#and also. that time the medicine stops working altogether and he's wounded and needs to wear one constantly - it's not a dainty pretty thin

[whoisthatmovinginthedark]

Everyone who draws gy without the monocle, I appreciate your efforts

[even-after-a-millennia]

my heart (and lungs) ache for you

Femslash Fortnight: Tuesday - Hanahaki disease AU

For those of you that haven't read a Hanahaki disease AU before, the basic premise is that unrequited love makes flowers bloom in your lungs and they will kill you if you don't tell the person that you love them or if they don't return your feelings. You can get surgery to remove the flowers, but it also takes your feelings for that person away, so many people don't go that route. The flowers usually have meaning, same in this fic, and the meanings are at the end of the fic. Hope you enjoy!

This was written for Femslash Fortnight, hosted by @tog-femslashfortnight

You can read this fic down below or over on my Ao3 account here.

Yusuf and Nicolò burst into Quynh and Andromache’s cell, covered in blood and ready to spill more, to find a lone woman slumped against the wall.

She looked up at them, her eyes dead.

“It’s too late,” she croaked.

Their eyes widened as they took in her words.  The blood on her wrists, the floor.  The lack of their other sister.

“...Quynh?” Yusuf asked, his voice quivering.  They are both shaking in front of her, the adrenaline of their fighting crashing in the worst possible way.  

“Gone,” Andromache said, her voice twisted and broken.  “And… that’s not all.”

She coughed and a bloody flower falls from her lips.

She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch as all she had revealed sunk in.  

She far preferred the darkness found behind her eyelids than the reality in front of her.

___________________________________

Andy had died two hundred and forty-nine times from the disease in her lungs by the time that Nile joined her group.  While her body reset with every death, whether it had to do with Hanahaki or not, the flowers always came back.  A bitter reminder of the one she had lost.

The first time she coughed up a petal around Nile, they were eating their first meal altogether.  Nile’s eyes were darting around, unsure where to look.  Joe and Nicky had told their story, so had Booker.  Nile asked her how old Andy was.  Her chest tightened and she put down her bowl.  The men at the table knew what was coming, but Andy still saw Nicky’s brow furrow as she began to cough.  He had been to college multiple times for medicine, trying to find a way to alleviate her pain.  There was nothing he could do.  Not anything, not without Quynh there.  And though they had searched for her until they had almost lost themselves, there was no sign of the iron coffin that had become her tomb.

Nile stared at Andy, then the bloody petal in her hand.

“Better get used to it, kid, it isn’t something that can be fixed,” Andy said.

Joe winced and Booker handed Andy his flask.  She took it and chugged a mouthful, hoping the taste of carnations would be washed away.

She’d had countless kinds of flowers emerge from her chest over the centuries: pink camellias, forget-me-nots, salvias, yarrow… the list went on.  Eventually, she stopped looking up their meanings.

They all came down to this: Andy loved Quynh to this day, and she ached to have her back by her side.

“Is it… not requited?” Nile asked tentatively.

Andy snorted.

“Not in the traditional sense,” Nicky said, taking the responsibility of answering.  “Andy’s wife is unable to return her love and that is why she is still sick.”

“Oh.  Okay.”

“Tell her about when you two idiots both had it,” Booker said, and Andy looked at him and sent him silent thanks.

Joe smiled, his eye wrinkles out in their full glory.  “This is years after the Crusades, and one morning, I wake up with heliotropes dripping from my lips.  I didn’t want to tell Nicky, so I hid them from him.”

“Little did he know that earlier that day, before he had woke, I had coughed up violet petals,” Nicky said, smiling over at his husband.

“Stupidity ensued,” Booker said with a small grin.

“Until one day we both coughed in front of one another and noticed the flowers.  It took a while for us both to admit our feelings.  Didn’t help that I was angry at the idea that someone out there didn’t love Nicky back,” Joe said, laughing.

“Only for us to realize that we had both thought our love to be unrequited when in reality, it very much was,” Nicky said.

Andy shook her head, taking another swig of Booker’s flask before handing it back.  

“Idiots,” she said with a small smile.

_______________________________

Her shoulder wasn’t healing.

Her fingers came away red after she brushed them over the stab wound.  It was partially healed, but still bleeding sluggishly.  She quickly left the mine and went to the nearest town.

She grabbed all the first aid supplies she could think she would need.  It had been a long fucking time since she had needed to patch herself up after a fight, but she had done field medicine on others, on mortals, much more recently.

In the end, she didn’t need to.  In her six thousand years of life, Andy had somehow forgotten about the kindness of strangers.

“We also have cough drops, if you would like,” the woman, Celeste, said as she helped Andy put on her coat again.

“Thank you.  That would be good.”

Andy got back to her car and shut the door behind her.  Her lungs were burning, but she didn’t let herself cough.  She had died on the killing room floor just a few days ago, so she had a while before the disease got bad again.  A few petals here and there, then full flowers, until she was unable to breathe around the growth in her lungs.  The longest she had made it from the beginnings of the disease to her inevitable death was nine months.

When she was immortal, that had hardly mattered.  

Now though… 

Now she was running out of time.

__________________________________

“Hey, if they can examine the Hanahaki in your lungs, they might be able to find a way to stop it.  And I can finally move on and be with my family.  It could work out for both of us.”

Her side bled and bled and bled.

“Oh, Book.”  There were tears clogging her throat, petals right behind them.  

“What have you done?”

_________________________________

Bloody flowers fell from Andy’s lips.

“Fuck.”

The sentiment was echoed around their safe house.

Nile, Joe, and Nicky were all staring and trying not to stare as Andy went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea to soothe her throat.  

She had been drinking a lot of tea these days.  And taking a lot of naps.  And sleeping in general.  When she was awake, she felt lethargic.  She had bruised her ribs from coughing so much and her throat was constantly inflamed.

It had been seven months since they had left Booker at that pub.  Andy felt twinges of emotion about it daily, though the emotion itself changed constantly.  Grief, anger, understanding, betrayal, sadness.  They all flowed through her.

Nile’s phone rang.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice curious but guarded.  “Book?  WHAT?!”

They all focused on her.

She looked up, directly at Andy.

“Quynh got out of the coffin.  She’s been recovering with Book for a month,” Nile said, her eyes filling with tears.

Her smile made them spill over, it was so big and full of hope.

“She wants to see you again.”

“Andy,” Nicky said gently, ever the voice of reason, “if you see her and she doesn’t return your love, it will accelerate the disease.  You will die in days, not weeks.”

Andy nodded, glad of the fact that no mention of surgery was mentioned.  Surgically taking out the flowers inside Andy’s lungs would remove the disease, but also remove her ability to love Quynh anymore.

And that really wasn’t an option for Andy.

“I’ll risk it.  At least…��� she trailed off, her thoughts too private to be spoken.

At least I’ll die having seen her again.

By the looks on her family’s faces, split between fear and hope, they knew what she had thought anyways.

_______________________________

They went to France.  Marseille, specifically, and Andy let herself be glad that Booker had gone to his home city.  It gave her hope for him.

They let themselves into the safe house, Nile insisting on going first.

“I don’t think it is a trap, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t be smart about this,” she said.

Andy knew that Joe, Nicky, and Nile were all carrying a small army’s worth of weaponry, but she hadn’t bothered.  She would live or she would die, one way or another, and she did not want to raise a weapon against Quynh in her final moments.

They entered, the others scanning the room for threats.  But there was only Booker, slouched into himself as usual.

“Hey.  She’s right through-”

“Andromache…” whispered the voice Andy hadn’t heard in five hundred years.

Her eyes snapped to the source and there stood Quynh in black skinny jeans and a deep red sweater, her eyes flinty as she looked at them.

Her smile wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t cruel.  “Hello, my love.”

Andy felt something building in her chest and she sprinted to the nearest garbage can, and coughed and coughed and coughed.  Petals and buds and flowers came pouring out of her lungs.  She felt a soft hand on her back, soothing her through the pain, but she couldn’t tell who it was.

The final carnation fell from her lips and she slumped over the trash can.

She heaved a breath, the first that didn’t burn her lungs since Quynh had been taken from her.

Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she rose and turned to Quynh.

Her expression was fractured from what it had been.  Andy could now see beneath the anger to the Quynh she knew before.

“Hanahaki?” Quynh asked.

Andy nodded.  “Since you were taken from me.”

“And still you stopped searching.”

Andy stared straight at Quynh as she said, “Yes.”

“You are mortal now.”

“Yes.”

“And yet, you did not search for me in your final days.”

“That, actually, is not true,” Andy said.  “With resources provided by Copley, we have been.  Only to find out, you weren’t where we were searching.”

Quynh’s mouth twisted, but Andy knew her face, knew it more than her own, and she saw how she tried to hide her trembling bottom lip.  “You could have died, and I would not have seen you again.”

“But that did not happen,” Andy said, risking a step forward.

“I am here,” she said, taking another step.

“And so are you.”  Yet another.

“And you still love me, despite everything.”  Closer.

“Or else I would be choking on flowers right now, my final death.” Andy was a foot away and finally stopped.

“We have a chance to spend my remaining days together.  It won’t be an eternity, but it will be more than I ever expected to be able to have.  I know we have much to discuss and many traumas to bear, but I want you, Quynh.  I want you with me until the end.”

“Just you and me,” Quynh said, eyes fixed on Andy.

Taking a chance, Andy leaned her head forward, until their foreheads rested against each other.  

“Always,” Andy whispered.

Flower meanings: Red carnation - Alas for my poor heart, my heart aches Camellia, pink - Longing For You Forget-me-not - True love memories, do not forget me Salvia, blue - I think of you Salvia, red - Forever mine Yarrow - Everlasting love Heliotrope - Eternal love, devotion Violet - Loyalty, devotion, faithfulness

[comrade-kenobi]

Take Care of Me- Din Djarin x Reader

Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns are used but there is explicit references to AFAB anatomy, I also don’t specify if the reader has breasts or not.)

Here is some Mando smut that absolutely no one asked for...

TW: Mentions of injury, smut, use of the word c*nt

If there is ever anything else y’all want me to tag just let me know.

The latest bounty hunt had brought you and Mando to an icy wasteland of a planet. The two of you spent days traversing the frozen hellscape just to find some low level thug, barely worth anything. 

A chill had seeped into your bones, and nestled there like a child at their mother's breast. You’d caught a cold, it was unmistakable. The symptoms fully set in as Mando took off: a headache, light fever, and muscle aches.

You shivered in the seat next to Mando’s as he piloted The Razor Crest to your next destination, a pit stop for fuel just outside the middle of nowhere. 

“You cold?” Mando asked, turning when he heard your teeth chatter. 

“Just a little” you replied, brushing off his concern. It was just a cold, nothing to fuss about really. You’d be fine by the time you landed. 

“You’re sweating,” he stated plainly. If there was any concern on his face you wouldn’t know it. Any indication of how he felt was hidden behind beskar and a steely monotone.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. Mando stared at you from behind his helmet, making you squirm under his gaze. You watched as he slipped his glove off and pressed the back of his hand to your sweaty forehead. 

“You have a fever.” He declared, a crackle of something you couldn’t quite place in his voice. The way he gingerly brushed your hair away from your eyes made you think it was concern. 

You’d been traveling with Mando for quite some time now. Paths crossing on a shared bounty, and never uncrossing again. He was hard to read at times, but more and more often he’d let his guard down. Offering you a shining glimpse of the man underneath the beskar. This created a soft spot for him in your heart, you wondered if perhaps he felt the same. 

“Get some rest,” he demanded and you were far too tired to fight him, so you obliged. Slowly climbing down the ladder and making your way to your cot. When your head hit the pillow you were fast asleep. 

--- 

Din watched as you slept. It’d been about a day or so since he sent you to get some rest. You’d really only woken when he stopped in to bring you water, or check on your fever. Looking up at him with big, sleepy, eyes that melted his heart every time. 

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d become so fond of you. But if he really thought about it, he’d probably figure out it was when you first met. You had saved him from meeting the business end of a blaster rifle. You jumped down from a tree to bring down a guard that was protecting your bounty. What was even more impressive than that, was the fact that you’d then strangled the man with your thighs. All while introducing yourself to him; and insisting you wouldn't be giving up this bounty without a fight. 

He’d docked the ship so he could refuel, and decided that he’d pick up some supplies while he was there. You needed medicine, and better food than what the Crest had to offer. It took him a moment to pry himself away from you. He worried about leaving you alone on the ship in such a vulnerable state, and you looked so beautiful sleeping there on that shitty old cot. 

---

There was a stillness on The Crest when you’d awoken. No beeping, or engine’s roaring. Just silence. It left you a little uneasy, but you paid it no mind. You were more distracted by the fact that you’d actually woken up feeling good. Every time you’d gotten up before now you felt stiff and groggy; like someone had hit you with a big rock. 

Though this was the first time since Mando sent you to bed that you woke up without him there. Your heart clenched in your chest, spreading warmth through your veins as you thought about how caring he’d been. The hand he’d laid on your forehead was always gentle, almost ghost like. If he woke you to drink anything his touch was feather light and almost non-existent. Like if he pressed too hard he’d scare you away, or worse, break you. 

You were ripped from your thoughts by the sound of the door to the ship falling open. Followed by the clang of metal footsteps running up the ramp. Your heart hammered in your chest and you grabbed the blaster from underneath your bed, preparing to get up and rush into battle. 

Before you had a chance to get off the cot Mando came barreling into the small storage area you called a bunk. He was hunched over and his breathing was ragged. 

“Maker!” You exclaimed, rushing to the bounty hunters side. “Mando, are you okay?”

“Got into a fight,” he grunted as his leather clad hand gripped his stomach. 

“I can see that,” you replied, taking his arm in your hand and guiding him to sit on your cot. “Let me help you. 

You started to unclip his cuirass and his hand moved to your arm and squeezed. You stopped what you were doing and looked into his visor. Staring intently, where his eyes would be.

“I can’t help you if I can’t see what’s wrong.” You spoke softly, your eyes desperately searching his beskar covered face for something. Some kind of emotion, maybe a clue as to what he wanted you to do next. 

His grip on your arm loosened and then he let go altogether. Letting out a pained sigh as his arm fell into his lap with a weak thud. 

You got to work, immediately stripping any material that might have been in your way. When you were done, Mando’s arms and torso were completely bare. Revealing a canvas of long healed scars, and three fresh wounds. One on his shoulder, another on his side, and the last just below his belly button. 

“How did this happen?” You queried as you reached up to the shelf above you to grab the med kit. Mando’s eyes fell to your backside as you stretched. The oversized tunic you were wearing had lifted up and revealed you were wearing nothing underneath. 

“Ran into an assassin.” He explained, willing himself to look down and away from your ass. 

“Okay,” you started, settling yourself on the floor between Mando’s knees. Carefully taking a cloth and some disinfectant out of the case. “And then?” 

“She, thought-” he hissed at the burn of the alcohol touching his wounds. “She thought I was collecting a bounty on her.” 

You finished the rest of your work in relative silence. Only stopping to check on Mando if he winced in pain, or let out a particularly loud sigh. Your fingers danced along his abdomen after you carefully patched him up. Admiring not only your handiwork but the feel of his soft skin underneath your fingertips.

 A familiar kind of warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach at the way his muscles flexed under your touch. Biting your lip at the thought of what it would be like to watch those same muscles flex as he thrusted deep inside of you.

Perhaps you’d spent a bit too long ogling your bounty hunting companion, because you were pulled from your reverie by Mando clearing his throat. You startled ever so slightly at the sound, a blush creeping over your cheeks when you realized he’d probably noticed what you’d been thinking. What you didn’t realize was, he was thinking something very similar. 

---

Din hadn’t thought much of your position until you’d finished treating his wounds. When you were done, you ran your fingers along the edges of the bandages. Taking detours every so often to trace the old scars nearby. Paying particular attention to the ones on his abdomen.

His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you so scantily clad, on your knees before him.The image of your perfect mouth wrapped around his cock flickered through his mind, and he felt himself get hard. He bit the inside of his cheek to try and keep his composure. It’d been so long since he felt someone else's skin against his own. The fact that it was your skin he was feeling just made it that much sweeter. 

When he finally pulled himself from his fantasy he noticed the way you were looking at him. The way your eyes were raking over his body, and how you let out a small whine when you bit your lip. A blush crept up Din’s neck and he cleared his throat to get your attention. 

---

“All fixed” you sang, standing up a little too quickly. Your stance wavered and Mando placed his hands firmly on your hips to steady you. 

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice a low rumble through the coder. He stood to meet you but his hands never left your sides.  Instead his thumbs started to absently rub small circles over your hips, then he spoke again. “Are you feeling any better?” 

“Much better,” you answered with a small smile. He moved one of his hands from your hip to your forehead, once again checking your temperature. 

“No more fever.” He stated, with a bit of relief in his tone. The hand on your forehead delicately trailed down to your cheek, then cupped it lightly. 

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You spoke softly and leaned into the warmth of his touch; turning your head so you could kiss his palm. 

“Of course I took care of you, cyar’ika.” He responded, letting out a contented sigh as he rested his beskar covered forehead against yours. 

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” Mando continued, placing a hand on your lower back and pressing you close to him. 

“Feels like you’re a bit more than glad.” You joked, feeling his erection pressed up against your stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered bashfully. Trying in vain to step away from you, but you pulled him back in. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs so he could feel how wet you were. “I uh, I can relate.” 

“Stars” he breathed as he tentatively dragged two fingers through your wet folds. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive” you moaned, arching your back into him as one of his calloused fingers brushed up against your swollen clit. 

That was all the permission Mando needed to continue. Once again he pressed the cold forehead of his helmet against yours, effectively looking you in the eye as he continued his ministrations. 

Your legs shook underneath you, and you dug your nails into Mando’s shoulders, mindful of his wounds, to keep your knees from buckling. Lewd sounds filled the air around you as he slipped two fingers inside of you. 

“So beautiful” he mumbled, with awe in his tone. Watching as your mouth hung open at the pleasure of how sweetly just two of his fingers stretched you. You rocked your hips forward into his hand, desperately trying to get him to move. 

He obliged, slowly dragging his fingers all the way out, then back in. You’d taken to kissing the parts of his neck that you could reach. Biting a little too harshly when he curled his fingers inside you, hitting exactly the right spot. You apologized by soothing the bite with your tongue, earning an anguished groan from deep within Mando’s throat. 

“I want more” you nearly begged. Reaching your hand between the two of you so you could stroke him through his pants. The sound he made rang through your ears, sending shockwaves down your spine. Maker, did you want to hear more. “Take care of me, Mando.” 

“Of course, Cyar’ika.” He replied, his voice quivering when you gave his cock a playful squeeze. He quickly moved to lift you but then cried out in pain. In the heat of the moment, he’d forgotten about his wounds. 

“You okay?” You asked, placing both hands on the side of his helmet, bringing his eyes to yours. Though you couldn’t see his face, the act still felt oddly intimate. 

“Yes, just got a little excited,” he responded with a laugh. You giggled along with him then slid your hands down to his chest. 

“Let me help you,” you offered, pushing him back onto your cot. You straddled his lap once he was sitting down and he rested his hands comfortably on your hips.

“This better?” You asked, watching as he stared up at you through his helmet. He nodded his head in return and rutted his hips up into you. 

You lifted yourself over his lap and removed his hard cock from his pants. It was long, thick, and heavy in your hand. Your mouth nearly watered at the sight. You stroked it a few times before, dragging his warm tip through your soaking folds. Stopping for a moment to tease your clit with it. 

Mando shivered at the sensation, his head falling to your shoulder with a low whine. Carefully you lined him with your entrance before slowly sinking down on him. The way he filled you was sinful, and the dull burn of the way he stretched you made you keen. 

“Please, move” Mando growled, a desperate strain in his voice. His grip on your hips almost was bruising; you wrapped your arms around his neck and did as he asked. Slowly at first as you adjusted, then quicker once you found a good rhythm. 

“Feel so good, cyar’ika” he choked out, his hips snapping up into yours. 

“So do you Mando” you moaned, your head rolling back as his tip brushed up against your sweet spot. 

“Din.” He breathlessly corrected, stopping his motions completely “my name is Din. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Din,” you repeated, lifting his head so he could look you in the eye as you said it. Your chest heaving as you tried out his name again and smiled at the way it rolled off your tongue. This meant something to him, and the thought of that made your heart soar. 

“Mmmmm,” he rasped, the voice coder crackling in your ear. The sound of his name made him move again, with renewed vigor. His hips slapping into yours at a pace that nearly stole the air from your lungs.

One of his hands reached down to rub your clit as he thrusted, and you swore you felt the world start spinning. It was like electricity was coursing through your veins as the pleasure built inside of you. The coil in your stomach wound tighter with each movement.

A pitiful, “I’m gonna-” was all you could choke out before the coil finally snapped and sent a wave of white hot pleasure streaming through your body. Din’s name falling from your lips like a lost prayer to the Maker, the sound ringing out into the galaxy begging to be heard. 

Your fingers scratched down Din’s back, clenching in time with your cunt, sending him over the edge; chanting your name as he tumbled into ecstasy.

The two of you sat there, just holding each other as you tried to catch your breath. Din reached up and lovingly pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, before gently lifting you off his softening cock. 

As he moved to lay down he brought you with him, and you snuggled into his chest. The two of you laid there in comfortable silence. Din’s fingers tracing the expanse of your back, and yours tracing the constellations of scars on his chest. 

“Hey Din,” you called, breaking the silence. 

“Yes?” He responded, sounding as if he was about to fall asleep.

“I’m surprised we didn’t break the cot,” you joked. You heard the laughter rumble in Din’s chest and you looked up at him with a blissful, goofy smile.

“Me too” he agreed, using his free hand to run a finger along your cheekbone. 

“Guess we’ll have to try again.” You shrugged, cuddling back into Din’s chest, earning yourself another laugh. 

“I guess we will, cyare.” He replied, shaking his head as he pulled you closer to him.

[ambersky0319]

You’re Something Else

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

I’m gonna hope I can post this daily- or near daily, at least!

Prompt: Medieval Demus fanfic? Remus and Roman are both princes and with Roman set to inherit the throne their parents desperately want to see Remus married off, however Remus has the tendency to be picky with potential suitors and has turned them all down thus far. That is until Remus’ newest suitor turns out to be Prince Janus. At first Remus is difficult with him as he is with all his suitors but than Janus starts winning him over slowly. Janus also knows sorcery in this.

Overall Story Warnings: Blood and injuries(varies throughout story), kind of a terrible father, lmk if I need to add anything else!

Masterpost 

———————–

Remus over the course of the next week tried to get Janus annoyed, disgust him, to make him leave early. But nothing he did seemed to work. He tried leaving piles of trash in Janus's room, it mysteriously disappeared. He tried to be overly sexual, Janus just smacked him with his cane(not hard enough that it hurt, but enough to get Remus to stop). He had threatened to challenge Janus to a duel and Janus had just laughed and said: "I'd love to see you try."

And Janus, well, Janus just kind of let it happen. What use was there in trying to get Remus to stop when Remus was adamant on trying to get him to leave. Plus, it was fun watching Remus grow frustrated that he wasn't leaving.

And his parents just asked if Janus would stay longer. He agreed, to make them happy, but Remus just groaned in annoyance that this man was as stubborn as him.

Midway through the second week, though, is when things started to get a bit weird. At least for Remus. He had given up on trying to drive Janus away, and instead opted to try and avoid him. It didn't work all the time but Remus was able to avoid him for most of the day by going into the woods, taking a different path each time and sometimes not taking one at all.

Each time he came back, though, there was a few different flowers waiting on his bed. Often they were wilted, but the ones that were still alive were always a bright green. The odd thing was, Remus didn't recognize any of the flowers.

Finally, he had had enough of the flowers and stormed across the hall to Janus's room. Neither of his guards tried to stop him, in fact he was pretty sure he saw them smirking to one another as he pushed open Janus's door.

Janus glanced up in surprise as Remus waltzed in, raising a brow. "May I help you?" He asked. Remus growled softly and tossed all the flowers he had received over the past few days at Janus. Janus still appeared puzzled as he caught them.

"What are you playing at?" Remus crossed his arms as he glared, and Janus blinked. A puzzled look appeared on his face.

"What?"

"The flowers! Why do you keep giving them to me? And where are they from?!"

"Would you prefer I give you something else?" Janus asked, rising to his feet and letting the flowers rest on his bed beside his closed book. Remus looked startled at the sudden closeness. "I figured you'd be interested in them, native to my homeland those flowers, all quite rare. But if you're not, I could always just stop."

Remus bit his lip. "Th... They're rare flowers?"

Janus nodded, walking past Remus to a small bookcase. He grabbed one of the books after briefly skimming the titles, and he passed it over to Remus. Remus looked down at the title in confusion.

Oddities in Nature, Volume II, Flowers.

"It's hard getting them to last so long or even grow in any gardens. Those are the few I've managed to keep alive. But even once they're wilted they still remain useful."

"Useful?"

Janus's eyes widened a bit as he realized what he had said. But the look was fine before Remus had time to process it had even happened. "For uh, medicines. Like this one," he picked up the first wilted flower he had ever given to Remus. "It's nicknamed Moondrop in my kingdom, only blooms under a blood supermoon, and even then just finding the Moondrop is a challenge, so although the supermoon occurs every few years we rarely find one when it does."

"What's it used in?" Remus found himself asking, looking between the flower and Janus.

Janus smiled warmly, genuinely, and Remus hated how his heart skipped a beat.

"A sort of uh... concoction to heal really bad wounds, like stab wounds in the stomach or burns.

"And it works?" Janus laughed lightly at Remus's tone, nodding.

"It does indeed." He tilted his head. "Want to borrow the book?"

"If it's not too much trouble..."

"Don't worry about it." Remus felt himself relax, holding the book closer. He was about to turn and leave when Janus tapped him on the shoulder. "Remus?"

Remus glanced at him, confused. Janus smiled and offered the flowers to him again, somehow they were all arranged neatly in a bouquet. Remus's jaw dropped slightly. "Think you're forgetting something," Janus hummed, slipping the bouquet into Remus's hands.

The next thing Remus knew he was standing in the hallway, Janus's door closed behind him, the book hugged to his chest and the flowers held close as he looked at them with a newfound interest. Remus glanced once back towards Janus's door before heading back to his room to start reading.

-

Janus waited until he heard the sound of another door closing, and he relaxed. Walking back to his bed, he picked up his book; a spell book. He wasn't practicing the spells yet, one of the reasons having just taken place. Remus walking in unannounced.

At home it wouldn't usually matter, since his family knew he was practicing sorcery and would often leave him be so he could concentrate. But it was like this royal family had no regard for privacy. Janus had already seen Orion enter Remus's room uninvited a few times, and Remus entering Roman's the same way. He wasn't going to risk getting caught practicing magic.

To his knowledge, they didn't even know Janus was a sorcerer. Well, he wasn't an official sorcerer technically, but he was practicing and learning and his teacher, Logan, was perfectly content in Janus learning it as a hobby. Besides, you never know when a spell could save your life.

Or someone else's, Janus reminds himself when he glances up and catches sight of the scar along his face and neck. It wasn't Logan's work, Logan wasn't in the kingdom when Janus had been injured in a fire. The sorcerer who did heal him his parents claimed to have died, and Janus had just accepted it. But he did want to learn sorcery after that.

His hand made its way to his cane, and without looking he felt around until his finger brushed over a button. He pressed it and the bottom part of the cane slipped to the floor. Flicking it around, Janus slipped the top part of the cane off as well, setting the piece on his bed as he held his wand, smiling to himself as he ran his fingers over the wood. Maybe he could practice some magic soon, later tonight after dinner. For now, Janus returned to his book, wand in hand but never actually performing any spells.

-

Remus closed the book after a few hours, and he pushed it a bit away from him on his bed. He rested his chin on his hands, brows pulled together as he thought.

This book was definitely an oddity itself, nevermind the plants depicted inside. Remus had only seen a few of them before, and it was a long time ago. The rest he had never even heard of.

Right, native to his land. Remus thought, glancing back to the bouquet sitting near his mirror, the flowers now in a black vase.

The book also showed how to brew the plants to create all sorts of tonics, plus some... graphic... diagrams on what could happen if brewed incorrectly. Now those were fascinating. Some of the things in the book Remus didn't understand, certain phrases that sounded odd when he said them, but he brushed that aside. They were probably things in another language altogether.

Shaking his head, Remus glanced to his window, frowning slightly at how dark it was outside. Had he really been reading for so long?

His eyes drifted to the flowers and he felt himself relax a bit. He supposed it wasn't that bad, reading for a few hours. He wondered if Janus had visited the castle library yet?

Remus shook his head. No, he was not going to start thinking about what Janus might like. He wasn't going to get attached. Surely he could find some way to get Janus to leave, and leave without Remus. He grabbed the book and moved it to his nightstand, climbing off his bed to change into his nightclothes. Pulling the covers over his head, Remus burrowed into his pillows, falling into a relatively calm sleep.

---

Almost another week had gone by. Janus was still living in the castle. Remus was surprised when he realized Janus wasn't leaving his room much outside of meals. Sometimes one or both of the guards would enter the room when the third, Janus's main guard named Ethan(something Remus was very surprised to have learned his name), would ask for them to come help with something. What they were helping with, Remus didn't know.

Sometimes, another book would be left outside Remus's door. Always part of the Oddities in Nature books. And always with a new, strange thing. Janus still gave him rare plants, but he now also started giving Remus little gems that looked boring at first but then would shimmer and cast rainbows on the walls or what looked like blood spatter on the ceiling if angled right.

Remus would return the books by handing them to the guards. Often Ethan. Remus didn't know the names of the other two, they wore helmets that covered all but the bottom part of their faces. A bit unnerving, and it made Remus curious, but he hadn't decided to ask yet.

"Maybe he thinks I'll go to him?" Remus asked his reflection one morning, running a hand through his greasy hair. Well, not as greasy as it normally was. He was making a bit more of an effort to keep it relatively clean.

His mother was happy with the small bit of effort. She was also delighted that Janus had yet to leave. Evelyn believed that Remus would like this one eventually.

Remus hated how she might be right.

There was no denying that Remus was curious about this prince. A bunch of secrets, Janus was, and Remus wanted to learn them all. And he despised that he was fascinated with Janus, finding himself biting back questions he desperately wanted to ask.

Remus never realized how hard staying quiet actually was.

Orion didn't mind Janus. But Remus knew that his father didn't like him as much as he liked Roman. And maybe that was another reason he liked Janus.

He shook his head. He should stop worrying about this, or else the streak in his hair might grow.

Remus grabbed his morningstar along with a small bag of snacks he'd stolen from the cooks. He clipped the bag to his belt and slung the morning star over his shoulder, making his way to the door.

When he walked out, he was surprised to see Janus also leaving his room, cane in hand along with the bag he always carried everywhere except to meals. Janus blinked at him, tilting his head and smiling gently.

"Prince Remus. Going somewhere?"

Remus clenched his morningstar tighter, swaying from side to side as he answered. "Just the woods."

Janus nodded slightly. "Mind if I join you?"

Remus frowned. "I don't know. You don't look like you'd last long where I'm heading."

One of Janus's guards laughed softly, and the other smirked. Remus felt heat raise to his cheeks as Janus rolled his eyes at them. "I can handle myself. Besides, there's some plants I've yet to find in the parts that I have explored and I really need these other plants."

Remus averted his gaze from the brown and yellow one staring at him. He forced his shoulders to relax. "Alright then, it's your funeral."

It really would be, considering where Remus was going was a few miles from the castle where there was rumor of a dragon. It had claimed the lives of some guards and Remus wanted to try and fight it himself, or at least see it. He wasn't going to try and keep Janus safe though, when he would be too busy watching his own back.

Remus turned down the hall without another word, hearing one of Janus's guards tell them to be careful. Janus walked with confidence as he followed Remus, heels clicking against the polished floor a good distraction for Remus. The steady beat kept his thoughts from spiraling, because while Remus might not be inclined to protect Janus... He didn't want to imagine what could happen to him.

One of the guards near the castle entrance stopped them, lifting their helmet to talk to them properly.

"Now where do you two think you're going?" They narrowed their eyes at Remus. "Not going after that dragon, are you?"

Remus smiled sheepishly as they eyed his morningstar. "No one said I couldn't go look at it!"

The guard glared. "That's just as idiotic as trying to fight it, my prince." They looked to Janus. "Surely you know this, Prince Janus."

Janus tilted his head. "It is indeed. Luckily we weren't going to go that way. Prince Remus was going to bring me to this flower he found the other day and we'll be back soon."

They raised a brow. "And he's bringing his morningstar because?"

Janus shrugged, crossing his arms and holding his head high. He was asking them to challenge him as he spoke, Remus realized, watching. "Defense, obviously. There are creatures everywhere in the woods aside from a dragon that could harm us. It makes sense to bring a weapon. Plus, Prince Remus brings it everywhere."

Remus almost pulled away when Janus slipped their arms together, almost tried to argue for Janus to back away. But then he saw the fading confidence in the guard's eyes and found a small smile gracing his face. "Now, can we go?"

The guard sighed, slipping their helmet back into place before stepping back. They walked in step out of the castle and Janus didn't let Remus go until they were out of sight of any palace guards and at an unmarked part of the forest.

"So, a dragon?" Janus hummed as he followed Remus into the brush. There was almost a natural trail, but it wasn't worn enough to really be considered a pathway. Janus noted the many broken branches where the guards probably walked without care, slashing their way through the lush part of the forest. Remus spared a glance his way before turning his attention back to the ground.

"You can always turn back."

"No, I still need those flowers. And I'd like to at least try and find them."

"Are they worth a run-in with a man-eating dragon?" Remus asked, glancing up at the barely visible sky. The canopy is already very thick, the trees standing tall and prouder than Remus has ever stood. He remembers one day when he had tried to climb one, fell, and broken his arm upon landing.

Remus was startled when Janus laughed. It was soft and Remus's heart jumped into his throat as Janus quieted. "I'm afraid to disappoint, but dragons aren't man-eating. Territorial, yes. But they don't eat humans."

"They kill them." Remus pointed out, watching Janus out of the corner of his eye as Janus walked beside him. Janus was keeping his eyes on their surroundings, just in case he did spot one of the plants he needed.

"Some. Most don't. This one must have built its den close to where those guards found it, if it killed them. Or they provoked it. Dragons will kill if pushed over the edge."

Remus frowned. "How do you know so much about dragons?"

Janus swung his cane slightly, moving it so it didn't touch the ground. "They're common where I'm from. You've gotta know about them or else you might end up six feet under."

"They're common?!"

Janus chuckled at Remus's astonishment. "Yes. Very common. It's hard to go anywhere without spotting one. Their dens are further away from us humans but the dragons like the free food and stealing things for their hordes."

Remus bit his lip. He was going to regret this.

Drawing his morningstar closer so it wouldn't hit anything, Remus sighed softly. "Can you tell me some other things about your kingdom?"

Janus tilted his head, smile twisting into a small smirk. "Oh, finally interested?"

Remus huffed, closing in on himself a bit more. "Nevermind."

Janus chuckled. "No, no. I'm sorry. Anything you want to know in particular?"

———————–

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[alottanothing]

Left to Ruin: Chapter Twelve

Summary: Nouke struggles with the broken heart Ahkmenrah left her with. When he shows up on her farm days later, she fights to keep him from breaking it further.  

Previous Chapters

Word Count: 7224

Warnings: SMUT Y’ALL. GOOEY, OH SO SOFT, SMUT. (18+ only), also brief mentions of blood and injuries

Tag List: @xmxisxforxmaybe​, @r-ahh-mi​, @theultraviolencefan​, @hah0106​, @rami-malek-trash​, @diasimar​, @sherlollydramoine​, @flipper-kisses​, @ivy-miranda-2390​, @txmel​, @sunkissedmikky​, @concentratedsassandcandy​, @babyalienfairy​, @edteche2​ (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: @xmxisxforxmaybe​ gets an extra shout out for this chapter because this was the first time I’ve written explicit smut and she kept me from breaking down into a panic attack, while also giving me pointers. She’s a superb writing buddy and I love her. With that said, I did my best and I’m no longer cringing when I go back and read this, so that has to count for something right? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Again, as a disclaimer, I am not an ancient Egyptian expert and google only knows so much. So yeah, I took so historical liberties while writing this to make my life easier, but tried to keep it as “authentic” as possible

Having her heart broken proved to be useful. With it left in such ruin, Nouke was never more dedicated to her chores; she poured all of her focus on the farm and the more arduous tasks that were often left abandoned—Nouke did anything to keep from thinking of the ache in her chest.  Plowing the soil from dawn to dusk helped distract from the gaping hole that her once sweet prince tore in her heart. She planted more of the land; fields that were left to weed since her father had passed were now ready to sew. When there was no more to be done in the fields, Nouke made repairs to the stables and wove baskets to store the surplus grain. That all worked for a while. 

Despite her efforts, the dull ache of heartbreak always crept through her resolve.

At first, all Nouke felt was deep-seated anger coupled with a sense of betrayal; it writhed and festered until it plagued every recent memory of him with a veil of black. The mere thought of her king set her fists into a ball and her teeth against each other—grinding with resentment.

But anger was exhausting to hold on to. By the second day, her discontent faded altogether, leaving only hurt. Even the shroud of darkness that tainted every memory of her friend disappeared when her anger subsided. The pharaoh had bewitched her—not in the latter moments they’d shared but in the ones long before his crown heavied his head. In those moments of play and adventure during their youth: every game, every story, every sweet smile he'd lent as a child had worked into her heart and refused to let go. 

His love never failed to trickle through every moment their eyes met, or how he always brought food to share when he knew she often went without. That love shone brightest the day he’d asked her to follow him throughout Egypt, and it was she who had taken that glimmer of fleeting hope and snuffed it out. He had offered her his world, and she denied him. The gods had presented her with almost every desire she had ever wanted—for a second time—and like a fool, she rejected their gift again. Surely the ache in her chest was penance for being too greedy.

On the third day, Nouke was certain she would carry the miserable heaviness in her heart forever.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that she actually missed him; missed his smile and his kindness. She missed his kiss and his gentle caresses; the way he drew his bottom lip between his teeth just before dazzling her with a grin. All of it was lost to her, and the notion made her laden heart too poignant to ease with distraction.

The only joy her spirit could cling to was the increasing wellness of her mother. Every day she ate a little more, walked a little farther, and smiled a little brighter. 

In those few days of anguish, Maketaten only asked once what it was that cast her daughter with such sorrow. Nouke could, at most, manage a frown and a shake of her head, but it was enough for her mother to know it was a broken heart that afflicted her daughter.

The fourth evening Nouke worked tirelessly, doing whatever she could to steal away the notion of missing the man who broke her heart. Her mother felt well enough to help with some of the easier chores around the farm, and while Nouke was grateful for her mother’s help and company, she feared that she was not particularly affable company in return. For days, words were too difficult an obstacle to maneuver without provoking a wave of tears, so she said nothing.

The quiet air of the stables was filled with her mother’s soft humming: lullabies Nouke recognized from her childhood. To a degree, the gentle melodies fostered a warmth her cold heart was desperate to find. Even the corners of her mouth quirked into a content smile finding enough ardor to hum along—an elusive moment of peace.

“Don’t work too much longer, my love,” her mother cautioned a time later as the sun sank below the horizon.

“I won’t, mother,” Nouke promised, struggling to hold a genuine smile longer than a second or two. “I’m just going to finish, then I’ll be up.”

Maketaten kissed her daughter's cheek before venturing out of the stable.

Nouke watched her fondly as she went; thankful to still have her. She would always be grateful to her king for giving back her mother’s health no matter how much he’d hurt her heart.

A bereft sigh worked through Nouke at the thought of the pharaoh; how much she missed him, and how much she hated that she missed him. All those years of forgetting—learning to live without him—were suddenly tainted. She wanted that ignorance back. 

Nouke let her mind roam as she finished her chores, searching for a memory that wasn’t somehow tethered to the man she loved. She held to thoughts of her mother and father, the few years their farm thrived and the three of them were genuinely happy—a time that seemed so long ago. She dwelled in the tranquility of those memories; recalling every sound and smell when they were new and exciting. For a moment, Nouke found peace there in the illusion of her past, wishing she could spend the rest of her days lost in that dream, until a hooded shadow appeared on the back wall of the stable jerking her back to reality.

She gasped as she turned with a jump, quickly reaching for the nearest tool to protect herself. Almost instantaneously her fear faded, exhaling a shaky breath as she found a pair of familiar, wide eyes locked with hers under a hooded robe. Her mouth felt suddenly dry, and her heart pounded as Ahkmenrah slid the cowl away before carding his fingers through his hair.

A different sort of fear worked over her, muscles growing tense to prepare for any more damage he could throw at her heart. Nouke watched him, watching her. He seemed frightened, almost lost, when his mouth hung open but no words came out. 

“Your majesty,” Nouke bid him with a bow, glad to have managed words before him—her tone cold.

The pharaoh winced, and pain twisted onto his frozen features hearing her icy bravado, causing him to hang his head shamefully. Nouke wanted so much to find satisfaction in hurting him, to do to him what he had to her, but the anguish tugging at his handsome features only made her feel worse.

It took him several minutes to build up the courage to approach with cautious strides, but he stopped a little more than an arm's length away, too afraid to come closer. Without a word he carefully removed the satchel slung around his torso and offered it, keeping his eyes fixated away from hers. 

“Fresh dates and figs—some of the sweetbreads we used to share as kids,” Ahkmenrah explained. “Medicines too, for your mother.”

A stitch came lose in her tightly bound façade when her eyes fell to the leather satchel before following the length of his arm to his face. He still wasn’t looking at her, but his grief was more real than the moon and all the stars in the heavens. Ahkmenrah was hurting too, just as much as she was.

“A peace offering,” he added, his tone almost pleading.

Several more of her stitch's burst, sensing the gravity of his own quiet misery. The look on his face and his listless posture was a mirror of how she had fared since leaving his chamber. Ahkmenrah had been carrying his hurt with him exactly as she had and the notion helped to combat some of her own despair.

With a hesitant gesture, Nouke took the bag, and when her errant glance caught the purple and yellow knuckles of his hand, dried with blood and split open, her brows creased with query. 

“What happened to your hand?” she asked gently, in an attempt to coax out the Ahkmenrah she knew and loved. The unspirited husk of a man before her was not the sweet prince her heart yearned to have.

Confusion flashed across his face as he studied the injury, eyes darting wildly over each wounded knuckle as though he had no recollection of its existence. He flexed his fingers and pain flickered throughout his features, prompting a quiet hiss to escape his lips.

When he offered no explanation, Nouke realized whatever had happened to cause the ugly bruise was enough to shake him.

“Go to the roof,” she instructed softly, suddenly overcome with the need to help. “I’ll bring a bowl of water and bandages. It’s the least I can do.”

A faint look of shock flashed in his eyes, as though he could not fathom her want to help him, then he nodded.

Ahk left as silently as he’d come and Nouke exhaled a deep breath like she’d been holding it, making her almost dizzy. The smarter thing would have been to take his offering and bid he leave her sight forever. However, every time she looked at him, her mind went blank and nothing in the world seemed as important as him.

It took minutes for her to calmly restitch the hole in her composure he’d split simply by being near. She would return to him one last time with her heart completely protected. It was safer that way. 

Nouke stalled for as long as she could, wanting to delay another evening of Ahkmenrah’s profoundly intimate glances; something she wasn’t sure her heart could weather. She checked once, twice, three times, that her chores were done before collecting as much courage as she could and gathered supplies to tend to Ahk's injuries. She ventured upstairs into the quiet living space finding it empty, her mother already asleep in the other room. Nouke emptied the satchel slung on her shoulder of the gifts inside and refilled it with rolled linen strips, a vial of medicinal honey, and a clay bowl.

Lastly, she grabbed the oil lamp from the table as well as a pitcher of water. It was a precarious task, balancing the lamp and the pitcher as she scaled each rung of the ladder with a single hand, but she managed it without starting a fire or spilling a drop.

Ahkmenrah was seated among the cushions and woven mats in the furthest corner of the flat roof. The sight caused her heart to flutter finding him so doleful and pensive while the wind swept through his curls as he looked out over his city.

He had broken her heart, but he would always have it.

The pharaoh stood in silent greeting when he noticed her, a woefulness dulling his usually crystalline eyes. 

“Sit,” Nouke told him, every manner of cold resolution gone from her tone; her stitches already threatening to pull loose.

Just as she feared, he watched her with reverence and a cautious intimacy that was almost too much to bear, though she did her best to ignore it, placing herself across from him. Nouke kept her eyes trained on the supplies she removed from the satchel, laying them before her in the dim light flickering from the oil lamp.

“Let me see,” she said gently, holding out her hand, waiting for him to take it.

He was hesitant, but he obeyed. Nouke mindfully studied the abrasions, still curious as to what had caused them. She filled the bowl with water and tore a small piece of linen. Ahkmenrah’s attentive eyes weighed lightly on her as she cleaned the cuts, gently scrubbing until the dried blood no longer stained his skin.

“So, are you going to tell me how this happened?” Nouke asked easily, glancing to hold his gaze only a moment before settling her focus back to his injury. Any glance longer would have a negative effect on the resolve she was fighting to keep tightly laced.

“Or would you like me to guess?” she added in a jesting tone before she could think better of it.

He mustered a slight smile, and a puff of air through his nostrils that was more or less a chuckle.

“I struck my brother,” he said finally, in a timbre that sounded as though he could hardly believe he could do such a thing.

“You did?” Nouke had never known him to be violent or lay force to anyone. Although, Kahmunrah did have that effect on people.

Ahkmenrah nodded, and his eyes fell back to where she continued to wash his bruised knuckles.

“He hurt Setshepsut,” he murmured.

Oh—Nouke had difficulty combating the twinge of jealousy that bit into her, and the influx of envy secured those stitches a little tighter. Of course he would fight for his wife.

With a sigh, she kicked that specific thought out of her mind. It didn’t matter who he did and did not fight for; he was a pharaoh and she was no one. He would always do as he pleased.

“But…” Ahk said, and Nouke could almost hear him sifting through his thoughts by the way he spoke. “I think that’s only part of the reason…”

All at once, his words were whimsical, almost breathless; as though he’d just stumbled upon some grand epiphany.

“What’s the other reason?” Nouke husked out, fighting back hope she knew was dangerous.

The moment his blue-gray eyes locked with hers, free of the grief that had resided in them all evening, hope planted itself far too deep in her to root out.

“You,” he said with enough conviction to make several of her emotional stitches tear.

“Every time I look at him, I remember what he did to you, and I’m overcome with...” his voice trailed off as his eyes glanced at his bruised hand.

Ahkmenrah swallowed and exhaled deeply before he found the nerve to continue, “What he did to my sister was finally enough to fight back, so I struck him. For her, and for you.”

Nouke bit her lip to keep from smiling. Her heart was yearning again, pulling free the strings of her control, wanting to jump out and embrace the king with enthuse. But her mind valiantly fought against her wistful heart. Nouke's focus remained on her task, the cuts clean and scabbed over, leaving only the marbled bruise across his knuckles. With another strip of linen, she dabbed each cut with the salve of medicinal honey to ensure they healed properly.

“What did your brother do to Set—er—the Queen?” Nouke asked in an attempt to feed her curiosity and deter the deepening desire in her heart.

“Set ran away.”

Nouke looked up to meet the pharaoh’s eyes, her features contorting with question and shock.

“She did?”

Ahk nodded, and a trace of sadness returned to his blue eyes.

“That was why I was not truly myself the night you came to me,” he explained.

He felt responsible, she could tell from the slouch in his shoulders and the downward curl on his lips. The pharaoh felt guilty and more of her stitches frayed seeing his sadness.

“Why did she run away?” Nouke asked, stopping her task a moment to listen.

“Because I was a fool. She miss took my words—reading them as though I intended to break a vow I made.”

“What vow?” Nouke’s heart was racing, feeling as though a crescendo was building with every word they spoke; surging them closer to some unknown divine manifestation.

His eyes were reverent on her again, smoldering in the dim glow of the burning lamplight.

“The vow that once I found a second wife, I would free her of our union—free us. That way, she could be with the soldier she loves, and I can be with—”

Me—she didn’t say it when his words trailed off again, but she felt the trajectory of the sentence and knew it had to be true. Nouke’s heart was pounding, fighting to rip the stitches that remained. Hastily she looked back to his hand and meticulously began winding his injury with fresh linen, counting her breaths to keep herself calm.

Joy rushed through her, but Nouke refused to let it surface until Ahkmenrah said the words outright. She needed to be sure. Pressure built in the silence between them, and she stalled as long as she could, twisting and tucking the fabric strips over his knuckles until all she could do was meet his gaze.

“I am so sorry, Nouke,” Ahkmenrah said with such profound sincerity, she could feel it in her bones. “The moment you asked for an explanation I should have told you—I should have fought.”

“Fight now,” Nouke demanded, breathless as her head started to spin.

Pressure continued to build with every beat that passed with silence, and for a brief moment, she feared he wouldn’t fight. Then, Nouke caught the twinkle of sparks in his eyes. It was a mix of awe and hope and he took both of her hands in his when he spoke.

“I have only felt joy—true joy—when I have been with you. Never have you been second to anyone. You, Nouke, are my only one. Now and forever.”

Nouke's breath caught on a gasp as the barrier protecting her heart frayed completely. Tears welled quickly, filling her eyes and blurring his handsome face; but she could still make out his sweet smile. Nouke prayed he wasn’t a mirage, a cruel trick from the desert sent to break her heart completely, but Ahk’s soft fingers brushed along her jaw. They wiped gently at the tears staining her face, reassuring her that he was no illusion.

“I gave you my heart years ago.” He leaned closer with every word. “It is yours from that moment, until my dying moment, and evermore. Should you want it.”

Tears were shining in his eyes too, overcome with what his own heart felt. 

His words rang like music in her ears; sweeter than any sound produced in song or with an instrument. Her reply was not with words—words were far too trivial. Actions spoke more profoundly than any utterance she could think up, and as a smile slowly unfurled across Nouke’s lips, she chose to show him exactly how his declaration made her feel.

Her tears of joy paved the way for her desire to blossom freely—her heart uncaged at last and filled to the brim with euphoria. In a series of lithe movements, Nouke moved into his lap, cradling his angular jaw, pulling his mouth to hers in a searing kiss while her legs wound around his waist.

The sudden intimacy took Ahk aback, his delighted shock manifesting in a low hum that vibrated from his chest and to his lips as she kissed him, his arms weaving around her. Nouke ran her tongue over his top lip, feeling the quirk of the pharaoh's smile as his mouth opened to capture it. His palms fanned open against her lower back, persuading her closer, drinking in every nuance of her kiss slowly, savoring every second of the intimate exchange.  

When they parted, their shaky breaths danced across each other's skin in heated puffs, radiating like the glow from a dull flame. The black of Ahk's eyes was blown wide, and his parted lips intensified his expression of lust and adoration. Nouke’s gaze only surrendered his to marvel at every angle and shadow of his face until she became transfixed with the succulent sheen of his kiss swollen lips.

The sight worked through to her core, and she couldn’t quell the need to draw the pad of her thumb over his full lips—an act of wonderment and praise. The notion those lips would forever be hers to kiss and admire prickled her flesh with goosebumps as passion spread through her like fire.

When Nouke kissed him again it was with zealous haste and a sensuous yearning. And yet, there was a trace of hesitance to the play of his mouth against hers—a caution that only made her more ravenous for him. It was in the still too chaste way he kissed her back that Nouke realized his fear. Before, she ran when his advances grew too brazen with desire, but the circumstances were different: it was finally okay to want him.

A wave of determination surged and Nouke parted their kiss so suddenly, Ahkmenrah’s dark eye shrunk with sobering fear and his hands fell away—abruptly over cautions. 

“What?” he whispered; eyes unblinking and earnest.

Nouke smiled, allaying some of his fear. Her heart was racing as she straddled his crisscrossed legs, rising above him enough to make a proper show of sliding her garment from her shoulders.

In a whisper of movement, the warn linen fell down her torso, pooling at the slight flare of her hips. Nouke gasped as the cool night air of the desert tingled over her bared skin causing her nipples to harden.

Ahkmenrah’s trained eyes never left hers, still too guarded to ogle her bared breasts, but his eyes smoldered once more into inky pools. The stars in the heavens glittered in their black mirror, and Nouke was certain the sky was never more beautiful than when it was reflected in his eyes. His breathing had all but stopped, his body completely still. Ahk swallowed, and the slow bob of his Adam's apple was somehow inherently a display of his own desire.

Without breaking their trance, Nouke found his hands with her own and laid them upon her naked flesh in an act of unbridled consent.

“Touch me, Ahk,” she murmured. “Please.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. 

His eyes drifted with wonder to where his fingers began to map her skin; the gentle friction of his hands was like striking a match inside of her. Nouke was powerless to the fire of his touch as it blossomed and spread. She could think of no words eloquent enough to describe the sensation of Ahk’s soft fingers venturing to explore every bit of her flesh. How many times had she indulged in the fantasy before that moment? Nouke couldn’t recall, but the reality was so much more profound than she could have ever imagined.

She whined in the back of her throat when he tentatively brushed the sides of her breasts, his thumbs sweeping over her sensitive nipples. Every ounce of Ahkmenrah’s hesitation evaporated as he read the language of her body, and the sounds his caresses coaxed out from deep in her throat.

As their eyes met again, Nouke found only exuberant desire and a thoughtful adoration free of hesitation in her lover's eyes, causing affection to swell in her breast. The grin that twisted onto the pharaoh's lips was impish; dripping with enthusiasm and a possessive pride that drove through her very nerves in a wave of molten desire.

Ahk drew her against his chest, luring her into a bruising kiss that filled her eyes with stardust. The play of his mouth and tongue was hungry and strong; overwhelmingly intoxicating paired with the way his blunt nails bit into the flesh of her back as he pulled her impossibly closer. She purred invitingly when his mouth left her to lay wet kisses down her neck and the center of her chest. 

Nouke leaned into each nip—craving more and more of his lush ministrations. His mouth skirted along the globe of her breast, dragging his tongue over its curve before swirling the sensitive peak. She rejoiced the sensation with a sharp inhale, her body wantonly arching against him. Ahk’s responding growl reverberated through them both; a sound, deep and guttural, escaping into the air as he moved his focus to her other breast with the same fervor.

Nouke’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as she hugged his face against her chest. All manner of rational thought was rapidly clouding over with a fog of desire, allowing her the mind only a moment to ponder which felt better against her skin: the pharaoh’s teeth or his tongue. Regardless, Ahkmenrah’s mouth was divine wherever he sought to put it.

Gradually, his kisses ventured in an upward trajectory; nipping and sucking and licking all the way from the swell of her breast, across the rise of her collarbone until lingering at the hollow of her neck. The warm silk of his lips pressed against her pulse as he laved the single spot, suckling a possessive mark until he cajoled a soft, wanton whine from her.

Nouke could feel the curl of his smirk against her flesh before he smoothed the bruise he’d left with his tongue. His mouth worked to hers again, capturing it with the same possessive pride—his tongue flicking across her lips causing her mouth to fall open with a sigh.

Ahk broke away long enough to shed the servant's tunic he wore, yanking it over his head in a single, swift movement that did little in the way of hindering their pace. Nouke bit her lip to keep from smiling too foolishly as she drank in the sight before her; his lean torso and sculpted shoulders smattered with freckles. Her pharaoh was a vision so beguiling; his physicality alone sent heat rushing between her thighs.

Before she had eloquently taken in the play of the muscles in his arms, they came to wrap around her once more, squeezing her, and the newfound friction of their naked skin elicited a shared moan. Nouke's arousal was dripping; aching to feel him inside her for the first time. 

Ahk’s mouth moved against her’s as he masterfully cradled her waist and shifted them, laying Nouke amidst the nest of woven mats and cushions. He rocked back onto his haunches, eyes half-lidded and twinkling, as he drank in the sight of her with an open-mouthed expression of wonderment. Nouke did the same, propping herself on her elbows.

In the dull glow of the dying lamplight and the spill of Khonshu’s silver rays, her mighty pharaoh looked ethereal. The rise and fall of his proud chest, glittering with a light sheen of sweat, and the disheveled curls on his head were a sight she would hold forever.

Akhmenrah wet his lips as he crawled over her—the flash of his tongue utterly tantalizing. He buried his face in her neck, kissing the skin tenderly, the hot fan of his breath fostering a wave of goosebumps and she sighed. When he spoke, Nouke could feel the brush of his lips against her ear, and it made her toes curl.

“Will you allow me to worship you?” The base note of his voice dropped lower than usual, dripping sweet and sinfully and she almost moaned on account.

“Yes,” Nouke breathed out, one hand moving to tangle in his scalp, the other anchoring and digging into his shoulder as he laid across her. 

The grin that Ahk met her with was absolutely lascivious; an expression so affectionate and salacious, warmth rippled through her body with an impassioned tide, causing Nouke's toes to curl and her mouth to fall open with a sigh because of it.

The pharaoh wasted no time trailing his deft lips down the middle of her torso, tasting the stack of her ribs—kissing them each tenderly as he went. Even the dip of her waist he lavished delicately with enthuse as though every part of her flesh was the sweetest nectar. His hands moved in tandem: trailing to knead each breast and laying light scratches down her sides before pressing into the soft swell of her hips.

In the stillness of the air, Nouke was almost certain the rapid beat of her heart thrummed louder than a parade of drums when Ahkmenrah gathered fistfuls of the garment hiding her center. His eyes skated up to meet hers, asking silent permission and she responded with an anticipatory gasp, raising her hips so that he could slide the bunched fabric off, leaving her bare before him.

As Ahk knelt between her thighs, his eyes exploring every dip, curve and swell, heat rushed to color Nouke's cheeks. Never had her few, heedless rendezvous' made her feel as profoundly exposed as she did then. It was a new level of intimacy that made her both acutely nervous and overwhelmingly excited.

Even so, a thread of apprehension stitched into the features of Nouke’s face, suddenly aware that Ahkmenrah was a king, and accustomed to only the finest things. She was no glittering princess. She was just the servant girl who loved him with all of her heart.

An unbridled look of awe consumed the pharaoh’s features as his mouth drew into an affectionate grin, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

“I have traveled across Egypt and never looked upon such profound beauty,” he promised with enough conviction it was able to combat her blush, and her lips quirked into a grin of her own.

“Have you not seen yourself?” Nouke's eyes danced down his flawless torso, lingering on the hard line of him straining the fabric of his shendyt.

Ahk beamed all white teeth and full lips, sending butterflies to occupy her stomach.

“Your loveliness is beyond comparison," he assured her.

Her heart swelled and pounded rapidly as she held his gaze, her every breath long and slow. For all the apprehension she felt moments ago, all that remained was wanton need and affection.

His fingertips swept over the tops of her thighs—feather-light—as his wide smile softened into a gentle smirk.

“Lie back,” he instructed, gingerly urging her legs further apart. 

Nouke did as he asked, locking her eyes with the stars as she reminded herself to breathe—the sensation of Ahk’s hands brushing closer to her heated center so distracting to all of her senses.

Without warning, a single, thick finger drew a swift line threw her center and he hummed, pleased at how wet she already was.

The surprise and the teasing way he only just swept over the bundle of nerves hidden in her core inspired a surge of pleasure so grand it manifested in the form of a gasp Nouke was both unable and unwilling to smother. Ahkmenrah purred again, a satisfied and lewd note, rumbling from deep in his chest that, itself, strove to finish her.

Ahk had only begun to touch her where she’d longed to have him, and already her body was begging to accommodate him. The desperate need to passionately tangle herself with another soul—with Ahk—was more than just a heedless play of the flesh. Nouke surrendered to it, bliss encompassing her entire spirit.

An unabashed and playfully arrogant smile played on Ahk's beautiful lips when she risked a look his way. The sight of the pharaoh Ahkmenrah nestled between her legs, looking so pleased, fixated warm knots in her stomach. Teasing kisses burnished the skin of her thighs; each closer to the hidden part of her, making the knots pull tighter with the ache of anticipation. Nouke whined feeling his impish smile against her skin.

Before Nouke could utter a verbal complaint to protest his playful lips, Ahk dropped his mouth to her; drawing his tongue up and flat through the center of her folds, stopping to curl around the bud of her clit.

Nouke’s hips bucked to chase the sensation of his mouth, her head falling back as her eyes fluttered shut, a moan rumbling from her throat. 

"Oh...Ahk..."

Aptly, and without relinquishing his task, Ahkmenrah guided her legs to moar over his shoulders, her heels falling to dig into his back. A shudder shook her when the rush of his hot breath puffed against her quim, and the stars spinning in her eyes barely had time to settle before he swept his tongue through her silky folds a second time.

Ahkmenrah’s mouth worked her with all the confidence of a virile king—a notion that spurred a lusty haze to consume her— prompting his name to spill from her lips in awe and praise. Nouke welcomed the pleasure, letting every distinction of his ministrations kindle and feed the fire engulfing her. She willfully drowned in a bliss she had never known the like of before, wonderfully powerless to swim the current of his love.

Nouke arched to get closer, her body springing with abandon, brazen and greedy as she wove her fingers into his hair—tugging. Ahk stiffened his tongue, running it out to flick against her before sliding between her folds, avidly sampling the nectar within, and Nouke rolled unashamedly against his face. She was drawing tight around him, the beginning of the end finally in sight, and Ahk flicked against her in quick, delicate strokes until she keened and shuddered, yanking his hair.

Her hips swiveled again when his tongue brushed over the sensitive bundle, causing Nouke's vision to blur as that swollen bud became the focus of the pharaoh's ministrations. The heat pulsing through her began to coil tighter until she was tense and trembling—skirting the edge of her release. Every rapid hammer of her heart was muffled by every wanton moan that escaped upon every breath she took.

Ahk’s shoulders started to roll as his tongue slid and pressed and flitted to taste her, lapping up every ounce of her arousal with glee. He added a finger, then another, both hooking perfectly inside her causing Nouke's hips to buckle and her hands to tug his curls, finally tumbling over the peak of pleasure with a long moan.

All at once, Nouke’s breath caught as a flush spread across her chest. Her vision tunneled, graying the haze as he nipped the swollen bud, wrapping his lips around it and sucking as she came. She cried out, her body shaking, ears ringing, and wonderfully at the mercy of her climax. 

Ahkmenrah slowed to delicate sweeps, carrying her gently through every tremble of her orgasm until she laid still. He waited until her fluttering stopped, sweetly kissed the juncture of her thigh in parting, then rocked onto his haunches to suck his fingers into his mouth, groaning happily while licking his fingers and glistening lips clean of her essence—obviously pleased with himself.

She smirked seeing his playful arrogance, and she implored him to kiss her with the peak of her tongue wetting her lips. Ahk’s grin grew; the puckish quirk of his gorgeously plump lips enough to work another wave of want to pool low in her belly.

He moved up her torso slowly, laying kisses to every inch of bared flesh, each spark sent to refuel her fire. When his mouth found hers, there was a musty undertone coating his lips that she quickly realized was her self, and Nouke chased the new tang with her tongue and ample curiosity.

Ahk shifted his weight, pressing his body against hers, kindling a euphoric friction that coupled deliciously with his dominating kiss, stirring a moan to spill from her lips. The hard line of his cock pressed against her hip evoked the familiar heat of desire and urgency to build rapidly. All at once, Nouke was overcome with the primal need to have him buried deep inside her.

“Ahk?” she bit out on a heated breath, breaking their kiss as her fingers moved to fumble the waistline of his only remaining garment.

Ahkmenrah grinned as a shiver shook him from the feel of her eager fingers toying with the fabric. Tenderly, he tilted their foreheads together, locking his eyes with hers, and she almost gasped seeing the affection swirling amidst the colors of blue and gray.

“Are you ready for me, my love?” he asked in a low bravado that made her shiver.

His hand snaked down every curve of her body before sliding a digit through her wet folds, causing her to exhale sharply.

“Yes,” she husked out just before Akh’s deft finger dipped inside, curling and making her body shake. 

With a whine, she mourned it’s sudden loss while Ahkmenrah adjusted to make quick work of his shendyt. As he tossed the garment aside, Nouke took a moment to mentally thank all the gods responsible for creating someone as breathtakingly ethereal as her pharaoh—especially when she could marvel at all of his perfect assets properly.

Nouke half expected him to say something witty or charming when he returned her devilish grin, but instead, he surprised her by claiming her mouth, tenderly pulling her beneath him. In a swift, delicate thrust, he filled her, fixing them together as one being as her name tumbled from his lips in a guttural groan.

"Oh..fuck...you feel so good."

A shudder worked through her whole body as her legs wrapped around his waist, arms twining around his neck—relishing in the feel of him.

"So do you," Nouke gasped. The sensation was delightfully more profound than she previously thought possible. She savored every second, fearing the high would never truly be as grand as the initial time he sated her.

When her eyes fluttered open to share that moment with her magnificent king, his eyes were slits, his bottom lip caught between his teeth—the incarnation of pure ecstasy above her.

A slow undulation took to her hips, imploring him to move when he stayed still to savor her warmth around him as long as he could. Ahk hummed as she moved against him in search of friction, and he kissed her sweetly, carding his fingers through her hair.

"Make love to me, Ahkmenrah" she begged, rolling her pelvis against his, causing him to moan.

The pharaoh kissed her as he withdrew himself almost completely, then gently pushed back in teasingly slow, provoking a sigh past Nouke's lips. He set a firm, but unhurried rhythm that built the pleasurable pressure they were both starving for perfectly. 

Nouke’s hands drifted from their place around his neck, raking her nails along his sculpted shoulders and down the muscles of his back, digging into his flesh in a gambit to hold her pharaoh against her. She was hungry to feel every inch of his body grinding with her own. When his thick fingers twisted and tangled into her hair, tugging firmly to tilt her head back, exposing the column of her throat, she sighed only to moan as his lips blazed a trail of sloppy kisses down her neck.

Ahkmenrah smiled at the sound he stirred and suckled with a little more fervor as he went, leaving multiple marks of his affection over her pulse and along her collarbone. She whined when his hand left her hair and rediscovered the globe of her breast, the soft pad of his thumb dancing over her nipple. They tingled to a point, and Ahk made an approving sound low in his chest.

The stimulation of his capable lips and hands, while his hips thrust into her with slow intimacy, was altogether otherworldly. Ahkmenrah worked her body with masterful finesse, able to conjure any noise he pleased with skillful ease. And she was lost in it. He loved her; she could feel it in every tender push of himself into her. Every move he savored as much as she did—her heart was unimaginably full.

Nouke’s hands fell to the curve of his flexing ass, nails sinking into the firm muscle. Ahkmenrah’s moan carried into the air, sweet and wonderfully obscene against the quiet; and Nouke captured his lips with a hungry kiss to muffle it.

Her enthusiasm prompted his tender rolling movements to give way to sharp, shorter thrusts that were delightful. Nouke was close; every hurried thrust and kiss tightened the coil in her abdomen, and the strain on Ahk’s face told her he was teetering on the brink too.

With another thrust, she crested, back bowing, and the rush of blood in her ears muffled her own cries: his name breathless on her lips and tangled in a string of other deities. Ahk’s hands cradled her, twisting behind her back to carry her through every moment of utter euphoria. 

“I’ve got you, my love,” he murmured next to her ear—his voice low and smokey. “I’ve got you.”

His thrusts slowed to their previous gentle pace as she trembled and rode the rest of her release in his arms until she stilled. When her eyes opened, Ahk’s were on her’s, captivated. 

He was still unsatisfied inside her, heavy with need, but he laid just as still as she did, awe twinkling in his eyes. 

“Your turn,” Nouke husked out in a heated breath, her lips quirking into a smile as she traced his jaw with the tips of her fingers.

He smiled before they kissed, and she could feel his affection bursting from the meditative draw of his lips.

The roll of his hips gradually reached a frantic rhythm, desperate to find his own release as an animalistic sound rumbled past his lips when her textured walls tightened around him with every thrust.

Nouke’s devilish grin was hard to quell as she took in the sight of her king; the sheen of sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, lips swollen and wet, his eyes shut tight with concentration. Ahkmenrah had always been breathtaking, but seeing him wrapped in the throes of passion painted him in a new light that had her mouth watering.

Another wanton sound tumbled from his mouth when Nouke guided him close enough to draw her tongue over his Adam’s apple—suckling and teasing his neck to leave her own mark for the world to see. He shuddered, and his desperate thrusts grew even more erratic as she worked him to the peak of his passion every way she knew how.

Ahkmenrah came with her name spilling sloppily from his mouth in a flurry of sounds that swiftly molded into throaty moans. She felt him twitch inside her, a hot splash filling her with his seed, then he went still.

Nouke watched his half lidded eyes slowly drift to her while she gingerly toyed with the curls on his head, lulling him gradually back to reality.

“I love you,” he murmured, eyes sparkling down at her.

Nouke was certain her smile was absurd and telling of her affection. Her heart was pounding hearing him say those little words.

“And I, you. Now and forever.”

He matched her grin, kissing her once more, and maneuvered to lay next to her. Nouke fit herself to his form—he was warm in the cool air of night—resting her chin on his chest.

“Stay,” she begged gently, not wanting their time together to ever end.

He met her marveling eyes with a softness that wrapped around her heart and mended everything to have ever broken it.

"I wouldn’t dream of ruining this moment in any way.”

Tears threatened to prickle her eyes, but Nouke fought them. Instead, she kissed his chest and nestled herself there, where the thrumming sound of his heart could lull her to sleep as she hugged him to ensure he never again left her. 

Moment by moment, the weight of the world faded around them until all that remained was the weight of the other tethering them to reality. 

Next Chapter-> Chapter Thirteen: Love Over Duty

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Breadcrumbs

It was Saturday night so you knew it wasn’t going to be a good time. I mean, someone would probably be having a good time, but that was usually the problem. I work as an EMT downtown and a “good time” didn’t always turn out right for everyone. Weekends in particular often saw a good number of drunken brawls, passed out Freshmen on lawns, people accidentally locked out of their homes and close to frostbite, and all sorts of mild concussions.

I had been dreading this particular day for the entire week. Madison is a college town, meaning that most of the population is young adults trying to get a degree in psychology or international relations or getting alcohol poisoning by the age of 22. It also meant that when things happened at the college, the rest of the city felt it.

It was the weekend after finals and we felt it. The night before had seen a tiny girl in a rainbow shirt puking in the ambulance three times (and on me) and a pre-law student having a nervous breakdown over their test results while I asked them over and over what they had taken. And at the very end of my shift around 3 am a frat boy tried to punch me and then cried, asked to call his mom, and fell asleep all in the span of ten minutes.

I was actually one of those students just a few years earlier with the same panic and sleep-deprived wildness in me. I tried my best to help with sutures and calming words and a very large puke bag. “Doctor” had been the dream job since I was old enough to google youtube videos of live-surgeries, but getting to “Dr. Braginsky” was a thing far in the future.

For now, it was just me and my crew and the frigid streets.

It was the regular gang that night for the Ford pick-up rig: Mary Keynes who was at least forty but drove like hell and texted her kids every few hours. She had been there longer than any of us and often regaled us with the story of how she left her husband and decided to make several “life changes.” Driving an ambulance was one of those changes.

And then there was the other paramedic on duty: Jimmy Newark. He wasn’t even that interested in medicine as far as I knew and worked as an accountant during the day. He told us he just wanted something to fill his nights and was a slow-talking calm man with a sad-dog look about him, like he had been kicked a few too many times as a puppy. I also knew that I only ever saw him really come alive was when he was staunching a head wound or trying to resuscitate an old lady from heart failure.

It seemed he got some weird thrill from it, but he was good at his job so I never said anything.

It was me, Mary, and Jimmy. We were pretty chummy at that point and worked well together and the first few hours flew by.

We picked up a kid with a badly sprained ankle after he took a spill on some black ice and visited two seniors who had taken some party drug that had them picking at invisible scabs and babbling. I didn’t think anything of it.

It was a ten hour shift and we were four hours in. Downtown was all lights and red faces and bad music coming from somewhere. I had my flash cards out. I had been studying for the MCAT for almost a year and a half by that point and being an EMT was good practice, but it wasn't a replacement for the actual book knowledge med school would take. And I kept getting nervous.

My hands are steady and there was no end to my fascination with the weird things of the human body, but thinking about testing into competitive schools like Johns Hopkins always got me a little stomach sick. I was getting that nervous sick feeling thinking about applications when we got the call.

It came in over the radio and Mary took it right away. I didn’t hear most of the conversation since I was absorbed in my own thoughts and figured it was something like a college student slipping on a beer bottle. But it was different.

“Right, Sherman Avenue.” We made a quick U-turn and turned on our lights just as I stuffed my flashcards away into a separate compartment as to not get in the way. “Good Samaritan call-in.” Mary said over her shoulder, “an injured man off Sherman avenue. Near the park.” Jimmy leaned forward, “Cuts? Broken bones?” “Didn’t say,” Mary said and made a sharp right turn. “He said it might be a homeless guy. That he just looked bad.” “Okay,” I said and mentally prepared myself for any of the “worst” possibilities. There was a relatively small homeless population in Madison, but they were the most vulnerable to violence and the worst of the Wisconsin winter.

We made it in good time to Warner Park and I looked up just in time to see the slate grey skies starting to release little tiny puffs of snow. “Oh great,” Jimmy sighed and looked up with me. “I left one my house windows open.” 

I rolled my eyes and we pulled up to Sherman Avenue with a Goodwill across the street and dark stretches of park on the other. I sighed, “I don’t suppose there was a better tip-off for where this person actually is?” Mary stopped the engine. “Better get out and give it a quick sweep.” We usually only spend a little while looking for an injured person on busy nights like this, but Jimmy pointed first.

“There,” he said and jerked a finger up. “By the light.” There was an upright figure caught in the pure white light of the street lamp on the sidewalk and standing perfectly still. “Is he… hurt?” I asked and squinted and Jimmy was already out of the car. “What are you talking about?” He pinched his gloves on and was running, I got my own gloves on and ducked after him.

“Don’t you want the stretcher?” Mary asked, but I didn’t pause. The man looked like he was standing just fine by himself.

Snowflakes kissed my cheeks softly and I followed Jimmy’s hurried steps toward the figure. “Hold on sir! We’re coming.”

My heart was pounding and I didn’t know why. It beat it in my ears with a hot sticky pulse and my breathing was feverish and far too fast for our light jog. I blinked once, twice, and then the man was farther away. Standing in the light of the next street lamp.

“Wait,” I didn’t like this. I turned to reach for Jimmy, but there was only air besides me. I slowed and looked left and right, “Jimmy?”

Soft snow landed on the tip of my nose and there was a red and visceral scent on the breeze. I took a deep breath of it and recognized the rusty hardened stench of old blood. The type that’s been left there to turn to copper and old musty globs.

I tensed from head to foot and when I looked down there were several tiny drops of blood spattering across the sidewalk. Leading me forward. They were wet and must have been what gave the air a putrid smell.

“Jimmy?” I looked around again, but the street was empty as the wind whipped through the branches of the park trees nearby. I turned to get away from this new eerie twilight feeling.

I took a step and the toe of my shoe dipped into a small puddle of blood. I jumped back, I wasn’t a stranger to blood but it looked darker than normal and seemed to sit...wrong. It was too thick and too shiny in the light.

I stood there as if transfixed, and a soft moan crawled through the space. It matched the wind itself and crooned almost sweetly. I jerked my head up and there was the figure again.

He was standing this time inside the park itself by a bench and tall beech tree. I scanned the area around for Jimmy one more time and then figured maybe he got ahead of me. The moan weaved through the air and I reached out a hand toward it.

“Sir?” The smell of cooking meat and winter chill filled my mouth and I covered my nose with my sleeve. The man stood next to the bench, unmoving, and I tried to be rational, there’s blood. Someone’s hurt. Do your job.

I walked quickly on autopilot to get closer to the stranger. Nothing about him came into sharper focus: he was still a faded silhouette among long shadows. I did notice however there was a light I hadn’t seen before.

It was so faint you might be able to convince yourself it wasn’t there, but it burnt pale and tinted blue around his form. An outline a very determined child might have painted around someone.

I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed down the brackish scent once more as I drew closer to him. Spots of blood appeared as shiny pools on the ground. The moan was even softer now and barely audible.

“I’m here to help.” I heard myself say as I indicated the medical insignia on my jacket. The wind slapped me in the face and I winced.

I looked up and there was no one by the bench, but my gaze was driven deeper into the wooded park by a gentle light. And the figure.

I shivered and knew I needed to turn back, I needed it like water or air or a hug after a long day. But there was this smooth line of blood slithering toward him and I was walking. I tried to make it make sense- I couldn’t just leave the fellow and surely once I had him I could drag him back toward the ambulance and find Jimmy again.

I walked past the park bench and past the leafless trees and some of the slush left over from a storm a few days earlier. The snowflakes caressed my cheeks and I squinted ahead.

The moan was musical at this point and I almost started swaying along to it. I didn’t, but I found that I was still walking and walking.

The park passed by and my eyes were filled with the soft glowing blue light and the deep melodic groan that led me toward the earthy blood scent and faded outline.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away and barely noticed as the landscape opened up. The trees fell away and the wind died down and all I was left with was the smooth ground and shiftless dull winter skies. I was however aware of the crack. There was a crackling, electric sound alike to fireworks or eggshells being crunched on the floor.

The moan fell away altogether and it was quiet with only the crackling of the ground and the lovely blue light that seemed to seep inside me. A strange beckoning feeling followed. “Sir,” I whispered as I finally, finally, reached the outline, “You’re injured…”

That’s all I got out before the thing turned around and something stood before me. Featureless, blank skin and something in the middle of its face like a tearing, violent slash that you might describe as a smile. No eyes, no nose, but a jagged smile that split the face in two with the same sick crackling sound as the ground. Something shifted under me.

I gasped and looked down to see that I had stepped out onto the park lake and that’s when the utter cold swallowed me whole.

Cold and cold and freezing water engulfed my head and my vision went white. I tried to pry my eyes open, but the water was black and thick and there was only the barest hint of shine ahead. A shine like long teeth and something looming and huge just beyond me.

“Ah!” A yell like a battle cry erupted from above and I was being wrenched out of the water just as quickly as I had fallen into it.

I sputtered for air above ground.

“Don’t follow the glowing man.” A hoarse voice wheezed into my ear like a chant over and over. “Never follow the glowing man.” I passed out in a twinkling haze of shaking and murmuring.

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

I was saved by a homeless man sleeping on one of the park benches by the lake. No one on my shift remembered me leaving or where I went. All I knew was that I had followed something thoughtlessly out onto the Warner Park lake and fell in.

I asked a nurse, once, if she thought there was something in that lake, but she just gave me a funny look and said that the lake wasn’t deep enough to house much wildlife. I shut up after that.

In the years that followed I never stopped trying to help people, but sometimes I hesitated now. When it was dark, hard to see, and drops of blood littered the ground. I stopped and listened for melodic moaning in the distance.

I didn’t see anything like it again, but working the ambulance wasn’t the same. I looked around corners too much and jumped too easily at different sounds. I took the MCAT as quickly as I could and things become easier in well-lit fluorescent rooms. 

I do stop whenever I can though and give out blankets to anyone sleeping on the street and avidly tell college students and locals to avoid the lakes at night. And not to follow any trails of blood that lead you onward and onward into the dark.

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[toloveawarlord]

Ch. 3

Characters: Colette Marston and Red Army

Tagging: @plumpblueberry​ @thetwinkims​

A/N: It’s been a good while since I wrote Colette but here she is!

A gentle pat against curly blonde locks startled the young girl. Her head swiveled up; clear blue eyes glazed over with water threatening to turn into more tears. The throbbing of her heart caused her chest to ache. Why didn’t he look angry? Edgar was a master of hiding his emotions, but the death of the King of Hearts by her own hand should be called nothing short of treason.

“I can see why you’re distraught. That was quite a vision to have.”

That’s it? He’d seen what she had. Where were the handcuffs? Wouldn’t he escort her to the cells? Her head spun, unable to tear her blurry gaze away from the Jack. “But I…”

“You should be well aware that King Lancelot won’t be foiled so easily, but the protocol of your visions is to have you tip them in our favor. You’ll work on it and report back to me, alright?” He’d inform his two superiors in private. The last thing the child needed was an explosion from Jonah.

Edgar relayed the vision to Zero without one important detail. Everything remained the same. Central quarter in absolute ruin. Destruction beyond comprehension, likely the end of Cradle altogether. And finally, a hooded figure before a wounded Lancelot, about to deal the final blow. Not a mention of Colette at all.

He hadn’t seen her as the villain of their tragic future?

Colette could hardly eat the breakfast that was served and decided to dump it in the trash. She couldn’t imagine what would possess her to harm Lancelot. He’d been incredibly kind to her since she’d arrived, and unlike most adults, he also had innate magical abilities.

“Don’t let Jonah catch you or he’ll give you a lecture.”

The sudden comment startled the girl and the plate slipped from her fingers, shattering into various pieces on the floor. The racket brought out the kitchen staff.

“Ouh-” Kyle pressed his palms against his ears, shaking his head gently. His hungover state did not appreciate the loud noise. Golden eyes darted over her features, concern showing in the crease between his brows. “You look pale. How are you feeling?”

Using magic drained her energy, like all magic users, and yet it wasn’t near as severe as with Lancelot. Perhaps it was her age. Not much information was available about natural magic users since they were a rare breed. Kyle had to compile his own research and continually build it with first hand knowledge. This instance, whether magic or not, something wasn’t right.

He bent down to place the back of his hand against her forehead. “Fever.”

Colette leaned into his touch, reaching out to grab his other hand and place it against her cheek. “Your hands are cold. It feels really good.” She swayed slightly, threatening to fall over at any moment. Her whole body felt heavy.

“Yeah, you’re coming with me. I’m officially committing you to the infirmary until this fever breaks.” The doctor rarely gave any orders, but this one he’d follow through with. Not that he truly needed to. The eight year old would obey any task or request given by an officer because Lancelot had told her to.

Shuffling the child to the infirmary, Kyle carefully observed her climb onto the empty bed near the window. It allowed her to see outside even when she felt ill. She wobbled, looking fainter than before. “This new vision. Did it keep you from sleeping?”

“Yes and—” The hesitation in her voice evident.

Kyle pulled up a stool, pouring a spoonful of medicine to aid in reducing the fever and allowing her to sleep. “You know you can tell me anything and it stays between us.”

Colette’s features soured as she dutifully swallowed the liquid. “Zero had to stop me from almost falling down the stairs to the storage building. I don’t… know how I got there.” If he hadn’t grabbed her, she might have been injured or worse. Those thoughts scared her terribly.

“Hmm. That is worrisome. You’ve never slept walk with a vision before.”

“What if it happens again? What if-” She nearly choked on her own words, visibily working herself up over the endless possibilities of what could go wrong. If the abilities she possessed allowed her to move without her own consent, it would be reasonable to believe that she could also wield attack spells and harm someone.

The doctor took her trembling hands and brushed his thumbs across the back soothingly. Having a meltdown would not aid in her recovery. “Easy, kiddo. Take a deep breath.” Kyle mimicked doing so as she did. “You don’t have to worry about that right now. I’ll be here the whole time you’re asleep, alright?”

He helped her settle beneath sheet, staying by her side until her breathing evened out. Although she silently struggled, the medicine worked her into a deep sleep. Kyle moved to his desk, taking notes of all the effects of her magic. The file thick with his scribbled pages of mostly questions and a few observations. Truly, magic in humans was a vast field of unknowns.

A few soldiers came and went, receiving treatments for minor injuries. The sun had slid completely beyond the horizon, giving the moon it’s time to light the sky in a silver glow surrounded by twinkling stars. The girl still wishing to rest hid beneath the sheet, squeezing her eyes shut at the conversation beyond the cracked door.

“That’s an order, Kyle. I must speak with her straight away.” Jonah’s harsh tone laced with urgency. It came as no surprise. He always reacted in such a way whenever it came to the King of Hearts.

The Seven sighed but continued to block the doorway, his back shielding anymore light from spilling into the darkened infirmary. “You’re only going to scare her. This is why Edgar was left in charge of this particular vision. You overreact.”

“Overreact? How is one to react with the news that there is an imminent attack on King Lancelot?”

“Calmly.”

“I am calm!” Jonah snapped, not willing to back down on this subject.

Without the knowledge of how she managed to show Edgar the vision and not reveal herself in it, Colette shivered. Jonah would surely lock her away for her participation, regardless of the reason behind it. She couldn’t live with the harsh judgement that would reside behind those amber eyes that used to be soft and kind when directed at her.

No, facing Jonah was simply too much.

Silently moving to the end of the bed, the girl unlocked the window and shoved the pane upward to escape. The task much harder than anticipated. Her knee dug into the sill, sending a wave of pain up her leg. Colette tumbled forward, rolling unceremoniously across the shrub beneath before smacking into the freshly watered soil of the flowerbed. “Ouch.”

A shadow fell over her. Matching clear blue eyes met as the young Two of Hearts turned her gaze upwards. Being caught by a patrol guard might have been less embarrassing. Her dress sullied with stains of green and brown, blonde curls stuck with twigs and leaves. Not the least bit presentable to be found by their prestigious leader.

“What is the meaning of this, Colette?”

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

Crossover!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

This is for @goldenalchemicromance, who requested a crossover(kind of?) with Inuyasha and Fullmetal Alchemist! I hope you enjoy it!

>Admin 𝕋

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Bloody roars of an injured demon echoed throughout the meadowed field. Above it stood a man with red clothing, and a sword as big as himself. His long blonde hair was caked with blood, and his ears twitching in an attempt to hear if there were any enemies nearby. 

“I think that should be the last of them.” he called out to the girl behind him. His companion and lover, (y/n). She had her bow and arrow ready, in case she needed to help Ed. But, luckily, the demons were weak enough for only one of them to fight. 

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I would’ve been able to shoot.” she mumbled, buckling to the ground, her bow and arrows falling to the ground. 

“(y/n)!” Ed shouted, putting his Testusaiga away quickly, and ran towards her. He caught her before she could completely fall onto the ground, and now is when he sees the she had been injured by one of the enemies before he could kill them. He gritted his teeth, baring them to the dead carcass. “Shit...I thought I had it before it could have done anything to you. Are you okay?” he asked her, searching for where the wound was and finding it on her arm. It was deep, clearly an imprint of teeth marks. “We need to get you to Granny Tsunade before this gets any worse.” Ed muttered and lifted her up. 

(y/n)’s vision was blurry, fading from the colors of the sky to black. She was trying to stay conscious, but it was getting difficult. It seemed that there was some sort poison working its way through her body. “E-Ed...There’s poison...You have to hurry.” she told him, her voice rugged and low.

Ed shuddered to think what could happen to his lover if he didn’t make it. So, with determination, he moved faster through the forest, dodging branches, and swiftly coursing through trees, until finally he was at Tsunade’s village. Luckily, their little battle was close to here. Ed saw Tsunade in the fields, picking some herbs for medicine, and he went straight for her. “Tsunade!” he shouted, catching her attention. 

“Oh my dear boy, what has happened?” she asked, dropping her basket of herbs and wobbling toward Ed and (y/n).

“She was bitten by a demon, and it had some sort of venom in it. She’s burning up, and her breathing is ragged. I-I don’t know what to do.” Ed said, his tone sounding panicky almost. Tsuande gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

“Everything will be okay. Let’s get her to my house, so I can’t give her an antidote.” Tsunade told him. Ed nodded and carried (y/n), hoping and praying that she was going to be okay.

Once there, Ed set (y/n) down gently onto the bedding, wiping the sweat off her forehead, his eyes glimmering with concern. “Tsunade, please, don’t let her die.” he pleaded. The old woman nodded seriously, then turned back to the fire, where she was concocting the antidote. It would take awhile, seeing as it needed to be heated and the herbs had to melt altogether, but she was sure she would have enough time to make sure that (y/n) would survive. She just hoped that nothing happens in between then. 

But when she heard a loud bang, an animalistic growl, and villagers screaming, she knew she should have held her tongue. Ed gazed to the entrance of the the house from (y/n) and cursed. “I think its friends came to finish the job.” he told Tsunade, getting from her side and taking a hold of Tetsusaiga. “Like hell I’m going to let them hurt her even more.” 

Running out of the entrance, Ed took his sword out and watched as it grew in size, ready to fight the monster that hurt (y/n). They were bigger than their dead comrade, thicker in skin too. There were two of them, with sharp teeth, the same ones that hurt his beloved. They were both coming at him with great speed, but that didn’t frighten him one bit. Instead, it made him grin, and he chuckled, excited to completely obliterate the two demons. Jumping up to the roof of the house, the blonde half demon watched as they flew towards him, their jaws wide open in an attempt to eat him up. 

Unfortunately for them, Ed lifted his sword toward them and inhaled slowly, feeling the power of the Testusaiga course though his body, the sword itself also wanting the blood of these demons. And in a quiet whisper in the wind, a command, Ed waved the sword, “Windscar.”

A light of power so great, it shook the land, flew toward the enemy, and in an instant they were decimated. Nothing but scraps of meat in nothing but seconds. For such a low level demon to hurt (y/n), and for him to let it happen, it was disgraceful. But, for now, she was safe and sound, the only that really mattered.

Ed sheathed his sword and huffed out a breath of air as he scanned the horizon. Seeing no enemy in sight, he decided to go back into the hut to see how (y/n) was doing. 

Her breathing had become more erratic, and her sweating had gotten worse. Furrowing his eyebrows in frustration and quickly went to her side, and shouted towards Tsunade, “What the hell are you doing, she’s getting worse!” 

As he kept berating her, Tsunade left her gaze in the pot in the fire, and watched as it boiled, until finally she determined it finished. Grabbing a ladle, she fished out some of the liquid contents and put it in a small bowl and blew away some of the steam. She noticed that Ed stopped his complaints and was quiet now, as she scooted over to the hay bed and spooned some of the antidote, holding it up to her mouth. But, Tsunade soon realized (y/n) wouldn’t be able to drink it herself, seeing her whole body was becoming paralyzed. “Edward,” she said calmly, giving him the bowl. “You’re going to have to feed her, mouth to mouth.”

When he heard the last sentence, he could feel his cheeks burn, and he sputtered, looking between Tsunade and (y/n). There was no way he wasn’t going to do it, but there was no way that he was going to do it with Tsunade watching. “Can you uh, go outisde for a bit?” he asked, bashful now. Tsunade huffed out a laugh and shook her head as she left the hut. 

Ed held the bowl of antidote tightly as he watched (y/n) pant and sweat, looking as if she was coming close to death already. Wasting no time, Ed swallowed his embarrassed and drank the liquid without swallowing, then bent down close to (y/n)’s lip, his own heart beating fast. It really wasn’t the time to dwell on what he was about to do, so he just dove in, connecting his lips to hers and forced the antidote into her mouth. It was hard at first, (y/n) not responding until the very end, where she then started to swallow the contents. It made Ed breathe out his nose in relief, glad that she was taking it in with no problems.

The half demon did it two more times before all of the antidote was completely gone. Putting the bowl down, he laid down next to her, wrapping his arms around her middle as she continued to sweat out the venom. He held her tightly, hoping this eased her pain even just a little bit. 

“E-Ed..” (y/n) struggled to whisper out.

“I’m here, (y/n), I’m here.” he comforted, soothing her hair out of her face, kissing her cheek gently. “I’ll always be here.”

[goddessofeternity]

Inari’s Den

Chapter 2: Counterstrike 

I sighed deeply, inhaling all of the crisp fall air that I could as the season rolled in. Summer was ending and I was glad for it, it meant some of my favorite holidays would soon be approaching. I held my injured stomach in discomfort as I remembered my fight a few days ago. That bastard had put up a tough fight and I had to make sure to fatally wound him the next time. I know he probably survived that wound I gave him. I cursed at my mistake. My parents were just glad that I had made it back alive. My father was more than overprotective, but I never complained about it. The last few years have been difficult for our family. I wouldn’t complain about their smothering of me no matter what happened. I shook out of my thoughts and bowed my head in front of our large shrine. I prayed with all my heart that this war would be over soon. I wanted that family to burn in hell for the torment they had caused us. We had sacrificed too much because of them, I could not stand for it anymore. The ground beneath me grew hot in my anger. My parents told me to have better control of my emotions, especially during times of war. I couldn’t help that the thought of that family made me see red.

“Izumi…” My ears flicked back as I looked over my shoulder. My father smiled down at me and I stood to hug him. “Getting angry while praying will upset the gods Izumi.”

“Father...you should be resting.” I rubbed his arms as he chuckled down at me. The bags under his eyes told me quite the story. He was starting to get stressed out over the war and he had collapsed from exhaustion a week ago. My father was a stubborn workaholic through and through. My mother and I could never get him to relax no matter how hard we tried. I was sure that he didn’t expect to run into me, and was probably sneaking off to train.

“My daughter, you know that I can’t do that. We have too much to gain and lose from all of this.”

“Well Mother and I can’t lose you either. Our home is just as important as you are.” He chuckled and I hugged him close and settled under his chin. I didn’t like to think of myself as a daddy’s girl, but I couldn’t help it at times. I was very protective of both of my parents and this war made all of us a bit overbearing. I’m sure my mother was probably looking for us, my father especially. “Come on...let’s walk back home…”

I didn’t miss the reluctance on his face as I wrapped my arm around his and led him down the path back to our home. Being hurt did have its advantages, because I could relax and not feel the weight of war on my shoulders. It also meant I could eat my mother’s mochi cakes. My stomach flipped in anticipation just thinking about them and I walked faster to our home. We approached the village and many stopped their activities to bow and wave at us. I always did my best to greet everyone and let them know their hard work was appreciated. Without all of them, our family wouldn’t be the strong unit it was. As we approached our home, I could smell the mochi and I looked at my father excitedly. He chucked and patted my head as the maids opened the doors for us.

“Mother! We’re back!” My mother walked out of the kitchen cleaning off her hands before she gently grasped my face and kissed my forehead. She stopped for a second to glare at my father before they shared a quick kiss. “I think he was trying to sneak away again…”

“Yes I figured that’s what happened...you are going to get yourself into trouble if you don’t stop doing that.” My father looked away from her and I took the chance to head to the kitchen.

“Izumi….” Damn it.

“Yes Mother?”

“None until you take your medicine and you eat dinner.”

“Mother...I think I can get a pass right?” I fluttered my lashes at her and my father chuckled over her shoulder. She elbowed him in the rib and he cleared his throat quickly.

“Listen to your mother Izumi. Go ahead and take your medicine.” I pouted and they chuckled at me as I went ahead to down that awful substance. I took a peek into the kitchen as I walked by though. I would have snuck a piece but my mother always knew when I was up to something. I never really got away with anything in my youth because of her omniscience abilities, well...until I developed some of my own. I’d be a good daughter though and do as I was told. Besides, the faster I felt better, the quicker I could be back on the field.

The faster I would finally be able to kill him.

“Yamaguchi-sama...here is your medicine.” I tried not to frown as our family doctor handed me the disgusting liquid. The brown color didn’t make the situation easier and the scent made me gag. “It would be best to plug your nose my lady.”

“R-Right…” Holding my nose, I quickly swallowed the medicine and shivered as my hair stood on end. I sat still as our doctor looked my body over for the fourth time that day. “You don’t have to keep looking me over...you said that I’m already healing fantastically.”

“Yes but your parents want me to make sure of it...I think you know why too Yamaguchi`sama…”

“Yes…” My ears fell as I cursed at myself. I told myself I would not complain and I did it anyway. Awful memories flooded back into my mind, and I shook them away before they consumed me again. The clan did not need to see its future head crumble over the past, I had to think of only the future. Thinking about the future meant wiping the Igarashi clan off the face of the map. 

A task I was all too happy to plan for.

~~~

“Izumi...I need you to be more careful on these expeditions.”

“Yes Father….” My father sighed deeply as I stared him  down. It wasn’t unusual to find the two of us in a stare off when I did something reckless. My recent fight had almost given my mother a heart attack. Our garden was still recovering from the wildfire my father almost unleashed upon it. 

“We need you to carry on our legacy. I will step down soon enough and your mother and I need to be confident that you can handle it. That means you have to make better choices, not only for yourself but the clan.”

“I understand...but we need to erase them. This war has gone on for far too long. I want to end this. We deserve to live in peace after everything they have taken from us. I’m tired of not doing anything. We have to keep this advantage since we destroyed their rice fields.”

“......” My father sighed again as he stood up and paced around the meeting room. My mother patted my hand as the temperature rose. I hated these moments of doing nothing. Rest only makes people weak and then they lose their edge, an edge I needed to keep sharp for my family and people. “We need to finish this...I agree with you on that front, Izumi.”

“How are we going to do that my love? The Igarashi clan has moved closer to our territory. It won’t be long before they take a bolder approach.”

“How soon would they do that though? A massive source of their food was burned to a crisp. They are going to be too busy recovering to counterattack so soon.”

“Regardless...we have to-”

“HELP!!!” I jumped to my feet quickly and ran out of the room outside. One of the servants was convulsing on the floor. She was foaming at the mouth and her eyes started to roll back in her head. More of the servants ran to her aid, but I could smell the sudden shift in the air. She was dying and we could do nothing to stop it. Her body arched up terribly before she just stopped moving altogether.

“What happened to her?!” I knelt beside the dead woman and looked her over. My father and mother showed up not too soon after to examine her. “Answer me!”

“S-She only took a sip of water! She didn’t have anything else besides that all day…” She began to whimper and cry before my mother led her out of the room. My father stood and we both looked over the pitcher of water perched on the table. Taking a tentative sniff, I couldn’t smell anything different about it. It seemed like plain water, but I suppose that was the point.

“Poison…” My father grit his teeth in anger as he looked at my mother walk back into the room. “Did she tell you anything else mother?”

“I asked her how long ago did she drink it, and she said about 20 minutes ago. So we have an incredibly fast acting poison.”

“That damn Igarashi family!” I waved away the sudden burst of flames that surrounded my father as he stormed out the room down the hall, my mother and I close behind. “Our water comes from only one source, and they’ve poisoned it! Men! To my side!”

My father’s voice traveled quickly through the compound and it was seconds after the echo ended that his task force appeared around us. My father never told me much about them, but I would be informed more about them when I become the head. Their masked faces told me volumes though, they handled the more “dirtier” aspects of this war. 

“All the water that was recently collected remove it from the villagers' homes at once! No one drinks anything that hasn’t been in their home for the past few days. We have no idea when they could have done this. Inform the villagers that the lake will be drained.”

“Father! That water was blessed by the gods many years ago! That is sacred water...we can’t drain it!”

“Izumi! We have no choice! Would you rather we lose more people!? Think about the cons of the situation, daughter!”

“What happens now? The only other fresh water is up in the mountains, and it’s dangerous on those mountains because of the night creatures.”

“We will have to make due with what we have for now.” The men around us dispersed and I felt my own temper rise. Someone would have to have gotten in close to poison our water. One of them was in our territory, they could have launched an assault against us, but why didn’t they? Unless it was that bastard Takeshi...if it was him then he just added more fuel to my hatred for him. I should have known that family would try such tactics, and at least we attacked their fields head on.

My parents went back and forth with each other about what should be done, but I walked away. This had to be handled sooner rather than later. My injuries were the last thing on my mind as I walked into my room and got dressed. As I was tightening my bandages, a noise made me turn, and I stood quickly as my mother looked me over with an unimpressed glare.

“Mother I was just-”

“Going to confront the Igarashi family?”

“.....”

“Izumi...you have your fathers impatience and stubbornness. What exactly is your plan?” She walked over to me and helped dress me, and I looked at her surprised. “I can’t stop you now can I? I might as well make sure you are protected. Now what is your plan?”

“To kill Takeshi Igarashi.”

“That has always been the plan, daughter.” After tying back my hair, she faced me towards her with a fierce gaze. “I will not let you leave until you give me something more concrete.”

I opened my mouth ready to retort, but I found my words failing me. I...I didn’t really have a plan. I just wanted to get out there and end them. I was frustrated with the fact that they could have almost destroyed us easily. Others could be dead right now and we wouldn’t know about it until later. Either of my parents could have been the victim to that poison. It would have been the end of us just that fast. And I would not stand to fall that easily after over a hundred years of fighting. I guess I have my fathers pride for than I thought I did.

“I...I just want them to suffer…” I felt my spirit start to drain as I sighed deeply. My mother pulled me into her arms and gently rubbed my ears. That simple gesture always made me feel better. Whenever I was down, a simple stroke on my ears was all I needed.

“We have to be smart, Izumi...always, especially in times of war. We have lost...far...far too much…” I felt her tremble as she held me, and I blinked away the fresh tears that threatened to fall down my cheeks.

“We have to do something mother...we have too…” She held me at arms length and we silently stared at each other.

“Izumi….did you have a vision?” Her eyes slitted as she said it. I had been having visions since I was very young. It was not odd for a kitsune to have such abilities, but they had never been more than little mundane things. Ever since the war had begun, my visions had become more dangerous. We had only taken them more seriously when...well we should have from the start. Our naivete cost us more than we could have ever imagined. It was something that still kept my mother awake at night.

“I haven’t had any visions, mother...it’s been years since I’ve had one. I would tell you and father right away if I did have one.” She smiled a bit before brushing my hair from my face. She leaned her forehead against mine before gently kissing it.

“Think of a plan Izumi...we can talk about it later. Your father and I will deal with this poison issue. Go and train instead alright?”

“Yes mother…” As she walked away, I went over to my swords and ran my hands over their sheaths. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you feel his cold dead corpse at your other end. I promise that you will get your chance.”

I had to think of the best course of action to take. Our armies were strong and we’d done a good job over the years, but we had to change the tide somewhere. My mother wanted me to make a plan then so be it. I would do what I must to make sure that everyone survives this coming battle. I had to strike while the iron was hot. 

I already had an idea of what it was that I would be doing, and this time I would not fail. Takeshi Igarashi would lose his life to my blades when they cross again, and nothing would stop me from achieving my goal. 

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

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[foursideharmony]

Collateral Damage (Part 2)

Summary: Roman gets into trouble while questing in the Imagination. Rescue arrives, but will the rescuer be all right?

Word Count: 1,372

Relationship(s): Platonic LAMP, with some extra Prinxiety focus

Warnings: It's a whump/hurt/comfort fic, sooooo... Pain, blood, loss of consciousness, description of wounds, general unhappiness, swearing, poison, sickness, clinic/hospital setting, arguing (mild)

“...ncey! Roman!”

Roman came to with a start. Virgil was bent over him, close to panic.

“Oh...there you are, Phase Two,” Roman mumbled with as much pep as he could muster, which was next to none.

“Phase...what are you talking about? Are you delirious?”

The ache of his wounds came back in a rush, and Roman winced. “Not yet.” He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, failed, and weighed the pros and cons of just passing out again.

“No! Stay awake, Roman! You need help and I don't know how to get you back by myself!”

“Right,” Roman said with a little more force. He focused through the pain and summoned a small glass bottle. “Here, give this to Logan when we get back.”

“Didn't you hear me?” Virgil said, coming down off his fright enough that his voice stopped resonating. “I don't know how to get back, Prince Pain-in-the-Butt! I only got here in the first place by following your beacon! Which, by the way,” he added, poking Roman's nose (which was one of the few parts of him not pulsing with pain), “don't set up little magic whatevers that are going to involve the rest of us without telling us first. It's just rude, okay? Come on—can you stand?”

“I guess I'm about to find out,” said Roman.

It took a long time for them to get him upright, and at every step there was more pain and a brief spell of lightheadedness. Roman was sure his ribs were at least bruised, if not cracked, and his thorn-inflicted wounds felt like fire.

“You look like crap,” said Virgil. “Seriously, you're pouring sweat. What did he do to you?”

“I'll be fine as long as you give Logan the bottle,” Roman said.

“So we're going with cryptic? I hope this means you're saving your detailed explanations for how to get back to the mindscape from here.”

“Oh. Right,” said Roman. “That's easy—it's through the red door.”

“Okay, and where is the red door?”

“Wherever you need it to be.”

“Roman!”

“Find a corridor and explore until you see it. It shouldn't take more than a minute or two.”

“O...kay... Come on, then. We're walking now.”

Roman, leaning hard on Virgil for support and now also direction, concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and let himself drift...

~~~~~

Virgil was worried. First of all because that was his job, and second of all because anyone would be worried in these circumstances. Roman had gone unsettlingly quiet. He was still walking, more or less—his legs were moving and his feet were hitting the floor at approximately the right angle—but his lack of response suggested that either he wasn't properly conscious and was moving on autopilot, or had withdrawn into himself to prevent losing consciousness altogether.

It was probably for the best. Roman had obviously been in a lot of pain while they were talking, which meant he was probably hurt pretty badly, and Virgil didn't think he could pick the prince up and carry him without aggravating his injuries. He wasn't bleeding too badly, but the wounds looked very irritated, the surrounding flesh red and swollen. He was developing a waxy pallor to go with the sweating, and that set off all kinds of alarm bells.

Virgil shifted, shouldering more of Roman's weight, and gently steered him toward the nearest archway leading out of the hall. Sure enough, it was a corridor, and Virgil turned the first corner he came to and there was the red door, at the end of the adjoining hallway. “Small favors,” he muttered, all but dragging Roman toward it in his haste to get him to safety and help.

As soon as they were through, in Roman's room proper, Virgil began calling to his fellow Sides, using the Tempest Tongue deliberately, this time, to instill the necessary dismay. “Logan! Patton! We have an emergency here!” He continued to guide Roman out of the room, and the other two met them in the hallway, converging from wherever in the mindscape they had been.

“Oh no, Roman!” Patton wailed. “What happened to him?”

“The Duke,” Virgil said simply. “I didn't see everything, but it took a lot just to get him standing, and...” He dropped his voice for no reason that he could identify. “...I think he's been poisoned.”

Patton made a horrified gasp.

“Roman?” Logan said firmly. “Respond if you can hear me, please.”

“Mmnn,” went Roman. “M'here. Ow.”

“What do we do?” Patton squeaked.

“Firstly, we remain calm,” said Logan. “Secondly, we should move Roman to a location where we can more readily evaluate and treat his injuries.”

“Where's that?” said Virgil. “I don't think we should try carrying him downstairs. It's been worrying enough getting him this far in the shape he's in.”

“Hmmm...” Logan mused. “I know just the place.” He made a sweeping gesture, and the hallway swiveled around them, blurring...and reformed as no less than a medical examination room. Logan's black shirt collar and striped tie peeked out from between the lapels of a white lab coat, and there was a stethoscope slung around his shoulders. Patton and Virgil found themselves dressed in clinical scrubs—Patton's were light blue with a pattern of cartoon dogs dressed as healthcare personnel, and Virgil's were lavender with black bats and spiders.

“Oh,” Virgil said in a small voice. “The Mind Palace clinic.”

Roman lay on the examination table, having settled back into a fitful unconsciousness. Patton immediately went to the cupboards lining one wall of the room and began stacking a tray with rolls of gauze and antiseptic pads sealed in their packaging. Logan manifested a clipboard and began looking over the ailing prince and making notes.

“His temperature is up,” he observed. “I believe you are correct, Virgil. His symptoms are consistent with the presence of a toxin in his bloodstream, and the inflammation of these wounds suggests the vector. Well done.”

Virgil suddenly remembered the bottle Roman had given him and fumbled with his outfit until he found it in a pocket. “I think he knew. He said to give you this.” He set it on Patton's tray as the Moral Side carried it over to the table, getting a good look at himself in the process. It was small enough to fit comfortably in the hand and contained about an ounce and a half of what looked like soda water mixed with a few pinches of gold and silver glitter. It was stopped with a cork, and there was a piece of card attached to it via a slender red ribbon looped around the neck.

Logan picked it up and peered at the card. “Antidote #2,” he read. “Unfortunately, there seems to be no information regarding dosage or even method of administration.”

“I'm no expert or anything,” said Patton, “but if the poison is in his blood, shouldn't we give the antidote to him the same way? Like a shot?”

“It isn't quite that simple, Patton, to say nothing of the concerns regarding timing and—”

“Guys,” Virgil cut in. “You're missing the obvious. This is one of Princey's magic potions. It's not gonna take rocket surgery to figure out.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Rockets are manufactured objects, not living creatures. The practice of surgery does not apply to them.”

“I mean this is simpler than you're making it out to be. It's a potion in a pretty bottle. Get him to drink it.”

Now the Logical Side frowned. “Under the circumstances, that would be...extremely reckless.”

On the table, Roman whimpered in his swoon.

“Okay, you two, enough. Let's not forget what we're actually doing here,” said Patton. He briskly stripped the wrapper off an antiseptic pad and went to work cleaning Roman's scratches. Roman flinched at the touch of the stinging medicine, and Patton leaned down to him. “Roman? Kiddo, can you wake up for us for just a minute? We need to ask you something.”

After a bit more coaxing, Roman opened his eyes a crack. “That's it, just like that,” Patton said in a voice brimming with warmth. “I'll make this quick for you, Roman...we have your antidote but we don't know how we should give it to you. Can you please tell us? Are you able to do that?”

Roman blinked a few times, as if processing Patton's words. Grimacing heavily, he propped himself up on one elbow into a half-sitting position and reached the other hand out half-blindly. “Bottle,” he croaked. Logan quickly handed it to him, and the prince flicked the cork out with his thumb, downed the contents in only a few seconds, and let both the bottle and himself fall—it smashed on the floor, while he flopped back onto the table.

“Told you,” Virgil said quietly.

Shaking his head in a way that was impossible to interpret, Logan joined Patton in resuming treatment of Roman's injuries. Virgil found himself at loose ends—there wasn't really room for a third clinician at the examination table, and without a physical activity to perform, he had no way to distract himself from the unnerving atmosphere of the setting. He found himself backing against the counter where the scrub sink was and drumming his fingers against the hard surface. The hollow-backed stainless steel rang like a cymbal.

“Virg?” said Patton without taking his eyes off his task. “Are you okay over there?”

“Yeah...it's just...I don't have anything to do, and I'm...not digging the whole hospital thing.”

“You are not obligated to stay,” said Logan. “We have this well in hand.”

“I just don't feel right, leaving while Roman still needs help.”

Now they did look up. “You did help him,” said Patton. “You pulled him out of danger and brought him to us, so we can help. Go ahead and get some rest; you're looking pretty worn out.”

Apparently it had taken the observation by another Side for Virgil to notice his own exhaustion, but he suddenly felt his energy take a nosedive. “Yeah,” he agreed, rubbing his face with the heels of his hands. “The rescue took something out of me.” He threw a two-fingered salute and sank out.

He arrived in his room, back in his usual casual attire and bone-weary. He didn't bother to shuck off his hoodie or even kick off his shoes before flopping face-down onto his bed.

After a moment, he rolled over onto his back, wiped sweat from his brow, and dropped off asleep.

To Be Continued...

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[storytimefromthecreed]

Something Blue, Something Borrowed

(3)

“How is he?” Demetri asked, eyeing the door. Just on the other side, was the final member of their band. At the top of the clock tower, the Frenchmen were able to watch over the city. The velvety night gave the illusion of rest, and for a moment they could enjoy it. They could pretend things were like they were before.

“Things may not be as they were before,” Arno had said once, “but moving forward isn’t necessarily an ending.” Why he said that so soberly, none of them knew, but his words of wisdom echoed in their minds.

Returning presently, the men stood in various stages of distress. Phillip by the door, having just stepped outside from his patient. Demetri pacing the small length of the tower’s crumbled ledge, hands clasped behind his back being the only indication that he was his father’s son. Gerard standing completely still beside the point they leapt from, absorbing the conversation and all that had occurred that night.

Phillip confessed, choosing his words wisely. “I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Demetri scoffed. The heat from his tone began to tint his cheeks, barely noticeable under his close-cut beard. The skin under his eyes were bruised, and his hair flopped out of its casual messy style to a slick, unkempt tussle. Evidence of sweaty hands palming it all evening. Perhaps even the evening before. “Aren’t you a doctor? What do you mean you don’t know?” Phillip took a step back, and Demetri clasped the bridge of his nose and concentrated on his breathing. When he spoke next, Demetri was kinder. “I apologies, mon ami. Given the circumstances...” Demetri caught himself and inhaled again. When he opened his eyes, he said, “Non. You’re going through the same as I. Putting my emotions before yours is not right. Je suis desole, Phillip.”

A moment passed before Phillip took Demetri’s forearm. “There’s nothing to forgive.” He said, pulling Demetri into a hug before pushing away and resting a hand on his shoulder. “We’re all worried.”

Demetri’s current burnt out state was reflected amongst the group. Phillip’s normally clean cheeks were beginning to darken from where his beard fighting through. Even sending Gerard home for rest and to be with his family wasn’t working as his eyes were unfocused and tired.

When they pulled apart, Gerard asked, “Phillip, what do you think?”

“Honestly?” Running a hand through his hair, the stress began to show on the youngest Frenchmen. “Observation is needed. I gave him more meds to sleep, but that’s not a long-term solution.” Explaining it as non-threatening as he could, Phillip continued, “Keeping him asleep doesn’t prove his innocence either. From the examinations, Arno has been getting fights. By the look of the wounds, he’s been doing this frequently with some wounds not healed yet.”

Gerard hissed, rubbing a hand over his face, and pulling down his mouth. “Why didn’t he tell us? Why didn’t he think he could come to us?”

“Given what happened last time he was with the Assassins? I don’t blame him.” Demetri countered, gesturing between the three of them. “We’ve not been in his position, so who are we to say how he should act?”

“He did also say he wanted nothing to do with the life.” Phillip added, voicing what they all knew.

Tension hung in the air, and Demetri cleared this with his throat. “The wounds. Anything to pin him to a certain fight? A location? Here’s what we learned…” As the men shared what they learned in the palace, worry began to set on Phillip’s brow as he nodded along.

“If he’s having, I’m not sure what to call it, an episode?” Phillip said softly, “Then it is important we figure out a way for him to have his best quality of life while protecting those around him. Or, if something is triggering it, how to find and control that trigger. Even then,” Phillip said solemnly, “I cannot guarantee that’s going to stop him.”

“So,” Gerard rose a brow. “You believe he’s responsible for....”

“The attacks?” Demetri finished. The feeling of lead settling in their stomachs.

Phillip looked to the sky, collecting himself before speaking. When he finally did, he looked between his friends, his brothers. “I know nothing of his paternal medical history. Who knows if this runs in his family or...”

Demetri hissed, Gerard growled, and Phillip leaned against the door. They stood there silently a moment before Demetri slapped his hand to his forehead. The sound startled the other men. “We have that meeting tonight.”

“Merde.” Gerard shook his head. Pierre Bellec, son of that Bellec had returned to the Brotherhood. Working tirelessly to undo his damage his father wrought and rid himself of his shame. Gerard didn’t mind the man, but it was the meeting he was dreading.

The meetings at the Bureau were slowly turning from their usual monthly events to weekly, and the pressure to mend France and keep the Templars at bay was difficult enough without a killer running around. Tempers were beginning to fray, and none felt the oncoming storm more than Gerard who, as the new leader of the Frenchmen, was under the ever-observing eyes of the Mentors. It wasn’t that his was the only group running around the land, of which there are dozens, but they were watched solely for what Phillip lovingly called the Dorian factor.

The Dorian factor was simply this, Arno had a way of making impressions. With his entrance to his removal from the Brotherhood, the Assassins kept a close eye on Arno to see what he would do next. The Mentors would’ve intervened when he made the decision to live as a civilian had Gerard, Demetri, and Phillip not insisted against. They ensured them their work would not be affected by keeping an eye on Arno, and that he would cause no problem for the Brotherhood.

That was a year ago.

Then, with the entrance of Pierre, the Assassins’ attentions were moved. Unfortunately for the Frenchmen, this was not a good thing. People loved Pierre. He had a way of speaking that assured one that he spoke from the heart. That his word was good and true. Phillip wanted to get to know him, Demetri disliked him, and Gerard hadn’t yet formed an opinion.

“The Mentors are going to make him join us.” Demetri straightened from his slump to stride to the door dramatically bang his forehead against it. “If that’s the case, give me the same medicine you gave Arno so I may sleep through the pain.”

Phillip rolled his eyes, a small smile pushing up the corners of his mouth. “They’re not going to make him join us. Pierre has enough on his plate. Training the novices, working with the Masters-”

“Have you been speaking with him?” Demetri squinted over his shoulder.

Catching himself, Phillip’s jaw dropped, and his eyes went wide. The trio waited a moment, and Demetri’s gaze intensified. Finally, Phillip put his hands up, gave a sheepish smile, and took a step back. “Now Demetri-”

“Are you serious?!” Demetri leapt forward, and Gerard got between them with barely a second to spare.

“Enough.” Gerard said, but Demetri was too angry and he struggled to hold him back.

“Am I the only one who’s not given up on him yet?” He looked between the men he called his friends. “Am I the only one who remembers everything he went through? This looks bad, I know, but I’m giving Arno the benefit of the doubt! There’s no way in hell Pierre is joining! I’d rather work nights by myself in the southern perimeter than let that scum-”

“Hey! I’m not saying that.” Phillip made a step, but Gerard silenced him with a look.

Turning around, he shoved Demetri back. “Enough? Huh? Had enough, tough guy?” Every time Demetri took a step, Gerard pushed back until he finally gave up and glared at the man. Gerard, unbothered by the sharp grey steel piercing up at him, stood firm. “Demetri, you’ve been awake for two days.” Demetri’s eyes cut to Phillip, but Gerard cocked his head to the side to catch the look. “Do you understand me?” Gerard asked, moving to cover Phillip, and steeling his voice. “Go home. Go to sleep. Check on your plants, check on the cats, sleep for at least 7 hours, and then come back.” Gerard looked over his shoulder and glared at Phillip. “Stay with Arno until he wakes up. Understood?”

“What about the meeting?” Phillip began, but Gerard cut him off with a look. “Oui, Monsieur.”

Demetri threw Gerard’s hands off him and turned the way they’d came. Wind whipped his green coat behind him like a pair of wings. “I’ll sleep after the meeting.” Before Gerard could reply, he dropped. Giving Phillip one last stern look, Gerard followed Greencoat.

Steps echoing off the cobblestone, the pair hurried into the Bureau. Arriving just in time, it seemed, as the meeting had just begun. “Thank you for your patience.” Gerard began, stepping into the center of the room. Staring up at the Mentors peering down at him, Gerard, who stood at 1.8m, the tallest of the Frenchmen, looked very small. Demetri remained on the sideline. His arms crossed and hackles raised, ready to interject if the need arose.

“We understand you’ve been short staffed as of late.” Victoria began, shifting through papers. Gerard kept his face composed, but Demetri grit his teeth. It seemed this meeting would be straight to the jugular then.

Squaring his shoulders back, Gerard nodded. “We have. Greencoat, La Phantome, and I have been patrolling the city since the incidents occurred, and we believe-”

“Believe?” Marcos pffted. Leaning in, his eyes darkened. “What have you to show for it?”

“We found-”

“And where’s Arno?” Edmond asked, furrowing his brow.

“Yes. Where is Monsieur Dorian, Axeman?” Victoria repeated, “I find it rather strange that an Assassin in blue is committing these crimes and no one has had eyes on Monsieur Dorian.”

“We have.” Gerard rose his voice, and then quickly lowered it. Remembering his place, he repeated, “We have, Mentor. Arno is working at his cafe full time. He’s hung up his robes. We know this for certain.”

“I think we need more information.” Edmond countered, looking at the other Masters and dismissing Axeman altogether. “Considering the only people to see Dorian are his friends.”

Demetri shifted to join Gerard but a shadow to his left beat him to it. “Mentors, please.” A crisp, melodic voice interjected. “I mean no disrespect.” He rose his voice and cleared the distance in three strides. Bright blue eyes caught each of the Mentors’ eyes, and they frowned. But listened. The Assassins on the sidelines whispered comments to one another. Pierre waited until silence had fallen before speaking again. “This is a trying time for us all, and we’re all doing our best. Axeman and his group have done more good in this time than what is uncounted for. We didn’t gather here to bring out our frustrations on one another, but to work on bettering France together. Correct?” Allowing the weight of his words to settle, Pierre brought himself upright. “If anyone is to blame for the mistrust among our Brotherhood, it’s me and my blood.” Whispers resounded along the crowd, but Pierre ignored these and spoke only to the Mentors. Even Demetri and Axeman found themselves entranced. “Had my father not spilled blood between Assassins, not killed another Mentor, we would be more trusting of one another. It is because of these things,” Pierre stood tall. “I will find this killer. Alone. No one need to bare the shame of the Brotherhood than I. Though I doubt this person is an Assassin since we would never stoop so low as to murder innocents. I volunteer to find this killer. Along with my duties here, of course.”

As his speech settled, Demetri blinked. He hadn’t been aware he’d been holding his breath. His jaw ached from the stress he held in it. The Mentors spoke lowly to one another, causing the rest of the Assassins to lean in. Finally, they broke apart and Victoria spoke. “So be it. Pierre Bellec, you’re leading charge against this killer.” Pierre smiled, and Gerard and Demetri relaxed. They’d still be able to walk out with their hides. “But not alone.” Their smiles dropped. Victoria’s eyes landed on Gerard. “Axeman, since you’re in need, Pierre will be aiding you in your patrols and you’ll be aiding him with finding this killer.”

“And,” Edmond interjecting, scowling as always. “Bring Arno Dorian to us. Immediately.”

“Of course.” Gerard bowed his head and the Mentors excused them. They were bringing about the next meeting when Gerard exited the center. Striding past Demetri, making Demetri jog to catch up, Gerard heading out for some air.

Once outside, he groaned. “Greencoat, what the hell just happened?”

“You did well, Axeman. Better than I or Ghost could have done, and certainly better than any of those inside.” Demetri assured them. The sound of running footsteps made them turn, and they found Pierre staring between them.

“Apologies, Monsieurs Axeman et Greencoat.”

Gerard waved him in. “Peace, Pierre. Axeman and Greencoat are fine, merci.” Pierre walked towards them with a smile, and Demetri crossed his arms and looked to the stars. They were holding strong, but the soft pinks of morning would banish them soon.

“I wanted you to know that I had no intention for that meeting to end how it did. I am so sorry.” Pierre began and Gerard gripped the bridge of his nose. Pierre rubbed the back of his neck and shyly looked to his shoes. “Listen, the Mentors don’t need to know we’re not working together. I don’t mind helping you with your patrols, if you’ll have me, but you don’t have to help me with the Blue Killer.”

“Blue Killer?” Demetri snapped his neck towards the man, and took him in. A mop of black hair under which sat blue eyes, a straight nose, and a charming smile. Demetri rolled his eyes. “You named it?”

“Well, the ‘Killer Running Around France’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” Shrinking under Demetri’s glare, to Demetri’s joy, Pierre looked desperately at Gerard. “Sorry, Axeman, Greencoat. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Before Demetri could open his mouth to respond, Gerard answered. “You haven’t. Greencoat was about to go get some rest and I could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“Really?” Pierre’s eyes shone bright, and Gerard nodded. “I...I won’t let you down, Axeman.”

“I’m sure you won’t. We’re going to begin at the river and work our way in. Together, at first. I’d like you to get used to our route before going off on your own.” Gerard explained before looking at Demetri. “Bonne nuit, Greencoat.”

“Bonne journee, Axeman.” Demetri turned on his heel and leapt from the roof.

But he didn’t go home. He couldn’t. Bothered in his thoughts, Demetri went to the one person he knew would help.

“So,” Phillip asked as Arno slept silently between them. “What was it like?”

Demetri munched on the croissant he’d borrowed from Arno’s cafe. In his defense, Arno had told them they were welcome to anything! Besides, the people at the Café knew him. “He wears Italian shoes.” Phillip choked on the tea he’d sipped. “I can’t believe Gerard actually took him on. Can you believe that?” Phillip was coughing, sputtering a reply. “I mean, can you?” Demetri pressed.

Thumping on his chest, tears welling in his eyes, Phillip croaked. “Well, I can.” Demetri gasped, and opened his hands in protest. Phillip placed a croissant in Demetri’s open hand and continued. “We’re down one man, people are dying, and I don’t mind the extra help.” Phillip shrugged, looking over at Arno’s body. “Did they mention anything else?”

“Bringing Arno to them.” Demetri dismissed it with a wave of his hand before Phillip could panic. “Gerard will figure it out. Not telling them we had him was a good start, and keeping Arno in hiding would be the best route.” A moment of silence passed as both men finished their snack. When he gulped down the rest of his croissant, Demetri said, “When you said you were watching over him, did we really need to do this?” Demetri dusted flakes of bread from Arno’s stomach.

“If his lips go blue that means he’s stopped breathing, and I want to make sure I’m here if that happens.” Phillip sipped his tea.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a little paranoid?”

Phillip thought a moment, taking another sip. “Non. Why?” His eyes flickered to his friend, and he gave him a small smirk. “Has anyone said anything?”

Groaning, Demetri rolled his eyes and leaned back. Raising his feet to prop them on the table, as he usually did, Demetri stopped himself and frowned upon finding Arno’s legs there. Settling on leaning back, he crossed his arms tight to his chest. “I’m sorry about how I was acting earlier. I lost my temper, and that wasn’t right, Phillip. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Phillip commented, “Just wish I had your conviction.”

They both cast their stares to the gentle rise and fall of their comrade’s chest. “You really think he did it?” Demetri whispered, like speaking the words aloud would make them real.

“That’s what the evidence is saying.”

“Et toi?”

“I have to follow the evidence.” Phillip said firmly, “I don’t have to luxury to listen to my heart.” Looking up at Demetri, he said, “Do me a favor? Listen to yours for the both of us.” Demetri nodded.

The two friends chatted until Demetri was sound asleep, head tucked into his chest. Phillip, left alone with two of his unconscious friends, took out a book and pondered how his life had turned out this way. Hours passed and Phillip began contemplating if he too should rest when Gerard dusted his heavy boots on their welcome mat.

It wasn’t a real mat, just a thing Phillip had brought from his house to liven the place up. It was accompanied by the pots and pans Gerard had brought, the shelf Arno had helped Phillip build to hold all his books, and the plants Demetri had placed to add the wilted one Phillip had been neglecting. Good intentions strung together with glue and gum, Arno had called it.

“Bon soiree, mes amis.” Gerard voiced, keeping his head down to ensure all the dust was gone before stepping into the room. Automatically staring at Arno, his brows furrowed and he grimaced. “Comment ca va?”

“Ca va, bien, merci. Et toi?” Phillip set aside the book, and got up from his spot. Stretching as he did so, he enjoyed the pop along his spine.

“Ca va.” Gerard replied honestly. Taking a look at Demetri, who was rubbing his eyes and giving his cheeks mild pats to wake up, Gerard smiled bemused. “You should take more rest, Demetri. When was the last time you’ve slept?”

“Just now.” He replied, rolling to the balls of his feet and began doing little hops. Shaking the sleep from himself, Demetri cracked his neck, to Phillip’s disgust, and began warming up his wrists. “Where to first?”

“You should rest.” Gerard continued, “Don’t make me make that an order.”

Before Demetri could respond, a groaning from the table interrupted them. Phillip dashed across the room just as Arno’s hand went to his forehead and his eyes fluttered. Gerard and Demetri were right behind. Keeping some distance, Phillip took his friend’s free hand and gave him a squeeze. “I know this must be very scary, Arno, so please take your time. You’re in the clock tower. Demetri and Gerard are here with us. You got hurt but you’re better now.” Arno’s eyes opened, but wouldn’t fixate. Phillip smiled, “There you go. Don’t try to remember it all at once, just take in your surroundings. Tell me what you’re seeing, what you’re feeling.”

“I-“ Arno blinked, widening his eyes a moment before groaning and closing them. “I feel sick. Like my head is pounding and my stomach is doing flips.” As his fingers massaging his temples, everyone waited with bated breath. “I’m dizzy. I think I’m going to be sick.”

Before Phillip could ask, Demetri rushed to grab a pail. Phillip squeezed Arno’s hand again and said, “That’s ok, it’s a normal feeling. Just take your time.” Then he looked at Gerard and asked, “Can you make some broth and get some bread? We’re going to have to introduce food slowly.” Nodding once, Gerard disappeared to their makeshift kitchen.

“I don’t…” Arno groaned, attempting to sit up. Without Phillip’s assistance, he would’ve smacked back down on the table. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Keeping one hand secured on his back and the other gripping his forearm, Phillip helped him up slowly. “No trouble at all, I promise you.”

Arno scoffed, and closed his eyes again. They stayed like that a moment, listening to Gerard in the kitchen and hearing Demetri clamber back with the pail. Rubbing Arno’s shoulder, Demetri moved to sit beside Phillip. Arno’s hand went from Phillip’s to Demetri. His eyes still closed, he gripped tight. “I don’t deserve friends like you.”

Demetri gave him a sad smile and a firm hold. “You’d do the same for us, Arno, don’t deny it.”

Again, Arno scoffed, but finally he opened his eyes and locked them on Demetri’s greys. “I need you to do something for me.”

Concern etching across his face, Demetri got down to Arno’s level and held his hand. “Anything, mon ami. Just name it.”

Tears rimmed Arno’s eyes and he nodded. “I’m sorry, Demetri, to ask this of you, but I could trust no one better.”

Phillip shifted uncomfortably. “Arno, maybe you should rest.” He cautioned, but Arno held Demetri fast.

Arno pressed, holding Demetri hostage, his frown deepening. “If I do anything, anything that raises a suspicion you, you need to kill me.”

Revolted and recoiling, Demetri pulled away, aghast. “Arno! How could you ask-?”

“I remember.” Arno’s voice quivered, a lone tearing rolling down his cheek. Wiping it away with one hand, the other still holding Phillip’s, Arno looked between the two of them. “I remember what I was doing when I was asleep.”

“Arno.” Phillip tried again, but Arno looked down at his chest and began to cry.

“I remember those people dying, I remember feeling their blood on my hands, and I…I think I’m the killer.”

“Arno, you’re…you’re not well.” Demetri fussed, hands hovering over Arno’s shoulders and Arno doubled over and wept. He cast frightened glances at Phillip and found the youngest Frenchmen had grown stoic and composed. “Phillip is going to fix this, aren’t you?” Demetri looked up desperately, but Phillip was rubbing Arno’s back and reaching for the medicine. “Aren’t you?”

“Arno,” Phillip said softly. “What are you talking about?”

“I..I was there.” Arno sobbed, staring at his hands like he could still see the blood on them. Still feel the warmth stick his fingers together. “I was…”

“Arno, Demetri is right. It’s been a long few days’ for all of us.”

“You don’t understand!” Arno wept anew, bringing his knees to his chest and draping his arms around them to cradle himself. “Those were my missions.”

“Missions?” Demetri looked up at Phillip and he shrugged. “Arno, what do you-?”

“I was there!” Arno roared, looking so quickly and grabbing Demetri so forcefully that his thighs slammed into the table.

“You weren’t!” Demetri yelled back, tears blurring his version. Not that it mattered. He didn’t recognize the man before him. “Arno!” Arno slammed Demetri against the table again, and Demetri waved away Phillip’s attempts to help. “We checked your logs! You were-”

There were missions they hadn’t known of when Arno left the Brotherhood. They’d checked all the places he’d run, as a gesture of good will with the Mentors, but they hadn’t given thought to the ones he’d done with…

Just as Arno made move to harm Demetri again, Phillip popped the medicine in his mouth and shut it. Before he could fight, his eyes fluttered.

“Elise…” He breathed, and Phillip caught him. The pair lowered him to the table. A wooden bowl clattered to the ground, spilling broth everywhere.

[incorrect-hs-quotes]

oohohoho you just opened the deepest can of worms on the planet

-mod dave, who wrote a fucking ten mile essay

first off, addressing the second anon, no theyre all humans. h., half humans at least. cause yall know me i fucking love my humanstuck aus off my ASS

(that would be funny as hell though. a troll from space walking into a camp on earth going “I AM THE SON OF ONE OF YOUR EARTH GODS. BITCH” like... holy shit)

so first things first their parents. im gonna lay this out, the beta kids and trolls are all greek (EXCEPT sollux hes roman cause his parent has no greek equivalent), and all the alpha kids and trolls are those gods roman equivalents (,,EXCEPT dirk cause he kinda balances sollux being roman out). i havent figured out how thatd happen like 16+ times yet cause in the percy jackson books theres only ever been one instance of two siblings of the same godly descent being greek and roman respectively in HISTORY so like.. i guess th. i guess thats just not a problem in this au

anyway this gets really long so im gonna talk about the beta kids and trolls cause i havent elaborated on the alphas at all ((peep the tags if you wanna see their parents though))

johns the son of zeus, rose is the daughter of athena, dave is the son of apollo, and jade is the daughter of demeter. they were all raised in their respective states, all had to come to new york for various reasons. jades been there the longest, shes been there 9 years and shes been on a couple quests. her biggest accomplishment so far is how she protected the camp from this big vicious angry hellhound that got past the barrier. naturally the girls fluent in Dog Training, so she steps up and instead of trying to kill this thing, she reaches out and tames it as fast as she can. it ends up actually working, and ever since that day she, her cabin, and the camp have a whole bodyguard sleeping right outside the demeter cabin! hes her steed in battle and hes a Very Good Boy. and his name is becquerel

johns the newest kid at camp, he has no idea who he is or why the fuck his school got attacked or why in the hell those anemoi thuellai were so fixated on him or HOW in the hell he absorbed the lightning one threw at him and ended up fine,,, hes just a big mess right now. a big enough mess that when he got claimed by literally zeus, no one else was around, he shrugged it off as some basic magical happening, and he stayed in the hermes cabin far longer than he should have cause no one! fucking knew he got claimed! by zeus of all people! dumbass. he ends up figuring it out though. like an off-hand mention about how this “weird lightning thing appeared above my head a couple weeks ago, haha weird right?” once he figures it out he realizes “hey i might be able to fly” so he sneaks off into the woods to try it. he succeeds fairly quickly but god almighty everyones face the one day the dude just yote himself off a small cliff without warning,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

dave and rose are really tight, theyve been there roughly the same time length, and since their cabins are across from each other they just bother each other all the time. daves the resident Doctor even though he really doesnt look it cause hes got the apollo powers. apollo is the medicine god. so if you wound your stupid ass in battle daves in the ER room patching you up with his glowy hands. rose on the other hand is a very good strategist. shes one of the only athena kids ever recorded to actually have a power - telekinesis. she has no idea how she developed it, she thinks its from birth, but it freaks her out. shes training it though.

so the beta trolls, are also all human(ish). aradias hades kid. but i pulled a pjo trope on her based on one of my favorite characters (im not saying for spoilers, but if you recognize the situation, You Probably Know Who Its Based Off) and aradia died. her mom, the handmaid, had been pulling some Shady Ass Shit and ended up getting herself killed, but aradia tried saving her and ended up going down with her.

so handmaid gets sentenced to the fields of punishment in the underworld, and aradia gets sentenced to elysium, heroes paradise. shes like “no i want my mom to be okay” so they take that away from aradia and they put them both in the fields of asphodel, the neverending grey space for Not So Good But Not So Bad people. her mom becomes a shade (shadow spirit, no human resemblance), as all people do, but aradia. doesnt? and she gets dunked in the fucking river lethe and if you dont know what that does it erases your memory. so she just. comes out of the river like “hello? wgat tae fukc goin on??” but she still remembers one thing. there was an “a” in her name.

tavros is the son of hermes, hes just kinda taken on the role of backup counselor for when the actual cabin counselor is out. hes in a wheelchair, but he also has prosthetic legs for when he needs to actually stand up and fight. hes really good at it too. also catch him in winged converse cause he Owns Those and Uses Them To His Advantage. hes trying his best to keep focused on the camp, cause aradia was his childhood friend, he misses her a whole lot, she never got to camp in the first place. and to his knowledge, shes still dead.

sollux is a janus kid. thats a problem cause janus is roman, and this is a greek camp. he grew up with dave, he showed up with dave, hes been at camp as long as dave. but hes been unclaimed since he showed up so he thinks hes unwanted by whatever parent he has. he knows hes a demigod, he got through the camp barriers, so what the fuck is wrong with him? he also feels shitty cause hes shit at the greek lessons, he cant read a lick of it which literally every demigod without exception should be able to do, he cant name any gods- well, he can, but.. he gets their names mixed up. why does he keep calling poseidon “neptune”? and he has a much, much different way of natural fighting than other kids. they slice, he jabs. he wasnt taught to jab. 

karkat is an aphrodite kid with vitiligo, and to make matters worse, hes ace and on the aro spectrum. to make matters WORSE, the aphrodite kids are kinda notorious for being really shallow, really materialistic, and really mean. karkats been dubbed the “runt” of the cabin, he gets made fun of for his spots to the point where he uses make up and magic to conceal them. worst of all? hes the kid of the goddess of love, for fucks sake. being reminded that “loveless people shouldnt be able to stay in this cabin, mom must have made a mistake claiming you” is kind of.. a blow to the self esteem. long story short he hates aphrodite for claiming him, and would have rather stayed in the hermes cabin. but he eventually goes on this big quest thats vague as fuck right now but Its The Main Plot, he ends up proving to himself that hes worth something and that his siblings are wrong, and my FAVORITE LINE IN THE WHOLE THING i came up with is HIS when he deals a final blow to some big monster: “REMEMBER MY FACE THE NEXT TIME YOU REINCARNATE. MY NAME IS KARKAT VANTAS, I’M THE SON OF APHRODITE, AND LOOKS CAN KILL.”

nepeta isnt anywhere near developed as others are unfortunately, shes a daughter of ares and shes really really good at hand to hand combat. shes small but she leads groups of people in things ranging from camp volleyball games to actual literal wars. shes a tough little shit

kanaya isnt really developed either, i have yet to figure out most of her powers too actually, shes a daughter of iris, the rainbow goddess though. (blatant reference to both kanayas vampirism and. h. her. sh. es ga. gay) ONE THING SHE CAN DO THOUGH is iris message at will without water or drachmas so really shes just everyones go to cell phone and its fucking hilarious cause people just come into the cabin like “KANAYA I NEED TO TALK TO [X]” and shes like “You Better Fucking Pay Me I Am Not Your Personal Cell Phone”

terezi is the daughter of nemesis and she has this really peculiar power she hasnt really gotten the hang of yet. she has synesthesia, so while she cant see she can smell and taste the colors of her surroundings and its really helpful. sometimes though she gets messages from her mom. they dont even come as dreams half the time, they come as almost a different plane altogether. tez has the power to literally tip the scales, pretty much. and when she gets like that, she can see. shes not on earth though, shit on earth stops when shes like that. shes just kinda In Her Own Head, i guess? and in her head she holds the two scales in her hands. she is the arms of the scale. and depending on which one she lifts up, she can literally alter the fate of the battle or happening thats going on By Herself. once she chooses she just whooshes back to real life though and nothing has changed. the only downside? it takes a LOT of energy and cant be exploited for little things. her one thing on her bucket list is to tap into said powers while getting something from a vending machine so like three things will fall out but it hasnt happened yet and shes upset

vriskas a daughter of tyche, the luck goddess, come the fuck on you knew i was gonna, i havent really elaborated on her either and im upset about that. but hey now you get a break from all those fucking paragraphs

equius is a hephaestus kid, and he kinda stays in the background. hes a range fighter, he spends a lot of time in the forge, and even though its been a project looooong since forgotten, hes been excavating the tunnels under cabin nine for years. by himself. he has no idea where they lead, but dammit hes gonna find out where. he has no idea about a certain bunker in the woods though...

gamzees just there for a fucking laugh tbh hes a son of dionysus and i love that cause hes the god of wine and parties and insanity. usually gamzees just zoning out somewhere hes Not supposed to be, and hes not affected by the maenads FUCKED UP BULLSHIT that goes down the forest sometimes. also hes so fucking scared of tavroses wing shoes he tried them on once while he was high and JESUS CHRIST

eridan is the son of kymopoleia, a SUPER obscure goddess. lets just say dont fuck with eridan cause his mom is the goddess of violent sea storms,

and naturally, feferi is the daughter of poseidon. cause who the FUCK else would she be the daughter of. WHO. NAME ONE GOD

OH AND JUST CAUSE I FORGOT CALLIE AND CALIBORN ARE SATYRS IN THIS AU. CALLIE HAS PAN PIPES. and caliborn still has a gun

[dokuhebi]

FIVE FOR KABU!

send a 🖐️ emoji ( or just ‘ 5 ′ ) for five times our muses touched .   // @raichoose​ The candles flame is sinking lower and lower, wax dripping down the sides of the long stick, pooling in the caved in center, coaxing the dying light to submerge and be vanquished. They should ignite the candle again, before the only source of dwindling light is completely erased. Yet they don’t. Golden eyes watch as the fragile little flame dies out completely. As the success from burning so brightly causes its own slow demise, erasing the very foundation it exists on. They are overthinking again. It is what they do. A simple item, a simple result of fire upon wax. It does not need to be symbolic of all they have come to know. It does not need to remind them of him. Of the burnt out bond that had seemed to be verging on success, so caught in the heat of the moment, yet damned itself somewhere along the way. Their most trusted companion, friend, ally... when had that fragile little flame burnt out? The document on their desk is growing harder to read as the light fades, sometimes flickering out altogether before somehow struggling back alive. But Kabuto’s face, a small photo attached to a report torn from a bingo book, is still visible. Until of course, slender fingers coil around the image, and hold its tip to the flames hungry mouth. Desperate for some means of survival, catching instantly, eating away at the image until once more its hunger has diminished its own foundation. They watch as the singed edges of the photo curl and flake in to ash, dripping on to the table below, embers still faintly glowing on the charred and broken pieces. They could burn an image, but they could not burn a memory.

The sun filters down through scattered tree leaves, a distant breeze not quite reaching the figures standing there. They watch him from across the small clearing in the forest. Golden eyes attentive, slender arms folded, a taunting smirk on their face. He’s not even twenty yet, but if he is to be their subordinate, then he is to learn what it truly is to be a shinobi. “Shall I make it easier for you dear?” they call to him, watching as he adjusts his glasses, wanting to see what has become of the man they decided had enough worth to be taken on to their team. Many wanted his position. None had been valued enough to get the opportunity to earn that right, “I’ll use nothing but kenjutsu. If you can disarm me, I’ll consider this your win,” they say,  a fanged smile giving away their arrogance during the training. That they truly think the young man will be unable to do even this. How pleased they would be of course, if they were to be proven wrong instead. The fight is a back and forth affair, as the serpent turns the exercise of training in to a game. Leaving their legendary katana alone and instead using an ordinary one, a slim and elegant blade all the same. They think it will be their win, until a few slip ups on their end, and a few cleverly taken advantage of opportunities on his, wind the serpent up losing their grip. The sound of their weapon hitting damp soil signals their loss instantly, no means to recover, as they find themself disarmed, their slender figure pressed to the nearest sequoia, a measly kunai held flush to their pale throat. A smirk tugs at their lips, so pleased it may trick anyone viewing to think this was some trap. That they wanted to lose. It isn’t quite the case. The serpent finding a victory in their loss. Porcelain digits coil around his wrist, loose and gentle, almost simply caressing the skin beneath their fingertips, “it seems I was right about you all along. You’re quite remarkable.” They push against him, inching closer to the blade knowing he would draw it away rather than cut them, their figure and a single slim hand pressing in to his chest as a dance of mischievous appreciation enters their yellow eyes. “It will be intriguing to see what you might accomplish in the future.”

But twenty years from that moment, the serpent would not have the luxury of seeing what the man would become. Twenty years from that moment, they are sitting in a dark cell, a step up from their life in prison, but a step before being released in to Otogakure. A small abode, locked and guarded. A few personal items allowed, research material, home comforts. An attempt to keep them from growing restless. But they are restless, and more than anything, they are left with their own thoughts for too long. Allowed to fall down the rabbit hole in to a twisted imagination. They force themself away from the table, moving to the kitchen which is only a few steps away, and in the same room. Fumbling in the dark and fishing out a glass, seeking next a bottle they know is half empty already. A dark orange liquid swishing in the glass container. They pour themself one drink, it steadily becomes two, then three, then four. But even the sake that was so adept at making people forget seems only to inspire more thoughts.

Autumn welcomes the patrons with a bite of cold air, an unexpected nippiness. As it would turn out, the pretty layers of their hanfu would not serve to be as warm as they were beautiful. Various shades of ashen grey, black and white material falling around their svelte figure and speckled with the intermittent patterns of a violet wisteria, wraithlike, as if they may have stepped out of some mythical folklore. Pale skin is cast in a pleasant glow beneath the moonlight, while golden eyes seek only to compete with its brightness “How is our chatty comrade doing?” they ask Kabuto, standing elegantly amid a small gathering of lords, here only to make the necessary connections. Dark connections, allies who did not shy from dabbling in the black market. The small team accompanying the Sannin, to keep them from being targeted with the sizable bounty on their head, had since dispersed. But it hadn’t escaped their attention how one rather talkative Oto shinobi had been grating on Kabuto’s nerves. It hadn’t taken long for them to decide he was the right man for the job, when testing the drinks for poisons or other drugs and additives. With the chatty subordinate even more chatty, buzzed but certainly not dead, the Sannin knows they can indulge in the tested beverages. And how they will need that as a support and crutch when having to entertain the frivolous Lords with no grasp of reality. By the time the light weight viper has realized they are now gracefully off balanced rather than gracefully refined, they seek a different crutch. Inhibition's to the wind, as they lean in to Kabuto’s figure. One slender arm laced elegantly around his neck. But they would not only need help getting back to their inn, or at least, that wasn’t all they would end up asking of him. Not that they would remember the half of it. The next morning, they find themself dressed in a night yukata, sparing them from a night in the elaborate hanfu, courtesy of Kabuto helping them out the intricate dress in to a more suitable sleepwear no doubt. They also find themself in Kabuto’s room and bed, rather than their own. So as it would seem, their famed ‘guard dog’ would not solely be warding off enemies that evening, his loyalty had kept them warm too. But they are still plagued by a headache, and the sunlight seeping in through the blinds prompts them to hide their face against the crevice of the mans neck where it had just been buried before, “turn the blinds down, it can be morning when I say it is,” they mutter.

The sound of their parole shatters their thoughts, causes them to glance to the sealed and locked door. Someone’s joke evidently earning a great deal of laughter and debate. It had been a while since they had the opportunity for small talk, how they loathed small talk usually, how months in isolation could suddenly make them crave it. Conversations... was it something they said that made him leave? Had they chased him off with their ideas, their quiet moments together? Had it all be one lie after the other, and he never truly felt any shred of care toward them? Just a means to an end. Their end. A distraction is welcome, and they try and listen to what is being said. Something about a slip up during a mission. Something about the entertainment it had been for onlookers. Something about a strange nurse, a long stay at a hospital, a well earned dose of Ibuprofen. A simple word, yet even that manages to awaken ghosts of the past.

“I don’t care if it’s not recommended. Just make it stop.” Their voice is hoarse sounding, hissed and drenched in agony and venom. Feeling as if they are in their darkest hour, feeling at their lowest, their weakest, their most vulnerable. It instantly brings to life their fight instinct, it instantly makes them volatile and unpredictable. Too swept up in the sheer crippling pain. Agonized to the point of forgetting their own training in medicine, as they reach for any and every painkiller available to them. For the highest dose to stop the suffering/. The pain of the body was one thing, but Hiruzen was showing them a new kind of pain by severing their very soul. Leaving their arms growing thinner and bloodier, decaying on their very living person. Most of their medics had been casualties when overstepping boundaries around the Sannin, who was more a wounded animal than a person on these nights. The rest had refused to enter the chambers due to fear. All but one. “None of it is working,” they hiss to Kabuto, still trying to convince him that overindulging in the painkillers may lead to some numbness. Desperate enough to think it will be enough. If they had placed their arms in to open flames, they imagine it would hurt less than this. Their breathing becomes erratic, labored, forgetting even that simple task as their body wants to go back in to shock with the overwhelming sensations. Almost blinded and completely disorientated from the agony. Until his hands rest upon them, until the faint glow of blue offers a shred of mercy in a moment of pure torture. A second enough to catch their still shaken and ragged breathing. They find their slender form leaning against him, almost clawing for him, their only source of relief in a world of misery. A dozen medics had been in and out of these halls, a dozen treatments had been offered to give them relief. None had managed. Yet his single touch mitigated enough suffering, to finally give them rest. Enough that their body may succumb to fatigue, enough that the pain slips away from their mind, and only a distant sounding song can be heard as they finally find sleep. His song. Her song.

It is moments like those that makes them wonder how they may have imagined it all. How Kabuto could possibly have never cared when he had stayed holding them all night on that dreaded evening. When he had sung a personal song in a hopes of capturing their attention and outdoing the pains grip on them. It had to be real - now didn’t it? It could not be made up, feigned or fabricated. So what then? It being real, his devotion and care for them being real back then, did it change that farewell? If he had wished to be at their side at their lowest on the day of Hiruzen’s assassination, when exactly had it started to fall a part of irreversibly? When had they lost him?

It’s hard to tell dawn from dusk in their underground home, to know when the sun had risen or set, as darkness constantly engulfed them beneath the earths surface. Hidden away from all that wanted to harm them, but equally hidden from the pleasantries of life too. Perhaps this inability to keep easy track of time is the excuse the serpent will use for why they so often fail to keep an orderly sleep schedule. Why they skip entire nights, sometimes several, throughout the week in exchange for more hours to work. But they aren’t the only one overworking in these halls, as they enter the next room, about to speak, when they see Kabuto has fallen in to a slumber. Scattered around him are the many scrolls and documents he was taking on for them, to relieve the Sannin of some of their duties - perhaps to ensure they may have time for sleep themself. Sacrificing his own. They can’t be sure what precisely has kept him up. It is no mystery he has nightmares - what shinobi didn’t awaken regularly due to the trauma of their job? The serpent certainly skipped sleep for more reasons than just their work, flashes from the past an ugly reminder they didn’t need at night. They cross the distance quietly, placing a hand gently to his forehead to inspect for a temperature and ensure he isn’t sick but merely tired, before delicately removing his glasses, and then his hair tie. Combing out the slight tangles and indents from being held together by the hairband, before placing both items carefully aside for his ease of access and reach when he woke up. Catlike steps, nimble and silent, allows them to move about the room undetected. A skill harnessed for insidious assassinations, but would now be far more affectionate a need. A final act of drawing a blanket around his shoulders, and trying to help him lay down properly on the couch without disturbing him. Only to disappear like a phantom, as was all their acts of love and care perhaps. Too timid to be caught in the act of fondness. Hiding their heart over hiding their crimes.

That may have been the problem then? Surely, who could ever stand by a person who would brandish their killings and veil their love? Who could tolerate such a juvenile trait? For they know, as much as they think being distanced from their own heart is a clever defense, that it is also a sign of emotionally stunted development. That while they can not break a habit with knowledge alone, they had read up on it to link their orphaned childhood and constant attendance to loved ones funerals to connect the dots. That they were as much protecting themself from loss and unnecessary human fragility in an effort of being wiser, as they were simply too afraid to brave the risk. Whichever way, they imagine it doesn’t matter a terrible amount anymore. They are here, and he is not. And the memory most burnt in to their mind seems to replay like some cruel Tsukuyomi. 

The war was starting to pique in its volatile and violent arrival, torn from the land of the dead to be placed back amid the chaos. Resurrected. But the serpent isn’t frazzled or overwhelmed, the stimulation simply feeds their more ambitious side - and they are not alone. Not when the first thing golden eyes awaken to see, is him. Kabuto. ‘Of course it would be the young doctor’, is the first thought to enter their mind. From the moment they felt Sasuke’s blade embed itself in to their weakening and sick body, they had known if anyone would save them from that fate, it would be Kabuto. And here he stands proving them right, as a fanged smirk reveals itself on their lips, pleased and satisfied, as they automatically, instinctively, move to his side. And somewhere along the way, what they believed they saw, and what was really happening did not align. Somewhere between the fighting, the strife and the forced great alliance, he slipped through their fingertips like running water. So when the Sannin knew the battle was over and won, they did not feel as if they must face the uncertainty of execution or imprisonment alone. Moving once more instinctively to Kabuto’s side, as if the two of them were really just one person, one entity. To attack him was to attack them, and visa versa. Yet when they place their hand to his shoulder, both offering a touch of support and looking for someone to lean on - for what may be the last time without their realization - they find themself faced with words they hadn’t anticipated. Words that struck them more than the injuries sustained in combat, shook them more than the tremors of the bomb fire. ‘ I can’t go back with you. I have to leave. ’

[thestraggletag]

Indulgence!AU, Part 5

Anon Prompted: The doctor asks what the plan is once Belle is released - she cant live alone and will need help recovering.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.

AN: Think I’m gonna give other verses a chance tomorrow, so that people who prompt things other than this verse feel more included.

She was going to be released soon. The doctor had mentioned it early in the morning, talking about physical therapy and the necessary precautions she would have to take upon discharge, as well as the necessary care. It sounded like a lot of work, between dressing changes, medicine, sponge baths to keep the wounds dry as they healed and her limited range of motion, which meant being helped in and out of the bathroom.

Going to stay with her father was out of the question. Not only did he need to open and man the shop but it also sounded like too much for him. He was lovable but awkward, not to mention forgetful. Though she had no doubt that he would step up if she needed him to she’d rather not ask at all.

Mal offered, which wasn’t altogether a surprise. Their relationship had long passed that of a boss and an employee, with Mal also somewhat assimilating to her group of friends, joining them every now and then in different outings. But Belle knew things with her gentleman friend were advancing quickly. Because Jas was based in London, they didn’t get to see each other often and so when he was in New York he stayed at her place in lieu of a hotel, to be able to see each other as often as possible. He was currently in town and, therefore, it would feel rude to intrude upon their time together.

Staying over with one of the girls seemed the more feasible solution. Ruby could likely get time off at Imp, Inc, given the circumstances, though her apartment was small and her rescue dogs were boisterous and horse-sized. Mary Margaret and Emma were roommates and more often than not one was always home, which helped when it came to looking after Henry. They certainly wouldn’t mind taking her in, though they lived on the fifth floor of a building with no elevator. Well, technically there was one, but it was out of order, had been so for years. The landlord kept insisting it was “about” to be fixed. Emma had managed to negotiate a steep decrease in the rent for the inconvenience. Getting her up to the apartment would be a trial and once there she would be a virtual prisoner until she managed to be more mobile.

It seemed like the best option, and she was about to grab her phone to call Mary Margaret- Emma was on duty- when Nick stopped her.

“You could… you could move in with me.”

Belle could not say she hadn’t thought of it. When the doctor had talked of “going home” Nick’s penthouse was the place that first sprung to mind. And not for the obvious advantages, including a bathroom fully adapted for people with reduced mobility, but because that’s what she thought of when she thought of home. Not her apartment, with her passable roommates, or her childhood home in Maine. 

But she had lost the right to think that way.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

They were in shambles, the both of them. She didn’t know if there was anything to save between them, she hoped there was, but it would require a lot of communication and time. And given what had happened to her it was possible Nick felt he owed it to her, to take care of her, given his past association with Jones.

“I don’t… wish to trap you. Or force you to reconsider us. I don’t want you to feel indebted to me. But having been apart has changed nothing for me. I still love you. I still wish to look after you. It’s entirely selfish on my part, I assure you. If I was the one to take care of you, then I wouldn’t have to wonder if you were alright.”

He wasn’t looking at her, his posture akin to that of an animal resisting the urge to bolt. Her darling Nick didn’t do vulnerable well.

“We can be friends, if that’s what you wish and feel comfortable with. Friends help each other.”

He made it sound so simple, but Belle knew there could never be friendship between them.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He flinched, as if struck, so she was quick to reassure him. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to be just friends with you.”

The hope the stole over his face was breathtaking, making his eyes almost glow. Tentatively, in a fit of bravery, he took one of her hands in both of his.

“What do you mean?”

He said it so slowly, enunciating every word so carefully, that her heart broke for him a little. How unloved he had been, how denied by those that should’ve cared for him. And yet here he was, trying. Reaching out. She certainly could repay his bravery with a bit of her own.

“I mean… I’m not scared of hard work. Not when it’s worth it. Not if it would give us a second chance.”

He raised her hand to his lips to kiss it with restrained fervour.

“You mean…?”

“Take me home, Nick. We can sort things out there.”

[lady-daydream]

A little bit more about Zadkiel - FNV OC

-She’s was around 21 when she got shot but is 23 now

-Her name means the angel of forgiveness/mercy/freedom

-Her weapons of choice are:

A sniper rifle- since it’s quick , keeps her a distance away from danger but also she knew she a good shot it’s efficient and give those who deserve it a quick and merciful death.

Old glory- The old Melee weapon gifted by Ulysses was what symbolised her a freedom from her old actions. The bird symbolising freedom also helped with that. She also feels like it fits perfectly in her hand and swings nicely when the enemy gets a little to close.

Rocket launcher/ Shishkebab - when things seem to get to hairy these are her go to’s

-She has dark skin, light brown eyes with out blinded, with a scar alongside her right forehead from the bullet wound. She also has three tattoos , a hollow small heart over where her heart was, a circle with two horizontal lines through the middle of it on the back of her neck, the first one she got on an NCR base when she turned 16, the second she got on one of her leaves and it was both a symbol of forgiveness but also served as an almost target on her neck saying she accepted when death arrived it would arrive. She has also got a crown tattoo on the inside of her left forearm to show her support of the kings.

Her past:

-Her mother was a simple and peaceful settler in a more religious based community similar to The New Canaan. Her father was originally a mercenary working as a caravan guard. After meeting her mum her was happy to leave his old more violent past behind and stay with her mother working as a guard/go to sheriff for the community. He didn’t want kids just due to him believing he wasn’t fit for being a parent however when Zadkiel was born he happy accepted his paternal role. She was named Zadkiel due to its meaning of forgiveness by her mother seeing her birthday as a forgiveness of her fathers violent past and her mother’s nativity.

-When she was 7 however her pregnant mother along with most of the community were killed. While the guards were dealing with a situations the people sitting and preying during ‘Sunday service’ were barred into the building and it was set alight by raiders. Zadkiel and her father were late to the service since he was about to deal with the situation but the other head guard told him he could handle it then Zadkiel started stropping about not wanting to go. The few guards that survived the attack along with her father couldn’t save anyone in the church. He wasn’t religious before but went to the services to make his wife happy and see it as a peaceful break. Afterwards he abandoned religion as a belief altogether. The silver cross he wore seen more as a burden that had his wife name Lydia engraved into it

-After that, her father set off with her. Though unwilling to return to his violent past he knew that it was the best chance if there survival due to his skills. He took on bounty’s and any job where a gun for hire could be found. Though he would normally leave Zadkiel at there camp sometimes she would come along sitting on caravan carts or walking along. Her father taught her to shot once they hit the road her first kill was when she was 10 when she shot a raider when they were attacking her father. They stuck even closer after that, however they both wore face covers or masks to hide there identity due to word that the raiders were still searching for them .

-However when Zadkiel was 12 her father who had been burying his hatred and need for revenge became sick of having raiders and mercenaries hunt the two of them both so he handed his cross with her name engraved into it by him over to Zadkiel before leaving her in the care of a caravan trader he trusted,  then went to as many of the raider groups he could find as either planted explosives or just sniped them off. In a few months he had destroyed 15 raider camps. Some closer towards the Mojave which catch the NCR’s attention. They offered him a place in their ranks. One where he could do what he did with protection and with a purpose as well as fighting a good cause alongside a decent wage due to his skill helping him jump a few ranks. Knowing that his job as a merc wasn’t gonna last forever he agreed. Returning to Zadkiel calmer and with a goal to be a better person for her, with the thought being a soldier was one of the better ways a man like him could do that.

-After that Zadkiel became an NCR base kid, either exploring and observing training on base, talking to the groups of soldiers that seemed happy to talk to her or listening to the slightly watered down stories the soldier had to tell. That or she was in her fathers shadow. The both of them still wore face covers even though they were considerably safer, but after a while people got used it it.

-Zadkiel father had taught her how to shoot and how to use her own size and high in an actual fight. However it was only after multiple comments from other supervisors and trainers alike that mentioned her shooting ability as well as her ability to handle herself in a fight, that he even considered her joining the army. After bringing it up with Zadkiel hesitantly, a bit wearily due to disliking the idea of his daughter becoming a soldier, she was excited to join and started officially training when she was 15.

-It was quickly found that , likewise to her father, she was an extremely skilled sniper in the making. However she had no interest in explosives. However her father didn’t mind as his love of them was replaced by her own love of medicine. And though she wasn’t the best she knew enough to keep herself and those around her safe and alive. She also gain enough physical strength from training that she was a fearful opponent in hand to hand or a simple Melee fight, so much so that with the mask on and her build people mistook her for a guy. She didn’t mind and due to her somewhat quiet nature (another quirk that she had picked up from her father as well as from the many days they would travel in silence or the times they would have to stay quick in order to sneak through dangerous territory) she never corrected them, others did that for her.

-As she was training her father moved slowly up the ranks until he reach a point where he was on base more so than on the battlefield. Mostly he moved from base to base a lot however both Zadkiel and him kept together, her helping the medics or being sent on missions where her sniping skills would always come in handy. Briefly however the both of them did got stationed in the Mojave. Zadkiel was briefly stationed with first recon. She even met a much younger Boone who was a lot more friendly. However they only saw each other briefly not giving each other a passing thought, her mask and skill the only thing being remembered.

-She dated every now and then throughout her NCR life, including a cute nurse who said he was once an new Canaan but they split due to his conflicting views on her skills at violence undoing all the good she did. She also dated a a female caravan trader for a while who looked pretty in a dress and had an amazing aim however the distance wasn’t kind to either of them. While she was in 1st recon she started flirting with one of the snipers there but they passed away before things could get anymore serious than drinks in Freeside.

-She enjoyed her place in the NCR, enjoying the fact she could use her strength, Wit and intelligence to help protect people as well as make her father proud. However as she spent her leaves helping others where she could when she started hearing stories of the NCR not being able to protect the roads , of supplies not reaching soldiers of settlements being forced into joining. However she shook it off - rationalising it as the best option out of a bad lot. However soon after she was moved from 1st recon  the Bitter springs massacre happened. She quickly began losing more and more faith in the NCR. She was only 20 but had served for 5 years. She brought up the war crime to her father but her father dismissed it as an accident that happened or the NCR just doing the best with what they had. Normally she would believe him and a part of her wanted to, But a part of her couldn’t be so forgiving. Over the next month constantly arguing and butt heads with her father she couldn't stand herself being part of the problem. She took nothing but what she carried in her pack and after finishing her mission she walked away. From her old life. And everything that was held in. And she ditched the mask leaving it in the desert.

-She still wore the cross but still never considered herself religious,  But she kept it hidden as if I soldier had been told to keep an eye out for a girl with a cross engraved it would be a give away and life asked she would use her mothers name.

-Her father originally didn’t start looking for her. He thought originally she just needed to cool off. He knew what it was like to need to have a break from your life. However after a month he started to worry, putting word out. Thinking either she had run off or  worse. When they found her mask it put a stop to the NCR search. However he never stopped looking. Guilty he had lost the last thread of his old life, as well as losing the one person he trusted the most. For the rest of his life he hoped she had just run off and found a peaceful life like he had had once, regretful that their last conversation was hateful.

-Once she left, Zadkiel worked any job that would accept her. From bodyguard to farmer, to caravan trader and even as a medic. She tried to avoid mercenary work, knowing her skill might travel via word back to the NCR. However after a year she got bored of staying in the same place and when the option of being a courier opened up she jumped on it with no hesitation. She started working mostly in the Mojave, mostly message from settlements to settlements, enjoying seeing families getting messages from each other or food and supplies. Then came a job for a certain platinum chip.

After Being Shot:

-When she woke up from the bullet wound she couldn't remember anything about her old life. She couldn’t even remember her name. She guessed correctly that the one of name on her cross was her name using Zadkiel as her first name and Lydia as a second name. 

-The shot itself has left some permanent damage. She couldn’t speak more than a sentence without being unable to speak and confused. She was blinded in her right eye which was her previously dominant shooting eye. She also had a permanent pain from the bottom of her ribs to her left hip where benny or one of the khans with him had kicked her into her own grave. She got used to the pain in her leg and though it slowed her down and made her less agility she still had the strength she had before. She also had to reteach herself how to snipe but due to muscle memory she picked it up quickly. She also slowly got her voice back, being able to speak more and more as time went on. She found once she found the right words she was pretty good at charming and talking her way through a situation. However she much preferred the silent intimidating tactic or staying silent altogether.

Her views on different factions:

-Goodsprings: Part of her doesn’t believe she deserves the grace of being saved, thinking there must have been a reason she had been shot and left for dead. However the kindness the community had made her want to help as well as mend any bad deeds she had done before losing her memory. She will regularly go back to Goodsprings with supplies she can spare of offer free service as her way to say thank you as well as reminding them that if they ever need help to always ask.

-Primm: Her first interaction with NCR after she had reawoke. She felt like she was being watched constantly. The doctor had commented that the scars and her build could indicate that she used to be a soldier but with nothing else to go on it didn’t really lead to much. She kept her head down. However when helping Primm find a sheriff she called the NCR for help thinking there values would protect the town the most. She wishes later on that she had found a way to make the town independent. The citizens also were friendly but side eyed her after doing this making her feel more like an outsider.

-The NCR: As mentioned before her relationship with the NCR was born out of good values and principles. However after hearing stories of the greed and lack of empathy towards those she’s knew she had wanted to join to protect she left. However she put more blame on the higher ups than the individual soldiers and still respected them. However after the bullet wound, history seemed to repeat itself. She started to help the NCR again after meeting Boone. However before she committed to much ,stories of the NCR reached back to her. She choose to keep a distance but still helped when possible . Helping get supplies and helping medics when possible as well as taking our bounties. After she quickly and easily took care of the three bounties the base had available she went to the first recon group and told Corporal Betsy that Cook-Cook was dead. Zadkiel was approached by Lieutenant Gorobets offering a place but she refused stating she was glad she could help but didn’t really want to get to involved. Unbeknown to her  Lieutenant Gorobets knew who she really was due to have seen her face briefly while she had worked at first recon when she had got attacked and it had slipped briefly. He was also let on by her sniping skills which made her stand  out . He didn’t push but would always keep an eye out if she was on base since he remembered her father mentioning to look out for her after he had passed a year after her disappearance.

-The Legion: Maybe it was subconsciously hatred from her life before or maybe even her own forgiveness and mercy could only go so far. She believes a society is defined by how it’s most vulnerable are treated. The Legion treat their most vulnerable like objects to kill, fuck or rule over. She has mercy for who were once legionaries but saw the wrong of their ways and found a way to leave however their were few of those that abandoned the Legion were hunted down and killed. When she arrived at Nipton, and after forcibly stopping herself from attacking them all, knowing she was seriously outnumbered she tried to get those on crucifixes off cause even though they were powder gangers no one deserves to be crucified. She couldn’t save any of them. She will always try and heal any victims of Legion and will save as many slaves as possible. Eventually she and Boone killed Caesar letting Boone have the final shot. Finally casting her view that everyone deserves mercy and learning that forgiveness is measured subjectively not objectively.

-The Kings/The Followers - The two groups she stands for more than anything. She uses her medical knowledge to help out were she can, as well as bring supplies. Seeing the followers as just people helping others. However she actually has just as strong of a liking to the Kings - so far as to offer to be the Kings personal bodyguard herself. She is a king herself and will do odd jobs when possible. She didn’t get on with Pacer but she believed in the kings views on independence. She got a crown tattoo on the inside of her left forearm as well to show that she really did believe in the kings as well as the independence of freeside. She will cover it if she knows it would cause a dispute such as when she visits NCR territory however she happily shows it elsewhere.

Those she’s close with: Boone, Arcade, Raul and The King and Julie and Rex

-Boone; Her first companion. At the time she first met him she still could only talk more than a few sentence tops at a time and she had original gone to met Manny however when she saw him it was almost a complete hit of nausea and nostalgia over something she couldn’t remember. She got the same feeling with Manny as well. Originally she was neutral about Boone, respecting him due to recognising he was NCR however there was an hollow emptiness mixed with a overwhelming feeling of resent and anger wherever he went. Battling her own resentment over Benny she could emphasis enough to agree to help him find the person who sold Carla. She still had the images of those at Nipton on her mind when she found the Bill of sale. She couldn’t justify  Jeannie May Crawford's actions, furthermore lying about them. She let Boone have his Justice. However when she got back up she notice that nothing had changed that he was still hollow and angry. So she offered for him to come along, more to keep an eye on him to make sure that his anger didn’t become apathy, but also because she felt like if she could help him find peace that was the least she could do, knowing the only way she was gonna help him was by exposure over time. Over time she found him a good friend, and one of the few people she felt safe around. A part of however enjoyed the presence of someone who wasn't burdened by the expectations of forgiveness and would happily fuliful revenge if she couldn't. She helped him find mercy in himself by returning to Bitter springs and in return he listens, and answers bluntly but honestly what he thinks is the answer to any question she askes. He only kept one lie from her and that was that Lieutenant Gorobets had pulled him aside when they both were at Camp McCarran . At first he thought they were gonna ask him to re-join and was ready to turn him down, however he had enough respect from the Lieutenant to hear him out, and he was told who Zadkiel used to be. He told him not to let on that he knew. Only to keep an eye out for her, as a last wish for her passed away father. Boone remembered the mask and her presence at 1st recon briefly. He agreed to keep it a secret, tailoring his answers in hopes that the small hints he gave would jolt memories. On very rare occasions they do, however time did the most work. However Boone worries that she is going to be struck with the same feeling of guilt he felt when she finds out her father has passed.

-Raul- Raul was the closes thing she had to a father figure after she lost her memory. She knew that a lot of people saw him more as a grandfather figure however, maybe it was his accent the subconsciously reminded her of her father, or his habit of tinkering that she had watched her own father do when he had free time, or maybe it was the sarcastic humour but she always felt comfortable talking to him or just spending time with him. She wasn't the only one that felt the same, Raul blamed it on her looking like an older and more hardened version of Gabriella. However the both of them didn't mind. On very rare occasions they have been heard calling each other mi Padre and Mi hija. If one gets injured, the other one is close by, if one needs something the other ones  already on the way to get it. When Zadkiel started getting nightmares with snippets of memories was found more frequently with Raul telling him what she remembered, him cheering her up by joking or talking her mind off it. He had seen enough ghoul slowly turn feral and lose all memory so he wasn't phased by her own memory loss, knowing at least she could get it back.

Other Random Facts about her:

-She forgave and let Benny go twice. Boone was with her both times and asked both times if it was more the case she couldn't do it and needed him to take the shot. She had come to terms that she was just an unfortunate victim in the incident, and that anyone could have been in her place. Not to say she didn't want to have revenge, to make him pay from taking her past and causing her to go blind. However she showed him the mercy that he never showed her in hopes that he would change, as well as with the thought that with out his actions she never would have met the people she would call friends today. Despite this most of the companions keep an eye out for anyone in a black and white check suit, more than happy to bring justice for there friend if he even thought of causing trouble.

- She is both friends with Ulysses and Joshua Graham. Not friendly enough to take a bullet however they enjoyed each others company. With Ulysses she felt extremely guilty about the harm and damage she had caused to the divide. And when they were fighting she believe she deserved punishment. She didn't blow up any faction however late at night she sometimes thinks would it have been better to blow up both the legion as well as the NCR and let there be independence. With Joshua she always felt a little uncomfortable being in his presence. Maybe it was the fact that she was an old NCR soldier and he was a Ex-Legionary that caused the distance. She slowly over time learnt to forgive his past and will happily sit and talk with him. She feels slightly off about his adoption of Religion to justify his violence. However after Daniel gave her a copy of the bible and a few lines of it brought back memories of the past she asked them both. When Joshua mentioned the community she had been born in she felt the same nostalgia  feeling she had felt with Boone. Learning it had ben destroyed she concluded her family were probably dead. 

-She is a vegetarian. It wasn't due to values it was more that even as a young girl meat would cause her to be violently ill. She also lost most of her taste after being shot, including the ability to feel temperature. She often burns her mouth. 

Hey I'm sorry this took longer than expected, to make up for it I've made it a bit longer and explained on some of the things written down. This one is for  @jayofsunight  I hope you all enjoy and if you have any asks or requests for companion reactions or anything to do with my OC just comment or send a message my way. I hope you have an amazing day, love you all <3 xx

[vergoftowels]

Epicure - Hannigram Fic

I wrote a fic.  Also posted to AO3.  Set post-S3.

According to the philosophy of Epicurus, fear of death is at the root of human neuroses and one should strive for a life that is peaceful because of the freedom from fear.

Hannibal is struggling to keep his thoughts together after the fall, taking care of his incapacitated lover while slowly succumbing to the ravages of his own wounds. The surrounding silence of winter is full of imaginings he would rather put to rest.

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

Silverware polish spots the tabletop, soaking into the wood in places where the dark varnish is peeling.  Hannibal draws a fingernail along the wood grain and it comes up tacky.  He rubs the residue away between his fingertips, face impassive but inwardly frowning.  Seventeen spoons, lined up like fallen soldiers along the edge of the table, reflect back his profile in the dim light.  The polish hasn’t quite managed to take off all the patina, and each pitted and discolored silver round seems to say, “beggars can’t be choosers.”  Hannibal scrubs the last spoon with an oil-dirtied handkerchief.

It is close to 4 PM.  The windows in the cramped kitchen are smudged with age and rimed with frost.  The falling snow outside dims the setting winter sun into a pale silver coin, giving the old house a ghostly submarine glow.  In the downstairs hallway, the grandfather clock tick-tocks slightly out of time, sounding strangely muffled.  Hannibal pushes his thumb into the curve of the spoon.  His hands smell like polish now; the whole kitchen does.  The rest of him smells like sweat and blood and antiseptic, masking the unpleasantly sweet stink of infection.  He closes his eyes.  The spoons are part of one reality.  When he opens his eyes, he is part of another.

Florence.  Standing on the Ponte Vecchio, listening to the vendors hawk their art and jewelry, imagining the smell of the butcher shops that originally lined the bridge, stewing in the perfume and body odor of the tourists.  Closed in on either side by the storefronts, cold in a winter breeze, face lit warmly by reflected firelight from wrought-iron lanterns.  Looking out over the water at the graceful arches of the Ponte Santa Trinita.  Remembering a rough little dog waiting for handouts at his feet.  Remembering a craving for Chianina beef and human liver and fresh olive oil.  Imagining the feeling of slim and strong hands on his waist.  Imagining the taste in his throat of aftershave with a ship on the bottle.

Will cries out from the bedroom.  Hannibal rises from the table, folding the handkerchief.  Eighteen spoons on the table’s edge like uniformed corpses.  He hears Taps ringing in some other life as he walks away from them.

(cont.)

“Tutto bene,” Hannibal says in the bedroom, smoothing his hand along Will’s fevered brow, pushing his wet bangs away from his pale and beautiful face.  Saintlike in the firelight, Will rests with his head back, throat bared, eyelids flickering with nightmares.  So exquisite.  St. Francis of Assisi in ecstasy, or St. Sebastian.  He bears the wounds on his body grandly; they are red in the yellow light.  The hollows of his bones and his ruined cheek are heavily shadowed, Carravaggian, painted delicately with a thick brush.  Hannibal runs a hand over Will’s cheek, his jaw, that throat.  He closes his fingers around the pulse point and leans in close.  When he can’t find his English, he murmurs in Italian. Precious.  Mine.  Sometimes, you brought this on yourself.  But Hannibal can’t summon any anger.  He bathes his Will with cold water and meditates on the nature of love and how it’s taken almost everything from him.

Some days are better than others.

There’s no television in this house, but Hannibal has a radio.  He carries it around with him when he’s working.  He listens to NPR and staticky strains of opera as he changes the oil in the truck.  It has been many years since the last time he had to do this, but he hasn’t forgotten how.  He forgets very little, even the things that are better forgotten.  He sings along to E lucevan le stelle under his breath, perfectly pitched but voice cracking with disuse.  He was never a singer.  That doesn’t matter to his audience of air and snow.  He taps his fingers along the truck’s hood, pressing phantom harpsichord keys, until it’s too cold to stay outside.

Hannibal chops firewood with an axe half-dulled by weather, but the blows are rhythmic and soothing.  Not so long ago, he used an axe to fell a glorious red dragon.  What he’s doing now bears little resemblance to how he imagined the life of a knight triumphant, but he minds the spoons: beggars simply cannot be choosers.  He’s been through worse; he lived for three years in his mind, waiting for his foolish heart.  He bends to pick up the split logs and falls to a knee.  The pain is startling still, sometimes, and the twist of the gunshot wound in his stomach knocks the breath out of him.  He doesn’t make a sound.  He has been through much worse.

Mischa watches him from behind the wood pile with her big, dark eyes.  Her little hands rest like snowflakes wherever they fall.  The wide, open fields around Hannibal seem to close in on all sides, dizzyingly, like the rooms in Mischa’s dollhouse.  She smiles at him.  After a long moment, soaked with snow, he struggles to his feet and goes inside.  She isn’t real.

Will talks in his sleep frequently, making querulous pleas for succor or calling names that don’t mean anything to Hannibal.  He doesn’t share the bed anymore.  It’s hardly wide enough for one of them to begin with, and Hannibal doesn’t need another elbow to the stomach.  He almost killed Will for that – knife to that beautiful throat, shaking and sweating in a haze of pain and sleep.  What a waste that would have been.  He still feels sick remembering it now.

He stays in the chair at Will’s bedside and dozes.  He delegates himself to watching over.  Will requires a lot of attention.  They’re running out of medicine.  Hannibal starts breaking the painkillers in half, then he stops taking them himself altogether.  It’s better when Will sleeps through the night.

Hannibal doesn’t sleep much.  He walks the streets of Florence, visiting the Duomo in his mind, visiting the Pazzi family chapel, researching Dante and Sforza and Graham.  Other memories intrude.  He lets the fever find him in his weaker moments when his hands tremble from wiping pus away from his sutures.  A curious physical reaction for a surgeon; so his brain narrates to him as he looks through his cowardly fingers at the angry red lines.  They flicker in his vision like the dying fire in the grate.  He doesn’t ever look too long or he sees faces inside the flames, some he recognizes.

It starts to snow and it doesn’t stop for days.  The wet flakes gather quickly in drifts and make the world silent.  Hannibal keeps the doorways clear with a yellow plastic shovel as best he can, but if he stops and sleeps for an hour, then the snow starts to get too heavy to lift without seeing stars.  He washes Will’s body and feeds him broken pills and drinks a truly terrible bottle of wine that was left by the previous occupants of the house.  He swirls the liquid around and takes in the bouquet out of habit, but it doesn’t help.  Notes of vinegar, and they aren’t subtle.

A black dog comes on the third day of snow.  Hannibal sees it out of the corner of his eye from the attic window.  The shadowed lupine shape stands out against the fields like an inkblot devouring paper, an absence of light.  Blankets smelling of mothballs slip from Hannibal’s (coward) hands when he sees it.  Ice crowds his gullet.  “Perkūnas.”  It’s the name of an old, old god he remembers from childhood stories.  It’s the name of a black dog.  He goes downstairs to make sure that Will is still breathing.  He can’t tell if the howling he hears is coming from the dog, the wind, or himself.

Will stirs in his nightmares and gasps Hannibal’s name.  Hannibal kisses his forehead and holds his hand through the long night, fingers intertwined.

Oh, what would he say if his ever-rational father could see him now?

It doesn’t really matter now.  His father’s brains were eaten by wolves.  He dreams about them steaming in the snow on a night like tonight, jellylike and pink with blood, and the smell of burning metal and rubber, and the smell of gunpowder and death.  He is grateful, when he wakes, that the acrid taste of vomit banishes the imagined texture of grey matter on his tongue.  

Hannibal knows he’s seeing things.  He sees the wolves in the trees at twilight, disappearing between the pines, disguised by the heavy branches mounded with snow.  Ghosts in the long night.  He sees tracks at the doors, circling the house.  Each toeprint tipped by a claw mark.  And then there are the boot prints, too.  It varies from hour to hour whether he thinks they belong to the FBI or to the Hilfswillige.  The thought that either one has found them fills him with a desperate sense of purpose; he stands in front of Will’s bed with a knife in hand, watching the doorway for hours.  He knows no one is coming in.  Physician, heal thyself.  The shadows still feel like monsters even when he knows they cannot be.

He sees the black dog again.  Outside, it walks with Mischa, stalking her steps.  She moves with childish grace, plays like violins between the drifts.  The strings are dogged by French horns.  Petya i volk.  Notes spill from his mind into the waking world.  Hannibal wants to go to her, to lift her from the snow, to feel her tiny, star-shaped hands on his face.  Her hair is long and curling in her face.  Her smile is like the sun.  He reminds himself often that the pain in his arm is from his fall into the sea, not from reaching after her and having the barn door slammed closed on him.

She disappears when he rushes outside to her, stumbling without shoes.  Down to his knees again in the snow.  She isn’t real.  The sun is fading from the world.  Look inside the belly of the wolf and find it swallowed alive.

In the evening (some evening, what day is it) Hannibal runs hot water over his wound, looking into the ugly, puckering skin, shivering and sopping up the pus.  It’s very cold.  Has he brought in enough firewood?  Breathing is a labor and his mouth is dry, like he’s sucking on wool.  He reminds himself that he’s been through worse and lies back down on the floor.  (This is getting to be pretty bad.)

Maybe the dog is here for him?  

He never thinks about what comes after.  He thinks about his earliest memory and projects forward to what he imagines will be the moment of his death.  He didn’t imagine he would be dying of a septic gunshot wound, laid out on greying tile in a borrowed bathroom.  Something more glamorous would have suited him better.  An aneurysm at the height of a crescendo.  Being crushed to death under a crystal chandelier.  Or, indeed, falling from a cliff with his darkened and debauched lover in an unwitting murder-suicide.

But they lived.  They lived to decline.  Hannibal feels tears wetting his face.  He doesn’t want to go yet.  He finally has what he wants.  He closes his eyes.  Some time passes in darkness and the sound of surf, no, the sound of the river Arno washing against the Ponte Vecchio.  Prokofiev playing.  Salt smell of prosciutto, olive oil.  Someone is touching his cheek.

“Mischa?”

“Shh,” says Will.  “I’m here.”

---

Will is half-silhouetted against the bedroom window, hair long and falling into his face.  He’s very thin, swimming in a sweater pulled from one of the room’s dressers, but his eyes are clear.  His cheek isn’t healing very nicely, but at least it’s healing.  Hannibal tries to reach for Will, but his arm won’t move.  Broken by the barn door?  He’s struck by the thought that this is a dream, that all of this has been a dream he created in the white, geometric interior of his cell at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane - maybe he’s finally, actually gone insane?  Then Will is there, gently freeing his hand from the heavy bedclothes and taking it between his palms.

“Hey,” Will says, attempting a smile.  The scar pulls at his lips.  The warmth in his gaze is genuine.  “You’re back.”

“Dove sono andato?” Hannibal asks, or thinks he asks.  Where did I go?  Will tilts his head, and after a moment Hannibal realizes he didn’t understand.  His mind roves over letters and words, picking them up and putting them down like seashells collected from a stormy shore.  By the time he finds the right ones, he’s forgotten what he wanted to say.  It doesn’t matter; Will has leaned down to kiss him softly.  Their mouths meet for the first time, and a feeling rises in Hannibal’s chest, a warmth, a pressure that settles in his throat.  He takes Will’s wrist in a tight grip.  “Non lasciarmi,” he says, curses his fumbling tongue, but the meaning this time seems clear.  Will rests their foreheads together.

"I’m staying, Hannibal.”  Will squeezes his hand.  “This time we’ll be together.”

Some days are better than others.

Hannibal doesn’t enjoy taking over the role of “the bedridden.” He doesn’t enjoy the weakness in his limbs or the ache of his unused muscles.  He sleeps, struggles, sleeps again.  He sicks up ill-gotten antibiotics and oversalted chicken broth patronizingly spoon-fed to him by a frustratingly patient Will.  There are long afternoons when he can do nothing but listen to the fire or the radio, alone.  He chafes in the emptiness, resents his dependence.  The Florence in his mind is full of unintended associations now, and he hides from them elsewhere, poring over medical texts in the Eisenhower Library at Johns Hopkins or listening to the Goldberg Variations playing endlessly on loop at the Bach House in Eisenach.  He dreams of Mischa often, but he doesn’t see her anymore, and this is a kindness.

He sees the black dog again.  After days of recumbency, missing Will, he’s pulls himself up, finally, from the confines of the bedroom and is determined to sit in the kitchen.  At least it will be a change of scenery.  He can take in the silver sunlight and polish the spoons.  He can advise Will on how to make a proper bowl of soup, with silkie, red dates, and goji berries; it will fall on deaf ears, he’s sure, and anyway, all the food they have is in cans.  Still, he can’t abide the idea of eating like this forever.  Will will have to learn to cook.  Hannibal crosses the den, one hand on the wall for support, tracing the faded flower pattern of the dated wallpaper.  And there’s the dog, sitting in the kitchen doorway, forelimbs stretched out before it like Tutankhamun’s Anubis Shrine.

Hannibal must make some sound (of fear, potentially, though he prefers to think dismay) because Will comes down the stairs at speed, somewhat dusty and trailing an extension cord.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, “It’s okay.”  He touches Hannibal’s shoulder, then goes to the dog, half-crouching, to take it by the scruff.  “I found her outside.  Good girl.  This is Hannibal.  See?  She’s really friendly!”  He half-smiles up at Hannibal with a note of pleading in his voice.  “I thought we could keep her.”  His eyes look very blue today in the silver winter light.

Hannibal swears under his breath in Russian like the stable hands used to.  They have no room for a dog in this house.  There might be space enough, but the corners are crowded with fears and doubt, the threat of capture lurks under the windows, the future flees through every crack.  They can barely feed themselves from what they have.  And every time Hannibal looks at the dog, he sees death waiting for them.  He doesn’t say that part out loud – cannot.  It’s the spiraling clamor of his dying mind; it’s a thought that should be discarded.  He looks at the dog and he looks away.

Will makes a show of listening very seriously to his concerns – the ones that make sense, the ones Hannibal can give voice to – his blue eyes wide and attentive.  He doesn’t say anything.  As Hannibal starts to wind down, tone going ever so slightly bitter, Will rests his chin on the dog’s head.  All innocence, all charm.  He will never belong fully to Hannibal.

“Her name is Sadie.”

Will, Hannibal, and the dog stay in the house until Hannibal can stay up for the whole day, carry a backpack, bear the close touch of a jacket over his stomach. Until there are no more instances of lost words or confusing nights when Hannibal forgets where he is and tells Will to bar the door against looters and worse.  They don’t talk about that.  Instead, they talk about leaving.  It turns out that Will has found an old computer in the attic, stashed away under a worn pile of clothes, and he’s been fixing it up in the between hours.  With a little bit of elbow grease and the unintended generosity of unknown neighbors with an unsecured wireless signal, they have internet access.

It feels strange to broach the outside world again.  The submarine atmosphere of the old house pops like a bubble full of smoke and spills them into the resumption of time.

News sites are still talking about them, some more vociferously than others.  They were tracked to the cliffside by dogs and crime scene analysis, but vanished altogether thereafter.  Freddie Lounds has pitched a daring helicopter escape to Cuba.  They’ll be going north, then.  Jack appears suddenly on CNN in a three-minute feature segment and scares them both, like a specter bursting suddenly from a darkened closet.  Jack doesn’t think they’re dead, and they’re not, and they shouldn’t linger.

“Time to go,” Will says, after they’ve packed up the truck.  The back seat is full of all their scavenged wealth: the blankets and clothes and cans and the last of the medicines, all they can fit and find use for.  Sadie sits in the footwell, resting her chin on the center console and slowly wagging her tail.  Will gets into the driver’s seat.  “Where to?”

The sun is setting and the trees are casting wide nets of shadow over the fields in front of them.  The interior of the cabin smells like cracked leather, old smoke, and the ghost of a pine-shaped air freshener.  Will smells like soap and healthy sweat and mothballs.  Hannibal kisses his jaw.  All they have is now.  All they have is each other, a truck, and an ominous black dog.  

“Wherever you want to go, beloved.”