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sabraeal · 4 years

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Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The last entry in the 600 Followers Gift-a-thon! I meant for this to be out the last weekend in December, but dude to both illness, kiss-a-thon, and this fic turning out well over 7.5K...it just didn’t work out. Thank all of you guys for following and voting; hopefully this year I’ll actually get to finish all the 500 follower raffle fics too...

Despite the glut of graduation media Shirayuki’s been binging, trying to brace herself for-- for all this, nothing quite prepares her for what it will be like to wear her cap and gown.

“It’s plastic,” she says dully, rubbing the waffle-weave between the tips of her fingers. “It feels like a tablecloth.”

“You look great,” Nanna assures her, eyes shining, giving her arm a good squeeze.

“Besides,” Grandad adds, fiddling with his camera. They got him that two years ago, for Christmas, and even still he doesn’t know quite how it works. “At least you and all your friends will be wearing tablecloths together.”

That fact that doesn’t seem to assuage Kihal in the least.

“This is a disaster,” she wails as Shirayuki approaches, waving her hand to encompass both their gowns. “They’re practically see-through!”

Shirayuki blinks, and-- yes. At a glance, she knows that Kihal’s dress is blue beneath her robe, and Kiki’s is purple. She stares down at her own, and through the cheap plastic, the hazy pink splotches of the roses dotting her dress give the vague impression of period stains.

“Oh,” she murmurs, dropping the fabric. “Oh.”

“We’ve agreed, as whole, to aggressively ignore it,” Kiki says rationally, though by the round of her shoulders and the tense line of her jaw, it still rankles. “I’m going to warn the Junior Student Council that they need to ask for blue robes for all genders.”

“Or black,” Kihal suggests, “ditch the whole school pride thing altogether.”

Kiki nods. “Classic. I like it.” Her gaze hooks on to Shirayuki. “You’re doing a speech today, aren’t you?”

Butterflies races sickeningly in Shirayuki’s stomach. “Um, yeah.”

“Feeling prepared?”

Not at all. “As much as I can be,” she settles on. It earns her one of Kiki’s rare smiles, which at least gets the micro-fauna in her gut doing a more pleasant set of maneuvers.

“Good.” She reaches out, giving Shirayuki’s shoulder a solid squeeze. “I’m excited to hear it. Obi said it was, and I quote, ‘killer.’“

“Oh.” She knows they’re friends, of course; she met him through Kiki and Zen, and she hangs out with both of them on the regular, it’s just--

They talk about her. He talks about her, in a way that is, well, boyfriend-like. And she’s never...

Shirayuki has never been someone people talk about. At least, not without some rumor to go along with it.

“Um.” Her eyes sting, even as her mouth curves into a smile. “Cool.”

Kiki’s gaze flicks over her shoulder. “I better go check on Zen. It looks as if he might have some sort of apoplexy if he doesn’t get more help than Obi getting everyone into line.”

Shirayuki’s head whips over her shoulder, gaze fixing to where Zen stands in the gym, cheeks so red he might as well have been slapped. Right beside him is Obi, mouth hooking into his customary smirk, and something that’s been knotted in her breast since this morning loosens.

“That boy needs to get laid,” Kihal decides with a snort. “Or pick up yoga, or meditation, or something.”

A guilt heat sweeps over Shirayuki, head to toe. “W-what?”

“Wisteria.” Kihal jerks her head at him. “He’s going to pass out if he keeps walking around like a pot with its lid on, you know?”

“O-oh,” she says, now more mortified. “R-right.”

“Obviously not Obi. You’re already--” her eyes narrow-- “aren’t you already doing something about that?”

“Um!” Shirayuki casts about for anything that will keep her from having this conversation. “Looks like...we better go line up. I’m with the Ls so...I’ll see you after the ceremony!”

“What?” Kihal squawks, hands fisting on her hips as Shirayuki hurries away. “This conversation is not over!”

Tragically, Kihal is correct.

“I can’t believe you haven’t blow him.” Shirayuki glares down at where Kihal rests her elbows on the back of her chair, staring down the opposite row to where the ‘N’ section sits. “Like not even a little?”

The rehearsal was hardly three days ago, but somehow Shirayuki had forgotten the crucial fact that the ‘T’ section sat just behind the ‘L’ one after they file in.

“I don’t think this is really the time to be talking about this,” she hisses, glancing at the girl next to her, buried in her phone. To her other side is the aisle, thankfully, though when Mitsuhide throws her a small wave she can’t help but think if he was here, on this side, his staid presence might discourage this particular conversation.

“Just look at him.” Kihal gestures with the flat of her hand, right to where Obi sits, grinning, in front of Zen. “His dick is probably gorgeous. Like if I had to say who had the best dick out of everyone we know, I’d say--”

“Kihal.”

“--Probably Mitsuhide,” she admits, “but Obi would be a close second.”

Shirayuki sighs, and, well, maybe if she indulges this line of questioning, it will be over sooner. “We just...haven’t gotten there yet.”

Kihal gives her a dubious look. “It’s been what? Three months? And you expect me to believe he hasn’t mentioned it at all?”

She blinks. “No, actually.”

It hadn’t seemed odd to her-- after all, the only person thus far in her life that had mentioned her getting on her knees was Raj, and that had gone...not well, for either of them-- but now that Kihal has mentioned it...

Obi is nineteen, twenty in a month, and from every movie she’s ever avoided watching on the subject, he should be, well, more actively campaigning for an end to her dickphobia. Or at least, mentioning how he’d like her to be touching him, often and well.

“Maybe he doesn’t like it,” she suggests, at a loss. After all, she knows there’s, um, a reciprocal position, and as nice as it sounds when he suggests it, it doesn’t excite her in a, ah, intellectual sense. It’s not anything she cares about doing any time soon.

“Fake news,” Kihal grunts, “all boys like having their penises touched. If you asked him what he’d like to do to celebrate--” Shirayuki grimaces at the suggestive nudge-- “tonight, he’d say, hands down, that he wants you to blow him.”

Her menagerie of intestinal insects takes flight at the thought. “I don’t know...”

“Scientific fact,” Kihal insists, “given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.”

“Well--” Obi meets her gaze, giving her a wink that is somehow both saucy and supportive-- “good thing there’s going to be no time for any of that tonight.”

Kihal’s gaze darts between the two of them, her mouth curling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll both find a way.”

If there’s one thing to be said for Kihal’s dogged determination on the subject of Obi’s penis and what Shirayuki should be doing with it, it’s that while she’s worrying about just how glacially slow she’s moving in her single serious relationship of her lifetime (and whether the local access cameras are near enough to pick up this entire conversation), she had absolutely no time to worry about her speech.

Which is why she nearly faceplants into the aisle when Zen announces, “Shirayuki Leon,” from the podium.

With a recovery that is as removed from smooth as she is from cool, Shirayuki shuffles up to the stage, trying not to stumble on the kitten heels Nanna insisted she wear. Distantly, she’s aware that there had to have been more lead up, that by Zen’s cheerful smile and the interested applause of the crowd, he must have said something complimentary enough to get her into heaven. But she can’t find it in herself to worry about that; instead she thanks him woodenly as he steps back, taking his seat on the stage as the Student Council President, and lets the cold breath of fear wash over her.

“Hi,” she begins eloquently, eyes scanning over the crowd. Goodness, this is a lot of people. “I’m Shirayuki, and I’m new.”

To her surprise, the crowd chuckles, fond smiles spreading across a few faces, and--

She can do this. She really can.

“I think I said that a million times my first week here.” It’s not anywhere near an exaggeration; she’d been searching for friends, anyone to make a senior year transfer seem like less of a punishment, and she’d been what she liked to term aggressively friendly. “I’d thought nothing could be worse than having to leave my old school right when I was going to graduate. How could I replace eleven years of friendship in less than nine months? How could I even become part of this school, when even your colors are weird?”

They laugh at that too, and it’s strange-- she’d thought she’d feel naked saying these things in front of a crowd, in front of classmates who had whispered behind her back, or even asked her bald questions in the hall about blowing Raj Shenezard. But it’s all so far away now, another lifetime, one that existed before Honor Society, before Mathletes, before--

Well, before Drama Club, certainly.

“But I didn’t feel that way long.” Zen and Kiki are on the stage behind her, but Mitsuhide and Kihal are were she left them in the crowd, smiling as she meets their eyes. “I made friends, good friends. The kind of friendships that last beyond homework. The kind of relationships--” her knees quiver under the podium as she glances at Obi, as she says the words she wrestled over last night, trying to make perfect-- “that last beyond a play, beyond high school, into whatever comes after. Together.”

He holds her gaze, and oh, she is-- she is not going to make it through this if she keeps looking at him>.

“I’m changed because I came here. We’re all changed because we came here,” she says, lifting her gaze to the crowd. “My Nanna likes to say that we’re not stone, but clay, constantly being shaped by what’s around us. Being here has shaped us, but it’s also shown me that we can shape ourselves if we choose to. When we leave here we’ll change again, and again, and for some of us, we’ll lose this shape entirely and becomes something new. And for others, we’ll carry pieces of what we became here our whole lives.”

With a single, steeling breath, she continues, “A few months ago, I couldn’t imagine fitting in here. And now I can’t imagine ever having been anywhere else. So as much as this speech is a celebration of all we’ve achieved together, it’s also a thank you.” She smiles, letting her gaze scan over the whole of her class, realizing she knows a name for every face. “Thank you for my senior year.”

“I cried,” Kihal informs her, fanning herself with a program as they wait for their families to find them on the field. “So I hope you’re happy about that.”

Shirayuki frowns. “That wasn’t really the point--”

“Hey!” Zen holds out his arms, wrapping her in a hug that’s only slightly stilted. “Great speech!”

“Thanks,” she says, gripping his arms as she steps back. “I was nervous. I don’t really know how much that would, um, resonate for people.”

“It’s a small school,” Kiki drawls, cutting between them to wrap her arms around her. A thrill shoots up her spine, all the way from her toes. “And you’re one of us now.”

“Oh.” Her eyes sting, like she worried they might on the podium, but this-- this-- “Thank you.”

It’s fine.

“You did an amazing job, Shirayuki!” Mitsuhide tells her, bounding up with a grin and a hug strong enough to break a moose’s back. “The best speech today!”

“Thanks,” Zen deadpans.

“Oh, I--” he grimaces, rubbing at the back of his head-- “I forgot you gave one. But It was good too!”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Zen laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right, Shirayuki’s was much better than mine.”

“I thought that, um...” If only she could remember any bit of the ceremony that wasn’t her speech or Kihal’s opinion on oral sex, this would be a much easier compliment. “It was very good!”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to yours, though.” Obi’s arm slings around her shoulder, drawing her tight against his side. “Though maybe I’m biased.”

Zen grins at that. “You are kissing the competition.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “You’re always welcome to come over here and bias me yourself, Chief.”

He flushes, bright pink against the platinum of his hair, and coughs, “I’m-- I’m good.”

“Do have to say, kid,” Obi continues, dropping his chin to tangle the amber of his gaze with hers, “there was a part in the middle there I don’t remember practicing.”

“Mm.” It’s good he didn’t look at her like this when she was talking; she’d never have gotten a word out around the tangle of her tongue. “I found out I had more to say about all the, um, future stuff.”

“Future stuff?” he asks, breathless.

It would be inappropriate to kiss him here, at least the way his eyes are promising. Her grandparents are talking to Kihal’s parents just a few feet away, and all their friends are watching them, and a peck might be in order but--

But his chest rumbles under her hands as he leans in, half a purr, and as much as she knows this is more fit for a dark corner instead of right next to the bleachers, she pushes up on her toes--

“Hey, Obi, are you coming tonight?”

He steps away, hazy-eyed. Her lips still tingle with thwarted anticipation. “Hm?”

Zen darts a glance between the two of them. “My graduation party. I know you have, uh, a competing engagement.”

“Oh right.” He nods, tucking her into his side. “Yeah, I’m gonna come for about an hour, and then ditch out for Shirayuki’s. As long as that’s okay with you, Kid?”

She blinks. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry I can’t make it, Zen, but--”

“Don’t worry,” he waves her off. “I know how it is. I might try to pop by after Kiki’s dad opens the liquor cabinet though.”

Kiki grimaces. “Me too.”

“Glad that’s settled.” Obi presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stuff myself on canapes for an hour, and then I’ll come just in time to eat Grandad’s cooking.”

Shirayuki feigns a pout of disapproval. “Well, now I know where your real priorities lie.”

Kiki barks out a laugh. “You can’t be surprised that it’s his stomach.”

Obi grins at that, but his eyes grow serious. “Aw, c’mon kid,” he says, softer, pressing another kiss between her eyebrows. “You know you’re what matters to me.”

She wraps an arm around his waist, enjoying the way his breath skips as she squeezes him. “I know.”

In all her anxiety-watching of graduation movies, not one of them had managed to show a graduation party, opting instead for moonlit moments on picnic blankets beneath the floodlights of the school’s football field. Thus, Shirayuki is thoroughly unprepared for how chaotic it is.

“Shirayuki!” Nanna calls out, waving at her from across the room, “do you remember Mrs Kino?”

She doesn’t have many relatives; her mom was an only child, and her whole paternal side is shrouded in a mystery she’s only even half-interested in solving, but the party is filled to the brim with her grandparents’ friends and business associates from the pub, as well as a handful of old teachers Nanna managed to track down as a surprise. Her own friends have been filtering in and out all night: the Mathletes started here and left after the first round of chafing dishes were finished, leaving to go to another party across town; at least a handful of drama club members here since before even she managed to arrive, ever-changing, though always clustered around the refreshment tables; Kihal has been aggressively greeting everyone that walked in the door as if it were her own party, making sure that Shirayuki gives everyone at least a cursory hello and an outline of her post-graduation plans. Even Ryuu puts in an appearance around dinner, looking as if he’d like to melt into the floor as his mother gushes about what an excellent influence Shirayuki has been, how she’ll be sorely missed next year.

Still, she hasn’t seen Obi.

“He’ll be here,” Kihal promises as they take a breather in the den, scarfing down a entire plate of chicken marsala with an intensity that makes Shirayuki concerned about her future gastric health. “You know he will. And if he doesn’t I’ll kill him.”

There’s a half dozen thing she could say to that, but she settles for, “Thanks.”

“Do you mind checking to see if there’s anymore chicken?” Kihal holds out her plate with wide, pleading eyes. “It’s so good. And I know you want to see if the desserts have come out.”

More like Kihal wants to know if the desserts are out. “Can you not make it there yourself?”

“Nope.” Kihal lounges against the couch’s arm. “I’m like a California condor. I’ve eaten so much I won’t be able to fly for another hour.”

She lifts a brow. “And you still want more?”

Kihal scoffs. “Your grandpa made it. Of course.”

Technically, the staff of the pub made it, and it’s just Grandad’s recipe but-- Shirayuki takes her point and her plate. For a minute, she contemplates cutting through the party, which fills up the living room and spills out onto the back deck, but then elects for the longer, quieter route around the stairs.

“Hey, kid, there you are.” Obi’s smile lights up the kitchen, plates in both his hands stacked high with appetizers. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Me too,” she admits, breathless, frozen in the doorway. He’s still in his dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and haah, she has never been more tempted to tell him that if they’re quiet, no one will know they’ve snuck up to her room.

Obi grimaces. “Sorry about that. I meant to only go for an hour, and then Zen wanted to play a quick pick up game, and it turned to two, and then I got here and...” He shrugs, shaking his head.

“It’s packed,” she agrees, “but I should have known to check the kitchen.”

His lips tick up into a grin, and he turns, leaning his hip against the counter in a way that only heightens the length of his limbs, that reminds her how good they feel around her--

“You did great, by the way,” he says, suddenly earnest. “If I didn’t say already.”

“You did.” She flinches at how awkward and hostile the words sound, but there’s no easy way to say, Kihal has reminded me you have a dick, and even though it abjectly terrifies me, I really want to make out. “I mean, thank you. Again. I’m glad you liked it.”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not a dry eye in the place.”

Shirayuki almost says, that wasn’t the point, but what falls out of her mouth is, “Not even yours?”

Obi lights up. “Definitely not.” His cheeks flush as he continues, “I got you a graduation gift.”

It’s on the counter just behind him, conspicuously placed away from the food: a small bag with crumpled up tissue paper, done so artlessly that she knows it couldn’t have been gift wrapped in-store, that he had done it himself. He had picked out that tiny bag, had crushed that paper in his huge hands-- his face distressed, like he’s afraid he’s doing it wrong, like he might break it just by trying-- and there’s something about it that is so sweet, so heartbreaking that she-- she--

Gosh, she really wants to kiss him.

“Me too,” she says, setting her plates down. Kihal may be waiting on the chicken marsala, but she’ll understand the delay. Probably all too well. “I left it upstairs. Should we--?“

“Oh, yeah!” Obi recoils with a grimace. “I mean, yes. Mine’s probably better given in private anyway.”

She blinks, wondering what he could give her that he wouldn’t want other people to see--

I was thinking of one of those little egg ones, the kind that just sit here–

“Obi!” she gasps, scandalized. “You didn’t...”

“What?” He catches her wary glance at the present, and his eyes pulse wide. “No! I mean, I didn’t--”

“Obi!” Nanna bustles in behind her. “You’ve finally made it! I was getting worried I’d miss you.”

With an ease that clearly comes from sixty years of practicing shamelessness, her grandmother closes the space she hasn’t managed to, enfolding Obi in a hug so tight he squeaks. It would warm her heart, normally, but all Shirayuki can think of is that bag, not two feet from them, that may or may not contain a gift that will definitely see her grounded until she’s thirty.

Shirayuki could live with that though-- after all, no one is more eager to not repeat history than her-- but-- but--

The very thought of Nanna standing here, in this room, sharing air with something at least vaguely phallic shaped that Obi would have every intention of putting inside her for the purpose of like, sex stuff and orgasms is just-- wrong. Super wrong. She tastes bile at the back of her throat just contemplating it.

“Have you had the meatballs yet?” Nanna asks, pulling away with a smile. “Colin put them on the menu for you especially.”

Pink flares high on Obi’s impossible cheeks. “Oh! I--” he blinks, gaze fixing over her shoulder-- “Lata?”

“Obi!” Shirayuki presses to the jamb to let him pass, and there’s something about the wildness of his eyes and the mussed mass of his hair that reminds her that the professor is a narrow man, but a tall one, looming over even Obi as he stumbles into the kitchen. “There you are. This place is a zoo.”

“It’s a party,” Nanna offers, wry.

He stares at her, uncomprehending. “Did I not just say that?”

“Lata.” Obi’s voice is strained, every line of his face etched with worry. “Is something wrong?”

Professor Forenzo doesn’t answer, not with words, but instead he reaches into his coat, thrusting out his hand, and--

And he’s holding an envelope. A large envelope. A golden lantern glitters under the kitchen light. “This came for you.”

Obi only stares, gaping, hands dead at his side.

“Oh!” Nanna gasps, eyes wide. “Oh, why don’t you-- you should--” her eyes meet Shirayuki’s around the professor’s shoulder-- “I’ll make your excuses, honey.”

She blinks. “But...”

Obi still hasn’t moved, and neither has Forenzo. Even from where she stands, she sees the professor’s hand shakes.

“Right.” She sets down her plates, taking the envelope from his hands as she slips her fingers through Obi’s limp ones. “We should go open this, don’t you think?”

Obi swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yes. Open it.”

She tugs on him, yanking him a single staggering step. “Come on, I know just the place.”

“Okay.” He stares at the envelope in her hand, following her woodenly. “Okay.”

Shirayuki glances at the plates on the counter. “Nanna, could you do a favor for me?”

She eyes Obi worriedly. “Anything you need.”

“Do you think you could bring a plate of chicken marsala to Kihal?” She grimaces sheepishly. “That was sort of why I came it here.”

Nanna's mouth twitches at the corner. “Sure thing. Have fun, you two.”

“Right,” Obi murmurs, every line of him tense. “Fun.”

The bleachers haven’t been broken down.

Somehow that’s the detail she hangs onto as they pull up to the field in Obi’s sedan, dew staining the satin of her flats. They’d been here only hours earlier, the afternoon sun burning bright and endless, but now fog hangs heavy over the grass with only the floodlights to break through it.

It’s strange how it only strikes her as she lays out a blanket with shaking hands, dew wetting her fingertips, that it’s all done now. Her whole life has been focused on graduating, on going to college, on not letting history repeat itself, and now it’s over, the work of a single afternoon. The moment she’s bent her whole life towards has passed.

Now she needs a new one.

“All right,” she says, settling onto her knees, feet crossed under her. “Is it time?”

Obi’s wide-eyed in the glow of the floodlights, mouth slack, his hands clenched around the edge of the envelope like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing holding him afloat. “Is it?”

“Obi.” She folds her hand over his, feeling how he shakes right down to his bones. “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay.” She gives him a confident smile she only half feels. “There’s skype, remember?”

He nods, absent. “Right. Right. I know. It’s just...”

Shirayuki knows what it’s just. She’d had plenty of time to think of every single worst-case scenario on the way over in triplicate, and now she’s just-- she’s just--

She’s tired of being afraid that something good will happen. “What’s the worst thing that could be in there? They won’t accept you? We’ve already been planning for that.” Her thumb rubs over the bone of his, soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know. I just...” He sniffs, rubbing his face on his shoulder. “Sometimes hope is worse, you know?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she knows that deep down inside, he’s still that little boy hoping his mom would fight for him, hoping that he’ll get passed to someone that will finally love him. She may not get it, but she understands.

“Okay, this is-- it’s getting dumb.” he laughs wetly, turning the envelope in his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Despite the bravado, his fingers shake as he opens it, muttering curses to himself when the flap won’t come off with one clean pull. Every time he tries to do another tear, the paper feathers out of his grip, until the edge is thousand little finicky rips that flutter off to the blanket. Shirayuki bites back a giggle as he tips the whole thing over, trying to use the weight of the packet to break through the last of it, sitting up on his knees and just shaking--

A thousand flyers flutter out, covering the blanket between them, the grass beside them, everything. Student Dining she sees on one, Greek letters on a dozen more, financial aid-- but still the bulk stays stuck inside, its squared-off corners stuck where the envelope didn’t fully tear.

“You know,” he grunts, tearing the edges off wholesale, “they don’t show you this shit in movies.”

A laugh bursts out of her, scattering the glossy papers she’d already straightened. “I think that’s because most people know how to open mail.”

“I know how to open mail,” he protests, shaking harder, “this is just unnaturally--”

The packet slips out in a slump, hitting the blanket with a weighty thwap, like the calves they show being birthed in biology class, only without all the, uh, extra gunk, or cows, or anything being actually birthed at all. They both stare at it, wide-eyed, neither of them making a move, not for the large, spiral-bound book or the crisp letter on top of it.

When Obi does, it’s for that, picking it up between his fingers as if it’s made of tissue, like all he has to do is breathe and it’ll break. Her eyes fall to the thick manual beneath it, squinting to make out the words Prospective Student Guide. Just like hers. “Obi...”

“I did it,” he chokes out. “I got in. I got in.”

In the glow of the floodlights she sees the shine on his face, and she knows, right then, that whatever her new moment is, she doesn’t want it unless its with him.

She fists his shirt in her hand, dragging him down until she can press her lips to his, until she can taste the salt under his lips and the hitch of his breath.

“I knew you could do it,” she murmurs as she pulls away, sitting back on her heels. “I’m so proud of you.”

His breath rasps out of his throat, eyes wide and gold like dollar coins, and-- and maybe this is too fast, too much. Maybe she’s too much like her mom, thinking that her high school boyfriend is forever when he’s really just right now, just what’s easy, and she--

She stops thinking when his mouth covers hers.

He whimpers into her mouth, hands digging through her hair like he can’t get close enough, like nothing less than consuming her whole will be. Her hands fly to his wrists, holding him where he is, leaning into his touch, and oh, maybe she is like her mom, falling too hard and too fast, but Obi’s right there to catch her.

With a groan, he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. “Well, I gotta say...this sort of fucks up the gift I got you.”

“What do you--?”

He springs for the bag, set at the edge of the blanket, and thrusts it at her. “Go ahead.”

Her brows furrow as she rifles through the tissue, plucking out wads of crumpled paper. There’s two layers at least, packed tight, and even if she hadn’t heard the broad strokes of his life before he came to Clarines, she’d be worried about just what sort of childhood he had if he can’t pack a gift bag.

She unearths a blister pack, pulling it out with a twist of her fingers. There’s a headset nestled inside, blue and white, clip-on instead of buds, with the packaging boasting microphone included!

“Oh,” she breathes, running her fingers over the bubble. The bulge of the mic is innocuous, a small thing, and it’s so easy to see the way it would have slipped subtly it under a hoodie, or how she could have just slung it around her neck as she moved from class to class, never bothered by the weight. She’d believed him when he said he was serious about her, that nothing about his feelings were casual, but still, still--

He wanted to fit into her life, as unobtrusively as he could. Hours away, he wanted her to know that he was there for her, only a quick phone call away.

