#and fuck the fate of the one she loves being death and banishment from ever existing in the minds of everyone but her own

[paperglader]

mmmmm… so, the show about the pink-haired girl with the magic powers is actually about a 14-year-old girl that sacrificed herself for humanity and the girl that loved her the most, who was left behind and never got over it

[ficbrish]

Smoke Rings

[AO3 Link]

[Here we go! @flufftober Spring Edition 2024! Thank you for the prompt 🥰 March 13th - Spring Cleaning]

Rating: Explicit 18+ only!

tw/cw: Sexual content, cptsd, blood, alcohol, weed/mushrooms, smoking, sex while high, post-battle scenery, gore, death, hanging reference, an unserious small dick joke, vague reference to past incest and CSA

After the game, but before the epilogue, Astarion and Vistri find a new home in the Underdark.

END GAME/POST-CANON SPOILERS!

Exhausted and ragged, they looked at each other in disbelief and clasped hands.

Their last enemy had been cut down; the fortress finally won.

“I believe we have a home now, darling.”

Astarion’s voice was strained from shouting, and moisture clouded his ruby eyes. His words echoed hollowly, but they were real.

A home, in the Underdark. That kind of life had been snatched from Vistri at the vengeful end of a serving fork. Dear Uncle Hurzeth really should have learned to shut his mouth, but like most religious men, he wasn’t known for his humility or impulse-control.

Vistri’s name and birthright burnt to ash upon his funeral pyre; stuffed in the gullet of his perverse corpse. In seizing justice, retribution wrapped around her own throat like an executioner’s noose, diminishing her to the life of a wandering Surface vagabond. Never to have a home in the violet gloom again.

Until the Nautiloid came along playing matchmaker and diviner of fate.

Their homecomings were each other’s exiles. As she reunited with the permanent dark, Astarion was banished to it. All that illithid nonsense allowed the sun to lovingly grace his skin without burning it to cinders. Now sans tadpoles, or the sacrifice of seven thousand other vampire spawn, his bright star once more turned to poison.

Luckily, Vistri was all the sun he ever needed. She dwarfed the real one in comparison to how she brightened his days and left a pleasant tingling on his skin. Its daylight cast shadows, while her spotlight chased away all shade. Its radiant touch whispered and dissipated rather quickly, hers shouted and echoed endlessly.

And even when it was the other way around, Astarion turned Vistri’s prison into a sanctuary. Maybe it was Sune herself who blessed them, for the love they found taught them the true meaning of home.

Standing back to back in the blood-soaked corridors of their brand-new ancient fortress, all they’d really gained was an address.

And a place to keep their stuff.

And host parties at.

…And for teaching and protecting all the others who’d broken from Cazador’s heavy chains.

Tiredly they turned and fell into each other’s arms, bracing themselves against their weariness. The rush of battle still flared through every muscle as their heightened senses filled with nothing but the other. Relief vibrated into a livid need, so furious at death that it came alive.

Her whimper wouldn’t have been half as charming if she wasn’t so completely oblivious to it building in her throat. He dwarfed it with a moan, taking her lips tenderly between his.

Breaking apart, she sighed and swore, “I’d let you take me over these corpses.”

“Wouldn’t be very sanitary though, would it?”

She giggled senselessly and twirled from his embrace to survey the room. Unsuccessfully clearing the ecstatic happiness from her lips with a smirk, she said, “It’s a fucking dump.”

Astarion threw his head back and laughed with such relief it sounded like sobbing.

Having carved a path of carnage all the way from the gates to that final corridor, they had a clear way back to the others. The halls seemed a lot longer when they were fighting their way through them. And populated with more vampires.

At some point along their macabre stroll, Astarion suddenly stopped them. “But where are all the spawn?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps they’ve met up already?”

Uneasy shivers skirted his neck. He felt them despite being just out of reach. It was enough of a warning for him to suggest they continue carefully, slowly. Even if there was nothing to worry about, a little caution couldn’t hurt.

The reason for his misgivings became apparent as soon as they approached the courtyard. Apparently everyone had met up already. A veritable feeding frenzy played out before them. Ravenous spawn were covering the cadavers like carrion. It was like the Shadowfell had descended, warping them into a Domain of sickness. The risen dead devouring a small village.

They thought they’d learned everything to know about the Dhampir, but clearly their education was just getting started. Astarion was one vampire, and that’s all they were used to. This was a horde. No stranger to the sight of him ripping off a bandit’s head and drinking from it like a chalice, Vistri still froze in fear at the scene before them.

Growling instinctively, Astarion stepped in front of her. Territorial feeders, the spawn were spaced like pieces on a freshly set lanceboard. Even so, the crowd was denser over by the gates, where most of the carnage was concentrated. His siblings feasted among them. He couldn’t help the sense of superiority that dawned on him at the sight.

He might not have ascended at Cazador’s death, but in observing his brethren’s lowly acts, thought himself lord of them all. The blood they supped on was dead and dull, no matter how fresh and warm. Astarion had Vistri. He didn’t steal, because she gave. She came to him willingly, and her blood ran with drow and dragon, so vibrantly full of life it was as powerful as a storm.

Vistri pitied them. How hungry and desperate, how alone they all were. She looked at Astarion in a new beloved light. He was the one who brought them together, the one who would guide them all to be better. 

Astarion was the first one to get away, to learn to control his nature. He was the one who killed Cazador. He was the one who broke their chains, giving them another chance. He was the one who had something to teach all the rest.

He felt such a bitter disgust; none of them should ever be this desperate, this starved. Feed, he thought proudly, looking out, Feed to your fill. They’d do better than animals and cooling corpses soon enough.

Realizing they were senseless of anything but the bleeding bodies stacked in front of them, Astarion scooped Vistri into his arms like a bride to carry her across the courtyard.

“You will not be afraid in your own home. I’ll make sure no one gives you a reason,” he said it so surely, it was more a statement of fact than a promise.

As he walked past the growling, slurping spawn, Vistri hid her face in his breast like a nervous child. The world was dangerous and threatening, but she was safe in his arms. Still, the relief she felt was full-bodied when they passed under arches and retreated into the fortress.

He carried her though the blooded halls of time-forgotten stone, unsure of where he was headed. Just somewhere else away from the others, away from the marks of battle. Astarion searched until he was satisfied he’d found a corner that could be entirely theirs. It took him far down the corridors, climbing stairs where he saw the opportunity.

Arms aching, he gave up on perfection and settled for what seemed like it would do. As they crossed the chosen chamber threshold, he kissed Vistri’s cheek and said, “Welcome home, my love.”

She giggled as he set her down with an, “Ooof! ”

The room was too spacious to be a closet, and contained no hints of its purpose. There were chairs everywhere, some broken, none matching. A desk was placed haphazardly near the middle, or maybe it was a table. Wooden crates were stacked to the side in a disorderly way, like they’d been quickly stashed and forgotten. Vistri wanted to open them immediately. She spilled out of Astarion’s arms and tumbled towards them.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here!” she said, rubbing her hands together. She hit one with an ice cantrip.

“Careful!” he chuckled as the air around them chilled and wood cracked.

The crate didn’t open, the side just sort of froze.

“Blast!”

Spotting the way Vistri frustratedly pulled her foot back for a kick, Astarion picked her up and pulled her away. She fussed in his embrace like an angry cat.

“By the gods, you’ll break whatever’s in there,” he chuckled, “Let me do it.”

Vistri crossed her arms, “Fine.”

Alas! There was wine. After he put her down, he pried the crate open with one of his knives, revealing dozens of bottles inside.

“I could have done that!”

He chuckled warmly, “My dear, you would have shattered them.”

Hopefully it was good wine, because every bottle was the same. Knife still in hand, he twisted off the cork and tested the first sip. 

His face screwed up with bitterness, “Just give it a little time to breathe.”

Tittering at his reaction, Vistri yanked the bottle from his grasp and took an impatient sip. “It’s not… entirely rubbish,” she said, warily giving her judgment with a thoughtful expression.

“Give it a minute!” he laughed.

Defiantly, she took another sip.

“You little minx,” he smirked, snatching the bottle back. After setting it down on the floor, Astarion looped his fingers with hers. He sighed against her lips before kissing them. Vistri forgot all about the wine, even as their tongues tasted of it.

“Astarion,” she said, and he thought she was just saying his name until she continued, “Is there something else I can offer you to drink in the meantime?”

Her offer brought to mind the courtyard below. He was better than that because she allowed him to be better. She barely let him say it first, always begging to be drunk. In the way that other lovers would ask, Have you eaten today? Vistri tilted her neck and inquired if he wanted a bite.

Resting his forehead against hers, he said, “I am feeling a bit peckish.”

Vistri jumped blissfully into his arms. Her heart beat ecstatically in anticipation as Astarion brought her over to that table in the middle of the room. She felt like a cloth being draped across it. Her legs opened as he climbed over her.

Before he pierced her with his fangs, she pulled him into a rough kiss. His thigh pushed hers wider apart. He felt himself grind into her, his hips swaying in tune with hers. Their song eventually spilled off her tongue, and Astarion moaned too, making it a duet.

“Bite my lip,” she suggested.

Smiling, he submitted to her suggestion, as gently as he could. With the point of his fang, he sliced her open, groaning as the first drop of blood hit his tongue. Astarion feasted like a king among peasants. Vistri wriggled willingly, longingly under him. She kissed him as he sucked her lip and nibbled it, coaxing her nectar to trickle forward. While part of him reached a point of satisfaction, another starved. Ravenously, he pushed into her mouth. They passed her blood back and forth on shivering tongues.

“Astarion,” she sighed as he let go of her lip, and this time she was just saying his name.

Their fingers tumbled with their lacings; their knuckles clashing together in the rush to free themselves from their leathers.

“Can—?”

“Yes!” she pleaded.

It felt like laying claim; to each other, this fortress, their power, and life itself. The tight, stretching ache of one another ripped through their senses with the thrust of his hips. Pleasure sighed through every pore, rushing like a white river over their skin.

Ecstasy erased their sense of self, dissolving them together in its realm. They were safe now. They could spend their lives this way. They were home.

Free.

Little did they know that table had been stashed there over a weak leg. It gave out from the power of their movements, and the whole thing collapsed. Shrieking as they fell, it turned to laughter as they realized neither were hurt.

“Are you okay?” she laughed, and he kissed her in response.

“I almost broke my dick!” he cackled breathily.

Vistri got up first, still giggling, and offered a hand, “Careful, you’re surrounded by wooden stakes.”

She was little help with how weak her limbs were, both from the edge of fulfillment, and their sudden shock that’d blossomed into overwhelming hilarity. They burst into another round of it when he slipped and almost fell back into a broken table leg. Vistri had to catch him with her spectral mage hand.

Stumbling over the trousers they’d pushed down to their thighs, they chased each other to another corner of the room. Astarion caught her and spun her around into an innocent kiss that easily descended into depravity.

His arms felt like mush and their muscles begged screaming for some rest, but Astarion lifted Vistri up again anyway to push her back into the wall. Her thighs wrapped around his waist, taking care not to leave bruises as others did. He hadn’t asked for that yet. But at his command, she’d tighten into a vice-grip and leave behind a physical reminder of their embrace.

Gravity turned the wall into a bed. Like the arches bearing their new home, they found a force and a balance when pressing together that held up their wary, rutting bodies. Staring into Vistri’s violet eyes, Astarion found himself falling into the abyss.

“Wait,” he absently whispered, slowing his movements.

Caressing his cheek, worry infecting her tone, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

His chuckle was a growl, “More like too right.” He kissed her and groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Trapping her hips against the wall, he held them still and started to gradually rock his. Only allowing as much as the tip was a delicious torture.

“More,” she groaned.

As her desperation serenaded his ears, Astarion could feel her tightening and shivering around him, begging to fill her completely. He wanted to give in as much as she did. Controlling her was sweet, but controlling himself was even sweeter. His denial was power, and it subjugated both of them.

“Cum for me first, and I’ll give you more.”

Faster, he pumped in and out, growing in tempo until her screaming rang painfully in his ears. She was already on the verge of it, and seemed to let go at his command. Her pulsing pleasure was rough on his tender head, overly sensitized from repetitive penetration. Love and vice sparked through him and a wonderful pressure built behind his eyes.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As Vistri surrendered to ecstasy, she dragged him along like a sweeping wave. She was still tapering off the feeling when, unable to wait, he finally buried himself to his root.

Unintelligibly crying out at his thrust, they quickly lost themselves. Gazing eye to eye, they saw past reds and purples into the depths of their exposed hearts. It overwhelmed them, like a cleric beholding their god. Together, they fell into fulfillment with a swooping terror that felt like losing one’s balance, and crashed into a brand-new plane of existence that banished all fear and held only the two of them.

Once they were back to reality, within these unfamiliar walls of their new dwelling, they sunk and sat up against the wall, holding each other tight. Vistri nuzzled her cheek against his and sighed with spent contentment.

“…You know you don’t have to stay,” Astarion said, his voice a shaking heart, “I-If you no longer wish to.”

The dreams already dying in his eyes in anticipation of his fears made her chest physically ache. Vistri caressed his beloved face without thought, just a need to save him from the horror.

“Oh, Astarion,” she chuckled sorrowfully, “Oh, my love.”

He closed his running eyes and felt her lips land softly across his cheekbones.

“I want you,” she whispered on his face, “All I want is you. Only you.”

Unable to bear witness to more of her affirmative words, he stopped them with a long, thankful kiss.

Her rare heart sat clearly in her expression. It was gift-wrapped, tied with red string, and addressed to him lovingly; his name written along the side.

“How dare I doubt you?”

“Exactly,” she giggled, “How dare you!”

Others still haunted their ability to convey and receive messages of genuine love. Having already pushed their limits, they sat embracing one another in pleasant silence.

Until Astarion muttered, “Almost forgot!” and got up to grab the wine they’d left over by the door.

Vistri excitedly ran after him, light on her feet like a fey.

Raising the bottle high between them, he toasted, “To our home.”

She took a smiling sip, then passed it back to Astarion. Swallowing felt like making a vow.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked, no bitter flinch present in his expression after his swig.

“You were right,” she smirked warmly, “Some things are all the better for waiting.”

v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v                v---v

They figured the hard part would be the conquering, but that was more like Spawn City Tutorial. After the initial looting and corpse-burning, there were some celebrations. Then the real work came. Starting with turning the captured fortress into a real home. Scrubbing, mapping, sweeping, dusting, assessing masonry needs, livestock needs, stocking, mopping—Cleaning! Cleaning!

“Cleaning! Enough cleaning!” Astarion exclaimed one evening.

Vistri giggled wildly as he wrestled her for her scrub brush. Their excited shouts bounced sharply across the barren, ancient stone. Successfully snatching it away, he chucked it out of the nearby window.

Running over to the sill, she chuckled, “Darling, we’ll have to fetch that.”

He scoffed, “I’ll make Petras go fetch it.”

“You can’t always bully Petras,” she laughed.

“Yes, I can!”

Turning to Astarion with a cheeky smile, she leaned against the window and asked, “Do you remember this chamber?”

His pout overturned into a devilish smile. He knew exactly which chamber this was.

“Oh, I think about it daily,” he smirked, joining her over by the window.

He couldn’t read the expression in Vistri's eyes, they were so far away, but her distance seemed filled with possibility instead of escape.

“We have a house,” he repeated, just to hear it out loud again.

“We do! We have a house!”

Flinging an arm over her shoulder, Astarion looked out and surveyed the scenery below with his beloved.

“Well,” she stated shakily, “We did it.”

She turned to him with a beaming expression that shined so bright it was like the sun sat right here in the Underdark gloom. More than joy, there was want and adoration screaming through her eyes. To be its witness, no, to be the direction in which it was pointed, made his undead heart skip happily.

Their old tower loomed over the glow of wild mushrooms like a proud lord. Who knows how many had peered through the same window. Who knows if they would be the last, or if others would eventually come to conquer them too. Who would they be? And what would they think, looking out over the same shades of grey?

“I like it because it’s ours,” she said. Astarion shrugged her closer and blessed the side of her forehead with a rough peck.

He pulled something from his pockets with his free hand, “Do you have a light, my dear?”

Gale and Halsin weren’t the biggest smokers, but they were inventive ones. What started as a few collaborative pipe blends turned into a shared hobby, and they took to it with the enthusiasm of two middle-aged men who had recently discovered model chariots. Before parting for the Underdark, Waterdeep, or the Shadow Curse-no-more Lands, they’d left the remaining team with tears, bear hugs (figuratively and literally), and a few packets of pre-rolled parting gifts.

Instead of filling for a pipe, their masterwork blend was artfully wrapped up into a smokable stick, like a cigarillo. The casing was as well-crafted and loved as their herbal fungi blend, made of dried fruit peels and layered in with rose petals that were kept magically fresh.

Vistri asked them what the blend comprised of many times, and although it was no secret recipe, she’d always ask once the stogie was already lit. There was a bit of timmask dust in there for sure, but the herbs were lost to the blurry memory of their excitedly recited list. The elevated joy that sparkled in Gale and Halsin’s eyes as they spoke stood out to her more than their words.

“You have the most brilliant ideas,” she smiled.

“I know,” he smirked, placing the stick between his lips.

Astarion leaned over as she snapped her thumb, making a small flame shoot out of it in the way Karlach taught her. Cupping his hands around it, he met her fire and inhaled. Tufts of smoke blew out the end of the cig, and drifted in tendrils from Astarion’s nose like a dragon’s breath.

Taking it between two noble fingers, he passed the gift from his lips to hers. Vistri smiled and took an eager pull. She coughed on her exhale, making Astarion giggle.

More than euphoria, the instant effect brought a giddy sort of security. Nothing was wrong with them or the world, a state they’d only found in each other’s embrace. It was nice to live in for a little while, and taught them existence isn’t inherently bad or painful.

Looking out the window, Astarion remarked, “I don’t think Petras could even run that far.”

Vistri’s chortle was so sudden she almost snorted, “Of course he can!”

“Poor fucker would get lost and need a break every few steps. Unless he had Dalyria with him, of course. Then maybe the five minute walk would be such, and not turn into a tenday’s journey across the yard.”

Too thick in the midst of giggling to answer, Vistri went for another puff and ended up choking on the smoke.

“Heavens! Are you ever gonna learn how to hit that?”

Over a series of coughs, Vistri fought to speak, “Astarion! ”

He grabbed the open wine they’d snuck into their cleaning session and handed it to her, “Have a drink of something. You sound awful!”

Suppressing another cough, she took a defiant swig.

“Good. Now pass that my way—Not the wine! You keep that. That funny, little cigar.”

As he took another puff, Vistri regained her breath and said, “It’s too small to be a cigar.”

Astarion, being Astarion, heard small and cigar in a sentence, and jumped on the cliche, “My, my! Imagine being told its too small to be considered a willy.”

“Astarion!—And don’t you dare take another jab at Petras! Poor Petras.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything about Petras in that regard!”

“Because you know,” she said, raising her brow and reaching for the cig, “I bet he has a big—”

“Can we not talk about my brother’s Todd Johnson?”

She could barely breathe, “Todd Johnson?! ”

Wrestling her for another smoke, Astarion fell into her laughter until his ribs started to ache. Growing weak from it, he gave up the fight and sat back wiping his eyes. Vistri finally passed it over, grinning victoriously.

He placed the dwindling cigarillo between his teeth and flashed a smile to meet hers. Then with a cat-like pounce, suddenly bent to throw her over his shoulder. 

Upside-down her cackling reflected off the floor and continued bouncing between the ceiling and walls. Most of the furniture that was in the room previously had been dumped or moved elsewhere. Sound carried louder and longer than it had the day before, making their laughter haunt the stone like specters.

They could have been a thousand lovers.

“Sit with me, darling,” he cooed, his words slurred with the cig still tucked between his teeth. Halfway gone, it was now just a little longer than his fangs when fully-retracted, about to bite.

Two other chairs remained, but he chose their favorite. Its upholstery had a fresh, weathered look that reminded them of Astarion’s old clothes. Well-tended to with a consistent, loving hand, its rich fabrics held on despite their decay. It made them wonder which discarded body in the courtyard those hands had belonged to.

At least their life’s work wasn’t wasted. Lovers now took it as their preferred perch. They sat so lazily on it, it seemed to swallow them.

With another puff, Astarion released a thick ring of smoke into the air in front of them. Vistri rewarded his trick with kisses to his cheek and a round of applause, delighted by the way it slowly floated by.

“Every day your mouth shows me new wonders.”

“Does it?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss with a raised brow.

“Mmmm, it does.”

Placing a hand along her hip, he commanded, “Face me.”

Moving to straddle him, Vistri turned and settled over his lap. Her thighs spread wide over his; her knees sunk into the cushion cracks. The way she centered her balance over his middle sent another kind of high coursing through their senses. Reaching for the stick smoking in his hands, she wove her fingers into his to smoothly steal it.

A glint in her eyes, she inhaled. Letting the smoke slowly crash over his face, she leaned in to place her mouth on his and blow the rest of her hit into it. Astarion moaned, tasting her under the heavy scent of burning plants.

“How considerate of you,” he exhaled, grinning.

“I try my best.”

Pushing her hair back, Astarion looked suddenly thoughtful, “Do you ever wish it were just us?”

“All the time,” she chuckled, “But they need us. You know they do.”

He raised his eyebrow, “To their credit, none of them have tried to steal a bite.”

“I think that credit is due more to my magic and your promised fury.”

“Maybe a little of that too,” he smirked.

Warmly, she planted a kiss on his forehead. A silent, I’m so proud of you.

As reluctantly as Astarion played it, Vistri knew he relished his new role. It was important to him to be better than Cazador, but more than that, she knew he needed them all to get better together. That’s just the type of person he was, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

Another smoke ring danced in the air above their heads. Then a series of smaller ones.

Vistri was beaming at him, “Look at you, love. So amazing.”

“You’re very high.”

She snickered, “No, I’m not!”

“It’s okay, my dear,” he chuckled, “I’m right there with you.”

They broke into ugly laughter that clashed like two very different songs being played poorly on the same stage. Their ridiculous levity sounded like the echoing cries of some cursed reptilian god.

The stone thanked them for silence when Astarion took her lips between his. With gently rocking hips, he showed Vistri the extent of his desire. She was wanted, needed. Craved.

“You make me feel like a king,” he whispered along the crook of her jaw. Then chuckling, he continued, “I know how it sounds, of course. But I don’t know other words to say it. Not now.”

Her hands glided over his chest, rubbing it in absent-minded patterns, “I am a most willing subject.”

“Are you, now?” he asked, knowing the answer from the warble in her voice.

At the nodding of her head, Astarion untied his laces. He watched Vistri take another inhale of their dying nub. Cool air defied the heat he felt in the oven of their laps as he pulled his twitching dick free of his breeches.

The old robes she wore allowed for easy access, and she adjusted them to tent over their laps. Pulling one hand in through her sleeve, she caressed his cock. Pressing his silky skin against her rolling hips, Astarion gasped pleasantly at the brushing of her lace knickers. He brought a hand of his own to keep under her robes. His finger gently traced its patterns, feeling her labia thicken under it from his gradual strokes.

Vistri hadn’t planned for a moment like this. She figured she’d feel better wearing such plain rags if her finest knickers hid beneath them. The delighted surprise in his expression almost disappointed her. He should really know her better by now.

Rubbing each other under her robes, they passed the last of their treat back and forth with their free hands. On the final pull, Astarion brought her close to share it. Her exhale turned into a kiss; his tongue shyly met the tip of hers.

“Is it all right?” she asked, “We’re quite intoxi—”

He didn’t even mean to interrupt her. The consideration in her query was a splash of oil on his fire, further igniting the blaze.

“It’s all right,” he kissed her, “Are you all—”

“Yes,” she nodded, still unbelievingly grateful for his returned care.

Her eager hips rolled into his teasing finger. Arousal coated the inside of her knickers. It was beginning to soak through to his skin. He moaned, and pulled the bunching lace tight so her folds spilled over the sides, swallowing the string of lace between them. Grabbing his cock, he rubbed his head against her wet skin and the rough line of lace that ran down her middle.

“I could burst just from this,” he sighed.

His finger slipped under the lace, pulling it taught like one of his bows. Upon releasing it, her cry sounded in tune with its smack. She was caught prey, waiting only for death.

Placing her roughly used knickers aside, he lined himself up against her soak. As he pushed in, Vistri lowered herself to take in his length. Gasping from the squeeze and stretch, their high made every familiar ecstasy ten times brighter. Riding each other’s waves, they sunk into multiverses of gluttonous sensation.

“Shit. You feel like magic.”

“I am magic.”

Chuckling together in their embrace, their rutting didn’t cease.

It got faster. Harder.

Deeper. Like they were digging to the core of each other, prying open the gilded chest that housed their very souls.

Climax came over them so strongly it made their lips pull back and shiver. Pulsing together, their shouts dissipated to whines; bliss stuffing their throats.

Fighting overstimulation, they maintained a slow rocking of their hips. Not wanting to stop. Ever. His seed started to spill out of her from their movements and pool over his balls. From whence we came, we shall return.

Astarion thought the joke was too delicious not to share.

Pointing to the mess, he recited, “From whence we came, we shall return.”

Vistri laughed so hard, she tripped going to fetch them a fresh rag.

They made out after casually cleaning each other up.

Passionately, like lovestruck teenagers who’d just discovered it. Loving words and adoring vows came tumbling out of the hot ache. Promises for this new life; dedicating joy to each other’s names.

As sudden as it started, it stopped. Their furious need became a tight embrace, like fingers grasping the edge of a cliff. Beating together in sorrowful song, their hearts found an impossible happiness; a new music.

“I think I rather like this room,” he said in a tone that was light despite its heaviness.

Humming pleasantly, Vistri nuzzled into his chest, “Let’s make it ours then.”

A room of their own. Their chambers.

“We already have," Astarion chuckled, "A couple times, in fact.”

[joyfulladywarrior]

Aemma survives au part 2

Rhaenyra's POV

Being away from the Red Keep made Rhaenyra glow again. The past year there had been traumatizing. When she had realized that something was wrong during the tourney, she immediately ran to see her mother. Somehow she was able to get through the guards to the room. Everyone had always looked at Rhaenyra and saw her as nothing more than a spoiled little princess. Even Alicent sees her like that sometimes. While Rhaenyra is a spoiled little princess, she is not JUST a spoiled little princess. At a very young age, she had been training how to yield a sword under her uncle's tutelage when he was around. When her mother found them, she scolded both Rhaenyra and Daemon and gave Rhaenyra the same old talk about duty and royal wombs. Uncle Daemon had sneaked to her room at night and started teaching her in secret. He taught her all about the secret pathways and where she can hide her sword. When he was banished, she still continues practicing in secret. After all the hard training, Rhaenyra was swift enough to bypass the gaurds. The first thing she saw was red. Everything was red. The sheets. The scissors. The knives. Her mother. Ever her father, the king, was red. There was a smile on his face as he attempted to calm her wailing brother. The moment he saw her, his smile became guilty and she knew he agreed to this. The king loves to see himself as a fair king while he banished Daemon yearly based on the highcunt's accusations with no real evidence and while he opened his wife up. He quickly told the maester to attend to Aemma and see that she also survives. The king introduced the boy to her but all she can see is her bloody mother and the maester working on saving her.

