#Price isn't sure if this means she does want him to quit or what

[coloursflyaway]

Cry With Joy At The Depth Of My Love

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 18.000

Read on AO3

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there are more important matters at hand.

“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.” ____________ Edwin takes the Cat King up on his initial offer, so instead of a few hours, he is gone for six weeks. Charles isn't good at coping with it.

Tags for everyone who wanted one ♥: @that-ineffable-devil @mentally-unstable-fangirl @tipsyscone @butternutsquashthesenutz @makemeimmortalwithahug @mylu @imineffible @fabledshadow @asherxme @twopercentboy

„Now, I think this concludes our business“, Edwin says and fixes his bow-tie, the collar of his shirt. His lips feel strange, now that they have tasted their first kiss (and their second, and third, and fourth, and…, his treacherous mind corrects him), but this was a small price to pay for safe passage out of this godforsaken town. “So, could you please transport me back to my friend?”

The creature in question unfurls his body from the sofa they were lounging on for the transaction, and even if Edwin cannot find much that is good about this situation, the Cat King at least has been rather civil about it all, no matter his unconventional request for payment.

Even now, he walks closer and there is a smirk on his lips.

Lips, Edwin does not want to look at, because he knows how they feel and knows that they felt right in one, and terrifyingly wrong in all other ways.

“If you insist”, the Cat King drawls, and brushes two fingers across Edwin’s shoulders. “I can take you back to your little friend. But you’re also more than welcome to stay a little longer…”

“No, thank you”, Edwin cuts him off before he can continue, because he needs to get back to Charles, and as soon as possible, too. “As far as I can tell, you have been made quite happy, so I consider my debt repaid and would very much like to return where I belong.”

And the Cat King looks at him like he knows something he won’t tell Edwin yet, and snaps his fingers, and the world changes.

Edwin disappears in front of their eyes, and Charles forces down the spark of panic that comes with that.

The Cat King wanted to talk and Edwin can handle it, of course he can. Even if Charles would have liked it much better if he could have done it within his sight.

The warehouse looks different when it reappears.

Edwin needs a moment to make sense of it, but then his gaze gets stuck on the scratches on the walls, the splintered wood and bent metal, the wrecked throne and the hole in the floor that looks like someone dug it with their bare hands, blood streaked across the grey concrete.

It looks like a crime scene, like a war had been waged inside of it, and then Edwin’s eyes find Charles’ form in the middle of the broken up ground.

He’s sunken on the floor, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, his coat torn to shreds, his white socks stained, and his hair a matted mess of curls. Bits of concrete are stuck in there, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice, like he doesn’t seem to notice anything else around him, and it scares Edwin more than anything ever has before.

Before he knows it, he is moving, gasping out Charles’ name, and for a terrible, terrifying second, Charles does not react. He just sits there, motionless, like he is stuck in limbo; then he looks up, slowly, like he is moving through molasses, and somehow, it’s worse.

There is no life left in his eyes.

Usually, they shine brighter than the sun itself, sparkling with every emotion Charles is feeling, but now their light is dimmed until it has all but gone out, their brown not warm and inviting anymore, but flat.

A sound tumbles from Edwin’s lips, although he cannot quite make out what kind, something between a sob and a plea and a prayer, and Edwin is about to drop to his knees in front of him, when Charles propels himself upwards and flings himself into Edwin with a force that knocks them both to the ground.

If he was still breathing, the impact would force the air out of Edwin’s lungs, but he is certain that even then, he wouldn’t realise it, because Charles is holding him so tightly it compresses his non-existent ribs, like he has been hurt, like he had thought Edwin was.

And he’s crying.

It’s the kind of crying Edwin hasn’t experienced before, but something which he understands anyway; it’s the kind of crying he would hear in hell, seeping through the cracks of his doll house, the kind he would see much later when he was escaping.

It’s crying without any kind of restraint because there is no strength left to fight it, the kind of crying that comes from desperation so deep it captures your entire soul, and forces anything else into meaninglessness.

Edwin has never cried like this before, and he swears right then and there that he will find and butcher whoever did this to Charles.

Three hours have passed and Edwin isn’t yet back.

Charles is doing his very best to keep calm, but it is so, so difficult when the only thing those damned cats are willing to say is, sometimes the King likes to keep them for a while.

What is a while?, Charles had asked, but there had been nothing but a self-satisfied meow, which most likely just means that the cats know about as much as Charles does.

Which is not reassuring, but in the end, it will be fine.

Edwin might not know how to fight, but he’s clever and he’s brave and he would never leave Charles alone.

“Shh, it’s alright”, he is whispering into Charles’ curls, trying to soothe him even though it doesn’t seem to be working at all.

Charles is crying like the world has ended, his sobs so violent they make Edwin’s chest seize up, his fingers grabbing and pulling at Edwin’s clothes like he wants to sink into him and fuse their bodies together.

And Edwin might not know how to fix this, but he’ll damn himself to Hell if he lets go.

He’s about to try and change their position in hopes of making Charles more comfortable, when there is a thud and the sound of splashing liquid behind them.

“Edwin?”, Crystal asks, and Edwin would say something snarky, maybe even something mean, but Charles is wrapped around him like he’ll never let go again, and there’s more important matters at hand.

“Crystal, what has happened here?”, he asks, and a few seconds later, their new psychic is standing in front of him, trousers splashed with the coffee she dropped, disbelief written across her face. “I was gone for a few hours and now Charles… and the whole building…”

He’s not quite sure how to put it, most likely because he still doesn’t understand, and Crystal looks at him like he come back from the Cat King’s lair with an additional head.

“Edwin”, she says, slowly, like she is still searching for the words, “what are you talking about? You’ve been gone for six weeks.”

Edwin has been gone for a day and a half and Charles is going insane.

He knows he’s going insane, but that doesn’t change anything, because Edwin has been gone for a day and a half, and they have never been apart for this long since they met.

“I swear to God, if you don’t bring him back, like, this instant, I’m going to start breaking things”, he tells one of the cats that have come to watch them; it’s not an effective threat because Charles has been saying this for at least six hours, but he cannot stop himself, because he feels like breaking things.

He feels like he needs to break things, and that scares him, but what scares him much, much more is that Edwin isn’t here, and he has been gone for a day and a half, and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

“Sure thing, lover boy”, one of the cats replies, and Charles shouldn’t, but he screams.

Silence stretches between them, only interrupted by Charles’ sobs, his heaving breaths.

“What do you mean, I have been gone for six weeks?”, Edwin finally asks, dread of a previously unknown type and magnitude filling him with every tear Charles is crying into his suit.

“What do you think I mean? I mean, six weeks, you have been gone for six weeks, and we have been looking all over for you and this one”, she gestures to Charles, “has taken the entire town apart because he was so convinced that he would have to dig you out of Hell with his own bare hands. That’s what I mean with you have been gone for six weeks.”

And she looks down at Charles who is shaking in Edwin’s arms, and there is tenderness and true affection in her eyes, which vanishes as soon as her gaze returns to Edwin.

“So, like. Good to have you back, but also, what the fuck, how could you do this to him?”

It’s been two days since Edwin was whisked away by that absolute prick of a Cat King and Charles is losing his mind. Whatever he thought before about going insane was nothing, nothing at all, because this is so much worse.

Crystal, bless her, has been trying to calm him down, but there is only so much she can do, which is nothing at all, because Edwin is gone and no one will fucking talk to Charles and tell him what is going on.

So, he is pacing, because he cannot start smashing things up, even if he wants to.

Not because of any consideration Charles has for the Cat King or his kingdom or his subjects, but because Edwin will come back and he will have solved everything, and he will be so cross with him if Charles starts smashing things up.

So, instead, he paces, and thinks about how he’ll hug Edwin once he’s back, no matter if Edwin wants him to or not, and how he won’t let him out of his sight for the rest of eternity.

Six weeks.

The words shatter something within Edwin that he didn’t know existed, tear him down until he’s not sure if he’s still the same person as he was before.

Because Charles is crying in his arms like he watched the world end, and suddenly Edwin doesn’t just understand the emotion there, but feels it deeply, viscerally.

If Charles had been gone for six weeks, he would be tearing the world apart with his bare hands to get him back.

And suddenly, every one of Charles’ sobs is an open wound, every trembling grasping of his fingers a broken bone, every time he breathes in, wet and desperate and painful, is a death he dies, because Edwin is the one who caused this.

Edwin, who was gone for six weeks without knowing, who has left the most important person in his life to suffer without him; Edwin, who can’t do anything but hug Charles tighter, and pray to whatever god will hear him that Charles will be able to forgive him.

It’s been three days and Charles doesn’t care anymore.

He has told Crystal as much, after she had dragged him out on a coffee run, insisting that he cannot spend his entire time in that godforsaken warehouse. Which she is wrong about, he realises as soon as he has stepped outside, because Edwin could come back any second and Charles would not be there to take care of him after whatever this Cat King has been putting him through.

At first, the Cat King hadn’t seemed too bad, not dangerous, more annoying, but apparently Charles had been wrong because Edwin isn’t here, and there is no way Edwin would leave Charles alone for this long, especially because he must know how worried Charles is by now.

So, the only explanation is that the Cat King must be keeping Edwin from leaving somehow and Charles will not allow it.

He should have gone with him right away, shouldn’t have let Edwin out of his sight, will never do so again.

So, he lets Crystal get the coffee she wants, but ignores her looks when he brandishes his cricket bat even before they walk into the warehouse. Maybe he is overreacting, because it has only been three days, but at the same moment, Charles knows he isn’t, because maybe for other people, spending three days away from their best friend is just part of everyday life, but it isn’t for them.

Charles is used to looking up at any given time and finding Edwin within his sight and the fact that he isn’t terrifies Charles to the point where it is hard to think.

That’s why it doesn’t matter that Crystal is obviously uncomfortable when Charles twirls the bat around as he enters the warehouse, just like it doesn’t matter that the cats scatter, not even that Edwin would tut and tell Charles to use his head to solve this, not his muscles.

Because Edwin isn’t here, is he?

“Oi!”, he calls into the vast room and sends more cats running. “One of you little fuckers is going to tell me where your King has taken my friend or I’ll start smashing shit up around here, alright?”

Just to make sure they know he means business, Charles brings down his bat on the closest barrel and feels the metal dent under the impact.

It’s satisfying in a way that scares him, but everything scares him right now, so this doesn’t matter, either.

“Do you hear me?”, he shouts and knows that he doesn’t sound commanding, just desperate, because that’s what he is, desperate and scared and not even good enough to keep the most important person in the world safe. But maybe desperate is enough for this, because desperate people do desperate things and Charles is about to rip this place into bits and pieces until he finds Edwin again.

There is no answer, and Crystal reaches out to tug on his jacket, like she thinks he doesn’t mean it, but oh, that’s where she is wrong.

They have only spent a week and a half together so Charles doesn’t hold it against her, but he’ll show her, just like he’ll show the cats, how much he means it.

Edwin isn’t certain how long they stay like this, but it’s not like he cares either. His mind is still reeling from the revelation that he has been gone for six weeks, his heart caught in a cycle of ripping itself apart for leaving Charles alone and patching itself up once more because he cannot let Charles see how much he is hurting, not when Charles needs him to be strong now.

Despite having existed for over a hundred years, Edwin has never become comfortable with another person’s touch – Charles’ being the exception – but he knows that Charles needs it, so his hands have started running over Charles’ back, combing through his lovely curls, anything that will let Charles know that he is here and he is safe and he isn’t leaving ever again.

“For me, it was only a few hours”, Edwin whispers, a response that comes far too late, feels like far too little, because who cares what it was like for him if it has left Charles in such a state? “If I had known that time passed different there, I would have come back immediately. I wouldn’t have spent a second with that blasted man.”

His hand is cupping Charles’ head, trying to support him through sobs that seem to wreck through his body with the intensity of an earthquake, the tears they bring soaking through Edwin’s jacket and shirt. Even if his spectral skin cannot feel them, Edwin knows it anyway, just like he knows the desperate grip Charles has on his back, the shaking of his slender body in Edwin’s arms.

“Time passed differently-”, Crystal starts but then stops herself, almost like a decision Edwin can see her make, before she crouches down and puts a hand on Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s. Part of Edwin wants to push it away, because it should be him who touches Charles, no on else. “You know what, we can talk about that later. We have to get him out of here first, then we can figure the rest out.”

Metal bends and wood breaks and concrete doesn’t do much at all apart from sending shocks up Charles’ arms, especially if he does it again and again and again.

If he was still alive, his muscles would be screaming, he’d be covered in cuts and bruises, splinters embedded in his flesh and being driven deeper with every motion; like this, there is nothing, just Charles and the cricket bat and the violence he is unleashing.

The first hit had felt good, like a release, but by now it feels like nothing at all anymore, but in the end, he does not do it to feel better, but to get these goddamned cats to finally tell him where Edwin is.

It’s the only thing that matters, that has mattered, will matter, and Charles will take the whole fucking warehouse apart if that is what it takes.

His bat slams into the side of a barrel, denting it, and a cat flees; his bat hits a post and another one does.

“Just give him back!”, he screams and he sounds crazed, but that doesn’t matter either. “Tell me where he is!”

There is carnage around him, there’s bits of wood flying where Charles’ swing has toppled a palette over, and it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all.

It’s nearly impossible to get Charles to stand up and it breaks Edwin’s heart, because Charles should be light on his feet, a flurry of motion even if he is trying to stand still, but instead he stumbles when Crystal helps lift him up. His hands are still clutching to Edwin’s clothes, cramped to the point where Crystal can’t dislodge them, although she is whispering soft nothings, coaxing with even softer touches.

In the end, they shift his arms so that they are around Edwin’s neck, clinging to him when Edwin picks him up like one would a child.

Were they still alive, Edwin wouldn’t be able to carry him a step, but Charles’ astral body has no weight to it, so Charles’ head comes to rest somewhere between Edwin’s neck and shoulder, fresh tears spilling down to wet his collar.

His sobs have quieted somehow, but he is still crying, still mute to Crystal’s questions and Edwin’s attempts of encouragement.

In all the three decades Edwin has known him, he has never seen Charles like this, never this closed off or devastated; it hurts in ways Edwin didn’t know he could hurt.

Crystal doesn’t talk much to him, but for once, Edwin doesn’t blame her: if he had been here in her stead, watching Charles spiral from his usual self to this state, he also wouldn’t want to talk to the person responsible for it.

So, he just follows her to the room she is still renting, holding onto Charles’ trembling form and swearing to never let him go again.

Eventually it’s Crystal who stops him.

She screams his name over the sounds of destruction, an expression on her pretty face that Charles has no energy left to decipher.

“Charles, they are not telling you anything”, she says, and yes, that’s the problem. “Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Edwin is somewhere else entirely, maybe the Cat King has taken him somewhere else in town.”

It makes little sense, and Charles wants to go back and smash another barrel into pieces, just in case it’s this one that will make those fucking cats tell him where Edwin is, when Crystal puts a hand on his shoulder and adds, “Maybe he needs our help there.”

Suddenly, a barrage of images: Edwin kept prisoner, forced into iron shackles; Edwin, being tortured; Edwin, waiting for Charles to come free him.

Charles, who has sworn to protect him and failed once already.

Edwin puts Charles down on Crystal’s bed, but even then Charles doesn’t let go of him and Edwin is touched, Edwin is terrified.

He seems so small like this, curled up on Edwin’s lap, and Edwin’s heart aches with love and with devotion and with an unbearable amount of guilt.

Without thinking, he pushes a hand through Charles’ hair again, but this time, Charles shivers against him, either because of the touch or by chance, Edwin isn’t sure.

“What happened?”, he asks Crystal softly, as not to disturb Charles.

“What do you think?”, she asks instead of answering, “He thought you were gone. He thought you might be gone forever, or trapped in Hell, or another thousand things his poor brain came up with. Would have gotten himself wiped out of existence if I hadn’t stopped him. Or dragged down to hell. He was willing to do absolutely anything to find you.”

She looks down at Charles and Edwin watches her eyes soften, like she is watching something precious; she is right, of course, but part of his heart still screams for her to stop.

“I’m not sure you know how much he loves you”, she tells him, her expression still soft, and it’s preposterous, it’s uncalled for, and Edwin desperately wishes it not to be true.

They search the harbour and the lighthouse, the library and the abandoned houses scattered around town, the high school and the cemetery; Edwin is nowhere and Charles curses Port Townsend and its people, curses the two of them for ever setting foot in it and curses Crystal for bringing them here.

In the woods, they find something akin to a shrine, complete with ancient writing that Charles cannot read, but there is no sign of Edwin anywhere. Around it, skeletons are scattered across the grass, and Charles should care about it, should make this a case, but the thought of it feels so far removed he’s almost surprised when Crystal picks it up to bring with them.

That summons the skeletons and they run, and Charles forgets about it almost immediately afterwards because it doesn’t matter, nothing does.

As Crystal outlines the events in the past six weeks in broad strokes, Charles hardly stirs, even if his tears dry at some point.

He’s not asleep, because that is not a luxury granted to them, but Edwin notices this kind of exhaustion anyway; he’s felt it before, after he had crawled out of Hell, covered in soot and bile and blood, and had collapsed right there on the floor, finally safe, but unable to move for what felt like an eternity.

And he understands it, too: he’d rather go to Hell again than lose Charles.

“He just sat there?”, he asks when Crystal is nearing the end of her tale, because it seems impossible, should be that. Charles is movement, is a constant dance, and yet Crystal is telling him that prior to Edwin’s return, he hadn’t moved in a fortnight. And it should be inconceivable, but Edwin thinks of how he found Charles, sunken into himself like he had become part of the ground itself, and suddenly it is difficult to doubt her words.

Crystal nods, and again her gaze softens when it touches Charles; again something within Edwin twists and hisses.

“He said he wasn’t leaving until you came back”, she explains, and her voice is a caress not meant for him, but Charles, who cannot hear it. “And he said he would wait forever if he had to… and I believed him.”

“Oh, Charles.”

It’s a declaration of love, of sorrow, of everything in between, and for a second, Charles stirs in Edwin’s lap, before he settles back down; it’s for the best, even if Edwin craves to see Charles’ eyes with some semblance of life in them like a starving man might crave a meal.

He strokes his knuckles down Charles’ spine, wishing he could feel the bumps of every vertebra, and Charles presses closer, almost imperceptibly so.

“Thank you for taking care of him”, he tells Crystal and means it, even if the words feel like pulling barbed wire through his airways, because taking care of Charles isn’t Crystal’s duty, it’s Edwin’s. But she was there when Edwin wasn’t, and it comforts him at least a little to know that Charles hadn’t been alone.

“Of course”, Crystal says, and her eyes stay soft, stay on Charles, “but don’t you fucking do that again.”

The vase helps nothing at all, because Charles cannot read the words that were transcribed on it or the table, because he’s useless without Edwin at his side.

Edwin would be able to solve this, there is a reason why he’s the brains of the operation after all, but Charles? The best he can do is put the vase down on Crystal’s table and all but forget about it.

Until he comes back that night from another trip to the harbour, the magic shop, the warehouse, without Edwin, whose absence feels more like a gaping, oozing wound with every passing second, and there is a stranger in Crystal’s bed.

She’s petite and looks peaceful, but Charles doesn’t even get to ask what she is doing there before Crystal starts talking.

“I put some flowers into the weird vase we found”, she says, and it doesn’t explain anything at all, “Dandelions that I found when I went back to check if we had missed anything in the woods, you know, because of the skeletons. And I heard a thud from the hallway and Niko here had passed out right in the middle of it. Which, in itself, would have been concerning, but then...God, there is no way to say this without sounding insane, but there were little people? Crawling out of her mouth? Which are now asleep in the dandelions I put into the vase.”

She looks at Charles like she expects a response, but it’s really difficult to give one, when it’s… well. When it’s not about Edwin.

“That’s good?”, he tries and Crystal rolls her eyes, looking annoyed for a second.

“Charles, I know this isn’t-”, she starts, but then stops herself, her expression softening. “I know you are worried about Edwin, but I need your help with this, okay? It won’t take long, we just have to take those little creatures back to their little altar thing so they won’t crawl back into Niko once they wake up. Can you do that for me?”

It seems reasonable and Charles still wants to say no, because nothing matters as long as Edwin isn’t back where he should be, but then he remembers, dimly, through the pain and the confusion and the gaping hole that is Edwin’s absence, that this is what they set out to do.

Help people.

So, he nods, and Crystal smiles, and that might matter at least a little bit.

“I’ll take him back to London tomorrow”, Edwin says into the silence that has settled around them. “Through the mirror. Not because I don’t want you to come, just…”

He doesn’t quite know how to say it, but Crystal seems to understand it anyway.

“That’s a good idea”, she agrees easily, and reaches out to touch a hand to Charles’ back, just below Edwin’s hand once more. “I think he should be back home and you two… I think it might be good if you had some time to sort through things. I’ll join you later.”

In any other situation, Edwin would ask what she means by that, but right now, it really doesn’t seem to matter, so he just nods, settles back against the headboard, and lets his eyes slip shut.

Charles takes the vase back where they found it, and there should be some kind of satisfaction in it, something about the job being jobbed and the day being saved and the stranger, Niko, being out of danger, but there is nothing but the gaping hole in his chest where his heart is supposed to be, because Edwin isn’t there with him.

When the sun is rising, the first rays of light coming through the windows, Edwin tries to rouse Charles once more.

“Charles?”, he asks as softly as he possibly can, not yet pulling away. “I was thinking, we should go back to London.”

For a few moments, there is no answer, but then Charles slowly, ever so slowly, sits up, his arms still around Edwin’s neck, as if he couldn’t bear to lose their closeness.

And Edwin expects a reaction, but none as violent as he gets when he finally sees Charles’ face again.

It’s not like he has forgotten it; for him, not even a day has passed, and yet it feels like seeing him for the first time.

His eyes are the same brown Edwin has become so familiar with, but they are dull still, even if a hint of life has returned to them; they are rimmed with red, eyelashes clumped together as if Charles had just been crying. And he might have been, even if the thought that he didn’t notice hurts Edwin in completely new, unexpected ways.

“You’re really back”, Charles whispers and the words are a sob and a prayer and an exaltation, and Edwin’s heart breaks because he should never have been back, he should have just been there. “You’re really here.”

There are tears spilling down his face, making his gaze a little brighter and yet not worth it; Edwin reaches out to wipe them away without thinking and Charles trembles under his touch like he never has before.

“I never meant to be away that long”, he tells Charles, although he’s not sure it matters, because he was, and there is nothing he can say or do to make it better. “I never wanted to worry you.”

I never want to be away from you for more than a few seconds, he thinks, but doesn’t say, doesn’t recognise the thought but knows it to be true nonetheless.

“I know”, Charles says, and it’s still half a sob, more tears spilling down his cheeks for Edwin to wipe away. “I always knew that. And you came back and you’re safe and that’s all that matters and I just. I missed you so much.”

And it’s not all that matters, not by a long shot, but for now, Edwin just nods and wipes another tear from Charles’ skin.

Niko wakes up again and she’s lovely in a way Charles knows Edwin would have enjoyed, but if anything, that just makes the need to get Edwin back worse.

It’s been a week and Charles desperately wishes he could sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to feel this all the time.

At least Niko seems to be willing to help, which would be a relief if Charles had any hope left that looking through town would bring Edwin back. But they have been everywhere thrice, have looked at every single thing Tragic Mick has on sale, and Edwin is just gone, like the Cat King has made him vanish from existence.

The thought cuts into Charles’ flesh like iron would, burning hot and torturous and it’s been a week and maybe there’s no other way. Edwin must be hurt or captured or a thousand other things Charles won’t allow himself to think of, and Charles will bring him back, no matter what it takes.

“Could you girls go and check the lighthouse again? Maybe the beach?”, he asks and maybe Crystal is getting suspicious, but he cannot find it in himself to care. “I just, I don’t want him to get back and there not being anyone there to take care of him. Please?”

It’s enough to convince them; they won’t find anything, he knows it deep in his bones, but it gives him the time and the space to go back to the warehouse and do what is necessary.

It takes some convincing to get Charles to let go of Edwin enough to stand up, his hands sliding down Edwin’s arms like he doesn’t want to lose contact, and it’s then when Edwin’s gaze gets caught by something that should be impossible.

There’s red on Charles’ fingers.

Not the red Edwin associates with him, but the red of dried blood and fresh wounds and overwhelming pain; Charles’ fingers are stained with blood, his nails torn to the flesh, some missing ,his knuckles scraped and bruised.

A gasp escapes him, because they cannot get hurt, they are already dead. Wounds, even those from iron, are fleeting, fade within minutes. And yet, Charles’ hands are battered, bloodied, like he had just been punching a wall.

Without thinking, Edwin takes them in his, fingers delicately gripping Charles’ wrists as not to hurt his poor, wounded hands any further, as he raises them up for inspection.

“What happened?”, he asks and hears his voice breaking, feels his heart do the same.

Charles’ eyes flicker downwards and there’s a fleeting look of recognition there, but nothing more. No surprise, no confusion, not even pain.

“Oh, yeah”, he says distractedly, turning his hands within Edwin’s grasp. “It happened a few weeks ago, when I was trying to dig through the concrete. Started out with just a scrapes that healed again, no problem, but then at some point they just stayed. Don’t really know what they’re about.”

“Do they hurt?”

“Yeah”, Charles says easily, like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t send Edwin’s mind spiralling. “But you get used to it, don’t you?”