“I didn’t want to get the earbuds since you always say they hurt your ears.” His grin goes wide, wicked. “You know, because you’re tiny.”

“I’m not tiny,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “my ears are tiny.”

“Sure, kid.” He coughs, mouth twitching, “it’s your ears.”

“It is!” she insists, swatting at his arm. “Anyway, thank you. These are wonderful.”

Obi shrugs, just a twitch of his shoulders, cheek flushing the pales pink. “You won’t really be needing them now, I guess.”

“I guess not.” She sets them aside, right next to his student guide, and-- and it’s all so much. Too much. “It was thoughtful, though. And I’m sure I’ll use them anyway, even if it’s not for, you know, three hour long skype calls.”

“Yeah, keep ‘em.” His grin pulls even wider. “I’ll just have to make sure to get you that other gift too, to make up for it.”

She surges forward with a yelp, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Stop.”

His lips shiver beneath her palm, and despite the burn on her cheeks, she can’t stop smiling either, can’t stop thinking about this is it, he is it. “Just sayin’...”

“Yes, yes, I think you’ve said plenty, thank you,” she laughs, dropping her hand. She’s so close to him now, half on his lap, her hand pressed to where his chest still shakes with laughter, and-- “We should celebrate.”

“Oh, are you going to take me out?” His arm cinches around her, yanking her close, and she gives out a shriek, hands bracing on his shoulders. “Going to drive me out to Olive Garden and treat me right?”

“I mean...if you want,” she blurts out, wishing that she was better at conveying...stuff. Sexy stuff. “I just meant that we could, um, celebrate here, too. Now.”

“Oh.” His eyes pulse wide. “Oh. You mean...here. Just the two of us. Like...” He swallows hard. “What were you, ah, thinking?”

“I thought I might, ah--” this should be easier than it is, especially when she can feel him twitch against her thigh, excited-- “leave that up to you?”

His eyes go impossibly wider. “You mean...anything?”

“Yeah.” It’s what’s fair; she asked him to touch her, to make her come, and he should-- he should also get the choice. It’s his achievement, not hers.

Scientific fact. The words still ring in her ears, reminding her what a terrible idea this is. Given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.

He ducks his head, fixing his gaze on hers. “Are you sure, kid?”

Shirayuki braces herself. It’s fine. She can do anything for him, even if it involves penises. “Yes. Anything.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.”

That’s all the warning she has before she spills back, air huffing out of her as she hits a particularly hard clump of earth. Obi’s there in a second, wrapping her legs around him, and oh, she’d thought maybe this would be a-- a blowjob, but-- but Obi has had sex before, after all, even told her he missed it--

So it’s a real surprise when he just kisses her, open-mouthed and wanting, and doesn’t do anything.

Not that she’s complaining. He’s got one hand snug against her scalp and the other keeping her hips firmly against his in a way that is...very exciting, especially when she can feel, um, him grind into her, right where she’s starting to ache. It’s just--

“You just want to make out?” she asks, incredulous, as he slips the strap of her dress down and cups the breast he bares. “That’s it?”

He pulls back, blinking. “Is there a problem with that?”

It’s hard to locate one when he rolls her nipple like that, right between two long fingers before his mouth closes over it wholesale. But still, still-- “I thought you’d want to-- to--” she takes a gasping breath as his hand snakes up her thigh-- “do something, um, new.”

“I do,” he rumbles, mouth grinning against her breast. “I just can’t really, ah, go for it.”

“Why not?” She squirms, lifting her hips as he hooks a finger into her panties and pulls. “I said any-- ohhh--thing.”

His fingers slip against her in just the way she likes, and oh, it’s getting really hard to protest any of this. His mouth is back on her neck, kissing down to her sternum, and her arguments turn mushy and indistinct as she tries to voice them, slurring into groans and sighs as he touches her, tracing her clit and teasing her folds.

“I know,” he murmurs against her skin as she arches into a particularly good thrust. “And I appreciate it, but...it’ll feel weird if you aren’t ready.”

That gets her thinking, as much as she can in this state, but all high function stop the minute he purrs, “Good thing you are now.”

His mouth leaves her skin, the hand in her hair skipping straight down to ruck up her skirt, and still she has no idea what he could possibly mean until he puts his mouth right on her clit.

“Oh!” she yelps, hips bucking so hard she nearly knocks his chin. “Woah!”

He blinks up at her, concerned. “Is this okay?”

Oh, it’s...it’s really hard to think when she can feel every puff of breath out of his mouth like a caress, deliciously warm against her. “Yes. I mean, yes, but I thought you would want, ah, something for you?”

“For me?” His pupils blow wide as he looks down at her, bare and wet beneath him, leaving only a thinnest ring of gold. “Kid, you don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

“O-oh?” The worst part about him being down there, touching her, is that she knows he can feel her get wetter, get hotter. “Just...recently? Or...?”

He laughs, tongue tracing along her slit in a way that makes her sure she’s about to come right there, if only he’d keep going. “Always.”

“Always?” she breathes, curious.

She can’t really see his cheeks, but his neck definitely flushes. “You were just always perching on things with, you know, skirts on and being cute. I’m only human.”

(”--and I think we may have to move this flat,” she hums, tucking a leg beneath her, pulling her skirt back down over her knee. “Raj keeps running into it when he exits through the door, and-- Obi, are you listening?”

“Huh?” he slurs, gaze jerking up. “Were you saying something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. The flats.”)

“Oh,” she pants, “oh.”

Her fingers curl through his hair, and with a single shuddering breath, she urges him down. His laugh huffs against her, so warm, and then he’s on her again, only this time better, more.

What he’s doing is just-- beyond her. His fingers thrust between her legs, so good and yet not nearly enough, hitting the rhythm she knows will bring her to the edge, but it’s his mouth that has her full attention. She’d imagined this before, sure, but she’d always though it would be his tongue where his fingers were, poking in and out, and she just assumed that would feel...good? Goofy, but probably nice, if people were always talking about doing it.

It had certainly appealed when Obi mentioned it, I could put my mouth on you, though she’d often wonder why afterward. Something that would make sense in the moment, she assumed, but not when someone was thinking with their actual brain, after.

She could not have been more wrong.

His mouth latches onto her clit, the jolt of pleasure almost too much, too intense when he give it one, strong suck. The noise she makes isn’t anything sexy, half a yelp and half a grunt, but he readjusts, tongue flicking over the tiny bud instead and-- oh, that’s...that’s much better.

Maybe a little bit too much. She wants this to last, to enjoy the feeling of him down there, between her legs, stubble tickling her thighs and mouth so warm against her, but-- she can feel it building already, too quickly, his fingers moving with his tongue in just the right way, sending her right to the edge--

She comes with a strangled cry, head tilted back toward the stars, and for a long moment she’s one with the sky above her, weightless, before she plummets back down to earth.

“Oh,” she gasps, blinking away tears, “wow.”

Obi flops beside her, mouth stretches in a grin, and pants, “Good celebration.”

She stares at him. “Is that it?”

He jolts up onto his elbow, serious. “Di you not--?”

“N-no! I did. I definitely did. It’s just...” She braces herself, determined. “It’s your celebration! You should come.”

His mouth rounds into a surprised O as he stares at her. He shakes himself a moment later, laughing, “No, no, trust me, Kid. I’m fine.”

“Obi.” She rolls up onto her elbow, fixing him with her most stubborn look. “I’m not going to make you drive back with a hard on, and then sit through more of my graduation party.”

She presses her thigh against it, just to underscore her point, and he groans, eyes fluttering shut. It should be so hot, but, ohh, it is.

“See?” she murmurs thickly. “The celebration isn’t over.”

His breath pants out of him, harsh. “Kid...”

“I-I could...”

“Kid,” he laughs, “don’t put yourself out. I can handle it. I mean, if you don’t, uh...”

“Yes!" She winces at the relief in her voice. “I mean...yes. You should-- do it now. I just won’t look.”

“Right,” he laughs as she turns over, putting her back to him. “I wouldn’t want you to feel oppressed by my massive--”

“If I’m going to see it one day, you probably don’t want to give me unrealistic expectations,” she snips waspishly, folding her hands to make a pillow.

“Oh.” The word bursts out of him, like he’s been punched. “Yeah. I mean...right.”

She can hear each tooth of his fly as he unzips, so slow she squirms in anticipation even though she’s not doing a thing, just laying here for, uh, moral support. It’s strange to think it’s right there, that if she turned over she’d see his-- his--

Well, a lot more of Obi than she’s seen before. More than she’s prepared to see, no matter how much she’s thought about it.

He gasps when he takes himself in hand, and even though she knows the mechanics of this, of boys doing that, she’s surprised at how quiet it is, how it sounds less like comical wet slapping and more like... skin on skin. It’s soft, rhythmic, lacking the weird, almost violent jerking in the five seconds of every old teen comedy she’s seen before she covered her eyes. And the sounds Obi makes...

Ah, those are...nice. Really nice.

Her thighs clench at each soft sigh, at the way his breath hitches with every stroke. Obi always said that just watching her come did it for him, and she believed him, she had, but-- now she knows how true it is. She only came minutes ago, but the sounds of him alone is making her wet, slicking the inside of her thighs and reminding her how he’d sounded in the car, months ago--

--ah, yes, like that, god – fuck, Shirayuki, I–

He moans, long and pained, and she-- she’s curious. Enough to get her into trouble, Grandad says, and sometimes out again. So she can’t help it, she-- she peeks.

Not at his-- down there, of course, but just at his face, at the safe parts. Or at least, it would have been safe, if his head wasn’t thrown back like that, if his eyes weren’t wrenched shut, mouth slack--

Yes, god, the way you sound – god, fuck, that’s so good, please –

Shirayuki rolls back, fitting tight against his side, stomach thrilling as she feels the pace of his arm rubbing against her, as she watches the way his whimpers eke out of his mouth, unbidden. He must feel it, feel the difference, because he stops, a whine wringing from his throat as his eyes slit open to look at her, so dark--

“Don’t stop,” she tells him, breathless. “Keep going.”

His eyes widen, seeking hers, and as he starts moving again, breath rasping out of his chest, all Shirayuki can see is gold. It’s too much, too much, and she leans in, covering her lips with his.

Obi gasps into her mouth, whimpering as her tongue licks against his teeth. He arches into her, hand wrapping around her neck and dragging her closer, fingers tangling roughly in her hair until he cups the back of her skull, holding her to him.

“God,” he murmurs against her lips, pulling back with each press to suck down a drowning man’s breath. “Fuck.”

His elbow works against her stomach, and she’s too curious still, letting her hand trail down his arm to feel the corded muscle there, standing out in stark relief as he strains to meet his pleasure. Her fingers trail down further, further, following those lines to his wrist, to where she can already feel the heat from his--

He whines, writhing beside her, hips bucking into her thigh, and she realizes: he’s coming.

Shirayuki jumps back from him with a pop, eyes searching his face, but it’s too late, it’s over, his head dropping back onto the grass with a laugh. In the burn of the floodlights, his face is flushed, dewy.

“You don’t, um, have a tissue or something in that bag of yours, do you?” he asks shyly, looking like he’d appreciate if the field experienced a sudden, localized sinkhole.

“Oh!” She pops up, grasping blindly for where she dropped her purse. “Yes! Here. I, um, also have hand sanitizer.”

Obi lets out a weak laugh as he takes the packet from her. “It’s not that much of a--” he hisses-- “mess, god damn.”

She dares a glance over her shoulder, mouth dry as she watches his back work. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just-- sensitive.” He casts a shy glance over his shoulder, before letting it skitter away. “It was just...really good.”

“Oh.” That is really not helping with her whole...situation. Especially now that she can see where her panties are, an arm’s length away on the grass, and she’s reminded that there’s nothing beneath her dress, that she could easily lay back and-- “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His zipper is loud in the silence, enough that she feels her own blush bloom on her cheeks. He lets out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You know, I think it’s good you have your dickphobia, kid.”

That’s...definitely not what she’d though he’d say after all...this. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He lays down next to her, hands raising up to grasp her by the shoulders and guide her down beside him, ear pressed firmly to his chest. His heart is beating loud, strong, and triple time. “If that’s what it’s like with you just being here, I don’t know if...” He coughs, squirming. “I’m not sure I’m ready to have sex either. With you.”

She shrinks. Of course, of course. “Oh...”

“No, no! That’s not--” he pulls back to look at her, so serious-- “I want to. I want to so bad. But, I just mean...”

He lets out a sigh, head hitting the ground with a thunk. “I’ve never done any of this with, you know, feelings too. It’s just been...stuff. That I did. To feel good. But now...”

He bites his lip, and it’s terrible how it only makes her want to kiss it, to take it into her mouth and sooth away the sting. “Like, my dick wants to have sex, all the way, all the time. Everything about you does it for me, and I just...” He lets out a frustrated groan. “I think that my...my heart...”

He presses a hand there, brows furrowed, like he’s not used to thinking about it. “Never mind.”

“No, I...” She lays a hand over his, squeezing it. “I get it.”

“It’s just that...” He takes a breath, clears his throat, and looks at her with eyes as warm as honey. “You’re not casual for me, Shirayuki.”

She can feel the smile on her face, almost too big to contain, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good,” she breathes, curling fingers into his hair. “You’re not casual for me either.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #rarely pure and never simple #as promised #THE GRADUATION #this was actually supposed to be the bulk of the last chapter #but things got out of hand on both ends and now HERE WE ARE #fyi the first draft that included both chapter 5 and this was about 3.5K #and now together they are over 13K #JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW #HOW STUPID LONG THESE THINGS BECOME IN THEIR FINAL DRAFT #I'd actually hoped to get this out the last week of december and then do ch 7 for kiss-a-thon #but OBVIOUSLY that was not meant to be #AH MEMORIES

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

Text

One More Kiss 2 /2

Summary: They want to be together, but the princess cannot marry the lieutenant. Emma is determined but Killian is noble. Heartbreak ensues.

a/n: I honestly intended for this to be a one-shot. BUT... I have never written an unhappy ending and immediately felt bad. Angst shouldn’t be for its own sake, it should come to something. It should make the relationship stronger when they come through it in the end. After all this is FANTASY and there’s enough pointless pain in the real world. SO, here is Chapter 2. Still angsty, but your hearts should be whole again by the end.

3k+ words

Rating: T

On AO3 | On Tumblr

Tagging: @darkcolinodonorgasm @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 (stop shouting at me now, please) One More Kiss, Part 2:

“Killian’s a good man,” said Snow, cradling Emma close as she wept. “He did the right thing. You cannot marry him. To lie with him would have been reckless and irresponsible. What if you had become pregnant?”

“Y-you’re just worried about your d-damned alliances!” Emma sobbed, almost wishing she hadn’t confided in her mother. But the princess cannot cry for days on end without someone noticing, and when Snow came to investigate the tale had just poured out.

“I am worried about them, and so should you be. War is coming, Emma, it’s all but inevitable at this point. If we’re to have any hope of victory we need a solid alliance forged by your marriage. There is no other way to protect our country.”

“It's n-not fair!”

“No it isn’t.” Snow stroked Emma’s hair. “If I had my way you would be free to marry whom you wished, be it a naval lieutenant—“

“Captain. H-he’s a captain now.”

“—a naval captain or a prince or a farm labourer, if that was your choice. But these are desperate times, Emma, and we must all make sacrifices. Killian understands that. Do you?”

---

Emma blinked, shaking off the old memory, and returned her attention to the reflection in her dressing room mirror. Widening her eyes, she pressed her fingertips gently against the delicate skin beneath them. It was distressingly loose, baggy and bruised from lack of sleep and stress. Once her eyes had been bright and full of laughter, now worry lines spread from their corners and the frown between them seemed ever present. Killian had loved her eyes. What would he think if he could see them now?

Soon she would find out.

Six years to the day had passed since he’d left, years in which everything had changed, leaving Emma feeling she must now be unrecognisable to the pampered, naive girl she’d been.

(I love you. I always will. Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.)

Was that still true for him, she wondered? As it was for her?

A knock echoed through the chamber.

“Enter,” she said, turning to face the door, smoothing her expression into the royal mask.

It opened to admit a young page, who bowed deeply. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty. The council is waiting.”

“Thank you. Please inform them I will be there momentarily.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Emma smoothed her hair and her gown, and patted her face with a light puff of powder. There had been a time, not long since, when she would have had a dozen maids to take care of such things for her, but times were very different now.

She walked briskly down the long corridor to the council chamber and nodded to the footmen who guarded the heavy double doors. In perfect unison they swung the doors open and announced: “Her Majesty, Queen Emma!”

Emma entered the chamber and nodded at her ministers, seating herself in her chair and gesturing for them to do the same.

“Gentlemen,” she said. “What have you to report?”

The Minister of the Interior ostentatiously cleared his throat. “The Jewel of the Realm returned early this morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “Sooner than anticipated. The rest of the ships in the fleet are a week or two behind. Admiral Jones has been debriefed and will make his report to you at a private audience this afternoon.”

Emma kept her face calm and her breathing measured, but her fingernails dug dark red gouges into the skin of her arms.

He’s back. He’s back. He’s here.

“Is there a reason he couldn’t be present for this meeting?” she asked, pleased that her voice came out calm and steady.

The Interior looked at a spot just above her left shoulder. “He is at present with the Court surgeons,” he said.

“The surgeons?!”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I will leave the admiral to supply the details, but in short the war on the seas is over. Our navy won a decisive battle against the Dark One’s forces and they are defeated. But at a great cost in men and ships. The Jewel, as the fastest of the surviving vessels, carried the wounded home while the able-bodied took charge of the others. Admiral Jones commanded her, but he was --ahem-- he was also among the wounded.”

Breathe, Emma! she commanded herself. He’s alive. He’s home.

“Thank you, Minister. Please send Admiral Jones to see me as soon as he is able. Now, what news of our ground forces?”

---

Emma sat in her private study, tapping her foot against the floor as she waited, thinking about Killian. So much had happened since she’d seen him last: the plague, the war, her parents’ deaths, and Baelfire’s. Her kingdom’s population decimated, its land ravaged. The adjoining kingdoms, their ancient allies, broken on the same wheel.

She loved Killian, had never for a moment stopped loving him, but she was no longer the girl he’d known. And if her experiences these past six years had changed her beyond recognition, what must his own have done to him?

What began as a straightforward diplomatic mission to the Endless Isles had ended four years later in the bloodiest sea battle ever fought, one that took his brother’s life along with the lives of most of the navy’s senior command. Killian, according to the reports carried by her mother’s messenger birds, had singlehandedly rallied the remaining men and ships back into a disciplined fleet, and led them in pursuit of their attackers. King David’s last official act before the plague took his life had been to promote him to Admiral, the youngest in the long history of Misthaven’s navy. How much of her Killian would be left in this fierce man he had become? How much could possibly remain?

A knock sounded at the door, and Emma took several deep breaths to calm her pounding heart. “Enter.”

The door swung open and Killian stood before her, an older, harder version of him but still as breathtakingly handsome as she remembered, still turning her blood to fire with his mere presence. For the briefest moment his eyes blazed with emotion, but then he bowed deeply to her and when he stood upright again his face was impassive.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

Gods, thought Emma. His voice is still the same. She should know, she heard it regularly in her dreams.

“Admiral Jones,” she managed to say. “Please take a seat.” She indicated the chair opposite her own and Killian approached, sitting himself down with some difficulty. He laid his hands in his lap and Emma noticed that the left one was heavily bandaged.

“My ministers inform me that the war is all but won,” she said. “And that we have you to thank for this.”

“It is won, Your Majesty,” he replied. “The Dark One’s forces have been destroyed, his fleet is gone. And I am just one of many men responsible for this.”

“Modesty? That’s not like you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them, needling him as she used to do. Perhaps some things hadn’t changed.

He smiled, reluctantly to be sure, but his mouth curved upwards and humour flashed in his eyes. “I dare say much about me has changed since the last time we spoke,” he said. He looked at her penetratingly, blue eyes missing nothing. “And about you as well, if you’ll permit me saying so, my Queen.”

“Of course, and you are correct.” More so than he knew.

He shifted towards her, then caught himself and sat back, squaring his shoulders. “I was sorry to hear about your parents,” he said gruffly. “I admired them greatly.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat that still formed when she thought of them.

“And also,” he cleared his own throat, “Your fiancé.”

“Yes.” She didn’t want to talk about Baelfire. Didn’t want to talk about how hard she’d tried to keep her promise to Killian, to be happy. How she’d thought maybe, maybe she might actually be able to please everyone, to find happiness with the Dark One’s son and secure a crucial alliance, to do her duty to Killian and her parents both. How Bae’s death from plague the week before their wedding had ripped both those things away, violently and all at once. “And your brother,” she replied, deflecting. “He is sorely missed.”

“Aye.” He laughed lightly, but there was no humour in it. “Far too many good people have been lost.”

“Yes.” They sat silently for a moment, remembering.

It was Killian who broke the silence. “After the battle I turned the Jewel of the Realm into a hospital ship,” he said. “To transport the wounded home as quickly as possible. Shipboard medicine is rather rough and ready, as I’m sure you can imagine, though I would like to recommend Doctor Victor Whale for a commendation. He kept many more men alive than should have survived.”

“I’ll see that it’s done.”

“There are many-- many posthumous commendations and medals I would also like to recommend.” Anger darkened his face. “It’s bloody pointless, of course, this pomp and ceremony for men who are dead, but if it helps their families…”

She longed to hug him, wrap him tightly in her arms and soothe his pain away. “Leave a list of your recommendations with my steward,” she said gently. “I will ensure that your men are properly honoured. It is the very least we can do for their sacrifice.”

He nodded. “Thank you. The remainder of the fleet should arrive in a week or so. There are… five ships remaining.”

“Five!” Five out of a fleet of thirty.

“Aye.”

Emma resisted the urge to rub the tension from her temples, reminding herself that for any ships to survive against the Dark One’s seemingly invincible forces was a near miraculous thing, that defeating him was all that mattered, whatever the cost.

She wondered if she would be able to remember that if Killian had died.

“Five is far better than none,” she said after a long pause, not missing the way Killian’s shoulders relaxed at her words. “We’ll rebuild.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Admiral. Is there anything further?”

“Just one thing.” He reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear, and Emma was both relieved that he still did that and also wanted to weep. “I wish to resign my commission.”

“Resign it!”

“Aye.” He held up his left arm with a wry grimace. “Our fleet was not the only thing the Dark One nearly destroyed. We succeeded in ending that demon but in the battle my hand was irreparably damaged. It had to be amputated.”

“But… how are… don’t you need… are you okay?” She could kick herself for the inane question, but there was warmth in his eyes when he smiled in response.

“As well as can be. Whale performed some sorcery, I’ve no notion what, and the wound closed with remarkable speed. The palace surgeons believe it will be fully healed in a month or so. But that doesn’t change the fact that the hand is gone and without it I can be of little use to the navy.”

“I’m sure that’s not true--”

“Please Em-- Your Majesty.” He flushed at his slip, but pressed on. “I have been through… rather a lot in the past years and I don’t especially care for what it’s made of me. I need to make a change, before I become a person I can no longer stand.”

The urge to weep returned, stronger than ever. “I understand,” she whispered. “I accept your resignation.”

He nodded, swallowed, cleared his throat. “Thank you. I-- that’s all I have to report.” He rose from his chair, bowed to her, and turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when she called out “Admiral!”

He turned, and what she saw in his eyes stole her breath. “Where will you go?”

“I’m staying in the palace until the fleet returns, to ensure all goes smoothly. I won’t officially resign until a replacement can be found, and after that… I don’t know. Something else.”

“If there’s anything you need,” if you need me “please let me know.”

His eyes blazed and for the briefest moment she thought he might break. But then he opened the door. “I will,” he replied, and he was gone.

---

Emma couldn’t sleep. She was antsy and anxious and could think of nothing but Killian.

(I’ve put Admiral Jones in the Rose Suite,” her steward had told her that afternoon, and Emma had concealed the pounding of her heart as she thanked him.)

The Rose Suite. Just around the corner from her own chambers. He was so close. So close.

She felt herself throw back the covers and toss a shawl over her thin linen nightgown. Her feet carried her out of her bedroom and down the corridor, around the corner to Killian’s door, and her hand rose to knock before she could stop it. There was a shuffling noise then it swung open and Killian stood before her, wearing his uniform trousers and nothing else.

“Emma!” he gasped in surprise. “Er-- Your Majesty.”

“No. Emma. It’s always Emma to you. Killian, I--” She paused, unsure of what to say. There was so much she wished to tell him, so much that needed to be said between them, but the words tumbled in her mind and caught in her throat and all she could manage was to grab hold of his shoulders, stand on her toes, and kiss him.