Rhaenyra had not left her mother's side since the maester sewed her up, not even when the perfect son had died. She was guarding her mother from the king. She was also praying. She prayed to anyone who would listed. The fourteen flames. The seven. The old gods. She had only left her mother's side at the son's funeral since she knew the king would be preoccupied. She told Syrax to burn the body and she looked at the lords and ladies attending. None of them held her mother with the same regard as they held for the boy who didn't even live for a day. Rhaenyra was surprised that everyone was shocked at the boy's death. As if this was the first time one of the king's perfect sons died in the cradle. As if the house of the dragon had not been poisoned very meticiously over the years both by family and strangers. After her mother woke up, she could not look at her without seeing red. Everything was red again every time she encountered her mother. The plates. The cups. The walls. All she could hear is the whispers around her. She heard the men talk in the council about her mother's fate. About her fate. She could not do anything. When her mother's marriage annulled and she was declared a bastard, Rhaenyra had hope to finally be free of the duties and expectations of everyone around her. She was not a princess anymore. She was not a royal womb even if she is the blood of the dragon, even if she still has Syrax.

When Rhaenyra and her mother arrived to Volantis, it was the first time for Rhaenyra to meet Targaryens who embody the dragon blood while having no dragon. Both her parents are dragon-less and it was obvious in the way they treat others. They listened to and tried to appease the sheep. Uncle Daemon and princess Rhaenys were true dragons but both had dragons of their own. A year of living in Volantis had made her mother a dragon. She started to help Saera and her cousins Aerys and Nymeria with the family business, not the pleasure part but the financial part. She has attended dinner with various benefactors and discussed politics. She told the men who disrespected her or any member of her family to fuck off. She was every bit of the queen she was meant to be and Rhaenyra could not be more proud.

Aemma's POV

After the two years mark, Aemma had met a good man from Myr and she fell in love again. She was honest about her past and the trauma she suffered. She told him him that she would probably be unable to give him any children even though her body is healed now. Ugar had no need for an heir and they already had Rhaenyra whom he was willing to give his name to. Afterwards, Aemma went and had a talk with her daughter. She swore to Rhaenyra that they do not want to have children together and that marriage is about companionship and love, not just heirs. For the first time, she acknowledged to Rhaenyra that both her and Viserys did her wrong. They did not think of her and Aemma will alway regret how they treated her. She told Rhaenyra of her fear and of how she is trying to find the courage to marry Ugar. They would never have children together but they had decided from the beginning that they would not allow their lack of children hinder their marriage.

Aemma had gotten Rhaenyra's blessings. Her and Ugar's wedding was a very small affair with only her Targaryen family from Volantis attended. Afterwards, they both had spent time travelling to different cities and they opened another branch of the family business in Lys. As for Rhaenyra, she had trained hard and became a sellsword with her own company, The Bright Flame. Ironically, The Bright Flame is how Rhaenyra met Rickard Stark, a prince of the North kingdom and the second son of the ruling queen (the North is independent here). They had three children together: Visenya, Jacaerys, and Lucerys. They had also been raising Cregan who had lost both his mother and father at a young age. She and Rickard bought dragon eggs that were smuggled out of Valyria by some brave soul and put the eggs in their children's cradles. Each egg hatched.

[dramioneficrecommendations]

Best Draco/Hermione Fics Dramione Shippers Read in 2020

A few days ago, I asked you what were the best Dramione fics you'd read in 2020. Here's the huge list of your excellent recs (in alphabetical order):

A Creature Most Unusual by JMilz: Draco Malfoy is on a mission. Unfortunately, Hermione Granger catches him in the act. When she sees that he has adopted a rather unusual magical creature, she becomes determined to make sure he takes care of it. Little does she know, the animal may hold her key to eternal glory . . . and a whirlwind romance. M, 9 Chapters, 24,460 Words

A Little More Alive, Far Less Lost by MGL_Dramione_Lover: After Draco's post-war trial, he finds himself attending his 8th year at Hogwarts with Hermione. As remorse and acceptance replace anger and hate, the old enemies begin a friendship that sparks into much more than they ever hoped for. Hermione's goal as Head Girl is to banish old prejudices and unite the school while Draco's only wish is to become a man worthy of her love. M, 22 Chapters, 84,823

A New Light by mithrilstarlight: Draco spent six years doing his best to keep his head down. Then he runs into Hermione Granger. Turns out, they actually have a lot in common.Chapters posted M/W/F. T, 18 Chapters, 33,876 Words

A Second Look by RiverWriter: Her best friend's life was a mess and she would have done anything to make things better for him and his sons. So, when she found her former enemy in a similar situation her heart went out to him as well... and the beautiful blond baby in his arms didn't hurt his case. It was certainly enough for her to give him a second look. M, 30 Chapters, 127,243 Words

All that is Rare by smithandbarrowman: In the wizarding world, it has long been assumed that men are Alphas and women are Omegas. However, when Hermione Granger discovers that assumptions are rarely factual, her status as one of only a handful of female alphas that has ever existed has men falling at her feet.But there’s only one man she wants, and like the male alphas before her, the hunt is on until he bears her mark. E, 31 Chapters, 119,755 Words

All the Wrong Things by LovesBitca8: Sequel to "The Right Thing to Do" - Draco's POV. Part 2 of the "Rights and Wrongs" series. E, 24 Chapters, 160,297 Words

All You Want by senlinyu: Eighth Year at Hogwarts was supposed to be Hermione’s. And it is, just not in the way she expects. Omegaverse fic. E, 36 Chapters, 172,651

apples & cream by LovesBitca8: She could have taken her things and gone through his Floo without a word. She could have ignored him on Monday morning, as though last night had been no more than a fever dream and too much Firewhisky. But she’d come back to bed. Inspired by the lovely NikitaJuice's "apples & cream." E, 1 Chapter, 1,426 Words

Beginning and End by mightbewriting: Years. Broken into months into weeks into days—into hours, minutes, seconds—into moments. Simple at one end, complex at the other. In Draco’s experience, moments, even when simple, had a habit of becoming irretrievable. Moments grew, stretched, multiplied into ages and eras that defined whole stretches of measurable time. Draco regretted several moments in his life, some within his control, some without: all of them irretrievable in nature. At a certain point, wedged between ‘what-ifs’ of his own devising, he’d stopped trying to keep track of those regrettable moments: now and then, pushing and pulling, coming and going, beginning and end. Moments were only moments for just as long. After that, he had no control. A Draco POV prequel to Wait and Hope. E, 48 Chapters, 242,100 Words

Bells on a Hill by HeyJude19: Left by his fiancée a month before the ceremony, Draco never got his dream wedding, so agreeing to assist Granger with her own wedding planning to distract himself from his broken engagement seems like a great idea—though Draco probably shouldn't fall in love with the bride-to-be. Based very (very) loosely on The Wedding Singer. T, WIP

Bending Light by scullymurphy: Draco Malfoy was in exile, though they called it protection. It was the summer after sixth year and he'd taken Dumbledore's offer, defected to the other side and been sent away to a small town in Italy for his troubles. No magic, few rules, and not a lot to do - until Hermione Granger showed up. M, WIP

Break for me by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE _______________ "-I told them this wouldn’t work.” He cut in through gritted teeth as he kept his eyes on Hermione, making her pulse quicken and she couldn’t help but clench her thighs together at the rough, husky tone of his voice. He didn’t miss it; his eyes landed on her thighs and they darkened even further. “I can’t help her when all I feel like I want to do is pin her down and fuck her into the mattress.” _______________ Hermione gets into a little accident at work and is infected with a hybrid potion created to cause certain heightened side effects. Draco offers to stick around to give his work partner a little support ... if he can Occlude long enough to resist her... E, 7 Chapters, 45,107 Words

Breath Mints / Battle Scars by Onyx_and_Elm: For a moment, she's almost giddy. Because Draco Malfoy's been ruined by this war and he's as out of place as she is and — yes, he has scars too. He's got an even bigger one. She wonders whether one day they'll compare sizes. E, 51 Chapters, 148,908 Words

Bring Him to His Knees by Musyc: Draco is on the case of a murderer, but to investigate, he needs a fake relationship - and a kink club play partner. When Hermione volunteers to take the role, both do their best to maintain the lie without letting each other know the truth: neither of them are acting. E, WIP

Calendar Boys by anne_ammons, Nadiapolyakova (Rijaya83): She had thrown out the idea on a lark, but now Hermione Granger was tasked with bringing the charity calendar to life. What was one more thing on her list? An art/writing collaboration between nadiapolyakova and anne_ammons - twelve photos and a piece of the story behind them. M, WIP

Cherry Mint by dirtymudblood: "He could smell her. Even multiple train cars away, he could smell her. Except, Draco didn’t know who she was. He ignored his natural instincts to pant like a dog and follow the scent to the omega in the beginning stages of heat. Instead he willed himself to rub his knuckles against the rough wood of the table in front of him." E, 27 Chapters, 58,081 Words

Dark Water and Dying Eyebrights by bexchan: One of them is desperately trying to remember their past while the other is forever trying to escape theirs. It's seven years after the war and Draco has managed to avoid almost everyone from Hogwarts, living a lonely life on a small island, far away from the wizarding community. But a familiar face in a cafe window capsizes his world into chaos. Dramione. EWE. Memory fic. M, WIP

Difficult by provocative envy: COMPLETE: "I should," I repeated. "But I don't want to." And then he smiled, and I was wrecked. HG/DM. M, 30 Chapters, 87,041 Words

Don't Look Back by Onyx_and_Elm: It’s the smell of it. Chemical. Bitter and sharp as a raw edge on metal. Just a hint of it as she passes him at breakfast — but enough to stop her dead, mid-step. There is Wolfsbane in his tea. E, WIP

Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time by monsterleadmehome: She scoffs. “If you must know, he ‘elected’ me because he thinks our shared animosity will keep you in check. He’s also not worried about you trying to shag me as a distraction.” He leans back, stubbing out his cigarette on the banister. His eyes rove over her from crown to toe and back. She lifts her chin and tries not to shiver. “Well, he’s right about that.” Lucius Malfoy hires Hermione Granger to whip his son into shape so he can find a pure-blood bride and receive his inheritance. What could go wrong? E, 10 Chapters, 48,092 Words

Draco's Gift by TriDogMom: Draco gives Hermione a gift because of an instructional YouTube video. M, 1 Chapter, 1,705 Words

Dragon in the Dark by GracefulLioness: The battle is won, Voldemort is dead, but the war is far from over. In the new Death Eater regime, Draco Malfoy does what he must to survive and keep his mother safe. Now a highly trained assassin, Draco has learned to think of his targets as inhuman beings, but when he is tasked with killing someone from his past, he can no longer hide from the horrors of the world around him. E, 31 Chapters, 164,782 Words

For a Present Under the Tree by grace_lou_freebush: When Draco and Hermione eloped, the Wizarding World turned against them. Hermione is stuck in a low level, low paying Ministry job with no hope of upward movement. Draco can't even convince someone to hire him. Now, it's Christmas, and Draco knows Hermione deserves the world - or at the least a Christmas gift. He finds the perfect hair comb to replace the horrid Muggle brush she's been making due with, and he'll do anything to afford the paltry present so he can have something to put under the Christmas tree for his wife. Making a beeline for the jewelry box containing the hair combs, Draco rifled through them, landing on an ivory comb with queen anne rose carvings and gold filigree detailing. He brought it to the startled shopkeeper and set it down gently. Pulling his sixth generation Malfoy heirloom pocket watch from his coat, he shoved it in the wizard's face without second guessing himself. "I would like to make an exchange." E, 1 Chapter, 10,141 Words

Fortuitous by MrsRen: Recently divorced Draco doesn't believe in the ideology of having one true love. He certainly doesn't expect to meet his match in a Halloween themed coffee shop, but fate has a peculiar way of giving you just what you need. M, 13 Chapters, 93,695 Words

Fuck, Marry, Avada by Lilian_Silver: Some years after the war, the gang meets up at the Leaky to play a silly game, with very real consequences. E, 1 Chapter, 3,106 Words

Give Me An Hour by RZZMG: As the war continues to rage on around them, Hermione Granger decides to seduce fellow Order Member, Draco Malfoy, one night while at Grimmauld Place... and everything between them changes after that. Fic follows the "five times" trope, and is dedicated to raspberryjukebox. One-shot. A/U-Extended War scenario. Dramione. Drama-Romance-Hot Shag! COMPLETE! M, 1 Chapter, 3,251 Words

Good Girl by arabellaleyes: Hermione is tired of their normal routine in the bedroom. What will happen when she asks Draco to spice things up? One-shot. Complete. M, 1 Chapter, 9,000 Words

Hindsight by floorcoaster: It's a New Year and Hermione decides it's time to make some changes. T, 12 Chapters, 167,694 Words

How to Love Thy Neighbour by WhatSoMalfoy: After her relationship with Ron falls apart, Hermione attempts to juggle a personal muggle life with a professional wizarding one. After encountering her high school nemesis in the most unlikely place, Hermione adds another ball to the juggling mix. M, 14 Chapters, 41,992 Words

How to Move On by longdistance: It's been nearly a decade since the war. A long time since she locked herself away. A long time since he faced his mistakes. She's what he wants. He's what she needs. It's time for both of them to figure out how to move on. M, WIP

Hydrotherapy by eilonwy: Draco finds a trip to the showers after playing Quidditch... enlightening. E, 2 Chapters, 7,163 Words

I Choose You by melanoradrood: At the end of Fifth Year, Hermione finds out why It is that none have approached her with a Marital Contract, the only way she can remain in the Wizarding World after Graduation. It has already been signed by her Magical Guardian, someone she has never met - she is to be the next Lady Malfoy. A year and a half later, she is a married witch, but still, Draco Malfoy, who had chosen her above all others, had not spoken of it. In fact, they barely spoke at all. And when trouble heads their way, Hermione means to change that. Really, she means to change a lot of things. E, 5 Chapters, 24,527 Words

Isolation by Bex-chan: He can't leave the room. Her room. And it's all the Order's fault. Confined to a small space with only the Mudblood for company, something's going to give. Maybe his sanity. Maybe not. "There," she spat. "Now your Blood's filthy too!" DM/HG. PostHBP. Now complete with epilogue. M, 49 Chapters, 284,050 Words

It Happened in Egypt by bionically: Wandless in Egypt: Draco's stranded in Egypt, but luckily, there's a Granger in sight. Now, if only he could be prevented from strangling her. Fun times abroad: It was supposed to be a leisurely solo trip down the Nile. Hermione didn't factor in one blond man from her past and all his drama. Then, of course, there's the fact that everyone's after him. Much hilarity ensues. Maybe. *** A rom-com adventure/mystery featuring two unwilling partners on the run from Lucius Malfoy, alien-hunters, Muggle police, and local wizards engaged in a civil war. T, WIP

Love and Other Misfortunes by senlinyu: Draco Malfoy is dying. He's part-Veela and needs his mate to survive. Post-war, Hermione Granger is a workaholic, up to her eyeballs in legal activism on behalf of Magical Beings, and hasn't yet noticed that Malfoy is the Magical Being who needs her most. “Because I don’t want to be saved by you just because you feel like you have to.” He was properly furious now. “I’m in love with you." Hermione stared at him. She knew but somehow hearing him say it made the air shimmer with magic. "I’m in love with you,” he said again, despairingly. “And that means I want you to be as happy as you possibly can. And you won’t be, not with me.” M, 23 Chapters, 98,584 Words 

Manacled by senlinyu: Harry Potter is dead. In the aftermath of the war, in order to strengthen the might of the magical world, Voldemort enacts a repopulation effort. Hermione Granger has an Order secret, lost but hidden in her mind, so she is sent as an enslaved surrogate to the High Reeve until her mind can be cracked.Now illustrated by Avendell. E, 77 Chapters, 370,473 Words

Measure Of A Man by inadaze22: To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man. E, WIP

Meet the Malfoys by raven_maiden: 4 Works, 21, 442 Words

of flavoured names and coloured sounds by Pink Panda (Ejacyeolation): "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name. E, 2 Chapters, 10,351

Once Upon a Night by longdistance: One night will change everything. M, 17 Chapters, 57,444 Words

One and Done by PacificRimbaud: Hermione Granger has a career she loves, friends she can depend on, and a nice set of hand towels for her new flat. She's single and tired of tiresome men, but that doesn't stop her from wearing beautiful lingerie underneath her serious Ministry skirts. Or having pictures taken in naughty knickers. Just once. For herself. Draco Malfoy doesn't get upset at the sight of blood, which is good, because he sees a lot of it. What he doesn't see a lot of is Hermione Granger in her unmentionables. Usually. A series of meetings and mix-ups in which one cannot possibly mean done. E, 4 Chapters, 35,011 Words

Our shared silence by Vofastudum: She wakes up one morning and everyone is just gone, vanished like they never existed at all. Everyone but Him. And in this silent solitude, he's all she has. Hermione and Draco alone in empty castle. Mystery and a plot twist you didn't see coming! EDITED 10/2020 M, 17 Chapters, 40,149 Words

Pinned by bionically: Draco doesn't know what he's expecting when he follows Blaise down a dark alley, but it certainly isn't this. For a man with an addictive personality, this isn't going to turn out well. Assigned trope: Voyeurism *** Or, a chance encounter with a frizzy-haired witch from his misbegotten past in the last place anyone should have expected to see her sets Draco's disordered life on its ear. The path to redemption is truly paved with unexpected surprises. E, 20 Chapters, 110,886 Words

Really Sell It by RoseHarperMaxwell: Draco's having a rough eighth year, and Hermione's going to make it better for him. "Well, it’s clear what needs to happen.” She gripped his chin, tilting his head to make sure she hadn’t missed any injuries, before looking straight into his eyes. “You’re my boyfriend now.” *Featuring fake dating, exhibitionism, and sex-positive Hermione Granger. Submission for Farewell to Summer: The 31 Flavors of Smut Fest. E, 1 Chapters, 7,612 Words

Remain Nameless by HeyJude19: How did it feel? It felt like he was barely holding it together. She, of all people, should shun him. Or yell at him. Curse him. Spit at him. Take out her wand and blast him off the face of the earth. It was crushing guilt and relief and confusion all at once when he looked at Hermione Granger. The monotony of Draco’s daily routine had become both a lifeline and a noose. But this new habit of grabbing coffee with Hermione Granger is quickly becoming a reason to get out of bed and is unfortunately forcing him to re-evaluate his inconsequential existence. Hermione is living her life in fragments, separate pieces scattered about, and she can’t find a way to step back and let the full picture form. Why are morning meetings with Draco Malfoy the only thing that make sense anymore? E, 51 Chapters, 312,315 Words

Remember Us As War (but call us forgiveness) by Anyaparadox: Following the devastation of the Battle of Hogwarts, The Wizarding Population Growth Act is put into effect. All witches and wizards will be matched with their most compatible partner. Failure to comply will not be tolerated. Survival is key. Hermione reminds herself of this. Survival. She can fix this, if only she can survive. The war has made this a task she is equipped for. Marrying Draco Malfoy will hardly be the worst thing she's ever endured. M, WIP

Ring A Ring O' Roses by Gallivant: Dark Magic, Dark Wizards and a mysterious and deadly Dark Flux, which, in the wrong hands, has the terrifying potential to mass-murder Muggles and Muggle-borns ... It’s been fourteen years since the end of the Second Wizarding War and the Wizarding World is settled, stable and seemingly safe… Hermione Weasley has it all: a loving family, a successful career - and happiness… of sorts. But a series of unexpected events is about to turn her life upside-down, threatening those she loves, fatally undermining the peace between worlds that has prevailed for centuries … changing life as she knows it, possibly forever. If working with Draco Malfoy was the last thing Hermione Weasley ever wanted, falling for your enemy was the least expected. A quest to thwart a magical weapon of mass destruction has devastating consequences. A race to save the world, becomes a race to save themselves… M, 65 Chapters, 527,141 Chapters

Set Fire to the Rain by HarleyQuinn1317: What happens when the one you're destined for is the last person you should ever be with... When the Ministry of Magic asks for volunteers for their Marriage Initiative, Hermione Granger must come to terms with the one terrible deed she committed during the Second Wizarding War. Can she find it in her heart to forgive herself and finally learn to let love in? E, WIP

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll: Hermione didn't escape from the war unscathed, and when she finally decides on a solution to her problems she's left to explore it on her own. A chance encounter with Draco Malfoy sets her world on it's head and leads her down a path towards healing that she would never have anticipated. E, 18 Chapters, 65,079 Words

The Art of Seating Etiquette by inadaze22: Hermione believes that every problem has a solution, and that solution can be found in a book. That is, until Draco starts sitting to her right every Friday. She has no answers until help comes in the form of an unlikely source: Ron Weasley. E, 1 Chapter, 9,734 Words

The Auction by LovesBitca8: In the wake of the Dark Lord’s triumph over Harry Potter, the defeated must learn their new place. Hermione Granger, former Golden Girl, has been captured and reduced to human chattel. Sold to the highest bidder as the top prize at an auction of Order members and sympathizers, she is thrust into the rabid, waiting hands of the Death Eaters. But despite the horrors of Voldemort’s new world, help—and hope—seem to arise from the most unlikely of places. PART 3 of the RIGHTS AND WRONGS series. E, 41 Chapters, 325,702 Words

The Binding by Curly_Kay: “Okay, what we know so far.” Hermione listed, "One, our magic is drawing us together. Two, we can use each other’s wands. Three, there were actual sparks when you touched me."After an infant binding ritual magically joins Hermione and Draco to counteract the Black family blood curse, they must navigate the secret binding through their years together at Hogwarts. E, 35 Chapters, 175,451 Words

The Carnal Club by Ada_P_Rix: COMPLETE The Halloween Ball is fast approaching with Hermione at the helm.... What a delightful time to suddenly learn of a centuries old secret sex-game club that is currently ran by a Blonde haired Slytherin. Oh, and it only happens once a year every October, when the winner takes all at the Halloween Ball ...The First Rule of Carnal Club: You do not talk about Carnal Club. E, 8 Chapters, 43,306 Words

The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy by Speechwriter (batmansymbol): The night that Harry and Dumbledore return from the cave, the Death Eaters are delayed from reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower for one more minute. Draco Malfoy lowers his wand. A Deathly Hallows rewrite in which Draco accepts Dumbledore's offer to fake his death and go into hiding with the Order of the Phoenix. T, WIP

The Erised Effect by Ada_P_Rix: Hermione and Pansy work in a shop together. Draco, Harry, Theo and Blaise all work together at the Ministry. They all meet up every Friday at the pub to have drinks. Pansy has a new fantasy potion that she likes to call 'The Erised Effect' that she's keen to try out on willing participants ... Boys are so easy to manipulate when alcohol is involved .... E, 13 Chapters, 88,852 Words

The Fallout by everythursday: Hermione learns about growing up through the redemption of Draco Malfoy. E, 49 Chapters, 310,229 Words

The Figures of Figuring Out by Vofastudum: You were the biggest riddle in my life. You were the one I couldn't figure out. You were the only thing I couldn't find a pattern to. You were something I couldn't look up from any book. Unwritten, with no instructions. And I was used to finding solutions! Post-war eight-year secret romance. Edited 12/2020 M, 13 Chapters, 26,951 Words

The Flat in Bath by Ada_P_Rix: Loosely inspired by 365 Days...-- Malfoy grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly at him. “Don’t you dare, Granger...” He told her roughly as his intense gaze bored into her own. “I fucking forbid you to come until I’ve had enough of you...” Draco caught her cheeks now between the fingers of his free hand and then snapped her head to the side and licked her earlobe, trailing down to her jawline. “...one flutter of those delicious walls of yours and you’re going to wish you never opened your legs for me.” -- __________________ Hermione is kidnapped during a raid and taken captive by someone who doesn't plan on 'torturing' her in the conventional way... E, WIP

The Gloriana Set by ThebeMoon: The War is won, and Hermione Granger is back at Hogwarts as an “Eighth Year”, feeling reckless and determined to shed her prim bookworm persona. She will do as she pleases, and anyone who doesn’t like it will see the business end of her wand. Also returning is Draco Malfoy, universally hated but determined to restore his family’s name. Hermione’s hopes for a quiet school year are quickly dashed as she contends with mischievous First Years, killer plants, enchanted hair accessories, a totally inappropriate Moaning Myrtle, renegade Death Eaters, a nice vampire, a poorly named study group, a depraved party, and mysterious, threatening blood messages on the castle walls. We have redemption, partial redemption and (sadly or hilariously) no redemption at all. Throw in a snarky, disturbingly attractive Draco with his own secret agenda, and we have a very slow-burn Dramione with a side of who-dun-it. COMPLETE! M, 81 Chapters, 271,830 Words

The Library of Alexandria by senlinyu: The Library of Alexandria is not for just any witch or wizard. Many bookworms may try but few are permitted to pass through its doors. The books residing there are ancient and powerful and, if one happens to make a mistake, the consequences can be rather—novel. E, 6 Chapters, 26,383 Words

The List by AureliaBlack90: After her divorce, Hermione decides to get out of town to recover from the pain of her lost relationship and the miscarriage she suffered a year previously. She arrives in the Cotswolds depressed and aimless but compiles a list of things to do that she hopes will help her get back on her feet. In the midst of her journey to find healing she keeps running into Draco Malfoy, who is nothing like she remembered him. He invites her into his world, and Hermione finds exactly what she was looking for - in the place she least expected it. E, 10 Chapters, 70,526 Words

The Manuscript by alexandra_emerson: Five 1/2 years after the war, in the middle of a big fight with Draco, Hermione finds a manuscript. It’s a retelling of her and Draco’s love story, written by him. She never realized how much he was struggling before she read his words. Snippet: I could spend my whole life apologizing to you Hermione, and it would never be enough. Post-war, angst-filled Dramione with a happy ending. M, 21 Chapters, 154,918 Words

The Memory of You by PotionChemist: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger fell in love against all odds, but there was one big problem — he was already married. Pressured, Hermione does something she promised herself she would never do again and erases their affair from his memory. Completely devastated, she avoids seeing Draco or the Malfoys at all costs. But is their love too strong? Are they inevitable? What will happen if he finds out about their previous relationship? E, WIP

The Mountain and The Sea by AlexisDanaan: Hermione Granger was perfectly happy with her life, her job as a Healer Trainee, her ugly cat and her cute little house in the countryside. And then Draco Malfoy had to go and mess that all up, typical git. Post-Hogwarts, EWE, OOC, creature!fic. E, 12 Chapters, 40,441 Words

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae: The Ministry takes action against the remaining prejudice in the wizarding society and asks Hermione for help. “What do you want? Money? Power? Name your price, Granger. I’m not about to let pride get in my way when an Azkaban sentence is on the line.” M, 15 Chapters, 45,807 Words

The Phoenix Potion by FedonCiadale: Twenty years after the battle of Hogwarts.... Harry is head auror and is worried about cases where Muggleborn children meet with accidents, Ron is a famous Quidditch keeper. Both haven't talked to Hermione for ages and certainly not to her husband, Draco Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy struggles with a curse, and Neville and Luna try to stay friends with all. The key to solving the problems may lie in the past, a time nobody really wants to revisit and some can't. T, 111 Chapters, 237,745 Words

