bit. It doesn’t help much. When she bottoms out you feel like you’re about to throw up, nausea climbing up your throat with every heartbeat, two of her ungodly thick fingers rooted in you. Your walls clench around her, making it only worse for yourself. Then she starts moving. In and out and in again, the movement feels as though she’s turning your cunt inside out. It hurts so bad- the feeling is indescribable, almost like her fingers are scraping your insides raw with every little motion. She applies more and more pressure every time she dives in, clearly trying to pick up speed. It’s fruitless. You’re too dry and it only makes this more unbearable for you. Long gone are the tiny groans, now you’re crying hot tears into the floor, open-mouthed and shameless. There is only enduring this, the steady movement never ending. She is silent behind you, probably intently watching your torture. You can’t even form clear thoughts at this point, everything is just pain and heat and more pain again, the force of her fingers steadily building until it feels like she’s about to tear through your abdomen. Something snaps within you. It’s wet and hot and too much to be your natural lubrication. It doesn’t take you long to figure out what just happened - not when your bladder is now clenching at the rapid movement of her fingers. You just pissed yourself. Pissed on the ground, on all fours like a dog. Because your bladder couldn’t withstand the pressure of her fingers drilling in and out of you, because she used enough force to make you wet yourself. It pools beneath your knees, a miserable, hot little puddle of amber liquid. The scent hangs heavy in the air around you two, the unmistakably sharp scent of urine heightened by the heat of the sun. She doesn’t even acknowledge it, no, she uses the little lubrication it provides to fuck you in earnest now, her fingers hammering in and out of you.  Sniffling into the sweat-soaked ground, you give up. The skin of your legs rapidly cools with your filth on top of it, and you let yourself be rattled around by her, feeling nothing but a hollow sting in your heart. Not even the telltale twinge of your building orgasm can shake you, your eyes are simply transfixed on the treeline, your head full of soft static. It’s almost blissful when you finally cum, nothing but a soft groan leaving your lips. You’re so numb you can’t even protest as she keeps fingering you through it. When she finally withdraws, you don’t bat an eye. Still in that same ass up, face down position, you weakly glance at her towering silhouette, her face somewhat calm now. Whatever it is that broke the spell for her, you’re grateful for it.

[lollytea]

Girl Talk

(ngl I hate this sm. I wrote this fic yesterday, the file corrupted and i lost everything, had a breakdown, rewrote everything the next day because I am obnoxiously stubborn. Anyways Hunter and Luz content. Bon Appetit?)

(READ ON AO3)

“Okay, but what am I even supposed to say to her? Oh! Maybe I could write down some jokes on the back of my glyph slips in case things get awkward. Wait, no, I don't want her to think I'm not taking this seriously. I don't need to be goofy all the time just to hang out with her. I need her to know that I'm serious about her and this whole...romantic thing. And I know she gets upset when she thinks I'm making fun of her so...”

“Alright, so, get this. It says here that there was once this old witch who lived on the outskirts of Latissa and his whole thing was experimenting by mixing paints and magic together. Apparently the stuff he created was like....super powerful.”

“I mean, she said she likes me 'cause I'm goofy and funny and lovable and...and...and I'm sure there's other adjectives I could use but I'm drawing a blank here. So, who am I to deprive her of what she signed up for? But I can't just....ugh, I can't even think right!”

“It doesn't have a lot of info on his specific technique but I'm sure if we did some more research, we could successfully replicate his experiments. We're pretty good at figuring stuff out. Woah, wait. I wonder what would happen if we created glyphs with this paint....maybe it would enhance the spell's level of power. Oh, that would be so cool!”

Luz stopped pacing, the floorboards practically burning after she thoroughly wore down the surface with her frantic footsteps. She set a hand on her hip and turned a withering look on her guest.

“Call me coocoo but I don't think you're listening to a word I say.”

Hunter lifted his head to blink up at her, chewing on the end of a pen. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, boxed in by towers of Eda's Wild Magic books.

There was a glassy look in his eye, as if he was trying to get his bearings after being abruptly yanked out of an alternate dimension.

He had been, in a way. Luz was inclined to call it “Booksville.”

When Luz first met Hunter, this sort of stuff was a big, huge No-No for him. She could've invited him to take a look at any one of those books, packed with information on that obsession of his and of course, he'd be crazy with intrigue but he would hesitate. If he even opened the book at all, he'd card through the pages with an almost jumpy sense of caution, as if the paper itself would sting his fingers.

Well, that ship had certainly sailed. It had taken him a while to get fully comfortable but nowadays, Hunter didn't ask twice before digging into the contents of Eda's books, soaking up every tidbit of every sentence until he had exhausted every page.

He had even brought his own index flags to mark his favorite passages. He had gone on a little rant earlier about how Eda was an outright maniac for dog-earring the page corners.

Luz made a mental note to never show him the state of her Azura books. He would probably cry.

Hunter had become so lost in the Wild Magic sauce, he didn't even seem to care about the fact that he was not supposed to be here.

Of course, Eda didn't mind that he was here. That is to say, Luz didn't technically tell her he was here. She and King were currently out, being menaces to society and all that fun stuff, as they usually were before Luz would sneak Hunter in.

So, to be fair, Eda had never specifically said that Luz was not allowed to let The Golden Guard of the Emperor's coven into their home.

It was probably fine, right?

Yeah, it was probably fine that Luz had been hiding The Golden Guard of the Emperor's coven in her bedroom like some kind of forbidden pet.

Speaking of forbidden pets, that precious red cardinal of his was perched like a Christmas decoration atop his shoulder. That little rascal did wonders for Hunter. He seemed so much cuter than he was when there was an adorable little palisman snuggling up to him.

Once Hunter had processed what Luz said to him, his features screwed up tight. He was offended.

“Whadd'ya mean I'm not listening? I bet you can't repeat anything I was just talking about.”

“Ugh! Yeah, Hunter, I heard you. Paints! You wanna start painting as a hobby and let me just tell you, I fully support your budding creativety and will hype up your work with my entire heart but please. Right now I am having a full blown Amity Calamity!”

“Yeah, okay, that is not what I was talking about. Also, I get that you're freaking out n' all but....what do you expect me to do about it?” He threw his hands about wildly, at a complete loss. “Man, I don't know anything about that stuff,”

“I don't knowww....” Luz groaned. “I just....ugggghhh.” She buried her head in her hands, ruffling her hair into oblivion, like it would miraculously stimulate her brain cells into action. It released some pent up frustration, at least. “I wish it was easier for us to just talk about girls together.”

Hunter perked up. “Talk about girls? Are you kidding? Of course we can talk about girls, dummy!”

“Wait, really?” Luz asked, taken aback by this apparent development.

“Yeah, for sure. One sec,” Buzzing with eagerness, Hunter dove into his stacks of books, emerging seconds later with a worn, dust encrusted volume. It was so ancient, the title had faded away but Hunter still put his finger to where the big letters should be.

“Notable Female Witches of The Savage Ages,” He rattled off delightedly. “They were considered the mothers of Wild Magic. Their style of spell was really quite advanced, see they--”

Despite her frayed nerves, Luz sill managed a weak laugh.

As insufferable as he could be sometimes, she really did like this nerd a lot.

“Okay, Hunter. Buddy,” She said gently. “This stuff sounds really cool and I wanna hear all about it at some point buuuut....when I say girls, I mean...y'know. Amity specifically.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.”

Hunter's face fell with disappointment but he was quick to snap back into a look of cool indifference. He shut the book in his lap with a soft thump, set it aside and turned his full attention to Luz.

“Sooooo...” he began awkwardly, scratching at his ear. It could not be more obvious that Hunter wanted nothing to do with this discussion. But Luz appreciated that he was trying. “Girlfriend problems, huh? Shoot.”

Luz's cheeks darkened. “Heh. 'Girlfriend'. Yeah, that's...uh...” She was suddenly very inconvenienced by the existence of her own hands so she clasped them together tight to keep herself from fidgeting. “That is.....a word for Amity.”

Hunter frowned, puzzled. “Okaaaay? So, what's the issue?”

“Ohhhhhh, boy.” An ironic, long suffering smile stretched across her face. “Let me just tell you that there is a lot goin' on up here, pal.” Luz tapped her finger against her temple. “So if I'm gonna give you the full unabridged version--”

“You could summarize it.”

“You know I don't know how to do that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Hunter sighed. “Figured it was worth a shot. Okay, let's hear it.”

“Alright but this is gonna be a lot so I suggest you strap yourself in,”

Luz sucked in a deep inhale, with full intent to let the entire flood of thoughts cascade out her mouth.

Hunter's eyes snapped to the floor, like he was actually looking for a safety harness to attach himself to. Then he seemed to realize that was ridiculous, as he scowled to himself. Little Rascal chirped and he irritably mumbled something under his breath in response.

And then Luz took off.

“Alright, so!” She announced, clapping her hands together. “So me and Amity have known each other fooooor...a while now? Yeah, it's been a while. And we've been pretty good friends ever since and then one day, she rescued me from her scary mom and she had this black flowing cape and her voice went all low and then suddenly, huh. Doki doki, y'know?” She thumped a fist against her chest. “I was gettin' all feelings-y up in here,”.

“And then a little later I figured out that we were both feeling kinda feelings-y and I was all like,” She mimed a brain explosion. “Pshww....”

“Pshww....” Hunter repeated quietly, testing out the little sound effect on his tongue. “Doki...doki....?”

“Yeah. Exactly. Doki doki. Pshww.” Luz nodded, as if he had made a valuable contribution. “So, now we're both here in the same boat, fully shish kebab-ed by Cupid's arrow.”

“Hold up. What language are you speaking?”

“And things are....great? Nice? Sorta hard to believe but stuff actually happens. We hold hands a few times, we...” The volume of her voice dropped to a bashful murmur. “we kiss a few times. There was so many beautiful, amazing romance-y moments that happened, just like in movies, y'know?”

“Movies....?” Hunter's bewildered stare turned from Luz to the bird on his shoulder, as if he was going to get any further clarification from either of them.

“Right! But here's the thing. It sorta feels like all that stuff just went by in a blur. I don't even know how I did any of that. The hand holding, the smooches the....ugh! It was like I was on autopilot or something and now I have no idea how to operate. Now, no matter how hard I try to get the vibe right, I can recreate those moments. So now it's starting to feel like...I don't know how to do anything!”

Luz's arms were whizzing around like an out of control windmill.

“I mean, Sure, Amity takes the lead sometimes but I can't make her carry this entire....relationship? Flirtationship? Whatever it is that's happening here! I gotta act or something! But I've been thinking about it waaaay too much. I never know the right time to hold her hand, I never know if she wants me to tell her she looks cute or if now maybe isn't the right time or...it's awkward, okay?! I've been making it awkward 'cause I don't know what to do! I-I don't even know for sure if we're dating! We've never talked about it!”

The last sentence came out as a squeak and Luz realized she had used up all her oxygen and needed to take a breather.

Hunter had not said a word but Luz did not know what to make of that dissecting stare of his, that studied her with a mixture of confusion and fascination. Like she was some kind of peculiar animal. A flushed, panting, peculiar animal.

“So.” He said finally, holding his palm out for Little Rascal to migrate from his shoulder to his hands. “Why don't you talk about it?”

He asked like it was the obvious solution. Luz was a little irked by it, but she kept her patience.

“Oh, Hunter. Sweet Hunter.” She heaved an exhausted sigh. “It is not that simple.”

He still didn't seem to understand. “Well, why not?”

“'Cause it's--.....Uh.” Luz trailed off, twirling her wrist around as if expecting to snatch an eloquent articulation out of thin air.

“Okay. Lemme put it like this. Amity is....really special. To me. Sometimes I still can't believe that she's real and she's friends with me and she likes me and....whew.” She pressed her fingertips to her cheek, surprised by the warmth. Even thinking that sort of stuff prompted a blush or two but it seemed saying it out loud made her face scalding.

“Anyway, now that we're going through....this, everything feels so much more....fragile?” Her voice rose in pitch, uncertain if 'Fragile' was even a suitable word to describe her feelings. It was just a vague, wishy-washy concept to describe.

“Like I feel like I could break it all so easy, just by....” Wait, she knew. She had figured out her handle on this.

“Just by being me.” She felt an ache just by admitting it, but it was the truth. Luz exhaled unsteadily to compose herself, clasping her fists tight into the fabric of her shorts and she continued...calmly.

“I can't risk doing anything that's gonna push her or make her uncomfortable or scare her away or...y'know, ruin this.” She held up her palms with a heavy shrug. “I-I don't have a plan and it would be way too reckless to wing it. Who knows what would come out of my mouth? She tells me a billion times that my weirdness is what she likes about me but...it can just as easily be the thing she hates if I overdo. I can't overdo it.

Luz was expecting Hunter to look at her like she was dumb again, but surprisingly, he nodded. A slow, thoughtful nod, as he absentmindedly scratched Little Rascal under the chin.

As the silence filled a little longer, she was starting to believe he had nothing else to add, which was fine. She had wanted to rant her heart out but realistically, she couldn't imagine Hunter having any advice for her. This wasn't exactly his area of expertise.

“Hey, Luz.” He said at last, voice surprisingly breezy. “You know those books that you really like? Uhh, with the nice witch Azuzu or whatever,”

“It's the Good Witch Azura!” Luz snapped, hands flying to her hips. “And I know you just pretended to not know her name. You're just trying to be cool.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The corner of Hunter's lip tweaked upwards. “And wasn't there that other witch that you liked to pretend was Azura's girlfriend?

Luz scoffed, finding it utterly unbelievable that this obnoxious little man had the audacity to be so dismissive towards her favorite book series, when she had been sweet enough to smuggle him in here.

“She was not her 'Girlfriend', she was her 'Soulmate' and if you even listened to me talk about it, you would know that. For your information, her name was Hecate and she began as Azura's rival but over the course of the series, they developed a beautiful, unbreakable bond that was jam packed with heavy romantic subtext. I mean, even their declaration of their eternal friendship in Book Five, which was really emotionally poignant by the way, reads so much like a love confession, it's a crime. And it's like...Ladies! Just kiss already!”

“Okay. Right. Sure. I understood some of that.”

“I mean, I guess I've read a ton of Heczura fanfics to tide me over. It's hard to find a fic where they don't kiss. Hold on, you know what fanfiction is, right?”

“Yeah.” The light in Hunter's eyes dimmed. “You made me sit through that three hour long slideshow presentation, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Luz popped a finger gun. “That was fun,”

It was fun, but a lot of work. Hunter was pouting over losing a measly three hours of his time. Well, newsflash, nerd, Luz spent two weeks working on that. Nobody is getting their hours back.

“And what usually happens in those fanfictions?” Asked Hunter, propping his chin up with his hand, as Little Rascal hopped over to a pile of books. “How do they end?”

“I told you, they kiss. A lot of the time they look deeply into each others eye and talk about how they complete each other like two halves of one heart. And y'know, moments of miscellaneous fluff.”

“Uh huh. Interesting,” He mused, tapping his pen against his bottom lip.

Luz knew Hunter could be a little...eccentric but was he really analyzing fanfiction right now? Where did the sudden interest come from?”

“So, uh, besides Azura and Hecate, are there any other...boats(?) that you--”

“Ships.” Luz corrected him.

Hunter snapped his fingers. “Right. Ships. Basically love stories that you really like.”

“We talkin' canon or non canon?”

Hunter squinted at her, lost. Seems somebody was not taking enough notes during the slideshow presentation. “Both? A-all...?”

“Oh, well, there's a bunch.”

Luz had no intention of listing every single ship that had captured her heart. They would be here all week.

“I've spent my whole life reading books, watching movies and anime and--”

“Anime...?”

“Hunter, please!” Luz squeaked as calmly as she possibly could, but she could not deny that she had started to vibrate. “You have no idea how excited you just made me at the thought of teaching you about anime but I'd need to dedicate a whole day to that 'cause I need to meet Amity soon and I'm still sorta in crisis mode. So, let's stay on topic.”

Her brow furrowed. “Whatever the heck the topic is! Why are we talking about ships, Huntifer?”

He waved off her question. “Okay but how does the story usually end for all your ships? The book ones, the anime ones, all of them,”

“We've been over this with the fanfiction discussion. They kiss, Hunter. Geez, you want a diagram or something?”

“But what else?” He prompted.

“What do you mean 'What else?'”

Now this was just getting ridiculous.

“They kiss!” Luz said with a huge amount of emphasis. “And again, miscellaneous fluff. They'll do stuff like pick each other up and swing around, hold hands and....walk off into the sunset, y'know?” She waved off all that extra padding as unimportant to the conversation. (Though Luz did really enjoy miscellaneous fluff.)

“Well yeaaaah,” Hunter was giving off vibes of a grade school teacher who gave her little nudges in the correct direction but ultimately wanted her to figure out the right answer herself. She wished he could just give it to her because honestly, she didn't know where this any of this was going.

“But when exactly do they ask each other if they're dating?”

“Whaa?” Well, that settled it. He had paid no attention to the slideshow whatsoever. “Nah, nah, they don't do stuff like that. They don't have to 'cause they're already perfect for each other. All they gotta do is look into each others' eyes and they just...” Luz shrugged, feeling lightness bubble in her chest at the very thought. She had a feeling her smile looked pretty dopey. “They just know.”

“Right. And why don't you and Amity just know?”

The bubbles burst and the lightness turned to dead weight.

The question speared through Luz's gut. Her entire body went rigid.

She had known but...

She had been trying not to...

Not to think about it.

Because if she thought about it, she knew she'd cry.

But there is was. A culmination of every coil of underlying dread that had been gradually writhing in her stomach in a monster of anxiety, summarized in a short and sweet collection of simplistic little words.

Luz did not just know when it came to Amity. She was constantly taking shots in the dark. That is, if she was even brave enough to take a shot at all.

The two of them together were not as seamlessly synchronized as couples in love were supposed to be.

Her throat stung.

Her vision went cloudy with blotted tears but she managed to catch Hunter's stony expression break into one of sheer panic.

“Wh-- Luz! Hey!” He yelped, scrambling to pick himself up from the floor. He nearly tripped over his books as he stood and hurried over to close the distance between them. He made to reach out to her but his hand stopped, just as it was about to brush against her shoulder. It hovered there for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling with uncertainty.

“Luz, listen, I wasn't....I-I mean, what I meant was...uhh. C-c'mon, cut it out!” Hunter's voice crackled with desperation and despite crying her eyes out, Luz felt the watery chuckle at the back of her throat.

“Aww, does crying make the Golden Guard uncomfy?” She tried to tease but her words came out all wobbly.

In fairness to the poor guy, it probably did. Luz couldn't imagine that dealing with tears in a delicate matter, was ever something he would need to handle in his line of work.

For all she knew, this was his first time having to comfort someone like this.

“You don't get to make jokes and cry at the same time. You gotta pick one.” Hunter snipped, but his tone was not nearly as cutting as usual. Luz was almost tempted to call it soft.

Clearing her eyes with the heel of her hands, she finally felt that warm touch on her shoulder, and then another rest against her upper arm.

Somehow the gentleness cracked all her remaining composure and she dissolved into ragged sobs.

Hunter did not speak nor did he let go out her until she got every tear out of her system. He waited patiently, tracing circles with his thumb into her skin.

Eventually, her sniffles fell silent and her eyes no longer blurred. She took a deep breath and the following exhale was shaky but manageable.

“Are you....good?” He asked cautiously.

Luz nodded.

Hunter removed his hands so carefully, you'd think doing so would cause her physical pain. He must have heard once that people were more prone to being hurt when they were already upset and assumed it was literal.

“Do you really think that...Amity and I....” Luz's voice was low and quiet but her jaw was set tight. She refused to let her words be whimpered. She looked up, meeting Hunter's eyes. “Aren't right for each other?”

“What? No! No, no, no,” Hunter looked positively alarmed at the accusation. “Luz th-that's not even remotely what I meant by that.”

“Well, then I guess you accidentally hit the nail on the head.” Luz managed a strained, bitter little smile. “'Cause it's true.”

“Luz, c'mon,” Hunter groaned, exasperated. “Don't talk like that, you've got it mixed up.”

“No.” Said Luz, tone quiet, polite yet strikingly obstinate. “You were right, Hunter.”

For someone who loved being right, he didn't seem thrilled at all.

“When it comes to Amity, I don't just know. I don't always know what she's thinking or what she wants from me. After all this time, I-I shouldn't still be trying to figure her out,”

Luz wanted to figure her out. Every time she was in her orbit, she wanted nothing more to turn over every last piece of that girl and find every hidden gem.

But now, it like she was barricaded. Something was keeping her from moving forward, from discovering Amity.

“I mean, we've kissed.” The memories of Amity were turning more and more bittersweet by the second “I told her I loved her! We had our happy ending already! A-at least I thought it was a happy ending. But we're not acting like people who are made for each other are meant to act!”

“How do you even know how people who are meant for each other are meant to act?!” Hunter demanded, as though it wouldn't reach Luz's skull unless he raised his voice. “In all the love stories you've read, it always ends with a kiss, doesn't it?”

“And--”

“And miscellaneous fluff. Yeah, I get it.” Hunter shooed the detail away before clearing his throat.

“Point is, they never talk about what comes after. You don't read about all those awkward talks where they decide if they're dating or not and talks about what they're okay with and what they're not. It always just cuts to the perfect, shiny romantic stuff, all tied up with a bow and because of that,” He clutched Luz by the shoulders.”You don't know how to move forward in a relationship 'cause you've never had a frame of reference to help you along.”

“Hey, that's not true!” She tore away from Hunter's grip. “I'll have you know that I imagine my favorite ships as couples all the time,”

“Yeah and lemme guess,” He droned, setting a hand on his hip and launching into a mockingly saccharine tone of voice. “They understand each other soooo well all the time, they can practically read each others' mind and everything is smooth sailing and peachy all the time.”

“Yeah, duh.” Luz didn't quite what he was making fun of. “That's what being a ship is all about.”

“Okay, fine, maybe, but I cannot stress this enough,” He ran his fingers through his hair before making a cutting gesture with the side of his hand, directed at Luz. “You are not a ship.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. I'm only one--”

“I mean that the two of you aren't a ship! Listen to me, you're not Azura and Hecate. You're Luz and Amity. You're real people. You've got like a million different emotions and they're messy and crazy and you don't understand most of them.”

“Okay, Hunter, I get it, I'm a hot mess. You don't have to rub it in.”

“We're all hot messes, Luz!” He exploded. “Every single one of us. 'Cause we're real and not book characters.” He was pacing back and forth now as he ranted and raved, gesticulating like a madman.

“We gotta handle all the awkward conversations that don't fit into books. You gotta talk to real people to get them and you can talk to them for years and years but you're never gonna entirely understand them. In your love stories, it's all kisses and happy endings and it's shiny and sparkly and perfect and nerds like you Eat. It.Up!”

Hunter emphasized his point by poking Luz's forehead, shocking a startled laugh out of her. As wound up as he was, the noise surprised him too.

Her laugh was contagious and soon the room was silent, expect for the sound of quiet, breathy giggles.

One of the knots in Luz's stomach had untangled itself. Hunter did make a point that she could understand. Yeah, okay, maybe she had been a little too wrapped up in fiction to successfully navigate through her own life. Luz had never been the most logical person so it was comforting for a levelheaded counter-argument to whatever was currently inflaming her anxiety.

Obviously, this didn't fix everything. Now, she understood why this wasn't easy but that didn't mean she magically knew where to go from here.

Once the shadow of Luz's smile had finally faded away, she looked up and studied Hunter for a long while. Her gaze may have been a bit intense as nervousness began to creep into his features.

“H-hey. Uh. Sorry if I was a little too--”

“Huntifer, I think you might be on to something with this one,”

He blinked at her before brightening with relief, shrugging it off. “Oh. Yeah, maybe. I dunno, I guess it's worth some thought.

Astonishing how Hunter could switch from the cockiest, most obnoxious kid in the Boiling Isles to a remarkably humble guy. Maybe it depended on context. Or he was just embarrassed that he sorta lost control of himself in his impatience.

Luz nodded. “I'd say a lot of thought. But..I think things are still gonna be awkward. With Amity. I still don't know how I'm supposed to talk this stuff through with her.”

Hunter snorted, loosely folding his arms over chest and resting his weight on one hip. And just like that, with that simple change of posture, he looked full of himself again “You wanna know a secret that's probably not much of a secret?”

He beckoned Luz to lean in closer and said in a stage whisper. “Amity probably doesn't know either.”

Huh. Yeah, Luz knew that. She knew that at the back of her mind but...she hadn't really thought about it much. She was a little too preoccupied with her own inexperience.

Hunter's lofty grin softened. “So, it's a good thing neither of you are doing it alone, right? Don't you think you could figure out how together?”

Figure out how together....

The realization sank from the surface of her mind, and everything was processing very fast then suddenly, everything clicked.

Amity.

Luz knew Amity. Luz trusted Amity. Luz loved Amity. If there was any person Luz believed would stumble alongside her through things they didn't quite understand yet, it was Amity. And it occurred to her that Luz would help Amity in return without hesitation.

With enough notches and trimming and smoothing edges, if they worked through this together, Luz and Amity could click too. Maybe not perfectly, not for a while just yet.

But enough that they could make each other happy.

A swing of confidence so strong flooded Luz's system, she swore she nearly collapsed. She felt the grin tugging at her mouth.

She could try. She could absolutely try. They could both try.

“Is...that a yes?” Hunter asked, gauging her expression.

Luz nodded so speedily, it made her head hurt. But then she realized something else and she turned a very specific look on Hunter.

But before he could ask if she was about to attack him, she held up two fingers on each hand and then placed them on either side of her head so they jutted out just behind her ears.

