#believing that never made it easier to resist it just made the shame worse

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Not to pretend I'm no longer losin my damn mind or anythin but it does make me feel kinda sick now. Thinkin bout the way I was this close to convincing myself I'm (still) in love w/ him

[lovee-infected]

Hello! ♥ Can I request headcanons or oneshot (whichever is easier) about how the twst boys react when they discover that MC is a girl, because they thought MC was a pretty boy, someone like Epel, when an unexpected rain happens during flying class and they can see the silhouette of the breasts or the vibrantly colored bra under the wet T-shirt 👀

At some point they all go : “My expectations for you were low , but holy f ”

Riddle Rosehearts

Class 2 E had to take Riddle who crashed the ground from the 20 meter height to the nurse office afterwards

His pe grades were already horrifying and with those two tips of something he saw under your wet clothes , it isn't really strange to end up in bed

Thankfully he doesn't end up with a broken leg , but that seemed way better than having this broken sanity now : (y/n) is a girl...?

He gets red but not of any anger , instead embarrassment . He has been treating you too casually good lord , he is never the same with girls

Riddle doesn't talk to you for a few days because he now realizes how lame your relationship may seem ; many things he should have done , many things he shouldn't have done

Would things still be the same ? Well it has to be he , thought . After all you didn't ever hide anything or lie about your gender , it was his misunderstanding

Well now , maybe he wants to treat you a bit... softer ?

Trey Clover

He isn't terrified by the gender , he is terrified by the way he saw it : Wet clothes , squishy big things under your shirt with a visible color...

He sweats at even saying it by word he wasn't ; he wasn't expecting that at all

He tries to hide his blush but that doesn't really work ; everyone knows that Trey isn't one to blush easily

He decides that it's better to skip the class now ( His eyes need some fresh air) . Just a few hours away , and he seems to be already used to it

He has to admit that it's somehow creepy to see the guy who you always liked having around is actually a girl , but he decides to pretend that he already knew it

Male or female , you're the same to him . The lovely and adorable (y/n) you always were

But still , this got him thinking...does he need to treat you like a girl sometimes ? Stuff that just girls do , say or like ?

Cater Diamond

He... notices the big deal when he's taking a rainy day selfie with you . He is making sure that you both look good but suddenly his eyes lay at the sight of your chest through his phone...

His eyes grow wider and he doesn't notice when he presses the button : The sound of his phone's flash almost made him drop it

You ask if he's alright but Cater just gives you a nervous laugh and say that the phone just slipped for a second . He neither shows you the pic you just took nor agrees on taking a second one when you ask him to

He leaves in pretext of picking his umbrella up but instead , runs to a corner where you couldn't see him : He brings that selfie from his gallery and zooms on your chest . He wants to make sure of what he just saw

Which one's worse ? The neon pink bra under your T-shirt or the... clearly visible tip of your nipple under it ? Damn you are laying your breasts on his hand in the pic...

He quickly saves it though his private albums . On the second thought , he sends all pictures he had from you to that folder as well

Well , he'll get used to it right? Perhaps he can now flirt more comfortably with you knowing that you're actually a girl . The only important thing for him is too make sure that no one ever finds out about photos he has on that private folder ; the one he keeps specifically for you

Deuce Spade

"E-eh??" Remember what happened with Eliza ? This is the second version of it . Even during his rage days ( Wild yellow hair and random fights with others) he lacked the ability to even say hi to a girl . And here he is now spending all those days together without knowing that you were a girl !??

His whole personality almost cracks for a second . All those dirty stuff other first years had shared about girls flashes before his eyes . He wasn't damn prepared -

He couldn't be any more thankful that you couldn't see the horrifying scenes and sounds through his mind at the moment- He just leaves before you could even see him blush

Ace doesn't stop teasing him though , late at the night inside Heartslabyul's , Ace is walking on his nerves asking him to tell what's wrong . Ace isn't the only curious one ; soon all his classmates too keep asking Deuce to say what is bothering him

Deuce has decided to keep his mouth shut until he comes over this fact on his own , and he's strong on it . There's no way that he'd let anyone recognize his anxiety with women

He knows his friends better than this and doesn't want to be dared to steal your underwear or poke your breasts in another round of truth or dare

Let's just...hope that things will soon get better for him or , perhaps you can be his chance to overcome his lack of skills with women ?

Ace Trappola

"Holy sh-" He then gets fired from the pe class for his impolite usage of words- ( School rules , right ?) Not that he cares though

Comparing to Deuce , he's a lot better and more experienced especially because he has been in a relationship before... which is both good and bad

The last time he got this close to any girls before you was with his ex-girlfriend ; and to be honest even that relationship didn't brought them as close as you two are now . The thought of going through similar things with a new one even though he no longer thinks about his ex ... that kinda hurts

Maybe he would've died to tell Deuce what he found out if old memories didn't haunt him . He isn't an awkward realizing your gender like Deuce is , but he can tell that it's kinda hard for him to deal with it . Mostly because of how close and dear you are to him now...

He finally realizes that he doesn't deserve carrying the shame and anxiety on his own and tells Deuce ; well at least calming Deuce down will make him pay least attention to his own problems

Leona Kingscholar

He almost chokes- He was standing in the corner without a single drop of water on his hair while you got too wet as if you took a shower with your clothes on

He is teasing you likr always again until he realizes a second color under your white clothes ... no . please don't be

He prefers to imagine that you're a guy having the kink of wearing feminine underwear . He isn't ready to accept that you're a girl and he still denies it after seeing the vibrantly visible bra with his own two eyes

God...he teased you , kicked you , laughted you off and literally stepped on you ; that's what he usually likes to treat others so..? But not a lady , never . He is raised better this to end up neglecting a lady's great level and worth

Now considering how he's been teasing you so far , what did you think of him..? Do you consider him an asshole who has no respect for women due to how he treated you ??

He is really stressed out and doesn't know what to do , he just takes off his own jacket and quickly comes to you , wrapping it around your wet body and hair and taking you to a warmer place . He keeps asking if you're alright ? Didn't you catch a cold ? Do you need a doctor ?

Leona doesn't know if your fascinated gaze means a yes or no , and it isn't going to help

He isn't going to explain himself right now , maybe give it some time ?

The only reason he treated you this casually was because he was comfortable with you and it was all...a way of showing admiration ?

Maybe it gets better when he explains himself

Ruggie Bucchi

His mouth drops open when he realizes the bra as you two were drying yourselves after the rain . (y/n) is a she...!?

He doubts , he would doubt it again if he even takes a closer look . Suddenly his body feels warmer and his cheeks get red . No way...

Ruggie barely talked to any girls other than his own family and even skipped conversations when girls were brought up , he isn't mentally prepared for it !

But now he is changing with you at the same room ?? Wait wait wait- He might act like a brat but he isn't a jerk

He leaves because he's sure that you need some privacy ; all though he still refuses to believe that you're a girl...

You never ever mentioned your gender in front of him and he never asked , but did anyone else know it except him ? He just wouldn't dare to ask

Well girl or not , he doesn't stop teasing you in general ; but also learns not to go too far since it's still hard for you to be wrapped in an all boy school...you need more support

Jack Howl

He doesn't mind going blind after seeing those nipples under your wet T-shirt . He first thought that they were a bit too big for a boy but...he soon realized that they weren't even for a boy-

He had to take a small look between your legs because he couldn't resist- he had to make sure . And NO ! He didn't see what he wished to see there

He still can't make sure ?? Those things usually proved someone being a girl but still , there is no way to make sure unless he asks you ; but how can he ? No way , he'll just melt down

He doesn't mention anything in front of you but tries indirectly bringing the issue of your gender up with Ace and Deuce : Didn't (y/n) tell you two about her schedule today?

" Her...?"

Well great , now Ace and Deuce have joined him on the ‘terrified of your gender’ army . The only way to make sure is either asking you or... stealing something that could prove it . Someone has to get inside your room but which one of them now...?

Azul Ashengrotto

He is vibing with the pleasant rain as it made today's pe sessions a bit better for him . He asks you to join him

He just takes his glasses off for a second to dry them and- BANG

The color of your bra was too visible that he could even see it without his glasses on

He immediately puts them on and takes a better look , well great now he can clearly see your breasts closely . How bad he wished that he went blind for a second...

You don't get why Azul seems to be studying your chest so you ask if something's wrong?

Azul is pulled out of his thoughts and embarrassment takes him over because you realized what he was staring at : Pathetic

Azul excuses himself telling you that he has to take his pills before he returns to his Octopus form and disappears

How dumb he could be not to realize it till now... Beside that - Why the hell didn't those two tall sticks ( a.k.a Floyd and Jade) realize it either !?

God God God...he keeps swallowing his eyes at the thought...

How can he get over the fact that he was being with a girl all this time...?

Floyd Leech

Well of course he is shocked , Shrimpy was supposed to be a guy but he actually is a little girl ? Meh , what a disappointment

Well , body is body to him so he isn't really shocked or freaked out to see , well , those things under your shirt

He might not be that fascinated , but still has doubts . While you two are taking a walk back to Ramshackle dorm , he just doesn't stop staring at your chest and doesn't mind you noticing him either

To be honest , he now seems to be liking it . You were just a kiddo he always enjoyed teasing but now that you're a girl...? How different would things be ? And would the way he treated you make you possibly... have those girlish feelings for him ? Sounds fun

While saying goodbye at your door he stops for a second to say something . You don't quite get what he asked but he knows better himself : " Random question but- are those seriously soft to squeeze ?"

Jade Leech

Just as Floyd , he doesn't mind you being a girl . He actually appreciates you even more now. Night Raven College isn't a place for weak people and still , to think that a small human girl like you could last this long here... Farewell , human beings can be really interesting he can tell

He gently offers you his coat and escorts you to a warmer place , telling you to change into something dry before you catch a cold

Well the first day is nothing different or weird , but the upcoming days prove how creepy he can be...

He doesn't mind popping up out of nowhere to tell you to choose underwears with a less noticable color at school and it just makes you melt ; not just because it's embarrassing to be told so but also because it proved that Jade is watching you

He does do some research on surface females to get to know the differences between what he expected you to be and what you really are better ; not that he has a complaint though

Jamil Viper

He exactly knows what he just saw there and - He can't help but to feel ashamed . For once he leaves without taking Kalim with him , he just forgot him a the moment

He now feels... angry . You never ever shared your gender but it's not like he ever expected you to be a girl . He feels lied to ; you didn't ever tell the truth but didn't lie either ; that bugs him even more because he doesn't know if he's mad at you or not

Well he now knows when someone you thought you know ends up being something totally different ; like the way Kalim saw who he really is...well that's really annoying to think of

Jamil ignores you for a few days until you come to ask why he's avoiding you . He insists that it's nothing all though it's obvious that it is-

Alright , a few days until he cools down . He wants to keep the distance till then

Knowing your gender often makes him feel ashamed of how casually he's been treating you . Well a lot of things are different when it's an all boy school , right ?

He doesn't know if he should act cooler with you from now or pretend that he never saw anything , he needs time to make up his mind

Kalim al Asim

He was giving you a towel to dry yourself when he recognized your clothes . He was actually thinking of bringing you some dry ones when he saw what he wished he didn't saw- Aaah why would you wear such a recognizable bra : " (y/n)..??"

He quickly pulls back and apologizes ; not that you know what he is apologizing for

He returns to Jamil and tells him to leave , he just can't face you right now

There at Scarabia , Kalim tells Jamil everything since he really needs to share some feelings . He asks Jamil if he knew about this and he certainly didn't

Kalim now keeps wondering... how hard might it be for you ? A girl sorrounded by all guys out there , do you feel safe ?

He now has decided to look after you more than he already did , he just doesn't want you feeling any sad or lonely because of your current situation

He always hated loneliness and that's why he needed Jamil around , now it's your turn to have Kalim around so you'll never be alone

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is well familiar with all beauty materials - including feminine underwear - so he quickly realizes both the unusual size of your chest and the vibrantly colored bra under your clothes . He wishes he hadn't

Bearing the fact that he was having a girl beside him all this time is already hard enough , but what makes it worse is what a terrible female he thinks you are now

You seriously do need a start over ! You are no girl if you're this ignorant toward your appearance even as it makes you look like a guy

He spends all night thinking of what he now should do with you . He does know how to manage guys but girls ? That won't be called something he had much experience on

He isn't feeling as comfortable as before with you yet , he decides to give you some lessons to at least pull you out of your non feminine self

He doesn't mind telling you that you have to do a lot more for yourself as you are a girl ; and he says it as if he knew it all this time

He isn't going to turn you into a princess , it's safer for you to remain something between male and female as you are stuck between all these untrustworthy guys , but it doesn't hold him back from giving you some chance to see your female self. He brings you wigs and puts on your makeup , telling you that you sometimes need to show up like this

He still needs some time to feel as comfortable as he used to with you , but spending time with you trying to have a start over is actually helping him to like you even more than he used to

Rook Hunt

Well congrats , for so long no one had ever succeeded to shock Rook like you did ! That's an improvement . He always makes sure not miss a single detail about those he has his eyes on ; yet he failed to even recognize your gender correctly until now

A bit of fascination won't hurt , right ? After all having a boy like Epel beside him makes it really confusing to specify male and female sometimes

To be honest , he now finds you pretty fragile and helpless : Bunny between the beasts

If a hunter like him didn't know it so far , then probably no one else knew it either . So that's his little secret now

This place's a considerably dangerous zone for a lady to step on , and Rook isn't planning on exposing you like this . He isn't a monster after all...

But having Rook of all people knowing your secret is already enough of torture , isn't it ?

Epel Felmier

I-I thought we were the same...???

This can't be true , this shouldn't be ! Please don't be , please , please , please

Epel looked up to you bot only as a reliable and strong friend but also as someone who goes through similar appearance problems as Epel himself did

You made him feel better that he wasn't the only one having problems with looking too similar to girls ; seems like he was wrong

Epel wasn't ever comfortable with getting close to girls , along becoming a friend of them . He even kept you closer than his other friends since the too of you could relate a lot he thought ; now what should he do ?

He is too embarrassed to even look into your eyes now , he even skips classes you two share and in summary , does anything to avoid you for a while

That is said that girls and boys can never be just friends and... that's frustrating

Now , could the two of you ever be as close as you used to be again?

Idia Shroud

Which is worse , realizing that he's been spending all his time with a girl over the past few months or seeing her wet breasts during the class ?Man , that looked just like those anime hentais one would find online...

Beside that , having your gender exposed makes him feel a bit unsafe about his relationship with you ; if even a simple thing such as gender could be different from what he was expecting you , then what greater differences would your reality have from the (y/n) you were into his eyes ?

Idia hardly ever gets to fully trust anyone and now he isn't sure if he could trust you anymore . Well yes gender might be no big deal compared to the fearful thoughts he is having at mind ; but it's enough to send him into his safe zone and stay away from you

His face turns red and hot whenever he thinks of that scene even when he's all alone in his bedroom , God he wasn't prepared-

Ortho finally forces him to tell what's bothering him and when he confesses , Ortho gets really excited . He keeps telling Idia that as a friend , he has to stay by your side specially because you may feel lonely being a girl all on your own . He reminds Idia of the fact that this is what friends do

He now feels sorry for abandoning you like a coward , but he has to admit that it's a bit hard for him to return the old friendship you two had . Well maybe just texting you instead of face to face interaction would be better ?

Malleus Draconia

uh..? A girl...? Child of man caught in an unknown world and... That's a female . You keep fascinating him over and over ever since he met you , it's just another surprise he can tell

He kinda loses all his focus during the pe class after he accidentally notices the unusual knobs popping under your T-shirt ; are you wearing something wrapped around your...chest ?

He first thinks that it may just be somewhat of a brand new clothing trend to wear feminine-like stuff ; but remembering how you never clearly stated your gender , he now understands how wrong he was

He thought that he had you under his watch pretty well , but he even failed to realize your gender correctly ; perhaps he should learn to do it better

Malleus isn't about to treat you any differently just because you ended up being a girl , all though he has to agree that it was a bit shocking . But in general , nothing about your relationship really seems to be gender related

You don't know his name and he didn't know your gender until now ; is this how karma works ? Well that'd be a bit unfair , gender was rather worthless compared to the fear his real identity might bring you

The only thing that may change now is him being more protective over you ; not that he underestimates you but rather because there's no way for you to be totally comfortable in a school filled with rebellious guys . He wants to make sure that his currently favorite human being won't get in much trouble because of that...

Lilia Vanrouge

Eh ? Through out his hundred-year life this would be the most shameful thing he got to face . You might think that he found it to be a disgrace to his long lasting life which is filled with honor and pride ; but in that case you may like to get to know the old man better

He doesn't like being thought of as a pervert ; but it doesn't mean that he didn't enjoy himself either. Naked figures or seductive girls aren't something he gets overly excited about , same goes for you . Well accidents like this can happen everyday , right ? But this one had something rather fun along with it :

From the direct yet neutral gaze he gave your chest , you immediately realized what he was looking at and you pulled back . Lilia didn't expect you to notice it so quickly , but the embarrassed face you gave him afterwards , that was priceless

He giggles softly at the thought , a shy and cute little girl . He isn't really a fan of boys that are overly cute or childish , but when it comes to little girls , that's another story

You had already caught his eyes by being the only human being caught in this school on your own . Well , to see how feeble and shy you sometimes could be , that reminded him of Silver

Now now , what should he do ? Playing the role of a small girl's parents or something ? Doesn't sound that bad

Sebek Zigvolt

Gasp

He's about to lose his mind - he feels like he has saw you totally naked or lurked into your privacy , he feels awful

He runs to another corner to cool down from what he saw - Damn- That scene doesn't get away from his eyes for a second

Well then , take deep breathes , it's cool , it's fine - it's gonna be fine

Sebek wouldn't dare talking to you for sometime after that . His cheeks get warmer whenever he sees you around , making him change his direction to avoid you

When you finally get him to talk to you , he breaks off- He starts apologizing . He swears not to ever peek on your body again and that he won't say a word from what he saw

You probably don't know what he is talking about , but you say okay to calm him down

Sebek isn't used to having girls around but now that he does , he should be really careful . He doesn't want you to think of him as a antisocial chick when it comes to women and he tries his best to be a gentleman in front of you . Man...he really does take it seriously

Silver

A... girl?... Silver's first reaction would be nothing different from blushing and turning back ; what else would you expect him to do ?

He's a simple guy , he doesn't overreact but doesn't feel totally comfortable either

He didn't ever even think of the possibility of you being a girl , he just isn't used to having anyone else than boys in NRC around . You did always look too cute for a guy but still , he didn't see this coming...

(y/n) is a girl...A girl , this thought gets looped inside his brain . He can't stop freaking out over it . It feels like he's been building a sand castle on water all this time and now he's watching it sink . His whole expectations of you seems to be ruined

It gets even worse when the figure of you dressed in a long beautiful dress , holding a brilliant crown of your flowers on your long silky hair haunts him on his dreams - Why on earth do you have to be so beautiful (y/n)..!?

Silver refuses to accept , but he's pretty soft when it comes to girls . He's pretty shy but to have a girl he has been liking for sometime close...his inner self is getting teased - in a pleasant way

He doesn't show up in front of you for a while , but he just can't get the thought of you out of his mind . From reality to dreams , seems like you're always in front of him . As if you really walked with him once upon a dream

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Want more hatesex? Get more hatesex.

The next time you visited her, the door to her hut was open. No need to knock, nothing - it was as if she already expected you and didn't bother to wait for you to knock. A gesture that basically told you were expected. She knew you'd come back. Was she mocking you again?

You went inside with a sigh, already feeling the heat between your legs rise once more as the familiar smell wafted around you. Leather. Smoke. Baked dough. A hint of lakewater, fish, and the fruity, sweet shampoo she used.

And there she sat, on the couch, yellow eyes cutting to you the moment you were inside fully.

"Knew yeh'd come today."

"Needed to give back your clothes."

Last time, she'd dissolved yours and left you without anything to wear - but had begrudgingly given you some of her own stuff, even some that more or less fit you. A tank and some pants. You'd told her you'd bring them back, and you hated her for the smirk she'd worn on her face. Of course she'd known that wouldn't be the only reason for your return.

"Aye. Thanks."

"Sure. So, are you gonna fuck me now or should I leave?"

"Gettin' right to the point, eh? Needy, are we?"

"Just want to know if I'm wasting my time."

"Oi, yer the one who jus' wandered in needin it again."

"And you're the one whose door was just about as open as her legs were last week."

"As I said. Knew yeh'd come."

"Make me, then."

With a smirk, you stepped closer, slipping the coat off of your body and dropping it to the floor just before you leaned over Sal and caged her head in with your arms.

"Be a good girl and make me come."

She didn't blush this time. This time, she growled, grabbing both your wrists with tentacles you hadn't seen out so far, slowly letting them slither upward.

"None of tha'. I had a shit day and if yeh wanna come, yer goin to go to the bedroom, lie down on yer back, put yer arms up and spread your legs like the pretty lil slut yeh are."

She pulled you in, until her lips were right at your ear and she could lick over it with her tongue.

"Oh, and put somethin' under yer hips. I wanna get into that tight lil' ass of yours. See how wet it gets yeh when I fuck it and how fast yeh beg me to put somethin' up yer pussy as well."

When she let go, she was smirking, tentacle slapping your ass once. And with as much dignity as you had left while you were already pretty much dripping, you went to her bedroom and undressed, piling your clothes and then lying down just as she'd said. On your back, arms up, legs spread, a pillow lifting your hips up for easier access. The position alone turned you on. Knowing what she'd do, that she'd use you to fuck her frustration out, turned you on. And you hated it and loved it both.

The village was utterly stuck up about sex in general, so something like butt stuff was... Considered utterly dirty. Sal knew that. And Sal made a point fucking your ass whenever she wanted and making it feel so good that you forgot all shame. You'd never come from it alone in particular, but the way her tentacles and possibly strap had pounded you... Alone the thought made you swallow.

Sal entered the room soon after you, naked, five tentacles out behind her back that made your core clench in anticipation.

"Good lil slut."

She said as she saw you, two tentacles immediately tying your wrists to the headboard into the dangling leather cuffs as she crawled onto the bed.

"Safeword's clear?"

"As usual."

"Good."

You used the headlight system - most simple, and utterly effective. Not that you'd ever used it so far. Sal let her gaze wander over your body as the two tentacles started roaming it, teasing against all your weak spots and making you squirm as her eyes latched onto your aching core, a chuckle vibrating in her throat as she blew cool air onto you and made you squirm.

"So wet already... Needy lil' thing."

Alone those words made it worse. As did the simple view of one tentacle, the tip already wet with its own lubricant, descending between your legs. It slid into your ass without too much resistance, stretching you out and making you whine out. Fuck, what was this woman doing to you? All the talk of anal sex being impure, and here she was, taking it for herself again and only turning you on more.

Your breathing hard as the tentacle spread its lubricant inside you, getting you all nice and prepared for the undoubtedly rough thrusts that would follow, wiggling around already - but it seemed more this time. Much more, in fact. And when you looked at Sal with a hint of confusion among the arousal, you saw her smirk wickedly as a second tentacle touched the entrance to your ass.

"Two?!"

"Ye."

As it slid in - with some effort, but you were so well lubricated that it didn't hurt in the slightest - you whined into the pillow next to you, your hips bucking, a hint of angry tears in your eyes as you felt yourself being claimed even more than usual. You hated her. Hated how good she made this feel. How wet you were for her, how the juices of your core were dripping onto the tentacles that were currently nestled inside you.

You tried to glare at Sal... But in that moment, the two appendages wrapped around each other and thrusted into you. And you screamed. Screamed in pleasure as you bucked down onto them, as Sal leaned over you and grabbed your hair, nipping on your earshell and growling a "Such a dirty lil slut. Ya just love havin your pretty ass fucked, dontcha?"

And then, a touch gentler, she added. "Yer look beautiful."

She added a twist to every movement, or a wiggle, but kept it slow, steady. Yet with force behind. And you knew you needed more if you were to come. You knew she'd be waiting for you to beg for it. For the last tentacle to fill your core and rub your clit. And you wanted to refuse it. You bit your lip, glaring up at her... But you didn't see her defiance or smug dominance looking back at you.

Instead, you saw pure need. Pure greed. Pure desire.

"Count yerself lucky. I can't wait today."

She whispered... And then filled you completely, bending over you and biting your neck harshly as she started pounding both your holes, listening to your screams while she marked you, making one thing abundantly clear.

This was only the beginning.

🤤🤤😩😩😩💦💦💦💦

GODS, FUCK.. AND WHAT DELICIOUS HATESEX IT IS.. FJFJDKSKDKDJDKSKJDKSKS..

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE, ANON 😏

And fuck, how you hated how lucky you felt - how utterly delicious it was to be filled by her. With the slick movements of Sal's appendages working your body in a way that made you wonder who wanted it more. A primal look to her eye that reminded you she could break you in half at any second. The sharp tips of her teeth teasing over your heated skin as she followed the fine lines of your body back up to you ear, leaning in.

"Aren'tcha a pretty lil' slut.. all filled and drippin' fer me."

A firm thrust by all three tentacles at once, forcing a sharp cry from your lips. A dark chuckle across your flesh as she licked over it, sinking her teeth in. The appendage in your core sliding up deliciously from the deepest part of it and over to your clit, again and again while the two in your ass proved relentless inside you. You knew she could smell the warm juices flowing steadily from your core as she teased and fucked it, and you knew how much she hated its effect on her.

"Ne'er seen yah so wet before. Like gettin' yer ass filled, do yeh?"

"Gods.. fuck.. f-fuck you, Sal."

"It's gettin' harder an' harder to believe yeh mean that, sweetheart."

The deep blush that spilled so easily across your cheeks at the change in petname, only fueled how much you hated the effect she had on you. You wanted nothing more than to scream out - to tell her to go fuck herself - but the desire to have her fuck you instead was always so much greater. There was no more intoxicating feeling, nobody on any earth - in any realm - that could fuck a person into next week like Sal.

You yelped as her teeth found you again.. as her pace swiftly picked up.. at the most delicious sounds filled the small home as her tentacles slid mercilessly in and out of you, forcing your desire straight from your core. Breath hitching in your throat at the supreme heat that spilled over you with each indulgent thrust.

"Ah-! Fuck.. but .. you're the one.. fucking me so good right now.. Sal."

You barely got the praise to roll off your tongue before a profound growl resonated deep in her throat.. before her hand was around your neck, forcing you to look at her. A flame of a warning burning deep within the embers of her eyes as they locked intently onto yours.

"Jus' fer that... lil slut.. I'm gonna make yeh come harder than yeh ever have in yer life."

She said the world's plainly, her voice calm and collected yet still sending a prompt shiver down your spine. The sharp smirk across her lips almost rivaling the sharp points of her teeth as they scraped over you. Her growl rolling across your skin like thunder as she drove her tentacles harder and harder into you, ripping countless cries from your lips.

"Beg fer it, slut."

The intense heat that switfly washed over you at the lack of warmth to her command. Her tentacles holding you in place as she watched how badly you wanted it - needed it - smiling down at you smugly as she waited.

"I.. fucking.. hate-.. Ah-!"

She drove her apprendages in your ass roughly into you, pushing the deep heated pressure that inhabited you to an almost frenzied level.

"I said beg fer me."

A sharp cry from your lips as she bit you again, licking crimson droplets from your flushed skin.

"Fuck.. please.. fuck.. fuck you, Sal... please.."