It’s the warehouse again because it’s always the warehouse because Edwin has gotten lost there, and Charles has to get him back, no matter what.

So he marches into there, cricket bat brandished, and sends the cats scattering. Their King has not yet returned, his throne empty and Charles’s non-existent, aching heart seizes in his chest, like it does every time he looks at that horrible pile of palettes.

For a moment, he wants to beat it into splinters even more than he already has, wants to reduce it to dust, but then he stops himself.

It’s not what he is there to do.

One of the cats is too slow; Charles catches it easily, even if it is scratching and screaming and twisting its little body in a futile attempt to break free.

Charles doesn’t want to hurt it, but if that is what is necessary, he will.

“Tell me where he took my friend”, he hisses at the creature, ignoring that the scratches sting like fire, ignoring that the cat is most likely terrified of him. “If you don’t I’m going to crush every bone in your body and I won’t even regret it.”

There is a moment of silence, and Charles sees his hands covered in blood, feels thin bones splinter in his grip, imagines a life going out because of him, and he doesn’t want to do it, but he will if he has to.

Its little legs kick out again, before they go still and then, with the most contempt Charles has ever heard in another being’s voice, it says, “There is a cave south of here where the King sometimes goes when he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Is Edwin there?”, Charles asks, a hint of hope blooming in his chest, because it’s a direction at least, a possibility. Yet, he tightens his fingers just so, just enough to let the cat know he means it.

“If you will find him, it will be there”, the cat replies and Charles breathes a sigh of relief, and lets go.

Edwin tries not to watch Charles say goodbye to Crystal, but it’s impossible not to, because Charles won’t let go of his hand. And Edwin cannot feel it, but he knows that Charles’ knuckles are still raw and his nails torn down to the flesh, and it is impossible to think of anything else.

“You’ll take care of yourself, okay?”, Crystal says, and reaches out to hug Charles, who goes willingly, their joined hands dragging Edwin closer, too. Their joined hands, Charles’ bruised and bleeding because of Edwin.

“’Course I will”, Charles answers and buries his face in Crystal’s hair; Edwin wants to tear him away from her and keep him to himself for the rest of forever. “You, too, though. And take care of Niko.”

“I will. Maybe she wants to come with me to London. See the sights. The agency. The haunted vending machine.”

The words give Edwin a start; that case, the vending machine that used to be haunted until Charles and he convinced the ghost stuck in there to move on in 2002, is nothing Crystal should know about. It’s one of the cases Charles and he still refer to sometimes when they pass that particular machine, a little inside joke.

That Crystal knows about it, that this Niko does as well, is an almost physical blow to Edwin’s chest, and for a moment, he does not know why.

But then Charles pulls back, his bloodied hand in Edwin’s still, and says, “That’d be brills. And we can make a few new memories, too. Good ones, this time.”

And suddenly, it is so clear: in the last three decades and some, there have been almost no memories they haven’t shared, and suddenly, there are six weeks of Charles’ existence that Edwin hasn’t been part of and the realisation of it feels like it’s ripping him to shreds.

“We should go”, he says, before he thinks of it, and it is unkind and cruel and selfish to ask Charles to cut his goodbyes short; yet Edwin cannot help but feel relief when Charles looks at him for a second and nods. “I’ll see you in two days, okay, Crys?”

And Crystal, who has a nickname too, nods, and Edwin breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Charles drags the girls with him to the woods to the south, unsure where to find the cave and yet determined to do so.

Chances are that Crystal is just humouring him, but Charles doesn’t care. And it doesn’t matter, does it, because it’s her who finds it in the end.

“This doesn’t look very nice for a kitty”, Niko comments as they come closer; Charles still isn’t certain if she knows what and who they are looking for, but he doesn’t have the time stop and explain it, not if Edwin might be here, might be hurt, might be being tortured.

“I’m not sure if the Cat King would describe himself as a kitty”, Crystal replies as they get close enough to see into the cave, “But in general, I agree. I don’t think this looks nice for anyone in particular.”

She’s right; it looks damp and overgrown with weed, not a place fit for a king, but maybe for a prisoner.

“You wait outside”, Charles tells them, because he can’t die anymore, and because he isn’t sure if he wants his new friends to see what he’ll become if faced with the Cat King now. “If I need help, I’ll shout for you.”

Maybe Crystal answers, maybe she doesn’t; Charles doesn’t wait to hear it, just pulls out his bat and barges into the cave, ready to knock the whiskers off the damned creature that has taken his best friend, the best person in the world.

Inside, the cave is cosy, carpeted, a large bed and a bar crammed into a corner; it’s magic, quite obviously.

And it’s empty.

Being back in London feels right, even if the hand in Edwin’s still feels wrong.

Not because Edwin doesn’t want to hold Charles hand – he finds, although he never would have considered it before, that the weight of Charles’ hand in his is comforting, the pressure of his fingers grounding, that the occasional tug makes his heart skip a metaphorical beat – but because even without feeling, he is constantly reminded of the state of them, the blood caked under Charles’ fingernails.

Almost, he raises their joined hands again to see if maybe, some of the bruises have healed, but when Edwin turns around, Charles is looking at him with such wonder, such care, such lingering pain, that it takes his breath away.

That look alone is like a stab, a full-body blow, and Edwin hates himself for having caused it, for thinking about his petty jealousies when Charles has been through six weeks of what must have been Hell.

“Charles”, he says softly, because he doesn’t know what else to say, but he doesn’t even get to finish saying his name; before he does, Charles pulls him closer, into another hug, that feels almost as desperate as the one they shared back at the warehouse, kneeling on the ruined concrete floor.

“I thought I lost you”, Charles sobs into his shoulder, and the only thing Edwin can do is hold him. “I didn’t want to believe it for a second, but you were gone for so long and I thought- I didn’t think I’d ever be here again, I didn’t think I’d be here again with you, I didn’t-”

It makes Edwin think of what Crystal said an ocean away, that Charles didn’t want to leave the warehouse, not without Edwin, and there are tears in his eyes now, spilling over and impossible to stop, because Charles there on the warehouse floor, unmoving as the world changes around him, is the worst thing he has ever imagined.

He hugs him closer, and Charles buries his face in the crook of Edwin’s neck, hot tears spilling against Edwin’s skin and soaking into his blazer, changing the fabric in the most fundamental of fashions.

The girls find him eventually.

Charles isn’t certain how long he has been sitting there, but he isn’t sure he cares anymore, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know where he is, so he can’t save him, which means Edwin is somewhere out there, alone and lost and most likely hurt. And he must be waiting for Charles to come, because Charles has always come, Charles has promised him, again and again, that he would always come.

And now, Charles doesn’t know where to go.

He doesn’t know he’s crying until Crystal is crouching before him, dabbing at his cheeks with a crumpled tissue, and it’s like everything falls apart around him, beneath him, inside him, because Edwin isn’t here and Charles doesn’t know how to get him back.

They eventually part, although Edwin isn’t sure he likes it; he’s not used to this kind of closeness, and yet it feels good to hold Charles, to comfort him.

It’s not like Charles goes far either, he keeps one of his poor, battered hands on Edwin’s wrist and drags him to their sofa, pulls him down until Charles can rest his feet on Edwin’s lap, their fingers still intertwined.

At first, it’s difficult to find somewhere to put his other hand, the one that is so used to holding books when he sits here, but Charles looks at him hopefully as he fidgets, until Edwin puts it down on top of Charles’ thin ankle, fingers snaking around to hold it.

“Do you want to tell me about what happened?”, Edwin asks after a few moments of silence – not uncomfortable, but heavy still – but Charles shakes his head almost immediately, dark curls bouncing.

“I’d rather not”, he says, and it sounds prim, almost rehearsed; it hurts in a new, novel way to think that Charles feels like he has to prepare answers when talking to him. “It wasn’t… pleasant. Do you wanna tell me how the Cat King kept you there for so long?”

His immediate response is no, he doesn’t want to tell Charles just what he had to do to appease the Cat King. There is an explanation ready on his lips, one he has rehearsed, back when there were lips on his throat, leaving imperceptible marks, but then he thinks of Charles’ hands, of his eyelashes clumped together with tears, and Charles deserves the truth, especially because there is so little else Edwin can give him.

“He asked for a kiss. Or rather, several”, he explains, then, because he isn’t certain how much Charles understood back then, on the warehouse floor, “For me, it was only a few hours, but wherever he took me, time must have been stretched there. It is the only explanation I can come up with.”

And he expects a chuckle, a smile, anything at all, but Charles’ eyes go dim again, go dull, and Edwin hates himself with renewed passion for causing it.

Charles isn’t sure how they end up in Niko’s room; he cannot remember walking, cannot remember teleporting either. But they do, and he is still crying, surrounded by pink and purple and bright yellow, and there are two sets of arms around him and they still don’t make him feel better.

He can’t remember the last time he cried, and he doesn’t think he ever cried like this before, not even with his father’s belt raining pain down on him. This is worse, because this is Edwin, and this is forever, and this is all his fault.

“Maybe the cat just didn’t know”, Crystal says softly, rubbing a hand along his back; for a brief moment, Charles wishes he could at least feel this. “Maybe their King doesn’t tell them much, I don’t think kings usually do. We’ll just keep looking. We’ll find someone who does.”

It’s meant to soothe, but it doesn’t; if anything it makes Charles cry harder, because who is left? He could go through the cats, one by one, and he will if necessary,, but if this one didn’t know, why should the next one be any better?

He doesn’t know how to answer, because any sound that comes from his lips is coated and drowned and swallowed by sobs, but he doesn’t have to, because Niko kisses the top of his head, and says, “You did mention a witch, maybe she knows? Maybe she has one of those crystal balls to look inside and find your friend!”

And she’s wrong, because Esther would never help them; and she’s right, because Charles has questions for her anyway.

A bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes quickly, thank God. Edwin isn’t sure what snuffed it out in the first place, but he swears not to make the same mistake a second time; his soul would not be able to take it.

He tries to keep the conversation light, only that so much of it seems to be caught up in everything that has happened.

It’s unusual, having to tread lightly around Charles, and Edwin hates it with a passion that surprises even himself. But it just feels so wrong, even more so than watching Crystal’s hand on Charles’ back, hearing her mention anecdotes from a life she wasn’t part of.

So, when he again almost asks Charles just how Crystal could have known about the cursed vending machine, he instead picks up the book lying on their side table and holds it up without even looking at the title.

“Do you want me to read you something?”, he asks, because back when they first met they occasionally did this, especially on winter nights whose cold they couldn’t feel, when Charles still remembered dying.

For a second, there is silence, Charles’ thumb brushing warm across the back of Edwin’s hand, and Edwin could live in this moment for the rest of his existence.

“The Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids?”, Charles asks, and there is a hint of his usual smile curling around his lips, a ghost of his normal teasing.

“I could get another book”, Edwin counters, and gives Charles a smile in hopes of getting a real one in return, “but I would have to get up to get it.”

And Charles is shaking his head immediately, and the smile on his lips grows into something Edwin almost recognises.

He reads the Complete Encyclopedia of Uncommon and Rare Arachnids to Charles for hours.

They get to E.

“Don’t do this”, Crystal repeats for the dozenth time, but Charles doesn’t slow down his steps, doesn’t even think about it. “Charles! Don’t do this. You remember the last time, she’s dangerous.”

“I know”, he answers, and he does. It’s just that it doesn’t matter. “That’s why she might have Edwin. Because she’s dangerous. Or she might at least know where he is. I can’t, Crystal.”

And he does stop, just for a second, turns around to see her and Niko trailing after him, Crystal obviously distressed, Niko most likely just confused. And he wants to care so much, but he just can’t.

Not when it’s Edwin.

“You stay out of this, Crys, please. But I can’t, not when it’s him. If there is any chance that Esther knows what that goddamned Cat King has done to Edwin, then I have to try. I have to.” He doesn’t expect Crystal to understand; they don’t know each other for long, it’s a miracle she’s even here still. “He’s my best friend. He would do the same for me.”

For a moment, nothing.

Then Crystal’s expression softens, like she might understand after all, and she nods.

“Alright”, she says, “Niko and I will stay around the corner and I’ll try to read her mind. But be careful, Charles. You won’t be much help to Edwin if you join him wherever he is.”

Night falls and they are still wrapped up into their cocoon of warmth on the couch, Charles’ hand by now a familiar weight in Edwin’s.

“I know you want to ask”, Charles says into the comfortable silence, and Edwin rejoices just for the pleasure of hearing his voice. “And I’ll tell you everything you wanna know, just… not now, okay? I want to enjoy having you back before I have to think about all that again.”

“Of course”, Edwin answers and he means it, understands it, too. He looks down at Charles’ hand in his and that is enough for now. “Whenever you are ready. There is no rush, we have the rest of forever to figure it out.”

Charles’ fingers twitch in his and it must be the light, but the knuckles look slightly less raw, less torn. Without thinking, Edwin lifts their hands to his lips and presses a kiss on the wounds, hoping that it won’t cause more pain.

It gets a response, at least, a sharp intake of breath, Charles’ fingers clenching around his, but when Edwin looks up at Charles, allowing their hands to drop once more, his eyes are wide and warm and a little alive.

“Doesn’t hurt”, Charles answers the question Edwin has yet to ask, but his voice sounds a little strangled still. “It’s just that you don’t usually do… any of this. I thought the hand holding would be almost too much, I just couldn’t let go.”

Because I need to make sure you’re really back, he doesn’t say, but Edwin hears it anyway. And the sentiment hurts, the thought that Charles thinks physical touch is a burden to him to the point of trying to let go of Edwin’s hand for his sake.

“I do not mind it in the slightest”, he declares, making sure to tighten the grip he has on Charles’ hand. “Not if it’s you.”

And Charles’ eyes widen once more, a spark in them igniting, and Edwin kisses his knuckles, one by one, vowing that he won’t let go until Charles can look at him without fear in his eyes.

“Esther!”, he yells before he has even reached the door, ready to barge in without knocking, even if Crystal has implored him to at least stay outside of Esther’s house. “If you don’t come out, I swear to God, I will come and find you and-”

“What?”, the door swings open and Esther is standing there, pipe at her lips as she regards Charles with a put upon kind of disinterest. “I heard you boys were still in town, but oh my God, can’t you let a woman cook up her revenge in peace? You boys are so annoying.”

If he was still alive, his teeth would splinter from how hard Charles is clenching them; his fingers are itching to grab the bat and just try and mash her face in.

“Do you know where Edwin is?”, he asks instead, because that’s more important than feeling her skull split apart again.

“Who’s Edwin?”, she drawls, taking a drag from her pipe and blowing the smoke into Charles’ face. “Is that the other one? I can’t keep up with you kids and your stupid little names.”

“That’s him, yeah”, Charles answers and God, he wants to smash her kneecaps in, he wants to beg her to help, he wants to storm past her and tear her house apart until he finds Edwin. “Do you know where he is?”

“You seem desperate”, Esther says, smirking, taking another drag from her pipe. “I like it. What’s it worth to ya?”

“Everything”, he replies, although he shouldn’t, because in the end, it’s the only answer he can give.

“Love that. Not for you, but for me.” Esther is sizing him up, obviously considering something Charles won’t like the least, and yet he knows that he will do it, no matter what it is she asks, if she can only tell him where to find Edwin. “It’s gonna cost you, and I mean, like, a lot.”

“I’ll pay it”, Charles answers without a second of hesitation, and Esther smirks in a way that should make him regret his words; it doesn’t. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

Sometimes, Edwin forgets how different they get to experience time; sometimes he's forcibly reminded of the fact. Because Crystal and Niko find them like this, wrapped up in each other.

Part of Edwin wants to tear himself away from Charles, although there is nothing untoward they are doing, but another, one he understands even less, wants to press closer, wants to kiss Charles' knuckles again and let the girls see.

"You made it!", Charles exclaims when he sees Crystal, voice sounding at least a fraction alive, and Edwin loves it, despises it at the same time. "How was the trip?"

They are dripping rain water on the floor, Edwin belatedly realises, but he decides against mentioning it anyway, less for their sake and more for Charles’.

“It was alright. Long, mostly”, Crystal answers, pushing a hand through her thick curls and sending a spray of water down onto their wooden floor. Edwin does his best not to notice it. “How are you? Is everything alright?”

The concern is palpable in her voice, almost a physical entity in the room, and Charles seems touched by it, his eyes softening and another sliver of a smile playing across his lips.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Edwin’s here”, he replies, like it explains everything, and Crystal nods, as if she agrees that it does.

Her gaze flickers over to Edwin for a second, then back to Charles, whose fingers clench around Edwin’s almost imperceptibly before he shakes his head, the motion so small Edwin almost misses it.

He’s about to ask what he is going on, but then Niko steps forward, spreading even more water on their floors, and Edwin is distracted by the bright teal of her coat, the white of her hair that wasn’t there before he was taken.

“You must be Edwin”, she says and holds out a hand that Edwin cannot take without letting go of Charles’. “Charles has told us so much about you.”

“That would be me, yes. I apologise, my hand is currently quite occupied”, Edwin answers, then raises their joined hands to help explain why he cannot shake Niko’s; an expression flits across Crystal’s face, too quick for Edwin to make sense of it, yet Charles seems to understand it easily.

It shouldn’t bother Edwin as much as it does.

“Ooh, that’s okay”, Niko says, and she sounds like she means it. Her eyes are wide and happy and suddenly, even without knowing much about her, Edwin is glad that she was with Charles when he was gone. “You should be holding Charles’ hand, that’s much more important. I completely understand.”

And silently, Edwin agrees.

Esther is grinning at him in a way that reminds Charles of the snake Edwin had found in her house, cold and dangerous and like he should be running from that smile.

Instead, he takes a step forward, and he would take another if Crystal wasn’t suddenly next to him, yanking him back.

“She doesn’t know a thing”, she half hisses, half shouts, her voice as deadly as Esther’s smile. “I read her thoughts and there is nothing in there. She just wants you to promise her that you’ll do what she asks, and then use you.”

Her grip is so strong Charles feels it through his clothes, through the barrier to physical touch that is death, and as she yanks him back, Charles feels the heart he doesn’t have break in his chest once more, because for a moment, he had had hope.

Esther cackles and Charles knows there are tears spilling down his cheeks, even if he cannot feel them.

“Well, it was worth a try”, she says, sounding like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter at all, and something in Charles just snaps.

Crystal’s hand on his shoulder still feels solid, but the cricket bat in his hand does even more so, especially when it connects with Esther’s still-smirking face.

While the girls go and dry off, Charles sinks back into the cushions, his eyes fluttering close. Almost, he could look relaxed, but Edwin can still see the tension in his body, like a spring curled tight and waiting for the lightest touch to set it off.

Edwin wants to soothe him, but he doesn’t know how to, especially not when there is still so much he doesn’t know about those six weeks.

He is trying to figure out a way how to ask, or at least hint at it, but then Charles opens his eyes again, and they are softer than they should be when Charles has been through so much.

“I think you’ll really like Niko”, he says, and he sounds wistful somehow; Edwin desperately wishes he knew why. “She’s pretty brills. Might have saved me once or twice.”

“Saved you? What from?”

Edwin imagines Esther and her giant snake and Hell and everything in between, but Charles’ eyes don’t change, neither does his voice.

“Myself, really.”

In the end, it takes both of the girls to pull him off Esther.

His whole body is aching from her iron cane in ways he had forgotten he could hurt, but the pain is distant, far away; the only thing that matters is that she had said she knew how to get Edwin back and she had given him a sliver of hope and then she had snuffed it out again.

Another thing that is far away: he is screaming, or crying, or both; two sets of hands drag him down the steps, and Charles knows he’s fighting them, because… because he doesn’t know what else to do.

And then he’s just crying.

Arms pull him close against a solid chest, fingers card through his hair, and there is nothing stopping the sobs wrecking through his body, so violently Charles feels them almost like he had felt the hits from Esther’s cane.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, crouched on the ground, but it is a long, long time.

When they come back, Niko hops onto the sofa’s backrest and Charles looks up at her with obvious affection.

“Do you need some band-aids for your hands?”, she asks, placing a little box on her knee. “I brought the Hello Kitty ones.”

The words make no sense to Edwin, but Charles nods, and Edwin hates how much he doesn’t know, hates that they ever had to spend time apart.

Charles twists and turns until he can put one of his bruised hands into Niko’s lap, who inspects it, before a bright, bright smile spreads across her face, like a sunflower opening to greet the morning.

“It looks better!”, Niko tells him, and she’s right; the knuckles are still red, but have scabbed over, the cuts are a little less prominent against Charles’ warm skin.

“Does it?”, Charles asks, and sits up straighter to see for himself. “I guess your dad was right, then.”

“I told you.” Niko is pulling a pastel pink band-aid from her box, unwrapping it before placing it gently across one of the deeper scratches on the back of Charles’ hand. It covers only half of it, if even.

“Charles”, Edwin starts before he can stop himself, “what is the purpose of this? Those patches won’t make your wounds heal any faster.”

It takes a moment, but then Charles turns to look at him; it’s a silly thought, but it almost feels like Edwin has missed his eyes on him.

“They won’t”, Charles agrees, and his lips are curved into an almost-smile. “But it will make them heal better.”

Charles cannot remember how they get back to the butcher shop, but they do, because Charles ends up sitting on Niko’s bed, while she rummages through her night stand.

He isn’t certain what she is looking for, but she finds it with a little ah!, and returns to the bed with a box in her hand. It’s metal, dented and scratched in a way that shows it has been loved; she opens it and there are dozens of colourful band-aids inside, waiting to patch someone up again.

“Now, I don’t know Edwin”, she says in a strange cadence, like she is trying to figure out what to say while speaking.”But if you love him so much, then I don’t think he would like you to be hurt. And since he isn’t here to make it better, I will try.”

The words make Charles’ eyes sting with tears once more, because Niko is right, Edwin wouldn’t want him to hurt; because she is right, Edwin isn’t here.

“Ghosts don’t-”, he starts, because if he doesn’t talk, he’ll start crying again, “Our wounds heal differently. Those band-aids won’t make them heal faster.”

Niko stills for a moment, then takes one of his hands in hers, which is scratched from Esther’s cane. The wounds won’t last more than a day, Charles knows it, but Niko still touches his hand with so much care, as if she thinks she could hurt him.

“My dad used to put band-aids on my knees when I fell from my bike”, she tells him as if it’s an answer to a question Charles hasn’t asked; maybe it is. “And he always said that even if that wouldn’t make the scrapes heal faster, it would make them heal better.”

And Niko looks up at him, her fingers cradling his hand like she thinks he can still feel it.

“Do you want a pink or a green one?”

“Pink”, Charles says, and doesn’t bother to blink the tears away this time.

Niko covers Charles’ hands in band-aids until she runs out of them, Charles’ wounds too numerous for what her little chest holds. They feel strange against Edwin’s palm when Charles switches the hand he is holding Edwin’s with halfway through, the plastic so different to Charles’ skin.

He watches the exchange and it tugs at his heart in ways he doesn’t understand; it hurts and it heals, because at least Charles had someone to put little plastic patches over his wounds, even if how familiar both of them are with the process means that there must have been far more wounds than Edwin was aware of.

At the very end of it, Niko places a kiss on Charles’ knuckles and Edwin’s lips ache in jealousy.

“Thank you”, Charles tells her, and she nods, bright and happy, before she starts sliding off the backrest.

She stops, though, and cocks her head as she looks at Edwin.

“The kiss makes the wounds heal even better”, she says, like imparting a secret, and then, she’s gone.

“You can’t keep doing this”, Crystal tells him the second they are alone, in a voice that allows no objections; Charles knows he will object anyway. “Charles, I know you cannot die a second time, but you cannot keep doing this. Esther hurt you and we had to watch and I just. I can’t do that again. I know he’s your best friend, but you’re running yourself into the ground with this and I don’t know if I can watch it happen.”

She looks like she means it and Charles wants to help, but if there is one thing he cannot give her, it’s this.

“I can’t”, he answers, and looks down onto his hands, peppered with brightly-coloured band-aids someone who cares about him put there, up at Crystal who saved him from being bound to a witch’s whim, and yet it all pales in comparison to the gaping hole in his chest where Edwin’s presence usually lingers. “I’m so sorry, but I just can’t stop, not as long as he’s still gone.”

He wants to tell her about how Edwin would do the same for him, about how he has saved Edwin from a hundred monsters and will save him from a thousand more, about how he isn’t sure if he can continue existing without Edwin at his side.

But he doesn’t get to, because Crystal takes a deep breath, and asks, “What if he’s not trying to come back?”

The question shocks Charles into silence, but Crystal continues talking anyway, words blurring into each other with how fast she is speaking.

“I didn’t want to say anything, because I know how much you care for him, but maybe he just left. Maybe that is why we can’t find him anywhere, why the cats couldn’t tell you anything either. Because he doesn’t want to be found.”

And it’s-

It’s the most ludicrous thing Charles has ever heard in the fifty-odd years he has spent on this Earth.

“No”, he tells Crystal, “No, you’re wrong. And not because I couldn’t bear it although I really, really couldn’t, but… that’s not how we are, Crystal. He wouldn’t leave. Never. If there is anything in the world I know for certain, it’s that Edwin wouldn’t leave. And that means he’s out there somewhere and he is hurt or captured, and he is waiting for me to come and get him. And I will, Crystal, no matter what happens, I will.”

There’s nowhere in the agency for the girls to sleep, so they set out to find a hotel, and Edwin breathes a sigh of relief, even if he hates himself for it only moments later.