“Man, I don't know anything about that stuff,” Said Luz, in what she believed to be an uncanny imitation of Hunter's voice.

He frowned. “What are the theatrics for?”

“You lied to me!” Luz was delighted.

“I-I didn't lie!” He loudly objected, pointed ears scorching bright pink. “That was just common sense, you doofus. You know, that thing you lack.”

“You know, that thing you lack.” Luz parroted, swinging her hips from side to side. Once again, her impression remained flawless.

“Don't do that!”

“Don't do that!

“Stop, you weirdo!”

“Stop, you weirdo!”

At the peak of riled up, Hunter floundered for a retort that Luz wouldn't shoot back at him with childish mimicking. But then he cracked and wound up sticking his tongue out at her.

Luz simply mirrored him and Hunter huffed indignantly, turning on his heel and stomping back towards his books.

He had barely made a few steps when Luz lunged at him from behind, draping her long, lanky arms around his shoulders.

“Wha—Hey! Get off!” He squawked, struggling to pry her off him as Luz squished her cheek against his.

“Huntifer~” She singsonged. “Can you please calm down for two seconds and let me say thanks already?”

Hunter knotted his arms and his scowl didn't soften but Luz didn't miss how he stopped trying to squirm out of her grip.

“Even though you were kinda rambly and all over the place, what you said helped. It helped a lot. I know this is something I can handle and I know that 'cause of you. Thanks, nerd.”

She waited patiently until she felt his shoulders loosen. And then he glanced back at her and there was a smile. A small, tight, subtle smile but it was good enough for Luz.

And then with a burst of adrenaline, she gripped him tighter and planted a big, wet raspberry on his cheek.

Predictably, Hunter blew his top. He screeched furiously and his hands went wild to push her off but Luz was stronger than she looked. And so help her, she would give Hunter this affection or die trying.

Dying trying did not seem unlikely, actually. Hunter had told her once before that if he ever murdered her, it would probably be her own fault. Luz could not argue with that.

“That is so gross!” He griped, once Luz had finally released him.

“You're gross~” She chirped, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Hunter wiped the spit off his cheek with his palm before looking up at Luz with narrowed eyes

Luz did not have time to brace herself and suddenly she was tackled to the ground. She kicked and she screamed as Hunter dragged his disgusting wet hand across her face.

“GrossGrossGrossGrossGrossGrossGroooooss!”

Hunter cackled maniacally the whole time.

They carried on like rowdy toddlers for a while until Luz had to go meet Amity, leaving Hunter and his palisman to themselves.

It was too weird to admit out loud but he was disappointed that she was gone. Hanging out with her like this wasn't that bad. Talking with her, arguing with her, wrestling with her. It all made Hunter feel....so much like a kid.

Something that he had realized recently was that he still liked being a kid.

In spite of the doom and gloom of white of gold, of the clawed scars in his shoulder, of the spear that grazed his hair, a spark of childishness remained in Hunter that had never been entirely snuffed out.

It wasn't until he met Luz that he began actively trying to keep that spark alive.

The sun had long since fallen asleep by the time Luz returned and the moon was pooling in the sky. A little after sun down, he heard the downstairs door slam shut and the loud exuberant voice of The Owl Lady boomed from the floorboards beneath him. By the sound of it, she was celebrating a successful day's work. Hunter wondered what she and the cute little demon had managed to steal today.

His snoozing palisman was tucked snug in the crook of his neck, a pleasant warmth against his skin. It was a good idea to keep the bird close. If someone other than Luz came barreling into the room, he'd better have his staff on hand to magically conceal himself.

But once an hour passed and the chatter of the witch and the demon below gradually faded into loud snoring, Hunter presumed they had passed out on the couch. For the time being, he should be fine.

Hunter hoped that creepy owl tube thing wouldn't rat them out. Fortunately, Luz had promised that Hooty was willing to take a bribe but unfortunately, gossip spread fast in the Boiling Isles. Now The Golden Guard had a reputation for being a lunatic who visited the night market several times, buying dead mice in bulk.

He snorted to himself, combing through 'From Bones to Fire: A Study of Wild Magic Volume 2'. Everything he went through just to get his hands on knowledge.

Well, also to be young with Luz.

Yet another hour passed and somehow, being surrounded by his own obsession, Hunter got a little overstimulated. To give his brain a rest, he was now flipping through some tattered old magazine that Luz brought with her from the human realm. Some of the articles were practically gibberish to him but overall, it was okay. He learned he was a Scorpio. He didn't know what that entailed but it sounded cool.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as Luz burst into the room, announcing her return.

Startled, his palisman flew into a fluster, cheeping like crazy before it settled down atop his head. Hunter, meanwhile, had flung the magazine away so fast, it was like it had contaminated him, and snatched up the closest book to pretend he was reading it the whole time.

Thankfully, Luz didn't notice.

“Hey there, Little Rascal,” She cooed, prancing across the room and plopping down next to Hunter. “And hey, you little bookworm, you.”

“Bookworm?” Hunter knocked his shoulder against hers. “You looking for a fight, kid?”

“Whaaaat? Hunter, you wound me, I was just....Ohhh, my bad. I always forget that our bookworms and your bookworms are two waaaay different things.” She paused thoughtfully before shaking her head. “Actually, I don't retract anything. You look like a bookworm.”

“Yeah, well, you smell like a selkidomus.” Hunter smirked.

“Hey!” Luz bumped their shoulders. “Can you blame me? I've had one heck of a day with lots of nervous sweating!”

He was surprised that got him laughing but that tended to happen around her.

“So, how'd it go?” Hunter asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Luz's beam was as bright as a dozen of her light spells. The corner of her lip was twitching, as if she wanted to smile wider but it was physically impossible.

“We're dating.” She stated, no more than a whisper.

It obvious since the moment she entered the room, far bouncier and bubblier than usual but Hunter still grinned.

He had expected her to scream it from the rooftops, to grind his ribcage into powder with the force of her hug, to set off a riot of firework glyphs, spelling it out in lights.

No matter how she could have chosen to tell him, he would have been just as giddy as she was.

And yet, despite the lack of fanfare, somehow, it still felt so much like Luz. Though he knew that in the morning, she would tell the entire Boiling Isles, right here, right now, only Hunter knew. Something about that felt nice.

But the quiet serene scene was momentarily ruptured when Hunter spotted Luz re-adjusting herself out of the corner of his eye and he was immediately on high alert. Another raspberry, he could sense it.

“Luz, don't you d--”

It wasn't a raspberry.

The feather-light peck against his cheek was gone before he fully processed it, as Luz drew away with that big stupid smile still plastered on her face.

Hunter blinked away the surprise, looking to her with a raised eyebrow.

“What's that look for? In this family, we give each other hugs and kisses~”

He felt his lip quirk upwards as he scoffed, turning away with a shake of his head.

“That was so gross.”

“You're gross.”

“For real, it was even more gross than the raspberry.”

Luz burst into giggles and Hunter could understand why everything was suddenly a million times funnier to her. She will still fizzling with that giddiness that Amity had kissed into her and now it was all spilling out.

To be honest, listening to a teenage girl gush and squeal about her girlfriend did not seem like something Hunter would ever willingly subject himself to.

But this was Luz. His friend, Luz.

He lightly pinched the pudge of her cheek. “Heeeey. You wanna tell me all about it, don't you?”

Luz snapped her head over to gawk at him, astonished. And then the excitement took hold and her hands started flapping and she looked about ready to explode with delight. Her mouth was already flying open to give every solitary detail of her evening with Amity Blight.

But then she stopped, a crease forming on her brow. He caught that unreadable look she gave him and the way her eyes skimmed over the books that scattered the floor around them.

“Hmmm.” She stroked her chin with an over dramatic 'thinking' face. “Y'know what? I'll think I'll keep it all to myself.”

“Oh, really~?” Grinned Hunter. “I can only imagine all the romantic schmaltzy sickening stuff that occurred tonight. Miscellaneous fluff, right?”

Judging by the blood that stained her cheekbones, he must have been correct.

“Hey, Hunter.” She said quietly, resting her weight against his side. “You've been lost in your books for hours now. Would you mind telling me all about the most interesting you read about today? Reading myself is fine but it's way better to hear all about it from a bona fide nerd.”

Frankly, it was embarrassing how fast the giddiness practically electrocuted him and suddenly he found himself rambling. He rambled until his voice gave up but it didn't bother him at all because it was just Luz.

Luz hung on every word he said.

[sodone-withlife]

i know who i am

summary: really, he never saw himself ever willingly letting anyone in on his broken past, but here he was, sitting in across from Waipo in the tiny cramped office at the back of the shop and nervously sweating about what he was about to tell her

read it on ao3: chapter 1 is the original version with Mandarin, chapter 2 has everything translated into English

the movie really hit me hard as an ABC, and I really wanted to write something for it. even though she barely had any screentime, I loved Waipo—she reminds me of so many of my relatives—so I decided to make her be one of the most important people in Shangqi’s life, and it turned into this wonderful mess (i had to stop writing this for a bit because I literally made myself cry). there is mandarin in this, it's kind of intended to be a physical manifestation of how my bilingual brain works (i did put the English-only version first, the original version with Mandarin is under that one but the formatting for it one is better on ao3, so i suggest reading it from there). apologies for my shitty mandarin; I have mediocre language skills, but I'm still so excited to be able to incorporate it in my writing. in regards to the character's names: I only know for certain the Chinese characters used for Shangqi and Wenwu, but for Xialing, I'm going to go with what it apparently was in the hong kong release (夏灵, with 灵灵 as the nickname)

English Translation:

“Waipo, do you have a bit of time?” Shangqi stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously as fluent Mandarin rolled off of his tongue with an ease he's never felt in any other part of his life. “I want to talk to you about something."

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “Does it have anything to do with the trip you and Katy went on this past week?" she asked, Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did Shangqi imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to Xialing, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, Shangqi wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling Waipo, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, Lingling, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“Little Dragon, what’s on your mind?”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that Waipo also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

You have the heart of a dragon, she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time Waipo called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. Shangqi wondered how Waipo would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell Wenwu had put him through, he was still his father. Shangqi still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past Wenwu wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered the whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

Mom, I miss you so much.

(And now Wenwu is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at Waipo, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“Waipo, have you heard of the legend of the Ten Rings?”

And Shangqi told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving Lingling behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before Waipo moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw Waipo.

“You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person.” she finally said gently, and the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened under her familiar touch. “You decide your own fate.”

~~~

That night, Shangqi knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

Am I still your pride and joy? Lingling grew up, but I didn’t even take care of her like I should have.

I swear to you, I will never abandon her again

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and Lingling dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their parents’ legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

Lingling is dating my best friend now, and they’re so happy together. Mom, I know you would have loved Katy. Dad, I know you didn’t like her much, but she really is a wonderful person.

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

Dad, I hope you find this story as funny as I did: I helped a group of American superheroes yesterday. They’ve never been to San Francisco before and were extremely unfamiliar with the roads, especially Lombard Street. They spent half an hour trying to drive down the street, but I ended up driving them down myself.

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and Xialing whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

Mom, Dad, Lingling and Katy are getting married today and everyone is so excited for them. I’m taking over the Ten Ring within a month so Lingling can take a break. She’s led the organization for so long, it’s my responsibility now. I hope I can live up to her standards, she’s done really well. She’ll be back in a few years, but even after, I’m going to be much more involved to lessen Lingling’s workload.

Shangqi walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll take care of them.

I hope you’re happy together in the afterlife.

~~~

Don’t be afraid, Shang-Chi, for you have heart of a dragon and the power of the Ten Rings.

We will always be with you and Xialing.

Original Version w/Mandarin

“外婆，您有没有一点儿时间？” 尚气 stood in front of Katy’s grandma, fidgeting nervously. “我想告诉您一些事情。”

She pinned him with a knowing stare. “是不是跟你和瑞雯这前个星期去的旅行有关？” Not waiting for his answer, she got up from the shop register and beckoned him into the back office. Feeling oddly like the first time he came into the store years ago as a teen—when he first met Katy’s family who had since taken him under their wing—he followed her into the familiar, cramped space.

He wasn’t exactly sure what within him prompted this interaction. He had come to San Francisco for a normal life, to get as far away from his father’s reaches as he could and to outrun the blood that stained his footsteps.

Never did 尚气 imagine that he would end up claiming the ancient rings that now sat in a heavy-duty (thanks to 夏灵, with whom he now keeps in regular contact because of the promise they made to each other before he left the compound because he already left her behind once, and he’s never doing it again and damn, my baby sister is running the Ten Rings now, and she’s trying to turn it into something better) and a very well-disguised (thanks to the sorcerers in the New York Sanctum and holy shit he’s in contact with famous superheroes now) back in his mess of a studio apartment.

Never did he imagine letting anyone in on his broken past, and even though his hand had been forced when it came to telling Katy, here he was going to the second person who truly saw something in him when he first started his new life and planning to tell them everything.

(Okay, fine, 尚气 wasn’t actually planning on letting anyone else in on it after telling 外婆, not even the rest of Katy’s family, but he really didn’t want them to be so involved yet—he still had no idea what he himself was doing and he wants to preserve what normalcy he can.)

(Also, he’s been reliably informed that anyone close to a public figure is bound to be targeted for attacks—which he figured out when the mercenaries attacked on the bus because yes, 灵灵, he does have brain cells thank you very much.)

“小龙，你有什么心事儿？”

Little Dragon.

He started at the nickname, the one originally given to him by his mother. Somehow, it had completely slipped his mind that 外婆 also called him that, starting a few weeks after he first met the Chen family. He barely kept it together, the long-unused nickname dredging up memories he had thought left him forever.

你有神龙之心 ，she had declared firmly when he asked her why she decided on that particular nickname. You have the heart of a dragon.

(That was exactly what his mother had told him right before she died, and yet he stood by, hidden behind a door, and did nothing while the men beat and killed her, the heart of the family.)

(He would carry the guilt with him for a lifetime.)

It was a while before he could bring himself to visit the family again—there were a lot of awkward excuses before Katy reluctantly backed off—and it took even longer for him to get somewhat used to the name again, but he eventually started seeing it as a gift with each faint impression of happier days that he got every time 外婆 called him that.

Old, weathered hands gently covered his own, which were shaking and clammy with nervousness. 尚气 wondered how 外婆 would react to the darker side of the lost boy she had basically adopted all those years ago, wondered if the legends of Ta-Lo and the Great Protector were known outside of the rather insular communities that continued to tell the stories, wondered if she had heard about his father through the stories that were passed down for thousands of years, from generation to generation…

(It can’t be wrong to miss him, can it? Even with the years of hell 文武 had put him through, he was still his father. 尚气 still faintly remembered the man his father had been when his mother was still alive, the happy times they shared as a normal family…)

(But those times were long gone, ripped from their grasp by the past 文武 wanted so badly to leave behind. Grief had shattered whole family, and it ultimately led to the children fighting the father who had been driven to near madness in his denial, in his quest to put his broken family back together again.)

妈妈，我太想你了。

(And now 文武 is dead, just like his beloved wife.)

(But just as she died to protect her children, he did the same. Now, his children are reunited and in contact again, getting ever closer despite living as far apart as they did, and he was reunited with his love in the afterlife.)

Finally, he straightened his posture and took a deep breath, looking directly at 外婆, who he’d come to view as the grandmother he never had.

“外婆，您听说过 ‘十环’ 的传说吗？”

And 尚气 told her everything.

He told her everything and more,

She listened.

She listened as he described the legends behind the Ten Rings, Ta-Lo, and the Great Protector; his father’s history; his own history, from witnessing his mother’s death to ripping open the throat of the man who killed her when he was barely a teen, from leaving 灵灵 behind to seeing her again in the fight club she built from the ground up, from returning to the compound after a decade away in San Francisco to the battle in Ta-Lo…

Finally, he fell silent and stared at his hands but it wasn’t long before 外婆 moved, slowly standing up with one hand on her cane. He made to help stabilize her but was quickly waved off with a stern look. He sank back into the chair and felt her move behind him. The shaky weight of her hands on his shoulders as she gently pressed down and straightened his posture was familiar, even after years of not having his posture deliberately—so gently—fixed like that every time he saw 外婆.

“你是所有在你之前的人的遗产，但你是你自己的人，” she finally said，“你决定你自己的命运。”

You are the legacy of all who came before you, but you are your own person. You decide your own fate.

~~~

That night, 尚气 knelt before the altar he had in his apartment, the only part that was carefully maintained in all the years he had lived there. But now, two smiling faces stared back at him, a joy reflected in their eyes that he knew would disappear in less than ten years after the photo was taken.

我还是你的骄傲吗？灵灵长大了，但我也没好好照顾她。

我向你发誓，我再也不会抛弃她。

Even as his life got even more unbelievable as the years went by, the altar and his copy of his parent’s wedding photo would remain a constant. He and 灵灵 dove deeper into their family history—of the Ten Rings, of Ta-Lo, of both the good and bad—and both worked to carry on their family’s legacy.

(With all of the proper discretion agreements and threats when needed, of course.)

灵灵跟我朋友最近开始谈恋爱，他们俩可开心了。妈，如果你还在我们身边，我保证你会喜欢她。爸，我知道你一开始不太喜欢她，但她确实是一位精彩的人。

Life went on.

There were the good days, when he went out with others and could almost feel normal, and there were the bad days, when phantoms pains plagued him and he woke up from a restless sleep expecting to see bruises mottling his body like they did so often when he was younger.

(Also, he was considered a superhero now and holy shit that’s still insane, even years after he first got in contact with the Avengers and the sorcerers in New York. Now he was going all over the West Coast, to help the locals take care of whichever crazy supervillain decided to wreak havoc that day.)

爸爸，我希望你跟我一样觉得这个故事很好笑：我昨天帮了一组美国超级英雄开车。那是他们第一次来旧京山，对道路非常陌生—尤其是 Lombard Street。他们开也开不好，花了半个小时慢慢的开下去。最终，我把他们的车开下去的。

(San Francisco was still home, and he had found a life there with all his friends and 夏灵 whenever she visited. He had a job now, too, at the local youth center teaching martial arts and self-defense, teaching and guiding the youth in a way he wishes his father had with him.)

People came into his life; some stayed, some left, and some even got together.

妈，爸，灵灵她今天会跟我最好的朋友结婚，我们都很兴奋。我一个月之内开始接管十环的业务，让灵灵休息休息。她干了多少年了，现在是我的责任。我希望我能辜负她，她管的非常棒，帮了许多人。她几年后会回来继续当领导，但我好像在领导方面发挥更大的作用。

He walked the path knowing who came before him and who was still with him.

Most importantly, he walked the path knowing who he was—demons, flaws, strengths, and all.

妈，爸，你们放心吧，我会照顾他们。

我希望你们俩来世都幸福。

~~~

尚气，你别怕，你有神龙之心，十环的力量。

我们永远会在你和灵灵的身边。

[unpeumacabre]

soaring dragon dancing phoenix - 龙飞凤舞: prologue

Yunmeng is no longer home for Wei Wuxian, for he is no longer welcome. And so when he visits he can always count on Jiang Cheng descending upon his head with the full strength of heaven's fury, to chase him out. But one day when he sneaks into Yunmeng again, days go by without Jiang Cheng making an appearance. Something has happened to Wei Wuxian's prickly shi-di, something that - once they reunite - they will find is far greater than they could ever have anticipated. Accompanied also by Wei Wuxian's dear friend (?) Lan Zhan and a Lan Xichen who has only just reluctantly left isolation, the four of them set out on a journey that will bring them across the greater part of China to the mystical Kunlun mountains of mythology - and more importantly, may bring them love, healing, and reconciliation.

If only Wei Wuxian could take his head out of his oblivious arse and start putting himself in other people's shoes for once...

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Wangxian, Xicheng, Wei Wuxian & Jiang Cheng

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 1.5k

next ->

One year after the events of the Guanyin Temple, and the death of former Chief Cultivator Lianfang-zun.

Lan Zhan!

I agree with what you said about Sect Leader Yao, that old fart. He wouldn’t know a good idea if it bit him on the arse. If I were you I’d have snuck into his room at night and shaved off his eyebrows – but then again, you’re Chief Cultivator, and you have to follow boring things like rules and protocol. Don’t worry, the next time I’m in Pingyang I’ll … It’s a secret! Look forward to the next time you have a discussion conference with that pig-headed old fool.

I’ve finally reached Yunmeng. Little Apple took such a long time to get started from the inn in Jiangling. I think he had a crush on one of the serving girls, to be honest. Even apples didn’t work to drag him away from her. I had to conjure a mirage of her all the way from Jiangling to Yunmeng to get him going – can you imagine that? One of these days I’ll have to find a nice little female ass to keep his little Little Apple happy … Hahaha! I can practically see you rolling your eyes at me now, Lan Zhan. You still can’t take a dirty joke after all.

Anyway, I digress. It’s nice to be back in Yunmeng and be able to pick all the lotus pods I want and to flirt with all the pretty Yunmeng girls, although none of them are as pretty as you are, of course. You’d make a big stir if you came to Yunmeng – you should visit with me one of these days when you’re free! Although I know of course you have responsibilities as Chief Cultivator etc etc but I promise you it’ll be fun! One of these days I’ll come kidnap you. Then Lan Qiren, that old man, would really have an aneurysm, ha! I’d kidnap you just to see his reaction.

Don’t worry about me, I’m talking nonsense as usual. I wouldn’t really kidnap you, unless I was really bored. And Jiang Cheng would probably beat my ass for trying. Honestly, it surprises me that I haven’t had the honour of Jiang Cheng’s company yet. Somehow, he always knows the moment I step into Yunmeng – it’s like he has a spell set up to go off whenever I’m in the vicinity??? And he never fails to turns up for an hour or two just to shout at me, thrash Zidian around a bit and tell me to go back to Gusu. Then he storms off somewhere to drink tea or something. I swear he’s going to die of high blood pressure one of these days.

Well, I expect I’ll see him around. He’s bound to turn up sometime or other. Looking forward to your reply, and counting every one of your twenty words,

Wei Wuxian

***

Lan Zhan!

Thank you for expressing your concern for Little Apple’s wellbeing. He’s eating well (as usual) and living happily in the city stables where I left him. He has a new crush on the stable boy though, but I’m not worried about that – it seems like his affections are as transient as floating smoke and passing clouds. He seems to be like his former master in the sense of being indiscriminate with regards to his choice of partner, which makes me wonder why he’s taken such an intense aversion to me. I guess it’s just the same old story with me and animals all over again.

It’s my third day in Yunmeng, and still no sign of Jiang Cheng anywhere. Perhaps he’s simply busy with some night hunt or other and can’t be bothered to whip my ass into shape. I’ve been visiting his favourite haunts the past few days but no luck – it seems like he’s really busy this time. I’m starting to worry, and although I never thought I’d ever say this, I miss his grumpy ass. It’s been the longest I’ve gone without hearing him call me a fucking idiot, haha!

Anyway I have a funny story to tell! Yesterday I went to investigate rumours of walking corpses at the base of Yunmeng Mountain. Apparently some farmers came across them and ran away but one of them was caught and eaten.

But guess what, Lan Zhan? Actually, it was nothing more than a group of hermits who’d come down from Yunmeng Mountain five days ago after meditating in seclusion for three years, and they were doing their Bagua ritual circle walk around one of the dove trees at the base of the mountain. They hadn’t bathed once in those three years, and so when the farmers came upon them and saw them chanting and moaning and pacing around the tree they were mistaken for walking corpses! Hahahaha how ridiculous is that??? Anyway I cleared up the misunderstanding. The farmer who was apparently eaten fell down a cliff when he was trying to escape from the “corpses” and broke his leg, so the hermits rescued him and patched him up. He was perfectly fine. I talked to them and they seemed like a pretty normal bunch to me – they were quite a big group when they came down the mountain at first apparently but then most of them decided to go down south and back home instead of lingering in Yunmeng. That’s about all the excitement I’ve had so far, I think.

Well, anyway, thank you for the twenty-one words you used in your reply. You have gotten quite adept at teasing me, haven’t you? Looking forward to how else you may surprise me next,

Wei Wuxian

***

Lan Zhan,

No, I don’t think Jiang Cheng fell off a cliff too. As much as you might wish for it to happen, he’s still my brother an important sect leader, you know! Anyway I already checked all the cliffs around the mountain before I received your letter so it couldn’t possibly be so.

Besides, I went to Lotus Pier earlier today – just to check on how things are going, you know, in case they need my help or something, nothing to do with Jiang Cheng. I just stayed outside the gates because I thought Jiang Cheng would probably descend from the heavens on a cloud and break my legs the moment I stepped foot into Lotus Pier, but some of the disciples spotted me and asked me what I was doing there. They said there have been people disappearing just outside Yunmeng, to the southwest and twenty li outside the main city, and when some of the Yunmeng Jiang cultivators went to investigate a few days ago some of them disappeared. So Jiang Cheng decided to take a few more of the Yunmeng Jiang disciples and investigate himself.

Since I have some free time, I’ve decided to help them out. They’ve been gone for four days already – the beast must truly be a handful indeed. It might be fun to go and help, although I think Jiang Cheng might spontaneously explode when he sees my face. Well, maybe the explosion will end up killing the monster, who knows.

It’s quite odd, though; some of the disciples who escaped even said they saw the spectre of Jin Guangyao, that wily old fox, hanging around the cave where they were attacked. Although of course that is impossible, for he is probably still trapped in Nie Mingjue’s coffin, fighting a battle till the end of time. Well, I guess I’ll see for myself if what they saw was true or not.

I had not known that you were capable of silk embroidery. Your skill is indeed fine – as expected of the esteemed Second Master Lan! I shall treasure your gift until the end of time. The cherry blossoms flowered today, and they made me think of you. I wonder if you still remember visiting Tanzhou with me when we were looking for the remaining pieces of the Yin metal? Was it your first time attending such a festival? You looked so surprised by the petals raining down on you then! I miss those times. 