His arms came around her instantly, his mouth hot and insistent on hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself as tightly to him as she could, vaguely aware that he had shut the door behind them and pressed her up against it. Her thin nightgown was no barrier at all and she could feel his chest hair against her nipples and the hardness between his legs, swelling against her almost where she needed it to be. She shifted, lifted her leg, desperate to get closer, and he curled his hand around her thigh and hoisted her up so she could lock her legs around his waist as he ground against her, rubbing himself against her most sensitive spot, the perfect spot, until she feared she might burst from the pleasure roaring through her.

She broke their kiss, gasping as Killian’s mouth immediately found her neck, trailing kisses down it as she dug her fingernails into the hard muscle of his shoulders and moaned.

“Killian... oh, gods... I love you..”

He froze at her words, and she cursed herself as his mouth left her neck and he leaned his head on the door behind her. She could hear his ragged breathing and the words he barely whispered. “I love you too, Emma. Damn it!”

He gently unhooked her legs from around his waist and set her on her feet before stepping back, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?” she nearly snarled, as frustration replaced lust. “I kissed you!”

“But I-- I had almost no control--”

“I wish you’d had none,” she retorted. “That’s twice now I’ve made a move and you refused to follow through. It shouldn’t be this godsdamned difficult to get myself ravished by a man who claims to love me.”

“It’s precisely because I love you that I can’t ravish you, surely you see that?” he snarled back. “Emma, much has changed these six years, but one thing remains unaltered. You are royalty and I am not.”

“What does that matter anymore?” she cried in exasperation. “The kingdoms are shattered, Killian, the old guard is gone. Almost anyone who ever cared about protocol or marriage alliances is dead. Those of us who survive must make our own way into a new world and we can make our own rules for how to live there. I doubt at this juncture if anyone will do much more than raise an eyebrow at the Queen of Misthaven marrying her navy’s most decorated admiral, the war hero responsible for her kingdom even having a navy.”

He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “Marrying?”

“Yes.” she said fiercely. “Marrying. Why does that surprise you? I never stopped loving you, every day of these six years I have thought of you, and prayed to every god I could find to bring you home safely. So yes, of course I want to marry you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

With a sharp tug he pulled her back into his arms, squeezing her tightly, his face in her hair. “I want that too,” he said. “So bloody much. If you’re sure--”

“I’m the damn Queen, I can do as I please,” she declared. “Who’s going to tell me I can’t? Our allies will support us now because they must, there is no other choice. We all need each other if we’re to rebuild our lands. And there is no one I would rather have at my side as we do that than you, my love.” She pulled back slightly to look at him, at the tears glimmering in his eyes, as they did in her own. “You said once that I needed a steady and sensible man and that is what I intend to have, youngest-admiral-in-history-Jones.”

He choked a laugh, and pulled her close again. “I’m hardly steady or sensible, love, I have a dreadful temper and I-- I’ve done some awful things. Things you might not be able to forgive.”

“I forgive you already.”

“How can you? You don’t know--”

“I don’t need to know, unless you wish to tell me. I know you, and that’s enough.”

“You might not know me anymore,” he said quietly. “The things I’ve seen and done, they’ve changed me. I’m not the boy you knew.”

She shook her head, hearing his version of her own concerns fall from his lips. “That doesn’t change how I feel,” she said, as reassuringly as she could. “I’m not the girl you knew. Does that mean you no longer love me?”

His eyes roamed her face and he brushed her hair back from it, his thumb tracing the fine lines around her eyes. “If anything I love you more,” he said softly, “Seeing how strong you are, how you kept the kingdom together through one tragedy after another. You’ve become the most extraordinary woman.”

She flushed at the praise. “You’re extraordinary too.”

“I’m not--”

“You are. No one else could have commanded the fleet as you did. No one else could have defeated the Dark One. I’m so proud of you, Killian. Of everything you’ve done.”

He made a choked noise and pulled her close again, kissing her deeply, desperately, lifting her up and carrying her to his bed. He laid her gently on the mattress and looked down at her, his eyes brimming with wonder and lust and hope. She smiled.

“Does this mean you accept my proposal? You’ll marry me?”

“I will marry you. But first--” He grinned, his old, wicked grin that made her stomach flutter and her heart soar. “First I will ravish you. Thoroughly.”

Their kingdom lay in ruins, the life they had known gone forever. But for the first time in years Emma felt confident that they could be rebuilt, better and stronger than ever before. They would rebuild it, she and Killian. Together.

She threaded her fingers into his hair, pulled him down atop her. “It’s about damn time,” she said.

#cs ff #cs fic #cs ff au #enchanted forest au #lieutenant duckling #captain swan #angst #but with a happy ending this time #forbidden love #one more kiss #profdanglaisstuff

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easnuppa · 5 years

Text

Secret feelings

Chapter 6

Seven weeks had gone since they arrived at the colony called Haven, and they had not gotten any closer at coming up with an escape plan. They had silently, and thanks to Rosita and Abeˋs effort, settled down at the colony. She could easily see how more relaxed Daryl had become lately, hard labor and hanging out with the guys now and that made his shoulders less tense and it didn't drive him up the wall to be cooped up in the hotel room with her all the time. Their life together had become somewhat of a routine also, in the morning they slept together, then Daryl went to work, while she ate breakfast at Rositas before she helped Rosita out with her son. Laundry, cleaning and what not, in the afternoon they ate dinner together, in silence, before they either played cards that Abe had provided for them, or she read her book for the umpth time and he helped out maintaining the hotel. Then when it was time for bed they slept together again before they both exhaustedly passed out.

Savannah knew she had no reason to complain, this was what she had dreamed of with Daryl. It was almost like they really were together, except that she knew they weren't, and she knew Daryl had no feelings for her other then the friendship they had formed back with the other group. It felt a bit weird now, they were hardly speaking together, Daryl never looked her in the eyes and she hated forcing him to be trapped with her like this. She stood in the bathroom and stared into her own reflection in the mirror. She pulled the wet washcloth over her face and neck, as she was about to run it over her shoulder and down her arm, she stopped and looked closer. Two dark red spots could be seen on her neck and shoulder and she remembered how Daryl had sucked hard down on her skin as he came this morning. She felt the same familiar flutter in her stomach as she thought about him, god she just could not get enough of the man. She continued to wash herself off and then dried her damp skin with a towel, she then glanced back into the mirror, she had really put on some weight lately, her breasts were fuller, her cheeks where rounder, well at least she was eating more healthy now. She retracted her gaze away before she pulled on her clothes, as she straightened up she was hit by a dizzy spell and had to grab the sink to steady herself. This was the third day she had felt weird, dizzy, exhausted and the nausea that came and went. She shut her eyes and breathed slowly to ride off the wave of nausea. If only they could manage to escape this place, find their own people, then things could go back to how it was at the prison. Maybe then Daryl could find happiness with his true love, Beth. Oh god, she thought, Beth..... How in hell was she gonna be able to look the girl in the eyes after sleeping with Daryl for nearly seven weeks now? It was a nightmare, then another thought popped in her head that made tears well up in her eyes, maybe he was fantasizing about Beth while sleeping with her, maybe that was why he always seemed so ready. Oh god, she felt her heart shatter in her chest, never had she ever felt something like this, something that could only be described as a bottomless sorrow. She stumbled out to the mainroom and crawled into the bed, where she buried herself under the covers and wiped her eyes.

Savannah swatted the annoying hand away that was shaking her and making her mind spin and her stomach to turn, she grunted.

"Savannah, you have to wake up, are you not feeling well, hon?" she recognized Rositas voice. She tried to open her eyes and focus but then she felt the nausea roll over her again. She leaned over the bed and luckily Rosita was fast enough to see what she needed and shoved a trashcan in front of her. She dry heaved into the can before she shakingly laid back on the bed, a cold washcloth was placed on her forehead and she looked up at Rosita and gave her a weak smile. Rosita sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Hon what's the matter?" Savannah pushed her palms over her eyes to stop the tears flow.

"I think I might have food poisoning or stomach flu or something," she said and then shakingly told Rosita about the swine flu epidemic that had happened in the prison a couple of weeks before the governors attack, and how it had killed off a lot of their group before they could get their hands on some antibiotics, Rosita pursed her lips.

"Do you have a sore throat or any flu like symptoms?" Savannah shook her head.

“Has Daryl been puking his guts out these past days?" she shook her head again. Rosita patted her shoulder.

"Then we can at least rule out stomach flu, swine flu and food poisoning, because you and Daryl eat the exact same food," Savannah sighed.

"Then what the hell is wrong with me?" Rosita gave her a warm smile.

"Ok, take a deep breath," Rosita told Savannah, " you told me that you and Daryl are sleeping with each other on a regular basis right, the guards are doing the same with you guys, like they did with me and Abe right?" Savannah blushed slightly and nodded.

"Ok, thought so, how long is it since you had your period?" Savannah bit down on her lip and shrugged.

"I don't know, it has been pretty irregular after the outbreak and all that you know, lack of food, the stress and all that," Rosita nodded and understood what she meant.

"But you have been eating more healthy now, and your daily routines makes everything a little less stressful for you," Savannah frowned up at Rosita, why was her friend talking in such riddles?

"What are you getting at?" she asked a little annoyed and Rosita giggled.

"I think maybe it is time to have a check up with Dr Pete, I think maybe you are pregnant," Savannah blinked and stared at Rosita, she could not be serious, her thoughts from this morning came crashing down in her head, Beth, Daryl. Oh god, what if she was, what would Daryl say, it would ruin his chances with Beth if they ever found their group again. Tears started welling up in her eyes again and she could not hold back the sob.

"Oh god no, it can't be true, I can't be pregnant," Rosita frowned.

"What's the matter honey, I thought it would make you happy? You and Daryl are having a baby, isn’t that what you hoped and dreamed about, you told me only last week, you love him," Savanna angrily wiped the tears away.

"Yeah exactly, I love him, and of course I would love to have his baby, if this whole shit charade was real," she whispered angrily and jumped out of bed and started pacing on the floor. Rositaˋs frown grew deeper.

"What do you mean?" Savannah turned towards her and threw her arms out in frustration.

"Me and Daryl aren't married, we aren't even a couple, we have been buddies in a weird way, best friends at one time back at the prison, then hunting partners at the most, we escaped the prison together so he was stuck with me until we found the rest of the group. There is another chick in our group that Daryl was crazy about, a blonde petite angel called Beth, everyone adored her, she had a heart of gold, gawd, you should have seen him each night, how he would stare longingly at her, or when she was walking Judith, Rickˋs daughter, out in the yard, his eyes was literally glued on her. She too had a thing for him, she always blushed when he was mentioned," Rosita held her hand up to stop Savannahˋs ranting.

"Beth, the one you told me about earlier? The same Beth that was only 18? She might be an angel honey, but Savannah, come on, how old is Daryl? 34-35?" Savannah sighed.

"He is 33," Rosita nodded and got up from the bed.

"Exactly and what can a little innocent, naive 18 year old offer a 33 year old man? A man like Daryl? Iˋve seen how he looks at you, how he watches out for you, honey you have nothing to worry about, he is totally into his hunting buddy, believe me!" Savannah scoffed, what did Rosita know? She did not know Daryl like she did, she had never met Beth.

"Now come on Savannah, there is no point in waiting any longer, I'll take you to dr. Pete and then Iˋll go and get Daryl so you two can sit down and talk," Savannah pulled on her boots and scoffed again.

"Yeah right, Daryl hasn’t said more then two words to me the last seven weeks, itˋs like he went all caveman on me after we started sleeping together. Only a nod, a frown, a scoff or a grunt, that's all I’ve gotten. He will not be thrilled by the news, believe me, he will freak out, you do not know him like I do," Rosita hooked her arm with hers and pulled her out of the room and down a floor until they were standing outside of dr. Peteˋs office door, waiting for the man to open.

Daryl hammered the last nail into the roof he had been working on the last weeks when he was called down by Abe, when his feet was on solid ground he turned to see why he was called down and with Abe stood Agatha and Gregory. Fucking hell what did those dipshits want with him now? Then the anxiety claws gripped around his stomach and his blood almost froze to ice in his veins. Something had happened to Savannah. He looked around to see if he could spot Rosita, he knew how close Abeˋs wife and Savannah had gotten. He forced his feet to walk over to them.

"What?" he asked and looked at Abe, but the man who he had started to consider a friend, just shrugged, he then directed his stare at the council members. Agatha was the one who spoke up first, with a huge smile she reached out a hand to him.

"It seems like congratulations are in order, Mr. Dixon. Pete just officially confirmed the happy news," she said and Daryl just stared at the woman. Had she just hit her head or something? He heard Abe sigh and cut in.

"Thank you both, Agatha and Gregory, Iˋll take it from here, I’m sure you both have more important things to see to, I will help him with the move," Agatha smiled and patted Abeˋs arm.

"Thank you Mr. Ford, we appreciate everything you do for this community. Show Mr. Dixon to cabin five, will you?" Abe nodded and watched the two walk away before he turned to Daryl. Daryl frowned and looked at Abe quizzically.

"The hell was that woman talkin’ about?" Abe placed an arm around Darylˋs shoulders and steered him in the direction of his and Rositaˋs cabin, he pushed Daryl down in one of the chairs out on the porch before he went inside and got his secret stash of whiskey before he joined Daryl. Daryl continued to stare at Abe as a bottle of whiskey was shoved into his hand and coaxed to take a swig.

"Has Savannah said anythin’ about bein’ sick? Have ya seen her being sick?" Daryl felt all color drain from his face but swiftly shook his head.

"Is she sick? Why would those asshats congratulate me if sheˋs sick?" he hated being this confused, Abe just shook his head.

"Nah sheˋs probably fine, well nothing serious at least, just the regular stuff like morning sickness, dizzyspells, you know the delio that follows when a chick get pregnant," Daryl felt like the breath had been kicked out of his lungs and he had to grip the arms on the chair to steady himself. Savannah was knocked up, how the hell had that happened? He shook his head, he knew how, christ he wasn't an ignorant teen afterall, but how and why the hell had this happened now? They were gonna escape this place. He grabbed blindly at the whiskey bottle and tilted his head back as he took a large swig. He felt the liquor burn down his throat, this was a disaster, she didn’t wanna be burdened with his offspring, the Dixon blood and the Dixon curse did not need to be passed on to yet another generation.

"Looks like the sky just fell and crashed in your head there, buddy" Daryl got up from the chair and started pacing back and forth on Abeˋs porch.

"Cause it ain’t fucking good news, now sheˋs fucking stuck with mah sorry ass! She ain't wanna be stuck with a Dixon kid!" Abe sighed and grabbed the bottle of whiskey that hung loosely in Darylˋs hand as he walked by him and took a long swig.

"Well looks like the damage is already done here bud, and you better get your shit together before you go and meet her. One thing I know is how fragile pregnant women are," Daryl suddenly slid down onto the floor like his feet had been kicked out from under him.

"I’ve been a total shit to her for weeks," Abe nodded and handed over the whiskey.

"I know bud, Rosita told me," Daryl glared up at Abe through his bangs, his friend just shrugged.

"You know how chicks talk,"Abe inhaled, "well you can always change that, the woman is crazy about you and I bet my nuts that sheˋs happy that sheˋs gonna have your kid," Daryl scoffed and glanced over to the forest that surrounded their home. Abe got out of his chair and helped Daryl up on his feet.

"Well, we better get you guys installed in cabin number five. It’s going to be dark soon. And Iˋm not gonna miss out on dinner with my girl and kid."

Savannah and Rosita stood in the middle of the room in her and Darylˋs new home, here it was a small kitchen, two bedrooms and a small living room. It was sparsely furnished, but plenty for them to live comfortably. This was all so overwhelming, she had tested positive on the pregnancy test given by the dr, then a guard was summoned to take the news to the council. Although Rosita had offered to go over to the building site to inform Daryl, but was brushed off by immediately, that was not how it was done at the Haven, it was the council's duty to congratulate the father. She had had a sinking feeling in her stomach ever since, she knew Daryl was upset with her and she dreaded when the time came to be alone with him. Rosita had gotten the heads up from the council to show her to her new home. Daryl and Abe had already picked up their few belongings from their room at the hotel and moved it back to the cabin, now they were sitting outside on the porch drinking coffee. The sun had set about an hour ago, and Rosita turned towards Savannah.

"Are you going to be ok on your own now?" she asked and Savannah forced back the tears and hugged her new friend tightly.

"Thank you for supporting me today," she whispered and Rosita gave her a warm smile and squeezed her hand.

"Of course, honey, that is what friends are for," she said before she walked out to her husband and her son. Savannah sunk down on the couch and a tear slipped. As soon as she heard Daryl walk in the front door she hurried to wipe it away before she rushed over to the kitchen.

"You’re probably hungry, Iˋll start on dinner, the council sent over some supplies earlier," Daryl grunted his usual response. She poured some pasta in a pot and put it over the oven, and then she poured some tomato sauce in another pan. She stirred it a bit harshly and drops of tomato sauce splashed on her shirt, she wiped it away with her finger which she stuck in her mouth to suck clean. It did not take long until the food was prepared and she filled two plates and placed them at the table and slid down to her chair, suddenly feeling exhausted again. She hid a yawn with the back of her hand as she picked at her food, Daryl shoved his mouth full as usual, nothing could kill his appetite, it was adorable. She sighed, was better to get this over with, they needed to talk. She knew, well at least she needed to.

"Iˋm sorry Daryl, I didn’t mean for you to find out like that, I swear I didn't know until this morning either, I just thought it was food poisoning or a stomach flu or something," his fork froze mid way up to his mouth, he continued to stare at his food.

"S’ alright," he said and continued eating, she sniffled slightly, he was clearly not happy with any of this.

"Yeah I guess youˋre right, it will be alright, we just have to make the best of it, afterall we fixed the Judith situation just fine back at the prison," she said and a scoff could be heard from Daryl as he finished off his plate. She inhaled sharply, his response hurt her all of a sudden and she cursed the damn hormones inside of her. She stared through blurred eyes onto her plate, she placed the fork down and pushed her plate over at Daryl. This caught Daryl's attention and he looked up at her with quizzical eyes.

"I’m not hungry," she explained, the lump in her throat to big to get any food past it.

"Ya gotta eat Savannah, gotta think about," he paused, "ya know, the kid an all," she just shook her head and got up from her chair.

"Just leave the plates, I'll get them done in the morning, I'm gonna go lay down," she said before he could stop her and briskly walked into the bedroom, sunk down on the bed and buried her face into the pillow so that Daryl would not hear her crying.

Daryl sat on the chair in the dr’s office, his eyes were glued to the floor, he could not look at the sleazy drˋs hands poking and prodding at Savannahˋs now very visible stomach. This was about the eighth check up, Daryl knew it was only a matter of weeks until their kid was born. Where had the time gone? He had really screwed shit up with Savannah, their relationship had not gotten any less strained since the day he found out she was knocked up. Now he wasn’t even sleeping in the bedroom, he did not eat any meals with her at all. He usually stayed out working until past dark, then to just return home, scoop up any cold leftovers and pass out on the couch. He knew that his behaviour was taking a toll on Savannah, it was visible in her dull eyes, silvery eyes that used to sparkle when they were out hunting. It was like he killed her inner light. The reason for his behaviour was guilt, plain and simple. He felt guilty for ruining Savannahˋs life, for tainting her with this thing that grew inside of her, the thing had his blood. He could hardly look at her belly any longer, it was a reminder of his yet again failure.

Every night he woke up panting, a loud yell trapped in his throat, drenched in sweat. Each night he had the same dream, or nightmare was a better word for it. The thing clawing and biting its way out of Savannahˋs stomach, Savannahˋs lifeless body laying on the bed in a pool of crimson red blood. He could hear his dadˋs taunting voice, that the thing was the spawn of satan, that's what the Dixon blood did to you. Savannah had tried to ask him what was up, but he just ran from the questions, how could he explain that the thing inside of her would most likely be the death of her and that it would be his fault? He had tried to talk to Abe about it, in a drunken state, but the ginger haired man had just burst out laughing and told him it was just the first baby anxiety. Everything was going to be fine, he just needed to wait and see. Giggles and laughter interrupted his thoughts and he from better judgement looked over to where Savannah was laying flat on the back on the bed, her shirt pulled up and her stomach. He could clearly see how her stomach was moving, and the bile started rising in his throat. Daryl got out of the chair and swiftly walked out of the door.

Out in the hall he leaned against the wall, gasping for air. His heart was racing, his pulse beating like drums in his ears, sweat dripped into his eyes. He rubbed the heels of his palms in his eyes, if only this was just a part of a very bad dream. One of those dreams that started all hot and heavy and turned into some kind of a twisted sick nightmare, if he could just wake himself up, he would be back at the prison and everything would be back to normal. And he would keep himself as far as possible and his tainted blood away from Savannah. He forced his legs to start working and he more or less stormed out of the hotel and over to the building site. Abe looked at him as he started to climb one of the ladders.

"How did the check up go? " he called out to him, Daryl froze midstep.

"Fine," he growled and continued up to the roof of the second cabin they had started on, he knew he should not be too hard on Abe, he was dealing with his own shit. Their second baby, a little girl had been still born, and because of complications during birth Abe had convinced the council to give his wife some time to heal before they were forced to try for a third baby. Daryl knew that Abe and Rosita were running out of time, life at the Haven was fucked up. How was he supposed to deal, why could not things be as simple as it had been in the prison? They survived, they were happy, or at least content. Now everything was twisted and scary. He was scared shitless, the only good thing about the whole fucked up situation was that the guards left them alone, it gave Savannah her much needed space from him. How she had endured screwing him twice a day for over a month was beyond him, his stomach turned again, and the guilt filled him yet again. He had enjoyed it, he could not lie to himself, he had actually looked forward to each time he could bury himself deep inside of her, touch her and taste her. He cursed himself, he had turned into his sick horndog of a brother, Merle, getting a hard on with just a glimpse of her pale skin. Another proof that he was just as sick as his olˋman and brother. He needed to be ready for when the thing was born, ready to kill it before it could kill the only good in his life, the only other person he actually cared about, Savannah.

"How are you holding up, honey?" Rosita walked into the cabin, Savannah had just finished cleaning up after yet another breakfast she had eaten by herself. She was propped up on the couch with the pillow that Daryl had used the last eight and a half months, his blanket draped around herself. Her lower back was hurting something fierce and her stomach cramped up, but she had felt somewhat of the same type of pain the last three months, so she just reckoned it was normal. She rubbed her stomach as it cramped up again and got rock hard, she had felt her child move around something awful all night, kicking her bladder and spine every five minutes. She just gave Rosita a smile.

"I’m doing just fine," Rosita sat down next to her on the couch and placed her hand on Savannahˋs stomach, it had become a ritual of theirs ever since Rosita had lost her little girl, her friend had taken comfort in Savannahˋs pregnancy. Rosita had given her full attention all through the almost nine months, something Savannah was indescribably grateful for, since Daryl could not seem to stand being in the same room as her.

"Are you sure, sweety?" Rosita asked with sorrow filled eyes, both Rosita and Abe knew of the struggles between herself and Daryl, Rosita had also forced Abe to have a little talk with Daryl, but as usual, the man was as closed off as ever.

"It’s stupid, really. I should be the happiest woman in the world, I’m expecting a baby with the one I love," Rosita sighed and brushed a strand of blonde hair behind Savannahˋs ear.

"No sweety, its not stupid, he is the one acting stupid, one thing is nerves for everything going good, from what you told me happened to Judithˋs mother and what happened to my daughter, but Daryl takes this to a whole other lever, avoiding you, running out of a check up, that is not only nerves," Savannah nodded, what had she expected really? That Daryl would come to terms with her pregnancy and suddenly declare his undying love for her? She scoffed, that shit only happened in fairytales, and this was definitely not one of those cute disney movies. Savannah struggled to push herself off the couch. Damn this was getting difficult, she had gotten so big, Rosita had not been this big on her last month, but the dr had told her that the babyˋs growth was just as expected. Rosita jumped to her feet and supported her side.

"Do you want anything to drink? I made carrot juice this morning," Rosita nodded.

"I can get it sweety, just sit back down," but Savannah shook her head.

"Nah, Iˋll get it, I need to stretch my back. My legs and lower back keeps cramping up, it's starting to get so annoying," and Rosita giggled and nodded knowingly.

"I know sweety, the last months are no walk in the park," Savannah joined in on the giggle.

"I wish the guys could feel how it was," Rosita giggled while Savannah filled two glasses.

"Think of all the cursing and complaining if our guys went through the same thing, can you imagine Daryl and Abe being in labor?" Rosita bursted out into a full laughter and it was so good to see her friend finally smiling so genuinely, but then a soaring pain went down her spine and her stomach cramped up worse then she had ever felt and she could feel something hot and wet pulling down her thighs. She dropped their drinks and the glass shattered around her feet and she had to grab the counter to steady herself, she whimpered from the searing pain. She then turned to Rosita who was carefully stepping over the broken glass on the floor to rub her back.