The Potioneers by omnenomnom: They need each other unfortunately. Hermione has tricked Draco under her tutelage, arrogant attitude and all. But she would be simple to think he would accept it quietly. They have both have secrets to hide, old wounds better left to fester, and a world full of mermaids, dragons, and magic to explore. T, 53 Chapters, 196,559 Words

The Pretense by Colubrina: Voldemort died, but the Death Eaters live on. Hermione Granger traded herself to Draco Malfoy in exchange for safe passage for core Order members. Now he's pretending to love her, Narcissa is pretending to believe that, and Hermione is walking a tightrope behind enemy lines as she figures out what is going on. Unfortunately, people fall off tightropes. (no non-con) T, 50 Chapters, 108,164 Words

The Right Thing To Do by LovesBitca8: Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl. E, 36 Chapters, 174,911 Words

The Seven Year Witch by TheLastLynx: A boy and a girl have been meeting – coincidentally – for seven summers. While they pretty much hate one another most of the year, for those secret summer moments, they manage to see each other in a different light. But will that be enough to bring them together? A Dramione story about growing up and changing perspective, told along - and in-between - the lines of canon. M, WIP

Thirty Times Lucky by galfoy: "Granger, I can't hire you on any longer," Draco said. Hermione stared at him. Losing her job might actually mean losing the War, and she had to bargain, but there was literally nothing she had that he would want. Or was there? M, 2 Chapters, 7,128 Words

Traditions by raven_maiden: She straddled him slowly, still biting her lip, her hands on his shoulders. He held her hips tightly as he stared up at her. “So beautiful,” he whispered, and she flushed prettily, like she always did from his compliments. “You never need to hide from me.” ** Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy fell in love during the war. One year later, they're heading home for the holidays so he can finally meet her parents. There's just one teeny little problem: her parents think they're both Muggles. E, 14 Chapters, 68,767 Words

Waifs and Strays by Kyonomiko: War leaves a lot of orphans in its wake. Hermione is one, by her own hand, and she struggles with the realities of her situation. When she finds an orphaned familiar, it seems meant to be, giving and receiving comfort helping to heal her fractured heart. Unfortunately, the animal is actually a wizard, and he has his own issues. M, 31 Chapters, 118,152 Words

What You Think Is Right by icepower55: Six years after the war, Hermione parents are dying and her marriage to Draco is crumbling. Nothing seems logical in her life anymore. Her healer tells her to start writing about it, so she does, as a way to figure things out, and remind herself along the way. Hell is proximity without intimacy -Dante's Inferno M, WIP

When the Bell Tolls by everythursday: As a Dark revival begins to rise four years after the war, Hermione Granger is placed on the assignment of putting an end to them – and her first task is to recruit the Ministry's best hope and last option in the form of Draco Malfoy. E, 20 Chapters, 148,033 Words

Wreck by JMilz: Serving as Minister for Magic, Hermione Granger is finally at the peak of her career. With a beautiful family, a successful book, and the public on her side, her life should be a fairytale. Unfortunately, there is trouble in paradise, and when Draco Malfoy pays her a visit, she begins recalling their history and questioning her marriage. The reality is: every relationship is hard. M, 53 Chapters, 187,992 Words

Thanks to every person who contributed (I hope I've mentioned everyone. If not, let me know. 😊): @certified-arsehole @fedonciadale kiwim22 @really-sad-devil-guy endless-musings @headfullofnargles @pinksunsets-world @rosseliz01 @dramioneden @all-consuming @elricsister @injailoutsoon12 reclusivebird @mariakov81 @notthatchhavi @mordanbooqs @haaatch @hpsassenach @ybaeby @farmgirl-in @coyg-81 @eiramrelyat metterschling-plus-two @a-maidens-fantasy @sansacat @vofastudum @lexayeon @1800-rewrite @aneiria-writes @anonymouslydramione 

It took much longer to compile this list than I thought it would. Hopefully, I didn’t skip anything. 🙈

Happy New Year. May it be better than the previous one and full of great Dramione fics and fanarts! 🥳🥳🥳

And here’s the 2019 list: https://dramioneficrecommendations.tumblr.com/post/190216354767/what-is-the-best-dramione-fic-you-read-in-2019

[spice-chan]

Yandere incubus bakugou please? But the reader is a bad a** nun exorcist?

Heavenly

Incubus!Bakugou x nun!reader

Warnings: yandere themes, religious imagery, dub/noncon, somnophilia, praise kink, incubus bakugo, nsfw.

Wordcount: 2 K

You were new in the field, but nevertheless, the best. You approached your work with certain fierceness that bordered on unprofessional, unethical, given your field.

You were a nun, an exorcist meant to banish creatures like Bakugo Katsuki, unholy, sinful creatures like him.

Ones who bathed in wrong doings, encouraged misbehaviours, got off and energised at the feel of being the cause of someone sinning.

Bakugo watched you, clad in white attire and bright eyes that seemed so honest, so pure, that they seemed almost translucent. Katsuki doesn’t belong in heaven, but he thinks it must look something like your eyes.

A creature like him shouldn’t hover in a place like this. A creature so devilish isn’t welcomed in God’s abode, isn’t worthy of staring at crucifixes, nor worthy of salvation. But most importantly, what right does a wretched being like him have to stare reverently at a blessed being like you.

Though, the both of you have some things in common, he mused. You were so fiery, that some of your elders seemed stiff at the sight of you, though what sort of stiff is ambiguous. You were so ambitious, rising up the ranks so quickly, his good girl.

Fuck, how did he grow so enamored with you? The only reason he can even enter the premises of your church is because he hasn’t come of age yet, hasn’t reached his full potential as an incubus, but a few days from now, he will take his first victim.

He will lay with someone, take them and become the creature of lust that he was meant to be, become the tainted person you preach against. He wishes it could be you, wishes he can take you and break your vows, give you a taste of the sweetness of the apple, get you addicted to the taste of debauchery, wishes he can taste your sweetness.

You had so much restraint, on lonely nights where you rubbed your thighs in need, slick starting to dampen your panties, Katsuki watching in anticipation, wondering whether today will be the day you please yourself painfully unaware of your audience. Leaving him with raging hopes that today will be the day you will be pliant enough to be taken by him but no, no, you just took a deep breath and opted for a cold shower, leaving him with a raging hard on that he had no choice but to stroke to your sleeping form.

You were so fragile too, like glass that he felt protective over, despite how foreign that feeling is to him, yet wanting to shatter you all the same, wanting to cage you with his wings, get you addicted to the delightful feeling he can induce between your thighs while your throat goes raw from moans and screams of his name.

He stalked you religiously, memorised you like the pope memorised the bible, his form which is invisible to you hovered around you like a lost puppy, drinking in all your expressions like ambrosia, his mouth overflowing with saliva at the sweet nectar you kept offering and offering to the point where he’s gotten too addicted to stop.

He glowered at every male that interacts with you, and if the wrong scent emanates from them, something to slightly suggest attraction, you can bet they greet death too early, the cause being a mystery. He enjoys mangling them all night long, only to put them back together and repeat the process. No one stares at his human like she’s theirs, when she's so woefully his. Although she doesn’t know it yet.

But his coming of age ceremony grows closer and closer, and Katsuki won’t be able to enter your premises anymore, his awakening means he also won’t be able to take you for that very ceremony, and perhaps never.

So, Bakugo started thinking smart. Using his influence, he gathered the most intense, the most powerful demons and made them inhibit people from a nearby village. A case severe enough that you’d have to leave in aid of those people. And stay for a few days.

Painfully predictable, you did just that. Donning your outfit and leaving swiftly. Not knowing what dark fate awaits you.

…………

Bakugou stood at the corner of the inn room you are staying in. You were so exhausted, you passed out as soon as you hit the mattress. Now, without the protective walls shielding you from him, your soft body will be all pliant for him. His body shook, the changes to it happening too rapidly. His wings are growing larger, bolder, and aside of the external changes, his scent was becoming more soft, relaxing, his body emitting pheromones that could easily induce lust. His saliva and touch will have a multiplied effect now that he’s reached his peak form. All that’s left now is to make love to a human, to make love to you.

He stepped closer to you, the room looking darker with each step he took, and your form appearing more and more defenceless to the enamored incubus before you.

He slowly took the blanket off you, admiring the slopes of your body in the form fitting night dress that you only adorned in the comfort of your room. He covered your body with his large one, covering you and his heat acting as a blanket, shielding you from the nipping cold. He took your sprawled arms, slowly putting them over your head and holding them in place with one hand while his other lowered the strap on your dress, freeing one breast to caress while his mouth pressed a feather light kiss over your own, so tender it was akin to a lover's touch.

You stirred in your sleep, his touch having the desired effect as you remained in slumber… his sleeping beauty. He kept kissing his way down, like a mad deprived of water for weeks finally getting to quench his thirst.

His wings lowered, shielding you from the moon light as he laved you up in his saliva, exposing your tits only to lay kisses on them before sucking harshly, pulling, tugging until they pebbled up. He squeezed the warm flesh, marvelling at the baby soft skin and its texture in his calloused palm.

Heh, if you were awake, you’d freak out so bad. Katsuki didn’t stop, he continued his journey downwards, kissing over every inch until he reached the heaven between your thighs.

He can smell it, God, he can smell the arousal coating your plain white panties. He moved his apart, movements stilling in the face of your womanhood, suddenly blushing and feeling nervousness enter his stream. He swallowed, pink tongue poking out of his tongue slowly and drawing a path from your slit to your clit. Feeling satisfied at your muscles spasming. He got cocky real quick after that, not even attempting to conceal the raunchy sounds of his mouth wrapping around your clit and eating it as if drinking from a straw.

You were the sweetest delicacy he’d ever tasted, and he’d be damned if he ever lets go of you.

His finger slipped inside you, feeling your walls sucking it in, tightness befitting of a nun. A second finger joined, your walls happily sucking it in and coating his fingers in slick. They moved in and out, thick fingers hitting sensitive spots and stretching you out in preparation for something bigger.

His hips were rutting into the bed, trying to alleviate the ache while his tongue goes for a final taste, the slickened muscle burying itself inside you and moaning. The room was filled with slurping sounds, tiny moans from your sleeping figure and his hips rutting into your mattress; anyone who stood outside your door for a second longer than necessary can tell what’s happening in the nun's room.

He can’t take this anymore. You were here now, pliant for the taking and he was going to take you. He’s going to take you in many many ways.

He freed his manhood, but before he can bury himself in you, he had to do something. He pulled out a shiny object, pulling your hand and slipping it into your finger. Now, the fun can begin.

He lined himself with your begging hole, desperate for something to fill it up after it was so delightfully full, after having its owner deprive it for so long.

With a moan, he quickly bottomed out, eyes watering at the pleasure, having to hold himself back from cumming on the spot as he groaned. Your greedy walls drank him in, welcoming him warmly as if he’s a soldier returning from war, as if hellfire wasn’t hot enough.

He put one of your legs above his shoulder, silently questioning whether he should go at the pace he’s going to, whether he should take you gently the way your body should be taken after years of abstinence. But one clench of your walls and the decision was made for him.

He started pistoning into you mercilessly, his gifted length not sparing you in the slightest. He was so loud too, moaning at the feeling of being one with you, slobbering like a dog as he pounded you, his tip reaching and massaging places you probably didn’t even know existed. Really, with how loud he was, he shouldn’t have been surprised when you woke up.

You squealed, in pleasure or repulsion, trying to push him away, however the pleasurable sheen in your eyes was unmissable to the avatar of lust.

“Ah—who are y-you?! You devil!” You kept stuttering, words breaking as he forcefully pounded the pleasure into you.

“Don’t ask if you already know, princess.” He pumped more pheromones in the air, successfully making you more docile as you gripped his humongous biceps, hands not even close to wrapping around the circumference of it, moaning and clenching around his member.

“Good girl.” He smirked as his statement made you clench even more, so his princess likes being praised.

Your moans were raw and throaty, as if unused to letting out such sinful and suggestive sounds, as if unwilling but painfully desperate to.

“But, if you’re so desperate to know, look at your hand.”

Your eyes glanced up, hazily making out a golden band resting on your ring finger. It had a red amber on it, its colour so red it was darker and bolder then the liquid spilled in a blood oath, it signified something that your foggy brain just couldn’t make out.

“Hmm, already fucked you silly?”

You grumbled something out, a protest too low to be considered a threat. His hand reached out and started rubbing circles on your button, causing an adorable mewl to leave your lips. His thumb kept up the movement until he felt your overly sensitive walls choking his length, gripping him so hard that his fucking falters. You really hadn’t touched yourself in a long time huh.

Some of the spit gathered in his mouth escaped, coating you as his tongue left his mouth lewdly, cheeks flushed an apple red while his eyes watered at the weight of doings. He pounded you so hard after that he reached ecstasy in a minute, not holding the handles on his pleasure any longer, only relishing in the intimate moment as he reached heaven with you. His movements were so passionate, it was as if he was seeking salvation for his very existence in your body.

He pulled out with a grunt, heart panging at the look in your eyes. You stared in horror at the white gushing out of you, so far from pure or holy, it was thick like the sin you allowed yourself to indulge in.

Tears soaked up your face, unable to believe that you of all people got taken by this god forsaken creature, by this tempting creature that symbolizes sin itself. His fingers had the audacity to reach for your face, trying to wipe away the tears he caused. Your hand went to harahly swat his before a red glint caught your eye, your gut sinking at the implication. You swiftly went to remove it, but the harder you tried the more it seemed to cling to your finger.

“What’s this?!” He rolled his eyes at you, before pointing at the ring in your ring finger.

“This-“ his intense, bloody gaze shifted to you”-this will make sure that wherever you go, I will be able to follow you, that we will belong to each other for eternity, because I, the incubus prince Katsuki Bakugou chose you as my mate, and there’s no way out if that.”

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

yknow what. here it is. my full borderlands rewrite/fix-it/theory??? notes. enjoy.

the 6 siren powers are phasegrasp, phaselock, phasewalk, phaseshift, phasesight and some other power that im not sure about. there's also phaseleech, the 7th siren created as a failsafe. said powers are rebelled guardian souls (unbound by fate) that, upon "possessing" a being, can only be banished on death OR near death. and yes, siren vessels can survive near-death if they give up their powers

phasesight grants one psychometry, the power to read the "memory" of a place, as well as clairvoyance, the power to see remotely

all vault monsters (except the ones that were said to be constructed by the eridians or look artificial, like the traveller or graveward) are actually a part of one race of abominations called the primordials. the eridians discovered them and the amount of influence they have on the universe and tried to seal them away

vincent was capable of possessing vessels because primordials can influence, possess or even merge with sentient beings. sirens can detect their influence

it is possible to shield against the power of the primordials using what can only be described as occult means. sigils, crystals and other flashy things all work provided you believe they work. this is why vaults that contain the primordials are so ornamental and grand - their intricate shape is part of the ward keeping the primordials in (and it's also why the machine looks so magical. that's because it is)

typhon deleon is mostly replaced by leda calypso, as in she's the one who leaves logs everywhere. leda is also a phasesight siren - phasesight is an unusual non-combat ability to read the "memories" of objects or places (as if they were imprinted on by a siren). she dies in childbirth and Sight is inherited by commandant steele who uses it to find a vault and quickly ascend the ranks of the crimson lance

angel lives through bl2 (Shift fucks off and possesses tannis) and is subsequently kind of adopted by wainwright ("angel's mom was a jakobs" is basically kind of canon so.... yeah. also, asshole absentee father gang) plays a minor role in the eden 6 arc, can be found on sanctuary afterwards. tries to hide the fact she used to be a siren but fails because of, well, we know how tannis is. this they/she demigirl is in love with gaige and in this essay i will

nisha fakes her death to get away from jack and manages to find aurelia. the two become a cool  "be gay do crimes" duo of girlbosses. sometimes they vaulthunt together sometimes separately but they always keep in touch

aurelia lives because she isn't really the arc villain. she's a rival, she's a vh opposed to the crimson raiders but she's not evil. also she's at first completely unaware her unfunny brother's on the same planet, so there's for lots of weird funnies and Hammerlock Bickering (tm)

the vault of the traveller contains 2 primordials, the tricuspid star and the rotation of fortune. the star merges with rhys and the rotation merges with fiona. rhys just kinda doesn't figure out how to use his powers ever. fiona uses hers to become a legendary vault hunter.

tyreen betrays troy. she leeches him almost completely (enough so that he loses his siren powers) and he's forced to either work with the raiders or die. ofc he accepts to help the vhs stop his sister as he has nothing else to live for anyways. he befriends angel :). also tannis forces him to wear an actual shirt lmao. also also he becomes a video game streamer

after that happens, tyreen slowly gives into the destroyer's influence over her. it calls on to her, even kinda possesses her (like in that scrapped "Evil" echo portrait) technically nothing special happens here except the final boss is more climactic and there's more foreshadowing to it

maya lives... well, at least through the vault part. she still dies but her death is ACTUALLY MEANINGFUL. basically: lilith lives and doesn't fly into elpis, maya does. i mean come on it makes sense with phaselock and all. ava inherits phaseleech (ah yes tyreen and jack, the two people who continue to fuck shit up even after death).

after gythian dies, wainwright inherits its power. basically he merges with what remains of the monster and gradually becomes a primordial himself (just very underpowered and in the general shape of a human)

also wainwright eventually adopts troy.

[scoutdoesstuff]

teatime fiction take two! (for the entire month of august i'm writing a short fic of between 500-1000 words based on the name of the daily tea sample i've gotten from a tea subscription service. or at least i'm going to try to, anyway).

today's sample was called white grapefruit.

In another world, in another timeline, Castiel is banished to an old god’s hell, Jack has been made a child god, Dean is dead, and Sam is alone, living out a ghostly life, pretending to be a normal man in a normal house.

That timeline, while potentially not the worst of all potential timelines, is a bad one.

This timeline is not that timeline.

In this timeline, there is no question of who really won the final battle. There is no doubt that Chunk is truly gone and dead. Thought grit and quick wit and sheer bullheadedness, Team Free Will pulled another miracle out of their asses and they won.

Aided by clues left begrudgingly for them by Death Herself, they found a sword and a shield buried somewhere in the multiverse. The weapons were possibly older than time itself, though during Sam’s fraught conversation with Time the entity seemed leery of telling them whether that was true or not. Regardless, at the end of all things, while Chuck rained oblivion upon the earth, Castiel took up sword and shield and rent his creator from existence.

He did it for love — for his child, for his lover, for the closest thing Castiel had ever had to a real brother. Arguably, he also did it for humanity, though his love for them had largely taken a backseat to his love of the few people with whom he’d become so close with over the past decade.

The victory did not come without cost, though. Castiel and Jack burned their grace away in the process of killing Chuck. For a few horrifying moments, Dean thought the fight had killed them both, but it didn’t.

When the dust had settled and the sky had stopped burning, Dean and Sam found Castiel and Jack curled up against a charred oak tree not too far from Bobby’s place. Dean had collapsed against them, sobbing with relief. Sam had wrapped his gargantuan wingspan around the three and crushed them to his chest.

Castiel had looked up at Dean, blue eyes exhausted and face burned. Dean thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Dean,” Castiel had said, “I am no longer of God.”

“Baby, what?” Dean had replied. “Of course not! You’re a rebel fucking angel with a cause. Didn’t you smoke that bridge like a decade ago?”

Castiel shook his head. “I was still an angel. I was still the Shield of God. My grace is gone. Now, I’m just the shield. I’m just …”

“Cas,” Sam said, tapping the shield that lay by Castiel’s side. “Now you’re Cas.”

“You’re our shield!” Jack cheered, which is when everyone realized that Jack’s last act as a nephilim had been to make his body that of a three year old.

A minor panic might’ve ensued.

The point being, that in this timeline, there are no funeral pyres, no broken, listless lives to muddle through until the bitter end. In this timeline, Bobby did not pass from a bullet wound. He lives curmudgeonly on, providing advice from behind his many bookshelves to his four year old grandchild on how to best prank Dean and Sam. In this timeline, Charlie wasn’t a Nazi’s lamb for slaughter. Instead, she babysits for Dean and Cas during their monthly date night, when she’s not globetrotting with Dorothy of Oz. In this timeline, Kevin Tran did not have his eyes burned out by a wounded, vengeful angel. He graduated from MIT last month, magna cum laude, because if you can translate a text written in an unspeakable language on the fly there’s no excuse for not getting perfect grades. And the list goes on, of loved ones granted kinder fates this time around, or at least more respectful endings, if it had to come to that.

In this timeline, Cas takes Dean to the beach, watches as the gruff soldier he pulled out of hell turns into a giggling little boy who chases seagulls and buries his toes in the sand. That night, Dean buys pounds of fruit and makes them ludicrous martinis, with colorful umbrellas tucked in the corners of their glasses.

Cas takes a sip of Dean’s latest concoction.

“Citrus paradisi,” he says, after taking a second sip because Dean Winchester has a way with making just about anything taste delicious.

Dean leans against him, sipping his own bright pink drink, and makes a questioning noise.

“White grapefruit,” Cas says. “That’s what’s in this drink, isn’t it?”

“And here I thought you were calling this paradise,” Dean says, leaning further into Cas. eyes crinkling in the way that Cas has learned to read as teasing.

“Oh, it is,” Cas says, painfully sincere, and kisses Dean breathless.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

If it's alright can I request a story for Helena and MC, whereby MC is forced to result to violence and killing to protect Helena?

WARNINGS FOR: Violence Blood and Gore Some Language Helena’s abuse Spoilers for Route.

Written by @evoedbd

++++++++++

The ground was ash. Sodden with blood and sweat, forming mountains over the bodies of the fallen. Heat clung to Kya’s body, thickening the air in her lungs as she desperately tried to claim one more breath in the chaos. The horizon was aflame with the only consistent splash of colour, deep and raging ember oranges against the backdrop of dull greys and blacks. Smoke billowed from what had once been wagons filled with grains and long-lasting supplies for the starving Capitol. What once had been fields growing crops and hosting cattle were now a remnant of what once was. Battle echoed around her, clashing steel ringing around disembodied cries and coughs. Some were strong and hearty, those men might survive if they fought well. Others were weak, somehow wet in the dehydrated desert of death. These men wouldn’t make it. No matter how hard their fingers dug into the ground as they blindly crawled in search of clean air and their salvation.

It had all happened so fast. One moment, Kya had her arms wrapped around Helena’s waist, head on her shoulder as she dosed behind the saddle. The next, explosion. An attack so vicious Kya hadn’t even registered falling from the saddle, only the screaming. Only Helena barking orders between spells, trying to protect those who were unarmed, to protect the supplies for the poor villages near the Capitol.

Everything was merely white noise in Kya’s ears, a dull swirl of chaotic sound which served as an undercurrent for a pounding heartbeat. A heart raging against reality as it shattered her bones with every jarring beat. How was she to survive when the act of breath was a war within itself? What choice did she have? The heat against her bare palms was nothing compared to the worn grip of a jagged sword. She could feel the dampness of sweat, along with the smoothed tracks where leaner, longer fingers normally grasped. A familiar knick in the grip allowed her to understand how the callused palms of its mistress has come to be. A mistress resting several feet away.

Helena Klein was battered, a vestige of war, pillaged by blade and blow. Each breath was short, a slash of a blade or chop of an axe instead of serenity. Each rattled, as if the broken bones of her ribs might be coming up her chest, ribs she desperately attempted to hold in place by tucking her right arm tightly to her side. The majestic blues of her tunic parted like the seas, giving way to a landscape of soft, snowy flesh mixed with rivers of fouled blood springing forth from a nasty gash. The touch of a blade had begun at the curve of Helena’s shoulder, caressing down to the crook of her elbow, a path Kya’s fingers often followed. Only Helena’s grimy bracer held her sleeve together, protected her forearm from the same fate. The bracer Kya had tied with a gentle smile not an hour prior. One might think it yet another physical representation of how different the loves of Helena Klein truly were. The Queen’s affection was the battlefield, the agony, the desecration of body and soul.

Just like when she was in the Queen’s service, Helena was brought low, left to support her weight on her only uninjured arm, fingers splayed in the slippery mud which oozed through them, trying to swallow her hand. Bedraggled hair hung around her flushed face; white gold tainted to mousey brown by the blood of her foes. A representation, perhaps, of what each life taken meant to her gentle soul. Stains. Darkness. The evil she defied, fixating her icy glare at her hands in rebellion, even as she tamed her trembling body, harnessed her adrenaline and pain into stillness by her sheer willpower alone. Her refusal to let the leering soldiers break her, even with their blades prone to pierce to her vital organs.

The sight of Helena in such a position set something off in Kya’s chest.

Her heart rebelled, pounding even more ferociously within the weak confines of her chest. Drums. The feeling of speakers at a punk rock concert, shaking her entire foundation, filling her with nothing save her screaming morality wrestling with the concept of mortality. She’d failed. Failed. Failed. Failed. She was meant to protect Helena, to never let this happen to her ever again, yet Kya was stuck watching those soldiers prod and taunt the Sorceress, keeping her pinned like a feral creature. The dog The Queen had forced Helena to be. That thought hurt. Kya ached. Rage and helplessness spread beneath her skin, leaving her with a physical sensation of fingers pressing against her flesh from the inside. Filling her, making everything so tight, as if she might simply explode. Shadows played across moonlight as one of the soldiers lifted his sword, mouth moving as he delivered an undoubtedly smug line. Kya didn’t hear, couldn’t hear, over her own blood rushing.

“-No! Please! Helena! Stop him! Oh god, he’s going to kill her! I can’t! Gotta move. Gotta move. Get the FUCK AWAY FROM HER! Fucking MOVE Kya!-” Her mind could only work in snapshots of a thought, missing everything save the panic. Loss pounded at her mind, threatening to take everything she cared about. Her soul sunk, falling into a blazing heat that travelled through her veins to every needed muscle. She was so tense it hurt, as if she were slowly snapping every strand of her being. She sprung into desperate action. Her hand tightened around the hilt of Helena’s blade as she leapt, rushing the man with his weapon raised.

HELENA!

The cry would have been worth alerting the soldiers she was charging, yet no sound escaped. It was nothing more than a shriek echoing within the confines of her mind, burning in every fibre of her existence. Try as her body might, it couldn’t force out even a single sound in the seconds it took for her to cross the distance. These fuckers couldn’t have her! They couldn’t treat Helena like some animal! Couldn’t put her down like a feral dog for biting an abusive owner. Couldn’t bridle her! Nobody had that right, and Kya was not about to let someone take it. Helena was her warcry, everything redirected to a singular purpose. To protect her very heart and soul from these fiends following a tyrannical Queen. The name caught in her throat, wheezed out in a silent burst of determination as she swung the blade with all her might. She couldn’t even care where it hit, only that she needed to save Helena.

She had seen a thousand movies involving beheading a man, where the dashing hero swung their blade and off went someone’s head. It was in a crushing moment of reality she registered that, yet again, the modern world of media had lied. Majorly.

The blade buried itself halfway through the man’s neck, grinding to a halt against bone as the soldier cried out. His gloating never met completion, the final words hanging on his tongue as blood replaced them. It dribbled down his chin, mixed with spittle, only to mix with Helena’s hair and the mud between her fingers.