I will write to you again tomorrow when I have rescued Jiang Cheng from the human-eating monster. I will make sure to give you a good account of his face when he sees me there to interfere with his night hunt, ha!

***

Dear Lan Wangji Hanguang-jun Mr Chief Cultivator Sir,

I am writing this letter to you because I know you to be a good friend of Wei Wuxian. Just today, I visited Lotus Pier and found that my uncle has been missing for a week, and Wei Wuxian with him for two of those days. They have apparently gone in pursuit of a human-eating monster twenty li southwest of the main city limits of Yunmeng. It must have been a fierce creature indeed to have ensnared both my uncle and Wei Wuxian

Unfortunately, as I am currently extremely and regrettably tied up in Lanling Jin sect matters, this humble person would like to humbly request for your help in locating and possibly rescuing them. Thank you.

Best regards, yours sincerely and most humbly,

Sect Leader Jin Ling, Lanling Jin sect

[revengeoftheantichrist]

What Kind of Man

Warnings: Period typical sexism, Inappropriate use of corset, smut, possessive behaviour

AO3  <<<Previous

Chapter 4: Midsummer Ball

Wednesday came around faster than you thought. In the two days since Sunday, you’d only seen your husband twice, at evening supper. You didn’t see him in the mornings either, expecting him to be at your side, although, he always left a single red rose on his pillow. You had not spoken since the corset incident, just brief ‘good evenings’. He was a very busy man it seemed. Today you were to be fitted for your new wardrobe, Mrs. Venabale arriving after lunch. You found yourself recoiling under her gaze as she scrutinised and measured you up. “your posture could use some improvement, I’m adjusting you corsets with that in mind,” she stated, scribbling something down. “Other than that, not much needs to be done, the Count seems to have sent me accurate measurements a few weeks ago.” Your brows knitted in confusion; you don’t recall having ever sending your measurements to anyone. You were sure your village seamstress didn’t have any up to date numbers, as you had preferred to make your own clothing in recent years. Venabale raised her brow at you, “a Countess must not be so open with her emotions, you must remain expressionless, or else people wont respect you, or take you seriously.” She started to pack her tools, “Your ballgown will arrive in time for Friday, as I mentioned earlier, I need to adjust your corseting,” she finished. Ball? No one had told you about a ball. You tried to recall any mention of it as Medina led her out. You asked Medina when she returned, “Is there to be a ball this Friday?” “Yes, we have an annual Midsummer ball, it’s quite the event, this year is extra special as it’s also to welcome you to the County,” she smiled. Midsummer. How time flies. Friday would mark a week since your wedding, the feeling of dread you had that day had not yet died down. You would write to your mother soon. You had an idea to help you pass the time. “The Count is a fan of dessert yes?” you asked. Medina nodded in reply. “Show me to the kitchens I’d like to bake something for dinner this evening,” you said. Medina looked at you in shock, “My Lady you don’t have to do that, all you have to do is ask and the staff will prepare anything you want.” You stopped her before she could go any further, “Please Medina, I’m bored and I’m more than capable of being in the kitchen.” She nodded, and led you to the kitchens.

////

The kitchens were grand, a few staff members flitting around. Mrs. Mead was also there, preparing the meal for tonight. “My Lady? What brings you here?” she asked. “I’d like to make a cake for this evening, to keep me occupied, I promise I’m a good baker,” you replied. She hesitated, before showing you to the dessert ingredients. You had decided to make a simple Victoria sponge. “Our working garden has fresh strawberries actually,” Medina suggested. “Can I have a look? She led you through to a little walled garden behind the kitchens, filled with an array of produce; it was used for the smaller meals in the castle. You took a little basket and went to pick the strawberries you needed for the cake. The staff looked at you in shock, not expecting the countess to be so hands on. You smiled at them all as you walked back inside, ready to start on the cake. Everyone returned to their stations, the staff and you falling into a natural rhythm. The conversation was coming easy, forgetting your new status for a while, laughing along with the staff. Time flew by and the smell of cake and strawberry jam wafted through the castle.

////

Michael and you sat down for your evening meal. Sick of the awkward silence, you decided to ask some questions. “I heard there’s a ball this Friday,” you asked. He stopped and wiped his lip. “yes, there is, it’s why I’ve been so busy for the past few days,” he started. “The Midsummer ball here is quite well known, I’m sure your brother may have mentioned it before. It’s an opportunity for you to be introduced to my circle, and to let loose a little.” Let loose? you glared at him and he chuckled. The urge to slap him had returned. Before you could go any further, the cake and tea had arrived. Mrs. Mead carefully cut two slices and served them. You waited patiently for Michael to take a bite, hoping he would like it. He chewed and swallowed, expressionless. “who made this? Do we have anew baker?” he asked Mrs. Mead; a silence took over “I – I did,” your nerves making you voice shake. He looked at you and smiled, shovelling another forkful, “its very good, you are full of surprises little dove.” You breathed a sigh of relief, smiling at his approval and digging into your own slice. “Thank you.” “You look a lot better when you smile,” he turned to you. You noticed the cream on the corner of his lip, without thinking you reached forward to wipe it off. He grabbed your wrist before you could move your hand away. Looking you in the eyes, he moved your hand and took your thumb into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it and lightly sucking; humming when he tasted the cream. You stared at him in awe, finally realising what you had done, your face flushing red. Before your thoughts could go any further, he let go of your finger with a ‘pop’. He stood from the table ready to take his leave. “I thoroughly enjoyed the dessert tonight; I hope this isn’t the last thing you’ll make. Unfortunately, I must take my leave for the evening, so I must bid you goodnight.” He placed a light kiss on your cheek before leaving. You sat there flustered and speechless, not noticing his grin as he left the dining room.

////

The weather on Thursday had significantly cleared up, the sun shining bright. You could almost imagine being back in your little village. Almost. You went to bed flustered from the previous night; the embarrassment carried into the morning. You asked for breakfast to be served in the library, where you knew you’d be alone. As the afternoon came around, your boredom took over yet again. You decided it was about time you saw the castle gardens, making your way outside with Medina leading the way. As you stepped outside, you closed your eyes and took in a breath of rose scented air. The warmth of the sun on your face brought you more comfort than you liked to admit. You opened your eyes and finally took in the garden. You had never seen so many roses and flowers, in so many different colours. The perfect mix of an English and French garden. You wouldn’t think that a castle with such an ominous façade would have a garden that looked so lush and bright, it looked like a different world. You now knew why there was a midsummer ball here, anyone with a garden as beautiful as this would want to show it off. As you were taking it all in, you noticed a boy trimming some roses. “Medina? Who’s the boy?” “That’s my twin Jim!”, she replied and waved him over. The brown-haired boy jogged over, slowing down when he noticed you. “My Lady it’s a pleasure to meet you, I apologise for the sate I’m in right now,” he said shyly. “Oh no please don’t apologise. Jim is it? Its very nice to meet you. What do you do around here?” “My Lady you are too kind,” he blushed. “I do a lot of things, I’m the stable boy, the errand boy and sometimes the gardener,” he explained. “so, you wear many hats,” you smiled at him. The conversation came easy with the twins, forgetting about your initial idea of walking through the garden. The feeling of being watched had started to creep up on you again, you ignored it in favour of talking to them.

////

Michael’s office overlooked the garden, his favourite part of the castle. The large windows painted a unique picture for every season, each with its own beauty. He kept his windows open during the summer, letting the scent of roses drift in. Today was a day like every other, he’d been in here since the morning, not expecting any disturbances. His workflow was disturbed by a giggle. One that he had heard exactly six months before. He shot up to look out the window. He saw you, standing amongst the roses, giggling away at something the stable boy had said. The fucking stable boy. Michaels jaw clenched in rage. Why hadn’t you laughed like that around him? Yesterday was the first smile he got from you. And now here you were, laughing along with another man, no, a boy! He saw red, he was going to put a stop to this. Ignoring his work and marching down to the garden.

////

Michael tried to look calm as he walked up to the three of you. “enjoying your afternoon,” putting a halt to all conversation. If looks could kill, you were sure Jim would be a pile of ashes. “We are, I was hoping to go on a walk through the garden,” you said, hoping to ease the tension. Michael's glare turned to you. “well then, lucky for you I’m free this afternoon and I can give you a personal tour,” he stated. He turned to Medina, “Tell Mrs. Mead that lunch and afternoon tea will be served in the garden for us,” with that, he gripped your arm and pulled you into the garden, the twins scurrying away, back to their daily tasks. “Michael your hurting me!” you said as you tried to peel his hand away from your arm. He eased away, gripping your hip instead, keeping you close. “this garden was designed by my grandmother, Constance,” ignoring what you had said just moments before. “She was French, that’s why there are French design elements, I’ll take you one day I think you’ll like Paris.” You kept your mouth shut, you knew exactly what he and your brother got up to in Paris.

“It really is beautiful; I’ve never seen such a variety of flowers before. I can see why people come from far and wide to see it,” you said, trying to change the conversation and diffuse the tension. As you both walked through the garden, Michael explained every detail to you, from the flowers to the fountains, even the statues. This was the most conversation you had had in a week, and if you were being honest, you enjoyed his company. He finally got that laugh out of you after telling the story of how he procured one of the statues. He could have sworn he stopped breathing when he heard it. You eyes glimmering with joy in the sun. He took your gloved hand and led you up to the gazebo in the centre of the garden. A table had been set with a light lunch and your left-over cake from last night. You continued to laugh as you watched him scarf it down. “what? Why are you laughing,” he asked, with his mouth still full. “I’ve never seen someone finish a whole cake before,” you smiled. His cheeks were tinged pink as he swallowed. “I’m a growing boy, I need to eat,” he justified. You shook your head, finishing your own slice, taking in your surroundings.

////

After you finished, Michael walked you back to the castle. “Your brother will be in attendance tomorrow, so if you have anything you want to send back home please do have it prepared for Saturday,” he stated. The prospect of seeing your brother again made you smile again. Nodding to Michael as you headed up to your room to write. You wrote to your mother about your first few days, the feeling of dread and the consistent nightmares. Your letter would vex your mother but who else were you going to confide in? You didn’t fully trust anyone in this house yet. Supper was served in your room. You went to bed by yourself again, hoping that maybe just this once those coal black eyes and sharp teeth would let you be.

////

The castle was abuzz the next morning, all staff adding final touches for the ball that evening. You were not feeling the same enthusiasm. The nightmare you had left you shaken and an with an unexpected ache, your limbs felt so heavy. You choose to forego breakfast you knew you wouldn’t keep it down; you swore you could taste the blood from your dreams in your mouth. You weren’t allowed to enter the ballroom as it was supposed to be a surprise for you Medina explained. You decided to take a bath before getting dressed for the evening, your dress arriving merely hours ago. The rose scented water helped the ache in your bones, but not much else. You were covered in blood in your dreams, no matter how hard you scrubbed the feeling of being coated in the red sticky liquid remained. You almost made yourself bleed before Medina had to stop you. You had no solid explanations for your behaviour.

You sat in your grand dressing room in a robe, Medina working away at your hair. You had noticed on the first day you got changed that the wardrobe in the bedroom looked a bit bare. You later learned that your clothes were kept in a dressing room, adjacent to your room. It was almost as big as the room where you slept. Full of your husbands, and now your, clothes. All luxury fabrics and colours that were far too expensive for you to afford back in the village, your brother’s education had come first. The fact that your bathroom was joined to your room was already too much for you to comprehend. Medina finished placing violets and lavender flowers into your hair. They matched your gown, also lavender in colour. Purple dye was expensive; you were still getting used to the wealth you had married into. You stood to get dressed and Medina hesitated.

“My Lady, this is a new type of corset and I’m not sure how to lace it, I’ll go get Mrs. Mead to help us,” she said, Leaving you alone in front of the mirror, holding your corset up. Just as she left; Michael walked in. You began to have flashbacks to your first day here, making you blush. He walked behind you, tracing his fingers over your spine, just like before. “What seems to be the issue this time,” he whispered. You hesitated. “Medina has never laced a corset like this before, she has gone to get some help,” you replied. “No need for that, I’m sure I can do it,” he said, beginning to pull the laces in. You moved to say something, but before you could, he yanked the laces tighter, making you gasp loudly. “Michael, it’s too tight!” you cried out. “Does it hurt little dove? Are you struggling to breath?” he taunted, grinning at you through the mirror. He continued to pull until you thought you would pass out. Struggling for air. “I think that should do it,” he finished tying you off. He walked around and stood in front of you, brining his face closer and licking away tears you didn’t realise had fallen. Not only were you in pain, but you were embarrassed too, bringing on a pounding headache. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck. Taking the matching outfit that he would wear tonight. “Be ready for six sharp, don’t keep me waiting, I’ll make you attend in a half dressed state if I have to,” he said, finally walking out of the room, leaving you literally breathless. Medina and Mead returned moments later.

“Could one of you please loosen it a little I think I might faint,” you said. “Who laced you up?” asked Mrs. Mead. “Michael” “If the Count has laced you up then unfortunately there’s nothing we can do, he’ll know, and he’ll be really angry. You don’t want poor Medina to be punished just because your corsets a little tight, now do you?” she responded. “you’ll just have to save your breath and not talk much.” With that she left you and Medina alone again. She finished dressing you. The gown was truly beautiful, but you couldn’t admire it like you would have wanted to, the corset making you feel like your ribs might crack with one wrong move. You did notice that your spine was a little straighter, Mrs. Venebale’s adjustments had worked. You felt a little better when sitting down. Medina finished off your makeup, just in time for 6 o’clock. You thanked her and you both walk out to the ballroom entrance, where Michael was waiting. He smiled at you, “you’re just on time.” You could hear the chattering of the guests through the door, your nerves combined with your corset made you feel ill.

Michael took your hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, standing up straight. As the doors opened, the ballroom stilled in silence. All eyes were turned to the pair of you. Looking you up and down, you were fresh meat in a den of lions. You held your head up a little higher. You would not be intimidated by all these people who wished they were in you place, by his side. It finally hit you that you were now a Countess. All these people would watch your every move, some hoping you would fall. You were not going to give them the satisfaction. Your train of thought was interrupted by Michael, “Friends and Honoured guests, I welcome you all to the Langdon estates annual midsummer ball. I’d like to thank you all for travelling so far to attend, and I hope we do not disappoint, but, we never do,” the audience chuckled a little. “This year is extra important, for today we welcome my new bride, the Countess Y/N Langdon into our ranks, so please do give her a warm welcome.” He grabbed a wine glass from the waiter. “Let’s raise a toast in her honour tonight and may you all have a pleasant evening,” he finished. The crowd raised their glasses to you with a collective ‘cheers’, you smiled and nodded to the crowd. Everyone went back to their previous chatter, the music starting again. “Don’t be too nervous little dove, no one can hurt you,” Michael whispered to you. Easing your nerves a little and relaxing your posture.

Your brother came up to greet you, asking how you were and giving you updates on the village gossip. Apparently, your parents and friends missed you dearly. He would be staying the night, so you hoped to talk more at breakfast the next morning. For now, you had other guests to be introduced to. Many guests were names you had heard before, from your parents or they were friends of your brother. Excited to finally meet his ‘pretty little sister’. You shouldn’t have let him take that picture of you, you didn’t want to think about how many of the boys had seen it and had ‘opinions’ of you. “My dear, this is Duncan Shepherd, heir of the Shepherd fortune in the USA.” You smiled and held out your hand for him to shake, instead the brought it to his lips to kiss. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lady Langdon, they say that you’re quite lucky to be bound to my dear friend; but meeting you, I think he’s the lucky one,” he said, smirking at Michael. You could only smile, laughing or talking too much would hurt thanks to your husband’s hand at your corseting. Duncan started again, “This is my dear Fiancée, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, heiress to the Vanderbilt fortune.” She smiled and shook your hand, too distracted by your grand ballroom and your husband to fully pay attention. “Nice place you got here.” Michael and Duncan started to chat, leaving you to the side. You took in the ballroom. It, like the rest of the castle, was grand. You thought that you would never be able to comprehend Versailles, since this castle had you shocked already. The large glass windows and door were open, letting in a warm summer breeze and the fragrance of the garden the ballroom overlooked. You could see some of the guests promenading through the flowerbeds. You and your husbands attire had to be the grandest in the room, despite the room being full of wealth. You had to admit, he had excellent taste.

You were onto your third glass of wine when a woman approached you. Beautiful with Platinum blonde hair. She introduced herself as Countess Elizabeth March. “I do believe we’ve met before,” you stated. You had once attended a ball with her. “You remembered? Yes, we have, you were younger then. Look at you, you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. Although, I didn’t expect you to marry my dear little cousin.” “Cousin?” “we share a grandfather,” she replied. She looked around the room and came closer to you. “Everything is not always what it seems my dear, be careful and keep your curiosity at bay, you might not like what you find,” she finished. Your eyes widened in shock, what did she mean? Michael spotted you both, walking over quickly, leaving his conversation behind. “Cousin Elizabeth, I hope you’re not trying to fill my brides pretty little head with bad thoughts?” “Of course not dear, we were just reminiscing over old times, we attended a ball together once so we were just discussing that. I think I should get back to my husband now before he gets too drunk,” with that she left you both.

He gripped your wrist tightly, reminding you of his anger yesterday in the garden. “Whatever she said to you, pay no mind to it, she’s still bitter grandfather left her next to nothing.” You nodded and tried to remove his hand from your wrist. The orchestra had started a waltz and Michael dragged you to the dancefloor. You tried you hardest to keep up, the corset not allowing you to move too much without struggling to breath. You began to dance, grateful for your dancing lessons. His grip was tight on your hip, but you could barely feel it as the corset had made you go numb. His eyes never once left your form, and you kept your eyes glued to him. Fearing that he might do something if you dared to look elsewhere. The waltz came to close and you felt even more lightheaded than before, you thought you might have started to cry in front of all your guests. Michael sensed your shift in mood. “Come, lets get some fresh air and see the garden in the moonlight.” He took your hand, gently this time, and slowly walked you towards the garden. You couldn’t admire the beauty of the roses, too focused on steadying your breath. The fact that you’d drank three glasses of wine did not help the situation. You didn’t speak to Michael, fearing one wrong breath and you’d pass out. Your mother would die if she found out that you’d done that in front of your guests. He brought you inside and sat you down, you didn’t hear what he said, feeling too hazy. Medina brought you glass of water and you slowly sat and sipped it. Feeling embarrassed that your first ball had come to this. Some more time had passed, you had spoken to a few more guests, becoming more confident despite your little predicament. As the clock struck ten, you figured out that these parties would go on till early into the next day. Michael was nowhere to be seen, so you decided to go back to your room, slipping away without anyone noticing.

////

You got to your room and breathed a sigh of relief. Well, you tried too. You walked into your dressing room, lighting the candles on your vanity to bring some light. You began to unpin your hair, letting it fall and bringing some relief to you scalp. You would take the flowers out later. You rubbed your temples, trying to tame your headache. You removed your lavender gloves. Carefully placing them on your vanity, the lace was far too delicate for you to be rough with it. You stood, ready to remove your gown, before you were interrupted by the door slamming open. There stood Michael, his face illuminated by the soft candlelight, painted in a sneer. “It’s rude to leave your guests without saying goodbye.” You stared at him in silence, not knowing how to reply. He walked to you, grabbed your arm and pulled you into your bedroom. It was illuminated with more candles, ones that you don’t remember lighting. Maybe you did but couldn’t recall in your lightheaded state.

Occupied in your own thoughts, you didn’t notice that Michael had removed your gown until the cold air of the room hit you. You shivered, from the temperature drop, and in anticipation. He stood in front of you, making you watch as he slowly removed his gloves and his velvet dinner jacket. He moved behind you, resting his chin on you shoulder. “You’ve left quite the impression on my guests,” he whispered. “a – a good one?” you stuttered. He chuckled; you feel his breath on your neck. “They think your polite and quite pretty. You seem to have the same effect on them that you have on me.” You didn’t know what he meant, so you asked, “w- what effect do I have on you?” He took your small hand in his large one sending shocks of electricity through you. Your hands had been in gloves for as long as you can remember, only taking them off in the evenings or when you were getting dressed. Just this small action, of bare hands touching, was far too intimate for you. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your palms, and then your fingertips. You were glad he couldn’t see you and you were sure you looked redder than the roses left on the nightstand. He then brought your hand down to the front of his trousers, pressing you palm against something hard, rutting up against you. Like every good young lady, you were a virgin, but you had heard stories from your married friends, you mother even giving you a brief talk a few days before you got married. To be in the situation right now had you feeling a little tense.

“relax little dove, I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he said, noticing your hesitation. He moved your hair over your shoulder and began placing kisses along your shoulder blades and nape. Each kiss adding more fire to your belly. He slowly began unlacing you, taking his time, watching you relax and finally breath properly. The numbness in your skin subsiding, you could feel the blood rush back in. The final string was pulled, and Michael dropped your corset before you could hold it up. Now fully exposed to the cold air and to him. He ran his fingers along the angry red indents, making you hiss. His hand calming some of the sting. “Did it hurt little one? To have it so tight? I almost made you cry in front of everyone.” You could hear the smile in his voice. His fingers glided from your back, around your waist to your stomach.

He pulled you back to his chest, feeling the silk of his shirt against you. You rested your head on his shoulder. Bearing you neck to him. he peppered light kisses down the side of your neck. You moaned when he reached a sensitive spot. He stopped and sucked at it, causing your breathing to get heavier. Nothing had ever felt this good before. “you make the prettiest noises; I think I'd like to hear some more.” The baritone of his voice sent shivers down your spine. He let go of you. Mewling at the loss of his warmth. You stood there in just your panties, bringing your arms up around your chest. The shuffling of fabric could be heard behind you. Then it stopped. You were unsure of what he was going to do next, but you daren’t turn around.

You felt his hands on you again, leading you to the bed and you climbed on. He stood there facing you. He had removed all but his own underwear. You think maybe you’d seen the image that was in front of you in the statues in the garden. The candle light illuminating his chiselled features just right. You knew there and then that Eros himself envied your husband. You felt even shier under his gaze, surely this was a dream and you could never reach his standards. He held you face in his hands, gently, as if you’d break. He brushed his thumb over your lips, before putting it in your mouth. You felt the need to suck, so you looked down and did; Michael groaned. “Look at me, don’t take your eyes of me tonight, I want to see everything,” he removed his finger from your mouth with a light ‘Pop’. Holding your chin and pulling your face up to his. He looked at you once more, before placing his lips on yours. You closed your eyes and eased into the kiss. It was gentle and slow at first, before it became rougher. He kissed you like a man starved. Exploring your mouth with his tongue, only pulling away for air. You both looked flushed, a string of saliva still connecting you both. You leaned forward to kiss him again, running you fingers up his neck and through his hair. You were pushed back into the pillows, Michael peppering kisses and bites down your neck and breasts. His thumb brushed over your nipple, causing you to squeak out. You were such a sensitive little thing, and he loved it.

He took one nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking. You couldn’t say anything, the only thing leaving your mouth were moans and mewls. He moved to the other and began to trail his hand down your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your panties. He let go of your breast, looking at you with spit glossed lips, before moving to kiss down your stomach. His fingers moved down to your core, causing you to jolt at the sensation. It was all so foreign to you. You’d never even touched yourself, for fear of someone finding out. “Look at you, you’re soaked, and all for me hmm.” You looked at him and shyly nodded. He slowly began to peel your panties away from you, revealing your wet lips to him. Totally untouched. He ran his fingers through your slick folds. The sensation making you want to snap your legs shut. He smacked your thigh. “Keep them open,” he said, gripping your knees and pulling your thighs apart. He placed his thumb on your sensitive little nub, and you cried out. You felt so good, no one had told you that this would feel good.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for so long,” he said, looking up at you. He smiled and brought is head between your thighs, licking a broad stripe through your folds. Your hands shot out, gripping his silky locks. You wanted more. And he gave. He licked and sucked like a man deprived of water, holding your thighs apart and groaning into you. So lost in your pleasure you didn’t notice him bringing a finger up to your entrance, until you felt an unfamiliar stretch. You cried out at the little sting. “Relax little dove, it’ll be a little uncomfortable but relax, it’ll ease up. You whimpered and nodded, Michael pumped his finger in and out, adding a second when you eased up a little, “You’re so tight and wet for me, I could spend the rest of my life here.” Those final words made the coil in your belly snap, making you grind onto his fingers and tongue. You cried out in ecstasy, letting the unfamiliar but pleasant feeling take over you. Michael eased his fingers out of you and brought himself up to you. His mouth and chin glistened in the candlelight. Making you want to hide your face in embarrassment. He stopped you before you could. Bringing your lips to his, letting you taste yourself.

He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and looking you in the eyes, “Don’t hide from me, you look divine.” He took your hand again and brought it to his length. “This is what you do to me, feel it, it’s for you and only for you,” he says. You were feeling a little bold, running your fingers up his length, causing him to groan out. He stopped you and removed his underwear. You were now both bare to each other, just as Adam and Eve. “i- it’s so big, how will it f- fit?” You stuttered out. Your nervousness coming back. He shushed you and pushed you back onto the pillows. “I told you, you need to relax or else it will hurt.”

He lined himself up at your entrance, running his length through your folds, coating his cock with your wetness. “Look at me as I split you in half,” he ordered, his hands gripping your hips like a vice. You looked at him and slowly, he began to ease himself inside. Your eyes started to water at the stretch, you didn’t think he was going to fit. He held your hand, letting you squeeze down as he bottomed out. Both of you letting out a moan. He stayed there, letting you get used to his size. He kissed away the tears that fell. “Please move,” you moaned out.