He shouldn’t be so jealous of Charles’ attention, his affection, especially not when Crystal and Niko have stuck with him for six horrifying weeks, and Edwin should be nothing but grateful to them for taking care of the best, the most important person in existence instead of him.

But the door closes behind them, and it’s just Charles and him once more, and Edwin is weak, is possessive and greedy and looks down at Charles’s hand in his, and thinks that at least one thing is right in the world.

“Alright”, Charles says and turns to look at Edwin. “You can ask me. Not about everything all at once, maybe, but you can ask me.”

It should take him at least a second to understand what Charles is talking about, but it doesn’t; Charles says you can ask me, and there’s a thousand questions swarming through his head immediately, begging to be spoken aloud.

He nods, but before he can decide on any one thing to ask, he takes Charles back to the sofa and makes him sit down, their hands still loosely joined between them.

Touch is something Charles has always needed, but now, with Charles so hurt, so vulnerable, Edwin realises that he needs it almost as much.

There are so many things he wants to know that it feels impossible to settle on one thing, at least to start with, until suddenly, there’s a question that blazes through his mind so painfully that Edwin speaks it out-loud before he has a moment to reconsider.

“Did you ever doubt I would come back?”, he asks, then corrects himself, “No, did you ever doubt that I wanted to come back?”

He tells himself that he’ll accept any answer Charles will give him and it’s the truth; another truth: if Charles ever doubted that the only place Edwin wants to be is at his side, it will shatter his heart to pieces.

“Of course not”, Charles says, not missing a beat, and Edwin gets to keep his heart after all. His voice is soft and his eyes are, too, even if their light is still dimmed. “I’d never doubt that. It’s you and me against the world, isn’t it?”

Edwin nods, and there are tears in his eyes he does not deserve to cry.

“Thank you”, he says, unsure what he is thanking Charles for: for still being here, for believing in Edwin, in the strength of their friendship, for enduring all of it. “I know it must have been Hell, because that’s what it would have been had the roles been reversed, but something must have happened, because your hands…”

Without wanting to, he looks down at Charles’ fingers, wrapped in bright plastic, his own woven between them, pristine because he allowed the most important person in existence to go through this alone.

“I’m not really sure”, Charles replies, and when Edwin looks up again, it’s Charles who is staring at their joined hands. “To be honest, I didn’t really stop to think about it. We found out about this other dimension the Cat King uses to escape, and I just went mental, didn’t I? Started trashing the warehouse completely, and when my bat broke, well. I just used my hands. I guess they’re not as sturdy.”

He tries for a smile, and it rips Edwin’s heart to pieces.

“You-”, he starts, but doesn’t get the words out, because the thought is too much to bear, the images of Charles ripping his fingers to shreds to find him too vivid.

“Had to get you back somehow, didn’t I?”, Charles asks, answers, still smiling, and Edwin cannot take a second more, so instead, he pulls Charles against his chest and hugs him so tightly he knows that, if he had any bones left, he’d feel them creak.

Maybe he should be discouraged, maybe it should be difficult to go back out and start looking for Edwin all over again, but it isn’t.

What would be difficult is sitting down and waiting; what would be impossible is to let Edwin stay wherever he is being kept.

So, he walks.

Past meadows and across streams, up hillsides and then looks down into the valleys and still finds nothing, nothing at all. It’s maddening, it’s the worst thing he has ever felt, because the scenery is beautiful, the days long and the sun bright, and Charles feels like he is dragging himself through barbed wire and broken glass.

When he gets Edwin back, he’ll never let him out of his sight again, he swears when he walks up to the lighthouse once more, for the fifteenth or five hundredth time, sparing a look at the ghosts sitting there, watching the water. He’ll keep him close, keep him in his sight, keep one hand in Edwin’s, no matter if he likes it or not, for the rest of eternity, just to make sure he won’t stray too far.

It becomes a thing between them when they are alone.

Charles will look at him and say, one question, or three questions, and Edwin will go through his mental catalogue of them, realising how much he hates that there is anything about Charles he does not know all over again, every single time.

How long did you wait in the warehouse at first?, he asks, and Charles says, days. Crystal had to force me to leave it for the first time.

Why is Niko’s hair white now?, he asks another time when they sitting on the roof, the sounds of the city dulled down to a gentle buzz. Oh, that was mental, actually, Charles answers, and launches into a story about gnomes crawling from her mouth, and Edwin sits there and watches him, and wishes Charles would tell the story like he would have two months ago, animated and excited about it, instead of matter-of-factly.

How long would you have stayed on that floor?, he asks, and doesn’t know if he wants to hear the answer this time, only knows he has to. And Charles looks at him strangely, fondly, sadly, and says, forever, mate.

Crystal catches up with him at the warehouse again, where he is pacing on the horrible, hated concrete floor, thinking about battering it open and seeing if he can find Edwin between the pieces. She’s been looking at him more often now, so openly worried Charles sometimes finds it difficult to hold her gaze, but there is nothing to be done about it, is there?

It’s the same way she is looking at him now, forehead furrowed and her dark eyes on him feeling like they are taking Charles apart, piece for piece, thought for thought.

“What are you looking for?”, she asks like she doesn’t know it, like the answer has ever changed.

He doesn’t answer, because he doesn’t know how to say Edwin’s name without breaking into tears, because if he says his name, he might not stop anytime soon.

“Charles”, she tries again and it stops his feet mid-step, “Charles, what if you don’t find him? What if he never comes back?”

It’s words that never should be spoken, because they cannot be allowed to be true, and Charles closes his eyes, just to save himself from the look in Crystal’s eyes.

“I’ve been to Tragic Mick’s shop and I asked him about ghosts and their wandering, because you are scaring me”, she continues, “and he told me that the only ghosts who wander are those that killed themselves. And that scared me even more.”

And Charles wants to shake his head and tell her she’s wrong, but it feels like that somehow; like half of him died and he is doing everything he can to follow.

Niko comes to change Charles’ band-aids and Edwin doesn’t think about it much, just watches her take out the box and tell Charles about the characters depicted on them. The wounds themselves have healed slightly, and even if no one knows why, Edwin breathes a sigh of relief at the discovery.

He expects Niko to let Charles choose a colour again, like she has done before, but instead she turns to him, who is just there because Charles is still holding his hand like it’s a lifeline.

“I think you should choose the colour this time”, Niko tells him, holding out a hand with three different band-aids in it, three different colours, three different patterns.

“It’s not my hands, though”, Edwin protests, but Niko just shoves her hand closer.

“No”, she agrees, “but they’re your wounds, too.”

And Edwin glances at Charles, who, for once, isn’t looking back, takes in the sharp cut of his jaw and the dullness of his eyes, thinks of his bleeding knuckles and broken nails, and knows she is right.

“This one, then”, he says, and leaves the green one, covered with leaves, the yellow one, covered with stars, and picks up the red one, covered in hearts.

The thought doesn’t appear gradually, it rips through him one day when he is walking through the library, forgetting to avoid the bookcases and just phasing through them instead.

Two days before, Niko, in a futile hope to console him, had put a hand on his shoulder and given it a squeeze.

“If he has come back from Hell, then I’m sure he’ll come back from where he is now. Especially if he knows you are waiting for him”, she had said, and back then, Charles had just tried giving her a smile, not thinking anything of the comment.

But now, it’s like a bolt from the heavens, a thought so devastating it leaves him gasping in the middle of the room, clutching at his chest like he still had a heart to calm.

He knows little to nothing about the Cat King, because in the end, Edwin had always been the brains of their operation, the one with the encyclopedic knowledge of anything supernatural, but something he knows intimately are Edwin’s stories about Hell.

Most of them, he has heard at least a dozen times, and even if that is not enough to imagine the horrors there, it’s enough to know that the entities there use souls like bargaining chips.

Edwin had told him before that he had been traded from demon to demon, and back then, in the comfort of their agency, Charles had shivered and put a hand on Edwin’s shoulder in lieu of pulling him against his chest, tucking Edwin’s head under his chin and never letting him go again.

Now, a picture forms in his mind that is so terrifying Charles feels like screaming, and Edwin is not here, so Charles will claw him from the mouth of Hell itself this time.

“Charles, could I borrow Edwin for a second?”, Crystal asks one evening, and Charles’ fingers tense around his own.

It’s a strange phenomenon that has only increased with time; occasionally, Edwin thinks he can almost feel Charles’ touch, not as just resistance, but like he used to when he was still alive.

“It won’t be long and I’ll bring him back, I promise”, she adds, not even bothering to ask Edwin, just assuming he will follow her.

“Yeah, sure”, Charles eventually answers, even if a second too late, and slowly, ever so slowly, untangles their fingers from where their hands had been resting between them. It’s the first time since Edwin has come back that they are not touching, and Edwin feels the loss of it immediately, his fingers itching to find Charles’ once more.

For now, though, he only gives Charles a smile before he follows Crystal outside, where she stops immediately.

Her expression is one Edwin cannot decipher, anger lingering behind her eyes, but almost concealed by something much greater, much more important.

“Do you have any idea how much Charles loves you?”, she asks, and the anger is there in her voice, the other thing is, too. “I know I asked you before and you said yes, but I don’t think you do. And I think you need to.”

“I am perfectly aware-”, Edwin starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“You are not”, Crystal interrupts him and she sounds so certain that Edwin feels helpless hearing it, because even if he doesn’t believe her, there are things now that she knows about Charles and he doesn’t. “I watched that boy beat up a witch that almost took out all three of us, because she had lied about knowing where you were, and the only reason he didn’t bash her immortal head in was because Niko and I pulled him off of her. He was willing to sell his soul to her just to get you back. To a demon, too. He nearly ripped off his own fingers trying to reach you, because he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it.”

She pauses for a moment and Edwin can’t speak, can hardly think, his brain trying to sort through the information and failing, because it hurts too much.

“I thought he was going to die, Edwin. Cease existing. Whatever”, she continues, crossing her arms in front of her chest, and the anger is still there, and Edwin understands it now, deserves it. “I went to see him every day at that warehouse after he had just sat down and accepted his fate and every day I expected him to just not be there anymore. That’s how much he loves you, I thought he was going to disappear just because you had, too. He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone.”

“Crystal…”

“If you hurt him, I’m going to make you regret you were ever born”, she finishes, and Edwin believes her without reservations, “and the only reason I won’t kill you a second time is because I know it would kill Charles, too.”

It’s not easy to get Crystal to tell him where David is, but Charles manages anyway.

The roller-skating rink is dark and dirty, the concrete floor too close to the one in the warehouse for Charles not to shiver when seeing it for the first time. But it doesn’t matter, isn’t allowed to matter, because crouched in the corner is a human figure with shaggy hair and a too-large fur coat, and Charles wants to rip him apart for Crystal, wants to beg him to help for Edwin.

“Oi!”, he yells out and David scatters in a way that reminds Charles of a bug of some kind. “You remember me, yeah?”

“What do you want?”, David spits back, pressed against the wall and trying to look like he wouldn’t flee if Charles gave him an opportunity to do so. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”

“Didn’t ruin a thing”, Charles replies, but there’s no fire to it, because in the end, as much as he hates it, he needs the bastard’s help. “I need you to send me to Hell.”

If he wasn’t so desperate, if there wasn’t a constant loop of torture behind his eyes whenever he blinked, showing him thousands of ways that Edwin could be torn apart this second, he would try to find a better, a more subtle way of putting it, but there is, and Charles has long since stopped caring.

He hasn’t seen Edwin in more than three weeks and if his best friend in the world, the one person who never deserved to go to Hell, spent three weeks there because Charles was too stupid to put the pieces together, he will never forgive himself for it.

“What?”, David asks, and Charles has no time for this, for any of it.

“Hell. I need you to send me to Hell, because my friend might be there and I need to find him”, he repeats, and it takes a moment, but then David laughs, an ugly, rough sound.

“You want to go to Hell”, he repeats, like Charles hasn’t said so twice already. “Voluntarily.”

“Yes.” Charles closes his eyes for a second, wishing that the deep breaths he used to ask Edwin to take would still have the same effects on him as they did when he was still alive. “You don’t need to understand it, you just have to send me there. I’ll sell you my soul or whatever it is you do, I don’t care. I just need to get to Hell as quickly as possible.”

David still looks like he wants to laugh, but this time, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step forward, raising his hands as if he was trying to placate Charles, a smile on his lips that Charles wants to knock off.

“Alright, alright”, he says, and Charles hates him and hates the Cat King and hates himself for letting it come to this. But it will be worth it, anything would be worth it if it brought Edwin back. He’ll figure out what to do about his own soul later. “I’ll get you to Hell, absolutely. But it sounds like you’re desperate, so I might need a bit more than just your soul to make it happen.”

“No.” He thinks of Crystal and Niko and Jenny, all safe, all oblivious, hopes they’ll forgive him. “You’ll get my soul, and that’s it.”

David pretends to think about it, but Charles has dealt with enough demons to know he will accept; they are greedy creatures after all, and a soul is a soul is a soul.

“Okay”, he says at last, and still, Charles feels relief wash through him. Just hold on a little bit longer, Edwin. I’m coming. “I’ll take your soul. And I’ll send you to Hell. But I’ll choose the Circle.”

“Sure, whatever”, Charles replies and the smirk that David gives him should scare him, but he’s far past scaring. “I’ll find him no matter what.”

Crystal’s words echo in Edwin’s head when they return to the agency and Edwin slots back into the spot next to Charles, their fingers intertwining naturally.

He knows Charles loves him, of course he does. Has known it for thirty years and has it carved so deeply, so prominently into his heart that he’ll never forget it, yet something about Crystal’s words makes that knowledge scream in his chest when Charles looks at him, a little bit of his usual brightness returning to his eyes as soon as they touch.

It’s not frightening, that knowledge, but it’s not comforting either.

It’s just there, beating in his chest like a heart might, asking if Edwin feels the same.

And without a moment’s hesitation, Edwin answers.

Yes.

“Oh, you fucking won’t”, rings out Crystal’s voice just before Charles’ hand touches David’s, and for a moment, Charles hates her.

Then someone grips his shoulder and flings him backwards, and Crystal is standing there, breathing heavily, a cleaver in her hand, and for another moment, Charles loves her.

“You won’t fucking touch him”, she hisses, and David laughs, the sound just as rough, just as ugly.

“He came here by himself”, he tells her, grinning still. “He asked me to take his soul. He begged me to do it.”

“Well, the offer has been rescinded. And you better go wherever the fuck you came from, before I send you back there myself.”

“Crystal, I need him to-”, Charles starts, desperate, but he never gets to finish the sentence, because Crystal turns her head to look at him, and her eyes are blazing like fire, before they go white.

“No one needs him for anything”, she tells him and her voice is distant and emotionless and powerful, echoing in the empty space like it is made of a hundred women speaking.

And Crystal reaches out and puts a hand on the centre of David’s chest.

For a moment, nothing happens, then he is being flung back against the wall with an invisible force, kept there suspended.

“You won’t touch him again”, Crystal says and the other voices still echo within hers, leaving Charles breathless and awed and despondent. “And you won’t touch me either. Otherwise I’ll bury you so deep you’ll be begging me to send you back to Hell instead.”

And she lets him go; when she turns back to Charles, there’s a small pouch in her hand.

“Crystal said you almost sold your soul to a demon”, Edwin starts the next time Charles allows him a question.

Everything Crystal had told him has stuck with him, but this he had only realised much later, and it had scared him like hardly anything else had before.

Charles just nods, this time doesn’t even try for a smile, and Edwin is glad for it; he’s not sure if he could take it.

“I didn’t really think I had a choice”, he adds after a few moments, like it makes it better. “I thought the Cat King might have sold you to some kind of demon and that was why I couldn’t find you anywhere. And the idea of you, stuck down there… I couldn’t take it.”

“But there was no proof, there can’t even have been any indication that…”

“No, there wasn’t”, Charles replies and this time, he does smile, and the sight is as torturous as Edwin knew it was going to be. “But I had to make sure. No version of you getting dragged to Hell where I don’t come and get you, is there?”

His fingers, adorned with less band-aids than there were before, squeeze Edwin’s and for a moment, they almost feel warm, real.

And Edwin blinks back tears and thinks of Crystal saying, he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, and squeezes back.

“How am I supposed to get Edwin back now, Crystal?”, Charles sobs, the words coming out drowned in tears and desolation. “What if he’s in Hell and I can’t get him back?”

He’s on the floor of the roller-skating rink, David’s collapsed form just metres away, and Charles should move in case he wakes up again, but he can’t. His limbs are not moving, his thoughts spiralling, because the only thing that counts is that Edwin might be trapped in some kind of torture chamber in the one place Charles cannot reach.

Two familiar hands pull him up and into a hug that Charles cannot reciprocate, shaking too violently with the intensity of his sobs.

“Jesus Christ, Charles”, Crystal mutters into his shoulder, and she sounds shaken, sounds almost in tears. “Have you ever stopped for a second and thought what would happen if Edwin came back and you were in Hell?”

“Now that we’re all back, do you guys want to get back into detecting?”, Crystal asks them, and Charles flinches almost imperceptibly, before forcing a smile onto his pretty lips.

This time, at least, looking at it is a little less painful.

“Yeah, of course”, Charles says, “but maybe not right away. Unless Edwin…”

“No, I think a bit of a break would do us some good”, Edwin tells him before Charles can even finish the sentence. “Maybe once Charles’ hands have healed. We have no reason to rush it, do we?”

And watches as a little bit of light returns to Charles’ eyes.

It’s later, although Charles cannot tell exactly how much.

Crystal had to half-carry him out of the roller-skating rink, where they had both collapsed on the ground, unable or unwilling to move.

With time, Charles’ sobs had dried up, even though it feels like he has an ocean of them still stored inside his chest, lapping at his unbeating heart like waves. But Crystal had been right, he doesn’t know if Edwin is in Hell, just fears it more than anything else in this world.

“Charles?”, Crystal asks into the night air, sounding pensive, drained.

“Yeah?”

“I know you and Edwin are best friends, but that can’t be all that there is to it. Not with how you’ve been in the past weeks. What’s going on?”

It’s not the question he expected, it’s not even one he has ever asked himself before, but there is exhaustion so deep in his bones, paired with despair he didn’t know he could even feel, and Charles knows that Crystal deserves an answer.

So, he looks inside, pictures Edwin, his little smug smile when he wins at Clue and the elegance of his gestures and the way his voice softens when he knows Charles needs reassurance.

He thinks of Edwin, bathed in the light of the morning sun, and illuminated by the stars, thinks of Edwin’s wit and his brilliance and how easily he gets annoyed at period dramas on TV when their costumes aren’t historically accurate. Thinks of Edwin reading him to sleep when he was dying and reading him poetry afterwards when he found out that Charles had never truly liked a poem, and how Edwin’s voice had almost made him cry when he had recited Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale.

Thinks about how when he’s sad, it’s Edwin he wants to talk to, and when he’s happy, it’s the same thing, the same intensity.

Thinks about how no one has ever known him like this, inside and out, with all his flaws and imperfections and silly little quirks, and how Edwin does and still wants to keep him; how Charles knows just as much about him and feels the same.

Thinks about how it’s impossible to imagine a world without him in it, and how Charles never even wants to try doing so.

Thinks of Edwin and how he is the best, the brightest, the most important part of his existence.

“I love him”, he finally answers, and he’s choking on the words because they are true and yet he hasn’t known until a second ago. “Crystal, I love him. I love him so much and I never even got to tell him.”

And he’s crying again, just as hard as before, and Crystal reaches out and holds him until it’s morning again.

“Crystal and I found the vending machine”, Niko tells them the next day when the girls arrive around noon. She’s skipping, obviously excited as she sits down between them, completely ignoring that it means they have to rearrange their intertwined hands. “The one that was haunted. It was so cool, I got an orange soda out of it.”

She’s unpacking her band-aids, although nowadays, Charles doesn’t need many of them anymore, setting them out as a surgeon would their instruments, and no matter how charming Edwin finds her, the reminder that the girls know of the vending machine still makes something in Edwin’s chest clench uncomfortably.

“That’s great”, Charles says and maybe there is a little bit more light in his eyes than there was yesterday. He plucks a band-aid from Niko’s lap and hands it to her. “This one today, please.”

And it really isn’t great at all, but Edwin doesn’t know how to formulate the fact into a sentence that doesn’t sound like complete lunacy.

“And this one”, he says instead, and grabs a random band-aid too, just so he won’t make a fool of himself.

It’s the first time he has participated in the little ritual by his own volition and Niko smiles at him, almost a reward, before taking a look at the plaster he picked.

“That’s nice”, she tells him, and puts it down next to Charles’ choice for later use. “And really fitting. They’re in love in the anime.”

Charles’ hand twitches, but he doesn’t say anything else until Niko is finished.

“There is one more thing”, Crystal tells him as they are walking back to the butcher shop, after she has explained the power of her ancestors she has just discovered to him, or at least tried to. “When I was in David’s mind, I could see… something in the warehouse. Somewhere he thought about escaping to. I think it’s something like a little pocket dimension, if that makes sense. Maybe Edwin is in there.”

That night, Charles gives him another question, and Edwin knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself.

“When did you tell Crystal and Niko about the Case of the Haunted Vending Machine of 2002?”

Charles looks surprised, and Edwin cannot blame him; it is such an inconsequential thing to ask when is so much else Edwin doesn’t know yet, but then his eyes soften a little, and there is a spark in his eyes that Edwin has missed dearly.

“I’m not entirely sure”, he says, and it makes Edwin feel a little better to know that: at least to Charles, it wasn’t an occasion that mattered. “But they asked about you sometime, especially Niko, after she could see me. About why I wanted to find you so badly, about how our life was like before we came to Port Townsend. And I thought the easiest thing was to just tell them about cases. And you were brilliant in the vending machine one.”

He smiles and for the first time since he got back, Edwin doesn’t have to suppress a flinch; it almost looks like the smile he is used to.

“So were you”, Edwin replies without thinking, and means it, too. His fingers tighten a little around Charles’ and he could swear he can feel skin against skin, flesh against flesh.

“We were pretty brilliant together.”

“We were”, Edwin replies and wants to pull Charles closer, wants to never let him go again, “And we still are.”

This time, Crystal doesn’t even try to stop him.

Charles walks into the warehouse, cricket bat in hand, vowing then and there that he won’t leave until he has found this pocket dimension, no matter what or where it is.

He starts with whatever is left of the furniture, smashing it to pieces and ripping those apart until they’re nothing more than splinters. The palettes strewn about are next, nails flying as Charles pulls the boards apart and leaves them scattered on the ground.

Then, the walls, tearing down the panelling, until the metal is bare and covered in dents and scratches and holes where his bat bust through the rust. He rips out the light fixtures and grinds them to dust under his loafers, shreds the nets hanging between the beams and leaves their tattered remains wherever he happens to be standing.

Finally, the floor itself, because if he has to dig down to Hell with his nails and teeth, he will.

The concrete cracks under the barrage of hits he rains down onto it, magic putting more force into the blows than his spectral muscles could, until the ground looks like a meteor hit.

It turns out to be too much for his bat, which splinters just like the palettes, the pillars, the concrete did, so Charles throws it away and uses his hands instead, shovelling away gravel and debris and chipped wood, digging deep into the ground until it, and Edwin, are the only things he can still think about.

Somewhere in between, his hands start bleeding, his nails cracking and ripping down to the flesh, but Charles pays them no mind, even as pain radiates up his arms with every punch, every blow, every cut.

It feels like the scratch of a cat’s claw, just a hundredfold, and it hurts, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing does.

“Why is this so important to you? All the questions, I mean. I know Crystal told you the gist of what happened during that time”, Charles asks after he has answered another one of Edwin’s queries. He looks relaxed, his head pillowed on Edwin’s lap, and when he looks up at him, Edwin knows he could count the lashes around his deep, dark eyes.

They’re less dull nowadays, but still don’t hold that one spark that Edwin misses the most of all.

“It’s silly”, he confesses, not because he wants to, but because Charles has shared so much with him that he deserves to have at least one question of his own answered truthfully. “It’s just that for decades, all of your memories were mine as well. And those six weeks… I wish I could change them, I wish you didn’t have to endure them, I wish I could take all of it away, so please, don’t think that this matters more to me than that.”

He takes a deep breath, something that he had forgotten about in Hell, something that Charles had showed him once more after they had met, something that now will always be Charles to him.

“Suddenly, there are six weeks in the middle of your existence, and I wasn’t part of a second of them. And I hate that, much more than I should.”

For a few, long moments, there is no answer, just Charles’ eyes on him, just his fingers brushing across Edwin’s knuckles.

“Edwin, you were there for every second of it”, Charles finally answers, and his eyes are still not as bright as they used to be, but they’re bright anyway. “You were at the heart of everything. I missed you in every single moment.”

His hands are bruised and bloody, some of his nails missing, the others torn down until they are little more than gaping wounds, as Charles tears another piece of concrete from the floor.

He has looked everywhere and Edwin isn’t here and it is a constant refrain in his head; he’s not here he’s not here he’s not here.

Occasionally, there’s tears mixing with the blood, but Charles doesn’t pay them any mind either.

On the third day, Crystal finds him, covered in dust and grime and blood and splinter of what might be wood or bone or whatever is left of his ruined heart.

She breathes out his name and it’s a sob; when he looks up at her, it takes a second until he recognises her.

“You can’t continue like this”, she says, and there are tears in his eyes, on her cheeks, dripping down her chin. “Edwin wouldn’t want you to torture yourself like this and I can’t watch it any longer. It’s been almost a month, Charles, you won’t find him like this.”