She chucked as you writhed frantically beneath her, utterly desperate for release.

"Heh.. needy are yeh?"

You cursed again under your breath, screaming out as she forced all three tentacles at once. Compelling an unhinged pleasure to shoot straight across your body, to engulfed you in a way that you had never felt before. White hot - unyielding - igniting ley lines across your body like a unhindered wild fire. Juices gushing from your core as her relentless thrusts pushed one orgasm on you after another. And fuck, how she was right.. how she'd kept her promise .. assuring that you had never came so hard in your life. Sufficiently soaking the bedsheets beneath you as she kept you filled until the very last shudder fell from your breathless body.

"Still hate me now, do yeh?"

Sal chuckle a tad softer, slowly pulling her tentacles free from your flushed body.

"More.. than.. ever."

You answered between labored breaths, between the inherent trembles of a body just wrecked.

"Heh.. good. Need aftercare?"

"Nah.. I'm good.."

She nodded and threw your clothes from their spot on the floor in your direction, making her way to the door.

"Ah.. sorry, ma'am .. but I sure the fuck ain't leaving without making sure that you hate me just as much."

Sal raised a single eyebrow, dropping her fingers from the doorknob as she turned to face you.

"That right?"

She smirked in a way that made you want to rip it straight off her mouth... to make her lips curl into the most delicious of moans. And as you began to close the distance the between you, you vowed you wouldn't stop until you did that very thing.

Gods.. fuck... fuck.. djdjksskksksjsjs..I'm. ... So fucking gay... fuck... 🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 THANK YOU FOR THAT, DEAR

And not to worry all the non Sal simp fans, I'll be doing some Alcina soon 😘

[eternalstrigoii]

I'd really like an Udo x reader, please! He deserves more love!

Udo x human!Reader with a heavy dose of pining and the promise that Udo and Guin are getting a full-fledged fic.

                                        Your mother was going to have to help you straighten your hair again soon.

Technically, she didn’t have to. You were a grown woman; you could do it by yourself, though it would be far easier to ensure every last strand was as smooth as it ought to be when you had help. Your mother’s help. No one else had ever touched your hair, and rightfully so, in your opinion (until earlier that day). Until Udo reached out, as though instinctively, and brushed back your hair from the shell of your ear. The temperance of his skin was not what jolted you into alertness – though you had not corrected him when he believed it to be – but the gentility of his touch.

It put all manner of thoughts in your head that had no business being there.

You allowed your brush to pause mid-stroke. It was perfectly natural to be lonely. Richard had been gone for nearly a year; the love of your family was unconditional, infallible, and always present to ward off the worst of your yearnings, but it was not the same as having your hand held by someone who loved you. Watching a gaggle of children run throw a meadow of wildflowers, your son among them, and feel at home beside the person at your side. You had only known Udo for a short time, but his daughter was your son’s best friend; you knew him to be a good father, a responsible and devoted caregiver, willing and able to care for children who were not his own.

You just couldn’t decide if you wanted him to love you.

Or, worse still, if you could even acknowledge your feelings in return.

You did not hear the breath of your bedroom door opening, nor the brush of Udo’s wings against the frame as he leaned in to tell you, “The children are asleep.”

You startled. Dropping your brush, you made sure your dressing gown was closed over your nightdress – it was one thing to sit around thinking about him, another entirely to sit in your bedroom, practically bare, when he was a guest in your home.

“I am so sorry,” you began, standing from the bench you’d set before your dressing-table.

The corners of his lips quirked, but did not fully upturn. “You did not hear me?”

“No.” And you should not have gone about dressing for bed until he’d left. What kind of a fool were you? “I should’ve. I don’t know why I’d forgotten you were here—”

“Guinevere,” he cut you off gently, “you are allowed to be comfortable in your own home.”

No, you admitted by way of breathing out rather harshly, you were not. There were standards – rules of propriety, let alone laws of etiquette that you’d miraculously failed to adhere to. A small handful of months under new reign, peace and prosperity and political alliances with entirely new races of fey and you’d forgotten a lifetime of court lessons (many of which had been engrained in shame under Queen Ingrith’s perpetual disapproval). You were not allowed to undress while a male acquaintance resided in your home unless you were chaperoned, which you were most certainly not. Never mind entertain thoughts of courtship with said male acquaintance. Not in the position you were in.

“Aspen and Rojan decided to stay in Arthur’s room. Violet, Dawn and Aya will sleep in your mother’s.” It was only fair, as six children could hardly be asked to share one bed.

You nodded, though the result of that conclusion did not strike you fully until Udo opened the door a bit more as if to enter.

The children occupied every other bed in your home. Which left him with nowhere else to sleep but in your room, with you.

There were alternatives, of course. You could politely relinquish your bed and go sleep with the girls, if there was room. He was your guest; courtesy dictated that you would sleep on the floor if that was what you must do in order to make your guests comfortable, regardless of whether or not said guest understood or acknowledged the social rules that had been engrained into you since childhood.

“Is the front door bolted?” you asked, though the smallness of your voice betrayed you. A moment’s extra time would not buy you much in the way of thought, but—

“It is,” he replied.

Damn. Maybe he knew more than you gave him credit for.

Maybe you shouldn’t have had that thought, lest you start entertaining the idea that the children were filling up every bed in the house and Udo knew what sharing a bed with you would mean to an observant, human outsider. Like your mother, if she returned from the palace earlier tomorrow than she said she would.

“The candles are extinguished,” he left the door open, though, which you could not bring yourself to protest. If the children needed you, it was the easiest way for them to reach you, but it also afforded some sense of lacking privacy – some persistent reminder that you were not hiding away in a love-nest somewhere, and you could be walked in upon at any time, so there was no reason to entertain the idea of being held by him while you slept. Caressing the length of one of his long feathers to see if they were really as soft as they looked. No, you absolutely could not do that.

“Except yours.”

The blue of his eyes was as clear and bright as the winter’s midday sky. . It was not the first time they’d caused you to lose your train of thought (nor the softness in his angular features or the grace in his approach). He joined you, only a pace away from the wool blankets that still lingered atop your bed for those cold, late-spring nights.

What would it feel like to be pressed against him under them?

“My what?”

His bright eyes glimmered. Surely, your voice must’ve betrayed you.

Your face warmed. You had to resist the impulse to pull your sleeves lower so you could fuss with the loose thread on your inner sleeve – it was not ladylike to pull at your clothing, or divert your gaze when someone spoke to you.

“Your candle.” His wing extended as though he gestured with the patterned end of his long feathers.

Yes. That would make sense. If he had truly put everyone to bed and extinguished the other candles – even checked the door to ensure your safety – your candle would be the last one to remain lit, would it not?

“Oh.” Very eloquent. You could almost feel the sting of a silver teaspoon across your knuckles.

“Are you ready to sleep?” He lowered his head ever so slightly toward you. Though some part of you knew that he would be searching your eyes for a response (or, perhaps because of it), yours lifted to the points of his horns, as though expecting them to lower near enough to touch the top of your own head. Never mind that they were another head above the advantage in height he already had.

“I suppose.” You tore your eyes away. Fetched your brush off the dressing table and placed it, bristles-down, in one of the topmost drawers of your chest-of-drawers. Tomorrow’s gown awaited you on the back of your dressing screen, and though it did not necessarily please you to imagine waking early to ensure you had time enough to dress before he joined you, you supposed it was only one morning. Perhaps, after sleeping, tomorrow would not be as awkward as it seemed tonight.

Udo gestured for you to take to your bed. He must’ve wanted you to do as you always did, though he must’ve known you deliberately would not; the opposite side of the bed was your usual sleeping-area, and you made sure to remain as near to the edge as comfortably possible lest he not have enough room for himself and his wings. (Surely, he wouldn’t, but you could no more control that than you could control the lack of adequate sleeping space for two adults and six children in a house meant for three.)

He extinguished the candle with a soft breath.

Yet, even in the darkness of a house at night, you saw the whiteness of his robes. The brightness of his hair. You watched him unwind his topmost layer from around his wings, and relieve himself of it in a folded square like the cloak of a formal coat. It was placed gingerly upon your dressing-table, as though he was uncertain as to whether or not it would be allowed there.

You had the nagging feeling he knew you could still see him.

His underclothes fit to his body more closely than you imagined they might.

You had no business thinking about his underclothes. Even if they were not underclothes in the sense you knew underclothes to be. Clothes under a coat. That kind of underclothes, not….Lord in Heaven, do not lie there wondering if he wears underclothes beneath what he already has on.

He drew his wings close to him before he lay down. He did not draw back the wool blanket that you had crawled beneath, and you did not realize he might see the flicker of unwarranted hurt that crossed your face.

“Would you like a blanket of your own?” you murmured.

“No.” He settled atop his wings, flexing them only a bit, and interlaced his hands carefully atop his stomach. “Thank you. This is a much warmer climate than my own.”

Oh. Of course.

Everything was perfectly reasonable, in the end. You shared a bed because there was no other reasonable alternative. Your children were friends, nothing more, and you often participated in such awkward exchanges because you were still culturally uncertain with one another, nothing more.

You had to force yourself to turn away. “Goodnight, Udo.”

You could only hide so much from someone who lay beside you. Udo watched the tension in your shoulders ease. Listened to your breath begin to deepen. Nervous as you were, the weight of his body beside yours did not disrupt your peace. In fact, he waited until he believed you were past the cusp of sleep to murmur, as if he believed you would not hear, “Goodnight, Guinevere.”

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

Tag list: @thesirenswolf @summitofdreams @birdsthough @thesherlockedheart @billywig-on-baker-street @madlenfireknight @squishy-jellyfish @of-the-moors @deathonyourtongue @shinva @quaint-and-curious-being @faro-en-la-distancia @slasherwife @kindawitchyhellabitchy @swim-reaper @mor-ranr @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @boxxyass @everydreamtilldawn

[jensengirl83]

Regret and Redemption Chapter Four

Dean x reader

Mechanic!Dean AU

Word Count-2428

Summary- Reader has left Dean and is trying to move on with her life. Can Dean prove himself and convince her to come back home? 

Warnings-Angst, Heartbreak, Language

A/N- Song in this chapter is Here Without You by Three Doors Down. Lyrics will be in bold and text messages are in bold italics. Thank you to my beta @emoryhemsworth​ and all my girls and guy for the encouragement to keep going with this series. I love you all! 

Amazing series cover and text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​ 

“Please don’t hang up! I really need your help!” he pleaded to the person on the other end of the phone. “I know I have no right to ask you, but she will listen to you. Will you help me please?”

“You have a lot of nerve calling me, Dean,” Y/N’s brother, Jack, said.

“I know that. I messed up bad, Jack, and I realize that now. I need your help to get her back,” Dean said pleading with his brother in law.

“Dean, there’s nothing I can do. You know Y/N, once her mind is made up, there’s no getting her to change it,” Jack said.

“All I’m asking is for you to talk to her man. I know I don’t deserve your help, but I don’t know what else to do,” he said dejectedly.

“How about you let her go? I always liked you, Dean, but after what you’ve done, I can’t help you,” Jack said as he hung up the phone.

Dean stood on the sidewalk as he looked down at his phone. Jack had been his last resort. He had no idea what to do to get her back. He’d hoped tonight would have eased some of the tension between them, but he’d only made it worse. Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and walked across the street to Baby. He had a four-hour drive back to his house; his empty, quiet, and very lonely house.

Y/N woke up the next morning to one of the worst headaches she’d ever had. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying the night before. She couldn’t believe Dean had done that and grew angrier the more she had thought about it. She’d had to explain to her publisher what had been going on because he’d called after she stormed out and left. That hadn’t made her night any easier, and now she felt like she was on the verge of death.

Y/N finally made her way out of bed and to the kitchen to make her morning coffee. While she was waiting for her cup to brew, she looked around for her pain killers. She knew she wasn’t going to get anything done until she rid herself of the headache. She silently cursed Dean.:not only had he ruined her night and launch party, but he had also ruined the day ahead with the repercussions of the feelings she still had for him. If she could only forget him, she wouldn’t have been up crying over him for most of the night.

She finally found the painkillers and took her cup of coffee with her outside to her small balcony. Y/N always loved sitting in the early morning sun and drinking her coffee when the weather permitted. Her mind drifted back to all the mornings Dean had joined her with his coffee in one hand and the other intertwined with hers. The thoughts caused a small tear to escape and roll down her cheek. She missed the old Dean, the one who thought she hung the moon, not the cheating one who could care less for her feelings. She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of her phone ringing.

“Hey Jack,” Y/N said with a smile. She loved her little brother more than anything. He was all she had left now.

“Hey, sis. Look, I am just going to be upfront with you, Dean called me last night,” Jack said without any time for pleasantries.

“Uh, what did he want?” Y/N said, irritation clear in her voice.

“He wanted me to talk to you and help him get you back,” her brother said.

“Dammit! He is never going to get it! It’s over between us!” Y/N yelled into the phone.

“Is it really though?” Jack asked.

“Of course it is! What the hell is that supposed to mean Jack?!” Y/N scoffed at her brother.

“I’m just saying that you guys were together for a long time and I know how much you love him Y/N/N. I can tell you have been crying too. You can’t hide that from me,” he said as she rolled her eyes on the other end.

“Yes, I do love him bub, but he hurt me! Am I just supposed to forget that?” Y/N said exasperatedly.

“No, don’t forget it, but maybe take it a little easier on him,” Jack said.

“Whose side are you on Jack?!” she asked him as she threw her hand in the air.

“Yours, Y/N! I know how you feel about him and I know how he feels about you,” he said a little irritated.

“How he feels about me? Are you serious? He’s cheated on me for years! He obviously doesn’t feel as strongly as I did,” she shouted at her brother. How dare he try to defend Dean? 

“Did you ever ask him why he did it? I’m not saying it was right, but maybe hear his side of it,” Jack said hoping his sister would take some of his advice.

“I don’t need to hear his side. He wouldn’t have hurt me that way if he genuinely loved me bub,” Y/N said dejectedly.

“Men can have weird reasons for doing things, sis. I’m not saying to call him right now, but maybe think about it,” he said with hope she would at least think things over.

“Fine,” she said with a huff.

“I have to go, Y/N, but I’ll call you soon. I love you!” Jack said with a smile.

“I love you bub!” she said as she hung up the phone.

Y/N sat on her balcony for hours after the phone call from her brother. Did he have a point? She had never asked Dean why he had done what he did but was there even a reason to? He had been unfaithful to her, and had been for a long time. She couldn’t think of what excuse he could possibly have come up with to explain that away. Her thoughts had gotten away from her and made everything that much more complicated. Jack had her second-guessing the decision to leave, but she didn’t see another choice. She couldn’t stay knowing he’d been with other people. She loved Dean, but she knew she deserved better than that. Y/N continued to sit on her balcony through the afternoon. Her thoughts and feelings were now more conflicted than ever.

Dean left the garage early that day. After the night he’d had, he couldn’t focus. He was afraid he’d end up hurting himself or someone else. He sat on the couch with their wedding photo in his hands. Calling her brother had blown up in his face and he had been trying to think of what he could do now. He had no idea how he could get her to give him another chance, but the one thing he did know was that he couldn’t live without her. A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. He stood and made his way to the door wondering who it could be as he opened the door.

“Hi Dean,” Cas said as he stood on the porch.

“Cas! It’s great to see you, man. Come in,” Dean said as he stepped over to let his friend in the house.

Cas and Dean had been friends since middle school when his family had moved to town. Dean befriended him when the other kids thought he was weird. Truth be told, , Cas was a little weird, but he had become one of the best friends Dean had ever had.

“How have you been Dean?” Cas asked as he sat down on the couch and looked around.

“Not that great to be honest. Y/N left me almost two weeks ago,” Dean admitted as he hung his head in shame.

“I’m sorry. I was afraid that was going to happen,” Cas said as he looked up at his friend. Dean had never been one to show his emotions. He allowed very few people in close enough to truly know the real him, and though he acted tough, Dean had the biggest heart of anyone Cas had ever known.

“Yeah, I really screwed things up this time,” Dean said as he sat down next to his best friend.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?” he asked.

“Not unless you can do magic and make her forgive me, then I doubt it,” Dean said with a wry chuckle.

“I am truly sorry Dean. Have you tried to talk to her?” Cas asked.

“I have but she doesn’t want to talk to me,” Dean sighed.

“Give her some time, Dean. Maybe she will come around after she has had time to cool down,” Cas said as he laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I hope so Cas. I really miss her,” he whispered trying to keep from crying again.

“I’m sure you do,” Cas said. “I hope it all works out for you.”

“Me too man, me too,” Dean said as he hung his head.

Dean and Cas spent most of the evening catching up and talking about his failed marriage. Cas had always liked Y/N and thought she was good for Dean. If only he remembered how good she was he wouldn’t have messed things up so badly. He wouldn’t have slept with Stacy or the other women that he didn’t care anything about. They had just been a way to boost his self-esteem and soothe his low self-worth. Y/N had been on Dean’s mind since Cas had walked out the door.  He picked up his phone to text her.

Dean: I want to apologize for last night, Y/N. I was out of line and I’m sorry.

He held his breath as he saw the dots that indicated she was typing back. He knew it wasn’t going to be what he wanted to hear, but at least she was talking to him. He couldn’t resist chuckling at her name on his phone. He still remembered her putting that as her contact name.

Hot Ass Wifey: It was out of line Dean. You knew hearing that song would hurt me.

Dean: I’m sorry, baby. I just wanted to try and show you what you still mean to me.

Hot Ass Wifey: You should have shown me what I meant to you when we were together, Dean! Not after you have been cheating on me for God knows how long!

Dean: I said I was sorry, Y/N. I can’t tell you how bad I feel! I miss you! I miss us, sweetheart.

Hot Ass Wifey: Too bad you didn’t feel bad enough not to do it huh? I’m going to bed.

Dean: I know I messed up and I will never stop apologizing! Good night baby, I love you.

Dean’s heart fell when he didn’t see the dots anymore. He was starting to think he should just give up and move on, but the thought of anyone else being in their house or in their bed with her made him sick. She would never know how much he hated himself for what he had done to her. He would carry the guilt of breaking her heart and taking her for granted with him to his grave.

Dean had made his way upstairs after one too many drinks, which had become a nightly occurrence. It had been the only thing that could even slightly dull the pain of going to sleep alone. Dean looked at their bed and felt emotions bubbling up in his chest. He decided to take a shower and try to stave them off a little longer. He walked into the master bath and started the shower. As he turned around to grab a towel, he saw the small Bluetooth speaker she kept in the bathroom. He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he turned it and Y/N’s iPod on and hit shuffle.

Dean had always been into classic rock but had let his music taste evolve a little once he had met her. Her taste in music was one of the broadest he had seen. She would listen to a little of everything; it was one of the things he loved about her. Dean hummed along as one song ended and a new one began to play. Dean froze in place when he heard it, it was one of her favorite songs, but it was also cutting him to the core .

A hundred days have made me older

Since the last time that I saw your pretty face

A thousand lies have made me colder

And I don't think I can look at this the same

All the miles that separate

Disappear now when I'm dreamin' of your face

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe. The emotions he had been fighting earlier now rushed to the surface. The tears began to spill over as he hung his head, thinking about his wife that he missed.

I'm here without you baby

But you're still on my lonely mind

I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time

I'm here without you baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

And tonight girl, it's only you and me

He’d never had a song make him hurt the way he was at that moment. His chest was heaving as the cries turned into sobs. The pain of the conversation he had with Y/N and the words of the song he felt was sure to kill him.

Everything I know, and anywhere I go,

It gets hard but it won't take away my love

And when the last one falls, when it's all said and done

It gets hard but it won't take away my love

I'm here without you baby

But you're still on my lonely mind

I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time

I'm here without you baby

But you're still with me in my dreams

And tonight, it's only you and me

Dean turned off the water and jumped out of the shower faster than he ever had, turning off her iPod and throwing it across the bathroom before it could play anything else that would rip his heart out. He hastily dried off and threw on a pair of boxers and went straight to their bed. Dean laid down on her side and wrapped her pillow in his arms and let the sobs overtake him to cry himself to sleep, just like he had every night since she had left him.

@flamencodiva​​ @sorenmarie87​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @waywardbeanie​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @voltage-my2dlove​​ @hardcoresupernatural​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @lyarr24​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @akshi8278​ @midsummereve1993​ @sutton2001​ @emory91​ @halesandy​ @miss-nerd95​ @ellewritesfix05​ @bxbyizzy​ @winchest09​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @defenderrosetyler​ @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @talesmaniac89​ @deanwanddamons​ @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @nihilismworld​ @winchester-wifey​ @mrsfox79​ @malfoysqueen14​ @moron225​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​

[diavolodigitale]

Heart of Stone

Cullen + red lyrium = the Big Sad

One of the favourites of mine when it comes to my own works. I absolutely loved writing it so I do hope it will find its reader one day.

Genres: Angst, Drama, Dark, Deviates From Canon, Hurt, Mental Health Issues

Pairing: Male Inquisitor Lavellan & Cullen Rutherford, (optional) Male Inquisitor Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor Lavellan, Varric Tethras, Cassandra Pentaghast, Solas, Cole, Vivienne 

Rating: M for Might be disturbing for some readers

Size: around 18 pages

THE PAIRING IS OPTIONAL! This work is not intended to contain the pairing male!Lavellan/Cullen, but I am also completely fine if somebody chooses to read it that way. 

The numbers in the text stand for the songs in my playlist you have to listen to while reading to get a better experience.

Here's the list of songs: 1. Soap&Skin - The Sun 2. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Katabasis 3. L'Enfant De La Forêt - Noir-Etang 4. Soap&Skin - Deathmental 5. L'Enfant De La Forêt - ...For The Love Of God 6. Soap&Skin - Janitor of Lunacy 7. Soap&Skin - Sugarbread 8. Soap&Skin - Marche Funèbre

(01) “Why won’t you let me out, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I thought you came here to talk. You always do.”

“I said don’t talk to me!”

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here… Have you abandoned?” Cullen twitched forward; the chains holding him clinked loudly in dead silence of the prison cell. “Have you? Have you, Inquisitor?”

Inquisitor turned away, afraid to look at the face of somebody he once called a friend. Pale, worn-out, and distorted, it resembled a shadow of a person, a spirit who escaped the Fade and now lurked among others with nothing reminding him of what he used to be.

“I want to see your eyes, Inquisitor. You made me like this, you keep me here. It’s all your fault.”

“It isn’t. You are here because I have faith in you. You won’t make me hate you, no matter what you say.”

“Oh, you already hate me,”—Cullen laughed insincerely—“I know you do. I can sense it. But there is still a chance…”

Inquisitor raised his head. He gripped the bars tightly and leaned forward, so close that he could feel cold iron touching the skin on his cheeks and forehead.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Cullen closed his eyes. His body was relaxed, hands were loosely hanging. The veins visible under half-transparent skin were pulsating red.

“If you could let me share the song with you…” he muttered under his breath. “It’s so serene. You’ll see, you’ll understand then. You left me here on my own with it, and I accepted it, and so will you.”

Inquisitor’s hands exploded with a burst of magic as he clutched the bars with all the force he had left in his weakened body. His teeth were grit and his head hurt. He tried to say something, but no sound came out – his throat seemed swollen and a feeling of pressure in his chest made it difficult to breathe.

“You owe me this. I’m here because of you. Listen to me”—Cullen made a pause, waiting for the Inquisitor to react—“Listen to me!” he shouted, gripping his fists and rattling the chains that bound him.

Lavellan looked him in the eyes, ready to suffer through whatever he had to tell him.

“The song I used to hear is nothing compared to this one…” went on Cullen in a less agitated manner. “It embraces, caresses… I would hear it in my sleep, but now I don’t sleep anymore... First, the dreams left, and now I don’t need to sleep at all. I just listen.”

“I’ll find the cure,” said Inquisitor in an attempt to persuade Cullen, though, not sounding confident enough to believe it himself.

“I don’t need any cure, Inquisitor. I am not sick. I need to get out of here, I need to feel the wind, the heat of it is KILLING me!”

“You have to withstand it. The lyrium will devour you if you don’t resist, you know that!”

Cullen chuckled. His voice was crispy and low after spending so much time in a cold cell without any food and water. He wasn’t denied it, he just refused to take any.

“You’re not supposed to resist,” he made a special emphasis on the last word. “It makes you stronger, it lets you see so much more… You have no idea.”

Inquisitor let go of the bars frozen by a sudden outburst of his magic. He barely managed to keep it inside as it wanted to get out so eagerly and uncontrollably. This place smelled of despair and desolation and it took away all the energy he had. He wanted to leave, but could not force himself to do so.

Cullen slowly hummed a few notes while crossing his legs on the bare stone floor. He drew deep long breath and a hint of a smile touched his chapped lips as he spoke.

“I hated mages. You already know that, I recon. As any other reasonable templar would do. I was afraid of their power, but now… Now I am not. Your magic doesn’t scare me, Inquisitor, because soon even you won’t be able to stop me.”

“I don’t want to stop you. I just want to help.”

“Help yourself, Inquisitor. You look pathetic.”

Lavellan looked not much better than his former Commander. He barely got any sleep, always having to help others, being not himself, but the Inquisitor. Those few free moments he had he would spend in this dungeon of anguish, chiding himself for what had happened to Cullen and making himself suffer by looking at the sufferings of the templar.

Time was passing by mercilessly. He wished he could stay there without any movement forever, but the whole world was frantically spinning around him and without his intervention everything could fall apart any minute. He threw one last tired look at the templar and left the prison, foolishly hoping the next time he came everything would be different.

“I’ll be here, Inquisitor. In case you want to chat.”

Cullen didn’t stop smiling. His posture was stiff and eyes were blank, glowing crimson red.

 (02-03) “Inquisitor.”

“Yes, Solas?” Lavellan stopped to greet the elf with an exhausted half-smile on his face. He knew he couldn’t fool him, but the habit of pretending had already become a part of him.

“You’ve been there again. Don’t deny it.” Solas’ eyes were piercing the Inquisitor. It was not a question because he did not really need the answer, he knew everything intuitively. This terrifying power of his never left Lavellan any chance of retrieval.

“Yes, I have. I am trying to understand…” Inquisitor looked down in a kind of shame, like a child who did what was not allowed. “There must be something I can do,” he added quietly.

“If you really want to help him, you must put him out of his misery. This is the only option. The longer you wait, the more his condition deteriorates,” said Solas in a tone that did not allow for any disagreement.

The throbbing pain in his temples made Lavellan feel as if he also heard the song. The one that outvoiced all his thoughts and common sense, forced him to say what he didn’t mean and let slowly crawling insanity possess his mind.

“I don’t care. I do not care what you think, Solas!” he yelled, not paying attention to all the other people in the castle yard who were startled by his outburst of anger. “I will not abandon him, even if it will be the death of me!”

Solas frowned. This was the only visible sign of his dissatisfaction. Even though he greatly disapproved of what the Inquisitor’s opinion was, he would never lose his temper.

“You don’t belong to yourself anymore. People rely on you, and you have to remember that. Sometimes thousand lives are more important than one,” he simply said.

Lavellan shook his head, now feeling ashamed for his behaviour. He did not mean it, merely didn’t know how to defend his position anymore.

“I know… I am sorry,” he replied. “I promise to think it over. I just need some rest; it’s been a long day.”

“Indeed, it has. I understand, my friend. Great responsibility lies on your shoulders.” Solas patted Lavellan on the back. “Don’t try to carry it on your own. We are all here to share it with you.”