"I think I just pissed myself," Savannah mumbled, feeling her face heat up in embarrassment, Rosita kept rubbing her back and it felt so nice she could have moaned.

"No sweety, I think your water just broke, I guess the baby is coming," Savannah gasped, her eyes wide in terror.

"No it canˋt be, Iˋm not ready!" Rosita shook her head apologetically.,

"Iˋm sorry to say sweety, the baby doesn’t care if you are ready or not, he or she will come when they are good and ready, and he or she seems to be ready now. Tell you what, I will help you into bed, then I will go fetch Pete, then I will run over to the building site and let Daryl know. Iˋm gonna kick his ass over here whether or not he wants to, he needs to be here when his kid is born," Savannah just nodded and let Rosita lead her into the bedroom and up into the bed. Rosita propped her back up with huge fluffy pillows and helped her out of her sweatpants and panties, Savannah was blushing through it all, she was not used to letting others see her naked, it felt awkward and weird.

The pain had gotten worse as the dr rushed into the room, Rosita was right behind him. Savannahˋs eyes went expectantly to the door, waiting for Daryl to come through it behind Rosita, but as she waited she saw nothing, no Daryl. She looked a bit panicky at Rosita.

"Did you tell Daryl?" she asked, her voice high pitched and at the end it broke from another wave of pain. The dr placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back against the pillows.

"Lay back mrs. Dixon, I need to see how far along you are, how long have you felt the pain?" he asked, Savannah breathed heavily through her gritted teeth, annoyed over the fact that Rosita had yet not had answered her question,

“It started last night," she panted, both the dr and Rosita stared at her a bit stunned.

"The contractions started last night? Did you tell Daryl?" another contraction rolled through her body and she literally howled out her pain.

"Pfft" she said finally, when she was able to breathe again, "he ran like he had the devil up his ass at the last check up, do you really think I’m dumb enough to tell him I was in pain? Besides, I thought it was one of those regular things I’ve felt through the last trimester. I had no clue it was contractions! Now where the hell is Daryl?! Did you tell him or not?" she turned her furious eyes at Rosita, who crawled up on what should have been Darylˋs side of the bed.

"Yes, sweety, both he and Abe are on their way, I told them to wash up first, don’t need any filth around the baby," she said and Savannah nodded and was once again pushed back at the pillows. After the dr had given her a quick but thorough check up, he smiled at her.

"This certainly will not take long at all, you are almost fully dilated, if I did not know any better I would think you had done this before," Savannah scoffed, then she felt the urge to get out of bed, the cramps in her back was killing her, she pushed the dr aside and scooted her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Rosita, go get me one of Daryl's shirts, I'm not gonna stand here bare assed for the whole world to see," Rosita hurried out of the room, the woman knew very well where they had their clothes after months helping out with laundry and cleaning. She came flying through the door with one of Daryl's shirts in hand, she helped Savannah get into it. She could not button it up because her stomach was too big, but at least it covered her ass, and she could lean on the windowsill without flashing Rositaˋs husband if he were tempted to peek inside the room.

Another contraction ripped through her body and she cried out loudly, gripping so hard on the windowsill so her arms were shaking. Rosita and the dr placed themselves on each side of her and held her up. When it felt like her legs where giving out underneath her, heavy running footsteps could be heard out in the hall, and Savannah turned her head just in time to see Daryl burst through the door, his eyes looked wild and haunted, his hand was tightly wrapped around a hammer, so tight his knuckles were white, she pushed her hair behind her ear.

"What you doing with that hammer Daryl? Are you planning on beating your kid out of me?" she said and glared at him. His eyes went down to the hammer in his hand, then he looked up and met her eyes again, before he could answer Abe was there, pulling him out of the room.

"Thatˋs right Dixon, do what you do best when I need you the most, fucking asshole!" she yelled after him.

Abe pushed him hard into the wall, and had his shirt balled up in each fist on his chest.

"What the hellˋs wrong with you, bud? Stormin’ in on your woman in labor with your kid with a goddamn hammer, get a grip on yourself!" Daryl just blinked up at Abe, the man was taller then himself.

"Gotta be ready for when that thing comes," Abe slammed him into the wall again.

"What are you talking about, thing? For fucksakes, it is your kid, not a fucking thing," Abe took a breather and let go of Darylˋs shirt and forced the hammer out of Daryls death grip. Another scream went through the silence of the cabin, followed by a string of loud curses directed at Daryl. He slid down against the wall and pulled his knees up, Abe let out a short laugh.

"You better polish that nutsack of yours to get back in to her good graces, bud," Daryl looked up at Abe, he shook his head.

"I screwed up, she ain’t never gonna forgive me," he mumbled and he felt Abe sliding down next to him, nudging one of his knees,

"From what I’ve seen of Savannah, sheˋs a good woman, reasonable even, if you lay the shit out for her, I’m sure she will forgive your stupid ass," The door to the bedroom flew open and Rosita ran out of the room, hurrying over to their bathroom, both of them looked after her with worried eyes, she was running back after only a couple of minutes later with a bucket of water and a load of towels. Daryl looked frantically at Abe and Abe took the hint to call after Rosita before she disappeared into the bedroom again.

"Gorgeous, are everythin’ alright?" Rosita turned and glared at them.

"Yeah, peachy," she said and blew Abe a kiss. Daryl leaned his head back against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut as another wail reached out to them. He couldn't believe what an idiot he was, then suddenly a weak cry reached them, it was not Savannahˋs voice. Daryl snapped towards the bedroom door and he was up at his feet in an instant. His legs moved on their own and he found himself standing in front of the closed bedroom door, but he couldn't get himself to open the door, Abe was at his side and placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Sounds like your kidˋs got a healthy pair of lungs, congrats, bud," he felt Abe squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t know what to say or think. His kid was born, and it was alive, the kid was alive, but what about Savannah? He strained his ears, but could only hear the kid crying, the panic was back, was she dead? Had she died like Lori? He felt his legs buckle beneath him and felt Abeˋs arms around his shoulders steadying him, he heard Abeˋs voice, saying something to him, but he could not make out the words in the haze. Then the door opened and the dr walked out. He stopped in front of Daryl and reached out his hand

"Congratulation Mr. Dixon, itˋs a boy, healthy and strong," Daryl just stared at the outreached hand, but did not attempt to reach out his own hand, he was in shock, he had a healthy boy, but Savannah was gone. Had the dr ended her or was it Rosita, or did they leave that for him to do? How could he, he knew what he had said in the past, but this was Savannah, the only person that had been there for him through thick and thin. She was by his side when he had to put Merle out of his misery, she had silently given him her never ending strength. Then Rosita was in front of him, giving him a trying smile, he had no clue where the dr had gone, but he was lost in his own head. "Do you want to come in and meet your son, Daryl?" he heard Rosita ask, and Abe gave him a little nudge forward, but he placed his hands at the doorframe and shook his head.

"I canˋt, I canˋt do it," he stuttered frantically, he could not go in there and see Savannahˋs dead body laying in a pool of fresh blood, watching her turn into a walker. He didn’t have the strength to end her, if she went then he would join her, he would let her corpse sink its teeth into his flesh. He did not deserve to still be here when she was gone, where was that fucking hammer when he needed it? Somebody needed to bash his head in.

"Get your stubborn ass in here, Daryl, and meet your son, I swear to god if you don’t..." the threat was left unsaid, but he heard her voice clear as day, walkers didn’t talk. She was alive. He almost ran over Rositaˋs small frame on his way into the bedroom. He hurried over by her side and sunk down on his knees as he grabbed her warm hand and pressed it against his cheek, burying his head into her side, mumbling over and over "yer alive, yer alive," he heard her snort a short laugh.

"Course I am, youˋre not the only stubborn ass, Dixon, I thought you knew me better," she pulled her hand out of his grip and brushed his hair out of his face. He looked up at her, her face was red and she looked exhausted, her forehead and neck sweaty, her long hair a mess sticking to her forehead. She was wearing his shirt, although it was open, she was still covered by bundle laying in her arm, close to her chest. He felt Rosita lay a hand on his arm, he glanced up at her, but his eyes went straight back to Savannah.

"Take a seat and Iˋll hand him over to you," he met Savannahˋs now sparkling eyes, the light was back in them and he felt the fear that had filled his inside evaporate. She gave him a nod and he slid onto the floor against the wall, and watched as Rosita lifted the little bundle out of Savannahˋs arms and moved over to him. She squatted down next to him, she carefully placed the featherlight bundle in his waiting arms and pushed the blanket aside so the little face appeared. His blue eyes were glued to the little thing in his arms, he remembered the feeling holding Judith for the first time, but this was different, this was more of an earthmoving feeling. His heart was filled with an unrecognizable feeling, it warmed his insides. The little bundle opened his eyes and stared up at him, his eyes were the same shade of blue as his own, he let his thumb run along the soft skin on his cheek, and pushed the blanket further back, brown hair as soft as silk could be spotted on his son's head. He was definitely his son, not that he had ever doubted the fact. The little bundle started squirming in his hold, his little mouth started to search for food, when he could not find what he was searching for and did not smell his mother he let out a frustrated snort, and Daryl could not hold back the happy laughter that bubbled up his throat. Oh yeah, he was definitely a little Dixon. Rosita was there in an instant, lifting up the little bundle.

"Looks like the little fella needs his mommy," he watched as the little woman expertly placed his son against Savannahˋs breast. He crawled closer to the bed, mesmerized by the sight of Savannah feeding their son, he had never seen anything so peaceful, something more beautiful. He did not register Abe and Rosita taking their leave, but Savannah as always was on top of things and waved to them, before she choked back a yawn with the back of her hand. He saw her nudge her head against the empty space next to her on the bed.

"You can come join us up here Daryl, you donˋt have to sit on the floor, just take those dirty boots off, I doubt I’ll have time to change the sheets on the bed the next few days," he did not have to be told twice and he kicked his boots off as he crawled up onto the bed. They sat in silence watching the little boy, it did not take long until the little boy was sound asleep. Daryl cleared his throat that suddenly felt thick, and he noticed something wet on his cheeks, he dragged his hands over his face before he looked over at Savannah.

"I’ve been a real asshat, haven't I?" he didn't exactly need to ask, he knew the answer to the question, Savannah hummed agreeingly.

"I could have used your support throughout these months, it has been pretty lonely, especially since I didn’t know why you were acting like that," Daryl felt his ears heat up and he started chewing on this thumb.

"I was shit scared to be honest," he then admitted, "every night I had nightmares of the kid dying and turning inside of ya, killing ya, I just..." he let his breath out slowly, "I was just so scared that what happened to Lori, would happen to ya too," he felt how Savannah slid down and leaned her head against his shoulder, another yawn and she sighed.

"I’m fine Daryl, as you can see for yourself, all I need now is my friend back," she said before her eyes closed and she fell asleep. He watched her sleep for a while before he carefully pushed her head back against the pillow, he brushed a stray blonde hair from her forehead and leaned down and kissed her now cool forehead. He carefully lifted the bundle of his son out of Savannahˋs arms and scooted off the bed and took the two steps over to the crib that was placed in their bedroom, he carefully placed down the little boy. He stood still and just stared at the sleeping form of his son, then he sighed.

"I haven't really been there and helped yer mama through these months, so the least I can do is give ya a name, and don't worry, ain't gonna give ya a hick name that the other kids gonna tease ya about, itˋs bad enough that yer last name will be Dixon. Lucky for ya, ya got yer moma's blood running through yer veins too, prolly what’s gonna save ya, cause yer moma, she’s somethin’ special. Yer one lucky lil guy, ya know that? So I was thinkin maybe Dean is a good name for ya, Dean Dixon, that has a good ring to it, dontˋcha think?" he kept his voice to a low murmur not to wake the now two most important people in his life, his mission in life now was to protect these two with his life, even if Savannah only saw him as a friend and hunting partner.To him she was his queen, and he would spend the rest of his days on this earth to serve her.

@of-storms-and-sadness

@jodiereedus22

#twd fanfiction #daryl fanfiction #slow burn #au #angst #the walking dead imagine #hurt/comfort #daryl x oc #daryl dixon/female oc #daryl dixon

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tybalt-tisk · 5 years

Text

//.focus, princess

{Shallura // Protect Au} Allura is bored in a meeting but luckily she has Shiro. This is for @synergetic-prose who wanted more from the Protect Au. //

Allura had a headache. She’s had one for the past two days now. She had multiple meetings back to back that was only interrupted by luncheons and banquets - which didn’t help because a luncheon was just a meeting that involved food, and a banquet was just a fancy meeting that involved food that also required her to dress up. As the princess of Altea, she was expected to be in attendance to each and every single one with a smile.

She held back a groan as she finally finished reading over the extensive list of materials that she had to vote on at the end of the evening. This meeting was a complete waste of her time. After the hectic week she had, she wanted nothing more than to go back home, take a long, hot shower and have a glass of wine. Maybe three.

She refrained from rubbing her temples when the man talking repeated himself for the 4th time. At this point, she was starting to wonder if he just liked the sound of his own voice just a little too much, seeing that he’s been the only speaker since this meeting started close to half an hour ago. She mentally checked out the second he opened his mouth.

Discreetly, to be respectful of the speaker, she held her phone in her lap as she scrolled through emails. Most didn’t need her immediate attention, but the ones that did, she replied with a short, but concise response. She glanced up when the speaker brought up a new point, and quickly returned her gaze to her phone once she realized that he was quickly going on another wordy allocution about himself. She had already read through the materials and made her decision how to vote long ago, now all she had to do was pretend that she was paying attention.

Her phone buzzed, she rolled at her eyes at the thought of another problem that needed her attention, but her annoyance quickly edged away when she saw the name on the screen.

[ Focus, Princess.

For a moment, her headache dwindled away, and her lips curled up into a ghost of a smile at the familiar words. Her bodyguard never missed an opportunity to tease her at these boring meetings. He hated them almost as much as she did, but at least he had the entertainment of watching her patience wear thin. She didn’t have to look around to find him and her eyes immediately met his from across the room. He sat next to the personal assistant of the wordy man currently speaking. The small woman was rapidly typing away on her laptop, taking notes at an impressive speed.

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he sent her another text:

{ She’s writing down his monologue.

Allura felt her lips twitch before she quickly feigned a serious face complete with an understanding nod when the speaker made a point as he looked her way briefly. Under the table, she texted him back:

{ i bet it's about 9 pages long

[ Close. It’s 8. She also included reactions from everyone along with each point he made.

{ she write anything about me?

Allura almost laughed at Shiro’s attempt at being nonchalant as he read over the woman’s notes by stretching out his arms to get a good look. It wasn’t long before she got a reply.

[It says that you’re the most engaged. Which is total bullshit.

Allura wasn’t surprised by the response. She constantly had the eyes of the public on her, but he was always the only one who could read her like this. He’s far from an expert, but he could read her better than most people could.

{ most engaged? hard to believe since i would rather be literally anywhere else but here

[ I can tell, but according to little miss rapid fire beside me, you’re the only one paying attention.

She turned her attention to the speaker when he suddenly asked her question. She quickly hid her phone and straightened her back before she spoke. “I suppose it is rather...redundant to have the annual Balmera Gala the same day as the Syncline Luncheon; both guest lists are composed of the same people and orchestrated by the same caterer. It would be too strenuous for everyone.” Everyone nodded in agreement, happy to hear the voice of someone else for a change.

Allura’s phone buzzed.

[ Smooth recovery.

She pretended to flip her hair in an attempt at looking vain. {i’m the master of smooth recoveries

[ Remember when you fell down the stairs last week because you missed a step and you just laid there for a solid five minutes? I do. Wasn’t so smooth then, were you? ;-)

Allura’s eyes shot to him, and she narrowed her eyes at the look of amusement that graced his face. She held in a laugh at the now repressed memory before she replied back: {first off, that was rude as hell to bring that back up. second, it was dark. and third, that is the ugliest smiley face i have ever seen in my entire millennial life

Shiro bit his lip to keep from laughing, and couldn’t help but do the same. He always made these meetings just a tad more bearable. She didn’t know what she would do without him. Her phone buzzed with his response.

[ It was only dark because you wanted to sneak out after midnight, but you fell like an ironing board and woke the entire manor up. Also, rude?? How dare you? He’s handsome. :-)

{ I’m sure the security guards watch it on replay every day. and also smiley faces don’t have noses

[ They do. If you want a copy of the footage, I got you. Smiley faces can have noses because mine does. It gives him character. He’s distinguished. Charming ole chap. :-)

The room laughed at a joke made by the speaker and the timing couldn’t be more perfect because the genuine laugh that left her lips couldn’t be stopped and she was happy she was able to blend it in with everyone else. Over the laugh of the other congressmen, she could differentiate his deep, rich cuddle from the rest. He doesn’t laugh often, but whenever he does, she was prompted reminded again that it’s her favorite sound.

When the laughter died down, the speaker pulled up a powerpoint: 52 Steps For Understanding the Tax Code. Immediately, the table vibrated with repressed groans from all in attendance. Looked like he wasn’t even remotely finished with his presentation. When he put on a video with bright graphics and loud music, Allura closed her eyes in discomfort when the loud cues brought back her headache.

She barely felt her phone buzz.

[ Your headache is back

Even with no punctuation, she could tell that it wasn’t a question. He’s gotten better at seeing through her. She turned down the brightness on her phone before she could bring herself to respond. { yes unfortunately

[ Want me to get you out of here?

Allura smiled. They’ve used that tactic more than once in the past to subtly get her out of a situation she didn’t want to be in. As much as she wanted to leave, this meeting couldn’t be skipped even if she wanted so badly to.

{no its alright. I think I can handle it, but i would kill for some coffee

[I’ll take you out for some afterwards.

{ Oooh, is this a date, Mr. Shirogane? She heard him choke on air in the back of the room, and she pretended that she wasn’t the cause of it with a smirk.

He straightened quickly with a rapid text: [ Could be if you wanted it to.

{ Smooth Recovery ;)

Shiro responded with silent surveillance footage of her tripping down the stairs, and it was her turn to choke on air, drawing in the attention of others around her. She waved them off delicately with a smile.

{ this is a blatant act of disrespect

[ :-)

Just when she was about to respond, another wave of pain shot through her head, and she winced at the feeling. Her phone buzzed.

[ Just say the word, and we’re out of here.

{ will do

He didn’t respond. Allura was sure it was being he was watching her like a hawk. The rest of the meeting was a blur to her. The speaker went on and on, completely monopolizing the entire meeting, and by the time he finished speaking, no one else wanted to take the stand because they were all mentally drained. Quickly, before the long-winded speaker from earlier decided that he needed to reiterate his opinions on the matter, the council set out a vote. All against him. Out of disinterest or sheer pettiness, no one was quite sure. All that mattered was that they were finally free of this pointless meeting.

Shiro waited for Allura to approach him before he stood. “We’re all set?” he asked with a stretch. His legs and arms were stiff and he now he knew way too much about tax codes than he wanted to admit.

She nodded tensely. “Finally.” Her mouth was in a tight line, clearly irritated that she spent the last few hours in a meeting listening to a man talk about himself.

He opened the door for her before he followed her out. It was late by the time they reached the parking lot. She headed towards the car, but he gently grabbed her by her arm. “You still game for coffee?” he asked, pointing to the lone coffee shop across the street. It was one of the only shops still open this late.

She smiled and hooked her arm around his.

When they get to the café, he prompted her to take a seat while he ordered their drinks. He doesn’t need to confirm with her to know exactly what she wanted: a double cappuccino with 3 pumps of hazelnut, and three spoons of sugar. Her staple regardless of where she went. He ordered a simple black coffee before he returned to her.

She took her cup, giving him his well deserved appreciation. She eyed his cup with a suspicious look. “I honestly don’t understand how you can drink that.”

Shiro laughed, taking a sip. “I think the same thing about your cup of sugar, Princess.”

“Its the absolute best cup of sugar,” she countered.

They fell into an easy silence, with only the cafe’s music filling the space of unsaid words. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and cherished the moment she had with him. It was a well-needed break from the office and the meetings, and the general boredom that came with it. She was finally free to do as she pleased, and she wanted to do was spend time with him.

#Shallura #allura #shiro #vld #tybaltwrites

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the-roanoke-society · 5 years

Note

I know it takes a lot to get Mothman mad. Can you tell me about a time he was truly incandescent with rage?

joe’s not easily angered. louise–and many others–can attest to that.

but uh.

there was this one time, that he doesn’t like to talk much about…

there are very few people who know the intimate and dark details of what happened the night before enoch departed. merlin is one. succubus, another.

and seraphim, looking at mothman as a mixture of big brother and mentor—something she’d desperately needed from enoch where nothing like that existed, at least, not in the long run—told him. in the wee hours of the morning. sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a cup of coffee between her hands, her eyes red-rimmed with both tears and shame.

mothman made a very quick, very solid decision that he wasn’t going to take this sitting down. there were a lot of things he let slide—the basement crew’s shenanigans, field agents fucking up what should be relatively easy field missions, poltergeist’s general asshattery—but not this. you never touch an angel’s halo without their permission, after all.

he waited several weeks, sitting on this anger. but it wasn’t difficult for mothman to manage. he was intrigued by one of the newer recruits (louise, her name was louise), but even without that particular curvaceous distraction, he’d had a lot of practice compartmentalizing. you learn how to do something very well magically, it becomes an easy talent to pick up in other aspects of life.

he also had to wait for enoch to be tracked. for the first month, it was as if enoch had vanished off the map entirely. no field agents, not even the best trackers going from lexington up to new england, could find any trace of him. he was simply gone. but mothman had a feeling that he wouldn’t stay that way—and he was right. although he was surprised at where he finally showed up.

mothman had awoken one morning to a message on his specs from one senior agent liath, from the borley council. ‘is this your man?’ he’d asked, referencing an attachment. when mothman opened it, enoch’s familiar—yet grainy—frame filled his view.

london.

finally.

he’d whispered goodbyes against specter’s skin before he packed. and during. and after. and he let himself indulge and keep her in his thoughts, even as quetzl flew him across the atlantic.

he thought about the feeling blooming in his chest like a bruise. he thought about enoch. he thought about seraphim. and he tried to picture specter in the same context. he felt his blood boil and for a moment he couldn’t see anything. luckily for him, quetzl was in the middle of narrating his latest conquest and didn’t notice his compatriot mentally glitched out of reality for a second.

if he was going to change his mind before, this had cemented it in place.

he wasn’t going to kill him.

but he was going to fuck shit up.

borley was reasonably accommodating. they would have been more so if mothman had been a little bit more open about why he was tracking enoch, who enoch was, but… this had been a story murmured to him in the quiet of a rough night. it wasn’t for everyone. he hadn’t even told specter, figuring that if seraphim chose to do so, then she could do it on her own terms, in her own time. they seemed to be getting along pretty well.

liath was the one who, while not being told the entire story, did get the distinct impression that this was for a good purpose, mothman wasn’t going to be deterred, and he’d just had a hell of a two weeks in greenwich, so why not help the burly yank?

it took four days. not to track him down, that only took one, but it took four days for enoch to be in a position where mothman could—we’ll say greet him.

it was noon. there was a full sun and it was a warm day by british standards.

enoch, looking a bit worse for wear but still characteristically brooding, had dipped behind a building to walk behind the shops slotted together on saville row. he’d taken this path many times before. he flipped open his cigarette case, placing one between his lips. he looked up in time, taking that first smoke-filled inhale, to see mothman. standing in the middle of the alleyway. hands in his pockets. looking as laid back as he normally did.

enoch stopped walking and exhaled his drag. he spoke softly around it: “… joe. good to see you.”

“john. buddy. you look good. how you been?”

had he not been so filled with an anger that burned as if his veins had been lined with peroxide, he would’ve found comfort with enoch’s attempt to act as if the past year hadn’t happened.

but it had.

“can’t complain. londontown’s been keeping me busy. you?”

“—fine. listen, you uhm—you talked to morgan? since you left?”

and enoch rolled his eyes, taking a second drag and exhale before answering. “… no. why?”

“… she talked to me.” mothman was losing what little patience he had and was surprised at himself. he hadn’t expected to react like this. but even just looking at him took a lot more than he’d first anticipated.

because again, he thought of seraphim. and then specter. two women he cared deeply for, in different ways. but in this instance—he couldn’t separate them.

all he knew, was that he was standing in front of a very, very, very bad man.

and that there were cameras watching them.

he didn’t know who they belonged to. he didn’t care.

but merlin, well.

these two didn’t look like the usual threat. so he sat back, mug of tea in hand, and just observed, from a grey-toned room far, far beneath them.