It takes a moment or two until he finds the words, remembers how to speak, and when he does, he knows he’s crying, too.

“But what else is there left I can do?”, he asks, and Crystal chokes on her tears, before she reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

“I don’t know, Charles. I wish I did.”

“Your hands are almost fine again”, Edwin remarks and lifts the one he is holding up to inspect it. There are just two band-aids left, one around his ring finger, one on the back of Charles’ hand, green and yellow respectively.

“I know”, Charles answers, lifting the other one, a single frog-themed plaster around his thumb. “It’s a miracle, innit?”

And Edwin looks at him, his almost-perfect smile, the slope of his nose and the dark brown of his eyes; he loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal says in his mind.

“Yes”, he replies, “it really is.”

“Come with me”, Crystal pleads, trying to pull him up from where he is sitting on the ground, between broken pieces of concrete and wood.

“I can’t”, Charles says, and knows it is true. His limbs won’t move, his body refusing Crystal’s attempt to lift him up; he won’t leave without Edwin at his side.

“You have to”, Crystal replies, and Charles wishes he could reach up and brush the tears from her cheeks. “You can’t stay here. Not like this.”

“You don’t understand, Crystal”, he says, and maybe he is crying, maybe he has forgotten how to do even that. “I can’t leave. If he isn’t here, then nothing matters. I cannot pass on, because there’s no Heaven if Edwin’s not in it. And I could stop existing, maybe, but if I do and he comes back, then he’ll be alone. So, if I can’t find him, if I can’t bring him back, then I’ll just… stay. And I’ll wait. Forever if I have to.”

Even though Charles, who used to flit between places like breathing, seems most content inside the agency these days, Edwin drags him up to the roof, because the weather is lovely and Edwin wants to see the sun on Charles’ skin, reflected in his eyes.

He seems different today, distracted, but he gives Edwin a small, almost-right smile when they sit down on the ledge, looking down over the city.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to ask a question today”, Charles says after a few seconds, but he sounds far away, almost distracted. “I know you like them. It’s just. There is one thing that I don’t think you how to ask about and that you should know. So I was trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Something about his words makes Edwin’s metaphorical heart beat faster, makes him look at Charles and notice everything at once: the way he clenches his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows, how his tongue darts out to wet lips that don’t get dry any longer.

He looks nervous, and Edwin hates it, because there is nothing Charles could say that would make Edwin care for him any less.

“You can tell me anything, Charles.”

“I know”, Charles replies and gives Edwin the smallest of smiles. “That’s what makes this so hard.”

For a long time, there is nothing, then Charles shakes his head slightly, a tick Edwin knows so intimately it almost pains him.

“You see”, he starts, “when you were gone, I found something out about myself. About you, too. I’m not sure if I would have otherwise, at least not now. And I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t, and now that you’re back it’s suddenly so difficult, because you’re here and I know it won’t change anything, not between us, but it will change something for me, anyway.”

He lifts their joined hands, the single band-aid stark against his skin, and smiles; for a moment, Edwin forgets that he doesn’t understand what Charles is talking about, because there is something so fond, so sweet, so devastating about the look in his eyes.

“I love you”, he says, and Edwin’s metaphorical heart stops, speeds up, swells until it is straining against his ribs, “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m in love with you, Edwin. And I thought I might never be able to tell you, so I’m doing it now.”

And he looks over at Edwin and for the first time since he had launched himself into his side in that godforsaken warehouse, Charles smiles at him and it’s the smile Edwin missed the entire time, every bit of sunlight in the universe bundled into his eyes, into the curve of his lips.

“You don’t have to feel the same. I don’t expect you to”, Charles says, and his voice is trembling, but he sounds happy nonetheless, sounds content. “I just needed you to know that you’re loved in every way there is.”

A beat, a second, another one, and Edwin looks at Charles and it’s like he is seeing him for the very first time, at the same time like he has never seen anything else in his entire existence.

He loves you more than I can even imagine loving anyone, Crystal’s words echo in his mind, and she was right all along, and Edwin…

“I love you, too”, he says without thinking about it, because he doesn’t have to, he has known this for years, decades, maybe forever.

“I know”, Charles replies and he’s still smiling; he’s so beautiful Edwin wants to break down and thank the fates that he was sacrificed, that he was dragged to Hell and escaped it, that he is allowed to be here, holding hands with the best, the most important, the most beautiful boy in the world.

“No, Charles. I’m in love with you.”

And another beat, another second, and Charles’ eyes go wide, the sun behind them goes supernova, and Edwin can’t believe he ever looked at him and didn’t know he wanted to kiss those lips.

“Oh”, Charles breathes out and he sounds overwhelmed, sounds almost bashful. “That’s… that’s brills, innit?”

“Yes. It is.”

There is a pause, because something shifts between them; it doesn’t change, because it was always there, even without them knowing, so instead, it blossoms and blooms and grows into something so delicate, so resilient, so beautiful that Edwin finds himself smiling, almost laughing, almost crying.

“Can you just kiss me, please?”, he asks, love and happiness and devotion woven into every syllable.

And Charles nods, eyes brighter than Edwin has ever seen them before, and there is a second of hesitation, but then he leans in and kisses Edwin, and this time, there’s no mistaking it; there’s lips pressed against his, warm and soft and sweet, and Edwin can feel them just as if he was alive.

“I love you”, he whispers against Charles lips, and Charles laughs, before pressing closer still, kissing him again and again until Edwin’s head is swimming with it, his lips wet and swollen and his cheeks wet with the happiest tears he has ever cried.

“I love you”, Charles whispers back, and he’s smiling.

And he kisses him again.

[ghouljams]

Witch probably makes herbal lozenges for Price when she sees him chain smoking cigars. She think maybe smoking will be what takes him out one day.

Witch makes all sorts of things for Price, but yeah I think if he ever mentioned wanting to quit smoking she'd already be set up. Smacks a nicotine patch on him and hands him a bag of herbal candies to keep his mouth occupied. He didn't even say he was going to quit he just asked if she wanted him to.

That said I think the smoke from Price's cigars is a component in his magic. I think it was also a solid connection between him and Ghost for a long time, he'd be hard pressed to give it up.

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part one)

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The start to an angst-ridden little story, wherein the reader, Aemond's dearest friend (and clandestine love) learns of his apparent new paramour, Alys.

themes/warnings: angst, jealousy, fwb type situation, Aemond is kind of a clueless twat

part two ▪︎ part three ▪︎ masterlist

edit(!): this oneshot seems to have taken a life of its own, like most of my fics, quite unexpectedly! I've changed the title from (sapphire) blue heart to sapphire-hearted, and part two will be out in a few hours! is out now!

"Why do you not look at me?" He gently pries your face towards him with his free hand, as you both lie naked on his sheets, his arm wrapped around you. "Have I done something wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing, Aem." You shake your head, letting his hand fall.

He takes one deep breath. He knows you like the back of his hand; he knows something isn't right.

"You're not fooling me, gevie." Beautiful, he calls you, as you sit up and bring your knees to your chest. You feel the cold air on your back, and then, his fingers tracing patterns on your bare skin.

Gevie. You wonder if he calls Alys the same. After their rumoured trysts. After she is seen leaving his bedchambers. Has she lain among these very sheets herself, where you are now?

You and Aemond were not together, no. You were not betrothed. Your House was too lowly to allow you to wed a Targaryen prince. But he had said he was yours. Just yours.

How has that changed so quickly?

"Speak to me," he pleads. He sits up behind you, kissing the back of your neck. "You know I have my methods of making you do so. Shall I employ them?" You can hear the amusement in his voice, the assuredness.

You thought you loved it more than anything, but now it feels like some cruel jest.

You turn to face him directly. "Is she better than me?"

He leans back, fully aware of who you mean. "Hmm," he purses his lips. "Jealousy does not become you, it seems."

"I'm glad you think me amusing." You bite back, looking away.

"This is amusing. How can you be jealous of her?"

You aren't sure what to make of that question. Is he mocking you, and the justification of your envy? Who are you to him anyway? Just a friend, no?

"Aemond. I thought... that we..."

"You know what we are. How we are. Isn't it enough?"

"Not if I have to share you with some witch!" you rise from his bed, and wrap your cloak around yourself. "I've turned down the finest suitors, simply because you wished me to. Simply because you were jealous. Don't you think you owe me the same courtesy?"

His voice is colder when he responds, "What do you think I am doing with Alys, hmm? Do you think I enjoy having her grace my bedchambers, and have her clawing at me?" He stands too, towering over your stature. "I have never wanted to bed anyone other than you. What I am doing with her... what I have to do with her... It is for the good of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Spare me, Aemond." You swat his hands away, when he reaches for your arms. "Don't..." He tries again, much quicker this time, and he holds your forearms tightly against his bare chest.

"She has magic." There is a wild look in his eye when he says this, and it makes you uneasy. "She sees things, Alys. She can predict what the enemy's next move is, where they'll be. What I am doing with her, lying with her, is but a small price to pay."

"What if you don't lie with her? You don't have to..."

"She asks me to."

"You don't have to. You're the prince! She answers to you, not the other way around."

"I refused, of course, in the beginning." He holds your face gently in his hands now, trying to make you understand. "That did no good. She gave me nothing. I could have her tortured. But this will only serve to distance her even more from our cause."

"So, to get what you want... to hear her incredible visions and benefit from her magical spells, you have to fuck her? Very astute of you, Aemond."

"Careful, my love." He tilts his head, trying to work through your anger.

You use your palms on his chest to push him away. He only stumbles a little, the faint sound of his low growl reaching your ears.

"You know what I'll do?" you threaten, your cloak falling back to the floor as you wave your arms dramatically. "The next dashing Lord that asks for my hand, I'll take. It could be Lord Manderly's son or... Lord Beesbury's eldest boy has made an offer, too. I'll wed him, whoever he is, why not? Even if I don't love him, it will only be a small price to pay," you sneer, mirroring his words from before. "It is what's expected of me, after all. It is for the good of my House."

Aemond's jaw clenches in his rage. "Then I shall have him captured and quartered to pieces in the dungeons before he can even get the chance to - "

"No," you shake your head at his nonsense. "No, you would not. You would not do something like that to me. How would that be fair? You and I, we'll never marry. As it stands, you'd sooner wed your witch than I."

"I would marry you in a heartbeat." He moves closer now, desperation creeping in his voice. His lips meet yours in a haste. Wet and demanding. When you turn your head, he only continues kissing the side of your face. Then he stops, pressing his forehead to your temple. "You know this, my love. You have to know this. Alys is nothing compared to you. Without her, I might lose the war. But without you... I lose myself."

You nearly cave in at that, as you always do when it comes to Aemond. But now, you remind yourself to stand your ground.

"Then prove it to me," you whisper, and a stray tear falls down your cheek. "Do as I ask. Stop being with her."

Seconds pass. Aemond's mind races at the possible outcomes. His heart aches at the sight of your sadness, but he feels compelled to think of other things too.

The war. Defeating the Blacks. Easily gaining the upper hand through dark magic.

At the end of it all - and if he does what he does, it should all end very soon - he will still have you. He's sure of it.

You will always come back to him. You will understand.

"I cannot," he says, his words striking through your heart.

You feel numb all over, but you force yourself to step away from him, and hurriedly put your dress back on.

"My love, please..." He watches helplessly as you tie the strings of your skirts, preparing to leave.

"My prince," you cursty, when you've managed to put yourself together. "I am not certain when, but you're invited to honour us with your presence at my coming marriage ceremony."

"I'd sooner command Vhagar to burn Westeros to ashes."

"You mean, you'd sooner bask in the pleasures that only your witch can offer?" you laugh mirthlessly. "Of course."

You start walking away, determinedly. Ice has flooded your veins and your heart, turning you cold and blue. But you press on. The pain will have to wait for later.

"You'll come back to me," he calls after you.

"Oh, I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you."

You slam the door behind you.

Angst!!! We all need this sometimes. I swear it riles me up so good, I almost wonder if something's messed up with my romantic ideals ....

.... who are we kidding? Of course there is. Because I would marry our one-eyed Vhagar-riding war terrorist in a heartbeat.

taglist open for an upcoming part!

[captainfern]

heyyy, how are youu? as I see your request are open so here I am again. I absolutely loved “About A Girl” it was perfect and exactly what I imagined so i’m back for seconds 😋

hear me out 🫵🤠✋ what if after a long mission the team gets a few weeks off, reader goes on a date, Price sees and gets jealous and since reader’s date is a bit of a jackass and gets reader uncomfortable Price intervenes and takes reader. One thing lead to the other 😉😏 and there’s a little of everything, heavy on the degrading praise and breeding kink from Price cuz he’s always wanted to put a baby in reader since he first saw her :((

(as you can tell i’m a big Price enthusiast 😈)

Something In The Way

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["Something In The Way" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - read the request. price saves you from a bad date, then you fuck lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.4k • warnings - fem!reader, possessive!price, unprotected piv, breeding kink [you're welcome], praise, degradation [slut used like once], oral [f!receiving], lowkey dumbification, implied age gap but that isn't a problem for us obviously 🙏, this is basically a hybrid of my fics breed and lithium lol, strong language, an absolute arsehole of a bad date i'm sorry in advance

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When you get a few weeks away from work, sometimes you don't know what to do with yourself.

Acting like a proper civilian was kind of hard when you'd just spent the last few months eradicating a terrorist threat on the opposite side of the world. But, hey, you weren't complaining that Laswell awarded you with a break.

One of the first things you did was catch up with your friends. You all went out to dinner together, eventually turning towards the bar down the street. Here, you met this guy– he was really nice, and quite good looking as well– and you gave him your number.

A week later, brought you to today.

The guy from the bar, Lucas, had taken you out on a date. You were really excited– your friends hyping you up via FaceTime as you got ready a few hours prior. You took a taxi and met him at this really nice restaurant, where he greeted you at the door with a warm smile, and took your arm, leading you inside.

An hour and a half into the date, you wondered just how drunk you were when you gave this guy your number.

"So, you're in the military?" Lucas asked as the two of you finished up desert.

"I am, yeah." You replied. He'd asked that question twice already, but you were giving him the benefit of the doubt.

He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I never thought that women could join the military."

You paused, spoonful of crème brûlée halfway to your mouth. You lowered it. "What?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's such a masculine job when you think about it," Lucas said, swirling his spoon in the air while he talked. "I'm guessing you work with a lot of guys?"

"Yeah? Why should that matter?" You replied, placing your spoon beside your bowl. Your appetite for desert was suddenly gone.

He shrugged. "Just wondering. I bet you're popular on base, huh? I mean, if I worked with you, I'd definitely hit."

You scoffed. "You'd hit? Real mature, Lucas."

"Hey, don't get offended, Jesus," Lucas said defensively. "Surely you see where I'm coming from? It's not like I'm saying you're a fucking barracks bunny or anything like that–"

"Oh my god," you said, getting to your feet and snatching your purse off the table. The waitress arrived with the cheque, but paused when she saw what was unfolding before her. "Thanks for dinner, Lucas, but you just ruined it."

He got to his feet as you breezed past him, offering the waitress an apologetic smile. She returned it, and was quick to thrust the cheque into Lucas' hands, telling him he must pay before he leaves. You hid a grateful smile as you hurried out of the restaurant and into the night.

Outside, you felt yourself burning with rage. Who the hell does that fucker think he is talking like that? Cheeks burning, you pulled out your phone and attempted to dial one of your friends for an emergency pick-up.

"Hey, wait!" Lucas appeared behind you, walking briskly up to you and placing a hand on your shoulder. "What'd I do?"

You shrugged his hand off your shoulder with a scowl. "I don't appreciate being spoken to like that, thank you very much." It was sarcastic and had a blunt bite. Good.

He shook his head, sneering. "Oh, so you're offended? What a surprise, a woman getting emotional over a joke."

You really wanted to slap him. Smack your hand across his stupid fucking face. But, you didn't. You bit your tongue, looking down at your phone and pulling up one of your friends contact.

"I just wanted to fuck you, anyway," Lucas suddenly said, making your eyes snap up to his. "Waste of my time, clearly."

You gaped at him. "Are you fucking serious? You're an absolute arsehole."

He took a step closer to you. "What? Isn't that what you let the guys at your base do? Spreading your legs–"

"I wouldn't finish that sentence if you want to leave with your teeth still intact." A deep voice behind you, and you turned to see your captain walking towards you, cigar between his thumb and forefinger.

Lucas scoffed, giving Price a once-over. "What're you gonna do about it, old man? This doesn't concern you."

Price's other hand was in the pocket of his jacket. He moved his arm to the side, bringing his jacket away from his body, revealing a pistol strapped to a holster on his hip. He was quick to hide it beneath his jacket again as he stepped up beside you, arm brushing yours.

Lucas paled, backing away slowly. "Jesus, okay, fine, I'm leaving."

"Hold on," Price grumbled, beckoning Lucas forward with a flick of his cigar. An ember dislodged, sparkling through the air as Lucas took a hesitant step forward. "Delete her number."

Lucas pulled out his phone and quickly deleted your number. He showed it to Price, who simply exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into his face. Lucas coughed, eyes no doubt stinging, as Price leaned forward, speaking right next to his ear. You stood patiently behind him, not sure what he was even saying.

"If you ever talk to her like that again, or if you ever try to even contact her again, I'll fucking kill you. D'you understand?" Price uttered.

Lucas nodded quickly. Then, he yelped, cursing in pain, springing backwards and hurrying away without even looking at you. You saw him clutching his right hand, a circular burn mark branded on top. You cast a glimpse at Price, cigar still held tightly between his fingers. You smiled.

Price watched Lucas disappear before he turned to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You alright, rookie?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Price scanned your face. "You sure? He was a right cunt, wasn't he?"

You chuckled. "Yeah, he was."

Price took a drag from his cigar. "What's a pretty girl like you going on a date with a fuckwit like him for?"

You shrugged. "I think I was way to drunk when I gave him my number."

Price smiled at you, the air between you hazy with smoke. He looked at your hands, where you were fidgeting with your phone.

"You need a ride home, rookie?" He asked.

You shook your head. "Oh, no, I'm okay. I was just about to call my friend to pick me up. They should be able to come and get me."

Price just shook his head softly, taking another drag from his cigar, now near the end of its life. He dropped the crumbling remnants into the gutter, shifting his foot so he could crush it further into the pavement with the heel of his shoe.

"I'll take you home."

You shook your head. "No, honestly–"

"Come on, rookie," Price was already walking away from you. "Captain's orders."

•º•

In his car, you don't know what came over you. One moment, you were telling him about how the date went and the next, you were sobbing into your hands in his passenger seat.

You apologised profusely once you had calmed down, and he offered words of support from the drivers seat.

"I'm sorry, I just feel so fucking stupid that I let him talk to me like that." You said, tears in your eyes drying.

"You're not stupid, love. It's normal to feel like this."

You sniffed, hugging your arms around yourself. Price glanced at you.

"Why don't you come to mine for a bit? Don't want you being alone when you're feeling like this, rookie. You can have a drink if you want."

Slowly, you nodded. "That would be nice. Thanks, cap."

"John's fine, love."

You made a face. "No way. It feels weird calling you anything other than captain or Price."

Price laughed. "But John's my name!"

"I know," you laughed too. "But, still, it just feels strange. Like when I called Ghost Simon that one time, and Soap went absolutely apeshit at me."

"Alright, fair enough," Price smiled. "You can call me Price, then."

"Thank you." You remarked, and Price shot you a smile. He was glad you were smiling now.

•º•

"Damn, your house is so nice," you said as he let you through the front door, locking it behind you. "What the hell are you getting paid to afford something like this?"

"Not that much more than you, love." Price said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook near the door.

"Bullshit." You laughed, kicking off your heels and following him into the kitchen.

He rounded the kitchen island, opening a top cabinet and extracting two glasses. Then, he gestured to the array of alcohol bottles lines up along a nearby shelf. You selected one that you were familiar with, and he poured you a glass. You thanked him as he slid it across the island to you as you sat down on a barstool. He poured himself a bit of scotch.

"Feeling better?" Price asked, taking a sip of his drink.

You nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Price."

"No worries, love. Couldn't let that piece of shit talk to my rookie like that, eh?" He took a long sip.

My rookie.

Your stomach fluttered with butterflies for a moment as you took a sip of your drink, trying to calm them. He watched you with kind eyes.

"What's going through that mind of yours?" He asked, pushing his glass aside and holding the edge of the kitchen island, leaning against it.

"S'nothing." You grumbled around the rim of your glass.

"Come on, rookie."

You sighed. Embarrassed, almost. Cheeks heating up, you averted your eyes. "Just, I dunno, thankful."

"Don't worry about it," he smiled. "Now... are you sure that's all that's on your mind?"

You should have nodded. Should have told him that, yeah, I'm fine, thank you. But, you gently moved your glass aside, managing to look at him. He cocked his head, waiting for you to speak.

"I just..." You were past the point of embarrassment now. "I'm just really thankful. You didn't have to bring me here. I really appreciate it."

Price watched you closely. He hadn't touched his drink for a while. He wasn't even smiling anymore. He knew.

For fuck sake, you thought, nervousness building in your stomach. Of course he fucking knew. And, to top it all off, the butterflies were back. Great.

"I want to, um, thank you... properly."

"Thank me?" Price uttered. "Rookie..."

You cringed as he got up and began to approach you. This is it, you thought, biting your lip. He was going to fucking berate you for being so inappropriate. I mean, come on– he's your fucking boss for crying out loud! What the hell were you doing?!

"Shit, Price, I am so sorry. This is so inappropriate," you rambled. "I should never have put you in this position–"

He stood behind you now. You were still sat on the barstool, but could feel the warmth of his chest on your back. He leaned down, chest brushing your shoulder blades, lips by your ear.

"Stand up." He whispered.

Here we go, you thought as you gingerly got to your feet. He was going to kick you off the task force.

He nudged the barstool away with his foot and it skidded along the hardwood floor. You jolted at the noise, before his front was pushing into your back and suddenly– really fucking suddenly– he was bending you over the kitchen island.

"You said you want to thank me? This what you had in mind, rookie?" He asked, low in your ear. "Wanted to thank me like this?"

You were speechless. But, you nodded. The butterflies in your stomach were raving now, and you felt your body beginning to heat up as he pressed himself against you: chest and abdomen hard against the curve of your back, his pelvis flush to your arse.

"Yeah? Naughty fucking girl. Wants to get fucked by her captain?" He had a firm grip on your hips, holding you to him. "Naughty fucking girl." He repeated in a growl, shoving your dress up your hips.

It was all happening so fast that half the time you forgot to breath. Your dress was hiked up your legs, bunched around your waist as Price took a step back to admire your backside. He hooked a finger around the waistband of your underwear and let it go with a snap. You jolted, still pressed to the cool marble of the island.

"These are nice," he commented, and you could hear his smile. "Planning on getting fucked, eh?"

You shook your head. "No."

"Fucking liar." He said, grabbing your underwear again. This time, he ripped them down your legs and you felt them drop around your ankles.

You knew you were turned on, but when the cool air of his kitchen hit your bare core, you felt like squealing. Your arousal was dripping down from between your legs, running down your thighs now, much to Price's delight. He ran a finger up your thigh, collecting the fluid, and you shivered.

"Dripping..." he drawled, smearing your arousal across your inner-thighs. "Needy slut you are, rookie, aren't you? Dripping for your captain."

You whined at him as he turned you around, your lower back slamming into the edge of the table. You wondered what the hell he was doing, but that was answered when he kneeled in front of you, taking hold of your thighs and lifting you like you weighed nothing. He propped your thighs over his shoulders as you leaned against the island, arms spread along the marble. You underwear was flung off of your ankle and vanished somewhere in the room.

He blew a puff of air onto your soaked core, and you felt your body begin to burn again at the way he had your body reacting. With a satisfied smirk, he looked up at you, beard brushing the soft skin of your thighs.

"Can I?" He asked. Why was he even asking?!

You nodded desperately, angling your hips forward and shoving your cunt closer to his mouth. He chuckled and allowed you to do so– pressing his lips to your clit and drawing it into his mouth. You tossed your head back with a moan, hand reaching down to push his head further into you.

He pulled back, though, causing you to whine.

"Hands on the fucking counter." He snapped, before drawing your clit into his mouth and sucking harshly.

You choked on a sob and forced your arms away. You felt his teeth skim your nerves and you bucked your hips, just as he moved away and licked a fat stripe down your folds. He did that a couple of times, making you a whiney mess above him, before he shoved his tongue into your leaking hole.

"Mmm-mygod," you mumbled around a whimper as he moved his tongue in and out of you. You could hear him doing it– lewd squelching filling his quiet kitchen, matching the tempo of your whines and whimpers. "Price, feels so good."

Price hummed against you, vibrations making you spasm around his tongue. His hands gripped your thighs, clamping them harder around his head, resting firm on his shoulders. His nose nudged your clit repeatedly as he moved his tongue in and out of your cunt, and it had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

It didn't take long at all before you were about to cum. Legs quivering against his strong shoulders, hips bucking desperately to meet the movements of his tongue, lower stomach tightening. You moaned loudly. "Price, please."

He didn't change his pace or movements, letting you pulse around his tongue as you came. He groaned into your cunt as your arousal flooded across his tongue, dripping out the sides of his mouth and running down his face. Your legs felt numb by the time he retreated with one last kiss to your swollen clit. You whined.

"Knew it'd taste this fucking good," Price mumbled to himself, but his words made your stomach flip. "Knew this cunt'd be so fucking good."