Inquisitor nodded gratefully and hurried to leave the unpleasant conversation behind.

“Varric wanted to see you. He looked worried,” said Solas after him.

“Thank you. I will see him at once,” answered Inquisitor, disappointed that he couldn’t be left alone even for a moment.

The dwarf was right were Lavellan assumed he would be – near the fireplace in the great hall, working on his drafts. The mage approached a wooden table and took a seat on a chair near Varric.

“Your Inquisitorialness,” said Varric and took his gaze off the pages scattered all over the table. “You look… good enough.” The expression on his face suggested he was of a different opinion.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Varric. You’re the only person here allowed to criticize me so we’re friends no matter what you say.”

“Okay, well, a little rough around the edges, but I’ve seen worse.” The dwarf smiled in a friendly way, finally put aside his soaked in ink quill and diverted all of his attention to the conversation.

“I appreciate the honesty,” said Lavellan. His head still hurt, but the tender warmth of the fire in the fireplace and the calm air always present around Varric made it easier to endure.

“Chuckles probably made it sound like a big deal, but there wasn’t really any significant reason I needed to see you. Just wanted to tell you that Cassandra took over all of Commander’s plans and… Well, she’ll take care of everything. Things will continue as planned.”

“I appreciate that as well,” said Inquisitor, his voice gradually becoming quieter. He knew he should talk to Cassandra. After all, her role in the Inquisition was already great enough, and now she had even more responsibilities to deal with. Yet he did not know what to tell her. He could neither congratulate her not say that he was sorry. All seemed wrong.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but let me say something. I know how it feels.”

Varric also possessed the ability to know what people around him thought about and it made the Inquisitor consider the fact that he was the only one who couldn’t see past the pretension of others. He couldn’t even understand his own thoughts, let alone somebody else’s.

He didn’t answer, just looked blankly in front of himself, right into the void, at nothing in particular.

“I lost my brother to it…” continued Varric.

“I’ve never heard you had a brother. What was he like?”

“Stubborn would probably be the best word to describe him.”

“Seems like you two had quite a lot in common,” said Inquisitor jokingly.

“Not really. He was this “businessman” type of guy – always thinking about profits and dubious affairs. And, unlike me, he wasn’t a charismatic and talented hero-lover.”

“Obviously. It is hard to find another dwarf like you.”

“Impossible, I would say”—Varric heaved a deep sigh and his tone shifted to a more serious one—“It’s difficult to come in terms with at the beginning, but sooner or later you just do. It’s long and complicated, but we’re all here to support you. We knew what we signed up for.”

Inquisitor thought that it wasn’t true. He didn’t know. Cullen didn’t know. Nobody knew. Even so, he would probably be able to accept any consequences if they applied to him personally, but he was not ready to watch others degrade that easily.

“You should go and lie down. My talks make you sleepy, apparently.” Varric gave Lavellan an encouraging wink in an effort to end the conversation on a higher note.

“It’s good to hear at least one actually useful advice today,” said Lavellan. “Let me know if anything needs my attention.”

“Of course.”

Varric dipped his quill in ink and continued writing. Inquisitor headed to his quarters, trying not to pass out from fatigue on his way there.

 (04) The next time Inquisitor entered the dreary prison, he barely managed to hold in a scream of terror. Cullen’s state was rapidly decaying. Red lyrium crystals were nesting on him, tearing the pale skin from the inside, feeding on his flesh. The whole cell was illuminated by appalling red light emitted by the crystals that were now part of his body. It was unbearably hot down there – apart from light, the lyrium also radiated heat. Cullen hardly moved since the last time Inquisitor saw him.

“I thought you’d never come,” he said with the same ominous smile he demonstrated previously. There was neither kindness nor hospitality in it.

“I was busy.” Inquisitor swallowed his horror before the intimidating creature dwelling in the basement of his castle and approached the cell. “Does it hurt?”

“It used to. It was more painful when I tried to oppose my addiction. Now, having given in, I see that there was no point in it. The most difficult path isn’t always the right one.”

“I refuse to believe that this is really what you think!”

Lavellan’s right hand flushed with green light. His constantly pressured and distraught state of mind depressed his control over magic abilities, especially those concerned with the Mark. Closing small tears grew more and more troublesome, as his power did not obey him and instead forced more demons to come out of the Fade.

“I gain power while you lose it. How ironic.” Cullen’s red eyes were staring right into Inquisitor’s soul, omitting what was on the outside. Lavellan’s appearance made it obvious that he was also experiencing drastic changes, but Cullen did not need to see how he looked to know that he was broken already. “The Anchor doesn’t belong to you, so soon it will turn against you, the way it should’ve done long ago. And then the Master will take it.”

“The Master? Now you serve him? Cullen, have you forgotten what he did to our people? Haven’t you seen how the Sanctuary was destroyed?”

“I remember everything perfectly, and that is why I understand how fast he will achieve dominance over everything else. You’re blind, Inquisitor, and I gained my sight here, in this dark basement, thanks to you. I pity you for how miserable your efforts to defy us are.”

“You have never talked to him, Cullen. He is insane, he blatantly uses everyone who supports him. They are disposable! Do you really want to be one of them?”

“I don’t need to talk to him, I have the song. It’s with me all the time. Unlike you were.” Cullen stopped smiling and grimaced. “If the song I heard from usual lyrium reminded the voice of the Maker, then this one sounds like the Old God. Something greater than all of us, something indescribable and immensely strong. There is no Maker in the Golden City, Inquisitor. Nobody cares about your soul, might as well sacrifice it in the grand battle for this world. But betting on the right side.”

“Cullen, you’re not yourself anymore…”

“Have you just noticed? What kind of leader are you if you don’t pay attention to what is going on with your advisors and trusted ones? To how Leliana bends down under the weight of the decision she makes for you, to how the Bull is torn between what is dear to him and what he must do, to how Cole suffers every minute he is present in this world affected by the vices and sins people commit… And all because of you.”

Lavellan tried not to yield, not to show that every word pierced him like a dagger. Every day he thought about all the lost opportunities, missed chances and mistakes made. Every night he lay sleepless because of the regrets and guilt haunting him whenever he closed his eyes. He did not see darkness under the lowered eyelids, only the faces of people he lost to the war nobody was ready for. However absurd templar’s words were, he would believe them because he himself was disappointed in what leader he turned out to be. He tried not to yield but did it quite poorly.

“Even though you don’t admit it, I know you’re crushed. You’re as lost as the day the Breach opened and you were the only one to survive the explosion. I could show you the way… or end you. You decide.”

“I don’t need any help from you. You are not the person you pretend to be anyway... We’ll talk everything over, but only when I bring back the Commander I know.”

“How persistent,” said Cullen, stretching every word as if he was savouring them. “It’s a shame you weren’t so determined previously. Perhaps it would have saved a lot of lives and your beloved Commander in his previous form. Although, I am quite upset that you prefer to disown me now that you don’t like the way I am anymore. You turned out to be so shallow…”

“We’ve all seen what lyrium does to the templars, Cullen… Your words will not influence me because I know that it’s the Blight talking in you. Once you get rid of that filth—”

“You’re not really so certain, are you?” asked Cullen mockingly and laughed. “You think you can just rip it out of me, but it runs through my veins now. You can try whatever you want, you can break the crystals, you can cut them out, you can use your wretched magic, your Mark, yet you will not make the song go away. It will grow louder and stronger, and so will I.”

“You haven’t eaten for days, Cullen. You don’t sleep, you don’t talk to people. Your life slips through your fingers. Nobody is allowed to go down here except for me, so I am the only one who can help you. Please, don’t make it worse for the both of us.”

“I’m not the one making it worse. You are.”

Cullen turned his head away from the Inquisitor, not willing to talk anymore. The crystals on his body glimmered with red lights. There were no other light sources in the basement so Cullen’s face was illuminated only by this sinister glow. His eyes as well as the veins visibly pulsating under the dead-white skin of his drained body were red. Everything about him was red. The fetters around his wrists were covered in rust, but the glow of the crystals made it seem like they were rotting.  

Lavellan couldn’t help but notice that most of the crystals were growing on his left shoulder and the appropriate side of his neck, forming a cluster. A number of smaller ones was spread over his stomach and forearms. Although he had already spent days in the cell, his body wasn’t as weakened and feeble as it should have been, and it scared the elf. He really wasn’t going to die or surrender that easily.

Inquisitor did not know how long he stood there without saying anything, just examining the former Commander. At one moment, the realization that he hated being there just dawned on him. He slept for a few hours and even tried to eat before coming, but now felt as if he hadn’t had any rest for weeks. The heat produced by the lyrium crystals made him feel feverish. His vision became dizzy and he thought that he may lose consciousness if he stayed here.

The room that always felt so empty now seemed to be filled with presence. Cullen was the only prisoner, but to Inquisitor the basement seemed overcrowded: he couldn’t breathe freely, his whole body hurt as if he was pushed around with heavy shoves. Convincing himself that there was nothing he could say or do to help Cullen right here and right now, he decided to leave.

Cullen said nothing.

 (05) “Oh, dear, you look hideous,” said Vivienne, catching Inquisitor on his way to the war table. Her voice suggested that she was both unsatisfied and a little bothered. “We need to do something about that immediately,” she added, looking him up and down.

“I am sorry, Vivienne, but there is no time for that. One of our scouts went missing and we need to decide where we should start searching. I promise I’ll get some sleep later.”

“No-no, beauty sleep will not help you anymore. I’m afraid, we need to eliminate the cause of your worries or else you’ll scare all our allies away.”

“I know what you want to tell me and no, I will not—”

“This is not a discussion, my dear,” said Vivienne, interrupting Lavellan who already raised his hand as a sign of protest. “It’s difficult for all of us, but you cannot show your weakness. You represent the Inquisition and appearing like that is almost the same as telling everybody we are just a group of worthless bandits. Look at those clothes, at that face… You look like you were the one who sat in that cell with no fresh air and good company. Please, I beg you, don’t make me feel ashamed of you.”

“I cannot promise you to deal with what bothers me, but I will pull myself together,” managed to utter Inquisitor after a few seconds of silence.

“And the clothing.” Vivienne looked skeptically at the old torn leather armor Inquisitor had been wearing for god knows how many days.

“Yes, I will surely change it.”

“That is what I wanted to hear. Don’t let others use your vulnerability against you. Don’t look like you have any in the first place.”

Inquisitor nodded to the Grand Enchanter to pay his respect. She gave him a polite nod as well before leaving him in the great hall. In reality, he rarely shared her point of view regarding pretty much anything, but he just could not resist her openly: she was too powerful and too valuable. Her knowledge of Orlesian court and magic powers were of great use to the Inquisition so sometimes he just needed to say what she wanted to hear in order to keep their temporary peace.

He hurried to open the heavy wooden door that led to the command centre. All of his advisors had already gathered at the war table. All, but one.

As days went by, Inquisitor slowly descended into madness. He frantically slaughtered all enemies he met on his way being as merciless as never before. His magic powers grew to be more effective on the battlefield, burning, freezing, and crushing, but, at the same time, almost uncontrollable. There was no middle ground for him, only lethal blows. Each red templar he spotted made him furious beyond all reason – he used every single spell on them to see what dealt the most damage. He couldn’t use his healing powers anymore, but instead gained the ability to bring the strongest pain to every red lyrium addict he saw. Blackwall, Dorian and Varric shared his hate for the enemies they fought, but certainly did not approve of his methods. They thought nobody deserved that much suffering, no matter what they did.

When time allowed it, Lavellan would stop to examine the bodies of the deceased templars. He paid special attention to how the crystals rooting in their bodies developed and grew, how the skin around the ruptures looked and behaved. He killed countless knights, guards and marksmen, observing how different were states of their corruption. He noticed how crystals pierced their armour, making it part of them. Some of them wore helmets overgrown by it, so he wondered how they could even see anything. A few shadows he eliminated had arms completely covered in lyrium which made them much more dangerous than the others, raw lyrium being extremely harmful in any state, but at the same time filling their existence with agony: contact that close made them lose their humanity faster and degraded their physical and mental state.

Once on the Emerald Graves, Inquisitor, accompanied by his loyal followers, met a Behemoth. An enormous lump of red lyrium barely provoked the thought that it used to be a person – not a single part of its body remained intact, everything was completely covered with crystals. The air around it was pulsating with heat, and the red glow it emitted blinded them. The fight was long and tedious – Blackwall was severely injured after receiving a massive blow in his leg and Dorian exhausted all his magic forces and couldn’t continue without a dose of lyrium to boost them. When the existence of the monstrosity was finally ended by Inquisitor’s ice spell, they managed to catch a glimpse of a silhouette resembling that of a human being inside the Behemoth before it collapsed to the ground. The atmosphere became heavy, as they were crudely reminded that the creatures they were forced to fight used to be people at some point. Some of them, perhaps, didn’t choose this fate and would rather continue living their ordinary lives.

While his companions stood gloomy and silent, mulling over what happened to the world they once knew, Lavellan approached a pile of dust left of the Behemoth. He couldn’t lose such an opportunity to study it because it was the first specimen that was so corrupt that it wasn’t able to say a single word and could only scream and produce inarticulate sounds. Lately Inquisitor became almost obsessed with researching how lyrium developed in the bodies of templars, so all he could think about was finding out how it influenced human organism and seeing if it could be prevented somehow. He approached the pile and was extremely disappointed to see that there was almost nothing left in it. Being in some kind of frenzy, with his bare hand he grabbed a small lyrium crystal – the only visible part of the templar that hadn’t disintegrated yet. A few moments passed before Varric noticed what Lavellan was doing and hurried to him to drag him away from the pile and throw away the crystal. Inquisitor’s hand and fingers were already influenced by the mineral and a few deep burns were left on the skin.

All the way back to Skyhold Lavellan listened to Dorian lecturing him about how irresponsible he was. Blackwall silently frowned and lagged behind, holding on to the handle of his sword hanging in a scabbard on his side. Varric occasionally sighed and said that he agreed with Dorian. Inquisitor’s hand throbbed with pain but he did not really care. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he didn’t make any progress in researching the influence of lyrium.  

He stopped visiting the prison at Skyhold. He was afraid to descend there and see something more terrifying that he had already seen. He wanted to send somebody down to check on Cullen occasionally, and Leliana agreed to come herself, not wanting anybody else to become the witness of what happened to the Commander of the grand Inquisition. She feared they would lose their influence and authority if the details about Cullen’s corruption became public; the Inquisitor feared he would lose any hope left after seeing his friend one more time.

After one of the visits, Leliana reported that Cullen’s left arm is covered with red lyrium crystals up to his elbow already. Apart from that, she added that he also refused to talk to her. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

 (06) “So… how are you doing here, Cole?” asked the Inquisitor his ghostly companion one gloomy evening. He couldn’t forget what Cullen said about him not caring about his friends. He was troubled to learn they were down, but recently just didn’t have the time to address that.

“This place is not a home. Too dark. Everybody’s hurt.” The spirit lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat.

“Are you hurt too?” carefully inquired Lavellan.

“I don’t know. They are. I absorb the pain, it stings like bees, but stronger. But it brings relief to the others.”

“You don’t have to help them if it is hard for you. It’s impossible to help everybody. I don’t want you to feel pain because of that, Cole,” said Inquisitor, concerned about the spirit. He knew that comforting others was the actual reason his friend existed, but didn’t want to tolerate such state of affairs nonetheless.

“I came here to help. Pain is temporary, death is not. I take the pain and put up with it for a short while, and they are free and calm. Better than listening to their screams.”

“I see…”

It was always difficult to communicate with Cole. He was there but also in hundreds other places at the same time. He responded to questions, but was talking about something only he saw and understood. He looked like a young boy, so everybody perceived him as such, but, in reality, he knew much more than any other person in the castle. He knew about misfortunes of every soldier in the Inquisition, about their worries and fears, but nobody really knew anything about him. Inquisitor was sorry that he didn’t take enough time and make enough effort to get to know this sad entity better.

“You are the only one I can’t help. I see your pain, it’s red and dense and floats like a haze. You are surrounded by people, but they are not there. You’re alone and lost in the fog and you suffocate. I want to help.”

Lavellan moved the hat from Cole’s eyes to see his face. Usually there was no expression on it, but it was important to see his eyes to establish at least some kind of contact.

“I know, Cole. I know. But it’s my burden, and I will carry it. Others here are also miserable, so just do what you can for them. Whatever you feel right.”

“I tried to take away your fear.” Cole looked Lavellan directly in the eyes. “I come when you sleep, I watch, try to lead the demons away. They are strong, bloody, proud, drag heads of their victims as trophies. You don’t let them in, yet the fear stays. You need to rest, but not sleep. Watch yourself.”

Cole suddenly disappeared as he sometimes did. Lavellan remembered him standing beside him a second ago, but now he wasn’t there anymore. Some of Inquisition’s soldiers and commanders were against Cole’s stay in Skyhold, but the Inquisitor remained unshaken in his decision. He saw what the boy did to help those who were in need, and it was more than he himself could have ever done. The spirit didn’t disappear out of a sheer wish, somebody needed him. He always answered the call.

 (07) Lavellan was lying on the side of his bed, twisted and rolled up in a blanket. The bedsheet around him was crumpled and wet from sweat. He was in fever, as if instead of frosty mountains outside of Skyhold only sand dunes enveloped him with unbearable heat. He was delirious and mumbling something to himself. Before his eyes was the same prison cell he chose not to visit anymore. Crystals grew from every wall, from the ceiling and stone floor. They seemed to be alive, breathing and singing the song. Parts of mutilated human, elven, and dwarven bodies were stuck in the lyrium, feeding it with last drops of blood left in them, making its red colour more prominent and vivid. Inquisitor saw familiar faces captured eternally inside the crystals, lifeless, pale, and distorted. He gripped his staff tightly, ready to fight whoever would come to face him. His injured fingers hurt but he tried not to focus on the pain.

“I hoped to see you once again,” said the voice he knew all too well. He turned around and saw Cullen sitting on the floor with his back leaning on the wall. He wasn’t chained. “I was so upset you stopped visiting,” he continued.

“I couldn’t…” started Lavellan, but Cullen did not want to listen.

“I know what had really happened. You thought I was a burden and you had no wish to continue coddling me. But who will take the responsibility, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

“You should ask your new master about that!” yelled Lavellan angrily. He didn’t really know how much responsibility laid on him for all what had happened, but now he didn’t want to admit anything at all. Not before Cullen.

“He is doing what he must, and you are making things more complicated. Do you really believe you are a hero? A Herald of Andraste? You’re just a thief!”—Cullen spat on the floor in front of him—“All you know is stealing and deceiving. Who gave you the right to decide what’s right and what’s wrong? Why do you think it was better for me before I changed? Tell me, I want to know.”

“I’ve seen what this “transformation” does to the others. They become inhumane, forget their language, families, friends. They live in constant pain and their life is deprived of meaning. You don’t need to be the Herald to understand that.”

“I am different. They are unworthy, nobody cares about them. Do you know the names of all your soldiers, Inquisitor? Do you mourn the death of every one of them? Then why do you worry about those templars so much? They have their own fate and will be rewarded for their diligence. Unlike all those people stuck in here with me,” said Cullen and smiled, waving his already corrupt hand in the direction of ghastly faces behind the glass surface of red crystals on the walls.

“Are you now tormenting people who worked with you and admired you?” Lavellan felt dizzy. He used his staff to help himself stand straight, but his energy was being drained by the red lyrium filling the room. “What kind of commander are you?”

“An improved one. You should’ve noticed how insecure I used to be. Afraid that people would judge me for what I say or do, afraid to confess to you about my decision to stop taking lyrium. Wasn’t it hilarious? Perhaps, you kept me close because I amused you.”

“No, I didn’t. You were one of the best people I have ever known. It’s a shame you turned into this.”

The mark on Inquisitor’s hand started glowing and he felt as if he would lose consciousness soon. His vision got blurry, making it difficult to concentrate on the templar.

“Oh, I know what you feel now…” Cullen laughed repulsively. “Fear, regret, disbelief, disappointment… A little bit of sorrow maybe? Don’t try to lie to me.” He stood up. No shackles held him, now he was free to do whatever he wanted. “Are you ready to face the truth?”

Lavellan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to escape the nightmare. He knew this couldn’t be real.

He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the bed in his quarters. Cole was sitting beside him, silently saying his mantra. He stopped when noticed that Inquisitor was already awake.

“I heard your scream. Nobody here screams that loudly, only whimpers. It was almost too late. The haze swallowed you, I didn’t see, couldn’t find. I am glad you believed me.”

“The thought that it’s just a dream… Did it come from you?” Lavellan removed the blanket and sat on the bed.

“Yes. I wanted to destroy the fear and regret, but could only take you out of the nightmare. You shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Thank you, Cole… Could you stay with me?”

“That is what I implied.”

Lavellan didn’t feel like closing his eyes again.

 (08) “This is impossible! We do not have time and resources to do it!” said Cassandra. Her voice sounded as agitated and decisive as always.

“I need it! I’m not asking you to bring me Coryphaeus himself, just a few red templars.”

“You have lost your mind! How can we capture them alive if even touching them may be lethal? It’s too dangerous. You know that they never surrender.”

“It can change everything. The lyrium in dead templars is most likely also dead, there is no use of it, but if we bring them here alive… I will be able to study it, I’ll examine how it responds to different treatments and…”

“They already suffer! Even if they look like monsters, they are under the influence of it. You want to torture them even more, doesn’t it bother you?”

“What bothers me is the absence of any results in my studies, Cassandra. I need at least a tiny bit of useful information.”

Inquisitor was uncompromising, but Cassandra did not want to agree to his proposal. After all, the Inquisition was still part of the Chantry and they simply couldn’t capture templars and experiment on them. She was one of the people who started the Inquisition and didn’t want to see it come crashing down.

She sighed.

“We will make a decision at the council meeting.”

“Then tell everybody to gather.”

As one of the advisors, Cassandra made it clear that she didn’t support this endeavour of the Inquisitor. Leliana, being more practical and open-minded, decided that they should take the risk in case there was at least one possibility to gain some intel in the process. Even if they didn’t learn how to cure the corruption, they would probably discover the templars’ weak spots. Josephine was inclined to support Cassandra out of her morals, but seeing Lavellan in such despair made her budge.

Two people were in favour, so they started the operation.

Cassandra feared that soon they would not be able to keep Inquisitor in line. He was becoming more and more radical in his methods and didn’t share his thoughts with them anymore. He was grim, slept only three hours a day and most of his time spent in the libraries or on the battlefields. From the latter he would often come injured without even noticing it, as if he couldn’t feel it or didn’t care enough to notice. Their cause was still a priority to him, but determination and hope vanished from his eyes. They became dull and cold.

When first templars were delivered to the castle, he locked himself in the forge with them and didn’t come out for a few hours. Nobody was allowed to enter. There were no screams, but the silence made it seem even worse. Everybody was on the edge, not knowing what to expect. It happened a few more times, but the Inquisitor never shared anything about what he did or what results his experiments showed. As time passed, he became even more withdrawn and solitary. Solas tried talking to Lavellan about the Commander and what his inertness did to him, but with no success. Inquisitor was deaf to all inquiries.

 When the blizzard settled down and the sun managed to send a few rays through thick clouds, one of the Inquisition’s soldiers knocked on the door to Lavellan’s quarters.

“Come in,” said Inquisitor, not bothered to look away from the book he was reading.

“My lord, Sister Leliana went on her usual check and he wasn’t there…” The soldier started stammering as Lavellan abruptly pierced his gaze into him. “He escaped,” mumbled the soldier.

Inquisitor knew it would end like this. He awaited it and feared.

[whumping-every-day]

@newbornwhumperfly​ I see you. Congratulations, you made the poor boy cry. 😂

TW’s: Pet whump, belting/threat of belting/past belting as part of long-term captivity and torture. Creepy-caretaker-turned-temporary-whumper, Gabriel’s fucky headspace, trauma response. 

-

“B-but I-” Gabriel’s voice wobbles, blue eyes big and questioning. “I d-don’t, I don’t want to do that. Please don’t make me do that.” He flinches visibly at the phrase bad boy, and he whines softly, shaking his head. “Please,” he implores. 

But the compulsion is unrelenting; Gabriel knows what he has to steal even before he’s in his Master’s office. 

The cream carpet muffles his footfalls, and it makes Gabriel feel even dirtier and sneakier - ungrateful, a distant voice whispers. He almost hopes to be caught, but there’s no sign of either of his owners as he nudges his way into Master’s office. 

The black thumb drive is inconspicuous, but Gabriel knows what’s on it. He knows how long his Master has been working on his latest architectural project... just like he knows that all the plans for said project are backed up on the drive.  

Gabriel pockets it, and it’s a hideous feeling. His Master and Mistress have been nothing but kind, they’ve loved him when no one else did, brought him in from the cold... and here Gabriel is, putting his filthy hands on things that don’t belong to him. 

His pocket is heavy as he returns to the sunroom and curls back up with his coloring book, and try as he might, Gabriel is unable to forget the flash drive's presence as the time trickles on by. 

-

It’s only later that Gabriel understands the full implications of your original command. But the tell Master what he did part is still to come, and once again, when the time arrves, Gabriel is helpless. 

“Gabriel, sweetheart? Were you in my study?” 

Ice breaks out along Gabriel’s spine, too hot and then too cold. Master has never hurt him, has never used his strength to frighten or hurt. He’s careful, and patient, and gentle, and even if he did hurt the boy, Gabriel would forgive him without pause. Even so, the weight of that tone pitched in disappointment makes his knees shake. 

Gabriel turns, and he opens his mouth to say no, maybe, or just jump straight to I’m sorry. Instead, what comes out is, 

“I took it.” 

“You - took hmm?” Master is genuinely surprised; Gabriel sees him do a double-take, just like he sees the moment when Stefan falters. 

“Whhh- what, no,” the man muttered, and a hand comes up, clutching into his temple. “I - no, I don’t want to do that-” It’s like he’s hearing a command that Gabriel can’t, and when Stefan fights it he doubles over in pain, groaning through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck!” Gabriel skitters a step back purely on instinct, pulse pattering away in his neck, a little shock of adrenaline shuddering through his system. His Master straightens again, and Gabriel can’t read the look in his eyes. 

It’s a cold wash of horror when Master puts one of those massive hands on his belt and says,

“I can’t believe you would do that.” Gabriel sniffles, and he digs into his pocket and wordlessly holds out the thumb drive. There was nothing in your initial command about not giving it back, and Gabriel knows he’s already in so much trouble but it’ll be so much worse if he tries to hide it. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he gasps desperately, and Master growls and snatches the drive from his hand. 

“Bad boy,” Stefan snaps. “Bad. You know you shouldn’t be in there - some of that is sensitive information, you know the rules.” Gabriel cringes, hangs his head low in shame. “You need to - hhhghg. You nnnneed to be - fuck.” There’s a moment where it’s clear that Stefan is fighting against something. But the resistance is crushed and blown aside like charcoal, and he’s left winded. “Punished,” Stefan gasps out, “you need to be punished.”

The way Gabriel steps back instead of crumpling to his knees is evidence of how far he’s come. 

Stefan has never once used his size to intimidate. He knows how big he is, and he’s always mindful of the effect his presence has on a room. But this time he shoves closer, and he can feel the way Gabriel cowers from him, bleating softly in panic.

“P-please-” Gabriel has the sense to scurry backward, and he meets the edge of the fireplace and stumbles, catches himself with a hand against the wall. “P-please, Master, it was - it was an accident-” His voice breaks on the last word, and Gabriel makes a high, soft noise as his Master slips his belt off through the loops. 