Michael started a slow pace at first, getting you used to the feel and his rhythm. You felt like you’d split in half, but it felt so good. You brought your hands to his shoulders and your legs around his waist. Wanting to feel him closer, to have him deeper. He picked up the pace, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Your moans filled the air, you were sure your guests could hear you. But they didn’t matter, no one did, no one but Michael mattered to you right now. You felt the coil in your belly begin to tighten. Michael felt your walls begin to pulse. He brought his hand down and started to rub circles on your clit. “M- Michael I think I’m..” “That’s it angel, cum around me like I know you can, give into your pleasure.” With those words, you snapped, cumming with a cry around his cock. You saw stars wishing that you could feel this high forever. His own face was twisted in pleasure, as he came and painted your walls with his warm seed. “Fuck angel look at you, your milking me for all I’m worth. Who knew you’d have such a greedy little pussy.” He kissed you again, holding you tightly, slowly easing out of you as he softened up. You were so tired, so drained but so satisfied. Michael lay down beside you, pulling you into his arms. Your head lay on his chest as he murmured sweet praises at you, kissing your forehead, easing you from your high. You looked up at him with a satisfied grin, and he grinned back. “you’ve been so good for me,” he whispered. You kissed his nose and giggled, laying your head back on his chest, drifting away in the warmth of his arms. You slept peacefully that night, your nightmares leaving you alone, just for tonight.

Next>>>

[ranger-jedi-knight]

I Thought You Wouldn’t Hurt Me, But You Did Part 8

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839535/chapters/59348257 Tag List: @marinettepotterandplagg @emo-elaine13 @queenmj10

Ok, so this is a few different people’s prompts/ideas in one! The gist is the aftermath of Adrien and Alya getting sued and thinking they did nothing wrong and blame Mari n get mad at her. And then a small(??) little thing of whats happened in Damian’s POV. id post the prompts but theyre long and its a hassle sometimes to deal with on Tumblr or even on AO3.

Adrien was growling as he stormed into school. Yesterday the lawyers met with him and his father to talk about Mari’s demands. And his father agreed to everything demanded even when he said no. He did nothing wrong! This just isn’t fair! They’re friends for goodness sake! He just couldn’t figure out why this is happening!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alya was practically spitting fire at this point. She couldn’t understand!

She was the reporter!

She brought down justice!

She was the victim here!

She started typing angrily on her laptop in her room, planning on exposing Mari for the fake she is. Right alongside Lila Rossi. She smirked happily at the thought. Not even their cronies could stop her!

“Alya! There’s someone here to see you!” Nora called out and Alya groaned, a scowl painted her lips.

“Coming!” she shouted leaving her room and seeing at the door was a lady wearing a suit and her parents glaring at her along with Alya. “What?” she asked looking between them confused.

“You are being sued, Alya,” her mom said and Alya scowled.

“Mari has to be bluffing,” she said and the suit lady shook her head.

“Mz. Dupain-Cheng is not bluffing, Mz. Cesaire. She is suing you for defamation, harassment, and attacking her. She is asking that this stays out of court. So, she asks that you delete your blog, never write anything about her again, or talk or come near her ever again. You do that, then this won’t go to court. But if you break a single thing then she will take you to court and sue you for the money needed to pay for her medical bills,” the woman said holding the file to Alya’s mom who took it and skimmed throu it. Her face was pale when she finished and she nodded hurriedly.

“Yes, we agree with that. I’ll do it right now,” Mrs. Cesaire said pushing Alya into her room and sitting down at the desk with the lawyer right behind her, watching as her mom deleted her blog.

“What! No! She can’t do that!” Alya cried and both the lawyer and her mom turned to glare at her.

“Yes, she can. You pushed her down concrete stairs and caused her to be paralyzed for the rest of her life, young lady. Your lucky she isn’t suing you for the medical bill now,” her mom said clicking delete while Alya screeched in outrage.

“Good. I hope you don’t have to hear from us again. The Dupain-Chengs will also like to say this, your daughter is banned from ever entering the bakery or even buying from the bakery ever again. Your family is only allowed to buy for special occasions, otherwise, they don’t wish to see you in their bakery,” she said and Alya’s parents sighed but nodded understanding.

“We understand. Please, tell them how very sorry we are that this happened,” she said and the lawyer nodded.

“I will. Good day,” the lawyer gave a nod before leaving. When Alya opened her mouth to say something, both her parents and Nora glared at her. Alya’s mouth slipped shut as she hunkered slightly at the looks.

“You are in a lot of trouble, young lady,” her mom said while her dad nodded agreement and Alya looks away with a glare.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mari didn’t know what she was rolling into when she entered the courtyard talking to Chloe, Nino, and Lila. The two were doing way better now and doing everything they could to show they were turning over a new leaf for the wheelchair-bound girl. And that pleased Mari greatly. She could see how sincere they were too.

“Marinette!” Adrien shouted stomping up to the girl. Mari glared at Adrien and noticed Alya was outside the school, her phone raised. Looks like they planned this, Mari thought as Adrien stopped them before they got too far from the entrance.

“What do you want, Agreste? You know the restraining order’s details,” she said coldly and watched from the corner of her eye as Ivan went and got their teacher Lana.

“It’s not fair the terms you demanded! I did nothing wrong!” Adrien shouted and Mari glared while Alya smiled sickeningly at that.

“Ya, I can’t believe you forced me to shut down the LadyBlog! And threatened my mom to get her to agree!” Alya added and that had students looking at the group warily.

“I didn’t threaten anyone, Cesaire, Agreste,” that had most of the students flinching at how cold her tone was. “You two caused me so much pain. My demands are quite reasonable. I had to keep my lawyers from demanding more. As for the threat you say, Cesaire, I’m fully inclined to ask you to pay all my medical bills since you caused me to be in this wheelchair. And from the position of your phone,” she gives Alya’s phone a pointed look and smirk, “you’re breaking the terms of the agreement already and will be taken to court to see if a judge, which they probably will, agree to my terms of my assaulter, you, paying for all my medical bills that resulted from the attack,” she said and everyone glared at Alya.

“That’s just ridiculous!” Alya shouted.

“Marinette, this is out of control. We’re your friends!” Adrien said and Mari scowled while the rest of the class grimaces. They understood what they did wrong. They knew they aren’t friends with Mari anymore.

They were civil.

They did what they could to show Mari they were sorry but knew not to push. But those two didn’t get the message.

“No, Cesaire, Agreste, we aren’t friends, nor is it ridiculous. Agreste, you harassed me for trying to tell everyone the truth. You treated me like I was the one causing all the bullying. And Cesaire, you pushed me down concrete stairs. You put me in a wheelchair. You published articles slandering me and my family. I am perfectly in my right to sue you for assault and slander. We aren’t friends, nor will we ever be friends, nor will I ever think about you again. You are dead to me. I don’t care what you do with your lives as long as you never talk to me again or try slandering my name,” she said and right then Lana came over with a stern expression as she grabbed Adrien’s arm and marched over to Alya and grabbed her arm as well.

She glared at the two as she forced them to sit on the steps. “You two knew the terms of the restraining order. You two are in big trouble. I’ve already contacted your parents and the police and we will stay here until they arrive. Miss Dupain-Cheng explicitly stated in the restraining order that if caught breaking the terms and conditions, she will take you to court. You better hope your parents take it easy on you,” Lana said and the two gulped as they stared at the icy expression on their now former teachers face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian smirked as he watched Miss Grayson walk the two hooligans out of the courtyard. He was pleased to see the two getting what they deserved as he watched their parents arrive berating them while the police arrived themselves and put them into their cruiser to take them to the station.

People were muttering around him when they saw Agreste’s father, Gabriel, appear since the man was practically a cryptid. He rolled his eyes at that as he made his way over to Mari with a small smile on his lips. “Are you alright, Angel?” he asked leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her lips before looking over her face.

“Yes, I’m alright, Dove. A little shaken, but fine,” she answered and he nodded with a small smile.

“That’s good. Why don’t we get to class now?” he suggested and Mari nodded and let Damian push her forward, Lila and Chloe following them.

Ok, ya, this is short. But, ive been losing inspiration for this fic. Im sorry. For the time being, this fic is now on Hiatus. I dont know when or if I’ll come back to this. You can keep sending prompts but just be warned that itll be quite a while before their used. Again Im sorry, I hope you enjoyed this chap nonetheless. Until next time -Love Willa<3<3

[mo-nighean-rouge]

Gone - V

Jamie Fraser prepares to send Claire and Faith through the stones. A last-minute interference puts them all at stake.

A/N: Huge thanks to @ianmuyrray for dedicating a lot of time and patience to help me clean this up, as well as @lady-o-ren for always saying something kind.

There’s a lot going on in the world right now. Take care and look out for ways that you can help -- including but not limited to:

Black Lives Matter | The Equal Justice Initiative |  Invest in the future for FREE

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | AO3

Previously:

Murtagh was being pulled down from Donas by two Redcoats. As they set his feet on the ground, he met Claire’s eye, his own full of guilt and shame.

She slid down from her own horse and sidled up to Jamie’s back as he tried to make himself impossibly bigger to hide her, lowering Faith to her arms.

Over his shoulder, she studied the English officers in the dim light. There was something oddly familiar about one of them.

April 17, 1746 | Scottish Countryside

“Please.” Jamie’s voice rang clear in the still morning. “Leave him be.”

Claire’s eyes flooded as she watched him march toward the scene in surrender. She pressed her forehead into Faith’s mangled curls to hide her tears.

“I’ll wager ye know who I am,” Jamie said decidedly. “Take me, and let my companions go free. I’ll no’ fight.”

The silence was deafening as each party studied the other.

“James Fraser,” the ranking officer bellowed from his mount. “Notorious Jacobite.”

One of the younger men holding Murtagh in a vice grip paled at the obvious confirmation.

“Then this could only be the Stuart Witch in your company, Mr. Fraser?” The officer continued, breaking into a dark chuckle. “It seems we’d be foolish to let any of you get too far today.”

“No!” Jamie shouted, but it was too late. He thrashed violently even as three men surrounded him. All Claire could see was the sun shining against his brilliant red hair as the men dragged him away.

The remaining soldiers approached Claire and Fergus, gripping them indelicately as they led them on a solemn march toward the camp just visible through the clearing. Even though no one tried to remove her, Claire tightened her grip around Faith’s middle until the little girl began to squirm and whimper.

Each unfriendly face they passed jeered at them, recognition of the long-awaited captives flashing in their eyes.

They were all forced into a semi-circle together, surrounded by their captors.

Claire lowered herself to the ground, hit with another bout of nausea. Little wonder, as they’d had nothing to eat since supper the night before.

“Mama?” Faith whined softly, the impatient tones of a temper tantrum in her voice.

Jamie dropped to his knees beside them, using dirty palms to check each of them over for injury. “I’m sorry. Sae sorry Claire. So verra sorry,” he whispered, shaking.

Claire palmed his cheek in return. There was nothing he could have done. They had chosen their path, knowing the consequences it might bring.

She leaned into him and together they shielded Faith, sure these were their last moments but uncertain what they might bring. 

Claire barely registered the weary young man from before as he slowly backed away from his post and then dashed toward the largest tent at the edge of camp.

The commanding officer approached their huddle. “Captain Jacobs, at your service,” he sneered. “As long-sought after criminals in a losing battle, we’re certain you have plenty of information to share with us. Who knows, in the end your cooperation just may give us leave to be more lenient.”

Claire felt Jamie tense, her own breathing growing shallower. All they’d lost already, and their lives still on the line.

“Now,” Jacobs began. “I’d like to question each of you individually, starting with…” his cold eyes narrowed on Claire.

A throat cleared behind him, and the captain straightened. “Colonel.”

The colonel inclined his head as his inferior officer bowed.

“If you’re quite done, Captain… James and Mistress Fraser, I presume?” he asked them formally. He turned. “And Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser. And…” he tilted his head at the sight of Fergus. “Hello, young man. If you’d all accompany me to my quarters, it seems we have much to discuss.”

Jamie gave a slight nod. His face was the mask Claire knew would cover his thoughts, but he quickly rose, pulling Faith and her up with him.

As they walked, Faith dove toward Jamie and he caught her easily. Her eyes slipped closed at last, tucked against her da’s chest. It was likely for the best, as Claire herself hardly wanted to see what happened next.

________________________________________

 As they ducked under the entryway of the large tent, the colonel motioned them toward a long table. 

They’d need to keep their story straight. Balancing Faith’s slumbering form in one hand, Jamie ruffled Fergus's hair with the other, imploring him to keep quiet with a stern glance. Then Jamie reached for Claire, who accepted his touch, gripping his thigh firmly with her free hand.

After ensuring the tent flap was secure behind him, the colonel sat opposite them at the table. “I believe I’ve been remiss in introducing myself.” He straightened in the high-backed chair. “Colonel Harold Grey, Duke of Pardloe.”

Jamie frowned at the surname. Why did he know the name Grey?

“I’m told you’re all in acquaintance with my younger brother,” Grey continued. The young soldier from earlier stepped around a fold in the tent, flushed.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, meet John William Grey.”

Surprised and a bit uneasy, Jamie and Claire glanced at each other before fully acknowledging the young man.

“Mr. Grey, pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

“Mr. Fraser, Mistress Fraser, I trust you are both in good health.”

“Aye lad, at least my wife tells me so.” Jamie stroked Claire’s palm with his thumb.

John Grey nodded, smirking. “I suppose I should have guessed as much that night at Carryarrick, Sir.”

“As my brother reminds me,” Colonel Grey began, rubbing his temples. “He swore to you an oath of honor in exchange for his life.” He paused, looking from one Fraser to another. “It seems to fall on me to fulfill that promise today.”

“Just what will that mean, Colonel?” Jamie asked, his voice dropping to hide his nerves.

“I wonder if you’re familiar, Mr. Fraser, with Captain of Dragoons, Jonathan Randall?”

Claire’s nails dug into Jamie’s thigh as he shifted in his chair. “We’ve heard a bit in passing, aye. Most of it isna good.”

“Is he as nasty a man as they say?” Claire asked, trying to hide her emotions.

The colonel rose and fetched a decanter, pouring himself a drink before offering one to his guests. Jamie and Murtagh accepted, while Claire refused. Jamie knew she’d have a hard time stomaching ale on an empty belly.

“I’m afraid that everything you’ve heard, Mistress Fraser, pales in comparison to the truth. Allegations of abuse have followed him for years. But he always manages to shake them off before the consequences reach him.”

“That’s a shame.” Jamie swirled the drink in his mug. “But how does it relate to myself and my family?”

“We received word just this morning that Captain Randall met his end before the battle yesterday.”

Claire inhaled sharply.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the colonel continued, pacing back and forth. “There was an outbreak of influenza in the camp. Terrible conditions, as you might imagine.”

Jamie shrugged, lifting one shoulder in response.

“As it turns out, he left behind a young widow with no other family to speak of. Mrs. Randall will be on her own to establish her inherited estate in Paris. She is also expecting his child.”

“I can’t imagine,” Claire whispered, rubbing her own belly underneath the table and trying not to shudder at the casual use of her friend’s married name.

“So, to conclude, I’m offering you both parole to her property in France. If you accept, you’ll leave on the next ship.”

“Mmmph.” Jamie nodded slowly, considering.

“Otherwise, I’m afraid there aren’t many options left in Scotland than the noose. For any of you.”

Jamie leaned forward, careful not to jostle Faith. “And what about my godfather, Murtagh?” he asked, his voice low.

The colonel turned his attention to the man in question. “I suppose any additional service would be to Mrs. Randall’s benefit.”

“And the children?” Claire asked. She rubbed Faith’s back.

Fergus perked up at this, looking between Claire and the colonel.

Grey cleared his throat. “As long as Mrs. Randall is willing to accommodate them, I see no issue in sending them along with you.”

“Ye should know,” Jamie warned. “I signed my estate away to my nephew. There will be no need to harass its residents.”

The colonel fixed his gaze on Jamie. “I have no desire to disturb properties that no longer belong to you, Mr. Fraser.”

Jamie and Claire exhaled together. “You have our gratitude, Colonel.”

Grey nodded. “To tell you the truth, I’ve watched many men fall over the past months. If only a few…” He cleared his throat again. “You’ll be detained here until our ship leaves in three days’ time, but you may move about the grounds as you wish. We will post any letters you wish to write before you leave. They will, of course, be read by myself first.”

________________________________________

 Claire knelt by the stream with Faith in her arms, the remnant of a gooey bar of soap clenched in her palm.

“Time to get cleaned up, lovey.” She trailed a wet finger down Faith’s cheek.

Faith giggled, dropping her chin to her chest to get away. When her mother paused, she looked into Claire’s eyes and placed a hand on her cheek. “S’okay, Mama?”

Claire paused and gathered her baby tighter to her. “Yes, my love. Things are looking up for us.” She pulled back to meet her eye. “But you are safe no matter what, do you understand?”

Faith nodded, turning around and leaning back as Claire lathered her hair with soap.

“Stay close, but out of the water,” Claire reminded her gently as she started her own ablutions. She needn’t have worried though, as a quick glance over her shoulder assured her that Jamie was standing guard at the tree line.

She grimaced as she felt water hit her back. She turned around in time to see Faith standing by the shallow of the creek, splashing. She shook her head and chuckled, sweeping Faith up and spinning her around, her little girl giggling madly.

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

Claire stripped down to her shift as night finally fell over the camp. Fergus was tucked into a separate tent with Murtagh. The dour old man had scoffed at their accommodations, but Claire caught the grin he tried to hide as Jamie pulled the blanket snug over Fergus’s shoulders.

She checked on Faith one more time, snoozing soundly on her pallet at the other end of the tent. Smoothing out her bedroll, she dropped down next to Jamie, who had left on only his shirt. Even as she curled into him, he continued staring a hole through the wall of their tent.

“Ready to get some rest, soldier?” she asked, smoothing her hand over his freshly shaved cheek.

Jamie caught her hand in his, and placed a kiss on her palm, but said nothing.

Claire sighed. This was no good. “You know I’m feeling different than last time. You don’t suppose it could be twins?” She caressed her belly.

He jerked around to face her, then rolled his eyes when he caught her smug grin. “Och. So ye’re a wee jokester tonight, eh?”

“What is it?” she asked, stroking the hand she had healed for him with delicate fingers.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said softly.

She tilted her head. “Whatever for? Things looked dodgy there for a moment, but we’ve a way out now.”

One side of Jamie’s mouth ticked upward. “Aye, and I’m grateful for that, but once again it seems that being here has put ye in danger.”

Claire shifted to hold his face in her hands. “We’ll be fine,” she whispered. “There’s nothing we can’t do, together.”

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut. “I just canna help thinkin’ it was my fault.”

She hesitated before nodding, slowly, with an air of finality. “You’re right.”

He went still for a moment, her sarcasm taking a second to fully settle on him. 

Claire shifted to drag their bodies fully together, nestling against his neck. His arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“You nearly gave up everything to make sure the children and I were safe.” She bit his earlobe. “When we get a chance to be alone,” she purred, pulling his mouth close to hers by the collar of his shirt. “You’ll find out whether I’m more inclined to punish or reward you for it.”

Jamie smiled at her and gripped her bottom. “I’ll hold ye to that.” He met her with a kiss, rubbing circles into her lower back. “I do love ye, Sassenach.”

“Mmm, you’ve mentioned that a time or two.”

He rolled to his back, folding her into his side with her palm over his heartbeat.

Claire could feel the heady tug of her exhaustion, and she was ready for sleep. But Jamie’s fingers tapping on her hip wouldn’t cease.

“Jamie?” 

“Ach, sorry.” He stilled his hand into a grip instead.

“What’s on your mind??” Claire wondered.

Jamie looked at her in surprise. “Sassenach,we’re surrounded by men that have likely no’ seen a woman in months. I willna give them a chance at ye.”

“We’re 15 paces from Colonel Grey’s tent. I don’t think anyone is bold enough to try anything.”

“Mmmph. That Captain Jacobs. Dinna like the way he was looking at ye.”

Claire sighed, thumping her head against his shoulder. “Even in sleep, you’ll know if he shows up.” She scratched the back of his head, knowing his eyes would droop as she did.

His body relaxed. “Will ye wake me if anything’s amiss?”

“Of course. And I can defend myself, you know.”

“Aye.” He smirked. “But ye shouldna have to.” He pressed a kiss to her temple before letting his eyes drift shut at last.

________________________________________

 Jamie’s family patiently stood to the side as Colonel Grey conferred with the harbormaster -- almost patiently.

Faith wriggled in Jamie’s arms as she rubbed her eyes and adjusted her position against his shoulder again. Fergus paced back and forth under Murtagh’s nose, causing the older man to mutter under his breath.

And Jamie himself twitched in the breeches provided to him by Redcoats. Colonel Grey insisted that tartan was outlawed and didn’t want his prisoner wearing a kilt in front of his colleagues. Jamie complied, albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t just the loss of his kilt that bothered him, nor Claire’s tartan shawl that he’d spread her out over more times than he could count. It was their last day in Scotland for an indeterminable amount of time. He couldn’t say when the next time he’d see Lallybroch or even a patch of heather would be.

But then Claire tightened her grip on his elbow, leaning her head against his shoulder. Regardless of what he was going to lose, he’d managed to keep his wife. His family. Everything else could bide.

Jamie came to attention as Grey turned back toward them. He didn’t like the look on the man’s face.

“Colonel?” 

Grey’s face was drawn. “It seems that demand for passage is quite high. Only official prisoners are allowed transport.” He met Jamie’s eye. “Now, your… Fergus… I can assign parole status, but your daughter…”

Jamie felt himself begin to quake. Claire went white beside him.

“I’d be more than obliged to have some of my men deliver her to your family estate while I accompany you to France…”

“Ye said you would leave Lallybroch alone,” Jamie bit out.

“It would remain safe, Mr. Fraser, it would be a simple business matter— ”

“We go as one, or not at all. I canna…”  His eyes fell to Claire’s silver ring, remembering all it represented. To leave part of his heart in another country for years… The carpet bag in Claire’s hand caught his eye.

The piece was clean, if threadbare, also provided by Grey. Perhaps it was fortunate after all that their belongings had barely covered the bottom.

“I’ve an idea, if ye’d be agreeable, Colonel.”

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

The bones of Jamie’s hand ground into Claire’s as they crossed the dock toward the awaiting ship. His other arm held the carpet bag against his hip.

“Halt,” barked the harbormaster . “We have orders from the Crown to check your cargo. They suspect you lot may try to smuggle contraband to whatever miserable place you’re headed.”

Grey nodded as the dockhands moved to pop his trunk open, but cleared his throat as they reached for the bag Jamie carried. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The harbormaster, a fellow Redcoat, looked at him suspiciously. “And why would you say that?”

Grey leaned toward the man sternly. “I’ve checked their belongings already. I don’t imagine the discipline that would follow second guessing me is worth peering inside Mistress Fraser’s medical kit. You can only imagine the ghastly methods that pass for medical treatment in the Highlands -- dead toads, mummified crickets, and something that strangely resembles a man’s toe…” He shuddered.

“You folks are free to board,” the harbormaster blanched.

Murtagh and Fergus carried little cargo, and nothing the dockhands were willing to risk investigating.

They hastened onto the ship and locked themselves away in their respective cabins, while Grey went to introduce himself to the ship’s captain and explain their unusual situation.

Jamie watched the carpetbag wiggle as Claire undid its fastenings, followed by the appearance of a curly head.

Before Faith could react, Jamie plucked her from it and pulled her to him, embracing her so hard she squawked.

“Wonderful, Lovey.” Claire crushed herself into their embrace.

“Da is sae proud of ye, a nighean,” Jamie whispered into her ruffled curls. “I ken ye dinna understand now, but ye will someday.”

Faith raised her finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

“Yes, you were very brave.” Claire smiled. “But you don’t have to be anymore.”

________________________________________

 Claire smoothed the blanket over Faith’s slumbering form, then stood up from the bottom bunk and closed the door softly behind her. She knocked on Murtagh’s door and asked him to listen for Faith.

She climbed to the deck of the ship, spotting her husband leaning over the railing in the darkness. She wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“You’re not thinking of abandoning ship are you? All this effort would have been quite a waste.”

Jamie turned in her arms and wrapped her in his own. “Nae. ‘Tis just such a beautiful a night.”

“Hmm. Any seasickness yet?” Claire turned in his embrace, her back to his chest.

“Not yet. I think my heid’s working too hard to catch up with all that’s happened.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “And all I have to be grateful for. But what about ye?” He rubbed his hand in a circle over her belly.

“Nothing to report yet.” She shook her head. “But I have a feeling it might return with a vengeance in the morning.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help ye with it,” he murmured into her hair.

“Just be with me,” she sighed.

They looked out over the moon-lit water together, swaying gently.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” Claire whispered. “When we took that first ship ride?”

Jamie exhaled. “No’ at all. I could scarcely imagine putting the parts of me back together to make a whole man. But ye did that.” He turned her to face him, lifting her chin to meet his eye. “Now the Scotland I knew is gone, but me and mine and hale are provided for.” He placed a hand on her bottom. “And my bonnie wife has already given me two and a half bairns to cherish.”

Claire laughed as her lips met his. Not even a week ago, she’d expected to find herself pregnant and alone with a toddler, preparing to face a man she’d let go of first physically, then emotionally.

Instead, they’d fought for each other, and their family. Though they would part one day, it wouldn’t be today. Nor any day soon, if they had anything to say about it.

epilogue to follow

[blahblahblippyblah]

The Magic of Dust: first day

Chapter 3

His dark materials AU.

Read on AO3 too.