He carefully lowered you to the ground, your legs shaking. You sighed, bracing yourself against the island as he got to his feet, face dripping. Catching sight of beads of moisture rolling through his facial hair, you closed your eyes and whined, almost ashamed. But he didn't let you– he grabbed your face in one large hand and slammed his mouth onto yours. You could taste yourself, making you mewl, and you could feel your arousal now smearing across your face from his beard.

"Just so wet," He whispered against your mouth, tongue smoothing against yours before he pulled away. "Naughty girl you are, rookie. Letting your captain do that."

You hummed at him in response, a moan trapped in your throat. He shushed you, making quick work of pulling your dress over your head and discarding it on a nearby barstool. He then unclasped your bra, immediately drawing one of your nipples into his mouth with a nip of his teeth. You keened into him with a whisper of his name as he switched to the other, skimming his hands across them, massaging the soft flesh.

It ended all too soon, unfortunately, as a moment later he was spinning you around and bending you over the kitchen island. He was still dressed, but you heard the unbuckling of a belt and the sound of a zipper. After a moment, he placed his belt on the island in front of you, and you saw his pistol sitting in his holster. You whimpered when you looked at it.

Price chuckled darkly behind you, one hand on your hip as the other shimmied his pants down. "You liked when I threatened that fuckhead, didn't you, love? S'that what got this slutty cunt all wet?"

You nodded, skin hot.

Price tutted you softly. "Naughty, naughty girl, rookie."

"Only for you." You whimpered, and Price paused his movements behind you.

Then, he groaned, and you felt his warm cock press against the curve of your arse as he bent his body over you, draping his toned abdomen against your spine.

"Yeah, that's fucking right," he growled into your shoulder, pressing a kiss there. "S'only for me."

That definitely awakened something inside of him.

Leaning back, he grabbed hold of his painfully hard cock and began to drag the ruddy tip along your glistening folds. You moaned into your arm, resting them beneath your head. He grunted under his breath, snagging the head of his cock against your entrance, a schlick sounding through the kitchen.

"Fuck, listen to this pretty cunt talk," Price groaned, repeating the action with his cock and earning the same wet sound. "S'just begging to be stuffed full. Begging to be fucked."

You were burning up beneath him. You wiggled your hips, pressing your arse further onto him, and he gripped your hip tighter.

"Be patient." Price warned, drumming his fingers on the bone of your hip.

You didn't listen.

You whined, backing your arse against him. "Price, sir, I need it."

"You need it? Aw, my poor girl. My poor, needy girl, so desperate for cock," Price mused, running his cock along your folds again. "What do you say?"

"Please–"

"Please, what?"

"Please, sir, fuck, need you so bad." You sobbed.

"That's what I thought," Price uttered, pushing the fat head of his cock into your drooling cunt, stretching you out. "Needed this cock so bad, I know. S'all right, love."

He pushed deeper and deeper into you; your silken walls clinging to him, constricting his cock and making him sigh deeply into the skin of your back. Eventually, he was nestled as far as he could go with his hips flush to your arse and the head of his cock kissing the entrance of your cervix. You mewled quietly as he placed a few wet kisses along the column of your spine, hands massaging your hips.

"There we go, love, taking me so well." He whispered as he pulled out of you, tip resting at your entrance.

You were about to complain at the sudden emptiness, but he was thrusting all the way back in before you could get the words out. You choked on your sentence, gasping, as he slammed into you and began a pace that left you slumping against the kitchen island like a rag-doll, whimpering.

"I know, I know, just feels so good, doesn't it, darling?" Price cooed in response to your desperate whimpers. "Your captain's cock feels so good in this pretty cunt, doesn't it?"

Deliriously, you nodded. "Y-yeah, feels s-so good, sir."

He grunted in reply, slamming into you over and over and relishing in the way your walls sucked him in. He wanted to mould you to the shape of his cock. Ruin you for any other man. He wanted you to want his cock, and his alone. He wanted you.

He moaned deeply. "This cunt was made for me, love. Perfect, squeezing my cock so good. S'mine now, love. All mine."

You couldn't argue with that.

You'd never have thought that your captain could act like this. Animalistic in the way he rutted into your dripping heat, heavy cock dragging against your walls, head kissing the entrance of your womb. His hands were tight on the curve of your hips, groping and kneading the flesh as he pulled you onto his cock repeatedly, matching the gruelling pace of his thrusts.

He'd rendered you a babbling, whimpering mess– whining softly, calling his name, drunk off his cock. You let your mouth drop open, a languid string of moans falling from between your lips.

"Sir, m'gonna cum." You managed to say between airy moans, and he huffed in response, skimming his teeth down your spine.

"Cum for me, darling. Cum 'round my cock."

You did, with a loud moan that his neighbours may or may not have heard through the silence of the night. You spasmed around his cock, arousal flooding out of you and painting his lower abdomen and thighs in slick. You tightened around him and he groaned, sucking marks down the expanse of your arched back.

He redoubled his pace as you became pliant beneath him. You let him use you– fucking into your soaked cunt like he was starving for it. He was grunting and groaning under his breath, mouth still sucking bruises along your back, before he dragged his lips up your spine and rested his head at your shoulder.

His thrusts were losing rhythm as he neared his release. The movement of his hips was yearning– his need to cum stringing him rigid as he pounded into your tight cunt.

He was losing his absolute mind.

"Fuck, such a good cunt, so tight n' wet," he groaned into your shoulder. "Better than I imagined. So much better."

The needy rutting of his hips and the depth in which his cock reached inside of you was quickly pushing you towards another orgasm. It built fiery hot in your abdomen as he babbled into your shoulder, losing control of the dominant persona he had began with.

"Huh-hngh-fuck, yeah, that's it, darling, that's it, taking my cock so fucking well," his words were stringing together. "M'gonna cum inside, okay? Wanna fuck you full of me."

You arched further for him, taking him deeper. "Please, sir, cum inside–"

Your orgasm crashed over you and you whimpered his name, body shuddering, wetness dribbling down your legs. Price cursed quietly as you gushed around his cock again.

"Always wanted to fill this cunt. Wanted to– ah, fuck– wanted to breed you nice and full, rookie. Make it– hngh– take. Make you all pretty and fat with my kid–"

That made your cunt squeeze him extra tight, a new wave of arousal pooling between your thighs. In response, he groaned low into the crook of your neck and thrust his hips so hard you felt winded against the marble. The head of his cock nudged the plug of your womb as he came, a lot. Endless strings of warmth, filling you, overflowing onto the hardwood floor. He whined your name into your neck, sucking one last lazy bruise to the smooth skin.

"Good girl," he whispered, angling his head to kiss the juncture of your jaw. "My good girl."

•º•

"Morning, rookie, how was your break?" Soap asked as you walked into the barracks three weeks later.

You shrugged. "Not bad, actually. How about you?"

"It was good," he smiled. "Ghost n' I went up to Inverness. Beautiful part of the country, that is."

You smiled back at him. "That's really cool! Have you got any photos?"

He beamed as you dumped your bag onto the couch and slumped down next to it. Soap took a seat beside you, taking his phone out of his pocket. He opened his camera roll just as Price strolled into the room, hat on his head.

"Morning, Soap. Keeping well?" He asked, approaching the back of the couch and ruffling Soap's mohawk. "Need a bloody haircut."

Soap battered his captain's hand away, smiling. Then, Price was looming over you.

"Rookie." He said simply.

"Captain." You replied.

"Good break?" He asked.

Visions of the entire three weeks flashed through your mind– you and Price in his kitchen, his living-room, his bedroom, his bathroom, his pool, his fucking car. You were hardly ever home during those three weeks.

"It was a great break," you battered your eyelashes at him. "You?"

He pat your head gently, walking away. "The best break I've had in a while."

When he left, you followed his figure with your eyes. After a moment, you turned back to Soap, who was giving you a peculiar look.

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

"That was weird."

"What? No it wasn't"

"Mhm," he wiggled his eyebrows. "You have something to share, rookie?"

You rolled your eyes. "Not particularly."

"Oh, come on, lass."

"Nothing to share," you shrugged. "Unless you want to share the great time you had with Ghost in Inverness?"

You gave him a pointed look. He looked away, cheeks pink.

"Fuck off."

"Love you too, Soap."

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

<< First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[mymainwastoocluttered]

The Butler Types (Jade/MC/Barbatos)

Jade has no fears. What is it? There's a demon butler visiting NRC? Jade has one fear.

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

I'm bitter because it's my birthday and Halloween Jade refuses to come, so I'll celebrate it with the better butler boy. *glares at Jade*

— (`⌒*)O-(`⌒´Q)

Jade is not one for fear.

Sure, he has his fair share of them. One simply does not grow up in Coral Sea without developing some. But one also simply does not grow in Coral Sea without losing some.

So Jade isn't one for fear.

But why does it have to be a butler type?

Jade can only watch, eye twitching in a nervous tic he got from Azul, as his crush ogles at the demon butler in front of her, hanging at his every word and blushing under his gaze.

His name is Barbatos, he is the loyal butler of Lord Diavolo, the Crown Prince of Devildom and the Headmaster of the Royal Academy of Diavolo, one of the few schools that might be older than NRC and even Crowley himself.

And he's exactly (Y/N)'s type.

A good looking, devilish butler with a gentle appearance and behavior who hides something darker and dangerous behind his tea brewing skills and overall otherworldly excellence? Big hell yes from her.

Why does Jade know that? Jade knows everything he possibly can about his crush, including the knowledge that he is exactly her type.

Or, at least, he's the closest anyone at NRC can get to her type.

He understandably did not account for possible visits from the Devildom, a Kingdom that has kept to itself for most, if not all, of its existence, and now he's paying the price. Floyd, the menace, is having a field day, watching from the bench they share as his other half gets more and more agitated while the demon charms Shrimpy.

"Oh, I'm sorry, am I holding you up? You must be busy with Lord Diavolo– I mean, with helping Lord Diavolo," Jade feels like eating glass at the enamoured look (Y/N) sends the demon, clearly not wanting to part but also not wanting to be rude.

"No need to worry, my lady, the Young Lord has given me some free time while he speaks with Lord Crowley," Barbatos gives her a smile the eel just knows is making her legs weak. "And I'm enjoying your company very much."

Barbatos is particularly hateful because he's actually being nice. His niceness is inherent, not trained like Jade's. And the eel can tell the Prefect can tell, she's good at judging one's character. It's one of the reasons why they get along so well, she can tell when Jade is being genuine or not, a skill very few have.

If only that skill wasn't helping the green haired demon get closer to her.

"O–oh, I see..." The girl places her hands on her burning cheeks, and Jade feels another bitter sting. That is his face, that's the face only he can get from her when he compliments her. "Thank you for your kind words."

"All of them true, I assure you."

"Oh, stop it, I'm already blushing."

"It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable, my lady, but... I must admit you look very lovable," Barbatos offers a hand to her, one she shyly takes, only to then squeak when he places a soft kiss on the back of her hand. "Please, allow me to be selfish and keep you by my side for a few more moments."

Enough.

Jade walks so fast, it almost feels like he's swimming through the air. Floyd's loud laugh follows him like a predator, together with a playful "go get'em, tiger shark". As soon as he reaches the duo, he takes a silent deep breath, making sure his usual smile is on his face as he takes (Y/N)'s other hand, a privilege he earned, and brings it to his chest, right on his beating heart

"There you are, Prefect. I've been looking for you."

"J–Jade!" The eel is more than please to see her eyes completely leave the other to focus solely on him, the blush on her pretty face now all his.

When he looks up, mismatched eyes meet green eyes, and he can tell Barbatos has been fully aware of his presence from the very beginning. A sharp—quite literally—smile forms on his face at the annoyance in the other's eyes.

Ah, the greed of a servant who finally found something they want to be selfish about.

Would be entertaining if what the demon wanted wasn't Jade's already.

[kindnessisweakness2]

8

Cara spent the rest of the night wrapped up in juice, getting to know all she could about the man she instantly deemed sex on legs. Emily however quietly slipped away into the garage on her own. She sighed in relief as she slumped down on a stool leaning against the large red tool box behind her. The cool metal dug into the bare skin of her back, slightly painful but the cold was relieving. She still couldn't get over the nerve of Noah. Part of her really believed he would never leave her alone. Some weird attachment thing, wanting to be her first and last. She scoffed at the thought, he would've been if she never found out the truth. The ugly painful memories wouldn't leave her brain. Since everything happened she hadn't stopped questioning herself. Did she do something wrong? Was it the way she looked? The bright hair and tattoos. The way she dressed maybe? Or it was just her. Boring, lazy Emily. She never does any thing exciting. Rather stay home, read a good book, binge watch a TV Show or cook. "What are you doing in here?" Gemma's voice made her jump. "Fuck!" Emily held her hand to her heart as if it would ease the pounding. "Sorry I was just hiding. Needed a minute. I haven't touched any thing, not snooping don't worry." Emily held her hands up and walked towards the door to leave. "My son seems to be quite smitten with you." The words made her freeze and turn to face the charming legend that was Gemma Teller. Emily had heard the whispers about her. The fiercly protective mother hen. All the girls on Jax's fling list striving for his mothers approval, all but kissing the ground she walked on, hoping she would whisper in her son's ear about how good of an old lady they would make. But Gemma had yet to properly get to know Emily. And when she did she would realise that she wasn't going to bow down to no one. The way she was raised, your respect was earned and you handled your own shit. Head held high no matter how many swings life took at you. "Don't worry mama bear, I'm not looking to worm my way in to your family. He's just being nice since everything happened with Noah." Gemma raised a knowing eyebrow at the young girl as she continued her rant. "Your son strolls around Charming using his good looks and reputation to make every girl smile and drop her knickers. As I've clearly shown with Noah, I don't share." Emily sighed rubbing her temples. "Look I'm sorry. Im not blind. I know how the women are. Trying to insert themselves into the club wanting to gain an old lady title. I get your protecting Jax, but I'm not planning on falling at his feet like everyone else." Gemma smirk stretched across her face and it irked Emily. "I see it y'know. The little looks you throw at each other. The smiles." Emily's stomach twisted at Gemmas words. Was it that obvious? I mean yeah, she was attracted to him but who wouldn't be? "This is ridiculous. We've known each other a few weeks." Gemma eyed her as she moved to sit on the stool Emily jumped from. She was different from Jax's usual choice, a million miles from Tara and the blonde porn star he recently grew fond of. Sure she'd caused some trouble with her temper but Gemma couldn't question how well she handled David Hale when he came snooping. "Deny it all you want darlin'. I'm just giving you a heads up that loving my son isn't easy. This life isn't for the weak." Emily scoffed at Gemma's words as she watched her lean back blowing out smoke from the cigarette she just lit, black and blonde curls falling from her shoulder. She warned her as if she had never loved a biker before. Noah's probation period was hard the first time, but she'd supported him regardless. He hadnt been patched long when he done her dirty. " Yeah i know. I'm still paying the price for it now." Emily spoke through gritted teeth before storming from the garage.

Jax's head snapped up at the sound of the slamming of the garage door. He'd been sat at the tables with Opie, Chibs and Happy. Juice and Cara had disappeared to somewhere quieter, either getting to know each other more or getting down and dirty. Confusion settled on his face as he spotted Emily storming across the lot, face like thunder, his mom stood leaning against the door frame watching her. Ignoring Opie calling his name, Jax got up and chased after Emily. "Em!" She heard him call her name and for some reason it just pissed her off more. "Go back to the party, I'm going home. I'll pick Cara up tomorrow when shes done fucking juice." Emily still spoke through gritted teeth, not turning to look at him once as she walked down the dark street. "What's happened? What did my mom say?" Jax questioned. He knew what his mom was like, how bitchy she could be. Gently grabbing her arm, Jax tugged her towards him stopping her angry power walk. Emily rolled her eyes, refusing to look up at him. Even in these stupid heels he was taller. "she have me the speech I'm assuming she gives every one that gets remotely friendly with you. The old lady warning." Jax sighed as Emily carried on speaking, not giving him a chance to cut in. "Look, I'll tell you what I told her. I'm not after the old lady title. I'm not a damn patch bunny, crow eater or whatever other stupid name you have for them. One biker has already caused me enough hassle so if you expect me to jump into bed with you, your fucking wrong. If you wanting to be around me has anything to do with fucking with Noah, you can fuck off too! I enjoyed watching Cara bust his balls but you seem to have an issue with him and you can leave me out of it. Don't get me wrong Teller, your sex on legs and no doubt a girls wet dream but the fact you know it and you use it to get these girls to fall for you leaving broken hearts around Charming, makes me sick." Turning on her heel, her chest heaving with anger Emily continued down the street. She managed a few steps before turning to face a shocked Jax. "And just so it's extremely clear, the notion of an old lady pisses me off. I have never and will never stand behind a man and do as I am told. I'm an all or nothing kinda girl Teller." Jax smirked at her. She'd invaded his mind since that first day she saw her. She was mouthy and short tempered and Jax honestly loved that about her. He needed people around him that he could rely on to tell him the truth. People around him were always filtering their answers, like smoky truth, trying to please him. Their reputation in town clearly made people treat them different. Some idolised, some avoided. But Emily was never rude to any of them despite what Noah did. She never pryed for information trying to make herself a permanent fixture in club life. Most wanted affiliation, to be protected. Emily never seemed to want anything. Jax closed the distance between them, smirk still stretched across his face. "A girls wet dream huh?" Emily's eyes widened both in shock and Suprise. "Are you kidding me? THAT is the only thing you took from my whole rant?" Jax laughed at how pissed off she was. She was so fucking adorable. "Calm down pocket. I heard everything." Her hands flew to her hips in frustration, she glared at the man infront of her. "Pocket?" Jax grinned his own hands deep in his Jean pockets. "Yeah like pocket rocket! Your always seconds away from exploding." Emily felt the heat on her cheeks and knew she was glowing red. "I've got no ulterior motive here em. I just genuinely like you. Your different, good. Noah didnt see it, clearly didn't appreciate you. My mom's pushy, always putting her foot in her mouth." Jax moved her hands from her hips, replacing them with his own. His thumbs rubbing circles on her exposed skin. Emily bit her lip. She felt like a stupid teenager, her skin tingled at his contact. He was addictive. His warmth comforting. "Come back to the party. If you want to go home later I'll take you on the bike."

Emily didn't want to agree, but one look in those baby blues and she found herself letting a smiling Jax lead her back to the party.

[fwckriley]

QUICK CHAT ABOUT COD CHARACTERS AND THEIR MBTI TYPES PT 1.

Hi!!! So, I was just scrolling through Tumblr late at night and I saw some headcanons, where the creator mentioned Ghost's MBTI. It reminded me that I had a word file saved, discussing about the characters and their MBTI. But, I haven't finished it, so I'll just ramble some of my thoughts here instead.

I want to begin with Ghost. Seriously, I genuinely want to understand why people type him as an INTJ, the guy is not a Ni dom at all. And also, let’s just exclude here any chance of him being an INTP. But, I do see Ti and Ni in his functions. In my opinion, he is an ISTP 5w6. For those unfamiliar, ISTPs have Ti (dominant), Se (auxiliary), Ni (tertiary), and Fe (inferior) in their functions.

I'll be honest, this inferior Fe makes me doubt a bit because Ghost seems much more like a Fi user. However, considering that Fe is inferior and theoretically his weakest function, it makes sense. And, to me, what makes ISTP the most obvious choice is that this man really isn't a Ni dom or a Ne aux type. But like I said, I do see some Ni in him, but very weak, which excludes the possibility of him being a Ni dom, and adds the possibility of him being a Ti dom. But, he has zero Ne, so he can’t be an INTP. Just to clear things up, I don't think analysts can't be impulsive or that sensors are dumb, not at all. But they do have some tendencies, and you can see differences in how they deal/view the world.

So, let me give an example of a character who's an analyst: Laswell. She's the embodiment of an INTJ. Price and Ghost deviate so much from her. Both of them should have both Ni auxiliary and Ni dominant, respectively. The way both of them deals with Shepherd and Graves betrayal makes it very clear how they aren't intuitive types for me. They’re incapable of seeing the other side of the situation. And I know it might sound like a crappy argument, but speaking as a Ne aux, I always open myself to possibilities even if I DISAGREE, especially if I can benefit from it. You know who else does that? Laswell. A Ni dom. It's very clear her Ni/Te, and that's why compared to Ghost, I don't understand why people type him as an INTJ. Personally, I think Ti and Ni can be easily mistaken. And for me, Ghost's Ti is pretty obvious, the way he is practical, and how he analyzes things, and his Se aux helps him to be very aware of his surroundings (of course, there are more than that in Se aux). But to me? there's nothing more Ti/Se than that. I'll just drop here two brief descriptions of Ti/Ni dom that make me pretty sure Ghost isn’t a Ni dom.

"Introverted Intuition seeks underlying patterns that can predict how events will unfold in the long term. The primary goal is to understand cause and effect accurately, enabling confidence in problem-solving and avoiding causing issues. Individuals with this dominant function tend to be 'perceptive,' often capable of 'seeing through' situations by finding the 'real importance' or 'essence' or 'root' or 'meaning' of things and understanding the fundamental factors that will influence how situations unfold, connecting past, present, and future considerations in non-linear ways. They unconsciously seek vaguely familiar patterns of contextual variables and tend to gather multiple perspectives to synthesize and visualize 'the true truth' or a better version of life. In this way, they tend to be quite certain about how they want their lives to unfold, usually aspirational in pursuing meaningful goals with focus and determination as they seek to realize their personal potential."

"Introverted Thinking seeks to discover rules or direct formulas based on facts to guide thinking and behavior towards greater consistency and coherence. People with this dominant function tend to be highly analytical, preferring to adopt positions/judgments that are as free from biases or undue influences as possible. They often enjoy building skills and accumulating technical knowledge by systematically analyzing and deconstructing ideas/situations, preventing and solving problems, and manipulating systems to fix or enhance them. In this way, they can be dispassionate and self-sufficient in approaching situations with their refined knowledge, often admired for their calm and competent approach to solve problems. However, they may also become emotionally detached from situations due to the excision of the human perspective, incorrectly assuming it is irrelevant to their analyses. When people don't know how to use Ti properly, they tend to be overly reductionist, seeing only a simple cause for a complex situation and unable to recognize the gaps/flaws in their own reasoning process, especially when trying to understand issues in relationships and social contexts."

“The reason the two get confused so often is because, one: they are both introverted functions which makes them hard to see and distinguish, and two: they are both abstract. Ni collects and stores abstract information, while Ti makes abstract connections and conclusions.”

“Ni is a 'perceiving' funtion, which is different from Ti because it does not do the 'judging' which is Ti's role. Ni in simple words is seeing and thinking about things very deeply to find connections and therefore form certain hunches or predictions. Many Ni dominants may have a conclusion which they got to, but they don't know how to explain the way they got to it. Ni uses more subconscious thinking than Ti does. Ti on the other hand analyses even more than Ni does, and sorts certain ideas, sort of like Pros and Cons, it is usually what can be the deciding factor.”

*Quick reminder: Ghost never anticipated Graves' betrayal, and didn't give any reasons that he suspected of Graves before that. He seems unfazed when the betrayal occurs, but that's because it's not something new to him.

So, while I can argue that his lack of Fe may simply be because it is an inferior function, hence less dominant and developed function (though I think he showed a lot of Fe during the whole Mexico situation) it’s hard to argue his lack of Ni because it's a DOMINANT function. And when we talk about dominant function, when is undeveloped, it doesn't indicate a lack of, but rather an unhealthy mode of acting/thinking/coping.

So, about Price... I think he's an ESTP. Stereotypically, he's not the typical ESTP. Unlike Ghost, who has a weak/undeveloped inferior Fe, I think Price has his inferior Ni very well developed, and that's why I think the fact that he is an ESTP is not so noticeable. Just as I compared Ghost to a character who shared the same MBTI type that was attributed to him, I will now compare Price to Makarov. In my opinion, Makarov in this game is a good example of an ENTJ. If you compare the characters and the way they behave, you’ll see that Price has a liiittle more difficulty seeing beyond the obvious, and for me, if he had Ni aux as many point out, he would have anticipated many of Makarov's actions. And I go further, I also believe he would never have let Makarov live back in 2019, recognizing the threat that Makarov was, if he were and ENTJ. Because ENTJs tend to thinking ahead, if they have a problem they’ll think in a way to solve pragmatically, effectively and definitively for once and all. Also, Price is highly reluctant to work with Shepherd, showing a lack of Te/Ni, working with his enemies to achieve his goals is not his first thought (but it’s Laswell “first” thought, a Ni dom). It's not about trust, but personal/team/world gain. Again, he’s incapable of seeing the big picture. And, of course, he has a significant amount of Fe, the way he is a great leader, communicates effectively with people around him, and bond with his team proves that.

I think all the quotes I put up above really show how neither Price nor Ghost use Ni in their first two stacks. But both of them use Ti. There's this stereotype that sensors aren't that smart, so when you've got two characters who should be the best of the soldiers, really smart and skilled, people tend link them with the “best MBTI types” and type them as Ni users (completely bullshit, they just do this because they don’t know how functions work). And again, when you compared them with two Ni users (Laswell and Makarov) you can see how different they are.

I'm gonna do a part two and post it later because I wanna talk about Gaz and Soap too (and some other characters, but the two of them are my main goal now), but I think this one ended up slightly longer than I planned.