“… she talked to you.” enoch’s flat tone brought him back, and he began to chew on the inside of his cheek. “about what?”

“about the night before you left.” mothman answered, bluntly. “… about you.”

and enoch had the audacity to smile. “that was between us. surprised she uh—betrayed her own privacy like that.”

for a second, mothman didn’t move—which led enoch to believe that it was safe to raise his cigarette to his lips.

it wasn’t.

because suddenly, as if he’d teleported—had he teleported?—mothman was in front of him, his cigarette was on the ground, and his hand was around enoch’s throat.

“you son of a bitch.” every word was full of venom.

all that mothman could see was red.

he decked him right in the jaw once, twice. of course, this wasn’t enough to take him out, and enoch staggered to the opposite wall like a drunkard.

merlin, meanwhile, was confused. these feeds were incorruptible. but he’d just watched a series of glitches cross his monitor. that—that couldn’t be right. right?

“… she wanted it.” enoch choked out, spitting up blood and saliva onto the pavement below. he thought of christ, all blood and water. her god, so precious to her. “why are you upset? she. wanted. it.”

but when he glanced up—he was alone. mothman was nowhere.

“… she didn’t.” enoch didn’t see him—but he could hear him. it was as if his voice was everywhere. echoing. “she didn’t. and you knew that. and someday—someday she’s gonna find someone. and i hope she tells him what you did, so he can kill you.”

enoch sputtered out a laugh. it hurt to breathe. his throat burned as if he’d just taken a shot of gasoline. his forearm kept him propped up against the brick. “sounds like someone got their soft spot punched. and we—“ he hacked. “we both know she’s only ever going to miss me.”

but only quiet met him.

and kept meeting him.

it kept meeting him as his pain faded, and his breathe came back, and now he was wondering—maybe she would find someone else. someone that wasn’t him. someone else that would see her in her worst moments, would watch her bleed, watch her cry, would touch her even when she was at her ugliest—

he shook his head.

he had to remind himself he wasn’t alone.

enoch took a few steps out. “… you hope this imaginary man kills me? hm? what, because you won’t?” he couldn’t get the thoughts out. mothman was still unseen. “lilith, ah—know you’ve learned to do that?”

mothman—had grown. since enoch last saw him. he couldn’t do this before. what else was he capable of? how much control did he have over his access to the dimension in his pocket?

then enoch tried to imagine seraphim. tried to picture her married. … who would take her? would he meet him? who could she be with, if not him? who else would understand but him? would else could look at her and see for anything other than what she was? which was—well. a bit of a monster.

as he was.

it made him sick.

but nothing happened. enoch spat once, and then after a minute, roared down the alleyway: “where are you?”

merlin was seeing all of this, if only in pieces. but he heard all of it in the whole. and vaguely, he wondered who they were arguing about. it didn’t seem to be anything he needed to worry over. so he there stayed. a watcher. this time.

then mothman’s voice, and form, was at his ear. a whisper.

“here.”

enoch’s head was slammed against the brick beside him.

he woke up hours later—the sunset glow flowing down into the alley. his entire body hurt.

but he got up. he walked home. nothing more happened.

mothman could’ve killed him. and he knew that. but—he didn’t want to. it wasn’t up to him. and that was okay. he’d gotten out his rage.

liath met him at the black prince. he glanced over mothman’s shoulder once, at two men at the end of the bar. he’d seen them both here before. one had a head full of brown hair, the other was bald. both them were speaking quietly to each other over their pints. liath drug his eyes back to the yank. “so—you got what you wanted?”

mothman snorted, lifting his pint to his lips. “no. but… close enough.”

liath rolled his eyes, “what, hoping someone else will finish it?”

that was around the time that mothman glanced over his own shoulder. looking at the same two men liath had been looking at. but his gaze—lingered. for just one second.

“… yeah.” he finally answered. calmly. liath watched his eyes. a lot glittered behind them in seconds—but he couldn’t tell what. “… yeah. i do. … dude, are you hungry? i’m starving. you wanna hit that indian place i saw down the way? i’m dying for some curry. my girlfriend and i had it before i left and now i can’t stop eating it—”

#mothman #agent specter #anchored hearts #former agent enoch #agent seraphim #the lost sacrament #the borley council #agent liath #kingsman

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

Text

How One Bahamian Town, Nearly Destroyed, Is Coping After Dorian https://www.nytimes.com/2019/09/06/world/americas/bahamas-abaco-hurricane-damage.html

How One Bahamian Town, Nearly Destroyed, Is Coping After Dorian

By Kirk Semple |Published Sept. 6, 2019 Updated 11:40 a.m. ET | New York Times | Posted September 6, 2019 |

Leer en español

TREASURE CAY, Bahamas — Since Hurricane Dorian plowed through Stafford Symonette’s house, and with it much of his community of Treasure Cay, he has stopped by from time to time to visit the ruins of his home.

What he hasn’t been able to bring himself to do, he said, is sift through the debris for his belongings.

“I am not ready,” he said softly, as he sat down on the toppled trunk of a palm tree.

Much like residents in other communities across the northern Bahamas, Mr. Symonette and his neighbors in Treasure Cay, on Great Abaco Island, were only just starting on Thursday to come to terms with the scale of their loss and to make sense of it all.

Evidence of that destruction was everywhere:the wasteland where a Haitian community once stood. A 45-foot shipping container mangled like a piece of aluminum foil. A Baptist church made of concrete blocks that now stood roofless, open to the heavens.

Some 95 percent of Treasure Cay’s homes were damaged or destroyed. The storm knocked out its utilities, leaving the community without power, water or communication. One resident was killed and others were injured, some seriously enough to need emergency evacuation.

“It’s going to be a long haul,” said Steve Pedican, 58, a longtime resident.

Since Hurricane Dorian struck the Bahamas on Sunday night as a Category 5 storm, at least 30 people have died and thousands have been left homeless. Officials fear the death toll could rise substantially once they have better knowledge of the extent of the damage on the ground.

[See Hurricane Dorian in Pictures]

Treasure Cay seemed to be facing the disaster with a resignation that some residents attributed to two things: a deep religiousness among the Bahamian population, and a longstanding familiarity with hurricanes.

The community is in some ways typical of many others in the Bahamas: an amalgam of native-born Bahamians, mostly absentee foreign homeowners, tourists and migrants from elsewhere in the Caribbean, mainly Haitians.

The settlement, laid out on a peninsula scalloped with beautiful white-sand beaches, was created in the mid-20th century as a resort for foreigners, mainly Americans, residents said.

More recently, Bahamians have bought into the resort. Others live on its outskirts.

Treasure Cay’s population ranges between several hundred and several thousand, depending on who is counting and who is being counted.

Stephanie Hield, 63, the chairwoman of the local governing council, said about 450 Bahamian residents were there. But the full population can swell to multiples of that during peak vacation season. And if Haitian immigrants, many of them undocumented, are also included, the count leaps further.

Since the storm, residents have been doing a nerve-racking accounting, surveying surrounding settlements for their relatives, friends and acquaintances.

Lacking contact with the outside world and working phone lines, people have had to revert to word of mouth to pass on what little is known. On Wednesday, while waiting for the arrival of emergency supplies at a small landing strip near Treasure Cay, Ms. Hield, and Bridgette Chase, 50, a customs officer, compared notes.

��Everybody’s accounted for in Man-O-War,” Ms. Chase said, referring to a nearby cay.

“Everybody’s accounted for in Grand Cay,” Ms. Hield added. “Everybody accounted for on Turtle Cay.”

Though Coast Guard helicopters evacuated some injured residents earlier this week, the first planes carrying medical teams, volunteers and emergency supplies like water, food and chain saws began arriving at the settlement’s landing strip on Wednesday.

Scores of Haitians had flocked to the airport after hearing a rumor that there were going to be evacuations.

“We were told to come to the airport to evacuate so we could find a better place to stay,” said Kalisa Lubin, 21. But most were unable to get out.

Mr. Symonette, an evangelical pastor, was also at the landing strip. He had arrived at 7 a.m., driven more by faith than solid information, to wait for a plane he hoped would be sent by an American evangelical group. He sat on an upturned paint bucket, in the lee of a building that had once been the airport’s fire station.

The hurricane had stripped the fire station of its roof, and turned its contents into a jumble of furniture, construction material and office equipment. Trees surrounding the airport, like forests across the island, were mostly stripped of their leaves and leaning hard toward the West, raked over by the wind.

Private jets arrived throughout the day, disgorging supplies and volunteers, but not the one Mr. Symonette was waiting for.

As dusk approached, he offered to drive a reporter around the settlement. Since the storm, he had not ventured into town, staying mostly at the home of friends where he and his family sought shelter after the hurricane.

At Mr. Symonette’s home, he described how he and his family had tried to weather the storm. As the house was pulled apart, he recalled, they fled to an S.U.V. parked outside. But then the house’s roof fell on the S.U.V. so they shifted to a bigger S.U.V., where they spent the next few hours.

“It’s a miracle we’re even talking,” he said.

Mr. Symonette, who was raised in Nassau and moved to Treasure Cay about 50 years ago, drove through the community slowly, mostly in silence, occasionally pointing out landmarks.

“That was the primary school,” Mr. Symonette said. “This was a restaurant here. That was one under construction there.”

The landscape had been rearranged to such a degree, with one heap of debris indistinguishable from the next, that Mr. Symonette at times got disoriented, mistaking one cluster of homes for another.

“Wow,” Mr. Symonette muttered.

A group of men sat by the roadside near the wreckage of a Haitian community called Sand Banks.

“Pastor, how you doing?” one called out.

“I’m all right,” Mr. Symonette replied.

“Thank God for life,” the man said.

“Thank God for life.”

Mr. Symonette had one more thing to check out: the evangelical church where he was once the pastor. He had overseen its construction, which took seven years.

When it came into view, Mr. Symonette was visibly relieved. It was a tall, sturdy-looking building, and except for some pieces of roofing that had sheared off, it seemed to have survived the storm well.

Even the 20-foot-high cross that soared upward from the top of the facade remained in place, a fact that Mr. Symonette noted with satisfaction.

In Bahamas, a Blind Father Wades to Safety, His Disabled Son on His Shoulders

By Rachel Knowles | Published Sept. 5, 2019 Updated Sept. 6, 2019, 11:50 a.m. ET | New York Times | Posted September 6, 2019 4:55 PM ET |

NASSAU, the Bahamas — The roof had blown clean off. Outside, the ocean surged, swallowing the land. Brent Lowe knew he had to escape — and take his 24-year-old son, who has cerebral palsy and can’t walk, with him.

But Mr. Lowe had another problem. He’s blind.

So he put his grown son on his shoulders, then stepped off his porch, he said. The swirling current outside came up to his chin.

“It was scary, so scary,” said Mr. Lowe, 49.

Clutching neighbors, he said he felt his way to the closest home still standing. It was five minutes — an eternity — away.

Stories of unlikely survival have slowly emerged in the days since Hurricane Dorian hit the Bahamas, pummeling the islands of Grand Bahama and Abaco for days before moving toward the Atlantic Seaboard.

While the damage has been visible from above, the full human toll is still far from certain, with 30 deaths confirmed so far and the authorities warning that the real number may be much higher.

The death count “could be staggering,” said Dr. Duane Sands, the minister of health, who updated the toll late Thursday.

Some neighborhoods have been reduced to rubble, almost entirely flattened by the storm. In others, 95 percent of homes have been damaged or destroyed.

Thousands of people are now homeless, taking refuge in gymnasiums or churches, and the authorities are bracing for an influx of bodies as the extent of the destruction becomes clear.

[See Hurricane Dorian in Pictures]

“We are embalming bodies so that we have more capacity as new bodies are brought in,” Dr. Sands said. “We need to get coolers into Abaco and Grand Bahama, because we believe that we may not have the capacity to store the bodies.”

Sandra Cooke, a resident of Nassau, the capital, said her sister-in-law had been trapped under a collapsed roof in the Abaco Islands.

At first, her brother couldn’t find his wife — then the family dog detected her in the rubble. When there was a break in the storm, neighbors helped free her.

“She was trapped under the roof for 17 hours,” said Ms. Cooke. She hired a private helicopter service to bring the rescued woman to Nassau, she said.

When Hurricane Dorian first made landfall on Sunday, Mr. Lowe recalled, all of its fury seemed to bear down on him.

The storm raging outside was one of the most powerful ever to sweep through the Atlantic. Its eye was approaching and the group of eight people inside Mr. Lowe’s cement house was particularly vulnerable.

In addition to Mr. Lowe and his disabled son, neighbors whose homes had already been destroyed were also sheltering there. Among them were two children.

As the storm howled around them, Mr. Lowe said, the roof began to lift off, then slap back down. Abaco withstood sustained winds of up to 185 miles per hour that day, with gusts that reached 220 miles per hour. The group sought safety in the bathroom, where they huddled together and prayed, hoping for relief. Mr. Lowe’s son was nestled inside the bathtub, he said.

That’s when the roof flew away.

Exposed to the elements, each person had to step out into the storm. They clung to each other and set out to find refuge.

“I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life,” said Mr. Lowe, who is no stranger to hurricanes but said he could never have imagined the terror of that day.

The group reached a neighbor’s home. Mr. Lowe and his son hunkered down there for a day until a rescue bus was able to pick them up on Monday and take them to a shelter.

On Tuesday night, he was evacuated to Nassau, where Mr. Lowe can get the dialysis treatment he needs three times a week. His son had to stay in Abaco, in the care of Mr. Lowe’s sister-in-law, he said.

“I came here with the clothes that I had on from Saturday,” he said.

Although Mr. Lowe and his son are now safe, his ordeal is, in some ways, only beginning.

He didn’t know if his eldest daughter made it through the storm, he said. The phone lines have been down for days and communication with Abaco is very difficult.

“Right before we had the wind, I spoke with her,” he said. “I wish I could have been able to call and ask somebody, you know, because I really was worried about them. I was worried about everybody.”

So many people have been pushed from their homes by the hurricane that in Marsh Harbour, the main town on Abaco, as many as 2,000 people were seeking shelter in a clinic and a government complex. Officials warned that tent cities might have to be set up to accommodate the many survivors.

There are also environmental concerns. The Norwegian energy company Equinor said an oil storage terminal on the island of Grand Bahama had been damaged. The terminal was leaking, the company said, though it was too early to tell how much oil had spilled.

From the air, the storage tanks appeared to have no lids. The domed tops of five of tanks were “gone,” a company spokesman said.

Bahamian officials urged their citizens to be unified.

“There are no words to convey the grief we feel for our fellow Bahamians in the Abacos and Grand Bahama,” Dionisio D’Aguilar, the tourism and aviation minister, said in a statement. “Now is the time to come together for our brothers and sisters in need, and help our country get back on its feet.”

Like many of his neighbors, Mr. Lowe is now homeless. After a lifetime on the outskirts of Marsh Harbour — where he raised a family and worked as a butcher in a fish house until he lost his eyesight to diabetes — his home, his community and everything he built has been obliterated.

Still, Mr. Lowe wants to return to Abaco.

“I have to go,” he said. “That’s where my family is. My kids are there, my brothers, my sisters, they’re all there.”

But he is unsure of its future. The damage is catastrophic.

In the area where he lived, “90 percent of the houses are compromised,” he said. “I’m talking about roofs gone, houses totally collapsed everywhere.”

He added, “I’m just wondering where we’re going to live when I go back home, what I’m going to do.”

Death Toll Rises to 30 in Bahamas, as Stories of Survival Emerge

By Rachel Knowles and Frances Robles |

Published Sept. 5, 2019 | New York Times | Posted September 6, 2019 |

NASSAU, Bahamas — Days after Hurricane Dorian bore down in fury on the Bahamas, leaving at least 30 people dead and thousands homeless, harrowing stories of survival have begun to emerge.

Sandra Cooke, a resident of Nassau, the capital, said her sister-in-law had been trapped under a collapsed roof in the Abaco Islands. At first, her brother couldn’t find his wife, but the family dog eventually detected her in the rubble. When there was a break in the storm, neighbors helped free her.

Ms. Cooke was reunited with her sister-in-law on Tuesday.

“She was trapped under the roof for 17 hours,” said Ms. Cooke on Wednesday, adding that she had hired a private helicopter service to bring the rescued woman to Nassau.

[Here’s how to help Hurricane Dorian survivors in the Bahamas.]

But officials fear that as the picture on the ground becomes clearer, the death toll could rise.

The death count “could be staggering” said Dr. Duane Sands, the Bahamas’ minister of health, on Thursday.

Dr. Sands said that there were already four undertakers working on Abaco Island, the largest island on the Abaco Islands, and that he did not know if more would be needed.

“We are embalming bodies so that we have more capacity as new bodies are brought in,” he said. “We need to get coolers into Abaco and Grand Bahama, because we believe that we may not have the capacity to store the bodies.”

Marvin Dames, the minister of national security, said at a news conference on Wednesday night that the process of clearing the streets and making airports available had already begun on the Abaco Islands and on Grand Bahama, the two areas of the archipelago hit hardest by the hurricane, one of the strongest Atlantic storms on record.

Aerial footage taken over the Abacos showed roads washed away and debris scattered across beaches. Splintered wood jutted from clusters of damaged homes.

Gaining access to Marsh Harbour, the largest city on Abaco Island, has been problematic, with the airport, Leonard M. Thompson International, left underwater for days after the storm. Like Ms. Cooke, other people also resorted to private companies to help in the evacuations.

A British Navy vessel is stationed near Marsh Harbour for relief support and has been distributing food and water.

There are no official estimates of the number of people displaced by the storm. But in Marsh Harbour, as many as 2,000 people were seeking shelter in a clinic and a government complex.

“Already we have begun the process of evacuating people from Abaco into New Providence,” Dr. Sands said. New Providence is the island where Nassau is located. “Those airlifts have started.”

He said some evacuees were being sent to the Kendall G.L. Isaacs National Gymnasium in Nassau, but that additional shelters would have to be identified.

Dr. Sands also said it was possible that tent cities would be set up on Abaco Island.

The Norwegian energy company Equinor said the hurricane had damaged its oil storage terminal in South Riding Point on the island of Grand Bahama. The terminal was leaking, the company said, but it was too early to tell how much oil had spilled.

During a flight Wednesday over the terminal The New York Times saw storage tanks that appeared to have no lid. The domed tops of five of its tanks were “gone,” a company spokesman said, but only three contained significant amounts of oil before the hurricane.

Oil was visible on the ground surrounding the tanks, but the seawater around the terminal was clear.

“Ahead of the hurricane we shut down the terminal as a precautionary measure and the terminal has been designed with hurricanes and storms in mind,” said Erik Haaland, a company spokesman. “The areas surrounding the tanks are also designed as barriers to contain oil spills. So far we have not received information that oil has been observed at sea.”

Some areas near the terminal had been evacuated at the request of local authorities. The company was still trying to establish a better overview of the terminal and said it was “mounting a safe and timely response to the situation.”

“While weather conditions on the island have improved, road conditions and flooding continue to impact our ability to assess the situation and the scope of damages to the terminal and its surroundings,” the statement said.

No Equinor employees were at the terminal when the storm passed. Equinor, formerly known as Statoil, said it shut down operations of the terminal at noon last Saturday in preparation for the hurricane. The workers were given time off to look after their families and secure their private homes, the statement said.

The storm made landfall in the Bahamas on Sunday as a Category 5 hurricane and stalled there for three days, inundating the islands and destroying homes and businesses.

In the days since, the storm has weakened significantly, and by Thursday morning was swirling off the coast of the Carolinas as a Category 3 hurricane. Residents there were bracing for dangerous rain, winds and storm surge.

In the Bahamas, officials made pleas for support and prayers from the international community.

He urged travelers to visit areas in the Bahamas that were not affected by the storm in order to aid the country’s economic recovery.

#hurricane dorian #dorian #grand bahamas #bahamas #abaco islands #world news #world travel #international news #uk news #u.s. news #u.s. military

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blackwxtchmccree · 5 years

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Final part of Scars that can also be found on my AO3 >>> here

Thanks to everyone who has kept up so far <3 I think this is the first time I’ve finished something in my entire life, so go me! I hope everyone enjoys :) -Valk

Dorian had never realized just how extensive the scars from the Anchor were until he was laying naked next to Damien, dozing in their post reunion-sex haze. It had been 6 months since the Exalted Council and as promised, Dorian had returned to Tevinter.

Much to his surprise, a few months after, he had received an eluvian of all things, likely stolen from either Skyhold or the Winter Palace upon their departure for the last time. Tucked into the delicate, aged golden frame had been a note stating the warrior was determined to find his way through the Crossroads to his desired exit—which was wherever Dorian was. It took Damien a few months of experimentation, but eventually he found his way through, greeting Dorian with a smile as he appeared through the looking glass for the first time with a delighted, triumphant laugh.

Damien had been quick to draw Dorian into a kiss and the mage couldn’t help, but hum in delight. He had missed the lips he had spent nearly 3 years kissing. Leaving once Corypheus had been defeated had been hard enough and his exit then had been temporary then. Laying next to the warrior right now almost felt like a dream.

“Amatus, do you really think it’s wise to use an enchanted mirror of elven origin to travel when you’re currently hunting down an elven mage who’s trying to destroy the world?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll run into him—it would certainly make my job easier.”

Dorian snorted, raising an eyebrow as his lover lying next to him, their legs tangled and their skin sticky. Damien’s green eyes were bright—he looked far less stressed, despite his involvement in the chase to find Solas.

“This section of the Crossroads has been quiet—I wouldn’t worry too much for now, my love .”

Dorian’s heart still fluttered whenever those words left Damien’s mouth and the mage smiled, tucking his head tighter against the ginger’s chest, his fingers tracing the scars on the former Inquisitor’s skin that he had come to love over the years. The mage couldn’t help, but trace the almost branch-like marks the Anchor had left; they extended over Damien’s left pec and down his upper arm, darkening the freckled skin, finally ending where what was left of his arm had stopped at his elbow.

From Damien’s elbow extended something akin to a ‘phantom limb’ as Dorian had described it upon seeing it for the first time hours ago. A hazy outline of Damien’s previous forearm sat attached to his elbow via a small arm band wrapped around the stump, the inside of the outline almost foggy before coming together to form a definitive frame of the former limb.

Dorian had had a plethora of questions about it, including its functionality and how the warrior had come across such an invention. Damien had showed him he was basically capable of doing all of the things he had been able to do before losing his arm, though he did show the mage that sometimes things phased through the limb and he had to try again to pick them up. Regardless, it was a suitable replacement he had been presented with by Dagna of all people, who had seemed to sense his oncoming plight with the Anchor and had been testing designs.

“Does it hurt anymore? Your Anchor arm, I mean,” Dorian asked quietly, the memory of Cassandra severing the limb while he and Varric held Damien coming to the forefront of his mind again, making him grimace.

“Not usually, no. I get phantom pains on occasion, but nothing I can’t manage,” Damien replied, running an idle hand up the curve of Dorian’s back before carding his fingers through the mage’s dark hair. “No need to worry.”

“Oh I intend to worry to my heart’s content. Someone has to, for your sake.”

“Maker you sound like my mother.”

“How is she, by the way? I miss that woman—quick as a whip and far more entertaining than any other Marcher I’ve ever met.”

Damien tried not to look offended and Dorian laughed at his lover’s exasperated expression. Damien couldn’t help, but grin, shaking his head.

“She’s good. I went home for a little while after everything was said and done and she hugged me for a solid five minutes at least as soon as I walked in the door. My father seemed to have recovered fully and the entire estate wasn’t in disarray, so all is well.”

“Pray tell, has Bann Trevelyan said anything else, or has he kept good on his apology?”

“Not a word. He seemed almost pleased to see me—even gave me an almost disappointed look when I left for Kirkwall to check out the estate Varric bequeathed me at the Exalted Council.”

“I take it that’s where you came from? You’ll have to show me the path through the Crossroads—I’d like to see Kirkwall.”

“I can hear Varric calling you ‘Sparkler’ already,” Damien huffed, his tone almost wistful. The ginger’s eyes had drifted closed and Dorian couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at the mage’s lips.

They could relax—at least for tonight. Damien would have to get up and face the impending continuation of the hunt for Solas and Dorian would have to go toe to toe with his fellow magisters in the coming days, but for now they laid in silence, enjoying the other’s company. Dorian almost fell asleep listening to Damien breathe, his freckled chest rising and falling gently and lulling Dorian into a light dozing state.

“Marry me?”

That made the mage sit up, pulling him rather abruptly into full consciousness as he looked over at Damien in astonishment, his brown eyes wide. Damien met the mage’s gaze evenly, determination and adoration reflected in his emerald eyes.

“P-pardon?”

“You heard me. I have the rings in my bag. We can stage it again later to get free drinks if you want, too.”

For once in his Maker-damned life, Dorian Pavus was at a loss for words. He stared at Damien for a beat, his brow furrowing as he opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out and he closed it again.

“Take your time. I’ll wait however long it takes and I’ll still love you even if you say no.”

Truthfully, it took Dorian another ten seconds to answer, but to Damien, it felt like an eternity. He watched Dorian closely, his heart racing, but his outer countenance remained calm.

Finally, a grin broke out on Dorian’s face and the mage leaned down, coaxing Damien into a passionate kiss, biting teasingly at the ginger’s lower lip, making the warrior groan.

“I’d be a fool to say no.”

“You would also miss out on a nightlong Ostwickian feast with every cheese and wine on the continent, powerful political connections, and my eternal unwavering love,” Damien quipped, pressing kisses to Dorian’s cheek and the sides of his mouth.

“I’m thinking one of those is slightly more important than the other two.”

“The political connections,” Damien asked sarcastically, eyeing Dorian playfully with a small smile. “I know I know—I get it.”

“Your love you fool,” Dorian retorted exasperatedly, shaking his head. “That’s a very resounding yes, by the way.”

“Never doubted it for a second.”

The second time Damien appeared through the eluvian—a few months before their fall wedding, he was carrying a baby, much to Dorian’s surprise. The mage had been expecting him, assuming the warrior was there to run wedding plans and invitations by him, but he had stepped through the looking glass with a small bundle in his arms. The mage gave him a quizzical look, his chocolate eyes widening in response when he realized what the former Inquisitor was holding.

“That’s… that’s a child. An elven baby, to be exact.”

Her pointed ears didn’t go unnoticed and it further perplexed Dorian as to how Damien managed to get himself into such a situation.

“ Our elven baby, to be exact. I was meeting one of Leliana’s contacts in Darktown when an elven woman approached me outside of the Alienage and basically dropped her into my arms before running off,” Damien replied, his brow furrowing. ”She can’t be more than a few months old at the most. I didn’t know what to do, so I kept her for a few days and found an elven nanny and a wet nurse to take care of her. By the time we had named her, I knew it was all over. I couldn’t let her go.”

Damien was looking down at her almost fondly and Dorian approached, unable to keep a smile off of his face when the small child babbled at him happily, looking up at him with big, curious gray eyes. His heart clenched in his chest when she reached for him, to which Damien relinquished her to the mage. A choked laugh bubbled up from his chest when she grabbed at the hanging embellishments on his clothes as he held her, a smile lighting up her small face as she played. Dorian felt tears gather at the edges of his eyes and he looked up at Damien again, who was examining him reverently.

“What’s her name?”

“We started calling her Amira. I decided we can teach her about her heritage if she so wishes, but I wanted to give her the most comfortable life I possibly could. It’s dangerous for her in Kirkwall and here, but I know we can protect her.”

Dorian nodded, fighting back tears as Amira grabbed at his robes, her small hand wrapping around his finger when he went to adjust the blanket she was wrapped in. That opened the floodgates and sobs wracked the mage’s body, tears rolling down his face. Damien was quick to brush them away gently, pulling Dorian and Amira against his chest and pressing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead.

“You have made me… far happier than I ever expected to be years ago and you somehow manage to get more wonderful with each passing day,” Damien whispered into Dorian’s hair, feeling tears gather at the edges of his eyes.

“I’m glad you got to see the day and I’m glad I got to see it with you, amatus.”

“Me, too.”

The third time, one of the many more times Damien would walk through the Eluvian smiling at him, with Amira in his arms and hope—an emotion Damien was sure he’d never feel again—in his emerald eyes, it was a week before their wedding. The trip from Kirkwall to Ostwick would take at least 4 days, maybe longer with a baby, but Amira slept quietly wrapped against Dorian’s chest for most of their trip, her eyes wide scanning the passing landscape whenever she was awake. Damien smiled whenever he heard Dorian coo at Amira, looking down at her with bright eyes and a grin on his face.

As they approached the Trevelyan estate, Dorian got hit with an intense sense of deja-vu, his mind drifting to the first time he passed through those gates, watching Damien ride ahead of him, uncertainty reflected in his emerald eyes. Now, Damien seemed content, looking over his shoulder at the mage, who smiled at him urged his horse forward, catching up to ride beside the warrior across the courtyard.

His mother was already standing at the door, waving at them as they approached, her blue eyes widening in shock when she realized her son was holding a child, instantly plucking Amira out of his arms and cooing at her in delight. Bann Trevelyan stepped out from behind his wife, giving his son an uncertain look before shrugging and moving to hug the ginger, nodding to Dorian in greeting. Dorian noted Damien’s body language was no longer tense around his father and it made a smile pull at the edges of his lips.

“A few of your friends are already here. I’ll take her—go greet them. They’re in the kitchen.”

Damien’s brown furrowed and he looked over his shoulder at Dorian, giving the magister a quizzical look, but the mage shrugged, taking the hand Damien extended towards him and leading them into the house. Laughter echoed through the doorway to the kitchen and down the hall.

Damien recognized their voices before he even stepped through the doorway, shaking his head and immediately drawing Cassandra into a hug—Damien had seen her once in the year and a half since the Exalted Council and as the new(er) Divine, she was a busy woman. She greeted him brightly, having dressed down to simpler Chantry robes and trousers, likely against the wishes of her Chantry sisters.

Bull, Krem, and Rainer stood at the nearby dining room table, examining a huge wheel of cheese. Dorian watched as Bull waved his arms around, likely trying to dissect how they could cut it and the mage snorted at his gestures, almost delighted to find that he hadn’t changed much. Varric came walking in from Dorian’s right, two bottles of wine in hand, calling out to Damien as he entered, greeting Dorian with his customary ‘Sparkler’ before setting upon pouring wine for everyone.

Josephine and Leliana appeared from the living room just behind Dorian, making the mage jump when Leliana rested a hand on his shoulder and Josephine addressed him with a cheery ‘Magister Pavus’, slipping past him to investigate the wine Varric had chosen. Finally, he heard rapid steps that he realized couldn’t possibly belong to a human and turned to watch as a rather rambunctious Mabari came trotting through the doorway, followed by a disheveled, but otherwise rosy cheeked Cullen carrying a variety of wine glasses. The former Inquisition commander thanked him when the mage moved to take some of the glassware, helping set the glasses on the counter as Varric poured. Damien ran a gentle hand across Dorian’s lower back as the warrior passed behind him to talk to Cullen, making the mage’s heart fluttered. He hoped that feeling would never fade.

Once everyone had gathered in the kitchen and half-full glasses had been passed around, Damien cleared his throat, catching everyone’s attention and they fell silent, all eyes turning to their former Inquisitor. Dorian moved closer to the ginger’s side, smiling up at him. The magister remembered most of Damien’s past speeches vividly and the man was a gifted orator, but what he said next somehow surpassed all of his past eloquently delivered dialogues.

“I’ve made a lot of speeches in my life and I’m sure you all tire of hearing my voice, so I’ll say this: To lifelong hope, healing, love, and friendship.”

His friends—some of whom had traveled thousands of miles to be there with them, echoed his sentiments, raising their glasses in unison. Dorian looked up at Damien, stifling tears that threatened to gather at the edges of his chocolate eyes. The scars on the warrior’s freckled face had started to fade and there was a light in his eyes that rivaled the Anchor that used to mark his left palm, something Dorian was glad to see after all of the years of watching him struggle and sometimes break.

Damien met Dorian’s gaze evenly, bringing a hand up to coax the mage into a small kiss.

“All thanks to you.”

#dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x trevelyan #dragon age #dragon age inquisiton #da:i #male trevelyan #trespasser dlc #trespasser spoilers #post-trespasser #scars #damien trevelyan #my writing

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ironstank · 6 years

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PATIENT ZERO ✭ PROLOGUE

PAIRING(S): Bucky x OFC, Steve x OFC (Platonic), Natasha x OFC (Platonic), Sam x OFC (Platonic), Avengers x OFC (Platonic)

WARNING(S): angst

WORD COUNT: 1592 words

PATIENT ZERO: Introduction, Prologue, One, Two

MASTERLIST ( ! ) • PROMPTS ( ! ) • ASK BOX ( ! )

STEVEN GRANT ROGERS' VOICE STAYED low, but sharp, allowing the people around him to know that he meant all business. His tone of voice displayed bitterness and repressed rage – well, barely repressed rage. "You kept that from me?" Steve's face hardened as his fists clenched. "How could you even look at me in the eye and lie straight to my face?"

Nick Fury's eye widened in shock and was quick to defended his actions. "I didn't lie to you, Cap. I just held back classified information." The older fellow argued.

Steve shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, information I had every right to know." The Captain snapped.

Fury looked around the secret underground S.H.I.E.L.D. base, silently begging for attention and help. Fury's eye locked with every agent's, one by one, throughout the underground base. The agents in hiding stayed silent, and unmoving. They did not speak, and they did not back down. They simply observed.

Maria Hill,

Natasha Romanoff,

Sam Wilson.

Fury chest sunk in realisation. This time, nobody was on his side. He glanced back up towards the Soldier out of time, "The World Security Council, as you well know, likes to keep a tab on every little movement made by S.H.I.E.L.D., now with a Russian assassin, a giant green rage-monster, an Alien-Norse-God, and a man-child who likes to trot his way around the world in a million-dollar metal suit already in motion, all of a sudden The Super Soldier is added into the mix? The Council wouldn't allow it." Fury snapped back, his voice booming. The tension throughout the room grew heavier as the Director recomposed himself, the vein in his forehead soon began to return back into invisibility. "They saw the world to have enough threats." Fury's voice lowered. "Adding Zero was just one too many to handle. Chaos would have erupted. For both the Council and the world. You're lucky Stark even managed to scoop the file. Howard's always had his way of keeping his secrets to himself."

Steve's blood boiled. "And where's the Cryotank now?"

Fury tilted his head back slightly. He spoke in a settled voice and gestured towards his right hand agent. "Stark snatch it up a few weeks ago. Hill managed to convince him to hand it over. You're lucky it's with us right now."

Steve let his head drop in disbelief. He let out a small – yet evidently cold – breath out of his mouth. "No, that was your choice," Steve spoke with a tone of incredulity. "You could have told me."

Fury's eye twitched in agitation. "How many damn times do I have to tell to you, Cap, if it wasn't for Stark, we wouldn't even known she existed. S.H.I.E.L.D. labelled her a ghost. Just like your Winter Soldier." The one-eyed man coughed out. "Like I said, Captain, the Council wouldn't let me."

Steve shook his head. "Right, right. Like you actually listen to what anyone tells you."

Having enough of their endless cycle of a conversation, Fury stood up. "The world knew what about Zero? Absolutely nothing! Hell, we don't even know what's keeping her alive. We don't know a damn thing about her or what she's like. Except that she's a woman, born during World War II, and she was a liability — "

"She was a friend!" Steve snapped, finally allowing his voice to raise and his words to come out as barks. The veins on his neck pulsed. " – And she was a damn good agent. She was the only thing I had left and I didn't even know it – all because you didn't feel obliged to share that kind of information." Steve pointed towards the injured man. "Information I deserved to know. And you know what? You're damn lucky Stark got her when he did. Otherwise her life, and whatever kind of crap HYDRA could have done to her," Steve shook his head, "See, now that would have been on you."

Captain America sat sullenly on a cold bench. His hands rubbed together endlessly as his elbows laid propped above his knees. The Super Soldier's eyes bore into his warm and now clammy hands as he tried his best not to stare at the heartbreak in front of him.

Then, he felt a presence beside him. Natasha.

"Hey."

Steve merely hummed a response. His baby-blue eyes were glued to his hands.

"Who was she?" Natasha asked softly, her red hair falling beside her narrow face as she stared at the man who sat beside her.

"A friend," Steve spoke quietly. His face was blank, but his eyes said it all.

"How did you know her?"

"She fought beside me along with the Howling Commandos." The corner of Steve's mouth twitched, "hell, she was a Howling Commando." Steve chuckled.

Natasha's eyebrows furrowed and she looked down to the floor in confusion. "That was never in the reco —"

"Yeah," Steve chuckled dryly. "She got herself into some trouble she needed to get out of." Steve explained. His fingers fiddled with the ends on his jumper. "Stark – Howard – managed to pull some strings with the help of the SSR. They kept her off the books." Steve and Natasha fell into a few short moments of silence. "I guess everything was finally catching up to her . . . and this was the only way out."

Natasha swallowed. "What was she like?"

"Well, she was a lot of things," Steve nodded, "And a hell of a reminder for someone I cared about," Steve gave the injured red-head a tight lipped smile.

"Carter."

Steve nodded. "They were both very confident in what they did . . . incredibly beautiful, resilient, very loyal. They turned heads wherever they went, and they were both very clever and certainly weren't afraid to use it." Steve took a another breath in. "They knew their value." He concluded. "Especially as women, they were used to doors being shut in their faces. Didn't stop them, though. That's how they got friendly in the first place."

The silence that followed after was broken by a new voice. "Cap."

Simultaneously, the assassin and the soldier turned towards Sam Wilson. The Falcon walked towards the pair and crossed his arms. He spoke softly towards the Super Soldier. "You ready?"

Natasha frowned as she stared up at Sam. "Ready for what?"

"To wake up the Sleeping Beauty."

"ALL FOUR PRIMARY VITALS: FAIR."

Rogers, Fury, Hill, Romanoff, and Wilson, all huddled together in anticipation. A tank – rusted, and aged, stood tall in front of the agents. An Artificial Intelligence made contact.

Steve's stare turned from the tank to the former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Fair?" Steve repeated, stepping forward, face consumed with confusion and concern.

Director Fury furrowed his brows and ignored the solider. "But?" He urged the AI.

"ABNORMAL DIAGNOSIS DETECTED: GPR54 HAS DETECTED HIGH LEVELS OF GnRH INCREASED PITUITARY ACTIVITY HIGH TESTOSTERONE VOCAL FLUCTUATION EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY. HOWEVER, THERE ARE NO SIGNS OF LOSS IN BRAIN FUNCTIONING."

Agent Hill finally glanced at the Cryotank, tearing her eyes away from the Stark technology within her hands. "And her vitals?"

"BLOOD PRESSURE: 120 SYSTOLIC BP — 79 DIASTOLIC BP. BODY TEMPERATURE: 35 °C. RESPIRATION RATE: 12 SECONDS PER MINUTE. PULSE: 40 BEATS PER MINUTE."

Hill looked towards Steve and then towards Fury, "Sir," she frowned, "none of these are normal. They're either too low or too high."

Fury just shook his head. "It's doable." He stated firmly. He straightened his posture and pulled his broken arm to a more comfortable position. "Alright, let's do this. Hill, you can get this thing open?"

"Sir, this . . . thing, it's nothing from this generation —"

"It's practically ancient." Natasha interrupted. "Unless any of you know the code for this, it's gonna be impossible to open. The fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. got an AI to even run this thing is," Nat looked around the room as she struggled to find her worlds. "A miracle," she explained.

"That's not an answer I'm willing to take." Fury stubbornly shook his head.

Hill licked her lips and stalked towards the Tank. The Stark technology that was once in her hands was now placed in Sam's as her fingers swiped her Level 9 Clearance Card through the vault-like protection.

The screen flashed red and the male AI came back. "INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE LEVEL."

Their Director stepped forward, handing Maria Hill his badge and his Clearance Card, "INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE LEVEL."

Fury frowned in annoyance. "Fine. Voiceprint Verification Override: Director Fury, Nicholas J."

"VOICEPRINT VERIFICATION OVERRIDE: DENIED."

Fury's eye twitched. "What Clearance Level is this damn thing?"

"ALL CLEARANCE LEVELS DENIED."

"Then who can get in, dammit?" He snapped.

"VERIFIED VOICEPRINT VERIFICATION ACCESS: STARK, HOWARD ANTHONY WALTER, CARTER, MARGARET ELIZABETH, AND OTHER CLASSIED PERSONNEL."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, "Classified Personnel'? Can't we just bust this thing open?"

"Not without her dying." Natasha sighed and turned her head towards Steve.

The Super Soldier couldn't move, anxiety and sorrow rushing through his veins.

The red haired assassin abruptly stood up, her arm letting go of her freshly stitched wound. Her head jerked towards the Cryotank. "Rogers, you go."

"What?"

"Just trust me." Natasha nodded. "Just- just identify yourself. Maybe this will work, maybe it won't. It can't hurt to try."

With one last reluctant look, Steve's pleading eyes was wiped off only to be replaced with a determined expression. His back straightened and his stance the way a soldier's should be.

"Voiceprint Verification Override: Rogers, Steven Grant."

Suddenly, the world around him came to a screeching halt. The universe held its breath, "VOICEPRINT VERIFICATION OVERRIDE: CONFIRMED."

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galfridus1 · 6 years

Text

Doctors In Waiting Published

As part of NNT Week, I posted an extract of a story I was working on set in 21st century Oxford. Doctors In Waiting is now finished and is up on FFN and AO3. Meliodas and Ban are PhD students and the early chapters focus on their friendship (and yes they do arm wrestle). Zeldris, Elizabeth and Gelda are also studying at the university (History, Medicine and Medieval English respectively) while Merlin and Arthur are faculty staff. Estarossa, Melascyla and Elaine show up too, as does a human version of our hero’s father.

I know these types of AU are not everyone’s cup of tea but I worked hard on this story and I hope it’s entertaining enough. It was 2.5 month’s solid effort, every section has been re-written at least twice and it got to the point where the characters were telling me what to do, especially Gelda and Estarossa who radically changed the plot.

Here are two extracts which give a flavour for the story. First is Meliodas and Ban celebrating the end of the Michaelmas term. Second is the full transcript of the rather nasty conversation between Zeldris and Elizabeth which featured in NNT week.

If you have some spare time, I’d be honoured if you’d check it out and let me know what you think.

***

Meliodas and Ban from Chapter 2

“Here you go, thanks for waiting. Five pints of lager. Drink up!” Meliodas said brightly plonking the foaming cups down on the table in front of his friend, the glasses clinking slightly as they knocked together.

“Wow. You rock!” shouted Ban, grabbing two of the glasses and pouring the contents of them straight down his throat, one after the other.

“He, he. There was a special offer on, five for the price of four,” Meliodas sang out with a smirk. “Way too good to pass up.”

“How did you even carry them all over here?” Ban asked with difficulty, his words slightly slurred. “Your hands are tiny.”

“I was a bartender in a previous life.” Meliodas grinned back, copying Ban and drinking two pints himself.

“So who gets this one?” Ban asked, gesturing at the remaining pint, a definite hic showing he was beginning to feel the effects of intoxication. Normally it would take Ban more than this to show he was drunk, but the club did not open up until ten so they had shared a couple of bottles of wine over dinner and downed two shots of vodka for luck before setting off.

“Wanna arm wrestle for it?” Ban asked, leering with the effects of the booze.

“Nah, we’ll bust up the place and I don’t wanna leave till I can’t see straight,” Meliodas replied, also beginning to slur his words slightly. It took a lot for him to get truly drunk, but even he was on the way to reaching his limit.

“Tell you what, I got paid yesterday. Next round’s on me,” Ban said, rising unsteadily to his feet and making his way towards the bar, swaying slightly with the effort.

Meliodas sat back and watched his friend as he disappeared off into the crowds. He looked around. The idea of tonight was to get laid or get wrecked and Meliodas wondered if there was any prospect of taking someone home for the night. It had been ages since he’d spent time with a woman romantically and a sexual liaison was long overdue. It was easy enough. With a certain class of female the mere mention that he was Lord Lorimer’s son was enough to bring them around to the idea. Most people knew his family was loaded and that was all it took for some, the thought of the wealth outweighing any distaste they felt. While he did not like flashing his family name about he was more than prepared to do it to secure an easy one night stand, however crap he felt about it afterwards. The thought made him impatient for Ban to return so that he could go and take a proper look round.

Ban came back, multiple glasses in hand.

“Great offer!” he said unsteadily as he set five more pints down on the table.

“Cheers to that!” Meliodas replied downing another two pints. “It’s been too long since I’ve got wasted like this.”

“So are you going to go home for Christmas?” Ban asked matching his drinking partner pint for pint, the words only just distinguishable. “Coz I’m staying right here.”

“I’ll go to my father for the day itself, but otherwise no. Estarossa and I spend as little time as possible at at the ancestral place,” Meliodas replied. “Father takes us to church to show us off, well to show Zeldris off anyway, and then we spend the day drinking and avoiding each other. I’ll come back here on Boxing Day.”

“Wow, that’s rough,” Ban replied. “Don’t you ever go home to visit properly?”

“Nah. Zeldris goes back sometimes but Estarossa and I avoid the place like the plague. We only go to my father’s twice a year, for Christmas and February fifth”.

“What’s so special about February fifth?” Ban enquired, his eyes glazing over.

“We all go to put flowers on my mother’s grave. She died when I was seven. Placental abruption,” Meliodas said quietly. “I remember looking out of the window and seeing her being lifted into the ambulance. She was bleeding so much I thought the white blanket they’d put over her was red…” Meliodas shook himself. He must be more drunk than he realised to have said all that out loud.

Ban put his pint glass down. “I’m really sorry,” he said, the slurring a bit less evident, his red eyes unusually soft. “My mum’s dead too. Died when I was eight.”

Meliodas waited. They’d been living together for nearly three months now and in all that time Ban had not revealed a single thing about his life. Meliodas had respected his privacy, but admitted to himself that he was curious. He’d watched Ban as he embarked on his PhD, dragging Ban along to the seminars the Social Policy research students put on to showcase their work. Ban gave off the impression of being less than astute but Meliodas had long since discovered that this was a facade. When he got talking, it was clear that Ban had an easy command of the broad discipline which was home to students studying everything from international development to demography, from poverty measurement to spending on pensions. He’d made intelligent enquires of Gowther’s complex examination of demand for brand-named drugs when generics came on the market and found a serious hole in King’s plans to look at adult social care. His own work had however remained shrouded in mystery, though Meliodas had weedled out of Ban that it was something to do with higher education policy.

Meliodas could not believe Ban had not secured funding for his work, but then the availability of grants had dropped dramatically since the economic crash. He felt a hot flush of shame when he thought about this. He had funding himself, receiving an annual stipend from one of the UK’s research councils thanks to his supervisor’s recommendation. Merlin knew how to pull strings for her students. But Ban both needed it and deserved it more than he did.

“My dad killed her,” Ban blurted out, and instantly Meliodas felt the warmth being sucked out of his cheeks and his heart miss a beat. “He was a nasty drunk, could never keep his fists to himself. That night he gave me this,” Ban slurred as he gestured at the gash on his face. “She stood in front of me, tried to protect me and I was useless, I couldn’t do anything…” Ban trailed off into silence.

“Oh, Ban!” Meliodas cried. He wanted to reach out and hug his friend tight but knew Ban well enough to anticipate that this wouldn’t go down well, even in his current state of inebriation.

“My sister was four when we went into foster care. She was ill and starving. We only ate what I could steal and I was crap at it. I kept getting caught. They tried to save her, but she died too…” Ban trailed off again, his head bowed and his eyes fixed on the wooden table, scarred with white rings from alcohol-soaked glasses.

“She should have been taken into care years before, and your brother thinks too much public money is spent trying to protect the likes of us,” Ban spat angrily, his eyes still looking downwards.

***

Zeldris and Elizabeth from Chapter 3

“You all go on ahead. I have some business to attend to here,“ Zeldris ordered, his voice ringing with authority. Elizabeth was surprised to see the others immediately comply with his instructions. They moved quickly to the staircase which led to the dorms, leaving Zeldris standing alone in the quad.

"You can come out now,” Zeldris barked as he spun round to stare at the place where Elizabeth was hiding. “I know you’re there and that you were listening.”

Elizabeth unwillingly stepped out into the open, her face showing plainly her nervousness as her hand went to play with the scarf round her neck.

“Elizabeth Liones. If you want to hide I suggest you learn to control your breathing.” Zeldris stared at her coldly, his raven eyes flashing with anger. “You want to explain what you were doing?”

“I… nothing. I just came back from my shift…”

“Don’t lie to me! I saw you leaving my father’s apartment and there’s only one reason you’d be there at this hour. You’ve been stupid enough to let yourself become one of my brother’s many conquests now he’s back on the market. Even I would not have thought he’d be so desperate that he’d sleep with the enemy, though he evidently doesn’t care about you enough to let you stay for the night.” Zeldris snarled, his words sounding rich with the honey of pure loathing.

Elizabeth flushed up to the roots of her hair and her mouth fell open as she struggled to find her voice. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“It… it’s not like that at all…” she flustered.

“Oh really? Your face says otherwise,” Zeldris shot back.

“We were only talking.” Elizabeth managed to squeak out.

“Just as well. I advise you not to get too attached. Meliodas will happily use you, as he has so many other women, but he will never do more for you than satisfy his own needs.”