The quiet sshhkkk and matching clinking is enough to drive Gabriel to his knees. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobs openly as he watches his Master fold the belt. Gabriel’s shaking from the shock of it - he’s always been afraid, in some corner of his mind, that this would happen some day. He’d known it would - slow, stupid, simple pet, of course even his benevolent Masters would lose their patience. And yet somehow, now that it’s happening, Gabriel is still surprised. Surprised, and hurt, even though he has no right to such a thing. 

“Y-you, you promised.” Gabriel has already crumpled inwards, going small and scared again, but there’s something like betrayal, even accusation in the words. You promised, Gabriel thinks. Safety, comfort, mercy, whichever it was, they’d built him up for so long… 

“Those are the rules for when you’re worth a damn,” Stefan says coldly, and Gabriel wilts. 

He can do it. Gabriel’s breath hitches at his Master’s measured footfalls. It’s been a long time since he took the belt. He’d been good at it, with Second Master, but he’s out of practice, and through the blur of tears Gabriel is already trying to figure out if Stefan will want him to scream or hold it in. 

It’s about time he figures it out, Gabriel thinks bitterly. He’d always known they would hurt him eventually. At least this is something he’s familiar with. 

“Take off your shirt,” the voice says, and suddenly it’s not Stefan any longer, just Master. 

To his knowledge, there is no rule against his sniffling and crying, and Gabriel weeps silently as he pulls the shirt up off over his head, wincing as the motion tugs at the one angle that his shoulders can’t seem to tolerate. 

There are no bruises on his skin now. No previous workmanship, beyond that which was carved into him too deeply to ever disappear. 

He folds the shirt, sets it aside. If he bleeds, it will stain his pants, and possibly the carpet too. Gabriel considers begging to be beaten in the dining room instead, to make it easier to clean up his own blood later… but then the shadow of the belt moves in the corner of his eye, and he flinches and whines like he’s already been struck. 

“Hush now.” Master’s voice is an angry rumble, but he’s entirely calm. “Thirty strikes,” he says. “As punishment for stealing from me. And another ten,” he adds, “for being in my study in the first place.” 

Gabriel’s throat is already closing up, but he just nods his head miserably. 

“Please,” he whines pitifully. “ ‘m, I’m ss-so, so sorry-” 

“Oh, you fucking will be,” his Master snaps, and terror thrills sharp through Gabriel’s veins. “Present yourself.” 

The command is iron, and Gabriel shudders out another miserable sob and bends forward at the waist. He tucks his arms under himself, out of the way. The cool air tickles against his bare back, and Gabriel continues to cry silently, hands braced into fists as he waits for the first blow. 

[END] 

Tagging the Gabriel gang this time <333 

@robinsdoghouseofwhump​ @pepperonyscience​ @angelsuperwholock​ @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462​ @silverinkgoldenquill​ @kestrelsparverius​ @learningtowhump​ @shameless-whumper​ @latenightcupsofcoffee​ @thebluejayswhump​  @what-huh-imconfused​ @vickytokio​ @captivity-whump @pink-and-purple-flowers​ @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow​ @adventuresofacreesty​  @kyra-plays​ @cagefreebirds​ @whumpywhumper​ @blue-flare10​ @whumptywhumpdump​   @whumpywhumper​ @maybeawhumpblog​  @fallingstormphoenix​  @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​ @infreidel @shadowicepuma​ @justanothermaltesegirl @whump-in-the-night @theawesomeawkward​ @promptnations @whumpity--whump--whump​  @maraudersmarvelwhump @haro-whumps​ @whumposaurus​ @deluxewhump​  @nervous-writer​ @doublebubblebitchqueen @mortifiedwhump​ @whump-tr0pes​ @comfortforthepain​ @kungpao-giffy @whumps-the-word​ @burtlederp​ @whump-only​ @nervous-writer​ @sola-whumping​ @whumpeeee​ @lave-e​

[ziracona]

-----The Kid (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, ?)

I don’t remember much. There are jumbled sounds and fragmented images, but I’m not sure if they’re my memories from tonight, or before.

Where am I?

Where am I…

I…

Somewhere…different. Not the workshop I’ve been in. The room is a different color. I’m seeing hazy ceiling through the darkness and a fan up above when I open my eyes. I don’t remember where I’d be, or why it’s different. My head hurts, my arms hurt, my chest is on fire. I’m still dying. Shit. Why did they move me?

There’s someone there, above me—a fuzzy outline. A girl, I think. It’s dark. She sees me looking up at her and pauses. Shit—there’s something in her hand. I remember now; I remember contracting with her. I remember her promising to help me. So why is she bent over my chest with what looks like a long, thin knife? Why is the pain I’m in worse than it’s ever been?

I’m looking at her in search of answers, adrenaline not quite kicked in yet, but about to, when she looks down at me and says, “Don’t move.”

I feel it almost before I hear it. There’s a flash of energy by her hand and the command seal slams into me and I can’t move. I choke on a pained cry as the curse travels through me and freezes me in place. I can feel the mana locked onto my core, like I’ve been frozen solid, turned to stone. It’s agonizing. I can’t even move my head; I can’t shut my eyes; I can’t look away. I can barely breathe.

She’s gonna kill me. I thought this would happen. I thought there must be somethin’ even worse than what they’d already done. Why else send her? Why else get me to agree to anything at all? I had to be betrayed. They’ve been recreating how I died for months now, and that was the only element they couldn’t get. How could I have been this stupid again. I knew the risk. I still don’t know what they’re going to do to me, but I knew the conditions they might be looking for, and still; still. I just looked at a face I couldn’t see, and thought ‘I am who I am,’ and I didn’t shoot. Again.

Again…

I’m scared. I’m terrified. I haven’t been terrified in a long time. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I see Pat, stooping to say, “You did this to yourself,” to me, to make those the last words I hear before I die. I feel it. I feel my heart stopping. I see faint New Mexico moonlight. I smell so much blood. I don’t see my mother waiting for me. I never got to see any of them again. I never got to see anyone again. He was right; I did it to myself, and the Throne took me. I didn’t get an afterlife.

I’m so afraid whatever is happening to me is going to somehow be worse. I don’t know why, but it’s like I’m there again. They say you see your life flash before your eyes. I didn’t. I saw things I never got to make it to crumble away, and there was just…nothing waiting. Nothing at all. It was like watching your soul disintegrate to nothing. Ending. Thread cut. I’d always been promised there was something; I thought there would be. I know now there is for almost everyone. Just not for me.

I don’t want to know what could be worse than that.

I can feel my heart pumping once every six seconds, my core fading, the pathetic trickle of mana I’m getting from the girl that’s keeping me alive. I can feel the blood pumping up from my heart and over my chest with every feeble beat. I can’t look. I can’t move. I can’t speak. All I can do is stare at the girl and wait.

She stares back, and I see horror and shock flood her features in the dim light.

Why?

“No! No—I-I’m sorry,” she stammers, starting to cry, “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—I-I don’t know how to use the spells—I didn’t think they’d just happen. I didn’t mean to do that!”

I can’t process that.

She stops whatever she was doing to my chest, and reaches out her left hand shakily and cups my face. I can’t move.

“I-I’m sorry,” she pleads. Her hand is shaking. She’s still crying. She’s scared too, I realize, watching her, confused. My hair’s matted to my head with sweat, and she tries to brush some of it back. It takes me a second to realize that she’s trying to comfort me. I don’t know how to feel, genuinely. I don’t at all. This is…foreign.

But. There’s a faint memory there. Bein seventeen, starved and dehydrated. Dropping near dead on a doorway of a friend’s mom. I hoped she’d help me. I didn’t know. She did. First time since I was fourteen I’d felt like that at all. I don’t think it’s ever happened to me as a spirit.

This girl is young. Maybe about that old herself—can’t possibly be older than eighteen. She’s a kid.

I must have been crying too. Not sure which emotion was strong enough for that—I don’t think it was fear. I think it was shame, having made the same mistake. I think it was feeling betrayed by myself even. I don’t know. But I must’ve, because the girl wipes tears off me with a trembling thumb.

“I-I’m sorry,” she chokes out. She’s struggling to stop crying too, but not quite made it. I’m realizing slowly she was crying because she felt bad. It’s such an oddly endearing thing to picture a mage of any kind crying over. I wish being in agonizing pain didn’t make that so hard to think about. “I really didn’t. I promise. I’m not trying to hurt you—I—I’m not a very good mage,” she explains, tripping over herself with a voice still strained and breaking every few words, “I haven’t had much training—I can’t heal you, l-like I should. I don’t know how.” She starts to cry again in earnest. Starts sobbing on my chest. I want to smile now, I’m so overcome with relief and somethin else, but I still can’t move at all. “I tried! I tried to look it up—I tried to heal you! I can’t! So I—h-have to get the bullet out.” She has to take a second to keep talking at all. I’m getting soaked with tears now. This poor kid is going to dehydrate herself if she goes on like this. “Or you’ll die. But I can’t use magic, so I have to dig it out,” she sobs, face a ridiculous, miserable mess of snot and tears and nothing but earnest agony of her own, “I’m sorry—I know it hurts. I only wanted you to hold still so I wouldn’t mess up and hurt you with the pliers—I didn’t mean to use a seal on you.”

I wish I could nod, or something, but I can’t. The command seal is still digging into every cell in my vessel, and I might as well be a block of wood. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m…relieved. Shit. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m relieved enough to cry, and my body would like to, but I know she’s going to take that the wrong way if I do, so I fight it back.

Command seals are the worst. I’ve always hated the things. Usually people use ‘em on me because we’re not getting’ along too well, and they either want me to kill someone I don’t want to shoot, or they want me to put my gun to my chest and kill myself. You can resist them a little—I know, because I’ve tried. A lot of times. Depends on the power of the spell, and the spirit, and it depends on your motivation too. Some are easier than others. No one can resist one for long, though. Learned that the hard way too. Got too many memories of someone else making my body move and do something that haunts me.

I try to resist a spell again, now, but not for myself. I think this might be the first time it hasn’t been because I wanted to resist the spell. I can tell now I don’t really need to, probably. But I feel bad for this gal. Digging in with every bit of magic resistance I ever had, I meet her eyes and manage the faintest hint of a smile for just a second, before letting the paralysis take me again.

She stares at me, shocked, then relieved, and starts to cry again, and it’s funny to me. Guess we both want to cry over relief. That’s a couple things in common now.

“Thanks,” she manages, trying to smile back. She strokes back sweat-logged hair from my forehead again in one last little gesture of goodwill, then picks up her pliers, and returns to her task.

Honestly, it’s hard not to let some of the fear back. Dying how I did leaves a guy with a little bit of paranoia in his head. It could be an act. But I know there’d be no point in that, and I don’t honestly believe it was. I just hate being paralyzed. Even stuck with someone I could almost begin to feel something a little like trust towards. God, I never learn. I know nothin about this girl at all. Trust is a lot to put in a mage. I guess I do never learn, but it makes me happy, like that’s a victory. I guess in a way it is. I s’pose it’s okay to be proud of that. Don’t have a lot to my name; might as well keep my disposition.

Got no idea how long being stuck like this’ll last, but it has to wear off in a little while. I believe her about what she’s doing, but that doesn’t make it hurt less to have a piece of metal digging around in my chest. I should try and sleep. It’ll conserve what energy I got left, and I won’t have to be awake for this.

I go with that, once the command spell wears off enough to let me shut my eyes. It’s not until I’m about out that I remember I’ve seen her before. Remember one day a while back, when a kid saw me for a second through an open door, and looked horrified, and I thought it was novel to be looked at with pity again after so long.

Guess it was something a little more than novel.

I think I smile. Can’t believe something good came my way. Usually all I’m a magnet for is misfortune and trouble, and I gotta make whatever luck I want to get.

But I’m passin out from the pain in my chest again, and I’m not sure she’s gonna get that bullet out in time for my core to keep from disolvin, but there’s not nothin looking back at me this time.

It feels good. Like I thought it would. I’m not scared. I think it would be okay if I die like this.

There’s not nothin.

[starlightsearches]

Hello love I would like to request a Hux x Reader oneshot where the reader interferes with a potential abusive episode from Brendol. He would be so grateful and I just can't handle ittttt thank youuuu

Free of Charge

😭😭😭😭 Thank you for this! Someone needs to help our boy.

Requests are open ✨

“Tell me,” Brendol says, breaking the silence that had been threatening to swallow the room whole, “exactly how idiotic can you manage to be?” There’s nothing Armitage can say in response, but his father waits anyways, determined to embarrass him, and the worst part about it is—even after all this time—his tactics still work. Armitage clenches his fists tighter in his lap, determined not to show any weakness.

“General, I-”

“I’m not interested in hearing any excuses, boy!” the man shouts, banging his fist down on the board room table, and a few of the other officers jump at the sound. Armitage refuses to break eye contact with his father, but his palms are becoming slick inside of his leather gloves and the prickling sensation at the back of his neck grows stronger as he anticipates the worst possible outcome. It’s alright, he tries to soothe himself, he’s all talk. There are still witnesses. The silence returns, oppressive and heavy and no one will look at Armitage—the other officers flitting their eyes from place to place and refusing to land anywhere near him. They’re all pretending that he’s not there, and somehow that’s worse than being seen as a failure in front of his peers because Brendol is determined to make it so, and he is a man who always gets what he wants.

“Everyone out,” Brendol’s voice is a dangerous hum, and the other men practically trip over themselves as they leap out of their seats. The race to the doorway is quick and quiet, and soon the shuffling stops and Armitage is alone with his father.

“I have given you every opportunity to complete this one simple task, and yet you have failed me still. How can you expect to advance in this organization when you can’t complete one simple fucking task?” Armitage blocks out the crescendos of his father’s voice, and retreats into a safer space, deep in the back of his mind. His father’s words begin to blur together, the same insults and abuse repeated once again. Armitage could still get out of this, if he stays quiet. If he stays firm. After all, Brendol is still wearing his gloves, which means that the worst of it is not yet on the horizon.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!” His father reaches out too fast for Armitage to dodge, grabbing him by the jaw and holding him tight, forcing him to take in the arrant loathing on Brendol’s face. The grip of his father’s hand burns along his jawline, but he knows it won’t bruise. Brendol has perfected the ability to cause his son pain without leaving any visible markings; he’s had a lifetime to do it. Armitage resists the urge to shift out of his father’s grasp but he’s losing his nerve, and just when the pain reaches a breaking point, his father lets go. A wave of nausea rolls through him as he watches his father begin to remove the leather covering his hands. 

“It seems I have to teach you a lesson, boy, and this will not be one that you soon forget.” Brendol’s gloves hit the table with a soft slap as Armitage braces himself for the first punch, but he can never be sure where his father will strike. Maybe it’s his imagination, but Brendol seems less controlled than the last time, a little more wild, and those bruises had stayed around for weeks; the shame for much longer. Would it be worse? It’s impossible to say, and the only thing Armitage can think of to calm himself is rather disappointing: it will have to end eventually.

The door slides open without warning, the mechanical swish echoing loudly off the walls in the empty room. Brendol drops his fist and turns to the source of the noise, taking his eyes off Armitage, and he looks to the door as well, curious to see who was brave enough to interrupt the general in a moment like this one.

You’re standing there in the doorway, fresh from your most recent assignment, and for a moment Armitage allows himself to be happy to see you, and happier this time, knowing that you had inadvertently delayed something awful.

“What is it?” Brendol asks, and his demeanor is changed now that he realizes it’s you. He reaches for his gloves and forces them back over his hands, seemingly composed, his previous rage gone, at least for the moment. Armitage isn’t sure if he believes in a higher power, but right now he’s ready to thank the Maker as you stroll through the doorway and into the conference room. There are many bounty hunters employed by the First Order with more experience than you, but you’ve certainly made a name for yourself already, quickly becoming a favorite of his father. This successful mission would be the 33rd that you’ve completed for Brendol … not that Armitage was keeping track.

“Sorry to interrupt, General,” you say, “I just came to report that the target has been eliminated, as requested.”

“Excellent,” Brendol says, and he claps his hands together with approval, “I’ll have the credits transferred to your account immediately.” He reaches for his data pad to initiate the transfer, and Armitage hears him mumble under his breath, “at least someone can do their job right.”

A blush rises to Armitage cheeks—one of the few reactions he hasn’t yet learned how to control—and he hopes that you didn’t hear the taunt. It’s one thing to look incompetent in front of the other officers aboard the ship, but in front of you …

“Thank you, general,” you say, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the blaster strapped to your thigh as you wait. Your eyes land on Armitage, and he stiffens under your gaze, his neck growing warm under the collar.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” you nod to him, and Armitage can hardly speak. He had been under the impression that you didn’t know who he was, and your acknowledgement, in addition to the relief that his father’s hands had been stayed momentarily, is more than he can currently bear. His throat is dry—he’s not sure what he would say even if he could speak—so he opts to nod instead. Once again Armitage is forced to thank whatever higher power out there that his father is still distracted with the credit transfer. If Brendol noticed the effect you had on him, he would never be able to escape the torment the man would enact.

“The transfer has been initiated,” Brendol drops his data pad back on the table, and any pleasant feeling Armitage had experienced from your recognition has quickly disappeared, replaced with the dread of facing his father alone once again. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have to deal with my son.”

“Actually, sir, I was hoping I could discuss something with the lieutenant briefly.” 

Armitage’s eyes snap to his father, waiting to see his reaction. It’s obvious that Brendol is surprised by your request, traces of anger flashing across his face, but his father is capable of being charming when needed, and he masks his annoyance.

“Why?” Despite his attempts to cover it, there’s still a hint of disgust in Brendol’s voice, one that always appears when Armitage is brought up, but you don’t seem to notice.

“It’s nothing, really, just a bit of intel I picked up and thought I’d pass along. I know you’re a busy man, General, and I’d love to explain it to you directly but I have urgent business on Hosnian Prime and I need to return to my ship as soon as possible. I thought it might be easier for you if I reported to the Lieutenant now on the way back to the hangar, and he could impart the information to you when it would be more convenient.”

Brendol looks to his son, and Armitage tries to seem disappointed, annoyed even, under his father’s gaze. He knows that if Brendol suspects that leaving with you would bring Armitage any kind of pleasure, he would immediately refuse. Apparently his act is sufficient, because Brendol hesitates, and then concedes.

“Very well,” he says, “but we’ll continue this conversation later.” Armitage can’t find any place in his mind to worry about that now; he’s too elated at the thought of spending a moment alone with you, and finally being away from his father.

You walk silently down the corridors of the ship at a leisurely pace, and Armitage grows nervous. Should he say something to you? He tries to muster the courage, but he can’t think of the right words when he’s too busy sneaking glances from the corner of his eye. He thinks he’s being subtle, but you catch him looking and look back, a small smirk on your face.

“There was no intel, in case you were wondering,” you say, “but I thought you might want an excuse to get away.”

“Oh?” Armitage is not feeling very articulate, and it’s the only thing he can manage to say in response as he tries to process all the information he’s being presented: the fact that you know who he is—which is already disorienting enough on its own—and that you recognized the threat Brendol posed, then still put yourself at risk for Armitage’s sake. He’s never had someone look out for him like this before.

“I haven’t known the general for long, but I’ve seen enough to know that he’s a man who has lived to control others through fear,” you look straight ahead as you speak, and Armitage is afraid to hear you talk this way. Statements like that could be seen as treason, even if you weren’t an official member of the Order.

“The general is a good leader,” Armitage says, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears, “a strong leader. The one that we need.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you respond, so casual in your defiance of one of the most powerful men in the galaxy, “leaders who control others through terror are easily overpowered. No one stays afraid forever.” Oh, how Armitage wishes that were true. He should not be participating in this conversation, but he likes to hear you speak. The ease with which you defy his father is refreshing, and maybe a little addicting. Maybe his father’s abuse is not as inevitable as he once thought.

“Then who do you think would make a good leader?” 

“Actually, Lieutenant, I would say you.” A solid swell of pleasure wells up in Armitage’s chest, and he has to swallow it down before he can speak again.

“What?” He needs you to say more, knows that he could live off your praise for the rest of his life, and he wants to take in as much as he can before he has to face his father again.

“I mean, I’m no expert, of course,” you say then, stopping outside the entrance to your ship and turning to face him, “but I have seen you work with some of the other men here, and they seem to have a decent amount of respect for you, when the general isn’t around,” you shift from foot to foot, delaying your departure, “I think that you would make a fine general for the First Order.”

“Thank you,” The gratitude falls unbidden and unplanned from his lips, even though it’s not enough; Armitage can’t possibly express how much your words mean to him. It’s not just the compliment that he values, but all of it: your candor, your aid in escaping his father, and most of all, that you noticed him. The weight of it all is making it hard for him to breathe, but he thinks he could die happily, if it was in your presence. You step closer to him, lowering the volume of your voice so that only he can hear, and he wants to engrave this moment to memory—the sound of your whisper in his ear, the electric feeling of you in such close proximity.

“I know how you feel,” you say, “and I know what it’s like to be treated poorly by someone who is supposed to care for you. So if you ever find yourself in need of my services for, ah, personal reasons, just know that I’ll take care of him, free of charge.” You step away from him and onto the loading dock of your ship, turning back once more before you leave.

“Whatever you decide, you know how to find me,” you wink when you say it, and Armitage nods in confirmation. You disappear into your ship, but he doesn’t leave the hangar just yet, wanting to stay in this feeling for as long as possible. Suddenly, facing his father doesn’t seem so daunting, and he thinks that he will take you up on your offer. There’s not much he wouldn’t do, if it meant seeing you again.

[dancingsparks]

When The World Was Asleep

I wrote this for the incredible and wonderful @fictional, to say happy birthday and express how happy I am that we are friends.

Thank you @randoyoyo and cigal for beta-reading this fic and making it better.

Also on Ao3

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Draco doesn’t dare to speak above a whisper, heart beating high in his throat and cold creeping up his feet. (He really wishes he wore shoes, but Draco has raided the Manor's kitchen often enough to know that sneaking is easier in socks. Some things are worth the cold.)

“Yes, absolutely certain. 100%. Why, are you scared?” Theo is smirking back at him, the Lumos giving his face an eerie shine. Draco scowls at him. He is not afraid, he is not a baby after all!

Although, it is quite dark here. And they are all alone, in a castle they haven’t even begun to learn, twisting staircases sworn against them and ill-tempered portraits Draco doesn’t yet know well enough to bribe potentially watching and reporting their every move. Draco doesn’t even want to know what could happen if they were found out — surely there would be consequences.

Most importantly, his mother wouldn’t like it. Draco can already see her disappointed frown, the way she would hold the letter detailing Draco’s failure, looking from the lines the spot where Draco would be standing, praying to Merlin the ground would swallow him to escape her lecture. It would be useless to hope, foolish and far too late by then, her disapproval long since conveyed and shame hanging heavy over him.

Perhaps they shouldn’t do this. It was a bad idea, wandering through poorly lit corridors on nothing but promises, doomed to –  

“Hey Draco, calm down. You trust me, don’t you?” That’s a big thing Theo is asking here, trust, but Draco finds himself nodding before he even realises that.

That is how he ended up here in the first place, agreeing too quickly, charmed by a smile. Draco was merely talking about breaking into the kitchen, Theo was the one who suddenly lit up and challenged him to do it. And Draco never could back down from a challenge.

“Good, that’s good. Just remember that and think of the pastries, alright? They will be worth it.” Draco would glare at Theo for treating him like a baby, but the thought of the delicious pastries is enough to spare Theo. Draco can smell them in the air already, can feel them calling out to him, just waiting for him to come and collect them.

“Exactly, so if you are done standing around, we can finally move on.” Draco almost sounds like his father when he uses that tone of voice, all subtle demand and politely covered impatience.

His father is never laughed at, though. It’s lucky for Theo that he is already walking again, or Draco would have to confront him about it. But as it is, Draco is sure they are nearly there, the pastries beckoning him closer and closer —

“Malfoy?” Draco stops, freezing at his name being called. Surely he must have heard wrong. Or maybe it was Theo, who is looking at Draco with wide eyes and, now that Draco thinks about it, actually sounds completely different. It most likely was not Theo. Which means someone is here, someone saw him and Draco needs to find a good excuse if he doesn’t want to be expelled. “What are you doing here?”

Now that he thinks about it, Draco knows that voice. Too young to be a professor, too suspicious to be a friend, oddly hostile from the very first moment — Potter. Of course, it has to be Potter. Of course.

Draco can only hope that Theo is still undiscovered, hidden in the shadows and disappearing back into them with a meaningful look. He’ll get the pastries while Draco stays and distracts Potter. Fantastic. At least Potter is easily handled, the only thing Draco has to do is make sure he has all of his attention. Draco has charmed enough of his father’s friends to know he can do that.

“Potter, such a nice surprise to meet you here!” A lie, obviously. Draco has never been less happy to see Potter.

Potter frowns even harder than before, which would be an admirable thing had anyone else done it (it still is, but Draco absolutely refuses to acknowledge that). Draco gifts him with his best smile, the one that convinces the house-elves to secretly bring him hot chocolate whenever he wants and more often than once made his mother smile when she was sad. Potter, however, looks more confused than anything else.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer the question.” In truth Draco was hoping for exactly that. Apparently everything must be difficult with Potter. “I’ll ask again: what are you doing here?”

Draco has to resist turning around and checking the corridor Theo disappeared into. Potter might not be particularly smart (proven by his choice of clothes and friends) but even he would realise he is being masterfully distracted. No, Draco has to keep him here, too wrapped up in Draco to think of anything else. Only, now that his smile was not as appreciated as it deserves to be, Draco doesn’t know what else to do.

Draco isn't often helpless, but when he does find himself in such a situation, he knows a sure way out of them: what would his father do?

Lucius Malfoy surely never had to cover up pastry-smugglings, but Draco has seen him steer away nosey Ministry employees often enough to learn a thing or two.

Draco draws himself up to his full height, head held high and posture impeccable. He is taller than Potter, and Draco makes sure Potter knows that too, forcing him to look up at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have permission to be here.”

Potter doesn’t believe him. He also doesn't answer the heavily implied do you have permission? He just stands there, glaring at Draco and not convinced at all. Draco can do better than this.

“You see, Professor Snape”, Draco watches with satisfaction as Potter’s expression darkens, “he trusted me with a special task. I’m afraid you can’t be trusted with the details —” That was the wrong thing to say.

Potter is a brute, half-wild and without manners. Draco really should have known that after he so rudely refused to shake hands with Draco, but he didn’t think Potter would go as far as attacking him. That is exactly what Potter does though, making low grumbling noises that might be words and lunging at him, getting dangerously close to Draco.

This, Draco thinks, is what his father means when he talks about blood supremacy. Muggles are basically animals — less evolved than even some animals, one might argue — and the only thing they are good at is spreading their filth and tainting everything they touch. And blood, more than anything else, is vulnerable as much as it is strong.

Potter, however, stops, a few inches away from choking the life out of Draco, staring at something over his shoulder. Which is extremely rude, even for Potter. If he is going to attack someone he can at least look at them at them while he does it. That’s just basic decency.

“Brought your friends, did you Malfoy? I should have known. His Highness doesn’t go anywhere by himself, after all.” Friends? What is Potter talking — Theo. Theo must have returned, carelessly didn’t check if Potter was still around and now Draco’s pastries are in danger.

