#and catches soot from the forest fire he started

[lavb-b]

Spa session

Gotta keep the hero in shape

Based off this tweet ⏬️

[shiorihyugawrites]

Damaged

Before the fall of Wall Maria, a string of brutal murders grips Wall Sina, noblemen found strangled, their mouths stuffed with drugs, and not a trace of the killer left behind. The Military Police call him “The Spider Killer.” But he's no man. She's a ghost in silk and shadow. A serial killer hiding in plain sight. When the scouts get involved, Levi begins to suspect that catching her won’t be so easy… especially when she starts hunting him too. (Levi x OC)

This fic was inspired by my oneshot Velvet Heat.

Chapter Seven: Shackled

The nightmare gripped Rose like a vice, dragging her back to a night seared into her soul. She was ten years old, curled in the chimney of her family’s cramped home, her small body trembling, her hands clamped over her ears. Soot coated her skin, stinging her eyes, the acrid smell choking her lungs.

Outside, the screams of her little siblings—Anna, six, and Tobias, four—pierced the night, their high-pitched cries mingling with the crackle of flames. Her father had crossed the wrong people, and they’d come for blood. Her mother was no shield, her body crumpling under the first blow. Rose had watched, frozen, as the killers stormed in, their blades flashing, her family’s blood pooling on the floorboards. Anna’s tiny hand reached for her, her eyes pleading, but Rose had bolted, scrambling up the chimney, her heart pounding with terror and shame.

The fire roared below, set to erase the crime, the heat scorching her bare feet. She pressed her hands harder against her ears, trying to drown out Anna’s screams, Tobias’s sobs, the sickening snap of bones. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears streaking the soot on her face. “I’m so sorry.” She’d left them to die, chosen survival over courage, and the guilt had burrowed into her, a poison that festered through the years. It was why she hunted Coderoin dealers, why she killed with such theatrical cruelty—each death a futile attempt to silence the screams in her mind. But the guilt never left, twisting her into the fractured woman she’d become, her mental stability a fraying thread.

The nightmare began to fade, the screams softening, the heat cooling. Rose’s eyes fluttered, her body jerking as reality clawed her back. She pitched upright, gasping, her heart racing, only to feel the bite of steel on her wrists and ankles. She tugged, the clank of chains echoing in the dim space, and realized she was shackled—long chains, anchored to the wall, giving her just enough room to move. Her eyes darted around, taking in the cell: a cold, underground chamber, its stone walls slick with damp, lit by a single flickering torch outside the bars. A narrow bed, a rusted sink, a bucket in the corner—that was all. Her clothing had been replaced by a loose, ill-fitting white dress, its fabric scratching her skin. Her torn brown dress was nowhere to be seen.

Panic surged, her hands flying to her fingers. Her gold rings—Andreas’s wires, her lifeline—were gone. “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling with fury. She gritted her teeth, her hair falling in wild waves around her face. 

The memories flooded back: the safehouse in Shiganshina, her reckless decision to burn it down, the fight in the forest, Levi’s chokehold crushing her into darkness. She’d been caught, her web torn apart, and now she was here—trapped, defenseless, separated from Andreas.

Her eyes snapped to the bars, and she froze. She wasn’t alone. Commander Erwin sat on a small stool outside her cell, his green scout cloak draped over his broad shoulders, his blue eyes calm but piercing. Beside him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, was Captain Levi, his gray eyes cold. Both men stared her down, their presence a silent weight.

Erwin’s voice broke the silence, steady and measured. “You’re finally awake.”

Rose’s lip curled, her voice sharp, defiant. “What the fuck is this place?”

Erwin leaned forward, his hands clasped, his expression unyielding. “You’re in the custody of the Scout Regiment, underground at our headquarters in Trost. You’re here for your crimes, Scarlet—or whatever your real name is. Thirty confirmed murders in the Walls, including nobles, merchants, and Military Police officers, all killed with your wires and staged with Coderoin. Three human traffickers in Shiganshina, mutilated and dumped in a lake. Attempted murder of Gavyn, the safehouse owner, by arson and strangulation. And that’s just what we know. Shall I continue?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, but she stayed silent, her chains clinking as she shifted on the bed. The list was a noose tightening around her, each crime a thread in the web she’d spun. But she wouldn’t show fear—not to them.

Erwin’s voice softened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I told you in the forest, and I’ll tell you again: I want to recruit you into the Survey Corps. Your skills—those wires, your training—are extraordinary. You could be an invaluable asset to humanity in our fight against the titans.”

Rose stared, then threw her head back and laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that echoed off the stone walls. “You’re insane! You think I’d sign up to be titan dinner? Run around outside the Walls, waving my wires like some suicidal hero? No thanks, Commander. I’d rather take my chances with a noose.”

Levi’s voice cut through, low and cold, his eyes glinting with barely restrained anger. “Keep laughing. I’d be more than happy to hand you over to the MPs. They’ll hang you without a trial—probably string you up in the square for show. Or better yet, they’d let me kill you myself. Save everyone the trouble.”

Rose’s laughter stopped, her brown eyes locking onto Levi’s, a slow, wicked smile curling her lips. She leaned forward, her chains clinking, her voice dripping with seduction and defiance. “Kill me, huh? You sure you can handle it, Captain? Took you and seven other scouts to take me down last time. What’s it gonna be this time—ten? Twelve? Or you gonna cry for backup again?”

She was baiting him, her smile a taunt, her words aimed at the cracks in his stoic armor. She’d wounded him before, left him bloodied and humiliated, and she relished the chance to twist the knife. Levi’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists, but he didn’t rise to it. His voice was flat, deadly. “You’re alive because I wasn’t trying to kill you. Both times, I was holding back—Erwin’s orders were to subdue you, not slit your throat. If I’d wanted you dead, you’d be a corpse before you could blink.”

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills. Rose saw the red glint in Levi’s gaze, the promise of violence, and knew he meant every word. He was a killer, like her, forged in blood and survival. But she wouldn’t let him unnerve her. She tilted her head, her smile widening, her voice a purr. “Big talk, Captain. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

Erwin raised a hand, his voice calm but firm. “Enough, Levi. Stand down.”

Rose laughed again, the sound sharp and mocking, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Yeah, listen to your boss, Captain. Wouldn’t want you getting all worked up.”

Levi’s glare didn’t waver, but he stayed silent, his arms crossed tighter. Erwin’s eyes flicked to Rose, his expression unreadable. “Let’s try this again. What’s your real name? We know Scarlet’s an alias. You’re not a ghost—someone knows who you are.”

Rose leaned back, her chains clinking, her smile playful but guarded. “What do you think my name is, Commander? Hmm? I look like a Lucy to you? Maybe a Noelle? Or how about… something spicy, like Vivienne?” She was toying with him, dodging the question, her voice a teasing lilt.

Levi’s patience snapped, his voice a growl. “Cut the shitty games! We don’t have time for your nonsense. You’re pissing me off.”

Rose’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Oh, I’m pissing you off? Good. Maybe you’ll cry about it later, Captain.”

Erwin’s voice was sharp, cutting through their bickering. “Levi, enough.” He turned to Rose, his gaze piercing. “Let’s talk about the Grim Reaper.”

Rose’s smile faltered, her playful demeanor cracking. Her eyes narrowed, her body tensing, the mention of Andreas hitting like a blade. She remembered Levi asking about him at the lounge—they knew he was her father, knew he was alive, knew the rings came from him. Her heart raced, but she forced her face to stay neutral, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Levi caught the shift, his voice a taunt. “What’s wrong? Don’t like talking about Daddy Dearest? We know he’s your father, know he’s pulling your strings. Those rings, the wires—they’re his design, aren’t they?”

Rose’s eyes flashed, her silence a shield. She wouldn’t betray Andreas, not for anything. He was her savior, the only one who’d loved her, protected her from the hell of her childhood. The scouts could pry all they wanted—she’d die before giving him up. But her reaction betrayed her, the flicker of fear in her eyes a crack in her armor.

Erwin and Levi exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment. The Grim Reaper was her weakness, her Achilles’ heel. Erwin reached into his pocket, pulling out one of her gold rings, its intricate design catching the torchlight. He held it up, his voice calm but probing. “This ring—it’s a marvel. Hange’s been studying it, but we still don’t understand how you use it. The wires, the mechanism—it’s innovative, brilliant. A weapon like this could change how we fight titans. Imagine what you could do, not as a killer, but as a soldier for humanity.”

Rose stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the ring, her heart twisting. The rings were Andreas’s gift, a symbol of their bond, and seeing one in Erwin’s hands felt like a violation. She wanted to snatch it back, to feel its weight on her finger, but the chains held her fast.

Levi’s voice was sharp, cutting through her silence. “Titans are tearing humanity apart. If you give a damn about your precious father, wouldn’t you want to use those skills for something more than being some psycho serial killer? Or is that all you’re good for?”

The word “psycho” hit like a spark to kindling. Rose’s eyes glazed over, her fragile control snapping. She hated that word, hated anything that branded her as crazy. It dragged her back to the chimney, to the screams, to the guilt that had shattered her mind. She surged to her feet, the chains clanking, and stormed to the bars, as close as her restraints allowed. Her voice was a fierce growl, her brown eyes blazing. “I’m not a fucking psycho!”

Erwin and Levi froze, her reaction a flare in the dim cell. Her sensitivity to the word, her raw anger—it was another chink in her armor, a glimpse into the storm within her. Erwin’s eyes narrowed, his mind cataloging her triggers: Her father and any mention of her sanity. Levi’s glare didn’t waver, but he saw it too—the way her eyes glazed, the manic edge that made her unpredictable.

Erwin stood, his voice calm but firm. “You’re agitated, and we won’t get anywhere like this. We’ll give you time to think about our offer. Join the scouts, use your skills for humanity, and your crimes can be redeemed through service. Refuse, and the Military Police will decide your fate.”

Rose’s face was a mask of fury, her eyes tracking their every move, her chains taut. If looks could kill, Erwin and Levi would be six feet under. 

Levi pushed off the wall as they turned to leave, their boots echoing on the stone floor. Rose’s voice rang out, sharp and defiant. “You think these chains will hold me? I’ll get out, and when I do, you’ll regret this, Captain.”

Levi didn’t look back, but his voice was cold. “Try it. I’ll be waiting.”

The cell door clanged shut, the torchlight fading as they ascended the stairs. Rose sank onto the bed, her chains clinking, her heart pounding. The nightmare lingered, her siblings screams echoing in her mind, mingling with her guilt over Andreas. She was trapped, her rings gone, her freedom stolen. But she wasn’t broken. She’d find a way out, find Andreas, and burn the Scouts’ world to ash if she had to. Her eyes glinted in the dark, her resolve a flickering flame. 

Rose might’ve been caged, but she wasn’t tamed.

…

Erwin and Levi emerged into the main hall, the air warmer, tinged with the scent of polished wood and ink. The headquarters was a fortress of purpose, its corridors bustling with scouts preparing for the next expedition. Levi’s boots clicked against the floor, his posture rigid, while Erwin’s stride was measured, his mind already turning to the next step. They headed for Hange’s lab, a cluttered sanctuary of research tucked in the east wing, where the Special Operations Squad and Miche awaited. The lab was their hub for dissecting Rose’s weapons, and Hange’s obsession with the hair wires promised answers—if not solutions.

The lab door creaked open, revealing a chaos of glass vials and scattered notes. Hange stood at a workbench, her glasses slipping down her nose, her brown hair a tangled mess as she peered at one of Rose’s gold rings under a magnifying lens. The ring gleamed, its intricate grooves a puzzle she was determined to crack. Miche leaned against a wall, his broad frame relaxed but his sliced hand bandaged, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. The Special Ops Squad hovered nearby, their faces a mix of curiosity and unease. Petra’s amber eyes flicked to the door as Levi and Erwin entered, her neck still bruised from Rose’s wires. The squad had been shaken by the forest fight, and the idea of Scarlet as a potential ally sat like a stone in their stomachs.

Hange looked up, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “You’re back! How’d it go with our resident spider? Did she spill her secrets? Her real name? Anything about those wires?” She waved the ring, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

Levi’s voice was a low growl, his arms crossing. “She’s awake, and she’s a pain in the ass. Laughed in our faces, mocked the idea of joining the scouts. Kept up her games, dodging questions, taunting me like it’s a damn sport.”

Erwin set his cloak on a chair, his voice calm but authoritative. “She’s defensive, but we learned something. She’s fiercely protective of the Grim Reaper. Mentioning him shut her down. And she’s sensitive about her mental state. Calling her a ‘psycho’ triggered her, hard. She’s not as untouchable as she wants us to think.”

Petra’s voice was quiet, her fingers brushing her bruised neck. “Triggered how, Commander?”

Erwin’s eyes met hers, steady and reassuring. “She stood up, rushed the bars, got as close as her chains allowed. Her eyes—there’s an in them edge when she’s pushed. But it’s not just madness. There’s pain there, something from her past driving her. I don’t think she’s crazy. I think she’s haunted.”

Levi snorted, his voice sharp. “Haunted or not, she’s a loose cannon. You saw her in that cell, Erwin—laughing one second, ready to kill the next. Even if she agrees to join us, how the hell do we trust someone that mentally unstable? What if some recruit calls her a psycho and she snaps, slits their throat in the barracks? She’s a walking disaster.”

Hange set the ring down, her voice thoughtful. “She’s definitely got issues, but unstable doesn’t mean irredeemable. Those wires, her fighting style—she’s a genius in her own way. If we can channel that, she could be a game-changer against the titans. I mean, look at this!” She held up the ring, its grooves catching the lamplight. “The mechanism’s insane—springs, tension coils, ultrahard steel wires thinner than a hair. I’m nowhere near cracking it, but it’s brilliant!”

Miche’s voice was gruff, his nose twitching. “Brilliant or not, she’s dangerous. I felt those wires firsthand. She’s got no restraint, no hesitation. You sure about this, Erwin?”

Erwin’s expression was resolute, his voice unwavering. “I am. She’s not crazy—she’s a product of her circumstances. Raised by the Grim Reaper, a serial killer, likely from childhood. That kind of upbringing shapes a person, twists them. But it doesn’t mean she’s beyond saving. We have resources—counselors, training, structure. We can help her, guide her. Her skills are too valuable to throw away.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “You’re betting on a long shot. I get it—her wires are impressive, her fighting’s top-tier. But she’s not just shaped by her past; she’s broken by it. You saw her eyes, Erwin. There’s no empathy there. She kills without blinking, anyone who gets in her way. I don’t care how haunted she is—she’s a threat.”

Erwin’s gaze softened, but his voice was firm. “You’re not wrong, Levi. She lacks restraint, and that’s a problem. But you, of all people, can teach her that restraint. You can relate to her more than anyone here.”

Levi’s eyes widened, his voice rising, incredulous. “You can’t be fucking serious. Me? Babysit that lunatic? You’re out of your mind.”

Erwin’s expression didn’t waver, his tone dead serious. “I’m serious. If she joins us, I’d place her in your squad. One, because I believe your guidance could reform her. You’re disciplined, focused, and you’ve turned your own past into strength. Two, if she ever goes berserk, you’re the only one who can put her down. You’ve already proven it.”

The lab fell silent, the weight of Erwin’s words settling over them. Petra’s heart sank, her fingers tightening on her chair. The idea of Scarlet joining their squad—Levi’s squad—felt like a betrayal. Scarlet had nearly killed her, wrapped wires around her neck, and now she might be a teammate? Her secret feelings for Levi, buried deep, twisted with jealousy and fear. How could they work with someone so unhinged? She stayed quiet, her bruised neck a silent protest.

Gunther spoke up, his voice analytical but tense. “Commander, with all due respect, she fought eight of us and held her own. That’s not just skill—that’s a death wish. If she’s in our squad, how do we sleep at night knowing she could snap?”

Eld’s voice was calm but skeptical. “And her loyalty? She’s devoted to the Grim Reaper. Even if she joins, what’s to stop her from running back to him? Or worse, sabotaging us?”

Oluo, his bravado shaky, piped up. “She’s a maniac! You really think she’ll play nice with us? She’ll probably string us all up and hang us!”

Hange’s voice was brighter, cutting through the tension. “Oh, come on, she’s not that bad! Okay, she’s a little murder-y, but think of the potential! If we can figure out these rings, train her to use them against titans, we’re talking a whole new level of combat. Levi, you could whip her into shape—turn her from a spider into a soldier!”

Levi’s glare was icy, his voice low. “Whip her into shape? She’s not a raw recruit—she’s a serial killer with a body count higher than most titans. You’re acting like she’s some lost puppy we can fix. She’s a predator, and predators don’t change.”

Erwin’s voice was steady, his eyes locking onto Levi’s. “You were a predator once, Levi. A thug in the Underground, killing to survive until you found a purpose. I saw potential in you, and I see it in her.”

Levi’s teeth gritted, his hands clenching. Erwin’s words hit deep, stirring memories he’d buried. Kenny, the serial killer who’d raised him, hadn’t been a father—just a mentor in blood. Levi remembered watching Kenny slit throats without a second thought, teaching him to kill, to manipulate through fear. Those lessons had shaped him, hardened him, but he’d clung to a shred of empathy, a sense of right and wrong that kept him human. Scarlet, with her manic laughter and casual cruelty, seemed to lack that. Yet Erwin’s point gnawed at him—her past, her pain, mirrored his own. Could she be molded, like he was? He doubted it, but the comparison stung.

“She’s not me,” Levi said, his voice low, almost a growl. “I had limits. She doesn’t. She kills for fun, stages her victims like trophies. You’re gambling with all of our lives, Erwin.”

Petra’s voice was quiet, but firm, her eyes meeting Levi’s. “Captain, I trust your judgment, but… she tried to kill me. Her wires were around my neck, and she didn’t hesitate. If she joins our squad, how do we work with that? How do I look at her and not see a threat?”

Levi’s gaze softened, just a fraction, his voice steady. “You don’t have to trust her, Petra. You trust me. If she steps out of line, I’ll handle it.”

Erwin nodded, his voice reassuring. “That’s why she’d be under Levi’s command. He’s the best chance to guide her, and the best defense if she turns. I know it’s a risk, but the titans are a greater one. Her skills could save countless lives—if we can reach her.”

Miche’s voice was gruff, his bandaged hand flexing. “You’re banking on a miracle, Commander. I’ve smelled her—fear, rage, blood. She’s not just haunted; she’s broken. You’re asking Levi to tame a wildfire.”

Hange’s grin widened, undeterred. “Wildfires can be useful if you control them! Levi’s like a bucket of water—grumpy, but effective. I say we give it a shot. Worst case, we learn more about those wires before she, uh, goes rogue.”

Oluo’s voice was nervous. “Goes rogue? She’s already rogue! You saw what she did to those traffickers—shredded one to bits!”

Gunther’s voice was calmer, but tense. “If she’s in our squad, we’d need strict rules. Constant supervision, no weapons until she’s proven herself. Even then, I don’t see her fitting in.”

Eld’s eyes flicked to Levi, his voice practical. “Captain, you’ve dealt with tough recruits before. But she’s not a recruit—she’s a prisoner. If you’re stuck with her, what’s your plan?”

Levi’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He hated this—hated the idea of babysitting a killer, hated the comparison to his own past. But Erwin’s logic was ironclad. If Scarlet joined, Levi was the only one who could handle her, mold her, or end her if it came to that. His squad’s safety and lives, depended on his vigilance. “If she’s in my squad,” he said, his voice cold, “she’s on a leash. No rings, no blades, no freedom until she earns it. One wrong move, and I cut her down. No hesitation.”

Petra’s heart twisted, her eyes lingering on Levi. His resolve was a comfort, but the thought of Scarlet in their squad still made her stomach churn. She trusted Levi, but Rose was a storm, and storms left wreckage. “Understood, Captain,” she said, her voice steady despite her unease. “We’ll follow your lead.”

Erwin’s voice was resolute, his eyes sweeping the room. “Then it’s settled. We give her time to consider our offer. If she agrees, she joins Levi’s squad under strict conditions. If she refuses, the MPs take her. Hange, keep working on those rings. The more we understand her weapons, the better we can prepare.”

Hange saluted, her grin wide. “You got it! I’m gonna crack these babies open, even if it takes all night!”

Miche grunted, pushing off the wall. “I’ll keep sniffing around the cells. If she’s planning anything, I’ll catch her scent.”

The squad exchanged glances, their unease palpable. Gunther sighed, his voice low. “This is gonna be a nightmare, isn’t it?”

Eld’s voice was dry. “Probably. But we’ve handled worse. Right, Captain?”

Levi’s glare was answer enough, his voice sharp. “Get back to training. If she joins us, you’ll need to be sharper than ever. No slacking.”

Oluo puffed out his chest, his bravado returning. “Don’t worry, Captain! We’ll show that spider who’s boss!”

Petra stayed silent, her eyes on Levi. She’d follow orders, fight beside her squad, but trust? That was a bridge too far. 

As the lab emptied, the squad dispersing to their duties, Levi lingered, his gaze fixed on the ring in Hange’s hand. Could he teach Scarlett restraint, or would she drag them all into her chaos? He didn’t know, but one thing was certain: if she crossed the line, he’d kill her himself.

…

That evening, the air in Hange’s lab was thick with the scent of oil, ink, and the faint metallic tang of Rose’s gold rings. Hours had passed since Levi and Erwin’s tense encounter with the Spider Killer in her underground cell, and the lab remained a hub of restless energy.

Hange hunched over the ring, her glasses slipping, her fingers stained with grease as she muttered about tension coils and wire deployment. Levi stood by the window, his arms crossed, his gray eyes fixed on the darkening sky. Erwin sat at a cluttered table, reviewing reports, his blue eyes thoughtful but resolute. The Special Ops Squad had returned from training, their faces flushed from exertion, while Miche lounged against a wall, his bandaged hand flexing, his nose twitching at the lab’s myriad scents. The scouts were preparing to head to the mess hall for dinner, the clatter of their gear mingling with the hum of Hange’s work. 

Erwin set down his reports, his voice steady. “It’s been a few hours. Scarlet’s had time to cool off. Levi, let’s go back to her cell, try talking again. If we can reach her, we might get through.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his voice a growl. “She’s not cooling off, Erwin. She’s plotting, laughing, waiting to piss us off again. But fine—let’s get this over with.”

But before they could move, the lab door slammed open, a young scout guard stumbling in, his face pale, his breath ragged. His green cloak was askew, his eyes wide with panic, and the room froze, every head snapping toward him. Levi’s hand twitched toward his blade, his voice sharp. “What’s wrong?”

The guard gasped, clutching the doorframe. “It’s the prisoner… Scarlet. You need to come, now!”

Levi’s heart sank, his mind flashing to Scarlet’s taunts, her wicked smile. “She escaped?” he demanded, already moving toward the door.

The guard shook his head, his voice trembling. “Not… exactly. She hasn’t left the cell, but… I can’t explain it. You just need to see it for yourselves!”

Erwin stood, his voice calm but urgent. “Everyone, gear up. Let’s move.”

The squad sprang into action, their ODM gear clanking as they checked blades and gas canisters. Hange shoved the ring into her pocket, her eyes gleaming with curiosity, while Miche pushed off the wall, his nose twitching. Petra’s heart raced, her bruised neck throbbing as she grabbed her blades, her mind racing with images of Scarlet’s wires. Gunther and Eld exchanged grim glances, their hands steady but tense, while Oluo’s bravado faltered, his voice high. “What the hell’s she done now? Set the cell on fire?”

Levi’s glare silenced him, his voice cold. “Stay sharp. Whatever she’s pulled, we’re ready.”

The group moved swiftly through the headquarters, their boots echoing in the stone corridors, the torchlight casting flickering shadows. The underground cells were a labyrinth of damp stone and iron bars, the air heavy with mildew and tension. As they descended the spiral stairwell, Levi’s mind churned. Scarlet was a master of chaos, and this stunt—whatever it was—smelled like another game to get under his skin. Erwin’s calm stride beside him was a contrast to his own simmering fury, but both men were braced for the worst.

They reached her cell, the guard trailing behind, and stopped dead, their jaws dropping, even Levi’s. 

The sight was beyond comprehension, a surreal spectacle that left the Scouts flabbergasted. Scarlet had somehow removed her cuffs, the steel shackles lying in a heap on the floor. The bedsheets and her white dress were torn into strips, knotted together with parts of the fabric to form a makeshift trapeze, secured to the cell’s low ceiling. What remained of her dress was a skimpy, barely-there garment, the fabric clinging to her curves, leaving little to the imagination. Her wine-red hair cascaded in wild waves, her fingers gripping the trapeze as she swung languidly, her movements sensual, deliberate, like a performance at the Starlight Lounge.

Rose flipped gracefully, her body arching, her doe eyes catching the torchlight as she spun. The motion was hypnotic, her dancer’s grace a stark contrast to the cold stone cell. Miche, Oluo, Gunther, and Eld flushed crimson, their faces burning, their eyes darting away but drawn back by her audacity. Petra’s cheeks reddened, not from attraction but from the sheer nerve of Rose’s display, her hands tightening on her blades. Hange’s jaw hung open, her glasses slipping, her voice a whisper of awe. “That’s… incredible. She made a trapeze? In a cell?”

Erwin’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing to decipher how she’d escaped her cuffs. How did she do this?

Levi’s fury boiled over, his voice a snarl. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Rose’s lips curled into a seductive smile, her eyes locking onto Levi’s as she swung, her voice a purr. “Just putting on a little show, Captain. Like what you see?” She flipped again, her movements fluid, her skimpy outfit shifting, drawing gasps from the squad.

Levi’s hands clenched, his voice sharp. “Get down from there, now.”

Rose laughed, her swing slowing, her body arching provocatively. “Come in here and make me. I dare you. Or are you scared?” Her taunt was a blade, aimed at his pride, her smile a challenge.

The Special Ops Squad gaped, their shock palpable. Oluo’s voice was a squeak. “She’s talking to Captain Levi like that? Is she insane?”

Gunther’s voice was low, tense. “She’s trying to mess with him. It’s a game.”

Petra’s eyes burned, her voice silent but her grip on her blades white-knuckled. Rose’s audacity—taunting Levi, performing like an exotic dancer—was infuriating, a slap to the squad’s discipline.

Erwin’s voice was calm, cutting through the tension. “Scarlet, how did you remove your cuffs?”

Rose tilted her head, her smile coy, her voice teasing. “A lady never reveals her secrets, Commander. Let’s just say those cuffs were hurting my fragile little wrists.” She held up her hands, her wrists red but unmarked.

Hange’s eyes gleamed, her voice bursting with excitement. “She’s a genius! She used the sheets, the dress, knotted them together and look at the tension! How’d she secure it to the ceiling? This is amazing!”

Miche’s voice was sharp, his bandaged hand flexing. “Hange, focus! This isn’t the time to be impressed. She’s a prisoner, not a circus act.”

Rose laughed, her swing slowing, her eyes flicking to Miche. “Oh, lighten up, big guy. Don’t you like a little entertainment?”

Erwin’s voice was firm, his eyes locked on Rose. “We came to talk, Scarlet. Have you thought about our offer to join the Survey Corps?”

Rose made a show of pondering, her lips pursing, her body swaying on the trapeze. Her eyes flickered to Levi, her smile turning beautiful, dangerous. “Hmm… I might consider it, Commander. But only if Captain Levi asks me nicely.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his voice a growl. “You’re pushing it.”