“I don’t believe you,” Elizabeth said coldly, her nervousness gone. “He’s not like that at all.”

“Seems you know more about my brother than you were letting on, or at least you think you do,” Zeldris crowed triumphantly, a smirk spreading over his face. “Proof enough of your feelings. But did he tell you what he did to his ex?”

Elizabeth paused, a question about what Meliodas had done that was so bad was on the tip of her tongue, but she suppressed it. It was his secret to keep and she would not give his brother the satisfaction he was obviously craving. She returned Zeldris’ gaze, her jaw clenched hard and her hands balled into fists at her sides, determined not to show him how much he frightened her.

“He threw her out. He got what he needed, then cast her aside with nothing to her name. They were talking marriage and children, and she thought everything was fine. But did he care? He’d had enough, so that was the end. That’s what he does. Everything is always about him.

"Still, it was for the best. She was not good enough. She would never have held her own with my family. We used to laugh at her. Even Estarossa thought she was thick. The only reason father put up with her was her title, and you would be no different. I know all about you. Your grades are reasonable but you work like a dog for them. You have no verve, no genuine intellect. Without your family connections you would not be here at all. Oxford is for people with brains, not cart horses like you. For all his faults, Meliodas is brilliant. No one can hold a candle to him. How can you of all people ever hope to keep up? Once he’s done with you physically, how could you possibly hope to hold his ever-wandering attention?”

Elizabeth felt herself flushing profusely, her face and neck flaming with uncomfortable heat as she gave into the urge and dropped her eyes to the floor. Try as she might, Zeldris’ words were upsetting her deeply. She did her best to take even breaths of the cold December air in an attempt to control the adrenaline coursing through her. The last thing she wanted to do was burst into tears. But his words hurt. He was right, she wasn’t that clever. She had enough intelligence to get by, but unlike her colleagues she had to study hard. She enjoyed the work, but it did not come naturally. The thing she liked about medicine was putting the patients at ease, helping them understand that she would do her best, building their trust and reaping the rewards when their health slowly recovered. She was not an academic and never would be.

“You will leave my brother alone if you know what’s good for you,” Zeldris warned quietly, taking a menacing step towards Elizabeth, seeming to tower over her despite his small stature as he pressed into her personal space. “If nothing else, do you know what my father would do to him if he found out about this? He hates Bartra Liones and will hate you just as much. And enjoyable as it would be to watch my brother get the discipline he deserves, I give you fair warning it will not be pleasant. If you know what’s good for you both, you will stay away.”

#nnt #seven deadly sins #fanfiction #meliodas #ban #zeldris #elizabeth liones #doctors in waiting #oxford au

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sopaipillasvoladoras · 7 years

Text

Fire Lady

For Zutara Week, Day 1

Also in Ao3!

"A fire Lady must be proper. Must only speak when spoken to. Shall always carry herself with grace. She is, after all, the epitome of grace and etiquette. And a Fire Lady should, above all, respect her husband for he is the Nation, our Honor and our Lord.” Those words echoed in her head as she stared at the silky red gown on her bed. She reached forward and picked the delicate gown. "This is it” She thought, it was the last night before the real thing; the official announcement of her engagement with Zuko. “Is this what being the Fire Lady feels like?” The thought haunted her as she laid down the red gown over the bed again, straightening the creases of the silk. Is not that she was unhappy, but she was definitely uneasy, something about this felt off, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Before Katara knew it, she found herself wandering nearby one of the garden’s biggest ponds, looking at the reflection of the moon on the still water.

“Can’t sleep?” Katara looked around, not really surprised “Are this things always this complicated here?” she asked. Sokka walked out of the shadows of the garden’s hallway and walked towards Katara, they sat by the edge of the pond. “Well, apparently firefolk like their fancy ways too much and have to do everything big and exaggerated, you know. But, you gotta admit this is unprecedented sis, after all, how many times has a Fire Lord married someone form outside the Fire Nation? Or an ambassador from another Nation?” “Right” Katara smiled as she leaned to Sokka’s side. She let out a sight. Sokka rubbed her shoulder tenderly, his eyebrows frowning slightly when his sister smile dropped to fine line “…Are you having second thoughts about this?” Katara straightened up immediately, her eyes opening wide “What? Sokka! No, of course not“ “Hey, don’t look at me like that! You’ve been acting weird lately, you can’t blame me for worrying” Ugh Katara rested her head on her knees, grunting. She just couldn’t make sense of it. She was so sure this is what she wanted, after years of traveling together, fighting together, flirting, secret relationships and an outrageous public announcement of their status as a couple, she thought marring Zuko would feel right. She wasn’t really having cold feet, was she?

“Hey, hey– Katara! There’s smoke coming out of your ears, you’re overthinking this” Katara turned her face to the side, cheek squeezing against her knee. “I… I don’t know what’s bothering me so much. I don’t want to get cold feet Sokka, I love Zuko” Sokka scratched his chin, as if he was thinking hard.

“Well, if you’re not sure about this whole thing, we can still make a run for it. I can create a diversion” “Sokka!” Katara slapped her bother’s arm and giggled —when was the last time she even laughed?— “You know I can make some mean stinking bombs, and we can take Zuzu if you want, you know, make him take some forced vacations. He probs needs them anyway” “Yeah, sure Sokka. We’ll just bomb the announcement, probably causing caos, making a huge drawback in the Water Tribe and Fire Nation’s relationship and then kidnap the Fire Lord. Solid plan.” They laughed. Katara sure missed this, just laughing with her brother, may be later going around helping Aang, visiting Toph and getting to kick some ass along side Zuko, like the old days.

Sokka whipped a tear from his eyes “Aw man, it sure is hard the Royal Life, uh?” “Yeah” Katara laid back, feeling the moonlight soak her in light “I guess I’m afraid that I’m not cut for this fancy life, you know?” “Actually, I don’t Katara. I’m not the one who’s been living in a palace for the past year” “But it’s not usually this hard Sokka. Or at least, it didn’t used to, this whole week —since we announced we wanted to get married to the council— has been about Fire Ladies do this, Fire ladies do that, you have to wear this, blah, blah, blah” Now she was gesturing, voice getting louder “We’ve had three, Sokka, three rehearsals for the announcement, can you imagine how the wedding’s gonna be like then?” “—Yeah, fucking nuts” “Exactly! I don’t— I don’t know if this is what I want! I mean, I want Zuko, but, I’m not sure I want to be The Fire Lady” Katara let her arms fall loose at her sides. So this was it, this is what has been troubling her. All this week has been about making her fitting of the Fire Lady name, learning how to stand, how to sit, where to walk, how to talk, how to dress and even how do her make up, as if she were hiding herself underneath all those red silky robes and coats of light powder to make her skin fairer. As if being Katara wasn’t good enough to be the Fire Lady. Katara closed her eyes, forcing the tears to stay put, she breathed in… May be she should put a stop to this, for now. Talk to Zuko, he’d understand, and since they haven’t announced it yet it wouldn’t be much trouble for the council. May be it was time for her to go back home, for a while. Zuko would be hurt, sure, but she needed to think this though better. She needed–

“Then don’t” Sokka’s voice interrupted Katara’s thought, her train of thought disappeared and it took her a moment to understand what her brother was talking about. “What? What do you mean don’t?” Sokka put a hand over his chest dramatically “Wow Katara, may be being inside this fancy walls has been affecting you” he deadpanned. “Look, you’re not getting into this to become the Fire Lady –that’s just colateral damage of loving fire boy I guess– You’re marrying Zuko because you love him, right? End of discussion. I mean where’s that sister of mine who literally fought the patriarchy and kicked Grandpakku’s ass? Where’s the Katara that pulled the Water Tribes closer than ever and put a stop to the nonsense and prejudice of our tribe and the Fire Nation? The first female water bender master recognized by all nations, the Katara I know? C’mon, after saving the world and putting it pack together, facing a little traditionalist Nation should be an easy thing for you, honestly”

Katara looked at her brother in disbelief, sure, it has been almost a decade since they fought Ozai and tried to bring balance to the world again, but sometimes she still forgot how much Sokka and herself had gone through, how much that experience had made them grown since they first left the Water Tribe all those years ago. Katara smiled and Sokka put his arms around his sister, softly petting her hair "Don’t let them bully you into being what they want, just be you” Katara cried a single tear of relief, and thanked her brother. “Sokka, about that diversion…"

———————————————

They had finally stopped pulling her hair. Granted, her thick, brown southern-tribe waves of hair are not easy to tame, but boy did this Fire Nation girls try. They had been at it for at least an hour. Now it was only about one and a half more hours to style it and do her make up, then she’d be ready to get into the four layered red gown sitting on her bed. “Breath Katara, just breath” She thought to herself; she had to control her temper, after all, she had a plan and she did not sleep two hours to let it out of the window because she couldn’t sit still, for the fourth time in a week, as they finished her “proper Fire Lady look”.

When Katara was finally ready, she asked the styling group and dressing helpers to go to the party, she’d be in the main hall in a few minutes. After the door closed Katara quickly locked it and went to looked in her desk, finally finding the small letter her father had sent her with Sokka: “I’m sorry I can’t be there this time, but I’ll make sure to be there for the real thing. Gran Gran would have liked to give you this herself. I had to have it altered, but I hope you’ll still like it like you used to. You’ve always been a smart girl, and I’m proud to see you become a wonderful woman, intelligent and strong. We could not have a better person representing the Water Tribe out there to the world, a true warrior of our clan with a wise mind and a big heart. I love you and I’m so proud of you Katara, your mother would be so proud. We are all so proud of you. We’ll see each other soon, Dad.” Katara pressed the letter to her chest tightly, her resolution only growing stronger “Yeah, I'll see you soon, Dad” Katara took a deep breath and whispered to herself “Lets do this” as she peeled off the layers of red clothing and looked for the package in her old traveling bag.

————————————————

Katara was thirty minutes late, but Zuko tried not to think of it, nor did he wanted to excuse his future fiancé’s tardiness with the grumpy council elders again. He just focused on Sokka’s stories –quite popular with the bored crowd– and Aang’s air bending tricks. This had been a very stressful week for both of them and he didn’t wanted to end it badly with a fight and ruining the engagement party over such a petty thing. So what if he was stood up in front of 500 important guests, right? ...May be he should check if she was fine. May be.

Just when Zuko was wondering where the maidens he sent to check up on Katara were, the hall’s doors opened, and with a gasp the crowd split, making room for the lady walking through.

Zuko was in awe, he didn’t even notice the council’s members jaws dropping and their reddening faces, nor their questions “What is the meaning of this?”

Katara looked incredible; in the red of sea, she stood up in a long gown with different shades of blue, with touches of purple and white, traditional of the Water Tribes. Somewhere on the back of his mind, Zuko thought it must have been altered to fit better for the hot Fire Nation spring, with no sleeves, full of intricate decorations and fur in strategic places, but he didn’t really care. He was transfixed by the way Katara moved: she was taking powerful strides, unlike the short and soft steps the aristocracy girls are taught, head held high and her hands joined to the front. Her voluminous wavy dark hair was half up in an intricate pattern of braids with accent accessories holding it together. Her brown skin was practically glowing, free of any trace of make up and whitening powder that dulled the rich color.

Without noticing, Zuko walked towards Katara, and met her half way though the hall. Only when Zuko reached for Katara’s hand did he notice the redness in her cheeks and the subtle tremble of her hand. “Kata–“ “Sorry–“ she said almost breathlessly “Let me say something first” Katara cared her throat and turned to the guests, without letting Zuko’s hand go.

“Thank you all for being here today. My apologies for the tardiness, but there has been a mistake” Zuko’s heart skipped a beat, Katara’s hand tightened around his own “I presume that the reason most of you think we are gathered here today is because I am to become, officially, the future Fire Lady. But that is not the case” Katara made pause to steady herself, the crowd was already whispering among themselves “In the past days I have been taught how to become the perfect Fire Lady, worthy of the Fire Lord, but the reason I am here today is not to announce my marriage to the Fire Lord, but to ask Zuko, the man I am in love with, the man I want to be by my side for the rest of my life, to marry me.” Katara looked around to the crowd, making sure everyone was listening “I want to make clear that, despite that I know that by teaching me your ways you only mean the best for your Nation and your Lord, but this is something else. Today I am not sanding here as an ambassador. Today I am standing here as myself, and I want you to know that the person I choose to love will not determine how or who I am, because, above all, before any kind of Lady, I am Katara, Water Bender Master of The Southern Water Tribe. And I will be given the respect and place I rightfully deserve in this court for my merits in combat and diplomacy, not as a trophy wife. The fact that the person I love happens to be the Fire Lord is another matter altogether. This said–” Katara turned to Zuko, her hand shaking and her eyes full of resolution “Zuko, I want you to know that this is in no way for diplomacy, and I am going to ask you this not as the Fire Lord, but as a man. I love you, like I never thought I could love anyone. We’ve been though so much, good and bad. We come from different paths, opposite sides of the world even, but somehow we always found our way to one another in the end, and that’s how I want us to be for the rest of our lives, together. I don’t know if this royal life is for me but I love you and I will take everything that it means to be your wife with open arms, even if it means to be the Fire Lady. I can’t promise I will be the perfect one, I know I’m stubborn and loud and bossy, but I’m also a water bender master, and if water can do something, is to flow and adjust. So, if you–“ Katara stopped for a second, lowering her eyes as she cupped Zuko’s hand with both her hands. She was shaking "If– If you, want to, would you, marry me?” Only then did her eyes look at Zuko’s again, her hands receding, leaving a necklace into Zuko’s hand. He looked down, the necklace was similar to Sokka’s bone necklace, but this one had black stones instead of the white bone. And in the center it had a deep blue rock, perfectly polished, with a symbol he knew only too well in the center; Katara had once show it to him, it was a symbol for the tides in her tribe. It meant the push and pull of the ocean and the moon, the give and take, two forces working together in harmony, both so different, but always in sync.

Before Katara could put her hands away Zuko reached forward, gently pulling her close. He placed the necklace back on Katara's hand “…May be you can help me put it on?” Katara chocked up a laugh —or was it a sob?— and reached forward, locking the necklace snuggly around her fiancé’s neck. She let her hands rest on his chest for a few seconds as she looked at her work. The choice of colors had been right, the dark stones didn’t clash with Zukos usual red clothes and matched his skin nicely, but the necklace still had a very Water Tribe air she was very proud of. She’d have to thank Aang again for staying up all night helping her make the necklace, she wouldn’t have been able to make it without him.

Slow clapping started filling the room. Some of the elders still looked in shock, some even angry. Zuko and Katara would deal with them later, now it was all about them and celebrating.

#zutara week 2017 #zutara week #zuko #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #i was ready i promise #but life got in the way #so here i am posting this late #i wanted to make a comic of it #but it was to fucking long #be gentle pls I'm not used to writing #fire lady

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whatdoyouthinkmyjobis · 7 years

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Hunters on the Hellmouth

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AN: This chapter was inspired by BTVS 7.09 “Never Leave Me.”

Warnings: threats of rape, implied torture

Chapter 25: House Full of Hostages

The sun was barely up, but the Scoobies were already nervously waiting in the living room while Buffy and Dean were busy with the vampire upstairs. "I'm not sure I've heard a worse idea," said Willow, "and that includes the time Xander covered a pepperoni pizza with M&Ms."

"I knew The Supremer would have its moment in the sun,” Xander replied.

“Spike killed a bunch of people, so Buffy and Dean brought him back to the house?” Dawn asked in disbelief.

“Willow’s back in the house,” said Anya.

“That’s different,” snapped Dawn. “Not like you can judge.”

“I’m just saying we’ve seen this from Buffy before,” Anya continued. “She’s not always with the group think of who to kill and who to not-kill. Frankly, I’m surprised Dean is going along with this lunacy. I thought he’d be more black and white and stabby about this. Plus, bonus he-man points for killing Buffy’s ex.”

“If Dean thought the best option was staking Spike, he would have done it,” said Sam, “but he thinks Spike’s more valuable alive at the moment.”

“It’s not just Spike.” Willow paced as she calculated the possible outcomes. “They think he’s being controlled by something. Okay, what if it pushes his big red murder buttons while he’s here? Or worse! What if it comes for him? I mean, it’s followed him from the school basement, to town, and to that old woman’s house. Who’s to say it won’t come here?”

“It already did,” Dawn said grimly.

“For being the head of the Kill The Bleached Bastard Club, you’ve been very quiet, Xander.”

Xander stood up and headed for the kitchen. “Anyone want some cereal? I hear it’s in peak season.”

Spike’s head pounded, a feat since he didn’t have any blood to pound. Several parts of his body ached and tingled the way it did when it was trying to heal, the way it did when he’d been in a fight.

He opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred, no doubt from the blow to his head. From the smell, he could tell he was in Buffy’s house. It was a concentrated scent. The vanilla extra sweet, the lilac fresh, the sex overpowering. Last time he’d smelled this was in his lower, more perverse moments when he’d sneaked into Buffy’s bedroom to rifle through her underwear drawer and steal souvenirs.

Something was holding down his arms, his legs, his body. He was tied to a chair, but why? “Buffy?”

“Sorry, buddy boy, it’s just me,” said an unfriendly, rumbling voice.

“‘Buddy boy?’ Are we besties now, Dean?”

The prior night came back to him in flashes. A room full of vampires. Drusilla. He’d begged to be staked, but instead, he was in Buffy’s home. She didn’t know the danger her mercy put everyone in.

“Why ‘aven’t you killed me?” Spike asked again, his vision coming into focus. “Know you’re aching to.”

Sitting on the end of the bed, Dean set his elbows on his knees and leaned in as if about to share a secret. “Because of Buffy.”

Momentarily delighted, Spike ran his tongue over his lip, licking the stale blood. “Got you on a short leash, does she?”

Dean looked at his hands and rubbed them together like he was trying to brush off dirt. “I hated you the moment I laid eyes on you. Hated the way you talk, the way you move. Hated the hungry way you look at her. And then I found out you were a goddamn vampire.”

“Stop. You’ll make a monster blush.”

Dean rose from the bed, scratching his neck, and wandered over to a collection of photos on Buffy’s bulletin board. He had probably seen the pictures a hundred times as he passed in an out of her bedroom, but he inspected them silently as if they were brand new.

“You know what I like about Buffy?” Dean asked.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Do tell the inner workings of your torrid love affair.”

“She has so much life in her.”

Spike snorted. Buffy was a nightmare. A killing machine. A creature of the night deadlier than any he’d ever known. Life wasn’t her gift.

Undeterred, Dean continued, wistfulness in his voice. “She wants to grab all the life she can. Most hunters I know are dead men walking, withdrawn alcoholics just waiting for the inevitable. But Buffy, she has hopes and dreams and friends, the sort of friends who would put themselves in danger for her. Good friends.

“And for some crazy ass reason, she considers you one of those friends.”

This was not what Spike expected to hear when tied to a chair. “She, she said that? Those words?”

“She keeps saying, ‘Spike has a soul now,’ as if that can erase your past. But I was reading the other week about how vampires are empty husks led around by their demons. And reading your history, William the Bloody. Maybe that was you. Somehow I can’t imagine a blood-thirsty demon wanting to shack up with a soul.”

His piercing gaze on Spike, Dean said, “I know the look on a man’s face when he’s been forced to do something terrible.”

“You ever ‘ave a demon in you?” Spike asked.

Dean shook his head but said nothing.

“It’s like those cartoons with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, only the devil is alone and steering,” Spike said with a sneer. “I learned ‘ow to wrestle control back from this piss poor roommate. Thought getting my soul back would put me firmly in the driver seat, but I still ‘ear it growling up a storm, telling me what to do.”

“What’s it telling you now?” Dean asked.

Spike flexed his arms, but the rope held tight. They weren’t taking chances. “It wants me to rip your ‘andsome face off, cut you to bits. It doesn’t like you at all.”

Dean snorted as if Spike had told a pathetic joke.

But it wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t the time for posturing, for cock fights. He needed to understand the threat that sat before him. “It doesn’t want to kill ‘er. It wants to rape 'er, destroy ‘er. I will suck Buffy dry while I fuck ‘er, when she comes back, she’ll be all mine. Maybe I won’t kill you, just snap your neck and leave you paralyzed, keep you around as a blood donor, ‘ang you up in the bedroom so you can watch us ‘aving a good shag. Real question is, do I kill the little bit, take ‘er as she is, or let ‘er ripen a few more years?”

“You ain’t gonna do any of that.” Darkness took over Dean’s face.

“You know what I’m capable of.” Spike wasn’t sure himself anymore; the demon’s voice was worse than he remembered.

“I know what I’m capable of. If you’ve turned evil sock puppet, I’ll do what she can’t.”

Buffy wouldn’t be able to kill Spike and he knew it. She’d lost all perspective dropping him, a live grenade, in with her friends. He needed to make sure Dean would do the right thing despite what she wanted. ”Raping Buffy’s just unfinished business. She tell you about that? Tried to fuck her a few months ago, but didn’t finish the job. And she still likes ‘aving me around.”

Dean smirked before twisting back and socking Spike in the jaw, knocking his chair over and loosening a few teeth.

Buffy was searching for another phone number, hoping to find Giles, when she heard banging up in her bedroom. “What happened?” she asked Dean as he came down the stairs.

“Spike’s chair fell over.”

“Really?” She grabbed Dean’s right hand and rubbed her thumb over his red knuckles. “Put some ice on that. How��s the rest of you?”

He pointed to the bandage on his neck. “Just a new scar for the collection.”

“And the other thing?”

Wincing, Dean adjusted himself. “Not gonna feel like screwing tonight, if that’s what you want to know.”

“That was sort of off the table anyway seeing as there’s a vampire in our bedroom.”

Poking at the mix of business cards and paper scraps on the counter, Buffy tried to remember which numbers she’d called. Giles wasn’t answering his cell or his landline. The coven that helped Willow heal said they hadn’t heard from him in months. She picked up a heavy card on linen stock and tapped it on the counter. It was a simple design, just a phone number and the name Quentin Travers embossed in gold letters.

“I’m going to call the Watcher’s Council,” she said to Dean, who was watching her as he iced his hand.

“You need a gun that big for Spike?”

“I’m sure they’re chomping at the bit to help a vampire. No, Dean, this is bigger than Spike. It’s bigger than us. Whatever is controlling him, I’m sure it’s not planning to gift the world with pocket pandas and chocolate. Then there’s my blood-soaked visions.”

She crossed the kitchen and buried her face in his plaid shirt. Still smelling of basement dirt, he felt warm and solid in her arms. Present. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Dean, but I feel alone in this. Yes, you’re here. We have Sam and Willow, but we can only hit so much if we don’t know where to strike. Without Giles, I -- I feel lost.”

Tucking a lock of loose hair behind her ear, Dean said, “I know the feeling. So what do I need to know ‘bout these Watcher guys?”

“I’m hoping they’ll help me find Giles. I’m afraid they’re going to send someone with a disapproving scowly face and stuck up accent. Someone I’m going to have to argue with. Someone who’s going to get all nosy about you and where you’re from.”

“What happens if they find out?”

“Don’t know.” Buffy stood up and smoothed his shirt. “If they try anything, I’ll put on my protective girlfriend pants and rescue you.”

“My hero,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

“There’s a crazed vampire upstairs, and you’re making out?” said Sam, who’d stolen into the kitchen.

Buffy estimated she’d had three seconds not thinking about the crisis they were in, three seconds away from the brink of tears, but before she could respond, Dean was embracing her. “Sammy, you’re interrupting a very important strategy meeting.”

“I can see that,” he replied, eyebrows up and dimples of disapproval on display. “You’ve got a room full of nervous people who want in on the plan.”

“Spike’s been in contact with the mysterious It more than any of us. We need to find out what It’s told him, how It’s communicating with him, and how It’s making him kill,” said Buffy.

“Do you actually see him sharing any of that info?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. We’ll start with kid gloves. He was pretty messed up at that house.”

“Let me know when you want me to step in for the messy stuff,” said Dean. “Maybe we should take him somewhere else so Dawn doesn’t hear?”

How long had he been alone with Spike? It couldn’t have taken her more than half an hour to shower and change, but he was already beating on the vampire. Once, she’d seen Dean cry, near hysterics triggered by memories of Sam’s death, of consequential decades spent in Hell torturing and being tortured. Knowing what he’d been through, how could she ask him to step into that role again? “I don’t want you to step in for the messy stuff.”

“You think it won’t go that far?”

“I’m not saying I don’t need you. There’s plenty to do. I’m saying the torture tools can stay in the trunk.”

“How can I help?”

Fucking grocery getter for a monster, Dean grumbled to himself. He appreciated that Buffy didn’t want him involved in interrogating Spike; he didn’t want her to see him like that, to know what he was capable of. Still, he’d rather be back at the house keeping an eye on things than out buying pig’s blood for his girlfriend to feed the vampire. Willow, nervously wringing her hands in the passenger seat, knew all the places in town they could hit for this unpalatable snack run.