This might be worse than being killed by Potter (he would at least die a mourned martyr, sure to be avenged).

Draco has to think fast if he wants any chance of turning this disaster around. He knows exactly what his father would do: smoothly hint at generous donations waiting in the future, promise his support or silence on certain matters. Lucius Malfoy is good at making people see reason, and he made sure Draco knows every trick there is. That also involves judging when the effort is worth the outcome though. Potter, in his stubborn naivety and annoying moral righteousness — bribing him would be exhausting and require more time than he has. While Draco would love to wear him down, prove that Potter is not better than him, much as he likes to act it, he needs to be smart about this.

“Oh, you mean Theo? He is just carrying — well, you don’t need to know what he is carrying. Professor Snape would not be pleased to hear we are talking about his best-kept secrets so freely.” Potter’s eyes light up, focusing on the basket as if he could coax it’s secrets by staring hard enough. Draco would call that a full success, very quietly so no one can overhear and mess with the next steps of his brilliant scheme.

“What are you bringing him?” Potter’s voice is a hilarious mixture of horrified and interested, wanting to know more despite himself. Exactly as planned. Draco can hardly keep the proud expression of his face.

“I couldn’t possibly tell you! He would be very angry if he heard.” That finally gets Potters attention again, looking at Draco instead of the pastries.

Potter is thinking hard, studying Draco as if looking for a trap. He won’t find it though, Draco is too smart to be caught.

“What if I promise not to tell anyone?” It doesn’t escape Draco that, as eager as Potter sounds, he hasn’t actually promised not to tell. Did Potter notice too? More likely he simply plans on breaking his promise, that Potter should possess a stealthy wit as doubtful as him not telling Weasley the first chance he gets. That’s fine with Draco, once they are out of this situation, they can deny everything. Who is going to believe Potter over them?

Draco makes a great show of considering Potter’s proposal, glancing between him and the pastries, watching him grow more and more impatient. It’s only Theo’s subtle cough that startles him out of his game, Draco could have gone on all night.

“Alright, as long as you promise not to breathe a single word about this!” Potter still doesn’t promise, only nods vaguely as he pushes past Draco to look into the basket. Draco would be insulted if Potter wasn’t neatly falling into Draco's trap, his face lighting up as he discovers the pastries.

“You are bringing pastries to Snape? Ron swore that old bat sucks blood out of students at night. Just wait until he hears …” Potter trails off, finally realising what ‘not telling anyone’ means. If it wasn’t so bothersome, Draco could almost admire his loyalty.

“Now Potter, you better remember what you promised. You said you would keep the secret.” Potter looks conflicted for all but a second, before he juts his chin out and crosses his arms, turning to scowl at Draco. He probably means to look determined, hoping Draco won’t argue with what he says next, but Draco really wants to tell him he looks like a pouting toddler. He would, too, if it wasn’t important to the plan that Potter feels he has the upper hand here.

So Draco doesn’t say it; instead he focuses on the picture he makes and tries his best to commit it to memory to tease him later.

“I think I changed my mind about that, Malfoy. It doesn’t seem fair to me, that you get all these pastries and I have to keep the secret and not get even one.” Draco doesn’t point out that they shouldn’t get pastries either, that in this scenario, Snape would want them all for himself. This is what Draco aimed for after all, to bribe Potter with pastries into letting them go without Potter realising he is being manipulated. It’s by far the most effective way out.

After some grumbling and watching Potter look smug, once again interrupted by Theo (why did Draco bring him again?) Draco heaves a sigh and gestures at the pastries. “Fine, you may choose one. You are lucky I feel generous tonight.”

Potter snorts but doesn’t answer him. Draco is oddly disappointed at that.

“They all look good, how am I supposed to choose one?” That is a problem Draco can relate to, the first sign that Potter does have some decent values after all.

“Just take a treacle tart, you’ll like it.” Potter grins at him, forgetting for a moment that he doesn’t like Draco, and takes the pastry. Theo looks bored out of his mind, but Draco can’t bring himself to care, not when he can watch Potter have his first taste of the tart.

Saying Draco is nervous as he watches him chew would be too much, but he definitely wants to know how Potter likes it. Not that he cares about Potter’s opinion, obviously, this is purely about making sure he judged him right. That’s all there is to it.

Draco forgets all about justifying his nerves at Potter’s slow smile.

“This is really good. Who would have thought you have such good taste, Malfoy?” Potter smiles at him, half of his face covered in crumbles from the sweet pastry, his eyes almost friendly. Draco wants to answer something snide, something about how they are all lost if Potter were to be a judge of good taste, but he is completely lost in that smile. It’s unfair, that Potter can make him lose his mind with nothing but a smile, that he looks so handsome despite the crumbs on his face.

Draco doesn’t want Potter to ever stop smiling at him.

“While this is all very nice, Draco and I do have to go now. Snape is waiting and all that. Goodnight, Potter.” Draco could curse Theo as he drags him away, forcing him to leave Potter standing all alone, the pastry still in his hand and the smile growing smaller.

“Get it together Malfoy, how much longer did you want to stand around there?” Right, yes. Draco was not supposed to take this long, to stare at Potter and think about how nice he looks. Thank Merlin Theo was there to remind him of his priorities.

(If Draco finds his thoughts slipping back to that night and Potter’s smile, if he ever thinks about maybe offering Potter a second treacle tart to see that smile again and break the silence hanging over the moment, well, no one has to know.)

***

Draco never liked the dark. It’s the oldest of cliches, fear of the unknown, embarrassing and pathetic, but not even his father’s increasingly reckless attempts at conquering this weakness could cure him. No, Draco never liked the dark and he still doesn’t, but it’s getting harder and harder to escape.

It’s easy enough to distract himself during the day, to sneer and scoff and flaunt derision like a shield around him. But at night, laying in a bed, sleep long since abandoned, there is nothing to hide him from the looming shadows. Draco tried to ignore them, pretended he didn’t know where his father kept disappearing to, kept his head down and hoped things would be over before they started. It was foolish and naive, the prayers of a scared little boy still believing in miracles and heroes.

Somewhere along the way, Draco lost his ability to deny the undeniable. He can’t act like everything is normal anymore, like Potter is just a demented nut-case clamouring for attention.

Damned Potter, he really has an aggravating predilection of ruining Draco’s life. Of course he has to be involved in this nightmare, always the root of chaos. The public might not believe Potter, might be better than Draco at deliberate ignorance, but Draco knows Potter is responsible for this. And yet Potter has the gall to run around like he is the victim here, suffering and moping and making sure everyone is aware of it. Draco can’t stand it.

Arguably the worst thing is that he can’t even complain about the git effectively. There are things better not talked about, and while making fun of Potter’s hair used to be enough, it doesn’t address the real problem anymore. Most likely it never did in the first place, but back then Draco was better at ignoring his problems. These days they never leave him, imposing in silent judgement, impossible to forget or outrun.

That doesn’t mean that Draco doesn’t try. He might have lost his naivety, but he is still stubborn. So he keeps on not acknowledging the truth beyond conceding its existence, keeps on walking and tells himself he doesn’t realise the darkness is gaining ground, that things will crumble very soon.

At least this way, his magic keeping up the small ball of light, his feet carrying him through the now familiar corridors, Draco feels like he has some control left, the semblance of a choice.

Draco is in fact so determined to just walk straight ahead and tune out everything else, that he doesn’t realise he isn’t as alone as he thought until he runs into someone else. And it’s undeniably someone Draco collides with, their hands grabbing his arms for balance and their heads knocking together. It’s painful and undignified and the absolute last thing Draco needs.

“Watch where you’re going, you arrogant wanker.” Draco moves past them, hoping to avoid having a conversation and get on with his brooding.

“That’s rich coming from you.” He knows that voice, would recognise it anywhere — Potter. Of course it’s Harry bloody Potter. Just when Draco thought this night couldn’t possibly get worse.

“Potter, what a pleasant surprise to meet you here.” Potter looks tired, the small light casting shadows on his face and revealing the dark circles under his eyes, the mussed mess of his hair. Potter looks about as wretched as Draco feels. And yet here he stands, head high in defiance and daring Draco to comment. Potter has always been stupidly brave.

Draco doesn’t know how to deal with him, with how uncompromisingly Potter reflects the emotions Draco tries so hard to bury in himself.

“Can’t say the pleasure is mutual.” There is something about the way Potter says it, hollow and not quite there, the most obvious retort that Draco would have perhaps expected from Weasley, but that seems far too flat for Potter. It grates on him, already unsettled by Potter’s appearance and his pent-up frustration, oddly offended by Potter’s lack of originality in his jape.

This isn’t like Potter at all, devoid of any tangible emotion, eyes glazed over, entirely too still. Potter looks vacant, not really present, staring right through Draco and seeing nothing. This goes beyond one night of little sleep, beyond simply being startled by running into Draco. Now that he considers it, Potter has been like this for weeks now, even months, maybe.

Draco never thought this day would come, but he misses Potter. He misses poking Potter’s temper and watching his anger flare up, wants to see the spark in his eyes and hear his voice full of — right. Draco didn’t realise he spent quite this much time thinking about Potter. Or that it would hit him this hard to see Potter hurt.

For some reason, that only makes Draco angrier.

Who does Potter think he is? Standing there all sad and vulnerable, sparing Draco not even a glance, too absorbed in his misery. This was supposed to be Draco’s escape, the one time of the day that he can just exist and — admittedly — indulge his own misery for a few hours. But Potter has to steal these too, hasn’t he?

Well, Draco is done letting Potter take whatever he wants. He has seen enough, has limited himself to comments and observations when he should have stepped in far sooner. And now see where it got him. Draco’s life is falling apart, Potter is once again claiming the spotlights and nothing is making sense anymore.

Potter still just looks through him, not moved at all and standing far too close — why does he stand this close? No wonder Draco can’t think, not with Potter crowded against him and invading his mind, leaving him no space to move let alone form thoughts. If Draco could just get some space, just some time to consider all of this, preferably away from Potter and his oppressive quiet.

It’s too much, Potter close enough to count the freckles on his face but so far away, emotions whirling inside Draco and refusing to settle down, everything loud and hurt and so full — Draco pushes Potter away.

There is an unexpected rush of giddy satisfaction cursing through him, seeing Potter stumble and knowing Draco is the one who made him lose his footing — it’s an intoxicating kind of power like Draco never felt before.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Finally. This is the Potter Draco wants, spitting mad and glaring, anger coiling around him and his eyes boring into Draco.

This is exactly what Draco needed, not to wander alone in these drab halls or to turn his thoughts over and over again. No, all he needed was Potter, shoving him hard against the wall, his fury burning away everything else.

“What? Nothing more to say? Pathetic, Malfoy. I thought you had more fight than that.” The words are whispered into his ear, Potter’s breath hot against his face, his hands holding Draco’s wrists, pressing him into the wall with his fight.

As loath as Draco is to admit it, Potter is right. This fight was embarrassingly short. It can barely even be classified as a fight, not with how easily Potter restrained him.

As cleansing as Potter’s anger might be, Draco resents being handled like this, like it doesn’t take any effort at all to keep him pinned. Potter is lucky Draco can’t reach his wand, or their positions would be turned before Potter realised what happened. Then Draco would be the one smirking.

Unfortunately, all Draco can actually do is struggle in Potter’s hold, trying to free his hands and push him off. Potter only laughs at his efforts, that bastard.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit Potter, I’m simply too sophisticated to excel in this brutish muggle brawling. Figured you would be good at it, considering —”

“Merlin, Malfoy, just shut up for once, would you?” Before Draco can respond to that, can even think of what to say to that, Potter is kissing him.

If it can be called a kiss, that is, brutal and biting, much more forceful than any of the tentative kisses Draco shared before. Much better too. Potter knows exactly what he wants, hands gripping tightly at his hair, pulling Draco’s head up to meet him, crowding him closer against the wall.

It’s overwhelming, Potter’s lips on his, the desperate noises he makes, his hair between Draco’s fingers, everything hot around them, muffled, nothing as important as Potter kissing him, demanding more and more until Draco’s lungs burn from the lack of air.

Draco never wants him to stop.

Potter breaks away suddenly, panting heavily and staring at Draco in wonder, the hands in his hair softened to almost cradling Draco’s face. Potter’s eyes are glazed again, unfocused from pure pleasure and because of Draco, this time. It’s a far better look on him.

No matter how good Potter looks like this though — lips red and kiss-bitten, skin flushed dark, hair a mess — Draco wants him closer again. He wants to feel his hunger again, wants to lose himself in Potter and see what noises he can get him to make, wants to brace himself against Potter’s ferocity and forget the world around them.

Potter stubbornly resists Draco tugging his hair to get him back down. It’s a whole new kind of cruelty Draco didn’t think him capable of, taunting him with being so near and so out of reach. He leans over Draco and just looks at him, Potter’s fingers tracing his cheekbones, his nose, his lips, sending shivers down his spine. It's wonderful and tantalising and not enough, not what Draco wants.  

“Are you going to kiss me again, or what?” The moment the words leave his mouth, Draco wishes he hadn’t said them.

Potter breaks away as if suddenly realising just who he is pressed up against, glancing up and down the corridor in wild panic and leaving Draco stumbling at the sudden loss. It’s abundantly clear, even without the bewildered look Potter shoots him before turning around and running away — Draco broke the moment, beyond repair.

Alone again in the echoing darkness, Draco can’t help but feel he should have expected this. Good things never last. And whatever else that kiss was (fantastic, consuming, addictive, tender, primal) it was definitely a good thing.

***

Potter quite effectively ruined the brooding wanderer thing for Draco. It’s not about escaping anymore, with just one encounter Potter made it all about him. Draco simultaneously hopes and dreads to run into him again. There are only so many nights he could meander through the corridors, not sure what he is looking for and even less certain if he wants to find it.

So, after glaring at Potter and cursing him under his breath, Draco decides he needs a new habit. Something to keep him busy when the night brings truths he doesn’t want to face.

Breaking into the Prefects’ bathroom seemed like the ideal task.

Draco has always enjoyed charms, liked figuring how they all work together to build the most complex of wards and constructions. Plus, dismantling wards is a necessary skill when one is as unabashedly curious as Draco is. With his friends all knowing better than to leave their things unprotected, he learnt early on to sneak past the protective charms they would put on their trunks. All things considered, snooping is a very rewarding fault. Draco learnt more than his fair share of secrets, and the better his friends got at warding, the better he got at evading them.

Even with all that experience though, cracking Hogwarts’ wards seems more than a little daunting. Probably a good thing. Anything else would have been concerning, to say the least. Since Draco has no intention of actually breaking in though, that hardly matters. It’s about the puzzle, the thrill of discovering something new in the never ending maze that is Hogwarts.

Draco wouldn't turn down a bath either, should he by some miracle find a way through. He heard enough whispered fantasies about the spigots, dazzling scents and iridescent bubbles to know only an utter fool would decline when opportunity presents itself. It doesn’t even need the added intrigue of access being restricted to snatch Draco’s attention. If the rumours are to be believed, it’s the most luxurious space Hogwarts has to offer. Maybe Draco would finally find something in this castle that satisfies his standards.

Thus prepared to spend the night sitting in front of a locked door, mind deep in complex magic work and all his problems forgotten, Draco thinks he can be forgiven for some befuddlement when the heavy door gives under his pro forma nudge. And he really can’t be faulted for going inside, not when the door is already open in an invitation that could not be clearer.

In fact, the one thing that Draco will take any critique on is stopping in surprise once he sees who’s already in there. Because of course it would be sodding Potter.

The only saving grace here is that Potter looks as shocked as Draco to see him.

They probably both should have expected this. After all, fate does have a way of throwing them together. But standing here, the air humid and filled with glittering bubbles, too many scents all around to name them, Draco doesn’t think of fate and how he should resent being forced back to Potter again and again.

This is the last thing Draco expected. He thought he would be safe from Potter and the haunting thoughts about that kiss, that he could postpone untangling the mess of emotions the memory causes in him. The most spectacular thing Draco was prepared to handle was someone catching him tinkering with the wards and having to come up with a cover. Instead he stares like an idiot, none of his excuses fitting and torn between joining Potter and getting out of here.

“You can stop staring now, Malfoy. I was here first and I refuse to leave.” Right, that settles it then. Draco can’t leave now, not when it would look like admitting defeat after what Potter just said. If Potter doesn’t have a problem with this … unorthodox situation, Draco doesn’t either. Any embarrassment he might feel is shoved down without acknowledgement, the heat blamed for his flush and the surprise for his hesitation. Yes, Draco is completely fine.

He closes the door and steps further into the room, closer to Potter. Potter who, to Draco’s immense satisfaction, clearly didn’t expect him to come in.

“I suppose we'll just have to share then, Potter.” It’s a miracle Draco is able to keep his composure and not let his nerves show, smoothly covering the uncertainty bubbling up in him with a teasing smirk.

Malfoy’s aren’t flustered, not even when they are about to bathe with an arch-nemesis they have confusing feelings for.

Before he can change his mind and bow to the increasingly loud voice in him demanding he get out of here as fast as possible, Draco strips himself of his clothes. There is nowhere private to change, a glaring oversight in planning that is easier to focus on than the awareness of Potter’s eyes on him. Seriously, who designed a bathroom with absolutely no space to hide? It speaks of nothing but incompetence and sloppiness and if Draco could he would —

The moment he is naked Draco flees into the relative cover the foam provides. It’s regrettably less opaque than he hoped, not actually offering much of a wall between him and Potter. At least Potter who finally realised how rude staring is and looks into the opposite direction, blushing up to his roots and shifting where he sits, collecting more foam around himself. It does nothing to obscure the view.

“Enjoying your bath, Potter?” Draco wishes something would break out of the water and swallow him whole. How did he think that was a good idea to say out loud? It’s almost excessive in how embarrassing it is, causing Draco to flush in what he knows is a most unflattering shade of red and Potter to turn back towards him, splashing widely and spluttering.

Well, at least he got Potter’s attention. Draco firmly believes that anything that gets him Potter’s attention can’t be completely horrible. He might have to rethink that one though.

“Am I — what are you even doing here?” It's a good question, Draco has to concede that much.

“I believe I have as much right to be here as you do.” Which boils down to essentially no right at all, not that it matters right now. Although — “I would like to know what you are doing here. Aren’t you supposed to be a paragon of goodness? That means no breaking and entering, not even for purple bubbles.”

“I didn’t break in! I know the password.” Potter looks triumphant for all but a second, before he frowns. Draco has the uncomfortable suspicion that he could watch Potter think all day, expressions flickering over his face and eyes lighting up in excitement or righteous indignation.

“I knew last year’s password, which probably shouldn't have worked ...” Potter trails off here, staring at Draco with wide eyes as he realises the implications of his sentence.

“Hogwarts simply let you in as well? Why even bother with wards if she makes exceptions for everyone who is passing by?” Draco doesn’t think he said anything indecent, but Potter looks at him in alarm.

“Are you telling me Hogwarts set us up?” Draco can only stare at Potter, the question asked in all seriousness and whispered as if afraid someone could overhear.

Potter’s sudden paranoia is enough to infect Draco, making him suspicious of the walls around him. He didn’t consider this, that Hogwarts could have brought them, specifically Potter and Draco, here to — for what exactly?

This suddenly feels like a very bad romance, the ones Pansy likes to read even though she doesn’t admit it. The main characters, fighting since the day they met, unexpectedly locked up together and discovering long hidden secrets in the steaming bath. Draco can almost see the cover already. They would hold each other in a passionate embrace, looking deep into each others eyes as if —

“Hello Harry, how nice and unexpected to meet you here!” There is the ghost of a girl suddenly sitting between them. Draco is too surprised to do anything but stare at her, nestling up against Potter and ignoring his horrified expression.

“Myrtle! Hi, I, I didn’t … what are you doing here, Myrtle?” Potter evidently knows the girl, though he seems as surprised as Draco by her appearance and not at all pleased, scooting away in futile attempts to create some space between them.

This is not something Draco was prepared to deal with — neither Potter, nor Myrtle and least of all the bizarre relationship they apparently have — and Draco would be lying if he said he doesn’t mind being eclipsed by her, but he is also very intrigued. Myrtle has been here for only a few seconds and has already created quite the spectacle, and Draco rather enjoys seeing Potter this flustered.

“Oh I was just passing by, terribly alone and looking for a friend … and now here you are.” Her speech is interrupted by an excessive amount of sighing and significant looks Potter is too busy scooting to see. It’s all very dramatic. Draco fully approves.  

“Yes, right, here I am. Myrtle, would you mind—” She talks right over him, nodding eagerly up until that point but not interested in listening to Potter’s plea. Draco supposes that is just as well, she likely would have ignored it anyway and if Potter doesn’t learn to speak up he really can’t expect people to respect his wishes.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” Potter evidently does remember, choking on air inhaled too fast and coughing inconveniently loud, obscuring most of what Myrtle says. Draco isn’t sure whether to be grateful or disappointed that he doesn’t hear what is sure to be a colourful retelling of their last meeting. “I was hoping we could —”

“Myrtle, have you met Draco Malfoy?” Oh, that’s him. Myrtle’s head whirls around worryingly fast, eyes pinning him in place as she inspects him. It’s a very tense few seconds in which she scrutinises him with more seriousness than Draco thought her capable of, before she giggles and waves at him. Draco isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks he passed some kind of test.

“So Draco, how do you know my Harry?” Potter sputters and curses next to her, denying the claim of possession in the most clumsy way possible. Really, Myrtle should have picked someone with grace and grandeur to fawn over, she deserves better than Potter’s foul mutterings. Though Draco has to admit, there is something oddly endearing in the way Potter tries so hard to be polite, to let her down gently.

“He cruelly rejected my offer of friendship, can you imagine? We have been sworn enemies ever since.” Draco is too busy smirking at Potter’s glare to fully listen to Myrtle’s maudlin reaction to this ‘tragedy of destined souls’, but it sounds appropriately overbearing and Potter is still charmingly embarrassed, so he doesn’t really care.

“He rejected me too, you know.” That gets Draco’s attention again, Myrtle bends towards him as far as possible while pressed against Potter, voice pitched low to a conspirator murmur. “I offered him a place to stay with me should he unfortunately die on one of his little adventures, but he stubbornly refuses to die! And he never visits, though he always promises he will.”

That is indeed very scandalous, Potter looks ready to die right here and now, and Draco can’t hold his laughter back for much longer. This entire situation is too ridiculous. Myrtle’s overbearing presentations, Potter clearly desperate to be literally anywhere else, the fact that this is likely a regular occurrence — how is anyone not supposed to laugh at how preposterous it all is?

“I told you I’m sorry for not visiting more often. I’ll try to come by soon, okay?” It’s a desperate plea that not even Potter himself believes in, and Myrtle shakes her head in disappointment.

“You always say that, you never do though.” Before Potter has a chance to defend himself against the not-quite-accusation, Myrtle dives back into the waters with a last despairing howl. Rather more sudden than Draco expected; but then, so was this entire encounter. Anything else, more normal, would have been disappointing.

Yes, Draco will simply have to make sure that this time, Potter keeps his promise to visit. Draco will drag him there himself, just to make sure.

“You can stop laughing now, you smug bastard.” Draco hadn’t even been realising it, trying to keep the laughter suppressed and apparently only succeeding in holding back the sound while his entire body shakes from it. Well, no sense in holding back anymore.

Potter doesn’t look amused as Draco breaks out laughing, pouting and scowling at him, only making Draco laugh harder.

“Oh, shut up already.” This time Draco really does stop laughing. He supposes anyone would, if they were suddenly aggressively kissed after convincing themselves that it wasn’t going to happen again and they had absolutely no problem with that.  

***

A few kisses shared in secret are no excuse to be this invested. Draco doesn’t know when he started caring and he knows even less how to deal with it. This was never supposed to happen. Things weren’t meant to evolve further than their rivalry, damning enough in its intensity.

Feelings, those are what brings the real trouble.

It might have been alright if they could have continued as they were, accidentally meeting all over the castle, spending sleepless nights together that could be discarded in the light of the day. Draco could have gone on hiding from the growing realisation, could have blamed the orchestrated intimacy of the late hour and never thought about it again.

But Potter just had to get hurt.

Objectively, it’s nothing dramatic. A Quidditch accident, Potter’s had worse. Draco’s heart (foolish, obsessive as it is, unaware of the tragedy it announces with every beat) couldn’t be reasoned with though, demanding he visit Potter to make sure the git is alright. As if Draco could do that better than the highly qualified Mrs. Pomfrey, but Draco’s heart stubbornly ignored logic. It didn’t care that Potter wasn’t supposed to matter like this, that Draco might have stalked into the Hospital Wing to make fun of Potter for his fall, have his fans shoved around a little, maybe, but under no circumstances was Draco meant to become as useless as them, wanting to hold Potter's hand until he is better again.

It’s a despicable weakness Draco wasn’t even aware of, discovered too late to avoid and frightening in its size.

Not that knowing this makes it any easier to deal with. Knowing that visiting Potter with all his friends there would be a bad idea doesn’t mean some part of Draco doesn’t yearn to go, willing to accept the suspicious looks and Potter's facade dripping in false bravado telling everyone he is fine – Draco would have accepted it all as long as he could just be there.

Draco honestly doesn’t know where he found the quite remarkable amount of restraint necessary to keep from throwing away all decorum and give in to his instincts, but he somehow manages to preserve the image of unaffected arch-enemy.

But it’s late now, any reasonable person asleep, no one here except them. It’s rather cruel, how Draco came to crave what doomed him, but he will have to contemplate that later. Potter is more important than Draco’s internal crisis.

“Did you come to laugh at me?” How Draco wishes Potter were right.

It would be so easy, to pretend this is why he’s here, say something rude and insulting about Potter’s skill and watch him fume. But looking at him, pale and thin in the sterile bed, Draco can’t bring himself to say it.

Potter looks horrible, worse than a fall really should be. It fits neatly into the picture of the tragic, hurt hero, and Draco resents that he falls for it. He can’t decide whether this gets better or worse by knowing that it really isn’t an overly-dramatised tale of suffering but Harry, the boy Draco has been catching glimpses of and been meeting with.

If Draco hadn’t known, he could have taunted him with snide remarks and left, feeling smug and superior. It would have been simple, almost no thinking required, what he has done all his life.

Since Draco does know though, he doesn’t answer the question.

Potter doesn’t need to know why Draco really came, doesn’t need to hear about the unpleasant realisation of even more unpleasant feelings, should never learn how much power he holds over Draco.

So, to save himself the embarrassment of an incredibly saccharine answer, Draco silently sits down in the chair next to the bed.

Neither of them is saying anything, Draco because he can’t trust what comes out of his mouth and Potter because he’s a stubborn and childish bastard who lacks the proper decorum to make this more bearable and talk over Draco’s silence. Back in the dorm, pacing and listing the reasons to wait over and over again, Draco didn’t anticipate how awkward this visit would be.

Perhaps Draco should just leave again. After all, he gave in and came here, against all logic, to make sure Potter is alright. And Potter is; painfully frail and quiet but nonetheless fairly healthy and surely back to his obnoxiously bright behaviour tomorrow. No need to remain any longer.

Except that Draco doesn’t want to go. Everything in him rebels against the idea of leaving Potter alone, with no one here should he need something and nothing to do in what is sure to become a long night. What would Draco even do? Sleep is further from his mind than it ever was, his thoughts running with no end in sight, peace unreachable. He would just stand on the other side of the door, too weak to leave and too proud to return.