Remus

Remus was the first one to wake up the next morning. Ileuda was curled up on his chest and glared at him angrily when he sat up and she tumbled on top of the bedsheets. He opened his bed curtains and surveyed the dorm. t was small and the other three beds had their curtains drawn shut still. Remus could hear the sounds of snoring coming from Peter and James’s beds. Orange sunlight spilled into the room, the sun was just showing up. He stretched and heard both his shoulder pop. He was sore today, which as expected the full moon was now 6 days away. He tiptoed barefoot to the bathroom. He quickly washed up and got ready. Ileuda also washed herself up using the sink to wet her little paws and wipe them on her face.

Tiptoeing back to the dorm he was relieved to see everyone was still fast asleep, so he took the opportunity to quickly get dressed. He changed his shirt as quickly as possible not even wanting to risk someone seeing the scars that covered his chest and back. By the time he was putting on his socks James’ curtains had begun to rustle, and by the time he had his bag on and was tying his trainers James stumbled out blurry eyes without glasses heading to the bathroom.

The common room downstairs was practically empty. Only two upper year students were up sitting by the fire chatting quietly. Remus headed straight down to the Great Hall since his stomach was rumbling.

The Great Hall was also sparsely occupied. Only the gamekeepers, and a large porky professor with bushy moustache were up at the head table. Two Slytherins were sitting far apart at their table, a group of three Hufflepuff girls were sitting giggling, and then one other person at the Gryffindor table. When Remus got closer, he saw it was the red-headed girl from yesterday. She looked sad as she poked her scrambled eggs with her fork. Remus decided to go and see what was up.

He sat down across from her and began filling his plate with bacon and filling his mug with some spicy smelling tea that was out.

“Good morning. Lily was it?” He asked when she looked up.

She stared at him for a second with a straight face and slightly squinted eyes. She was obviously deciding how to respond. Remus had forgotten about the fight James sand Sirius had started in the compartment, and she probably was deciding if he was to blame too.

“I’m Remus” Remus said extending his hand to her. “Sorry I didn’t introduce myself properly yesterday. Kind of nerve wracking coming to Hogwarts.” Remus continued trying to convince Lily he wasn’t being malicious.

She reached out and shook his hand back then went back to poking her eggs solemnly.

“It’s ok. I was nervous to come too” She said. On her shoulder her mourning dove daemon let out a mournful sounding sigh.

Beside him Ileuda laid her head in his lap. Remus pet her softly. Obviously, something was up making this girl sad, he felt bad for her, but he didn’t want to be nosy and intrusive, so he decided to try and change the subject.

“You excited for any particular class?”

Lily looked up and smiled faintly.

“Ya, I’m excited for potions. My friend Severus lent me a potions book on rare ingredients before I got my letter and I got really interested.”

Remus smiled; he honestly wasn’t fond of potions. At home his dad had stopped brewing since the smells affected him so strongly. Even if his office door was closed the fumes still seemed to spill out under the door and make him feel ill.

However, his mother would take him out a in the forest behind their house and he would help her pick stuff to eat for dinner, mustards, herbs and berries. Occasionally his dad would come and point out magical plants. Sometimes they would pick they for healing potions. One time they found a wand tree on their property deep in the forest. His dad had pulled out a handful of rice and placed it at the bottom of the tree. Then they stood back quietly behind and watched as a bunch of bowtruckels came down from the canopy to eat the rice. He was young then and seeing the little twig creatures had been a magical moment.

“So did you use to pick potion ingredients with your family?” Remus asked.

“Oh umm no. My family is muggle. But I went out with my friend quite a bit. He used to brew potions in his bedroom. I don’t think my sister would have liked that very much” The last sentence she said with her nose scrunched up a bit. Her dove daemon ruffled its feathers at the mention of their sister. Then it flew up in the air and turned into a monarch butterfly and landed in Lily’s hair.

“My mom’s a muggle. She doesn’t understand potions. She thinks it’s silly to brew a potion for a sore throat when you can just drink some ginger tea.” Remus said trying to keep Lily in conversation now that it seemed to be cheering her up.

Lily chuckled a little. “It is a little silly isn’t it. So what classes are you looking forward too.”

“Oh history of magic sounds fun. I read the text book twice already. Plus, I found a book on the Goblin rebellion of 1419 that I started reading.”

With that they started talking about how they thought school here would work. She had apparently been to a public muggle school, and she was worried Hogwarts would be different. Remus himself had never been to school before. His mom and dad taught him from home. They moved a lot because of his condition, and his dad was worried about people realising that he disappeared every month around the full moon, only to come back injured. So, He was really excited to start school like a regular person.

They continued talking about wizard history till the hall started to get busy. Lily had also read Hogwarts: A History and they started to compared notes when James and Sirius came into the hall. James was tying his new Gryffindor tie as he came in trying to straighten his clothes, which he obviously put on with little effort. Sirius however had just thrown on whatever was probably lying on the top of his trunk and didn’t seem to care. His tie hung untied around his neck, his shirt was opened at the top, and his robe was thrown over his shoulder, everything very wrinkly. This only thing that was done properly was his neatly brushed hair pulled back with a striking red and gold ribbon. This was in contrast to James whose hair looked even more of a rat’s nest than yesterday. They sat down with Lily and him and Lily immediately dropped her niceties and turned to Sirius who sat down beside her.

“I don’t remember asking you two to join us”

James paused but Sirius stayed calm and ignored her.

“Good because I don’t remember asking.” He simply said filling his plate with eggs and toast.

Lily glared daggers at Sirius. Remus thought she was about to hit the guy so he decided to step in.

“Lily this is Sirius and James. You may be confused since they forgot to introduce themselves like regular human beings.” Remus said to Lily while stepping discretely on James’s toes.

James got the message and sat up straight and turned to Lily.

“I’m James.” Remus pressed harder on James toes. He winced and continued “Sorry for that um…kerfuffle yesterday”

Lily didn’t respond. She just glared angrily at him. Sirius who was sitting beside her snorted at the word ‘kerfuffle’ and then coughed a bit since he chocked on his mouth full of eggs. Some went flying from his mouth onto his plate. She shot him a disgusted look and James started laughing out loud at Sirius which caused milk to splatter out of his mouth, which caused Sirius to laugh and a disgusting feedback loop of chewed food.

“You are both disgusting” She said out loud and shuffled further away from them.

Thankfully the post decided to arrive just then, stopping further bickering. The hall filled with owls carrying letters and packages to students. Remus looked up and saw a giant eagle owl land on James’s shoulder. The owl was huge, and very regal in the way it looked. It promptly held out its leg to let James untie the large package attached to it.

“Forgot some stuff. Oh, look mom sent cookies” James said reaching in the box.

Remus was so caught up admiring James’s eagle he didn’t notice his family owl until it nipped at his hand.

“Sorry Toffee” He said taking the letter from the little burrowing owl. He ruffled her feathers and gave one cautious look at James shoulder where his owl was now swallowing a whole boiled egg before taking off again.

Remus opened his letter.

Son,

I hope all went well on your way to Hogwarts. Your mother and I are already missing you terribly, as well as worrying about you. Last night we had Cottage pie only because it was your favourite meal, and your mother felt bad about not making you some before you left. She’s worried they might not feed you well enough so she’s planning on baking a bunch of things to send. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the Hogwarts house elves are probably the best cooks in Britain. I’ll have to wait to send the sweets until I go to Diagon alley, since muggle post won’t reach you and I will need to borrow a heftier owl. I would have sent some, but poor Toffee wouldn’t have been able to make the journey.

The school has an owlery which you should be able to send letters through instead of having Toffee fly across the country. I’m sure your first day will be busy, but if you could take the time to write home today and let us know how you are doing it would make both me and your mother feel better.

Study hard and keep your head down,

Dad

Remus smiled at the letter. He missed his parents too and appreciated the letter. He made a note to visits the owlery before the end of the day to tell his parents where he was sorted.

“Do you know how to use the muggle post?” James asked. Remus turned to see him looking over his shoulder. He quickly folded the letter and put it away.

“Ya, I use to send my grandmother letters all the time until she died. A little slower than owl post though.”

“That’s so cool. So how do stamps work then?” James asked with wide eyes and apparent interest. It was now Lily’s turn to snort in laughter. James shrank a bit at the laughing. Sirius chose then to but in and save James from further embarrassment.

“Given me a cookie Potter” Sirius said getting up and leaning across the table to reach for the box James was going through and putting in his bag.

“No! You Freeloader!”

Remus moved over a little just like Lily to avoid the fighting that ensued, where Sirius grabbed the box and James tried to wrestle it back.

“I feel sorry that you have to live with them” Lily said to him.

Remus smiled and was about to say that they weren’t that bad when a stray owl flew over them and dropped a red scarlet envelope in between James and Sirius. They both stopped moving immediately looking at it frightened. Everyone around them also stopped and stared at the letter too.

Neither James or Sirius reached out to pick it up both acting like any quick. Movements might make it explode. Remus leaned over to see in emerald green ink the name on the front in large cursive letter.

Sirius Arcturus Black III

“You better run mate” A redhead beside James said. His twin brother across the table nodded.

“What is it?” Lily asked. Remus too was wondering the same thing.

Then the letter started steaming violently.

“Too late” James said backing away from the letter. Sirius too sat down leaned away. The letter exploded with a thunderous bang scorching the table. Then a voice boomed around the hall making all the other students who hadn’t notice the letter stop and turn to see the commotion.

“SIRIUS BLACK! HOW DARE YOU BRING HUMILIATION UPON THE NOBEL HOUSE FOR WHICH YOU REPRESENT. CONSORTING WITH MUDBLOODS AND TRAITORS! YOU HAVE BROUGHT BOTH ME AND YOUR FATHER TO SHAME, YOUR ANCESTORS SHALL ROLL IN THEIR GRAVES!” Sirius kept a blank face but continued to stare down at the black burnt mark on the table where the letter was emanating sound. His eyes lost all the sparkle they had just moments ago, instead becoming grey haze. The voice was shrill with a thick French accent similar to Sirius’s, but this was posher. It out like thundering and making his ears ring with pain.

"YOU WLL FIX THIS EMBARESSMENT IMMDEIDALTY OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES!”

And with that final note the hall fell silent. Sirius stayed still and everyone kept watching him.

“All right you lot mind your beeswax” One of the redhead twins said out loud scolding everyone watching. Slowly people went back to their breakfasts.

“Alright mate” James asked quietly.

Sirius shook his head as if coming out of a trance.

“Ya. Of course.” He said sounding as if nothing had happened. “Lovely women my mother, real charmer” Sirius joked. James made a little snort of laughter which was what Sirius must have been going for because he began reaching for the cookies again.

Remus felt a little off. He had only heard about how some pureblood families were prejudice, but he thought Sirius might not have been from one of those families. He was so nice, maybe he didn’t know he was a half blood. But then again Sirius didn’t sound like he agreed with his family the way he just joked about his mom. Remus thought he would just wait and see how the day went with Sirius now knowing he was probably a half blood with James asking about the muggle post.

McGonagall was now going around handing out schedules down the Gryffindor table. Remus looked around.

“Where Peter?”

“Damn. I know we forgot something” James said standing up with Sirius and heading out of the hall.

Peter

The first day of classes had gone slowly. The first class they had was charms. Professor Flitwick was a short man with a high pitch voice and a goldfinch for a daemon talked for a bit then set them up to practice levitation feathers. This meant that they could talk with each other for most of the class.

This seemed to both be a blessing and a curse. The blessing was that everyone was so occupied with their own little groups they didn’t notice that Peter wasn’t able to even make his feather twitch. The downside was that everyone was talking about one thing. The howler Sirius Black had gotten. The story James and Sirius had told him when they woke him up hadn’t been complete, but from the rumours he was overhearing he didn’t blame Sirius for not wanting to talk about it.

Sirius however seemed bothered about the howler, he only seemed worried about one particular thing.

“They all think I’m some sort of loony blood purists now” Sirius said glaring at two Ravenclaw girls who were whispering behind them while looking over at Sirius. When James looked back at them and narrowed his eyes, they stopped whispering

“Forget them.” James said turning back to his feather and making it soar up effortlessly. James and Sirius both got the spell on the first try. Remus had taken a few tries but had eventually got it.

Peter turned back to his feather and tired again. Nothing.

“Here” Remus said reaching out and getting his attention. “Try a more flicking wrist thing. Like this”

Remus demonstrated. He tried again using Remus’s movement. The feather in front of him twitched up but didn’t get very far.

“More flick, less swish”

Peter tried again and felt the magic move out from his arm to his wand. The feather raised a little bit up to eye level and slowly fell back down.

“Amazing work Mr. Pettigrew” Professor Flitwick said coming over to check on everyone.

The rest of the day was uneventful. In Herbology they just went over safety rules. Most of which James and Sirius did not pay attention for. They spent most of the class secretly levitating potting soil into some blonde Hufflepuffs school bag. When the boy went to reach for his notebook to write down the readings for next class, the boy was pissed but couldn’t find the culprit. It took everything for them not to burst out laughing when he went to open his quill case to find that also filled with soil.

“Beautiful touch with the quill case Black” James aid as they headed to lunch.

After lunch was a double period of History of Magic. After the initial shock of Professor Binns who to their surprise was a ghost coming out of the chalk board the lesson got boring. Binns droned on reading from his notes about some sort of Goblin legislator formed on the 1600’s and most of the class fell off to sleep within the first hour. Eventually James was full on sleeping. Sirius was playing tic tac toe lazily with him on a spare bit of parchment. The girls sitting in front of them were braiding their hair and drawing doodles on their notes. The only person who seemed to be listening was Remus, who was diligently listening and taking notes.

By the time diner time arrived Peter was exhausted. Thankfully the amazing smell of the food in the hall woke him right up. Aspecta even ended her long nap and crawled out of his pocket landing on the floor as a racoon before getting up beside him at the table.

The girls also came to join them for dinner.

There was Marlene McKinnon and her Squirrel daemon Avita, Mary McDonald and her ginger cat daemon Wholright, Dorcas Meadowes and her snail daemon Reunter, and Lily Evans, who Peter remembered from the train. Lily didn’t seem happy to sit with them but followed her friends anyway. She however sat beside Remus as far from James and Sirius as she could, and only talked to him for the duration of the meal.

It wasn’t until desert something interesting happened. The greasy guy named Severus came over to their table and tapped Lily on the shoulder. He had a straight face on but Peter could feel the contempt coming off of him being this close to James and Sirius, who he kept shooting angry glances at. Thankfully they were both too engrossed in their conversation to even notice him.

“Hey Sev. What’s up? Sit down with us”

Severus looked at the group with disgust then shook his head.

“No thank you. I was actually wondering if you wanted to come to the owlery with me”

“Sure. Sounds fun I can send a letter to Tuney” She said standing up. Her butterfly flew around her head happily. “Remus don’t you have a letter to send as well”

Remus looked up too. “Oh yes. I’ll come with you.” Remus said standing up.

Severus gave him a look that said very clearly that Severus didn’t want Remus to come, but Lily smiled at Remus and him so Severus made a forced smile that disappeared as soon as Lily and Remus turned to head out.

“Ugh. He’s so creepy. No wonder he’s in Slytherin” James said beside him looking at where Remus, Lily and Severus had exited.

“Speaking of creepy Slytherins” Sirius said pointing over James’s shoulder to a blonde witch in Slytherin robes walking towards the Gryffindor table. She was slender and blonde, with perfect posture. She seemed to look down on everyone she walked by even though she couldn’t have been past 4th year herself. Her daemon was a pale white snake with red eyes that had wrapped itself tight around her neck like a scaly choker necklace.

“Who’s that” Peter asked.

“My bossy cousin”

She stopped in front of Sirius and cleared her throat. Sirius however rolled his eyes and went back to his pudding.

“What do you want Sissy?”

Sissy, the girl looked down at Sirius with a sympathetic look.

“Aunt Walburga has asked I talk to you in private. The girl said. She had the same French accent Sirius had, but it sounded softer and more polished like Sirius’s mom.

“Whatever the old bag has to say she can say it herself. She obviously has no problem telling the world”

“Sirius please. Don’t be a child”

“Whatever you have to say you can say it here”

“Sirius you know I can’t, now come along.” She turned gracefully her carefully braided hair whipping around her back as she walked away.

Sirius sighed dramatically then stood up.

“Duty calls apparently” He said sarcastically. “If I go missing, I leave noting to no one”, and with that he stalked off after the girl.

Sirius

Sirius was apathetic about whatever it was Sissy wanted, although he had a good idea what this was about. However, if his mom had contacted her it probably wasn’t good news. They wanted someone and Sissy loved being the bearer of bad news. She was always the goody two shoes, always tattling on him. She was even worse than Regulus.

When they got into the entryway Sissy led him towards the dungeons where it was quiet and no students were walking nearby. She put her hand on his arm and made Sirius walk alongside her. Maybe it would be a nice gesture if it wasn’t for what followed.

“Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion have asked me to pass on the families remedy to your…. Indiscretion.”

“Ya? and what’s that?” Sirius asked trying to keep the hostility out of his tone.

“That you will remain in Gryffindor only if you can agree not to consort with half bloods and mud bloods. Gryffindor is full of them, and you will not allow them to taint your reputation.”

“My reputation?”

“Yes, your reputation, because whether you like it or not you are the heir to the house of Black, and therefore what you do will reflect on the whole family”

“I don’t care about this stupid blood nonsense” Sirius said pulling away from Sissy feeling annoyed.

“It is not nonsense Sirius, It is very much the opposite. The Blacks are the most powerful of the sacred 28. What we do sets the course for the future of our families. We can’t let lesser wizards work their way into our ranks and taken it down, like a disease slowly killing the tree from the inside out.”

“What a load of ….”

“Sirius. This is not a joke, and this wasn’t a request. Uncle Orion was clear. You are not to consort with anyone who isn’t a pureblood. If other families saw the Black heir consorting with filth, they’ll think our family is weak. Andromeda and I are to make sure you listen, it’s not just your head on the chopping block Sirius.”

“Fine. Is that all” Sirius said now inpatient.

“Yes” Sissy said with a forced calm voice.

“Good” and with that Sirius stormed off.

James

“Mate, where were you?” James asked when he came into the dorm. Sirius was laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Fid was currently back to snake form, he wound around the bed post slithering up.

“I came right back up. Didn’t feel like finishing desert”

“Huh. Want to talk about it?” James said sitting down beside him on the bed. Bahadurr morphed into a kestrel and flew up onto the top of the bed and looked down at Fid head moving side to side regarding him.

“Just family stuff”

“Something tells me family stuff isn’t normal family stuff.”

Sirius just grunted in agreement. James laid back on the bed with him.

It was quiet for a bit. They both just listened to the sounds of the win blowing around the tower and the sound of people chattering down in the common room and in the stairwell.

“Sissy told me I wasn’t allowed to hang around muggle born and half blood. Said it would make the Blacks look weak or something.” Sirius said it low as if someone might overhear them even though they were alone in the room.

James just grunted out loud. He wasn’t surprised. He knew how most pureblood families thought. That was exactly the reason why his mother and father kept clear of them.

“It’s so stupid” Was all Sirius said after a long pause. James could tell Sirius was deep in thought. James waited a bit before speaking up.

“My dad says that wizards would be extinct if we didn’t marry muggles.”

James jumped up as Sirius started cackling like a mad man. James didn’t know what to do so he waited for Sirius to stop laughing and sat up beside him on the bed.

“I think your dad is right. Maybe my families too inbred to think properly. Either that or their heads are so far up their arses they can’t see past their gloomy manors and stuffy social groups”

“You know what I think.” James said and Sirius turned to him attentive to hear what James had to say. “I think bugger the lot of them. You’re a Gryffindor now.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Hope is the Thing with Feathers: 4/5

This fic was created with the help of @hollyethecurious and seems to keep growing . . . must be because it started as a birthday fic for @kmomof4 You know we love you though, Krystal! Story banner by @hollyethecurious

Summary: Emma and her son Henry move to the quirky town of Hopeful, Maine for a fresh start. Emma isn’t expecting her son to become obsessed with a haunted castle or for her to get involved with the handsome, mysterious man who lives in the cabin behind it. Emma soon finds that both the castle and the man have secrets that she never could have imagined.

Rating: M for steamy/not smutty times

Trigger Warning; Positive portrayal of past Millian/Milah

Words in this chapter: 1,600

Also on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @thislassishooked @kday426 @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @shireness-says @let-it-raines

  Chapter Four: Abash the Little Bird

Emma couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning as she remembered Killian’s hurt expression as she’d left him standing by the cliffside. She’d told him twice that she trusted him, yet when it really counted, she had jumped immediately to thinking the worst of him. Just before dawn, Emma threw the covers back, frustrated with her inability to settle down. She threw on a pair of sweats, then slipped out of her and Henry’s room at the inn. With all the work on Gold Manor, she still hadn’t gotten around to finding a realtor to look at listings.

She walked through the quiet town, amazed to find that even on Main Street, you could hear the sea. She wasn’t the least bit frightened at being out before the sun, time in her youth of living on the streets having hardened her. She did, however, remain on the alert. Some habits never left you.

Emma didn’t have a plan when she left the inn, but suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted to go. She turned around and headed back to her bug parked behind the inn. She winced when the engine revved to life; hopefully she hadn’t awakened anyone, especially Henry. She headed down Main Street, passing the dark post office as she made her way towards the town line. She passed Hangman’s Way, then the front of the Gold Estate. She glanced that way, wondering if Killian was having as restless a night as she was.

Finally, she turned off the road and into the tiny parking area beside the Hopeful Primitive Baptist Church. According to David and Mary Margaret, it too had been abandoned for years. Most people now worshipped at the large Catholic Church downtown where a cloister of nuns served the community.

It wasn’t the church, however, that she was here for. She exited her bug and made her way towards the tiny plot of graves behind the church. The wrought iron fence was falling down, and the weeds grew so high that you could hardly make out the headstones. Emma tapped the flashlight app on her phone and shone the beam over the tombs. She had probably lost her mind deciding to come out here in the dark.

The grave she sought was near the tree line. The tombstone had sunken into the ground over the years and tilted sideways. The letters carved into the stone had been worn away almost completely over several centuries. All Emma could make out was: M i h G d 166 - 693. But she knew what it said: Milah Gold, then beneath it 1661-1693.

“Hi,” Emma said, setting her phone down on the ground at her feet so its beam would illuminate the tombstone. Emma shuffled her feet, suddenly feeling very silly. “Yeah, so I’m out here like a crazy person talking to the dead ex of the guy I’m sleeping with. Oh God, that was an awful way to break it to you . . . “

NIce, Emma like she’s gonna answer you back.

“But Killian, he uh, he’s doing well,” she tucked her arms across her chest. What was she even doing here.? “I guess I just wanted to say that you had it great, you know? A guy who could have sailed off and never looked back . . . instead, he kept finding reasons to see you again, kept looking up at that cliff, hoping you’d be there waiting. How could I have doubted him, a guy like that? I mean, did you wonder? While you were there on that cliff? Were you afraid you would never see him again? That you risked your heart for nothing?”

Emma paused again, kicking at a pebble at her feet. “I couldn’t sleep because I felt so awful about how I left him yesterday. We had just made love -” Emma suddenly stopped and cringed. “You probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“She’d probably say it’s about damn time, Killian, I’ve been dead for three hundred years.”

Emma spun towards his voice, jumping a foot in the air. “Killian, what the hell? You don’t sneak up on people in a graveyard!”

He chuckled, but stayed where he was, shadowed in the trees. “Most people aren’t in a graveyard at four in the morning, Swan.”

She rolled her eyes, even though she wasn’t sure he could see her. “And you don’t expect me to believe you’ve been celibate for three hundred years, do you?”

“Well no, but,“ he started out with humor tinging his voice, but then it lowered an octave, “I wasn’t referring to just sex.”

Emma was glad for the darkness as a blush heated her face.

“I would come and wrap my arms around you, but I’m afraid this is as far as the curse will allow me to come,” he explained as the silence stretched between them.

It was all Emma needed to hear. She sprinted towards him, tripping over the root of a tree, and reaching him just in time for him to catch her as she pitched forward. Even as they awkwardly regained their balance, Emma threw her arms around his neck and dove in for a kiss. But it was so dark, she missed his lips. She didn’t let it stop her, peppering his face with more kisses as he laughed. Finally, their lips connected, and he pulled her closer, his fingers entangling in her messy ponytail.

“I’m sorry about how I took off,” she told him when he pulled away.

“You’re forgiven,” he assured her, “and I hope you know I don’t see you as a mere means to an end.”

She cupped his face in her hands, and at that moment the first hint of dawn illuminated his eyes. “I know that. Somehow, I’ve always trusted you. It’s just . . . running is my habit. Even when I was a kid, it’s just what I did. Henry’s dad actually told me once that home is a place where when you leave, you just miss it. So I guess I kept running, hoping to feel that, but I never did. Even now, as an adult, I keep running, but now from people. Except Henry.”

“Home isn’t a place, love,” Killian said gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Exactly,” Emma agreed, “Henry has always been my home, but tonight as I tossed and turned, I realized something. It sounds crazy, but . . . I just missed you. I wanted to turn the clock back and change how I left, but not just because my words hurt you.” She shrugged. “I just want to be with you.”

His smile widened. “And I want to be with you.”

He bent and kissed her again, and she smiled against his lips. ”Is it weird that I was talking to her? To Milah?”

“No,” he said, “brushing his nose with hers. The funniest part is, I was coming to talk to her, too. About you.”

“You think she likes me? Or is she gonna start haunting me now?”

“I think,” he said, thumbing her chin, “that the two of you understand one another.”

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

“So, what do I do to break this curse?”

Belle looked up from the computer at the library’s front desk, her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. Emma shuffled and bit her lip. So she didn’t do subtle, okay? She handed Belle the other to-go cup she was holding.