“Can you turn that off?” she asked.

Dean bit his tongue and ejected the cassette. “Not a Metallica fan?”

“I like rock and alternative stuff, but that was making me so nervous, my skin was all prickly.”

“Relaxes me,” Dean said.

“You’re joking, right?”

“It’s easy to get lost in. Their early stuff has these beautiful, complicated melodies and long ass guitar solos you just don't hear anymore, which is one of modern rock’s biggest tragedies. Tell ya what, I got a copy of this on Sam’s computer from a concert they did with the San Francisco orchestra, and I bet you’ll like it backed by violins and stuff.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then Buffy won’t be the only person in the house with shit taste in music.”

Willow snapped to look at something out the window and yelled, “Stop the car! Stop the car!”

Dean slammed on the brakes, and she bolted down the sidewalk after a short blond boy in a large black coat. Quickly finding a place to park, Dean chased after her and found her scuffling in an alley.

She had the boy pinned against the wall and was practically spitting in his face. “You don't know the first thing about pain, but I'm willing to give a lesson.”

“Help me! Please, save me! She’s trying to kill me!” shouted the kid when he spotted Dean.

“Hey, I was speechifying!” whined Willow.

“Ginger, you wanna fill me in?” Dean asked. He’d never seen her violent and pushy, but it was hard to believe this trembling kid with a puddle of piss forming at his feet could possibly be any threat.

“Remember Warren?” Her voice was dark, dangerous.

“Killed Tara. Suffered the consequences. Got a pretty strong mental picture.”

“Andrew here was one of his lackeys.”

“I didn’t kill Tara!” Andrew protested, trembling. “I had nothing to do with that. Buffy beat us so bad, I was packing up to leave town.”

“Shut up, you worm. Dean, check his bag.”

Near the mouth of the alley was a brown paper sack with a blossoming bloodstain. “Please, don’t be a cat. Please, don’t be a cat,” Dean muttered. “Looks like someone else went to the butcher. We got some fresh meat and a whole lotta blood. One of ‘em popped open, but he had eight quarts.”

“Pull the car around. Do you think he’ll fit in the trunk?”

Dean huffed. “I can fit three of him in the trunk.”

Xander and Anya searched Andrew’s coat while the Winchesters tied him to a chair in Dawn’s room, a pile of stuffed animals transfixed on the scene.

“I won’t tell you anything,” their new captive squeaked, “no matter how roughly you manhandle my body. Seriously, you should maybe touch my body some more.”

Sam rolled his eyes and left.

“You don’t want me handling you, kid. I’d take your fingernails first, then start asking questions,” Dean said before following his brother out the door.

Standing in the hallway, they could hear Xander and Anya start their good cop, bad cop routine. “We’re gonna make you squeal, little piggie!”

“Today has only increased in crazy,” Sam sighed.

“Double the hostages, double the fun?”

Sam shook his head. “Where are all the pieces?”

“Whatever the big boss is has visited Dawn, Willow and Fangs McGee, who’s been killing people on request, but cuz a that chip, he ain’t supposed to be able to do that. The little one --” there was a smack and thump behind Dawn’s bedroom door, “fancies himself some sorta criminal mastermind. Willow said he can conjure up some pretty sick spells, so she’s thinkin’ he’s connected to whatever hell else is going on.”

“And he was one of the people who killed Tara?”

“No, he was in on the world conquering part of it, but was seriously afraid of Buffy beating the shit outta him. You shoulda seen him in the alley with Willow. Pissed himself.”

“Like all criminal masterminds,” Sam said dryly.

“She did skin his buddy.”

Xander and Anya came out of Dawn’s room looking stern before closing the door and dissolving into a giggle fit. “Did you see that?! I made him cry!”

“You’re a good bad cop,” Xander beamed.

“He was annoying me, and I wanted to slap him, so I went ahead and slapped him!”

“Oh, nice line there about the fingernails, Dean. You really helped get him ready to spill. ‘Course he jumps every time Willow’s mentioned too. Where is Will?”

“She’s downstairs folding laundry with Dawn,” Sam replied.

“Sinister, thy name is Willow. Okay, An, you go relax for a bit, and I’ll go pretend to be the weasel’s friend.”

“Feel free to turn up my demon reputation but gloss over how I can’t bring any of that pain anymore.”

“Never underestimate your ability to cause people pain,” said Xander before ducking back into the bedroom.

Anya smiled a love-swoony smile. “Xander’s so sweet. He still believes in me.” Pleased with her accomplishments, she practically skipped down the stairs.

Over an hour later, Buffy, looking exhausted and downcast, found Dean in the kitchen making a late grilled cheese lunch with Dawn. She fell into Dean’s arms, groaning as he rubbed her back. “Not going so hot, baby?”

“The whole blood-eating thing is super gross,” she said into his chest. “It has to digest or absorb or whatever happens inside a vampire. I skipped the biology lesson. He’s too exhausted to explain anything.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Dawn grumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“He always wants to spend time with you, right? Now he’s got you alone in your bedroom feeding him. Spike’s gotta be thinking that’s pretty hot.”

“Ew. This just got worse.”

Dean held her face in his hands and smiled at her. He hated seeing her stressed like this, hated her feeling backed against a wall, hated her feeling so lost. “We got a pile of sandwiches with your name on them.”

“Not true,” said Dawn, grabbing two. “The ones with pickles are mine.”

“You need to eat and sleep,” Dean said gently. “Go curl up on the couch an’ take a nap. You’ve been up all night, barely slept the night before. No use grinding yourself down. I’ll make sure he stays tied up.”

Grabbing a non-pickled sandwich, Buffy said through bites, “Sam’s sort of taking up the entire couch, and last time you were alone with Spike, you punched him.”

“He deserved it.”

“No doubt, but I don’t want to lose you. I’ll sleep eventually.”

Sleepy eyed, Sam stumbled in. “I’m gonna head out for a few hours. Shower. Change.”

“Give me a minute,” Dean said before his brother disappeared. “What do you need me to do, Girly?”

Willow and Buffy sat on Willow’s bed, arms around their knees, listening to Andrew’s whimpering and Spike’s muttering.

“I could organize the basement,” Willow said, her voice hollow, her eyes far away. “Or I could build some sort of padded panic room for the panicking.”

Buffy grabbed her friend’s hand and squeezed. “Dean said you were a badass when you spotted Andrew.”

Pale, eyes wide, Willow nodded. “I-I figured he couldn’t be good news, but…” She leaned over and curled into a ball, her head on Buffy’s lap.

“Where does having him in the house fall on the weirdness scale?” Buffy asked, combing Willow’s hair with her fingers.

“You know that nightmare where you walk into class and there’s a test you forgot to study for?”

“Nightmare. Yeah. Sure, Will,” said Buffy dryly.

“It’s pass/fail, and I don’t remember any of the material.”

But it went beyond Andrew. Her mind buzzed with the past and a thousand what ifs. But something else was crowding out the flashbacks of Tara’s death.

Dread grew in Willow’s heart. Something was very wrong with Spike, she could feel it wafting off him, a similar disharmonious buzz as when she tried to get a read on the Winchesters. She’d noticed it a bit when she saw the demon in him, but brushed it off as a side effect of the spell. Now it was a war drum charge pounding on the other side of the wall.

Anya, working out some post-demon stress, had climbed deep into her bad cop role. So deep, Xander was having a hard time pulling her off Andrew, crying in the fetal position on the floor. “Anya, honey, that’s enough!”

“Isn’t this why you untied him, so the cowering would be more satisfying?”

“I’ll tell you anything, just keep the psycho chick away from me!”

“Let’s start with why you came back to Sunnydale.”

The bedroom was starting to reek of blood. Spike preferred the Buffy smell, but three quarts in, he was perking up, remembering.

“I didn’t know the bleedin’ chip ‘ad stopped working.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Don’t know. I don’t remember killing anyone. I mean, I know I did it, not denying that, but I don’t remember it. You know like ‘ow when you find a ticket stub in your pocket, and that proof in your ‘and is the only memory you have of a shoddy movie? It’s like that. I don’t know what I was thinking, feeling, doing, just that I turned and buried them.”

“Has that been happening a lot? The memory loss?”

Arms crossed and scowling, Dean stepped forward. “We have a bigger problem. Andrew is here. You know how he ties in.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Do you remember what happened in the basement last night?” Buffy asked. “You said Drusilla was there. You said she visited you in the school basement every day. What did she tell you, Spike?”

“That’s right. Dru was always there for me. Supporting me. Singing to me. She may ‘ave been mad, but that woman knows for love and loyalty, unlike some. Got myself resouled and was left to talk to hallucinations. ‘Ow’s that for a hello?”

Buffy rose from the edge of the bed and paced the room. “Spike, this isn’t about us.”

“It really isn’t,” Dean said. “This is about the sorry pickle you’ve got yourself in. Tied up. Confused. Still hungry. And right through that wall, answers. It’s you or him.”

“I know what you’re tryin, Dean, but I’m not falling for it.”

Buffy stiffened and looked around the room. “Spike, do you see Dean? Dean’s not here.”

Dean plunged his hand into Spike’s chest; sizzling, sharp, it felt like a lightning bolt to the heart.

Spike’s fangs descended. With a swift jerk, he broke the arms off the chair and swung at Buffy, scratching her face with the broken wood. He kicked her down and charged at the wall. Breaking through to Dawn’s room, Spike grabbed Andrew by the throat and bit him. Hands tugged at him, swatted him, but he clamped down harder. Andrew had to be stopped. A strong pair of small hands grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him into the door frame.

Spike shook his head, confused as to why he was suddenly on the floor, untied, and with a crowd gathered around a small blonde boy. Buffy stomped toward Spike, and kicked him in the face.

The tiredness made Buffy’s fingers stiff as she checked the lock on Spike’s manacles once again.

“Sure this will ‘old me? I don’t want to ‘urt anyone.”

Without answering, Buffy headed upstairs to her friends. She was tired of talking, of trying to figure out what was happening, of what she was even fighting. She wanted a giant plate of sweet and sour chicken and the freedom to sleep for three days.

Dawn was curled under Willow’s arm on the couch. Sitting on the coffee table in front of them, Buffy said, “I’ll call Dean. You can stay at his place until we get this sorted.”

“You shouldn’t have told him to leave, or, you know, invited a killer into the house,” Dawn grumbled.

“Thank you for the hindsight alert, but who else was going to patrol?”

Xander and Anya came downstairs. “Good news, Buff, is that Spike didn’t rip any electrical when he Hulked the wall. Bad news is there’s zero privacy for you and Dawn. The hardware store is closed, but if the Winchesters lend a hand, we can get it like new tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Anya?”

Anya, twisting one foot like a little girl, was staring wistfully at Xander.

“Earth to Anya?”

“Yes?”

“How’s Andrew?” Buffy asked.

“Sorry, with the interrogation, the fighting, and the manly construction talk, I started to feel a little aroused, which obviously pushed Andrew from my mind. Oh, well, the little twerp will live. I patched up his neck and tied him up again.”

“Other than Anya’s attraction to drywall, did we learn anything for all of this mess?” asked Willow.

“We did get our stoolie to sing,” said Anya, with a proud smile. “Andrew came back because he was having visions of a seal that he needed to give blood to for vague evil purposes. He was about to clarify, when KA-BAM! That’s the sound Spike made with the wall.”

“Did Spike tell you anything, Buffy?”

“What happened to Willow and Dawn has pretty much been an everyday occurrence with Spike, but he thought the ghosts were part of the soul guilt. He said he sees me and Drusilla the most. I yell at him, and Drusilla encourages him.”

“Good cop, bad cop!” Anya interjected.

“Maybe. He was talking to invisible Drusilla at the vamp house. Screaming at her. Upstairs, he was talking to Dean--”

“Oh God!” Dawn gasped. “So this baddie can look like anyone? Not just the dead? How do we know who’s real?”

Buffy sighed and unloaded the Winchesters’ secret. “Dean has died before. So’s Sam.”

Mouths agape, the Scoobies stared at Buffy. “Well, that explains your relationship a bit,” said Willow.

“Were you just not going to tell us this?” Xander asked. “Seems kind of important with a costume-loving evil on the loose.”

“A lot has happened in the last couple days, okay? It slipped my mind. Anyway, Spike thought he was talking to Dean, then he just...changed. He wasn’t even like the Spike who came to kill me in high school. He was different.”

“Perhaps we have a Manchurian Candidate situation,” said Xander, who was met with silent stares. “C’mon! It’s a classic! Okay, so Angela Lansbury has brainwashed her son for the Communist party. Every time she wants him to kill someone, she tells him to play solitaire, and gives him the mission when a certain card triggers his sleeper agent side. Only in our case, Spike is the son, the trigger is some unknown message from the undead person, and mystery baddie is evil Jessica Fletcher.”

“So what’s the mission?” asked Willow.

“When Spike broke free, he knocked me down, then went straight for Andrew, like he had a purpose. Anya, you said he was about to tell you what the seal is for. That has to be connected.”

“What now, Buff? Should we interrogate Andrew some more?”

“Stake Spike?”

“No.” Buffy stood up and stretched. “It’s past eight. Dinner, then plan. I’ll call Dean, and if someone could pick up a giant order of Chinese food, you will officially be my favorite.”

Leaving the phone to the important task of food fetching, she trudged up the stairs to the cellphone in her wrecked bedroom. She wanted a little privacy anyway. Her friends all expected her have answers, plans, foresight. With Dean, she could cry, maybe even gripe a little, and he respected her, still followed her lead even if it was something as distasteful as getting blood for Spike.

She’d just reached the top of the stairs when the lights went out and robed figures crashed through the windows and doors. Two bolted toward her, staves held high. She snatched one staff and butted the owner down the stairs, but the other sneaked past her. She chased him to Dawn’s room. With two daggers drawn, he stood over a whimpering Andrew. Grabbing one wrist, she spun the intruder around and headbutted him before yanking the blades from his hands. As she stabbed him in the chest, she swung back and gutted the second assassin who’d appeared behind her.

Checking that the upstairs was secure, she bolted downstairs calling for her sister. “She’s okay,” said Xander, standing over a bleeding body, Dawn shaking on the floor behind him.

Anya was by the broken back door, shaking awake Willow who was bleeding from a head wound.

“Looks like the house got the worst of it.”

Crouching over the assassin Xander had killed, Buffy felt a nauseating recognition. The robe. The runes branded over the eyes. “I know these guys. I’ve been dreaming about them for months. They’re the assassins in my visions. They -- they went straight for Andrew.”

“That makes sense,” said Anya. “If they’re connected to what was talking to Spike earlier, it knew who was here and where. Your house was a sieve even without the windows broken.”

“Spike,” Buffy whispered. “Has anyone checked on Spike?” She ran to the basement, practically tripping on the stairs. Against the wall hung an empty pair of manacles.

Spike’s head was throbbing again, and he could feel someone yanking on his arms as they tied him up. “You know, I’m getting right sick of being battered about.”

He opened his eyes to see the smirking face of Buffy lit by torchlight as robed figures with mutilated faces dug up a seal. “I told you there would be consequences. Andrew is possibly the most pathetic human I’ve ever met, yet you failed to kill him.” Two of her minions approached Spike with knives and began carving into his chest and stomach. He bit his tongue to deny her satisfaction. “Since he failed to bring me a blood sacrifice, you’ll have to do.”

Whatever he was tied to was hoisted up so he was parallel to the goat-faced seal below, his blood filling the grooves. “Buffy will stop you,” he hissed.

“Yes, Buffy. You didn’t kill her like I asked. You didn’t kill Dean either. Now they’re on to me. I was tired of hiding anyway, and I have some friends who want to play. Spike, do you want to meet a real vampire?”

The goat face disappeared under the pool of blood. The arms of the pentagram around it turned up and twisted to create a staircase. A gnarled grey hand struck the dirt, and a bony creature with a full set of spiny teeth rose from the ground and roared.

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monsterousmasterpiece666 · 7 years

Text

In bloom pt. 2

Word Count: 1,971

Pairing: Cullen x Adah’len aka Inquisitor

Story includes: Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine getting on her case, Cullen acting awkward and upset, with some side quips from Dorian and Varric! They try to learn more about the evening shared between her and Cullen, and basically get the dirt to relay to the people of the Inquisition that are also curious!

It had been about a week since Len and Cullen spent the night together, she was still shocked it even happened. Replaying the night in her mind every night before she went to sleep really did help fight off the nightmares. Sadly the real world called, and the issues with Corypheus were still a pressing matter. Walking from her quarters that morning seemed like nothing new, she knew gossip was spreading about her and Cullen and she couldn’t be happier. Opening the doors to the war room was always such a struggle for her, why did they have to go with solid oak doors that would smash a small hut if they fell? Going over to the window she stared out and smiled, and then she heard a familiar voice.

“Inquisitor it’s so nice to see you today! Isn’t it just a lovely day to spend inside?” Turning Len saw a warm smile across Josie’s face,

“When don’t you spend your entire day inside anymore Josie? We really should get you out more. Maybe a girls trip to Val Royeux is in order soon.” A glow spread across her face as she nodded setting her board on the giant slab of glossy wood her short candle stick creating a shine across the table. Leliana suddenly appeared, man her sneaking skills were always startling.

“What’s this about a shopping trip? I’m game, we do deserve some girls time. Maybe we could drag Cassandra along! Make a whole thing out of this idea.” Josephine rolled her eyes and smiled, you always sensed there was a bit more between them but never pressed the issue. You just couldn’t believe that through all the danger they were planning a big trip. You heard the door creak open again and in came Cassandra and Dorian, arguing as they usually did.

“No Dorian, you can’t “sunbathe” on the battlements! It makes everyone else uncomfortable. They already are on edge because you’re from Tevinter!”

“Cassandra my dear, they’re uncomfortable because they feel inadequate beside me of course. I’ve got to keep this glowing tan skin evenly done and you should respect that.” He smirked at you as he walked past and laid in the large chair, fiddling with the fabric,

“You should have gotten some sort of suede for these honestly. You act like you’re in charge and we don’t even have find decorations.”

“Maybe we should invite Dorian on our girls trip!” A roar of laughter came from the girls as they patted your back slightly nodding, Cassandra stopped in her tracks looking at all of you.

“Girls trip? In the middle of all this chaos? Who would do such a thing. Honestly you ladies need to remember we have to stay focused.” She tried not to seem nervous, but you could almost hear a crack in her voice thinking about doing things that aren’t training.

“Oh relax Cassandra, it was just an idea. We know things aren’t exactly the best, but we finally got the Inquisitor to join us. Which means Dorian you really don’t have to be here.” Leliana glanced over at him as he dramatically threw his hand to his chest gasping,

“Leliana! You wouldn’t mean such a thing, us girls have all been getting along so well at our other war council meetings! Why should all of this end now?” You giggled to yourself and looked down at Dorian, he of course gave you his smoldering smile.

“Of course he can stay, I don’t really do the taking notes thing like he does. He’s been so good at keeping me up to date and helping me remember things. Just as you have Josie!” She simply nods as you and Dorian high five and Cassandra and Leliana shake their heads and look at the table with their latest battle plans bickering amongst themselves.

“So, um, Inquisitor may I ask you something?” Josephine seemed nervous, which never really happened so of course you wanted to know what she was going to ask, but you had an idea.

“Of course J, what’s the question on your mind?” Your arms crossed slightly as you sat on the arm of the chair Dorian was now sitting up in, also intrigued.

“Are the rumors floating about true…With you and Cullen?” Heat rose in your cheeks as you shifted slightly, looking at the other girls who suddenly grew quiet as if they were waiting on your response.

“Well…I’ll be honest since I do trust all of you here. It is true. About a week ago now I was restless, and went out on the battlements. Admiring the moon and the camps below the castle and such. Cullen also happened to be there and we talked. It was chilly and we went back to his quarters and talked into the wee hours of the night. Is there anything wrong?” You shrug slightly and smile knowing there’s a bit more to your story as Dorian coughs and you hit him in the shoulder. That was a promise kept between the two of you and that’s how you wanted it to stay.

“Well. I also heard you spent the night there, you know those ladies who do the laundry for us gossip a bit too much. They said Cullen took your clothes and asked to have them freshly cleaned. Here’s the second part to my question. Is Cullen good…you know?” Cassandra had spoken up this time,

“I must admit, I am a bit curious too. Not about the last part of the question, but what were you guys talking about?” Leliana and Cassandra sat on the war table close to you as Josephine sat in the window ledge.

“Oh please do to tell them the dirty details, we are all girls here.” Dorian jokingly said as you rolled your eyes.

“Well the gossip from those ladies is true J, and I don’t want to deny it anymore. But we just talked about honestly everything and anything. Families, what we’ve been feeling after all of this, and of course our feelings for each other. I didn’t sleep with him though, well technically I did, but not in that sense. He lent me one of his shirts and I ended up staying with him. It was…the nicest sleep I’ve had since the Conclave to be perfectly honest.” All of them were staring at you, you could almost swear Cassandra started to feel teary eyed. Especially since you found out her favorite book series just recently. All of a sudden the large doors open again and everyone scrambles slightly.

“And that’s how we defeated the dragon Cullen!” Varric could carry on with his story easily but when he saw how everyone reacted he raised an eyebrow. Cullen felt a bit of blood rush to his cheeks as he saw you sitting there, the light shining off your silver hair. You cleared your throat and got up as the others smiled at each other, and smoothed out your clothes.

“Alright I think we should get this meeting going don’t you girls?” They simply nodded, still apparently soaking in the latest gossip straight from the horses mouth. You all stood around the table and started mapping out battle plans as Varric and Dorian kept themselves busy by bragging about each other to each other. Honestly they could go on for hours if they hadn’t heard a quiet voice comment,

“So Cullen, you like the girls with the long pointed ears and silver white hair?” Cassandra’s mouth hung open, and Leliana let out a snicker as Josephine’s already wide eyes got bigger. You felt your face burn bright red as you looked up at him, he was already staring at you dropping the papers he had in his hands onto the floor.

“Er…Um…What exactly are we talking about?” He shuffled slightly, you bit your lip and looked down at your hands as Dorian decided to throw in a comment,

“Sorry my sweet commander. Everyone here knows exactly what’s happened between the two of you. We got the dirty details from the source herself, she said you were hun-“ all of a sudden you cleared your throat shooting Dorian a dirty look as he simply smirked to himself. Everyone at this point was laughing, Varric still wasn’t sure what was going on until Dorian quickly got him up to speed. You didn’t dare look up at Cullen as he finally cleared his throat.

“I’m not exactly sure what we’re talking about here…” He coughed and fidgeted in his spot slightly, you looked up at him and he was as red as an apple.

“I couldn’t keep it secret anymore Cullen. If they’re the only ones that know that’s fine with me but at least someone knows so we don’t have to feel so weird around each other.” You walked over to him and lightly pressed your hand over his as he pulled it away slightly and stumbled around.

“I think this meeting is over, I think we covered it all.” He looked at you, seeming a bit angry as he fumbled with the door before pushing it open and walking through. The heavy doors slammed, and that’s exactly how it felt in your heart. Looking around at the group as they looked down.

“Len I truly am sorry. I never should have brought it up. Please forgive me.” Josephine truly seemed distraught, Leliana and Cassandra put their hands on her shoulders looking up at you.

“Of course you’re forgiven, I just. I suppose it was too much for him. I scared him off. I ruined it.” You felt your voice crack as you walked over to the window and looked out, tears welling up in your bright pink eyes. Dorian got up and rubbed your back as you turned and cried into his chest softly. Everyone seemed to get the hint you needed to be by yourself, as they all walked out and you heard Varric comment to Cassandra,

“I know how much you love my books, well I think this one will sell better than any other. Hard in Skyhold should be the title!” You heard a loud slap which probably hit the back of his head as they all walked away. You finally looked up at Dorian, your face streaming with tears.

“Oh Dorian. I ruined one of your favorite shirts with my silly tears.” He shrugged and smiled smoothing your hair.

“It’s just a shirt, and I care more about you anyway. You are my best friend Len. I just can’t believe Cullen acted that way. I suppose he would want to keep private business private.” He shrugged slightly and hugged you again.

“Give him some time dear, he may just need to let it soak in that more people know now that he’s in love with you. Even though we all kind of already knew you both had a thing for each other.” You simply nodded and shrugged walking towards the door.

“Can you have dinner delivered to my quarters tonight? Along with a bottle of wine and a good friend to be there for me?” He simply nodded as you walked away. The walk up to your room seemed even longer than usual. Finally the sky grew dark and you knew dinner would almost be done. A soft knock on your door startled you out of your daydream.

“Please come in…”

Second part to my story! I really hope you guys like it!

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor #Dalish Elf #da: inquisition #cullen rutherford #cullen x lavellan #dragon age fanfic #fanfic

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