[choccyhearts]

just sittin and daydreamin about working at a restaurant owned by the lobos....

you're a server, recently hired after finishing school. you take the job, knowing the restaurant is owned by the infamous lobo family ...but the job scene is rOUGH and you need money

it isn't until a month after working that you meet the smug spawn of satan himself, teddy lobo. he's sat back in a booth with his mother, the two surrounded by security guards. he sips on a martini and watches you as you hustle and bustle among your tables.

he eyes the way your chest fills your nice work shirt and he admires how well your black slacks move with each step you take. he whistles for your attention and you stop in front of his table, panting due to the hectic dinner rush.

he just stares at you for a moment, his mother knowing full well why he's called you over. she excuses herself to go chat with a table nearby.

he reads your name tag and says your name with a smirk.

"what's a cute thing like you doing in a place like this?"

"working" you say half-nervous half-irritated. you know how much of a douchebag teddy lobo can be and all you want is to be far away from him.

"funny", he lightly chuckles. "well, why are you working when you should be sitting here with me, having a drink."

"you know i can't-"

"my father's name is on this restaurant, meaning i own it by proxy. so i'm the boss -- i make the rules."

"i...i don't know...i don't wanna get in trouble..."

"baby, you'll only get in trouble if you don't come over here."

you have to bite back a grin due to finding teddy's confidence cringey. he's like a little yappy dog, not knowing when to shut up and stay still despite the fact that a gust of wind could knock him over

next thing you know, you're sat right next to him, his arm slung over the back of the booth. he's telling you about how you're too beautiful to be stuck working for minimum wage

"if you need money, just ask me. if you need anything, just ask me. someone like you needs someone like me to take care of you", he whispers in your ear.

your face heats up and you think about it. is quitting your job worth getting involved with teddy? sure you hate working, everyone does, but...the money isn't going to be given to you without a price

"well, what will i have to do in return?"

he chuckles and nuzzles your cheek with his nose

"just be near me, like arm candy, and i'll get you whatever you want. i need you in my life"

so it's a trophy he wants, someone to flash around along with all his gaudy jewelry and drugs.

you take a sip of your drink before sighing

can you actually be teddy lobo's trophy?

[rixareth]

Top 5 fictional characters who make the WORST decisions? You can pick a specific medium (video games, books, TV shows etc) if the list is too long!

Oh, man, I love so many characters who make bad decisions! This is going to be tricky.

I'm not sure whether your question was 'who are your five favourite characters who make terrible decisions?' or 'of your favourite characters, which five make the worst decisions?', so I'll give you two lists.

Five terrible decision-makers who I love, emphasis on 'who I love':

Sean Diaz from Life Is Strange 2. Look, I cannot blame this kid for going on the run with his nine-year-old brother. He was panicking, the police were coming, and a police officer had just ruined his entire life, so naturally he was unwilling to stick around and encounter more of them. It was a deeply understandable decision, but it was nonetheless a decision that fucked a lot of things up.

Ellie from The Last of Us. I started loving Ellie in the first game, which was before she started making really terrible decisions. But I still love her after her desperate 'if I kill enough people, I'll feel better, right? right???' quest of the second game, and that definitely means she qualifies for this list.

Jack Shephard from Lost. Jack is a grieving, angry, unstable mess who's been thrown into a leadership position when he's barely clinging onto any form of reason with his fingernails. He has a lot of intense feelings, a gigantic saviour complex, poor self-control and no ability to delegate. Everything he does is a) guaranteed to blow up in his face and b) absolutely fascinating to me.

James Sunderland from Silent Hill 2. Look, if your dead wife tells you to come to a town, and then the town is full of monsters, you turn around and leave. I feel like there was another big terrible decision he made too, but I can't - I can't quite remember. That's weird. I wish I had a recording or something to jog my memory.

Light Yagami from Death Note. Light is very smart, but he's also very proud, and he loves using his own intelligence to convince himself that the correct course of action coincidentally happens to be the thing he really wants to do. Yes, if he kills these people in this way, it'll make him look suspicious. But that's what he wants! It's all part of his ingenious plan to catch L, and totally not just because he wants to send L a personal 'fuck you' message. The 'fuck you' is coincidental. This is a very smart move.

Five terrible decision-makers who I love, emphasis on 'terrible decision-makers':

Seifer Almasy from Final Fantasy VIII. One of the first terrible decision-makers I ever developed a fondness for! Seifer, you can't assist an evil sorceress in taking over the world just because you think it's cool and romantic and you really want to show up your rival at school.

WD Gaster from @zarla-s's Undertale fancomic Handplates. Gaster is an expert in doing terrible things while convincing himself that there's definitely, definitely no other course of action. He's awful and I love him.

Chloe Price from Life Is Strange. Chloe is an absolute disaster in a way I find refreshing from a female character. Playing Life Is Strange is a struggle because I want Chloe to like me, but everything she wants me to do is terrible. I don't want to steal money or shoot people or hang up on my distraught friend, Chloe!

Aaaaand Jack Shephard and Light Yagami again. Fascinating characters. I could watch them making ill-advised decisions all day.

Honourable mentions to the other characters who crossed my mind while I was working on these lists:

Mike Munroe from Until Dawn

Lightning 'look, I don't expect punching a god in the face to go well, but I reeeeeally want to punch this god in the face' Farron from Final Fantasy XIII

Jeff Winger from Community

Mondo Owada from Danganronpa

Dr Cox from Scrubs

Keiichi Maebara from Higurashi. I realise there are extenuating circumstances, but murder isn't going to solve your problems! Stop murdering people!

The instant I post this, I'm going to think of twenty other characters I should have mentioned.

[xieyaohuan]

Soft OTP prompts: #12 for pre-canon Homewell (kind of thinking about your hc that during his media-slash-being-normal-in-public training Madelyn was the one tasked with some of it)

<333 Can be as short and/or unstructured as you like. I'll take rambling hcs too!

12- Write about your ship going somewhere new together for the first time.

What are we?

“You can’t hold my hand like that.”

He looks at her, confused but not quite ready to let go of her yet.

It takes a moment until he has sufficiently collected himself to respond.

“Why not?”

The grip around her fingers tightens. He’s taken off his gloves, so it’s skin on skin, but it feels like she's locked in a vise.

This is going to be delicate business. Homelander doesn’t handle criticism well, no matter how gently it is delivered, and there’s a personal dimension to this now.

“You introduced me as your mother, remember?”

That doesn’t have the effect she was hoping it would. If anything, he seems more confused now, eyes blinking rapidly.

“But you suggested that I-”

Madelyn suppresses a sigh. When she told him he was ready to go to a restaurant with her, he got a little too excited, so she did suggest he introduce her as his mother precisely to keep any excessive displays of affection at bay.

“Of course,” she says, “There's nothing wrong with that. But holding hands is something you would do with your girlfriend. Mothers and sons don’t hold hands like that. You have to be consistent, you see? If you introduce me as your mother, you have to treat me like your mother.”

“Oh.” Homelander finally lets go of her hand. “I see.”

Madelyn isn't convinced he fully understands what the problem is. She'll have to explain it again, maybe pick a movie they can watch together that will show the difference. She'll think of one.

For now, she's glad she has her hand back. It feels numb and tingles as she kneads it back to life, but there's going to be no permanent damage.

Homelander is watching her rubbing her wrist, that vaguely terrified look in his eyes that he always gets when he thinks he may have accidentally hurt her.

“It's okay,” she tells him, “everything is okay.” But she's glad when the waiter interrupts them to take their order.

She's bought out the restaurant for the night. All the other 'guests' work for Vought, and the staff have been paid well for their discretion.

Homelander knows this, but it's the first time they're doing this little exercise outside of the Tower, and his voice shakes as he orders for both of them (Vought insists on raising him old school).

Still, he does a much better job than last time, properly conveying her order and picking a perfectly acceptable dish for himself. (The first time they did this, he ordered himself a slice of chocolate cake as his main course and almost cried when Madelyn told him he couldn't have that.)

She pats his arm. “You learn so fast.”

He's beaming at her praise, but it doesn't take long until that look is replaced again by the slight frown that tells her something is still bothering him.

“What is it?”

He hesitates, like he always does when he worries she might judge him or think he is stupid. “You’re not my real mother,” he finally says. “Just my pretend mother... Is that why I can’t hold your hand? Is it because we're... less real, and they know?”

His eyes look suspiciously glossy.

“No. No. Oh, God no,” she says. “No, that's not why. It's just that mothers and sons don't touch each other like that.”

He looks up and locks eyes with her. “We do though,” he says softly. “We do.”

Madelyn sighs. She's always known that mixing her roles would come at a price one day. You see, Vought told her, Homelander wants a mother as much as he wants a lover. Maybe this would be easier if you gave him what he wants.

She's given him tiny pieces of both, whichever role best fit her purpose at a given time. Of course, she’s explained to him that they’re just playing pretend, but the truth is, she’s not sure Homelander fully understands what that means, and Vought's advice has been utterly unhelpful for teaching him the nuances of social interaction.

“Yes,” she says. “We sometimes do things that ordinary mothers and sons don't do. It's because you're special. But you can't-”

“I can't touch you in public,” Homelander finishes her sentence. “Because you're not my girlfriend. Because you're not my real girlfriend... But you're also not my real mother.”

He's hesitating again, and his voice is dangerously low as he asks the question he's been meaning to ask: “But then what are we?”

There's a nontrivial chance things are going to go sideways from here and she's going to have to start this lesson all over again, something she can't afford on the tight schedule Vought has given her.

And so she smiles as she takes his hand. “You are the greatest super hero in the world. And I'm here to help you with some of that burden. The truth is, we can be anything we want to be. But other people aren't as special. Their minds are small, and there are things they won't understand. So sometimes, when we are outside, we have to act in certain ways because if we show them what we truly are, we might scare them.”

He's familiar with those words, she's used them hundreds of times before to explain to him why he can't do, say or ask certain things in public. She's never applied them to their relationship though.

Still, they work their magic. Homelander is nodding, perhaps relishing the words in his head, a small, conspiratorial smile on his lips.

“I understand.”

She knows he's truly understood when he withdraws his hand unprompted the moment the waiter returns with their wine. He smiles with newfound confidence when he's offered a taste, and sips it without making a face before nodding approvingly and telling the waiter to pour them more.

“Here's to us,” Madelyn says, raising her glass. “I think you're ready to go to a real restaurant next time.”

[moon-spirit-yue]

Fought for Me

Chapter 8: The Best of Romances Deserve Second Chances

(Hey hey! Okay so I gotta be honest, this fic will not focus a whole lot on the reunification of Kumandra. I'm probably gonna make another fic on it, but this is not the one. This fic is purely for drama purposes. Omegaverse definitely isn't everyone's cup of tea so I'm just not focusing on the logistics. This fic (and all others) can be found on ao3! I'll also just post the ao3 link right after this for those who prefer it. The link to previous chapters will be on the ao3 link as well. Anywho, please enjoy!)

Raya began pacing the boat for what was probably the fiftieth time since everyone officially hopped on board. Boun had already dropped himself, Noi, and Tong off to their families. Namaari and Sisu decided to stay with Raya and go the full journey with her back to Heart. Her dragon friend is currently fast asleep without a care in the world.

"You're going to put a hole in that wood if you keep this up," Namaari reminded her.

"I'll put a hole through you, binturi," Raya quickly responded without any of the venom she usually possessed.

"I already got that covered," Namaari said while pointing to the, well, hole in her leg.

"You're right, I'm sorry, I'm very mean when I'm nervous," Raya sighed.

"Look, I get why you're nervous. You haven't seen your father in years, that'd be terrifying for anyone. But he loves you. The whole reason why he wanted to reunite us all was for you," Namaari reminded her.

"Well yeah, but the last time he saw me I was twelve. Now, I have a kid at age eighteen with a very nonexistent partner," Raya groaned.

Okay, technically the partner does exist. However, the partner is still unaware they're the partner so it doesn't really count.

"I'm sure that none of that is going to matter to him once he knows you're okay," Namaari assured her with a light squeeze on her should.

Raya was ashamed to admit to herslef that she missed the warmth of Namaari's hand once she let go. Maybe she'll just chalk it up to the fact that Raya is till soaking wet from her dive with Sisu and any warmth is greatly appreciated.

"You're probably right. I need to calm down," the heart woman sighed while anxiously fiddling with her wet hair.

"Of course I'm right. It happens much more often thank you think," Namaari told her with a grin.

"Don't get cocky, Undercut. You've only just started getting back in my good graces," Raya playfully warned.

"So I already landed a spot huh? And all I had to do was get shot. A small price to pay," Namaari laughed.

Raya resisted the blush crawling onto her face as much as possible and laughed along with the other woman.

"Just at a curiosity, who's with your alleged daughter since you're obviously not?" Namaari asked.

"The hell are you talking about 'alleged'? My daughter is completely real," Raya huffed.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Namaari smugly told her.

"Seriously? Of all the things I'd lie about, that's the one you're going for?" Raya scoffed.

"Hey, until I see the baby, she doesn't exist," Namaari said as if that makes perfect sense. "So who on Earth is with nonexistent baby?"

"Charanya is with very real baby," Raya said with the roll of her eyes.

"Wait, Charanya? Heart girl with long black hair always in a braid, permanent frown, hangs around Tien and is obviously into her?" Namaari asked.

"Huh. So you two have met. Yeah, that's her. We grew up together and we've been sticking by each other all throughout the Druun," Raya explained.

"Huh. Well, the two of us haven't really met. At least not formally. I just see her with Tien quite a bit but she's pretty antisocial. Given the fact that she's from Heart I never really questioned why. Wow. Who knew that the one person that may have actually helped me find you, a thief, was cozying up to my best friend," Namaari said.

"Well if it's any consolation, Charanya hardly knew exactly where I was. The best she'd be able to give you is which land I was in," Raya shrugged.

"That still would have been more information than anyone else could gather. You were very good at covering your tracks," Namaari told her.

At this, Raya smiled.

"So what I'm hearing is, I'm better than you in every way?" Raya asked, absolutely beaming.

"Okay, how is what I said even alluding to the message you got?" Namaari asked with a raised eyebrow.

God, it's so easy to mess with her. Charanya's going to have a field day once she figures that out.

"Well clearly you saying that I'm good at hiding means that you suck at searching. And if you suck at something as simple as searching then you probably suck at everything else," Raya said to elaborate on her personal thought process.

"You certainly jumped to a lot of conclusions there, Raya," Namaari drawled.

"I did jump off a cliff, it's part of who I am," the Heart woman responded easily.

"In heat, too. Seriously, how did you think that was a good idea?" Namaari asked with a frown.

"How did you think it was a good idea to fight me one on one when I was completely surrounded?" Raya shot back.

"I see you won't be letting that go any time soon."

"No, I don't think I will. And be warned, I tell Charanya everything. Prepare yourself because she's not going to let anything go either," Raya laughed.

"Just out of, you know, morbid curiosity, is Charanya your daughter's, um, other parent?" Namaari asked rather awkwardly.

The question made Raya laugh. As if! Even if it weren't genetically impossible, the concept of Raya having a romantic relationship with Charanya is utterly insane.

"Absolutely not. Besides, she-" Raya was cut off by the boat lurching. And boy, did it lurch hard.

Raya's body fell on the steering wheel, Namaari was thrown completely on her side, and Sisu woke up incredibly frazzled due to the movement.

"I SWEAR IT WASN'T MY FAULT-" Sisu yelled in a frenzy before realizing she was just dreaming.

"Huh. She wakes up guilty. That explains so much," Raya grumbled.

"Whuz happnin?" Sisu hastily rushed out.

"A nasty wave hit us. The boat's fine, but I personally would love to be sitting on a chair again," Namaari sighed.

Raya took that as her cue to help a pal out. She picked her own body off from the floor and went to Namaari's aid. The omega tried very hard to ignore the intoxicating scent of the alpha woman but in this proximity it was rather difficult.

Don't breathe her scent in like a creep don't breathe her scent in like a creep don-

"Thanks, Raya," Namaari said once she was upright on her chair once more.

"No problem," Raya smiled.

Oh there's a problem alright. The problem is that now that Namaari isn't an awful binturi it's so much easier to see all her good qualities. This included both mental and physical qualities. Why did the stupid alpha have to be stupidly attractive in her stupid white outfit? Life is so unfair.

Just steer the boat Raya. Steer until you get home with your father- oh damn the panic is back.

"Everything is going to be fine, Raya," Namaari calmly told her.

Great, now she can sense Raya's mood shifts. She's not too sure how she feels about this newfound Namaari ability.

"Aww, are you nervous about seeing your old man again?" Sisu asked.

"With good reason, yes," the Heart woman frowned.

"Oh c'mon, you know he loves you! He sacrificed his life for you!" Sisu reminded her.

"At least someone's sensible on this boat," Namaari drawled.

Sisu is many things, but sensible is simply not on the list. When Raya decides to speak again, she pointedly ignores Namaari's remark.

"I haven't exactly been an angel these past few years," was all Raya said.

Even if she was going to exclude the whole being a teen mother with no alpha in sight, she was still sorta kinda a bad person through the whole six years with the Druun. She's lied, stolen, and gotten in some pretty nasty fights. She's really not sure what her father was capable of forgiving.

"I think you're worrying too much. He'll just be happy to see you," Sisu said with a dismissive flick of her claws.

"That's what I said!" Namaari exclaimed.

"Oooo, same brain! Finally, someone to agree with me when Raya's being crazy!" Sisu squealed excitedly.

"I don't appreciate this sudden uprising against me. Charanya would never treat me this way," Raya huffed.

"Who's Charanya? Oh, is she Aulia's elusive mystery parent?" Sisu asked curiously.

"I asked that too! It's like you're in my head," Namaari gasped excitedly.

Oh god, Namaari is geeking out over Sisu. This is annoyingly endearing. All Raya knows is that she must prevent those two from teaming up at all costs.

"No, Sisu. It's as I told Namaari, Charanya is not Aulia's parent. Aulia's other parent is not in the picture," Raya explained somberly.

Hopefully sounding that sad and pathetic would make them both drop the subject.

"If that's the case then I'm certain you're better off," Namaari assured her.

Poor, oblivious Namaari. She was likely under the impression that the mystery person just abandoned them.

Wow, she now feels incredibly guilty hiding the fact that Namaari's a mother. Granted, she should feel guilty about it, but it was a lot easier when Namaari was nothing more than a thorn in her side.

"Maybe. Oh, Namaari, while we're on the topic of Charanya, I just feel like I should warn you. When I say I tell her everything, I mean everything. Including you," Raya stated.

"Oh my god, she hates me," Namaari accurately concluded with a loud groan.

"Only a lot," Raya nodded.

"Since we're in the spirit of warning each other, Tien is not your biggest fan," Namaari told her.

"Yeah, I could guess that," Raya sighed.

Raya took a certain petty joy in pissing off the great land of Fang. Given the fact that Tien's part of Fang's army and is on track to being on of the land's generals, she doesn't really love how Raya has behaved these past few years.

Understandable, of course. Raya loved making the Fang warrior's lives just a little bit harder. Plus, she knows that the army has wasted time and resources trying to track her down. It makes complete sense that Tien probably wants to punch Raya in the face.

Plus, from what Raya's gathered, Tien is Namaari's closest friend. Naturally, Tien would be against anything that caused Namaari so much agitation.

"Okay, what exactly have you guys been saying about each other?" Sisu asked.

"The truth," Raya and Namaari said in unison.

The two women looked at each other before laughing. It would appear they had more in common than they originally thought.

"People humor is so weird," Sisu frowned.

Light conversation circled around the three of them until they got to Heart's dock. Raya has the sudden urge to vomit. She really hopes Ba still loves her after all this.

"Breathe, it's going to be fine," Namaari firmly told her.

"Right. Fine. Totally okay," Raya plainly stated.

"Yeah, so I can hear you saying it, but I'm not entirely convinced you mean it," Namaari told her.

"Sass me again and I'm stealing your crutch. Try walking after that," Raya scowled.

"Okay, don't do that," Sisu began. "Namaari, you can't reason with crazy. She's just going to have to head down and see for herself that her father actually loves her."

"Seriously Sisu? I bring you back to life and this is the thanks I get? You know what? I'm getting off the boat now. I'm sure you guys can strategize how to gang up against me more effectively once I'm out of earshot," Raya huffed as she determinedly marched off the boat.

"Yikes. Someone's paranoid," Sisu said once Raya was a good distance away.

"And mean. Wait, she didn't actually take my crutch right?" Namaari asked when she came to the realization that she could no longer see it.

"Oh nah, you're good," Sisu said. The crutch was, thankfully, hidden behind a barrel. Crisis averted.

Raya was in absolute awe of all the people roaming the land of Heart. On one hand, it kind of freaks her out being surrounded by so many people. On the other hand, it amazes her that so many of these people wear blue. Heart's color. Her people have returned.

The very proud Princess of Heart kept on walking until she reached the very bridge she was thrown off all those years ago. On this bridge she saw him exactly as he was back then. Outside the crutch and bandage around his leg, of course.

It was her father. Chief Benja of Heart is finally in the flesh. It felt like she couldn't move. She was in awe over seeing him walking, breathing like a human being. All he was doing was picking up a discarded flag the best he could with an injured leg. Yet this simple action left Raya in awe.

Benja caught onto her stares and looked up from the ground and made eye contact with her. He let out an audible gasp and dropped the flag he was holding.

"Dewdrop?" he whispered, tears already in his eyes.

Raya let the tears she didn't even realize she was forming fall across her cheeks and ran over to him. To his credit, Benja did immediately rush to his daughter, but Raya covered ground much quicker with two unharmed legs.

When they finally met in the most memorable hug of Raya's entire life, she actually started to sob because of how warm her father is.

She would touch her father's statue several times these past six years. It was never for long due to how cold it was. The chill gave her no comfort so she had resorted to speaking to it only.

The fact that she can hug him and be enveloped in warmth means everything to Raya.

"Oh, my baby, I love you so much. I just can't believe it's been six years," Her father sobbed as he held her tighter.

"I love you too Ba. I can't believe it either. I missed you while you were gone," Raya choked out.

"I'm sorry I left," he responded.

"The very good news is that Kumandra isn't as crazy as we all thought it was," Raya smiled.

She shifted so that she was hanging off his left arm and pointed to the mass waves of people entering the land.

"How the hell are we supposed to feed them? My cooks have been stone for six years!" Benja hissed in her ear causing Raya to laugh.

Always the most perfect host, even in dire situations.

"Don't worry about it," Raya smiled.

Through the waves of people she saw Boun, Noi, and Tong were all with their own families. They waved as they walked by. Namaari walked by with her mother and gave Raya an encouraging thumbs up. However, Raya feels very thumbs down right now.

Ah well, now's as good of a time as ever.

"Ba, I have something really important to tell. I haven't been the best person around these past six years. I've stolen, like, a lot of things. I've been in my fair share of fights-" Raya rambled.

"Raya, I can confidently say that I could not care less. I'm just happy you're alive. Whatever bad things you did, you did to survive. I would want you to do it all over again if it meant you would be okay. There’s nothing you can say or do that will make me love you any less. It doesn't matter at all to me," her father assured her.

Okay, well she started off easy. Raya is pretty relieved to know that those not so minor offenses don't bother him.

"I promise that what I'm about to say next will matter quite a bit to you," Raya sighed, feeling incredibly nervous. Might as well just say it to get it over with. "Ba, I ended up pregnant and having a child. At eighteen. Out of wedlock. And super single. Like, no alpha in sight. Okay I know it sounds bad but I swear I didn't plan it I was very vulnerable and-"

Her father's jaw dropped as she rambled. Raya was scared to give him a chance to speak, worried he would take everything back.

"I'm a grandfather?" Benjas asked, tears welling in his eyes once more.

"Yeah," was all Raya could say.

Her father wrapped her up in a tight hug once more and now Raya finally felt air in her lungs. He was actually okay with the fact that she has a child. It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulder.

"Well where is she? Or he? I have to meet my grandchild!" Benja exclaimed.

"She is with Charanya. Her name's Aulia. So you're really not upset at me for having her under these less than ideal circumstances?" Raya asked hopefully.

“Of course not! When I said it’s impossible to make me love you less, I meant it. I just wish I could have been there to support you,” her father sighed while squeezing her shoulders.

“That would have been nice,” Raya agreed while sniffling.

"Oh, Charanya! I've been trying to find her too, but I haven't had much luck. She must have grown so much," Benja sighed.

"Not really, that's the reason why you're having so much trouble finding her," Raya smirked.

Her father laughed at that and allowed Raya to guide him into the swarm of people entering Heart. It was one hell of sight seeing people from every nation mingling with each other after so many years.

Raya didn't really focus too much on those around her as she was trying to find Charanya and her kid. That did remind her that Charanya's mother and grandmother should have returned from stone so it's very likely they already reunited with her.

"Just look for Kim. She's the tall one. Hopefully they're all in one group," Raya told him.

Everywhere she turned, somebody was sobbing tears of joy after seeing their loved one alive once more. It was very heartwarming, but it was also very hard to find her own loved ones.

Then, she saw them all. Kim and Ai, Charanya's beloved grandmother and mother, were alive and well. And the girl that was practically leaning all her weight onto Ai was Charanya. And in Charanya's arms was Aulia. Her baby.

Raya tugged on her father's arm and pointed to the four standing right in front of them.

Kim was the first to notice them. A face of utter relief quickly came over Kim, likely very thankful that Raya and Benja were okay. Kim said something Raya was too far away to hear and pointed in their direction. Ai and Charanya both turned to make eye contact and before anyone knew it, the five adults of the group clamored together a giant hug.