If Draco is going to stay anyway he might as well try and salvage what dignity he has left. Besides, pacing out in the corridor like a misbehaving dog sent outside is not a very appealing picture. Draco would rather not experience it first-hand.

Not that this stupid chair is a much more comfortable prospect, digging into his back and too small to move around. It’s also bound to become cold sooner rather than later; freezing and cramped up is simply more than Draco is willing to accept.

Before he has much time to think and doubt, Draco stands again, glances up at Harry reaching for him, and climbs onto the bed.

The bed is smaller than it seemed. Too small for two people, really.

Potter is very close, suddenly, their noses almost touching. It’s still all very awkward, Draco balancing over Potter because he intended to move him to the side and stopped in the middle of the movement, Potter looking up at him in confusion, the moment stretched too long.

“Hi there.” It’s probably the stupidest, most uninspired and absurd thing Potter could have said. Draco leans down to kiss his smile.

Things are better after that, novel and strange but thrilling, too. They fit together, not perfectly and not on the first try, but they make it work; Potter’s arms around Draco, clinging like he is afraid Draco will leave, Draco curled around him, hands idly tracing his spine and drawing patterns on his back, protecting Potter from the outside.

Pressed close to Potter, feeling his steady breath under his hands and on his neck, Draco has never slept this deep.

***

Potter is late. He usually is, always getting distracted or too polite to tell people to bother him some other time, but Draco really isn’t in the mood to wait for him today. He’s had a horrible day of friends teasing him over absent-minded smiles and needing to bargain for Theo’s notes because he was too distracted all day to take his own. That alone is annoying enough, but the fact that his behaviour could be interpreted as mooning over a secret boyfriend, all too easily, doesn't help matters. As if Pansy needed any more encouragement.

So yes, Draco would very much like to go to sleep now. Which he won’t be doing until Potter deigns to show up.

It’s moments like these when Draco regrets this whole arrangement. They both sleep better together, that’s undeniable by now, but sometimes he doubts if sleep really is worth all the hassle. Usually that is around the time when Potter storms through the door with some poor excuse, and, snuggled deep under the covers with the steady beat of Potter’s heart lulling him to sleep, Draco always forgets his irritation.

But Potter still isn’t here, and Draco has waited long enough. He’ll simply have to collect the git. Even if that means fishing him out of that dreadfully red common room Potter insists is comfortable. Draco swore he would never set as much as a foot in there, back when they argued over whose bed they should sleep in and Potter refused to acknowledge that Draco’s is obviously the superior choice.

Now that he thinks about it, Potter might actually be trying to goad him into sleeping in his bed. He has been sulking since he finally accepted Draco wouldn’t make any concessions on that point. Potter trying to trick him in such a blunt fashion is not exactly out of the realm of possibilities.

Well, Draco will make sure Potter regrets insulting him like that. The least he could have done is come up with something clever.

Draco does not expect to run into Potter in his own common room, clutching his now fairly useless invisibility cloak to his chest and glaring at his friends. It would make for an amusing picture, if Draco weren't the one who has to answer them all. He really hoped to avoid that. A foolish hope maybe, considering his friends are all terribly nosey and Potter is not subtle in anything he does, but Draco hoped nonetheless.

“Ah Draco, look who I caught trying to sneak in.” Theo’s smirk is far too knowing, far too pleased with himself. Theo knows, and he has no intention of allowing Draco an elegant out.

Potter whirls around at Theo’s words, his entire posture sagging in relief and smiling when he sees Draco. There goes Draco’s last shred of hope that he would somehow be able to salvage this disaster. But Potter smiling at him instead of insulting him? Not many things could possibly explain that happening.

“Trying to smuggle your boyfriend past us, are you?” Daphne is clearly pleased with herself too; judging by her mocking tone though, she hasn’t figured out how close to the truth she has come.

Unaware as she might be, Draco wishes she hadn’t phrased it like that. Potter isn’t his boyfriend, likely never will be, and Draco has come to terms with the reality of that, that Potter is only here because Draco practically forced him and he doesn't have a better option at the moment. Draco doesn’t need Daphne’s snide comment reminding him how precarious the situation is.

“Yes, he is. Anything else you would like to say?” The room falls silent. Everyone (including Draco, to his utter shame) stares at Potter in astonishment. Potter, who glares at Draco’s friends, daring them to object, standing proud and defiant and boldly proclaiming himself Draco’s boyfriend. His boyfriend – Draco likes how that sounds.

Watching him now, every bit the hero everyone expects him to be, undeniably the boy Draco got to know when the world was asleep, Draco finds he doesn’t mind Potter essentially making that decision for him.

Draco still feels stunted, somehow, unsure of the appropriate reaction but giddy excitement threatening to overwhelm him. The one thing he is sure of, is that Potter is standing far too far away for his liking. He also isn’t willing to wait around here until the inevitable teasing and interrogating begins.

“Wonderful, if that's all then, we are going to leave now.” No one dares to protest as Draco takes Potter’s hand and drags him away, Potter himself only smiling and squeezing his hand in return.

Draco doesn’t allow himself to linger on how perfectly their hands fit together, how nice simply touching Potter feels, but this is definitely something he could grow used to.

Looking back over his shoulder and immediately caught in Potter’s bright smile, Draco knows he won’t ever grow used to this, the warmth of affection and happiness flowing through him and making him smile too, impossibly light, the rest of the word fading into insignificance. But that is alright, Draco can’t think of a better future than discovering Potter’s smile every day anew.

[pseudospectre]

Had a conversation recently with some friends about how stories with a heaven/hell dynamic love the idea of fallen angels, but I’ve never seen anything that goes the opposite direction. So I wrote one.  It’s been a long long time since I’ve written anything so please forgive the quality, it was just a quick bit of fun. :)

Rise

I fell for a reason. I burned for a reason. I remember so little of my previous life, so many years, even centuries ago, but I remember that much.  I have no tragic story of innocence betrayed or manipulated, no heart-wrenching tale of self-sacrifice or loss. I was just, as they say, a bastard. That’s all I can tell you, all that survived the fire, so to speak.

They’ll tell you, gleefully, about the hopelessness, when your soul arrives after judgment and they offer you a position. This is all there is left, they say. You are lost, you are evil, this is all you deserve for eternity. Most damned souls don’t truly understand, in my experience. Everyone believes, to some degree, that they were at least all right, in the end. And they fight the idea of damnation and punishment, think somehow that resisting the new temptation and heading to their torment is somehow going to prove that, or help. As if they can weasel out, eventually, if they aren’t contracted. It always seemed remarkably shortsighted; of course you can’t. I already enjoyed the cruelty, I knew what it meant, so the opportunity to spare myself the pain in return for causing it? Well, what is a demon if not selfish? I was fine with the requirements, already there and unsaveable, it’s not like it can be worse? You can either suffer or be a part of the system, and I made a damn good demon. A little hell humor. And that’s supposed to be all there was, the end, fin.

Turns out, they don’t quite give you all of the information

What you need to understand is that there’s a lot of misinformation out there about how all this is set up. Most beliefs have some concept of punishment or reward, but strictly speaking, we’re not really associated with any one in particular. Funnily enough, it has more to do with your social beliefs than whether or not there’s a god. Nobody gives a fuck who’s name you take in vain, for example; it’s all about balance. And there are absolutely folks that fill the roles of what you’d call god or the devil, make no mistake. The cultures that talk about weighing souls have that part the closest, although it’s a hell of a lot more complicated than that, ha. Not that I cared at the time, but actions, with very few exceptions, cannot be good or bad in and of themselves. Something you do nice for someone could in fact have a negative result for someone else down the line, unintentionally or unknowingly. All of that has to be carefully picked apart and scrutinized to truly reach a conclusion, and I’ve even seen a net “loss” overall be rewarded and net gains get descended, based on factors even I don’t understand. Wasn’t my job; I didn’t judge, I just turned the screws on the ones they sent me. But as with any large-scale operation, it’s not infallible. I know it seems like it ought to be, but here we are. Hell, here I am. The thing is, it’s a lot easier to correct an accidental reward than an accidental punishment, because everyone down there wails their innocence. No one believes them, of course, they all think that. There’s no point in following up, usually. Mostly, souls I worked on were one of two things: screamers (self explanatory) or talkers. Talkers are the ones who still think they can wheedle their way out, or want to share their life story again, hoping they can find a loophole or something to get them out. Some of those souls had been there longer than I had, sometimes; pitiful. Didn’t matter to me, I was having a gre- well, it was a time. And then I was passed a recent acquisition for punishment; not that uncommon, although by then I usually mostly had the old-timers who needed the skills of someone who really knew their stuff. But this soul? 

Completely silent.

Really. Didn’t make a sound. Threw me for a huge loop, centuries as a literal nightmare and suddenly, no begging, no crying, nothing. Not even if I taunted, not even when I got started. And in that moment, it became the worst day of my afterlife-me, a piece of shit human voluntarily gone horrifying demon. Because I felt something. First mistake. If I’d stopped there things might have gone on without changing, but I was never what you might have called smart. Average is probably being generous. But I was so bowled over by that little spark of whatever it was-I couldn’t even recognize that it was an emotion, isn’t that sad?- that I made my next mistake: I asked why. Turned out I’d been handed my first actual misjudgment, this poor thing never protested a single action since they got here, never once defended themselves. They’d convinced themselves in life so completely that this is what they would deserve, that they just didn’t have any desire to try to fight it. I asked what they’d been judged for, and they just looked at me, and said they were ready. But when I pushed (at that point I was panicking over whatever was happening in my brain and figured I could count more questions as emotional manipulation or baiting or something) they didn’t list a single thing I had ever heard of stacking up to damnation. Someone at the gates really fucked up, in other words. Someone came in shortly after that and whisked them off, everyone had a good laugh over it for weeks after, jeering and asking me how much I got to put them through before they got picked back up. It should have been easy to join in- before this I would have been in the center of the mockery, but something was wrong, that flare was still inside me and I was having trouble handling it. You ever have a secret and you’re just sure everyone knows what it is just by looking at you? It was like that. And eventually I figured out that’s all it was, just a little bitty emotion, but that almost made it worse because it wasn’t supposed to be there; from what I even knew how all this demon shit worked in the first place, I was pretty sure it wasn’t even possible! But all I had to do to go back to my routine was ignore it, suppress it, reject it. Easy peasy, I’m a goddamn senior demon.

Except, to my shame, I couldn’t let it go. Does that even make sense, a demon feeling shame? Pretty sure that’s what it was at that point. But it was like having a little secret treasure that no one else could see. I would hide it, and then in little moments alone or whatever, bring it out and feel. I didn’t have the context anymore at the time, but now I can compare it to having lived in the dark and suddenly feeling a moment of sun. I had felt sorry for the soul, for just a moment! And the thing about emotions, they can grow the more you think about them. And I started thinking about it a lot. And then I started feeling happy (the horror!) that the mistake was caught and they got to leave. In case it’s unclear, feeling stuff like that for non hell-related reasons makes it pretty hard to do demony things. And if you remember, I’d never felt a whole lot of that kind of thing even before I got here. I literally tortured the souls of the damned, how do you do that when you start feeling sorry for them? But that little crack of light inside me, the shard of humanity, started bring back memories, or at least concepts, from when that’s all I was, and I suddenly started recognizing them as lost. And it hurt? And for the first time, I was mourning. After all, damned is forever. A demon is forever. So I was some weird fluke who caught some feels somehow, it couldn’t change that. But, you know, when your work starts to suffer, people start to notice. They started to talk. And they were right, my game was slipping hard. I felt bad! After a while I couldn’t just not say anything to the ones who just barely tipped the scales! As secretly as I could, I was giving them comfort. And I had to defend myself from my superiors over stuff I couldn’t stomach anymore but had to keep up with, or risk getting kicked back down. The wildest part was, my first thought about losing status wasn’t to save my own skin, of course not….now I was thinking about what the folks I got to talk to would do without those brief moments of respite I’d been passing out.

Point is, I was a demon who didn’t want to be a demon anymore, after centuries of not giving a fuck, and knowing full well that I was solidly fucked and that this was only going to get worse. I was miserable, but I still couldn’t put away the way the tiniest good feelings and I hoarded my experiences like someone who’s drowning clings to a raft. Except this raft was ruining my afterlife, and I didn’t really care for some reason. But I wanted to do my best, and not in the way I was used to. I had no idea what was going to happen but it probably was never going to get better.

But then, the crossroads.

Not the regular demony kind of crossroads. Oh no, I got stuck with the moral kind, although I didn’t realize what it was going to mean at the time. It had gotten bad enough for me that I was back to working under supervision, just like old times, the bad ones from when demons are just getting started. It was hard to do much that way but I’d figured out that even just smiling helps some people apparently? Or at least, once I first figured out how to smile so that they knew it wasn’t a threat. You ever seen a demon? I was not precisely what most people would prefer to look at with any expression. But it was already a hell of a day (more jokes!) and I was apparently near a limit I wasn’t aware of, and we got assigned a new soul. A new soul who didn’t say a word, just like where all of this began. And my supervison grinned at me, and snarled, and raised an arm, and I didn’t even have time to register that I had stepped between them to take the blow. Cheesy, I know. But there was a sound like one of those big industrial light switches snapping off, and it felt like time stopped or something. Maybe it did, I’m still not sure. But the literal, actual judges showed up. I was relieved someone got there so fast before anything else happened, I hadn’t even thought about what was going to happen to me yet. Proof positive I was completely broken by then, hadn’t even thought about my own skin yet. A couple of the judges took the soul away, and I waited for my bosses to show, but the judge still standing there was just watching me. After a moment, they said “Are you coming, or not?”

What.

I don’t think I was processing yet, but I think that’s probably all I actually said. So they gave me a look like you give to the dumbest guy in the room (I’m familiar with it) and said “Are. You coming? You have work to do. Unless you really think you’d prefer to stay?”

“Coming to what? You already picked up the error, it’s not me. Why would they let me leave, anyway? Not that I’m in a hurry to get my asskicking for this.”

There’s that look again. “Then don’t stay for it, they have no claim at the moment. Your balance tipped. Your call, stay, or take your out and rise.”

First time I’d ever heard that word. “……Rise?”

“Yes, rise. I suppose they wouldn’t want it to be common knowledge around here; then again, it means the few cases we get tend to be pretty solidly legitimate. Angels can fall, after all….why couldn’t a demon rise?”

“Sorry, got brimstone in my ears or something, are you telling me, of all creatures, that I’m heading upwards?” I definitely laughed. Demon laughter is very unpleasant. Recognizing this when you’re the one laughing is not fun.

“Something like that. As I said, your call. If you still prefer all of this for eternity, by all means, stick around.”

And that’s how I found out risen demons are a thing.

It’s not easy, no longer being of hell but not being of heaven, but it’s probably easier than you might expect. People think about heaven and hell in terms of punishment and reward, and while this is mostly true, like I said before, it’s really more about balance. The slate’s not wiped clean, but it’s not like I have some impossible restrictive rules that set me up to fail, it’s not like one tiny slip will shoot me back to the inferno, but I have bosses who check in now and then, keep tabs. And they’re here to help me, I’m not just stranded to make my own way. I’m not human, but I’m probably closer to that than I am to angel or demon anymore. And I gotta say, I look a whole lot better. I still put most people off at first, at least a little, but I’m way less spiky and you know. Fewer teeth, fewer arms, that kind of thing. But I guess you could say I’m doing pretty well now, dragging my way back to something I’m not sure I ever was, to be honest. I’m grateful for the chance.

And I’m looking forward to seeing who I can drag along with me, and that part feels pretty good.

[ericdeggans]

Tom Hanks, Fox News and Me: Life at the Center of a Media S#@tstorm

When you write a column that puts you in the middle of a media crapstorm, it is one of the oddest places to sit in modern life.

This happened most recently last week, when Fox News decided to misrepresent a column I wrote urging Tom Hanks to bring antiracist action to his work as a film star, executive producer, writer and all-around upstanding guy in Hollywood.

Their hysterical, inaccurate insistence that I was trying to cancel Hanks turned the column into a massive flashpoint for reaction on social media and otherwise. Unfortunately, it seemed people were often reacting to the column Fox News pundits wish I had written, instead of the measured piece I actually did write.

NPR’s weekly podcast Consider This did an amazing, 16-minute bonus episode featuring me discussing my ideas and conclusions after a couple of days at the center of a Fox News-fed media cyclone. Host Audie Cornish was sharp and insightful, as always, and we covered a lot of the ideas I could only hint at in a longish essay.

But I also came away with a few more observations about trying to talk about race, media and representation in today’s media environment. Here’s a few ideas:

Observation 1: In today’s toxic media culture, if an opponent doesn’t make the argument they want, some media outlets say they did it anyway. Nowhere in my essay does the word “cancel” appear. So how did Fox News and other conservative media outlets get the idea that my column was invoking or part of “cancel culture?”

Newsmax TV ran a segment headlined “NPR writer cancels Tom Hanks.” Fox News host Brian Kilmeade said “cancel culture (is) coming for one of Hollywood’s most beloved stars.” A segment in Fox News’ America’s Newsroom program featured a photo of Tom Hanks with the word “cancelled” plastered across his face. A commentator for The Daily Wire who I do not know and haven’t met said that I must believe “white people are villains” and “this is a man who simply hates white people and can't contain it.”

But I wrote in my column, “These stories of white Americans smashing the Nazi war machine or riding rockets into space are important.” The biggest thing that bothered me about them – and Hanks, who admitted as much in his own essay – was that Black people’s stories were too often left out of those tales. They define a type of American mythos that erases Black people’s presence, and that should change.

These outlets wanted to have a one-sided argument about the unfairness of “cancel culture” – with an added side benefit of demonizing me and NPR. So they pretended my column said something that it did not. They took aim at a fictional version of my work which was much easier to criticize. Just another example of all the ways in which Fox News and some of ideologically focused news outlets often broadcast reports which are not fair, balanced or accurate to serve their political agendas.

And, in an odd aside, none of these outlets contacted me for comment or tried to ask me any questions or asked me to come on their shows to debate what I had written.

Observation #2: It feels weird, as a black person, to say something relatively mild and get accused of acting violently or in an extreme way. It’s something that is already an odd feature of the stereotypes Black people contend with; that sometimes, expressing resistance or a contrary opinion is perceived as more hostile and threatening than it really is.

My column had some pretty mild criticisms of Hanks – mostly that he’s helped shape white-centered history narratives, has the power to correct that situation and should have said so in his own guest essay. But the headlines reporting on my column made it sound like I’d advocated running him out of Hollywood with pitchforks and torches.

The American Conservative’s piece was headlined “Shaming Private Ryan.” Breitbart.com’s piece noted, “NPR TV Critic Hits Tom Hanks…” MRCTV’s story said “Sorry Forrest: NPR Blasts Hanks…” Something called American Ground Radio put up a clip on YouTube called “NPR’s TV Critic…Attacks Tom Hanks…”

The less said about the response I got on social media, the better. But there were emails with the n-word and worse; messages on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook filled with insults and hysteria. The overreaction was knee-jerk, often vulgar and completely out of proportion to the measured tone of both my column and Tom Hanks’ essay.

Part of this, I think, is habit. We are used to talking about controversial race issues in combative ways, for many reasons: the stakes are often so high and getting people to think outside their comfort zones sometimes requires a jarring example to get attention. So conversations about racial oppression are centered on when a calamity has happened – something terrible has happened and now we’re going to try and talk about one of the most combustible subjects in American society.

And there are people who don’t want this conversation to be measured. They want to convince others that change to produce equality will somehow destroy what they have or threaten what they love. For these people, when we all argue about equality rather than discuss opportunity, they have a ready-made example for turning away from progress.

There’s a dynamic in racial issues, particularly in America, called “attributional ambiguity.” It’s the idea that, when ambiguously insulting or negative things happen to non-white people in white-dominated settings, people of color have a tough time judging whether racism is playing a part.

Seeing so many, mostly white pundits accuse me of doing something so much more aggressive than I actually did left me awash with this feeling. Sure, some of it was just ideologues doing what they do. But it felt like that wasn’t the only thing going on here.

Observation #3: It was odd to see so many pundits acts as if a Black media critic had no right to suggest how best to address the suppression of Black stories in Hollywood. So many of the negative reactions I got to the column supposedly looked at the issue from Hanks’ point of view, assuming that he would be put off by being told by a Black writer that he hadn’t done enough to combat the erasure of Black stories from history-based works.

There’s always people who say I am revealing bias and shouldn’t express my opinion, somehow missing the job title which indicates that critical opinion is pretty much the central element of my job. And conservative ideologues are always trying to absolve their followers of trying to address racial inequity by saying that liberals will never be happy with anything they do.

But ultimately, I realized what bugged me the most about these criticisms: A Black critic, who has written about race and media for decades, made suggestions about how to solve the erasure of Black stories from Hollywood, and was told he had no right to start that conversation.

It reminded me of something I learned when I did a lot of reporting and talked to tons of experts about antiracism last summer. Sometimes, when people of color step forward and say what they would like to see in the effort to fight racism, the best thing a white ally can do is listen and help lift up their voice.

Listen. And help lift up their voice.

So often, in today’s always-on, always broadcasting, always reacting media culture, that is the toughest thing to do.

[princesswondora]

Hindsight

Running probably isn’t the smartest decision I’ve made seeing as just two months ago I couldn’t go up the stairs without needing to sit down to catch my breath. Yet I have decided that running is the thing that will save me from all this frustration. Because, honestly, being incapable of doing something I used to do well is incredibly frustrating. Sure I was running incredibly slow with lots of walk breaks before, but that was mostly because I was just out of shape. Being out of shape is definitely easier to fix than potentially permanent lung and maybe even heart damage. 

Stupidly, I had signed up for several races this fall. The Wonder Woman 10k of course because I cannot resist anything labeled “Wonder Woman” and the OUC Half Marathon in Orlando (the virtual option). I have done the OUC half for the past three years so missing a year just seemed wrong. I realize that life changes and such, but right now having a tiny bit of consistency sounded like it would fix all my problems. I realize in hindsight that that argument rarely applies and in fact consistency and normalcy could actually hurt me more. But hey, it’s 2020 and so is hindsight.

Given that I am now signed up for these races, I figured I should probably actually do something to get ready for them so I don’t completely die, just partially. Seeing as the OUC half is December 5th and the 10k results are due November 11th, I figured I could now use the 10k as more or less a halfway mark in my training. I can more or less get through a 5k right now so at least I’m not starting completely from scratch. 

I’ve been adopting something called the Jeff Galloway Training Method. Have you ever seen those people during races who seem like they must be dying because they run for about a minute and then walk for 30 seconds then take off running again? Apparently that’s the Galloway Method. The Viking in me believes that it’s most honorable to just run the whole thing and never walk, but the Viking in me also signed up for those races after surviving a deadly disease. That’s to say, the Viking in me is often very incorrect and makes stupid decisions out of pride. The Galloway Method has actually proven to be more effective in many cases because the tiny walking breaks allow for the legs to recover just a bit; however, the breaks are never small enough to require a noticeable running pace change to make up the time. Given that my lungs can survive about 3-5 minutes of running before I’m gasping for air and feel like death, the Galloway Method might be the only way I’ll ever get through any run for the foreseeable future.

I gave this method a try yesterday while attempting a 10k run. I’m not sure why I thought I was ready for such a grand feat. My guess is my Viking took over and decided that I was going to do it whether or not I was ready. Damn you, stupid Viking... Turns out, as pretty much anyone could have deduced, I was not ready for a 10k. I barely made it through the 5k. Since I live in Florida and it’s never not hot, even at night, I was sweating profusely by the end of the first kilometer. By the 3rd kilometer, I had to extend one of my walking breaks from one minute to five minutes to catch my breath, which was still ragged and wheezing when I started the running cycle again. When I reached the 5k marker, I just gave up. I was tired, thirsty, out of breath, and the ice cream and stir fry I ate right before running had turned into a molten ball of lead in my abdomen. 

This was when the anxiety decided to step in for a bit. Quick note about running anxiety: apparently some runners are prone to panic attacks while running because their bodies are having so many panic attack symptoms just from running (elevated heart rate, sweating, shortness of breath, etc.) that the body actually triggers a panic attack. This is definitely one of the more stupid evolutionary developments our body has ever made. And yet, this is what my body decided to do. It was difficult to notice between the COVID wheezing, the running wheezing, and the humidity. I only noticed it because my brain started saying that I was going to just fall over and die and no one would notice. Or worse, someone would notice and that would just be embarrassing. Plus I didn’t have a mask. What if someone approached me without a mask? What if the ambulance didn’t have a mask for me?? HOW WILL I PAY FOR THE AMBULANCE??? 

Thankfully, that last spiral helped me catch the anxiety pretty early on. I was able to call my sister and talk with her about random nonsense for a little bit. While she wouldn’t have been able to actually do anything to help me physically, it was a good distraction. I highly recommend having at least one person that you can call during moments of running anxiety. It helps to have an external person tell you to take a deep breath.

Definitely plan out your water too. This was something I did not do. Plunking some water bottles down along the route before running is ideal. I even have little water bottles that can be carried easily. Yet I did not bring these with me or put my water out before the run. This lead me to the gas station at around the 7k marker. Since I had no mask, I tied my shirt around my face like a hot pink ninja. The gas station had a soda machine with the blue Powerade, which conveniently was what I wanted. Then to decide on the size. My options were Tiny (small), Medium (medium), Mega (large), and Maximum (child sized???). I felt that calling a small soda “tiny” was rather inaccurate given the fact that a small coffee in Iceland is less than one shot. If anything, the smallest size in Iceland should be called “tiny.” However, I suppose “tiny” was accurate in comparison to “Maximum” which was an entire 45 fl. oz. Naturally, as an American, I selected Maximum. This cup was so large my Viking-sized hand cramped up trying to carry it, which was honestly one of the most American problems I’ve ever had maybe only second to hurting my jaw trying to stuff my burger in my face.

I did finish the full 10k, running the first half using the Galloway Method and walking the second half with a much too large bucket of Powerade. It was definitely a struggle I was not yet ready for though. There’s no shame in taking it a bit easy, I guess. All we can ever do is listen to our bodies and let them tell us what we need. Hindsight may be 20/20, but that doesn’t mean that foresight has to be blind. Don’t let your stumbles become faceplants.

[elmidol]

Two Halves Collide (NSFW)

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death is an Art

Read on AO3

Warnings: sex on corpses; violence; minor cannibalism that’s symbolic of love

Three Blind Tooke 

 Part Three: Death is an Art

 Chapter Fifty-Seven: Two Halves Collide

 I was stitched up at the seams

With a chest filled with emptiness.

Now you offer all the things

That reveal I am not loveless.

 You stared up at the ceiling as the cool gel was spread across your abdomen. Urvno remained seated on the stool to your right with his instruments in hand. The droid accompanying him whirred out a noise. You could not understand it. Did not wish to at any rate. A second desire that you possessed was for the lone audience member to leave. He had objected to such demands when you had voiced them upon the physician’s arrival. Kylo Ren stood against the wall on your left side. His focus was in your general direction, although you could not say if he had his eyes set on you or Urvno. There were questions that required answers. A steady pulse echoed from the machine. You inhaled sharply then waited.

 Metal limbs traveled along your body when the droid conducted an additional scan. The absence of conversation was a heavy weight that pressed down. Had you been on the Resistance base, your mother would have been present and that would have been far worse. Protecting her from this kind of exposure was more important to you than ever seeing her face again. The damaged bond that connected you to Rey, the one that the young woman had shut out, was a chain you wished to rid yourself of as well. The urge to reach out to her nudged at you; it was a sentiment that had not occurred for weeks. Kylo Ren took a step nearer to you, and you were instantaneously aware that he felt it. Shame crawled into your veins. It spread through your entire body, simultaneously cold and searingly hot.

 Kylo did not place a hand of comfort onto your shoulder. That was Urvno, and you jerked away from his touch. You rolled onto your side, off the furniture. Nearly collided with Kylo’s body in your attempt to escape from all existence. Nothing could have prepared you for having caught the glimpse of the scan. Exposure to the Sith amulet had ruined more of you. Pity from Urvno, that was not what you wanted. You despised it without hating the man himself. You shoved past Kylo, your shoulder hitting his arm but doing nothing to him. It was little different than walking into a wall. You would be the one sporting a mark of the encounter.

 Nausea would have been easier to endure along with muscle weakness. Instead you experienced the opposite; increased strength and stamina. You could move with lessened instances of feeling as though your body was ripping from the scar tissue that existed. A low laugh erupted from you at that thought. Had existed. Though some remained, the scans had shown the truth of the matter. The amulet had not healed you by restoring functions or organs. It had not undone the damage that had been done to you by Kylo Ren’s lightsaber or the overdose from Miovtha’s carelessness.

 You jammed your finger into the keypad repeatedly until the door slid open to allow you a means of leaving behind the droid and two men. One man. The other walked behind you in pursuit. Where he normally had longer strides and stomped more loudly, he was allowing you to set the pace. You swiped a hand along the remnants of gel under your shirt then flung your hand towards the side, casting off the substance.

 It had been easier for you to feel peace over being so ruined. To heal this way? Your body was consuming itself, wasn’t it? The scar tissue less, cleaned up. Your organs starting to function more as they should now that you were recovered. Time and the amulet both. Kylo Ren having healed you using the Force that day on the battlefield, you reminded yourself. If you could state that you were ruined, fatigued, in pain, there was the sense of being justified in your struggles. What. Then. Tooka?

 It was terrifying to move forward, to heal. It was excruciating that your body accepted the reality of what had been done to it. Your mind, though you had believed otherwise, had not. It would never be the same. You mentally killed yourself time and again to escape the physical healing process.

 Surprisingly, this experience assisted you in better understanding and accepting why it was that Rey had cut off the bond that you shared with her. It had to have been just as painful for her as it was for you. She could not move forward and make her decision, though, if she caught glimpses of these other possibilities through you, through the bond. It would force her to think of what Armitage Hux had asked: What then? She had to focus on the present alone along with the damaged galaxy instead of the healing worlds. Skywalker’s death marked for her what this exam had for you: you had to accept that things had changed and would never go back. Rey had to accept that Kylo Ren would not forgive and rejoin Luke Skywalker.

 “Are you going to allow me to go with you on the mission?” you asked, breaking the silence. The Knights of Ren had gathered on their ship, the Night Buzzard, and were awaiting their Master. Kylo had not granted permission for you to come along. The appointment with Urvno and your reactions to it were determining factors. The Knights of Ren did not trust you implicitly despite the missions that you had already shared with them. Time would heal the wound of your betrayal. On top of that, how you wavered when faced with the idea of Kylo Ren’s rule, you understood why it was that they waited for you to again stab their Master in the back.

 You twisted around to face Kylo and found that he was studying you as he had been doing since before the examination had started. “Do you think I will break you?” You blinked while processing those words. After a breath, you shook your head. “You want to join me on these missions, yet you hold yourself back.” You scowled, bracing yourself for his rejection and to be benched.

 There was no verbal permission offered, however you were well-versed in his body language with how long you had been a part of his life and he yours. Kylo angled his body when he took his first step so that his shoulder did not hit into you. This care allowed you to also turn and follow him. The armor that you had worn on the last mission you had been assigned to had been damaged. Cardo was skilled in repairing such things, which meant that you would not be able to suit up until you reached the Night Buzzard. Whatever weapons you would be given would be on the ship as well. It was food that Kylo wanted to ensure you had before heading to the Night Buzzard. You had been unable to eat without feeling nauseated for the past sixteen hours. Going on this mission with an empty stomach would leave you in a weakened state. There was no chance that he or his Knights would welcome you then.

 The nutrition bar was basic and bland with minimal fiber. You consumed it along with a half cup of water to rehydrate. Kylo paced the room, his hands curling into fists periodically then relaxing. Intel on the mission had been gathered by a source that would not be opposed to selling those same tidbits to the Resistance. You did not know if the Knights of Ren had killed their informant or not; if they had, it did not eliminate the possibility that the Resistance had been sold the intel first. You despised those who lined their pocketbooks with the war. It made you feel too much like a sword for hire, an assassin who bathed in the blood of countless, faceless people. It had you feeling that you sold your soul though you were not the one accepting credits.

 Urvno would report to Kylo Ren with your bloodwork results, and only then would a final decision be made. Given a lack of symptoms, you doubted that anything would be irregular. This was one thing that you were not disappointed in; you needed to go on this mission. To be benched would give you too much idle time. The children, including Aris, were on a different ship training in the ways of the Force. You had been given little other information regarding their education in the Order of Ren. This was another subject that you worked to not linger on for too long.

 Within the following hour you were allowed to join Kylo Ren and the Knights on the Night Buzzard. Its loud noises as it journeyed through space offered the impression that the ship would break down at a moment’s notice. If notice was given at all. You trailed a finger along the metal wall behind you. Kylo was speaking with the Knight piloting the ship. Two of the other Knights were seated on either side of you. Cardo and Kuruk, who each jerked their heads in your direction any time you touched near the blade that you had been given as a weapon for this mission. You were faster with a blaster, however this mission did not require stealth for the rifle you specialized in. You would be by Kylo’s side when the killing began.

 The armor that you wore was lightweight and it was clear that Cardo had studied your body to ensure maximum efficiency. You ran your hand on the pants, which possessed several belted pouches that contained bacta strips, a comm unit, and an extra blade. The shirt had a built-in vest that would absorb some of the impact of a physical blow but did not get in the way of basic movements. The majority of the outfit was black, although there were patches of crimson that you knew had been modifications. Cardo’s decision to include them aided in erasing any bitterness that might have developed as a result of his mistrust as you sat there near him.

 “If they do arrive, will she join them again?” It was Kuruk who posed the question. Kylo turned his head in the Knight’s direction without bothering to so much as glance at you. “I’ll need a stun blaster.” Chuckles from several of the Knights. You felt your lips part while dropping your hands onto the surface of the seat you occupied. This was a custom of theirs on the occasions that you were brought along. A lack of malice. Jabs that you would feel a longing for Finn or Rey or your mother or some other Resistance member. It was true that at times you thought of them just as you thought of Poe Dameron and Leia Organa.

 On one of the previous missions they had drawn straws to see who would babysit you. This was followed by another game of chance to determine who would stun you if you were swayed. Then who would carry you. How they would carry you; would it be bridal style or over the shoulder? 

 Your attention drifted to Ap’lek, whose mask was pointed in your direction. You would never ask him if he sometimes missed being Navrin in the same way that you felt a longing to be Supernova or even KS or Ryuubud. “She won’t be able to pull the trigger if she has a blaster and sees them.” A different Knight, you hadn’t caught which. You shrugged by way of response. Right from the getgo you had been honest about that limitation, and you were not ashamed that you felt this way no matter what ideology the Knights of Ren followed. A good death to join them. You were tired of selling your soul in this war, tired of tearing yourself apart. “Don’t worry. I’ll stun you first.”

 Your mind conjured up the image of blasterfire in all its different hues. You had been stunned before, and it was not something to sneeze over. The lingering effects were dreadful. If you were shot by one of the Knights, it would also mean that when and if you awoke you would not know who had been injured or killed from either side. It was difficult enough to endure that daily in regards to your friends in the Resistance. Former friends? Your head seemed to spin. You shook it and decided to instead focus on the mission, on the First Order monsters that you would slay.

 Soon the red glow danced along the walls of the cavern. Shadows cast by those falling under the blade made you pause in your actions. For years you had trained with a blaster rifle and killed from afar. At an increased rate, you were carving through bodies—through people—in a manner that stained your hands red with their blood. Envy sprouted in your mind as you twisted around to watch Kylo Ren cut through another officer. These were not the Resistance, not anyone you had once considered to be an ally, and thus you felt nothing watching them die. The red blade moved diagonally to slice from ribcage to the man’s thigh. The cauterized wound nevertheless spilled forth its gore. Kylo locked eyes with you. He thrust his other hand into the gaping cavern. Your eyes widened at the sight of his arm disappearing. A gurgled cry of pain, a spasm from the victim whose brain had not caught up with the fact that he was dead. A squelching, wet tearing echoed. It was nearly drowned out by the cries of pain and sounds of battle.

 The Knights of Ren were not like you. They had not stopped fighting, had not ceased killing to watch their Master. It was because of them that you had the luxury to stand there and watch Kylo pull free the corpse’s heart. His entire forearm was stained with blood now, although it was difficult to see against the dark material he wore. Kylo took a single step in your direction. He held out his hand with his palm facing up, the heart pulsing in it. An offering.

 You felt your feet moving on the ground before you registered that you were walking to him in acceptance of the gift. You curled a hand atop the organ and felt the warmth of life leaving it. Your fingertips dug into the muscle. The red glow of his blade illuminating Kylo’s eyes, for a second you forgot that they were brown. All was red. The blood on you and him. The warm fluid that squirted from the mangled organ to splash on your face and his. Kylo had been the only, in your memory, to have offered you life and love repeatedly despite the amount of times that you had rejected him. You trembled at the power you felt over this act, because of his gift.

 Drawing your hand away from his, you tugged the mangled heart against your chest. The last of its warmth flowed into your shirt. It made you sticky. It made you wet. Kylo deactivated his blade, which was just as well so that it did not impale you when he closed the distance between the two of you. He swiped his blood-tainted thumb along your forehead. Marking you, you thought while closing your eyes only to reopen them as his mouth found yours. The Knights of Ren were still killing. Your fingers were inches deep into the torn heart. Kylo wrapped his hand around yours.

 “You don’t want to die, tooke,” he said softly, his murmurs tingling your lips. You shuddered again, your tongue running along their surface and tasting his. “Are you ashamed to kill for me?” The red that had dyed your hands for the Resistance. The crimson pouring from these corpses that you had created. It was all for the same war and for the same purpose of ending it. You accepted the question for what unspoken portion existed: were you still so afraid to accept him as the galaxy’s ruler? You raised the heart towards your mouth and his, setting it between. His eyes traced your face and seemed almost to glint as you squeezed the organ once more, dirtying both of your faces in still more red. He was not making you do this alone. Always, always he was there for you, providing you with what you required to pull through.

 Kylo slipped his thumb past the heart to lower your bottom lip. You felt the organ, could nearly taste it. This gift of love and life. You slid your tongue out from your mouth and toyed with the surface. The coppery taste of blood flooded your senses. With a shudder, you clasped the heart in both of your hands, desperate, bringing it into your mouth for the first bite that caused still more blood to pour out of it and now into you. Kylo cupped your face with both of his hands. The hilt of his lightsaber was pressed to your cheek, but that was not the pressure that caused your eyes to widen. It was the feel of the heart being shoved further into your mouth as he, too, bit into it. He jerked backwards, tearing at it, gnashing his teeth to rip away the mouthful he had latched onto. You, too, yanked your head at a different angle whilst drawing your hands down.

 “And if you become a monster, I will not abandon you.” His words, spoken around the gore, had you swallowing. Your greatest fear, that becoming a monster slayer would turn you into that which you hunted, that you would lose all your humanity and the ability to love and be loved. The reaction that your mother and the Resistance had had to you. Their conditional love for your broken self.

 The screams of terror had died away along with the officers and stormtroopers of the First Order. You looked towards your left. Trudgen stood facing you. His weapon dripped blood. You swallowed again, ridding your mouth of the liquid and meat alike. You brought the heart to your mouth and took a second bite. Kylo leaned forward, his teeth bared and sawing into the remainder of the organ. You danced your fingers along his lips to keep from being bitten. Stared at him in pure awe as he consumed the heart of his enemy. This man that had told you the First Order would devour the Resistance as he assaulted you. Now together with you he proved that he was capable of true change that did not eliminate who either of you were.

 His kiss was thick with the red liquid that mingled with his saliva. Your jaw dropped, dribble spilling down your chin. Kylo’s tongue traced your lips and he spoke against you, his breath hot and mingled with yours. “Locate the central systems. The size of this base is misleading.” The best kept secrets were shared with the least amount of people. Supreme Leader Hux had decided to hide away tools to be used against Kylo Ren at a later date in this location. He had been educating himself in the ways of the Force and how to suppress it beyond the ysalamir. Weapons that had been used to hunt down the Jedi of old. Trudgen moved to obey.

 The long deceased Emperor Palpatine had had several contingency plans in place in the event of his death. You could not help but wonder which designs Armitage himself was only now learning of.

 You ran your tongue along your lips to eliminate more of the sticky substance that clung to them. Kylo groweld. He pressed his hips into yours, grinding against you. You could feel him growing hard through his clothes. Physically you were healed, however mentally you were damaged. How could he want you like he did? He urged you down onto your knees. You had already encircled his wrist with both of your hands and brought the hilt of the lightsaber to your mouth. He began to thrust it in and out. Its coolness a new sort of metallic flavor on your tongue. New yet equally as familiar as blood.

 It was this familiarity that helped you to ignore the imagined void you had been feeling since the examination. Consuming the heart had done nothing in comparison.

 Kylo ran his free hand along the front of his pants. You watched him while swirling your tongue on the very tip of the lightsaber’s hilt. Took the metal between your lips again. Your jaw stretched uncomfortably but you did not care. It made you feel more alive. More grounded. You helped him to shift his pants out of the way. You wrapped your hand around his hardening cock without removing your mouth from the lightsaber. It was Kylo who pulled back his weapon and reattached it to his belt. You stroked him into full hardness. Wrapped your lips around the spongy head just as you had with the lightsaber. The contrast made you shudder. You moaned around him, opening your mouth wider and taking him in inch by inch.

 You gagged a little as his cock slid towards the back of your throat until you relaxed more. Kylo placed his hands on the sides of your head and started to fuck your mouth. The feel of his shaft moving along your tongue encouraged you to close your eyes and enjoy the moment. The musky smell of him entered your nostrils as he thrust forward, your nose buried in his pubic hair. He used his hands to force you to begin bobbing your head on his length, an act you would have done regardless. Kylo growled out a curse followed by more. You took even more of him into your mouth as he bucked his hips, his cock brushing near your throat again.

 He used his hands to draw you back, his actions slower. Then he pushed forward until you were deepthroating him. You peeked up at him through watered eyes. His head was lolled back. After a few more thrusts, he pulled your mouth off of his cock. Kylo lowered himself onto his knees. He tugged at your bottoms, working them down your hips and legs until he could shove them off to the side. You were grateful that he did not toss them. Though blood was already seeping into them, you did not want them full of excess gore from the corpses that littered your surroundings.

 Kylo moved between your legs, hooking those limbs over his shoulders while keeping his eyes locked with yours. His breath on your cunt caused your lips to part. Kylo flicked out his tongue, nudging your clit. He danced his tongue downwards then back up, dragging your juices back to your clit and slowly tracing the letters of his name. Your chest started to heave, your knees wobbling. Kylo ran the seams of his gloves on your inner thighs. You set your hands on his head, tugging him nearer. Or at least trying to. Kylo chuckled when you were unable to move him.

 You whimpered when he flattened his tongue against your clit and paused in his actions. Your arousal dwindled a fraction. Then flared again as Kylo flicked his tongue up. He ran the underside of his tongue down your clit and trailed his organ to your entrance. You chewed on your bottom lip, furrowing your brow and waiting, wanting him to delve that tongue into you. He sent a stream of air through pursed lips against your clit instead. You moaned and Kylo leaned his head to the side, resting his cheek on your thigh.

 He slipped your legs off of his shoulders, setting your feet on the ground in a way that you remained spread. Kylo crawled up your body, shoved your shirt up without removing it. He gripped your bra, tugging it open, ripping it. He lowered his mouth to your right breast, taking it into his orifice as he laved your nipple with his tongue. You whimpered at the waves of pleasure that rippled through you. Kylo trailed two of his fingers along your slit, which caused you to shudder upon feeling that cool material dragging your juices back towards your clit. Your nipples hardened in arousal. Kylo rolled the bud that was in his mouth with his tongue. Heat radiated throughout your body. He slipped his middle finger into your depths and added another almost immediately.

 You tilted your head back and gulped in air as you started to fuck yourself on those digits. Rocking your hips, lifting them before you felt Kylo use the Force to pin you into place. He used the Force to snatch up your wrists as well, positioning them above your head. One atop the other. You were completely at your husband’s mercy among these corpses that you had helped him to create. You ran your tongue along your teeth. Tasted his kiss, which was coupled with what you had recently consumed.

 “Oh,” you moaned as Kylo inserted a third finger into you. He rocked the heel of his hand against your pubis, creating circles that stimulated your clit. You swallowed at the leisurely pace he used. It would not be enough to get you to cum. The movements were too slow. Not enough friction. “Please. More, please.”

 With a chuckle, Kylo obliged. His fingers quickened their pace within you, and yours clawed at the air when you attempted to buck into his touch but to no avail. The pressure of the Force did not leave nor lessen. Kylo withdrew his fingers from you. “You can’t be in this constant state of suicide,” he said. It took you time to process his words, both because of their meaning and due to being distracted by his touch as he crawled up the length of your body. “Letting yourself die is not how you kill the past.” He surged forward, claiming your lips before you could even try to respond. You had to cease practices of envisioning your own death to excise parts of yourself that you were not ready to accept had healed. The feel of Kylo’s mouth on yours, his hunger, offered a renewed zest for life that stood in juxtaposition to the death surrounding you. You locked your legs around his hips just as his hand came down upon your throat, the heel of it near your collarbone and the fingers touching your chin.

 Kylo pushed, cutting off a portion of your air supply simultaneous to moving into you. You could feel the way his cock opened you, stretched you, filled you. Inch by inch he sank into you and released a ragged breath. Your body tightened around him in response to the increased pressure on your throat, which relented a moment later. It came back as he turned his hand to the side and wrapped those long fingers around your neck. Your jaw fell open. You blinked through the tears that formed at your body’s natural response of being deprived of air. The threat of being hurt and even to be killed, that rendered you a trembling mess underneath him. Kylo rolled his hips.

 You arched your back and raked your nails up the length of Kylo’s back. His shirt kept you from leaving any marks. You joined your hands together around his throat, both of your thumbs against his windpipe. He growled, the vibrations tingling your fingers, and rolled the two of you so that you were straddling him as he sat. You moved in for a kiss. Kylo greedily slammed his mouth against yours in return and you felt your lip split. The pain made you wince, however his teeth kept your bottom lip in place, locking around it and tugging it into his mouth. He sucked on the newly created wound, drawing the blood into his mouth. Tasting you and making you wonder if it tasted any different than the blood from the heart. You pulled back and he let you. Your bottom lip popped wetly back into place a second before you sucked it into your mouth and ran your tongue along the area. You tasted his saliva as much as the blood.

 “Kylo.” You whispering his name like a sigh, like air itself, elicited another growl from him. Kylo dropped both hands onto your thighs and gripped you hard. You ground down, swerving your hips and feeling his cock stroke you. He was so deep inside of you. You lowered one hand to your stomach then crawled your fingers lower. Kylo pushed aside your shirt, which had fallen back into place, and mouthed your breast. You felt his teeth and tongue on you in alteration. The light sucking that you knew would leave a mark. You trailed fingers through his hair. Tugged on some of the strands after weaving them around your digits. He bit down harder on your breast. “Ah!”

 “Shh.” As he said this, you felt a delicious pressure rolling over your clit. Nudging it, swirling. It was gentle without being too careful. The friction was everything. You jerked your hips forward in time with Kylo’s thrusts. Whined when he temporarily withdrew in order to position you on your hands and knees to allow him to fuck you from behind. The sounds the two of your bodies made was obscene, echoing off the cavern walls. Wet and raw. The noises of pleasure spilling from you replacing the cries of the dying. The growls and grunts from Kylo were little different than the sounds he had made while killing.

 You could hear him unclip the lightsaber from his belt. Felt it between your legs, flush against your cunt and lower belly so that each thrust he made caused your clit to rub against the ribbed surface. Your arms twitched to the sides, but you caught yourself before you could fall. You swore, your eyelids fluttering and your body starting to spasm. Jolts of pleasure shot through you as pressure began to build behind a dam you knew would soon break.

 “We won’t die here, tooke.” The nickname sent another shiver down your spine that was repeated when he spoke your name, whispering it in your ear. His body enveloped yours. One of his hands on the ground next to yours and the lightsaber kept in place with the Force. His other hand was toying with your breast, pinching its nipple and tugging. You cried out soundlessly as you came. Your body reduced to a shudder mess that he fucked into. He grunted more loudly when he came. You felt his cock pulsate, felt him filling you with his cum.

 Kylo did not pull out immediately. You remained under him and panted. Fought to catch your breath. The sounds of the world around you slowly swam back into focus. The Knights of Ren were stomping, one of those set of feet drawing nearer. It would do nothing to you if he walked up and saw you in this state. You felt no shame in this. You felt alive amongst these corpses. Naked and held and loved no matter how monstrous you might become as the war twisted you.

 When Kylo did move away, you let yourself drop to the ground and reached for the nearest article of clothing, dragging it nearer. Redressing did not take you very long at all despite you using slow movements to do so. You regretted that you could not remain there forever, that life dictated your need to move on. The Knight of Ren passively observed you pull your pants on. You had not looked to identify which Knight it was, had only seen him in your peripheral and caught sight of black, which they all wore. A snort from you then your attention shifted to the lightsaber in Kylo’s grasp. It was dirtied with both cum and blood. Your eyes wandered up to his hair. Yes, that was bloodied as well. He met your gaze.

 “I can sense her.” Your stomach plummeted. It was as though a rug was yanked out from under you. Or perhaps the world itself. Taken away and leaving you to float helplessly, aimlessly in space. Kylo shook his head. “No.” Not Rey, which helped you to discover new ground. It was ice cold. Chills assaulted you and your teeth clattered together. Kylo addressed the Knight, giving you time to rise to your feet. “Do we have what we came for?”

 “Yes.” The voice was enough to identify the individual; Trudgen stepped forward whilst replying, which also offered his identity. “But the Resistance set down next to the Night Buzzard.”

 You frowned at the thought that the ship might be disabled before anyone in your party could reach it. That was something that you had trained to do in the splinter cell. Ground the enemy so that even if you are defeated they are at a disadvantage. Since both the Order of Ren and the Resistance had paid for the information, it was clear to you that each side wished to obtain what this base had been hiding. Rey’s absence in the Resistance party did not equate to the importance being less to the Resistance. They would have anticipated that Kylo Ren himself would be here. A preventative measure, a need to keep the two Force users apart.

 “If the ship is damaged, we’ll take theirs.” These words from Kylo were enough to return Trudgen to action. He began to head in the direction of the exit only to come to another, this time abrupt, halt. The other five Knights arrived with their weapons at the ready. You looked from them to Trudgen, who took a step backwards and readied to attack.

 The opening of the entrance to this portion of the cavern was large, enough that you could see multiple Resistance fighters. They had activated shields and blasters at the ready. One shot at Trudgen, missing him by mere inches. Three others focused their attention on you.

 Blaster fire echoed off the walls in the same way that they had been graced by the red glow of the lightsaber earlier. Said hue returned as Kylo cut an arc in the air to deflect the bolt that would have caught you in the shoulder. The scream of the blaster had not caught your attention as much as Finn’s cry of surprise. The hard no! had reiterated the fact that there were those in the Resistance that did care for you as best they could in the same way that you cared for them. No matter that you were bloodied nearly from head to toe, Finn did not view you as a monster to be eliminated. The soldier that had fired did not lower his weapon, however he refrained from pulling the trigger a second time.

 Finn failed to keep your attention for long as you noticed the identities of those in the entourage. There were masked Resistance fighters and some that you had known in passing. It was General Leia Organa, however, who caught and held your gaze. She was staring at Kylo beside you. Her eyes traced the scar that Phasma had left, the wound that had once left him blinded. Silence clung to the air though each person had a weapon trained on another person. The Knights of Ren ready to strike the Resistance fighters. The Resistance aiming their blasters at the Knights, at Kylo, at you.

 “Ben.” There was familiarity with how she said the name but desperation as well. A hint of nervousness that one might display with a stranger. She was anticipating rejection.

 Kylo gave a subtle shake of his head. “That isn’t my name.” His jaw was in near constant motion and his eyes had narrowed. “It is a legacy you tried to thrust upon me. You should have known better...with Vader as your father.” He grew in confidence the more he spoke. Went from a second away from crumbling to the man that you knew. Kylo adjusted the angle of the lightsaber so that its plasma blade crossed in front of you in a protective manner.

 The other Resistance members had started to switch their focus to you. As though they were aware it would be futile to aim for Kylo. Or perhaps it was due to how much more blood was caked on your flesh in comparison with him. Personal motives would include bitterness over you leaving the Resistance. You considered the state that you had been in mere minutes ago. Naked and underneath their enemy. I am their enemy, you reminded yourself. It was the first time that you had fully admitted it to yourself and it made your head spin. You felt the world around you tilt on its axis before righting itself.

 Conflict shone in Finn’s eyes, which had not left you. You understood his pain and confusion as it was one that greatly mirrored your own.

 “Hand over the datachip.” A mother making demands of her child. Kylo’s lips twitched in amusement. You had faced that mocking expression on several occasions. Leia’s reaction to it was not much different than yours had been; a sour scowl. “Hux destroyed more of the Resistance.” She was speaking to you. Her eyes on you. You lowered your gaze to the ground and wondered who else you had lost in this war. Who else you would be unable to mourn until the fighting ended. “You agreed to a temporary alliance in the past.”

 “I will not yield to you.” Twisting his wrist, the lightsaber remaining in front of you. “You have nothing to offer in return. Leave now and perhaps I will spare your lives.”

 The Knights of Ren moved nearer. They were hungry for blood and remained insatiable though they had just cut through all of those First Order officers. In response, the Resistance no longer sought your life. The blasters were directed at the three nearest Knights. Finn had a blaster in his hands as well along with a familiar cylindrical object on his hip. The hilt of a lightsaber. General Organa, too, had a lightsaber hilt. Her hands were free of any blaster. She had not come to kill her son. That hardly meant that neither of them would watch the other perish given the direction this confrontation was headed. Leia’s gaze fell upon you. There was almost a silent plea from her. She was not only Kylo’s mother, but your mother-in-law. She was family to you as well, by both choice and by marriage. The hard thing was, you had a habit of disappointing mothers. Your own could attest to that.

 You simply could betray your heart no longer, could not deny your other half. There would be no more cutting out the parts of you that others could not accept, the parts of you that made you feel whole.

 “Please,” you said. Leia’s face became more pained, speaking a silent I can’t that reminded you for the millionth time that this was war.

[prayandfeast]

Twisted Luck

It’s the new year, and I’m already launching into some Witcher tales. I hope 2021 is an improvement for us all.

This story was originally going to star Caligarus, but maybe I’ll do a near death by cliff fall for all three.

Zvonimir & Caligarus. Content warning for vomiting.

Zvonimir was unlucky. That had to be it.

That fickle intangibility that humans so often blamed their misfortune on. That complicated thing that both relied on one's actions and acted completely in spite of it. That thing that Zvonimir had never believed in once had to be the reason behind the sudden downturn in his life.

The sky drifted further away as Zvonimir fell. He thought back to the research that brought him here and the contract that would now go unfulfilled — the warnings that would never delivered. And once his mind settled on Caligarus and Avitamis, a small wry smile curled his lips. Perhaps, if he was lucky, those two would find him bent and broken. They would recover his sword and his spells, and they would give him an honourable burial. Perhaps, perhaps... But it might have been too much to ask.

As he fell, he could feel the venom still making its way through his body. It burned around the entry wound near his stomach. In fact, that very spot felt as if he had been branded. Even breathing now brought notthing but a shred of misery. Maybe his luck would turn back in his favour and he would be unconscious before his body hit the ground. His eyes began to drift closed but only snapped open once a sharp whistle sounded through the air. It was harsh and almost unnatural. Zvonimir had little time to ponder on it. A wide shadow passed over him, and his eyes trailed to follow it. Only... they didn't stop moving. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as the pain hit a fever pitch. The toxicity in his body was too high, and he could feel the clutches of faintness easing towards him.

A new pain joined soon. Sharp talons pierced his back and into his organs. It was enough to jolt him back into the world. Blood spilled from his mouth and down towards the jagged rocks. The massive creature sank a foot when new weight jointed. Dizzily, Zvonimir attempted to lift his head. He was only successful when a hand cupped his cheek and turned his attention.

     "Cali....garus...?"

    "You look worse than usual," came the grim attempt at humour.

Caligarus thumbed down Zvonimir's bottom lid before shaking their head. They made a motion with their hand, and Zvonimir felt the effects of Axii flow over his mind. However he could have met his end, at least he knew a moment of peace before all went dark.

-----

When he awoke, it was to the sound of hushed voices. One was Caligarus' usual drawl, but the other was punchy and elegant. Zvonimir attempted to open his eyes. Which was a trial onto itself. He attempted to let out a faint noise to let them know he was awake, but the sound died in his throat. His entire body felt heavy, useless. The Axii couldn't have been that strong, certainly not.

     "I believe your friend is awake," said the eloquent voice.

    Measured, heavy footsteps, and suddenly, Caligarus was cupping Zvonimir's neck. "His pulse is steady at least. Finally." They turned away. "I can't thank you enough."

    "I'm sure you could manage. My, my. I do have my hands full with you Witchers."

    "Perhaps you could open your own practice. You'd make a killing."

The other speaker laughed, and it was reassuring. Zvonimir felt it in his chest, and it lessened the pressure in his mind only a little.

    "Cagli..." He attempted, but his tongue was heavy. The word slurred in his mouth.

    Caligarus shook their head before lowering him back down onto the bed. "You need more rest."

    "Buh..." It was useless, but Zvonimir's instinct told him to resist whatever this was. Had he been drugged? Charmed?

His hand slid down the length of Caligarus' arm, and it was all too easy for him to succumb to the rest that overtook him. His eyes filled with darkness for the briefest second. He was out immediately after.

-----

Rising the second time was far easier. In fact, he felt completely energised! He placed a hand on his head and sat up without trouble. All of his arm had been stripped and cleaned. The pieces had been stacked and prepared for him on a nearby bench. At the furthest end of the bench sat Caligarus, who had been scraping down a root of ginger.

    "Where are we, Caligarus?"

The Ox Witcher halted their task; their eyes swung over to Zvonimir, gaze intense. He licked his lips without thinking. Dry and flecked with blood. He made a face before looking towards the ground. He raised his hand to touch his lips and saw that his entire left hand had been bandaged.

     "What...?"

    "And here, I thought I was going to be regaled with the tale of what happened to you," Caligarus explained. They bent forward to grab a few stray pieces of ginger. They dropped the root scraps into a basket before grabbing it and standing. "I've never seen you come out so terribly."

    "The- the Ekhidna, did you...?"

    "We found her," Caligarus added, "and you."

We. Zvonimir looked around and then scented the air. There was no sign of the other person still around, but there was the lingering smell of herbs. Powerful, that... He looked to Caligarus, and they extended to him a two-toned potion. It was red mixing with honey yellow. Smelling it brought no offense, but even still, he shot a reluctant look to Caligarus.

    "I'm not going to poison you. I need you alive."

    "Funny. You typically don't need anything of me, but."

Zvonimir stopped the token protest before downing the potion in a single pull. He was almost immediately winded. His sinuses cleared up at the same time his breath was taken away. He reached out, and Caligarus knelt down in front of him. He gripped his hand on their armoured shoulder and held on as tight as he could as a literal nerve-wracking pain built up. It charged up from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair. He sucked in a pained breath as he started to shake.

    "Shit..."

    "He warned me it would be powerful, but it's going to purge all the poison from you."

    "Oh, it's going to do more than—" Zvonimir seized as the sudden gag nearly blinded him.

Caligarus, quick with their senses, began to pull him to his feet. He went without issue. Walking didn't bring any further discomfort, but the second heave of his body made him feel even more lightheaded. By the time they were near a pile of dead leaves and weeds, Zvonimir was ready to unburden his body of both toxin and organ. He dropped down to his hands and knees and gave up all that his body wanted to expel. Caligarus was kind enough to kneel down and tie his hair back.

Zvonimir heard the dying whimper of something and prayed to every force and being that it was him. When he opened his eyes, he saw something bruised coloured and writhing in his sick. He regarded it with a flat, teary stare.

    "A parasite," he breathed. "Joy."

    "Do you remember what else you fought?" Caligarus asked as they produced a tiny hemp bag from their side.

    Zvonimir watched almost disdainfully as they collected the thing and dropped it into the bag. "What are you planning on doing with that?"

    "Consider it payment for saving your life." Caligarus tucked away the bag before sighing and dropping their hands to their thigh. They looked over to Zvonimir. "That's what I've been told to say."

    "By. Whom?"

    "The one who did the saving. Truly, in this case. I merely hauled your almost corpse to a safe location." They reached out to grab onto him and help him stand once again.

Zvonimir felt weak in the legs and empty in the stomach, but otherwise, he felt perfectly fine for someone who just wretched several generations of eating. Caligarus pulled them away from the dry brush before setting it all ablaze with Igni.

    "Who was here earlier, Cali?" Zvonimir asked as they headed back to the small domicile.

    "A friend. Someone who I had great fortune of running into while I was out." They looked to him from the corner of their eye. "And you haven't answered me yet."

Zvonimir took in a deep breath, ready to fire the sentiment back at them, but he knew that it would be no use. Fighting Caligarus about their vagueness and mystery had about as much purpose as yelling at a tree for growing its bark. He waited until he was sitting again before finally explaining,

    "I went there because I was told that fishermen and such had been attacked by a terrible she-beast. Based on their testimonies, I had been prepared for a fight with a siren and maybe, perhaps, an Ekhidna. But there was something in the forest."

    "A cursed one?"

    "Perhaps, I never saw it. No matter what I did, it struck with such a savage ferocity that by the time I saw the Ekhidna, I." Zvonimir stopped short and frowned deeply. He wasn't so detached from humanity that he didn't know what shame was. He licked the inside of his cheek, his gaze unfocusing as he thought to the first moment he saw the Ekhidna. "I was already dead."

The air between them went dead. He nodded his head slowly before closing his eyes and balling his hand into a fist. He thumped it down against his thigh. A harsh sigh escaped through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, he stared at Caligarus both annoyed and focused.

    "Tell me you finished the thing."

    Caligarus nodded somberly. "It would have been easier with help, but I knew you needed to be tended to." They leaned against the small counter and crossed their arms. "So, no hint at all?"

    "None. Unfortunately."

    "That is unfortunate, hmm." Caligarus looked at the wall ahead of them. "And I didn't see anything when I returned... I did collect on the contract, however. There were two going at once for this thing, and I managed to talk your clients into believing that you were no coward nor were you dead."

They dug into their pocket and held out his Griffin medallion. Zvonimir felt at his neck and realised that he was truly naked without it. He accepted the pendant and set to work refastening it around his neck. Caligarus continued,

    "Seeing to the beast that did this to you would have been a suitable step in my revenge, but for now, I'll stay to cursing it blindly." They pushed away from the counter then. They moved to a small table by the window and put together something modest to eat.

    "That beast that grabbed me when I fell..."

    Caligarus was quiet for a beat. "A Royal wyvern," they explained.

    Zvonimir stared at their back, incredulous at the idea. "You—! You tamed such a beast?"

    "Tamed would be a stretch. I merely offered it a trade." Zvonimir turned. They crossed the room before setting the bread and meat in Zvonimir's lap. The plate was chipped and a speck of dust had hardened on the edge. He missed the details for he was still staring up at his companion. "Some beasts can be haggled with. It's usually far easier if you know what they're after."

    "And what... did you offer it?"

    "Its territory back. It and the Ekhidna were rivals for that spot." They spoke with an air of confidence and certainty. Even still, Zvonimir thought they were mad. "Anything else, however, I wouldn't know."

    "Oh, of course." Zvonimir began to eat.

    Seeing this, Caligarus fetched their waterskin for him and turned towards the door. "I'll be back before the afternoon. I've yet another trade to make."

    "Are you going to meet this 'friend' of yours?"

    Caligarus paused at the door and looked over their shoulder. "I am."

    Pointless to ask, he reminded himself before readying another bite of his food. "Tell this friend I said 'thank you.'"

    "I will along any other long-winded vows of gratitude you wish to make."

    "Sod off..."

Caligarus smirked before heading out the doors with a slight wave. Zvonimir watched their retreated back, frustrated that he couldn't go along to unravel this mystery himself. Once they turned the corner and exited his vision, he shifted his focus to the brush still burning in his line of sight. Maybe his luck was mending little by little. Of course, he had to pay in blood before that happened. He ate with a burdened air of gratitude. Well, if that was the case, at least he was still alive to pay that debt. One more day bought, one more ounce spilled. Such was the life of a Witcher.

[sebbybooks]

Going Through Lighting

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

“If he touched her, he couldn’t talk to her,

If he loved her, he couldn’t leave, if he

spoke he couldn’t listen, if he fought he

couldn’t win.” A.R

Deep breaths Franny.

Deep.

Fucking.

Breaths.

At the risk of sounding completely dramatic I was feeling morbidly sick and had to strongly resist the urge to not shout out my frustrations at the top of my lungs. Maybe I was slightly overreacting, but nonetheless I was still petrified. Considering the fact that I was thousands of feet in the air there was nothing in this world that I hated more than flying. Yet there I was headed all the way to California to hear about a surprise from my Dad that apparently couldn't be said to me over the phone.

I inaudibly let out a string of silent curse words that would make a sailor blush. I returned my focus back to my computer screen to finish one of my favorite films of all time in efforts to relax. I was mindlessly watching An Affair to Remember, a movie that by now I have reduced to memory. It was the scene where Terry was racing to get to the Empire State Building to confess her love to Nickie, before a car came whizzing by and hit her. When I suddenly noticed from out of the corner of my eye that the guy sitting next to me had been watching my laptop screen too.

Seeing that he had been caught spying on me he felt obliged to speak up. "You know I really hate that part. Cary Grant's character waited for hours on end and she never even showed up." The guy to my right said as he slightly leans a little closer causing our shoulders to brush. His cologne fills under my nose and I inhale it slowly. It almost duals as an aromatherapy for my anxiety. Almost.

Pulling my wireless headphones from my ears I shift a little in my seat to face him and smiled a sardonic smile. "Are you kidding me?" I gaped. I pressed the space bar on my laptop to pause the movie fully prepared to defend the actions of a fictitious woman from a 1957 melodramatic film classic. "Terry desperately tried to get to him. It wasn't her fault she became paralyzed after the accident. Nickie was clearly obtuse and too stupid to think that even for a second she didn't wait for him!"

I waited for his rebuttal, but oddly enough he remained tight lipped. We stared awkwardly at each other like it was some weird staring contest neither one of us wanted to lose. Eventually I blinked. As soon as I did I took in his appearance and from what I could see on the outside he was fairly decent. Ok I'll admit decent would not have begun to describe his natural attractiveness. His hair was longer on the top and shorter on the sides. You could see shadows of facial hair and tiny bits of gray stubble around his mouth and jawline.

He wore a pair of fitted tailored ash gray trousers and a crisp white Oxford rolled up to his forearm, he certainly wasn't dressed for a long flight. By the looks of his five thousand dollar Cartier wristwatch I wondered what the hell was he doing back in here economy class. My eyes start to stray further down his body and I quit while I was ahead because I could already see the slight bulge of his crotch. To avoid looking like a complete pervert I nip our meaningless conversation in the bud and I hit play on my movie. Right as I'm placing my earbuds back in I hear the faintest laugh come out of him. I bite back on my instinct to keep quite. "Now what?"

"Nothing. . ." His voice trailed off. "Is this your first time flying?" He asks with a knowing looking. Those bright blue eyes bore into me.

"Flying isn't exactly on my list of things that excite me, but no this isn't my first time." I hesitated. "What was it that gave me away?" I asked purely out of curiosity. I gripped my middle finger and index finger tightly to stimulate feeling back into my hand that's started to tingle.

"For starters you were fidgeting in your seat for the longest time and for about a minute or two you stopped squeezing the life out of your hand while you were talking to me. I figured if I came up with something to say you would get distracted and maybe just for a moment you would think about something else so that your fingers would still have functioning nerves in your hand by the time we landed. " He says, and within an instant I dropped them to my lap. I immediately start to cringe at myself.

One would think it would get easier over time and that I would find better ways to at least deal with my fear of being on airplanes. Being an assistant buyer for Saks comes with the territory, but traveling outside of work I typically liked to avoid it at all cost. A fact that seems to escape my father. When he called me a few days ago with an urgency in his voice that made my stress levels skyrocket. Only to be replaced with confusion because it wasn't like my dad to be so secretive about anything. He asked that I come out to see him right away despite it not being a life or death matter. Considering I was all he had and he was adamant about me seeing him. I figured it was all just a rouse for him to just get me to spend more time with him.

"Thanks." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, forcing my eyes shut hoping that I would disappear from my inability to act normal on airplanes. For a few seconds I believed he had returned to minding his own business. It was silence, and then, "You don't want to know what my name is?" He asks.

I can feel his eyes on me and I purposely keep my head turned away from him. "If I guess Rumpelstiltskin do I get to keep my first born child? Or can you simply not say your name Betelgeuse?" I couldn't stop myself from teasing him. I tried to hide the grin trying to grow on my face. Was I actually smiling?

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice." He paused and looked all around him as if he misplaced something. He brought his hands to his chest in a frantic gesture. "I'm still here so nope that's not my name either."

"How unfortunate then." I feigned a sigh. He looked at me as if he had met his match and for some reason I liked the approving look. I easily wanted more. His presence brought a temporary calmness that I didn't want to lose so quickly despite my initial cold shoulder brought on by trepidations from flying. A part of me was actually settled which was something that almost never happened to me on flights. "Francesca. Though every one calls me Franny." I introduced myself. I was still facing forward looking down at my laptop.

"Well it's a pleasure Franny, everyone calls me Sebastian." He said to me. Even the sound out his name in my head silenced the white noise fueling my growing levels of perturbation. After learning the name of the guy who clearly wasn't shamed to admit to liking circa 1950s romance cinematic features such as An American in Paris, To Catch a Thief, and Houseboat. I figured he had taste or oddly was just into films starring Cary Grant. For the most part our conversation mainly consisted of questions that felt straight out of an article that helped people with conversational ice breakers.

Like for instance I learned that he prefers coffee over tea, no siblings, he is an animal lover but has zero pets, he's single, and reads more than he watches television. Oh and that he is single. I had to reiterate that into my brain just to be sure. I made sure to keep my answers to his questions short and sweet because the chances of us speaking again after this flight were slim to none. Guys that looked like him never stayed single for long, and I wasn't interested in competing for his attention alongside the flight attendant who couldn't stop staring at him every chance she got. Which of course he didn't notice and if he did then he was probably use to the attention.

"So Franny is this trip for work or for pleasure?" Sebastian asked.

I was stiff as log in my seat apart from my leg that wouldn't stop bouncing up and down. The pattern in turbulence fluctuated greatly. Almost every ten minutes the plane would jostle which of course in my mind made me think only the worse. "Is this your way of you trying to be helpful again?" I could already feel my pulse spiking.

"Actually it was my way of trying to pry information out of you." This guy was either arrogant or really confident in himself. He was looking down at something on his phone completely unbothered.

"That didn't sound creepy at all." I told him.

"Well I'm assuming it's something really important if it's got you out of your comfort zone." He pushed. All I could think about was that Sebastian had picked the worse time to try and make small talk. I felt the wave of turbulence again and that time it was back to back. Panic was prickling up my spine when everyone was instructed to return to their seats and fasten their seatbelt. We were now experiencing changes in the altitude due to the incoming thunderstorm. Just wanted I needed to hear.

My throat burned. Like I actually felt a burning sensation in the back of my throat. Somehow I still found the ability to muster up sound. "My dad , " I sat upright trying to sit in a more relaxed position. "I think he's lonely and I miss him so yeah here I am." I huffed.

"You're a good daughter." Sebastian nodded as he listened. He didn't know me well enough to offer praise, but suffering through this flight I wanted a damn trophy.

"Since I'm sure you were going to ask me the same I'll go ahead and answer for you." He added. I rolled my eyes playfully as I sucked in a shaky breath. "What's in California?"

Sebastian crossed one of his legs over the other and rested his elbow onto the armrest. He was leaning on it and his body was angled more so in my direction. We were siting so close now that it almost looked like we were sharing a seat. That made the flight attendant who had been gawking at him do a double take in our direction.

His facial expression turned grim and slightly annoyed. I could sense from the tautness in his body language that this was probably a sensitive subject. "This must be parents' weekend." Sebastian's laughed lacked humor. He hesitated on what he was about to say next and he gnawed on his bottom lip for a good fifteen seconds. An for some reason I silently watched him do it.

"My mother went off and got eloped to one of her flavors of the week. Tonight I was suppose to meet the happy couple for the first time. All of this was sprung on me last minute. Finding a flight that left out tonight was finding a needle in a hay stack.” He had as much enthusiasm in his voice as Eeyore. Which was none existent.

"I'm going to be honest with you that sounds awful." I looked at him apologetically. I shook my head at the thought of my dad pulling a stunt like that and not telling me. We might not see eye to eye over everything but we had always been close. Even thinking about it hypothetically dampened my mood.

"Yeah, tell me about it." He glowered. Sebastian rubbed both of his hands over his face and made a noise into his hands that easily passed as a growl or a moan. It didn't matter because now I had both sounds locked into my memory bank. "However, my only bright spot was being able to sit next this raven haired beauty who could use a drink." I was slow to process who he was referring to.

"Hmmm, well now that made me remember I need to dye my hair bright purple." I lied. For some reason I could never seem to take a compliment, especially if it was a flirtatious one. There was no way I could covertly sneak a cursory glance at my appearance to get a glimpse of what he saw. By now I was certain my makeup was splotchy and my lips were chapped from biting them ferociously.

My clothes were every bit of casual I had on a long sleeve black leotard with camel colored high-rise chino pants, and I sported my favorite pair of worn white high tops. When I glanced up at him the tight feeling in my chest was replaced by something entirely different. Indigestion maybe? Sebastian leaned in a little closer and he angled his face closer to my ear. "It would still look sexy on you." He lowered his voice and I can't deny that it was doing sinful things to me.

Not a moment too soon to make matters even more stressful the pilot made an announcement that there was going to be an emergency landing due to the extreme storm brewing in the sky. Which was deemed unsafe and can not be flown above or even around. Mother Nature was really showing her ass tonight. If something else bad was going to happen I would really appreciate if it waited till I wasn't on this flight anymore.

"What's one of your turn offs about a person?" Sebastian casually asked me. My neck turned so fast I swore I broke it. "What?" I coughed.

He tossed a handful of almonds in his mouth while staring off at something ahead. We were about to land and have a layover completely throwing me off schedule. I looked off into the direction he was looking at and on first glance I had no clue where this was coming from. "Franny?" He called out to regain my attention.

"Guys that aren't funny but think they are comedians." I said automatically. Which was a random one considering I had a whole list. "Why do you ask?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Because mine is meaningless eye fucking." He answered bluntly. A couple in front of us immediately turned around in synchronization and stared back at us with a disapproving eye. Sebastian's devil may care act seemed to only trigger them further. When I saw that between was a little boy, feeling embarrassed I mouthed an apology. The mom ceaselessly just shook her head as if we were degenerates.

"Anyway," Sebastian continued like nothing happened. I give him a look. "That woman over there has been eyeing me since I stepped foot on this plane. We keep making this awkward eye contact and I'm grinning back showing all of my teeth because I don't know how else to respond."

So he did notice her watching him.I snorted. "Don't tell me you're shy."

"No. . ." Sebastian paused. "I have shy like tendencies." He could barely keep a straight face at his confession. I wanted to laugh but it was cut short by me being jostled in my seat yet again. I gripped onto the armrest for dear life. All of my tips and tricks to ease my anxiety were failing me. I was headed for full on panic attack.

"Franny?"

"Hold on." I said faintly. Inhaling through my nose and exhaling from my mouth. The tears were coming I could already start to feel them well up in my eyes.

"Give me your hand." Sebastian said as concern filled up his face. This guy knew knew nothing about me apart from me being a total badass when it came to the art of puzzling and that I liked extremely sour gummy worms. We were not friends and I wasn't even sure if we were acquaintances. Sebastian was simply someone to talk to until the plane landed.

"I am not giving you my hand I hardly know you." I said on a exhalation. "You could be a psycho." My voice was a whisper solely on the off chance that someone was eavesdropping and my words could be taken out of context. I wanted to take that chance and trust him but this whole ordeal just seemed so weird.

Sebastian lowered his head closer to me and mimicked my tone. "Or I could be someone who just wants to show a little kindness to the person I'm currently crushing on."

My eyes opened wide and sat there dumbfounded for at least a millisecond while my brain tried to catch up with this cliché I was living in. "Dare I ask but are these recycled pick up lines from middle school?" I quipped.

"Maybe." He answered with a half smile that was making me anxious for all the wrong reasons.

"Normally crushes take longer than an hour to develop." I replied nonchalantly. Sebastian looked up, his eyes locked onto mine. "And yet falling doesn't happen in slow motion."

A nervous laugh escapes from my mouth. I waited to hear a joke or something incredibly inappropriate to indicate that he was just messing with me. My mind was swimming with things to say but they all ended with the same question. What in the actual hell was going on? Seven painfully long minutes dragged on by with my thoughts going back and forth saying do or don't. It's a just a hand Franny and a kind gesture at that. Apart from the modern day wave of creeps what was there to be afraid of? Did I just answer my own question? My musing was interrupted when I heard Sebastian's voice commingle with the sound of feminine laughter.

I looked up over at his seat and low and behold the flight attendant who could barely do her job for salivating over Sebastian the whole flight made her way over to him . That woman was persistent I give her that. She turned her body unnecessarily close into his seat as she tucked an errant strand of brown hear behind her ear. She was obnoxiously fawning over something stupid he said I'm sure. The woman was practically throwing herself on him. Flashing all her pearly whites and batting her long stark black lashes at him. Jesus, there was nothing imperfect about her. She even made her uniform look hot.

I wasn't a jealous person nor did I posses some claim over Sebastian. I am however still human and sooner or later my emotions eventually will get the better of me. Not being able to stand the sound her of lilting laughter. My arm reacted before the rest of my brain could catch up. My actions weren't subtle in the slightest and before I knew it I had my hand wrapped around Sebastian's hand. Their conversation had come to an abrupt halt and I was too embarrassed to see the look on either of their faces. I should've just let go of his hand and acted like a normal person.

It was awkwardly placed on top of his and I instantly regretted the decision when I remembered how clammy it was in comparison to his. Feeling gutsy I finally lifted my head to see that both of their gazes zeroed in on my hand placement. I hated that there was a sense of enjoyment on Sebastian’s face.

I reminded myself that I wasn't competing for Sebastian's attention, but when the flight attendant whose name I do not care to learn looked at me like I was growing a tail from my forehead frowned as she walked away. I couldn't help but give her my best "fuck you too" smile back at her. I was just about to move it away when I felt Sebastian swiftly flip his hand over to fit mine into the palm of his hands.

"How long will you be in Napa Valley?" Sebastian's voice cut through my thoughts as if nothing happened. I was about to say a snappy remark accusing him being a suspect on John Walsh's unsolved mysteries with all of his questions. When I felt the warmth of his hand the moment his fingers unfurled and laced through mine effortlessly . My breath caught when the pad of Sebastian's thumb lightly stroked the side of my hand in a slow circular motion. It wasn't a sensual act we were taking part in and the gesture seemed completely juvenile. I don't think Sebastian was trying to get a reaction out of it either. Truth of the matter was that I couldn't stop feeling like my entire body would combust just from one simple touch.

"Just for a couple of days." I muttered. I was unable to concentrate for that fact he was holding onto me. Was hand foreplay a thing, because this sure felt like it. I felt a twinge of disappointment in my chest because I knew that eventually I was going to have to let go. Gosh did that make me sound crazy? I've known him for five seconds.

"Any chance you'd stick around long enough to grab a cup of coffee with me?"I turned my head to see if he was watching me, but he was staring at everything but me. I studied the sharp contours of the side of his face to see that he was looking straight ahead at the seat in front of him. Could it be? Did I actually make the cool and funny Sebastian nervous?

I scrunched my nose at the speculation. "I don't think you can handle my chaotic energy when I have caffeine." I answered truthfully, which was met with more silence. Sebastian sucked in his bottom lip and quirked his brows in response to what I had just said. Any minute now we were getting ready to land and we hadn't even exchanged phone numbers. "It's a good thing decaf exist." I added.

Sebastian nodded his head slowly and his postured relaxed which suggested he had hoped I changed my mind. " I concur."

"Can I ask you a question?" It felt random and completely out of nowhere but the thought had been sitting on the tip of my tongue since he mentioned it.

"Well it's about damn time you did." Sebastian squeezed my hand and let me tell you the grip was firm. It was putting the kinkiest thoughts in my head and I needed to kill them immediately.

"Are you happy for your mom?" I asked him, I try to steer the conversation from my indecent imagination. It was a question that made him go stoic. His jaw ticked back and forth as he rotated our clasped hands. Sebastian intently stared at the polish on my nails. It was the shade Yank My Doodle by OPI but that was besides the point. It was obvious that he was trying to deflect.

His nod was terse and our eyes connect when he looks up. "She looks for temporary bliss in things or people. Nothing really satisfies her. My mom sees life through rose colored glasses and sooner or later she always ends up disappointed but quickly onto the next ." Sebastian says miserably. "Right now she's clung to a man who owns a small hardware store and has two first names."

I swallow down the lump in my throat. There was absolutely no way the man I had in mind was the same man Sebastian was referring to. I mean there was a lot of men in the Valley that owned their own hardware shops right? "Does his name happen to be Eric Taylor?" My voice came out strangled, because there was just no fucking way.

"Does everyone know this man?" He asked with an entrancing smile that was unnecessarily sexy and so so so unattainable now.

I pulled my hand away like his was made of fire and it didn't nearly hurt as much as the look on Sebastian's face from my sudden action. "I know him alright. He's my father."