Rose’s smile widened, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. “Oh, come on, Captain. It’d be fun, joining the Scouts, being near you all the time. Don’t you think?” She leaned forward, her scanty outfit shifting, her eyes gleaming. “Remember our fun in the Starlight Lounge? That private room, my dance, stripping for you… I saw how turned on you were, Captain. Couldn’t hide that erection, could you?”

The scouts gasped, their eyes wide with shock. Petra’s face flushed crimson, her heart pounding with rage and embarrassment. Rose’s words were a violation, a brazen attack on Levi’s dignity, and the audacity to say it in front of the squad was unthinkable. Gunther’s jaw dropped, his voice a whisper. “She didn’t just say that…”

Eld’s voice was tight, his face red. “She’s trying to break him. Psychological warfare.”

Oluo’s voice was high, panicked. “Captain, you’re not gonna let her talk like that, right?”

Levi’s fury was a palpable force, his gray eyes burning, his hands trembling with the urge to storm the cell and silence her. The worst part was the truth in her words—he had been aroused in that lounge, her dance a calculated seduction that had caught him off guard. He’d hated himself for it, for failing to hide his reaction, and now she was exploiting it, twisting the knife in front of his squad. His voice was low, deadly. “Keep talking. You’re just digging your own grave.”

Rose laughed, her swing resuming, her voice a taunt. “Oh, I’m just getting started, Captain. I know you’re attracted to me, even if you won’t admit it. All that stoic brooding? It’s just a mask. I see you.”

Erwin’s voice cut through, calm but probing. “What do you gain from antagonizing Captain Levi, Scarlet? This doesn’t help your case.”

Rose’s eyes flicked to Erwin, her smile sly. “It’s entertaining, Commander. Watching him get all riled up, pretending he’s fine—it’s adorable. Don’t you think?”

Before Levi could respond, Petra snapped, her voice sharp. “Shut up! Show Captain Levi some respect! You’re a prisoner, not a queen!”

Rose’s eyes shifted to Petra, a wicked gleam igniting, her smile turning predatory. “Oh, what’s this? The adorable little soldier’s getting defensive. Got a crush on your captain, sweetheart?” She tilted her head, her voice dripping with mockery. “I remember you—my hostage in the forest. Nearly took your head off. Bet that stung, huh? Is this auburn-haired cutie your little girlfriend, Levi?”

Petra’s face burned, her embarrassment a wildfire, her hands shaking on her blades. Rose’s taunt hit too close, her secret feelings for Levi exposed in a cruel jest. She opened her mouth to retort, but Levi’s voice roared, his fury breaking free. “Enough!” His eyes blazed, his body taut, his voice a blade. “You want to mess with me, fine. But you don’t touch my squad. You’re on thin fucking ice!”

Rose’s smile didn’t waver, her voice a playful sing-song. “Ooh, thin ice? Guess I’ll keep skating, Captain.”

The squad tensed, their eyes darting to Levi, expecting him to snap, to storm the cell and end her games. His hands trembled as his restraint frayed. Petra’s heart pounded, her embarrassment mingling with pride at Levi’s defense, but fear lingered—Rose was a master manipulator, and she was winning this round.

Erwin’s voice cut through, calm but firm, his eyes never leaving Rose. “Scarlet, enough. You have twenty-four hours to decide: join the Survey Corps, or face the Military Police. We won’t waste more time on your games.”

Rose laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that echoed off the stone walls. She swung higher, her trapeze creaking, and blew a kiss at Levi, her lips pursed in a taunting pout. “Oh, Captain, I hope you try your best to convince me to join you all. Don’t keep me waiting, handsome.” Her eyes gleamed with triumph, her kissy faces a final jab at his pride.

Levi’s fury erupted, his voice a snarl. “You fucking—” He took a step toward the bars, his hand twitching toward his blade, but Erwin’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, firm and unyielding.

“Levi, we’re leaving,” Erwin said, his voice low, authoritative. “Now.”

The scouts turned, their boots scuffing the stone floor, their faces a mix of shock and unease. Levi’s seething rage was palpable, a storm cloud that darkened the stairwell as they ascended. The squad had never seen him this rattled, his stoic facade cracked by Rose’s relentless taunts. Her words had humiliated him, exposed a vulnerability he’d fought to bury, and the knowledge that she’d seen his attraction—used it against him—burned like acid. He hated her, hated her manic eyes, her seductive smile, and most of all, he hated the part of himself that had responded to her in that lounge. The memory of his body’s betrayal, the undeniable pull of her dance, was a shame he couldn’t shake.

Petra’s heart pounded, her embarrassment a weight that crushed her. Rose’s taunt about her feelings for Levi had been a cruel spotlight, and the squad’s glances—Oluo’s nervous fidgeting, Gunther’s averted eyes—only deepened her mortification. She walked beside Levi, her voice soft, hesitant. “Captain, are you okay?”

Levi snapped, his voice sharp, cutting. “I’m fine, Petra. Drop it.” His tone was a whip, his gray eyes blazing, but the lie was obvious. He was far from fine,/

Petra flinched, her face falling, but she nodded, falling silent. Her concern for Levi warred with her own humiliation, and she hated Scarlet for both.

Erwin’s voice was steady, his eyes on Levi as they reached the main hall. “Levi, go cool off. Take a walk, clear your head. We’ll regroup later.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his hands trembling, but he didn’t argue. He stormed off, his boots echoing, his cloak snapping behind him. The squad watched him go, their unease palpable. Hange adjusted her glasses, her voice subdued. “Wow, she really got to him. I’ve never seen Levi this mad.”

Miche’s voice was gruff, his nose twitching. “She’s a snake, slithering into his head. You sure about this, Erwin?”

Erwin’s expression was resolute, his voice calm. “I am. Her manipulation is a skill, one we can harness. She’s frustrating, dangerous, but too talented to give up on. We just need to find a way to reach her.”

Gunther’s voice was low, skeptical. “Reach her? She’s playing us like a fiddle.”

Eld’s voice was pragmatic, his eyes narrow. “And those cuffs—she got out of them somehow. If she can do that, what’s stopping her from escaping?”

“She’s a maniac! Taunting Captain Levi like that? She’s gonna get herself killed!”. Oluo chimed.

Petra stayed silent, her heart heavy. Scarlet’s audacity, her ability to shift from killer to seductress, was terrifying. The way she’d targeted Levi, then turned her venom on Petra, felt personal, a calculated strike at their unity. 

The squad dispersed, heading to the mess hall, their appetites dulled by the encounter. Erwin lingered, his eyes on the corridor where Levi had vanished, his mind turning over Rose’s tactics. Her time working at the Starlight Lounge had taught her to read men, to exploit their desires and weaknesses, and she’d proven it with Levi. Her personality shifts—killer, siren, manipulator—were a puzzle, but one Erwin was determined to solve. Twenty-four hours was all she had, and he’d be damned if he let her games derail his plan.

…

Back in her cell, Rose swung gently on her trapeze, the creak of the knotted sheets a soft rhythm in the dim light—her eyes glinting with triumph. She’d rattled Levi, cracked his stoic mask, and the victory was sweet. Calling her a psycho had been a low blow, and she was petty—never one to let an insult slide. Her taunts, her performance, her kissy faces—they were payback, a middle finger to the man who’d choked her out and thrown her in a cage. She laughed softly, the sound echoing off the stone walls, her heart racing with adrenaline.

But beneath the triumph, a clock was ticking. Twenty-four hours to decide: join the Scouts, face the MPs, or find a way out. The cuffs had been easy—her years with Andreas had taught her to pick locks with a hairpin, and the cell’s shoddy design had been no match for her. The trapeze was a distraction, a way to unsettle the Scouts, but escape was her true goal. She needed her rings, her wires, her freedom. Andreas was out there, waiting, and she’d tear this headquarters apart to reach him.

Her mind churned, plans forming in the shadows. The cell’s weaknesses—the loose bolts in the ceiling, the guard’s predictable patrols—were opportunities. She’d stashed a hairpin under the bed, a backup for the cuffs, and the sink’s pipe might yield a makeshift tool. Her rings were likely being researched somewhere in this HQ, and if she could slip out at night, she might retrieve them. The Scouts were skilled, but they underestimated her resourcefulness, her desperation. Andreas was her anchor, the only person who’d ever loved her, and she wouldn’t let these chains keep her from him.

…

Levi stormed through the headquarters’ courtyard, the night air cool against his burning skin. His boots crunched on gravel, his cloak snapping in the breeze. Scarlet’s taunts replayed in his mind on a loop—her seductive purr, her claim about his arousal, her mockery of Petra. 

He stopped by the stables, his hands gripping a fencepost, his knuckles white. The horses snorted softly, their calm a stark contrast to his turmoil. He’d faced Titans, killers, Kenny’s brutality, but she was different—a mirror of his own darkness, a reminder of the violence that had shaped him. Her lack of restraint, her casual cruelty, was a path he’d avoided, but her past echoed his own. Raised by a serial killer, haunted by trauma—she was a distorted reflection, and Erwin’s belief in her redemption felt like a betrayal.

He exhaled, his breath visible in the cool air, his fury cooling to a simmer. Scarlet was a problem, but he was Humanity’s Strongest, and he wouldn’t let her break him. For now, he’d cool off, as Erwin ordered, and prepare for the next battle—because with her, it was always a battle.

~

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Fall into the sky

Written for @astrangersummer, week 5 (shhhh, we're not talking about how this is super fucking late, it's fine!)

Prompt: Constellations

Words: 1,527 (also on AO3)

Rated: T

Relationship: Steve/Eddie

Tags: Magic AU; Thief Eddie; Guard Steve; Forbidden love; Jailbreak

Notes: Part of my Phantom Thief mini series (Previous part | Part 1)

The world is sound. The crackle of fire and the rush of wind and the thunder of crumbling stone. 

The world is color. The brilliant kaleidoscope of the sunset, stars emerging from the purple and pink backdrop of the sky. 

The world is touch. Hands in his hair and fingers on his face and warm breath tickling his skin as he is scooped into a pair of trembling arms. 

It crashes into Steve’s senses all at once, overwhelming and terrifying after the eternal white and the never-ending silence of his prison. It's too much. It's too beautiful. It can’t be real.

He's going insane.

He's been waiting to go insane for so long. 

Because if insanity is sound and color and touch and a name on his lips that he thought he'd never hear again, if this is all in his head, he never wants to leave. 

“Yes, sweetheart, it's me,” The vision murmurs, cradling his face in both hands. The gesture is comforting and soothing, and Steve realizes he's been babbling the name on repeat, an endless loop of Eddie Eddie Eddie. “I'm sorry it took so long, but I'm getting you outta here.” 

Steve laughs, high-pitched and hysterical. 

“You're-” he starts to say. His voice cracks. When he licks his lips, they taste like saltwater. “You're not really here. I've lost my mind, I'm imagining things.” 

“Don't think you are,” Eddie hums. He's covered in soot and bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts, but his smile is bright and brilliant as always. “Wouldn’t be able to do this if I wasn't real, would I?” 

His lips taste like ashes and magic. The ground shakes underneath them, and something crashes. Steve thinks that if the world broke apart around them right now, he'd happily stay in this kiss forever. 

“Don’t,” he pleads when Eddie pulls away. “Don't stop.” 

Eddie smiles, full of that grim determination that makes Steve’s stomach flutter. 

“I won't,” he says, and the constellations in the sky glint in those impossibly dark eyes of his. Another crash pierces the air, so loud that Steve can feel it in his bones. “I swear it, honey. I'll get you back down and to safety, where they can't ever find us. And then I'll never stop kissing you, for as long as we both live.” 

*

The world below the floating island is basked in dusk. Steve can see the shadows of clouds moving over the land, the sparkling bands of rivers weaving between forests and hills and cities. The ocean and the curve of the earth, far in the distance. He didn't see it when they brought him here. The view was obstructed by the giant tornado that surrounded this place, ready to tear everyone who dared approach it to shreds. 

There's no tornado now. 

Just like there are no griffins guarding the arched entryway of the fortress, no manticores prowling at the jagged edge of the island. 

“What did you do?” Steve breathes as they skid to a halt, inches from the abyss. Behind them, the pillars of the entryway crumble and collapse. “How did you-” 

“You know how they stay in power?” Eddie asks. He's ducked behind another pillar to retrieve a bundle of fabric and string, hidden out of sight. “Your family and their friends?” 

Steve blinks, floundering and disoriented by the question and the barrage of noise and colors. Eddie straightens up, strapping what looks like a giant backpack decked in wires and ropes to his back. 

“Magic,” he declares, throwing his arms out in an all-encompassing gesture. “This place, their splendid city, their fucking underwater prison, they all run on magic. Beautiful, isn't it? If it weren't for one tiny problem.” 

He pauses dramatically, like he's waiting for Steve to catch on. When he fails to do so, he throws back his head and cackles, dark curls whipping around him in a chaotic tangle.

“There’s not enough natural magic in the world to keep it all going. So what did they do, like the greedy little morons they are? They amplified it!” 

He laughs again, like it’s the best fucking joke in the entire world, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and pulling him in for a big, noisy smack on the mouth.

“Amulets and talismans and trinkets, Stevie! Dozens of them, all in the hands of the high and mighty, used to magnify their power. But take them away, and it all goes poof!” 

He throws his hands up in the air, miming an explosion, just in time for another thunderous boom to shake the island. The ground tilts, just a bit. 

“Do you know where they kept the most powerful one?” Eddie asks. This time, he doesn't wait for a reply. “Right here, Stevie. What better place than the big-ass, impenetrable, fucking sky vault to keep their biggest treasure, huh? They didn't think anyone would ever be insane enough to try and breach it. And you know what? I wouldn't have. They could've kept it, for all I fucking care, but they do not-” 

The ground trembles again, little fissures erupting from the rock under their feet like spiderwebs. Eddie pauses and swallows, and his eyes are like fire in the dusk.  

“They do not get to keep you.” 

His voice is pure, unbridled rage. Steve knows the feeling all too well. The powerless rage of knowing exactly where they have taken the man you love, and having to be patient. Having to wait for days and weeks and months until your plan finally falls into place, knowing all the while that every hour, every second in that wretched place is too much. The all-consuming want to tear through all the walls, all the chains, all the barriers they’ve put in place to keep you apart, to destroy all that might ever stand in your way again. 

Understanding comes slowly, but when it does, it punches the breath from his lungs with a hoarse wheeze. He is dizzy and his stomach swoops, but he isn't sure if it is from what he just realized or from the island breaking apart under their feet. 

“You destroyed it,” he whispers. “Eddie, you- … what did you do?” 

Eddie doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls Steve closer, slipping a leather-and-rope harness over his shoulders to tether them both together. 

“This little baby is all mechanics,” he says, not looking up from his task. His face is nothing but grim concentration as he makes sure every buckle and every rope sits correctly. “I'd have been here sooner, but it took a while to put this together and make sure it would actually work, so-” 

“What about your magic?” Steve blurts. 

“Don't worry, it'll come back once the natural equilibrium is restored.” Eddie shrugs, walking them both to the ledge. “Some of it at least. I think.”

Steve gapes at him. Eddie looks up from where he's been securing the last of the straps, sees his dumbstruck face and smiles. 

“Stevie,” he says. He's too beautiful to be real. Beautiful and wild and untamed like the wind ripping at their clothes, like the sky stretching all around them. If they jumped now, they'd fall straight into its stars and constellations and never ever touch ground again. “It doesn't matter. There's no treasure in the world I wouldn't give up for you.” 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but another tremor interrupts him. Large chunks of rock come loose from below their feet, tumbling into the depths. 

“Do you trust me?” Eddie asks. Steve doesn’t even think about it. It's like asking if water is wet. Eddie sees him nod and beams, delighted and a little smug. “Then let's get outta here.” 

He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, claiming his lips again. And then, without breaking the kiss, he steps over the ledge and they plummet. 

The wind rips Steve’s scream straight from his mouth. His guts twist and his limbs go light with terror, but Eddie laughs. He yanks on one of the ropes, and something unfurls from his backpack in a ripple of cloth and wire. It snaps open somewhere over their heads, and Steve’s stomach lurches, and then, suddenly, they're no longer falling. 

They're gliding. 

Above them stretches what looks like a giant sail, stitched together from dozens and dozens colorful scraps of fabric. It carries them like a bird's wings, taking them away from the crumpling island, away from walls and chains and barriers, away from all that kept them apart. 

Eddie whoops into the night sky, loud and unrestrained. It takes Steve a second or two to recognize the voice that joins in as his own. His stomach is still light, like it's filled with a million beating wings, but he realizes that it's not from vertigo.

It's happiness. 

The sheer, overwhelming exhilaration of knowing Eddie made it, that they're both free and together and never parting again. Of knowing this is real. 

They soar through the clouds, with the constellations close enough to touch, the earth spanning far below them like something from a dream. And if they never touch ground again? Steve thinks he wouldn’t mind one tiny bit. 

Next part

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[p-artsypants]

The Pale Rider (17) The Truth Really Just Makes You Sad

The Isle of Berk is cursed. Like, extremely cursed. It has been for generations. The extent of the curse has been forgotten over time, but no descendants of the original village are able to leave the island, lest they suffer a gruesome fate. Three years ago, the Blacksmith invited the Pale Rider to town. He’s a creature that’s haunted the forest and childhood campfire stories for centuries. Now, he arrives every day at noon. One day, Astrid Hofferson decides to be brave and talk to him. He’s actually really nice…for an eldritch abomination. A Beauty and the Beast AU.

Ao3

The night only became more lively, considering what she had overheard from the Rider’s strange conversation. 

She returned to the room, and saw Valka glance at her and smile. 

Astrid found a place to sit on a loveseat and tried to relax. The day had been emotionally and physically exhausting, and she really didn’t need to dwell on this whole ‘ritual’ thing. That was tomorrow’s problem. 

Eventually the Rider returned, explaining that the guest rooms had been made up. 

“To-ur! To-ur!” The Twins started chanting.

“I couldn’t possibly show you the whole castle this evening,” he argued, “But if you want to see your rooms—”

“Me first!” Snotlout jumped to his feet. “I wanna see my room!” 

The Rider chuckled slightly. “You’ve all turned into children.”

“Aren’t you, like, 300 years older than us?” Asked Ruff, “we’re like children to you all the time.” 

“Uh,” the Rider withered. 

“Actually, it’s more like he’s forever 19,” Valka tried to correct.

“Still makes him older than us.” 

The Rider put his hands on his hips. “Do you want that tour or not?” 

The group scurried to catch up with him as he headed into the foyer. He led them to the opposite side of the foyer from the drawing rooms. This is where the suite of guest rooms were. There was a long hallway, flanked with doors on either side, and ending with an arched, lattice window. 

“It took me a little while to figure out which rooms were right for everyone. But I think I finally got it.” 

“I’m sure as long as they are clean and have a bed, no one will protest,” Heather assured. “It’s very kind that you’re letting us stay here at all.” 

“I love having guests!” He declared. “This is the red guest room, the one I picked out for Gobber.” He opened the door. 

‘Red’ was not a good enough descriptor. The canopy around the bed was red velvet, much like Astrid’s, and the ceiling was painted red with gold scrollings. But all the walls were burning, glowing with red hot embers. The far wall was made up entirely of a fireplace, complete with roaring flames illuminating everything. 

Despite all the fire, the temperature was cosy, just a little toasty. 

“Ah! Fire!” Fishlegs shouted.

“Oh it’s alright,” the Rider placated, walking inside and touching the wall. “It just looks like it’s burning, but it’s safe to touch.” 

Experimentally, each of them came in and looked around. Astrid held her hand over the surface, and when she felt no heat, she touched it. It had the texture like charcoal, but didn’t coat her hand in soot.

“Amazing! How incredible!” 

“Ow!” Tuffnut yelled from the fireplace. “This fire’s real!” 

“Fishlegs, your room is across the hall.” The Rider went and opened the door. “This is the ‘Rock Room’.” 

The room looked like a cave, as all walls, floor, and ceiling were made of rock, inlaid with blue and purple geodes. The room was illuminated by a fire in the carved fireplace and several large glowing mushrooms that grew from the wall. 

The bed was placed within a nook, and had purple velvet curtains and sheets. 

Fishlegs just wandered in, his mouth open as he took in the sight.

“You’re quite the geologist,” the Rider provided. “I think you might like rocks more than books, but I don’t think you’ve realized it yet.” He hummed. “I hope by staying in the room, that passion becomes more recognized.” 

“Oh yeah,” Heather exclaimed. “He’ll spring up random trivia about rocks and go on long diatribes about them. I’m sure he’d love to stay here.”

“This is awesome,” Fishlegs breathed, turning around slowly. “You’re totally right…is that carnelian?”  

As Fishlegs got lost in studying the walls of his room, the Rider moved down the hall. “Here, Snotlout. This is your room. The ‘Gold Guest room’.”

“Finally! Gold guest room, eh? Sounds luxurious, like me.” 

The Rider held the door open for him and Snotlout gave a little squeak of excitement as he entered. 

Much like the gold drawing room, every surface glittered with elegance and luxury, even the curtains and sheets on the bed. But this room’s furniture was inlaid with fine jewels and gems that all twinkled in the firelight. 

The most remarkable thing was the shimmering walls. At first, Astrid just thought the walls had a glittery texture, but as she stared, she realized gold dust was falling like snow from the ceiling. 

“Oh…my thor,” Snotlout whispered. “I think I might cry.” 

Heather peered in behind them, her eyes widening at the decadence. “Are you sure you’ll let him stay in here? He might…try to steal from it.” She whispered that last bit. 

The Rider whispered back. “I figured he might, but then again, he has an eye for these things. He might know that the gems become worth a lot less when removed from their settings. The gold dust? Well, he can take a bucket with him. Smelting it down will be worth the price he gets for all the work.” 

They both glanced back in to see Snotlout standing in the shower of gold dust, letting it absolutely coat him in glitter. 

“He’ll be coughing that up for weeks,” said Heather with a smirk. 

“He’s going to track it all over my carpet,” the Rider pouted. 

“Your idea!” Astrid chuckled. 

The Rider huffed as he went to the end of the hall. “This is your room, Heather. The ‘Silver Guest Room’.”  

Unlike Snotlout’s, this room was not covered in treasure. Instead, it was mirrored. Floor, ceiling, and three walls reflected back into each other, creating an almost infinite space. The left wall had three large arched windows that were gray in the stormy weather, but still held some light. 

The bed canopy and sheets were a shimmery silver. A diamond chandelier illuminated the room along with a small fireplace in the corner. The walls were broken up by paintings of snowy landscapes. 

“You have that silver tea set that you really love,” he explained. “You wrote to me about how much work you put into polishing it to make it shine. So I thought you’d like this room.” 

“She does like that silver set, doesn’t she?” Astrid recalled the several times she visited and helped Heather clean the silver cups she used in the cafe. “I hadn’t even thought about it like that.” 

“Oh Rider, this is so cool.” Heather stood at one wall and watched as her reflection echoed over and over into the distance, looking like an infinite space. “It’s really sweet you thought about my tea set like that.”

“Yeah, real sugar and honey,” said Ruffnut. “There’s no more rooms in this hall, so where are we sleeping?” She gestured at her brother.  

The Rider laughed. “Oh I have the perfect place for you two.” 

Curious, the whole group followed as he descended a spiral staircase, going down two levels to where it was dark and damp. The luxury of the upper floors melted away, and left dusty stone and heavy iron torches to illuminate it all.

He instinctively took Astrid’s hand and pulled a torch off the wall. “This is the undercroft,” he explained. “It spans the entirety of the castle. This half is made up of…well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” 

Only a moment later, he nudged a door open with his foot and candles illuminated the large room. Two beds were in the middle of the room, the headboards back to back. The rest of the room was dusty and full of cobwebs. 

Also coffins and graves. 

“Is this the crypt?!” Astrid gawked. 

“Exactly. Buried here are the original inhabitants of this island from over 300 years ago. From before we came here. From our letters, the twins have a sort of strange love of the macabre. I couldn’t help but think they’d love a night in the crypt.”

“Alright! Now this is more like it!” Tuffnut ran in. 

“This is twenty times cooler than a night in the boneyard!” Ruffnut echoed, throwing herself on one of the beds.  

Astrid took a few steps in further, confirming that yes, that was a skeleton she was seeing in the corner. “I’m surprised you didn’t set up coffins for them.” 

“I thought about it, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.” 

Astrid laughed and then backed out of the room. It was all well and good for the twins, but she rather didn’t want to spend more time in there than she had to. A glittery Snotlout joined the twins in exploring the crypt while Heather and Fishlegs made a hasty retreat back to the foyer.

“What else is down here?” Astrid asked conversationally, still in the hall.

“Not much interesting on this side. An empty bunker, a wine cellar, storage over the years.” 

“And the other side?” 

He sighed. “You know, once I give you the full tour, you’ll be able to explore all you want. That’s fine, I want you to feel at home. But…the other half of the Undercroft is strictly off limits. It’s too dangerous.” 

“Can I ask what rooms are over there? To sate my curiosity?” 

“The dungeon and…the torture chamber. The entrance is hidden and you won’t be able to find it. But…I want you to know that it exists and that I’m keeping it from you for your own safety. It’s not exciting, it’s not interesting, it’s just…awful and dangerous. Can you promise me you won’t try to find it?” 

She remembered not too long ago, when he had first told her about the castle. How he had mentioned it was dangerous in certain places. It wasn’t a surprise. 

But there was still a whole castle to explore, another forty rooms to look for an answer. 

“I promise.” 

—

Once the twins scoped out the crypt and deemed it perfectly scary enough to sleep in, the Rider led the group back to the green drawing room. 

“Now please, make yourselves at home.” Then he went to the corner of the room and pulled a cord on the wall. 

The wall next to Astrid’s loveseat opened, and a bar cart rolled out, full to the brim with crystal decanters of various shades of amber. 

All the liquor they weren’t allowed to have in the Great Hall. 

Not being used to drinking, Astrid decided to go with sherry, and just one glass that she sipped on all night. 

The rest had experimented at different rates, mixing things that shouldn’t have been while being egged on by Stoick. The Twins and Snotlout lost all control (and pants), while Heather and Fishlegs only became slightly buzzed. 

—

In the morning, Astrid and the Rider said farewell to their still hungover guests, though they had all perked up more after their greasy breakfasts. Snotlout led them back down the mountain. 

Then they were alone in the foyer. 

“I’ll start bringing your belongings in,” the Rider said. “The crates can stay in the foyer as long as you need. No rush to put it all away.” 

She reached over and took his hand. “I would really appreciate that…um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d like to have some time to myself today.” 

“That’s understandable,” he reassured. “You were surrounded by people all day yesterday. And drunks all night.” 

“If you can bring the boxes in and leave them here, I’ll take care of them.” 

“Sounds good. If you need help, just let me know. But I’ll leave you to it.” 

The items that Astrid had squirreled away had been left in her room, just set on the tables for her to find a place for. 

Unpacking was a dream. The room itself seemed to know where it wanted things to go. As she went to hang up a cross stitch from her mother, the vines that climbed up the wall twisted and formed a small hook in the perfect place. “Oh thanks!” 

Decorative weapons that had hung in her mother’s home were taken from her hands and placed perfectly, like they’d been there all along.

As she went to put away her other dress in the boudoir, the cabinet opened automatically, revealing her blue and gold dress the Rider had given her. She added the brown one, staring at the difference between the two. 

Maybe, if she was really nice, the Rider would let her take another dress, or at least let her borrow a few coins to have the twins make her something. 

“Knock knock,” Valka announced as she slid into the painting above the mantle. “Rider wanted me to check in on you, because he promised to give you space.” 

She chuckled lightly. “The concern is sweet. I’m doing just fine.” 

“Good to hear!” 

“But—” Astrid stopped her before she could leave. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh?”

She sat cross legged on her bed. “The night I came here, you and Stoick told me about how the Rider lost his leg.” 

“Aye.” 

“And you mentioned that you fled here to get away from the dragons. But the Rider came back before you could continue the story.”

“Oh that’s right!” 

“You said things were fine when you arrived here…so what changed?” 

“Let me think...” Valka put a hand to her chin as she leaned against the woman in the painting. “We came here to flee the dragons because the Rider lost the battle with the Red Death.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Before we left, we tried very hard to keep Berk from being destroyed—”

“Wait, you named this island after your home?” 

“It was our new home, and a good name.” 

She smirked. “Fair enough, continue.” 

“While we were still on old Berk, we received two guests. The Grimborn brothers, Viggo and Ryker.” 

Astrid inhaled sharply at the name Viggo, but Valka didn’t seem to notice. That was the name the Rider had called the bleeding man.

“Ryker was a very capable warrior with a sword, and Viggo was one of the first mages we had ever seen, and definitely the most powerful. He and his brother had been orphaned as teenagers and traveled all over the northern archipelago looking for a place to call home. We welcomed them in, and in turn, they helped with the dragon raids.” 

Astrid brought her knees up and hugged them, feeling dread on the horizon. 

“My son and Viggo became fast friends over the year they stayed with us. They were always working together, making plans and strategies to save the dragons from the Queen’s grip. It worked a little. By the time we left Old Berk, we had a dragon arsenal, with riders to match.

“Then Viggo made the suggestion of leaving. He told us of an island, this island, that they had visited on their travels. They said the inhabitants had been wiped out by a plague, and so it stood abandoned. It even had a castle stronghold.”

“And it sounded too good to be true,” Astrid concluded. 

“Yes. We sent scouts ahead, and when it proved to be true, the rest of the village packed up all that we had and came here.”

Valka wistfully looked up at the ceiling. “It was a dream. For a while, we were able to relax. The only dragons we ever saw were the ones we brought with us. There were no raids. Trees and game were more abundant here than at home.” She frowned. “Everyone praised Viggo and Ryker for what they did. But something began to change within my son. He became withdrawn, harsh, and cold. For every praise Viggo received, Rider would grow more and more hateful and resentful.” 

“He was jealous?”

“Aye. Rider had spent his entire life being the runt of the tribe. He was bullied, and constantly trying to prove himself and make us proud. Training Toothless, discovering and fighting the queen, that had changed so much for him…but it seemed that those insecurities of his younger years dwelled and roiled within him. It was so strange, so out of character for him, I knew something was wrong immediately. But I didn’t know what would happen. It only took a week, and it was at its boiling point.” 

Astrid swallowed thickly, already guessing what came next. “What happened?” 

Valka shut her eyes, resigned, ashamed, sad. “He murdered them. My son cut down Ryker, and then Viggo. Right in front of us.” 

Astrid hugged her legs a little tighter. 

“Did you know you have to be really careful when you kill a mage?” Valka asked, suddenly. “You have to poison them, because their blood contains all of their magic. My son didn’t know that. As he stabbed Viggo, the blood spurted out and clung to him and his dragon. It cursed them. Then the blood spilled on the ground and cursed the island itself. My husband and I saw the whole thing. We ran to our son to try to help him, but got blood on us as a result. That's how we were trapped in these paintings.”

“...you tried to help him?”

“It was awful, Astrid.” Valka blinked several times, a tear smearing the paint. “He was writhing and screaming in pain. I never saw anything so horrible. And I spent my whole life as a warrior. But…when it's your baby?” She choked. 

“I can imagine,” Astrid whispered. 

Valka wiped her cheek, trying not to dwell on the painful memory. “He forgot a lot. He couldn’t even remember the murders. All he was initially left with was profound self hatred and guilt. We rarely saw him for several years. So many more passed in silence. Even when he’d sit in the green room, he wouldn’t speak to us.”

Then she swallowed again, her voice thick with emotion. “Then there was that knock at the door that changed everything. ‘A grumpy blacksmith,’ he had said. He invited my son into the village to do business like everyone else. Gods, there was happiness in his voice! He was excited!” 

Astrid felt herself smiling. 

Then Valka met her eyes and stared at her, pleading. “The torment he’s endured has long since paid for his crimes. Please don’t let this change your opinion of him.”

Astrid sighed. “Quite honestly, Gobber and I had guessed that was the case. Rider said he remembered betrayal and bloodshed from his best friend. I was kind of expecting this.” She gnawed on her tongue as she contemplated it all. “I’m disappointed that it was out of jealousy, but I agree that he’s paid for his crimes. If I left and said I never wanted to speak to him again, I think it might make him worse. He’s been hurt so bad already…” Her brow furrowed hard. “What would rejection do to him?” 

“Destroy him,” Valka answered. “What's left of his humanity would disappear. You’ve given him so much back…” 

“Valka,” Astrid said determinedly, “I want to break the curse. I know the answer is in the castle, and I think the Rider knows, but he won’t tell me.” 

Valka frowned. “If he does know, he hasn’t told us…which is rather disappointing.” 

Astrid opened her mouth to bring up what she had overheard from the conversation the other night, but hesitated just a moment. 

Could Valka just be lying? What if this ‘ritual’ was a secret they were going to continue to hide from her? And what if revealing she knew about it ruined everything? 

But didn’t they want to be free of the curse?

It was a real head scratcher. If the Rider had been closed up about it so far, she’d have to tread carefully. Her best option was to just ask the other painting, this Viggo character. He seemed rather sympathetic to the Rider’s pain, even if his face made her uncomfortable. 

Valka certainly seemed to think he was good and trustworthy. 

So it was decided. After the Rider went to bed, she’d go and speak to Viggo. 

She spent the afternoon in her room, putting things to rights, the way she wanted it. The Rider brought her a light lunch at some point. 

She even got a small nap in to recover from all she had endured. 

Dinner was lovely, more venison with carrots and potatoes. It wasn’t until she smelled the delicious aromas that she realized how hungry she was. 

“Feeling better?” The Rider asked as she sat down. 

“Much, thank you.” She smiled before tearing into her meal. 

“I thought that after dinner, I could show you more of the castle. It’s rather big, and a full tour would take all day. So perhaps I’ll show you a little at a time.” 

“Sounds perfect!” 

“I’m glad the others got to stay for a while. Though, they had gotten a lot more drunk than I expected.” Exasperation colored his voice. 

She just laughed. “These are young guys, and Ruffnut, that have never been allowed to drink before. And you let them destroy your bar cart.” 

He rested his hand over his face. “It doesn’t help that my father was egging them on.” 

Stoick yelled, “I haven’t had a drink in 300 years! So shame on me for making them drink vicariously for me!” 

The Rider shook his head, but didn’t argue. 

“Oh well,” said Astrid. “Either they’ll learn their lesson early, or they’ll be back for another sleepover by the end of the week.” 

“I probably shouldn’t tell them the decanters refill on their own, should I?” 

“No,” she chuckled. “You definitely should not!” 

—-

The next room he showed her was the bath. It was on the second floor, above the guest rooms. The floor was checkered in black and white stone. A set of stairs led up to a large porcelain tub that sat just beneath three epic blue stained glass windows. The tub was more like a small pool, and could fit a horse, if so inclined. The room was surrounded by an abundance of candles, which had melted together in a congealed wall of wax. A statue of a woman holding a pitcher served as the faucet. 

“Wow…” Astrid whispered. “I’ve heard fine houses have baths indoors, but to see one…is the water warm?” 

“It’s always the perfect temperature.” 

She laughed a little then, in awe. “I’ve never had a bath that wasn’t frigid river water.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to use it any time.” He pointed to the corner where there was a rack of towels, soaps, and perfumes.

“I might yet tonight!” 

“Perhaps, but let's see if I can distract you a bit longer.” 

“Oh?”

“I have just one more room to show you tonight. It’s huge, and will surely occupy you for years to come.” 

“Color me intrigued.” She smiled. “Lead on then!” 

He hummed, in that way that made her think he was smiling, and led her back to the stairs in the foyer. They went up to the third floor. Astrid looked over the edge of the balcony, marveling at how high up they were. 

“I hope you won’t get tired walking up all these stairs all the time,” he commented. 

“Hardly! My hikes to the flower fields have kept me in shape for this!” 

He hummed, and beckoned her down the left side balcony, where two larger doors waited. It was on the same side as the guest rooms. 

“And this…” he pushed open the doors with a grand flourish, “is the library.” 

Astrid had no words this time. Just stumbled in, her mouth agape and mind overwhelmed with the sheer vastness of the space. So many books, it was hard to imagine that many existed in all the world. Three more stories up, with spiraling staircases to reach the countless cases of books. The wall across from them was made up of stained glass, just like the bath had been, but the window at the very top was circular and had a dragon symbol inlaid in the center. 

Above everything was a large dark blue orb with glittering dots on the surface. 

“You could build another village with all these books,” She breathed. 

He chuckled slightly. “I suppose so.” 

“There’s so many…how do you find anything?” 

“Good question.” He started walking, and led her down a short staircase that led to a lounge area. Here, there was a podium in front of a large table. Chairs and couches circled around. He went up to the podium and rested his hands on the surface. “Roses,” he stated, clearly. 

From the orb up ahead came a bolt of lightning, though it didn’t clap with thunder, just a soft ‘zap’ and on the table appeared a dozen books on gardening. 

“Amazing!” She chirped, running to his side. “How in the world–?!”

“Magic,” he shrugged. “Just like my cloak.” He spoke up to the orb again and said, “all done, thank you.” 

The lightning struck again, and the books were gone, returning to where they had been before. 

“You try,” he gestured to the podium. 

“Okay…” she placed her hands on the surface, like he had. “How does it work? Just one word?” 

“No, just tell the library what you’re looking for.” 

She curled her lips, thinking of what she wanted at this moment. Maybe something to test the library, see what she could get out of it. “Previous inhabitants of Berk,” she declared. 

The lightning struck, and a few books appeared. Three of them were large leather tomes, identical, and one was much older, bound in sheepskin and thread. 

“Interesting,” the Rider mused. 

“I’ve seen these before,” Astrid picked up one of the bigger tomes. “Gothi has them in her shop. They’re census books. She records all births and deaths in them.” She flipped through the pages, checking dates, until she found the most recent book. “And there’s my mom.” She pointed. “How did…how are these here? Does the library take from all over the island?” 

He shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe the library copies all books on the island. Or have ever been on the island.” 

Astrid took the other book, the one that was much older, and opened it. The pages were stiff and yellowed, and creaked softly as she turned them. 

“I can’t read any of this.”

“Faded?”

“No…a different language.” 

“Ah,” the Rider nodded. “Celtic or Gaulish, the language of the druids.” 

She just gave him a confused look. 

“My apologies, those are the people that first settled this place and built this castle.” 

“Your mother said they all died from an illness,” she replied, stiltedly. She was a little afraid this would trigger a blackout.  

He just tilted his head. “...that was the story we were told, yes.” 

“By your friend Viggo?” 

He wrapped his hand around the book and gently took it away from her. He slowly turned the pages, soothing his fingertips over the vellum. She saw his throat bob with a nervous swallow. “So she told you the truth? Told you what happened?”

“Yep, every bit of it.” 

“You’re still here.” 

She smiled up at him, genuine. “Gobber and I kind of guessed what happened, remember? It doesn’t change the way I see you. In my opinion, you’ve paid for your crimes.” 

She heard him sigh loudly as he took slow, lingering steps towards her. 

Then she found herself enveloped in his arms, the tightest hug he had ever given her. The only one he had instigated himself. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hated me. I was preparing for it, steeling myself, but…it hurt to think about.” 

“I could never hate you,” she returned the hug. “You’re my best friend. And who knows, maybe he had it coming.” 

She felt him shake a little in laughter. “That’s gruesome, but I appreciate it.” 

—

Later that night, when all was quiet and the Rider had gone to bed, Astrid stole from her room and quietly made her way to the foyer. 

The candles flickered to life as she entered, but remained dim, leaving the center of the room in shadow. 

She tip-toed her way over to between the stairs. The painting of Viggo was even more gruesome up close. The paint that made up the blood almost looked like it was still wet. 

His eyes were just barely open, glazed over in death. But she swore he was looking at her. 

“Viggo?” She whispered. “Are you there? Would you talk to me?” 

There was no movement. No hint of life or magic in the paint strokes. Just a realistic painting, and nothing more. 

“Must only talk to the Rider…” she mused. 

A dead end.

[pattywinchester]

Narrowly escaping a Wendigo in a frenzied dash through the snow-laden forest, Dean and Castiel find refuge in an old, abandoned cabin, seeking cover from the relentless snowstorm outside. The structure is desolate and worn, barely more than a shell, but it offers shelter as the wind howls against its fragile walls. The two men, weary, injured, and afraid, push open the creaking door; a musty scent of aged wood and long-forgotten memories greet them, revealing a relic of a bygone era. A dusty, cobweb-laden light fixture dangles precariously from the center of the ceiling, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The wooden floorboards, scattered with remnants of old, tattered rugs, are warped and creak under their weight. A cold and ash-filled fireplace, hinting at warmer times, dominates the room. A splintered chair and a cracked table are haphazardly strewn about. Faded paintings, their subjects barely discernible, cling to the walls. In silent witness, an abandoned, moth-eaten couch sits forlornly in a corner, its fabric torn, surrendering its stuffing. Despite its dilapidated state, the men are grateful for the respite from the biting cold outside.

Dean, sensing the urgency to ward off the unforgiving chill, springs into action to start a fire. His movements are quick and purposeful, his breath visible in the frigid air of the cabin. He scavenges for any usable wood, gathering broken pieces of furniture and splintered floorboards. His hands, stiffening and tinged blue from the cold, work deftly. Finding an old newspaper tucked away in a dusty corner, he tears it into strips, creating makeshift tinder. He then arranges the wood and paper in the cold, soot-blackened fireplace, his fingers trembling slightly as he flicks his Zippo repeatedly. The first few attempts fumble and fail in the dampness of the cabin until, finally, a small flame catches hold and eagerly consumes the paper. He gently blows on it, nursing the flickering flame, coaxing it to life. The flame grows, lapping hungrily at the wood, casting a warm, flickering light that begins to push back the oppressive chill of the cabin. His face, illuminated by the nascent fire, shows a mix of relief and determination.

Please, read the rest on a03

[eadanga]

Magical Baby

Mal ran through the forest he stopped at a tree to look at the good he just snatched he grins “Very good bounty I got today now I wonder” Suddenly the gold floats up into the air “What the?” He looks around “Raine!”

She steps out from behind the tree smirking “Yes?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I need some money” A chunk of the gold flies over to her and into her hand she snaps her fingers and the gold drops into the bag

Mal rolls his eyes “And you couldn’t wait for me to get back?”

“While you run from people with torches and pitchforks?” She giggles

“Very funny” He walks over to her “You shouldn’t be out here you haven’t been feeling well”

“I’m feeling ok today Mal your sister’s tea is very effective”

“You do that on purpose”

“Do what?”

“Make me worry about you so that I yearn for you more”

Raine laughs then smirks “No although…”

Mal pins her against the tree “Don’t even think about it”

Raine giggles as she blushes “Ok ok now can you let me go so I can buy what I need to buy”

“What are you buying?”

Raine winks “It’s secret”

“Hey there’s no secrets between my wife and I tell me”

“Now if I told you it wouldn’t be a secret”

Mal pulls her closer “You’re not leaving here till you tell me”

“Then we’re gonna be here all night and if people steal your gold that’s on you”

“No one’s stealing anything with my beautiful mage here”

She raises an eyebrow “Who said I’m helping you?”

Mal mock gasps “You would let your husband get robbed I’m offended”

Raine laughs then smiles “I promise Mal you’re gonna love what I buy”

“But why can’t I know?”

“Cause it’s a surprise you love them”

“I don’t love it when I’m gonna be tortured constantly thinking what it is”

Rain giggles “That’s the fun part”

Mal eyes narrows “You’re gonna regret doing that” He raises his hands to the her sides Raine giggles then she phases through the tree as he lunges only catching air “Raine! Come back here!”

“See you later Mal!”

“You’re gonna pay for this! Just wait till we get home!”

****

Mal heads to the house and patiently waits for her to come back he sets the table with food and starts a warm fire as he waits for her to return

As night falls Raine walks through the door with basket in hand she grins “Hi there”

Mal pulls her closer as he growls “Don’t think you’re not escaping your punishment”

“Mal don’t” She laughs as he tickles her “Mal stop it!”

“You better tell me the secret”

“Ok I promise”

Mal releases her smirking “Good now I’m waiting”

“I’m sorry it took so long had to help the tailor sew it”

“Sew what?”

Raine smiles as she puts the basket on the table Mal looks at it curiously then sees the tiny tunic pants and shoes with a note I can’t wait to meet you daddy

His eyes go wide “We’re having a baby?”

“Hehe yes”

Mal picks her up and spins her around “I’m so happy Raine”

“Me too was it worth the secret?”

“Oh definitely” He sets her down and speaks to her stomach “Hi there little guy I’m your dad”

“Who said it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy”

“No it’s a fearsome warrior princess”

“Oh no I already got one and she’s trouble”

“How dare you! You’re the troublemaker!” She playfully shoves him

Mal laughs then smiles “I love you Raine”

“I love you too” He kisses her softly

Tags: @indiacater @mfackenthal @choicesgodfanatic @the-soot-sprite

[liloinkoink]

lamplight time! did i write continuation to the last bit i posted the other day? no i did not! i’ve hopped earlier in the timeline: martyn’s first attempt at traveling with a sentient fire, from outsider pov

Nights at the Drowsy Dragon Inn are never particularly exciting, except for those when the inn sees an adventuring party. Most of them set out from the little town to make the hard trek up to the ruins of the city of Dogwarts, and very few of them come back. Sadie likes to entertain the thought that they simply traveled elsewhere instead, finding another town to spend the night after a successful adventure. Then another party will breeze through, talking of the incomplete quest’s impressive reward money, and she knows.

She usually feels bad for them, hearing them talking about that place, and give them a secret little discount for their stay. Her husband thinks that it’s stupid.

“They’re going to die anyway,” he says. “They’re not gonna need the money.”

It’s the principle of the thing, she tells him. She’s being nice. How could she not? On a mission like that, it’s possible it’ll be the last nice thing anyone will ever do for these people.

It’s not like they never come back. Sometimes they do. Whole parties return, empty-handed but alive, and she charges them a perfectly normal amount fee.

But sometimes…

Tonight, a man comes in alone. Sadie recognizes him, but only sort of—He’d come in with a party of four a few months back. She remembers them because they’d been noisy, chattering and shouting constantly. The whole time they’d been here, they’d been riling each other up and laughing long and loud. They’d been difficult to miss for the nights they stayed here, making it even harder to miss now the way quiet follows the lone traveler as the door shuts behind him.

Sadie remembers him especially because he’d been friendly, having been the one to pay for the rooms here when the four had stayed. He’d been lively then, chuckling under his breath as he’d walked up to the counter and cracking jokes as he’d handed over their fate.

There’s no laughter now. No little party of friends. Just one man, passing through the front room of the Drowsy Dragon Inn at half past midnight. His hair’s a mess, tufts of blond hair sticking out in clumps, sweaty bangs dried to his forehead. There’s stains on his clothes—mud on his pants, sweat on his chest, soot on his sleeves. He’s not bloody, at least, but he’s dirty, and there’s tears in the fabric that look like must’ve been attacked. He’s wearing, she notes, the same faded green shirt he’d been wearing when he’d been here months ago, the cleanliness of which she decides not to think anything more of.

He’s also carrying a torch. That’s not super unusual—travelers carry them at night to keep monsters at bay. Most travelers extinguish them when they get to a well-lit town, though she supposes with the way the rest of him looks, she can excuse him forgetting.

His name had been—… uh. His name had started with… it’d started with… J, she’s pretty sure. John, maybe. James?

Regardless of what his name might be, the man walks up to her counter. She sets aside the book she’d been reading and smiles at him. He tries to return it, but he’s out of breath, and he takes a moment to catch it, resting his free hand on the counter. Did he run all the way here? Dogwarts isn’t close. He must have been running for days.

“Hello,” she says, smiling anyway, “Need a room?”

“You have no idea,” says… oh, was his name Jack? No, not Jack… “I don’t have any money on me, but if there’s anything you need help with around here, I’d be more than happy to do it tomorrow morning.”

He’s not the only person to make Sadie a deal like this—it’s not uncommon for adventurers to leave all their money in the care of the most careful member of their party. That’s all well and good till that member runs off and leaves, or worse, is eaten by beasts in the forest outside of Dogwarts (or whatever it is that happens to the people who go).

“It’s starting to get cold,” she says, “If you can bring in enough firewood tomorrow to last me the rest of the month, the room’s all yours.”

“Great. Thank you so much, really,” he sighs, tension draining out of his shoulders. Exhaustion bleeds from every inch of him, and the promise of rest does little to stem it. He reaches down, patting an axe at his belt. It’s damaged, but it shines brightly by the light of his torch. “I’ll get on it first thing after I wake tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she smiles, taking a key from the rack behind her. She holds it out, but before she hands it to him, she points to the torch in his hand. “I’m going to have to ask you to put that out, though. Fire hazard and all.”

It is at this moment when her weary, polite guest becomes unreasonable.

When Sadie points to it, the torch in his hand crackles loudly, and he stares at her a long moment after she speaks, uncomprehending.

“Nnno,” says the man, slowly, as if he’s uncertain. Then, with more conviction, “No. I can’t do that.”

“No,” she repeats. He nods, once.

“I can’t,” he says, “Sorry, it’s really important this doesn’t go out.”

“It’s really important that my inn doesn’t burn down,” Sadie replies.

“It’s not going to catch, I promise,” He insists. The fire in his hand almost seems to dim, as if to prove it. “I’ll be really careful.”

“You’re right, because I’m not letting you stay unless you do the properly careful thing and put it out.”

“I will cut down double the firewood if you don’t make me put this out,” he sounds like he’s pleading. Sadie cannot imagine what could possibly be so taxing about snuffing out a single torch.

“I won’t need any firewood ever again if you burn down my building. Pass,” Sadie says. She knows it’s a low blow for the already deeply frazzled man, but she shoots for it anyway, certain it’ll be the end: “You already can’t pay. Either put it out or sleep outside.”

The man’s face falls. The torch flares up once, but dies back down immediately. Nothing about this makes Sadie feel better about the situation.

“I’m… a paladin now,” he says, half a non-sequitur, by way of explanation, “I can’t let this go out. It’s a holy flame. Part of my oath.”

“I’ve never heard of an oath like that,” she says. She doesn’t think he has either, if the uncertainty in his voice is anything to go by, but she can’t imagine what he actually needs the torch for if he’s lying.

“It’s more like a pilgrimage, then,” he doubles down, “Please.”

“I’m not letting you bring an open flame into the room,” Sadie says, folding her arms, “This is the last time I’m going to say it. Put it out or leave.”

The man looks around, a bit frantic, and all at once she feels bad for him again. Curse Sadie and her bleeding heart for all these poor, doomed adventurers. She can only imagine what he’s just been through… And his whole party is gone… It must be very hard for him. Grief does strange things to people, doesn’t it? No wonder he’s imprinted on his little torch.

“That’s it!” The man shouts. He drops the sizzling torch onto the counter and runs off to a sitting area in the corner. Sadie jumps back out of her chair, startled, before the sight of an open flame on her wooden countertop catches up with her.

She snaps the torch up off the countertop and, as it sizzles in her hands, most of her pity for the man goes up in smoke. Running her hand over the wood where the torch had been, Sadie finds there are no scorch marks. It’s a pleasant sort of warm, but certainly not hot enough for having just been in contact with a live fire.

Said man, for his part, doesn’t even seem to notice her distress. When she looks up, he’s too busy scrambling onto one of the tables, planting his dirty boots onto the clean wood as he reaches for one of the lanterns dangling from the ceiling.

“Hey!” Sadie yells, “Get down from there!”

“I just need to borrow this real quick!” he says, which doesn’t actually address what she said at all, but then he has the lantern free.

There’s a slam as the man jumps off of the table and onto her floor, carting the large lantern with him. He drops it on the counter, grinning all the while.

“You said you can’t have an open flame,” he says, “So if I stick the fire in here, I’m good, right?”

Sadie opens her mouth to respond. She feels like there’s a dozen reasons she should say no to that, but it dawns on her that if she does, she’s going to have to keep arguing with him.

“Fine.” She holds the key out to him, sighing, “But when you leave tomorrow, I want my lantern back.”

“I can do that,” He takes the key, stuffing it into his pocket, and then takes the torch back. He unlatches the lantern with one hand, then dips the torch inside, touching it against the candle within.

Sadie watches him, if only because he’s doing it on her counter. The wick catches, and then the whole wax stick explodes into flame. The man doesn’t flinch, though Sadie does, jumping back at the audible fwoomp of the fire taking it over all at once.

Strangely enough, the torch goes out. He hums, then sets the scorched wood aside without any further inspection, like this doesn’t surprise him.

“Alright. We’re all good, then?” he says, patting the lantern with one hand. It sizzles, though he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“All good,” Sadie confirms, because she isn’t sure what else to do. The man grins, exhausted but relieved, and the lantern in his hands seems to glow brighter with it.

“Awesome. Thank you, dude, I really needed to sleep in an actual bed,” he says, picking up the lantern with both hands. The metal will probably be too hot to touch directly soon, but he doesn’t seem phased by it yet.

“Sadie,” Sadie says.

“Martyn,” he replies, and with that, he’s gone, taking his lantern to the room down the hall.

Sadie watches him go a moment, then sits back down, taking up her book. Where did she get the J from…?

[theovergrowth]

The Reunion

(( oh boy guys this got long but I’ll summarize everything important at the bottom if you don’t wanna read but wanna know what happened lmao ))

The screams of panicked animals and smell of fire brought him out of his van and into the night. A wildfire deeper in the forest surrounding the camp ground. The initial instinct to help kicked in, sending him running through the tree line until his next instinct hit. The hot glow of fire froze him in his tracks for a moment, senses suddenly flooded with the terribly, deeply terribly, familiar smell of smoke and the popping of flame.

What snapped him out of his stupor was the sight of a nest falling from its perch. Again he flung forward, throwing himself to catch the little home just before it landed.

3 eggs. They couldn’t stand this heat long, he needed to-!

His leg was overtaken with a blistering heat as his pant leg caught. A strained and frightened scream escaped his mouth and he briefly considered the possibility that he was in real danger before the fire unnaturally just… pulled away, retreating at an alarming pace. In fact, most of the surrounding flames followed suit, before arriving at what Titus realized with a new horror was it’s origin.

A humanoid figure, frighteningly tall with black smoke pouring from their body, clothed in dark soot-stained ranch wear. They were slowly walking forward, so slow that he nearly didn’t realize they were approaching at all, staring with fiery eyes straight into Titus’ soul.

He held the nest close to his chest. His leg was in horrible pain, his heart was beating loudly in his ears. Memories of The Overgrowth flooded forward; The violence and fury of nature filled his senses.

He was going to die here. He would die in fire just as his father before him, and it would be at the hands of a being he found familiar; a being like The Overgrowth. It was a fitting end, really, but terrifying nonetheless.

“Titus?”

Wha..?

The figure was less than ten feet away now. Eyes focusing slowly through the blinding light of the flames, Titus could just barely see it’s face; his stern features now softened ever-so slightly with muted worry and surprise, small stumps on each side of his head where antlers once were, golden eyes widened. Why were they so familiar..? Why did Titus want to cry?

“…Father..?”

—————————

They were sitting by Titus’ home now, a van that seemed far too small for him to in be all day, the campfire Macrides lit with a snap of his fingers between them. His son, who had been but a bright-eyed young boy only a year ago, was now a tired and terrified young man.

Macrides didn’t know what to say. What could he say, knowing that he had been gone for so long?

He said nothing.

“You died.” Titus broke the silence for him, though in a rather accusatory tone he found unfamiliar from his son.

“Mmhmm.” What else was he supposed to say, really?

Titus waited for a moment, expecting something more that wasn’t coming. “An’- an’ now you’re here. Not dead.”

“Not dead.”

He could sense a growing confusion and subsequent frustration, slowly turning to anger. To kill a snake…

“My body died, but my essence went back to the Fae Realm. My body started to recover here as much as it could, but the rest of me… didn’t have a clear place to go. You were the King of the High Desert, and ya can’t have an archfae in charge o’ nothin’, so it… started fresh.”

To demonstrate, he stuck his hand into the fire, allowing the flames to gently brush through his claws. Titus grew more unnerved, sure, but he was also growing clarity deep down; the feeling of a still pond in the eye of a hurricane.

“It was only a year ago.”

“It was 10 years ago,” Titus stated bluntly, staring down at his bruised and slightly burnt knuckles. When had his son become the type to earn bruised knuckles?

“I know. But not there.“

Against his own judgement he could not help but feel that, if he had explained more about the Fae Realm or his own nature when Titus was young, Titus could have had a better chance at understanding. He just hadn’t thought it would—

A sudden chill came through the air, shaking Macrides to the core. Titus looked at him, eyes wide with the horror of knowing. There was another thing he had missed.

“Oh god, The Sons. Father, they, they’re-”

“I know,” Macrides stopped him, still slightly shaken but feeling confident that he knew this part. “I know, they’re gone. Commune too.”

Titus continued to stare, frozen in place.

He continued. “I heard about everything. The Overgrowth. The fightin’. Got filled in when I was lookin’ for ya.”

Macrides reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, Titus tensing as he did so.

“I’m proud of ya, boy.”

“…You what?”

—————————

Titus looked, really looked, at Macrides. He looked at his scarred face, the burnt stumps that were once large and bountiful antlers, the once flowered dark brown hair turned black and smelling of soot.

He saw his father. He saw a stranger.

He saw a man happy about the worst thing to ever happen in his life.

“I’m proud,” Macrides insisted, obviously not understanding (when had Macrides been the kind to not understand?). “You protected your family. You were strong. That was all I ever wanted for ya.”

The trees creaked, straining under their own growing weight. Titus yanked his shoulder away from Macrides grasp, ignoring the confused look on his face.

“I didn’t want to be strong,” he growled, eyes stinging at the corners. “I wanted to be a kid! I wanted to act like one!”

“Now, calm down for a secon-“

“Calm down? Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, I lost everything!”

“Are… Do you blame me for that?”

“…Y’know what? Maybe… maybe I do!” How had he never pieced it together..?

That confusion didn’t seem to last long, because suddenly Macrides looked closer to how Titus remembered; stoic and unreadable. But Titus could smell the beginnings of an unstoppable wildfire.

“You have to grow up sometime. I’m sorry if me dying affected you-“

“What?”

“-but maybe you can be mature and consider that I didn’t choose that. And maybe consider that I’ve been tryin’ my damnest to get back for ya while I was without a body and bein’ hunted for treason.”

Oh, really now?

“Well I’m sorry ya had a tough go of it, bein’ hunted for a year. Meanwhile, I’ve been bein’ hunted down by insane fanatics that— fancy this— you created for fuckin’ 10 years. And, ha, funniest part! I was fuckin’ TWELVE and forced to kill a bunch of innocent folks all because my even more insane father was also a huge piece of shit recluse!”

Suddenly his father shot up from his seat, the fire rising with him to an intensity that made Titus fall back.

—————————

What was he doing?

Looking down, he could only see kindling.

Nobody was allowed to say those kinds of things to him!

Who was he?

Teach him a lesson! This is survival! This is strength! And won’t it go up so nicely?

It would… it would go up very nicely. It was very dry tonight, it would all go up so so fast and bright.

“Wait, wait, please,” it said, voice shaking as it crawled away on it’s back. Macrides stepped forward to follow. “Father? Father, come on, this, this ain’t right!”

Macintosh? No.

“I-It ain’t supposed to be like this, this, it’s just too-!”

Macrides came back, recognized his son, and suddenly was met with something he hadn’t been… quite prepared for.

A swift kick to his chest was, for maybe the first time in hundreds of years, enough to send him flying back about 10 feet before slamming painfully into a tree with a terrible crunch, wood splintering into his skin and his bones ribs cracking.

He could see Titus, that much was true. But this was not Titus.

Macrides had found himself face to face with The Overgrowth.

—————————

He had forgotten how it felt to be It.

Him, a tiny and frightened frog surrounded by a world that seemed only to bring hardship. The Overgrowth, a large tarantula protecting him from anything the world could throw his way.

Even if it threw something as big as realizing that things had never truly been good. Even if his father, perfect in Titus’ mind since childhood, turned out to be a monster, one who created the people who ruined and continue to ruin his life. Even if the world fell apart around him, The Wilds would give him The Overgrowth.

He didn’t want this.

“Titus,” his father rasped, trying and failing to stand from where he had fallen. “It’s ok.”

The smell of fear. Uncertainty. Blood. It flicked its head in an upwards nod, making the tree form around Macrides arms and stabbing into his flesh with long thorns to keep him in place. He hissed, but did not scream. Of course he didn’t.

“I’m sorry for snappin’ at ya,” Macrides placated, that tension heavy in every part of his body. “But if ya just let me help, I can-“

He wasn’t looking Titus in the eyes, glancing slightly lower instead. Instinct said to keep Macrides in his sight, but…

His arm was wooden. A flexible wood had taken the place of his skin. Trying to move his fingers only solidified what had happened; his hand held 5 gnarled fingers, each ending in sharp points. He hadn’t even felt it happening.

Touching his face made things worse. It had already reached his jaw.

He was going back. He was hurting someone and…

It felt so good to be the one in charge for once.

“Fuck off,” The Overgrowth growled, tears stinging his eyes as he sprinted to the van, fumbling with his keys before starting it up and peeling down the dirt road.

—————————

Macrides watched the van disappear down the road, taking his son and The Overgrowth with it.

He couldn’t stop playing what he remembered over and over in his mind as he ripped himself free and sat by the now-abandoned campsite, glancing around at the few small things Titus had forgotten in the hurry as his wounds began to heal as much as they could.

Had he really made a mistake? Was all of this really his fault?

…

“Damn,” he cursed under his breath, scrubbing his hands over his face vigorously, not caring that he was leaving streaks of blood all over. Things were so much easier before he died… Had he really come back so different?

…

“Damn.”

There was only one way to fix this. The Sons were out there somewhere, lost, without guidance, and viciously hunting Titus because of it. If he could find them… maybe he could talk some sense into them. They were his family, after all. 10 years was long for a human, but to The Twins? It would be nothing. A vacation, at most.

It was probably all just a misunderstanding anyways. The Twins wouldn’t actually go through with this kind of thing just because he was gone, right?

‘Only one way to find out for sure!’ the creature laughed as Macrides cleaned up and walked into the distance, campsite burning as he left.

(( Summary: There’s a wildfire near Titus’ camp, he runs in to try and help the animals get out. His leg gets burned, but the fire retracts and boom! It’s Macrides! But different! ))

(( They talk by Titus’ van, Macrides tells Titus he was very proud to hear about The Overgrowth and Titus gets very upset! Emotions climb, Titus blames Macrides for the sorry state of his life, Macrides gets angry and looses control to The Wildfire briefly, threatening and sending Titus over the edge which reawakens The Overgrowth. Titus/The Overgrowth kicks Macrides back 10 feet, smashing him into a tree, stabs him with thorns and Macrides starts feeling nervous and unsure, for once. ))

(( Titus realizes whats happening when he sees that his arm is wooden and clawed, with the wood that became his skin stretching all the way up towards his face. He tells Macrides to fuck off, gets in the van and speeds away, adding Macrides himself to the list of people Titus is running from. ))

(( Macrides sits down and kinda goes… damn. Did I fuck up? Then decides the way to fix it is to go find and talk to The Sons, because obviously it must be some sort of misunderstanding to do with Titus being human because humans are silly and ten years isn’t actually that long, right? What a nice reunion! ))

[struggling-with-time]

The Man That Is Wilbur Soot [Wilbur Soot x reader]

Paring: c!Wilbur Soot x Gender neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the Song Honey Honey by ABBA aka I took the line "I'd heard about you before I wanted to know some more"

Warnings: Fluff?

Words: 3.4K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Event Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: This was made for my ABBA event. Check it out here! (Also requests are still open! Click here!) btw, this was supposed to be like 1k

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had heard about Wilbur Soot before. Everyone had heard about Wilbur Soot the President of L’Manberg. The guy who stood up to the Tyrant Dream of the SMP. And came out victorious, unlike the others whose life has been lost to the Tyrant, and their names to the passage of time.

You can’t say, he didn’t intrigue you enough, for you to set out on the dangerous journey that is crossing the SMP. Because he did. His country did. The ideals that you’ve heard about did. Everything intrigued you enough to leave your village behind and track into the world.

So that’s what you did, backpack on your shoulders, map in hand. You set into the big world, on the tracks to the dangerous country that the SMP is. You barely get out of the village before you are able to hitch a ride.

It’s a merchant that is headed for one of the villages closer to the border. It’s a bigger village than your own. The name rings a bell, maybe a traveller has mentioned it when passing by. So you hitch the ride, he tells you about his trades. He’s a merchant of fabrics, listing many places you haven’t even heard of. But there is one that catches your attention.

“You’ve been to L’Manberg?”

“Before it became independent yes.”

“Tell me about it!”

And the merchant does, for the entirety of the ride. He talks about the few people that resided there when he passed through the back then settlement. You beg him to tell each detail he can remember. And he happily provides. You take note of every you hear in your notebook. Your travel journal. Your… well diary.

He’s a good man, you note to yourself when he pulls into the bigger villages. The sun on the horizon.

You’re much further than you thought you would be on your first day.

This is going to be a good trip.

---

This is going to be a horrible trip.

You’ve been wandering for days, the closer to the border of the SMP, the fewer carts had come by, and even fewer willing to take a traveller with them.

You sigh as you watch the sun starting to set, and you are forced to make camp once more. It has been days since you last slept in a bed. To be exact 16 days. You had only managed to stay in an inn for the first night, realising your small amount of money wouldn’t get you far if you spent it all on beds.

You are reminded of the people whom you met that first night, a girl who talked about how President Soot had come by the town in his own travels to the SMP, and she had met him. No not just met him. She had spent the night with him.

And you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to quill your curiosity somehow, so you had once again asked for details, and she had provided.

The fire you get going is better than the last one. Not that the last one had ever turned into a fire. It had rained in the morning, and most of the wood you could find yesterday was still wet by the time you wanted to settle down.

But today, you had been lucky, it had been sunny all day, leading to being able to find dry sticks and a couple of pieces of logs. That you could make into a fire.

A clear stary night over your head as you turn in for the night. Hoping to get at least a couple of hours out of the fire to keep you warm. And to keep the mobs away. Knowing you still have a couple of days of wandering left before you will reach the borders of the SMP. You sigh as you jolt down the few interesting pieces of the day in your notebook.

Not that anything of importance actually happened. But maybe out there someone would read your notebook and find the fact that you saw a parrot in a birch forest be found interesting.

---

You have under half a day of walking left when a cart is willing to pick you up. Turning the hours of walking into a mere hour in the cart. You can feel yourself squirm in your seat as the silence falls upon you and the woman who picked you up.

“…So… Why are you heading to the border?”

She lets you sit in silence.

Rude much?

But… You can’t really call her rude, she was nice enough to pick you up and take you to the border. Where she very unceremoniously dropped you off, and headed off east, seemingly following the border never crossing it. She was… weird.

You instead tighten your back, and head over to the guarded tollbooth. A man looking bored out of his mind and close to sleep sits there. Not even having registered the cart that was there moments ago.

How often do people come through here?

The thought crosses your mind. You know it isn’t one of the main border entrances. You know of one that lies further west. But still, a good 2 to 3 days travel away. Besides you’re pretty sure someone told you the toll at the busy entrances is higher than the ones people rarely use.

But now that you are here and can read the price yourself. It seems the person had either lied to you, or the price at the main entrances are a lot higher than you could ever think about paying.

An idea strikes you, maybe… Just maybe… The guard will fall asleep. Just maybe. You linger on the side of the road. Seemingly interested in the plants nearby. You start jotting down stuff in your notebook. Taking note of the size of the leaves, the colour. You mumble the information to yourself.

Your eyes keep glancing over, as his head slumps down further and further.

It barely takes you a few more minutes of stalling before the guard is full-on snoring. You barely catch yourself nearly letting out a sound in victory.

Silent. Right. No noise.

You can do this. You can sneak past him. You can be silent.

You suck in a breath, as you start moving as slowly as you’ve ever done in your life. Hoping to the sky gods the slowness helps you with being silent. And it does, to some extent. But your backpack still rustles around, and the loose stones on the pathway still skirt across the dirt.

But he keeps sleeping, and before you know it, you’ve managed to sneak past him. Sneak into a country. You did it!

You decide your celebration is best celebrated far from here, and you make your way on the now stone path.

---

It takes you a couple of days before you hit your first village. You’re surprised by this. Normally there is a city around half a days’ time from most border crossings. But this is the SMP. The fact that its citizens aren’t exactly allowed to leave. Is more than public knowledge in other countries. They are under the rule of a Tyrant after all.

You figure it’s time to sleep in a real bed, you deserve it.

You head straight into the in, it��s barely past lunch, but there is a plentiful of people in there already. You stumble a bit at the sight, you had expected a couple of patrons, not a room full of people. But nonetheless, you make your way to the bar.

Conversations bustling around you, a waiter running around, and either the innkeeper themselves behind the bar, or just a barkeeper. You aren’t exactly sure. But you wave them down anyway. Maybe she can help you find the innkeeper and ask for a room.

“Well, hello there, you look exhausted.” Your shoulders sink further down at the comment. Did you really look that bad?

“I was wondering if you had a room I could rent?” you ignore the rude comment and stick to politeness.

“I figured.”

“… So um… Do you have a room free?” You try once again.

“Sorry hun, but if you hadn’t noticed we are full right now.” You completely deflate at the answer. In return, she takes pity on you. “But if you ask around over at the stables, someone might let you on as a passenger and take you to the next city. It’s half a day by cart, so you might just catch one if you’re fast.”

You beam up that answer, profusely thanking her, before running back into the street. Before realising you have no clue where the stables are.

It takes you two people, and three wrong turns to find the stables. And nobody is preparing any carts when you get there. Just a guy saddling his own horse.

Ah well, it never hurts to ask.

You approach the guy.

“Hi!”

He looks a bit confused when you stand across from him, on the other side of the horse.

“Um… good evening?”

You smile at him.

“Can I help you?” He speaks slowly.

“Ah yes! Sorry! I’m a bit out of it. I’m trying to get to the next town over.” You happily tell him.

“And you’re telling me this because…” He trails off. Leaving time for you to answer, instead, you leave him hanging. Until he coughs.

“Because…” He repeats.

“Because I was thinking, maybe you were heading that way.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can pay…” You try.

“Well then, why didn’t you start with that.” He looks you and your baggage up and down twice before clicking his tongue. “We can make this work. Do you know how to hold on?”

You nod, and he settles onto his horse, waiting for you to do the same. You manage to hoist yourself up and onto the horse. It doesn’t even flinch at the added weight. You’re thankful to the sky gods for that.

He rides the two of you out of town and onto the road for the next town.

“What’s someone like you this far out in the country?”

“I’m a traveller.” You tell him.

“To the border? So you could look at it and head home?” He snorts.

“No no, I’m not from the SMP, I’m just travelling through. I’m headed to L’Manberg.” He snorts once more.

“L’Manberg? That bunch of spoiled brats.”

“Spoiled brats?”

He laughs this time.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“You truly aren’t from these parts.” He comments, and let the conversation fade out after that.

You don’t question the man, instead just pays him as the sun starts to set, and you are once again in an unfamiliar village. At this point, you barely remember the route you used to take in your home from your house to the baker.

Okay, that’s a lie, that is a route that is embedded into your mind, that you could sleepwalk it. For the sole reason that the route had you pass the library. Which was a place you spent a lot of time. Especially after finding out about the interesting man of Wilbur Soot.

Some books portrayed him as a traitor of the SMP, others the hero of the folk. But every single depiction had one thing in common. That he was an interesting enough man for people to want to write about him.

And that made you interested in him. He had started a revolution in a country that wasn’t his. You weren’t sure where he was from. None of the books in your village had mentioned that.

You head into the inn, this time, it’s bustling from evening patrons, but nowhere as lively as the one in the previous town. The reception this time has a separate table. Which you welcome happily. This means you don’t have to cross another sea of half-drunken people you don’t know.

However once again, the inn is full.

What’s going on here?

This one is even larger than the other one and seemingly has fewer patrons. But you take the rejection with a head held high. Thank them for their time, as you head into the now dark streets.

You sit now on a couple of steps, you’re tired, exhausted, and just want to sleep in a bed.

The door opens.

You nearly leave your skin in shock. You had expected the owner to be asleep. Instead, an elderly lady stands there.

“Would you look at that? It seems I have a guest.” She speaks.

“No no, I’m just passing through, I’m sorry I just needed to rest for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way!” You ramble on as you scramble from the stone step.

“Nonsense.” She tsks at you. “Come in you poor child.”

She steps back into the house, leaving the door open.

“You coming? Close the door after you, it gets so terrible cold at night.”

You find yourself following her. Closing the door after yourself. You carefully put down your backpack as she ushers you into a seat in the kitchen. Setting a plate of hot steaming soup in front of you. You nearly drool at the sight. You can’t remember the last time you had warm food. Especially not warm homemade food.

You are quick to dig in, and she laughs warmly at you. You feel comfortable here.

“Why were you out in the street this late? That’s no safe place to be.”

You stop the spoon still in your mouth. She laughs once again, but the kind air around her never leaves. You swallow and pull out the spoon.

“I’m making my way to L’Manberg.” You tell her.

“Ah, L’Manberg. I’ve heard about that place. President Soot right?”

“Yes, yes.” You nod at her. “Wilbur Soot.”

“Ah, the Antarctic prince.”

You stop once again.

“The what?”

“The Antarctic Prince?”

You hum.

“Ah my dear, President Soot is the second born of King Philza from the Antarctic Empire.”

You stare at her; this was new information. She laughs once more. You are quick to grab your notebook and write down the new information. How had something this important not been mentioned before? This explains so much to you. And it eagers you even more to continue the trip.

The man of Wilbur Soot only seems to keep getting more and more interesting as each day passes.

The kind lady offers you a bed and a bath.

You are more than happy to receive both. Although you would never admit that to anyone that you could barely recognise yourself in the mirror. And for the second realisation that night. You understood why the innkeepers didn’t want you around.

You’ve never slept as good as you did that night during your travels.

---

You stretch as you can feel the scorching heat of the sun above you. It has been three weeks since you left the kind lady. She had asked for her son to help you move deeper into the country, so you were closer to the border you are desperately trying to reach.

You had travelled with her son for about a week, when he had to start heading more west than south, you had thanked him as much as his mother. But he had brushed you off that having a travelling partner was nice, and that you if came back through he would love to hear stories of the famous L’Manberg and its citizens.

The map you had brought seems to not be well mapped in the SMP. It wasn’t something you were unprepared for, but it did surprise you how little it truly resembled the mapping of the roads.

But a map is a map, and a destination is a destination. So you head onwards.

And onwards…

And onwards…

And onwards…

Sometimes meeting other travellers now that you are deeper in the countries. The nights where you aren’t alone passes faster than the ones where you are.

You hear stories of L’Manberg you have never heard before, and retellings of events but in other perspectives.

It seems a lot of people have a lot of opinions on the small country. But you understand, you too would have a lot of opinions if a city suddenly started wanting independence from its country.

It takes you weeks before you start coming across people who have been near L’Manberg regularly. It gives you a sign of hope. You’re getting closer, your journey is reaching its destination.

---

It’s storming the day you spot the country on the horizon. It’s still storming by the time you reach the country. The SMP toll guard is seemingly nowhere nearby and you pass the border with ease this time. Luckily for you. Or else you would have to explain why a traveller like you didn’t have travel papers.

You had expected to be met with one of the cities of the small country immediately. But it seems they are further from the border. And by further, it takes you an hour at foot-travel to meet the capital of the small country.

The streets are bustling.

That’s when it hits you.

You’ve made it.

You’ve actually made it.

You might look mad, but you let out a laugh right then and there. A laugh of relief. A laugh of victory. A laugh of … being alive.

“Having fun there?”

You turn around, to be met with the eyes of a stranger. A tall brown-haired stranger, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I just… Yeah.” You trail off. You eye him up and down, he’s cute. You put your hand out to present yourself, your name, the country you came from, and the name of the village you used to live in.

“Wilbur Soot, President of L’Manberg.” He returns with a smile. You barely listen to his words. Too captured by his smile. When…

Oh.

Oh, sky gods.

This is the man.

This beautiful human being of a man is the man.

“You alright there?” He asks as he watches you falter for a moment.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. More than fine actually.” You tell him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, and he smiles back.

“So, what are you doing here? You are an awful long way from home.”

He starts walking, and you fall in step with him.

“I’m here to see the country. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Leaving out the unsaid, I’ve heard a lot about you. He didn’t need to know yet, just how intriguing you found him.

You follow him down the street as he points a couple of things out, a couple of buildings, a couple of people. You listen and stop to note something down a couple of times, and he waits, patiently. Until he leads you to the local inn.

He holds the door open.

“A drink?”

“Yes please.”

He finds the two of you a booth, and you easily fall into conversation.

He asks you about your hometown, you about his.

He asks about your journey, you ask about the revolution.

You continue this game of ping pong. And the further down your drinks you get, the more personal the conversation gets. The less you note down. Yet, the man himself never falters from being the most interesting thing you’ve ever encountered.

And the night moves along, your conversation following.

You don’t really know when his hand landed on your thigh. Or when your lips met his. But suddenly you’re stumbling into a room together.

His touch setting you on fire, and your touch egging him on.

Your head is spinning as your back hits the bed.

Your notebook is lying tucked away safely in your backpack, staying there all the way into midday when you finally wake up. Disorientated, confused, and hungover.

Sitting there in that bed, you can’t help but remember the words of the girl you met the first night. And you can’t help but agree with her. Wilbur Soot surely is a love machine.

You hear rustling beside you, and you turn your head.

He’s awake.

He’s watching.

He’s watching you.

You lazily smile at him.

And at that moment, there is nowhere else you would rather be.

You had heard about him before, and you wanted to know some more.

People later down the line found your meeting story anywhere from boring to fate. But one thing was sure, you entered L’Manberg with one goal in mind. And never left again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[stardustandash]

Aftermath - The Bad Batch

Feel like I should be posting oneshots here too, so here it is under the cut! If you prefer ao3 reading, this is the link.

Summary: “They had survived so many impossible things. The fall of the Republic, the destruction of Kamino, dozens of suicide missions. Injuries popped up here and there, but they’d been lucky so far. Now he had one brother held captive by the Empire, one lost on a foreign planet, and a sister dying on their ship.”

Or, what happened between the railcar crash and Omega waking up in Cid's parlour.

Characters: Hunter, Omega, Echo, Wrecker,

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst

Word Count: 3, 699

“Tech?”

Hunter stirred at the sound of the faint cry. He’d know that voice anywhere, and the warble in it kicked his brain from unconsciousness to full alert. Omega. Hunter pressed his palms into the dirt and tried to push himself upright, only getting an inch or so off the ground before his ribs screamed in protest and he went crashing back down in a cloud of soot and dirt. He took a moment to breathe, tasting ash and pain in the air. A soft thump brought his attention back to what roused him in the first place.

“Omega?” called Hunter hoarsely. He coughed to dislodge the dustiness lining his throat and tried again louder. “Omega?”

There was no response.

Hunter’s heart seized in panic. This time he barely felt the pain in his ribs as he made his way fully upright and took in the surroundings. Wreckage was scattered around them, smoke rising through the twisted scraps of metal that had once been a rail car. Movement on the ground snapped his attention to two familiar armoured figures slowly coming to consciousness. He could hear the moment they both returned to reality, their heartbeats picking up to panic level. He glanced around again, this time finding the small form not too far from Wrecker. Omega wasn’t moving, and Hunter could hear how faint her heartbeat was.

Unfortunately, he could also hear the sound of armoured feet approaching through the forest. Hunter reached for his blaster with one and hand scrambled over to where Echo was working on getting his feet under him. He hauled Echo up to standing, giving him a once-over but not spotting any serious injuries. For once the mechanical limbs were a benefit with their durability compared to flesh and bone. Once he knew Echo was up to watch their backs he sprinted to Omega’s side.

As Hunter approached Omega started to move. Small hands fisted into the dirt as she tried to pull herself upright. Even from a distance he could see how much she was shaking, how her eyes struggled to focus.

“Omega?” Hunter tried to get her attention.

Her eyes wandered past him as her arms gave up their fight with gravity. Hunter slid in, catching her before she could fall back to the ground. Her head lolled and her eyes drifted shut. He could feel the panic trying to sink its teeth into him as he felt blood on his hands. Omega’s blood.

“We have to get her out of here.”

Hunter tried lifting her into his arms but had to stop as his ribs twinged squeezing the air out of his lungs. No, he had to do this. He’d already failed one brother today, he wasn’t going to fail his sister as well. Bracing himself, Hunter went to try again before a large hand on his shoulder stopped him. He glanced up at Wrecker, now upright but off in a way Hunter could sense but not see through the armour.

“Don’t,” was all Wrecker said.

There was so much conveyed in that single word. Hunter looked at Wrecker and nodded, stepping away just as the first shots of blaster fire echoed through the clearing. Hunter took aim at the silhouettes of the stormtroopers marching through the smoke.

“I got you, kid.”

Hunter could hear Wrecker murmuring to Omega as he hefted her into his arms. He tried not to look at the dark spot dampening the back of her jacket and focus on the battle at hand. Blood. He could smell the coppery tang of it in the air. He was so focused on Omega he almost missed the whistling sound of engines overhead.

“We have to get back to the Marauder,” said Echo sharply.

At least one of them was still with it enough to call the shots. Hunter followed mutely behind. Trading shots with stormtroopers on instinct alone, all senses focused on the small figure cradled in Wrecker’s large arms.

They ran, alternating between sprinting and ducking around trees and rocks for cover. Muscle memory took over Hunter as they made their way back to the ship. Run, crouch, check, fire. Run, hide, check, fire. The distant shouts of the stormtroopers and the ships hunting them overhead faded into the background against the quiet noise of Omega’s heartbeat. Hunter clung to the sound as they went.

By the time they reached the Marauder that pulse was fainter in his ears. He planted himself at the base of the ramp to cover Wrecker as he ran for the ship. Once he was on board Hunter and Echo followed, Echo running to the cockpit to get the ship off the ground in record time. Hunter glanced at Omega once as he made his way to the gunner’s mount. Any care he might offer now would be useless if they were blasted out of the sky.

“Get us out of here, Echo!” shouted Hunter towards the front of the ship.

“I’m working on it!”

Three V-wing fighters came into view as the ship lifted above the trees. Hunter grit his teeth and fired. The ships scattered. He could see them coming around to return fire and braced himself in the seat in anticipation. Sure enough, Echo put them through evasive maneuvers. The Marauder dipped and dived, spinning out of the path of incoming fire.

“Stop dancing and get out of here!”

“I just need another minute to calculate the jump,” said Echo voice tight.

The V-wings behind them danced around Hunter’s covering fire with ease. The Marauder was a transport, not a fighter, and without Tech at the helm it would only last so long in a full-on dogfight. They had to get out of there, fast.

“What about Tech, we can’t just leave him there,” came Wrecker’s voice.

Hunter swallowed. He didn’t want to leave Tech behind either. Their brother deserved better than to be left to rot. He deserved all the honours and respect a fallen brother could receive. But if they went back it was likely none of them would ever get off this Force-forsaken planet. He bit down on his lip, the sting of pain driving the emotions away so he could concentrate on the task at hand.

The targeting system blared loudly. One of the V-wings was getting too complacent. Hunter squeezed the trigger and watched it explode into a thousand pieces.

“I can make the jump,” called Echo.

“Get us out of here!” ordered Hunter.

The ship broke atmosphere, and a second later there was the familiar jerk behind the navel sensation of a hyperspace jump. Before the blue light could overtake the gunner mount Hunter was already leaping down and heading for the racks. Wrecker knelt on the floor next to the lowest bunk, one hand keeping Omega on her side. No, now that Hunter was closer he could see his hand was pressed to the dark patch on Omega’s back. Wrecker looked lost as he watched Hunter approach, eyes begging him for some kind of miracle. Hunter wished he could give him comforting words but all he could do was put a quick hand on Wrecker’s shoulder before taking in Omega.

Her face was covered in a light sheen of sweat even as she shivered. Soft brown eyes gazed at absolutely nothing beneath pinched brows. They didn’t need a med scanner to know she was dealing with a concussion. Gently, Hunter peeled Wrecker’s hand away from her back. Fresh blood bubbled up around a piece of shrapnel embedded near her shoulder. He took a deep breath. This was beyond the capabilities of their small medkit. They needed a med centre, or someone with medical skills.

Footsteps from the cockpit signaled Echo’s arrival. Helmet off, he gave Hunter a despondent look. Hunter knew his own expression wasn’t much better.

“Do you know of any medics we can take her to? Does Rex have anyone?” asked Hunter.

“Not anyone with enough equipment to handle this,” said Echo, shaking his head.

Hunter felt his heart drop. Losing Tech was hard enough, he didn’t know if he could handle losing Omega too. The galaxy seemed intent on forcing him to watch his loved ones die without being able to do anything to help.

“What about the droid?” said Wrecker.

“What droid?” asked Hunter.

“Omega’s friend, AZI-whatever. He’s a medical droid, right?”

A spark of hope. “Set a course for Ord Mantell, AZI can help her.”

Echo nodded, heading straight back for the cockpit. Hunter looked at Wrecker and guided his hand back to its place on Omega’s back.

“Keep an eye on her, I’m going to go get the medkit,” said Hunter.

He slowly levered himself upright, all the aches and pains from their mission making themselves known. As he walked into the ‘fresher he caught Wrecker running his free hand through Omega’s hair and heard the low rumble of his voice murmuring promises to her.

The medkit was in the cabinet below the sink. Hunter pulled it out and flipped it open, taking in all the items labelled in Tech’s neat arubesh. His heart pulsed with grief. Tech was always the best at keeping his head in these kinds of situations, always calm and collected with a steady hand for patching the rest of them up. The memories and sorrow snuck up on him, choking him with grief. Dozens of successful missions in the war and after, Hunter had stopped thinking that death could come for his family. Sure it was a threat, but they had survived so many impossible things. The fall of the Republic, the destruction of Kamino, dozens of suicide missions. Injuries popped up here and there, but they’d been lucky so far. Now he had one brother held captive by the Empire, one lost on a foreign planet, and a sister dying on their ship.

Hunter ran a hand down his face and flipped the medkit shut. Sitting on the ‘fresher floor wasn’t going to help anyone. He brought the medkit back out to the bunks and saw that Omega’s eyes were now shut, her breaths a little shallower.

“She’s getting worse, Hunter,” said Wrecker sadly.

“I can see that,” replied Hunter, putting the medkit on the bunk and pulling out bacta patches and sanitizing spray. “Help me get her jacket off?”

Wrecker nodded. The two of them quickly stripping Omega’s jacket and top away without jostling her too much, Wrecker quickly pulling up a blanket to preserve her dignity. Hunter grabbed the bottle of sanitizing spray, nodding at Wrecker to hold Omega’s arms. He knew how much the spray stung.

Worry pooled in Hunter’s stomach when Omega didn’t so much as flinch at the spray. He knew without looking he’d see that same worry mirrored on Wrecker’s face. Next he gently applied bacta patches around the shrapnel sticking out of her back. He wouldn’t dare remove it here on the ship. That would be a death sentence for her. Then with a gentle hand he probed her skull, finding a large bump beneath the blonde hair at the back of her head. Her helmet had probably saved her from having her brains splattered across Eriadu. The thought made Hunter nauseous. He never should have brought her along for the mission. He should have gotten her more armour than a simple helmet.

The what-ifs weren’t going to help them now. Right now they had to focus on keeping Omega alive, and then go to ground. Omega shivered under her blanket, no doubt shock trying to take hold. Warm. She needed to be warm. He glanced at Wrecker, ever the space heater.

“Strip your armour.”

“What?”

“Down to your blacks, come on. We need to keep her warm,” explained Hunter.

A look of understanding dawned on Wrecker’s face and his hands scrabbled to remove his armour. As they settled him into the bunk and a blanket-wrapped Omega into his arms Hunter caught the quiet hiss of pain.

“What hurts?”

“It’s nothing, save the supplies for Omega.”

“There’s not much else we can do for her at the moment. We don’t have a med scanner aboard to check for anything else, but we have the most serious wound dealt with.”

“Where’s the med scanner?” asked Wrecker. His face fell when he realized the answer.

“Where’s it hurt, big guy?” Hunter tried again.

“My neck is killing me,” said Wrecker quietly.

Hunter pressed two painkillers into Wreckers hand and toasted him with one of his own for his aching ribs. They swallowed them down dry. Within moments Hunter was breathing easier and he relaxed against the wall of the bunk. His eyes drifted shut, though he kept himself awake, focusing on Omega’s heartbeat. It was steadier now, but still weaker than he was used to hearing.

He lost time as he sat there.  Hours or minutes later there was the sound of someone moving about the space trying their best to be quiet. He cracked an eye open and spotted Echo picking up Omega’s bloodied jacket and shirt from the floor of the ship. Echo stopped when he noticed Hunter watching him.

“I thought you passed out.”

“Can’t, I gotta keep an eye on her.”

“I have eyes.”

Hunter felt the ghost of amusement pass through him.

“How long until we reach Ord Mantell?”

“Few standard hours, enough time for me to throw these through a cycle and for you to stitch them up. Can’t parade her through the city without a shirt,” said Echo, gesturing with the soiled clothes.

Hunter nodded at him, watching as Echo went into the ‘fresher to throw the clothes into the washer. To his surprise Echo came back and parked himself on the floor near Hunter’s feet and leaned back against the wall. He let out a sigh heavy with emotion and Hunter nudged his leg against his side. Echo leaned into it.

For a while they sat like that, simply taking comfort in each other’s presence. It was soothing, to have the warm body of his brother pressed against him while listening to the continued even breaths of Wrecker and Omega. It pushed back against the dark gaping hole that Tech had left in his heart but it was not enough to lessen the hurt. He knew then, that he wouldn’t be able to lead his family into battle again. It would break him to lose another sibling. Kriff, they might still lose Omega even if she was safe and somewhat stable for now, cradled in Wrecker’s arms. It stung to know that Crosshair was out there alone in a prison cell, but Hunter couldn’t risk throwing more people at a mission where the rescuee might not even want the rescue.

The thoughts whirled around in Hunter’s mind until Echo rose with the anticipation of arrival. As he went to pilot them down to Ord Mantell, Hunter took the job of waking up Wrecker. He let Omega sleep. Force knew the kid needed the rest.

“Come on, big guy. We’re just about planetside,” said Hunter.

“Omega okay?” said Wrecker as he blinked awake.

“She’s still holding on, but I need you to take care of her until we get to Cid’s, alright?”

Wrecker nodded. “Don’t worry, Sarge. I’ve got her.”

Hunter retrieved Omega’s clothes, now thankfully clean if still torn, and together the two of them managed to carefully get her back into her shirt. She remained frighteningly limp between the two of them. He kept his hearing focused on her heartbeat as they worked to reassure himself that she was still alive. That there was still hope.

As soon as the Marauder touched down all three of them shot off the ship towards Cid’s. The streets they passed blurred together at the edge of Hunter’s senses. Nothing mattered but Omega’s heartbeat. Nothing mattered but her shallow breaths. He led the charge into the dingy bar, uncaring about how it must look to see three soldiers thundering down the steps. Not that it mattered, the only people in the place were Bolo, Ketch, and Cid herself.

“Kriffing hell, Bandanna. You refuse my comms, my jobs, for months and now you come barrelling back in here? I should hand you over right now for all the trouble you’ve caused me!” barked Cid from behind the bar. “Whatever you want, I ain’t got it. Now you best get out of my bar before I call in the troopers.”

Anger flared in Hunter’s gut before his worry banked its fire. He could be angry with Cid later, right now they only needed one thing.

“AZI?” called Hunter into the depths of the bar, ignoring Cid.

“Oh, it is you, CT-9901! You have returned to Ord Mantell at last,” said the odd little medical droid as he emerged from a back room with a case of drinks.

“AZI, we need you,” said Wrecker, stepping fully into the bar. The little body in his arms was unmistakable, and Hunter heard Cid’s heart stutter with shock.

AZI floated closer and peered down at Omega. His whole countenance screamed worry. The round lights of his visual receptors lit up as he did a med-scan.

“Oh no, Omega! She needs immediate medical attention,” said AZI in his oddly harried voice.

“Not in the middle of my bar you aren’t,” growled Cid.

Hunter stared her down, folding his arms and glaring. He knew that behind him Wrecker and Echo were fixing her with the same angry look. To her credit Cid stood her ground, not one to be pushed around by intimidation. Instead she rolled her eyes at them and jerked a thumb to the back room.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot, I got a spare cot in a room back there. I can keep yelling at you after you get Tiny sorted out.”

There was no time to take in the relief. AZI led the way through the cramped back of the parlour and into a small room with a cot. It looked rarely used. There was a coating of dust over the shelves and countless piles of old junk, but little of that mattered to Hunter right now. He gestured for Wrecker to put Omega on the bed and tried not to hover.

AZI wasted no time in peeling away her shirt to look at the wound and the bacta patches around it. The droid began to pick at the edges of one before stopping to look at the three clones.

“I believe this will go faster if I do not have an audience. While your concern for Omega is valid, none of you have had medical training, and your presence will only be a hinderance for the procedure.”

“We can help,” insisted Hunter.

“Hunter, there’s nothing we can do for her that can’t be handled by AZI. If he needs one of us, he’ll call,” said Echo with a hand on his shoulder.

Hunter let himself be steered out of the room back towards the bar and deposited on one of the barstools. Echo and Wrecker took up the seats on either side of him, whether in camaraderie or to make sure he stayed out of AZI’s way it was hard to tell.

Time passed oddly while they waited. Echo gave Cid the story and she gave them a round ‘on the house’. At some point Hunter realized Bolo and Ketch had cleared out and the door to the parlour shut. Through it all Hunter could hear the faint rhythm of Omega’s heart beating in the other room. As they waited Echo kept mentioning that he needed to tell Rex what happened but never quite managed to make it out of his chair, held in place by concern. When AZI returned all three of them were on their feet before he could even make it through the door.

“How is she?” asked Hunter.

“I am here to inform you that Omega is now sleeping peacefully and I anticipate her recover fully in a few days’ time. She has suffered a severe concussion, which will require rest and no screens to heal. She also suffered a puncture wound to her back, which has bled quite a bit but was not very deep. As well, she has a broken femur. I have reset the bone and applied bacta, as long as she stays off her feet while it heals she will be fine,” explained AZI as he trailed after Hunter towards Omega.

Hunter didn’t know what he was expecting. Omega still lay asleep on the cot, a hint of bandages peeking out over the collar of her shirt. There was a little chair, dusty and covered in the random detritus of the parlour in the room. Hunter pushed the stuff off and settled himself in at Omega’s side.

“I uh, should go tell Rex what happened,” said Echo quietly. This time he actually followed through on his words, as if the sight of Omega scared him away.

Hunter let him go with a nod. Rex did need to know, and Echo needed some time to sort himself out. They all did, but Hunter wasn’t going to leave Omega’s side until she woke up again. He took one of her hands in his own, feeling just how painfully small it was. Wrecker sat on the edge of her cot and looked at her like she would vanish if he glanced away.

“What do we do now,” asked Wrecker quietly.

There was a defeated look in Wrecker’s eyes. One that Hunter felt reflected in his own.

“We wait for Omega to get better, then head back to Pabu. We can stay there, try and make a life for us, for her,” said Hunter.

Saying the words aloud to Wrecker felt like a promise. They would heal, go back to Pabu, and try and carve out a life away from the Empire. They could have a funeral for Tech there. Omega could grow up without any more fear and truly be a kid for once. He saw the agreement on Wrecker’s face and knew they were on the same page. They just had to let Omega recover, and then they could be free of the Empire, forever.

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

Well, here’s where we try to figure out if I can do the tumblr queue thing.

I do have a Ko-fi, if anyone would like to help me pay for rent and bills. An It may not be, uh, organized, and I’m not sure how I’m going to make it easy to find in order. But you won’t have to pay for it. I’d put it on AO3 but I don’t think they allow for original writing and I don’t want to get them in trouble, they’re embattled enough. Ko-Fi link’s on my profile and at the end of the post.

By the time someone noticed the youngest prince in the palace was missing, it was suppertime. By the time he was found, seven people had been fired, three had been threatened with beheading, and the Dowager had written increasingly scathing letters to the monastery that provided her with teachers. Adam was dragged into a bath, sunburnt and windburnt and eyes full of wild glee, soot-black from where he'd made his way into an unused chimney and climbed down and out through the hearth. Linden had shown him the chimney, and watched him begin his descent. "Be careful, Adam," they'd warned the prince, those shattered eyes gleaming in the setting sunlight. "I can't catch you if you fall here."

"There's steps, it's fine. A baby could climb this. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Maybe." Linden had laughed. "You know where to find me."

He was grounded, and quickly forgotten once again. The problem with that, of course, is that it's hard to keep a young boy in a giant palace grounded if you start ignoring him. He slipped out through the cellar once, when he'd been given punishment duty there. The master-at-arms lost track of him in the training yard, busy with the older boys whom he actually had faith in. He climbed up the beams in the stables when he was supposed to be doing punishment detail shoveling hay, and slipped out through the open shutters where hay bales where shuttled back and forth. Twice he climbed out of windows, his own and the one in the secondary library. He nearly fell once.

Linden was always there to catch him, with a merry laugh and those shattered, many-colored eyes. The palace rooftop and the cool dark woods were their playground, and they went everywhere together. In shallow cisterns and tiny pools carved out of the stumps of fallen forest giants Linden showed him impossible fish that spoke in tiny strings of bubbles, like pearls from a spilling necklace. They fought with imaginary swords, back to back, defending against savage barbarians and wicked pirates and murderous raiders, legions upon legions of them. It was always his ideas that they chased after, but Linden never seemed to mind falling in with the young prince's wild imaginings.

In the end, with summer growing heady and sweet and hot, he got grounded for good, his windows barred shut while the sour-faced, pinched-mouthed man that handled the princes made "other accommodations". His door was barred and there was a guard set upon it, and he couldn't force the windows open even a little bit. He'd tried to climb out of his hearth, but it shared a chimney with something that had a fire going at all hours of the day.

So he'd hid in the laundry pannier.

The staff panicked. How had their charge slipped out? How had he made it past the guard, the barred windows, the locked door? People dashed in and out, but no one thought twice of the laundry basket, least of all the burly-armed maid that carried it down to the boiling pools of lye water. Someone shouted when Adam squirmed his way free, but in the vast forests of laundry hung to dry hardly anyone could see him, let alone catch him. He scrabbled over a stone wall and raced along the top, leapt onto the low eaves of the kitchen, sprinted away and clambered up a gutter, thanking each water spout he passed by name, as Linden had taught him. He was almost to the top when his feet went out from under him and he slammed against the edge of a steep roof with punishing force, blowing all the breath out of him. His grip slipped.

A strong, tiny, brown hand caught him by the wrist. "Are you ever gonna get any better at this?" Linden accused him cheerfully.

"I hope so," he admitted, groaning.

"That took forever!" Linden helped him onto the roof, and Adam flopped down on his stomach to catch his breath. "What happened, where have you been?"

"They locked me up." Adam sighed.

"Uuuuugh!" Linden dropped to sit next to him, playing with the black curls of his hair. "Are they even allowed to do that? You're their prince!"

"I'm one of, like, fifty princes, Linden." Adam felt himself relax at last under that familiar, friendly touch, like a bird making a nest of his hair. "And I'm the youngest. I'm never gonna be king, so they don't care."

"If they don't care, why'd they lock you up?" Linden sprawled on their back next to him.

Adam turned his head to look at them, frowning a little as he put his words together; that, he'd learned from no teacher in the palace, but from his mother, who hadn't wanted to leave him behind. "Because I made them look bad," he explained at last. "When you're a prince, they have to know where you are and what you're doing, always and always. And if I told them about you, they'd say it's too dangerous and wouldn't let me do any of it."

"That's so dumb."

"Right?" Adam was silent for a long moment. "What about you? What does your family think of me?"

"They think I'm very silly for spending time with you," Linden tucked their arms under the gold-tipped burst of their white hair. "But they've always thought I'm silly."

"You're not silly!"

"Well, of course not." Linden looked pleased at Adam's staunch and immediate defense. "But they think everyone that's young is silly, and I'm the youngest, and you're the youngest. So we're twice the silly."

"Ugh." Adam was very familiar with that sort of thinking, and kept as much distance between himself and it as possible.

"And who cares what they think anyway." Linden whipped upright. "Now come on, I found a stork's nest!"

Adam sprung up to a sitting position. "With storks?!"

"How else would I know it's a stork's nest? Come on!"

[moralesispunk]

In his eyes III (Pero Blacksmith AU)

Pero Tovar x Female Reader

Part 3 of short Pero Blacksmith AU series

Part 2 here / Masterlist here under Pero / Part 4 here

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, smut a lot of smut but also soft Pero

Summary: with your father at his brothers, Pero and you grow closer in the first three days he is gone.

Word count: 8.3k (I have split this into two parts because it was so long but also because so many were looking forward to it and I have not been able to edit the rest yet!)

Day one

Two days later your father left for his brothers, leaving early in the morning. He woke you from your sleep before he went, telling you where he had left the keys for the bakery and coins for the market. You decided to stay in bed for a while longer, the room still dark with no sight of the sun yet.

Sleep did not find you again so you decided to start your day while the rest of the world was still in darkness. You got ready as usual, tying a cloth around your hair to keep it back from your face for the day. Although you knew how to run the bakery, believing you could run it in your sleep, you had only done it a few times by yourself and never for more than two days at a time.

As you double and triple checked that you had everything you would need for the day ahead, a short, sharp rap came to the front door. You froze in the middle of the room, not sure who would be calling by so early in the day. As you slowly opened the door, only enough to check who was standing outside, you found Pero.

He had been turned to face away from the door but as he heard the knob twist he had turned his head around. He was dressed in his usual black, well worn work clothes, though his hair a little smoother than usual. The sun was only now making its way over the tree line, giving enough light to make out his face that was still puffy from a nights sleep. He would look soft had it not been for his scar that stood out as usual.

“Pero?” you opened the door wider so to take in his full appearance.

“Your father left this morning, yes?” he asked and you nodded, “would you like me to walk you to work?”

“Walk me to work?” you repeated.

“The mornings are still dark, the path through the forest even darker.”

“Oh,” you cheeks flushed knowing that Pero had thought about you as he woke this morning, deciding to start his day by walking you to the bakery. You tried to force yourself to think that he only did so because he promised your father he would check in on you this week but even this seemed more than was promised, “well, thank you, Pero. I just need to put on my coat.”

Pero nodded and waited by the door as you tied your cloak around your shoulders, warning off the spring mornings that were still carrying a chill. As you stepped out of the door, Pero moved off the step to let you lock it behind you.

The walk to the village was quiet as you followed the narrow path through the forest next to one another. Pero kept his steps in time with yours despite his much longer legs, occasionally causing you to brush up against one another before avoiding each other’s blushing cheeks. The closer you got to the village the more birds woke with the morning sun, their songs providing music for your walk.

The village was still quiet as you entered, only shop owners making their way through the street to open up for the day. Although the blacksmiths was before the bakery on the street, Pero walked with you to the front of your shop.

As you unlocked the door you turned to face him, “thank you, Pero.”

He nodded, rocking on his heels for a moment before opening his mouth, “can I walk you home this evening?”

“Yes, Pero. I would like that very much,” you giggled slightly, turning to walk into the bakers as Pero walked to his work.

Your day went in quickly as you manned both the front and back of the bakers. When the last customer left you finally felt the impact of the day on your body, the balls of your feet painful with each step. You carried the empty trays from the bread into the back of the shop, catching your reflection in the window. Your face had specks of flower across it, standing out against your flushed cheeks, and your hair was slowly coming undone from under the cloth. As you washed the trays to dry overnight you heard the bell from the door and the call of your name from the front of the shop.

“Pero?” you called back, listening to the sound of his footsteps that neared.

“Busy day?” his eyes scanned the room and the trays upon trays that you had washed.

“I forgot how much work it is to man the front and back by myself,” you laughed tiredly, “I am finished now though, I just need to collect today’s coins.”

He nodded and waited as you counted and recounted the coins you took in today, carefully placing them in your bag and placing the bag in your pocket. The walk back to your home was just as quiet as the morning, though this time because both of you were recovering from a long day of work. Your mind wandered to what food was in the kitchen, remembering you had started a stew the night before that you could finish when you got home. As the sight of the cottage came into view your feet stopped walking as you realised you did not want to say goodbye to Pero just yet.

Pero stopped his steps in time with yours, turning and calling your name.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you shot out your mouth quickly.

He turned to look at the cottage and back down the empty path before his eyes finally landed on yours.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you awaited his answer. His hand reached up to rub over the scruff of hair around his jaw before he nodded and you both restarted your walk to the cottage. 

The sun was still high enough in the sky as you unlocked the door, taking off your jacket as you stepped inside. You moved to the kitchen but turned when you did not hear the sound of his footsteps following you.

“Are you not coming in?” you turned to him.

“Your father wont mind?” his eyes looking around the room, settling on anything other than you.

“Would he have asked you to check in on me if so?”

Pero thinks for a moment before realising you were right, closing the door behind him before joining you in the kitchen.

“Can I help?” 

“First, you can take off your work clothes,” you point down at his layers covered in soot, “and then I will fetch some water to wash our hands and faces.”

He nodded, stripping himself down to his base tunic as you walked out to the well to gather enough water to fill a basin to clean the day of work off you both. When you came back you quietly washed yourselves before Pero stared the fire for the stew. 

“Do you like wine?” you asked as he walked back into the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow at you. “Wine?” you asked again and he nodded. You poured some into two jugs, enough to drink until dinner was ready.

You reached to lift the pot of stew over to the fire in the sitting room but Pero’s hands stopped you, grunting as he lifted and walked it into the next room. 

You followed with the jugs of wine, carrying the bottle under your arm, and sat on the floor in front of the fire at the other side of the table. Once the pot was set above the fire, Pero gave the stew a stir before moving to sit next to you.

“What do you make in the blacksmiths?” you turned to face him.

“A lot. Equipment for the farmers, weapons for the Lord, whatever else the villagers need,” he took a large drink from his mug, his eyes looking into the fire.

“Did you learn how to do this when you sold your sword?”

Pero shook his head, still not turning to face you, “my father was a blacksmith before he passed. He taught me the skills, believing I would take over from him but… there wasn’t enough money to keep my mother and my sister fed. We lived in a small village with not much work so I sold his workshop and began to sell my sword, sending my mother and sister coins until they passed.”

“Oh, Pero. I’m- I’m so sorry,” you looked down at your hands.

“Don’t be,” he turned to face you, “it was long ago now.”

“Nevertheless. My mum passed long ago and I still miss her. It is okay to miss those you love.”

Pero held your gaze for a moment, his eyes searching yours in the light of the fire.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“You can ask me as many questions as you wish, hermosa” 

You wanted to ask him what that word meant but it wasn’t the first question on your list.

“You have told me stories of your travels but not one about-” your eyes fell to the scar on his face. “You don’t have to if you do not want to.”

“It is not as interesting as you may think,” he chuckled, “I was young, in my early days of selling my sword. A Lord paid me to seek out the man who shared his wife’s bed while he was away on his travels and I discovered it was the Inn keeper’s son. I went after dark, when the Inn was shut and there was his mother waiting for me. She told me to leave and I did not listen. I tried to make my way into the back to find her son but… she had more bravery than many men I have been on the road with, giving me this and warning me never to go back.”

“Was it sore?” 

He nods, his eyes darting down to your lips before back up again, “but nothing I cannot handle,” he smirks.

You reached up, letting your fingers trace over the scar for a moment. Pero leaned into your touch, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the warmth of your skin on his.

“You are a very handsome man, Pero,” the words fell from your mouth before you could stop them. 

You watched as his mouth fell open, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought of what to say in response. His mind did not work fast enough, your hand falling back onto your lap before you pushed yourself up to pour two bowls of stew.

You placed both bowls on the table, walking to the kitchen to bring back some bread, butter and cutlery. 

The pair of you eat in silence, the stew warming your bodies from the inside. You bit back a smile at the way Pero huddled over his bowl, ripping the bread with his teeth and sending crumbs into his moustache. From days of travel you thought as you took your dinner slower, savouring the taste of the meat and vegetables that your father had left for you.

Once you had finished, Pero took the bowls and pot to wash the dishes in the basin and placing the leftover stew on the stovetop. You placed more wood on the fire, pulling a blanket onto your lap as you leaned against the pillows you brought onto the floor.

Pero joined you soon, sitting by your side. You moved to place the blanket over his lap, the tiredness of your muscles meaning you did not care about leaning into his side slightly.

“Can you tell me about your homeland?”

You felt Pero shift slightly beside you before settling.

“It is beautiful. A lot warmer than here but not as green. Wonderful food, you would like it I think…”

His voice carried on, telling you more and more about his home and you felt your eyes begin to close. You moved your head to rest on his shoulder, making his voice halt of a moment, looking down at your soft face. He noticed how your eyelashes rested on your cheeks and the way your smile didn’t quite disappear even on the edge of sleep. He continued talking until he heard your breathing becoming louder and more even.

He whispered your name, moving his hand to gently shake your thigh.

“You should go to bed,” he stated as you looked up at him, watching you lazily nod against his shoulder.

He helped you to your feet, walking to gather his work clothes left in the kitchen before meeting you by the door again. Neither of you wanted to leave one another’s company just yet but the sun had completely disappeared and the only sound from outside was a lonely owl perched on a branch near by.

“I will walk you to work tomorrow?” he asked and you nodded.

You opened the door, leaning against it as you waited for him to leave. When he walked by you felt your hand reach out for his, taking it in yours for a moment and giving it a squeeze. He gently squeezed back, lifting it to press his lips against the back of your knuckles for a moment before walking out again.

“Pero,” you called after him as he reached the end of the garden, “one more question?”

He laughed and nodded, turning and waiting for you to go on.

“What does hermosa mean?”

He chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at the ground before back up at you again. His wide smile covered his whole face, his usual scowl disappearing for a moment, “beautiful.”

You smiled, gripping the door tighter to hold yourself up as he turned to walk away again.

Day two

The next morning Pero showed up your house once again, waiting for you as you finished getting ready for the day. The walk to the village was quiet once more as you bumped shoulders trying to walk next to one another on the path. He walked by your side to the bakery, watching you carefully as you unlocked the shop and stepped inside. He wished you goodbye, agreeing he would be back to walk you home again.

Around half way into the day, the Inn Keeper came in for some bread. 

“Good afternoon, what can I help you for today?”

“Just a loaf for myself, please my lovely. How is your father I haven’t seen him in two days?” You laughed quietly at the question, remembering just how village life could be, gossip starting at the smallest of changes.

“He is visiting his brother, my uncle. He will be back in a few days,” you reply as you wrap up her loaf in brown paper.

“Is that why the blacksmith has been walking you to work each morning,” her eyebrow raised as she smirked.

“Yes. My father asked Per- Mr Tovar to check in on me while he was away,” you handed over the bread, avoiding her eyes as your face burned.

“You should bring him to the Inn tonight for some dinner. My son, you know Henry don’t you, went to the fish port the other day and brought back some wonderful catch to sell.”

Your mouth watered at the thought. Being inland meaning you lived off chicken and beef most of the time, fish only coming into the village where someone travelled to the coast. You nodded, telling her you would stop by after you closed the bakers.

All day you thought about the fish that would be at the Inn, whether it would be in a stew or in a pie. The thought of dinner made you work faster than usual, cleaning up and closing the shop faster than Pero managed to close the Blacksmiths. You walked along the street, pulling the cloak around your body as you skipped up his steps.

He was standing over a basin, washing his hands. His apron was already hanging on the wall, showing he was done for the day and so you knocked at the door. He turned to face you and if you didn’t know better you would have backed away from his scowl but noticing the lightness in his eyes you stepped in.

“I was thinking we could go to the Inn tonight, they have fish.”

“Fish?” his eyebrows pulled together at your invitation.

“Yes, fish. You don’t get it often in the village,” you explained.

He nodded, drying his hands on a cloth that hung over a hook on the wall.

“No one will mind that we are going together, without your father?”

“It is a small village Pero, most people have went to the Inn together at some point. It also isn’t a very religious village, I don’t know if you noticed that much,” you laughed, reaching for his own jacket to hand him.

He smirked slightly. He had realised that people were a little more relaxed in this village than others he had passed through before. Unmarried men and women were free to be friendly to one another without any lingering chaperone or words of sin. It put him at ease but caused a weight to grow at the bottom of his stomach as he questioned in what way you looked at him.

He looked at you and saw the sun, moon and stars. He wondered what you saw when you looked at him…

“Pero?” you held the coat towards him. He grabbed it grunting a thank you and nodding at the invite.

You both walked to the Inn, the sounds of conversations already buzzing along the street with people finishing their days of work here. When you opened the door your eyes scanned the room finding one empty table left. You nudged Pero with your elbow, nodding towards the table. He moved by you, placing his hand on your waist as he did so, before leading you through the crowd hand in hand. His hand enveloped yours, making you feel even smaller behind him as you followed in his footsteps to the table.

He pulled out a chair, standing back as you sat down, before moving to sit opposite you. The friendly Inn Keeper came over to the table, her warm smile welcoming you both.

“Good job I kept two fish pies aside. Something to drink?”

“Ale, please,” you smiled back and Pero grunted the same to her.

The Inn buzzed around you, men and women drinking at the end of a long day. When the ales arrived Pero listened as you spoke about your day, nodding when you complained about customers and laughing as you told him of the flour explosion. A few ales later, your pies arrived and you eat in silence. You watched as Pero’s eyes glided around the room, one arm wrapped around his bowl protectively as though he was a man still travelling the road. You smiled at him. He truly did not care what anyone thought of him. While this was true you didn’t know there was one exception to that - you. As his eyes fell back on you he sat a little straighter in his chair, eating slower and savouring the taste.

“What do you think?” you nodded to the near empty plate in front of him.

He grunted, nodding back at your plate.

“I love the fish pie here. I wish I could have it more often.”

As you both finished Pero watched how your eyes were closed over a little more than usual. The ale was obviously hitting you as you giggled at any remark he made. You rested your elbow on the table, leaning your head in your hand as you asked him to tell another story from his travels. Your eyes were shining in the candlelight, the lazy smile as you listened to him stretching your cheeks with every laugh that passed your lips. He could stay and watch you for the rest of the night but as he looked out the window, finding the moon already high in the sky he placed coins on the table and held his arm out to you.

You stood from the table, stumbling slightly as you pushed the chair back but Pero’s arm steadying you. He looked down at you, smiling.

“Drunk?”

“N-no, ‘m not drunk,” you said as you held onto his arm a little tighter while he weaved your bodies through the crowd and out the Inn. 

The walk to your home seemed longer than usual as you stumbled through the path, the darkness not helping but you were thankful to have Pero’s arm to hang on to. Around half way through the path he gave up holding you and lifted you into his arms, carrying you all the way into your home. 

He could feel you falling asleep in his arms so walked by the sitting room to your bedroom. It was the first time he had seen it, his eyes scanning around the trinkets that covered the shelves before finally landing on the bed. He placed you gently on the bed before moving to light the fire in your room.

You propped yourself up on your elbows as you watched him light the fire, tilting your head and taking him in. His back muscles strained as he moved the wood around, the back of his neck visible when he leaned forward to blow on the sparks. When he got the fire going he turned on his heels to face you from his crouched position on the ground.

“You should get ready for bed,” he stated simply, moving to walk out the door.

“Wait, Pero. Will you stay tonight?”

The scowl on his face harshened for a moment as he shook his head, “I- I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Please,” you whispered, “just for company. I- I know what I’m asking, my mind is not that altered by the ale you do not have to worry.”

He thought for a moment, waiting by the door and looking in at you lying on the bed. 

“Just for company,” he nodded.

Pero turned on his heels, moving to the well at the back of the house to pour enough water for you both to wash before bed. When he came back you were already sitting on the edge in your night dress. He had seen you plenty times before but never like this. The loose, white dress stopped halfway down your arms, the neckline lower than any he had seen on you before, the hem only just below your knees. He had seen more of plenty other women before but never like you, the soft skin noticeable under the light of the fire. Your hair was now loose too, falling around your face as it should be.

“I- I  brought water.”

You both knelt by the fire, slowly washing away the day. Pero noticed as you moved to kneel by the bed, your eyes shut and hands clasped as you mouthed a few words before standing again.

“I did not know you prayed,” he noted before pouring the water out of the window.

“Not always,” you pulled the sheets on the bed back before climbing under them, “I pray at the start of spring for a good harvest, at the start of winter for a kind storm, when people fall sick, and when my father travels.”

He nods, moving to lie on the floor by the bed before you grasp his arm.

“I don’t bite,” you tease, pulling back the sheets for him to join you. He looks at the floor and the space next to you in the bed before sighing. 

He removes his outer layers, left with the last layer between him and his skin. You truly notice the muscles in his arms for the first time, hard with years of labour but the skin that covers them soft. He has freckles dotted over them, making you smile as your eyes move down his body. He climbs in next to you, waiting for you to move before he does. You turn to face him and he decides to face you too, looking at your face under the moonlight that streams in through the window.

“You are a very handsome man, Pero,” you say as you let your hands trace his face, running over his strong nose and scar along his eye.

“Kings and Lords are handsome, I am not.”

“Are Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies the only ones who can hold beauty?”

He shakes his head, reaching up to trace over your own face, “I have met many a Queen and Lady, none come close to your beauty.”

“Well, I have never met a King and very few Lords, but you are the most handsome man my eyes have had the luck to fall upon,” you move forward, holding your breath as you press a kiss to his scar, “goodnight, Pero.”

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he pulls you closer to his chest, waiting until he knows you are asleep before he lets himself dream of you.

Day three

You woke the next morning wrapped in Pero’s arms. Your head lay on his chest, the steady rise and fall comforting you as you let your eyes wake to the world. One of his arms lay off the side of the bed while the other held you close against his side. 

You lifted your hand to trace circles on the part of his chest that was free at the top of his undershirt. He stirred under you for a moment before his eyes opened and found yours.

“Morning,” you whispered.

He grunted, pulling you tighter against his chest as he stretched out in the bed.

You laughed quietly, noticing how he appeared even grumpier at this time in the morning. You pulled yourself away from his warmth no matter how much your body wanted to cling to it.

Groaning as you stood from the bed, you reached your arms up to stretch out your back. Pero’s eyes trailed up your body for a moment before he forced them away upon seeing the soft skin of your thighs. 

Walking towards your small set of drawers, you pulled clothes for the day out before lifting the empty basin from the night before and filling it up. By the time you got ready for the day, setting two bowls of porridge on the table for you and Pero, you walked back to your room to find him sitting on he edge of your bed and playing with his hands.

“I have set some breakfast for us.”

He nodded, following you to the table where you both sat for breakfast.

“Thank you for staying last night, Pero. I- Staying so far away from the village, it’s nice to have the company at night,” you looked down at the bowl in front of you.

“I was worried you would regret it, letting me stay,” his eyebrows pulled together as he searched your face for any sign that you were.

“I don’t, I would never. I like spending time with you, Pero.”

You eyes met for a moment, child-like shy smiles pulling on your lips for a moment before you looked back down to finish the bowls of porridge in front of you.

The walk to work that morning was slightly faster than usual as there was a little more bounce in your step. You even noticed Pero’s usual scowl had been replaced by something lighter. Not quite a smile, no upturn of the lips or relaxing of his eyebrows, but a lightness that was surrounding him.

When you reached the bakers you turned to Pero as usual to say goodbye but this time you stood on your toes, balancing yourself against his arm and placed a kiss to his cheek. You were close enough to notice the pull of his lips before he straightened them again, nodding and turning to walk to his own work.

Everywhere in the village worked a half day today, meaning you did not have to go as long without seeing the handsome man who shared your bed the night before. You both must have had the same thought of finishing work quickly as you met each other between the bakery and blacksmiths.

“Mr Tovar,” you smiled and he laughed back your name.

You spend time enjoying the walk back to your house, looking at all the flowers that were standing straighter in the midday sun. The pollen was dancing in the sunlight that breached the spaces between the tall trees making the whole forest smell like summer. 

When you finally reached the garden you collapsed onto the grass, throwing your hands above your head and letting your legs stretch out. For a moment Pero panicked thinking you had tripped until he noticed the calm look on your face. 

There was a lazy smile on your lips and your eyes were closed as you enjoyed the feeling of the sun on your face. Your palms were turned up, fingers dancing in the sunlight and you kicked your shoes off for your toes to do the same.

“Are you joining me,” you shielded your eyes with one hand as you opened an eye to look up at Pero. 

He tilted his head, taking in the sight before him. He had always thought you were beautiful and light, innocent and happy, but in this moment he was truly in awe of you. Nodding, he lifted his work layers over his head to let his arms feel the sun on them before sitting next to you. He rolled the legs of his trousers up to let his calves feel the warmth too before lying next to you.

For a while, the only sound that filled the air was of the birds singing their spring songs and the nearby river running through the fields. You began to hum under your breath as your head lulled from side to side, feeling the grass tickle your cheeks. 

“What is that?” Pero’s voice came from next to you.

You turned to face him, finding he was already looking at you. His face was much more relaxed than usual, not happy or sad but content as he lay in the sun.

“A lullaby my mother used to sing. I don’t remember the words just the tune.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

You both looked back up to the sky, taking in the tall trees above you and brush your hands along the grass. The side of your hand bumps into Pero’s and you jerk it back towards you for a moment before slowly brushing over the grass back towards his hand. You let your pinky rest up against his, waiting to see if he will pull away. When he doesn’t you let your fingers run across the back of his before locking yours and his together. You hold your breath, waiting to see what will happen. He removes his hand and for a moment you regret your action before he turns his palm over, holding your hand and his against one another. 

You hear the grass rustle as he turns his head to face you again, his free hand reaching across his body to grasp your chin slightly. As he turns your head to face him, he lets his knuckles drag across your cheek. You close your eyes, feeling the heat from his hands and enjoying the feeling of his skin against yours. When you turn your head even more, pressing your lips against his knuckles he freezes, his eyes wide for a moment as he swallows. His hand stays still as he stares into your eyes before he moves to turn onto his side.

You mirror his movements, now both facing one another and hands still locked together between your bodies. His hand stays on your cheek but moves to cup it gently, holding it in place as he lifts his head closer to yours.

You feel your eyes look down at his lips, soft and parted as they come closer to you. When you look back up to his eyes they are now on your lips before flicking back up to yours.

“Is this okay?” he whispers and you nod.

“Please, Pero. Kiss me,” you sigh.

In a moment his lips are on yours, gentle and slow as they press together. He stays still for a moment, taken aback by just how soft they feel on his before he parts his mouth and kisses you. His kiss is soft, making sure to feel every single movement against him and swallow every last sigh that escapes your mouth. When your free hand reaches up to hold his arm tight he pulls your body closer to his, deepening the kiss.

He takes his hand from yours, breaking the kiss to move your bodies so he was now lying back on the grass and your legs were at either side of his, straddling his waist as your head dipped back down to meet his lips once more.

One of your hands balanced on his chest and the other on the grass next to his head as he kept one of his hands on your cheek, his whole palm taking over the side of your face, and other on your waist, rubbing circles gently into your side. His tongue grazed over your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, your own dancing against his until you were both breathless and dizzy. Pero moved his hand from your waist to cup your other cheek, lifting your head back to take in your face.

“Tell me to stop and I will stop,” he looks into your eyes, making sure he was not overstepping.

“Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. I want you Pero.”

“I need you to tell me what you want,” his eyes moving back to your lips before meeting your eyes again. Pero wanted to feel every inch of you, his cock starting to strain against his trousers at the thought, but he did not want to take more than you were ready to give.

“You, Pero. I want you, if you will have me,” you sighed and leaned down to kiss him again.

You lips moved together in sync, moans falling from your lips before being caught by the other. Pero’s hands moved from your cheeks, gently down your arms and smiling into your kiss when the goosebumps rose in response. They moved down your waist where he gripped at your layers seeking to feel you and they kept moving down to your waist and squeezing before finally finding your thighs and all the way to your ankles, circling your soft skin as they rested at either side of his hips.

When he finally found your skin, he pulled your skirts up slowly, waiting to see if your hands stopped him. His hands finally touched your bare thighs under the skirts, his rough and calloused hands from years of hard labour touching your soft skin, and you moaned into the kiss. A true moan from the back of your throat that you had no control over the minute you felt his hands on you. It was an automatic response like the way your thighs tightened around his waist, rocking slightly to release a pressure that was building inside you.

“Not here,” Pero whispered against your lips, kissing you once on the lips, each cheek and forehead, before lifting your from him and standing, holding his hand out for you to join him.

You followed him quietly as he lead to you the your bedroom, the one he had seen for the first time the night before. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he reached to hold your face gently.

“Trust me, Pero. This is what I want,” you reached your own hands up to hold over his.

He smiled, kissing you once before standing straight.

“We should wash then.”

The both of you stayed quiet as you start the fire and heat the water, taking turns filling the basin in the corner of your room. Once it was full enough and the right temperature you faced on another next to the tub of water, waiting for someone to make the first move.

You turned and looked at Pero over your shoulder, lifting your hair to show the tied ribbon at the back. He walked towards you slowly, attempting to stop his shaking hands as he reached to pull the ribbon loose. When it came undone he slowly pushed it off your shoulder, leaning down to kiss each inch of skin on your shoulder as it was exposed until he reached your underdress. He let it fall to the ground, moving to stand in front of you holding your hand as you step out of the dress. 

You reach down, grabbing at the fabric of your underskirt and pulling until it you lift it over your head. With your whole body now on show you suddenly feel shy, your arms wrapping around your body to hide some skin. Pero gently shakes his head as he takes your small wrists in his large hands and brings them down to your side, stepping towards you and holding your face in one of his hands. His eyes look down at your body, making sure to notice every mark and curve that covers your soft skin. He pulls the band that holds your hair back, letting it fall free around your face.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.

Your hands reach up and grab at the end of the tunic, the only layer that was left along with his trousers after taking off his work layers earlier. He raises his arms as you lift it up over his head. You take your lower lip into your mouth as you look down at his body, tan and muscular but soft around the middle. It is littered in scars, one in particular that catches your eye as it crosses one side of his chest. You trace it with your fingers before stepping forward to kiss it gently. You hear Pero sigh as you do so, not seeing the way his eyes close and face relaxes. No one had ever treated him with as much care and love as you had.

You let your hand run down his body only stopping when you reach the waistband of his trousers. He nods and you move to your knees, gently tugging his trousers down with you. You gasp when his cock springs free from the confines, hard and pressed against his stomach already leaking. You hide your face as you work to untie his boots before taking his trousers off the rest of the way, hoping he doesn’t see the redness that covers your cheeks at the sight. 

When you stand back up he holds your chin in his hand, “Have you ever done this before?” You shake your head and try and look down again but his hand stops you. “Do not be embarrassed. We will only do what you want to do.”

Pero steps around you and into the tub, holding your hand in his and letting you join him. It is a small tub and as Pero sits, bringing you to sit between his legs, some of the water sloshes over the side. He holds you close to his chest and lifts the soap, washing it up and down your arms and back before doing his own.

The feel of his skin against yours, soft in parts and rough in others, sends a warmth through your whole body. When his lips finally attach to your neck, placing gentle kisses down it onto your shoulders you can’t stop the moan that leaves your throat. One of his hands rests on your leg running up and down the inside before resting on the crease at the top of your thigh while the other comes up to your chest. He gently squeezes your breast before he catches your nipple between two of his fingers, nipping and twisting until it is hard. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder, looking up at him from below his jaw as his hand moves to give the other the same attention.

“Pero, please,” you gasp, not sure what you are whispering.

“Go lie down on the bed,” he leans and captures your lips in his before releasing your nipple from his hand and letting you stand.

The room is now warm from the fire and you dry your body with a towel as you walk towards the bed. You move to lie at the top with your head resting on the pillow as Pero finishes washing himself before also stepping out of the tub and drying himself. 

He stands at the end of the bed, taking your body in as it shines under the moonlight. You force your arms down on the bed, making sure not to cover yourself in embarrassment. You trust Pero in this moment, more than you have trusted anyone before.

“Can I make you feel good?” he near-growls as he stalks over your body, crawling up so your eyes were in line with one another. You nod and he shakes his head, “I need to hear you say it for me.”

“Please, Pero. Make me feel good,” you whine and he hungrily claims your lips in his.

He kisses down your jaw and neck, sucking on your collarbone before kissing down your body and resting between your legs. He looks up at you as he spreads your legs open for him, keeping them that way with his shoulders. His eyes stay on yours as he kisses and softly nips at the skin on the inside of your thighs, waiting until you were squirming under him before he moved to lick a stripe up your folds. 

Your head falls back against the pillow as he holds you down with one arm draped across your stomach and the other holding your folds open as he licks again and again. His lips finally attach to your clit and he notices the way you gasp, how you whine when he starts slow before panting when he moves faster, eventually finding the rhythm that has you moaning his name like a prayer.

“I want you to look at me,” he lifts his head to speak, waiting until your eyes were back on his before he moved again.

“Please, Pero I- I”

He hummed against you, making your legs shake around his head. There was a warmth building inside you, growing stronger and stronger with every flick of his tongue.

Your hands found their way into his hair, grabbing on to him as he worked. The feeling inside you was stronger than anything you had felt before, like a current running through you from head to toe. 

Pero looked up at you, your mouth open and eyes wide as your body tingles with every move he made. Your shoulders were tensed and he sat up, his hand running up and down your stomach for a moment, “relax, my love. I’ve got you, just let yourself go.”

His head dipped back down and you let your shoulders relax, holding his hand that lay across your stomach while your other hand gripped at the sheets. You made yourself keep your gaze on him, watching as his mouth smirked when you moaned a bit louder.

Suddenly the warmth crashed through your body, your back arching off the bed and legs shaking. Pero kept going, working you through your high and rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb until your back relaxed back against the bed and your thighs stopped shaking. Your eyes had been squeezed shut and as you opened them you found his eyes on yours, full of a softness as you repeated his name out of your mouth.

“Good girl,” he cooed, “you did so good. How was that?” His head rested on your thigh as he waited for you to answer.

“Amazing, Pero. I didn’t know I could feel like that,” you sighed making him chuckle.

“I plan to make you feel like that again, if you wish?”

You nodded and he let his fingers trace down your folds, stopping at your entrance. He pressed one inside, watching as your back lifted off the bed once more before settling after a moment. He watched as his finger pushed in and out of you slowly, waiting for you to adjust before he added another. The sound of your moans was like music to his ears as he picked up the pace a little, attaching his lips back to your bundle of nerves. 

“You are so beautiful, taste so sweet,” he mumbled against your skin.

The same warmth was flowing through your body again and Pero felt you walls tighten against him. He lifted his head, curling his fingers and coaxing another out of you. Your body tensed, his name falling from your lips once again as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you. His chest swelled as the only word that could fall from your mouth in this moment of sheer bliss was his name.

When you finally relaxed once more he pulled his fingers from you, putting them in his mouth and sucking them clean. You watched him carefully as he dragged both fingers up your folds again, gathering more wetness.

“Do you wish to taste?”

You nodded and he crawled up your body, placing his fingers in your mouth.

“Sweet isn’t it,” he smirked as you hummed around his fingers. He felt the way your tongue flicked over him, wondering how your mouth would feel around his cock but knowing he could try that another day.

He rested himself over you, a forearm at either side of your head. Your eyes looked down between your bodies, looking at his cock that was now red and dripping.

“I want you, Pero,” you whispered against his lips, tasting yourself on him when they finally collided. 

He pulled back, wanting to look you in the eyes as he pushed into you. He shifted his weight onto one forearm, his free hand coming down to line himself at your entrance.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nodded but upon seeing his mouth open you spoke, “I promise.”

He nodded, pushing in slowly. It took every single bit of strength he had not to fill you completely in this moment but he wanted you to enjoy it and he definitely did not want to hurt you. He waited until you nodded before moving in further each time until he was finally bottomed out. His lips crashed against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth as he felt your walls tighten around him.

“Please, Pero. Move,” you begged, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

His hand held tightly onto your hip as he wrapped your legs around his waist, starting with slow deep thrusts. You moans filled the room as he growled with each thrust and you gasped each time he filled you completely. Your body was still so sensitive from the two times you had already cum tonight that you could feel another one nearing and as could Pero. 

You looked into his eyes and let the words fall from your mouth.

“I love you, Pero.”

He shook away the tears that were stinging at the corner of his eyes at those words. There was no uncertainty in them, no reason for him to believe that they were only being shared because of the way your bodies were moving against one another. You loved him for who he was.

“I love you,” he whispered back along with your name.

He quickened his pace, swallowing your moans with his mouth. When he felt your body tense around him, holding him in place he kissed down your neck and biting slightly. He pulled out as he spilled his seed over your stomach with a shout of your name, watching the way it glistened on your skin. 

Your legs unwrapped from his waist and arms from his back as he sat back on his heels looking down at you. His chest was rising and falling heavily, every scar that covered his chest and face illuminated by the moonlight. He was perfect, every mark telling a story of how he was brought to you. You knew you would make sure to kiss each one when you had the chance but for now you would let him hold you in his arms.

You looked back down to your stomach, gathering his seed on your fingers before bringing it to your lips to taste. Pero groaned at the sight, something so dirty but by someone so innocent. He watched as your body relaxed more, the moon showing the glint in your eyes as you looked up at him. He reached for a cloth, cleaning between your legs and on your stomach before lying next to you and pulling you onto his chest.

He could already feel your breathing slow and he pulled the sheet over your bodies, hugging you closer to him. You fought off sleep for long enough to lift your head and kiss his cheek, on the scar, and lips one last time before sleep.

“I love you, Pero, so much. Thank you,” you whispered against his chest.

“I love you. You have my heart and soul,” he murmured into your hair, letting the tears of love and joy he had held back release as he fell asleep with you in his arms.

//

Permanent tag // @phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl

Pero tag // @bonktime @justpedropascal @coldlilheart @shadowolf993 @stylelovechild @frostsoldier @idreamofboobear @artsymaddie @ajeff855 @strangelittlenobody @elegantduckturtle

[modx-reborn]

I have so many ideas with a hybrid!reader, oh my God. Okay, it's time to try to bring worms. Just listen to me. Dryad!reader. You probably know that dryads are mortal, they die together with the tree to which they are attached. People believed that those who plant and take care of trees, enjoy the protection of those nymphs. Imagine reader, who attached to bonsai tree (because it small and you can make a special backpack for the tree), saw how Sapnap burn the lemon tree and they are furious. Reader catch him and want to punish, but ended up fucking him to the mess. Yep, some kind of hate fuck. -🐢

Ahhh, 🐢 so very wrinkly is your brain.

For a being like you, it is nothing if not rage-inducing to watch one of the servers pyromaniacs take to something like this, on the horizon the flames are licking against the sky as another part of the nature of the server burns, a full-grown tree gone in seconds as the fire consumes it all. The shaking taking over you makes you so glad that you're bound to the small tree hanging from your pack, no one can steal it or destroy it as if it's no with you it's locked away in an ender chest.

It only takes a few moments to cut through the distance between you and the one you know had lit the fire, hands clenching and unclenching as you thought back on how you had been close to them thinking that they wouldn't touch the forests of the server after you had started your almost friendship.

When your hand wraps around his arm yanking him around, you can smell it. Sapnap smells of citrus and ash, still vaguely covered in the soot from where he must have stood by to watch his blaze burn.

When you catch his eye there is nothing but joy in them, still running high on the adrenalin of what he had done, something in you twists makes a snap decision to make your anger known. It's not slaps and strikes that you go for first no, for some reason or another your pushing him under you hands holding his face making him look up at you when you straddle him.

Through grit teeth, you hiss your displeasure showing him how you seeth at having to watch another tree burn and burn by his hands no less, asking him if the beginnings of your friendship were nothing but lies, no truly thinking when you act. Using the grip you have on his face to pull him up, muttering about punishing him for betraying your fragile trust in him.

The fury you have is pushed into the kiss you deliver, biting at his lips and pushing his hands away when he tries to grab at you.

Grinding your hips down onto him, your mind to lost in a mix of feelings to truly process what you were doing, only focused on making the man under you focus on you and you alone, hoping to make him compliant and willing to listen to you even if that meant fucking him into that mindset.

This was punishment, not pleasure, so with every buck and attempt to take control from you, Sapnap was just digging a deeper hole for himself, if he wanted to burn so badly you would let him, but it would be the kind that lingers every time he sees you will be a reminder of how you ruined him and made him swear to you that he would leave the forest alone.

After all, the marks you left would linger for days making him be extra careful with how he moves and acts.

[jadelynlace]

a dead woman tells no tales / vikings fiction

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter two / read chapter one here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: the one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head. smut below the cut.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✄

There was an ache your feet contained, moving out of memory down the path but you could not recall why this one seemed to be so long. It was childish, your torment and exhaustion, heavy and foul in your heart but you moved forward, incurable search looming across your eyelids. “I will get help,” were the last words Ivar had spoke to you, the last time you were both in the realm of relishing in a life ahead. You spent many nights in those rocks, the moon looming over you and help never came. The tale that churned through the village at the time was how you wandered off into the woods and never returned back out. A victim of the elements, or hungered animals, perhaps gone to another establishment. You wondered who believed the petty story, especially since you knew of the best routes to take through all forests and hillsides from your upbringing. You ached to know why Ivar never brought back help.

*

The center of how the flowers bloom always caught your eye—spreading for their destiny to be taken away in the brisk spring wind when it would roll through. Your invisible business helped the sun stretch a bit higher, the sky lighting with the same passion that drove back your arrow; the relished sight of her reflection in the puddle of blood. Perhaps you could splash in it before the beasts had gone to lap it dry.

“You have been quiet for a woman of your beauty,” A sudden voice drew your immediate attention, your spot close to the woods that held your secrets as you watched the display of celebration before you.

“I have been watching,” You answered.

“And what is it you are watching for? How to enjoy a moment of celebration?”

“I am watching,” You repeated.

“When you have finished watching, perhaps you would care to come to my quarters,” The man finally spoke, curling the tone of his speech to lace your hair, intertwining the strands of amber.

“I would care not,” But your simplistic spite fell on ears that had long since been drowned with the mead, the man grabbing the neck line of your garment and lifting you.

“I am tired of chasing you to no avail. You are a fighter as I have seen, fight back,” He demanded, pushing you to lay across the ground, clad of covered feet stomping towards how you are positioned for him. “I would like to see the fight you speak of,”

“I watch and I learn,” You hissed, brushing the soot from the fabric of your clothing.

“You do not learn to fight by observing,” He laughed as you stood.

“You learn weakness,” You answered, still not backing from how his eyes watched you: how the silk of the dress hung to your breasts, how your fingers were long and nimble, neat and clean nails and he imagined what else your body could offer.

“Just like how everyone is weak to the end of a blade?” He snickered, the flash of the metal dancing daintily in his grasp.

“Yes, just like how everyone is weak to the poison in their mead,” You promised, a simple smile adorning your face as you crept back into the darkness of the night; only tossing a final look as the man began to gasp, his organs curdling as his body crawled towards his grave.

*

You visit Ivar’s quarters at night, dawned down the great hall as you creep along the floor. Ivar seated around an assortment of furs as you press the door open to catch him. 

“You haunt me,” He say lowly, a gaze torched through the blue eyes he owns as he has his head tipped towards where you stand.

“An evil spirit would haunt you, Ivar,” You state, “A spirit that wants revenge...have you done something you regret?” You ask, your feet taking you to the ledge of the place he sleeps, but his hiss simply stops you.

“I regret nothing in the path to greatness,”

“Do you regret not getting me help?” You finally ask. His shoulders sag briefly before he straightens himself up, a thin line of artwork catching the faint glow in the orange cast of the lingering fire. “Do you regret not speaking the truth about what happened?” Ivar only swallows thickly.

“Is that why have you come all this way to me? For revenge? Or for a different ending? I will kill you myself if that is what you are seeking,” Ivar growls as he raises. You notice the weight on the pillar he holds, how the legs he held so much hatred for are covered with iron as he clunks towards where you stand.

“I would like that Ivar,” You whisper as you watch Ivar’s face contort: his brow creasing to a sudden look of sadness as he catches the flames that crackle behind you. “You will do great things, Ivar the Boneless, but I have seen the gates of Valhalla, and they offer nothing that I can not get for myself now. I want you to remember one thing Ivar: everything always returns,” You hand moves on its own accord towards the chiseled cheekbone, streaked with petty battle scars but he flinches quickly from your touch.

“What have you done with the woman I once knew?” Ivar asked when his eyes finally catch yours. “I am a cripple and you…” His voice trails off as it dances between you two, soaked up completely by the moonlight. “You are back,”

“You need to rest Ivar. I will be gone in the mornings, and you can go forth,” You answer watching Ivar cast a look to where his body should be stationed: gorged in the warmth of the fur as the nightmares swamp through his mind for another night, but instead his hand catches yours as it retreats back towards your hips.

“You are back,” He repeats as the tone softens to such an extent you consider perhaps, someone else in the room is speaking for him. “Would you lay with me?” Ivar requests. “And give me that to remember on my voyage back?”

The room wafts against your nose the smell of him, you cannot explain the scent that has always reminded you of the man you knew, but your search for it came with no promises until you had moved to be next to him. Another couple of logs placed along the amber flames before you hear Ivar groan softly as the limp limbs he carries finally halt their torture to have their rest. The shine of his blue eyes are on you as your feet carry you back, a quick clicking from his tongue halting you in your attempts to pass him. Leveling to his gaze, he taps his own shoulder as your mind catches clue of his poem regarding the fabrics you wear. You carry on the next few moments untying how your dress has been formed, pulling the ends before it drops to your feet. Ivar’s eyes do nothing other than widen at the sight of your body bare for him, the clean, close shave of your mound and the lone traces of the injuries undetectable in the low light.

There’s a scream in your mind to climb over him, smother his body with yours and bloom pleasure between the two of you. There’s an even fainter call to struggle with him, stuffing the furs into his mouth to suffocate the voice that had been calling in your dreams since the nights you spent in the field. You body can do neither as his eyes fixate on you, a soft turn of his head as you find him studying you in beauty, your body written in a language for him to decode.

“What caused that scar?” He asked suddenly, finger outstretched to the crease across your hip bone as it slithered across the supple flesh on your inner thigh.

“A blade,” You response as you hear the man before you chuckle.

“A blade from whom?”

“A man who tried to have his own way with me,” You replied. “More than once,”

“Is he dead?” Ivar asked lowly.

“I poisoned him,” There’s a sick grin that claims Ivar’s mouth as you speak before him, a tick in the bones of his jaw as you spin the tale on to him of your efforts to harm anyone who has tried to harm you. Ivar must wonder why you have gone so long and spared him.

“Lay with me,” Ivar finally repeats, pushing back the mounds of fabric across the bed. As you round the structure, folding your dress neatly to rest across the far table, you still feel the climbing sting of Ivar’s gaze over your bare back. Trickling down the swell of your behind and over your legs, catching your chest in the light as another low hum slips on account of his studying. It does not take too much more of his wordless expressions to send the faint glint of arousal to slide through your womanhood, slipping across the plains of your thighs as you settle near his body. Ivar makes no motions to touch you, sliding down as one arm rests behind his head, the other caught in a line over his chest.

“This does not seem of something that would be memorable, Ivar,” Your voice catches his brows to raise as you too rise onto your forearms. “May I?” You ask as the pads of your fingers come to trace along the hardened length of his arm. He hums in compliance as you turn the limb from your path and gather yourself to rest along his chest, his arm coming back to circle you as half of a halo. His other arm wastes no time to complete the path as you sigh, breath fanning across chiseled muscles and lingering ink. He seemed stuck on how to continue, his arms still resisting to trace your body before you peak up to look at him. “I am not fragile, Ivar,” You whisper. Ivar turns his head slightly to catch your eyes, the faint pooling of the ink across the blue oceans as he watches you rise again, a throw of the blankets back before you’re across his hips.

“You misbehave,” He says to you.

“You bring it out in me. Do you not wish to lay with me like that Ivar?” You ask. But you get no immediate answer.

“You know that answer. But...there are many things you have missed in the time you have been away,” Ivar starts. “I—” But his words die against his mouth as you press your lips along his, sinking a quick pressure of your teeth into his bottom lip as you pull away. Room is limited as Ivar’s arms stabilize you against his chest, holding you there as if he fears you will simply float from his grasp before his mouth is hot against yours. The faint rocking from your hips catches him as his lips falter, his hands not ceasing as they explore every trace of your skin. “You will be disappointed,” Ivar whispers softly enough you almost miss his sentence.

“Can you not feel it? How my body responds for you Ivar?” You ask puzzled the lone pressing of his prick takes your notice from where you have your body spread. Ivar’s mouth parts as you grind your cunt where he grows, his head sinking back across the furs with a simple low moan of your name. You want to peel away the rest of what covers him, but the closer you drew to his lower legs the further Ivar went from you. His eyes situated with lust as your finger danced by his knees quickly dissipates until you pull your hands back to his chest. “Let me pleasure you, Ivar,” You say sweetly. “I will not undress you any further,”

Before you can sink down across him, Ivar stills you, watching how your breasts pebble to his touch, slipping his hands between your legs as your wetness collects along his digits. Your moan is matched with his alike, impatient to continue with his thumb still circling your clit, his own way with you tingling the sensation to bloom at your tailbone as your thighs start to shake. Ivar’s name falls from your lips in a moan as he studies you while you come, the simplest pressure from him still causing such a delicious outpour. You can feel his cock twitching, aching to be touched with the fluid pebbling from its head. Through still pleasure drunk thighs you sink across him, the sting of your walls spreading catching you to halt before he’s fully inside of you. A watchful face of concern as you hiss briefly at his size, finally sheeting him fully inside of you. Your tightness stills Ivar completely, a low moan dribbling from his lips as his chest heaves, tensing through his abdomen as your fingers dance over him. As the pain fizzles to spread a hum of glorious pleasure through you, your hips move on their own, Ivar’s hands gripping your breasts as they bounce slightly, your head tipping backwards. Still stuck watching you before you lean closer to him, his mouth hungrily taking yours as you feel him move his own hips towards you.

No words are exchanged, soft noises from both of yours mouths to be eaten back up again as you feel another wave roll towards you. Ivar’s arm lock around you and your climax hits you, his own pulling a release from his shaft as he fills your walls with his lips still stuck to yours. Breathing each other’s scent in as the final flames go out with the smell of sex through the air. Ivar makes no hurry to have you leave him, his cock softening as you nuzzle his cheek.

“Why must you leave?” You find yourself asking.

“I have a kingdom to return to, my people and my queen,” Ivar suddenly admits.

“You have wed?”

“Yes,” Ivar answers as you slowly pull back. “I told you that you would be disappointed. Freydis is with my child,”

“Freydis?”

“Yes,” His answer pierces your heart, not out of the sorrow of having then lost him to another woman, but of the battles you know he has no knowledge of. You laugh suddenly, a joyous giggle, trying to move away but he stops you. “Please stay, Y/N,” Ivar whispers.

“She is not with your child Ivar,” You find yourself suddenly spitting from your lips, wishful that you could stop them as your laughing dies to an end. “She has been laying with the baker’s son, and she is with his,”

Tagged:

@smileysam13579  @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @grimeundglow @another-bryk-in-the-wall​ @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @revolution-starter​

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/fandom/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 2 (Rivalry)

Summary: Growing up with your best friend is the greatest joy, the greatest nuisance, the greatest heartache. (The one where they kiss after their fight in Radiant Garden). || Word Count: 6,705

Read on AO3

A/N: My submission for the second day of @terraquaweek !! Title is from a quote from Eraqus from BBS. It’s pretty much the only line in the game that sums up Terra and Aqua, and it’s partly the reason why they’re so amazing. This whole rivals to lovers thing is so much like enemies to lovers and I WANT TO EAT IT ALL. I’m especially proud of this one - I had so much writing it!!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

for when equal powers clash, their nature is revealed

CHILDHOOD

 It was a strange dream but she doesn’t remember it when she wakes up, just that it left her with a coppery taste in her mouth and a fog blanketing her thoughts. Something is coming, and she can’t prepare for it. 

Aqua decides to tell her best friend about it. 

Terra is waiting for her in the woods. They like to hike to the lake, to listen to the birds in the summer. They like to spar away from the training grounds of the castle sometimes, away from the Master’s eyes so they could practice without any scrutiny. She’s grateful to have Terra—he’s just as crazy as her when it comes to their studies. Books past midnight? Sign me up. Spar for five hours? Your ass is grass. Forgo an entire night of sleep to talk about outside worlds, about their worries, their pride, finally being a Master? We won’t be efficient for training tomorrow, but here’s what I’m thinking. 

She finds him at the mouth of the forest, a trail down from the waterfall. Terra is lobbing balls of fire, an excited grin on his face, itching to get moving. Too much energy for a fourteen-year-old in the morning. 

“What does that mean?” Terra asks her when she describes the dream.

Well, she can’t really describe it. Nothing happened. Darkness. Questions spoken in her head, worries that there was a darker darkness moving around in the shadows stalking her. A nagging suspicion that inside its mouth was something she should have pulled out. 

“Nothing’s going to get you here. You’re safe,” Terra says, though she doesn’t need reassurance. “Should we go back?” 

“No, please.” Aqua keeps her nose high. “The lake is a good place to rest.”

But they wouldn’t rest. They both love the thrill: training their magic, the thought of an upcoming exam two weeks from now, essays. They can’t help themselves. 

Terra punches the air, an energy blast shooting out from his arm. Another fire spell, his favorite. When he gets too involved though, too much, he becomes obsessive—obsessed with winning, obsessed with tripping her up, obsessed with outlasting her. The fury in how he builds his attacks is what makes Terra a dangerous opponent.

He’s perfect.

Aqua dodges and summons an ice spell to repel him, sweeping her kick so it spreads out. That’s the best strategy—tire him out, make him run after her, evade and exhaust, evade and exhaust, strike him when he’s almost done. 

Pull. She hears. Pull from it.

One of his attacks breaks her barrier, and she grins, twirling while she heals herself. Every moment she stumbles is another opportunity to learn how to beat him. They’ll talk about their duel after they finish. They’ll gloss over technique and how to improve. Every time they spar, their bond is reforged, connected, strengthened, unbreakable. 

Terra throws another blow. 

Pull.

This one catches her off guard. 

Aqua gasps and shields herself with her arm without a spell to protect her. Terra chokes on her name, too late to warn her.

A light explodes in her face, a flash of flower petals, a spell so instinctual she can’t articulate where it comes from. Her hand wraps around metal, as though an invisible hand has shoved it to her, strong but as light as her feet, a thrum deep underneath, a heartbeat. Its arrival blocks the attack with a barrier.

“A-Aqua?”

She holds her Keyblade in her hand. 

��Huh.” Terra grimaces, stepping back. 

The Keyblade is curved, striking at the tips, like a slice of movement. Blue and silver, a cool brush of a touch as chilling as snow on her fingertips but warm all the same, the feeling of a beloved embracing her. Aqua jumps in excitement, squealing. She had drawn images in her journal for what it would look like. This is better, much more beautiful.

“I don’t have a name for it, yet,” she says, laughing.

Terra doesn’t laugh with her. “Congrats,” he says, his enthusiasm on a chokehold, his hand rubbing his hip because it can’t find his pocket. 

Oh. He’s two years older than her, the first child to come to the Land of Departure, and he can’t conjure his Keyblade yet.

“Terra?”

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“Wait.” She follows him into the thicket. He’s speedwalking, trying to get away from her. “Don’t be sad. Yours will come soon.” He doesn’t slow down. “Maybe I can help.”

Terra scoffs, scorched. At least he stops. “Or maybe not.”

Aqua fiddles with the tip of her wonderful Keyblade, rolling it onto her palm. “I was thinking how happy I was sparring with you. We’re best friends and I was thinking that…” Heat pools into her cheeks. “I was thinking we’d be best friends forever. Then she came to me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “That’s nice.”

“I summoned mine in the middle of danger,” she offers. “Maybe you need the same.”

He arches a brow. But he softens, blinking back tears. “You think that would work?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“We could tie you down. I can cover you in ice.”

Terra’s face contorts, as if stopping a snort. “That’s the best you can offer?”

“Should I hang you by your toes and put leeches in your shirt?”

Terra cracks a smirk and she sighs, relieved. 

Once he’s able to summon his own Keyblade, they could go home and declare the semester over. The Master will be so impressed. 

Aqua calls for an ice spell to stay near. With the Keyblade, it’s much more natural, as if the chasm she normally has to pray through is now a step away. “I won’t hold back,” she warns.

Terra brings his fists together, heat simmering off his skin as a fire spell starts to build. “Good.”

He is the first to strike. Aqua dodges as the flames lick under her shoes, swinging her Keyblade forward. Ice sparks out from its tip and shoots forward in a straight line. It’s so much easier to aim now. Terra sways his hands into a cupping motion, as if picking up dirt into a bowl. Flames burst out of the ground, creating a wall that melts the ice before it hits him.

But Terra has a huge disadvantage: because she’s faster at summoning spells with the Keyblade, she can race around him, dodging everything he comes up with. He’s stuck in one spot, forced to place all his focus on bringing his magic to him in order to pull from it, the worst kind of exposure in a battlefield imaginable.

He wants this, doesn’t he? To be pushed into summoning it?

“Don’t hold back,” he says when she hesitates. He throws a burst of thunder at her. 

“Terra, I don’t like this.”

“You promised,” Terra says, closing a fist. He takes several moments to meditate on a spell, and Aqua stops. He’s trying to summon ice, a weaker command for him. But Terra is smart and Terra is capable. He pushes what he’s conjured with a force strong enough to crush her into a tree. 

She clicks her tongue when he follows that immediately with a fire spell. It nearly singes her hair, and she retaliates in kind—ten fold. Her fire hits him directly on the shoulder, sputtering onto the bush behind him, spreading like wings on the greenery, blackening the tree nearby and jumping to others. 

“Aqua!” Terra grips his shoulder and gapes at the collateral, which is moving too fast to seem real.

“Terra, we have to—”

“Come on!”

Ignoring his injury, he scrambles towards the lake, Aqua following close behind. The forest fire beats heavy behind them, a nasty gray suffocating the sky. The heat molts onto them, the smoke thick and invasive, visibility covered by a layer of graininess. Terra throws himself into the lake and draws a circle on the surface with his good hand. The smoke is now black.

“You need to heal first,” Aqua says, coming up behind him and placing her hand on his shoulder, whispering a spell. Green petals kiss his charred shirt, and he can move his arm better, gathering the water into an invisible bowl to carry back. 

Aqua does the same. She tries sealing the fire with her Keyblade so it stops spreading so far. So much work that seems like it’s doing nothing. So much earth that Terra is throwing onto the fire when the water sizzles away. Aqua almost collapses from the adrenaline keeping her standing, from the sweat and soot filling her eyes, from coughing but no matter how much, she can’t clear her throat. 

The Master finally arrives and points his Keyblade into the sky. A storm cloud gathers, a wave of water to hush everything. Aqua doesn’t know what comes next, only that Terra is picking her up in his arms.

It isn’t until after she wakes up in the infirmary that she realizes what a shithole they’ve dug themselves into.

It’s raining, trickling down the small window that sits above the bed, behind the pillow. Wooden shelves line the walls, filled with potions that she can pronounce and ones that she can’t. Some are so expired the Master has never opened them. Flasks, beakers, needles, syringes, scalpels, gloves spread across the table. Medical books about the nervous system and the heart are plenty here. There should be two about herbal remedies, but they’re gone.

She hears the Master and Terra bickering on the other side of the door.

“Am I to believe,” the Master says, icy and sharp, “the day she summons her Keyblade for the first time and a sudden, devastating forest fire is to be simply spooned together as a coincidence?”

Terra is quiet at first. “No, Master.”

“Of course not,” he bites.

“I was angry, sir.” This shocks Aqua. “I couldn’t control my magic for a moment.”

That’s not true. He needs to say it was her fault. She didn’t know her own strength and she tried too hard—

The Master scoffs. “I am so disappointed,” he says, his voice shaking in a way she’s never heard before. “I do not have the words. I can’t bear to look at you.”

Her heart sinks. She can’t imagine. She can’t imagine how awful Terra must feel. 

The door opens, and Terra slips inside with a gathering of fresh herbs in his hand. His face is ashen and pale. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice brittle. He’s about to sob.

Aqua moves and flinches. Her arm. “Ugh.”

“Don’t move.” He rips the leaves off and stuffs them into a mortar. “Your arm is badly burnt. The Master already healed you, but you need longer term care.” Somehow, he doesn’t cry.

Aqua pulls the sheet over her down. Red splotches trail from the shoulder down to the elbow. The Master took care of the severe scarring, but it hurts like she’s still in a pyre. “The fire?”

Terra sniffs and mixes the herbs with the pestle. “The Master took care of it. He hasn’t given me my punishment yet.” Briskly, he approaches her, spreading the concoction over her skin. “This should work better than a potion.”

“Our herb master,” she says, hoping it would make him smile. It doesn’t. Terra has dedicated himself to potion making and teas, considering that healing spells are hardest for him. When he finishes balming her in the mix, he reaches for bandages, holding her by the wrist so he can wrap the entire arm. “You shouldn’t move this for a while.”

“Terra?”

He doesn’t look at her, pinning the bandages in place. 

“Thank you,” she says.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Terra climbs into the bed with her. It’s a narrow cot, the mattress thin and overused, the sheets washed too many times that its threads fray. Terra holds her good hand, bringing it up between their faces. Tears roll down his cheeks and pool on the pillow. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, “right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. The mix soothes the superficial burns but it takes its time relieving the stabbing pain that comes with such an intense injury. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?”

Terra frowns, staring at the folds of the pillow under his face. “I didn’t want him yelling at you.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow—”

“Nah.” He wills a smirk and it looks fake. “We should… celebrate your accomplishment, you know?”

For some reason, it makes her guilty. “Are you really that mad at me?”

“What? No.” He bites his lip. “No, I just… I’m stupid.”

Aqua stares at him. “You’re not.” 

He scoffs. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t fail at the most basic part of being a wielder.”

“Your Keyblade?”

He shakes his head. It’s not fair.

“Why didn’t it come?”

“I don’t know.” He sighs.

Aqua gives his hand a light squeeze. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“Pssh. Maybe?” He grins.

She would hit him on the shoulder, but she hurts too much. “Maybe my approach isn’t your approach.”

“Meaning what?”

“Maybe your Light needs something different.”

His smile falls, like that of a lost and abandoned child. “But I don’t know what it wants from me.”

“Hmmm.” Aqua thinks hard, staring at the way his eyebrows furrow as he thinks with her. “You like to protect.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe your Keyblade isn’t about connecting with others or making friends like mine is. Maybe you’re happiest protecting and taking care of them.”

Terra purses his lips, blushing. “I guess.”

“Look.” She lifts her bandaged elbow, wincing. “You took care of me.”

“I took care of a sap.”

“Who was the one crying over me?”

“My secret evil twin. He wants to make me look bad.”

“What kind of a joke is that?” She sticks her tongue out. “Sometimes, I hate your face.”

Terra laughs for real this time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

BEFORE THE EXAM

 The books she needs are not where they’re supposed to be on the shelf.

“Terra!” she calls. 

“Shhh,” she hears from the other side. Terra is sitting on one of the numerous tables in the library, a long, five-story ballroom with windows for walls, the ceiling a skylight. It allows for the sun to beam on them from all directions, on ornate gold-plated shelves with ladders on wheels for the books out of reach. Of all the desks he could have chosen, figures he’d be right here where she’s frantically searching, just to spite her. “We’re in a library,” he says, voice low.

Aqua refuses to whisper. “We’re the only ones here.”

“How rude.”

“To who?”

Terra gestures to the open book splayed under his hand. “I’m reading.”

He has seven other books stacked next to his parchment and pen. Preliminaries start tomorrow—the preliminaries that would determine their eligibility for the Mark of Mastery next year—and essays are due. 

On top of the stack is Darkness and the War for Light, right above The Stars As Your Guides and the ever-necessary Affairs of the Heart.

“I need those,” she says.

“You know the rules—”

“They’re arbitrary.”

“—first dibs, first reads.”

“You can’t read them all at once.”

“Watch me, I’m impressive.” Terra bites his lip to restrain a snort, those deep eyes waiting for her reaction, his strong cheekbones suspended in a smirk. She wants to punch him in the face. 

Aqua exhales. Without saying a word, she snatches the book at the top of the stack before he could stop her, bolting for the other side of the table. Terra scrambles out of his chair, tackling her from her behind so he could yank it out of her arms. She’s laughing under the weight of his chest, heat rising to her cheeks.

“You’ll have to fight me for it,” she warns. 

Terra snorts, his breath brushing her shoulder. “Really?” He grips the book and pulls. He’s stronger than her and they both know it.

The trick to defeating an opponent so much larger than you is to hit them at their most exposed. Aqua elbows him in the gut, and leaves Terra clutching his side so she could take a seat at the table, where her own unfinished essay awaits. 

“I guess that’s fair,” he groans.

“You sought a challenge, so accept your defeat.”

Aqua flips pages of Darkness—this year, it was especially important that they recognize signs of Darkness lurking near. Rage, scheming, impure intentions, greed, selfishness, fear. They’re present in subtle ways. Sometimes people act without realizing. Sometimes people are fully aware. Both are dangerous.

She grunts when she’s shoved over. 

Terra brings his parchment with him when he fills her seat, his hips so wide that she’s left with the corner. 

“It could be more comfortable,” he complains. His body is warm.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing my essay, but you took my book.”

The one he wasn’t using. Aqua inhales. “Terra—”

“I had first dibs. You broke the honor code, so you left me with no choice.” He smirks. His face is nose to nose with hers, and she imagines closing the gap. “We can share.”

“Fine,” she musters, averting her gaze. It’s awkward staring at him when his eyes look like they’re about to swallow hers.

They work. The book sits between their respective essays, the scratch of pen on paper the only noise filling the room, especially when he strikes long lines across words he no longer wants. He leans over her shoulder to read, his breath heavy on her cheek. If they were in different places, if he had her in an embrace, she could probably feel for his heartbeat. 

Though this isn’t something she should be thinking about right now, not when she’s trying to read the three tenants in combating the Darkness. Vow Number One: Do not give yourself to Temptation. 

“You’re very distracting,” he says, his voice so close to her ear that it sounds like yelling. 

She jumps. He took the words right out of her mouth. “Speak for yourself. You’re too big for this chair.”

“There’s one right next to you.” She could hear how much he loves this.

“I sat here first.”

He leans back and wraps his arm around the backrest. “I have to defend my space.”

“Then you can squirm.”

He huffs, and it suspiciously sounds like he’s pleased with that. Aqua reads a sentence, scans the current page, and flips to the next one.

Terra swats her hand and turns it back. “I wasn’t finished with that one.”

Aqua would scream if she already didn’t enjoy this. She’ll never admit that out loud. “So you’re just,” she starts slowly, “going to police how fast I read this book?”

“Depends on where I am.” 

“You’re slowing me down.”

“You’re not being considerate.”

“I can do the same thing.” She flips the page back to her spot. 

“Aqua,” he warns.

“Oh, you didn’t like that?” Aqua smirks at him. 

He eyes her and smiles. “You make me want to scream.”

Like a mind reader. “Don’t forget—we’re in a library.”

“Okay.” He pulls the book closer to him.

“Okay.” She pulls it back. 

Terra strengthens his grip on the book, leaning forward and wrapping his other arm around her waist. To use her as a counter-weight, to push off of her so he can claim the prize, Aqua knows this, but her heart jumps at the touch. He drives her crazy in the most delicious way. He’s addictive.

“Nice to see my students finding some time for leisure,” the Master’s voice says, approaching them from the entrance. “A healthy activity during such a time of stress, if I do say so myself. I commend the both of you.”

Aqua doesn’t know about healthy when she’s thinking about all manners of touching. Terra slips away from her. Is the Master being facetious? Should they move to different chairs? Or would that make them look more guilty?

“Terra is deliberately sabotaging my essay,” Aqua says, voice shaky, her sleeve coming up to cover her blush. Terra has his elbows on the table, both of his fists hiding the lower half of his face.

Eraqus tucks a binder under his arm, glancing over their work. Aqua isn’t sure if she’s seeing things, but she swears that’s a smirk underneath his moustache.

“Well,” he says. “These will be the last essays you will write, if everything runs smoothly tomorrow. Quite a reward for all these years of hard work, yes?”

Terra and Aqua nod. 

Eraqus nods along with them, as awkward as the collapse of clothes leaving you naked. “Don’t work too hard,” he advises, and Aqua wants to melt under the table. “Tomorrow will come regardless. Enjoy the time when it is good.”

The Master leaves the library with a different atmosphere. 

“Last essay ever,” Terra repeats, mumbling to himself. He’s frowning. They don’t make a move to a different chair, as if doing so would have admitted some secret neither of them even know but nevertheless, they don’t want anyone else to find out. “Then there’s next year.”

Next year.

Some of Terra’s pages have whole paragraphs crossed out. Maybe that’s why he’s better than her at essay-writing. He goes beyond. He’ll scrub out parts he’s already written when he realizes they no longer serve him, drenched in ink blots when he notices small errors. Even with a complete essay, Terra will rewrite it from scratch, to prepare clean pages with no mistakes. Aqua doesn’t consider herself lazy with essays. She just never had a difficult time writing something the Master will want to read.

But all the effort Terra puts into his work means that he considers angles she’s never thought of before. On the subject of Darkness and Temptation, Terra writes: The Master of Masters writes of Temptation: “To tempt a snake for its loyalty reaps safety in the future,” (Affairs of the Heart, pg. 236). Giving in to Temptation when a Light is about to expire harbors selfishness, and that beacons the Darkness to cloud our minds. If we are doubtful, we too welcome the Darkness. However, if we deny the very thing our Hearts want, when we should be following Them as our closest allies, then we are unable to persevere. I question whether Temptation can only have negative connotations. Our duty is to make sure the Light is in balance, and perseverance is key. How are we supposed to keep the Light bright if ours are too dim? Should we not enjoy our own lives as we see fit, follow our Hearts to bring us fulfillment? Should we not make love, or enjoy the dessert we bake? These trivialities are the very thing people hold dear and protect. It is not our calling to enjoy them, but if we are, then our Hearts are at peace. If happiness is shared, then it is Light worth protecting, even our own. It feeds our strength.

Aqua can’t write like that.

Tomorrow, they’ll spar under the Master’s scrutiny. If they pass, they’ll do it again next year and finish their studies once and for all. Ever since Terra conjured his Keyblade, he’s treated his fights like he’s a bulldozer. Tricky to outmaneuver, keeping her on her toes. 

He’s still the best sparring partner she could ask for, the best teacher when it comes to outlasting opponents. Her only equal.

“I’m nowhere near finished,” Aqua says. 

“Looks like we’re both pulling all-nighters tonight.”

Aqua sighs, and this prompts Terra to hold her hand under the table, interlacing their fingers together. She wants to curl into him, feel what it’s like to really hold him close. 

“We’re going to do fine.” Terra says, his voice soft, but he’s so close he fills her mind and every sensation in her body. He rubs her thumb with his. 

“All-nighters aren’t pleasant,” she says, thinking ahead to a yard of headaches and yawns. “We’ll need energy.” This is the first opportunity to stand up. “I can make coffee and tea for us.”

“And lots of food.” Terra stands with her. “Protein. Nuts are good for energy boosts. I can make us enough meals to sustain us for the rest of the night.”

They’re speaking with the intention to leave something behind that they don’t want to address, packaging their words away from the obvious. Aqua fiddles with her fingers.

Terra moves his essay over. “Maybe we should work on opposite ends of the table,” he says, clearing his throat. His voice is shy. 

“So we can focus.”

“Yeah.” He sounds desperate to agree but also…disappointed? “You can take the book. For now. Consider it my peace offering.” 

“It wasn’t an honorable battle to begin with.” She moves hers over too, measuring in her mind how big of a feast they’d fill the table with. They’ll need more, enough for Ven to pig out every once in a while.

“Says the cheater.”

“You were the one stealing my book!”

“You broke the rules.”

“It wasn’t a fair setup.”

“Aqua, I’m shocked.” Terra feigns displeasure, holding his hand over his heart. “I thought I knew you better.” 

She groans. She hates his beautiful, impeccable face sometimes. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

THEN...

 The conversation is a combustion she can’t prevent from happening. It isn’t supposed to be this way.

“And what is this dangerous task, Terra?” she asks, refusing to believe he’d test the teachings they both held so dear. After all these years. That he’d squander his chances at convincing Eraqus to give him the Mark of Mastery. “It doesn’t sound like what the Master told you to do.”

“It might be a different route, but I’m fighting the Darkness.”

“I’m not so sure. I’ve been to the same worlds as you and I’ve seen what you’ve done. You shouldn’t put yourself so close to the Darkness.”

Ven interjects. “Listen to yourself, Aqua. Terra would never—”

“You mean you’ve been spying on me?” Terra says, his eyes narrowing. To see his beautiful face this hurt—stars, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She should shut up. “Is that what he said to do? The Master’s orders?”

What is she to do? What else does he expect? “He was only…”

Quietly, he says, “I get it,” like the silence in a coffin. 

“Terra—”

“Just stay put! I’m on my own now, all right?”

“Terra, please! Listen! The Master has no reason to distrust you, really! He was just worried.”

Her words fall on deaf ears. Terra is not like this, he’s never like this, turning his back, walking away, leaving her to stand and watch him go. 

“Why?” Ven asks her. “Why would you do this? You’re letting this whole Master thing get to your head.”

Terra has never said that about her, even when pushed. They’ve been pushed and pushed, how is she supposed to mend the tear now? 

“I’ll be right back.”

“He’s really pissed.”

“Stay here.”

“I won’t.” 

Aqua stops. A lot is changing and she can’t keep up. “But Ven—”

Ven purses his lips. “I’ll give you guys some time alone. Then I’m going after him.”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. She is the odd one out, the one that shouldn’t follow Terra, the one that broke some sort of code by choosing to side with the Master. They should be on the same side. 

“Be safe, please?”

Ven nods, but he isn’t happy about it.

Aqua crosses the alleyway, opening an ornate gate that leads into the town square. Radiant Garden is pretty; they arrived just in time for spring, where the dandelions are yellow and the town is painted in herbal colors. But Aqua can’t get herself to enjoy the view. She can’t appreciate the architecture, the castle, the clock tower, the townsfolk selling their wares, the gentle sunset, not when her heart is collapsing into a growing, weighted pit. Nothing else and no one else exists in the seconds she dashes down the streets.

“Terra!” 

He’s heading towards the city gates, where she assumes he’ll summon his glider and fly away. 

Aqua speeds up as fast as she can, feeling she’s still too slow. He’s about to disappear if she can’t break her bones and fly. She grabs him by the shoulder. “Terra, please. I don’t want the conversation to end the way it did.” 

“Aqua,” he grunts, stepping out of her touch and crossing his arms. “Not now, okay?”

He’s about to turn on her. Don’t let this be the last image she sees.

She hugs him by his waist and buries her face into his shoulder. “Please don’t leave.”

He tenses.

“Please?” 

She doesn’t know what to say. Apologize? For doing what’s expected of her? Shouldn’t he know this?

Shouldn’t she understand on some level, after all these years, that sometimes Terra is way more important than her duties? That she should stand up for him when it’s called for?

When Terra finally wraps his arms around her, she squeezes him tighter, hoping the loss of words would translate. How many minutes does she have left before she has to let go?

Terra splayes his hand on her back, as if to prompt her to loosen up. “I need to go.”

“There’s so much we need to talk about.” Why is her heart pounding this hard?

“I don’t want to talk about anything.”

“I feel so awful for what I’ve said.”

Terra doesn’t reply.

Aqua doesn’t know what’s gotten into her, why she can’t trust in anything, let alone the faith that their bond is unbreakable when she is witnessing how it’s cracking under the pressure. She grabs his face and kisses him, the taste of his mouth unique, warm, sweet, more than she hoped for. 

Terra seizes her when he kisses back. He wants another. And another. He grunts. 

They part for breath, too exposed and in public. Terra takes her aside, into a shadowed alley between a house and the city wall, pushing her against the brick to kiss her harder. She locks his neck in her arms and pulls him in. He’s so enveloped in her lips and he’s so angry, his teeth sliding and nipping barely on her skin like he’s fighting to win, his pelvis on hers, his chest pressing her, squeezing her breath away. She doesn’t want him to let her go. 

He pulls away, his touch slacked. Heavy in breath, lips swollen, eyes watery, he trembles as if he’s done something awful. Aqua has her hand on his chest right over his heart, where it thrums quick and strong. He’s strong, he’s always been. She has to believe that.

“I don’t compare to you,” he croaks. 

Fear churns in Aqua’s stomach, and she reaches for his wrist. “You do. You—” She doesn’t know what to say. “You shouldn’t think that way.”

Terra pulls from her, snapping their connection, leaving it cold where he was warm. It hurts. “I have to do this alone.”

“Terra—”

“Master Aqua,” he says, and her heart drops. “Please, respect my wishes. This is something I need to do if I’m ever going to—” He doesn’t finish. Instead, he turns over his shoulder, the crown of his dark hair glistening in the light of the sun where he disappears past the city gates. He doesn’t come back.

Aqua wraps her arms around herself, caressing the warmth he left behind for as long as possible before it inevitably leaves her too. She wonders if there is meaning in what just happened, wonders what he’s telling himself that would set him down this path. She’s scared of what will happen if she follows him.

She has to follow him. She has to make sure he’s alright. She prays he makes the right decisions, that they won’t have to fight. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

NOW

At night, the library is surrounded by stars. Twelve years in the Realm of Darkness and Aqua has forgotten that the library is all windows, bookshelves suspended in a birdcage on the side of the castle. It’s drizzling, droplets appearing at random, with none of the weight to drip down the glass. The lights are off, a glow polluting in from the hallway.

Terra is here, lying on a gold and white couch, the stand ornate and the cushions embroidered. 

“Welcome to the insomnia party,” he says. 

Aqua sits by his ankles. Terra rests his head on his arms, and lets go of the stars above the storm clouds to watch her. He leans up on one elbow and offers her a smile, but it’s a mimic of one. Who knows the reason why he can’t sleep. She won’t ask.

“Can we,” she starts, bringing her knees to her chin. “Talk?”

“We are.”

On the spot, Aqua blanks. “I don’t know where to start.”

He scoffs and unhooks his elbow, plopping back on the cushion. “Pick a place. We’ll get lost together and have to backtrack anyway.” He sighs, rolling his head towards the floor. “I can’t look at any of these books the same way again.” 

Five stories of them, and not a single explanation for what happened. 

“When it got tough and I needed to rely on my knowledge,” Aqua says, counting words on her essays over the years: 20,000. “I found that none of it could help us.”

“I’ve had questions ever since I started my apprenticeship,” Terra says, staring at the glass ceiling. “Many of them are still unanswered. What was the point?”

“None of it was relevant in the Realm of Darkness.”

Terra rolls over into a fetal position, burrowing his face into his arms. “So what did help?”

“Thinking of you and Ven.” The thought right now makes her smile, a little thing, a blink in the darkness. 

“I thought of you every day,” he says, morosely, shyly, with a speck of hope and a mix of self-awareness. After twelve years, Aqua still knows him so well and she’s grateful he’s (almost) the same Terra she came home to.

The thought of that chokes her. “I didn’t want it to be this way,” she says. “Any of it.”

“None of us did.”

“I meant…” She pauses, watching closely. The outline of his shoulders, the shape of his brow. They’re furrowed. “Our dream was to become Masters together.”

His shoulders tick. “I should have congratulated you.”

“What?”

“When you were titled Master. I didn’t congratulate you. I’m sorry for being self-centered.”

After twelve years, that’s the last thing in her mind. “I was thinking of withdrawing the title.”

Terra shoots up, face to face with her. “Why?”

“Like I said,” Aqua whispers, now that he’s so close. “Our dream was to be Masters together.” 

“No way.”

“You’re quite passionate about this.” Aqua rubs her knee. A nervous habit, something for her body to do. It used to be natural to hold his hand. 

Terra slaps his forehead. “I can’t let you do that. Not after all the work you’ve done.”

“You’ve worked hard, too.”

“And everything you’ve survived.”

“What you did was not survival?”

Terra gapes. “I don’t know, but I need to own my mistakes. I should have accepted my setbacks and my weaknesses…I wasn’t a good friend to you.”

Aqua sighs. “Don’t tell me you don’t deserve it.” 

“I don’t want to think about what I deserve. I only know that you deserve better.”

Deserving and not deserving sound like arbitrary definitions, markers of work ethic and integrity when everyone deserves peace of mind. “Then it sounds like you need to work really hard in the next couple of weeks.”

He blinks at her sudden change of tone. “Doing what?”

“Passing the Mark of Mastery.” She looks at her knee. “If you want me to keep my title, you have to pass.”

“You’re keeping your title regardless.”

“Pass and become Master with me.” 

“Aqua,” he warns. 

“That is the only condition.”

Terra leans his elbow on the backrest, and laughs into his hand. Laughs. It’s a weak and unpracticed song. She forgot what it sounded like. “You drive me crazy,” he says, “but it makes me so happy.”

She swallows. “I’ll contact Yen Sid to schedule the date.”

“Don’t get cheeky. You haven’t won this conversation.”

“Yes, I have.”

When the chuckles shared between them fade out, Terra studies her face, starting at the tip of her forehead, running his eyes down her nose and lips. The quiet is unwelcome.

“Do I look different?” Aqua asks.

“Not really.” He blinks, and it’s too dark to tell if he’s staring into her eyes. “You don’t smile like you used to. It’s like you’ve dimmed the lantern.”

“I can say the same about you,” she says. He’s tired, leaning on the couch like he can’t sit up on his own. He needs effort to speak. When he smiles, they’re delayed, as though he’s lost and needs to be reminded that he lives in reality now. He’s still beautiful. Terra doesn’t ask her to elaborate, but she supposes he understands exactly what she means. She supposes it’s the same for her.

Terra takes her hand and pulls it closer to him. “I do feel better with you around.”

Aqua grips the fabric of her stocking. “The last real conversation we had shouldn’t have been a fight.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Oh.” She holds her breath. “Wait, I shouldn’t be sorry for the fight or…” The kiss? She can’t bring herself to ask.

Terra smiles into his knuckles, and a spark of flame ignites his eyes. That’s what it is. Their hearts are tired. No book in the library can teach them how to bring them back to life. How to give it an ounce of oxygen to fan the warmth. Or how to provide a touch of oil, a passionate something to make it burst and remind them what it’s like to really want to hold a Keyblade. Aqua wonders if Terra’s essay on the subject is somewhere in the Master’s old office. 

“You know what, I’m sorry,” Terra says, stroking his thumb on the back of her hand. “For that stupid fight. For being stupid enough to have issues with you being Master and for leaving. For being incredibly stupid for not staying in Radiant Garden with you and Ven.” He giggles again.

“Why is that funny?”

“I should have stayed and kissed you longer.” He blinks back tears, inhaling sharply in shock of what he just said. “I guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

Aqua snorts and brings a hand to her cheek. “Yeah, you should have stayed and kissed me longer.”

They say nothing else. Terra takes her face into his large hands and brings her to him, lips to lips, warmth on warmth, chest to chest, heart to heart. He breathes into her, pulling her waist in so she could lie next to him, his heartbeat loud and clear, eager and anxious. A fire grows inside her stomach—she’s forgotten she’s ever felt like this before, years ago when they’ve touched and never went further. It’s invigorating, it’s relaxing. Not a blaze born out of excitement but a gentle hearth, something more than a flicker of the flame in a lantern. Alive.

He mumbles into her ear. “By the way, I have every intention of being the better kisser.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just so you know.”

“We’re really going to be doing this with the kissing?”

“Doing what?”

“What we’ve always done.”

“There’s no contest here.”

“But you want to be the best kisser.”

“I will be the best kisser.” He smiles, digging his nose into her hair. “I must be good enough for you to enjoy it. Therefore, naturally, I have to aspire to be really damn good. That’s all.” 

Aqua giggles into his chin, soft and careful and excited when his arm curls around her waist, squeezing her into him. She loves that he laughs with her. She loves his beautiful, cocky face.

They exchange small words in between, a gasp of surprises, whispers about old memories, requests for what she wants, for what he wants. Two wicks to a single candle, held gently between their hands.

[i-rely-on-you]

I will never let you go

The smoke around her began to make her eyes water but she welcomed the stinging sensation. She deserved to be in pain. For what she had done to these people. Innocent settlers for all she knew. ‘Gods give her strength.’, she thought as her feet stepped over crumbled walls of buildings that were once homes to families. The crunch under her boots only amplifying the noise of burning wood and crumpling stone all around her.

The air smelled of singed flesh and she could see bodies littered all around her, peeking out of rubble and fallen structures.

That’s when her ears picked up on another noise, making her head snap to the side quickly.

It sounded foreign and off as if it didn’t belong here.

Following the weird sound floating over to her from the carcass of a caved in brick building the fairy stepped over stones and bodies alike before coming to a halt in the centre of a burned down house.

It was small and partially destroyed, the fire still nipping at its walls.

Suddenly her eyes focused on something moving in the dirt.

No more than 5 feet from her lay the wiggling body of an infant halfway covered by a fallen beam hanging over its head. The glare of the embers clinging to the wood above it making its face seem red and angry.

The momentary shock of the scene in front of her gave way to Farah darting forward, bridging the distance separating herself from the baby in less than two steps.

Falling to her knees she reached out a hand to shield the baby’s head from the falling ash floating down the wooden beam, the sizzling cinders burning her skin upon coming into contact with the back of her hand.

The mind fairy slid her hands beneath the small body carefully as not to jostle it too much should it be hurt.

Slipping her fingers as gently as she could under the still wiggling infants bottom. Reaching out her other hand to stabilise the head of the now crying babe she pulled it towards her and away from the fire that had started to crawl up the wooden pole.

Looking down at the very alive bundle of energy in her arms Farah sat back on her haunches just taking it in. ‘How was this baby still alive after all this carnage?’

As if just now coming awake to the situation the woman noticed the nakedness of the sniffling and gurgling child.

A girl. A tiny baby girl no more than a month old if she had to guess.

Her soft cries were subdued as if she had already given up on anyone ever coming for her and it made the fairies eyes sting but this time it wasn’t from the smoke.

Her tiny frail body was covered in soot and dirt from head to toe and almost immediately she noticed the temperature of her little body. It was too cold. She had already started to cool out.

Thinking on her feet had always been her strong suit and so the first thing coming to mind was, ‘Body heat is the quickest way to warm up a person!!’

With this thought she balanced the unhappy child on her lap and started to pull off her jacket and the shirt beneath. Dropping both garments to the floor beside her she gathered the infant in her arms, nestling her close to her chest and belly.

Grabbing for her discarded shirt the fairy began to swaddle up the baby’s back and bottom as best as she could.

Farah managed to pull on her jacket once more single handedly while supporting the child at her front with the other hand.

Seeing as the jacket she was wearing was made out of a material that would give enough to hold the babe close to her still, she began to pull up the zipper almost all the way. Leaving only a small amount of room at the neck for the little one to breathe.

Almost immediately after coming into contact with her front the child began to quiet, her little body melting into the muscled lines of Farah’s stomach.

Shushing her quietly the mind fairy began to rock from side to side gently, it was like an instinct taking over.

The woman had never had much experience with children much less babies.

Her time training under Rosalind had pulled her away from most of her friends who had become mothers over the years.

With a shocking realisation Farah’s head snapped up looking around wildly. ‘Where was Rosalind?’

She hadn’t seen her mentor once after having come down here to inspect the damage done to the settlement.

Hoping she wasn’t anywhere nearby she shushed the baby again softly upon hearing her making tiny noises from the depth of her jacket.

Looking down she could see that her little head had settled on her breast right over her heart, her soft cries turning into hiccups as she began to settle down.

Sinking a hand into the open flap of her jackets collar, Farah put her hand to the small head resting on her chest and began stroking the little dirty tufts of hair there.

It seemed like the touch had a grounding effect on the infant as she felt her calm down even more, the contact making the tiny girl drowsy with fatigue.

Still stunned Farah looked up from her position still kneeling in the dirt and began to rise on slightly unsteady feet.

The weight of the infant settling comfortably against her front as she began to look around for signs of other life that might still be out here.

But the only thing greeting her was the cold and empty silence accompanying death. A dreadful feeling settling in the pit of her stomach Farah decided to get back up the steep mountains edge in search of her friends.

Thinking of Ben and Saul made her anxious. Had they been hurt? Where had they vanished off to? And where had Rosalind gone off to all of the sudden? It wasn’t like her to not be gloating with a kill.

The shadow of that woman had been looking over her like a storm cloud long enough. This was the last straw Farah mused. She must’ve gone mad.

Killing an entire village, practically committing genocide. And for what? To kill a few Burned Ones? This was madness and now she had been made an accomplice.

Fury bubbled up in the fairy mixing with the guilt of what had transpired mere minutes ago. Fear and sadness leeching into worry and heartache as she looked down at the now peaceful babe in her arms.

Struggling up the ridge had been quite challenging as she tried not to falter on the slippery slope caked with mud and wet leafs. But once at the top she fell into an agitated step leading her away from the chaos and into the thick foliage of the forest before her.

It didn’t take long to get to the small clearing where they had stashed the cars.

Upon making it past the tree line her eyes fell on Saul leaning on the hood of the last remaining car. Ben was perched on the backseat, his legs dangling from inside the cabin. He looked deep in thought and hunched over whereas Saul looked to be deeply troubled and distressed. His leg bouncing up and down and his finger tipping a staccato of short and jumpy movements into his crossed arms.

Relief flooded her system upon seeing them unharmed. There was no trace of their mentor to be found which only added to her quiet exhale of abated fear.

Stepping over the last shrubbery separating her from her friends, she heard more than felt her boots crunch the gravel beneath her feet, alerting the soldier leaning against the car to her joining them in the clearing.

As if sensing her his eyes sought out hers as she stepped out from the shadows of the surrounding trees and into the light. His worry melting away a little instantly upon seeing her he immediately began moving towards her, pushing away from the car and starting a half jog in her direction.

Fear etched on his face as he took in her slightly curled inward body language.

Not even taking in the bulge at her front at first he let his eyes roam over her face for any signs of distress before saying, “Heavens where have you been?”

Upon reaching her he let his palms settle on her arms gently before his eyes fell to her hands covering her front protectively.

Letting his eyes take in the weird bulge and her fearful gaze he began, “Farah-…” before trailing off. Giving her a curious look he came closer, stepping up directly in front of her.

Chancing one last look at her guilt ridden face he looked down at her jacket and grasped the zipper carefully before sliding it downwards a little, only so much as to catch a glimpse at the top of the baby’s head.

“Gods, Farah what-…” his soft exclamation of surprise had the woman in front of him tighten her hold on the infant slightly.

Stepping up even closer to her, almost crowding her in the process had the soldiers wary look bleed away into curiosity as he turned a little sideways to make out the child’s face smushed into his best friends chest.

He could see her tiny button nose and her dirty cheeks as she lay slumbering, safely encased in Farah’s arms.

Looking back up at his fairy he saw the woman only shaking her head and motioning to the car. Catching onto the fear still lingering on her face quickly he wound his arm around her back, one hand settling on both of hers and steered her in the direction of the vehicle.

The crunching gravel beneath their feet alerted the earth fairy on the backseat, making him jump up quickly and assessing the situation with his finely honed astuteness.

He had always been able to read any situation before it could even unfold completely, making Farah throw him a grateful glance as he marched around the car quickly only to settle into the drivers seat with practiced ease.

Making their way over and slipping into the back quickly, Farah and Saul began to buckle themselves in, the specialist helping his partner carefully manoeuvre the belt and letting the buckle slip into place.

As soon as he heard the straps being safely secured the earth fairy started the car and sped off, leaving behind a trail of disrupted soil and a flurry of mud and dirt.

Leaving behind the burning settlement and the smell of their shared failure in the process.

Scooting closer to Farah, Saul began to peel away parts of the jacket obstructing his view.

The infant was still sleeping rather peacefully he noted, face still pressed to the fairy’s skin, a small amount of drool dribbling from the baby’s chin and running past the swell of Farah’s breasts.

Looking up from the child’s face now he directed his gaze at Farah, asking the only question neither of them could answer.

“How is this baby still alive? The whole god damn mountain exploded.”

Hearing a grunt of approval from the front, had them realise this had been on the earth fairy’s mind as well.

He hadn’t said anything but they knew he had seen their faces and the telltale bulge the size of an infant under Farah’s jacket, he could put two and two together just fine. She had actually found a survivor and a baby no less.

Tears sprang to the mind fairy’s eyes again at the thought of all the lives lost on that mountain. That settlement. It was a gruesome fate for these villagers to have to die like this.

Swallowing the lump forming in her throat she looked down again in disbelief because she herself didn’t understand how it was even possible for a tiny human such as this to have survived the attack. The blast alone should have obliterated all life within a five mile radius at least and she had found the girl right in the epicentre of where lightning had struck. It was impossible really.

Levelling the man sitting close to her with tearful eyes she whispered, “I don’t know.”

Shaking her head a little she continued, her voice a little stronger now. “I found her in between the rubble and I didn’t think, I just reacted and grabbed her and came to find you two. I don’t understand it either but strangely enough she seemed completely unharmed.”

Farah looked at him with tears in her eyes threatening to fall and shook her head once more, disbelief still clinging to her because she too didn’t understand either.

It was a wonder in on itself that she hadn’t been burned by any of the flames licking at the ground around her. Or that that wooden beam hadn’t come down on her, crushing her in the process.

Marvelling at the tiny creature in his partners arms Sauls eyes went wide. “A little baby girl unharmed by the flames.” Maybe wonders did exist after all. “You think it was magic that protected her?”

Her mind still in turmoil Farah thought about it for a moment before a sudden fear gripped at her heart.

Taking hold of the soldiers hand next to her in a hasty movement that surprised the both of them she rushed out, “Rosalind can’t find out Saul! She can’t find out! If she finds her she will want to get rid of any and all evidence linking us to this place! Saul I can’t -“, but she was cut off by him shushing her gently.

A calloused hand settled on her cheek as her specialist touched his forehead to hers soothingly.

“Shh Farah it’s alright she won’t find out, I promise. We will find a way to protect her shhh.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally leaked past her closed eyelids and she let out a small strangled sob at the thought of loosing this little girl after only just having found her.

This little wonder.

Slipping his arms around her shoulders gently Saul held her to him securely.

His warm and strong frame the only thing keeping the woman in his arms from falling apart completely as she wept.

A lot of people had died today and they would forever be feeling responsible for each and every life that had been lost. Every soul that had been extinguished prematurely.

But they would keep this little flame burning even if it was the last thing they did.

Whatever it took.

-fin ?

Thank you so much for reading 😊 Tell me what you think in the comments and feel free to leave some kudos as well ♥️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30367080