"Oh, Raya, look at you! You look so much like your mother!" Ai smiled with tears in her eyes.

"I can't even believe how you've grown," Kim whispered, tears streaming down her face.

"Charanya, words can not describe how happy I am to see you," Benja grinned as he was crying along with everyone else in the group.

The five of them probably would have stayed in their little circle forever until Aulia squealed upon making eye contact with Raya. To her immense relief, Aulia reached out her cute little baby hands for Raya.

The Heart woman smiled as she held her baby in her arms, wiping away the tears so that her daughter wouldn't see. Raya had been so scared that her child would forget all about her in the months she was gone. Aulia smiled and rested her head on Raya's shoulder, letting her know her fears were completely unwarranted.

"So this is her? This is my granddaughter?" Benja asked in awe.

Charanya gave Raya a look, not entirely sure how much Raya's told him yet. Raya merely smiled and nodded.

"Yeah. Here she is. Hey Aulia, say hi to grandpa. Can you wave? Are we at that stage?" Raya asked giggling.

"No, she hasn't-" Charanya began.

She was cut off by Raya's genius baby waving at Benja. Charanya then gasped exicitedly.

"THAT WAS THE FIRST TIME SHE'S EVER WAVED!" Charanayed yelled hgappily.

"Don't even mess with me right now. Did I just witness a baby milestone?" Raya grinned.

"We all did," Ai laughed.

"Can I hold her?" Benja asked hopefully.

"I suppose I can let you two hang out," Raya agreed as she handed over her daughter to her father.

Admittedly, Raya didn't love the idea of letting go of her baby when she literally just got to see her again after what feels like eons, but she relented. Mainly because she desperately wanted Aulia and Benja to bond as soon as possible.

"Oh, hello young lady. It's me, your grandpa. Oh, you're so perfect. Yes you are. Just like your Ma," Benja cooed.

Aulia looked at Benja's facial hair in utter fascination and began rubbing her hands all over his face. Benja simply laughed and allowed the baby onslaught to continue.

Raya was thrilled the two were getting along so well. Then she felt Charanya tugging on her shirt.

"What's up?" Raya mumbled, realizing she would likely want discretion.

"We need to get changed. Now," Charanya bluntly stated.

Raya merely nodded. The shorter omega had that serious tone in her voice that meant something more was going on.

"Ba, Ma, Grandma, we need to change. Right now. I can't stand these clothes any longer," Raya said loudly to attract her family's attention.

"Me neither. I'm going to head up too," Charanya agreed.

Raya hadn't even noticed with all the happy feelings, but Charanya is also soaking wet. What, did she take a dip in the lake?

"Really? Do you need us to come with?" Ai asked worrieldy.

Raya and Charanya were adults. A fact Ai obviously knew. However, Raya did undertsand that she didn't want to be separated from them so soon.

"We'll be fine Ma. We're just going to the palace to take a quick bath. We'll be back so soon you won't even know we were gone," Charanya assured her.

"Alright. You girls be careful now. Don't lose each other," Ai reminded them.

"We're always careful, Ma," Charanya smiled as she kissed Ai's cheek.

The rather exhausted duo walked quietly through the sea of reuniting people. Once they were far enough away from their family, Charanya began to speak.

"There is a reason why I dragged you out outside of our wet clothes, obviously, but we need to wait for that until we're in private," Charanya explained.

"Well even I could have guessed that much," Raya huffed as she dragged Charanya along.

Raya and Charanya were both stopped on several occasions, greeting those who had been some of the first people to turn to stone. The palace was incredibly lively and they were already working on repairs to the castle.

Despite how nice it was connecting with her people again, Raya is itching to get out of these clothes and figure out what the hell Charanya wants to tell her.

"Wait, pause, where do you think we're getting spare clothes? All my things are still on Boun's boat," Raya inquired.

"Seriously? You came home and forgot to grab your shit?" Charnaya asked in a very judgmental manner.

"I'm sorry that the thought of my father disowning me when he found out I had a child out of wedlock distracted me from grabbing my belongings," Raya drawled.

"I suppose I can forgive you this time. And, well, one of the things I wanted to tell you is the fact that the boat we've been living is sorta kinda demolished," Charanya sighed.

There wasn't anyone around in the specific part of the castle, so they can express themselves more freely. Expressing herself to Raya meant a jaw dropped open,

"What, seriously?" Raya gasped, stopping her tracks.

This prompted Charanya to stop as well and confirm it. The place Raya experienced her teenage years in, where her daughter had been living, is gone. Rendered to pieces of wood on the bottom of the lake.

It was just a boat. It's not like either of them even had any claim to it. Even so, it was kind of heartbreaking that the place that held so many memories was now destroyed.

"Yeah. I'm honestly not sure what happened today, but Aulia was crying her damn eyes out for hours. She finally wore herself out when the sun rose so I took a nap as soon as she was down. I woke up because it felt like the boat was going through rocky waters, you know like waves you'd deal with at sea. Obviously, I knew something was wrong since, hello, we were in the middle of the lake. When I woke up, it was like bunch of water was being refilled in the lake so the movement made the boat start to capsize. I had to grab Aulia and abandon ship before we went down with it," Charanya explained.

"Okay, first things first, you're both okay right? Like, no water in the lungs or physical injuries? Was Aulia okay? She wasn't freaked out or upset, was she?" Raya frowned worriedly.

"We're both fine. I made sure her face never went under water or anything. Besides, you've met your daughter right? The little psycho loves water. The only time she started feeling upset was when we left the lake," Charanya said while rolling her eyes.

The eye roll didn't fool Raya, Charanya loves that kid more than she loves herself.

"That sounds like her. She's so fearless. She'll make an excellent chief one day," Raya smugly told her.

Oh shit. Aulia's going to be a chief one day. There's an actual land for her to run now. Raya has to raise a freaking chief. Suddenly, she's feeling a tad nauseous. Boy, is it getting hot in here?

"Sunshine? You okay?" Charanya asked with furrowed brows.

"Just the reality of everything starting to hit me. It never even crossed my mind that she'd have people to lead one day. Not realistically, at least," Raya sighed.

Charanya put both hands on Raya's shoulders and squeezed tightly. The shorter woman opened her mouth, probably to try and comfort Raya, but instead she just let out a big yawn. The duo stared at each other for a moment before breaking out into quiet giggles.

"Alright, let's go bathe before you fall asleep standing up. I think some of Ba's clothes are untouched, we can just take his," Raya informed her.

"Oh, I totally forgot about that! There's just something extra cozy about taking other people's clothing," Charanya nodded.

"I know right? Now let me tell you exactly why our boat capsized," Raya began.

She divulged into the full story of her adventures from getting the scroll to finding Sisu and managing to acquire all the gem pieces. Charanya interrupted her with questions dozens of times before they made it to Ba's room.

It looked exactly how Raya remembered it. Neither girl wanted to come back here when the Druun were roaming the Earth. The obvious reason was the fact that they had very little desire to get turned to stone. The other reason was that they couldn't stand to see the statues that were once people. Heart's palace with being utterly deserted was too much for them to bare.

Both girls rummaged through the closet to pick out their favorite Ba sized clothes. Once they grabbed what they liked, they rushed to the nearest bathroom and prayed everything would still work despite the fact that it's been years since it was used.

This specific bathroom had two tubs that were parallel of each other. To Raya and Charanya's relief, both bath tubs immediately started to run the second they turned the faucets on. With their backs turned, both women began to take off the very wet clothes they wore.

"You good over there?" Raya asked since she was fully submerged in the tub. The only thing Charanya would be able to see would be her head.

"Yeah, all set," the other omega confirmed.

Raya turned around to face Charanya. Her head was poking out above the water and she had already began to wash her hair.

"Okay, you and I need to get our stories straight," Charanya told her once she finished scrubbing her head.

"Kindly elaborate," Raya said.

Raya began to follow in Charanya's footsteps and began to wash her hair. It's been too long since she's been able to properly clean like this. Because no, spontaneous dives in random bodies of water do not count.

"What are we lying to our parents about? What are telling them? What half truths are we putting out? Especially when it comes to our girl that's slowly gaining adoring fans," Charanya explained.

She made a good point. Some things really shouldn't be said.

"We'll start with you since you have way less to hide," Raya nodded.

"Kay. Uh, I did already tell ma and grandma about the whole 'hiding out in the brothel' thing. They didn't care. The fact that I wasn't actually a sex worker probably helped. I don't care if you tell Ba about that, either. I haven't mentioned either of my heat partners, but honestly I think it's fine if that's brought up too. No one's exactly in a place to judge there," Charanya snorted.

Raya supposed it’d have to come out at some point. Charanya's heats were too painful and Raya's were long enough to the point where she legitimately exhausted. In the event they can't get their hands on the drugs that suppress the symptoms, they have no choice but to spend it with someone else.

Neither girls particularly enjoy talking about the heat partners they had for obvious reasons. Granted, it’s not necessarily something to be ashamed of as plenty of omegas and alphas have a difficult time going through a heat or rut solo at this age. Still, who the hell wants to announce this kind of stuff.

"Right. It was that one girl from Talon and the Fang girl when Aulia was born, right?" Raya asked. God, the days blurred together.

"Oh fun fact, I didn't actually sleep with the Fang girl, I just dreamt I did. It was super realistic. She just used her scent to soothe me to sleep, which does explain why I don't remember any pain. It's just the Talon girl. Your only other heat partner besides you know who was the girl from Spine, right?" Charanya questioned. Apparently her days blurred together too.

"Correct. Anything else you want to cover up?" Raya asked.

"Please, do not tell them about my whole thing with Tien. They're going to be nosy and I'm going to have a psychotic break. Also," Charanya hesitated a bit before continuing. "Don't mention my uh, heat before the last."

Raya sighed and pursed her lips. That particular heat was the exact reason why partners or drugs were necessary.

"Fine, but I really think you should tell them eventually," Raya conceded.

"I will. But just, later on once we're all more adjusted. That's about all I could need to cover up. Your turn," Charanya agreed.

"Okay. No need to mention the heat I spent with, uh, that girl. I'll probably mention the Spine girl later though. Obviously, Aulia's parentage is off the table. Ba knows I've done bad stuff, but he doesn't have specifics. As long as you're not recounting specific stories, it should be fine. I'm pretty sure that's it," Raya concluded.

"Good," Charanya yawned.

Raya was about to relax but immediately jolted forwards. There was one minor detail that Charanya really needs to know.

"Wait, I lied. Okay, so I told everyone that Aulia's a year old so that it doesn't align when that specific woman and I were together. There’s no way a one year old could be hers,” Raya explained like the genius she is.

“Strategic. I like it,” Charanya stated with a nod of approval.

Then a thought popped up in Raya's head. It was an insane thought, but who better to hear an insane thought than Charanya, who could easily be the chief of insane?

"Do you think I should tell Aulia's other mother about her?" Raya asked.

Charanya, who previously looked like she was on the verge of falling asleep, was now wide awake. She then gave Raya a look as if she grew at least seven new heads.

"That's a terrible idea!" Charanya hissed.

Wow. Okay. The Heart princess was not expecting such a severely negative reaction.

Charanya groaned and put pressure on her temples. A very tell tale sign that she's trying not to freak out.

"I'm sorry, that was extreme, but I stand by the general message. I mean, Kumandra is just starting. I hate thinking about Aulia as some political tool, but we can't ignore the fact that she's your daughter. Heir to the Heart throne,” Charanya huffed. “My point is, she’s also that girl’s daughter. Another heir to another throne. This needs to be handled delicately."

"Fuck me, I didn't think about the politics involved. This completely sucks," Raya groaned.

Maybe she should just drown herself in the tub and get it over with.

“And I’m sorry, I get that she’s supposedly reformed and all, but you really don't know her that well. What if she gets all pissed and tries taking Aulia away from us? She is an alpha, Raya. Many would say the she'd have every right to. Plus, even if you trust mother number two enough, what about Aulia's grandmother? What do you think she will do to retaliate?" Charanya reminded her.

Yeah, so Raya didn't think about that either. She is so screwed. She is so very screwed. Maybe Namaari doesn't have to know she has a kid! Maybe Raya can pretend like she magically came to be with child! Like one day it just happened! No sex necessary! That can be possible, right?

"Is it too late to change our names and run away? There's a cozy little village in Talon that'd suit us and our parents very well," Raya winced.

"I am not opposed," Charanya sighed. After a couple minutes of silence, she spoke up again. "You really think Namaari can be trusted?"

Raya paused for a moment so that she could think about she was going to say.

"Yeah, I do. She changed, from when we were kids. I told you, she saved my life more than once. The reason why she's hobbling around on crutches was from saving me. We established a peaceful meeting and she held up her end of the bargain, some Fang warriors followed. It wasn't her fault and she did do the right thing," Raya decided. "So I think she can be trusted."

Charanya gave her a very long stare before nodding and going back to scrubbing her hair.

"Alright. I'll accept that answer for now. I still don't like her," Charanya stated childishly.

Raya scoffed and rolled her eyes. Heaven forbid Charanya actually cooperate.

"Fine. That means I don't have to like Tien," Raya shot back.

Honestly, Raya really doesn't like her. The more she thinks about the whole situation between the two, the more irritated Raya gets. The woman's been stringing her childhood friend around for a solid two years. Maybe she's just overprotective, but Tien needs to grow a damn spine and be more direct or just back off so that Charanya can move on. The weird back and forth thing is only going to hurt her friend the longer it goes on.

"Deal," Charanya sighed. "And I hope you know I'm not saying you should hide the truth forever about Aulia's parentage. They both have a right to know. Hell, they might figure it out anyway if Aulia ends up looking too much like her. But I really don't think now's the time."

"You're totally right. Besides, I really don't know how much more I can take today," Raya sighed as she finished getting all of the grime out of her hair.

"You're telling me," Charanya snorted.

At that point there wasn't much washing left to do, so they emerged from the tubs and began to dress in clothes much too big for either of them.

"Braid my hair for me would ya?" Charanya asked now that they were both fully clothed.

Raya nodded and obliged. She was an excellent braider. If braiding was a profession and Raya wasn't set to be Chief of Heart, she could easily have gotten that job.

"Now that the serious stuff is sorted out, let's go!" Charanya grinned as she eagerly tugged Raya's arm.

"Slow down tiger, where's this energy coming from?" Raya laughed.

"Isn't it obvious? I have a ma again," Charanya beamed.

That was all the explanation Raya needed. The two took off and weaved through the crowd of people in order to find their family.

Boy did they find their family alright.

Conversing with Namaari and Tien's family. Sweet hell neither of them got a break. The two gave each other a look before putting on their brave faces and entering the chaos.

For the love of everything, please let this be a normal interaction.

"Oh good, you girls are-" Benja paused and gave them a full once over. "Are you two wearing my clothes?"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" Raya and Charanya asked at the same time, really dragging out the the 'a' sound.

"We would never do such a thing," Charanya lied.

"How dare you accuse us, Father. I gave you a grandchild. Be more grateful please," Raya huffed.

Benja rolled his eyes but didn't press the issue because he genuinely didn't care. Both girls stole his clothes all the time growing up. Plus, Raya could see the small smile on his face when he noticed. He looked at Aulia cozying up to him in his arms and smiled brightly.

"Are you going to steal my clothes when you get older too? Are you going to be a thief like your Ma?" her ba cooed at Aulia.

"I resent that statement," Raya frowned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charanya and Tien begin their own conversation on the side with their families. Raya hadn't even realized Virana and Namaari had been speaking until her father nudged her.

"Huh?" Raya asked dumbly.

"I asked if you were okay. You zoned out for a moment," Namaari informed her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's been a long day," Raya admitted sheepishly.

"Indeed it has been," Viranan agreed.

Now Raya ahd to be honest with herself, she wasn't ecstatic about being so close to Virana after the previous events. So, Raya merely nodded and moved on.

"Hey Ba, I can hold her now so," Raya started, only for her father to pout.

So that's where Raya gets it from. Of course.

"Do I have to? Can't I have five more minutes?" her father asked.

"You realize she's not a toy, right?" Raya snorted.

"I know, but she's been around for a whole year and I haven't been able to hang out with her until now! Bonding is important," Benja firmly stated.

"Sure Ba, you can keep on holding her," Raya laughed.

The conversation had quickly become all about the baby. Benja and Virana ended up getting wrapped up in sharing their own experiences with raising their children.

"I say we spare both of ourselves the embarrassment and walk away now," Raya told Namaari.

"I literally could not agree more," Namaari nodded.

The two sped walk to a distance where they couldn't hear their parents, but they were still in their line of sight.

"I can not believe you actually thought your father would be upset. It's been what, twenty minutes since they met? She's got him wrapped around her finger," Namaari laughed.

"Admittedly, my fears were unwarranted," Raya shrugged.

This means Namaari was right. Ugh. Now that was a hard pill to swallow.

"You can admit you were totally wrong whenever you're ready, Raya. I'll be here for awhile," Namaari smirked.

What a fucking binturi.

"Bite me," Raya drawled.

Namaari opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted with Charanya dragging Tien over.

"Oh Tien, you know that friend I'm always telling you about? Well this is she! Meet Raya," Charanya said with a bright smile.

Raya waved. She opened her mouth to make some form of an introduction, but Tien beat her to it.

"Okay, pause. The friend you've been talking about all this time is Raya? Princess Raya of Heart? As in, the girl I have been trying to hunt down for months? That same Raya?" Tien asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You're a quick study," Charanya confirmed.

"And you didn't think this is something I should know about?" Tien asked with irritation in her voice.

"Well I'm not a snitch, Tien," Charanya said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Raya had to physically bite her own lip to keep herself from smiling. At least Charanya would always have her back.

"We will be circling back to this later. It's nice to meet you under better circumstances, Princess Raya," Tien said as she bowed and made the gem symbol.

"There's no need for the formalities. Raya is perfectly fine," the omega smile politely.

Ugh, she can't believe she has to act polite now. Civilization sucks.

"Sure, Raya," Tien nodded politely.

At least it was obvious Tien didn't like being polite either. Raya wasn't expecting her to, if she was going to be honest. Alas, both Charanya and Namaari were important people in Raya and Tien's life, so coexisting would just have to do. And given the looks Charanya and Namaari were giving each other, they felt the same way.

"Well, in the spirit of introductions, Charanya, meet Namaari. Namaari, this is Charanya," Raya smiled.

Hopefully this would distract her from the annoyance Tien's presence gives her.

"It's a pleasure to officially meet you. You don't have to use my official title, it's odd hearing from peers," Namaari said while forming the gem symbol.

"Got it. Nice to meet you as well," Charanya said as she too formed the gem symbol.

However, Charanya was eyeing Namaari up and down in the most judgmental way possible. While it was hilarious, Raya didn't want to mediate. Time to say something that can make even the most vicious warriors calm down.

"So. I say we all grab a bite to eat. Who's with me?" Raya asked.

The other three were very quick to agree. The chefs had been hopping onto the cooking since the early morning so there was plenty of delicious food for them to eat.

In no time at all, the four of them were eating on a little blanket while their parents sat at table a few feet away from them. Raya finally got the chance to get her baby back from her father so now Aulia is sitting on Raya's lap as she eats.

However, Aulia got bored and crawled out of her mother's lap and gravitated to Namaari. Immediately, the alpha's face beamed when she noticed Aulia was moving to greet her.

"Oh hello, sweetheart. Look at you, moving so fast. You must get that from your Ma," Namaari cooed.

Deciding that she quite enjoyed the compliments she was receiving, Aulia crawled right onto Namaari's lap. Namaari didn't mind at all but seemed a tad unsure of what to do.

"You can hold her, you know. She doesn't- wait, no. She does bite. She is a biter," Raya told her.

Namaari clearly didn't mind the biting warning and scooped Aulia up to hold her in her arms. Raya was very amused to see Namaari respond to Aulia's mindless babbles as if it was an intelligent conversation.

Kind makes Raya wonder what life would have been like if-

Nope. Not going there.

"Hey, she's a year old right?" Namaari asked out of the blue.

"Yeah, her first birthday passed a few days ago," Charanya falsely confirmed.

"Huh," Namaari hummed.

"Well what's that supposed to mean?" Charanya asked with agitation in her voice.

And now Ranya's starting shit. That is so typical of her. Raya wondered if Tien was going to step in, but she was like Raya. Very amused and wants to see how this plays out.

"I didn't mean anything by it. It's just she's a tad small for a one year old," Namaari easily replied.

"Well I've been the only one feeding her. Are you trying to suggest I've been malnourishing my god daughter?" Charanya frowned with narrowed eyes.

Raya mentally willed Namaari to look at her so that she could shake her head. Charanya is completely, without a doubt, baiting Namaari. If Charanya finds out just how easy it is to mess with Namaari, the Fang alpha will never know peace.

Unfortunately, true to her character, Namaari took the rather obvious bait.

"No, of course not! What I mean to say is-" Namaari rambled out before getting cut off by Charanya's laughter.

"Relax, I was messing with you! Who would have guessed the Princess of Fang would be so easy?" Charanya giggled.

"I tried warning you," Raya shrugged when Namaari gave her a hopeless look.

"In what way? Inquiring minds want to know," Namaari scoffed.

"In my mind, duh," Raya stated.

"I see why you two have remained friends for so long," Tien said while looking between Raya and Charanya.

"Don't be crabby just because you don't understand how cool we are," Charanya smirked.

"Don't even start-"

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

The four girls had a surprisingly pleasant evening despite the obvious animosities certain people held for other certain people. Even if the evening was pleasant, Raya was still beyond relieved to get to bed.

Charanya and her family were staying in one of the guest rooms of the Heart palace due to the fact that their original home was destroyed by the Druun years ago. Charanya attempted to protest but all Raya had to say was that Aulia would miss her and suddenly she had no arguments.

Raya's got a long life of using her daughter to get her way. It sounds awful, but it's for the good of the world.

Besides, Raya knew for a fact Charanya was comfortable. She walked by the room they were all staying in and Charanya was curled up against her mother. She was dead asleep and purring her little heart out. Raya can not remember the last time she heard Charanya purr before this. It was too long given how a purring omega is a happy one. Raya made sure to close the door before she wondered to her own room.

Well, her father's room. As of right now, same difference.

Raya had Aulia's crib set up in her father's room where she would also be sleeping. Though neither Raya nor her father really discussed it out loud, being too far away from each other right now was simply not an option.

Aulia passed out almost immediately when she got into her crib, which is a blessing in it's own right. She must have been exhausted from the very exciting day she had.

Raya hopped into bed and saw her father walk in only a few moments later.

"Damn, I thought beat you here," Benja huffed.

"I'm too fast for you old man, admit it," Raya giggled.

"Whatever. Scoot over," he huffed.

Once Benja was settled, Raya rested her head on his should and closed her eyes. She made sure to be cautious of his bad leg when adjusting herself to be more comfortable.

"Hey Dewdrop?" her father whispered.

"Wassup?" Raya mumbled, already feeling sleep tug at her.

"I realize that the situation with Aulia's other parent is delicate and you don't want to talk about so I'm only going to ask one question and I will drop it forever until you're ready to tell me. Is the parent still alive?" Benja asked.

"Yeah. Still alive," Raya tiredly confirmed.

She can't see the harm in answering that question.

"Why do you ask Ba?" Raya yawned.

"Because I wanted to know if there was hope for the chance to beat their ass for hurting my little girl," Benja stated.

Ah. She should have known.

"Seriously? For the record, I could totally beat them up myself."

She'd know. She's done it many tines before.

"Well obviously, but it's my right as an alpha father to beat everyone up that makes you upset."

"Would you like a list?"

"Yes."

"I was kidding, Ba."

"I wasn't."

"Goodnight, Ba."

"Goodnight, Raya."

[noxtms]

IN CHARACTER DATE : may 1st, 2024. TRIGGER WARNINGS : n / a.

"YOU'RE SURE?" the horrible silence that had descended over them is broken, at last, by kingsley shacklebolt. his horror echoes. whatever the gathered group had expected of this uncustomary late night meeting, it wasn't this.

"quite," he answers, bitterly. dark splotches pressed beneath his eyes betray that it isn't just frustration that he feels, "she's under the impression that my son's relationship will make it easier for me to-..."

"godric above," mcgonagall murmurs, hands wringing. in the same breath, the ever pragmatic aberforth asks what they're all thinking, "why?"

"she didn't say," he lies with a well practiced ease. he's unsure why he withholds that particular truth ; it compromises nothing more than he already has to share this, too, but something within him demands to hold this card closer than all others. to stay quiet.

the acceptable time to backtrack and tell them all that he has learned after all passes with several solemn ticks from the grandfather clock at the corner of the office. he knows they don't believe him. he can see it in their eyes - accusatory gazes leveled across a walnut table, though they lack the proof they need of his continuing duplicitous nature to put voice to their silent condemnations. he does not wilt beneath their scrutiny, his chin held high. this doesn't convince them.

"... well," kingsley says, slowly ; the only one of the four to trust him, completely. this has always been the case, and now he gives him even more grace. another long moment in which to speak if he has need to that he ignores. "thank you, lucius. we'll gather the order, tonight. we'll discuss everything you've told us and we'll devise a plan... arrange a safe house, perhaps, or-"

"it's not that simple, kingsley," he interrupts, earning himself a hiss of disapproval from his niece, "you may have forgotten her threat upon my son, but i haven't. if i don't give her what she wants then she has made it clear that she will kill him-"

"we'll arrange for him to join her. he'll be under our protection-"

"it isn't enough!" his poise cracks with the smack of his two palms against the table as he rises to his feet. nymphadora jumps, in spite of herself - he can see her at the corner of his eye, though he's entirely too focused upon kingsley to care about the righteous rage that he's inspiring within her, "it doesn't matter where he is. she needs neither wand nor blade to harm him, anymore - what she plans... it's already in motion."