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was rough with strain, yet the intensity of her command was sharper than any knife. Sharp enough to slice through the fog surrounding Kya’s mind, through logic and reason, and straight to Kya’s body. A single cry held a thousand reminders, a thousand little meanings that neither could ever put into words. Only action. Kya’s body was driven into action, even as her mind wandered further into the protective haze of mist and confusion. With a groan of effort, Helena pushed herself forwards, launching to extend her only good hand even as her shoulder and ribs came down hard into the mud. Kya was already moving, scrambling to grab Helena’s second blade, running straight for the soldier’s Warhammer. He brought it down in a deathly arc. Steel met glyph, casting sparks across the invisible dome Kya was dashing for like a child in a McDonald's playground. It was instinct to duck under Helena’s spell, slithering through the opening the Sorceress had provided. Just as Helena had taught her. This time, however, Kya abandoned her teachings of digging an elbow or a hilt into the soft underarm. Instead, she thrust with all her weight, pushing Helena’s blade until steel pierced the Soldier’s undershirt.

Again, Hollywood failed her. The blade did not slide in smoothly with a graceful thrust. Instead, it jerked with the man’s body, it met the resistance of bone, bouncing off it before sliding through flesh. For one terrifying breath, Kya hesitated. Not out of remorse or pity, but for the shock of resistance. The shock of what she had managed to do. What had she done? Oh gods, what had she just done? She’d stabbed a man. A man who’d left Helena bleeding… Her hesitation vanished. He’d cut Helena. Kya pushed harder, forcing the steel as deep as it could go. He’d tried to kill Helena. Kya clung tighter, twisting the blade was not as easy as Hollywood made it look. She didn’t expect the gush of heat over her unsteady hands as her awkward weight tore the opening of the wound wider. Nor could she have prepared for the sheer slippery yet grittiness as blood covered her hands. All she could do was cling to the hilt, allowing her body weight to fall with the soldier into the mud.

Hot stickiness coated her body, clinging to her linen shirt as she fell against the Soldier’s armor. The collision, along with the clash of hot and cold left her nerves caught between tingling and prickling in confused agony. Breath was banished from her lungs. For several seconds, the world was nothing but too much. So many sounds and feelings, a blur she couldn’t make sense of. Groaning, she forced herself to lift her head, to survey the battlefield, to make sense of what she saw.

The pink figure of Altea dancing across the battlefield, staff in hand as she yelled spell after spell at the dwindling enemy forces. The dashes of green as Isuel masterfully wove around the edges, his arm moving as a blur as he unleashed a volley of arrows to match a battalion with lethal accuracy. A dark shadow melting high and low as Searys unleashed his demonic strength upon any who drew close, indifferent to the fact they were covered in steel as his fists left dent after dent. August, a silver knight who lunged in and out, clashing with foes masterfully, cutting them down in waves with the determination of his swings. Then, the blazing red glory of Reiner, leading his Retainers with precise commands as his crossbow sung, ensuring victory every time his finger closed around the trigger.

The realisation that reinforcements had arrived was slow to dawn on Kya, yet not as slow as when she looked down to her hands.

Blood. There was actual blood on her hands, obscuring her pale skin with smears that almost reminded her of soy and chilli sauces mixed together. Then spread thinly over her skin. Had she been wearing her armor, would she have felt that at all? Stupid. She had been so, so stupid! Why hadn’t she anticipated an ambush with everything they knew? She’d been napping, not thinking at all. She’d let everyone down, including herself. If she had just worn her armor, she wouldn’t have to deal with this stickiness. Wouldn’t have to feel the blood on her hands. Wouldn’t have to see…

“O-oh god.”

She couldn’t stop seeing. Her eyes fixated on the man beneath her as she frantically pushed up to her knees, trying to flee the sight. His death had not been something graceful, with lingering peace across gentle lips. Instead, his face was twisted with horror. His lean jaw and full lips were contorted into a forming scream of absolute agony. Deep brown eyes stared listlessly back at the world, lacking the spark of life Kya was so used to seeing in everything. As soot floated down across his face, it gathered on those unblinking eyes, slowly obscuring their colour as Kya watched with a growing horror and a gurgling in her gut.

What had she done? What the actual fuck had she just done?!?

“Kya!” Helena’s voice was the closest to frantic Kya had ever heard, wavering at a higher pitch. A shrill shriek, filled with an immeasurable amount of fear. Fear more than Helena had ever felt. Helena, who had seen hells that rendered a nation extinct. Who had been tortured beyond instinct, to the point she defied the very laws of nature. Helena, who’d begged for death a thousand times over for the horror she’d endured, screeched her worst for Kya. It was a sobering footnote in Kya’s consciousness. She couldn’t hold it, couldn’t even hold herself as she collapsed backwards. Helena was there, skidding through the mud to catch the love of her life. To gather Kya into her chest, greedily pulling the smaller woman into each of her injuries in an effort to keep her there. To protect her. Once again enduring pain in silence. Helena’s desperate hands wrapped around Kya’s jaw, around her tender throat, trying to guide Kya’s gaze to meet her own. Even in her adrenalized state, Helena’s hands remained gentle, cradling Kya as if she might shatter in her palms. Worshipping, despite the chaos surrounding them. When Kya surrendered to that guidance, she found herself falling into pools of obsidian-tinged sapphire, watching the magic swirl and fade as Helena regained control of her emotions.

Helena’s eyes were so beautiful. So alive. The depth of love and need that underlaid every emotion drew Kya in, drowning her an indescribable heat that threatened to consume her if she didn’t look away. The passion there was scorching, eradicating everything save the thick veil of devotion in those lively eyes. The haze was soothing, somewhere she could simply watch from as her body moved with Helena’s gentle touches. That gentleness was not spared for her clothing. Helena’s hands were weapons once more as the Sorceress literally tore Kya’s shirt open, running that one good hand though the blood, searching for the cause. Even as that hand ran, her injured arm cradled Kya’s head, keeping her upright, preventing any chance for fluids to drown the smaller American. Then, she was lifting a vial to Kya’s lips, pressing just a little too roughly, too desperately. Glass bounced against Kya’s teeth in a shaking hand, almost causing pain as she retreated, meanwhile flailing her own hand to reject the vial.

“I’m fine! It's not my blood.” Kya dismissed the tender touch as if it were a normal occurrence, her voice completely casual in her instinctual effort to reassure Helena. The Sorceress stopped, breathing rapidly as her gaze fixated upon Kya’s once again, realisation dawning in icy eyes. Realisation. Understanding. Guilt. Horror. Regret.

What had she done?

“It's not my blood…” the second time it escaped Kya’s lips was bitter, a lowered mumble as her body caught up with the fact. She’d killed someone. No, not just someone. Two someones. She’d taken two lives without any hesitation, without any mercy. They’d tried to take from her and that had been enough for her to mindlessly take those two lives from others. Just like so many had done to her with Helena. What would those lovers care for reasons when their arms were cold and empty? What would daddy’s crimes matter to the little girl waiting for him to come home? What words could soothe a mother missing her baby? What families would get letters saying their brother, father, son or lover had fallen in battle? Was the Queen even merciful enough to have someone notify the families of her dead? Would those families spend years waiting for answers? Never knowing if their loved one would return. Would children wonder what they did for daddy to abandon them? Would…

Kya tore herself away from Helena, falling onto her hands and knees as the pressure in her stomach exploded out her throat, a warm mush that coated the ground between her hands. Mouthful after mouthful of vomit came up, each punctuated by an impossibly loud wretch. It stunk. Everything absolutely stunk. Nothing had prepared her for the strong stench of blood, the almost delicious smell of cooking flesh for a split second before disgusting burning hair.

Soothing fingers ran against Kya’s scalp, gathering up the sweat-soaked raven locks in adoring hands as Kya’s vomit became bile, the contents of her stomach emptied. It left her feeling weak, so weak her body trembled with the effort to hold herself even somewhat aloft from the mud. Everything was covered in a layer of fleece, making everything distant to her senses. Even that distance couldn’t banish the warmth of Helena’s arms as they wrapped around Kya, bringing the exhausted girl into the safety of the Sorceress’ chest. Helena’s arms became her bedrock. As the world crumbled around her, Helena’s strength and comfort held true. She couldn’t find her perverse enjoyment of Helena’s chest, nor relish the powerful flex of muscles. All she could do was find solace of the touch.

“Would that I could spare you this pain.” Helena’s voice was laden with sorrow, weighing her tones down along with Kya’s heart. Even then, Helena’s mind was on comforting as she lifted her own sleeve to Kya’s lips. The Sorceress lovingly cleaned the trails of bile from Kya’s chin, delicately tracing the soft material over quivering flesh. Her brows furrowed in guilt as she leaned closer, resting her forehead to Kya’s in an attempt to dull the pain. To flood the girl with reassurance and acceptance. Neither woman jumped at the tickle of the tip of their noses bumping, though Kya let out the softest groan of protest.

“I stink.”

“The discomfort of your pain is far worse than any fouled breath.” Helena retorted calmly, her voice near a whisper as she leaned closer, forehead to forehead. Kya’s eyes drifted closed, as if she might defy the reality of what she had seen. She couldn’t. It burned behind her eyelids. Lifeless bodies. Blood. Helena’s terrified face when she had first gathered Kya into her arms.

“I…”

“I am here, Kya, for whatever you would ask of me. Please, allow me to bare this with you.

It was the gentleness in Helena’s voice which finally undid Kya. The girl broke, tears streaming down her cheeks as she buried herself within Helena’s embrace. She nuzzled, squirming into the comforting scent of parchment and herbs, of magic, of Helena. By now, Kya had smelt many a mage, many a warrior, yet none were Helena. None could make her heart race and settle simultaneously. She couldn’t help but press her lips under Helena’s jaw, to relish the feeling of a fluttery pulse at the gesture. Alive. Helena was alive. She was alive because Kya had acted, had sacrificed morals. If she hadn’t… they’d have done the same. They’d have taken Helena’s life for their Queen not to take theirs.

“I killed people. They were going to kill you, and that should make it easier but…” Kya tried, swallowing back the empty feeling of vomiting. Her throat closed up, tickled and thick at the same time, as if she might gag. As if she might choke on the blood she’d shed.

“I don’t feel sorry I killed them. That’s easy. But their families… the people left behind will suffer when they did nothing wrong.”

“It is the price of war, Kya. If only I could have protected you longer, that you would not endure such a torment now.” Helena sighed, tightening her arms around Kya for a breath before she relaxed, allowed Kya to withdraw a little. Kya’s lips fell open, disbelief etched across her face.

“Don’t. Helena, you cannot take the blame for this. You didn’t attack first or make any of this happen. Existing doesn’t make it your fault.”

“You killed to protect me.” Helena laid it out, her casualness leaving Kya reeling. How could Helena even think that? How could she so calmly blame herself for a choice Kya had so readily made? No. It hadn’t even truly been a choice. Losing Helena was unfathomable. Blaming Helena for such a thing felt like blaming her for the existence of death and pestilence. It was not Helena’s fault, no more than it was that the seasons changed. Yet of course, Helena would claim the blame before it could be laid upon her, or worse, before accountability could slip away. Before she could escape her responsibilities. Helena’s magic allowed her the power to do the unthinkable, to defy nature itself. For her to see Kya suffer, of course she would take it as a personal failure. As something she was meant to prevent. There was that touch of nobility, that spark of absorbing every problem and taking blame.

“Yes.” Kya agreed, nodding before she continued.

“That doesn’t make it your fault, Helena. You never asked me to fight, you did not force me to act. They hurt you! They were going to kill you, Helena, and I just… I had to protect you, no matter the cost. Just like you’ve always protected me. That does not make it your fault.” Kya had to take a breath. Gods, Kya loved her. She loved this noble woman so much it hurt… but curses if it didn’t frustrate her. If she didn’t want to cut down everyone who’d beaten Helena into this place. Who’d taken her nobility and weaponised it into self-sacrificing tendencies. Kya could only lift a hand to Helena’s cheek, a silent rebuttal to Helena’s brewing guilt. Something she’d soon find the words to address in-depth, once her own agony dulled, once her tongue wasn’t so heavy in her mouth. Kya stared into those deep blue eyes, lost in what she saw there. Helena understood. She understood too perfectly, even without more words exchanged. It was the price being so close to her she’d constantly warned Kya of.

“I didn’t think of any of it. I just killed when you were in danger. So many people might have moral reasons to kill you, and if they did, I’d kill them. I couldn’t be moral if you were hurt, Helena. I love you. My reason for killing those who hurt you would be moral, as would their reasons be for hurting you. As would anybody who hurt me as payback. When does it end?” Kya pleaded, looking to Helena for an answer. Violence begets Violence. That had never made as much sense as it did the moment she saw the dullness in Helena’s eyes, the exhaustion. The answer the sorceress didn’t want to give. And why should she be forced to? This cycle had been Helena’s curse since before puberty. Violence to survive, earning violence in return. A currency exchange of flesh and soul. An exchange the Witch Queen had indebted Helena so heavily to that it was doubtful she’d ever escape again. That she’d ever be truly free so long as she walked this world.

Helena could only give a sad curl of her lips, a silent expression of utter helplessness even as she pulled Kya back into her embrace, as if her arms might shield Kya from these harshest of truths. As if the world might take pause from its corruption of the tender soul cradled so close to a sullied, blackened heart.

Silently, Kya allowed her head to fall to Helena’s shoulder once more, relishing the closeness. The life. The moment of stillness. She understood now, why Helena had been so fearful, so guilt-ridden for her feelings. For her affections. Not for feeling, but for the burden such things rested upon Kya’s shoulders. It was enough to almost make Kya cry again. Here Helena was, pleading to take a burden that she’d shouldered alone for so long. A burden Kya found herself willing to carry. Able to. She had to.

There was no going back, no button to undo her actions. To rewind and alter history. The innocence Helena had fought to preserve was gone.

It was as the Sorceress said. Such was the price of war.

[atiny-piratequeen]

Against the Tide: Tenth Voyage (Ch. 10)

Pairing : Poly Ot8

Genre: Heavy Angst, Action, Fantasy, Smut, Fluff

Rating: 18+

Tags: DemonPirate!Au, Supernatural, Eventual Poly Relationship, Violence, Blood, Elemental Powers, Past and Modern Day AU, Mythical Creatures, Character Death, Slow Burn, Happy Ending Endgame

Chapter Specific Tags:  Repeated Main Character Death, Reincarnation, Emotional and Psychological Manipulation, Graphic Blood and Violence, Brief Mentions of Mental Health Concerns

Chapter WC: 10k+

A/N: There could be tags added later, especially if there’s something I write that potentially triggers my readers. The last thing I want is for that to happen, so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback if there’s something I write here you’d like me to tag.

**A/N: Thank you Riza @not-majestic-bluenicorn​ for helping me out with the tarot card readings, ilysm

Taglist moved to the bottom of the work. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this or my other works, feel free to fill out the form here after reading the full post. AO3

Taglist

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The sound of Seonghwa’s screams from that night still haunts the crew.

They’re fortunate, Yunho thinks.

Though, he’d never say it aloud and Geb is kind enough not to call him out on the bitter, spiteful thoughts when they arise.

Anyway, the crew was fortunate.

Most of them are lucky that all they heard was the screams of their First Mate- no -their new Captain. The crewmembers below the deck and the ones unconscious didn’t have to deal with the sight of their captain, the one who held them all together, breaking down.

The fear on his face. The defeat. The pain. The terrified, yet resolute tone in his voice.

All that haunted them was the screams of the ex prince, which, coupled by an explosion of ice, creating a fortress of frost around them, was a beacon in the night for what had happened.

Yunho had to drag him out of the ocean. Nearly got stabbed doing so. It took an hour of Seonghwa diving into the depths, freezing everything around him and reaching fruitlessly before Yunho snatched him back to the surface.

He’d nearly been frozen and stabbed for his efforts and the crew watched on as Yunho pinned Seonghwa to the deck, thick vines keeping him still as he screamed and thrashed.

Just behind him, Mingi stood back with an unconscious San in his arms. Wooyoung was at his side, eyes wide as tears rolled down his cheeks while Yeosang leaned over the taffrail, emptying the contents of the dinner he’d worked hard to make into the ocean. Jongho still lay unconscious under the broken planks of wood in the hold, sea water soaking his clothes and Whiro noticeably absent from his skin for once.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! HONGJOONG! HONGJOONG!” Seonghwa screamed, his voice raw and cracking as he thrashed in Yunho’s arms.

None of them had ever seen the level headed ex prince fall apart like this. He bore his teeth at him, trying to wrestle his way free, freezing parts of his body to try and get Yunho to let him go. The sight of the raven-haired immortal coming apart at the seams broke everyone’s heart and Geb gently whispered into Yunho’s ear so he could settle Seonghwa down the hard way.

They weren’t getting anywhere like this.

So Yunho sighed and created a small flower near Seonghwa’s head, tears slipping down his cheeks. Seonghwa looked up at him, eyes bloodshot from crying.

“H-Hong-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Small spores wafted out of the flower and slowly Seonghwa’s thrashing slowed down. He felt his body grow heavy as Yunho put his head in his lap, crying quietly as Seonghwa’s pitch black hair slowly went back to it’s natural blonde color.

“N...o...Hongjoong...putois…”

Yunho wished all that haunted him was the screams, and not the guilt of not being strong or fast enough to keep him from disappearing. That Hongjoong’s quivering, terrified voice didn’t knock around his head as much as the anguished howls of Seonghwa.

Unfortunately, that was all it was. Wishful thinking.

-x-

- I finally get what you've been saying

Now that we're knee deep side by side

The storm clouds are circling above us

As we struggle against the tide-

-x-

There are intricacies that come with warfare, the king knew these well.

Though, even he may admit that this was an... unfortunate miscalculation.

Getting to a point in Hongjoong’s mind where he was distracted enough for him to actually affect his powers was leagues more difficult than he’d ever let anyone know. For as much as he antagonized the pirate, the dragon inside would admit he had much more mental fortitude than he originally gave him credit for.

Stupid mortals and their useless sense of ‘love’.

Though, technically, he wasn’t a mortal anymore.

Whatever.

Regardless of what the little captain was classified as, the fight with the one called ‘Priscilla’ had left him in such a panic that the dragon was able to break through, tap into the core of their-no, his -powers, and snatch it from under him while he was fighting for everyone’s lives.

Disgusting.

He figured he’d distract the foolish captain long enough for him to kill him mentally and rid himself of the beast.

Oh, and sink that damned ship and rip it’s crew to pieces. For fun.

He’d never expected a curse to be placed on him because of his intervention. Not only did the she beast strip the captain of all of his knowledge of who he was and his crew, she had inadvertently banished the dragon to the farthest recesses of the captain’s mind.

As the king stood, he couldn’t see light in either direction.

He had to get back to the front so he could take control. He had to break out before the captain remembered and broke the curse. He could handle Pricilla later.

With a scoff, he turned into his dragon form and snorted.

A minor misstep. He could outsmart some stupid immortal wannabes and that grotesque bastard child.

Then, he’d create havoc.

For fun.

And revenge.

But mostly fun.

-x-

-I feel your grip firm on my shoulder,

But this fear in my head won’t subside,

They patiently circle around us,

As we hold out… -

-x-

“Do you see those men there? They hold your entire fate in their hands.”

Hongjoong panted, blood running into his eyes as his hair was pulled back roughly. On the other side of a clear glass bubble, he could see seven men in a room. There was a tall blonde man pacing. Every time his boot touched the floor, it would freeze before the ice melted.

There was a taller man holding onto two smaller men who were crying.

Something was said and the blonde turned suddenly, his body rigid. A buffer man stood between him and the group, reaching for something on his person. The blonde man crossed the room and took his hand, the tips of his fingers frosting around the man’s wrist as he glared at him, saying something.

Hongjoong couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying, nor did he care. He pivoted on his heel, elbowing the monstrous woman behind him in the face before he broke off into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he figured if he ran far enough, screamed loud enough-

Something hard slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He rolled, his clothing soaked by the water as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up, a rabid dog was staring him down.

He screamed in terror and backed away, eyes wide.

Who was she? Why was she doing this to him? Where even was he?

Fangs sunk into his thigh before he was dragged back towards the woman, kicking and screaming.

A dark smile came to her face.

“Get real comfortable, little pirate. With how your sorry crew looks, you’ll be stuck here with me forever and ever~ You’re here because of them, at the very least, you should know that they’re the reason you’re here.”

-x-

- Oh, father why have they forsaken me?

You warned me that they would,

The curse is passing down the bloodline,

Misspoken and misunderstood.-

-x-

“Seonghwa, all I’m saying is we can try it out-”

“We’re not calling that woman!”

Jongho pursed his lips, annoyed at the older immortal raising his voice at him, while Wooyoung flinched and whined behind him, sitting with Yeosang in Yunho’s arms as the two of them cried.

“What else are we going to do? How else do we start? We don’t even know what happened to Hongjoong fully or where that witch took him!” the Maori man snapped back.

Seonghwa paced like a caged animal, but eventually scoffed, admitting temporary defeat.

“Fine. Call her.” He hissed. Jongho eyed him for a moment before reaching for the feather dangling from his hip. Whiro curiously shifted along his skin, but Jongho focused on the feather, holding it out in front of him.

“Hyuna!”

Seonghwa and the others stood and waited.

And waited.

And waited….

And...waited….

“Why...isn't she coming?”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flared in anger before he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, look at that. She’s not coming . You wait around for her and we’ll never find Hongjoong. Right now, we can start by finding out who fucking stole that fucking staff.” He hissed.

The temperature in the room drastically lowered as ice cold grey eyes scanned over everyone in the group.

They lingered on some more than others.

“It wasn’t me. Don’t stare at me like that.” Mingi’s voice was hurt as he looked down at the floor. Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

“I didn’t say it was you.” He stiffly informed him.

“You didn’t have to. I was raised around Bella Rose, I know an accusatory look when I see it. It wasn’t me.” He muttered, his voice quieter. San noticed the clench of his fists and the tears welling up in the boatswain’s eyes and moved to place a hand on his back. Seonghwa clicked his tongue, keeping his eyes on the duo. Yeosang began to hiccup through his sobs in Yunho’s arms, so the man stood, catching Seonghwa’s attention.

“I don’t...think that should be our top priority. Not right now.”

“I disagree. One of you stole the staff, and Hongjoong is gone now. That seems pretty damn important. Which one of you did it?” He spat, malice dripping from his voice. Even Jongho flinched back, his brows pulled together. Whiro shifted along his skin and tutted before lifting upwards.

Jongho moved to reel him in, but he was met with more than the usual amount of resistance and Whiro’s voice in his head.

‘For once, trust me, kid.’

Jongho pursed his lips and let Whiro form into a mirror image of himself aside from the blonde hair, red eyes, and ta moko. He rolled his shoulders and looked at Seonghwa, who looked unimpressed and fed up before anything even left the fragmented god’s mouth.

“If you’re going to talk shit, save-”

“Nah, you’ve said enough the past few days. Shut up and listen for once, prince.”

Seonghwa snarled, but Whiro ignored him, keeping his thick arms crossed as he spoke. Even Jongho looked on curiously as Whiro continued.

“What exactly are you gonna do with that information? Hm? Hurt one of them? Kick them out? Is that what the old captain would have wanted?”

Seonghwa looked taken aback-and he wasn’t the only one.

Seven pairs of eyes watched Whiro in shock.

“Whoever stole it doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is whether you like it or not, you’re the captain now. From what I understand after Jongho and I got knocked the fuck out, you were told to protect this ship and it’s crew. Last time I checked, this temper tantrum you’re throwing isn’t protecting shit, not even yourself.”

“Am I not allowed my hurt? My anger? Hongjoong was...Hongjoong was my first love, he saved my life-”

Whiro rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m stuck here in this body for all of eternity and I feel what he feels,” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a shocked Jongho before he kept talking. “Get your shit together. Stop your sniveling, and start being the leader the shortstack knows you can be. The kid is strong. He may have lost this, but at one point, he had eight spirits inside of him and didn’t fall completely to ruin. Instead of doing the exact opposite of what he said to do and tear this crew apart, wipe your nose, wash your face for fuck’s sake, and go find the shortstack. He needs you, all of you. It’s been a week and we’re still in Greece. I’ll give you a day or so longer to get those tears out before I expect all fucking seven of you to quit bitchin’ and start searchin’. Do I make myself clear?”

Seonghwa blinked before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Gods, is it that bad that the literal God of Evil is trying to help?”

“Yes, actually.” Whiro responded without missing a beat, drawing an involuntary laugh out of some of them.

“I’m stuck to Jongho for all of eternity. I’d rather not to deal with all of these stupid ass gushy ass emotions normally, but since I have no choice now, I’d rather we pull ourselves together. Oh, and when I get my hands on that serpentine bitch, you can all step aside. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but turned to the group, sighing as he bowed himself down.

“I...I’m sorry.” There was more sitting on his tongue, but that was all he said for the time being, turning to leave. Once the sound of his boots on the wood retreated down the hall and out of earshot, everyone let out a relieved sigh, turning to look over at Whiro.

“Holy shit. You helped us.” San muttered.

Whiro cocked a brow.

“Helped you? Please. I’m just tired of the back and forth and even ol’ Jongie boy here is getting affected by all this more than I’d like, for us to share a body. I helped myself, nothing more.” It was a lie, and all of them knew that much, but no one called him on it. Before he disappeared into Jongho’s skin, however, he did have something else to add.

“Though, my words will only light the fire under his ass and distract him for so long. You all seem content not knowing who took it, and that’s strange to me, but whatever. I suggest you all find the pipsqueak captain before blondie starts getting in his own head again. I can’t assure you all I can step out of Jongho every time Seonghwa becomes overwhelmed with anguish. I put these emotions in the world, I know their power. You don’t want the ice prince coming after you because most of you won’t be able to stop the rage that kid has inside from this. So find him. And quit feelin’ so damn sorry for yourselves.” With that, Whiro settled back onto the skin of Jongho’s arms.

Everyone glanced at each other before standing to go to their own respective rooms except Yunho, since they had gathered in his room.

As one of them left, his shoulders slumped lower than the others, his heart thundering in his chest.

‘I’m sorry I took it...I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...I didn’t know it would be this way, please forgive me, I just-’

-x-

-We're losing light

And strength of will

The darkened depths beckoning still

And we hold on

Against the tide-

-x-

Dawn pursed his lips.

“The pirates called for you. Should we get going?”

Hyuna lifted her head from the tub of water she was mostly submerged in.

“Can’t. They’re in Greece. If I stepped foot in Greco-Roman territory again, Zeus would surely come down from Olympus himself to strike me down. He’s still bitter I didn’t just accept my role as the harbinger of evil to mankind and then die off like the toy he created me to be. Whatever the boys need me for, I’ll just apologize next time they call on me. I’m  sure it’s nothing. Besides, the last time they called me, I got my ass kicked. They’ll live if I just take a rain check this once.” Hyuna pouted from the tub before sinking back into the water, her inky hair making the water seem like it was pitch black.

Dawn watched her for a moment before humming and turning to sharpen his sickles.

Maybe she had a point.

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

When Lloyd answered the door that one cold night in January, he wasn’t expecting his son on the other side of the door. His lips parted in surprise.

“Jesus it's cold, Lloyd, why is the door op-YUNHO!”

Yunho laughed through his tears as Robin shot out from behind Lloyd, nearly knocking him down as he hugged him tight. His dreads, though graying, were much longer than the last time Yunho saw him, and he couldn’t help the big smile that crossed his face as the sound of thundering footsteps followed by excited screams pierced through the night air.

The smell of sapodilla and of Barbados lilies flooded his nose with the smell of cerasee clinging to Robin’s clothes.

Before he knew it, he was crying, relieved to see all four of his parents in good health.

Lloyd observed them with a small smile on his face, before he noticed the men standing just off behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lloyd, one of Yunho’s fathers. My partners will introduce themselves once they’re finished hugging the daylights out of our poor son...though...there seems to be more of you than last time, and I don’t see the captain…?”

Yunho tensed immediately, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his parents. Mei pulled away first, noticing the wobble of Yunho’s lip and Valeria cupped his cheeks.

“Ay, lad...what’s wrong baby?”

“I’m...I’m the captain now.” Seonghwa spoke, though he didn’t meet any of their eyes. Robin pulled away, as well, and Yunho sighed, rubbing his arm.

“I...I came home because we need some help.” He murmured.

All four of them exchanged a look before Lloyd stepped aside.

“Come inside from the cold, boys. Mei will brew some tea, and you can explain what happened.”

-20 years Later-

Mingi sat in silence as he sat in a cathedral. He had taken some time away from Yunho’s island to visit another, picking up a few books to read from a shop on curses and the like. Was it the most ideal place to be reading something like this? Most likely not, but he had to do what he needed to.

The crew had stayed near the Caribbean Islands, doing their absolute best to find somewhere, anywhere to start.

It was stifling, with tensions so high. Some members from the original crew had either moved on or passed away trying to help Seonghwa and the others locate Hongjoong, and the blonde captain had been adamant about not bringing new members in.

There...was no love lost between the seven of them, Mingi liked to think, but he’d be lying if he said Seonghha hadn’t put up a wall between all of them and himself. After Whiro put him in his place, he seemed to mask his true anguish and hurt, and they all could tell it was taking a toll on him, though he always put on and front when he was around them.

He was the leader. The captain. He had to keep himself together, lest they all fall apart. Hongjoong trusted him to do this much. To protect them. If that meant suppressing his own emotions for the betterment of the crew, so be it. It wasn’t like it was something he didn’t know how to do already.

He was raised as royalty, next up for the throne and title of a king. Kings couldn’t show any cowardice and weakness. Seonghwa could hide away his emotions well enough.

Though, that was a lie. They could all see it. The chips in his icy exterior. The tremble in his lips when he kissed them. The slight, barely there crack in his voice when he went to reassure them. Seonghwa was falling apart and masking it with layers of ice, but none of them had the heart to call him out.

Not when they were falling apart too.

An air of failure and guilt clung to them and no amount of sweet words from Yunho’s parents could hold it back for too long.

Speaking of parents...

Mingi’s fingers trembled on the page. Right. He had to return to the island soon. Lloyd had passed away of natural causes from his old age and they would be having a celebration of life for him tonight.

The four of them all but put a pause on their work to help out with locating Hongjoong, studying everything from mythology, to curses themselves.

For two decades, they tirelessly helped them, and Mingi was forever grateful. Honestly, it was all four of them that kept the boys from completely losing hope. From the Irish, foul-mouthed tongue lashings they (lovingly) got from Valeria, to Robin taking their mind off of it with teaching them capoeira, to Mei gently telling them Korean folktales over cups of tea when the stress was too high, and finally, old Lloyd teaching all of them the way of herbal medicine and always lending an ear when they needed to vent.

The four of them had all but become the in-laws to the group, and Mingi was forever grateful.

“You look troubled.”

Mingi jolted, closing his book as a nun walked up to him. Mingi scooted over as she sat beside him, placing her hands on her lap as she looked forward past the pews to stare at the beautiful organ at the forefront of the hall.

He subtly hid the book behind his thigh, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just needed somewhere quiet to read and-”

“You’ve been staring at that page for half an hour. Either that passage is really good, or you’re troubled.” She laughed lightly. Mingi stared at the side of her face. His brow furrowed.

Why did she seem so familiar…?

“Would you like someone to lend an ear? We have a confessional, or I could just listen.” She offered, kind brown eyes staring into his own. He lowered his gaze to his hands and sighed.

“I’m just...looking for someone close to me. They were taken away and I don’t know if I can find them or where to start.” he muttered. The nun tilted her head before crossing her feet at the ankle, sitting up straighter.

Mingi expected her to mention God, they were in a place of worship, after all.

“I think you should take time to clear your heart and your mind. You’re very troubled and you won’t be able to focus on your objective when you are so conflicted. Life...throws lots of hurdles at you. Take time to catch your breath and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You can be surprised how asking different people for advice will steer you in the right direction. Sometimes you need to take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Remember that, and I hope you find your friend.” She smiled and stood up, waving to Mingi as she turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She paused.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry if this is...a weird question, but what is your name, Sister?” He inquired. She blinked in surprise before sending him a kind name.

“Mine? My name is Sister Gracie.”

-x-

Seonghwa stood in front of a mirror, looking at his reflection. His jaw was clenched tight as he wiped his eyes. He had to pull himself together. Two decades and they haven’t found him yet.

He looked into his own grey eyes, his voice tense.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never give up on you. I’ll find you, mon petit putois.” he muttered, adjusting the buttons to his shirt.

What he couldn’t tell, in a plane beyond the one he was standing in, was Hongjoong was looking back at him.

Panicked fists slammed against the invisible aquatic wall that separated the two of them.

“Hey! Hey!! I’m screaming at you, please!” Hongjoong looked behind him, finding something slithering in the depths of water behind him. Bubbles erupted from his mouth as he screamed louder, his voice getting raw as he reached desperately for the vision of the blonde man. He pressed his palm to the man’s image, tears in his eyes.

“ Please! I’m screaming, I’m begging! Why, why can’t you hear me?! Help me!”

A thick tentacle wrapped around his waist, pulling him roughly. Hongjoong scrambled, pressing both hands to the barrier. A laugh echoed from behind him before he was snatched back, away from the image of the blonde man.

In the guest room, Seonghwa placed a palm on the cool mirror, eyes downcast.

“I’ll find you. No matter how far you are, Hongjoong.”

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

He can feel it. Every time he dies. Every time he’s reborn and has a different name.

~1668, the first death after the curse was placed on him, he’s  trampled by a horse.

1690, he can feel his throat closing after a fatal allergic reaction.

1712, an accident while trying to help create the first working steam engine.~

Hongjoong feels it all. It doesn’t help, the she-beast likes to toy with him. Sometimes she lets him roam free, in the vast expanse of...wherever he was trapped in. He had no concept of the passage of time anymore while he was in here. Everything felt...stalled and floaty. The woman told him he had been there for almost a century, in her clutches, but he paid it no mind.

That was absurd.

~1734, flash, then it’s gone with a lightning strike.

1756, huddled up for warmth, only to die by the morning from exposure getting lost in the mountains.

1778, blood loss from a carpenter accident. He was a careless man in this particular life.~

Sometimes she leaves him alone. For very long periods of time. He doesn’t know if he prefers that or not. On one hand, her torture was agonizing, between the way she’d wound him, leaving him on the brink of what surely should have been death, but unlike his selves on the outside, he couldn’t die in here.

No, he had to slowly power through the pain, slowly heal in this god forsaken place, and then she’d come back, and start all over.

He envied the other ‘hims’ on the outside. They got to live lives, all of which unfulfilling and mostly in poverty, but they still got to live them, and then they all died on November 7th, only for the piece of his soul to be cast away to another part of the world, into a newborn and reborn once again.

Then the cycle continued. He watched it all from this space. His lives, his deaths, over and over again.

The woman never called him anything other than cruel names and ‘Captain’, though he had no idea of what anymore.

Hell, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten his own name while trapped in here.

~1800, a casualty in the Quasi War.

1822, a fall from a moving locomotive.

1844, a fatal encounter with a wild boar.

1866, a mine shaft collapse.~

When he’s alone for decades at a time, he feels a bit of his sanity slip. Like he’ll never get out of this place. Like he’ll be here for all of eternity. Sometimes, he lays on his back, with his eyes closed for as long as he can, and waits.

Nothing ever happens, but sometimes it's easier to just...exist. Rest his eyes and his tired body. He hasn’t given up. Not yet, anyway, but sometimes it's better for him to just... be.

He’ll never admit to that woman that sometimes he looks forward to her arrival when she comes back from leaving him for so long, just because her presence grounds him into reality.

Or, rather, whatever hellish reality he’s found himself in at her hands.

At her hands, and as he looks out at the bubble she forces him to look at, finding those same seven men. Or, rather, two of them, this time.

They’re in Paris, the one with the dimples has an arm around the other one’s waist, muttering something into his ear. He nudges him before a tender smile comes to his lips and the two share a kiss before disappearing into a hotel room.

The brunette looked away, not sure why he was made to follow these people along though his time here. She always sneered in his ear that they were to blame, that they were the key to getting him out, that they were all happier without him and had forgotten him at this point.

She never showed him the seven of them tirelessly searching for him. He didn’t even know how hard they were working. She carefully picked out the rare moments they took time to themselves to catch their breaths and try and stabilize themselves, painting them as people who didn’t have any sense of urgency or care in the world.

The cook who made large meals with a big smile on his face. The inseparable duo, always attached at the hip, in each other’s space, bringing love and comfort to one another. The tall man with his nose in the books, glasses perched on his nose as he spent days engrossed in his books. The other tall one, filling out his notebooks with whatever hasty, nearly illegible sprawlings came to him as he sat amongst plants. The rugged one with the curious markings on his arms and legs that sometimes shifted and formed some dark being. Hongjoong would be surprised, but he had an aquatic beast breathing down his neck with tentacles for legs and rabid dog heads extending from her waist, so he would be lying if he said he was truly surprised.

The only one that never looked like he was relaxed was the blonde. Pricilla didn’t show him for long, but whenever he was in the background of those visions she’d hand picked for him, he looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. An air of guilt and anguish always settled underneath whatever expression he happened to have on his face, and it always made Hongjoong tilt his head and gave him a small flicker of hope.

~1888, a fall during the construction of a new building.

1910, a stage accident during the production of a play.

1932, burned alive saving a child from a fire.

1954, starvation.

1976, a hostage, taken out in an unsuccessful negotiation.~

He’s exhausted. He wonders if Pricilla is too. Doesn’t it get exhausting to do this to someone? Was what happened that led him to this point really that bad?

He watched his soul go into another body, sitting down and watching this one grow up. Quite the rebellious one, this version of himself. From his mullet, to the dark makeup around his eyes and the piercings littering his ears.

The trapped man watched him, grateful Pricilla had chosen to leave him alone for the time being.

He looked at a calendar on the wall behind the other him as he walked by one day, spotting the ‘1997’ on the wall.

Ah, only a year left until he’d die and another incarnation of him would come.

One day, as the other him is looking in the mirror, the trapped soul stands and stares at him. He knows he looks like hell, though he’s grateful Pricilla never showed him what he looked like. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t sure if these versions of ‘himself’ were really him, or if it was all just an elaborate lie.

“I’m right here. I’ve been right here. You’re lucky, living on the outside. You don’t even know I’m here, do you? You can’t see me, they never can.” He muttered bitterly.

The man on the other end paused the application of his makeup, his cut brow twitching.

“I can hear you. I liked it better when you were just some weird, fucked up version of myself in my dreams, though. I have enough on my plate without worrying about if I need to see a shrink for voices in my head.”

He froze.

“You can hear me?! You can hear me, really?!”

The other him narrowed his eyes.

“Jesus, you’re loud. Yes, I can hear you.”

He stared wide eyed at himself and for the first time in centuries, he had a flicker of hope. He wasn’t sure what changed, but for once, he got the fire in his whole body to get up and fight with his whole body once more.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“You still haven’t forgotten the pirate from Delphi?”

Grey-ish blue eyes opened slowly and looked up at a pair that were identical.

“I could have done something, Tem.”

A small hum came from her lips as she crossed her legs and stared at him. She reached over, smoothing down his blonde hair before she pulled him into a hug.

“Why do you cling onto that immortal? He was only with you for but so long.”

“He made an impression. The way he spoke of his family and his crew, it was honestly the most genuine and pure emotions I’ve seen in centuries, and still, I haven’t quite seen anything like it.” he muttered.

He was met with a small hum.

“So, centuries later, several incarnations of him later, and you still want to step in and help? Is it because of Hyacinthus?”

He pursed his lips, looking down at her collar, biting his lip.

“I-”

“He’s gone, Apollo. But I see this means a lot to you. Father and Uncle have their hands tied with their...ugh...escapades, so I doubt you’d find much resistance. I can...I can try and help you. I hate to see my brother like this.”

Blue eyes widened and he pulled back.

“Artemis-”

“I said I can try . You and I, there is only but so much that we can do. This may even require you to step out from Olympus, out from our domain, and into the domain of other deities. Some of them may not be too privy to actually help out. Our father hasn’t left the greatest of impressions on the other sky deities and they tend to run the show. But, I will try for you.” She kissed the top of his head and sat back.

“We should get started. We should look into this curse a bit more. If it was our...darling cousin that put the curse on the man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put in some hidden stipulations.”

He stood, eyes determined.

“Right, then. Let’s get to work.”

Artemis smiled and led him out of the room.

“Let's start by talking to the Fates. Maybe they can tell us where we can start.”

-x-

-We're slowly losing ground

And hope is harder to maintain

When all the prayers we've prayed

Feel lost like tears in the rain-

-x-

The king snarled, exhaustion pulling at his form.

Really, how fucking long had he been there? Was he even going in the right direction? Which way was up or down?

The heavens themselves wouldn’t save that damn beast of a woman when he got to the front of the pathetic pirate’s mind. He swore it on his own pride and honor, he would revel in breaking her in half.

Then those incompetent ass pirates. He was certain if they had gotten to the kid sooner and broke whatever curse was inflicted, he would’ve already been at the forefront of the captain’s mind once more.

Instead, he was here, swimming in the inky blackness of this idiot’s mind, unsure if he was even-

“-member me?”

He blinked, hearing an echo. His scaled head snapped up, pausing momentarily.

Was that…?

“I have dreams, yes. Of past ‘mes’, I guess. You’re really kind of persistent.”

“I’m sorry, I just...I need you to remember fully who you are, who we are. You’re the first one of me that can see and hear me. I think maybe...Maybe we can break the curse?”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

The king’s fangs glinted as he looked towards the sound of the voices.

“F i n a l l y.”

-x-

-The waters pulling down

The moon's eclipsing the sun

The ending that we knew would come

Has finally begun-

-x-

Joong wasn’t much.

He lived his life poor and disinterested in life. His only friend was a fortune-telling, self proclaimed sun witch, and his only real interest in life was his motorcycle.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The dreams that plagued him since he was a child, of past lives and their subsequent deaths, none of it interested him.

They, like this persistent voice in his head for the past year, harping on a ‘curse’ or whatever, were just an inconvenience. He hadn’t heard from the ‘other him’ in a while, so maybe it was just an illusion from staying up late too many nights or something.

Either way, all this talk of mythical creatures and curses was truly a bother.

“Ah, you’re here. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

He ducked under the beaded curtain of the fortune telling shop, sitting across from a gorgeous woman with feline eyes.

“I told you I’d come, Siyeon. It is your birthday.”

Siyeon smiled softly and reached for his hands, gently rubbing her thumbs along the back of them.

“Yeah, but you never let me read your cards.”

Joong shrugged a shoulder, running a hand through his sandy brown mullet.

“Yeah, well. Happy birthday, how do you want me to do this?” He inquired. She laughed and pulled out a beautiful deck of tarot cards.

“You can shuffle the cards. Pull three of them and place them in a triangle formation and flip them one by one for me, okay?” the witch seemed excited about him participating, so he sent her a small, kind smile. He didn’t quite believe in any of this, but Siyeon was someone incredibly important to him, so just this once, he would go along with it.

He shuffled the cards, humming a birthday song to Siyeon while he did so before he followed her instructions and plucked three of the cards from three different sections of the deck, placing them in front of him in the shape of a triangle.

“Okay, flip them.”

Joong nodded and flipped the cards one by one.

Siyeon’s smile immediately fell.

A Reversed Emperor, The Tower, and the Three of Swords.

“Well that doesn’t look pleasant.” Joong tried to tease, but Siyeon’s expression didn’t crack. She looked up at him, brows pinched together. Joong shifted in his chair, the chains attached to his leather pants jingling from the move.

“Well? You gonna tell me what my fortune is, Si?”

“Right...right. Um...First is the Reversed Emperor. This is normally a symbol of power and being the king of kings, of sorts but um...reversed, there seems to be a lot of turmoil within you. You don’t have as much control as you’d like to believe you do, and it’s left you with a fake sense of safety and security.” She stared at the card before looking towards the second one.

“The Tower...there is chaos brewing for you, Joong. Chaos and destruction, and soon, something will happen that will absolutely turn your whole world upside down. The last, the Three of Swords, means heartbreak of some form is coming. It can be interpreted as something to do with the relationships you have, but it also can be in reference to some kind of terrible pain and suffering.”

“Well, that sounds welcoming.” Joong hummed, shrugging a shoulder. Siyeon looked at him, her face conflicted.

“I-”

“Hey, it's alright. Maybe your cards just don’t like me today.” He teased. Siyeon opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t how it worked, but he put a hand over hers, sending her a disarming smile.

“Hey, it’s your birthday. Don’t worry so much about this stuff right now. I finally let you read my cards, so let’s go out to eat or something.” He offered. Siyeon resisted the urge to scold him and tell him to take what she had read more seriously, to caution himself, but instead, she only nodded and stood from her table.

“You’re taking me to the Latin place down the street, right?”

“Only the best for my best witch. See what I did there?”

“Because I’m a witch, hardy harr, let’s go nerd.”

-x-

“What do you mean there was a curse placed on him?! How long was it gonna take before you found me?!”

“We tried days after it happened! You didn’t respond!”

Hyuna paused, staring at Yeosang in surprise before she squinted.

“Wait...in Greece…?”

“Yes!”

“HE’S BEEN GONE FOR THAT-” a hand covered her mouth and she nearly bit San, eyes narrowing at him. He sent her a dirty look, wiping his hand off on his jeans before he looked at Dawn.

He was the calmer of the two of them, so they’d get answers from him.

“Hyuna can’t step foot in the Greco-Roman territories. Zeus would skin her alive. Since you all were in Greece when you called on her, she didn’t come for her own safety. And I imagine because of her not responding that time, none of you called on us again until right now?” the weasel spirit inquired.

Wooyoung, San, and Mingi shook their heads. The three of them had stuck together this time.

Somewhere at the turn of the 20th century, Seonghwa had suggested they start splitting up to try and find Hongjoong, since all seven of them looking in the same spot in such a vast and ever changing world was...impractical, at best. Downright idiotic at worst.

It made sense, but all of them knew that was the kindest way Seonghwa could tell them he couldn’t stand looking at some of them as much as he could anymore. They had begun to see the cracks once more. The barely concealed tick of his jaw when he thought no one was looking. The way he sometimes scanned their group when they were together, silently hoping whoever took it would come forward.

At the very least, he needed to know who did it. Whiro be damned.

Speaking of, he and Jongho had become exceptional trackers, which came as no surprise to the group. After all, Jongho had tracked down Hongjoong with the minimal information and tech that he had from before, so this was progressively getting easier.

He just needed to be faster. He’d found Hongjoong once, the last time, but by time he got to the city he felt Hongjoong was in, he could only stand by in wide-eyed shock as the sound of a gunshot rang out into the night.

He didn’t tell the others that part. He and Whiro would bear that one alone.

Regardless of their failures, they often grouped up on the 22nd year, to try to fruitlessly put together the pieces they needed to find him this time before his birthday passed and they inevitably lost their opportunity once more.

It was 1998 now. The 22nd year. He’s birthday was in a week and he’d die once more if they didn’t find him.

Hyuna frowned and looked at her box on her hip.

“I don’t have any spirits for searching, but I can find some. For...y’know, the next time.” She cringed. The boys did as well before hearing the door to the loft they were temporarily staying in open.

Seonghwa must have come home.

Hyuna gauged the looks on their faces and cringed.

“Right, then. I imagine this won’t be a good look for me to be here if that’s how all of you are looking at me. Dawn and I will go and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find a dog spirit suited for the job. I’m...I’m sorry.” She bowed her head down and the two of them disappeared as soon as the door opened.

Seonghwa stared at the trio for a moment before pointing behind him, his voice having lost nearly all of it’s usual sass and coyness.

“Come, I brought food.”

The three of them exchanged a look before trudging out of the room.

-x-

“Apollo, you really are impressive.”

Alistair, or rather, Apollo, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up from his spot on the floor before Hera, blood running down his temple as he tossed the head of some beast at her feet.

“Will you help me?”

“I haven’t seen you so determined to do anything since Hyacinthus’ death. And even Kaliopel is helping out-”

“I spoke with the Fates, I’ve spoken to Aunt Persephone and convinced Uncle Hades to offer up assistance in locating where the soul goes...even Nana Styx offered to pacify my father. I just need your help this once.”

Hera arched a perfectly curved brow.

“And if I say no?”

“I assure you, I can find someone else who will help me in my plight. This could be your chance to get rid of me, but if not-”

“I’m listening.”

Apollo exhaled, looking at the sun disk charm in his palm. He had retrieved it from the sea shortly after Hongjoong disappeared into the depths all those moons ago.

“I offer up half of my godhood for your assistance. All I ask is your assistance in distracting my father and for your aid in my wife and I finding him. It’s too late this time for us to intervene, but I think a soul toiling around in this cycle without the acceptance of the gods is already means enough for someone to step in. If he is out of our domain, I shall go to him. I just ask that you help me, this once. You’ll never see me again afterwards.”

Hera looked at him in genuine surprise.

“All this running, and it’s not for another consort?”

“No. It’s to break the curse no one authorized my cousin to make. Even Uncle Poisiden doesn’t seem to recall giving Scylla permission to do such a thing. It has caused conflict between him and Uncle Hades.”

Hera stared at him for a long while, looking at the offering he’d so graciously tossed at her feet. She tutted and stood, her sandaled feet being the only sound in the room as she descended the stairs to her throne. She plucked a peacock feather from her robe and pressed it to Apollo’s forehead.

“Get up off of your knees. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your words and determination have appealed to me. I shall take part of your godhood in exchange for my assistance, but it shall be restored in full if you can complete your task. I will only help you once. If he dies again, you’re on your own.” She warned him before humming.

“I’ll even see about getting you some extra assistance.”

Apollo perked.

“Extra?”

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be easy. We’ll see how determined you are. Go speak to Mnemosyne and her daughter Klio and refresh yourself with what you have missed. Then go.”

Apollo nodded and stood, a resolute look on his face.

“Thank you, Hera.”

“Tell anyone I was kind to you and I’ll find a way to kill you myself. Now go.”

Without another word, the Sun God turned on his heel and left, looking at the sun disk in his palm.

There was a lot of work to be done.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

It's finally begun

You're reaping what you've sown

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“JOONG! JOONG HOLD ON, PLEASE!”

The biker looked towards the sky, his body growing numb as he felt Siyeon’s hands shakily cup his face. Somewhere off to the side, his motorcycle lay in pieces.

So this was it? A car collision?

Ugh.

“Joong! Joong please!”

He knows Siyeon is yelling, but all he can hear is static. Above her head, he can see the sad reflection of himself, looking down at him.

Oh, so that’s where he was.

He stared at it for a long time before blinking slowly, letting out a terse laugh.

“Don’t have such a horrible look on your face. It’s only another life, right? You looked so hopeful. Find yourself again.”

Siyeon’s brows pinched together in confusion, but the other him’s eyes grew.

‘Find yourself again.’

In the depths of the eighth sea, between the planes of this world and the next, the captain grits his teeth and nods, swimming away from his dying form.

He couldn’t give up. It was a slow time coming, but he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her win. Hell, he had even made a breakthrough with himself, something he couldn’t fathom happening before.

He was close. He was close to doing... something .

The king was also getting closer.

‘Pricilla’ had chosen to leave him alone for the first few years of his next life, it was nothing extraordinary. He was an orphan, lonely just like he had been for all sixteen of his lives before this one.

Everything changed in 2008.

“Melody, look!”

He swam to the edge, peering out.

What is this? Someone noticed him in the orphanage?

No one ever noticed him before.

“Hey there, buddy. Do you wanna come home with us? You and your siblings?”

The child frowned and looked at his feet, a small beret hiding most of his hair.

“I don’t have siblings.”

The massive man sent him a smile, tucking his hair behind his ear and as the spirit watched on, he could see he had lots of tattoos.

“You do now. If you’d like to come with us, Hongjoong.” He offered. The ten year old blinked.

“My name..isn’t…”

“George is a bit boring, don’t you think? I like Hongjoong better. It means you’re the center of the whole world, y’know.”

Hongjoong looked up at him, then the woman standing behind him who sent him a gentle smile as three other children clung to her dress, staring at him in anticipation. They looked desperate to get out of the orphanage and have a family.

A happy family.

Hongjoong smiled shyly and walked up to the grey-ish blue eyed man, gently squeezing the little harbor seal plushie he kept with him at all times. He stepped in front of the man, shifting from foot to foot.

“You won’t...you won’t throw me away, will you, mister? Not me and my friend Angel, will you?” He inquired, hugging the seal tighter. The man shook his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hongjoong. Do you accept? Will you come with us?”

Hongjoong paused for only a second longer before he nodded, all but jumping into his arms with a wide smile.

The tall man’s arms closed around him and he smiled, picking him up before picking up one of the other children.

She stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes before smiling softly, her hair up in a ponytail.

“My name is Suzuka. I guess you’re my little brother now?”

Hongjoong nodded eagerly.

“Yes! My name is George-ah no...d-dad said my name is Hongjoong!”

The spirit of the captain watched on with tears in his eyes and disbelief.

Even he didn’t remember his name anymore, but somehow, when this man appeared, he felt a familiar sense of home and warmth when he uttered the name to the child.

The captain watched the child and his family (that word felt so new to him. Family. He hadn’t had a family in ages) grow together. He expected the worst. Expected the tattooed man and his wife to be demons. That had to be it, there was no way he’d have a happy life when the sixteen leading up to this point were so miserable.

They...never treated the four of them with anything other than the purest form of respect and love the captain can remember. He watched on, as the mother sang lullabies and told them stories before bed. As their father taught them how to play music, tattooed fingers working over a guitar, or the keys to a piano.

This...was honestly such a happy and energetic life.

He had friends and family. He smiled every day, got to perform on stages.

Hongjoong...was happy. For the first time in centuries, he was truly happy.

Years later, Pricilla returned, wrapping her limbs around him.

No, no, no, he couldn’t let it end. He couldn’t let the best version of himself die again.

So he turned and fought with all his might. He clawed and scratched and bit down on whatever he could.

No more, he was tired. He wanted to live, he just wanted to live!

“Captain! What’s gotten into you, hm? I haven’t seen such fight in your eyes in a while~”

He’d fight. Harder than ever before. He couldn’t let her win.

Hongjoong thrashes, slamming his fists against the wall. He can see himself, just beyond the water, blissfully unaware.

He’s laughing with his friends, celebrating new years as the calendar rolls over from 2019 to 2020. The captain feels his throat close slightly. This was the 22nd year. He was going to lose again, wasn’t he? He was going to lose his life again if the curse wouldn’t be broken.

Sometimes he screams at his own reflection, hoping somehow he can hear himself. The last one, the biker named Joong, heard his voice. So maybe if he could get through to this one…

He needs to know, he has to find out who he is.

“Hello!? Can you hear me?! Hello!” He screams out to the college student.

“Remember them, remember yourself!” He shouts. It's almost funny in a tragic way. He in spirit can’t even remember the names of the men that held his fate in his hands. The seven men from before. He needed them to help unlock his memories. They were the key as much as he was, he thinks.

Golden eyes watch him, impressed. A clawed hand snakes around his body and squeezes his face so hard it hurts. He glares at the woman, his lips curled up into a scowl. She tuts at him, shaking her head.

“You’ve been fighting for so long, Captain. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? They look close to calling it quits. How could they not? Centuries without their precious leader, their precious lover-” She spits the word out like a curse, but Hongjoong only pushes past her, swimming to the opposite side of the vast space. He can see the men, six instead of seven this time.

“You want to give up on him?!” Seonghwa snarled. Mingi’s nostrils flared in anger as he stood nearly chest to chest with the ex prince.

“I didn’t say that! I’m saying you need to slow the fuck down and breathe for a bit. None of us have gotten anywhere like this. We’re tearing ourselves apart like this!” He hissed. Seonghwa grit his teeth, ice frosting over his fingers as he glared at him.

“None of this would even be happening if-” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists. Mingi glared at him.

“If what? If someone didn’t steal the staff? You keep bringing it up, you keep looking at me different than the others. You still think it’s me!”

Seonghwa lowered his gaze, but didn’t deny the accusation. Mingi clenched his fists so hard it hurt, before he raised his voice.

“I didn’t do it! How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t steal it?! Even if I did, do you think I wouldn’t have come clean by now?!”

“I never said you did steal it!” Seonghwa barked.

“You didn’t have to!”

The two of them began to argue and Jongho stood, letting out a sigh.

“Fuck this, we’re going for a walk.” He grumbled, sliding on a leather jacket. Yeosang watched him in concern before standing to retreat into the kitchen, five fox tails swaying behind him as he began cooking. Yunho sighed and laid on the floor out of the way. He was too tired for this today. Geb rumbled in silent agreement while Wooyoung shook in San’s grip.

“Cheese, c’mon boy.” Jongho beckoned and a black and tan Jindo ran up to him, nuzzling his thigh and letting him put a harness on before he walked out, slamming the door with a bit of force behind him.

Whiro rumbled in his head.

“You got the cloth for the dog, right?”

“Never leave home without it.” Jongho held out a small cloth, dangling it under Cheese’s nose. The dog was given to them by Hyuna as a search dog for Hongjoong. He was still young, but with a bit more training, Jongho was sure he’d be a good supernatural sniffing dog.

At least, he hoped he could sniff Hongjoong out before November. They were running out of time.

Seonghwa and Mingi continued arguing and the captain screamed from beyond the invisible walls, pounding on the wall desperately.

“What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop arguing!! Please!!!! Find him! Find me!”  He screams, watching Seonghwa and Mingi argue. San and Wooyoung are holding each other, eyes downcast. Yeosang is busying himself in the kitchen, distracting himself from the argument. Yunho is curled up on the floor, an arm over his eyes as he keeps himself from intervening.

Hongjoong felt his heart sink, biting his lip as he watched the men. The hand comes back, fingers wrapping around his ankle as she pulls him down like she’d done time and time before.

Deeper, deeper into the eighth sea, the sea of time itself.

Deeper, deeper into the abyss.

Hongjoong reaches out at the wall, tears rolling out of his eyes and washing away with the salt water.

“Please, don’t give up on me.”

-x-

-This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders

This fear is getting harder to hide

You’ll leave me alone in this darkness

Left to hold out

Against the tide-

-x-

Jongho sighs as he bundles up. It was March, so the chill of winter still clung to the air in South Korea. Whiro stretched across his skin under his jacket, providing an extra layer of insulation that none of the locals could see.

Amazing how close the two of them had become.

Cheese tugged at the leash, barking once before pulling him forward. Jongho blinked before jolting in surprise at how persistent the dog was.

“Cheese, what the hell-”

Cheese ignored his protests and pulled the Maori man into a crowd of people. He was about to scold him when he heard a voice.

His heart stopped.

“People want it

People dream about it

It can be different to every individual

It can complete us

Or it can destroy us

And it can change the world

People call it 'treasure'”

Jongho’s lips parted in surprise as he watched a man walk forward on a stage, his hair a sandy brown color in a mullet. He held a microphone to his lips as a few other people and even some kids moved around behind him. It seemed to be a street performance of some kind.

Jongho had his eyes focused on the small brunette the whole time.

“The sound of wind blowing from the horizon

The warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves

The vibration of sand beating like the hearts of youth

We're at the starting point of this long journey”

“Holy fucking shit, kid.” Whiro’s voice snapped him back into focus as he tugged at his hand. “Get the phone, Jongho! Close your mouth and get the phone!”

Jongho shakily plucked his phone from his pocket and held it up, eyes wide as he recorded, nearly dropping it.

On the stage, the brunette dressed in modern clothing that was clearly supposed to resemble pirate attire, walked around the stage, smiling at some of the kids and some of the other five adults on stage.

“The freezing winds may make us shiver

The heat of the sun may make us thirsty

The vibrations of the sand may swallow us

But we'll never stop.”

The group grew closer to him, and Jongho watched a woman with feline features raise her microphone next, posing prettily.

“Gold~”

A man with piercings through his eyebrow and bottom lip put an arm on her shoulder, speaking into his own microphone.

“Eternal life~”

A blonde man with a distinct accent put an arm around the brunette’s shoulder, grinning at him before he winked at the crowd, sending them a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“Honor~”

A slightly shorter man with a deeper voice wiggled under the blonde’s arm and grabbed his mic, his accent matching his as he chimed out his own line in a deep baritone.

“Love~”

A person with pink hair with yellow and blue chalk highlights eagerly bounded up behind them, all but throwing themselves onto the brunette’s back in the center, their long legs stretching outward.

“Fame!”

The six of them laughed before the brunette in the center held his microphone up to his lips.

“It doesn't matter what you dream for,

So let me ask you

What.is.your.treasure?” he extended a hand out and for the first time in centuries, as the sound of people clapping around him echoed through his ears, tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Hong...joong…?”

“Will you join us?”

------------Taglist-

@kimnamshiks​ @angel0taiyo​ @atiny-dazzlinglight​ @phasephoenix​ @eversionic​ @itsatinyworld​ @prettyjoongs​ @unatempesta-dipensieri​ @lonely10vely​ @yunhosblackgf​ @not-majestic-bluenicorn​ @moonmin-miya​ @girlcarma​ @kpopthingzsblog​ @delphinium3000​ @just-a-starfruit​ @mireyth​ @skmoonchild​ @queen-of-himbos​ @allthestarsrcloser​ @sneaky-ash​ @im-what-iam​ @thereal-smolchild​ @arohatiny​ @smallfrye​ @atinyteez​ @takitaro​ @hunnibxbe​ 

[takeabitetoremember]

Stay With Me (Part 18)

Seeing Michael looking away, sensing the hesitation in his voice, Mallory instantly knows something is wrong. Her heart racing as she sits up, crawling over to Michael, taking his face in her hands, “Michael, look at me. Your nose was bleeding. You won’t look me in the eye. What’s wrong? Please, tell me. No matter what it is, we can work through it. I promise. I love you.” Knowing he doesn’t deserve her love and loyalty, and at this very moment, that’s all that’s really keeping him going. Taking a deep breath, looking into her eyes, he slowly begins to reply, “Mallory, no matter what I tell you, I need you to remain calm. I’m not leaving you, so please, do not panic.” Crawling in closer, laying her head against Michael’s chest, nuzzling in closely. Mallory knew if Michael was asking her to remain calm it must be bad, especially if he reassured her from the begining he wasn’t leaving her. Unable to reply, she simply nodded her head against his chest, clinging to him tightly. Sighing, trying to figure out how to explain everything to Mallory, when in all sincerity he wasn’t sure himself how everything had transpired. “Mallory”, he began, “there’s no easy way to tell you, let alone explain. I was making the final preparations for our departure to the Sanctuary, when I was”, stopping for a moment, looking over at the crack in the door, “interrupted by some unwelcomed guests.” Mallory’s head popping up from his chest, looking up at him wide-eyed. “Michael, who’s here?  Where did they come from? Did they come from the Sanctuary with bad news?” Placing her head back against his chest, running his fingers through her long hair, trying to soothe her, “No my love, it’s nothing like that. It’s, how shall I put it? My in-laws.” Her head popping up again, looking at Michael with confusion, fear, joy, angst, and everything in between. “Michael, do…. Do you mean my… My Aunt Myrtle?” Sighing as he caressed her cheek loving, “Yes my darling, your beloved Aunt Myrtle. And Cordelia. And that whore-witch, what’s her name?” Feeling as if she’s going to pass out, her head falls back to Michael’s chest, clinging to him, “My Aunt Myrtle, Cordelia, AND Madison?” “Madison, that’s it. I only remember her as the one who was desperate to get fucked, or fuck someone. No matter, that’s her. I told your Aunt and her merry band of witches that they couldn’t have you. I informed them that we would never be separated again, and that we were expecting”, taking a deep breath, pausing for a moment, “that’s when things got- delicate.” “Delicate?” looking up at Michael, thinking that perhaps her Aunt and sister witches weren’t happy about her pregnancy, but knowing that what they thought about it mattered not to her. As much as she loved these women, she loved Michael more- she always had. Right now, her baby and Michael were her main priorities. “Well, they gave me some information that I was taken back by”, kissing the top of Mallory’s head, holding her close. “I was angry at them for years for taking you away from me. I blamed them for Harper’s death, when they had no part in it. I actually owe my eternal gratitude to them.” Looking up again, feeling more puzzled than ever, “You feel grateful to them?” “Yes. Let me go back and explain. You knew from the beginning I never knew my birth mother. I didn’t know anything about her, no one ever discussed it. Cordelia and your Aunt Myrtle explained to me that you might be in danger. I was certain it was a trick to stop me from killing or banishing them. However, I sensed no deception in what they were telling me, so I allowed them to proceed. They went on to explain how they sent that traitor Behold and the whore to our home. Knowing they’d been in our house brought up rage I haven’t felt in years, until-“ closing his eyes, holding Mallory closer, “they explained to me how my birth mother died.” Sensing how upset this made Michael, Mallory, squeezed him tighter, trying to be reassuring. “Mallory”, looking down at her sorrowful, taking her beautiful face in his hands, “my birth mother died giving birth to me. She hemorrhaged to death after an exhausting labor”, for the first time in so many years, Mallory can see the hit of tears welling in Michael’s eyes, “I killed my mother, Mallory. I told you so many years ago I was a monster. I truly am.” Clinging to him, closing her eyes, “NO! No, Michael! You’re no monster. It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry about your birth mother, I mean that”, looking up into his eyes, taking his face in her hands, “Michael, it’s a horrible unfortunately truth about childbirth, sometimes women do die. It’s not the baby’s fault, and most of the time it’s not the mother’s fault- she didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people.” Turning his head, knowing it’s his damned father who has a hand in it all, but unable to bring himself to say the words aloud, “Mallory, when your Aunt Myrtle and Cordelia arrived at our home, the day you lost Harper, you were so close to death” pulling her in close, knowing he’ll never forgive himself for leaving her that fateful day. “Your fate was dangerously close to that of my mother’s.” Looking up at him, making the connection at last, “Michael, what… what does-“ cutting her off, “It means, your body knew you couldn’t carry Harper to term, only my” pausing for a moment, “my father had a hand in my mother’s death. Had it not for your Aunt Myrtle and Cordelia, he would’ve taken you from me forever. I’ve spent my entire life hating your aunt and Cordelia for taking you away from me, when all they were doing was trying to protect you.” “Michael, I. I don’t know what to say? This is a lot to take in.” “I told you it would be my love. Unfortunately, that’s not everything”, moving his hand down, caressing the small bump in her stomach softly, able to feel the strong heartbeat of his child. “Mallory, with our powers and lineage being what it is, our child will have a shorter gestation than that of other children. Our child will grow larger, quickly. Instead of the normal 36 to 40 weeks of pregnancy, you’ll do well to make it to 24 weeks”, Michael stated matter-of-factly. Looking up at Michael, nodding confused as to what’s so upsetting about this? As long as their baby is born healthy, she doesn’t mind how soon or late it arrives. “We have to monitor you extremely carefully, as the baby is depleting all of your energy. I had to perform a transference of energy earlier. Myrtle and Cordelia informed me that as your get further along, it will require all of us to give you energy. We are going to have to monitor your gestation very carefully. When our baby is strong and viable, Cordelia is going to remove the baby and placenta from you to prevent hemorrhaging once again.” Nodding in understanding, placing her small hand upon her belly, feeling so many emotions all at once. Unable to speak, closing her eyes as the tears began to fall like rain. “Oh Michael, I just want to give you a child-“ Stopping her before she can go on, tilting her chin up to look at him, “And you shall. Our child will grow strong, and you will be a wonderful mother, just like we always dreamt. I’ll never let anyone hurt you, or our children. I swear this to you, Mallory.

 Unable to stop herself from eavesdropping, Myrtle heard the entire heartfelt confession and proclamation to Mallory. Walking softly back to the fire, taking a seat next to Cordelia. “You know, I never thought I’d ever utter such words from my lips, I have to give the young man credit.” Cordelia looking over to Myrtle, shocked.

“I know. I know Delia. If I hadn’t heard him myself, I’d be unable to believe it. He told her everything. He, Michael Langdon, the prince of sin, himself, admitted he was wrong.” “Myrtle, were… were we wrong? I mean, I look around at the state of the world, and all he did, and I assure myself that we made the right decision taking Mallory away, but did we? Had we reunited them a few years later, would things have ended up this way? Would we have been able to steer him down a different path?” “Delia, you mustn’t dwell on such things. Right now, we need to focus on keeping Mallory and her baby safe. Michael’s father isn’t going to be pleased. Not only did he choose his beloved Mallory, one of the strongest witches to ever live, over him, he got her pregnant for not the first, but second time. His father will do whatever he can to take that child, and Mallory from Michael.”

 “I know, Myrtle- that’s what I fear the most, the retribution for all of this. If he takes her, again, it will be Michael, and Michael alone who would be able to perform Descensum to retrieve her. I fear for both of their safety if this were to happen.” Lighting a cigarette, taking a long, slow drawl, looking into the fire, “Delia, let’s not dwell upon that. What we need to do is regroup a plan to get out of this mess. I can’t bear staying in this dungeon one second longer than necessary.” Performing Tempus Infinituum was originally the plan. Mallory was going to reverse time and stop the Apocalypse. Now that she’s pregnant, Mallory will be much more hesitant if not outright opposed to going back in time and erasing the existence of her child, or children as it may be. She’s already lost one child, there’s no way she will give up Michael and their child once again. “Myrtle, if Mallory and Michael performed Tempus Infinituum together, before the baby is born, perhaps Mallory would be open to going back in time. In theory, if they were successful in reaching the time period they need, Michael can stop the Apocalypse, himself, and as a strong unit within the Coven, we would be able to protect Mallory and their child. As it stands right now, we’re all sitting ducks. Michael included.” Eavesdropping on the witches, being the highly clairvoyant Warlock that he is, Michael hears the plans being made. As much as he HATES admitting the witches could be right about anything, especially after everything they’ve done to him and Mallory, he realizes they have a point. They are ALL sitting ducks. In his haste to appease his father and Mrs. Mead, he was a dutiful son doing all that had been asked of him. Having it drilled into him since he was a teen that he was the chosen one, and he must fulfill the prophecy and create the new world. It was easy for Michael to be manipulated once Mallory was erased from his memory. Cordelia was correct in wondering if they made a mistake. They made a fatal mistake, but hindsight is 20/20. All of Michael’s grand plans and dedication to his father went out the window when he found his precious Mallory once again. He directly disobeyed his father by not killing all of the witches and committing the ultimate betrayal to his father: marrying the strongest witch to ever live and then getting her pregnant. For the second time. Not the first. The second.

 Holding Mallory close as she cries, feeling her petite hands clinging to him, feeling so helpless as to how to comfort her. He doesn’t know the words to say to take away the fear, because right now he knows he’d be lying if he said everything is going to be alright. Placing a soft kiss atop her head, leaning her chin back so he can look down into her eyes. He sees the utter despair. The fear of losing yet another child, the fear of losing him. He sees it all. What’s left of his heart is crushed at this moment. Unable to keep up his strong façade, a small stream of tears began to fall from the side of his eyes. “Mallory, my darling, I will give my life to protect you and our child. This I swear to you. No matter what, you will never have to live in fear. I will never allow anyone or anything to hurt you.” Reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes, caressing his cheek, “Michael, I love you more than anything. I couldn’t go on without you. You are the air I breathe. Together, we are one, always. Promise me, no matter what, you’ll never leave me.”

 Looking down into her sweet doe eyes, seeing hope and unconditional love in them just as he always did, “My love, I swear to you, I will never leave you”, pulling her in close, laying her head against his heart. Michael Langdon just made a promise he’s not sure he can keep, and it’s eating at him. Anyone but Mallory. He’d lie with the smoothest tongue to anyone but Mallory. She never deserved any evil to befall her. He has to find a way, even if it’s with the help of the witches.

[rantheon]

the bakarina anime is done! it’s just a drop in the ocean that is the otome isekai genre so these are some recs + what you need to know about them. i just listed most of my favs otherwise it’d be too long :p

in no particular order. includes some non-isekai ones too. needless to say most of these aren’t completed yet

my next life as a villainess: all routes lead to doom

using this to plug that there’s more bakarina content in the form of light novels, manga and 3 spin-offs

an observation record of my fiancee - a self-proclaimed villainess

told in the pov of prince cecil, whose fiancee bertia straight up tells him she’s a villainess of an otome game from her past life

if you ever wonder what jeord from bakarina might be thinking half the time, this is probably close. cecil is the same kind of prince who initially finds things bored and predictable until they met the mc

the things cecil would get up to for bertia? hoo boy

also the way the mangaka draws hair is addicting to look at

the villainess cecilia silvie doesn’t want to die so she decided to crossdress

the title speaks for itself~ after remembering an otome game she played in her past life, cecil (previously cecilia) is now the one capturing the hearts of the academy ladies instead

it’s fairly new so there’s not much of it yet :c but it’s pretty interesting

the original otome game had a whole rpg combat system going on and i’m hyped to see how it’s gonna lead the story

the Angelique vibes are strong in this one

the villainess wants to marry a commoner

isabella used to play an otome game in a past life, but she was really only interested in a side character named ursch. and then one day she finds him in her mansion garden

her past life self is such a mood - i too have 100% otome games in hopes of side characters getting hidden routes but alas

definitely deserves the ‘video game’ tag. isabella can see status screens and character stats/skills etc, and all the gacha rewards and grinding transferred over after her reincarnation. she’s the isekai female protag we’ve always wanted

seriously the main ship is too op for their own good aha

deathbound duke’s daughter

in a past life, erika only managed to finish 2.5/7 scenarios of an otome game thanks to an unlucky encounter with knife-kun. with the different flags of her impending doom approaching, she takes things into her own hands years before the game events start

very fantasy-oriented (the most on this list) and pretty action-packed, once you get past the game exposition in the first 3? chapters

the world building is brilliant, from the hafan mages to the aurelian alchemists, and there’s beasts and wands and spells and dnd stuff sprinkled in

the cast has quite interesting dynamics and interwoven plotlines, and they’re all dorky in their way :>

beware of the villainess

melissa remembers a novel from her past life and desperately tries to cut off contact with the male leads, but they still make her life hell & she rages

she’s just so done with everyone and you can’t help but relate to her

definitely the funniest on this list XD melissa and her reactions takes the cake but even the shit characters are hilarious in their own way

there’s also a lot of parodies to memes etc & best of all, there’s cussing. all the shits and fucks. a whole lot of it

it’s great

death is the only ending for the villainess

penelope wakes up as the villainess from a game she’d been playing in her past life, only right now it's on the hardest difficulty where death is literally everywhere. thus she tries, well, not dying

what’s cool about this is that penelope has access to the original game system. she can see menus, choice options etc. the male leads even have affection percentages floating above their heads :> which is always cool to see (and what i’m a sucker for)

but it’s definitely one of the darker ones on this list. iirc there’s depictions of violence, abuse, drugs and then some. just a fair warning

the daughter of albert house wishes for ruin

upon realizing that she’s the villainess from a past-life otome game, mary decides to stay as one. chaos ensues

i love this manga so much, everyone is so quirky and there’s something to laugh about on almost every page. the story almost feels self-aware of itself and just lets the characters do whatever. like ride bikes

addie is so cute ;o;

it’s definitely something everyone should experience

i’m a villainess daughter so i’m going to keep the last boss

one of the finished ones!

post-annulment, aileen pulls a Lisa Tepes and asks the demon king claude to marry her. he refuses. hijinks ensues

mostly on the fantasy side, as it builds on the world of the monsters

the cast is pretty fun! aileen’s smart, funny and pretty competent in her own right. plus she and claude are positively adorable together

milady just wants to relax

post-annulment, ronia decides to open a cafe in the countryside. it later becomes the frequent hangout of a beastmen mercenary group, who are intensely feared by the townsfolk

well... beastmen. that’s all you need to know /wink

okay, that aside, it’s just as chill as the title suggests. ronia slowly makes friends she can trust, and the beastmen find a second home in the only cafe that’s willing to accept them. it’s pretty wholesome

the banished villainess! living the leisurely life of a nun making revolutionary food

despite actively trying to change her ‘villainess from a past-life otome game’ fate since childhood, elizabeth gets annulled, her noble title stripped, and is sent to a church in a neighboring kingdom. she enjoys it more than expected, despite the appearance of the ever watchful leonid

there’s plenty of 21st-century food like sandwiches, cotton candy leonid’s muscles <3

the entire cast is lovable, and can chris get an f for all the heart attacks leonid keep giving him

seduce the villain’s father

yereninovica (or just yerenica) realizes that she’s in the world of a novel she read in her past life, but as the aunt of said novel’s mc. after thwarting a kidnapping that’s basically the mc’s origin story, she takes it upon herself to also prevent the tragic death of emperor belgoat

a bit different since it switches the roles around (side character x side character) and goes into the “parent generation” of the original work

there’s also an interesting bit where the world seems to recognize her as a hijacker, and where that takes her, we’ll see in due time :o:

plus the way yeni habitually calls him ‘father’ cracks me up every time

transferred to another world but i’m the savior of an otome game

after a ritual gone wrong, “yamada tarou” (fake name) is stuck in the world of an otome game. the only way back is with a magical ring, normally obtained after becoming the lover of one of the male leads. he of course says no i’m going adventuring but the game doesn’t like that

it’s absolutely hilarious - the leads treat our mc like a heroine, and there’s a lot of otome tropes that are called out on/parodied. like the seiyuus’ names oh my god

tarou’s reactions are great and his appraisal skill is the funniest thing alive

endo and kobayashi’s live commentary on the villainess

in modern japan, endo and kobayashi start their playthrough of an otome game, which becomes a bit glitchy and odd. they discover that siegward, a male lead in the game, can hear what they’re saying. they use this chance to finally give lisolette a happier ending

much of the story’s focus is on the characters slowly warming up to lisolette, and a bit on endo/kobayashi’s irl relationship. despite being the primary drive of the story, lisolette herself hardly moves the plot - if you know what i mean

regardless it’s undeniably adorable

tearmoon empire

no isekai, more of time travel? chronoskimming?

mia wakes up 10 years in the past after being sentenced to death. now afraid of guillotine-kun, she strives to solve the issues in her kingdom that had previously led to her doom

a bit similar to bakarina in terms of concept: avoid death flags, unknowingly recruits the people she meets into her little saintess cult. the misinterpretation is very strong, and in brilliantly funny ways

it has really fun narration ngl especially in the light novel

of course, i’ll claim palimony!

to prepare for her annulment, yulia starts scheming recording her fiance’s meetups with the heroine to use as evidence. if you’re gonna lose a suitor, might as well get some money out of it, right? along the way she gets involved with rudonik, one of the male leads

no reincarnation. rather than an otome game, the villainess story comes from a book written by a side character, and the “heroine” just decided to play it out in real life

the cast together is a riot, and it’s entertaining to watch yulia only think in profits and every connection she can make to achieve it

the villainess’ slow prison life began with her broken engagement

no isekai, just a plain old villainess

post-annulment, rachel is sentenced to imprisonment. which she enjoys and is thoroughly, hilariously prepared for

everyone’s a little afraid of rachel and for good reason. it’s better to find out yourself through the LN or manga, but let’s just say that even the king doesn’t want to deal with her XD

the holy grail of eris

now this one is interesting, putting the villainess trope into a mystery ghost story. that said, no isekai either

our innocent heroine constance attends a party and encounters scarlet, an executed villainess from ten years ago. a body possession and some public embarrassment later, they decide to team up to solve the mystery that might be behind scarlet’s death

i mean, ghost villainess? sign me up

+ some honorable mentions

i favor the villainess (the heroine goes for the villainess- girls? girls? yes)

a bellicose lady got reincarnated (a delinquent reincarnates as a heroine; what a concept :o unfortunately there’s not a lot of english content for it yet)

it seems i got reincarnated into a yandere otome game (i like that the mc actively makes it so that game can’t ever happen the way it should; plus, yanderes are always interesting to study)

inso’s law (modern isekai, and quite cute!)

the reincarnated young lady aims to be an adventurer / holy guardian tiger (similar to deathbound duke’s daughter in that there’s more of a focus on the fantasy aspect)

expecting to fall into ruin, i aim to become a blacksmith (so far the only one with a shounen tag that i like; its main charm is probably the cast and their interactions with each other eliza best girl)

since i’ve reincarnated as the villainess’ father i’ll shower my wife and daughter with love (big big wholesome vibes)

level 99 villainous daughter (severely op lady who takes no shit from the people looking down at her, and regularly thinks about blowing up the academy within the first 4 chapters? hell yeah)

may i please just ask one last thing? (post-annulment, the mc literally punches everyone in the room; it’s great)

this is getting long now oops

edit: i also made a visual-friendly personally-tagged-by-me bookshelf here!

[xomarauders]

okay i’m posting it now cuz i can’t wait :) enjoy!

—

“I can’t remember how you take your tea.”

Remus looked up, the book in his hands falling to his lap as he saw Sirius standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. His eyes were cast downward, and his shoulders were hunched inward, looking like a child who was waiting to be scolded by their mother. His bottom lip was tucked neatly between his teeth and Remus fought the urge to stand up and kiss it better. Sirius’ eyes were sort of glossed over and there was a melancholic look on his face mixed with pure agitation and confusion.  

Azkaban had taken a lot of things from Sirius; Remus knew that. The dementors were vicious creatures who toyed with the happy memories of their victims and twisted them into faux nightmares. Sirius had spent twelve years with them and when he finally escaped, the man who came out was not the same as the man Remus once knew.

There were still instances of the old Sirius that Remus’ heart would melt for whenever they happened to appear. Like the crunch of his nose whenever he was thinking intently and the way he bounced on his toes whenever he got excited. The way his eyes lit up when Remus read to him and the barking laugh that was rare to hear these days. Little things like that made it bearable for Remus to withstand the screaming he woke up to every night and the blank expression that resided on Sirius’ face most of the time. It was heartbreaking to see, but Remus would bear it in the hope that one day, the Sirius he loved would fully return to him.

“That’s okay, Sirius.” Remus said calmly even as his heart sank deeper into his stomach. How many other details had the dementors made foreign to the man in front of him? “Just a splash of milk. No sugar.”

Sirius let out a disgruntled sigh and his eyebrows furrowed more. His bony fists clenched at his side as he became frustrated with himself and Remus thought for a brief moment that the frail bones may break under the pressure. Apparently, Sirius’ impatience was still intact.

“Okay.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Remus alone with his book once more. He couldn’t be bothered to focus on reading now, though, and set the novel down on the small coffee table before him. The sound of dishes clinking softly together came from the kitchen where Sirius was attempting to make the tea and Remus wondered if he should go in to help or stay put. It was always like that now. The decision making that should have been simple but seemed near impossible now because of the circumstance. Remus knew what he would have done fourteen years ago but things had changed—they had changed—and Remus was walking on pins and needles, waiting for the inevitable breakdown to come.

“Here you go.” Sirius’ voice brought Remus out of his mind and he reached forward to take the tea from Sirius’ outstretched hand. He took a sip, feeling Sirius’ gaze on him and his heart broke a little bit more as the taste of sugar filled his mouth, but it might as well have been salt because of the bitter flavor it left.

“Is it right?”

Remus looked up to the hesitant eyes of the man he loved and the hopeful gleam that was hidden behind them and smiled the best he could. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

 * * *

“I can’t remember the lyrics.”

Remus had come home from the market to see his records scattered across the bedroom floor with Sirius sitting in the middle of them, head in his hands and tears streaming down his face. The record that was actually playing was instantly recognizable to Remus as Billy Joel’s “Turnstiles” and the track was “James,” making the whole scene that much more painful to bear witness to.

It would have been so much easier if James were here, Remus thought. James always knew how to handle the worst sides of Sirius, the two of them always having some sort of connection others couldn’t even comprehend and it jarred Remus not for the first time in his life that he ever believed Sirius could betray James Potter. How the war had twisted them, broken them down into fragments of distrust and paranoia.

“That’s okay, Sirius.” Remus said because what else could he say? What comfort could he possibly offer the broken man before him when he was partially to blame for it all? Remus had left him to rot in Azkaban just like everybody else did. He should have known better. He did know better.

“I miss him. I miss them both.”

Remus just nodded. There was nothing he could say that would banish the pain and anguish Sirius felt over losing James and Lily. He himself had yet to figure out how others dealt with such grief, how they woke up every morning claiming to feel better. All Remus felt was worse, with each passing day acting as a reminder that James and Lily Potter were gone from the Earth, taken in such a cruel and devastating way. The world had celebrated—the Dark Lord was gone! Let the light thrive! —but Remus had felt nothing but despair, a hole forever left in his heart. How could there be light with the two of them gone? They should have lived. Over him, Sirius, Peter and everybody else who had somehow survived that first war, it should have been James and Lily who made it out alive. But it wasn’t. Because fate or destiny or prophecy or whatever the fuck it was had made up its mind.

So, Remus sat down on the floor next to Sirius, and they cried for their fallen friends.

* * *

“I can’t remember how she died.”

Remus cringed, closing his eyes and willing himself to keep it together. They were standing there, he and Sirius, in front of the smallest headstone in the cemetery—it was all Remus could afford—looking down at the name scrawled across it.

                          Hope Howell Lupin

                                1938 – 1979

She was only forty-one when the cancer had finally consumed her. It was almost ironic that Hope had survived the early stages of the war and all the attacks against muggles but was defeated by some chronic disease that had no cure—magic or otherwise. It pained Remus to sit there and do nothing as he watched her wallow away to nothing those last few months. She had grown thin and frail that Remus had taken to carrying her around like a small child everywhere she went. A part of him was glad that Sirius couldn’t remember. It was hard on the both of them. Sirius had adored Hope and she adored him in return. He was so starved for motherly affection and she was so happy that Remus had someone who loved him that the two of them became fast friends. The day she died, Sirius cursed every star in the sky for taking away such a woman. He screamed about how unfair life was that it had taken her away, that he would die ten times over just to have her back. At the time, all Remus could do was watch Sirius yell into the night as he tried to understand his own feelings. He was never truly able to.

“It was a brain tumor.” Remus said and he hated how his voice cracked. “Cancer. Terrible.”

Sirius nodded minutely and they were quiet once more. After everything happened—with James and Lily’s deaths, Peter being assumed dead as well, and Sirius being locked away—Remus thought his life was an embodiment of irony. He had lost everyone that was important to him in a matter of two years when in all reality, he should’ve been first to leave them all. The wolf inside of him was bound to kill him one day, and Remus was okay with that. He never thought he’d have to be the one grieving.

He would have rather taken the former option.

The feeling of Sirius’ cool fingers intertwining between his own pulled Remus from his thoughts and he turned to the man beside him. Sirius smiled, albeit a bit brokenly, and gave Remus’ palm a squeeze. All the walls Remus seemed to have put up broke down in that moment and he fell to his knees, pulling Sirius down with him. It was as if all the emotions he had been holding in for the past sixteen years came flooding to the surface, making him crumble.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Sirius whispered, delicate fingers running over Remus’ scalp.

“I’m sorry,” Remus stuttered, because he was. God, was he sorry.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It would never be fine. But Remus nodded anyway.

* * *

“I can’t remember our last kiss.”

Remus almost missed the quiet admittance of Sirius’ latest lost thought. Usually he sounded frustrated or sad whenever he talked to Remus about the things he couldn’t remember but now he almost sounded ashamed for forgetting such a thing. They were sitting on the back porch because Sirius was feeling too claustrophobic to be inside at the moment, gazing up at the night sky. Remus’ eyes would always find the moon while Sirius’ tended to linger on Regulus. Neither of them mentioned it, though.

“It was August. 1981. The 31st, I believe.” Remus said. He remembered it perfectly, the way it down poured that night, as if the universe knew what was about to come. “It was our last night together before Dumbledore sent me off…off with the werewolves.”

He took a breath to compose himself. It was the last good night before everything went to hell. The last good night the two of them had together before suspicion and paranoia drove them apart. Remus often wished he could go back to that night.

“We made love. You had left the window open and so the rain came in and chilled our skin, but we didn’t care. I just kept kissing you and you kept saying my name, like some sort of mantra or prayer. And afterwards we just laid there, arms wrapped around each other and legs intertwined. I didn’t want to let you go. I really didn’t. I wanted to…to run away with you that night. Just run away from it all. But I knew that we couldn’t. So, I just kept kissing you. Trying to memorize the way your lips felt on mine just...just in case.”

The silence between them seemed to stretch on for ages after Remus finished speaking. It was a lot to say, a lot of emotions to unpack. Remus was never good at talking about his emotions, but Sirius deserved this. He deserved to remember how much they meant to one another, no matter how much it hurt now.

“Remus?”

“Yes, Sirius?”

“I…will you kiss me?”

He finally turned to Sirius, who was looking at him sadly, silent tears streaming down his face. The moonlight illuminated his pale skin, offering an almost celestial glow on his broken appearance. Silver eyes that had long since turned to ash stared at Remus with such longing sorrow and the werewolf felt his heart break. Even though he was damaged, possibly beyond repair, he was still the most beautiful thing Remus had ever seen.

Remus nodded minutely and leaned forward, pressing his lips gently against Sirius’. It was soft at first, hesitant, but then Sirius surged forward, hands reaching up to cling onto the back of Remus’ neck and pulling him forward. Remus brought his own hands up to curl in long locks of dark hair that crowded Sirius’ face, urgent and desperate, holding on like he would be taken away from him again at any moment. He wouldn’t let it happen. This was everything, Sirius was everything.

They were together again. Despite the odds, despite fate, they had somehow found their way back to one another. And Remus was not going to let go.

They broke apart, hands still holding one another close, gasping for the same air and looking at each other like they used to, back when all that mattered was their love.

“Was that like how you remember?”

“Yes,” Remus gasped, and he smiled genuinely for the first time in years, “Exactly how I remember.”

[thoschei-rights]

Season 12 but The Master kept pretending to be O??

Basically self-indulgent Thoschei with a twist.

lots of typos bc?? i aint got time to go correct stuff yet? I will later?? 

So Spyfall is resolved, The Kasaavin are banished back to their realm and the Fam and Doctor are clueless as to the true mastermind, Barton taking the fall while the Master continues to pose ad O, having decided he’s enjoying the game of tricking her too much.

Perhaps among their texts they’ve grown close, or perhaps the brief time together in the outback led to events?? ;) But either way, he changes his mind mid plan and continues to act human.

Since he never leaves the message or has the confrontation in Paris, the doctor remains unaware of Gallifrey’s destruction. The fam wait off on asking their questions since she isn’t off with them.

Orphan 55 happens, and while the fam go do their shit, O stays with the Doctor bc admit it, she was like oh ;-; when everyone went to explore. My poor baby. So they hang out together before everything goes to shit, how cute?? Things get resolved, but with the revelation of one of earth’s potential fates, and the potential that the doctor lied about knowing, the fam decide to ask to know more about her. She shares what she believes its true at the time, being born on gallifrey and being a timelord, O looms in the background looking awkward bc he knows none of that is true and he feels horrible keeping the truth from her, it makes him as bad as the rest of the time lords- but he is selfish and he doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing, he’s started to really enjoy her company, its everything he’s ever wanted, every star.

And then it’s ruined when Yaz asks to see her own planet. Blissfully unaware of its destruction, she takes them, and so they’re right there with her when she sees, opens the doors to the rubble, the dying flames- and oh god. The fam are horrified, she’s horrified, O has to fake it, while being utterly glad those nasties are dead- maybe he gets to sneakily comfort hug her??? like she’s trying not to tear up even after that whole shit show of the confession dial, it was her home??so yeah he’s like hugging her but he’s so angry bc they dont deserve her tears?? 

The doctor is off after that, and the fam know why, and none of their words of comfort do much, because sure they’ve just witnessed the death of earth too but that is just one timeline, can be completely avoided, while gallifrey is gone forever, and she believes she’s once more the last of her kind. it hurts.

they visit tesla all the same, and when that big ass scorpion looking alien (bc im sorry i didnt like the episode and i’ve forgotten her name so....) mentions dead planets, she can feel the fam stiffen, as though the doctor is gonna blow at any minute, but she keeps calm, tries to bury the rage, but O can tell, can tell by the way her arms shake, hands clenched into fists in her pockets- and it hurts him to see her like this- the longer he spends around her, pretending to be someone he’s not, he’s just realizing more and more what a dumbass he is and that he’s still as in love with her now than he was all those years ago in the academy- none of the truth will change that-

and then boom the shit show with the judoon occurs and suddenly O is confused af because that Lee guy could ONLY have been him. Who else on gallifrey was stupid enough to hide out with the doctor, marry them and die for them?? him because he’s a dumbass? but he’s a dumbass who definitely doesnt remember this memories?? which theoretically in the doctors timeline should have been sometime after the division? or during? he’s not sure? but to his knowledge he shouldn’t have been alive at this stage? and now he’s not sure what the fuck HIS own life is too? did they take his memories from him too? has he lost part of his life? suddenly the truth doesnt seem as known as he thought- so while the doctor is reeling from the information of Ruth being her somehow? O is having his own mental crisis because what the fuck did they do to him too? what is he missing?? 

praxeus continues as similar as it did originally, O is only the tiniest impressed at Yaz, ever since Spyfall he’d sensed she was the human with the most potential to not be utterly worthless so he’s glad at least one of the doctors latest pets seems to have some initiative?? but yeah i dont wanna change much about praxeus? its not important- except the doctor saying she’s a romantic and the master wants that? wait what- he’s conflicted about his own thoughts? he wanted to break her, destroy her with the truth? but he also just wants to wrap her in his arms? make everything as okay as he can? what the fuck is even happening with him? jsut your usual ‘im a mess’ vibes lmao

when can you hear me? rolls around, it happens in a similar way, i dont wanna get to into it because i dont wanna think too much...the episode was weird, it was just weird-- i cant?? although maybe bc that zellin and the lady whose name i forgot...but they were immortal right?? maybe their species is the doctors species?? huh? huh? think about that- but don’t think too hard bc i hate that theory and i’m gonna pretend i never had that thought- lets just ignore can you hear me even though the end made me cry for yaz bc lol relatable sis, relatable. do whatever you want for this bit fam, idc.

Anyyyyyway. the bit I’m waiting for... Villa Diodati ;) O is ready to smack Byron round the face, fingers itching towards the tce everytime he tries to flirt with the doctor. the lone cyberman appears and wopdie doo earth is going to be destroyed and the doctor is about to do something stupid, thinking there is no other way? the master is like um lol change of plans i dont want the cybermen to win, look how in pain my baby theta is?? i gotta help?? oof? and idk, his patience is like nope all gone? and he whips out his TCE on the lone cyberman and boom. crisis averted? except now the doctor is looking at him in horror and shock and- she realizes who he is then and there, and normally he’d made a big drama out of his, throw in some words, a speech about how easy it was to deceive her, how he destroyed gallifrey- about how he was under her nose this whole time- but he doesn’t, instead he meets her gaze and can barely manage to whisper an “im sorry” and wow shit i wasn’t gonna write that version, i was gonna have feral confrontation but now im stanning a sad master who just needs a hug and some therapy because nothing makes sense, he thought he had everything figured out but he doesnt and he just wANTS HIS FRIEND BACK uiferkghlujkfaghjfkgladhfajkg; i m fine 

i dont know what i wanna do after this point? it could go a lot of different ways?? but thoschei rights bitches. could go angst confrontation and then she abandons him in whatever century that was set bc wow i studied frankenstein in school but i couldnt tell you what century the author is from bc im dumb? 18th? maybe idk that seems likely? or 19th? but anyway yeah or maybe she’s just relieved someone else is alive? or is she shouting for answers or?? i dunno.... but woop ??? 

wow this turned into a big mess but hopefully you can kinda see where i wanna head with things? after this he’d probably show her the truth? i dunno how that’d go down, but he’d be there with her?? But anyway, this idea is free for anyone to write, but holla us a link and I'll give yall a free promo at the end of this post!!

Versions of this that yall Lovelies have blessed us with:

[firelxdykatara]

Why do you think Zuko was out of character when he hired Sparky Sparky Boom Man ? And by the way am I the only who doesn't' have a problem with Zuko's characterization in the first half of book 3 ? I see a lot of people saying that they turned him into a bad boy or he was ooc but wasn't that the point ? Zuko was trying to be someone he wasn't. I don't know maybe i am not seeing something.

Mmmmm ok there are two different things here, and I’ll start by addressing the second: Zuko’s behavior in the first half of book 3.

To that, I will say that I actually don’t have a problem--overall--with his characterization there, because it made sense. As you said, Zuko was trying to force himself to fit into a space he no longer belonged. He was trying to be the Crown Prince his father wanted, he was the prodigal son returneth home triumphant after his defeat of the dastardly Avatar. He had everything he wanted--his honor, his father’s approval (but not, as he would come to realize, his father’s love), even a nice noble girlfriend of whom his father and the nobility at large would approve.

And it was only after he had everything he’d been searching for since his banishment, that he realized he actually had none of it. His honor wasn’t something he could get back from someone else, his father’s approval was conditional on the lie Azula had told him, his girlfriend didn’t understand him (largely because of the changes he’d undergone while banished and later exiled) and probably never would and their relationship was based on nothing but superficial attraction and his sister’s machinations. Nevermind his father’s love, which he never should have had to earn in the first place.

So of course Zuko was angry and emotionally volatile, prone to explosions of anger and frustration because he had no outlet for his pain, no means of conceptualizing why he was so desperately unhappy despite the fact that he finally had everything he’d ever wanted (or so he thought). It wasn’t until he finally had his own self-realization--and came to accept that his father, and his nation, was wrong, to maim a thirteen-year-old boy and to wage a war that brought nothing but pain and destruction to the people of the world--that he was able to look his father in the face and say ‘you were cruel, you harmed me and I did not deserve it, I’m leaving to help the Avatar and you can’t stop me, you have no power over me’, and leave.

(Notably, while he’s still somewhat emotionally volatile with the gaang, he’s considerably happier and healthier with them, because he’s no longer trying to force himself to fit back into a society he had outgrown. Once he becomes the Fire Lord it is within his power to change that society, but while he’s with the gaang he settles for learning the true meaning of fire and helping his new friends save the world.)

However, let me circle back around to one particular point: Combustion Man, and why I think hiring him was very OOC for Zuko, even as he was in the first half of book 3.

Because here’s the thing: the core of Zuko’s character has always been compassion and empathy. That is what got him scarred for life by his own father--it was compassion for his people and empathy for their lives that lead him to speak out during that fateful war meeting, staring down men more than twice his age and demanding they treat their own people better.

Ozai tried to burn away Zuko’s compassion, but, and here’s the critical bit, it didn’t. fucking. work. Because you see Zuko making the compassionate choice, again and again, even in book 1. He cares more about his uncle’s safety than the mission he’s been on for three years, and that is shown in episode seven of book one--so, almost from the beginning, we see that there is something more important to him than capturing the Avatar, and that’s his Uncle. But we also see that Zuko is never fighting to kill, or even maim. Suki’s village burning is an unfortunate side effect of a firebending, well, bending fire around a bunch of flammable buildings, but Zuko is not given to wanton cruelty or destruction for destruction’s sake--he doesn’t stick around to hurt the people who were harboring the avatar any of the times he catches up to the gaang and finds them surrounded by people willing to protect them.

Which, yes, you can absolutely quote katara and talk about the not as big of a jerk as you could have been award, but it’s still important to Zuko’s overall arc and the fact that Zuko is not the primary villain, even in book 1. Because Zhao is right there, being a primo bastard, to the point where Zuko even saves Aang from his clutches--and, sure, you could say that was just because he didn’t what Zhao to be the one who takes the Avatar back, but at the end of it all he didn’t give chase when Aang ran, letting him go and instead returning to his ship.

Then, of course, at the end of book 1, what do we see? Zuko, attempting to save Zhao’s life. This was a man he hated, a man who’d tried to kill him multiple times, a man who was competing with him to try and take the Avatar (and was far more cruel and excessive about his methods), but Zuko still reached out a hand to save him when La snatched him up. He tried to save the life of a man he hated and had no reason to want alive, because he’s a compassionate person and he didn’t want to see even a man he hated die like that. Zhao rejected his hand and ultimately sealed his own fate, but Zuko still tried. And then, of course, he spent book 2 on something of a roller coaster, emotionally and mentally, but he was still compassionate at his core, despite attempts to obfuscate it. He stole Song’s ostrich horse, but he helped Lee and his family, and didn’t lash out when his identity was discovered and he was ultimately rejected. He had such a crisis of conscience when he saved appa that he got sick, something that has been memed to death (especially lately), but it wasn’t because he did one (1) nice thing--because we’ve seen him make compassionate choices already--it was because he did a good thing that also jeopardized his one last chance and getting what he wanted (ie capturing the Avatar and returning home).

Now, obviously, he made the wrong choice at the end of Book 2, despite that experience--because when he freed Appa, getting what he wanted was still a somewhat distant prospect, but Azula was right there holding it out to him on a silver platter. Of course he couldn’t reject it! Even when that meant turning on his Uncle, even when that meant ultimately throwing Katara’s compassion in her face, he had the chance right then and there to just go home, and he needed to take it. (Not only because of his need for closure, but because narratively, he story would’ve felt rushed and incomplete if he didn’t get that chance to go home, have everything he wanted... and realize he didn’t actually want it at all anymore, let alone need it. Having said that, I love a good ‘Zuko joined the gaang at the end of book 2′ fic as much as the next Zuko fan. I just don’t think it would have worked as well in canon [although I still think he should’ve joined the gaang sooner, but that’s a whole other rant].)

What does all of this have to do with Zuko hiring Sparky Sparky Boom Man? It’s simple: I do not believe for one second that Zuko did not feel an immense surge of relief at the thought that Aang might have survived.

Now, obviously, this would have been followed by a surge of terror--because if Aang was alive, and his father found out, then what the fuck would happen to him???--which is why I think it would’ve made much more sense for Zuko to hire a tracker. Or, at least, someone he thought was a tracker. Azula slipping him a name of someone she knows to actually be an assassin, perhaps? Just to pile that guilt on Zuko’s shoulders should he be successful, or simply hedging her bets??? Who knows. But something other than Zuko knowingly hiring an assassin to track down and murder a child. (And all of his friends lmfao since Zuko would know they wouldn’t just let the dude kill him.) Especially when Zuko had never tried to kill anyone, even when he had the chance, in the entire show to that point.

Anyway, yeah, that’s why I think that Zuko’s behavior in the first half of book 3 made sense, and that him hiring an assassin was super ooc and I don’t vibe with it.

[foxofthedesert]

RedQueen & Mythology Part 2

Hey, @loudestdork​, guess what?  Here I am again, this time at 4 am, because your fucking glorious manip has me obsessing over this brilliant little universe where Regina and Ruby are Hades and Persephone.  I don’t know whether I should love you or hate you for fueling this hopeless addiction.   

While I decide about that, you can read the latest installment.  I can’t promise any more but holy shit there are so many ideas to play with.  Hope you enjoy it you absolutely magnificent enabler! 

Also, please forgive the song insert at the end.  It has long been an earworm and this was the perfect ficlet, IMHO anyway, to use it in.  The song is “Listen To The Wind” by James Horner (one of my most favorite film composers and I was utterly devastated when he passed) for the Terrence Malick film The New World.  The whole score is incredible, but this one in addition to “An Apparition in the Fields...” are the standouts for me.  I’ll post the URL to the referenced song after the ficlet.  Give it a listen if you are a James Horner fan or a connoisseur of film scores in general.  

“Would you please stop?  Your needless fretting is tying my stomach into knots.”

Clutching the sheets to her bare chest, Ruby observes her spouse’s restless pacing as anxiety crawls up her spine.  She hates this time of year – a twist of fate she could never have predicted when she was a maiden free to roam the Earth at her leisure.

Before she was married there were no seasons.  The land was healthy and green year around.  Birds and butterflies and wolves, her very favorite animal, flocked to her side, forgetting their natural impulses in the presence of Ceres Eugenia’s progeny.  Ruby always had an affinity for animals and had always felt as if she were a part of their various cycles.  When younglings were born she rejoiced in song and danced in celebration, and when they perished she mourned as if having lost a member of her family.

Common sense should therefore dictate that she prefer spring over autumn if only to spare herself the grief of watching the whole world die year after year in endless repetition.  And yet nothing could be further from the truth.  Already a thousand years have passed since she struck the eternal bargain with Jovia Zelena to bind her to Dīs. A thousand years she has observed the flora and fauna endure the frigid snows and gales of winter.  A thousand years she has buried her four-legged friends in the frosty loam and held vigil over millions upon millions of trees and flowers and insects alike as they struggled, often fruitlessly, against the remorseless cold intent upon feeding the insatiable engine of death.  She has cried enough tears in that millennium to replenish both the Mediterranean and Aegean were they to succumb to a terminal drought and still she would rather endure another rather than spend the coming six months away from her beloved.

Speaking of Regina, as she stops abruptly and swirls around, Ruby can’t help but notice that her sheen toga clings wonderfully to her curves and that the part in the garment has separated to reveal nearly the whole length of a shapely leg her lips long to taste. Eyes blazing, hands on her hips, raven hair spilling over her shoulders, Regina cuts such an impressive and irresistibly handsome figure that Ruby can hardly keep herself from drooling.  And how very embarrassing that would be!

Not for the first time, she silently contemplates how anyone with functioning vision and a shred of reason could choose Venus as the fairest of them all. Lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, and skin white as snow; surely Ruby’s closest childhood friend possessed all of those physical virtues and more, yet even Venus Mater Caelesti – known to those who lover her as Nix Alba (or in the common tongue Snow White) – failed to compare with the banished goddess that all with breath either feared or loathed.

In the vaulted halls of Olympos they derisively referred to the ruler of the Underworld as Regina a Malo, the Evil Queen.  But to Ruby she will forever be Regina in Corde Meo, the Queen of My Heart.

Survival for half the year without the sovereign owner of her love and devotion is a torture so unbearable that the Deam Optimus Maximus is no doubt thrilled that her faux attempt at leniency was failing so spectacularly.  Were it not for the unyielding support of her mother and Snow, she cannot imagine how she would even function.

True Love, as it turns out, is not only a source of unimaginable happiness but also of indescribable misery.

“Needless fretting?” Regina says, responding to Ruby’s request in a less than accommodating tone.  “In less than a fortnight you will leave me once again to the mercy of my imaginations.  I can do nothing else but fret when you are not by my side!  Beyond the borders of Dīs I cannot protect you, cannot watch over you, cannot...”

“Hover like a mother hen over her chicks?” Ruby supplies, interrupting in an attempt to forestall her wife’s spiraling descent lest she succumb to one of her abyssal depressions.

There is scarcely anything to be done when the darkness has taken hold of Regina in earnest.  In such instances, Ruby does what she can to provide whatever comfort her ailing partner will accept.  Usually space and time are required for Regina to wrestle off the impossibly heavy blanket of sadness that has engulfed her.  But sometimes she lets Ruby sing to her until the fog lifts or hold her hand while they go for a walk through the Fields of Gladness or the Blessed Groves. When the despair becomes too much, Regina will curl into Ruby’s body while they lie abed and it is all she can do during those evenings to keep from empathetically sobbing as her beloved trembles miserably in her arms.

Thankfully Ruby has discovered through trial and error that humor is a method of dispelling Regina’s souring moods that is effective more often than not.

“I resent that comparison,” Regina says, brows furrowed in objection.  Ruby breathes a sigh of relief, though, when her shoulders relax into a more neutral posture. “For your information I am nothing like your disgustingly virtuous mother, and I’ll thank you not to imply such again any time in the near future.”

“Aww.  Don’t be cross, love. I meant no disrespect,” Ruby says, then invitingly pats the empty space beside her.  “Now, be a good girl and come back to bed.”

One sable eyebrow quirks up as Regina eyes Ruby with a small grain of incredulity.  “’A good girl’?  Do you address Zelena with such remarkable insouciance when you deliver your annual report?”

Said report is part of the deal with the chief goddess Ruby acquiesced to so that she could have six months of the year with Regina instead of the originally intended three.  Her first destination each spring is Mytikas, the summit of Mount Olympus upon which the great temple of the gods was erected eons before she was even born. There she is to give account of Regina’s activities, however benign, as assurance that Zelena’s grasp on power remains uncontested.  It is a distasteful duty that Ruby executes with all of the precision she can muster, especially since it always makes her feel dirty, as if she is being employed against her will as a spy in her own wife’s domain.

“Of course not, silly,” she replies, smiling at how cute Regina is when acting absolutely ridiculous.  “I try to keep interactions with your sister to a minimum, and when I report to her I make sure to maintain the proper formality she most certainly does not deserve.  Now stop beating around the bush and come to bed.  As you said, I have a fortnight left with you and I do not intend on wasting even one minute.”

When Regina remains mulishly still, Ruby switches to a tried and tactic: batting her eyelashes and pouting shamelessly.  To her delight, Regina caves within seconds and responds with an affectionate if not exasperated roll of her eyes.

Once they are settled back in together, Ruby’s back nestled flush with Regina’s front, they both heave sighs of contented pleasure.  An easy, familiar silence reigns over them for a space that Ruby does not care to account for.  Not when the only thing she needs and desires is right here in this room holding her just right, nuzzling into her cheek and neck in between pressing patient kisses against the skin of her shoulder and arm.

This is her home, Regina is her home, and there is no other place where she feels more safe and loved and cherished in all the universe, which has garnered a fair few questions as to her sanity when she has admitted as such to her friends and loved ones in the planes above Dīs.  Some of them have been so bold as to declare to her face that she is insane.

“If that’s true,” she told one such acquaintance, “then sanity is not for me. Better to be deranged and blissfully happy than a sensible busybody like you who will never experience real love or understand how it feels to be desired for your heart instead of your tits!”

That particular individual has not spoken to Ruby since, not that it is a big loss. Drizella always was and always will be a vacuous hussy.

“What am I to do when you’re gone?”

Regina’s plaintive whisper shatters the silence as if she had screamed.  Ruby’s heart lurches from a pang of acute melancholy. She already knows the answer to that question, and has since it was first asked a thousand years earlier.  

While Ruby cries herself to sleep upon her plush bed in the Aventine Temple, Regina will be working herself ragged by micromanaging every last operational detail of the entire realm. She will spend countless hours draped in thick furs brooding upon her throne while being buffeted by cutting winds that sweep through corridors and hallways of the palace – for while above the spring breeds balmy, gentle breezes, in the Underworld the atmosphere turns ever more frigid and capricious and violent in tune with the temperament of its ruler.  Against all logic she will refuse nourishment far too frequently and eat meager portions only when necessary, forego rest until she is too haggard and weary to perform even basic functions, harshly dismiss all attempts to lighten her load until the majority of the staff is too frightened to even approach her, and generally wear herself down until all that is left is an exhausted husk that Ruby will have to revitalize all over again come the fall.

She hates that her beloved will segregate herself to such a degree, but there is little she can do to prevent it.  The Laws of Olympus cannot be broken, not even by those who decree them. However, that does not mean they cannot be bent.  She may be forbidden to physically see and touch Regina during her time on the surface, but the laws Zelena established dictating their separation make no mention of the metaphysical.  

Although eternal beings such as themselves do not require sleep, it is a luxury that provides many physical, emotional, and mental benefits.  For them, though, something unique occurs when they are asleep at the same time. Somnus himself had taught her that they are what mortals refer to as Soul Mates.  They are, he had told her, two halves of one whole and because of that no force known to heaven or earth could keep them completely isolated from one another.  Space and time are irrelevant to them when they can bridge any distance to be reunited in their dreams.  Unfortunately learning how to control this ability was quite complex and required many secretive lessons over the centuries for Ruby to even summon the most simple of dreamscapes for herself.

Thankfully this past summer she had at last managed to recreate the broader forest in which she and Regina first met.  And tonight she was going to draw them both there as indisputable proof that there was a place beyond prying eyes they could always be together.  

“Close your eyes.”

“I bet your pardon?” Regina replies, and when she attempts to prop herself up by an elbow, Ruby latches on to her arm to keep her close.

“For once do what I say without being difficult, would you please? I need you to hold me and close your eyes.”

For a long moment Regina does not comply, and though it starts to appear like she never will, Ruby continues waiting all the same.  She is very good at that – waiting on Regina.  In her experience, doing so never goes without reward. The woman may be more intractable and ornery than the hound that guards the gates of her dominion, but she is worth the expense of every single second of patience expended and every last ounce of effort exhausted on her behalf.

As if determined to prove her correct, Regina eventually settles back down and snakes an arms beneath the covers to wind over Ruby’s waist.  A cool hand then settles in the valley of her breasts, fingers splayed wide over her heart, and Ruby shivers more in response to the welcome touch than to the algid temperature of her wife’s flesh.

“Alright then,” Ruby says, wiggling further into the embrace, “are your eyes closed?”  Regina hums confirmation into the shell of Ruby’s ear. “Now, just relax, breathe, and listen...”  

And when all is still and quiet once more she begins to sing:

“Time is a river that flows endlessly and A life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream.

Shadows dance behind the firelight, 

And all the spirits of the night remind us: We are not alone.

Tomorrow, a sun soon rising, And yesterday is there beside us,

And it's never far away. If you listen to the wind you can hear me again.

Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song

High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves.

Listen to the wind, there's no end to my

Love is forever a circle unbroken.

The seasons keep changing; it always remains. Spring will melt the snows of winter and the summer gives us days of light 

So long till autumn makes them fade.

Remember the sound of laughter. We ran together through the meadows;

Still we thought our hearts could break.

If you listen to the wind, you can hear me again.

Even when I'm gone you can still hear the song

High up in the trees as it moves through the leaves.

Listen to the wind and I'll send you my love. Listen to the wind where the sky meets the land.

I'm not really gone I've been here all along

High up in the trees in the sound of the leaves.

Listen to the wind there's no end to my...

Time is a river that flows to the sea

And a life is a whisper, a kiss in a dream.”

As the song draws to an end, there is no sound or movement from Regina save from her steady breathing, by which Ruby can tell she is fast asleep. With a soft, peaceful smile, she shutters her eyelids closed and inhales deeply.  

By the time she has fully exhaled, she is already kissing Regina in their meadow.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

our little life (rounded with a sleep) / chapter 9

our little life (rounded with a sleep) chapter nine [9/12] AO3

--

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful detective. She had blonde hair, green eyes, no family, and she was good at finding people; in fact, she proclaimed this on her office door. “Swan and Humbert,” it said. “Private investigations, missing persons, and bail bonds.”

Only lately, she's been thinking that maybe it should say "Emma Swan: Loner, Loser, Complicated wreck."

Her partner's been killed on a case after she made a deal with her landlord to find what had been taken from him. But when she tracks a possible perp to a bar on the outskirts of town, Emma will find out exactly how deep the rabbit hole goes.

--

as ever, none of this would exist without @thisonesatellite​.  pretty sure this kicks off another section that i made her read 3 times.  after changing, like, five words.  listen, i needed to know if it was better, ok?

to @profdanglaisstuff​ and @katie-dub​, always.

to the @captainswanbigbang​ for a hell of an event.  i owe you all so much.

--

cw: canonical character death rating: T/M (implied violence, language) word count:  ~4k AO3 chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven | chapter eight

--

chapter summary: Shit gets real.  Very real. In her dreams--and in her life.  Emma has to decide:  is she ready to try something new?

--

Emma opened her eyes. She was once again on her back, on the least comfortable mattress she had ever had the misfortune to encounter--which was saying a lot, considering some of the places Emma had slept in her life. There was a single bare bulb illuminating the space and shadows cast along the wall by the bars of the cell door.

She was in one of David Nolan’s holding cells.

“What luck,” drawled a voice--a woman, haughty and self-assured and someone Emma had heard before. “The Savior.”

Emma did not sit up as she registered the words, or the obvious capital letters of the title; she merely waited, turning her head so that the speaker came into view. Her posture was impeccable, and though she did not appear especially tall she established a sense of presence. There was not a hair out of place on her head and her clothing was simple, but obviously expensive. It was easy to see where--who--Regina Mills had learned her habits from.

“Cora Mills,” Emma said, her attention going back to the ceiling and the bulb, making her affect as disinterested as possible. “You look pretty good for a dead woman.”

read the full chapter on AO3

chapter nine

Emma stood in the doorway, watching her son sleep for the first time in her--and his--life. His hair was just a bit too long, she realized suddenly, seeing the way his fringe fell into his eyes. Liam was on the floor, and his eyes opened when she took a step into the room. Emma shrugged--hoping he would understand what even she could not.

Because she needed to leave.

She needed to be somewhere else, out of all of this, out of this bullshit of magical nonsense and curses and--everything.

She was going to take her son and she was going to get the fuck out of Dodge, away from Evil Queens and Dark Ones and roommates that felt like family and a bartender that felt like he could help her be a part of something, if only he wasn’t so monumentally fucked up.

Liam just watched her, watched her as she shook Henry gently awake, and then he nodded. He looked sad, but resigned, and Emma had to wonder: how many friends did Liam Hook truly have? Maybe he was a little lost, too, just like his brother, just like she had been.

Like she still was.

“Come on, kid,” she said, hoping her voice cut through the sleepy haze in Henry’s expression. “We’re getting out of here.”

--

Ruby had caught her in the hallway as Emma left Hook’s office, and the grin on her face was devilish, her eyes glittering in delight. “Angsty midnights with the hot-slash-insane bartender?” she asked. “I love it.” But then she had sniffed, and though Emma knew it wasn’t possible, it was like she smelled the alcohol in the air around her, even though neither Hook nor Emma had had anything to drink.

“Angsty midnight drinking sesh with the hot-slash-insane bartender?” Ruby’s expression changed, and she pulled Emma toward her, both of her hands on Emma’s shoulders, her gaze boring into Emma’s skull. “Babe, listen. You know I love you. And I know we’re going through something terrible. But--”

“I know,” Emma said.

“This is insane, Em.”

“I know,” Emma said.

“There’s gotta be a better way for you to work through your shit,” Ruby said.

But that’s not what Emma did--was not how she operated.

She was going to do what she always did: run. It was all she knew how to do.

--

Emma tried hard to not imagine Jefferson watching them through his telescope as she guided Henry toward her car. Henry’s delight with the dilapidated little yellow Beetle was almost enough to banish the worry.

Almost.

Until she started driving toward the edge of the neighborhood and the questions started.

--

“Wait.” Henry was suddenly alert. “You want to go now? We’re leaving now?” He looked over his shoulder. “Where’s your stuff?”

“You’re all I need,” Emma said. “I’m getting you out of here. Away from all of this, away from her.”

“No.” There was steel in Henry’s voice. “No. Stop the car. You can’t leave--you have to stay, you have to break the curse.”

“I don’t,” Emma said. “I don’t have to do anything but help you.”

“Emma,” Henry said. He was pleading with her. “You’re a hero. You can’t run, not when you can help everybody.”

Emma bit her lip. “I know it’s hard for you to understand--”

“You’re scared,” Henry said. “That’s pretty easy for me to understand. I’m a kid, I’m not an idiot.” He crossed his arms.

“I’m doing what’s best for you,” Emma said, turning her blinker on as she came to the main street that would lead them back into the heart of the city. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Isn’t that why you were looking for me?”

He shook his head. “I wanted you to break the curse. I wanted you to bring back the happy endings, and for us to be a family.” His voice broke. “Please, Emma, don’t make me go. We need you. Your family needs you.”

“Henry--”

He reached over and grabbed the steering wheel.

“Henry!” Emma swerved, yanking on the wheel to pull the car back onto the road and into the right lane. Her heart was racing as she turned to her son. “We need to--there’s a difference between fairy tales--fantasy--and reality.” “I’m not crazy,” Henry fumed. “Killian believes me!”

“Captain Hook’s opinion is not what I’m interested in right now, kid,” Emma snapped.

“You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment. You’re scared, but you know I’m right. Running isn’t what’s best for me. Running is never what’s best. I thought--”

“What?” Emma said, her eyes flickering back to him.

“I thought you were different.” He slumped in his seat.

It was just a flash out of the corner of her eye--red eyes, four feet--and for a second, she would have sworn it was Graham.

The car went off the road.

--

Something was wrong with the apple tree.

It was black, the leaves curling in on themselves; the fruit wasn’t red, but shriveled and brown.

It was dying.

The man in the animal-skin coat with the glittery skin was visibly pleased, Emma could tell. His toothy grin was wide and his fingers positively writhed with glee.

“Excellent work, Savior,” he hissed. “The curse is weakening.”

“You want the curse broken,” she said. “Why?”

“I’m planning a little trip,” he said.

“You’re going to need travel insurance,” Regina said, and Emma whirled around. “Because I’ve found a solution to my Emma Swan problem.”

It wasn’t Regina Mills but the Evil Queen that stood before her, in a gown of jet black with divided skirts that trailed behind her. She held her hand, palm up, out in front of her, and there was a ball of fire in the air. “An old, reliable solution.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Rumplestiltskin warned. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you, Your Majesty, that all magic comes with a price.”

“Then you can pay it,” she seethed, and the ball of fire trembled.

An arrow shot through the air, causing the fire to extinguish itself, and Regina’s mouth dropped open. “You!” Her expression changed from shock to hurt to anger. “You could’ve hit me!”

“I never miss,” Graham said. His eyes flashed, one red and one black, and Emma saw the wolf.

--

They were back in the office.

Swan and Humbert.

“Emma,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

“You--” Emma said. “You’re--”

“Please, Emma. I need you to understand.”

“Why?”

“So that I can understand,” he whispered, and kissed her, sending warmth from the tips of her fingers straight down to her toes. It wasn’t--it wasn’t a romantic feeling, it was comfort and affection and trust and connection.

It was being a part of something.

“Did you feel that?”

Emma nodded, speechless.

“That’s what you did for me,” Graham whispered. “I died a free man, Emma.”

She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the scratch of his stubble on her palms. He kissed her, again, on the crown of her head, and his fingers combed through her hair, stopping at the chain around her neck.

“Emma,” he said. “Your fate is in a precarious place. You must hurry.”

“Wait--” Emma said.

“The opportune moment will present itself,” Graham said. “The rest is up to you. Find your family, Emma. Free them from the curse.”

“You’re--can’t you come with me?”

“I cannot,” he said, but his voice held no regret. “I gave up my heart so that the queen would spare Snow White’s. Wait for the opportune moment. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain.”

“Graham,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled him close, one more time, and kissed him softly on the mouth.

If the first time she kissed him had been a gentle brush against her soul--the warmth of a sunny day--this was an inferno, burning everything in its wake as the energy rushed through her. It was raw and unfettered as it pushed every molecule in her body, electrifying her senses until she couldn’t feel anything but him.

“It’s you,” Killian whispered. “Don’t you know, Emma? It’s all for you.”

She chased after him, searching for more, but he stopped her with a smile. “I know you feel like a pawn, love, but remember: you’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played. There’s hope, Swan. All you have to do is believe.”

It was just a kiss, but it felt like--

“Just look at me,” he said, “and believe.”

It felt like magic.

--

Emma opened her eyes. She was once again on her back, on the least comfortable mattress she had ever had the misfortune to encounter--which was saying a lot, considering some of the places Emma had slept in her life. There was a single bare bulb illuminating the space and shadows cast along the wall by the bars of the cell door.

She was in one of David Nolan’s holding cells.

“What luck,” drawled a voice--a woman, haughty and self-assured and someone Emma had heard before. “The Savior.”

Emma did not sit up as she registered the words, or the obvious capital letters of the title; she merely waited, turning her head so that the speaker came into view. Her posture was impeccable, and though she did not appear especially tall she established a sense of presence. There was not a hair out of place on her head and her clothing was simple, but obviously expensive. It was easy to see where--who--Regina Mills had learned her habits from.

“Cora Mills,” Emma said, her attention going back to the ceiling and the bulb, making her affect as disinterested as possible. “You look pretty good for a dead woman.”

“So do you, dear.”

Emma’s already-spinning head took a moment to process that, and a deep breath that she hoped was not noticeable--but she did not give Cora the satisfaction of a reaction.

There was a low, throaty chuckle. “I’m glad to see you’re not wasting your energy on pleasantries, Miss Swan.”

Damn.

A villain with a sense of humor, then. Not that Emma had the energy to spare for ‘pleasantries,’ not after the accident and the dreams and--

“Hook?” Cora said.

Emma once again did not allow herself to react, but she wanted to, as she heard the footsteps, low and languid, and the dry tone of his voice when he said, “Startling, aren’t I?”

It took no effort at all for Emma to imagine him making an ironic bow. “Some might even say striking,” he said.

Emma willed herself not to move, to maintain her calm demeanor. She didn’t even turn to look at him, not when she recognized the cadence of his words and the harshness of his consonants.

“I appreciate the warm welcome,” he said into the silence. He gave new meaning to the word deadpan. “And what have we here, Your Majesty?”

That got Emma’s attention--fucking hell, was everybody royalty in this magical, mystical Enchanted Forest? She turned to face him, finally, unsurprised to see the carefully blank expression on his face. He lifted an eyebrow at the movement. “Oh,” he said, licking his lips. “Don’t get up, princess. Not when I can think of so many pleasurable things to do with a woman on her back.”

In spite of his tone--and his leer and his stupid fucking eyebrow--a shiver went through her as Emma remembered all of the times in their crazy-short acquaintence when the space between them had seemed nonexistent, the pull between them too great, and she wondered. She thought of the way he had kissed her in her dream and the way it had made her feel, and she wondered.

Just how many things did he know how to do, with a woman on her back?

“‘Your Majesty’?” Emma repeated, trying to shake herself loose of his jibe, and his eyebrow, and that other title. Speaking of royalty.

“Do not misunderstand me, princess.”

“Cora is the Queen of Hearts,” Hook replied, and she did not have to imagine it this time, the ironic tilt of his head or the quirk of his mouth. “In Wonderland.”

“I hate Wonderland.” That’s what he’d said, and he’d meant it all the way down to his bones, but there was no emotion in his words as he turned back to Cora. As if he was done with her already.

“The time for that is done." "Just as I have done with you.”

It was his voice that was doing that to her, making her doubt, making her uncomfortable, and it didn’t help when he said, “Cora, darling--you seem to have a Savior in a cage. How does one come upon such treasure?”

“It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.”

Emma closed her eyes.

“After everything we’ve been through, Hook, why do you still doubt me?”

It’s all for you.

“When I’m the one who brought you here, and preserved your memories--your purpose?”

“Your arrival reminded me of my purpose, but I cared not one whit whether this curse ever broke.”

“I may be a simple pirate,” he said, “but I know where my interests lie. How else do you think she wound up so easily in your grasp? It was all about waiting, my dear Cora, for the opportune moment.”

Emma covered her sharp inhalation with a cough.

“Wait for the opportune moment.”

That’s what Graham had said--that’s what the man in her dreams had said.

“You might have imparted that advice to Jefferson,” Hook said darkly. “You realize he almost cost you everything?”

Killian. Killian had said that. Not Captain Hook.

This was it, Emma knew.

The opportune moment.

“Satisfied?” Hook asked Cora.

Emma was in a cell with a woman capable of murder and worse on the other side of the bars, and all Emma had was her wits and--if she could let herself believe it--Hook. She ignored his words, his tone, his eyebrow, all of it, and listened to what lay beneath: the flash of desperation she was sure she wasn’t imagining, and that phrase. Hook didn’t know--couldn’t know--that she had dreamt of him saying that. He didn’t know that she had overhead his rift with Cora.

“You chose her. Now you have to live with the consequences of that decision.”

He was trusting her. Trusting her to trust him.

Try something new, darling.

“You,” Emma spat.

It’s you, Emma. It’s all for you.

She stood up quickly and walked the three steps to the bars. “That’s why--that’s why you gave me my necklace back. It was all about making me believe I could trust you.” Emma put the extra emphasis on ‘my’ and waited, watching him as he took two steps forward and leaned his head so that he was almost directly against the cell door--so that their eyes met, and Emma knew she wasn’t imagining what she saw there.

Hope.

Just a flash, and so quickly she almost missed it--so quickly that she would have missed it, except that she was looking for it for the first time in her life.

“I should have known,” Emma said, putting bitterness into her words. “You’re not exactly the sentimental type, are you?”

It was funny, or it should have been, to accuse the man who claimed to have carried a grudge for three centuries of not being emotional.

“I’m not,” he agreed, biting off the word. “You should have thanked me, Swan. That’s what’s customary when one receives a gift.” His body blocked Emma’s view of Cora as his fingers brushed against hers, and Emma couldn’t suppress the shiver as she felt him. The same warmth and tingle she had felt in the office--“Perhaps it shall serve as a reminder to both of us”--he’d said, and she felt it again, the anticipation.

“Right,” Emma said sarcastically. “Because you’re a goddamn gentleman.” She stepped back, as much for herself as for the pretense, and she clamped her fingers around the small metal pin he had slipped her.

Maybe they really were a team.

“Because I believe in good form,” he said. It was his turn to step away and return his attention to Cora. “And speaking of intentions, love, what are yours toward our captive friend? Mercy seems a bit out of character.”

“Oh, not mercy, Hook,” Cora said. Her eyes were sharp and narrow and focused entirely on Emma. “She’s going to help me, whether she wants it or not. I intend to get what I need.”

Emma straightened her spine and looked Cora dead in the eye.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said. “You’re still going to lose.”

Cora laughed. “Such bravery.”

Emma could do this. Emma did do this, day in and day out--got her skips and perps and clients to talk to her, to stall, to tell her what she needed to know. She could do this. She could get out of this cell and out of this fuckery and take her son--

Her son, who had been in the car with her when she’d gone off the road--oh, shit, this was why she could never be a mother; where was her son, was he ok, who had him, all of the questions she should have had on repeat from the instant she’d regained consciousness were on a loop in her head as she tried to maintain her composure in front of Cora. The fucking Queen of Hearts.

Emma didn’t even know how long she’d been in this cell.

“You get off on this,” Emma said. “This is the part that you like, the control and the power trip--”

But Cora knew. The bitch could tell, could see it in her eyes or some shit, because she laughed.

Again.

“The Savior,” Cora said, drawing out the word in what was unmistakably a gloat. “But all you are, child, is a name on a piece of paper, did you know that? Did you know that Rumplestiltskin mapped out your life before you were even born?”

Emma wanted to laugh at that--to laugh, or to cry, because there was absolutely no one in this world who could have predicted the path that her life had taken to lead her to this moment. She had made her own choices, and had to live with her own mistakes, but no one was going to tell her who she was.

Only--

Henry would tell her to be a hero.

“You’re not powerful,” Cora said. “You’re a pawn, which is exactly why you are here. You’re the Savior because it was all part of the plan.”

“You’re only a pawn if you don’t know you’re being played.”

“This is the part where you tell me what you need, right?” Emma said.

“I need to be close to my daughter again,” Cora said simply. “You and this curse are currently the only things in the way of that.”

Emma barely flickered her eyes toward Hook before she punched back, a sudden flash of insight becoming clear to her. “What about the dagger, then?”

“The what?” Cora asked. She hadn’t even batted an eye, but Cora wasn’t the only one who could read people. Emma had gotten to her. Behind Cora, Hook shifted his weight, holding Emma’s gaze for just a split second with a barely-perceptible nod of his head.

Try something new, darling.

“Rumplestiltskin’s dagger,” Emma said, quietly enough that Cora needed to step closer. “That’s what you really want, isn’t it? The power? I wonder, Cora dear, what your grudge against the Dark One might be?”

That had to be it, Emma knew, otherwise Cora would be holed up with Gold, plotting to do whatever the fuck it was that people who wanted to break goddamn curses did. Bad blood there for sure, Emma decided, and knew she’d hit her mark because Cora’s expression changed. She was a handsome woman, but the glare she leveled at Emma could probably turn things into stone.

If Emma believed in magic. Or daggers, or Rumplestiltskin, or one-handed pirates with sinful eyelashes who couldn’t keep their own personal space; who read her like a goddamn book, who told her secrets in the dark that made her feel seen and understood and made her wonder, in all of those times they’d been inches apart, what it would feel like if there was no space between them at all.

But she didn’t. She didn’t believe in any of it.

Liar.

“Listen,” Emma said, leaning forward. “You should know that I don’t have any fucks to give about this fight. I don’t give a shit about plans or saviors or curses. I’m just trying to get justice for my partner, and to move the fuck on with my life.”

Emma did not look at Killian as she spoke. She meant it--she meant all of it.

Liar.

Cora’s eyebrows narrowed; she was clearly unimpressed. Definitely another expression Regina had learned from her mother.

Which was fine--Emma almost had the lock open, anyway.

“I’m not like him,” Emma said, gesturing with her chin at Hook. “I don’t have any grand delusions about my life or its purpose. You let me out, let me go on my way, and I will tell you where your precious fucking dagger is. Or I will see you behind these bars, Your Majesty.”

Emma pushed the door open and stepped out.

Cora laughed for the third time. It was refined, and practiced, and unpleasant, and all of the hairs on the back of Emma’s neck were standing on edge.

“You’re going to tell me,” Cora said, “or he is. I’ve been waiting twenty-eight years for this.”

Hook interjected then. “I’ve been waiting a hell of a lot longer than that, Your Majesty.”

“So pretty,” Cora sighed, “and yet so useless. You can hardly blame me, Hook, for your failure to seize the--how did you put it? The opportune moment. I told you, Hook--”

Cora moved, and Emma attempted to dodge.

She was unsuccessful.

“You chose her. Now, there will be consequences.”

And then all there was--was pain. Her body, about to split open--her lungs feeling like there could not possibly be enough air in the universe. The feeling of something closing in around her heart.

Crushing it--

--or trying to.

Emma could feel it, Cora’s hand actually inside of her body, and the violation of it all--the physical intimacy, for Cora to be that close and to have her fucking hand inside of Emma’s body--was almost as bad as the literal physical pain. Which was overwhelming.

Until it wasn’t.

Killian had Cora in a headlock, his hook against her neck. “Let. Her. Go.” Each word was its own sentence, snarled directly into Cora’s ear, and Emma could feel him pulling Cora away from her in the way that Cora did not let go of her heart.

Her fucking heart.

“Don’t you know, Hook?” Cora gasped. “Love is weakness.” Her grip tightened, and she pulled.

Like she was trying to pull Emma’s heart straight out of her body, and this was it, this was what had happened to Graham, this was how he had felt in the moments before he had died, like his body was exploding and collapsing in on itself all at the same time, in horrifying, indescribable agony--

“I died a free man, Emma.”

Only--

There was a burst of white light, and Cora hissed in pain. Her arm, her hand, stopped moving, and Emma could take a breath again as Cora sagged against Hook, who had not released her from his grip. His face was devoid of any emotion but his eyes were icy chips of pure rage as he pulled her bodily away from Emma, who doubled over the moment Cora’s hand left her chest, heaving breaths and swallowing the bile that bubbled up in her throat.

“What was that?” Emma said. Her words came in raspy syllables.

“That,” Hook said, and his voice made his face seem expressive, “was Cora’s final mistake.”

And it really wasn’t fair, Emma thought--later, much later--that for all of her wishing to know what was happening, what the actual fuck was happening, and where was her son--Henry burst through the door, tailed immediately by Regina as she harangued David, who was pulling a bewildered Mary Margaret along with him--as Killian dug the tip of his namesake gently into the delicate skin along Cora’s neck, and she gave a horrifying shudder.

So much for not believing in magic.

“Mother?” Regina said, rushing up behind Cora and catching her as Killian let her fall. “Mother? What’s wrong?”

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