“Earl grey tea with milk? They said that’s your regular order.”

Belle smiled as she took it. “If this is bribery, I accept.” She took a sip. “I was running late this morning and had to skip stopping by the Leaf & Bean.”

Emma grinned back as she reached for the pastry box under her arm. “I also brought bear claws.”

Belle cocked her head as she rose from behind the counter and came around to the front. “Okay then, now that we have sustenance, let me show you what I found.”

Emma followed her through the stacks to the table in the back corner of the room. Old books with cracked leather covers were stacked there along with piles of yellowed documents, some inside plastic sleeves. Belle set her tea down carefully on a small wheeled cart at her elbow, and Emma followed suit. It didn’t take a genius to know the items were of great historical value. It wouldn’t endear Emma to her new town if she ruined these documents with spilled coffee and vanilla glaze.

“I finally made the connection in this book of ancient legends,” Belle explained as she thumbed through a thick volume. She opened to a wrinkled, brown-stained page.

Emma’s brow furrowed; the writing indecipherable in her eyes. “You’re going to have to translate all this Belle, I’m lost.”

“It’s in an extinct Celtic language,” Belle laughed, “and I had to get a friend from university to translate it for me. Anyway, it’s legends about birds.”

Emma leaned closer. “Killian said you thought my name being Swan was important. He also said cardinals represent freedom?”

“That’s right,” Belle said animatedly, “but Killian didn’t fully understand what kind of freedom. Legend says that every red cardinal is the soul of a person who has died.”

Emma snapped her finger as she remembered something. “I had an elderly foster mother once who said her husband was visiting her every time she saw a cardinal. I just thought she was crazy.”

Belle nodded. “That’s right. I mean, well, I don’t know if it was really that woman’s husband, but that’s what the legend is. The thing is, Killian wasn’t dead when he cast that spell -”

“- so his soul is trapped,” Emma finished, finally realizing where all this was going. She shook her head. “But where does the swan come in?”

“While cardinals represent freedom of the soul, swans represent souls tied together.”

“You mean soul mates?”

“Exactly.” Belle searched through her books again and pulled out a slimmer volume. She opened to yet another page that looked like an alien language to Emma.

“Some extinct Celtic stuff again?” Emma quipped.

“No, Latin,” Belle said, barely pausing for breath, “anyways, I tried re-casting Killian’s original spell, substituting a swan feather for a cardinal feather, but it didn’t work. Then after meeting you, I remembered reading this: Swan in woman’s form, injustice to right, the enslaved to free.”

Belle’s eyes were bright as she locked them with Emma’s.

“What? Like a savior?” Emma stammered, her cheeks heating.

“In a way,” Belle said softly. “He needs to be free of this curse, Emma. I think all you have to do is recite the incantation on the anniversary of when Killian first cast it – Halloween at midnight.”

Emma swallowed hard, her tongue wetting her suddenly dry lips. “And what if you’re wrong? What if it doesn’t work?”

Belle closed the book and hugged it to her chest. The smile fell from her lips. “What does he have to lose?”

Emma’s eyes darted away from the brunette’s earnest expression. “What will happen when he’s free?”

Belle’s answer made Emma’s blood run cold.

“I imagine he will be free to join her. After three hundred years, he will finally pass on and be with Milah again.”

[josiebelladonna]

Don’t be aroused by my confession, but I think it’s time to announce it, and I have to write it out in full in order to give it context.

Yesterday, I delved through my earliest memories as a child, going all the way back to my first obsession which was Cartoon Cartoon Fridays, and I guess you could say I’ve always been a fanfic writer, even though it was always mental or I verbalized some lines or whatever, but it was fanfic and it allowed me to explore my mind. I couldn’t leave the trailer park, but I could insert myself into Townsville, Dexter’s Lab, Peach Creek, the Middle of Nowhere, Springfield, or (in several instances) Hogwarts, or I could hang out with the Animorphs and the kids from Goosebumps; as I got older, I couldn’t leave my grandparents’ house but I could go to Narnia, Middle Earth, New Orleans, New York City, McNamara/Troy, Arlen, or Quahog (then I discovered rock n’ roll in 2005 and 2006 and all bets were off after that heh). Starting from the first day I realized I couldn’t leave the trailer park or that side of Carson City but I could imagine it.

I do have some external exposure: when I was in elementary school, my mother was a member of the NASCAR forums and she and two or three other woman collaborated on a few fics together; my aunt Christine (my middle namesake) has written some fics, and so has my grandma.

That said, I didn’t exactly “write” my first fanfic until I was 20 when I tried my hand at a grunge fanfic--I can’t for the life of me recall the premise (or the title), but I do remember it involved me, a couple of other girls, the Soundgarden guys, and the Pearl Jam guys in a coffee shop. Written in rotating protagonist fashion, it was nothing fancy and had a limited audience.

Granted, I had my Soundgarden and grunge fan art to tend to around this time, but in 2015 (or whenever I experienced my breakdown and then thought of my heroine of Rowena Patterson), the fic well experienced a drought. I believed there was no way I could belly up to a fandom and put my thoughts into words. I also had (still have) this nagging belief that everyone was a better writer than me. They said it better. They wrote it better. They had better ideas. They had the better characterization. It was all so much better than anything I could ever write down.

I discovered AO3 around this time--I don’t recall exactly how I found it, but I was rather intimidated by it at first, especially when those feelings of inferiority only worsened at the sight of all those beautiful, popular fics from these hundred thousand-odd authors.

Then, after we-don’t-ever-under-any-circumstances-speak-of-that-year-2017 and I give Rowena her adventure with Aunt Anesthesia, I dove head first into erotica with Rain, followed by my sci fi adventure in Blue Monday, and then lastly, my spooky nightmarish love letter to Metallica and J.K. Rowling, Night Owls. After shooting blanks with all of them, I was in a tight spot. I thought there was no way out, mainly because I had very little encouragement so to speak (it was all the same drivel that I’m adamant against, the “talented” and “awesome” comments, and the “do it for yourself” said in an almost condescending tone). It’s tiresome to be around that with my artwork enough as is: I had this belief that I really was a shit writer and I wasn’t cut out to be the next J.K. Rowling or Suzanne Collins. 25 looking at 26 years old and the only things I have to show are three under-the-table jobs, work in science labs and machine shops, my two year in general arts, a half-dead art shop, and hanging out with the guys from Soundgarden the last three years of Chris’ life? Yeah, that’ll sure fly with the heavy hitters... At the same time, I had this feeling that there had to be something more to this whole writing thing and those four aforementioned works mustn’t be in vain.

I had also been reading a lot of fanfics in between the time Blue Monday was marked finished on Wattpad and the time I wrote down the first words for Night Owls. A lot of grunge fanfics, most of which dated back to 2014... started to look kind of identical: Good girl goes to Seattle and meets hot band guy through dumb circumstances and light romantic things ensue including flirting, fighting, and having sex, or it was overly angsty slash. Moreover, it often involved the same guys. So when I started writing Night Owls, I began to think musical RPFs were defunct because the most recent one I found was over 2 years old and felt like a Xerox of the PJ fic There’s a Light (apparently people think they’re creepy? I don’t think they are, but that’s my take). On a side note, this is what bummed me out about the Eddie fic Cradle Broken Glass: it looked like a deviation from the crowd and then just... floundered. The author fell way behind schedule, too, like her updates are real sporadic now and it’s been sitting on a shelf unfinished since January.

And so the idea came to me like a flash of lightning, a rush of adrenaline, a voice in my head that said “write this! write this! you’ve got to write this! you’re going to go far with this! trust me!” I was watching SNL, too, so after Halsey’s monologue, I ran upstairs for my laptop real quick and just started writing from the seat of my pants. Originally titled “Run It, Mellow” as a play on the Danish “rummet mellem”, which means “the space between” referring to the space between Lars and Mia, or the empty space inside of Lars’ stomach, I changed it to “Have Your Cake and Eat It” after the idiom “you can’t have your cake and eat it, too”, referring to how you can’t have best of both worlds.

I put the first few chapters on Tumblr almost two months in the wake of the NSFW ban, which was (and still is) a huge risk because, in spite of the incompetence of the staff, you never know: they could realize their shoddy job of implementation, and totally go Fanfiction.net on everyone and stop sitting on their hands to enforce it. Thus, not even two days after I started the blog haveyourcakemetfic as a side to this account, I returned to AO3 after reading how it’s become a complete mecca for fanfics now because they allow anything and everything, thus I hit “sign up” and asked for an invite; five days later, I got the email and got right to it.

It’s definitely the oddball of the Metallica fandom, especially on AO3 where all 40 fics are slash, Lars is in the sub position, and they’re not remotely as long, nor do they cross over into the world of grunge. It took a while for it to be seen and read, and it wasn’t until I made use of AO3′s tagging system better when the numbers started doubling. Where I was lucky to get all of one person on Wattpad, I’m now garnering readers by the dozens. Every time I post a chapter now, the hit counter mushrooms and I get kudos (a couple of bookmarks, too!). I’m not even close to being done and I foresee the numbers soaring. Honestly? I feel like it’s going to come to a point where they’re going to start consuming chapters faster than I can write them.

My point is this was the motivation I needed. This is my incentive because I can’t just rely on myself, I need the help of a crowd even if it begins with all of ten people. This fic is now going to be the longest thing I have ever written because of AO3 and my own wandering mind; but the fact is I set a goal of 400-500,000 words just to say “well, I wrote four books. I should do something long just to say I wrote a million words in two years as a last hurrah to the writing world and then I’m just going to get a real job like what everyone wants me to do.”

I’m an artist with a background in mechanical engineering and the life sciences.  I’ve had a hard life and my childhood was marred with darkness: I grew up in poverty, I moved around a lot, and I was bullied on an absurd level, and dealt with the throes of mental illness all around. And yet my current obsession with Lars and his cute Danish self, and Metallica, and my buried dark side is giving me the foothold I needed to prove to myself that I am also a writer among other things.

I’m nirvhannah, I’ve been writing the infamous Lars/grunge fic Have Your Cake and Eat It since February 9. I chose Alison Chains as my pen name as a play on Alice in Chains and as an homage to the Elvis Costello song Alison, which was almost my namesake until my parents decided on Hannah. I’ve been treating it as a separate identity because I wish to befriend myself along the way. But it’s all me. It’s all my writing. My fingerprints are all over that bad boy. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written: as of this evening, standing at nearly 159,000 words while not even close to being finished (I broke my own personal record of 146,000 words set by Night Owls on the 13th, meaning it’s the longest thing I’ve written while still 25 years old). It’s also the lewdest thing I’ve written: since I was at my wit’s end upon writing, I thought “sometimes you just gotta say ‘fuck it’ and go nuts” and so far, this fic is making my first erotic novel Rain look like kindergarten. I love the fact AO3 allows pretty much anything, in particular erotica, because, even though it’s available right here on Tumblr, I guarantee if I posted this anywhere else, the moral watchdogs would shit their pants if they saw it because it is unspeakably NSFW. But I’m having the time of my life writing it, though: I love sitting down and writing about Lars and Mia. And my four legit fic books have helped me zero in on my writing skills so I can clock in 2000-3000 words a day (sometimes I go to 4000; yesterday I put out almost 6000). The best part? Believe me, this is the best part: whenever I write about her giving him food or touching his tummy, I get... kind of aroused, like I’m actually making myself randy by writing a scene like that.

If you wish to read it, here. And you can find some bonus info about the fic, like my motives and background (and my alter ego), here.

And thank you.❤️❤️

[nezzfiction]

ENMY Chapter 79 - Cloak and Dagger (Part Two)

Chapter Synopsis: As Yang and Emerald discover the truth behind Remnant, the shadow of Salem’s Grimm army looms close to Vacuo. The Kingdom that has remained passive, now enters the stage of the Second Great War.

Series Synopsis: Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy(ENMY).

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

.

Cloak and Dagger (Part Two)

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“Why?”

That’s what they asked me.

It’s what I asked, too.

But when I posed myself that question, I got an answer I didn’t expect.

It’s amazing how easily it came.

I could only think:

“How could it have been anyone else?”

My only regret is that we didn’t realize our feelings sooner.

.

.

Yang closed Summer’s diary with a breathless sigh.

She just finished reading the recount of how her two mothers came to be. They were teammates, best friends… then after a time, enemies.

After Raven changed sides, there was no end to the reasons why Summer should have severed ties with her.

Even so…

“How could it have been anyone else?”

Yang echoed the words Summer spoke so long ago.

It touched on something, a crack in her heart that had been widening for months. Her mother’s words set something free. Her mind was made. Her doubts dispelled and her fate was decided. Yang wanted to return to Vacuo as soon as possible.

“We have to get back to Vacuo as soon as possible!” Emerald yelled, as she and Professor Oobleck ran into the private reading room.

“What’s up?” Yang asked.

“Mercury just sent me an encrypted text. Salem’s made her move on Vacuo.”

“Crap!”

The three made their way to the upper floors of the Tower. They ran past several piles of books, knocking them over without a second thought. It was imperative they find Papyrus.

“How bad is it?” Yang asked.

“Don’t know. Merc didn’t exactly send me pics. But apparently, it’s a gigantic army of Grimm.”

“Like, Battle of Dracul?”

“Probably bigger, MUCH bigger.”

“And Vacuo still has their Cuckoo problem.”

“Yup! Which is why, we need to haul our ass back, like, yesterday!”

“But that’ll take days!!!”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

They stopped at the top floor and spotted the record keeper furiously writing at a study table. Oobleck picked up the latest page freshly written and read it aloud.

“’Ferocious beasts bore hungry maws at what they thought was dinner! But lo’! They were caught unawares by what they thought was easy prey, was in fact an esteemed Huntsman!’”

“Is that… Professor Port?” Yang pointed curiously at the document.

“Yes, it appears Papyrus is recording the current events via Peter’s diary entries!”

“Oh! I get it! So, you guys arranged this beforehand so you could keep tabs on current events!”

“No, not at all. Peter just likes to write in his diary constantly.”

“In the middle of battle?!”

“Yes. He’s very good at keeping accounts of his exploits. I often wish I had his ability to put pen to paper, irregardless of the harrowing situation!”

“Uh…huh.”

The three started pouring over the notes Papyrus previously wrote. In it, they found bits and details between Professor Port’s grandeur embellishments, that painted a picture of the situation.

After Temujin threw the first “gauntlet”, the forces of Grimm and Vacuo clashed. Although the Kingdom’s military had never faced such a sizable host of monsters, the battle seemed to be go in their favor. Vacuo’s warriors were well-versed in dealing with the varied species of Grimm. They also demonstrated an organization that rivaled the most disciplined armies.

“Hm…” Emerald glared at the most recently recorded books. “The librarian doesn’t just record Vacuo’s side either. Take a peek,” she shoved a blank covered tome in Yang’s hands. “Inna and Bean are here, too.”

Yang skimmed through the information like a starved bibliophile.

“Bean’s commanding the armies… He wants to hunt me down… Adam’s here too… Someone named Jupiter Black? Isn’t that—”

“Mercury’s cousin and president of the douchebag assassin society.”

“This is… This is Blake’s diary.”

“Yup!” Emerald shouted, while picking up another book. “With any luck, we can figure out what the other side is planning. Meanwhile, the Professor can keep a pulse on how the battle is going.”

“But we need to get back there now!”

“One problem at a time, Yang! You said it yourself, it’ll take days to get back! We need to play the smart game here. If we find something crucial, our messages might do more help than us actually being there.”

Yang heard the reason in Emerald’s argument and agreed. But somewhere deep down, all she could worry about was Neo. She knew her partner could handle herself, but it wasn’t enough to abate her fears. The fact that they were separated by such a distance, in such a dangerous time, drove her mind to conjure things she never wanted to see.

Yang watched Emerald shuffle through another mound of papers in frustration. Her leader wasn’t as composed as her words let on. No doubt, Emerald was just as concerned about Mercury.

“As soon as we find what Salem’s planning, we’re out of here!” Emerald shouted without looking at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, alright!”

Yang dove back into the haystack of information with gusto.

Just be alright, Neo.

Please, be alright.

.

X  X X  X  X

.

Neo threw her parasol into a row of Grimm, corkscrewing them all through the chest cavity. With a wave of her hand, her weapon swooped into a u-turn and flew safely back to her hands. She opened the umbrella to let out a small spray of black blood, causing her to lick her lips with a depraved look.

She gave a small inward thank you to Ruby, who made a few upgrades to her weapon.

Mercury soared above her with a number of Vacuo’s airborne fighters trailing behind. After activating his Semblance, he kicked up a sandstorm in the middle of Salem’s army. Rough debris and jagged rock wore away at the more durable species of Grimm, while lighter ones were caught up in the tornado.

Throughout the battlefield, soldiers exercised their specialized roles. If they fulfilled a long-distance position, they fought safely from the backlines. The more hands-on of the fighters took to the vanguard to face the brunt of their opposition. Some fought together, some separate. And then, there were berserkers, who traversed wildly into the chaos of being surrounded by enemies.

Chain Nai’s blue ringed skin glowed with a dark sea hue, as he clamped a Jester’s hyena mouth between his elbow and knee. The force caused the front half of the skull to cave, but it was the warrior’s poisonous Semblance that put the creature to death.

Not too far away, a shining warrior faced a unit of Moredread knights five v. one. The monsters boasted a heavily reinforced armor composed of dense bone. Their medieval style appearance added with the giant buster blade they hefted overhead, made for daunting figures. Yet the lone fighter stood, unfazed by the challenge.

When their swords fell like a waterfall of guillotines, the man bat them away like they were sheets of cardboard. The last one, he caught in a single, gold and black gloved hand.

“Compared to Qrow and Athos, you might as well be using toy swords,” Taiyang taunted.

With a flick of his wrist, the Moredread he caught the sword of, was twisted into the air. With his free hand, he loosed a soft palm strike on the Grimm’s bony helm. The Aura infused into the technique transposed through the armor and exploded within the knight’s vulnerable brain matter. Before the corpse fell and the other four Moredread could react, Taiyang was on them.

His fingers became pointed to align with his forearm. An upward thrust sent a spear-like hand under one of the Grimm’s armpits, where the armor was weakest. The ligaments connecting the Moredread’s limb tore like tissue paper.

With Taiyang’s hands still formed in a straight edge, he sent a chopping fist through the neck of two others.

The sword knight Grimm were classified as A-Class Grimm individually. But against a fighter of their complete counter and high caliber, five had fallen within mere moments.

Bean saw through the eyes of the dying Grimm and decided to take a different approach. His army was never meant to fight on even ground. They were meant to abuse their numbers andabuse their numbers he did.

The young boy directed a pack of fast moving Jesters Taiyang’s way and a Deathstalker towards his back. He didn’t expect them to win, but sap away at the martial artist’s stamina.

Just when they reached combat distance, a rain of icy shards fell on the area, including on the man himself. Though, the attack only seemed to shatter against Taiyang’s now tattooed skin.

“Huh. Will Tai take no offense to that?” Minerva asked from a fair distance.

“He’s used to it,” Glynda answered, before casting another icy hailstorm over a different area. “Is it me, or is this battle faring a little too easily?”

“I am of the same mind. Salem has yet to play any of her proverbial trump cards.”

“Our casualties are also low, not that I’m complaining.” Glynda pushed up her glasses before manipulating a small herd of stampeding Goliaths and diverting their charge into its allies. “The longer this battle goes on, the more disadvantageous our position.”

“Agreed. What do you suggest?”

“I’ve been trying to discern where the commander of this army is located.”

Another group of Grimm rushed their position, but Glynda levitated them into the air, while Minerva waved her wand to cause an explosion, incinerating them into pieces.

“Going by the way the Grimm are directed, I can only assume whoever is in control, is commanding them from there!” Glynda pointed her riding crop.

Minerva paid attention to the direction and saw a number of Grimm waiting on standby. Some would now and then, breakaway for a maneuver, but were swiftly replaced. The behavior was almost unnoticeable in all the chaos.

“So, we will have our troops advance there.”

“No,” Glynda shook her head. “There’s too much ground to cover and they’ll see us approaching almost immediately. If we can take them by surprise, we stand a chance at ending this battle prematurely.”

“…I’m not fond of the tone your suggestion is taking…”

“My Magic has a wide area of effect. If I can get close enough, I can trap them in the middle of it.”

“That is a fool’s gambit, Glynda.”

“Yes, but it’s better than waiting until Salem is ready to activate the Cuckoos.”

“…”

“There’s no other way!”

“Wait!”

Without another second, Glynda bolted for the enemy commander. She ducked and rolled between her enemies as well as her allies. Short-ranged Magic darts repelled any hostile Grimm out of her way. The Huntress made rapid progress towards her destination, but eventually, the beasts around her took notice.

They swarmed from the land and sky. Flying Preyer Mantis Grimm swept low with their scythe-like forelegs. Some of the Moredread lumbered in her direction in a joust. Glynda cast a shield around her, but it was quickly being whittled away.

If she could only make it a few more meters, she knew she could invoke a storm large enough to encompass the commander’s surroundings. She didn’t even need to live to maintain the spell to its end. Just starting the incantation would be enough. Just emptying her Aura for all its worth would be enough.

Then, she heard her barrier break and her riding crop shorted like a bad fuse. Glynda didn’t know where it broke from, there were too many possible angles. She could recast it, but by that time, it would be too late.

As a Jester pounced from behind her back, a pair of fingers thrust into its eye sockets. The hand gripped the top of its cranium and swung it into another pack of hyenas, knocking them over like bowling pins.

The man body-blocked Glynda from the attacks coming from outside her peripheries. His diamond hard skin deflected any harm and reflected the impact of others. Claws and fangs shattered on contact with the hard surface.

“This is a bit reckless for you, don’t you think?!” Taiyang shouted.

“I knew you would be there,” Glynda replied.

“Yeah, well, you know I can’t keep this up forever!”

“I know, Tai. But I also know you can keep it up for long enough.”

“It’s tough being reliable,” he said, with a smugness trying to hide the strain on his body.

“Hmhmhm!” Glynda chuckled in a slightly flirtatious way.

She refocused on the task at hand and saw the assumed Grimm commander and its escorts retreating back. But by now, it was already too late. She was well within the optimum range.

Glynda stabbed her riding crop to the sky like a divine sword. Clouds formed to her summons. A large violet insignia pulsated as the weather became shaded with a low rumble. Bright veins of light flashed within the swirling veil like outlining blood vessels.

Not another second passed before pillars of pure, electric destruction descended on Salem’s army. They traced the ground, gorging through the earth like a scroll saw. All the Grimm the light touched were instantly burned into a crisp.

Glynda was elated at the success, but stopped herself from getting too carried away. She dealt a heavy blow by conjuring the thunderstorm so deep into enemy lines, but that was not the main purpose of her stratagem. She watched the other Grimm outside the storm to see if her gamble paid off.

There was no change at first and it made her heart freeze up. But sure enough, the creatures gradually lost a sense of focus. A few breaths later and they began to scatter in retreat. Countless legs trampled and stumbled over each other, while Vacuo warriors pressed forward to slay any stragglers.

Glynda’s knees gave out, and she sat in a manner that betrayed her usual stringent demeanor.

“Wow…”

She turned a sly eye to the awestruck Taiyang.

“What are you so surprised about?” Glynda asked.

“I sometimes forget how scary you can be.”

“Really?”

“It doesn’t happen a lot, cause you know, you’re constantly reminding everyone. But times like this really drive it home.”

“I’m flattered.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

“Issss this a bad time to say, I think I’m in lo—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Tai.”

Glynda got to her feet and started making her way back to Minerva.

“Or else I’m liable to cast a second thunderstorm.”

.

X  X X  X  X

.

At the top floor of the Tower, Professor Oobleck set down the latest copy of Professor Port’s diary entry with a serious look.

“It appears, thanks to some brave heroics on Glynda’s part, the battle of Vacuo has reached premature conclusions.”

Emerald breathed a groaning sigh of relief before falling on top a nearby pile of books. She even thought about taking a nap, before noticing Oobleck’s tenseness unchanged.

“…? Okay, did I miss something, or did you just say the battle was over?”

“I did,” he replied.

“So, are you one of those people with resting angry face or…”

“Salem did not appear on the battlefield, nor did any of her named associates, save the individual Glynda forced to withdraw. The majority of the opposition Vacuo waged battle with were Grimm, and not the Nightmare Class we know to have joined her fold.”

“Probably conserving them. This was only the first fight.”

“A plausible theory.”

“Yeah! So, no time to waste, Prof. We need to blow this joint, not that I don’t love the smell of old books and ancient-lost-forgotten-knowledge.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“Who’s being sarcastic? I’d spend my whole life here if I could. Think I might ask Masa to build me one of these. But we’re on a time crunch and we’ve got a long ass drive ahead of us. Hey, punchy! That means you, too!”

Emerald strode over to Yang sitting cross-legged, and kicked her boot. Though, the kick registered, the girl seemed completely immersed in what she was reading.

“What? Find something new in your mom’s diary?”

“No… Something’s off,” Yang shook her head. “Blake, or well, Salem, keeps talking about this ‘Cloak and Dagger’ plan. She has to know we’re at this Tower, right? I mean, she didn’t see us at the battle, she’s gotta have some idea.”

“Yeah, that tracks. What are you getting at?”

“She’s probably keeping watch of whatever everyone’s putting on message, but I’ve been piecing together the clues we do have. Some texts between Bean and Jupiter Black, along with some other assassins the guy brought along.”

“And?”

“They don’t line up. The timing for their plan sounded like it was set for the battle. They kept sending updates to each other. ‘Are you in position?’, ‘Yes’, that kind of thing.”

“It could be nothing…” Emerald felt paranoia creep in. “But when is it ever nothing with Salem?”

The girl paced the room a bit. Professor Oobleck also had his own doubts prior to Yang’s. Emerald started biting her thumbnail as she walked in circles. Now, she was sure something was wrong.

Salem’s associates.

The first battle lost.

A battle lost prematurely?

Did they throw the fight on purpose?

‘Cloak and Dagger’.

Emerald stopped in her step.

“Shit…”

“What? Did you figure it out?” Yang jumped.

“It’s in the stupid name! Salem’s such a pompous asshole! But, shit. We’re the only ones who know about it, and we’re too far away to make a difference!!!” Emerald shouted, while pulling out her scroll and typing as fast as she could.

“What is it, Em?!”

“Cloak and Dagger, Yang! If that whole fight was the cloak…”

Yang’s eyes widened with realization.

“Where’s the dagger?”

.

X  X X  X  X

.

As Temujin made her way back into the throne room with tired steps, she was helped by Mouse and Knives Rakis into her seat.

“Hoh hoh,” she planted herself with a shamble. “I really am getting old. Hardly lifted a finger and all these bones start creaking like thin leaf plywood.”

“I wouldn’t really call firing a couple airships and spears the size of most people ‘hardly lifting a finger’,” Mouse smirked.

“Oh, then you should have seen me back in the day. Riding my motorcycle into battle with hell’s fury at my beck and call. It would’ve made today’s display look shameful in comparison.”

“You’re still plenty strong.”

“Peh!” Temujin brushed it off. “No, most definitely not strong. But perhaps a tad shrewder in my age. I mostly get you youngsters to fight my battles for me now—to my regret.”

At that moment, Knives brought a freshly steaming cup of tea and set it on Temujin’s arm rest. The elder was about to drink it, before she pulled back.

“Knives, this is much too hot. Can’t you bring me a cooler cup?”

The two siblings gave a momentary pause.

“A gentle reminder for you to slow down and take your time,” Knives replied smoothly.

“Take any more time and I might right die of old age.”

“Enough of that. For now, Mouse and I will handle the logistics of the aftermath. We’ll report when everything is summarized.”

“We suffered very little casualties…”

“Yes, we did.”

“…That doesn’t sit well. Victory never comes so easily.”

She stared into the sibling’s pairs of silver eyes and saw they reflected something far-off in the distance. Not just the distance, but also maybe the future.

“Be vigilant, children. And Knives, thank you for attending to the other matter.”

“Of course. Please, take this time to enjoy your tea.”

With Knives’ parting words, the siblings left the room. Temujin was left to stare at her tea cup with her lower lip sticking out in a sort of pout.

“How am I supposed to enjoy it if I can’t drink it?”

The drink still had a thick haze of steam swirling from its surface…

—until the steam suddenly wavered.

…

“Ah… I really am getting old.” Temujin gripped her cane tighter. “To think I didn’t notice an assassin until they came this close.”

From an open window, Vulcan Black leapt in with his giant maul in hand. The head of his hammer torched with the flame and lava of a volcanic eruption. A heavy cloud of billowing smolder trailed from his downward swing.

“Cheeky brat.”

Temujin tapped her cane once against the stone floor and activated her “territory”. Vulcan was less than five paces away from letting his hammer fall, when his body faltered in midair. The assassin’s large stature then, crumbled as if under its own weight. He immediately started choking for air as his vision blurred. It was as if the atmosphere itself was trying to kill him, rejecting him like a bacterial infection.

Temujin stood from her seat and bade her teacup one last glance.

She thought about how the Rakis twins were acting, and how unusual Knives was about bringing her a drink much hotter than her usual brew. It was a subtle ploy to warn her.

They must have used their Semblance to foresee this.

No wonder she gave me an especially steaming cup.

How nice it is to have such thoughtful children…

Temujin made her slow way to Vulcan, who was nearing unconsciousness.

“Huh. Never met an assassin as bulky as you. In my prime days, I have no doubt we would have enjoyed a grand battle. Alas, I can’t really act that way anymore. My days of fighting head on, facing my foe blow for blow!” she pumped her fists, then went into a tired lament. “Long past, I’m afraid. I’ve had to resort to much shrewder methods with my seniority.”

Vulcan concentrated all his focus into moving his arm. It reached for his trusty maul that fell just a few millimeters from his outstretched fingers. He could almost touch it, when Temujin’s foot rested on his knuckles.

“Still haven’t given up on killing me! My respects!”

Vulcan was practically frothing at the mouth. Nothing but his rage and anguish kept him alive.

“It was sore luck you were contracted to kill me. I doubt there’s ever a worst target in all of Remnant for assassinations than myself.”

The giant assassin was now shaking uncontrollably.

“Well, may you have peaceful passage into the afterlife knowing you were defeated by the strongest Aura Skill practitioner to ever exist.”

At some point, Vulcan stopped resisting. Something of a quiet acceptance started to seep into his soul.

“My apologies, young pup. But this is death.”

Temujin honed her cane to a sharpness with Aura Skill, before plunging it swiftly through Vulcan’s back. The blow came quick and merciful and painless.

A heavy silence filled the chamber.

“The greatest shame for an assassin having failed their mission, is a corpse left behind. I shall endeavor to preserve your dignity as much as possible. An unmarked grave in the middle of the dunes, where no one will disturb you or uncover you. I suppose I owe you that much for my disgraceful methods.”

Temujin tore down one of the large tapestries hanging from the walls and threw it over Vulcan’s corpse.

“Now, that I think of it, I never asked your name.”

“I suppose that too is a preservation of dignity for an assassin.”

.

X  X X  X  X

.

 A far distance away, three figures laid on their bellies, peeking just barely over the crest of a tall sand dune.

“Curious…Very curious…” one of them muttered behind his intricately silver designed magnifying glass.

Bean and Inna, who watched the same scene play out turned to him with expectation.

“You’ve discovered the method Temujin employed against Vulcan?” Bean asked.

“You didn’t?” the man asked back.

“Reason unclear. Vulcan… collapsed without any point of contact or visible action. Your theory is required, Professor Moriarty.”

“Elementary, young man. But I must say, her Semblance is more flexible than I would have guessed. But these eyes see, this brain knows,” the man tapped his temple. “My Semblance learns all secrets.”

“Explanation required,” Bean repeated.

Moriarty gave a dark chuckle

“The old bat used her Warsmith’s Semblance to ‘weaponize’ her surroundings. Atmospheric pressure, temperature, I’d even include the gravity—all of it came under her control. She can make her environment literally a weapon. How fascinating.”

The young boy went into silent shock before speaking again.

“Conclusion drawn: close combat deemed impossible. Only viable avenue is long-range methods.”

“It’ll be tough to catch an Aura Skill user like Temujin from long-range,” Inna added her input. “But if anyone can do it, I can.”

The girl nodded her consent, but Moriarty gave them both a dismissive look. He stroked his thick broom mustache in thought.

“Not necessarily. There appears to be a weakness… For now, we should regroup and report to Salem. Our other cohorts should be carrying with Dagger Phase as we speak.”

“…Agreed,” Bean answered. “The second wave must be prepared.”

The three left their hiding spot and made for the mountain ridge they made headquarters.

On the way back, Bean glanced to the Haven Professor seemingly doing a multitude of calculations in his head.

“Probability of Dagger Team’s success?” the boy asked.

“85% by my observation” Moriarty replied easily.

“…And success of eliminating the main targets?”

“Hmmm. Four of the six objectives should be met, if we are to include Vulcan’s failed mission, though, that was within expectation.”

“And the other failed target?”

“Chain Nai will likely survive. He is an exceptionally formidable one. The rest of the targets will not.”

Bean went silent. He felt a pinch at the edge of his heart.

He didn’t know them well, or particularly liked them. But there were two individuals targeted for elimination in Dagger Phase he felt some bitterness towards.

Bean muttered quietly under his breath,

“Sorry, Yang.”

.

X  X  X X  X

.

In the aftermath of the battle, the Black Iron Road had all its furnaces fired immediately.

They didn’t know when the next battle would break out and many of those who took part in the fight, needed repairs to their arms as soon as possible. This also held true for those with prosthetics.

As a result, a long line of patrons in queue were lined up outside Brigid’s workshop. All her apprentices were working around the clock, dashing back and forth between stations. They ran out to exchange parts they were low on with other shops. And among the chaos, Brigid received her next patron with a certain grin.

“Mercury!” she bellowed. “Take care of this one here!”

Mercury quickly put the finishing touches to a Faunus’ ear in time to clear a seat.

A boy, a bit pockmarked in the face and some bloody scrapes, sat down on the stool in front of him. The young boy looked a little worse for wear, but he didn’t act like it. Instead, he beamed with a pride only the young and boastful could have.

“Can’t believe your old man let you join the aerial unit at the last minute,” Mercury shook his head, and began disassembling the damaged parts to Icarus’s wing.

“I only worked support mostly,” he replied shyly.

“Uh huh. And you get these scrapes only working support.”

“Well, when the main units were busy somewhere else, they needed us to hold the lines on another front. We couldn’t let any Grimm pass the wall, after all.”

“How many did you get?”

“About… five.”

“So, two. Pretty good for a kid with a new prosthetic.”

“I said, five!”

“I saw two.”

Icarus blushed with embarrassment.

“You were watching me?”

“Yeah. Only cause you were watching me.”

“That was cause you were so cool! How did you make a storm by yourself?! Can you teach me to do that?!”

“Maybe. Probably should check with your dad first. Where is the hard ass, anyway?”

“He’s right here, cousin.”

Mercury heard the poison in that voice and turned with an indescribable feeling of dread.

Not too far behind Icarus was Daed. But behind the father was a cloaked figure wearing a steel mask. The assassin had a knife tucked just barely visibly under his hostage’s throat.

“Jupiter…!” Mercury growled.

“So, glad you remembered me. I’d thought you’d all but forgotten your debt unpaid.”

“Let him go!”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Well, that would entirely defeat the purpose of a hostage now, wouldn’t it?”

“Goddamn it! Goddamn you, Jupiter!!!”

“Temper, dear cousin. If anyone should be angry, it should be me. You killed Apollo and Diana.”

“They got themselves killed!”

“And now, I have two less assassins under my management. You and your precious little friends are going to suffer for that. No hard feelings, mind you. Simply professional. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Mercury was about to leap at him, when Jupiter twisted the knife, causing some blood to drip from Dead. The threat made Mercury freeze instantly.

“See, that is the difference between you and I, little cousin. We are assassins, but you lack the actual principle required by our kind.”

Mercury was practically burning with anger, doing everything to check his impulse.

“Life is fleeting. It giveth and it is taketh.”

“You want me?! Then come and get me! Leave them out of this!!!”

“Attachment to it in any shape or form, even your own—”

“JUPITER!”

“—Is weakness.”

.

X  X X  X  X

.

In the dark alleyway, Adam’s slash caught nothing but air. His target had ducked at the last second and slipped close in the next.

Neo twisted her body with a quick torque and a snap to unleash a vicious uppercut kick that connected with Adam’s jaw. Once her opponent was floating midair, she readied to transition into the follow up. She didn’t want to allow him even a single chance to touch the ground again.

Just then, a violet light drew from the shadows and sliced at her midsection. Neo had no choice but to back off and teleport away.

During her retreat, something odd happened. Her Semblance didn’t grant her the smooth passage it usually did. Instead, her body was flung upside down through a nearby store window.

Neo didn’t understand. She scanned her surroundings, but it was nowhere near resembling the location she wanted to warp to. Something interfered with her Semblance. When she finally looked down at the wound she received, Neo knew the cause.

In addition to the blood draining out, a cursed black mist billowed from the opened flesh. Neo then, heard the snapping of glass as her two enemies caught up to her.

Blake and Adam approached like a pack of hunters cornering their prey.

Neo could only curse silently as she took up her fighting stance once more.

“Tonight, the monster finally dies,” Blake gloated. “And once you’re gone, Yang will be mine once again.”

“…!”

“Face it, Neo. It never would’ve worked out. Yang and I were made for each other. She knows it, I know it, everybody does. Hahaha!”

Neo growled mutely.

“Even you! You just don’t have the courage to admit it.”

Neo summoned an army of shimmering glass weapons, but they were blown away by the simultaneous wind slashes of Blake and Adam.

“You never had any hope. No salvation.”

I’ll kill you!

“See? How could Yang ever love such a monster, like you? A murderer and a psychopath? She’s a good girl. Too good for you.”

I’LL KILL YOU!

“I mean, I suppose there are a few fans of the deranged kind, who love to see the brave heroine corrupted by a lunatic’s cruel whims. But I was never fond of it myself.”

I’LL KILL YOU UNTIL THERE’S NOTHING LEFT!!!

“Very unhealthy, I think. No, I much prefer the romance between the kind-hearted, well-meaning, but tragic beauty and her brave, fiercely, sexy warrior. Now, that—”

SHUT UP!!!

“That is a ship I can get behind.”

[flannelplanet]

Stranger Than Fiction

**UPDATE**

Chapter 2

Rated: Explicit Summary: “Sure, I’m in.”

Again, my infinite thanks goes to @jandjsalmon for being the rockstar that she is. Also thanks to @colesmoles, @youbuildmeupbeliever, and @lilibug--xx who chatted with me throughout the writing process. You gals are the best!

Read on ao3 Find Chapter 1 here

Again, 

read under the cut!

She couldn’t breathe. She was covered in sweat. Her heart was pounding against the walls of her chest. All she could see were photos of herself; photos that she didn’t realize were being taken by someone she thought she could trust, some even right through her bedroom window. She couldn’t feel her fingers. “Dilton?” She said, scared to continue with her question. The uneasy feeling intensifying tenfold. The look in his eye was predatory. She was alone with a fucking psychopath. “Yes, Betty? Do you like them?” he asked her, innocence in his tone. “W-why do you have these?” “Because we belong together, Betty. You’re mine. You always have been. And I’m yours. Do you see? I’m everywhere you are.” He began walking towards her, his hand grabbing something from his back pocket. “What are you doing?” He came to an abrupt stop right in front of her. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt baring his forearms to her. By the time she figured out what he had in his hand, he had already grabbed her. “Betty, you’re mine. I mean it. You’re mine and I’m yours and I’m going to carve it into your skin so you’ll never forget it.”

She woke herself by screaming.

Tears had streamed down her face, she didn’t know how long she had been crying but she knew it had to have been a while. Her face was swollen and she was trembling. It had been so long. He shouldn’t be able to just come out of nowhere and infect her dreams anymore, especially not with him locked away.

“ Shit, Betty. Get yourself together,” she thought to herself.

After allowing herself a moment to regain composure, Betty padded her way into the kitchen where she began making coffee. She wasn’t the type to miss work, not even after a nightmare like the one she just had. She was feeling drained, sure, but she could be a little slower at work. She could use the distraction anyway. So once she finished her coffee, she jumped in the shower to wash the last of that horrible night’s sleep from her body, then got herself ready to kick the day’s ass.

-

She was feeling so much better by the time she was ready to leave the house. She had listened to music so she wouldn’t feel alone, checked her blog notifications, and read a little more of wordsbyjughead”s stories, trying to find an answer to his question. She decided she wouldn’t let the night die down without responding.

-

Walking from the house to her car, she spotted Mr. Jones next door doing the same. Thoughts of last night’s fantasy flooded her mind and she suddenly felt warm and flushed, just as Mr. Jones looked at her. He smirked. FUCK. “Good morning, Mr. Jones. How are you today?” she called over to him.

“Please, Elizabeth. Call me Forsythe. I hate the name, but I hate it less than Mr. Jones. I know it’s cliche, but Mr. Jones is my father. I’m doing well, how are you doing?” He had an ease about him when he talked to her. He always maintained eye contact. Betty always felt like he was staring into her soul when they exchanged even the smallest pleasantries.

“I have had better mornings, Forsythe. But don’t worry. I won’t let it bring me down,” she said with a smile.

“Good girl,” he said.

Betty’s heart felt like it had come up her throat and dropped down to her toes all at once. Good girl. Good girl!!! She remembered him saying the same thing to her in the same fucking tone less than twelve hours ago as she sat in her bathtub and pleasured herself. Shit, shit, shit . She was losing focus fast and needed to say something so she didn’t look like a total jerk. Instead, she smiled her signature bright, blinding smile and winked before getting into her vehicle.

What the fuck am I even doing??? She thought to herself. First Jughead, now Mr. Jones? She mentally scolded herself for her out-of-the-ordinary behavior and set off on her way to the office.

-

Her day had seemingly flown by. She spent most of her day responding to emails. She did a little editing, and some research, and before she knew it, it was time to head home. After forging herself something to eat, she sat at the table scrolling through wordsbyjughead. She vowed to find him an answer before she went to bed, but it was proving difficult. She really enjoyed all his stories. He was always dominant in them, that much was clear, however he was also soft; almost overly romantic in some of them. Those, she decided, were her favorite.

-

“We went back to my place after, both of us tired and nearly spent. I couldn’t let the night pass, though. Not without telling you. So, I did. ‘I love you,’ I said, and I put my entire soul behind the words. When you looked at me in shock, I said it again. I put more feeling behind it, if that were even possible. ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

“A slow smile spread across your face as you walked toward me. ‘I love you, Jughead.’ You let out a small laugh as the words left your lips. Almost like you couldn’t quite believe your mouth had betrayed you like that. You were happy though, and I took a step to close the distance between us. I nudged your nose with my own before bending slightly. I grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up so that you could wrap your gorgeous legs around me.

“You could feel my arousal just as I could feel your warmth. I began walking toward the nearest surface I could think of, which happened to be my kitchen counter. Hands freed, I used them to stroke your legs, to push past your skirt. My mouth moved from your mouth to your jaw to your neck to your collarbone. I was starving.

“I hooked my fingers around the band of your panties and whispered ‘Lift.’ With your panties off and in my pocket, I turned back to you. You were panting, your normally bright eyes turned dark with want, and you were so turned on you could hardly stand it. I took a step back and gripped your ankles. ‘Scoot back,’ I directed.

“Once you were back far enough, I placed your heels on the edge of the counter one foot at a time. ‘Don’t move, Princess.’ You were totally exposed and glistening. Fuck, you looked delicious. I had to taste you.

“I wasted no time with teasing. Instead, I dove right in; your juices coating my tongue made me growl into you. Going down on you was an experience I’ll never be able to forget. You tasted amazing, smelled incredible, and you were so fucking responsive. I licked your core, closed my lips around your most sensitive spot, nibbled and sucked and devoured until you could hardly stand it.

“Once I sensed you were close, your legs shaking and your moans growing louder and more uninhibited, I thrusted two fingers deep inside you. I lifted my head only to look at your face, and damn you were a sight to see. Your eyes were rolling back, your mouth slack, your body straining against the pleasure. I smiled at you, my perfect girl, and got back to work.

“I dropped my mouth back to your gorgeous pink core and continued thrusting my digits into you. I curled them inside you while gently biting your clit causing you to scream. ‘Come for me, baby girl,’ I told you, and like always, you listened. You splintered. I removed my face and hand only to replace them with my cock, thrusting into you hard and fast.

“‘Oh god, please, please,” you cried. I thrusted harder, my body stimulating your clit consistently. I could feel you falling apart again. ‘Not yet, sweetheart. Wait.’

“You groaned in frustration but held back, waiting for my voice to tell you it was okay. I blissfully tortured you for a few more moments before nodding, ‘Now, baby girl. With me.’ The look of relief and ecstasy that crossed your features was something out of a dream.”

-

cookiesandcupcakes: I think I found my favorite story on your blog if you’re still curious.

wordsbyjughead: Oh, I’m still interested. Go ahead.

cookiesandcupcakes: I think they’re all good- I stand by my statement from yesterday, but my favorite is the one which features the kitchen counter.

wordsbyjughead: Hmm. Interesting. What do you like about it?

Betty grew slightly flustered at his question. She wasn’t expecting to have to admit more than which story she liked best. Was he psychoanalyzing her?

cookiesandcupcakes: I don’t really know. I can’t put my finger on it exactly. Maybe it’s because of the intimacy? There is an intimacy present in all your stories, but this one feels different. Maybe it’s the declaration of love?

cookiesandcupcakes: Also, as a woman, I would think it would be really exhilarating to be exposed like the woman in your story.

Hitting send before she could talk herself out of it seemed to be a recurring theme while talking to Jughead. Betty waited for what seemed like hours but in reality was only a few minutes for his reply.

wordsbyjughead: Not to be creepy, but can I ask your name?

cookiesandcupcakes: It’s Betty. Why?

wordsbyjughead: Because I just learned so much about you, but I realized I didn’t know you by any name other than the handle of a baking blog. Hi, Betty ;)

cookiesandcupcakes: Is your name really Jughead?

wordsbyjughead: No, it’s just a horrible nickname which hides my even more horrible birth name. I’ve been known as Jughead my whole life, at least until I started my career. I’m a writer, you know. Can’t be going by Jughead for my published works.

cookiesandcupcakes: Aha! I knew it! What genre are your published works, if you don’t mind me asking?

wordsbyjughead: I told you, it’s a secret. Why do you want to know, Betty?

cookiesandcupcakes: Because my day job requires me to interview up-and-coming authors and feature them in a well-known literary journal. I’m wondering if your writing would be the type of writing which would be interesting to our readers.

wordsbyjughead: Well I can tell you for sure that it’s not what I have on my blog. I enjoy writing mystery and suspense. Sometimes even thrillers. My published work is definitely different from what I post here. I keep them very separate.

cookiesandcupcakes: Do you enjoy one more than the other? What possesses you to write the kind of material featured on your blog?

wordsbyjughead: I love my professional writing. My first novel was born out of pure need to have my words published. That particular work was based off the town I grew up in. There was a great tragedy that affected the entire town. No one else was telling that story, and it needed to be told. I love that I’m capable of sharing such things with a large-scale audience and it’s well-received.

wordsbyjughead: On the other hand, though, this blog was born from a different kind of need. I am good with words. I always have been. I enjoy women. I enjoy making women feel good, both physically and emotionally. I enjoy building a woman up and then breaking her down blissfully. I enjoy giving a woman peace and safety. I have a dominant personality, Betty. I’m not into whips and chains, I don’t need them and never will. I use words.

wordsbyjughead: I needed an outlet for myself.

That surprised Betty. She wasn’t even sure why.

cookiesandcupcakes: So then, Jughead. What is your analysis on me based on my favorite story of yours, then?

wordsbyjughead: My analysis, Betty, is that you’re in desperate need of a guy like me. Someone who would take the weight of the world off your shoulders. Someone who would allow you the intimacy you crave without you feeling ashamed for it. Someone who would take care of you. That’s what you really want.

cookiesandcupcakes: Jughead, how… How do you know all that? Just from my story choice?

wordsbyjughead: Well, Betts. You took an entire day to decide on a story. I’m sure you scrolled through my blog in its entirety looking for the most perfect choice. You wanted to pick a good one. You subconsciously needed to pick one that would please me (it does please me, I promise you). You’re also revealing more of yourself today because you’re feeling more comfortable with me. I’m thankful for it too, by the way. I can tell you crave intimacy because of the story you chose, yes. There’s a different level of passion in that one. It’s like the upper echelon of emotions so intense there are no names for them. Am I wrong?

She thought for a while about what he was saying. He pretty much hit the nail on the head, she had just never put it into words before.

cookiesandcupcakes: You’re right. I’ve just never thought of myself in that way, nor would have had the words to describe it.  

wordsbyjughead: I’d say so! So what are you going to do with this new information about yourself?

cookiesandcupcakes: Honestly, I’m not sure. What would I do?

wordsbyjughead: I can think of a few things, if you want. You know, to test the waters a bit.

Betty thought about it. Jughead was absolutely right about everything he’s said so far. Besides, if she took him up on his offer, he probably lives on the other side of the country. She could always block him if whatever this was ended up getting too intense for her liking.

wordsbyjughead: I can practically hear you thinking across the chat window Betty.

cookiesandcupcakes: Sure. I’m in.

-

The next day was Betty’s scheduled day to work from home. She sat at her table, laptop open, staring at Jughead’s blog. His words still hadn’t left her from the night before.

Rather than pleasuring yourself to one of my stories, just plugging someone’s face in as mine, I want you to pick one and pretend you’re the woman. Pretend I’m the man. I want you to come with my name on your lips, Betty. I want to hear you say it.

She did. And then she did again. And again.

-

A little later in the evening, Betty received a message notification from Jughead. She settled in with her computer and opened it. She was prepared for just about any outcome. She had done as he asked, though picturing him without knowing what he looked like was a little difficult, but that was part of the appeal, she supposed. But, she had also ran every possible scenario through her mind. It’s what she does, what makes her Betty Cooper.

wordsbyjughead: Good evening, Betty.

cookiesandcupcakes: Hi Jug.

wordsbyjughead: So, I’m not a big fan of beating around the bush. I’m just going to come right out and ask, okay? Did you do as I asked? Were you a good girl?

cookiesandcupcakes: Yes, I did.

wordsbyjughead: And? How did you feel? How many times did you do it?

cookiesandcupcakes: More times than I should have, most likely. I lost count.

wordsbyjughead: Oh baby girl, you really were good for me. But you didn’t tell me how it made you feel.

cookiesandcupcakes: It felt different, but not in a bad way. It was insanely sexy knowing that someone else knew what I was doing.

wordsbyjughead: Good girl. Are you ready for your next assignment?

This was the outcome she was secretly hoping for. The one she spent the most time thinking about between the end of their conversation the previous night and right now.

cookiesandcupcakes: Yes. I’m ready.

-

A few days later, Betty found herself literally bumping into Mr. Jones again. She was returning to the house after checking her mail and he was out for his afternoon jog.

“Oh, Elizabeth! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yes, Forsythe. It’s okay. I’m fine, see?” She turned to show him she suffered no bumps or bruises. “Thank you for checking, though. It’s very gentlemanly of you.”

He smiled. “I've been meaning to ask you but haven't had the chance. Are you feeling any better? Last we talked you seemed a little off, almost sad. Or scared.”

She returned his smile with a warm one of her own. “I'm doing very well. Thank you, honestly, for checking on me. It's nice knowing you have someone looking out for you.”

“Absolutely, Elizabeth. If you ever need anything, you know I'm just next door.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones. Enjoy the rest of your run.”

[scarletraven1001]

Truly Mine

He may have never said the words, but Bulma knew in her heart and soul that the arrogant Saiyan prince, the love of her life, loved her too.

A seven-year-gap fic, post-cell. One-shot.

An entry for @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 7: Afterglow

Also on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12443826 

Hi again, fellow DB fans!

I received such kind words from everyone when I sent in my last TPTH entry, so I was inspired to write one more!

I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it.

Lots of smut ahead!

8-8-8-8-8

Truly Mine

Bulma was still trying to catch her breath.

She was absolutely exhausted, but that wonderful feeling of lethargy was overpowered by her pounding heart, bursting with so much emotion that the sensation of it kept her from falling asleep.

She looked down at the flame-haired head resting on her chest. He nuzzled her breast, giving it a soft, almost innocent kiss. Their legs were tangled together amongst the unruly navy sheets of their bed, while his arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. Her own arms hugged his neck, one hand lovingly caressing his upper back, the fingers of her other hand playing idly with the hair on his nape, damp with perspiration from their vigorous activities earlier.

Sex with Vegeta was always mind blowing, but there was something phenomenally different about this time. This time, she knew, felt with every fiber of her being, that they had made love.

She looked down and peered into his face, her heart melting at the sight of his closed eyes and serene expression. He was vulnerable at the moment, the look on his face such that his heart was openly displayed for her to see, and she was honored to know that she was the only one who would ever see this side of her husband.

Her husband.

She lifted her left hand to gaze once more at her ring. She still couldn’t believe it.

Bulma Briefs was now a married woman. A wife.

Vegeta was now her husband. She was now the wife of Vegeta.

The words repeated themselves in her head, as she still could barely wrap her head around the concept.

Another wave of emotion flooded her chest and tears began to well up in her eyes. She was so incredibly happy that she almost couldn’t bear it. She felt like she was floating, and only Vegeta’s weight on her oh, so sated body kept her from flying off.

He lifted his head from her chest then, an intense look in his eyes as he gracefully crawled up to be at eye level with her. He lifted his left hand to gently caress her cheek, and on that hand, her eyes caught his own ring glinting against the darkness of their bedroom.

He kissed her then, the touch of his lips so sweet and full of feeling, that it made the tears standing in her eyes finally fall. She was so full of love for this man that she finally uttered the three words that she had always known in her heart, but had never before had the courage to say.

“I love you…”

He simply narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he took a deep breath, almost as if he was hiding a gasp, and he dove in and kissed her so passionately that she felt his answer even if he stubbornly still refused to say the words.

His hands started roaming her body again, delicately holding her hips, tickling her waist, and as she felt herself giving in to what she knew would be another rousing session, she thought back to the happenings of the past month that led them to this peaceful moment of bliss.

8-8-8-8-8

“Do you want to get married?”

The question was so sudden, so out of field, that Bulma could do nothing other than stare dumbly at Vegeta. She nearly dropped the dented bot she had been fixing, it suddenly felt so heavy that she would have thought that the gravity chamber she was standing in had been activated.

Her heart suddenly stopped, and then just as quickly restarted, hammering painfully against her chest, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she did, indeed, hear him right.

“Did you just-”

“Woman, just answer me. Do you want to or not?” he snarled at her, looking uncomfortable, standing just out of arms reach for her.

Her scattered wits collected themselves with frightening speed as she took a deep breath, pushing a lock of her short blue hair behind one ear, and carefully choosing her words.

“Why are you asking me?” she asked, her voice soft but unwavering.

Vegeta pointedly looked away from her as he answered, “You were on the phone with one of your asinine friends yesterday, talking about the marriage of those two imbeciles that you always watch on the television. You told her that you had always wished for a large marriage celebration. Now, I will not, even under threat of disembowelment, agree to a large celebration. However, I am not opposed to marriage if you want it.”

Bulma stared in shock at her extraterrestrial lover. A deep red crept into his cheeks as he continued to look everywhere but at her.

“V-Ve-Vegeta,” she stuttered, amazed at this highly unexpected but very exciting turn of events. “Of course I want to. I would absolutely love to. But… What about you? I don’t want to put you through this if you don’t want this.”

“Tch,” he sneered. “I would not have asked if I was so opposed to it.”

“But… but… Do you know what marriage means? You’re not just asking because you overheard me say that I want to, are you?”

Vegeta finally turned to look at her, a light blush still dusting his cheeks.

Bulma wanted to squeal at how cute he was being, but she wisely refrained. This moment was serious, dammit.

“Your wanting it has influenced my thoughts on the subject, yes. But I am not against the idea. I might as well. We have a child, a powerful one, and I need him to be a rightful heir. As empty as my title has now become, the boy is a prince of an entire race, and he must be able to hold that title, even on principle alone.”

Bulma almost sighed. Did she honestly expect the man to profess his undying love for her and drop down on one knee, offering her a ring? Of course not. This was probably the closest she will ever get to hearing him say that he actually does want to marry her and isn’t being coerced into it.

“Additionally, I think I would prefer to be able to call you my wife. Then you would be truly mine, am I correct?”

Bulma actually gasped in shock at what he said, but quickly covered it up with one hand.

“I-I,” she stammered, looking at him through wide eyes. Her stare appeared to make him uncomfortable as he looked away yet again, then turned away from her to leave the room.

“Wait!” she called out, an arm extended in his direction as if to pull him back. “Wait, don’t go. I… I would love to marry you, Vegeta. I really would,” she said, smiling widely in her giddiness. “Let’s get married.”

He turned his head slightly, regarding her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes. Let us marry. And make it soon, Bulma,” he said, walking out of the room, leaving Bulma with a head full of thoughts and unable to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day.

8-8-8-8-8

Wedding preparations were difficult, more so due to the fact that the wedding was to be kept practically top secret. Vegeta had no marriageable identity to speak of, being a literal illegal alien. Strings were pulled, debts of gratitude called in, and all the connections held by her influential family were utilized as Bulma worked to make a fake identity for her husband-to-be.

The legalities involved in marrying an alien was, in a word, a bitch.

But she pushed on, and exactly three weeks after they agreed to marry, Bulma held in her hands a fake birth certificate, fake school diplomas and a real passport for one Mr. Vegeta, the sovereign prince of a now-defunct small nation of people who had lived deep in a rainforest in the south.

Four-year-old Trunks sat on the living room couch, staring widely at Bulma as she spoke on the phone to the people in their local court office, arranging a date for her and Vegeta’s wedding in front of the city’s judge. Her son was scrunching his face in concentration, listening hard, and Bulma wanted to pinch his chubby cheeks as she mentally squealed at how cute her baby was.

He was looking more and more like Vegeta every single day.

Also acting more and more like his father, as his face turned down into a fierce scowl, apparently giving up on understanding what was going on that had his mother so excited. He jumped off his chair and flew off, and Bulma watched as he flew through a window and headed straight for the gravity room.

Plans finalized, Bulma put the phone down and headed for the kitchen to check if any food had been laid out. Her mother, Panchy, was out and had left the cooking to the chef bots.

Panchy was also ludicrously excited about the wedding, that even the disappointment of not having a large celebration did not deter her. She still insisted on taking care of all the jewelry and clothes-shopping needed, and Bulma had to seriously sit her down and swear her to secrecy lest her ditzy mother let it slip to someone and caused a media-frenzy.

Oh, the paparazzi would just love to finally see the elusive father of the little eventual heir to the Briefs fortune.

Upon entering the kitchen, Bulma found enough food to feed an army and thought that it may be enough for her son and her fiancé. In her head, she had been calling Vegeta that since his proposal of sorts, and she smiled as she realized that only a week from then, exactly a month after their agreement, she can finally call him her husband.

The smile was still firmly in place as she called her two favorite boys to come in for dinner.

8-8-8-8-8

The day of the wedding was finally upon them, and Bulma kept shifting nervously in her seat. She was already dressed: a simple, sleeveless, v-neck white dress that reached the tops of her knees, with a thin blue belt and matching blue shoes. She had on some very simple white-gold earrings and a matching bracelet, and she anxiously kept looking at the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, waiting for Vegeta to finish dressing up so they can go.

There was also the matter of the rings. Panchy had been in charge of the jewelry, and her mother had steadfastly refused to show her the rings, insisting that she wanted it to be a surprise.

Trunks was sitting, unusually timid, on a chair in front of her. He knew something exciting was about to happen and looked restless, but she had given him extremely strict instructions to sit still and keep his tiny suit clean for the upcoming ceremony. She had tried to explain the marriage to him, but the four-year-old didn’t seem to care, and merely shrugged, saying “It’s all the same to me. You are my mama, and he is my papa.”

When Vegeta finally dropped down from the stairs, Bulma released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. He was wearing a navy blue suit and leather shoes, and perhaps, she was just feeling sentimental on this day, but she didn’t believe she had ever seen him look more handsome.

The wedding itself went numbingly fast. A quick trip to the courthouse, and it seemed to Bulma that they were suddenly standing in front of the judge, who was holding up a book that was symbolic of an old marriage register. They signed their paperwork and did not have to go through the vows that she just knew would make Vegeta very uncomfortable.

However, time seemed to stop when the rings were finally revealed to Bulma.

Panchy had given the rings to Trunks, so he could hand it to the judge when the judge called for it. The rings were in a simple blue velvet box, and the judge opened it without preamble before handing it to Vegeta.

The Saiyan then looked at Bulma, his eyes intense, almost as if he was in battle, before he turned the box so that the rings faced her.

She gasped, words escaping her as she stared in disbelief.

Two simple platinum rings were delicately placed, side by side, inside the small jewelry box. This would not have been unusual, except for the tiny symbol carved into the center of each ring.

It was a symbol that Bulma had only seen twice, but knew like the back of her hand.

The royal Saiyan crest was inscribed into each ring, its clean lines and curves distinctive and unmistakable.

Vegeta had absently drawn the symbol on a sheet of paper once, before they had even gotten together, and he had turned away in embarrassment when she asked him about it. She saw it again once more, when she was cleaning his room after they had been sleeping together for some time, and he finally told her of the significance of the emblem then. She knew he treasured the symbol, a sign of his heritage that was now forever lost.

She never would have expected him to have it carved into their wedding rings.

“Vegeta… this… oh my,” she whispered in awe, lifting her eyes to look at a blushing Vegeta, who was clearly uneasy but stubbornly refusing to look away. Bulma heard her mother giggling, and she glanced at the blond woman, realizing that she, and maybe even her quietly smiling father, were in on the plan.

Bulma reached for the larger ring, holding it up while Vegeta did the same with the smaller ring. At the judges cue, they placed the respective rings on each other, and she barely held her tears back as the judge continued reading the rest of the words to proclaim them married.

The judge finally announced that they were now officially husband and wife, and gave the signal for the Saiyan to kiss his new wife. Never one for displays of affection, Vegeta reached up to cup her cheeks in his hands, before he stood straight and gave Bulma a chaste kiss on her forehead.

The lavish meal that her mother had organized for the wedding celebration afterwards was an exercise in excess. Bulma happily watched her son and new husband systematically decimate the food, while her parents and their few loyal household helpers enjoyed more normally-portioned meals along with her.

She felt a bit guilty for not inviting any of her friends, but she knew that Vegeta would not be comfortable with it, and she decided to let them all know that she and Vegeta had married in the most casual way possible the next time she saw them all.

As the day turned to night and all the inhabitants of Capsule Corp had slowly drifted off to bed, Bulma remained in the living room, with a very snuggly trunks wrapped in her arms. Her leg was falling asleep as his weight rested mostly on her thighs, and she slowly shifted to try to lift him up to bring him to bed.

A pair of muscled arms reached for her son, and Bulma looked gratefully up at Vegeta as he effortlessly lifted the heavy child.

“Go on up to our room and get ready for bed, woman. I shall take Trunks to his room and will be with you shortly,” he said as he turned to leave.

Bulma looked up from where she sat, and a giddy sort of delight filled her as she realized that tonight would be their first night as husband and wife.

She rushed up the stairs and hurriedly showered, slipping into a thin blue negligee and matching panties that reminded her of the ones she had been wearing the first time Vegeta took her to bed.

‘This will be another first,’ she thought dreamily, as she quickly ran a brush through her hair, then moved quickly and excitedly to their bed.

When several minutes had already passed and Vegeta still hadn’t returned, Bulma began to worry.

‘Is he not coming up to bed? He said he was going to follow me… did something go wrong?’

Just as worry had begun to set into her mind, the bedroom door opened to reveal her man, still wearing his pants and undershirt from the wedding.

Bulma stood up, intending to walk over to him and pull him to bed, but she stopped mid-step when he suddenly turned his dark eyes her way, staring at her so intently that she felt a small shiver go up her spine.

He approached her slowly, his gaze pinning her to spot, and she found herself unable to move even as he stood only inches away from her. He didn’t touch her, he was so still, and Bulma could have sworn that he was barely breathing.

She kept staring into his eyes, and the world could have exploded behind her, and she would still not have been able to look away from him.

“Vegeta,” she whispered softly, tentatively breaking the silence. He didn’t speak, but his hands slowly rose up to grasp her upper arms in answer.

His eyes started to burn with a feral intensity that Bulma now knew all too well. Vegeta was hungry, hungry for her, and before she even had the chance to gasp, he had pulled her to him, crushing her in his arms as his lips slanted possessively against her own.

Bulma immediately kissed him back, her tongue sliding between his teeth as his own greedily explored every crevice of her mouth. She moaned in delight as his hand began to roam her body, one hand resting on the small of her back as the other slid up and tangled between the blue strands of her hair.

His lips left hers and began to trail down her cheek, stopping momentarily to nip at the edge of her jaw, before planting a wet kiss onto her throat. She whimpered as he began to suck, his mouth leaving a trail of rapidly darkening marks onto her skin.

‘I should start wearing scarves. I’m getting too old to be showing off my hickeys,’ she thought in a daze, her hands dancing around his shoulders as she tried to grasp the hard muscles that she had now completely mapped out in her mind.

“Bulma,” she heard him groan, the sound of his voice filling her with a carnal kind of thrill, and she whispered his name in response.

He pulled away from her then, his lips moving away from her body so slowly that she thought he seemed reluctant to stop kissing her. He looked deep into her eyes again as he brought his hands down to grasp the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and off him swiftly, and Bulma’s hungry eyes took in the familiar but eternally arousing view of his perfect torso.

‘He is so beautiful,’ she thought as she drank in the sight of the body of the man that was now, by all rights, hers.

He moved to grasp her hips, and Bulma was surprised when she realized that his hands were shaking slightly. She looked up at him in concern, but he silenced her questions with a gentle kiss, his lips lingering sweetly against her own as he slowly, tantalizingly lifted her night gown from her body.

His hands seemed to stop and start as he undressed her, lifting the hem of her dress above her hips, pausing there while he moved closer to plant a soft kiss on her shoulder. His hands moved again, pulling the cloth to bunch up below her breasts, as he moved his hot mouth to lick languidly around her collarbones. He pulled up again, this time completely freeing her of her clothing, and he dropped the gown to the floor before quickly encasing her soft body within his powerful arms, his lips once again seeking out her own.

She moaned into the kiss, completely aroused at his unusually tender movements. Her hands moved down to undo the button on his pants, but he stopped her as she began to pry the garment from him.

She pulled back from the kiss and looked at him questioningly, but he said nothing, and only held her by the waist as he slowly eased them both onto their bed. He had her partly on the bed, her knees hanging off the edge, and he kneeled down before her, his legs around her, his knees trapping her thighs closed.

Vegeta leaned down, his hands once again resuming their almost reverent trek around her body. He caressed her arms, his touch so soft and gentle that Bulma felt like he was paying homage to her body. He then propped himself up on one arm as he swooped down and captured her lips again, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he kissed back with gentle fervor. A groan escaped her as his other hand softly cupped and then teasingly squeezed her right breast.

She felt like putty in his hands, and she mewled as his kisses traveled lower. She felt him shift his legs to place one knee between her thighs, and her hands moved to stroke his upper back as he moved down to take one of her aching nipples into his hot mouth.

She hissed, getting more and more aroused by his actions, and she softly scraped her nails against his back. She knew that he loved her breasts, and she let go of him to pull her arms over her head to lift her bosoms just the way he liked it. He growled at her actions, his arms reaching up to hold her upper arms still as he kept smothering her breasts with his lips, sucking strongly enough to make her gasp and arch her chest to push her mounds further into his mouth.

He stopped worshipping her chest long enough to look up into her eyes and smirk at her, before he moved lower, nipping her stomach as his hands stroked her all the way from her breasts, down the sides of her waist, and down further to gently but firmly hold her hips.

He knelt on the floor now, as he slowly pulled her panties off of her, carelessly discarding the piece of cloth. He lifted her hips to the very edge of the bed, and his eyes met hers as he gently cupped her center, one finger moving to gently tap her clit.

She gasped in delight as the said finger began to slowly roll her bud around in a gentle motion that he knew both excited and frustrated her. She rolled her hips as her hands moved, one of them moving to clutch the sheets as the other grasped his hand that was still on her hip.

He inserted a finger into her then, and she whimpered his name, both still looking into each others’ eyes as he pleasured her with his hand.

A second finger joined in and Bulma groaned, no longer able to keep her eyes open as she threw her head back and panted from her husband’s actions.

“So wet for me. You are so ready for me, aren’t you, Bulma?” He whispered lasciviously as his other hand released her hip to join the one at her core. Bulma couldn’t even speak as she felt him open her with two fingers of one hand, and the other one pushed in to pleasure her more thoroughly. Her pants turned into moans as her hands lifted up to grasp the sheets beside her head, desperately looking for something to hold on to.

He increased the speed of his pumping fingers, and when a thumb joined in to vigorously roll her clit, the breathless sensation of an incoming orgasm began to wash over her, making her cry out.

Without stopping what he was doing, Vegeta leaned down and covered her core with his mouth, his tongue sweeping across her nether lips. His fingers moved out of her only to be replaced by his firm tongue, and Bulma cried out as he lapped at her relentlessly.

She peered down, the sight of his flame-haired head bobbing between her thighs so erotic that a shudder went through her body, pushing her closer to that wonderful edge.

Another lick, another press, and he pushed his fingers back inside her as his sinful mouth moved up, pressing the flat of his tongue against her button. His lips then wrapped around it and after one hard suck, Bulma screamed as a mind-numbing orgasm washed over her, her thighs shaking as she convulsed in pleasure.

Amidst her post-orgasmic haze, she watched Vegeta get up and oh, so slowly push his pants down his hips. Her starving eyes widened as he kicked the offending garment off, her mouth watering as she found that her naughty Saiyan had once again foregone underwear.

Vegeta crawled over her and Bulma eagerly used her arms to push herself up to lie down in the middle of the bed. When they had moved up enough that their whole bodies were now on the bed, she raised one arm to quickly push Vegeta to make him lie on his back.

He grinned at her, a cheeky lifting of one side of his lips, and he obediently fell onto his back.

She eagerly straddled him, leaning down to plant a breathless kiss on his lips. Her hands, hungry for his skin, moved greedily to stroke and caress every inch of him she could reach as her mouth moved downward, lapping at his chest, teasing and tasting the hard planes of his body.

Her hands reached below her, mapping a familiar path down to the tantalizing indentation between his abdomen and thighs. She traced the thin line of hair from the bottom of his stomach, a sexy trail leading to the part of him that no one on earth but her is allowed to see.

Her fingers wrapped around him. He was as thick and powerful here as the rest of his body, and as her fingers worked him, he released a strangled groan of pleasure as he lifted his head to look down at what her hands were doing to him. Up and down, she moved her hands, trying her hardest to fully wrap her small hands around the whole of him.

She could feel her breasts heave as she panted, as hearing the sounds of his pleasure, and knowing it was her who gave him pleasure, aroused her even more. She then leaned down and licked him, and he hissed, the sound dissolving into a growl as she took the tip of him into her mouth.

She sucked noisily, humming and moaning as she tasted his delicious essence on her tongue. She peered up at him, only to find him looking at her, his gaze focused on her as she took delight in pleasing him with her mouth.

She felt his member twitch, and suddenly, he had pulled her off of him, his arms wrapped around her once again as he pushed her to lie back down onto the bed. She blinked when he reached up and pulled down a pillow, and he lifted her head with a gentle hand on the back of her neck to place the soft linen under her head.

He crushed her to him again, his lips finding hers as their legs passionately tangled together. One of his large hands moved down to lift her left leg against his hips as he situated himself between her thighs, spreading her wide open.

He broke the kiss, looking intently into her eyes as one of his arms moved up beside her head, and he braced himself on an elbow as his fingers delved into her short hair.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his face close to hers as his other hand moved down, and holding himself, guided his member into her waiting core.

“Vegeta!” She gasped as he slowly pushed in, his body stretching her insides so deliciously, and she greedily clasped onto his every inch as he entered her all the way to the hilt. His hips locked against her own, he groaned, a long drawn out sound of pleasured agony that sang to her heart and pulled a strangled moan from her own lips.

A hand moved to clutch her hip, the tips of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her buttock as he still stubbornly refused to pump his hips. Instead of moving, he simply pressed their bodies closer together, pushing her deeper into the plush mattress with his body.

A sharp, almost physical ache formed in the pit of Bulma’s stomach as he continued to gaze at her, his eyes narrowed in concentration as his body pulsed within her, her own moving to clench sweetly against his delicious intrusion. She gasped as pleasure filled her, the sensation of their bodies simply melded together taking her breath away.

His hand in her hair moved down to gently cup her cheek, his eyes so unbelievably soft in that moment that Bulma had to choke back a sob. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Then, he began to move.

He pulled back with his hips, but the rest of his body remained as flush against her own as possible. It was almost as if he needed to touch as much of her as he could, all at once. Bulma moved against him, taking his cue, grinding her hips against his own as she writhed against his wonderful body.

One hand snaked around her waist, pulling her even closer against him as they moved against each other. Deep, guttural moans escaped him, the pleasure making him grit his teeth, but he did not close his eyes, continuing to look only at her face.

Bulma, who did not possess nearly the same amount of control, had closed her eyes, his name escaping her lips in broken syllables that got more and more garbled by the minute.

“Oh- oh! Vegeta,” she panted breathlessly. She opened her eyes to gaze at him, the look in his eyes and the expression on his face overwhelming her completely. “Ah! You feel so good! You are so good! You are so beautiful, Vegeta… Oh!”

Soon enough, she was moaning incoherently, trying hard to keep her eyes locked onto Vegeta’s as he kept his face so close to hers that their breaths intermingled sweetly. His air was her air, his gasps were her gasps, and every exhaled endearment, sigh and wail was shared between them, both oblivious to anything other than each other.

He suddenly cursed, before he reared up and grabbed both of her hands, pulling them up by the wrists, until both of her arms were trapped above her head, his large hands swallowing her palms in his. Their fingers entwined, Vegeta braced a knee down as he moved against her vigorously, chasing that edge that was hovering only just out of their reach.

Bulma was breathing hard, almost sobbing, as her husband continued to pump in and out of her, his movements fast, but gentle and unhurried. He leaned down to plant a kiss between her brows and he strained against her, his heartbeat thrumming hard against her chest as they both neared that inevitable tumble into ecstasy.

Her body began to seize up, her toes curling in as her head arched up and off the pillow, her voice going hoarse as her whimpers melted into groans and her groans turned into screams.

‘I love you!’ she screamed in her head. She had never said those words to him yet, but she had known for years that she loved him with everything she was and more. She would die a thousand deaths to see him smile.

‘I love you, Vegeta!’ she thought deliriously as his body made love to her soul. His movements tonight made her want to shout the words out, but she caught herself getting tongue-tied around the unfamiliar words, and she keened a wordless plea for more, instead.

She said his name repeatedly, like a benediction falling from worshipful lips, and he answered back, her own name carelessly falling from his mouth as his barriers crashed down around them, broken into dust by the swirl of their emotions, the intensity of their lovemaking.

He ground his hips against hers, and a particularly hard twist broke her, sending Bulma spiraling into completion, his name echoing within the walls of their room as she screamed it with all of her heart.

She convulsed powerfully, the tremors going up and down her spine, and she had yet to come down from her high when she felt Vegeta begin to lose control above her, his hands grasping hers almost painfully as he chased his climax, until he finally reached it.

“Bulma!” he gasped out as his face contorted in near pain, his whole body shuddering against hers, and she felt his essence flood her deep inside.

He began to lose his balance, a shocking turn for the nimble alien warrior, and she slipped her hands from his loosening grasp to hold him gently around his chest, guiding his spent form down, and he, without hesitation, moved down to rest his head against her bosoms, his breath fanning harshly against her chest.

And Bulma, lost in the sensations of what had to be the most amazing sex of her life, grinned as she stroked his arms and basked in an amazing, nearly spiritual, afterglow.

8-8-8-8-8

Now, as Bulma felt Vegeta lift himself up to begin another round, she couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread across her face as he began to ravish her body once again.

Oh, he may not be able to say the words just yet, but she knew, deep in her heart, that he loved her too.

She was his wife now, and as he put it, “truly his”.

However, now, as he loved her with his body once again, she realized…

He was truly hers, too.  

8-8-8-8-8

END