"and you believe th-" aberforth scoffs, his derision silenced by the chilling, "unequivocally," that lucius answers before the question has even finished being asked.

"we can't allow this," kingsley tells him, almost pleading, near begging him to understand their limits, to see that it's too tall an order, too steep of a cost.

"i won't sign my son's death warrant," and he knows, in that moment, that they see him for who he is. that they understand, too. he is a man without limitation. there is nothing he will not rise to. there is no price he will not pay.

stalemate.

tense silence doesn't get the same chance to stretch, this time.

"it strikes me that this could be a very fortuitous turn of events for us, shacklebolt," aberforth says, darkly, "a chance for us to do what we've never managed before, if we had the means."

all eyes turn to him. suspicions, too.

"which, i believe, we do."

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Deliciously dark! Aemond x oc (Snow falls) Chapter 4: The price

Concept: You are aemonds warprize and he took you as his prisoner after murdering your family.

WARNINGS: Non con, abuse, murder, threats, martial abuse, discussion of pregnancy, forced pregancy smut spankings abuse more abuse, cussing and oh yes *rereads notes* ehrm...Beheading familiy members and sending their body parts via mail as a warning. Blood as well. Rough sex. Dubcon. Aemond being a terrifying mf.

If you enjoy dark aemond, be welcome back to Wyldecrest.

Hubby enjoying scaring his wifey because she just scares so easily.

The Cold awakens you. The window must have been blown open by the hard wind.

You are sore and feel so devasted. Your future looks so grim. It won't be the fairytale life you imagined. There is new fresh blood where he fucked you too rough and now there are blue and black spots where he hit and grabbed you. You like to think that his grip is tighter on accident but you don't know. Maybe he wants to hurt you.

A lady enters your room and you quickly cover up. Aemond is gone already. You aren't used to anything different. She takes in your body, the blood and your run make-up. 'I am Alicent.' She kindly speaks like you are some little girl that needs mothering, nurturing and pampering.

Another long-haired woman follows her like a little lost duck would follow its mother. You assume she is her servant.

You don't know what to say. What is she even doing here? She wears an awful green dress but her being an gorgeous red haired woman she pulls it off very nicely. You are annoyed at the colour green and doubt she is wearing it for her pleasure. She is an Green.

Slowly you Roll on your back, your eyes still half closed. You sigh deeply and rub your eyes. 'Good for you. I'm tired, Alicent. I had a shit night and I want to rest.' You groan before turning on your side.

'This is the former Queen.' Says the handmaiden that accompanied her. Alicent shoots her a glare. She wisely shuts up.

'I am Aemonds mother.' Alicent explains and sits by your bed, careful to avoid the blood. You back away instantly. Anyone who is friends with him does not have your best interest at heart.

Furthermore: If she really is his mother, if she made him the way he is now, she can't be that good herself either.

'You did a shit job at raising him.' You say and you mean it. You don't care she is the former Queen. You don't care she will tell Aemond. You aren't scared of her. Maybe a little bit.

You gesture to the blood spots.

''How has he been treating you?' You blink a few times and let the question slowly process before you groan. Isn't it obvious?

'Look at my body. I am beaten, bruised and spend. I lost my family and home to him, I lost my dignity and future to him. I don't think there are greater crimes he could commit on me.' You say.

'So you won't be obedient?' She asks, and that's what she wanted to know. She doesn't care you are used like a whore or a punching bag. She wants to make sure you aren't going to be trouble.

'I just want him to stop hurting me all the time.' You confess.

Alicent smiles. 'It's your duty as his wife now to give him beautiful girls and boys from your womb. Be grateful that you have the honour and the privilege to carry a royal. To carry Valyrian offspring.' You want to throw up. That woman is insane.

You get up, fire burning in your veins. 'I don't care about my duties as wife as he won't take on his duties as my husband. Where is my protection? Where is my promised safety?'

Alicent ignores your outburst. She eyes the blooded linen. 'My son will make you behave and cooperate. I was going to encourage him to be gentle with you, as you are just a girl. But I see now that you are so selfish and only want to break free again.' She smiles at you before leaning in.

'Before he had a dragon, Aemond spend a lot of time with horses. He'd break them completely and build them up from scratch. It was quite terrifying, watching the horse become a new thing. Losing all its fire and will.' You know what she is implying. He will do the same to you.

The door softly opens and you gulp when your husband enters. You fight the urge to run away and coldly wait on the bed. He ignores you.

You are relieved and play with your braid.

Aemond smiles at Alicent. 'Mother. They didn't tell me you were here with my wife.' He greets her with a warm very loveable hug. So he does hug. Just not you.

His head turns to you and you lower your eyes. 'How is my little wife behaving? Has she been good?' You feel like a dog. A whore. A little voice rings out in your head and tells you that you are just that. A whore.

You expect alicent to betray you but she keeps up appearances and even lies to her own son for your safety. 'She has been, so far.' Alicents voice is cold and collected.

He seems surprised by that, and walks over to you. He takes your chin in his hands and forces you to look up at him. You do so, tears burning in your eyes. He leans in and gives you a kiss on your cheeks. 'Hm. It's still early.' He grins with a chuckle before petting your head. 'She just loves trouble.' You feel something happen when he softly touches your lips with his finger.

The Former queen comes to your defenses again. 'She wasn't trouble. She will behave and cooperate. You did a smart thing capturing her, but if you want to keep her as your wife we are going to have trouble.' You freeze.

'Mother-' Aemond is interrupted roughly.

It was too good to be true.

Alicent speaks quickly and full of convincing. 'She is worthless, Aemond. We already have what we need from her. If you prefer her as toy or as your pet you can keep her but she can't be your wife. You need to marry to strengthen our house.' You look at your hands, tears falling.

The prince laughs a bit nervous.

He will strip you of your newly acquired title, and you will become his whore or toy instead. No laws will protect you from him.

Alicent loses her patience.

'I understand that, but this will make us look strong to doubting houses in the North. We have the WyldeWoods girl. She is of First men heritage. Older than the Starks according to some studies.'

'No one cares about that!' She yells at him. He freezes and so do you. You are shocked. Worried he might hit her too. 'I'm sorry. Your brother and you are stupid for following your grandfather here. You can't tame the North, Aemond. Neither can Aegon. It will bend the knee to Rhaenyra.'

You look at him, whimpering.

He is too sure of his cause. He thinks he won't lose. His ego will be his downfall. 'No, it won't. It will pick us once they see what we do with people who betray us. I had the parts of her family members send to every damn house in this frozen shithole as a warning.' You let out a little cry and feel your chest tighten.

'Y-you did?' They should be downstairs in the family crypt. Resting, safely. Not be spread around the North. You'll never be with your family again. That's bad enough as is it. You expected they granted you at least the chance to say goodbye. But that was too much to ask.

Alicent leaves at that point, slamming the door.

He is back within seconds and grabs a handful of your hair like a mother cat would grab her kitten by her neck. 'Shhh. Let's not talk about your dead family now, hm? Let's talk about something fun and exciting.' He throws you on the bed and you close your eyes, whimpering loudly and quickly muttering a prayer to the gods.

'They should be here, resting in our crypts. Why did you...' He leans in and kisses your lips silencing you. You struggle violently and push him off you.

He rolls his eye. 'I won't fuck you, darling. A nice little distraction for you, away from all your pain and troubles.' It sounds good. You relax once he tells you he won't have his way with you again.

'That sounds lovely.' You confess softly, scared he is joking or will slap you if you do as much squeak.

His smile drops. 'What did she want?' He asks.

'She talked about uhm...' You find it embarrassing to bring it up.' The honor to carry a royal inside my womb.' You say, sitting up on the bed.

He just stares at you before turning his head away his expression unreadable. You want to laugh but at the same time, you are scared of his reaction.

He comes closer and looks at you his head tilted a bit. 'And what is your opinion on this honor?' He asks.

You start to tell carefully what you think of this. 'I think your mother was always meant to be a mother. She is soft and gentle and kind. I don't know if motherhood would be good for me. I fear I might wither away and neglect our children.' You confess. You hope that the truth won't make him angry.

You continue. 'I don't want to neglect them. If I ever have children, I want to be there for them. No matter what.' You are proud of your answer. It's a very noble strong answer.

He reaches out to touch your belly and rubs it with a dark smile on his lips. He chuckles shaking his head at you. 'The gods will decide when you are with child. We will consummate every month until I have enough heirs to gift each of them a kingdom.' There are seven kingdoms. Seven labors. Seven pregnancies.

That is dangerous. Every pregnancy and birthing is a risk.

'Let's not be too greedy, husband. The gods don't take well to arrogance. Let them decide if we are to be blessed with a child, and if so with how many.' You squeeze his hand.

He groans breaking free. 'I suppose your gods are different than mine. They granted me so much. My dragon, my position, my riches, my skills...'

Before you can help it you say something and what you say is so stupid that you wonder how you ever even could entertain such a stupid thought. 'They took so much from you as well. Your father. Your eye-' He grabs you and growls. You whimper.

'I-i have to pee.' It's a lie. You don't want him to force you in any way.

'Do it, then.' He has a calm smile but his eye displays dangerous dark emotions. He doesn't believe you.

You try to force yourself to pee but it doesn't work. 'That's not proper.' You say softly avoiding his eye.

He grins. 'You're a lying whore. You don't need to pee. You're scared I'll fuck you again.' His words hurt.

'I am.' You mutter softly.

He chuckles. 'Why? You're wet every time I lay my hands on you. You're wet and needy. Why fight me?' You can list millions of reasons and he still won't get it.

You start with the number one reason. 'Because you killed my family. You hit me.'

He sighs. 'I am your husband, and I only hit when you disobey. It is common. You know that.' You don't care if it's common it's still cruel.

You scoff. 'So that means that if I caught you cheating on me that I can chop off your cock?' You coldly remark.

He burst into sincere laughter, since the first time that you've met him. 'You're funny, little fox. Very funny.' You don't try to be. You don't understand.

You helplessly try to get his attention back to you. 'I am not trying to be funny! I wish to be taken seriously.' You say.

He stops laughing. 'You are the wife in this relationship. Act like one, and shut up about what I do when I'm not with you.' You feel like you just got hit in your face. You gawk at him, trying to hide your worries and disappointment.

'Does that mean that you..' You are too scared to say it. He gets in your face so you can't look away from the truth and he gives a firm nod.

You think of your first time. Of your vows. So far you've done everything for him. And he has done nothing to uphold his vows. He would protect you until the end of his days. You feel stupid. So stupid. Of course, he wouldn't take his vows seriously.

But that he already slept with another woman, but still hurt you by bedding you that is what really breaks your heart. If he could get it from her, why come to you? You don't understand and you don't want to understand. 'Al-already?' You master to blurt out.

'Yes.' He says; very laid back and a bit annoyed at your dramatics.

'B-but..I don't understand.' You feel so lost and little.

He grins. 'It's not that difficult, is it? I like your body, just not that much that I won't try anything else that might come to me. And being a prince, well...A lot of girls come to me.' You can't see that.

'You're a horrible man. Why would anyone sleep with you?'

'My wallet, darling. I am royalty. We get special treatment wherever we go. Even in the North.' He leans in to touch your face but you push him away. He laughs at that and lets you be.

You are crying of anger. You look around for anything heavy to hit him with. 'So, I get hit when asking for h-happiness elsewhere, but you get to fuck around your way in the kingdom?'

He sighs like he is tired but he has a stupid grin on his lips.' That's the privilege that comes with being royalty. It's a curse. All women in the kingdom wish to know how it is to ride a dragon. The biggest dragon of them all.' You roll your eyes.

You get into his face. 'It's not royalty privilege it's male privilege. I won't stand for this. You can fuck your pretty whores and sluts but you won't get it from me anymore.' You promise.

He just laughs. 'I might don't have to. Who knows I already knocked you up very nicely, little wife.' You worry about that too. But this room used to be your mother's. Your mother and father loved each other.

If any room has moontea or maybe something else to prevent you from having his children, it's in this room. 'Perhaps if you did a little effort into keeping up appearances I'd be more interested.' Aemond deals another blow.

You look at the same old gown you've been wearing since you were taken captive. 'I am mourning my dead family members. I am mourning my past life and my-' He interrupts you.

He walks to the door of the room. 'Well, you heard what mother said. I don't need to keep you alive. I do so as a courtesy. You can adjust to being my wife or I'll make myself a widow.'

'I'm serious about the wardrobe change, my love. I hate not being able to see what I bought.' Bought. Like you are property. He wants to make you wear revealing gowns and dresses. It's too cold for that here.

Aemond adds.'The more you hide it away from me, the more I want to see and touch it.' You can't keep your whimpers in and look at him with shaking hands.

He laughs at your terrified face.

When he finally has left you get to your mother's wardrobe. You take out all her gowns and dresses and look through them. Most of them are in your house colours brown and white. The dresses are made of sturdy good fabrics but you doubt they'll please Aemond.

It's not silk.

It's not shiny.

It's just so regular and bland.

You don't have much up here.

And the necklines aren't that inviting either. You like that, you still haven't gotten used to your woman's body. But you just know some prince won't.

You finally pick a soft light orange dress with a matching fox fur coat. It's still long but it's sleeveless. You put on some fur coat made of fox hide and hope it'll do for now.

You walk to your mother's vanity and start doing some attempts at make-up. Your tears make it difficult to put the black coal under your eyes, and the constant smell of your mother makes it hard to breathe..

You mess it up and look more like a clown than a princess. Luckily you still have some washing clothes and use them to clean your face with ice cold water. You are at least fully awake now.

You get up from the chair and don't even bother to clean up the mess you made.

By the time you are done the night has fallen.

-

They have torn off every single sigil of your house. A modified banner of the Targaryen sigil, a green dragon is hanging above your father's former seat.

The family seems to be having dinner when you enter. The old snake sits at the head, and the king sits at the other. Aemond sits at his left hand. He gets up when he sees you, expression unreadable.

'Can I join?' You ask convinced you'll be let in.

'No. It's a family dinner.' He says, like you aren't part of his family. You laugh a bit like he is joking. Surely he is.

But then you realise he isn't.

He doesn't see you as his family. He prefers you staying upstairs and being brought a plate by servants. Not enjoying this privilege.

'In my house?' You raise your brows at him.

He gets impatient. 'My house, by right and law-' he pauses and notices the new make up and dress.

You are sure it's good enough to get yourself a seat at the table. Except he just scoffs very softly. Your confidence is destroyed within a moment. 'What did you do with your face?' He doesn't like it.

You fight tears. You've always been insecure about your looks. You assumed he liked you. He admired you when he first saw you. That is how you saw it, at least. Maybe he was already judging you.

Maybe if you'd just explain it. You give it a try. 'I'm new to this and I really tried. You told me that-' he Cutts you off.

'I don't like it. Get it off. Now. And put on something normal.' You hear the king snicker and that just makes it worse.

'This was your idea.' You softly argue, as a tear falls. 'I tried at least. Let me have some dinner.' Aemond curses and returns to his seat.

When you still haven't left he does something you never expected him to do. 'Ser Criston?' You assume that's one of the guards who are very close to the table.

'My pork is getting cold. Why don't you give my disobeying wife a nice beating? She seems to like the colour blue by her eyelids.' He says and you feel whatever anger you had drift away and turn into fear.

You freeze as the guard approaches you. The Kingsguard roughly smacks you across your face, a few times. It goes very quickly and you have trouble keeping count.

--

You eventually end up on the ground. Aemond has just finished his meal and comes over, hands folded on his back. He stands in front of you and gives you a deadly glare. You already cower. He sighs before grabbing your hair, dragging you to your feet and with him.

You sit on the ground, a fresh red mark on your face. You still cry and try to cover it with make up. Aemond lays on bed and is flipping through books he found.

You are finally happy with the result and the mark is less visible this way. 'What are you reading?'

'WyldeWoods and Wrath history. Very interesting. I can see why he hates your family so much.' He says with a chuckle.

'Hmm?' He asks.

You get a idea. It's risky. You are scared to ask. But you have to try it. 'Aemond,' you crawl on the bed and gently nudge him to get his attention.

You shoot your shot.

'May I send letters to the castles demanding pieces of my family members back?' You see him sigh and you feel the tension rise again.

He sighs. 'They won't learn their lesson thar way. If I send them, and you beg them back, it'll look like I let you decide everything and don't have a spine.'

You try another approach. 'M-maybe they'll see how compassionate you are and bend the knee out of love and loyalty?' You suggest.

He drops his book with a annoyed expression. 'And maybe the fucking sky breaks open and i get my eye back. You're really dumb, aren't you?'

It hurts. 'I suppose.' You say lowering your head. He seems to like your pain and gets interested. He gets to you and pushes you to the bed.

He laughs when he pins you and takes off your fur fox coat. 'Hm. Good thing I don't need your brains. Just your pretty cunt.'

You see his stunned expression.

'Go to your whores,' you grit out. 'I promised you wouldn't have me again. I am serious. I will use my nails if you come at me again.'

You scratch his face. He laughs and spanks you. You cry out and whimper. You keep fighting. You pull crawl and slap and bite but it costs you so much energy for so little result. You cry, eventually giving up and letting him take you.

Then he just laughs. 'Oh, never change, little fox. Never change.' He grabs your legs and you scream. You are pulled to him and he rips your gown open, exposing your ass to him. You already try to escape but he is faster and grabs your ass and pulls you to him throwing you on your back. You hit your head against the wall and are very briefly dizzy.

You let him take you.

a/n and then to imagine this is only the least what he is capable of. I always joke that Showaemond went to get a coffee at this chapter, and got dragged behind a allyway and had his head smashed in by bookaemond who took over. there is no other way really.

[shadowcatzone]

https://www.tumblr.com/shadowcatzone/729467606763978752/i-just-watched-the-renheng-melty-land-animatic-and?source=share

IT'S PAST TWELVE HERE'S YOUR UPDATE

It's a realm that slowly kills you BUT everything is "better" (tm) [to clarify, this only concerns renheng and the hcq]:

-it doesn't matter how he got in there, probably a mission. But dan heng somehow got caught in one of these.

-it's a sensation like waking up. And once he opens his eyes again, yingxing is right in front of him, asking if he's okay.

-"pffh, you slept like a rock. I didn't wanna wake you," he gestures to the bundle in dan hengs lap, "but she shouldn't be out too long. It's not good for babies."

-in his lap lies bailu, as a baby, peacefully sleeping.

-yingxing calls him dan feng, and he should know better, but it really feels like he was just sleeping.

-dan heng is like, 60% convinced. Something in his head tells him this isn't quite right. On the way back, while he's thinking about it, they meet the others from the hcq.

-jingliu, looking like she just sparred with jing yuan, and baiheng looks like she'd also had a nap.

-"aww, bailu is getting cuter by the day!" Coos baiheng. And jing yuan chimes in, "we all met up anyway, should we grab a bite to eat? Though it seems dan feng isn't quite awake yet."

-now, despite the situation making less sense, dan heng is getting pretty sure this is real. "Hmm... i believe i had a nightmare." 90% sure

-and on the way to a place to eat, dan heng tells them everything that happened. Things he remembers and things he was told.

-"That sounds terrible," jingliu pats his arm as they all sit down. "I wouldn't do that even if all that happened. Baiheng would rip my head clean off..."

-"haha... i would."

-and it all just transpires as if this was reality. What, with his husband, dear friends and his child, it's very realistic.

-even though he can't remember how they got bailu. The 'nightmare' still keeps his memories in check.

-and in the evening, when he tells yingxing about his worries, yingxing waves him off and tells him he shouldn't have slept in direct sunlight, and after a good nights sleep he'll feel better.

-when he does fall asleep, in his dream, dan feng tries to get dan heng to leave. But that just confuses dan heng more, why would he dream about himself?

-subconsciousness dan feng is literally so close to beating him up.

-next morning yingxing wakes him up with kisses. And suddenly, bailu runs into the room, now a toddler rather than a baby.

-and it just continues like that for a few days or weeks. But dan heng is always getting weaker by that point.

-one day, and dan heng is already bedridden, and yingxing initiates ( ;P )

-until suddenly, an arm comes straight through the wall, grabbing him,

-for all intents and purposes, it looks like yingxings arm. Same jacket, yingxing looks at it, shocked, before annoyedly shouting "oh, come on!"

-it's- it's blade. Coming in like. How dare you almost get killed by someone other than me. This is clearly a breach of trust. Didn't you promise we would pay the price?? Together???

-for some reason blades strongest desire is dying and that's the one thing this realm can't give.

-so it was really easy to escape. Aren't you glad MC called Kafka who then talked to elio and then talked to blade to help out dan heng who was about do die from uh. Being eaten alive.

-carrying dan heng out, who by that point just looks like himself again

-dan heng wants to stay, blade does not (tm)

-and and and they're leaving.

-the end.

-moral of the story: don't get trapped by one of ahas magical flytraps if you don't want the stellaron hunter to look after you.

-he literally stays on the express for 3 months also to make sure dan heng recovers but does not go back.

-he won't. Not if it means blade will come back and they'll go through all this again.

-but like, half delirious also says "if that's all it takes to get a date with a stellaron hunter" (<-he's not quite alright yet but he will be. Alright. And mortified. When he remembers he said that. But blade would be uncharacteristically worried.)

-blade will go back and destroy the thing. It's not worth the risk.

-after making sure with elio that he can, of course.

-jing yuan will be really worried if he ever finds out about all this.

-"please contact me if you ever want a date with him. There are simpler ways--" "i guarantee you i won't want one. But thanks for the offer."

-or maybe, alternative ending; blade takes dan heng to the luofu and the three make up and have sex.

____

I hope that last sentence hit you like a train

[mareenavee]

From thr Asks to Spread Love game, choose 3 that you havent already been asked 🙂

Hi BRI :D Thank you for two of these open ended ones! I will most certainly oblige.

Fandom Positivity asks from this game here.

2. Tell us why you love one of your OCs or an obscure canon character (link to any fics/art you have featuring them!) 

I'm just going to go on and on about

⚔️Athis ⚔️

if you'll let me.

He's not really -obscure- per se but he is relatively ignored so let me just give him some love!

So I appear to be writing the majority of Athis things at the moment. Obviously my main fic features him as a POV character. I also have a couple that I'm quite proud of actually AH.

First is Sea of Storms from a duel. A Pirate AU.

Next is Little Dragon which part of the polycule AU with Tel/Nyenna/Athis actually being happy.

Love and its Decisive Pain is an extra chapter more or less for World, featuring Athis musing and worrying over Nyenna.

Next isn't one of mine but is by @archangelsunited! Originally a tumblr post but is now on AO3. Reader/Athis!

Next one is more pirates! by @paraparadigm. Athis is a Navigator <3 So smart, so handsome, so brave. Ah.

More from @archangelsunited -- this one is a bit on the tragic side but the voicing is phenomenal.

This one is also a bit on the tragic side, by TheBrandenRose.

And artwork?

AH this piece was fanart of To Hold On to You by @changelingsandothernonsense

And this post contains, like, perhaps the most handsome Athis fanart I've ever seen by @thana-topsy.

3. One of the best takes you’ve ever seen

The-Dragonborn-Is-Dead trope but done in the phenomenal way that BetterBeMeta wrote in Foe-Tongue: A Historical Fiction.

Here's a piece of the writing that I love. It doesn't mean anything out of context but OH MY GOD DOES IT ACTUALLY MEAN EVERYING.

“Valamand,” [Wyrenna] whispered, “do you have a comb?” He said, “Yes, of course,” and gave it to her. She used it to tidy up where she still was bed-frazzled, tied her hair neatly as she walked up the stairs.

I fucking love this fic. It's my favorite in any fandom, ever in existence. @paraparadigm rec'd it to me earlier on. (: I wanna write like them when I grow up.

13. Recommend a fic (can be your own!) that features something you wish was written about more.

Okay so in this case I am just over the moon about all of the overarching pulling of lore into a fanfic that KB has achieved in such a phenomenal way. I'm talking about @kookaburra1701's fic Aristeia and ALL THE ORC CULTURE. ALL OF IT. I'm HERE FOR IT. More Orcs please, OCs, NPCs, NPCs-Become-OCs. HELL. Yes.

Here's a quote I love particularly from chapter 1 regarding some cultural things that I've been -really fast eyes- over:

“Olur tells me you bloodied your sword today.” Bagrak’s voice was even, as if she was remarking on the weather. Borgakh paused in spooning stew into the bowl before straightening up and presenting it to her mother. Bagrak did not take it. “I bloodied it for Mor Khazgur, mother,” Borgakh said, throwing her shoulders back and looking Bagrak in the eyes. “One of the Reachwomen and a briarheart tried to steal the deer I shot. Olur and I extracted our Blood Price.” “I am not sure one deer is important enough to be covered by the Code,” said Bagrak. “When their clan discovers them killed with orc weapons it will cause more trouble than one deer is worth. Now you will have another enemy to watch for when you are outside the walls.” Borgakh clenched her jaw in frustration, but kept her tone respectful. “They would have never been happy with one deer, and then they would have known Mor Khazgur was weak. What if they had wanted Kharag too? Is a good horse not covered by the Code?”

More. Orcs. Please and thank you. (: